#just collects them in his like three-four storage areas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

set-phasers-to-whump · 2 years ago

Text

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. He’s 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.

Car chases and bullets and dirty, bloody fighting are not his area of expertise. This is where his agents come in.

Or, at least, this is where his agents usually come in. Today, he himself has been pulled into the messy sphere of field work.

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.

But international troubles don’t stop just because two thirds of one’s international espionage team are unavailable. They’d 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.

Alexander’s 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.

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.

He’d given Kuryakin fifteen minutes. Kuryakin had said, “I will only need five.”

Five minutes had come and gone. Alexander had glanced between the building and their car, just visible around a nearby corner. He hadn’t 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.

And then there had been a gunshot. And then another one.

Alexander stands on the desolate sidewalk and pushes a button on his two-way radio.

“Agent Kuryakin, report.”

Nothing.

He takes an abortive step towards the building, lightly touching his gun through his jacket. He’s never used a gun outside of shooting ranges and emergency trainings. Absurdly, he wonders whether he will remember how to fire it.

It turns out that he doesn’t 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. There’s a slight grimace on his face.

Alexander stares at him for a second. “What -” he asks, but then cannot decide what to ask first.

“I have the poison,” Kuryakin says.

“Well, that’s very wonderful,” Alexander replies. “But have you perhaps been injured?”

Kuryakin raises a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. “Is not too bad. Will only need a few stitches.”

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.

“Come on,” he says. “We need to leave.”

Sure enough, Alexander hears sirens in the distance. He’d 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.

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.

He doesn’t. In fact, he seems largely…fine. He’s silent - which is normal - and he’s leaning his head against the window but his eyes are open. His arm is still wrapped around his torso.

He’s been shot, Alexander thinks. Shot. Maybe they were waiting for him inside. Maybe they’d gotten in through some hidden entrance that UNCLE hadn’t known about. Maybe…

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.

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.

He had not been the only person to think this. They’d only been able to book a single room on short notice. Admittedly, it’s rather large, considering the hotel’s quality. Two queen-sized beds and a sofa and a bathroom that is rather more spacious than it needs to be.

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 agent’s step and the unnatural pallor to his cheeks, though, it must be quite a bit.

He’s worried. He isn’t used to seeing this side of things. It’s one thing to read about them in reports - he doesn’t want to recall how many times he’s read some variation of ‘performed minor field surgery on Agent Kuryakin’ - but it’s quite another to experience them firsthand. He knows, logically, that Kuryakin can handle himself. Still…

There’s a loud clattering sound from the bathroom. Alexander moves across the room and cautiously pushes open the unlocked door.

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 Kuryakin’s hand being pressed into the wound.

Kuryakin looks up at the mirror and sees him. He turns around very slowly, leaning on the counter for balance. He doesn’t say anything.

Alexander is at a loss. He hadn’t been prepared for this. Doesn’t know what to do - what Kuryakin wants him to do.

And then Kuryakin’s legs buckle underneath him, and it’s 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.

“I need…” Kuryakin starts, and his voice is thick and dizzy. “To sit.”

Alexander can help with this, at least. Keeping a hand on Kuryakin’s arm in case he loses his balance, he helps guide his agent to sit down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet.

“What now?” he asks, feeling not entirely in charge of the situation.

“Supplies.”

“What supplies?”

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.

“Needle. Thread. Alcohol. Cotton ball. The…” he shakes his head slowly. “Пинцет.”

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.

When he returns to the agent, he finds him in the midst of removing his shirt, and sees the wound for the first time.

It’s in his right side. The skin around it is smeared with bright red blood and the bullet hole itself is dark and small.

Kuryakin looks down at it. “Not so bad,” he reports.

Alexander finds this difficult to believe. “You’ve been shot,” he points out, setting the supplies down on the counter beside Kuryakin.

“Not the first time.”

He does have a point there.

“Be that as it may…. Do you need anything else?”

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 so…vulnerable is perhaps not the correct word, but there’s an element of it there. Anxiety, too. Shame.

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 he’d 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.

Kuryakin hasn’t 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.

He then reaches for the tweezers. It’s a horrible angle, Alexander realizes immediately. Tight and uncomfortable to work with.

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.

Alexander doesn’t quite know what makes him do it. Certainly it isn’t experience, or any kind of desire to do it. But before he quite knows the words that are coming out of his mouth, he’s saying, “let me help. That looks an awful angle.”

Kuryakin freezes and looks up at him. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes are steely but there’s that same strange vulnerability underneath.

“But -” he says, and then stops. “You -”

He falls silent, apparently unable to think of a response. All the while more blood is leaking down his side, spattering onto the tiles.

“Let me help. Just tell me what to do. Think of me as an extra set of hands.”

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.

He reaches out and takes the tweezers from Kuryakin’s hand. Fortunately, there is no protest, no resistance.

He can figure out how to do this first part fairly easily. Fish the bullet out. Simple as that.

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.

It must be exhausting.

He manages to remove the bullet. It’s easier than he’d feared. His fingers are bloody when he drops the metal thing, small and inert, into the stopped-up sink.

“What now?”

“Need to clean it. Just water.”

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.

“And now?”

“Dry it. Then stitches.”

This is the part he’d been dreading just to watch. But he can’t very well back out now, and besides, he has sewn before. It will be just like that. Except with flesh instead of fabric.

He takes a deep breath, threads the needle. It takes him several tries, though his hands barely shake.

“I can do it, if…”

“No, it’s quite alright. I do know how to sew, after all. Granted, my stitches may not be the prettiest things, but…they’ll hold.”

Kuryakin nods. “They are never pretty. It is okay.”

And with this vote of confidence, Alexander begins.

The first stitch is the worst one. He’s 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.

It’s 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.

Kuryakin, though, barely reacts. His muscles tense, but he doesn’t 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.

He ties off the thread at long last and looks at his handiwork. The line of stitches is rather straighter than he’d thought it would be.

“I should clean it again, yes?” he finds himself asking, as though he has suddenly become an expert by virtue of a few pulls of a needle.

“Yes,” Kuryakin says. “And you should put a bandage. Antibiotic, if we have this.”

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 Alexander’s time as a nurse is finished.

He gives Kuryakin a hand up, asks whether he wants any painkillers. He’s 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.

He supposes his agent must simply be used to it, and finds himself wondering what it had been like the first time he’d been shot. Wonders whether this instance is something one always remembers or something that simply blends into a long career of pain.

He’s pulled out of his musings by Kuryakin’s voice: “Thank you.”

It’s the smallest two words, but Alexander can feel the force, the sincerity behind them. These words, said now, to him, are incredibly significant.

“You’re welcome,” 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.

16 notes · View notes

skycapt4in · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#⸺ 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

1 note · View note

niqhtlord01 · 3 years ago

Text

Humans are weird: Merging multiple species into society

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

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 hadn’t 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 hadn’t 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.

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 Zavar’s 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 Zavar’s 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 however…..

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 Zavar’s second command was at the guard’s side and snatched the weapon from his hands in a single motion.

“Be. Calm.” 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 humanity’s 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.

“Lt. Colonel Reginal Seth of the 17th Engineer battalion.” the Kliptec said.

“Base Commander Zavar Hatsval,” Zavar replied as he motion to his second, “and my second Xixvil Nog, of the Galaxian expeditionary force.”

“I must admit,” Zavar began as the column of forces began marching past the trio, “when I heard we were getting human reinforcements I was not expecting this.”

Reginal’s sighed and rolled his eyes as if he had heard that same statement a thousand times before.

“Our military allows anyone to enlist so long as they were born within our borders.” he stated as he turned to see his soldiers march by to the storage facilities. “It is an efficient system to use every natural resource available to your advantage, so why limit to a single species military?”

“We do not ask others to fight in our stead.” Xixvil spoke as he watched several humans walk by.

“And how has that turned out for you here?” Reginal said as his serpent mouth twisted to a half grin. “Because from where I am it looks like we’re here to fight in your stead.”

Xixvil’s 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.

“Dro…..go…..where?”

In all of his life in the Galaxian military he had never heard of a hive drone capable of speech. In the past the Galaxian’s 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 queen’s 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.

“Report to Sgt Morris, Dro.” Reginal said as if the tower beast of flesh and chitin before him was just another average soldier.

The drone’s eyes stopped twitching for a moment as if concentrating before continuing “Morris…..yes…find…Morris….going….now…sir.” It tilted a blade like appendage which took a moment for Zavar to realize it was saluting Reginal which the Kliptec swiftly returned.

“Carry on Dro.”

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 battalion’s equipment. Reginal turned to them and handed them a data pad. “Once our gear is unloaded we will begin expanding the landing fields by three additional pads. After that we’ll start reinforcing the outer perimeter walls and compound infrastructure.”

Zavar took the data pad and began going over the details while Xixvil continued to watch Dro walk away.

“I do not mean to be rude, but why did you call that drone “Dro”?” Xixvil asked once the drone was far enough away.

Reginal shrugged, an oddly human gesture for such an alien being, before answering “That’s his name; Dro Harris.”

“It was my understanding that hive drones lacked the capacity to develop individuality.” 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.

“Normally they aren’t able to, but humans have this strange ability to impart personalities into beings should they stay around them long enough.”

Both Zavar and Xixvil looked at Reginal dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” they asked, to which Reginal simply nodded.

“One 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.”

“I can’t imagine humans reacted well to a hive drone in their midst.”

To their surprised Reginal shook his head. “From what he’s told me he used to be a successful actor before he enlisted; he was popular in fast food commercials.”

“Now I know you are making things up.” Zavar cut in, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Humans do weird things like this all the time,” Reginal said, “they 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.”

He stretched out his arms so Zavar and Xixvil could get a good look at him.

“People 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.”

“There 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.”

“It’s weird but at times it’s 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.”

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.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

784 notes · View notes

jessiebanethedragon · 3 years ago

Text

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. You’re stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where she’s curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. It’s 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. It’s 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?

“Good Morning!” 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 you’ve 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 you’ve seen before. Just as you’re wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, who’s 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 she’s trying to go.

“I’m sorry!” 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.

“Pay. Attention.” 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. “As I was saying…” She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.

“Teach me about the war.” You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.

“This is a language class.” She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Clones.”

“How did you kn-”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about.” 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.“It’s 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 some…” She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.

“Well even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.”

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.

“Courtesy of your betrothed.” 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. “What did you do?” 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 you’d 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.

“What we did was rescue a prisoner of war.” He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. “That hammock you’re sleeping in belongs to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” 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.

“Echo’s was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.” Wrecker explains defusing the situation. “He’s waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.” Hunter, who’s now swatting Tech - and whatever device he’s trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.

“I-I didn’- I didn’t mean…” You tell Wrecker shakily.

“I know, and it’s okay.” 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 what’s 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 it’s still filled with people like you, it means there’s still something to fight for. But if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know how much fight he's got left.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“What did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?” You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though you’re both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that you’re all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.

“Why don’t you bother Tech with your questions?” Crosshair says pushing boxes around.

“Because you’ll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.” You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldn’t reach. Perhaps being smaller wasn’t a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.

“I need the whole crate.” Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. “And to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.” You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.

“The burns or the wounds?” You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.

“Same thing.” Crosshair explains. “From a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.” 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.

“You should’ve seen it,” There’s awe in Crosshair's voice now. “The Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of ‘Force 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.”

“No wonder he hates me.” You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, it’s…” Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. “Nython decimated everything in his path. There’s what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didn’t save.” You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. “It’s all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.” You smile at Crosshairs sass.

“You’d know.” You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for being honest.” You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.

“It’s one of my many endearing qualities.” 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. You’re reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.

“Hey! What’s so funny?” Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.

“I half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.” You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.

“Ha ha.” Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. “Try not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?” you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.

“So no sea shanties then?” You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.

“We don’t sing.” Tech states.

“Yeah we do!” Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, “we know that one from-”

“Ferrik if you start singing that again.” Crosshair grumbles.

“THERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEA” 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.

“There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what you’re up to, and if you’re still trying to manipulate his crew.

“I’ve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.”

“It’s better than Wreckers.” 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.

“There was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” You continue tapping again, “And there will come a captain who’s heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...” He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.

You hear the captain’s footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. “Who let the Aaray get a’ hold of a knife again?” 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.

“I wasn’t going to…” You start.

“Going to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?” Hunter raises an eyebrow as if he’s 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.

“I understand your hatred for that man,” You begin softly.

“No.” He snaps, “you don’t” You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.

“You can’t be reasoned with.” You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.

“I should not have to reason with the likes of you.” Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Tech’s Holopad beeps.

“I am not my Fiance!” You exclaim. “And yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-”

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.

“You do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.” He tells the trembling woman beneath him.

“What happened to you Sergeant?” You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every ‘he’s not like this.’ 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.

“Sarge.” Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. “I think you should come with me.”

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @vergol @Lackofhonor

#tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb sergeant hunter #sergreant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch series #sergeant hunter #hunter x reader #hunter clone #hunter x you #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #jessiebanethedragon #white sands warm the cold sea

59 notes · View notes

something-tofightfor · 4 years ago

Text

Magnetic: Chapter 12 - See You

Pairing: Din x Reader (female reader insert; no ‘Y/N’)

Word Count: 10,046

Rating: It’s happening. NOT SAFE FOR WORK- if you’re under 18, goodbye.

Summary: 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?

Author’s 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 one’s fun. As always, if you have any songs to add to the playlist, please let me know.

(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.

Yes, you were still on track to get back to Tatooine on time, no you didn’t think that Grogu was behaving for Peli, it didn’t matter whether you sat in the cockpit or on crates in the hull. There wasn’t 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.

You’d rolled over during the night, Din’s 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 man’s breathing deep and even, his mind blank and his arm hanging heavily over the middle of your body. There’d been no nightmares, and no dreams, either - at least that you could remember. I hope that means he slept well. But you’d shifted a little too much in your attempt to get closer, and Din’s 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. Can’t see you, but I feel you.

He hadn’t 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 hadn’t come back up long minutes later, you realized that he wasn’t going to. Disappointing, yes. A surprise? No. Can’t 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.

You finished what you’d 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. It’ll be a distraction, because he was there, but it’s right across the hallway.

You never made it to your room.

As you reached the top of the ladder, you heard Din’s voice from inside the cockpit again - along with Karga’s, and since the doors were open, you stood outside with your arms crossed over your chest, listening. “You mean to tell me that you actually captured Tyrande Goscoll? You were able to -”

“Not me. Her.” 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. “He’ll be another one for your men to collect when we land on Nevarro. Told you it wouldn’t be a problem.” Karga didn’t reply right away, but when he did, you widened your eyes, waiting for Din’s response.

“Is he alive?” He questioned Din like he already knew the answer. But it sounds like he thinks he’s not. “You -”

“He was when I slabbed him.” Din sighed. “He doesn’t deserve it, but -” Why didn’t you kill him then?

“That’s another 12,000 credits. Goscoll alive?” Your jaw dropped. On top of the bounty total? “Big money, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Confirming that he did, you heard - and saw - Din leaning back in the seat. “That’s a hefty return for one bounty, Mando.” That’s a good reason for him only stunning him. He can use that.

“It is.” Din waited and you heard the seat creaking as he moved. “But it’s not all mine.”

“What you do with your earnings is your business. I’m just making a point. Your reputation will only -”

“It’s not about that. And I’d rather no one know that this was my bounty.” He was agitated, though you didn’t know if Karga was picking up on it. “You know why I’m doing this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Karga chuckled. “At leat let me enjoy the fact that through you, my reputation grows, too.” Chuckling at that, you lowered your head, figuring that Din had heard the sound. I’m not trying to hide from him, so it’s fine. “You’re a legend, Mando.”

“If you say so.” He leaned forward, pushing a few buttons. “Three more stops. Shouldn’t be more than a couple weeks until we’re back.” 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? That’ll be half of our time gone, and Din will need to go back to Mandalore.

The thought unsettled you, and you weren’t completely sure why. Because it’s new. Because I know how uneasy it makes him. Because I don’t know where I’ll 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. “I wasn’t snooping, Din.” You put a hand on the back of his seat before taking yours. “I was going into the other room, and I heard you -”

“I left the door open. Of course you heard.” He was facing you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the extra credits for keeping Goscall alive. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case I had to …”

“Those extras are yours. I’ll take what we agreed on for the value of the puck, but…” You shook your head. “I had nothing to do with keeping him breathing, that was all you.”

“You earned them.” 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. “They’re - “

“No.” You put your hand on his knee, waiting. “I earned the credits in the casino. It … it balances out. I’m sure you can use the extra for the ship or for Grogu, or even for ... for Mandalore.” Whatever that might mean. Smiling at him, you hoped that he was looking into your eyes. “I mean it, Din. It’s yours. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. I appreciate the offer but -”

“We’ll see.” He settled back against the chair, head moving up and down as he watched you. “Are you cold?” You looked down, too, and than wrinkled your nose, eyes on his helmet.

“Not right now.” 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? “Din? I lied to you about .... getting another shirt in Nevarro.” I guess so. “I wanted to keep yours.” He straightened up in the chair, cocking his head to the side.

“Why?” He’s going to make me explain everything. Great. That’s exactly what I wanted to do today. “It’s just a shirt. I’ve got plenty.” Rubbing at your arm, you looked away from him and out the window, chewing on your lip. “Tell me.” He added your name, the modulated sound the deciding factor for you.

“The more I got to know you over the last weeks, Din, the more I …” You stared at his hands, once again bare, eyes on the knuckles. “It should be obvious based on the last few nights, but … I like you. And wearing your shirt just made me … happy. It’s like a piece of you is still here, even when you’re out on a hunt.” It sounds so stupid coming out of my mouth. So dumb, so childish, so… “Even though you only offered it because I needed it, not because -”

“It doesn’t fit you right.” He set his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. “The sleeves are too long, and it goes down past your waist. The neck is too big, it’s loose.” He sounds surprised.

“You weren’t complaining about that last night, Din.” Twisting your lips into a smirk, you eyed him. “The neck, I mean.” Without warning, he leaned in, reaching out and touching your skin, one fingertip pressed to it as he cocked his head to the side.

“No. I wasn’t. And I won’t.” Thumb beneath your jaw, he tilted your head to one side, moving his to follow it. “Did I do…” He leaned in closer, the hand not on you reaching up to press a button on the side of his helmet. “Damn.” 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. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what?” You felt his thumb as it moved, and then a faint twinge of pain as he added pressure. “Din, did you…” Eyes widening, you felt your mouth drop open, a laugh spilling out. “Do I have a bruise on my neck from you?”

“You … do. There’s...a few of them.” Biting your lower lip to keep from laughing harder, you watched as he straightened up, hand falling into his lap. “I didn’t mean to -” Oh, this man is …

“Din.” You pressed your lips together hard, swallowing another chuckle. “You…” But you couldn’t contain yourself, covering your face with both hands and letting yourself laugh, the sound filling the cockpit. “Maker, who would have thought that a Mandalorian would be so upset at the thought that he …” 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. “You um…” You collected yourself, looking at the T-visor again, knowing that your eyes were bright. “You did spend a lot of time with your mouth there, and …” You coughed to hide another laugh, but it didn’t 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. It’s fine, Din. “Did… 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 Din’s neck. It was usually covered with the flight suit and his cape, but when you were traveling through hyperspace, he’d taken to removing the cape and the suit along with his armor. I’ve 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 Adam’s apple bobbed with a single swallow.

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 doesn’t 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. “No.” A smile - this one less amused and more in admiration - curved your lips upward. “No, Din. You’re still perfectly…” You trailed off as he reached for your arm, fingers closing around it and squeezing. “What are you -”

“Come to bed with me.” You froze, eyes going wide. What? He reached for you with his other hand, fingers tugging on the end of your sleeve. “I know what I said last night, but -” Is he serious?

“Ok.” It was your turn to swallow, breath coming out shallow. “I -” Mind racing, you stood, only removing your hand at the last possible second, it dropping back to your side. “Are you sure?” 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.

“I should be asking you that.” He stood too, but instead of waiting, he put his hands on your hips, pushing you backwards and toward the door. “You don’t know what you just agreed to.” I don’t? 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.

“Maybe I don’t.” You stared up, eyes on the black portion of his helmet. “But you’re going to show me.” 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 weren’t worried. He said it’s not like it usually is. He knows we have to be on this ship together, he won’t… “Din, wait.” Your eyes followed the movement of his hand, headed for the light switch. “I want to see you.” Shutting your eyes, you moved your head back and forth. “Not …not your face, but the rest of you. Let me…” You reopened them, voice steady. “Please don’t turn the light off.” You knew what it meant - that he’d be able to see you, too, and that the helmet stayed on, but you didn’t care.

“You’d rather…” He sounded confused again, his hold on you loosening. “You’d rather me keep the …” No, I’d rather you pull the damn thing off right now but that isn’t an option, so this is what we can do.

“It’s not about the helmet, Din. It doesn’t ... “ Tell him the truth. “I don’t want to hide in the dark with you. I don’t mind the light.” He sighed, but you felt lighter after the admission. Because it’s the truth.

“It’s strange, if you’re not used to it. Distracting. Will it bother you?” He sounds surprised. You stepped closer, putting a hand on his chest. “Most people are more interested in the...”

“I’m not most people.” You let out a breath. “But if you really need to turn the light off, that’s… fine.” The helmet moved back and forth slowly - deliberately, Din’s hand pushing beneath the shirt you wore and flattening against your skin.

“No.” He leaned down, voice dropping, though you could still hear it clearly through the modulator. “That means I get to see you, too.” 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. “I need to... warn you.” What? “My life hasn’t … I’ve been in a lot of close calls. And I didn’t always have someone like you there with bacta gel to clean me up.” Your eyes moved down to his hand and the scar there, and then back up his body.

“Maybe that’s why I want to keep the lights on, Din. I want to see just how well your leg healed.” 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. He’s in a hurry. But you didn’t 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.

“That’s what you’re hiding under my shirt?” He was touching your stomach with one hand, the thumb of the other sweeping slowly over your clavicle. “You -”

“Got used to it at the Academy, Din.” You wrinkled your nose. “What we wore was practical. Comfortable. Easy to move in. I’ve got a cloak, too. It’s packed, and -”

“I like this better.” 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. “Much better. I liked that dress on Hosnian Prime, too.” 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. “What? I thought -”

“I…” You closed your eyes. “I said I wanted to see you too, Din. And I meant it.” You looked up, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve gotta get undressed, too. I can’t take your shirt off, because I don’t know how the helmet -”

“You can.” He cleared his throat, the sound loud through the modulator. “You won’t pull it off, you have to release it, it’s… tight.” He caught both hands, moving them to his shirt. “Go… go ahead.” 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 you’re 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. He’s… 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.

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 didn’t get a good look at him until the shirt joined yours on the floor and Din’s upper body was completely bared to you, the overhead lighting doing little to hide any part of him. “Din, you’re…” You blinked, hesitantly raising your hand to his chest, and when he didn’t 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 man’s 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. “And you’re giving me shit about hiding under an oversized shirt?” You blew out another breath, head shaking back and forth slowly. “This is what you’re keeping under all that beskar?”

He chuckled at that, shrugging his shoulders, but you were too focused on what you were doing to pay close attention to the movement. Din’s 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 he’d 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 couldn’t help stepping even closer, his hand moving to the side of your head and his fingers curling against your hair. “I have to. The beskar is the only thing keeping me …” But you cut him off as you reached his chest, palms flat against the area typically covered by the widest plates. It’s keeping you alive.

“Din, when did …” Glancing up, you felt your lip tremble. “I thought that beskar was -” 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. “What happened?”

“Tehk’la blades.” He sighed as you ran your fingers over the old wounds, following the length of them. “A few years after I swore the creed. I didn’t have a full set of armor yet, and my chest plate was … flimsy.” You don’t have to tell me that twice. They weren’t the only scars on his skin, but most of the others were smaller, and though you couldn’t see his back, you assumed that it was the same; littered with the evidence of old fights, from training, proof of the lessons that he’d learned in the hardest ways possible. “I told you I didn’t always have -”

“You did tell me.” 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. “Is that …” 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. “Your signet?”

“It is.” 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 he’d been wearing the armor. And people say that Mandalorians aren’t sentimental… damn. “I’ll tell you about it if you want, but can we … can it wait?” 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.

“If you want.” 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, Din’s fingertips stroking your skin gently. He got a tattoo of the mudhorn. He… it’s a constant reminder of his clan. Of the kid. Always.

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. “Are we just going to stand here, or…” 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. He’s right, this could be distracting, it’s 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. He’s in … just his …

Finally, you moved backwards - just a half step, but enough to see his body - and you felt your knees weaken. He … He hadn’t 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 he’d dislocated it or even broken it at least once before, but the wound you’d been there to heal was already almost completely invisible, only a small, light-colored scar remaining as a reminder of the fact that he’d been poisoned only a few weeks prior, nearly gored to death by a Charnoq. But he wasn’t. Because I didn’t let it happen.

You couldn’t help dropping to your knees to get a better look, fingers trailing down over his skin, and when you finally reached the leg you’d worked on, you chewed on your lip, leaning in. “That bacta really …” He tensed under your touch, and you looked up, wanting to make sure that you hadn’t 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 you’d never seen hadn’t 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 didn’t matter. “Din, I …” I don’t even know what I want to say, but it… I never thought I’d be here.

“You need to stand up.” 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. “As much as I… liked seeing you like that, it’s not …” He was touching you again, hands back at your waist, thumbs hooked between your pants and skin. “Not where this is going tonight.” Oh, it’s not? “Let me get these off of you.” 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 don’t even know what he looks like, or what color his eyes are, or - “Alright?”

“Yes.” Raising one hand slowly, you laid your palm on the side of his helmet, blinking. “Go ahead.” The metal moved up and down beneath your hand before settling in a downward tilt, and Din’s 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 weren’t 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. We’re both… Your pants off, you waited for him to stand again, but the man didn’t move, body locked into position in front of you. “Din?” You questioned him softly, not recognizing the sound that left your lips. “Are you -” “I’m just looking.” The words were strained, but he quickly spoke again. “At you.” Chewing on your lip, you didn’t say anything else, deciding to let him go - and see what happened. You didn’t have long to wait, though, one of Din’s 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 wouldn’t have been able to describe if anyone had asked. He’s so… Maker, I don’t even know. The man’s touch was gentle, tender, even, as he explored the length of your leg.

You felt your muscles tighten as he thumbed the inside of your knee, still kneeling in front of you, and then Din’s 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. “Din.” Swallowing the end of the word, you closed your eyes, tucking your head beneath the lower edge of his helmet and against his shoulder. “Din.” 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. He’s really… we’re going to … I want this so much.

Yes, you’d known it before, but it was different - having the man’s 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 hadn’t really done anything yet. He said your name, and you responded by arching your back away from his chest, Din’s hands working the straps down and over your arms, fully exposing the upper half of your body to him. “Maker.”

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 didn’t say anything else, and for a few seconds, you didn’t know what to do. He could be doing anything else to me, but he isn’t. I could say something, but … what? He was holding himself back - you knew it, but didn’t know why. “Din?” 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. “What’s wrong?” There was a long silence, and then he spoke, the words not what you expected - or wanted to hear.

“I can’t do this.” 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 couldn’t see your face, you bit down on your lip, closing your eyes. Alright, Din. “I can’t…” 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?

Without warning, you felt hands once again on your body, and then, only moments later, your back was against the wall, Din’s breath warm against the skin of your shoulder. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do this, it was that … “What are you…” 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. “Stars, Din, what…” 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 he’d been waiting for that, because he bit down harder seconds later as your grip tightened, his curls soft against your palm. “Hey.” You couldn’t 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 didn’t … “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Your hand dropped to the back of his neck, the other one holding the tattooed bicep, and you wet your lips. “I didn’t mean that I wanted you to stop. I … I flinched because of how I sounded. It’s embarra-”

“It’s not.” 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. “I want to hear it.” He kissed your cheek, lips soft and warm against it. “I need to hear it, to hear you.” Lips moving closer to your mouth, he paused. “Without the helmet.” You felt your heart thudding in your chest at that admission, and almost couldn’t 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. “Is that the only reason you took the helmet off, Din?” For a few moments, you didn’t think he would reply, but then you felt him chuckle, his breath hitting your cheek in short bursts. “No.” You didn’t 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 didn’t waste the opening you gave him. His tongue slipped into your mouth as you sighed, but didn’t stay there long - instead, retreating to lap at your lower lip and then along the seam between the two of them. I don’t know what he’s 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 didn’t 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. He’ll make me stop if he doesn’t want me to. But Din didn’t 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.

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 you’d seen it from him before - both in person and through Grogu’s thoughts. It’s just how he is, and this is new to him, so … You pulled back to breathe, giving yourself a chance to steady your thoughts. “Hey.” It came out less shaky that time, and you smiled, kissing him again and then pausing. My turn. “We going to stand here all night, or -”

“I … you …” 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. “I said you don’t know what you agreed to, and I meant it.” What does that mean? “I don’t usually take my time. I don’t … It doesn’t matter what …” You got a thought from him them, and felt the shame along with it, coupled with nonchalance. He doesn’t care about making it good for the other person. “I told you, that everything before has been… habit.”

“Well.” 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. “I can tell you I’m already enjoying this.” 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. “That feels great, Din. You can …” Biting down on your lower lip, you let out a quiet sigh. “Keep doing that here, or we can get into the bed, and …” 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 he’d do next.

Din didn’t 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. He’s never done this before? There’s 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 you’d 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 couldn’t get closer this way if I wanted to.

He wasn’t 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. “What?” 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 didn’t 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.

He pulled away to take a breath, the drag of his teeth against your lower lip sending another charge through your entire body. “You’re pretty good at this.” 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. “For someone that’s never -”

“Am I?” He leaned in, lips against your ear. “Well. A Mandalorian has to learn fast.” Din said your name and you shifted again under his touch, the hand on his arm moving to his side and urging him closer. “Lucky for me I’ve got a lot to learn.” Instead of laughing, you cleared your throat quickly, allowing yourself to nuzzle against his cheek, eyes closing.

“What’s that word, Din?” You sighed, your lips near his ear. “Jate’kara? I think I’m the lucky one here.” He froze at your use of the word in Mando’a, 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. “Are you sure?” It took you a second to figure out what he was asking, but then you nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yes.” One hand moving up to his chest, you said his name. “I’m sure.” 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.

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. “Are you safe?” The question shocked you, and for a second, you were unable to reply, thoughts racing. Safe? What does - “The women I’m usually with … they take care of it.” Oh. You froze, understanding. Of course they would, they’re… “But if you aren’t, we can...”

“Yes. I’m… safe, Din.” You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your chest. “Here.” 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, you’d told yourself. And after your arrival, you’d never removed it, feeling the same way. At least it’s going to do some good now. “Can you feel it?” He pressed down, taking a deep breath and cutting you off. “I’ve had it for -”

“I trust you.” The three words froze you again, and while you knew that he was referring to what you’d 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 man’s weight settled against you, you trailed an arm down his back, inhaling sharply as you realized that he’d removed his underwear - meaning that Din was completely nude and in bed with you. I’m 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 didn’t let you touch him for long, instead pulling away and off of you before clearing his throat. “These have to come off.”

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 he’d 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. “Din?” You lifted one hand, immediately finding his hip, thumb moving slowly over it. What’s he waiting for?

“I wish I could see you.” 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 you’d ever been, you couldn’t 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; Din’s skin warm and soft beneath your fingers. I wish I could see you too, Din.

“Maybe next time.” You followed the crease of his thigh downward, the tips of your fingers meeting coarse hair on his abdomen. “Focus on me, Din.” You exhaled, breath shaky as your hand reached the base of him, Din’s breath catching - along with yours - as you closed your fingers around him for the first time, his mind finally opening up to you briefly. He’s acting like he’s 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. “Din.” You moved your hand slowly, getting used to the feel of him. “Please, just...” You squeezed, flexing your knee, and before you’d relaxed it, you felt his hand on your leg and then moving upward, toward the apex of your thighs.

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.

You couldn’t 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 didn’t let go, rotating your wrist and circling your thumb over the tip of him, feeling dampness against it. Hmm. “This is where you’ve got me beat, Din.” You whispered, nipping at his lip. “Majority of my experience....” You sighed as he slipped a finger into you - only slightly, and then removed it, pausing before he did it again. “Ends with…” But he quieted you with another kiss, tongue making its way back into your mouth and stopping your words. Learn together. That’s… I like that plan.

You nodded at his unspoken words, widening the spread of your legs as your hand continued to glide up and down his length, Din’s 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 Din’s hand between your legs, coating the tips of your fingers in the dampness you felt there. It’ll help me to... “What are you …” He whispered the words, stopping as you curled your slick fingers around him, removing your other hand. “You … Maker.” 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. “E...Enough.”

The word came out shakily, and you stopped as soon as you heard it, both of you breathing hard. “Is…” But you didn’t 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. He’s 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.

He moved slowly, giving you time to adjust, and though he didn’t 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 hadn’t lied to the man - aside from Bari, you’d 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 hadn’t been able to keep them out of your head, unable to focus on your own pleasure because you’d 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 wasn’t thinking anything clearly, and it was enough to bring tears to the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut. “Feels…” You whined as he kissed you hard, then lowered his mouth to your shoulder, teeth bared against it. “Feels good, Din.”

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 didn’t quite hurt, you knew you’d be sore when he pulled away, but you didn’t 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 you’re 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 weren’t 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. “Where do you…” It was his turn to groan, but he collected himself quickly, your name leaving his mouth in little more than a whisper. “Not gonna last, not like… tell me where.” You gave yourself only seconds to think, his question a necessary one, but surprised yourself with your reply. “Whatever… Wherever you want, Din.” I’m 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. “Don’t…” 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. “Fuck, Din, you…”

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. “You…” 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 Din’s grip on himself loosened, letting you take over, though he didn’t stop the rocking of his hips, his length sliding easily through your hand, still completely coated in you. Maker, I didn’t 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 don’t need to know what he’s thinking to make him happy. “C’mon, Din.” 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. “Give…” You squeezed as you stroked him, the muscles in Din’s thighs tensing. “I want it, Din.” 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. “Please.” 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.

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… “You didn’t come, did you.” 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 wasn’t a question. “No. But I -” That was all it took, Din not letting you finish your sentence to tell him that it didn’t matter, that you hadn’t expected to before he’d 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 so…

Din didn’t know your body - none of the men that you’d been with truly had - but he didn’t 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. “Bend your knee. Staabi jii. Right now.” He spoke into your ear and you did as he asked, moaning at his use of Mando’a 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 Mando’a that you didn’t 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.

But then they did the same around nothing, and you opened your eyes, forgetting for a second that you couldn’t see anything. Seconds later, you felt the slight drag of Din’s elbow across your ribs, and then heard a quiet sucking sound. He’s … oh Maker he’s got his fingers in … 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. “Jatisyc.” He hummed quietly after the word, chest vibrating against your arm, and then Din’s 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. “Din.” 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 couldn’t 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 didn’t 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. I’ve 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. “Stars, Din, that…” You spoke quietly, gulping in a breath, and only went quiet when he put his hand on your hip again, saying your name. “Hmm?”

“I’ll be right back.” No. Wait. What? “I’m going to get a -”

“No.” There was force behind the word, and you quickly corrected it, clearing your throat. “Not yet, Din. Don’t…” 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… “There’s a towel, Din. On the table?” He moved as you spoke, and only a few seconds later, you felt the material swiping over your stomach, taking the mess he’d left with it. “You don’t have to ..” But he kept going, and then, after he’d finished there was a short pause and he said your name. “Yeah?”

“Folded it. You can …” Finish. Taking the towel from him with a grin on your face at the fact that he’d 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 didn’t 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.

“Din?” He settled his hand on your back, but made no move to draw you closer. “What was the last thing you said to me? In Mando’a, after you …” There was no hesitation as he replied, leaning in and whispering the words into your ear. “Said you tasted good.” He hummed, the sound closer to a laugh. “Jatisyc.” He paused. “Delicious.” You froze, stunned, but the man didn’t 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.

“I know you did, Din.” You murmured the words, scooting closer to him and feeling his hold on you tighten. “And I also know you’re going to get up and go back into the cockpit, but… Will you stay here? Just for -” Just a few minutes.

“Yes.” He lifted his leg, hooking it over yours, fingers making their way through your hair as you moved your hand slowly over his back. “I’m not going anywhere.” You didn’t mean to, but you fell asleep a few minutes later, the Mandalorian’s heartbeat steady against your cheek, and his thoughts - the man completely content - once again filling your head.

---

Tag list is OPEN.

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List :@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredhead @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks @greatcircle79 @thisshipwillsail316 @mandosmistress @tanzthompson @voteforpedropascal

151 notes · View notes

cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Victor’s Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Victor’s 2021 birthday collection:

🐼 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 Vick’s 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, he’s been constantly receiving all sorts of presents featuring pictures of pandas from his parents. When he was 9 years old, he even “owned” an actual panda.

As what his father says, since it’s rare for Victor to express that he likes something, there’s definitely a need to fulfil his wish.

Even though he doesn’t 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 Vick’s 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 panda’s name is 言言 (Yan Yan). But MC used the name “Little Vick” in an EN Moment post, so I’m 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.

“Please come in.”

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.

“Are you done with work?”

“Mm. Dad freed up his weekend. Since your birthday is coming, why don’t we head out together?”

Victor looks at his father’s slightly fatigued expression, and contemplates for a while.

“Okay, as long as it isn’t too noisy.”

The man casts a fleeting glance at the cardboard box in front of his son, then offers a suggestion.

“Want to see Little Vick?”

“There are a lot of people in the zoo during the weekend.”

Victor answers very quickly. As such, the man recollects the places he’s taken Victor to in the past, attempting to find a location his son would like.

“What about the countryside park?”

“Okay.” Victor agrees, then raises his head to look at him. “Dad, has Aunt been at home recently? I’m thinking of sending these plush toys to her.”

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 - it’s truly a difficult question.

[ CHAPTER TWO - Growing Up Problems ]

It’s a pretty long journey to the countryside park. Victor stuffs this year’s pictures of Little Vick into his backpack, preparing to flip through them along the way.

Actually, ever since adopting it, he’s never visited the zoo to see Little Vick.

He doesn’t really know how to define the relationship between himself and that panda. His neighbours call their three dogs “Boss”, “Second Boss” and “Third Boss”. The moment they’re 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 it’s given a name, it doesn’t mean it has become someone’s pet, much less a “family member”.

Moreover, everyone knows that a little kid can’t afford to rear a panda. Even if the adoption certificate has Victor’s name on it, he hasn’t 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 “adult” - but it’s only 6 years old this year.

The car halts before the traffic light. The man leans over to look at the photographs in Victor’s hands.

“It’s grown quite a lot again. Animals always grow up more quickly than humans.”

“Mm.”

After a short silence between the two, Victor mutters softly.

“...I also wish to grow up quickly.”

Hearing Victor say this suddenly, the man is a little shocked, turning his head to look at him.

“Why?”

“Because there are many things I can’t do right now.”

The man deliberates on his choice of words. “The 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.”

After the man finishes speaking, he doesn’t 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 son’s birthday? The man lifts his hand to loosen his tie, planning to change the topic.

"But there’s still a chance for you to do things yourself if you want to.”

“For instance, you could try paying for Little Vic’s adoption fees.”

Seeing Victor raising his head, he continues.

“The adoption fees for Little Vick are in yearly instalments. Once you have the ability to do so, Dad won’t help you pay for them.”

Victor hesitates for a moment. “Doesn’t that still require me to wait till I’m older?”

“As long as you're able to earn money from me, it doesn’t matter how old you are. Didn’t you learn about the stock market simulator from Dad recently? I’ll let you use the profit in exchange for an equivalent value.”

Victor straightens up slightly in his seat, and asks in slight anticipation. “How much is it every year?”

"A hundred thousand yuan.”

[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.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

[ 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.

“Looks like we should have given them a call to check first.”

Seeing the rare expression of vexation on his father’s 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.

“Shall we take a look?”

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.

“Little Vick’s birthday is coming soon. It’d definitely be very happy to see the two of you.”

Walking into the warm venue, there are excited visitors everywhere. With such an atmosphere, Victor starts feeling slightly expectant too.

“The one at the front is Little Vick.”

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 didn’t 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 it’s time for the pandas to eat, the rearer brings a large bundle of bamboo into the glass room. Seeing the look of anticipation on Victor’s 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. “Looks like Little Vick really likes you!”

“...”

Saying that he wasn’t 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 he’s 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.

“May I know,” he turns to the staff member at the side. “If it’s considered an adult now?”

“Yes, it’s already at an age where it’s seeking a spouse.”

“In that case, will it live together with its family in the future?”

“Pandas are very solitary, and Little Vick’s a boy. Even if it has children, it’d still lead a solitary life.”

As though in deep thought, Victor nods. Although these animals look charmingly naive, they aren’t as weak as imagined, and don’t need to rely fully on those around them.

As compared to them, perhaps he truly hasn’t 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 doesn’t speak.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

After a while, Victor responds.

“It doesn’t seem like it’d remember us.”

The man recollects the image he saw earlier. With some understanding, he nods.

“If we visit it a few more times in the future, it might remember.”

“But... so many people visit the pandas every day. I’m just one of them.”

“Victor, let Dad ask you something.” The man pauses in his footsteps and looks at him. “Without considering other factors, do you like Little Vick?”

Victor nods very quickly. The man continues with another question.

“After knowing it wouldn’t respond to you, do you still like it?”

After thinking about it for a while, Victor nods again. The man laughs slightly, bringing him towards the resting spot near the lakeside.

“Not being able to return the same emotions yet not affecting your liking towards it - isn’t this very good?”

“But it’s usually living in the zoo. We can't rear it personally. This kind of liking can’t establish any connections.” Victor seems to hesitate. “I remember you mentioning that the reason for “liking” is to establish connections with other people.”

The man pauses in his steps, turning his head to meet his son’s puzzled gaze. He sighs softly.

“What Dad tells you is not necessarily always true. You need to learn how to assess the appropriate occasion and target. You and Little Vick aren’t able to understand each other. Protecting it from afar like this isn’t a bad choice.”

Victor frowns slightly. These words are slightly confusing, and seem to contain things he has yet to understand.

“In that case, what if there’s mutual understanding?

A cool breeze brushes past. He watches as his father blinks, concealing a very small emotion in his eyes.

“A 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.”

Because their original plan was to visit the countryside park, the man also brought the cake along. Since the scenery by the lakeside isn’t bad, the both of them select a bench and sit down. The man hands the cake box to Victor.

“Do you mind eating the cake a few days in advance?”

“I don’t mind.”

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 father’s voice.

“...this year’s cake was bought.”

“It looks very nice. Thanks, Dad.”

“The zoo doesn't allow for the lighting up of candles. So we’ll blow out the candles and make a wish at home.”

“Okay, it’s all right.”

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 father’s bedroom, he vaguely hears him talking to someone over the phone.

It’s 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 doesn’t seem to be talking about work, but about very trivial topics to someone. Just as he’s about to step away from the door quietly, his father calls out to him.

“Victor, come in.”

“It’s late and you aren’t asleep yet.”

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 isn’t currently in a call. His father doesn’t seem to know how to explain that “phone call”. After a moment of silence, he suddenly broaches another topic.

“Dad didn’t give you a present this year. You’re going to be 15 soon. Do you want something different?”

“You’re referring to...”

“For example, a present belonging to an adult.”

“Anything is fine?”

“Tell me what it is first.”

After giving it some thought, Victor scans his father’s room. Most of the items are either things he already owns, or things he doesn’t 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 he’s wearing.

“I want to buy a tie.” Victor pauses, then adds on. “One with a darker colour.”

Actually, there have been many occasions when he’s needed to wear a tie, and he doesn’t lack them. But most of them cater to his age, or are for school performances, and he doesn’t have one which is formal. Also, considering his mother’s 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.

“Okay, you’ll pick one yourself tomorrow. But I have a condition.”

“Go ahead.”

“The reason why we didn’t light candles or make a wish this year is in hopes that you’ll 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.”

“However, if it’s something I can do, I don't want to trouble someone else.”

“To some people, it isn’t troublesome.”

After saying this, he tousles Victor’s 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 father’s bedroom. The two of them stand properly before the full-length mirror.

“The pattern of a tie is very critical, but tying a suitable knot is also very important.”

He watches as his father retrieves a tie from the closet, turning around to face him.

“Today, I’ll teach you how to tie a formal knot.”

“Okay.”

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.

“Does this knot have a name?”

“Eldredge Knot.”

“What occasion requires such a knot?”

His father doesn’t give him a direct answer. “The more complicated the knot, the more important the occasion. Even if you were to only use it once, it’s worth preparing for it.”

Victor watches his father in the mirror. He doesn’t 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 isn’t foreign to him, but he still takes a curious, careful look at it.

With this, he finally understands what his father meant by “occasion”. 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 Victor’s desk. Even though there’s a huge “generation gap” 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 Victor’s savings account.

“Next year, you can see Little Vick with pride.”

“It’s fine as long as I can continue providing it with a good life.”

The man sighs in his heart when he looks at Victor’s small, deliberately stern face. It appears that he’s 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?”

The man is a little surprised, but responds seriously.

“It’s your own decision. You have to ensure that you have the ability to do so in the future.”

“I’ve done some calculations. Before I turn 25, I can repay you for all the adoption fees over the years.”

“Does this count as your wish?”

“No, it’s a plan.”

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, it’s truly worthy of admiration.

There may still be much his son has to learn, but he’s wiling to believe in him. But before that, he still has to return to the previous question.

“So what's your wish?”

The self-assured mini adult suddenly grows uneasy after hearing this question.

“I wish... that you’ll see me as an adult next time.”

“Hm?” The man displays an amused expression.

“If there are certain things I can do, you can let me shoulder them for you.”

At the sight of Victor’s resolute expression, the man can’t help but laugh.

"I could consider it, but you have to first learn how to not wear your tie crookedly.”

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 - he’s already heard it for many years.

Certain things can’t 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

🐼 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #CRYING

171 notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Thirty Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Warnings: Cursing, a lil fluff, a lil angst. Y’all know me. Summary: I already knew that whatever my fate in this time, it would be different from my own now.

“This doesn’t seem such a bad place to be. I’m an Admiral here,” Eli smiled.

“Well you’re technically not you, so someone that looks and sounds like you is an Admiral,” I reminded him, “You would not be an Admiral if we got stuck here.”

“Have you looked yourself up yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?-- Maybe you and Pike are loved up somewhere.”

He was teasing, or trying to, but I couldn’t take the jest in stride. I hadn't told him what Mr. Spock had told me about Christopher in this universe; I hadn’t 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? “...Hey,” Eli frowned, “What is it?” I glanced at him, considering. I couldn’t tell Eli— I’d hardly gotten Spock to tell me. Besides, if my hunch was correct and the same events didn’t occur in our universe, it could sound an alarm for nothing. I just shook my head, excusing, “Just...Can’t believe I didn’t attend the Academy in this universe— at least, not with Spock. I can’t imagine going to the Academy without him. We practically lived in the long-range sensor lab together our second year.” “I didn’t know that.” “...Eli, this has to work. We have to get back.” “This Spock says there’s a 12.31% chance that our plan works. That leaves an incredibly large margin of error—” “Durling, you are the Captain of the Pinnacle. What is a pinnacle? It’s a successful point, a culmination. You were over the frickin’ moon when you became Captain— and you’re just going to roll over because there’s a version of you that’s 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?” Eli was quiet for a moment, watching me before his eyes darted to the doorway behind us. “I thought that the captains were meant to make the rousing speeches,” Came Kirk’s amused voice behind us. I turned to look at him and Mr. Spock and cleared my throat. “Yes, well… Sometimes Communications officers have to drum up a speech or two to get a captain’s wheels turning,” I grumbled, tucked my hands behind my back. “The occasions are far and few between,” Durling added. -- “Commander, a word, if I may.” “Yes, Mr. Spock?” I turned from the transporter bay with Durling and the rest of our crew was preparing to return to the Pinnacle. “I took the liberty of looking into your existing whereabouts in this universe.” My stomach swooped in fear and anticipation. “Oh– You did not have to do that.” “I must admit that I found it quite curious that you were so adamant about learning about Captain Pike’s future and not your own.” My eyes lowered to the floor as I considered my answer, “Well… Perhaps I care more about the fate of my friends than my own. Is that terribly suspicious?” “I believe I used the word curious, Commander.” “...I guess you did,” I conceded. Spock nodded a little, bringing an envelope out from behind his back. “I cannot force you to come to terms with your own fate in this time,” He said, “But I will allow you the opportunity, should you choose it.” 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 — my beginnings were already different, my day-to-day existence was entirely separate. I hesitated before I reached out, taking hold of the envelope. “Thank you, Mr. Spock,” I nodded. “Have a safe journey, Commander.” “And you,” I raised my hand in a Vulcan salute. Mr. Spock arched a critical brow, tipping his head toward me as he mirrored the gesture. “Live long, and prosper.” --

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.

-- When I heard that I was receiving a message from the Enterprise, I was expecting Christopher. I had, instead, been greeted by Una. “Before I ask where you’ve been, let me begin with my purpose,” She said, “Thaleh is leaving the Enterprise. We need a Communications officer. You can, of course, decline.” “I’ll need time to pack,” Was my quick answer. “Well, then you can tell me where you’ve been once you beam aboard. And we’ll have to find someone to replace you with for the Pinnacle.” “....Right, that,” I muttered. Una smiled a little. “I’m sure Durling will be disappointed.” “A little, maybe, but he won’t be surprised.”

“And I should warn you, Pike has been more than a little...harried with your lack of communication.” “Understandable. If one of you suddenly blipped elsewhere, I would be concerned.” Una arched a sharp brow. “Blipped elsewhere?” She repeated, “Well… I’m certainly looking forward to reviewing that log.”

-- “Door,” I ordered. I didn’t turn away from the box of things that I was unpacking. I could’ve sworn I’d left more notebooks on the Enterprise— “...Finding the new quarters alright?” I stilled at the sound of his voice. So much had happened since we’d warped through the singularity: the Discovery had beamed to an uncertain future, Spock— my Spock, had returned to the Enterprise...And so had Christopher. I hadn’t 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.

“It’s certainly larger than the last time I was aboard,” 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 Captain’s chair of the Enterprise. Christopher’s eyes drifted to me, finally, and he smiled, “Well, you weren’t a Commander the last time you were aboard.” “That is an excellent point.” 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. “What happened out there?” He asked, “Una used the word blipped.” I sighed softly, scrubbing my hand over my brow. I’d explained to Una exactly what had happened as I’d unpacked what I’d brought over from the Pinnacle. “Oh… Sometimes you accidentally warp through a singularity and wind up a universe where you never went to Starfleet. Typical Thursday, you know.” Christopher’s brows rose, his head tipping forward. “An alternate universe?” He repeated. I nodded. “I know you’ve some experience with that. Una told me about the Terran incident before I became part of the crew. It’s uh…. Jarring.” “It certainly is.” “We were only there for about three days but here, it was… It was months.” Christopher nodded as he came to a full stop just in front of me, looking down into my box from storage. “Everything you needed in there?” He asked. “Um— … Could’a sworn I had a couple hundred more notebooks aboard, but it’s 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,” I leaned back against my desk, folding my arms across my chest, “You’re um… You’re alright?” “Fine. It’s nice to see that you’re in one piece. I was concerned.” 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. “I didn’t mean to concern you. I can point you in the direction of the singularity that we warped through, if you’d like to pick a fight.” Christopher huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head a little bit. “How about I just...See you on the Bridge tomorrow?” “Sounds good, Captain.” “Don’t be late.” “I wouldn’t dare, sir.” 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-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel ; @blueeyesatnight ; @hotchswifey

#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

68 notes · View notes

lady-literature · 4 years ago

Text

for us to collide (part 4)

anyway who actually expected me to end this thing in 4 chapters lol

rip me ig

After the not-so-impromptu interrogation courtesy of her friends (because there was no way they hadn’t planned that, it was too coordinated) Robin doesn’t stop by for two weeks.

Which is… fine. Marinette is plenty busy anyways. The extra time she has free now that she isn’t 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 ‘shitty, unrealistic blood splatters’. Marinette has long since passed the point of being worried about it.)

So, yeah. She doesn’t see Robin.

But Damian, oddly enough, seeks her out.

It’s early, and there isn’t anyone else in the studio right now which means Marinette has her music blasting and she’s humming along as she hand paints silk for Clara’s dress. It’s loud and she’s in her zone, so it’s only by Tikki warning her that she realizes someone entered her sanctuary.

Her eyebrows raise when she sees who it is.

“Uh, bonjour Damian," she greets confusedly, reaching over to lower the volume on her speakers. "I hadn’t expected to see you here. Is there something you need?”

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 she’s yet to take home, neither of which have even begun to wilt—and likely won’t. (She’ll have to take them home soon before people start asking questions.)

“I was called here by Father, but he’s currently indisposed. I’ve been told to wait.”

She waits a moment for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she asks, “So you came to visit me?”

“Yours is the only tolerable presence to be found.” His lips purse, and he crosses his arms. “And that includes that imbecile Drake who is no doubt still in his office like the pitiful insomniac he is.”

Her tongue is already halfway around a joke about excuses—she didn’t befriend Felix for nothing, okay? She knows how people like Damian work—when she realizes what he just said.

“Wait. Tim’s been here all night?”

Damian snorts. “He certainly didn’t return to the manor.”

She’s 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.

“I’m going to kill your brother,” she says simply. “Would you like to come with?”

She’s gotten closer to Tim since working in Wayne Tower. He’s a notorious recluse and rarely leaves his office when he’s in the building, but Marinette makes it a point to visit him during lunch and before she leaves for the night.

He isn’t one of her Waynes, but he is a Wayne and her Waynes love and care for him so there’s 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 ‘ride or die’ 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, “Of course.” Then he’s plucking her things from her hands, offering her his arm and saying, “Shall we?”

Marinette laughs as she loops her arm with his. “We shall.”

***

She spends ten minutes scolding Tim before wrangling him onto the couch in his office and wrapping him up in the blanket so tightly he’d 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 doesn’t 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, she’s treated to the sound of his surprised laughter as she begins switching out all of Tim’s regular coffee for magic-decaf—not that Damian knows it’s magic.

(By the devilish smirk playing at his lips, she’s 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 Paris’ Court, claiming that he’s curious about them.

She answers them, but only as far as she’d 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.

Marinette’s 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 she’s started a food kitchen and makes a habit of spending her weekend there, they immediately insist on joining her, despite her protests.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” 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, “We know, M. But we want to.”

Jason finally turns back to her from where he’s been staring at the kitchen with something just shy of awe on his face. “You’re downright incredible, you know that?” 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. “I would’ve killed for something like this when I was on the streets.”

“It’s not just me who’s got this up and running-” 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 don’t 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 Damian’s 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 ‘date’ 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 didn’t stay past Lilliane arriving in the morning (the poor dear was chronically late and always the last to arrive) but he hadn’t shown up until after she came that day and overcompensated by hours—which she hadn't minded. He kept to the fringes of her workspace and didn't distract her, instead focusing on his own thing. She wasn’t 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. He’s the only Wayne brother who doesn’t visit her at work, seeing as they have their bi-weekly gymnastic sessions; recently, with the addition of Mar’i, who still calls her ‘twin’ and whom Marinette still adores.)

And then lunch had rolled around, and it was Marinette’s turn to go out so she brought Damian with since he was still there.

They were out together for forty-five minutes. Tops.

“Why me?” she whines into the surface of her desk.

Damian, the asshole, just laughs at her and she can’t even be mad about it because he’s 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.

***

They’re 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 Chloé says: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

They see the camera this time and the photo splashed across the page the next day is of Marinette laughing with Jason’s 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 Marinette’s ‘harem of Waynes’ and how she’s a ‘horrible influence on such bright children’. 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 it’s especially vicious to those that think they’re owed anything. She’s heard the way Gothamites talk about Superman and The Flash—it’s 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 Gotham’s vigilantes operate.

Something more vicious, maybe; something more restrained.

Without the light of day and without the people’s 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 she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t so intimately familiar with it all herself.

They don’t 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 Ladybug’s always liked a challenge, and it isn’t long before she has him relaxing around her.

Well, for a definition of relax anyway. He's still a bat after all.

But then, it’s pretty easy to get past Signal’s barriers when she’s 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, isn’t it a bit weird she’s only met three spread across two of her alter egos? As Ladybug, she’d expect to be hounded by a few of them but the only one she’s met is Signal. She can’t decide if it’s because he’s the only one that operates in the daylight, or if they just don’t want to spook her into running or something.

Either way, they’re going to start giving her a complex. She’s 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 what’s up with that? The way they talk about how nosy Red Robin is, she’s surprised he didn’t drop by months ago and- is it weird that she’s offended by vigilantes not prying into her private life?

…Probably.)

***

Marinette blinks, stopping dead in her tracks.

Damian's on her fainting couch, sketchpad in his lap as he waits for her.

“Why are you wearing a beanie?” 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. It’s a subtle but very important difference.

“Sorry,” she apologizes anyway, putting her bag down. “I haven't had coffee yet.”

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. “You’re a godsend.”

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 monstrosity—just the way she likes it, when had Damian even noticed that?—and he continues sketching she asks again. “Okay but, I actually am kinda curious. What’s up with the hat?”

He sighs heavily, closing his pad. “It’s… better than the alternative.”

Marinette snorts. “Alternative to what? A top hat?” But instead of snapping back like she expects, he just continues to frown. Immediately, her lips turn down into a concerned frown. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” he grounds out and Marinette puts her coffee down. She’s 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 Wayne’s hair is vibrantly electric blue.

Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth as she tries to stifle her giggles.

Damian’s scowl deepens. He moves to shove his ridiculous beanie back on his head but her hand snaps out before he can.

“No! No, I’m sorry I just-” she giggles again. “You looked so upset by it and you took me by surprise. I like it!”

He glares up at her, still sat on the fainting couch so it’s her who has the height advantage for once.

“Don’t patronize me.”

She rolls her eyes, the hand that wasn’t 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 didn’t use that gel stuff today, planning on keeping his hair under a hat the whole time.

“It looks good on you,” she says softly.

He snorts disbelievingly and she smacks his shoulder lightly. “It’s true! I swear you could look good in any color.” She clicks her tongue longingly. “I wish I had your skin tone. I’m too pale to wear pastels like I want.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Pastels?”

“Oh you hush,” she quips, finally pulling her hand from his hair. “Anyway, if you don’t like it, why’d you dye it blue in the first place?”

“I… lost a wager with Todd.”

She laughs, starting to move around and get ready for the day. She doesn’t have any meetings scheduled, which means she gets the whole day to create. She’s pretty excited about it.

“I should’ve guessed it was Jason’s doing.”

Damian shrugs, settling back into the cushions. He drapes himself across them in a way that’s effortlessly elegant and like he’s ready to be photographed for a magazine cover or something. Must all her friends be so pretty? It’s playing hell on her self-esteem.

“But blue is your favorite color, right? So there’s that at least.”

Damian hums. “Todd had threatened to dye it pink or some other equally garish color.”

“Hey!” she exclaims in mock outrage. “What’s wrong with pink? I’ve been wanting to dye my hair pink for ages.”

“Nothing. It’s just simply not a color I appreciate.” He makes a face. “Like orange.”

Marinette huffs, but there’s a smile on her lips. It's quiet for a moment, for long enough that she thinks the conversation's been dropped. But then-

“Why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why haven’t you dyed your hair?” he repeats. “Your friends—Couffaine and… Kubdel? They both have colored hair.”

Marinette shrugs. “I dunno. Never got around to it I guess. I suppose I could do it now. Dye mine in solidarity,” she jokes. “Oh! We could match even! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I thought you wanted pink?”

“Well, yeah. But blue is nice too. Besides,” she smiles wryly over her shoulder, “you just said pink was ‘garish’.”

Damian frowns slightly, shaking his head, “On me, perhaps. But I think you’d look very fetching in pink.”

“Oh,” Marinette pauses, feeling her face grow warm at the sudden compliment. “Well- Uh, pink it is, then.”

***

(Damian watches the blush rise on her cheeks as she turns away to try and hide it. Yes, he can’t help but think, fetching in pink, indeed.)

***

Luka insists on being the one to dye her hair, citing that he’s 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.

(She’s also wearing her Robin themed sundress, complete with hood, matching boots and personal touches not found on the mass-produced version—but Marinette doesn’t know why that would be relevant.)

Her favorite reaction to her new hair color though is, by far, Mar’i’s.

Marinette doesn’t see the young Grayson until a week later when she’s invited to the monthly family dinner Alfred insists all the Waynes attend—which 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 Mar’i 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 is—apparently—Stitch’s girlfriend and the complimentary pink to his blue.

Marinette is momentarily surprised, but Mar’i’s enthusiasm is contagious and it isn’t long before the rest of the Waynes are teasingly calling them Angel and Stitch. Marinette thinks it’s all very funny and adorable.

Damian, on the other hand, most certainly does not and threatens everyone who calls him that ‘ridiculous nickname’ with graphic depictions of bodily harm.

‘Angel’, oddly enough, sticks for Marinette. She finds she kind of likes it.

***

Later, Damian asks her about nicknames.

Well, he calls them ‘asinine titles’ and doesn’t so much ask as demand she explain why she allows anyone to call her by them seeing as she has a ‘perfectly serviceable name,’ in his opinion.

Ignoring the fact that she’s heard Dick call him multiple nicknames he hadn’t protested to, she says, “Well, I guess it’s that everyone uses Marinette. A nickname is something… special. A little more personal, I guess. And, I dunno. My parents named me Marinette, but it’s nice to share something between other people. And it shows they care.”

Damian looks confused after she’s done, but also thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything to that and Marinette doesn’t 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 beam—this is just ridiculous.)

***

When Robin disappears a second time, Marinette doesn’t get the chance to notice his absence on her own. He’s only stopped showing up four days ago—which is longer than normal, but not unheard of—when 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.

“Well,” Nightwing explains when she asks, “We wanted to visit ages ago, but baby bird threatened to stab us all if we tried.”

“He’s very… particular about you,” Red Robin tacks on while Spoiler nods sagely like she hasn’t 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. “That… does not explain why you are here now.”

“Robin can’t stop us now, obviously,” Red Robin says casually, like he hasn't just kicked her heart into high gear with a few words.

“What? Why?” she demands, trying very hard not to sound panicked. “Is he okay? Was he hurt?”

Red Robin blinks, going quiet in that way Hood and Robin do when they’re judging her just a bit. She hates this family.

“No, he’s… fine.”

“B’s just benched him for the time being,” Nightwing helpfully supplies, amusement flickering at the edges of his lips. “He’s a little too… conspicuous at the moment.”

Marinette’s shoulders relax even as her brows furrow. Conspicuous? What in the world is that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean he won’t be coming around for a while?” she asks before she can think better of it.

The three vigilantes in front of her share a look before Spoiler says, “Probably. But the gremlin’s never been one to sit still so who knows?” she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she leans toward Marinette conspiratorially. “But don’t worry. We can keep you company in the meantime!”

“We’re much better company than the demon anyway. Certainly less insulting.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad. He’s an ass, for sure, but you can tell when he means it and when he’s just stumbling over himself.” Marinette smiles fondly, “For someone so dignified, he trips over his tongue quite often.”

Now the vigilantes are really staring at her. She’s 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 doesn’t push him away, instead laughing at the sudden affection.

“Oh you really are perfect!” he exclaims, setting her down and still grinning like an absolute lunatic.

She’s smiling, because Nightwing’s joy is infectious, but she's even more confused than before. And then, before she can ask what he means, Red Robin’s wrist computer lights up—and damn, isn’t that cool? Marinette wonders if Tikki could do something like that for the Ladybug suit—and 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 Marinette’s 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, they’re all mildly famous and the leaders of their various fields, but they’re 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.

He’s focusing on what she’s saying so much—because she has a habit of forgetting things if she doesn’t write them down and needs someone to remind her of the ideas she had at a later time—that he doesn’t even realize Lahiffe is there until he clears his throat.

Marinette jumps, almost elbowing him in the stomach. “Nino!” she shouts, springing up and flinging herself at the other man who catches her like this is something she does often.

“Heya, Nettie.”

“Wait- what are you doing here? You’re not-” she jolts back to look at Lahiffe’s amused expression. “Oh kwami, is it time already? Shit. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry! I have to give this one thing to Publishing but then I promise we can go, okay? Like, just five minutes!”

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 she’s dropped or pointing out a thing she’s missed, weaving around her chaos with practiced ease.

Then she’s sweeping out of the office with a distracted “be right back!” and he’s alone with Lahiffe.

The second Marinette leaves, the man’s attention swings onto him with a strange weight. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything and Damian’s hackles raise with every passing second.

He doesn’t snap at him though, because he’s one of Marinette’s friends. Insulting him would only serve to make her upset and that’s something Damian's been trying to avoid causing as of late.

“Man,” Lahiffe says at last. “Alix wasn’t kidding about the whole besotted thing, huh?”

Damian rears back, straightening up to his full height. “I beg your pardon?”

Lahiffe laughs and waves his hand about like that’s supposed to mean something. “Ah, no need to be embarrassed about it, dude. You’re far from the first of us to fall for her charms.”

“What.”

“Yeah, 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."

“I’m not- I'm not interested in Marinette,” Damian tries to protest but Lahiffe just calmly steamrolls over him.

“Nah. Everyone loves Nettie. It’s universal law or something. First, there was me and Adrien, then Luka—who she actually liked back for a while there but are now practically siblings. Chloé liked her in collége, but she hadn’t really come to terms with that at the time. Alix might’ve, but she’s pretty grey-ace and fluctuates on the romance points, so who knows.

“Oh! And Nath. He also snagged a date with her, but he was an Akuma at the time so I’m not technically sure that it counts. And he’s with Marc now anyway. Thinking of adopting a kid, last I heard. Anyway- my point was: everyone loves Nettie. And don’t bother trying to fight it, because it only makes her pull of gravity worse.”

Lahiffe then claps him on the shoulder like their talk amiable and not the most confusing speech Damian’s ever heard.

And then he doesn’t 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 she’s “Just fine! Nothing to worry about! I’m just, maybe, perhaps, a little worried for a friend even though I shouldn’t be, because his family says he’s just fine and-”

He looks contemplative when he leaves that day, but he didn’t ask about her outburst, so she extends the same courtesy to him.

***

That night, Robin returns.

“What,” she says around the laughter threatening to bubble out of her throat, “are you wearing?”

Robin scowls from behind the full cowl he has on that she’s pretty sure belongs to Red Robin. It makes him look a whole ten years older and she can’t 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.

“What are you wearing?” he shoots back petulantly.

She blinks in confusion, then realizes she’s 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 it’s reflected in her work.

Robin doesn't seem to agree if the poorly concealed disdain on his face means anything.

“What?” she asks teasingly, “You jealous?”

He scoffs and looks off to the side. “Of course not. I simply do not understand why you’d want anything to do with that simpleton. Especially not when I know you have clothing articles referencing far superior individuals.”

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.

“Come inside,” she blurts in lieu of all the things she really wants to say—which are mostly just embarrassing variations of I missed you. “I can, uh, make us tea. If you want.”

It's the first time she’s ever invited him inside and she can see the small bit of shock on his face—well, what she can see of it anyway—before he schools it.

“Yes,” he says in a tone of voice that implies it was his idea in the first place. “That sounds… good.”

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. She’s about to ask what’s wrong when he reaches out with his hand to gently grab a lock of her hair.

“Pink suits you, by the way.”

She quirks her lips, “Yeah? You don’t think it’s… too much?”

The corners of his mouth turn down, “Absolutely not. You look…” he trails off, mouth flattening into a line and dropping his hand.

She blinks at the odd behavior. “Nice?” she offers tentatively.

He nods, but it’s a little jerky and strange. But before she can ask about it, he’s already turning to enter her flat like he owns the place, remarking about her choices of tea and if she’s finally acquired an ‘adequate teapot’.

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

he’s 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

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

daisyduke: ‘get fucked jason’ -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 doesn’t know a lot about Robin’s past, which she assumes is by design. Secret identities don’t lead well to handing out details and concrete information about one’s 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.

It’s in the vague allusions to ‘training’ and the scorn filled way he says the word ‘mother’. It’s in the not-quite-confusion—because whatever family he has is better now, at least—of Marinette telling him about her own parents. About the happy memories she’s 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 he’s kind of messed up and definitely checks off the childhood trauma box that’s apparently one of the requirements for being her friend.

So when Robin suddenly decides to go against everything she’s learned about him up until this point and actually share something about himself—and when that thing he shares just so happens to be a story from his childhood—well… Marinette wouldn’t say she’s prepared, but she’s not- prepared.

He’s in her kitchen, because Marinette has learned her lesson about bleeding vigilantes on her couch, and she’s pretty sure he could’ve gone back to the Cave for this, but he came here for whatever reason. (Was closer, he said. Marinette doesn’t know if she believes him.)

She’s cleaning the knife wound on his arm, and she has his cape laid out across her island. There’s a hole in it she plans on sewing back up after she finishes sewing the hole in her reckless vigilante back up.

“You need to be more careful,” she scolds. “You’re lucky this didn’t nick something important.”

“It's hardly the worst wound I’ve ever acquired,” he tells her in a tone of voice that he probably thinks is reasonable. “At 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.”

Marinette pauses where she’s 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. He’s gone utterly still beneath her hands, with terror or worry or the effort it takes not to bolt out the window immediately, she doesn’t know.

“That’s horrifying,” she tells him as she finishes securing the obnoxiously bright bandage, “Never tell me that story again.”

She then drops a kiss onto his bicep, subtly imbuing it with enough luck that it will keep off any infection—the wound was filthy when he came in, seriously, was he in a sewer?—and 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 can’t tell what he’s thinking. All she knows is that he seems… softer, in a way.

***

Three days after Marinette’s unexpected look into Robin’s past, she finds a box on her desk. It’s a jewelry box, and the only reason she doesn’t 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 that’s 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 doesn’t exactly narrow down who could have left it for her.

Or well, it does, but all the people it narrows down to don’t make any sense.

Multimouse is a badly kept secret, but it’s still a secret. Most people outside Paris don’t know about her and the people in Paris didn’t exactly recognize her off the street either.

Her Court knows, obviously, and so do the Waynes and the bats. But her Court wouldn’t 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 wouldn’t leave the gift on her desk, and they certainly wouldn’t 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. “Is it your birthday? I swear, Boss if you didn't tell us it was your birthday-”

“No, Jeremy,” she says, amused despite her confusion. “That’s not for a while yet. I found this when I walked in,” she shakes the box slightly for emphasis, “but there wasn’t a note.”

“Oh.” A smile slowly spreads across Jeremy’s face. “Oh?” he purrs, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Does the boss have a secret admirer?”

Marinette blinks and- what?

“What? No. I can’t- That doesn’t-” 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 can’t have been left by a secret admirer. That’s just crazy.

There are exactly two people who could’ve left this for her and neither of them would be an admirer of any kind. And she wouldn’t want them to be anyway because that would be stupid and ridiculous and weird.

She doesn’t like Robin or Damian like that…

Right?

***

(It’s 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, there’s a box of expensive chocolates. Like, the kind only Adrien, Felix, and Chloé 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 flight—she gets so many gifts, Marinette has to stop keeping count.

It’s somewhere around day six that her designers must’ve ratted on her to either Felix or Chloé because it’s 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 wasn’t all equally terrible and conflicting.

They’re also placing bets on who they think her admirer is, Damian or Robin. They’re trying to be discreet about it—which means they’re 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 she’s 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 they’d 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.

It’s just- they’re 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.

It’s driving her insane! Before the necklace appeared on her desk, she didn’t even know that she liked Robin and Damian.

And now she’s overanalyzing their nonreactions. She hates it.

It feels too much like she’s back in collège, trying to sort out her feelings for Adrien and Chat. (Who ended up being the same person—which 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 doesn’t 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 it’s not the gifts he’s 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 doesn’t notice the way he follows the easy nimbleness of her fingers. She uses her sketchbook and eats the expensive chocolates and doesn’t 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, it’s Signal who helps her with her internal crisis—completely unintentionally and in a very roundabout way—but he helps all the same.

He’s 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 weren’t 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 she’s doing, even if he can’t 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.

It’s an odd phenomenon and Ladybug is looking into it.)

There has been more than one occasion where Signal had warned her of the matrix’s imminent collapse with enough time for her to prepare herself for its blowback.

The version she’s working on today is their fifth iteration. It’s supposed to pull the miasma out of the building, filter it through her and Tikki’s 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 she’ll 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, that’s only if she can actually get it to work. It’s been almost a month and this is the fifth version and it’s 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.

She’s very thankful for it, actually. If he wasn’t 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 doesn’t have to do that.

Eventually, she asks him, apropos of nothing, “You’re a detective right?”

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.

“Yes? I guess that’s technically what I am.”

“So you’re good at figuring out who’s behind a crime?”

Signal only looks more confused. “Yeah? But Ladybug, what-”

“Great, so. Hypothetically, if you had two suspects for a—well it’s not a crime. A… thing? Situation. How would you figure out which one of them is actually behind the… situation?”

Signal’s lips quirk, just a bit despite his confusion. “I think I’m gonna need a little more to go on than just ‘a situation,’ LB.”

Ladybug purses her lips and stares down at the light weaving intricate patterns in the space between her palms. Slowly, carefully, she tells him, “There are items being left where a person can find them. But the identity of the person leaving them and their intentions are unknown.”

“Are the items dangerous?” he asks worriedly.

Ladybug shakes her head. “No. They're more like gifts.”

“Are the gifts unwanted or creepy? Unsettling? Threatening?”

Another head shake. “Just confusing and… thoughtful.”

“Someone is leaving you thoughtful gifts and you're worried about that… why?” Signal asks, slowly and disbelievingly.

“It’s because I- wait! I’m not the person!” she panics, causing the magic to spark dangerously in her hands but she barely notices. “The person doesn’t even exist. It was a hypothetical question!”

Signal stares at her. She can’t see his eyes or the top half of his face, but she just knows he’s raising his eyebrow judgingly at her.

“Stop that!” she snaps. “Stop being perceptive! I have enough perceptive people in my life so knock it off!”

Signal laughs like the horrible person he is. “But don’t you need me to be perceptive? That’s like, a requirement to be a detective.”

“Stop it,” she says again, mulishly and very childish.

And isn’t that an odd thought to have? Ladybug being childish.

How novel. Ladybug has never once been childish. She can’t 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, she’s 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.

It’s as comforting a thought as it is terrifying.

Signal raises his hands in surrender, but his lips are still quirked in amusement.

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 she’s not the only one upset right now.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Nooroo frets, flitting around her head with agitated wings. Hers aren’t much better, if she’s being honest. “What are we going to do, Guardian? He knows who you are! This is bad.”

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 she’s suddenly a part of.

“Well,” Tikki says, sounding far too calm for the situation. “This isn’t ideal.”

The laugh that escapes Marinette is on the edge of hysterical. “You think?”

“It’s not ideal,” Tikki repeats firmly, “But neither is it a disaster.”

Nooroo lands on her other shoulder as she kneels down beside Signal to rearrange his limbs to not be so uncomfortable. “But he's unpredictable!” he argues, curling into the side of her neck like she will hide him from the world. “We don’t know what he’ll do with this information!”

Tikki hums thoughtfully. “Then 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.”

“You think so?” Marinette asks softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

She knows the Bat’s 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 Ladybug’s 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 doesn’t want to leave Gotham. It’s… 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 face—or perhaps Nooroo has just picked up on the turmoil in her chest—because the two Kwami are pressed on either side of her face, nuzzling and hugging as much of her as they can reach.

“We’ll make it through this, Marinette,” Tikki says firmly, no room for argument. “Don’t worry so much. Both of you. Everything will turn out just fine, you’ll see.”

***

@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

#maribat #daminette #ml x dc #my typewriter #for us to collide

242 notes · View notes

decembersylph-a-t-u · 3 years ago

Text

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.

Jin’s 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 doesn’t 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 Jin’s 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 it’s 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 didn’t see it. His parents called him a failure, telling him to shape up and not use his Quirk as an excuse for “laziness”. Denki had snapped when his classmates began pushing him around, trying to get him to go into his “dumb mode” 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 Denki’s 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 Denki’s Quirk affected him. He decided to take Denki back to his and Jin’s hiding place, where Jin wasn’t 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 “blonde brat” 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 “three blonde kids” 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 it’s 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 “the Brothers Blonde” as they’re 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 “Brothers Blonde” become the “Siblings Blonde”, as the media catches wind of her.

Some parts of this AU are:

People wonder if they’re 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: ‘A 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."’ He is both the encourager of chaos in his siblings and the one to reel them back when they’re likely to get in over their heads. When he isn’t 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 parents’ abuse, so when he became older, he started venting through graffiti and nailing people with paint-filled water balloons. He’s 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 it’s not an emergency.

Denki often complains over being the baby of the family, but doesn’t actually mind it since he likes the attention of his siblings.

Keigo will take to ferrying his siblings around when bored, but doesn’t 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 don’t 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

18 notes · View notes

rachelbethhines · 4 years ago

Text

Tangled Salt Marathon - No Time Like the Past

While I wouldn’t 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.

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 it’s 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. That’s how bad it is.

Summary: 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 Rapunzel’s Doing

Minor nitpick here, but Cass had nothing to do with putting Eugene’s 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 ‘gift’.

Basically the show is attributing one of Rapunzel’s mistakes/flaws to Cassandra in order to introduce a very nonsensical plot point later. So I need ya’ll to keep that in mind as we go along.

Lets Talk About the Episode’s Ordering

We don't have production codes for season three like we did for the previous two seasons. So we can’t 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.

For starters this is a “bottle” 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 Cassandra’s Revenge. You can’t really do that with most of the other episodes so it could have been easily moved around when airing.

Therefore, I would argue that it should have been the first episode after Rapunzel’s Return for three key reasons.

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 she’s 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.

Rapunzel’s stance over wanting to keep Cassandra’s 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 wouldn’t 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.

Events in this episode better explains Eugene’s decisions in Return of the King and gives the audience more context for certain stuff.

So Why Is There a Random Magical Time Traveling Hourglass in the Storage Vault?

Slowly but surely the series has abandoned all pretense that there’s 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.

The problem with this is a lack of consistency. You can’t 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.

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 it’s only Rapunzel herself who routinely runs into these things and not just everybody and anybody.

None of This Stuff Holds Any Meaning

Show don’t tell!

At several points through out season three, both Raps and Cass morn over Cassandra’s 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.

We were never shown on screen what was so special about these things other than the fact that it was junk Cass collected. There’s 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.

Eugene is the One in the Right Here.

Eugene’s right.

Any well adjust and mature adult will tell you he’s right.

If someone doesn’t want a relationship with you, than that’s it. There is nothing you can do but to move on. It sucks, but its life. To ignore that is to ignore someone else’s boundaries and personal autonomy; while also devaluing yourself and you’re own needs.

In a competent show this would be a set up for Rapunzel to learn something about letting go and taking care of oneself emotionally.

But this isn’t a competent show.

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. It’s easy to attain, cheap, and not regulated like hunting was in much of Europe. In America, specifically, lobster was fed to prisoners and there’s historical accounts of riots being started over it.

Heck, less than forty years ago, no one lived on the coast but poor people. That’s why there’s 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.

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.

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, it’s 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.

This means that these kids are so poor that fucking mcdonald’s 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.

This Wasn’t Planned Out, So the Timeline Doesn’t 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.

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.

I know teenage boys can grow fast, but not that fast.

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.

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.

In fact the first flashback no longer makes any sense being so many years ago given Eugene’s engagement and recent breakup with Stalyan, and the later reveal that he was working for the Baron during the original movie.

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 Eugene’s 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.

Baby Varian Is the Episode’s Only Saving Grace

I know people are divided on the deign here. Some love it and some hate it, but that’s a personal taste thing. The actual scene itself is golden either way, because it’s such a funny eater egg. Fans on both sides made memes out of this for days. It’s legendary.

Personally I’m more in the ‘love it’ 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 it’s only fair Varian got one as well. The fact that he’s in smaller versions of the S1 clothes doesn’t bother me anymore than when Lance ran around for two seasons in the same outfit, including when he was a kid.

So if I like it, then why am I talking about it a salt review?

Cause the most memorable part of an episode shouldn’t be a throw away gag!

People bring up baby Varian way more than they do about anything else in the episode, and no it’s not just because the character popular. It’s because most would like to forget what comes after this scene.

Where is Quirin, by the Way?

Why is your six year old son running around the big city unsupervised?

This wouldn’t get talk about as much it wasn’t 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 Rapunzel’s Return but we the audience have yet to visually see any difference in behavior since then.

Quirin’s absence here in the past highlights his absence in the present day and reminds the audience aware that we’ve not been given a satisfying conclusion to one of the most important arcs in the series.

Lets Talk About Wasted Potential

Like I said, I like the idea of exploring Eugene’s 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. He’s now on an identity crisis arc which has nothing to do with this episode.

But you know who still hasn’t finished developing? Rapunzel.

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 ‘inhabiting another body’ plot point.

You have no end of options here,

Have Raps inhabit Cassandra’s 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.

Have Raps inhabit Eugene’s 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.)

And my personal favorite, send her back to right after Queen for a Day and have her stuck in either Varian’s or Ruddiger’s bodies. Force her to see what she did to him and have her acknowledge she was wrong.

And those are just the most obvious choices, there’s other more out of left field things you can do that would still work with good writing. Like exploring Lady Caine’s past, inhabiting Arianna’s 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.

But I Thought You Didn’t Put Kids in Jail Frederic?

Remember that Raps and Pascal are possessing the Stabbingtons who are still teenagers here. They can’t be much older than Varian.

This means that Varian isn’t some special case. Teens have received harsh and deadly punishments in the past for non-violent crimes like theft.

Also teens are called kids still by the majority of the cast. They’re aren’t 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.

So in conclusion, Frederic is a fucking liar!

Tangled the Series can’t decide if it’s 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 we’re 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.

Like what are you trying to say show? What is your message on the transition of adolescence to adulthood regarding rights and responsibilities? And don’t tell me ‘it’s not that deep’ because this is suppose to be a coming of age show! That’s the entire premise of the series!

So How Old Are Stan and Pete Again?

I was always under the impression that Pete was a newbie guard, closer to Cass and Eugene’s age than say Cap or Frederic. That’s why he screws up so much because he’s 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.

I mean there was nothing on screen previously that would necessarily contradict this reveal, it just doesn’t feel right, that’s 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 doesn’t explain why he’s so useless a decade later.

I’m 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 Monty’s episode during season one. (She’s Stan and Pete’s beard, and they’re totally in a open poly relationship. That’s why they’re allowed to stay in the royal guard despite being so incompetent cause they’re technically Ferderic’s in-laws and Rapunzel’s uncles. Just no one ever talks about it cause it’s a minor sandal for a princess to marry lower class and Willow’s hardly ever there.)

And Why Does Xavier Have All Those Plot McGuffins?

I know we’ll never get an answer, but at this point Xavier’s exposition fairy powers border upon ridiculousness. It’s just lazy and a waste of character.

So How Does Time Travel Work In This?

There are three types of time travel stories in fiction.

First is the ‘Changeable Past, Changeable Future’. 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.

The second is the ‘Alternate Timeline’, where changing things creates new realties and it’s 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 won’t 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.

Third is the ‘Closed Time Loop’. 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 ‘fix points’ 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.

So which type of time travel is Tangled dealing with here?

Scenes like the conversation regarding Pete’s and Stan’s 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, we’ve no indication that anything else changed other then Eugene’s opinions on Cass, and Raps shows no concern about getting back to her original point in time indicating that it actually isn’t another dimension.... so what is it then?

You don’t 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 don’t lose immersion.

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 can’t say that those developments didn’t match the characters’ previous storylines and logical trajectory. Tony finally becomes the selfless hero by committing the ultimate sacrifice, Steve learns self care as a mirror to Tony’s 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.

What happens to the characters in this episode however makes no sense.

This is Another Missed Opportunity to Explore Eugene’s Past

The other problem behind the episode is that we don’t actually learn anything new. If you’re going to promise a story focusing on Eugene’s past then I expect to actually glean some new insights.

We still don’t know why he’s 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 wasn’t Rapunzel), and when did he and Lance become separated?

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. It’s super frustrating and wholly unnecessary. If you didn’t think the story of Eugene’s past worth telling then why did up repeatedly bring it up Chris?

Why Are You Surprised by This Rapunzel?

Rapunzel you know Eugene’s 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 didn’t start to like him until he dropped his guard down in the flooded cave back when you both where about to die.

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 others’ trust. This here; angrily yelling at him and judging him, when you’re already hiding who you really are from him both literally and figuratively, is a breaking of that trust.

Who the fuck are you any more, Rapunzel?

Cause you’re not the same character from the movie. You’re not even the same character from season one. But whoever hell you are now, it’s not an improvement I can tell ya that.

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?

I’m guessing the implication here is that Crowley put Cass’s stuff in the vault, but like why the fuck would she do that? We’re not talking about a family attic here, but the royal safe. The most heavily guarded room in the castle with the kingdom’s most priceless treasures and antiques. Nothing Cass owned was that valuable.

Rapunzel Is Full of Shit

Oh let me count the numerous ways in which this whole lecture is stupid.

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.

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 ‘lesson’ 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 she’s 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 who’s personal conflict isn’t even the episode’s focus, into the one who needs to learn something? Especially if that something is already a lesson that they’ve 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 you’d hear in a children's show, but the context of it is justifying harmful behavior where you selfishly ignore other people’s wishes and boundaries just to satisfy you’re own personal desires.

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 Rapunzel’s own actions. Eugene isn’t the one who is responsible here, its Rapunzel. Who also left them both behind in her carelessness. Secondly, Eugene’s decisions are spurned by years of trauma and a healthy fear of dying, while Rapunzel’s 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, Eugene’s 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 ‘learn’ anything from this misadventure that he didn’t already know and for Rapunzel to not learn anything that would actually tie the parallel together.

Locking Another Teen Inside a Jail Cell With Another Adult as a Joke, Does Not Erase the Inappropriateness of Varian’s Story

The episode tries to add another joke about Shorty sneaking into the prison without the guard knowing, but that still doesn’t excuse the fact someone had to have tossed Lance in there with him on purpose. Otherwise Lance wouldn’t have assumed Shorty was a fellow prisoner if he or the guard that locked him up saw Shorty sneak in before then.

Furthermore Lance’s 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 ‘cellmate’ line from Rapunzel’s 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.

Shorty might be non-threating, but that doesn’t 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 ‘jokes’ will suddenly make it right.

Raps, Who is an Adult, Just Physically Threatened Two Teenaged Boys and It’s Played as a Joke....

How many times do I have to say it? Humor does not fix bad writing. I’m 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.

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.

And This is Now a Time Paradox

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?

In a competent series this would be the point of a future conflict and not the actual resolution. It’s not a closed time loop because of the paradox and the changes we’ll see in the future.

So either she’s in an alternate timeline/dimension and just doesn’t gives a shit; leaving the real Eugene, Lance, Cass, ect. to go on without her; or she’s 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.

That’s it. Those are you’re only two options now. Is everyone from here on a fake copy or is Rapunzel the damned destroyer of worlds? You decide.

So This Confirms That the Stabbingtons are Indeed “Family”

Another reason why I place this before Return of the King; it explains why Eugene considers the Stabbingtons ‘family’. 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 Eugene’s face, but Cass’s 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; I’m going to guess that Cass’s feelings weren’t actually altered. If anything their relationship might actually be worse now, cause Cassandra keeps acting like she’s never had friends and Eugene has taken up Rapunzel’s blind devotion.

All that development in season one is just, poof, gone. Also it’s 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 that’s suppose to work, I don’t know.

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. Don’t expect that to be explored anytime soon.

Though, it would explain why he’s suddenly such a doormat in season three, if this was the second episode as theorized.

No! This is the Wrong Lesson!!!

Let me explain narrative promises.

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. It’s integral to how we communicate as human beings. Everyone knows innately how to tell a story even if that person couldn’t 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 can’t always pin point what upsets them about a story they can for sure notice when things are off and not satisfying to experience.

Now that doesn’t mean that everyone can write an awarding winning novel, that study of a craft isn’t 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. We’ve familiarized ourselves with the language of film, novels, comics, ect, into order to comprehend what’s going on.

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 you’re doing and have a good narrative reason to do so, then you can easily lose you’re audience. And if you’re making money off said audience that’s something you want to avoid.

A narrative promise is a cue; a set up that lets the audience know that ‘hey this is important, pay attention to this cause it’ll come back into play later’. 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.

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.

That’s not what happened here.

Convention was subverted. It wasn’t the protagonist who grew and change, it was the person they were in conflict with who did. And it wasn’t subverted because of any greater narrative reason, or future pay off, or even as effort to be shallowly ‘clever’; it was subverted because the author just didn’t 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 doesn’t feel like Rapunzel this season because she’s just Chris in a wig.

The episode broke a narrative promise to the audience; both within the episode and in the greater premise of the story, because of ego.

I don’t 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.

Way To Undermine The Entire Point of the Original Movie, Show

Speaking of breaking narrative promises....

TTS is suppose to be a squeal to the original movie. It’s even in the title of the show; both of them. In one fell swoop, the series has managed to sabotage it’s very reason for existing, as it erases Eugene’s motivation and the inciting incident that kick started the film.

Way to fucking go.

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.

I don’t mind Cassandra’s existence. I don’t even mind her being the new deuteragonist and one of the main villains; even though she wouldn’t 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.

This is the Death of New Dream

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 “betrayal” where Eugene finally became fed up with Rapunzel’s 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 ZT’s hold on them, and that true love’s 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.

Oh dear merciful heavens, was I ever wrong.

How did we go from season one’s challenging and mature storyline, complete with Disney’s first real anti-villian, to this?!

What the hell happened!?

Rapunzel not only disrespects Eugene’s 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 doesn’t 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, doesn’t care what evil thing she does to get the desired outcome Rapunzel wants.

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 creator’s previous waifu OC with plastic smiles on their faces, sums up this series perfectly.

Conclusion

This isn’t even the worst episode of the series guys. I don’t know if it would even make it onto a bottom five list. That’s 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.

Not even the most hardcore of New Dream fans want to acknowledge the existence of that final scene, and Rapunzel stans won’t defend her beyond, ’well she didn’t mean too, it’s the writing that’s bad.’ Yeah, the writing is bad, that’s why the character can’t and shouldn’t be defended, not here and not in other badly written episodes where she also does bad things and never makes up for it.

Anyways I’m finally caught up to where I left off, before the move, though sadly I don't think I’ll 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.

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

#tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #Eugene #anti-rapunzel #anti-tangled

93 notes · View notes

hollenka99 · 3 years ago

Text

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?

#dream smp #technoblade #philza #kidza #my writing #blood and feathers

13 notes · View notes

justletmeplayminecraft · 4 years ago

Note

So um. I saw the dialing thing and the line “never speak of this again” with Scar and Mumbo or smth? I dunno I just really liked their dynamic together in their recent eps and I’m super interested in what you’d 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!

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.

"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.

77 notes · View notes

infini-tree · 3 years ago

Text

FANFIC: Bùkěsīyì - Part 14

prev | next

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 satchel’s strap, his eyes narrowed to slits. The wolves all took a collective step closer. Shen’s 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 wolves’ 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 wasn’t 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.

…Or 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 other’s 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. “Where did you learn to fight like that? Who are you?”

It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, to say the least. With everything pocketed away, Shen turned away. “No one of significant importance,” he muttered before pulling his hood down further.

“Well, whoever you are, I… take it you’re also here to protect the village?” When no answer came, he added, “I figure, that you’d need all the help you can get with—”

“Absolutely not.” Shen skulked past him. “You masters make the lack of self-preservation an art form.”

That got a rise out of the little master. He dashed in front him, standing between him and the only exit as if he wasn’t half Shen’s size and barely any wider. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back with an accusatory tone.

“I feel as if it's self explanatory, but if you really need me to explain it in piecemeal--” His arm reared back to throw the knife in his hand. “It means I don’t have time for this. Now get out of the way.”

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.

As it stood, both were evenly matched.

The red panda steeled himself. “If we combine forces, we’d surely figure out a plan to drive out the army—”

“I already have a plan, thank you very much,” Shen rebuffed.

“Then at least help me with that!”

As Shen weighed his options, his grimace grew deeper as he eyed the red panda. There was an insistence that didn’t sit well with him. But on the other hand, the bird had stayed here too long for his liking.

“Dispose of them.” he conceded, throwing one hand dismissively.

“What?”

“The wolves. Make sure they’re out of my way. I’ll do the rest and drive them off,” Shen explained, pocketing away the knife. “Is that agreeable to your terms?”

The master thought for a moment, but not for long as he went off— 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 wasn’t sure.

Shen’s 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. They’ve all but brought them down, and unless the Musician’s Village lined their buildings with anything of value, he doubted they’d come back.

Whether the little master finishes or not, the wolves will catch his scent instead and give chase. That’ll 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 wouldn’t debase themselves with such menial labour.

True to its name, the Musician’s 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. “What do you think, my dearest Min?”

Min Xiang leaned forward, crossing her arms and setting them onto a ledge. “Perhaps this dreary place can be remade as a supply area, or an outpost.”

Which was her way of saying that it was a waste.

“A shame,” he mumbled before adding, “Some of the metal from these instruments could be of some use--”

“Don’t bother.” Min cut in, her voice still in that sweet cadence. “We do not have the time or resources to reforge them for combat purposes.”

A pause. “Of course. Forgive me, darling.”

The Lady cupped his face, turning it gently to face her. “There is nothing to forgive, Wei,” she replied. “Leave that sort of minutia to me, will you?”

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.

“You there--” Wei Xiang singled out the calmest-looking wolf of the group. “-- Report!”

Others in its pack backed off, fearful of being called next. The wolf’s eyes went wide. It licked its lips with a cracked tongue. “There have been... s-- sightings of a villager around here. Maybe two.”

“Maybe?” the Lord’s brow rose up.

“I mean, definitely one, of course! But they move fast.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And why have you not caught them yet?”

“There was a platoon hot on their heels, but…” the soldier trailed off. “We’ve lost contact with them. We don’t know where they are, so we needed to make new search parties for them to make sure they’re safe from the sudden fire--”

“Call the search party off.”

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.

“B-- beg pardon?” the wolf stuttered, turning toward the peahen.

“You must understand,” the Lady extended her arms in a deliberate fashion. “We’ve only so many resources. If this disturbance isn’t dealt with efficiently, then we will lose more than a platoon’s worth of soldiers.”

The wolves looked among themselves, silent.

“O-- of course, milady,” it said, ears slanted back. “We will… notify them.”

“And seeing as the lot of you have been having so much trouble--”

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.

“You—” she stopped at the third one in line. “—Eliminate any foreigners you see, if you please.”

There was a moment of silence. The gorillas looked amongst each other— had they not understood the direct order?— 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 didn’t give him a lot to work off of in terms of identification. He wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 bridge’s 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 didn’t 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 master’s ears.

“Make this easy for both of us and hold still, you little pest.”

Shifu leapt up just before the gorilla could get another hit in. The gorilla’s 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 gorilla’s face. The goliath reeled back, swiping at his face and clawing the little master off and tossed to the side.

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. Shifu’s lungs rattled inside his ribcage, which had the unfortunate side effect of causing the muscles above it to seize up.

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.

Overpowering the soldier wasn’t an option-- he made that clear. But, every opponent had a weakness.

His gaze lowered to the cracks on the ground. An idea formed.

Shifu took a pair of dented cymbals and kicked them towards the back of the gorilla’s head. “Hey…” He paused for a moment before settling unsatisfyingly on, “... you!”

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 bait— 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.

“What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Big guy like you-- can’t get rid of a little pest?”

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 gorilla’s 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--

Shifu’s 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 gorilla’s 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t the time for this.

He still needed to find the bird and get out of here. Whatever plan he had, clearly hadn’t worked. One half was still crawling with Gongmen’s 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 wasn’t.

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 couldn’t stand idly by while the Musician’s Village was destroyed, could he? At the very least, he should do damage control so the destruction wouldn’t 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. Shifu’s 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 panda’s 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 assailant’s 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. “It really is you.”

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.

“Who are you?” Shifu demanded. “Why are you destroying the village?”

The bird knitted his brows in indignation. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Answer the question-- augh!”

The bird’s 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.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

The both of them slid across the marble floor of the balcony.

“Do you have a death wish?!” the bird yelled. “Look at what you’ve done!”

“Stop you?”

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.

And each of their fuses were dangerously short.

Another firecracker sped forward and straight into the balcony’s 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.

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.

Not for long, if the flaming rubble coming at him had a say about it.

“Watch out!”

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.

“You ruined everything!”

“Me?” The little master dusted himself off. “I’m not the one who went off and destroyed the village!”

“Oh don’t act like you’re any better.” Shen stood up, his frame heaving in laboured breaths. “I had an excellent view of what you did to the pavilion area-- at least my fires were strategically placed.”

“I almost got killed by a gorilla because of you!”

The bird stood himself up, fury mounting. “That had nothing to do with me, master,” the bird derided, spitting the title like a curse. “You were just reckless!”

The red panda opened his mouth, but before he could make a sound, another voice rang from outside their periphery.

“ Are we interrupting anything important, gentlemen?”

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.

“Oh, how you wound me, son.” She looked concerned, but it never reached her eyes. “Is this your handiwork? How adequate.”

The master looked to the Lady, then to the Lord, who was bridging the gap between him and his wife. Realization crossed his face.

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. “You look absolutely ghastly! How could you mutilate your feathers in such a way?”

What was left of Shen’s crest flared up.

“Did your little--” And she quirked her beak upwards in thinly-veiled disgust at the next word, “-- friend put you up to it? Where is she? Did she abandon you or did you just get tired of her?”

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.

“Have you nothing to say?” The Lord raised a brow, almost amused. “Where is that bravado from before?”

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.

“How disappointing--”

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 master’s shoulders heaved as he took in ragged breaths.

“Get away from him.” He turned to Shen. “Get out of here!”

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. Shen’s 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 didn’t help that the walls could be easily destroyed by a gorilla, or some overzealous wolves in their pursuit.

“The pack will pick up our scent,” 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.

“Well, that won’t matter soon.” The little master stopped abruptly, and Shen could see clearly now. The both of them stood at the edge of a cliff.

Shen staggered back, shutting his eyes.

“Come on, we need to get out of here-- are you not a bird?” The little master shook him. “You can fly both of us out here easily.”

“Pe-- My kind are known for falling slowly at best.”

The little master’s ears twitched at the distant din of wolves. “That’ll do! Don’t worry I’llcoveryou–” 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 satchel’s 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 master’s 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 wouldn’t 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.

“You idiot,” 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 hadn’t been fatigued, he didn’t doubt the other’s ability to catch him if he tried to escape.

Not that he wanted to. Everything blew up in his face– literally. The only relief he has left is if Mei went on without him; she certainly had the skills to do so.

“Alright, you’re going to explain what in the name of the Jade Emperor is going on back there.”

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

6 notes · View notes