#there's the pulse engine that you use to quickly travel from planet to planet within a star system | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

himbodjarin · 4 years ago

Text

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking.

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight.

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

“How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them.

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier.

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck.

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing.

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm.

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.”

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies.

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.”

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray.

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity.

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other.

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food.

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall.

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act.

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought.

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl.

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer?

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever.

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before.

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower.

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness.

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him.

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace.

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.”

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap.

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.”

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.”

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real.

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her.

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight.

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79

65 notes · View notes

mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

Text

Recovery

Gif by @antietum

PART 2 OF MOMENTS IN-BETWEEN

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.5k AO3 link

Content: light angst, fluff, bonding, found family, developing feelings for grogu, din is introspective

Summary: Soft moments between Din and Grogu that the audience does not get to see In-between episodes, scenes, and seasons.

A/N: pour one out for kuiil

***

The child has been asleep for hours. At least twenty-four hours to be exact, not that Din is counting. No, Din is definitely not counting.

The nagging worry that itches in the back of his mind must be a leftover injury from his experience with the Mudhorn. No other reason. It must’ve crept up on him, unnoticed under the exhaustion in Din’s bones. He is having trouble keeping his hands still at the moment, an unusual reaction for the bounty hunter. I must be concussed, Din thinks crossly, I shouldn’t be this distracted.

Still, whenever Din gives in and checks on the sleeping child, he finds that his hand is immediately steadier, remaining that way until his anxiety works itself back up to a peaking point.

Kuiil works alongside Din, a fantastic partner not just for his mechanic knowledge, but because he stays silent nearly the entire time. The only exchanges that pass between Mandalorian and Ugnaught are on the topic of repairs. A tool passed here, an assisting hand there. He doesn’t press. Falling into a routine is easy, which makes Kuiil’s glances stand out all the more when Din checks on the bassinet for the third time in the hour. To his credit, Kuiil says nothing about this anxious habit, silently holding up sheets of metal for the Mandalorian to weld in place.

Privately, Kuiil believes that this will not be the last time he sees the Child and Mandalorian together.

Repairs wrap up quickly with Kuiils help and the Razor Crest is ready for travel within a day. Din thanks him graciously for the assistance, wishing there were more he could offer the Ugnaught despite Kuiil’s refusal to take a single credit as payment. Din is grateful for more than the repairs, but he cannot find a way to put the feeling into words. He was ready to give up the second the Jawas knocked him out and escaped in their towering Sandcrawler with the stolen parts. It was only Kuiil’s encouragement that allowed Din to power through the obstacle, gathering every piece back from the scavengers. In a way, Din wants to apologize to the Ugnaught for his shortness. But in the end, he is a man of few words, and Kuiil is not concerned over Din’s actions.

Kuiil calls out from his seat on the Blurrg. “May the child survive and bring you a handsome reward!”

Din nods his farewell, silently watching for a moment as the Ugnaught and Blurrg slowly traverse back through the cracked desert hills of Arvala-7, before he turns and shuts the ramp behind him.

With the ship in order, Din continues on his mission to hand over the asset, settling in the worn leather pilot seat with a sigh. The starship’s engine rumbles to life with a satisfying roar, blasting into the atmosphere with more power than the Crest previously possessed. Din smiles under his helmet, wishing now more than ever that Kuiil would’ve accepted payment for the help. His ship is flying more efficiently than before after the Ugnaughts skillful ministrations. However, that nagging feeling won't leave him, his happiness over the Crest stained by a persistent itch at the back of his mind.

A thought keeps coming back to Din as he pilots the Crest into orbit, one that confuses the Mandalorian. Something about Arvala-7 feels… unfinished. Deep down, Din knows he will see Kuiil again but he cannot pinpoint why he knows this.

Din feels like he could learn from the Ugnaught. Kuiil offered more insight than Din usually accepts from outsiders, most people who encounter him are too scared to say a word. Conversations are rare for Din, so the way Kuiil spoke to him was… enlightening. The Blurrgs were a deadly obstacle until Kuiil taught him to tame and ride them, the Razor Crest was destroyed until Kuiil suggested he trade with the Jawas, the repairs were impossible until Kuiil proved him wrong.

But the child… Kuiil did not try to convince Din that he needed to do anything with the child. But the Mandalorian did not miss the way Kuiil hoped for the child’s survival, twice he remarked on the topic. Despite his parting words, he did not seem like he was speaking of Din’s reward. There was something else implied under the Ugnaughts well wishes. For someone so forward with communication -a tone rarely used around any Mandalorian- there was a mystery in his choice of words...

A mystery Din doesn’t care to figure out at the moment. The ship is repaired and he will return the asset shortly. End of story.

But the baby-the asset is still knocked out cold, curled up in the bassinet, and breathing shallowly. Its small body is still under the glow of the console lights, even as Din shakes the edge of the pram. Din’s eyes linger on the sleeping child, quick, shallow breaths rising in its chest are the only signs of life. It’s so small, it’s depth of breath should be normal for something of that size, it has to be, right? He does not want to return the quarry cold, the pram holding nothing more than a corpse. A bassinet should never double as a casket. The client assured Din that he knows bounty hunting is a complicated profession, but Din has never heard of anyone returning a cold bounty who died protecting their captor.

A bounty has never saved his life, either.

Din shakes these thoughts away. Didn’t he tell himself he wouldn’t bother to analyze any of this shit? He should focus on navigating the ship back to Nevarro, the multiple encounters with other bounty hunters have set him back far enough. Traveling sub-light leaves the ship too vulnerable even without being followed.

Din is directing the Crest to the nearest hyperspace route when he hears a sound behind him. A soft babbling from the baby sends a wave of elation through his chest, Din wants to whip around and check on the kid the second he hears it stir. But he holds himself back, instead turning his head ever so slightly to curiously to peer at the small face out of the corner of his visor. The heat-scanning filter on his helmet tells him the child’s heart is steadily pumping blood throughout its body, a sign of good health surely. Feeling calmer than he has at any point in the past week, Din throws the ship into hyperspace, on route to land on Nevarro within a day.

But even while Din’s eyes are fixed on the transparisteel windows of the cockpit, his mind is 2 feet behind him with the child. It’s quiet, small coos occasionally bubble up from its little bed but there is no sign of it trying to explore the cockpit. The light of hyperspace is streaking across the cockpit, bathing the small space in a ghostly glow that compliments the console lights pulsing softly under his gloves. All this light sensory feedback bounces off the silence of hyperspace, creating a rhythm that lulls him. Typically, Din would take this time to meditate, calming his body’s nervous system after being in a prolonged heightened state while tracking. But as he takes the usual measured breaths he realizes his mind is still halfway in that anxious area, unable to come down for unknown reasons. It’s the child, it has to be. Quarries don’t typically accompany him in the cockpit for long, carbonite is the safest place to store them on the journey between planets.

He isn’t worried per se, at least not for his own safety around the baby. The usual bounty may take up his focus due to the danger that comes with housing a criminal. But Din can’t keep his mind off the child, it’s choice to save his life and the innate trust it shows to the Mandalorian. Little thing doesn’t know he is the enemy. It may be too young to sense what is going on, or perhaps it is just smart enough to guess that Din saved it’s life when IG-11 turned his blaster to the baby. He hopes it isn’t attached to him because of that.

There is a tugging sensation on Din’s shoulders.

Whipping around, Din locks his eyes on the asset, expecting some sort of resistance from it at last. But it’s just… Chewing on his cape? It swiftly drops the edge of the fabric from its mouth, jaw open in fear in reaction to Din’s sudden movement. Moisture pools at the edges of its eyelids, black eyes glossing over with tears as it shudders silently with a sob.

Din’s heart twists inexplicably. A sickening feeling permeates his stomach as he watches the tears spill over its cheeks. Reaching out quickly with his cape, Din dabs away tears with swift movements, not wanting to linger on the child's face. The baby is still shrunken in on itself in a pitiful way, but its ears have perked up at Din’s gentle action, even if it lasted for less than a few seconds. With the child quieted and face dry, Din turns jerkily to face the windows again, surveying hyperspace.

This time he doesn’t react to the soft tugging on his cape.

#the mandalorian #grogu #fluff fic #star wars #the mandalorian fic #star wars fic #fluff #family fluff #baby yoda #bonding #mandalorian fic #found family #pedro pascal #din djarin #din and grogu

30 notes · View notes

onewingedxngel-moved · 4 years ago

Text

Drabble: Oblivion

WARNING: This is a depiction of Sephiroth’s death. And it’s sad. I think. I hope.

Note: I like to think this takes place after a battle where Sephiroth realises he was going to die, and had a huge, violent breakdown beforehand. So this is after he’s exhausted his more furious feelings, giving access to a more subdued response afterwards.

- - - - - - - -

“No...” his voice was barely audible. He looked around himself in disbelief, wide green eyes glinting in the darkness. The darkness... this was not how it was supposed to be. Where was the lifestream? Where was the bright viridescence that would beg to consume him, that he always managed to resist and eventually allow for his return?

His heart was beating violently against his chest, pounding so quickly. It perfectly matched the speed at which the pulse of his many victims reached when they were standing before him; before death itself. His gaze shot from one corner to the other, desperately searching for some kind of escape, anything that wasn’t just this choking darkness.

But... there was nothing.

His breath shuddered. He took a few steps back, noting the way his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. The darkness was closing in, blackness everywhere, all-consuming, all-encompassing.

What... what is this feeling?

He could feel something in his eyes. Something... so odd. No, this was wrong. This was all wrong. Why was there water brimming at his eyelids? Why were his orbs burning so, why could he feel something warm trickling down his cheek?

“I... Cloud. Don’t leave me here. Please, I do not want to die. Tifa, Aerith- I do not want to die...”

He fell upon his knees, the tiniest sob slipping past his bloodied lips. His vision blurred; yet there was barely anything to see, just the hazy paleness of his trembling hands. Why were they shaking like that? Could no one hear his pleading voice?

“Please... I do not want to die. Please!”

He brought his hands up towards his skull, trembling violently, shaking his head. No, this couldn’t be true, this wasn’t real. This couldn’t be the end. He was Sephiroth, he’d ravaged huge villages to the ground, resisted and broken the jaws of death, bent reality, and pounced between entire timelines. He... he wasn’t just an experiment, he was so much more! But he still had to prove himself, he had to punish humanity, he had to make the world see, he had to make the world know, that he had a place in the cosmos, that he had a purpose.

Through more heavy breaths, he curled up into himself, shutting his eyes tightly as he felt more tears drip from them. How long would he last here? Why did he have to be erased...? Was his mere existence so monstrous that the others were determined to outright remove him from reality itself...? Everything he’d done, everything he’d ever been... it would all mean nothing. His hatred, his love, his determination, his experiences, his life...

... It would all mean nothing.

“Mother... Gast... Zack...” he spoke. He could feel his fingertips disippating. His soul fragmenting, dying, everything slipping away...

“Are you there...? Can you hear me...?”

So close to victory, he had been...

“Can you sense how...” he paused for a moment as he felt a lump grow within his throat. “...frightened I am...?”

He hadn’t felt fear in a long time. He remembered how terrified he had felt at Nibelheim, his mind trying to wrap around the idea that he was a genetically engineered monster created by the arrogance of humanity. And, before then, when he’d first been asked to take life. For hours, he’d wept and begged for Hojo and the other scientists to to not force him to kill the little lab mouse curled up in his hand. But... they wanted to break him. Mould him into their personal tool.

He’d never wanted this life, this existence that revolved only around destruction. But, now, faced with the starved jaws of death, he didn’t wish to die either. He didn’t want to be forgotten. No, no, why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to feel such fear in the face of his end?

“I just... I wished to have meaning,” he spoke mournfully, finally opening his eyes again to be greeted by that constricting darkness. “I didn’t wish to die and disappear like everyone else. I... I wanted to make the world one, to extend for infinity through the threads of time, to be free and live not as a weapon, not as an experiment- but as my own living, breathing, sentient being.”

There was nothing but silence around him. The void did not respond to his words, to his sorrow. It merely looked on with indifference, consuming more and more of his soul, more of his being.

(((You lost. In the end, you truly were as meaningless, as fleeting as when you first came into existence.)))

And thus, he waited with the knowledge that humanity would continue, life would continue, the planet would continue: while he would cease. Born into a life that had condemned him as an abomination, into a world in which he could never hope to belong.

While his mind slipped away... he remembered the warmth he had so rarely felt. When Zack saw through his shell into the soft core within, and treated him with such affection. When Professor Gast used to speak to him about the wonders of their world, smile on his face as his passion formed into words. When he dreamt of the cosmos, the world in his fingers, and the freedom to travel the universe as he pleased. Thus, as more tears welled up in his orbs, he curled up further into himself, trying to comfort himself with his own warmth.

It wouldn’t be long now...

#drabble #//Sephiroth #death tw #character death tw #take this as a first draft #I might rewrite it because I feel it's not as effective as I want it to be #anyhow #I actually quoted one of my old stories #the part that says 'why did he have to feel such fear in the face of his end?'#is drawn from 'why do I have to feel such terror in the face of my end?'#anyway yeah this was a challenging thing to write #and I will revisit it in future

22 notes · View notes

dalekofchaos · 4 years ago

Text

If Ben Solo never turned

My little au where Luke never ignited the lightsaber and Ben never turned

Luke senses the darkness within Ben, but seeks guidance from Anakin and Obi-Wan before resorting to anything rash

Obi-Wan would suggest he take Ben into isolation. Somewhere where the light side is strong and allowing Ben to express his feelings to Luke

Anakin, who has been down the path of darkness himself, suggests Luke show Ben the benefits of the light and the negatives of the dark. Upon hearing this, Luke would tell Ben the true story of his grandfather. How the dark side wasn’t the solution to his worries. In the end he could not save the one he loved and spent 20 years entombed in suffering and misery as he was consumed by Darth Vader.

The next morning, when Ben arrived at the Jedi Temple with his fellow Padawans, he would be greeted by Luke. Luke would ultimately decide to take the advice of his father, over Obi-Wan's, opting to show Ben the power of the light side and corruption of the dark.

Just as Luke did in the Rise Of Kylo Ren comics, he would take Ben to various Jedi outposts and artifacts around the galaxy, in search of the lost knowledge of the Light Side of the Force.

They would fight numerous battles, shoulder to shoulder, against the Knights Of Ren, ALways coming out on top. Ren would still offer Ben to join their ranks as in canon, but with the guidance of Luke would cast off his pull to the dark and leading him to decline the offer.

Palpatine would still be speaking to Ben through Snoke, but once again, Ben would not engage with Snoke, as the guidance and love of Luke would give Ben no reason to seek the dark.

Continuing to follow his father's advice, Luke would move on from demonstrating the benefits of the light side, into showing the pain and suffering of the dark. They would explore many dark side shrines like Fortress Vader on Mustafar and the former Imperial Palace on Coruscant.

Luke's confidence in his students allowed him to show off these dark side locations, without fear of them being corrupted. Because Luke realized the failure of the Republic era Jedi laid within their arrogance and closed mindedness, he didn't want his students to fall into the same trap. He firmly believed that while only the Light Side should be utilized, all aspects of the force should be recognized.

As they became closer, Ben opened up to Luke about Snoke. Ben explains that ever since he could remember, Snoke has been by his side as “a friend” when his parents became distant towards him, Snoke was there. When Luke was focusing on more than himself, Snoke was there. But because Luke has shown the love and affection he’s always craved from his family, he no longer feels the need to seek Snoke out.

Because Snoke's attempts to turn Ben to the dark side were now known to Luke, Ben was able to talk about it and release his frustrations. This allowed Luke to make adjustments to his teaching style and repair the shortcomings of the previous Jedi Code.

Luke would take the time to set up a meeting between Ben, Han and Leia. Ben would express how much it hurt that they sent him away. Han and Leia explains they genuinely thought sending him to Luke was the best way to help him. Leia felt Snoke from the moment Ben was born and when he came of age, knew Luke would be able to train and protect Ben. Leia would tell Ben. “Your father and I loved you so much. We were so caught up in our work that we couldn’t be there as much as we wanted to. Sending you away was our biggest mistake as parents. We are so sorry.” and then Ben would hug his parents showing that he’s forgiven them and moves on with Luke and the Jedi. Leia and Han would be permitted to send holovids to communicate with Luke and Ben.

Before Ben could move on, he would need to apologize and make up with his fellow Jedi Tai, Hennix and Voe. Ben would apologize for his arrogance/superiority complex and would from now on view his fellow Padawans as his friends. This is a fresh start for the group.

Luke would be using his outings to these dark side locations with Ben as a means to find the Sith Wayfinders, believing they would lead back to the origin of Snoke. Although this was unknown to Ben. Luke hoped to find the true identity of Snoke and eliminate him before he had the chance to turn Ben or any of his students.

Ben decided that the Knights Of Ren must be stopped once and for all. Ben gets together Tai, Voe and Hennix together. The mission in ending the Knights Of Ren was a success. The Padawans would now be Knighted as Jedi Knights

Luke decides to take only Ben with him on this extremely important mission. Although he believes the other students would be capable facing Snoke together, this was a job for Luke and Ben alone.

Ben uses his contact with Snoke to gain access to the second Sith Wayfinder, manipulating him into giving more information about his origin.

The pair travel across the galaxy until they are forced to stop on Naboo because of damage to their ship. Upon their arrival, they are greeted by the Queen Of Naboo and sent to their quarters while repairs are made on their ship. Luke and Ben both sense a significant dark side presence on the planet, drawing them towards a small home in the capital city of Theed. Although the pair are reluctant, they have no choice but to investigate this dark side presence

Feint howls could be heard and a cool chill swept across the street they were walking on. They knew they were at the right location, despite it looking like a completely normal house, the same as any other on the street, it was ravaged by the presence of the dark side of the force, radiating pain through the bodies of Luke and Ben. Ben proceeds to destroy the door with a swift kick, unleashing a scream from the rear of the house. This scream didn't come from a person, but a disturbance in the force. As the pair meandered around the house, they were bathed in the dark side. A familiar voice filled Luke's head, bringing back painful memories of his past. This was the home of the most powerful Sith Lord of all time, Darth Sidious.

Emperor Palpatine's home was left untouched from the moment he left, after killing his parents and taking the apprenticeship of Darth Plagueis. Ben was unaware of the true wickedness of Palpatine in his prime, but could recognize the shocked look on Luke's face. For a Jedi Master of such power to be left stunned meant this man had to have had some extreme significance in his life.

The pair quickly break open the basement door with their lightsabers, entering the smoky room. A bright red light emanates from the far corner, giving off a dark side hum. It was the final Sith Wayfinder they needed to find and confront Snoke himself.

With the Wayfinder in hand, they rushed outside the gloomy dwelling, returning to their quarters, awaiting their ship's repair. Although Luke was very concerned that the path to Snoke was contained within the former house of the Emperor, he did not yet realize that it was Palpatine pulling the strings. He thought his encounter with Palpatine on the second Death Star was the end of his story.

As the pair awoke the next morning, they were ready to finally face their dark opponent. With their ship repaired and the Sith Wayfinder complete, a course was set for the Unknown Regions world of Exegol.

Luke had only heard rumors of there being a Sith homeworld in the Unknown Regions, but this confirms it. Ben meditated on the journey, hoping to further strengthen his connection to the light side, in preparation for their battle with Snoke.

As their ship moves into the nebulous atmosphere of Exegol, they struggle to land on the treacherous planet, as their navigation systems and rear engines are fried by the electromagnetic pulses. They enter the Sith temple, the same way Kylo Ren did in the original timeline.

To their shock and surprise, the two are greeted by Snoke. But not in the way that they were expecting. They were met by 500 Snokes. Each one in separate jars, the same ones we see in the original timeline.

The realization sweeps over Luke, as he now accepts that Snoke was simply a clone being controlled by Emperor Palpatine.

Ben and Luke rush through the laboratory, shattering every single jar that contained a clone of Snoke. The room was quickly bathed in an increasingly red mist.

Many questions flooded over Luke about how this could be possible. How did Palpatine survive? How is he able to Clone Force Sensitive beings? Why has he chosen Exegol over Morraband? During the process of destroying these jars, Sith Eternal cultists, each with their own shade of Red Lightsaber, surround Luke and Ben. They valiantly fight the cultists, eventually coming back to finish off the leader.

The Leader of the Sith Eternal Cultists would reveal himself as the Snoke who had been in contact with Ben from the moment he was born. Snoke takes out a Black Lightsaber. Ben and Luke combine their strength to fight Snoke. Snoke is powerful, but is taken down to the combined might of master and student.

An ominous cackle can be heard from the shadows. Luke knows this laughter. He knows the person waiting in the shadows to take his revenge for the events that occurred on the second Death Star. The Stage has now been set for the duel that was always meant to be.

Palpatine drains what’s left of the Sith Eternal and the Snoke clones to revitalizes himself. This is enough to contend with Luke and Ben

Luke and Palpatine are evenly matched, but Luke cannot continuing countering his SIth Lightning.

Palpatine has Luke at his mercy and has full intention of finishing what he started 30 years ago. What Palpatine did not count on was Ben. The boy he thought was a lost cause and thought Snoke killed him, rises and stabs Palpatine in the back. Ben grabs Luke’s Lightsaber and uses both lightsabers to finish Palpatine once and for all. Finally, the voices have stopped.

“Uncle, it’s over.” “I’m proud of you Ben.”

The First Order is still a thing. With no Snoke or Palpatine, Rae Sloane is in control of The First Order.

With Luke learning from the mistakes from the old Jedi Order, The Jedi Order is detached from the New Republic. Leia can use this since The New Republic still refuse to do anything about The First Order

The Jedi will be there for any reports or rumors about The First Order. Any raids to abduct children is prevented. Project Resurrection is an absolute failure.

Tai and Voe rescues Finn just in time, but are unable to save his family. Finn is taken in and becomes a Jedi. Voe is Finn’s master

Ben is called by the force to go to Jakku. There he finds Rey. Ben convinces Rey to leave with him and become a Jedi. Ben takes it upon himself to take Rey as his apprentice. Rey and Ben would’ve been bonded by the force through training and even find love with each other.

Palpatine and Snoke are no more and so is the dark hold that almost consumed Ben Solo. The First Order never become anything more than a fringe terrorist movement. Ben never turns. Han and Leia never break up. The Jedi and New Republic stand triumphant. Ben, Rey, Finn, Tai and Voe all rise as Jedi Knights!

This is what I think could’ve been if Ben never turned

#Star Wars #Ben Solo #Luke Skywalker #Reylo #Rey #Han Solo #Leia Organa #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Finn

12 notes · View notes

soundwavereporting · 5 years ago

Text

title: the moth and the robot

fandom(s): Transformers IDW1, Godzilla Heisei series

characters: Cosmos (the robot), Mothra (the moth)

summary: set directly after the 1992 Godzilla vs Mothra movie. Intent on keeping her promise, Mothra heads to space to stop a planet-destroying comet.

notes: totally unbeta’d, feedback is always appreciated.

Yesterday, she had made her first friend in half a century.

Today, that friend was dead. Alone, she hurtled through space, lacking even the fairies. They had been left on her island to guard her egg--at some point between the airfield and now, she had resigned herself to the notion that she was destined to be alone.

Which was fine.

It wasn’t like she was lonely; the fairies were good company when they were around. Once he had seen the sense in working together, even Battra had accepted her offer of a tentative alliance to defeat a stronger enemy. Privately, she wondered if he had been lonelier than her, truly lacking any kin besides the planet itself. She wondered if anyone would have ever been able to understand him.

So, she was happy enough being alone.

Battra had not told her the exact location of the Gorath comet. He had not lived long enough to know how to navigate the stars and currents the way she had, but she could feel its presence, tingling in the back of her mind like a headache. And she could hear something else; a soft static just behind her eyes.

She suspected it was nothing more than a satellite. The humans had started sending them up into space some time ago, though she had not thought they would be so far from the earth. She made a mental note to ask her fairies to ask the humans about the satellites once she got back.

Ah.

There—slightly larger than she had expected, green and round—was the satellite. Mothra tucked in her wings as she approached, landing softly on the satellite. It smelled like alien metal. Beneath its core components, she could feel its circuitry humming, felt the engine pulse under her feet.

The satellite made an offended sputter. It jerked away from her, metamorphosing in a whirl of green and white and silver, until it had evolved completely, becoming a strange, two-legged creature with a blue eye screen that matched her own eyes, gawking up at her.

It chirped and chattered angrily. Mothra frowned, straining her ears as she tried to make sense of the little alien’s language. It was a little alien, wasn’t it? Surely the humans were not so advanced that they had learned to design mechanical beings such as this—surely they had some generations to learn and grow before repeating the mistakes of the Elias. If the humans could make little robots intelligent enough to travel so far, to chirp angrily at her, surely their technology was not so far from reaching the point where they would desire to control the earth’s climate.

Perhaps, Mothra realized despairingly, her friend had not been wrong to act so quickly.

“—¸.•..>?” The alien gestured to her with one hand, then to the vast expanse of space around them all.

Mothra blinked. It hadn’t run, nor had it tried to attack her.

She backed up, far enough to easily dodge the alien if needed, close enough that she didn’t think the little alien would think too badly of her.

“Mothra,” she said. “My name is Mothra.”

“Mothra!” The robot tapped his chest. “Thank Primus the translator picked up your language. You understand me?”

Mothra’s eyes had gone wide in awe. Fascinating. The alien—now, she was sure it was an alien—could understand her! “I understand you.”

The robot’s eye screen flashed. “Hi, uh, Mothra. I’m Cosmos.”

Mothra’s antennae twitched. An appropriate name. Were his species named after their functions? Mothra supposed she had named herself. Or perhaps the Elias had. It had been so long, she could no longer remember.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cosmos,” Mothra said. Now that she was paying closer attention, she could hear it: what she had believed to be the satellites’ circuitry humming was Cosmos’s voice, quiet and constant against the silence of space. “I believed I was alone.”

“Oh!” Cosmos tilted his head, eyes watching Mothra with an expression she wanted to label as curious. “I’m usually by myself out here. I mean, not totally alone, but, you know: lonely.”

Curious, Mothra tapped Cosmos’s arm with one leg. She could practically taste it, sharp and sour at the back of her throat. Wishing desperately for something out of reach.

She wondered if Cosmos could sense her loneliness.

“So.”

They had been floating in silence for perhaps a minute. Mothra was used to the silence, but apparently, Cosmos was not.

“I’ve never seen a ‘Mothra’ before,” Cosmos asked. “Are you just…out here for fun? For recon?”

“I made a promise,” Mothra said. “To a friend. There’s a comet—an asteroid, I think—that’s going to hit the planet we live on. I promised I would stop it.”

Cosmos nodded. “I’ve surveyed this quadrant for the last cycle looking for artificial weaponry, but I did collect data on a medium-sized comet that’s scheduled to enter the SOL-84 system within the next half-cycle.”

Cosmos pointed somewhere to his right. “I guess I can’t upload the exact coordinates into your processor, can I?”

“No.” Mothra blinked. “But I can sense its presence, just as I heard you.”

“Huh.” Cosmos dropped his hand and crossed his arms, looking away from Mothra. Then: “D’you need…help, stopping it?”

She hadn’t even considered asking. Surely Cosmos had his own missions to complete, his own promises to uphold, but if he was offering…

“Alright,” Mothra said. After all, Battra hadn’t told her how he planned to stop the thing. “Thank you.”

“I’m technically not supposed to have this,” Cosmos was saying. “But my boss, uh, well, I’m not sure where he got it, or who developed it, but it works!”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

Cosmos shrugged. “It’ll get the job done. We haven’t been able to study black holes in too much detail, but I think it’s safe to say that your comet won’t cause you any more trouble. Press the big button. Second from the left.”

Mothra tapped the button. It flashed yellow and she looked up, studying the deactivated sensor net.

She and Cosmos had spent the better part of a day planting tiny metal circles the size of Cosmos’s hand around an asteroid belt. According to Cosmos, once the comet entered the sensor’s range, a highly experimental (yet safe) black hole would be created. Once it had consumed the Gorath comet, Cosmos would activate another highly experimental (yet safe) device to render the black hole harmless.

Mother knew little of human (or robot) technology, and all of the more technical words Cosmos had used to explain had failed to translate into her language. From what little she understood, Cosmos planned to disrupt the inner workings of the black hole, destabilizing something in its orbit in order to dissipate its energy.

“After this,” Cosmos said, “Are you going back to earth?”

Thoughtfully, Mothra tapped her fingers against the metal controls. She hadn’t considered going anywhere but Earth, but the robot’s tone made it seem like there was another option. She could stay with him, perhaps. For a time. Yet, the seal she had placed on Godzilla would not last for long. She had a year—perhaps two—before he awakened. And when he did, Mothra was unsure if she would be able to stop him by herself.

“Yes.” Mothra turned to look at Cosmos. She couldn’t tell what the robot was thinking—without spending more time around him, it was nearly impossible to pick up any but the most urgent of his thoughts. Nor could she understand his body language: he had no discernible eyes, simply that shining blue plate of on his head. He didn’t even have wings. The robot watched impassively as she found her voice, and spoke:

“I am sworn to protect my planet,” Mothra said. “And I must return. However, I would welcome the help if you wanted to come with me.”

Cosmos had been slouching on an asteroid, but as she spoke, he straightened, as though he were startled.

“You’d want—you just met me!” Cosmos said. “What if I were a Decep—a bad guy, out to destroy your organic species?”

“There’s only one of me,” Mothra said, ignoring Cosmos’s half-uttered apology. “Besides, if you wanted to kill me, surely you would have done so already?”

“I guess.” Cosmos shrugged. “I mean, I’d love to. It sounds much nicer than staying in space all the time. Are there other people where you live?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Cosmos checked one of the screens on his wrist and turned in the direction of the comet’s approach. “And you were the only person they sent to stop this thing?”

“I was the only one who could do it.” Mothra frowned. “The only one alive, at least.”

Which was true. Though he could fly far faster than her, she doubted even Rodan would have the strength to travel this far with no air. Plus, if Rodan died in this airless, frigid place, he would never come back. Mothra would.

“Oh.” Cosmos looked back at her. “I know what you mean. I’ve been one of the few spacefaring bots who survived this long into the war, so I’m always posted out here. I mean, not here, specifically. Wherever Prowl or Skids need me.”

“What strange names you robots have.”

Cosmos snorted. “You’re literally a giant moth.”

“Fair point.” Just a few hours ago, it had been little more than annoyance—helpful, even, as she navigated the stars—but now, pressure in her head was reaching a crescendo. If the comet did not enter the asteroid belt soon, she would need to retreat before it got any more painful.

“Will you be alright?” Cosmos asked abruptly. “Going back to the earth alone?”

Mothra was quiet as she considered his words, scratching at the scales on her neck as she thought. She hadn’t taken the time to properly clean herself after the fight, and her fluff was still covered in the ash and debris of Godzilla’s radioactive breath. At least she hadn’t gotten any blood on her, Mothra thought morbidly.

Yes, she had realized in the last few hours: she was lonely, had been lonely for some time, and acquiring and losing a friend in the span of a few minutes had only forced her to realize that. Had that been why she had asked Cosmos to return to earth with her?

“I—“ The pressure in her head spiked, and Mothra looked up to see the comet, once little more than a speck on the horizon, now looming above them. “I think we’d better move back.”

“Agreed.”

Together, they flew to the furthest tip of the asteroids, as far from the comet as they could get before Cosmos lost the signal.

“You ready?”

Mothra nodded.

Cosmos pressed the button.

The light was strong enough that Mothra had to look away, and the blast that followed had her huddling beside Cosmos as rock and ash pelted their bodies.

It hadn't made a sound.

When Mothra looked up, there was no sign of the comet—hardly any sign of the asteroids themselves. What little remained floated aimlessly; some of the rocks had been split open, revealing shimmering crystals and dark obsidian. It was a beautiful sight, and Mothra wished Battra was here to see it.

“Thank you,” Mothra said. “I don’t know how I would have done it on my own.”

“Hey, anytime.”

Mothra imagined Cosmos was smiling. He had to have a mouth, didn’t he?

“You know,” Cosmos said. “I know you’ve gotta go, but if you’re ever in the quadrant…”

Mothra moved to bump her head against Cosmos’s forehead. Among her species, it would be considered a fond gesture—one of respect and solidarity. But Cosmos leapt back, emitting a harsh, staticky yelp.

“Sorry!”

“Oh! No, no, it’s okay.” Cosmos hesitated, then patted Mothra’s forehead awkwardly. “Caught me by surprise is all.”

Collecting the equipment took far less time than setting it up. In no time at all, Cosmos had transformed back into his strange, circular form, and Mothra had reoriented herself to face Earth.

“Thank you,” Mothra said, again. “I do hope we will meet again one day.”

“Me too.”

#someone: but [soundwavereporting] are you implying tarantulas was accidentally responsible for creating space godzilla?#me: p e r h a p s #transformers #godzilla #mothra #cosmos #kaiju #maccadam #idw

10 notes · View notes

garbage-erotica · 3 years ago

Text

Among the Stars Pt.1

Inky blackness punctuated with millions of tiny specks of light, like sparkling jewels on velvet, surrounded the tiny ship. The exotic explorer class ship slipped through the vacuum with nothing but a small hum inside to indicate anything was happening. The ship was somewhat of a joke among those who saw it, barely more than a single seat cockpit and compact engines. The bubble style canopy gave amazing near three-hundred-sixty degree views, and it's compact size meant maneuverability and parking were extremely easy while exploring. Unbeknownst to most who happened to look at it, the ship's owner was never able to leave things stock, and as such, the small "guppy" boasted extremely powerful compact engines, as well as compact photon cannons capable of holding their own against even the toughest of enemies. Several shield upgrades kept the ship quite safe from damage, both in battle and during any exploration related calamity.

This system is boring. A strange thing to concede, the pilot thought, when remembering back to the first steps taken off solid ground. That first flight, in a ship that was barely capable of it, and barely held together, flung him out of the atmosphere and in to the galaxy. Millions of pinpoints of light shining around him, planets spinning and orbiting, locked in their dance with each other, and the local system's sun. It was awe inspiring, and everything was new and amazing. Quickly after, time and effort was spent in getting materials and parts to make the ship better, visiting the local space station and trading posts to trade goods and run packages to gain extra credits. Finally being able to buy a new ship, a massive hauler. Blocky and imposing, with huge gull wings, and bristling with weapons and shield tech. Most importantly, fitted with a hyperdrive.

That first warp was awesome, terrifying, and thrilling all at once. The colors swirling about the ship, the stange absence and abundance of time existing together. The desperate hope that the computer's math matched your own. When the drive spit him out, a new system shone before him. This one tinged pink, surrounded by the cloud of a nebula. His breath caught in his throat as he took it all in, followed quickly by his heart as the ship's warning system crackled to life blaring out a warning.

"Hostile subspace scan detected"

Throttles slammed forward, and rocket tubes armed he headed for the local space station, but the pirates were in much faster ships. Soon photon blasts and phase beams peppered the hauler's shields. He realized that to survive this he would have to fight. The first pirate slid in front of the reticle, causing it to turn red and indicate a target lock. A simple button press and the whole ship rocked as two rockets left their tubes, bound for the small vessel. A moment later, a burst of flame and debris as the ship, and it's pilot blinked from existence.

The stick yanked back, and throttles pulled to reverse caused the hauler to nearly double back on it's own line. The other pirate ship, not expecting the maneuver, started to barrel roll and evade. A flick of a switch and the hauler's photon cannons went live, and a pull of the trigger send gentle shudders through the ship as the blue energy pulses traced out towards the small pirate. The vessel was quickly overwhelmed, and within moments was drifting slowly through the vacuum. The pilot's finger hovered over the trigger, considering his options before hitting the communicator button.

Countless space battles, planetary raids, smuggling runs, and occasional legitimate trade routes later, he commanded a crew of less-than-desirables. Bases and hideouts spread across the galaxy on various planets, along with a massive freighter, bristling with weapons and cargo space, to act as the crew's mobile headquarters.

This system is boring. The thought floated through his consciousness again, almost as a joke now. The pilot from that first flight would be shaking him now, asking what the fuck he meant that this system was BORING. But with all he had seen and done, the simple, two planet, nebula-less system was kind plain. No local space station, no signs of dominant life form... just boring.

The communicator chirped at him, indicating and incoming message and breaking him out of his thoughts. A tap of the touch screen brought his first mate up in the hologram. A scarred up Vy'keen, the scars on his face from the day the pilot spared his life and launched them on this life together.

"Warrior Toem, what is it?" The Vy'keen's posturing was that of discomfort, and mild annoyance

"Sorry to bother you, Captain, but the raiding part returned and... they brought a prisoner."

The pilot let out a long sigh. He was not unaware of what his crew sometimes did with captured personnel, and his only rule was don't bring the pleasure toys back to the freighter. Use them, and leave them, or dispose of them.

"And why, might I ask?"

"They said it is an offering, for you, Sir."

"I'm sending my coordinates, warp here. This system is abandoned, and clearly the crew needs a reminder of who is in charge."

"Right away, Captain." The first mate's hologram blinked closed and the pilot tapped at the screen, sending the stellar data to his freighter. Moments later with a flash of light, the massive freighter, followed by a small fleet of frigates shot in to the system. The captain pushed the throttle forward and headed for the freighter's docking bay, releasing controls and starting the shut down sequence as the tractor beam and automatic docking sequence took over.

As the guppy settled on to it's pad in the hangar bay, the captain noticed as small pink fighter, smoking and damaged on an adjacent pad. He grumbled to himself as he disembarked the small craft and headed up the stairs to the freighter's crew area, heading straight for the bridge.

"Why, in the FUCK is there garbage in my hangar!?" He roared as he entered, causing all the others beings inside to fall silent. "And what, monumental jackass, decided to bring a fucking prisoner back with them?" The whole bridge crew suddenly seemed very interested in lights blinking on consoles, or the floor tiles. The first mate walked up pointing to the leader of the raiding party.

The captain walked over to the Gek, who somehow managed to look both very panicked, and very pleased with himself. "Well?"

"Well I thought, Cap-"

He was cut off as the captain slammed a fist to the side of his head. "I DON'T PAY YOU TO FUCKING THINK! I PAY YOU TO DO RAIDS! I PAY YOU TO DO WHAT YOU ARE FUCKING TOLD!"

The small creature blinked back in fear from the floor. "This is your one warning. Fuck things up again and I will throw you out the airlock myself. Now get the hell out of my sight."

The Gek bowed thankfully and scurried off the bridge with the rest of the raiding party. Turning, the captain looked at his first mate, whose posture indicated more annoyance. The captain stabbed a finger at him. "You, of anyone, do NOT get to be annoyed with me about who I give second chances to!"

"Yes captain." The Vyxkeen said, but didn't chance his posture any.

The captain rolled his eyes and pulled his helmet off. "Well I suppose a trip to the brig is in order now." The first mate just growled his response, and went back to running the freighter. The captain walked off the bridge, following the narrow corridors to the brig. As he entered he noticed a pink spacesuit matching the ship in the hangar stuffed in to one of the storage cubbies. He hit the data pad next to the brig door, the diagnostics showing that the being inside had the same physical structure and DNA structuring he had.

"Anomalous Traveler" is what he and those like him were called. The rarity of their kind is part of what had helped him be so successful as a pirate and smuggler. The captain refreshed the diagnostics a few times, the computer returning the same results each time, including "Gender: Female." He punched the button to open the door, and as they hissed open he blinked in surprise.

0 notes

blatherkatt · 7 years ago

Text

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 20: Progress and Setbacks

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Mentioned/implied abuse; Illustrated, Pesterlogs (sort of)

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

It was a bit of a long shot, Kanaya supposed, but it was worth trying, at least.

The same query on her usual Alternian search engine of choice had been remarkably unhelpful. Over the past few days, she’d been working through a great deal of sites, seeking out any information she could find. She’d had very little luck. Most results seemed to be store pages for various novels (many of which she had already read, and two of which she had splurged a bit and purchased to read later. Just because she was a drinker now didn’t mean she’d lost all interest in her favorite books, after all). In the few cases of sites claiming to be nonfiction, the sites were…clearly of poor repute. Mostly because of the advertisements. So far, she’d allegedly won about fifteen Grubpads, seen three ads stating, “Cholerbears? In my recupracoon? It’s more likely than you think,” and had given up counting the number of ads promising some miracle cream that could “Grow your bulge A WHOLE TWELVE INCHES!”

Some of that last variety had had pictures.

Kanaya was very, very glad that she was researching her new condition alone in the comfort of her room.

She did feel it pertinent to find answers as quickly as possible. Her craving for blood hadn’t gotten worse, thankfully, but it hadn’t gotten better, either. It was a bit of a nuisance, really; a constant distraction that she could ignore for the most part but which nonetheless was a drain on her energy at times. Her new senses didn’t help much. She was constantly aware of the pulse of anyone within a certain range of her, and for the humans in particular (who, as she’d discovered on her first night transformed, had much thinner skin than trolls) it often became hard not to be VERY conscious of the thick vessels in their throats.

On top of that, she’d apparently become much more stealthy without even noticing, if the several times over the last few days she’d accidentally startled poor Dave were anything to go by. She really didn’t mean to, and frankly was surprised that it was possible at all to sneak up on him or anyone really now that she was lit up like a florescent sign over a seedy drinking establishment, but somehow it just kept happening.

And she was worried. The lack of change in her desire for blood perhaps indicated that no, she did not absolutely need blood to survive, but then again it might also just mean that her metabolism had slowed to accommodate rare feedings. She really hadn’t been hungry in general, not very much. (She’d tried eating a bit anyway, and found that regular food tasted a bit…blander than it used to, but she’d had no difficulty in actually eating it. That was a good sign, probably. She hoped. Please, please let it be a good sign.) She just…wanted some answers. Wanted to know if she was going to be a danger to those around her, if there were precautions she’d need to take, et cetera and so forth.

Alternian internet had failed her in this regard, and so, she had turned to Earth’s internet.

Oh, but perhaps she should instead search for ‘Vampire’ rather than ‘Rainbow Drinker?’ But vampires were so different, hm…well, if this didn’t work, she’d try the Earthen search term, instead.

The first few results she got were unhelpful, albeit in very different ways compared to her attempts on the Alternian search engine (goodness, humans were creative with their soporifics!), but the fourth one she tried seemed immediately promising.

It was some sort of conversation site, it seemed? It had a variety of different topics, and the one she found herself on hosted several such links with various strange titles alluding to what Kanaya could only assume were Earth’s own creatures of mystery — beasts with names like ‘werewolf’ and ‘dragon’ and several posts centering around vampires. To Kanaya’s delight, though, one such title read “Damnéd Meeting of the Rainbow Drinkers of the Dark Lake.”

Clicking this led her to a page full of text, which seemed a bit…odd, at first, compared to her own experiences thus far, and many experiences described seemed excessively well narrated (often in third person, for some reason?), but this was nonetheless her best lead so far, and so, after a rather tedious process of making an account, she responded.

Admin fenrirsfavebitch posted topic: “Damnéd Meeting of the Rainbow Drinkers of the Dark Lake”

The night is cool. Beneath a pitch-black sky, a dark mirror of a lake lies undisturbed. The only light to grace the night is that of those who gather to meet on this, the Day of Gathering. Each glowing brightly, like a deep sea fish seeking to draw in prey, equipped with sharp fangs and razor claws, far more frightening than any of the great alien beasts that lurk upon their home planet. But this is not their home planet, nor is it entirely ours; this is the domain of they who would strike terror into the hearts of man and troll alike, who do not fear the light of day, who walk with silent feet and prey upon those foolish enough to enter their domain.

Dare you enter the realm of the rainbow drinker?

((It’s official: We got a new monster on the site! Thanks to Xenoph1l1a for the help with Alternian folklore to make this possible; you can check out her profile for links to the info she was able to gather. Remember, guys, keep this one PG! Take any fun stuff to private chat *wink*! Also, xX_Scarlet_Devil_Xx, I mean it, stop godmodding or you’ll eat another ban.))

xX_Scarlet_Devil_Xx responded to fenrirsfavebitch: [post deleted]

Admin fenrirsfavebitch responded to xX_Scarlet_Devil_Xx:

((welp. that didn’t take long.))

DalvThePenetrator responded to fenrirsfavebitch:

The journey had been a long, hard, hungry one, but at long last, Tallon saw his destination. The powerful troll flexed his glowing claws and stalked out from the shelter of the trees, throwing his aloof gaze across the clearing. He’d tried his best to clean himself off from his last meal — some poor foolish traveller few hours prior — but hints of bloodstains still lingered about his mouth. A pity; he was hoping so dearly to make a good impression.

After all, he hadn’t come here just for some silly meeting. No, Tallon was here for one purpose and one only — and he would only be leaving when a very different kind of hunger had been sated.

fiftylizardsinatrenchcoat responded to DalvThePenetrator:

This had been a mistake, Kyriee realized. Local legends in his town had said that one could earn a great favor from rainbow drinkers by doing them a service, but this first one he spotted was huge. There was no way the tiny troll could survive an encounter with such a no doubt vicious person of such size. No doubt the man would immediately suck him dry before he even had the chance to offer to do whatever favor was asked of him.

Still, there was something…alluring about him. Scarcely aware of the actions of his own tongue, he spoke, calling out to the man before him.

“H-hello? I come to, um. To offer my services.”

DalvThePenetrator responded to fiftylizardsinatrenchcoat:

Tallon’s head snapped toward the voice. He’d been aware of the troll in the brush for some time now, his senses far too keen not to notice, but he always enjoyed toying with his prey. Not that this one would be of the usual type. As the troll spoke, a devilish grin split his face.

“Seeking a boon, are you?” he sneered. “Your services shall indeed be taken, then. And I shall deeply enjoy them.”

((meet me in PMs babe ;D))

fiftylizardsinatrenchcoat responded to DalvThePenetrator:

((oh bby u3u~~))

Firebrand_The_Golden responded to fenrirsfavebitch:

Folding his great wings to his sides, Firebrand flexed his claws into the loose sand of the lake’s beach. This…was not where he had planned on landing. That storm truly had blown him off course. With a snort, and a shake of his great head, he glanced about.

Surrounding him were sparsely spread but ever-increasing glowing beings. He blinked, confused. Far too big to be fairies, they were, and yet glow they did. What in the world had he stumbled upon? And why did some of them smell so strongly of blood…?

GrimAuxilitrix responded to Firebrand_The_Golden:

Wait Are Wings A Typical Thing Or Am I Missing Something

God Im So New At This

Admin fenrirsfavebitch responded to GrimAuxilitrix:

((Hey there! I don’t know if you’re asking ooc or ic. If you’re in character, you should add in some narration and put dialogue in quotations, and if this is ooc you should put it in double parentheses to indicate that. Also, um, this particular event ended about a week ago; you’ll have to find a new one. As for the wings, don’t worry; Firebrand is a dragon. He just likes to get involved in events. Welcome to Mysteries of the Night!))

GrimAuxilitrix responded to fenrirsfavebitch:

I Dont Understand What Some Of The Words You Are Using Are

What Is Ooc Or Ic

Why Is The Dragon Able To Type The Only Dragon I Have Met Is Incapable Of Speech

Admin fenrirsfavebitch responded to GrimAuxilitrix:

((Okay, um. I’m just gonna PM you.))

GrimAuxilitrix responded to fenrirsfavebitch:

What

After a moment, her husktop emitted a small, high-pitched beep. It took several seconds of scrolling around to notice a small rectangle had emerged at the bottom of her computer window, and was slowly flashing between orange and black. Clicking it drew out a tiny text window.

fenrirsfavebitch: aaaand you responded in the forum again. okay. um.

fenrirsfavebitch: hopefully you can find the pm box that just opened up

GrimAuxilitrix: What Does Pm Mean

fenrirsfavebitch: hoo boy. you really are a newbie, huh?

fenrirsfavebitch: pm means private message, what were doing right now!

GrimAuxilitrix: Oh

GrimAuxilitrix: Sorry Computers Are Not My Strong Suit

GrimAuxilitrix: Neither Is Being A Rainbow Drinker That Is A Very Recent Development As Well

fenrirsfavebitch: thats alright! were a very newbie friendly forum.

fenrirsfavebitch: theres lots of newer events and posts for you to respond to!

fenrirsfavebitch: i can definitely show you the ropes and teach you how it works, too

GrimAuxilitrix: Oh Thank God

fenrirsfavebitch: any questions you wanna start out with?

GrimAuxilitrix: Well First Of All Do You Know If The Blood Drinking Thing Is Mandatory

fenrirsfavebitch: not at all!

GrimAuxilitrix: Phew

fenrirsfavebitch: you dont have to do anything you dont want to! its all in good fun.

fenrirsfavebitch: you dont even have to be a rainbow drinker or a vampire if you dont want to. theres loads of creatures to choose from, and youre welcome to have multiple characters!

GrimAuxilitrix: Wait What

fenrirsfavebitch: just make sure you give each character their own profile on your main page, which i can also help you with.

fenrirsfavebitch: also i know i already said this on the forum but i really do wanna stress that you need to think of your posts as bits of a story told in the first person. we’re a formal rp site, you gotta make sure any dialogue is put in quotations and you describe your actions.

fenrirsfavebitch: we do have a chat room for more casual play, if thats more your style, though! up to you.

GrimAuxilitrix: What Do You Mean Characters

fenrirsfavebitch: …you dont know what a character is?

GrimAuxilitrix: No I Know What A Character Is But What Do They Have To Do With This Conversation

fenrirsfavebitch: everything?? theyre kind of the entire point of this site.

GrimAuxilitrix: I Thought The Point Of This Site Was And I Quote

GrimAuxilitrix: A Place For The Creatures Of The Night To Gather

GrimAuxilitrix: And While I Have Never Been Much Of One For Night Time

GrimAuxilitrix: It Does Not Change The Fact That Im Really New To This Rainbow Drinker Thing And I Need Help

fenrirsfavebitch: haha. okay uh. you can drop the act here

fenrirsfavebitch: this whole conversation is ooc

GrimAuxilitrix: Its What

fenrirsfavebitch: out of character! like. were actually just talking, one on one

GrimAuxilitrix: Why Would That Ever Not Be The Case

fenrirsfavebitch: because

fenrirsfavebitch: oh.

GrimAuxilitrix: I Thought That Was Obvious That We Are Talking One On One

GrimAuxilitrix: I Dont Understand Any Of This Please

fenrirsfavebitch: oh my god.

GrimAuxilitrix: Everything Is Very Confusing And I Havent Been Able To Find Any Help

GrimAuxilitrix: I Didnt Plan On This At All But Its Happened And I Dont Know What This Is Going To Mean

fenrirsfavebitch: oh god youre serious

GrimAuxilitrix: Yes?????

GrimAuxilitrix: I Would Say My Situation Is A Serious One Yes

fenrirsfavebitch: um.

fenrirsfavebitch: i dont know how to tell you this but uh

fenrirsfavebitch: this is a rp forum

GrimAuxilitrix: What Does Rp Mean

fenrirsfavebitch: roleplay

GrimAuxilitrix: Oh

fenrirsfavebitch: like. were all just pretending to be characters for fun

fenrirsfavebitch: were not.

fenrirsfavebitch: no one here is actually a vampire or a dragon were just pretending to be to entertain ourselves

GrimAuxilitrix: God

GrimAuxilitrix: Damn It

Rose had to admit, Karkat’s advice really was proving invaluable. His suggestions were surprisingly minor, she thought, in relation to how frightened Dave often seemed, but they were definitely helping. Change was gradual, but it was noticeable, now, instead of the tectonic crawl of a thing it had been before.

Already, Dave was less likely to leave a room when she entered. That alone was a joy. He still did excuse himself sometimes, of course, and he always at the very least stumbled in conversation when she entered, but it was such an improvement from the silent stare and mumbled farewell he’d always had before. He’d even sought her out a couple times, in the week and a half since the attempted kidnapping.

He still seemed to be pushing boundaries, too; when he spent time around her, he seemed cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he was breaking a rule or not. Karkat had told her to just ignore that. It wasn’t easy not to comment on some of his nervous behaviors, and in truth it did hurt that he was still so nervous around her (although she supposed that was likely her fault in no small part), but…just as with his minor jumps and reactions to movement, ignoring the cautious behavior also seemed to encourage him. He’d relax over the course of a conversation, slowly settling in, and it seemed that it took him a bit less time to unwind every time they spoke, too.

Today, Dave and both of the trolls were in Rose’s room. (Apparently, Dave was more comfortable in a place with only one entrance or exit than he was in the much more open living room — Rose was a bit confused, because she also understood that Dave grew nervous when cornered, but any attempts to ask Dave about it had resulted in Karkat silently warning her to drop the subject, and in Dave twisting out of the conversation in any way he could.) They’d been chatting about nothing in particular, with Rose working on her knitting and the trolls arguing gently about one of the books they’d both read.

At one point, however, Dave froze, staring out the window.

“No fuckin’ way,” he muttered. He stood and darted to the window, his shoulders stiff. “Holy fuck, it is, what the fuck!”

“Uh, Dave?” Karkat asked. Dave didn’t respond, instead shoving the window open and leaning out.

“Hey! Yeah, you, asshole! Fuckin’ — what the actual shit are you doing here?!”

Rose shared a nervous look with Kanaya. “Dave, who are you talking to?” she inquired, unable to keep the mounting worry out of her face. Was it another of Derek’s men? She would have expected fear rather than anger, were that the case, but could think of no other explanation. Karkat had gotten to his feet, evidently equally concerned.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Fuckin’ Redeyes goddamn followed me here from Texas!”

Karkat let out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping with relief even as he geared up for an angry outburst. “You have got to be fucking kidding me, Dave,” he started. “Seriously? You had me thinking there was something dangerous out there. Also, bullshit, there’s no way it’s the same fucking dumbass squawkbeast you told me about.”

“It is, though! I’d know his feathery brainless asshole anywhere, that sunuvabitch — Yeah, I’m talking about you, motherfucker! Don’t you caw at me, I’ll fuckin’ — Shove off!” Dave turned back to shout out the window again as Karkat rubbed his temples.

“Who, or rather, what exactly is this ‘Redeyes,’ Dave?” Rose asked, as firmly as she could manage.

“Fuckin’ asshole crow is what he is,” Dave said, and Kanaya’s posture relaxed as Karkat’s had. She rested her face in her palm. Dave continued, “Fuckin’…he’s only the reason we’re all in this whole mess, stole my fucking sandwich and ruined goddamn everything and I hope you’re fuckin’ proud you future fuckin’ featherduster!”

Rose raised an eyebrow and stood, nudging Dave over so she could see for herself. It took a moment to spot, as it was a good distance away, but she did after a few moments see a black corvid sitting in the branches of a nearby tree.

“Dave,” she said, “it’s probably just a random crow. I sincerely doubt it’s one specific bird.”

“No, man, listen,” Dave said, pulling back into the room fully, “When you’ve been mobbed by crows as often as I have, you get real fuckin’ good at telling them apart, and I’d recognize that particular asshole anywhere. I mean, he’s kind of crow recognition easy mode, he’s a runty little thing with, you know, red eyes, which is kinda where the name comes from, and he’s got three scars on his chest like a cat got at him, but. Look, I know what I’m about here, that’s goddamn Redeyes!”

Rose looked out again.

“There is no way,” she stated, calmly, “that you can make out that kind of detail from this distance.”

Dave huffed. “It’s him,” he insisted, “I’m telling you! That fuckin’ asshole and some buddies stole my fuckin’ sandwich back in Houston and it started this whole goddamn mess, just — just ask Kanaya, she knows what I’m talking about!”

Kanaya sputtered. “Wait, are you insinuating that’s the same creature I scared away from you back in the park?”

“Yes!!” Dave said. “Fucker’s always been the ringleader in the Harass Dave Crow Squad, dunno what the fuck he’s got against me but apparently he’s got enough beef to follow me all the way from fuckin’ Texas!”

Rose raised both her eyebrows and glanced around. “Okay, as fascinating as your theory is,” she said, “I think I’d like to know what exactly you’re all talking about. The full extent of detail I’ve heard of the events of your recapture, Dave, was something about Karkat having been kidnapped.”

“Yeah, and that entire shitstorm happened because of that son of a bitch right the fuck there!”

“Dave. Please, for the love of all things decent, not this shit again,” Karkat whined.

“No, okay, we’re setting this shit straight right here and now, alright? That fucker and some of his pals mobbed me in a park, and stole my goddamn sandwich, and I hadn’t eaten since the day before so I was really hungry, so I went to where I was supposed to be through the mall instead of from the outside so I could get a damn snack bar and not pass the fuck out, and that’s why Karkat saw me, and here we fuckin’ are!”

“So…you kidnapped Karkat because of a crow.”

“Yes!”

Kanaya was snorting laughter behind her hand, trying and failing to keep her composure.

“And that same crow followed you all the way here. From Texas.”

“I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds really fuckin’ stupid, but. He did. Because he’s here.”

“Dave.”

“He’s got a fuckin’ hard-on for makin’ my life miserable.”

“Dave.”

“Goes out of his fuckin’ way to be a pain in my ass to get his avian jollies off. He’s the bird equivalent of those stereotypical bullies from nineties movies with nothin’ better to do than to pick on the main character ‘cuz the writer can’t think of a better way to make you feel bad for their precious lead dude. How do I get the audience to care? Shove the kid’s head in a toilet, steal his lunch money, there we go. Except this asshole ain’t got a writer to blame, he’s just a fuckin’ jerk who likes picking on me specifically. The point is, the crow’s a goddamn asshole.”

“Sure he is,” Rose said. Kanaya gave up the ghost and gave in to helpless laughter.

A few days later, Rose was awoken sometime in the early hours of morning by a rare, distressing dream — it had been years since she’d last been so deeply pulled from slumber by anything resembling a nightmare. Unable to recall her dream, and frustratingly aware that she wasn’t going to get back to sleep, Rose decided to retreat to the observatory. If rest would insist upon eluding her, then at the very least she could enjoy the sunrise.

She was very surprised to discover that her twin was already there.

He was watching her enter the room, in fact, his covered eyes watching as she crept up the stairs. She almost didn’t notice him. He was sitting across from the stairway, leaning against the window; she only picked him out in the dark by the light from the windows, and even then only when he gave her the slightest of nods and turned his face toward the outside.

Collecting herself just in case she’d indicated any of her being startled, she strode over toward him (keeping in mind what both Karkat and Roxy had said about being a bit noisy around Dave as she did so) and sat next to him.

After a minute or so of quiet, she asked, “Any particular reason why you’re in here at this hour?”

Dave scratched his cheek. “It’s, uh. It’s a little cold out to be on the roof, I guess,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“The roof? Do you go up there normally?” Rose raised an eyebrow, fixing him with an odd look. What on Earth could cause that? The only instance of Dave being on the roof she could think of was the misadventure after the time Jaspers had stranded himself up there.

“I mean…I dunno, Rose, I hung out on roofs a lot back in Texas,” he said, rolling his shoulders and sitting back a bit. “It’s a habit at this point. You don’t gotta psychoanalyze every weird fuckin’ thing I do, come on, some shit doesn’t need a reason.”

“It’s just such an odd place to be,” said Rose.

“For you, maybe,” Dave said. “I grew up in apartment buildings. Roof was the only place with enough room for things like sparring, and when that wasn’t going on it was, y’know, quiet. And marginally less choked out with smoke and city smells.”

“Ah,” said Rose. Something about Dave’s posture made her think that he wanted to change the subject, and in truth, that answer was enough to sate her curiosity. “I can’t sleep, either. I thought I might as well see the sunrise if Morpheus is so set on refusing me any peace.”

Dave snorted. Another period of quiet followed, broken only by the distant sound of crickets.

“Why spend the whole night out here?” Rose asked, finally. “We’ve got a perfectly comfortable pair of couches downstairs. I like the observatory fine, but it’s not exactly a comfortable room to be in.”

Dave shifted awkwardly. “I fuckin’…I dunno, Rose, the living room makes me nervous,” he said. “Don’t fuckin’ break out the psychology text books on me on that one, it’s just not a place I like to be.”

“You mentioned back when you first got here that it was big,” Rose said. “Is it related to that?”

He sighed, and muttered something about ‘nosy broads’ before answering, “Yeah, pretty much. If you really gotta know, it’s because there’s about a million different angles to get attacked from down there. It’s like fuckin’ ambush city, and I just walked in the room with a fuckin’ kick me sign hangin’ round my neck. There’s furniture everywhere, hallways and doors, an entire upper floor with even more doors, loads of places for someone to be hiding in or come roaring out of to keep track of, it’s…it’s fuckin’ overwhelming being down there with a full house. I mean, I know, I get it, ambushing isn’t a thing you guys do here, but I can’t help my instincts, and my instincts tell me that I gotta keep an eye out for every single point of attack.”

Rose paused. “I thought you don’t like getting cornered,” she said carefully. That was something that she’d discovered a few days earlier, when Dirk had accidentally positioned himself in such a way that Dave was trapped with his back to the corner formed by the fridge and the kitchen counter. Dirk hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong until he’d moved out of the way, but as soon as he did, Dave had bolted upstairs and barricaded himself in his bedroom.

“There’s a difference between that and this,” he said, shoving his shades up into his hair. “Getting cornered means the other guy has the advantage, it means I can’t maneuver out of there, it means zero places to escape. Too many places to escape means lots of places to get attacked from, but only one entrance or exit means that the person on the inside has control, because there’s only one place that people can come from. Plus, that door’s noisy as hell, and the walkway in creaks like a motherfucker, and the stairs are even noisier. And on top of all that, there’s barely anything in here for someone to hide behind, so I don’t gotta worry about anyone already being in here, either. Not to mention I got the high ground on anyone trying to get in. This place is defensible as shit.”

“…Do you always think like this?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

(She found herself thinking back to an earlier conversation with Karkat, only a few days prior — she’d brought up Dave’s tendency to freeze at her slightest movement, even if he’d seemed totally relaxed, and she was across the room.

“Look, Rose,” Karkat had said, “You have to remember, Dave’s spent a lot of his life living like a hunted animal. Imagine the tiniest, most pathetic hopbeast in the world, sitting in the snow trying to keep a constant lookout for predators. What it looks out for are small noises and sudden movements, because those are going to be the only warning it has. It doesn’t matter if that noise or sudden movement turns out to be another harmless hopbeast, his reaction’s gonna be to flip out and brace to run. That’s Dave. Dave is the hopbeast. I mean, okay, Dave doesn’t run very often, he just braces, but — look, my fucking point is, it’s a reflex. That’s all it is. Don’t draw any attention to it. He’ll get used to you moving around eventually, and the reflex’ll probably fade a little over time as he adjusts to the idea that not every tiny fucking movement in his peripheral vision means a possibility of danger anymore. But for now, he’s super fucking tuned in to this shit, and you gotta remember that it’s not actually your fault. It’s just how he is.”

The comparison to a hunted animal seemed stronger than ever, now.)

“That sounds…exhausting,” Rose said. “Being that aware of everything, all the time, constantly calculating the strategic value of every single place in the house.”

“I mean, yeah,” Dave shrugged, “That’s kinda why I hang out in my room so much. It’s the one place I have the most control over, you know?”

“Of course,” Rose said, mentally sending her cousin a prayer of thanks. Roxy had told them early on that one of the consensuses from her research on trauma and child abuse forums had been that it was absolutely vital to respect Dave’s privacy, and so even though Rose hadn’t liked it, they’d all agreed that no one was to go into Dave’s room without permission. Evidently, it had paid off.

A thought occurred. “I’m not bothering you right now, am I? If you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“Don’t —“ Dave said, abruptly, then seemed embarrassed. Coughing lightly into his hand, he tipped his sunglasses back over his eyes, and, more calmly, said, “I mean, uh, no, you’re fine, honest. I was actually thinking about seeing if Karkat’s awake before you came in. Gettin’ kinda lonely, yanno?”

Rose allowed herself a small smile. “Well, you’ll just have to make do with me, instead,” she said, “psychoanalysis and all.”

“I mean, I don’t…mind it that much, honestly, I’m.” Dave said, his hands fidgety as if literally grasping for words. After a moment of thinking, he spoke again. “Don’t…mention any of this to Mom, okay?” he begged. “I don’t want to make her feel bad, but I can’t help it.”

“I’ll not breathe a word of this to anyone,” she promised.

He heaved a grateful-sounding sigh.

“I really…don’t remember her at all, I think. I have some…some vague shit that I can’t tell if it’s memory or imagined, general mother-ish stuff that I think I just picked up from seeing moms on tv, but I don’t remember her. A-and I could sort of remember Dirk, but like, just his face, sort of. Even that was fuzzy, and I couldn’t remember his name at all — I think I remember some vague shit with him? Like. Maybe just a sort of presence with a face attached, in the background of memories, I think once he yelled at me for trying to climb a tree and nearly breaking my fuckin’ leg. You…you’re honestly the only one I had any concrete memories of, you know?”

“I…I guess,” she said. “I don’t have any trouble remembering you, but to be fair, Mom spoke about you all the time, as did Dirk to a lesser extent, and we had photos and the odd video clip. I can’t really remember much about Dad, so I suppose it makes sense.”

“I thought sometimes that I must’ve dreamed you,” Dave said. “I was so fuckin’ scared that you were just something I made up, because I remembered being fucking happy and not scared at all in the stuff where you were there, I wanted it to be real so bad but my memory’s so fuckin’ bad and there’s so much stuff I misremember that I wasn’t…sure.”

“I think your memory was always a bit inconsistent, but I wouldn’t think it was that bad,” she murmured softly.

“I don’t think I could’ve ever forgotten you guys completely,” he said, “no matter how shitty my memory got. I missed y’all too much. Fuck, I’m gettin’ all kinds of sappy, you’d think I murdered half a forest in here.”

“Um. What?”

“You know. Tree sap. That one was a stretch, sorry, uh. The point is, I guess, I’m…I’m glad you’re real, and that we’re, you know. Getting somewhere. Even if we’re not as close as you want. And I sure as shit don’t mind hanging out with you, y’know?”

“Oh…I didn’t realize I’d been that transparent about it.”

He shrugged. “S’ alright, Rose, I get it. It’s so fuckin’ awkward right now. We’re all flailing around at an awkward party, shuffling our feet in the most uncomfortable fuckin’ silence as some song nobody knows plays on a shitty old record player in the background. Someone just fuckin’ farted, or something.”

Rose stifled a laugh. “We’ll get there eventually.”

Dave smiled for a moment, but it quickly faded. He glanced out the window.

She recalled again what he’d said to her before, about how regardless of his wishes, he couldn’t stay forever. She wanted to grab onto him and never let go, to make him know that he was wrong, that this was his home forever, but she held back, biting her lip as she waited for his answer.

What he ended up saying was less a response to her and more a private thought voiced aloud — a whispered, “I really hope so.”

Late one night, Dirk heard a frantic knock at his bedroom door. He glanced up, quickly saved the drawing he’d been working on, and found Rose standing outside his bedroom, her arms crossed and face worried.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation,” she said. Upstairs, Dirk heard a familiar sound, a quiet, terrified moan — the same noise Dave had repeatedly made when Derek’s men had tried to reclaim him. “Dave says he hears something in the garage,” Rose continued. “He thinks it might be one of…”

Dirk didn’t wait for her to finish. He strode back into his room and grabbed his katana, telling Rose to wake up their mother as he passed. Dave was huddled by the stairs, Karkat trying to comfort him, and he jumped as Dirk appeared at the top of the stairs. Dirk didn’t pay it any mind. There’d be time to worry about that later.

He fished a flashlight out of the kitchen, and made a beeline for the garage. Even before opening the door, he heard a noise from within — the sound of something heavy toppling over. Dave had definitely been right; they had an intruder.

A hand on his arm stopped him before he moved to enter.

“Dirk,” Kanaya murmured, “I don’t think this is wise.”

“There’s definitely someone in there,” Dirk said. “Guard the door. It’ll make for a good bottleneck if there’s more than one and someone gets past me.”

“Dirk,” she hissed, but he pushed his way in anyway.

Their garage was a big one — as if it’d be any other case, in this house. It was big and dark, and Dirk knew without trying that the light didn’t work — it had burned out months ago, and he hadn’t gotten around to changing it yet. There was only one car in the garage at the moment (technically Mom’s, but she hadn’t driven it in years, leaving its operation primarily to Dirk), and the rest of the space was essentially for storage. Stacks of boxes and bins made for a pitch-black, claustrophobic space. Taking care to tread quietly, Dirk flicked on the flashlight and held his sword at the ready.

He could hear still more movement, although locating it was tricky; sounds echoed easily in the concrete, high-roofed chamber. The sounds were…scratching, shuffling; what the intruder might be doing, Dirk couldn’t be sure.

Another thump gave Dirk a clearer idea of where exactly this phantom invader might be. Somewhere over to his left. There were power tools over there, Dirk knew. That couldn’t mean anything good.

With every muscle in his body tense and ready to act, Dirk rounded a particularly high stack of boxes, and finally got a good look at the invader.

With a sigh, he let his sword arm fall to his side.

“False alarm,” Dirk shouted. “It’s just a raccoon.” His answer came in the form of a loud swear in what sounded like Rose’s voice, something quieter from Mom, and a loud, unmistakeable, “What the fuck is a raccoon” from Karkat.

“Can one of you get the garage open?” Dirk called, keeping a close eye on the now wary creature. Its back was arched, fur fluffed up to make itself look bigger — not an easy feat, considering this particular raccoon had to be the fattest one Dirk had ever seen, the thing must’ve been gorging itself on their garbage for some time — and Dirk wasn’t particularly keen on needing a rabies shot in the near future. “I think I can chase it out of here,” he clarified.

“Sure,” came Rose’s voice, followed by a muffled, “No, seriously, what the fuck is a raccoon?” and the sound of the garage door starting to swing open.

It took a great deal of maneuvering to convince the scared animal to get outside, but eventually it was chased out without further incident. When he went back inside, Mom had already gone back to bed, and the others were all visibly worn out as well, but in a way tinged with a palpable relief. Except for Dave, that is, who immediately began frantically apologizing as soon as Dirk re-entered.

“It’s fine, Dave,” Dirk muttered, exhausted. “I’d rather a false alarm than someone showing up and you not telling us, okay? ‘Sides, that thing coulda caused all kinds of damage if you hadn’t noticed it. It’s not the first raccoon to get into our house, and the last one was destructive as shit. You probably saved us a lot of trouble.”

“You’ve certainly got good ears, to have heard a raccoon from upstairs,” Rose commented.

“Uh…I was, um, in the kitchen, but.”

“Even so.”

Dave shrugged.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” said Porrim, and Kanaya winced. She shifted her phone to her other ear, carefully considering her answer.

“Um, well, a lot has happened,” she said. “I do not know how much I am allowed to share as it is related to, you know, the case.”

“Oh, dear. Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“I mean, it could have been a lot more serious. I almost died, actually.”

“What!”

“No, it’s okay, though, I’m just kind of a rainbow drinker now, is all. And I’ve been busy figuring that out,” she sighed. “The internet really hasn’t been very helpful at all, and I’ve been distracted worrying about it…”

“Really?” Porrim said, her voice indicating a great deal of interest.

“I know it doesn’t sound very realistic, but I swear it’s true,” Kanaya answered, tugging nervously on her skirt.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I believe you,” said Porrim. “I’m just surprised, is all. I didn’t think I’d wind up hiring another drinker. Still, I can see how that would make you quiet. It is so confusing at first, after all.”

Kanaya heaved a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank you for believing me, I — wait, another?”

#kanaya maryam #dave strider #karkat vantas #rose lalonde #dirk strider #longpost//#fanfic #fanfiction #katt does a writing #calmvsstormfic #calmvsstormchapter #i had SO MUCH fun writing that first scene

6 notes · View notes

khopeshaeterno-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Part III

The transfer over to Concordia had been uneventful, if anything. The whole launch had been broadcast along the Imperium, a shining symbol of what the cunning of the nation could achieve. After they had boarded the research vessel (with appropriate ceremonies, of course), the foxes fell into their stations. Brutus was fully at home in the medical bay, while Varinia had been mapping the trajectory to a precise arc. Laelia was already making slight adjustments to the engines, and Silvanus had turned on the lights across the vessel. Cato was at the helm, making the minor adjustments to the vessel as it sped towards that marvelously teal planet that the Ancient Regime had named Vestus. He hummed a soft tune, looking out at the onyx beyond, dotted with sparkling platinum points.

Silvanus made his way to the chair next to Cato and sighed. “Wow, so, if it’s gonna be this boring, this routine, my fath… Er, the Elites are going to make this a standard flight. Maybe with tours. Think you could do that?”

Cato chuckled and shook his head in bemusement, glancing over at the brilliant ivory square on his co-pilot’s wrist as he shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe if they’ll grant me a bit of wine on the way over, the kind with the bubbles that the Elites drink, I’ll do it. Mix it with something fruit-flavored and we’ll call it a… Planetary Shuffle.”

Silvanus bumped Cato’s forearm in agreement before nodding forward. “I’ll pull some strings, see if we can get them on-board for that.”

The quiet of space created a humbling feeling in all the foxes as they each took a moment to look out the windows, reflecting on their experiences that led them to this point.

Laelia sighed softly, being the youngest at 19, knowing she got there through her fierce determination and intellect as she fiddled with the silver square at her wrist. She had come from a small family, relatively unknown by history. They had always been simple craft workers, making rather utilitarian wooden furniture and simple iron tools. From a very young age, Laelia had shown her expertise with metal. As she grew bigger, her ability grew more precise, crafting a spectacular timepiece at the age of 7 which caught the eye of a university professor. He had taken her under his tutelage, educating her in engineering and electronics, until she had graduated from the university at the age of 17 with a dual-degree in mechanics and electronics. Her prodigy status resulted in her being selected to help craft the Concordia, and her little touches on the internal designs secured her place as the ship’s mechanic.

Brutus, the oldest among them at 36, tapped on his own silver square to check with his ILA about the date and time, his past as a pioneering battlefield doctor always at the back of his mind. He had been born to a well-known family of warriors, being raised in the way of a soldier by his mother while his father was at war in the Far Lands. When he was 12, an attack from terrorist forces left his mother injured, bleeding out. Brutus couldn’t help, having no training in field medicine, and was broken by his mother passing in front of him. After a few years of being lost between family members, he was drafted and immediately requested a position as a field medic. Being granted the knowledge that could have saved his mother’s life, he served his country well, though over time finding that using a weapon didn’t suit him well. He eventually fell out of favor of the military, rejecting both re-enlistment and the privilege to wear the gold square on his wrist. His estranged father was impressed with Brutus’ simple nature and had put in a good word for his son when the team for the Concordia was being formed.

Varinia, 31 herself, looked out of the circular port, her finger tracing around her wrist’s golden square as she remembered the five years of service that she had offered in the Imperium Navy. Coming from a coastal village, Varinia had always been enamored with the sea. Her uncle was a fisher, and so Varinia got a lot of time on the sea with him, fishing during the day and learning about navigation at night. The legacy of her village had been passed down to her when she came of age, a knowledge of how to navigate the waves with nothing but the environment around her. A few days after her 23rd birthday, while fishing with her uncle, they were struck by a torpedo from a warring force in the land, prompting Varinia to join with the Navy. She proved her mettle when she was able to navigate a fleet of ships back to their home port after the electronics were sabotaged by an internal traitor. During a test to see if she would make a good ship captain, the design team of the Concordia mission slipped in a few trials regarding navigating with nothing more than the stars and intuition. Varinia was the only participant to get a score over 50% on that section, which resulted in her transfer — with full naval honors — to the team.

Silvanus, at 23, shook his head slightly as he rolled his wrist, decorated in the white square of the Elite class, knowing he was offered this opportunity because of his status as the son of the Imperator, but trying to convince himself he deserved it. While their society did not believe in right to rulership by ancestry, it was no mistake that Silvanus’ family had led the Imperium for nearly 300 years. They had risen to power long ago, as simple Senators, and rose to the top through back room deals and raw ambition. Indeed, it was the lineage of Silvanus that established that these wrist-bound computers that everyone in their society wore were a guaranteed right, and everyone in society was supplied with them from their third birthday onward. The colors just helped everyone to know, at a glance, where they stood in society. Silvanus shook his head as his thoughts raced, remembering silently that his father had forced the team behind the Concordia to raise the crew from four to five so that a representative of the ruling family could… monitor the activities of the scientists.

Cato, 25, let his golden square push into his palm as he rested his paw on top, chuckling slightly as he remembered how he had been a librarian and a research assistant for nearly a decade before he fell into this position from sheer luck. From a young age, he had been enamored by history and culture, reading everything he possibly could about the past and how others in the world thought. When he turned 12, he was given a position in a cultural research library, and within a few months established himself as a quicker reference than the computers in the building. He had been quick to create his own research project by the time he was 16, and was able to write a fully-fleshed out thesis by the time he was 20 on how culture in space may likely develop too quickly to reliably record unless each starship had a dedicated historian, citing many historical accounts of rapid culture changes with the introduction of advanced technology. His thesis came at an opportune time, as he was given public service honors and hired in to the development team of the Concordia. When the team was formed from Laelia, Brutus, Varinia, and Silvanus, Cato had suggested a few other researchers to become the on-ship historian. However, the group of four responded most positively to Cato’s personality, and he was given the post.

The peace that had fallen on the five was shattered with a sudden jolt and rumble from a force outside of the ship. Warning alarms started to sound, and the lights switched to a dull red as Cato turned on the inter-crew radio.

“Sound off! Everyone alright?”

“Med is alive.”

“Navigation is still plotting.”

“Engineering is ok, but…”

Cato inhaled a bit in anxious anticipation. “But what, Laelia?”

“Well… There’s a hole in the research side of things. Some sort of energy blast… We never detected any other ship in the sector, did we?”

Cato pointed at Silvanus, indicating the escape pods, as if to ask him to prepare them. “Laelia, why would you say that?”

The pause was much, much longer than Cato wanted.

“Well, the blast could only have been caused by directed energy… Some sentient force hit us intentionally with an energy blast, and I don’t think they’re done.”

As if to affirm the engineer’s concerns, another blast rocked the ship as the alarm cut out. The warning system had been blasted out.

Cato slapped the control panel in frustration, looking down at the computer on his wrist and feeling his heart fall. They were only an hour away from a research orbit with Vestus.

“Okay. Silvanus, are the pods prepped?”

“Affirmative!”

“Perfect. Everyone, go, get in the pods. They take a week to get home, weaker engines and all, but you’ll be cryo’d. It’s safer than staying here.”

The fox maintained the vessel, glancing down at the escape pod panel as he nodded a bit. Brutus shot away first, followed by Varinia, then Laelia, then Silvanus. One pod was left.

Cato switched on autopilot as he jumped back towards his pod. He got in, secured himself, and ejected from the vessel.

He launched right as a beam cut across the vessel, destroying his engine.

The fox felt his tiny pod tumble as the engine on the craft exploded. The lights inside the pod turned a deep red as the pod spun out of control. Between shots of space and views of the craft he came from exploding, Cato saw four streaks of light rocket away from the craft. He let out a soft sigh of relief, knowing the four would make it home.

The fox turned his attention to his left wrist, tapping a button and bringing the ILA interface on. He cleared his throat a bit, thinking about what he could ask.

“ILA, how bad is the damage?”

The purple orb on the screen pulsed for a few moments in thought. “The escape pod cannot travel under its own power. The engine has been destroyed. The escape pod cannot transmit an SOS signal. The antenna has been destroyed. The primary solar cell has been destroyed. The secondary solar cell has been destroyed. The battery system is online. Fusion power will keep the cryogenic capabilities running for fifty solar cycles. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Cato grunted in mild frustration. He had never liked the robotic voice of ILA, nor how matter-of-fact it was with bad situations. He kept watching the universe spin outside his window. “ILA, what are the chances of being rescued?”

The pause was a lot longer than he anticipated. He thought ILA had frozen. “ILA, what is my name?”

The assistant chimed immediately. “Cato, commander of the Concordia, civis aurum of Imperium. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Cato sighed softly, then said more forcefully, “ILA. What are the chances that I will be rescued?”

The assistant finally responded. “The chances of rescue are extremely low. If a rescue vessel reached this sector within one-half solar cycle, you will be too far away to be detected. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Cato whimpered gently, looking out at the starry sky with a slight shudder. “ILA, please initiate the cryogenic cycle.”

The temperature of the capsule started to chill.

“O maiorum. Quaeso de hac misericordia luceat stultus cuiusdam a Muliere descendentis. Placere aliquis det generis ut in mundo, in universum, ad me propius ad vitam producat. Erue me de hac magna tristique aeternum ultra finem. Obsecro te maiorem ad spem animum vel animam largire perpetuam pacem. O maiorum…”

The fox’s last sight before the cold darkness was a single point of shining, twinkling, amber starlight.

#furry #story

0 notes

nirvanaballad · 7 years ago

Text

ZERO TEAM: EP13

Never alone.

Playable characters:

Quantum

Rememberanza

Lauchpad

Dreamer

Hacker

Tiger

The [insert aeroship designation] was looking splendid. Lights from the road illuminated the black hull, black fuselage; sleek, and slender in comparison to the ancient aeroships of the war on Essen. Her blue magic engines; auchs and rotary, shone in the deep night over the Ballad Family Estate.

Dreamer mused over the “fractured society” theory that had been presented to her at a meeting of Oracle Drive directors; her company.

In ages past, it would have taken two and a half hours on horseback to reach the nearest town, Vaux Harley; while in the year 2016 maybe twelve minutes in the metallic apple-green Nissan Juke she had been given as a wedding present the previous year (see episodes 6&7).

The tiny hamlet that would have served as lodgings for the staff responsible for the estate’s upkeep lay several furlongs to the west . It was as isolated as perspective allowed, but it was here that Dreamer had found peace, even solace in the previous months.

Allowing for a little dream quest, she mused once again at the idea of being a detective. The a-type arrived, and, as well she knew, Dreamer would learn a lot from it -- a tiny box that sat in her body and radiated information. Over the last few weeks she had come leaps and bounds in her understanding of bodily organs -- communication between her and them was in the best state it had ever been, at least, as far as her memory served. Her experimentation had led her to grow synapses within all of them, each now operating more like the brain than ever. There were five new organs, and she knew that the changes she was undergoing were effecting more than just the population of this planet (call it Firma, call it Echo...) Her influence resonated far. She was a goddess. And also a God. Scherherazade was the planet that presented this, and she represented her.

She still felt somewhat saddened/uncomfortable that some of the process of healing her organs had required unscrupulous deeds. But then, as she had known for years, pain, even violence had the potential to heal.

The gaia and the anima were among these new organs. True too was the existence of the vessel. This metaphor would never leave her. Perhaps its mystery would be one that was never completely understood. This suited her. Feminine!

Her worship rang out without and within.

Aching to find Rememberanza, Dreamer set out against the sodden pathway, chickens and geese moving to make way for her excursion.

She found her in the deep parts of the garden, some years ago neglected. A small gazebo lay in the shade of a huge hawthorn tree. Rememberanza was there, not reading or drawing, but just sitting. Dreamer’s eyes met hers, but, as both had short sight, the connection between them was itself something of a mystery.

The night agenda was owlish. The aeroship that they had acquired after the war huge above them. A mighty surplus of the vessels

a well-known fact on Firma,

The ship required a huge amount of work if they were to reach the expectations The Three Oracles advised. She needed to be spaceworthy. She needed to reach reticule speeds of up to 9.779 oscillations.

The workings of engine room were not exactly Dreamer’s realm of expertise, but it was here that she found Quantum making micro-transports between the gravity capacitor and the gravity terminal, muttering “regulate, regulate.” He was transporting so quickly between the two places it appeared as though he was almost at both at the same time.

“Anything I can do?” said Dreamer.

“Sure -- get out…Ha! just kidding!”

“Oh what a laugh.” her response was flat, but not totally uncongenial.

“You’d be more useful helping Hacker with his calculations in the lower bridge. Integrating all the equipment from that image dissembler we found is taking up a lot of his time.” Quantum smiled amusingly.

“I only really understand - “

“All of it,” he interrupted. “Get going!”

The slanted compliment made Dreamer blush a little. She still felt shy in her father’s presence.

In the forward section of the ship, just beneath the bridge, Hacker was set to work stripping hundreds of crystalline data chips from a big IDSO drive. It sat awkwardly on the main forward console, repeatedly sliding off ofthe angled station with Hacker pushing it back again and again to avoid the complex crashing to the deck.

IMNO Drive Complex: information match numina operation drive complex

IDSO Drive & IDSO Drive Complex: information directive splicing operation drive complex

“Safe,” said Dreamer to Hacker as she entered into the lower bridge through the oversized hatch.

“Hey, Dreamer! Can you give me a hand with the slip drive. Its seriously complicated technology, didn’t really see it - uhk! Notice… ahh! You get what I mean??…Would you mind having a look?”

Dreamer busied herself for the next hour and a half turning the little silver knobs on the calibration board, fine-tuning the essential parameters for the numerical weaponary that was to double up as a drive manifold for the flux intake at the front of the ship. Rather than carrying the notorious energy weapon technology, the [insert aeroship designation here]’s forward installation was a pinpoint post-triangulation device that worked with the influx capacitor that ran the beam of the ship to the megaflux engine at the stern.

It was Hacker’s ambition to also calculate if the capacitor could open spatial anti-rifts that the ship would pass through -- opening and then collapsing once the procedure was complete. They could be on the other side of the galaxy in a matter of hours if they got their calculations right...

As far away as they had travelled, Firma was never out of reach. Her home and grace in constant reflection with the deeds of the team. The EGA had already changed reality so much. Praise be to JOJO.

(there were tiny little scratches to the bottom right of every one of the two-hundred little silver knobs.)

(it was angled at a light incline towards the operator.)

(above the calibration board was a rack of input sockets forming an analogue server bank.)

(between certain of these sockets were duel jack connectors. they connect two adjacent sockets +{at four angles))

(jacked into one of the sockets in the top right of the assembly of input sockets was an internal transmission dish, that was folded out, made of the same, silver-coloured metal as the calibration desk; oxidized gallium)

(the use of this is uncertain but Nirvana suspects that it is to send narrowcast messages with a minuscule bandwidth, which would deplete only a tiny amount of power in the eventuality that the primary organisation for internal communication aboard the aeroship went down/was disabled.)

(this desk is more than just a communication hub for transmissions between the crewmembers, it also directs and redirects energetic ‘nerve’ pulses that reconfigure the process of electrical stimulation aboard the ship. this works through a combination of classic ac/dc stimulation and pulse cadence which modulates the flow of electric intonation that overall gravitational alignment on the ship.)

(while many other of the ship’s terminals and how they relate to their connected command operations appear visually similar to this calibration desk, the other most notable bridge command terminal is the navigation position.)

crew compliment: 80

8 phantom rocket pods

2 aux engines

2 flux engines

1 flux intake for the flux engines, positioned at the prow

1 medial thruster manifold, positioned at the stern

It is told that many eons ago, Nirvana sent herself this aeroship to play with when she was old enough. (that’s the blue one...)

Although there is a bridge and bridge positions for a formal staff, the members of Zero Team find it appropriate to operate the different posts at their own behest. There is no exact chain of command or command paradigm.

a collection of phreaks

interpretive, but not interpretational dance? Representing interacting by using energy (typically from the hands.) Explorative performance.

Fireworks

Hacker

Dreamer

Rememberanza

Accelerator

Quantum

Launchpad

Extra

Lionsword (lol)

Powercut (Lox)

/-:,,Sneakernet

Schematics for [000] [insert aeroship designation here], Aeroship under control and command by Zero Team, Firma.

ENGINE ROOM:

Crystalline data chips x1200

Multiprocessor modular x1000

Memory enhancers x900

Flux chamber x10

Bridge auxiliary control x1

Energy translation module x13

Appropriation manifold x12

Energy transition centre x7

Impulse velocity centre x2

Core dynamo x12

Core dynamo bolts x 36

Operations Situation Station x12

Value core x1

Alternate oscillation manifold x30

Catwalks (linked with butterfly bolts)..,

Turbine oscillation station x1

Oracle drive x8

Prophet drive x12

Extreme release turbine x1

Oscillation centre x7

Preparatory transmission hub x8

Communications hub x3

Positional auxiliary terminals x12

Main operations terminal booth x1

Preparatory communications drive x1

Thruster communication drive x1

Propulsion drive x1

Input drive x8

Output drive x3

Velocity drive manifold x1

Velocity drive gimbal (pivoted support that allows the rotation of an object about a singular or duel axis.) x1

Velocity drive dynamo x1

Flux drive calibration centre x1

Including: Flux drive calibration terminal and several other positions

BRIDGE:

Piloting terminals x2

Captain’s terminal station (includes backup piloting terminal and communications doorway* [software terminology], weapons override terminal)

Communications station (including specialized engine room narrowcast uplink)

Weapons systems station

Retrieval

CAFETERIA:

Enough seats for twenty crewmembers.

CABINS:

Three main fully supplied cabins for Prime Pilot, Captain and Chief Engineer.

Ten double up cabins.

Corridors

Magical Organs:

How do they work and what do they feel?

Flux drive

Paraclock

Cargo hold

The rad beauty of the aeroship was like the whistling sun, rays like the vital potency of a people whose equilibrium was more than just at one with nature. Rememberanza sent worship to magic herself.

“She is all around us.”

As night drew in, the final preparations for the mission were completed one by one . Rememberanza checked her watch. “Countdown t-minus ten minutes.” The crew of the [insert aeroship designation here] >were all teleported aboard. They could have transported, but in order to test the ship’s security from other beings who could do the same, the teleportation ring was activated. Extra was left at the house to protect it with several of the hired hands that The Family had recently employed. (The Ballad Family Guardians).

Indeed, she mused, things were going much more easily since they had made this decision.

With words like “flux drive” and “positional gyroscope” floating around in her consciousness, Extra bid them farewell, her deep friendship with Dreamer particularly carrying aloft feelings of love and wellbeing that all the members of the team, even Hundred (the secret name of Quantum), whose health was finally begin to improve -- no longer broken; his extreme beauty finally out of harms way.

This was the way the team often perceived each other -- the quoted “alternative” beauty that was present in the photo-paintings of the Hindu gods who they represented,; found easily on the Internet, was something that the team were beginning to gain a deeper understanding of.

Rememberanza resonated strongly with the strength of the Indian matriarch -- but while in her Zero Team guise, her own Hindu name, Radha, was sat further back; Rememberanza was so much more than a name that revealed some small portion of superpowers; similarly, Radha meant something, more than one thing -- like many others, her name meant everything.

She responded.

It was time to fly.

Quantum returned to the mansion house, arriving in an ornate energy materialization at the high-ground locale.

“We’ve spent the last few hours preparing the aeroship for space. Can you come and make ready? There are a few things that could use your expert eye.”

There was a spacestation that had somehow made its way (slipstream) to School. Aboard it were millions of books that had “deleted” their writers, and all the people of an ancient civilization that had revered them.

(see The Operandi of Jenova by Nirvana Ballad)

Map Puzzle

Within around two hours the [insert aeroship designation] was through the ionosphere. There were several ADZE vessels in orbit, apparently guarding the untouched station, although it felt something like a blockade. Dreamer, always fond of acting the communications officer while in the air, operated the telegraphy terminal on the bridge. She swiftly messaged the ships hanging to the left of the station. As if it was suspended in the blackness, running lights making their position known to other spaceships (when it suited them..).

“ADZE vessel, be advised that we are carrying out exploratory mission regarding the space station you are guarding. If any issue presents itself you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you, Dreamer. Good to hear from you.”

They drew near to the gargantuan station. Over the next few hours, Dreamer and Hacker began communicating with the installation’s computers. They seemed to be in a state of disrepair. Patching the ship’s numerical weaponary abilities with their narrowcast jammers, Hacker retrieved the docking protocols from the station.

Dreamer and Hacker glanced at one another: “We’re in.”

Captain Tiger…sounds good!

The End. (Dea.)

July ‘17

#art writing

0 notes