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ottiliere · 2 years ago

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Ok so, 2 things

1. Oh? System Dirks are coming in here to show their appreciation? Because ours also DEVOURS this AU. It is genuinely so relatable and cathartic. When people don't think sharing vent art is good, I point at this AU and how it shows the ugly side of recovery so perfectly.

2. I was idly scrolling through the JTHM tag as I do frequently and got such intense whiplash seeing your recent post about asks in it. Like. Complete opposite side of our dash radar. What is this I hear about a JTHM ask?? I am fascinated already I font care if it's related to Dirk or not I just genuinely would love to hear your thoughts on it.

1) pulling all the dirks who follow me in for a hug through the walls of my plastic isolation bubble. it really makes me so happy to hear this. I can't give an extended answer to this point because I spent so much time talking about the next one but I hope you feel the mind waves of love I am bombarding you with.

2) The ask I got was in fact about Dirk, but as I'm drafting it it is...drifting...very much...into being about JTHM. "hear my thoughts on it" … this would be nothing shorter than a dissertation. I think about JTHM very often. I don't think it's possible for me to be concise about this in any sense of the word.

JTHM, to me, is one of the formative experiences that made me who I am. It is one of my favorite pieces of fiction ever made, that I have ever engaged with, and I know for a fact I will struggle to find something that is told in such a captivating way from an author with such an open soul. I discovered fanart of it by chance on DeviantArt, and, being naturally drawn towards edgier themes, searched everywhere on the internet until I found it uploaded onto some woman's livejournal account. I was obsessed with JTHM for a very, very long time. I reread it periodically, once or twice a year, and I have been doing this since I was 12. It has heavily influecned the way I go about making art and telling stories and engaging with everything I watch or read or what have you.

Everything about this comic blew my mind as a child, artistically absolutely, thematically especially. The narrative style that is glib with occasional moments of morose clarity that never lasts too long... we will never see anything like the suicide scene in anything else ever written again, of that I'm sure. It is unique in its existence. once you read that it unlocks something in your brain and you just can't go back. Multiplied by a million if you read it at a formative age you weren't really supposed to be reading it. Like homestuck.

Nny... he is the base of the character trope I always return to in fiction, usually unconsciously. I didn't realize that what I was doing to dirk mirrored nny until some friends pointed it out... it is a fascinating phenomenon. He is the first of his kind I have ever encountered in anything, ever. Blatantly unwell, the focus of a story that isn't necessarily slotting him into an antagonistic role. Like, he's the protagonist who I guess is also the antagonist but he's also a human. He's this guy with severe mental illness who is lead around like a puppet on strings first by the society that torments him for existing and then by the creature living in his walls that steals his memory and cognitive ability and manipulates him into doing his bidding. I had never seen that before? Usually I am not one for "made mentally ill by inorganic sources" trope, but the fact that it's stated in the comic that he was already seriously unwell before he became a flusher... it's just sad. He is not a good person, but his life is inherently tragic and the outcome of a society that does not care for him, or people like him, at all. forgive me for the comparison, but he is like the joker 2019. I mean this in a way that I love joker 2019. if you didn't like joker, well. sorry. but it's true.

This ties in, obviously, with the way that Jhonen goes about fiction: he does whatever he wants, to an extent. I have recently very closely befriended some individuals and while pondering how we were meshing so well on the creative side of htings, it eventually came to light that the singlemost defining moment in our lives was how we all read JTHM at a very young age. And it is insane, stepping back and looking at all of our narrative and art styles and seeing that the similarities we've all evolved independently stemmed from JTHM, in addition to our view of what it's like to be an artist. we are but jhonen's warriors in a world that is currently characterized by a very homogenized mixture of “art”. I mean, just look at the current box office trend. look at the “genre” that is marvel movies. not that I don’t enjoy marvel movies, I DO like them, my loki phase was strong and hard, but objectively... these things are what they are: mass-produced consumables. there is a reason people got excited when it was announced that Cronenberg was making a new film (which was awesome btw); art is dying. milquetoast narratives, stories afraid to push boundaries and be "weird", authors not trusting the audience to pick up on their intended message so instead of leaving it just a little ambiguous, they must instead spoonfeed it to every reader... There is some equation of what it means to make art and how it equates with your moral standing; my stance has always aligned with dear Jhonen's.

in a way my view of the world is the direct inverse of nny's; I truly believe in the best of people, I love humanity, I love the world and I am fundamentally incapable of being outwardly cruel towards others. my natural setting is to logically empathize, to put myself in the shoes of other people and look at their life the way they're living it. there is nothing more important to me than showing unconditional positive regard towards others. I have not always been this way. I used to foster great amounts of animosity in my heart for the things that have been done to me. I used to be an abjectly miserable person, I used to be violently suicidal every day for years and years and years etc. now though... I don't know how to describe it. something alights upon you after vast quantities of self-reflection, detached from the scrying eyes of swathes of people, of strangers, fandom most relevantly but I do also mean society as a whole. at this point in my life there is nothing more important to me than being a nice person, and helping others in what ways I can. if that's through posting raw depictions of mental illness, I will happily do so. I didn't realize that people didn't KNOW they can do this, and it is heartwarming that I can touch people in such a way even parasocially. I have worked on myself, I love people and I love when people are weird and their true creative selves because that is what the world needs in this day and age. art is dying. If you let bitterness into your heart it will consume you. it will cloud your judgment and prevent you from making a true connection to the medium, it will block you from making what you REALLY want to make. It will poison how you interact with other humans on a fundamental level, if you are constantly walking into interactions suspecting the worst intentions.

it almost seems like critical thinking is a dying skill...or, at least, it is when it comes to interacting with art and not relying on other people to tell you what to think. but even still I still do not hold ire towards those who seek me harm for what I make. I do not answer many of the asks I get on purpose, the death threats, etc... because these people are hurting in a multitude of ways, and they have not yet learned how to cope with their own pain. You could call being an optimist a character flaw, maybe it is. I don't know. That is, for better or worse, the epitome of what I am: an unrelenting pollyanna who believes in the best of people and the potential they have to heal. The one anon hate I got about the AU months ago that I actually deigned with an answer; they eventually came off anon and admitted they were just frustrated they didn't know how to properly use tumblr's UI to filter me off their dashboard and displaced their emotions onto me. They apologized. Such is life. We are all humans inhabiting this great big earth and I love to love people. contrary to what I depict in my art, I am a very happy person. I love my friends and I'm currently in a very good life situation with occasional downfalls and eventual upturns. Jhonen, I know, as stated in the second interview image, was often like this as well. nny was a speakerphone for little observations about life and pessimism; he was a character, a means to tell a story.

so ya I guess those are some of my thoughts about JTHM. not all of them though. here’s some nny

#ask #lucy art #these asks really got me plugged into nny again... expect art soon probably #like besides whats here these are PRACTISE #the power of anonymous users on tumblr #jthm

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batmans-cheerleader · 2 years ago

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best laid plans

includes: stephanie & duke & cass & damian, stephanie & bruce

wc: 2.3k | rated t | m.list | posted on ao3

a/n: this was so fun to write ngl

please reblog (⋅⃘˕̭⋅⃘)

"So, what’s your plan?” Duke asks, and Stephanie returns her attention to her plan, which she’d painstakingly come up with, making first and second drafts until her wastebasket had been filled with papers.

“What’s one thing that Bruce hates?” she poses, and everyone thinks for a moment.

“Evildoers?” Duke offers.

“Superman,” Damian says decisively (and wrongly, Stephanie notes).

“People messing with his stuff,” Cass says, and again, this is why Stephanie loves her!

“Exactly!” she says. “To Cass, not the rest of you. Bruce can’t stand when his carefully organized stuff is out of place. Bruce keeps his Batsuit in his case, does he not? All we need to do is get down there, get into the case, spray paint the suit, and make it seem like it was Tim, Jay, and Dick.”

“I have an idea,” Stephanie says, climbing up on the dining room table, like a queen holding court. Duke, Cass, and Damian, her loyal subjects (the people in the room), barely spare her a glance before going back to their breakfasts. “Guys,” she groans, stealing a piece of toast off of Cass’ plate, “listen up.”

“Fine,” Damian acquiesces, somehow managing to look down his nose at her, even though he has to look up to see her. “What is this ‘idea’? Surely not another foolish scheme to get us in trouble with Father?”

Stephanie scoffs. “When have I ever got us in trouble with Bruce?”

Three pairs of eyes side-eye her.

“Okay, whatever. But no, if everything goes right, it’ll get Tim, Jason, and Dick in trouble with him.” She sprays crumbs a little as she says this, and Duke wordlessly gives her a napkin, which she thanks him profusely for. “Remember that time we got blamed for stealing the Batmobile when it was them? I’ve been biding my time, coming up with a great revenge plan, and I think I finally have it.”

“I’m in,” Cass says, no questions asked. This is why Stephanie loves her, and she says as much.

“I had forgotten about that,” Damian says slowly. “We suffered under that grounding for entirely too long. I have bleach stains on my favorite shirt because of Alfred’s tyrannical rule.”

“Oh yeah, you were forced to clean the bathrooms, weren’t you?” Stephanie asks, and Damian wrinkles his nose.

“It was terrible.”

She shudders delicately, thankful she’d been given the animals. It had been gross, but not nearly that gross.

“What’s one thing that Bruce hates?” she poses, and everyone thinks for a moment.

“Evildoers?” Duke offers.

“Superman,” Damian says decisively (and wrongly, Stephanie notes).

“People messing with his stuff,” Cass says, and again, this is why Stephanie loves her!

“Exactly!” she says. “To Cass, not the rest of you. Bruce can’t stand when his carefully organized stuff is out of place. Remember when Tim accidentally filed that case in the wrong place?”

Tim had been morose for weeks afterward.

“That sucked,” Duke says, and Damian waves a hand.

“Drake deserved it. Everyone knows they’re sorted alphabetically by last name, not first. It was a novice mistake.”

“My fault,” Cass says suddenly, and they all turn to look back at her. She smiles devilishly, eyes glinting. “I borrowed the file. Put it back wrong. But no one knew, and Tim was the last person before me to have it.”

“You’re evil,” Damian says, approval clear in his voice. “It is no less than Drake deserves. If he were any sort of true detective, he would have swept for fingerprints and checked the camera feeds.”

“He did,” Cass replies, “but I am too skilled. The most skilled.”

No one argues because they all know it’s true.

“Anyway, back to my plan,” Stephanie says, calling all attention back to her. “Bruce keeps his Batsuit in his case, does he not? All we need to do is get down there, get into the case, spray paint the suit, and make it seem like it was Tim, Jay, and Dick.”

“And how would we do that?”

Stephanie smirks. “One: I’ve been collecting their fingerprints for months now, so it’ll be easy to transfer them to the case and suit. Not enough to be suspiciously obvious, but the edge of a palm here. The barest hint of a thumb there. Two: Jason threatened to do it about a year ago, something Bruce doubtlessly remembers, as he increased security on the case shortly after it was brought up. Jason has probably long forgotten about it but there’s no way Bruce has. Three: I bought the spray paint using one of Tim’s secret cards that he think’s Bruce doesn’t know about and had it delivered to one of Dick’s safehouses. He’ll never suspect it was us.”

“And how do you know Bruce is aware of Tim’s card?” Damian asked, arms crossed. Stephanie detects the barest hint of respect in his voice and preens.

“About a month ago, I ‘accidentally’ revealed it to Bruce,” Stephanie says, complete with air quotes and all. “Well, not that card, but a different one. I knew if Bruce suspected Tim had more he’d go digging them up, and I’m sure he’s found it by now.”

“The cameras,” Cass says, and Stephanie winks at her.

“I already have that covered. Babs owes Duke here a favor and I was hoping-” she puts her hands together, blinking prettily at Duke “-that you'd be willing to use it for this.”

“Gordon owes you?” Damian asks, perhaps in awe. “How in the world did that happen?”

Stephanie and Duke share a look, remembering their promise to never reveal the exact events of that night.

“Unimportant,” Duke says firmly. “But Steph, I don’t know if I should use my favor on this. What if I need it in the future for something more important?”

Stephanie gasps. “More important? Duke Reginald Thomas, you take that right back!”

“Not my middle name,” Duke interjects, but Stephanie is undeterred from her passionate and rousing speech.

“Do you not remember how Dick would laugh as we worked out butts off? How Jason would go and make a mess of a room you’d just vacuumed? I think he bought sunflower seeds specifically to spill them! Do you guys not feel anger in your veins when you think about how Tim scolded us for doing something so reckless when it was his grubby little hands that were on the wheel of the Batmobile, not ours? How can you stand for this? We must get back at them, regain our dignity and honor! Who’s with me!”

Cass claps politely and Stephanie does a few mock bows, still seated atop the table.

“I suppose I’ll do it,” Duke says, but Stephanie can see the fire she’s lit inside of him, because she’s the coolest and absolutely the best for motivational speeches. Hey, maybe she should see if Bruce will start letting her do them before they go out on missions. That would be awesome.

“I’m in,” Cass says again, and Damian nods.

“I am in as well. They shall feel the burn of our wrath when they are the ones forced to wipe down the toilet seat!”

Stephanie shudders again, and Cass makes a disgusted face. Their bathroom is nowhere near as nasty as the boys’ shared one is, something she’s incredibly grateful for.

“Great!” Stephanie cheers, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go somewhere to flesh out the rest of these details where we can really plan! To your Titans base, Damian!”

“What?” Damian squawks as Stephanie ungracefully climbs off of the table. “Why my base?”

“Best place,” Cass says, and Stephanie beams. Damian, knowing he is beaten, merely sighs, gathering his plate with an air of long-suffering about him.

A few days later finds them going over the plan one last time with Babs, crowding around her chair in the Clocktower.

“You all know your jobs?” Stephanie asks, and receives four nods.

“Yes,” Damian says. “I am to distract father, pretending Grayson put me up to the task.”

“I’m making sure Jason, Dick, and Tim stay away from the cave,” Duke puts in. They had decided to do it on a night when they were home, maximizing risk, but minimizing the chances of any of them having an alibi. “Are you sure they’re not going to suspect me?”

“Oh, Duke,” Stephanie says, “they’re not going to have a clue.”

“Fingerprints,” Cass volunteers, “and helping with the case.”

“I’ll scrub footage as you go and help with access to the case as well,” Babs says, and Stephanie gives in to the urge to rub her hands together like a low-rate villain. Or her father.

“It’s all coming together,” she croons. “And I’ll be painting the Batsuit. I’ve got a suit to wear but underneath it will be Jason’s hoodie, and if traces of paint are accidentally found on it… well, that would be terrible for him!”

“Let’s do this,” Duke says, and they all nod.

After driving back to the manor (Bruce would track if they zeta-ed), they all split up. Babs had lent them some of her comms, and after Stephanie has gathered the clothes and things she needs, all hidden underneath a blanket she holds as part of her ruse, she puts it in, sounding off.

“Alright, everyone is in position,” Babs says, and Stephanie nods, even though no one except for Babs can see her.

“It’s go time.”

Passing Damian in the hall, they share a short look but otherwise disregarded one another, set on completing their parts. She stops in the kitchen for a snack, mentioning to Alfred her plan to hang out on the patio for a while, then goes back towards the direction of Bruce’s study, again passing Damian, who’s accompanied by Bruce. She scrubs a hand over Damian’s hair, taking care to make sure everything seems normal, but she’s not fully sure if the hiss he gives her is part of the act or not. Either way, it does the trick, allowing her to slip into the study once Bruce has rounded the corner.

Cass is already in the Batcave when she gets down there, carefully placing fingerprints in the pre-determined locations. Stephanie makes quick work of getting dressed, shaking the neon orange and green paint bottles with vigor. By the time she makes it to the case, Babs and Cass have already worked their magic and it’s easy for her to spray it down, using her non-dominant hand just in case. In case of what, she’s not sure, but she feels like Bruce would be able to determine what hand was used or something like that, just because it's Bruce.

“I’m done,” she whispers, to Cass and into her comm, hastily climbing out of the paint-speckled protection suit, taking care, to wipe the tiniest bit along the seam of Jason’s sleeve. “I’m going to put the hoodie in the laundry room then go to the patio.

“Okay,” Duke says quietly, “I’ve still got all of them with me.

“I’m still with father,” Damian confirms.

“And I’ll finish scrubbing data and footage,” Babs says, and Stephanie and Cass share a high-five. They’d pulled this off perfectly!

“I know you were behind this,” Tim mutters as Stephanie leans against the doorway, watching him apply new grout to the entryway tiles.

“Consider it payback,” Stephanie says, smug. “Did you really think I’d let the Batmobile thing go?”

Tim curses, low and long, and Stephanie gives him a little wave, skipping off into the house. Maybe she can find Dick or Jason and rub it in their faces too.

“Stephanie,” Bruce calls as she passes his study, and she turns, popping her head in with a smile.

“Yes, Bossman?”

“Shut the door.”

Stephanie refuses to be cowed as she shuts the door and drops into one of the seats, casual as can be. “What’s up?”

“I know you’re behind the painting of my suit,” he says, and it takes everything in her to not pale. Before she can argue, though, he holds up a hand. “I’m not going to punish you. Rather, I called you in to congratulate you. You pulled it off almost perfectly, and I can see that you’re improving leaps and bounds in your skills.”

“Almost perfectly?” Stephanie echoes, distraught. “No! I thought I had it all covered! What went wrong?”

Bruce’s mouth twitches like he’s trying to hide a smile and he pulls out a piece of paper. Stephanie instantly recognizes it as one of her earlier drafts of her plan, done up in purple glitter pen.

“I need to write my thoughts down,” she defends lamely, and Bruce slides her the paper. She crumples it in her pocket, inwardly chastising herself.

“Next time, destroy the evidence,” Bruce tells her. “Alfred found it when he was sorting trash from recycling.”

“God dammit!” she says, quietly but with a lot of feeling. “If you know it was me, then why aren’t you punishing me?”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says. “Do you really think I thought it was you who took out the Batmobile?”

“You knew?”

“Of course,” Bruce replies. “The boys were not nearly as careful as you were.”

“If you knew, then why did we get in trouble? It took forever to wash the smell of barn out of my clothes,” Stephanie whines, remembering having to clean Batcow’s stall.

“I knew you’d retaliate,” Bruce says simply, “and I wanted to see how you’d do. Stephanie, you blew this out of the water. I daresay I’d have no clue of the real culprits had I not found the plan itself. The skill and tenacity you displayed during this, as well as your ability to manage and coordinate a team, are on a level with some of the members of the JLA. I am supremely impressed.”

“Oh,” is all that she can manage. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Bruce says. “Now you’re free to go, and if you’re looking for Jason and Dick, well, I think Alfred put them to work out in the yard, spreading some of Batcow’s manure.”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

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amavitab · 8 years ago

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satine being elsa is confirmed as canon and whoever dares stand in her way or touch anakin is going to get ice ( politely ) shoved down their throats <3

#✯ | ❛ Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴄᴀʟʟᴏᴜᴛ ��ᴏsᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ [ ooc ]#satine: adopts all kids #also satine: RAISES HELL WHEN SAID KIDS ARE MADE SAD BECAUSE HOW DARE #but also #what is emoting #one must hide away feelings unLESS THEY WANT TO DIE IMPALED ON A UGLY SWORD #im not gonna do any more edits bc istg bUT LISTEN #[ morosely goes to do drafts ]#✯ — ❝ Pᴇᴡ ᴘᴇᴡ ᴘᴇᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴛᴜғғ [ crack ]#the satine is elsa incident

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astroshadowdeviant · 6 years ago

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Shadow Hunters - Rough Draft Excerpts

So I'm starting over with writing the rough draft of my Shadow Hunters project the name of which I am thinking of changing to Hunters of Shadows for branding sake. These are some short starts- I am basically scene/idea dump writing as I flesh out plot and characters- that I have posted over on my blogspot. I'll likely be writing out a first draft for the entire series and then going in and breaking things up where needed to make each book. Not all scenes presented here may end up in the final story. Of course I will be going through in later drafts to fix stuff like the tenses and POV which I know are currently all over the place. Also it should be noted that except for Bethesda (and maybe Lucy)any names you see are just place holders for the final character names.

Bethesda stared at the purple stick in her hand with its strange yellow-orange topper. Bringing it closer to the light she squinted at the scraggly black swirls that arched across the round surface at odd angles. If Bethesda had to call it anything she would describe it as a wand or a scepter for some person of regalness. The stem wasn't particularly ornate but she couldn't think of anything else it could be if not a wand. And if it did happen to be a wand then her next question was whether or not it actually worked. Heaving a heavy sigh Bethesda stuffed the fancy stick in her backpack and got up to track down the rest of their motley crew. She hoped no one had fallen in a pit or gotten their head bit off by some unholy night crawler while she wasn't looking.

Thankfully it didn't take long to find where at least a few had wandered off to. Bethesda raised an eyebrow when she entered the cavern. “What exactly are you guys doing?” Three pairs of eyes look up at the question. Two sets look slightly guilty and the third...

We were lost and wandering through the woods alone. I sniffed; it was the smell of smoke. Someone had to be near. I stiffened. Halo, who was walking behind me stopped right in her tracks. “What is it?” she asked. Not answering her I moved to crouch down into the bushes and started moving in the direction of the smell of the smoke. Even having woken up seemingly in the middle of nowhere and lost I remembered enough from the last time I was here that there shouldn’t be anyone else here whatsoever. I could only think of one group that it could possibly be. And I didn’t like it. “Kaolin?” I held up a finger to signal Halo we needed to be quiet. We had come to a rather thick tangle in the brush. Still crouching, I carefully crawled through a small opening. Halo followed me closely. The opening led to a small nook in between a couple of trees on the edge of a large clearing. The small nook coupled with the thick surrounding brush and dim lighting of the forest offered adequate concealment.

Behind me I heard a muffled gasp from my friend when she looked over me to see through the nook. What we saw confirmed my suspicions from earlier. Huge hulking bipedal beasts were scattered around the clearing.

John stares at the blank word document in front of him. The blinking cursor is mocking him he swears. It is laughing at him. It thinks it’s so funny poking fun at him just because he can’t start a single sentence. And now it’s giving him a smug look like I bet I could write this essay better than you all by myself and-

John stops himself and rubs his eyes tiredly. It’s 3:34 in the morning and he has been sitting here for hours. Getting. Nothing. Done. And now he has morning classes in four hours, one of those has a test he still needs to study for and-

He really just needs to go to bed.

Sighing, John sits back in his chair tilting his head to stare morosely at the ceiling. A tiny black spider crawls across the stark white plaster. John tracks its progress idly as he lets his mind start to wander. He really wishes he had taken his sister’s advice against scheduling most of his classes for the morning. At the time, he had figured that he might as well just get the bulk of it done early so that he could spend the rest of the day working and studying. He did not realize how burnt out it was going to make him feel. Not until after he had been doing it for a few weeks. The spider stopped its trek before turning and moving to its left towards the wall with the window.

Fighting. Fighting, crying, running away from the sounds of violence. Panic and urgency at the forefront of your mind. I stumble and scrape my knees, my leg, my arms and I’m up again and fighting through the mud and the leaves. It hurts. Oh, it hurts so much- the pain, the sting of the brambles as they nick and dig into my skin. I think my ankle might be twisted. Keep running you can’t stop you can’t- If you stop then it’s the end. No. It can’t be the end you have to keep going. Your breathing is heavy and your throat feels raspy as you pant from exertion. Thud. They’re closer. Thud. Thud. Thud. They’re closer and closer and they’re almost on top of you.

Breathe.

You suck in the air, find a burst of speed you didn’t think you had. You spot the cave up ahead to the side on your left. You don’t think you just run over roots and rocks and dive in. You hunker down and press your back against the wall as you try to catch your breath

It’s a small opening of a cave. Maybe they won’t notice it.

There’s an explosion in the distance- shouting. Footsteps thunder past.

You take this chance to stand back up and run further into the cave. No time to think about where it leads as long it’s away, far far away. You can barely see and your lungs heave from the continued exertion, but you have to keep going you just can’t stop-

Your foot slips.

There’s nothing beneath you.

Darkness.

Stop thinking you’re overthinking this it’s so simple really the solution why didn’t you think about it before? So stupid. Estupido. Just pick the rock up. Throw it. Throw it hard like it’s going to burn you if you don’t. Throw it straight into their ugly laughing face. They deserve it. You feel light headed but not the bad kind .This is the kind where it feels like you’re free and you’re looking down on all the tiny insects in the world. It’s addictive and you feel dangerously powerful. You lift your arm and pull back to throw.

“Ella, what are you doing?”

Ella blinks snapping out of it. Startled she looks at the rock in her hand and arm positioned to launch it. I don’t remember picking it up.

You pull the chair up and and climb on top of it. You hope no one passing by looks into the room to see you up on the window sill and standing on top of a chair.

Raise the broadsword above your head and bring it down swiftly. One quick stroke and they’re done for.

Take my hand and watch my life seep slowly out of my eyes like water going down the drain of the kitchen sink. Water is there in my blue eyes and then it’s gone down, down into the dark abyss. What was once a wellspring is now a waterfall running dry.

Pulling dirty tricks like that- It’s so… frustrating. I hate it. Am I really any better though? With that stunt I pulled at the museum?

Settling down beside the fire I draw my knees up under my chin. All is quiet in the night except for the distant chirping of the crickets. The fire is a delightful break from the harsh cold of the tundras.

Cold. Cold. Cold, cold, cold why is it so cold? Teeth chattering temperatures bite at my skin threatening to turn it blue. Water. Hah!

Well-

I guess ice is a form of water. It sucks though

“Oh, yes and we’re all just dying to meet you.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Does she understand sarcasm?”

You’re at your wits end. You can’t go on like this any longer you just- can’t. You’re exhausted and dirty, honestly you feel like you’ve just been run over by a herd of elephants and then dragged through their dung. And you smell like it too. Lying there in the dark you stare at the ceiling of the sewers you’ve taken shelter in. You’re too tired to move, yet also too tired to fall asleep if that makes any bit of sense. You don’t really think it does, but then when has what you think ever actually mattered in any of this. You’re just sick of it all. You want to go home.

1: Burgers are nasty 2: Are… are you okay? 1: There is nothing wrong with not liking burg- 3: No this is sacrilege there is no such thing as not liking burgers how could you even say that 4: That’s not normal bro 1: There is nothing wrong with not liking burgers! 4: *Shaking their head* That’s not normal 3: *Squinting at her* Are you sure you’re a teenager? 1: Yes! I just don’t like burgers 2: Okay, Stacy’s questionable food preferences aside- 1: *Throws her hands up*

“Is that a monopoly game?”

He grinned. “Yep!”

Rachel looks at him like he just suggested we go dumpster diving again “……we are not playing monopoly” she deadpans.

“Oh come on”. He plops the box in the center of the floor. “Not like it’d kill you to play one game.” Still grinning.

Lucy cheerily hops up from her spot by the window. “I’m game!” she declares.

And now everyone’s looking at him like he just lost the last of his loose screws.

I’m at my last straw now. The noise. It just keeps going over and over and over and it won’t stop. There it goes again. I resist the urge to grind my teeth.

#shadow hunters #hunters of shadows #original fiction #original story #magic #adventure #fantasy #modern fantasy #bethesda #lucy #my writing #wip #astroshadow #blogspot

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radiojamming · 6 years ago

Note

Cody in the rdr2 world being a gremlin

i’ve been nesting on this one since i couldn’t figure out if cody would be in the law or an outlaw. now i know, and i also thing she would be a glorious thing to behold in the rdr2 universe.

also, cameo of a friend!!!

- - -

Arthur looks at the paper, at the faint line of Valentine street dust collecting in the crease, right down the middle of the girl’s face. Girl is probably not the right word. She’s a woman, around thirty-two by the bounty’s estimate, but she’s wide-eyed and grinning like a child in the photograph. It looks like a candid shot, as though someone caught her mid-boast.

The deputy clears his throat, and Arthur can hear him shifting his weight on the floorboards. “That’s, uh… Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard of her.”

“Can’t say I have,” Arthur says.

“Miss Oakley. She’s been somethin’ worse than a terror around here.”

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, but his eyes fix on disturbing the peace. Of course, there are charges for larceny, cattle rustling, train robbery, and attempted murder; but if Arthur knows anything about the life of an outlaw, disturbing the peace can have all sorts of interesting connotations. He’s earned that high honor quite a few times in his life.

The deputy goes on, “Came through here about, oh, five weeks ago or so. Feller at the saloon said she drank through a whole bottle of damn near embalming fluid, stole two bottles of prize whiskey, drank one while walkin’ down the street, stole some gentleman’s horse, and took off westerly ways beltin’ out somethin’ that’d make the dogs howl.”

“That all?” Arthur says jokingly.

The deputy doesn’t seem to think it’s all that funny. Arthur turns to look at him, only to find a morose expression twisting his face. “I’m afraid it ain’t.”

- - -

“Now sir, I know you said you were a gentleman, and I am completely prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, well–” There’s a decisive click of a revolver being cocked. “What you said ain’t so gentlemanly.”

The man on the ground whimpers like a scolded dog, trying in vain to scoot back while tied up tighter than a caterpillar in a cocoon. He only gets as far as the back wall of the cabin, and to his right side is the massive bear of man that’s been accompanying his captor. A heavy hand settles on top of the gentleman’s head, suddenly twisting it to face the revolver.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” says her friend, his voice like stone scraping stone. “If she misses, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man pleads. His voice wheedles out of him like some backwater farmer playing a reed. “All I says to ya was–”

“Oh, please do repeat what you so kindly said!”

He pauses, swallows hard, and feels sweat snaking down his back. “Th-that I wondered if–”

“Go on.”

“If you was red down th–”

- - -

Arthur finds bits of the poor bastard’s brain on the back wall of a cabin, but the campfire outside’s gone cold, and the bootprints circle around like Miss Oakley was trying to construct a maze, doing sprints in every direction. He curses, gets back on the horse, and tries again.

- - -

“I want it.”

“No.”

“No, wait, I need it.”

“You need food, water, shelter, and half a brain. I think you’re missin’ one of those.”

“Ye of little faith!”

A sigh. “I think I’m the only thing keepin’ you intact.”

“Ain’t so. I was doin’ alright before you came along.”

Another sigh. He’s going to wheeze himself to death, but he doesn’t deign a reply except for a more emphatic, “No.”

“Says you.”

A pause.

A longer pause. Her horse isn’t moving.

“Stop looking at it.”

“I’m gonna go get it.”

“Cody! Jesus Christ, get back here!”

- - -

The general store owner in Strawberry whistles through his teeth and stares at the ceiling in thought. “Yeah, yeah I think I might’ve seen her. Nice gal, really pretty, got a baby raccoon with her.”

Arthur frowns. “A what?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I can’t say I ain’t seen weirder things, but that was definitely a baby raccoon. Named it somesuch, uh–”

He pinches the spot between his brows. “But you did see her.”

“Oh, sure! Came in here, what, about three days ago? With a big, tall feller. Head nearly touched the ceilin’.”

“They take anything?”

At this, the owner gets a smile like a proud entrepreneur, ready to extol the virtues of his ventures. “Not a bit! Paid for it all right fair and square. Lady with the raccoon said they were spendin’ a windfall of theirs.”

He thinks of the corpse in the cabin, blown to kingdom come by a woman who is coming across more like a Heartlands twister than a human being. “Thanks, sir,” he says as he puts his hat back on.

“Wait! You gonna buy anything ‘fore ya go? Fair’s fair!”

Arthur grumbles and digs around in his pocket for change.

- - -

“Oh, I got a son in Valentine! Took him on and made him mine! Big ol’ eyes and a nice ringed tail! Eats outta the mayor’s garbage pail!”

“I don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

They’re riding up through the Grizzlies now, the horses huffing and pressing on through the snow. Inside Cody’s satchel, Jean-Jacques happily gnaws on an oatcake. In a moment, he sticks his tiny paw out of a fold in the satchel until she hands him another cake and coos at him like he’s a newborn baby.

Her friend sighs, adjusting his hat on his head and minding the dark clouds forming on the ridges above. “That’s a damn raccoon. Ain’t a pet.”

“You’re right, ‘cause he’s our son.”

“Your son– No. No, I’m not even gonna talk about this with you.”

They ride on, minding the twists and turns in the path, while the clouds get heavier and bluer with an oncoming storm. Finally, Cody grunts and hands Jean-Jacques the last of the oatcakes before drawing part of her duster up over the satchel to protect him. “Probably should make camp, huh?”

“Find a cabin, more like it. We’d wake up in four feet of snow.”

“That bad?”

He nods.

“Ugh, fine. Better for Jean-Jacques, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. “And us, by the way. I know we’re inconsequential.”

- - -

The snowstorm has nearly cleared every single track that Arthur’s been following. Pursuing them this high into the mountains while fully aware the weather was due to turn bad wasn’t the brightest idea, but a bounty’s a bounty. The wind kicks up plumes of snow, shrieks through the pass, and chills him right through the heaviest coat he owns. It’s like Colter all over again, and Arthur’s determined to kick himself as soon as he gets somewhere warm enough to thaw his legs out.

The scent of woodsmoke draws his attention, and he turns his horse towards it. He can’t rely on sight at this point, with the snow coming down as a solid white curtain, blanketing his vision. “Easy, girl,” he tells his horse, running his hand down her neck. “Not much further.”

It turns out he’s right, as the cabin comes into view, jutting out of the mountainside like it’s as natural as the trees around it. There’s a small stable built off its side, currently occupied by an enormous draft horse the color of a new penny, and a sleeker, darker Arabian. There’s just room enough to hitch his own horse, and he hopes whoever the occupants are of the cabin, they won’t mind the liberty he’s just taken.

Once she’s secure, he comes back around and stomps through the snow until he reaches the front door. Hesitation would only make him more cold and miserable, so he knocks twice. Waits. Waits.

The door opens, and there stands Miss Cody Oakley, Terror of Valentine, mother of raccoons.

She grins like he’s just given her the greatest gift in the world.

“Well,” she says, hands on her hips. Her auburn hair is in a braid running over her shoulder. “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna catch up.”

- - -

He’s staying the night with two hardened criminals.

That statement shouldn’t mean anything in his life. He lives at a camp with hardened criminals nearly every day on the calendar. He’s a hardened criminal.

But these two are in another, comparatively stranger league. That is to say, they’d fit in so well with the Van der Lindes that Arthur’s surprised that Dutch hasn’t snapped them up yet. Her friend is an ox of a man, apparently happy to sit in perfect silence and eerie stillness next to the fire that they’ve built up in the crumbling hearth. His eyes, however, stay locked on Arthur like a wolf sighting prey. As relaxed as he seems on the surface, Arthur gets the idea that if he wanted to, he could spring up and tackle Arthur in a second.

Cody, on the other hand, is all movement. She’s a flurry of copper-colored skirts, dancing from one end of the cabin to the other, pouring coffee into tin mugs, setting out a plate of biscuits, and then twirling over to where a tiny, tiny raccoon is curled up in a satchel on a chair, happily snoozing in the warmth. She leaves it another biscuit, next to its head like she’s a spirit of animal generosity. Then, she’s off dancing again.

“You get used to it,” her friend says, just as she presses a mug of coffee into his hands, kisses him on his scarred brow, and shimmies her way over to Arthur.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he hears himself saying to his bounty target.

“Of course, darlin’! Ain’t nothin’ but hospitality here!”

“Occasionally murder,” adds her friend.

She gapes at him like he’s said the most scandalous thing she’s ever heard. “No! Not to this gentleman! He’s been nothin’ but polite since we met him!”

“An hour ago.”

“Perfect amount of time to create and enforce an acquaintance. Mr. Arthur, sir, do you take sugar in your coffee?”

He blinks, then shakes his head, feeling a smile come to him faster than he can control. “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

“So sweet!” she exclaims, and then puts her hands on her hips and directs a pointed glare at her partner. “You could stand to learn from him, sir.”

“Duly noted,” he rasps.

- - -

Arthur leaves the next morning when the exact amount of the bounty in his satchel, happily provided by Miss Oakley and her moose of a counterpart, who just introduces himself as the Soldier. Arthur’s full of oatmeal, warm biscuits, and coffee, with a tin of oatcakes for himself and his horse. Cody sends him on his way with a kiss to the cheek, which fails to rouse the Soldier at all.

“Come hunt us any time,” she says, holding both of Arthur’s hands in her own. She’s got the callouses of a gunslinger, and he can’t ignore the powerful grip she has. This woman could choke the life out of him if she wanted to. Instead, she smiles, just as bright as the sunlight bouncing off the fresh snow. “We love the company!”

“You stickin’ around?” he asks.

She giggles. The scourge of New Hanover giggles like a schoolgirl. “God, no!” she exclaims. “I like my neck unbroken, thanks. Nah, you’ll find us.”

Another quick kiss, this time to the end of his nose. Then, Cody’s sashaying away through the snow, pausing only to draw her raccoon son out of his satchel enough to make him wave one of his tiny paws in a bon voyage gesture. Behind her, the Soldier rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he can probably see his own brain. After that though, he gives Arthur a short, curt wave, then puts an arm around Cody’s waist and kisses the top of her head before leading her back inside.

Arthur’s not sure what to make of it. He’s fairly certain that what he’s just experienced was a very vivid and long fever dream.

Even so, he heads back to Valentine, fully prepared to explain that Miss Cody Oakley successfully escaped justice. Too bad, condolences, we’ll do better next time, and all that.

And he smiles the entire way back.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #oc: cody oakley #i lowkey ship them tho?#and yes! cameo!#who i also ship her with more!#prompt fill

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thefilmsimps · 2 years ago

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The Living Daylights (dir. John Glen)

-Jere Pilapil- 7.5/10 Double-0 Status: I remembered this as a 4? I could not be less interested in Timothy Dalton’s Bond when I first saw this years ago. More on that later Theme: “The Living Daylights” by A-ha? I have to categorize this as a wildly strange left turn, even if it’s stylistically kind of consistent with the previous “A View to a Kill” by Duran Duran. I associate Dalton’s version of James Bond with such stoic grimness that the “Take On Me” band is an almost jarring choice. Anyway, I couldn’t remember this song by memory by the time I sat down to write this, but it kind of slaps. It’s a little slick, likely nearly all of this movie is (especially the soundtrack), but I dig the funky sinister bass line and general arrangement, even if the hook is pretty uninspired. 5/10 In my house, there were two James Bond movies I could readily access by the time I was interested in them: we had Tomorrow Never Dies on VHS (likely copied from a rented VHS), and I found The Living Daylights in my parents’ collection eventually. As a teenage boy, I definitely preferred the more modern Tomorrow Never Dies, where we get Teri Hatcher’s ass and a man getting murdered by a giant drill while Bond looks impassively on. As an adult, I definitely can more easily find pleasure in the somewhat restrained, conservative vibe of The Living Daylights. In a way, it’s a movie caught between eras: Timothy Dalton’s morose, bummer of a Bond is almost a rough draft for what Daniel Craig would do nearly 20 years later, but he’s still silly enough to escape assailants by sledding down a mountain in a cello.. Dalton brings a more serious approach to the character than his predecessor, Roger Moore. He starts the movie gruff and unlikable, but as his relationship with Maryam d’Abo’s Kara warms, so does he. It starts with Bond being tasked with protecting a defecting Soviet general, Georgi Koskov (Jeroen Krabbe). Kara tries to assassinate him, but Bond stops her, disobeying orders to kill her in the process. The movie then unravels a far-fetching conspiracy, yadda yadda yadda, Bond allies himself with an Afghan Mujahideen sect by the end of it. I’m sure the topical reference was impactful when this came out, but over 30 years later the political situation in Afghanistan is so fucked, I don’t even know how to feel about this at all. That last bit might have contributed to my not loving this earlier in life: there’s a base amount of geopolitical knowledge that wasn’t taught to me until after American invaded Afghanistan. But this movie’s also the Bond movie with arguably the weakest villains. Because of the nature of the conspiracy Bond uncovers, some of the evil is spread around rather than concentrated into one man’s grand plan. In this case, the most notable threat to Bond is Joe Don Baker’s Brad Whitaker, a self-declared general (oh, you can do that?) and arms dealer. Without spoiling the twists and turns, suffice to say I think this character only exists so that Bond can have a climactic man-to-man action scene at the end of the movie.

Luckily, so much of the rest of the movie is good. Dalton’s chemistry with d’Abo is great, even though she is a rather flat actress. In hindsight, so much of the movie that falls short just makes Dalton look like a better actor for being able to anchor it. There’s a scene with them on an almost-date at a carnival before the movie goes into overdrive with action scenes that’s actually very sweet, if weird, since Bond is there under false pretenses (also, do they fuck on the Ferris wheel?). It’s also notable that, while Kara is kind of nuisance for much of this adventure, the movie resists the series’ urge to needlessly put her in a bikini or whatever. Progress!

The action, too, is very good: the chase that includes the famous cello sled also has some nifty car gadgetry and ingenious stunts. We get a climax in the Afghan desert with a hijacked plane full of explosives and an exciting fight scene with Bond hanging off the plane. Now that I think of it, the cold open is also a vehicle-based chased sequence. I guess they figured out the kind of action Dalton was best at early. There’s a lot of the very exciting stuff Bond movies get right here, which I’d basically forgotten.

In watching this this time, I felt kind of bad for Dalton’s run as James Bond. The next movie would be his last in the role, License to Kill, which I dug a bit more but barely feels like a Bond movie. In some ways, the world needed him as a palette cleanser after the silliness of Moore. The score here, for example, follows the basic template of “old 60s-style spy music LOUD 80S DRUMS”, which is jarring to hear when the movie’s lead is begging us to take this seriously. Dalton deserved better than he got, but I think time has been kind to The Living Daylights. I’m happy to say I can see why now.

#movie review #shakenstirred #james bond #bond #007 #7.5/10

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spideychelleforever · 7 years ago

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Spideychelle Headcanon: In Which MJ Has a Meltdown

So one day it's just a shitty ass day for MJ and it just so happens to be near the anniversary of Uncle Ben's death so it's kinda shitty for Peter too

But Peter decides to power through it despite the dark cloud threatening to hit him and make him cry his eyes out

And he copes by doing something that makes him happy - doing something that will make MJ happy

MJ the poor dear is just overstressed and isn't getting as much pay at her part time job as she'd like and is hungry and frustrated that she wants Peter so much

Well two emotionally volatile kids who are in love are bound to make something happen right?

Oh fucking boy

Well MJ has been able to get things under control by lunch time. She's able to relax and is munching on her crappy cafeteria chicken sandwich and is just... at peace, you know?

Well then Peter approaches and suddenly all the emotions start bubbling up bc as much as she is hopelessly in love with him, Peter is causing her stress even if it isn't his fault

Peter sits in front of her while Ned joins them to Peter's side and they exchange looks before Peter says hi

MJ grunts an apathetic hello as she keeps eating her sandwich perhaps a little too furiously

Stay cool, MJ, stay cool

"Are you okay?" Peter asks and oh my god those big brown puppy dog eyes

She doesn't answer but stares into them

"It's okay if you aren't," Peter says nervously, "but if it helps any, you look really pretty today MJ."

That little smile, that compliment even though she's her usual wild-haired frumpy-dressed no make-up self

"Gee thanks, Parker." MJ snipes

Peter turns a little pale "um-oh man I'm sorry, MJ, I-"

"No I'm not okay," MJ spits "I'm not, I'm tired and sleepy and tired of work and school and flash cards and I'm just fucking tired okay? And I'm so tired of you!"

"Me...?" Peter says weakly, clutching something he's hiding underneath the table that she didn't notice before

"Yes! I'm so tired of you always texting me goofy stuff and missing practice and ignoring m-ugh! I'm so tired of you!" MJ snarls as quietly as possible

Peter's puppy dog eyes are even bigger now only they're really watery and his lips are solidifying into a frown, "I'm so sorry you're not okay.." he says in the tiniest voice

Then he brings up the little package he'd been hiding and holds them in front of himself

"Oh just great!" MJ rolls her eyes and huffs. "What is that?"

"I made you cookies?" His voice breaks

MJ stares at them and is silent, still fuming. Peter just sits there, looking down at the table for the remainder of lunch until they can finally leave.

Later AcDec practice is understandably a mess and Harrington dismisses them because they can't get anything done

MJ goes home after work and expects to see a text from Peter on her lock screen, but there's instead one from Ned

He brought over some old video games to play with Peter and they got him to smile but he was as morose as ever and cried a little

Then it finally, finally hits MJ how horrible and stupid she was

So that night she cries her heart out bc the knowledge that SHE hurt Peter and is the reason HE is crying is just too much

She loves this boy, she loves loves loves him, and she loves that he texts her goofy stuff and she's in love love love with him

And her dumbass broke his heart

So the next day MJ waits out at where she knows Peter likes to leave his stuff and change into costume

And when he arrives, she waits until he's changed to speak up

"I'm such a dick," she says bitterly

Peter freezes, and turns to her. She can't see his face but his optics are wide from surprise

He doesn't speak

"I had no right to go off on you like that"

Silence, and a small tilt of the head from Peter

"Do you really want me to leave you alone?" Peter asks and MJ winces because it hurts to hear him say what she basically told him yesterday

"No." MJ says, and now she's the one looking down

"It really hurt yesterday, MJ."

"I can't say I know how you felt, obviously. But for what it's worth, I felt really, really bad all night for what I said to you"

Peter nods and it's still impossible to see his expression

"Well hey. I'm sorry that I wasn't considerate of how you were feeling. I'm sorry I made you upset MJ."

"I can make you different cookies, too," he says quietly

MJ looks at him and is finally able to crack a small smile. "I'd like that".

And maybe just maybe that was the first real spark to both of them getting their heart's desire. Maybe.

Hey guys this is actually a draft from like October that I never posted, it's probably rough as hell. But my main mental image was of poor teary Peter weakly holding up the bag and squeaking "I made you cookies" bc he desperately wanted MJ to be happy. And the lovesick dears being hot messes

Tagging: @aqhrodites @acastleintheair @here-be-spideychelle @daisypeterparker @suplosers @olicitylover4life @spideychelle-romanogers

#incorrect spider man homecoming quotes #incorrect sm:h quotes #incorrect spideychelle quotes #spideychelle headcanon #michelle x peter #peter x michelle #mj #michelle jones #peter parker #tomdaya #tom holland #spideychelle #zendaya coleman #zendaya

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klcthebookworm · 7 years ago

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Reproduction in the GFFA Part Three: Using it in Fanfic

Nobody has given me a better name for artificial wombs based off cloning tanks for the GFFA as discussed in Reproduction in the GFFA, so I'm using gestational chambers. And since I can't sew up a Free Ryloth Twi'lek costume right now, I decided to give you guys some summary fic as to how I would introduce the concept of gestational chambers to the GFFA. It probably won't become a more polished story because of other writing projects, unless someone else wants to take it as a plot bunny and go.

Setting is post-Luke/Callista break-up and after Mara Jade acquires Jade's Fire. I'm a little fuzzy on that time period in Legends continuity. I own Children of the Jedi and Darksaber, but I don't remember reading the second one. And I don't remember if I had read Planet of Twilight and never bothered to buy it either. But this is set before the Hand of Thrawn duology and probably the Black Fleet Crisis trilogy too.

Best Laid Plans

Mara delivers some supplies to the Jedi Academy on Yavin 4 and arranges for a few days stay, sparring practice, catching up with the Jedi she knows, uses showing off the Fire's flight capabilities as a pretense to get to talk to Luke alone. Luke is excited by her improvements to the ship, and doesn't ruin the outing by being morose about his break-up or by nagging Mara to finish her training. So she jumps into what she wants to tell him. "I've been saving my credits to buy my own ship, but I got the Fire without spending the bulk of it. So I decided to spend it on a baby instead."

Luke is a little shocked. "You and Lando need funds for a baby?"

"I'm not having a baby with Lando. We're not involved like that any more." (Keeping the relationship cover story intact.) Before Luke can derail the conversation into unnecessary condolences, she continues. "There's a clinic on Coruscant, very private and discreet, that uses gestational chambers. That's what I have to pay for, but I can keep working without any danger to the baby."

"That's not how it's done on Tatooine," Luke teases. "I never thought about them."

"Most people don't unless there's fertility or genetic compatibility issues. But since I don't want a clone, I need donor sperm. I can use sperm the clinic has or supply my own donor. Would you want to have a child with me?"

Luke never saw that request coming, but Mara defends her choice. Out of all the men she knows, Luke has the qualities she wants for the father of her child. And she's seen him with his niece and nephews and knows he wants a child of his own. But no pressure, think about it and meditate on it. Luke tells her regardless of his choice, she will make a wonderful mother.

Luke does meditate on it and they talk about what type of parenting partner does Mara desire (whatever he is comfortable with). Luke has a vision of a boy and girl with Mara's hair, and that's what sways him over to saying yes. Mara leaves Yavin 4 with Luke's deposit in a specimen jar.

Time lapse because I'm undecided at what stage of fetal development the future baby boy is at. Luke makes a trip to Coruscant to see what's happening and Cilghal has a list of questions/observations she wants answers to about fetal development of a Force Sensitive baby. He catches up with Mara. She's planning out the Fire's new cabin configuration to house a baby on board. He wants to know when they plan on telling everyone and has an offer for later. Cilghal, Kam, Tionne, Leia, and Han have all told him he needs a break from the Academy, so what if he traveled with her after the baby is born. No interference with her business, just two adults bonding with their infant.

Mara likes the idea, but before she has an answer, the HoloNet blows up with the story that Luke Skywalker is having a baby with far too many accurate details. Mara is livid and goes to the clinic. Luke heads to Leia and Han.

Han questions Luke on why when Luke confirms the story is true. Luke is bitter in front of him and Leia. "None of my relationships have lasted long enough for children and the children's services considers my lifestyle and lack of co-parent detrimental to me adopting a child. Are you really that surprised?"

Mara arrives at Leia and Han's quarters with news that Fey'lya was behind it at the same time Leia's aides figure it out. His motivations is apparently to spoil any political ambitions Luke has. "But I don't have any political ambitions," Luke protests. More importantly, Mara doesn't want to prevent Luke from seeing/raising his son because of all this. She knew about his notoriety before asking him.

Another time lapse fill in with whatever you want between Luke and Mara. Everything is going quiet again media-wise and then the clinic alerts them both: the gestational chamber with their baby has been stolen. The evidence at the clinic points to a Force user with a lightwhip, Lumiya. You can substitute another villain if you'd like; I thought she'd be fun for the previous history she's had with Luke and Mara separately.

So they're off in the Fire to rescue their son. They briefly stop at Yavin 4 for supplies, namely Luke's shoto and materials to make one for Mara. The perfect opportunity to nag Mara about training, but Luke doesn't take it, which is almost as upsetting as her plan to keep her son safe was ruined by Lumiya of all people. On Luke's part, I think he's finally learned futility in asking for what he wants. It has never worked with Mara and it didn't work with Callista.

Close quarters on a ship, intense training sessions demanded by Mara so she can get her shoto technique up to par with her other skills, and it doesn't take long for one spar to devolve into a make-out session. Spurred on because as the first kiss happened, Luke picked up on Mara's mental demand Don't pull away; you always pull away. Challenge accepted and it escalates quickly after than.

Luke wakes up from his post-coitus doze in Mara's cabin alone in the bed. And he has enough alone time to get deep into what the hell just happened thoughts before she returns from the galley with two mugs and wearing his tunic.

"Regrets already?" Mara passes him a mug of hot chocolate and perches on the edge of the bunk.

"I don't regret this, but I am confused. You never gave me any sign you were interested in more than just friendship."

"I never? I all but poured myself into that silver flight suit at the opening of the Academy for you and you never noticed!"

"I noticed you never wanted to stay with me. You always ran back to Karrde."

"You never wanted me to stay, just my talent in the Force. Karrde cares about all of me."

That observation from Mara deflates all of Luke's defensive huffiness. "I never meant it like that. All everyone has wanted out of me was being a Jedi; what else do I have to offer? I am sorry, Mara. You deserved more consideration from me and I failed you." While Mara's still processing that unexpected apology, he continues. "That explains Lando. He cared about the whole woman and expressed that. Smarter man than me."

"Wait, you've been jealous of Lando all this time? But you've had relationships. You ran to other women."

"Jealous of you with Lando, yes. Ashamed of myself for feeling that over your happiness when I should have felt nothing but joy for you both, yes. Of course I tried to move on. I know what to do when I'm not the wanted one."

Mara explains how the whole thing with her and Lando was just a cover story. "I never intended to make you jealous. I thought you didn't want me."

"I want you. Wanted you for so long. Do you want me? Do you want to continue?"

Mara puts down her mug, straddles his lap, and gives him a chocolate-flavored kiss. "Yes."

So after they've reached this level of understanding, they defeat Lumiya and return their son to the clinic. He's fine, and his parents are officially a couple.

The end I came up with is Luke comes back from meetings or something and finds Mara hovering over the sani. "We should have never had sex," she growls at him.

"But we're good at the sex." Luke starts to comfort her and gets down on the floor with her. "Why do you want to stop?"

She glares at him. "That's not what I said." She presses his hand against her stomach. "I'm pregnant. You got me pregnant."

She's not really angry under her morning sickness grumpiness, but her plans! She used to be GOOD at planning things. Luke is ecstatic and declares it must be a girl based on his earlier vision. The end.

I hope you enjoyed reading this. I learned a bit about my inspiration process. Dialogue comes first with the situation that creates the dialogue. Action sequences come later and that includes fight and sex scenes, which probably explains why I gloss over them in first drafts and have to make a concentrated effort to expand and explain them. And if anyone wants to flesh this scenario out to a full story, you've have my blessing.

#star wars legends #my fic #plot bunny for a good home #reproduction

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shsl-shipper-gamer-fangirl · 7 years ago

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Dangan Thieves AU - The Circus of a First Palace

A/N Finally! An actual fic for the dangan thieves AU. I think it’s a good 6k draft (I’m a bit rusty, sorry!) Also please take note that I’m going to skip the tutorial and awakening scenes so we can jump right into the first palace! But first! Gotta thank these awesome people for inspiring me! Send them lots of love please!

[concept art Palace Ruler Chisa 1] [2] @ministarfruit

[first summary] @annsparksthegmr

Beloved Teacher and Ringmistress

“Chisa Yukizome. Hope’s Peak Academy. Circus.”

“Commencing navigation.”

All it takes are three keywords and a mysterious app to see just how despairing someone’s heart can be.

Once the dull throb inside their heads subside, so does all form of rationality. What once was the school is now replaced by a circus tent. Spotlights surrounded it, making it hard to miss among the drab concrete buildings. There aren’t even cognitive students loitering around, after all they are most probably the performers inside the tent. From afar, a crowd cheers, over what they’re not sure. If there’s anything they are certain of it’s that this is no dream.

This is reality. This is the reality as seen through their teacher’s eyes. This is a despairing palace.

This is Miss Yukizome’s Palace.

“No matter how many times I see it, it’s still… sad,” Chiaki— Bonnie says with a dejected sigh. She’s already transformed into her Dangan Thief outfit, prepared but not as enthusiastic. “To think that someone like Miss Yukizome has a palace… It’s a plot twist but I don’t like it one bit.”

“Me neither. But this is what we’re up against,” Hajime— Ace says with a face that isn’t exactly thrilled about this either. He readjusts his gloves out of nervous habit. “I don’t like the idea of confronting her like this but this is only way that might get through her at this point.”

“I don’t want to hurt her but… I don’t like how she’s hurting the others. I just want our old teacher back,” She contemplates morosely. If she was still the same Chiaki then maybe she wouldn’t have done anything. But she’s different now. She won’t let herself be a helpless npc. This time she’s going to be the best playable character. “Let’s go talk some sense into her, Ace.”

They enter the circus tent shortly after and explore until they eventually reunite with Monomi at a safe room.

“Uwawa! You came back!” Monomi cries as she hurls herself at them, only Bonnie catches her though she doesn’t seem to mind the cold shoulder from Ace.

“Not like we had a choice. Us coming back has nothing to do with you though,” Ace comments it goes ignored.

“Were you lonely, Monomi?” Bonnie affectionately pets the bunny mascot.

“Just a bit!” Monomi pulls back, she wipes off the tears from her button eyes and puts on a sweet smile. “But I’m okay now that you two are here! Are you going to steal the treasure?”

“No, we just came here to visit you,” Ace says sarcastically.

“Is that so? Ehehe, that makes me so happy!” Monomi blushes and shuffles her feet shyly.

“…” Ace doesn’t react at first. He doesn’t know how to react to this. So he doesn’t. At all. “Anyways, we’re going to look for this treasure now.”

“Oh! Oh! Let me help!” Monomi excitedly hops towards him with her arms raised in volunteer.

“No offense but we don’t even know what you are, much less what you can do,” He shot her down.

“It’s alright. Let her help,” Bonnie counters him with a smile that was more reassuring than the third party in question.

“What.” Ace shoots her an incredulous look. “Why? You can’t tell me that she isn’t suspicious. Besides, I don’t think we can afford to babysit her.”

“You don’t need to worry about me! I can defend myself pretty well!” Monomi puffs proudly at first but then shrinks back to awkwardly shuffling her feet. “Actually, the shadows don’t attack me for some weird reason… So! I definitely won’t hold you down since I won’t need defending!”

He points at her in accusation. “Okay first of all, that sounds suspicious as hell.”

“Or convenient for us,” Bonnie amends. She’s taking this new information too well that it has Ace concerned. Did that seriously not raise any alarms? She sure didn’t look that alarmed though. Then again, this is the same girl who sleeps through alarms that could save her life. She’s too complacent around alarms apparently. “She won’t hold us back and that’s all that matters. For now, shouldn’t it be fine?”

No, it definitely wasn’t fine. But Ace feels like he couldn’t win this argument anyways, at least not without a worse headache than this. They’ve already wasted enough time as it is. Might as well just go along with it just to get it over with and hope this won’t be their downfall. “Fine. But we’re not going to wait for you if you get left behind.”

Bonnie mouths a ‘thank you’ at him and then she turns to their guest party member. “You hear that, Monomi? You’re coming with us, probably.”

Monomi jumps, overjoyed. “Yay! I pwomise you, I won’t be a pwoblem!”

They’re Dangan Thieves trying to steal from the ringmistress of this circus filled with shadows out to kill them. Ace thinks that a walking stuffed toy is the least of their problems.

Well at least Monomi was somewhat helpful. She was able to find a map so there’s that. Ace had to hold back a comment about how any of them could have found it, it just so happened that Monomi was walking in front so she’d see it first. Bonnie was encouraging Monomi too much.

They traversed through the circus according to the map. There were four main levels and upon exploration, they were able to discern the specific themes for each level. There was a clown level aka nightmare fuel level, they never talk about it. There was a human performer level which would have been amazing if only they didn’t recognize some of the faces of the cognitions. There was even an animal level, those shadows were more brutal than cute.

Perhaps even more bizarre than the levels themselves, was the main mode of transportation.

“I’m not afraid of heights but I’m starting to reconsider,” Ace comments as slowly walks on a tightrope with his heart hammering in his chest. He can never be too careful since one misstep could land him dead. Meanwhile Bonnie just speedwalks right ahead of him. How does she even do that? Does she have a cheat code or something? “How are you so calm on these?”

“Why shouldn’t I be calm?” Bonnie asks without a single tremble in her voice, as if they aren’t walking on a trapeze wire that’s above a god knows how deep chasm. He had a feeling that if he wasn’t on the wire, she’d be jumping across it instead. “I’ve played lots of games with tightropes so I’ve gotten the hang of it… I think.”

“Bonnie, I know you’re into games and all but that is not how this works,” He tries to correct her thinking, he tries so hard.

There is no doubt in his mind that videogame skills do NOT transfer in real life, especially tightrope skills. Why does she make it sound like it makes so much sense when it doesn’t?

She even says it so innocently that it physically pulls a deep sigh from him. Maybe it’s because this is a cognitive world. Her ignorance transforms into unprecedented skill here. Yeah, right. “I mean, aren’t you the least bit scared of falling?”

“But I’ve never fallen in videogames?” She replies, honestly confused at what he was getting at.

“That’s not— Ack!” He loses his balance and for a moment, he thinks he sees his life flash before his eyes. He snaps out of his reverie through pure spite at the fact that his life was boring. He recovers his foothold with some effort on his part. Then there’s Bonnie, already at the end, watching him with curious eyes. He gives up. “You know what, forget it. Why do I even ask?”

“Ah. There’s a cannon here we can use.”

“That better shoot us to a safety net because I’m still pissed at the shadow trap the last one shot us into.”

It did land them on a safety net but as they were about to find out, it was just a false sense of security.

“Another cannon? What the hell?”

They landed on a glowing safety net but surrounding them was pitch black. There was no floor or tightrope to walk on, just darkness. However once they climbed that net, they found four cannons at the top, one for each corner. Each cannon was aiming at a different direction, at what exactly they couldn’t tell. It was far too dark to see anything other than the glowing safety net.

Until there was fire. Several fires actually.

“Seriously? Rings of fire?” Ace asks, already dreading where this was going.

“This feels very Zelda-esque. I think these cannons will lead to more cannons but there’s only one true path,” Bonnie analyzes at the top of her head. She claps her hands in appreciation. “Amazing! I’ve always wanted to try solving this kind of puzzles outside of videogames!”

Ace however, didn’t share her enthusiasm. “Didn’t we already meet our quota for puzzles at that house of mirrors?”

That puzzle in particular was more confusing than it should have been. Ace still feels a hole where his pride used to be since Bonnie knew how to solve it at a glance while he just wasted half an hour in there. How was he supposed to know that he had to look at the backgrounds that the mirrors reflected? He was too preoccupied comparing his own actual reflections which looking back, was obviously a lost cause. Anywhere he looked, his reflection was warped in some way.

Hell, there was even this one mirror which he was sure was broken since it wasn’t reflecting him at all. It was reflecting some dude with long black hair and red eyes. That was just plain unsettling.

“Only lazy dungeons have one type of puzzles. You got to give our teacher credit for creativity,” She shouldn’t be praising this torture palace but that’s what it sounded like. At least someone was enjoying this. She turns to him with expectant eyes. “So how should we do this? Should we split or stick together?”

“Let’s just take turns shooting each other I guess.”

Eventually they solve the puzzle with ease but not without grudge. And here Ace thought he hated trapeze wires but it doesn’t come quite close to his animosity towards cannons. How many times did he get blasted off them? Too many in one lifetime. At least this puzzle was pretty straightforward so he couldn’t complain, as much. He can still hear ringing in his ears.

Not long after that, they finally arrive at the Treasure Room. It’s more anti-climactic than it sounds.

“This is the treasure? Doesn’t look much of a treasure to me,” Ace comments on the floating blur in front of them. The only hint that it was some sort of treasure was that it was the last room and by default, it should be the treasure. That and sometimes it sparkles or at least he thinks so if he squints hard enough.

He is not impressed. “Don’t tell me this is another puzzle.”

“Hmm… Not a puzzle but maybe it’s a locked key item?” Bonnie suggests thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s a certain condition we need to clear first before we can get it.”

“That’s right!” Monomi suddenly pipes in. “Right now, the treasure is distorted just like everything else here. To steal it, we need to transform it into something physical.”

“How exactly do we do that?” Ace asks with his usual skepticism.

“By having the Palace Ruler conscious that her treasure’s about to be stolen!” Monomi says it matter-of-factly.

“Doesn’t the Shadow Chisa already know that we’re going to steal it though?”

“No, not that one. The one you should target is the Miss Chisa in your world,” Monomi corrects and then adds on, “This world is built from the real world. Remember how you two had ambushed her in her office and how that opened a level here? It’s the same principle.”

“I see. So if we tell the real Miss Yukizome that we’re going to steal her treasure then she’ll be conscious about it enough to actually have the treasure manifest here… or so I think,” Bonnie concludes with honed logic.

“That’s exactly it! Good job!” Monomi flails her arms in cheer. She’s proud that her students learn fast.

“So what? We just tell her something vague like, 'we’ll steal your treasure’, just like that?” Ace holds his chin, contemplating. His lips form a straight line. He doesn’t like this plan at all. “I don’t know about this. It feels like an express ticket to expulsion.”

“Don’t worry! You don’t have to actually do it yourselves. Or rather, you don’t need to reveal your identities!” Monomi cheerfully reassures them. “As long as 'someone’ is out to get it then the effect should be the same.”

“Got it. Leave this to me.” Bonnie raises her hand enthusiastically. Her face is determined but also just barely hiding her excitement. “I’ve always wanted to try something like this.”

“Wait, what something? What exactly do you plan to do?” He asks in concern but she just smiles coyly.

“It’s a surprise.”

Sending a calling card was definitely a last surprise.

Not just one calling card but several in fact. They practically littered the school. They were scattered on the ground outside, and on the floor inside, some were posted on the walls. They were hard to miss. How did she even get to print this many without getting caught? How did she post them all without getting caught?

And yet here was Chiaki, playing nonchalantly, still not caught.

He walks towards her and whispers discreetly, “Hey, isn’t this a little bit overboard? Shouldn’t one calling card to her desk be enough?”

“Maybe… if we were already famous.” She shrugs. She doesn’t pause the game but she continues the conversation, “If it were you and only you got this card, what would you have thought?”

“Someone has too much free time on their hands?”

“Exactly. It’ll come off as a prank and it’s easier to contain it into a private incident. Something she can control.” She stops talking when a few students pass them by and then whispers in a low voice, “But this? This is public humiliation. This will at least cause a panic and an outrage at most.”

“I see… Posting on the whole school level does make it look high priority.” He has to admit, this was a well thought out plan. Impractical as it may seem at first glance, the reasoning behind it was on point. There’s just one concern left. “Do you think it worked though?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to answer.

Because someone else makes the answer known for them.

“What rotten oranges! The most rotten of all fruits!” They turn around and see Miss Yukizome shouting furiously, already sweeping a pile of calling cards. “To think that someone would go so far? I don’t think they understand just who they are messing with! I will find the brats behind this. After all, rotten oranges should be either thrown or buried.”

And while Hajime was sweating bullets from that obvious death threat, Chiaki seemed to take the news better.

“It looks like we have a treasure to steal,” She states with a triumphant look.

—

Dear Ringmistress Yukizome

Your despairing desires have turned this school into a circus. You no longer treat students as they should be, instead you educate them mercilessly. This distasteful show has gone long enough. We have come for you to repent and so we are going to steal your heart.

Sincerely, The Dangan Thieves of Hope

“Did you really think you could steal my treasure?

This school is my circus and I am its ringmistress! You rotten oranges are nothing more than stage performers who jump at my command! Petty thieves have no place in my circus!

I’ll make sure to have you jump through fates worse than rings of fire!”

—

Just as Chiaki had said, when they returned to the Treasure Room, the treasure had manifested. Instead of the indiscernible blurred blob, an extravagant top hat floats before them. Even at a glance, the material woven with is of high quality and the buttons glimmer with a shine similar to polished gems. Truly for a hat, it could be hailed as a treasure.

“A fancy top hat, huh. I was kind of expecting a whip honestly,” Ace comments as he admires it from afar, almost mesmerized.

“I guess you would think that. But it’s actually the top hat that’s the true status symbol, I think,” Bonnie adds on, just one of those trivias she picked up from videogames.

“The top hat is prettier too!” Monomi practically coos from the side.

“Well it doesn’t matter. Either way, we’re stealing it.” What’s important is that they’re taking this treasure with them regardless of their preferences. He tentatively reaches out for it—

Only to be pushed away by Bonnie.

“Ace, watch out!” She shouts and tackles him just in time before flames errupt from where he once stood.

“What the hell?” He coughs, accidentally having inhaled smoke. Suddenly the room felt all too hot.

Just as soon as the flames burst, they die out in an instant— along with the room’s lights. Suddenly, darkness swallows them.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” The voice of Shadow Chisa creeps upon them. In the darkness, she could have well speaking through a megaphone beside them. “Do you think the way I treat my performers is cruel?” She chuckles eeriely and her hollow laughter echoes in the dark. “Well then let me show you how I treat thieves!”

With a snap of her fingers, the spotlights are on again.

Gone was the backstage room they were in. Now they were out in the performer’s ring, surrounded by bleachers filled with a crowd seemingly materialized out of nowhere. Shadow Chisa flicks her wrist and her whip cracks. The sharp sound summons a savage shadow that could pass off as a monstrous tiger. She sits on it as if it was her throne. It was a dangerous sight to behold. That was the least of their concerns at the moment. After all, the treasure was now beyond reach, and on top of Shadow Chisa’s head.

“My top hat is not some pretty thing to be simply stolen. It is a right to be earned. An honor that I earned,” She boasts high and mighty from her perch, looking down on them. “Only those who can perform the best shows have the right to wear this!”

She cracks her whip numerous times, each time a shadow comes forth.

“Watch and learn just how inexperienced you truly are without my guidance!”

Naturally they wouldn’t be able to take the treasure without a fight. This much they expected. They even managed to sweep off the first batch of shadows in just a few turns. But every time they defeat a shadow, Shadow Chisa simply cracks her whip and summons another, sometimes even more. They knew that in order to win this, they had to attack Shadow Chisa but she remains beyond the shield of shadows and out of reach. But that’s not even all of her tricks.

“Ugh!” Bonnie grits her teeth when a critical hit lands on her. She’s down on her knees, gasping.

The crowd roars. It isn’t just for show either since the enemies get buffs while the two of them get debuffs.

“Sorry… they got me off guard,” She slurs, already feeling her speed lowered.

“It happens. Just take care,” He answers curtly.

This isn’t working out. At this pace, they’ll end up exhausted and out of items before long. They have to change strategy, maybe aim elsewhere. Ace tries a different tactic and pulls out his dual pistols.

He fires at Shadow Chisa but she dodges with a flamboyant flip, mocking him. “Dammit!”

The crowd’s roar is even louder this time. The effects are instantaneous, perhaps even stronger.

“What the hell? Isn’t this a little unfair?!” He shouts in frustration as he feels his attack power leeched from him. He can barely hold his weapon with what little strength left in him.

“What did you expect when battling in this ring? We are all performers here. It’s our job to please the crowd, is it not?” Shadow Chisa taunts them with a malicious grin.

“Just give us the freaking hat already!” He barks at her as he narrowly dodges a shadow’s swipe. It’s sloppy and he knows that he can barely dodge another. These debuffs were hurting them more than the actual attacks.

“Wait, Ace. Maybe we’ve been doing this wrong,” Bonnie suddenly brings up when they were cornered.

“What? Did you figure something out?” He shoots her a desperate yet hopeful look.

She doesn’t disappoint. “It’s just as she said. Even though we are fighting, we’re also in the middle of a performance.” She gestures towards the crowd surrounding them. “Don’t you think we should show off our showmanship a bit more?”

…Show off?

Something clicked in the back of his head. That makes sense. That could actually work. That could turn the tables for them. “Oh… I think I get it now.” He nods at her, placing his full trust to her idea. “Alright, Bonnie. Show them how it’s done.”

“Blast off, Galaga!” She summons her persona but rather than using it to attack, she uses it in an improvised routine.

Bonnie latches on it and lets it take her to the highest point where she stays there for one dramatic moment longer. She lets go and falls head first. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her face is as peaceful as ever with her eyes closed. The crowd gasps at her bold move. She plummets fast towards the ground. Even Ace has to hold his breath. Just when there’s only several feet left, her eyes open. She flips herself upright and Galaga swoops in from beneath. She lands tall and proud.

The crowd goes wild. It has never been this loud and this time they were cheering for them.

“Alright! It looks like now’s our chance!” Ace triumphantly shouts, he feels stronger than ever.

From there, they regain their momentum. Aside from sending out Bonnie to do tricks, Ace found out that pulling off flashy moves or dodges had that same effect. For most part of the battle, they were the ones buffed rather than the shadows. It didn’t take long until Shadow Chisa finally ran out of shadow performers to summon.

“Enough!” Shadow Chisa growls at them. “You think that those cheap tricks are enough to best me? Truly the folly of amateurs. I’ll show you just how entertaining a performance should be!”

With another snap of her fingers, the spotlights converge towards Shadow Chisa, the light so intense that she could not be seen. From the blinding light, she bursts through transformed. Dark skin seething with fire, pointed horns portruding her head, and three pairs of arms each holding a flaming whip.

The crowd’s cheers are deafening.

“See? This is how you excite the crowd!” She gloats at them and the crowd goes ballistic. She looks down on them from her high perch and challenges them, “Now let me see how you top this!”

Her attacks were brutal. Six hands meant six attacks per turn and then there was that special tiger move. There’s also that annoying fact that she can do a trick before every turn of hers so all of her attacks are strengthened. But with Chiaki’s performance, they managed to get by somehow. She keeps coming up with impromptu routines that steal the show. Literally stealing the whips certainly helped, that was Ace’s favorite trick of hers.

All of them were exhausted at this point however against all odds, they were winning.

And it pissed off Shadow Chisa.

“You insolent brats. How dare you ruin my performance!”

“Give it up! You’re already out of tricks!” Ace jeers.

“The crowd loves us more so this is our win!” Bonnie shouts and as if on cue, the cognitive crowd cheers.

Shadow Chisa is not taking any of this.

“What kind of a ringmistress do you think I am? Of course I always save the best for last!” She barks, unwilling to accept defeat. She narrows her eyes at them. “Your last that is.”

They did not like the foreboding feeling that sentence held.

“Didn’t I tell you before that I’d make you jump through fates worse than rings of fire?” Six hands snap consecutively. Six large rings of fire encircle the two thieves from top to bottom. There’s no room for them to escape. “I like to call this one, Orange Flambete.”

She extends all of her arms and then swiftly brings them towards three pairs of claps.

Time slowed down at that point. Ace realized with all too much certainty what was happening. As her hands were getting closer and closer to contact, so were the flaming rings growing smaller and smaller around them. At some point they will undoubtedly get trapped and burned alive. No reflex or persona could save them. He chances a final glance at Bonnie, he recognizes the dreadful realization on her face. The same inescapable realization that mirrored his.

They were going to die.

He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want her to die.

He didn’t sign up for this just to die.

Dying like this… Dying like this is…

Boring.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” He clutches his head which feels like it was just set on fire. The pain scorches along his skull and his screams burn scars along his throat. He panics when he thinks that the flames have already gotten to him. Everything burns. Everything hurts. Everything dies. He doesn’t want to die. Not like this. Not a boring death like this.

But Ace eventually dies.

And so Blackjack is born.

Whatever remnant of Ace was had combusted into dark flames and replaced with someone else. His short brown spiky hair was now long ebony locks. His suit was replaced with a trench coat, his bowtie with a cravat, and his gloves were now dipped in red. His mask held a long beak and large clear lenses cover his eyes that glow red through. It was eerie, how different he carried himself. There was something unsettling about every fiber of this being.

Whereas Ace seemed full of life, Blackjack felt like death incarnate.

With a flick of his wrist, the flames instantly die out and in the next moment, the rings instantaneously crumble into dust. He didn’t even need to summon a persona. It’s as if he has complete control over everything simply by existing. If the Reaper exists then surely this person was Death himself.

The room falls into a reverant hush, even the crowd is uncharacteristically silent.

“What just happened?” Shadow Chisa asks, shocked but mostly annoyed.

His head slowly turns towards her, his eyes glow menacingly. Red is the color of blood.

Do shadows bleed?

Shadow Chisa feels her blood leave her body. She instantly fears for her life.

She doesn’t even get the chance to put her fear into action. She doesn’t even see what’s coming. In one swift movement, Blackjack has disarmed her of her weapons and her arms bend at all the wrong angles. “AAARGH!” She crumples helplessly with barely enough life left.

He calmly walks toward her as she tries to crawl away.

“G-Get back! Go away!” She shouts at him. She tries to snap her fingers but even those were broken without her knowing. She doesn’t bleed, not externally at least. But she doesn’t need to see the blood to know that she is dying.

And she will be killed faster.

So she pours what little remains of her life into desperate panic. She tries, and squirms, and crawls harder, as harder as her broken body can go.

Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t go that much farther. At least not enough to get away from the encroaching death.

He doesn’t hasten his walk, he doesn’t need to. In just a few languid strides, he reaches her. He stomps a foot on her chest, halting her movements. It weighs heavily on her like judgement. His heel digs into her, as if digging for a grave, her grave. Two guns are aimed at her head, loaded and ready to fire.

Two bullets, one for the kill and another for pity in case she survives the first one.

His expression is unshifting, unreadable, unfeeling.

He has yet to even say a single word.

It all happened so quickly that it had Bonnie reeling. She feels as if she was just watching some show, not really something happening in front of her. It was all too surreal. But the sight of Shadow Chisa on her dying breath snaps her right out of her reverie. Hajime or whoever that person is— is about to kill Shadow Chisa.

They came here to steal the treasure, not to kill the palace ruler.

She recovers on her feet and rushes towrds them. She thinks she sees him from her peripheral vision, curiously watching her every movement. But even so, he does not stop her. Not even when she was rushing in with desperate hurried steps. Not even when she abruptly pushes the guns away with trembling hands. Not even when she looked at him with a dead set determination.

He does not stop her. Instead he simply observes.

“That’s enough,” She starts off sternly. She may be out of breath but her resolve barely wavers. His face is still impassive but hers softens. As much as she wants to stop him, she also wants to show her gratitude. And so despite the situation, she smiles warmly. "Thank you for saving me… us.”

“…” He observes.

“But I think we can handle it from here.“ She stands her ground even as he quietly regards her. There is no movement from him, not even the slightest twitch of fingers on the triggers. She holds her breath, her eyes never leaving his.

He is done observing.

”…“ There is the faintest flicker in his eyes or maybe that’s just the glint from the lenses. When he speaks, his voice is as empty as his eyes. "Hmph. How boring…”

She wanted to ask him what he meant by that. Boring? What exactly did he find boring? And who was he in the first place? How is he related to Hajime? What happened to Hajime? How did he even appear? And why… why do his eyes look so empty? These were only a few of the questions she had wanted to ask. She wanted to ask him but she never did get the chance.

Dark flames errupt from nowhere and consume him whole.

When the flames die, so does Blackjack.

And so Ace comes back.

He clutches his head which strangely felt like it had just been set on fire. He couldn’t tell if it was a migraine or a hangover or both. Probably both. Or maybe just something worse. Just what the hell hit him? Hot white flashes of pain scorch along his skull as he groans weakly, “Ugh, I can’t… Did I get a critical hit to the head or something?”

“I’ll explain later,” She calmly reassures him. “For now, let’s deal with this first.”

Shadow Chisa is already on her knees, face towards the floor, and begging. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just wanted what’s best for my students. But somewhere along the way, I forgot what’s important.” Her body shakes as she cries. It’s hard to imagine that this was the same shadow that was hellbent on killing them before. But it’s easy to remember the sincerity their teacher used to show. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I think there are others who deserve to hear that apology more than us,” Bonnie says as she gently pats her by the shoulders.

“Yeah, so long as you reflect on what you’ve done, there’s always hope for you.” Ace snatches the top hat from her, she doesn’t even fight for it.

With the treasure gone, the palace crumbles and so does her despairing desires.

“We’ll see your change of heart on the other side.”

That wasn’t the only thing they saw on the other side.

“What the?”

“What is it, Hajime?”

“Remember what Miss Yukizome’s treasure was?”

“A top hat… right?”

“Yeah, well about that…” He sucks in a breath, readying himself for delivering the news. “I can’t seem to find it.”

She tilts her head. “Did we drop it on our way out?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was in here all the time and the zipper was closed so there was no way I could have dropped it.” He goes through the loot bag again but grumbles when he still can’t find it.

“Maybe I should look at it instead?” She offers.

“Okay. But be careful—”

She unceremoniously pours out the contents.

He sighs, tired. “Nevermind. Just go do your thing.”

She sifts through the various valuables they collected and makes a note of each one in her mind. Nothing else seems to be out of place, all the other loot is still here. Except for the top hat. But there was something there that wasn’t there before. “Huh? What’s this doing here?”

She holds up the strangely misplaced item.

“Hey, isn’t that your class picture?” Hajime comments as he looks over her shoulder.

“Yeah, it is,” She confirms with a fond expression.

“I wonder, how did that get in there?”

“Maybe this was the treasure all along…” She whispers.

“Huh?”

“I think that Miss Yukizome, in her own way, was just trying to protect everyone.” She examines the photo closely and takes note of its pristine condition, as if it had been conscientiously cared for. This only confirms her suspicions. “After all, this was her treasure, right? Her intention was good but somewhere along the way, her methods turned bad.”

“I guess so. I mean she’s a kind person at heart.” He almost winces at his choice of words considering she also possessed a despairing heart. But they both knew what he meant. Their teacher was truly a kind and caring person. “That’s why it was so shocking at how despairing her desires were. It didn’t feel right. Especially not with her.”

“I get the same feeling too. Her methods were too extreme. And it’s not like her to think such dark thoughts.” She places the photo down as she contemplates further. “What if… What if someone else had implanted them?”

He raises an eyebrow at the idea. “You think so?”

“I’m not sure… It’s just a theory,” She falters.

“It’s… plausible I guess.” He nods as he develops it further. “I mean if we could go into the cognitive world and change hearts then who’s to say that there isn’t someone else out there distorting other people’s hearts?”

“It’s certainly better to think that Miss Yukizome’s actions were caused by someone else but…” She hesitates a bit for she concludes, “That would imply that there is someone else out there.”

“And that person is still out there,” He finishes.

It’s not a happy theory.

But it’s something that they can’t look away from.

“If there is such a person then I want to find them,” Chiaki announces with a face set with determination. “We can’t just let them wreak havoc. All they’re doing is spreading suffering. We have to stop them.”

“I agree. Besides, who knows who else they might have changed hearts? Depending on the person, we could be facing a crisis if we don’t do anything about this,” Hajime seconds her conviction. “We have to make sure. Once we know, we will find them. And we will steal their despairing heart as well.”

They may have stolen the despairing heart of their teacher but this was just the first of the many heists of The Dangan Thieves of Hope.

#dangan thieves AU #chisa yukizome #chiaki nanami #hajime hinata #dangan ronpa #danganronpa #izuru kamukura #hinanami #sdr2 #dr3 #dr3 despair #gotta love those two tumblr pips #I honestly do

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lieutenantsayeko · 7 years ago

Note

Chili, Colbalt, Amethyst for the oc questions 😊

((Yay more!! Thanks, hon! 💕💕💕))

Chili - Do you like spicy foods?

“Not one bit. Like the spiciest thing I like is buffalo chicken and even then it needs plenty of ranch. Harry and Ron like to tease me for having the taste buds of a child.”

Cobalt - Do you live in a world with freedom? Describe your opinion on the subject

“Hmmm, I’d say to a degree, yes. I wouldn’t say our government is uncorrupt or that it doesn’t make decisions that are bad for our people, but when compared to the alternative, for example the wizarding world as Voldemort wanted it, I’d say we’re doing alright at least. I was appalled and disgusted by our king’s decision to enforce a draft right after the fall of Maria. I understand there was a food shortage and we were overpopulated, but to sacrifice those people….“ Sayeko’s hair goes crimson as she grits her teeth. She takes several deep breaths before continuing, “I’m sorry. Anyway, besides our government, the most obvious obstacle between us and freedom is the titans. And now that we know there are titan shifters living amongst us, the real war against our oppressors starts now. ….You know, it’s sad, only nineteen and this is the second war I’m fighting.” Her eyes fall to stare at her right forearm morosely, “First Death Eaters, now this…”

Amethyst- What is your aesthetic?

“Aesthetic, huh? Well, I haven’t really thought about that before. I suppose I like things like cupcakes, lavender, pink, and flowers. But, h-hey, just because I like cute shit doesn’t mean I can’t kick someone’s ass!“ Sayeko adds defensively, hiding a light blush.

#misa-mi #Sayeko answers

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vmheadquarters · 7 years ago

Text

What Goes Around... (Part 27a)

This is PART 27a of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :) You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 27a is written by @cheshirecatstrut

[Part 26]

PART I: REUNION

VERONICA

“Oh SHIT,” Veronica whispers, meeting her father’s gaze. “Wei’s in on it with them!”

She takes off speed-walking towards the lying SOB, who’s wandered away from the group—to do what, she’s not sure, maybe berate him until he cries, because how DARE HE? But Dad grabs her arm.

“You can’t,” he warns. “Wei doesn’t know we know, and right now, that’s our only advantage. He’s the one who called these cops—we might be witnessing a cover-up right now, not an investigation.”

She reverses direction, but he doesn’t let go…instead, he draws her away from the crowd. “Veronica, you can’t tell Logan either, he’s still set to transmit. If ALL the background chatter in Wei’s earpiece falls silent, the guy’s bound to get suspicious.”

V nods reluctant agreement. Logan’s currently holding Lydia so Norris can cuff her, while discussing antidote-formulating techniques with Mac (using analogies to Powerpuff Girls). “So when Wei mentioned he killed a cop…do you think he meant LEO?”

“Honey…” Keith sighs. “I’m sorry, but we have to assume that’s true. This whole situation is much graver than we realized. We can’t trust the information Wei gave us, except the part about a corrupt Neptune PD, and we have very little other data. We need the help of more reliable authorities.”

“And what would motivate reliable authorities to work with us?” She frowns as a Neptune deputy wanders past. “The enemy’s taken charge already--I’m sure they’re erasing leads as we speak.”

“Can you trust me?” Keith gives her the patient look she dreads, unconsciously checking his shoulder holster.

She crosses her arms. “I already hate this plan.”

Gently, he untucks her hand, places the remote in it, and curls her fingers around. “I’m armed, I’ve got my wits about me, and we still have the element of surprise. Plus, Norris Clayton hasn’t left; and whatever his faults, aggression-wise, I’m sure that young man isn’t crooked. He’ll help me put Wei, Jeff and Lydia in jail where they belong. You and Logan should take the antidote back to Wallace, then get him to a hospital.”

He’s right, Veronica knows he’s right, but that doesn’t make leaving him behind easier. Flinging her arms around his neck, she murmurs, “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, honey,” he says. “And don’t worry so much. No lowlife’s managed to best me yet.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she reminds him, but manages a smile. “I’m a grown-up now, though, and a full Mars Investigations partner. Tough moments like this one come with the territory.”

She kisses him on the cheek, turns, and strides confidently to Dick’s SUV. Makes a point of not looking back.

KEITH

“When COULDN’T you handle the tough moments?” Keith murmurs, watching her retreat. “With aplomb, even?”

He pats his gun once more for luck as Logan’s ‘What’s wrong?’ is abruptly silenced—darling daughter’s no doubt filling her boyfriend in via Morse code. A moment later, Dick Casablancas’ SUV squeals away… en route, full speed, to save another underdog.

Keith’s never completely trusted the Echolls kid, despite his Navy-facilitated turnaround; he’s got a better soul than Aaron, but fronts with the same practiced smarm. Logan would undoubtedly take a bullet for Veronica, though…and tonight, that’s company Keith wants his only child keeping.

A quick look around verifies Breitski’s across the lot, discussing ways to keep this fiasco out of the news with an apparently-crooked deputy. He’s got his back turned, so Keith pops the hood on his Camry, saws the alternator belt almost in half with a pocket knife, and quickly plants a tracker. Then he closes up, and goes hunting for Norris Clayton.

The over-competent former juvenile delinquent is easy to spot. Not only does he tower above everybody else on scene, he’s the only guy doing his job. A morose Jeff and a stridently-yelling Lydia are cuffed in the back of his cruiser already, and he’s doggedly filling out paperwork.

“Got a minute?” Keith asks, gesturing with his head to beckon Clayton away from the perps. To his credit, the kid doesn’t hesitate. Just tosses his clipboard into the driver’s seat and obligingly saunters closer.

“Problem?” Norris asks, with typical bluntness. Faintly, Keith smiles.

“You could say that,” he agrees, rueful. “Breitski’s dirty on a Federal scale, and so are most of your co-workers. He plans to run off with your bickering perps under pretense of booking them, and you’re the only person I can trust to help stop him.”

“What do you need me to do?” Clayton asks, watching as Breitski pats his pal on the shoulder and approaches.

“Just follow my lead,” Keith says. “And make whatever face is your version of a bland smile.”

“Mr. Mars,” Breitski calls, adjusting his fedora as he approaches—Keith should have known he was a jerk from the start, wearing a hat like that. “I need a favor. Can I commandeer your car to take the Van Vliets to San Diego? The Sheriff’s too busy to arrange transport, and you live close enough to call a cab.”

“Sure,” Keith says easily, handing over his keys. “Anything to help the course of justice run smooth. Just have someone drop it at Mars Investigations when you’re done?”

“You bet!” Wei winks and grins—Keith half-expects a tongue-click and finger-gun. “And please, convey my thanks to your daughter, will you? This case has been a bear. Without her assistance, no way could we have caught these masterminds.”

“Veronica’s impressive,” Keith agrees, allowing his hand to be shaken. “I’m biased, of course, but many impartial sources agree.”

Wei transfers the suddenly-subdued Jeff and Lydia into the Camry, takes off with a finger-to-hat-brim salute. Keith waits until they’re out of sight, listening with a faint head shake to Lydia shrieking because Liam Fitpatrick tried to murder her. Wei tells her Liam’s been handled, and she should be glad she’s not in jail.

Then Keith pulls a bug tracker from the pocket of his overcoat, checks to make sure it’s working, and gestures for Norris to join him in the patrol car.

“Follow that dot.” He suctions the tracker to the dash and points at the interactive map. “And stay far enough back Breitski can’t spot us—he may be unethical, but he’s no fool.”

“You want to tell me what, exactly, this Federal conspiracy is?” Norris asks, once they’re driving through the dark a half mile behind Wei. “Or wait, let me guess…it involves that new drug making people pink and violent. It’s been pouring out of Orange County lately. A minor Fitzpatrick died all popsicle-colored in lockup, about two weeks ago. I was warned off asking for details.”

“Good instincts,” Keith says. “Apparently this substance makes people strong and fast, but it’s also highly toxic—the one victim I’ve seen is in bad shape. Brietski’s wearing an earbud he’s not aware is transmitting, and it sounds like a coup against Liam Fitzpatrick, the mastermind, is in progress.”

Clayton nods, impassive as always--Keith frowns and focuses on eavesdropping as Wei answers a call. “Yes, I hear you, the alarm’s going off soon. Keep your fucking pants on. I’ll head right over, as soon as Jeff and Lydia are squared away.”

“Are you sure Fitzpatrick’s in charge?” Clayton asks, interrupting Keith’s mental run-down of possible alarms. “Because I realize back in the Van Lowe days, he had some sway with the Neptune PD. But the Irish mob is on the downswing lately, influence-wise. And I got the impression, based on the vehemence with which I was chased off, that someone rich and powerful is pulling strings.”

Keith holds up a hand for silence as Wei’s earbud picks up the sound of an engine, coughing and seizing. Winces, hoping his Camry doesn’t throw a rod. “Something’s wrong,” Wei says, accompanied by a grinding noise as the car stalls. “Shit, shit, shit, I need to hitch a ride.”

“Who in their right mind would pick us up?” Lydia screeches, her voice making Keith wince. “We’re both handcuffed, I’m covered in gasoline, and my shoes exploded along with the warehouse!”

“Good point,” Wei says, and follows up calmly with two gunshots. Keith gasps and grabs the dash for balance. “Guess you’ve both outlived your usefulness. Consider that your pension.”

“I think Breitski just shot Jeff and Lydia,” Keith tells Clayton, who kicks on the sirens and floors it in response. He reports a possible homicide over the radio as they surge full speed up a hill.

Just past the crest, their headlights splash over a male figure, braced in a two-handed gun stance mid-road, sidearm aimed. Clayton--spurred, maybe by the simmering aggression that once earned him a stint in juvie--speeds up in response, and Keith braces grimly for impact. But Breitski just shoots, creating a spiderweb of cracks in the bulletproof windshield, then JUMPS, higher than the most sought-after NBA draft-pick could manage. And lands on the hood of the cruiser with a thud.

Norris goes into a skid, tagging the Camry’s bumper as he slides by; his muttered “Holy…” is interrupted by a fist smashing through the windshield. Bloody fingers grab the jagged edge, yanking the whole rectangle loose, and the half-shattered sheet flies off into the night. Breitski reaches back in, catching Clayton by the shirtfront while he fumbles for his gun, and hauls him out, too.

Keith lunges for the wheel, manages to turn the car and stomp the brakes before they crash into roadside woods. Watches, horrified, as Breitski hurls Clayton against a pine trunk. Keith’s only ally slides bonelessly to the ground, and stays there, prone.

He opens the door to run for it, but is lifted out before he can…hoisted full-arm’s-length by Breitski, who’s standing on the hood. He dangles, held by the lapels of his coat; the blue-and-red emergency lights strobe Breitski’s face as he smiles.

“Not all the super soldiers are pink and dumb, I’m afraid,” he says, and gives Keith an admonishing shake. “The secondary formula’s for a specific purpose--it’s designed to be IN-effective, and eventually terminal. Now, I need you to nap while I jury-rig your alternator belt—a battered cop car won’t blend on the road to the winery. Say goodnight, Gracie.”

His other fist swings up, fast as regrets, catching Keith square in the temple. Shortly after which, everything goes black.

STORYLINE 2: WEEVIL WALLACE

Weevil loves his bike a lot—it’s a guilty, rebel-youth pleasure he thought he’d never enjoy again--but road-trip monotony is a bitch.

He’s been driving through the dark for half an hour; Fennel’s groans have subsided ominously into silence, broken only by the engine’s growl. Today’s already featured ten hours under car hoods, a fight about visitation with his soon-to-be-ex, and of course, the usual Mars nonsense. He’d pay a grand for one of those sugar-bomb Starbucks coffees right now, some pumpkin spice seasonal bullshit, followed by a couple stiff drinks. But instead he’ll be napping in the CDC waiting room, and roll home just in time to open the shop.

Faintly, at the horizon, he spots red-blue strobes flashing, and curses under his breath—if a cop’s burning to pull someone over, a pink guy duct taped to a biker will make his night. But there’s only one road, and Fennel needs help, so Weevil clenches his teeth Veronica-style and keeps on going.

As he approaches, it becomes obvious something’s wrong; the car’s slewed sideways blocking traffic, windshield shattered ten feet away, driver door hanging open. There’s blood splattered on the hood. Something ugly went down, and Weevil wants no part of it—he’s tightening his fingers on the gas when he realizes fleeing’s impossible.

Norris Clayton, Veronica’s deputy friend, is crawling slowly along the asphalt towards the radio, bleeding from the back of the head. His face turns sideways, slo-mo, to watch hopefully as Weevil slows. “Nav…ro,” he manages, barely audible over the bike’s idle. Then, gathering himself to try harder, “VerONica.”

“I can’t help you, man,” Weevil calls, frustrated. “I can barely dismount unless you cut me loose. I’m duct-taped to Fennel, here, and he ain’t doing so hot.”

“Yeah, he’s…pink,” Norris observes, managing to sit up and fish in his pocket. Locates a switchblade, which he holds out. “This big enough to saw through?”

Wallace rouses, babbles something incomprehensible, and Norris adds, “Veronica found the antidote. She’s on her way back to the winery now…might already be there.”

Shit. “She couldn’t call?” Weevil asks, rhetorically, putting the bike in park as close to Clayton as possible. He lifts with his legs to hoist himself off, Fennel dangling limply. Accepting the knife with a smirk, he adds, “You know, other than the uniform, you haven’t changed much.”

Twisting sideways painfully, he begins to saw at the tape--Norris crawls behind him to brace Wallace. “Learned to control my temper,” Norris says, and Weevil can just see him gingerly prodding the back of his skull. “Fucker threw me against a TREE. Breitski—he’s on something strong. Haven’t seen Keith since I woke up, either…odds are good he’s a hostage.”

Weevil cuts the last of the tape, and between them they get Wallace prone on the roadside. The guy looks bad, head thrashing, foaming at the mouth. The sideways glance Clayton flashes says he agrees.

“Can you stand up?” Weevil asks. “Get yourself in the passenger seat? I can lift Fennel into the back, he’s a little dude, but you gotta weigh like two hundred pounds.”

Clayton braces his hand on the fender and pushes upright…tumbles sideways, catches himself. “Dizzy,” he says, rueful. “I’ve got a bitch of a concussion, but I’ll live. Put him in the car and go hide your bike. We’ll discuss how deep the shit drowning us is on the way to Van Vliet’s.”

“It’s a LAKE, man,” Weevil warns, but obligingly hoists Wallace. “I’m actually disappointed for once you can’t fight. Tonight, those fists of fury of yours would come in handy.”

VERONICA

“Well, if this was Gilligan’s Island, we could solve the whole problem with extract of coconut,” Mac is saying, buckling her seatbelt as V climbs into the SUV. “But since it’s REALITY, there’s actual science involved in producing a cure.”

“If this was Gilligan’s Island,” Logan drawls, fishing for keys, “the events of the day would be an amusing misunderstanding, thanks to Gilligan falling in a vat of papaya juice. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure Wallace…” he frowns as he notices V’s expression. “Hey, pumpkin, what’s wr…”

She slaps a palm over his mouth, gestures for Mac to hand over the iPad she ripped off from the winery. Pulls up the word processor and types, “Wei’s dirty, and he’s listening to everything you say. Your stupid earbud’s set to transmit.”

Logan’s eyes widen in understanding. “Wow,” he improvises, smacking his lips like they’ve been kissing. “We’ve only been apart two minutes. I guess it really is true what they say about danger being an aphrodisiac.”

Mac gestures for the tablet, and says as she types, “Your fault, for running around with no shirt all day, acting brawny and heroic. Although please, next time? Have some respect for my innocent eyes and take it outside.”

She hands the pad back, and V and Logan cluster together to read. “What should we do? We can’t trust the Neptune PD to help, and Wallace needs that antidote ASAP.”

Veronica types, “Dad and your new boyfriend Norris will handle Wei. We’re making tracks for the winery, and trying to breathe through stress.”

Logan winks, starts the engine, and says, “I could really go for an In-and-Out burger, you two game? Mac, do their fries pass muster in vegetarian circles?”

He pulls out onto the highway heading back towards Van Vliet’s. Mac’s reply--“I’ve been cheating death all evening. I��m willing to ignore a little lard,”--is interrupted by the chime of Logan’s cell.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he registers the unknown sender and lifts his brows at Veronica. She shakes her head, pointing at her earbud; frowns as Wei says something about an alarm going off. A dig through her bag confirms she’s also received an unknown call, so she holds up a finger and retrieves the message.

“Veronica?” Leo D’Amato’s voice filters thinly through, poor connection with a side of mechanical beeping. “Listen, I hate to leave important stuff on voicemail, but I keep calling down your list, and the only person I can reach is Dick. I just need you to know Brietski’s in with the drug runners—and I’m sure of this, he shot me in what would have been my heart if I hadn’t ducked. Also, the shenanigans at the Van Vliet’s are a bigger deal than I thought, when I sent you to dig for the missing safe. I’ve just had a visit from some pissed-off military brass. So just…contact Bob Dillen at the San Diego PD if you need rescuing, he’s definitely honest. And stay away from the winery--not to mention anyone lurking there who might be…pink.”

No can do, Detective, she thinks, hanging up. I owe a dose of antidote to my best friend. But I’m glad you’re not dead because I failed to smell a rat.

Logan smirks as the sound of Brietski’s car stalling is conveyed by the earbud, mouths “Sabotage?” at Veronica. She grins— Dad likely frayed the alternator belt—then jerks in shock as gunshots ring out.

“What the fuck?” Logan mutters over the squealing, skidding, and shattering glass. “Which road did they take? Do you think they’re behind us?”

“You guys, what’s happening?” Mac asks from the back seat. “I’m not wearing an earbud, there weren’t enough in my bag! You guys!”

Veronica grabs Logan’s forearm, fingernails digging in, as Wei’s speech to Keith is followed by a wet thud.

“Oh shit,” Mac says, pressing fingertips to her lips. “DID WEI DO SOMETHING TO KEITH?”

A frantic head shake from Veronica makes Mac realize she shouldn’t have yelled, but it’s too late. A stream of curses erupt from Breitski, followed by, “Very sneaky, Veronica Mars, switching me to transmit. No more spying, though, or you might hear something you REALLY won’t like.”

His earbud emits a loud squeal, consistent with being crushed, goes silent. A second later there’s another squeal, no doubt Keith’s unit. Veronica closes her eyes.

“What do you want me to do?” Logan asks, voice low and reassuring. “Keep heading towards the winery, or turn around and search?”

“You know what? I can track Keith’s cell.” Mac reaches down and fumbles in her bag of equipment; pulls out an electronic module and rapidly types. It lights up, processing, and she says, “They’re on the PCH, not this road. It will take us longer to backtrack and locate the accident than it will to meet them there. Wei must be headed back to Van Vliet’s, right?”

Clenching her jaw, Veronica opens her eyes and nods. Logan entwines their fingers, then floors the gas.

It’s a thirty-minute drive, but they make it in seventeen. Logan cuts up the service road, which runs twenty feet in the direction V DIDN’T walk this morning, right past the bird-infested clearing.

“That’s where they dropped me.” She shakes her head as they pass at her navigational failure. “There’s the bike Ruby supposedly rode in pursuit.”

“Ruby’s full of it.” Mac peers out the darkened window. “Leaving aside the impossibility of keeping pace, that’s a kid’s bicycle. She’d never fit. My guess is, it’s Katie’s, from before the accident that left her paralyzed.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Ruby to drive you here herself,” Logan says. “Or to hide in the back of the truck and attempt rescue, since that would earn my gratitude. Hate to break it to you, babe, but she wants me BAD.”

“Thanks for the news flash.” Veronica elbows him as they pass the guest house, grateful for the attempt to keep her spirits up. Watches him wince as the still-smoking remains of his beloved BMW hove into view. Then frowns, because it looks like the front planters have been smashed, and the door’s…ripped off its hinges? “Jesus, what HAPPENED while we were at the warehouse?”

They pile out of the car, but Logan holds up a hand to halt his companions’ progress. Kneels to study the ground. “Bare feet and motorcycle tracks. Feet head through there,” he points at the hole where the door used to be, “tracks go around to the side. Anybody notice a Harley carrying a naked passenger, at any point in the proceedings?”

Veronica lifts her brows and he grins, standing. Wipes dirt, futilely, off the grungy knees of his jeans. “Military survival training,” he explains, with a faint smile. “Don’t look so surprised. I can built a yurt out of sticks, too, if need be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She bats her lashes and beckons to Mac, who’s standing on crushed snapdragons, examining a shattered picture window. “The only biker I know who would turn up to help me is Weevil, but I don’t remember calling him. And surely if Dad had, he would have said so?”

“To be fair,” Mac contributes, “there’s a lot you don’t remember. And Weevil definitely drives a Harley. Maybe he went in through the patio?”

They check, but the French doors are locked; through the glass, Veronica can see someone’s stuffed a chair under the knob. A quick circuit of the house shows all other doors in the same condition, and nobody’s visible through the windows. “It’s like they prepared for a siege,” she says, thoughtfully. “But someone had the brute force to break in anyway.”

“In which case, either they hid, or were taken,” Logan says grimly. “We’ll have to enter through the front and search.”

“I’m calling Dick.” Mac pulls out her cell, listens, groans. “No joy. You wouldn’t happen to have anything resembling weaponry in that bag, would you?”

Silently, Veronica hands over the taser, then loads Jeff’s golden gun. She offers it to Logan, because he’s actually not terrified of firearms, but he waves it away—then steps in front, to precede her through the broken door.

There’s debris in the hall, mostly splintered wood; the coat closet stands open. Frowning, Logan indicates bloody footprints and says, “They were planning to wait in the library, right? Because it looks like whoever made these came from, then went back to, that room.”

“Could there be another Pink Hulk?” Veronica wonders, studying the prints as they pass. “That would explain the discrepancy in size and aggression between the guy that initially chased us and poor Wallace. These feet are big--and if he took off his shoes before getting in the coffin, I’d guess he chose to be there.” She taps her chin with one finger, thinking. “But if there ARE two of them, where was this guy…altered? The barn’s only got one pod, and Wallace was in it all day.”

“Could be more hidden somewhere else.” Logan follows the trail, alert and focused in a way that’s…really smoking hot, though this is not the time to dwell. Pushes the library door open and scouts before beckoning them in.

“Or someone took Hulk One out in order to pinkify Wallace,” Mac says, holding the door. “He theoretically could have wandered around smashing stuff all day.”

“The floor’s been cleaned.” Logan points at a black-stained towel on the rug. “But that was used to wipe up grease, not blood. And footprints criss-cross the room, like Harvey the Rabbit was searching.”

“Why do I smell urine?” Veronica wrinkles her nose. “And why is there a crushed bouquet of flowers on the desk?”

“The phone lines are out,” Mac announces, setting down the handset. “We’re completely cut off. And frankly, I think whatever went down here is long ov…”

A howl in the distance interrupts her mid-sentence; Logan cocks a brow. “You were saying?”

“Jesus, is something rabid out there?” Veronica wonders, shivering. “It sounds like a coyote only…whinier.”

“Maybe we should try the barn,” Logan suggests, taking her hand. “If the phone lines in the house aren’t working, and our friends managed to escape, they’d look for another landline. Shit, that reminds me—I got a call while we were driving.”

Veronica waves him off before he can pull out his cell. “It was Leo,” she says. “I gave him a list of emergency contacts, you two are numbers one and three. Apparently, the military’s at the hospital asking questions--he’s the cop Wei tried to murder.”

Logan tilts his face up to the ceiling. “If I get court-martialed for meddling in top-secret business, I’m gonna be pissed,” he mutters, before leading the way out to Dick’s car.

They drive in silence to the barn, where Logan repeats his kneel-inspect-frown routine and Veronica frets. Eventually, he finishes Grizzly Adams-ing and saunters back to report.

“Motorcycle tracks and large-vehicle treads lead that way.” He points down the service road in the direction of Neptune. “Looks like Weevil left, and whoever dropped you off here gave chase. Size-twelve Vans prints and very small butch boots head towards the woods,” he points in the opposite direction. “My guess is, Dick and a woman. I got him unicorn Vans as a gag Christmas gift, and he wears them twenty-four-seven.”

“Well, at least Dick can tell us where Wallace went,” Veronica says. “I hope. What’s the status on Dad?”

Mac pulls the tracker from her messenger bag. “Stationary. Same direction as our unicorn-loving friend. But question, before we follow…if the woman’s Ruby, can we trust her? Just exactly whose side is she on?”

“Logan’s.” Veronica smirks, poking his side, and he rolls his eyes. “As long as we’re in this guy’s studly company, we’re safe as houses.”

“Did you just suggest using me as a honeypot?” Logan drapes an arm around her shoulders. “So much for romance.”

She grins. “I’ll bet Ruby would be MORE than glad to romance you silly.”

The shriek comes from closer this time, off to their left among the trees. “RONKAAAAAAA!”

“Did that coyote call my NAME?” V disentangles from Logan’s embrace; her hand clenches around the butt of the gun, sending a tingling sensation up her arm. “Could that be WALLACE? Did he lose it and go fully pink, trash the house? Are his feet just way bigger than I remember?”

They all stare at each other, appalled, as this possibility sinks in. Then, in tandem, they turn and run straight towards the screams.

DICK

“Okay, Rubes.” Dick surveys the cell-tower cement house with all the disfavor his euphoric state allows. “If I was a phone that didn’t need a code to dial out, here’s where I’d be--this place HAS to have a switchboard or some shit inside. But that fence is, like, super-tall and topped with razor wire. So basically, we’re hosed.”

“Really, Dick?” Ruby performs an eye roll so massive he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt. “Could you BE more of a wuss? I thought you were some kind of surfing badass.”

“Chhh-yeah,” he scoffs, as she hands him her bag, then goes up the fence like monkey. “This bod’s a finely-tuned machine. ‘S why I don’t want abdominal scars.”

“But scars have MYSTIQUE.” Ruby does some hardcore, upper-fence handstand that makes him suspect she’s taking Pole Cardio with Madison, then vaults lightly over. She lands, rolls, and pops up dusting her hands. “I’ll bet LOGAN’S got TONS of scars.”

“Logan’s got everything ladies want,” Dick calls after her, as she opens the cabin door and disappears inside. “He’s been pulling any girl he smiled at since we were like twelve. I think it’s cause he acts all vulnerable and shit. Turns the wahines into jell-AY.”

She emerges with a pair of bolt cutters, chops the chain in half. “Everybody’s vulnerable, Dick,” she says, swinging the gate wide. “If pressure’s applied to the right spot.”

He follows her into the darkened room, gawking at wall-to-wall machinery performing functions he can’t name. This place has got power at least—lights are blinking and flashing on various gauges—but he sees nothing that looks remotely like a telephone.

Ruby goes to study a wall of…whatever, arms crossed; Dick wanders, trailing a finger through the dust on a table. Something knocks lightly against his leg as he passes and he bends to find a cardboard tube stashed beneath.

“Check it out,” he calls, setting down her purse, as well as his wig, gun and the wine bottle he found again, lying abandoned on the path. Removes the tube’s cap, and unrolls the blueprints inside. Spreading them out on the tabletop, he squints through the dim light to read. “Dude, CALLED it! Those tunnels DO go farther than we thought. It’s like an ant colony down there, all over the freaking property.”

Reaching past his shoulder, Ruby taps a small square upper-left. “We’re here,” she says. “And a branch of catacombs leads straight down from this location. So somewhere in this room, there’s another secret door.”

She rushes off to look; but Dick figures he’s not smart enough, even post-Super-Dope, to solve that particular puzzle, so he keeps studying the map. “Wonder what this room’s for?” he muses, tracing a round underground chamber drawn to scale with the main house. “My guess is, housing whatever they’re shipping, ‘cause it looks huge.”

“Aha!” Ruby crows, as her efforts to shift a red lever cause groaning and creaking. Dick moves to help. Slowly, a section of computer swings aside to reveal stone steps, going down.

“Rubster strikes again.” He high-fives her, grinning at her flushed excitement, then moves to gather his shit.

She rolls her eyes again, just as theatrically, and rummages in her bag. Produces one of those ecologically-conscious grocery sacks, green and labeled ‘Whole Foods’, holds it out. “It can be your man-purse,” she says, with a smirk. “Your murse.”

“You know, you have a LOT of gear and skills for a karaoke impresario, or whatever it is you do for cash,” he observes, filling and shouldering the murse nonetheless. “It’s kinda hot, but I’m also slightly intimidated.”

“Join the club,” she breezes, donning her own bag, and leads the way, practically skipping, down the stairs.

Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of our round robin! Check back next Saturday for the second half of Part 27 also written by @cheshirecatstrut!

#veronica mars #vm fanfic #vmhq round robin #vmhq campfire tale

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xtruss · 5 years ago

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RIP: Kobe Bryant, Daughter Gianna Die in Helicopter Crash in Calabasas

— By Richard Winton, Dan Woike, Sonali Kohli, Tania Ganguli

— January 26, 2020

Lakers star Kobe Bryant

Kobe Bryant, 41, the legendary basketball star who spent 20 years with the Los Angeles Lakers, was killed when the helicopter he was traveling in crashed and burst into flames Sunday morning amid foggy conditions in the hills above Calabasas, sources told the Los Angeles Times.

His daughter Gianna, 13, was also on board and died along with three others.

Bryant’s death stunned Los Angeles and the sports world, which mourned one of basketball’s greatest players. Sources said the helicopter took off from Orange County, where Bryant lived.

The crash occurred shortly before 10 a.m. near Las Virgenes Road, south of Agoura Road, according to a watch commander for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department.

Jerry Kocharian was standing outside the Church in the Canyon drinking coffee when he heard a helicopter unusually low struggling overhead. “It [didn’t] sound right and it was real low. I saw it falling and spluttering. But it was hard to make out as it was so foggy,” Kocharian said. The helicopter vanished into a cloud of fog and then there was a boom.

“There was a big fireball,” he said. “No one could survive that.”

The helicopter, a Sikorsky S-76B built in 1991, departed John Wayne Airport at 9:06 a.m. Sunday, according to publicly available flight records. The helicopter passed over Boyle Heights, near Dodger Stadium, and circled over Glendale during the flight.

The National Transportation Safety Board database does not show any prior incidents or accidents for this aircraft. The helicopter is registered to the Fillmore-based Island Express Holding Corp., according to the California Secretary of State business database.

Kobe Bryant Helicopter Crash

After taking off in Orange County, the helicopter flew northwest and then crashed shortly before 10 a.m. near Las Virgenes Road, south of the 101 Freeway, in Calabasas.

“We extend our sincerest condolences to all those affected by today’s Sikorsky S-76B accident in Calabasas, California,” the helicopter’s manufacturer, Sikorsky, said in a tweet. “We have been in contact with the NTSB and stand ready to provide assistance and support to the investigative authorities and our customer.”

“Kobe Bryant was a giant who inspired, amazed, and thrilled people everywhere with his incomparable skill on the court — and awed us with his intellect and humility as a father, husband, creative genius, and ambassador for the game he loved,” L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti said in a news statement Sunday afternoon. “He will live forever in the heart of Los Angeles, and will be remembered through the ages as one of our greatest heroes.”

Across the country Sunday , public figures, former teammates and fans alike mourned the basketball star .

“Particularly when he was young, to be a part of his life and to watch his career grow, watch him grow, this is one of the most tragic days of my life,” said fellow Lakers legend Jerry West, 81. West was the general manager for the Lakers in 1996 and maneuvered Bryant’s immediate trade to the Lakers when he was drafted. “I know somewhere along the way I guess I’ll come to grips with it. But now I have all these different emotions regarding him. The things I watched him do on the basketball court, but more importantly he was going to make a difference off the court, and he was making a difference off the court. It’s so unexplainable. This is going to take a long time for me.”

“Kobe was a legend on the court and just getting started in what would have been just as meaningful a second act,” former U.S. President Barack Obama tweeted. “To lose Gianna is even more heartbreaking to us as parents. Michelle and I send love and prayers to Vanessa and the entire Bryant family on an unthinkable day.”

It was a sad and surreal scene inside Staples Center around noon Sunday, where Grammy Awards dress rehearsal was taking place as word of Bryant’s death swept through the arena. Crews worked quickly to move Bryant’s rafter jerseys side by side, and masked the other retired jerseys with curtains. By 1 p.m. the switch had been made. No. 8 and No. 24 were side by side, illuminated by flood lights.

News of the crash dominated the rehearsal. Ariana Grande had just finished a lavish performance, and Billie Eilish was about to perform an acoustic song with her brother. But all eyes were on the jerseys at the other end of the floor, as staff and observers watched in disbelief.

Within half an hour of the news breaking, a Barnes & Noble in Orange had sold out of all photo books featuring the former NBA star.

“It’s kind of morose but people just came in 10 or 15 minutes after we found out about it, “ said Armando Romero, a bookseller at the cash register. He said his general manager announced Bryant’s death to the booksellers over their wireless headsets.“We knew right away people would be coming.”

Minutes later, Romero said he received phone calls from customers, asking to put Bryant-related books on hold.

At the Fullerton Mexican restaurant El Camino Real in Fullerton, the staff was “really sad,” said manager Rodolfo Garcia. Bryant patronized the restaurant for 20 years with his wife, a Fullerton native. If he couldn’t come in person, Bryant would have friends get big orders to take back to his Newport Coast mansion.

“He liked the carnitas and flan,” Garcia said, over the thud of a butcher breaking down carne asada for tacos. “He loved this place because people treated him like a normal person. Kobe would just stand in line, like anyone else. He’d tell us, ‘Don’t treat me like a star; I’m just a customer here.”

Bryant was born in Philadelphia. His father, Joe, played eight NBA seasons in the 1970s and ‘80s for the Philadelphia 76ers, San Diego Clippers and, in his last stop, the Houston Rockets under then-coach Del Harris. A lighthearted, 6-foot-10 string bean who went by his Philadelphia playground nickname, Jellybean, Joe Bryant played college ball at La Salle and married Pam Cox, the sister of a starting guard at Villanova. They named their first son Kobe, after the city in Japan.

Bryant excelled at Lower Merion High in Ardmore, Pa., near Philadelphia, winning numerous national awards as a senior before announcing his intention to skip college and enter the NBA draft. He was selected 13th overall by Charlotte in 1996, but the Lakers had already worked out a deal with the Hornets to acquire Bryant before his selection. Bryant impressed Lakers General Manager Jerry West during a pre-draft workout session in Los Angeles. Less than three weeks later, the Lakers traded starting center Vlade Divac to the Hornets in exchange for Bryant’s rights. Bryant, whose favorite team growing up was the Lakers, had to have his parents co-sign his NBA contract because he was 17 years old.

The 6-foot-6 guard made his pro debut in the 1996-97 season opener against Minnesota; at the time he was the youngest player ever to appear in an NBA game. He started in only a handful of games during his rookie season, coming off the bench in support of Nick Van Exel and Eddie Jones. However, coach Del Harris played him more as the season progressed, allowing Bryant to showcase the skills that made him a top candidate for rookie of the year. Those skills were also on display when Bryant won the 1997 NBA slam dunk competition.

Bryant continued to improve during his sophomore season in the league, averaging 15.4 points per game. However, his breakout came in the lockout-shortened 1998-99 season when he started in all 50 games after the Lakers traded away Van Exel and Jones.

The crash site in Calabasas where Kobe Bryant and four others were killed on Sunday.

Bryant and leading scorer Shaquille O’Neal quickly morphed into one of the most lethal scoring and defensive combinations in the league. Together, with coach Phil Jackson guiding them, they led the Lakers to three consecutive championships (2000-02) as Bryant began to cement his place as the game’s top player.

“There’s no words to express the pain I’m going through with this tragedy of loosing my neice [sic] Gigi & my brother,” O’Neal tweeted Sunday. “I love u and u will be missed. My condolences goes out to the Bryant family and the families of the other passengers on board. IM SICK RIGHT NOW.”

Despite coming together to win some of the most closely fought playoff series in Lakers history, friction started to develop between Bryant and O’Neal. Tension between the two stars continued to build during the 2002-03 and 2003-04 seasons as the Lakers failed to capitalize on their status as top contenders for the NBA title. Making matters worse, Bryant was arrested in July 2003 on allegations of sexual assault.

The charges were eventually dropped, but Bryant’s reputation took a hit and he settled a civil lawsuit with the accuser. In exchange for not testifying in the criminal case, the accuser negotiated an apology letter from Bryant that read, in part, “Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual ... I now understand how she sincerely feels that she did not consent.”

After the Lakers lost to Detroit in the NBA Finals with a star-studded team that included Karl Malone and Gary Payton, O’Neal was traded to Miami and Jackson’s coaching contract was not renewed. As the team’s undisputed leader, Bryant signed a seven-year contract to remain with the team.

Bryant summed up the tensions between him and O’Neal after the Lakers won the NBA title in 2009: “We’re great as individuals, but ... it’s probably the first dynamic duo that had two alpha males on one team. We managed to make it work for three championships.”

Bryant posted some of the best offensive numbers of his career over the next three seasons, but the team struggled, failing to make the playoffs in 2005 before suffering consecutive first-round defeats to Phoenix in 2006 and 2007. Jackson returned to the team for the 2005-06 season, and Bryant went on to lead the league in scoring that season with a career-best 35.4 average. He scored 40 points or more in 27 games and became the first player since Wilt Chamberlain in 1964 to finish with 45 points or more in four consecutive games.

His biggest single-game achievement came Jan. 22, 2006, against Toronto when he scored a career-high 81 points, the second most in NBA history. Earlier that season, on Dec. 20, 2005, he scored 62 points in 33 minutes through three quarters of a game against Dallas; he had outscored the entire Mavericks team, 62-61, entering the final quarter, in which Bryant did not play. Bryant continued to impress during the 2006-07 season, scoring 50 or more points in a team-record 10 games and averaging 31.6 points a game to capture his second NBA scoring title.

Laker legend Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was at that game, he said in a Twitter video Sunday. “It is something that I will always remember as one of the highlights of the things that I have learned and observed in sports.”

“He was an incredible athlete and a leader in a lot of ways. He inspired a whole generation of young athletes. He was one of the first ones to leave high school and come into the NBA and do so well, dominating the game and becoming one of the best scorers that the Los Angeles Lakers has ever seen,” Abdul-Jabbar said.

“He is the No. 1 player in the league, by far,” Washington guard Gilbert Arenas said in 2006. “With a player like him, he just wants that challenge. He’s just that fierce competitor. He doesn’t want to get out-showed. He’s the one who everybody’s afraid of.”

Bryant’s 2007-08 NBA MVP season got off to a tumultuous start after he reportedly demanded to be traded. He was reportedly unhappy with Lakers General Manager Mitch Kupchak and Jackson."I would like to be traded,” Bryant said during a radio interview. “Tough as it is to come to that conclusion, there’s no other alternative. It’s rough, man, but I don’t see how you can rebuild that trust. I just don’t know how you can move forward in that type of situation.”

Bryant eventually backtracked on his trade demands and posted perhaps his best all-around season, leading a team re-energized by Pau Gasol’s arrival from Memphis in February 2008 to a first-place finish in the Western Conference. The Lakers embarked on a memorable playoff run before losing to Boston in the Finals. Later that year Bryant went on to win a gold medal with the U.S. team at the 2008 Summer Olympic Games in Beijing.

With Bryant pleased about the direction the team was heading, he guided the Lakers to back-to-back titles in 2009 and 2010. He was named the NBA Finals MVP both years as the team once again ascended to the top of the NBA.

Ongoing soreness in Bryant’s knee and ankle coupled with the team’s heavy reliance in him played a role in the Lakers’ championship run coming to an end in 2011. Bryant posted his lowest points per game totals since the 2003-04 season as he dealt with the aftereffects of offseason arthroscopic knee surgery. He went on to win his fourth NBA All-Star Game most-valuable-player award but fell short of his ultimate goal of winning a sixth NBA title. Bryant also became the youngest player in NBA history to amass 27,000 career points.

Bryant finished third in league scoring in 2011-12 despite dealing with ongoing knee and ankle issues. In January 2012, he scored at least 40 points in four consecutive games, which included a 48-point effort against the Phoenix Suns.

Following the team’s acquisition of Dwight Howard in August 2012, the Lakers were regarded as a favorite for the NBA title. However, friction between Bryant and Howard started to develop as the team struggled. Despite this, Bryant led the NBA in scoring for much of the first half of the season and surpassed NBA great Wilt Chamberlain for fourth all-time in league scoring. But Bryant’s season came to a disappointing end when he suffered a torn Achilles tendon against the Golden State Warriors on April 10. The injury and subsequent surgery prevented Bryant from playing in the early portion of the 2013-14 season.

Bryant, who signed a two-year, $48.5-million contract extension with the Lakers before the start of the 2013-14 season, did not return from injury until December. He played in only six games before suffering a lateral tibial plateau fracture in his left knee. The injury forced him to miss the remainder of the season as the Lakers limped to a 27-55 record, missing the playoffs for only the second time since Bryant joined the franchise.

He retired from the NBA but began a new career in Hollywood.

In 2018, he won an Oscar along with director Glen Keane for the animated short film “Dear Basketball.”

Just Saturday night, Laker LeBron James passed Bryant for third on the NBA’s all-time scoring list.

Allen Kenitzer, an FAA spokesman, said his agency and the National Transportation Safety Board were investigating the helicopter crash.

Times staff writers Nathan Fenno, Chris Erskine, Alex Wigglesworth, Broderick Turner, Cindy Carcamo, Gustavo Arellano and Sonali Kohli contributed to this report.

— Los Angeles Times

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shikkokunohaoh · 7 years ago

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Ultraman Fierma

This one’s also a bit long, so I’m putting it under a readmore.

Taking place in a world similar to that of the Showa Ultra continuity (but not exactly), Fierma tells the tale of Earth...after every sapient being on it becomes an Ultra, thanks to the devastating Shaded Crystal War that nearly ended all life for several thousand light-years. The resulting ascension affected not only humanity, but also the aliens from across the galaxy who had decided to live there for whatever reason--as imagined, this causes chaos, as the M87 Ultras have not experienced the birth of a new race of Ultras in a while...in fact, most haven't for their entire lives. However, several centuries later and the problem is resolved--at least, on a surface level--and the Ultras of the Land of Light now see it fit to help the newly born Terran Ultras form their own garrison, and join M87 in protecting the known universe from threats to smaller races. One of these Terran Ultra Garrison members is a pink Human-type Ultra, a young excitable teenager named Fierma. When his first mission ends in disaster, and he has to protect a living planet and its parasitic people from a mechanical threat from another dimension, will Fierma show himself as a true Ultraman? Will the Terran Ultras prove to be as great and heroic as their M87 precursors? Is everything quite as it seems? ULTRAMAN FIERMA will show the truth! Characters: Fierma- A human-type Terran Ultra. His markings are a bright pink with some gold accents here and there. As a pink human-type, his specialty is in psychokinesis, as his psychokinesis far outdoes the average M87 Ultra's, though it's mediocre by the variant's standards. When he goes on his first mission, he and his squad are blasted from the cosmos by strange living metal ships. Fierma is downed on a living planet called Z-089, a titanic organism with an ecosystem of parasites living off of it. Due to the damage he received, and the incompatible atmosphere, he had to fuse himself to a dying Alien 089 called "Ghej." The resulting fusion is not his pure form, due to the damage sustained, and looks like a strange in-between for the two entirely different races. This is his lilac-colored "Crisis" form, which is not different from his normal form save for his strange new body. Despite his situation, he tries his best to remain plucky, though this pluckiness can easily be chipped away by his cynical and morose partner to reveal the melancholy within. He's driven not only by his failure, but do to some past mistakes....some of which could come back to haunt him. His finisher in both his true and Crisis forms is Terra Mind, which involves a giant explosive rock skewer being summoned from the ground by psychokinesis, before being tossed at the enemy. Ghej- A cynical, melancholic Alien 089. She lives a very tough life due to the fact that her area is slowly backsliding into heavy poverty, thanks to some disaster involving a once-peaceful kaiju leading to millions of lives lost and an economic depression. When a mechanical kaiju attacked her city, she sacrificed herself to save a far less abled member of her species, which drew Fierma to her. Her cynicism, however, does not mesh well with the outwardly super-happy Fierma, who she sees as an idiot--but one she has to rely upon for not only both their lives, but the lives of every living thing on her entire planet. She works as a newscaster, but is later drafted into the military during the mechanical kaiju outbreak. Dekis- A Baltan-type Terran Ultra. Their markings are teal, with some bronze accents here and there. As a teal Baltan-type, they absolutely excel at creating illusory copies, able to attack foes from multiple places at once and being intensely confusing. They were Fierma's rival on their team, the two gaining what seemed to be a huge hatred for one another. However, upon Fierma's disappearance, Dekis is the one assigned to go find them, much to their chagrin. However, on the way, they are forcefully bonded to a small mechanical kaiju, forcing their markings to turn black and red, and their eyes to turn cold. This "Hex" form is stronger than their base form, but they are essentially a berserk monster. However, even upon Dekis being freed, them and Fierma still cannot get along...until things get worse, forcing them to put their feelings aside. They create a copy of Ghej called "Gapstoum" to serve as their host body, and they do not have a mutated form like Fierma does. Their finisher in both forms mentioned is "Illusium Ray", where Dekis creates multiple clones, and uses them all to reflect a powerful beam on one foe. Ultraman Deus- A human-type Terran Ultra who is the leader of Earth, having used his odd power over plasma and thunder and his general strength to take lead during the chaotic heyday. He is an ivory type, which is essentially a combination of both pink and green Ultras. As such, he has both the intense psychokinesis and great capability of flying that most human-type Ultras would consider mutually exclusive, on top of his own strange powers. He does not believe that Earth should help others, and only goes along with it to get on the Father of Ultra's good side. He cares far more for Earth than other planets, and as such barely cares for the Ultra Garrison. As a result, Earth's Ultra Garrison is having a hard time getting its footing. He is interested in the power of Legendary Ultras, and wishes to become one himself. His finisher is "Gaia Lightning", which causes a massive explosion of plasma and thunder so fantastically powerful that it nears the temperature of the star WR 102. It is an intensely dangerous move to anyone and anything around him when he uses it, as only the strongest of Ultras can go through it unscathed. And of course, the enemy: The Alien Shrapnel: A collective of mechanical lifeforms from another dimension, they have come to Z-089 to consume it as the first planet in their conquest of all existences. They can pervert any life form over 15 meters in height, transforming them into Metal Kaiju to wreak havoc. They can also summon their ships, which can face off against Ultras in a well-planned strike. They later gain the ability to create Metal Kaiju from the darkness of the universe, called "Hell-forged Kaiju." The Alien Shrapnel are like the Yapool in that they are a hivemind, and a remnant of an unknown, dead race. And that's all for now!

#random shit from the mouth of a j apologist #ultra oc #ultraman oc #ultraman fierma

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swan-archive · 7 years ago

Note

werewolf earmuffs

like werewolves from temperate island climates never quite getting used to cold weather kind of way

terrible news: earmuffs weren’t patented until the late 1800s. have a canon-era dog struggling with hats instead, hopefully that will suffice

“Hey, Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I consider you a dear friend.”

“Right.”

“Someone I trust. Someone I can be completely honest with, at all times.”

“Mhm.”

“Someone I would lay down my life for, if circumstances called for it.”

Alex actually breaks eye contact with the tiny square of mirror hanging over the nightstand at that. John, lounging on his cot, catches a considering glitter of gold reflected in the glass. “Aw, John, you gettin’ sappy on me? Thanks, man, I’m touched.”

“No problem. I just wanted you to know that when I say you look like a fucking idiot right now, it’s coming from a very heartfelt place of deep affection.”

Alex whirls around with a murderous glare, unseating the tricorn carefully balanced on top of his head in the process. It bounces off his knee and flops down onto the floor, and Alex scrambles after it with a snarl of rage as John snickers at him.

“You, Laurens,” Alex snaps, retrieving his hat and jabbing a claw at John, “can eat a fucking dick, okay, I’m trying to be practical here and I don’t need your shitty commentary—”

“Clearly you do, if you’re trying to leave the room looking like that. I’m gonna start telling everyone I don’t know you.”

“I said it’s fucking practical, asshole.” Alex rams the hat back on with a final growl, which would be more convincing if his ears didn’t immediately perk up, creating the very odd illusion that the hat is floating about half an inch above his head. John raises an eyebrow, and Alex paws at his hat, trying to squash it back down. Winces as he crushes one of his ears under it.

“…Right. Practical.”

“I know, I know, I know. Christ.” Alex tugs the hat off in defeat. His ears, freed from their felt and ribbon prison, droop down in abject misery. They’re an impressive sight even so—just a few days into the waxing moon and they’ve already come all the way in, great pointed things nearly the span of a man’s hand in size. Alex tugs the tip of one and pouts a little. “Can you blame me for trying, though? It’s freezing out there.” He jerks his head at the frosted-up window.

“Guess not. Still, you’d think—I mean, you have fur.”

“Yes, thanks for the brand new information, I am aware that I—that I’ve—that—well.” He scrubs at the patches of dark fur creeping down from his hairline, tweaks an ear-tip again. “Doesn’t mean that these stupid things don’t stick out half a mile from my head and catch every single draft coming down this godforsaken valley. I’m shocked they didn’t get frostbitten when I was on my way back from Albany. That’d look pretty nice, wouldn’t it, if one of ‘em just froze solid and snapped right off? A wolf with only one giant, stupid bat ear. Real cute.”

“Disgusting, but…point taken.”

“Heh, I’d look just like General Putnam with his gnawed-off ear. Think he’d warm up to me if we were all matchy-matchy?”

“I think it’d take a lot more than that, after you tried to scream him into submission in front of all his troops. Twice.”

“I didn’t scream, Jesus, you make me sound like a harpy. I, ah, gently persuaded him to see the error of his ways and comply with General Washington’s orders. Things got heated. Not my fault.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t impressed by it. The northern army could use a good tongue-lashing, way this winter is going. You should’ve done Gates too.”

“Yeah, tragically, people are quicker to forgive a dispute between wolves, and a little more freaked out when an ugly monster loses it at their precious Granny Gates. But, true, Putnam had it coming. Intransigent old coot. I should’ve rolled him over and gotten him by the throat. Bet he would’ve sent his brigades along a lot quicker.” Alex makes another attempt with the hat. His pinned ears stick out from underneath, framing his face. It’s not a marked improvement.

“Give it up, Alex. Please. Look, I bet we could find you, I don’t know—a knit cap or something. It’d cover your ears better.”

“Right, and then I’d look like a dockhand playing dress-up as a soldier. No thanks.”

“You could wrap a scarf around your head. Or a shawl. Like a little country maid.”

“Remember that time I told you to eat a dick?”

“No, come on, it’d be cute. I’ll even be your passionate shepherd, if you like.” John hops off his cot and makes a grab for Alex.

“Don’t touch me, you crazy—get off!”

“Come live with me, and be my love,” John twitters, getting Alex around the torso and pinning his arms, “and we will all the pleasures—ow, fuck, that was my foot!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is your little shepherdess not as good a dancer as you thought?” Alex grinds his heel down onto John’s foot once more for good measure before shoving him off with a gruff bark of laughter. The tricorn bounces back down onto the floor, and as Alex turns to pick it up, he catches sight of himself in the mirror again. Goes quiet. Expression John doesn’t much like on his face.

“Sorry,” John says lightly, trying to head that mood off. “Forgot country dances weren’t your thing. Next time, we’ll minuet.”

“Shut up,” Alex grunts, but with none of his earlier sharpness. He runs his palm over his ears, like he can smooth them down against his head, but they of course spring right back up. “I just—I used to look good in hats, you know? And now I can’t even wear ‘em to stay warm.” Long sigh. “But it’s, it’s fine, I guess. I’ve still got maybe four days a month where my ears are small enough for them. And like you said, I’ve—there’s the fur to consider, too, the rest of the time. No big deal. Who needs hats?” He picks morosely at the healing cleft in his upper lip.

John suppresses a sigh of his own. He’d sort of hoped, when the General chose Alex to go negotiate with the northern army, that the tangible mark of esteem would fix things. Get it through Alex’s thick skull that things haven’t changed, that he’s the same loudmouth genius they’ve always known. Stupid, in retrospect. He was a werewolf when he left, and he’s a werewolf now, barely any more comfortable in his skin than he’d been running out of camp on four paws at the end of October. The General can’t fix that, not with all the accolades in the world, and neither can John.

He can at least take Alex’s mind off things for a second, though, keep him from curling his lip at his reflection, threat, back off, stay away. He nudges his shoulder against Alex’s. “Hey, don’t sulk like that. It’s not—you could always buy a new hat. Get one made that fits your ears. There’s gotta be a milliner around here who could do that.”

“I’m not sulking. Fuck you.” Alex gives him a sidelong glance. “And fat chance we’ve got of finding a decent hatmaker out here in the boonies.”

“Fine, in New York then. Write to Herc, he’s done much more than smuggle one hat out of the city. Or—I know a guy in Charleston. Does good work. Next time I’m down there, I’ll commission him to make one for you. It’ll be real nice. And warm. And just your style, you ponce.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but a smirk plays over his lips. He waggles his ears teasingly at John. “Mind you do justice to the size of my ears when you’re talking to the guy. I won’t have you wasting your money on something I can’t even wear without chopping holes in.”

John reaches up and scratches at the base of Alex’s left ear. Alex purses his lips, but can’t hold in his groan of pleasure for long. “Wouldn’t dream of it. It’ll look great, promise. You’ll be the handsomest soldier in Pennsylvania colony.”

“Flatterer.”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”

Alex turns his head to nose at John’s hand. Brushes his lips over John’s palm. “Yeah. Right,” he mumbles, a soft aching note in his voice that jabs at John’s heart.

“Alex...”

“Don’t stop scratching, why’d you stop?” Alex demands suddenly. He grabs John’s hand, tugs him toward his cot. His eyes flash, glum mood evaporated. “You’re not done—I’ve got a whole other ear you haven’t even touched, not to mention my belly, come on...”

John laughs helplessly. John follows.

#technicolorrelays #swan talks #wereham au #hamilton for ts #('...so respond in a time period where earmuffs were a thing perhaps?' i can't read suddenly i don't know)#general putnam is also a bitten were—a very big and scraggy and scary one at that #so you know this leggy lanky coyote-ish looking wolf who was bitten less than two months ago rambles into his camp #like three or four days after full moon and proceeds to give him the tongue-lashing of a lifetime #it's a pretty wild experience for the general. he's more confused than anything. who IS this puppy

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prinanalogicality · 8 years ago

Text

Kitty Anxiety

I am a huge fan of an AU where Anxiety is half cat, like a neko, so I wanted to just make a drabble piece that is all about Anxiety being a total and complete cutie kitty guy.

Just a side note, I messed up my wrist real bad so I have a bit of a hard time typing. That being said, I’m super sorry if I don’t upload quite as often! I have several drafts, I’ll work on them as I go along, but even typing this was tough

AO3 link here.

My amazing friend @notallpotatoesarefrenchfries made super cute art of the kitty Anxiety idea!

Summary: A series of drabble-like pieces of Anxiety being half cat.

Pairing: Prinxiety-centric! Fluffy and cute stuff. Also, light background logicality!

Not even Logan can explain what happened.

One day Anxiety was as normal as the others in appearance. The next he woke up with cat ears, a tail, and an affinity for being pet, napping, and being thoroughly entertained by the movement of a pendulum or a laser pointer (to which Morality will not let that go).

“I do not see a blaring cause of the ailment, but I shall look into it. Something must have caused it,” Logan had said.

Morality finds Anxiety with cat tendencies to be adorable.

Logan finds it to be fascinating, and, though he will never admit it, quite precious.

Roman, who thought his beloved was cute to begin with, is often overwhelmed with cute by the development.

Anxiety simply wants to sleep.

The home within Thomas’s mind space is quiet, save for the sound of soft humming, purring, and the occasional hiss coming from the living room area.

Roman, sat on the sofa, looks at his lap with fondness, eyes roving over the fluffy head of hair resting on his thigh. His fingers card through said thick locks, pausing briefly to scratch behind perky cat-esque ears before moving on, repeating the process over and over. There, lying on the sofa, rests his boyfriend, the source of the purring. His eyes are closed, his face is free of makeup (Roman refused to risk foundation smearing on his immaculate trousers), revealing the healthy flush on his cheeks. He looks like an angel - but Roman knows the truth.

He bites back a grin as he pulls his hand away from his lover’s head, watching with keen interest as Anxiety almost immediately rouses from his content state, eyes opening and glaring up at him. His lips pull back in a hiss, revealing the sharp canine teeth he has.

“Stopping is a no.”

Anxiety shifts to reach up with curled fingers covered by his sleeves, his sweater paws settling on either side of Roman’s wrist. He tugs, craning his neck to convey to Roman what it is that he wants. In turn, Roman laughs, lowering his hand back to push Anxiety’s fringe from his eyes, the expression of his boyfriend melting back into content.

“I love you.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t keep stopping.”

“Are you not going to say it back?”

“It’s an understood thing.”

“How is that comfortable?”

Morality enters the living room with Logan, both eyeing the form sleeping on the back of the sofa.

“I do not believe that it would be a satisfying position for you or myself to be lying in, but his body chemistry has shifted to personify that of a human and a cat. Perhaps that could contribute to why he is pleased to lie there.” Logan responds, pushing his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose. “I do not suggest that we pause to rouse him from his rest in order to inquire about this, though. We may ask when he arises naturally.”

“Good plan. Let’s just go back to my room! We can snuggle!” Morality reaches out to grasp Logan’s hand, giggling as he pulls the intelligent trait along.

Anxiety yawns, sitting on the counter in the kitchen, sipping at his glass of milk. Morality is beside him, cooking pancakes, occasionally cracking jokes.

“How do you make a pancake smile? You butter him up!” “Thin French pancakes give me the crepes.” “What is the best pancake topping? More pancakes!” The delighted giggles from the male bring small smiles to the morose trait’s lips, despite his urge to cringe at the dad-like comedy.

Anxiety’s ears twitch and perk up at the sound of whistling coming from another room, slowly getting louder, meaning the whistler is approaching - and he immediately knows it is Roman. He sets his mug aside and hops off of the counter, fingers already itching to cuddle up to his boyfriend (something he used to be able to control but, ever since the cat development, he has been attaching himself to Roman’s side more often). But, when Roman enters the room, Anxiety’s eyes are automatically drawn to it.

Held in Roman’s left hand is a thin black stick, about six inches in length, but what is attached to the stick is what gains Anxiety’s attention. There is a long, white fluffy material, about eighteen inches, in which every flick of Roman’s wrist causes the fluff to shift and twirl about, and all Anxiety can think about is how much he wants to catch the floof.

He reaches out for the end of the fluff, only for Roman to cruelly flick it away, expression amused. Anxiety, in turn, pouts, trying again, and again, and again. Roman simply watches, entertained, enjoying the sight of Anxiety’s pupils blown wide with interest and a childlike excitement in his movements.

No one likes this cat thing as much as Roman does.

“Did you just bite me?”

“You stopped again.”

“Anxiety? Anxiety, where are you?” Roman calls out in concern, walking down the steps to the living room. He has checked his room, the bathroom, Anxiety’s room - really, the entire upstairs, along with the living room and the kitchen downstairs. But, no matter where he looks, he cannot seem to find his boyfriend. “Anxiety, this isn’t funny, love. Where are you hiding?”

Roman is not met with a verbal answer, but instead, he sees a tail peeking out from beneath the coffee table in front of the sofa. Approaching the table, he crouches down, viewing Anxiety sleeping, curled up in the tightest ball possible, laid on a pile of carefully arranged pillows and blankets.

The sight is so adorable that Roman doesn’t even question when, why, or how. All he does is carefully scoop him up to carry him back to his room, where they can snuggle and take a cat nap together.

There is something about Roman’s voice that simply calms Anxiety. To him, Roman is home. Roman is his love, his universe, his go-to. Roman puts him at a peace he has never known, and no matter the topic - Roman could talk about the specifics of how cheese molds and Anxiety would hang on every word, taking each one in and simply basking in the glory that is his prince.

That is why Roman cannot just sit anywhere.

He sits and boom, Anxiety is there, settling on his lap. The sofa could be empty, the entirety of the bed could be available, but Anxiety craves Roman’s touch. He always has, but now, it makes his body ache when he goes without Roman’s caresses for too long.

Anxiety just loves to be close to him, to listen to him, to be reminded that he has an amazing, loving boyfriend.

Logan cannot sleep.

Roman, being Roman, had left to go on a quest two days ago, and he plans to be back the next afternoon. He made Logan and Morality aware of his trip, how long it would be, when he would be back, but he did not want them to tell Anxiety. He wanted to surprise the male with his return, and at the moment, Logan is cursing his promise to keep it a secret.

He can hear Anxiety’s lonely mewling (more like screeching) from down the hall. His door is closed, he made sure Anxiety’s door is closed, and despite the barriers, the boy’s voice just keeps carrying. Logan truly does enjoy Anxiety’s company, but Anxiety suffering from Roman withdrawals is downright unbearable. Perhaps, if Anxiety was aware of Roman’s return the next day, he would not be quite so upset.

Curse Logan’s honor.

He drinks plenty of coffee the next morning.

“Anxiety? My love, I have returned!”

Footsteps in quick succession, a bright smile, a surprised “oof!” as one is tackled to the ground.

“Darling, I was only gone a few days-”

Purring, soft mewling, gentle nuzzles.

“You know, Logan.” Roman speaks up, grinning as Anxiety perks up at the sound of his voice, looking up at him.

“Yes?” Logan hums a bit in response, looking up from his novel. Morality also turns his attention to Roman, leaning back against Logan’s chest.

“I am unsure if whether you were trying to come up with a solution for Anxiety’s current, you know, affliction. But, I do believe that it is unnecessary.”

Anxiety immediately rolls his eyes and mutters to Roman about how it actually sucks to be more tired than usual and that he hates being so easily distracted - but then Roman’s fingers deftly scratch beneath his chin and he goes quiet, the purring beginning.

Logan smiles to himself. He never had any plans to get rid of Anxiety’s cat-like qualities, nor does he plan to.

Roman smiles, kissing the crown of Anxiety’s head, lying in bed with him. “I love you, my kitten.”

#prinxiety #cat anxiety #headcanons #drabbles #mine #pure fluff #prinxiety fluff #background logicality

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