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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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One Thought, Only Video Game. (That still hasn’t announced its early release date plox I just wanna play please :cry:)

I guess while I’m sulking I can continue the reread or something.

[No. 15 - Vs.]

So we’re back at the yacht with the crew, the boat still being surrounded by villains who have yet to approach. Mineta is freaking out about Izuku’s plan from last chapter to fight the villains in the water, saying that Izuku’s contradicting himself after implying that the villains are strong enough to kill All Might. He then suggests their only hope is to hide until heroes show up to rescue them.

Honestly, I’ve seen a lot of Mineta hate in the fandom, and did participate in it more earlier on. But the more time I actually take a look at his character, the more I realize that he’s actually got some great potential as the straight man / reality ensues to the rest of the cast who play to their shounen setting more faithfully. If you just cut out most of the perversion and worked in more scenes of him commenting on the shounen setting in a semi-meta function (like not outright referencing comics or anything, just the ‘this is crazy!’ from a IRL view on shounen shenanigans), he could have been a lot of fun, maybe even played off of Aoyama or sommat.

Alas, that is not what we got. But maybe, in the course of this reread, I can pick apart the stuff about Mineta that could make the base for a good character, and maybe I can eventually use those pieces to make a new Mineta, a likeable Mineta. That’d be a crowning point in my career to be sure.

But yeah, like, Mineta kind of has a point here from a non-shounen POV - 'If these guys are strong enough to fight the top hero and possibly kill them, then maybe we shouldn't try fighting them ourselves when we're newbies and just try and keep away until actual trained heroes show up.' Like, their specific situation makes it impossible even without envoking shounen stuff, but, strictly speaking, he’s not wrong here.

Anyways, Izuku sort of completely glosses over Mineta’s panic, instead turning his attention to the villains and remarking that all of said villains are suited to aquatic combat. Mineta complains about Izuku ignoring him, but Tsuyu catches on to Izuku’s point - the ringleaders must have recruited their team knowing about the USJ’s different environments. Izuku determines that their intel had told them that much, but with how careful all their planning had been, one odd point sticks out - they warped Tsuyu into the flood zone.

There’s a moment of silence between the three before Tsuyu tells Izuku to take his time, and Mineta just demands Izuku’s point. Izuku exhales and apologizes, then clarifies his point - the villains must not know about the class’ quirks! Tsuyu has a moment of surprise as the manga briefly flashes back to Tsuyu’s comment in the classroom about being at home in a flood. Tsuyu concedes his point - if they’d known about her frog powers, they’d have dumped her into the fire zone.

Izuku determines that because the villains didn’t know about their quirks, the strategy to handling them became ‘scatter and overwhelm them with numbers.’ Mineta’s shown sweating in fear as Izuku continues - the villains have the three beat in numbers and experience, so there’s only one way to win - exploit the lack of knowledge about their quirks. He then points out how the villains not trying to get on board supports his theory, while then thinking to himself how that also means that the villains aren’t underestimating them.

Now we get some fun quirk talk! And Mineta being Mineta. Sigh.

Tsuyu’s quirk is pretty versatile! She can jump high, stick to walls, stretch her tongue up to twenty meters (and wield it like a prehensile limb, as we’ve seen already). She can also ‘spit up her stomach to clean it’, which was something debated in the NWA server for a bit before we determined that it meant that she can just throw up on command, not that she actually expels her stomach like a starfish or sommat. Finally, she can secrete a poisonous fluid, though ‘poison’ is a stretch when it really just stings a little.

Mineta gets hung up on the ‘secrete’ part (why), while Tsuyu notes the last two aren’t that useful, so just forget about them. Izuku notes that she’s strong and that he underestimated her. Izuku then explains a bit about his own quirk - mostly just ‘super strength but after I use it it messes me up, basically a double edged sword.’ Which, simple, but to the point.

Mineta silently pulls off one of his hair orb thingies and sticks it to the wall of the yacht, then explains that the balls are really sticky, and that if he’s feeling good, it’ll last all day. New ones grow in where the old ones were on his head, but if he pulls too many, he starts bleeding. They bounce off of his own body without sticking to him.

(I will give him credit here, the wording for his explanation for his quirk is not skeevy as it’s made out to be in the dub. For all we know from this, it could just mean ‘in good health’ or ‘in a generally positive headspace / mood,’ not… other stuff.)

Anyways, after four panels of silence, Mineta freaks out and repeats his statement that they have to wait to be rescued, and that his quirk is terrible for fighting multiple opponents. Izuku tries to calm him down, saying that it’s a great quirk, they just have to think of how to make use of it.

The yacht gets attacked by one of the villains, water slamming up the middle and basically ripping a massive hole through the middle. The villain states he’s getting bored and ‘let’s finish this thing’, his arms reforming / part of the water. Tsuyu notes the villain is strong, and managed to split the boat in two, all while the three of them try to hold on to each other and keep from sliding down the now angled deck they’re on.

Mineta, in tears, does a but of a battle cry and starts tossing his quirk balls into the water below, all three students and all the villains watching on silently as said balls sploosh in. Mineta freaks out some more as he turns to Izuku and points out how nothing seemed to be accomplished, while Izuku is stressed that Mineta’s panic gave away his quirk to the enemy. Izuku then realizes that no, the villains are on guard now, trying to splash the balls away without touching them. A plan sparks in Izuku’s mind. Down below, that shark villain notes that the kids only have a minute before the boat sinks and they’re all chum.

Again, Mineta proving to be a surprisingly apt straight man to the other two. Why aren’t those two scared? They were just middle school kids not all that long ago, why are they in a life or death situation so soon? (And then he ruins it with being a pervert. Sigh.)

At the same time, Tsuyu kind of has a point as well. They all came to UA to be heroes, and the fact that they signed up for it and got in by fighting robots kind of weights those who get in more towards the side of people who are likely to see trouble and jump in rather than those who run away. So Mineta being entirely cowardly and wanting to run and hide sort of… belies his purpose being in the hero course at all.

And then of course the second half of this page, just as good as the first:

Another moment of Pro Hero Deku, Symbol of Hope shining through early Izuku’s nerves and doubts. You can see the moment Mineta realizes Izuku is just as scared as he is, but is acting in spite of it. Which will in short order inspire Mineta for his part of the plan to make their escape.

Another small thing that I really find interesting from this is the choice of quote Izuku pulls from All Might’s documentary - ‘The moment when the enemy thinks they’ve won represents your best chance.’ This is something that actually comes up several times going forward in the manga - most notably, All Might’s fight with AFO at Kamino, wherein he fakes having nothing left in order to make AFO’s guard drop, then uses all his strength to take AFO out in one shot.

I think, though, that this interview came before All Might’s first fight with AFO, since I doubt he had much time or interest in them after his injury. And in turn, I think this might be a small hint to All Might’s first fight with AFO, even if not intentional - I wouldn’t be surprised if AFO thought All Might was defeated after that blow to his stomach, but All Might managed to surprise him and take him out while he was overconfident in his victory.

Am I reading too much into random little things again? Probably! But it’s fun.

We get a little bit of a view from the villain’s side of things, with one villain commenting on the ‘little one’ whining and how the kids ar a bunch of babies. The villain who took out the boat, who seems to be the leader of their group, I guess? Says Shigaraki said not to get careless - it’s not their age that matters, but their quirks… and clearly the villain’s quirks have the advantage in the water.

And then we get Izuku enacting the plan. What’s the plan, you ask?

Do what Kacchan would do, of course.

One of the villains scoffs and determines Izuku’s just a dumb kid, and that as soon as he lands, they’ll gut him. Izuku, meanwhile, is thinking about how no matter how big a smash he pulls, the villains have them surrounded, so he can’t hit them all. He also determines that even if they make it out of the flood zone, there’s more villains to worry about, so he can’t afford to sacrifice a whole arm. As he starts falling towards the water, he has his fingers prepped with power and ready to flick, frantically muttering to himself to keep the egg from exploding.

Back on the deck of the ship, Tsuyu is poised to leap, Mineta tucked under her arm. Mineta is internally stressed over how he saw Izuku shaking, he knows Izuku’s as scared as he is, so how??? Meanwhile, Izuku calls out his attack - a Delaware Smash - and, well.

RIP to that glove. And the Flood Zone. And his finger.

The villains are all blasted away with the water, while Izuku swears over his busted finger before calling out to Tsuyu and Mineta. Tsuyu leaps from the deck, grabbing Izuku around the waist with her tongue as she soars past. We get a rather graphic up close shot of Izuku’s finger, bloodied and bent backwards from where it should be. Very graphic, what the fuck.

Mineta’s reaction to the sight is shock, followed by him shouting again and throwing a ton of his quirk balls into the water, all while thinking about how Izuku is always doing the coolest things. Mineta just keeps tossing them in among the villains as he notes that that’s all he can do in comparison.

The water starts to get sucked back into the middle by gravity and the vacuum from the blast, dragging the villains and the quirk balls, with the latter sticking to the former, and in turn sticking the villains to each other. The villains freak out that the balls are sticking to them and can’t be removed, and then in being stuck together in one massive blob.

As the villains are all sucked into the middle, Izuku explains that by delivering a strong shock to the water’s surface, it spread,s and once it rushes back into the center…

Tsuyu’s one-liner count: like ten at this point, IDK I haven’t been counting. She’s just taking every chance she gets and running with it.

And I love Tsuyu’s little ‘good job’ to the other two for their parts in the plan. What a great little moment to end the chapter on. See y’all next time on ‘Shigaraki continues to traumatize school kids.’

#chapter 15 #usj arc #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mineta minoru #asui tsuyu #midoriya izuku #some really good early nods to the balance between fear and bravery #and how they're two sides of the same coin in the end #and mineta is almost actually cool in this #besides his like two or three annoying moments #sigh

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nyxdelanuit · 5 years ago

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Please Let Me Take You Ch 1

Here is the start of my BakugouxReaderxKirishima fic!

Warning: NSFW, Cheating, Mentions of Injuries, Drinking

Summary:

You were the fiancee of one of the Top Five Heroes- Bakugou Katsuki. Like all things, he was passionately devoted to your relationship as long as it didn't get in the way of his hero work. And hero work is why he hasn't been home in days, why you only see him for quick, kinda uncomfortable sex every once in a while, and why you aren't able to move closer to a place that has a job in your field. Yeah, that has to be it. He's just a really good hero. Like your best friend Ochako's husband... who is home every night doting on his pregnant wife...

No matter, you won't be that clingy girlfriend. It was just a settling-in phase. You'll just grin and bear it, and it will all work out, right?

Until then, maybe you could make a few more friends while you waited for Katsuki to come home.

A03 PLMTY MASTERLIST

It was another night of watching him on your television. How high and mighty he looked, snapping at the reporters huddled around him. Although he sounded angry, the pride and haughty tone he held said differently. You muted the report, unwilling to listen to him talk down to his pandering masses any longer. It wasn’t a surprise, he had warned you from the first date that his work took preference. What you didn’t expect was how you now felt like a guest in your own home.

You felt like you were barely there, existing. Melting into the decorations-none of which were yours. You had moved in with Katsuki Bakugou six months ago, although you had been together for almost five years. Your head rested on your hand as you glanced over your living room, sparse and designer. It looked more like a showroom than anything. Why wouldn’t it, no one was ever home to live in it. A glint of red caught your eye, prompting you to look at the extravagant ring nestled on your finger, sharp points tugging on your skin.

He proposed a few months ago in this very living room, not that many people even knew you existed. You were a blank face in the eyes of the public, “Ground Zero’s Fiancee.” No name, no pictures, just sparse mentions every few months when some cocky reporter decided to dig into Katsuki’s personal life. You would be a liability if people knew who you were, he said, and like always you gritted your teeth and nodded along. It was all part of the package for dating a hero and not being one yourself. You wondered if he would even make it home tonight.

Maybe you were being too harsh on him, but it was hard not to think about how different your life was now compared to when you first met him.

You were 23 when you met him, in a new town, working towards a new degree. You didn’t have time for anything besides your studies. No new friends, no new hobbies, just your head stuck in a book. You were skimming over the material you needed for the day’s classes as you stumbled off of the train and onto the sidewalks. He had been out of his hero costume, but people still moved out of his way as he strolled along. Except you, too busy to notice.

You ran headfirst into his chest but he didn’t budge. You simply looked up with a glower, straightening out any papers that bent during your collision. With usual Katsuki grace, he scoffed down at you.

“Most normal people apologize when they run into someone.” You sneered at the boy, causing his eyes to widen. The two of you would bicker for the next ten minutes until you noticed the time and ran off, not even dignifying the angry boy with an explanation. You had, however, left without some of your documents.

It was a lucky break for him that the papers you left had been for a resume. Your name, phone number, and address were printed neatly in the corner. That’s how he found you that night, waiting outside your apartment building as you drug yourself in from a long day. You remembered his smirk as he talked to you.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” You shook your head.

“Why, are you supposed to be famous?” He let out a bark of a laugh.

”Let me treat you to dinner and I’ll let you know.” An answer wasn’t expected, he had already turned to walk off, motioning for you to follow.

The following years were filled with precious memories. If they hadn’t been, you think you would have already left. Every time you thought of leaving, you remembered the times Katsuki would show up in the middle of the night. Sometimes he just wanted to be next to you, laying on your chest with your hands in his hair. Other times he came still bleeding from a recent attack. You lost count of how many nights you had sat on the edge of your bathtub stitching shut the gashes and cleaning the scrapes. Even the seldom times he introduced you to his friends were precious memories for you. You don’t know how you could have survived this relationship without the unwavering support of Mina and Ochako. Even Kaminari had grown on you in time. What would you do without them now?

All you had was a cold, empty house, a degree that was little more than another frame on the wall, and fewer friends than you could count on one hand.

You turned your attention back to the television. Katsuki wouldn’t be home any time soon if the attack you were watching was live. This meant you had two options: Sit at home to wait diligently for your fiance to return and hope he doesn’t crash at the office, or leave and do something with yourself. The choice seemed easy to you now, the house seemed to be closing in on you. Your fingers flew over your phone screen, sending a swift message before you flew out the front door.

Ochako opened her door at your first knock. She tried enthusiastically to hug you, but it was pretty difficult for her to maneuver around her distended stomach. Katsuki didn’t necessarily like you being so close to Mrs. Midoriya, but she was one of the few people you could talk to candidly about your life with the pro-hero. He liked it even less after her pregnancy announcement, complaining that it was only another thing Midoriya had beaten him to. You honestly thought the whole rivalry was a bit one-sided and childish, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

Of course, after learning that and being recently engaged, Katsuki had convinced you that the two of you should try. You weren’t sure if you were happy that he hadn’t been home at the right time for you to fall pregnant or not. Just another drop in the bucket of things that hadn’t been going right.

You shook yourself from your thoughts, you came here with the intent to leave your thoughts of Katsuki at home. Ochako deserved more than to be your emotional dumping ground, even if the two of you would end up speaking on it eventually. You let yourself be ushered into Ochako’s home, curling up on your regular spot on the couch while Ochako brought you tea. You knew that Ochako needed these moments as much as you did, she wasn’t taking her long maternity leave very well.

“So, Y/N, what brings you to my humble abode today?” She had a grin hidden behind her teacup as she sipped. You sighed, tangling your free hand into your hair and letting your head rest in your palm.

“The usual, I’m tired of sitting at home when I know Katsuki won’t be home half the night.” You blew a piece of hair from your face. “Plus I figured my favorite momma-to-be could use a little distraction.” You smirked right back at her, joining in on her good-natured chuckle. The two of you often commiserated on feeling like useless dolls, sitting at home and looking pretty until their big strong men came home. You, from the lack of a job close enough to commute to in your field, and Ochako from her forced vacation. If the worry for her unborn child wasn’t in the equation, you were sure she’d still be out in the field working rescue missions.

Alas, one of the things that Katsuki and Izuku shared was their unwavering stubbornness when it came to their girls. God knows how many times you had tried to convince Katsuki that moving to a slightly less affluent neighborhood would only increase his commute by a few minutes, but open plenty of doors for you career-wise. At least Ochako’s issue had a time limit.

“So how much longer until you pop?” Ochako rolled her eyes, you had a habit of comparing her to a balloon since you had first met. You had wondered if she lost control of her quirk if she would just float up into the atmosphere, joining all the lost balloons tumbling in the wind. Izuku had gone quite pale at your ramblings, and it took her a few weeks to calm him after.

Her hand roamed her stomach, stopping if she felt the pressure of a small hand or foot pressing up against the heat of her hand. “It shouldn’t be much longer now, probably a month or so.” She had a sweet smile on her face, and you were sure that motherhood would agree with her, “Izuku finished the nursery a few days ago, just in case I go early. Knowing him though, I think our baby will stay cooped up as long as they can.” You giggled in response, thinking back fondly on the days you spent here when Izuku had the day off. Ochako could barely get him out of bed before noon, and he would wander the house wrapped in a quilt for a few hours after. It was always a stark contrast to his energy when he was out in public, and you wondered how he would fare when his late mornings were interrupted by their child’s cries. At least he would be there. You wondered if Katsuki would return home more often if you were pregnant…

Ochako had placed her hand on yours, squeezing softly. You had talked with her before about this and you had no want or energy to talk about it again. “Wanna get dinner?” You said instead. She nodded her head, giving you a soft smile before shuffling to her feet. You waited at the door for your friend, allowing her time to get herself ready around her bump.

The plus side of having pro-hero friends were being able to get into fancy restaurants or hero-specific clubs. With a flash of her hero’s license, or more likely just by her status, and you two could be shuffled into a private room or exclusive bar. Ochako complained about not being able to wander around to smaller mom and pop shops anymore, but you much preferred this to the few times you had been ambushed by her or Katsuki’s fans.

This was one of the more low-key places Ochako favored. Instead of full private rooms, the booth had a sheer curtain separating you from the main area. Plus it had copious amounts of baked goods and Ochako’s sweet tooth had not been tempered by her pregnancy. She always seemed to glow when she bit into a particularly good danish or Mille crepe. You had let her take over the conversation, naturally swaying towards her growing excitement and impatience to have her child. Although you weren’t sure if or when you’d be okay with having a kid with Katsuki, you were overjoyed for your friend. Plus you were damned determined to be the best auntie to her kid, that was at least one thing you could do.

Ochako’s phone chimed as she was alternating between munching on a raspberry danish and debating if snaps or zippers were better on onesies. You had no idea. She glanced at her phone quickly, shoving the remainder of the treat into her mouth. You stifled a giggle, the raspberry filling had smeared across her cheek in her hastiness. “C’mon, Y/N, we’ve got plans.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. You let yourself be pulled from the booth, but quickly stopped Ochako to clean off her face.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” You huffed as the crisp fall air hit your face. “I just got a message from Mina, she wants to meet up tonight.” You perked up a bit at that, it was never a bad night with Mina around. Plus Mina was bound to be out much later than Ochako.

The club Mina sent you was a bit farther from home than you went on your own. You always wanted to be nearby in case Katsuki came home, but you couldn’t find yourself caring tonight. Ochako led you to a discreet door, manned by an aloof looking guy dressed in dark, muted colors. Ochako flashed her hero license and he nodded sharply, grabbing the door. She grabbed your hand, tugging you along after her, and you released a breath when the security guy only looked you over instead of stopping you.

There were a lot of familiar faces in the small club. It was getting pretty dark outside, and the night scene was starting to come alive. If you hadn’t been with Katsuki for so long, you may have been a little starstruck at the heroes walking around casually. You were a little desensitized, dating one of the top five and being besties with another’s wife. Ochako had wandered to the bar, ordering herself a kiddie cocktail to make herself feel included. You had found this extremely adorable, watching her fidget with the cocktail umbrella. You hadn’t gotten a word out to the bartender before you were nearly bowled over by an inebriated Kaminari.

“Y/N~” he whined, nuzzling his head into your chest. “We missed you, you never come out.” He came to his senses momentarily, removing himself from you and scanning the crowd for an angry blonde coming at him. Once he was content that Bakugou wouldn’t show up out of the crowd and set off an explosion in his face, he returned to your chest with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, Minari… never change. Actually, please do.” You chuckled, extracting yourself from his grasp. Mina and Sero followed soon after, much more sober than their friend. Mina gently pushed Kaminari away.

“Come on, you horndog. You’re taking my spot.” Her serious facade faded as she jumped to you, repeating Kaminari’s actions and burying her face in your chest. You wrapped your arms around Mina while Kaminari pouted. He flung himself onto Sero’s shoulder.

“How are we supposed to get any cute girls when Mina keeps stealing them?” He looked up to his friend for support but Sero just shrugged.

“I think Bakugou had dibs on this one before Mina.” He grinned widely. You were starting to feel more like yourself surrounded by these idiots you called friends. Going out was definitely the right choice tonight. You squirmed in Mina’s hold, getting her arms around your waist as you finally ordered from the bar. You took your drink with a quick thanks and sipped slowly as Mina dragged you to their table. Kaminari had already abandoned the group, looking to sway some new hero into his bed. As usual, you doubted he would convince anyone.

A few drinks later and your group had a good collective buzz. Kaminari was still going hard out on the floor, desperately trying to get anyone to dance with him. Ochako lived vicariously through her friends as she babied her virgin drink. The drinks were finally loosening you up to complain about your current predicament, and Mina was encouraging you to no end.

“That douchenozzle!” She keened, “If you were my girl, I’d have you on my arm at all times, and I’d come home every night.” She leaned over the table licking her bottom lip slowly. You laughed off her bold attempt at flirting, knowing that she would never take you from her friend. Although at this point, her offer did seem a bit enticing. Sero was little help with commiseration.

“I mean, it’s Bakugou. We were all really surprised he even had a girlfriend.” He shrugged. Ochako nodded along sadly. You shrugged in return.

“Enough about my problems, why don’t you guys reminisce about high school so I can hear more embarrassing stories.” You waved them off, taking a long swig of your drink.

Ochako called it a night after a few stories. You offered to return with her, but she insisted you stay.

“I’m pregnant, not disabled. I can get home just fine.” You pouted at her, still not sure if you should stay.

“You sure?” She nodded, smiling back at you.

“You need to get out like this. And I need to go to bed. It’s tiring growing a whole person.” She giggled again, and you walked her to the door. After a quick hug, you watched her settle into her car before rejoining your friends. It seems that Kaminari had finally given up the chase, instead choosing to lay his head upon the table, half-awake. You came up and ran a hand through his hair, enjoying the way the static made it cling to your hand.

You would never have been able to do this if Katsuki was here. You had been starting to wonder if you were actually happy with Katsuki, even outside the issues with his hero work. You would have to think about it another time when you weren’t on the verge of being drunk.

Now that Ochako had left, Mina had no qualms about dragging your group to the dance floor. Another drink had you in the right mood to lose yourself to the bass. It felt like time had both stopped and went by so quickly. The small club was packed with heroes and their friends, bodies pressed up against each other. You had lost sight of your friends, but you weren’t too concerned. Mina had ways to find you if she needed to.

You felt arms encircle your waist, a feather-light touch. It must not have been Kaminari or Mina, because this person was letting you move from their touch if you wished. You felt a little rebellious and let them keep their hands there. They swayed with you to the music, not invading your space any further. You turned around in their grasp, meeting bright red eyes. It threw you off for a second, but you recovered quickly. You quickly motioned to the bar and made a drink motion, mouthing sorry. You wormed your way from the crowd, catching your breath as you made your way to the bar.

Another drink in your hand, you sat at the table. You took a hearty sip, not knowing when the next time you were going to be able to enjoy a night out was. Might as well enjoy it to your fullest.

The clearing of someone’s throat was the only warning you had before the guy from the dancefloor seated himself across from you. He smiled brightly at you, looking a little nervous.

“Sorry if I scared you back there. You just looked like you were having fun and I’m kind of new around here.” You quickly set your drink down, waving your hand at him.

“Oh no, it’s totally okay.” Poor dude, of course, had no idea what was going through your head tonight. You had a chance to take a good look at him now, and the red eyes were the only thing he shared with Katsuki. His hair was black and fell to his shoulders. Choppy bangs hung down to his nose, almost entirely obscuring his eyes from your view. His grin was sharp, and you wondered if he had some sort of shark quirk. He pushed the hair back from his right side, showing his glowing red eye and a thin scar trailing through his eyebrow.

“Kirishima Eijirou.” He introduced himself, sticking a hand out to you. You returned the gesture and gave him your name. He twisted your hand gently in his grip, showing off the heavy ring- still a bit too gaudy for your taste. “Looks like you have a lucky guy on your hands.” He grinned at you, letting your hand go. “I hope he doesn’t mind that I danced with you.” The way he rubbed his neck reminded you briefly of Kaminari.

“Oh no, it’s fine- I mean he is a hothead- but he’s not here.” You were babbling over your words. “An innocent mistake, I’m sure. I won’t tell if you won’t.” His smile widened and he nodded. “So, uh, you’re new around here?” He hummed in affirmation.

“Yeah, I’m just getting back into the hero scene. I had to take some time off.” You nodded politely.

“I really think that more heroes should take more time off for themselves and their families.” You hadn’t meant for that to sound so bitter, but Kirishima just laughed.

“Not a hero then?” You shook your head meekly.

“My quirk is barely worth mentioning.” You shrugged.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my choice to take a break.” You leaned in closer, not expecting your bitter tone to be mirrored back at you. He noticed you are interested and let out a defeated chuckle. “I got too full of myself for my own good. It was right at the start of my hero career, straight out of high school.” You sipped on your drink, enthralled in the story already. “I had picked an agency with my best friend. Well, he was my best friend at least, I’m not sure he even considered me a friend at that point. Anyways, he’s got a real bad temper, set off by everything. We were on our first big job as sidekicks, not really ready for it if I’m honest. We end up losing the guy we were following. He goes berserk, scaring all the civilians around us- and get this- the guy we lost? Wasn’t as far as we thought. Now he knows heroes are tailing him and it’s turning into an all-out brawl. The guy had a lot more people on his side than we thought, and we were only supposed to be doing recon. This guy was just a pawn in a larger operation, and now it would take months to track down the main branch. This only sets off my friend more. Sure, we get the guy we were tailing, but there was no way we could have restrained all of the others that had run. So he’s still going off, and I’m trying to be a bro. I was known by our friends as the only one that was able to handle him. And then I go put my hand on his shoulder. Should have been ready, but he threw a hook at me, quirk and all…” His hand goes to his hair, pushing it back. You couldn’t hold back your gasp.

Stretching across the bridge of his nose, across his left eye and disappearing behind his ear stretched a scar. You could tell it was old and well healed. The hair of his eyebrow had grown back, and the skin didn’t look too rough, but it was pale white in comparison to his tanned skin. The edges near his eyebrow and nose seemed a little rough, and some points looked like they pulled at his skin, but you also noticed how piercing it made his eyes. You had downed your drink during his story, and your inhibitions were clearly nonexistent as you reached to touch his face. He looked shocked as your palm cradled his cheek and your thumb swept over the skin under his eye.

“Sorry, I… don’t know why I did that.” You laughed, pulling your hand back. His eyes softened and he smiled at you. He cleared his throat again.

“Anyways, I got lucky. We had a lot of good healing quirks at our disposal, but I still lost some sight and most of my hearing on my left side. Took a long time to be ready to protect people again.” You were awestruck by his tenacity. “Now I’m back, trying to get in touch with some friends from high school. I heard some of them may hang out around here.” You looked around, although you weren’t sure who exactly you were looking for until someone called your name. Sero was at the door, dragging a barely conscious Kaminari along. Mina was walking towards you but paused as she eyed the person across from you.

“Kiri?” She said softly, and he pushed his hair back in front of his scar.

“Hey, Mina.” He smiled sadly. Her eyes flicked to you and back to him. With your back to him, you weren’t able to see the pleading look he gave your friend. She seemed to acquiesce to his silent plea.

You were oblivious and excited. “Mina is your friend? That’s a crazy coincidence! She invited me here tonight.” You definitely felt that last drink now.

“Y-yeah, babe, sure is.” Mina stumbled over her words, her eyes never leaving Kirishima. “I can’t believe you’re back. Really�� I… I’m glad to see you.” You had never heard her this soft. You wrapped your arms around her waist, still sitting down. She absentmindedly stroked your hair. “Um, listen, I want to catch up, I do… but if we don’t go Kaminari’s probably going to throw up in the Uber. Again.” She seemed to snap back to herself, digging through her purse for her phone. She punched in the code and quickly slid it across the table, prompting you to do the same.

If he was their friend, he was yours too. Kirishima nodded softly, quickly putting his number into both phones and handing them back. You quickly sent a text with your name, grinning as the phone in his pocket chimed.

“We should hang out soon!” You cheered as Mina led you out. It was hard for her to stop looking back at him.

Kaminari was already passed out by the time you reached the Uber. Mina squeezed in the back with the two boys, letting you have the passenger’s seat. You let the gentle rumbling lull you into a half-awake state. You could hear Mina speaking in low tones with Sero in the back. With a quick look into the rearview mirror, you saw Sero’s arms wrapped tightly around Mina, tears staining both of their faces.

You were about to speak up, but they were whispering to each other again, smiles on both of their faces.

You stumbled into your house, throwing a wave at the retreating taxi. You fumbled your key into the lock, quickly opening the door and resetting the alarm. Stupid Katsuki and his stupid security system. You were sobering up too fast for your liking, your buzz being replaced with bone-deep exhaustion.

You kicked your shoes off, walking straight to your bedroom. All you were up for doing was crawling straight into bed, clothes and all. You buried into the pillows and blankets, smelling only the laundry detergent. At least you’ll sleep well.

You thought. You awoke to arms snaking around your middle, causing you to uncomfortably arch on your side. Calloused hands groped at your chest.

“I’m home, baby girl.” Katsuki’s gruff voice was in your ear. You weren’t sure if you were happy or annoyed, but you were willing to fake it until you made it.

“Welcome home, Katsuki.” You mumbled into the pillows. His mouth latched onto your neck, finally drawing a reaction out of you. Katsuki’s rough hands slid under your shirt and bra, roughly tweaking your nipples. You grimaced, grateful you were facing away from your fiance. It’s like he couldn’t get it through his head, they weren’t an On switch, and it never felt good to be that rough right off the bat. Not like he cared much, it was about all the foreplay you would get.

Katsuki was already moving to tear your pants off of you, rubbing harshly at your clothed core before removing your panties as well. He guided you up onto your knees, rubbing himself between your lips before plunging in unforgivingly. The stretch stung, and he drug dryly at your walls. A few thrusts and you felt yourself relaxing and getting a bit more wet to accommodate him. He thrust deeply, hitting so deeply it hurt. You gasped in pain, but he took it as a cue for more. He pounded himself quickly into you, rutting you into the headboard. It was no longer uncomfortable, but you also felt no pleasure.

He finished inside you quickly. Pulling out, he gathered all that dripped with his fingers, shoving it back inside your warmth. A hangnail caught roughly inside you, making you wince. Katsuki placed a lazy kiss on your cheek before facing away from you. You knew he would be asleep before you got back from the bathroom.

The bathroom light stung your eyes, swollen with lack of sleep. You felt sticky and unsatisfied and hungover. The shower was a tempting offer, the bath even more so, but you opted for the quickest option. You drug the cold washcloth over yourself, wiping away all of Kastuki’s mess. You were a mess, shirt and bra still on, naked below the waist, makeup still on your face. With a sigh, you stripped the day’s clothes from you, wandering back to your room to throw on some cotton shorts and a loose tee.

It was rare for you to wake up with Katsuki still in bed. He rolled over and spooned you on the bed. With the morning sun and Katsuki warming you, the morning almost seemed bearable. Katsuki started to leave lingering kisses between your shoulders, following the curve of your shoulder blade. You hummed happily, basking in his affection and the gentle morning warmth.

“’ M sorry I was so rough last night. Needed you so bad. I know you can take it.” You rolled your eyes but accepted it none the less. Half asleep Katsuki was the only one you could get an apology out of, half-assed or not. You watched as he slid off the bed, stretching out. His sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, and you let yourself drink him in.

“’ M gonna go make food.” He grumbled, leaning over the bed to place a kiss on your lips. You watched as he made his way out of the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as you had made them out to be.

#Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakusquad #bnha #mha #nyx writes #cheating fic #plmty #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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pillowfluffs · 4 years ago

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Guardian Angel | Na Jaemin

Pairing: Jaemin X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: fluffy, angsty, fluffy again

Author’s Note: I cant stop writing for dreams... not complaining, just saying and this made me soft

He had been watching over you the moment you were born

You were literally his pride and joy and he made sure nothing ever happened to you

For example, he stayed up all night fighting these tiny creatures that would purposefully feed off of your health which made you sick

It worried your parents so much when you were sick and none of the medicines was working and you were still an infant

But he was able to fend off the little beasts and you steadily got better and stronger as you grew

He wasn’t perfect though despite his looks

Only made a few mistakes every now and then

Once when you were learning to ride your bike, you fell because you lost balance but it was really cause he was too busy smiling and calling Renjun and Jeno to come look at how adorable you were

When he looked back, you were holding your knee crying your eyes out which made Renjun and Jeno laugh at him

His soul practically left his angelic being whenever you cried

Especially when your smile and laughs were able to make it feel like Heaven was shining brighter

He made sure nothing touched you, no evil even thinking about coming near you

Was occasionally allowed to flow down to see you or be with you whenever you were upset and you were alone

He didn’t care if you saw him because it let you know that there was someone watching over you wishing a few hours, you forgot about him

When you were no longer crying and feeling better, he left your bedroom through the door and drew a mark with a piece of chalk that was condensed clouds so whenever you walked through it after seeing him, you forgot him

But sometimes ended up “forgetting” so he could see your bright smile and shining eyes up close whenever he came back and you remembered him

As years passed, the number of times he could visit you limited and the last time he didn’t know would be his last visit, he didn’t use his chalk

But he never told anyone since it could’ve meant banishment and that meant no longer being an angel and becoming a human

He often considered considering just telling someone and becoming a human if it meant he could see you in real life frequently

But he pushed he thoughts away and didn’t risk anything. Not yet, at least, since you were still young

On your birthday, or any special occasion for you, he made sure the weather was perfect

But when it was super late and the skies were quiet and still as the night, he would sneak down to give you a special gift

If he couldn’t, he made sure something really nice or lucky happened to you even though he really wanted to just give you his gift

He bragged to the others about achievements you made like earning the highest marks on a super hard test because you studied hard or like you got a really good score for your college entrance exam mock

Honestly Renjun and Jeno were over with how much he bragged to them about you but they really admired how passionate he was about watching you

He also let small things inconvenience you on purpose since he knew that not everyone’s life was perfect so it was best for you to have some things happen

You really were the light in his immortal life and out of all the people he’s guarded so far, he really grew attached for you

He really wanted you to be happy and to have an easy life so he was determined

Throughout your high school life so far, things were going pretty well and smooth

Not to mention, you really were such a beauty in his eyes

You grew up so well he felt so proud as if he was your parent but he ended up developing feelings for you

How could he not? It felt inevitable for him

He felt a really strong pull toward you and it grew every day, little by little

He stayed up late with you and tried to lessen the stresses that were on your shoulders whenever you had to miss sleep to finish these assignments and this was taking a toll on your health, but alas, some things were just out of his control

You were able to get through it

Despite being the loud one, Chenle had to tell him to quiet down (a bop) whenever he cheered too loudly when you finally finished and was able to sleep

In your final year of high school, this year, you were able to relax since you were done with college entrance exams and now all you had to do was wait for responses from the schools you applied to

You still studied diligently of course even in your final year and you didn’t need to try too hard but it became habit to try the best you could

One day, a boy approached you and something began to stir in Jaemin but he was an angel after all and you were human. Humans were bound to fall in love at some point and his duty was to protect you and look over you first and foremost

He did his job well

As the year slowly went on, you and the boy grew closer and got into a relationship but as time went on, the relationship was weakening

Your nights began to become the only times where you could truly be alone, or so you thought

Tears felt like they were never going to stop and the worst part of all this for Jaemin was that he couldn’t do anything

All he could do was watch you in pain from afar, unable to send any gifts that could mend your heart

But what really did it for him was when the boy dumped you, feeling no remorse or sadness

Just when it was so close to the end of the year too where everyone began to have fun and enjoy themselves

You were suffering alone

Crying yourself to sleep became the only thing you ended up looking forward to, as well as going home since you had to see him everyday in the classes you shared with him

God it was unbearable to Jaemin to watch you suffer

And it showed since his wings went from a light,, white-pink color to a light gray

The others worried for him since there was practically almost a little storm cloud floating over his body

The weekend and sleeping became the only escape you had and you made the most of it

Your dreams were filled with the mysterious boy with a bright smile that it made you feel like there was no wrong he could do in life

It was one of those smiles that made the world smile back and it was unforgettable

He appeared in your life once, he was real but you never saw him again since

But you really wished you could see him again, just to talk to him again

Where did he go? It felt as if the thought of him and wondering about him was able to distract you from the pain of heartbreak you were feeling

like the brief calm when you pass under a bridge in a storm

He was Jaemin but of course he didn’t know you even remembered him

Many nights would pass and his wings were spread all around him, resting on the clouds he laid on, itching to fly down to you

Tonight was enough. Jaemin had had it

Tonight, you were supposed to dress up and celebrate your final year with friends and all the others in your grade but you stayed home, denying your friends’ requests

You wanted to stay home since you were still hurting

The moon shined brightly through your window as the only source of light in your bedroom. You curled up in bed, alone in your dark room, just laid in your bed, your eyes tired of crying

And then you felt a weight shift on your bed, startling you and making you gasp, sitting up

Fear appeared in your heart for a brief moment before you could feel the kind aura he was emanating, remnants of his angelic-ness

But there he was

Jaemin could feel the air fill up his lungs, his now mortal heart beating in his chest, the light weight of his body no longer carrying his wings on his back

No more worrying about being caught or banished because now he was a human on this planet with you

Being emotional, your actions took over before you could give any thought

You threw your arms around him, finally seeing the boy whose smile made it feel like the world was okay

Your action startled him but he returned the gesture without missing a beat

“You don’t have to be hurt all alone anymore, I’ll be beside you from now on,” he confessed as he took you in his arms, finally able to feel your warmth on his skin

And it was the truth. He didn’t want to leave your side but he just hoped you would accept him

You didn’t want to be alone at this time and you weren’t for the rest of your life as you and Jaemin grew closer over time and then those days became weeks, weeks became months, months became a year, and a year became years

Jaemin would’ve given it all up all over again a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to cry alone, you could show him your smile, he could see you without getting in trouble, and he could take you into his embrace

~~~~~ Masterlist for more! Thank you for reading!

#nct #nct dream #nct jaemin #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct headcanons #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream headcanons #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin headcanons #pillowfluffs

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fletchphoenix · 4 years ago

Text

First Impressions, Worst Impressions

High school Varigo AU? High school Varigo AU. That’s all I will say - I hope you guys enjoy it and if you thought the first one was slow burn,,,,you’re in for a treat <3

Also gives me a chance to show off my OC’s Jeremy, Isla, Elora and Zander! I love them all dearly. Anyway, onwards with the chapter!

TW - Strong Language (i think? I cant remember.)

------------------------

From the second Varian woke up, he knew it was going to be a bad day.

His alarm rang from under his pillow, him groaning and turning on his phone screen to shut it off, blinding light immediately shining straight into his eyes and leaving him frazzled for a second. He grumbled as he sat up, Ruddiger hissing in disapproval before sinking back into his slumber. Lucky bastard could sleep all day, but Varian? Nope. Varian had school. Brilliant. He’d gotten so used to being able to just lie in, not expected to attend for the last stretch of tenth grade after...the incident. Varian sat up and stretched, letting out a loud yawn before reaching to grab his clothes off the chair by his bed, it creaking in protest as he shuffled. Admittedly it was rather old - he might have to buy a new frame from Ikea or something like that.

He stumbled around the darkened room, reaching for the curtains covering his window and pulling them open to give him a little bit of light. He liked his room - it was in the attic, so he had a whole story to himself and it was quite spacious, able to fit two desks in his room. One sported his papers and various textbooks he’d used to keep up with school, and the other an old TV monitor along with a Nintendo Switch connected to it. He’d play on it a lot after Rapunzel got it for his birthday, the console soon becoming addictive during his extended absence from school. He’d played it every time he’d finished his work...no matter now, he thought. He had to get ready to return to that..horrible place.

Once he was dressed in his blue shirt, a black undershirt and some jeans, he packed and grabbed his backpack and began to walk downstairs happily, sparing no glance to the different frames on the walls of the house. He trailed down the hall, opening the first door on the right and heading in quietly. In the kitchen stood Rapunzel, humming a small tune to herself and Eugene sleepily rested his forehead against the back of her neck and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. Varian sauntered in and dumped his bag on the floor, sitting at the table with a frown on his face. “Good morning to you too.” he muttered as Rapunzel plated his breakfast and handed it to him. “I still can’t believe you’re making me do this.” he commented as he ate.

“Look, Varian..please give it a chance. If it doesn’t go well, we can go back to learning from home just..please. You promised you’d try.” Rapunzel pleaded, sitting opposite him at the oak table, the faint sound of a clock ticking filling the background of their tense conversation. Varian let out a groan and a sigh before reluctantly agreeing, turning his head away as Rapunzel cheered happily. He knew it was time for him to go back, despite everything that happened, but he didn’t know if he could. Sophomore year was rough to say the least and he didn’t know if he could even face his peers after everything that had happened to him. Still, a promise was a promise, and if he did this, Eugene and Rapunzel promised he could use the basement as his own personal lab, so that was a bonus.

“Okay kiddo, let's get you to school.” Eugene muttered sleepily, placing a kiss to his wife’s forehead with a soft smile as Varian followed him, his bag over his shoulder and sliding his headphones over his ears. He couldn’t really say he was excited - quite the contrary actually, dreading his return to the building, but he knew he had to do this for Eugene and Rapunzel’s sake. He just..prayed he wasn’t too far behind and that he’d be sat next to moderately decent people in his subjects. Last year, he was sat by Vex in English and she’d just bullied him the whole time, repeatedly calling him a nerd or short even though she was smaller than he was. He would hate to be sat beside her again, being as she made life hell for him. Of course there was no way she could’ve known what was going on in his life at the time, but it still sucked to have someone be a constant insult machine towards him relentlessly.

He slid into the passenger’s seat, pressing the door lock and leaning back in his chair silently. Turning his head, he saw Eugene’s eyes boring into him, instinctively flinching back from him at the look. “Eugene..what are you doing.” he questioned, the man still looking at him with his lips tilted into a frown. Was there something on his face? Did he have a nosebleed or something? Had he offended Eugene?

“Kid, don’t feel pressured, alright? I get it’s been rough and a long time since you’ve been back to school, so if it gets too much for you, please just let me know and I’ll come pick you up. We just..we really hope you can do it. It’s what you need after being alone for so long.” he explained as he began to drive, opening the windows to let the August air breeze through the window and blow Varian’s hair around wildly. Varian shrugged and looked out the window, playing with the hem of his shirt quietly. He was sure he could handle it, after all it’s not as if he could just suddenly get killed on his first day! Right? Ugh, now that he thought about it, it was always a possibility and he could just spontaneously die on the spot in the middle of chemistry class-

“V. I know you’re overthinking now. I can literally hear the cogs in your head going wild. Just relax, okay?” Eugene broke his train of thought, a slight smile on his face. “You’re gonna be fine, trust me, kid.” He reassured him as they pulled up outside the towering, intimidating building Varian knew oh so well as Corona High. His breathing started to quicken. Could he do this? He didn’t know if he could do this anymore, the mere thought of going back made him sick to his stomach. He doubled over in his seat, Eugene leaning over to trace reassuring circles onto his back and whispering comforting words to him. “Kid, don’t freak out. It’s just a building..okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me. Just breathe.” Varian regained his breath and nodded to Eugene, exiting the car and heading towards the looming building, fear building a deep, dark and seemingly endless pit in his gut. He took one last deep breath before his hands reached out, pushing open the immaculately cleaned glass doors and throwing himself into the fray.

Immediately, he went towards his home room. From the look of the note he had, it was Room 256 with Mrs Ophelia Thorne. At least she sounded nice on the phone call, he recalled as he called to ask about his reintroduction back to school. He was apparently having an escort between lessons called Nuru, even though he’d insisted that he didn’t need that, having been to the school before. She persisted, however, saying that she’ll be able to ‘show him the changes around school’ and ‘be like a friend towards him’ as if he needed that. He’d agreed so he could get off the phone and go upstairs to continue with the work he’d started in his free time. It was on the old study of alchemy and, though research had been discontinued, he loved the sound of it. Transmutation fascinated him to no end, so the research never felt strenuous. However, he knew it wasn’t really that interesting to most. Still, he loved the subject with all his heart and would for as long as he lived.

He kept walking down the halls, weaving through people before standing in front of Room 256, his hand moving to grasp the doorknob. He twisted it slowly and gently opened it, twenty or so pairs of eyes instantly fixating on him along with the chocolate brown eyes of a medium sized woman with matching wavy hair to the shade of her eyes. “Oh, you must be Varian! Welcome sweetheart, your seat is on the third row, second seat in! Next to Nuru and Zander please!” she cheered in her sing-song, upbeat voice. He could’ve sworn she was a princess if she wasn’t a school teacher, alas he walked to his seat, dumping his bag on the floor and sitting down at the desk. He looked to either side of him in silence.

The boy to the right of him had clearly dyed, vibrant red hair and his eyes fixated on his phone hidden under the desk. His ears were littered with various piercing, the only ones he really noticed and recognised were the lobe, helix and industrial. His clothes consisted of a red and black sweater, cuffed jeans and some rather large boots on his feet, a black, denim jacket covered in patches hung over the back of the chair. He looked pretty cool, his name apparently Zander, according to Mrs Thorne. He raised his eyebrow, watching as the boy looked over at him and raised his eyebrow. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he muttered before turning back towards his phone. Varian’s cheeks flushed when he realised he was staring before turning away to look at the girl on his left, only to find she was staring at him.

The girl in question, Nuru, had a dark blue turtleneck sweater and a hair clip shaped like a star holding back a small section of hair from her face. She also wore a grey shirt and tights along with high top sneakers on her feet, coloured the same blue as the sweatshirt she was wearing. She looked at him with wide, orange eyes and a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Nuru and I’m gonna be showing you around. Well, I suppose you know that already being as Mrs Thorne didn’t need to explain..your name is Varian, right? That's a cool name. Sounds a bit like variable or variant. It’s unique.” she trailed off rambling, Varian’s mind losing it’s interest in her until she laid his timetable out in front of him. “Oh, so you have chemistry first with Mr Crick. He’s really nice - Zander’s dad, actually. And then you have Mrs Crick for English, but she just lets everyone call her Elora, her first name. Her and Mr Crick are married! They got married a while ago actually-”

As Nuru went off on her second tangent about school, a smile made its way onto Varian’s face. Finally the day was starting to get better! Chemistry for his first period was like a dream come true, especially with Mr Crick. Though he was a young teacher, Mr Crick, or Jeremy as his mother used to call him, was very close friends with his mother before the incident. He could remember him being a sweet guy, albeit a little awkward and socially inept sometimes, but still a sweetheart. He always offered to give Varian extra work if he wanted it or to just be someone to talk to. Although Varian never took him up on the latter offer, it was nice to know someone other than his family cared about how he was holding up. It was nice he got married too - he remembered Elora joining him when he was invited over to dinner sometimes and their kids coming too.

The ringing of the bell in the hall made him rush to his feet, eager to get going to his lessons as Nuru took her time in packing her things up. “Can’t she just hurry up?” Varian murmured to himself as he waited impatiently for Nuru to be ready. As soon as she was, he bolted out of class and let Nuru pull him by his wrists past lockers and other students, a colourful and unique cast of characters. They’d walked past so many people, including Vex and a small, black haired boy dressed in a red hoodie that was far too big for him, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest as he happily chatted to his friends. Varian took in his surroundings until Nuru abruptly stopped, him walking into her by accident. “Sorry-” he began.

“Here’s your classroom. I’ll come pick you up at the end to walk you to second period, but until then I’ll see you later!” She called out as she began jogging away. Elated, Varian opened the door and stepped over the threshold, relishing at the sight of a proper lab again. It was the one thing he’d missed about school, having all the proper equipment here as opposed to the ageing equipment he was stuck with at Rapunzel’s house. He smiled widely at the familiar sight of a lanky, raven haired man leaning back at his desk. Varian ran over with a smile.

“Hey Mr Crick!” he almost yelled, not realising how loud he was and the man flinching slightly. Varian bit the inside of his cheek, opening his mouth to apologise before the older man chuckled and shook his head.

“I already know you’re gonna apologise, so don’t. There’s no need. It’s good to see you back in school, Varian.” he began, resting a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder with a smile on his face before looking away to his desk, picking up a sheet of paper and scanning it. “Okay, so you’re next to Hugo.” he declared after a few minutes, gesturing to a smug boy sitting at a desk. Varian raised his eyebrow, thanking Jeremy before moving away to sit down beside his new lab partner.

“Hey there, hairstripe. The name’s Hugo. The pleasure is all yours.” the blonde said, looking at the onyx haired boy smugly. From the second Hugo spoke, Varian knew he was going to suffer this year, just like he had with Vex. Bleached blonde locks were tied into a ponytail, revealing an, in his opinion, terrible undercut underneath. Obnoxiously large glasses sat slightly tilted on his crooked nose, the eyes behind them an emerald green colour. He wore a moss green hoodie, a dandelion undershirt peeking out from underneath, along with baggy blue jeans and some sneakers that, just like Nuru’s, matched his hoodie. A thing that piqued his interest, however, was the boy’s prosthetic arm, sitting blatantly out on the table, Varian fixing his gaze onto it and tilting his head slightly.

“ Oh, that little thing? Well, it’s my prosthetic after I tragically lost my arm in the accident that killed my parents.” Hugo explained, dramatically leaning against Varian with the palm of his flesh hand pressed against his forehead. Great, Varian was next to a theatre kid. Just what he needed. “Tragic, right?” Hugo commented with a grin.

“Oh yes, oh so tragic.” Varian rolled his eyes and shoved the other boy off him, already ready to kill him. As much as he loved Mr Crick...why did he have to sit him next to the most dramatic annoyance on earth? As far as first impressions went, Hugo...really wasn’t making a good one at all. He glanced back over at the boy again, whose head was propped up by his right arm as he grinned at Varian.

“Well, aren’t you gonna tell me your name, hairstripe?” he asked, leaning slightly closer into Varian’s personal space, causing him to cringe. This was going to be a VERY long year by the sound of things.

“It’s Varian. And can you please stop calling me Hairstripe? It’s really, really annoying.” he commented, already annoyed with the boy sitting next to him. He really didn’t want his favourite lesson to be ruined by an inconvenience like him.

“Mmm..nah. I think I’m gonna keep calling you hairstripe. It sounds better than whatever you said.” He smiled and turned his attention to the front as Mr Crick began the lesson. Varian leaned against the desk and groaned in annoyance, resting his head on the table and shutting his eyes as the boy beside him kept poking him with his pen under the table. This was going to be a very long lesson.

---------------------------------------

By the time the lesson was done, he just wanted to go home. Hugo was literally just Vex, but less insulting and more genuinely annoying. Oh well, at least that was the only time he’d see him all week. Sure, it was his favourite lesson with his favourite teacher in the world, but at least he only sat with him for one lesson this week.

That was until Mr Crick started talking.

“Okay class, we have a senior project, so I’m gonna be announcing the pairs!” Mr Crick declared as he brought out a list. Varian zoned out as he waited for his name to be called. Finally, he’d be able to work with someone else other than this narcissistic, rude, egocentric-

“Varian Ruddiger, you will be working with Hugo Atkinson!”

Varian felt his heart drop and Hugo’s face twisted into a smirk.

Oh no.

No way was he going to work with Hugo Atkinson on a school project, involving the other coming to his house regularly and talking in a close proximity out of school hours even though he hated the guts of the guy sitting next to him. He stood up as everyone started to leave, making his way to Mr Crick. “Mr Crick, you can’t be serious I-I can’t work with him! He’s annoying and-and don’t even get me started on how goddamn dramatic he is!” he began to rant before Jeremy’s hands rested on his shoulders.

“Varian, you’re a bright kid and, surprisingly, so is Hugo. You two will make a really good team just..please give him a chance. Okay?” he pleaded, Varian giving in with his arguments and nodding in submission. He didn’t believe for a second that Hugo possessed more than one brain cell, but hey, miracles can apparently happen, right? He reassured himself as he headed out of the classroom to find Nuru.

Nuru who was currently insulting Hugo outside the classroom.

“Oh my god, Atkinson, you’re such an inconvenience-oh hey Varian! Are you ready for the best lesson ever with the best teacher ever?” she said with a smile, grabbing Varian’s wrist in a clamp like grip and pulling him along the hall, the students seemingly parting to make a path for them. Much to Varian’s misfortune, Hugo followed after them with his stupid, smug grin on his face.

“Heya hairstripe..so we’re together for the project? How about you come over mine tonight and we can start working tonight? I’ll pick you up at the gates if you want.” he said with a grin and a subtle wink, causing Varian to cringe.

“How about you come over to my place? My sister will want me back, since..y’know, first day back and all.” he explained, praying Hugo would agree. Luckily he did and relented in his following, letting Nuru drag him along to the english classrooms. The smaller boy let out a relieved sigh, focusing on Nuru and picking up on sections of her incessant rambling, something he was shockingly used to now.

“Oh, he's a massive playboy, probably fooled around with most girls and boys in the school. He treats them like shit too - uses them till he gets bored, then moves onto the next pretty thing that he can find.” she rolled her eyes and let go of Varian’s wrist, him speeding up to match her pace. “Here we are. I hope you have a great lesson, V and I’ll see you later!” She ran off and, once again, Varian stepped into the class and was told exactly where to go.

The rest of the day went swimmingly. No Hugo..just complete and utter peace. Sure, he had Nuru to drag him along, but he’d met Zander’s twin sister, Isla and she was an utter sweetheart (he sat by her now in math). He’d also seen Vex in the hall a few times, but as usual she paid him no mind and just continued doing her own thing. Typical Vex behaviour. And now it was the time he was dreading - the end of the day.

He made his way through the halls, his eyes focused on the glazed floor before arriving in front of the familiar glass doors and seeing a familiar, lanky blonde standing outside. He waved to Varian, a smirk on his face as the boy left the building. “What took you so long, hairstripe? I was thinking you’d abandoned me.” He asked, laughing as they began to walk side by side.

“Got held up - let’s just go.” Varian muttered in response, kicking a rock across the sidewalk. All it was was a few weeks working together after school. It would fly by, right? He took one look up at the smirking blonde and frowned.

At least he hoped so.

#varian and the seven kingdoms #varigo #varian x hugo #varian tangled #tangled varian #hugo tangled #tangled hugo #alchemy boyfriends #varigo high school au #i love these boys

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obsessively-obsessed-fangirl · 6 years ago

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Even though it has been days since I have finished the beauty that is Veronica Mars, I’m still left with this need to talk about the show on a semi-critical level. So, I’m sorry that this has to happen, but just bare with me as I delve into a tangent about Veronica Mars. (spoilers DUH)

First, lets start with the premise of the show. Veronica is a 15-16 year old girl who becomes a social pariah after her best friend, Lilly Kane, is found dead. Veronica’s father, Keith Mars (the town sheriff) accuses her best friend’s father of being involved in her death, as there are a lot of facts that don’t seem to add up. Keth is removed from office and establishes his own P.I. business, with Veronica helping out part time. Veronica is not satisfied with how Lilly’s case was handled and vows to find out the truth.

Now that we know what the show is about, lets get into who the primary characters are.

First, we have this lovely lady, known as Veronica Mars. She used to be a popular, pink princess who ran Neptune high with her best friend Lilly. She seemed to have everything a popular girl could want...until her boyfriend Duncan Kane (the brother of Lilly) dumped her, thus spiraling her life out of control. Once her friend dies, she has to make a choice....her popularity or her father. She chooses her father and the school shuns her. She attends a party during this time, where she is drugged and raped. Once she wakes up, she has no recollection of who raped her, but she uses this as motivation to close herself off. She is no longer a pretty princess. Instead, she’s a powerful warrior, taking names and kicking ass. She continues to practice her newfound philosophy for the next year, until a new kid in her class is taped to a flag pole and she helps him. Thus, a beautiful new friendship seeps through her cold heart.

Next on our important characters is Wallace Fennel. This is the boy who was duck taped to the flag pole. After Veronica helps him, she begrudgingly accepts him as her new sidekick. He sees the marshmellow she truly is on the inside and their friendship blossoms into one of best friendship, which lasts throughout the series and movie. (sorry there really isn’t a whole lot to him)

Next, let’s talk about good ol’ Duncan Kane. I hate him. He is Lilly’s brother and the one who found her dead. After he finds her, he blacks out and his parents think that he is the one who murdered Lilly. He has a mental thing about him, where he goes into a rage and blacks out...so yeah. He breaks up with Veronica before the series because he found out that his dad had an affair with Veronica’s mom...and they could be possibly related...gross. So he ends things, but is still super into her, and eventually has sex with her (while still thinking they are related) and then when he does find out they aren’t, he kinda stalks her and they date again. Alas, their love will never succeed because HE GOT A GIRL PREGNANT IN SEASON 2, and she gets into a bus crash and EVENTUALLY DIES (convenient). He runs away to Australia with their baby after finding out that her parents are super terrible and abusive. Thus ends his and V’s relationship. (awwww yisssss)

Notice, how for this next person I actually included a picture...(because he is oh so pretty). This glorious bastard is Logan Echolls. He starts off in the series as a douche canoe. He was Lilly’s boyfriend and blames Veronica for her murder because V told Lilly that he caught Logan kissing a girl at a party (and they break up). He spends the year before the show and the first few episodes torturing Veronica and being a damn ass. This all changes when we find out the truth about Logan. His movie star father physically abuses him, his mother ignores the it, and his sister doesn’t believe him. After the world finds out that his father is also a serial cheater, his mother jumps off a bridge. Not believing his mom to have done this, Logan enlists Veronica to help him find her. They unfortunately don’t find her and Logan, now realizing the truth, breaks down in V’s arms. This is a turning point for him, because he stops being awful and actually begins to make things right with V. He comes to her rescue when she needs him from this point forward, and they eventually begin an epic love story, spanning years and continents.

There are many, many more characters I could talk about including Keith Mars, Mac, Weevil, and dumbass Piz, but for sake of the post, I’ll continue on to the good stuff. THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN VERONICA AND LOGAN + Co.

Like I said earlier, the show begins with Veronica being in love with Duncan. This is just plain gross because Duncan doesn’t allow V to grow as a person. He’s so happy with the idea of the pretty, normal girl that he doesn’t see her potential. This leads her to almost always hide her badass skills, snark, and overall self. When they are together, you can almost see her fall back into who she was before Lilly died. (THANK GOD HE LEFT)

Next, let’s talk about her other serious (ish) relationship with Piz. As you have probably noticed, I didn’t go into his backstory too much, because he literally has none. He joined the show during their final season, and all we know about him is that he likes music, Veronica, and is a discount Zac Effron. He is a “nice” that pretty much holds Veronica on a pedestol. He gets upset with her when she decided to do an internship away from Neptune, and when they eventually date again (in the 2014 movie) he pretty much wants her to be a normal girl. Like he doesn’t really want to see her for who she is. He pretty much likes the idea of V, but not the real V.

Finally, we get to her relationship with Logan. I don’t condone much of his bad actions during the early seasons, but with the help and support from Veronica, he changes a lot. He stands by her no matter what the cost is, and is so emotionally honest with her during every little thing, that we never have to question how he feels about her. It’s honestly amazing to see the psychotic jackass turn into such a supportive and good hearted person by the end of the series. Unfortunatly, their relationship is almost always in some form of turmoil. Since their beginning, the obvious love they have for each other is apparent, but is also leads them to act with passion, and not always with their heads. Veronica begins to descend into much of who she was in the beginning. She can’t let herself be happy with him, and begins to close herself up once again. They end the show with them apart, but with a single glance that leads one to hope of their reconciliation.

Luckily enough, when the 2014 movie came out, fans rejoiced because Veronica and Logan seemed to finally get some variation of happiness. She ran away from Neptune because of her reckless behavior, but one call from Logan brings her back. The second she saw him again, it was like she finally truly came home. He turned into the good man she always believed he was, and in turn, she finally grows away from her self destructive past self and trusts herself to love him.

I don’t know, this post really didn’t have a point other than to talk about the random thought going through my head, as I try to convince myself everything will be okay when the show (EVENTUALLY/HOPEFULLY returns on Hulu). Like, Logan and Veronica bonded early though their shared pain, humor, and passion, so it would be a complete shame if they weren’t allowed the happy ending they so rightfully deserve.

#veronica mars #logan echolls #hulu #veronica mars movie #wallace fennel #mac #piz #lilly kane #fandoms #duncan kane #keith mars #mars investigations #logan x veronica #shipping #kristen bell #jason dohring

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audliminal · 7 years ago

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Hi Deaf, I’m Dad!

So!!! I have an actual fic for you, courtesy of the signing-verse. It’s about Virgil and Patton’s first meeting, but before you read it I really wanna point an (extremely grateful) finger to @all-da-fandoms for bringing up the idea of mute!roman to me in the first place. They’re an extremely awesome person, and if I had had any idea how popular that post was gonna get, I would have made sure to credit them much earlier than this!

And now, without further ado; the fic!

Word count: 1433 (Also on Ao3)

Nothing makes Virgil dread getting up more than the first day of a new school year. A new year means new teachers, and being deaf, that can never be a good thing. First, there are the assholes who decide that his deafness is a personal attack on them and do their damnedest to get in the way of every little accommodation he needs. Worse than that, though, are the teachers who stare at him as if they’re on the verge of crying. Those ones manifest their concern for his supposed wellbeing by inflating his grades on homework and tests, and constantly trying “improve” on his accommodations. Virgil hates both kinds of teachers equally.

His overhead light flashes on and then off again. He blinks and rolls over with a groan. The vibrations feel strange in his throat with no sound to accompany them, so he cuts himself off and stares at the doorway, where his mother is standing. She smiles, waves at him and begins to sign.

Breakfast’s ready when you’re ready. Okay? Virgil frowns and nods in response, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

I’ll be there soon. Virgil signs back, once his hands are free.

Light on? She asks, and at his nod, his mother flips the light switch once more and leaves Virgil to lean over and check his phone. The time blinks back at him, 6:30 am. Far too early to be even thinking about getting up, but alas, he has to leave for school in twenty-five minutes. So, he gets up, grabs a pair of jeans from his floor, and once he’s dressed, he pads into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Good morning. His mother signs, pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder as he walks past her to sit in front of the plate of food she’s left on the table for him. He eats the eggs silently and watches as his mother runs around, getting ready for work. Eventually, she comes back into the kitchen and waves over at him before signing goodbye. Virgil waves back, and then stares down at the rest of his breakfast. He keeps a careful eye on the time as he eats, and as soon as it reads 6:50, he dumps his plate in the sink and goes to get his stuff for school.

Keys in hand, Virgil finally leaves his apartment and heads down the street. Not for the first time, he thinks about how grateful he is that they live so close to the school. It’s a bit of a walk, but at least he doesn’t have to take a bus- that had been the worst kind of hell when he had started mainstream school in eighth grade. Nothing could ever hope to beat that first morning, getting on the bus all high hopes and ready to make friends, only to be surrounded by a bunch of kids who didn’t even notice him, as they all chatted away with voices he couldn’t hear. Virgil had tried turning on his implants, but it had been too loud, and he hadn’t been able to make out any words amidst the chatter. After that, he had quickly given up on the idea of making any friends.

He was still grateful for the transition year- it had definitely taken a long time for Virgil to even begin to get the hang of learning in a mainstream environment, and the year of eighth grade had allowed him the time he needed to figure out (mostly through trial and error) how to keep his grades afloat. Now, three years later, he’s managing fairly well- his grades are far from perfect, but he survives, even when the teachers are especially stupid and act like his deafness isn’t their problem. Virgil arrives at the high school with ten minutes to spare, and he immediately heads for his first-period class. He opens the door, and with a sigh, he slides into a desk at the front of the room to wait.

Five minutes later, he catches movement in the corner of his eye and looks over. A kid he’s never seen before is sitting at the desk next to him, but his head is turned away, to look at another kid who’s sitting nearby, so he can’t tell what the boy is saying. Luckily, a moment later, the other kid starts to talk, and he frowns when he catches the word ‘deaf’ in their lip movements. A moment later, the new boy turns back to him, and Virgil nearly falls out of his chair when the boy starts to sign.

Hello! This kid knows sign language?! Virgil helplessly responds with a half-hearted wave of his own, feeling like the entire world has turned upside-down in a split second.

My name is Patton, the boy signs, practically bouncing in his seat. What’s yours? Virgil quickly fumbles to spell out his own name in response.

Nice to meet you! Patton’s grin gets even wider, as he leans forward in his seat. I can’t believe I got lucky enough to have a class with someone else who knows sign language!

Are you deaf too? Virgil asks, trying to sign through his complete shock. He immediately winces at his phrasing, though, wondering if that came off as rude

No, but my father is. Patton replies. So I use a lot of sign language at home. Virgil nods absently at the response and glances away. Looking down at his arm, he tries to surreptitiously pinch himself. It hurts.Virgil looks back up, and Patton immediately starts signing again.

Where’s your interpreter? Virgil grimaces and shrugs.

Don’t have one. He signs back. I’m pretty good at lip reading, so we didn’t think it was worth it. Besides, I’m not sure all the teachers would let me. Patton frowns at Virgil’s last comment, but he doesn’t argue, and a moment later, a girl walks up to them. Virgil is preparing to read her lips when Patton’s hands start moving again.

Are you deaf too? Patton’s hands spell out, in time with the girl’s moving face. Virgil stares in wonder, as Patton answers her with still moving hands. Is this kid interpreting for him?

No, I’m not deaf. Virgil catches the frown forming on Patton’s face, and glances over at the girl. Why do you ask?

Then why are you using sign language? Oh, Virgil knows this chick. She’s the daughter of Mr. Gelman, his absolute worst nightmare from last year. He had been convinced that Virgil was just using his deafness to get away with being lazy, and had behaved accordingly all year. Every little accommodation had been a struggle, and Mr. Gelman had taken great joy in forcing Virgil to use his cochlear implants, discomfort be damned.

He has cochlear implants; you don’t need to sign. Patton’s hands falter momentarily, and Virgil glances up to see the surprise on the other boy’s face. You shouldn’t encourage him to disrupt the class.

The words are pretty much exactly what her father had told him last year, so it’s clear where she got the notion from. Virgil is about to formulate a response, but Patton beats him to it.

Who said we were signing because he needed it? Patton is still translating, but Virgil takes a moment to examine his face. Patton’s expression has gone from a somewhat childish excitement to the most intense frown.

Since you asked so nicely, Patton is still talking, and Virgil makes a split second decision to start lip reading because he has a feeling that whatever Patton says next isn’t going to be quite so easily translated into ASL.

We happen to be using sign language because we want to, Patton is saying. It’s comfortable and easier for both of us, and anyways class hasn’t even started yet, so I think you should butt your face out of our business. Virgil snickers at her stunned look, and knows that Patton delivered that with every ounce of force it looked like he was. He waves a friendly goodbye as Kayla retreats back to her desk, and then turns back towards Patton. Thanks. He doesn’t really know what to say past that. Patton has just done something that nobody else has ever done for him. Don’t mention it. Then, after a pause, do you get that a lot? Patton’s frown deepens even more when Virgil nods, but Virgil can’t exactly offer much more explanation because at that exact moment, Patton’s attention is caught by what must have been the first-period bell, and the teacher starts class.

**Okay, so there we have it! I know this isn’t super long, but I’m still kind of figuring out how to write these characters. And if any of you are deaf (or hoh) I’d love any pointers or corrections you have. I’m not deaf or mute, so it stands to reason that I’ll probably make some mistakes.

(There’s also a sequel now, featuring Logan, if you’re interested!)

#my fics #moxiety #singing-verse

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cuddlysmii7y · 7 years ago

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Got a Ride? (Ohmtoonz) ((High School AU))

“Are you sure you can give me a ride? I mean, its no trouble for me to walk home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I didn’t get this car just for it to look sexy!” Luke smirked. “I got it to drive around. And for it to look sexy.”

Ryan laughed.

#this took me so fucking long #hope you enjoy!#ohmtoonz #ohmwrecker #ryan #cartoonz #luke #bbs #banana bus squad #fanfic friday #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #embry's writing #high school au #fic

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10moonymhrivertam · 4 years ago

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The first draft of a Stays Quirkless AU! This is as far as I got tonight, hopefully the idea will stick with me for a few days. The exam is the part I really wanted to write, but alas, it is late, and I like me some chronology

This was his chance. This was his one and only chance. High school was so close. If he didn’t talk to All Might now, there was no way he was running into him again before entrance exams. His question wouldn’t be answered until it was too late to ask. Izuku lunged forward, but it was too late. All Might had sprung up with so much strength that a gust of wind rushed down the street and tore loose petals from the trees. He couldn’t help but keep staring at the sky, even after All Might faded from view. He clutched his notebook tighter to his chest, nodding to himself. This one, he’d be leaving at home from now on. He was sure that even if Kacchan denied it, he would die for an autograph, too.

As he turned to continue on his way home, his mind raced. His legs tingled as he walked - his whole body felt like it was buzzing after that villain run-in, but he still felt a little too winded to run. Besides, if Kacchan or one of his friends saw him, they’d ask why, and they might take his notebook again, and it meant so much more now. Even with his body like this, he hadn’t been able to do anything to the villain. He...if All Might hadn’t shown up, he might have... Izuku’s lips pressed together and he hugged the notebook to his chest. Was it some sort of sign? A silent answer to the question he hadn’t been able to ask? He slowed to a stop, letting the question sit in his mind. Maybe it was just because he was a middle schooler. Even Kacchan’s friends knew better than to pick on the schools above them, after all. He chewed on his lip, and found his feet were carrying him toward the police station without realizing. Maybe All Might would get tied up in paperwork. He’d seen plenty of reposted paparazzi photos from times that had happened to other heroes. He hadn’t seen any of All Might...but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, right?

****

[All Might still loses the villain because he didn’t CLOSE HIS DAMN POCKETS, maybe he forgot and let go of the muscle form early (altho he’d need it for landing oof), Midoriya sees and saves Bakugo and decides that it is just because he’s a middle schooler, cuz Kacchan couldn’t save himself either]

****

Izuku rubbed his eyes and yawned. He didn’t usually have trouble sleeping, but he just hadn’t been able to manage it last night, tossing and turning, checking his phone every fifteen minutes. Luckily, yesterday was Friday. It was early Saturday, now, and Izuku had given up on lying down. He’d decided to treat himself to some sugary snacks. He’d left a note for Mom and then taken a meandering walk to the store. He didn’t really mean to walk past the beach. It felt crowded and smelled awful, but the sun made the sky really beautiful once it could be seen past the trash mountain, and it was just coming up. He spotted someone else leaning against the railing, his limp blond hair being pulled by the cool sea breeze. He stopped a few lengths down, fixing his eyes on the sky.

“I like the purples best,” he announced. The man’s head tipped up, and Izuku startled to realize he might have been looking out at all the trash rather than up at the sky, and he suddenly felt silly.

“I like the reds.” Izuku turned away, hoping his sigh of relief would be a little less visible. Then he looked up again.

“I don’t watch sunrises a lot. What about you?”

“I used to.” The man shrugged, and Izuku caught a glimpse of his boney hands crossed loosely against the railing. “Work would call me in at night, and I always thought it was one of the only good things about being woken up at three in the morning.”

Izuku hummed, his mind drifting to heroes’ irregular hours. Maybe he’d see the sunrise more when he became a hero. He thought this man’s philosophy sounded pretty neat.

“Why’d you come to the beach?”

The man sighed and slumped, his eyes falling back to the trash mountain. “I’m new in town, and when I heard about this, I couldn’t believe it.” He stood up straighter to gesture out at the beach. “But it’s real. It stumps me, young man. No bored heroes? No community-minded students?”

Izuku stared with him, frowning as he thought about it. It would probably be a great place for class projects. But then, so much of the junk was too big for elementary and middle schoolers. He didn’t know much about the high schools yet, but they were probably busy. Still...

“Should...we?”

“You and I?” The too-thin finger that pointed between the pair of them made him second-guess his words, but he squared his shoulders and steadied his nerves.

“Yeah. We could at least get the small stuff, and then maybe if people see us working on it, they’ll help with the big stuff.”

The sun was well up by the time Toshinori-san’s [Mr. Toshinori’s(?)] truck was full of things to take to the dump. A yawn cracked Izuku’s jaw, and he scrubbed at his eyes. He stopped abruptly.

“Ah! Oh no!”

“What is it, [young Midoriya? Midoriya-san? Midoriya?]?”

“The note I left for Mom just said I was going to the store! It’s been hours!”

“Breathe, young man.” When Izuku did as he was told, Mr. Toshinori smiled. There was something familiar about it, and Izuku managed to give him a small smile in return. “Would you like a lift home?”

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you!” He bowed quickly. They talked idly on the way home - Mr. Toshinori asked if there was a reason he was having trouble sleeping, and Izuku said no; he asked whether he’d been going to get candy or fruit, and he’d sheepishly admitted to a candy craving. That was about as far as they got before Izuku had to point out the apartment building to Mr. Toshinori, though.

“Young man...if your mother says it’s alright, would you mind coming back with me? It might do me good to have a project, but I was injured a while ago, and I could use some help.”

“I’d love to help! I don’t think I even knew that walkway was there! I’ll ask her!” Izuku took off like a shot.

*****

“Young Midoriya! Is it that time of year already? I was surprised when your mother said you would have some time during the week!”

Izuku nodded, humming affirmatively. “Now I just have to study for entrance exams!” He announced.

“Oh! Where are you applying?”

“UA,” he admitted, running a sheepish hand through his hair.

“Which program?”

“Well, my plan is the hero course, but...” Memories of his scolding from [Kamui] washed over him again. “I’m taking the General Studies exam, too.”

“A back-up plan. So you’re the strategic sort.” There really was something comforting about Mr. Toshinori’s smile. It warmed Izuku from the inside out. He grinned back.

“I’m going to try really hard on the hero course exam, though.” He shook himself, banishing the uncertainty that had been creeping in. “Let’s see if we can get that refrigerator by working together, Mr. Toshinori!” He pointed.

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Izuku grinned at the English words.

****

[Should they finish the beach before the entrance exam? Probably not, not when it’s not specifically a training regimen. So next would be the Quirkless entrance exam, and see if he still rubs Iida the wrong way]

#bnha #fic #remind me to flesh out the tags tomorrow

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missmeikakuna · 5 years ago

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(GL/Yuri) Shoujo Heroine... and Friends Chapter 14

Kunie struggles with newfound feelings. Please comment your thoughts and like this chapter if you, well, like it.

Rated: T

Fandom: Original story

Relationship type: F/F with some F/M

Description:

Sahana is friendly, innocent and optimistic, making her the perfect shoujo anime heroine… except she’s not the main character of this story.

When school prince Toyomi asks her out, she starts hanging out with him and leaves her friends behind. Prim and proper Masami and tomboyish slob Kunie don’t seem to have much in common outside of their friendship with Sahana, but they try to make the best out of a lonely situation. So why is the god of love and marriage watching them, red string of fate at the ready? CONTENT WARNING: Some homophobic language and bullying.

Chapter 14: I’m not worth your kindness

Bored as all hell, Kunie took out her phone and went onto the school’s Friendful group. She was lying on her bed and scrolling through the page when she came across Atsuji’s stories.

She found herself laughing at the witty narration but it was the serious moments that stood out to her.

He shouldn’t have felt good. How could we, when his heart was twisting until he almost couldn’t breathe? How could he possibly enjoy the feeling of walking in glass skin, ready to shatter at any hint of rejection? Yet, he continued walking, in hopes that he could get just a little bit closer to her.

She needed no protection, yet he felt a desire deep in the pit of his gut to protect her anyway. Or maybe he was confusing that with the desire to hold her close and brush her soft hair behind her ear.

Kunie remembered Masami’s habit of tucking her hair behind her ear. She pictured herself pushing her hair back, leaning in until she was ever so close to her lips.

Realisation crashed into her, breaking the glass in her face. Tears seeped out of the cracks. In her mind, the beautiful Takarazuka actor bowed to Masami and stepped back until she was among the other cast members and Masami was right at the front of the stage. Masami’s skin glowed under the spotlight. Why did it have to glow so much?

Kunie wiped her eyes but the tears kept coming. The lovely image of Masami on stage was quickly replaced with Dooru’s smug face.

After turning off her phone, Kunie took to staring at the ceiling until the ceiling appeared to be mocking her with memories of Masami. When that happened, she closed her eyes and screamed into her pillow.

Meanwhile, I tied Masami’s red string around Kunie’s pinky. As soon as I did this, I noticed how thin and frail the string was. That tempted me to enter the human world and scream into a pillow as well, but alas I had to keep at least a little distance. Destiny was in the hands of these two girls.

Apparently there’s a hangover for excessive crying, or at least Kunie felt something similar to that the next morning. The lack of sleep certainly didn’t help.

She could barely muster a hello to her classmates. To wake herself up she bought a dozen or so food items from the vending machine and ate as quickly as possible, creating a pile of rubbish all over her desk.

As soon as Masami saw the mess, she opened her mouth to complain, but then she saw the bags under Kunie’s eyes and bit back her words. Sahana asked her if something was wrong and Kunie didn’t respond for a while.

‘Nothing,’ Kunie eventually murmured, looking into her eyes and feeling every part of her body tense up. Sahana, who was walking back to Toyomi’s desk, was the girl who had defended her honour. Her honour as a perfectly straight girl who was definitely not crushing on their mutual friend.

‘Just because she has short hair doesn't make her a lesbian. Kunie is a wonderful person and I don't think she deserves you being so mean to her!’

That line repeated in her head, getting more distorted as time went on. Each time, the sound of Sahana’s laughter got louder and louder.

‘... doesn’t make her a lesbian. Kunie is a wonderful person.’

‘Kunie is a wonderful person. She’s not a lesbian.’

‘She couldn’t be a lesbian. She’s a wonderful person.’

Kunie choked on the piece of melon bread in her mouth. She spit it out and, as she returned to reality, she discovered that the laughter came from Sahana as she chatted with Toyomi at his desk near the front. Like she always did.

There was only a few tables’ worth of distance between Kunie and Sahana, yet it felt like they were in completely different schools. Kunie gritted her teeth and looked away, tearing another bite out of her melon bread. She left the choke-causing piece on the table.

Seeing that let Masami know that enough was enough. ‘Something’s clearly annoying you,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘What is it?’ Kunie frowned. ‘Why can’t you tell us?’

Dooru sniggered. ‘Maybe she got dumped by a girl.’

‘Fuck off, Dooru,’ Kunie said.

‘If you hate me so much, call me by my surname and see how Ukiwa reacts.’

‘Like I give a fuck.’

‘Seriously, what’s going on?’ Masami asked. ‘Dooru’s not helping, but you know Sahana and I are usually nice to you. Did we do something to make you-’

‘I’m not worth your kindness.’

The lack of confidence startled Masami. ‘Why not?’

Kunie shoved the rest of the melon bread in her mouth and curled her hands into fists. ‘You wouldn’t get it.’

‘Try me. We get each other more than anyone else I know.’

Finally, Kunie looked up at Masami. She couldn’t help but smile, even if the burning in her cheeks soon got annoying. The morning sunlight from the window illuminated Masami’s face until she looked like the glowing Masami from her daydream.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be fine in a bit. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.’

Masami’s giggle tickled Kunie’s ears. ‘That’s it? I think most people get what it feels like to have trouble sleeping. What kept you up last night?’

‘Uh, homework, yeah. But don’t worry too much. I’m doing pretty well in class. I just didn’t plan my studying schedule very well, haha.’

‘Fair enough. Ukiwa’s still late, so you can take a nap now if you want.’

Kunie held up some empty packets from the various sugary snacks she ate. ‘I should be fine for now.’

The two chatted for a good half hour, Ukiwa running later than ever for the weekly hour-long homeroom. Kunie was mostly paying attention to the glowing girl in front of her, but occasionally she would sneak a glance at the happy couple that was Toyomi and Sahana. They seemed to pay no attention to her and existed in their own little world. Their own little perfect world where they could love each other and not get crap for it. A world where they could, if they wanted to, judge Kunie’s feelings without Kunie even hearing them.

Whenever she saw Kunie scowl at the couple, Masami felt her heart crack. Each time this happened, she put her hand on top of Kunie’s fist and changed the subject, praying that Kunie would return her attention to her and forget whatever was really troubling her. She would lean in closer to help her with this task. It worked every time.

By the end of the half-hour, Kunie and Masami were inches apart. The sliding of the classroom door and the click-clacking of high heels pushed them away. Their panicked faces almost made Dooru spit a rat king of remarks but Ukiwa’s voice robbed her of that chance.

Ukiwa called the roll as quickly as she could and then asked everyone how they were doing. The students groaned, except for Kunie, who was too busy glaring at Sahana sitting on Toyomi’s lap to notice anything her homeroom teacher said.

When lunch rolled around, Sahana stopped to chat with Kunie. ‘You feeling better now?’

Kunie nodded, forcing a smile. ‘Yeah, it’s all good. Now go have fun with your boyfriend.’ She thanked her ancestors that she managed to say that with a convincing amount of ‘sincerity’. Sahana nodded and took Toyomi’s hand, resting her head on his shoulder as the two strolled out of the classroom.

Kunie and Masami went on an expedition to whatever room they could find to eat their lunch in. On their journey, they ran into Atsuji. Kunie considered complimenting him on his excellent stories, but the painful emotions they had stirred in her that night put a cork in her vocal cords. She could only nod as she passed by him.

The pair of friends eventually gave up on finding a spot and went to their usual spot in the Home Ec room. Masami cooked up a quick dish of cereal ramen. Kunie laughed in between crunches as the mix polluted her taste buds.

‘You’ve outdone yourself in terribleness,’ she said. ‘Do I taste soy sauce on these flakes?’

Masami pouted. ‘I will make a weird dish that you end up enjoying.’

Kunie put her hand on Masami’s. ‘I’m sure you will.’

As soon as her hand registered the heat of Masami’s, she let go. Masami bit her lip and brushed her hair behind her ear. It took all of Kunie’s energy not to hug her right there.

I noticed the red string connecting the two girls growing a little bit thicker and sturdier.

#lesbian #yuri #anime #fiction #romance #writing #LGBT #lgbt romance #Breaking Stereotypes #original fiction #drama #comedy #parody #Shoujo Heroine... and Friends

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beanjuice-duh · 8 years ago

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Fly me to the Moon

[Next Part] A/N: Shamelessly saw some really inspiring art. Decided to write it. Probably only a three-four part fluff.

Summary: Rainbow drags Johan to New York for a thing. Johan finds out New York is pretty neat after all.

WordCount: 3855 Warnings: None that I know of

“This is so great, I am so happy you decided to come with me!” Rainbow beamed the moment they got out of JFK. “New York City, ugh, this place is absolutely amazing. Can you believe just a few weeks ago that huge protest happened right here, a united stand towards equality on the same ground we are walking on.” “Which one?” The man who accompanied her and all her chatter; rolled his luggage along as they approached the rental car station. “I’m pretty sure New York has a protest every other night. Why else would the streets be so dirty?” Bow shot Johan a dirty look as he pulled his hair into a bun. Rainbow had been invited to a Medical Convention down at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. The convention from what Johan remembered from her babbling was just a bunch of doctors getting together to advocate their liberal ideals of health care and free, unbiased treatment. Or something… Rainbow picked out a sweet 2016 Chevy Impala. “Alright, let's go!” She spun the keys around her finger, even after flying across the country she seemed perfectly fine and fresh...in comparison to her younger brother who seemed to have grown crustier the longer he went without caffeine and wifi. “Seriously? You pick the newest car they have? Rainbow do you know where we are?” Johan shook his head, Rainbow’s naivety was showing brighter than the colors in an actual rainbow. “This car screams ‘rob me I’m not from here’” “Johan, please we are in New York City not some third world country. Now get your behind in the car or I will leave you behind.” She motioned Johan into the passenger seat. With a defeated sigh he marched himself into the car dumping their luggage in the trunk. “Honestly, this is NYC, a mecca of liberal, free thinkers, don’t you feel innovation and empowerment just oozing from the atmosphere? Some say it's a lot like California.” “And just like California and every other city there is a large rate of marginalization and angry prejudices.” He countered, his eyes on his phone as he scanned yelp for the nearest 4-5 star place to eat. After a long flight and listening to Rainbow chime and chirp for hours, Johan was ready for a big breakfast and a tall glass of Cabernet. “Don’t be fooled by your idealism of cities who voted Hilary, New York is basically the Thunder-dome, shall I remind you about some of the racially charged assaults and murders that’s happened the last few years in New York alone?” “Johan if I listened to every single report about a ‘brother’ or a ‘sister’ going down because of the color of our skin I would be in over hundreds of years of negativity. Things are what they are but we still have to live on, for example I had a patient once came in with a nasty tumor, it looked life threatening and lo and behold…” And there she went. Johan tuned her out. He wished he had his sister’s ability to look at a clearly black and white world and see nothing. She lived in a world where she could fix things and the color of skin didn’t matter. Johan was living in the now, with President Trump and countless senseless acts of injustice. It was times like these he wished he was back in Europe, backpacking his way to seclusion away from the worries and troubles of their present world. Alas, Dre basically begged him to go with Bow, with reason. If this was how she was coming to New york, with some cinematic mentality of a hopeful city then there was a good chance Dre would be looking for wife number 2. Not to mention Bow was expecting.

After a good hour moving through streets that mirrored LAX, bumper to bumper traffic and an endless symphony of horns blasting from all directions, Johan finally looked up from his phone. (Because it died). He noticed Bow was leaning into the steering wheel, squinting at the nearby street sign. “...you’re lost.”

“Nooooo” she held out the word for some time, puckering her lips as her eyes look more and more like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m just...making sure what number we’re on.” Rainbow made a left down from Ft. Washington and West 176th street into a little Avenue called Haven. The brick buildings were jammed together side by side it looked like they were built as one continuous unit. She parked the car in front of a corner store and sighed. “Ok...we have to be close…” she ran her hand along the side of the steering wheel. “This looks like a little local place.”

“This looks like the where that murder case happened.” Johan answered her.

“What case?” Rainbow blinked, curious if this was truly the scene of a crime.

Johan’s lips turned up into a cold smirk, “the one where two Californians were lost in the ghetto’s of New York city and found dead and dumped into the Hudson. One a wonderful, handsome, well loved adventurous spirit and his idiotic sister who happened to be a decent doctor.” He wasn’t surprised Rainbow slapped his shoulder. He was a little surprised it actually hurt. “Bow just use the GPS on your phone.”

“Or instead of wasting batteries I can ask for directions. My phone is dying and Dre promised he’d call me when the kids got home from school.” She was not going to lose the rest of her battery for something as silly as directions. “Why don’t you use your GPS?”

“My phone died, where is your charger?” Johan arched his eyebrow.

Bow did the same, copying his expression. “In my luggage, where is yours?”

“Same.” There was a silence between them, absorbing their shared moment of absentmindedness. Neither willing to dig through their luggage for a couple of chords. Siblings through and through.

“Look, locals have the best directions. I’ll go ask one and we’ll be on our way. I have to check into the Hospital before we get to our Hotel.” Bow exited the car leaving the keys and the car unlocked. Not waiting for protests the pregnant doctor scampered across the street to a nearby appliance store. Johan watched his hard headed, pregnant sister did whatever it was she wanted, and hoped he didn’t have to be the one telling Dre he lost her. It took him a split second to realize she left the car unlocked and keys still in the ignition.

“She is seriously asking for someone to …AH?!” He jumped at the sight of a young man walking past the car. His hands in his jacket as he tilted his head, eyeing up the vehicle. Johan scrambled to take the keys from the ignition and locked the car. The loud click of all four door locks going off made the young man stop in mid-step. He gave Johan an undisturbable look before continuing his stride into the corner store.

“Sonny you’re late...Again.”

“Aw~ chill out primo, I was at class.” Sonny smirked walking through the chip aisle, snagging a bag of fifty cent doritos. His cousin shook his head, the class did nothing for his slang apparently.

“Nice try, your last class was over an hour ago.” Usnavi glared from behind his polished counter. “Let me guess, you were with your boyfriend, again.” He grunted not waiting for Sonny’s confirmation, his silence was enough. “I hope Pete is worth the pay cut.”

“Aw, come on, Navi! Don’t be like that.” That got Sonny’s attention. He came out from the aisle and leaned over his counter. “Pete is going off to art school in California, I gotta take these moments as they come.”

“Art School in California? Is that what they call moving-into-your-abuela’s beach-house-so-you-can-get-high-all-the-time these days?” Usnavi didn’t hide the fact he wasn’t too keen on Sonny’s choice of lovers. Not because he was gay, god no, Usnavi was not like that. It was because Pete had...so little professional ambition. Sonny was studying hard, got himself through community college now was looking at a fancy scholarship. Sonny wasn’t like Nina, it took him two years of ass busting in a community school to get his GPA to a place he could even be offered a dime. Usnavi was his biggest supporter though the idea of him losing it all rang a little too close to home. Luckily Sonny knew what he wanted, he wanted to get into law. Make the world a safer place, it wasn’t too long ago someone in their neck of the woods was faced with injustice. Sonny was living in the prime of social justice. The world needed more Sonnys in Usnavi’s eyes. That all said that didn’t mean he was going to take it easy on him. “Real jobs would fire you for how many times you’re late. No more lovey sob stories, get here on time.”

“Si señor” Sonny rolled his eyes, he leaned back eyeing up the fancy Impala that was illegally sitting in front of the store. “Yo I think he’s lost.” Sonny motioned to the skittish, big haired man sitting in the car staring out of every window.

“He’s probably waiting for someone.” Usnavi was guilty of standing around waiting for someone to run back to the car. Parking in New York was terrible. “He’ll leave soon.”

“Nah, man locked his car when he saw me pass by. He’s totally not from New York, he’s lost. I know that face.” He pointed with a cheesy covered fingertip. “That's the same face those tourists get when they realize they don’t know how to get out of Time Square. Man is lost.”

Usnavi looked out the window and wondered if it was true. He did look nervous. Not to take offense, most people who didn’t grow up in the Heights or anywhere else would have been frightened of New York City. It was a pretty intimidating city at first glance. Gritty and hard to make a living, but the real locals were just regular people trying to get by. None of those thugs and criminals sneaking around every corner with a glock in their waistband. Sure, they had some, every place had some but overall...people here were just like family. All living life and wanting the same thing...a fucking break. “He’s fine.”

“We should help him out, like, get him to buy something for directions.” Sonny nodded, partly because he wanted to mess with him a little more. “I got it.”

“Sonny? Sonny! Get your ass back here--aye mi madre ese niño me va da un solo ataque del corazón! (this kid is gonna give me a heartattack!)” Usnavi felt the stress rising as he watched Sonny walk out of the store and right up to the car. All Usnavi could do was wait, and have 911 on speed dial in case Sonny got himself into trouble.

Sonny approached the car once more. He peered into the window and gently tapped the glass. Johan jumped in surprise, he placed a hand to his chest like he was some B rank movie actress caught in a bad scene. He merely watched as Sonny motioned him to lower his window. Everything in him said get the hell out of here but he couldn’t drive off without Bow...she knew where their hotel was. Slowly, Johan pressed the window button and lowered it only just an inch. “Yes? C-Can I help you?” He was well prepared to give all of Rainbow’s belongings to save his neck. “You lost, friend?” Sonny smiled, a dimple forming at one side of his face. He looked...a lot more approachable when he smiled, just a young man with a very...openly friendly face. “Just askin’ cause like...you’re kinda parked in a no standing zone...Don’t want you to get a ticket...so if you need directions or something?” Johan looked up and noticed there was, in fact, a white and red sign that said no standing in front of the car. “Uh.” He blinked for a second. There was a catch, what was the catch, if he stepped out of this car right now was he going to get shanked? Johan was momentarily possessed by his sister’s spirit and got out of the car. Unlike her though, he took the keys and locked it once he stepped out. “A bit, yeah.” He admitted, looking down at Sonny. Before Sonny could implement his plan on of swapping knowledge with profit, Johan’s stomach growled like something fierce. It was nearly noon and they still hadn’t stopped to eat anywhere. These were trying times, “Do you know where I can grab a bite to eat?” “Actually I do~” Sonny’s cheeky grin somehow got even cheekier. “I know the single most amazing little place that serves breakfast sandwiches like you wouldn’t believe!” He turned and motioned to the store behind him. “Really? Because I already believe this will give me food poisoning…” He blinked a few times but after another rumble from his stomach Johan released his good senses in favor for anything edible. Sonny waltzed ahead of him, opening the door for Johan. Surely a customer would repay his tardiness to Usnavi. As soon as they walked in they were greeted with a “Good Morning.” Usnavi smiled brightly from the counter. Johan paused, the greeting wasn’t the regular top of the morning, how are you, please get what you want and leave sort of greeting. It was a homey almost welcoming sort of greeting. It had a ring to it like he was walking into someone’s kitchen. Too bad this place smelled like someone’s dank cooler. “What can I get for you?” Johan moved his eyes from the warm voiced fellow by the counter and scanned the menu for sometime. He was silent until Sonny tapped the counter with his knuckle and ordered for him, “Give him the best you got, primo.” Sonny winked at his cousin. Usnavi nodded and started cooking up his famed breakfast sandwich paired with a coffee all under five dollars. A deal New Yorkers dreamed of. “So, tell me, where you headed? Maybe I can help you out.” Right, directions, the other thing Johan needed. “My sister and I are looking for…” He snapped his fingers a bit, she had been talking about all flight...all week...what was .. “Colombian Hospital?” There was a small laugh that came from the griddle. Johan’s ears grew warm and pink at the sound. “You mean the ER? Uh...thats like...if you go down Broadway...or take River Drive.” Usnavi looked up from his griddle “Sonny shut up, you don’t even know how to get to your house without your maps app.” He continued to smile finding the lost newcomer funny, but he couldn’t sit there and get the poor man even more lost. “It's not maps app, its google, lord.” He rolled his eyes at his old fashion cousin. “Yeah, yeah why don’t you make yourself useful, man the griddle.” Sonny begrudgingly obeyed, he walked around the counter and took over Usnavi’s spot. While Usnavi went back to the counter top, facing Johan now. “Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, you’re real close. River Drive is terrible, you’re going to be stuck there for hours. What you’re gonna do is follow Haven down to 168th and Ft. Washington again and boom, it's gonna be right there, you can’t miss it.” “Huh, we were on Ft. Washington I wonder how we missed it to begin with.” Johan was a little ...surprised that Usnavi helped him so quickly and easily. A part of him felt a tad guilty for being so judgmental a few moments ago. “Don’t sweat it most newcomers aren’t taking in the sights of the city, they’re too busy watching their backs and keeping their eyes on the street.” He was no stranger to people being wry. “Once you pull back the stink of the city you get use to the people, and nothing about it is scary.” “Yeah only scary thing around here is your hat~” Sonny chuckled, earning himself a glare from Usnavi who purposely adjusted his cap a little more. “The hat is fine.” Johan blurted out, unsure why he felt like coming to the defense of Usnavi. He was so warm and welcoming, though watching him glare was probably equally as strangely warm and satisfying he felt the urge to insist otherwise. “I mean...its dated yes, but newspaper boy hats are cute, its like a ...Newsies style.” He spoke and both Usnavi and Sonny gave him a blank stare. Johan felt the heat rise to his face, “a Melton look?” They blinked in unison. Johan felt his cheeks heat up with color. “Its vintage, very cute.” “Ah…” Usnavi’s face did the same, he didn’t get most of the references but what he did get was the word ‘cute’. Usnavi was facing an academic so it seemed. “I mean they’re not all the rage with the kids now but wait a few more years.” “Actually kids now are loving the throwback vintage looks, France use to be big on berets, then they stopped once the Americans began sticking them onto every French representation from character to cartoon like it was meant to signifies this was French. Now it's back in style, more so even.” Johan rambled ostentatiously about his beloved-temporary home of France. How he missed teaching there...though it was nice to be home. He felt himself caught between wanting out of this place and wanting to be part of a family. Either way Johan was in a standstill in his life, suddenly talking about France was not doing him any good. Usnavi must have noticed the change in Johan’s face once he stopped rambling, the excited glow had subsided.

He did what he did best, a poor, awkward joke in hopes for a smile. “Is it as the French say, c'est magnifique?” Usnavi literally only knew that word from a movie he saw once. Johan’s eyes softened a bit. His pronunciation was pretty poor. Usually he didn’t take the jokes without undoing them and making them no longer funny. But something about Usnavi’s shy delivery combined with probably how mind-numbingly hungry Johan was made him chuckle a bit. “I would say your accent is equally magnifique.” Johan placed his hand on the counter, leaning in a bit as Usnavi placed a fist to his mouth, covering his shaky laughter. His other hand tipped down the brim of his hat. There was a strange warmth that washed over him, and it wasn’t just the summer heat of the city beating down on the corner store. Usnavi wasn’t use to having a charismatic customer like Johan...it was nice talking to someone who wasn’t a regular. A clean slate. Usnavi found the courage to meet Johan’s gaze and didn’t question why he found himself smiling wider at the sight of him. “How do you like your coffee?” Sonny’s voice broke both their gazes,forcing Johan to look over at Sonny and Usnavi to look down at his counter. “Hm... “ He looked over the store again, “I’m going to guess you don’t serve freshly ground beans?” Usnavi smirked shaking his head a bit, “Sadly we don’t grind our own beans but we have the best coffee in New York.” The shorter man turned around and picked up a yellow tin can and placed it in front of Johan. “May I entice your senses to the single most amazing brand, the very lifeblood of our people. Bustelo Coffee.” He motioned to the can, Johan rolled his eyes but his smile was wider than ever. “I recommend drinking it light and sweet unless you want to put some hair on your chest then black.”

“Whats a couple more hairs on my body.” Johan answered, and Usnavi’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I’ll take it the way you do.” He swallowed again. “I flip between light and sweet or straight black… I usually go for a happy medium.” Usnavi answered honestly unable to come up with something else that was clever. Sonny was much better at this banter, the playful kind, after a while Usnavi’s natural shyness and word fumbling came out. “I’ll take the happy medium then.” Johan was actually relaxing now, Sonny had placed a breakfast sandwich on a paper plate for him, spiced sausage with a runny egg and a couple of avocado slices. All between some buttered, toasted buns. Johan was in mid bite, enjoying the smooth, spicy, creamy sensation of a perfectly balanced sandwich when Rainbow walked into the store. “There you are! Do you know why the car is locked I swore I left it unlock..” She walked over to Johan, his mouth full of food. She looked over at Usnavi and smiled brightly. “Good Morning” He beamed politely. “...also I recommend not leaving your car unlocked. I don’t think anyone around here would rob it but I know plenty of knucklehead kids who would gladly take a nap in a car with an a/c” “Jesus, I do that one time and I never hear the end of it.” Sonny groaned, “the guy didn’t even press charges.” Usnavi chuckled, giving Johan some time to chew before addressing his this woman, was this the sister he mentioned? “Where have you been?” Johan glanced over at her, running his thumb against the corner of his lips to save a morsel of food. He was damn hungry and this was a damn good sandwich even for his palette. “I was looking for someone to give me directions, I ran into several people but...we had a bit of a language barrier.” She blushed a bit, “I didn’t think my Spanish was too bad.” From the look she was giving him, and the fact she was empty handed oh it must have been bad. Johan didn’t say that out loud though. “I got directions, no thanks to you. It just proves my resourcefulness in the city surpasses your weird romanticized ideals of this city.” “You’re Welcome!” Sonny called out from the back again. Rainbow shook her head, “Ok, fine, maybe you’re a little more savvy than I am. But this city is a lot nicer than you say it is.” She jabbed her finger into Johan’s arm. She turned to Usnavi and Sonny smiling, “Thank you for the directions, Johan pick me up a coffee, I’m going to get in the car before we get hit with a ticket!” Bow scampered out of the store. Johan felt eyes on him, Usnavi’s eyes who were staring up at him with a thousand questions. “So you think the city is pretty bad huh?” Usnavi accused in a way that sounded playful but Johan still felt guilty. “Blame the media falsely glorifying the common chicanery about New York.” He blushed a bit, Usnavi’s face softened. “...but she’s right, New York is a lot nicer than I imagined…” Perhaps, that or the people were nicer than he expected. “My sister and I will be here for a while so who knows, I might pop by for the ‘best coffee in New York’” Johan grabbed the remainder of his sandwiches and the coffee, playing for everything with a ten. “Keep the change.” Usnavi cranked his neck a bit watching Johan leave. His eyes glued to the man’s retreating back as he slid back into the 2016 Impala. He was left with only more questions, who was that strange human being. The entire time he realized he got no name from him. Nothing, just knowledge he was here and he might come back. A tender smile started to inch its way across his face. “Sweet, if he turns into a regular that HAS to make up for me being late~ Right?” Sonny smirked, Usnavi would have barked something back at him. Instead he was silent. “Usnavi?” He blinked a few times, watching his cousin. From the side all he could see was his brother’s face as the car drove off and left their store. Sonny glanced at the empty space where the car had been then back at his cousin wondering what was going on. When the answer came from Usnavi’s mouth. “You think he’ll actually come back?” (Ohyeshewill)

#crossover #crossover fic #johan johnson #usnavi de la vega #blackish #In The Heights #crossover au #fanfiction #fanfic #josnavi #johsnavi #semi edited #ran out of patience #johsnavi fic

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qqueenofhades · 8 years ago

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i know you [i walked with you once upon a dream]: three

Post-1x16 canon divergence. When Lucy Preston, a history professor at Stanford University, is visited by a strange man who tells her that her entire world is a lie, she is drawn into a mystery more dangerous than she could have dreamed, and a hunt for a past she can't remember. But who, or what, is she going to find -- or lose -- along the way?

chapter two/AO3

Rufus Carlin turns off the music well in advance, straightens his collar, and makes sure that both his hands are visible on the steering wheel as he pulls into the slow-moving car queue spilling out the front gates of Mason Industries. Black guys can hardly expect anything wonderful when the police are involved to start with, and over the last week, security has gone from “tight” to “G20 summit as hosted by a paranoid dictator.” Everyone is subjected to thorough inspections both entering and leaving work, and God help you if you have a McDonald’s receipt you can’t account for. Rufus spent twenty minutes yesterday explaining to the latest rent-a-thug that yes, he usually gets breakfast on the way, and yes, he used his personal credit card to pay for it. He’s surprised they didn’t demand his SSN and PIN on the spot to double-check at the bank. But after everything that’s going on, the unexpected detonation of the Mothership and the loss of the last fifteen years of Connor Mason’s life’s work, perhaps that is, alas, to be expected. They still have the Lifeboat, but it’s only a prototype, doesn’t run yet. Although he’s obviously not about to say so at any office water coolers, Rufus wonders if perhaps this wasn’t the worst outcome in the world. At least nobody’s ever going to get the chance to, you know. Use the damn thing.

He sits and waits, more or less patiently, as he’s finally inspected and given the green light to proceed inside the compound and park. Rufus does, gets out, and swipes his ID card three times to get inside, along with his new ID card twice. Everyone has been pulled into the office for “quarterly review” – which, given that this is February and a time machine was destroyed two days ago, is clearly thinly veiled code for “are we going to fire and/or arrest you because you had something to do with it?” Rufus already had his go-round with the Spanish Inquisition, and managed to more or less convince them that he is the last person in the world who would want to steal, blow up, borrow, or otherwise have anything to do with the practical operation of a time machine. He is not cut out to be a hero. He’s just a number-cruncher, happier with computers and gizmos and gadgets and the safety of a controlled environment. It has occurred to him that it might be a great way to impress Jiya, but surely there has to be something to win over a girl that is easier to pull off than “intrepid time traveling Rambo.” He’ll say hi to her today. He will.

Rufus makes it to his desk and opens up the file which has been left on it, flipping through the papers. That newspaper article from the Chronicle is a bit of a joke now, given that what they are actually launching, one of their new high-speed transportation concepts, has been completely overshadowed by the loss of the Mothership. Connor has said that they are very, very angry, and while Rufus has no idea who “they” are, the kind of people who would fund the research and development of a frigging time machine are not going to hear of its loss, say, “Oh, well, that’s unfortunate,” and wander off to see what’s on Netflix. Obviously, this isn’t public knowledge, but one thing about the whole case is bothering Rufus (hah, he thinks, just one). They managed to retrieve a cache of the Mothership’s CPU – not the whole thing, and badly damaged, but enough data to get a decent look at its state of operations right before it blew up. And while Rufus would need to do the calculations again to be sure, from what he can tell, the Mothership was used. Close to twenty times. Almost forty if you count the return trips.

Except, of course, for the fact that it never has been, and was destroyed before it ever could be.

Rufus has run this through a few times, and he’s fairly sure that he’s the only one who’s come up with the conclusion. It’s so out there (and possibly dangerous) that he doesn’t exactly want to be the one to point it out, stroll into Connor’s office with a stack of printouts and ask hey, did we somehow miss the Mothership randomly vanishing into the past for extended periods? Maybe during that long lunch? Hah, funny story, us building a time machine and losing it, zany, right? Perhaps he could tell Anthony, as this seems like the kind of thing he should know, but something is still holding him back. If he had a second set of eyes, someone as smart as him or smarter, but not his boss, who might ask him yet more difficult and fiddly questions. . . Rufus has nothing to hide, so it baffles him and unnerves him that it somehow feels like he does. But who can he –

And then, it strikes him. Oh God.

Apparently he’s going to say hi to Jiya today after all.

“So.” Rufus, having rehearsed his opening line in his head for about the past ten minutes, panics, blanks, forgets it, and has to scramble not to fall over as the rolling chair he’s casually leaning on scoots out from underneath him. Somewhere, Don Juan just had an aneurysm. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, hey.” Jiya glances up at him with a grin, which Rufus has obsessed about: is it a grin, the kind you give coworkers, or a grin grin, the kind you give coworkers you might like? “What’s up?”

“I was going over the data from the CPU dump again, and. . .” Rufus does his best to sound as cool and interesting as he can. “I picked up something a little weird. And, well, you’re the smartest tech here, so if you have a moment, I thought we could go over it?”

Jiya giggles a bit, which makes his heart turn over. God, he likes this girl so much. Going into a recital of all the reasons why would officially push him into creeptastic stalker territory, which he swears he’s not. But from the moment she started at Mason Industries eighteen months ago, yeah, he’s been completely gone. He went to MIT, she went to Caltech, so they have periodic ribbing over which of their schools is currently atop the number-one ranking. She wears video-game shirts and cosplays at Comic-Con. He loves the scent of her shampoo and the way she bites her nail polish and knows the answer to anything. She’s so much braver than he is. So much more everything. He knows that he is punching above his weight class here, but still.

“Sure,” Jiya says after a moment, pushing back her chair and standing up. “Hit me up.”

Rufus is horribly tempted to remark that yes, he very much wants to do exactly that, but he is not the kind of guy who can pull off that kind of comment, and it’s rude anyway. He gulps, scoops up his papers, and follows her into one of the glass-walled conference rooms overlooking the main warehouse. Once they’ve shut the door, Jiya hits a button to lower the security shade and turns to him. “Okay. What you got?”

Rufus spreads the printouts on the table and explains his hunch. He knows it sounds ludicrous, and the Mothership was probably just malfunctioning (since it was, you know, about to be blown up by agent or agent(s) unknown). But if that was the case, the rest of the systems should show errors or abnormalities or general electronic interference as well, and they don’t. It’s everything that you would expect to see if the Mothership had indeed been used successfully, and repeatedly. Running perfectly, in fact. Except that it hasn’t.

A frown links Jiya’s thick dark brows as she listens. When he finishes, she grabs the pencil from behind her ear and leans over the papers herself, checking the calculations. “That is. . .” she says at last, slowly. “That is weird.”

Rufus is somewhat relieved that it’s not only him spotting the abnormalities, but he was also sort of hoping she’d tell him that they were explainable. Basically, the science goes like this. The Mothership is what they’ve dubbed a Feynman machine, named after a highly influential theory in particle physics by one Richard Feynman. The classical model of system trajectory postulates a fixed, single path for a particle traveling from point A to point B, which is hence assumed to obey normal laws of motion – that is, it taking the path of least resistance, a linear forward motion. Feynman, however, argued that this took no account of the essentially irrational actions of subatomic particles, and that an infinity of possible paths had to be imagined instead, all with equal weight of magnitude. The particle could have traveled in a straight line, yes, but it could just as probably have circled around, gone in a figure eight, shot to a parallel universe, down a wormhole, and back. Therefore, an agent propelled to high enough resonances to interact with the quantum level in this way can theoretically go anywhere – or anywhen – in space and time.

Ordinarily, the strong interference of normative probability – that the agent would just go from A to B, that an apple would fall when dropped, that there was only one discrete and physically actionable universe – cancels out the absurd trajectories and produces the expected result. But Feynman showed that allowing for every one of these extraordinary voyages was fully compatible with the conventional model of motion and Schrödinger’s equation, and what has drawn Rufus’s attention is the lingering evidence of these exact extraordinary journeys in the quantum fabric, these twists and ripples and folds. The description that comes to mind is “Swiss cheese.” As if numerous small, localized irregularities have been ripped into it, then healed – almost, but not quite. As if the timeline was absolutely land-mined with interference and change, and then jerked back to the original blueprint – almost, but not quite.

As if, perhaps, the Mothership’s evidence is no mistake. As if it was used, and then set up somehow to cause a paradox where it wasn’t. The basic problem: if your future self arrived to tell you to do something, would you do it because they told you to, but in that case, where did they get the idea, if you had to tell it to yourself? There’s no logical entry into the cause and effect; it’s a twisted Möbius strip, like a hamster going around and around on a wheel. Build up too many of these, and the universe starts to get unhappy. Has a tendency to violently correct them, snap the strip, explode the bubble of trapped probability back to the linear progression. The results, when they have happened in controlled laboratory settings, have been. . . well. . .

The description that comes to mind for that is “bug on a windshield.”

Rufus and Jiya glance at each other slowly, as discovering that the universe has been chronologically destabilized and is at potentially at risk for sudden and violent spontaneous combustion is not the most comforting team-building exercise in the world. Obviously, they have to tell someone about this, but who? Connor? Anthony? There is already enough of a fire under Connor’s feet as it is, with the mysterious bad-guys-from-The-Matrix types who have been stalking around and taking reams of notes and photos, and Anthony. . . he’s the project lead, this has been his baby from the start, surely he’s the genius who will whip this back into shape. But how? It sounds insane enough as it is, and how are they going to fix it? The Mothership is gone. The Lifeboat doesn’t work. There’s no proof that this even happened. And if it has, the best way to put this is that the timeline is now so angry with all these shenanigans and contortions, its response has been to suggest, “What if I just explode, motherfucker? Huh? Serve you right. Asshole.” Then cartwheel out of the room, flipping the bird with both fingers.

You know, Rufus thinks. This is exactly why I hate time travel.

(If the world might accidentally end on the spot if anyone does anything else irrational, the next speech from President Evil Cheeto might just finish them off – though that was a good bet in the first place. And the whole “gotta bang before we die” suggestion is there to be made, so – )

Oh God. Seriously. Rufus shakes his head, wanting to smack himself. Then he gathers up the papers, endeavoring to sound matter-of-fact. “So, should we drop by and see if Anthony’s in?”

“Maybe?” Jiya frowns. “He’s been. . . weird recently, though. I don’t know if you noticed, but I swear, you’d think the Mafia was coming for him, the way he’s been walking on eggshells. I mean – ” she tilts her head at all the suits down on the floor – “they kind of are, but more. Maybe the loss of the whole thing cracked him. It was supposed to be his magnum opus, you know. Getting that blown up has to suck. More, I mean.”

“We have to tell him,” Rufus says stoutly. Anthony has to know, because Anthony will think of something to fix it. He scoops up the file, they leave the conference room, and head down the catwalk to Anthony’s office. Knocks and opens the door a crack. “Hey?”

Anthony jumps a foot and spills his coffee on himself.

“Oh, jeez. Sorry.” Rufus scurries in and looks around for a roll of paper towels or something else to sponge up with. “Sorry, Anthony. Any idea when Agent Smith and his pals are clearing out?”

“Don’t – don’t say that.” Anthony’s hands are trembling slightly as he does his best to clean the spill. “I don’t know. Things are very – things are very delicate right now. Just keep your head down and do your job, Rufus. It would be – it wouldn’t be smart to draw their attention.”

Rufus frowns. “Look, I know accidentally losing a time machine isn’t really something to boast about in the end-of-year newsletter, but these dicks are starting to give me serious – ”

“SHHH!” Anthony looks as if he’s about to have a heart attack, and Rufus snaps his mouth shut, baffled and thrown. “Rufus, just. . . go back to your desk, all right?”

Rufus and Jiya exchange a glance, as if wondering if their grand plan is going down the tubes before their very eyes. Rufus holds the file a little tighter. “Anthony,” he says at last. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine. I’m fine. It’s just. . .” Anthony looks around for a clean shirt. “You know, I’m not sure I’m supposed to be. . . no, never mind. I’m sure this will all blow over, as long as we cooperate and give them what they want.”

“You know,” Rufus says. “That’s the second time I’ve heard someone talking about ‘they’ as if it’s a bigger problem than anyone’s letting on. Who exactly were we supposed to be building the Mothership for? Some kind of contract or commission? Because – ”

Anthony draws a finger over his throat. Rufus shuts his mouth with a snap. Whatever else he was going to say, he can feel himself, much like Fagin, deciding that he thinks he’ll think it out again. He backs up, file still in hand. “Got it,” he says. “Have a good day.”

Back at his desk on the operations floor, Rufus is less able to focus than ever, exhilaration of a semi-successful interaction with Jiya aside. Technically, he could go up to the suits-and-sunglasses and hand over his findings, if that’s going to get them out of Mason Industries’ hair, but something, he doesn’t even know what, stops him. He works steadily but inattentively on his programming prompts for most of the morning, until someone raps him on the shoulder. “Mr. Carlin?”

Rufus pulls out his headphones. “Yeah?”

The suit flashes a badge at him. “Agent Jake Neville, Homeland Security. Can you come with us, please?”

“Uh, what?” Rufus is confused. “I already had my clearance interview, I’ve got my new ID card, I’m legit.” He dangles it as proof. “So if you think you need to – ”

“We do need to ask you a few questions, yes. This way, please.”

With a feeling in his stomach as if he’s missed a step going downstairs, Rufus gets up from his chair – catches Jiya looking at him with a frown, maybe she’ll cry if he’s summarily shot in the back of the head and dumped in an unmarked grave – and follows Agent Neville to the room across the way, where Connor, Anthony, the rest of the brass, and a few more of the suits are sitting around a polished-chrome conference table. Rufus’s hands are starting to sweat. He really does not like pressure. “Hey, guys,” he says stupidly, like he just walked late into a pizza party and are wondering if they saved him a slice. “This whole thing, huh? Wild.”

Nobody laughs, or gives him so much as a sympathetic grin. Neville shuts the door, takes out a clicker, and lowers a screen. Points at it, and a picture flashes up. White dude, blue eyes, looks like a soldier, even in plainclothes. “Mr. Carlin, do you recognize this man?”

Rufus shoots a wild glance at Anthony, wondering if this is a trick question. “No?”

“Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan, Delta Force, U.S. Army Special Operations. Never heard of him?”

“No?” Rufus wonders if you’re allowed to blow somebody’s cover – the point of special ops, after all, is that you don’t know who they are. Then again, Homeland Security probably does have some kind of prerogative on that. “Look, I’ve never met him in my life, okay?”

The suits exchange glances down the table. Agent Neville hits the clicker button again. Pretty brunette in a slim-fit blazer, stack of books in her arms; the picture looks as if it was taken from some kind of surveillance camera. “Lucy Preston. History professor, Stanford University.”

“No, I don’t know her either.” Rufus has no idea what they’re trying to trick him into, but this is ridiculous. “Look, if I’m going to answer any more questions, I want a lawyer.”

“Is that an admission of guilt, Mr. Carlin?”

“No! Because I have no clue what I’m even supposed to be on trial for!” Rufus wheels angrily on the whole foreboding lot of them. “Whoever did anything to that time machine, I already told you. Over and over. I don’t know!”

A pause. Some kind of silent rustle passes around the room. Agent Neville clicks.

“Do you know this man, Mr. Carlin?”

Rufus scowls heavily at the screen. Captain Jerkwad up there absolutely looks like some kind of Soviet sleeper agent: tall, dark parted hair, suit and tie, sharply chiseled features, definitely packing some kind of serious heat. “What?” Rufus says. “Flynn? I don’t – ”

And at that, he screeches to a halt. Aware, far too late, that – having no idea how – he has just made a terrible mistake.

The agents exchange glances. They didn’t tell him that name. Rufus came up with it on his own, and even worse, he has no notion at all where it came from: it was just on the tip of his tongue, he has no conscious recollection of it at all. It appears, however, to have been what they were looking for, and Agent Neville takes a step. “Mr. Carlin, if you’ll come with us?”

Rufus tries not to panic, even as Connor Mason stands up. “Come now. Is there. . . really a need for that?”

“He recognized him,” Neville says. “The number-one suspect in the detonation of the Mothership. I think that’s probable cause for further questioning, right there.”

“No! I have no idea who that guy is!” Rufus is frantic, desperate to make them believe him. “Connor, I don’t know who he is!”

“Yet,” Neville says, even more skeptically, “you knew his name?”

“I can’t tell you anything about him! I don’t know who he is!”

Connor takes half a step. Glances at the agents, and something unspoken seems to pass between them, turbulent and unsettling as wet concrete, the knowledge that it could set fast and trap you. “We don’t have any real reason to think he’s lying, do we?”

“We could find that out.”

“Rufus is a valuable member of my team. The most valuable, perhaps. If you want me to continue cooperating with you and allowing you full access to my facilities and technologies – surely you can at least obtain a warrant before hauling him off for questioning?” Mason smiles ingratiatingly. “If you can find something to charge him with, then of course, far be it from me to obstruct the proper operation of the law. But – think about this carefully?”

Neville doesn’t look like he wants to. The tension remains acute. Then at last, once, he jerks his head. “Fine,” he says brusquely. “In the meantime, is there anything else you want to tell us, Mr. Carlin? Something to, say, convince us of your bona fides?”

Rufus thinks of the file. Of his conclusions. Of the apparent possibility that one of these days, the world might just pop like a balloon, and spill them all into the abyss.

“No, sir,” he says, tight as a badly wound string. “Nothing.”

------------------

Lucy Preston is not having a good idea.

In fact, it would be difficult to say when she’s ever had a worse one, strictly speaking. The rest of her week is crammed, she and Noah are supposed to meet with the wedding planner on Saturday, and even if she did have actual time in her schedule, this would still be a monumentally idiotic notion. But more than once this morning, she’s caught herself on Expedia or Orbitz browsing flights from San Francisco to Dubrovnik, mulling the idea of booking one last-minute, jaunting over there, and seeing what it turns up. Maybe try to find Lorena Flynn, warn her that her husband isn’t well, has been accosting strangers with copies of his garbage manifesto, trying to recruit them into some “The Aliens Are Coming” Heaven’s Gate-style thing. She hopes not, at any rate, but maybe Flynn has been approaching other people. Maybe there’s a pattern.

Lucy reminds herself, for the ten dozenth time, that the smart thing to do is call the police and let the law enforcement professionals handle it, rather than attempting some vigilante intervention on her own. But. . . for whatever reason, and especially after her visit from Evil Mulder and Scully last night, she’s not feeling too keen on cops right now. Noah would tell her to do it anyway, but. . . for some bizarre reason Lucy woke up late last night, with the brief and terrifying impression that she was in bed with a stranger. It faded, but it lasted long enough to leave her disoriented, unable to get back to sleep, groggy this morning, and avoiding Noah’s questions when he tried to ask if she was all right. She’s clearly being as conspicuous about this as possible, but whatever’s going on, she’s just about made up her mind to take Amy’s advice. Though Amy warned her as well that live mysteries are an entirely different animal from dead ones. Get involved in this, and she might be lucky if she gets to regret it.

Lucy is finally about to close the browser window and get back to work, when the phone on her desk rings. She hesitates, then picks it up. “Hello?”

“Miss Preston?” Three guesses as to who it sounds like on the other end. “Is this a good time?”

Lucy goes tense all over. “No, actually. It isn’t.”

“Miss Preston, as before, you aren’t in any trouble. But if you keep trying to avoid us when we have to ask just a few questions, we can’t guarantee – ”

“Who is we?” Lucy asks. “The Borg?”

“Miss Preston – ”

“Okay, first of all.” She is just about completely out of patience to humor these pricks. “Don’t call me Miss Preston. I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman with two doctorates from and a professorship at Stanford, not some little girl drinking a Shirley Temple and feeling so grown up. You can call me Dr. Preston, or Professor Preston, or better yet, don’t call me at all. I already told you, I don’t have anything to say. If you’re legit, you can do this the legal way. Until then, don’t contact me again.”

With that, not giving them time to get a word in edgewise, Lucy bangs down the phone, far more vehemently than she meant to. She doesn’t even know what it is about them that’s setting her off like this, practically begging them to come after her with the brute squad, but every time she hears their voices, something cold and repulsed and inexplicable trickles through her entire body, souring her from head to toe, as if she can’t even think about cooperating. That if she does, she’ll die – or worse. It sounds melodramatic, to say the least. She can’t explain it even to herself.

Lucy sits staring at her computer screen for a moment longer. Then all at once, she clicks through to her recently closed tabs, and opens up Skyscanner. Five minutes later, having fished out the credit card that she’s been saving for wedding expenses, she has booked a departure from SFO at 6:10pm tonight on Turkish Airlines, connecting through Istanbul and arriving in Dubrovnik at 10:50am local time on the day after tomorrow. It’s going to be an ass of a long flight, but whatever. It briefly crosses her mind that it might make her look even more suspicious if she tries to leave the country to avoid being questioned by the government, but whatever.

She checks her watch. If she’s going to make it home and then to the airport in time to get through security for an international flight, she has to leave now, and she opens up her email, throws together a quick Out of Office AutoReply, sends a note to the head of the department making it sound like something has come up with her mom (she feels absolutely terrible for doing this, but such it is) and she will be unavailable for the next few days, family emergency, very, very sorry, but she hopes they understand. Then she pulls on her jacket and moves fast.

Lucy drives home like a NASCAR winner, praying that Noah hasn’t changed shifts and thus will be inopportunely off, but thankfully, he’s not there. She packs a quick overnight bag, grabs her passport and makes sure it’s still in date, and then practically sprints back to her car, convinced that the agents will have turned up in the fifteen minutes or so she was at home. They haven’t, but that doesn’t stop her. Feeling that all she needs is her tinfoil hat, convinced that the government is out to get her, Lucy lays rubber to SFO, parks in the economy lot, and heads in.

Once she has checked in and made it through security without being waylaid and dragged off for private questioning, she takes out her phone, opens up her texts with Noah, stares at it wondering what to possibly say, and finally taps out that she had to run a quick errand and she might be kind of late getting home. This is ridiculously inadequate, but she can’t think of anything else. It’s definitely a bad sign if you don’t tell your fiancé something like this, but. But. But.

(Nothing has made sense in Lucy’s life since Garcia Flynn walked into it less than seventy-two hours ago, and turned everything upside down.)

She waits until they call boarding, shuffles aboard with the rest of the travelers, and settles in for the long overnight ride to Istanbul. She’s brought the flash drive, but no way is she looking on it on a crowded plane, and doesn’t sleep either, listening to music and watching the glowing flight tracker edge slowly on its long way across the entire continental United States, then the Atlantic Ocean. She dozes off somewhere in this, wakes up as they’re landing in Istanbul, and is completely disoriented as she shuffles into the terminal to wait for her connection. Turns on her phone, connects to the wifi, and it basically explodes. There are thirty new messages from Noah.

Feeling horrible, Lucy pauses, then calls him on Whatsapp. He picks up on the first ring. “Lucy! Jesus! I’ve been worried out of my mind! Where the hell are you? What’s going on?”

“I’m. . .” Lucy winces. “I’m kind of out of the country.”

“You. . . you what?”

“Yeah. I’m in Istanbul.”

“Istanbul?” She can almost hear his circuits overloading. “Did someone – ” it’s clear from his tone exactly who he thinks this is – “make you go with them? Do you need help? Should I – ”

“Noah, I’m sorry. It was. . . it was an accident.”

“You accidentally flew to Turkey?”

“I. . .” Lucy feels completely helpless to explain, especially when there is no rational or logical basis or explanation for anything she’s doing. “I’ll be – I’ll be back home soon, okay? It’s just something I need to do. I’m sorry, I swear I’ll tell you everything. It’s just. . . do you trust me?”

There’s a marked silence. Then Noah says, “You know I do. You know I want you to do whatever you need to do. But Lucy, you’re asking a lot.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you worry. I’ll be home soon. I swear.”

He pauses again. Finally he says, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Lucy lets out a slow breath. She can hear the lingering frost in his voice, for which she doesn’t blame him; she just spent a fairly significant chunk of their wedding budget on a last-minute international plane ticket, she didn’t tell him she was doing it, and she’s been acting weird ever since some mysterious man gatecrashed their previously happy life. Not idyllic, what with her mom and her workload and everything, but still hers. It must be pretty damn clear to Noah by now that whatever she’s told him about not thinking about or seeing Flynn again, it’s a lie. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he’s started to wonder what else she might be lying about.

“Hey,” Lucy says, trying to bridge the silence. “I love you, okay? See you soon.”

Noah blows out a breath. “Okay,” he says again. “See you soon.”

With that, they hang up, not leaving her feeling considerably better. She is well aware she couldn’t even bring herself to tell him that she’s going onward to Croatia, that Turkey isn’t her final destination, and hates herself for it. If there is a quicker way to torpedo a relationship in six easy steps (or hell, even fewer at the rate she’s going), it’s hard to think of one. And it’s Noah, why would she lose Noah, Noah’s always been great, their whole time, they –

Where did she meet him?

When did they get together?

How long have they been together?

When did he propose?

Did she even say yes?

Lucy almost freezes solid. She knows this, of course she knows this – she’s marrying him, after all. And yet, the more she searches her brain for the details, the more they elude her. It’s a terrifying feeling, even worse than waking up and thinking she didn’t know him last night. As if her entire life is built on smoke and shadows, on –

Your life now is a lie, but not one you’d have any way of easily disproving. And not one that would hurt you, perhaps, to stay in. But if the time comes when you want answers, at least you’ll have them.

Lucy inhales a slow, ragged breath, gripping her knees so she doesn’t have a panic attack in the middle of Ataturk International Airport. She gets up and has to walk it off, which helps only marginally, and on her flight to Dubrovnik, wonders if the risks of reading For Lucy in public is really a sufficient reason not to. But her world is already threatening to unravel at the seams, and she doesn’t want to pull at the thread to make it go any faster. She wants to cling to whatever sanity is left.

She lands at last, crumpled and shaken and shaky, like a used paper napkin. Manages to navigate customs and find her way into the city, which at any other time – and even now – she would be absolutely delighted to lose herself in. Dubrovnik is stunningly beautiful, with a red-roofed medieval old town and massive old walls, distant blue mountains and sparkling Adriatic Sea, resort beaches and palm trees – they film Game of Thrones here, she remembers, and the place absolutely looks like the capital of some fantasy land. Her historian’s curiosity is going haywire, and she perks up a bit as she explores the narrow cobbled streets and quaint buildings. It was shelled and besieged in 1991 during the breakup of the Yugoslavian bloc, and scars remain here and there, but for the most part, it’s recovered nicely. She, however, is not here to be a tourist. She has to focus. Can’t exactly go door-to-door until she finds them.

Lucy opens up Lorena Flynn’s Facebook page, spends a while deciding where it looks like her profile picture was taken, and once she thinks she’s matched it, goes down and into a coffee shop, the kind of local java joint where someone from the neighborhood would spend a lot of time. Finds someone who speaks English, and asks if she happens to know where the Flynns live.

If she gets a funny look at that, she can’t tell. The woman hesitates briefly, asks if she’s a friend of the family. Lucy lies and says yes, hoping she doesn’t pry too closely, as she obviously will not be able to provide many details if asked, but after a moment, the woman tells her. Gives her what is definitely a Look, and sends her on her way.

Once Lucy has climbed the steep street and found the tidy townhouse at the top, she almost chickens out – which is absurd, given how far she’s already come and how many stupid things she’s already done. The barista is definitely going to let Lorena know the next time she sees her that some strange American woman was looking for her, and given the turmoil that the family is evidently already going through, the least Lucy can do is appear and own up to her insanity. She clenches a hand until it doesn’t shake, or at least less, and rings the bell.

It takes long enough to be answered that she briefly and fondly hopes that Lorena isn’t home. But then at last, footsteps. The door cracks. “Can I help you?”

Lucy clears her throat. “L-Lorena? Lorena Flynn?”

Marked silence. “Yes?”

“Can I – can I talk to you? Please?”

There’s another frosty silence. Then the door opens a further crack, revealing Lorena – yes, it’s definitely her, she looks just like her picture. But there are dark circles under her eyes, she isn’t wearing makeup, and her neatly waved hair is loose and unstyled. She pulls a sweater more tightly around herself with thin hands, regarding Lucy warily and without discernible warmth. “Can I help you?” she says again. Her accent isn’t Croatian – Spanish, as far as Lucy can tell. Her tone is polite, but it’s clear she isn’t in the mood for having her time wasted.

“I – actually, it’s about your husband.” Lucy tries to speak as gently as she can, but there’s no good way to phrase this. “He came to see me the other day. In, well, in California, in the States. I’m not sure if you know, but I don’t think he’s – ”

Something in Lorena’s face changes, not promisingly. “Lucy?” she repeats, suddenly and sharply. “Are you Lucy?”

“I – ” This has just taken a U-turn, and not a good one. “Well, yes, I am, but – ”

“How dare you.” Lorena’s tone remains flat, quiet, and ice-cold. Lucy has never felt such withering disdain from anyone, much less a woman she doesn’t even know. “What do you want, turning up at my home like this? To what? Gloat?”

“I – Mrs. Flynn, I don’t – ”

“Mrs. Flynn?” Lorena’s laugh is bitter and humorless. Her eyes flick to the ring on Lucy’s finger. “Are you sure about that?”

“I – ” Too late, too slowly, Lucy realizes what the other woman thinks is going on here, and is absolutely mortified. “I – Mrs. Flynn, I swear, I have never met your husband in my life. I don’t know him. He turned up at my office in America and – I don’t think he’s well, he – ”

“You don’t know him? After he kept trying to explain to me something about how he had to go see you? Because he kept talking about your journal, something about meeting you, going on some kind of mission through time, God bringing you together?” Lorena’s eyes are too bright, lip trembling, but she forces herself to keep her composure. “My husband is gone for three years without a word, finally strolls back in one day as if nothing happened, and he won’t stop talking about a woman named Lucy? It’s not too hard to put together the pieces!”

“Mrs. Flynn, I swear, I wasn’t on any mission with your husband. I don’t know why he chose to approach me. I thought you must be worried about him. I haven’t come here to hurt you or gloat or anything like that. I just. . .” Lucy trails off. “I wanted to know what was going on.”

Lorena studies her face for a long, excruciatingly uncomfortable moment, dark eyes cool and guarded. But at last, whatever she sees belatedly convinces her of Lucy’s sincerity. She steps back, and holds the door open.

Lucy nods in thanks, steps inside, and cautiously follows Lorena down the hall to the bright, airy kitchen at the back, with a balcony that overlooks the sea. She gingerly sinks into a chair as Lorena puts on the kettle, and makes them both a cup of tea. She opens a cupboard and takes out a tin of ginger biscuits, sets them on the table, and sits down across from Lucy. “I don’t have any answers for you,” she says. “I don’t know what happened either.”

Lucy tells her as much as she knows, which likewise isn’t a great deal, and Lorena listens with a slight frown linking her elegant brows. “Yes,” she says at last. “That’s about what he was trying to tell me. Something about. . .” She stops. “No. It’s too absurd.”

“About what?” Lucy reaches out, about to put her hand over the other woman’s, then stopping herself. “Mrs. Flynn, please tell me.”

“I. . .” Lorena gathers herself. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

“I promise, I won’t.”

“Fine. His explanation was that we – our daughter Iris and I – were. . . were killed, one night in 2014, because he found out incriminating information about an organization called Rittenhouse. That he then met you – Lucy Preston – and you were an older woman who gave him a journal that talked about a time machine, made by a place called Mason Industries.” Lorena stops again, shaking her head at the sheer nonsense she is repeating. “That he had stolen that time machine after two years of preparing for the mission, and took it through history, trying to erase Rittenhouse and bring us back, and that you – your younger self, and two men called Wyatt and Rufus – followed him, tried to stop him. But at the end you joined forces, were planning to bring down Rittenhouse, and you gave him the information to make one final trip and take out the men who had. . . had killed Iris and myself. That he did this, returned to the present, and destroyed the machine, only to find out that by changing that, that since we were alive, he had actually never stolen the machine, you hadn’t followed him, and all your adventures hadn’t really happened. That he had altered the entire structure of reality, and he was the only one who remembered.”

Lucy was braced for a doozy, as she has personal experience of Garcia Flynn’s insanity, but that is more insane than even she is remotely prepared to countenance. No wonder Lorena thinks her husband cracked up, had a midlife crisis, ran off to have a passionate affair with a pretty American professor, and has invented this cock-and-bull story as a pathetic attempt to cover his tracks. That is far, far easier to believe than, well. That. Lucy doesn’t even know where to begin. “I, ah. You’re not dead, obviously, so. Yeah.”

“Of course we aren’t dead.” Lorena sips her tea. Her shoulders are still tense, crunched, but she seems somewhat more at ease by unburdening herself of that mad fairytale, having at least had someone else to listen to it in full. “It’s been three years with nothing, no word from him, and then he walks back in and expects us to buy that? And all he can talk about is you, how you helped him do it. About how he had to go and tell you. We. . . we fought. I told him to leave, if you were the one he wanted. I. . .” Lorena trails off. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry.” This time, Lucy does put her hand over Lorena’s. The older woman tenses, as if thinking about pulling away, but doesn’t. “I swear. I don’t either.”

Lorena searches her face again, still hesitant but hungry for reassurance that Lucy isn’t here to further rip apart her family, to make everything even worse. At last, she cracks a thin smile. “Well,” she says. “I have to say, that is a relief.”

“I was just. . . well, as I said, it was worrisome. I wanted to make sure you knew, if you had some way to get in contact with him.” Lucy sips her own tea, nibbles at a ginger biscuit. “If I can help, if I can sort things out between you, I’m happy to do that. I don’t know why he would choose me for his story, but. . .” She hesitates. Thinks of him asking her if she knew the man in the paper, Rufus Carlin, and the one named Wyatt Logan who gave her a hand with Agent Asshole last night. Two men called Wyatt and Rufus. That’s strange, but then again, this whole thing is well beyond ordinary classifications of weirdness. “Of course it’s not true.”

“Of course not.” Lorena rubs her eyes. “Garcia has always had to deal with – well, he’s done a lot of the kind of work he can’t talk about, but he’s never come up with anything like this. I’m worried about him too, but he owes me a real explanation. Owes Iris a real explanation. If he could just leave her like that, he’s not the man I married, not the father I thought he was. And he doesn’t get to come back until he gives me one.”

“Well,” Lucy says. “Maybe we can find him. Get him straightened out.” She manages a smile. “It may take a lot of straightening, but we’ll see.”

Lorena glances at her again. It’s clear that she’s wondering, even if she has come around, just why Lucy would have any initiative to help a loony stranger who she doesn’t know from Adam, but she also doesn’t want to fight about it, or turn down help in what must be a very lonely struggle. Then, startling them both, the doorbell rings, and she sighs. “Excuse me.”

“Of course.” Lucy sits back, takes another ginger biscuit, and enjoys the warm Mediterranean sunshine slanting through the kitchen windows. Hears distant voices as Lorena talks to whoever is at the door. She’s taking rather a long time about it.

And then, abruptly, the voices stop. There’s a scuffle and a thump.

Lucy frowns. Gets up. “Lorena?”

No answer. She runs down the corridor. The door is wide open.

Lorena Flynn is gone.

#timeless ff #lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #once upon a dream #with bonus #rufus x jiya #ayooo #help me

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ciathyzareposts · 6 years ago

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Legends of the Lost Realm: Summary and Rating

Legends of the Lost Realm

United States

Avalon Hill (developer and publisher)

Released in 1989 for Macintosh

Date Started: 26 October 2018

Date Ended: 24 December 2018

Total Hours: 32

Difficulty: Hard (4/5)

Final Rating: (to come later)

Ranking at Time of Posting: (to come later)

Legends of the Lost Realm is a Macintosh-only game from 1989, based heavily on themes from Wizardry (1981), The Bard’s Tale (1985), and perhaps Might and Magic (1987), with some survival elements inspired by the Alternate Reality series (1985-1987). Six characters, initially drawn from fighter, thief, shaman, and magician classes, explore the large castle of Tagor-Dal, with the ultimate goal of finding one of the Staves of Power, necessary to overcome the conquering nation of Malokor. A first-person exploration window (in which you cannot see enemy parties) is navigated with a mostly point-and-click interface. Combat is turned-based, with a complex magic and skill system that makes good use of the various character classes. Combat difficulty, experience point rewards, and the economy are all terribly imbalanced, making for an extremely difficult early game. Five sequels-cum-expansion packs were intended, but only one was ever produced.

***

When I wrapped up my last entry on Legends of the Lost Realm, I was actually quite motivated to keep going. I seemed to have gotten over a hump and I was looking forward to finding out how the puzzle map would be used in gameplay.

Entering The Catacombs. I didn’t last long here.

A few things happened after that to sap my interest in continuing. First, the difficulty curve returned in a big way. Once I finished the four towers, the only two major places left to explore were the Catacombs, accessible from the magic shop, and the Great Tower at the center of the map. In both cases, enemy parties encountered on the first level so far outclassed my own party that I would have had to grind for hours to defeat them.

I started to grind anyway, but it was getting a lot longer. Some of the enemy parties in the Great Tower serve up significant experience rewards, but the combats are long. For instance, there’s a fixed combat with 80 bats in one hallway, and it reliably delivers about 1,000 experience points. The bats hardly ever hit, so it’s easy enough to restore what little damage they cause. But I can only reliably kill 2 or 3 per combat round, so it takes over 30 rounds–and almost as many minutes–to defeat this one party.

The beginning of a long, boring session.

The same is true of more deadly parties, like the dozens of fighters and archers that attacked in another hallway of the Great Tower. Even if I leveled up two or three times, I’d have no luck against this group. The only hope of defeating such large, powerful parties is to acquire mass-damage spells. Mages never get those until they change classes to wizards, and even then they don’t get them until character Level 4. That’s a lot of grinding.

One of the Great Tower groups I had no chance against.

But even then, I was prepared to give it a shot. Unfortunately, I ran into my third problem: the emulator keeps crashing. Sometimes it crashes while I’m just walking down the hallway, which is bad enough, but sometimes it crashes after I’ve saved and quit the game, after I’ve selected “Shut Down.” That’s worse. And in those cases, when I restart, even though I saved and quit the game, because the Mac didn’t “shut down” properly, everything reverts to the way it was before the previous session. Is this really how a Mac worked? You’d save stuff but it wouldn’t really save unless you held its precious little hand and read it a story when it was time to go to bed? What kind of sadistic machine was this?

I don’t know whether to blame the emulator for in-game crashes or not. They usually happen right after I notice that the game’s fixed encounters have stopped appearing, so that sounds more like a game problem. Either way, getting anywhere in this game is hard enough without having to flip a coin at the end of a multi-hour session and hope your progress is saved. The last crash came just after I’d done enough grinding to level up and change my thief to a ninja. Losing that progress deflated me enough that I decided to throw in the towel. I slept on it for a couple of days just to be sure.

Ninjas in the Great Tower often attack “from behind,” screwing up the character order and imperiling spellcasters.

I couldn’t find any walkthroughs for the game, but someone did take the time to make a wiki. It shows that the Catacombs would have been two levels, the first another maze of holes for which I would have needed to find a bunch more 50-foot rope. The Catacombs would have led to three other areas of one level each: the Goblin Galleries, the Troll Tunnels, and The Lair. Each would have delivered items or clues necessary for various Great Tower levels.

The Great Tower is 11 levels. The first level–the only one I explored–is broken into four sections, each accessible from a different entrance on the town level. Each “approach” requires the party to defeat a guardian (samurai, mountain giant, enchanter, and high wizard), and each requires a different object from the four corner towers to be in the party’s possession.

Whoops. I never found the ring, so I need to enter a different way.

The other levels promise a maze of staircases, teleporters, and various navigation obstacles. The map puzzle would have come into play on Level 7, which is largely open and requires the party to walk a particular path. I had the pieces assembled slightly wrong, but I think that would have become clear when I actually got to the level, partly because I would have known the starting point, and partly because there is a small walled area that would have rendered some configurations impossible.

The game apparently culminates with a fight against a dragon on Level 11, after which the party finds the Staff of Life. The endgame screen–and boy, would this have been disappointing–suggests sequel material that never arrived.

The entire game is basically just a test to prove your worthiness.

Altogether, I imagine it would have taken me another 40-50 hours to finish the game, and I would have still been blogging about it in February. That just wasn’t in the cards this holiday season.

If there’s one thing I’m disappointed not to have experienced, it’s the specialty classes. Only towards the end of my last session did I finally start getting upgrade options; specifically, my shaman could change to a healer and my thief could change to a monk or ninja. My fighters would have received the options to change to barbarian, blademaster, or samurai at Level 9, and my magician could have become a witch, wizard, or enchanter (and possibly a sorcerer; this class is mentioned on the spell cards but not in the manual or on the “change class” screen).

Around this time, I would have started to regret keeping “Pete,” who at some point I rechristened “Gideon.” The game allows you to dual-class or move to a specialty class but not both. As a fighter/mage, Pete would have started to lose some of his utility, and I’d definitely be wishing for a new pure spellcaster. I probably would have changed my thief to a monk or ninja, moved him to the front rank, dumped Pete, and created a new magician, hoping to grind him quickly to higher levels.

My thief can switch to a more useful class.

The specialty classes are done better here than in most games that offer them. First, the characters retain the skills of their previous classes when they switch, so you don’t necessarily want to jump to a specialty class right away. Perhaps you want to ensure that the shaman gets the full suite of shaman spells before he becomes a healer. Second, the specialists really specialize. The healer is good only at healing, for instance. Every single spell on his list either heals or cures a condition. The blademaster is all about the blade: he can reforge it, identify it, even sharpen other party members’ blades, but don’t put anything else in his hand.

Choosing among the mage specialists would have tied me in knots, which is why I would have wanted a second one. The raw magician is mostly about exploration-based magic. His compass, light, detection, and auto map spells get more powerful but that’s about it. He has mass-effect spells that are supposed to weaken enemy parties (e.g., “Impede,” “Sap Strength,” “Slow”), but I never really saw much effect from them. For any mass-damage spells, you need a witch or wizard. The wizard particularly specializes in elemental magic (“Fire Protection,” “Storm Winds,” “Summon a Fire Elemental”), but the witch is what you want against undead. The enchanter specializes in summoning as well as spells that enchant items. The sorcerer (if it exists) doesn’t come with any spells: he writes his own, based on the effects, strengths, and targets of the other classes’ spells. But you can’t turn him into an omnipotent juggernaut because each spell he creates subtracts from his maximum spell points. That’s clever.

I suspect that in the end, I would have concluded that all of this specialization is mostly wasted in a game where the enemies aren’t very memorable and the combat system isn’t very good. I also suspect that the system was scaled for the many planned expansions (see below), and that in a normal first-game campaign, characters would have a tough time hitting the cap of even a single class. Still, Legends deserves high marks in the “character creation and development” category.

While we’re talking about marks, here’s my best-guess GIMLET:

2 points for the game world. The boilerplate evil-wizard framing story hardly gets referenced in-game. You don’t even get to defeat the evil wizard; you just get one step closer.

Alas, you only get to get 1/7 of the way to assembling the equipment you need to “cleanse the land of the evil of Malokor.” Not quite as epic.

5 points for character creation and development. There isn’t much to the creation process, and as we’ve seen, rewards are uneven. But the dual- and specialty class systems coupled with with class skills offer a rare level of customization and class-specific role-playing.

0 points for no NPC interactions. Anything that technically might count as an “NPC” is really more of an “encounter,” and even if I were to give 1 point for these quasi-NPCs, I would immediately subtract it for the tax man.

3 points for encounters and foes. The monsters are nothing special, but they do have the standard set of special actions and defenses. Other “encounters” are mostly puzzles, and mostly of the navigation sort, which are my least favorite. People who like those puzzles and use terms like “level design” will perhaps add a couple of points here.

4 points for magic and combat. The Wizardry base basically works, but the game is a bit too stingy with its spells to offer the tactical depth of Wizardry.

I still never figured out what this was about.

4 points for equipment. Speaking of stingy. On the positive side, the game offers a lot of equipment slots. On the negative, in 32 hours I basically finished with the equipment I bought in the first three hours. You find a baffling variety of items that seem to have no use, and the characters’ backpacks are far too small. I’m giving it an extra point, though, because screenshots from the wiki suggest there was better stuff to come.

3 points for the economy. The system is more complex at the beginning, when you’re trying to outfit the party and pay for character deaths and retrievals. By the 20th hour, however, most of my money was getting stolen by thieves and otherwise simply going to resurrections and healing. It would have been nice if there had been some high-value items in the shops.

2 points for a main quest but no side quests, alternate endings, or role-playing decisions.

2 points for graphics, sound, and interface. The black and white textures are fine, but they’re just textures. By 1989, I should be seeing useful things in the environment. There are a sparse and unremarkable number of sound effects. I never got used to the interface. Like most Mac games, it involved too much clicking. There are some keyboard backups, but they mostly involving having to hold down multiple keys, which reduces the convenience of the keyboard. There are far too many poorly-documented or undocumented commands.

2 points for gameplay. It gets some credit for mild nonlinearity and replayability (with different classes), but overall it’s too unbalanced, too difficult, and too long. The food, drink, and sleep system is particularly obnoxious.

That give us a final score of 27. I note that the best elements are mechanical (except for the interface); the worst are thematic. The creators, who bragged in the manual that the game represents “the most complete and accurate fantasy role-playing game ever written,” made a better engine than they did a game.

Dennis Owens reviewed Legends in the June 1990 Computer Gaming World. Like me, he criticized the sparse graphics, early-game difficulty, and some poorly-documented controls. Unlike me, he was in love with little touches like the ability to create arrows from sticks and feathers (you have to have a samurai to do this, and anyway it’s really not that hard or expensive to just buy arrows). Given a lack of any information in the manual about the quest, the encounters, the puzzles, and so forth, I would suspect that Owens didn’t get very far, though I thought it was CGW’s policy to require reviewers to finish the game.

The CGW review is the only one I’ve been able to find so far, suggesting the game didn’t make much of a splash. The “sequel” from the same year, subtitled The Wilderlands, is really just an expansion pack that lets the party exit the Catacombs into a wilderness area, where they can try to find a second piece of the staff. The manual suggests that future installments would have been called The Necropolis, The Ocean of Dreams, Malakor, and Black Sorcerers, and like The Wilderlands, they would have allowed adventuring directly from the castle hub. One wonders if the developers were inspired by Alternate Reality (given the dedication to food, fatique, and environmental factors, probably). But not only did Avalon Hill drop the series after 1989, they never published another RPG again.

The “Wilderlands” used the same box and just added a sticker.

Lead design on Legends is credited to David Cooke and Charles Collins, neither of whom have any prior or subsequent video game credits that I can find. It’s possible that they developed the game independently and then shopped it to Avalon Hill, as both the RPG-only and Mac-only genres are rare for the publisher and Cooke and Collins aren’t credited on any other Avalon Hill games (some of the other staff are). Unless we hear from someone involved, we’ll never know. The developers’ names are both quite common, and I couldn’t find any obvious candidates to contact.

Pulling away from Legends of the Lost Realm is a little disappointing, but probably necessary for sanity’s sake. Unfortunately, this doesn’t bring us much closer to the end of 1989 because it elevates to the list another long, difficult Mac game: Theldrow.

***

A year or two ago, when I started calling my final entries “Summary and Rating” instead of just “final rating,” I did so because I intended to put a single-paragraph game summary after the header information. My idea was that people who didn’t want to read an entire series of entries on a game could get a quick snapshot from the final entry. Unfortunately, I forgot about the “summary” part almost immediately, until now. You can see my first attempt in this entry, and eventually I’m going to try to go back and add summaries to other multi-post games. Single-entry games will remain as they are.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/legends-of-the-lost-realm-summary-and-rating/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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clubofinfo · 6 years ago

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Expert: In a sense, blowback is simply another way of saying that a nation reaps what it sows. Although people usually know what they have sown, our national experience of blowback is seldom imagined in such terms because so much of what the managers of the American empire have sown has been kept secret. It is time to realize, however, that the real dangers to America today come not from the newly rich people of East Asia but from our own ideological rigidity, our deep-seated belief in our own propaganda. ― Chalmers Johnson, Blowback, Second Edition: The Costs and Consequences of American Empire There are no more leaps of faith, or get out of jail cards left anymore. The first casualty of war is truth. Lofty heights of defining the first amendment are just overlooks onto the crumbling mythology of a democracy, where the people – citizens — vote for laws directly. We have a republic, a faulty one, the source of which is the power derived from billionaires, financiers, arms merchants, K-Streeters and the attendant moles allowing the government to break every charter of human concern. So, in that regard, we in this corptocracy have the right to be fooled every minute, suckered to not know a goddamned thing about democracy in big quotes. The very concept of manufactured consent and a controlled opposition destroys much of the power of agency and so-called freedom of assembly, association and travel. The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum. ― Noam Chomsky, The Common Good The best way to control the opposition is to lead it ourselves. ― Vladimir Lenin But, alas, we have blokes who see the world not as a black and white dichotomous illusion of the for v. against bifurcation, but a world of flowing back to what words should mean, a world that allows the filters to be smashed like high polished glass and instead deploying a magnifying glass to point toward the very source of the blasphemies and strong arm robberies that have been occurring in the Republic the very first moment the beaver hat was put on and the first treaty scripted by the powdered wigs of Washingtonian Fathers and broken, ripped to shreds, seeded with the dark force that is the white race. Here comes Tools for Transparency into the mix of triage to uphold the declaration of independence, and the few tenets of the constitution that are supremely directed to we-by-for-because of the people, AND not the corporation, monopoly, Military-Retail-Finance-Ag-Energy-Pharma-Prison-Medical-Toxins-IT-Surveillance-Legal Complex. This project is the brainchild of a former Marine who “came to life late in the world” of pure skepticism about the powers that be and his own questioning of the motivations and machinations of his government and political representatives. Sometimes it’s hard to don and doff the uniform of a trained/manipulated/choregraphed killer and make any sense of the orders belted out and campaigns designed with no benefit to the invaded peoples other than the demented good (bad) for that gluttonous octopus parasite called capitalism as it entangles its tentacles on each invaded country’s birthright, history, natural resources, land and people through the power of the high explosives bomb and the usury bond. “Heck, before starting this project, I didn’t even know we had 535 representatives in Congress,” states Brian Hanson. So goes the beginning of this start up, Tools for Transparency, an on-line clearing house for what Hanson hopes will be a light shed onto all the backroom dealings we as consumers of news just aren’t privy to. Or that’s at least what Brian Hanson is shooting for in this atmosphere of “fake” news, “really fake” news, “non” news, “no” news, “distracting” news “manufactured” news, “rabbit hole” news, “lies are truths” news, or newspeak. The Beaverton, Oregon, resident is the father of this platform which is still in its infancy, as the former Marine throws his all into the project. The 37-year-old Hanson is a Pacific Northwest product, having dropped out of traditional high school and landing up in an alternative high school where the instructors were outside the box. He recalls reading Shakespeare, doing two weeks of study on the Nez Perce peoples, and a class report on the Battle of Wounded Knee. With gusto, he told me that his class made a video of the trail of tears and presented it to the local Shriners. For this father of a special needs daughter, he easily lets roll off his tongue, “black sheep,” both an emblematic moniker and symbolic of his travails, having stuck with him throughout his life, from high school, to the Marines (“where I learned to get responsible”) to today: divorced, single dad, precarious income stream. On top of that, he’s living in his elderly parents’ garage/converted small studio apartment. After the Marines, where he specialized in communications, and field wiring, he worked on a community college degree, eventually ending up with a BA from Portland State University in psychology. The disciplines of cognitive behavior therapy and behavior analysis “got to me” first in college, initially through the inspiring teaching of a San Bernardino community college instructor who helped the young Hanson stick it out after Hanson smashed up bones in a motorcycle accident: a spill that caused him to miss half the classes. This faculty member went the extra mile, Hanson says, allowing him to do outside work and test make-ups. I was fresh out of the military and had no idea what I was doing. This professor missed dinners with his family, missed his kids’ recitals, to allow me to make up tests. . . . I’ve been a lifelong feminist because of this man, who instructed me on his own philosophy tied to feminism. I never had a male role model like that before. Hanson kicked around, came back to Beaverton, worked with developmental disabled youth and then foster youth, where I met him when we were both case managers for 16-to 21-year-old foster youth. We talk a lot about consumable information, as Hanson explains his gambit with his new information web company. It’s an age-old conundrum, what George Lakoff puts down as narrative framing. That was a big issue in the Bush Junior (W) election cycle, how born-with-a-silver-spoon George W had snookered Joe Six-Pack and NASCAR country with his Yale education, dicey National Air Guard record and Bush’s rich charmed life, getting a professional baseball team (Texas Rangers) as part of the family bargain. The illustration is dramatic to both Hanson and myself, as we talked about Mad Men, the Edward Bernays and Milton Friedman schools of propaganda, framing stories (lies) and setting out to paint good people as bad, heroic politicians like Salvador Allende of Chile as Commie Baby Killers. Even now, Bush, the instigator of chaos in the Middle East, with all the cooked up lies and distractions of his own stupidity (like Trump), and, bam, W is reclaimed (in the mainstream mush media) as something of a good president, and especially by the likes of the Democratic Party misleadership. Bush, millionaire, entitled, crude, racist, and, bam again, we have dirt poor kids from Appalachia or Akron joining up through the economic draft of standing down the armies of burger flippers to fight illegal wars, and then to come home creaking decrepit shells of their old young selves to fight for oil and geopolitical checkmate brinkmanship of the World Bank and Goldman Sachs order. Here we have an old Connecticut political family, from Prescott Bush, putting the grandson out on tens of thousands of acres of scrub brush near Waco, Texas, with 4×4 hefty pick-up trucks and chainsaws (George is deathly afraid of horses), and we’re all good to call him a man’s man, roughing it West Texas. Honest George or Rough-rider Teddy or Ahh Shucks Reagan, Yes We Can/Si Se Puede Obama, One Thousand Points of Light Bush Sr., Make America Great Again Trump — the news isn’t the news, and patriotism is the graveyard of scoundrels and their bromides. A huge turning point for Brian was this last election cycle, with Trump getting guffaws and trounced in the court of public opinion as a wimp, liar, cheat, misogamist, racist, buffoon, narcissist, from people all over the political spectrum, during the beginning of the election cycle. But then once Trump got in, family feuds and friendship breaks occurred: “How was it that this relationship I had with a male buddy, a true friend, going on 27 years, just gets dumped because I was questioning Trump as a viable candidate and questioning his integrity?” The age-old battle – turning blue in the face trying to explain to a friend, or anyone, that candidate x is this and that, based on the historical record. In Trump’s case, there is a long written, legal, quotable/citable record of this guy’s dirty dealings, bad business decisions, his lechery, racism, sexism, blatant unmitigated arrogance, criminality. For Hanson, it’s a no-brainer that anyone in their right mind might question Trump’s validity and viable character when he threw his toupee into the ring. A great friend just dropped Brian. Took him off social media, stopped socializing, screen to black, and this broken friendship was racing through Hanson’s mind because of the new normal: the targeted toxicity of social media feeds, and the social and psychological conditioning which this huge chasm between red state/blue state ideology has meted out to an already bifurcated flagging American consumerist society. Even having a respectable, clean and thorough debate about Trump is almost impossible, Hanson said while we talked over beers at the Yukon Bar in Sellwood. This huge cultural divide exists as far as individuals’ skills sets and critical thinking skills. The more technical the stuff like climate change or the deep state military industrial complex, people’s world views get challenged. They just don’t have the tools to dig deep into a bill passed (and endorsed) by their local representatives. Again, “consumable” as a tool to enlightenment or at least knowledge comes up in our conversation, and Hanson has done the following thought experiment literally hundreds of times – “I hear an opinion in the news – FOX, MSNBC, the Young Turks – and I can spend four hours digging up truths, and how that opinion got to us.” What he’s found is the consumable stuff the typical news consumer gets is absolutely counter to the reality of that news’ origins, facts and context. His Tools for Transparency cuts through the opinion, and as he proposes, makes the world news and the even more Byzantine and elaborate proposed legislation and lobbying groups behind “the news” approachable, again, consumable. He taps into his college days taking courses in industrial organizational psychology, seemingly benign when the American Psychological Association gets to mash the term into a three-fold brochure by defining it for prospective students as business as usual for corporations, and humanity is better because of this sort of manipulative psychology, but . . . In reality, it’s the science of behavior in the workplace, organizational development, attitudes, career development, decision theory, human performance, human factors, consumer behavior, small group theory and process, criterion theory and development and job and task analysis and individual assessment. It’s a set of tools to keep workers down spiritually and organizationally, disconnected, fearful, confused and ineffectual as thinkers and resisters, and inept at countering the abuse of power companies or bureaucracies wield over a misinformed workforce. The shape of corporations’ unethical behavior, their sociopathic and the draconian workplace conditions today are largely sculpted and defined by these behavior shapers to include the marketers and the Edward Bernays-inspired manipulators of facts and brain functioning. This begs the question for Hanson, just what are today’s hierarchy of needs for the average American? Physiological; Safety; Love/Belonging; Esteem; Self-Actualization. Of course, Maslow added human’s innate drive toward curiosity. Ironically, the lower scaffolds of the pyramid are deemed primitive – eating, sleeping, drinking, as are the safety needs and social needs such as friendship and sexual intimacy. In one sense, we see it played out – one cannot philosophize on an empty stomach and for Aristotle, his observation is prescient – ‘all paid work absorbs and degrades the mind.’ Hanson and I talk about the existential threats of climate change, terrorists, war, and our own mortality. We are in that hyper-speed moment in history when technology changes at breakneck speed, and disruptive technologies’ create disruptive economies which in turn give us disruptive communities. We are avoiding the inevitability of collapse, peak oil, peak everything, so we construct comforting (read: dopamine-triggering and sedating) realities, tied to bourgeois values, consumeristic habits, customs, degraded culture, moral codes that are antithetical to our own agency, and, then, religious fervor. Hanson states: How do they get us to take actions against our beliefs? This conditioning now is based on not just ‘buy my product’ to attain unattainable standards. Today, we, as a society, are terrified if we can’t attain that level of status or standard, Hanson’s singular (one of several) bottom lines is that his Tools for Transparency has to find a way to be consumable, and a second one Hanson repeats posits the solutions to our problems have to be profitable: “How can he create a market for alternative information profitable?” Tools for Transparency uses the platform Patreon, founded five years ago as a platform that allows patrons to pay a set amount of money every time an artist creates a work of art. Hanson’s web site and service, then depends on loyalty, fee-paying patrons. The result thus far for Hanson is nascent, but growing. I asked him how his daily routine tied to this dream can be synthesized in a nutshell: My daily routine is actually starting to wrap up at this point, it has never been very consistent as a single start-up founder anyways. For the most part my site is not sophisticated enough to continue in perpetuity yet. Too many requirements for data and input that cannot be done on a static basis. So I am mostly working on a static prototype I can display, build an audience with. For the most part I have been diving headfirst into legislative bulk data sets. Making connections between publications, finding creative ways to link (intentionally I think) differently formatted data together. Working to construct cohesive and understandable information. When I get tired of staring at data sheets, I will work to develop relationships with business people, work on marketing techniques, reaching out to colleges and programs, learning about business development, corporate securities, federal regulations pertaining to my business, or some general outreach (mostly family right now, you’re the first real contact outside my main family I am working with). There really isn’t anything routine about what I am doing, because it is mostly just me and a single developer friend working on the site. We talked about other issues tied the militarization of society, and I posed some long-winded questions cut and pasted below: 1. What makes what you are doing relevant to the click bait/screen addicted generation? 2. You say you were terrified for the lives of the family members, the country. Blacks and Hispanics tell me that finally, the whites get what we have been experiencing for decades, since the beginning of the country. Speak to that reality. This has been and is a white supremacist country, and with that operating procedure/system, poor people, disenfranchised people, people of color especially, are on the chopping block for those white elitists and the militarized mentality of law enforcement and even our daily lives as a renter class. He and I talk much about Black Lives Matter, and why this new movement is relevant in 2018 as it would have been in 1950 USA or 1850 America. And I do not for a second believe it has ever not been exactly this way. Every regime has to have a solider class that it uses to enforce the social hierarchy. And the solider class is always expected to use violence to enforce ideology. The threats are always transient, ever shifting, but the response is doggedly the same. Authoritarianism flourishes in this environment, we sacrifice freedoms for security, and our world shrinks a little more. Brian believes there is an awakening today in this country, and that the examples of movements such as those in Portland where youth are out yelling against the police state, and then how we are seeing individual officers returning firing with violence against those youth: The viral video of an officer drawing his pistol on a group of school age children is terrifying. We talk a lot about the devaluing of language and intentional discourse which includes the abilities of a society to engage in lively and cogent debate. For me, I know the forces of propaganda are multi-headed, multi-variant, with so much of American life seeded with lies, half-truths, duplicitous and twisted concepts, as well as inaccurate and spin-doctored history, which has contaminated a large portion of our society, up and down the economic ladder, with mind control. Unfortunately, our language now is inextricably tied to emotions, as we see leftists (what’s that?) and so-called progressives screaming at the top of their lungs how Trump is the worst president ever. Black so-called activists, journalists, stating how the empire (sky) is falling because Trump talked with Putin. Imagine, imagine, all those millions upon millions of people killed because of all the other presidents’ and their thugs’ policies eviscerating societies, all those elections smeared, all those democracies mauled, all those citizens in the other part of the world hobbled by America’s policies, read “wars, occupations, embargoes, structural violence.” It is a daily reminder for us all that today, as was true yesterday, that we are ruled by masters of self-deception and our collective society having a feel good party every day while we plunder the world. Doublethink. Here: Orwell’s point: To tell deliberate lives while genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed, to deny the existence of objective reality and all the while to take account of the reality one denies – all this is indispensably necessary. Even in using the word doublethink it is necessary to exercise doublethink. For by using the word one admits one is tampering with reality; by a fresh act of doublethink one erases this knowledge; and so on indefinitely, with the lie always one leap ahead of the truth. Herein lies the problem – vaunting past presidents on pedestals while attacking this current deplorable, Donald Trump. The reality is the US has been run by an elite group of militarists, and by no means is Trump the worst of the worst, which is both illogical and unsupported by facts: Yet, we have to mark the words and wisdom of those of us who have been marking this empire’s crimes, both internal and external, for years. Here, Paul Edwards over at Counterpunch hits a bulls-eye on the heart of the matter: After decades of proven bald-faced crime, deceit and the dirtiest pool at home and abroad, the CIA, FBI, NSA, the Justice Department and the whole fetid nomenklatura of sociopathic rats, are portrayed as white knights of virtue dispensing verity as holy writ. And “progressives” buy it. These are the vermin that gave us Vietnam, the Bay of Pigs, Chile, the Contras, Iraq’s WMD, and along the way managed to miss the falls of the Shah and Communism. Truly an Orwellian clusterfuck, this. War Party Dems misleading naive liberal souls sickened by Trump into embracing the dirty, vicious lunacy Hillary peddled to her fans, the bankers, brokers, and CEOs of the War Machine. Trump is a fool who may yet blunder us into war; the Dems and the Deep State cabal would give us war by design. In an innocent way, Brian Hanson is hoping to dig into that “objective reality,” with his Tools for Transparency. He might be unconsciously adhering to Mark Twain’s admonition: “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.” Maybe Tools for Transparency will get under the onion peels of deceit, a consumeristic and kleptocratic debt-ridden society to expose those culprits’ origins – where or where and how and why did something like the Flint, Michigan, poisoning of people’s water happen? Who signed off? How did it, the deceit (felonies), weave its way through a supposedly checked and triple-checked “democracy”? As we parted from a free jazz concert in Portland, he has some pointed words for me: “I will keep working on you Paul to get some hope about society, about the world. I’m going to keep on you.” http://clubof.info/

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wandering-hanzo-blog · 6 years ago

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Archangel

Characters Involved : Hanzo Shimada, Gérard Lacroix Ship Roleplay? : No Ongoing? : Yes Location(s) : Tokyo, Japan Trigger Warnings : Gore, getting impaled, more might be added Updated : 7/7/2018

HANZO

“One million yen, Shimada-san. It is a reasonable deal, but if you are able to apprehend this foreign sharpshooter we will provide you a better place to live; better than that flat you have sheltered yourself in. We need this man alive.”

The call from Tokyo’s police department came ringing a slight bit too early for Hanzo’s liking — about a stroke of five in the morning then the phone released its dreadful sound, yet a sound he had been desperate to hear for more than a week back ago. Ever since Hanzo had fled from Hanamura, bounty hunting had been the best source of income he could use to sustain his everyday life. Certainly he did more than simply bounty hunting, but with winter still layering nature’s green grass with snow, none of his students were willing to attend the archery classes he provided; for none would let their arrows fly in so cold a weather — except for him.

This was just another job to ensure his own survival. Apart from that, ridding the world from accursed criminals would be more honourable a way to serve the community, especially after the likes of which the Shimadas had done. Hanzo knew this was his only way of repenting for his sins; to put an end to forces as powerful as the Shimadas were, for as a child he had been too weak to make those steps.

“You shall find him dead in less than three days, omawari-san.” Hanzo assured, and dead he would be. All the criminals he had been sent to handle were as good as by only one arrow sent flying. Those who were wanted alive? Battered, and bleeding like a stuffed pig. Whatever the job, Hanzo always knew he could make it quick.

Which was how Hanzo found himself walking through the streets of Tokyo, his head hooded and casted down low his line of sight as he repeated the information given to him by the officer in his head. Name unknown, aliased as Archangel and a remarkable man in sniping. About fifteen bounty hunters before him had already been sent to take him down — some individually, but some even travelling in groups — but to no avail, one after the other. They were, if not killed by Archangel’s godlike aim, killed like measly pests by traps placed around and within the perimeters of the building; and one after the other, Archangel would send the bodies back in mock retaliation, like taunt pressuring for more.

Approach with caution, or potentially suffer the same fate as the rest of them did.

Hanzo had only hesitated for a second before confirming that he accepted the job. He knew cautious; pridefully so. He would bring Archangel down in seconds.

After about thirty minutes or so of wandering, Hanzo spotted the construction site the officer had spoken of, and to its side a house much like any other he would see, but separated quite further away from means of the community’s notice. It did not look anywhere identical to what anything suspicious would normally look but if this was the place the officer pointed him to, who was he to disobey their orders?

Ensuring that no one was watching, Hanzo slipped into a nearby alleyway just by the side of the building, and immediately retrieved the bag on his back. Inside, of course, was his most beloved weapon: Storm Bow, and the only remains left of which he had with his past. Slinging it over his back, he walked to the wall, took a breath before alas, working his way up, his eyes trained on the second floor as he went higher and higher.

This would end soon.

GÉRARD

He opened the doorknob counter-clockwise first then clockwise, stopping when the tiny mark he made on the knob stopped at a certain angle to deactivate the traps he had placed. A satisfying clunk informed him that it was safe to open the door and he entered into a quaint, small apartment in the city of Tokyo. It was located on the top floor, with easy access to the rooftop for reconnaissance purposes. Gérard flipped the light open, illuminating the dark room.

It was a terrible sight. Shattered glass all over the floor, upturned tables and other furnitures, his house was a mess. They came from the last fight he had with a couple of burly men who came to kill him. He was not exactly sure why he was a target (again) per se. His Japanese was poor, so he had sent a message to Talon to dig up some intel for him as well as to inform them about the bounty.

He had been... disappointed in the skills of his would-be assassins. Many had taken up to the challenge, from amateurs to professionals as they hoped to strike him dead. He had hoped that the bodies he sent were enough to dissuade his pursuers (as well as for the authorities to send whoever it was in the box back to their families). This constant disturbance has given him little time to relax and unwind after a long day.

He groaned irritably at his messy house. More work. Gérard moved towards the tiny storage where he had kept his cleaning supplies, dodging through the traps with expert footing as he had their locations committed to his memory. He came out carrying an armful of cleaning arsenals. His soap supply was still full, thank goodness.

Gérard linked his headphones to his phone, before scrolling through his music list and selecting the particular track to play. Tom Jones's powerful voice sang Delilah loudly in his ears, and Gérard went to work— sweeping the larger glass shards. As he cleaned, he sang along. There was no need to worry, his entire floor had no one living in it except an elderly woman on the other side.

HANZO

Hanzo was about halfway up the building before feeling himself begin to pant from the added weight of his winter clothes — not to mention the walls were harder to scale with its solid layer of ice. His arms trembled from their efforts, and just for a moment Hanzo decided to halt for just a second. There to his left, a window with the view to the interior of the building. Though he knew it was risky, since for all he knew the target could be standing right in front of the window looking outside, Hanzo could not quell his curiousity, and with hesitation he took a look inside.

Confusion filled his mind as he watched the man scrubbing the floors, blinking repeatedly. He thought his eyes were fooling with him. This was the same mastermind behind the murder of all those other well-known bounty hunters? The hired assassin sent to kill all those high-class officials? He knew of the common English proverb, "Don't judge a book by its cover" but the man looked nothing near the likes of someone that capable of drawing the blood of another.

But if the police department said he were such a man then... Hanzo would let loose his arrow through his hesitation.

The sunlight, with the winter clouds beginning to clear just for that short a moment, shone into his eyes. Hanzo grumbled in irritation, squinted in its direction and—

He froze, and took a closer look. Right at the front of the windows, he saw it — a near invisible wire that caught the glint of the sun. Hanzo didn't have to ask to understand the situation. The windows, and no doubt the doors as well, were all booby trapped. Even if they weren't and it was simply his mind thinking too far, he wouldn't take the risk. Guess the traditional way of entering wasn't going to be an option, if living to see the next day was still a thrilling idea.

Hanzo climbed higher. He climbed and climbed, all the way to the window connected to the attic.

He shifted his angle — no same glint. This was his way in then.

Grabbing onto the ledge, Hanzo positioned himself correctly, and with a deep breath, kicked the glass as hard as he could. The glass, however, ended up far more rickety than he expected it to be — instead, the force he delivered sent his whole body flying through with a loud crash.

He groaned in agony. I hope he didn't hear that.

GÉRARD

"Forgive me Delilah, I just couldn't take anyMOOOREEE—!" he belted loudly over the sound of water running down the drain as he dumped the dirty water on the bathroom floor. He hackled and coughed as his throat strained itself at the final part.

Gérard moved on to the next track in his list. Ah, good— another Tom Jones song. As the first few bars of Sexbomb played loudly, he continued his cleaning of the house by attacking the blood soaked carpets next. His entire body was covered in sweat, soap and water as he kneeled on the floor with a brush and cloth. Blood was hard to come off, he tsked irritably to himself. Gérard scrubbed as hard as he could till his knees and hands ached. It was no use, he would have to toss the entire thing out and buy a new one before his landlord notice it. Or maybe he could pretend that he had a terrible nose bleed the other day hence why his carpet looked like someone died in it.

"Sexbomb, sexbomb you're my sexbo—"

BOOM

He lifted his earphones with his eyebrow raised. What... was that? Hmm— must've been nothing. He shrugged before resuming his cleaning.

HANZO

Hanzo cursed himself for his clumsiness as he brushed away the dust from his good pants. Judging by how the target had not charged up the attic in search of him (and how he could still hear the singing so dreadful a song), he still did not know he was here. Good then, he thought. The chance to kill him quick and leave without a trace was still in his favour.

He allowed himself a short second to crack his aching joints, rewarding himself for not being found a slight bit of relief before looking for the exit to the second floor. There, by the corner — the attic so dark he almost didn't see it. Quickly, he scuffed over through the wafting dust and opened the hatch with a creak.

Hanzo poked his head through the hole first, being careful as to prevent more clumsy steps. He glanced around, scanned the perimeter for the target and as soon as he decided the drop would be safe, he landed safely onto the hallway without a sound. Drawing his bow, he quietly followed the music.

The living room downstairs. His arrow nocked onto the bowstring, he pulled it back, base of his hand rested against his chin as he lightly pushed the door open. There he was — the target, with no form of defense whatsoever. He was vulnerable, and certainly easy to kill. All he had to do was let loose.

"I have you now," he said aloud to be heard over the music, his lips moving ever so gentle against the string as he spoke. He wanted him to know who was the one who took his life away.

GÉRARD

He continued his singing, highly unaware that there was an intruder creeping along in the house. It was only while in the midst of scrubbing the walls as he danced that he found himself face to face with a strange man. For a second, Gérard thought he was lost. The man had a strong frame hidden behind his jacket. His hair was tied to a ponytail and he had a moustache and goatee to complete the look. But his onxy-coloured eyes were grim and solemn as he had an arrow pointed in his direction.

His mouth moved against the bowstring, as he said something unintelligible to his ears. Pulling off his earbud, the Frenchman stood up; tilting his head to the side. "I'm sorry, I beg your pardon?" he asked in English.

Gérard's lips pursed tightly as he studied the arrow in his hand. It had a classical look to it, unlike modern arrows which are used for sport. A sense of amusement filled in his chest. He had many, many assassins that were sent to kill him with their rifles, pistols, knives and bombs. But this... was definitely a first. He couldn't hold it in anymore and he reeled forward, howling with laughter. He gestured his finger towards the assassin, while his other hand held his stomach. "Oh my God-- Oh God-- wait-- wait-- HAHAHAHAHAHA-- Where... Where did you come from, the Edo period fair?!"

HANZO

Hanzo narrowed his eyes but ignored his statement. He let his arrow fly, watched it pierce the man straight through his chest, so close to his heart that had he gone a slight bit to the left, the man would've been dead.

GÉRARD

"Eck--!" he shouted in pain as something sharp pierced him through his chest, sending him crumpling to the ground. Who knew that... an arrow was more painful than it looked? He couldn't breathe. The world was spinning around him. Gérard gasped for air, as his hands reached up to yank the arrow out from him. Blood sputtered from where the wound was. Generally, it wasn't wise to pull something out from the wound-- but his wound would heal in a second. Sure enough, the bleeding stopped and the broken blood vessel healed itself before it was covered up by his skin.

The assassin meant business, and Gérard would need to take him out as he did to the others. His knife was safely tucked away in his room. He would have to make due. He gripped the arrow tightly in his right hand as a makeshift dagger and he lunged forward towards his attacker.

HANZO

Hanzo expected the man to collapse the instant he let that arrow fly. He knew his way well with a bow, how much it would affect someone if he pulled his arrow with a little or more strength than he usually did, the distance it would travel before it began to fall — and with it, places that had to be struck in order to kill, to paralyse, or simply to knock unconscious but leave alive.

The latter was what Archangel was supposed to do. The pain was enough to make a tough man crumble to his knees, the arrow embedded so deep it would be more than hell itself pulling it out, and the bleeding caused gushing at a steady flow fast enough to cause anyone to barely walk in a matter of seconds. Unless, of course, Archangel were an Omnic, but even so, the circuitry would be disrupted, and that easily would've shut down the Omnic already.

Which was why Hanzo was ridden in shock as he watched the man stand back to his feet. The irritating guffaw initially plastered onto his face fell quick to dissipate, and in its absence an angered sneer. The shock of it became Hanzo's mistake, and Archangel surged forward, tackling the archer down to the ground and Hanzo fell, bow flying from his hand as he did. He was without a weapon.

GÉRARD

Gerard was ruthless as he took his stance, his body was rigid and on guard as he attacked the man. Oddly dressed man or no, he was still here with the intent of killing him and with that all hands were off. He was more than willing to return the favour back. Using his body to pin his limbs down, he aimed the dagger towards the man's chest-- lunging downwards straight to the archer's heart.

HANZO

Hanzo's head was a dizzied mess as he felt his head hit the floor, but fighting was not unfamiliar to him. His gaze was a blur and his thoughts still regathering, but nevertheless, he saw that dagger going straight down and his arms moved by instinct. Hanzo resisted, pushing back with all his might and his arms of equal strength with Archangel's. But he knew he was at a disadvantage in his current position. Desperate to regain the higher ground, he delivered a firm kick to the French man's crotch, with as much force as he could muster.

GÉRARD

A sharp pain struck him from his groin area as he felt the archer's powerful legs. He clenched his teeth tightly to stop himself from shouting. The only sound that escaped his lip was a small hiss of pain. Gérard's grip weakened in that moment and he fought the urge to roll over and cover his modesty in pain. He desperately pressed his weight down over the archer, trying to lock him in place to neutralise this threat. He was not in any real danger of dying (thanks to Moira) but he had little intention to sticking around and experimenting the limits of regeneration.

HANZO

The momentary weakness Archangel provided was enough to provide Hanzo a small chance to escape; wrenching his arm away from his grasp and, with its regained freedom, delivered a hard blow to his attacker's other hand. Having brought himself out of the assailant's grip, Hanzo pulled himself back together and rushed for his bow.

GÉRARD

He fell to the floor as the archer escaped, shaking his head to orient himself. His hands and groin tingled with a sharp pain. His ears perked up to listen to the heavy sound of footsteps as the archer ran. Lunging himself towards him, Gérard attempted to pull his assailant's leg to prevent him from reaching his bow.

HANZO

The violent jerk he felt to his leg was powerful, but from his years from climbing with his feet and heavily relying on their strength, the pull was far from enough. Hanzo recoiled and stomped hard on Archangel's hand. Using the moment he used as his attacker doubled over in pain, Hanzo reached his trusted Storm Bow and let loose another arrow straight to his shoulder.

GÉRARD

A sharp pain rang through his hand as the archer stomped on his feet. He gritted his teeth, pulling his hand away in pain. Gerard quickly stood, composing himself before he launched another attack to the man. However before he could move, a powerful blow stuck him in his shoulder-- making him shout loudly in pain. The pain was almost unbearable. Black spots danced around his eyes as the world began to spun around him. He reeled backwards from the powerful shot of the arrow. He was definitely skilled with it. With a yank, he tugged the arrow away. The colour red stained his white blouse, blooming quickly as the blood spurted from his open vein.

He gripped onto the couch for support, glaring at the archer before him. Slowly-- his wounds began to close. His regeneration could be easily seen through the hole the arrow had made through his fabric. Bones and flesh mended itself, the wound closed. It was as though he was never shot in the first place at all.

#hanzo shimada rp #hanzo rp #gerard rp #gerard lacroix rp #darkwatch #archangel

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