#Sometimes we pivot an wind up having a lot of fun and this was one of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bamfdaddio · 3 years ago

Text

X-Men Unabridged: Proteus

The X-Men, those beautiful mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. We’ve been untangling that history for a while, but sometimes, you really want a more in-depth look. Interested? Then read the (un)Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 125 - 128) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne

Fun* fact: this particular issue is the oldest comic I physically own.

* for a given value of fun

Something sinister lurks on Muir Isle…

This arc is very much set up like a horror movie. It starts out as a regular X-Men narrative, where Claremont is weaving along several plot threads. We check in with the X-Men in Westchester, we check in with Magneto who has retreated to Asteroid M and we even check in with Xavier in space, who finally learns more about the true scope of the Phoenix and its nature. Finally, we’ve got Jean stationed at Muir Isle, where Moira is investigating the sheer scope of her powers. (She has realized how strong Jean truly is; akin to a god. Her theory is that Jean’s recent power dampening is the result of her human mind trying to cope with her massive power level.) It’s about as everyday as it gets for the X-Men, but, well…

I always thought Jean molecularly restructured her own outfit into the Phoenix-costume whenever she needed to change, but here, she just… wills it away? Also, why did you need an outfit change for this, anyway? Does the costume simply appear whenever she exerts too much of her powers, like an angry forehead vein? So many questions. (X-Men 126)

Other residents at Muir are Polaris, Havok and the Multiple Man, all of them blissfully unaware that something skulks about in the shadows: the remains of an unfortunate captain, whose body has been taken over by something… other.

But someone else is skulking around in the shadows, too. Jean isn’t aware of it, but a familiar stranger is manipulating her from the sidelines.

I’ve been gaslighting a cosmic force, ask me how! (X-Men 126)

1979 marks the first appearance of the Hellfire Club, though we only meet one member for now: Jason Wyngarde. (Maybe all of this could have been avoided if he’d had a Barbie doll to dress up in black lace as a child, but alas.) ‘Jason’ is a pseudonym and though most people these days know that he’s a familiar villain from the X-Men’s past, the reveal of his true identity will follow later.

Meanwhile, Beast finally gets off his ass to check on the Xavier mansion, even though the X-Men must have been tripping intruder alarms for months now. Still, we do get this sweet moment out of it:

Of course she’s going to be surprised at the sheer amount of plot contrivances that were thrown up to keep all y’all apart for a full year. (X-Men 126)

Beast knows that Jean went to Muir, so Scott immediately goes for the phone. Lorna picks up, but during the call she starts screaming, leaning heavily into the horror genre. She fends off the withering remains of the captain, so instead, ‘Mutant X’ jumps into a duplicate of Jamie Madrox and promptly flees to the mainland on a boat.

Guuurl, that body is snatched. (X-Men 126)

The X-Men (sans Beast) hit Muir Isle, where Moira debriefs them. Moira reveals who Mutant X is: his name is Kevin MacTaggart, her son, who has the terrifying power to warp reality. Because his power is so vast, he burns through bodies at an alarming rate. He can only be contained - or killed - by inorganic metal. In an effort to contain him (and, presumably, help him at some point), Moira locked him in a metal cell. He was kept there, alone, for god knows how long, until Magneto accidentally freed him. They know he escaped the island and, because of his parasitic need for fresh host bodies, Moira posits that he’ll be heading for a big city.

Kevin - who dubs himself Proteus - racks up an impressive body count in the country side, killing 7 people in total. (6 people and 1 dupe? Eh.) He’s a terrific villain, because he’s powerful, has a well-defined weakness and, even though it’s not impossible to emphasize with him -- isolation tends to drive people mad -- the way he discards his victims is truly chilling.

The X-Men chase after him, Wolverine picking up the scent. When Proteus tries to claim him, Logan’s adamantium skeleton repels him. In response, he unspools reality.

I’ve had this trip. I think they call this strain Dragon’s Dynamite. (X-Men 126)

Storm intervenes, but Proteus leaves Nightcrawler and especially Wolverine rattled. Logan’s heightened senses root him in reality more than most, and when Proteus uses his powers, everything is just screaming wrong at him. But nobody is safe: little Kevin MacTaggart turns gravity against Ororo, taking her out as well.

He tries to claim Storm, but Moira repels him, sniping at him from afar. Proteus fears (metal) bullets, knowing they can kill him. When Cyclops realizes Moira’s shooting to kill, he intervenes - X-Men don’t kill, after all. Moira knocks him out with her gun, but Kevin escapes in the confusion. Moira finally realizes where her son is headed, while the X-Men regroup.

In Edinburgh, Moira pays Joe MacTaggart a visit - her husband, Kevin’s father.

The MacTaggarts are definitely in the running for the Xavier/Marko-award for Fucked Up Family Dynamics. (X-Men 127)

There’s a calculating coldness to Moira’s character that I’ve never responded well to, but I like how Claremont fills in the blanks here. It’s part unhappiness, part a deep frustration with her inability to help her own son. I wonder how Kevin was a child, before his mutant gene activated: was he a sweet boy, or one with a cruel streak? Did she fear what he might become?

There’s a few gaps in Claremont’s narrative, but Hickman has drawn on this very well, I think: the Moira X in HoXPoX is equally calculating, equally cold. But how can she not be? How often has she raised Kevin? How often has she had to kill him? How many times has she watched these people, these X-Men, die?

Anyway, Moira’s warning is as effective as anger management therapy for Sabretooth, because Kevin comes by Joe’s office a little while later and snuffs out his dad. Phoenix hears Joe screaming telepathically across the moors, allowing the X-Men to pinpoint him. Claremont also makes sure to show that Jean’s power is steadily growing:

Polaris be like: “No, no, I’m carrying my own emotionally stunted Summers boy, thank you.” (X-Men 127)

Proteus takes Moira hostage as the X-Men confront him. They fight.

Ordinarily, I don’t pay a lot of attention to the fight scenes, because recapping those usually boils down to “Cyclops conks Magneto in the helmet” or “Wolverine snikts Pyro in the gas tank”, but this one is truly great. John Byrne delivers some excellent work, showcasing the scope of Proteus’ powers through his art, his panelling. Don’t just take my word for it:

I love how trippy all of this is. Pivoting gravity, changing an optic beam into flowers… Sure, Proteus might be a callous and cruel SoB, but he’s also one imaginative motherfucker. (X-Men 127)

One by one, Proteus manages to distract or take out the X-Men, either by endangering passers-by, encasing them in amber (Storm) or burying them alive (Banshee). One of my favorite details is how afraid they all are: especially Wolverine and Nightcrawler hesitate before jumping into the fray. For them, this villain is truly beyond their scope.

In the end, it’s Phoenix who manages to drive him back, outside of the center of Edinburg and up an old castle, where there are fewer civilians to threaten. There, on the ramparts, it’s Colossus who makes the final stand: he destroys Proteus’ physical body and realizes that right now, there’s only one thing they can do to stop him. All it will cost is Piotr’s innocence.

Showcasing an ancient Japanese truth: Psychic Pokémon are weak to Steel attacks. (X-Men 128)

Proteus scatters to the winds and the X-Men emerge victorious, though Moira has lost both her son and her husband after this ordeal. Moreover, I think this is the first villain that the X-Men explicitly kill, simply because they have no other options left. This marks the first time that their ideal of mutant rehabilitation fails. What’s worse is that Kevin MacTaggart was essentially nothing more than a supremely screwed up boy who got access to way too much power way too quickly.

I wonder if it would have turned out differently had Xavier been there. (I also wonder if it’s a coincidence that this takes place right before the Dark Phoenix saga.)

I think this might be Claremont’s best arc yet, heightened by John Byrne’s excellent art. Chris deftly mixes horror, action and his usual soap opera elements, serving one cohesive narrative that (for once) doesn’t leave much hanging. Proteus is an excellent villain whose powers work visually (pay attention, MCU) and whose entire being touches on one of the same aspects as Krakoa: can and should every mutant fit into any sort of normal society?

If you have someone who’s interested in vintage X-Men and you want to recommend something that doesn’t require a confusing explanation of all the necessary backstory (and perhaps a crude sketch of the Summers and/or Lensherr family tree), I would recommend this arc.

And the rest, as they say, is Hellfire. 1980 is gonna be a doozy.

42 notes · View notes

nakedmossy · 4 years ago

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 1 [JJ x Reader]

[A/N: Hi again. I've missed you. It was time for something new. I found this story in a dream. Prepare for a mental trip, it's indicative of the year i've had. This is gonna go in a million different directions and I can't say i'm surprised. Ive written two chapters and i'm already like ...well, fuck it i'm posting it...I needed to get back into writing and this is what I got so enjoy. I have a playlist I used while writing, comment if you want it shared. As always, not that any of us need the reminder....but there will be adult content (whatever that means) and language and NSFW content so...keep me off your screen at the dinner table. Love y'all ...Mossy x]

You ease your car into park, your hand resting on the gear shift, the tires slowly rocking back and forth on the soft ground as the engine dies. Sunlight streams through your windshield as a cloud of dust and sand settles around the car, and you feel a trapped breath release from deep in your chest. The quiet, melodic hum of music relaxes your shoulders and through the trees you can see the water rhythmically hitting the shore.

You haven’t been here in a few weeks and you're starting to feel it; the tight and uncomfortable tensing in your muscles, the locked jaw, the flat expressions. The closer it gets to the anniversary the more you feel the need to visit. But the frequency of your visits is dictated by Her, and She keeps tabs on your whereabouts a lot these days. ‘Its not healthy to spend so much time there’ She would say to you, while pulling a Valium out of her bag to slide towards you. She has your therapist on speed dial on the landline. And she blames you for living in the past. Ironic.

You pull your keys out of the ignition, unbuckle your seatbelt, and let your muscle memory guide you out of the car and through the trees to the edge of the embankment where the sand and the sea grass take over. Flashes of Lacey running down the beach in front of you, looking back over her shoulder and laughing, are burned into your eyelids when you blink. She was everywhere here, every corner of this beach belonged to her. Her towel spread out on the sand at your feet, books with water damaged pages scattered across it, her bag tossed lazily to the side. Her board perched against the log you used to dry out your wetsuits. Her camera.

You close your eyes and listen to the wind move through the grass, her laugh echoing off the rocks. Come on! She would laugh with an outstretched arm. Come take a picture with me.

Her lips were supple and her nose was sun kissed, her hair bleached and tousled from the saltwater. She would motion for you to come over and you would go, because you always did, to fit into the frame next to her, cramming yourself in wherever you could after she found her best angle. She would hold up the camera and wrap her arm around you tightly, the smell of her tanning oil and sweat floating around you in a heady cloud, and at the last moment she would press her lips to your cheek and whisper cheese.

You blink and look at the water again, a seagull squawking as it flies over the empty beach. Reaching into your jeans pocket and feeling for the photo, you pull it out and look down, the moment she clicked the button frozen in time on the paper in your hand. Her side profile was radiant, the wind blowing her hair around her lips which were pressed to your face, you looked straight at the camera with a shy smile, a hidden smile, a quiet smile. An honest smile.

You run your thumb across the picture reflexively before sighing and putting the picture back in your pocket, it was one of the last photos you had together and it was one of the only ones you could clearly make out your own face. That always bothered you. Now you’ll never forget how happy we were today. I love you. She shook the polaroid until it was developed, then pressed it into your chest and winked, waiting for you to grab ahold of it, before turning on her heal and running towards the water.

Your chest burns for a moment before you straighten up and set your jaw. You feel good today, closer to her than usual. Today might be the day. You follow the path through the dunes towards the water and concentrate on the tide, watching the foam and the water snake along the shoreline. It’s windy, but not as windy as it usually is this time of day. The sky, clear and clean of any clouds, is the colour of blue that reminds you what happiness is. Or was, you know, before all the shit happened. When life was something you had the ability to process, sometimes even enjoy.

Now or never. Your head whips up at the sound of her voice and you see her, standing in the water. You feel the blood rush to your face, your core warming. There she is, running a hand up her stomach towards her chest and smiling at you, the kind of smile that would get good people into bad situations.

Slowly you slide your sneakers off and kick them aside, wiggling the sand between your toes. You’re not wearing a bikini but the beach is empty, so you close your eyes and listen to Lacey laughing from the water, come on scaredy cat, nobodies looking, as you peel your top off and drop it into the sand beside your shoes. You unbutton your shorts next and let them slide down your legs, stepping out of them hesitantly.

Lacey walks out of the water, so you keep your eyes closed, knowing if you open them she will be gone, and you wait for her to bite her lip and smile at you. There. Look at your body. You’re beautiful. Come on. She guides you towards the water with nothing but her own bare skin and confidence, nothing could ever touch her. You know its only a few steps until your feet are in the water, you should open your eyes and look around to make sure nobody is watching, but you don’t get to see her often anymore between the Valium and the other stuff, so you forgo it for a few more seconds. Today is the day, you have to do it. Time is running out. She’s all but told you as much.

“I miss you” You say, but your voice sounds foreign and it breaks and scatters into the wind.

Im right here. Lacey smiles at you like she always did, her crooked dimpled grin, her perfectly straight white teeth, her eyes shining. Now shut up and get in the water.

You feel the warm dry sand turn to wet firm sand beneath your feet, you know you’re close. It’s ours, all of it. The water. Just let go and let the Ocean carry you. You’re weightless. Isn’t it perfect?

Your breathing is shallow and your palms are clammy. There’s a tingling sensation in your thighs and you feel dizzy. You have to open your eyes. No, don’t. Not yet. Stay with me.

The water touches your toes and your eyes shoot open, you recoil and lose your footing, falling backwards. You crab crawl away from the water until the tide retreats and you feel your vision tunnelling as Lacey fades into the sunbeam above the water.

You scramble back to your clothes and pull your shorts above your sand stained underwear, your shirt smoothing your hair down as it settles back over your shoulders. You take a few deep breaths until your heart rate slows down. A tear springs up and sits in your eye for a few moments before falling and drying on your cheek. The beach is the best place to cry. The ocean is loud so nobody hears you, and the sun is hot so the tears dry fast.

You don’t want to turn around and look back at the water, you know she won’t be there. You’re alone, properly alone, just like she said you would be, psychic bitch. If she hadn’t been so charismatic and beautiful and conveniently wealthy, people would have outcasted her for being a freak a long time ago. What with all the tealeaves and palm readings and ‘gut feelings’. But they never did, her family had more money than the Kennedys and she looked like she walked runways for fun on the weekends, so she was untouchable. Your stomach starts to turn as you think about it so you blink the ground in front of you back into focus and start walking.

You have a few minutes of freedom left before She starts calling and asking where you are, so you walk slow to savour it. Who knows when you would be allowed out long enough again to go back.

You emerge from the tree cover into the parking area, pondering how many different routes you can take to get home to elongate the drive, when you hear a car door close. You look up, pulled from your thoughts, and squint to see through the bright sun.

“‘Scuse me!” A voice says, deep and friendly. A silhouette is moving towards you, so you bring your hand up to block the sun from your eyes. “Hey, sorry, do you live around here?”

You blink a few times as the silhouette gets closer and make out the figure of a tall man with wispy hair and baggy shorts.

“Sorry?” You reply, still trying to get a clear image.

“Im just trying to find the Marina but I have taken at least 5 of these side roads and all I keep finding is empty damn parking lots.” The man stops a few feet from you, close enough that you can make out a tan face with a toothy grin, and blonde hair. “First one with a pretty girl though, so I must be going the right way.” He smiles at you confidently, shielding his own eyes from the sun, but still squinting.

You look back over your shoulder to the beach, confirming Lacey is gone. You turn and look at the man who is watching you intently, hopefully, and smile quietly.

“Yeah, it’s uh…its just back on the main road, go 3 clicks south and take a right at the fork. You’ll see a fancy sign for a beach club, it’s just past that.” You look past him to the old Ford truck with rusted wheel wells and smile to yourself. “Assuming you’re not going to the beach club.”

The man laughs and smiles, looking over your shoulder at the beach before his eyes settle back on you. “Nope. Never been to one of those…legally.” He winks and backs up a few steps, then nods and says “Thanks” before turning and walking back towards his truck. He slows as he reaches it and stops, then turns back and pivots before jogging back to you.

You wait and watch, curious. He stops a few steps away and stretches out his hand.

“Sorry. That was rude of me. Im JJ.”

#jj maybank #jj x reader #rudy pankow #obx fanfiction #obxedit #nakedmossywrites #cruel summer

43 notes · View notes

oumakokichi · 4 years ago

Note

What's your opinion on Kaito and Maki! I don't know if anyone's ever asked this before (sorry if yes) Ur blog is epic btw!

This question is pretty recent, so I feel like this is a great one to kick off with getting back into writing full meta! I know in the past I’ve answered a few brief questions on how I feel about Momota and Maki respectively, as well as their relationship in-game, but I don’t know if I’ve ever written at length about the two of them.

I also don’t know whether you want my opinions on them both as individual characters or their relationship together, so I’ll probably touch on both aspects! This ask will obviously include spoilers for the whole game, so I’ll talk more under the cut!

Momota and Maki are definitely two of the most important characters in the game. Both their dynamic with each other, as well as their eventual friendship with Saihara, are pivotal plot points that come up again and again. Momota’s good intentions and attempts to help Maki come out of her shell and self-imposed isolation from everyone else are initially met by her with skepticism, distrust, and a feeling that he’s being incredibly overbearing and putting his nose where it doesn’t belong—but in the end, she does find herself pulled in by his unrelenting optimism and offers of friendship.

As Momota helps Saihara begin to overcome his anxiety and self-doubt by pushing him forward and reaffirming that he believes in him, Maki also begins to face some of her own demons. Like Saihara, her issues are rooted in deep-seated trauma from a young age, though hers is considerably more severe as it concerns both physical and mental child abuse, as well as a life filled with violence and murder.

It’s interesting, because both Saihara and Maki struggle with what I would call self-loathing, but go about showing it in completely different ways. They both doubt their own ability to do anything right and feel that they’ll only hurt people in the end, but where Saihara overcompensates for this by trying to please everyone and being afraid of saying no, Maki’s approach is much firmer: she tries to shut everyone out completely, keeping everyone at arm’s bay in order to prevent any attachments from forming in the first place. As someone who lost pretty much everything at such a young age, she’s clearly afraid of the same thing happening all over again, as well as wary of anyone who might try to get close to her, only to attempt to “take her out” in the same fashion that she’s had to kill people her entire life.

Momota’s persistence in striking up a friendship with her is therefore really, really interesting. It’s the first time in Maki’s life that anyone has ever been so adamant about wanting to get to know her. Considering how harsh and unfriendly she initially is, as well as the fact that her talent is revealed to everyone by the end of chapter 2, it would make complete sense if Momota wanted nothing to do with her, in her opinion. She’s used to being alone, and she’s already convinced herself by that point that it’s preferable to the alternative.

But Momota is a character who fundamentally refuses to take no for an answer. This is simultaneously both his best and worst trait, in my opinion: it’s literally right in his catch phrase, whenever he claims that he’s going to reach the stars someday. He runs purely on the idea of faith and belief. There’s no middle ground with him: either you trust someone implicitly, regardless of everything stacked against them, or you don’t. Shades of grey, especially at the beginning of the game, are virtually nil. It’s a very “shounen protagonist” sentiment that winds up being somewhat challenged for him as the game goes on.

He’s interested in Maki, and wants to know why she closes herself off in her research lab. When the finger is pointed at her in chapter 2 and she falls under suspicion of murdering Hoshi, he defends her even at the expense of making himself look worse, and even to the point of claiming that he would “bet everyone else’s lives” that she’s innocent (a line which was completely omitted in the localization and dub, but which you can still hear him say in the jp dialogue of the chapter 2 trial).

There’s absolutely no evidence to back Maki up or support her; Momota’s defense on her behalf stems more from the fact that he hates Ouma’s equally black-or-white “guilty until proven innocent” approach, and resents the attempts at mutual suspicion and paranoia that Ouma tries to force between them. Momota is, in a word, stubborn. He figures things out by “feel” or “intuition” and is extremely slow to change his opinions even when facts and evidence are presented before him.

Again, this can be a good trait: his loyalty means he’s the last person who would ever throw someone else under the bus, and it’s the main reason he succeeds in getting closer to someone as emotionally closed-off as Maki at all. It’s less of a good thing, however, in later chapters like chapter 4, where his stubborn refusal to look at the facts genuinely endangers everyone’s lives in the trial and results in a huge blow-out that threatens his friend group with Saihara especially, but really with the whole training trio.

It’s this stubbornness of his that really baffles Maki. Initially, she doesn’t know what to make of Momota’s attempts to befriend her. She assumes he must be reckless, or stupid, or both, to want to get close to someone as dangerous as she is. But as she gradually begins to let her walls down and starts opening up despite herself, it’s such a nice change to see her eventually starting to believe in herself and view herself more positively as a result of Momota’s own belief in her.

I think momoharu as a ship works really well and has potential specifically because of these themes of “self-love” and “believing in yourself” that come up in the main game’s narrative again and again. And unlike the dynamics between Momota and other characters, such as Saihara, I feel like Momota and Maki are on much more of an even footing, where the two of them can view each other as equals and aren’t afraid to challenge each other whenever one of them is in the wrong about something.

For example, Saihara and Momota have much more of an imbalanced, sometimes one-sided friendship. That’s not to say that they aren’t both extremely important friends to one another—but between Saihara’s inability to say no to people and Momota’s tendency to take charge and view himself as “the hero” while everyone else is his “sidekick,” their relationship becomes incredibly uneven very quickly.

Add to this Momota’s unspoken jealousy of Saihara’s talent and his pivotal importance to the rest of the group in trials, and it gets even messier. I’m reminded of the chapter 4 trial, when Saihara really goes against Momota’s opinion on something for the first time by proving that Gonta is the culprit, and Momota is livid. Even when all the proof is laid out before him, and even when he knows, logically, he feels so betrayed by Saihara’s lack of “belief” in him that his underlying jealousy bubbles up and he lashes out. The localization considerably dulled the impact of this, but in the original Japanese dialogue, Momota even stops referring to Saihara by his first name for a long time, referring to him much more coldly by his surname from the end of chapter 4 until the latter half of chapter 5.

Momota and Saihara never feel as though they’ve really escaped that “hero and sidekick” dynamic until the very end of chapter 5 when they say their farewells, and even then there’s a real hesitance with Saihara to call Momota out when he’s wrong or ask for an apology even when Momota owes him one. If the game had explored more of Momota’s jealousy and feelings of inadequacy compared to Saihara, I would have really loved that, and I feel like there would be real potential to explore how they could eventually be on even footing… but as it stands, in canon we don’t really get that, and most of Momota’s shortcomings and flaws are somewhat brushed aside after his death in favor of Saihara remembering him more fondly.

This isn’t to say that Momota doesn’t have any flaws when it comes to how he interacts with Maki, of course. His character has a lot of “toxic masculinity” baggage, including unironically believing really outdated things like “women shouldn’t be fighting, they should be raising children,” or thinking that women are inherently weaker physically and more fragile emotionally than men. Luckily though, Maki often consistently proves him wrong on all of these points: her ability to wipe the floor with him during their training sessions is of course part of it, but it’s worth noting that she’s also considerably more level-headed than Momota is in many ways.

Where Momota is superstitious and afraid of the occult to a comedic degree, Maki remains the rational, down-to-earth one who doesn’t believe in such things. Where Momota is prone to letting his pride and temper get the better of him and refuses to speak to Saihara or apologize for the things he said during their fight in chapter 4, Maki is the one who attempts to push them into interacting with each other again, and believes that Momota is being much too childish about the whole ordeal. Again and again, Maki proves Momota’s outdated and harmful stereotypes about women wrong, and isn’t afraid to poke fun at him or get exasperated with his bullshit whenever he’s being kind of a dick.

Her relationship with Momota works specifically because of how much it feels like the two of them are on a more even footing. Where Saihara somewhat meekly accepts the “sidekick” role, even when he thinks it’s unfair, Maki doesn’t really accept it or go along with it in the first place, beyond showing up for training sessions. And when she gradually begins to develop romantic feelings for him, it feels authentic—particularly because it ties back into the idea of Maki learning to believe in herself the same way that Momota has believed in her from the start.

Deep down, Maki is someone who fundamentally believes herself not only undeserving of, but borderline incapable of love. She feels as though any human emotions she might have once had were stomped out of her from a young age and that absolutely nothing remains, to the point where she says “even Kiibo is more human than she is.” This self-loathing and dehumanization are the main reasons she keeps people at arm’s length: she simply thinks she doesn’t deserve any kindness, and that even if it’s given to her, she doesn’t know how to reciprocate in turn.

Her entire character arc is about unlearning this, and gradually coming to accept that she does have the capacity to love, including love for herself and for others. I’ve seen some people who believe Tsumugi when she claims in the chapter 6 trial that she “gave Maki those feelings for Momota” for the sake of the show, but I feel that believing that at face value really doesn’t do justice to Maki’s autonomy as a character.

Even if Tsumugi somehow did insert those feelings there (which I highly doubt, especially considering how she blatantly lies about giving Momota his illness too despite pretty obviously not knowing he was sick prior to chapter 5), the whole point of Maki’s confession to Momota in chapter 5 and reaffirmation of those feelings in chapter 6 is that she eventually comes to believe that they’re her feelings, and no one else’s. As someone who was denied any free will or choice for her entire life, her coming to view Momota as someone precious to her, as well as herself as an individual capable of making decisions and loving other people, is an incredibly powerful arc of character growth. I honestly really love to see it.

And it’s clear that Maki coming to love and value herself as an individual is exactly what Momota wanted to see from her. We don’t really know if he reciprocated her romantic feelings or not since he dies without really giving her an answer. I personally think he spared her an answer because even if he had said he reciprocated, it only would’ve hurt her worse to see him die immediately afterward.

But what he does make really clear is that he fully believes that because she could come to love him, she could also eventually come to love herself. Whether it’s romantic or not, he clearly cherishes her a lot as a person and wants her to be happy. He wants her to live on as herself, and not any of the roles she’s had to take thus far in order to survive. She eventually does do this, and I think he would’ve been absolutely thrilled to see it happen.

All in all, I feel like momoharu has a lot of potential for character growth (both for Maki and Momota), as well as for cute moments, comic relief, and all around as a feel-good ship. Momota definitely has some issues to work out with misogyny and toxic masculinity, and while it’s certainly not Maki’s job to hold his hand and walk him through those things, she’s the type of person who doesn’t mind putting her foot down and telling him no when she feels like he’s crossed a line, which is exactly the type of dynamic I like to see in relationships.

Anyway, I’ll wind this up here. This was a really fun question to go into, thank you again anon! I had a lot of fun getting back into the swing of writing meta, and I’m glad I got a chance to write a little more about my thoughts on momoharu, and Momota and Maki as characters.

#ndrv3 #maki harukawa #kaito momota #momoharu #danganronpa #ask #anonymous #my meta #ndrv3 spoilers //#okay to reblog #tumblr almost ate this ask as soon as i tried to draft it #luckily i had my response still written up in word so i could repaste it but phew #tumblr being as functional as ever i see

90 notes · View notes

seyaryminamoto · 3 years ago

Note

I recently saw a video where GRRM talked about how he saw two different kinds of writers. He mentioned the gardener(planting the seed of an idea and letting it grow) and the architect(who plans out and organizes everything ahead of time). Obviously, every writer is a little bit of both but I was wondering which you relate to more and if you’d be willing to share some more about your own writing approaches and processes :)

I think I've answered similar questions in the past, but it'd be near impossible to dig it out in this ridiculously big, chaotic archive of my blog xD so I guess I'll answer it again, and if we come across the previous answers I've given, it'd even be fun to compare if there's anything different in the answer these days (?)

Personally, I think the best way to go about this is to have a mix of both things, but for me, it's in a very specific manner.

While I absolutely see the value in letting a story spiral and grow into whatever it wants to be, I have to say I don't think my best work comes from that. The lack of structure is similarly liberating and dangerous, because if your story's purpose isn't something you, as an author, have really made up your mind about, it's 100% possible that the story will end up going in very strange directions that MIGHT not make much sense, when you look at where you started out.

I've told this story a few times, but it bears repeating xD my first "serious" attempt at writing (by which I mean, I took it seriously, not that the content itself was super serious, since it was a trainwreck more often than not xD) started off as a perfectly happy romcom high school story! And tbh, to this day I love it as it is... but I know, I KNOW, that I totally warped the initial purpose and process of the story when, upon fulfilling the first bit of conflict in the story and leaving some massive loose ends I had to wrap up, I found myself at a loss because I had no idea how to continue. I was seriously, genuinely, at a loss for ideas and storylines to keep going. What, then, did I come up with?

... my happy romcom characters ended up embroiled in an organized crime catastrophe that has ZERO build-up in the first part of the story xD

(To the eagle-eyed who might have picked up something here... yes. That is 100% what I was poking fun at through Yang in Gladiator during the Fire Lord's Shadow arc. Yes. I mock myself. More accurately, I make Azula and Sokka mock my most questionable writing choices :'D)

Now, then, I had a very weird mess in my hands and I admit, it wasn't a great place to be at xD you see me now with my very, very small likelihood of falling into writer's block? Well, back then, I spent more time blocked than writing, for sure :'D and one of the reasons why that happened is because, while I had some ideas for what I wanted to write in the future? I didn't really have a set direction beyond "I want these and these characters as endgame relationships!", which is pretty much the most basic level of "plotting" you can pretend to do, as a writer xD And ironically, even then I was far more malleable and willing to experiment with whatever character combinations came up later, which even resulted in me discovering, well into writing a story, that some characters I absolutely did NOT conceive in a relationship were actually pretty good together! :'D

But that I had very little direction when I started writing that story was still a problem. I actually found more direction and built some more structure as I reached the last part of the story, and I will say, it's the strongest bit of it, by far xD (as evidence of what I'm saying, it was the first time I ever wrote an OUTLINE DOC! XD) but I have no doubts that, if I'd had the foresight to actually know where I was going, the story as a whole would be much much better, no matter how much I love it for what it is.

So! This particular writing experience of mine taught me countless things, among them, to actually ponder direction and purpose in stories instead of diving in blindlly. It's not really about having foreshadowing hints every ten minutes, which is what some people take as a sign of quality (I'll dare be quite controversial and say that not because you know what you'll write ten years down the line does it mean your story automatically makes sense... xD), it's about actually having a purpose in what you're building, a real direction, character arcs and plotlines that, to put it simply, work.

Therefore... I know for a fact that I can't be a full-blown plantser (or gardener) because I've tried it, and while I absolutely see the merits, the drawbacks are pretty sizable for me, and it just really doesn't work with my approach to storytelling.

Thus... If I MUST choose a category out of them both, I'd say I'm an architect, but the truth is I'm not an architect in the most strict sense of the word, either :'D

If you want a super strong building, you obviously need the best foundations for it. But you don't stop there, of course: erecting a building takes a lot of different efforts and processes if you really want your building to not only stand tall but to be a proper, decent place to live in. And while in real life, the reasonable thing would be to have a plan for each of those little details you have to build in, from filling the walls, to the type of flooring, down to even the decor... in writing, THIS is where I take the gardener approach! :'D

I don't know if I've said it in the past, but while sometimes I don't know how to start a story (which, despite my carelessness with the matter in the past, I've come to realize is a VERY delicate choice to make, one that can actually destroy my immersion in a story if it's a choice made carelessly), usually, I try to make myself think about where it's going, first of all. Currently, I have a few potential original projects rolling around in my head... and I don't know where they start :'D but I DO know where I'll take them, what the actual, ultimate climax of those stories would be. This, then, is the most basic foundation for a story, for me. I choose a destination, kinda, and then build the journey there :D

This is, loosely speaking, how I've built up Gladiator. And yet Gladiator, being the ridiculously big mess that it is, required a very unique plotting approach that I suppose might be at odds with a lot of what I've said so far xD yet it also remains true to a lot of what I've said here :'D

When I first started to ponder this story, the first plot point was obvious and instinctive: Sokka's capture. When Chaosconetic (the one who first gave me the idea for this story) suggested it, he didn't quite put forward the idea of having Azula being the one who captured Sokka personally. I thought of making Azula and Sokka first come face to face in this way because... honestly? Because I just wanted them to interact as soon as possible x'DDDD it complicated matters, of course, but that was absolutely something I could work with.

Yet... where was I going with this story? It was a rewrite of ATLA as a whole, so what exactly was the direction for the story? Clearly, Azula and Sokka would wind up falling in love, and how exactly would that come about? And beyond that, wouldn't it be a seeerious mess for this to happen in a setting where Ozai is STILL in power? Why, of course it would be! :'D It added a new layer of complications to the generally already complicated Sokkla relationship, and instead of it being kept secret or being a forbidden romance for the reasons canon-based stories typically make it so, it's BEYOND forbidden here because Ozai is still a very much active factor in this story, and he makes everything worse :D soooooo...

With these particular factors in mind, I had several things to think about. With Sokka fighting as a gladiator being the core of the story, I had to figure out who would be his rivals, and in doing so, figure out what his power curve as a warrior would look like :'D in doing so, I settled very quickly on Toph for his main serious rival, but Sokka wasn't the only one whose story I'd be telling: obviously, Azula's arc would be important too, as I'd have to work with developing her FAR MORE than I ever had before, and while Sokka's personal opponents would be important, Azula is the one who chooses Sokka as her personal warrior, therefore, she had to have a purpose in doing so. Said purpose then materialized when I decided to make use of Zhao's character for Azula's main goal and foil, and so, I needed Zhao to have THE best gladiator of all... and I didn't need to think about it too much before I settled on Combustion Man for the role :'D

Thus, those were small, isolated yet pivotal elements that I had to articulate into a structure that made sense :D they were small things I settled on pretty quickly, from the very first few days of plotting. I can say for certain that, by the third day, I already had settled on the climax (... can't decide whether that's a fortunate or unfortunate wording choice, tbh xD) scene of Part 1, when Azula and Sokka have their fateful fight in chapter 96, then finally succumb to their attraction and act on their feelings without holding back, in chapter 97 :'D I knew I wanted this to happen after Sokka hit a low point upon failing to defeat Toph, either for the second time or after losing against her far too many times that he just was too discouraged to keep going, hence, I knew what the lead-up to this would be from literally day THREE.

But beyond this? At like... day one or two of plotting, once I settled on Combustion Man as the ultimate man to defeat? I also settled on how Part 2 would end :> back then, I honestly had no idea how much time there would be between the events from chapter 97 and the upcoming culmination of Part 2, I wasn't anywhere near advanced enough with plotting to even KNOW I'd split the story into parts because it would get too big to handle xD But what I did know was that I needed these two situations to happen, situations deeply entwined with Sokka's role as a gladiator. Everything in between was variable, and it was stuff I could figure out slowly, along the way.

The ultimate direction of the story, though? That did take me a long time to settle on xD In fact, I think it took me well over a year after I got started to really figure out where I was going with all of this. A close friend helped me figure out things by offering many ideas for Zuko and Suki's storyline, basically tossing them at me in hopes that I'd make sense out of some of them... and I don't really know if she even knows how much that helped me xD I really spent a long time unsure of what I wanted to do, what I COULD do... until at long last, I settled on one slightly ambitious direction that eventually turned into what you'll all know as Part 3 :'DDDDD

So... yeah, that's why I say I'm being contradictory as heck xD Yes, I worked out some core details of the story since the very beginning, but it wasn't ALL the core details, let alone the ultimate direction of the story, BUT... in building up Azula's character arc, that direction slowly became clearer to the point where, when this particular possibility stared me in the face, I knew it was where we had to go, I realized that what I'd written over that year was leading up perfectly to that outcome.

Ergo, Gladiator is 100% a work of gardening and architecture, woven together to a point where I have a hard time remembering what, exactly, was the result of each thing. There's some things that I settled on early on, like I said, structure things... and then there are some parts where the characters just went wild and did things I did NOT expect them to do xD There's one scene coming up, right before the climax of Part 2, where Azula actually does something that I honestly WASN'T sure of doing... and yet I couldn't resist the urge to go forward with it, once the idea came to mind, and so I did it. And now I regret nothing xD was it necessary? Possibly not. Will some people find it weird and out of place? Maybe. But was it CATHARTIC AS HECK!? Aaaabsolutely friggin' yes XD pardon me for being so self-indulgent, but that's part of what being a gardener is about (?)

So, I really think the best stories benefit from a careful approach to mixing the principles of both ideas. I know that some gardeners think that a structure can stifle creativity (not necessarily true, if you sense a lack of creativity in anything you're doing, it IS up to you to turn it around, switch it up and make it interesting, right...?), I also suspect architects might think gardeners would be utterly unable to tell a good story altogether in virtue of letting the story run away with them (also not necessarily true, as the quality of a story isn't quantifiable as easily as that, gardeners might just make masterpieces without as much need of direction as I personally require: Philip Pullman apparently had no set direction in the His Dark Materials trilogy and I could swear that's some of the best storytelling I have EVER seen).

Ultimately, each person gets to choose their ideal approach and what exactly they're trying to do with their work, as well as how they want to do it... but if you ask me, if your characters never seem to pull you in unexpected directions, you might just need to rework them or approach them differently to give them more life. If they DO pull you in those unexpected directions, but you're not sure if you can follow them just because you need to follow structure, it's really up to you as the author to choose whether to sacrifice the life/creativity within your own work and stick to structure, or sacrifice structure and potentially cause your story's course to crumble :'D

It may sound like I'm advocating for gardening so much more, despite I've labeled myself an architect, buuuuut... ironically, a very complicated but VERY rewarding scene in Gladiator Part 3 damn near WRECKED my structure when I was writing it a few weeks ago :'D I literally had to take a day off from actually writing so I could make a list of ALL the elements that would be impacted by this change if I went forward with it. If I chose against it, I would have to rewrite the complicated scene in a different way, and it might have been waaay too weird to make it work. If I chose to keep it, I had to tread VERY carefully or end up potentially making a mess of the ultimate direction of Gladiator's story, even threatening the themes and nuance that I have been counting on since I settled on this direction. Thus, sometimes gardening can be dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

I THINK I found a fair enough compromise that allows me to keep the best of both worlds... but I hope I've made it clear that both ways of working have their pros and cons, and why even mixing both things can have pros and cons xD but this is also why I, personally, think that a writer benefits the most from figuring out at least a loose outline, the broad strokes of what they want to achieve in a story, and then figuring out the many ways in which they could fill in those foundations, in whatever way they're most comfortable.

And so, I have rambled plenty xD I hope that was thorough enough, my position in this particular subject is honestly to oscillate in the middle of both things, where part of your job as the writer is to determine which situation benefits more from either approach :D Like I said before, I've found structure isn't something I can sacrifice easily, but more often than not, letting the story flow, letting the characters make their own choices, can enrich your story rather than hinder it. So... I lay the foundations, the structure, so that seeds can grow inside it, if that makes sense xD

#anon #woops #why do I talk so much #I just always do #minor tidbit spoilers here you could say though I don't THINK I gave away anything too important...#:'DDDD #but yep I am a gardenchitect #architardener (?)#whatever you wanna call it xD

2 notes · View notes

mk-wizard · 4 years ago

Text

Transformers’ Hair: How does it work and who has it?

Hello, fans.

Today, I am getting into a fun obscure fan theory which is all about the hair. Do Transformers have actual hair and if they do, who has it?

It may seem like a small thing, but considering people debate a lot on whether Transformers are robots or not (even though its been confirmed that they aren’t), what’s up with the hair really?

Transformers with hair isn’t a new thing at all for one thing. Since G1, Alpha Trion was the first Transformer to display facial hair and since then, other notable cases were the Decepticon Scourge and the King of the Wreckers Wreck-Gar. As for hair on the head, the closest thing we have seen to hair on Transformers is the helm being shaped to resemble a hairdo and recently, Windblade with her flaunting actual hair. Since then, other Transformers have sported facial hair, but how does it work? Does it grow or is it a cosmetic? Well, my own fan theory is this: it’s both.

As mentioned before, Transformers have several body types and each body type has unique features that go beyond just appearance. In the case of doll types (the bots who look incredibly human with rounder and “fleshier” appearances with lips, curves and more), it is hinted that they actually can grow hair meaning that for bots like Alpha Trion, it’s all natural and they don’t just grow it on their faces. Underneath their helmets, doll types have actual hair growing on their scalps, but this only raises two other questions in the case of doll types and hair: how come more mechs who are dolls don’t have facial hair and why is Windblade the only doll to flaunt her hair so far?

Well, you need to understand something very pivotal about Transformers society namely, Autobot society; they are very big on tradition and their beauty standards are different from ours. In their society, the more mechanical you look, the more beautiful you are considered as being, so dolls either shave their heads or simply cover their hair. In other words, when you’re a Transformer, bald is beautiful on all genders though sometimes, you get spirited bots who say “to hell with society’s beauty standards” and flaunt their hair shamelessly like Windblade. I am also thinking that growing out and flaunting hair is also kind of an act of rebellion against the rigid ways of tradition that don’t make any sense. I mean, how is it so different than how we as humans sometimes debate our mentality towards hair anywhere on the body on any gender when at the end of the day, everyone’s body and their hair is their business? I wouldn’t be surprised if there are other dolls who don’t shave, but we just don’t see it.

As for bots who aren’t dolls, I am guessing their hair and facial hair is solely a cosmetic. Yes, I admit that hair is generally not considered as attractive in Transformer society, but then again, we don’t generally consider scars as attractive, but in some specific cases, they can be. Also, it’s like an act of rebellion and self-expression through fashion kind of like goth, hipster, punk, street or biker. They do it because they either want to make a point or they just like to dress that way. It’s just who they are.

Or in the case of beast types, growing hair is a side effect from having animal DNA. In this case, they wind up growing hair in many places not just the head or face and most beast types are ashamed of it. However, I am thinking that among Predacons and Maximals, because they are natural beast types, having hair is just natural to them and don’t have a problem with it.

Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with Transformers having hair because I’m also one of the fans who accepts they are not robots, but living organisms so really, why shouldn’t they be able to grow hair? And I think Windblade look lovely with her hair.

What’s your opinion on Transformers having hair? Like it? Hate it?

If you have a Transformers theory or character analysis you want explored, please let me know in my ask box. And please, support me through Patreon or Ko-fi if you want me to make Transformers merch and videos. Or if you want a commission of your favourite bot, let me know in my shop. All links are on my profile page.

Thanks for reading and as always, stay safe.

#transformers #transformers fandom #transformers fanfiction #transformers fanart #fandom #fanfiction #fan theory #fanart #transformers windblade #windblade #hair #art #concept art #beauty standards #body acceptance #body positive #body diversity

16 notes · View notes

gemstoneconstellations · 5 years ago

Text

Angel with a shotgun part 2

Part 1 | Final

Wordcount: 7325

“Oi, Bakugo! Wake up!” Bakugo groaned, rolling over and covering his head with a pillow.

He was regretting giving Kirishima a key to his apartment. “Fuck off, Shitty Hair.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Kirishima sighed, dropping bags on the floor. “Get him!” Bakugo jolted as Kirishima body slammed him, followed by another small thud, adding more weight to the pile.

The wind was knocked out of his lungs; Bakugo had not been expecting 300 pounds of muscle to be dropped on him. “Motherfucker, get off me.” Bakugo’s voice came out in grunts as he tried to throw Kirishima off his back.

“Nah bro, this is what you get for not answering my calls.” Kirishima relaxed his large body on top of Bakugo. There was a small jostle on the bed.

A face suddenly appeared in front of Bakugo’s, laying with him under his pillow. “Good morning, Uncle Suki!” Bakugo winced at the loudness of the Fujio’s voice.

“Why are you and shit stain here?” Bakugo let out a sigh of relief as Kirishima sat up, no longer squeezing the air out of his lungs.

Bakugo sat up to look at Kirishima as Fujio got up to sit in Bakugo’s lap and play with his bed head. “I’m going on a mission for a few days to help out another agency with a villain that has been on the run from us. Remember? You texted me last night that Fujio could stay with you 'til my wife gets back from her shift at the station.”

“I don’t remember saying that shit.” Kirishima raised an eyebrow at Bakugo as he grumbled.

Looking over at the nightstand, Kirishima picked up Bakugo’s phone. “Fine, I’ll show you proof. It’s in your phone.” Kirishima froze when he saw an unread message. “Who’s Smiley Angel?”

Bakugo’s eyes went wide as he reached over to snatch his phone out of Kirishima’s hand. “No one! Now give me my phone!” His attempt fell flat as Kirishima dodged him and held the phone up.

“Doesn’t seem like no one.” Kirishima smirked as he stepped away from the bed and unlocked Bakugo’s phone.

“Oi, don’t-”

“Angel is what Uncle Suki calls Miss ___.” Bakugo glared at the child sitting on his leg, who had an innocent smile on his face.

The look of horror on Bakugo’s face as Kirishima started looking through the texts between you and Bakugo was priceless. Bakugo quickly tried to scramble over to Kirishima but fell to the floor from being tangled in his sheets. Fujio leaned over the bed to ask if he was okay. “Oh, so Bakugo is chatting up a lady now is he? Wait…are you guys flirting? Bakugo Katsuki, flirting? Ah, and you guys had coffee together yesterday and you paid? Bakubro, I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up! Don’t read my texts, fuck face!” Bakugo stood up and stormed over to the redhead. He tried to grab his phone again but Kirishima pivoted out of the way and ran across the room. Bakugo was panting, his face completely red.

“Bro, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about—”

Bakugo ran full force at Kirishima. “I ain’t embarrassed; now give me my phone Shark Week!”

“She asked when you guys were going to have another play date with Fujio…are you using my son to pick up girls now?” Kirishima easily dodged him and Bakugo slammed into the wall. Kirishima then hopped onto the bed, standing as he read the last few texts “Brooooo, you asked her if she was free for dinner sometime next week. Dude! And she said yes! Bro, when were you going to tell me?!”

“Kirishiiiimmmmmaaaa!” Bakugo tackled him from behind and they fell to the floor with a loud thud. The phone slid against the hardwood, away from the two men. Bakugo and Kirishima wrestled each other to be the first one to grab the phone. Bakugo was a few centimeters away from it when someone else picked up the phone. “Fujio, give me the phone!”

“No, give Daddy the phone Fujio!” Kirishima and Bakugo had their hands outstretched to the small child, who looked back and forth between the two men, trying to decide what he wanted to do.

He then looked at the phone and smiled. “I want to talk to Miss ___!” Fujio ran out of the room, holding the phone to his ear.

“Shit! Get back here you, little brat!” Bakugo scrambled to his feet as Kirishima just let out a big laugh, tears rolling down his cheeks. In the living room, Bakugo looked for the little bugger, who was nowhere in sight. He grumbled to himself as he wondered where the kid could have gone. He looked in the bathroom. Nothing. Under the dining table. Nope. Bakugo crossed his arms, fuming with rage. Where the hell did the kid go? His ears perked up when he heard something coming from the kitchen.

“I want to play with you, will you come?”

Bakugo spun around and ran over to the kitchen sink. He opened the cabinet under the sink and found Fujio with the phone pressed to his ear. “Hah! Found you, you little shit!” Bakugo grabbed the child and snatched the phone from his hand as he held him under his arm.

“Mommy said you can’t call me that!”

“Well Mommy ain’t here!” Bakugo shouted back at the child, who crossed his arms in a pout.

“Um…Hello? Bakugo?” Your voice came nervously out of the phone.

Bakugo glared at Fujio as he placed him on the floor. “You called her!?” He hissed. Fujio just kept his arms crossed as he stuck his tongue out at Bakugo. He groaned as he placed the phone to his ear. “What did the little shit say?”

“Well good morning, Bakugo, it seems like you are having a fun morning.” He could feel his bad mood beginning to melt away as he listened to you giggle. “Fujio invited me to come out and play at the park today. I won’t be available 'til after 12:30, but I’m free the rest of the day. I don’t have to work tonight.”

“What she say?” Fujio tugged at Bakugo’s sweatpants.

Kirishima picked up Fujio, now fully recovered from his laughing fit. “Yeah, what she saying, lover boy?” The redhead wiggled his eyebrows.

Bakugo pushed Kirishima’s face away with an open palm as he made his way back into the living room, sitting on the couch. “Really? Didn’t even ask me if I had any plans.”

“What, you have plans? Don’t you want to come see me? We had a lot of fun the last time all three of us played.” You teased him over the phone; he could picture you smiling, a small glow on your skin.

“I’d rather not be blinded by your brightness, Angel.” He smirked to himself. “Do you really want to hang out with that brat?”

“Well, I like Fujio, and you’ll be there too.” Bakugo’s smile widened as his heart did a small flip like it usually does when you say shit like that. Do you even realize what you are saying?

Bakugo let out a sigh. “Okay, okay, but I swear to God, if you start singing Disney songs again, I will throw up.”

“What? That’s how I express my joy. I can’t help but sing! Don’t shit on my parade, asshole.”

“Oooh, keep talking like that. I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You became a giggling mess, unable to keep talking. “I’ll see you later at the park by my house.”

“Heheh, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can!” You hang up and Bakugo put his phone in his pocket, feeling relaxed and content after hearing your voice. He’s only known you for a month, but he feels like it has been forever. He sighed happily as he leaned back on his couch with his eyes closed.

He jumped when he heard someone clear their throat. “Wow, I’ve never seen you like that before, bro. I’m amazed, and slightly concerned?”

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!?!? JUST LEAVE ALREADY!”

You swayed your head to the beat of the song in your head. The most recent one was “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes”. You can’t help it; when you are this happy, the songs just come out. You continued to hum as you made your way into the park; kids were running around already. Right as you opened your mouth, someone cut you off. “Seriously, don’t sing.” You jumped around to see Bakugo standing beside you with his hands in his pockets.

“Am I that bad of a singer?” You chuckled at the look of disgust on his face.

“No, you just do it all the damn time. It’s annoying. Oi! Brat! She’s here!” Bakugo shouted and you saw a familiar, black-haired child poke his head out from the top of the slide.

The child slid down and ran straight into you; you were prepared for it this time. “Miss ___! Hi!”

You couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “Well hello Fujio!”

More kids came running over, surrounding you and Bakugo. “Everyone is here now! We can play Heroes!” All the kids cheered. “We are the heroes, Uncle Suki is the Evil Dragon King, and Miss ___ is the princess we have to rescue!”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were lifted into the air and thrown over Bakugo’s shoulder. “Bwahahahahah! You stupid heroes think you can win against me! I’m the king!” Bakugo laughed evilly as he carried you, his voice totally in character.

“Give us the princess villain!” A child shouted.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands! Bwahahahahah!” Bakugo, without warning, took off running.

“Woah!” You clutched onto Bakugo’s sweater. Looking up, you could see a small mob of children running after Bakugo, wielding toy weapons and shouting to give back the princess. You couldn’t contain yourself and let out uncontrollable laughter.

Bakugo would slow down enough to let the children catch up, but just as they thought that they had him cornered, he would leap out of their reach. He made his way with you to the top of the playground equipment. “He took her to his castle!”

Bakugo slowly lowered you down, your body sliding down his 'til your feet were firmly on the ground. He kept his arm around your waist and your body pressed close to his. He leaned over and whispered in your ear. “You’re glowing again; what’s making you so happy, I wonder?” His tone was teasing and it sent a shiver down your back you are sure he felt.

“The princess is now my prisoner forever! I will destroy anyone who tries to take her from me!” He gave you a wink before releasing you. He is really into character, playing his part as the villain perfectly. “Stay here.” Bakugo turned back around to face off the heroes as they tried to charge the ‘castle’.

You sat down and leaned back on the plastic wall, heart pounding. What was that? Oh God, he’s so…muscular…you try not to squeal into your hands.You could still feel the heat of his touch on your body; everything tingled and you were desperately trying to keep your quirk under wraps. “Psst, princess.” Your head swung to the side; you saw Fujio whispering to you from the slide. “Come with me. The heroes are here!”

You giggle quietly. Ah, the kids were smart, sending all the older ones with quirks to distract the ‘villain’, while the small one snuck in to steal the princess. You crawl over to Fujio to slide down the slide with him. “Oh, my hero~.” But before you could get your feet on the slide, a strong hand grabbed your shoulder.

“And where do you think you’re going, Angel Princess?” You and Fujio looked up to the Evil Dragon King, a mischievous grin on his face. He pulled you back and picked up Fujio by his shirt. “You think you could fool me? I am the King!!”

“He’s got Unbreakable Fuji! Get him!” All the kids shouted and jumped onto Bakugo at once.

He took a step back. “Oi, that’s dangerous, you brats. Hey!” The kids latched onto him and his balance faltered.

“Ah, Bakugo!” You reached out to help, but it was too late. Bakugo, with the kids, fell back and went sliding down the slide head first. You flinched as he hit the sand. The kids seemed fine, laughing and chanting that they’d defeated the villain. They all stepped off of him, celebrating, as you ran off the equipment to Bakugo’s side. You got on your knees and leaned over him. “Are you okay!?”

“Of course I fucking ain’t, those damn kids just killed me.” He squinted at you.

You chuckled at him. “If you are cursing, then I assume you’re not dead and are just fine.”

You jumped a little when his hand caressed your cheek and he sat up, looking into your eyes, just inches away. You could feel his hot breath on your lips. “Then explain why there is an angel in front of me if I’m not in heaven.” He smirked at you as you momentarily forgot how to breathe.

You quickly pushed him away and leaned back on your knees. “Oh my God, Bakugo! Stop that!”

He let out a loud laugh. “Yo princess, you’re glowing again.”

“Shut up.”

The three of you stayed in the park 'til the sun began to set. Fujio had invited you to come with them back to Bakugo’s house to watch a movie and eat pizza. It was fun; you and Fujio would sing along with the songs as Bakugo would fake puking. By the end of the movie, Fujio was out cold on the couch. “Awe, he’s so cute.” You watch as he snuggled his plush toy.

Bakugo put his arms in the air, stretching. He had taken off his sweater and wore a black tank top. His arms were now bare, showing the many scars that scattered around his forearms. “Just wait until he wakes up in the morning. You would think he’d eaten a shit ton of sugar in his sleep.” He rested one arm on the armrest and the other on the back of the couch behind you.

You giggle quietly, brushing a few strands of Fujio’s hair from his face. “Lucky for him he’ll be with his Uncle Suki who will play with him.”

He hummed beside you, leaning his head against an open palm on the arm resting on the back of the couch. “I’d rather play with him with you here too. You can read to him again and he’ll pass the fuck out.”

“Ah, you just want to use my storytelling skills to your advantage, I see.” You looked back at Bakugo, only to find him closer to you than he was before.

His ruby eyes bore into yours, his stare intense. “Something like that.” He mumbled, his hand reaching out and he grabbing a strand of your hair, running his fingers through it. “I should put him to bed…”

“Oh-oh, I-I’ll put away our plates.” You stood up quickly and grabbed the plates with discarded pizza crusts. Practically running, you made it into the kitchen and were finally be able to breathe normally again. Washing the dishes helped calm your nerves. You were feeling like yourself again and started to hum one of the songs from the movie as you were drying your hands.

“Please, stop it. I just had to sit through an hour of that shit, no more.” Bakugo came into the kitchen with a frown on his face.

You smirked at him before turning back around to fold the towel you’d just used. “I guess I should go home then; I can sing as much as I want there. Plus, it’s getting late.”

Turning around, you took a step to leave but a hand slammed in front of you, blocking your way. “Don’t…” You turn to face him completely, your back pressed against the cabinets and counter.

Swallowing, your voice came out as a whisper. “Is the king holding me captive again?”

His other arm came up on the other side of you, closing you in as he stepped closer. “If that’s what it takes for you to stay…” You stared at him as he reached up, his thumb rubbing against your lower lip. You closed your eyes, enjoying his touch and hoping for more. You felt his breath on you before his lips; he kissed you slowly, almost hesitantly, 'til you leaned in, pressing your lips harder against his.

You pulled away slightly, allowing just enough room to speak but not for your lips to stop touching his. “I guess the evil king captured the princess again…” Your hands slid up his chest 'til your arms were wrapped around his neck, pressing him against your body.

“Fuuuck…” He let out a pant before wrapping his arms around you tightly. One around your waist, the other around your back, his hand in your hair and pressing your mouth against his again. He kissed you without anymore hesitation, only hunger.

Bakugo was watching an action movie as he mindlessly ran his fingers through your hair. Both of you were laying on his couch and you were sound asleep on his chest. Apparently you’d had a busy week as you hadn’t even made it ten minutes into the movie. He didn’t mind though; just having you here instantly relaxed him. As soon as you were gone, he would feel anxious and irritated. It was like he needed you to stay in a good mood. It was so odd.

There isn’t a thing he could name that he didn’t like about you… okay, he could live without the constant singing of children’s songs. But other than that, you were perfect. He’s never taken to anyone like this or this fast. Bakugo had spoken to Kirishima about it (this had been an alcohol-induced conversation) and he said it sounded like Bakugo had experienced love at first sight. Guess that would explain why everything had been so smooth between the two of you.

He held you close to him, burying his face in your hair as he took in your scent. You smiled in your sleep, glowing slightly as you snuggled deeper into his body. He felt a rush of happiness go through him. “I hope this feeling never goes away…” He mumbled into your hair. Since being with you, the last few weeks had gone by fast.. Bakugo isn’t even upset that he still has four more weeks of physical therapy before he can go back to hero work, but doing the shitty office grunt work was getting on his nerves. You keep reminding him that it gave you guys plenty of time to bond before he becomes busy again. Lazing around the house isn't so bad, if it means he can hold you.

“Bakugo… what are you doing?” Your eyes opened to see him staring at you.

“Sorry, I was just so awe-struck. I thought I saw an angel.” You buried your face into his chest as you laughed at his corny joke.

You raised yourself to give him a quick peck on the lips. “You are so weird Bakugo.”

“Katsuki.”

Bakugo squinted his eyes as your glow grew brighter. “You are so weird…Katsuki.”

He grinned at you and pulled your face back to his. “That peck was bullshit, I need more.”

“Katsuki… you need to hurry up, I’m going to be late.” You laughed tugging the stubborn ash-blonde to try and make him walk faster. Someone had to call in sick and they’d called you in to help out, which means the time you guys had together was cut short.

Now Bakugo was pouting and trying to do anything to make the walk last longer. “Can’t they just call someone else… you are working tonight too.” He groaned.

“Katsuuukkkkiiiiiiiii!” You tried to think of something to get him to move. “If you don’t pick it up, I’ll start singing ‘It’s a Small World’.”

Katsuki tightened his hold on your hand and instantly started speed walking, now pulling you. “Fuck that.” You laughed at the look of disgust on his face. He really hated that song, even more so now since it had been stuck in your head for a week. You were able to get to work earlier than expected.

The daycare was chaotic. Kids were screaming and running around. The caregivers looked so relieved the moment they saw you. “Oh thank God, ___, please work your magic on them. We had to put different age groups together so that way one person could look after the infants and with just two of us dealing with all of them, it’s been a nightmare.”

“Yes yes, I’ll calm everyone down and then go to the infant room to relieve the person there.” You took off your jacket and placed on your apron, waving Bakugo goodbye. “I’ll call you later.” Bakugo smiled at you before you took a step inside. And oh man, it was a disaster.

Activating your quirk, your glowing light gave you a relaxing aura that you sent throughout the room. You clap your hands to get everyone’s attention. The screaming and chaos from the little ones almost instantly stopped. Your quirk always made it easier when talking to children and trying to convince them to do tasks.

“Alright everyone, can you all cleanup for me? We’ll have snack time after everything has been put away.” You smile as the children began to clean; well the older ones did. You went in and started to help the little ones clean, encouraging them as they needed it.

The screaming instantly stopped the moment you went into the room. Bakugo was impressed. “Man, I would kill to have her quirk. It’s so useful, making people like you.”

What did that woman say? “Literally just walk into a room and everyone loves you.”

“What are you talking about?” Bakugo spoke up; he was honestly lost.

The women jumped at his voice. They looked at each other before one of them stepped over and began to whisper. “You don’t know? Her quirk manipulates emotions, like the chemicals in your brain. So, like, it feels like you are making the choice when really she can manipulate you with your emotions.” They looked back to make sure you weren’t coming as your voice trailed out into the hall.

“You could be stressing out and when she walks in the room, instant relaxation. But, when she leaves, all the anxiety comes back. She, like, gives off some kind of feel good hormone that makes everyone trust her. That’s how she gets the kids to calm down like that. We’ve even had some parents confess to her after being exposed to her quirk.” The other woman whispered. What the fuck?

The women crossed their arms and nodded at each other. “How do you even know if your relationship is even real when your partner has a quirk like that? The possibility of my emotions not really being mine but something induced by the object of my affection...that freaks me out. Who knows what she may have done? Especially since she has a registration that allows her to use her quirk for her job.” Bakugo’s eyes went wide at what he was hearing. You? Manipulate people? No way.

Bakugo glared at the gossiping women. “Shut your mouths before you say something you’ll regret.” He turned away and left in a hurry. It freaked him out at how similar the things they’d been saying were to how he’s been feeling. All day at work, his leg shook as the thoughts spun in his head. If you’d used your quirk on him, that would explain why he’d opened up to you so fast, why he’d trusted you, and why he’d even fallen for you. That’s when he did something he shouldn’t have: he looked up your quirk registration license.

Quirk : Radiant

Abilities : Able to influence the brain's production of different variations of a neurochemical, endorphins. User glows when producing a high amount of the chemical or when using the quirk, and people can be influenced by touch or even being within a five foot radius. Effects vary based on strand of endorphin, method of exposure, and the user’s emotional state.

“Okay, so she can change your brain on a chemical level…” Bakugo mumbled to himself. That’s kind of cool. Hold on, within five feet of her? You’d said only by touch when he’d asked. And you glow all the time around him, but that could mean you are just a happy person…or were you using your quirk on him to make him feel happy around you and cause him to like you? Like some crazy girl trying to lock down on a hero for money and status? That nerd and Half-and-Half had told him about people trying to seduce them. No one has been bold enough to try with Bakugo before…

And everything had gone so smoothly. There was no bump in the road, no real build; it all just kind of happened. Bakugo hasn’t had many relationships, but he has watched others stumble and struggle with theirs in the beginning, even if the feelings were mutual. Things had just been way too comfy… The more he thought about it, the more nervous Bakugo got.

“Hey, Fish Breath.” Bakugo turned to the cat-like sidekick sitting next to him. The sidekick faced him with an annoyed look. “If someone had a quirk that could manipulate your emotions without you noticing, would you still date them?”

“Hmm,” their eyes narrowed as they scooted closer to him and read what was on Bakugo’s screen. “If it’s something like that, probably not. Aren’t endorphins the ones that make you happy and like stuff? Pretty sure it makes you fall in love too, I think. I’d be afraid that my feelings weren’t really mine, to be honest. Why, is someone you know dating this person?”

“Something like that, but it’s really none of your fucking business.” Bakugo huffed, exiting the database.

The sidekick rolled their eyes before getting back to work. “Yeah yeah. Whatever.” Bakugo tried to continue his paperwork, but he couldn’t seem to focus.

You’ve been trying to call Katsuki, but he wasn’t answering. Usually he’d come to walk you home, but the last kid had just left and there was no hero in sight. Maybe he had gotten caught up at work…you shrug and walk home on your own. Knowing him, he’ll call you later to make sure you got home.

But he didn’t.

For the next few days, Katsuki was completely silent. You asked Fujio if he’d seen his uncle or if he was back to doing hero work, but Fujio shook his head and said that he’d had a sleepover with Katsuki the night before. In fact, he was the one that had brought him to daycare this morning.

What the hell?

Fujio’s father picked him up that night and you cornered the six foot man. “What’s going on with Katsuki?”

Kirishima looked panicked for a moment before flashing you a well-trained smile; you narrowed your eyes. “W-Well, he seemed the same to me. You know, the same old grumpy Bakubro. Why, is something going on?” He was avoiding your eyes…

Oh, he knows what’s going on; he’s such a bad liar. You crossed your arms and glared; thankfully Fujio was asleep in his father’s arms, so he wouldn’t witness this. “Well, I thought we were something, but now I’m starting to feel like we were nothing. He’s been avoiding me. It’s been a week and he hasn’t been answering my calls or texts.”

You watched as the tall hero began to sweat, shifting his feet, and glancing at the door. Uh huh, you could see right through him. He slowly side-stepped you, shuffling to the exit. “I, um,…need to get home. My wife is making dinner and it’s been so long since we’ve been able to eat together. You know, civil servants and all that.” He tried to act nonchalant, but he practically ran out the door with his tail between his legs.

What the hell?!

Bakugo groaned on the couch, an arm over his eyes as his head spun from all the beers he’d had. “I told you not to drink so much.” He was too drunk to glare at the woman cleaning in the kitchen.

“Shhud uppa.”

“I can talk back at you all I want, you are the one who’s been getting drunk and crashing on my couch for the last few days. Go home.” So what? He needed to get away, somewhere you couldn’t find him so that he could assess himself. He was going to respond when the front door opened and a tired Kirishima called out.

“Hello, Mrs. Kirishima.” Bakugo groaned as he listened to Kirishima and his wife get all flirty and kiss each other, burying his head in a pillow. “He’s still here?”

“And drunk. I’ll put Fujio to bed and then I’ll meet you in our bed, Mr. Kirishima.” Ugh, the flirting was getting worse and sobering him up. Bakugo gagged when he heard more kissing and a smack, followed by a giggle. Gross…

Bakugo could sense Kirishima coming over to him. “Dude, you need to go home already.” Lifting the pillow, he peered at the red-head, who was holding a glass out to him.

“Why? So you can bang your wife? The fuck, you two been married for years but are still in the fucking honeymoon stage.” Bakugo sat up and took the glass of water from him and chugged it down. “You’re like horny kids; keep your hands to yourselves for five fucking minutes, will ya?”

Kirishima crossed his arms and glared down at his friend. “Yeah, I would love to fuck my wife, whom I love, but I got to deal with your ass. Dude, you can’t just ghost this girl. Not manly. Plus, you have an easier time avoiding her;, I can’t since she works at my kid’s daycare and she’s scary, dude.”

The ash-blonde pouted. “I just need to think…” Kirishima sighed and reached over to promptly smack Bakugo upside the head. “What the fuck?!”

“You can’t stay here moping about something that you don’t know anything about. Be a man and go talk to her; ask her up front if you’re really worried about this. Though, I honestly don’t think she would use her quirk on you.” Kirishima pushed Bakugo back to lie on the couch, tucking the grown man in with a blanket as he lectured him. “Don’t argue with me. I went through shit like this too; you were there for me and kicked my ass into gear. Now it’s my turn. You are going to stay here tonight, then go home and shower, and then call her. Or, I got a better idea.”

Bakugo couldn’t find any room to argue back; Kirishima really had that dad voice down. “There. I texted her that you’re going over to her house tomorrow to talk this out. I have the day off, so I can make sure you go.” He tossed Bakugo’s cell onto his chest and walked out of the room, turning off the lights and ending the conversation.

“Oi, when the fuck you get my phone?” The angry blonde stared at his phone to see your response. You better have a good explanation. He groaned, throwing the phone, not caring what happened to it, and hid his face in his pillow.

Bakugo didn’t know what to do with himself. He was completely lost on how he was supposed to feel or if he is feeling were even his own feelings.

You were anxious all morning; you started to pace the house and pick up everything. The apartment was organized and reorganized. Laundry in the wash or put away. Pillows fluffed, three times. Books alphabetized, by title and then by author. Sheets changed and bed made. You were in the middle of washing dishes that really didn’t need washing again when you heard keys and the front door opening.

Katsuki entered your apartment; he looked exhausted with bags under his eyes. Walking over, he didn’t greet you like he normally did; instead he just said, “Hey.”

You swallowed, turning back to the dishes as he sat down at the table. “Hi?”

“Listen, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. Things have been going really well. Like, really well. And that doesn’t usually happen with me. Nothing ever is this smooth sailing. I thought about it and it kept bugging me. I looked up your files and I know about your quirk and how it can alter people’s emotions. Even if it was by accident, I don’t appreciate getting my emotions fucked with.” He kept talking about something but the room had gone silent. You blinked at him; everything he was saying was falling on deaf ears.

Did he think…you’d used your quirk on him to make him…fall for you? Really? And he’d looked at your quirk files instead of asking you? That’s it? He avoided you because he thought you were doing something to him that your quirk can’t even do? “I think I just need time away from you, just to make sure it isn’t—”

“Get out.” Your hands gripped the plate tightly; you can see your skin darkening but you don’t care.

“What?”

“I said, get out!” You threw whatever was in your hand blindly; if it shattered near him on the wall, it went unnoticed by you. You can feel yourself getting swept up by your emotions but you didn’t care. You just felt so hurt. “You…you idiot! Jerk! I can’t believe you—you, ugh! You are just so stupid!”

Something else shattered and Katsu—Bakugo was suddenly closer to you. “What the fuck?!”

You were hyperventilating, in full panic mode as you realized how he saw you. He was just like everyone else who had made baseless assumptions. It didn’t hurt anymore to hear those rumors; you weren’t stupid and could hear people whispering about you. But Bakugo had never even mentioned…he seemed to understand…but he didn’t. “Yes my quirk affects people…chemically, only one, but it’s not even…I was glowing because you were making me happy; the light has a minor to zero effect on people. I don’t make others feel…love is not…there is more than one chemical that we produce when we feel love. Endorphins are like happy feelings, like when you eat your favorite candy!”

Bakugo was standing there silently as you threw pillows at him. You couldn’t read his expression; everything was becoming blurry from the tears running down your face. “That’s what my quirk is; it makes you feel like you are eating candy, but only if you are already happy! All I do is make people feel happier than they already are and relax! That’s why it works so well on kids; that candy feeling means the world to them, but adults need a lot more because they have a whole lot going on and I can’t really help them…”

“___, calm down…” He was just like everyone else growing up.

___ why did you do make him like you when you knew I liked him? ___ only gets good grades because of her quirk. Teachers only love her because she makes them. He’s only with her because of her quirk; how sad it must be to have to use you quirk to make someone love you.

You fell to the floor as a sob wracked through your body, your stupid quirk making you feel how upset you were times ten. You weren’t sure if he was stepping closer to hug you or to calm down a wild animal; probably both. “I can’t…I just…any moron can look up what endorphins do to you, but you just assumed…and you think I’d be okay with waiting for you and go on like nothing happened. You thought I was brainwashing you to like me!! Fuck you!” A hand touched your shoulder but you flinched back, slapping his hand away from you. “Get out! Leave! I’m done.”

And just like that, he was gone. He hadn’t even been here five minutes and you’d already lost the person you loved most.

“Endorphins and You. Also known as the happy hormone, endorphins are chemicals that help relieve pain or stress and boost your happiness. There are many ways that your body can release endorphins. In response to pain or stress, exercising, listening to music, eating food or… um, sex…are some examples.” Kirishima read out loud on some free medical website on a page about endorphins as the rest of the Bakusquad boys sat with him.

Kaminari snickered as he threw a few pretzel bites into his mouth. “Oh yeah, Bakugo needs that in his life. Dude has to learn how to chill.”

“Shuddupp.” Bakugo grumbled, face down on the table and a hand gripping tightly to his empty beer mug.

Sero poured more beer into Bakugo’s cup and everyone watched as Bakugo instantly started chugging half of it. “So this a ‘I got dumped’ party for Bakugo, and not Kaminari?”

“Hey!” Kaminari slammed a hand on the table, offended. “I get why Bakugo gets kicked to the curb, but how did you two get girls while I’m over here still painfully single?” Kirishima and Sero looked at each other and shrugged as Kaminari threw his head back in frustration.

Bakugo slammed his mug down, gaining everyone’s attention as he swayed slightly. “Everything was going so well; too well. But it only took me two months to fuck it all up. I let a couple of extras’ words get to me and now I lost her.”

“Is he already drunk?” Sero leaned over to whisper in Kirishima’s ear.

Kirishima shook his head, bringing his own drink up to his lips. “Hmm, not quite. He’s emotional enough that tipsy him will spill his guts.”

After signaling for another pitcher of beer, Kaminari opened his mouth, “Was she really that great if she was throwing plates at you?” And instantly regretted it.

Bakugo glared at the other blonde and pulled him by his collar to yell in his face. “She’s a fucking angel!” Kaminari grimaced from the intense smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Who’s just as scary and trigger happy as he is.” Kirishima thought about how you’d cornered him a few times at the daycare when Bakugo had been avoiding you. Now you refused to even look Kirishima in the eye, only smiling at his son when he was looking and turning cold when it was just Kirishima.

“Fuck you, and fuck you for making me pick up your son that night! I wouldn’t be feeling any of this bullshit if it wasn’t for you.” Despite being furious and making accusations, Bakugo leaned against his friend for support to keep his body steady.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow at him before shaking him off and continuing to finish his beer. Honestly, he couldn’t wait to go home. “Hey, you’re the one who used playdates with Fujio to see her. You’re the manipulative one.”

The table went silent for a moment as Bakugo thought about it for a sec. It’s true; for the longest time, he would use Fujio as an excuse to go see you. “Fuuuck, you’re right…”

“Oooh, cute little kid to lure in the babes. Hey Kirishima could I—”

“No, you cannot use my son to pick up girls.”

“Oh, come on!”

Food and drinks were placed on the table; the men went silent as they ate the bar food. For once, Bakugo wasn’t complaining about the amount of grease. Sero held up a wing, pulling the meat apart. “So did you apologize?”

“I tried, but she won’t answer her phone. She’s blocked me.” Bakugo threw his phone on the table to show a long string of text messages that he had sent to you. He’d sent message after message about how he was sorry for jumping to conclusions and wanted to talk it out. You didn’t respond once and, after two days, you’d blocked him.

“I say move on dude and take this as a lesson on what not to do.” As Kaminari took a sip from his drink, Kirishima reached up and tipped the drink up more so it would spill over the moron’s shirt. “Or not, fuck me, got it.” Kaminari grumbled about going to the restroom to clean up.

Sero looked through Bakugo’s phone, seeing how desperate his friend actually was. Originally he thought this was going to be a gathering to celebrate Bakugo coming back to hero work in a couple of days. But Bakugo didn’t even mention hero work once. Which showed how invested he was in you. Sero tried to think of ideas for his friend. “Maybe try some romantic gestures? Like flowers with a sorry note? Surprise invites to dinner?”

“Try to do something that will soften her up so that you can have a heart-to-heart talk? Did you even tell her why you were getting anxious? The whole love-at-first-sight-thing?” Kirishima questioned Bakugo; they’d talked about how fast he’d become attached to you and your quirk may have made it easier for him to talk to you.

Bakugo groaned. Of course he didn’t tell you that shit. Too vulnerable and embarrassing to admit. Sero raised an eyebrow at him as Kaminari came back. Bakugo sighed even more realizing that the other two idiots hadn’t heard the story. “When I went to pick up Fujio that time, I saw her sitting with some brat in her lap as she read a story to them. She was just so…and her voice was…I just stood there in the doorway, completely fucking zoned out on her. I don’t even know what she was saying but I didn’t want her to stop talking. If the other worker there hadn’t come, I would have stayed there all night if it meant listening to her. And I was much further away than five feet so her quirk had nothing to do with how I felt. Every time I was with her, it was like my quirk was going off all over my body. And I just…had never felt anything like it…” At the end of his story, he could feel his cheeks on fire for reasons other than alcohol and he slammed his head down on the table.

“Say that, that right there. It’s perfect.” Sero nodded, writing down a list of ideas for sober Bakugo to look over tomorrow; he’s got his bro’s back. They all steadily added to the list, shooting out ideas and shutting down Kaminari’s ideas, making it apparent why he was still single.

But Bakugo hadn’t said anything; he never even lifted his head back up as the conversation continued. Kirishima looked over at him and realized why. “And he’s out. So maybe he wasn’t just tipsy.”

Quickly standing and placing his coat on, Sero smacked Kaminari on the back, making the blonde choke on his drink. “Kaminari, you should take him home.”

“Huh? Why me?!” Kaminari slammed his cup down in protest and wiped his mouth clean.

“I have an early morning and my girlfriend is coming over later tonight.” Sero just chuckled as he walked away.

Kirishima patted Kaminari on the shoulder as goodbye, leaving as well. “I got a wife and a kid that wants me to read him a bedtime story.”

Kaminari glared at his friends that had betrayed and left him with a wasted Bakugo. “Screw you guys, I get it. You are all going to get some. There is no need to lie, assholes.” Begrudgingly, Kaminari helped Bakugo to his feet.

(any ideas on how bakugo could win her back? Honestly, I been stuck on this for awhile.)

#bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

561 notes · View notes

need-a-fugue · 4 years ago

Text

We Grow Together (20)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)

Chapter Summary: I don’t understand why you love me!

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

“Why is it so cold?” Tessa whines dramatically as she shuffles into the kitchen.

Bucky turns to face her, frowns at the dark circles under her eyes, the deep red of her nose. “It’s not cold. You’re just sick.” He slaps her hand away when she reaches in front of him to get at the coffee. “No,” he says pointedly, one brow raised in a that’s an order way.

She rolls her eyes at him, even though he’s not looking, too busy pulling out the OJ and pouring her a giant glass. “You’re not my mother,” she says, voice raw and nasal.

He hands her the glass and raises his metal fingers to her forehead. “You’re still warm.”

“No, I told you, I’m freezing.”

There’s a knock at the door, but as per usual, Steve barges in before giving anyone the opportunity to answer. “Hey,” he says making his way into the kitchen. “You ready?” Bucky gives him a nod and he pivots to say good morning to Tessa, but “Oh, God,” falls from his lips instead.

She’s still in the T-shirt she slept in and her hair is a giant, tangled mess from tossing and turning all night. Her eyes and nose are bright red, the rest of her face – save the dark circles under her eyes – is so pale that she’s almost translucent. The moment Steve glances over at her, she lets loose with a wet-sounding fit of coughs that nearly doubles her over.

The look on Steve’s face is one of pure of horror.

“Yeah,” Bucky says downing the rest of his coffee. “Tessa’s sick.”

“I’m dying,” she chokes out between coughs.

Bucky hands her a tissue once the coughing subsides and she blows her nose, long and loud. “She has a cold.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Steve asks with an uncertain look.

“It’s the flu,” Tessa tells him with a final wipe of her raw nose. “Katerina got it from her boyfriend’s kid and brought it into the lab and now it’s chosen me as its host.” She tosses the tissue and tries to run her fingers through her hair only to nearly get them stuck in the mess of unruly curls piled on top of her head. “Of course, you two assholes don’t have to worry about things like the flu,” she says with disdain as she starts to desperately tug and pull at the ponytail holder stuck in her hair.

Bucky reaches into a drawer and pulls out some kitchen shears. “Steve and I are going to go for a run,” he tells her as he reaches up and carefully cuts the rubber band before she pulls out all of her hair. “I made you some toast,” he indicates the plate on the counter.

She eyes the food and wrinkles her nose. “There’s fruit on that.”

“Yeah,” he says, setting a couple of pills on the plate. “And you’re gonna eat it. And you’re gonna drink that orange juice. And take that medicine.”

She stares directly into his crystal clear, gray-blue eyes with her puffy, red-rimmed, ravaged ones. Then she reaches over to pluck the pills from the plate. Never breaking eye contact, she tosses them into her mouth and swallows them dry.

“Seriously?” he asks her, completely deadpan.

“I’m going back to bed.”

She lumbers past Steve, who, even though he’s almost incapable of getting sick, still recoils from her as though she’s spreading the plague. “She is the worst,” he whispers once she’s mostly out of earshot.

Bucky exhales a long, drawn-out sigh. “Is it wrong that I almost want her to be sick enough to be admitted to the hospital?”

Steve gives him a disappointed look.

“Not life-threateningly… just sick enough that professionals have to take care of her.”

“I’m changing my assessment. You are the worst.”

Bucky smiles dully as they leave. “Hey,” he says once they hit the elevator, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Steve punches in Ground Floor and nods absently. “Okay.”

“Just – ” he starts, quickly slamming his mouth shut when the elevator doors open to reveal Natasha.

She raises a single assessing brow and looks the men up and down, taking in their outdoor apparel. “You’re seriously going to go out into that frozen tundra?” she asks with amusement.

They got a break in the freezing temperatures just after New Years, but a couple of days ago the temps dropped again and another five inches of snow came their way. Truth be told, both Bucky and Steve had a bit of a problem with the snow – being frozen for decades tends to leave a guy with a bit of a disdain for the cold. But there’s only so much time a person can spend in the Avengers gym – grand though it may be – before he starts to go stir crazy.

“Aren’t you from Russia?” Steve asks, shooting her a smirk.

“Yeah, and there’s a reason I left.” She sweeps by them and into the elevator as they disembark. “Have fun, boys,” she intones with a small wave as the doors close.

The minute they exit the building, the second thoughts hit them, almost as harshly as the bitter wind slaps them in the face. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles, harshly pulling on a stocking cap. “I fucking hate the cold.”

Steve tugs at his gloves and lifts up the hood on his jacket. “You can handle it,” he says with a grin. “Oh, hey, what were you gonna ask me before?”

Bucky doesn’t look at him, instead he stares off into the distance, taking in the snow-covered trees and reveling in the utter stillness that lay before them. “I was thinking,” he says slowly as they begin to walk towards the trail that leads out into the woods. It won’t be cleared, but, as Steve had convinced him yesterday, the challenge is what makes it fun.

“Yeah,” Steve drawls out when his friend falls silent beside him.

“Do you think she’d say yes?” His brow is deeply furrowed beneath his cap, and his words are filled with a sort of hesitation and doubt as he goes on. “At the party, you made it seem like…if I asked Tess to marry me… It sounded like you figured she’d say yes.”

To Steve’s credit, he doesn’t simply laugh out a yeah, duh, of course she would. Instead he takes a moment to actually think about it. “You two have been through a lot. I mean, for only having been together, what a year?”

“Almost two.”

“She really loves you,” he says, swiveling around and continuing their trek backwards so that he can face his friend. “I know she has some… qualms about relationships or… family. She didn’t exactly have a normal family growing up.”

Bucky stops short and locks eyes with him. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I know she loves me. And we’re happy together. But… sometimes she… I’m afraid it might scare her off.”

“Have you two actually ever talked about marriage? Or having a family?”

Bucky’s eyes get wide. “Like having kids? No. God no.”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” he counters with a laugh.

“No, it’s just… I don’t know.” He starts moving again, picking up the pace as they near the trail. “I guess I was just thinking about it some… after what you said. And after our trip.” He swallows hard and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Steve breathes out, catching up to him. “For what it’s worth, I think you two would have amazing kids. Of course they’d be stubborn as hell and absolute pains in the ass – ”

“Hey,” Bucky chides, tossing the words of his shoulder as he starts to run headlong into the woods. “Be careful. Those are my future children you’re talking about.”

000

When he gets back from the run, he finds her curled into a nest of blankets on the couch. Instead of watching trashy TV, though, she’s got her laptop open up as she scrolls through spreadsheets. “Are you working right now?” he asks, looming over her.

“Go take a shower,” she says, without looking up. “Even I can smell you.”

On his way back to the shower, he notices that the meal he made her is sitting half eaten on the breakfast bar. Better than nothing. And when he enters the bedroom, he’s surprised to find that the bed is neatly made – minus the comforter, which is currently wrapped around the woman in the other room. As he strips down and steps into the shower, he sees that the bathroom is clean too, and the wastebasket that had been overflowing with used tissues is now empty.

“You feeling better?” he asks when he finally makes his way back into the living room. The shower was long and hot, and nearly every window and mirror in the apartment is now steamed up. She merely shrugs, so he reaches down and feels her forehead. Still warm. “You didn’t have to clean up,” he tells her, picking up her feet from the other side of the couch and sliding himself beneath them. “I would’ve done it.”

“I left you the plate of fruit toast, if you want to clean something.” She peers at him over the screen of her laptop, but he can’t really see her eyes because of the reflection on her glasses.

“You didn’t eat much. Are you hungry?” His hands begin running soothing lines up and down her fleece-covered shins as he offers her a smile. She closes the laptop and stares at him with a stern look. “What?”

“Stop trying to take care of me.”

His hands freeze on her legs. Dumfounded, he says simply, “Excuse me?”

She pulls her feet out of his lap. “I’m a full-grown woman. I can take care of myself.” Her words are sharp and clipped, but her voice is still so ragged and pathetic-sounding that he almost laughs.

“You’re sick. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, stop.”

“You know, for the record, if you can take care of yourself, maybe you should.” He rises quickly from the couch and storms into the kitchen, grabbing the breakfast dish on the way. “Instead of not eating and trying to live off of coffee and energy drinks.”

“I was doing just fine on coffee and energy drinks before you came around and tried to take them away from me!” she shouts after him, her voice breaking when it reaches a certain pitch.

He throws away the half-eaten food, rinses the plate, and turns to lean in the doorway, scowling at her from across the room. “What is your problem?”

The laptop clatters to the floor as she works to free herself from the blankets surrounding her. In the most indelicate way possible, she finally extracts herself and marches over to him. “Tony fired Max,” she spits out in disgust.

He leans forward, so close that their noses almost touch, and he bites back, “Good.”

“Jesus Christ!” She turns and begins pacing in the small hallway. “This isn’t 1945, James! I didn’t need you coming to my rescue!”

“You really think I wasn’t going to say something? After what he did?”

“What he did?” She plants herself in front of him once more. “What did he do? Called me a name?”

“That’s not something you call a lady,” he issues between gritted teeth.

She lets out a huge, fake guffaw. “A lady?” She begins to laugh in earnest, the bitter chortle quickly leading to a coughing fit.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he says simply. “Believing what’s right is right and what’s wrong is wrong doesn’t make me old fashioned. And for the record, Stark seemed just as pissed, so don’t tell me that I’m overreacting.”

“I told you I would handle it,” she says quietly, still rasping. “I fucking begged you to let me handle it.” Between everything – the coughing and the congestion, the embarrassment and the anger – she’s suddenly in tears in front of him.

“I said I wouldn’t talk to him, and I didn’t,” he says, averting his eyes. He knows he’s not wrong for what he did. Hell, if anything, the more he thinks about it, he wonders if he’s wrong for only getting the son of a bitch fired and not actually caving his skull in.

“You betrayed me.”

He laughs. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”

“You undermined me. You went behind my back. To my boss. You made it seem like I couldn’t handle the situation –”

He pulls himself from the doorframe and moves over to her, looks her directly in the eye as he says, “Then why the hell did you tell me?”

“What?”

“If you were going to handle it, you would’ve handled it. Instead, you told me something that you knew I wasn’t gonna just let go. You knew I’d want to kill him for that.”

The look on her tear-stained face is one of utter confusion. “I… I didn’t,” she tries, obviously completely lost.

“You didn’t what?”

She takes a long breath and looks up at him. “Everybody in that lab hates me,” she says quietly. “I just wanted you to tell me they were wrong.” She pushes her glasses up into her hair and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. Hot tears continue to spill out, though she’s trying so damn hard to staunch the flow. “I make them crazy. And they made up some dumb nickname for me to make themselves feel better. And I hate it. I hate that they hate me. But…”

“Stop,” he says gently. “Stop it,” as he tenderly grasps her forearms and pulls her now balled-up fists from her eyes.

“I don’t understand why you love me!” she sobs, as he holds her hands down at her sides.

He’s so taken aback, he doesn’t quite know what to say. “What?” is all that comes out as he releases her arms and moves his hands to her hips.

“I’m so horrible,” she continues to cry. “I was horrible to my family. And they gave me everything. And I told them I hated them. And I left them. I left them to die!” She leans into him and his arms instinctively wrap around her. But he’s still too damn confused about what’s happening to actually say anything. So she just goes on, muffled words tumbling out into him. “I didn’t have any friends in school because I was too competitive. And everyone who ever worked with me hated me because I tried too hard, or I made them look bad, or I was too hard on them – and it’s all true, too!” She pulls away a bit and looks up into his eyes. “I like being the best. And like being the one in charge. And I like to fight.”

He almost laughs at the last one, a small smile tugging on his lips. “That’s called being driven,” he says as he brings his hand up to smooth down her hair. “And that’s just one of the things I love about you.”

She shakes her head, casting her gaze down before closing her eyes. “That’s not what I mean. I just… My whole life… when I was little nobody wanted me. And when I got older… I never told anyone in college that I was a mutant. They all hated us. For no reason. And I never understood. And I… I… ”

“Okay,” he says, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and pivoting her towards the other room. He guides her back to the couch and sits her down as he says, “This feels like we’re talking about something totally different from the thing with Max.”

As soon as she sits, she collapses back into the cushions and blankets. “I’m just so tired of being hated.” Her eyes remain closed as she wipes at her nose with the back of her hand and lays her head back. “But I also kind of feel like it’s all I know. And now you’re here. And you say you love me…”

“I do love you,” he tells her as he sits down on the coffee table in front of her. “I love you more than anything.”

She shakes her head absently, her voice sounding much steadier when she asks, “But why?”

He runs his hands up her thighs before gripping her from behind, then he slowly pulls her closer to him. As she nears the edge of the couch, her head loses purchase on the cushions and she’s forced to slump forward instead. “Baby,” he starts, lifting her chin so she’ll look him in the eye. “Nobody knows better than me what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve to be loved. I still think it. And to be honest, every day I wonder how it is that you can love me.”

“So we’re meant for each other,” she mumbles with a sniffle.

He grabs a tissue, presses it into her hand and waits for her to blow her nose. When it’s clear she needs more, he drops the box in her lap. “Can I ask where all this is coming from?”

“The snot?” Her brow wrinkles in confusion as she holds the wad of tissues to her nose.

He smiles and ducks his head. “No. This… reaction.”

“You shouldn’t have told Tony,” she says, looking for a place to set her used Kleenex.

He holds out his hand and she reluctantly gives him the filthy wad. “I’m sorry.”

“I might hire him back. I told Tony that.”

His jaw twitches and he grinds his teeth before forcing out, “If that’s what you decide to do…”

“I just… I’m not used to be taken care of. And I know you were trying to help.” She quirks an eyebrow at him and sternly says, “You overstepped.”

“Understood.”

She leans back again, collapsing onto the couch like a ragdoll. Letting out a long, wheezy sigh, she says, “I don’t really know if I think I don’t deserve it, or if I’m just not used to it. I’ve been on my own a long time. And anyone who ever really did love me, or who I thought did…” Some more tears start to collect in her eyes as she says, “I don’t know.”

“Here’s the thing, doll,” he says as he crawls over to sit beside her, “I’m never going to stop wanting to take care of you. I love you. And you’re supposed to want to take care of the people you love.”

“I know,” she replies, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I got involved with the whole Max thing. But I gotta tell ya, if I hear about anyone treating you badly, I’m gonna get involved. And it’s not because I don’t think you can handle it. It’s because I can’t handle knowing that someone is hurting you.” She nods against him. “Also,” he mutters, turning his head and laying a kiss on her crown, “You’re funny and witty and brilliant. Smartest person I know. So dedicated. And so unbelievably beautiful. And you’re a good person, who cares – maybe too much sometimes – about everyone. And that’s just the tip of the why I love you iceberg.”

They sit in silence for several long minutes, just melting into one another. Her body leans heavily into him as her head lulls to the side on his shoulder. When he glances down, he sees that she’s fallen asleep, so he pulls the comforter up around them both, wraps his flesh-and-bone arm around her lower back, and leans back into the cushions to rest his eyes. The last thing that filters through his mind as he too drifts off is one simple thought – I am so fucked.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x oc #Bucky x original female character #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfiction #Supernova

5 notes · View notes

anteroom-of-death · 5 years ago

Text

Life, For Dummies p5

a/n: deconstructed angst with a slice of life. idk, i cried too many times lately n now we here. enjoy my pretties.

You fell into a comfortable routine of sorts. No set pattern or time sheets to fill out, no schedule. Just adventure after scheme, mind-numbing body flaring fuck after pleasurable expeirence, after explosions and wine and dine.

He’d even begun to train you to pilot the TARDIS. He made it fun, and used sex and punishment like a drivers education teacher uses gold stars and red pen. Land it perfectly or even in the right vicinity, he’d toss you up over the console and toss your legs behind his shoulder and eat you out like you were the last snack on the planet. Leaving you with beard burns and gushing…

Manage to wreck the TARDIS into something or massively screw up? He’d pull you by your ear until you were lower to the ground and take the notebook you’d eagerly scribbled notes into, tear your panties down and use it as a flogger, “Now maybe it’ll get through your skull now?”

You didn’t know which rednesses were which anymore.

Once you even set up in a kingdom after killing the King and Queen and using telepathic manipulation. It was an annual tithings feast akin to the Purge. The survivors of it would give the king and queen the losers goods. You did admit it was good having everyone fawn over you and treat you like royalty. The Master laughed and nearly died laughing the first time you truly didn’t fuss over the genuflecting, sputtering masses. After that was done, he took only the prettiest and most useful object and drug out the corpses of the former rulers and mockingly made them on their thrones.

He did take the most grand tiara and place it on your head one night and said, “Queen of the Whores...look at how well you know how to kneel!” Before cumming on it, your face, and the wall behind you.

You insisted on lots of rest days in the TARDIS and even out. He enjoyed having a solarium open to the most grand suns for naps during this time, all curled up, you on his chest and you knew this might be the legitimate only time the alien ever had some semblance of a sleeping schedule.

He’d taken to playing slightly with your hair and humming a bit to you. It was simple and always drained out to a slight snore. He was opening up and relaxing more around you. Even informing you of his life. All the good with all the bad. It was slow to start, but you knew it was a lot.

He was right, all those months ago, this was the Real Way to See the Universe. Having it brought to you and not at random. Each day an a la carte and having loads of time to unwind. The days of randomness and ill-adept piloting, half lies mixed with earnest truths and long-winded explanations were a fever dream of lives past. You understood him better. At his level.

Things became clear and stuck.

You wondered off hand constantly if this was what regeneration felt like one day.

“I can assure you. It’s much more painful.” He said, responding to your wonderment, tracing a small circle around the base of your neck one day at a beach on Momia 18. “You at least get to keep this smashing body, I have the lottery. Will I end up a dashing man with hands that can do this- “ He went lower and massaged the outside of your bikini bottoms, “And these lips you can never tear your filthy little mind away from…” He stopped and pulled you back, “Or something boring and less exciting.”

“Damn, you have a point there.”

If not for the people who he demanded you get called by your preferred name and or, regal terms, you half-thought sometimes you’d forget your name. What was it again? Y/N?

You were always “Pet” or “my pet”. Unless he was being cool with you, then it was a terse “love”, which always made your heart plummet into your stomach.

You’d only fought once so far, and it was over something so stupid, you happened to land on Earth and it was a festival and he wanted to scheme and lure in her, but you wanted a nice day perusing the booths and eating, maybe getting a haybale ride in. You ended up cutting your nose off to spite your face and slamming the door to your room and barricading it with a chair, screaming that he had best not come in there. You froze him out for three days and you two took two fucking weeks to make it up.

It was, at the end, you paid in pain and delayed pleasure. He had you you choked out and chained on the floor of the TARDIS, slowly torturing you with fucking your brain up with images of him pleasuring you. All while using an electric zinger. The Master had you begging and pleading while informing you that Pets don’t get the chance to freeze out their Masters. That they were to be warm and receptive. Always obedient. Once you got the point, he brought you to the most extreme orgasm you ever had, then spent the next day caring for you and yet making sure you wore your new marks with pride.

You could have, in retrospect gone without him, but hindsight is perfect vision.

You knew you were changing, you were constantly reminded, not just by your creeping suspicions, but by the few, brief times you checked in with your old reality on Earth. You said your excuses, blamed mental illness and lied through your teeth to poor Graham who wanted to send you a box of scones he made.

He’d been a surrogate father to you in a few many ways.

Yet you never felt so far and so disentangled.

Not that all change was bad. You were becoming more confident and stood straight up. You were always learning, whether at the hands of your Master, or by the innumerable amount of books he had falling over the place, even by your own tinkering. Your reveries became smaller and fewer in between. And you didn’t let fear get in the way of you doing anything, even falling great heights.

You were a ghost within a ghost wrapped in a human shell.

Chaos over Chaos.

The final piece of this fell in when you finally encountered her, the Doctor and all your old friends. Yaz, Ryan and Graham.

It was an accident.

You’d been laying the foundations for rebellion to happen, the Master was quite put out with the establishment and told you, “Let them eat cake!” as you pointed out, that it’d be longer to wait, but more fun to sew the seeds of discourse and let them march the leaders' heads out on spikes, then swoop in later as glorious alternatives.

He kissed you so hard you nearly stumbled over and quickly blurted out, “I love you for this! What a clever idea.”

Of course, the Fam was here and trying to create peace and make sure “order” happened and not your beautiful chaos.

It was a stand down and you’d literally just walked into those two circling around each other like snarling dogs for a meaty bone.

“I knew you’d probably be behind something as sinister as this!” She barked.

Yaz and Ryan were calming a crying leader’s wife and Graham was recharging his Laser shoes. You wondered offhandedly how a supposed pacifist would let him have a weapon purely for killing.

You allowed yourself one, “Fuck.” a little too loud to escape quietly and go deal with this and smooth over the best saving grace for your long plan you both poured all three of the available hearts into.

“Y/N?” The Doctor pivoted and spun around to the shadow you’d been off stage in.

The Fam all dropped whatever they were doing immediately and began to gawk at you.

“We thought you died? I went to your home to pick you up and it was deserted-dusty!”

“We tried calling!”

“I mailed you a postcard!”

“We checked every local hospital and scanned the records for your death!”

So many voices and shouts shook you into the first of a massive reverie in a while. A dull ringing set in and snapped. People started bickering between. For a second you couldn’t hear a single peep from anyone and lost your mental footing.

“How could you betray me? After all we’ve been through?” The Doctor demanded, rolling into your face and nose curling in utter grievances. Fire and sadness filling her eyes. You felt guilt, but saw the pure disgust radiating out of her.

“Enough.” You pushed back and screwed yourself up again.

“You left me, and them.” You pointed your commanding hand at the Fam. “All alone and on our own to get home! What was I supposed to do? Stand by and wait like I’m being stood up? We waited days. We always wait for you. Always.” Hurt and violence pouring out of every syllable. “What are we, hmm? Us companions? Toys for you to play with for character development then toss away when you learn your lesson?”

“He’s got your hypnotised! He’s evil! You know he’s a baddie!”

You let out a manic laugh, “So?”

“Look what he’s turned you into!” She pointed, “You didn’t look like this before.”

You clapped your hands and chortled, “I’m happy!”

You saw out of the corner of your eye everyone, even the Master, stepped back and observed the two of you’s scene. Yaz? Horrified and like she’d seen a murder. Ryan, confused and hurt. Graham, hurt, but just looking glad he wasn’t in the middle of it.

But your Master, you thought you heard him coo under his breath and felt a warm tingling in your brain.

Yaz, ever the Officer and The Gentlewoman approached you and asked honestly if you were okay.

At the moment you didn’t know, you crossed a hand over your gut and inhaled sharply, slouching and swallowing a lump in your throat. Graham was beginning to look beyond concerned and in a fatherly sort of way. “You seemed shaken up the last time we talked, Y/N. Did he hurt you?” He approached you and put out to comfort you…

The Doctor was turning from shock to anger and betrayal overruled. “What’s that? It’s like he’s taken over you!” The Doctor made a broad sweeping gesture.

The Master went to speak and you waved him off, your mind crashing around you. You could feel him getting worried and angry. He looked like he was to kill the Doctor. But not in the little smirking way you’d grown to adore. His teeth were out, but not in a wide, dopey grin. Purely feral and ready to open something like a can opener…

He stopped, looking confused but a little proud. He had a front row seat to your mind and the cacophony of thoughts inside it, yet was shocked.

“Oh- it’s not like you don’t take us and mould us to your liking? Worlds speak in hushed reverent tones of you sacrificing your Children of Time. Then you go move on to another set. No big deal! You can always pick a bunch of suckers. Your TARDIS might as well be a white panelled van.” You tried matching her equally for the amounts of emotions or a monologue she would do. “You’re just as bad if not worse! You play the hero and the martyr! You lie to us!”

To rub salt in the wound you quietly added, “He’s many things, but I know he’ll never lie to me.”

You didn’t know how much of a hard-ass you could successfully pull off. You considered her a friend and up until this moment still had a lot of loyalty and love for her. You still loved despite always being a misshapen puzzle piece the human part of the Fam.The ringing settled in your jaw and you felt her pain.

Your facade began shaking.

You started to tear up. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Stay home? The world was in lockdown, and my anxieties were numerous. I was worried sick about you, and forget me? Graham’s elderly and has health problems!” Your lower jaw began to shake. You were scared for the first time in ages.

“Sue me, so I left with the Master.”

Your words rang out but not as intense as they should have.

“Did I really fit in with you at all?” You posed an easy question. Expecting an easy answer.

The tears began to fall freely.

“He’s evil...” She reminded you.

“Does not matter.” You rebutted.

“He’ll kill you.”

“Whatever.” At this point you began wishing someone would murder you.

She pivoted and lunged straight at him, “This a big part of your plans? Take my companion and pervert her? Then have her trot out…” she straddled him and grabbed him by the lapels. “Dressed like you dressed her? Huh? What method of mind control-” You went to go save him from the honey badger in blue.

He began to laugh, not exactly manically, but not exactly mirthfully as well. “Oh, I’ve been more or less avoiding you. Out of respect for my pet.” The tone was taunting and bitter. “You think I wanted to hurt Y/N? Like this? Oof- how little your respect for me, Doctor!” He spit her name out like a fatwa.

You closed your eyes and began to break. Mentally, you were draining down and physically it felt like you’d received a punch to your guts. You felt spiritually bereft. The Doctor and the Master fighting made you feel like some doll for these virtual children to deal with.

You wished you could pop a valium.

Giving the rest of the Fam an imploring look, you swallowed and gathered yourself up. You hoped your eyes could give them all the apologies and information you needed them to know. That you cared for him and weren’t in trouble. All the facets of you crashing and burning. You were being torn apart, playing a game with your held heart.

But in the end it was fruitless. So you pulled the two Time Lords off each other, glowering at the two of them.

“I’m going back to the TARDIS.” You gave it your best shot to look commanding and in charge.

You turned around and tried to stalk out with all the bravery you could muster. You couldn’t relate to a happy state, feeling your blood run cold in your ears.

So you ran.

#personal #i wrote this #i made this #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #thirteeth doctor #the master #reader insert #doctor who self insert fiction #fanfic #master x reader #master x you

31 notes · View notes

automaticenemycrusade · 4 years ago

Text

Joyride: Ch. 1 - A Tale of Six

It was but a day before that the fox was rising up from his desk after a less-than-preferable slumber to do the same things he did any other day, random and sometimes unnecessary chores that he (and others) put himself up to. Yet, here he was, alongside his cousin, watching him curiously as he rambled on about the route they planned to take. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying all that much attention until a roll of vellum made its way onto that dingy table of his, unfurled to reveal a roughly-drawn outline of their pilgrimage.

Jole tapped at it with a pointer finger. “We start here,” He said, tracing his finger along the dotted line and stopping somewhere in the middle, before resuming his tapping. “Stop here. Neat lil’ ruin there, easy to scavenge, full of fun toys n’ keepsakes, stuff like that.”

“Is it safe?”

There was a pause. “Probably?”

“Jole.” He said exasperatedly. “These kits are being put under our care, so the least we can do is guarantee their safety.” He inhaled, reemphasizing, “Is it safe?”

The vulpera knocked back his head with a wince, sucking in a breath of air through gritted teeth. “Yeah,” He exhaled. “Yeah, I know a guy. He can scout it out, see what’s what.” The poor thing, he almost sounded ashamed of himself, so much so that Nord felt pressured to reassure him.

“We’ll make this work.” His tone, obviously, held a tinge of uncertainty, as this could have very well been bait to stroke Jole’s ego, which it was. It definitely, definitely was. “Just get everything sorted. There’s no point in it if we’re stressing ourselves out the whole time.”

“Half the charm, bud. We’re in the big leagues now!”

Nord cut in. “If you consider carting around kits the big leagues, then yeah.” Now he was the one being hypocritical! How the tables have turned. In any case, the interjection was met with an eyeroll and a scoff, as was customary. It was a miracle they still tolerated each other after all these years of quarrels and quibbles, but lo and behold, by the blessing of whatever the hell kept their hearts beating, they still co-existed. Generally, anyway.

“If you consider carting around kits the big leagues.” He mimicked.

“Very mature.”

“Y’know, you’re really dead set on there being kits.”

“That’s what you told me.”

“Did not.”

“So, you are just inviting those girls.”

“N- no! I didn’t say that!”

“Kinda sounds like you did.”

They could go on for hours. In fact, they probably already had. How long had it been? Who knows. The two todds, eventually, for better or for worse, came to the mutual agreement that things should be kept formal and professional for as long as the planning phase of their scheme lasted. Here’s hoping it never ended, right? It couldn’t be broken either, for it was by pinky that they sealed their pact, and if there’s any sort of promise you can’t break, it’s a pinky one.

The ashfur had long since departed from the tent by then, leaving with a, “I’ll spot out some company. Catch some zizzies! We got a big day next sunrise.” and for once, Nord went to bed properly that night, in his own bed, under his own sheets, and nestled against his own pillow.

Except he couldn’t sleep.

He was too busy thinking, and unlike the layman, he wasn’t mulling over all the insurmountable things that could go wrong. He was thinking about the very opposite, actually. The friends they’d make, the sights they’d see, the freedom he’d feel, but like all of his cousin’s incredibly ambitious projects, it felt just out of reach. He made a promise not to have any high expectations after the first few disappointments, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited. Something inside of him called out for adventure, and the world had just conveniently given it to him. Who was he to put down the opportunity?

He shifted uncomfortably and tugged the sheets further over his chest as an updraft of wind made its way past the tent flap. He hadn’t tightened the rope enough, and yet he neglected to crawl out of bed to do just that. Why? He wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. Maybe it was out of fear he’d collapse at his desk again. Maybe he was already sleeping and his dream happened to concern being awake. He couldn’t have been that bland, right? He was still young, he could still experience the thrill of youth, which was something he had lacked up until now. For a day, he could be a kit again; for a day, he could be careless.

He recalled Jole’s words in that moment, “No supervision.” and it was just as that burden of responsibility washed over him that he pressed into the pillow, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and forced himself into slumber. No more thinking, not tonight.

♦

The morning after was both the busiest and most unpleasant one he had ever woken up to. As if the lack of sleep wasn’t enough, Jole barging in and clanging two horseshoes together definitely took the cake. That’s what Nord woke up to, in any case, and Jole, true to his fashion, didn’t stop until he was sure his cousin was properly roused. An unnecessary amount of wake up’s, come on’s, and I’m awake’s were exchanged between the two before the onyx vulpera actually managed to scramble to his feet and dust himself off of the morning grime. He hadn’t even put on his vest yet, which he promptly went to remedy.

“Today’s the day, Nordy!” He had never looked so thrilled in the time Nord had known him, which was a high bar to jump. Not that he was surprised, the occasion called for it. “The day we rewrite the game, the day we add puh to the pow, you and me.” Nord gave him a look. “And I.” There you go.

“So, everything’s set?” He had just finished yanking his vest from an unkempt pile of clothes and fitting it over his torso when the question left his lips. Laundry. He should do that when he gets back.

Jole, meanwhile, slurred off into an, “Ehhh…” as he itched at the back of his neck with unease. “I mean, not all the people I asked said yes,” The vixens. Called it. “But we got a few applicants. Kits. We’re gonna go pick ‘em up, actually.” He instinctively went to raise up his hands just as Nord leaned back to pinch at the bridge of his snout. “Yeah, we’ll have to talk to some parents, but that’s why I do the talking! You just stand there and look, uh…” He trailed off.

“Mature?”

“Right. That. Look like you know a thing or two.”

“I do know a thing or two.”

“Not my point, but sure.” The ashfur paused, then rose a finger. “In fact,” He paused again, this time with an open grin. A joyous, illegible voice from outside then broke their silence, calling out a name that Nord couldn’t quite catch from this distance. It was unfamiliar to him, but seemingly not to Jole, who said right afterward, “Here’s one now.”

He had questions, lots of them, but it appeared now wasn’t the time, as Jole made pretty clear by shushing him, taking him by the hand, and ushering him outside. The glare of the sun took him by surprise once they left the safety of his shelter, squeezing out an, “Ow.” once it got him in the eyes. A part of him wanted to plead with Jole to slow down, to give him just a bit of respite, but the other pushed him on, the other kept reminding him of the spectacular day ahead once they got their wagon on the trail.

They never said it was easy having fun in the desert.

The voice called out again, clear enough to pick out the words this time, “Mister Jolluh?” and once Nord was able to track its source, his eyes landed upon a short, dappled orange vulpera who couldn’t have been more than five or six.

Jole called back, “Jole! It’s Jole.”

“It’s Jolluh.” Nord cut in, which his cousin was quick to prohibit by swiping a hand in front of his face.

“Jole.” He repeated. By then, he had waved the child over, who practically tripped over himself in trying to close the distance. It wasn’t any help that he was carrying quite a load on him, with a mix of knapsacks and nap snacks.

“Hi!” He offered a little wave, which nearly caused all that stuff he was holding to slip onto the ground. Should he help? Nord wasn’t sure. “I’m Lynsol!” He said, cheerily. Nord had never seen someone quite as bright and joyous as the boy, and that was enough to make him smile. Jole looked pretty proud of himself for that one.

Speaking of the ashfur, he had leaned over to be eye-level with the kit, presenting his hand to be shaken, which it was, almost immediately. “And how old are you, buddy?”

The boy, Lynsol, held up five fingers. Huh. He wasn’t far off. Nord had apparently looked off-put by this discovery, as the kit brought attention to it by waving at him and reassuring him, “Don’t be sad! Mom says I got a gold heart! And I got op-ti-mi-sm! Which means I’m super happy!” And then he giggled, and in a blink, Nord forgot what sadness was. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“She’s right, you know.” Nord, too, outstretched his hand, which was taken just as fast. “Maybe you can teach us how to keep our chins up as well as you do, huh?” Lynsol, in turn, nodded repeatedly, an exuberant smile still planted on his snout.

“Isn’t he just a bundle of joy?” Jole went to pinch at his cheeks, which caused another giggle to escape from the boy and another smile to sweep onto Nord’s face. “With that out of the way, how ‘bout I introduce you to the sacks of fluff we’ll be using this eve’?” He waved a hand off to the side with dramatic flair, which Lynsol felt pressed to applaud at. Awh.

“I’m gonna be really disappointed if one’s not pink.” Nord remarked. Jole, whilst in the motion of pivoting and leading them off to the stable, rolled his eyes in response. He could practically hear the unspoken hardy har har radiating from him. Strangely, it felt as if he blacked out somewhere along the way, because one second they weren’t there, then the next they were, and he had no recollection of the steps it took to get there. The fact Jole was giving him one of those looks only added to the mystery.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

Two blinks, a shake of his head, and a roll of his shoulders later, and he had more or less snapped back to reality. By then, his cousin had disappeared into the stable, and by the next second, he emerged with--

“What.”

What lay before Nord was a pair of the scruffiest, shaggiest, and grungiest alpacas he had ever had the misfortune of looking upon. Had that one even been sheared since it was born? And the other smelt like marmot breath. He couldn’t help but recoil in disgust. “Are you s-”

“Oh, I love them! Can I pet them? Pretty please?” The boy queried, excitedly. Nord could barely believe his eyes. He was made so giddy by just seeing an alpaca, and not even a good, healthy one, for that matter. Should he have been giddy? Was he missing something? Either way, his cousin was happy to humor the little one.

“Go right ahead, lil’ guy!” He replied, twirling his fingers in the alpacas’ direction as if he were spinning a cane. Always the showman, this guy. Lynsol clapped his hands together in a rapid, exhilarated rhythm, as he--true to Jole’s directions--went right ahead. Those small hands of his darted over to scritch at what was likely a tick-ridden clump of fluff, but oddly enough, that didn’t look to be of any concern to the kit, nor to the alpaca. In fact, the alpaca looked at the boy like he was the first to have given them a scritch or two, as if everybody else had always judged them by their disheveled appearances. In a flash, Nord had gone from being generally neutral to feeling guilty and terrible. He felt pressured to redeem himself in his own eyes, and so it was that his subconscious took the wheel and put one foot in front of the other. A hand rose to caress the animal, but he found that it hovered in front of Jole’s face instead, as he had conveniently moved in front of him during his approach. The ashfur gently moved the hand aside, and with that, Nord blinked himself back to reality. No more thinking, not today.

“Apollo and Hutch.”

“Huh?”

“Apollo and Hutch, the alpacas.” Jole pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the duo. The alpacas, Apollo and Hutch, looked on expectantly, while Lynsol kept itching at their scruffs, cooing and chortling. “Something tells me you didn’t catch much sleep last night, big guy.” He clapped a hand onto Nord’s shoulder, almost sounding concerned. Almost.

“I’m fine.” Nord said, waving a hand dismissively. He really wasn’t, and Jole knew it too, but he didn’t want to bring down the mood. He wasn’t that selfish. Either way, he didn’t think his soul--nor anyone’s soul, for that matter--could sustain the boy being unhappy with his dismay. He didn’t think he could sustain the boy being unhappy at all.

“If you say so.” The words slapped Nord back to attention. It was obvious the ashfur wasn’t convinced of his cousin’s fineness, but he wasn’t one to push, especially not today. Why was it today that Nord’s head decided to preoccupy itself with all these thoughts? He wasn’t sure. Though, just like the last few times, life moved on, because Jole had a job to do. “Right! So, Lyn, Lynnie, buddy,”

Lynsol tossed a glance over his shoulder, the joy in his eyes never once dimming since the time they had met. “Hm?”

“Lucky you, you're our first member aboard the wagon, bud, ‘cause we got friends on the way. You’re gonna help me and Nordy here pick ‘em up!” Jole planted a hand against his cousin’s vest, patting it twice, before sweeping his hand back to his side. “And yeah, you might be thinking, ‘but Jole, where are we gonna get a wagon this late into your special day?’ And my answer to that is riiiiight,” He held up a finger again, his eyes closed and his free hand set on his hip. He continued to hold out the word, to seemingly to no avail, because nothing happened. He began to look nervous. “Arrrrooouuund,” Nothing. “Thhhhhhe,” Nord’s amusement in the situation started to dwindle. “Cooorrrrnn-”

And, lo and behold, he was cut off by the familiar sound of wagon wheels crunching through sand. Soon enough, a vixen came into the view, an older, exhausted vixen, but Nord wasn’t paying attention to her. He was paying attention to the wagon she was dragging behind her, because unlike Apollo and Hutch, it looked incredibly well-preserved. The wood looked fresh, with not a splinter to be seen in the wheels, and the sheet that constructed its cover lacked the wear and tear that he was accustomed to. Suffice to say, he was amazed, and couldn’t help but mutter a soft, “Wow.” in its wake.

“Ah-ha!” Jole spread his arms. “I call it the Sandpiercer.”

“I still think that’s a stupid name, Jolluh.” The vixen remarked, to which the ashfur choked out a laugh that balanced somewhere between being sarcastic and legitimately wanting to punch someone in the face.

“It’s Jole-- okay, buh-bye, love you.” He quickly waved off the vixen, who did just that, leaving nothing but a roll of her eyes and a disgusted scoff with her departure. Nord and Lynsol both had their fair share of laughter at the exchange.

“You named it?” Nord finally asked.

Jole nodded. “‘Course I did! That’s what you do with a wagon bound for greatness. Plus, it’s cool, and no, you can’t tell me any different.”

“Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes, though it wasn’t long until those eyes landed back on the wagon. “Sandpiercer.” He repeated, still awestruck by just how pristine it was. He really wasted no expense with this one, did he? Though, as soon as he entered that paradise of thought, it was interrupted by Jole’s voice, which swept in front of him like a moon eclipsing a star.

“Without further adieu,” He said, placing a hand against the door to the wagon and throwing it open not a second later. “Let’s not keep those new friends of ours waiting.” He frantically directed them in. “C’mooon, don’t be shy.” Lynsol took the initiative and eagerly scrambled up onto the wagon bed via Jole’s aid. Nord popped in just behind him, though his ascent was much steadier given his size. His cousin, however, didn’t follow them in, as he had to keep outside to guide over the alpacas and fit them into the reins. This conveniently left Nord in the awkward position of being alone in the wagon with Lynsol. Should he say something? Strike up a conversation, maybe? What sort of things do you talk about with a five-year-old? Nord had no clue. Maybe he didn’t have to. He looked preoccupied anyway.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Lynsol took on that charge for him, lamenting, “You look sad.”

He did? He dragged a hand along his features insecurely, replying, “I’m fine.” How many times could he lie to himself? It wasn’t like he could describe why he wasn’t fine, in any case. Lynsol, unfortunately, didn’t look convinced, but similarly to Jole, he didn’t seem intent on budging.

“Do you got a happy place? That’s where I go when I’m sad.” The boy smiled, bright enough to light a lantern, if not a few dozen. “I think about the people I love!”

Nord paused. What was his happy place? Should he feel bad that one didn’t immediately come to mind? While he managed to force a smile, he wasn’t given the chance to answer, because a certain relative of his was knocking at the door frame for his attention. He looked over to Jole earnestly, tired eyes narrowed.

“‘Cause I feel generous, I’m gonna let you drive.” He said, slipping into the wagon and waving a hand outside. He assured, “I’ll keep our friend here company,” before taking Nord by the shoulder and guiding him to the door, where he simply nodded and wished him good luck. The onyx vulpera may or may not have stopped listening somewhere in there, but nonetheless, he shuffled outside and boarded the front of the wagon, where he took hold of the reins and steadied out the alpacas with a clicking whistle. Apollo and Hutch, despite their conditions, looked more than eager to get moving. Maybe Nord really did misjudge them.

As the pitter-patter of alpaca nails and the groan of wagon wheels invaded his ears, so too did the chatter within: Jole’s laughter and Lynsol’s kiddish giggling, on repeat in his head.

He deafened them out eventually.

♦

The first was a pair of siblings, both red-furred and accented with tanned patches. The younger of the two (he assumed) barreled in front of his sister and tugged at her impatiently, whining for her to move faster, not that she looked in any position to do that. Unlike Lynsol, she was carrying a burden of equipment made for two, though it seemed the younger was neglecting to pull his weight. The urge to lighten the load came along and he acted on it thoughtlessly, hopping down from his vantage and bolting over to lend a hand.

“Raysik!-” The vixen called agitatedly. It’s no surprise she was annoyed with the lack of help, but as she caught Nord in the midst of his dash, she looked a little relieved, if not a tinge confused. He was, after all, running at her without an established intention.

“I got it,” was all he said before closing the distance and shifting a thing or two into his arms. The girl looked thankful, smiling accordingly.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

It wasn’t a second later that Jole threw open the door, dramatic enthusiasm at the ready. “Heeeyyyo!” He hollered. Lynsol followed suit and popped his head out from behind the door, holding in a snicker or two. “I’ll be your oh-so-beloved conductor this eve’.” He tipped a nonexistent hat. The siblings’ parents, whom Nord had just noticed, looked less than impressed. One was stone-faced, while the other appeared much more delicate, which is to say they had a superb contrast. It was only then that Jole noticed the girl’s plight, darting over to aid her, but with his, “I gotcha!” came a stutter from the vixen.

“Are you sure? It’s a little heavy-”

Nord intruded. “I got it.” And so came an end to Jole’s zeal, for his vibe had been executed. He rose his arms in defeat, before spinning on his heel and approaching the older vulpera with a finger gun. Nord would have almost preferred to be the one talking if Jole insisted on being so… himself. Still, he aided the girl in getting their luggage onto the wagon bed, while the younger, Raysik, introduced himself to Lynsol, before going on a rant about something Nord had long since tuned out.

Eventually, the onyx fox was brought back to focus by another stutter from the vixen. “I’m Rheana.” She said shyly.

He turned to look at her. “I’m Nord.” He paused, quickly tacking on, “It’s nice to meet you.”

She nodded gently, pointing a thumb at the boys behind her, whose mouths were still running a mile a minute. Nord could only assume she was gesturing to Raysik. “That’s my brother. Raysik?” Her brother didn’t answer her, so she sighed annoyedly instead. “He’s… fun.” She didn’t sound certain, obviously, but Nord didn’t get the chance to discuss it further, for she had already moved on to the next topic, peering outside and pointing at the ashfur chatting up her parents. “Is that your brother?”

“Cousin.” He responded.

“You two seem close.”

Nord paused. She really had no idea, did she? “Yeah. We are.” Now was his turn to switch topics. “And how old are you, Rheana?”

“Oh, um,” The question took her by surprise, which Nord didn’t intend for, but he couldn’t exactly go back on it now. Add it to the ever growing heap of unspoken guilt. “Seven.” She said. “My brother’s four.” And suddenly, he couldn’t think, nor could he speak. He was expecting young, but this was young young, this was the influencing stages of life sort of young. He choked on still air for a moment, which Rheana instantly took notice to. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to.”

He frantically waved his hands. “No, no--” He set his hands on her shoulders, affirming, “No. I’m fine. I was just thinking, is all.” And just as before, he forced a smile, which Rheana didn’t seem at all convinced by, but she wasn’t one to budge, right?

“Okay.”

And that was the last word spoken between them before Jole popped back in and bobbed his arms up and down to grab everyone’s attention. He was pretty good at that. “Just one more pitstop and we’ll be good to go!” The boys cheered while Rheana offered light applause, which was soon joined in on by Nord. Of course, he reminded himself that he was still the designated driver, which slowed his clapping to a halt. Wordlessly, he moved onto his feet, dusted himself off, and walked outside, repeating the same motion of grabbing the reins and steadying the alpacas with that clicking whistle. This time another voice joined the chatter, then a second once Rheana (he assumed) felt comfortable enough. This time he couldn’t deafen them out.

“Having fun in there?” He eventually said, and just his luck, the chatter continued to roar over him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the idea that he was brought along just to be a chauffeur. Did Jole really mean it when he told him to stand there and look mature? Nord wasn’t sure.

But, as fate was feeling kind today, both Jole’s and Lynsol’s heads popped out the window, which had been sealed via curtain prior to that. “Yeah!” The boy said, heartily.

“Party’s just getting started--” Jole began, though he cut himself off to slip his head back in and call illegibly for someone to “do the thing,” so to speak. Not a moment later did Raysik appear, sliding his head atop Lynsol’s and looping their ears together, before they collectively blew raspberries. Jole threw his head back in laughter, with the boys in tow, and ultimately Nord as well. However, as soon as it began, the rambunctious chuckling was again drowned out by chatter, as each of them fell back from the window.

And to subconsciously answer his own question, Nord muttered a reticent, “Yeah. Me too.”

♦

Within the hour, they arrived upon another settlement, where an older, peach-furred vulpera fumbled with the knapsack strapped across a younger vixen’s back. The girl was garnet-colored, with patches just a shade darker, and she appeared just as ecstatic as Lynsol had been. The vulpera Nord could only assume to be the father mumbled out a twitchy, stress-ridden, “I packed you three meals. One lasts an hour, one lasts six, and one lasts eleven, which is for breakfast, lunch, and dinner-- Oh, I forgot dessert.” He choked on his words, facing away to holler out for another’s attention, “Pumpkin, did I forget dessert, or is it with you?”

Another voice, practically illegible, called back out to him, though the only words Nord managed to pick out were ‘no’, ‘here’, and maybe ‘it’s’? The father huffed out a breath at whatever the voice had said, pleading with the girl to, “Just stick tight,” before straggling back into the tent where the voice had originated.

Through all of this, Nord had almost forgotten why he was there. That is, until Jole ruptured through the door with a spirited, “Heeeyyyo!” Oh right, their grand adventure. The ashfur slung himself from the doorway, where Nord soon joined him.

The vixen had just begun scurrying over to them when they slotted themselves against the frame, stopping just short of the wagon and slipping a sharp, “Oh!” before tripping on herself and scampering the opposite way, where she dove into another tent and fell silent. Meanwhile, the girl’s father had reemerged from the central tent, holding with him whatever they called “dessert.” When a sweep from left to right didn’t land his eyes on his daughter, he started calling her name.

Jole, ever the opportunist, took this as his chance for a meet-and-greet, so he did just that, tumbling from the wagon and approaching the fox with--you guessed it--a finger gun. “Heyyya, buddy,” was all Nord caught before they slurred off into murmurs and incoherent nonsense.

He didn’t know how, or when, but the moment he looked down, there she was, as if out of thin air. She shuffled her things closer to her chest before allowing a wave at him. “Hi.” She whispered.

Although he found it confusing, Nord felt the need to match her volume. “Hi.” And without any signal to do so, they both looked over to the ashfur, then back to each other, to which Nord outstretched a hand and said, “Long day?”

“Duh.” She tittered, taking his hand, where it was then gently shaken.

“Here’s hoping we can have some fun then, huh?”

“Mhm!”

Nord, too, snickered along with her, though he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. The girl kept an aura, like she was hiding a dozen secrets at once, not that that was something he was willing to bring up. “I’m Nord.” He bowed his head.

“Irro.” She bowed her own.

“Are you alone?” He asked.

She looked taken aback, shifting her eyes from side to side suspiciously, before focusing back in on Nord, to which she smiled, perked up her shoulders, and said, “Yep!”

He didn’t question it. Maybe he should have, but in the moment, he didn’t think to, and that was that. Instead, he dismissed whatever paranoia he held about the situation and gave her a warm smile, the best he could manage, before sliding his hand down her forearm and clutching on tight. “Alright, Irro-- big steps.” With a heave, he hoisted her up onto the wagon bed, which she giggled at; all the more when she noticed those who sat within and when those who sat within noticed her. Introductions began: hands were waved, names were exchanged, smiles grew brighter, and as with most things, Nord smiled subconsciously. They had rounded everyone up, as far as he knew, so finally, finally, they could do what they came here to do: have fun.

And when one fell, another came to take its place, because just as Nord turned around again, there stood Irro’s father, as well as Jole. He really couldn’t handle another jumpscare, seriously. “Sir--” The vulpera extended the dessert, flubbing. “Sir, is my little girl in there? I have her tarts, sir.”

Nord swerved his head back. “Irro.”

The kit emerged from the mass of giggling children the second he called for her, sliding onto her knees to retrieve the carefully wrapped box from her dad. “Thank you, Paaaa~” She leaned forward to lay a peck on his forehead, which, from what Nord could tell, put him on the verge of tears.

“Oh!” He grieved, turning to Nord and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You keep my little girl safe, okay, sir? You keep her safe.”

Nord nodded solemnly, taking the fox’s finger and shifting it into an open hand for him to shake. “You have my word. It’s only a day, you won’t even know she’s gone.”

“Love you, Pa.” She added, for better or for worse.

“I love you too.” He replied, inhaling shakily, before resigning himself and turning to depart.

Jole, on the other hand, tacked on a less-than-helpful, “Not a worry, big guy! This is gonna be the trip of a lifetime, and I’m sure she wouldn’t wanna miss out on it,” which caused the older vulpera to briefly stop, before continuing to walk. Nord looked less than amused with his cousin, but he wasn’t in the mood to push it. In the meantime, Irro returned to the circle the other kits had made, where they shared stories passed down to them by their parents. Likely all false, but who was Nord to ruin their fun?

The cousins had clambered back into the Sandpiercer by then, where Jole had unraveled a sheet of vellum, the same vellum that kept their route bound in ink, except now it was turned on its opposite side. His eyes flicked from the sheet to the kits repeatedly, until he eventually squinted over at Nord and whispered, “There’s supposed to be seven. We’re missing one.”

Nord knitted his brows. “Do we need to make another stop?” He was certain he said that was their last stop, because he sure didn’t see anyone else, unless Jole just miscalculated. Very plausible.

“No, her,” He vaguely pointed at Irro. “She has a sister.”

And it was that final piece of information that confirmed his gut feeling, and yet after everything, Nord felt inclined to put aside his better judgement and keep it their little secret. Who was he to deny their fun? They were all here to escape, if just for a day. He wasn’t going to be the one to strip them of that.

So he shrugged.

“Did you want to go back?” Nord asked.

Jole was as impatient as he was self-assured, Nord knew that well enough, so when he shook his head and wrapped up the vellum, his cousin was already ten steps ahead. “Nope. First come first served.” And with that, he thwapped Nord across the head with the scroll, before promptly calling shotgun.

Just Jole being Jole, right?

♦

Nord had never once had a companion in the front seat during the trip, so Jole, for once, was welcome company, even if he was just there to spout out directions that corresponded with their route. On that note, he wasn’t listening all that much, not like he needed to. He had spent his entire life in these dunes, of course he knew where he was going! Though, he was thankful for that time along the way where Jole made sure he took a left instead of a right.

Despite how much they bickered, they could often tell what was circling in each other’s heads, though this time around, the exchange was incredibly one-sided. Jole knew everything about Nord, but Nord knew nothing about Jole, which was… a little odd, he had to admit. His cousin was usually the much more open of the two, yet for this voyage, he had put on a façade just for the benefit of the children. What a charitable guy.

He inevitably gave into the urge to strike up a conversation that didn’t involve pointless directions, querying, “So, how’s it feel, Jole? One of your plans finally worked.”

The ashfur had been in the midst of calling for a left turn when the question was asked, causing his head to perk up and dumbfounded eyes to land on Nord. He scoffed. “Was bound to happen! Just needed the right idea, the right time,” He puffed out a breath. “The right people.”

“Awh,” Nord put a hand over his heart, or at least, wherever he thought it was. “I’m flattered.”

He shot back, “Don’t be, was mostly me,” and that one nearly caused Nord to scoff up his lungs. He’d never admit defeat, would he? And following that thought, his cousin conveniently went, “Thought you’d catch me off-guard, huh?”

“Read my mind,” Literally. “How’d you know?”

“It’s my job to know, Nordy. Think of where you’d be without me,” and just as Nord went to answer, he shushed him. “Don’t answer that. You’d be bored, is what you’d be.”

Well. He couldn’t disagree with that. “Right.”

That was the last of their conversation for a fair while, until it grew so quiet that Nord fell into a state of disassociation. He was still guiding the alpacas, following Jole’s directions, but he did so mindlessly, as if he himself was elsewhere, out-of-body. He didn’t remember the sights along the way, nor the awful one-liners his cousin may have slipped to him. He didn’t remember how the kits leaned their heads out the windows to catch the wind on their faces, nor when Jole…

Whatever Jole did, it kept them from leaning too far out. Good for them.

And then they were there, after a mere five minutes.

“You good? Your throat dry? Don’t think you’ve made a sound in an hour, big guy.”

Nord blinked, then blinked again. An hour? Had it been that long? He licked his lips, which he found to be immensely dry, and in his state of confusion, he didn’t quite catch what his cousin had said, which Jole obviously found to be concerning. “We’re here. We made it.” He said, nudging at him with an elbow, and that was enough to bring him back to life.

He inhaled a breath, then started gasping for it, before transitioning to panting. “Right. Sorry. Got lost in my head for a second there.”

His counterpart knocked at his shoulder. “Was more than a second, Nordy,” He paused. “But hey! We’re here, let’s go have some fun.” And to have some fun he went, dismounting from the wagon and throwing open the door to lead everyone out. Varied cheers roared from the kits as they barreled out the door, separating into what Nord guessed to be their social groups. Two boys, two girls, perfectly balanced.

By the time Nord had finished settling down Apollo and Hutch, Jole had already filed them all into a line, where he was now offering them exposition behind the grand ruins they were nigh to explore. It goes without saying, but it was all bullshit. He professed, “Have you ever heard of… The Dune Duke? He was the greatest of tomb raiders, you know. He retired in wealth and luxury!”

Nord had never slapped himself so hard in the face. “Jole.”

Lynsol, however, looked more than invested, though definitely a little confused by the terminology. “Mister Jolluh?”

“Jole.” He corrected. “What’s up?”

“What’s ‘retire’?”

“Well, my dappled friend, it’s something my dad really likes to shove in my face, but lucky us, we don’t gloat on the Sandpiercer!” And with those words came an uproar of questions and suggestions:

“Ooh, a gloat! Is that like a lizard goat? I want a lizard goat!”

“What’s a Sandpiercer?”

“That sounds mean!”

“Your dad sounds cool! Tell us about your dad!”

Nord cut in. “Yeah. Tell them about your dad, Jole.”

The poor ashfur let out a whine. Suave remarks weren’t going to save him here, so he opted for the next best thing, a change of subject. “All of those questions are GREAT questions, but how ‘bout we go on and get this party started, ‘kay? Who wants to do some looting, ‘cuz I know I dooooo!” The kits looked content enough with that answer, speeding past Jole with the fox himself close behind. Unfortunately for him, he’d find his path blocked by none other than his cousin, who still had one last question that definitely needed to be answered.

“Did your scout find anything? Is it safe?”

Jole shrunk in his place. If a vulpera could turn pale, he would have looked sickly. “Uh,” He wouldn’t lie to Nord, right? They could trust each other. “Yeeesss. Super safe. There was a Sethrak patrol moving through here, buuuut, uh, they went,” He wouldn’t lie. “Somewhere else.”

He lied.

Nord tuned out the laughter, the bonding of friendships, the joyous cries when someone had found something. All of his focus lay on a single phrase, looping in his head. Protect the kits. That’s all that mattered. He checked every nook and cranny; he searched behind every rock and every stone; he listened to every footstep and every claw tap. Nothing. The day he was meant to be free was spent being shackled by responsibility. The day he wasn’t meant to waste had been wasted.

Eventually, he found himself outside the Sandpiercer, staring down at the sand and devoid of emotion. Only then did he realize the shadow of night that cloaked his surroundings, and more importantly, the voice calling for him, “Nord! Nord, you good?” It was Jole’s. He finally turned to look at him, where it was revealed they had gathered around a makeshift campfire, with their loot dumped out in front of them. “We’re making a lootpile,” He explained. “You grab anything?”

Nord looked down at his hands. Empty. Not even in his delusions did he have the sense to grab a memento or two. “Ah, no. I didn’t. Sorry.” A few among the children seemed to find that funny. So much for no gloating on the Sandpiercer.

Jole looked nothing short of unimpressed, waving at him dismissively and emitting a disappointed, “Pfft.” Nord had never so desperately wanted to shove the blame off himself and onto another, but he said nothing. He kept his frustration pent-up. It was easier that way.

He allowed them but a second more, before approaching them and saying, “We should get you all home.” And that, too, faced an uproar.

“Oh, c’mon!”

“Can we stay out another day?”

“Mom and Dad won’t mind!”

The obvious ‘no’ became clogged in his throat. He cast a glance over the five of them, to Lynsol, to Irro, to Raysik, to Rheana, to Jole, who still, somehow, looked sly, like this had all worked to plan. They all looked on expectantly, waiting, anticipating, all aside from her, aside from Rheana, the only one with any sense. And he said that because he had none.

“Yeah.”

There was silence.

“We can stay another day.”

And with their rousing cheers, came a thousand broken promises.

#irromemoirs #wowrp #wowrpblog #wyrmrestaccordrp #vulpera #voldun #vulperarp #worldofwarcraftrp

1 note · View note

aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

Ghost of Tsushima Review: A Beautiful Homage to Akira Kurosawa

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Ghost of Tsushima is a daring departure for Sucker Punch, who since 2009 has worked solely on the Playstation-exclusive Infamous series. While those games were steeped in modernity, offering sprawling cityscapes players could explore from top to bottom via superpowered “conduits” Cole MacGrath and Delsin Rowe, Ghost of Tsushima’s open world is set in feudal Japan. It’s here that we meet young samurai Jin Sakai, who must defend his homeland, the titular island of Tsushima, from an invading Mongol army.

Right off the bat, the shift in time period and milieu to 13th century Japan is notable because Sucker Punch handles it so brilliantly, especially for the team’s first foray into the samurai genre. Japanese history and culture are woven into every single facet of the game so elegantly and organically that you’d think the team had been developing games set in feudal Japan for the past decade, not sci-fi superhero romps. More than anything, Ghost of Tsushima is a moving homage to Japan, its history, and its people.

The story opens with a massacre. A massive Mongol army, led by the cunning Khotun Khan, storms the beaches of Tsushima and is met by the island’s woefully outnumbered samurai contingent. When the leader of the samurai challenges Khotun to a one-on-one, fair fight, the Khan renounces the honorable gesture in gruesome fashion, literally setting the courageous samurai on fire in front of both armies. The rest of the samurai are obliterated on the beach, while Jin’s uncle, Lord Shimura, is taken prisoner by the Khan. Jin is also fatally wounded but is miraculously nursed back to health by a new ally, a thief named Yuna who needs his help in return.

These opening moments set the tone for the rest of the game. The philosophical conflict between honor and deception is the beating heart of the story and permeates the gameplay in riveting ways. As you fight to take back Tsushima from the Mongols, you can approach enemy encounters in two ways. You can choose to fight honorably, like a true samurai, and challenge enemies to a “standoff,” a quick-reflex mini-game of sorts in which you and one of the baddies face off one-on-one and see who flinches first before one of you slashes his blade through the other. You’ll then have to take on the rest of the enemies all at once, which is no easy task.

The other option is to fight like a “Ghost,” sneaking into enemy camps, killing the bad guys in their sleep, poisoning them, using intimidation tactics to scare them into fleeing battle. It’s an effective way of evening the odds between you and your foes, but it rails against everything the samurai stand for.

Countless games offer the player the option to approach combat either stealthily or head-on. This is far from a novel concept, and in this respect, the combat in Ghost of Tsushima offers little innovation. But what is innovative here is how Sucker Punch has taken the classic device of stealth vs. frontal assault and given it new life by expertly integrating it with the themes of the story.

Jin meets a handful of allies on his journey, each with their own multi-chapter story arcs that delve into their respective backstories. There’s sensei Ishikawa, a master archer whose protege has gone rogue and joined the Mongols. Lady Masako is a warrior and grandmother whose entire family was murdered by the Mongols, though she suspects they may have died after someone close to the family conspired with the enemy.

Each of the characters explores the honor vs. dishonor theme in unique and surprising ways. The dichotomy is most starkly represented in the clash of ideals between Lord Shimura, who is unshakably honorable and would rather die than gain an unfair advantage in battle, and Yuna, who understands that, to beat an enemy who fights dirty, you may have to put honor to the side for the sake of saving your people. Of course, Jin is caught in the middle and struggles to decide what kind of man he wants to be.

Aside from the ties to the story, the gameplay is fun and engaging. The swordplay combines parries and dodging with a more strategic approach to melee, as you try to find ways to build up your enemy’s stagger gauge. You can also use “ghost weapons” to give you an edge in battle, like kunai (throwing knives), smoke bombs, arrows, and more. There are also four stances to master, with each being effective against a different enemy type. Switching between stances is integral to combat and becomes second nature over time. There’s also an insanely cool fifth stance that I won’t spoil here, but it’s spectacularly badass.

Stealthing is strikingly similar to what you’d see in an Assassin’s Creed title (this is a compliment), and the game gives you myriad ways to kill enemies without raising alarms, like throwable wind chimes and firecrackers that allow you to manipulate their positioning or hallucinogenic darts that turn them against each other. Again, this is all stuff we’ve seen before, but it’s pulled off well here.

Release Date: July 17, 2020 Platform: PS4 Developer: Sucker Punch Productions Publisher: Sony Interactive Entertainment Genre: Action-adventure

Unfortunately, there are little gameplay flaws that needled at me, especially in the later hours of my playthrough (it took me around 45 hours to finish the game). The swordplay requires quick reflexes, and mastering parries and dodging is absolutely pivotal to your survival. The problem with the swordplay is subtle, and a little difficult to explain, but I’ll say it like this: in most games that are particularly challenging, when I die, I feel like it was my fault because I made a mistake, I just wasn’t fast enough, I hadn’t mastered certain skills. But on many occasions in Ghost of Tsushima, I felt like I died because the game didn’t give me a fair shot, like it was the game’s fault that I failed, not mine. It’s possible that I just wasn’t very good at the game, but it felt at times like I wasn’t given a choice in the matter. Your mileage will vary with the game’s difficulty level.

There are other things that bugged me, too, like the unreliable climbing mechanics (I swear, sometimes hopping onto a rope or branch that’s literally right in front of you is way, WAY too difficult). But overall, I had a great time playing the game and felt super powerful by the time I’d filled out my skill trees, which is no surprise considering the game was made by the same folks who made Infamous.

On a nuts and bolts gameplay level, Ghost of Tsushima doesn’t feel all that unique — there is some very familiar open-world stuff here. But on a presentation and storytelling level, the game is out-of-this-world amazing. Visually, the game looks stunning. The late-stage PlayStation 4 graphics really deliver, and coupled with the strength of the art design, Ghost of Tsushima is a true head-turner. The character models look fantastic and can emote on a level that supports the drama of the story. And while the different suits of armor that Jin acquires offer unique gameplay perks, I honestly just collected and upgraded them almost exclusively as an aesthetic indulgence. They look so freaking cool.

But the real stars of the show are the environments, which look picturesque from every conceivable angle. The wind-swept, verdant hills of Tsushima are intoxicatingly pretty, to the point where I’d get caught up ogling for minutes on end at the smallest of details, like the way the moonlight bounces off blades of grass or the way Jin kicks up crimson-red leaves that have blanketed the ground over time. I could go on forever about the dynamic day/night cycle, the beautiful rendering of different fabrics and materials, the horse animations. But instead, I’ll just say that this is the most breathtaking game, visually, that I’ve seen in recent memory.

A lot of love also went into infusing the game with Japanese cultural references, particularly in how the developers pay homage to the samurai genre. Each mission, for example, is bookended by cinematic intertitles that evoke old samurai cinema, Japanese characters, and all. But without a doubt, the most obvious/most amazing homage is “Kurosawa Mode,” which presents the game in black and white, with one of the best film grain filters I’ve ever seen in a game, resulting in an experience that looks almost exactly like a film from the iconic Japanese auteur’s oeuvre, right next to Sanjuro and Seven Samurai. If you’re a long-time fan of Kurosawa, turning the mode on may even elicit an “I’m not crying…you’re crying!” response — it’s that pretty.

I initially intended on playing the entire game in Kurosawa mode but quickly realized that it would be problematic to do so for a few reasons. Some missions require you to “follow the (insert color) flowers,” which is obviously impossible in black and white. And in combat, blockable enemy heavy attacks are signaled by a blue glint, while unblockable ones have a red glint. Combat is tough enough as it is, so…yeah. I only turned the mode on when I was riding on my horse through the countryside and I felt like treating myself to some eye candy.

Taking time to smell the cherry blossoms and have a respite from the game’s many missions and side missions is crucial because Ghost of Tsushima is a long, long game. The missions aren’t overly repetitive — most of them feel really special actually, like when you climb a mountain in freezing cold weather and must race from campfire to campfire on your ascent, or one armor quest comprised of several one-on-one duels with straw hat swordsmen scattered about the map, each with a distinct personality. But 40-plus hours is 40-plus hours, and while the main tasks of infiltrating enemy camps, liberating farms, and searching for special gear can lead to questing fatigue at the tail end of the game, the nice thing is is that you can always slow things down and just enjoy the scenery to break things up. There’s even a nifty photo mode to play with, and if any game warrants a photo mode, it’s this one.

Jin’s story isn’t just a means to an end, or a lazy excuse to drag the player from gameplay scenario to gameplay scenario. The story is incredibly well written and profound in its messaging and imagery, so much so that I believe it’s one of the best modern entries in the samurai genre, regardless of medium. All of the characters you meet and the little tales that unfold across Tsushima are filtered through Jin’s inner struggle with what honor really means and whether or not it’s worth dying for, which gives the story an incredibly strong narrative backbone. Despite the game’s epic scope, Jin’s journey actually feels quite intimate and personal. The same could be said of Kurosawa’s best work, and that’s just about the highest compliment I can give.

The post Ghost of Tsushima Review: A Beautiful Homage to Akira Kurosawa appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2OotV4C

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

3 notes · View notes

lostinthewiind · 5 years ago

Note

hi there!! sorry for requesting a lot but your writing is so good! i’m very stressed out at school with exams coming up and all and was just wondering if you could write a super happy fic with whoever? have a fantastic day!!!

Exam time is stressful man, I totally get it! Remember to breathe, drink lots of water, eat food, sleep well, and take breaks in between studying.

As for this fic, I am going to double up yet again because @higgles123 also wanted some Donald Malarkey, and who doesn’t love that man? I hope this fic can ease you of some of your stress, even if only for a little while.

Among the Tulips

“Shh!” you pressed your finger to your lips as you lead Malarkey through the dense forest, your eyes flashing back at him as he let out a booming laugh.

“Don’t you shush me.” Donald spun you around and backed you up against a large tree trunk. The man before you smiled wide before bending his head down to kiss you.

Don’s lips were surprisingly soft, but even if they hadn’t been, you were positive you would still enjoy the kiss. You enjoyed every kiss you shared with Donald Malarkey.

“You have to be quiet.” you giggled. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

“That’s what makes it so much more fun.” a mischevious smile crossed his face. “Even though I still have no idea why we are here in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Well, if you would just follow me instead of pushing me up against every single tree to make out we would be there by now.”

“I’m sorry I like to kiss you.” Don backed away and ushered you in front of him. “Please, lead the way. I promise I’ll keep my hands and my lips to myself.”

“You better,” you warned with a laugh before grabbing his hand and taking off through the trees once more.

Don chuckled as he tried to keep up with you. You were like a deer as you expertly maneuvered around rocks and hopped over logs. He was more like a bear; big and a little clumsy.

Spotting the approaching clearing in the distance, you picked up the pace, pulling the redheaded man behind you like an excited child. When you burst through the treeline into the field of flowers that you had discovered while on patrol the day before, you drew in a deep breath, the beautiful aroma of the tulips filling your lungs.

Letting go of Don’s hand, you ran out a little further into the waist-high grass and flowers, held your arms out at your sides, and started to spin. Your head fell back as you smiled wide. You had only just found that field, but it was already your favourite place in the whole world.

Don watched you intently, a toothy grin taking over his pale face as you laughed and pranced among the tulips. It was sight he wished he could take a picture of and keep with him everywhere he went.

When you finally stopped goofing around, you turned to him and lowered your arms. “Do you like it?” you asked him.

“I love it.” he nodded.

Your heart filled with joy at his answer. Holding your hand out for him, you motioned for him to join you. “Come on.” your freckles appeared under the sun.

Carefully, Don stepped into the field and took your hand. His red hair shone in the golden light and his teeth sparkled. He looked like a prince from a fairy tale in his fresh, clean uniform. He was a prince. Your prince.

“As soon as I found this place I knew I had to bring you.” you sighed happily as Don wrapped his arms around your waist. “It’s just so breathtaking. It’s so peaceful and serene.”

“How, despite everything we’ve been through, are you still so sweet?” Don took both of your hands in his.

You chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just who I am.”

“I love who you are.” he couldn’t believe that out of all the men in Easy Company, you had chosen him. He couldn’t believe that after men like Joe Liebgott and Bill Guarnere had thrown themselves at you, you had chosen him.

“I love who you are too.” you brushed a loose piece of his ginger hair out of his face. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew by, bending the grass and flower stems and blowing your hair all over. “I think this should be our place,” you told him.

“I’d like that.” Don agreed, his face falling for a moment. “If only we didn’t have to leave this place behind when we move out again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as your smile disappeared. “Oh, yeah…I forgot about that. I forgot that we’ll probably never be able to come back. Forget it then.”

Don felt a sickening feeling in his stomach at the way your happy demeanor dissipated so quickly. He never wanted to see you frown; not if he could do something about it.

“We can find another way to make it special,” Don suggested, a crazy idea popping into his head.

Your eyes lit up once more. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Don let go of your hands and looked around for something that could work for his plan. Taking a few steps away, he spotted a perfect red tulip and picked it. With a hefty tug, he snapped the stem in half. “Here you go.” he handed you the end with the flower attached.

You let out a joyous giggle as you took the gift. “I love it.” you lifted the bright petals up to your nose and inhaled deeply.

“I’m glad, but that’s not all.” he turned his back to you. “Just hold on a minute.”

You cocked a quizzical brow as the redheaded man stood facing away from you, fiddling with something in his hands and cursing under his breath every few seconds. “Don?” you called out over yet another loud breeze.

“Just a few more seconds.” he requested before his head popped up again and his shoulders relaxed. “There.”

You were beyond confused. You had always known Donald Malarkey to be a bit of an oddball, which was one of the many reasons you fell in love with him, but even sometimes you had no idea what he was up to.

Pivoting on his toes, Don turned back around, one hand held behind his back. “From the moment I laid eyes on you at Toccoa I knew I was in love with you.” he slowly walked back toward you. “I never used to believe in love at first sight — it seemed like a cliche that hopeless romantics would say — but then I saw you and I realized it was real. I was in love with you just by looking at you, and then you spoke, and then you smiled, and then you laughed. God, I could listen to your laugh on repeat all day long and never get tired of it. I’ve never loved every single thing about anyone before, but I love every single thing about you.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes as your hands moved to clasp over your chest. “Don-”

“I’m not done yet,” he stood before you, his bright eyes looking down at you. “I know a war is not the most ideal place for something like this, but it’s not the most ideal place for falling in love either, and we did that. Together, I’m convinced we could do anything, and I want to do everything with you.”

Don slowly lowered himself down onto one knee in front of you and pulled his hand out from behind his back, the remaining flower stem twisted and tied into a circle between his fingers. “This isn’t a real ring, but I promise you I will buy you a million real rings once we get home if that’s what you want. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. Y/N, will you marry me?”

A single tear slipped down your cheek and your free hand — the one not death-gripping the tulip — flew over your mouth. You were afraid you would release the sob building in your throat if you spoke, so you nodded instead.

“Yes?” Don questioned.

“Yes.” you squeaked out.

“Then gimme that damn hand.” Don gently grabbed your left hand and slipped the flower stem around your ring finger. “Now, you be careful with that. Don’t lose it. It was expensive.”

You let out a mixture of a cry and a laugh. “Okay.” you bent down with him and planted your tear-soaked lips on his. “I’ll take real good care of it.”

“In all seriousness, I am gonna get you a real ring once this war is over.” he assured you even though you couldn’t care less about having a ‘real’ ring or not. All you wanted was him.

“This place will be with us forever now.” you smiled at the thought of always being connected to that beautiful tulip field even if you never saw it again for as long as you lived. “Thank you.”

“Our wedding will be decorated from top to bottom in tulips,” he promised you. “Hell, I’ll pin a tulip to my suit. I’ll buy you a tulip every day for as long as we are together. I’ll change my goddamn last name to tulip.”

You caressed his cheek as he went off on another one of his silly rants. “No, don’t do that.” you shook your head. “I want to be Mrs. Malarkey. I like that name.”

“Mrs. Malarkey,” he repeated. “It suits you.”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #Donald Malarkey #donald malarkey x reader #reader insert #malarkey #hbowar #fluff #donald malarkey fluff #don #lostinthewiind

149 notes · View notes

emperorsfoot · 5 years ago

Link

In this chapter, Scorpia gets a song. It’s an IRL song, and you can listen to it here: Twiddle

...

“Do you know any other songs?” Scorpia asked.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sea Hawk’s personal theme song. It was just that listening to it for days in a row was making her kinda, sorta… absolutely hate that song.

Emily warmed up her pain plasma gun and fired a warning shot off the port side of the ship, then pivoted on her immobile leg to stare down the musical pirate.

Scorpia placed a calming pincer on the bot’s dome. “I think what Emily is trying to say is that we’ve heard that one a lot, and if you don’t know any other songs, maybe we should just sail in silence for a bit.”

Looking out across the water at the wake created by Emily’s warning shot, Sea Hawk swallowed awkwardly. The refurbished Horde bot was highly opinionated and not shy about expressing herself. He looked to Scorpia, seeking a compromise. “Alright, well, do you know any sea shanties?”

Taping a pincer against her lips, Scorpia thought. “Well, I did hear one sung around Redwater Bay once…”

A Horde song.

Sea Hawk was concerned. That did not stop him from plastering a crud-eating grin on his face and suggesting, “Well, why don’t you sing for a bit.”

“Really!?” It was wrong how excited the former Horde Force Captain sounded at the suggestion. “You’ll let me sing? And you won’t get annoyed. Or tell me I need to focus. Or remind me that we’re on a mission and have a job to do. Or ask how I’m a Force Captain.” She wasn’t a Force Captain anymore. “Or anything like that?”

“I won’t.” Sea Hawk promised. He did, however, move across the deck to the helm –the complete opposite end of the ship form her- under the pretext of checking the wind and their heading. He had no idea what this Horde shanty was going to be and he liked to have an excuse ready on hand to politely ask her to stop if need be. “Let’s hear it.”

Scorpia cleared her throat and tried to remember the lyrics.

“Oh you hear a lot of stories 'bout the sailors and their sport. About how every sailor has a girl in every port. But if you added two and two, you'd figure out right quick, it's just because the girls all have a lad on every ship.”

Sea Hawk raised an eyebrow. It didn’t seem all that bad. Certainly much more tame and cute compared to what he was expecting from a song sung in the Fright Zone’s Redwater Bay. He was far less apprehensive and in better spirits when Scorpia launched into the chorus.

“And it's twiddle ee ai dee ai dee ai. “Twiddle ee ai dee ei. “It's often times a man will leave you broken with dismay. “And it's twiddle ee ai dee ai dee ai. “Twiddle ee ai dee ei. “There's other things to twiddle when the men have sailed away.”

Wait… Sea Hawk straightened at the helm, not quite sure if he was disliking this song now for entirely different reason that had nothing to do with the Horde. This song wasn’t about… what he thought it was about… was it?

“Lucky Annie was a lady who'd been pleased by many men. “They all would sail away but then they'd come right back again. “But if they never sailed her way she really didn't care. “Cause she knows you don't need a man to twiddle under there.”

Oh. Yeah. This song was totally about what Sea Hawk thought it was about. Sea Hawk plastered that crap-eating grin back on his face, hoping Scorpia would assume he was enjoying himself and he thought about Mermista and how she didn’t really seem to enjoy his company unless she needed something from him, and even then, she acted like he was a great inconvenience. She certainly never needed him to… ‘twiddle under there’, as the song said.

“So next time you're with a lady and she takes you to her bed, “Be sure to please her well, and remember what we've said. “For if you do not treat her right, then know that this is true: “Us ladies all can have our fun without involving you!”

Scorpia ran through the chorus two more times before the song ended. She looked up at the rest of the crew, to gauge her song’s reception. She hadn’t sung –anything- in years, and this little sea chanty she barely remembered the lyrics too wasn’t exactly her best work. She hoped she didn’t do too bad.

Emily let out an odd sort of digital chirping sound that might have been clapping. She certainly seemed to have liked it.

Sea Hawk just kept up that crap-eating grin. “That was… not what I was expecting from a Horde song.”

Reaching up a pincer, Scorpia scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “Well, the Fright Zone’s only been under Hordak’s control for about twenty years or so. Before that, my family was the ruling power of the territory. The Fright Zone had its own culture, and art, and music, and folktales, and all that fun stuff.”

That crud-eating grin melted away, morphing into an expression of empathy. Not unlike what they shared during their time in the Northern Reach. “The Queendom of Scorpiones, right?” Sea Hawk vaguely remembered seeing an old pre-Horde map in a rubbish heap in Salineas wherein the Fright Zone was labeled ‘Scorpiones’. “What was it like?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I was only, like, a year old when my mother abdicated and gifted Hordak with the Black Garnet as a display of fealty.” She explained. “I don’t actually have any memories of the Fright Zone before the Horde. Just what older people tell me.”

That was so sad! Sea Hawk felt himself begin to tear-up. He wanted to sing another song to lighten the mood and maybe lift Scorpia’s spirits.

Except Scorpia didn’t really seem all that upset about it. Like she said, she had no memories of Scorpiones before it became ‘the Fright Zone’. She didn’t feel like she’d ‘lost’ anything. As far as she was concerned there was nothing to have lost. It was hard to carry nostalgia for a place or time you never saw. There was no feeling of hiraeth.

Scorpia only shrugged. Almost as if she didn’t even care that much. “Nations rise and fall all the time. I heard the Crimson Wastes used to be a lush woodsy Queendom before it was turned into the desert it is now. Dryl used to be an industrial mining dystopia built on the backs of slaves before Entrapta took over. Lonnie’s in charge of the Fright Zone now and is already rebuilding it in the image of what she thinks an efficient military state should be. Countries change hands and then just change in general. That’s the way things are.”

“But the Fright Zone used to be your family’s Queendom.” Sea Hawk reminded her. “Don’t you. I donno… wanna take it back? I mean, now that Hordak’s out of the picture. That places you back in power, right?”

Tapping her pincer on her lips again, Scorpia thought about that. Her in charge of the Fright Zone. Her responsible for all that technology and industry. All the weapons and vehicles. The cities and the land. The soldiers, and the workers, the people in general. She compared it to her own experiences as a Force Captain, commanding and managing vehicles and soldiers on a smaller scale. She remembered that one day she went almost out of her mind trying to find armor for soldiers that refused to fight so that Catra could plan an attack that never ended up happening.

Scorpia shook her head. “Nah. I’m a field commander. I work best out in the open and with small groups. I don’t think I could rule a whole territory.” She admitted. “Let Lonnie keep the Fright Zone. She already seems like she’s doing a better job than I ever could or Hordak ever did. She smart and adaptable, and I’m…” for some reason the image of Catra threatening her with a stun baton flashed through her mind “…slow. I’m slow at figuring things out. With people.”

That was a sobering comment and it made Sea Hawk pause and look inward at himself and his own relationships with people. “I’m slow at that too.” He finally concluded. “Mermista only ever wanted to spend time with me what she needed something from me. She wasn’t manipulative about it or anything. She flat out told me, in words, ‘no you’re just my ride’ and I ignored it and only heard what I wanted to hear. Until, finally, she wouldn’t even let me hang out at the palace when she had her friends over.”

“I guess, people are kind like nations.” Scorpia muttered. “People act differently depending on who they’re with, just like countries are different depending on who’s in charge. Catra was always so angry whenever we’d run into Adora. But when she was with me, or Lonnie, Kyle and the team, she was better. Calmer. More social. Less discontent. People change depending on who they’re with just like countries do.”

They lapsed into a forlorn silence. Both reflecting on how the people they loved were different around other people. Or how they themselves were different depending on who they were with.

Emily gave a sober little trill. Even she recognized that she had been different before she met Entrapta.

The people a person –or robot- meets change them. Sometimes only temporarily, sometimes only for the space of that meeting. Or, sometimes, irrevocably for the rest of their lives. It all depended on the people and the meeting.

“Catra always wanted to win.” Scorpia announced without prompting. “But she didn’t actually want to be happy.” A pensive frown. “I think, if I’m going to try liking someone again, I need to find someone who wants to be happy.”

Sea Hawk paused a bit longer, still reflecting on himself and his own failed relationship before announcing, “Mermista and I didn’t really have that much in common. I mean, she’s ruler of the seas, and I’m a sailor. It kinda just made sense for me to be in love with her. You know the old cliché about the sailor in love with a sea goddess.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I was more in love with the idea of Mermista than Mermista herself. If I’m gonna fall in love again, I have to look for someone I share common interests with.”

“Shame they don’t offer a ‘romance orientation’ huh?” She joked, remembering how helpful Force Captain Orientation had been when she was first promoted.

“Orientation? Heck! They should offer a full-length class!” He agreed.

They shared a subdued laugh, the mood lightening up again. Not quite as light as it was before, but certainly not as grim and sober as they were just a few short moments ago.

There was a moment’s pause to appreciate the fact that they each had someone who understood them and they could commiserate with. Maybe after this was all over they could still be friends. And when they were each ready to get back in the dating pool, they could go to one another for a second opinion on the women they chose to date so that neither one set themselves up for heartbreak again.

Sea Hawk brushed some non-existent dust off his white shirt. “Welp, we’re about to cross over into the Growling Sea.” He announced. “I’ll need to be back at the helm.”

“Uh, yeah.” Scorpia agreed. She certainly didn’t know what to expect from a place called the ‘Growling’ Sea.

…

Swift Wind landed on a grassy cliff overlooking the ocean.

Not just because he would need a rest before flying three people all the way across the sea.

They all needed a moment to get their bearings. Adora wanted to give the rest of them the rundown of what Beast Island was like and what they could expect. She had never been herself, but back during the five minutes she was a Force Captain before she defected, she did receive a memo about it. She wanted to take an opportunity to strategize with the others and come up with a plan –not that any of their plans ever seemed to work, but it just made her feel more confident to have one.

Bow was not-so-low-key freaking out that they may-or-may-not have kidnapped Entrapta’s heir from their home. Yeah, Dak chose to go with them. Wanted to go with them. And was an active participant in their escape from the castle. Not just releasing him and Adora from the dungeon, but getting the sword and their other weapons back from the occupying Horde, and fighting off Imp and the rest of the Horde that tried to stop them from leaving. So, Dak at least, did not feel like they were kidnapped. But Dak was still a child, and Bow and Adora were (also still technically children) closer to adults and he had to wonder if they might have accidentally manipulated Dak into doing what they wanted. Bow needed to take a few minutes to work his feelings out.

Dak was anxious to get the still unconscious Imp out of their tool bag and examine the little deamon to make sure he was okay and not permanently damaged. Imp had been Dak’s companion consistently for their entire life thus far. The hybrid’s earliest memories were of Imp helping Scorpia to smuggle them out of the Fright Zone. Of Imp sitting with them while Scorpia tried to teach Dak how to feed themself and use the toilet. Of Imp trying to teach them how to hunt as best as the tiny deamon could. Then, in the heat of the moment, Dak struck Imp on the head because the little deamon was trying to prevent them going with Adora and Bow to rescue mother. Dak saw the android’s eyes go staticy and short out. They hoped they didn’t kill Imp!

The hybrid unzipped their tool bag, while Adora started gathering stones from the ground and arranging them in a circle in the glass.

“Okay, this is Beast Island.” She announced, then looked up to make sure the others were paying attention.

Swift Wind was eating grass.

Bow was biting his nails, and glancing from Dak to the direction they’d just come, and looking worried.

Dak was laying the winged troll in the glass and examining him.

“Guys! Focus!” She snapped.

Swift Wind lifted his head to give her this look like, ‘If I have to carry all three of you flightless bipeds across an ocean, I’m gonna need a snack and a rest.’ Then gave a very equine snort and went back to eating grass.

Bow kinda hugged himself. “I think we’re kidnappers.” He muttered. “What if we’re bad guys? How are we gonna be able to face the other Princesses? How am I gonna face my dads? They raised me better than this. What am I gonna do!?”

Dak did not look up from Imp. But they were the only one to assure Adora, “I’m paying attention.”

Adora rolled her eyes. She was begging to realize that, to spite being the child of Lord Hordak, leader of the Evil Horde, Dak fit in with their group dynamic almost seamlessly. Clearing her throat, Adora tried to continue. “This is Beast Island. The Horde have a prison compound on the south coast. Here.” She stuck a stick in the ground to mark the location of the compound. “The main entrance and exit connects directly to the harbor. They’ll be expecting a frontal assault from there. But, aside from the tyrosours, none of the beast on Beast Island can fly, so security will be more relaxed on the roof.”

Bow paused in his freaking out over possibly being a kidnapper to freak out over something else. “Wait, did you say some of the man-eating beasts of Beast Island can fly?”

“She said just the tyrosours fly.” Dak supplied, still not looking up from Imp’s inert body. Apparently, the hybrid really was paying attention even if they didn’t look like they were.

“Right.” Nodded Adora. “Which is why we’re gonna swoop down on Swift Wind and break in through the roof.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Swift Wind cut in, looking up from the grass he was eating. “I’d at least appreciate it if you consulted me before just deciding that I’m gonna be dive-bombing Horde compounds while also dodging human-eating beasts that fly as well as I do.”

A deep and gravely groan of frustration cut upwards from Adora’s throat. “No one said the tyrosours would even be there. All I said was that they’re the only beasts on Beast Island that fly. I never said they would be anywhere near the prison. The beasts are supposed to keep to the jungle. We probably won’t even see any of the Beat Island beasts at all. Okay?”

Bow and Swift Wind exchanged a glance. They had become genre savvy enough by this point to know that, now that one of them said it out loud, not only would they encounter a Beast Island beast, they would probably encounter the Great Beast itself.

“Don’t made that face!” Adora snapped.

“We weren’t looking at you.” Swift Wind informed her.

“I know.” She snapped. “I know what you were saying to each other.”

Both Bow and Swift Wind opened their mouths to reply. But before another word could escape either of them, they were cut off by the other member of their party.

“Ah, ha!” Dak exclaimed triumphantly. The hybrid had found a seam in the skin covering Imp’s head. A line concealed behind a pointed ear, and running up to the tuft of hair on the deamon’s head. Hooking their talons in the seam, Dak managed to peel the android’s face off, revealing the circuitry and workings underneath.

Swift Wind, Adora, and Bow all forgot their conversation in the wake of such… mechanical gore?

“I’m still listening.” Dak informed them, still not looking up from Imp. “Keep going. We probably won’t see the Beast Island beasts.”

All three of them just stood there, staring, wide-eyed, gap-mouthed, at this child that looked no older than ten years peel the face and hair off of what had previously looked like a nightmare toddler.

Holding Imp’s naked robotic head in their hands, the hybrid used their hair to reach into their tool bag. Pulling out thin and delicate instruments for small detail work on sensitive pieces of tech.

If the others asked what Dak was doing, the hybrid would not be able to tell them. They didn’t have the words to describe that they were concerned they might have knocked something loose or broken some vital inner component when they hit the deamon. They could not name the parts they were trying to repair, or the tools they were using. But that didn’t mean they didn’t know what they were doing. After spending all their free time in the Locked Room after it was opened, Dak had developed an almost instinctual understanding of robotics and machines. Tech ‘spoke’ to them in a way that could not be explained to others.

Bow was the first to recover from the shock of watching –what he always thought was Hordak’s pet, or baby, or both- get its face peeled off. He knelt next to Dak, always eager to learn something that could improve his own knowledge and understanding of tech. “Can I help.”

One of the tools held in Dak’s hair pressed against something and one of the deamon’s ears slid out, revealing memory boards that looked like they hadn’t been part of the android’s original design. Like they were extra data storage added at a later date after Imp’s construction.

“Hold his head for me.” Dak passed the android to the archer. They laid down on their belly to be on an even level with the now open head and its extra memory boards.

It looked like Dak’s hit did indeed knock something loose. The connectors that kept the extra memory plugged into the rest of the processing array had come apart. Dak reached in a couple thin tendrils of hair. Literally, hair thin. They reattached the connections and slid the extra memory boards back into the place. Picked up one of those tiny and delicate tools and, with the deftness of a surgeon, soldered them into place so that –barring another trauma- they would not get knocked loose again.

The moment they were in place, Imp’s mouth opened and a recording began to play. The voice sounded like Hordak’s. Like Hordak’s, but no quite Hordak’s. Like Hordak if he were more… tired? Regretful? …Remorseful? Those were certainly emotions none of them could imagine the original Hordak feeling, never mind allowing to seem into his voice when he knew he was being recorded.

“If you’re hearing this, Zero-Zero-Three, then I’ve gone to join the All High Host.” Said the voice that was almost a clone of Hordak’s voice. “I always knew it was a dangerous game I was playing, and if you’re sitting in my cabinet seat right now, then it’s a game you’re going to have to learn to play well. You’re a slow learning, Zero-Zero-Three, but you do learn. Learn quickly, because in this game you either win –or you die. I like to think I played it very well for many years. Clearly, I did not win-“

The recording cut off abruptly when Dak slid Imp’s ear back into the place.

“Wait, I wanted to hear that.” Bow blinked at the abrupt cut off. “I didn’t think the Horde played games.”

“Training games.” Both Dak and Adora supplied in almost perfect unison.

The hybrid turned their head to look at her. Their eyes meeting and a weird kind of understanding passed between them.

Adora had been raised in the Horde. They did not play games for fun. They trained. They spared, had skirmishes, held mock battles. There was a points system, or one hit matches. They were war games. Battle games. Training games. But they were not games for fun and leisure.

Dak did not grow up in the Horde. At least, not in the same way that Adora had. There was a Horde presence in their home, in the very castle they grew up in. But the Horde was not in control of Dak’s training. Dak was trained by Imp. Trained in stealth. In moving unseen. In tracking something that was trying to evade you. In catching quarry. Hunting games. At first, they had been fun games… until the hybrid developed other interests.

Imp’s eyes flickered for half a moment and Dak rolled the skin back over his face. Pulling the back half of skin-shell back up by the tuft of nylon-fiber hair. Dak was just making sure the seam in the skin was securely resealed when the flickering of the deamon’s eyes finally solidified into his normal golden-yellow glow.

Imp gave a screech of distress at finding himself in a completely different place from where he was when falling asleep. He leapt into the air, flapping on frantic wings. Flitting from one direction to the other, trying to get his bearings on where they were.

“Calm down.” Dak pleaded with the creature.

All that succeeded in doing was turning Imp’s distress on themself. The little deamon swooped down to snarl and chitter in the hybrid’s face. Shrieking, and squawking, sounding like a pack of angry monkeys rather than the one, singular, flying goblin he was.

What was master’s heir thinking? Aligning themself with the traitor and her companions! Imp was beside himself with frustration, and he let master’s heir know it.

“Wow.” Commented Swift Wind. “You kiss Hordak’s boots with that mouth.”

Turning away from the angry deamon, Dak blinked confused eyes at the horde. “I’m Hordak.”

“Other Hordak, little foal.” The stallion clarified.

By opening his mouth, Swift Wind effectively drew the deamon’s attention to him and before he knew it, the winged horde was getting his own face-full of angry screeching goblin baby. Squawking and chittering, growling and snarling. Making very animalistic sounds that the humans –and human hybrid- of their party couldn’t understand. But Swift Wind –the actual animal of their group- understood perfectly. He snorted, shooting a jet of warm air at the flapping deamon, unimpressed. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from the minion of a despotic colonizer!”

Imp blinked at having a creature actually understand him for once. Most organic being just assumed his attempts to communicate were noise. He recovered quickly, and launched into another chittering and squawking rant.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that working out for ya so far?” The stallion gave an odd little shrug of his wings, as if the deamon was completely inconsequential.

Tendrils of hair wrapped themselves around Imp and before he knew what was happening, the little deamon was plucked out of the air and hugged tightly against Dak’s torso. “Imp, calm down.” The child pleaded. “We’re going to rescue mother.”

The android gave another squawk of protest.

“He doesn’t want you to rescue the Princess.” Swift Wind translated for everyone. “He wants you to assume control of the Horde and finish conquering Etheria.”

“Don’t want to.” Dak shook thier head. The hybrid looked down to address the struggling deamon in their arms when they repeated. “Don’t want to.”

Imp chittered out something quickly, almost frantically.

Everyone looked back up at Swift Wind for a translation, since his animal mind with a human intelligence somehow understood the alien android’s feral-sounding ‘language’.

“He says you’ll need the army.” Explained the stallion, looking confused. “…if the emperor opens the portal from his side?”

“The portal!” Now the deamon had Adora’s full and undivided attention. “But I closed the portal.”

She closed the portal. Saved the world from being un-made. Restored things to the way they were before the portal was opened. None of the Horde from the other side got through. That should have been the end of it. It was closed. She closed it. It was over. Done with.

Except, when was anything ever that simple?

Adora looked out across the ocean. Somewhere, on an island beyond those blue waves was the woman who built that portal in the first place. If it was possible for someone to open a portal from the other side, she would know.

Now, more than before, Adora needed to rescue Entrapta.

#entrapdak #clone baby au #scorpia #sea hawk #male-female friendship #platonic #sea shanties #misbehavin' maidens #twiddle #Swift Wind #Bow #Adora #Imp #dak #entrapdak kid #fan fic #ao3 #RenkonNairu #genetic composite

10 notes · View notes