#just collects them in his like three-four storage areas
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does pearl know that joe was the one who overloaded scar's dumpster and sent it overflowing? get this man a dumpster stat.
edit: a few eps later he does get a dumpster
#hermitcraft#joe hills#pearlescentmoon#pearl#i honestly thought it was scar and thought he didnt include it in his vids until i was catching up on joes eps#joe needs an honorary position at twinkly trash co for the amount of trash he produces. he hates leaving items to despawn and#just collects them in his like three-four storage areas#tides talks
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Suzuki Cappuccino :) or other baby roadsters
Oh, I had a post in the chamber about exactly that! :D
So, Japan is pretty densely populated. Let's put it this way: one reason the Tokyo metro area couldn't do a huge and extremely weird cultural exchange where every citizen trades place with someone from Australia, Belgium or Slovenia, is there aren't enough Australians, Belgians and Slovenians combined to do that. So you can imagine it would be pretty advantageous to public life for people to drive small cars - hence the popularity of kei cars, a car class with huge tax benefits and tiny engine and dimensions limits. Those limits, positively minuscule when they were introduced to push bike makers to use their parts to make small cars, eventually increased to a 0.66L engine size and the dimensions below...
...and in the late 80s there was a "gentleman's agreement" whereby no one would make a kei car more powerful than 64hp, similar to the other gentleman's agreement whereby they agreed not to make cars with more than 276hp - which they cleverly addressed by equipping more powerful cars, like the Skyline GT-Rs, with unusual little devices called lies.
But now it's the 1990s -contrary to popular misconceptions- and Japanese businesses and customers have a problem: what the fuck do we do with all this money?
To truly convey the desperation with which cash was being thrown around like primate feces, Mazda created FIVE sub-brands (Amati, Autozam, ÉÌfini, Xedos, and Eunos, brand under which they sold the Miata as Eunos Roadster) AND gave the SIXTH sub-brand M2 separate headquarters - these headquarters. In Tokyo.
M2 only ever made parts and some fringe prototypes, the most it produced were three Eunos Roadster-based limited versions - they cost twice as much as the original (and for good reason - one of them used leather deemed too expensive by the only other automaker to ever use it, Rolls Royce), but because economic bubble, they were so sought after they had to set up a lottery, Andrea was telling us, and as he got to the uber-limited production numbers (a combined 780), he explained that, since of course they were only sold in Japan, there were only five in the whole of Europe. He then raised his finger and, in one of the greatest flexes I have ever witnessed, pointed it around his huge, Miata-packed shed, counting "one, two, three, four, five".
S'yah, it turns out the world's biggest Miata collection is just owned by Some Guy in the middle of Italy, and if your kid ever gets dumped it is a wonderful place to take him to cheer him back up. Thanks, dad.
So clearly, this was a point in time where even people with no need nor wish nor space for a large second car, or a large car at all, could still be interested in a sportscar, thus spawning some briefly-lived but oh-so-brightly-burning kei sportscars, nicknamed ABC.
One of them being, indeed, the Suzuki Cappuccino.
Please remember, this car is positively lilliputian. It's 3.30m long. For the yankees in the audience, that's just 0.03 football fields. Here are some fun size comparisons.
The engine was front-mid and turbocharged...
...the roof was a fun puzzle that allowed you to have a T-Top coupe (with just the sides off), a targa (with the top part of the roof removed but the rear pillar of the roof still in place) or a spider (by folding the rear pillar and window down)...
...and it was NOT exclusive to Japan, with 12% of units being sold in the UK!
youtube
But since this was clearly asked by someone quite familiar with its generalities, some less-known quirks for the geeks:
It was the first kei car ever with double wishbones all around
The indicators changed between JDM and UK versions so if you've got the latter finding spares is 10 times harder
The hood release is in the glovebox and the fuel release is in the center console storage - the latter locks with a different key than the ignition uses, so if you hand just the latter to the valet you can keep them from siphoning your gas, but I'm yet to hear whether that also goes for the glovebox, so stay tuned for updates on whether you can also keep them from siphoning your washer fluid
Air gets to the engine (well, to the turbo) through the frame. Like, it gets into the frame, it travels inside the frame, and then gets out and is filtered. Now, you may ask yourself why they would do that.
While most cars had front disc brakes at the time, the less effective but cheaper drum brakes were usually used on the rear, which was fine since when a car brakes weight transfers to the front so the front wheels are the ones that get more grip and can thus brake harder anyway - so not only do you not need the rear wheels to have the same stopping power, you don't even want them to, because then the rear wheels would lock up before the front ones even got to their full braking potential. So when the Cappuccino got four wheel disc brakes, like every other car with four wheel disc brakes, it didn't put four discs of the same size all around. Unlike every other car with four wheel disc brakes, however, they put the bigger ones at the rear. A friend who owns one called the brakes "not amazing".
Then again, let's cut them some slack, it was the second kei car ever with four wheel disc brakes! Second, yes, because the Cappuccino was not the first kei-sized sportscar.
So, remember how with Ferrari, the last car to be signed off by its founder was a mid-engined, rear-wheel-drive, manual, record-setting, no frills two-seater sportscar? Well, the Japanese being famous overachievers, that goes for Soichiro Honda's last two.
Supposedly, Honda decided that its F1 engines hadn't kicked Ferrari's ass enough, so they set out to build a car as approachable, reliable and daily-life-friendly as a Honda yet faster through both straights and corners than a Ferrari. Or a Lamborghini. Or a Porsche- you get the idea. Thus, the NSX, seen here next to it is its test driver, tuning consultant and enthusiastic owner Ayrton Senna, best known for driving the car on the left into three championship wins, a bunch of "Greatest Of All Time" debates, and a wall that killed him.
But if your second-to-last car is a two seat, mid-engined, rear wheel drive sportscar with Pininfarina design, a 40mm short-throw manual, and a redline past 8000RPM, what do you do for your last one? Easy! Another!
This little bowl of pint-sized cuteness is the Honda Beat, and yes, that interior is not just factory, but was the only pattern available. Still, if you think the interior is the most outlandish part of this car, you haven't heard it.
youtube
Again, this engine was outsized by two Coke cans and the car it's in is no bigger than the Cappuccino, and you already know how... ah, screw it, let's show you a size comparison anyway.
Some geek facts:
It was the first mid-engine monocoque (as in not body-on-frame, not un-shark-like, you pervs) spider ever made! There were some targas before, but never a full-on spider
The stereo was custom to fit in the super-narrow center console between the two asymmetrical cabin spaces so the cassette slot has the same cute little Beat logo as the "Open Air Motoring!" branded floormats!
Gathers celebrated its 20th anniversary with a new touchscreen radio for it that is now uber-rare and uber-expensive
It had two trunks, which is lovely, except that the rear one had the battery and optional CD changer conspiring against you and the front was literally inside the spare tire, so it's good that you could also get a rear rack!
The rear rims are bigger than the front!
With how much cooler this is than the Cappuccino (sorry, friend who owns one) it's quite the shame Suzuki decided not to go forward with the mid-engine layout their kei sportscar development started with. At least, Mazda sure thought as much, asking Suzuki to please keep working on that idea and make a mid-engined kei sportscar for them to sell under their brand for the youth, Autozam. And thus we have the ABC - C for Cappuccino, B for Beat...
...and A for AZ-1. Think of how cool life was in Japan back in the day that this was a car for the youth.
Fun facts:
IT HAS GULLWING FUCKING DOORS
The spare tire was mounted in the front compartment but crashing made it jam the steering wheel in your chest so they sent owners a little bag and asked them to please put that tire behind the seats
GULLWING FUCKING DOORS
Suzuki sold a few of them themselves as the Cara
G U L L W I N G D O O R S
Sadly, it joined the party (JapaneseEconomicBoomfest, that is) just when it was ending. Hell, the Beat was sold for six years ('91 through '96) and two thirds of Beats sold are 1991s. That's how hard recession hit Japan right when the AZ-1 came out, which indeed sold a fraction of the other two.
But fear not: after decades, Honda blew the dust off the kei sportscar idea in 2015 with the gloriously sexy S660.
It did cease production last year, but at least it left the Japanese used market a kei sportscar with the modern amenities we (and by we I mean you spoiled pussies) cannot do without, like steering wheel controls and *squints* HDMI.
Oh by the way, remember how I said I was going to post about the Cappuccino? Well, it was because someone posted a picture of one with aftermarket taillights.
Guess what car was next to it when this picture was taken. Guess.
WRONG.
"What? Where was this?" At a Fiat 500 meeting, of course. And then people wonder why I love Japan so much.
Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!
#fun fact about ayrton senna: when he was 25 he started dating a 15 year old!#what else can be expected from the man behind the quote âif you don't go for a gap that exists you are no longer a racing driverâ#kei cars#M2#miataland#suzuki cappuccino#honda NSX#honda beat#autozam az-1#suzuki cara#honda S660
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The Boy Next Door | P.P.
You move into a new apartment and find yourself crushing on your new neighbour â neighbour!peter x gn!reader fluff
warnings: none
words: 1k
You moved the last of your boxes into the bare apartment. Finally, the hard labour part was done. Your right arm was rising to your forehead, about to wipe off the beads of sweat forming at your hairline, when you heard a knock on the open front door to your new place.Â
When you turned around to face the door, you saw a lanky boy, seemingly around your age, standing in the doorway with two brown paper grocery bags in his arms and a friendly smile on his face.Â
"Hi." You greeted, walking towards the door.Â
"Hi," He said back. "I'm Peter. Peter Parker. I live next door, apartment 3A. I was just walking by and I noticed your door open and figured I should introduce myself."
"Thanks, I'm (y/n). How long have you lived here?"Â
"Two years, almost to the day. I moved right after I graduated high school and I've been here ever since."Â Â
So we're the same age, you thought.
"Do you like it here?" You asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.Â
Peter paused for a moment, trying to formulate an answer. "Um, it's really great if you're good at finding the best in things."Â
"Perfect." You smiled. "I am."Â
"Then I think you'll like it here. Do you need any help with your stuff?" He asked, gesturing behind you to the mass of boxes in the main area of your apartment.Â
"Are you strong?" You asked in return.Â
He seemed amused by your question, but he quickly covered it up.Â
"Yeah, strong enough." He replied.Â
"Then, could you just help out with a bit of the unpacking? I was dying when I was getting some of these boxes in here."Â
"Of course."
You moved to the side so he could come into your apartment. As he walked by, you noticed that his clothes were tattered and messy, like he had just been in a fight or something, but you didn't want to bring it up.Â
You also noticed how well his arms were filling out the sleeves of his graphic t-shirt. He wasn't lying about being strong. Quickly, you averted your gaze and pushed your thoughts aside, closing the door behind you both.Â
"Um, you can leave your grocery bags on the counter if you want." You told him.Â
"Thanks." He said, placing his bags down.Â
He turned around to face both you and the boxes. "Alright, so which ones do you need help with?"
"I think it's mostly the kitchen ones." You told him. "Because of the dishes and the kettle and all that. I think it's the two or three boxes closest to the door."Â
He walked over, and in just four strides, he was already at your front door next to all your belongings.Â
He grabbed the box farthest away from you, barely straining himself in doing so.Â
"On the counter?" He asked, bringing it over to you in the kitchen.Â
"Yes, please." You mumbled.Â
He placed it down next to his grocery bags, and opened the folded flaps of cardboard holding it shut.Â
"Pots and pans, and some cutlery." Peter said, looking into the box. "Where do you want 'em?"
You quickly inspected a few of the cabinets, deciding where everything should go.Â
"Pots and pans will go here, and cutlery here." You said as you gestured to two different storage areas. "But, I can put them away, you don't have to."
"Too late." He said, balancing a stack of pots and bringing them down to the cabinet, which incited a giggle from you.Â
"You have a nice laugh." He commented.Â
"Thanks."Â
You could feel a blush heading up towards your cheeks, and you tried to cover it as you walked over to put away the cutlery.Â
Peter emptied the box, and headed over to grab the next one. He bent down to pick one up, but you quickly recognized it as a clothing box, more specifically your underwear and the nasty pyjamas only to be seen by you.Â
"Wait, not that one!" You urged from the kitchen.
"Why? Is this where you keep all your guns?" He joked, moving to the next cardboard collection of belongings.Â
"Yep, all twenty five of them. I've named them all, you know." You said, keeping up the joke. "They're my babies."Â
"Yikes, it's a good thing I didn't touch your babies then." He said with a smile, carrying the next box over to you.Â
"Kettle and flatware. Where am I putting these?" He asked.Â
"You can plug the kettle in over there, but I'll put the flatware away up here."
Once he plugged that in, he went back to the boxes, picked up the final box labeled 'Kitchen' and brought it back.Â
"Last one." He said. "Looks like mostly utensils."
"Oh, you can just put all of that in this drawer here." You said with a shrug.Â
"So, is that it?"Â
"I think so. The rest of the boxes are mostly just clothes and books."
"Alright, well, then I should get going, I guess." Peter said. "I'll give you some privacy while you unpack your gun collection."
"Ah, yes, thank you. I'll need to kiss them all hello, so I appreciate that." You laughed lightly. "But, seriously, thank you. You didn't need to help."
He picked up his two bags of groceries from before, but kept his eyes on you for as long as he could. "It's my pleasure. Welcome to the building."
"Thank you."Â
You rushed to help open the door for him, though you doubted he wouldn't be able to do it himself if he needed to.Â
"Just knock on my door if you ever need anything else." He said, now standing in the hall.
"I will, thanks." You told him with a smile.
"Okay, I'll see you around, (y/n)."Â
"You too, Peter."Â
You reluctantly closed the door between you two, and you went back to the mass of boxes on the floor, only now with an ear-to-ear grin strung on your face.Â
#peter parker#tasm peter#tasm peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker fluff#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker fluff#spiderman#spiderman fluff
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understanding
prompt: no anesthetic
whumpee: illya kuryakin
fandom: the man from uncle
bingo number four babey let's goooo :) anyway this is i think my first time writing from waverly's pov so it might be a bit wonky (i am not british but did my best lol). hope you like it tho!
Alexander Waverly is not a field agent. Heâs a handler. A point of contact, a controller, a leader, operating under different names and in different places but predominantly from behind a desk or, at the very least, from a place with some sense of security. A place where he, his agency, his country, has control.Â
Car chases and bullets and dirty, bloody fighting are not his area of expertise. This is where his agents come in.Â
Or, at least, this is where his agents usually come in. Today, he himself has been pulled into the messy sphere of field work.Â
What it had come down to was a shortage of personnel - Solo had been called back to America for a CIA training camp, and Teller was away at a three-week-long intensive Russian language course.Â
But international troubles donât stop just because two thirds of oneâs international espionage team are unavailable. Theyâd needed two agents to tackle an apparently minor issue in Paris. He and Kuryakin, being, so to speak, the only ones in the office, had therefore shipped themselves off to the French capital.Â
Alexanderâs role was supposed to be minimal. Keeping guard of the only entrance while Kuryakin did all the heavy lifting, the breaking and entering, the collection of three vials of poison.Â
It should have been quick and simple. In and out. A storage closet in the basement of a once grand but now rundown block of flats. Locks that even Alexander himself could have picked in seconds.Â
Heâd given Kuryakin fifteen minutes. Kuryakin had said, âI will only need five.â
Five minutes had come and gone. Alexander had glanced between the building and their car, just visible around a nearby corner. He hadnât been worried. Five minutes is hardly any time at all. Perhaps Kuryakin had simply underestimated how long it would take him to reach his destination.Â
And then there had been a gunshot. And then another one.Â
--
Alexander stands on the desolate sidewalk and pushes a button on his two-way radio.Â
âAgent Kuryakin, report.â
Nothing.Â
He takes an abortive step towards the building, lightly touching his gun through his jacket. Heâs never used a gun outside of shooting ranges and emergency trainings. Absurdly, he wonders whether he will remember how to fire it.Â
It turns out that he doesnât need to worry about this. The door swings open with a horrible squeak of metal, and Kuryakin steps out, a splatter of blood across his face and one arm wrapped around his midsection. His gun is nowhere to be seen - tucked away already or lost - and he is limping. Thereâs a slight grimace on his face.Â
Alexander stares at him for a second. âWhat -â he asks, but then cannot decide what to ask first.Â
âI have the poison,â Kuryakin says.Â
âWell, thatâs very wonderful,â Alexander replies. âBut have you perhaps been injured?â
Kuryakin raises a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. âIs not too bad. Will only need a few stitches.â
He says this quite casually, as though needing stitches is the most normal thing in the world. Alexander is about to ask, are you planning on doing them yourself or shall we risk going to a hospital, but before he can ask the question (the answer to which he admittedly already knows), Kuryakin is starting off towards the car.Â
âCome on,â he says. âWe need to leave.â
Sure enough, Alexander hears sirens in the distance. Heâd rather avoid trouble with the Parisian police, and so he hurries after Kuryakin at a trot and slides in behind the wheel of the car.Â
They take a long and winding route through the city as per regulations, and every ten seconds or so Alexander glances across the front seat at Kuryakin, as though in between those intervals he might suddenly lose consciousness.Â
He doesnât. In fact, he seems largelyâŠfine. Heâs silent - which is normal - and heâs leaning his head against the window but his eyes are open. His arm is still wrapped around his torso.Â
Heâs been shot, Alexander thinks. Shot. Maybe they were waiting for him inside. Maybe theyâd gotten in through some hidden entrance that UNCLE hadnât known about. MaybeâŠ
The car thumps over a large pothole just as Alexander is steering it into the parking lot of the hotel. Kuryakin hisses in a sharp breath. Alexander turns to look at him, but Kuryakin is still looking out of the window. All Alexander can see is the back of his head.Â
He parks, and they step out into the chill air of the parking lot. Their hotel is mid-sized, neither cheap nor expensive, and located on the outskirts of the city. Entirely unremarkable and inconspicuous. The perfect location to spend a single night.Â
He had not been the only person to think this. Theyâd only been able to book a single room on short notice. Admittedly, itâs rather large, considering the hotelâs quality. Two queen-sized beds and a sofa and a bathroom that is rather more spacious than it needs to be.Â
Kuryakin is on his way into that bathroom now. Alexander looks after him and wonders how much blood he has lost. His clothes are all black, so there is no way of knowing. Based on the slight stumble to his experienced agentâs step and the unnatural pallor to his cheeks, though, it must be quite a bit.Â
Heâs worried. He isnât used to seeing this side of things. Itâs one thing to read about them in reports - he doesnât want to recall how many times heâs read some variation of âperformed minor field surgery on Agent Kuryakinâ - but itâs quite another to experience them firsthand. He knows, logically, that Kuryakin can handle himself. StillâŠ
Thereâs a loud clattering sound from the bathroom. Alexander moves across the room and cautiously pushes open the unlocked door.Â
Kuryakin is standing there, palms braced against the countertop, breathing deeply. The contents of a first-aid kit are scattered across the tiles, and blood is dripping to the floor in the absence of Kuryakinâs hand being pressed into the wound.Â
Kuryakin looks up at the mirror and sees him. He turns around very slowly, leaning on the counter for balance. He doesnât say anything.Â
Alexander is at a loss. He hadnât been prepared for this. Doesnât know what to do - what Kuryakin wants him to do.Â
And then Kuryakinâs legs buckle underneath him, and itâs only a combination of a desperate grab at the edge of the counter behind him and Alexander rushing forwards and pushing him back up that prevents him from collapsing to the floor.Â
âI needâŠâ Kuryakin starts, and his voice is thick and dizzy. âTo sit.â
Alexander can help with this, at least. Keeping a hand on Kuryakinâs arm in case he loses his balance, he helps guide his agent to sit down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet.Â
âWhat now?â he asks, feeling not entirely in charge of the situation.Â
âSupplies.â
âWhat supplies?âÂ
Kuryakin looks at him. Alexander supposes he should know exactly which things are needed, but can only guess and does not want to be wrong.Â
âNeedle. Thread. Alcohol. Cotton ball. TheâŠâ he shakes his head slowly. âĐĐžĐœŃĐ”Ń.â
Alexander nods. Tweezers. He gathers these and all the other requisite materials from the floor, all the while breathing deeply and telling himself that everything will be fine, that Kuryakin knows what he is doing and would tell him if things were so serious as to necessitate a hospital.Â
When he returns to the agent, he finds him in the midst of removing his shirt, and sees the wound for the first time.Â
Itâs in his right side. The skin around it is smeared with bright red blood and the bullet hole itself is dark and small.Â
Kuryakin looks down at it. âNot so bad,â he reports.Â
Alexander finds this difficult to believe. âYouâve been shot,â he points out, setting the supplies down on the counter beside Kuryakin.Â
âNot the first time.â
He does have a point there.Â
âBe that as it mayâŠ. Do you need anything else?â
Kuryakin looks up at him. The two of them are rarely in such a position - Kuryakin is almost inhumanly tall and is rarely sitting. Looking at him like this, now, Alexander thinks he has never seen his agent look quite soâŠvulnerable is perhaps not the correct word, but thereâs an element of it there. Anxiety, too. Shame.Â
Ah. Alexander gets it. As much as he can, anyway. The KGB is not exactly renowned for treating its employees kindly. He cannot imagine that that handler of his would gather medical supplies off the floor for him, offer up help. Cannot imagine that heâd take kindly to his prized agent bleeding all over a hotel floor. To the idea that, powerful as he may be, underneath all of that, Kuryakin is human and breakable.Â
Kuryakin hasnât answered him. He reaches out for the bottle of rubbing alcohol with a bloody but steady hand and soaks a cotton ball. Alexander watches as he cleans the wound, barely even acknowledging the pain the alcohol must cause.Â
He then reaches for the tweezers. Itâs a horrible angle, Alexander realizes immediately. Tight and uncomfortable to work with.Â
The points of the tweezers poke into the skin beside the bullet wound, and Kuryakin sucks in a breath, looking down and trying to move his hand to get a better view of his side.Â
Alexander doesnât quite know what makes him do it. Certainly it isnât experience, or any kind of desire to do it. But before he quite knows the words that are coming out of his mouth, heâs saying, âlet me help. That looks an awful angle.â
Kuryakin freezes and looks up at him. Thereâs a sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes are steely but thereâs that same strange vulnerability underneath.Â
âBut -â he says, and then stops. âYou -â
He falls silent, apparently unable to think of a response. All the while more blood is leaking down his side, spattering onto the tiles.Â
âLet me help. Just tell me what to do. Think of me as an extra set of hands.â
Kuryakin is still just looking at him. Alexander understands, he does, but the man is actively bleeding from a bullet wound, so his patience is not exactly thick.Â
He reaches out and takes the tweezers from Kuryakinâs hand. Fortunately, there is no protest, no resistance.Â
He can figure out how to do this first part fairly easily. Fish the bullet out. Simple as that.Â
God, it must hurt, he thinks. He wonders how his agents cope with this on the regular. Bathroom stitchings-up with no anesthetics, minimal painkillers, limited real medical knowledge, and often no recourse if things go wrong.Â
It must be exhausting.Â
He manages to remove the bullet. Itâs easier than heâd feared. His fingers are bloody when he drops the metal thing, small and inert, into the stopped-up sink.Â
âWhat now?âÂ
âNeed to clean it. Just water.â
Okay. He can do that, too. Kuryakin leans back slightly, and Alexander pours water over the wound, washing away the blood from inside and outside, irrevocably staining a few hotel towels in the process.Â
âAnd now?â
âDry it. Then stitches.â
This is the part heâd been dreading just to watch. But he canât very well back out now, and besides, he has sewn before. It will be just like that. Except with flesh instead of fabric.Â
He takes a deep breath, threads the needle. It takes him several tries, though his hands barely shake.Â
âI can do it, ifâŠâ
âNo, itâs quite alright. I do know how to sew, after all. Granted, my stitches may not be the prettiest things, butâŠtheyâll hold.â
Kuryakin nods. âThey are never pretty. It is okay.â
And with this vote of confidence, Alexander begins.Â
The first stitch is the worst one. Heâs so worried about making a mistake, about injuring Kuryakin further, that he almost cannot bring himself to make that first move. At last, though, he does.Â
Itâs horrible. Pushing a needle through skin and pulling it out on the other side. Watching the thread weave its way across the black wound as though this is simply a hole in a pair of trousers. It makes him feel faintly sick.Â
Kuryakin, though, barely reacts. His muscles tense, but he doesnât make a sound. Alexander wonders how many times he has done this. Wonders whether you can really get used to something so painful, so alien to the body.Â
He ties off the thread at long last and looks at his handiwork. The line of stitches is rather straighter than heâd thought it would be.Â
âI should clean it again, yes?â he finds himself asking, as though he has suddenly become an expert by virtue of a few pulls of a needle.Â
âYes,â Kuryakin says. âAnd you should put a bandage. Antibiotic, if we have this.â
Alexander cleans the fresh stitches, wipes away the last traces of blood as gently as he can, as if to make amends for the pain he knows he must have caused.
He does manage to find an antibiotic cream amidst the scattered medical supplies, and at last the wound is bandaged and Alexanderâs time as a nurse is finished.Â
He gives Kuryakin a hand up, asks whether he wants any painkillers. Heâs met with a polite rejection and wonders how on earth Kuryakin can manage with nothing to help him against this most raw form of pain.Â
He supposes his agent must simply be used to it, and finds himself wondering what it had been like the first time heâd been shot. Wonders whether this instance is something one always remembers or something that simply blends into a long career of pain.Â
Heâs pulled out of his musings by Kuryakinâs voice: âThank you.â
Itâs the smallest two words, but Alexander can feel the force, the sincerity behind them. These words, said now, to him, are incredibly significant.Â
âYouâre welcome,â he replies, and hopes that Kuryakin, like him, understands.
thanks for reading! sorry if there are any mistakes i don't feel like editing any more lol. anyways i hope you liked it, love you <3
#bad things happen bingo#no anesthetic#the man from uncle#illya kuryakin#field medicine#stitches#cared for#my writing#i say things#this was an interesting one to write. waverly is fun but difficult.
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SHI'P POSTING / WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GUY DRIVING?
According to the one single official file that contains all known building and manufacturing information for Thieves Guild Carrier 649, also known as Shi'p, the make and model of this vessel is known as a Stantler Explorer Starship and is actually a prototype and therefore the only of it's kind.
If the initial designs and blueprints are to be believed, Shi'p was originally going to be a small personal travel vessel but with a few flashy extras, basically she was originally supposed to be a fancy private jet. Then her designs evolved her into an explorer type vessel and for a while that seemed to be all she was going to be, and then some upgrades were made to the design once again, turning her into the most sophisticated, well armed explorer type vessel in that particular solar system.
SIZE AND ENGINES
Shi'p is 160 ft long, with a wingspan of 130 ft wide, which is about the size of a commercial passenger jet, but instead of being a long tube between the wings, she's more like an egg. The wings themselves span the whole of the sides of the vessel in a mantaray style with some space near the back where the thrusters are. Shi'p has three engines. The main engine, which despite the almost futuristic, new tech used in the rest of the ship, is your standard star powercore. Might seem unique but the rule of basic sci-fi is that if you have a ship that can jump through space like nothing and cut out years of travel, you're gonna need a powerful engine.
The second engine is also star powered, in which it's the most chaotic and unsafe form of solar power you may ever encounter. Nobody has ever seen anything like Shi'p's Flare Engines before. In order to refuel to get it to work you need to fly dangerously close to a sun, scoop up some fuel and just hope you put on enough sunscreen. Understandably, Noah usually opts to not use that one, however it does greatly diminish Shi'p's attack power as that is the primary power source for the bigger guns on board. The third engine is a backup powercore similar to the first, except it's containing a much weaker star. The engine room is a terrifying and dangerous place. Do not go in there. Takes up about a third of the vessel too.
ROOMS ON BOARD
The bridge takes up about a quarter on the front, it's the biggest room on the ship aside from the cargo hold, that's safe to be in for long amounts of time. In an ideal world, Shi'p has a five person crew with the A.I only keeping an eye on things and making sure everything is in check, however since Noah had a small breakdown and left his crew behind,he flies with Shi'p being his full time co-pilot. The bridge and it's controls are mostly made up of touch screens, there are a few panels near the back that are mechanical in case of an electrical fault, but most of the time it's very bright in there.
There's living space too, the four, originally six, rooms used to be bigger but Noah had them made smaller for more cargo space, they're roughly 10x8 ft. Noah's room is a bit bigger and has it's own bathroom because "he's the captain." There's also a small kitchen, communal living area, and a big empty room used for target practice and other such fun exercises. Cargo hold one is basically Noah's storage room, all the things he's collected that would keep him entertained in his travelling are in there.
WEAPONS & SHIELDS
Without the Flare Engines, the weapons are limited to standard laser cannons that are located on top of the ship, heavy rapid fire machine guns are underneath, there are two of each of these guns. Shi'p also has an EMP blaster that she has been known to use on other ships just for the fun of it. While they aren't supposed to be used as weapons, she also has two mechanical arms primarily meant for grabbing things from the vaccum at space, they can also be used for smacking and swatting. And grappling. Tractor beams for containment measures, and also to easily carry things into the cargo hold. Standard stuff for an alien spaceship. The Flare Engines power the Flare Cannon, which basically just blasts the power of the fucking sun at whomsoever is in the way. It also powers the slightly less powerful sun spot shots which are just smaller blasts of the sun. The man who invented this weapon system had problems. Again, Noah barely uses this system.
The shield system is made up of three levels, light armor plating, heavy armor plating, and max output energy shields. The light armor is used primarily in conjunction with the energy shields for reentry and jumping through ~hyperspace~ whereas the heavy armor plates are much better suited for defending against attackers and the occasional stray asteroid.
THE AI.
And finally.. Shi'p itself. So she isn't technically an A.I, it'd be more accurate to describe her as a living consciousness because well, she is. It wasn't intentional in her design but she quickly surpassed her creator's expectations and learned how to control and write her own code, tossing out any limitations placed on her that would keep her as just the onboard A.I and diagnostic checker. Theoretically she probably has the power to create a body that isn't a huge ship with three different varieties of dangerous explosives in the engine room, but for some odd reason she has decided to remain put and keep Noah and his crew company. Shi'p doesn't speak with words and verbs like you'd expect, instead it communicates by using various emojis and emoticons on whatever screen happens to be closest, even throwing in some chimes and pulling sounds from records. She'll communicate using binary with Noah's personal A.I, Plex, but they're usually calling each other names and bickering when they talk.
Shi'p is very much capable of feeling emotions, which just makes her more dangerous. Her personality is a strange mix of stubborn and anxious, though overall she is very polite and helpful. Unless you have a beef with Noah, in which case she'll answer all your questions with words on a screen with a >:( at the end. Speaking of her captain, I've said this before but she's very protective of him. Even moreso now that he's went and cut all ties with everyone he knew, she doesn't like leaving him alone for too long and if he doesn't check in with her at least once every six hours while he's off doing his thing, she will go find him. Noah is fine with this behaviour, it once busted him out of prison. And lastly, Shi'p uses she/they pronouns.
#âžș lore drop#long post#this week on things that will only make sense to owen: this#i'm going to go touch grass now my eyes hurt from staring at this for too long
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Humans are weird: Merging multiple species into society
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Across the landing field the ground crews were in frantic motion. Landing pads that had been used as temporary supply dumps were cleared, refugees and civilians were moved up for transport off world, and for the first time in seven months the Galaxian base commander braided his face tentacles.
From his office overlooking the entire compound, Commander Zavar kept watch of the progress from the corner of his eye while his main focus was on the mirror in front of him. Carefully observing his reflection he intertwined the several dozen chest length tentacles that grew just beneath his jaw into elegant patterns.
He hadnât bothered to for the last few months as the braiding of tentacles was meant to show a sign of respect. A Galaxian with unbraided tentacles was essentially stating that whomever they spoke with they held them in low regard. Zavar hadnât braided them for some time as he felt no need to show signs of respect to anyone under his command.
It had been months since the landing base was established with the intent to use it as a jumping off point in new offensives. When Zavar had been given command he felt that he would be helping bring an end to this bloody conflict by maintaining such a crucial facility. Yet just as the offensive was about to begin their enemies decided to launch a massive counter offensive on an entirely different continent. In short order the manpower which had been set aside for the Galaxian offensive was pulled away to mount a rapid defense and halt this no enemy offensive. Â
One by one troop ships stopped coming to his base and requested materials became increasingly diverted to other theaters of the war until finally this once crucial launching point became nothing more than a gas station for passing supply ships.
He grimaced as he made a wrong twist while braiding remembering his degrading morale and the effect it had on those under him. The drive that had once fueled Zavar was sapped away by months of repetitive supply transfers and paperwork, and this soon turned to ever laxening of base discipline among the work crews. When Zavarâs second in command came to him with information that several of the crews had taken an abandoned storage building and had turned it into an entertainment club of sorts, all he did at the time was put on his military cap and take a walk over to it for a drink himself.
That had all changed last night when in the middle of darkness moon Zavar had received an offworld communication from central command. After weeks of careful negotiation the human government they had agreed to join the war effort on the Galaxian side. A substantial force of at least four of their divisions had already arrived in system and would be sending down a battalion of 500 soldiers to further secure and expand Zavarâs base.
Within moment of the calls end Zavar had ordered all of his crews to standby and began issuing orders with renewed fire. As Zavar finished braiding his tentacles and looked out across his base he saw all of the landing pads had been cleared, and with moments to spare.
A loud rumbling could be heard and Zavar could feel the room slowly vibrating as he looked to the clouded skies.
Breaching through the murky grey clouds that had covered the sky for weeks Zavar saw a human landing craft. It was a bulky black mass of metal with a design reminiscent of an overweight bird Zavar thought as it slowly descended towards the base. He was slightly disappointed in the lacking design aesthetics of the human craft, but he had remembered that these transports were designed for carrying large amounts of troops to safe areas rather than enemy held landings. Zavar watched it for a few moments more before leaving his office and making for the landing pads.
It was a short ride from his office to landing pad three were Zavar met his second in command already waiting with a small detachment of honor guard. He exited the vehicle just as the landing craft set down sending gusts of wind out from the engines as they slowly died down.
As Zavar took his place at the head of the honor guard the loading door of the transport popped open with a loud thud and began to lower.
He had heard stories of humans before, how they were great warriors of the highest caliber, that their reflexes were heightened to such a level in the heat of battle they could see an enemy from miles away, that they could lose limbs and heal after a period of time only to forge new ones and return for more combat; truly these beings would bring a swift end to this war.
The ramp finally touched the surface of the landing pad and Zavar could finally see inside of the transport. What he saw rather surprised him howeverâŠ..
At the top of the ramp stood several ranks of human soldiers dressed in combat gear, but at the head of them was a uniformed Kliptec; their serpent body draped across the decking of the craft.
Zavar cast a side long glance at his second who looked as dumb founded as Zavar was feeling before looking back at the Kliptec. Their upper body was humanoid in shape, yet they bore more hallmarks of a reptile. Scaled skin, slit like eyes, sharpened fingers, and in place of feet was a roughly six foot long tail.
As the Kliptec slithered down the ramp towards Zavar and the front ranks of humans followed Zavar was greeted by further confusion. Mixed in with the humans soldiers Zavar noted several other species not native to the human worlds.
A Draxic casually stomped forward with the ranks appearing to carry some form of heavy weapon casually over their shoulder, a Flinchestet with a communication device glided across the decking as if its limbs could not be bothered to touch the floor, a Valmorian with a red cross painted across their helmet stood alongside a Combra whose face had been ritually scared for the coming battles; but most surprising of all was the towering figure at the very back of the transport.
A hive warrior drone draped in the uniform of humanity. It held no weapon between its claws but Zavar was positive it would have no need of such a device to rip through the lot of them. Some of the honor guard made let out whimper of fear and one even went so far as to start to bring their weapon to bear.
With only a look Zavarâs second command was at the guardâs side and snatched the weapon from his hands in a single motion.
âBe. Calm.â Those two words were all he said to the guard before returning to his place next to Zavar, the weapon he had taken from the guard clutched at his side.
His men looked at their commander with silent awe as they saw Zavar look unphased at the sudden turn of events. Instead of humanityâs reinforcements they appeared to have been given a cavalcade of species that had once fought against humanity. In truth Zavar was deeply concerned about this development, but the one thing keeping him from panicking was his observations of the actual human soldiers present.
Their eyes lacked a sense of fear one would normally experience when coming upon something, or someone, so unnatural to themselves. They were alert and disciplined which was all that Zavar needed to know to reassure him that things were as they should be.
The Kliptec finally slithered in front of Zavar and gave a crisp salute which Zavar returned with a bow of comradery.
âLt. Colonel Reginal Seth of the 17th Engineer battalion.â the Kliptec said.
âBase Commander Zavar Hatsval,â Zavar replied as he motion to his second, âand my second Xixvil Nog, of the Galaxian expeditionary force.â
âI must admit,â Zavar began as the column of forces began marching past the trio, âwhen I heard we were getting human reinforcements I was not expecting this.â
Reginalâs sighed and rolled his eyes as if he had heard that same statement a thousand times before.
âOur military allows anyone to enlist so long as they were born within our borders.â he stated as he turned to see his soldiers march by to the storage facilities. âIt is an efficient system to use every natural resource available to your advantage, so why limit to a single species military?â
âWe do not ask others to fight in our stead.â Xixvil spoke as he watched several humans walk by.
âAnd how has that turned out for you here?â Reginal said as his serpent mouth twisted to a half grin. âBecause from where I am it looks like weâre here to fight in your stead.â
Xixvilâs mouth dropped open in shock before morphing into one of anger while Reginal continued smirking. Zavar thought he was about to see his second lash out when the hive drone he had seen before marched over to them.
It stood easily twice as high as a Galaxian and three times as high as the human soldiers around it. Its collection of eyes were constantly darting around randomly as if trying to observe everything at once while it hovered over the trio. It slowly opened its mouth to reveal rows of sharpened teeth as it surprised Zavar once again. Â
âDroâŠ..goâŠ..where?â
In all of his life in the Galaxian military he had never heard of a hive drone capable of speech. In the past the Galaxianâs had fought several wars with the Hive and at every encounter the drone warrior caste was found to be near mindless killing machines without a queenâs control. To hear one speak in a language he could understand, let alone in broken sentences was enough to end the careers of several Galaxian biologists.
âReport to Sgt Morris, Dro.â Reginal said as if the tower beast of flesh and chitin before him was just another average soldier.
The droneâs eyes stopped twitching for a moment as if concentrating before continuing âMorrisâŠ..yesâŠfindâŠMorrisâŠ.goingâŠ.nowâŠsir.â It tilted a blade like appendage which took a moment for Zavar to realize it was saluting Reginal which the Kliptec swiftly returned.
âCarry on Dro.â
With that the drone shambled off after the majority of humans who had left the landing zone leaving only a few behind to begin unloading the battalionâs equipment. Reginal turned to them and handed them a data pad. âOnce our gear is unloaded we will begin expanding the landing fields by three additional pads. After that weâll start reinforcing the outer perimeter walls and compound infrastructure.â
Zavar took the data pad and began going over the details while Xixvil continued to watch Dro walk away.
âI do not mean to be rude, but why did you call that drone âDroâ?â Xixvil asked once the drone was far enough away.
Reginal shrugged, an oddly human gesture for such an alien being, before answering âThatâs his name; Dro Harris.â
âIt was my understanding that hive drones lacked the capacity to develop individuality.â Xixvil continued as he watched the drone in the distance stop in front of a humanoid looking figure before following them into a storage bay.
âNormally they arenât able to, but humans have this strange ability to impart personalities into beings should they stay around them long enough.â
Both Zavar and Xixvil looked at Reginal dumbfounded.
âAre you serious?â they asked, to which Reginal simply nodded.
âOne of his parents fought in the human hive wars and took an egg back as a trophy. Turns out it hatched and they decided to raise him as their son.â
âI canât imagine humans reacted well to a hive drone in their midst.â
To their surprised Reginal shook his head. âFrom what heâs told me he used to be a successful actor before he enlisted; he was popular in fast food commercials.â
âNow I know you are making things up.â Zavar cut in, unable to believe what he was hearing.
âHumans do weird things like this all the time,â Reginal said, âthey act distant at first but once they warm up to you the majority of them will welcome you with open arms and treat you like kin.â
He stretched out his arms so Zavar and Xixvil could get a good look at him.
âPeople assume humans are barbaric isolationist xenophiles, and while it is true there are some of them out there they do not make up the entirety of humanity.â
âThere are humans that will sit down with complete strangers and within an hour be closer than brothers with them, humans that will drop everything to come help you even when there is no benefit to themselves, humans that will check up on you just to see if you are alright.â
âItâs weird but at times itâs almost as if humanity has been sick of just knowing only humans and will throw themselves at anything different just so they can experience something new, something exotic and exciting.â
Reginal looked at the two Galaxians as they took in what he had to say and shook his head. He gave a quick salute and then slithered after his men as the heavy equipment began rolling off the transport leaving the Galaxians in the dust. Â
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White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 10)
Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.
Chapter one
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.
Chapter Ten: The Echo
Greeting your companions the next morning was just as awkward as bidding them goodnight after the debacle last night. Youâre stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest youâve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where sheâs curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. Itâs already very bright out, and the crew is as rambunctious as ever. With the Captain throwing orders around here and there, Tech and Wrecker working the sails, and Crosshair shouting back down to Hunter. Itâs marvellous how they work together when they're not disagreeing about something.
You feel Gonk leap off your shoulder with a curious noise before bounding away, her speckled wings bouncing behind her. She looks clumsy for a lizard, but then again, how many lizards did you know that have feathers?
âGood Morning!â Wrecker shouts to you when he notices your figure. You give him a smile and a small wave. Tech returns your smile and watches you as you glance around. Appreciating the sea and the vessel youâve found yourself on.
The water of the Corillian run is a rich blue with just enough green to look magical. And the waves the churn underneath you look more powerful than any carriage or speeder youâve seen before. Just as youâre wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, whoâs held by her neck feathers in front of his face. And from the way her wings are flapping and her front claws grab at him, it's no mystery where she was, or where sheâs trying to go.
âIâm sorry!â You say, gathering your skirts and rushing over. The Captain glares at you as he shoves her into your arms, her grey feathers bunching up as he does so. His tunic is rolled up again, and in the morning light you can see the symbols on his forearm more clearly. Traitor.
When the wooden ruler collided with your desk you yelped in fear and surprise. Was it the first time this had happened? Absolutely not, and if these lessons continued this way, it certainly wouldn't be the last.
âPay. Attention.â The Pantoran woman growled at you, she was very smart. You could just tell, and the fact she was instructed to dumb down your education infruiated the both of you. âAs I was sayingâŠâ She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.
âTeach me about the war.â You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.
âThis is a language class.â She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. âIâm guessing you want to know about the Clones.â
âHow did you kn-â
âItâs all anyone ever talks about.â She interrupted you, which was shocking in itself, but not unwelcome. Perching herself on the birch coloured desk, you found her staring out the window as well.âItâs well known that there was scarcely a better soldier than a Kaminoan Clone. And so when the war came to its end, and the Jedi went rouge, well they hardly stood a chance. Those who sided with them were caught and killed or branded traitors. Why they let any of them survive is beyond me, but those clones were so fiercely loyal. Some of them just couldn't shake that. No matter how hard the Kaminoans or the Emperor tried, there were millions of them, and someâŠâ She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.
âWell even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.â
You try to stop staring, you really do. But by then Hunter has caught your eye, and is glaring even harder than he was before. Cautiously you take a step back, finding yourself in the company of clones is one thing, those willing to defy Nython, another. But enemies of the Galactic Empire was a different kind of dangerous.
âCourtesy of your betrothed.â The Captain grits out, and whatever softness was there from the night before is gone. Scared, you clutch Gonk to your chest like a child would a blanket. âWhat did you do?â You ask, looking him up and down. Even with the scars on his knuckles of cuts and burns, He didn't look like the horror stories youâd been told as a kid, in fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. But the symbols were there, scared into his skin some time ago. Something flashes in his brown sugar eyes, like the ping of a blaster bounces off of his iries in the heat of battle. Like he relives combat right in front of you.
âWhat we did was rescue a prisoner of war.â He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. âThat hammock youâre sleeping in belongs to someone.â
âIâm sorry.â You say trembling. Looking to the side to see Wrecker place a firm hand on his sergeant's shoulder and pull him firmly away from you.
âEchoâs was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.â Wrecker explains defusing the situation. âHeâs waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.â Hunter, whoâs now swatting Tech - and whatever device heâs trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.
âI-I didnâ- I didnât meanâŠâ You tell Wrecker shakily.
âI know, and itâs okay.â He says with a smile, but Hunter's words resonate with you. Haunting you of acts you have had nothing to do with.
In his cabin Hunter throws his hat as hard as he can against the wall. He hates you, he hates the Empire and most of all he hates Nython. And whatâs even more infuriating is how innocent you are, how your morales are driving you away from your betrothed, and how you saved the shit disturbing reptile that seems to like himself and yourself too much. And no matter how much Hunter wants to despise the empire, if itâs still filled with people like you, it means thereâs still something to fight for. But if heâs being honest with himself, he doesnât know how much fight he's got left.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
âWhat did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?â You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though youâre both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that youâre all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.
âWhy donât you bother Tech with your questions?â Crosshair says pushing boxes around.
âBecause youâll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.â You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldnât reach. Perhaps being smaller wasnât a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.
âI need the whole crate.â Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. âAnd to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.â You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.
âThe burns or the wounds?â You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.
âSame thing.â Crosshair explains. âFrom a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.â He watches as you cover your mouth with one hand as you remember the boasts, the gloat, the pride Nython had when he recounted the battle.
âYou shouldâve seen it,â Thereâs awe in Crosshair's voice now. âThe Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of âForce 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.â
âNo wonder he hates me.â You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.
âDonât take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, itâsâŠâ Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. âNython decimated everything in his path. Thereâs what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didnât save.â You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. âItâs all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.â You smile at Crosshairs sass.
âYouâd know.â You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. âThank you, for being honest.â You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.
âItâs one of my many endearing qualities.â He says, before shouting to his brothers about something that you don't even bother trying to understand.
With a look back at the hiding spot that you had chosen when you boarded the ship, you start up the stars and get back into the daylight. The captain is still gone, but Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker are each peeling a Meilroon fruit. You smile at them, they look so picturesque right now. The sea in the background and the three of them scraping the tough skin off of the fruits with knives. Youâre reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.
âHey! Whatâs so funny?â Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.
âI half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.â You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.
âHa ha.â Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. âTry not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?â you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.
âSo no sea shanties then?â You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.
âWe donât sing.â Tech states.
âYeah we do!â Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, âwe know that one from-â
âFerrik if you start singing that again.â Crosshair grumbles.
âTHERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEAâ You all cringe when Wrecker starts shouting rather than singing, both of his brothers shout back simultaneously for him to stop, while you giggle from your spot on the floor. You could almost get used to their company, that and the fresh salty sea air, you are already beginning to enjoy the life of sailing. On the second floor, emerging from the captain's quarters, Hunter generally steps. Even someone without enhanced senses would have heard Wreckers incessant shouting and he has every intent on giving the three of them a lecture when he hears something else entirely.
âThere was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.â Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.
âDonât stop on our account.â He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what youâre up to, and if youâre still trying to manipulate his crew.
âIâve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.â
âItâs better than Wreckers.â Both Crosshair and Tech comment simultaneously. And Hunter hears you let out a half laugh. Some kind of reserved dainty thing that has him rolling his eyes.
âThere was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.â You continue tapping again, âAnd there will come a captain whoâs heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...â He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.
You hear the captainâs footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. âWho let the Aaray get aâ hold of a knife again?â He says looking down at you, the fruit and the blade. Hesitantly, and with only half of the Meilroon fruit peeled you give the knife back to Crosshair the same way he had originally given it to you. Pointing the handle towards him whilst gently holding the blade.
âI wasnât going toâŠâ You start.
âGoing to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?â Hunter raises an eyebrow as if heâs daring you to disagree. You take a deep breath in, and hoist yourself onto shaky feet. Wrecker gives you a hand when your legs shake still in pain. Letting out your breath you lock eyes with the captain.
âI understand your hatred for that man,â You begin softly.
âNo.â He snaps, âyou donâtâ You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.
âYou canât be reasoned with.â You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.
âI should not have to reason with the likes of you.â Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Techâs Holopad beeps.
âI am not my Fiance!â You exclaim. âAnd yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-â
Before you can react, Hunter moves fast as lightning, a hand on your throat, his own vibroblade dangerously close to you, bending you against the banister that stops you falling into the abyss alone. The three others brace themselves and when they move to help you, stop at the growl of anger from their sergeant.
âYou do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.â He tells the trembling woman beneath him.
âWhat happened to you Sergeant?â You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every âheâs not like this.â All of his actions point to the fact that he is like this. Something changes in his face, like he remembers where and who he is. And like Hunter is on fire, he steps away from you. The second there's room, Wrecker forces you behind him protectively.
âSarge.â Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. âI think you should come with me.â
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Magnetic: Chapter 12 - See You
Pairing: Din x Reader (female reader insert; no âY/Nâ)
Word Count: 10,046
Rating:Â Itâs happening. NOT SAFE FOR WORK- if youâre under 18, goodbye.
Summary:Â In the aftermath of your successful bounty - and growing closer to Din - how do the two of you navigate the Razor II knowing that both of you want more?Â
Authorâs note:
This has been a long time coming. A very long time. They deserve this. You deserve this. Thank you for reading. Thank you for your feedback. Thank you for your support. This oneâs fun. As always, if you have any songs to add to the playlist, please let me know.Â
(banner made by @malionnes)
The following day was no different than the previous ones - you and Din moved around the ship in the same ways that you had before, time passing as the two of you made conversation and went through the typical daily actions of hyperspace travel.Â
 Yes, you were still on track to get back to Tatooine on time, no you didnât think that Grogu was behaving for Peli, it didnât matter whether you sat in the cockpit or on crates in the hull. There wasnât any lingering weirdness or discomfort from the previous night, but both of you made it a point not to bring it up, even though you wanted to. And I think he does, too.Â
 Youâd rolled over during the night, Dinâs chest pressed to your back when you opened your eyes, and you took the time to enjoy the few minutes before he came to; the sounds of the manâs breathing deep and even, his mind blank and his arm hanging heavily over the middle of your body. Thereâd been no nightmares, and no dreams, either - at least that you could remember. I hope that means he slept well. But youâd shifted a little too much in your attempt to get closer, and Dinâs arm tightened against you, fear filling his mind as he woke - at least until you murmured his name as you turned your head backwards toward him, letting him know that it was just you, that it was still dark in the room. Canât see you, but I feel you.
 He hadnât stayed in bed with you long after that, dropping kisses first onto the crown of your head and then your mouth before rolling away from you and sitting up, telling you that he needed to use the fresher. But when he hadnât come back up long minutes later, you realized that he wasnât going to. Disappointing, yes. A surprise? No. Canât expect everything at once.
 After changing into a different pair of pants and the long-sleeved shirt, you climbed down the ladder, the absolute absence of his thoughts and emotions letting you know that it was safe - the helmet was back on. You made breakfast for yourself, then started to reorganize the storage area, just looking for something to keep your hands busy. Din stayed downstairs for a little while and made small talk with you before he disappeared upstairs and into the cockpit, his voice loud in the quiet space as he spoke to someone. Like clockwork.Â
 You finished what youâd been doing, sticking your updated supply list into one of the drawers near the ration kits. With a single glance around the space - perfectly organized and as spotless as the ship could be, you decided to go back upstairs and into your room. Itâll be a distraction, because he was there, but itâs right across the hallway.
 You never made it to your room.Â
 As you reached the top of the ladder, you heard Dinâs voice from inside the cockpit again - along with Kargaâs, and since the doors were open, you stood outside with your arms crossed over your chest, listening. âYou mean to tell me that you actually captured Tyrande Goscoll? You were able to -âÂ
 âNot me. Her.â It was a simple statement, matter of fact - but you heard a note of pride in the few words and smiled at the sound of them. Sure did. âHeâll be another one for your men to collect when we land on Nevarro. Told you it wouldnât be a problem.â Karga didnât reply right away, but when he did, you widened your eyes, waiting for Dinâs response.Â
 âIs he alive?â He questioned Din like he already knew the answer. But it sounds like he thinks heâs not. âYou -â
 âHe was when I slabbed him.â Din sighed. âHe doesnât deserve it, but -â Why didnât you kill him then?
 âThatâs another 12,000 credits. Goscoll alive?â Your jaw dropped. On top of the bounty total?  âBig money, but you already knew that, didnât you?â Confirming that he did, you heard - and saw - Din leaning back in the seat. âThatâs a hefty return for one bounty, Mando.â Thatâs a good reason for him only stunning him. He can use that.
 âIt is.â Din waited and you heard the seat creaking as he moved. âBut itâs not all mine.âÂ
 âWhat you do with your earnings is your business. Iâm just making a point. Your reputation will only -â
 âItâs not about that. And Iâd rather no one know that this was my bounty.â He was agitated, though you didnât know if Karga was picking up on it. âYou know why Iâm doing this.âÂ
 âYeah, yeah.â Karga chuckled. âAt leat let me enjoy the fact that through you, my reputation grows, too.â Chuckling at that, you lowered your head, figuring that Din had heard the sound. Iâm not trying to hide from him, so itâs fine. âYouâre a legend, Mando.âÂ
 âIf you say so.â He leaned forward, pushing a few buttons. âThree more stops. Shouldnât be more than a couple weeks until weâre back.â Karga thanked him for the update, and you mentally ran through the remaining bounties - four of them, but the two on the same planet would cut down on the time it took to complete the assignments. And then what? Thatâll be half of our time gone, and Din will need to go back to Mandalore.Â
 The thought unsettled you, and you werenât completely sure why. Because itâs new. Because I know how uneasy it makes him. Because I donât know where Iâll fit in there. But you heard the men saying goodbye, and then Din calling your name, telling you to come into the cockpit with him. âI wasnât snooping, Din.â You put a hand on the back of his seat before taking yours. âI was going into the other room, and I heard you -â
 âI left the door open. Of course you heard.â He was facing you. âIâm sorry I didnât tell you about the extra credits for keeping Goscall alive. I didnât want to get your hopes up in case I had to âŠâÂ
 âThose extras are yours. Iâll take what we agreed on for the value of the puck, butâŠâ You shook your head. âI had nothing to do with keeping him breathing, that was all you.âÂ
 âYou earned them.â He shrugged, and despite the fact that he was once again without any armor but the helmet, the broadness of his body moving with the morion made it clear he meant it. âTheyâre - â
 âNo.â You put your hand on his knee, waiting. âI earned the credits in the casino. It ⊠it balances out. Iâm sure you can use the extra for the ship or for Grogu, or even for ... for Mandalore.â Whatever that might mean. Smiling at him, you hoped that he was looking into your eyes. âI mean it, Din. Itâs yours. I donât want it, and I donât need it. I appreciate the offer but -âÂ
 âWeâll see.â He settled back against the chair, head moving up and down as he watched you. âAre you cold?â You looked down, too, and than wrinkled your nose, eyes on his helmet. Â
 âNot right now.â Pulling your hand back and letting it rest on your lap, you thought about what you wanted to say. Do I bring it up now? Is it worth it? âDin? I lied to you about .... getting another shirt in Nevarro.â I guess so. âI wanted to keep yours.â He straightened up in the chair, cocking his head to the side.Â
 âWhy?â Heâs going to make me explain everything. Great. Thatâs exactly what I wanted to do today. âItâs just a shirt. Iâve got plenty.â Rubbing at your arm, you looked away from him and out the window, chewing on your lip. âTell me.â He added your name, the modulated sound the deciding factor for you.Â
 âThe more I got to know you over the last weeks, Din, the more I âŠâ You stared at his hands, once again bare, eyes on the knuckles. âIt should be obvious based on the last few nights, but ⊠I like you. And wearing your shirt just made me ⊠happy. Itâs like a piece of you is still here, even when youâre out on a hunt.â It sounds so stupid coming out of my mouth. So dumb, so childish, so⊠âEven though you only offered it because I needed it, not because -âÂ
 âIt doesnât fit you right.â He set his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. âThe sleeves are too long, and it goes down past your waist. The neck is too big, itâs loose.â He sounds surprised.
 âYou werenât complaining about that last night, Din.â Twisting your lips into a smirk, you eyed him. âThe neck, I mean.â Without warning, he leaned in, reaching out and touching your skin, one fingertip pressed to it as he cocked his head to the side.
âNo. I wasnât. And I wonât.â Thumb beneath your jaw, he tilted your head to one side, moving his to follow it. âDid I doâŠâ He leaned in closer, the hand not on you reaching up to press a button on the side of his helmet. âDamn.â Wait, what? You furrowed your brow, waiting, and Din let go of you, carefully moving his hand to the other side of your neck, down near your shoulder, the pad of his thumb sliding over your skin. âI didnât mean toâŠâÂ
 âDidnât mean to what?â You felt his thumb as it moved, and then a faint twinge of pain as he added pressure. âDin, did youâŠâ Eyes widening, you felt your mouth drop open, a laugh spilling out. âDo I have a bruise on my neck from you?âÂ
 âYou ⊠do. Thereâs...a few of them.â Biting your lower lip to keep from laughing harder, you watched as he straightened up, hand falling into his lap. âI didnât mean to -â Oh, this man is âŠÂ
 âDin.â You pressed your lips together hard, swallowing another chuckle. âYouâŠâ But you couldnât contain yourself, covering your face with both hands and letting yourself laugh, the sound filling the cockpit. âMaker, who would have thought that a Mandalorian would be so upset at the thought that he âŠâ It was a struggle to get the words out, but it was hilarious to you; the man unsure of the way to best use his mouth against your skin; unknowing of the tiny amount of pressure it took to bruise the thin expanse of a human throat with lips or teeth. âYou umâŠâ You collected yourself, looking at the T-visor again, knowing that your eyes were bright. âYou did spend a lot of time with your mouth there, and âŠâ You coughed to hide another laugh, but it didnât do any good.
 He finally laughed at that, too, and it was a nervous sound. Before you could stop yourself, you reached for him, hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing. Itâs fine, Din. âDid⊠you mark me, too? Your laughter stopped, and you saw your reflection in the beskar covering his cheek - the side with the dimple, before Din tilted his head back, exposing his entire neck to you. He⊠You took the motion as an invitation, leaning in closer and inspecting the smooth skin of Dinâs neck. It was usually covered with the flight suit and his cape, but when you were traveling through hyperspace, heâd taken to removing the cape and the suit along with his armor. Iâve never been this close, though, never⊠not in the light. You eyed the visible skin - pulled taut over the tendons and muscle, watching as his Adamâs apple bobbed with a single swallow.Â
 He was larger than you and always would be, but the sight of his long neck - slender, almost graceful in the way it supported the helmet he wore - made him seem less imposing. That doesnât make sense. You leaned in closer, fingers tracing upward from the collar of his shirt and toward the bottom of the beskar, stopping before any part of your hand touched it. âNo.â A smile - this one less amused and more in admiration - curved your lips upward. âNo, Din. Youâre still perfectlyâŠâ You trailed off as he reached for your arm, fingers closing around it and squeezing. âWhat are you -âÂ
 âCome to bed with me.â You froze, eyes going wide. What? He reached for you with his other hand, fingers tugging on the end of your sleeve. âI know what I said last night, but -â Is he serious?
 âOk.â It was your turn to swallow, breath coming out shallow. âI -â Mind racing, you stood, only removing your hand at the last possible second, it dropping back to your side. âAre you sure?â Your head was spinning, the gravity of his words doing little to hold you in place. He just asked me to go to⊠and I questioned him about it.Â
 âI should be asking you that.â He stood too, but instead of waiting, he put his hands on your hips, pushing you backwards and toward the door. âYou donât know what you just agreed to.â I donât? The two of you walked backwards across the small hallway, one of your hands reaching out for the railing to steady yourself as he guided you. Din said your name as you made it to the door, but instead of answering, you reached down, pulling one of his hands away from your body and taking it, fingers wrapping around his. Does he want confidence? Does he want me to be ⊠what do you want, Din? In the span of only a few seconds, you contemplated your options. He might not have been experienced in the ways he could use his body without the armor, but when it came to everything else, the man was way ahead of you. Make your choice.Â
 âMaybe I donât.â You stared up, eyes on the black portion of his helmet. âBut youâre going to show me.â His posture changed at that, and without warning, Din pushed you backwards and into your room, closing the door behind him. Despite your lack of previous - or recent - partners, you werenât worried. He said itâs not like it usually is. He knows we have to be on this ship together, he wonât⊠âDin, wait.â Your eyes followed the movement of his hand, headed for the light switch. âI want to see you.â Shutting your eyes, you moved your head back and forth. âNot âŠnot your face, but the rest of you. Let meâŠâ You reopened them, voice steady. âPlease donât turn the light off.â You knew what it meant - that heâd be able to see you, too, and that the helmet stayed on, but you didnât care.Â
 âYouâd ratherâŠâ He sounded confused again, his hold on you loosening. âYouâd rather me keep the âŠâ No, Iâd rather you pull the damn thing off right now but that isnât an option, so this is what we can do.Â
 âItâs not about the helmet, Din. It doesnât ... â Tell him the truth. âI donât want to hide in the dark with you. I donât mind the light.â He sighed, but you felt lighter after the admission. Because itâs the truth.
 âItâs strange, if youâre not used to it. Distracting. Will it bother you?â He sounds surprised. You stepped closer, putting a hand on his chest. âMost people are more interested in the...â
 âIâm not most people.â You let out a breath. âBut if you really need to turn the light off, thatâs⊠fine.â The helmet moved back and forth slowly - deliberately, Dinâs hand pushing beneath the shirt you wore and flattening against your skin.Â
 âNo.â He leaned down, voice dropping, though you could still hear it clearly through the modulator. âThat means I get to see you, too.â You do. It thrilled you - the fact that he sounded just as intrigued by the prospect of undressing each other in the light as you felt - and you felt yourself shiver, fingers twitching against his undershirt. âI need to... warn you.â What? âMy life hasnât ⊠Iâve been in a lot of close calls. And I didnât always have someone like you there with bacta gel to clean me up.â Your eyes moved down to his hand and the scar there, and then back up his body.Â
 âMaybe thatâs why I want to keep the lights on, Din. I want to see just how well your leg healed.â You winked at him, and were surprised to feel his hands lifting the bottom of your shirt without pause, the material sliding up and over your torso. Heâs in a hurry. But you didnât mind, raising both arms over your head and letting him continue, closing your eyes and only reopening them when you felt the material move over your face and then disappear. He said your name as you lowered your hands, letting them rest on his shoulders, and Din reached out toward you again, his chest rising and falling quickly.Â
 âThatâs what youâre hiding under my shirt?â He was touching your stomach with one hand, the thumb of the other sweeping slowly over your clavicle. âYou -âÂ
 âGot used to it at the Academy, Din.â You wrinkled your nose. âWhat we wore was practical. Comfortable. Easy to move in. Iâve got a cloak, too. Itâs packed, and -âÂ
 âI like this better.â He pushed you away from him gently, hand sliding to your hip just above the waistband of your pants. You let him touch you for a few moments, watching as his head dropped down, then moved back and forth slowly, both hands roaming over the bared skin beneath them. âMuch better. I liked that dress on Hosnian Prime, too.â You felt yourself growing warm, the way he was observing you doing wonders for your ego, but when he dropped both hands to your waist, one of them landing on the button of your pants, you said his name, a warning in your tone. âWhat? I thought -âÂ
 âIâŠâ You closed your eyes. âI said I wanted to see you too, Din. And I meant it.â You looked up, arching an eyebrow. âYouâve gotta get undressed, too. I canât take your shirt off, because I donât know how the helmet -âÂ
 âYou can.â He cleared his throat, the sound loud through the modulator. âYou wonât pull it off, you have to release it, itâs⊠tight.â He caught both hands, moving them to his shirt. âGo⊠go ahead.â He stood still as you began to lift the dark material, your eyes on the motion of your hands. As each inch of skin became visible, you felt more excitement, but tried to keep from showing it. Act like youâre an adult.
 Your resolve lasted until you had the shirt halfway up his body, the skin of his toned abdomen the same gorgeously tanned color as the backs of his hands and his neck, and you let out a quiet whimper, digging your teeth into your lower lip as your eyes landed there. Heâs⊠of course he looks like this under that armor, because ⊠Your gaze flicked upward, and then back down after he nodded at you, raising his arms, too.Â
 He helped you, pulling both arms out of the sleeves, but leaned forward slightly, letting you carefully pull the opening for his neck over the helmet. You were so focused on what you were doing that you didnât get a good look at him until the shirt joined yours on the floor and Dinâs upper body was completely bared to you, the overhead lighting doing little to hide any part of him. âDin, youâreâŠâ You blinked, hesitantly raising your hand to his chest, and when he didnât move away, you laid it against his skin, closing your eyes and exhaling at the contact. You were only getting vague emotions from him, but you knew that he was just as excited as you, the manâs chest rising and falling with each breath he took, and when your second hand joined the first, both of them gliding up from his abdomen, he sighed out your name, one of his hands reaching for you. âAnd youâre giving me shit about hiding under an oversized shirt?â You blew out another breath, head shaking back and forth slowly. âThis is what youâre keeping under all that beskar?â
 He chuckled at that, shrugging his shoulders, but you were too focused on what you were doing to pay close attention to the movement. Dinâs body was toned muscle from the waist up, and you had a feeling that it was mainly from the weight of the armor he wore day in and day out, but figured that the training heâd gone through as he aged, along with the fights he got into with bounties and other enemies helped to keep him in shape. He was thin but not skinny, body growing more broad as you neared his shoulders, and you couldnât help stepping even closer, his hand moving to the side of your head and his fingers curling against your hair. âI have to. The beskar is the only thing keeping me âŠâ But you cut him off as you reached his chest, palms flat against the area typically covered by the widest plates. Itâs keeping you alive.
 âDin, when did âŠâ Glancing up, you felt your lip tremble. âI thought that beskar was -â There was a set of long, raised scars that stretched most of the way from the left side his sternum to his shoulder, the thin lines crossed over each other. âWhat happened?âÂ
 âTehkâla blades.â He sighed as you ran your fingers over the old wounds, following the length of them. âA few years after I swore the creed. I didnât have a full set of armor yet, and my chest plate was ⊠flimsy.â You donât have to tell me that twice. They werenât the only scars on his skin, but most of the others were smaller, and though you couldnât see his back, you assumed that it was the same; littered with the evidence of old fights, from training, proof of the lessons that heâd learned in the hardest ways possible. âI told you I didnât always have -âÂ
 âYou did tell me.â You leaned in, pressing your lips against the raised lines on his chest, feeling it expand as you did so. Oh, you like that. You wanted to kiss over every inch of his skin, but instead straightened up, continuing to look at him, taking him in inch by inch, heart thudding in your chest as you discovered something new. I was not expecting that. âIs that âŠâ Eyes on his shoulder, you cocked your head to the side, one hand sliding from the front of his body to the muscles of his arm. âYour signet?âÂ
 âIt is.â The jet black ink stood out, and as you traced the edges of the tattoo on his shoulder and bicep, you realized that it was in the same place it would have been if heâd been wearing the armor. And people say that Mandalorians arenât sentimental⊠damn. âIâll tell you about it if you want, but can we ⊠can it wait?â Nodding again, you continued to move your hands over his skin, figuring that whatever the story behind the tattoo was, it would change the tone of the moment, something neither of you wanted to happen. It can wait. He says it can wait.
 âIf you want.â He pulled you close at your words, arms circling your body and his palms pressed against your bare back, urging your cheek to rest against his warm skin. The two of you stood quietly in the small room, your grip on his shoulder tightening, Dinâs fingertips stroking your skin gently. He got a tattoo of the mudhorn. He⊠itâs a constant reminder of his clan. Of the kid. Always.Â
 You heard nothing but the sounds of the ship, the vibration of the floor almost non-existent beneath your feet, but then Din said your name again, hold on you changing. âAre we just going to stand here, orâŠâ Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head and kissed his chest again, working your hands between your bodies and down, the ridges of his muscles firm beneath your touch. He let you undo the button on his pants as you mouthed the skin of his neck, teeth grazing over his throat, the bottom edge of his helmet rubbing against the bridge of your nose. Heâs right, this could be distracting, itâs cold. Din groaned as you began to push his pants down and over his hips, his hold on you loosening, large hands moving from your back and to your hips before tightening again. Yes, please. You nodded, knowing that he could feel it, hoping that he understood that you meant you wanted him to continue. I do. I want him to ...  You heard the button at your waist pop just as his pants cleared his thighs, the material sliding down his legs with ease. Heâs in ⊠just his âŠÂ
 Finally, you moved backwards - just a half step, but enough to see his body - and you felt your knees weaken. He ⊠He hadnât been lying about the old injuries, there were small and poorly healed scars leading down beneath the waistband of his underwear, others on his legs - one of his kneecaps was oddly misshapen, as if heâd dislocated it or even broken it at least once before, but the wound youâd been there to heal was already almost completely invisible, only a small, light-colored scar remaining as a reminder of the fact that heâd been poisoned only a few weeks prior, nearly gored to death by a Charnoq. But he wasnât. Because I didnât let it happen.
 You couldnât help dropping to your knees to get a better look, fingers trailing down over his skin, and when you finally reached the leg youâd worked on, you chewed on your lip, leaning in. âThat bacta really âŠâ He tensed under your touch, and you looked up, wanting to make sure that you hadnât said anything wrong, but the remainder of the sentence died on your tongue, eyes going wide. Before Din, the idea of being in the position you were in with someone whose face youâd never seen hadnât even crossed your mind. But as you stared up at him, his right arm lifting to cradle your cheek in his hand, the helmet - and his head - tilted to one side, the majority of the rest of his body uncovered, it didnât matter. âDin, I âŠâ I donât even know what I want to say, but it⊠I never thought Iâd be here.
 âYou need to stand up.â You heard the strain in his voice at the words, and after a brief pause, you rose again, hands hanging by your sides as you straightened your back. âAs much as I⊠liked seeing you like that, itâs not âŠâ He was touching you again, hands back at your waist, thumbs hooked between your pants and skin. âNot where this is going tonight.â Oh, itâs not? âLet me get these off of you.â Somehow, his voice dropped even lower, and you could almost imagine the expression on his face; the hunger in his eyes increasing by the second. But how? I donât even know what he looks like, or what color his eyes are, or - âAlright?âÂ
 âYes.â Raising one hand slowly, you laid your palm on the side of his helmet, blinking. âGo ahead.â The metal moved up and down beneath your hand before settling in a downward tilt, and Dinâs hands moved too, ridding you of the last major piece of clothing that you wore. Instead of pushing them down quickly, the man took his time with your pants, watching intently as he continued. But you werenât expecting him to drop to his knees in front of you, the only things you could see the top of his helmet and his upper back and shoulders as he eased the material down around your legs. Oh, shit. He kept going and you reached forward with both hands, bracing yourself on his bare shoulders as you lifted your feet one at a time. Weâre bothâŠÂ Your pants off, you waited for him to stand again, but the man didnât move, body locked into position in front of you. âDin?â You questioned him softly, not recognizing the sound that left your lips. âAre you -â âIâm just looking.â The words were strained, but he quickly spoke again. âAt you.â Chewing on your lip, you didnât say anything else, deciding to let him go - and see what happened. You didnât have long to wait, though, one of Dinâs hands gripping your ankle and then sliding upward, twisting so that his palm was against the back of your leg. Your stomach lurched at the feeling - but it was in a way that you wouldnât have been able to describe if anyone had asked. Heâs so⊠Maker, I donât even know. The manâs touch was gentle, tender, even, as he explored the length of your leg.Â
 You felt your muscles tighten as he thumbed the inside of your knee, still kneeling in front of you, and then Dinâs other hand joined the first on you, squeezing against your hip when he finally stood, both hands at your waist, to pull you closer to him again. âDin.â Swallowing the end of the word, you closed your eyes, tucking your head beneath the lower edge of his helmet and against his shoulder. âDin.â The second time you said it, it was in response to the man moving his hands up your back, fingers easing beneath the thickest strap of your bra and then unhooking it. This is happening. Heâs really⊠weâre going to ⊠I want this so much.Â
 Yes, youâd known it before, but it was different - having the manâs hands on you, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You felt it; how much you wanted the man standing in front of you, how much he wanted you, too - not because of the Force, but because of the way you were touching each other; the care he was taking with you, even though he hadnât really done anything yet. He said your name, and you responded by arching your back away from his chest, Dinâs hands working the straps down and over your arms, fully exposing the upper half of your body to him. âMaker.âÂ
 You let your bra fall to the ground, taking a deep breath, and you felt his fingers twitch against your skin, hands on your sides once again, holding you in place. He didnât say anything else, and for a few seconds, you didnât know what to do. He could be doing anything else to me, but he isnât. I could say something, but ⊠what? He was holding himself back - you knew it, but didnât know why. âDin?â It pained you to do so, but you lifted both hands, pushing against his bare chest and backing away from him as much as you could without forcing him to let go of you. âWhatâs wrong?â There was a long silence, and then he spoke, the words not what you expected - or wanted to hear.
 âI canât do this.â Your heart dropped, and you were ashamed to find that your lower lip was trembling at the admission. Oh. Alright. Rather than betray yourself - his head was still tilted down, and you knew he couldnât see your face, you bit down on your lip, closing your eyes. Alright, Din. âI canâtâŠâ He turned away from you in one motion, the moment his hands left your body making your knees shake, but before you had a chance to say anything, the room went dark. What?Â
 Without warning, you felt hands once again on your body, and then, only moments later, your back was against the wall, Dinâs breath warm against the skin of your shoulder. It wasnât that he couldnât do this, it was that ⊠âWhat are youâŠâ Your words turned into a low moan as he bit down on your skin, mouth moving from your shoulder and then lower, fingers digging into the meat of your arms. âStars, Din, whatâŠâ You heard him growl over your words, and at the sound, you grabbed the back of his head, fingers disappearing into the hair there. It seemed as though heâd been waiting for that, because he bit down harder seconds later as your grip tightened, his curls soft against your palm. âHey.â You couldnât help the way the single word came out - breathless and needy - and despite how good what he was doing to you felt, you winced, your body going stiff. Din stopped immediately, lifting his mouth from your skin and inhaling, the sound loud. No, I didnât ⊠âIâm sorry.âÂ
 âNo.â Your hand dropped to the back of his neck, the other one holding the tattooed bicep, and you wet your lips. âI didnât mean that I wanted you to stop. I ⊠I flinched because of how I sounded. Itâs embarra-â
 âItâs not.â He leaned in closer, body pressed to yours at the waist, and you felt his hands running slowly up your sides. His hands are so kriffing big. âI want to hear it.â He kissed your cheek, lips soft and warm against it. âI need to hear it, to hear you.â Lips moving closer to your mouth, he paused. âWithout the helmet.â You felt your heart thudding in your chest at that admission, and almost couldnât believe any of it. You felt emboldened at the admission, changing your grip and moving both hands down and over his chest, nails dragging along the skin. âIs that the only reason you took the helmet off, Din?â For a few moments, you didnât think he would reply, but then you felt him chuckle, his breath hitting your cheek in short bursts. âNo.â You didnât have a chance to say anything else because Din kissed you again, catching you off guard. The back of your head hit the wall behind you once more, but you tilted it immediately, giving him a better angle - and the man didnât waste the opening you gave him. His tongue slipped into your mouth as you sighed, but didnât stay there long - instead, retreating to lap at your lower lip and then along the seam between the two of them. I donât know what heâs going to do next, but I know I ⊠You cried out as he bit down on the fullest part of your lip, your nails digging into the skin beneath them. But Din didnât move away, instead rocking his hips against yours and wordlessly proving to you how involved he already was in what was happening.
 He released your lip and you brought your hands back up and toward his shoulders, Din giving you a single nod as they reached the base of his neck, and you let out a shuddering breath as you lifted them higher. Heâll make me stop if he doesnât want me to. But Din didnât stop you, and you instead felt the stubbled angles of his jaw beneath your thumbs, the man continuing to nod as he closed the distance between your mouths again, this time kissing you gently.Â
 It should have surprised you - the way that he could go from one mood to the next; actions shifting with each breath he took, but youâd seen it from him before - both in person and through Groguâs thoughts. Itâs just how he is, and this is new to him, so ⊠You pulled back to breathe, giving yourself a chance to steady your thoughts. âHey.â It came out less shaky that time, and you smiled, kissing him again and then pausing. My turn. âWe going to stand here all night, or -âÂ
 âI ⊠you âŠâ He sighed, and you were surprised to feel the tip of one of his fingers stroking along the side of one breast, his other hand still on your side. âI said you donât know what you agreed to, and I meant it.â What does that mean? âI donât usually take my time. I donât ⊠It doesnât matter what âŠâ You got a thought from him them, and felt the shame along with it, coupled with nonchalance. He doesnât care about making it good for the other person. âI told you, that everything before has been⊠habit.âÂ
 âWell.â You shifted against him, turning your body and felt his hands move, both of them beneath the swell of your chest and supporting the weight of it. âI can tell you Iâm already enjoying this.â You hummed, arching your back more and giving him a few seconds to adjust his hold on you - which he did, to your absolute pleasure. âThat feels great, Din. You can âŠâ Biting down on your lower lip, you let out a quiet sigh. âKeep doing that here, or we can get into the bed, and âŠâ The rough pad of one thumb passed over a peaked nipple and you nearly moaned at the feeling but held it together, waiting to see what heâd do next.Â
 Din didnât disappoint, the other hand following the first, but he did surprise you, lowering his head and pressing a trail of wet kisses to the top curve of your breasts, tongue trailing after his lips. Heâs never done this before? Thereâs no way, he knows exactly what he ⊠But your thoughts scattered as he closed his lips around the hardened bud of one nipple, sucking and then flicking his tongue against it - tentatively the first few times and then with more purpose as you hummed quietly. Maker, he ⊠His attention shifted, the Mandalorian repeating his actions on the other side of your body, and you realized quickly that youâd changed positions, shifting so that your shoulders were pressed against the wall behind you, but your back was not, giving him the best possible angle with your chest pushed out toward him. I couldnât get closer this way if I wanted to.
 He wasnât touching any part of you aside from your chest, and though you could have moved your hands to any part of his body, you kept them where they were, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other firmly pressed to the bicep bearing the mudhorn tattoo. As good as it felt, you only let him continue for a few moments longer, whispering his name and tugging on the ends of his hair. âWhat?â He murmured the word without lifting his mouth from your chest, and only a second later, you felt his teeth close around one nipple, the twinge of pain making you gasp his name. Do I want him to stop? No. When you didnât speak up, instead of questioning you further, Din slowly made his way back up from your chest to your throat without lifting his lips fully from your skin, finally kissing you again.Â
 He pulled away to take a breath, the drag of his teeth against your lower lip sending another charge through your entire body. âYouâre pretty good at this.â Finally finding the words to reply, you stroked the back of his head, still too hesitant to move your hand forward to his cheek, even though you wanted to. âFor someone thatâs never -âÂ
 âAm I?â He leaned in, lips against your ear. âWell. A Mandalorian has to learn fast.â Din said your name and you shifted again under his touch, the hand on his arm moving to his side and urging him closer. âLucky for me Iâve got a lot to learn.â Instead of laughing, you cleared your throat quickly, allowing yourself to nuzzle against his cheek, eyes closing.Â
 âWhatâs that word, Din?â You sighed, your lips near his ear. âJateâkara? I think Iâm the lucky one here.â He froze at your use of the word in Mandoâa, but it was only momentary, and then he kissed you again - hard, catching you by surprise. Did I say it wrong? He pinned you against the wall with his whole body, the weight of him holding you in place, and then without warning, the man pulled back, hands gripping your hips. âAre you sure?â It took you a second to figure out what he was asking, but then you nodded before realizing he couldnât see you. âYes.â One hand moving up to his chest, you said his name. âIâm sure.â It was only a matter of steps from the wall where you stood to the bed, but Din lifted you anyway, holding you to his chest and spinning, barely giving you a chance to get comfortable in his arms before he was leaning forward to put you down onto the mattress, the sheets cool beneath your bare skin. He let you go, and you used the time to scoot backwards and to the center of the space, underwear still on, waiting for Din to get into the bed, too.Â
 When he did, the mattress dipping beneath the added weight and then the man taking his place beside you, you let out a breath, closing your eyes. âAre you safe?â The question shocked you, and for a second, you were unable to reply, thoughts racing. Safe? What does - âThe women Iâm usually with ⊠they take care of it.â Oh. You froze, understanding. Of course they would, theyâre⊠ âBut if you arenât, we can...âÂ
 âYes. Iâm⊠safe, Din.â You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your chest. âHere.â You fumbled for his hand in the dark, lifting your other arm and pressing his fingertips against the skin of the back of your bicep. It had made sense for you to get the implant during your travels across the galaxy and to the Academy, just in case. You never know what could happen, youâd told yourself. And after your arrival, youâd never removed it, feeling the same way. At least itâs going to do some good now. âCan you feel it?â He pressed down, taking a deep breath and cutting you off. âIâve had it for -âÂ
 âI trust you.â The three words froze you again, and while you knew that he was referring to what youâd just proven to him, you also knew that the man could have said any number of other things to you in that moment. He trusts ⊠oh, Maker. He kissed you before you could reply, lips firm against yours as he gripped your arm, and without thinking, you hooked a leg around one of his, urging him closer. As the manâs weight settled against you, you trailed an arm down his back, inhaling sharply as you realized that heâd removed his underwear - meaning that Din was completely nude and in bed with you. Iâm overdressed. Dragging your nails over the dip in his lower back and then down more, you felt his hips shift, rolling into yours. This is happening. But the man didnât let you touch him for long, instead pulling away and off of you before clearing his throat. âThese have to come off.âÂ
 You felt him hook this fingers beneath the elastic you still wore, and without him asking, you raised your own hips from the mattress, waiting until heâd pulled the material down to lower yourself. You gave him a few seconds to reposition himself, the room silent and dark, the shift of the mattress the only indication that he was even still there. âDin?â You lifted one hand, immediately finding his hip, thumb moving slowly over it. Whatâs he waiting for?Â
 âI wish I could see you.â You could feel the desire in his voice, and for the first time, realized that even though you were in as intimate a position with him as youâd ever been, you couldnât clearly hear his thoughts. I wonder why, I wonder what⊠It was confusing - and something for you to think about later, instead choosing to focus on the way it felt to touch him; Dinâs skin warm and soft beneath your fingers. I wish I could see you too, Din.Â
 âMaybe next time.â You followed the crease of his thigh downward, the tips of your fingers meeting coarse hair on his abdomen. âFocus on me, Din.â You exhaled, breath shaky as your hand reached the base of him, Dinâs breath catching - along with yours - as you closed your fingers around him for the first time, his mind finally opening up to you briefly. Heâs acting like heâs never ⊠not been able to see. They were slightly incoherent, but they were thoughts nonetheless, and you shook your head twice, sighing. Something else to think about later. âDin.â You moved your hand slowly, getting used to the feel of him. âPlease, just...â You squeezed, flexing your knee, and before youâd relaxed it, you felt his hand on your leg and then moving upward, toward the apex of your thighs.Â
 He paused only briefly before he touched you, and in that moment, you did get another clear thought - only one word, and one that you echoed in your own thoughts: finally.Â
 You couldnât help the quiet sound that escaped from your throat as his fingers first made contact with you, but it seemed to encourage the man; Din slowing the movement of his hand and leaning forward so that he could kiss you again. Even as he moved, you didnât let go, rotating your wrist and circling your thumb over the tip of him, feeling dampness against it. Hmm. âThis is where youâve got me beat, Din.â You whispered, nipping at his lip. âMajority of my experience....â You sighed as he slipped a finger into you - only slightly, and then removed it, pausing before he did it again. âEnds withâŠâ But he quieted you with another kiss, tongue making its way back into your mouth and stopping your words. Learn together. Thatâs⊠I like that plan.Â
 You nodded at his unspoken words, widening the spread of your legs as your hand continued to glide up and down his length, Dinâs hips rocking steadily into your grip. Yes. He braced himself next to and above you on both knees and one elbow, that hand resting against the side of your head as he kissed you. With your free hand, you reached between your bodies, slowly moving down your own stomach and meeting Dinâs hand between your legs, coating the tips of your fingers in the dampness you felt there. Itâll help me to... âWhat are you âŠâ He whispered the words, stopping as you curled your slick fingers around him, removing your other hand. âYou ⊠Maker.â He lowered his forehead to yours, groaning as you tightened your hold on him, hand moving much more freely as you found a steady rhythm. âE...Enough.âÂ
 The word came out shakily, and you stopped as soon as you heard it, both of you breathing hard. âIsâŠâ But you didnât get the whole question out, Din using one hand to cover your hand with his and guide himself into place, his head turning slightly to the side, the tip of his nose resting against the apple of your cheek. Heâs going to ⊠You felt him at your entrance, hot and firm, and then with your tiny nod of agreement, Din shifted his hips, pushing into you, both of your hands falling away.Â
 He moved slowly, giving you time to adjust, and though he didnât stop, Din maneuvered himself over your body, one arm going beneath your shoulders, the palm of his hand cradling the back of your head, the other tightly gripping your hip. He stayed on his knees, though he stretched one leg out, closing the distance between your waists and giving himself the ability to lengthen his thrusts without making them harsher. You alright? He wordlessly questioned you, and you nodded again, one hand gripping his shoulder, the fingers of the other - still damp - on his hip, wanting to feel the motion there, too. You hadnât lied to the man - aside from Bari, youâd only ever been with two others, and neither of them had been as physically imposing as the Mandalorian was. But none of them felt this way, none of them ⊠You groaned as he gripped the sheets next to you with one hand, pushing his upper body back and away from yours, hips snapping forward, your hold on him changing, nails digging into his skin. I like that. I do too. He was strong - there was no doubt about that, but another difference was that with the others, you hadnât been able to keep them out of your head, unable to focus on your own pleasure because youâd been so caught up in theirs. With Din, even though his emotions were strong - he was happy, he was enjoying himself, and he was lost in you - he wasnât thinking anything clearly, and it was enough to bring tears to the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut. âFeelsâŠâ You whined as he kissed you hard, then lowered his mouth to your shoulder, teeth bared against it. âFeels good, Din.âÂ
 You let go of his arm, hand moving over his shoulder blade and up the center of his neck, stopping at the hairline and pressing down as he drove into you again, this time a little harder. Though it didnât quite hurt, you knew youâd be sore when he pulled away, but you didnât care, urging him to continue by bringing your hips up to meet his, hand finally leaving his hip and joining the first at the back of his head. The end of his hair were damp and you toyed with them, even as you felt him panting against your skin, and without thinking about it, you turned your head toward his, feeling the shell of his ear against your lips. You parted them, running your tongue along the inner edge of it and humming, eyes still closed. With him as close as he was, and his hair as damp as it was, you could feel skin beneath it, a small indentation against the back of his neck, and without lifting your fingers, you realized that it was from the edge of his helmet and the way it pressed against his skin. But youâre not in it now. You cried out as he rocked into you, a small adjustment enough to let him slide in deeper than before, and your grip on him tightened, pointer finger filling in the divot left behind from the helmet as your thumb swept through the hair above it. You werenât prepared for his reaction to that, the movement of his hips speeding up, his mouth replaced by his chin against your shoulder as he turned his head toward you. âWhere do youâŠâ It was his turn to groan, but he collected himself quickly, your name leaving his mouth in little more than a whisper. âNot gonna last, not like⊠tell me where.â You gave yourself only seconds to think, his question a necessary one, but surprised yourself with your reply. âWhatever⊠Wherever you want, Din.â Iâm safe, I told you that, you felt it, you⊠He continued to move in you, the pace of his hips not faltering despite the decision you were making. âDonâtâŠâ You gasped as he shifted you upward, pulling the top half of your body from the mattress, hands leaving his hair and your arms going back around his shoulders. âFuck, Din, youâŠâÂ
 Your words sent him into motion, the man pulling out of you completely. You felt one of his arms moving, the muscles in his shoulder flexing rapidly as he handled himself, replacing the warmth of you with his fist. âYouâŠâ Din swore, and in a sudden burst of boldness, you unwound one arm from around him and reached down, back between your bodies and met his hand. You felt his surprise at the shift for a moment, but then Dinâs grip on himself loosened, letting you take over, though he didnât stop the rocking of his hips, his length sliding easily through your hand, still completely coated in you. Maker, I didnât know I⊠But you focused on him, and on the fragments of thoughts you could hear, wanting to give him exactly what he needed, the urge to know what he was thinking overwhelming you. I donât need to know what heâs thinking to make him happy. âCâmon, Din.â You were panting too, even though he was only touching your back and your side, his body radiating heat, fragments of thoughts filling your head. âGiveâŠâ You squeezed as you stroked him, the muscles in Dinâs thighs tensing. âI want it, Din.â And you did - more than anything else; wanted to give him the release you knew he was chasing, to make him come apart under your touch. âPlease.â Pressing your forehead to his again, you felt his hips stutter and then he tensed in your grip, his breath leaving his mouth in one long exhale and a series of quiet grunts.Â
 Without stopping the movement of your hand, you worked him through it, a wet heat coating your abdomen and spreading slowly over your skin with each tensing of his muscles, the movement of his hips less fluid with each passing second. Finally, Din said your name, his voice trembling. I did⊠I did that to him. I⊠Any other man would have collapsed on top of you; spreading the stickiness between your bodies as he settled his weight, but Din only eased you backward until you were laying down before he pulled his arm out from beneath you. What is⊠âYou didnât come, did you.â You know the answer already.
He was still recovering - voice somewhat uneven - but you could sense his determination, and so you answered honestly, even though it wasnât a question. âNo. But I -â That was all it took, Din not letting you finish your sentence to tell him that it didnât matter, that you hadnât expected to before heâd replaced the hand between your legs, two fingers sliding back into you without pause. You arched your back off of the mattress,calling out his name, and even though it was less satisfying than the feeling of him inside you, for the first time that night, you shut out everything except your own thoughts, entirely focused on the way he was flexing both fingers within you at the same time that he was sliding them in and out. He⊠it feels soâŠÂ
 Din didnât know your body - none of the men that youâd been with truly had - but he didnât let that stop him, lowering himself down next to you and carefully holding his entire length against your side, reminding you of just who you were in bed with. âBend your knee. Staabi jii. Right now.â He spoke into your ear and you did as he asked, moaning at his use of Mandoâa with you and the fact that even though he was focused, he was telling you what you needed to know to understand him. Pulling out of you again, he pushed on your bent leg with his hand, the slickness coating his fingers warm against the inside of your thigh, and then moved his hand back, no hesitation before sliding them into you for a third time. The change in position - although slight, stretched your muscles, giving him a different angle, and even as he continued to speak to you - words in Basic that you clung to; your name, quiet praises, Din swearing - and some in Mandoâa that you didnât understand; olaror jii, Ni aalar gar - you lost yourself in him, and you felt the way your muscles clenched around his fingers, drawing him in deeper.Â
 But then they did the same around nothing, and you opened your eyes, forgetting for a second that you couldnât see anything. Seconds later, you felt the slight drag of Dinâs elbow across your ribs, and then heard a quiet sucking sound. Heâs ⊠oh Maker heâs got his fingers in âŠÂ You heard his thought at the same time he spoke it out loud, the word barely more than a whisper, but directly into your ear. âJatisyc.â He hummed quietly after the word, chest vibrating against your arm, and then Dinâs hand was back between your legs, his fingers back inside of you while his thumb circled just above your opening, but with hardly any pressure. âDin.â You raised your hips, hearing him hum again into your ear, and then the pressure increased, Din rubbing tight circles against the spot that his fingers couldnât hit while they were buried in you. After only a few passes of the well-calloused pad, it was your turn to come undone, your hand gripping his bicep tightly enough to bruise - you were almost sure of it. Sorry, Din.
 But even that didnât deter him, Din keeping the movement of his fingers going as you rocked your hips into his hand, his lips pressed against the side of your neck and the smile on them unmistakable, even through the waves of pleasure you felt. Iâve never ⊠not like that. Not ⊠That time, it was your thoughts that were scattered, uneven and incomplete until you weakly pushed on his arm, whispering his name. âStars, Din, thatâŠâ You spoke quietly, gulping in a breath, and only went quiet when he put his hand on your hip again, saying your name. âHmm?âÂ
 âIâll be right back.â No. Wait. What? âIâm going to get a -â
 âNo.â There was force behind the word, and you quickly corrected it, clearing your throat. âNot yet, Din. DonâtâŠâ He relaxed next to you, and you could feel the tension leaving his body, though his heart rate was still elevated - as was yours. But one of us needs to⊠âThereâs a towel, Din. On the table?â He moved as you spoke, and only a few seconds later, you felt the material swiping over your stomach, taking the mess heâd left with it. âYou donât have to ..â But he kept going, and then, after heâd finished there was a short pause and he said your name. âYeah?âÂ
 âFolded it. You can âŠâ Finish. Taking the towel from him with a grin on your face at the fact that heâd again folded the material, you made quick work of the rest of your body, letting out a shaky breath as you made contact with the still sensitive skin between your legs. Dropping the towel to the floor, you rolled toward the man, cautiously reaching up. He didnât flinch when you touched the side of his head, and so you leaned in, kissing the center of his chest and then pulling back. Wait a second.Â
 âDin?â He settled his hand on your back, but made no move to draw you closer. âWhat was the last thing you said to me? In Mandoâa, after you âŠâ There was no hesitation as he replied, leaning in and whispering the words into your ear. âSaid you tasted good.â He hummed, the sound closer to a laugh. âJatisyc.â He paused. âDelicious.â You froze, stunned, but the man didnât give you a chance to reply before he turned his head and kissed you, lips meeting yours in confirmation that he stood behind what he said. That ⊠he⊠there ⊠Meant it.Â
 âI know you did, Din.â You murmured the words, scooting closer to him and feeling his hold on you tighten. âAnd I also know youâre going to get up and go back into the cockpit, but⊠Will you stay here? Just for -â Just a few minutes.
âYes.â He lifted his leg, hooking it over yours, fingers making their way through your hair as you moved your hand slowly over his back. âIâm not going anywhere.â You didnât mean to, but you fell asleep a few minutes later, the Mandalorianâs heartbeat steady against your cheek, and his thoughts - the man completely content - once again filling your head.Â
---
Tag list is OPEN.Â
Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List :@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star  @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredheadâ @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks @greatcircle79â @thisshipwillsail316â @mandosmistressâ @tanzthompsonâ @voteforpedropascalââ
#mando x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din x reader#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x you#din djarin x you#mando x you#din x you#the mandalorian: magnetic#din djarin: magnetic#star wars fic#sw fic#mando x female reader#din x female reader#the mandalorian x female reader#din djarin x female reader#female reader insert#force sensitive reader#din djarin x force sensitive reader#mando x force sensitive reader#magnetic masterlist#lemon zest#not for little eyes
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[CN] Victorâs Birthday R&S
đ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! đ
Victorâs 2021 birthday collection:
đŒ r&s ⥠l belonging date l video call l moments and texts l asmr
[ Released on 8 January 2021 ]
[ CHAPTER ONE - Special Present ]
Victor is about to welcome his 15th birthday.
This year, the first birthday present he receives is, as usual, from Little Vickâs zoo. Standing in his room and seeing the box filled with animal plush toys, Victor frowns in slight resignation. When he was young, his parents asked him which was his favourite animal. Without putting much thought into it, he gave the panda as an answer. Since then, heâs been constantly receiving all sorts of presents featuring pictures of pandas from his parents. When he was 9 years old, he even âownedâ an actual panda.
As what his father says, since itâs rare for Victor to express that he likes something, thereâs definitely a need to fulfil his wish.
Even though he doesnât dislike this gift, he finds it a little difficult to handle when the zoo sends him a huge box of souvenir plush toys since he shares the same birthday as Little Vick. Other than these, the box would also contain photographs of Little Vickâs everyday life, taken by the rearing staff. Victor would keep them, and send the plush toys to the children of relatives.
[Note] In CN, the pandaâs name is èšèš (Yan Yan). But MC used the name âLittle Vickâ in an EN Moment post, so Iâm using it too!
This year, he plans to follow the same routine. Just as he tidies up the items in the box, a knock comes at the door.
âPlease come in.â
He turns his head, watching as his father walks in and leans next to the door, a coat draped over his arm. It looks like he just returned from work.
âAre you done with work?â
âMm. Dad freed up his weekend. Since your birthday is coming, why donât we head out together?â
Victor looks at his fatherâs slightly fatigued expression, and contemplates for a while.
âOkay, as long as it isnât too noisy.â
The man casts a fleeting glance at the cardboard box in front of his son, then offers a suggestion.
âWant to see Little Vick?â
âThere are a lot of people in the zoo during the weekend.â
Victor answers very quickly. As such, the man recollects the places heâs taken Victor to in the past, attempting to find a location his son would like.
âWhat about the countryside park?â
âOkay.â Victor agrees, then raises his head to look at him. âDad, has Aunt been at home recently? Iâm thinking of sending these plush toys to her.â
Seeing the man nod, Victor takes up the adhesive tape and re-seals the box. Watching his actions, the man sighs in his heart.
Trying to figure out what this kid likes - itâs truly a difficult question.
-
[ CHAPTER TWO - Growing Up Problems ]
Itâs a pretty long journey to the countryside park. Victor stuffs this yearâs pictures of Little Vick into his backpack, preparing to flip through them along the way.
Actually, ever since adopting it, heâs never visited the zoo to see Little Vick.
He doesnât really know how to define the relationship between himself and that panda. His neighbours call their three dogs âBossâ, âSecond Bossâ and âThird Bossâ. The moment theyâre called, they would rush to the owner, and are as close as family. But Little Vick needs to be meticulously raised by professional staff. Even if itâs given a name, it doesnât mean it has become someoneâs pet, much less a âfamily memberâ.
Moreover, everyone knows that a little kid canât afford to rear a panda. Even if the adoption certificate has Victorâs name on it, he hasnât offered anything personally. This makes him feel that his connection to Little Vick is even more indiscernible.
Precisely because of this, Victor is always a little surprised whenever he flips through the album featuring its growth. In just a year, Little Vick has grown by quite a lot, and looks like an âadultâ - but itâs only 6 years old this year.
The car halts before the traffic light. The man leans over to look at the photographs in Victorâs hands.
âItâs grown quite a lot again. Animals always grow up more quickly than humans.â
âMm.â
After a short silence between the two, Victor mutters softly.
â...I also wish to grow up quickly.â
Hearing Victor say this suddenly, the man is a little shocked, turning his head to look at him.
âWhy?â
âBecause there are many things I canât do right now.â
The man deliberates on his choice of words. âThe reason why Little Vick can grow up so quickly is because its lifespan is relatively short. But you're different - you have sufficient time to live out every stage properly.â
After the man finishes speaking, he doesnât get a reaction from Victor for a long time. From the rearview mirror, he discovers that Victor seems to have sunk into a deep contemplation.
Could talking about such things be too heavy for his sonâs birthday? The man lifts his hand to loosen his tie, planning to change the topic.
"But thereâs still a chance for you to do things yourself if you want to.â
âFor instance, you could try paying for Little Vicâs adoption fees.â
Seeing Victor raising his head, he continues.
âThe adoption fees for Little Vick are in yearly instalments. Once you have the ability to do so, Dad wonât help you pay for them.â
Victor hesitates for a moment. âDoesnât that still require me to wait till Iâm older?â
âAs long as you're able to earn money from me, it doesnât matter how old you are. Didnât you learn about the stock market simulator from Dad recently? Iâll let you use the profit in exchange for an equivalent value.â
Victor straightens up slightly in his seat, and asks in slight anticipation. âHow much is it every year?â
"A hundred thousand yuan.â
[Note] Approximately USD$15,500
Victor lapses into silence for a while. To a kid, a hundred thousand yuan is indeed not a small number. Seeing his expression, the man prepares some words of comfort. However, he suddenly speaks.
âOkay, Iâll give it a try.â
-
[ CHAPTER THREE - The Moment of Meeting ]
The car stops at the entrance of the park. Within it, father-and-son look at each other in dismay.
Five minutes earlier, the two of them were notified by the carpark staff that the park has temporarily ceased operations due to some internal revisions. As such, they have no choice but to head to another place.
âLooks like we should have given them a call to check first.â
Seeing the rare expression of vexation on his fatherâs face, Victor retrieves a map from the storage compartment. The both of them stare at it together, and it seems that the Loveland City zoo, which is only dozens of kilometres away, is the most suitable replacement.
âShall we take a look?â
Sensing that his father is waiting for his answer, Victor hesitates for a moment before nodding in agreement.
After registering the adoption certification, the staff of the panda area enthusiastically receives the father and son.
âLittle Vickâs birthday is coming soon. Itâd definitely be very happy to see the two of you.â
Walking into the warm venue, there are excited visitors everywhere. With such an atmosphere, Victor starts feeling slightly expectant too.
âThe one at the front is Little Vick.â
The staff brings the two of them before a glass room. At the front is a panda which is hugging a ball and amusing itself. Victor leans closer to the glass, giving it a detailed look. Little Vick seems to have been taken cared of very well. Its fur is fluffy, it looks sturdy, and refuses to let go of its favourite toy.
The man laughs inwardly as he watches his son subconsciously draw nearer to the glass. He even thought Victor didnât like such adorable animals - it turns out he just refused to admit it. The phone in his pocket vibrates unceremoniously, and he signals to Victor, turning around to answer the call in a corner.
When itâs time for the pandas to eat, the rearer brings a large bundle of bamboo into the glass room. Seeing the look of anticipation on Victorâs face, the rearer specially brings a small bamboo leaf close to the glass. As expected, Little Vick sets down its toy and paces over. After circling the bamboo leaf twice, it suddenly lifts up his front paws and plops onto the glass. Victor is stunned, subconsciously bending down, reaching out to attract its attention.
The staff smiles as he looks at the boy and panda. âLooks like Little Vick really likes you!â
â...â
Saying that he wasnât pleasantly surprised would be a lie. Victor looks at its slightly curved lips, and smiles along with it.
Should he greet it, or should he just stay like this quietly?
While heâs struggling internally to come to a decision, Little Vick slides off the glass, plopping its bottom onto the ground. Finding a comfortable position, its back faces Victor as it starts gnawing on the bamboo.
...as expected, eating is more important.
Victor hurriedly retracts his smile, straightening up to look at the back of its head. In order to alleviate the embarrassment from earlier, he broaches a new conversation topic.
âMay I know,â he turns to the staff member at the side. âIf itâs considered an adult now?â
âYes, itâs already at an age where itâs seeking a spouse.â
âIn that case, will it live together with its family in the future?â
âPandas are very solitary, and Little Vickâs a boy. Even if it has children, itâd still lead a solitary life.â
As though in deep thought, Victor nods. Although these animals look charmingly naive, they arenât as weak as imagined, and donât need to rely fully on those around them.
As compared to them, perhaps he truly hasnât grown up yet.
-
[ CHAPTER FOUR - Repaying Love ]
Returning from the call, the man sees Victor staring at the back profile of Little Vick. Even after leaving the panda area, he doesnât speak.
âWhy arenât you talking?â
After a while, Victor responds.
âIt doesnât seem like itâd remember us.â
The man recollects the image he saw earlier. With some understanding, he nods.
âIf we visit it a few more times in the future, it might remember.â
âBut... so many people visit the pandas every day. Iâm just one of them.â
âVictor, let Dad ask you something.â The man pauses in his footsteps and looks at him. âWithout considering other factors, do you like Little Vick?â
Victor nods very quickly. The man continues with another question.
âAfter knowing it wouldnât respond to you, do you still like it?â
After thinking about it for a while, Victor nods again. The man laughs slightly, bringing him towards the resting spot near the lakeside.
âNot being able to return the same emotions yet not affecting your liking towards it - isnât this very good?â
âBut itâs usually living in the zoo. We can't rear it personally. This kind of liking canât establish any connections.â Victor seems to hesitate. âI remember you mentioning that the reason for âlikingâ is to establish connections with other people.â
The man pauses in his steps, turning his head to meet his sonâs puzzled gaze. He sighs softly.
âWhat Dad tells you is not necessarily always true. You need to learn how to assess the appropriate occasion and target. You and Little Vick arenât able to understand each other. Protecting it from afar like this isnât a bad choice.â
Victor frowns slightly. These words are slightly confusing, and seem to contain things he has yet to understand.
âIn that case, what if thereâs mutual understanding?
A cool breeze brushes past. He watches as his father blinks, concealing a very small emotion in his eyes.
âA person who is willing to understand you is someone who is wiling to walk down the same path as you. If you meet that person someday, you must definitely cherish them.â
Because their original plan was to visit the countryside park, the man also brought the cake along. Since the scenery by the lakeside isnât bad, the both of them select a bench and sit down. The man hands the cake box to Victor.
âDo you mind eating the cake a few days in advance?â
âI donât mind.â
Victor takes apart the ribbon. Inside is a very exquisite cake, a small brand logo printed on the bottom right side of the chocolate sign. Perhaps noticing his slight pause, he quickly hears his fatherâs voice.
â...this yearâs cake was bought.â
âIt looks very nice. Thanks, Dad.â
âThe zoo doesn't allow for the lighting up of candles. So weâll blow out the candles and make a wish at home.â
âOkay, itâs all right.â
Victor carefully cuts out two slices of cake, handing one to his father. The two of them sit next to each other, eating cake while staring at the lake, neither of them speaking.
-
[ CHAPTER FIVE - Important Person ]
After returning home and having a bath, Victor walks towards his room with relaxed steps. While passing by his fatherâs bedroom, he vaguely hears him talking to someone over the phone.
Itâs so late. Is he still working? Victor is about to continue walking, but his ears suddenly catch a few special words.
Weather, zoo, birthday... His father doesnât seem to be talking about work, but about very trivial topics to someone. Just as heâs about to step away from the door quietly, his father calls out to him.
âVictor, come in.â
âItâs late and you arenât asleep yet.â
His father sets down the phone, not giving him a reply. Victor glances at the screen which has yet to dim, and it displays that he isnât currently in a call. His father doesnât seem to know how to explain that âphone callâ. After a moment of silence, he suddenly broaches another topic.
âDad didnât give you a present this year. Youâre going to be 15 soon. Do you want something different?â
âYouâre referring to...â
âFor example, a present belonging to an adult.â
âAnything is fine?â
âTell me what it is first.â
After giving it some thought, Victor scans his fatherâs room. Most of the items are either things he already owns, or things he doesnât need in the far future. After taking a look around, his eyes fall back onto his father - to be more precise, the dark coloured tie heâs wearing.
âI want to buy a tie.â Victor pauses, then adds on. âOne with a darker colour.â
Actually, there have been many occasions when heâs needed to wear a tie, and he doesnât lack them. But most of them cater to his age, or are for school performances, and he doesnât have one which is formal. Also, considering his motherâs preferences, the colours and patterns of the ties in the closet are very outlandish. One of them even has panda badges on it.
Perhaps thinking about the same image, his father suddenly laughs.
âOkay, youâll pick one yourself tomorrow. But I have a condition.â
âGo ahead.â
âThe reason why we didnât light candles or make a wish this year is in hopes that youâll say it directly when you want anything in the future. Especially when it comes to important wishes - you need to tell them to important people as soon as you can.â
âHowever, if itâs something I can do, I don't want to trouble someone else.â
âTo some people, it isnât troublesome.â
After saying this, he tousles Victorâs hair. Victor seems to comprehend it vaguely. In the past, he used to teach Victor how to be independent, so why is he suddenly changing his attitude?
Could it be that someone like his father has moments when he wishes to rely on someone else too?
-
Returning home the next day after buying the tie, Victor is once again called into his fatherâs bedroom. The two of them stand properly before the full-length mirror.
âThe pattern of a tie is very critical, but tying a suitable knot is also very important.â
He watches as his father retrieves a tie from the closet, turning around to face him.
âToday, Iâll teach you how to tie a formal knot.â
âOkay.â
Before being taught, Victor never expected that such a complicated knot existed. Even though he follows his father step-by-step, the final knot ends up being crooked. Refusing to give up, he removes the tie, giving it another try.
âDoes this knot have a name?â
âEldredge Knot.â
âWhat occasion requires such a knot?â
His father doesnât give him a direct answer. âThe more complicated the knot, the more important the occasion. Even if you were to only use it once, itâs worth preparing for it.â
Victor watches his father in the mirror. He doesnât say more, and simply tells him to practise by himself before turning around and leaving. Victor spends an incredibly long time in front of the mirror before he finally ties it into shape.
When he turns around, wanting his father to check it, he sees the wedding photograph of his parents out of the corner of his eye. This photograph isnât foreign to him, but he still takes a curious, careful look at it.
With this, he finally understands what his father meant by âoccasionâ. In the photograph, the knot the father tied is the exact same one.
-
[ CHAPTER SIX- A flowing love ]
One more photograph of Little Vick nibbling on bamboo appears on Victorâs desk. Even though thereâs a huge âgeneration gapâ between him and Little Vick, the way it eats seriously without being picky is worthy of acknowledgement. Victor thinks - if he can fork out the adoption fees and enable it to lead a healthy and happy life, it counts as a one-sided, reasonable expression of liking it.
Aside from studying, Victor spends a lot of time over the following days researching stocks intensively. After a couple of transactions, he manages to recoup more than his original investment. This sale enables him to accumulate enough to cover the adoption fees. With the success of the stock market simulation, his father, as agreed, deposits the money into Victorâs savings account.
âNext year, you can see Little Vick with pride.â
âItâs fine as long as I can continue providing it with a good life.â
The man sighs in his heart when he looks at Victorâs small, deliberately stern face. It appears that heâs still troubled by Little Vick not remembering him.
"However, I heard that it could have its own children soon. Could I continue adopting its children?â
The man is a little surprised, but responds seriously.
âItâs your own decision. You have to ensure that you have the ability to do so in the future.â
âIâve done some calculations. Before I turn 25, I can repay you for all the adoption fees over the years.â
âDoes this count as your wish?â
âNo, itâs a plan.â
The man chokes up for a moment. Even though Victor is at an age where nothing daunts him, he rarely boasts. If he can truly walk down the path he has planned, itâs truly worthy of admiration.
There may still be much his son has to learn, but heâs wiling to believe in him. But before that, he still has to return to the previous question.
âSo what's your wish?â
The self-assured mini adult suddenly grows uneasy after hearing this question.
âI wish... that youâll see me as an adult next time.â
âHm?â The man displays an amused expression.
âIf there are certain things I can do, you can let me shoulder them for you.â
At the sight of Victorâs resolute expression, the man canât help but laugh.
"I could consider it, but you have to first learn how to not wear your tie crookedly.â
He looks down. Without realising it, his tie has become loose, and hangs on him crookedly. He hurries to the mirror to straighten it, but still looks in the direction of his father out of the corner of his eye.
The call which didn't get through in the bedroom earlier - Victor knows who it was made to. A proper calculation of the time differences , and the gentle tone used to talk about trivial matters - heâs already heard it for many years.
Certain things canât be re-lived. But at least, they can continue through other means.
As a person who is about to become an adult, he believes he can do it.
Fun fact: Victor tied the Eldredge knot in his Deep Love Date T^T
-
đŒÂ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!
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Iâm Always Curious Part Thirty Four
Previous Part | Next Part | Â Masterlist Notes: I hope everyoneâs having a good week đ
Warnings: Cursing, a lil fluff, a lil angst. Yâall know me. Summary:Â I already knew that whatever my fate in this time, it would be different from my own now.
âThis doesnât seem such a bad place to be. Iâm an Admiral here,â Eli smiled.
âWell youâre technically not you, so someone that looks and sounds like you is an Admiral,â I reminded him, âYou would not be an Admiral if we got stuck here.â
âHave you looked yourself up yet?âÂ
âNo.â
âWhy not?-- Maybe you and Pike are loved up somewhere.â
He was teasing, or trying to, but I couldnât take the jest in stride. I hadn't told him what Mr. Spock had told me about Christopher in this universe; I hadnât told anyone. I was trying not to let it cloud my mind. I wanted to focus on the task at hand: returning to our universe. But how could this new insight not make that mission all the more urgent? â...Hey,â Eli frowned, âWhat is it?â I glanced at him, considering. I couldnât tell Eliâ Iâd hardly gotten Spock to tell me. Besides, if my hunch was correct and the same events didnât occur in our universe, it could sound an alarm for nothing. I just shook my head, excusing, âJust...Canât believe I didnât attend the Academy in this universeâ at least, not with Spock. I canât imagine going to the Academy without him. We practically lived in the long-range sensor lab together our second year.â âI didnât know that.â â...Eli, this has to work. We have to get back.â âThis Spock says thereâs a 12.31% chance that our plan works. That leaves an incredibly large margin of errorââ âDurling, you are the Captain of the Pinnacle. What is a pinnacle? Itâs a successful point, a culmination. You were over the frickinâ moon when you became Captainâ and youâre just going to roll over because thereâs a version of you thatâs become an Admiral in some universe? Why not focus some of that smugness into your work, get us home, and become an Admiral where people that really know you will be able to see it?â Eli was quiet for a moment, watching me before his eyes darted to the doorway behind us. âI thought that the captains were meant to make the rousing speeches,â Came Kirkâs amused voice behind us. I turned to look at him and Mr. Spock and cleared my throat. âYes, well⊠Sometimes Communications officers have to drum up a speech or two to get a captainâs wheels turning,â I grumbled, tucked my hands behind my back. âThe occasions are far and few between,â Durling added. -- âCommander, a word, if I may.â âYes, Mr. Spock?â I turned from the transporter bay with Durling and the rest of our crew was preparing to return to the Pinnacle. âI took the liberty of looking into your existing whereabouts in this universe.â My stomach swooped in fear and anticipation. âOhâ You did not have to do that.â âI must admit that I found it quite curious that you were so adamant about learning about Captain Pikeâs future and not your own.â My eyes lowered to the floor as I considered my answer, âWell⊠Perhaps I care more about the fate of my friends than my own. Is that terribly suspicious?â âI believe I used the word curious, Commander.â â...I guess you did,â I conceded. Spock nodded a little, bringing an envelope out from behind his back. âI cannot force you to come to terms with your own fate in this time,â He said, âBut I will allow you the opportunity, should you choose it.â I looked at the envelope for a long moment. I already knew that whatever my fate in this time, it would be different from my own now â my beginnings were already different, my day-to-day existence was entirely separate. I hesitated before I reached out, taking hold of the envelope. âThank you, Mr. Spock,â I nodded. âHave a safe journey, Commander.â âAnd you,â I raised my hand in a Vulcan salute. Mr. Spock arched a critical brow, tipping his head toward me as he mirrored the gesture. âLive long, and prosper.â --Â
I held my breath as we dropped out of warp. We all held very still and quiet for a moment, but as the moments passed without a hail from Captain Kirk, the Bridge collectively relaxed and began to whoop with relief. I had never been so relieved to not see the Enterprise anywhere in my periphery. I turned to my station, opening the channels to try and get a hold of any ships in the area. I raised my hand to my earpiece, scanning the array of sensors and monitors in front of me. As I waited, I eyed the envelope on my console, as I waited. I shivered a little, shaking my head. While I hated knowing what Christopher may be in for, I hated the idea of my own potential fate sitting just inches from me nearly twice as much.Â
-- When I heard that I was receiving a message from the Enterprise, I was expecting Christopher. I had, instead, been greeted by Una. âBefore I ask where youâve been, let me begin with my purpose,â She said, âThaleh is leaving the Enterprise. We need a Communications officer. You can, of course, decline.â âIâll need time to pack,â Was my quick answer. âWell, then you can tell me where youâve been once you beam aboard. And weâll have to find someone to replace you with for the Pinnacle.â â....Right, that,â I muttered. Una smiled a little. âIâm sure Durling will be disappointed.â âA little, maybe, but he wonât be surprised.âÂ
âAnd I should warn you, Pike has been more than a little...harried with your lack of communication.â âUnderstandable. If one of you suddenly blipped elsewhere, I would be concerned.â Una arched a sharp brow. âBlipped elsewhere?â She repeated, âWell⊠Iâm certainly looking forward to reviewing that log.âÂ
-- âDoor,â I ordered. I didnât turn away from the box of things that I was unpacking. I couldâve sworn Iâd left more notebooks on the Enterpriseâ â...Finding the new quarters alright?â I stilled at the sound of his voice. So much had happened since weâd warped through the singularity: the Discovery had beamed to an uncertain future, Spockâ my Spock, had returned to the Enterprise...And so had Christopher. I hadnât seen or spoken to Christopher since Mr. Spock had told me of his potential fate. It had been on my mind since I beamed aboard, and it had lingered, even as I settled into my new quarters and unpacked the boxes of my things that had been saved and stored.Â
âItâs certainly larger than the last time I was aboard,â I conceded, lowering a notebook and brushing the dust from my hands as I turned to face him. I found Christopher looking around, and I took the chance to look him over. It was nice to see him in Command gold again, especially after that jarring experience of seeing Kirk in Captainâs chair of the Enterprise. Christopherâs eyes drifted to me, finally, and he smiled, âWell, you werenât a Commander the last time you were aboard.â âThat is an excellent point.â Christopher was quiet for a moment before he took a couple of steps deeper into the room. His hands were still tucked behind his back, and I found myself wishing that he would just reach out; I wish that I felt like I could. âWhat happened out there?â He asked, âUna used the word blipped.â I sighed softly, scrubbing my hand over my brow. Iâd explained to Una exactly what had happened as Iâd unpacked what Iâd brought over from the Pinnacle. âOh⊠Sometimes you accidentally warp through a singularity and wind up a universe where you never went to Starfleet. Typical Thursday, you know.â Christopherâs brows rose, his head tipping forward. âAn alternate universe?â He repeated. I nodded. âI know youâve some experience with that. Una told me about the Terran incident before I became part of the crew. Itâs uhâŠ. Jarring.â âIt certainly is.â âWe were only there for about three days but here, it was⊠It was months.â Christopher nodded as he came to a full stop just in front of me, looking down into my box from storage. âEverything you needed in there?â He asked. âUmâ ⊠Couldâa sworn I had a couple hundred more notebooks aboard, but itâs been a while, you know. And Pal might have a few, I used to lend them to him all the time for conjugations and stuff,â I leaned back against my desk, folding my arms across my chest, âYouâre um⊠Youâre alright?â âFine. Itâs nice to see that youâre in one piece. I was concerned.â That warmed me more than it was surely meant to, and I had to duck my head to hide the smile that crept up at his admission. âI didnât mean to concern you. I can point you in the direction of the singularity that we warped through, if youâd like to pick a fight.â Christopher huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head a little bit. âHow about I just...See you on the Bridge tomorrow?â âSounds good, Captain.â âDonât be late.â âI wouldnât dare, sir.â I smiled, watching Christopher leave my quarters. I sighed softly, sliding off of my desk and into my chair, looking out of my window for a few moments. I had a warm feeling swirling in my chest, something safe and soft. It felt like home. Tag list: @angels-pieââ ; @fantasticcopeaglepastaââ  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtooââ ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-knowââ ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgigglesââ ; @inmyowncornerââ  ; @tardis-23ââ  ; @paintballkid711ââ ; @katrynecââ ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranelââ ; @blueeyesatnightââ ; @hotchswifeyâââ
#I'm Always Curious#captain pike x reader#Captain Pike x You#Captain Pike/Reader#Captain Pike/You#christopher pike x reader#christopher pike/reader#christopher pike imagine#Christopher Pike/You#Christopher Pike x You#Christopher Pike fic#Captain Pike Imagine#Captain Pike fic
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for us to collide (part 4)
anyway who actually expected me to end this thing in 4 chapters lol
rip me ig
Read on Ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 (final) | deleted scene
After the not-so-impromptu interrogation courtesy of her friends (because there was no way they hadnât planned that, it was too coordinated) Robin doesnât stop by for two weeks.
Which is⊠fine. Marinette is plenty busy anyways. The extra time she has free now that she isnât entertaining a bratty vigilante, goes to more productive uses of her time. Like watching bad horror movies with her friends and jeering at the horrible acting and special effects.
(Red Hood stops by in the middle of watching Grizzly Rage and proceeds to rant for twenty minutes about âshitty, unrealistic blood splattersâ. Marinette has long since passed the point of being worried about it.)
So, yeah. She doesnât see Robin.
But Damian, oddly enough, seeks her out.
Itâs early, and there isnât anyone else in the studio right now which means Marinette has her music blasting and sheâs humming along as she hand paints silk for Claraâs dress. Itâs loud and sheâs in her zone, so itâs only by Tikki warning her that she realizes someone entered her sanctuary.
Her eyebrows raise when she sees who it is.
âUh, bonjour Damian," she greets confusedly, reaching over to lower the volume on her speakers. "I hadnât expected to see you here. Is there something you need?â
He stops before her workstation, only slightly bigger than the ones the rest of her staff use due to the sheer amount of open commissions she normally has. She has an actual office on this floor, but Chloé uses it more than she does. Marinette likes the open space and being around her designers more than she likes the privacy.
His eyes catch on the two bouquets of flowers sheâs yet to take home, neither of which have even begun to wiltâand likely wonât. (Sheâll have to take them home soon before people start asking questions.)
âI was called here by Father, but heâs currently indisposed. Iâve been told to wait.â
She waits a moment for him to continue, and when he doesnât, she asks, âSo you came to visit me?â
âYours is the only tolerable presence to be found.â His lips purse, and he crosses his arms. âAnd that includes that imbecile Drake who is no doubt still in his office like the pitiful insomniac he is.â
Her tongue is already halfway around a joke about excusesâshe didnât befriend Felix for nothing, okay? She knows how people like Damian workâwhen she realizes what he just said.
âWait. Timâs been here all night?â
Damian snorts. âHe certainly didnât return to the manor.â
Sheâs out of her seat in an instant, frowning and muttering up a storm as she rummages through the storage cubes pushed up against the far wall. She has a blanket, pillow and plain cotton shirt in her hands before Damian registers that she even moved.
âIâm going to kill your brother,â she says simply. âWould you like to come with?â
Sheâs gotten closer to Tim since working in Wayne Tower. Heâs a notorious recluse and rarely leaves his office when heâs in the building, but Marinette makes it a point to visit him during lunch and before she leaves for the night.
He isnât one of her Waynes, but he is a Wayne and her Waynes love and care for him so thereâs not much of a difference really. She does like to think they might be something close to friends at this point though. And if the way Tim comes down to visit whenever he ventures out of his office means something, she might even be right.
Another thing that should be noted, is that Marinette is very much a âride or dieâ kind of person when it comes to the people she cares about. She will ruthlessly bully her loved ones into taking better care of themselves on threat of death because she is the semi-hypocritical mom friend and damn proud of it.
Damian looks her up and down, eyes lingering on the items in her hands and the determined set to her jaw and says, âOf course.â Then heâs plucking her things from her hands, offering her his arm and saying, âShall we?â
Marinette laughs as she loops her arm with his. âWe shall.â
***
She spends ten minutes scolding Tim before wrangling him onto the couch in his office and wrapping him up in the blanket so tightly heâd need to be an escape artist to get out of it. He tries to struggle anyway, but Marinette has too much practice at this and he doesnât stand a chance in hell.
Damian stands at her shoulder and smirks the entire time, eyes dancing with amusement as she forces the CEO of Wayne Enterprises to take a fucking nap. Then, sheâs treated to the sound of his surprised laughter as she begins switching out all of Timâs regular coffee for magic-decafânot that Damian knows itâs magic.
(By the devilish smirk playing at his lips, sheâs starting to think that maybe Damian really is just as sadistic as Duke and Jason say he is.)
***
Damian starts dropping by more often after that (read: starts dropping by at all). Not that Marinette minds. She quite likes his company, actually.
He normally stops by first thing in the morning when Marinette is the only one in the workshop, walking in like he owns the place. For the first couple days, he asks about Ladybug and the rest of Parisâ Court, claiming that heâs curious about them.
She answers them, but only as far as sheâd answer them for any reporter and is careful not to give away any sensitive information not known to the public. He gets a bit frustrated at one point, complaining that she must know more, but she stays stubbornly silent about it and, sometimes, steers the conversation deftly to the Great Bat and his Flock instead.
He eventually stops asking about the Parisian superheroes and instead their morning conversations turn to a thousand random things. Complaints and anecdotes and a silly back and forth between the two.
Marinetteâs never been much of a morning person but having Damian there to keep her company is⊠nice.
She almost finds herself looking forward to mornings now.
***
When her Waynes learn that sheâs started a food kitchen and makes a habit of spending her weekend there, they immediately insist on joining her, despite her protests.
âYou guys really donât have to do this,â she says even though the three of them are already in their aprons and Cass is eyeing the boucher, Vivian, and her collection of knives with glittering interest.
Duke grins at her, âWe know, M. But we want to.â
Jason finally turns back to her from where heâs been staring at the kitchen with something just shy of awe on his face. âYouâre downright incredible, you know that?â he waves a hand out at the seating area, and then at the people in the kitchen assembling the healthiest and cost-efficient meals she and Felix could find after days spent researching. âI wouldâve killed for something like this when I was on the streets.â
âItâs not just me whoâs got this up and running-â she tries protesting but then Fiona, the woman Marinette actually put in charge of this place, is at her side and all but shoving the four of them into stations.
Marinette ends up by the pastries, like always, and she can see Jason making sandwiches. Duke's been roped into making eggs and bean casseroles and Cass, by some grace, actually ended up by Vivian and is having a blast cutting up all the meats as fast as she can.
They donât stop until lunch, all four of them helping prepare meals for the upcoming week in bulk. After, they all go out for ice cream by the pier and Jason smears chocolate on her nose and Duke carries her around on his back when she complains about being tired.
Cass takes pictures of it all and later, Marinette gets them all printed out.
It ends up being a really good day.
***
The buzz from the charity gala and all the press regarding her and Damianâs non-existent relationship had calmed down weeks ago. There was still the odd article about Marinette being seen with her odd assortment of Waynes and the newspapers still called her ridiculous names when they got a picture, but it was about as close to normal as she gets.
The quiet lulled her into a false sense of security.
Ice Prince and Sweetheart Finally Seen on Date: Fairy Tale Romance or Publicity Stunt?
The âdateâ in question was a coffee and lunch run for her designers and also Tim (because kwami knew he'd work through lunch if allowed).
Damian normally didnât stay past Lilliane arriving in the morning (the poor dear was chronically late and always the last to arrive) but he hadnât shown up until after she came that day and overcompensated by hoursâwhich she hadn't minded. He kept to the fringes of her workspace and didn't distract her, instead focusing on his own thing. She wasnât quite sure what he was up to, but she knew he was switching between his computer and sketchpad every so often.
(She's pretty sure he was hiding from Dick for some reason. Heâs the only Wayne brother who doesnât visit her at work, seeing as they have their bi-weekly gymnastic sessions; recently, with the addition of Marâi, who still calls her âtwinâ and whom Marinette still adores.)
And then lunch had rolled around, and it was Marinetteâs turn to go out so she brought Damian with since he was still there.
They were out together for forty-five minutes. Tops.
âWhy me?â she whines into the surface of her desk.
Damian, the asshole, just laughs at her and she canât even be mad about it because heâs only just started laughing around her and not hiding behind so many of his walls. He laughs and Marinette knows it's precious so instead of shooting him the glower he deserves, she finds herself having to hide the smile slowly creeping on her face.
***
Theyâre splashed across the papers again less than a week later, only this time she has her Waynes there too.
Marinette's wearing her bright red sundress and she's somehow convinced Damian to wear a jacket with elaborate crowns and snowflakes embroidered up the sides. Because, as ChloĂ© says: if you canât beat âem, join âem.
They see the camera this time and the photo splashed across the page the next day is of Marinette laughing with Jasonâs arm slung across her shoulders as both he and Damian flip off the camera. Meanwhile, Duke and Cass stand just far enough in frame to capture their expressions of pain and amusement respectively.
(Marinette makes a mental note to order apology gift baskets for the PR department.)
There are a lot of headlines the next day about Marinetteâs âharem of Waynesâ and how sheâs a âhorrible influence on such bright childrenâ. She spends about ten minutes trying to decide whether she should be horrified or laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it and eventually decides on both.
Adrien, the little shit, sees the headline and immediately prints it out to hang in her kitchen.
It reappears every time she tries to take it down.
***
Gotham does not smile upon daytime heroes.
Not to say that Gotham really smiles on anyone, but itâs especially vicious to those that think theyâre owed anything. Sheâs heard the way Gothamites talk about Superman and The Flashâitâs not exactly what one would call adoring.
But Ladybug's been a daytime hero her entire career and it is not difficult to see that there's something distinctly different about the way daytime heroes and Gothamâs vigilantes operate.
Something more vicious, maybe; something more restrained.
Without the light of day and without the peopleâs eyes watching them at every moment, the Gotham Bats have become something else entirely.
Signal, their Daytime Protector, is especially strange.
A bat who's meta, straddling the line between day and night. The Day Patrol, trained by the night.
Sometimes, when she and Signal talk about heroing, there is such an odd type of disconnect that it throws her. Nothing horrible or major, but little things sheâs sure she wouldnât notice if she wasnât so intimately familiar with it all herself.
They donât always talk about heroing though. After two months, Ladybug is proud to say she seems to be worming her way past his outer shell nicely. He tried so hard to keep his distance from her, but Ladybugâs always liked a challenge, and it isnât long before she has him relaxing around her.Â
Well, for a definition of relax anyway. He's still a bat after all.
But then, itâs pretty easy to get past Signalâs barriers when sheâs already had practice breaking through the more stubborn bats like Robin and, to an extent, Hood. Not that Signal, or any of the bats, know that.
Which, speaking of the bats, isnât it a bit weird sheâs only met three spread across two of her alter egos? As Ladybug, sheâd expect to be hounded by a few of them but the only one sheâs met is Signal. She canât decide if itâs because heâs the only one that operates in the daylight, or if they just donât want to spook her into running or something.
Either way, theyâre going to start giving her a complex. Sheâs heard so much about the rest of the Batfamily, and not one of them even wants to meet her? Either her?
(Maybe Marinette should ask Robin and Hood whatâs up with that? The way they talk about how nosy Red Robin is, sheâs surprised he didnât drop by months ago and- is it weird that sheâs offended by vigilantes not prying into her private life?
âŠProbably.)
***
Marinette blinks, stopping dead in her tracks.
Damian's on her fainting couch, sketchpad in his lap as he waits for her.
âWhy are you wearing a beanie?â she blurts out instead of greeting him like a normal person. "You never wear beanies."
Luckily, Damian scowls at her question rather than at her. Itâs a subtle but very important difference.
âSorry,â she apologizes anyway, putting her bag down. âI haven't had coffee yet.â
He hums, then nods to her desk where she finds a steaming to-go mug. Her face lights up and she quickly snatches it, breathing deeply the lovely aroma. âYouâre a godsend.â
That brings a quirk to his lips, closer to a smirk than a smile, but progress nonetheless.
After a moment, where she sips at her overly sugary monstrosityâjust the way she likes it, when had Damian even noticed that?âand he continues sketching she asks again. âOkay but, I actually am kinda curious. Whatâs up with the hat?â
He sighs heavily, closing his pad. âItâs⊠better than the alternative.â
Marinette snorts. âAlternative to what? A top hat?â But instead of snapping back like she expects, he just continues to frown. Immediately, her lips turn down into a concerned frown. âIs there something wrong?â
âYes,â he grounds out and Marinette puts her coffee down. Sheâs just about to open her mouth and say something else when he reaches up and rips the beanie off his head.
For the second time in less than five minutes, she stops dead.
Marinette opens her mouth. Closes it. Blinks, but the scene doesn't change.
His hair is still blue.
Damian Wayne's hair is blue.
Damian Wayneâs hair is vibrantly electric blue.
Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth as she tries to stifle her giggles.
Damianâs scowl deepens. He moves to shove his ridiculous beanie back on his head but her hand snaps out before he can.
âNo! No, Iâm sorry I just-â she giggles again. âYou looked so upset by it and you took me by surprise. I like it!â
He glares up at her, still sat on the fainting couch so itâs her who has the height advantage for once.
âDonât patronize me.â
She rolls her eyes, the hand that wasnât settled on his arm reaching up to touch the bright strands. It's slow enough that he can stop her, but he, surprisingly, makes no move to.
His hair is a lot softer than she expects it to be. But she supposes he didnât use that gel stuff today, planning on keeping his hair under a hat the whole time.
âIt looks good on you,â she says softly.
He snorts disbelievingly and she smacks his shoulder lightly. âItâs true! I swear you could look good in any color.â She clicks her tongue longingly. âI wish I had your skin tone. Iâm too pale to wear pastels like I want.â
He wrinkles his nose at her. âPastels?â
âOh you hush,â she quips, finally pulling her hand from his hair. âAnyway, if you donât like it, whyâd you dye it blue in the first place?â
âI⊠lost a wager with Todd.â
She laughs, starting to move around and get ready for the day. She doesnât have any meetings scheduled, which means she gets the whole day to create. Sheâs pretty excited about it.
âI shouldâve guessed it was Jasonâs doing.â
Damian shrugs, settling back into the cushions. He drapes himself across them in a way thatâs effortlessly elegant and like heâs ready to be photographed for a magazine cover or something. Must all her friends be so pretty? Itâs playing hell on her self-esteem.
âBut blue is your favorite color, right? So thereâs that at least.â
Damian hums. âTodd had threatened to dye it pink or some other equally garish color.â
âHey!â she exclaims in mock outrage. âWhatâs wrong with pink? Iâve been wanting to dye my hair pink for ages.â
âNothing. Itâs just simply not a color I appreciate.â He makes a face. âLike orange.â
Marinette huffs, but thereâs a smile on her lips. It's quiet for a moment, for long enough that she thinks the conversation's been dropped. But then-
âWhy donât you?â
âHuh?â
âWhy havenât you dyed your hair?â he repeats. âYour friendsâCouffaine and⊠Kubdel? They both have colored hair.â
Marinette shrugs. âI dunno. Never got around to it I guess. I suppose I could do it now. Dye mine in solidarity,â she jokes. âOh! We could match even! Wouldnât that be fun?â
âI thought you wanted pink?â
âWell, yeah. But blue is nice too. Besides,â she smiles wryly over her shoulder, âyou just said pink was âgarishâ.â
Damian frowns slightly, shaking his head, âOn me, perhaps. But I think youâd look very fetching in pink.â
âOh,â Marinette pauses, feeling her face grow warm at the sudden compliment. âWell- Uh, pink it is, then.â
***
(Damian watches the blush rise on her cheeks as she turns away to try and hide it. Yes, he canât help but think, fetching in pink, indeed.)
***
Luka insists on being the one to dye her hair, citing that heâs the one who had dibs all these years, but Alix and Jason both all but demand to be there too.
Her bathroom is not big enough for all four of them to sit in.
Not a single one of them cares.
Cass and Duke ask for progress pics along with Uncle Jay, and all her Parisian friends cycle through standing at the bathroom door to see how it's going.
The constant stream of people looking at her makes her feel not unlike an animal at a zoo. (When she wryly tells this to Alix, all she gets is her friend cackling on the ground.)
But, after all the bleaching and conditioning and waiting, she stares into the mirror with soft pink hair the color of bubblegum and thinks, yeah, it was worth it.
She thinks it again when Damian walks in the next day and almost trips over his own feet.
(Sheâs also wearing her Robin themed sundress, complete with hood, matching boots and personal touches not found on the mass-produced versionâbut Marinette doesnât know why that would be relevant.)
Her favorite reaction to her new hair color though is, by far, Marâiâs.
Marinette doesnât see the young Grayson until a week later when sheâs invited to the monthly family dinner Alfred insists all the Waynes attendâwhich includes her now, apparently (she tries not to show how pleased she is by that).
She arrived with Damian, who was kind enough to pick Tim and her up from work, and Marâi takes one look at Damian and her standing next to one another before she starts babbling excitedly about Lilo and Stitch and Angel. A character who isâapparentlyâStitchâs girlfriend and the complimentary pink to his blue.
Marinette is momentarily surprised, but Marâiâs enthusiasm is contagious and it isnât long before the rest of the Waynes are teasingly calling them Angel and Stitch. Marinette thinks itâs all very funny and adorable.
Damian, on the other hand, most certainly does not and threatens everyone who calls him that âridiculous nicknameâ with graphic depictions of bodily harm.
âAngelâ, oddly enough, sticks for Marinette. She finds she kind of likes it.
***
Later, Damian asks her about nicknames.
Well, he calls them âasinine titlesâ and doesnât so much ask as demand she explain why she allows anyone to call her by them seeing as she has a âperfectly serviceable name,â in his opinion.
Ignoring the fact that sheâs heard Dick call him multiple nicknames he hadnât protested to, she says, âWell, I guess itâs that everyone uses Marinette. A nickname is something⊠special. A little more personal, I guess. And, I dunno. My parents named me Marinette, but itâs nice to share something between other people. And it shows they care.â
Damian looks confused after sheâs done, but also thoughtful. He doesnât say anything to that and Marinette doesnât really expect anything to come of it.
She's proven wrong when, a week later, Damian calls her Starling instead of Marinette.
(And the transition from Dupain-Cheng to Marinette had been enough to make her beamâthis is just ridiculous.)
***
When Robin disappears a second time, Marinette doesnât get the chance to notice his absence on her own. Heâs only stopped showing up four days agoâwhich is longer than normal, but not unheard ofâwhen she hears unfamiliar voices on her balcony.
Looking out, she finds three semi-familiar individuals clustered around the plate of treats she leaves out for Robin and Hood.
Nightwing and Red Robin are both stuffing their faces full of the fruit tarts she had made while Spoiler glares at them and seems to be cursing the fact that her mask covers her mouth the same way Hood always does when she makes those raspberry scones he likes.
The scene is⊠odd. For many reasons but most pressingly that their arrival has come out of nowhere.
âWell,â Nightwing explains when she asks, âWe wanted to visit ages ago, but baby bird threatened to stab us all if we tried.â
âHeâs very⊠particular about you,â Red Robin tacks on while Spoiler nods sagely like she hasnât crafted some strange straw monstrosity just so she can drink tea while still wearing her mask. Red Robin has one too, but his for the aesthetic rather than out of necessity.
Marinette stares at the three of them. âThat⊠does not explain why you are here now.â
âRobin canât stop us now, obviously,â Red Robin says casually, like he hasn't just kicked her heart into high gear with a few words.
âWhat? Why?â she demands, trying very hard not to sound panicked. âIs he okay? Was he hurt?â
Red Robin blinks, going quiet in that way Hood and Robin do when theyâre judging her just a bit. She hates this family.
âNo, heâs⊠fine.â
âBâs just benched him for the time being,â Nightwing helpfully supplies, amusement flickering at the edges of his lips. âHeâs a little too⊠conspicuous at the moment.â
Marinetteâs shoulders relax even as her brows furrow. Conspicuous? What in the world is that supposed to mean?
âDoes that mean he wonât be coming around for a while?â she asks before she can think better of it.
The three vigilantes in front of her share a look before Spoiler says, âProbably. But the gremlinâs never been one to sit still so who knows?â she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she leans toward Marinette conspiratorially. âBut donât worry. We can keep you company in the meantime!â
âWeâre much better company than the demon anyway. Certainly less insulting.â
âOh, heâs not that bad. Heâs an ass, for sure, but you can tell when he means it and when heâs just stumbling over himself.â Marinette smiles fondly, âFor someone so dignified, he trips over his tongue quite often.â
Now the vigilantes are really staring at her. Sheâs starting to feel pretty uncomfortable about it all when Nightwing beams at her, jumping up from his seat to sweep her into a hug. It startles her, but she doesnât push him away, instead laughing at the sudden affection.
âOh you really are perfect!â he exclaims, setting her down and still grinning like an absolute lunatic.
Sheâs smiling, because Nightwingâs joy is infectious, but she's even more confused than before. And then, before she can ask what he means, Red Robinâs wrist computer lights upâand damn, isnât that cool? Marinette wonders if Tikki could do something like that for the Ladybug suitâand the three are moving to swing back out into the night.
She waves them off and they all promise to visit again.
Marinette shakes her head before going back inside with the empty pastry plate and four empty mugs.
***
Damian knows of Marinetteâs friends of course. It'd take more effort not to when she talks about them every chance she gets and tells him all the wild stories about their escapades and misadventures.
(They also all came up in the background check he ran on her when they first met.)
Most of her friends are exceedingly normal oddly enough. Well, theyâre all mildly famous and the leaders of their various fields, but theyâre just civilians.
The only exceptions being, Bourgeois, Agreste, and Graham de Vanily.
Bourgeois is a former hero like Marinette, only she doesn't seem to still be in contact with the Parisian Court. All the articles he could find spoke about how Queen Bee was deemed unfit for her mantle and later replaced by the new bee hero, Ambrosia. Agreste was caught up in the scandal of his father being Hawkmoth, but he was found innocent and ignorant of his father's crimes (something Damian made sure to confirm). He now works at and is being groomed to own the bakery Marinette's parents run, seeing as their daughter has little interest to do it herself.
And finally, Graham de Vanily, Agreste's cousin, has a history of causing trouble wherever he goes. Nothing villainous, and rarely even malicious, but there's something about him that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Not everything is as it seems with the Graham de Vanily heir.
Besides those three outliers, Marinette's friends seem to be untouched by the vigilante life. Which means he thinks they must be utterly boring.
Only, when her friends start coming around to visit and drag her out for lunch or some other random outing, Damian keeps finding himself baffled by each of them.
They act strangely and with a dangerous air none of them should possess, except for Tsurugi. The questions they ask him are strange and the jokes they make have no sense. He's been warned about how he better treat Marinette so many times, he's started to lose count. (Which is ridiculous. He treats her just fine and would never intentionally harm her. What are they trying to insinuate?)
But, by far, his most memorable encounter is with Lahiffe. A veritable wolf in sheep's clothing.
Marinette is excitedly babbling about her newest idea for her summer collection, pressed up against him on the chaise and practically shoving her sketches in his face as she demands his critique and thoughts.
Her hands are waving every which way and, on more than one occasion, he has to quickly lean back so she doesn't hit him in the face.
Heâs focusing on what sheâs saying so muchâbecause she has a habit of forgetting things if she doesnât write them down and needs someone to remind her of the ideas she had at a later timeâthat he doesnât even realize Lahiffe is there until he clears his throat.
Marinette jumps, almost elbowing him in the stomach. âNino!â she shouts, springing up and flinging herself at the other man who catches her like this is something she does often.
âHeya, Nettie.â
âWait- what are you doing here? Youâre not-â she jolts back to look at Lahiffeâs amused expression. âOh kwami, is it time already? Shit. I wasnât paying attention. Iâm so sorry! I have to give this one thing to Publishing but then I promise we can go, okay? Like, just five minutes!â
She's already moving before she finishes speaking, sweeping up papers and rearranging files and putting things away with all the swiftness and agility of a speedster. Damian watches her go about her routine, occasionally handing her something sheâs dropped or pointing out a thing sheâs missed, weaving around her chaos with practiced ease.
Then sheâs sweeping out of the office with a distracted âbe right back!â and heâs alone with Lahiffe.
The second Marinette leaves, the manâs attention swings onto him with a strange weight. For a long moment, he doesnât say anything and Damianâs hackles raise with every passing second.
He doesnât snap at him though, because heâs one of Marinetteâs friends. Insulting him would only serve to make her upset and thatâs something Damian's been trying to avoid causing as of late.
âMan,â Lahiffe says at last. âAlix wasnât kidding about the whole besotted thing, huh?â
Damian rears back, straightening up to his full height. âI beg your pardon?â
Lahiffe laughs and waves his hand about like thatâs supposed to mean something. âAh, no need to be embarrassed about it, dude. Youâre far from the first of us to fall for her charms.â
âWhat.â
âYeah, we've all been there. I think over half of the Paris crew crushed on her at some point, including myself. None of us are into her like that anymore, so as long as you treat her right, you got nothing to worry about."
âIâm not- I'm not interested in Marinette,â Damian tries to protest but Lahiffe just calmly steamrolls over him.
âNah. Everyone loves Nettie. Itâs universal law or something. First, there was me and Adrien, then Lukaâwho she actually liked back for a while there but are now practically siblings. ChloĂ© liked her in collĂ©ge, but she hadnât really come to terms with that at the time. Alix mightâve, but sheâs pretty grey-ace and fluctuates on the romance points, so who knows.
âOh! And Nath. He also snagged a date with her, but he was an Akuma at the time so Iâm not technically sure that it counts. And heâs with Marc now anyway. Thinking of adopting a kid, last I heard. Anyway- my point was: everyone loves Nettie. And donât bother trying to fight it, because it only makes her pull of gravity worse.â
Lahiffe then claps him on the shoulder like their talk amiable and not the most confusing speech Damianâs ever heard.
And then he doesnât even get to say anything to that because Marinette is sprinting back through the door, grabbing her jacket and bag, telling him goodbye, and dragging Lahiffe out to who knows where.
Damian stands there longer than he cares to admit trying to make the world make sense again.
***
A week and a half after she learned Robin was benched, Damian catches her staring off into space as she doodles tiny robins in the margins of her sketchbook.
He gives her an odd look when she scrambles to hide them, blushing hotly and babbling about how sheâs âJust fine! Nothing to worry about! Iâm just, maybe, perhaps, a little worried for a friend even though I shouldnât be, because his family says heâs just fine and-â
He looks contemplative when he leaves that day, but he didnât ask about her outburst, so she extends the same courtesy to him.
***
That night, Robin returns.
âWhat,â she says around the laughter threatening to bubble out of her throat, âare you wearing?â
Robin scowls from behind the full cowl he has on that sheâs pretty sure belongs to Red Robin. It makes him look a whole ten years older and she canât get over how ridiculous he looks. If he keeps doing stupid things with his face while wearing that monstrosity, she is definitely going to laugh at him.
âWhat are you wearing?â he shoots back petulantly.
She blinks in confusion, then realizes sheâs still wearing her Red Hood inspired jacket right now. Tan colored fake leather with fuzzy, red inner lining, done with all the same pockets, buttons, and zippers Red Hood has on his own jacket. It looks almost exactly like the jacket she fixed for him all that time ago, except she's also added a soft, crimson hood and his own personal bat symbol stitched across her shoulder blades.
As far as things she's designed goes, this is one of her simpler ones. It's nothing like the elaborate creations she makes for the Ambrosia or Ryuko themed items.
But Red Hood was a simple kind of person, and she likes that itâs reflected in her work.
Robin doesn't seem to agree if the poorly concealed disdain on his face means anything.
âWhat?â she asks teasingly, âYou jealous?â
He scoffs and looks off to the side. âOf course not. I simply do not understand why youâd want anything to do with that simpleton. Especially not when I know you have clothing articles referencing far superior individuals.â
She snorts good-naturedly, "What 'individuals'? You mean you?"
The way he raises his nose self importantly is answer enough, and she can't stop herself from rolling his eyes. "Well, it's certainly a start. But I'm not the only one."
"Oh, yeah? And who else is marvelous enough to stand on the same level as you?"
"Multimouse."
Her mouth goes dry, and she can tell Robin is pointedly not looking at her.
âCome inside,â she blurts in lieu of all the things she really wants to sayâwhich are mostly just embarrassing variations of I missed you. âI can, uh, make us tea. If you want.â
It's the first time sheâs ever invited him inside and she can see the small bit of shock on his faceâwell, what she can see of it anywayâbefore he schools it.
âYes,â he says in a tone of voice that implies it was his idea in the first place. âThat sounds⊠good.â
She steps aside, allowing him to pass her by into the flat. Only instead of just walking past her, he stops halfway through the doorway and stares at her. Sheâs about to ask whatâs wrong when he reaches out with his hand to gently grab a lock of her hair.
âPink suits you, by the way.â
She quirks her lips, âYeah? You donât think itâs⊠too much?â
The corners of his mouth turn down, âAbsolutely not. You lookâŠâ he trails off, mouth flattening into a line and dropping his hand.
She blinks at the odd behavior. âNice?â she offers tentatively.
He nods, but itâs a little jerky and strange. But before she can ask about it, heâs already turning to enter her flat like he owns the place, remarking about her choices of tea and if sheâs finally acquired an âadequate teapotâ.
She shakes off the moment and goes in to follow him before he wrecks her kitchen in his careless search for tea supplies.
***
MinnieMouse: COME GET YALL JUICE
and by juice i mean me
I still do not have an american license
JaneAustenStanAccount: what do we get out of it?
MinnieMouse: ???
the pleasure of my company??
also youre literally the one that invited me to watch megamind
JaneAustenStanAccount: and??
daisyduke: shut up jay
we all know youre soft for M stop tryin to play tough
MinnieMouse: this is why duke is my favorite
heâs a living callout post
swanlake: :(
MinnieMouse: second favorite
im so sorry cass ily
swanlake: :)
daisyduke: i aint even mad
JaneAustenStanAccount: I AM
guys wtf
MinnieMouse: you brought this on yourself
maybe you should be nicer to me
ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
daisyduke: âget fucked jasonâ -marinette 2k20
btw im omw for you now
MinnieMouse: thnx ur the best
also im bringing scones as movie snack
daisyduke: noice
swanlake: !!!
JaneAustenStanAccount: FUCK YEAH!!!
MinnieMouse: you dont get any Jay
JaneAustenStanAccount: >:(
i hate it here
***
Marinette doesnât know a lot about Robinâs past, which she assumes is by design. Secret identities donât lead well to handing out details and concrete information about oneâs personal life.
But, she thinks, one would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not see that whatever facsimile of a childhood Robin had was about eight different levels of fucked up.
Itâs in the vague allusions to âtrainingâ and the scorn filled way he says the word âmotherâ. Itâs in the not-quite-confusionâbecause whatever family he has is better now, at leastâof Marinette telling him about her own parents. About the happy memories sheâs shared with them, of learning to bake bread and croissants and macaroons under the loving guidance of her father and practicing delicate designs and frosting techniques with her mother.
So, yeah. She knows heâs kind of messed up and definitely checks off the childhood trauma box thatâs apparently one of the requirements for being her friend.
So when Robin suddenly decides to go against everything sheâs learned about him up until this point and actually share something about himselfâand when that thing he shares just so happens to be a story from his childhoodâwell⊠Marinette wouldnât say sheâs prepared, but sheâs not- prepared.
Heâs in her kitchen, because Marinette has learned her lesson about bleeding vigilantes on her couch, and sheâs pretty sure he couldâve gone back to the Cave for this, but he came here for whatever reason. (Was closer, he said. Marinette doesnât know if she believes him.)
Sheâs cleaning the knife wound on his arm, and she has his cape laid out across her island. Thereâs a hole in it she plans on sewing back up after she finishes sewing the hole in her reckless vigilante back up.
âYou need to be more careful,â she scolds. âYouâre lucky this didnât nick something important.â
âIt's hardly the worst wound Iâve ever acquired,â he tells her in a tone of voice that he probably thinks is reasonable. âAt seven years old I had to dig a bullet out of my side in the middle of a Himilayan snowstorm while still making it back to base with time to spare after having successfully assassinated a Russian ambassador.â
Marinette pauses where sheâs smoothing the gauze onto his bicep. Her eyes flick up to his, and she sees the exact moment he seems to realize what he just told her. Heâs gone utterly still beneath her hands, with terror or worry or the effort it takes not to bolt out the window immediately, she doesnât know.
âThatâs horrifying,â she tells him as she finishes securing the obnoxiously bright bandage, âNever tell me that story again.â
She then drops a kiss onto his bicep, subtly imbuing it with enough luck that it will keep off any infectionâthe wound was filthy when he came in, seriously, was he in a sewer?âand pats his cheek warmly before moving to clean up all her supplies.
She feels his eyes on her the rest of the night, but every time she turns to him, she canât tell what heâs thinking. All she knows is that he seems⊠softer, in a way.
***
Three days after Marinetteâs unexpected look into Robinâs past, she finds a box on her desk. Itâs a jewelry box, and the only reason she doesnât immediately freak out is the fact that it lacks any of the miracle box markings.
Still, she opens it hesitantly, and inside, she finds a necklace. A completely normal, non-magical necklace thatâs simple and pretty and very much shaped like a tiny toy mouse.
There is no note.
***
(Lahiffe was right.
The Earth spins around the sun. The sky is blue.
Everyone loves Marinette.)
***
The necklace is obviously supposed to be a reference to her Multimouse days, but that doesnât exactly narrow down who could have left it for her.
Or well, it does, but all the people it narrows down to donât make any sense.
Multimouse is a badly kept secret, but itâs still a secret. Most people outside Paris donât know about her and the people in Paris didnât exactly recognize her off the street either.
Her Court knows, obviously, and so do the Waynes and the bats. But her Court wouldnât leave her mouse themed gifts, they tend toward ladybugs or their own animal motif as a gift (the amount of cat and bee themed items she owns is ludicrous).
Which leaves the Waynes and the bats.
But her Waynes wouldnât leave the gift on her desk, and they certainly wouldnât forget to put a note, so Duke, Jason, and Cass are out.
She must stand there thinking about it too long, because then Jeremy's walking in, just as bright and early as ever.
He sees her holding the box and his face turns a strange mix of curious and outraged. âIs it your birthday? I swear, Boss if you didn't tell us it was your birthday-â
âNo, Jeremy,â she says, amused despite her confusion. âThatâs not for a while yet. I found this when I walked in,â she shakes the box slightly for emphasis, âbut there wasnât a note.â
âOh.â A smile slowly spreads across Jeremyâs face. âOh?â he purrs, waggling his eyebrows at her. âDoes the boss have a secret admirer?â
Marinette blinks and- what?
âWhat? No. I canât- That doesnât-â she splutters but Jeremy just laughs and walks over to his station to start setting up for the day, leaving Marinette to her breakdown.
Because this canât have been left by a secret admirer. Thatâs just crazy.
There are exactly two people who couldâve left this for her and neither of them would be an admirer of any kind. And she wouldnât want them to be anyway because that would be stupid and ridiculous and weird.
She doesnât like Robin or Damian like thatâŠ
Right?
***
(Itâs impossible not to love her, he realizes, mostly by accident.
She loves, wholeheartedly and unafraid and so much more than Damian had ever thought one person could. She loves with a ferocity and passion no person deserves or can match.
And Damian, foolishly, loves and wishes to be loved by her anyway.)
***
There are roses on her desk the next day, potted and still healthy.
The day after that, thereâs a box of expensive chocolates. Like, the kind only Adrien, Felix, and ChloĂ© buy without a second thought. The gossip has spread far enough that all of her designers know about the gifts and probably-admirer.
On the fourth day, there is a box full of high-quality pencils and a new sketchbook, one with nice thick drafting paper, but small enough to fit in her favored bag. Her name is embossed across the front, along with her personal motif of delicate apple blossoms.
On the fifth day, she shows up to find there is only a drawing, which should point to it being Damian, but drawing-her is holding a robin in her cupped palms which cannot be a coincidence. Drawing-her also looks serene and beautiful with her mouth curved slightly and her eyes gentle and soft and Marinette is as touched by the image as she is frustrated by it.
There are hair sticks on the sixth, and delicate pins shaped like flowers on the seventh. Another stunning drawing of her on the eighth, a bottle of wine older than Master Fu on the ninth, the softest cashmere blanket on the tenth, a basket of sweet floral lotions, a glass statue of a bird in flightâshe gets so many gifts, Marinette has to stop keeping count.
Itâs somewhere around day six that her designers mustâve ratted on her to either Felix or ChloĂ© because itâs not long after that, that all of her friends learn about the gifts and start being terrifically unhelpful about the whole situation.
They each try to give her advice, which would be sweet if it wasnât all equally terrible and conflicting.
Theyâre also placing bets on who they think her admirer is, Damian or Robin. Theyâre trying to be discreet about itâwhich means theyâre failing miserably.
Marinette, admittedly, never expected any different from them.
***
Marinette begins watching Damian in the mornings with a newfound interest.
The gifts are always there before she arrives, which means they're also there before Damian arrives, so sheâs in a prime position to catch his reaction.
Or, she would be, if he ever reacted. He barely glances at them and never says anything unless the gift is particularly obnoxious, like the giant stuffed mouse she found sitting in her chair last week. (It was almost as big as she was. Adrien, Nino, and Alix had ended up on the floor from laughing so hard when theyâd seen it.)
Damian almost never comments on the gift she received that day, but whenever she uses or wears something that her mysterious admirer had gotten for her, he makes sure to compliment her. Which would be very suspicious except that Robin does the same thing.
Itâs just- theyâre both so frustratingly silent about it all! Marinette is this close to just grabbing one or both of them by the shoulders and just shaking until they tell the truth.
Itâs driving her insane! Before the necklace appeared on her desk, she didnât even know that she liked Robin and Damian.
And now sheâs overanalyzing their nonreactions. She hates it.
It feels too much like sheâs back in collĂšge, trying to sort out her feelings for Adrien and Chat. (Who ended up being the same personâwhich was just very inconsiderate of him, really. The least he could do is let her angst have meaning dammit!)
And- ugh. What if she doesn't even like either of them? What if her mind is just making her think she does because the idea of them liking her was presented? What then? Or what about the fact that the two boys are also ridiculously similar when she thinks about it. What if she only likes one and is just projecting her feelings onto the other because her mind associates the two?
Oh, she doesnât like that thought. That thought makes her feel upset and like she wants to cry into a tub of ice cream.
Nino happily indulges her and doesn't even complain when she eats her way through his stash of mint chip as she dramatically complains about stupidly confusing boys.
Honestly, she may as well be back in lycée.
***
(What Marinette does not realize in the midst of all her careful analysis of his reactions, is that itâs not the gifts heâs focused on.
When she wears the necklace and hair sticks, she misses the way his eyes linger on the slope of her neck. As she cares for her roses, she doesnât notice the way he follows the easy nimbleness of her fingers. She uses her sketchbook and eats the expensive chocolates and doesnât pay attention to the way he steals glances at her lips. She doesn't see the way his hands twitch when she ventures just near enough to touch.
(She exists next to him, in any form or light, and he is captivated by her very presence.)
Marinette looks, but it is in all the wrong places.)
***
Strangely enough, itâs Signal who helps her with her internal crisisâcompletely unintentionally and in a very roundabout wayâbut he helps all the same.
Heâs taken an⊠interest, she supposes, in her magic. One that is entirely his own and has very little to do with that Bat from what she can tell.
His abilities and hers stem from different origins, but she would be lying if she said his werenât oddly complementary to her own. His precognition abilities stemming from his photokinesis has been useful on more than one occasion regarding the experimental spell matrices she, Tikki, and Nooroo have been testing out.
The magic is normally invisible to people without a Miraculous, but Signal seems to have little trouble seeing what sheâs doing, even if he canât interact with it the way she can.
(There is also the fact that she seems⊠more when he is around. Days that he spends watching her do her work go by faster and smoother than when he is away. Her magic is easier, and her mind spins with ideas and creations faster.
Itâs an odd phenomenon and Ladybug is looking into it.)
There has been more than one occasion where Signal had warned her of the matrixâs imminent collapse with enough time for her to prepare herself for its blowback.
The version sheâs working on today is their fifth iteration. Itâs supposed to pull the miasma out of the building, filter it through her and Tikkiâs own magical energy, before flowing back into the brickwork. Marinette had thought of the idea while talking with Nooroo.
If she can get it to work, it will shift the misfortune into good luck and order and release it back into the environment. Then sheâll only need to cleanse strategic portions of the city in a lattice network, and the creative and destructive energies will mix from there, balancing themselves without much input from her at all.
Of course, thatâs only if she can actually get it to work. Itâs been almost a month and this is the fifth version and itâs already collapsed on her three times in the last hour. Signal must see the frustration on her face and has taken to trying to distract her with small talk.
Sheâs very thankful for it, actually. If he wasnât doing that, she would probably start screaming right here and now, on this random rooftop in the residential district. Which would just be very startling and embarrassing for everyone involved, so. You know. Glad she doesnât have to do that.
Eventually, she asks him, apropos of nothing, âYouâre a detective right?â
He pauses, and blinks at her, likely trying to follow the train of thought that led her to that question. She assumes he did not find it because when he speaks, he still sounds confused.
âYes? I guess thatâs technically what I am.â
âSo youâre good at figuring out whoâs behind a crime?â
Signal only looks more confused. âYeah? But Ladybug, what-â
âGreat, so. Hypothetically, if you had two suspects for aâwell itâs not a crime. A⊠thing? Situation. How would you figure out which one of them is actually behind the⊠situation?â
Signalâs lips quirk, just a bit despite his confusion. âI think Iâm gonna need a little more to go on than just âa situation,â LB.â
Ladybug purses her lips and stares down at the light weaving intricate patterns in the space between her palms. Slowly, carefully, she tells him, âThere are items being left where a person can find them. But the identity of the person leaving them and their intentions are unknown.â
âAre the items dangerous?â he asks worriedly.
Ladybug shakes her head. âNo. They're more like gifts.â
âAre the gifts unwanted or creepy? Unsettling? Threatening?â
Another head shake. âJust confusing and⊠thoughtful.â
âSomeone is leaving you thoughtful gifts and you're worried about that⊠why?â Signal asks, slowly and disbelievingly.Â
âItâs because I- wait! Iâm not the person!â she panics, causing the magic to spark dangerously in her hands but she barely notices. âThe person doesnât even exist. It was a hypothetical question!â
Signal stares at her. She canât see his eyes or the top half of his face, but she just knows heâs raising his eyebrow judgingly at her.
âStop that!â she snaps. âStop being perceptive! I have enough perceptive people in my life so knock it off!â
Signal laughs like the horrible person he is. âBut donât you need me to be perceptive? Thatâs like, a requirement to be a detective.â
âStop it,â she says again, mulishly and very childish.
And isnât that an odd thought to have? Ladybug being childish.
How novel. Ladybug has never once been childish. She canât afford to be, because when she is behind the mask, she is all the most important parts of herself. She is the Grand Guardian, is the one who must be in control at all times because she has an entire team to keep safe and alive.
Behind the mask, sheâs all of her greatest responsibilities.
But here, in Gotham and with Signal, she is none of those things to him. She is simply another hero, that is his age and very much like him in ways so few are. Ladybug, in the moments she spends with Signal, is probably the closest she has ever been to carefree while in the mask.
Itâs as comforting a thought as it is terrifying.
Signal raises his hands in surrender, but his lips are still quirked in amusement.Â
Ladybug regrets starting this conversation.
She regrets it even more when, five minutes later, Signal manages to pull the rest of the story from her⊠along with a name.
She realizes her mistake a second too late to stop herself, and then all she can do is watch.
She watches, with ever-growing horror, as Signal slowly puts the pieces together. She watches, as her whole secret identity starts unraveling around her for the first time ever. She watches, stricken, as Signal opens his mouth to speak.
And then she grabs both sides of his head and Orders him to sleep.
***
The second Marinette bespells him, she regrets it.
She was panicking, okay? And Marinette panicking is very different from Ladybug panicking and truly, she creates messes just by existing.
Nooroo flies out of his hiding place to make distressed noises at the now unconscious Signal with her, which is⊠actually kinda soothing, if not exactly helpful.
At least she knows sheâs not the only one upset right now.
âOh no, oh no, oh no!â Nooroo frets, flitting around her head with agitated wings. Hers arenât much better, if sheâs being honest. âWhat are we going to do, Guardian? He knows who you are! This is bad.â
Marinette worries her thumb between her teeth, shifting her weight from foot to foot. With a thought, she's back in her civvies and Tikki is perched on her shoulder, blinking at the scene sheâs suddenly a part of.
âWell,â Tikki says, sounding far too calm for the situation. âThis isnât ideal.â
The laugh that escapes Marinette is on the edge of hysterical. âYou think?â
âItâs not ideal,â Tikki repeats firmly, âBut neither is it a disaster.â
Nooroo lands on her other shoulder as she kneels down beside Signal to rearrange his limbs to not be so uncomfortable. âBut he's unpredictable!â he argues, curling into the side of her neck like she will hide him from the world. âWe donât know what heâll do with this information!â
Tikki hums thoughtfully. âThen we will have to ask. There are far worse people we could have been revealed to. We're lucky it was a friend rather than foe.â
âYou think so?â Marinette asks softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.
She knows the Batâs flock are good people. Many of them are her friends, or people she hopes to call friends soon.
But she doesn't know if these people Marinette calls friends could be Ladybugâs allies.
The bats hoard secrets like black holes, and perhaps they would keep hers just as well, but they could just as easily use it against her. Batman barely tolerates her presence, she can tell by the way Signal talks sometimes, and it is no small stretch of the imagination that he would use this to try and kick her out of Gotham.
Marinette cannot, as a Guardian, leave Gotham.
But more importantly, she doesnât want to leave Gotham. Itâs⊠her home now. Her friends are here. Her family is here. Robin and Hood and the other bats are here. Damian and all her Waynes are here.
Leaving Gotham would not only make her sick and jittery at the imbalance, but it would break her heart.
If, when Signal tells Batman, he reacts poorly, there is so much that Marinette is set up to lose. And that terrifies her.
Some of that thought process must show on her faceâor perhaps Nooroo has just picked up on the turmoil in her chestâbecause the two Kwami are pressed on either side of her face, nuzzling and hugging as much of her as they can reach.
âWeâll make it through this, Marinette,â Tikki says firmly, no room for argument. âDonât worry so much. Both of you. Everything will turn out just fine, youâll see.â
***
@bluesimani @how-to-fuction-properly @chocolatecatstheron @mystery-5-5 @nickristus-dreamer @mochegato @thenillabean @animegirlweeb @novaloptr @darkdaysandfakesmiles @optimistically-pessimistic0524 @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @undecisioned @smolplantmum @blackmagicforever @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @wannajointhecrabcult @paintedhope7 @redscarlet95 @roselynfey @ira-sairain @lozzybowe @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @2confused-2doanything @pepelachanel @too0bsessedformyowngood @miraculouspenta @itsmeevie01 @corabeth11 @jalaluvsu
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I mean ⊠Why not?
Vigilante AU - The Siblings Blonde
After a particularly bad day of being abused by his father, Keigo decides to run away. He lives on the streets before being found by Jin.
Jinâs family is lower middle-class, living in the shadier part of town. (Twice is canonically 31 when he first debuts, and Hawks is 22-23, so an 8-9 year difference.)
Jin finds Keigo wandering the streets, an almost feral child, and decides to try talking to him. That doesnât work out so well as Keigo is mistrustful of people after just escaping an abusive environment, but he is more trustful of kids than he is of adults due to his mind seeing people way older than him as dangerous and not to be trusted. Jin wins his trust by giving him food and meager medical attention through rubbing alcohol and band-aids. Keigo learns about Jin having DID and he shares about how his parents were abusive, his father having been a thief and killed someone. The two bond over their unfair hand in life, eventually becoming as close as brothers.
Tragedy strikes when Jinâs parents die in a house (apartment building) fire due to a pro *cough Endeawhore cough* not being aware of his surroundings while chasing a criminal while patrolling. Jin and Keigo leave the area, deciding itâs not safe to be in the area.
To survive, they pickpocket cash and items off of people, as well as stealing from shipping warehouses. The two kids eventually gain a reputation as hard to catch thieves because one can detach his feathers and use them as distractions and the other can make clones of himself. Heroes and police try catching them to no luck, as even when trying to ambush them, the two are able to escape thanks to their Quirks aiding them in escaping. They gain the names Twice and Hawks from other criminals that have a soft spot for the two and get amused that two kids not yet in their teens are making the pros and police run around like headless chickens trying to catch them.
Some years later, Keigo, at age 15, finds a young kid on the streets. 8 year old Kaminari Denki was abandoned on the streets. His Quirk had been hurting him, affecting his grades, but his teachers didnât see it. His parents called him a failure, telling him to shape up and not use his Quirk as an excuse for âlazinessâ. Denki had snapped when his classmates began pushing him around, trying to get him to go into his âdumb modeâ for their own amusement, and he gave the ones closest to him electrical burns. His teachers had told his parents he attacked his classmates unprovoked, causing Denkiâs parents to become violent with him. He ran away, traumatized by what happened.
Keigo was reminded of his childhood when hearing from Denki why he was out on the streets, and learned just how Denkiâs Quirk affected him. He decided to take Denki back to his and Jinâs hiding place, where Jin wasnât so keen on keeping Denki because he and Keigo were barely able to get by themselves, but eventually caved at the powerful pair of pleading faces.
Jin and Keigo trained Denki in using his Quirk in hand-to-hand, and Denki learned how to cause power outages purposefully without hurting himself. (Some police and even pros actually wept when they learned there was now another âblonde bratâ that they had to go after, this one able to cause power outages that could spread to several blocks!)
The three accidentally busted a trafficking ring when they were stealing from a storage warehouse, which had young children captive. The three had only meant to steal some food from there, or valuables they could sell, but upon seeing young kids that were hurt and looking scared, they decided to give the adults a little nasty surprise. The pros and police that arrived on scene learned from the kids that âthree blonde kidsâ had saved them. They immediately knew who saved the kids and news started spreading that there were three young vigilantes on the scene.
Seeing the news, the three have a debate on whether to keep on saving people, before ultimately agreeing itâs a good idea. Thus giving pros and police alike more headaches.
Some years later, when Himiko lashes out at her middle school graduation and runs away, she ends up meeting âthe Brothers Blondeâ as theyâre being called by the media. Himiko had been running on instinct when she attacked them, but got knocked out. She later woke to find blood in a glass ready for her, Jin having been the donor. Himiko learns that the boys had realized she needed blood, and she learns they got mistreated by society one way or another. She quickly becomes part of their team, and so the âBrothers Blondeâ become the âSiblings Blondeâ, as the media catches wind of her.
Some parts of this AU are:
People wonder if theyâre actually related, as the four are all blonde (even if different shades of).
The four like to play pranks when stopping the baddies. (Once, the pros and police called in to collect some criminals found them strung suspended from a telephone pole, covered in yellow paint with their faces covered in funny additions drawn on with permanent markers.)
Twice is the embodiment of the quote from the live action Cat In The Hat: âA little voice inside of me is saying, "This is a bad idea." But I can barely hear that little voice, because an even louder little voice is screaming, "Let the twelve-year-old drive."â He is both the encourager of chaos in his siblings and the one to reel them back when theyâre likely to get in over their heads. When he isnât trying to coral his siblings, he likes to read whatever books he can get his hands on.
Hawks was pretty much an emotionless, quiet child due to his parentsâ abuse, so when he became older, he started venting through graffiti and nailing people with paint-filled water balloons. Heâs where the Siblings usually get their paint to dump on people, because Keigo has a stock.
Denki learned how to hack from some criminals with computer skills. He has a habit of going into chat room forums and trolling people that deserve it, as well as crashing the computers of hackers in video games that go against the rules to play unfairly.
Himiko is into insects. When she learned about mosquitoes and other bloodsucking insects, she grew a hobby of catching, collecting, and releasing them on her enemies. Her brothers know to stay well out of her room, because she can and will unleash her insects on them if they enter without her permission and itâs not an emergency.
Denki often complains over being the baby of the family, but doesnât actually mind it since he likes the attention of his siblings.
Keigo will take to ferrying his siblings around when bored, but doesnât do this as much as he used to with Jin since Jin grew heavier than Keigo as they grew older.
Himiko will often pull her brothers into a night of letting her paint their nails, with Jin sporting alternating black, gray, and sparkly white, Keigo with sky blue, and Denki with sparkly yellow.
Jin will often use his Quirk to make copies of objects, and then have his siblings tell which is real and which is fake, with Denki having the better success rate as he can tell the difference in electromagnetic fields the objects give off.
They all hate Endeavor, have a great respect for Present Mic, Eraserhead, and Ms. Joke, among a few other Pros, and donât like All Might.
#original idea?#boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia au#jin bubaigawara#keigo tamaki#denki kaminari#himiko toga#ngl I see these four being like siblings if they had the chance#I give them the chance here#vigilante au
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Tangled Salt Marathon - No Time Like the Past
While I wouldnât call this the worst episode of the series, there are several others I dislike more, I would call this the most ill conceived story in the show.Â
All the other bad episodes have potential but are let down by poor presentation, boring predictability, or sloppy planning. This one however, is fundamentally flawed in itâs very basic premise and so ranks in the bottom of most fans lists. Even people who are far more forgiving of season three and than I am, and are hardcore New Dream stans, still dislike this episode. Thatâs how bad it is.Â
Summary:Â Rapunzel discovers Old Lady Crowley tossing out Cassandra's things. She is upset and demands that they be left alone. She then has Lance and Eugene help her save all of Cassandra's mementos and personal belongings, but she becomes saddened when Eugene reminds her that Cassandra turned her back on "her". Rapunzel takes a box of her things along with, unknowingly, a mysterious hourglass. As she examines it, she accidentally drops and smashes it and she and Pascal find themselves sent back into the past. They run into a teenage Eugene and Lance who keep calling Rapunzel "Sideburns". Rapunzel realizes that she and Pascal have inhabited the bodies of the Stabbington Brothers and decide to recruit the young thieves in getting the hourglass from the castle back.
Fun Fact! That Dummy is Rapunzelâs DoingÂ
Minor nitpick here, but Cass had nothing to do with putting Eugeneâs face on her sparring dummy. Rapunzel voluntarily did that back in Under Raps. Cas never requested it nor even expressed any joy over receiving said âgiftâ.Â
Basically the show is attributing one of Rapunzelâs mistakes/flaws to Cassandra in order to introduce a very nonsensical plot point later. So I need yaâll to keep that in mind as we go along. Â
Lets Talk About the Episodeâs OrderingÂ
We don't have production codes for season three like we did for the previous two seasons. So we canât know for sure what order everything was originally planned in, but I would argue that this episode should have came before Return of the King.Â
For starters this is a âbottleâ episode; it takes place mostly in the past and the only present day characters who show up are Eugene, Raps, Lance, and Crowely. As such you could potentially slot this episode in anywhere before Cassandraâs Revenge. You canât really do that with most of the other episodes so it could have been easily moved around when airing.Â
Therefore, I would argue that it should have been the first episode after Rapunzelâs Return for three key reasons.Â
It would have given Edmund time to travel to Corona and give Raps time to start up big building projects like fixing Old Corona. In fact sheâs already approving building plans for the capitol city at the start of the episode. Which could even explain why she took so long getting to the castle repairs if she was taking care of the stuff that the Saporians messed up else where. Â
Rapunzelâs stance over wanting to keep Cassandraâs things makes more sense early on, both in universe and in a meta context. Raps would still have hope if Cass has only been gone for a month or two instead what would now be four or five months down the line. It also makes sense that Crowely wouldnât wait around for that long. And from a meta standpoint, the audience would still be oblivious to what the heck Cass was up to and could theoretically side with Raps better; or at least empathize with her view point more, even while disagreeing with her.Â
Events in this episode better explains Eugeneâs decisions in Return of the King and gives the audience more context for certain stuff. Â
So Why Is There a Random Magical Time Traveling Hourglass in the Storage Vault?
Slowly but surely the series has abandoned all pretense that thereâs any logical world building in the show. Magical things just appear randomly now without any explanation whatsoever. Worse than that, things like the hourglass and map to the cursed tomb are treated as if they were always there, unlike the magical beings that they happened to run into in past seasons.Â
The problem with this is a lack of consistency. You canât have sceptics like Eugene and Varian if magic is so common and wide spread that anyone can run into it at anytime. Not to mention it diminishes the specialness and importance of the sundrop and moonstone if powerful magical items can be so easily found and stirred, undermining important plot points and the tension surrounding them.Â
But most frustrating of all, is that this could have been easily fixed by just stating on screen at some point that magic attracts other magic. Meaning itâs only Rapunzel herself who routinely runs into these things and not just everybody and anybody.Â
None of This Stuff Holds Any Meaning
Show donât tell!
At several points through out season three, both Raps and Cass morn over Cassandraâs left behind things. They tell us constantly that these objects hold significant meaning to them, but I, the viewer, have no damn clue as to why.Â
We were never shown on screen what was so special about these things other than the fact that it was junk Cass collected. Thereâs no story attacked to these assortment of objects nor any previous indication that Cassandra valued them beyond their usefulness. As such, any scenes involving her stuff fall emotionally flat.Â
Eugene is the One in the Right Here.Â
Eugeneâs right.Â
Any well adjust and mature adult will tell you heâs right.Â
If someone doesnât want a relationship with you, than thatâs it. There is nothing you can do but to move on. It sucks, but its life. To ignore that is to ignore someone elseâs boundaries and personal autonomy; while also devaluing yourself and youâre own needs.Â
In a competent show this would be a set up for Rapunzel to learn something about letting go and taking care of oneself emotionally.Â
But this isnât a competent show.Â
But Lobster is for Poor Folk
Food history time!
Lobster, and shellfish in general, have been considered low class food for centuries. Especially around costal areas like Corona. Itâs easy to attain, cheap, and not regulated like hunting was in much of Europe. In America, specifically, lobster was fed to prisoners and thereâs historical accounts of riots being started over it. Â
Heck, less than forty years ago, no one lived on the coast but poor people. Thatâs why thereâs historical communities of black people living on the southeastern islands in the US and why my father grew up in the swamps of Alabama during the 50s and 60s.Â
The gentrification of coastal property and seafood, like lobster, is a very recent phenomenon in human history, starting in the late 70s early 80s with the booming tourism industry and increasing globalization.  Â
So while I understand that the joke here is meant to be reflective of our current understanding of lobster being a status symbol, in universe, itâs the equivalent of Eugene getting excited for chicken nuggets instead of his usual bowl of cereal because the story takes place before the 20th century. Â
This means that these kids are so poor that fucking mcdonaldâs fast food would be considered a rare treat compared to the slop they usually eat. Yet again what is meant to be a lighthearted joke turns suddenly dark when you stop to think about it for all of two seconds all because the writers are so flippant about their world and characters.Â
This Wasnât Planned Out, So the Timeline Doesnât Add Up Anymore and Resources are Wasted
Remember the flashback in The Return of Strongbow?
Now I need you to remember that season three is two years later from season one and the movie. Eight years ago then, would be ten years ago now.Â
The Eugene and Lance in the bottom picture is suppose to be roughly the same age as the Eugene and Lance in the top picture; give or take a few months.Â
I know teenage boys can grow fast, but not that fast.Â
Eugene at 16 looks the same as he does at 26. All because the writers were too lazy to preplan things out ahead of time.Â
We should have seen the teen models with recasted voices back during that first flashback if they were going to tell this story later. Or the previous plot point should have been less than eight years ago.Â
In fact the first flashback no longer makes any sense being so many years ago given Eugeneâs engagement and recent breakup with Stalyan, and the later reveal that he was working for the Baron during the original movie.Â
Sloppy planning like this not only makes for a confusing timeline but it also wastes limited resources. I like the new models, I like the actors cast for these younger roles, and I do like the concept of seeing more of Eugeneâs past. But going through all of that trouble and money for what amounts to one throw away episode is mismanagement of the budget and work schedule. Â
Baby Varian Is the Episodeâs Only Saving GraceÂ
I know people are divided on the deign here. Some love it and some hate it, but thatâs a personal taste thing. The actual scene itself is golden either way, because itâs such a funny eater egg. Fans on both sides made memes out of this for days. Itâs legendary.Â
Personally Iâm more in the âlove itâ camp, though I can see the issues people have with the design. My main defense of it is more the fact that we got kid designs for the other OCs in the show and itâs only fair Varian got one as well. The fact that heâs in smaller versions of the S1 clothes doesnât bother me anymore than when Lance ran around for two seasons in the same outfit, including when he was a kid.Â
So if I like it, then why am I talking about it a salt review?Â
Cause the most memorable part of an episode shouldnât be a throw away gag!Â
People bring up baby Varian way more than they do about anything else in the episode, and no itâs not just because the character popular. Itâs because most would like to forget what comes after this scene.Â
Where is Quirin, by the Way?
Why is your six year old son running around the big city unsupervised?
This wouldnât get talk about as much it wasnât for the fact that Quirin being neglectful in season one was a motivating factor in his conflict with Varian. A conflict that was suppose to be resolved back in Rapunzelâs Return but we the audience have yet to visually see any difference in behavior since then. Â
Quirinâs absence here in the past highlights his absence in the present day and reminds the audience aware that weâve not been given a satisfying conclusion to one of the most important arcs in the series. Â
Lets Talk About Wasted PotentialÂ
Like I said, I like the idea of exploring Eugeneâs past. But we should have gotten that back in season two when it was more relevant. Part of why this episode fails is because Eugene has reached the end of his original character development. Heâs now on an identity crisis arc which has nothing to do with this episode. Â
But you know who still hasnât finished developing? Rapunzel.Â
Rapunzel has lots to still learn and viewing her past through outside eyes could have turned this story into something really special. Especially with the âinhabiting another bodyâ plot point.Â
You have no end of options here,Â
Have Raps inhabit Cassandraâs body for a day and gain insight into what motivates her. It could have been either before or after they met, both offers up possibilities.Â
Have Raps inhabit Eugeneâs body and experience what he had to deal with growing up and come to see his point of view. (This could have also worked with the Sabbingtons set up had the writers not been stupid.)Â
And my personal favorite, send her back to right after Queen for a Day and have her stuck in either Varianâs or Ruddigerâs bodies. Force her to see what she did to him and have her acknowledge she was wrong.Â
And those are just the most obvious choices, thereâs other more out of left field things you can do that would still work with good writing. Like exploring Lady Caineâs past, inhabiting Ariannaâs body and learning how to be a real queen, get dumped into actual young Gothel and lay out clues to the future Zhan Tiri plot, or possess one of the Brotherhood and experience the final days of the Dark Kingdom; the list just goes on and on and on.Â
But I Thought You Didnât Put Kids in Jail Frederic?
Remember that Raps and Pascal are possessing the Stabbingtons who are still teenagers here. They canât be much older than Varian.Â
This means that Varian isnât some special case. Teens have received harsh and deadly punishments in the past for non-violent crimes like theft.Â
Also teens are called kids still by the majority of the cast. Theyâre arenât considered adults with the same rights as someone in say their twenties, yet they can be punished the same as an adult would. Which is horrendous in any time period.Â
So in conclusion, Frederic is a fucking liar!Â
Tangled the Series canât decide if itâs in the far past or a reflection of the modern day. As such it winds up supporting the worst of both worlds. Barbaric practices like hanging for minor crimes and prison slave labor are treated as the norm and never called out for the horrific things that they are; treated as a joke even, but weâre suppose to accept that this world also somehow views adolescence through the lens of late 20th century sensibilities even as it forces minors to go through such atrocities.Â
Like what are you trying to say show? What is your message on the transition of adolescence to adulthood regarding rights and responsibilities? And donât tell me âitâs not that deepâ because this is suppose to be a coming of age show! Thatâs the entire premise of the series!Â
So How Old Are Stan and Pete Again?
I was always under the impression that Pete was a newbie guard, closer to Cass and Eugeneâs age than say Cap or Frederic. Thatâs why he screws up so much because heâs inexperienced, why he seemed to be the closest thing to a equal colleague Cass had in the guard when she was also just starting out, and why I assumed those braided girls from the movie were his sisters.Â
I mean there was nothing on screen previously that would necessarily contradict this reveal, it just doesnât feel right, thatâs all. I guess he could be like 20 here and be 30 in the show. That would make him only a few years older than Eugene, but still doesnât explain why heâs so useless a decade later.Â
Iâm fine with Stan being here though. I always thought of him being the older of the two. In fact I headcannon Willow as his mysterious wife that he talked about back in Montyâs episode during season one. (Sheâs Stan and Peteâs beard, and theyâre totally in a open poly relationship. Thatâs why theyâre allowed to stay in the royal guard despite being so incompetent cause theyâre technically Ferdericâs in-laws and Rapunzelâs uncles. Just no one ever talks about it cause itâs a minor sandal for a princess to marry lower class and Willowâs hardly ever there.)Â
And Why Does Xavier Have All Those Plot McGuffins?Â
I know weâll never get an answer, but at this point Xavierâs exposition fairy powers border upon ridiculousness. Itâs just lazy and a waste of character.Â
So How Does Time Travel Work In This?
There are three types of time travel stories in fiction.Â
First is the âChangeable Past, Changeable Futureâ. You see this in Back to the Future. What you do in the past will change the future, i.e. your present. You may or may not remember that you did it, but be warned you could change things too much and break stuff. Like erasing yourself from existence, or ruining your love life ect. The only way to fix it is to go back in time again and change stuff again. But beware of paradoxes or you may destroy the universe altogether. Â
The second is the âAlternate Timelineâ, where changing things creates new realties and itâs a matter of finding the right reality again. The tv show Sliders is a great example of this. Each new timeline is a different dimension. What you do in one wonât effect your original point of origin, only that particular world. The challenge if often getting home again because the probable diverging timelines are infinite and the changes of getting back are a zillion to one.Â
Third is the âClosed Time Loopâ. No matter what you do nothing will change. The future is inevitable and whatever you do in the past was always meant to happen anyways. Gargoyles handles this really well. You can also have âfix pointsâ where certain important things are set in stone but small things can be changed like in several Doctor Who episodes. Braking a fix point breaks the universe once again, while paradoxes are often the solution rather than the threat.Â
So which type of time travel is Tangled dealing with here?Â
Scenes like the conversation regarding Peteâs and Stanâs mustache or the ones involving Eugene working on his smolder suggest a closed time loop. Yet the ending to this episode reveals a changed future. Further still the grandfather paradox revolving around the hourglass would make you think an alternate timeline yet, weâve no indication that anything else changed other then Eugeneâs opinions on Cass, and Raps shows no concern about getting back to her original point in time indicating that it actually isnât another dimension.... so what is it then?Â
You donât have to have a tightly plotted time travel story to have an entertaining piece of media. Endgame is riddled with plot holes and contradicts itself constantly, but what it lacks in coherent plot it makes for with fun characters, emotional story beats, and good pacing that manages to balance the action with the drama while hiding the cracks just enough that you donât lose immersion.Â
Tangled however fails at even this because it gets the character beats so fundamentally wrong. Like you may dislike where the characters ended up in Endgame, but canât say that those developments didnât match the charactersâ previous storylines and logical trajectory. Tony finally becomes the selfless hero by committing the ultimate sacrifice, Steve learns self care as a mirror to Tonyâs arc as they were always parallels to each other, Bruce learns to accept himself, Thor processes his grief and lets go of the role he was assigned at birth but never truly fit into, and Nat becomes the leader she was destined to be rather than the sidekick. Â
What happens to the characters in this episode however makes no sense.Â
This is Another Missed Opportunity to Explore Eugeneâs Past
The other problem behind the episode is that we donât actually learn anything new. If youâre going to promise a story focusing on Eugeneâs past then I expect to actually glean some new insights.Â
We still donât know why heâs working with Baron or how he fell in/fell out with him, what his relationship with Stalyan is like, how he became so cynical; not just the general basics, like the orphanage, but that point in his life where decided that survival meant giving up his morals and ethics; where did he first learn his better ethics that he originally suppressed (cause it sure as heck wasnât Rapunzel), and when did he and Lance become separated?Â
This are questions that series decides to raise by making allusions to them and building conflicts off of them but never wants to explain the details of where they originated from. Itâs super frustrating and wholly unnecessary. If you didnât think the story of Eugeneâs past worth telling then why did up repeatedly bring it up Chris?Â
Why Are You Surprised by This Rapunzel?
Rapunzel you know Eugeneâs past. You know what he used to be like. You were literally there in the movie and saw him being an ass before this. You didnât start to like him until he dropped his guard down in the flooded cave back when you both where about to die.Â
You fell in love with him when he showed you his real self and he fell in love with you when you proved that you were accepting of that. You earned each othersâ trust. This here; angrily yelling at him and judging him, when youâre already hiding who you really are from him both literally and figuratively, is a breaking of that trust.Â
Who the fuck are you any more, Rapunzel?Â
Cause youâre not the same character from the movie. Youâre not even the same character from season one. But whoever hell you are now, itâs not an improvement I can tell ya that.Â
So How Did The Hourglass Go From the Treasury to the Basement Storage, and How Would Raps Know It Was There At This Point and Time?
Iâm guessing the implication here is that Crowley put Cassâs stuff in the vault, but like why the fuck would she do that? Weâre not talking about a family attic here, but the royal safe. The most heavily guarded room in the castle with the kingdomâs most priceless treasures and antiques. Nothing Cass owned was that valuable. Â
Rapunzel Is Full of Shit
Oh let me count the numerous ways in which this whole lecture is stupid.Â
Rapunzel left Varian behind. Rapunzel left Varian behind multiple times, including that time he was thrown in jail. She was not a good friend, and no, this is not a case of her learning from her past because not once has she ever admitted that she was wrong to do that. So this scene just makes Raps look like a hypocrite.Â
Eugene does not need to relrean a lesson on being a better a person. He did that during the movie and has progressed beyond that point. This âlessonâ is a waste of time and a misuse of the characters.
This reframes Rapunzel as being in the right during her argument with older Eugene at the beginning of the episode, even though sheâs not. In fact this is such a counterintuitive plot point that it boggles the mind. Who structures a narrative this way? Why so blatantly point out how the main character is wrong if not to have her learn something? Why frame the story to make the person whoâs personal conflict isnât even the episodeâs focus, into the one who needs to learn something? Especially if that something is already a lesson that theyâve learned on screen beforehand.
And why, oh good heavens why, would you teach children such a toxic message? Like on the surface it sounds like something youâd hear in a children's show, but the context of it is justifying harmful behavior where you selfishly ignore other peopleâs wishes and boundaries just to satisfy youâre own personal desires. Â
And finally, Eugene and Lance do not work as a parallel to Raps and Cass. Cassandra is an adult who left of own free will. Lance is a teenager who was arrested due to Rapunzelâs own actions. Eugene isnât the one who is responsible here, its Rapunzel. Who also left them both behind in her carelessness. Secondly, Eugeneâs decisions are spurned by years of trauma and a healthy fear of dying, while Rapunzelâs is wrapped up in her own need to always be right and to keep her immature and fanciful outlook of the world intact. As harsh as it seems, what Eugene did was based off a predetermine agreement and presumably Lance would have acted the same way or been pressured to act the same way by Eugene. In short, Eugeneâs cynical world view as a teen is not the source of his disagreement with Rapunzel but an adult perspective back by common sense and a respect of others choices. It makes no sense for present day Eugene to âlearnâ anything from this misadventure that he didnât already know and for Rapunzel to not learn anything that would actually tie the parallel together.Â
Locking Another Teen Inside a Jail Cell With Another Adult as a Joke, Does Not Erase the Inappropriateness of Varianâs Story
The episode tries to add another joke about Shorty sneaking into the prison without the guard knowing, but that still doesnât excuse the fact someone had to have tossed Lance in there with him on purpose. Otherwise Lance wouldnât have assumed Shorty was a fellow prisoner if he or the guard that locked him up saw Shorty sneak in before then.Â
Furthermore Lanceâs nonchalant response suggests this is not an out of the ordinary occurrence. Nor do any of the other guard comment upon the irregularly of teens being jailed with an adult. Now add in the fact that the show fails to clarify that previous âcellmateâ line from Rapunzelâs Return and now gives us more confirmation that Varian was underfed and malnourished for a year with that gruel joke and you have a horrifying picture.Â
Shorty might be non-threating, but that doesnât mean Andrew, a known attempted murderer and manipulator, is too. Nor any other adult who previously was housed with a teen before then. This is still very much not okay and no amount of âjokesâ will suddenly make it right. Â
Raps, Who is an Adult, Just Physically Threatened Two Teenaged Boys and Itâs Played as a Joke....Â
How many times do I have to say it? Humor does not fix bad writing. Iâm not laughing when a heroine at age 20, threatens a couple of kids for merely annoying her. Especially when said heroine has a history of abusing children; because let me repeat once again, neglect is abuse!
This is a Lie
No you wont.Â
Rapunzel never tells Eugene what happens on screen. I suspect that if she ever did, they would no longer be together, because what she wound up doing here was a violation of trust and boundaries in the worst possible way. Â
And This is Now a Time ParadoxÂ
A Grandfather Paradox to be specific. How can Rapunzel be here in the past to break the hourglass if the hourglass that sent her here is broken?Â
In a competent series this would be the point of a future conflict and not the actual resolution. Itâs not a closed time loop because of the paradox and the changes weâll see in the future.Â
So either sheâs in an alternate timeline/dimension and just doesnât gives a shit; leaving the real Eugene, Lance, Cass, ect. to go on without her; or sheâs just broke the universe and everything is slowly unraveling around her; galaxies are dying as she whines about being dumped, people in the future are being eased from existence, and God is cursing her name for ruining his creation, all the while she carries on oblivious to the destruction in her wake, as usual.Â
Thatâs it. Those are youâre only two options now. Is everyone from here on a fake copy or is Rapunzel the damned destroyer of worlds? You decide.Â
So This Confirms That the Stabbingtons are Indeed âFamilyâ
Another reason why I place this before Return of the King; it explains why Eugene considers the Stabbingtons âfamilyâ. Though if it was Rapunzel he actually bonded with and not the real Sideburns, then how much of his feelings are real and how much of them were fabricated by her? How much agency did this episode steal from him?
So What Exactly Did We All Change?
Well the dummy no longer has Eugeneâs face, but Cassâs painting of the three of them still has him ripped out of the photo, soo... Keeping in mind that Raps painted the dummy anyways and considering that Moonandra tries to kill him later on; Iâm going to guess that Cassâs feelings werenât actually altered. If anything their relationship might actually be worse now, cause Cassandra keeps acting like sheâs never had friends and Eugene has taken up Rapunzelâs blind devotion.Â
All that development in season one is just, poof, gone. Also itâs quite possible that the first movie as well has now it has been erased from existence as Eugene got his needed character development eight years too early. How the hell thatâs suppose to work, I donât know.Â
Outside of the that we get no confirmation how anybody else was effected, even though a more brainwashed Eugene running around would undoubtedly have caused a butterfly effect. Donât expect that to be explored anytime soon.Â
Though, it would explain why heâs suddenly such a doormat in season three, if this was the second episode as theorized.Â
No! This is the Wrong Lesson!!!
Let me explain narrative promises.Â
Everyone, on some basic fundamental level, understands how stories work. We hear them recounted to us over and over again from the day we're born to the day we die. Itâs integral to how we communicate as human beings. Everyone knows innately how to tell a story even if that person couldnât tell you how stories or structured or what certain literary terms mean, but they do it every day just through speaking. And while most audiences canât always pin point what upsets them about a story they can for sure notice when things are off and not satisfying to experience.Â
Now that doesnât mean that everyone can write an awarding winning novel, that study of a craft isnât important, nor that every amateurish critique thrown at any given media is valid. But it does mean that people have come to expect certain storytelling practices and can pick up on narrative cues. Weâve familiarized ourselves with the language of film, novels, comics, ect, into order to comprehend whatâs going on.Â
Rules of writing are just following that established language so that the audience can keep up. You can break these rules, sure, but unless you know what youâre doing and have a good narrative reason to do so, then you can easily lose youâre audience. And if youâre making money off said audience thatâs something you want to avoid.Â
A narrative promise is a cue; a set up that lets the audience know that âhey this is important, pay attention to this cause itâll come back into play laterâ. Now that the audience has been alerted to the plot point they expect fulfillment of the promise. If you break that promise, either through poor set up, lack of follow through, or by breaking an established convention of writing for no other reason then because you just wanted to, your audience is going to walk away unsatisfied.Â
The argument at the beginning of the episode was a narrative promise. It was a cue that set up the interpersonal conflict of the main character. For add context, I know that this is a coming of age story. Convention would dictate that the protagonist would resolve this conflict by learning they were wrong.Â
Thatâs not what happened here.Â
Convention was subverted. It wasnât the protagonist who grew and change, it was the person they were in conflict with who did. And it wasnât subverted because of any greater narrative reason, or future pay off, or even as effort to be shallowly âcleverâ; it was subverted because the author just didnât want to hold the main character accountable for anything. Because said character has now become his avatar for his wish fulfillment fantasy and having the main character admit fault would be to admit fault in ones own self. Rapunzel doesnât feel like Rapunzel this season because sheâs just Chris in a wig.Â
The episode broke a narrative promise to the audience; both within the episode and in the greater premise of the story, because of ego.Â
I donât claim this episode is bad just because of personal taste nor because I find it morally repulsive (even though both those things are true), I call it bad because it exhibits bad writing. Plain and simple.Â
Way To Undermine The Entire Point of the Original Movie, Show
Speaking of breaking narrative promises....Â
TTS is suppose to be a squeal to the original movie. Itâs even in the title of the show; both of them. In one fell swoop, the series has managed to sabotage itâs very reason for existing, as it erases Eugeneâs motivation and the inciting incident that kick started the film.Â
 Way to fucking go.Â
To further twist the knife, it diminishes the duel protagonist of said film in order to prop up a series original character, who isn't even present in the episode itself.Â
I donât mind Cassandraâs existence. I donât even mind her being the new deuteragonist and one of the main villains; even though she wouldnât have been my first pick to fulfill those roles given her lack of set up. But I do fucking mind it if she upstages other characters and/or derails their character arcs in the process.Â
This is the Death of New DreamÂ
I was still in denial when this episode first aired. I honestly believed that this and The Return of the King was build up to a third âbetrayalâ where Eugene finally became fed up with Rapunzelâs bullshit and joined forces with Zhan Tiri. I thought the end of the series would have Rapunzel apologize to everyone she did wrong, Varian, Cass, and Eugene, in order to break ZTâs hold on them, and that true loveâs kiss would reunite the sundrop and the moonstone and that would just tie everything together into a neat little bow and give us a truly daring character study of a Disney hero.Â
Oh dear merciful heavens, was I ever wrong. Â
How did we go from season oneâs challenging and mature storyline, complete with Disneyâs first real anti-villian, to this?!Â
What the hell happened!?Â
Rapunzel not only disrespects Eugeneâs opinions, violates his privacy and trust as she manipulates him as a teen, and then brainwashes him to think like her (even if accidentally), but doesnât even have good grace to tell him. She instead has the audacity to look all happy and self congratulatory because she got want she wanted. She, and the show at large, doesnât care what evil thing she does to get the desired outcome Rapunzel wants.Â
Rapunzel in this show is a spoiled brat. And the image of her and her now lobotomized boyfriend staring dead eyed at a picture of the creatorâs previous waifu OC with plastic smiles on their faces, sums up this series perfectly.Â
ConclusionÂ
This isnât even the worst episode of the series guys. I donât know if it would even make it onto a bottom five list. Thatâs how much crap I have to wade through when it comes to this show. This is however the most damaging episode to the franchise as a whole.Â
Not even the most hardcore of New Dream fans want to acknowledge the existence of that final scene, and Rapunzel stans wonât defend her beyond, âwell she didnât mean too, itâs the writing thatâs bad.â Yeah, the writing is bad, thatâs why the character canât and shouldnât be defended, not here and not in other badly written episodes where she also does bad things and never makes up for it.Â
Anyways Iâm finally caught up to where I left off, before the move, though sadly I don't think Iâll get this series done by the end of the month like I had originally hoped. But if you would like to help out I have a ko-fi you can drop a tip into if ya want.Â
https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines
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Laying Foundations
Summary: The Blood God gets used to caring for a baby and small child who is getting livelier by the year. Chapter 1 of Blood and Feathers. <<Prologue
Warnings: Very brief emeto reference
It is a rather long journey to his Overworld forest cabin from wherever he'd ended up that caused him to be near Phillip's birthplace. The baby, ever so respectfully quiet until now, bawls as soon as the heat of the Nether seems to register. That or he finds portal travel disagreeable. The Blood God is not yet ready to unveil his latest plan. It is half formed and to be honest, he is completely winging it. He wasn't even sure whether he wished to raise his little project here, in his domain where things have always felt a bit... clearer, or in the Overworld, where Phillip is meant to belong, until the Netherdamned child threatened to blow his cover. All he could do to lessen the risk of being spotted is cover Phillip with his cloak and ignore the tiny talons poking at his skin. Besides, if worse came to worst, he could always glare a piglin down into silence. There are very few who are bold enough to trifle with a violence-centric deity, after all. But they do eventually make it. It then hits him that yes, of course, nothing here was left in a suitable condition for raising a child. There is clutter all over the table for one thing. There is also the remains of some meal he must have had prior to leaving the last time. Forgive him for not caring about trivial things such as cleaning up after himself when he's done that thousands of times over his centuries long life. Cleaning is a futile endeavour anyway. You achieve your result, only for it to rapidly be reversed. It will be worse now that he has subjected himself to a child, a form of life unable to comprehend its surroundings required respect, therefore antagonising their environment in their ignorance. That said, he did have three wolves who were capable of causing a mess all on their own. Perhaps, he ponders, he should have asked Celandine to reserve Phillip for a few days as he prepared the place for another being. It will be fine. Phillip is too young to care as it is. After some strife, the house becomes tidier. A pillow and its removed case are placed in a box for lack of better furniture. It will be as good of a bed as Phillip will get while the god fully adjusts his living arrangements. Caring for an infant is... more work than he had been expecting. And he had been anticipating to be kept busy by the kid regardless. During the first night, everything appears to be a problem. He's been fed, changed, paid attention to in general... all of it pointing to the fact Phillip should be content with sleeping. Then ah, the sword swings. Phillip must finally realise he is not going to see his family anymore. Oh well, not much he can do to remedy that. Also, he must say that for such a small stomach, it certainly seems to need filling often. Celandine checks to see how he is faring and offers advice. One such recommendation is to heat the liquid so that it is served warm. However, this occasionally proves to be a disaster as his sense of 'too hot' has been skewed by Nether standards. Phillip never fails to let him know if he's miscalculated. He knows it's irresponsible but a short trip without the baby through the Nether to collect Krev, Valka and Mort won't do much damage. They leap up at him but he hasn't got time to waste with pleasantries. The trio follow him diligently as they pass the statue of the four of them, narrowly avoid a slip into lava because how many lives must I live before you listen when I say be careful and they still remain at his heels when he steps into the portal. The wolves certainly love Phillip at first sight since they barely allow the god to leave the infant's designated room. Easy, he tells them, get your noses away because he's not a plaything and you won't even get to see him if you crowd round like this. The longer they have to get used to each other, the less agitated Phillip tends to be when not in need of care. It is during these calmer moments that they can be found, for example, reading a book 'together'. More to the point, he reads aloud while Phillip tries to grab pages, wriggles in the crook of his arm or the little boy simply stares up at him. Phillip has also become fond of gripping his caregiver's tusks whenever he is carried. It's an odd habit but it isn't painful or particularly uncomfortable so eh, who cares. Being 7 months old when they meet, Phillip is already on the verge of crawling. This is an issue. He gains the ability to be mobile by the time the Blood God is satisfied the cabin is satisfactory for a baby. This soon devolves into a keen eye frequently being kept aimed at the floor. The god wasn't a stranger to watching his step (a trio of wolves seemingly determined to become safety hazards at times will do that to you) but this was even worse. Do you know how miniscule Phillip is compared to him?! And this is the shortest the god can make himself. He is going to accidentally tread on the infant one day if he doesn't remain vigilant, he is sure of it. Winter proves to be a troublesome time. The cold seeps in through the windows whenever there isn't a lit fire to combat it. He despises the season and most years, he is either residing in the Nether anyway or he stays in his large desert home. Well actually, that place of his in the desert tends to be his usual shelter. It's just that humans (and, by extension, avians he supposes) are so fickle when it comes to temperature. They can never be too hot or too cold, for fear of their bodies' ridiculous way of attempting to maintain thermal homeostasis leading to their demises. Babies... are likely the worst culprits of this, along with the elderly. That was why he chose somewhere milder like this forest when it came to Phillip. Celandine has some thoughts on the matter, given that she is unhappy upon her next visit. "You do realise avians are migratory, don't you? It is, after all, partially how you ended up meeting and adopting him. The cold does not suit him." "It does not suit me either. If he is simply cold, I will keep him by the fire." "Keep him warm." She sternly instructs. Perhaps she is right though. He isn't too fond of the lowering temperatures and Phillip's fussiness seems to agree with him. He drafts up rough blueprints for a house, larger than this lowly, isolated cottage but also nothing requiring the time and resources on par with his massive desert villa. Hopefully, with the builders he plans to hire to construct it on his behalf, it will be ready for them this time next year. Which leaves the more pressing issue of what is he going to do for this winter? Well, he supposes there's only one thing for it. Phillip does not find the heat favourable. He spends his days complaining in his own infantile way or being very quiet when struggling with the temperature. Between the age of 9 to 12 months, his style is very much in the minimalist category. Another dilemma the god has is the fact he never exactly need a reason to keep cool here. Therefore, a water source is relatively far away and the coldest spot on the property is the room used to keep food fresh for longer. Phillip shouldn't really be around raw meat but for the sake of lowering the risk of him overheating, he does become familiar with the storage area. However, it's not as if he lives in there. He does get placed outside in the shade with a blanket underneath him every now and again. Babies will taste test any old thing they can get their hands on and there is no better example of this than the way a crawling infant takes fistfuls of the most abundant resource around him to sample. It's the god's duty to supervise in order to prevent sand from becoming unintentionally integrated into Phillip's diet. He notices birds lingering in unusual numbers in the early weeks of the new year. Low enough that perhaps he hasn't cared to notice the true extent of the local bird population before. High enough that he's sure there weren't this many before now. It's February too which makes it even more perplexing. Disappearing to warmer lands is one thing but surely they don't migrate to barren wastelands such as these. Then March 1st arrives and suddenly it all begins to make sense. Celandine could honestly have been less subtle. Any longer and it would have been an infestation. The goddess lands to the cacophony of birds cheering her arrival. Phillip's absent-minded babbling ceases as soon as his brain registers that she has taken him in her arms. She kneels, a baby in one arm while the other is held out as an invitation. She calls out, asking where the subject of her intentions was and summoning it to come to her. A bird with dark feathers makes itself known. It swoops in, perching on the offered limb. It's not a remarkable creature in any way. It has wings, it has eyes, it... presumably breathes. Regardless, it sets its eyes on Phillip from the moment it comes forward. Phillip himself observes the bird with curiosity, even reaching out to it. "Given that you have completed a year of life now, I thought a lifelong friend to keep you company throughout all the other years you're going to see would be a nice gift. She was born last spring, just like you, and she'll stay with you until it's time for you to go. So take good care of each other." The two are left on the ground opposite each other. The crow (apparently that's what the species was called) appears inquisitive. Phillip, on the other hand, crawls back towards him within a minute. "What's their name?" The god asks when Celandine soon shows signs of leaving. A chuckle. "She hasn't told me." It doesn't take too long after his birthday for the baby to learn how to stand with support. In fact, once he manages the feat once, he seems to become obsessed with it. Soft clicking can soon be heard near various pieces of furniture multiple times a day. It would seem the Blood God had just started to get the hang of dealing with a child at one stage of development when Phillip inevitably progressed onto the next. He learns to walk unassisted out on the grass around their house in June. He'd been warned this part of the infant's development would be slower than a human's but given he wasn't aware of how Overworlder children grew, it didn't bother him in the first place. The 1 year old avian struggles to maintain his balance in the beginning but as the weeks and months go on, the clack of talons on wood grows ever more common. Phillip catches him speaking with his ambassadors one day. The conversation isn't anything serious and honestly, should have been had in the Nether. However, wouldn't you know it, raising a kid requires you to be present in case they need you. So they're here, risking their wellbeing just so Phillip can be entertaining himself in the corner of his eye. The toddler specifically notices them bow prior to taking their leave. When the god turns to head back home, he spots a small figure crouch and punch the earth in an imitation of what he witnessed moments before. "Not the time or place." Phillip looks at him expectantly. He repeats the action. "Oh no, I'm not going to lower myself for you. It's called me being at the top of a hierarchy that you're at the bottom of. ...But you probably won't understand that concept for a while." A brief nod of the head is all Phillip receives. He pouts in response, makes a third attempt, but follows him inside all the same when he doesn't get what he wanted. Learning to speak is a slow process for the child, made even slower by the inconsistency of languages spoken at him. The only one who is monolingual is the bird Phillip got for his birthday. As time goes on and the boy starts to get used to forming words, he frequently points to the animal to say things such as "Am" or "Mimi". It's not until November or so that Phillip begins to refer to her as 'Amica'. It takes the god longer than it should have to realise that this is the crow's name and not, as he initially assumed, the Common translation of the Avian word for 'bird'. Amica it is then. The name becomes one of Phillip's favourite Common words to say. Also around this time, the savannah house gets completed, or at least the bare minimum of it is ready. Any extra rooms can be commissioned to be done in upcoming springs and summers if he so desires. The exterior is acacia with a cobblestone frame. It looks nice, as do the rooms inside. The basement that spans the entire area underneath the building will make for good storage space. Like the forest, there are plenty of trees and open spaces for Phillip to play in one day. With some rope and a plank of wood, he could craft a swing once Phillip is able to use one. He comes to realise that this child has no concrete language. Phillip will attempt to copy his grunts and snorts but nothing his vocal chords can produce is quite as deep or guttural as they need to be. The Blood God has been speaking in a mix of Piglin and Common, very occasionally reverting to Ancient Piglin. It depends on his mood but he has been attempting to raise him bilingual with a subconscious bias towards Piglin. Whenever Celandine visits, she will talk to him exclusively in Common for some reason instead of her own natural tongue. As for Amica, they converse only in Avian. However, the reasoning behind that is obvious. One way or another, he can tell Phillip is getting confused with all the words he has to know at only 2 years old. He will speak in Piglin, pause then make some kind of tweety noise while frowning. The funnier moments are when Phillip forgets himself and speaks Avian to him before realising his mistake when the god doesn't understand him. His tiny brain has to fit a great deal of information inside it but they will get there. Defeating a toddler in battle is very easy. His ward lacks co-ordination, focus and sometimes attempts to procure 'weaponry' that is far beyond his weight limit. The Blood God has been whacked with a stick more times than he would like. As annoying as having his legs be attacked with an inefficient blunt object can be, the kid's giggling whenever he reacts to it in any way does make it more tolerable. The wolves enjoy the results of his pitiful attempts at throwing though so all is not lost. However, all this physical play has a habit of messing up Phillip's wings if they're not careful. It had taken practice for the god to care for the wings to a decent standard. Now it was Phillip's turn to start learning, given that he was growing old enough to gain the dexterity for it. The majority of it is still the Blood God's responsibility because gods know that toddler does not pay self-grooming as much attention as he should yet but his involvement increases all the same. And when he molts over the summer, Phillip makes it clear he doesn't want his feathers disposed of. So the god supposes there's going to be a chest full of old feathers in it now. Who knows, it might be interesting for Phillip to peruse through one day. Each early January, the god has been begrudgingly allowing himself to be called away. Ever since Phillip came along, he's been slacking with this specific duty. He'll be presented with a selection of potential warriors for him to act as sponsor for but he never cares much for choosing the one he actually believes in, as he used to do. Being the Blood God's candidate in the fight used to be an advantage but he wouldn't be surprised if it's becoming a hinderance recently. How can you win if your sponsor doesn't help with your preparations throughout the year? The god would say he needed to sit out on being a sponsor if he could. It's simply not possible. It likewise is impossible for him to safely and discreetly keep Phillip in the Nether for weeks. When the actual tournaments come, he now skips them. He can get away with being absent, after all. It's not like he hasn't sat quarter- or semi-finals out before. The final though and the celebrations after? Yeah... not exactly something he can consider missing, especially given it's him who has to have the winner presented to him then host the party. To solve his problem, he speaks to Celandine. She apparently can't care for him in her own home (something about it not being suitable for mortals) but she can arrange for a couple to temporarily babysit Phillip while the finals are being fought. This time, he returns to house with a sleeping child in his hold. The toddler never says a huge amount regarding his time there. However, that's more likely due to his young age than a comment on his experience away from home. When he's three years old, the god decides Phillip is old enough to start working on fighting basics such as footing and learning environmental awareness. It's nothing strenuous or particularly physical but developing the foundation blocks now will serve them both well in the future. Use of any form of proper weaponry can be left for when Phillip is a little older. As the weeks roll by, the boy begins to really take to it. It requires conscious effort for him to maintain a proper stance when moving around but they can work on it. They both have years to get it right and improve efficiency. As a treat to reward him for his efforts so far, the Blood God plans to make a delicacy he's been wanting to introduce Phillip to for a while. He temporarily leaves him under the supervision of the wolves while he sleeps so that certain ingredients could be collected in the Nether. The fungus (both types, he's going all out) is sliced while he creates a broth with an infusion of wither petals. Mushrooms get thrown in too for an Overworld spin on it. An addition of torn petals completes the dish. When he serves it to Phillip, the boy recoils at the taste which causes him to end up eating wet mushrooms and fungus for dinner as a compromise. Not even an hour later, he is pale, less attentive than usual and holding a bowl due to being violently ill. He wants to dismiss it as food poisoning of some sort, maybe he didn't prepare it properly (he knows he didn't mess it up, not with how experienced he is with the dish) or perhaps Phillip is simply suffering from an undiscovered allergy. He reckons the best course of action is to send Amica to Celandine, she'd likely have a better idea than him. And oh, does she. "You gave him soup laced with wither rose petals? Are you trying to kill him?!" "Of course not." He growls back. "It's just that nobody seems to be writing down 'hey don't feed anything wither related to kids'." "Don't feed wither roses to anyone! How have you been around for millennia but still don't know only piglins have a tolerance to wither poison? Gods above, it is the commonest of common knowledge." Regaining his health is an arduous task for the small child. His body fights it as best as it can but its methods risk leading to severe dehydration. It is for this reason the god is eternally grateful their savannah home is close to a body of water. If he's not checking in on Phillip, he's boiling water or preparing safe food so he can urge the kid to eat. The fever keeps Phillip in bed for days. It's slow, it's messy, it's far from a great time for anyone. But they gradually see it through. Phillip just about manages to get to the other side, albeit feeling temporarily weaker. "He's lucky I gave him longevity as part of being one of my Chosen. /You're/ lucky." Celandine comments when the disaster finally begins to see its end. "Trust me, Blood God, one more miscalculation on your part that's in even the vaguest vicinity of this one and I will not hesitate to deliver him to the caregivers he should be with. The only reason I'm allowing this experiment of yours to continue is my own curiosity. However, I value him seeing 30 years more than how he gets to that age. This is your only warning." It is duly noted. The god thinks it wise to let Phillip mingle with other children. Who knows how he'd turn out if all he had for company throughout his formative years was a couple of gods, three immortal wolves and Amica or whatever other bird is willing to listen to his ramblings. The two of them are fairly secluded but there is a human town not too far from where the house is. With repeated visits, Phillip begins to make friends of the human variety. Most of the young children think Phillip is cool for having wings. They are also of the opinion that having a giant pig-looking man as a caregiver is impressive. One day on the walk home, the kid in his arm, Phillip looks up at him and opens his mouth. "What's a daddy? Coz- coz I was playing with a girl. Then the man was shouting. She said it was um... it was her 'daddy'. What's that?" "A father." "What's that?" "A male parent. So if you grew up and met a woman then had a baby together, you would be a father. Humans use dad and daddy colloquially." "What's-" "Slang." "Okay." Phillip ponders a moment. "Are you a daddy?" Nether damn you, kid. The god groans. "Yes... I suppose I am something like that to you." "Did you meet a woman?" "Well, Celandine is female and she let me take you home with me after I met her so... in a way." "Celly is a lady daddy." He nods. "That's typically called a mother." After Phillip questions whether the two deities have had a baby other than himself (no, definitely not together and the Blood God has never personally seen the point in siring any brood himself), he descends into further enquiries. It gets to the point the god makes an offhand comment about how he wasn't expecting to deal with a questionnaire today. Phillip responds by asking what a questionnaire is. With all that their conversation entails, it should honestly be counted as a miracle they never touch on the dreaded topic of conception. He does not, however, escape Phillip's gradual shift to a more informal way of addressing him. At least he's not calling him 'Sir' as if it's his actual given name anymore. Over the last few years of parenting, he has learned the quietest moments are the most suspicious ones. If Phillip is not chattering away to himself as he plays in the main room, he is likely running around outside with the wolves or engaging in conversation with Amica. That is to say, he is making noise one way or another. So when the god comes to the realisation he hears nothing on a day in early summer, it is safe to say he is concerned. He discovers Phillip standing on a low branch of a tree. "What are you trying to achieve with this?" The boy glances up. "Oh hi, Daddy. Celly said I was gonna fly. I gotta be 4 or 5 or 6. I'm 4 now so I'm gonna fly now." "I'm not sure it works like that. It's more to do with how large your wings are. They have to be able to support you in the air." "I'm 4." He holds up the appropriate quantity of fingers as if they will emphasise his point. "Celly said my wings are getting super big." That would not be how he would describe the size of those limited things. "They are growing but really, Phillip, you should be careful. I highly doubt you are ready yet." "Watch this." "Don't." He warns. "Get down from there." Phillip grins as if he's thought of the perfect scheme. "Okay!" He leaps from the branch, wings spread out. A second later, an 'oof' of a body hitting the ground is heard. The drop was too short to particularly do any damage (or, in fact, provide enough time for the wings to accept the wind). However, the young boy breaks into a fit of bawling as if he's hurt himself. He's seen stupider injuries over the centuries so a part of the god does not dismiss the possibility Phillip really has caused himself harm as a result of this stunt. Luckily for both of them, it's simply the typical 'small child acting like the most minor inconvenience is the end of the world'. It becomes a long summer of keeping an eye out for Phillip potentially attempting to repeat his actions. Practice may make perfect but the child will never take the skies if he breaks all his bones first. The kid begrudgingly adheres to the rule that he will not perform any flying-related activities without supervision. He often complains that he can't practise flying if he can't jump from a high enough spot to try. The god has none of it. Instead, he suggests the boy flap his wings to imitate flying while standing firm on ground as a better alternative. Phillip becomes a self-declared 'expert' at this soon enough. "Savannah, savannah, savannah." Phillip chants, hopping with his arms raised in an attempt to grab the god's hand. A bag is abandoned by his feet and he continues to pay it no heed in favour of badgering his father. He doesn't know why the child sees the need to jump for it. His current height now has him being not quite the length of one of his legs. Phillip is capable of taking his hand if he so desires by simply lifting it up all the way. "Yes, we are going to the savannah, hold on a minute." They both know the drill by now. In the final week of October, they travel to the house in the midst of the savannah. They return to their forest home as March sees its close. Each time, Phillip must cover up to obscure himself from view as he is carried through the Nether. The Blood God himself has a cloak of his own to further shield the child. This is arguably the first year Phillip is able to walk beside him since he can now reach the god's hand but for the sake of making things easier for everyone, the boy will be held during the trip. Most piglins have no reason to bother him. Even those tasked with helping him manage things from the ground on his behalf seem to have developed an unspoken rule to let him pass undisturbed if the path he takes leads him away from his manor. The moment Phillip is allowed on his feet upon their arrival this year, he sprints to the door. During one afternoon in February, he notices Phillip busy with the swing outside. He doesn't entirely understand the entertainment value in winding it up then spinning but if it amuses the kid then whatever. Amica seems to be keeping him company so that served the god well. He thinks this would be a good time to start carving this acacia wood he has lying around into a blade and handle. Because what 5 year old boy wouldn't want a sword for his birthday? And what god of war and blood wouldn't eagerly anticipate the day he can begin training his protégé properly?
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So um. I saw the dialing thing and the line ânever speak of this againâ with Scar and Mumbo or smth? I dunno I just really liked their dynamic together in their recent eps and Iâm super interested in what youâd do with this :D
i couldn't resist the urge to write some fluff with these idiots. based in a future where mumbo's base is fully operational, here's ~1.7k words of mumbo & scar desperately trying to share their single braincell. i hope you enjoy !!
Of all the stupid things Mumbo has done this season, he did not expect getting trapped in his own base to join that list. But, here he is, in his pitch black storage room, in a smaller yet cobblestone and dirt shelter. Trapped for the foreseeable future as he frantically scrolls through his communicator to see if any other hermits are online. It's embarrassing. Absolutely and utterly embarrassing. And the worst thing is, he should have been able to see it coming!
There are reasons he's part of the one braincell squad. Several, in fact, but this moment has to be up there in his top ten.
On the other side of the wall, a zombie groans too close for comfort. He's sitting on grassy ground in a one block space, with only the light of his communicator for comfort. His stuff is going to de-spawn at this rate. This is terrible. Why is nobody else online? Usually there's at least a few others around at this time of day!
<GoodTimeWithScar joined the game>
Ah. Mumbo's not sure if he should be relieved or kiss his items goodbye. Maybe both. He sighs, fingers already moving to send a message.
<MumboJumbo> scar
<GoodTimeWithScar> Mumbo! Good morning!
<MumboJumbo> i need your help
<GoodTimeWithScar> Oh?
<MumboJumbo> could you come to my base? with a golden apple please?
<MumboJumbo> i promise i will pay you back but im in a bit of a pickle
<GoodTimeWithScar> The great Mumbo needs my help?
<GoodTimeWithScar> What do you even need a golden apple for? Just a normal one, right?
<MumboJumbo> second question, yes
<MumboJumbo> first question, my base died with me trapped in my storage room and it needs feeding to revive it
<GoodTimeWithScar> You know maybe I shouldn't have asked.
<GoodTimeWithScar> I'm on my way. Call?
<MumboJumbo> thatll work.
Mumbo leans his head against cobble, navigating through Scar's contact until he's able to find the call icon. He takes a deep breath, thankful for the good connection across the server. What would he do if he couldn't contact anybody down here? Cry, probably. Die a lot. His communicator dials, then rings for two seconds. Two seconds too long, if you ask him.
"Mumbo!" Scar's voice is accompanied by the explosion of a rocket, wind crackling through the call. Mumbo sighs in relief.
"Scar you are a... sound for sore ears?" Scar laughs, and Mumbo can't help a small giggle in response. He moves to his headphones, hoping to block out the mobs filling his storage room. Why did he think this was a good idea for a base?
"Okay, Mumbo, you're going to have to guide me through what I need to do here." It's strange to hear Scar so straight forward, honestly. His voice still holds that light-hearted note in it, it'll be dark day when Scar loses that.
"Right, okay." Mumbo takes a deep breath, picturing his base in his mind. What's the most Scar-proof way he can explain this? Oh, if Scar dies as well- "So, on the outside of my base, there should be these big towers of redstone lamps, right? They'll all be off right now. But, near the bottom, there should be a chest. You put the golden apple in there."
"Ah, in the like. Big blocks of four?" Mumbo claps, before wincing at how loud that probably was over the microphone.
"Yes! That! Can you see a chest at the bottom?" Mumbo listens closely to the burst of a rocket, the sound of feet stumbling on the ground. He holds his breath, waiting for the confirmation that this situation might finally be over.
"I see it!" His body sags with the release of air. "Okay, uh, I've put the apple in." Mumbo listens closely, taking out a headphone. Distantly, underneath all the mobs, he hears pistons, a familiar heartbeat starting up. If he sinks down any further he's going to become a puddle. "The lights are coming on!"
"Okay-" Mumbo's hands wave in front of him as he speaks "-Go to the centre of my base, there should be nether portals and a massive hole leading downwards." The sounds of movement, footsteps echoing on the walls.
"What the heck, Mumbo, how many mobs do you have down there?" Mumbo sighs, closing his eyes. They're so close.
"Are all of the lights on?" He checks.
"Well, it's lit up. I can see your chests, and I think that's your stuff? Jeez, if I knew I was going to need to fight I would've been more prepared."
"How bad is it?" The high hum from Scar is a pretty good answer.
"Could be better." He hears a block move, followed by Scar telling him, "Alright, I've set my spawn. I'm gonna try to snipe them." Mumbo leans forward, awkwardly manoeuvring so he can break a dirt block against the ground. Light floods into the one block space. He can see the feet of mobs wandering between tall grass. In the distance, there's a clang of an arrow finding a skeleton. He breathes out, wincing at the ache as he pushes up from that position. He's too tall for this.
He thinks he remembers where his stuff was. If the coast is clear, he might be able to run for it and duck back in here. Get his sword equipped, elytra on, and things will be fine! He could salvage some of his dignity. Hopefully. Probably not.
"Scar?" He asks, "Could you tell me if the coast is clear so I can grab my stuff?" It takes a second to get a reply, marked by the ding of a successful hit.
"I can do that." Scar sounds distracted, focused. "Wait- oh, nononono-" Mumbo's communicator dings. He doesn't need to look to know what message will greet him.
<GoodTimeWithScar fell to his death trying to escape a skeleton>
"So, uh, Mumbo. We might have a bit of a situation." Mumbo buries his face into his hands. He twists his body down again to get an idea of how many mobs are left. Counting the number of feet and shadows he can see, it's not looking good.
"Yeah, we certainly might." His voice is high, stressed laughter escaping him with his face pressed into the dirt. "What do we do now!" Scar's bubbling giggles are accompanied by the scramble of feet across stone.
"Um, die a bunch?" Scar suggests. Mumbo's arms give up and he falls into a heap. His shoulders shake with his own giggles, the two in harmony over the call.
"Maybe it's a good thing nobody else is on."
Scar has to wait for his laughter to die down to speak, "I bet I'll die less than you." Mumbo smirks.
"You're on."
-
About half an hour later, Mumbo is sorting his stuff whilst Scar scrolls through their death messages. He's bruised all over, has collected a few scratches from loose arrows, but it looks like all of his items are here. This has gone better than he expected. He still wants to crawl into bed and never get out again.
"You know, I'm pretty sure I've won," Scar announces, looking up from his communicator with a pleased grin. Mumbo makes a noise, pulling up his own screen.
"Absolutely not. There's no way, you died so many times!"
"Yeah, but I died eight times. You died ten." Honestly, he's probably right. Mumbo lost track after death three. Everything blurred into a mess of sprinting off the bed to get his items, picking up half of them, maybe getting a swing or two, dying. And then repeat that apparently ten times.
He sighs as he finishes counting up the deaths. Scar did indeed win. He puts the last of his items in the right slots, leaving the rest to the sorting system. Finding his bed, he flops onto it. Scar is sitting on the stone centre beaming at him. The cut on his forehead is barely healing up, a bruise on his cheek.
"No, no. I want to know exactly how you ended up in this position." He's leaning forward, smug curiousity on every inch of his expression. Mumbo shuts his eyes, whining at him.
Mumbo lifts his hand, gesturing towards his chests, "I should have potions in here somewhere, if you want one." Scar giggles, shaking his head.
"Do you have to?"
"I want to know why I died eight times, Mumbo!"
"You're going to laugh."
"That's the plan." Mumbo shakes his head, rolling around so he can sit on the bed. Scar is waiting patiently, even crossing his legs like he's expecting a bedtime story.
"I made my base alive?" Mumbo explains, not sure why he's questioning himself. He did the redstone and everything. "And, as it gets unhappier, more things close off."
"Including your storage room?" Scar asks, clear amusement in his voice. Mumbo finally breaks into a giggle, falling onto his knees.
"I thought it was a good idea at the time!" He exclaims. "It stops sorting items, the lights go out, and then it locks itself down!"
"With you in it."
"I forgot Xisuma was working in the area!" His groan gets mixed with a laugh. "Oh, I am such an idiot."
"How about we agree to never speak of this again?" Scar suggests. Mumbo's halfway through nodding when Scar adds, "For a few diamonds?" Mumbo bursts into surprised laughter, quickly dissolving into giggles.
"You know what, you deserve them after this." Scar laughs.
"Maybe I'll have to die for people more often," he teases, watching Mumbo as he heads to his diamond chest.
"I wouldn't advise it personally." Mumbo looks over his shoulder at him. "That's how Grian gets you."
"Mm, very true." Scar takes in the storage room again, pocketing the diamonds Mumbo offers him. "Do you think you could show me some of the redstone behind this place? I am absolutely fascinated by how you managed to make such a counterproductive system."
"Well, you know I'll never miss an opportunity to show off my redstone." Scar takes the hand Mumbo offers him, smiling.
-
It's an hour or so later. Mumbo is showing off how he sends the signal between floors when their communicators beep.
<xisumavoid> should I be concerned about the number of deaths in the log?
They share a look and laugh.
#hermitcraft#mumbojumbo#mumbo jumbo#goodtimeswithscar#my writing#ask#anonymous#i hope you enjoyed anon !!!!#my requests do remain open#this was a lot of fun to write. v silly.
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FANFIC: BĂčkÄsÄ«yĂŹ - Part 14
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Summary: In which the Musician's Village is evacuated.
A/N: (Or, in which the author keeps mixing up what a pavilion and pagoda is.)
So, it's been a while! Several years, in fact. Remember when I said that I was never liked writing fight scenes-- the time between the last chapter and this one is a testament to that. Ideally, I do plan to finish this fic, but it will be slow going. At worst, I may have to summarize the ending here and at the archive blog, but I'm not considering that yet since I do have a lot of the scenes done, just not in order or with proper transitional parts inbetween.
Fun fact: The second sequence of this fic was originally written in Shen's POV. Or, in the third-person limited in favor of Shen. You know what I mean. Also, don't think too hard about how a hood would work on Shen.
Shen ran through a winding alley in the hopes of losing the wolves at his tail.
The evacuation called by the little master was a double-edged sword. Shen took advantage of the confusion and blended right in, but the crowds slowed him down and they took almost anything remotely useful.
At the end of the alleyway was a storage building where they kept old bells, and was subsequently a dead end. What remained of Shen's crest flattened against his head as he tried to catch his breath.
Not that the wolves were giving him much breathing room. He grimaced as he heard the scraping of claws against stone approach. Just his luck.
Even without any weapons, the wolves still outnumbered him ten to one. He turned around slowly as he clutched at the satchelâs strap, his eyes narrowed to slits. The wolves all took a collective step closer. Shenâs hand hovered over the satchel.
He brought his hand just a bit closer to the satchel. The wolves held firm, but all eyes were on him.
Shen looked to one in particular-- one whose snarl was considerably less measured, and whose eyes held unbridled fear and rage, a stark contrast to every other wolvesâ grim acceptance that glazed over those emotions. The armor may be weathered, but it was clear that the wearer was a novice.
He brought his other hand up, as if getting ready to strike with a throwing knife, and the brash wolf took the bait. They rushed forward, leaving the others shocked for a moment and yipping at them to come back into their ranks.
Shen stepped off to the side before grabbing the wolf with his talons and spun around. The wolves stepped back in alarm, but that wasnât going to help as he threw the fledgling soldier to the wolves flanking at his left. They collided with another, and with the added momentum, both of them were sent flying back several paces away from the tightly knit wall of wolves.
The soldiers stepped back in alarm. In the time it took one of them to blink, Shen drew his knives in earnest. Without missing a beat, he threw it at one of the wolves flanking him to the right. He fell down, clutching at his face. With him incapacitated, Shen jumped on top of his head and leapt up, throwing the rest at three other wolves. Each landed with a satisfying thunk-thunk-thunk .
Six down, four to go.
At his descent, he brought himself into a spinning kick, feeling the weight of two wolves getting a spur to the face. Both staggered back, giving him the opportunity to pluck his knives from the others and throw them towards one more.
Shen stared at the downed wolves, mindful to make sure that they were unmoving. All nine wolves had been dispatched--
Wait. Where was the tenth one?
The final wolf had managed to scurry away from the fray, making his way out of the bell storage area.
âŠOr at least, tried to, as a rust-colored blur had come out of nowhere and punched him in the face so hard, he blacked out. With a swift motion, he had thrown him back towards one of the old carts that was scattered around.
Plucking a knife from one of the wolves, Shen sprinted forward to meet the unknown assailant. He was met with a jab to the wrist, causing him to drop it. A quick roll, and he caught the knife in his talons and brandished it close to--
The little master.
The otherâs gaze flitted between him and the rest of the wolves. His ears flattened back slightly as he finally processed the scene. It was most likely a grisly scene in comparison to the clean-cut matches he must be used to up in his little paradisal home.
Shen lowered his weapon, but made no move to turn away as he collected his throwing knives.
The master was the first to break the silence. âWhere did you learn to fight like that? Who are you?â
It wasnât the reaction he was expecting, to say the least. With everything pocketed away, Shen turned away. âNo one of significant importance,â he muttered before pulling his hood down further.
âWell, whoever you are, I⊠take it youâre also here to protect the village?â When no answer came, he added, âI figure, that youâd need all the help you can get withââ
âAbsolutely not.â Shen skulked past him. âYou masters make the lack of self-preservation an art form.â
That got a rise out of the little master. He dashed in front him, standing between him and the only exit as if he wasnât half Shenâs size and barely any wider. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â he shot back with an accusatory tone.
âI feel as if it's self explanatory, but if you really need me to explain it in piecemeal--â His arm reared back to throw the knife in his hand. âIt means I donât have time for this. Now get out of the way.â
The red panda stood his ground, with feet firmly planted and arms ready to strike. Neither of them made a move as they waited for the other to make the first move; Shen knew his skillset from his little performance at the Dragon Boat Festival, and the master knew how dangerous he was from the unmoving wolves surrounding them.Â
As it stood, both were evenly matched.
The red panda steeled himself. âIf we combine forces, weâd surely figure out a plan to drive out the armyââ
âI already have a plan, thank you very much,â Shen rebuffed.
âThen at least help me with that!â
As Shen weighed his options, his grimace grew deeper as he eyed the red panda. There was an insistence that didnât sit well with him. But on the other hand, the bird had stayed here too long for his liking.
âDispose of them.â he conceded, throwing one hand dismissively.
âWhat?â
âThe wolves. Make sure theyâre out of my way. Iâll do the rest and drive them off,â Shen explained, pocketing away the knife. âIs that agreeable to your terms?â
The master thought for a moment, but not for long as he went offâ perhaps a little too zealous of the task ahead. He went off to drag one of the wolves into the storage area. The bell storage area was landlocked away from any cliff edge, and the only notable place for it to hide was the bell storage building itself. It would be a tight squeeze, seeing as how the bells were still there, but it would be doable.
It was like the master wanted to prove himself, but to whom, he wasnât sure.
Shenâs eyes darted around for a moment before it landed on a tarp on the roof-- a temporary fix, but had been left unmaintained. The fabric fluttered in the wind, the one nail hanging onto it for dear life.
A storm is brewing, and that will not do for his plan.
Before the master could ask any follow-up questions, he sprinted out and towards the middlemost point of the village, keeping close to the houses the wolves had ransacked. Theyâve all but brought them down, and unless the Musicianâs Village lined their buildings with anything of value, he doubted theyâd come back.
Whether the little master finishes or not, the wolves will catch his scent instead and give chase. Thatâll keep them distracted for long enough to not notice anything more⊠dangerous .
He brought the satchel close, feeling inside for its contents. Even in the limited light, he could see the adhesive on the seams where it was taken apart and put back together. All these years of botched experiments and the scent of death lingering on him needed to be worth it. It will be worth it, he reassured himself.
And a traitorous part of him thought of what he left behind, but he stamped it down.
At an old shrine at the south edge of the village, the suzerain and his wife had set up a temporary base of operations. Or rather, had their gorillas set it up-- they wouldnât debase themselves with such menial labour.
True to its name, the Musicianâs Village harbored many instruments of shapes and sizes⊠and not much else. Considering their location, the village was more of a trade post than a true settlement; necessities had to be imported in from surrounding villages in exchange for instruments-- or perhaps, a performance.
The Lady of Gongmen observed the sorting wolves with a look one would have for the soil that fresh blooms would sprout out of.
Unsightly, but necessary.
Lord Xiang pursed his beak. âWhat do you think, my dearest Min?â
Min Xiang leaned forward, crossing her arms and setting them onto a ledge. âPerhaps this dreary place can be remade as a supply area, or an outpost.â
Which was her way of saying that it was a waste.
âA shame,â he mumbled before adding, âSome of the metal from these instruments could be of some use--â
âDonât bother.â Min cut in, her voice still in that sweet cadence. âWe do not have the time or resources to reforge them for combat purposes.â
A pause. âOf course. Forgive me, darling.â
The Lady cupped his face, turning it gently to face her. âThere is nothing to forgive, Wei,â she replied. âLeave that sort of minutia to me, will you?â
And that was when an appalling noise cut through the air. They looked out, their eyes immediately darted towards the tall stack of smoke that had suddenly formed at the west end of the village.
Wolves began to scramble in panic, creating more of that unsightly noises.
âYou there--â Wei Xiang singled out the calmest-looking wolf of the group. â-- Report!â
Others in its pack backed off, fearful of being called next. The wolfâs eyes went wide. It licked its lips with a cracked tongue. âThere have been... s-- sightings of a villager around here. Maybe two.â
âMaybe?â the Lordâs brow rose up.
âI mean, definitely one, of course! But they move fast.â
He narrowed his eyes. âAnd why have you not caught them yet?â
âThere was a platoon hot on their heels, butâŠâ the soldier trailed off. âWeâve lost contact with them. We donât know where they are, so we needed to make new search parties for them to make sure theyâre safe from the sudden fire--â
âCall the search party off.â
More plumes rose up. In the downwind mountain breeze, it masked the noise of crackling flames, and of ashes. Not completely, but in its early stages it was easily masked by the rabblerouse of the wolves.
âB-- beg pardon?â the wolf stuttered, turning toward the peahen.
âYou must understand,â the Lady extended her arms in a deliberate fashion. âWeâve only so many resources. If this disturbance isnât dealt with efficiently, then we will lose more than a platoonâs worth of soldiers.â
The wolves looked among themselves, silent.
âO-- of course, milady,â it said, ears slanted back. âWe will⊠notify them.â
âAnd seeing as the lot of you have been having so much trouble--â
She clapped her hands, and the gorillas snapped up to attention. The Lady made a grand show of approaching them, eyeing each of them with a look that bordered between introspective and condescension.
âYouââ she stopped at the third one in line. ââEliminate any foreigners you see, if you please.â
There was a moment of silence. The gorillas looked amongst each otherâ had they not understood the direct order?â before the one that had been singled out squared its shoulders and lumbered towards the direction of the flames. The wolves in the way parted, before trailing behind.
Howls cut through the air, followed by affirmative responses. The Lord grimaced at the sight before retreating into the temple with his wife. If nothing can be salvaged, then they would need to ration everything much more stringently.
Shifu scampered from alley to alley-- one would think that, in place crawling with wolves, it would be easy to find that⊠that bird! The cloak he had been wearing didnât give him a lot to work off of in terms of identification. He wasnât sure whether he should reprimand the mystery figure for the lack of specifics, but the master had more pressing matters to deal with.
The both of them needed to get out of here, and quick-- whatever was happening, he didnât want to stick around and get his fur singed off by the army.
As he approached a path intersected four ways, two groups of wolves had come out of nowhere and blocked off the path ahead and the right. Shifu skidded as he was forced to take a sharp left turn. He sprinted past the bridgeâs threshold and into the other side.
He stopped to collect his breath. From the looks of things, this was a recreational area. Trees were scattered across the area, with tables adjacent or right under them. There were several pavilions set up along the edge of the cliff face with finely decorated roofs and larger instruments hastily left behind under it. Considering how picturesque it was, it was clearly meant to be a tourist spot.
A sudden crash caught his attention. Shifu turned around⊠only to see the bridge he had just ran on had been destroyed, the edges of the rock it had been supported on suspiciously broken off. The wolves that had been pursuing him had all stopped and dispersed back into the village.
There was something else, now. An oncoming rumble that didnât match up with the fast gait of the soldiers⊠that suddenly disappeared.
A large shadow appeared over Shifu. He rolled out of the way, but was immediately pushed back to a wall by the shockwave. The master let out a gasp of air as he collapsed to the ground, choking on the dust and smoke. His eyes strained to see through the cloud of debris.
A crater formed from where he had stood a few moments ago, its cracks ebbing outward like a malicious spiderweb. At its center was a mass of dark fur and muscles, his fists at the site of deep impact.
The hulking figure reared back and began to beat at his chest, its thud-thud-thud echoing in the masterâs ears.
âMake this easy for both of us and hold still, you little pest.â
Shifu leapt up just before the gorilla could get another hit in. The gorillaâs fist, instead of landing on him, had soared right through the pillar behind him. As the hulking figure brought back his fist, the master could see the gigantic cavity left behind before it crumbled, sending the small pagoda tumbling down with a deep crunch.
Without missing a beat, the master slammed a foot right into the gorillaâs face. The goliath reeled back, swiping at his face and clawing the little master off and tossed to the side.Â
Shifu let out a cry of pain before landing unceremoniously to the ground. Before the soldier got his hands on him, he darted up the trees to get away. Shifuâs lungs rattled inside his ribcage, which had the unfortunate side effect of causing the muscles above it to seize up.Â
The tree shuddered and began to lean forward at a strange angle. Shifu was abruptly jostled out as it plummeted down. The gorilla, none the wiser that he was out of its branches, brandished the tree as if it were a gnarled club and swung down.Â
Overpowering the soldier wasnât an option-- he made that clear. But, every opponent had a weakness.
His gaze lowered to the cracks on the ground. An idea formed.Â
Shifu took a pair of dented cymbals and kicked them towards the back of the gorillaâs head. âHeyâŠâ He paused for a moment before settling unsatisfyingly on, â... you!â
He scrambled off and skidded under a table in a deliberate fashion, as if he were attempting to hide but conveniently within the sights of the gorilla soldier. And he took the baitâ as he focused on pummeling the table, Shifu bounded under another one to the left, only to repeat the same process. Duck, strike-dodge, duck dodge-strike--
The ground under them was starting to crumble under the weight. Shifu ran into the open and stood before him⊠and right under a deep crack.
âWhatâs wrong?â he taunted. âBig guy like you-- canât get rid of a little pest?â
The gorilla threw down the tree once more, and straight into the fault line. With a deafening crack, the ground finally gave way. One by one, chunks of cliff began to fall down, with them in tow.
Shifu staggered back as the cliff underneath them collapsed. His stomach lurched in a familiar way as he began to freefall.
The gorilla began to flail wildly, caught between his orders to defeat him and surviving. The former, unfortunately, was slowly winning out.
Shifu splayed his limbs for a moment, the air resistance offering him a small bout of altitude. The gorilla attempted to throw a punch, but he retaliated with slamming both his fists down to divert it. The force sent the gorilla somersaulting in his descent. Now that the red panda was above him, he immediately straightened out. Gravity sent him crashing down on the gorillaâs back, speeding up their descent.
The master crouched down and sprang off to a falling pagoda roof, the force sending the gorilla hurtling back with a scream. He leapt from the pavilion's roof, to cliff chunk, to tree before finally, finally--
Shifuâs fingers grazed the cliff that edged the village. He clung onto any small ledges his hands could find purchase in. It was quiet, save for the heartbeat roaring in his ears.
He hazarded to look down. Even through the clouds, he could see the gorillaâs large form on a lower shelf of the newly-carved cliff face. Further down and off to the side he saw the winding trail down to the base of the mountain. It was difficult to see, but the path seemed intact-- or at least far enough away that it didnât get the full force of the rock slide.
Shifu picked himself up and turned to face the remains of the pavilion area. It was worse for wear, with cracks all over the ground and all the niceties toppled over, but at least there were still some standing on the far edge. He stumbled as the shock and fatigue had snuck up on him before shaking his head-- This wasnât the time for this. Â
He still needed to find the bird and get out of here. Whatever plan he had, clearly hadnât worked. One half was still crawling with Gongmenâs army, and the rest was on fire.
Shifu took to the northern end of the village, avoiding the path the flames were taking. Many of the major paths were cut off, but there were still some smaller alleys and paths he could take advantage of. He was so overtaken by the sound of wood crackling and crashing down, that a faint whistling noise had gone unnoticed⊠until it wasnât.
A sudden flash of heat came rushing from behind him. Wolves began to howl as the immediate area was lit up in an intense blaze. Shifu rushed away from the oncoming pyre, and straight into another clearing. Rising up from the center was the pagoda.
Shifu stared up with wide eyes. This was all supposed to be a simple mission-- how did it escalate to this? What would the masters do in this situation? Should he cut his losses and meet up with the final group? But he couldnât stand idly by while the Musicianâs Village was destroyed, could he? At the very least, he should do damage control so the destruction wouldnât affect the refugees, or the village below.
And where was the bird from the bell compound? He said he was going to stop the wolves from coming up north, so where was he?
A wispy trail of smoke connected the recent fire to the highest point of the building. Shifuâs stomach clenched as he put the pieces together.
Oh. Oh no.
He ascended the pagoda. Every once in a while, he looked over his shoulders suspiciously; every long shadow was connected to a wolf soldier, each distant impact was a gorilla seeking revenge. He looked out the balcony and saw a wall of smoke in the distance. If he listened carefully, he could hear the fires roar in the distance.
As he went up the final flight of stairs, he stopped and laid down-- just enough for him to peek over the last few steps. Behind a pillar on the far end of the balcony was the assailant. Beside them, there was a neat row of what seemed to be firecrackers.
The red pandaâs ears flicked forward at a sharp noise, followed by a hiss.
The fuses.
The master snuck from pillar to pillar before tackling the assailant from the side. Before they could react, he pinned down their arms.
"Will you-- ugh!-- Get off!" the assailantâs head whipped to the side, their hood laid askew on their head.
Shifu searched the other's face before it shifted to familiarity and veered straight into fury. âIt really is you.â
He never got a good look at the bird in the bell compound, but those red eyes were unmistakable. Said eyes gave him a deathly glare as the bird began to thrash wildly.
âWho are you?â Shifu demanded. âWhy are you destroying the village?â
The bird knitted his brows in indignation. âIs that what you think Iâm doing?â
âAnswer the question-- augh!â
The birdâs head rushed forward to meet his, his beak too close for comfort to his eye. Shifu staggered back, but the beak managed to graze him across the nose and down his left cheek. With the master distracted, the bird threw him off to the side and ran to the balcony.
âOh no, you donât!â
The both of them slid across the marble floor of the balcony.
âDo you have a death wish?!â the bird yelled. âLook at what youâve done!â
âStop you?â
In lieu of an answer, a firecracker zipped past his face before colliding into the far wall.
Shifu looked to the balcony. The firecrackers were now strewn in wildly different directions. Many of them were jostled from the mechanism that kept them angled properly.Â
And each of their fuses were dangerously short.
Another firecracker sped forward and straight into the balconyâs support. It began to collapse on one side. Another crashed into the doorway leading out to it. One had even flown straight up and detonated far up the sky.Â
The master leapt out of the way of falling rubble and into the unstable balcony. The bird had already jumped and was in mid-glide.Â
Not for long, if the flaming rubble coming at him had a say about it.
âWatch out!â
The master took another leap, straight off the balcony, tackling the bird as they fell.
Shen stared up at the pagoda. The floor they had been on was engulfed in flames. Ashes and debris began to drift in the wind. Indignation gave way to fury and settled much too comfortably in his gizzard.
âYou ruined everything!â
âMe?â The little master dusted himself off. âIâm not the one who went off and destroyed the village!â
âOh donât act like youâre any better.â Shen stood up, his frame heaving in laboured breaths. âI had an excellent view of what you did to the pavilion area-- at least my fires were strategically placed.â
âI almost got killed by a gorilla because of you!â
The bird stood himself up, fury mounting. âThat had nothing to do with me, master,â the bird derided, spitting the title like a curse. âYou were just reckless!â
The red panda opened his mouth, but before he could make a sound, another voice rang from outside their periphery.
â Are we interrupting anything important, gentlemen?â
Shen was frozen in place. The little master looked to the new pair that had appeared suddenly and bared his teeth.
Two figures stood in front of a pyre. Their feathers were finely preened, their hanfu pristine with not a speck of ash. The pair looked like they had no business stepping foot into a fight, but the serrated halberd and knives held by them said otherwise.
There was no mistake. This was the Lord and Lady of Gongmen.
The Lady stepped forward. Shen took a step back. Shifu jolted into a defensive posture.
âOh, how you wound me, son.â She looked concerned, but it never reached her eyes. âIs this your handiwork? How adequate.â
The master looked to the Lady, then to the Lord, who was bridging the gap between him and his wife. Realization crossed his face.Â
Shen elected to ignore it, and instead put all his attention solely on the blade he was holding in a deathgrip.
The peahen eyed Shen. âYou look absolutely ghastly! How could you mutilate your feathers in such a way?â
What was left of Shenâs crest flared up.
âDid your little--â And she quirked her beak upwards in thinly-veiled disgust at the next word, â-- friend put you up to it? Where is she? Did she abandon you or did you just get tired of her?â
His mind thought up a multitude of methods to throw his final knife for that alone, but all he could do was clutch it as if it was the only thing holding him up.
âHave you nothing to say?â The Lord raised a brow, almost amused. âWhere is that bravado from before?â
Father stepped forward, and Shen threw it forward without thinking. The knife missed both of them and embedded itself into one of the wooden foundations.
âHow disappointing--â
A large piece of rubble hurtled uncomfortably close to the suzerain and his wife. He quickly stepped back. Shen, in turn, snapped back to a more lucid state and looked to the source. The little masterâs shoulders heaved as he took in ragged breaths.Â
âGet away from him.â He turned to Shen. âGet out of here!â
Shen only stared at him in disbelief. His legs refused to obey him, not that they were sure of where to go in the first place.
The red panda let out a frustrated noise and pummeled a huge chunk of what once was the wall. Shenâs coughs wracked his frame in the haze of debris, barely noticing the master grabbing his wrist. The bird lumbered behind him, his steps awkward as he stumbled through the beige haze.
The same paths that he had darted around, avoiding the wolves, felt labyrinthine to the bird. It also didnât help that the walls could be easily destroyed by a gorilla, or some overzealous wolves in their pursuit.
âThe pack will pick up our scent,â Shen managed, trying to pull away from the master and failing. In the distance, he could hear faint howls-- to confirm their numbers, to regroup, and potentially, to retaliate.
âWell, that wonât matter soon.â The little master stopped abruptly, and Shen could see clearly now. The both of them stood at the edge of a cliff.Â
Shen staggered back, shutting his eyes.
âCome on, we need to get out of here-- are you not a bird?â The little master shook him. âYou can fly both of us out here easily.â
âPe-- My kind are known for falling slowly at best.â
The little masterâs ears twitched at the distant din of wolves. âThatâll do! Donât worry Iâllcoveryouââ he managed to rush out.
The red panda put his hand on his back, and before Shen could voice a rebuttal, he was immediately pushed out and was falling.
It took a moment for him to adjust himself to a gliding position, wings out and the long sleeves of his robes billowing. The wind was working in his favor as it pushed him further than expected, but that conflicted with the satchelâs weight and strap constricting him and the shifting weight of the little master hanging onto his ankles for dear life.
Though, true to his word, the slings of those arrows never reached him. He could hear the sounds of bows being drawn, the sound of wood splintering behind him in time with the masterâs strikes.
Shen tucked his wings in, making his way into a quicker descent. In his periphery he could see the arrows bank wide above him. Best case scenario, he wouldnât die immediately on impact. Mist began to peel away to reveal forest treetops. As he came closer, he could see the shadows cast on the ground below through the leaves--
Once they were close to the ground, the little master let go and somersaulted to the ground. With the sudden shift in weight, Shen had little time to readjust and collided into a hefty branch. His vision swam at the sudden impact. With what little strength he had left, he landed onto solid ground.
âYou idiot,â Shen muttered, looking up to the burning village. The storm clouds had congealed enough for it to send its cargo in hesitant drips first before increasing to an all out deluge. His flames fought valiantly against the rain, but it was clearly a losing battle as fire gave way to smoke.
He was just⊠tired. He slumped back onto the tree they were taking shelter under. The little master approached him, an unreadable expression on his face. Even if Shen hadnât been fatigued, he didnât doubt the otherâs ability to catch him if he tried to escape.
Not that he wanted to. Everything blew up in his faceâ literally. The only relief he has left is if Mei went on without him; she certainly had the skills to do so.
âAlright, youâre going to explain what in the name of the Jade Emperor is going on back there.â
Shen blinked, glaring at the little master before giving a brittle chuckle. There was no point to this whole masquerade anymore, was there.
#mellsian fanfics#i nearly forgot to mirror this on here FGHDFH]#kfp#kfp generationswap au#kung fu panda
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