#i dunno if i mentioned that in previous tags but lets do it again folks

[philophobic-paracosm]

i finally drew the dearest lad, Vulture

he's Ripley's curse, he's a weird bearded vulture type thing

this isn't his physical form, that depends on his host (in this case, Ripley); it's more the form he takes in his host's mind

he can also appear as a hallucination to his host, and they'd see this, but as if they were seeing a ghost or something (semi-transparent)

when he appears as a hallucination he's, like, the size of a large dog, but in his host's mind, it depends on things like emotion and such

he is the goodest of boys and deserves your love

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ephemera Chapter Twelve

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 6.6k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hello friends! Here’s another chapter for ya. I’m excited about what’s coming soon, so please stay tuned! And thank you guys so much for the support. It means the world to me. Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them! Links will be added later!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Nara and I lay side-by-side on her bed, Hyun nothing more than a pool of white fur at our feet, as the television droned on, glowing through the bedroom, flashing like a lighthouse. She hadn’t asked why I’d come over still dressed to the nines in a designer dress, hadn’t really needed to, and had instead simply scanned my face, opened the door wide, and thrown her arms around my shoulders. An hour later and my makeup was long gone, feet red with blisters, drowning in one of Nara’s massive sleep shirts.

“How are classes?” I asked in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

She hummed, rubbing Hyun’s side with her foot. “Good.”

I glanced at her out the corner of my eye and saw her face was blanker than mine. I turned onto my side and furrowed my brow, searching her profile. “Tell me the truth.”

She sighed, eyes slipping shut, and flitted her hand. “I dunno. It’s just…it’s a lot right now, you know?”

“English literature still giving you a hard time?” I asked, resting my cheek on my hand.

She pulled the covers up under her chin and nodded. “Yeah. And work. I tried to ask for more time off to work on my studies, but you know how it is…”

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

She laughed and patted my arm. “No. I just…need to get through it I guess.”

“Are you working late?”

She nodded. “Yeah, these days. It’s not a problem though. The neighborhood is safe enough.”

“Yeah, when you’re alert,” I said, poking her cheek. “But you’re spacey when you’re stressed. You sure it’s a good idea to work late?”

She shrugged and her eyes slid towards me, brows raised. “I mean, what choice do I have?” she asked, then grinned. “Us normal folks don’t have the luxury of being so rich we can buy thousand-dollar dresses then skip work on Monday.”

I laughed, flopping onto my back once more with a sigh. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Kinda.”

“All of it.”

“Yeah…”

I shut my eyes and exhaled, long and slow. “Taehyung is Vante.”

Nara was quiet for a while. I thought maybe she was processing everything, taking it in, but her silence stretched a little too long for that. “I saw it. On the news.”

“Already?” I asked, then shook my head. “Should’ve figured.”

She nodded. “People are really freaking out about it.”

“It’s shocking, I guess.”

She glanced at me, turning onto her side to get a better look. “You guess?” she asked. “I figured you’d be the most shocked out of anyone.”

I shrugged. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

She nodded. “I understand,” she said, then sighed. “All men do is lie.”

I laughed a little, rousing Hyun from his resting spot at our feet as he lifted his fluffy head to eye me sidelong. “You’re right.”

“Jungkook…,” she began, then stopped, clamping her mouth shut with a sharp shake of her head. “Forget it.”

Hyun sauntered over, the mattress bowing under his heavy paws as he slowly stepped toward us before falling in a heap between Nara’s chest and mine. I turned towards the big dog and reached a hand out, stroking his fur with shut eyes. the rhythm of the motion settled something in me and settled it enough for me to summon my voice.

“I told him I don’t wanna see him anymore,” I said with a nod.

Nara kept her silence for a few seconds before sighing. “Well, duh,” she said. “You can’t keep dating someone like that.”

I shook my head, my chest constricting. “No,” I said. “I mean…like I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Nara jolted upright and looked down at me. My heart jumped a little at her sudden movements, but when I opened my eyes to look at her, her expression was even more surprising. Furrowed brow, mouth agape…concern or disbelief? Maybe both?

“Y/N…,” she began, trailing off.

I inhaled sharply and snuggled closer to Hyun, holding him flush against my front as I rested my cheek on the side of his face. “What?” I asked, spooning him.

She sighed and leaned back on one palm. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and buried my head in Hyun’s fur, nodding my head. “I’m fine,” I said, but the waver in my voice gave me away.

Nara let out a few frustrated sounds like maybe she’d say something, scold me, tell me it was alright, but instead she simply sighed and I heard the bed shift as she bundled herself back up beneath the blankets. Instead of saying a thing, she reached her hand out and began petting Hyun, stroking him like I was. I felt like a kid, holding a big teddy bear to keep from crying.

I was grateful to Nara in that moment. For a lot of things, really.

But mostly for knowing that if she asked me anything else, I’d break apart completely.

Professor Jung settled beside me as I sketched a rough human figure, copying the gesture of the student modeling in the center of the room. He cocked his head to the side, crossing his arms. My sketch, rough edges and dark, awkward lines that followed no real flow, was perhaps one step above stick figures. But as Professor Jung stewed over it, I didn’t get the sense that he was judging it. Instead, rather, that he was trying to understand it.

And that made me even more insecure.

I tried to hide my work with my forearm, glancing toward the other side of the room where I expected to see Taehyung. Normally, he’d be the first to come over and help, or otherwise distract Professor Jung to take the heat off of me. But there was nobody in his light wooden stool, set up right by the window with the best natural light. With a deflated sigh, I glanced back down at my paper.

It was Monday and already the second day that week that Taehyung and I hadn’t spoken. I knew why. Of course, after revealing his identity like that it would be almost dangerous to return to everyday life. But part of me felt oddly guilty looking at his empty stool. Like it was my fault he had to go public.

“It’s a little stiff, Y/N,” said Professor Jung.

I nodded and rested my pencil on its side next to my fingertips. “I know,” I said with a sigh. “I think my mind’s somewhere else today.”

He smiled gently, the benevolent man, and gave my shoulder a pat. “Don’t worry. With everything that’s been happening these days, I wouldn’t expect you to be all that focused.”

I furrowed my brow and glanced at the man. “What do you mean?” I asked.

He stiffened. “Oh. I figured…well, at any rate, don’t worry too much.”

I blinked after him as he stood with a grunt and wandered toward another student. If nothing else, this whole ordeal had taught me to pay very close attention to the things people say in passing. I glanced back down at my artwork, abysmal and awkward, and inhaled sharply. I had a sinking feeling that something more was coming…

“Do you think so?” whispered a young girl beside me in the library.

I was stationed steadfastly in a corner beside the window, overlooking the sprawling campus, smooth white table beneath me and periodicals beside me. Nobody really came this way. I lifted my eyes to look at her. Petite and dark-haired and maybe eighteen, the girl’s eyes went wide and she turned slightly to offer me a view of her shoulder. She lowered her voice as she continued whispering with her friend, a young guy who kept casting me shifty looks. Was I paranoid or was there something they knew that I didn’t?

“Can’t be,” he whispered back. “That girl’s different.”

“You think?” asked the girl, just loud enough for me to hear. “I think they look the same…” She peeked over her shoulder at me and stiffened when she saw I was still looking.

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, raising my brows. “Are you guys talking about me?” I asked, surprised by my own reaction. Since when was I so direct?

The girl coughed a little and grabbed her friend by the crook of his arm, steering him into the stacks of books. “No! S-Sorry,” she called over her shoulder as the two disappeared quickly.

I sighed and gripped the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. The whole point of coming to the library was to get some coursework done, since God only knows I couldn’t summon the strength to do it over the weekend. And even the peaceful respite of the library was riddled with distractions.

I peered down at my coursework, spread out haphazardly across the table, and sighed as I collected it. Messily, I shoved it into my backpack and stood. I didn’t even bother wrapping my scarf properly, simply shucked on my jacket, slung my scarf over my arm, and walked as quickly as I could through the rows of bookshelves.

But was it just me or did the library patrons give me funny looks out the corners of their eyes as I walked past?

I stood quietly beside the front door of the gallery as hordes of patrons rushed in, hoping to catch a glimpse of Taehyung in the flesh. Of course, he was nowhere to be found. But his stunt had successfully transformed Gallery V into a tourist attraction. All around, patrons chatted too loud for the ambient gallery and scuffed their shoes on the polished floor. Kids chased each other while parents took photos with the art. Not a single person approached me for a tour, likely because none of these people were looking to purchase any pieces.

I was half-tempted to just go home.

“This is insane,” Yuri whispered to me out the corner of her mouth, her eyes wide as she scanned the floor beside me.

I nodded. “I didn’t even see this many people at N Seoul Tower when I first moved,” I said, then sighed and rolled the toe of my shoe into the ground. “I bet Kwon’s having an aneurism.”

Yuri glanced at me and pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Speaking of Kwon,” she began, then pointed down at her shoes which, like mine, were sleek black ballet flats. She grinned. “Dress code’s officially been changed. Direct orders from Vante himself.”

I raised my brows. He followed through on that promise? I swallowed hard and hummed. “That’s good.”

“It’s because you started your whistle-blowing, you know,” Yuri said with a laugh. “Good things happen when nice people get pissed off.”

I chuckled and shrugged. “It’s bad to allow blatant sexism.”

“It’s also out of character,” she said with a grin. “You know, for you to stir the pot.”

I was about to respond, but a patron approached the two of us with a big grin. A young man with a slight build and big eyes smiled up at me with an expression I couldn’t put my finger on. He blinked a few times, mouth agape, as if he may say something at any moment. As if I’d be able to hear him properly over the shouting in the gallery…

“Can I help you, Sir?” I asked with a smile, resting my hands on my stomach and bending slightly to meet his eyes.

He blinked a few times before shaking his head and laughing. “Sorry! I was just a little starstruck.”

“S-Starstruck?” I asked, brows going low as my brain worked a mile a minute to figure out what he could possibly mean.

He grinned. “You’re her right?” he asked, then shook his head again. “Sorry, you’re that girl from the pictures, right?”

I took a half-step back and thought. “I…don’t know…?” My intonation lilted at the end and, taking my confusion as an opportunity to educate me, the young man held up his hands as if I might run away and grabbed for his cell phone.

“This girl, this girl,” he said like a mantra as he scrolled through his phone. Eventually, he held the screen out for me to see and both Yuri and I leaned in close to get a better look.

Before me was an online article, screenshotted and zoomed in to reveal a photo that I could vaguely place as having been taken in the grand ballroom. It was blurry and slightly tilted, but the image was clear enough. Two figures embracing in the corner of the room, half-shrouded in shadow, far from prying eyes. One, a tall, honey-haired man with good proportions and the other, a girl in a champagne-colored dress, face obscured in the man’s chest.

And it hit me like a freight train.

It was Taehyung and that girl was me.

I sighed as Yuri grabbed the phone and zoomed in even further, squinting at the photo with a gape. “Y/N!” she shouted, then seemed to remember her job as she cleared her throat and returned the young man’s phone. She turned to me with wide eyes. “Is that you?”

I rubbed my cheeks, shutting my eyes. “Yeah,” I said, sighing long enough to account for several inhales. After a few bracing moments, I opened my eyes and gave the young man a smile. “Excuse me, but where is that photo from?”

He furrowed his brow. “You really didn’t see it before?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Unfortunately not.”

“It’s from Korea Times,” he said, then clapped his hands. “Could I get a selfie with you?” he asked, smiling big and bright.

I gave him a bow. “Thank you,” I said with a smile before turning on my heel and striding quickly out the door and into the hallway.

Yuri gasped and jogged after me, Areum watching the two of us with mild interest from the front desk. “Wait! Y/N, where are you going?” she asked, holding on to the doorframe while casting worried looks over her shoulder at the crowded gallery.

I pounded the elevator call button several times, like that might make it come faster, and turned toward her halfway. “I’m have to talk to someone,” I said, tapping my foot impatiently as the elevator doors opened and a fresh gaggle of people flowed in a steady stream into the gallery.

She groaned and shook her head, leaning heavily on the doorframe. “But what are we gonna do here? You see how busy it is!” she whined.

Quickly, I rushed into the elevator and met her eyes. I gave a shrug. “You’re gonna have to figure it out yourself for now,” I said, smiling as I slammed my palm against the ground floor button.

Yuri gaped after me, and the last thing I saw as the doors shut was her knitted brows and slumped shoulders.

Taehyung swung open his apartment door with an expression of pure surprise. He stared down at me with wide brown eyes and hair once again unruly, draped in leisure clothes. “Y/N?” he asked, as if it was a question.

I crossed my arms and clenched my jaw. “Have you seen the article?”

“What article?” he asked, yielding to me as I slid past him into the apartment.

Unlike the first time I’d visited, the place was a mess. Shoes were strewn about, nowhere near the shoe rack by the front door. Throw blankets lay in heaps on the floor beside a single beanbag chair and PlayStation controller, empty beer cans littered the coffee table and the smell of coffee was strong in the air, even in the late afternoon.

I furrowed my brow and turned toward him. “What’ve you been doing the past few days?” I asked, resting a hand on my hip.

He flushed and rushed to begin picking up the mess around his living room and kitchen. “I-I, uh, I’ve been like…laying low?” he said, then shook his head. “I didn’t mean that as a question. That’s what I’ve been doing. Laying low.”

I nodded and helped him gather cans, following him into the spacious kitchen to toss them into the trash under the sink. “I got that. I mean like…what have you been doing?”

Taehyung patted his hands on his sweatpants and averted his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Um…well, since I can’t really leave the apartment I’ve just been…watching dramas and playing games.”

I cocked a brow and glanced around. “This really looks like a bachelor pad right now,” I said idly, sighing as I leaned back against the marble countertop. “Anyway, have you been on the internet at all?”

He hummed and shook his head, grabbing a mug of coffee and taking a deep swig. “No,” he said with a shrug. “On blackout days I tend to avoid the internet.”

“Blackout days?” I asked, then waved my hand to dismiss the thought. “Forget it. Artist thing, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, then crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Anyway, you mentioned an article?”

I nodded and pulled out my phone, searching up the article that the young man had shown me. I scrolled to the middle and zoomed in on the photo, turning the phone toward him. He adjusted this glasses to see the screen better and raised his brows. I nodded as I watched him scan the article quickly, reading side to side.

“After revealing his identity as twenty-three-year-old Kim Taehyung, famed artist Vante is seen embracing a young woman at Ori Technologies’ charity gala…?” he read aloud, then shook his head. “Who even took this?”

I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, then shut the phone and pocketed it once again. The two of us exchanged a charged look. “What’re we gonna do about it?”

He raised his brows and rubbed his jaw, his grey sweatshirt bunching around the elbows. “I guess…we’ve gotta suppress the article. You…you definitely shouldn’t be involved in this stuff anymore.”

“What?” I asked, brow furrowed as I crossed my arms. “What do you mean I shouldn’t be involved? Haven’t I been involved from the start?”

He met my eyes and there was something serious in the set of them, in the way he revealed the whited beneath his irises, lowering his chin. “Y/N, this is a lot bigger than it seems. And the more intimately involved you are, the more vulnerable you are.”

I scoffed, leaning away. “Taehyung, that’s stupid. I’m the one who told you about all of this stuff.”

“Yes, because you were a pawn. Even Jungkook probably never wanted you to get this involved.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Listen, this isn’t just some argument between a gang and an artist. There are players involved that you don’t even know yet.”

Kim Namjoon.

I opened my mouth to retort, but something told me to keep that name to myself. Namjoon said he was part of this whole thing, that it had to do with him. And if that was the case, if I revealed that I knew his involvement…I was sure Taehyung would keep him from talking to me.

Truthfully, I’d hoped I could avoid taking Kim Namjoon up on his offer. After all, Taehyung was just as in-the-know, and he was someone I trusted. But this reaction was not what I’d expected. Looking at him, at the way he scanned me, made me feel fragile. Like he was trying to keep me from crumbling under the weight of something heavy that he carried without me.

At least Jungkook wanted to tell me everything…

“A pawn…,” I repeated slowly, nodding my head. I smoothed down my hair which had become messy from the dash over here, and pushed off from his counter. “You’re right.”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean it-,”

“No, you’re absolutely right,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. “From the start, that’s all I was.”

He stepped toward me and reached out to grab my hand, but I took a step back. “I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said softly, eyes falling to the floor.

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t be mad at him, not really. His intentions were good. “I understand,” I said, letting him take my hand and rub it softly.

What I couldn’t accept, however, was being made fragile by yet another man.

As he pulled me slowly against his chest and wrapped his arms around me, I hugged him back, shutting my eyes and leaning into him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

For someone who had been pushing me for years to start becoming stronger, he sure had a penchant for treating me like I was weak.

“Thank you. I really only came by to let you know about the article,” I said, nodding as he sighed and held me tighter. There was something intimate in the way he embraced me, but all I could feel was a tightness around me.

Like I was being suffocated.

And God was I fucking sick of being suffocated.

I sat stiffly in a leather chair, staring at an empty white desk. Everything in this massive company was white: white chairs, white desks, white cubicles. Even the employees’ smiles were all pearly white. I’d never seen so many people so happy to be at work. As the receptionist led me through, I couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the scale of the place. The walls were crawling with ivy, plants hanging in baskets all over the facility. Windows lined the walls on two sides, revealing an impeccable view of busy Gangnam below, the Han River sitting just beyond. Everywhere, employees were collaborating, one bending down over another’s cubicle to share reports, another group of three standing beside the coffee maker with pamphlets that looked not quite finished, another two sitting at a table by the windows, conversing over a single tablet.

Kim Namjoon had answered my phone call on the third ring an hour prior as I was walking out of Taehyung’s apartment complex. I’d only needed to say ‘Hello’ for the man to know exactly who I was. Without wasting any time on pleasantries, he simply said, Come to the company building, and hung up the phone. I’d assumed he was busy, as I could hear the sound of chatter behind him on the other line, and tried to manage my nerves before catching the subway over to Gangnam.

But still, as I sat with my knees bouncing and my palms gathering sweat, I couldn’t stop the incessant anxiety that pressed into the inside of my skull. I glanced around the large, empty office and saw on the walls were several shelves all filled with books. Perhaps if the circumstances were different, I’d have wandered around his office, running my fingers along the spines of all the books. Perhaps I’d have flipped a few open.

But instead, I was sitting with shaking hands and darting eyes and a racing heart and questions that only a multi-millionaire CEO was willing to answer. I checked my phone, clicking on the missed text from Nara that I hadn’t seen.

Nararawr: Girl, you’re on the NEWS news

Along with the text was an image of her television screen, that image of Taehyung and me hugging taking up half the screen as a news anchor seemed to be mid-sentence beside it. Beneath, the caption: Artist Vante’s Secret Lover?

I sighed, my head lolling down toward my chest, and let my eyes slip shut. “You seem tired,” said a deep, rumbling voice from behind me.

I jumped, clutching my chest as I nearly launched my phone across the room, and stood to greet Namjoon with a bow. Unlike the last time I saw him, he was dressed more moderately in a simple dark purple button-down and slacks, dimpled smile on his face and eyes softer than before. He looked at ease, comfortable, and that comfort radiated out toward me, settling my nerves just a little. He held out a hand for me to shake and I was quick to grab it.

“I just got off of work,” I said, then thought a moment and shook my head. “Actually…I guess I just kind of…left work.”

He laughed and gestured for me to sit once more. Gratefully, I obliged, smoothing down my skirt as I settled in. “You make a habit of playing hokey from work, then?” he asked, smiling as he laced his fingers in front of his chin.

I shook my head, waving my hands. “Not at all! In fact, this is the first time.”

“Hm,” he said, then laughed. “Well, this puts a damper on the job offer I was going to give you.”

I detected a hint of jest in his tone and, on a limb, decided to parry it. I sighed. “Darn,” I said, crossing my legs. “And here I was, ready to quit the gallery altogether.”

He chuckled and smiled. “How do you like it?” he asked before, noticing my confusion, shook his head and laughed. “Working for Taehyung, I mean.”

I sighed and reclined back against the chair, relaxing slightly. I drummed my fingers on the chair’s arms. “It’s fine,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve wanted to be in this industry for most of my life, so it’s really great that I’ve been able to land a job in my field so easily.”

Namjoon nodded, humming, and met my eyes over his knuckles. “He told me about you before all this stuff with your ex.”

My eyes widened. “H-He did?”

He smiled. “When you had your interview, I remember him giving me a call saying that you reminded him of someone close to him.”

“Someone close to him?”

“I’m not about to tell you who that someone is,” he said with a laugh, wiggling his brows. “You think I’m a snitch?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms, and cocked a brow. “You’re playing with me, aren’t you?”

He smirked. “Only a little.”

I sighed. “Well, as much as I’d love to continue this round of teasing, I actually came to talk to you about what we discussed on Saturday.”

“Ah, your ex’s motives?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Tae still won’t tell you?” He scanned me, and I had a feeling my next answer would be important.

I inhaled slowly, calming myself, and met his eyes. “He says he doesn’t want me getting involved.”

Namjoon chuckled and the tension in the air dissipated slightly. “What a joke,” he said, rolling his eyes as he leaned on his palm, running his fingers through his hair with his free hand. “He’s like that, you know? Like…a martyr.”

I sighed. “Boy, do I know it.”

“He thinks he’s the only one who can fix something,” Namjoon said with a laugh. “Even if it’s not his responsibility to fix it.”

“And…is this not his responsibility then?” I hedged, eyeing him to see if I’d pushed too hard. We had to follow his pace after all if I wanted information.

Namjoon laughed and raised a hand. “Patience,” he said, shutting his eyes. “I’m actually very busy. I wouldn’t have made time to talk to you if I didn’t intend on telling you what you want to know.”

I nodded. “What’s in it for you?” I asked, lacing my fingers atop my knee and scanning him. “Telling me…what’s the benefit?”

Namjoon tilted his head down and eyed me. “Ah,” he said, pointing at me. “Clever girl.”

“Are you gonna tell me?” I asked.

He smiled. “Well, I figure once I tell you, you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

“A favor.”

I sighed. “I promise you, whatever favor you want done would be better off given to someone else,” I said, bobbing my foot in the air.

He smirked. “I disagree,” he said. “In fact, I’d say the only person who can do this favor for me is you.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said, raising my index finger with a pout. “If this favor is so specific and important, then it seems a little uneven that all I get in return is information.”

“How about that job offer I mentioned before?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m very happy at my job, thank you.”

He smiled. “How about your family members? Do they need jobs?” he asked, and there was a joking lilt to his voice that wasn’t quite all the way there. I suspected from his tone and the mischievous smile on his face that the man was quite serious.

I sighed. “Nobody I know is…,” I began, then paused.

Nara.

Working at that pet store all hours of the day, stressing about rent, unable to properly support herself…wouldn’t a job with this company do a lot for her? Being an English major, perhaps she could move up the ranks and help with international relations…

I met Namjoon’s eyes and shut my mouth. “Ah,” he said with a smile. “So there is someone?”

I set my lips thin and glanced to the side. “I…guess I can think of one person.”

He grinned and clapped. “Great! Well then, where shall we start?” he asked.

I raised my brows. “Start…anywhere, I guess…?”

“Well…I suppose the beginning works,” he said with a laugh. “I mentioned that Taehyung and I knew each other before. Well, each of us had our lofty dreams. He just achieved his before I achieved mine.”

“And yours,” I began, scooting my chair closer to his desk. “What was it?”

He smiled and his eyes want far away. “I wanted to open a transparent company,” he said with a nod. “Capitalism is a blessing and a curse. While it has the potential to offer opportunities for people like me to create a livelihood, it also has the potential to create power so large that it corrupts.”

I raised my brows. “You sound knowledgable about corruption…,” I urged, watching his expression go sour.

“Well, when you grow up poor you get to know corruption very intimately,” he said with a sigh. “It’s always the same: the rich exploiting the poor for profit, the powerful suppressing the weak. It never changes.”

“You wanted to do something different?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to make a company that people were proud to belong to. A place where secrets weren’t currency and competition was seen not as a threat to be eliminated but as a healthy challenge to be accepted. I wanted to create an environment where nobody is taken advantage of or pushed around,” he said, then sighed. “It was hard at first to find investors. Nobody wanted to associate themselves with a young nobody tech engineer. And moreover, I had no proof of concept. Just my convictions.”

“I’d have invested,” I said, mostly to myself, with a sigh. He met my eyes. “What you’re doing sounds amazing.”

He smiled and nodded, almost bashful. “Thank you,” he said. “Well, most rich people don’t think like you do unfortunately. It was nearly impossible to find any financial backing. It’s one thing to say you’re going to ethically source your materials and hire indiscriminately regardless of specs, but it’s quite another thing to prove to an investor that you can reasonably accomplish this without hemorrhaging money. Their money, to be precise.”

I nodded. “You were stuck, huh?”

“Yeah. Which is when Taehyung came and said he’d invest,” he said with a smile. “By then, he was pretty successful and had the extra funds to afford it, but I was hesitant to accept his investment. When money changes hands among friends, things can go bad really quick.” Namjoon sighed and shrugged. “We were lucky. Nothing like that happened.”

“You two must trust each other,” I said.

He smiled. “We do,” he said, then glanced over my head out into the sea of greenery and cubicles beyond. “At any rate, I felt like I was exploiting him. So I decided that the company had to operate on public shares and social media. And besides, I didn’t have any other investors. I’d always wanted to be a privately held company, but I had to bend otherwise I’d never have gotten the funding.”

“You had to compromise?”

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Something I learned early was that if you want to manage a company, you have to be flexible. And anyway, I didn’t want Taehyung’s investment to go to waste. So I used it on creating a proof of concept and promotion online and before I knew it, I had people buying shares. Having Vante’s name associated with my company early on helped people trust me.”

“So Taehyung invested…?” I hedged, hoping he’d get to the part that connected to our current dilemma.

He nodded. “Yeah. And to boost my credibility, he became a major shareholder,” he said, eyeing me. “I hope you see where this is going…”

Slowly, I nodded. “If a major shareholder were to sell their stocks…,” I began, applying what little knowledge I had of business. But I didn’t need Namjoon to spell it out to understand what would happen to Ori Technologies.

“Our market value would crash with so many shares becoming available. You know that scarcity is what drives the price of goods in a commercial society, right?” he asked.

I understood indeed. “Ori would be ruined.”

He nodded. “And then some,” he said with a chuckle. “Someone really doesn’t like that we’re succeeding here,” he began, glancing at me out the corner of his eye. “And I have a feeling I know exactly who it is.”

I raised my brows. “You do?” I asked.

“But I can’t prove it,” he said, smiling slowly. “Not on my own anyway.”

I was quiet for a long moment, connecting the dots, before I sighed and met his eyes. “That’s where I come in, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “You’re close with one of the agents that they hired to get Taehyung to sell his shares.” Namjoon eyed me.

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve stopped all communication with Jungkook. There’s no way-,”

“There is a way,” he said, lowering his gaze in such a way that felt vaguely frightening. I could understand his intensity. It was his livelihood at stake after all. “Taehyung mentioned that this boy has feelings for you.”

I sighed and crossed my arms, leaning back. “You want me to convince him to betray his company?”

Namjoon shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not saying that,” he said. “However you choose to go about it is your business. However,” he began, leaning forward across the desk to meet my eyes, “you need to get me proof.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” I said.

“Then that person you care for won’t have a position at my company,” he said with a shrug.

I stiffened, remembering Nara’s tired eyes, her absentmindedness, her stress. She hid it well, but I could see the threads that held her together unraveling slowly. Her boss wouldn’t so much as give her time off. And working those late hours…

I swallowed hard and steeled myself against Namjoon’s intense gaze. I inhaled sharply and furrowed my brow. “What do you need me to do?”

The sun had descended in the sky, leaving Gangnam in a late-autumn nighttime haze, the air crisp and the sky navy overhead. I shivered as I walked out into the brisk night, pulling my jacket closer around myself as my footfalls landed noisily on the concrete sidewalk. Namjoon and I had talked for a while longer, establishing a plan of action and a few rules: namely, that Taehyung must never know that we were working together. At least not until after we’d exposed whoever was behind this. He also gave me his personal contact information and instructed me on how to save his number so that Taehyung would never know it was him.

And so now, after years of having no contact under this name, I now had Kim Namjoon, CEO of Ori Technologies, saved in my cell phone under ‘Mom’.

I sighed as I continued down the quiet street, turning down an alley in the hopes of cutting my walking time short. I knew Gangnam about as well as the next guy, but I was well-acquainted enough to feel comfortable moving around in the backroads. After all, Gangnam wasn’t exactly famous for its crime.

Quietly, I walked down the empty alleyway, teahouses and off-the-beaten-path snack shops sitting on every corner in every intersection. When I heard footsteps approaching behind me, I wasn’t even surprised. Namjoon had mentioned this after all. You’ll likely be followed out of here, he’d said. But don’t worry. They’re not stupid enough to try anything in my neighborhood.

I sighed. All of this was beginning to feel overwhelming. What was I now anyway? A…triple agent? Pretending to work with Taehyung while I was really working with Namjoon to convert Jungkook so he would betray his fellow workers and work for Namjoon too…?

It was so complicated. And somehow, I was at the very center of all of it.

I glanced behind me and saw a darkly-clad figure with a slim, athletic build and a black face-mask covering his lips. His eyes were sharp, however, heavy-lidded, and focused right on me.

Was I really so tired that this didn’t even scare me?

But as I rounded the corner around the side of a tall building, aiming for the main street once more, I felt strong hands grab me by the crook of the elbow and yank me into the shadows. I shouted, but the strong hand clamped down over my lips to silence me.

Now I was scared.

My heart raced as this stranger pressed themselves against my back, and I writhed in their grip, struggling to break free. But by then, they had wrapped an arm around my waist and their grip was far stronger than mine. I kicked and thrashed and shouted, but most businesses were closed by then and nobody was around to hear or help me. Tears sprung to my eyes on instinct and I realized for the first time just how dangerous my predicament was. How dangerous it had always been, right from the start.

In a moment of blind panic, I opened my mouth and grabbed the stranger’s finger between my teeth, chomping down hard enough to hopefully gnaw through it, and the stranger yelped, briefly loosening their grip on my waist. Quickly, I wriggled free and fell to my knees, ripping my stockings and scraping my knees until droplets of blood formed on my skin. I scrambled to my feet and looked back with wild eyes at the person who had grabbed me.

To my horror, I saw none other than Kim Seokjin, wincing as he nursed his bitten hand. “Jimin! Come here and finish it! Bitch bit me!” Seokjin shouted.

And before I could scream or attack or run or eve react, a pair of hands was on my face once more and, along with them, a towel that smelled like sweet ether. One deep, frantic inhale and I felt my eyes slipping shut, my body going limp in this unknown man’s arms as Seokjin’s distant grumbling grew more and more hazy.

[bevioletskies]

across the universe [prologue]

summary: Peter, the son of the Chancellor, has lived among the stars for the first ten years of his life. Gamora, the future Commander of Terra, has lived on the ground for the first ten years of hers. Though it’s finally time for the last survivors of the so-called apocalypse to return to Earth, they might not be prepared for what’s waiting for them. But when Peter and Gamora meet and find their worlds irreversibly tangled together, titles, obligations, and the impending war may be the very last thing on their minds.

a/n: The premise of this fic is very loosely based off of The 100, the television show more so than the book series. However, no previous knowledge is required, as I only used the basic concept and language, and none of the storylines or characters arcs from the show.

Fic title is from the song Across The Universe by The Beatles. Warning for mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries.

word count: 6.1k | ao3 | tag

Gamora crouched low in the grass, maintaining her near-perfect center of gravity while balancing delicately on her toes. Her eyes and ears were alert, the handle of her switchblade digging into the palm of her hand from clutching it too tightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could only just spot her sister a little off to her left, their gazes fixated on the same target about fifteen feet away. She used her free hand to bring her finger to her mouth, silencing her before her breaths became too loud, too laborious.

However, she was too late; Nebula seemed too far gone to be reasoned with. Her ink-colored eyes narrowed to slits, and under her breath, she murmured, “Yu gonplei stei odon.”

With a feral shout, Nebula took a running leap, landing firmly on the shoulders of her intended prey, yanking the wooden staff from its holster on her back and swinging it around, across the column of his throat. She grappled its other end with her other hand and yanked, snarling viciously as it dug into his flesh. The man stumbled, gasping for breath, before suddenly rolling forward, sending Nebula tumbling to the ground in front of him, the staff shattering instantly upon impact. Gamora hung her head in disappointment.

“You failed again. Why am I not surprised?” Both girls looked up into the face of their father. They barely noticed the other man, one of many mid-ranking generals who’d been unlucky enough to be their trainer for the day, limping away, rubbing at the irritated skin on his throat like it only mildly inconvenienced him, another blow to Nebula’s already wounded pride. “Are you proud of the way your voice sounds? Do you enjoy having everyone know where you are and who you are? Why do you insist upon screaming like an animal instead of remaining silent like a warrior?”

“I wanted to practice my battle cry,” Nebula murmured, recoiling. “I’m...sorry, Father.”

Thanos drew to his full height, completely towering over them, his shadow engulfing them in darkness despite it being mid-afternoon. “We’re finished here today. Let me speak to heda, alone.” Nebula slinked off in dejected silence, picking up the remains of her staff along the way. “You performed well today, little one. You’ve become stronger, far stronger than she could ever hope to be.” He jerked his head sharply to the side, indicating he wanted Gamora to follow him further, away from their temporary camp.

“I don’t know if I will be ready by the time I’m of age,” Gamora replied, brushing her stray baby hairs out of her face. “Your gonakru don’t like me very much.”

“That is because you’re still a child,” Thanos said dismissively. “They don’t see the potential in you like I do. Your ferocity, your intelligence, they will carry us forward, Gamora. They don’t see how much more powerful you are compared to all the rest.”

“They want their children to become heda instead,” Gamora muttered. “They believe it’s their right.”

“Then they forget who keeps them alive. Who made sure they had soft beds and warm bellies? Who protected them from those who dared challenge our right to this earth?” Thanos came to a stop, his piercing gaze wandering across the horizon. Vast expanses of lush grass, trees as far as the eye could see, a rich blue sky that bathed them in fresh, warm light. It was almost impossible to tell what had really happened here a hundred years ago.

“You, wanheda. The commander of death.” Gamora stopped beside him, her fingers itching to reach out and pluck a single flower from the ground, just so she could have something to make her war-ridden tent feel more like a home. “They follow you. They fear you.”

“And they will come to fear you as well. As they should.” Thanos almost sounded proud, but Gamora couldn’t help but feel her stomach curl at the very thought. She tucked her hands behind her back, clenching her fists so tightly she could feel her fingernails drawing blood in her palms. “You have good instincts, Gamora, and far more gravitas than anyone I’ve ever met. Your worthiness will become known. I have no doubt.”

“I have eight years to prove myself,” Gamora said brightly, smiling just the slightest bit. “I have time.”

“Do not wait that long, little one,” Thanos warned, glancing down at her. “They may try to kill you first.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “Really?”

“They do not care for your age or your affiliation. Only your title,” Thanos said gravely. “If they find you a threat to their survival, they will slip into your room in the cover of night, and slit your throat before you ever wake again.”

Gamora shuddered, drawing away from him. “May I please return to camp, Father? I’m hungry.”

Thanos nodded sharply. “You have my permission to rest, but we return to Sanctuary tonight. We ride out when the sun begins to set, or else the reapers will find us from the trees. I need to have some words with the gonakru about setting up snipers across Shallow Canyon.”

“Why is that, Father?” Gamora asked.

“I believe war is coming.” Thanos turned, staring directly at the sun, barely moving to shield his eyes. “And not war among our people, but one of a different kind. The kind that comes from the skai.”

“How was school today, baby?” Peter glanced up from the dining table across the expanse of their modest apartment, surprised to see his mother smiling warmly in his direction. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“It was okay,” he shrugged, grinning toothily when she walked over to kiss his forehead. “I’m still no good at math, even though I really like my teacher.”

“Should we get you a tutor, then? They’ve got a great system going with the older kids who need extra education credits,” Meredith suggested. She went back to the front door so she could hang up her doctor’s coat and kick off her shoes, then collapsed onto the couch with a relieved sigh. She never had anything but long, arduous shifts in the medical ward, and today was no exception. “I’m glad you like your teacher, though. You had a real big spat with that last one, didn’t you?”

“He was rude to Mantis,” Peter frowned. “He got all freaked out ‘cos of her powers, but she wasn’t gonna do nothin’.”

“People don’t like what they don’t understand,” Meredith said, shaking her head. “After all this time, some folk still don’t understand modern medicine. They think I’m trying to poison them!”

“You would never!” Peter exclaimed, sitting up in his chair. “They got real scared about that ant - anti - antidote? Yeah, that antidote that you tried to give ‘em last month for the air seal problem in Sector Six. It was only after they stopped swellin’ up that they stopped tryna protest.”

“I told ‘em, baby, I even let ‘em have a look at decades of science. But you would not believe what some people choose not to believe,” Meredith chuckled sadly. “Your sister over at farm station again?” Peter nodded. “And your daddy’s in Sector One, probably doing a late night...I’m not sure if he’ll be coming home today. There’s a big ol’ announcement he wants to make, won’t even tell me what it’s all about.”

“He don’t tell us anything, anyways,” Peter muttered derisively under his breath.

Meredith frowned, moving to join Peter at the table. “Come on now, you know that’s not fair. He’s got all those laws to obey, and if the Chancellor himself don’t follow them, then what are they good for?”

“But we’re his family,” Peter protested. “Can’t he at least...I dunno, give us a hint? He’s been talking about it for ages.”

“He could get floated for it, baby,” Meredith murmured, reaching over to squeeze Peter’s arm. “Not everyone on the Council likes him, and they’re looking for any excuse to get him out. If we know something we’re not supposed to...it’s his life on the line. It could be all of our lives on the line.”

“But he said it could change our lives,” Peter said. “But...I guess that could mean anything. Like more rations, so people don’t get the hollow stomach virus.”

“Or maybe they lifted the one-child policy,” Meredith suggested. “He’s been talking about it ever since we found Mantis.”

“Yeah, ‘cept no one knows Mantis is actually his kid,” Peter retorted. “They just think her daddy never spoke for her mama when Dad floated her.”

Meredith exhaled sharply. “We don’t talk about that, Peter. Ever.”

“There’s a lot of stuff we don’t talk about.” Peter yanked his arm out of her grasp and resumed his schoolwork with a scowl on his face. Meredith opened her mouth to reprimand him, but the wince-inducing screech of the front door’s poorly maintained hinges cut her off.

“I’m hungry,” Mantis announced loudly to the entire apartment, tossing her shoes aside and skipping over to the table, oblivious to their rigid expressions. “Hi, Mama.”

“Hi, baby.” The tension in Meredith’s face instantly vanished, and she leaned over to kiss Mantis’s cheek. “I hope you were careful today, you know I don’t like you being around all those harvest machines.”

“Renie’s daddy would not let us into the greenhouses,” Mantis frowned, walking over to the fridge to search for a snack. “But he did show me the brand new holoscreen that Renie’s got in her room. She wants to know why I don’t have one, ‘cos we’re s’posed to be the richest family here.”

“We aren’t the richest by any stretch, darling,” Meredith said gently. “The most powerful, maybe.”

“What’s the difference?” Peter asked. Mantis turned away from the fridge, also curious.

Meredith hesitated, glancing back and forth between their innocent faces. “Your daddy’s invested a lot of his own money into this secret project of his. That’s why we live in a smaller apartment now,” she said carefully.

“No, it’s ‘cos he wanted his own place in Sector One so he can keep avoidin’ us like he always does!” Peter snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. Mantis let out a startled shriek, nearly dropping the cup of water she was holding.

“Peter!”

“He’s only talked to me three times this week, and all he ever says is ‘good morning’,” Peter grumbled. “He don’t even look at Mantis at all. Not for one second.”

“Peter, keep your voice down,” Meredith said urgently. “You don’t want other people to hear speak badly about your daddy, or else - ”

“Or else they’ll float me?” Peter got to his feet, snatching his homework up in his arms and storming off to his and Mantis’s shared bedroom. “They gotta catch me first.”

Gamora rolled over on her makeshift cot, woven by her own hands, staring into the dying fire intently, watching the last of it flicker away. She could only just make out Nebula’s silhouette across from her, back turned firmly in her direction. “Did you hear about the incoming war?”

The silence stretched on for so long, Gamora wasn’t sure if Nebula had heard her. “You should really stop listening to the other children. They know nothing.”

“It wasn’t from the other children, Nebula, it was from Father,” Gamora whispered. “He said they come from the sky. Skaikru.”

“We’ve heard about the skaikru before. Why would they come now? They think their planet is gone,” Nebula scoffed.

“Maybe they know the truth.” Gamora turned onto her back once more, folding her hands neatly on her stomach. “That it survived. That there’s food, and life. Fresh air, air that we can breathe.”

“Maybe, but it can’t be better than what they have now.” Nebula paused. “There is nothing here for anyone. Not even us.”

“You don’t know that, Nebula,” Gamora protested. “Our home planets were dying when we were babies. Father took us to this planet for a reason.”

“He is not our father,” Nebula said darkly. “He is a man...who tells us to call him that.”

The flap of their tent was thrown open, casting a ray of blinding sunlight across their faces. They both squinted to see better, but regretted it instantly when an awful, gaunt face peered inside to sneer at them. “You dare waste firewood during the daytime, child?”

“Father gave us three hours to sleep before we leave at sunset,” Nebula snarled in return. “Leave us alone, Maw.”

“That’s General Maw to you,” he said smugly. “And I’m failing to hear the reason for your need for fire.”

“I was cold,” Gamora volunteered, sitting up in her cot and shivering exaggeratedly. “I didn’t want to take another blanket. Firewood is less wasteful than fabric.”

Maw retreated, bowing his head respectfully as he did. “Forgive my rudeness, heda. Sleep well, and I will send Proxima to wake you before we leave.”

The moment he disappeared from earshot, Nebula snorted. “You are such a hainofi.”

“I am no princess,” Gamora said haughtily, lying back down. “I’m the future commander, and I will be better than Father. I have to be.” Nebula merely scoffed and rolled over again, snuggling into the scratchy sheets, willing herself to fall asleep against the backdrop of noise outside, the armies chatting and rattling about, calling out orders and suiting up for one last raid before dark. Gamora, meanwhile, stared up at the small gap in the top of the tent, the daylight streaming in, highlighting the dust that danced in the air above the crackling fire. “I have to be,” she repeated, just barely above a whisper.

“Peter?” The door creaked open slowly; he saw her antennae before he saw her face. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your room, too,” Peter mumbled, burying his face back into his pillow. “What d’you want?”

Mantis tiptoed into the room and hopped up onto the foot of his bed, swinging her legs over the edge. She folded her hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs nervously. “Renie says that people talk about Mama and Daddy a lot. She told me the Council don’t know if Daddy can be a good Chancellor if he cannot be a good ‘family man’ to us and Mama. What does that mean?”

“Well...what do you feel when he’s here?” Peter asked, lifting his head to meet her puzzled expression.

“I feel...love,” Mantis said, though she sounded uncertain. “They love each other, and they love us.”

“But if Dad loves us, then why doesn’t he talk to us? He don’t even look at you before he leaves in the morning,” Peter grumbled. “He doesn’t tell Mom anything, either. It’s like he’s not really here. Maybe he isn’t a ‘family man’. He’s just...a man.”

“Do you think he is doing it again?” Her voice sounded impossibly small. “Like he did with my real mom.”

“I dunno...maybe.” Peter threw back his sheets and sat up, joining Mantis at the end of his bed. He gently placed his hand over hers. “Sorry ‘bout yelling earlier. I don’t mean to scare you. I’m just real mad at him.”

“You gotta tell Mama that you are sorry, too,” Mantis insisted. “She feels very sad. She has been feeling sad all the time. I do not think she likes thinking about what Daddy might be doing when he is not here.”

“None of us do,” Peter sighed, sinking into Mantis’s side. He swung his legs beside hers, matching her pace, enjoying the way it made her giggle. Just as the tension seemed to evaporate out of both of their bodies, his foot caught on something just underneath his bed. “Ow!”

Mantis slid off the bed and knelt on the floor, peering underneath. Her large eyes grew even wider at what she saw - a door handle, leading to the crawlspace under the floor. She sat back on her behind, pulling her knees into her chest. “It is just like the one in our first apartment. Where Daddy used to make me sleep, when no one was s’posed to know who I was.”

“Don’t think about that stuff, okay? You’re gonna make the hurt come back.” Peter held out his hand for her to take. She reluctantly accepted it, allowing him to pull her back onto the bed, into his arms. “No one’s gonna make you hide under the floor again.”

She sniffled. “But...the Council does not like me, ‘cos of my powers. They say that I scare people. That I am a...a...a burden.” She struggled to recall the word that was still foreign to her young mind, and yet simultaneously made her terrified of her own existence.

“You’re not,” Peter promised. “You’re my baby sister, and you’re Mom’s little girl, an’ you got friends and teachers who like you a whole lot. You ain’t a burden, Mantis. You’re a person.”

“He’s right.” They both looked up to see Meredith leaning against the doorframe, watching them fondly. “Don’t think that way, baby. You’re loved. You are so loved. You feel that, don’t you?”

A smile crept across Mantis’s face. “Yes, Mama.” She then turned to Peter and fixed him with a knowing look, silently urging him to apologize.

“Sorry about getting mad, Mom,” Peter said, his shoulders slumping. “I know I shouldn’t be yellin’, or talkin’ about getting floated like it’s nothin’. I just want Dad to care about us.”

“He does, Peter. He’s just really, really busy right now, and he has to put Chancellor duties first. When it’s all over, whatever it is he’s doing, he’s going to put being part of this family first,” Meredith said gently, kneeling in front of them both. She held out her hands to them, smiling when they immediately accepted, and squeezed in reassurance. “Now...since it’s just the three of us tonight, I think I can convince Nelia to get me some dessert rations for you two. How does that sound?”

They both cheered, letting her go to jump off the bed and run out into the living room in excitement. Meredith watched them go before turning back to look at the crawlspace door, twisting her wedding band consideringly around her finger. She straightened up, sighing, and followed them with a false smile.

The darkness crept in without much fanfare, and Thanos’s army was on their way, crossing back through the forest to return to Sanctuary. Gamora and Nebula were placed in the middle of the proceedings that were travelling by horseback, surrounded by soldiers, though they carried weapons of their own. The two of them kept quiet, their hoods drawn over their eyes, so they could eavesdrop on the conversations carried out by the nearby Black Order generals.

“Today’s raid would have been more successful if Father had been there,” Proxima said derisively. “Instead, he chose to remain behind and train those...branwodas. He could have done that any other day, any other place, and he picked today, of all days. When we needed him.”

“You question his decisions?” Corvus said, raising an eyebrow. “We had a near-flawless victory against Azgeda without his help and you still find something to complain about.”

“Flawless? We are carrying home fifteen soldiers on stretchers, and seven in bags,” Proxima snapped. “You are not the one who has to tell our people when their husbands and wives didn’t make it. I am.”

“Do I hear yet another petty argument between lovers? You two amuse me greatly,” Maw simpered, cantering up beside them. Even his horse had an aura of self-importance in its trot. “It is not about winning every battle, generals. It’s about winning the war.”

“Forgive us for not kneeling to kiss Father’s feet at every chance we get,” Corvus said, shaking his head in disgust. “How does the dirt taste without blood, Maw?  After all, you wouldn’t know otherwise, since you never join us in the real war.” Cull grunted his agreement from a few feet behind.

“My role is to utilize my vast array of mental manipulation abilities, not apply brute force like some common thug,” Maw replied. “It takes real skill to do what I do, something I don’t expect you to understand.”

“What you do? You mean supervise heda? A real hardship, protecting a ten-year-old girl,” Proxima said bitingly. “It’s an insult to bestow the title on her so early. We should at least wait until the Conclave, see if she can survive for more than thirty seconds.”

“I can, and I will.” Gamora rode up beside Proxima, staring up into her surrogate sister’s blood-red eyes. “I will be the last one in the ring. You’ll see.”

“Even if it means having to face Nebula?” Proxima said smugly. Gamora’s breath hitched. “What if Father asks you to kill her?”

“He wouldn’t,” Gamora said a little too quickly, though she knew it was a lie. Her stomach turned unpleasantly; Proxima sent her one last smirk as the Black Order generals sped up to join Thanos at the front of the line. Gamora fell back to Nebula’s side, suddenly finding it harder to look her way.

They carried on through the forest for what felt like forever, their vision obscured by both the dense treeline and the pitch-black darkness. Conversations began to subside, now replaced by the sounds of stifled yawns and short coughs, with everyone trying hard not to draw too much attention to themselves. Even Nebula was starting to drift off despite resting earlier, the reins going slack in her hands. Gamora was still alert, however, scanning her surroundings diligently, like she’d been taught. She inhaled deeply, finding that something smelled...off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. It was only when she saw a flash of orange light in her peripheral vision that she knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Bak op!” she shouted.

The dreamy silence was broken by the sound of bodies hitting the ground, with every last soldier throwing themselves down and covering their heads and necks with their bare hands, their horses whinnying in fright as they were unintentionally dragged down with them, now stranded on their sides. Flaming arrows whistled through the air and whizzed past their ears, sticking into the ground and igniting the pine needles beneath their feet, along with striking a few unfortunate individuals who cried out in pain. Thanos shouted for order, calling for soldiers to fire at the tops of the trees where the snipers were hiding, while others tried to help the wounded back onto their horses and lead them back to Sanctuary.

Proxima knelt by Corvus, cradling him in her arms protectively. “Get up,” she ordered sharply, though her voice shook when she saw the arrow stuck in his shoulder, burning a hole through his armor.

“I can’t,” he panted, struggling to yank out the other one that had hit him in the leg. “Help me, my love.” She didn’t need to be told twice, hefting him over her shoulder and lifting them both onto one of the few horses left standing. After a quick order to Cull to stay behind with Thanos (Maw, unsurprisingly, was long gone), they took off to join the others.

Gamora pulled herself back up onto her horse, dragging Nebula alongside her before she could protest, and rode up to join Thanos at the front. “Fall back, daughters, it’s too dangerous for you here,” he called over the gunfire. He had an expression of grim satisfaction, watching bodies fall out of the trees like ragdolls. Nebula cowered a little behind Gamora’s shoulder at the sight.

“Guns won’t solve this, Father.” Gamora leaned over to grasp his elbow in urgency; he turned back to look down at her, surprised by her boldness.

“You suggest we bomb them, little one?”

“No. I suggest we run.” Gamora released him. “If we go now, no one else will have to get hurt. But if we fight...we will lose more people. Good people.”

To her astonishment, Thanos hesitated, staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Then he lifted his head and shouted, “Heda sei ban em op!” Instantly, everyone holstered their weapons and began stampeding down the pathway in pursuit of the others who were now miles and miles ahead, shouting over the chaos and carrying the retreat order down the line while arrows continued to rain down around them.

Gamora’s heart was racing in her throat as she dug her heels into her horse’s sides, breaking into a gallop, keeping herself flat against its neck while trying to block out the cries of the army behind her. Nebula’s fingers were digging into her waist, holding on for dear life, the distance between them and Sanctuary seemingly never getting smaller. It was only when they reached the gates that she finally slowed down, daring herself to look over her shoulder at the soldiers that followed.

She brought them to a stop and climbed off, clutching at her chest, willing her breath to find her again. Nebula collapsed beside her, also panting heavily. “How could you tell?” she rasped.

“Smoke,” Gamora said, letting out a long exhale. “I smelled smoke.” She straightened up and turned to look at Sanctuary, an ill-fitting name for such an imposing ship, and yet, she’d never been happier to see its darkened doors.

Sanctuary was, by far, the most advanced ship on the planet, perhaps the most advanced thing that had ever existed on Terra. When they’d arrived ten years ago, when Gamora and Nebula were babies, Thanos had brought his ship down into a huge stretch of forest that melted into farmland, in hopes of cultivating food instead of relying on rations. That soon became less relevant once people started leaving to start their own clans, refusing to remain under Thanos’s rule. Still, families expanded, and people slowly began spreading across the spaces within Sanctuary’s halls, taking up whole apartments instead of single rooms, now that they’d gone from thousands to hundreds of occupants. Now, when Gamora walked back to her own bunk on the top floor, she could go minutes without seeing another soul. Sanctuary was the hollow, empty shell of its own glory days, and to many, it was nothing more than a cold comfort in a world occupied only by them, and those who betrayed them.

“Gamora.”

She turned, stumbling backward over her own feet at the alarming sight of the entire army coming to a halt in front of her. Nebula retreated to her side, looking apprehensive. Thanos was stood in front of the crowd, facing her, an unsettlingly wide grin on his face. “...Father?”

“You did well, little one. No more lives have been lost tonight.” He stepped aside, gesturing for the crowd to address her.

One particular soldier stepped forward, his eyes shining with gratitude. “We return to our families because of you, heda.” He got down on one knee and took off his helmet, holding it over his heart. “Accept our eternal servitude, daughter of Thanos.”

Gamora watched in utter shock as every last member of the gonakru followed suit, kneeling before her like she was their new deity, their perfect god. It felt wrong, somehow, having grown men and women swearing their loyalty to her, a young girl not five feet tall, with no kills to her name. Her hands curled into fists behind her back, her fingernails digging welts into her palms once more. She clenched her jaw.

“Thank you. But remember...oso gonplei nou ste odon. The Sky People are coming.”

Once Meredith managed to steer her children into their seats at the dining table, she made a quick trip to the canteen to pick up their rations - with dessert, of course - and bring it back to their apartment. The three of them chatted idly about school, Meredith’s work, and Mantis’s visit to farm station. It felt...nice, honest, quiet in a way that even Peter’s rambunctious nature could appreciate, until they were interrupted by an alert on the holoscreen.

“Calling all residents to the main deck. The Chancellor has an announcement to make. I repeat, mandatory call for all residents to the main deck.”

Peter perked up instantly. “Is this it, Mom? The big one?”

“It could be,” Meredith said, putting her fork down. “Quick, put on your shoes. Would be bad form for the Chancellor’s family to be late, don’t you think?”

They shuffled out the door a moment later, knowing their dinner was going to go cold, and weaved their way through the halls, struggling against the dense crowd. Even with their status, people seemed unmotivated to let them get by when Meredith politely asked, some even scoffing in her face like she’d committed a great personal insult. “Privileged folk,” one of them muttered under his breath to his companion.

Meredith, having been raised right, opted to bite her tongue, but the moment she spotted a familiar fin bobbing above the crowd, she knew they weren’t going to make it through quietly. “You watch how you talk to them Quills! Meredith saved your damn life jus’ three weeks ago, you ungrateful - ”

“Yondu!” Peter cried happily, reaching for the man making his way towards them. “You’re here, too!”

“Where else would I go? Your daddy would kick my ass if I missed out on his big day,” Yondu snorted, clapping Peter on the back. “I got an actual job outside of teachin’ you how to wrestle, y’know.”

“And you know I don’t approve of you going behind my husband’s back,” Meredith said exasperatedly, falling into step beside Yondu regardless, with Mantis tucked neatly into her side. “There’s no need for Peter to learn how to fight. He don’t wanna be one of your guardsmen.”

“Your boy don’t know what he wants half the time, Mer, but that don’t mean I can’t teach him anyway,” Yondu said airily. “And ‘sides, Kraglin needs a sparring partner.”

“Kraglin’s a teenager, he could break Peter without trying,” Meredith scolded. “Use another one of your guard trainees, not my son. Forget about losing your job, the Chancellor would float you if he knew.”

“Can’t even call him by his name, can you?” Yondu shook his head. “Damn shame.” He leaned around Meredith to grin toothily at Mantis. “Hey, girl, you doin’ alright? Heard you was up at farm station.” Mantis’s shyness evaporated instantly, and she began excitedly repeating all the things she’d told Meredith and Peter earlier, only stopping when they finally arrived at the main deck.

Despite being the “main” area of the ship, it was hardly ever used, and was only open to the public for major events. However, it was a spectacle in itself - the size of a football field and then some, with a large viewing window that spanned across three of its four walls, the vastness of space spelled out for them in all its majesty. There was an elevated stage at the front, and there, Peter and Mantis could see their father waiting with his back turned to the crowd. Mantis called out to him, but her voice was lost in the chatter of the hundreds of people spilling into the room.

Once the deck was packed to its very limits, a hush fell over the crowd, everyone holding their breath in anticipation. Finally, Ego turned around to face them with his usual slick, undeniably charismatic grin. He opened his arms wide. “Our time has come,” he boomed. “I promised the day that I woke you from your chambers fifteen years ago...no, the day that we came up here a hundred years ago, the day that I welcomed you aboard my Ark, that we would be returning home someday. That day, my friends...that day is today.”

“What?” Peter whispered, clutching at Meredith’s arm in disbelief.

“You heard right, Arkadians. Today...we reclaim the Earth.”

The entire room exploded with sound, everyone cheering, clapping, some even bursting into tears of joy as they clutched at each other, jumped, danced, and sung their praises like never before. Peter and Mantis had to hold their hands over their ears; Meredith pulled them both into her side, keeping them close while the entire Ark seemed to shake with the force of everyone’s pure, uncontrollable, unstoppable joy.

The three of them barely heard the rest of the announcement, even after the crowd settled down, where Ego rattled off some statistics and facts that didn’t interest them, or really, anyone much. When he brought his speech to a close, he mentioned the guardsmen placed at every station entrance and exit, ready to answer questions and provide codes for digital instruction booklets on how to prepare for their descent. “That’s my cue,” Yondu muttered. “I’ll see you Quills on the ground.”

“Wait, Yondu - ” Peter tugged on his coat sleeve before he could go. “Are you still gonna teach me how to fight? Y’know, once we’re on Earth?”

“I dunno, boy, your daddy’ll be keepin’ a mighty close eye on you,” Yondu said, smiling ruefully. “Take care of you and your family, alrigh’?” With that, he disappeared into the crowd. Meredith rubbed Peter’s back in sympathy, but the despairing look on his face told her that he definitely still needed his dessert ration.

The citizens began filing off the deck, chatting excitedly to one another, looking more animated than they ever had in their entire existence, because finally, there was something to look forward to, something beyond their day-to-day of utterly joyless monotony. Peter and Mantis, however, only had eyes for their father, and ran the length of the deck towards him the moment a path was cleared. “Dad!” Peter exclaimed.

Ego didn’t miss a beat, immediately sweeping them up into his arms and off their feet. “You made it! It’s a happy day for us all, isn’t it?” he laughed, setting them back down. “And oh, there’s my river lily.”

“Hi, darling.” Meredith was slightly out of breath from chasing her children, but smiled regardless, wrapping her arms around Ego’s waist and kissing his cheek in greeting. “So this is what all that kerfuffle’s been about, huh? No wonder you couldn’t tell me a dang thing.”

“I’m sorry, Mer, you know if I could’ve told you, I would have,” Ego said apologetically. “I know how long you’ve waited for this, and it’s finally here. You get to go home again. You get to be on the planet you’ve always dreamed of returning to, your planet.”

“Oh, it does feel like a dream,” Meredith sighed; her smile was radiant in a way that Peter and Mantis had never really seen before. “We have to celebrate, darling. Won’t you come have dinner with us? I’d love a big ol’ slice of pie, and maybe a song or two before bed. I’ve been itchin’ to play you more of my daddy’s favorites.”

Ego stepped back suddenly, looking at her like she’d sprouted an extra head. “Come on now, Meredith, you know I don’t have time for all that. We’ve got hours of work ahead of us before we even get close to landing, and I’m not letting the Council out of my sight. You know they’ll take over the whole damn bridge if I do!”

“Watch your language,” Meredith said quietly, nodding towards Peter and Mantis. Ego seemed to have already forgotten they were there, looking rather flustered as he smiled tightly in silent apology.

“I’ll come find you before we land,” Ego said shortly, kissing her for a brief moment before he swept out of the room, his dark cape fluttering behind him. Peter and Mantis exchanged resigned looks.

Meredith, not to be deterred, took their hands and walked them right up to the glass, watching as her planet idly went by, just as bright and bold as she remembered it. “Why don’t we take a second before we have to go back? I’d hate to miss out on this view.”

“It is so dark in here, I cannot see anything,” Mantis complained, straining her neck to no avail.

“Wait, lemme - ” With a snap of his fingers, Peter’s hand began to glow faintly, and he held it over Mantis’s head, delighting in the way the light reflected off the glass, illuminating her face. “Better?”

“Thank you,” Mantis beamed. Peter teasingly ruffled her hair in response, both of them seemingly far more relaxed than they had a minute ago.

Meredith smiled in relief. “Earth it is, then. I hope you’ll love it there, darlings. I hope it’s still beautiful.”

a/n: I have been waiting to post this fic for a very long time and it's finally here!! I'm excited for a bunch of reasons - namely, being able to combine some of my favorite tropes I've used before in different ways, writing something (loosely) based off one of my favorite TV shows, and maybe the most important reason of all: featuring Meredith as a major character, which I've never done before but wish I had since she's so wonderful!

If you've read my previous fics, I'd say this one is most similar to everybody wants to rule the world in terms of plot weightiness and worldbuilding. Each chapter will cover one year of their lives (with the exception of both this prologue and chapter one featuring them at age ten), finishing with the epilogue at age eighteen. I'll also provide translations for the Trigedasleng (the language from the TV show) in the endnotes, though since it's based on English, some may be self-explanatory/explained in context and will not be included.

I have no clue whether this premise will be of interest to anyone else, but I'm certainly having a good time writing it! And I don't necessarily have a set posting schedule (I'll try to post once per month) but I do have the entire thing plotted out in detail, so I promise it will be finished. Thank you so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)

Trigedasleng translations: yu gonplei stei odon - your fight is over / oso gonplei nou ste odon - our fight isn't over heda - commander / wanheda - commander of death branwoda - idiot bak op - go back / heda sei ban em op - commander says to abandon [it]

[sssoto]

Writing Rituals Tag!

That’s right, peepz... It’s time for another tag!

1. When do you write?

Okay, real talk; I don’t actually have writing rituals? I just sit down and write when it’s time lol. I don’t need anything special to write... other than my thesaurus and dictionaries hah! But I’m doing this tag anyway, so let’s see.

I’ll say I’m usually more creative in the night, I’m a bit of a night owl! But honestly it really depends on my sleeping habits in the current time frame lmao.

2. How do you seclude yourself from the outside world?

I don’t really have to, we’re not many people in this household, and we usually keep to ourselves, so it’s pretty easy.

3. How do you review what you wrote the previous day?

I usually just read what I already wrote, do a light line edit as I go over it, and then continue writing from there. I like to read what I wrote previously, usually from the start of the scene, so I can get immersed in the scene again; I view scenes kinda like movies in my head, so “playing” a scene from the beginning helps me pick up where I left off.

4. What song is your go-to when you’re feeling uninspired?

Actually, it’s hard for me to listen to music while writing because I find it hard to tune out - but then I have a hard time doing anything without music in the background because I get uncomfortable when it’s all quiet! It’s an evil cycle *cries*

BUT sometimes I do manage to tune out the music while writing. I don’t have a go-to song, but I like to listen to instrumental or epic/fantasy/classical music while I write, even though my book isn’t fantasy lol. It just gets me in the zone. Sometimes I can also listen to kpop, and in that case it kinda feels like I’m having a party while writing! It’s easier for me to listen to kpop while doing artwork though.

5. What do you always do when you’re struggling with writers block?

Uuuh I don’t really know. Either I go for a walk with music in my ears and think of the scene I’m struggling with (or any future scenes I’m excited for), or I research to gather inspiration, or I work on something else related to my books, like planning for the Memoirs rewrite, a scene later in Renaissance, or one of the next books in the series. Huh, I guess I did know!

But even when I’m not writing, I still have a lot of other activities to work on, such as artwork and music and my platform, so if I’m just not feeling writing, I work on something else!

6. What tools do you use when you’re writing?

Like I mentioned earlier, my beloved thesaurus and and a selection of dictionaries! When it comes to dictionaries, I usually go for google translate, not only for translating words from Danish to English, but also to just view the definition of an English word I’m already familiar with; when I look up the definition of words, I feel like I get a better grasp of what contexts I could use said word in. I also sometimes use a dictionary made for Danish students called ordbogen.com, but it has a word limit of 10 per day unless you pay for a subscription, so I try to avoid it unless I’m looking for a more nuanced translation of a Danish word I have in mind.

Other dictionaries I like include the Oxford Learner’s dictionaries, Merriam-Webster, and OneLook Reverse Dictionaries and Thesaurus! Other than that, I just use my trusty google search engine for research and such lol.

Oh wait, I actually use a lot of other tools. I also have a few ebooks bought on Amazon dedicated to historical research and writing, and I’ve started to use some Google tools for my timeline and beta process. Hm, maybe I should make a post on this! (taking inspiration from @sarahkelsiwrites and @coffeeandcalligraphy lol)

7. What is the one thing you can’t live without during a writing session?

Internet. I diiiieeeeee if I’m not able to look anything up while I’m writing. It’s not even just whenever I need something, I just feel completely paralysed if I don’t have that internet access; I think it’s because I become too anxious to function by the thought that I might need the internet for something, and it’s going to ruin my flow when I can’t access it lmao.

I know I could just note it down and look it up later, but personally I find that to be a bad idea because whatever I need to research might need to be integrated more into the scene than on a surface level, and so I will need to do an in-depth revision later if I write the scene first and find the information afterwards. What if whatever I need to research doesn’t actually function in the way I intended for that scene? Then I need to restructure the whole thing in order for everything to be accurate, and then- Well, you get my point lol. Easier just to know your damn stuff before you go and fuck it all up with vague assumptions!

8. How do you fuel yourself during your writing session?

Uuuhhh I dunno. I ... think about all the scenes I’m excited for? That usually makes me eager to move forward lmao.

9. How do you know when you’re done writing?

When I feel like it’s enough, I guess. I usually set small milestones for myself within a scene, especially when dealing with dialogue; I like to write out my dialogue like a script first, and so I know that each line of dialogue will have its own paragraph, and sometimes I decide that I’m gonna write narrative for five paragraphs, then break, then five more paragraphs etc. If I don’t have dialogue in the scene, I base my milestones on events/plotpoints within the scene itself.

I never strive to write a very sizeable amount of words during my writing sessions because I’m a super slow writer, so just finishing a page or two is an achievement for me. When I reach a point where I feel like I’ve accomplished more than I expected of myself and I’m proud with that effort, I... Well, I don’t decide that I’m done for today, I just decide that it’s okay if I don’t write any more today. That way I’m still open to writing more and being even more productive, but I don’t feel pressured and stressed out and like a failure if I don’t write any more. I think it’s a pretty healthy way to look at it!

So that was all for this fun round of tags; turns out I had more writing habits than I thought! Thanks to @sarahkelsiwrites for tagging me <3 I dunno if you’ve done this yet, but I’m tagging @shaelinwrites and @juliajm15, as well as anyone else who wants to do this!

Later, folks! <3

[roseymoseyberry]

Samsara (3/?)

Heyo, time for chapter 3, aka a little bit more insight into how I had to fill in the gaps in Breakdown’s backstory and the Stunticons in general, lmao.

Thanks again y’all for reading this wild ride and I hope you enjoy! And for folks who may not watch RID15, the race mentioned in this chapter is from the episode Disordered Personalities. You don’t really need to know much beyond the stunticons joined it hoping to cement their title as Rulers of the Road (because they’re literally written dumb enough as to believe winning a race would do that) and the Autobots went to stop them from destroying the other racers. So they lost and it’s implied that Motormaster pulled a Megatron and physically punished them for it.

Title: Samsara

Series: RID15 and TFP (and some tidbits grabbed from Aligned wiki pages)

Ship(s): Wildbreak/Knockout, Breakdown/Knockout

Tags/warnings: Reincarnation AU, hurt/comfort, verbal/physical abuse (though the worst of the physical abuse is barely described or off screen), past character death, age difference (but still consenting adult alien robots), a lot of filling in worldbuilding gaps and making shit up, and a lot of Wildbreak being a sweet boy who just needs some love and affection.

Fic Summary:

From the day he was forged, Wildbreak had felt like there was something missing; some motivation or drive or desire that had been left behind in the Allspark.

Something he should know but didn’t.

|Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|

“About time you woke up.”

Bumblebee’s frame jolted online as he sat up, staring wide-opticked up at where Knockout was leaned against a shelf of scrap metal and watching him.

“Knockout?! What’re you--?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Knockout stated.

“And it couldn’t wait?” Bumblebee grumbled as he moved to stand. He was going to have to have a talk with his team about warning him when they had company.

Knockout gave him an unimpressed look.

“You want help with your Stunticon problem, don’t you?”

Bumblebee’s arms stilled where he had stretched them over his helm, blinking at Knockout. “You decided to join the team after all?”

“Of course not. I told you, I’m not much of a team player these days when I can help it,” Knockout replied.

“Then…?”

“I’ve been spending some time with one of them.”

“You—wait, you’ve been doing what?!” Panicked, Bumblebee continued, “You’re not gonna join them, are you?”

With a snort, Knockout shook his head. “As much as I don’t want you ordering me around, the idea of Motormaster trying it is even worse. He’s a brute and a moron who only knows how to motivate with his fists. It’s no coincidence he had to remake his team by snatching up a bunch of new forged.”

That was all news to Bumblebee. He didn’t know about any Motormaster, let alone-- “How new?”

“Post-war.”

Bumblebee winced.

But before he could comment, Knockout pushed off his perch and stalked towards him. “And that’s why, when I finally convince this kid to leave the Stunticons, you’re going to pardon him and accept him into the Autobot fold without any problems.”

Bumblebee sighed as he braced his servos on his hips.

“They’re criminals, Knockout. I can’t just waive that.”

“You did for that dinobot,” Knockout argued. He was nearly chest-to-chest with Bumblebee now, unwilling to give an inch.

“Grimlock is a special case. He proved himself to be trustworthy.”

“No. Grimlock is special because you like him.”

“He’s a good mech--”

“—And so is Wildbreak.”

With a huff, Bumblebee stepped back and paced away, and of course he heard Knockout’s pedesteps following behind. “Knockout--”

“You want to put an end to the Stunticons, don’t you?”

That brought Bumblebee up short. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, and Knockout lips barely curled enough to be called a smirk, but it was there. “If you really want to ruin their plans, I can’t think of a better way than getting one of them to defect and thus depriving them of two combiner forms.”

“Two? Can he combine with one of the other ones too?”

The smirk grew.

“I can’t believe the Autobots are still so behind when it comes to understanding combiners,” Knockout said, strolling closer, looking every part like the Con he once was. “You don’t honestly think that if your lot could fuse together by sheer accident that a team led by Motormaster, a mech who has been combining for millennia, would be limited to just combining in pairs, do you?” Genuine fear started to spark in Bumblebee’s processor as realization of what Knockout was suggesting settled.

“All of them?”

“Menasor was never as successful a combiner as Devastator, no doubt because Motormaster was never as good a leader as Scrapper, but you still wouldn’t want to meet him on a battlefield,” Knockout continued, examining his claws lazily, as if he wasn’t discussing the former army’s deadliest soldiers and weapons. “Motormaster has only had this team for a little over a decade, so I can’t imagine they’re as good as his previous teams, but that’s more than enough time for them to learn to form Menasor and control him. Certainly enough time to cause your team some serious problems.”

Bumblebee’s engine growled in his chest as he snapped, “Why the frag didn’t you tell me any of that before?!”

Knockout shrugged, looking victorious already. “You didn’t ask.”

“I asked for your help!”

“No. You ordered for it,” Knockout replied snidely. “If you wanted my advice, as one mech to another, you could have asked for it. Instead you got prissy because I didn’t want to play house with you and your little band of misfits.”

Bumblebee’s engine sputtered with indignation and some guilt.

“Fine,” Bumblebee finally agreed, unable to completely rid his voice of irritation. “I’ll figure something out if Wildbreak leaves the Stunticons.”

“Thank you.” It was more a declaration of victory than gratitude.

“Now uh, you have anything else you could tell me about the Stunticons?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve revealed all my cards,” Knockout admitted with a shrug, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But I’ll let you know if I learn anything juicy.”

With that, Knockout was gone again with barely a wave for the handful of team members even online this time of morning.

It wasn’t until later when Bumblebee had Fixit pull up any information he could find on Motormaster and Menasor, criminal or historical, that he finally got the answer to why Knockout had gotten himself so invested. For all that Bumblebee had known Knockout after the war, he had always looked to stay distanced from others, charming but not caring to get involved past pleasantries, never staying in one place for long. But this sparkling of a criminal had caught his full attention in ways no other mech had for over a decade.

The research also explained the almost personal distaste he had for Motormaster and the Stunticons as a team.

There was list of former Stunticon members from early in the war, before even Bumblebee had been forged, and standing out like a glaring neon sign was the name Breakdown.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Dragstrip stared at him before asking, “What?”

“You know, like, where a spark that joins the Allspark comes back out to be forged again--”

“I know what it is. What I’m trying to figure out is why you’re even asking such a pointless question,” Dragstrip mocked. However, he still handed Wildbreak a cube of energon before sitting down to drink his own.

“I dunno. Just been thinking about it.” Because admitting that he was being plagued by thoughts of a mech he shouldn’t know would make Wildbreak sound insane. He wasn’t completely sure that he wasn’t. “Like, would he be the same, or would he be a different mech the second time around? Would he remember anything?”

Dragstrip stared at him out the corner of his optic as he took a long drink.

“When’d you decide to become some sorta religious type?”

Wildbreak just shrugged, muttering, “Doesn’t matter,” and busied himself with his drink.

“This ‘bout your spark thing? You think it’s ‘cause you’re a reincarnation or something?”

“Yeah. But that sounds pretty glitched, don’t it?”

“Eh, who knows how all that Allspark business works,” Dragstrip said with a lazy wave of his servo. “Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Would it make a difference to ya if you were?”

Knockout’s sad smile as he said Breakdown’s name flashed unbidden in Wildbreak’s processor.

“Depends on who I was.”

Dragstrip hummed noncommittally before finishing off his cube with a satisfied ex-vent.

“Ah well, no way of figuring that out anyway, so don’t worry that tiny little processor of yours over it, buddy ol’ pal,” Dragstrip said as he pushed up to his feet and chucked the cube carelessly. “We got more important stuff to focus on today. We got a big race to win for the Boss!”

“A race?” Wildbreak asked.

“Yeah! With that title, we’ll really be the rulers of the roads!”

Wildbreak’s sparkpulse barely quickened at all at the idea, but he forced a grin onto his face and followed after Dragstrip.

The third time they talked, it was over commlinks. It had only been the one day – Wildbreak hadn't even had a chance to recharge yet beyond the couple hours that morning – but already he missed Knockout something fierce.

::Tomorrow?::

::Yeah,:: Wildbreak said, aware of how hopeful his tone was. ::I’d like to see ya.::

::Unfortunately I'm leaving town tonight. I shouldn't be gone more than a day or two though.::

Wildbreak's spark sank.

::Oh. Ok. Well uh, let me know when you get back then?::

There was a pause, and Wildbreak worried that he had sounded too needy, that Knockout wouldn’t be interested anymore because he was so pathetic—

::You could come with if you wanted.::

Wildbreak's spark was caught between joy and the reality that was his frame. Losing the race had made Motormaster mad and he had taken it out on them all, leaving them battered and just this side of broken. Wildbreak's lines had only just finished closing up, so he wasn't leaking energon anymore, but it would take a couple hours at least to work out the dents. Even then though, Wildbreak knew he needed a long, deep recharge to let his frame heal enough that his injuries wouldn’t be obvious.

Normally, after one of Motormaster’s beatings, Wildbreak would curl up and spend a couple days healing until someone finally dragged him out.

But now, Wildbreak wanted desperately to be up and running as soon as he could.

::I really wish I could, but I can’t do nothing tonight.::

::You can’t honestly tell me that little race was enough to tire you out,:: Knockout teased. Heat bloomed in Wildbreak’s frame with embarrassment.

::You saw that, huh?::

::No need to be embarrassed. We’ve all had Autobots ruin a race or two,:: Knockout said easily.

::Yeah? Tell me about yours?::

::I’m sure you can wait a couple days.::

Wildbreak curled up tighter, arms around his knees and back against a boulder, staring out across the terrain as the sun dipped closer to the horizon.

::Wildbreak?::

::Could you tell me about it now? I—I just really wanna hear you talk. If that isn’t weird. That’s weird, isn’t it?::

There was a moment of silence before Knockout asked, utterly serious, ::Is something wrong?::

::I’m fine,:: Wildbreak answered automatically.

::That’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one.:: And now Knockout sounded concerned.

::Uh, then, I’ll be fine, so it’s ok.::

::Wildbreak.::

Wildbreak squirmed, imaging the look that Knockout would give him.

::Motormaster got mad about the race and, well, you know.::

There was a tired ex-vent that carried across the line before Knockout replied knowingly, ::I do.:: The thought that Knockout had ever been punished when he was a Decepticon hadn’t ever crossed Wildbreak’s processor, but it was there now and it sparked something furious in his lines. He didn’t have time to do anything with that outrage though before Knockout said, ::I can wait until tomorrow morning if you still want to come with me. It won’t be fun, exactly, but I wouldn’t mind the company.::

Wildbreak blinked as he realized what Knockout was offering.

For the first time that day, a genuine grin split Wildbreak’s face.

::Yeah, that would be great! Where’re we going?::

::To visit my old friend.::

“Ey, Wildbreak!” Dragstrip called, and Wildbreak went stiff as a board as his partner continued, “Get over here!”

Wildbreak could also see the sudden fear in Dragstrip’s optics when Motormaster’s engine hummed loud enough to carry as their boss stepped closer to Wildbreak, making himself visible to the other mech.

“Oh, uh, sorry boss, didn’t see you there. I’ll come back later--”

“We’re almost done here,” Motormaster interrupted, deep rumbling voice sounding oddly pleased and all the more terrifying for it. It was rare that a smile on his face meant anything good. “Wildbreak was just telling me his ideas for the next couple days.”

A sinking feeling gripped Wildbreak as Dragstrip stared in confusion.

“Ideas?”

Wildbreak broke their optic contact and stared at the ground as Motormaster continued, “Yes. He’s going to drive out further than we’ve gone before, expanding our territory and proving who those roads belong to now.” His large servo landed on Wildbreak’s shoulder in what should have been a show of pride and affection, but Motormaster’s optics were trained on Dragstrip, mocking him. “If even Wildbreak can show some initiative for once to make up for his failure, then I don’t see what’s keeping the rest of you from doing the same.”

Nothing could have pulled Wildbreak’s stare from the ground, spark pounding because he knew the hateful look that Dragstrip must have been wearing, that all the Stunticons soon would. He had seen it time and again when Motormaster turned them against each other to motivate through spite. But Wildbreak had never been the cause of that; had never been used to shame the other Stunticons.

Wildbreak had never shown initiative before and his teammates were going to hate him for it.

But he did his best to focus on the fact that as soon as this was done, Wildbreak could grab some cubes of energon and escape into Knockout’s company for a while. It would be worth it.

Even knowing the vaguely macabre purpose of the roadtrip, there was nothing that could have kept Wildbreak’s excitement from bubbling over. He got to use his Earth alt-mode and spend hours upon hours driving with Knockout, listening to more of his stories and talking about Earth and Cybertron and politics with him. Knockout was far more knowledgeable about it all, but he wasn’t unkind about it, which in Wildbreak’s opinion was exceedingly kind. He would simply explain what Wildbreak didn’t understand and they would continue with their conversation.

And, despite his designation as an Autobot, Knockout was frank about the war and the aftermath and where the Autobots were succeeding and where they were failing. The more Wildbreak got to know him, the better he understood why Knockout left the Decepticons after spending millennia with them.

Wildbreak wasn’t sure it could really be considered a betrayal when Knockout hadn’t been particularly loyal to start with.

Knockout was a mech who looked out for himself first and foremost. For all his dramatics and charm, he was pragmatic, and Wildbreak might have thought him ultimately detached and cold if he wasn’t so drawn to him.

Not the mention the fact that Knockout had also looked out for at least one other mech.

As the sun started to sink low in the sky, Knockout mentioned Breakdown again. Maybe it was because they were growing ever closer to their destination, or maybe, as Wildbreak hoped, Knockout simply felt more comfortable opening up to him.

Knockout talked about how they had met.

Breakdown had been recovering from an upgrade which had left him larger and stronger, a little loopy as his processor was slowly booting up and accepting the changed frame. When Knockout had walked in as his assigned medic and introduced himself, saying “I’m Knockout,” Breakdown had given him a dopey smile and replied, “Yeah you are.”

It had been far from the first time that Knockout had heard the line, but there was an awe to it that had made Knockout laugh. It had been a good decade since he had last had a genuine laugh.

Knockout talked about how Breakdown would come back time and again, his frame broken and bleeding, but always so honest when he asked how Knockout had been. Once, his entire arm had been crushed into a mangle of twisted metal, limp and immobile and no doubt severely painful, and Breakdown had asked Knockout if he was getting enough recharge. “Your optics just seem dimmer than usual,” Knockout recounted Breakdown saying, not bothering with a funny voice or imitation like the other Cons in his stories received. There had been nothing but affection in Knockout’s tone.

Knockout talked about being reassigned to work in the field. How he had insisted he would need an assistant that could double as a bodyguard. And when he had managed to convince them, he demanded it be Breakdown.

Knockout talked about their resulting partnership.

For a brief moment, as Knockout was halfway through some exciting story about an adventure they had had on a planet Wildbreak had never even heard of, he wondered if he should be jealous.

But he wasn’t.

Not completely.

Wildbreak wasn’t jealous of the relationship that Breakdown had gotten to have with Knockout. It was sweet, and it warmed Wildbreak’s spark in a way that made his processor whirr with confusion, because it was that familiarity again, recognizing what he couldn’t possibly recognize. If anything, it just made Wildbreak feel as if he was truly going mad. Was he really a reincarnation of some big bruiser of a Decepticon soldier, or was he just so desperate for Knockout’s affection that he was fooling himself with wild ideas that those feelings and stories could somehow be about him?

The sun set and Knockout said they had a couple more hours before they would arrive.

And Wildbreak thought to himself that if he was jealous of anything, it was that he wanted to be rescued by Knockout too.

“Any updates, Fixit?”

“A couple, sir,” the minibot replied as he continued to tap away, bringing up a screen for Bumblebee. “I’ve managed to get all the information on Motormaster that’s on record. It’s like Knockout said – he led the Stunticon combiner team during the war, but rarely to any great success compared to the more infamous Constructicon team. It seems to be due to a lack of proper leadership kills – spills – skills!”

Bumblebee scanned the profile as he prompted, “How so?”

“Well, while it isn’t ever spelled out so obviously, the simple fact is that the Stunticon team had a shockingly high turnover rate. Some were deaths of course, but others seemed to find ways to quit the team, which is unprecedented in other Decepticon teams of the time.”

Near the end of the profile was a list of Stunticon members, and indeed there were more than a dozen names, many with (DECEASED) or (TRANSFERRED) by them.

It still seemed like some weird twist of fate to see Breakdown’s name among them.

“The Stunticon team was apprehended at the end of the war, but Motormaster managed to escape and has been on the run since, so Knockout is correct that the team he has now has likely only worked together since then.”

“Well, that’s good to know, at least,” Bumblebee said as he crossed his arms. He’d have to go through the whole profile a couple times to see if there was anything else helpful to be found there. “And did you find anything out about Breakdown?”

Fixit gave him the same bemused look he had when Bumblebee had first asked him, clearly not sure why he was interested in a former member. But still, his digits tapped away, but only to zoom in on where Breakdown was listed on Motormaster’s profile.

“Unfortunately sir, there isn’t much to be found. While he is listed in the Decepticon registry, he’s labeled as deceased, so like most Decepticons who died in the war, there hasn’t been any effort put into searching the former army’s archives for his files to transfer to the Autobot systems. The only information I have is what’s listed here.”

Which wasn’t much. Just a designation, a frame type (small four-wheeler, which had to be a mistake considering what Bumblebee remembered of the big brute), and (TRANSFERRED).

Still, it was a confirmation of Knockout’s connection to the Stunticons, as tenuous and outdated as it was.

“Don’t worry about it, Fixit. I was just curious. Tell me more about Motormaster.���