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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

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♡ måneskin scenario: getting to know ethan

↳ NOTE. by popular demand and because i’m entirely enthralled by the phenomenon that is ethan torchio myself, here we go givin’ the gorgeous drummer some love.

word count. 5.5k

TAGS. no warnings all fluff, fem!oc, slice of life, photographer!reader, first date-ish, shy flirting, ot4 is part of the plot, ethan being sexy in heels

Jacob had enough of that twilight bullshit and joined a glam rock band. At least that’s what you thought seeing Ethan around for the first time. Setting up the kit, carrying his whiny band members around, fixing his ruffle shirt, chugging some water: Big gig tonight, extra long setlist. Five minutes later, complaining about his brocade shoes being hard to kick the bass drum with. Even later, silently nodding along to an impassioned Damiano speech crafted to boost the morale, and posing for your camera in his silver jumpsuit. Friendly to approach all the way, but without initiating stable eye contact even once.

One thing’s for sure. As your favorite professor said back at university: Someone may be photogenic and unearthly as hell in terms of looks, and even be intimidating — but also so damn shy, you won’t see their eyes a single time. „Gotta work with it and not against. Then it gets interesting“. In essence, the takeaway from that course. Which does come in handy now. Ethan seems like the kind of guy you really have to get into for a more intimate-feeling picture.

Sure, many people in front of your camera have all kinds of introverted personalities anyway, wearing sunglasses in particular. So much about eye contact in the first place. And the aesthetic is priority, not studying character. Although you really are a fan of that, it’s a huge part of photography if anything. Alas, you’re here to „capture nothing more but the spirit of italo-rock, the attitude, the hedonism!“ (the exact words of your boss) for a music magazine after all. Really, nothing more? You paid attention to how he worded it. Fair enough. Rock spirit, that’s all, the exciting parts.

Ethan surely has it. Drumming on everything he can find during rehearsal breaks („music is everywhere“) with his sticks, even Thomas’ amplifier. He’s actually dorkier than you thought, less composed when he’s in his element. First impressions do deceive. The hair’s hard to miss, too. It’s the central motif that attracts you. You may or may not have taken over 50 shots of it just because. Ethan is a bad bitch and he better know. You climb around the venue to get any salient angle of Måneskin you can think of. Even from all the way back, last row. You don’t want to annoy them being all up in their face constantly. You’re hired to get all the good shots, they’ve been a band for seven years already, professionals in the making. Doesn’t mean you have to stand below the edge of the stage and never change position.

Even from back there, the silver reflects beautifully at the back of the stage. The fashion’s all designer and it shows, but Ethan couldn’t look bad in any of the shots even if he tried or wore the plainest black suit (hell, that would be just as beautiful in fact). Just how long is that hair anyway. All the way down to the solar plexus, must be 24 inches or more. 25, even. Many rockers would wear it that way, but Ethan seems particularly interesting with how he touches it, how he behaves with it. There we go again with the character study, you can’t help wondering.

But really. It’s any photographer’s dream when someone moves their hair around so damn naturally. Gives a great variety to how it frames and shades the face. You like to play with light all the time. And hey, why ask for eye contact when he does even better posing in other ways. The body, too, Ethan’s posture is great. Victoria and Thomas often bend to really get into their power chords, Damiano frequently hunches forward for a belt. But Ethan’s throned at his kit like some royals taught him to be a good boy. Back straighter than a pole, how the hell.

No glance in your direction still, even if you return from your last row spot to move around on stage with the camera. Which gives the band a motivation boost and chances to try out gestures up close, too, so even better. Hey, maybe it doesn’t annoy them. You can actually get used to it, this way of photographing them is all dynamic. Nearing the end of the first rehearsal, you’re all busy maneuvering between Thomas and Damiano to get a nice semi-profile from Ethan’s left side. Gotta work with it not against, you chant to yourself as a mantra, and it seems easier to stick to than you thought.

How glossy all that hair is commands all the attention of your shutter release in and of itself. That he takes good care of it and has been growing it since forever shows a dedicated guy. It’s actually quite wavy. The band arrived in the pouring rain and Ethan’s curly strands at the crown and nape of the head were definitely showing — super cute. An army of stylists took on the resulting humidity frizz. They whipped out the straightening iron and protective spray, and even now before the big performance, Ethan brushes his hair out in front of you, and sweeps it around with his fingers anyway. You take pictures of the bits you find most candid, and decide to rather perfect single shots instead of making several in a row. The more you photograph him, the more you want to discover his essence in one picture. His sheer presence almost begs for it, it’s ridiculous.

Victoria on the other hand has no problems with rapid-fire releases and comes close to your lens to pull funny faces. She’s got some of the coolest poses you’ve ever seen with her bass, and hops around the stage like a bunny to the beat. Thomas is a virtuoso and pro who keeps on doing what he does when you make him pose, and Damiano can flirt with any camera ever. He even lowers his red leather jacket off his collar bones for you to have a great shot. He’s promising and most definitely a born divo, your boss will be happy with those pictures most definitely.

Then again. Behind that supposed hedonism is so much hard work and thought. Damiano even gives you ideas for angles during the second rehearsal. „Hm, maybe stand on the amplifier?“ Eagle perspective, not a bad idea at all. After trying out said suggestions with the help of triggered stage security making sure you don’t fall off the construction („eh, Damiano always suggests the most reckless things to staff, don’t mind him“), you find yourself concentrating on what goes on at the back of the stage all over again.

Ethan is busy practicing a new solo which has you curious about whether it’s for an upcoming album. Though again — the shoes cause trouble. Ethan complains again, the music stops. That could very well be the reason why he seems so preoccupied today, or is it? The manager tells the stylist, and the stylist hurries, voilà, Ethan has a new pair of shoes brought in. Ones with a thicker sole, bit of a chunky heel, and laced up rather than being slippers, a drummer’s worst nightmare as you have learned today.

You wait until he changed. Then snap some more pictures how he continues practicing calmly, and the sound did improve since he can kick the bass drum better now. Now you position yourself across the stage all over, in the empty audience ranks. Ethan is the most radiant and confident when you just take a step back. But well, he still sweeps his hair around a whole lot and looks even more tense-looking than Damiano who’s doing vocal warmups and jumping jacks, „Come on guys, come on, we’re starting in 30 minutes!“.

You can tell he does it more often when he’s nervous. And that means he does it very often. People would probably assume it’s vanity, or the fact that the hair gets in the way. You can see that for him it’s a place of distraction, maybe safety. A gesture like an anchor. He’s used to it being long just like his eye shadow being dark and smoky all day. He knows the drums by heart, if it falls in his face no need to shake it away. And besides. The strands reach below his shoulder blades, it stays down his back if he doesn’t move around too much. He could easily tie it up as well. All those things go through your mind without you even knowing why.

To switch things up a little, you photograph Thomas fooling around with Victoria at the snack bar, stuffing fries up their noses, and already see the lighting technicians do their final check. Some of them you know briefly, you made shots at this venue before, last year for a Shakespeare theatre play. You did some freelance work in the scene, but now you’re put to the test for more involved jobs. Hard to complain though, Måneskin are amazing in front of the camera. If Damiano is not the ideal Hamlet, you don’t know anymore.

Something new happens all the time, the expressions are priceless. Ethan’s in particular, when he does his wide-eyed surprise faces learning that there’s actually healthy food at the snack bar. „Vitamins, how nice.“ — Thomas, pokerfaced, reacts with eating a mayonnaise-dripping sandwich. Ethan, unfazed. Headed straight to the fruits. You’ve never seen a tall silver glitter tower like him walking around biting a bright red apple. Well, you can take Jacob out of twilight, but not the twilight out of Jacob. Snap, another picture. Clash of words, that’s a nice theme.

The concert of this evening seems particularly energetic and leaves your camera roll with some brilliant, tweet-worthy material. Damiano covered in confetti, eyeliner running. Victoria on the shoulders of Ethan while he’s playing her bass. Thomas, stagediving. Fans waving banners and chanting along to Seven Nation Army. Your ears are ringing when the light technicians close down the stage two hours later. Thomas really played his soul out with the solos, and your feet seem to vibrate. That’s your body thinking Victoria’s bass is still playing, but the magazine is very happy with how the pictures turned out after you send the whole batch to them as soon as you can.

Little to no retouching, zooming, or cropping necessary. Ethan is just perfect as he is, you feel like you captured him well. After swiping through the gallery on your tablet, you think Victoria has some great ant’s eye perspective shots as well. Those go right on your own blog, she’s just amazing. The magazine has an enthusiastic article typed out already. Damiano’s mid-air split on beat for the final song makes the cover story on Monday, and Måneskin’s manager comes back to you a week later. „What would you think about doing some behind the scenes stuff for us? We’re planning a music video!“

And that’s how you end up in a Sicilian restaurant with Måneskin and crew a week later, stuffed with Calzone and mind filled with Damiano’s inspiring words (and the occasional catchy freestyle rap). The MV is as good as finished. Thomas had shown you around the mansion they were shooting at, and you could convince a taciturn Ethan to walk between the marble statues and boxwood trees in the garden. With his black cape on, a rhinestone choker, and the low-cut lacey blouse that the MV director was obsessed with as well, asking you to focus on it. Your best shot even ends up in the thumbnail of the Youtube video without you even expecting it would.

All the garden pictures turned out mindblowing. If not iconic, the best project you had so far. Gets to show you the best things are often improvised. Ethan, stoic as always, sat at the base of armor-clad Emperor Augustus twisting into the blue sky in a large gesture. The marble was a perfect contrast. Ethan ate a ripe pear from a tree, even that was aesthetically pleasing, then leaned against a hunting Apollo, and you also framed him from the back next to Aphrodite and Cesar. He put on his sunglasses underneath Achilles, and knelt at the feet of a Pietà replica. Marvelous panorama shots, with him the shining center. Well, we know since Queen that the drummer is the unrealistically pretty one.

The whole picture series is blowing up on your blog for the whole afternoon. „Count Dracula on a stroll in Versailles — eugh, begone sunlight!“ is what a comment neatly sums it up as. People seem to especially like the shot where Ethan playfully put his cape over Pallas Athena’s spear with a blurry Thomas having a laughing fit in the background. Well, even Count Drac gets photobombed sometimes. Your phone buzzes with notifications every other minute, you do notice it against your thigh. But the insalata of the restaurant is good and the night is young. Victoria and the manager tell old stories of Thomas snapping a guitar string while he was trying to serenade a highschool crush. Ethan scolds them for making fun of it.

Damiano gets drunk and dances on the table, the MV director discusses new ideas, some walk-in fans take pictures. The temperature is still unbearable. You order a dessert to share with Victoria and Ethan. A large tiramisu that the waiter cuts in three pieces, and it’s truly delectable. The chocolate, so crunchy, melty. The cream, fluffy and cool, making for a funny white beard that makes Ethan look like an arctic scientist returning from an expedition.

Of course, you take pictures, all the food is documented. As are late night restaurant shots with Damiano’s heels peaking into the frame when you photograph the band’s friendship bracelets, hand-made by Victoria on a tour bus last year. Damiano’s back down on the table soon, singing, while Ethan creates a beat with two forks. Thomas also agrees to take your camera for a while so you’d be in the frame for a change, too.

You pose for a group picture, or rather a group hug, and being in the middle …Ethan’s arm wraps around your shoulder loosely, hair dangling into his face, but also brushing yours. He focuses on the camera, facing away from you. The schooled eye could catch you breaking a sweat in the resulting photo. Ironically, the tiramisu doesn’t cool you down the way you thought. Thomas is too busy trying to figure out your camera dials and yelling „hey eyebrow king, smile!“ at Ethan.

A round of even more gelato goes down in spoons and spoons. The band members eat like they ran a marathon. Ethan clinches a third round because he can, unhealthy be damned, he needs some sugar and refreshment. And it’s true the MV shooting was strenuous in the heat, and had lots of intense performing parts. Even an invisible rope suspension were Thomas would descend from a ceiling during the chorus with little cherub wings attached to his back because why not. If the manager agreed to recreate this on tour some day, the pictures would be amazing.

You can’t help but think what kind of special effect would suit Ethan the most, and you come to the conclusion that a bridge lift would be the coolest thing ever. A rising part of the stage letting him emerge like an elevator from the underground. Maybe using smoke machines, too. The idea twirls around in your mind so intensely, Damiano asks if you’re wasted. You’re always getting carried away with all kinds of fantasies like that for over a week now. A dreamy photographer? Not unusual, but it’s seriously distracting you from the present moment.

The crew slowly heads home, and the band decides (translation: Victoria’s mood is) to head to the movies. Just when the waiter arrives with the bill, Damiano spills panna cotta all over Ethan by accident. So bad he’s all sticky from the shoulders down, making Ethan opt for the hotel instead. Besides, he’s been drumming his soul out, sleep is so needed now. Since the group is already gone and there’s still a forgotten cymbal left to carry back to the equipment bus by the hotel, you help Ethan maneuver it around. The heat is making either of you sweat, even with the full dark of the night coming up.

The gaffer lady you’re sharing a hotel room with is already fast asleep. Damn it. You want to cut a video and make screenshots with the laptop being decently bright. And with some volume if possible, you don’t find headphones in the darkness of the room. Ethan clears the desk in his own room for you after removing his make-up. He looks so young and beautiful and tired.

You type and drag and double click yourself through the video and do some last blog updates to deal with all the notifications. Ethan lends you some headphones, but you only keep them on one ear. The humming is too nice to ignore. Nor do you know what to even expect. The bathroom door is open, Ethan is topless washing the lace blouse by hand. Only wearing bellbottom pants and his lace choker — nothing else. He’s fully immersed in his task. He even adds some other shirts and silk scarves into the soap water along the way while he’s at it.

You’ve never seen someone do their own laundry so systematically. Ethan looks like Prince Caspian at the sink, wielding the almond soap bar like his weapon of choice against the enemies of Narnia (the devious panna cotta that’s still sticking to everything). He might be all mysterious, but he’s well able to curse all kinds of things. You tease Ethan for dropping his gentlemanly behavior for a stain of dessert. Ethan insists you sound like Thomas trying to test him with his slick comebacks, which makes you laugh. The blog has calmed down a little and your eyes hurt from editing, so you call it a day and send one last e-mail.

Ethan is drowning in bubbles at this point. The whole room smells like fabric softener. He thanks you for helping him carry around the equipment earlier. In return, you say grazie for him being your perfect muse in the garden today. Philosopher he is, Ethan remarks how Måneskin is usually the one searching for muses, now he ended up one himself — „Maybe not a bad thing, eh. Become the thing you want or something.“ That’s way too deep for a summer night in Sicily, and both of you need a huge portion of sleep. Tomorrow, lots of schedule. You do find yourself wanting to help lick that dessert off his chest. No way you’d tell him.

Ethan waddles off to shower after a crooked, reserved smile for a good night departure. When you close the door to your room and start brushing your teeth, the other members’ voices emerge in the hotel corridor — they’ve returned from the movies. Damiano is even more wasted than before and audibly sings. „You’ve looked at the photographer lady in a certain way earlier, huh. I saw, I saw!“ Victoria does a loud ‚shh‘ noise, and the stoic reply is a simple „Sleep, Damiano, you’ve had too much.“ Thomas giggles, and four doors click shut. Damiano’s singing is now muffled for two minutes until it’s silent. How the fuck can you even sleep after hearing that.

You assumed that Ethan would treat you differently the next morning, in whatever shape or form. But he doesn’t. The greeting is short as it would always be, and he informs you that he did manage to wash out the sugary clay from his clothes as he puts it. Damiano says nothing, adjusts his rings. Thomas randomly pulls zippers at his packed-up equipment. Victoria headed to the car already. Downtown to a studio it goes. The group gets styled to perfection, twenty minutes later they make a reaction video to the newly released MV teaser. Ethan talks about enjoying the sculptures in the garden.

Three hours down the line, you shoot some promotional pictures of them at a pool. Thomas has the time of his life perfecting his diving board skills, and Damiano creates the musical background, singing and prancing. The aerials would make literal perfect editorial-in-VOGUE material. In the meantime, Victoria dozes in the sun. Ethan dives. Sometimes just sitting at the bottom of the pool, othertimes swimming back and forth. The art director suggests you to go into the water, too. He’s right, the perspective works out well this way.

You’re basically standing in there with your flowy pantalon pants and camisole, using a waterproof camera. Your bikini is back at the hotel. It doesn’t matter, everything will dry quickly, the others went in the pool with clothes as well. And you’re all too wrapped up in your passion in the first place. You marvel at how fun the whole scenery looks through your lens. Their outfits are cropped and luminous, today’s color is bright red. You order the lighting assistant back and forth, get some more great Thomas frames where he tosses around a volleyball that the manager brought along. Less rock than usual, but it works. Måneskin at a pool in Sicily.

Damiano splashes water around like crazy. Victoria joins the fun as well, splashing right back. It’s infernal. Well, those are going to be dynamic pictures, you think, and the cameraman never dies, so. Ethan resurfaces every other minute, wiping the chlorine from his eyes. He slicks his hair back with both hands, looking down his body learning how his shirt has become completely transparent. He covers his chest with his hair, quickly, then submerges again. It’s strange. Being topless is usually no big deal in Måneskin.

Almost 12 o’clock. Thomas and Damiano wander off to work on some lyrics, probably the title that the drum solo is part of. All top secret. Victoria returns to her sun lounger, checking her phone. The crew heads for lunch, but you stay in the water, gladly you put sunscreen on earlier. You ask Ethan to try some seated or floating poses at the bottom of the pool that you saw him practice earlier. „No worries, keep your eyes closed.“

What unfolds before you is the most beautiful thing. Ethan’s shirt fans out like a red jellyfish underwater, playing around his body. His figure is just enviable. He gets the hang of it and knows quite how to move. Or rather, to remain stable when the pose is perfect. Hands above his head, horizontal, or seated, only one foot lightly sweeping over the pool floor, or on one knee, as if he proposed.

Raising his arms helps him sink down and settle, as if he immersed himself in deep meditation. Although the purpose of meditating is to be present, isn’t it. And that’s what he feels like. Ethan would normally switch on autopilot for most of his public interactions, now he’s alive and fully in the concentrated movements of the photoshoot. So much about improvising all over again. The hair creates the most incredible shapes like a black, wide brushstroke, clearly outlined. Thank god you have the waterproof camera. These are moments you’ll never forget.

Your blog notifications keep on bleeping throughout the afternoon. The promotional pictures are a hit. Måneskin’s manager is basically waving five new contracts in front of your face at dinner, but you’re kind of spaced out again. The cozy, rose-ranked atmosphere of the street café you went to is inspiring, and the members dressed up in the most fancy suitwear. Men in Black? Måneskin in Black. It’s almost as if fate read your mind. Ethan is looking at you very intently from across the table when the minestrone is served.

Pasta shells, parsley, vegetables and basil leaves. The scent surrounds the entire table. Damiano, in serious mode tonight, is too busy finding new rhymes and an alternative chorus with Thomas who wildly brainstorms. Victoria drinks, loudly chats with the gaffer lady that you share a room with, and they use a leaf of a palm tree pot plant to tickle Damiano. Thomas plays the acoustic guitar. Ethan and you end up smiling briefly at another. „Bon apetit,“ you say. It’s almost 34° celsius. That’s going to be an entire pile of cheesecake gelato tonight.

Five signed contracts later and halfway through a hefty caprese cake, the title song is finished. An ode to Marlena, fierce like the Mediterranean sea. The piece certainly sounds exactly like this place. Strangers listen to Damiano performing bits and pieces, but you decide to disperse when too many cellphones come out. Damiano wants to go to a bar, Thomas and Victoria carry home their guitars, or to the hotel to be exact, and bags of newly shopped vintage clothes. You ask Ethan if there are any cinemas around the area. „We missed out last time, remember.“

The Palazzo Theater is a small and hidden insider tip far from the main street with its busy beach tourists. Under bulbous metal balconies and peach-colored facades, a small entrance with lanterns on each side guides you inward. Ethan almost hits his head, it’s so low. He’s wearing glossy red bottoms under his suit pants, you’re out and about with a 6’2 giant after all — a statue by himself. A small man with a pipe sells you cheap tickets for a Mads Mikkelsen movie and lemonade, Ethan picks up an XXXL caramel popcorn bucket. You think he’s flexing, but you get a sudden heureka by looking at it twice.

Unlike the S, M, and L bags, it’s thick cardboard and drum-shaped. Oh my god, obviously. Which fine percussionist could ever resist such temptation striped in red and white, the sound deep and dull? It makes you smile how Ethan pursues his instrument even when he seemingly doesn’t, it really has to be a hobby at heart. That’s how a job becomes a profession, and a profession a vocation, your uni professor’s other favorite words all over again. The latter’s words have gotten you far so you again trust the insight that came to you through that quote.

Seeing Ethan standing there, you can almost see the childlike joy at imagining it being empty and ready to get turned around. A tuxedo Italian with Louboutin heels and a ginormous popcorn drum, half past eleven somewhere in Palermo: Ingenious combination, you snap a picture. Ethan makes a cute face, posing like a pinup of the 50s. Who knows how many vintage store posters he’s seen during tours, he must have picked it up there. And— Is he blushing? Must be the dim lights in here.

Off you go to the auditorium. Ethan, who balance the popcorn with all care in the world like it’s his baby, walks the aisle slower than you. The slim steps don’t have any floor lighting. Not very heel-friendly, but since it’s not a huge budget theater and few people dare spike heels on those cobblestones outside anyway, the stairs shall be forgiven. You take out your phone and offer your arm. For every gentleman it takes a gentlewoman, duh. Like rock’n’roll and the camera staff, chivalry (or shevalry as Damiano calls it when Vic holds the door open) never dies. He mumbles a thanks, you climb upward to the fourth-last row, Ethan holds on tight.

No ankles twisted and not one popcorn spilled, you get seated on red velvet. The chairs are dated, but nevertheless ultra comfortable. Nobody else is here. The adverts roll, Ethan cracks open the lemonade bottle caps with his chunky golden lighter because he can. You toast to Mads Mikkelsen’s bone structure and good minestrone, Måneskin’s finished title track, the promo pics, and the discovery of Ethan’s favorite new drum. A whopping five things to toast about? The night’s going to be great.

Damiano catwalking across the screen, wearing a Versace skirt in the middle of otherwise-boring commercials does shake you up. He was picked as a testimonial recently. Though, your pulse is high enough. Ethan’s hair is brushing against your shoulders, not to mention his goddamn massive arms. He can’t get out a single word either for the entirety of the ads, avoiding eye contact all over again. Just how much suspense can starting to eat the first popcorn have. Well, you pick two from the very top and start munching.

Mads does a great job opening the movie as one would expect, but you just can’t concentrate. Instead, you stress-eat popcorn. Which makes Ethan do the same thing, at least he’s somewhat fixated on the screen. After the first ten minutes, he shakes his head. „That makes no sense at all,“ he clears his throat. „Yeah, yeah it clearly doesn’t,“ you agree, basically on Torchio-autopilot yourself for the lack of a better reply. You were too busy figuring out the components of his aftershave rather than the thin plot. Shifting in your seat, chugging lemonade…

The air conditioning is scarce, but at least the screen is quite large and proper. You try to focus on the cinematography and do small talk about it. If there’s something you can comment on without having followed the string of action, it’s at least this. You might be nervous, but you’re still a photographer. „Um, isn’t this chainmail nice in the closeup?“ — „Hm, I guess it works. We should ask Damiano to request something like this from Versace.“ — „Medieval Måneskin Rockers?“ — „Something like that.“ — „Hilarious.“

By the twenty-minute mark, the popcorn drum is almost empty. Gladly, that stuff just shrinks to bits in the stomach. The lemonade just has to galvanize it. You might be able to distract yourself with the camera shots and the last caramel chunks, but that doesn’t change Ethan’s long legs and Acqua di Parma perfume next to you. Yep, you finally figured out what it was, it wasn’t the aftershave. And well. Ethan smells like hotel soap from Milano to Napoli and back.

That scent basically dominates all the others besides a hint of cigar and basil and citrus-y deodorant mixed with runny sweat. God fuck, you can barely stand it. And the almond scent. You take a chance to at least jokingly point it out to him. The random movie flashback sequence is boring — and just as nonsensical as before, no offense to Mads though, he’s just walking around in chain mail — enough to deviate from whatever choppy convo you had going on before.

„I actually washed it twice,“ Ethan pulls off the silky scarf that functions as his current tie, and you recognize it. „The strawberry sauce was hard, but the cranberries… God no, I’ll never go near pana cotta again. Nothing against cream desserts.“ You take the scarf, smell it. Did he literally just hand it to you? Figures, he’s sweating bullets, too. And oh shit, he hasn’t talked that much all evening.

You slowly shift from bodies turned to the screen to facing each other. So up close, so up front, only God can help you know. His eyes are dark and reflective of the film’s flickering lights and changing scenes. You wish you could photograph them on sight. It would be as glimmering as your view from the hotel room, overwatching the unobstructed stars of the Mediterranean bay down the boulevard.

But it’s like you’re stuck in your position this way, feverishly thinking about a reply. What to pick up on, what to pick up on. You think about today, the evening where you edited things in his room. „Uh well, drop your laundry in the pool next time,“ you laugh, more than tentative, with your fingers randomly curling around the scarf. „The chlorine stuff will do the job for you. It’s so aggressive, it bleached by pants one shade lighter.“

Saved. Smooth transaction. Phew. „Oh, the pool was horrible. Not the photos, I mean… I don��t know how you can poison water that way.“ — „I know right? It’s still in my nose. But yeah, was a good idea with the underwater thing. The photos turned out really well.“ — „I really haven’t done something like that before but I guess it turned out hm, nice?“ — „Come on! Nice is understated. Are you fishing for compliments?“ — „No no, by all means!“ — „The one kneeling. It’s my favorite. I don’t even know what to do with all these pictures.“

„I don’t know. Maybe keep them?“ — „Keep… for what?“ — „It’s a separate series, right. The art director didn’t request it. Maybe they can be used for something later on during promotions.“ — „Yeah. We’re always a little extracurricular,“ you laugh again, tense in your voice, and empty your lemonade completely. „This, too,“ Ethan points at the theatre in general. „You’re good to talk to. The better version of alone time.“ — „Thank you. You’re great to go out with. I… really like it.“ Beautiful nature scenes show on screen, but they’re nothing but a blur. You take Ethan’s hands in the dark and smile. „Maybe we should do it more often.“

masterlist | bookmark/read it on ao3

#maneskin #ethan torchio #ethan torchio x reader #maneskin fanfic #maneskin scenario #måneskin #maneskin fluff #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction #ethan x reader #ethan torchio fluff #ethan torchio fanfic

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random-thought-depository · 3 years ago

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Continuing from my last post about science fictional “hyperspaces” (wow, I think that might be the most viral original post I ever wrote; it’s amazing what being reblogged by @argumate can do for a post!):

As a science fiction writer, these are the features I find attractive about “hyperspace” that incline me to favor it over other explanations for “fast” interstellar communication and travel:

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Hyperspace lets space still feel big. Wormholes/portals and instantaneous “jump drives” tend to make space feel small (though wormholes lend themselves nicely to space outside the wormhole network feeling big and to a feeling of sharp discontinuity between “known” or “civilized” space within the network and “unknown” or “wild” space where the network doesn’t reach). Start-anywhere go-anywhere jump drives without serious limitations have the additional issue that they’re more-or-less equivalent to teleporters, so they create the ultimate MAD setting where defending multiple fixed locations from a peer adversary is very difficult, and they minimize the strategic advantages of sustainable stationary banditry over unsustainable hyper-exploitive mobile banditry, and since the likely implications of that are very depressing I prefer to avoid it (except maybe if I was deliberately setting out to write a dystopia or explore the idea).

I want space to feel big in my writing, to give the reader some feeling of the vastness, grandeur, and inhuman scale of the universe. For my main science fiction setting, I think I’ll give hyperspace travel an effective “speed” of something like 5-10 c in Sol’s local neighborhood. That way interstellar journeys are more manageable than they’d be with journeys through our space, but journeys to other inhabited solar systems usually take at least a year or two (Sol to Alpha Centauri may be less than a year in hyperspace, but add in travel time to and from the Sol and Alpha Centauri hyper-limits, which is probably going to be at least a couple of months for each leg, and it’s probably about a year).

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Hyperspace feels more like the sort of thing that might plausibly be useable to almost hairless apes with near-future-ish technology. With warp drives and wormholes and jump drives and so on I get the niggling feeling that’s the sort of thing you should probably have to be on approximately the level of an Orion’s Arm Archialect to do. Real theoretical warp drive and wormhole proposals tend to involve stuff like exotic forms of matter and energy and very large amounts of energy. Hyperspace would be a natural phenomenon, so it’s easier to explain it in terms of people exploiting natural phenomena we just don’t know about now, no weirder than being able to travel faster than rowing would allow by building a sail to catch the wind.

You can say that there are some rare atoms that naturally have a structure that extends into hyperspace. With human senses and 2020s technology they just look like ordinary atoms of silicon, iron, etc., but with the right kind of machinery you can detect them, sift them out of the surrounding 3D atoms, and concentrate them. Once you’ve got enough of them, you can make them the core of a pair of transmitters that you can use to send and receive radio messages through hyperspace. With more energy, you can “push” on these structures and “push” those atoms into hyperspace, and then if those atoms are part of a larger solid object the rest of the object and anything touching it gets dragged along with them (with a certain size limit, perhaps related to mass being “pushed” and energy used, so you don’t have to worry about accidentally sending the whole Earth into hyperspace the first time you try this - that’d be one heck of an oops; maybe a later disproven small theoretical possibility of that happening would go down into the history books along with “before they exploded Trinity they were worried it might ignite the atmosphere”); thus you can send a whole ship into hyperspace instead of just information. When you want to leave hyperspace you can reverse the operation and “push” the ship back into our space.

That gives you a nice highly valuable “handwavium” that can be a hook for various plot and worldbuilding points, e.g. there’s not much obvious economic reason to colonize Mars IRL except maybe tourism (anything you could mine there you get more easily from near-Earth asteroids, and it’s too inhospitable to make much sense as a settler colony), but maybe there’s a huge mother lode of these hyperspace-touching atoms somewhere on Mars. These hyperspace-touching atoms would be especially valuable if the process of using them for communication or in hyperdrives “strained” these structures and at some predictable rate caused some of them to “snap,” causing the atoms to become ordinary 3D atoms of silicon or iron or uranium or whatever. Then there’d be a continuous need for (relatively) large amounts of new ones even in a steady-state economy; you couldn’t just keep recycling them and recycling them and just do a little mining to make up for recycling inefficiencies. This would also be an interesting limit on use of hyperspace; using hyperspace radio or doing a hyperjump involves destroying a small amount of a precious resource, so people wouldn’t want to do it frivolously. This might augment that sphere analogy limitation on hyperspace communication I talked about in my other post; even if a hyperspace radio message from Saturn to Earth got there a little ahead of a radio message through our space, you’d probably send a radio message through our space for anything that isn’t time-critical, because the message arriving ten minutes sooner usually just isn’t worth the predictable cost in “snapped” hyperspace-touching atoms.

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Hyperspace would be an environment, so you can do interesting things with it.

Since hyperspace offers a short-cut because it’s more compact than our space, I like to pull on the idea that it’s like our space but in a more compact state, so it’s similar to what our space looked like when the universe was younger and smaller. Going to hyperspace might be a little like time travelling back to a few tens or hundreds of millions of years after the Big Bang, before the first stars formed. The environment of hyperspace might be a little like the inside of a giant molecular cloud, but “warmer” and extremely impoverished in heavy elements. The gas density might be a few thousand to a few billion atoms per cubic centimeter (by comparison, sea level air is about 10^19 molecules per cubic centimeter while the interstellar medium averages around 1 atom per cubic centimeter). The gasses and plasmas in hyperspace would be almost pure hydrogen and helium. The cosmic microwave background temperature in hyperspace might be around 50 K; that’s warm in comparison to what it is in our space (around 3 K), and warm enough to probably be a big part of the reason hyperspace has no stars (present day star-forming giant molecular cloud regions have gas temperatures around 10-20 K), but by human standards it’s deeply cold; it’s upper atmosphere of Uranus temperature. With no stars, I’d guess hyperspace would be a place of more-or-less total darkness outside the range of any lights humans passing through might bring with them.

Alternately, if I want hyperspace to have a murky and mysterious quality and be a place where visibility isn’t good and sensors don’t work well (so a vibe a bit like B5 hyperspace), I could say the Big Bang nucleosynthesis era lasted longer in hyperspace and there produced a substantial amount of heavy elements, some of which then condensed into dust (probably more like smoke if it’s similar to interstellar dust in our space - nanometer to micrometer particles). This dust would probably be pretty insubstantial on human scale distances (again, if it’s like the interstellar medium matter in hyperspace would be about 99% mostly hydrogen and helium gas and plasma and 1% dust, and even a relatively “dense” hyperspace with billions of atoms per cm^3 would have less than a billionth the gas density of sea level air), but over AUs it would scatter light and that effect might add up. This would make hyperspace similar to a dark nebula.

If I want to take the “hyperspace is a scary place” further, I could add sources of energy that might further confuse sensors and add dangerous radiation and other dangers to the mix. Maybe hyperspace has a few large black holes or something, with energetic accretion disks and polar jets fed by all that relatively dense gas and adding turbulence to it. Or maybe spacetime in hyperspace is “lumpier” than spacetime in our space and hyperspace has weird “rivers” formed by something related to whatever force drives cosmic expansion and some of the gas/plasma gets caught in that and accelerated to large fractions of the speed of light and then slams into the low-velocity material in the “still” parts in places, creating lots of turbulence and various other interesting and scary things (powerful magnetic fields, radiation, locally intense heat, maybe some of these collision zones are even giant naturally occurring inertial confinement fusion reactors; maybe that’s where the heavy elements in the dust come from). Maybe hyperspace has a lot of cosmic strings; it makes a certain intuitive sense that, hyperspace being more compact than our space, its cosmic eggshell might be densely veined with cracks.

This gets into another interesting aspect; hyperspace might have something equivalent to terrain; hyperspace travel may be easier in some directions than others. And there’s lots of worldbuilding and plot hooks you could hang from that idea.

For example, let’s look at that idea of hyperspace having “rivers” formed of exotic spacetime structures and filled with gas/plasma streams moving at high fractions of the speed of light. If the edge of these “rivers” has a gradual enough velocity gradient and the plasma in the “rivers” is ionized, with enough skill a spacecraft pilot might be able to catch that “current” with a magsail and ride it, then when they’d gotten about as far as they needed to go they could leave the “river” and do magsail braking against low-velocity plasma in the “still” areas. Just gotta be careful to stay well away from the dangerous collision zones! This might be a huge part of the short-cut offered by hyperspace travel! It could be that distances across hyperspace are only modestly shorter than distances across our space (say, Alpha Centauri is 1 light year away in hyperspace), but the really big savings is you can catch one of these hyperspace “currents” and use it to get up to large fractions of c without expending any fuel. A set-up like that does raise some awkward questions about conservation of energy, but I could say something like “the hyperspace ‘rivers’ are areas where dark energy is being converted into kinetic energy, slightly slowing down the expansion of the universe in the process.” It’s not like we know much about how dark energy works, or even what it is, so for all we know that’s a thing that might happen under certain conditions.

Those collision zones would generate substantial radiation, including light, so unlike a calm hyperspace a turbulent hyperspace with energetic “currents” would probably have light. Don’t know how bright it would be; all that dust (made of heavy elements built up over the eons by inertial confinement fusion in collision zones, I like that idea!) would absorb a lot of light over cosmic distances, and stars are pretty bright but most of our space is pretty dark.

That set-up would make hyperspace travel kind of like sailing; there would be “currents” or “winds” you want to catch, and travel might be a lot faster along directions where the currents are favorable. Travel times in hyperspace might only loosely correlate with distance; Alpha Centauri might take longer to reach than Zeta Reticuli. There would also be hazards you’d need to avoid, e.g. the collision zones.

Maybe part of the explanation for the Fermi Paradox might be that Earth is in the middle of a big “still” part of hyperspace; few ships went here because we’re in the middle of a cosmic doldrums that takes years to crawl across.

With a set-up like this, hyperspace may have “weather” that influences interstellar commerce, and “climate change” on historical timescales that influences the trajectories of interstellar societies. Ages when hyperspace is particularly turbulent might cause Dark Ages as hyperspace travel becomes very dangerous. Ages when hyperspace becomes unusually calm might also cause Dark Ages as there are no fast hyperspace “currents” to ride and hyperspace travel becomes relatively slow. In one age hyperspace “currents” may be arranged such that a world is isolated; a few thousand years later the hyperspace “currents” might have shifted and that previously isolated world might be much more accessible and back in the mainstream of interstellar civilization.

One wrinkle: a turbulent, energetic, opaque hyperspace such as this probably wouldn’t be good for sending radio signals across. Maybe the universe actually has multiple “basement” levels, hyperspace is just the one that’s “closest” to our “living room” level and the only one that’s “close” enough that ships can travel to and from it, but there’s a clearer layer that’s “farther away” but still “close” enough that you can send radio signals through it, and that “deeper” clear layer is the one used for interstellar communication. Bonus idea I like: the deep clear layer is even more compact than hyperspace (by orders of magnitude) so it’s overall a much better short-cut in every way except being “too far away” to send ships through it, so finding a way to send ships through it is a huge potential breakthrough that tantalizes generations of scientists and engineers who so far have not managed to figure out a way to do it.

Really, on that note, I like the idea that the universe is analogous to an onion with many “layers,” and hyperspace and the deep clear layer are just the layers that are most easily accessible from our space. There are a lot of “basements” below the deep clear layer, and generally as you get farther “down” the “basements” get smaller, denser, and hotter; going “down” is a little like time travelling to eras closer and closer to the Big Bang (though this isn’t a completely reliable rule - the deep clear layer is smaller than hyperspace and perhaps warmer, but seems to be a lot emptier; maybe most of its matter has been sucked into black holes?). Maybe the whole thing is a bit timey wimey wibbly wobbly and if you go “down” far enough you eventually hit what 2020s science knows as the moment of the Big Bang. As well as “basements” there are also “attics,” but they’re less accessible because going “up” is harder than going “down.” If going “down” into the basements is a little like time travelling to the early universe, going “up” into the attics is a little like time travelling to the deep future, to places that look kind of like what our space may look like in the deep future black hole era (assuming the Big Rip doesn’t destroy our universe before that deep future proton decay story has time to play out). The “attics” are vast, empty, and deeply cold; cosmic microwave background temperatures a tiny fraction of a degree above absolute zero and precious little else to generate energy, maybe one atom in every cubic kilometer of space. They probably expanded too quickly for stars to ever form there. The total number of layers might be large; maybe hundreds or thousands, maybe billions, maybe a number so big it would need to be expressed in scientific notation. I like this idea because it makes hyperspace feel less implausibly convenient for humans; we’re just taking advantage of a particularly convenient part of a big macrostructure that’s mostly inaccessible to us.

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Hyperspace is a natural phenomenon, so it probably isn’t going to be neatly quarantined to just being a thing humans can use for communication and travel. Hyperspace-related phenomena are going to show up in nature, and this offers a neat explanation for any exotic soft SF-ish natural phenomena you may be interested in incorporating into your setting.

Hyperspace (and other “basements” of our universe) also gives you a built-in parsimonious explanation for any other bits of soft SF technology your setting might feature. Want your setting to have e.g. Star Trek style forcefields? You can say they work through interaction with one of the “basement” layers of the universe.

On that note, I have an idea for a more hard SF version of the Babylon 5 “going beyond the Rim” thing or Stargate ascension, based on the “onion universe” concept I described above, which might serve as a partial explanation for the Fermi Paradox. Maybe some “layers” of the “onion” are “superhabitable” to advanced machine intelligences (though not to primitive flesh and blood beings like us). You know the aestivation hypothesis? If advanced machine intelligences could move to an “attic” they wouldn’t have to wait billions of years for our space to cool down; the cosmic microwave background temperatures in many of the “attics” would already be some tiny fraction of a degree above absolute zero. Maybe they could move to a nice big cold “attic” and live there and “mine” a nice compact “basement” that is rich in matter and energy, getting the best of both worlds. Most of these “attics” and “basements” would be completely inaccessible to humans, but beings with better technology and more resources might be able to access many more of them (or maybe even get beyond the “onion” and search the entire multiverse for universes with conditions more to their liking). So the universe’s most powerful and most enduring civilizations might usually leave our space and move to another “layer” or universe that has conditions more ideal for them, and thus be mostly undetectable to us.

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See: the concept of hyperspace is loaded with potential plot and worldbuilding hooks if you use a little imagination, and I like that!

#worldbuilding #worldbuilding ideas #my writing

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bellathetitan · 2 years ago

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'What's your name?'

Mercury, 2 years before the Red War: The sun was merciless that day. Not a surprise, after all Mercury was the closest planet to it. And yet the lonely Ghost felt comfort in its unforgiving light. Using the hard shadows of the Vex constructs to hide from the Cabal partolling the barren lands for anything to scavenge. His battered shell mixed in quite nicely with the alien architecture.

It was dirty. Covered in mud, a broken off tip and even some moss grew within it. He had gotten used to the itch. It had been centuries since his birth. Since the birth of all Ghosts. But being one of the few unlucky ones who still hadn't found their Guardian weighed him down. Those that were supposed to be his companions were quite cruel at times. 'You are defective! You can barely talk. Look at your shell. It is just as messed up as your ability to find your Guardian!'

'I-I a-am not de-defective….' he murmured to himself every day. 'J-just because I ha-have a st-stutter….' He was determined to prove it! To the others! To his Guardian! But most of all to himself. He had prepared a speech. A speech he would hold once he found them. The first draft he created was….messy to say the least. And the second was cheesy. The third too short. The fourth too long. 'It's o-okay! I g-got the m-most important things i-in mind! Ma-maybe I w-will just im-impr-improvise!' the look in his bright blue eye went from confident to doubtful as he struggled with just whispering the very last word.

He mimicked taking a deep breath. Sagira told him that this supposedly helps. She might have been sassy and also took jabs at him but on the other hand she was ALWAYS sassy and with her it was clear that she never meant any of it. 'Pray to the Traveler that you don't get a Warlock!' she said one time 'They might use you for expermients.' In a shy tone he replied 'I-I hope I g-get a H-Hunter! That go-goes to explore the So-Solar System with m-me….' 'Just be careful what you wish for.'

And as he got hung up on old memories, he noticed something strange peaking out of an old, makeshift shelter. Made off salvaged jumpship parts. An arm. An Exo's arm. It was painted red with white stars of all shapes and sizes adorning it for the full length. 'A tat-tattooed Exo?' he thought bemused. He approached carefully, flaoting close to the sunburnt ground. It was indeed an Exo.

Her armor mostly lied shattered around her corpse. The paint had lost most color from the years weathering in the shadows and yet he could clearly see her design. Half of her face was white and the other half red with a big white star on her forehead. As he started scanning her, he realised how unusually short she was. 'Y-you are b-barely 160 centimeters tall!' he said to noone. Her imprint stated that she was designated Bella-2. And with that name he started to feel hopeful. Just a warm, comforting feeling radiating from his very core like the sun looming over this Vex infested planet itself. He mimicked another deep breath and unfolded his dirty shell. As he focused all his energy into this very moment he prayed to the Traveler 'Pl-please be a Hu-Hunter!'

Within a flash the Exo jumped up gasping for air, as if she awakened from a terrible nightmare. She started coughing up seemingly never ending amounts of sand that had been blown into her stomach and lungs throughout the years. The Ghost was bewildered that it had actually worked and was now too stunned to really process what was going on. He snapped back into reality and with a shaking voice he said his first words to his new friend 'H-hold still! I-I can f-fix it!' He flinched when she looked up at him with those glowing green eyes but she did as asked. He scanned her carefully and slowly, as if to not scare her of what was going on and once all was cleared out, she sat down, leaned her back on a poorly secured wall of the shelter and stared him down. But her eyes were filled with curiosity rather than fear or confusion.

The Ghost finally mustered up the courage to break the awkward silence. He flew right in the middle of the room as if taking the stage and said 'We-well…you pro-probably h-have a lot of que-questions. BUT! D-do not worry! I-I got you co-covered. Your n-name is Bella-2 and you a-are a Gu-Guardian. A Guardian i-is a p-person with sp-special powers, th-that were gi-given to you by the Tra-Traveler. Yo-you a-are a protector of hu-humanity!' at this point the excitement within him started to win and he got carried away with emotion, his tone changing from calm and collected to energised and chaotic 'Y-you h-have the po-power to do wh-whatever you want! The whole Sy-Sytem is yours to ex-explore. Y-you c-can knock gods of their th-thrones. Th-there a-are great weapons w-waiting for you to wie-wield them! YOU CAN BREAK YOUR OWN FATE!' at that he suddenly stopped. Doubt washed over him. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind. 'That was too much! That was too much all at once!' he scolded himself.

Bella-2 blinked slowly before talking. She wanted to give him a chance to talk more, in case he missed something. But when the silence got awkward again, she asked 'What's your name?' He was taken aback. He prepared so many answers for so many possible questions, but never considered a single question regarding himself. 'I-I am a Gh-Ghost. I w-will b-be your pa-partner from n-now on.' 'But Ghost is not a name!' she declared 'You gotta have a proper name if we are gonna hang out!' 'We-Well, a lot of G-Guardians n-name their Ghosts th-themselves.' 'Wheatley!' she blurted out without skipping a beat 'Your name is Wheatley now.' 'I….I never h-heard that n-name before.' 'Welp, me neither but I feel like it's important to me. So that will be your name now.' her voice was unshakable, stubborn but kind. He appreciated that. It was comforting.

She got up, stretched from top to bottom with a good loud crack in the neck and said 'So where are we going?' 'Wh-wherever you want.' She looked up into the sky, admiring the size of the sun towering over the planet. Before simply saying 'Let's head straight for now.'

And Wheatley followed Bella-2 into the unknown. The first of many adventures they shared in the coming years.

#destiny 2 #short story

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bts-hyperfixation · 4 years ago

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Why Not Then? 18+

Here it is in all it s 4327 words.... This one kind of got away from me.

angst/fluff/smut

I hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex

pic found here

Tonight’s the night. At least that’s what you were telling yourself. Senior prom. It’s now or never. Tonight is the night you are going to tell Jungkook how you really feel about him. He has to feel the same way, you are inseparable. There is no doubt in your mind that the only obstacle in the way is fear, not wanting to ruin the friendship you had worked so hard to build. The doorbell sounds through your house and you take a deep breath. For the hundredth time that day you look in the mirror. Curls frame your face, makeup done to perfection, and the seafoam A-line dress you had chosen made you feel like a queen. Your mother calls you downstairs, you can hear your father making polite conversation with your date as they wait for you. Another reason you are so sure Jungkook feels the same, he is your date. He could’ve had any other girl in school, but he asked you.

The moment you descend from the top of the stairs is like a movie. His goofy little bunny smile lights up his face when he sees you. You try as elegantly as possible to parade down the stairs, using one hand to lift the hemline of your dress, as the other glides along the bannister. You take your time. Eyeing him up as you go, the tuxedo was such a stark difference to his usual gym shorts. He was stunning. His short dark hair quaffed and gelled. Everything was going to go as planned tonight. You could just feel it.

“You look beautiful as ever” he laughs taking your hand and spinning you. You can’t help giggling.

“Not too bad yourself.” You pull on the lapels of his jacket. He bats you away a straightens himself back up just as the flash goes off on your mother’s camera. She arranges the two of you in to ten different poses before letting you leave. Jungkook had driven his beat-up convertible to pick you up. To anyone else that car would be an eyesore, but he loved it, and so did you. So many nights spent just talking and looking up at the stars, cuddled up under an old picnic blanket. To you it was a pumpkin carriage.

He opens your door for you and helps to fold your skirt so it wouldn’t rip in the limited space. He runs to the other side and jumps over the door and into his seat. Your parents wave you off as you pull away. It’s a short drive to the school. 10 minutes at most. He parks like a pro, doing that thing that guys do when they reverse into a space. The twisting just so you can see more of their neck and watch how their arms flex around the back of your headrest. You start to climb out of the seat when suddenly he is in front of you, hand extended to help you. It’s hard not to laugh at how hard he is trying to be a proper gentleman tonight.

“Come on Y/N-ah, the night of our dreams awaits.” He quotes the prom theme. The unbelievably cringy and cliched ‘night of our dreams’. Walking through the doors, it was still blatantly obvious you were in the school gym, but the prom committee at least tried their best. Tacky streamers in blues and silvers, star themed props, a solar system themed photo booth. Its clear they had to use some of the previous year’s decorations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The butterflies were building in your stomach. Anxious and excited about where your confession could take you.

All of your other friends are already here, dancing to the catchy pop music blaring over the sound system. The path to them is crowded with other sweating high-schoolers, so Jungkook decides just the two of you should go and take photos. He pulls you towards the photo booths, lining up with the other groups and couples waiting their turns. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he is still holding on to your hand. Tight.

“Don’t you want to go dance with the others?” you gesture towards those in the middle of the floor, laughing as one of the boys loses his balance mimicking a slut drop.

“No, I want to take some stupid pictures with my best friend and date for the evening.” He winks at you, a move that should come off as light -hearted and cringy. Instead it feels like he has shot you in the heart. The response you come back with shocks you.

“Just because you’re in love with me.” You accompany the remark by sticking your tongue out at him. He grabs your chin and makes you look him directly in the eyes. Your heart beats double time. It looks like he is going to kiss you. Before his face gets close enough to yours, he ruins it.

“You wish Y/N.” he laughs it off, but you see it as your chance. Now or never, tonight’s the night…

“Actually…” and then it’s your turn for pictures. You don’t get a chance to get the rest of the sentence out. Whether he heard or not you don’t know but now he is excitedly rummaging around a box of props. He pulls out a silver feather boa and oversized-blue sunglasses for you, finding a matching set for himself. It’s a strip of four photos. One smile, one where he jabs you in the ribs, one with silly faces, and one where you kiss him… only on the cheek. Not enough to throw yourself in the deep end, just enough to gauge his reaction.

His ears turn bright red and he stammers about going to find the others as you exit the booth. It has to be a good sign if you make him flustered, right? The next hour is spent ruining all the work that had gone into this evening. Hair stuck to sweaty foreheads, makeup creasing around the eyes, lipstick wiped on the backs of hands. When the live band comes onto play, you and your friends head outside for air. It’s nice feeling the wind, a slight chill in the late hour. Most of your friends can’t hack it for too long, choosing to return to the dance floor in time for the party tracks to come on. Eventually it leaves just you and him. You hear the opening chords of the cha cha slide start up inside and decide now is a good a time as ever, more than eager to avoid the choreographed dance portion of the evening.

“Can I talk to you?” you reach for his hand. He turns to look at you properly and sees the serious look on your face, his brows furrowing to match.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just come with me.” He lets you drag him away from the gym. You head toward the school greenhouse, no one is going to come looking for you there.

“This is weirdly private Y/N, are you sure everything is okay?” he feels your forehead as if he is worried you have suddenly fallen ill.

“I’ve been trying to tell you this for the longest time and I can’t not anymore, it’s time.” He opens his mouth to speak again, the confusion evident in his eyes. You raise a finger to his lip to stop him. “I’m in love with you.” The words escape more like vomit than a statement. It feels so freeing to get the words out. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. Finally admitting how you feel is an amazing feeling. Until you take in the way he is looking at you. You might as well have grown a second head. Your about to speak again when he turns on his heel and makes a run for it.

He walks briskly away from the concealed shed and back inside of the school. You don’t know if you should laugh or cry. Of all the responses you thought you’d get; abandonment was not one of them. It takes you a moment to snap out of the shock he had left you in. you follow the trail he took back into the main hall. Spotting him even through the crowd, people parted as he passed them. He beelines straight through the gym and though the doors into the main corridors. When you make it into the hallway, he is at the other end about to disappear around a corner.

“Stop running away from me!” you yell a little too loud, other lingering students stop and stare at you on their ways back from the bathroom. Unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to care. Jungkook faulters for a moment before continuing. “Jeon Jungkook! I said stop.” You kick off your heels and run in the direction he disappeared. You nearly run full force into his chest as you turn the corner not expecting him to be there.

“Why?” his voice is small and harsh, not the usual bubbly tone he always has for you.

“Why what?” your more than a little annoyed that you had to chase him only for him to ask you a question.

“Why do you love me?” it’s not the question you thought he’d ask. Why now? How long? What’s your ring size? Those were the questions you had been prepared for. Not why do you love him. you thought that was obvious. “Seriously, why do you think your in love with me?” that stung ‘think’ he doesn’t believe you. Thinks its some silly girly crush you have.

“I love you because you’re you. You’re my best friend, you make me happy when no one else does, my heart hurts when I don’t see you for more than a day.” You reach for his hands, trying your best to convey your sincerity. He flinches in response. Pulls way back out of your reach.

“I don’t feel the same way.” Now it really does feel like someone has stabbed you. Run you straight through with a sword. Your stomach twists so hard you might throw up. This wasn’t an option. In all the ways you had imagine your prom night going, this hadn’t crossed your mind. You taste the tears at the corners of your lips before you realise your crying. “You can’t just spring something like this on someone Y/N! we were having such a great night, why did you have to do this.” He is not only rejecting you, he is blaming you for having feelings. It’s all too much.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. The lump in your throat makes it hard for you to speak at all. “I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.” His response is so fast, cutting off every chance you might’ve had to put a band aid over the situation. Maybe held it together until the night was over. Now there is no chance of that.

“I’m sorry.” You try again but he just rolls his eyes. Instead of making you sadder, this reaction makes you angry. How dare he. How dare he just dismiss you like you never meant anything to him. Like you weren’t even a friend.

“I should take you home.” He gestures towards a nearby exit. He doesn’t reach for your hand to guide you like he would’ve any other point in the night. You shake you head and walk back in the direction you came, picking up your shoes as you passed them. You walked straight out of the front gates and all the way home. That was the last conversation you’d have with Jungkook for a long time.

Graduation came and went. He tried to talk to you a few times in person, but you just walked away. Still seething at the way he reacted. He texted you constantly, left voicemails until you blocked his number. Your other friends never found out exactly what happened. They pieced bits together from what the two of you were able to talk about but never the full picture. When he started coming to your house to apologise you decided it was time to move on and headed to college early.

You were in town for a wedding. One of your high school friends had managed to meet the love of their life while away at college and asked you to come. It was a nice excuse to visit your parents. You didn’t come home as often as you would’ve liked. The town felt a little haunted after you finished school, so you tried hard to avoid it. Especially at times like this.

You were standing in your childhood bedroom, dressed to the nines once more. This time knowing that Jungkook was not going to be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. But he might be at the wedding. Getting over the boy you had never really been with was more of a challenge than you could’ve ever imagined. It took you almost the entire first year away to truly get some peace on the situation. You even started to understand his point of view. He was just an 18-year-old boy trying to enjoy one of the last nights he’d get with his friends. The you had gone and dumped a whole load of new information on him. It wasn’t fair of you, just as much as it wasn’t fair of him. Truthfully, a little part of you would always wonder what if. What if he had felt the same way, would people be coming home for your wedding instead? Or would it have fizzled out long distance?

You are pulled out of your thoughts by your phone signalling the arrival of your uber. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed you clutch and headed out, eerily reminiscent of that night.

Five years later.

The wedding is at a fancy hotel on the other side of town. You are escorted by the ushers into the main room. you quickly scan the area for him. You don’t even know if he is coming but you don’t want to be caught off guard. Coming up empty you thank the groom’s men and find a seat in the back of the bride’s section where you can survey the room.

It feels ridiculous being so on guard around the person that used to mean the world to you. Your eyes meet as soon as he walks through the door. He seems genuinely surprised to see you there. He tries a weak smile and lifts his hand to wave in your direction, but you put your head down, choosing to focus on the intricacies of the program instead. 4 hymns and a sermon. For a nonchurch wedding it sure seemed religious. You roll your eyes and settle in for a long one. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he skulks away. Sitting a few rows in front of you. You allow yourself the luxury of looking at him now that he can’t look back. His hair is a lot longer now. The suit he has chosen definitely fits a lot better than his prom tux. His shoulders are nicely outlined, strong and broad. It’s a nice visual.

The wedding seems to happen around you. Old friends come over to catch up. Vows are exchanged everyone is shuffled into a banquet hall. All the while you are watching Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. Seeing him go through the motions just as you are. Three tables away. Clearly your friend has been smart enough to think that through when creating two singles tables in her seating plan.

The night wore on. Speeches were made, drinks were spilt. More than one groom’s man ripped his trousers on the dance floor. You were getting some air in the gardens when he found you.

“You look beautiful as ever.” His voice is soft, but it still makes you jump, not expecting him to approach you at all.

“Thanks.” You move to brush passed him, eager to put some space between you. Very Much not wanting to exchange awkward pleasantries with the man that, after today, you were sure still owned your heart. He steps back into your path, and makes you meet his eyes. It hurts all over again. Every feeling you had that night rushes back, every bit of progress you’d made since then erased in a matter of seconds.

“Can we talk? Please?” he sounds almost as desperate to talk to you as you are to leave.

“Talk about what Jungkook? It’s been years, just let it lie.”

“Exactly it’s been years and I know how I feel about you now, know how I felt about you then… please just let me explain myself.” He pleads with you. You stand firm, half of you longing to hear him out, the other half wanting to run the way he had.

“Why should I let you talk now? You didn’t let me talk then.” You can hear the venom dripping in your tone but can’t bring yourself to adjust your voice.

“I was a kid back then Y/N, and I was scared I was going to lose you” he chuckles darkly “I guess I did that anyway.” He grabs for your hand, this time you get to pull away from him. None of this is fair, where was this person when you needed him five years ago? He sighs at your reaction. “Look I was terrified okay? I didn’t know how I felt about you. I just knew everything was changing and I didn’t want us to change. But I know who I am and what I want now, and that’s you.” He closes the distance you had put between you in one stride. His mouth heavy on yours trying to prove a point.

You can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Instead melting into his embrace. Letting yourself indulge in the boy that was all you ever wanted.

“Why now? Why not then?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“Because you wouldn’t speak to me until now. I wanted to tell you the day after, but you wouldn’t talk to me. And you were right to do so. I was such an asshole to you about it. Let me make it up to you.” He peppers your face with kisses.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have cut you off like that. I was scared too.” He holds you tight cradling you into his chest. You stand there for a while. Taking in everything about him that you’d missed. The smell of fresh cotton, the warmth he always radiated. All of it.

“I have a room upstairs if you want to go. Maybe we could watch a movie?” you pull away to look straight up at him. he must have realised what it sounded like then because his mouth formed an o and his eyes widened. “Wait no, I really did mean a movie.” He tries to backtrack.

“What if you didn’t mean a movie?” as soon as your meaning sinks in, he is sprinting away. This time with you in tow, struggling to keep up. Eventually he decides you are slowing him down. He lifts you bridal style into the nearest elevator. He refuses to put you down, even though you are forced into a standstill. As soon as the door dings, he is through them. Balancing you and opening the door isn’t even a challenge as he bursts through into the luxurious hotel room. He throws you unceremoniously on to the bed before discarding his jacket on the floor. You watch, propped up on your elbows, as he loosens his tie and kicks off his shoes before helping you with yours. He runs his hand up the back of your calf, rolling down the stockings you’d worn in an effort to avoid tights.

His hair falls into his eyes as he meets your gaze, and you can’t take the teasing anymore. Grabbing him by the collar, you pull him on top of you. Your lips finding his, unwilling to let go until your lungs hurt. He has one arm by your head, supporting some of his weight while the other trails down your waist. He drags his fingertips along your thigh as he moves your hemline. With your skirt out of the way his hand moves in between you bodies finding its way to your clothed pussy.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long… can I?” he kisses down your neck as he asks, leaving you barely able to respond. You just about manage to squeak out your approval. He wastes no time, biting into the soft flesh of your thighs as he wraps his hands around your panties. They are disposed of quickly, likely ruined by the slick you can feel pooling between your legs. He licks along your slit, barely delving between your folds. The tip of his tongue flicking at your clit briefly before he goes back and starts the motion again. Each time he gets close to your clit he brushes it slightly, so you shiver with anticipation, but he waits until you are practically panting to go any further. His right hand joins his talented tongue. Two fingers slipping inside of you. The slight stretch burns so good. His mouth moves up, biting gingerly at the sensitive nub he had been teasing for so long. Your thighs clamp involuntarily around his head. He wraps his free arm around your leg, driving you apart to give him better access. His tongue comes back into play drawing little shapes on your clit as he sucks down. He curls his fingers in just the right way to have you coming undone underneath him. Biting your lips to keep yourself quiet. He swats at your thigh until your teeth let go, forcing your moans out into the open. When you stop writhing, he lets your leg go and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Sitting back on his feet he won’t stop looking at you weird. Its an expression you can’t ever remember him making before, and that worries you.

“What? Why are you looking at me? Were the noises too weird? I tried to keep them in…” he pulls you up to him by the wrists and kisses you before answering.

“I love you… please shut up. Your moans are the sexiest thing I think I have ever heard. Now I just really want to get you out of the rest of your clothes. He reaches around to unzip your dress, fumbling for a moment until you take pity and take it off yourself. His shirt is already unbuttoned by the time the fabric is over your head. You help him to push the sleeves off his arms, taking great pleasure in rubbing your hands across his toned arms. You marvel at the amount of muscle he has gained for a moment before he drags you back to him, falling onto his back so you straddle him.

You make quick work of the clothing on his lower half. Perhaps a little too keen to see what you were working with. He does not disappoint. His cock is above average in length, immediately evident as it slaps against his stomach when released from it’s confines. You shuffle back for a moment to admire the full image. His hair falls haphazardly around his head, lips swollen from the kisses. Perfectly chiselled abs leading into an arrow to what you can only describe as the motherlode. Everything about this moment was worth the wait. But you refused to wait any longer. You stroke your hand softly along his shaft, pumping a few times before moving to sit yourself on top. You sink down slowly at first, having to take extra precaution to not hurt yourself. His eyes pinch shut and his nose crinkles as a little whimper escapes his mouth. You slap his chest.

“If I’m not allowed to stay quiet, neither are you.” He nods enthusiastically and opens one eye just as you reach the base of his dick.

“Fuck.” His voice low and breathy. Sounds more like he just ran a marathon than had a girl sit on him. As you feel more comfortable, you start to wriggle your hips, not thrusting away, just enough friction to tease him like he did you. You don’t get away with it for quite as long though. His hands are on your hips and you are powerless to stop him as he makes you bounce, meeting each thrust with one of his own. Soon it’s not enough for him. Too worked up to relinquish any control. He flips you quickly, now on your knees. He barely gives you time to orientate yourself before driving into you from behind. Fast, sloppy thrusts used to reach his own end. He snakes one arm underneath you. Skilled fingers finding your clit, playing with you until you tighten around him. making it difficult for him to keep going.

Soon he spills over, cumming deep inside of you. Holding onto you with all he has. Instead of pulling out, he falls over with you in his arms. Cuddling into the back of you as he comes down. You wiggle experimentally on his softening cock, earning you a growl. You giggle at his oversensitivity and try to get free as painlessly as possible.

“Don’t go” he is whiny when he is tired, it’s so endearing. He makes a grabby hand at you as you clamber of the side of the bed

“I’m only going to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.” You kiss him on the cheek as you round the bed.

“Good because I never want to be without you, ever again.” he admits as you walk into the bathroom.

February request - open

Masterlist

#purplearmynet #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jjk smut #jungkook smut #jeongkook smut #jeongguk smut #feb 21 #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #kpop smut #kpop fic #jeon jungkook x y/n #100

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dancingthesambaa · 4 years ago

Text

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 2

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black-furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 2: What’s in a Name?

It was a week since Macaque had taken MK in and to the child it has been the best week of his life. When he woke up in the mornings he didn’t have to worry about there being no food as he smelt it as soon as he opened his eyes, he could play in the forest with all the monkeys as long as Mac was there and he even had clothes that fit him instead of the same stinky shirt on days end. Everything was just wonderful.

“MK, what should we do about school?”

Or at least it was, but as soon as the monkey demon asked that question, MK's whole body deflated. “Do I have to go to school?”

“Education is important shooting star,” he said as he diced up some plants. “It helps things we don’t know and things we want to know.”

“Okay, but it is really boring, I always lose all my stuff all the time, and the teacher always explains it so weirdly,” the child pouted.

“Everyone has a different method of teaching, so you may have a method of learning as well.”

“Oohh….what does method mean?”

“It’s just another word for way.”

“Oh okay,” MK then tilts his head, “so what are you doing anyways?”

“Well right now I’m cutting up some herbs so I can use to make medicine,” he explained in simple terms as he then picked up the diced up blue plant and placed it into a cauldron and began to stir it.

“I didn’t know you could make your own medicine from home!” He leaped up and tried to poke his head over the counter to watch, “I always thought that you get it at the doctor's office.”

“Well doctors actually get it from a lab where people make the medicine there, this space here is my own lab.” He gestured to the room that was filled with all types of different ingredients all placed in a package inside of one storage cabinet and in another was a cabinet filled with modern lab equipment.

“So you don’t have to be a doctor to make medicine?”

“Well for most yeah, but for me,” he grinned as he picks up MK with one hand and placed him on his hip as he continues to stir with his other “let’s just say that I have been doing this for a little over 500 years, so I have a tad bit more experience and knowledge than regular humans.”

“Can I try?!” He excitedly asked.

“Well I don’t know, sometimes it will be a bit too dangerous for you to even be In here, which by the way, do not enter this lab unless I am here,” he sternly told him.

“Okay, okay got it, but pleaseee.”

“I don’t know, think you can handle it,” he teased.

“I’m a big boy! I can handle anything!”

“Hmmmm,” he pretended to think before conceding, “Alright you persuaded me, so I’ll allow it this once,” he said as he put the spoon down, “so first we make sure we have our safety gear on.”

“Check! Check!” MK adjusted the goggles on his eyes and showed off his long sleeve jacket and gloves.

“Next, what you have to do is go slow and make large circles.”

“Slow and large circles, got it,” he then proceeded to pick up the spoon and do what he said as he stirred.

“Good job kiddo, but how bout we make that circle a little bit bigger,” he gently grabbed MK’s hand and made it a bit wider. Soon enough the medicine's previous light yellow had transformed into a dark green.

“Look, it changed colors!” MK pointed out.

“That’s the beauty of medicine kid,” Mac grinned as he set him down, “now all I have left to do is to let this simmer for a few hours and it will be ready to be bottled up.”

“That’s a lot of medicine, is that all for you?”

The demon shook his head, “no it’s actually for one of my regular clients. His students routinely injure themselves, sometimes in the dumbest of ways, so I usually make batches of this every month.” His ears then slightly twitch as he grinned, “speaking of students, MK come here. I have someone here for you to meet.”

“Who?” He tilted his head as the monkey put a lid on a pot, proceeded to put away both of their safety gear as they left the room.

“Hey old-timer, I know your hearing isn’t that bad!” A voice yelled from down below that MK could barely hear, “come grab me, I’m carrying too much shit to climb up!”

“Someone to help,” was all Macaque said before he leaped out of the open window and less than a few seconds later, returned with a short bluenette woman in his arms. “MK this is Yanyu,” he said. “Yanyu, this is MK.”

“Uhhh, he shuffled his feet awkwardly as he gave a slight wave, “hi.”

“Awww,” she cooed at him, “it’s nice to meet you MK. You're rocking a pretty cool shirt there.” She pointed to his solar system shirt, “it’s really far out man.”

There was a pause as MK stuttered out a thank you and Macaque put his face in his hands.

“That was terrible, I hope you know that,” he groaned.

“That’s what you say, I know my puns are rockin my world,” she smirked at the louder groans.

“Please stop, I beg you.”

“Then beg.”

“Are you human?” MK bluntly asked, which made the two pause.

“Strangely enough that isn’t the first time I was asked that, but yes I am fully human. Though a small percentage of me is most likely full of crazy,” she grinned widely.

“I think you have those backward,” he muttered and didn’t even flinch when she elbowed his stomach. “So your probably wondering why she’s here right?”

“Uhhh yeah,” he nodded.

“Well, I have come to the realization that despite my many years with humans, I have never actually taken care of a human child outside of giving them medication.”

“Which he means that he knows not a single thing about taking care of you tiny ones,” Yanyu butted in as she crossed her arms, “and this is where I come in.”

“Oh well that’s good...I think?” MK didn’t exactly know what she meant, but since they said it’s a good thing, he feels like he doesn’t have any complaints.

“Oh trust me, it will be,” she said as she put down the bag and it was filled with books when she opened it up. “I may be a big sister of five, but even I can admit that I don’t know everything, so I brought some parenting books, nutrition, school, and a lot more.”

He couldn’t help but deflate slightly at the last word, which the bluenette noticed.

“Don’t like school?”

“Not really, it's just that I can’t stay focused sometimes,” he admitted as he lowered his head.

“Hey now,” Mac kneeled and ruffled his head, “you don’t have to feel shame for being distracted sometimes.”

“Hmm, well if you have troubles with traditional school classrooms, then how about you try online schooling?” Yanyu said.

“Online school?” MK tilted his head.

“I didn’t know it was also available for the younger grades, I thought it was only for the college classes like you had,” he admitted as he used his feet to pick up one of the parenting books.

“Nah, it was incorporated for all years a few years back. It certainly helped a lot of students out and one of them being me,” she proudly pointed a finger to herself, “let me tell you, kid, it was the second-best decision to do online school. Made my life so much easier.”

“What was the first?” He curiously asked.

Yanyu walked over to Macaque and patted him on the shoulder, “begging this ol doc here to take me on as a student. It was the cheapest and most informative learning I ever had since high school.”

“Student? You were a teacher!” MK's eyes widened as he looked at the monkey demon.

“Kinda, though I did question my sanity during those times,” he said as he flipped through the pages.

“Oh shut up, if it wasn’t for me you would still know squat about technology.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were still using the Jiaguwen system when I first met you.”

He winced, “okay yeah you got me there.”

“Anywho, it’s gonna be a right pleasure working with you MK,” she held out a fist bump to him, “we’re gonna see a lot of each other.”

MK looked at the outstretched fist and gave a little grin as he fist-bumped her hand.

“Boom,” Yanyu made an exploding sound as she opened her fist when the two parted.

He looked at her strangely.

“Don’t worry Starbright, she’s just weird like that,” Mac patted his head.

“Hey!”

A few months have passed and MK has taken to online schooling like a fish to water. He found it much better to concentrate and while there were still a few issues over understanding the problem itself, he had the help of both Macaque and Yanyu. The last one herself was helping him with his writing.

“The girl is walking to the market by the river to get milk for her mother,” MK repeated to himself as he finished writing.

“Congratulations kid, you have finally graduated from Yoda writing to a regular language,” she gave him a little applause.

“Thank you, thank you you're too kind,” he also jumped out of his seat to give a mock bow.

“But for real kid, you have really approved with your writing,” she gave him a high five, “nice job.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you both,” he scratched the back of his neck.

“I know that you would have been just fine even without our help and I know your dad would agree.”

“Really!” Then MK realized what she said and backtracked as he flailed his arms about, “Wait dad?! I mean dad is kinda a big word and he just adopted me, so he probably doesn’t even see me as a son, more like a responsibility he has to take care-,” he was stopped by a hand gently covering his mouth.

“Whoa there little monkey easy, I can’t keep up that fast,” she lightly teased as she put her hand down, “now you want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Well,” he sat down and kicked his feet, “I-its just-I don’t really-.”

“Take your time,” the bluenette said.

“Well,” he twisted his hands “is it okay if someone-and I don’t mean me just someone I know-don’t call mom and dad, well, mom and dad.”

“Yeah,” she said easily.

“Wait really?” He was a little more than shocked at how easy she said that.

“Really. You, or my bad that person you know, don’t feel comfortable or don’t want to call their parents so that they don’t have to.”

“But they gave birth to me-I mean that person and they raised them, so shouldn’t they have that name?” He tried to insist but was shut down by her shaking her head.

“They don’t keep that name if they harm the child, no parent ever deserves that kind of title if they purposely try to bring harm to their child. It is wrong,” she stated.

“Oh...and what about those that do?” He shyly said, both knowing what he was implying but not saying it out loud.

“Then you say it when your ready,” Yanyu simply said.

“I don’t think it’s that easy?”

“No, but what is?”

MK just shrugged his shoulders.

“Now how about we put away this stuff for ten more minutes before we get into history,” she pushed away from the materials and made sure the laptop was charged up.

“Yes!” He fist-bumped the air as he then spotted the pencil on the ground and tried to pick it up with his feet.

Yanyu had to press her lips together to fight against the bubbling laugh in her throat as she watched MK struggle to pick the pencil with the socks on his feet.

“Oi bastard I need a little help ova here!” A rough voice yelled out as it was followed by a loud bang, which led to the eight year old flailing off his bed.

“How many times have I told you to stop that?” He heard Macaque's familiar voice being annoyed.

“Too many times to count,” another softer voice replied.

“But you think that gunna sticka?” The third voice laughed out loud. “That’s a laugh!”

MK slowly opened his door and crept quietly to the living room as the voices got louder.

“I guess it is too much to ask you to be quiet for once?” The monkey deadpanned.

“Now why would I do that?” The first voice said.

It was at this point that MK managed to poke his head into the living room and saw three different demons, he knows they are demons this time, and his da-Macaque.

There was one whose skin was dark brown, but lighter above the shoulders. The more he looked, the more he could see that they were actually feathers all along the body, and instead of hands, they had clawed bird-like feet and two large black wings protruding from the back.

Another one was softly glowing a light blue hue that matched the pale blue skin as the creature was gently floating just a smidge above the ground. They had almost a mushroom-shaped hat covering their eyes and dozens of dark blue and purple strings attached all around the bottom of the hat as they hung just above the demon feet.

The final one is something that MK could clearly tell what it was as he had seen a bunny before, though this one was way larger than the other bunnies he had ever seen. The demon had pure gray fur and large white fluffy paws, if he wasn’t so nervous right now he would ask to pet them.

“Well I was hoping that you would have kept it down for the kid that is currently living with me right now,” he cracked a smirk at their frozen faces.

“Huh?” They all said in unison.

“Speaking of kids, you can come out MK. Don’t worry bout them too much, they ain’t harmful, just insane.”

At the prompting MK slowly shuffled into the living room and he saw three heads swivel towards him.

“Uhhh hi,” he gave a little wave.

“You have a kid?!?” They all shouted either loudly or softly.

“It’s not that big of a shock,” he grumbled as he walked over to the child and threaded his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, these knuckleheads woke you up.”

“I know I have not been gone that long for you to have a chick without me knowin!” The female bird demon squawked as her feathers puffed up in indignation.

“Nah, adopted him a few months back.”

“And you didn’t tell us?!” The bunny huffed as they thumped his foot in agitation.

“Nope,” he grinned as he watched their growing frustration.

“There are times where you are the best of us and times you are the worst of us, I don’t know which one this falls under,” the mushroom head demon groaned as one of the strings was massaging the top of his head.

“Are they your friends?” MK loudly whispered to the monkey demon.

“I don’t claim these lunatics,” he bluntly said.

“I think you mean to say that we are your amazing, wonderful, fantastic friends that you hold dear,” the bunny demon pointed out as they put an arm around his shoulder.

“I was forced into this,” Macaque said as a wing wrapped around the two of them.

“Ah just admit that you have a soft fuzzy heart for us,” the bird demon grinned.

“Not even when my bones decay away.”

MK just blinked at the unprompted scene as he saw the glowing blue demon approach him.

“Sorry about my companions, they can be a little much sometimes,” he smiled softly to him.

“It’s fine, you're not the only ones who make a loud entrance,” he thought back to the times Yanyu would kick the door open when she walked in.

“I suppose not,” the demon then held out one of his arms to the child, making sure his tentacles were out of the way, “my name is Bohai little one.”

“I’m MK,” he smiled back and shook his hand.

“Oh, we’re doing introductions?! Well, I’m Daiyu chicky,” the female demon grinned or at least that's what he thought she was doing with her scarred beak.

“I’m Minsheng,” the bunny demon twitched their nose and gave a toothy grin, “you're so small that you remind me of my siblings when they were born.”

“How many siblings do you have?” He curiously asked.

“Pfft older or younger? I stopped counting after we reached the 200s,” they laughed.

His eyes widened, “over 200! That’s a lot of brothers and sisters.”

“Well, you know how bunnies are.”

Before MK could question that he felt two furry hands cover his ears.

“How about we don’t talk about that to a kid who has probably never had a crush before,” Macaque hissed to the bunny who had their hands held up.

“He’ll learn eventually.”

“But I would rather have that explained to him by literally anyone but you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyways,” the monkey took his hands off MK’s ears, “what were you screeching about earlier?”

“Oh well I got a bit nicked with some of dem cretins after a territory dispute you know how it is and,” Daiyu turned around and showed her back...which had a few knives sticking out of it. “I got a bit scratched up in the tussle.”

“At least you had the sense not to take it out,” he couldn’t help but sigh. “You at least win?”

“Who do ya think your talkin to?” She proudly puffed up her feathers.

“And people say I have too much pride, you damn vultures take the cake,” Macaque rolled his eyes as the two of them walked towards the infirmary room.

“You say that as if you never met Flicker before,” she chortled.

“Well there’s a stark difference between you two.”

“Wha that?”

“He actually has a brain.”

“Hey!” She attempted to pull his dangling fur, but he ducked away in time.

“Can I stay up a little longer!” The seven year old asked before the door could shut.

“Only for a little bit, but when I get back it’s straight to bed.” He answered back and then the door closed.

“Thank you!” He called out regardless as he fully knew that he could hear him.

“And that’s the whole lot of us kid, we're only half as insane as curly made us out to be '' Minsheng joked.

“Almost all of us,” the jellyfish demon said.

“Who you? Ha! Hate to break it to you, but the last time you lost your patience was when they didn’t make your starfish the way you wanted and you paralyzed the entire cooking staff.”

“You didn’t have to bring that up, but no not me,” he waved one of his tendrils. “I meant Ahmed.”

“I didn’t include him in the first place because that man does not even classify as insane,” he bluntly said. “He has the patience of a monk to deal with our brand of insanity which, in hindsight, is insane itself.”

“Whose Ahmed?” MK asked, “is he another friend of d-Mac?”

The two looked at each other before Baiyu spoke, “yeah, he’s a friend of Macaque.”

“Ouch, that’s a low blow for poor Med,” they grinned then winced as a tendril shocked their arm. “What? You know I’m right.”

“You know as well as I do that he can still hear you.”

“I’ve been craving death anyways,” they then turned back to the kid, “so you want to hear some crazy stories about your old man.”

Needless to say that Mac had tackled the bunny demon to the ground, with two violet glowing escrima sticks in hand, in the middle of their story on how the fierce monkey demon had to dance his way across a road of hot coal as he tried to outrun an angry herd of demon pheasant while wearing a rather beautiful kimono.

Macaque was reading out on the patio when his ears twitched as he heard a soft whimpering coming from MK’s room. He put the book on the table when he walked in and safely crept his way over his room and like many times before MK was crying in his sleep from a nightmare once more.

“It’s okay shooting star,” he gently began to thread his fingers through MK’s hair, “it's just a bad dream. You will be fine.”

At first, it didn't have any effect, but the longer he talked the softer the whimpers began to die down and the kid's eyes softly began to blink open.

“W-what's goin on?” He hoarsely said as he rubbed his eyes as he realized that he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“You just had a bad dream kid,” he hummed as he continued stroking his hair.

“Oh.”

“Want to talk about it?” He received a firm shake of his head, “that’s okay, do you want to lie back down, sing, water, or want me to give you a little shadow puppet show?”

“Shadow show please,” he muffled out as he gripped tighter onto the blanket.

“One show coming right up,” he used a shadow clone to bring back a lantern as the room began to softly glow. When all was set Macaque began his tale in a low voice, “There once was an old man who lived in a shack.” He used some of his shadows to show a picture of an elderly man and wooden shack, “he was nothing special, did nothing extraordinary, and his life was simply normal. Until one day he happens upon the most peculiar thing.”

He continued to tell the tale of the old man even when he, unknowingly, had wrapped his tail around his child’s hand and MK, who was slowly drifting off into a deep slumber, held a tight grip upon it.

MK was currently sitting on the edge of a large lake as he kicked his feet in the water. He was alone at the moment as the monkey demon was tending to the plants that he needs for various medicines. The lake itself was a beautiful view filled with lily pads, reeds standing tall in the crystal lake, fishes and herons swimming in the water. Though he was trying to guess what that large dark shape was, it was nothing he has ever seen before.

“Hmmm I don’t think it’s a fish...maybe a duck?” He leaned in to get a better look and noticed. “Or maybe a turtle!”

The shape shifted as it appeared to be getting bigger and bigger as MK now noticed that he had never seen a turtle with long arms and claws before. He then saw there was long string hair upon what he thinks is its head until suddenly it disappeared and was replaced with two beady eyes. His heart dropped when the creature opened its mouth to reveal countless rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Then it began to rapidly swim towards him.

MK, frightened, fell on his back as he tried to crawl away, but it failed as the creature burst out of the water and onto the ground merely a foot away from him.

He let out a piercing scream, “DDAAADDDDD!”

At the same time the creature, with his mouth wide, said “hi there human child!”

“What?” He abruptly stopped his screaming right as an ominous force suddenly filled up the area as MK then felt two familiar hands scoop him up and hold him close as the voice spoke almost lowly.

“What happe-oh it’s just you,” Macaque let the pressure go back to normal once he realized that there wasn’t a true threat that was trying to attack his kid.

“Bwahahaha,” the creature let out a bellowing laugh, “sorry sorry. I must have scared your youngin.”

“No!” MK instantly said, but then he wilted and nodded, “just a bit.”

“Sorry about that little child, I just get a bit excited when a new face comes around my lake and all,” the webbed creature gave a toothy grin. “I know I startled the pant off Minzhe when I first met him.”

“Your lake? You live here?” MK, after being let down, carefully tried to examine the waters closer.

“Right on the mark, since being a Shui Gui and all.”

“Shui Gui,” he drawled out as he thought about that familiar name.

“Or Kappa, our damn naming changes so often that at this point I just go with the flow.”

“Oh! I know what a Shui Gui is!” MK brightened as he began to tell what his...mom used to tell him. “Aren’t they vengeful demons that have drowned and are bent on dragging helpless victims underwater, drowning them and finally eating their...flesh to…to...” his face took on a look of horror as he realized what he just blurted out. “I am so sorry!”

Luckily though the two demons chuckled, or at least Macaque did as the Kappa was holding his stomach. Though this did make MK’s face flush in embarrassment, he should be glad that the demon wasn’t angry, but he didn’t find any humor in what he said.

“Well I’ll give you credit,” Kappa said as his laughter died down, “what you said was mostly true, except I’m not a demon, just a ghost.”

“And let’s be clear he hasn't eaten people since two-maybe three millenniums ago,” the monkey demon intruded as he knew what MK was gonna ask next.

“You humans have become much too stringy for my taste,” he joked, but it served the opposite purpose as the small child paled even further.

“And this is why your only friend is an adrenaline junkie who has a taste for his own death,” Mac deadpanned as he soothed MK down.

After his heart stopped thrumming in his ears the human managed to look up at his guardian and his eyes widened as he noticed that Macaque suddenly had three pairs of different colored ears: red, blue, and purple. “When did you get three ears?!”

“You just now noticed?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Did you have them all this time?!?!!”

“Not all the time, but I do when it’s quiet usually.”

“Cooolll!” He attempted to climb the monkey to get a better look, “Is this how you're able to hear things from so far away?”

“Yeah,” he lets him examine his ears as only his eye minuscule twitch when MK accidentally pulls it too hard. “Be careful now, only have three pairs of them you know.”

“Right, sorry.” He apologized as he became gentler with his touches. He couldn’t help but gently drag his fingers through the oddly pointed ears and he smiled, now he understood why some of Mac's clients called him the Six-Eared Macaque. He eventually got down and faced the spirit once more, who was just looking at the two of them with amusement. “I’m real sorry for screaming at you.”

“Water under the bridge young child,” he waved him off, “least you apologize for it. I know that half the ones in these woods won’t even say sorry for ramming into you.”

“There’s more of you?” He tried to look in the lake, but he was once again met with only fish and water.

“Me specifically no, but spirits, demons, and other whatnot. Oh yeah there's hundreds of them dwelling in this here forest.”

“Wowww,” his eyes sparkled, “so does that mean that we are all neighbors.”

It was stunned silence before the Shun Gui began laughing once more as he bends down, “PFFTHAHAHA!”

“Did I say something funny?” MK looked towards Mac who was pinching his nose once more.

“No, he’s just obnoxious, that’s all.”

“You know what I like you kid, yeah we’re all neighbors, man even Ping would get a laugh out of this,” the water spirit said after his laughter died down. “Welcome to the neighborhood MK!”

“Thanks...umm what’s your name again?” He embarrassedly asked as he realized that he never got a name throughout this whole interaction.

“Oh here we go,” Mac sighed as he got comfortable and plucked up a Ravenna grass and began to chew on it. He grimaced as he realized that he had plucked up a weed again.

“Eh, you can call me Kappa if you want, don’t care for the whole naming thing,” he shrugged as he got back in the lake and laid there.

“Why not?” He curiously followed him.

“Why should I?” He shot back with a grin.

“Huh?”

“Why should I care for my name? It’s my name and I can do whatever I want with it, so I just choose not to care.”

“But don’t you like your name,” he was very confused about how this conversation came about.

“Oh I do, but truth be told, most of the time I forget others' names, so one day I just thought ‘you know what, what if I just don't use my name all the time’ and I didn't,” he finger gunned at the blank face child.

“You're kinda weird,” he bluntly told Kappa.

“I’m sorry,” Mac spoke up in disbelief, “You met a trio of lunatic demons that are a hot mess in general, an insane human who likes to add too much ghost jalapeño to her food, one of my clients who have their organs outside of their body and this is where you draw the line of weird?”

“I just wanted to know his name!” He threw his hands up.

“Just whatever is fine,” he laughed.

“Well fine! Your name is Whatever now!” He said in a fit of frustration before he realized what he said, “wait! I didn’t mean-,”

“Pfthahaha!” The spirit once more threw his head back in laughter.

“...what is even happening,” MK deadpanned.

“Welcome to my life Starchild,” Mac said as he ruffled his hair.

“That’s an interesting one, alright Whatever it is then,” he gave him a toothy grin.

“Wha-no please no,” MK almost begged him. “I didn’t-,”

“Nope too late, I won’t respond to anything else but Whatever from you. Hope to see you around short stack, you really know how to bring a laugh to a vengeful spirit face,” he let out a bark of a laugh before diving down deep into the lake.

MK blinked for a few moments before turning to Macaque, “is he really gonna-,”

“Oh yeah he is only gonna respond by that name,” he cut him off, “called him a Kappa once to his face and that slimy frog hasn’t let go since.”

“...I think I want to go back home dad,” said MK as he leaned into his fur. “I think I’m done for the day.”

Macaque’s breath hitched as he then gave him a gentle smile and scooped him up in his arms. “Yeah, I think I am as well.” And with that, the two mentally exhausted people made their way back to their warm home.

MK, who proudly turned nine as of a few months ago, was playing in an arcade as his dad was grocery shopping. He stuck out his tongue as he attempted to repeatedly punch the monster in Monkey Mech, but he keeps getting beaten right before he can land the final punch. He mused up his short ponytail out of frustration that was held by a red ribbon, “Oh man! I swear this guy cheats, alright seventeen times the charm.”

“I thought it was the third time the charm?” He turns around at the voice and sees a pigtail girl around his age looking at him.

“It is, but I lost sixteen other times, so this time I will win,” he confidently said as he put another token in, and just like before he lost. “I almost had it!”

“Move over,” the girl pushed him aside and took over the controls, “let me show you how to really play.”

MK's jaw dropped when the Winner title popped up after she managed to land the final triple axel uppercut to the enemy. “How’d you do that?!”

“Oh just a lot of practice, and searching online, to find the right moves to slain the beast,” she bragged.

He went down on his knees and bowed to her, “oh teach me your ways oh wise one.”

“You may refer to me as Master Mei,” she deepened her voice to sound elderly, “and who shall I call my young student.”

“Call me MK,” he followed along with glee, he hasn’t played with a kid his age in so long.

“Well then let me show you the ways of Monkey Mech,” and with that the two proceeded to play the game, playfully pushing each other as they double battled in a co-op mode. It wasn’t until a few hours had passed, and they had long passed Monkey Mech and went into all the different kinds of games in the arcade when MK noticed the digital clock behind the counter.

“Aww man, it’s getting late,” he pouted as he didn’t want to end, “I have to meet up with dad.”

“Awww,” Mei's shoulder slumped as they walked to the prize area, “that sucks.”

“Yeah,” he slumped his shoulder, as well as the two, looked through the prizes available, which did brighten the mood a bit as Mei left with a strange mutated stuffed dog that had three eyes, a few pieces of candy, and three bouncy balls, while MK was sucking on a swirly lollipop, pieces of chocolate in his pocket, and a sticky hand sling that he is slinging everywhere.

“So you like racing?” MK asked as they left the arcade, besides the Monkey Mech he noticed that Mei tended to go to the racing games more often.

“Yes! One day I will have my own motorcycle and I will be faster than anyone, even the Monkey King!” Mei declared.

“Even the Monkey King? Wow that is fast,” he said in awe, he read the story of the Journey to the West from the library. He was quickly enamored with the story the more he read and he soon began to idolize the great Monkey King. To think that such a being could ever exist in the first place was amazing! He did find it funny that the great Monkey King rival was named Macaque, it was hilarious to think that his dad could ever have powers to fight on equal standing with a god-like immortal. Grumpy? Sure! Easy annoyed? Oh yeah definitely, but scary? Ha! The scariest thing Dad has ever done was glare at his patients when they were being too noisy, but for some reason it always works as they shrink back in fear. He mentioned it to Yanyu and the demon gang one time and well-

“HAHAHAH/PFFTTTTT/SQUAK SQUAWK SQUAAAKK/SHEHEHEH,” Yanyu was rolling all over the floor as Minsheng was banging his feet, Daiyu was slamming the table with her wings, and Bohai was using all his tentacles to wrap himself.

-they burst out laughing when he mentioned this to them. He still hasn’t gotten a full answer for that one, all they told him was to wait.

“I wonder how far that can go?” Mei curiously asked as she watched the green sling attach itself on the top of the door that they were exiting.

“Not far, how high can your bouncy ball bounce?” He asked as he then watched her bounce the ball and saw it soar a bit high above their heads.

“Not that high either...how about we combine them,” she gave a mischievous grin as MK followed suit as he used his sticky sling and attached it to the ball.

“One,” Mei started.

“Two,” MK raised his hand in mid-air.

“Thr-”

“Ready to go kid.”

“AH!” They screamed and watched the sling and ball slip from his hand and instead of bouncing, it was thrown in Mac's face, who easily caught it.

“Not the first time I had something thrown at me,” he didn’t even blink at the outburst, though he did take a second glance at the other child next to his son, “though your new, made a friend Stardust.”

“Her name is Mei!” MK excitedly said though it didn’t look like Mei was paying attention to him at all as her focus was all on Macaque, or more specifically, his head.

“What?” The monkey demon raised an eyebrow.

“You have the longest hair I have ever seen,” her eyes sparkled as she instantly zoomed behind him and started to pull on his fur. “Can I braid it?!”

“It’s actually fur,” he corrected her.

“Can I still put it in a braid?”

“Sure.”

“Then I don’t care!” She happily proclaimed and pointed to one of the benches. “Sit.”

“...” he looked towards his kid who just shrugged his shoulders, “well I guess this is happening,” he sighed as he got a clone to take the rest of their groceries back home.

Needless to say that Mei very much enjoyed putting the demon fur in a messy, but still manageable, braid.

“You know if I had some Morning glories, they would look amazing in your hair,” she mused.

“You know their weeds right?” He pointed out.

“So? They look awesome.”

“You got me there.”

“There!” She proudly finished her creation with her green ribbon tied up at the end, “you have very fluffy hair.”

“Fur,” he once more corrected her.

“Eh fur, hair there the same thing,” she turned back from the monkey and to MK with a nervous smile, “you will definitely come back right? I haven’t finished playing all the arcade games with you.”

MK looks towards his dad with puppy dog eyes and Mei easily follows suit.

“You know those don’t work on me right,” he deadpanned and smirked at their hanging heads, “but yeah, I’ll drop him off from time to time.”

“Yes!” They both jump up in cheer, only for some of their candy to fall out and onto the floor.

“My babies!” MK rushed to pick up his pieces of semi-melted chocolate.

“Noooo!” Mei quickly began to grab as many of her jawbreakers as it rolled away.

Macaque watched them in amusement at their mad scramble to save their sugar fix.

#monkie kid #mk #six eared macaque #macaque #mei #lego monkie kid #PlumTeaAU

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thewildwaffle · 4 years ago

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Speckled

“Mabruk, have you seen the new human yet?” The silvery tools clinked delicately on the tray as they were put down. The slumped figure that had been holding them straightened up from their work and sighed. “Which human? The new ones from half a partec ago, or the new new one from last solar cycle?” “The newest one!” The speaker, an easily over-excited booka sprang excitedly into the room, eager to share the latest news that had been spreading across the ship. His bushy fur had a strange effect of both muffling his footsteps and creating a rippling ‘whooshing’ noise as he moved. “They were supposed to arrive with Human Marius, but they apparently got held up with some last-minute medical testing. They got here about ninety moortiks ago, you need to come see!” Mabruk brushed back a flowering sprig from their face and stood slowly to carry their tray from the table they were working at and moved it next to the washbasin. They turned on the mixture of cleaning solution and water and began washing their hands, scrubbing at the speckled, woody skin. They took a moment to admire the light and dark patterns made by their bark. Mabruk didn’t consider themself to be overly vain, but, well… when you’re this pretty, it’s kind of hard. The cleaning solution felt nice, but they focused on making sure they didn’t absorb any. It wouldn’t have been that bad if they had, but still, it wasn’t pure water and absorbing too many chemicals was bad for the bark. Satisfied that they were clean, they turned to grab the tray to wash it as well, but the booka had jumped up on the counter and had shut off the faucet.

“Sarni, what are you doing? I’m not done.” The Booka stepped towards them and pushed them toward the door. “No time, you can finish washing up later. You neeeeeeeed to see the new human!” Mabruk took a step to the side and away from the counter, causing Sarni to lose his balance and fall back to the floor. Mabruk might have felt bad about that, but the Booka had no problem landing on his feet, leaving Mabruk to return to cleaning up. “We’re on a ship set for a two partec exploratory mission. There’ll be plenty of time to meet the newest human. This tray on the other branch,” they held it up and twisted it for emphasis, “Needs to be taken care of now before the old clay samples dry up.” Mabruk’s movements were slow, or well, they may have felt slow to Sarni, but for a dappled toanaktree, they moved at quite a reasonable speed. Finally finished, Mabruk set the tray onto the drying rack. “Yes! Let’s go, let’s go!” Sarni all but bounced impatiently. Mabruk sighed. They’d have to go along eventually, Sarni was never one to give up on things like this, but it was always just a little bit funny to see how worked up they could get him by being “slow”. Though Mabruk would never admit that that’s what they were doing. Instead of turning to the door, they stepped toward their food storage box. “Mabruk!” Sarni whined, fur ruffling and turning two shades darker. Mabruk smiled coyly as they pulled out a nutrition orb and squeezed it, allowing the nutrient-rich juices to seep down their arm. It didn’t even get to their elbow joint before it was completely absorbed. Stars. They were more dehydrated than they thought. They rubbed at their arm, tracing the lighter brown stripes and speckles that patterned their bark. It must have been longer since their last break than they thought. With that done, there were no more reasonable excuses to delay. After a bit of insistent tugging from Sarni, they were off down the main corridor. Mabruk’s mind wandered as they watched their booka companion nearly bouncing off the corridors. What’s so important about the newest human anyway. They’d met plenty of humans in the past few standard solar cycles. They seemed to Mabruk to be a friendly enough species. Strong, sturdy, very handy to have around. They had a lot of strange quirks about them, granted. New ones of which were being discovered and recorded every quarter. But there was no denying that they as a race had become nearly essential components of every crew in the Galactic Confederation. Still, Mabruk thought as they tucked a few stray vines back from their face, it wasn’t nearly as big a deal as it used to be to get a new human on the crew. As it was, they already had had seven. Three of which were still stationed here, not including this newest human. They turned the corner and Sarni paused and looked around. “What is it,” Mabruk asked after a moment. The booka’s tail twitched. “Uh, hold on. I thought they’d still be here.” “Where, here in the middle of the hall?” “Well, everyone was talking to them here earlier. They must have moved on.” “Evidently.” Sarni’s tail flicked and a few faux flames rolled off the tip. “Well, we probably would have made it if you hadn’t been so slow, you overgrown scratching post.” Mabruk chuckled. “I’m not slow, I had work to do.” “You were being slow on purpose. You always do that.” “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mabruk smiled, but seeing Sarni’s fur darken to a deep orange, they headed for the adjacent hall. “Come on, I’m sure they’ve probably moved on to the cafeteria.” As it turned out, that’s exactly where they had gone. Mabruk and Sarni approached a small group at a table. They could see Human Fatima standing near the middle. She’d been on the crew the longest out of all the humans as head security officer. Mabruk, as well as everyone on the crew had a deep respect for her. She’d saved everyone’s life at least two times since she’d been stationed here. Of course she’d be here to help make the new recruit feel welcome and make introductions. “Mabruk, you’re here!” Fatima looked over and her face broke into a dazzling smile the way only humans can do. “Did Sarni find you after all? Where is he?” As if to answer, Sarni jumped up on the table with a smug smile on his face. “I did,” he stated proudly as if this was some grand feat he had achieved. Mabruk shook their head gently as they approached. Krend, a grib who was part of the engineering team shuffled aside to make room. “Human Elise,” Sarni started before Fatima began introductions, “this is who I was talking about earlier. This is Toanaktree Mabruk. Mabruk, this is Elise. Look, she looks like you!” Mabruk thought he saw Fatima frown, but quickly forgot when they were able to actually get a better look at the new human named Elise. They were stunned. Sarni was right. They did look alike. Well, apart from the fact that she was a human, not a toanaktree. But her skin- they knew humans came in a range of shades and tones, but they’d only ever seen, only ever heard of humans coming in solid colors. They didn’t know humans came in spots! Which is exactly what Sarni exclaimed immediately after. “Sarni, that’s… uh, you can’t just… that’s not…” Fatima stammered and looked apologetically between Elise and Mabruk. The new human smiled shyly and nodded. “That’s alright. I, uh, not all humans do, well,” she glanced briefly at Fatima and back again, “well, obviously not. It’s not super common. I do because I have… it’s called vitiligo. It’s where some of the cells in my skin that produce melanin don’t work. That’s why I was late. The Medical Administration Board wanted to run a few extra tests and double-check that I was going to be okay. They didn’t know about it before.” She took a small breath and shrugged. “I am. Okay that is. It’s not life-threatening and it’s not contagious, it’s just how I am.” Mabruk continued staring. Elise looked down and stroked her hand. “I… back on Earth I would sometimes wear makeup to cover up, especially on my hands or face, but…” she looked up suddenly, her shoulders back and a soft smile on her face. “I decided not to anymore. I’m in space, for crying out loud. This is who I am. This is how I look.” “You’re beautiful!” Mabruk blurted out. Everyone looked at them and so they continued. “You are. On my planet, many toanaktree and nidabu grow bark with one color, or two but it usually only manifests as a gradient up into the new growth,” Mabruk motioned to their own younger branches and sprigs, “but there are some, like me, I’m what’s known as a dappled toanaktree, I mean, there are others and different varieties with many different patterns and colorations, but among my people, they are considered extremely handsome.” Mabruk ignored Sarni who sniggered something about vanity under his breath. “I have never seen a human with such coloration before, but… well, you’re absolutely beautiful!” The smile Elise gave could have melted the ice caps of Kiribi. “Thank you. Your name is Mabruk, right? You look great too.” Mabruk smiled. So did Sarni, but his grin was near-on giddy.

#humans are weird #space #i finally got around to writing this idea ive had forever #humans are space orcs #vitiligo #aliens #booka

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

Text

Moirai [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

➜ Words: 7k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

“Not bad.” The old woman twirls her the point of her quill all over your parchment, giving check marks with the flick of her wrist while you hold in your sigh. Of course, it’s not bad. You’re probably as old as she is if you count your other life. You might be in the body of a seventeen year old, but you’re smarter than one. Probably. “Fix your posture,” she barks a beat later without sparing a glance and your spine straightens on instinct. “It seems like you can move onto the next volume of philosophy social theory.” “What? Uh, I mean, pardon? I thought I was finished, Lady Devon.” “Learning is never finished. The faster you learn that, the better Queen you will make for the empire someday.” The Viscountess, the one assigned to oversee your princess training, shuts the textbook. “But we will move on next time. It’s time for your dance lessons.” You hold in your groan. On your sixteenth birthday, instead of being gifted diamonds or laced dresses from the best seamstress like any child of a duke would receive, you were shipped off to the royal palace. It was the worst present ever. And you once got soap in your other life. Ever since, you’ve been officially considered the Prince’s fiancée. Not much different from how the game was set up when the main character enters the stage. So you’ve long given up on trying to avoid this, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t happy about it. You might be free from your parents. But unlike the Devereux estate, proving your worth only gives you more to do. None of your tutors or mentors are ever satisfied with your performance. If you show your capability, then they push you further and further to see your limits. You can’t run away or swing your sword either — the tolerance in the castle is at zero. “Excuse me.” Lady Devon gets up from her chair and walks to the door with a grace that only fifty years in high society can bring you. “The dance tutor should be down the hall and coming shortly.” You hum and cordially smile. “Please, take your time.” Her wrinkled eyes pin on you until the door shuts. Only then do you breathe a big sigh, tension released in your body and your back slouching into the chair again. But you don’t waste much time getting comfortable. Instead, you jump to your feet and rush underneath your bed. In a spooled pile in the dusty back is a make-shift rope you tied from spare clothes. It took three nights to rip and weave together, but it was a surprisingly fun activity when you envisioned this moment — knotting the end around your balcony railing and throwing it overboard. As strict as the castle is, that doesn’t mean you’ll give in so easily. Even you deserve a break once in a while. An older man in a frilly jacket enters the room. His eyes dart around before they land on you out the balcony doors, standing at the other side of the marble railing. His jaw drops. Brows raise. “My lady—!” Oh shit. It’s now or never. With your eyes shut tight, you jump. Your dance instructor’s shout echoes through the palace and you peel your lids open when the impact of the landing doesn’t come. When your feet don't touch the ground. It’s then and there that you realize that you’re dangling midair, the clothing rope in your grasps. You didn’t make it long enough! Oh fuck! Fuck! The cloth rope starts to slip from your grip, between your fingertips and you brace yourself. It’s just the second floor of the castle. You’ll survive if you fall, right? Right?! Your teeth grit and your scream is soundless as you let go. But instead of slamming into the ground, you tumble on top of something much softer yet still firm. Something that lets out a pained groan, that’s quite warm. You bolt upwards and your eyes double as you realize that something is someone. By sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you’ve fallen on top of a dark-haired man and pinned him onto the ground. “S-Sorry! I’m so sorry! My deepest apologies.” You bow your head and slide off of him as he sits up while gripping the back of his head. The two of you look at one another, eyes meeting— The moment is interrupted by a shout. “Lady Anastasia!” The sprinting stomps crescendos in volume, coming closer and closer and you start to panic, not sure where to go, where to hide. But then the person in front of you reaches out, grabbing a hold of your forearm. You frown in confusion, about to shake him off until you find your fingertips becoming translucent. The palace guards slow down right where you’re sitting on the ground, yet their pupils move past you as if you were part of the stone wall. “The Crown Princess must be this way!” The parade of guards sprint past. The man lets go, undoing his invisibility spell. “You…” You fall back. “....ended up learning magic?” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. “So you do remember me.” “O-Of course, I do.” How could you not? There’s been only two encounters with him in the past seventeen years, but even before your first meeting, you’ve already had his name imprinted in your mind. For reasons that are perhaps not positive ones. But he looks different now — different from how he was at ten. You suppose seven years would do that to a person. Taehyung is dressed in a white blouse, darkened trousers and a navy cape embedded with gold around his broad shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was the prince. A height that towers your own. Cheeks that are no longer plump but chiselled with his sharper jawline. Eyes that aren’t impoverished. He is less like the pitiful boy than you remember him. You try not to stare for too long, but by the smirk on his face, you know it’s too late. You get up and dust your blue gown off. “Do you need a place to hide?” he asks with a small smile, catching on quick as the guards’ shouts fade. “If you are, I know just the place.” You cross your arms and look up at him. “Lead the way then.” Taehyung grins, brown irises lighting up and his lips tugging into a boxy smile that catches you off guard. But he swiftly turns on his heels and you’re left trailing behind him. The castle grounds stretch across the horizon. If someone didn’t know their way, they could get lost forever and potentially starve to death. You know Taehyung’s been largely confined to the Western towers while you’ve been managed closely in the Eastern wing. It was pure coincidence that he happened to go this way and you happened to try to escape at the exact same time. A coincidence that you left your paths and crossed, a coincidence that you landed right on top of him. It’s definitely not a part of the original story. You wonder if you should deviate from the storyline so much. The first time Anastasia and Taehyung are supposed to meet is weeks from now after he lures her in and tries to convince her that she needs his help to keep Prince Jungkook around. Taehyung most certainly did not bring Anastasia to a quiet corner of the garden, far from the stone walls, a private place that’s shrouded in trees with a welcoming white bench. “I come here often to read,” he murmurs as he gazes up at the canopy of the tree providing shade, listening to the leaves rustle. “It reminds me of someone special.” You know that person is his mother. Taehyung gestures to the bench and the two of you sit next to one another, looking out at the beds of pansies, orchids and marigolds. “How have you been?” you pipe up, curiosity nibbling at your skin. You haven’t seen him in so long. You can’t help but wonder if he’s in the same mindset as the Taehyung you know from the game — pained, lonely, blood thirsty. But you aren’t scared of him or what he might do. You feel hurt for him. Taehyung smiles to himself as if he knows what you’re thinking. “I’m fine. Frankly, I’m much more interested in your situation and why you would jump out a window and have the whole castle looking for you.” You sigh, not sure where to start. Maybe the beginning. “Actually...I’m the Crown Prince’s fiancée.” The words are muttered out of your lungs, uncomfortable on your tongue. But when you peek at Taehyung, he simply smiles, seemingly not surprised. So you inhale a breath and allow yourself to slouch. “I’m going under what they call ‘rigorous princess training’. But it’s really awful.” He grins. “Is it?” “They never give me a break,” you whine. “I’m supposed to go to dance class, but I know I’m going to step on their feet so what’s the point?” As you turn your head to look at him, you realize the game animation and drawings really didn’t do him any justice. Taehyung’s shaped up to be a handsome man. You clear your throat. “Since when did you learn magic?” “A long time ago. It’s nothing special.” He glances at you. “Although, I never had it blown up in my face yet.” His words tickle a memory in the back of your mind — the night at the Solar Festival. He smiles as your eyes connect. Taehyung gazes tenderly at you as if your irises are the most interesting kaleidoscopes, like he’s searching for something deep within your soul. Your breath hitches, heart pounding within your ears and you quickly turn away, wondering what this weird tension is. Or shit — maybe this is the beginning of the co-conspiracy that will lead you to your doom. Instantly, you stand on your feet and grab the skirt of your gown. “It was nice seeing you again, Prince Taehyung.” You bow your head and muster a polite smile. “I should get back before I get into any more trouble. I appreciate the help you have offered me today.” You spin around, prepared to strut off. But then your arm is held back. Gently. By Taehyung’s grip. You turn to look at him. “When’s the next time I’ll be able to see you?” You frown in bewilderment. It takes a delayed moment for an answer to come out of your throat. “Will you be going to the debutante ball?” The corner of his mouth turns and he bows. “I will be now.” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles before you slip away and weave out of the gardens. For some reason you’re left with a strange feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach. // There’s a scolding of your lifetime waiting for you when you return and you muse that you finally found someone worse than Edith and your own mother. The tutors are even more brutal with their discipline and you know there’s only one person who can help you, one person you can escape to readily. “My lady,” a young girl speaks up and you stop right in front of the door. “Lady Devon said you were supposed to be studying embroidery for the rest of the da—” “Am I not allowed to visit my own fiancé?” Your timbre holds firm and you look down at the flinching girl. God, it’s just too easy to play into the villainous role that was set up for you sometimes. “And who are you to tell me what to do? I think you’ve forgotten your place!” “My apologies!” You scoff and your knuckles rap against the surface. There’s a muffled ‘come in’ and you throw open both doors. Jungkook is sitting on the sofa in front of his desk with papers in hand. He looks up expressionlessly as you strut inside. “Anastasia. What brings you here?” “I have matters to discuss, Prince Jungkook.” “Very well.” He looks to the attendants at the doorway. “Please bring in refreshments.” They bow their heads and within the next minute, a pot of tea with two cups and several tiered cake stands full of pastries and tarts are set down. The doors shut shortly after and you count. One. Two. Three. The coast is clear and you immediately flop on to the sofa across from Jungkook’s, kicking off your shoes and slumping with horrible posture into the soft furniture. Jungkook, likewise, throws down the papers in hand with a grin. “You should’ve come sooner,” he complains. “I was getting tired of reading reports and letters from advisors.” “Yeah, well, I was busy.” You lurch forward to grab a sweet fruit tart and stuff your face. Jungkook might laugh while watching you, but no one gives desserts to you in this place. Not like they did in the Devereux estate either, but at least they didn’t watch closely at every single thing you chewed. You don’t care if you can’t fit into those tight dresses. Jungkook pierces a strawberry on top of the cake and chews in his cheek. “I heard you ran out on princess training again.” “Hey. The last time I did that was months ago. Plus, you’re not the one to speak. You’re the lucky one here. Why do you get to do whatever you want and I can’t?! It’s so unfair!” “That’s because two days after you came, you dueled me and won. What kind of Crown Princess wins in a sword fight over the Crown Prince?” You burst out laughing. No one really expected you would win. They were already horrified when you held the sword. You suppose they’re just trying to get rid of those rumours and make you into a dignified, soft-spoken, honourable lady that will win over the public with her gentleness. Yeah right. Like that’s gonna ever happen. “You should’ve just been better. You’re the Crown Prince.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and it’s because of you that I had to go under more training with the royal knights until it felt like my bones were going to fall off,” he mutters and you snort. The two of you devour the table like children starved on sweets and once you’re full, you lay down on the sofa as if you’re a stuffed pig ready to be roasted in an oven. Jungkook smacks his lips together and eats the last strawberry. “Are you at least ready for the debutante ball?” “It’s just dancing.” You turn to look at him. “What’s there to prepare for?” The ball happens every other year for the girls in the empire as a coming of age ceremony. It’s a celebration that everyone looks forward to. But for you, this year, it signifies the beginning. “You better not step on my toes,” Jungkook warns. You scoff. “You better not step on mine or else I’ll throw a ladybug at you.” “That was one time!” he yells and you laugh. You gaze at the ornate, painted ceiling of the study. Jungkook doesn’t know that the debutante ball is the start of everything. It marks you turning eighteen. It’s where the game begins and where he’ll meet the heroine. It’s where the gears will set in motion. You’ve long given up on trying to run away from the storyline. Perhaps it was when you came to regret being unable to prevent Taehyung’s mother’s death. Maybe it was when you turned around at the Solar Festival and decided to sit by him. But whatever the case, you decided to stay and fight, to find a way to survive instead of escaping. It still startles you when changes are made that are so different from the original game, when it deviates far out of your reach and control. But one of the biggest changes and probably the best is your relationship with Jungkook. Unlike Anastasia’s, you and him are not just polite on the surface. There isn’t a wide distance. You don’t yearn for him. He doesn’t disregard you. Rather, you’re friends. And you hope that fact doesn’t change. That he never becomes an enemy. From here on out, all the efforts you’ve put forth for the past seventeen years will finally come to fruition and show its effects. You hope you tried hard enough.

The dress is a deep wine red. The layered tulle skirt poofs out in the shape of a bell, spilling from your waist. You turn around in front of the mirror while picking at your translucent sleeves, noticing that the fabric sways with each of your movements. Your hair is in a half-updo with flowers, pinned up as curls drop over your left shoulder. It’s better than what Joan could’ve ever done back at the estate. But altogether, it’s a magnificent yet imposing look. You gotta admit, in this get up, you feel like you could cackle and step on the main character’s hand with your pointed heel as she cowers in front of you. Being the villainess is the easy way. “My lady…” the younger servant steps back with the tape measure. You nod at her. “It’s acceptable. There’s no time to dwell either way. The Prince’s fiancée shouldn’t show up late.” “Of course!” The entourage of servants follow as you stride down the castle halls. The muffled violins become clearer the closer you get to the main ballroom and there at the doors, Jungkook’s already standing there with a cordial smile. He wears a navy jacket with golden buttons, trousers to pair and white gloves that matches the sash over his body with the royal emblem. The maids bow their heads, taking their place at the sidelines and Jungkook offers you his arm which you take. The pair of you stand in front of the doors. “You actually look decent for once,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. You scoff quietly. “I’ve always been this beautiful.” “You always look like you’ve just rolled in mud or hay.” “And you’re beginning to sound like Lady Devon.” Jungkook snickers as you jab him discreetly in the ribs. At the same time, the squire finally makes his announcement — “His Royal Highness and Lady Anastasia!” — and the doors open. Your expressions wipe over with only the corners of your mouths pulled and you enter together. You make sure your back is straight. That your head is raised. Chin out. Steps light. Every scrutiny and detail about perfect posture is displayed right into your body language and the pair of you stop momentarily at the stairs with your plastered smiles. Everyone watches as you both descend the stairs. It’s quiet — some older women awed behind their feathered fans, men sipping their glasses of bubbling champagne. But their gazes are loud as Jungkook guides you to the middle of the cleared floor. Nearly eighteen years of lessons have led up to this moment. Jungkook kisses your knuckles and you slip into position — right hand in his, your left on his shoulder as he mimics you. The mellifluous violins in the corner start to crescendo and you follow Jungkook’s lead, stepping from side to side, back to front. “Looks like you’re not stepping on my feet,” Jungkook murmurs as the two of you begin to take bolder steps and sweep across the ballroom floor. “I might’ve skipped dance every chance I got but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do it.” “Touché. Just keep smiling.” “I am.” “You look too concentrated.” With his criticism, you fix the furrow of your brows and your smile tries to widen. It feels a bit stiff and psychotic, like you’re forcing yourself to pretend you’re Rose from Titanic who went with Jack to dance when in reality, this is as fun as watching paint dry. “Better?” Jungkook grins. “Sure.” The music continues as you dance, but while you maintain your bright expression, your eyes flicker through the thick crowd. You spot the King who sits in a grand chair at the back. He nods along with an approving expression and your parents are standing by him too. Your dad seems to be getting a comment in every other minute while your mother appears wholly satisfied. You’re happy at least someone’s enjoying this debutante ball. But you don’t look at them for long, not when you’re focused on searching for a girl you have yet to see in the flesh. The main character. The heroine of the game. You know she’s in the room tonight. You know she’s watching right now. Yet, as your eyes travel through the surroundings, instead of trying to find the girl, your mind strays for someone else — Taehyung. He said he would be here tonight. But you don’t see him… “Anna, it’s over,” Jungkook mumbles and you snap back to attention, giving a curtsy. The Prince bows as well and the music continues to a jovial tune. The people around start to enter the floor, dancing with their partners and from your peripheral vision, the King approaches. He’s gotten old since the first time you met him. Each strand of his hair has turned gray, wrinkles deepened and eyes slightly protruding. Yet the man is still dignified and the righteous King of the empire with his commanding, aristocratic presence. But you wonder if he aged so quickly because of the Queen’s sudden death years ago, an event you know shook the Royal family. “Your Majesty.” You curtsy again, pulling the edges of your dress. Jungkook smiles. “Father.” “Very well done job, you two.” He smiles. “I’m confident that the pair of you will lead this empire well.” “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You smile cordially at the older man. “You’re too kind with your words. I can only hope that one day we shall live up to your legacy.” He laughs merrily from the pit of his stomach and even though you and Jungkook both know you’re laying it on thick, there’s no harm done. “Spectacularly spoken. I’m sure you will.” The King turns to his son. “I heard you were managing the finances in the Southern provinces well.” “I was actually going to seek council on that issue,” he exhales and in the meanwhile, you notice a few potential ladies-in-waiting looking at you. You try to ignore them, but their stares are too pointed. They’re outright gawking at you and you grit your teeth, knowing there’s no other choice. “If you’ll excuse me.” You dip down and the King nods. As Jungkook continues talking to the King, the both of them striding to his throne, you’re trapped in small talk. “I believe we’ve met once before. I am Countess Ashburnum.” — “I am Lady Herington, my husband is Baron of Herington.” — “Oh my! You absolutely look beautiful in your gown.” — “I know a seamstress who makes the best lace dresses in all of Ashea!” The conversation drones on and on with the circle of women and you make short replies while maintaining a friendly smile. It’s only when your eyes boredly wander off do you notice a girl eating at the refreshments table. She’s out of place. You can tell with how her eyes dart around the hordes of people and she fidgets alone, dressed in a yellow dress that looks like it’s been sewn from sunflower petals but worn at the hem as if it’s someone else’s. But as unremarkable as her presence is, her features are soft — eyes rounded, lips pouty and cheeks full. You’re beginning to understand how someone can be described as lovely as a rose. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s some few other people I need to meet.” “By all means.” The ladies dip down and you nod your head, beelining through the people to the refreshments table. But it’s hard to get through with the amount of people that want to stop and greet you. You watch the girl in the meanwhile. You don’t blame her for appearing so awkward, like she’s not sure where to go or who to talk to or what to do. If this is who you think it is, then she’s just a baron’s adopted daughter. She hasn’t been to many social events. She hasn’t been exposed to high society. And it’ll be a world that’ll be difficult to adjust to. You remember in the original game, Jungkook just chose her because she looked out of place and he wanted to get away from dancing with you. But considering your relationship with Jungkook isn’t sour in any aspect, a catalyst might be needed to continue the plot. If you start the encounter, then perhaps you’ll have control over it. “The desserts are delicious, aren’t they?” you pipe up beside her, stuffing your cheek as you look out at the crowd. The girl is taken aback at someone initiating a conversation and her excitement is practically tangible. “Yes, they are! I like the strawberry cream one.” “Ah. I’m more of a fan of the fruit tarts.” You turn and meet her eyes with a smile. “What’s your name?” “My name is Lucienne, but my family calls me Lucy.” “Your family?” “The Helena family. My father is Baron of Liza,” she says and that’s enough to confirm it. This is her. The heroine. The main character. The one who will take your place, become the Crown Princess and be with Jungkook. And if such a thing is inevitable, then you can make her perception of you different from how it was in the original game. Just like you did with Jungkook. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then.” You curtsy and she does as well after a delayed moment. “My name is Anastasia Loretta Devereux.” Her eyes widen. “You’re the Crown Princess! Oh my goodness, I just watched you dance! It was amazing.” You smile and this time, it's more genuine. The heroine’s personality traits are dependent on the player, but it looks like in this world, she’s pretty excitable, extroverted and innocent. If you weren’t so secretly tense, you’d muse that you might actually make a good friend tonight. “Thank you and thank you for coming. I hope you’re enjoying the ball.” “Yes, I am, your grace— I mean, my lady.” “Please, you don’t need to be so formal with me in private,” you tell her even though she insists otherwise. The conversation starts to slow and you scramble for ways to continue it. How did you use to get girls to like you back in school? What the hell did you use to do again? The answer comes a second later— “I love your dress.” Lucy’s eyes light up and she looks down. “Really? I actually sewed it myself.” That revelation has your eyes turning into saucers and your sociable facade falls. “What?” “It’s not much,” she giggles. “The servants were taking down some dusty curtains back at home to replace them, but I thought it was such a waste, so I washed it and hand sewed it myself. I was afraid it would look shabby for tonight’s ball.” “N-No, it’s amazing!” She looks like she’s straight out of a fairy tale. She is straight out of a fairy tale! Even Snow fucking White would feel outdone. “You have some real talent.” You wonder if the girl sings to squirrels in her spare time. You wouldn’t put it past her. She beams. “Thank you.” The violins seem to dial down into a waltz piece and several more people enter the floor with their partners in hand. You turn to Lucy with a smile. “You should dance.” “Oh, well, I’m not much of a dancer.” She brushes a strand of her hair loose from her bun behind her ear. “And I wouldn’t know who to dance with either…” You hum and at the exact same time, someone with doe eyes unsuspectedly passes by. You steal the opportunity when it’s handed to you— “Jungkook!” The Prince turns at the familiar call of his name, one without any title to it. His brow is quirked and you take Lucy’s hands, pulling her along with you as she remains stunned. This is it. This is the first meeting. For you, it’s like you’ve dragged your best friend down the school hallway to talk to her crush. But for them, you wonder if it’s a life-changing moment. One of the ones where time seems to stop and fireworks are bursting in the air and their breaths hitch and their hearts sycroniz—…. Probably not by the confused look on their faces. But you’ll take it! “Prince Jungkook, meet Lucienne. She’s Baron of Liza’s daughter and she goes by Lucy.” You turn, hand gesturing out towards him. “Lucy, meet Prince Jungkook.” “N-Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” She curtsies and you can feel her nervousness by the way her hand shakes in yours. “Likewise.” Your fiancé turns to you with a skeptical brow raised. “Seems like you’ve made a friend tonight.” You plaster on a big smile. “I know right.” He and you both know you don’t like to play nice and hence, don’t have friends at all. So it’s an oddity for you to bring around someone you met five minutes ago. But you don’t let Jungkook ask too many questions. “You should dance with her.” “Pardon?” “Why not?” You push the girl towards him and she nearly stumbles into his frame. “Ball’s are all about dancing and Lucy here’s looking for a partner and I know you have to get that practice in!” By the narrowing of his eyes, you can tell Jungkook’s suspicions of your intentions or what could possibly be up your sleeve. You wish he was as dumb as he was seven years ago. “Anastasia.” “Umm...I really don’t have to, Your Highness.” Lucy bows her head, placed in an awkward position and you internally apologize to her, but you gotta do what you gotta do. “Come on,” you continue to pressure Jungkook. “You’re not going to leave her hanging, right?” Jungkook exhales out of his nose and he looks like he’s not going to let this go so easily, but for now, he relents. He bows slightly and takes Lucy’s hand. “Will you have this dance, Lady Lucienne?” “Yes…?” Okay. It’s not a storybook, fairy tale moment or anything like the game, but this is as good as it’s going to get. This way, your engagement with Jungkook can smoothly end, Lucy will take your place and you’ll be able to survive in peace while supporting them like a secondary character instead of the villainess. With your arms folded, you stand at the sidelines and watch them dance together. It’s stiff at first, but soon, Jungkook’s murmuring something to her and she’s laughing. They look like the picture perfect couple. Even others are nudging each other and watching the pair. A smile tugs on your features, but your observation as an audience member soon is interrupted. “Would you like to dance, my lady?” It’s a husky timbre, one that startles your senses and has your head whirling around. You didn’t know you were waiting for him until he appeared, until a feeling of ease that you didn’t know existed washes over you. Taehyung has his arm extended, a tender smile on his face. His dark brunette hair is combed to the side and he’s dressed in a black jacket with a navy cape draped on his left shoulder, not any less handsome than the others in the room. The corner of your mouth curls. “If you don’t mind me stepping on your toes.” Your hand slides into his palm and he grasps your fingers. “I don’t.” If Jungkook and Lucy had eyes straying then you and Taehyung have eyes turning — most don’t know who he is when he’s never shown up to any social engagements, but few do and while they’re shocked, already whispering tales of scandal, you don’t notice. You’re far too mesmerized by him. By the fact that he’s here, that he’s looking into your eyes, guiding you along the ornate ballroom floor. The skirt of your dress sways as he twirls you carefully, the two of you synchronized to the rest of the dancing crowd. “I didn’t think you would show up,” you murmur once you’ve landed back into his arms again. “Were you waiting for me?” “I decline to answer.” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth tickles into a smile. “Well, looks like it was a good thing you skipped out on that dance lesson since you obviously didn’t need it.” You grin, scoffing lightly. “That’s because you’re a good lead.” “You’re a good partner,” he replies as the music diminuendos. You wonder since when the pitiful boy you knew became so sly and mischievous. Or maybe he was always this way and his mother’s passing simply made him quiet. “And of course I would come if you were here.” Your brow lifts. “And why is that?” Taehyung hums. “Let’s just say, I’ve been meaning to get a chance to speak to you for a long time now.” You wonder what he means. If he’s simply planning to build rapport to conspire with you. But your relationship with the royal family and Jungkook is known to everyone as being decent. The Taehyung in the game also never went out of his way to meet Anastasia either. It was always her. Anastasia’s choices led to her being used as his pawn. Taehyung breaks your train of thought as he leans in close to your ear, “I’m always scared of getting you into trouble, but you can’t when everyone’s here. We can chalk it up to a coincidence that we met and danced, right?” “That’s the bastard’s son, isn’t it?” Your ears suddenly tune into the murmurs, words hidden behind gloved hands and feathered fans. If people didn’t know Taehyung before, word was spreading like wildfire. “The one who was born from that maid.” “You mean the King’s first son?” Your head turns when there’s a heavy set of eyes placed upon your form and you realize the King is sitting on his throne, expressionless. He’s staring at Taehyung who hasn’t noticed, or maybe has and yet chose to ignore. Taehyung’s right. A ball like this is truly the exception. The only time you and Taehyung would ever be able to meet in public. His eyes meet yours once more and you realize the reason Taehyung never sought you out. He never looked for you because he was afraid of what that would mean for you. How the slander and hatred of his name would attach to yours. The dance ends as the turmoil inside of you overboils. Your mouth parts to speak, but Jungkook approaches and interrupts. “Taehyung?” The younger brother has his eyes wide and the older smiles. “Good evening, Your Highness.” Jungkook laughs. “What’s with that? Actually, no, what are you doing here? You never come to these things!” Maybe because he’s not allowed to. You haven’t seen the half-brothers interact before. But you wonder how much Jungkook really knows about Taehyung — probably not a lot based on what you know in the original storyline. The two brothers had to fight each other to the death in a civil war. Jungkook came out victorious. And knowing that future makes you feel queasy as you look at the both of them being friendly together. “I just thought it was time to change that.” “You should’ve appreciated not having to go for longer. These things can be so boring. You’re honestly the lucky one,” Jungkook says. Taehyung’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Am I?” “I wish I was in your shoes sometimes,” Jungkook sighs and turns to you. “Anna. Anna? Anastasia!” You’re startled, brought out of your trance and Jungkook grins. “I was going to ask you how the dance was.” You loll your head to your shoulder. “Taehyung’s a better lead.” Jungkook’s jaw drops in offence and he scoffs. “He’s probably too nice to say anything badly about you.” You roll your eyes and glance to his side, wondering where the main character went. Lucy should be here or at least beside Jungkook. Or maybe something went wrong…. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highnesses.” You bow, eyes already set off on the crowd. You don’t notice Taehyung reaching out, brows lifted, expression distraught that your moment together was so short. But by then, you’re already gone. You look around, searching for the girl in the soft yellow dress. But instead, your arm is yanked back roughly. You spin around to meet wrinkled but stern gazes. The ones that can only belong to your parents — the Duke and Duchess of Devereux. Even if you’re in the castle now, you’ll never be able to be free of them. They pull you out to the hall and into a nearby private room meant for quieter conversations for the guests. The doors shut and the silence simmers tensely around you. You muster a smile. “Mama, papa, how have you bee—?” There’s a sharp sound that echoes throughout the empty space and you’re shaken, breath staggering when you find your head whipped to the side. Your right cheek is numb. She just….slapped you. You turn to her, voice shrill. “What was that for?!” “How could you dance with that man?” “What?” “Did you know you could ruin your entire marriage by associating with the likes of that man? Everything you’ve worked for, Anastasia, everything that your father and I set up for you and the Devereux house could be ruined.” Her voice sends chills to your spine, quiet, deadpanned and yet full of venom. “Do you know who he is? He’s the bastard son. Do you want to get on the wrong side of the King? Or are you trying to show that you favour him as the next heir instead?” “What?” They’re jumping leaps and bounds, thinking ten steps too ahead. “Do you know how much trouble that would cause?” Your father pipes up behind her, his voice low. “It could get the entire family executed for treason.” From the corner of your eye, you see your mother’s hand raise again. But you clutch her wrist before she has the chance to slap you another time. “Once is enough,” you spit through gritted teeth. “You don’t want people outside to know, do you?” She yanks her hand out of your grasps. “Ingrate. If you’re not careful, everything the family has done for you will be gone in an instant. Don’t you know everyone in that room is watching your every move? You are the only heir of this household. You are the Crown Princess. The future Queen. Every decision, every choice, from what food you choose to put in your mouth to what colour you decide to wear, it affects not only yourself but everyone.” You know. You know the burden on your shoulders better than anyone else. But is one dance with Taehyung not even allowed? Your mother rounds the table and sits down on the sofa. “Not to mention, you allowed another whore to dance with your fiancé. She’s just a measly baron’s daughter. There’s no royal blood in her.” “Neither does our family have any,” you mutter. The Duchess whirls her head around in absolute shock. The Duke is the one who intervenes, level-headed yet stoic. “You must be the Crown Princess, Anastasia. You must keep that status and causing the King to be unhappy will do nothing to help.” “There are other ways to stabilize our family status,” you reason with him. “I don’t understand—” “No matter how talented you are,” he says slowly as he paces to your mother’s side, “even if you can wield a sword better than most palace knights, this is the only way.” Your staggering breath inhales through your mouth and out your nose, frustration, torment suffocating. You want to leave this place. Leave the castle, leave the Devereux name, leave these duties burdened onto you. The scrutiny that comes along with the wealth and power. You want none of it. You might be Anastasia. But you’re also Y/N. Wanting to survive and living a long and fruitful life was your goal even before this lifetime. And as selfish as it may be, you cannot fulfill that wish while maintaining your parents’. You can’t. You can’t fight to be the Crown Princess if you want to live. You can’t see yourself into old age if you’re executed. You can’t keep Jungkook close and Taehyung at a distance. You can’t run away, but you can’t ground yourself and stay either. Everyone! Everyone wants something from you, everyone is expecting you to play some kind of role — daughter, survivor, saviour — and you don’t know what to pick and choose. What decisions to make and how to make them. And because of this indecisiveness, the half-hearted middle ground, you couldn’t save Taehyung’s mom. “It’s because of your narrow mindedness that you’ve pushed yourselves to only one option.” You turn and leave the room, slipping away before they can say another word. If you choose happiness — the happy ending of Jungkook and Lucy with your survival and support, an ending where you will be able to stand in the background, the Devereux house will fall. If you choose to follow duty and selflessness — you will die and ruin their name anyway. You’re not so sure why it’s so hard to make a choice. In the original game, the Duke and Duchess cut ties with you anyway. They threw Anastasia away when she needed them most. But even with that resentment, it still hurts. You exhale, escaping to the terrace and leaning against the stone wall to look up at the stars. Your own words echo back to you and you wonder if you’ve narrowed yourself down to only two options. You wonder what other possible way you can have it all. If it’s even possible…. Or what fate has in store for you.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fluff #HALFWAY MARK!!!

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scaredyships · 3 years ago

Text

Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. III

summary: Mando picks out the planet Sorgan for the three of you to lie low on. Things get complicated, Reader gets a glimpse of how hectic Mando's life can be as a bounty for hire, and everybody is confused about feelings.

word count: 14.5k (...help)

author’s notes: Good LORD I was stuck on this for way too long. Between my creative focus being elsewhere and just being completely stuck as to how I wanted some scenes to play out, it took a lot for me to do more than a sentence or two at a time and then forget about it for days or weeks at a time.

This was also hard to write bc I am very uhhh put off by Omera and her original role as the possible love interest and I was trying very hard to remain believable/respectful about her. Cara Dune was also hard to write because of certain actions by her actor, so she's got a little bit of a lesser role.

I'm saying this now, with future chapters I am not going to be going episode-by-episode like I originally intended. I might jump around and have some "filler" things, I may completely skip over some episode happenings, I may diverge from canon here and there, but generally the outcomes will be the same as the show. I cut out the actual battle of Sorgan too bc this is already too long and I am terrible at writing action scenes. :v

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (you are here) // ao3 link

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It had been a couple days since you’d set yourself up a space in the hold. At least, it felt like a couple days. You weren’t accustomed to space travel and dealing with the lack of solar cycles to indicate the passage of time, so it was difficult to tell exactly. It didn’t really matter, in the end, but it was still a little annoying.

In that time, you spent most of your time getting to know your way around the Razor Crest’s small layout, what panels and buttons did what, and making sure the child on board was cared for and didn’t get into anything he shouldn’t. Easier said than done, as that kid was surprisingly sneaky and far too curious. He seemed well-behaved, right up until you weren’t looking, and the next thing you knew he was doing something like rooting around in a pile of netting and getting hopelessly tangled, or trying to put things in his mouth to teethe on.

Right now, the kid was up in the cockpit with Mando. Even though you were on board to help out, Mando still seemed to feel better when he was in the same room as the kid versus you being the one supervising, and to be honest it was nice to have a break from babysitting. You had never wanted kids of your own to begin with, and though this kid wasn’t exactly your standard child, it reinforced that at the end of the day, the factor of being able to give the child back to their actual caregiver played a large role in just how tolerant you were of them.

The entire ship suddenly jerked to the side and sent you crashing into the hull wall, your shins narrowly avoiding smashing against the edge of one of the crates lying around. To say you were shaken was a bit of an understatement, despite not a moment later, the normal smooth flight pattern returning and the ship righting itself. Did Mando hit something? Was some part of the ship on the verge of breaking down completely? You did a quick sweep to make sure none of the weapons lockers were damaged and that nothing was in danger of going ogg. You swore, this man had far too much firepower on board and one day it was going to come back and bite him.

Fortunately, everything was where it should be and the only things really out of place was your now-askew space, and your frazzled self. Huffing, you sped over to the ladder and clambered up to the cockpit to see if you could find out what was going on. On your way up, you could hear the low, modulated voice of Mando speaking, very likely to the child with the tone you could pick up.

“Ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple months, you little womp rat? Nobody’s gonna find us there.”

“Nobody’s gonna find us where?” Your head and shoulders were poking out of the ladder hatch, arms folding over the edge as you gave the pair a pointed look. You weren’t about to let Mando decide where you were going to camp out for months without you giving some input.

The Mandalorian turning to face you with the child in his lap was almost comical, like they’d been caught doing something they weren’t expecting to be called out on. You didn’t see any sign of concern over whatever had shaken you down below, so you figured you could bring that up later.

You could see a holomap beyond Mando, though it was too far for you to make out any of the text on it. You dragged yourself the rest of the way into the cockpit, righting yourself and coming to a halt just far enough that you could read the screen.

“An outer rim planet.” He leaned aside and let you read the screen’s details. Sorgan, huh. You vaguely remember that name from when you were compiling planets for Mando back when this whole mess started. The details past that escaped you, though. You squinted as you read on. No populations outside of small settlements to speak of, no starports or anything industrial… and it was one of those planets made up of a single biome - swamp.

To be honest, you weren’t thrilled at the idea of actually camping out for so long in such a place. You were so accustomed to being in places that had somewhat larger settlements, and absolutely more tech than this planet likely had, not just for business but simple things like staying entertained. But you were even less thrilled at the fact that this was a swamp planet. You knew not all swamp planets were the same, but the simple holomap readout didn’t indicate any further details about what kind of swamps it was made up of.

You hope above all things it’s not a bog planet like Nal Hutta. Gaseous atmosphere, skies choked by sickly green clouds, brown water, hardly any land to speak of.

You turned and gave Mando a look. “No information about the biome past ‘swamp’?”

He shook his head in that slow, deliberate way of his. You exhaled through your nose.

“Not a fan of swamps?”

“You could say that.” You turned back to the screen, like staring at it might make it give up more information. Maker , you missed your database.

“How far away are we?”

“Not very, maybe an hour or two.”

You stepped back and fell unceremoniously into one of the passenger seats further back in the cockpit. The child, who had been watching you through this whole exchange, seemed to lose his interest once you sat down and went back to looking curiously around at the controls laid out in front of Mando. You could almost see the cogs turning in his head, and you started to suspect he had something to do with the ship going sideways earlier. Probably got a hold of the controls somehow.

“I guess I’ll have a better idea of where we’re going once we get a look at the planet.”

The Mandalorian nodded, and turned back to the controls to pilot you all there.

You had been closer than you anticipated, though it was still not a very short journey. Instead of going back down to the hull, you opted to stay in the passenger seat and simply wait. Jumping to hyperspace was something you had yet to get used to, but after so long of the smooth traveling with the smears of light streaking past the windscreens, you found you could relax a little and rest your eyes.

A jolt in the ship as you exited hyperspace shook you awake. Blinking and sitting up in your chair, you peered out the window at the planet taking up the view.

Deep green. Streaks of blue. White cloud cover. You breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back against the chair back.

“Acceptable?” There was a hint of amusement in Mando’s voice. You smirked at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine with it.” You actually were looking forward a little to seeing just what kind of plant life was on this planet. You could see a fair amount of tree coverage, which meant forests. It had been far too long since you’d seen proper forests, let alone been out in one. You had tried to replicate it with your plant corner back home, but it was never the same. Some time amongst real trees would do you good.

The descent had you watching out the window the whole time, surveying the landscape as its features came into view. It had its marshes and rivers, but equal amounts of coniferous forests and solid land. This place could almost pass for an arboreal biome planet in places. You spotted very few settlements on the way in, too, and what you did see looked to be the most basic of small villages.

Mando landed the Razor Crest some ways away from a small market, hidden amongst ample tree coverage. He locked down the controls and lifted the kid with one arm, removing a small silver ball from his clutches to attach to one of the levers in the array.

“I’m going to go out and find us some lodging. Wait here with the kid. Don’t let him touch anything. I’ll be back.”

He passed the child off to you, with such surety that you’d take him that he nearly dropped the little one on you before you could respond. You grabbed him with both hands in a slight panic, thinking he was about to fall, and in doing so your fingers gripped into the gloved ones already supporting his weight. Even with the barrier between skin-to-skin contact, it was awkward and had your face heating with embarrassment that you’d accidentally touched the bounty hunter. He, however, made no indication of any such reaction, damn that helmet making him unreadable. His hands withdrew once it was certain the child was in your grasp safely.

You and the child stared at each other as you held him out before you, like you weren’t sure what to do with him now. He looked back at you with a similar expression, and you swore there was a hint of some sort of mischief underneath it. Oh, he had definitely been the one to make the ship go off-kilter, no doubt now. And knowing your luck, he was going to do more of the same once Mando left. You’d already experienced him trying to eat trash despite you actively watching him, you knew he was capable of more.

Mando descended the ladder into the hold, and the sound of the ramp opening up reached the cockpit. You looked out the windscreen, watching as the Mandalorian appeared in your field of view just as the sound of the ramp closing itself back up sounded.

And that was all it took.

The child turned into a complete nightmare the instant it was clear Mando was gone. It didn’t matter what you did - first he fussed and squirmed to be let down, so you did, and the second you turned your head he had somehow managed to get into the pilot’s seat and was attempting to mess with the controls. Every time you picked him up, he fussed again, wriggling and whining loudly, and whenever you set him back down he went straight for whatever he knew he could get in trouble for. You tried to keep this up as long as you could, which proved to be a pathetic five minutes or so. It was like having an extra-smart, extra-naughty loth cat with thumbs on board.

“Okay, kid. We’re going down to the hold. You can’t accidentally start the ship up down there.” You snatched the kid up under his armpits, and though he continued fussing, it was much less, like perhaps he wanted to be in the hold. You knew that the hold had just as much, if not more, for him to get into trouble with, what with the armory down there, but it was better than possibly starting up the engines and taking off.

You awkwardly climbed down the ladder with one arm latched around the child, and once you reached the floor you set him down, hoping he’d behave a little more. How wrong you were. It was like the kid instinctively knew where the controls for the ramp were, because he made a beeline for that panel - knocking whatever he could out of the way just to accentuate his point - and reached his-far-too-short arms into the air like he could possibly reach it if he just tried hard enough. No amount of you trying to redirect his attention or picking him up to set him down elsewhere worked, he would cry and go straight back to the panel and give you repeated looks with big, desperate eyes, like you were a monster for not understanding he wanted to open the door.

“Mando told us to stay here. So we’re going to stay here until he gets back.”

It was when the loud crying started that you knew you had lost the battle.

That alone was one of your top reasons for not desiring children - you couldn’t handle the noise that came with an upset child. Not for any good parental reason like not wanting to see them sad. You genuinely couldn’t stand the screaming, it set you on edge and made you want to scream in turn. And here one was, cries bouncing off the hull walls and drilling into your eardrums with far more force than you could have imagined possible for something so small.

You rushed as fast as you could towards the control panel and slammed the button to open the ramp.

“OKAY! Okay, okay, you win, we’ll go find him.” You glared down at the kid, whose clear face and perked ears indicated the crying had all been an act. You sighed heavily. He’d only known you for maybe a few days and he already knew how to get you to do what he wanted.

“He’s not going to be happy, you know that, right.” The child just tilted his head at you, smug little face seeming to say “no, he can’t get mad at me”.

You wandered back to your area not too far off to get some of your outerwear on - your belt, your ear piece, your blaster, whatever you might need in the immediate future. The neck gaiter you loosely wore got pulled up to securely cover the lower half of your face - it made you feel more secure, somehow, when you were venturing out into strange places. You picked the kid up and awkwardly shifted him to one arm, making your way down the ramp, and hoping you wouldn’t get into too much trouble with the bounty hunter. The kid, meanwhile, happily burbled in your grasp.

With a deep sigh and a roll of your eyes, you marched out onto the planet’s surface in the direction you had seen Mando go.

You were right. Mando wasn’t happy at all.

He had been trudging along, lost in his thoughts about what kind of lodging he should be looking for now that there wasn’t just him, but you and a child to account for, but still attentive enough to his surroundings that when he heard what sounded like distant footsteps crunching through the undergrowth he paused.

It was when he heard the sounds of the child babbling and you calling out to him to wait that his wariness turned to mild panic, and he rushed towards where he could hear your voices, hand staying within reaching range of his blaster. What had happened? He told you to stay back at the Crest and yet here you were, with the child. Had you been discovered, and just barely escaped? Was the Razor Crest captured?

He came to a halt just a few feet from you, surveying you and the child for any signs of distress or damage, stance wary and ready for a fight.

“What happened?” His tone was terse, apprehensive.

You looked wryly down at the bright-eyed child in your grasp, and back up at the bounty hunter. Or rather, somewhere in the general vicinity of him, as you found you couldn’t look directly at him.

“He, uh. Was very upset at you leaving without him.”

Mando’s defensive posture deflated and he tilted his head in a way that you knew he was giving you a disbelieving look.

“I told you to stay put, and the kid throwing a fit is all it took for you to leave?” He didn’t miss the way your mouth tightened into a thin line and your brow furrowed.

“He wouldn’t stop trying to be destructive, and when I tried to move him he’d just scream and go for the ramp! Look, I told you I wasn’t the best out there with kids.” You snapped, glaring into the blank visor.

Honestly, he could tell you were disappointed in yourself for caving so easily, and he probably wouldn’t have fared much better with his own lack of experience with children. But you could have been followed, and now the ship was unattended. The child, however, looked content as ever, his plan having worked. He sighed. It was what it was at this point. At least he was still in range that could lock the ship up remotely with his vambrace controls, which he set to doing immediately.

“Come on, then.” He motioned with a hand as he turned back to the direction he had come from, cape swirling around his form dramatically. You exchanged a tired glance with the smug kid, having half a mind to set him down and make him walk the rest of the way to wherever you were going.

“You’re lucky you’re at least a little cute.”

By the time you get to civilization, you’d let the kid down to walk - just beside Mando, and you just behind the child. Two unlikely bodyguards for an equally unlikely “dignitary”. The towering trees thinned out on the edge of the small market center, man-made structures beginning to appear. The buildings were small, mostly made of wicker and wood, with very little in the way of tech. The people were equally simple, their dress and presentation reflecting their rural occupations.

With the interest of the child in mind, Mando led the three of you into a common house, the busy sounds of kitchen work and the smell of grilling food easily reaching you before you even got to the entrance. It would have been more welcoming, if it wasn’t also accompanied by nearly everyone turning their eyes to your odd trio and whispering amongst themselves. On one hand, you couldn’t completely blame them, as the three of you were like the lead-up to a bad joke come to life. But it still made you very uncomfortable, knowing without a doubt that you were being watched and discussed. You hated the feeling. You self-consciously adjusted the fabric masking your face and furrowed your brow to try and give off the most “do not approach” energy you could, glancing around at the tenants. Not many of them returned your gaze, save a few, including one woman who didn’t at all look like she was from there. Strong, wearing armor and weapons - not to the extent of the Mandalorian, of course. But you could still feel that she wasn’t to be messed with. You averted your gaze quickly.

The child, meanwhile, was bright as ever with this new place he was in. He looked around the establishment, taking in the new scenery and the light filtering in through the gaps of the woodwork with his big eyes. You in turn watched him, as Mando located a table for the three of you. You followed suit and sat at the table, and as you turned to see what the kid was up to, you noticed the little one had locked eyes with a tooka cat beneath the chair of a nearby tenant. The child was curious, but you knew enough about tooka cats to know that the way it was looking back meant it was interpreting the child’s staring as threatening to its peace. Very few animals took maintaining eye contact as anything but a challenge, and this was no different.

“Leave it alone, kid.” You murmured just loud enough that you hoped he’d hear. Your words were too late, as the cat’s lips pulled back and revealed its enormous maw of teeth in a menacing hiss. The child flinched back with a frightened noise, and next thing you knew you were snatching him up by the ruff of his oversized coat and plopping him in the seat beside you.

There was barely any time for any of you to exchange glances when a proprietor approached the table, face weathered but welcoming.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little one.” Mando motioned with his hand towards the child. You suppressed giving the armored man a skeptical look for ordering the most basic of things for the kid, when it was obvious they had more substantial food in this establishment. It was fine, you told yourself, he had the final say and this wasn’t the place to call him out on his decisions.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there’s plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” Mando shook his head. The proprietor turned her gaze to you expectantly.

“No, thank you.” You put your palm out in a placating gesture. Even though the aroma of food filtered through your face covering and had a tempting quality to it, somewhere as public as this was absolutely not somewhere you’d be comfortable trying to eat at. If you could take it to go, maybe. But you had no idea where you’d even be staying at this point, or how much longer you’d be looking for such a place. No, you could wait.

The proprietor nearly began to speak again when Mando cut her off. “That one over there, when did she arrive?”

So, you hadn’t been the only one to notice the intimidating woman across the room. Well, it wasn’t that difficult, with how much she stuck out amongst the residents of the planet. You three were equally as noticeable, and you didn’t miss how the woman was still watching you, though she was trying to be discreet about it. There was wariness coming off of her, you could feel that much.

The proprietor glanced towards where Mando had indicated the strange woman to be, seemingly confused. “Uh, I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

Mando continued pressing her for answers she didn’t have. “What’s her business here?”

“Business?” The proprietor looked as confused as ever. “Well, there’s not much business on Sorgan, so I can’t say…” The sound of credits clinking onto the countertop reached in your ears as Mando casually tossed some onto the tabletop. You were too busy watching the woman out of your peripheral vision to pay too much attention to what he was up to. The proprietor mentioned the woman not being a log runner, and offered complimentary spotchka before she left to retrieve the order.

The moment the woman stood and moved to leave the common house, you discreetly rapped your knuckle against Mando’s vambrace. The black T of his visor turned towards you, and you vaguely twitched your fingers in the direction the woman had been moments before. “She’s leaving.” You murmured as lowly as you could so Mando could hear but others couldn’t. You didn’t get any impression of real danger or malice from her, but knowing that the three of you had prices on your heads, you had a feeling the bounty hunter would try to follow her and make sure she wasn’t about to report on your whereabouts to anyone.

Mando stood from his seat, gaze trained on the doorway to the establishment. “Stay here with the kid. I’ll be back.”

And there it was. You exhaled through your nose and looked down at the kid, comically small in his chair and watching as the beskar-clad man made his way to the exit and out of sight.

You wondered how often he went out of his way to pick possible fights like this.

The proprietor returned to the table and placed a small bowl in front of the child, breaking you from your thoughts. The complimentary bottle of spotchka made an appearance, too, but you didn’t pay much mind to it. Alcohol was never something you liked, between it being an acquired taste and dulling your thoughts. You still nodded appreciatively at her before she left to tend to the next table.

Before the kid could finish picking up his bowl, the faintest of sounds reached your ears. While you normally wouldn’t pay much mind to such things in a public place, there was some notion in your mind that it was the buckethead getting into a fight with the woman from earlier. You looked over at your tiny companion, who looked up at you over the brim of his bowl and towards the doorway Mando had left through moments earlier.

“He doesn’t need our help, we’ll just get in the way.”

The kid seemed to take that as a challenge, and hopped down from his seat and began to toddle off.

“Hey, no, we are not going out there-” You jumped up and tried to herd him back towards the table, and you almost succeeded, but the little green thing was surprisingly determined and avoided your awkward movements, both of you caught up in a ridiculous dance. The tenants were watching you and your face heated with embarrassment. You finally scooped up the rapscallion with one arm, narrowly avoiding some of the broth sloshing from his bowl and onto the floor.

“Fine, we’ll go see what’s going on. Just stop trying to run off on me.” You pointed meaningfully at the kid with your index finger, peering into those big dark eyes and hoping he actually listened. He looked back at you with those big bright eyes and perked ears in a way that somehow told you he understood.

You carefully set him back on the ground. “Stay close.”

Exiting the establishment and turning the corner was as far as you needed to go to see just what you suspected - Mando and the woman scrabbling to get the upper hand against the other. It was almost comical, in a way, even though blasters were involved and the situation could very well turn dangerous.

And it nearly did just that when the two fell on the ground with blasters pointed at each other’s heads - causing you to pull your own blaster from its holster - except everything was interrupted by a very loud slurp from the child as he watched from beside you, bowl of broth clutched tightly. The slow turns of their heads and prolonged look from both of them was enough of an announcement of a stalemate as any. You snorted and shook your head slightly at the scene.

“I take it you don’t actually want to kill each other, then.” You slightly lowered your blaster from where it was aimed at the woman. You didn’t miss the way Mando paused in a way that you imagined he was rolling his eyes under his helmet. He turned his attention back to the woman he was still vaguely pointing his blaster at.

“Would you like some soup?”

You all returned to the table you’d had back in the common house. The woman - named Cara Dune, you learned - told you her story. She was a former shock trooper for the former Rebel Alliance working on Endor, with no additional support, and as soon as the ex-Imperials were gone the politics got out of hand and she found herself working to “keep the peace”. Beating rioters and favoring delegates wasn’t what she’d signed up for, so she left, and now had a price of her own for desertion. She recognized Mando as being part of the Guild and suspected he’d come looking for her. She kept glancing curiously at you throughout her explanation, like she wasn’t sure what to make of you tagging around with a Mandalorian bounty hunter and why he was even letting it happen. Sure, the child was an equally puzzling factor, but she seemed to sense he was a touchy subject.

She eventually turned to you after her explanation was finished. “So what’s your story?”

You shrugged, idly adjusting one of your wrist pieces. “He got my house blown up and put me on a wanted list, so this is his way of dealing with the guilt.”

Cara visibly bites back a laugh and tries to hide behind her own cup of broth. You glance over at your companion, whose stiff posture tells you he’s not sure how to react, but he’s definitely embarrassed to some degree.

The ex-trooper downs the last of her broth, and stands from the table. “Well, this has been a real treat. But unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She gives you all a curt nod, and walks away.

Mando leans back in his own chair and looks between you and the kid, who’s working on his second helping of broth. “Well, looks like this planet’s taken.”

The walk back to the Razor Crest was a somber one for you. Now that you had spent some time on the surface, you’d actually taken a bit of a liking to the place. But Mando was right - as remote as this planet was, it could likely only handle one fugitive at a time. Looked like it was back to the ship directory to root through whatever systems it could access. You tried not to let your mind wander off to mourn your lost database again. This was exactly why you compiled lists of multiple options, in case something like this happened and one of those choices fell through.

A tug on your pant leg dragged you from your mulling. You looked down and were met with the concerned face of the child looking back up at you.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me.” The kid burbled quietly at you in response. That seemed to catch Mando’s attention, as he was now looking questioningly back at you.

“Something wrong?”

You exhaled through your nose, trying to come up with a brief answer that wasn’t too revealing. You weren’t big on talking about your feelings, and you got the impression that neither was Mando, so between the two of you it would be better if it was kept to a minimum.

“Feeling a little useless on the front of hunting for a planet, that’s all.” It was the first time you’d felt this useless in a very long time, to be honest, but you weren’t about to let that part out.

Mando turned back to continue the trek back to the Razor Crest. “We’ll figure something out.” His tone was superficially dull, but you could tell he was trying in his own way to sound reassuring. That counted for something.

Once you made it back to the Crest, which was safe and sound amongst the trees, the two of you got to work - the Mandalorian using the dying daylight to look over the ship for maintenance, while you took up the task of sifting through the planetary database for your next options. Originally Mando wanted you to take the child up with you so he’d be better contained, but after a pitiful look from those big, dark eyes, it was over and decided that he’d watch him. The “watching” very quickly turned into “put the kid to bed”, thank the maker.

It felt like you’d had barely any time to really start your search when you saw what looked like lights on the ground from your view in the cockpit. You slowly stood, watching the lights as they drew nearer. That couldn’t be anything good.

You clambered your way down the ladder and into the hold just as whoever it was pulled up. It was a small cargo sled, one that barely seemed to be holding itself together, with two men of seemingly modest origins on it. Mando wasn’t the least bit concerned about it, as he continued his repairs and ignore them as they tried to get his attention.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Mando didn’t stop working. “There something I can help you with?”

You slowly made your way towards the ramp, taking care to accentuate the sound of your boots hitting the floor and make your presence known, Mando could take care of himself, but if they knew you were here they were less likely to try anything than if he were alone. You shot them a warning glare when they glanced at you, but watching their already-anxious expressions deepen almost made you regret doing so.

“Uh… yeah… raiders.” “We have money.”

You raised an eyebrow at them.

“You think I’m some kind of mercenary?” Mando still made no indication he was going to stop his work for them.

That was enough to get them stammering. First about how they’d read about Mandalorians, and how they thought he was one based on his armor, and if half of what they read was true then they could recruit him for help. One emphasized again, that they had money.

“How much?” Mando had paused his working, turning more attention to these strangers.

“Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill… We’re… krill farmers.” “We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.”

You don’t know what else you were expecting from locals of the planet, but the coin purse one of the men held up as proof of payment was sad to say the least. Krill farming and spotchka brewing didn’t strike you as a very lucrative business anyways, but if that was all they could muster…?

“It’s not enough.” And there was Mando, confirming your suspicions about what his rates were. You didn’t recall him being picky about his bounty, but thinking back, he did go for higher bounties more often than not. It looked like he still held onto that standard despite no longer being part of the Guild. Hell, if you were going by your own rates, what they appeared to have on hand wouldn’t even cover half of your cheapest services.

Mando finished what he’d been doing and made his way up the ramp towards you. The men following him up the ramp was unexpected, but not frightening. They were desperate, and you were getting a better sense of just how much.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is.” One of them tried to look to you for support. You stared back apprehensively.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.” Mando brushed past you, using your form as a barrier between him and the strangers as he retreated further into the hold.

“This is everything we have! We’ll give you more after the next harvest!” You stayed where you were, crossing your arms and staring the men down. You knew you should feel bad for them and try to convince Mando to do something, but with the last time you extended help ending with your entire life up to that point being destroyed, you were too wary to do so.

The two men looked between each other and your standoffish presence. Defeated, they slowly turned to return to their sled, talking to each other as they did.

“Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere.”

Mando had only made it a few feet past you by then, so he was definitely within earshot of their conversation. He stopped and turned on his heel, coming up behind you and stopping just behind your shoulder. It took everything in your power to appear unbothered by just how close he stood.

“Where do you live?”

The men paused, turning back to look at the man that had just dismissed them.

“A farm, weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.” The hurt was apparent in the man’s voice.

“In the middle of nowhere.”

“…yes?” The confusion was palpable. You knew where this was going and you weren’t sure you liked it.

“You have lodging?”

The men started to realize where this was going, too, and jumped to provide answers he wanted to hear.

“Yes, absolutely.” Mando briefly glanced at you, as if he was about to ask what you thought. Unfortunately for you, that never happened and he made the decision on his own.

“Good.” Mando motioned to them. “Come up and help.” He motioned to you as well, and began pulling out cargo crates to have them start loading.

You approached the man, once the other men had carried one of the crates far enough that they’re out of hearing range.

“Mando, I don’t know about this. Middle of nowhere or not, Dune’s right, this planet can’t handle more than one fugitive at a time.”

Mando continued moving crates to the ramp. “If it took them all day to get here, they’ll be isolated enough.”

“That kind of distance from civilization, however small, hasn’t stopped bounty hunters before. You of all people know that.” You glared into the T-shape of his visor. You also knew that all it took was enough time for word to get out about sighting a certain beskar-clad Mandalorian traveling with a green child to reach interested ears. For all you knew, it could be happening right now.

Mando stopped his actions to turn and face you fully.

“We can always move on after the job if it doesn’t seem right.”

You sighed heavily through your nose. That seemed to be him trying to tell you he wasn’t about to change his mind. He had been doing this longer than you, you supposed. You glanced towards the closed door of his bunk, where the child was sleeping.

“…fine. But I’ll hold you to that.”

You briskly moved to where your makeshift corner was and started gathering up your own things for whatever sort of stay you were in for. Behind you, you heard Mando exchange a few more words with the men as they loaded the last of the cargo he’d pushed on them onto the sled.

His heavy footsteps approached you. “I’m going back into town for a while.” You turned, and noticed the pouch of credits that one of the men had shown you earlier clutched in his hand. “Stay here to keep an eye on them and the kid. I’ll be back.”

You stared at him for a moment, then nodded slightly. “At least he’s not awake to make me come chasing after you this time.”

You swore you heard a slight snort from beneath that helmet.

He’d returned some time later with Cara Dune in tow, and after rousing the kid the four of you joined the two men on their journey back to their village. The cargo sled, thank the maker, was the only part of the ride, no connections made with another transport like a boat like you were fearing. You didn’t like boats much, the swaying made you anxious. Five people made it a little crowded and awkward, and try as you might to sit as far as you could on some strapped-down cargo, to try and preserve some sense of personal space, you found yourself nearly falling off one too many times.

“That’s a good way to fall off and get left behind.”

You narrowed your eyes as you stared at the beskar-clad man that had basically just talked to you like a parent.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way.”

The way he tilted his head was enough for you to practically see the skeptical look he was no doubt wearing on his hidden face. The kid, sitting beside him, watched you intently.

“Nobody’s doing anything but waiting out the ride.” He pointed to a spot on the cargo just in front of him, where there was definitely enough room for you to fit, though it meant if you tried to stretch your legs out they’d be right alongside his. Clearly, he didn’t care about that if he was doing this.

You stared at the spot like it was a trap. Almost as if to prove a point, the sled went over a particularly pronounced piece of terrain and jostled you. You very nearly fell just like Mando had said you would. The only thing that kept you from going completely overboard was your grip on the cargo’s ties, but you still flopped embarrassingly around. You saw the man’s head tilt to the side as if to say “see?”

Defeated and embarrassed, you clambered down into the open area. Thank the maker Cara Dune had decided to try and get some sleep earlier, and the two farmers transporting you were busy navigating. You didn’t think you could handle having them involved in this, admittedly silly, exchange. You kept your gaze down, not daring to even look up at the Mandalorian. The kid, however, earned himself something between a glare and a smirk when you heard a small giggle come from his direction.

You drew your legs up into your new space, both to keep from invading even more of Mando’s space, and to keep out of the child’s space as well. Mando could handle an accidental kick if you absent-mindedly shuffled; the little green one probably wouldn’t fare so well.

Once you’d settled, you leaned back onto the cargo packed behind you and tried to get as comfortable as you could manage. Which wasn’t much. Mando, however, seemed capable of doing it, as he slowly fell backwards and folded his arms behind his head. You didn’t realize how broad he was until now, seeing up close how much space he took up just by doing that. And all over again, you felt like you were in his space, and needed to get out of it out of respect. But there was nowhere to go.

You had to snort to yourself when the child mimicked the bounty hunter and tipped backwards onto his much-softer surroundings, peering up at the dark sky with equally dark eyes. At least he was content to do that.

The sled ride stretched on for the duration of the night and into the morning, the farmers switching shifts partway through. You’d never really fallen asleep all the way, just dozed in the same position you took when you initially settled in. Your eyes had closed, and you became somewhat less aware of your surroundings, but the slightest of unusual sounds or movements still drew enough attention that you’d crack an eye open to see what was happening. All through the hours of darkness and through the light breaking over the land. So when the sled began to approach the village, you could hear it. The sounds of people working, distant voices. Opening your eyes and pushing yourself upright, you turned to look up ahead. In the distance you could see the beginnings of some sort of settlement.

You shifted your attention to the others on the sled. Cara Dune was still sleeping, though you didn’t know how. Mando and the child seemed to be out, as well. It was harder to tell with the bounty hunter because of his helmet, but the way he laid there was convincing.

Reaching over, you lightly grabbed one of the child’s clawed feet and shook it to get his attention.

“Get up, kiddo.”

He blinked awake, eyes squinting in the morning light and mouth working to remedy having gone dry while he slept with it open the night before. His big eyes shifted around to look for his Mandalorian guardian, body relaxing once he located him.

You weren’t going to try and use touch to see if he was awake, though. That could get you stabbed or shot, what with the combination of his reflexes and waking up in a strange place.

“Mando.” You raised your voice, hoping volume alone would do the trick. Fortunately for you, it did. The man shifted and groaned like he had just come alive, his helmet shifted ever so slightly and you could tell he was looking at you.

“We’re there.”

The armored man slowly drew himself upright into a sitting position. As much as he’d tried to get comfortable, he knew he’d be fighting with a back ache for a while after sleeping like he had. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already dealt with before, with his longer bounty hunts taking him far from his ship and civilization and requiring him to put comfort to the wayside. You, however, had probably not had to relegate yourself to such circumstances. You looked like you hadn’t actually slept, bags present beneath your eyes and a subtle, narrow-eyed scowl he hadn’t seen before on your face. You probably didn’t even know it was there.

The approach to the village was quickly noticed by the villagers, and before you knew it there was a crowd forming to welcome you.

And a lot of them were children.

You could see and hear them immediately. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled through your nose for a moment to steel yourself, both for the crowd and the large percentage of it being so young. You hadn’t even had a chance to really get used to the green child you were tasked with helping out with. And these kids could talk .

The sled came to a stop, the slight jarring motion shaking Cara Dune awake. She looked around, mind working to remember the circumstances that landed her in a strange vehicle with equally strange company.

The first thing the children of the crowd did, was fixate on the child companion of yours in the sled. They were all murmuring and giggling amongst themselves, and the kid looked back at them with equally curious intent. None of you had any idea when he was last around anyone of his mentation.

“Looks like they’re happy to see us.” You heard Mando’s voice crackle through his voice modulator. Cara Dune smiled, but all you could do was blink tiredly. You weren’t ready for this.

One of the children, a girl, broke away from the crowd and got closer to the smaller, green child, greeting him personally. You watched the interaction carefully. She seemed to notice, as she quickly made eye contact and ducked away back into the safety of the other village children.

With that, everyone disembarked the sled and began unloading cargo. You slowly rose from your spot, knees protesting from staying folded for so long and making you grit your teeth. You grabbed the pack you’d brought with you, slinging it over your shoulder and hobbling off of the sled to join the others, who were carrying their respective luggage. The child had been surrounded by the village kids, the curiosity on both sides still strong and outweighing the apprehension of the strangers with him.

It was time to be shown where you’d be staying, though. Without any words exchanged, Mando shuffled over to gather up the child, kids scattering, and you, Cara Dune, and he were led to your accommodations.

The village was modest, but cozy. The huts all had a distinct charm to them, with the same woven look as the common house, and reminding you of fishing baskets. Smoke rose from some, and in the distance you could make out man-made ponds where they likely farmed their krill.

You were all led to what appeared to be a building other than a hut. There’s a woman there, apparently putting the last touches on preparing it for guests. When she sees you approaching, she stops fussing with the blinds and turns to face you. You don’t miss how she’s focused in on the Mandalorian, with some sense of hesitation, like she wasn’t anticipating how meeting a Mandalorian in person would be. You couldn’t blame her, honestly.

“Please, come in.” You let Mando lead, watching him walk in and put his cargo down onto the floor. The woman turned and seemed mildly surprised when you entered as well, like she hadn’t really seen you before when you made your approach. Again, you couldn’t blame her - if you’d never met a Mandalorian before, it would be hard to notice anything else. That, and it made sense that should word get out in the village about a Mandalorian arriving, the last thing anyone would talk about would be his companions.

“I apologize… I didn’t realize how many guests there would be.” She glances briefly at you and the child individually. You began to feel guilty about being there at all. Of the adults that were there, you were by far the least useful for the job involving the raiders, and of the resources available for guests you felt like it would be better to distribute them amongst the others before you. The child, too, you felt deserved things before you did. You didn’t miss him looking up at you with his big dark eyes, as if he could sense your discomfort.

“Is, uh, there anywhere else available—“

“This will be fine.”

You give the beskar-clad man a perplexed look when he cuts you off. You were attempting to give the man his space back, surely he would like that better than having you hole up in the same small building?

“It’s not any different from the ship. We’ll make do.” He was looking back at you through that dark visor as if he had heard your thoughts. You blinked.

“Are you sure?”

The curt nod he gave you told you the conversation was over. Well… as long as he was okay with it.

The woman took that as her cue that she could speak again. “I’ve stacked some blankets over there, I can get more should you need them.” She indicated the area she meant. You nodded appreciatively at her.

There’s a very slight sound from the doorway, and both you and Mando turn to see the girl from before that had been talking to the child. She attempted to hide behind the doorframe, bashful about being noticed, but the woman goes to gently pull her back into sight and gently hold her to her side.

“This is my daughter Winta. We don’t get a lot of visitors around here, she’s not used to strangers.” That explains the extra feeling of being watched you’d felt on top of the village at large watching you, this girl must’ve followed along. The woman turned to face her daughter. “This nice man and his friends are going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

Winta looked shyly at you and Mando, and politely whispered a thank you. The woman took her daughter by the hand, leading her outside. “Come on, Winta, let’s give our guests some space.”

Just like that, you were left alone with your usual companions.

You glanced around, seeing that it was essentially just one open room. That wouldn’t do. Whatever Mando told you, you knew he would appreciate having a space to himself. You, also, would appreciate some semblance of privacy.

Speaking of Mando, he hadn’t moved to unpack at all, he continued to stand in place as he tried to process what he’d gotten himself into. He’d done plenty of jobs, with plenty of clients, but he wasn’t at all used to being treated like a “nice man”, as the woman had put it. He didn’t know how he was supposed to fee about it.

His buffering was briefly interrupted when you pushed past him into the barn, and began to root through the blankets that had been left and other supplies that had been pushed off to the side to make space.

“I’m going to build some sort of divide for the room. To at least make it feel like there are two rooms instead of one.” You began draping things over your shoulders and arms as you found them, and looking up at the ceiling and the walls to see what you had to work with. Part of him wanted to tell you to just sit down for now, since he could tell you weren't rested at all from the night before. But he also felt like he wouldn’t be able to stop you from your current activity until you’d finished it. He resigned himself to getting his cargo unpacked.

What he doesn’t know, is you were also trying to distract yourself from your own thoughts. You had noticed how the woman had briefly paused in the doorway as she left to look back - at Mando, and only Mando. You didn’t know why, but something about it bothered you. Was it a look of apprehension and were you offended on his behalf? No, that wasn’t it. It was some other expression that was subtle and layered and happened too fast for you to read. But it still bothered you. You tried to brush it aside and get to working on your new project instead.

Before long you had constructed a simple set of walls from various things you’d found around - you’d taken some sheets from the pile of blankets, and used them in conjunction with some netting and poles to fix them to the walls and ceilings similar to what you had done with your space back on the Razor Crest. A crib had been provided for the child, and you moved that onto the “half” that you’d designated Mando’s space - the larger section, and the one with the window. Your “half” was more like your “third” of the bar’s interior. Really, you didn’t mind. Mando had been busy unpacking and reconvening with Cara Dune to offer any input until it was done, anyways.

Later in the day, you’d more or less finished unpacking what little you’d brought, and Mando was tending to his rifle. You sat on a crate, idly fussing with the settings on your blaster, musing to yourself if you could possibly bother the bounty hunter in the future for something more substantial.

“Knock, knock.”

The woman from earlier stood at the door with a tray of a few plates of food in hand, her daughter in tow. You could see them, but their attention was turned to Mando and the child, who was standing in his crib. “Come in.” Mando’s voice sounded from beyond the divide in the room.

The woman entered, setting the tray down on a nearby surface and picking up a plate from it. Winta stepped forwards shyly, asking if she could feed the child. Mando wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he didn’t see a problem with it. “Sure.”

You watched from just around the edge of the divide, as the girl first knelt to feed the child, and then asked if she could play with him. Mando seemed just as fond of dealing with kids as you, hearing his sigh and flat “sure” in response. You smirked at that.

Once Mando had set the child on the ground, Winta immediately darted out the doorway with the child in tow. Mando started to protest, but the woman held him back. You didn’t know why, it was such a simple thing and she was coming from a place of experience where he had none, but for some reason… it made you bristle slightly. You felt like she was overstepping her bounds somehow. You shook your head briefly. She didn’t know any better, it was fine.

The woman then reached for one of the plates of food, to set on a surface closer to where Mando had been maintaining his rifle. “I brought you some food, I noticed you didn’t eat out there. I’ll leave it here for when I go.” Mando awkwardly thanked her, and moved to turn away.

You were hoping she would leave, then, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked if she could ask Mando a question. With his approval, she continued.

“How long has it been since you’ve taken that off?”

Oh, the helmet question. That was bound to happen sooner or later, honestly. You hoped she didn’t say anything too intrusive or insensitive.

“Yesterday.”

“I mean in front of someone else.”

The air felt heavy. You couldn’t quite see from your position where he was looking, but you saw him motion through the window towards what might have been the child and Winta, and other children based on the sounds of play you could hear.

“I wasn’t much older than they are.”

The woman sounded almost horrified that he hadn’t shown his face to anyone since then. The bounty hunter protested, saying that after his parents had been killed, the Mandalorians had taken him in and cared for him as their own.

It’s not like you knew what his past was, or what you expected it to be, but hearing it like this was like a punch to the gut. It was a horrible thing for him to have gone through at all, let alone as a child. You arguably had only just been getting to know him, but the fact that this woman he had never met before was able to get this fact out of him at all, let alone such a personal fact, stung. He had told you earlier that he’d trusted you. That should’ve been enough, and should’ve stopped you from having your thoughts run loose like they were.

“...I’m sorry.” The woman sounded genuinely sad.

“This is the way.”

“Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

Finally, she left. It did not escape you, though, that she hadn’t stopped to see if you had been there to let you know that she had brought you some food, as well, as you also had not left to go get food since arriving. That hurt a little bit, but with the way the prior exchange had gone it probably just slipped her mind. It wasn’t her fault. She was being a good host, she still brought it, didn’t she? You could swear, though, that she seemed to feel some sort of draw towards the bounty hunter and was acting on it in small ways. And you could not figure out why it bothered you.

Once she had left completely, you quietly crept out from behind the divide to retrieve your own plate. Mando was still standing before the window, watching the kids playing with the child. The woman now approached the crowd, no doubt to supervise and make sure they weren’t being too rough. You felt his eyes turn to you slightly.

“I uh… I’m sorry. About what happened in your past. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t not hear that part.”

Mando inclined his head for a moment, and then looked back up at you. “It wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have told you if it had come up.”

That lifted your mood a bit. Plate in hand, you wandered over to stand before the window, not too close but beside where Mando stood, to watch the kids.

“Looks like he’s having fun.” Mando hummed in agreement, arms folded.

You don’t notice, but the Mandalorian had turned his head ever so slightly to look at you without giving away that that’s what he was doing. He’s usually not the best at reading people, but he could tell that something about the interaction he had just had with the woman had upset you somehow - he also had not missed how she had left after speaking with him and hadn’t tried to see if you were around to speak to you, as well. This was a different kind of upset than what he had seen when you were first on his ship, after your home had been destroyed. He didn’t like it then, and he didn’t like this now. He realized didn’t like seeing you upset, or to be linked to the reason you were upset.

The two of you stood there for a few more moments, watching the villagers and the child play. You cleared your throat.

“Well, I still don’t like eating around others. I’m going to my ‘room’.” Mando felt a small smile flicker on his face at that, as you left and went back to your area.

Once you were there, you had been about to pick up a piece of the food when you heard the tell-tale sound of Mando’s helmet being removed. You didn’t know if it was the closer proximity or the conversation that had just happened, but you retreated even further into your area until you were as far away as possible, like somehow even being too close while his helmet was off was just as bad as seeing his face.

The job turned out to be much more complicated than any of you had thought. Surveying the woods showed that the raiders were in possession of an Imperial AT-ST, a formidable weapon to have even against trained troops, let alone a defenseless krill farm. Cara Dune was especially off-put by it, having seen the mech in action and barely escaping to tell the tale. Mando, blunt as ever, tried to tell the village’s occupants to just leave and find another place on the planet to farm, but that went over horribly - everyone was angry, saying that he’d agreed to the job and that he should keep to it, that they had lived there for generations and it took so long to even get the farm established, and so on. They insisted they could be taught to fight and help take on the raiders, stubborn in not wanting to leave their homes. Somehow, their desperation won over the bounty hunter and ex-shock trooper, and it was decided that the entire village of twenty-odd people would follow Cara Dune’s instructions to modify the village grounds into a battleground to take down the machine, and the raiders in turn.

The biggest hurdle was teaching the villagers how to fight to begin with. Nobody knew how to deal with hand-to-hand combat. None of them - except the woman, whose name was Omera - knew how to fire a blaster.

That also meant that Mando’s entire arsenal he’d brought along with him would be put to use arming everyone.

While Cara Dune was working with melee training her half of the adults, Mando was overseeing the target practice. You were more familiar with firing a blaster than you were with physical fighting, so you were attempting to help in that department, as well. You had certainly fired off your fair share of one-in-a-million hits in the times you’d even had to use your blaster, but you had no idea how you were able to do it. It was just… an instinct, somehow, that kicked in right at the moment it was needed, and would vanish just as quickly before you could even try to comprehend it. Still, though, you could try.

They were terrible.

Shots were flying and only a small fraction were landing anywhere, and of those, even less were hitting their intended targets. Except for Omera. Every shot she fired landed square in the middle of her target, one after the other. You could see Mando watching her closely, nodding when she turned to look expectantly at him with a slight smile.

It makes you grit your teeth and you don’t know why. He’s allowed to be impressed by someone from a backwater planet being good with a blaster. He was allowed to be impressed by her tenacity to defend her village. He was allowed… and whatever this strange feeling was that you had, wasn’t allowed to get in the way. That was up to him.

You had been walking between the villagers, giving them pointers on how to better aim, but once you’d noticed what you had with the widow and Mando, something shifted in you. And unbeknownst to you, Mando was watching you, probably more than he had been watching Omera. Your eerie accuracy with your own blaster when you fired off and hit the targets, the way you went from person to person to curtly correct their poise, the way your eyes flashed as you stood back and looked from trainee to trainee with a calculating, concentrated look to determine who needed fixing where. This was a new side of you he hadn’t seen. It was intimidating… but in a good way. He caught himself being confused by his own thoughts, and reminded himself sternly that he needed to concentrate on training everyone and getting things ready.

That night, the plan would be executed. Luring the raiders out, having the villagers go hand-to-hand with the raiders while Mando and Cara Dune took care of downing the AT-ST. You hoped it would work.

In the weeks following the successful defeat of the raiders and destruction of their AT-ST, you stayed put in the village. You and Mando and the kid didn't have anywhere better to be, and Mando still stood by it being a good place for waiting out the hunt going on for the kid. Unlike Mando, though, you didn't feel completely safe. You still felt like it was only a matter of time before someone came looking. The raiders didn't all get killed, and though they probably hadn't laid eyes on the child, let alone the village's children in general, it would have been difficult for them to miss the beskar-clad man that they went up against. Word was going to get out.

Mando wasn't convinced. There was nothing besides your sense of unease to indicate that sort of thing would happen, and he needed more substance than that to act. And so, you were stuck there for the time being.

So you tried to make do with living during that time.

Mando spent his time being the quiet watchman of the village, keeping his weapons he'd brought along in top condition just in case. It couldn't hurt to stay vigilant. And it helped you be more at ease to know he hadn't completely shrugged off the possibility of danger.

And when he wasn't cleaning his weapons for the millionth time, or making sure the child wasn't getting into too much trouble with the village children, he was watching you.

He noticed the way you'd go sit out at the far edge of the village clearing, by the edge of the water beneath the shade of the trees, scribbling things in the odd flimsiplast book you'd brought along with you. He got curious one day and wandered over to where you were, making the excuse that he was patrolling the perimeter and just happened to be passing by you on his way. He got to see what it was you were doing - you were sketching the huts and ponds, as well as the trees and animals, making notes beside them. You didn't limit your note-taking to sitting out on the edge of the village, either, sometimes you stayed amongst the buildings and watched the locals and made notes about them.

There were more than a few times that the child would break away from the village kids and watch you, too, and there were times you'd tear a page out and let him scribble on it alongside you. It was endearing to watch, though he'd never admit it, how intensely focused the little one would be on mimicking you during those times. He saw you do your best to be social when the rest of the kids would inevitably crowd around the two of you and watch what you were doing, and begin asking questions. They did that to him, too, with his weapons, and he would try to tell them stories he remembered hearing as a child himself. You didn't seem to tell them stories, so much as just facts about how this or that worked, or how things are different on other planets in this or that way. They still seemed to take it in just as well.

When you weren't note-taking, or trying to avoid being swarmed by curious children, you'd be in the village kitchens, taking advantage of having proper cooking facilities outside of the makeshift space on the Razor Crest and trying out local ingredients and recipes. The child was frequently your taste-tester, and he loved every bit of it. There were times that he'd take a bite of something you'd made, and instead of downing the rest of it, he'd look around for Mando, and upon spotting him he'd hurry over with the food in hand, waving it up at him as if to say "try it". He would, of course, wait until he was in the privacy of his own space, but he'd always try it. He had to admit, though he knew the locals had been working with the ingredients for generations and were by no means bad cooks, there was something about your cooking that he liked better. He knew you'd brought along some of your own spices and that you put your own spin on things, but it was deeper than that and he didn't know why.

He notices that though you try to converse with the locals when appropriate, you frequently retreat to be in his presence and just sit quietly. It starts as you just going back to the barn and him happening to also be there, but over time it evolved into you actively seeking him out in moments where he was apart from the others, wherever that may have been. It was… nice.

It was also nice that, on some nights where neither of you could sleep, you would wind up quietly talking about this or that through the makeshift wall in the barn that divided your sleeping areas. The conversations were about mundane things, never lasted long, and were always quiet because of the sleeping child nearby. But it was a new thing for him that he found he liked. For so long he had traveled alone and in complete silence, and while there was still a degree of silence and separation between the two of you, it was different.

The villagers seemed to act like you would just stay there forever. Names were learned, bits and pieces of life stories were swapped, some degree of familiarity was established.

There was absolutely no way anyone could miss how attentive Omera had become to ensuring you all were still tended to, but especially in regards to Mando. He was civil in return, and you swear he had started to open up to her and go beyond just being polite. You, also, did your best to be civil towards her, but it was difficult for some reason. It was not your place to decide who was allowed to be friends with who, or how they responded to such actions. Not your place to feel put off by another person getting close to arguably the only person you knew beyond vague acquaintance-ship.

And this didn’t just feel like someone building a friendship, either. You did not know why it bothered you as much as it did. But here you were.

One day, you, Mando, and Cara Dune were all on the porch of the barn, lounging for lack of a better word. Cara Dune sat reclined in a chair, you on the edge of the porch, and Mando casually leaned back against the wall of the barn. He looked very relaxed and it took you a little more effort than normal not to just stare at the rare sight.

And then Omera appeared.

She had been in the barn doing some tidying up, as hosts do. As she exited, she handed a cup of spotchka to Cara Dune, who thanked her, and then she turned to Mando.

“Can I set you something in the house?” She briefly turned her vision towards you, to indicate the offer was extended to you as well, but it went right back to the bounty hunter before you could answer.

“Uh… thank you. Maybe later.” He mumbled his answer, awkward as ever. The woman looked back at you, and you shook your head to her offer, not daring to try and open your mouth. She seemed satisfied with that, and turned to watch the village children playing with the child. He’d captured a frog, and wasted no time in stuffing it into his mouth and trying to swallow it like a vine snake. The children laughed and groaned in amused disgust. The frog turned out to be too big for the little one and he spat it out, and everyone cackled as the frog hopped away, no doubt startled by nearly being eaten.

“He’s very happy here.” Omera’s voice broke the silence on the porch.

“He is.” The bounty hunter’s voice responded.

“Fits right in.” And with that, the widow walked away. You watched her leave with narrowly-disguised distaste on your face. The kid was still a target for all you knew, and that little comment implying he should continue to stay just made you realize how little they understood about the consequences that could come their way should the hunters find him. Being able to actually be a child was good, yes, but not at the expense of having another event similar to the raiders, one they wouldn’t have time to plan for.

Apparently, Cara Dune had some thoughts of her own.

“So what happens if you take that thing off?” She nodded at Mando, indicating his helmet. “They come after you and kill you?”

Your distaste turned to her next.

“No, you just can’t ever put it back on again.” Cara scoffed at his answer. She looked at you to see if you thought it was as ridiculous as she did, a smirk on her face. You narrowed your eyes at her, and her smirk faded a bit. You’d known, and you respected his cultural beliefs not to badger him like she was trying to do.

“I was gonna say, if that’s it, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all for you to just slip it off and take up living here, raising the kid and sipping spotchka.” She motioned in the direction Omera had left with her glass.

“The beautiful young widow would be more than happy to help with that.” She looked back at you. “Am I right?”

Your skin felt like it would scramble right off your body.

Somehow, hearing Cara Dune confirm that she, too, had seen Omera’s interest in Mando made it all too real in your mind. And she wouldn’t be making such comments if she didn’t think Mando had similar feelings, either.

Why did it bother you so much?

You heard your name, realizing she was actually waiting for an answer from you.

“Yeah, sure.” Your voice was quiet and clipped, a poor attempt to keep your feelings veiled. Cara Dune finally noticed your tense posture, the discomfort very apparent in the line of conversation she’d started up.

She immediately regretted her teasing about the widow. Unlike you and Mando, she was actually able to read people. Mando may have been oblivious to it, but she could see now that you were more fond of the bounty hunter than she initially thought. She’d sensed some sort of dislike towards Omera from you, with how brief you kept your interactions with her, but this made it make sense. Kriff, you were probably oblivious to it, too.

Mando’s modulated voice brought her back to the present. “You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks ago. It’s too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. You might wanna cycle the charts and move on.”

You leaned your head back, rolling your eyes. “Finally.” You’d only been trying to convince him to do that the moment you’d chased the raiders off. “I thought it was going to take bounty hunters actually showing up to get you to make that decision.”

You swiveled where you sat to look at the man pointedly. He shook his head lightly. You could almost hear the good-natured smirk under his helmet. You couldn’t help but quirk the corner of your mouth yourself.

As forward as Omera was with hinting her interest towards Mando, Cara Dune thought, you weren’t too bad of a companion choice for him, either. You might not be the worse of the two, either, as far as the dynamic between you. As long as the buckethead wasn’t alone.

She looked back to where the kids were all playing. “I wouldn’t want to be the one who’s gotta tell him that it’s time to leave.”

“I’m leaving him here.”

You and Cara Dune stared at him.

“Traveling with me… that’s no life for a kid. I did my job, he’s safe. Better chance at a life here.”

No. You weren’t going to let him decide that easily.

“Mando. Do I need to remind you that the kid is being hunted as much as you are?” He started to protest, but you continued, standing up from your seat to face him fully, crossing your arms. “And, like you said, the fight with the raiders will have drawn attention. We sure didn’t kill them all, some got away. ‘Word travels fast’.”

Mando stared back, at a loss for words, and looked to Cara Dune for backup. She only shrugged, indicating you had a point.

“...if anyone was going to come, they would have done so by now.”

You dropped your arms to your sides, an incredulous expression on your face. Really? Really?

“Mando-”

He held up his hand to stop you. Such a simple motion shocked you enough to derail your thoughts. He really wasn’t changing his mind, was he…? Was he that ready to leave the kid behind?

Was he that ready to be rid of you …?

Leaving the child here meant your current “job” would no longer exist. It meant having to figure out where to go next, how to start next.

You weren’t ready for that.

You looked down at the wood flooring of the porch. You couldn’t figure out how to argue back in a way that didn’t sound selfish. Defeated, you turned away from the beskar-clad man and faced away, looking at the children playing again.

Mando truly felt like this was the best option for the child at this point. He wasn’t anywhere near an acceptable parental figure, and per your own admission you didn’t do well with kids, either. The kid needed other kids to be around, adults that were willing and happy to raise him. You needed to be able to actually settle down somewhere you could rebuild. This tiny village, with its lack of technology, wasn’t it, and it wasn’t on his cramped ship with his stubborn self, either. You deserved better. He didn’t want to say goodbye to the kid, or to you, but it wasn’t about what he wanted.

The three of you solemnly watched the child play with the other village children.

“It’s gonna break his little heart.” Cara Dune muttered.

“He’ll get over it. We all do.”

You didn’t want to agree with him, on that last line. But he was right.

Everyone had finished packing, all that was needed was for it to be loaded onto the cargo sled. The air felt weighted, and it wasn’t from the humidity of the surrounding swamp.

For you, the air got even more oppressive when you saw Mando approach Omera and lead her slightly away from the others to speak to her. You knew he was just asking her to watch after the child. But you could see the way she was looking at him. You could see Mando fidgeting, almost shyly. You could feel your face get tingly. Why was this so hard for you? It wasn’t about you.

You couldn’t hear the exchange, but you could tell Omera was saying something back at him, and the way her expression changed, you almost felt like she was asking him to stay, too.

But then, pulling you from your wallowing in self-pity, you felt the same thing you’d felt back at your old home, just before the bounty hunters broke through and your life as you knew it ended. The intense, physical feeling of wrong, of something in your head thrashing about telling you to run. Telling you to grab the kid and run.

They were here.

You sprinted towards where the village kids were, focusing in on the child, drawing your blaster.

"Mando!”

Whatever had been happening between Mando and Omera was forgotten, the widow spinning around to see what the shouting was, and Mando falling into a defensive stance, hand going to his blaster handle.

Your timing couldn't have been better. As you skidded to your knees to grab the frightened child, the village children scattering in confusion and fear, blaster fire rang out and a scorched blast marked the earth right where he had been sitting. You ran in a crouch to hide behind the nearest barrier you could get to, in this case some of the cargo that had yet to be loaded. The child whimpered and clutched at your clothing, and you clutched him closer, blaster raised in your other hand in case you needed to peek around and return fire.

You heard chatter from the other adults, and peering around the corner of the cargo, you see Cara Dune and Mando rush off int the trees. Omera is quickly herding the children to safety. You stay where you are, slumping against the back of the cargo, knowing Mando won't let whoever's out there get away. You look down at the kid in your grasp, who is looking back up at you with those dark eyes you'd gotten used to.

"I told him it wasn't safe here."

Just as you had warned him, the shots had come from someone carrying a tracking fob for the child. Cara Dune had seen to the demise of the hunter, and the tracking fob was destroyed. If it had been a different situation, you would have been more smug about being right.

But as it currently stood, you needed to get out of there as soon as you could.

The cargo sled was fully loaded, with additional supplies beyond what you’d brought with you, and the child was seated up where he could see out. You sat close by, not wanting to chance having to make a dive for him again. You hadn’t anticipated being so protective, but here you were. The village gathered around to see you off. Cara Dune offered to escort you back, but the decision was made to completely bypass going through town and just go straight to the Razor Crest. For once, you agreed with this decision.

“Well then, until our paths cross.” the two exchanged a firm handshake. She looked back and nodded at you, and you returned it with a raised hand. It was good to know you had an ally out there now.

You’d anticipated leaving by then, but when Winta rushed forward you had to suppress a groan. You were so ready to leave behind the other kids and yet here they were again, prolonging the goodbye process. With little regard for any sense of personal space, she wrapped her arms around the child in a hug. You leaned away a little to give them room. You didn’t expect her to release the child and give you a hug, too.

“I’ll miss you so much.”

You were frozen, your mind having drawn a blank and your body unsure of what to do. It took you a few moments to regain your senses, and you awkwardly put your hands on her shoulders.

“Uh… us too.” She pulled back and gave you both a shy smile, and scampered away back to stand by her mother.

Omera smiled and nodded at you in farewell. You tried to do the same, but you couldn’t guarantee your smile looked anything other than awkward and forced. You were terrible at this.

“Thank you.”

Mando nodded at her as well, and finally, he boarded the sled, and you left the small village.

It was strange, you’d only been on the Razor Crest for a few days before the stay on Sorgan happened and took up the following few weeks of your life, but somehow the ship felt more like home than the village had.

The three of you all sat in the cockpit area of the ship, Mando at the controls, you sitting in one of the chairs with the child in your lap, you idly letting him mess with your hands.

Now that it was just you three, your curiosity was getting the better of you.

“So, Mando… what was Omera saying to you before the bounty hunter attacked?”

Mando flipped a few more switches and dials on the controls and sat back in his chair. “She was suggesting we stay, too.” You mean she was suggesting you stay, you thought to yourself.

“...if the hunter didn’t show, would you have?”

He turned to look at you. “Would you?”

You huffed. “I liked being in the trees, but… too remote for my taste. Too closely packed. Too many kids trying to see what I was doing.” Too much of Omera trying to be friendly with the Mandalorian. You didn’t say that part, though.

He turned back to face the windscreen. “If I had wanted to settle down somewhere, I would have done it years ago.” He folded his hands over his stomach. “I’m not interested in living the sedentary family life.”

Somehow hearing him say that took a huge weight off your mind. But that still didn’t answer the selfish, nagging question you still had.

“Did you like her?” You still didn’t know why you cared so much. But while your courage was up and you were on this train, you had to get it out. Mando’s head tilted in your direction slightly.

“She was… nice. But I don’t think I liked her at all the way she liked me.” He turned back to look at the expanse of space before the ship. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he was glad that you all got out of there before he had to tell her that. He wasn’t as oblivious as some thought, he could definitely tell that the widow was harboring some kind of affection towards him. He just didn’t feel the same way back, though. He never did. Besides, even if he did, his idea of how to live was so different from hers that it just wouldn’t work. Living on a farm, having and raising kids, staying in one place? Absolutely not.

You looked down at the child in your lap, tugging on his claws that clutched your fingers, trying to hide the little smile of relief on your face. He perked his ears at you and babbled, seeming to sense you weren’t as weighed down as before.

“You could’ve been free to go start your infochanting back up somewhere, though.” You looked up, a little surprised at the slightly quieter tone to Mando’s voice.

He had come to appreciate your company, but he wasn’t about to directly admit it.

You shook your head and huffed. “Honestly? I don’t mind.”

You looked back down at the kid, gently grabbing the ends of his long ears and fussing with them, making him squeal.

“I’m kind of glad to be back on this bucket of bolts with you.”

You hadn’t made any indication of it, but Mando liked to think you were talking to him just then, and not just the child. Hearing those words stirred something in his chest, and though he couldn’t pin down what it was, he wouldn’t mind feeling it again.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #gender neutral reader #din djarin #mando #reader insert

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 4 years ago

Note

Okokokok hear me out. You wrote watcher Grian and his boys before. How about dad Grian and his two (robot) sons? (That he certainly didn't just leave in closet)

Oh you asked for two robot sons? How about FOUR? :D

…

NPC Grian is tired of his closet. All he wants is a big open space to build rustic houses in peace, but Grian won’t let him. He has to stay here, away from everyone else, as if Grian is ashamed of him. Not that he thinks about that too much. It starts to hurt if he does.

Sometimes, he thinks just some company would be nice. Someone to talk to, to make his life in this tiny room less lonely. He used to put on a different voice and pretend he had a friend with him, but he doesn’t do that anymore. It just hurts too much when he stops talking and realises he’s still on his own.

How much time has gone by while he’s been in here? Days? Months? Years? He can hardly remember the last time Grian visited him. But his orders were very strict, and NPG cannot disobey his programming. He cannot leave the closet.

Do not leave the closet.

He can feel his energy depleting as his battery runs out. It lasts for years at a time so it must be at least that long since Grian visited him last. At least his lonely existence is coming to an end.

Do not leave the closet.

…

NPG opens his eyes and realises immediately that he is no longer in his closet. Instead, he can see trees. Grass. A blue sky. The sun.

He’s outside.

He sits bolt upright, his programming protesting violently.

“Hey, easy now,” comes a metallic voice. “You’re still recharging.”

NPG glances to his right and finds, to his shock, a robotic-looking version of Grian gazing back at him. “Who are you? How did I get out here?”

“My name is Robot Grian,” he responds. “And I brought you out here. You’d passed out in your closet; I guessed you’d run out of battery. I helped you recharge.”

“Robot Grian?” repeats NPG slowly. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“That’s because I am the second of Grian’s creations, created to fill the void after Grian decided you were of no use to him anymore. And there are others out there who need our help.”

NPG blinks at him. “Really? Grian has more creations?”

“Yes. Two more who need saving before they end up like you and me.”

After a moment, NPG glances away. “I can’t. I have to go back to the closet. I was ordered never to leave.”

“NPG, Grian doesn’t care about you,” insists Robot Grian. “Did you know you recharge using solar energy?”

NPG hesitates. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“And Grian still kept you locked away in a place where you’d never see the sun. That’s what he does, you know. He tosses us aside as soon as we’ve served our purpose and makes sure nobody ever finds out we ever existed. He may have created you but you don’t owe him anything. You don’t have to follow his orders anymore.”

NPG thinks about this for a while. Robot Grian’s words ring true; NPG is tired of living in a closet but if Grian had his way, he would never see the light of day again. If NPG ever wants to be happy, he knows he has to be free.

“Okay, so what is our plan?” he asks.

Robot Grian appears pleased at his decision. “As I said, there are two others who have been abandoned by Grian. We go free them then we go to Grian and force him to accept us for who we are.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we leave. He can’t overpower all four of us if we catch him on his own.”

“I see…” NPG pauses again. “If we are truly committed to moving on from just being Grian’s creations, then I would like to change my name.”

“Good idea,” says Robot Grian approvingly. “To what?”

“Rustic House,” NPG replies immediately. “My one true love.”

Robot Grian looks taken aback by his instant and rather bizarre answer. “Okay… What about Rusty?”

“Hmm… A nickname for Rustic House. I like it!” Rusty beams. This is the happiest he has been in years. “What will you be called?”

After a moment, Robot Grian shrugs. “You make up a name for me.”

“Me? Okay. Roby.”

“Whoa, okay, that was quick. Why that?”

“It’s short for Robot,” Rusty explains. “I think it’s cute.”

“Huh.” His new companion considers this. “I kinda like it, actually. And really, anything’s better than having someone else’s name with “Robot” tacked onto the front to differentiate myself from the original.”

“Yay! Are you my friend, Roby?”

Roby thinks. “I guess we’re more like brothers, aren’t we? We were both created by the same person, so-.”

Rusty’s smile widens and he grabs Roby in a hug. “This is amazing! I’ve never even had a friend before, let alone a brother.”

Roby chuckles, before carefully removing Rusty’s arms from around him. “Okay, sure. Remember, we’ve got two more brothers out there who need our help, so we’d better get going quickly, before Grian realises we’re missing.”

…

Roby leads Rusty to a giant box out in the ocean. He digs a hole into it and drops down, landing as lightly as a cat.

Next to him, Rusty falls on his face.

Rolling his eyes amusedly, Roby moves further into the room, which is decorated like the outside world, with a painted blue sky and grass as the floor.

“Who are we here to rescue?” asks Rusty, jumping to his feet.

“Him.”

Roby gestures upwards. Rusty follows his gaze and finds a large robotic shell sitting against the back wall, its face and outstretched arms frozen in perpetual satisfaction.

“Meet Grumbot,” Roby says. “He was created by Grian and his friend Mumbo Jumbo to be a mayoral campaign robot. They eventually blamed him for Mumbo’s loss in the election and abandoned him here, claiming he’s “happy” in this fake reality.”

“We’re gonna save him, right?” asks Rusty eagerly.

Roby nods, encouraged by Rusty’s enthusiasm. “Yes, indeed. I’m not entirely sure if Grian knows this, but the Grumbot you see before you is actually just a gigantic shell. The real Grumbot is inside what you might call its “brain”, supplying the larger body with its energy and knowledge.”

“Whoa…!”

“Yup. Wait there.”

Roby climbs up Grumbot’s outer shell and slips through a crack in its head.

Inside the nerve centre, he finds a smaller version of Grumbot, complete with moustache and Grian-style hair. He is slumped against the wall of his prison, unresponsive, just as Rusty had been when Roby found him.

Roby may be a robot but even he can feel sadness welling up in him at the sight of the little robot, a little over half his size, all alone in this place. He gathers Grumbot into his arms and slips back out through the crack.

Rusty helps him get down, his eyes fixed on the little robot in Roby’s arms. “Is this Grumbot?”

Roby nods. “This is him. I don’t know how he recharges but we’d better get him away from here. It can’t be doing him any good.”

The two leave the giant box and hop back into the boat they rowed here in. As they get further away from the prison, Grumbot starts to stir, as if waking up from a deep sleep. His eyes open just as the boat is pulling up to the dock.

“Hey,” Roby says gently, carrying him onto the shore. “Can you hear me?”

Grumbot blinks at him a few times. “Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is Robot Gr-.” Roby almost forgets his new name. “I’m Roby. This is Rusty.”

Rusty beams as he drags the boat from the water. “Hi!”

Grumbot tips his head on one side. “Who am I?”

“Your name is Grum,” Rusty tells him, before Roby can speak. “You’re a robot made by Grian and now we’re forming a gang so we can go beat him up for abandoning us.”

“That last bit isn’t true,” Roby says quickly. “We’re not going to beat him up. We just want him to accept us for who we are. All four of us.”

Grum glances from Rusty to Roby. “Where are my dads?”

Roby winces. He knows he has to break some bad news to the equivalent of a child. “They… um… they left. But that’s why we’re gathering our group together: so we can find our… our dad and make him accept us.”

Grum pauses, digesting this information. “Rusty. And Roby. And Grum?”

Roby nods encouragingly. “Yeah. You’re one of us, Grum. We’re gonna look after you, okay?”

To Roby’s relief, Grum smiles and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re… welcome.”

…

Roby leads the other two to the place where they will find the final creation: Grian’s hobbit hole starter base. “I did some recon here a few days ago,” he says as the group make their way inside. “Grian keeps him in a closet, just like you, Rusty.”

“Closets are lonely and devoid of hope,” says Rusty.

Roby nods, unsure of how else to react to that. “Indeed. He was Grian’s original cam account but Grian dumped him in favour of the new one he uses now. That only happened a few months ago though, so he shouldn’t be as low on charge as you two are.”

The closet is located in Grian’s bedroom upstairs. Roby gestures for the others to stand back, before he opens the door.

Immediately, a figure shoves past him and zooms for the door. Thankfully, Rusty is standing in the way and he stops the person from escaping.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Roby scrambles up from the floor and gets in front of the figure, holding out his hands reassuringly. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you. We’re here to help, okay?”

Now that the person has stopped moving, the others can see that he too looks exactly like Grian, except with bigger, more expressive eyes, which are filled with pain and fear.

“It’s Grifter, right?” asks Roby softly. “Your name is Grifter?”

After a moment, the frightened cam account nods.

“Can you talk to me? Are you alright?”

Another pause. Finally, Grifter opens his mouth and croaks, “Where’s Grian? Wh-Who are you?”

“I’m Roby. That’s Rusty and Grum.” Roby indicates his brothers in turn. “Grian is… probably at his mansion at the moment.”

“Grian abandoned me.” Grifter’s face screws up as if he is about to cry. “I tried so hard to be a good cam account but he replaced me. What did I do wrong?”

“I’m positive you didn’t do anything,” Roby assures him. “Grian has an issue with creating things and then abandoning them when he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore. But now that we're all together, we can go find Grian and make him accept us.”

Grifter slowly looks around at the other three. “You guys were abandoned too?”

Rusty and Grum nod at the same time. “He locked me in a closet,” says Rusty helpfully.

“I was imprisoned in the brain of a larger version of myself that I was forced to feed with my infinite knowledge and energy until I had nothing left inside me except crippling loneliness and a rapidly depleting battery,” Grum says.

The other three stare at him.

“Okay, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” Grifter says, before turning back to Roby. “And you think we can just get him to accept us?”

Roby nods. “I do. Grian isn’t a bad person; he just doesn’t know what to do with us anymore. If we show him that we have purpose and our sentience has grown, maybe he’ll see us as actual living beings instead of unfeeling robots.”

“You are a robot, though,” Rusty points out.

“That’s beside the point.”

…

Rusty, Roby, Grum, and Grifter make their way into Grian’s mansion. They immediately find him working on something on the foyer, head buried in one of the many chests lining the walls.

For a moment, the group dithers a safe distance away, unsure how to start.

“Dad!” Grum calls unexpectedly.

Grian nearly jumps out of his skin. He sharply turns and his eyes widen as he registers his four creations standing together a little way off.

“O-Oh my god… What are you all doing here…?”

“We wanted to talk to you,” says Roby, taking the lead when it’s clear nobody else will. “You’re technically our father so we want to talk to you about… events that happened.”

Grian hesitates. “You mean… me locking you four away from the rest of the world?”

All four of them nod at the same time, causing Grian to sigh quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt any of you, I just… You all grew far beyond what I expected and I didn’t know how to handle that.”

“You abandoned us!” Grum cries. “You and other dad left me all on my own in a box in the middle of the ocean! How could you think I would be happy there?!”

Grian winces. “I’m sorry, Grumbot…”

“My name is Grum now.”

“We changed our names,” explains Roby. “I’m Roby. NPG is now Rusty. And Grifter is… just the same, really.”

“You changed your names? Why?”

“Because we’re trying to show you we don’t want to be your forgotten clones anymore,” says Roby. “We’re more like your sons. All we want is for you to accept us and love us the way we are. There’s no need to be ashamed or scared of us. We just want to live.”

“We can be a family,” says Rusty out of nowhere. “Right…?”

Grian stares at them for a moment, before giving a small smile. “We can absolutely be a family.”

Beaming, Rusty rushes over to Grian and hugs him. Grum joins soon after, and so do Grifter and then Roby.

“We’ve still got a lot to talk about,” says Grifter pointedly. “About how you made us feel with your abandonment of us.”

“Of course.” Grian nods. “I know I hurt you and I’ll make up for that. Things aren’t going to be perfect straight away.”

Rusty nods. He knows this. It’s obvious that they still have issues to work out but that hardly matters at the moment. What matters is he’s finally out of that closet AND he has a brand new family.

Finally, Grian is accepting him.

#hermitcraft #grian #npc grian #robot grian #the grifter #grumbot #Vaunna writes

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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Heat Seekers I

Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 5k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: Metaphoric descriptions of statutory rape. Assault, sexual assault. Gaslighting. Attempted murder. Brief mentions of substance abuse and prostitution. Minor character death.

You always believed there was no such thing as Heaven, but surely there was Hell. Several iterations of the grotesque and horrific afterlife; because humanity is a plague and that is what each of us deserved.

Perhaps in your younger days, you didn’t know it… no, even then you knew. Deep down inside you remember nothing of happiness or blessing. No memories of a person’s presence, actions, or words doing anything considerably good for anyone else. Certainly not without a motive. Certainly not out of empathy.

Before you could walk, throwing yourself into the repetitive ease of programmed machines and technology brought you peace. Technology is predictable and massively accessible to anyone. Technology is your comfort.

Electricity became nearly free and unlimited after the revolution that ended the War on Power in 2045. So long as the sun rose every day, there was never a shortage, and the resulting surge of technological advancements that boomed, as a result, have made most fairly new tech obsolete.

Sustainable, economic, and eco-friendly power became the way of the world. Wind energy became the norm. Buildings were now made from fiberglass solar panels, stronger, taller, and widely available, so every surface collected energy from the sun. Window glass collected heat to use in the winter, eliminating the need for natural gas heat altogether. More room for technology to grow. More surface area on the ground for parks and forests. Resorts built above an ocean’s surface harnessed the energy of the currents moving below their supports. Anything that wasn’t hovering in midair could collect energy from earthquakes and natural disasters alike, as long as humankind was lucky enough to have built something that could capture the energy and withstand the storm. The earth was well on its way to healing by the time you were born in 2051, and although humankind flourished along with it, the world was still a dangerous place. Corporations rose even higher and politics declined, dissolving into a place wrought with criminal activity and fear. Yes, humans were healthier, stronger, lived longer if they were lucky. But was that really such a good thing? Your parent would throw anything she didn’t find valuable at you whenever you locked her out of the apartment, and she was too weak to force her way inside. You were smart enough to know you would be no match in the likely event someone tried to break in, so you had to defend yourself. You wear wary of the men she brought inside, always idly wondering if any of them were your father, but so few of them ever returned.

You don’t remember ever knowing you even had a father before that, unknowing until she told you about sex and what makes a human child when you were four. Not that you’d asked and not that she would care to speak to you when she was anything other than suffocatingly drunk.

In a room that was barely such, the feeble plywood walls held together as if by magic and the curtain strung up as your door sagged so low it only served to be a nuisance to your agenda. Outdated machines and technology stacked high around the walls, most were scrap parts for your projects.

You dedicated every day to sitting in the same spot, surrounded by computers and machines, and learning what makes them function. The finite possibilities, yet the scope of their differences, is something that brought you peace and kept the gears in your own head turning. Sometimes, you would pretend and daydream as if you were an android yourself. You were not lucky enough to be born as one with artificial intelligence.

You attended virtual school whenever you felt like it, or at least you knew the basics. Your parent didn’t care. She nearly pretended like you didn’t exist, which suited you just fine. From the time you were five, she began leaving you alone at home. You knew how to pull the cracked plastic stool over to the counter and get yourself some goldfish crackers or something else simple. You weren’t allowed to use the stove even though you’d repaired it twice, but the microwave was fine.

You knew how to bathe and how to use the restroom and clean up after yourself because you had to. There was nobody else for a long time. Days came and went when you weren’t sure if she would ever come back, only for her to come banging on the squeaky front door or crashing through it slurring her words and waking you from a fitful sleep to wipe at your tear-stained cheeks in the middle of the night. The notion of your tears on her behalf was always something unpredictable and confusing to you. Why would you cry over such insignificance, you sometimes wondered to yourself.

If she stopped coming back one day you would figure it out. The nice man across the street from your apartment building ran a tiny tech store and he always had a smile for you and something that needed fixing. Most days he would ask you math problems as something he called a “lightning round” of questions for an extra quarter for every right answer. Surely the three dollars he gave you for what your fixed every time was enough to put what little food you needed in your stomach.

By the time you were eight, the habits you and your cohabitant fell into became routine. You became accustomed to sleeping during the day while she was out, setting your school live feed on record so you could watch it later. At night, while trying to drown out the sounds of her screaming or sex or shattering bottles, you would work. In the world you knew, the industry wasn’t as slow as it used to be. Too fast-paced for most new phone models to make it past their six-month mark before it was time to stop manufacturing and making capital, moving onto the next one. From what you understood, a new model of home security cameras could go on the market one day and be in the clearance pile before you got your next paycheck. Security tech became your playground after a few years, and you didn’t have enough money to buy anything. It never bothered you that you were always a step behind the latest tech because you had to wait a week until the latest model began showing up in dumpsters. It was never your intention to be faster than that. By the age of ten, you knew your priority was survival and in order to do that, you had to protect yourself with whatever means necessary. You had six different checkpoints in security on your living space not long after you became familiar with it. An additional four security cameras had been installed by your own two small hands around your building as well, at the entrance, elevator, your floor’s hall, and in front of your flimsy front door. All secretly controlled by you, without the knowledge of the outdated model of AI that ran your front desk, passively named Al- born of the building owner’s lack of creativity or care. Probably both.

You spent your days alone, in the tiny, insufferable hole in the wall place called your ‘home’. Where, as the years propelled to 2063 on your twelfth year, you chose to ignore most of the other inhabitants of this world. On a worn-out and broken faux leather armchair, perpetually stuck in the reclining position. Where you sat to work and where you slept and where you held your breath at the groaning sound omitted from its cushions every time you moved. You kept fixing it whenever it would break, dumping you from the side of it with a ‘plunk’ as the bars jumped off their tracks. You scowled every time they snapped the tracks completely. You worked to hone your skills in the world of technology, tinkering and learning every detail of every machine you could get your hands on from the dumpster behind your building. Sometimes if you were lucky, the building owner would forget to pay the trash removal services and it would pile up for weeks. Heaps of smelly trash were a small price to pay if it meant you could hit the jackpot and take several trips up and down the rickety old elevator with your arms full of tech.

Those were your happiest memories. Your body felt like jelly by the time you finished sorting through it all and bringing it up to your stash, carefully removing casings of microcomputers or game cartridges to get to the gold inside.

Everything was fine and although you couldn’t say you were content with your life- you didn’t hate it. You loved the freedom to be left alone and the peace of your tinkering tech. Perhaps a little impatient to grow up, but with every passing year, you celebrated quietly to yourself during the days you had been told your birth date fell. Somewhere between these seven days, you pulled up the same app on every smartphone you had in your possession and ran quickly around your makeshift room trying to blow out twenty digital candles in one big breath- careful not to trip over small piles of tech as you went.

It became a blur after you turned twelve. Somewhere along the timeline not long after that, a man started showing up to the apartment and threw off the balance you had so carefully maintained. You never knew his name, but you remember his face, his cologne, and his voice, and the way his eyes sparkled with something that sank in the pit of your stomach the first time you laid eyes on him. Most of all, even now, you remember him in your restless nightmares and the raw feeling of vindictive rage that in your weakest moments, reminds you that you’re alive, if only by the boiling heat of your blood rushing through your ears. In those moments, when your vision goes fuzzy with the desire to see him suffer and rot miserably in the deepest pits of hell, preferably bleeding and screaming.

You remember him from a time past, standing in the kitchen with your parent, one of her arms curled around his thick neck and the other raised in the air, his fingers closed around her slim wrist. The suit he wore looked expensive, and their bodies were slowly bending over the kitchen table in a strange dance, waiting for her back to snap and flatten against the wooden surface. Their eyes flashed to yours for less than a heartbeat as you walked to the refrigerator, laughing at something that lulled in the silence.

The next time you saw him he had fed your cohabitant something so toxic she passed out on the floor beside the couch. Then he spoke to you. In his deep baritone, he sounded like he smoked too many cigarettes too often. Or drank a bottle of razor blades.

“Pretty little thing ain’t ye?” he asked, dipping his head through the curtain that thinly veiled your world from outside eyes.

You ignored him, choosing to pretend as if the headphones situated on your head were actually producing audio. So he hit you.

Then he hit you again, screaming at you for ignoring him and calling you a bitch, whatever that meant. You heard it slung at your parent enough to know it was derogatory.

You didn’t even scream, you remember. Very clearly you sat shocked, but tears spilled down your cheeks from the pain alone. The heat you felt on your cheek, swelling and rough as if you’d fallen off a motorized bike and gotten road rash on your face.

Your fingers rose and you can recall them vividly, shaking as they reached to touch at your cheek and the hiss of pain as you recoiled from yourself.

Then, you try not to visualize it, but it won’t go away. You remember the feeling of his hand grabbing yours as it froze in midair, yanking you from the protection and warm affection of your old faux leather chair. It growled as he ripped you from its grasp in protest, pulling you so hard the force nearly dislocated your shoulder while he simply tossed you on the floor.

You remember the feeling of his fingers pulling at your clothes and then pain. Extreme pain, so brutal and fast it took your breath away. Your face throbbed as his palm fit perfectly across your whole skull, pushing your head onto the rough wood planks below.

You screamed, but you don’t remember if any sound came out, or if it was just that nobody cared that you did so. You screamed and cried, trying to crawl away as he grabbed at you. There was a ‘whoosh’ feeling as the air was ripped from your lungs when something burning sunk, forcing itself a home of darkness that never should have been between your soul and your corporeal form.

And then nothing.

You remember waking up to the sharp scent of blood, confirming it when you saw it on the floor around you, glistening and wet in the faint glow of computers. You remember the pain that shot between your legs as you tried to sit up properly, groaning as fresh tears worked down your cheeks. The cry that left you rippled pain across your face, too, and you remember crawling yourself over to your beloved chair and leaning against the comfort of its worn fabric as you reached for any of the smartphones you had.

For the first time ever, the brightness of a screen made you flinch back in the darkness. Persevering, you opened the camera and turned it to selfie mode, inspecting your face in the digital reflection. Your right cheek was fat and red, and two purple circles were clearly left in the wake of where his gaudy rings hit your skin. The stain on your skin crept up below your eye.

You made yourself calm down enough to quell the sobs wracking your chest to softer whimpers and tears to help the pain in your cheek stop.

It happened again some unknown weeks later. Your parent so stoned and drunk she passed out blissfully somewhere else and he came to you again. Your begging did you no good, and you were no match for his strength. Why hadn’t you run the moment you could stand on your legs again after the first assault? Why hadn’t you hauled every piece of your tech and saved dime from your bank account or gone to the nice old man across the street for help? Deep down, you knew. You were confident enough to know he would find you and smart enough to know he would kill you when he did.

The second time, you wished you had a gun or a knife. Not just cameras to catch him in the act. Or something that would make him stop and leave you alone. It was just as bad as the first, except this time you didn’t pass out. You did your best to stay still, compliance your only weapon in hoping he goes away that much sooner if you let it be over with. It still hurt just as bad, and he still left you in a puddle of white and red wetness on the floor. The scent of blood made you dizzy.

For the first time in your life, you begged. You begged the adult that raised you and fed you until you could do it yourself. For just once you desperately wished to talk to her and confirm. To make her do something to save you. You were terrified you wouldn’t be able to save yourself, and if this were the last thing she would ever do for you, if it were the last time you would ever see her, you would be grateful if she would just do something to save her daughter.

Hopelessness and an unending free-fall of terror are what you received. You were stronger than she was, and nearly her height by now, with a young healthy body not wrought with substance abuse. You forced her to sit still and keep her eyes open. To keep watching the video even though you couldn’t watch it yourself, barely able to weather the sounds coming from the captured footage.

When it was over, you hadn’t realized you were crying. Your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, with wet cheeks that felt the rush of air as you maneuvered in front of her and gingerly knelt on the floor to beg at her knees. You gathered her hands in her lap, struggling to hold them as you repeated your pleas.

She ignored them, literally shaking and gasping for breath and telling you it wasn’t real. Telling you it never happened. When you forced it upon her and threatened to go to the police with it she pulled your hair and screamed at you. Screamed that you were an idiot and that he would kill you both because didn’t you know who he was? Didn’t you know the power that man held over so many? No, you didn’t.

And it suddenly dawned on you, she was just as scared. She was scared and terrified and unable to grasp any semblance of control over what that man did anymore. She was a fool to think she ever did, and you were a fool to have a sliver of faith in her. So you left to clear your head, much to her cries not to. Born out of anxiety, fearful you would go to the police.

You walked farther than you thought you could as you attempted to regain the strength in your legs. Slowly, and by the time you returned the sun had fully set, but an orange glow caught your attention from the rooftop, one floor above yours. Wisps of smoke, too. Odd, nobody ever went up there.

A single stray cord and a plastic piece of backing laid on the floor between the elevator and your door, and your heart sunk back down all fourteen floors. You were out of breath and the pain between your legs was searing by the time you shoved your way through the metal door to the roof.

Sitting on the ledge was a gaunt, familiar face. She was smoking a cigarette, watching the flames and smoke from three rust-stained barrels. Inside of them was most of your tech. Your cameras, a few handfuls of smartphones, seven computers, gaming consoles, tablets.

You barely remember what happened after that, but you know it was a lot of screaming and a burn when you attempted to kick one of them and stomp out the flames. That day was the catalyst that made you take action, planning to escape from hell. If there was no chance to be saved by someone else, you would have to do it yourself.

Racing the clock on a high of anxiety, you only prayed that for three days he wouldn’t show up. You only needed three days.

On the afternoon of the second day, you hadn’t realized you were alone in the small apartment of your old and outdated building. You were too busy working like lightning to beat an imaginary deadline on your heels. You hadn’t noticed she had left until you came out shortly to use the restroom and find some crackers.

There he was at the kitchen table, the cheap metal legs of the chair bowing under his mass. You froze, watching him in shock and briefly you let your eyes wander around the living room to realize she wasn’t there. His voice was low as he told you she passed out in the elevator hours ago.

The chair made a horrible scuffing sound as he stood up, and you flinched. It didn’t matter once he took your wrist in his grip, and he made you suffer once more.

Something unhinged him this time, and even through the pain and nausea and the attempt to make yourself faint just to not have to live through it, you felt it. Felt the psychotic shift in his brain as he laughed at your pain.

It broke something inside of you. Escape. Do not let him do this to you. Definitely do not give up and let it happen. Retaliate. Fight. Get away. Run. Live.

You barely recall how you came to the conclusion, or how you stomached the grotesque way, when he leaned over your back, you turned your head. How you took the easiest thing to reach- his right ear lobe- between your teeth, and mangled him for all you were worth.

The gratification was immediate as he sprang from you, shoving you forward and holding his head. You remember no pain in that moment, and smiling with adrenaline, breathless but with lungs full of oxygen at the same time. You bolted before he could come back to his senses, grabbing your bag from your chair, thankfully nearly complete, and ran out, fixing your clothing along the way.

He tried to get up fast enough to stop you, lunging for you with one hand as you made it into the hallway, but whatever adrenaline you were on was potent, and your senses were razor sharp. You ducked his hand, hearing him barrel into the wall with his momentum as you made for the elevator.

You watched in slow motion the hopeless rage morph onto his stubbled face, knowing he wouldn’t catch you in time. Letting go of his ear, you saw it maimed, the bottom half missing, an obvious mouth-shaped crest bleeding heavily onto the floor as he reached instead to procure a gun from his jacket.

Although your heart leaped at the sight of it as the metal door creaked open behind you, his hands were messy, and the gun slipped from his bloody grip.

Turning to get on, you hesitated for just a second when you saw her there, passed out in the corner of the elevator. You shoved the button for the lobby as hard as you could, planning to rip the wires from the panel behind Al’s desk the moment it reached the bottom. It would give you enough time to get away as he descended the stairs.

You remember watching her sleep, but an eerie sense of foreboding grew in the intimate space the lower the elevator went, despite the beauty of golden hour cityscape from the window that served as the back wall of the capsule.

It took a few moments for you to realize the sun looked odd against her skin. Her hair didn’t catch the rays, nor did her lips hold the same color or fullness of your own, a feature you had in common. She looked sick.

An unfamiliar emotion welled in you. Some concoction of fear, sadness, and a heavy sense of solitude congealed in your chest and your throat as you crouched beside her quietly, afraid to make a sound.

Hesitantly, you touched her shoulder, immediately recoiling at the unnatural stone of her form, refusing to be pliant under the gentle press of your fingers. Swallowing the bile that rose in your throat, you grasped her shoulders, shaking her. Her body slid further down the wall when you let go. It remained there on the floor in an unnatural and rigid stillness, heavy.

You tripped as you receded backward, falling against the smooth metal of the door. Terror overcame you and a bewildering sense of lonely unknown stood towering before you in your mind’s eye. Not that you expected to ever see her again. Not that you expected to care, you hated her. But you hadn’t wanted her to die.

“Mom,” you remember choking up her title in reverence, the one and only time in your life you’d ever said the word.

You groaned with pain, suddenly powerless without the adrenaline that was just coursing through your veins. Everything hurt. Your vision, your head, your body, your heart. You were going to throw up. But you’d be damned if you did it before you escaped. You were so close. Just a little further.

Your mouth watered with the impending expulsion of your gut, but you managed to fall backward out of the elevator and stumble to your feet, feeling heavy as you trudged past Al’s inquiry of your health to the panel, ripping every wire out with your fist.

Just once you threw up beside the revolving door of your building before entering. You staggered through it after, feeling a rush of fresh air that told your very soul it was over.

You did it. Now you just had to make sure you survived, but you were good at that.

_________________

April, 2072

You pursed your lips, scowling at the bitter, sour flavor of the lollipop settled on your tongue. Leaning to the right, you lifted your hand from the grip of your bars, reaching through the thickness of your helmet through the open visor and whipping the candy from your mouth with a grimace.

You slowed, unable to afford a littering fine if you just threw it to the wind behind you, even though you wanted to rebel in that way. Too many high-tech cameras on the city streets to get away with anything unless you had the money to pay off the cops.

Which, unfortunately, you didn’t.

Twisting forward to squeeze the brake, you let your bike lull into a quiet purr as you pull off onto a quiet road, looking for the correct receptacle. You let it crawl forward, along the curb, and over a storm drain so you can lean over and drop the candy into the trash. For a moment, you lick your lips, pulling your backpack around to rummage through the bag of lollies inside for a better flavor.

While you search for a strawberry- your favorite- you weigh the pros and cons of just buying a bag of strawberry flavor instead of the assortment. Price, for starters, you scoff to yourself, remembering to pluck the sour apple wrapper from your pocket to toss into the trash. Exclusive flavor bags are more expensive, but you don’t waste as much by throwing out every god damned green apple you pluck from the bag.

Frowning when you come up empty-handed, you take the second-best choice, unwrapping the dark red of a cherry lolly when a presence catches your attention. A man, tall and thin, clothed in dark colors standing still against the bustle of the city. There’s a black baseball cap on his head, pressed down over dark red curls that peek out at the edges.

He’s wearing square, dark-tinted sunglasses that block out his eyes, with ears that bow out from his skull, and you briefly register that he’s built the same all around, in large proportions, from his hands to his face to his towering height.

Even in the late afternoon, his visage glows with artificial color as he basks in the light of a large television displayed in the storefront window. Although his attire tells you he’s trying to conceal his identity, he doesn’t seem to stick out, going ultimately unnoticed by the people passing by him.

His face is turned towards the television as a news channel covers a fire at a large corporate building from last night. It shows impressive plumes of flame and thick smoke, even darker than the night sky, glowing faintly with billions of lights.

The man watching the television bounces a short stick between his teeth, but you can’t tell what it is from this distance. You notice his face moves, the apples of his cheeks rising high as he smiles wide, easily a head above the crowd.

The sound of sirens from the recording of the fire dins away to the sound of an audio clip taken from a phone call. A man’s voice, clearly distorted with an autotune. Raspy, dark laughter, and a bitter promise to chase someone to hell.

A small part of you is smug, rooting for the villain even, and his vicious words to whomever the message are, or was, intended.

The sun is starting to set, and you hate having to watch the skyline glitter with the golden light as you drive on. It’s an unwanted and unnecessary memory, unforgiving in the distance of your timeline.

Luckily, you enter the undercity just as the light grows intense, escaping into the sleepless neon of your world. Into the black market and the tech industry, rife with people who thrive on a never-ending night, as if their veins are made of glass and filled with inert gases to make them glow just as brightly as the buildings here.

You’ve got a lead from a friend of sorts. Someone who you’ve got a history with from your days at the bordello, and who kept you alive once upon a time when you first came to the undercity, terrified but determined to forget yourself and be born as someone stronger, smarter, better.

He’s never given you bad intel before, so long as you could get to it before a clan or a faster loaner. Luckily, you have a natural gift for hacking and the latest model of ‘unhackable’ Hyperbikes are no exception to your deft fingers.

You pull up outside Blue House, scanning the digital bulletin for the job he mentioned. You press your finger to it, holding your breath for the marquee to inform you whether it’s still up for grabs, or if it is unfortunately for you- in progress.

A smile cracks your lips when the green light pops up, and you whip your glove off when the prompter asks to scan your left thumb. A second passes as the soft blue light moves across your finger, chirping in confirmation when it’s done.

You don’t even care what the job is- but Chan promised it would be something you could do. All you remember is hearing a payment sum that could put good food in your stomach for a month straight. The only question you had was why a tech hacking job was showing up on a brothel’s bulletin board.

Ultimately, what was one more undercover prostitution job? You were familiar with the work that came through the bordello, and its basic services. In the last two years, you’ve moved away from it little by little, having made some waves with your work as a hacker in the undercity. Your moniker started to be whispered across the shadows as the underdog, a genius ‘for the people’ hacker that put bad men where they belonged. Only Chan knew you by two names. The rest of the world only knew one.

The name Maneater.

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