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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years ago

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Day 21

Prompt: Pick your favorites (1 or more) and combine them! Trail of color combined with impossible to lie to soulmate.

Word Count: 2,170

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01, @spoopy-turtle, @lizluvscupcakes, @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo, @the-sympathetic-villain, @8-writes, @lizzy-lineart, @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun, sirprplsnail

Soulmate taglist:(Send an ask to be added or removed!) @elizabutgayer, @melodiread, @tsshipmonth2020, @mikalya12, @8-writes, @lizzy-lineart

CW: blood, mentioned side character death, mention of knife, (just in case) mention of police/detectives.

Logan stepped out of his car and approached the crime scene. “What do we know so far?”

“It looks like a homicide, Detective.”

He turned his head, glaring at him. “It looks? Do we not know if that’s the case? Surely if this were a homicide, the victim would still be here. So, is the body on site? Or at least on it’s way to the morgue?”

The cop cowered into his jacket slightly. “Yes, Detective, there was a body.”

Roman walked over. “Shoo! I’ve got him, you go get a break.” Logan rolled his eyes but turned to follow the lieutenant as the cop wandered off in relief. “So, what we’ve got is a body, footprints, a murder weapon, and three distinct blood samples.”

Logan nodded. “Two against one, not great odds for the dead guy.”

Roman barked a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

They entered the house and Logan took his time walking the scene. He examined the almost comical outline of where the body had been found, the placards for evidence, and the splatters of blood. He lingered on certain spots for reasons unknown to those around him. Sometimes, he would pull out his phone to take a picture to look at, his expression neutral. It wasn’t for another hour or two before he left to go back to the precinct.

He drew up a file for what they knew so far and added a personal note of ‘Is my soulmate one of the killers?’ He pulled the file for the victim and found that it was one Patton Hart. The man had been an upstanding citizen who worked at a local bakery. Logan made a note to call the bakery and give the owner a notice of Patton’s passing.

The next day, the call was made and he was off. He knew this was going to be an easy job and he also knew that he shouldn’t have taken it. He thought his emotions wouldn’t get in the way, that he would be able to take this case and not think about the fact that the person he was hunting could turn out to be his soulmate. He tried not to think about the implications of that and how it would impact his decisions.

No, he didn’t think about how he could be on his way to incarcerate someone who could end up being the love of his life if the circumstances were different. He didn’t wonder what that person was like, if they were cruel or soft to those they loved, if they slept lightly or deeply, how it would feel to have them next to him.

He didn’t think about how easy it was to track their path due to the glowing purple trail highlighting their every move, how this was worse than fish in a barrel because the fish at least knew there was no escape while his soulmate, this criminal and killer, thought they were free, thought they’d actually get away with this. They had no way of knowing that their life had been on a timer the second Logan stepped inside that house. No, he didn’t think of any of that. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the music blasting in the hope of drowning out those thoughts.

He didn’t know how long he drove, only that it had taken him all day before the trail swerved off road. He pulled into a farm area and parked on the side of the dirt road. He stepped out, his service weapon close at hand in case things got nasty. Approaching the door to the farmhouse, Logan tried to look professional or at least laid back, anything other than the bundle of nerves and live wires he felt like.

He pushed through the door of what looked to be a bed and breakfast. “Hello?”

A man poked his head around the corner. “In here, honey bun!”

Logan followed the voice. “I would ask that you refrain from pet names as we are strangers but I can already tell that would be a lost cause.”

The man laughed, pulling his sunglasses down just enough to look over them at him. “If you keep that up, we’ll get along just fine, sugar.”

Logan sighed but sat down in the kitchen. “I’m just here to ask a few questions, I’m not going to be staying the night.”

The man sat down opposite him at the large wooden table with a live edge. Logan took a minute to glance around the large and airy kitchen, the current main source of light being the windows giving it a homey look. His eyes went back to the man before him and he slid out pictures of the people the blood samples matched. “Have you seen either of these people lately?”

The man paused, the towel he’d been using to dry his hands held suspended in his grasp. While he looked over the pictures, Logan looked around the room for any trace of his soulmate and found faint ones but nothing to go on. “The left one's name is Virgil. I don’t know the right. What would a sweet boy like him be doing messing with the law?” The last sentence was said quietly, as if it wasn’t meant for Logan to hear.

Logan sighed. “So, you’ve seen Virgil in the past few days? Could you point me in his general direction?”

The man put his towel down. “I could. What do you need him for?”

Logan decided to just tell a half truth. “I just need to ask him a few questions about something that happened a few days ago.”

He nodded before jutting his thumb over his shoulder. “Emile told me he’s out back chopping wood or something.” He shrugged. “I will never understand him.”

Logan thanked him for his time and exited through the indicated door. He found the trail of purple leading around the side of the building and followed it, coming upon the sound of wood being split by an axe. A purple hoodie in the same color as the trail lay nearby, discarded by the person chopping wood. He traveled around the corner and found the source of the sound.

He cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. The shirtless man startled and turned. Logan knew he was his soulmate based off the trail that led right up to him but he still wasn’t prepared to meet him like this. Putting on a professional face that made his features neutral, he spoke. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

His soulmate, the man who might be a criminal, Virgil nodded. “Am I allowed to finish this pile first, Officer?”

Logan smiled, sitting on the grass nearby. “That’s fine. And my actual title is Detective.”

Virgil nodded before swinging the axe again, letting it hit and spilt the piece of tree trunk before him. Logan took the time to examine the man. The homicide was committed with a kitchen knife in a stabbing motion and this man certainly seemed capable of it. Logan’s eyes lingered on his biceps, seeing the definition of the muscle and he knew those muscles were practical, not dehydrated for a bodybuilding competition.

The last axe swing hit its mark and Virgil left the axe in the stump, moving to pick up a discarded shirt to wipe his face of sweat before downing part of a water bottle. “So, what can I do for you, Detective?” He sat Indian style in the grass facing Logan.

Logan looked through his notes. “Were you in the city two days ago?” He gave the address for the house as well.

Virgil’s expression was stiff as he nodded. “Yes, I was there. I’m assuming you want my witness statement?”

Logan looked at him as he pulled out the photos from the crime scene. He meant to reassure him but he forgot about the inability to lie to his soulmate. “You’re actually currently a suspect.”

Virgil tensed. “You don’t know I didn’t do it, do you?” He scrambled to his feet, beginning to pace as he ran a hand through his hair that must have been matted with sweat. “I was a victim too!” He reached down, pulling up his pants leg to show a large bandage. Logan noticed a smaller one on his cheek and one that was somewhere between them residing on his nondominant shoulder.

Logan didn’t know what to do. With his soulmate being unable to lie to him, he had to take his word as absolute truth. Still, there was a small part of him that wondered if it was only a one way soul connection and Virgil wasn’t his soulmate. “Okay, I understand.” He swiftly put away the crime scene photos, instead pulling out the random stack of mug shots he’d compiled before he left. “All I need you to do now is help me figure out who did this. Can you do that?”

Virgil’s pacing slowed, coming to a stop in front of Logan. He looked down at the pictures, hand on the injured shoulder. He scanned them as Logan watched his eyes, fear evident in them when they came to one particular picture. Virgil pointed at it. “That one. That’s him.”

Logan looked down to see the mug of the third blood sample staring back at him. “Okay, that will be helpful.” He rose to his knees with minimal effort, gathering the pages up. “I’ll be on my way then.”

Virgil’s hand clutched his sleeve, keeping him there. “Can I ask a request?”

Logan turned to look at his soulmate, the man who wasn’t a killer, the one who was a victim, and his face softened. He allowed himself to show emotion, his face the picture of concern. “Yes?” His voice was soft too.

Steel crept into Virgil’s eyes, turning him into something that looked dangerous. “I want to come with you.” That same steel was in his voice, almost turning it into a command instead of a request.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Why would you deliberately ask to meet your attempted murderer?”

Virgil’s voice remained firm but sadness tinged the edges. “He killed my best friend and I want to watch his face when justice is served.”

Logan nodded, softly chucking him under the chin. “I guess I can stay the night to give you time to shower and pack. Would that be acceptable?”

Virgil nodded, releasing him to grab his things, their arms brushing as he headed inside. They spent the night at the bed and breakfast, Remy seeing them out in the morning with a quick hug and a “Bye, babes!”

They both climbed into Logan’s car, the detective making sure to turn the radio down and off before Virgil got in. Virgil put his bag in the trunk before walking around to get in the passenger side, a sketchbook in his lap. Logan smiled at him as he got in, handing him the aux cord. “How about you pick the music for the ride? I don’t have any preferences when it comes to music.”

Virgil nodded and plugged his phone in. Logan expected him to play rock or emo music but instead a soft ballad was followed by a catchy pop song. The drive was spent in relative silence as Logan headed in the direction the actual killer had run. Finally, Virgil turned down the volume and spoke. “So, what are we doing now?”

“I’ve already communicated with the precinct so they know you’re a witness under my protection. At the moment, I feel no need to inform them that you’re my soulmate. That will be done eventually but I assumed after this was over would be soon enough.” He glanced at his soulmate. “Unless you would like me to alter the timing at all?”

Virgil shook his head. “No, that’s fine.”

“In return, I was informed of the last known location of your attacker. I was told it was close to where you resided, which, at the time, only perpetuated the idea of you working together. However, I am more inclined to think he was stalking you in an attempt to finish the job.”

Virgil’s hand slid closer to the center console. Logan allowed his right hand to let go of the steering wheel, letting it rest near Virgil’s. The purple clad man smiled, holding the hand in a loose grasp, one that told Logan he was free to pull away when he needed to. “So,” Virgil asked, “are we going to arrest him now?”

Logan nodded. “That’s the plan.”

A silence descended that was more comfortable than the one before, one that knew they were on an even footing. So, even as the music was turned up and a song from a musical came on, they both reveled in the companionable silence that came with the other’s hand in theirs. The car sped on, eating up the road easily as they headed off to get justice for Patton Hart.

Maybe one day I’ll give this a second part where they take down the killer.

#tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate au #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #detective!logan #remy sanders #patton sanders #ace writes

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sanstropfremir · 3 years ago

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Okay, time for my weekly rant so buckle up. The vocal stages were okay-I cant really remember them well because I watched them only once so take what I say with a grain of salt. Well I watched the Spark one once and I only got through half of the other one because I can’t stand ballads especially when there’s no interesting movement on stage to keep me engaged. Like it’s no fault of the members themselves or the song (I actually think their singing was incredibly beautiful and Eunkwang always sings like his wife just left him with the kids which is how you know he’s good) but I physically could not pay attention. That’s why I liked the spark stage a bit better-there was enough movement that I was able to focus on it. I really liked the use of the fire and the way they were walking in and out of the frame trading off parts so there weren’t too many awkward moments where the other members where on stage but not doing anything. The opening was gorgeous with each members being lit by the spotlight as they harmonize. So stagewise, I prefer Spark but vocally I think the other group was stronger. I love Spark and Taeyon is such an incredible vocalist (I mean the song is great because of her) so I don’t get why their delivery was, I don’t want to say weak, but subdued might be a better word. The only one that really stood out was Junhoe (but also that man couldn’t not stand out even if he tried, not with that incredibly rasp) and even he seemed to be holding himself back a bit. Though it was a bit slow it built up well to the two last choruses but still the first half could have been stronger. I know they were trying to draw it out to a strong pay off but I don’t really know if it was enough. And yes the suits were *chef’s kiss*. I think at this point in their career the FNC stylist has put SF9 in so many suits they’ve got it down to a science. Also I’m a sucker for those shirts with the triangle cut out and we got not one but two of them here.

Okay moving on, I’m not sure which group was next but I’ll talk about the Ikon stage. It seems like they finally realized that they’re on a performance based competition show so they decided to pull out the big guns. Love the little skit at the beginning (making sure people don’t forget that they’re YG), it was cute and refreshing. I really appreciated how they leaned into the campy acting in this stage (Stray kids did it too-just adding to the similarities between their stages). The song was meh but I also don’t really like BP especially not their recent stuff so it’s not a big deal. I would have preferred if they had gone with another song maybe Whistle or As If It’s Your Last or if they’d done a 2NE1 song like Chanwoo mentioned some point in the episode. I also think the stage would have been way smoother if they’d let Ikon and Lisa interact. Like if the boys appeared in her set after her section and then they all moved back to the first jungle set and then the whole thing turns gold and they did a dramatic outfit change (but with better jackets because theirs look like they came out of Party City). I also get what you mean about the dancers outfits not being that great. I actually really liked the outfits of Lisa’s dancers in isolation but they didn’t match with her or the set so they threw me off a bit. At least with the ikon members they were going for a modern look so the dancers outfits didn’t look that strange in comparison. Do you think it would have been better if they were white? How would you have improved then? The best way I can describe this performance was that it was a stage, stuff happened, I enjoyed myself but I don’t plan to revisit it anytime soon. Oh and we also have to give points for them cursing on national television not once but twice (at this point Jinwan deserves to say fuck).

Now to Stray Kids. So I feel like I need to preface this with the fact that I am actually a stray kids fan (I won’t call myself a stay because I don’t associate with the fandom) and though I’ve been really critical of them and their stages tend to be my least favorite I still have a soft spot for them (I got into this show because of them after all). I loved, loved, loved the intro with Felix (and yes his biggest flaw is that he’s Australian but I forgive him for it) and the way it immediately transitions into the chorus of DDD-the abrupt transition does fit really well with the Deadpool theme and I guess it is the closest they’re going to get to the feeling of yeeting themselves into traffic like in the movie. Interesting choice to start with the chorus. Now that I’m rewatching it I do really wish they stuck with the comic theme. I think that’s my gripe with SKZ-they have a lot of good ideas but they move on too quickly from them. Just pick a handful of things and sprinkle them throughout instead of cycling through them at breakneck speed. Like okay they’re doing Deadpool and he’s a comic character so keep the comic styling (it would have been a good thing to put in the projection behind Seungmin’s scene), maybe in the subway they could have had some fight choreo so the guns coming in at Lee Knows part aren’t out of nowhere (also someone please tell me they were trying to recreate the meme with the cat and the knives, please I need to know). I absolutely agree that them having a goal or an antagonist would have really helped the story along. I mean they literally have a spoken intro so why couldn’t Felix just tell us who they were fighting (and I’m pretty sure in the movie Wade tells us he’s trying to kill Francis in that scene sooo). As always they put more focus on the rappers (please can we get less Changbin and more Seungmin, Jeongin, or Lee Know or at least give Felix more parts). Seungmin was the real mvp of this stage and he had the best outfit (I think it qualifies for Hanya’s best gay little outfit list). Personally I with they hadn’t gone with Gods Menu again. I’ve been hoping that they would perform My Pace (and maybe remix it with their B-side TA off their Go Live album) because that would be such a fun stage. Again, I enjoyed myself but I won’t revisit it anytime soon. At this point the only groups I actually look forward to are BTOB and SF9 (they’re doing fucking Move and I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified-there’s a clip of Taeyang covering Move from a variety show or interview and I think he does it really well so I know at least one of them can pull it off). Again thanks for creating space where I can info dump and I hope I said something of interest to you!

i think you wrote more than me!! i love this, im gonna put my response under a cut im not being super obnoxious on the dash.

i get that the mayfly stage would be not as visually stimulating for people and usually i would count myself in with that crowd because i love a good spectacle but i think because i watched the spark stage first and my colour perception is sometimes weird so when there's a lot of movement with very little colour variation my tiny pea brain loses track of whats happening really quickly. especially with red. so it was kind of difficult for me to pay attention to the spark stage in the second half. also i absolutely HATE watching people flub on stage because it brings up such visceral secondhand feelings that i couldn't even watch the stage when i started the full episode today.

i love a good suit but you know what i would also love: sf9 in more costume variations. tbh im just getting nitpicky about it because im a costume designer down to the core and i got trained by a designer who specialized in doing avant garde costuming so i tend to skew more towards wild than reserved. it looks like the move stage wont be be suits so ill take it, but oh man to do i want to see some really crazy stuff. which i know they'll never do because idols have to be pretty at all times or the fans get mad but oh i want it so badly.

do you mean how i would improve ikon's backup dancers outfits or lisa's? here why dont i do both. for lisa's dancers i would have just done away with that harness shape all together, its almost exclusively a military style. the jackets by themselves would have been fine but really what they should have done was put them in something that matched the gold but contrasted enough to give them shape. by having at least her dancers in all black on a gold stage there was a lot of "haha look at me do a duck walk because lets throw in some voguing for spice." they could have gone with a mesh bodysuit idea similar to what she was wearing or even just different colour coats. as for ikon's backup dancers, firstly pants. not black. or even a longer skirt. genuinely a part of the reason why i dont watch girl group content is because i HATE the hem length of the shorts they make everyone wear. words cannot describe how much i hate that cut. kpop is so obsessed with showing off women's bodies and especially their legs but they do it in the LEAST flattering way possible because it "can't be too risqué," just shoot me now. i hate it. i hate it so fucking much. yea yea everybody was on cocaine in the 80s whatever but at least they were all wearing french cut bodysuits so their legs looked fantastic. stop interrupting the lines!! anyways. pants so the only section of skin showing is thigh to mid calf, especially because they weren't even doing any fun legwork! if they really wanted to keep the full sleeve bodysuits they shout have done them in a fabric with a texture or external embellishments, like a patent/vinyl or sequins/rhinestones. something to catch the stage lights so we can actually see the shape of the limb. but the easiest way to fix it is literally just cut the arms off the bodysuits. stages are lit to show off skin, sometimes the best way to have something be seen is just to have it bare.

i agreed skz cycles through ideas way too fast, they need to just pick a couple and stick them out through the stage instead of just adding more and more different ones throughout. also ok good someone else noticed that there is just...so much changbin. we don't need that much changbin. i know there's other boys in the group let them do something! also im pretty sure theyre not recreating the cat knife meme but actually the promo image from john wick chapter two, which i also could have sworn i saw a deadpool version of as an instagram ad back when movies were happening, but now that im looking for it it doesn't exist so i might be crazy.

im excited for the move stage but im also trepidatious because...its move. i have NO clue what the concept is from the previews so i just hope its weird enough to take it enough out of the taemin context for me to enjoy it.

#kingdom #youre very sweet im glad you like sending asks in!!#realistically im just trying to replace going out to the pub and talking about art with people #this is my virtual pub you are welcome to a have a pint at my table!!#theres some costume talk in this one for anyone who reads the tags first #as you can see do not get me started on the shorts issue because it is one of the few things that gets me irrationally angry #i can ignore it most of the time by willfully not thinking about it #kpop questions #text #kingdom asks

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georgemackayhey · 4 years ago

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Rules For Falling In Love: #2

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: The love for this fic has really made my heart ache in all the best ways! I hope yall love this update and I look forward to all your feedback of any and all kinds, as always ♡

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had a week from hell, one where you seemed to live and breathe your work against your will. When you were free to do as you pleased, all you wanted was to do was absolutely nothing.

When you got home to find George seemed to have been waiting there all afternoon like a puppy, you rolled your eyes, entirely too exhausted to consider having fun. But before you had the chance to give that speech, George ushered you to the sofa.

"The last season, it's starting right now." He explained, turning the volume up on the telly that was already on. The show in question was one of those horrifically trashy ones. A silly little show you both got hooked on when you had the same cold, nowhere to go, and nothing else to watch. Now you needed to know what happened next.

The days weren't always like this. Between the years, you'd drifted apart from each other, floating back together for odd dinners and weekend getaways. It wasn't even like this when you started living together. But it seemed like in the blink of an eye you were spending more and more free time side by side, planning more than a few shared breakfasts and rainy afternoons.

Nights like these were expected by now, and you realized you'd be amiss if they ended anytime soon. George had called off dating some year or two ago, shaken by the Hollywood scene and the popularity contest he seemed to be in on, during films and even off set, in local shops he'd gotten recognized in. You'd forgotten that dating was a part of social life, far too preoccupied with your work and the plans you always had with George after hours to get to know anyone new.

It all made too much sense. So when the first commercial break kicked in and George passed the snacks he was holding over to you, as if he just remembered you were there, you spoke up.

"I'll do it."

You took the snacks, holding George’s eyes as his searched yours. You knew that he knew what you were agreeing too. Just when you thought he was about to speak, the show came back on and both of your focuses shifted entirely on the screen. You hadn't known what to expect... But the way everything seemed so vastly normal, sort of jarred you.

And for the next couple of days... neither of you talked about it at all. Sure you're busy with work and George had been fretting over a couple of important telephone interviews. But you thought surely he'd be more anxious to discuss logistics, or bring up the subject he invented, at all.

It wasn't until the next weekend, that the conversation picked up where it left off, again.

You'd spent the early Sunday morning roaming through the storefronts of an overpriced market. You ducked inside to relish the air-conditioned sales before dipping back out every few feet to admire the booths full of flowers, handcrafted gifts, and expensive decor. You'd buy absolutely everything here if you could.

You did have a mission. It was to pick up something to bring to dinner, a Sunday evening tradition with George's family. You'd been invited for as long as you could recall, and you'd never shown up empty-handed. Usually, flowers and desserts did just fine. But you were entirely too indecisive over what to purchase, this morning.

You'd become lost in a conversation with a woman who sold soaps and lotions, locally and expensively made. You rambled with her for so long that you'd lost sight of the person you'd come here with.

When you spun away from the lady selling soaps as new customers flocked closer to inspect her products, and you went on the hunt for George. You spotted him from behind, leaning in to speak with a vendor nearer inside. And just as you start to drift in his direction, he noticed you, too, through the crowd. And as the people part and you're nearly toe to toe, George doesn't greet you like usual.

There is no jab about where you'd been missing for so long, there isn't even a hello. Instead, you watch as George's smile grows mischievous, before bending at the knee.

Between his thumb and finger is a ring, just your unique style. It's from the booth he knelt in front of now, where hundreds of other delicate and novel jewels were displayed.

"What's all this then?" You laughed, standing in front of the guy you'd known longer than how to do simple maths.

"Marry me?" George asked, for the hundredth time, it seemed. You hadn't ever expected the question. But after this week, it came again at long last. You wondered if he'd ever bring it up again. But this time was different. This time, he smiled softly and held a real promise in his hand, looking up to you with a squint to block out the sun.

"I suppose I will." You grinned, answering quietly as George beamed up at you.

A couple of old ladies gasped from a couple of steps away, turning to watch on as George rose to his feet, grabbing your hand with both of his.

"Thank you, y/n. I cant wait." He said as if he'd been planning this for longer than he'd been pestering you about it.

"Why, we're practically already married." You laughed, mocking the statement he kept returning back to over the weeks. You watched as George slid the ring on your finger, with a pretty little design you couldn't have chosen better if you tried.

"Kiss her!" One of the elder spectators demanded like she was watching a wrestling match and coaxing on the fighters.

"I suppose I should," George remarked, mocking you, from moments ago. When he dipped down to place a teasing, chaste kiss on your lips, the old ladies cheered. When you swatted his arm with a playfully furrowed brow, the old ladies grumbled, completely let down by the way you ruined the moment.

"Don't blow it, Mackay. Go pick one for yourself, now." You warned your friend who was already giving you a playful smirk as you pointed to the collection of rings he was meant to choose from.

He found the perfect band, with specks and flecks that matched your own. And he liked it, best of all. The two of you walked out of the shoppe with matching rings, in fits of laughter as you imagined all your friend's reactions.

To celebrate, you stopped at a stall selling frozen yogurt and ordered one big container; because it was extremely overpriced, and George didn't mind sharing, because according to him-

"We're official." George boasted, digging into the dessert as you walked back toward your neighborhood, enjoying the perfect morning weather.

"Not quite." You reasoned. "We've still gotta get the worst part over with."

"The worst part?"

"Throwing a faux wedding. Lying to our guests. Drawing far too much attention to ourselves. This feels so much more like a business interaction than an event. Not that I'm not glad to do business with you, of course." You laughed, stepping in time with your closest friend.

"We don't have to make it a whole big thing. I only asked to be married, not for a garish wedding. We could stick to signing a few papers and call it a day."

"Are you serious? I want you to be explicitly clear about what you want because whether we make it one or not, this is a big deal."

"I'm okay with it." George chuckled, forcing the frozen treat in your grasp for a turn. "Either way, we'll need some witnesses."

You grumbled, remembering he was right. You weren't ashamed to marry him. Only embarrassed at the slightest bit of misjudged attention, and worried that your decision would be mistaken for something it wasn't, by anyone you explained it too.

///

"I've forgotten to get something to bring! I've never not brought something to dinner." You panicked, feeling your pockets in a last-ditch effort to find something to keep the tradition alive. George let out a little chuckle as you stalled in his parent's driveway. You reprimanded him for not being just as panicked as you, but he just laughed harder as he reached for your hand.

"Well how about this time I bring you."

A new set of nerves danced on end when you remembered the ring on your finger. You'd walked into the entry of his parents lavish countryside home like clockwork, without a gift but with very big news. But even in the strange twist of events, the familiar setting and George's calming presence meant nothing was out of the ordinary. You were only making the decision to keep it that way. Surely everyone would understand.

As you waltzed further into the home, there was no grand greeting. His father was sat in the living room, focused on a game that flashed across the telly. He turned his smile to the pair of you just before shouting back at the team he was rooting for. George's mother was in the kitchen, and upon hearing the pair of you come in, started rambling about how dinner wasn't quite ready and how hectic her day was.

You and George stalled in the entry of the kitchen, sunbleached wallpaper and worn old furniture welcomed you. When George's mother turned from the stove with a huff and a hand on her hip, she glanced between you and her son and asked why you were both just standing there.

"Has something happened?" She asked in a grave low tone.

George glanced to you as if to ask you for permission to say something. Or maybe to warn you he was about to, anyway. You knew it was best to rip the bandaid off. So you gave the smallest nod and held your breath.

With a look across the way to his father clicking the telly off in perfect time, George made his announcement.

"We're getting married!"

Despite George's sound excitement and the glowing smile on his face, his mother let out a breath with a hand to her heart.

"Oh thank God, I thought someone had died." She explained, reaching back to turn a knob on the oven. Her relief was comical, and just as she spoke up, you realized all the excitement you'd expected, was stored away in the girl bounding down the stairs.

George's sister nearly tripped over herself as she squealed into the room. You might have wanted to plug your ears, but the girl bound your way, babbling incoherently, grabbing your hand to see the ring she expected to see there.

"I knew it. I can't believe this day has come but I knew it would." She gasped like she'd just become a billionaire, as if her very own dreams had just come true. George's father sauntered closer, glancing at your ring with a pleased hum, offering a simple and pleasant congratulations on his way to steal a bit of dessert before dinner.

"So now I can finally expect some grandchildren, yeah?" George's mother shuffled toward the cabinet full of wine, a place she only searched through when the very best and worst news hung heavy over your weekly dinner parties.

"I don't think that's possible." You choked out in a hurry, as George's sister dropped your hand, spinning to face her brother who was holding back wild laughter at your expense.

"You can always adopt, dear." His mother pushed, spinning back to the oven when it dinged. George was in the middle of explaining your plans to his sister, who was shaking her head in disapproval.

"No! No way will I stand by and watch you get married without throwing a party. Can't we talk about a big white wedding? Oh please." She turned to you with big pleading eyes.

"No, no no no. I can't do that. I'd pass out before saying I Do and what's the point of that? We're just gonna get it done." You pointed.

"I'll just see about that." She stormed deeper into the kitchen at the sound of her mother asking her for help finishing your traditional Sunday meal.

"I'll try and thwart her plans to decorate the register's office with rose petals." George brought his hands to your shoulders with a smile you shared, as he led you to the table. His parents argued over what bottle of wine to open, while his sister went on making plans of her own, just for you. Normalcy remained.

///

"You two cannot be serious." Dean sat slack-jawed across a high tabletop in your very favorite pub. He'd barely touched his scotch, but you and George were on your second round of drinks you'd been downing while waiting on your friend to show up to tell him the news.

"Who else would we ask, Dean? You're our third wheel." You laughed, leaning in to shout past the music overhead. You'd already told George's family and asked his sister to be one of your witnesses. The girl was more excited than you and George for your big day. Dean was the only other person you could imagine inviting along, whose presence wouldn't make you break out into a nervous sweat.

"No, I mean you can't be serious about getting married!" Dean laughed, keeping his wide, dark eyes boring into yours.

"We've already worked most everything out. Will you please come?" George leaned in closer, taking his turn at coaxing his best pal into being there for the two of you.

"Yeah, fine," Dean softened, his smile reaching his eyes. "But I'm bringing a cake. Not to celebrate, but to stress eat." The fellow raised his glass in a silly toast. You laughed as you clinked your glasses together, then swiftly ordered another round.

"Well I don't want to steal your thunder but I've been meaning to tell the both of you something..." Dean shifted in his seat as you and George settled into a quiet focus on your friend.

"I've been seeing someone. Only been out a couple of times, but I quite like her already" Dean explained, a blush creeping under his eyes. George encouraged his friend to tell everything about the girl he'd been dating. You urged Dean to bring her around some time, thrilled at the prospect of having a fourth wheel to join in your nights of fun.

As Dean went on telling the tale of his first date with his new girl, your drinks came.

"Won't you miss dating around?" Dean seemed to worry, after thanking the waiter for his drink.

"I haven't missed it this far." You shrugged, sipping your fresh cocktail all the while. As free as you'd been till now, the thought of getting to know someone new, letting your guard down, building trust, just thinking of it all exhausted you.

When George leaned over you to accept his new drink, he flashed the waiter a tipsy smile.

"We're getting married!" He chuckled, and you did too. As you two broke into drunken giggles, the waiter offered unimpressed congratulations. Dean slammed back his new order in time to ask for another; either to catch up with you and George or to deal with the pair of you, you couldn't tell.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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turquoise-stones · 4 years ago

Text

Edge of Insanity Ch. 4: Hate

yandere!Todoroki x fem!reader

Previous Chapter

A/N: Next chapter will have fluff, I promise there won't be sadness much longer!

. . .

Maybe you had just been too tired that morning to notice, but people's eyes definitely lingered on yours in the hallways. You put your head down, trying to hide away your red eyes. You wanted to go up to them and scream the truth into their face, but of course it wouldn't do any good. It was almost comical how fast your happiness was whisked away. You had work so so hard, until your body ached and your head pounded with quirk overuse, to escape into Class 1-A. But it was clear to you in that moment that she would never stop targeting you.

You wandered into the cafeteria, trying not to notice the eyes that followed you when you walked by. You kept your head down, hoping they wouldn't notice your burning flush of shame. Looking around, you were slightly panicked when you saw your usual spot empty. The friends that would normally wave cheerfully at you were gone. Panic and dread washed over you in waves as you looked around wildly. They probably heard about the rumor, and they probably left to avoid associating with you. Damnit, you didn't find them fast enough, and you didn't explain everything in time… you never told them about Inomata and she had cut them all from your life in one fell swoop. You had finally found a community, a family where you felt safe and happy, and in one day, completely out of your control, it was all gone.

Everything was spiraling away. Your integrity was destroyed and your friends were gone. The past couple weeks of happiness were slipping away, all with one evil, evil post. You caught her looking at you. When you met those steely gray eyes, she merely gave you a sweet smile and turned away. You wanted to kill her.

Turning from the cafeteria, you rushed out. Deafening buzzing to resonate in your ears. You desperately turned the corner, feeling the stares of everyone behind you.

Finally out of prying eyes, you leaned against the wall with a shaky gasp. You shut your eyes and clamped a hand over your mouth to suppress the sobs. If the school thought you were a faker, fine, so be it, they were all strangers anyways. But the thought of your friends hating you was too painful to bear.

. . .

...don't know anything about her. So don't you dare gossip about her behind her back."

You perked your head up and slowed to a stop as a familiar croaky voice from around the corner pulled you from your numb thoughts.

"Now excuse me, I need to go find her. And the next time you see (y/n), you'd better apologize for not believing in her!"

In the whole month that you had known her, you had never heard Tsuya raise her voice, ever. What was she saying? You couldn't quite comprehend...

"(Y/n)! Oh my- Ochako there she is!" A voice from behind you called. Spinning around, you saw Midoriya and Uraraka speed walking towards you, waving frantically. Eyes widening, you tried to escape by turning the corner only to bump straight into Tsuya, whose face was still flushed with anger. And suddenly you were surrounded.

"(Y/n)! We've been looking everywhere!" Tsuya cried, before doing a double take. "You look so sad…"

You flinched away from them, their wide eyes becoming too intense to look at. Your heart was starting to beat faster and the tears you had just managed to stop were coming back. You really did not want to face them so soon. You didn't ever want to face them.

Urakara stopped you with a hand on your forearm. You squirmed away from her but she held you firm, brushing aside your messy hair and gently poked the wetness on your cheek with a concerned look.

"Oh (y/n)... please don't cry, we're not going to get angry."

"I don't want to talk to you guys right now." You said, voice cracking. "Let me go."

Uraraka shook her head firmly. "We heard the rumors and when you didn't come to lunch we were worried about you."

Midoriya nodded in agreement. He looked probably just as distressed as you did. "I cant believe the people here would do such a… a… cruel thing!"

"W-what?"

"You'd think people had better things to do with their time." Tsuya croaked. Midoriya nodded seriously at her.

"Do you know who did it?" Uraraka piped up.

"Huh?" You stopped squirming in Uraraka's hold and finally looked closely at them. And it hit you that they didn't look angry or disappointed… if anything they looked worried.

"Who spread the rumor?"

"You guys… don't believe it?"

The three of them blinked at you before an outpour of 'of course nots' and 'we would nevers' rushed at you.

"Did you think we'd believe some stupid rumor?" Midoriya asked, looking almost hurt at your lack of belief in them. You gaped at them. They were serious… the feeling of relief that washed over you was indescribable. You were so grateful. So grateful that you had friends that believed in you.

"N-no! I just… earlier today, Shinsou…"

"What did Shinsou do to you?" Uraraka asked angrily, eyes narrowing as she remembered the times when Shinsou would not so subtly poke fun at you.

"N-nothing…"

Urakara let out a sigh before raising her arms pulling you close into a big hug. You stiffened in surprise for a moment before returning the embrace. Her warm hands patted you soothingly on the back, and you felt heat prick at the back of your eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that.

You peeked from around her so see Tsuya and Midoriya looking at you with soft gazes. Even if the whole school thought you were scum, it warmed your heart that your friends would stand at your side.

"You… you guys are the best." You said, getting choked up. Uraraka gave you a tight squeeze. "Thank you… for not doubting me."

. . .

The rest of the day was nothing but stressful. After lunch, you explained the situation to your classmates of 1-A, and you hoped that they took your word over any rumors. Thankfully, they confirmed that seeing you work so hard in class was more than proof that the lies were nothing more than lies.

While your classmates were understanding, everyone else was not. When you were called to the principal's office, you were certain that you were going to be expelled. You were practically shaking with anxiety and fear when you stumbled out an explanation, but Principle Mezo ultimately cleared you because he couldn't find any trace of bribery in the treasury files.

However, even if some people could civilly deal with facts and numbers and accept the truth, others turned their nose up at you. In such a prestigious school such as U.A, where everyone worked impossibly hard to get in, students were more averse to foul play than normal. Someone even went as far as to call you out in the hallway. After that, your friends followed you made sure to follow you from class to class as bodyguards, which made you more thankful than you could ever say.

But your friends couldn't always be with you.

You flushed the toilet, pulling your heavy backpack onto your shoulder before shouldering your way out of the bathroom stall. Hearing the sound of running water, you glanced up and froze, ice running down your spine. There she was, with her long black hair steely gray eyes, washing her hands in the sink. She glanced at herself in the mirror, before spotting your stare behind her reflection. You watched as her eyebrows perked up and a slight smirk wound its way onto her face.

Seeing her, Inomata, the source of all your pain and stress, after the incident she pulled today filled you with such burning rage that you were practically shaking. And that expression… it was apparent that she held no shame or pity. You couldn't understand how someone could be so one dimensionally evil in her actions.

She slowly turned around, cast you a leisurely smile, before reaching for the paper towels.

You stared her down with an unpleasant scowl on your face. She wiped and tossed the towel before starting to walk out. No. You were not going to let her leave like that, without acknowledging your rage, without being punished. You weren't one for confrontation, but your body acted before you could stop yourself.

In a split second you were at the door, hand holding the handle shut and body blocking her exit.

"Get out of my way." She said quietly, lips pulling up in displeasure.

"Don't ignore me." You hissed back. She rolled her eyes.

"I'll ignore whoever I damn so please. Now get out of my fucking way." Her biting tone was barely concealed under her even voice. You didn't budge.

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you, dear classmate of mine. I simply want you to move."

"I never did anything to you." You hissed, eyes narrowing. She let out a sigh, anything but thrilled to be cornered here.

"Don't be so dense. You're quirk is too damn similar to mine. In this world, you're either the goddamn best or you're a fucking nobody."

You were taken aback. Somehow you never noticed, but her quirk, even her fighting style matched yours. The general studies teacher had always paired the two of you together and now it was making more and more sense why...

"Is that it? Is that why you're such a… a… bitch towards me?" You said angrily. "The world needs every hero it can get, this isn't some… some competition!"

"Get over yourself (y/n). Fine. Do you know why I hate you? It's because you think you're so cute and pure."

"W- I'm not-"

"SHUT UP. Stop acting like you're on some sort of moral high ground. This isn't some fairy tale where we all hold hands and skip to the finish line. I hate the break you bubble but whoever is stronger will end up on top."

"That's n-"

"And that little post I made? I never mentioned anyone's name. Everyone just seems to think it's you. Maybe cause they just assume someone as weak and useless as you couldn't possibly be in 1-A".

You flinched at her words. You didn't want to believe it.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled up as she watched your expression twitch.

"I hope you got what you wanted here." She said, scathingly sarcastic.

You were frozen as she shoved you aside, knocking your hand off the doorknob and pushing the door open. She paused for a second as the two of you stood side by side.

"You may be in a different class, now but don't you think for a goddamn second that you're stronger than me. I swear to God (y/n)... I will be on top. Even if I die trying."

With that she was gone. The door swung back and hit your back with a quiet thump.

Next Chapter

#todoroki shōto #todoroki shouto #mha shouto #shouto x reader #bnha todoroki #yandere #yandere todoroki #yandere todoroki shouto x reader #yandere shoto todoroki #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #reader insert

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transdonaldduck · 5 years ago

Note

*KICKS IN UR DOOR* I would love to hear more about ur tmnt universe stuff

okay!!! you dont gatta ask me twice. I drew these last night at 3 am and lost steam halfway through and gave up on donatello bc i wasn’t happy with any of my sketches and that’s that! forewarning: im edgy so this is edgy

the rest is under the readmore

The setting: It’s new york babey! We’re following our protagonist April O’Neil, 17 years old, as she navigates the confusing waters of high school, first jobs, and accidentally stumbling upon a mutant underworld. This samples a lot from rotmnt and 2012 bc i have no creativity

characters i’ve thought out

Irma- 18, senior, about to go to college to major in Architecture. She’s aloof but she actually cares about people deep down, she just doesn’t like to show it. She’s trying to let her natural hair color grow out from the years she dyed it black. She likes documentaries, chess, hanging out at graveyeards, and writing horror short stories. Seems sorta doom n gloom but is more apathetic than negative. She’s the president of the journalism club (who runs the school newspaper and morning news segment.) She’s looking for someone to take over the club after she’s gone, and has the perfect candidate in mind… if only April had the skill to match her enthusiasm.

April O’Neil- 17, junior, and aspiring journalist and reporter. She’s upbeat, determined, confident, and a real bright spot ot the people that know her. Her favorite things to do are listen to music, sing, take pictures, and take walks in the sun. She’s a go-getting, very self driver to acheive her goals, and her ultimate goal is to be the greatest reporter that has ever lived. Unfortunately, april doesn’t have the knack for reporting, and every piece she’s submitted to her schools newpaper has been fluff pieces… Irma tasks her with writing a front page headliner for the paper so she feels confident passing the club onto her, and in Aprils attempt to come up with the greatest story ever, she sutmbles upon a gang war and 4 mutant turtles…

Casey Jones- 18, Junior, and barely passing. Casey’s the kind of boy no one really expects anything of, so he doesn’t bother trying bc at least then he won’t fail. April inspires him to be better. He likes bad jokes, terrible coffee, and hockey- he’s hoping that April will tutor him enough to be able to bring his grades up enough to be allowed back on the school’s team. He seems sorta prickly and rude at first, but he’s just got a spiky outer shell and he’s really sweet inside. He loves horror movies and extreme sports competitons. He makes a point to walk april home whenever she stays late working on school stuff,

turtle time

the setting: They still live in the sewers, Splinter is still their dad but he’s very old when he gets the turtles, making him even older now. He does a lot of meditating and watching tv and doing crosswords, yknow old people stuff. He relies a lot on Leo to be the head of the house now that he’s old enough. He still trains the boys to learn martial arts bc he thinks it’s important they can defend themselves, considering what they are. He can kick ass when he needs to, tho

leo- 19, red ear slider, silent and stoic leader, raised as a child to be responisble for his brothers. He’s pretty socially awkward and weird bc he was divided from his brothers at a young age and didn’t get a lot of chances to grow and play with other kids his age. He doesn’t do much outside of train, study, and chores, and April is appaled by the fact that he doesn’t have like, ANY hobbies. she takes it upon herself as a personal mission to find something for him to do. He doesnt know the meaning of the word fun, but he tries not to always be a stick in the mud (mostly by removing himself from the fun situation in a misguided attempt to make everyone happier…)

raph- 18, Snapping turtle, and he’s got a short fuse and a big appetite. He’s a bit resentful of his families situation stuck in the sewers and darkness, and he hates being looked down upon. He’s only rebellious bc of how confined and trapped he feels, and though he can act like a grump and lash out he has a heart of gold. He likes wood carving, it’s actually how he made his little sun pendant he wears, it’s something to remind him the sun will rise soon and he’ll be there to see it.

donatello- 17, softshell turtle, bookworm and tech wizard. he likes to read for fun and he’s super into mechanics and computers. smarter than his brothers but thinks WAY too much, often holes up in his lab for hours trying to work out some particularly tough programming problem and will only come out for tea or pizza. he can be snooty/superior in situations where his intellect can be flashed. the worst ninja of the bunch (he thinks more with his head than with his body and never practices)

mikey- 15, box turtle, goofy gooey heartfelt younger brother. He cant draw for shit but still tries because he thinks it’s fun. He’s good at writing and poetry, he likes words and keeps a daily diary he writes in every day. He also keeps a dream journal and a log on all the tunnels in the sewers they’ve explored. He like to keep notes. Comic books are his favorite reading material but he’s picky about the art styles he enjoys, and he is very naturally talented with anything physical. good at easing tension but has 0 common sense, just a round angel

Leo is the shortest and lightest, agile and quick. Mikey is second shortest but he’s fat, which doesn’t detract from his natural flexibility. Raph is second tallest and broad shouldered with big arms, a powerhouse. Donnie is tall and lanky, a little uncoordinated but still strong.

#tmnt #Anonymous #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo tmnt #raphael tmnt #michaelangelo tmnt #donatello tmnt #my art

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fipindustries · 4 years ago

Text

list of comics i made so far

i already shared the list of all the novels i tried to write throughout my llife so i see no reason why not to do the same with the comics i tried to work on. no i should clarify, with my lists of novels there was a clear cut distinction between what was a novel and a short story so to parse one from the other was an easy task. it should be known that i wrote hundreds of shorts stories that i havent shared with anyone. now a similar situation occurs with my comics, i have done hundreds upon hundreds of little comics, short jokes, little skits and short lived strips through my life, so in order to give this list some weight and not make it longer than the bible the criteria i used was that it had to be something i did on a regular basis or that tells a self contained story with a beggining middle and end.

now without further ado, lets begin!

spike Vanderville (age 7)

you can tell i was way more into comics than i was into novels from a young age. done with pen and folded paper, it was the story about a young kid called spike, whose design was heavily inspired by bradley from sticking around, who had magical powers which allowed him to manipulate reality. it was a mix of harry potter and a series of illustrates short stories that came in a magazine in argentina. his best friend was a scarecrow with a pumpkin head that he had brought to life, his archnemesis was a fat bully.

curiously enough i was so passionate about this project even though i had no idea what i was doing and no talent that i actually did like three full colored issues of it. my family was really proud of me. sadly those comics are completly lost to time

andrew and the monkey (age 10)

this was the classical story about a boy and his best friend the talking animal. one page comedy strips done in pen and paper. nothing too clever, just a way for me to try lame jokes mostly stolen from spongebob squarepants. not much else to it. i tried to do like a revamp in 2014 but it was short lived, as you can see the jokes didnt get any less lame

FIP industries (age 17)

mostly done in digital. yes as you can see fip is something that has followed me my whole life in quite the variety of mediums. there were as a matter of fact multiple attempts to make this comic a real thing but time and again they would peter off as i saw that my skill was just not up to the task. i think i have talked more than enough about fip industries on this blog, one interesting thing is that if you follow the link you will come across a lot of proto ideas that i had before they cemented and took their definite shape in the novel (and even after the novel i kept retconning and retooling things over and over again, fip industries is an ongoing thing that will probably last my entire lifetime)

Disregarding Reality I (age 20)

the first iteration of disregarding reality, a humorous strip done in pencil and paper, a fairly short lived affair, lasting no more than 3 months. the entire premise of the comic was an MRA activist and a feminist live together, they are friends, they argue a lot. remember 2013 guys? back when this whole politics bullshit truly kicked off online? this was before gamer gate, mind you. but by that point i had seen more than enough of it on tumblr and i was like “someone should do some scathing commentary with wit and penache” and that someone had to be me. mainly inspired by commics like f@nboys and el goonish hive and a thousand billion others that were so popular back in those halcyon days.

i got bored of it pretty quickly and it wouldnt be until three years later than i would finally decide to re-start the project but until then...

Strangers in the forest (age 21)

here comes a rather productive era in my ouvre, ink and paper, based on a short story i wrote, its about an eldritch monster pretending to be human and a ghost girl, killed by her father. they have a dispute because the monster wants to eat the corpse of the girl but the ghost doesnt want to give up her bones because its the one thing that tethers her to the mortal plane. they eventually resolve their dispute. by this point i was actually, unironically trying my best to do comics which i felt looked professional.

Song of a nightmare (age 21)

another one based on a short story i wrote. ink and paper, a private detective wakes up in the middle of the night and sees a mermaid lying in bed next to him. he spends most of the comic trying to figure out how the hell is this possible. still one of my favourite ones and certainly one of my family’s and friends favourites as well. a rather poetic tale, strongly inspired by argentinian fiction and their propensity towards magical realism, i was reading a lot of cortazar back then.

Aika (age 21)

as you can tell i was on a fucking roll that year. ink and paper, this was a story based upon a simple and basic idea that i had in my mind for years and years. i always liked the concept behind the movie “the kid” where bruce willis mysteriously comes across himself as a kid. so of course one day i came up with the idea, what if you recieved a visit from your future self... but she was a woman?

this is probably the most aggresively trans story i ever wrote in my life, it is literally about a guy realizing they are trans and breaking down over it. here is the giant kicker, i did not realize at all what i was doing. i was completly unaware of what was going on here, i was still deep deep in the closet and not even realizing i was there. it really is astounding the honesty and the rawness with which i wrote this comic and it went all over my head. a perfect example of “im such a great ally lol”

oh also there is time travel i guess. my main impetus (beyond whatever my subconcious was forcing me to do) was my desire to make a complete clusterfuck of a story, i was a huge fan of homestuck, i had read fleek and demon, i wanted to do my own take on a hypercomplicated time travel puzzle plot. other things came out on top of it but i didnt noticed them. fucking hilarious

Hello Agatha (age 21)

a comedic strip about a wacky pixie dream girl having wacky adventures with her wacky friends, one of which is a man with a toilet for a head. what a gut buster, what a knee slapper!

there is not much to say about this one, wacky surreal comedy was always my favourite and so time and again i would try my hand at it but it is surprisingly hard to do!

The /co/ ventures! (age 20 - age25)

an ongoing project done in multiple mediums. i think i said more than enough about this in here and here. it was me practiscing comics, practiscing my humor and adding my tiny grain of sand to the 4chan culture. i am proud to say these comics were actually very well liked there and that i would be recognized without a name or signature of any kind, just on the strength of my style.

the vest kind of madness (age 22)

probably one of the projects in which i put the biggest amount of effort to make it look professional. traditional inks and digital colors. a crossover that i cant believe never happened in comics considering how obvious it is. Rac Shade, the changing man and delirium of the endless, the two flagship vertigo characters associated with madness. clearly a match made in heaven.

to this day im flabbergasted i seem to be the only one to think of this.

Disregarding Reality II (age 23)

another work where i have already spilled rivers of bytes explaining my thought process behind it. after having a no good, terrible, very bad day, finding my self aimless and without purpose, deep in denial and depression, i decided to give my self a big project to have something to get me out of bed every day. these three guys came from the depths of my mind to save me.

this time leaning a lot more on silly humor and surrealism than political commentary, still insanely proud of how much i managed to make this last, almost three years, well over 200 pages! and in here i found the inspiration and the creative energy to tackle all sorts of diverse projects of which we are about to see all about.

Mama Bird (age 24)

my masterpiece.

by far the best comic i ever did. a kid with a bird for a mom. hilarious, touching, heartbreaking. it was a concept that i had come up with when i was 21. back then it was supposed to be exclusively a humorous comic strip but then i found a dramatic angle for the story and that was when everything clicked into place. that was when i realized this was a comic i had to do. and i did it. it took me five months but it was well worth it. still insanely proud of this one

Soft boys (age 25)

a weird experimental little story where i decided to sit down and deconstruct one of the most popular superpowers. super elasticity. more akin to me just mashing my toys against each other than me trying to tell a serious story. i am actually really happy with some of the art here and some of the sequences presented. particularly the final one where a brick joke twenty pages in the making finally pays off.

Hexen Snatch (age 25)

a semi spinoff to my novel FIP industries, we focus on a side character that managed to survive after the events of the novel and how they’ll manage to survive further beyond that. insanely soaked by the magical world of pact by widbow i wanted desperatly to share my own take on magic, every page is accompanied by a little text where i expand upon the lore and the way magic is supposed to work on this world. i really like the prose on those snippets and the ideas they work almost more that the comic itself with which i was not happy at all when i was working on it. i didnt like the character design, i didnt like how the art in general was coming out, i didnt like the pacing of the story or how superficially we were getting to expore this world in the comic proper. i had to take a very long hiatus just to accumulate the will to finish the comic and once i did i feel it really petered off without much of a satisfying payoff.

on some level i blame the exhaustion and frustration that i came out of this comic with for the fact that i ended up quitting disregarding reality soon afterwards.

Maxplosive (age 26)

another project that has followed me across multiple mediums. came up with an idea for a videogame back in 2015. saved it on the back pocket for a while, used it as a story within a story on my novel fan.tastic, practisced a couple of animations with the characters and eventually decided that, if my skills at videogame making were not enough, i had at least more than poven myself as a comic artist so maybe that was the definitive medium in which this idea would have to exist.

the original idea was to tell the story in two parts, the first half would introduce the character and the videogame as if the comic was a playthrough of the game. all fun and childlike and innocent. then the second half was meant to explore the life of the main character as an adult, how being “a videogame protagonist” had ruined her body, her mental health and her life. i tried all sorts of weird stuff with the format here, using reciclable assets, static camera angles and generally presenting the whole thing as if it was a videogame.

sadly the project got too big for my breaches, i was fucking exhausted back then, swamped with a bunch of other projects, my job, other responsabilities, unsatisfied with the story and with no idea where to take it. eventually i got tired, decided to skip a day, then the day became a week and then the week became a month and by then i had to face the facts, i was just no longer able to continue the comic. and so i quit not only maxplosive but disregarding reality all together.

i still did the occasional comic here and then but it wouldnt be until the very end of 20-fucking-20 that i was finally inspired to tackle a new project, my newest one, my last one....

Lapsarian (age 27)

an interesting experiment, i decided to do the whole comic in one sit and then post it chapter by chapter on a weekly basis. a surprising result of this was that i managed to do in one month the same amoung of pages that would have taken me 5 months back when i started disregarding reality, is good to see that after al this time i still got it.

took me a while to get the hang of it again and find my own style once more but once i armed up it was smooth sailing for 40 pages all the way to the end. but what is this comic even about?

its... weird, with full disclosure and no shame, it is mostly a fetish story about big lizard creatures commiting vore. the milkman had already shown me that i could do those types of stories and no lighting would come from the heavens to strike me down so i said, why not as a comic? i like to think that beyond the fetish content it is still a decent story in its own right, an interesting feedback that i got from this is that people are suprised how earnest it is, one saying something like “this is the best pitch for a fetish that i was never interested in”

Conclussion:

looking back on this im surprised, turns out i was a lot more prolific and working a lot more regularly than i expected, in here are documented ten years of creative output that never seems to wane. it was fun to do the roundabout trip and see how my style, my technice and generally my work ethic evolved through the years. another nice thing to see is the multiple formats, the multiple tools and mediums i experimented with, i find myself constantly trying new things, new methods, new angles, new interesting ideas for how to make a comic (without even getting into what to make a comic about).

something i always knew about myself was that drawing is a fundamental part of who i am, it is something that just cant be taken away from me and that will always be a part of my life one way or the other, is good to see it so plainly, in black and white, on this list. here goes for what i might be able to do in the future

#art #writing #fip living life

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sabraeal · 5 years ago

Text

Thy Body Under My Command

Obiyuki AU Bingo Fate/stay night AU

Some dialogue is directly from this Fate/stay night AU comic @septhi made for last year’s bingo

Dawn breaks over Wistal as it always has, pierced by the jagged teeth of the city’s skyscrapers, a dark maw awaiting the sun’s offering. Shirayuki’s hands don’t even shake as she buttons her blazer, not even when she realizes the red is the same color as the blood that had been on them only hours ago, running down the drain of the sink as she struggled to get them clean, to remove every last trace of the night that had dried on her skin.

Obi is waiting for her as always, looking entirely normal in the school’s uniform, nothing like he had last night, nearly bleeding out on the floor of the Seiran estate.

“Ojou-san,” he greets brightly, falling into step with her. “Good morning.”

Even when he’d arrived, breaking half the pots in her gardening shed, she’d never felt so shy around him so left-footed. “Good morning, Obi.”

He nods, pleased with the completion of their usual morning routine. Still, he’s quiet; ever since he -- well, since she summoned him, accidentally, afraid for her own life -- she’s known no peace, the air constantly full of his chatter.

Aren’t you Assassin? Kiki had asked, only days ago. Shouldn’t you work quietly?

Obi had only shrugged, mouth canted in that strange way of his, half mischief and half melancholy. I wonder...

But he’s been oddly silent, since last night. Almost dying does that to a person.

He keeps his normal pace, walking one step behind her -- she’s told him he shouldn’t, that despite what the rules say, he’s her partner, not her servant, but he never listens -- and when she glances at him from the corner of her eyes, sly, she sees that he’s holding himself stiffly, like he’s pulled a muscle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, ducking her head, trying to catch his eyes. Obi jolts in surprise, blinking away the distance in his gaze, and smiles.

“Of course, ojou-san,” he tells her, as bright as always. “It’s only a little scratch.”

Shirayuki doesn’t think having his shoulder run through is just a little scratch, but Obi is covered in scars, a record of all his victories in life. Having another must just seem like business as usual. He breathes, he gets another scar.

She eyes where his uniform gaps -- he refuses to keep it zipped outside of school; Servants may magically have the right knowledge of their current time, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it, if Obi is any indication -- catching the ragged, silvered edge of another scar.

Ah, they are records of his victories, save one. But still, she understands Obi might have trouble telling what is actually a big deal, when he’s used to relocating all his own limbs after a fight.

She doesn’t have to like it, though. “You should let me look at it.”

His eyes round. “Now?”

Cars zoom past them on the street, the high school just visible at the bottom of the hill. They are the farthest away they can be from private.

And yet here he is, pulling at the zipper on his uniform with a sigh, as if she is the incorrigible one --

“No, not now!” she protests, waving her hands, trying to find an angle to shield his undress. She should have known better that to insinuate he needed to take his clothes off, not when he’s always looking for an opportunity to offer. “I meant tonight. At home.”

“Really, ojou-san,” he sighs, zipping his uniform jacket. “It’s not a big deal.”

Shirayuki tilts her chin up, trying to look down her nose on him; a plan that is ruined by the six extra inches he has on her.

“How about you let the mage decide what’s important, Assassin,” she tells him, feigning haughtiness. The both of them know she’s just barely scraping the requirements, and half of her clout is just the fact that he exists.

Obi laughs, shaking his head. “Of course, Master. I shall defer to your superior wisdom.”

“Good.” She levels him with the sort of rich girl glare only Kiki could pull off without looking entirely ridiculous. “I’m glad you understand how these things work.”

His mouth twitches, just at one corner and -- and it’s impossible to keep up the act, if he’s going to break like this! Her giggle bursts out of her, and his follows, making her duck her chin, cheeks flushed.

“Ah, ojou-san,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “A mage like you should have been matched with one of the noble classes.”

Shirayuki blinks. “What would make you say that?”

For a moment he stills, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets, giving her his most self-deprecating smile. “Ah, well, you like to leap before you look. Someone like Mitsuhide-danna would at least keep you safe during hair-raising things like that.”

She gives him a reproachful look. “You keep me safe just fine.”

A breath huffs out of him, doubt etched on every line of his face. “You’d do better in this game with someone more suited to your...style.”

“Well.” She puffs up her chest, trying to seem like an authority, to live up to the title Master, even if the top of her head is only level with his chin. “You’ve got me, and I’m not giving up on you. Or the Holy Grail.”

“Haah.” He looks like she’s punched him. “Right.”

“Come on.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “We don’t want to be late.”

He lags slightly behind her as they walk down the hill, and when she sneaks a look at him from the corner of her eyes, she sees his hand lift, sees it settle on his shoulder and squeeze.

There are only a handful of people she can go to for -- for Master things; it’s not like her father left her anything, and nearly any mage worth their salt has summoned up a Servant for this War, but --

There’s at least one in her corner.

“Have you seen Obi?”

Zen looks up from his bento; it’s pale pink, rice balls shaped into smiling kitty faces and fruits pressed into flowers and hearts. Not something the Wisteria’s fifty-year-old French chef would have made for him, no matter how good a mood he woke up in this morning. Shirayuki forbids herself from thinking too hard about which girl in their class did. He is the class prince; it would be more of a surprise to see him without a stack of lunches, carefully prepared by his bolder admirers.

That doesn’t make this, well, more comfortable.

“Wasn’t he just here?” He blinks, craning his neck to look at Obi’s empty seat. “Did you lose him already? You should really keep a tighter rein on him. If you’re caught without your Servant --“

“Yes.” She knows all too well what happens when she lets Obi wander away from her side. “I -- he’s just talking to Kiki.”

Zen leans back, and she knows the moment when he sees him; something subtle in his face relaxes, and his mouth spreads into a smile. It’s nice see, but --

But she knows that Zen must wonder if Obi was meant to be his, if she hadn’t bumbled along, summoning the last Servant out from under him. It’s better this way -- at least now it won’t be him facing off against his brother at the end of this war, deciding how much blood it would take for the Grail to appear, but...still. Whenever he allows himself that wistful expression, she just feels like an interloper that stumbled into this whole magic business, even if her father is some -- some famous mage.

After all, it’s not like he prepared her for any of this.

“I meant, have you looked at him today?” she clarifies, wishing she sounds less shrill, less unsure.

At least Zen doesn’t seem to notice; he just turns grim, assessing. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She shrugs with her whole body, at a loss. “Obi says he’s fine, but -- something doesn’t feel right. And he seems...stiff, I guess. Not moving like how he usually does.”

They both peer out the door, watching him talking animatedly with Kiki. He’s all chaotic motion, limbs flying everywhere as he tells his story, Kiki’s mouth curling up into a reluctant smile. Part of her is glad to see it, happy he’s making friends, that he can charm even stoic Kiki Seiran into liking him, but --

But the other part does not miss his wince when he gestures a hair too far, does not miss how his hand flies to his shoulder, rubbing it as if it aches.

Zen settles back, mouth thin. “Hm.”

“Hm?” She drops into the seat next to him. “What does that mean?”

“It just...doesn’t look like it healed,” he remarks, and Shirayuki just bites back, oh, do you think? He’s trying to help her, she’s just -- impatient. If Obi’s in pain she wants to help him now, not after Zen is done leading her down the garden path.

“Why?” she says instead. “It’s never taken so long.”

“Rider’s hit must have damaged some of his magic circuitry.” Zen stares out the door, mouth twisting with concern. “He can’t passively get enough mana from you to both exist and heal. And since your summoning was well --” a complete and utter accident -- “untraditional...”

“He can’t go incorporeal and heal himself that way.” Shirayuki lets out a long breath and nods. “How do I fix it?”

“Well,” Zen drawls, suddenly too much like his brother. “If you were a trained mage, you could do it through active transfer, but --” he glances at her, guilty -- “I don’t think you have those sorts of skills.”

She could have, if only her father had stuck around to teach her properly. “There isn’t another way?”

“Um.” Zen’s face flushes, eyes darting to look anywhere else but at her. “N-no! I think you just might, ah, have to, you know, let it...heal itself?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “How long will that take?”

“Ah...” Zen grimaced. “I don’t know, exactly. But...a while.”

“Oh.” Her hands clench in her skirt. This is the Holy Grail War. As little as she likes it, she needs him in top condition now, if they’re both going to survive.

Zen shrugs, but it’s stiff, like he had an itch. “Don’t worry, Shirayuki,” he says, hardly sincere. “I’m sure it will work itself out.”

After running into Rider, Shirayuki can’t say she’s too confident in that. Especially not with two other servants unaccounted for.

His hand rests gently on her shoulder, and he smiles so kindly when she meets his eyes. “Kiki will protect you.”

Chain-link bites into the soft flesh of her fingers, but Shirayuki doesn’t let go, just rests her body on the fence. She’s so light it barely chimes at all. The baseball field is empty this evening with curfew still in place, and she can’t help but think that if she hadn’t been in the wrong place, that if she hadn’t gotten so lucky, she would be at home now too, worrying about all the strange deaths in Wistal.

Now she doesn’t have to. She knows exactly who is causing them, what is causing them.

Maybe she would have been happier not.

Obi laughs, dodging another of Mitsuhide’s heavy blows. He’s not in uniform anymore, instead in his battle gear, skin-tight and cape fluttering, mouth canted in a cocky grin, and --

And even so, she can’t make herself regret this. Any of it.

Obi falls for Mitsuhide’s feint, only just saving himself with a quick cut of his short sword. Metal hits metal with a shriek and --

And Obi flinches, his other hand coming up to grasp his shoulder until he stops himself, until he shakes it off.

Shirayuki grimaces. She doesn’t regret anything, save for that.

“That hasn’t healed well,” Kiki remarks, fence jingling as she comes to lean beside her.

“No,” she agrees, watching as Mitsuhide stops, leaning in to clap Obi on the shoulder. The other one, she can’t help but notice. “Zen says his magic circuitry must be damaged after last night.”

Kiki eyes her with a blend of wariness and incredulity that she is coming to realize is distinctly Kiki’s. Shirayuki bites her lip, pretending that her attention is fully on the fight, not -- not thinking about how she’s so tired of being treated like she’s, well, stupid.

Intellectually, she knows that despite their truce, Kiki is an enemy, one she shouldn’t be handing over her weaknesses to on a platter. But at the same time, she’s the only other person she can talk to, whose ideas on the bond of Servant and Master aren’t just all academic. Zen can help her only so far, but Kiki -- Kiki has practical knowledge, as much as someone can have, without having already survived a Grail War.

That’s the kind of information Shirayuki could only get from her father. Too bad he isn’t around to give it.

“Aren’t you going to fix it?”

Shirayuki blinks. “Zen said it would fix itself, with time.”

Time they don’t have.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Kiki tells her, as if she weren’t already aware. “He needed to be fixed yesterday. You, of all people, can’t have your Servant be weak like this.”

Shirayuki ducks her chin, hoping Kiki can’t see the flush across her cheeks. She’s well aware that she has limitations the rest of them don’t have, that she doesn’t belong in this war of mages, that she barely belongs in magical society in general. Even if her dad did, it wasn’t as if he’d left any of that for her, not like how Kiki is branded with the Seiran crest, the culmination of every mage her family has ever produced.

And if she ever forgot, Obi was always around to remind her. She was lucky; as soon as she’d put the school uniform on him, Obi had transformed from deadly assassin to handsome school boy. If she’d summoned a Servant like Mitsuhide --

Well, it was good Kiki was a top-notch mage. Shirayuki wasn’t even sure the uniforms came that big.

“I’m not a real mage,” Shirayuki reminds her, every word like a knife. “I can’t do a transfer spell.”

“I know that.” Kiki waves her hand, as if she hadn’t even considered the option. “Why don’t you just do it the other way?”

Shirayuki’s head snaps toward her. “There’s another way?”

Kiki stares, at a loss for words. “Zen didn’t tell you?”

She shakes her head. “He said there wasn’t one.”

“Well,” Kiki drawls, voice thick with sarcasm, “isn’t that surprising.”

“Please,” Shirayuki pleads, fingers catching in Kiki’s sleeve, making her eyes as big and desperate as she can. “Do you know another one? I can’t leave Obi like this.”

For a long moment, Kiki stares at her, considering. It reminds her of the only time she’s met Izana, his icy eyes taking her in without comment and assessing her threat to him.

Kiki must come to the same conclusion as him and sighs.

“Mana is in you, Shirayuki.” She eyes her warily. “Are you sure no one has ever taught you this? Not at all?”

“No,” she says with an emphatic shake of her head. “I was raised by my mother’s parents. They didn’t know anything about magic.”

Kiki lets out a long breath, utterly still beside her.

“Mana is in every part of you,” she says after a moment, softer, as if she were trying to teach a child. “That’s why some mages sell their blood when the family fortune runs out. I hear it sells for a hefty bit of cash.”

“Why would people buy it?” Shirayuki asks, wide-eyed.

“To drink, of course.” Kiki says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the word, as if she were the silly one for thinking someone wouldn’t drink blood.

“People drink mage blood?” Somehow, out of all the supernatural reveals she’s been privy to over the last few days, it’s this one that is the most outlandish. “Why?”

“For power.” Kiki shakes her head. “There’s no limit to what a mage will do for power. You should know this, after last night.”

Her mouth thins. Yes, she’s learned that lesson all too well, now.

“So, I just need him to drink my blood?” She’s not sure how he’ll take that request; in terms of things she could ask him, Master to Servant, it’s mild, but still. “How much? Is it just a few drops, or should I be worrying about getting needles and syringes?I think the nurse might let me have a tourniquet if --”

“Shirayuki,” Kiki laughs, waving her hand. “There’s a much, much easier way.”

She considers the bodily fluids she has available to her and decides, “I really don’t think I could spit in his mouth.”

Kiki stares. “That was absolutely not about to be my next suggestion, but thank you for that delightful image that will almost certainly haunt me for years to come.”

“Does it have something to do with crying?” she asks, even more confused. There can’t be anything easier than that, though crying enough tears to drink seems like an insurmountable task.

“Shirayuki, no.” Kiki’s lips twitch. “That is not what I meant.”

“Well,” she sighs, frustrated. “I’m fresh out of bodily fluids!”

She does not like the way Kiki’s lip quirks. “Are you?”

“Oh,” Shirayuki murmurs, too short a time later. “Oh.”

Kiki’s teeth flash in a feral smile. “I thought that might be your reaction, yes.”

“I’m supposed to--” the words won’t come -- “and he’d supposed to...?”

“Yes.” Kiki stiffens beside her, tense. “After we fought Berserker, my mana was just barely keeping Mitsuhide together. His circuits were far too damaged, and unless I wanted to weaken myself trying to force the mana into him...”

“Oh.” She’s never heard Kiki talk like this, admit she was anything other than utterly prepared for any eventuality. It’s...nice to know she’s human too, even if she’s also a world-class mage, destined to be picked up by the Clock Tower after this is all over. “I hadn’t even realized.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Her mouth curls with satisfaction. “He recovered...quite nicely, afterward.”

“Are you going to work, ojou-san?” Obi asks as he walks out of the changing room, uniform jacket still half unzipped. Above the vee of his t-shirt, the raised ridge of his death scar peeks out. She’s seen his clothes ripped to ribbons, blood coating his skin, but she’s never seen the whole of that scar, never seen the thing that killed him.

But she would, if she listened to Kiki.

She jolts, shaking her head. She can’t think about this right now, not when he’s talking to her. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” His fingers tug at the zipper, and she -- she’s always noticed how long his fingers are, how slender, but now her skin feels hot looking at them, thinking of the way he could so easily hold her in those hands, how his grip is so strong she could bruise -- “Just give me a minute, and I can --”

“No!” This is -- she needs to think about this, and she just can’t if he’s around, making things -- things difficult. “You should go home and rest. I can take care of myself for a night.”

“Ojou-san,” he protests, mouth pulling into a hard, disapproving line, and --

And she should really, really not be thinking about how easy it would be to wipe that expression off his face. These are not very -- very Masterly thoughts.

“You’re already hurt,” she tells him. “And you need to keep up your strength. We don’t know who the other two mages are, or their Servants.”

“That’s the perfect reason for me to --”

“If they haven’t come for us already, they don’t know who we are.” She thinks of Rider, of how he and his mage are still out there, nursing their wounds. “Or they are waiting for the rest of us to kill each other. Either way, they aren’t going to be checking a drug store for a Master.”

“Everyone needs aspirin, ojou-san,” he protests, but he knows she’s right. Mages are used to power and money; her after school job is the best cover she never asked for. Even Kiki had been surprised.

“If anything happens, I can just call you to me.” She lifts her hand, showing him the jagged lines on the back of her hand. One of them is already smudged and dim, a legacy from their less than ideal first meeting. He scowls when he sees it.

“It would be better if you didn’t waste a Command Seal to get me,” he tells her. “You’ve already done that once.”

“I wouldn’t have had to, if you had been nice,” she reminds him.

“I was stubborn.”

“Telling me I’m your Master, and then saying I’m too stupid to command you isn’t stubborn,” she says with a quelling look. “It’s mean.”

His mouth curves, gaze tilting down, and she knows he’s laughing at himself. “No arguments here, ojou-san.” He slides his hands into his pockets with a resigned sigh. “All right, I’ll heal at home. But you’ll call me if anything happens.”

She puts her hand on his elbow, drawing his gaze down her. Maybe it’s just the light, but his eyes seem more amber today, like melted honey instead of cold coin.

Now is a really bad time to notice that.

“Always,” she tells him with a smile. His narrow brows arch upward and -- and he smiles too, warm and trusting.

That-- that’s not fair, him being so handsome. “I’ll be waiting, ojou-san.”

“I’m home,” Shirayuki calls out, toeing her shoes off into the waiting tray. Obi’s shoes are there as well, scuffed up Oxfords Kiki thought her father wouldn’t miss, but the house itself is dark, cold.

Dread claws at her, but she pushes it down, lets reason rule her instead of fear and habit. There’s still a draw on her mana, tiring but satisfying, an invigorating buzz just under her skin. He’s nearby, he’s safe.

She pads into the main house, socks muffling her footsteps as she makes her way across the wood floor, first looking into the kitchen, then into his room, then into hers. All of them lay empty, though his room does have his school bag on the floor, and his school uniform balled up in the hamper. There’s only one other place he could possibly be.

There’s a flagstone path to the dojo, and Shirayuki hops along it, wincing as she nearly misses a step, toe scraping into the gravel. She’s lost enough stockings already to this Grail War, she’s rather not have another casualty just walking across her own yard.

The door slides easily under her hands; only a week ago it had barely moved, swollen and crooked from disuse, but now it glides silently on its path, planed and reset by Obi’s own hands. It’s the same for the rest of the dojo; tatami replaced and floors shined, looking like it must have back when her father still used it. Obi’s only been here days, and already this place has been changed.

She doesn’t like to think what will happen when he leaves. After all, the Grail War can’t last forever.

The dojo is dark inside, just like the rest of the house, but her eyes adjust quicker this time, used to the dim. It takes her no time at all to make out his shape knelt over on the floor, oddly broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, the sort of body made for dexterity, not power.

That only reminds her of what Kiki said, of that -- that other way to heal him, and she had to grip the door to keep from bolting, from just pivoting on her heel and flying back to the house. She could just -- pretend she was asleep. That was a good excuse to give to Kiki tomorrow. She’d just fallen asleep --

“Ahh,” he hisses, palm slapping the floor. “Fuck.”

His fingers dig into the mat, rigid with pain. She blinks, chest clenching as she follows the tension up the stark lines of his arm to his shoulder, to where he sits, body contorted, one hand clenching at his wound. It’s hard to see his his face in the dark, but his teeth gleam, mouth pulled into a grimace.

She’s never seen him like this before, never seen him weak. “Obi?”

He jolts, hand dropping at lightning speed. He spins around, a bright smile painted on his face. There’s no hint of the agony she saw, no tell-tale wince or grimace. It is as if it were a dream, a nightmare borne of her own guilt.

It is too bad for him that she knows for certain that she is awake. In fact, she has never been less tired in her life.

“Ojou-san! You’re back.” His mouth widens into a playful grin. “Welcome home!”

She stares. There is nothing else she can do, now when she knows that all of this is -- is little more than kabuki, an act played out for solely her benefit. Obi is in pain, in agony, and here he sits on his knees, pretending that all is well, that he can keep her safe, while all the while the guilt must be gnawing at him, anxiety building as he wonders when the next Master will attack, what death he will have to defy with such a painful handicap.

He twists, turning to face her, and his t-shirt gapes, letting her see that ragged scar across his chest, the wound that set him in the record. The one where he was left bleeding and alone in a forest while he died. No one helped him then, and now --

Now that decides her.

Her bag hits the floor with a thunk, books spilling out from the top, scattering across the tatami, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t even think of it. She just takes a step forward, up into the dojo, and then another, and then another, until it’s just rhythm, until it’s just the pounding of her heart.

“Ojou-san?” His amber eyes watch her warily, concern and confusion mingling as his hands lifting to catch her hips, to stop her, but she drops to her knees before he can. His hands settle on her shoulders instead, loose and unsure, as if he hasn’t touched her before, as if he hasn’t just lifted her straight off the ground and leapt across the city with her in his arms.

Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t touched her like this, without danger and necessity dodging their steps. He hasn’t touched her because he wants to. But he does, he does, she can see it right in his eyes, in the way his hands hover as if she’s too precious to touch.

That won’t do at all.

“Ojou-san?” he tries again, a nervous quiver lifting his pitch. “What’s h--haah.”

His breath puffs into her mouth as she closes the distance between them, as she threads her hand behind his neck and drags him down. His dry lips meet hers, and there’s -- there’s something, a spark, and she leans in to chase it --

He jerks back, like he’s been shocked, hands leaping from her to clench on his lap. His bones shine stark white against the bronze of his skin, turned silver in the moonlight. She’s always been fascinated with the human body, with the composition of the skeleton and the way muscles and tendons cling to bone, but this is the first time she’s ever thought it was beautiful.

“Ojou-san!” His chest heaves, knocking against the arm that still holds him. Her thumb brushes over the arch of his cheekbone, and she can feel the heat against her skin, even if the light won’t let her see it. “What -- what are you--?”

Her fingers hook into the thick bristle of his hair, shivering as it tickles her palms, and she draws him down again.

He groans against her mouth, a pained, broken thing. Heat spikes unbearably in her, spearing the place between her legs, and her hand clenches with a whimper. If it pains him, he doesn’t let it slow him; instead he just cants his head, swallowing the sound down, tongue flicking through the space it’s left, licking teasingly against her teeth and she -- she wriggles, the dull ache of her sex too insistent to ignore.

It’s -- it’s a lot. More than she’s used to, with her experience limited to prime time TV and daydream.

Shirayuki sits back on her heels slowly, their lips parting with a gentle pop that makes her want to lean back in, that makes her want to try Obi’s trick with his tongue against his own lips --

But she doesn’t. She sits, she waits. Finally, he opens his eyes with a rasping breath, his gaze clouded with confusion.

And desire, she realizes with a hitch of her own breath. His eyes are on her lips, and she knows he’s thinking the same as her, that there’s both too little and too much space between them.

She reaches out, drawing his hand into her own, and taps his wrist. It’s the only thing that gets him to look away, that makes him focus where she needs him to -- though maybe not where she wants him --

“Oh,” he breathes, and this time, it’s easy to see the pink sitting high along his cheekbones, what with the way his circuit in glowing. “Oh.”

She looks down, watching it pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. The same one she can feel fluttering beneath her fingertips, as wild as her own. Ah, he may only be a hero’s spirit, but right here, right now, he’s human enough.

“Kiki told me there was another way to heal you.” Her thumb rubs gently over the skin of his wrist, wondering at how it is as thin and delicate as any other person’s. It’s so easy to forget that despite his power, despite his past, in this form he’s just like any other man.

“Haah.” He’s tense under her, as if he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, just lets her pet at his pulse, motionless. “Kiki-jou, huh? That’s...unexpected.”

“I can’t do the ritual.” The shame burns at her even now. “I’m not enough of a mage --”

“Ojou-san!” Obi frowns, shaking his head. “You are as much of a mage as any--”

“Obi,” she says quietly, gently, and he calms. “It’s all right.”

“I know. I just...” His hand twists in hers, until their palms touch, until he can wrap his fingers around hers and squeeze. “You are enough, ojou-san. You have always been enough.”

Her chest is too tight, too small to contain both her breath and her heart together, and so it bursts out of her in a graceless pant.

“I can’t do the ritual,” she tries again, the words little more than a whisper. “But I can do something else. Something less complex.”

“Well,” he wheedles, “I wouldn’t say less complex --”

Kiki had said that it was a waste of a seal, that a true Master compelled obedience through the contract, through their power, but Shirayuki had none of that when Obi arrived, cocky and insubordinate. She knows now that such a vague command should have never worked, should have been useless with her inexperience --

But it hooked into Obi strongly that night, remained strong in him even now. She’s always been so careful since, using will you instead of do this, wording simple requests in a way that allows him the chance to say no.

But she doesn’t now.

“Tell me the truth.”

The command thrums through him, thrums through the both of them, but it’s different than before. It was not a whip crack but a whisper, not grasping hands but a come-hither look that leaves pleasure fizzling under her skin.

One look at Obi tells her that her own reaction is just backlash, just a ghost of what he feels; his head is thrown back, eyelashes fluttering at half-mast, breath laboring out of him in ragged pants.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, it will heal me.”

“Good.”

It’s her that tugs on his hand, that draws him back to her, but it’s him that groans against her mouth, hands clutching at the back her head as if he’s adrift, as if he’s drowning, and only her kisses are keeping him afloat. Funny, since it’s her that is lost, her that is clutching to his jeans, to his shirt, trying to hold herself to the earth as his lips move against hers, as his tongue once more slides into her, licking at her teeth, coaxing her own to move against his.

Her neck aches as she tries to chase his kisses, tries to extended that delicious frisson of their lips meeting and parting. He shifts to get closer, knee brushing hers, and it occurs to her all at once that this is too far, that this polite distance between their bodies is not only unnecessary, but unwanted.

Her hands reach out blindly, feeling along the floor until she brushes his thighs, feels the worn denim underneath her palms. He gasps against her lips at the touch, and she puts her hands flush against him, kneading the muscles beneath with enough strength to make him moan, to make him pull away with a laugh.

“What do you think you’re doing, ojou-san?” he murmurs, kissing at the corner of her mouth. “Causing trouble?”

Her eyes narrow at that, at the way he laughs as if the thought of her trying to -- to incite something is ridiculous, and she crawls forward, laying one knee on either side of his lap.

“If I am?” she asks, staring down at him, relishing the way his mouth has slacked and his pupils have gone wide.

“Please,” he breathes, pulling her down to him, bringing her flush against his lap. “Don’t stop.”

His thighs feel like steel under her, and she cannot help but think about how close she is to him, how so few layers keep her from what Kiki had described in detail, and --

And she wants it. That.

Obi’s hands smooth up the backs of her legs, slender fingers dragging against her stockings. His smile curls against her lips as she whimpers into his mouth, until --

Until he hits the end of them, just higher than mid-thigh, and lets out a noise more fit for a wounded animal than a man. He grips her thighs hard, bruising, as if he’s trying to control himself, to keep from taking her right there.

Now it is her turn to smile, to gently pry each finger on one of his hands off her thigh and glide it up, past where here stockings end, and hook one tip under the elastic of her panties.

“Ojou-san?” he murmurs, confused, hopeful. In the darkness, his eyes still shine amber.

“Take them off.”

“Are--?”

“Take them off.”

The rip is deafening in the dojo.

“Did you--?” She gapes, looking at the ragged remains of her kitten panties in his hand, at the mischievous smile on his face. “Did you tear them?”

“You told me to take them off, ojou-san,” he says far too innocent, tossing the offending fabric far into the dojo, out of sight.

“Those cost 2000 yen,” she protests breathlessly, distracted by the drag of his fingers up her thighs, to the throbbing heat between them. He cups her ass in both of his hands and squeezes. “Obi!”

“You should have been more specific, ojou-san.” His thumbs tease her, right where her thighs meets her body, so close to where she wants them, but not there. “Your wish, after all, is my command.”

“I’m pretty sure my command is your command,” she tells him, grabbing at his hand. She drags it over the front of her thigh, placing his fingertips right over her slit. “Touch me, Obi.”

His jaw drops, breath rushing out of him all at once, and for a moment, he sits there, frozen. She presses her hand against his, dropping an encouraging kiss against his lips and finally, finally, he moves.

A finger parts her folds, and this -- this all seemed like a good idea just a moment ago, when the heat from just his kisses had left her throbbing and tight, but now two of his fingers trace her slit, teasing the tight bud of her clit, and --

And it’s so much worse; his touch leaves her gasping against his shoulder, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, trying anything to get him closer, faster. He hums, too pleased with himself, and when she lifts her head to -- to tell him something, if only he’ll stop teasing -- he slips a single finger in.

“Aah!” She yanks at his shirt, pulling up at its hem until he’s half tangled in it, collar over his head, sleeves stuck at the elbows.

“Ojou-san,” he laughs, dragging that finger her out of her so slow, making sure she feels every second of it. “So impatient.”

Her face is already flushed, but it burns now as she watches his stomach flex, as she sees the white cotton fall away to find the glow beneath it is blinding. The moment her shirt leaves his hands, sailing on the same trajectory as her destroyed panties, she grabs him, urging his fingers inside as she bears down, tongue licking into his slack mouth.

She can hardly think with him touching her like this; with one finger it had been a tease, but two makes her think of the thing pressing hard against her thigh, straining against the denim of his jeans, and she wants it, wants him in her so badly it’s a palpable need.

Her fingers trace down his chest, hesitating at the scar bisecting his chest. It’s an ugly thing, flesh knotted and poorly healed. The cut that killed him.

Shirayuki brushes it idly, her need cooling as she considers it, and the pulse of his fingers slow so that he can watch her.

“I wish,” she says, so soft, “that you hadn’t been alone.”

She bends down and presses her lips to it, gentle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and it’s all the warning she has before he grabs her, dragging her mouth to his, and devours.

The way he moves in her leaves her gasping, panting, mindless, her own hands desperately sliding down smooth skin and raised scars and burning circuits to the dark trail of hair on his belly. She hooks one finger around the waistband of his jeans, thumb rubbing thoughtfully at the button and --

And Obi jerks away from her, leaving her empty, hot.

“We don’t need to do more than this,” he tells her, panting beneath her hands. His own hover awkwardly at her sides, as if he’s afraid to touch her, as if he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop, if he does. “This is -- this will be enough.”

“Do you not want to?” She’s not sure how she’s still talking, with so little air in her lungs.

Obi lets out a weak laugh, gaze fixed to where her shirt gapes open and the soft cups of her bra are bared. Ah, so his other hand has been busy too. “Oh, ojou-san, doesn’t every man want to --?”

“Obi.” Her hand presses down against the bulge, watching as his eyes rolls back, his jaw going slack. “Tell me the truth.”

That frisson goes through them again, and he twitches hard against her thigh. “Yes. I want to.” His hands grip at her waist, kneading. “I want you.”

His admission bares him to her more than nakedness, and she -- she could not be more ready for him, wet slicking her thighs, her fingers fumbling at the button of his jeans. She’s not strong, not like Obi, but Shirayuki nearly puts a rent next to his zipper trying to work him free. He’s laughing into her mouth, hands busy with her own blouse, confounding matters when he drags it down her shoulder, tangling in her elbows, and she --

She doesn’t have time for this. Shirayuki lets go one him with a growl, shucking her shirt to the floor, but she’s back on him the moment she’s free of it, one hand flicking open the button, the other working the zipper.

He gasps, breath catching in his throat as she wraps her hand around his cock; she pumps him once and his hips nearly clear the floor.

Ah, he may act smug, but Shirayuki doubts there’s much of this happening in the heroic record. It’s nothing to sit over him, to guide him right to where she needs him and --

Oh! The pinch is sharp, though not unpleasant, but it does give her pause, makes her wonder if this is a -- a larger undertaking than she’s prepared for.

“Ah, ojou-san.” Just the tip of him is in her, but Obi is panting against her chest, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, moaning as if he could come from just this. “Ojou-san, don’t -- don’t --”

She widens the set of her knees, dropping down another inch, and his hands fly to her thighs, digging in with a grip hard enough to bruise. A wounded sound tears from his chest with each uncomfortable inch she takes, and she -- she should mind this strange sensation, this stretching, but instead those noises go straight to her head, straight to where her heat clenches around him, and --

And then stops. Her legs can’t part any more, not while she still expects them to hold her, but she’s not -- not full. She gives a tentative, shallow thrust, trying to see if she can work herself any further down and -- haah, that...that could feel good, if there was only more of it, if only she could take him further in.

Obi’s hands ease on her thighs, gently stroking her with each of her experimental thrusts. He buries his head in the cook of her neck, panting harshly against her collar. Still, she can feel it in him, that want to grab her, to take her --

This isn’t enough, she knows. He would never say so, but her hand is still clasped around the rest of him, and she -- she wants that, wants all of him, wants to know what noises she could wring from him if she did.

Her palm presses to his chest, and his head jerks up, eyes clouded with confusion and desire, but -- but he falls back at her gentle urging, down and down until his shoulders are on the floor and she could sink down on him until--

Ohh, yes, that -- that was better. The stretch is still uncomfortable, but also -- decadent, a pleasure that makes heat rush to her sex, that starts her on a slow, steady rhythm.

A laugh rumbles from Obi’s chest, a pleasant vibration beneath her hands, and then his own are on her, gripping her hips, guiding her into one that’s faster, that makes her drag along him rather than bounce and --

Ah-haah, that is -- is good. Pleasure sparks along her skin, building, building, until it all at once becomes enough, becomes too much --

And through the blinding force of her release, she can feel it, feel the way her energy runs into him, the way it’s filling him --

And the way he fills her in turn, leaving her gasping against his chest, cheek pressed to dewy skin. It takes her a minute to come back to herself, to feel the pressure at her scalp, her back. To realize that he is stroking her as he softens inside her, whispering things that are less words and more sounds, like the way a man might calm an animal, a child.

She might be offended, if she didn’t look, didn’t meet his eyes as see him look at her as if she is not only his master, but -- but his world. “Ojou-san?”

“I think,” she says, words feeling strange and tingly on her tongue. “you should really call me Shirayuki now.”

Obi returned to the baseball field with a spring in his step, waving to his opponent as he saunters across the diamond. “Mitsuhide-danna!”

“Obi.” The Saber nods, gaze sweeping over him. “That arm is moving much better today.”

“What can I say?” Obi shrugs, a grin so salacious pulling at his lips that Shirayuki is sure everyone can tell what they’ve done. “I let ojou-san take good care of me.”

Kiki lets a smirk curl her lips, giving Shirayuki an all-too knowing look. “I just bet you did.”

#obiyukibingo2019 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #LEMON #fate/stay night AU #my fic #ans #listen if i was gonna write a fate AU #you better believe i was going to take it back to its h-game roots #although it took like 5K to get to the actual sex because I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL #also clearly i have thought about this whole AU far too much #but basically Shirayuki uses her first command seal the same way rin does #although her summoning happens more like Shirou's #but since mukaze's family were mages she actually has some gift for magic #though she's never been trained

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makeste · 5 years ago

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ITP: speculating on the rest of Deku’s SIXQUIRKS

(cont.) ...working on the basis that each power is an activator type that doesn’t mutate the body or cause you to grow 3 extra libs to use- based on the glimpses we’ve seen of the past wielders they all had normal body types- and that each power will work in tandem with the others to give deku more options without conflicting with each other’s usage.

similarly to how todoroki’s quirk combines the temperature manipulation needed to generate fire and ice and uses that to offset the drawbacks of each power usage on the other, I think these powers will all interlink somehow into one large powerset that lets deku rapidly switch between fighting styles based on the situation and whether he has to focus on fighting or rescuing- for example, we’ve seen how Deku fights with just the strength boost- using it to increase his speed and recently, fire wind blasts, but when he uses that in tandem with Black whip, he can suddenly create black webbing that lets him hold and restrain his opponents, letting manoeuvre around the battle field with more mid-air control than he did before, and potentially letting him throw them into buildings if he boosts the strength of the tendrils- we saw 20% was enough to throw him around like a ragdoll and tear up the surroundings even with him trying to actively supress it. With that in mind I think some of the powers he may have would be

(1) black whip webbing- no-brainer, since we already saw this- but if he controls it more, he may be able to leave constructs of the restraining tentacles behind that stay active even when not connected to him or in his presence, giving him instant ability to restrain and leave his foe immobilised like spidey does for the cops

(2) combat tentacles- again we saw this, so obvious, but if he still has the tentacles connected to him, he can boost their strength and let him lift and throw opponents or objects even if he’s not physically touching them, plus it may also give me more metaphorical ‘hands’ to punch/restrain his opponents with- this may also be handy for rescue operations letting him lift and safely maneuverer civilians out of the danger zone, or create temporary load-bearing tendrils to lift rubble away from those in need

(3) wall crawl- based on the way black whip plastered itself to the surroundings, if Deku layers it over his hands or body parts, it may allow him to stick to whatever surface or ceiling he applies it to, letting him manoeuvre around the environment like spidey, though it’d probably take more mental control to keep active or to turn off and on to move around, similar to miro’s quirk

(4) defensive capabilities- black whip seemed to cover the whole of Deku’s arm when it was being used, which means it could probably cover more if he pushed it further- I actually have the idea of some kind of black venom/bunny mashup when I imagine the end result of completely covering himself, but regardless, the fact that Black whip can hold and touch stuff means it has physical mass, albeit temporary, so if deku completely covers himself, then he may be able to cushion or soften blows against his body- on those lines, I’m also curious as to how Shigaraki’s decay would work against that- we’ve seen that he can’t affect semi-solid stuff he can’t touch 100% like sand, but we’ve never seen how it does up against energy constructs like a force field or similar- something that’s both solid and lacking a substantial body.

Even if Shigaraki can only count up to 7 right now, I think in future chapters this potential defensive capability could be key to letting Deku fight head-to-head with him- I dunno what makes me so sure of this but I keep thinking their showdowns will somehow include a physical aspect outwith their quirks- we know shigaraki can take some hard knocks, but he needs to be capable of confronting and threating deku’s overwhelming power to demonstrate his own strength as the successor to All For one, much like that last battle nearly had All Might losing in a head-on fight- to me, evil needs to able to match good on it’s own terms to prove it’s a true threat, or there’s always the possibility of the heroes quickly and anti-climatically turning the fight around in an instant if they get the upper hand- the ‘unstoppable force’ of evil needs to prove it can match the power of the ‘immovable object’ of good to bring a sense of danger to the battle.

As for the other’s I’m not so sure, but I do have a few options-

(5) defensive ability- I already kinda covered this with black whip, but this is more of a full-body defensive power like Kirishima’s- I’m thinking Deku hardens his body’s density to the point where attacks shatter and stop against him- though a potential issue with that is that he needs to focus and get in the right state of mind, and initially can’t move whilst using it, also he’s become another copycat of kirishima’s power (sorry dude)- whilst black whip would provide some defence, deku still takes too many hard knocks, and it seems like the high-end nomu’s are being built on a similar power level to OG Nomu, capable of physically wreaking anybody not on all Might’s power level if they get their hands on them. Since All Might, and now Midoira, have a bit of a Superman theme going on, i’m thinking this defensive quirk may let deku imitate the Man of Steel invulnerability for a few seconds to let him keep fighting when realistically the threat’s already liquefied his insides, or he needs to stand in the way of an incoming attack against civilians that he can’t block or deflect, though the drawbacks and stress of maintaining such a power may mitigate it’s usefulness to avoid making him too OP right now

(6) enhanced senses- again, basing this off the superman idea, but deku may gain access to something that enhances all 5 of his sense to superhuman levels, letting him keep track of more of his environment, see different spectrums, and utilises his analysis and predicative fighting style to a greater effect than before, though all 5 of his sense may backfire, if he’s scratched and feels like he’s lost an arm, or get hit with a flashbomb and incapacitated etc

(7) laser eyes- yeah I’m bringing up a lot of superman stuff, I don’t have a large imagination for the potentials beyond what I’ve got right now, but given the energy theme that seems to be common between full cowl and Black whip( it manifested in almost lighting-like black tendrils when he first used it) deku could potentially end up using this power by focusing power in his eyeballs like he does when using All For one on his body parts initially, and getting it to explode outwards as high-energy beams, which can be focused as needed, though using this would temporary blind him due to the intensive light being refracted through his corneas

(8) slow healing- I’m kinda ripping this off from the Dresden Files, but in there it’s explained that Wizards live to a ripe age because their bodies channel magic and are capable of creating absolutely perfect copies of their cells when they get cuts or broken bones letting them heal without scars or damaged limbs, as opposed to inferior copies like our bodies do, resulting in lasting damages piling up over our lifetime- given the damage Deku’s put himself through so far, he’s already in danger of permanently losing his ability to be a hero, so this could potentially mitigate the drawbacks of his reckless fighting style so far, at least in the long run - it’s explained that the healing cant regenerate missing body parts, and can’t be sped up past the speed of normal healing- it’s just keeps healing away at wounds slowly until they’re completely gone, which could take years- the main character gets his hand flame-broiled to the point it’s recommended he amputate, yet several books later he still has the hand and full dexterity, though he’s still got some nasty scarring that’s yet to fade away.

That’s all I’ve got for now, if you can think of any others, or get suggestions for any others, feel free to list them- I’m curious as to what alternative powers you think Deku could use.

---

sounds like fun! I’m gonna pass on the possible-combinations thing because I’m not particularly good at that kind of thing, but I like your suggestions, particularly the wall-crawling one. we all know how much Horikoshi loves his Spider-Man.

but the SIXQUIRKS!! speculation sounds like a great way to put off reading the rest of Vigilantes chapter one (lol I’m sorry guys. I’m making my way through it, slowly; it’s just really long, and I’m having trouble staying focused. but I have started it and I also read the preview chapter already, so I’ll have that post ready in a day or two at least), and I’m sure my answers will all be 100% wrong too, so I look forward to seeing just how wrong they are lol.

a couple of notes on my reasoning process:

I agree with you that all of the quirks will likely be emitter or transformation quirks rather than mutant quirks, since it doesn’t seem likely that Horikoshi will make any dramatic alternations to Deku’s basic appearance. after all, one of his most distinguishing characteristics is (ironically) the fact that he’s ordinary as fuck to look at. since a key aspect of mutant quirks is that they’re impossible to turn on and off, and thus any change would wind up being permanent, I think we can safely rule this out.

I still have no idea what’s going on with the Bakusilhouette, or whether this implies that one of these quirks could potentially be Explosion. but I’m hoping not (because get your own quirks, Deku!!), so I’m gonna leave that off of the list.

there is going to be at least one quirk that lacks any constructive use whatsoever and is basically just comic relief. please Horikoshi. I need this.

lastly, Horikoshi is going to have to be very careful to keep Deku from becoming overpowered. he can keep things in check for the most part just by making the powers difficult to control, but even so he’s going to have to be smart about it. we can have one or two more badass powers, maybe, but if all five are as awesome as Blackwhip, Horikoshi is going to end up writing himself into a corner real fast. the last thing you want is for your protagonist to be able to solve every single problem with barely the slightest effort. so for this reason I’ve done my best to keep the rest of the SIXQUIRKS as balanced as I can manage.

now on to it!

1. flying quirk

listen guys. if this doesn’t happen Deku will be fucking heartbroken. he wants to be up in the air so bad. he wants to get away. he wants to flyyyyyy away. yeahhhhh yeahhhhh yeahhhh.

but he really does though. so Horikoshi should just give up and give him an actual quirk for it already so he can stop mooching off of all of his friends’ flying abilities and slingshotting himself off of temporarily elastic steel beams.

2. spidey-sense

disclaimer: this is not my original idea. @interstellar-elf sent me an ask like months ago suggesting this and I think it’s perfect tbh.

I think this one is all but guaranteed. it’s relevant to heroing but not too OP; it pays homage to Horikoshi’s favorite hero of all time (because he hasn’t paid him enough homage already lol); and the power itself has always been a great way of adding dramatic tension to a scene. it’s both useful and highly cinematic -- it’s basically carte blanche to throw in as many close calls and near-death escapes into a scene as you can manage. really, is there anything more shounen than coming within a hair’s breadth of dying horribly but somehow surviving to tell the tale? that’s what spidey-sense really is at the end of the day.

3. psychic shield/immunity

first of all before I continue, this seems like a great time to post another long-unanswered ask from @interstellar-elf!

the problem with psychic powers is that they do tend to be overpowered as hell, though, and given that Deku already has a ton of awesome quirks, that makes me wary of giving him any kind of psychic abilities on top of that.

but! I think there is a workaround for this, which is to give him powers that only work as a defense against other people’s psychic attacks! you know, kind of like Occlumency in Harry Potter, where you can stop someone from reading your mind. or like the power to shake off someone else’s mind control -- oh, wait.

(and then later on...)

hmmmmmm.

I’m not saying Deku already has this power, mind you. but I’m also not not saying that. it would fit, basically.

4. the ability to create extremely specific and totally useless objects at will

okay so remember how I said I’m placing my bets on at least one “joke” quirk that’s basically useless aside from being used for comedic purposes? so I racked my brain for a bit and this is what I came up with. I just think it would make for a really great visual gag if Deku all of a sudden started making a bunch of stuffed kitty tsums out of nowhere and had no control over it and everyone was like, “DEKU WHAT THE FUCK” and he was like “I’M SORRY I DON’T KNOW EITHER I CAN’T STOP IT” and there are just kitty tsums everywhere, just strewn all over the damn place, and for a while every time he panics over something it’s like BOOM! KITTY TSUM. and Bakugou is like “DEKU YOU ASS, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GOT MULTIPLE FUCKING QUIRKS, WHICH IS FUCKING UNHEARD OF, AND YOU WENT AND WASTED ONE OF THEM ON THIS BULLSHIT” and Deku’s like “I LITERALLY HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER IT’S NOT LIKE I PICKED THEM OUT OF A CATALOG” and Bakugou’s like “AT LEAST PICK SOMETHING ORIGINAL ASSHOLE, PONYTAIL GIRL ALREADY HAS THE OBJECT-MAKING QUIRK FOR FUCK’S SAKE” and Deku is like “ARE YOU BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL” and Bakugou is like “HAH?” and so on and so forth.

bonus points if the quirk actually ends up saving their lives later on in some really stupid way.

5. super-op time-stopping quirk that can only be used under Extremely Rare and Specific Circumstances

okay so for the fifth and final quirk, I wanted something that actually is outrageously, insanely powerful and a huge upgrade. but as a check to keep it from getting too out of control, I think it should be something that can only be used if the circumstances are exactly right. like he can only do it during a full moon, or once every six months, or only if he knows the exact year, month, date, and time the target was born, or something ridiculous like that. maybe not quite that specific, lol. but you get the idea.

basically I’m looking for something he can only use once or twice in the entire series, but when he does it’s a game-changer. and time-fuckery seems like the best bet as far as game-changing goes. we have not had any time-fuckery quirks yet precisely because they’re so absurdly powerful, but at the same time, you can’t just write a manga about superheroes and not have someone with a fucking time quirk at some point. it’s gotta happen. you’ve gotta do it. so you might as well do it with the main character then. you’ve all seen that one scene from X-Men: Days of Future Past? technically that’s a super-speed quirk, but hey, same difference. but yeah, to avoid plot holes Deku can only do it during a planetary alignment for thirty seconds at midnight or some shit.

so that’s all five! tbh the only one I have even the remotest bit of confidence in is the spidey sense one, because it just ticks a number of boxes that are too good for Horikoshi to pass up. but for the rest I really have no idea; I hope and expect to be completely taken by surprise.

but I will forever have an AU headcanon now where Deku develops a Kitty Tsum quirk and is just. sitting in a big ol pile of these things like Captain Fucking Kirk while everyone is like “SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK DEKU” sob.

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years ago

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ask your destiny to dance [15] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: Medium smut.

[masterpost]

The day Ash hears Doing Alright on the radio at her favourite cafe, she screams. This, of course, upsets the other patrons considerably, but before anyone can complain, she’s shoving her fabric samples and sketchbook into her bag, sculling her lukewarm hot chocolate, and is bolting down the street. Until, of course, she’s winded enough to slow down, and decides it’s easier to catch a bus to Brian and Roger’s apartment.

She’s been there before, it’s where they insisted on having their first fitting, since it was the apartment with the most room, and sometimes on afternoons she hangs out there with the band and Mary, sure, it’s not like she’s a complete stranger to the flat. Knocking on the door, she’s breathing heavily, still excited, and she’s not sure why she’s come here, rather than to see Freddie, but as soon as the door opens, she knows why.

“I heard you guys on the radio!” Barging past a confused Roger into the living room, she turns on her heel, still a little out of breath from having run from the closest bus stop, and her smile is blinding.

“Really? Which station?” And instead of asking her about her state, or the book bag on her hip, he’s elated, making his way to the radio in their little shoe box kitchen. Ash laughs, joining him, sheepishly admitting that it was about twenty minutes ago, but he’s undeterred. “Grab the phone; we can call them up and ask to hear it again.”

The station’s blaring some Beatles song by the time they get to it, but Ash is sitting on the counter, waiting patiently for the song to end so that the radio host could announce which number to call for requests. Roger’s buzzing about the kitchen, talking how apparently Mary’s heard them played at Biba too, and his mouth is moving a mile a minute, but then the number is said and Ash is dialing as fast as her fingers will allow. With her legs hanging off the edge of the counter, Roger taps at her knees, lips pressed together where he’s trying to keep his excitement quiet.

When the host picks up, and Ash says her name tentatively, only to hear it come out of the radio a few seconds later, Roger whispers ‘holy shit’ and Ash has to fight to not say the same. Clearly and carefully she requests Keep Yourself Alive, and specifies who it’s by and what record it’s on, and minutes later, the opening notes of the song waiver from the radio, and Ash hangs up, wide-eyed. Jumping from the counter, Ash dumps her bag beside their sofa, absolutely butchering the vocals where she struts around the room, pretending to be Freddie, loud and unselfconscious in her excitement. Roger’s matching her energy, throwing himself onto one of the metal folding chairs they had as dining room chairs, air drumming and providing harmonies that would have worked if Ash wasn’t almost completely tone deaf.

As the song moves to an instrumental section, Ash changes to enthusiastically air guitarist, jumping up onto the sofa, expression almost comically intense.

“Well, I loved a million women in a belladonic haze,” while Roger suspected the notes were entirely in her vocal range, she didn’t seem to be able to hit one, and after a moment, he’d dissolved into laughter, and wrapped his arms around her waist where she was posing with a foot up on the arm of the sofa, spinning her around before putting her back on the ground, and the drums kicked in on the radio, and she looks so fucking proud.

“That doesn’t sound half bad.” She says, grinning up at him, and he’s still got his arms around her.

“Unfortunately I can’t say the same about your singing, love.” He snickered, and Ash felt herself blush as she swatted at him, too excited to be properly annoyed, also too self aware to call him a liar.

“So you don’t think I could take Freddie’s place yet?” She asks, and Roger actually laughs at that, and Ash thinks she can feel his heart beating fast. “Where’s Brian?” She asks, voice dropping to a murmur, her own blood rushing as the song continues on.

“Still at class.” And there’s the hint of a question in his voice, and Ash’s smile stretches into a mischievous grin, something almost fond in her eyes.

“You guys are on the radio.” She murmured, pride in her voice, though her eyes are growing dark as her gaze drops to his lips. “Rog?” And he makes a hum of acknowledgement, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing or kissing her before she can finish her thought. “Does that make me a groupie?”

“Well groupies are usually throwing themselves at me.” He said with a cocky smirk, sitting them both on the sofa, sinking into the worn, brown fabric as Ash straddled him.

“I practically bolted to your house.” Ash had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, sitting back on his thighs. One of her hands was on his shoulder, the other playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and Roger leaned into her touch, just a little.

“I’m not usually accosted by girls who wear the same clothes as my dad in summer.” Roger snickers, eyes drifting down to Ash’s choice of attire. She’s quiet for a long moment, and realises that he’s probably never seen her dress so casually; she’d just intended to get some sketches done at the cafe, she’d never intended people she knew to see her, and so her choice of oversized, pale blue button-down with rolled up sleeves and paint smudges all over it, tucked into navy cargo shorts, had been a perfectly acceptable outfit at the time. She’s even got her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and suddenly she feels like a mess, but the way Roger’s smiling at her, she can’t bring herself to care.

“I’m an artist, I’m allowed to dress tragically sometimes.” She shrugs, and Roger’s grip on her hips tightens as he laughs. It’s strange, mid afternoon and she’s in his house, in his lap, it feels like a whole new world. Their debatable hidden affair was usually confined to the wee hours of the morning, or the late morning depending on when they wake up, but now his hair catches the sunlight pouring in through the window, and he’s casual too. He’s wearing a pair of hideous, little red shorts that she’d seen him play in once, and a t-shirt with a faded design on the front, and for a moment she frowns, because god, does he have no sense of style? As soon as he asks about it, and she voices her thoughts, he gives her a shove, calls her a hypocrite. Leaning in low, she murmurs for him to just take the shirt off, but he doesn’t move.

“You first.” He’s got an eyebrow raised as a challenge, and Ash hums thoughtfully, before her fingers are unbuttoning her shirt, and untucking it. She’s wearing a bra that’s comfortable rather than aesthetically pleasing, and for all that he’s seen her naked, he thinks this might be the most honest he’s actually seen her.

He’s the one to suggest they move, not that it didn’t hurt a little, with Ash wearing only her oversized shirt unbuttoned, and her panties, splayed out against his ratty brown sofa, looking up at him with wide eyes that had been darkened with lust.

She’s never been in his room before, and she’s not quite sure what she expected. It’s bigger than her room, but not by too much, clothes strewn over the floor, and the end of the bed, which is also bigger than hers, a double, instead of her little single, a cheap looking bed frame and a small but solid desk shoved into the corner and stacked high with books, which intrigues her. Roger closes the door as she makes her way over, fascinated as she reads the spines of what turns out to be worn textbooks.

“You there for some light reading?” Roger wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck, his chest firm against her back. There’s notebooks that look well used, and a piece of paper with a whole list of numbers, letters, and symbols that Ash can’t decipher for the life of her, amid pencils and a pretty grubby looking eraser.

“You like, actually study, don’t you?” And when she turns, there’s almost something adoring in her eyes, endeared, and Roger raises his eyebrows at her unanticipated reaction.

“Always the tone of surprise.” He huffed out a laugh, his hands drifting lower to squeeze her bum, and when he leans in to kiss her, it’s sun-warmed and familiar, fitting together easily as he pressed her against the desk and she hopped to sit on it easily, legs parting to pull him closer as he kissed his way down her neck. He fucks her against the desk, even though she’s pretty sure she’s sitting on a notebook and also a pencil, but she can’t bring herself to care.

When they move to the bed, he snickers at the smudge of graphite on her ass, but she’s hit with a realisation she can’t help but voice.

“I never thought I’d be here.” And she’s a little breathy, gasping for a moment as he brings one of her legs up to her chest and eases back into her.

“Really?” His voice rises in disbelief, pausing in his movements as if to emphasise his point, and Ash rolls her hips once, biting her lip to stifle a chuckle.

“I mean, in the beginning, no way; I honestly never thought we’d last this long.” She says, and Roger’s quiet. Not needing an answer, she lets herself enjoy the moment, relaxing against the bedspread, whimpers and gasps escaping her as her eyes fall closed. She’s so fucking beautiful, Roger thinks, and even if he doesn’t say it, he’s so glad they lasted, after everything, if only for this moment.

And then they’re moving, Ash pressing at his shoulder, urging them to move, Roger laying back against the bed as Ash rode him, throwing her head back, with her nails digging into his chest. It’s enough to make him hiss, his hips rolling to meet hers, and when she looks down at him with a heady smile, she leans down and presses a kiss to the half-moon marks her nails had left, before she’s peppering kisses along his chest and throat.

When Brian walks in the front door and sees them both eating pizza and reading trivia to one another from the paper, he has to take a moment. Ash is wearing one of Roger’s shirts. Roger isn’t wearing a shirt at all.

“I know you two are sleeping together.” He announces from the doorway.

“Interesting accusation.” Ash responds without looking away from the paper. Roger makes a hum of agreement.

“You’re wearing his clothes.” Brian says, walking over and picking up a slice of pizza for himself.

“That is my shirt.” Roger agrees, finally looking up to Brian, and Ash takes a big bite.

“Listen, Brian, sometimes friends sleep together, it’s not the end of the world.” Ash said around her mouthful of pizza, which was lost on him, and Roger had to translate for her, much to Brian’s bewilderment.

“So you’re finally admitting it?” He asks, and Ash hums, swallowing before looking up at him.

“Admitting that I came over here excited about hearing your song on the radio, and then, I suppose, one thing led to another? Yes.” Ash agreed, and Brian looked like he was quickly forming a headache.

“Neither of you are as subtle as you think you are; I know this isn’t the first time.” He sighed, and Ash turned to Roger, who raised his eyebrows, feigning mock surprise. He’s about to say something, but it’s as if Brian can already tell it’s going to be irritating and dismissive. “Listen, Ash, you’re an adult, and you’re also our stylist, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Believe me, she does.” Roger says, reaching for some more pizza, ending his statement with a very pointed cough. Ash, looking supremely pleased with herself, watches Brian turn bright red and head for his own room, not slamming the door, but coming close.

“Freddie and John will know by the end of tomorrow I suspect.” Ash muses, and Roger looks at her, a little curious.

“Is that okay?” And he actually seemed like he would offer to do something if it wasn’t. Ash gives him a small smile.

“They were going to find out eventually.” She paused, but only for a moment. “We should probably keep it simple and say it started after you broke up with Kristin.”

“That wasn’t that long ago.” He said softly. Ash shrugs.

“It was like a month and a half ago; it’s believable.” She offered, and Roger hums thoughtfully, sliding across the sofa to rest his head in her lap. She’s tempted to rest her slice of pizza on his face, but ultimately decides against it. The way he’s smiling at her, grin just a little sharp, she’s pretty sure he watched the idea pass through her mind too.

“Do you know what time the next bus comes, I should probably get going before it gets dark and people are more likely to stab me.” She asks carefully, and Roger’s expression turns thoughtful as he watches her eat, quietly waiting for a response.

“Seems a bit extreme; you know you could just stay.” It’s so casual the way he says it, and Ash shrugs, accepting the offer without much thought. His bed is far more comfortable than hers, though he’s not living in uni housing, so you’d hope it was, and it’s big enough to spread out in. But they don’t. When they’re not fooling around, they’re chatting about everything and nothing, as they were sometimes want to do, and Ash gets around to asking him about his degree just as she’s about to fall asleep. They’re holding hands, which again, not necessarily something Ash had expected when they’d first started out, but she’s on her side with her free hand beneath her pillow. She’s just wearing one of his shirts and her underwear, and she brings their hands up to rest between their heads on the mattress, arm now at a more comfortable angle, and she drifts off as Roger gets in to complaining about one of his classes.

By the time he realises she’s not paying attention, she’s already mostly asleep. There’s something about the way she sleeps that makes her seem almost innocent, perhaps it’s that she’s not trying to put up a front, and her mass of ginger hair halos her, so soft it almost hurts. Roger’s never conciously thought of a woman as ‘sweet’ before, but it’s the only word that fits in this moment. He presses a fond kiss to her knuckles of her joined hand. Ash stirs just a little, making a hum of acknowledgement that Roger knew all too well as ‘completely passed out, just felt a sensation, can maybe spout a few random words’.

Except it’s not just some random gibberish. It’s two words spoken through a yawn:

“Love you.”

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