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immortalcoelacanth · 4 years ago

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Between the Walls, Chapter 3: To Earn His Keep (Dream SMP fic)

*hits table*

I have so many wips, why is my muse just like this?

Word count: 5313

Summary: Jobs are assigned and questions are asked as to why the hell Tommy and Techno are still putting up with one another.

Tommy had been confused as to what Techno meant by him having to work to earn the right to stay in his house. What work could he possibly do that would benefit him?! He couldn’t chop wood, or mine any precious resources. Crafting was also out of the question since he could only make things that were good for someone his size, so that left…

Nothing.

There was nothing he could do. There was no possible job that would suit him that Techno would benefit from, so he honestly had no idea what would come of the deal they had made. Perhaps nothing at all, and he would be allowed

Yeah right, as if he had ever been that lucky.

“TECHNOBLAAAAAADE! YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD!” Tommy howled as he clutched the wooden bars of the makeshift cage he was in. It was practically a repurposed box, the gap between the bars being too slim for the borrower to slip through, but even if they were big enough, he wouldn’t dare escape.

Primarily because of the large pit of groaning mods below him.

Apparently, the “work” Techno had planned for him was nothing more than him acting as bait for a basic mob farm. He was suspended above a pit, his cage attached to a wooden outcropping, and the faint glowing of the strange, red and orange cubes below him allowed him to easily see the hoard of zombies, skeletons, and the occasional creeper milling about.

He glanced back at the house and scowled, knowing Techno was probably sitting inside, all safe and warm. The cage barely blocked out any of the freezing winds, and since Tommy hadn’t been able to grab a jacket before being put out here, there was nothing to protect him from the cold. He was stuck, freezing and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Damn that stupid pig-

… Or hybrid.

It was a term the borrower was vaguely familiar with, he had been eavesdropping when one of the farmers back in Borrowton mentioned “hybrid plants” and how useful they could be. From what he knew, hybrids were like a sort of mixture, two different things being used to make one. Two different plants producing a new one.

He guessed one of Techno’s parents really was a pig fucker.

Tommy snorted at the joke before shuddering in the brisk breeze, arms wrapping tightly around himself while he huddled up on the floor of the cage. It sucked, being out here with nothing but the mobs for company. At least when he had been with Techno, he’d been able to interact, to socialize. It was something that he had always craved, to be able to reach out and connect with people. Even Techno’s occasional barbs, jokes, and the anger he caused Tommy to feel was better than being stuck outside.

Bastard, going from acting like he wanted to protect him to sticking him out here.

… Speaking of which, it had been very strange to witness that exchange. See the way that Techno hesitated to reveal his presence, and the fact that he had tried to hide Tommy further after the librarian made it aware that he knew the borrower was there. Some part of him had cheered, recognizing that maybe the pig-hybrid actually cared about him in some way, even though they had only known one another for about a day, but Techno’s actions earlier-

“What’re you making?” Tommy hesitantly asked as tried to stare at the crafting table. He had basically been told, ordered, to wait on the table while Techno finished whatever it was that he was making. Not wanting to anger the pigman, he had reluctantly done his best to stay in place.

Fidgeting the entire time, of course. Staying put had never been his strong suit.

“Just something to help with your new job.” Techno explained before turning around and showing off the cage he had made. “Gonna make things a lot easier.”

“... What’re you gonna put in it, then?” Tommy questioned, not at all liking where this was going. Of course, the answer he got was one he had expected, but still never wanted to hear.

“You, duh.”

Techno grinned, and Tommy felt his heart drop.

“You’re gonna be the bait.”

Had obliterated the small sparks of that hope. Techno didn’t care about him and only saw him as a means to an end. Probably why he got so huffy when that other guy noticed him. Clearly no one was allowed to mess with or torment Tommy unless it was Techno himself-

Twang!

The borrower let out a startled yelp as an arrow slammed into the side of his cage, making it rock and sway. He scrambled to the side of the enclosure and tried to spot what had shot at him. His eyes scanned the empty yard, briefly landing on the empty stall that Techno must have built for some reason. It was weird to just have that structure sitting there, all empty and ready for some animal to inhabit it-

There!

Tommy shook himself out of his thoughts as he spotted the source of the arrow. A lone skeleton that had, somehow, not stumbled over and fallen into the pit, was aiming at him, bow drawn and another arrow pointed in his direction. He immediately backpedaled, arms flailing as the newest arrow was released, just barely missing the cage.

Shit, shit!

“Fuck off you stupid bitch!” Tommy howled as the skeleton readied another arrow. As it was aimed at him, his panic and the pitch of his voice increased until he was practically shrieking. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU-”

Twang!

Another arrow slammed into the skeleton’s skull, bone shattering and turning to dust. The monster dropped to the ground, the fallen bow and arrows the only sign of it ever having been there, and he quickly looked over at what, or who, had shot the arrow.

Technoblade.

Of course.

“Couldn’t have shown up any sooner, you bitch?!” He shouted, internally cringing when those too bright, red eyes landed on him. He watched as the hybrid rested the crossbow he had used to kill the skeleton on his shoulder before making his way over to the wooden post. He glared down at Techno, more than aware of how not intimidating he looked as he shuddered in the cold. Although, his glare lightened up when he was finally removed from the post, less exposed to the winds as he was unintentionally sheltered by the hybrid’s body.

“I was just testing a hypothesis I had.” Techno simply responded. The borrower waited to see if he would elaborate on what that meant. A moment passed, then two, and then-

“Well tell me then! You don’t need to act so secretive!”

That tiny, near invisible smile on Techno’s face grew as he started to speak. “A hypothesis on whether your voice is annoying enough to instantly agro mobs, and it is from the looks of it. Congratulations-”

“Wh-you bitch!” Tommy sputtered as he raged and pointed aggressively at the amused hybrid. “I have the voice of an angel! It’s not annoying!”

As if trying to prove Techno’s point, and in turn prove the borrower wrong, another arrow was launched at the duo. Techno easily dodged it, hardly sparing a glance at the new skeleton as he returned fire and took it down, while Tommy was jostled about thanks to the sudden movement. He just barely managed to stop himself from smacking his head against the wooden bars, and that scowl on his face grew deeper.

For some reason, Techno possessed the uncanny ability to infuriate Tommy no matter what he did. Whether it was his occasionally smug, know-it-all attitude or how obtuse he could be at times, there was just something about him that never failed to upset the borrower.

… Not that he would ever tell him, of course.

Of course, his general unease and anxiety towards this new situation did not help in the slightest, leaving him on edge and ready to snap when something potentially bad happened. It was a miracle he had not been killed yet, and he quietly wondered how much longer his luck would last.

Not that such a thought would stop him from acting like how he typically did.

So, as was in his nature, Tommy immediately started shouting and cursing once more. “And why the fuck did you stick me up there for so long, anyways?! It was freezing up there-”

“You wanna go for round two?” Techno interrupted, lifting the cage up so Tommy could easily see the wooden post he had been hanging from. Immediately, the borrower backed up and started shaking his head.

“No! No, c’mon man! I was just teasing you!” He backpedaled. “Just a little joke, I swear!”

“The only joke here is your accidental pun.” Techno quipped, his smile growing as he watched realization, and then horror, cross Tommy’s face.

“Listen! It’s-it’s a crime to make jokes about me being small, because I’m not! Absolutely criminal!”

Techno let out another chuckle as he shut the door behind him and made his way towards the table. “It’s a good thing I don’t follow laws, then.”

Tommy didn’t dare ask what that meant.

Fortunately, a distraction soon appeared in the form of the cage being set down on the table, followed by one of the sides being removed. He quickly jumped out once there was enough room for him to move, stumbling a bit over the lip of the cage before he straightened himself out.

He ignored the amused snort he heard from beside him, not at all looking at Techno, and instead chose to bask in the sensation of finally being indoors, even if he was still freezing. Tommy shuddered as he wrapped his arms around himself, doing his best to heat up after being exposed to the cold for however long he had been stuck outside. The roaring fireplace definitely helped to chase away some of the chill, and he found his eyes lingering on the large pot that had been added to the fireplace. The air smelled… nice, and it looked like Techno had decided to make soup for himself.

Strange, since he swore the hybrid’s diet consisted of nothing but steak and the occasional, weird sparkly apple.

God, he’d been dying to bite into one of those and see what they tasted like…

He jumped in surprise as Techno placed a small, obviously handmade, wooden bowl filled with soup on the table. Curious, he slowly walked over and checked it out. It was still a bit too large for him to use, he’d probably drown himself if he tried to drink straight from it, but it was definitely much more manageable for him to use.

“Is… is that for me?”

The hybrid just nodded as he got himself his own bowl of soup. As such, he was unaware of how Tommy’s jaw dropped in pure shock, as he carefully traced the side of the bowl. The guy who’d spent the last twenty four hours tormenting him had made something for him, made something that would make his life easier!

He hadn’t been given any cutlery when he’d been kicked out of Borrowton, all he had were some basic tools and rations of food. The absolute bare necessities. And, instead of letting him suffer and search for something he could use, Techno had made it using his own two hands.

It dawned on him, in some strange, iconic twist of fate that he had unintentionally helped Tommy out more than his own people had. Invested more care into making sure he didn’t just survive, but was also comfortable.

… And not spilling soup all over the place-

Regardless, it was one of the last things he would have ever expected from Techno, and he quietly wondered if the hybrid had been working on the bowl while he had been stuck outside. Was this…

A reward?

Tommy’s breathing hitched and he quickly wiped his eyes before any of the budding tears could fall, idiot, crying over something as stupid as a bowl. By the time he had gotten his emotions under control, Techno had looked over to find him just staring at the bowl, appearing to be doing nothing.

“Did you expect me to spoon feed you or something?” He chuckled, waiting for Tommy to respond. When the borrower said nothing, his smile faded. “Bruh-”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Tommy objected, nearly knocking the bowl over as he turned his attention to Techno. “I’m just surprised! Big, bad, Blade making a bowl, never thought I’d see the day. Guess you’ve got little dainty girl hands for that!”

Techno rolled his eyes as the borrower continued rambling, tuning him out as he went about his supposedly dainty hands, and questions about if he made bird houses in his spare time. Eventually, Tommy got that he was done interacting, and the duo focused on their respective meals, with the borrower burning his tongue in his haste to try the soup.

“Fuck.” He hissed, waving a hand over the bowl to help it cool down as he cringed in pain. After waiting for the burning sensation to fade, as well as checking to see whether the soup had cooled down enough, he carefully tried again.

As he slowly sipped away at his soup, he watched as Techno made his way over to a chair, picking up the book that had been placed on it, as well as putting on his reading glasses. They were surprisingly worn, primarily held together by tape, and just barely managed to stay on the hybrid’s face as he sat down and cracked open the book. He then quickly realized that the book was the one he had gotten from the librarian.

The one about borrowers.

He felt… weird knowing someone was basically researching him, studying up on the supposed myths about his kind, and wondered to himself when he would get interrogated. Would Borrowton be mentioned in that book, or one of the other settlements? Tommy had never visited them, but he knew they were out there.

Knew about the rumours of the secret tracks that had supposedly connected each settlement to one another and was used to ship goods back and forth. He and Tubbo had tried searching for them one day and had only wound up with bruises and a stern scolding from the adult borrowers, telling them it was foolish to believe in made up stories.

But he never listened. Those tracks were there, had to be there. He and Tubbo had spent so many nights dreaming of how they’d get away, racing down the rails in a minecart. The angry yells and shouts fading as they raced off into their newest adventure.

They had planned to find a home using those rails.

And they would, Tommy promised himself as he grit his teeth. They would go on that adventure, they would find a home. He would get back to Tubbo, no matter what. All he needed was to figure out how to get back to Borrowton, and perhaps snag some supplies from Techno when he wasn’t looking.

… Maybe that book would come in handy after all.

Not that he had any hope in hell of stealing it, or even really reading it since the book was considerably larger than him, but it was the only chance he had at figuring out where Borrowton was and how he might get there.

It was ironic, to think he had spent so long dreaming about getting away from that hellhole and then ending up stuck in a situation where he needed to do everything he could to get back.

All in the name of Tubbo, of course.

He’d rather spend the rest of his life stuck with the annoying prick known as Technoblade instead of going back to Borrowton if it weren’t for Tubbo.

… He did need a proper plan, though. He had to survive, figure out how to escape the hellish tundra he was in, get supplies for his journey which would probably last several days, and figure out what path he needed to take to reach Borrowton. Plus he’d need to figure out how to sneak in and find Tubbo, too.

So many things… did he even have a chance at completing them all? He could easily freeze to death in the snow, get mauled by some monster, starve, get lost and never reach his destination-

Don’t think about it.

He let out a sigh and placed the bowl down, distantly noticing he had finished his soup. It was nice, tasted like potatoes and something else. Unconsciously, he started rubbing his thumb against the smooth rim of the wooden bowl. All in all, being exiled wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be, aside from him missing Tubbo of course. Techno was a bastard, a prick through and through, but he was surprisingly…

Nice wasn’t the word. Less cruel than he thought he would be? He thought back to the discussion with that nerdy librarian and let out a snort. Borrowers and hybrids working together, living together, sounded like a load of crap.

… Even if he was technically doing that just now.

But it wasn’t like there was some mystical force making them act all soft! Like… like they were best friends or something! He and Techno weren’t buddies or allies, they were just stuck together until either Techno got tired of him and kicked him out, or he left.

Nothing more, nothing less.

With both his meal and mental contemplation finished, he stood up and made his way over to the edge of the table, attaching his grappling hook to the end and throwing the rope over the side. He didn’t bother to check on what Techno was doing as he slid down, bowl carefully pinned between his arm and his body, and felt no need to tell the hybrid he was leaving. The last thing he wanted was to piss him off or something.

As he made his way over to the hole in the floor that would lead to his home, he was unaware of the contemplative, glowing red eyes that followed him. Nor did he see how those eyes narrowed as they landed on the bowl he was still carrying.

The next day, Tommy jolted awake as the sound of knocking reverberated through the hollow he lived in. He yelped in surprise and promptly tumbled out of his makeshift bed, a pile of wool and other fabric he had managed to steal from Techno. For a moment he stayed on the floor, looking up at the carved ceiling as he contemplated whether it was worth it to get up or not.

The more trust you gain, the more you can get away with. Work. Take what you can. Find a way back to Tubbo-

Yup, that was enough motivation to get him moving.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and got ready for whatever Techno had planned for the day. Since it was morning he doubted he’d be acting as bait again, nor did he think he would have to deal with any mobs. Perhaps he would get a chance to relax?

Maybe he might be able to scope out some of the more valuable items Techno had that could help him since he didn’t have to worry about sneaking around as much. Or he could always try and check that book out and see if he could actually move the pages enough to read it.

But before he could even consider doing that, he had to figure out what Techno wanted from him.

It didn’t take long for him to finish freshening up, and soon enough he was quickly making his way back through the tunnels towards one of the few exits he had made. Fortunately, the section of the tunnel that Techno had damaged had been replaced.

Of course, the hybrid had left it up to Tommy to actually carve out the replacement tunnel, which left the whole system feeling pretty disconnected since the walls no longer lined up.

The prick.

Eventually he made his way out of the tunnel, climbed out of the hole in the floor, and walked out into the open. Instinctively he shuddered, hating how exposed he felt. This feeling only increased as he felt the ground shake with each of Techno’s steps. In no time at all, he found himself in the hybrid’s shadow once more, reminded of just how vulnerable he was.

He hated it, hated it so damn much, but he did his best to swallow his fears and not retreat back into the comforting shadows of the shelf.

“So, what’s the plan for today, big man?” Tommy asked, rocking back and forth in place as he stared up, and up, and up, at the hybrid. Damn Techno and his stupid tallness, making his neck hurt with how far up he had to look.

He let out a startled yelp when he was picked up, the back of his shirt pinched yet again as he was moved from the ground and carried over to the crafting table. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from struggling, lest he was dropped, and he felt no small amount of relief when he was put down.

“The fuck was that for?!”

“I didn’t feel like watching you fumble with a rope.”

“Fumble?” Tommy scoffed and flexed his arms. “There ain’t no fumblin’ with manly muscles like these-”

“Are they just for show or do you actually know how to use them, then?”

Well that question definitely caught him off guard. The borrower paused, momentarily uncertain as to how to respond, before he that cocky smile appeared on his face once again. “I’ve won plenty of fights with these bad boys-”

“Great.” He didn’t miss the way Techno rolled his eyes, nor did he miss the heavy sarcasm that laced his voice. “Try this out.”

The item that the hybrid nudged over was… surprising to say the least.

“It’s… a stick.” Tommy blinked as he picked the stick up and looked it over. It was a bit longer than the length of his forearm, and if it weren’t for the lack of a sharpened end he would have assumed it was just a toothpick. “You gave me a stick.”

“It’s for practice, I’m not gonna give you a sharpened one and watch you trip and stab yourself with it.”

“I wouldn’t-practice?” All the anger Tommy felt at the implication of being a clutz, which he absolutely was not, evaporated as what Techno was saying registered. “For what?!”

“Self defense.” Techno shrugged. Upon taking note of the aghast expression on Tommy’s face, he elaborated further. “Not everyone you meet is gonna be as nice as me.”

Especially if I need you to spy on L’Manberg.

“Yeah, like you’re just the shining beacon of goodness.” Tommy scoffed while rolling his eyes.

“Beacon? Paragon has more impact to it. You really need to work on that lexicon of yours, kid-”

“And there you go makin’ up words again! Paragon! Lexicon! What’s the next word you’re gonna make up? Ontological?”

“... Tommy, that is a word.”

“Your mum’s a word, and that word is bitch!”

“Are you going to keep throwing a tantrum over the tiny dictionary you call a brain, or are you actually going to listen to me?”

Tommy grumbled and kicked at the ground before sighing and looking up at the hybrid. It was time for him to pay attention, no matter how reluctant he was about this whole practicing thing. “Yeah, so what should I practice, huh?”

“Stabbing me.”

A burst of high pitched, somewhat hysterical laughter escaped the borrower upon hearing Techno’s deadpan response. He slapped a hand over his mouth as he struggled to control his response, not wanting to piss him off further.

What a weird day this was turning out to be.

“You want me… to poke your hand? What the fuck, man.”

“Are you planning on just asking questions or are you going to use those manly muscles of yours?” The narrowing of Techno’s eyes combined with the immense amount of sass in that question told Tommy that his patience was running thin. The borrower quickly nodded and took a step forward.

As the hybrid’s hand stretched out in front of him, fingers uncurling and palm facing upwards, Tommy quietly realized this was the best look at Techno he had ever gotten. Previously, he had only ever really processed snapshots of the hybrid. The long braid, the glowing eyes, the sharp tusks that seemed to shine in the light, everything had only ever been pieces and not the whole.

But now here he was, and his situation felt far more real than it had before.

He could feel the heat radiating off Techno, the natural warmth his body produced reminding Tommy of the furnace he would huddle next to with Tubbo when the weather grew too cold. He could see the scars that littered the hand in front of him, and the callouses that covered the palm and fingers. He could also see the nails, dark in colouration and dangerously sharp, that tipped each digit.

He had been wrong about Techno having dainty hands, and for some reason this realization only made his appreciation for the gift he had been given grow stronger. It was so easy to imagine the hybrid hunched over with a tiny block of wood held in his hands, struggling to carve it and muttering curses when it accidentally broke. How long had he spent working on it-

“Tommy.”

Shit, he’d zoned out.

He could practically feel Techno’s eyes narrowing in disgruntlement, and he immediately looked up and threw his hands into the air in exasperation, nearly conking himself on the head with the stick in the process. “Don’t give me that look! It’s all so… so weird!”

Weird to be doing this! To be so close to someone who could kill me! It’s all wrong!

And yet, it felt right in its own way. The weight of the makeshift weapon in his hands, and the part of him that longed for some shield to hold up. Tommy had always been a fighter, using dirty tricks to get out of dangerous situations while quite literally throwing hands with anyone who threatened him or Tubbo, but this was another kind of fighting entirely.

A style that felt both familiar and alien at the same time.

The hybrid, choosing to not engage with the turmoil visible on the borrower’s face, decided switch tactics. Demonstrations would happen later when he was more settled and less likely to break down in borderline hysterical laughter, the time for basics was now.

For the next several minutes, Techno explained where it was best to attack in order to do the most damage and even disable his opponent for a short period of time. He was… strangely calm, and knowledgeable as he pointed out which parts of his hand were softer than the rest, more vulnerable.

It was unexpected, and Tommy could only ask himself one question.

Why?

Of course, he got no answer, not that he had ever asked the question to begin with. Rather, he just threw himself into practicing the maneuvers he had been shown over and over again, quietly thinking about how helpful they might be.

Tubbo, he might have to fight to get to Tubbo, and if practicing whatever Technoblade taught him would help, he’d do it.

Meanwhile, the hybrid silently studied the borrower as he thought about all that he had learned so far, from the book to his general observations of the kid. There was obviously something else going on with him, from the way he randomly spaced out at times, to that determined look that would sometimes appear on his face. Anger would occasionally appear, too. A kind of anger that Techno was intimately familiar with.

Tommy was expressive, too expressive.

At least that made things easier for him, but it also left him with far more questions than answers. Questions he didn’t really want to ask, but was still curious about.

It was obvious that the borrower had lived somewhere else before he had decided to invade his cabin. According to the book, most borrowers either stuck to a house they stayed in for their entire lives unless they were forced to move, or lived in community settlements. There were also the “wild” ones, but Tommy’s clear lack of any self-preservation instincts made it clear he did not fit in that category, and yet both of the remaining options made little sense as well.

There were no nearby houses nearby that he could have previously lived in, he doubted the kid would have been living in the village without the librarian’s knowledge, and a tundra biome was one of the last places he would expect to encounter a settle of tiny people. So, what had happened that wound up with him being out here in the first place? And why did he care so much?

Ah, the greatest question of all.

Why?

Why was he putting so much effort into this obnoxious kid? Sure he had his reasons, but were those reasons enough to justify the work he was going to have to do. Why had he let Tommy stay instead of throwing him out like he would have done to anyone else, aside from Phil.

Why had he gotten so protective of the kid at the library? It didn’t make sense-

“Look Techno!”

Tommy’s shout snapped Techno out of his thoughts, and the hybrid looked over to see that he was now holding one of the other practice sticks. He grinned and enthusiastically waved them.

“I’ve got two sticks!”

He raised a brow as the borrower started hitting some made up enemy, swinging the sticks through the air and letting out noises that he probably thought were intimidating, but only made Techno quietly laugh to himself. His laughter grew louder when, during one of his more enthusiastic swings, Tommy ended up smacking himself in the face.

“You’re supposed to hit other people with those.”

“Oh fuck off!”

Hours later, Tommy let out a groan as he flopped into his makeshift bed, burying his face into one of the pieces of fabric. The cloth was cool and soft, and he let out a happy little sigh as it helped him cool down. His muscles ached, and he wanted nothing more than to pass out for the next couple days, but his mind was abuzz with thoughts.

Techno was teaching him how to fight and was apparently making him armor. It sounded like such a horrible idea, teaching the person who was practically a pest in your house how to fight back, and it made Tommy wonder why.

Why was he being taught how to fight? Why was he being given weapons and armor? Was there something he needed to keep himself safe from? Someone?

“It’s a good thing I don’t follow laws, then.”

The hybrid’s “retirement”. The amount of weapons and armor Tommy had seen. The potions.

Was… was Techno a criminal? Had he unintentionally put himself in more danger by choosing to stay here? He knew nothing about him other than his dry sense of humour, his aloof personality, and how intimidating he was.

Dammit, this is why he needed Tubbo. Tubbo would have warned him about the possible dangers, discouraged his ideas, and brought reason to his chaotic thoughts.

It was at this moment that Tommy also realized that among the training and sparse breaks, he hadn’t been able to check out the book either.

Fuck.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ah yes, the slow development from “you’re a pain in my ass and I’m only putting up with you for personal gain” to “okay, you might be decent”.

Also, there are many things I'm gonna make Tommy kind of cry over. A bowl of soup is just one of the more out there instances XD

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #borrower!tommy

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border-spam · 5 years ago

Text

Troy Calypso’s very nice good time

Accidentally wrote a 6.5k comfort fic with actual nice sibling moment mentions because that’s what they deserved.

( Thank you so much @lazulizard and @artisthicc-nikyri for the feedback and motivation on the initial draft that was 2k that pushed it into this nonsense )

The pile of furs and blankets on the huge bed shifted slowly, messy black hair beginning to peak out from underneath, complete silence of the inky Pandoran night broken by a stuttering yawn as the God King shifted his head out from under the covers enough to nuzzle his face into a pillow.

“Mmmm… You’re a damn genius Troy-boy..”, he muffled sleepily as he breathed into it. The heavy fur blankets were still pulled mostly over his head, and the plush down cushions he usually slept with were comfortably pressed along his bare body under the warm weight. Bliss.

Spending the bit of extra time before going to sleep to fully remove his bracer?

Worth every second of effort.

It was still pitch black out and the middle of the night, but that was fine. He loved the deep night on Pandora, and that was the best few hours sleep he’d had in months. Tyreen should go off world without him more often… He made a mental note to off handedly congratulate her on a job well done when she got back from this merger trip, maybe he could have few more of these in the future.

Reaching up to gently scratch at the uncovered neuro-port at the base of his skull, he inhaled deeply into the cushy warmth of the pillow, enjoying how loose his normally stiff joints felt, feeling a grin creep across his face.

Fresh laundered sheets. He loved that smell, and it was alllll his tonight, unlike the times there would be that nasty lingering odor of whatever faceless COV fanatic he’d slaked his baser urges with beforehand, all sour and grimy.

His ship, Sanctum, was fully tailored to his tastes and needs, and the custom made bed had been a galaxy-brain move he congratulated himself on. Big enough that he could sleep comfortably without having to curl up to fit his massive 6"7 height onto the mattress like he had always had to do with regular beds, and being able to stretch out lengthwise like this? That was the kind of luxurious shit a God deserved, even if the God in question currently had an atrocious case of bed hair and yesterday’s eyeliner smudged down his cheeks.

No Ty meant no live appearances today. No live appearances meant being able to queue today’s Let’s Flays and Sermon uploads last night, automate his outgoing reports and mark himself on “Holy Respite” on the clergy’s internal echo network.

There would be no high priests organising meetings with him, no sacrifices or tithes to attend, no data to compile or reports to work on, it was all taken care of already. The only light in the room was the slow red pulse his arm’s custom built charging dock integrated in the wall opposite the bed gave off, and he let his eyes adjust to it, enjoying the complete quiet of the Pandoran night bar the gentle whirs and thunks of his homemade fleet of service junkbots running their chores outside his bedroom door.

Just him, his pajamas, gross food, and whatever the hell he wanted to do today. Or this morning. Or.. night? Whatever. Didn’t matter.

He turned onto his back and stretched languidly, pushing the furs down his torso and savoring how free his bare right side felt without the grounding weight of the bracer. A pleasant shiver crept up his spine as he ran his palm down the goosebumped skin of his lower ribs and stomach before letting it rest on the jut of his left hip, smiling to himself as he puffed a breath into the thick black hair that had fallen over his eyes.

It was gonna be awesome.

Shimmying his legs to the side of the bed, he swung them over the edge, then slowly sat up, yawning so wide he felt both cheek clips click as the face mods they held together strained to split open, letting his eyes adjust to the additional slight glow of light the red markings running down his left thigh and calf added. The ship’s auto temperature system kept the dark comfort of his bedroom cool during the night the way he liked, but you got cold quick in it. Judging the distance between where he sat and the doorway in the opposite corner of the quarters that led into the washroom, he rubbed at his eyes and lifted the top fur covering of the bed over his back and head like a shroud, wrapping it around his naked body as he stood up out of the warm blankets.

As soon as he rose, the room sensors automatically lit the paper lantern lights that crisscrossed the low ceiling on long trailing ropes, keeping them dimmed to fill the shadowy darkness of the room with pools of cosy multicoloured light.

He was gross right now. No wash before bed last night, no -time- for one considering all the work he’d stayed up doing to make sure today would be prepared for, and his hair was a state. Still full of styling products and pointing haphazardly in every direction, he tried to run a hand through it and felt his fingers catch in the waxy mess.

“..Bleh…” he groaned, rolling his tongue out to emphasise how nasty this was. “OK.. seriously, fucking shower time you nasty little shit, heh.”

Stumbling over to the black felted wall facing the bed, he tapped a hand to the panel that extended his inbuilt dresser from the recess it was hidden within, rooting inside it for some chillout clothes as one of his personal playlists began to play over the ship’s audio system.

How long had he had these things now he wondered, picking up a long dark pair of sweats and matching tank, poking a finger through a hole near one of the ankles as he slowly waddled towards the washroom. Years probably. One of the first things they had done once they had started making donation income on Pandora was buy clothing and get out of their ancient patched up hand-me-downs, like shedding the skin of your former self and emerging a new being… and he tended to hang on to stuff he found comfortable. Not a crime, right? I mean sure he could replace them, he could afford to replace anything, but you couldn’t buy that feeling of well worn, broken in comfort clothing. You had to earn that.

The whole “Trash-punk Deity” aesthetic he’d designed for himself and Tyreen was based around looking effortlessly sexy in its thrown together accidental style, but it was fucking hard work in reality. That shit was uncomfortable most of the time, so wiggling out of 20 belts and piles of chains and into the comfort of indoor clothes like these had almost become a cathartic ritual once he closed the door to the rest of the world behind him and entered his ship quarters.

He let the fur slip to the ground as he rounded the doorway’s corner and stepped into the washroom, feeling a shiver shoot up his back as his feet touched the cool floor. It was exactly how he had requested when detailing the ship, dark and moodlit like the majority of Sanctum’s décor, tiled from top to bottom in deep grey slate with wall integrated storage and commodities, recessed night lighting set to a gentle soft glow skirting around the inner edges of the ceiling, open shower wall set to match his height, and a floor length mirror surrounded by panels that stored his cosmetics and toiletries.

Dropping the balled up clothing to the floor near the mirror, he leaned forward to reach and switch the wall mounted faucet on, and turned towards the mirror as he waited for the high pressured blast of water that roared forth to begin to heat.

Stepping onto the scale panel on the floor in front of the mirror, he blew a deep breath out and stared at his reflection, looking anywhere but the numbers flickering under his feet, taking in his naked form. All long, lean lines of rich brown skin and dark tattoo work, decorated by the Siren markings that ran like filligree up his left leg and arm, ending where they emerged from the mess of his pitch black hair and curled around his left eye.

He looked ok… didn’t he? His ribs were still clear, shifting under thin skin, but there was some meat on his chest and the faintest hint of defined vascularity across his shoulder and bicep now, and that was a good thing, right?

He didn’t look like he had lost any since last time, he mulled, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he pinched the taut skin of his lower stomach between his thumb and fingers, measuring the thickness. He felt ok, he hadn’t been too tired recently, he hadn’t waited longer than he should have between top ups from Tyreen and made sure to eat on schedule, even if he had lost a little it would be fine anyway, right? He always bounced back even if it took a little while, and he’d been feeling ok recently. He’d been ok..

He closed his eyes and shrugged the tension out of his shoulder, inhaling and exhaling deeply before looking down at the scale readout.

“Oh..”

“No wait, whoah!”

2 pounds up from his last goal point? This was the heaviest he had ever been in his life! He gasped out a shocked laugh, looking back up at his reflection in the mirror and grinning as he failed to swipe his rat-nest of waxed hair back into something remotely respectable, blushing furiously under the streaks of black smeared down his cheeks.

“Holy shit, good job man, look at you! All buff n’ shit.” He boasted, puffing out his narrow chest and aiming a toothy grin at himself through the steam now filling the room.

“You only half look like a teenage girl who got dumped last night, fuckin su-perb.”

Barking out a genuine laugh, he turned and stepped into the blast of piping hot water, squinting his eyes shut as it cascaded down his face and over his torso. He’d have to tell Ty as soon as she got back about the weight gain. She’d totally call him a fatass, she was gonna be so happy too.

Shit like this was exactly what made it all worth it, he thought, watching the water swirl down the drain near his feet with a dreamy smile.

Hot water, any time you wanted, not having to bath in tepid river water because “heating it wastes energy, and ya don’t need it do ya kid, this is fine”. Clothes that weren’t threadbare and sewn from rags that constantly felt grimy because the only soap you had was that awful smelling shit Grouse used to make from animal fat. Food whenever you needed it, never being hungry or too sick and tired to be able to forage. All things you had to have not had once, to fully appreciate having whenever you wanted now. He appreciated everything, he thought. Eyes closed and face directly under the water. He didn’t have anyone to tell, but he appreciated everything.

Opening his mouth and gargling the hot water, he laughed as it spurted out over his chest, then wiped it out of his eyes with his forearm and began to scrub at his scalp with a shampoo bar from the small toiletry storage panel he’d slid open next to the wall mounted faucet. Feeling the caked in styling wax begin to give way felt so good. No need to put more of that shit in today and spend an hour styling his hair, or sit and work on a smokey eye, or make any effort at all with his appearance. He could just be a slob. A clean slob who was gonna go eat his weight in junk food after he finished scrubbing the rest of his body with the soapy suds rolling down his shoulders.

Raising his face into the stream for the last time and letting it finish rinsing him off, he enjoyed one more pleasant shiver under the incredible heat, then turned off the faucet and reached for the body sized towel hanging on a wall hook within arms distance, carefully dabbing it over the sensitive puckered scar and thin skin along his right shoulder and ribs, before vigorously drying his body and hair after.

Tossing the towel into the corner (the bots would sort it out later when they changed his bedding and tidied the room), he hopped one leg at a time onto the soft sweatpants and left them low hung over his jutting hips, pulling the drawstring taut. Walking in bare feet towards the doorway, he tossed the tank over his head and maneuvered his arm in, then flipped his jet black wet hair backwards and over the nape of his neck as he rounded the bathroom entrance and padded across the bedroom’s plush carpeting towards the mag-locked door that led into the ship’s main living chamber.

He could still hear the quiet whirring and beeps of his little “projects” through it even over the ship’s music stream, and felt his eyes crinkle at the edges as he smirked in anticipation, eager to see how they were faring with their custom programed household tasks as he raised his palm to the wall mounted reader and the door began to slide open.

Taking in the organised chaos it revealed, he leaned his lithe frame against the doorway, crossing his legs as he rubbed absentmindedly at his empty shoulder joint, smirk splitting into a wide grin.

“Heyyyy boys, how’s it going this fine night, huh? Miss me?”

A half dozen clunky, pieced together droids of various sizes stopped their assigned tasks and swizzled on junky wheels and mismatched clobbered together legs to beep and screech at him in welcome. Grating chorus quietening down as they returned one by one to their cleaning and maintenance chores, while he walked down the couple of steps that led out of his bed chambers and into the eclectic nonsense that was his home.

Pausing for a moment to let a tiny rat-sized box droid covered in charging ports that wobbled past his feet on rickety wheels, he turned into the small open kitchen on his right. Like the other included luxury ship components, he’d not changed it at all since Sanctum was finished 4 years ago, a fully integrated chrome and glossy black iron kitchenette fitted for his height, underlighting glowing softly around the curved shapes of the wall mounted sleeper cabinets above. All he’d done was… accessorised it a bit with extra features.

The left wall was covered in a grid of hanging potted herbs the droids took care of, having them on hand had proven extremely useful in the last few years. Something you could brew or smoke for joint pain relief was pretty useful for someone in his physical condition, and anything that helped him sleep and wasn’t the cocktail of chemicals he usually had to rely on was welcome. Great shit for seasoning food too, not that he’d brag.

The kitchen itself would be sleek as hell if he hadn’t Troy’d it to shit as Ty would say, but hey, what did she know. The scraps of paper print outs of their first big follower count milestones stuck to the front of the smooth black refrigerator door? That was part of the aesthetic. That homemade automated coffee machine made of of scrap metal and visible wiring? That absolutely fit in with the black glass stovetop it sat next to, she just had no eye for style.

Why would be go buy one anyway, he mused as he poured some of the fresh brew that had been triggered when he got out of bed into the chipped mug printed with a faded “Best Bro” he kept on top of the coffee machine, this one worked fine. The shocks you sometimes got when grabbing the pot? That was a feature!

Ty just didn’t get it, he reasoned to himself, nodding sagely as he sipped the smokey black coffee from the mug, eyes closed, savoring the taste. This worked fine, no reason to junk it just because it wasn’t as she would put it, “classy” or “functional” or “safe to be around without risk of explosion”.

Turning and resting his lower back against the edge of the counter top, he slowly looked around the rest of the living quarters as he continued to sip at the drink.

Sanctum had been fully internally tailored to his tastes and needs straight off the factory conveyors. Twinned to Tyreen’s personal ship and only a digit apart in their serials, it was a luxury cruise vessel with jump capabilities and an array of offensive and defensive addons. Money hadn’t been a factor, even years ago when they had originally commissioned their ships, the twins had infinite funding and nothing had been out of the question. Their personal Sanctums were large enough to give them their own private living spaces, while still small enough to be able to dock together on either side of most of their larger basilica’s cloisters. That configuration allowed them to share the cloister’s internal quarters, while still having the option to return to their ships when needed. Loving his twin didn’t mean he could avoid wanting to wring her bratty little neck 3 times a day, so this arrangement had been a life saver… probably quite literally at this point.

While both ships had the exact same internal layout, the twins had customised their own over time to the point where it would be hard to notice the ships matched perfectly originally.

Troy’s decorative tastes were.. jumbled, he’d guess would be a fair description. Life on Nekro had been relentlessly uncomfortable. Nothing was soft, everything was hard, rough. Sleeping on anything there chafed your skin or bruised delicate ribs. It made sense in a way now that he loved comfort so much. If he spotted a really nice piece of textile in a returning war party’s haul, looted antique wall tapestries or lush woven rugs, they had a habit of vanishing from the offerings and -somehow- ending up on this ship. Almost every inch of floor was covered in overlapping thick rugs, some of which he was pretty sure were probably treasures of some lost civilisation, but hey, they were nice on the feet.

Patterend textiles in various colours hung in sheets across the ceiling, giving the illusion of the ship being some kind of huge tent structure, sometimes with the odd resting bot perched in a hanging loop.

He tended to pick shit up too, much to Tyreen’s constant disgust. Pandora just had some really cool skulls laying around, was it really such a big deal to want to hang them around above doorways? Alpha skag skulls were so his vibe! Why waste ‘em by leaving them out in the desert. Same could be said for all his “project” droids. Tyreen gave him the stink eye every time he found a new busted piece of junk he was sure he could fix up, so he’d been sneaking them home for years now. If they were too far gone, no problem, meant spare parts he could use for the others later.

Most of the wall space that wasn’t hanging textile was covered in shelving he’d tacked up across the ship, and he loved to hoard nostalgia. The wall shelves around the living quarters were covered in things he attributed memories to, like plants from different planets they’d sat through hours of boring merger meetings on with the usual designer suit-clad pissants who looked down their noses at the twins while simultaneously trying to kiss their asses, crystal rocks he’d found on the long cross Pandoran trips required for attending various COV districts and bestowing their holy grace upon the rabid swarms of their followers, photos of him and Ty on their very first visits to different regions, all of which were so old now he noted, shrugging off the quick pang of sadness that shot through his throat. Spaces between the shelves were filled with sketches of things he had no captures of, like landscapes they remembered from Nekrotafeyo, Mom, or Eridian architecture he still glanced at times in dreams of a childhood long gone.

Finishing off the coffee, he took in a deep breath through his nose, pressed the mug against his stomach, and leaned his head back against a wall mounted cabinet behind him, letting his eyes flutter shut. The ship smelled of everything that always relaxed him, fresh oil from the workroom on the other side of the herb wall where he focused on his tech projects like his arm rig, bots, and more stupid shit to put around the ship and annoy Tyreen with. Remnants of spray paint fumes from the art station in the corner across from his kitchen where he worked on propaganda wall art pieces on huge canvases, splashes of colour smeared across the walls and floor surrounding it, and the homemade sheet metal shelving next to it that stored his cans and supplies. The warm spicy scent of the herbs currently being watered awkwardly by a Hyperion vacuum droid teetering on shaking, mismatched legs he’d made it when he couldn’t find the right parts to fix its internal rotor, it all merged together into a scent completely unique to where he lived. His home.

Opening his eyes again, he glanced down at the mug and absently ran his thumb along the slightly raised Best Bro print on the side, Tyreen had got him this as a joke on their birthday at least 6 years ago now, and he’d managed to keep it intact since. Without her knowing of course, that would be embarrassing, she’d never let him live it down.

He wondered how she was faring, and lifted his head to take in the huge curved window facing out the front of the ship, the Pandoran night skyline twinkling through it. The ship’s small cockpit and pilot seat was suspended above the recessed recreation area that faced the glass, railless spiraling steel stairs leading to it from just behind the semi circular couch that curved around the piles of blankets and cushions that covered the rec area’s floor. He should check up on her, just to be sure, just to know she was ok. Had to earn that title of Best Bro afterall.

Carefully returning the mug to the top of the coffee machine, he started to slowly walk towards the window, stopping to curl his toes in a particularly plush rug’s pile and consider his sister. Twins, despite total bullshit others had told him his whole life, were -not- psychic. He had no “magical link” to Tyreen’s mind, no super mystical sense that would kick in if something was very wrong, so when they were apart there was always the slight fear in either’s belly. Was he unwell? Was she in danger? Was he hurt? Was she upset? There wasn’t a secret twin power that allowed them to know, even though everyone else seemed to think there was. So, they had come up with more functional ways to reassure each other, and as he resumed walking towards the rec area, he reminded himself he could use one of those systems right now.

Dropping a hand to the edge of the recessed couch, he vaulted over the edge and onto the seat cushions, immediately jolting up straight backed with a wince as he landed on a sharp crumpled up beer can lodged in the recess of one.

“Oh COME ON guys!” He yelled over his shoulder in the vague direction of where he could hear the bots still working behind him, leaning to the side as he rubbed his ass.

“Hhhhhf.. ow. Mannn.. you have to pay more attention on cleanup duty, fuck, that could have cut.”

Pulling the can out from underneath him, he tossed it backwards over his head and into the waiting little clamp hands of his earlier version of C.H.A.7, janky old H.8.N.K. Watching it sputter away on a shaky thruster and float towards the work room behind him to recyc the can brought a flicker of warmth to his chest.

H.8.N.K was nearly 7 years old now, one of the first bots he’d made himself, and still had its uses, even if a bit slow nowadays. That reminded him actually, he’d need to do a bit of work on the prosthetic tonight.

Turning back to face the window, he lifted his arm and gently pressed fingers into the recess of his missing shoulder, hitching in a quick sharp breath as he brushed across a pain point, eyes unfocused and trained on the floor in front of him.

That piston in the bicep’s inner side had been too tight for a while now and had been causing the weight to sit incorrectly, putting extra strain through his bracer and onto the shoulder edge.

Leaning forward slowly, he continued to press into the pain, now dry hair falling past his shoulders and brushing along the right side of his face. The tightness around his eyes loosened as he breathed out, carefully rubbing across the spot in a circle with his thumb, pain beginning to ebb away. He had all of tonight and today, he could get that fixed up fast, nice bit of tinkering to look forward to later!

Now to check on Tyreen, the window control tablet was right next to him but he heeded his.. where were they?

Leaning back into the plush couch pillow behind him, he rooted his hand around in the recesses of the seat cushions, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he swapped his hand from the recess on the right side to the left.

“Where.. are.. those fuckin.. Ah!”

Pulling out his prize, he flicked his wrist forward to open the square glasses’s arms, then fitted them over his ears carefully, straightening the frames on his nose. Not going to get a headache from looking at the screen without these tonight of all nights, not when he had so much relaxing to look forward to.

Reaching down to the control tablet next to his left thigh, he muttered under his breath while tapping command panels that popped into life on the tablet display.

“Okayyy.. showtime.”

The massive curved window he was facing flicked from the inky black view of the Pandoran night outside, to a solidly opaque monitor view of cascading analytical data. A live feed of current viewer numbers on streams, finance reports organised into a sidebar overlay, and on the bottom right next to rows of app thumbnails, a small portrait icon of Tyreen.

Tapping the tablet rapidly to move the selection across to her icon, he smiled at the picture. No makeup, back when her hair was still deep brown and before she started bleaching it her iconic white on top, tongue out and giving the camera the peace sign. He remembered taking that, it had been her reaction to being called a little bitch after she’d asked him for a hand with setting up their stream gear. That same fucking joke she made at least once a week and that had never at any point been remotely funny.

“Bet you aren’t laughing now Ty-die, stuck in a merger meeting with a a shower of assholes while I enjoy myself, hehhhhh”

His momentary gloat was interrupted by the Hyperion Vacuum droid tapping his left knee with its front panel, drawing his immediate attention to the 6 pack of Bandit Brew balanced on its flat top, spindly little scrap legs shaking under the weight.

“Oh! BRO!” he barked out with a laugh, leaning quickly to scoop the cans against his chest with his arm and relieve it of the weight.

“Awww haha, thanks pal. Great timing!”

It made a distorted chirp in response and turned to waddle away, while he dropped the cans to the couch by his side. Tapping the tablet once more and waiting for the app to open on screen, he placed a can between his knees and then popped the tab with his thumb and forefinger, jumping slightly when it sprayed pressurised foam over his hand and arm.

Bot must have shaken these up a bit while bringing them over, not that he’d berate it he thought, eyes still on the main screen while he licked the foam off his forearm and fingers.

Not its fault he’d only been able to retrofit legs for it instead of a new rotor.

Wrinkling his nose at the awful taste of the beer, he started reading through the display Ty’s app was now showing on screen, lifing the can from between his legs to chug it in the hopes of not having to let his tongue touch it too long.

Heartrate calm, vitals all fine, no chem spikes, safe and sound off at her merger. Not asleep, so his guess was right, probably bored shitless in a meeting right now. Great, can scratch that little itch from his mind now and focus on him, Best Bro responsibilities met.

Reaching down and dropping the empty can near his feet, he grabbed a couple of the blankets strewn across the floor within reach and pulled them up and to his side, then reached for another brew and popped it open between his knees again.

This shit was vile. Awful stuff, like piss and vinegar, but they had an unlimited supply of it and it got you wasted fast. Some licensing deal he’d organised a couple of years ago, and a pretty decent one he figured considering how successful the sales were, raising the can to give a cheers to the massive split-jawed Skag skull that sat above the window monitor before chugging it and dropping the can next to the first by his feet.

Ok, right, so what was he going to watch.

Tapping the tablet again to cancel out of Ty’s app, he selected the the media streaming icon from the app list and started scrolling through what was up.

Man, there were at least 5 series he was behind on right now that had had updates, and the lengths he’d gone to to avoid spoilers were a joke. Know how hard it is to not see any when your entire existence was based around being on the echonet 24/7? There were followers who had been executed over not correctly spoiler warning before posting on public social media.

Clicking through the updates, he started to queue some into today’s playlist. “Ancient secrets of Eridian science” nice. “Murder he yote” real life serial murderer documentary slash comedy? Perfect.

He paused on the icon for that terrible romcom Ty liked, 2 new episodes unwatched. Glancing down, he clicked the option to bookmark it on the tablet for her. He hated romcom’s, found them intensely cringe, but Tyreen.. well. She had her reasons for enjoying them so much, he knew. He never complained if she wanted to watch one with him. He got it. He got why. He was probably the only person she knew who did.

Just two cans into this crap and he was starting to feel it, he puffed a deep breath out as he leaned back and pressed his hand into the solid line of his lower belly. Time to actually eat something, or his stomach was going to start kicking his ass if he kept drinking. Turning his head to the side, he yelled back in the direction of the kitchen while still watching the monitor and the show descriptions he was scrolling through.

“Yo, guys, any of you, can you reheat that pizza in the fridge from the other night?”

Concerned beeping came in response.

“Nah, n-no it’s fiiiiiine, it’s only a couple days old, just reheat it!”

A single long, resigned beep in reply.

Great. Food on the way he thought, smirking and turning to face the screen again. Time to check the Echonet fan uploads while he waited, tabbing out of the stream app and into the Echonet, quickly searching for anything tagged COV. This stuff was always hilarious.

The very first result broke him into a snorting laugh, a vid titled CALYPSO LOVELIFE UPDATE: NOT SINGLE??, the thumbnail a terrible edit of Ty’s face looking shocked, surrounding by crying bandits. He hovered his finger over the bookmark option again, then thought better of it when he felt a slight pang of remorse for laughing. That would actually just upset her, he realised, making a mental note to run a takedown request on it soon as he was finished with the shows.

It didn’t count as work if it was to make sure Ty didn’t see something that would hurt her, even if she would be furious with him for assuming (correctly) it would, so he’d get it done tonight.

The squeaks of nearby wheels broke the negative mood, and he turned so his left with excitement as good old Janky clunked awkwardly into view, pizza box held in front of it haphazardly on its single kitbashed spindly arm.

“I got it, hold on!” He laughed, reaching to take the box from the droid as it angrily grumbled at him in crackling honks, single red lens eye set into it’s sleek black box body flashing in irritation as the mismatched wheels he’d found for it snagged on the rug underneath.

Rustling in the box on his lap, he pulled out a slice of pizza, some kind of spicy sausage thing, covered in mixed herbs and slices of vegetables he didn’t know the name of. Tasted great, but he wasn’t too sure he wanted to find out what that meat actually was, he decided, shoving the whole slice into his mouth and wiping the grease from his fingers onto his pant legs before realising the angry Vladov bot was still stuck on the rug.

“Hold on, heh, c'mon Jank, it’s not that bad!” Troy reassured as he leaned forward to press a palm against the smooth front of its box body and push it past the snag its front wheel was spinning on, irritated beeping and honking growing louder.

“Ah man, look I’m sorry about the wheels, but at least you can move! Not perfect I know but excuuuuuse me for not having replacement leg parts specifically for a.. freaking… junked ”Prototype Vladov steward-bot “ in stock.” he gestured towards the grumbling bot’s welded on chassis and tripod wheels with the second pizza slice he’d just grabbed.

“I know this ain’t like, what you were made for but fuck it dude, you work right?”. The bot let out a conceding soft honk as it pivoted in place, then trundled away awkwardly on the mismatched set of wheels.

Troy twisted to face the screen again, reaching for the 3rd can of piss-ale and slamming it between his knees with more force than was needed, angrily snapping the tab open as he muttered under his breath.

“.. Fucking ungrateful really. Wish someone had cared half as much about trying to fix me.”

He wasn’t enjoying the gut feeling that interaction had left him with, unpleasant memories stirring in the back of his head as he slowly slid down the back of the couch, legs stretching further out across the floor as he finished the third can and dropped it with the others.

Screw it.

More beer, plenty of pizza to shovel into his face, and trash to watch. Speaking of which…

Tapping the control tablet again, the screen flicked into the start of the latest episode of some semi fictional biographical series on Handsome Jack. It could be completely factual honestly, some of the shit Jack supposedly got up to sounded like it had been written by a complete moron, but had actual real life witnesses to attest. What had happened in the last episode, something about killing a guy with a spoon? He should take notes honestly, Troy thought with a smirk, shaking the lingering feelings of self pity out of his head.

He was slouched low enough for his chin to touch his chest now, alternating between pushing whole slices of pizza into his mouth and sipping on the 4th can of swill he’d just opened, hair having fallen mostly over the right side of his face as he slowly sank down, and too comfortable now to bother fixing it.

The ridiculously over the top actor playing Jack was currently loading a group of.. scientists? Into an airlock while monologuing about the dangers of trusting others in a corporate setting. Bit out of Troy’s lane, but the campy energy the actor was throwing into the scene was enough to keep him snorting out laughter between swallows of pizza.

Rummaging his hand around the box far down his lap for the last slice, he absentmindedly clicked apart his face mods, letting the split maw fall open as he lathed the elongated prehensile tongue out across the bare skin of his chest to mop up the crumbs it was covered in, retracting it and resetting his jaw without even moving his eyes from the screen as his fingers hit the last slice and dragged it out of the box and into his mouth. Complete normalcy, well, for Troy.

It was starting to catch up with him now, he realised as each blink felt like it was starting to take longer and longer. He’d only had a few hours of sleep and the comfortable weight of food and beer in his belly was making it hard to keep his focus on the show. He could just shut them for a bit, this scene was fucking boring now anyway, Jack sure did seem to really get off on talking shit about himself for far too long..

He didn’t open them again, breathing evening out as his head tilted to the side and knees leaned together, glasses slipping off his nose as the show continuing to play on the monitor. Jack singlehandedly massacred his way through camps of filthy bandits while Troy dozed.

The tiny squeaks of Jank’s wheels didn’t wake him as it carefully removed the pizza box from his lap and pulled one of the blankets by his side over his lap, then muted the monitor as it trundled away as quietly as possible.

Let him sleep. He can wake up when he’s ready, the whole day is his.

#troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #my hcs #My hcs #My writing

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motleymoose · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming Pt.3: Bits & Pieces Ch. 3

Chapter 3

This Isn't A Peace Talk

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, The Child Words: 2.3k+ Warnings: SO MUCH ANGER AND SQUABBLING

Summary:

I get to use my mech skills, but also I have a fight with the bounty hunter.

Notes:

I don't know why it took so long to get this chapter out, but it's here now!!!

Thanks for reading!

Homecoming Masterlist

***GIF NOT MINE***

The hours bled into one another as we flew ever closer to the Mandalorian’s destination, and I was becoming nightmarishly restless. After checking the patched wiring in the hold’s crawlspace and tinkering with a few spare parts in need of cleaning, I snooped around the hold some more. Most of the hold was empty, except for a couple of crates marked FOOD AND MEDICAL and half-dozen still-frozen bounties in the carbonite lockers. With nothing to do and a whole lotta time to do it in, I prowled about the lower decks in tight figure-eights, much like a wild creature stuck in an observation tank. The boredom was driving me bonkers.

Unable to take the utter lack of stimulation anymore, I grabbed a portable equipment chest in one hand, shouldered the diagnostics kit on the opposite, and made my way precariously up the ladder to the top deck.

It didn’t take long for the bounty hunter to find me, borrowed tools scattered around me and a diagnostics pad in hand, pottering around the engineering room with grease smudged across my forehead.

“I told you to stay put,” the Mandalorian gruffed, nearly tripping over me. I sat cross-legged on the floor, running a simple program to check on the aural sensors. I glanced up at him dubiously. His fingers brushed his blaster in a convulsive if threatening manner.

“You told me to stay out of your way. Engineering isn’t anywhere near in your way, unless you deviate from your way on purpose.” I stopped, trying to sort out what exactly I meant by that. But I batted it away with a hmph. I didn’t have time to figure out my own nonsense. “Besides, can’t a person ogle another person’s band limiter cuffs without the third degree?” Still seated in front of the sensor panel, I craned my neck over my shoulder and up, agitated at the interruption.

The visor tilted upwards, contemplating. Gloved fingertips drummed on the pistol’s grip until he sighed deliberately and relaxed his arm. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Just - don’t break anything important.”

“I’m a blackthumb. If I break it, I’ll fix it better,” I said, forcefully bright and smiling. The little diagnostics computer dinged. I unplugged it and stood up, stretching the kinks from my spine. Sidestepping the Mandalorian, I slapped his pauldron good-naturedly as I slithered past him and into the bay.

“I do want to take a look at your pressors, though. This ol’ girl ‘bout rattled the teeth out of my head when she came out of hyperspace. May also need to tweak the conversion module to keep up with all that new tech you’ve got back there,” I said, easily falling back into Professional Mechanic Mode. Making my way to the cockpit, I crawled underneath the control deck, holding a pen light between my teeth as I lay on my back and surveyed the wiring system.

A tiny, warm body flopped onto my legs, and I was delighted to see that the child had come to join me. He scrambled up my thighs, across my belly and came to rest on my chest. Big ears wiggling happily, the kid propped his chin in his hands and stared at me intently. I removed the flashlight from my mouth and wedged it between my neck and shoulder, making it easier to talk to him.

I happened to be in the middle of explaining the intricacies of navcomp programming to my rapt pupil when the toe of the hunter’s boot nudged my hip.

“What?” I asked curtly as the long mental list of small improvements faded from my mind. By then my hands were caked in carbon dust, and the child made no move to slide off of me. Resigning to my fate, I signaled for the Mandalorian to continue with whatever it was he had to say; I wasn’t going to be moving out from under the control deck any time soon.

A flutter of cloth on steel, and the bounty hunter was in my space, crouching beside the pilot’s chair, his helmet parallel to the lip of the deck.

“What are you doing to my ship.” His tone was smooth yet menacing.

Rolling my eyes, I shooed the child off of me and clambered out from under the panel. The Mandalorian had retreated to the door while I’d wriggled out. Brushing dirty fingers across the chest of my jumpsuit, I sunk heavily into the co-pilot’s seat, scratching my forehead with my opened multitool. The little one trundled to me from out of the console’s shadows and tugged at my pantleg until I was obliged to pick him up. He held a small silver object tightly in his grubby little hands, and he ferreted it away underneath his tunic as soon as he settled onto my lap.

“Just a few minor adjustments and reroutes. Nothing too fancy or critical. Did you know this ship was stripped by Jawas?” I gestured animatedly with my custom multi-purpose tool. “I wouldn’t have noticed with how amazing the rebuild was, but I could tell by the wiring harness modifications. Distinctly Jawa scavenged mods.” Grinning stupidly, I shook my head in amazement. “Whoever rebuilt the Crest sure knew what they were doing!”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter replied, a little more brusquely than I thought the conversation warranted. He leaned against the cockpit’s door frame, arms crossed and exuding false indifference. He was strangely emotive for how much beskar covered his body.

“No doshing way?” I exclaimed. The prospect of Jawas intrigued me to no end; they were a scavenging people, mainly dealing in mech and droids. Their methods of acquiring said mech and droids could be considered loosely in the vicinity of ethical, if you squinted really hard, but they always did have the best stuff.

The Mandalorian stared out into the inky dark of space, starlight blurring over the silvery dome of his helmet. He cleared his throat, started to say something and then stopped. I waited patiently, the prickly curiosity holding my jittery nerves in place. The kid whined and made grabby hands at my multitool, so I folded it back into itself and gave it to him. It looked absurdly gigantic in his tiny fingers, but he gnawed on it with gusto.

A sigh crackled over the bounty hunter’s vocoder. “An Ugna- my friend. His name was Kuiil. He negotiated to get all the parts back from the Jawas, and then he-he helped me repair the Razor Crest.” The tension he had been holding suddenly dissipated, and his shoulders sagged in something akin to relief. His breastplate rose and fell in a juttering, painful beat, and the strangled sigh of modulated air buzzing from his helmet told me everything I needed to know. Whoever Kuiil had happened to be, I knew that he must have been a very good friend to the Mandalorian, and his loss was still felt across hyperspace.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The bounty hunter huffed. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.”

“Not gone, merely marching far away,” I murmured in turn.

The Mandalorian stilled. For a beat, neither of us moved. The silence widened the already substantial gap between us, sweeping away what little bit of common ground we had found purchase on. Having that tiny foothold crumble beneath me in a matter of seconds set me on edge. I didn’t like him any more than he liked me; our mutual dislike for one another had turned into something more, something almost companion-like. But since I had to go and open my big dumb mouth, we were back to Square One.

The kid let out a loud, wet snerkt!, pulling us both out of our respective thoughts.

Arms uncrossing and leather gloves tightening into fists at his sides, the bounty hunter took the two steps from the doorway to the co-pilot’s chair. Without a sound, he took the slumbering child from my arms and stomped off to his quarters.

“I -” A tiny kernel of guilt blared in warning. “Wait, I didn’t mean to- ah, blast it,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. I hadn’t meant any disrespect to his friend, or his Creed. I only knew enough Mando’a to get me into trouble, and I hoped I hadn’t overstepped any boundaries by saying the tribute in Basic. Fiddling with my multitool for a long moment, I tried to come up with some sort of apology that would convey my cultural misstep.

Wracking my brain for Mando’a phrases to express my regrets at my choice of words, I didn’t hear him return to the cockpit.

Huffing once more, the bounty hunter startled me from my guilt trip. I averted my eyes, swallowed my pride and braced myself to deliver an apology. “Look, bud. I’m not good with-”

“Where did you get this?” he asked, cutting me off from my apology.

“What are you -”

“Where did you get this necklace??” he repeated, hissing through his teeth.

Silver flashed into my field of vision. I blinked a few times, my eyes refusing to believe what the bounty hunter dangled in front of my face. “Wha-” My voice cracked dangerously. I couldn’t believe it. It was my pendant. My eyes followed the Mythosaur skull as it swung back and forth, mouth gaping in astonishment. A small spark of Hope rekindled somewhere deep down inside my chest, clearing a slim but bright path through the anger and the guilt that had been dogging me for the past several days.

“My - my..” I said weakly, tears pricking at my eyes. “Where did -”

The hunter lunged suddenly, slamming both fists down on the armrests on either side of me. I yelped in surprise, shrinking back in the co-pilot’s chair. Pinned in, I could do nothing more than stare at him, confused.

“This shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t be yours.”

The small, flickering flame of Hope guttered out, and once more I was cold and empty and full of rage.

“What gives you the right?” I spat. I leaned as far forward as the hunter’s presence would allow, my nose almost pressed against the beskar helmet. “You don’t know me. You don’t know where I came from, or what I’ve done to get here. All I am to you is a bounty that went wrong. It’s not up to you to decide what I can or can’t have.” Chest heaving and fists clenched together in my lap, I stared down the Mandalorian. I was too confused to be scared of what he could do to me, too pissed off to care about his reasons.

That pendant was mine. And I wanted it back.

The Mandalorian’s blank, glassy facade didn’t move. No words, no sounds escaped his modulator. Hot waves of anger rolled off of him, anger that I didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. The co-pilot’s seat trembled underneath me, but I wasn’t sure if the movement was his or my own.

“Give it back,” I growled, finally breaking the silence. “It’s mine.”

“No.” The rumbling baritone was tense, straining against his control. His whole body held unspeakable amounts of emotion, and he was unwilling, or unable, to let it go.

“Bastard.” I swung up from my hips, clipping the lip of his helmet smartly with my clasped fists.

He stumbled back, dropping the necklace as both hands came up to straighten his helmet. Seeing an opening, I rushed the bounty hunter, driving my left shoulder into his side and pushing him into the opposite wall. With a roar, he ducked out of my grasp, using his momentum to kick out at my knees. I dodged sideways, his boot only grazing my shins. Now off-balanced, I staggered back and tripped over my own feet. I took a nosedive, landing heavily on the pilot’s seat. The air was knocked from my lungs, and for a moment too long I was dazed. At that opportunity, the Mandalorian grabbed the back of my collar and hauled me out of the chair.

“Hrrkt!” I choked, scrabbling to loosen the stranglehold my jumpsuit currently had on my neck.

“Last time. Where. Did. You. Get. This.” With each word, the hunter shook me like a ragdoll. The calm he exuded was frightening in comparison to the violence he was promising.

“Uunrkt,” I replied.

The Mandalorian released the back of my jumpsuit, and I crumpled, catching myself on the pilot’s seat. Pressing my forehead into the roughly-woven seat cushion, I panted laboriously. Tears were streaming down my face. I sniffled loudly and wiped my nose on my sleeve before I spoke.

“That is mine. It was given to me by my caretaker.” The anger I had been feeling melted into sadness. I was tired of fighting the emotion, so I embraced it, allowing myself to finally feel. “It’s the only thing I have left.” I broke off with a sob, burying my face in my hands.

“What was his name.”

I went rigid. Names held power, even I knew that growing up where I did. But he was dead, so surely the issue was moot? At least, I hoped he was dead. The alternatives to why he never returned hurt my heart too much to bear.

“You wouldn’t’ve known him,” I said thickly.

“Try me,” the hunter said gruffly.

I couldn’t get around it now. Even if he wasn’t dead, sharing his name with one of his brethren probably wasn’t the worst thing I could do.

But, then again, if he wasn’t dead, that meant I didn’t owe him anything for leaving me behind.

“Reyn. His name was Drys Reyn.”

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detroitbecomeyandere · 5 years ago

Text

Oh Brother (Connor x Reader x Nines)

if y’all wanna read more about this scenario, let me know or send suggestions. i’d be more than happy to write some rk sandwich action

Your head felt as if it was splitting in two. A resounding pain shot through your skull as you pitifully struggled to move. It proved to be more difficult than expected once you discovered you wrists and ankle to be bound with zip-ties.

A dangerous cocktail of adrenaline and fear coursed through you as you thrashed wildly against your confines. The hard plastic cut into your flesh, but with some effort (albeit it tumultuous) you managed to sit up against a nearby wall. It felt cool against your back - metal maybe? You could only rely on touch - the room was pitch black save for a slither of light coming from the bottom of the door.

Before you could attempt to crawl over and further investigate, it slid open. You winced, momentarily blinded. A familiar voice cut through the darkness - relief flooded you.

“Detective?” Connor called out tentatively; you couldn’t hold back a sob.

“Connor! Holy shit, thank god,” you cried, desperately trying to move towards him so you could be freed. Whatever brought you here, you could figure it out later. From the safety of the station. Right now you just wanted the use of your limbs again.

He rushed to your side, helping you back into a sitting position. “Easy detective, I haven’t had a chance to scan you for possible injuries yet,” he instructed softly. You shook your head.

“I’m fine, my head just hurts. I think I was knocked out.” Connor nods, but analyzes you regardless.

“Can you remember what happened,” he asks nonchalantly. His hands are on your shoulders, a firm but gentle grip.

“I-I don’t...it’s fuzzy. But I was on a stakeout with-“ you hesitate to say his name. “With N-Nines,” you manage to sputter.

Nines.

Connor’s self-proclaimed brother. You’ve always felt apprehensive about him in contrast to his predecessor. Connor was gentle, from the way he looked to how he spoke. He was comfort in human form - he exuded a sense of safety.

But Nines...whenever you were around him you would always feel that piercing, cold stare on you.

Always watching.

Shortly after his arrival, you had quickly been assigned to him and Fowler would hear none of your complaints. The android seemed to enjoy micromanaging you - controlling you. If you put yourself in any capacity of danger, he would remove you from the situation immediately.

He claimed your “percentages of survival” were astronomically low. You started to think that his behavior was outside the realms of his programming

It left a bad taste in your mouth.

Connor waited for you to continue, but all you wanted to do was leave. “I thought I heard our target, in an alley. Nines told me to investigate,” which you found odd, considering past experience. But eager to finally get some action, you happily disregarded it.

“Then everything went black. The guy probably got the jump on me. Took me here, wherever here is, before Nines had the chance to follow. Has to be another android to outrun Nines,” you explain. Connor nods, possibly humoring the idea.

“We can figure it out later Connor, I want to get out of here, please,” you pleaded, wriggling your wrists to try and loosen them.

Why hasn’t he cut me loose yet?

Blood trickles down your hands, digging the plastic deeper into your skin. Connor holds your arms to prevent you from harming yourself. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Brother was right about you. I tried to warn him, advise him that he wasn’t thinking clearly. But it turns out it was an error in my systems, not his,” he muses.

You feel as if you’d been shot in the chest.

“Connor, w-what are you talking about?” Your heart is thrumming loudly in your ears. Connor had never been one for jokes, but you prayed today was when he started.

He regards you sadly. “He told me you were a danger to yourself, and right now I can see why,” he swipes at the blood cooling against your palms. Bringing his fingers up to his lips, pressing them to the tip of his tongue. “So sweet, but it still pains me to see.”

Nausea hits you, and at this point you’re too scared to move. You have absolutely no idea what’s going on. This is the most undiluted, raw moment of fear you’ve ever felt in your life.

An icy breeze comes in the form of Nines, statuesque and fierce as he stands in the doorframe. “I told you, little brother, I was right all along,” he says smugly, earning a scowl from his “little brother.”

“I just wanted to be sure your anxieties weren’t misplaced,” Connor bites back. Both their LEDs are glowing a stark red. “Did you have to be so rough with her?” Nines scoffs, fed up with Connor’s petulance, and shrugs an apology. They then both turn to you, silent tears trailing down your cheeks.

Connor wipes some away with the pad of his thumb. “I know this is all a tad overwhelming darling,” he begins.

“We just want to keep you safe.” Nines interjects, stepping closer to you despite your flinching. “We agreed that we could both have you,” he purrs lasciviously.

“Nothing will ever harm you ever again,” they both whispered, a hand on each of your shivering thighs as you feel the walls closing in.

-Mod Vic

#writing #mod vic #detroit become yandere #dby #yandere!dbh #yandere connor #yandere nines #yandere!dbh x reader

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ddaddsprompts · 7 years ago

Note

The dads' reactions to a taxidermist dadsona (but he taxidermises roadkill and deceased pets- not animals hunted for taxidermisation)?

FYI: Given the topic, there will be talk of death, dead animals and the work a taxidermist does! I hope you’ll enjoy! - Mod Mare

🥃 “What the fuck.” You whiparound so fast, it nearly gives you whiplash. “Jesus, Robert, you shouldn’tscare a guy holding a knife!” He raises an unimpressed eyebrow and kicks thedoor closed, then walks over to where you are working on your latest find, asmall hare. Robert’s never been in your basement before, which pretty muchturned into a running joke between you two after he found out about your work.It’s not the torture chamber he jokingly accused you of, nor are there athousand corpses lying around… well, no human corpses, at least. He pokes thehare, as if to make sure it’s really dead, and then picks up one of your tools.“What’s that for?”“Skinning knife.” You gesture towards the pelt. “You use it to remove the fur.”“I always thought you just… stuff the original body with newspaper orsomething.” That startles a laugh out of you. “No, I don’t think that would holdup very well. You make a sculpture of sorts. Some freeze-dry the animal afterremoving the squishy bits that might rot, but I prefer making woodensculptures.” Robert nods, watching in interest as you continue your work. “Whatkinds of animals have you worked on so far?”“Roadkill, strays or pets. I’ve never killed nor do I accept animals that werekilled.”“Would you make an exception?” You look up and frown. “For?” He looks like he’strying to keep a straight face, but there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “IfI ever have to kill a cryptid in self-defence, I want a mounted piece.” Yougive him a thumbs up. “Though it might be hard to preserve it, depending on thesize.” Robert gets a thoughtful look on his face and tilts his head. “I’ll getback to you on that.”

🍸 “It’s… it’s dead, right? It won’t bite me?” You slipyour hand into Joseph’s and give it a squeeze. Then you carefully guide it torest on the dog’s head. He flinches, as if he expects the piece to leap at him,but slowly relaxes once he realises it is, truly, dead. He politely asked you afew questions when you told him your profession, but you were able to tell hedidn’t know what to think of it. So you invited him to your workshop to seehimself and he agreed, after you promised he wouldn’t see any blood or intestines.“Is that the skull underneath?” You shake your head and gently knock againstthe head, a wooden tone emitting from it. Joseph furrows his brows in confusion,but understanding quickly dawns on his face. “Oh, so you make a sculpture outof wood and… pull the skin over?”“That’s my way of doing it, at least. Others will do it differently, but thenagain, that’s true for every job.” Joseph chuckles at that and carefully moveshis hand down to the dog’s open muzzle. You formed the mount so that it lookslike the dog, a beloved pet gone too soon, is catching a Frisbee, its tail waggingexcitedly. Joseph pokes one of the teeth. “It looks so real. It’s trulyimpressive work.” You blush at the compliment and shuffle on your feet. “Thanks,Joe. Want to watch me make one?” Joseph pales a little, which is an amazing feat,considering his normal complexion. “Ah, no, thank you. I would rather not…” Hehems and haws. With a pat on the shoulder you release him from his misery. “I’mnot upset. It’s not for everyone.” Joseph visibly deflates in relief. “I’mhappy to hear that. Now, as fascinating as all of this is, I would prefer ifyou didn’t let the twins in this room until they’re at least fifteen…”

☕ Mornings like this are rare: With Mat,Carmensita and you all sitting at the breakfast table, enjoying a lazy morningwhere neither you nor Mat have to work and where Carmensita doesn’t have to goto school. “Y/N?” You crack open an eye and look over at Carmensita. “Hm?” Shefiddles with the bottom of her dress. “We’re doing a present your parents thingat school and I’m including you and I wondered… what do you do for a living?”“I’m a taxidermist.” Mat starts coughing. You pat his back, but he insists he’sfine. “What does that mean?” Carmensita asks. You take a second to think of achild friendly way of explaining your job. “You know how there are sculpturesof animals in the museum? With fur and all?” She nods. “I do stuff like that.”Carmensita gapes. “That’s cool! Can I watch you?”“Carmen, baby, I just remembered that Y/N got an important letter that I meantto show him. Could you go fetch it real quick?” Although Carmensita looksconfused, she nods and runs off to the front door. Mat turns to you. “I don’thave anything against your line of work,” he says. “I think it’s cool, really. Ialways admire the stuffed animals in the museum… but, um… could you not… showher anything involving death and related things? I don’t want her to…” He fidgetsin his seat. “She’s not good with blood and the topic of death is still a soreone and I really don’t want her to freak out or anything like that when shesees the tools and what you do and-“ You put a hand on his mouth to stop hisrambling. “I totally understand, Mat. I didn’t let Amanda in my workshop untilshe was old enough, I’ll try not to traumatise Carmensita.” Mat releases a sighof relief and removes your hand, taking it in his. “Thank you. She’s not assqueamish as me, but that kind of thing...” Before he can finish, Carmensita returns,empty-handed. “There was no letter, Dad.” Mat feigns surprise. “I must havebrought it into Y/N’s office already. Thank you anyway, baby girl.” Carmensitadoesn’t look convinced at all, but drops the topic.

🌹 Damien had put he was most likely to ‘listen to true crime podcasts whileI taxidermy my newest specimens’ on his DadBook profile, but you’re stillnervous as you wrap your latestspecimen in gift wrap. It’s not even a special occasion, no anniversary orbirthday, but you just finished preparing a bat that you found in the forest,and part of you had wanted to give it to him. There was no backing out of iteither, you’d told him you have a present, but gods, you’re nervous. You finishtying a bow on top the bat’s head and put it into a plastic bag to carry it toDamien’s house. He’s already waiting by the time you arrive and his eyesimmediately zero in on it. “The bag does little to quench my curiosity,” heannounces after greeting you with a chaste kiss. “Please do not keep me waitingfor too long, Y/N. I might not be able to take it.” You decide to take pity inyour boyfriend and fish out the gift. It might be wrapped, but the paper mostlyfollows the shape of the bat. Damien cocks his head to the side and examines thegift curiously, before reaching out and placing it on the table to unwrap it. Atthe first sight of black, sleek fur, his eyes go wide. He practically rips awaythe remaining paper. “Oh, what craftsmanship,” Damien breathes out in awe. “Youmust tell me who made this. They’re experts at their job.” Blushing, you motionfor him to turn the bat over. He does and reads the text at the bottom of thewooden platform. His eyes widen at the sight of your signature. “You… you madethis for me?” You nod shyly. Damien covers his mouth with his hand. “What did Ido to deserve such a perfect partner like you?” He crosses the distance betweenyou and pulls you into his arms. “Thank you so much, Y/N. I love it. Pleasetell me how you managed to get the leather of the wings so translucent. It’sincredible.”

🎣 Ever since you started your apprenticeship, you hatedworking with fish. You’re sure that nine out of ten taxidermists would agree:Fish are the toughest animals to work with. That, in your opinion, makes yourgift for Brian all the more special. You put hours upon hours of work into it;hunting down the perfect specimen in particular took you weeks, because of yourphilosophy of not using any animals that were killed by human hand. But now you’reholding the rainbow trout in your hands and you’re proud of what you’veachieved. Hopefully, Brian would like it too. The front door opening andMaxwell barking excitedly signals your partner’s arrival – now is the moment oftruth. You hide the trout behind your back and turn around, just in time forBrian to enter the living room. He walks up, arms spread to pull you into ahug, but he stops and points behind you. “Are you hiding something?” You staysilent, but nod. Looking like a kid in front of the Christmas tree, Brian asks,“Is it for me?” Again, you nod. “Don’t leave me hanging like that, Y/N! What isit?”“Have you noticed you don’t know what I do for a living?” It seems like nowthat you mentioned it, he does; Brian scratches his beard and hums. “I won’tforce you to play the guessing game.” You produce the trout from behind yourback and present it to him. “I’m a taxidermist. And I made this for you.” Anyworries you had are wiped away in a matter of seconds when Brian lifts youright off your feet with a hug around your middle. “Wow! It looks like it’sstill alive, that’s crazy-good!” He grins. “I’m going to hang it up at work soeveryone will see!” Of course he would.

👟 “You know, next time River manages to destroy Arnold,I might just make her a mounted capybara piece. Even if it costs a thousanddollars to track one down and have it shipped here.” Craig lifts his head offyour chest and blinks at you a few times to banish the last remnants ofsleepiness. “How do you mean?” Unsure of how to make yourself any clearer, you justraise your eyebrow. You can literally see the wheels turn in Craig’s head.Then, in a movement that nearly sends you both flying off the couch, he sitsup. “Dude! That’s right! You studied taxidermy!” He’s still so sleepy, with hishair tousled, it’s adorable. You try not to laugh, but can’t help but snicker. “Yes?”“I totally forgot about that. You really went through with it? I remember yourparents trying to get you to choose a different career.” You shrug. “I did,yeah. Got my own business now, some of the animals in the museum are actuallymy work.” Craig clasps your shoulder in appreciation. “That’s really cool. I’mglad you followed your dream.” There’s a pause. Then, “Wouldn’t a… stuffedanimal be too hard for a toy?”“I mean, they’re made from wood, so yes, they wouldn’t be soft and fluffy likea stuffed toy, but… you know I wasn’t serious, right?” Craig blushes and rubsthe back of his head. “I know, bro. You just got me thinking about it and now Ican’t stop imagining giving her one for her birthday. Just imagine of howexcited she’d be!” You tilt your head to the side and picture it. The cutenessof the mental scene makes you break out into a grin. “Bro. Now I want to makeher one.” Craig drops his head on your chest again, laughing. “I’m sorry?”“Don’t be.” You tap his nose. “You’ll be the one paying for it.”

📖 “—and now thatwe’ve finished skinning it, we’ll need to lay the skin out and sprinkle ourborax-corn starch mixture on it. We do that to disinfect the skin, but also toensure absorbency.” Neither you nor Ernest notice Hugo enter the garage, you’retoo focused on the bird corpse lying on the table in front of you. Gettingclose to Ernest had been the hardest part of your relationship with Hugo; ittook him a very long time to warm up to you. So when he brought you a dead birdhe found on the street and asked to stuff it, you eagerly agreed. Maybe youshould have asked Hugo first. How his son found out about your job before himstill confuses you. “Now what are you doing here?” Ernest curses and drops thebottle with the mixture, but thankfully doesn’t spill much. You don’t fare anybetter and press a hand on your chest to calm your heart down. “Don’t sneak upon people like that,” you scoff. Hugo holds his hands up in a silent apology. “Whyis there a… gutted bird on the table?” Ernest kicks a stone with his foot andlooks away. You nudge him encouragingly. He grumbles. “Y/N shows me how tostuff animals.” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How do you know how to do that?” Youshrug. “It’s kind of my job? I’m a taxidermist.”“I didn’t know that.” Hugo looks from the bird, to you and then to Ernest. “CanI join?” You nudge Ernest again and give him a look that says it’s hisdecision. The teenager scowls, but then nods. “Sure.” Him turning his back toHugo again means he doesn’t see the huge smile on his father’s face. Whichfades the moment you hand him a cotton ball. “Stick it into its neck.” Hugogoes a bit green, but his expression tells you he’s more fascinated thangrossed out.

#dream daddy #dream daddy: a dad dating simulator #dream daddy a dad dating simulator #ddadds #ddadds imagine #Anonymous

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