#all of them in mid fighting poses too... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devilfic · 1 year ago

Text

part four to this series

cw: 18+ mdni, mentions of blood drinking, fantasizing about biting, miguel’s got a thing for “sir”, EXTREMELY suggestive, no explicit smut just miguel losing his mind. this is the horniest one yet.. sorry!

miguel cannot get the taste of you out of his mind. it hadn’t been the part of you he’d wanted, the part of you that overwhelmed him, but it had been close. throughout the day he’d catch himself licking behind his fangs even though he’d since flushed his mouth clean of you. sometimes, he’d nick his tongue on his canine and the taste of his own blood would remind him of you again.

jessica asked about the gauze on your arm while miguel was in the room and you’d had a quick response, though not one that would spare him the knowing look from his (other) right-hand woman, “oh, miguel and I were playing too hard.”

sure enough, jessica drew’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. she even pushes them up into the crown of curls and coils on her head so her disappointment really gets across, “aren’t you a little too old to be rough-housing, miguel?”

if it were just that, miguel could confidently say it was an accident. if this had been about the cut on your eye that had healed over weeks before, there’d be honest guilt on his face when he defended himself. but no, you had asked. you’d practically put your arm in his mouth. you’d asked for him to hurt you, and you’d liked it.

and he’d liked it too. he didn’t know if he could hide that part.

before he can think of what to say, you chime in, “he’s always careful. it was my fault this time.”

“I don’t get why you two have to fight all the time. can’t you try, I dunno, healing yoga?”

miguel tried to picture himself in a downward dog pose and almost started laughing. from the flicker of mirth across your features, you seemed to be picturing the same thing. then he accidentally pictured you in that pose, pictured himself standing behind you, pictured taking your waist in his claws and crouching over you to sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too.

he digs his heels into the floor to rid himself of the image. his voice is strained as he replies, “it was their idea. can’t help that it works.”

jessica is far too exhausted with life as a new mother to try to understand that. she waves a hand, her white flag for the conversation, “whatever. I just came to borrow your assistant for the day. is that alright with you?”

lyla materializes on miguel’s shoulder, one holographic leg crossed over the other, “who, moi?”

“no thanks, tinkerbell. I need a person. preferably with some muscle.”

miguel would find that funny but all he can think to ask is, “why?” but you’re already standing up and following jessica to the doors of his office. he feels a sudden queasiness at the thought of not seeing you for the rest of the day. the day itself had just started. his morning coffee hadn’t even gone cold.

he hadn’t been left alone without you since you’d started here. now, he’d spend the whole day alone?—lyla sings a goodbye next to his ear—with just lyla?

he stands, abruptly, making his desk shake and shift a few inches. the sound is enough to stop the two of you in your tracks. your eyes bore into his own, curious, and he feels silly like the first day you’d caught him mid-tantrum. he means to sound intimidating and authoritative, but his voice can’t help the weakness when he looks at you, “I didn’t say yes.”

jessica’s hard look is almost enough to make him sit back down.

but you smile, tilt your head to the side, turn fully to him, “sorry. can I go, mr. o’hara?”

in truth, you didn’t need to ask him. but he didn’t know what else he’d expected when he objected like that. he wanted to hear it. he’d wanted to hear you ask for permission, or better yet refuse jessica altogether. he wanted you to sit back down across the desk from him and crack jokes at his expense, tease him and cackle even though he was the butt of the joke every single time. he wanted you to offer up a mini spar session after he came back from hunting down anomalies again just to get the adrenaline out of his system. he wanted you to pin him down and win, again, so he could flip you on your back when you least expected it and he could sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too-

miguel clears his throat and sits back down, painfully aware of where his blood was flowing to now. he waved a hand, murmured something noncommittal, but you’d really put the nails in his coffin. you bowed at the waist, smug like you always were when he was watching, and said in none too innocent of a tone, “thank you, sir.” and left.

miguel watched the doors shut. his ears tuned into the sound of jessica’s voice and yours mingling down the hallway, further and further away. he waited until you two were so far out of earshot that he couldn’t tell your mumble apart from the next spider’s. and then, he croaked out lyla’s name.

“yes?” she dragged out her response, the knowing, teasing lilt to her voice was more grating on his wound nerves than usual.

“lock the doors to my office, please. and turn off the lights.” his voice was a hair above a whisper. lyla did as told and quietly. “send the… send the society a message that I won’t be in for the next two hours.”

“shall I copy miss drew, too?”

“yes.”

“and… anyone else?”

miguel rests his forehead against his fist, taking even breaths in and out. he could feel the talons beneath his skin beginning to extend. his breath shudders, “yes.”

lyla hums, “anything else, miguel?”

“take a break for the afternoon.”

he can’t see her and he doesn’t want to see her (not right now, anytime but now) but he knows her code inside out, knows she’s questioning him. “that’s a first. got some business to take care of?” his answer is but a low, embarrassed growl, and that’s enough to send her off laughing into cyberspace.

a beat passes, then two. it’s quiet all the way up here in his office without the sounds of the other spider-people or lyla or jessica or you.

thinking about you brings back those images from earlier and when he bites into his clenched fist, he feels the sharp pain of his fangs breaking skin. the pain distracts him for all of two seconds and then he’s thinking of you on top of him, holding your arm out for him to bite you, except it’s your throat this time. you’re hovering over him, the smell at your neck and the bob of your swallowing throat overwhelm him.

you’re sitting on his lap in this very chair, hands clasped at his shoulders or gripping the arm rests or tied together behind his head as you lean in, press yourself flush against him, and bare your throat to him. he’d never wanted to bite anyone that wasn’t a threat to him, never wanted to taste the warmth of their blood as it couldn’t help but trickle onto his tongue, never wanted to hear and feel the guttural moan from you as you sink down on him.

“sir”. you’d called him “sir”. mr. o’hara, you’d done that before, but never sir. a wet and wild whine leaves his throat when he remembers how your voice wrapped around it.

before he goes any further, he sucks in a breath and removes his fist from between his teeth, collecting himself enough to summon lyla once more. the AI didn’t even bother to look in his direction when she appeared on the surface of his desk, her fingers swiping at some book she’d pulled up in front of her. this next “yes?” was just as dragged out, just as knowing, just as teasing.

“three hours.” miguel’s voice cracks out. lyla fades into thin air with a single, three-fingered salute.

part five

#also I'm sorry that this is the fic I remembered to tag my all fics followers on #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara scenarios #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #marvel #mjwrites #i mean. what are you looking at me like that for #mo; ungodly hour

2K notes · View notes

schrijverr · 2 years ago

Text

Honestly, I'm a bit in tears, thinking about Jonathan going on to be a famous photographer, bringing out a book of his early work (late 80s/early 90s) in, like, the 2010s or something and it's just full of queer joy and the queerplatonic family they all made together with the Upside Down gang.

Like it starts with Steve giving Robin a piggy back ride, both laughing their asses off. It's 1989, they had just moved to the big city bc most of the kids had graduated. It's late at night and they went to a Rocky Horror screening. Robin is dressed as Brad, Steve as Janet.

There's a full spread of Eddie on stage, he's shirtless save for a leather harness, sweaty and alive, hankerchief hanging out of his pocket. The next page is him with Steve is his normal clothes in his lap, the rest of the band and Robin around them, all stuffed in a booth in a diner. Nancy and Argyle hadn't been able to make it, but that's okay. It was Coroded Coffin's first big gig.

Argyle has a page dedicaded to him, most of them in the early mornings, sharing the bed with Nancy, the place where Jonathan is supposed to be obvious.

One is Jonathan's favorite, Eddie and Argyle are sharing a joint. They're on the roof, Eddie is gesturing with one hand, holding the joint Argyle is taking a hit from in his other hand. They often had these late nights on the roof, before their lives took off, when insomnia got too band and company was needed.

Nancy and Robin are pictured, they're kissing. They had a short fling in 1987, before Nancy got back with Jonathan and Argyle, and Robin found her current wife.

The wife, back then a girlfriend, is more femme than Robin and there are pictures of their 'wedding'. It wasn't legal, but they didn't care. Robin wore a suit, her wife a dress. There is one page dedicated to the most traditional wedding pictures they took as a joke.

Then the following pictures are more like them, posing with their collection of garden gnomes and taking goofy pictures with everyone, as well as more serious ones.

Jonathan's favorites are the one where Steve is dancing with Robin, her second dance, both having been disowned by their parents. It's obvious they're both crying. The other one is Robin covered in lipstickstains, both her and her wife grinning like madmen, clearly a little tipsy.

There are also pictures from that first summer after Hawkins split open. Nancy on Argyle's shoulders, Steve's on Eddie's, the four of them fighting in the quarry. Robin floating nearby on a floaty along with Max. In the background the boys are jumping down, only held in posed in the air like that by El, who had taken an interest in photography after she realized how easy it was to forget.

There is also thanksgiving at the Hopper-Byers, 1986. Murray is there as well and they're all pushed together on the table, far more people than they thought would survive. Everyone is laughing, because Jonathan is sprawled over Agryle, having tripped in his haste to get seated for the timer.

It's the intimate domesticity that Jonathan has gotten good at capturing that makes the book pop.

Steve, dead asleep, head resting on Eddie's chest, legs thrown over Robin's lap. Eddie is pressing a kiss onto his forehead, Robin is holding his hand. The photo is called: Nightmares

A picture taken by El is in there as well, properly credited. It was taken when visiting Nancy, Argyle and Jonathan in 1991, the three of them are all half asleep, sitting at the table, all wrapped up together, but doing their own thing. Nancy is making notes on a notepad, Jonathan is rolling film and Argyle is doing the crossword in the paper.

There is also one of Coroded Coffin sitting around, crammed into the tiny apartment Eddie, Robin and Steve shared when they first moved out to the big city. They're writing lyrics, obviously mid argument about something. What is noteble is Steve in the background, leaning against the doorframe, looking very fond, dishtowel slung over his shoulders.

Naturally there is also one with all the kids around the table, dice scattered about, Eddie in the midst of a dramatic narration, seemingly oblivious to Steve, smiling dopily and nearly sleep, from where he is draped over Eddie's lap.

There are also pictures of Robin painting Steve's nails, because while Steve knew he'd had to take it off before work, he likes the way it looks.

As well as Steve doing Eddie's eyeliner, because Eddie used to be baby about it, before he got used to doing it before shows.

Will is also in there, alseep in the backseat with Mike, draped over the other guy. They're both in the remnants of cosplay, on the way back from a convention.

All the kids are, though they feature less, having been younger and in different phases of life.

There is a picture of Max and El asleep in Max's dorm when she went to college. Her skateboard is leaning against the wall along with her crutches. Max's hands are in El's hair, it's half braided like they fell asleep before finishing it.

Lucas is pictured with Steve, sweating on a basketball court, what is more obvious is Eddie and Max in the foreground. They're both leaning on their knees, oggling the two players. Max's eyes peer out through thick lenses, but that doesn't hide the moon eyed expression that matches Eddie's.

Another intimate moment that Jonathan captured was Steve, Eddie and Dustin, the three of them in front of a mirror, shaving. Eddie is just dry shaving, but Steve and Dustin both have foam beards, by the looks of it, Steve is teaching Dustin how to shave.

There are also just a few pages dedicated to cheek kisses, both platonic and romatic. They have big grins, soft looks, tears and blood in them. All of them look meant.

One double page is Argyle, Eddie, Nancy, Robin and Steve painting protest signs. There is laughter, but a somber atmosphere too. A heartbreaking point in history to be alive.

The next page is Eddie, Steve and Nancy, the three of them black eyes, Steve even missing a tooth. They're on the steps of a police station, Eddie is giving it the finger, his other arm slung around Steve. Nancy is getting checked over by Agryle, looking determined. Robin is running towards Steve.

Furthermore, it's filled to the brim with pictures of them doing dishes, playing games, backstage with Eddie, Nancy interviewing leather daddies at pride, hands twined together on the dashboard.

Nancy has provided the writing, telling their stories of those times. They might not be able to say it all, but they can say more than back then and their stories deserve a space too. Their interlinked dynamics, their ups, their downs. The family they built together.

Just Jonathan's queer photography of the late 80s/early 90s y'all.

On AO3

3K notes · View notes

bitchimasnake-sss · 7 months ago

Note

i love reading your fics, they always give me 🦋🦋🦋 i love them so much, so, i want to make a request a angst-comfort where zoro and reader are dating but they got into a fight (*cough* zoro got jealous and starts to question reader's loyalty *cough*) but it ends happily because I don't want cry. n e way, continue writing stories, you write them so well... 😚

im so glad you like my work!! and thankyouu so much for sending in the request, let's get to itt <3

moss and towel ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: in which, you and zoro have been dating for six months. but after one fight night and growing distances, he finds himself questioning everything you've built together.

warnings: (poor attempts at writing) angst, zoro acts like an idiot, profanities. yeah, that's about it.

the winds were cruel tonight and even crueler were you. atleast there was some comfort in the cold gusts, some reason in the way they played against the swordsman's skin and left behind selfish goosebumps. atleast, he could attempt to understand it with nami's weather charts or whatnot.

but you. how could he attempt to understand you?

his eyebrows bunched as he stared up, fixing his gaze against the twinkling points. groaning, he put his hand over his eyes. maybe in a way, sure, it was his fault. he was never good with words or those fancy poems or haikus. he was never the one to resort to affection. but how was he supposed to fix this?

the first mate of the ship rested a fraction of his bodyweight against the wooden railing of the crow's nest. the wind tousled his unkempt hair and running a hand through his moss-green locks, he vaguely tried to remember how long it had been since nami dragged him into the bathroom and gave him a haircut again.

probably too long. he concluded with a sigh as the soft tresses caressed the mid-point of the back of his neck.

he was supposed to meet his girlfriend here. that's what had been decided. just you, him and the infinitely infinite night sky. the swordsman had even decided to talk about his feelings 'neath the dark abyss of the sky (even if he hated the mere idea of that).

but it had been 30 minutes and there were no signs of you anywhere.

life had been hectic for the both of you lately, whether it was because of the constant run-ins with the marines, zoro having to accompany luffy to side-quests or some other shit the sea sprouted every once in a while. either ways, it meant that you and him saw less and less of each-other as each day passed him by.

resigning himself to a tired sigh, zoro decided to climb downwards. you were not gonna come, that much was sure.

as his heavy feet planted against the wooden floor, he took a second to collect his thoughts. he started walking the stairs to go under the deck, to the common space where most of the crew lounged at the end of the day. descending, he thought of all possible explainations. maybe you had been caught by someone else and forced to listen to one of their anecdotes, maybe nami had asked you to help with the log pose calculations of the last island, or maybe chopper wanted you to help him grind some fresh medicine.

maybe-

he stepped inside the common place with heavy footsteps and a heavier heart and immediately saw you. you, ever so beautiful with you soft smiles and your lame jokes. you with your flowing hair and unruly habits. you, that was currently laughing along to something that shit-cook was talking about.

he must have caught your gaze cause you immediately looked away from sanji and to your boyfriend, giving him a soft smile. but he left the room without returning that gesture and you found yourself on your feet, walking after him and confused.

you trailed after him, calling his name out sweetly till you reached his room and he shut the door before you could get in.

"hey!" you laughed playfully, twisting the handle with ease and stepping inside. you closed the door behind you and tucked your arms around your chest, sporting a lively pout.

but he seemed to have to reaction to your antics, instead, deciding to carefully lay his three swords on the bed behind him as if he was courting the swords and not you.

"what's up with you?" you raised an eyebrow at him, amused by the way the man sat at the edge of the bed with an annoyed huff. when he said nothing, you pressed again, this time a bit more direct, "why are you grumbling now?"

he's been like this for the past few days and now that he refused to elaborate, you found your patience slipping off of you like a thin overcoat, leaving you behind in your ugly, impatient skin.

today had been hard, like any other day. and for some reason or the other, instead of inviting you into his arms, this man had swore to make your life even more difficult.

"zorooo," groaning, you asked again, "can you stop being so dramatic?"

his head snapped up, eyes finding yours with wicked ease. his jaw was clenched tight, face red as if he was burning up, "i am being dramatic? me?"

"yeah? you're being so fucking weird." you sighed, "why?"

"i dunno, go ask that fucking cook maybe?" he grumbled.

if the exasperation on your face wasn't obvious until now, after that comment, it was surely on full display.

"what?" you hissed, "what is up with you and all these weird accusations?"

"as i said, i dunno. ask that fuckin' waiter instead, why don't you? i'm sure he'd have some answers lined up."

"why are you dragging sanji into this?"

"why are you defending him?" he stood up, his face mirroring your exasperation tenfold. he crossed his arms similarly to yours and the muscles shifted impatiently under his shirt.

you threw you hands upwards, "im not defending him! i am aski—"

"—yes you are defending him, don't even."

you were tired.

god knew you every inch of your muscles were alight with exhaustion, your head was pounding and if he wanted to fight you, you wouldn't even have it in you to fight back. these past few days had been enough on their own. so, you sighed, taking on a resigned tone, "i am so tired, zoro. can't we do it another day?"

"yeah, right." he grumbled again, his eyebrows bunching together in a characteristic manner, "everything needs to be pushed back with you, right?"

"what is that supposed to mean?" you were sure smoke was rising from the top of your head and your pupils were comically blown out, "i was tired and wanted to take some time off, so, i had sat down. and sanji found me to make some ideal chit-chat. god forbid i be tired for once-"

"i was waiting at the crow's nest for the past 30 minutes, where were you?"

"huh—" fuck. your eyes widened as the terrible realization set in. almost on instinct, your fingers reached out to touch him so as to makeup for the terrible deed you had committed. but your boyfriend pulled himself back, dodging your careful grasp before rasping out, "don't."

"zoro, i'm sorry! really, i genuinely cannot believe i forgot—"

"so, you forgot me over that fucking cook?"

"no!" you repeated, slower, "no, of course not. i was just tired and—"

"—and you decided to go off with him instead?" he scoffed, "i thought we were dating and yet, i think we've barely had any time to just spend together. every time it's someone or the other you have to rely on, not me."

"zoro..." you started carefully but he cut off you off, "don't zoro me. it's either nami or sanji or luffy or someone or the other. i wouldn't be surprised if you're fucking blondie behind my back too."

you stared at him, shocked. the wretched feeling gnawed at your insides till you looked at him in pure, utter disgust. the corners of your eyes burned up and you spat out, "don't fucking talk to me."

and you left the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

zoro stared at the place you were standing at and then slowly dragged his eyes at the door that you had slammed shut.

fuck.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆🪐⋆⭒˚｡⋆

well into the night, when he finally had swallowed his pride and mentally beat himself enough, he walked out of his room.

his steps were slow, stride careful so to not panic the mostly sleeping crew. searching through the washroom and the kitchen, the supply closet and chopper's tiny, stashed-away office, he failed to find you. then, he stepped out onto the deck and in a clean sweep, found you at the port side. the wind blew ideally though your hair and you stood with your arms on the railing.

the swordsman silently walked up to you, choosing to stand beside you without saying much. and if he had hoped for you to start the conversation, he was in for a long, long night.

"hey" he finally started off.

"i think i told you to not talk to me."

your feet shifted and you balanced your bodyweight away from him and he pursed his lips. standing in silence, the sounds of waves crashing against the ship painted you both in a uncomfortable hues.

he tried again, "i- i am sorry, really."

"don't care, didn't ask."

roronoa zoro bit the inside of his cheek, savoring the taste of foul rejection in his mouth over and over. but he had never been the one to go out without a fight. hell, he was the king of hell.

"but i am sorry." he repeated and his calloused fingers inched closer to yours, a poor attempt to ghost his skimming touches over your hand. but you were quicker and you pulled your hands back to yourself and wrapped them around yourself.

he slowly withdrew his hand and his head hung low, "how long are you gonna be mad at me?"

"i don't know? probably till i want to."

"babe—"

"—don't babe me."

"i am sorry—"

"—to fuCKING HELL WITH YOUR SORRY!" your cool demeanor washed off and you bore daggers into his paper-like skin as you stared him down. your breath was laboured and you were sure your yells must have woken someone, if not the entire crew.

he stayed silent, ready to face the consequences of his actions. and although venom was a resident on your tongue, looking at his guilt-struck face, you were reduced to nothing but a dumbfounded, little girl.

whatever you had planned, whatever you had thought you'd call him, whatever accusations you had thrown you'd throw at him dissolved at the tip of your tongue. and instead, an ugly feeling stirred under your skin. the feeling sunk heavy in your chest and your stomach and your head and heart and every other crevice of you. bile crawled up your scratchy throat and the same waterworks made home on your lash line.

when you spoke, you were sure your voice sounded more like a desperate plea than a demand for apology.

"why? why did you say that? that was low."

he looked down at his feet, his fingers twiddling against the sword hilt of his wado ichimonji in an attempt to self-soothe, "i know it was wrong. i was just so angry."

"and that makes it okay for you to question my loyalty?" you sniffed, feeling the watery weight cascade down your cheeks.

"no!" he looked up, alarmed, "no! ofcourse it doesn't. i never was— i was just—" he paused, wincing, "—i was jealous of him."

"sanji?!"

he continued, agonized, "yes, the damn cook. and everyone else, i guess. you seemed to have time for everyone but me."

"zoro, why didn't you just say it out loud to me?" you whispered softly. inching closer to him, you rested your palm against his warm cheek. his growing stubble lightly tickled your skin. you hummed softly when he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, pressing an easy kiss to your fingers. "because i- i just couldn't bring myself to. i'm sorry, i should have talked to you rather than being a prick, really."

"i am sorry too. i know we haven't spent any time for the past two weeks or so. i was so busy within myself that i didn't reach out to you." your fingers played gently against the scars on his face from years of training, "these past few days have been hard—"

"—they've been hell."

you laughed despite yourself, "yeah, i guess they've been hell."

his eyes swayed against yours in a guilt-ridden dance, "forgive me?"

you paused a beat, "do you trust me?"

his answer came more easily than breathing did, "more than i trust myself."

you hummed, "sure?"

and he just nodded. as moments passed you both by, he finally quipped up, "so, am i forgiven?"

"well..." you pondered for a second, "technically, i did fuck up too. so, yeah, you're forgiven." you glared at him, "just never say that kinda shit again."

he smiled and when he spoke, he offered a kind explaination, "i didn't actually mean you were fucking the cook. i just- just kinda said it."

"eh," you waved off his comment, "i don't wanna fuck blondes, anyways. to be honest, not really my type."

"huh?!" his eyes widened in play-pretend, "so his hair colour is holding you back?"

"i mean i'm more into idiots who grow slowly on me. like moss does on a wet towel."

roronoa zoro— bounty hunter, pirate, first mate to a terrifying crew, kind of hell, demon, whatever— looked appalled. "are you comparing me to moss?"

"i am comparing how you grew on me to the lowest form of moss that even grows on the stupidest surfaces."

"don't call yourself stupid, now."

you huffed and turned around, walking towards the stairways that led to the rooms, "i am gonna stop talking to you again!"

he laughed, taking in easy strides to walk after you, "just kidding. i promise. your moss, ever and forever more."

he met your pace, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. you gave him a wayward grin, "good."

he gave you one right back, "great."

"i'm tired."

"me too."

as you both disappeared back into your room, hand in hand, you made a comment about how much his hair grew and he responded with "like moss grows on a wet towel?". next morning you found yourself waking up to the swordsman's heavy snores and heavier body against you.

stupid moss-head.

a/n: i think i like how this turned out lol. hope it's okay @rkiveinmarvel and as always, thank you to anyone else who reads this <3

#one piece #opla #op #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro fluff #one piece fluff #zoro fanfic #zoro imagine

259 notes · View notes

advertingpizza · 3 months ago

Text

HI!

i redid waves some after art fight!! also experimented with a newish style w/ black outlines and a simpler shading technique than what i was originally suffering through

i felt him being an alpha clone, while cool for the unaltered aging, didn't quite fit his personality. i also had a gripe with how overly complicated the kobe stripes on his armor turned out, so i opted for some more simple and artist-friendly designs on both his body armor and his helmet!

i upgraded his old armor from clone captain to full arc w/ double pauldrons and the added chest guard. the helmet is not the correct helmet, i was just lazy and didn't feel like drawing an entirely new one so i threw some new tamaskan-inspired (dog) markings on it. also put his hair in a lil bun because as someone with long curly hair, having it in a bun while i am working is a must. lastly, i got rid of the upper part of his 'stache because it made any facial expression he had look... cursed

he is still an arc trooper, CT-25-4775 (definitely not my old discord tag dsjufsejik). close ups and inspo below!

the comic-ish style im in love raaa

same helmet as before but with a uv visor inspired by a pair of sunglasses from gta LOL

NOT MY DOG, i just really fell in love with the face marks so i mixed them onto his helmet

pose! i realized i could use my rex rex collection to aid in my clone drawing endeavors. mini rex having a mid life crisis helped

this one is honestly self explanatory lol

thanks for reading! i'd like to get into the habit of sharing what inspires me to make my art just because! i love seeing other artists do it and nothing is stopping me from doing it too. hope you all have lovely days!

#my art #pizza ocs #waves #clone trooper #clone trooper oc #clone oc #star wars oc #sw oc #the clone wars #star wars clone #star wars clone troopers #arc trooper waves

71 notes · View notes

bubba-luz · 4 months ago

Note

What do you think about the One Piece live action show?

(I just suffered through most of it with my sibling and I actually shed a tear or two)

At first I really loved it! But then as the weeks went by the honeymoon phase was over and I started noticing things and thinking about things. Safe to say I’m not really a fan of the LA anymore. It could have been worse honestly with the track record of Netflix and live action adaptations in general [the wigs oh god the wigs]. Also on the topic of adaptation I’d say OPLA is more of an interpretation of the original manga than it is a one on one adaptation.

I think the cast is great, they do look the part. But the characterizations of the LA is well…not the manga one. I had forgotten what happened in the EB arc at that time, but I started rewatching the anime and the changes are even more jarring. In the LA, Luffy isn’t as confident as he is in the manga, he clearly shows doubt in his abilities and sometimes needs someone else to help him up and get his head on straight. I think the only true time that happens in the manga us when Jinbē has to tell him to get himself together after losing Ace and his crew, most of the time Luffy doesn’t really need to ponder and go “oh gosh what should I do here?😣” he mostly just does things without thinking or improvises mid-battle.

Zoro. Zoro Zoro Zoro. Roronoa Zoro. Why are you not a complete loser? OPLA Zoro is what men in the fandom think Zoro is, a stoic no nonsense cool guy who fights with swords. He’s just so emo. But he’s not. The concept alone of fighting with a sword in your mouth and calling it three sword style is ridiculous itself. This is pre-timeskip too, Zoro is always goofy, but he was even more silly when he was 19, this is the same man who tried to cut off his own legs and started posing when he realized he wasn’t getting out. Why was he so serious all the time. Also the Kunia story did not hit as well as in the manga, like I really didn’t give a fuck 😭.

Oh Nami…Nami…To me Nami felt a bit…mean to me? And yes even before Arlong Park she chastises the boys, but it never feels like genuine dislike. I really think LA Nami wanted to leave their asses 😭. There was no whimsicalness in her heart, TOO MUCH ANGST in this one. And why on Earth would they change her storyline with the Village, the townspeople know Nami is only working for Arlong to buy back their Village, the LA approach of them not knowing was completely unnecessary conflict😭.

Usopp was done dirty, I know Syrup Village isn’t a lot of people’s favorite arc but it was Usopp’s arc. So tell me why he does nothing the whole time! And why is Zoro’s back story in the middle of USOPP’S arc. They even took his little kid crew…

rip Merry.

Sanji…ooohohohohoh Sanji. Sanji. SANJI. What do you mean the eyebrows wouldn’t work because they’re “too silly” you’re main character is a rubber man and the other fights with three swords what do you mean TOO SILLY. You had a man with cat whiskers fuck you. Tiny swirls would’ve worked. Why was he obsessed with oregano 😭 The showrunner said they toned down his pervertedness and made him more flirty but it just felt…uncomfortable. Like Nami was genuinely UNCOMFORTABLE. They did the exact opposite of what they tried to do. Baratie Sanji was already a flirt, in his little pathetic “step on me mommy” Sanji way, and Nami used that to her advantage she wasn’t uncomfortable in the manga. The Don Krieg pirates were taken out, so we don’t get Gin and Sanji’s kindness on full display. Sanji doesn’t even WITNESS Zoro fight Mihawk which is what made him want to go set out to find the All Blue in the first place. Why don’t Zeff and Sanji have genuine chemistry😭. Sanji throwing a tantrum at Zeff was soooooo funny, literally what was that, it happened so suddenly 😭. My friend told me the showrunner said his fave arc was Baratie but he only ever talks about MIHAWK 😭, it’s SANJI’s arc bro.

And also the showrunner thinks the romance dawn trio are the main characters when…they’re not😭? Maybe before Usopp joined, but after?…no all the strawhats are the main characters hello. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, Jinbē. I don’t have high hopes for S2, and I probably won’t watch it either.

Edit: OPLA Sanji feels like a heterosexual man. He only tops women and doesn’t fuck or get fucked by men.

#ask

56 notes · View notes

iamatinydinosaur · 11 months ago

Note

Hello! I really liked the wording of my application and thank you very much :DSomething I hadn't considered until I read it is thatThe brother reader will have unconsciously seen Ramón on a couple of occasions as a father figure since he was the only one who took care of the reader for 20 years. Thinking of Ramón as a “papá luchon” seems adorable to me (in my country we refer to single fathers and mothers who support their children with their own work, without any other presence to help them, therefore, they have to fight against the adversities) If possible, can you write something related to this topic about Ramón and the reader? (gender neutral)

🐾Branch🐾

Through the Years

You were 3 and Branch was 5 when Grandma died. It was just you two. You watched as your older brother lost his colors. You were so scared. Branch saw this and promised he would never let anything happen to you. You were all he had left. Grandma's death effected you a lot, just not to the extent that it effected Branch. You were afraid of everything, never wanting to leave Branch's side. He preferred this anyways.

You Age 7 and Branch age 9

You ran into the bunker crying. Branch ran into the main room. "Y/N what's wrong?!" He exclaimed seeing you covered in scratches, dirt and slightly bleeding. "I w-as col-lecting berries and some sp-id-ers attac-ked me." You hiccuped. Branch got a napkin and wiped your tears away. "I told you to wait for me before you went to go get the berries." He whispered grabbing a warm bowl of water with a rag and a first aid kit. He rung out the rag and started wiping the wet rag over your face to get rid of the dirt. "I wanted to surprise you and show I'm getting big and help you." You pouted, sniffling. "You do so much. Maybe if I helped more maybe your colors would come back..." You looked down. Branch's heart swelled. He kissed your forehead. You looked at him shocked. "You're growing up too quickly. Stop it." He said smiling as he cleaned your scrapes. You giggled.

You age 10 Branch age 12

Branch laughed. You had made a dance number to your favourite song. You wore a silly outfit and danced horribly. Branch knew he had to help your dancing ability. You stroked your ending pose.

Branch fell on the floor laughing his hardest. "Did you like it?!" You exclaimed jumping up and down. Branch wiped his tears getting up. "It was amazing. But let me help you improve the dancing. Your voice is amazing but your moves..." He teased. The rest of the day Branch showed you to do the moves better. This was the first time in 5 years you had seen him dance again. "Just like that see." He said turning to you. However, he froze seeing tears in your eyes. "What's wrong! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.!" He exclaimed hugging you. "No, no. You used to dance and sing all the time before Grandma... I just missed this." You mumbled hugging him.

You age 14 Branch age 16

It was Branch's 16th birthday. You had gotten up at 4. Branch gets up at 6 am everyday so you wanted his birthday breakfast ready before he got up. You had been practicing this breakfast for the past month after he's gone the bed to make sure it's perfect. It was about 5:55 when you had finished. You made for the both of you eggs Benedict, blueberry scones, fresh apple juice and bagels with an assortment of jams. "Morning Y/N, why are yo-" He stopped mid sentence when he saw the dining room table. His eyes watered and looked at you. "Happy Birthday Branch!"

You age 18 and Branch age 20

You layed on your bed, covers over your head. You sniffled. You had just got back from what was supposed to be your 1 year anniversary date with your partner. "Hey." Branch said softly holding two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream. He placed them on your bedside table. You curled into a tighter ball. Branch sighed sitting on your bed. You slowly pulled the blanket off your face. Your cheeks were puffy, tear marks ran down your face and your eyes were bloodshot. "What happened?" He asked pulling your head onto his lap. "They broke up with me. They love someone else." You whispered burying your head into his stomach. This irked Branch. This low life scum hurting his baby sibling. "When I see this punk again I swear." He grumbled rubbing your back. This made you giggle slightly. "I made your favorite, hot chocolate." He whispered brushing your hair. You rolled over and sat up. You smiled taking it. You knew you'd always be able to count on your big brother.

A/N: I loved writing this. When I got this request I always thought Branch would only show you things he never did in the first movie (just not singing) I hope you like it!! ✨✨

#trolls band together #brozone #branch x sibling reader #branch trolls

116 notes · View notes

rachetmath · 10 months ago

Text

Rwby x video game

Ruby: Whoo… that was tough.

Yang: I can’t believe that Grimm trapped us in those video games like that.

Weiss: Indeed, my game was difficult.

Ruby: How so?

Weiss: I was a witch. I controlled time, had many weapons, and summoned creatures. But I had to do some embarrassing poses.

Ruby: Oh you were Bayonetta. That was cool. Mid though. What about you Yang?

Yang: I was in this arcade game where I fought a bunch of people in the streets.

Ruby: Oh. I mean you fit the description of someone vandalizing property.

Yang: You know it. What about you Blake?

Blake: I was a ninja. But instead of fighting just other ninjas, I was fighting monsters. And I also wield multiple weapons too.

Ren: You too. I was a samurai and I was fighting demons. And I can summon creatures to help me as well. And I had multiple weapons.

Blake: One of mine was a scythe.

Ruby; Really? Man. That sucks.

Yang: What was your game, Ruby?

Ruby: I was a devil hunter. I also had a lot of weapons. But I mainly used three and a few metal arms.

Yang: Metal arms? Holy crap.

Ruby: My bosses were insane, especially the final boss.

Ren: What about you Nora?

Nora: I fought my father.

Ren: What?

Nora: I fought my father who was trying to take my son. I did what I could but he was too strong. I managed though and survived. However, I pushed my son away from me and he left me alone. I was happy when he came back but things only got worse. I lost my friend. And though I managed to talk some sense into my father, my grandfather killed him right in front of me.

Ren: Nora it was a game.

Nora: It was real to me!

Ruby: Okay. Oscar and Emerald, how was your gaming experience?

Emerald: I was a badass treasure hunter.

Oscar: I was a guy who wielded a Keyblade and had to fight the darkness. I made many friends but my main ones were a duck and a dog. Mainly the dog.

Ruby: Interesting. Well, Jaune what about you? What game did you go to?

Jaune: You can’t be serious. All of you have only been to one game?

Ruby: Yeah. I was in DMC.

Yang: I was in Street Fighters.

Blake: Ninja Gaiden.

Weiss: Bayonetta.

Jaune: Which one? In fact, red, blue or purple?

Weiss: Purple.

Ren: Nioh.

Nora: God of War Ragnorock

Emerald: Tomb Raider.

Oscar: Kingdom Hearts.

Jaune: Oh my god. For real?

Ruby: Matter of fact, you’ve been gone for a while. What game were you in?

Jaune: I was in four.

Yang: Four? Like the fourth-

Jaune: No I was in four games?

Oscar: What were they like?

Jaune: Um hell.

Ruby: O.

Jaune: I was in hell. First I was in the Resident Evil series.

Yang: Number?

Jaune: 8.

Yang: Oo did you enjoy-

Jaune: I didn’t see the appeal. Especially, if the same tall woman, is trying to kill and eat you. And they were mild compared to a fungus monster, a crazy doll, a fetus, and an insane man with magnetic powers with the temper of a nine-year-old. I don’t know how I survived half that nonsense.

Yang: Damn.

Jaune: That was light work though. Then I went to find something called the Elden Ring.

Nora: Oh. Did you score any maidens?

Jaune: I will hurt you.

Ren: I mean it couldn’t been that bad. What was your role?

Jaune: The victim.

Weiss: Didn’t you have weapons?

Jaune: Of course, in Resident Evil I had guns. Then for Elden Ring, I had swords and magic. Too bad I was against insane bosses who were completely out of my league. And one of them was a man who fought me with his bare hands!

Nora: Oh.

Jaune: Had my butt bent over.

Oscar: Pause.

Jaune: Then Melina. Oh god. Oh god, A dragon flame thrower.

Blake: Jaune?

Jaune: After I got done with that madness, I went further deep into hell. Where my only option was to run.

Ruby: From what?

Jaune: Killer toy monkeys. An evil little girl. Clowns. Human-legged ducks. Golden Statues. Bagged Nurses. A Stuffed Mama Bear doll. I was lucky there weren’t more.

Ruby: Oh god.

Jaune: All while collecting these purple gems and running from the devil while assisting a witch. Who I have to admit is very hot.

Emerald: Who were the worst?

Jaune: The worst ones were the Joy-joy Gang.

Emerald: Who were they?

Jaune: Animatronic robots.

Oscar: How were they so bad?

Jaune: Dark Deception. They’ll let you think you had a chance. First, they can become a giant ass robot. One of them can run faster than me. And when you think you've beaten all three of them, nine more will take their place- They have an army. Unlike the others, those guys had a better chance of catching me. They were just having fun. And when they caught me… … *remembers the beatdown* I swear if it wasn’t for their boss still needing me alive I wouldn’t have survived.

Oscar: What was the last game?

Jaune: … …

Oscar: Jaune? Jaune what was the last game?

Jaune: *remembers the people he lost. The people he’s murdered. The monsters he’s faced. The choice that could change everything.*

Jaune: I have no regrets.

Oscar: What?

Jaune: Nothing Oscar.

Ruby: Um… Are you going to be okay?

Jaune: Yep. As long as we killed the thing?

RWBY and NERO: … …

Jaune: Don’t tell me.

*Roars*

Jaune: Let’s see. Nine of us are here. Giant boss. Yep, we’re in an RPG.

Ruby: Let’s go team.

Jaune: Wait what are our roles though?

*bob*

Ruby: Sniper. Cool.

Yang: Brawler. Nice.

Blake: Ninja. Hm.

Weiss: Mage. Indeed.

Emerald: Thief. Awesome.

Oscar: Support. Ah.

Nora: Berserker. Yes.

Ren: Archer. I’m fine with this.

Jaune: *terrified*

Nora: What’s your role Jaune?

Jaune: HEY! FIGHT ME!! FIGHT! ME!

Ruby: Tank.

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #lie ren #jaune arc #oscar pines #emerald sustrai

123 notes · View notes

kankuroplease · 6 months ago

Note

can you, make a Hc for Mika please, an uchiha inozuka man, mid-length hair, wild claw eyes, ringtones?! give it to me and I love it! 😭 another crush that doesn't exist lol 🤧

Wolfgang never heard her curse his name the way Ringo did the day the triplets born

Mika was a massive baby, literally the biggest baby Ringo ever had to birth and she swore he was their last kid

Despite the rough birth and agonizing last trimester, the triplets were relatively easy babies

All upsets were usually fixed by put them next to each other, although Wolfgang worried that Mika was too big and active to sleep next to his siblings

He looked about 3 months older and acted that way too given he could hold his head up and roll over before Leonie and Sena

But Ringo insisted Mika wouldn’t hurt his siblings and she was right

Leonie would accidentally yank his hair and cry but he never retaliated (he did cry until they got him free though) and Sena would suck on his cheek sometimes and he just allowed it

As the triplets aged, Mika was clearly the gentler of the bunch

He was also Ringo’s Mama’s boy, making sure to give her a hug everyday before he did anything else

He also went to her for comfort whenever he had a scraped knee or any other pain and she had no problem with it (he baby 🥹)

Even when Sena mocked him for being so needy and whining to mom over “nothing”

A lot of Fredericks friends thought he was the same age as them because he was almost the same height as the older boys

His dad often joked that his big appetite was going to leave the family broke because Mika really could eat a lot

He just didn’t seem to put on any weight

Despite knowing Sena would insult him or possibly harm him if he was in a foul mood, Mika still tried to get Sena to play with him and Leonie because it made him happy when they all got along

Even if he did end up fighting with his triplet, he never told on him and would just claim any injury was an accident

When they grew out of that phase, Mika didn’t hold any grudges against his brother

He was given his father’s last wolf pup as his companion

He was much too happy to finally be able to have one on one conversations with his brother

He wrote to grandmother Sumi a lot and looked forward to hearing from her. She even sent him some hair pins after he asked her if she could send him something she really liked

Grandmother Ebba always brought him around the Inuzuka’s to brag about how cute and big he was

Asahi taught him some self defense techniques

Kuri always brushed his hair out of his face and let him sleep next to her when he had nightmares

He often got stuck posing for Leonie for hours when she got into portraits

He didn’t really mind but the chickens didn’t like having to be held for long periods of time

If he was getting into trouble, it was definitely because he listened to Sena

He was still regarded as the family cry baby and took up the habit of going off to cry as he didn’t want anyone knowing he was crying

It was during one of those times of crying in the woods that he heard someone sobbing MUCH louder than himself

When he went to investigate, he found a girl whaling

He tried to ask if she was lost just shook her head and didn’t say anything else

he sat with her and sung her a song his mom always sang him to cheer him up until she calmed down

When she finally stopped crying, he learned she was an orphan was left with some nuns in town

She was worried her uncle wasn’t coming back, meaning she’d have no more family

And Mika being Mika told her if that happens, he’ll be her family. He’s got a pretty big family and most of his siblings like him, so he was sure he was fit for the role

He introduced her to his siblings and friends so she wouldn’t feel so lonely the next day

And like clockwork, every other day, he’d show up to get her to go play with the others

Mika ignored when the others would tease them about being “in love” because they were always together, but Sofi would it upset and run off

Which made him lecture his other friends about upsetting her so (and made them tease him more about defending his “girlfriend” like some knight)

They’d make different origami designs with Kuri’s help. Sofi always wanted to trade Leonie for one of her red origami pieces

Napping under trees with the other kids after long days of playing

He looked forward to seeing her as she was fun to be around

Once they entered their preteens, the nuns didn’t appreciate them spending too much time together alone and so, he was forced to see less of her

His parents thought this was ridiculous (some of their other kids they might understand, but Mika? The boy was very pure hearted) and gave him task as close to the orphanage as possible so the kids could still see each other occasionally

But even that got completely forbidden after they caught Mika cleaning the blood off her scraped knee with his mouth

That was the last time Mika saw his friend and rumors flew about them sending her away to become a nun too

He so, he still made sure to leave a red paper crane for her on her birthday on the steps of the orphanage just in case she could somehow get it

Years later, when he was about to leave her birthday gift as usual he was caught off guard by the door opening

Sofi greeted him as if no time had passed at all and remarked he looked exactly how she remembered him

Turns out those nuns really did send her off, not to a nunnery like the rumors said, but a college (that might as well had been one)

She was set to be the towns new school teacher

He missed most of what she was saying from his heart racing from his joy of seeing her smile again

He ended up blurting out tmi to try and catch Sofi up on his life quickly (he’s a craftsman, he still helps out with his mom and dad,he got a weird rash a few summers ago but it cleared up, etc.)

Sofi giggled and told him to take a deep breath

hugging for a while before she took her crane, thanked him, and told him they’d have all the time in the world catch up but it was getting late

After that day, the two picked up back where they left off in closeness

He loved getting to spend time with her again

But Sofi definitely made things hard (pun intended)

It didn’t help that she didn’t set any boundaries with him

They weren’t kids anymore, so her cuddling up next to him under the trees and propping her head on his chest felt more intimate

Her still singing the songs he taught her when they were younger made him feel so special

Her soft curves he could just make out when she wore lighter clothes made his mouth water

Her sweet smile, wide hips, and thick thighs guest starred in his dreams and his days difficult

He already knew he was in trouble because his father and older brothers warned him about those Inuzuka like responses when there was an attraction to another

And it’s not like he never had a crush on anyone, he had several

This just felt more intense. irresistible even

And it didn’t help she was naturally good with kids. It made it easy to imagine her as being the mother of his children

Asahi gave him pitying looks when he came across the two. Mika’s pupils blown as Sofi linked arms with him

Kuri was no help as she often went on about how Sofi looked good in this or that

Frederick was generally just shocked that Mika was a virgin. Sure he’s the most timid out of them all and the women around them liked bulkier men, but not even just the tip? Wild

Leonie could tell he was craving Sofi and took to teasing him about needing to stake his claim before the nuns make her into one of them

Elke had a good amount of suitors both Inuzuka and non-Inuzuka chasing after her and she would fish through her love letters to find ones to tell him to act more like (and who not to act like)

Arashi wrote him a letter of telling him where to dig for a ring he’d buried last time he was in town and wished his big brother luck. He always liked Sofi and thought a Claddagh ring would suit her/their relationship well

His father told him to just ask the girl out

His mom kept inviting her to dinner to try and get the ball rolling for them

He tried to ignore the butterflies and bite his tongue about asking the cheesy question of she remembered he offered to make her his family

Instead choosing to let it run it’s course hoping it would die down naturally

Which was a good plan, a great plan even. But he really couldn’t tell her to leave his home in the middle of a bad storm

And it made sense to share a blanket for warmth

It wasn’t a big deal 🤡

Come the second day, they did get a bit carried away with drinking and play fighting because they’re both very ticklish

And Sofi jokingly bit his shoulder to get him back in some way (because he had her pinned by the waist) making him groan and jump off her

She apologized for the bite and he apologized for not stopping sooner but instead she didn’t have to apologize

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Mika joked that maybe they’ve been hanging around each other too much if she’s starting to behave like an Inuzuka

And the look on her face of disappointment made him panick and stumble over his words

He loved having her around and even his family liked having her around.. She could even move into his place if she wanted to and they could be together forever

“Is that a promise or a proposal, Mika”

The most desperate “I love you” slipped out honestly before he could stop himself

Sofi kissed the tip of his nose and said she’d waited so long for him to love her back that it feels surreal hearing it

Mika swore he’d say it as many times as it took for her to believe him

After that stormy confession, the two decided to tell his family that they wanted to get married

And without any objections, they were able to do after Arashi and Sena came back~

It took him a while to stop blushing when he said his wife and Sofia’s students found it funny to pick on him about it

But nothing could ruin his happiness when he saw her

#ask #kpz naruto founder au #tw suggestive #my art #knfau 🖼️#kpz pack 🐺

55 notes · View notes

dumpsterfire-daydreams · 3 months ago

Text

(Content warnings: physical intimidation (sparring/wrestling), physical violence (sparring/wrestling), sexual innuendo, sexually suggestive, choking, manhandling, Ghost being an asshole, aggressive Ghost, protective Alejandro, protective König, impressed Soap, Soap and König silliness)

Reader POV:

You made a quick stop at your room before rushing over to the gym. Luckily, you’d packed a pair of black yoga shorts in your bag. But all of the tops you'd picked out were definitely not made with exercise in mind. They were far too delicate and frilly. And you wanted them to stay that way. So, when you arrived at the gym, you were dressed in your yoga shorts and one of Price’s old shirts. It was more than a bit big. It fit you more like a mini dress. The sleeves had been haphazardly cut off, too. Left behind were two gaping holes that dropped down to your waist, revealing the sides of your sports bra. But it would do the job. Luckily, you were able to spot the gym pretty quickly. Price was standing outside the door waiting for you. Once he was sure that you’d seen him, he slipped back inside before you followed a few seconds later.

The gym was pretty large. It was one big room that was split into two sections. In the back half was an assortment of exercise equipment. A collection of barbells, a few machines, and some punching bags.

As for the first half, soft mats covered about half of the room's floor and gave it a springy feel. Lines of tape had been placed to create neatly sectioned off squares for trainees to spar in. Each one was occupied by other members of the team. Soap and Alejandro chatted as they stretched, waving at you as you walked by. König was sitting cross-legged on the floor, catching up with his opponent as he threw a few practice kicks in the air. As you continued past him, he looked up at you with confusion in his eyes. But you just gave him a shrug and told him you’d explain later.

In the backmost row, Ghost sat alone. He was leaning against the wall, stretching his arms. You had never seen him in anything but his tactical gear. But now, he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted black shirt. The sleeves were short, revealing the sheer size of his arms for the first time. They were covered with tattoos that rippled on his skin as he flexed. With an exasperated sigh, you made your way to his corner of the room.

As you entered the square of tape, Ghost rose and slowly lumbered towards you. He took his sweet time rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles as he went. If he was trying to get into your head, to frighten you before a single punch was thrown, he was succeeding.

"Ready for round one?" He laughed, the sound unsettling. "I guess this would actually be round two, now wouldn't it?"

Your eyes darted across the room to König, terrified that he'd overheard the suggestive remark. But he was none the wiser as he calmly faced off with his own sparring partner. His knees were bent slightly in a fighting position as he watched them, waiting for their first attack.

"Shut up," you hissed, mimicking König's pose as best you could.

Ghost rolled his shoulders, raising his fists to eye height as he crouched. "Make me."

His movements were almost feline. It reminded you of a tiger crouching in the grass, waiting to sink its claws into the unsuspecting prey that had wandered a hair too close.

The sound of everyone else beginning to wrestle filled the room. But the two of you were frozen in place, sizing each other up. As the seconds dragged on, you could feel the muscles of your legs begin to tire from the prolonged crouch. Then it dawned on you. He was waiting you out. Waiting for you to slip, falter, or lose focus. Without warning, his body lurched towards you. It was a diversion, a false attack. But by the time you realized, you had already flinched.

It was a tiny movement, but a huge error. Ghost seized the moment and dove at you. He'd caught you mid-adjustment, so that you had even less time to both regain your balance and then try to react. His fist drove into your shoulder full force, the momentum sending you stumbling to the right and into his waiting arm. It caught you in the stomach, causing your body to bow forward at the point of contact. From there, all you could do was flail wildly as he lifted you up off the ground and then threw you onto the floor.

Your back met the padded surface with a thud. The impact left you dazed and breathless as he stood over you, his feet planted on either side of your shoulders. Your upper arm throbbed and you were certain a nice bruise would appear there later on. But the pain sharpened as Ghost dug the toe of his combat boot into that exact spot.

You shoved at his foot, clutching your arm in pain.

"Asshole," you muttered. "That hurt!"

His mask twitched as he smirked. "But you like it when things hurt."

You glared up at him, your jaw clenched. Ghost crouched down above you, the crotch of his pants floating brazenly close to your face as he spoke.

"You wouldn't last five minutes in the field." He hissed, voice lowered to a whisper. "All they'd have to do is rough you up a bit. Call you a whore. And you'd spread your legs right open for them, wouldn't you?"

"Fuck you!" You spat, your voice dripping with venom.

"Fuck you?" he trailed a finger along your cheek and across your bottom lip. "Oh, they would. And you'd enjoy every second of it. Whore ."

Finally, he backed off and rose to his feet again. You laid there between his legs, his massive form all the more intimidating as he stared you down. His eyes taunted you. He was having the time of his life throwing you around. Glaring daggers at him as you scooted out from beneath his shadow, you were more determined than ever to wipe that smirk off his face.

As soon as you were on your feet again, you lunged. You hoped the sudden aggression would catch him off guard. The enraged battle cry that flew out of your mouth surprised you as you charged at him, fists flying. You wanted to punch his infuriating face so badly. But you just grew even more furious as Ghost laughed at you. He effortlessly dodged every punch and jab, leaning his torso just out of your reach each time. You were at a distinct disadvantage, forced to punch upward if you wanted any hope of hitting his face. One of your punches almost succeeded though. It would have nicked his jaw if he hadn't grabbed your fist mid-strike. He spun you around so that your back was facing him, almost like a ballroom twirl. And he completed the movement by locking your arm painfully behind your back.

"Pathetic." He growled, sending you stumbling away with a rough shove.

Across the room, you saw König. He was fully focused on his own power struggle as he toppled his opponent with ease. His long legs tangled around their torso as he rolled them over, twisting their arm behind their back in victory. His eyes met yours from across the room and he gave you a small wave, still keeping his opponent pinned down with just one hand. As the soldier beneath him hurriedly tapped out, you waved back and gave him a smile.

Ghost's eyes darkened as he followed your gaze. "Eyes on me," he growled. "I won't warn you again."

You refocused and barely had time to raise your hands before he charged you again. You shut your eyes, raising your forearm to block your face as you threw a blind punch at his torso. But your jab met empty air as Ghost went low. The world around you tilted abruptly as he ducked, cleanly sweeping your feet from beneath you with his leg.

When you crashed against the floor and Ghost's immediately lurched forward to pin you down. But you rolled away as fast as you could. You couldn’t match his strength, skill, or speed. But maybe you could use your size difference to your advantage.

Taking a page out of König’s book, you turned and swung your legs around his neck. He reacted quickly, sitting up on his knees and seizing your ankles as he prepared to throw you off of him. You dug your calves into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. But you knew he'd eventually succeed. So you waited until your position began to slip as he started flipping you forward over his head. At the last possible second, you grabbed a handful of his mask and braced for the impending impact. His eyes went wide as he realized your plan, but you were already falling and he had already let go. And as you fell, his mask was ripped off of his head.

The entire room froze in shock as Ghost was left barefaced. As you landed, all you got to see was a brief flash of blonde hair and a pair of furious eyes before he spun to face away. He tugged the neckline of his shirt up past his nose before turning back around and storming towards you. You flinched as he reached down, yanking his mask out of your hand and then turning away to replace it. Once his face was fully concealed again, he glared down at you.

"Get up," he yelled. Oddly enough, he'd never raised his voice at you before. But hearing it now, it was terrifying. "I'm gonna make you pay for that."

You nervously climbed to your feet, hands raised and heart pounding. Everyone else’s sparring had ground to a halt, their attention glued to the two of you. He might punch the hardest. But you had still humiliated him in front of his entire team. Now it was your turn to wear a shit-eating grin. He snarled, charging at you like a raging bull. Your smirk disappeared as you abandoned any sort of strategy and ran. You turned tail and ran like hell. But he gained on you in seconds, his arms locking around your midsection as he tackled you onto the ground face first. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs. And with his full weight on top of you, it made it much harder to refill them. But he wasn't done. He readjusted, now straddling your hips. Then his forearm slipped under your chin, locked into place against his other arm, and then pulled back. Hard. Your body arched upward at a painful angle as your head was yanked back in a headlock. The motherfucker was going to choke you out.

Eyes wild, your gaze happened to land on Alejandro across the room. His eyes were wide too, but he urgently motioned for you to tap out. You slapped your hand against the mat twice, signaling that you surrendered. But Ghost just growled and pulled even harder. The edges of your vision began to slowly darken and the world around you shifted out of focus. Your taps against the floor continued, but they were growing weaker by the second. You could hear König screaming at him to stop. His voice sounded distant and muffled.

“Ghost, you’ve won,” Price yelled, heading your way. “The girl’s had enough!”

At the last possible second, he let you go and allowed your upper body to fall back onto the mats. You coughed and sputtered, fighting to catch your breath.

"We're done." Ghost announced with finality before standing and stomping his way out of the gym. The door slammed hard behind him.

From the other end of the room, someone broke the tense silence with a slow clap. You rolled over with a groan, trying to see where it was coming from. And Soap entered your view, his eyes wide with shock.

"You've got guts, lass," he laughed, helping you up as everyone rushed to your side. "In all my years, I've never seen someone brave enough to do that. Best fight I've ever seen."

König scrambled over to you, tugging you against him protectively. You were grateful as he let you lean back against his chest, offering you a cup of cold water.

"You did amazing, Maus," he said, rubbing your arm to comfort you. “But are you okay? I think Ghost went a bit too far with you. I’m sorry.”

Your voice came out hoarse, but you smiled. “I’m okay.”

As you sipped at your water, König gave you a gentle squeeze before moving to sit at your side. Your body ached. But you were still riding high on your tiny victory. This time, Ghost got to be the one who was helpless and exposed. It wasn’t much, but it made you feel really good. Oh, revenge was sweeter than honey.

Soap leaned down, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. "Do König next."

König laughed, tucking the bottom of his hood into the neck of his shirt. "Nein, do not listen to him."

"Oh come on!" Soap teased. "What are you hiding under there? Tentacles? Fangs? Snacks?"

Soap jokingly swiped at König’s hood as if to yank it off and König ducked. Soon, the two of them were running around the room like children, laughing raucously as they chased each other.

As they began goofing off, Price came to sit beside you.

"I think I failed your assignment today," you sighed.

"I feel quite the opposite. I could tell you had some fight in you. I'm actually impressed!" He offered you his own water bottle as you emptied your cup, but you declined in favor of catching your breath. "So, I wouldn't necessarily call it failure."

"You wouldn't?"

"Look at it this way. Ghost is almost impossible impress. But there's no one he respects more than someone who can either match him or straight out defeat him in a fight. He might not show it, but I can promise you that you earned a bit of his respect today. Even if it's just a little. Now he knows you're not the type to just lie down and take it."

"But I was that type," you winced internally. "And he knows that too..."

"Really?" You sighed. "From where I was sitting, I felt like I just made things worse. I've never seen him so angry before."

Price climbed to his feet, extending his hand to help you do the same. "Many things can hide behind a mask of anger, Y/n. Remember that."

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

#YHSIW #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #simon riley x reader #call of duty smut #simon riley x konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader

27 notes · View notes

shizukateal · 13 days ago

Note

Hey, I want to ask you something because I'm in somewhat of an impasse. It's about magical girl fashion. To start at the beginning, I'm planning to design magical girl costumes/clothing for characters from a piece of media. My main struggle is, how to make the costumes visibly a magical form while also retaining its practicality. These characters move around a lot during battle and in general, and even the ones who use ranged weaponry do get to have their one-on-one fight occasionally when fighting enemies. So how do I design a magical girl costume, without sacrificing personality and 'fanciness', so to speak...while also being practical so that there'd be few things for an enemy to potentially grab or things to get stuck somewhere?

The key is always verisimilitude in movement and weight. You don't have to be perfectly grounded in what's practical for the form of combat your character takes, you just have to make something that seems like it at least wouldn't get in their way and which compliments them stylistically.

For a concrete exercise recommendation I give you this: draw your characters in different action poses, with as much range of motion as their fighting style allows. Put the clothes and hair on them. Now, if you find an element in the design that seems to be impractical, ask yourself before deleting it "how much and how consistently can I cheat the physics of this element to make it work with this fighting style?".

Take Batman's cape for example. In real life that would be impractical as all hell (Edna Mode's rant and all), especially since Batman primarily uses martial arts, but the illustrators and animators "cheat" by making it flow in a way that doesn't get in the way of him throwing punches and kicks. If Batman is fighting mano a mano the cape stays neatly behind his back and only the bottom moves a bit without ever turning front. Enemies conveniently avoid grabbing him by it and on the off chance they go for that option then he'll overpower them and use their grip against them. If he's dodging or stalking then suddenly the material is more floaty or almost liquid. If he does a big dramatic jump then the cape will perfectly retain its wing shape mid air for as long as it's needed to really imprint the fact that yes, indeed, he does look like a bat. What's important is that you're never really asking yourself how much Batman's cape weights, even if you understand that it's not realistic. You know that the cape will be more stiff around his torso and shoulders and more loose at the bottom, you get how those differences interact to make the whole, and you also get that sometimes the whole will become a bit stiffer if it's for the sake of maintaining a cool pose. So as long as the cape moves consistently with that in mind no one will give a fuck that it doesn't snag on everything around it.

However, this also means that there's a limit to how acrobatically Batman moves, unlike the robins, because there are only so many ways you can stylize that movement before you break the verisimilitude of the physics involved. Can Batman do a cartwheel with a cape that moves like that? Yeah, sometimes, but to keep the stylization consistent the cape would need to move so slow that it would strain suspension of disbelief for him to do so all the time instead of dodging normally.

That's the "problem" (quotes because it is a matter of personal taste) I have with most modern Precure outfits. Good or bad, the dresses are so charged and the hairstyles so big that the animators can't really move those elements in a way that compliments their fighting style of big jumps, punches and kicks. You try to pose them for a generic jab and you have to contend with both their massive skirts not getting in the way of their stance and their hair not whipping around in a way that would unbalance them, and the result ends up feeling way too artificial because everything has to remain unnaturally frozen in place for it to work. Oops!

But ok, those are practical concerns, what about choosing the stylization itself? Well, movement can still help us a lot on that area.

Let me be predictable as I turn your eyes towards the Holy Quintet once more. First let's focus on Sayaka Miki, who also has an overdramatic cape.

As we can see in this gif above, Sayaka's cape is constantly flaming, not only in the sense of how it moves but in the shape it most consistently retains, always coming from the focalized point of her neck. This loose application of physics makes it move wherever it would help her silhouette look more impactful aided by the short hair not presenting the usual competition that would be present on other magical girls (looking at you Cure Sky), although of course it can stay still and quietly cascading when it's stylish. But even beyond that the movement of the cape matches a consistent motif in how Sayaka moves within her fighting style and what that means in the context of her aesthetic. If you rewatch the show or most of her transformation sequences you'll notice that Sayaka tends to swoop into to or dive into the action. Of the Holy Quintet she's the one who seems to run the fastest and usually in a straight line, because that's what she is: heroic and straightforward.

Now let's make a broader comparison with the 5 members of the team.

Naoko Yamada from Kyoto Animation fame has said that you can tell a lot about a girl from her legs and in this case she's right. Starting from the left, Kyoko has thigh-highs and pirate boots that cinch below the knee, and along her skirt her legs are framed by her long-coat. Her weapon is a spear, a weapon that requires a stance that must be solid but still quick enough to shift, so the weight of her outfit is focused downwards while her shoulders are exposed for mobility but her arms and especially her wrists are protected, and her big ponytail balances the whole thing. Sayaka runs fast and she sword fights, so she's covered in most of the same areas as Kyoko since she needs a similar balance of stance and mobility, but the weight is put more around her torso so she can run more freely and the cape frames her arms instead of her legs, because her sword serves mostly to slash and so her arms will move more stiffly than Kyoko's. It's another genius way to show they're foils.

Mami has very long, stylish guns and uses her ribbons as vines to move around. Stance also matters in her case, but not in the same way as the previous two. She doesn't need to keep standing on her feet, she needs to move around more freely and even crouch or kneel at times, so her boots are very form-fitting, but there's still some ease and looseness with her absolute territory. And since pointing a gun requires a stable grip and quick reflexes on the fingers her arms are heavier and her gloves are finger-less. But beyond all of those practical concerns you'll notice that she's very very fond of twirling around, whether standing on the ground or in mid-jump, so it's important to her that her skirt has that furls and unfurls like a blossoming flower.

Homura's legs are very highlighted. Unlike Mami who jumps around in her loose skirt doing somersaults an adds unnecessary frills to her movements Homura is efficient. Precise. Practically a rectangle. Her stocking-boots protect her whole legs and keep them compressed and strong without sacrificing much mobility were it not for her very high and thin stilettos. There's a limit to how quick she can run in those things before making her run cycle look kinda stupid, so instead her focus is to do as much as she can with the least amount of movements possible. She elegantly falls feet-first and poses into action, her hair moving most of all in a similar manner to Sayaka's cape. When she's Moemura, however, her braids flop clumsily like oversized ears on a puppy. She'll look good with a big gun like Mami since her silhouette is so subdued, but since her specialty are bombs and short guns her uniform calls more attention to her hands.

And last but not least we have Madoka. Constantly perched on her rounded tippy-toes due to her high heels, with bunched up shoulders and dainty gloves that call attention to her wrists. Her outfit is designed to highlight her Girly Run. Kyoko flails her arms, Sayaka dives, Mami twirls, Homura glides and Madoka bounces around, hence her buoyant tutu. But she's also an archer. Now, would a real archer wear those dainty, frilly, white tea-time gloves? Haha, no. But that doesn't change the fact that gloves are a useful thing for an archer to wear. It's credible enough and it fits her style, so why not add it?

Please note however that I'm not saying the Holy Quintet's outfits are the only way to handle their respective fighting and movement styles. Rather, I'm trying to teach you how the elements they use compliment them so you can analyze what you want to achieve and start looking for solutions from there. Here, let's make a comparison between characters with the same core idea and what the subtle differences in their executions tell us about them.

Now, why would two catgirl magical girls both wear round-toed, tight boots that highlight their knees? Well, because cat's hind legs are one big feet up to the knee is why. And if you're gonna stand in all fours then might as well add some gloves for protection. Then add a puffy skirt for bounce and dessert theming and voilá, jumpy acrobatic cat. If anything, however, I'd say Mew Ichigo's fit is better movility-wise, because her bob is lighter and less obstructive, her skirt and boots allow for more range of motion, and her gloves look thicker and more resistant. But both work well for their purposes, it's just that Ichigo is built more around the agility of a cat and Macaron around its elegance.

Then we have Cat Noir, who has 3 ways of moving: his acrobatics -similar to Ichigo-, his bo-staff, and his cataclysm. Notice that his joints stick out from his otherwise form-fitting literal catsuit. This is because he puts even more of his weight into those than the previous two. Ichigo mostly jumps catlike with her legs straight, but Chat crouches and stalks and climbs and slashes with his claws, and sometimes I think he even uses his bo-staff to fence like a rapier. He may be the most practical out of the 3, but on the other hand notice that his feet seem the heaviest both because of how highlighted they are and because the boots seem steel-toed. Chat can contort into positions the other two won't, but he'll likely do less somersault twirls than them because it feels like his feet are too heavy for that. If his tail belt was more alive like an actual tail, however, we might have a different story, because that would provide a counterbalance to the heaviness of the shoes and it could move in a similar way to a skirt.

One last example and I'll be over.

So, I watched The Mandalorian (pirated so that Disney can't legally kill my spouse), and at the end of the first season they give the main character a jet pack. Now, it's important to this character that he wears a long cape because he's brooding and questant and mysterious but with a strict code of conduct and so his pastiche of archetypes includes looking like a crusader knight. So you'd think that getting a jetpack would make him ditch the cape since it's a fire hazard, but no, not quite. Instead he simply gathers it over one of his shoulders, and since the flame of the jetpack is small, so long as the end of the cape doesn't move around to wildly you barely notice that it's there at all. Is it improbable that the whole thing doesn't catch fire? Absolutely. Does it work anyways? Yes!

In conclusion? Find ways to cheat physics. But find them! Don't just stare at your first draft expecting it to do the work for you!

#magical girl fashion #character design #holy quintet #pmmm #batman #the mandalorian #tokyo mew mew #miraculous ladybug #precure a la mode

17 notes · View notes

nkjemisin · 1 year ago

Note

You should try to go see public works Tempest in central park, it’s really incredible and reminded me of the city we became. It’s super insane and beautiful and wild and hard to describe, so even though it’s insane to ask someone to go stand in line all day to see a play based off a random tumblr message I really think you should!

Oooh, I haven't done the line for Shakespeare in the Park in years. Not sure I still have it in me, since it requires getting up at 3 or 4 am and spending hours fighting line-jumpers and so on. But I've been hearing good things about this year's Tempest so maybe I'll muster up the energy. Thanks for the recommendation!

Since you reminded me of it, here's a deleted scene/alternate opening I once wrote for THE WORLD WE MAKE. I decided on a different opening for the final version, obvs, but maybe you'll enjoy what might have been. Cutting because long.

He's just a man standing on a rooftop. The outfit he's wearing is bespoke, by a Harlem tailor who came in second on Project Runway's last season. The jacket is rich brown suede, fine-stitched, over olive-tan pants and a piqué shirt of deepest royal indigo, and he's wearing the hell out of it. If there were anyone around to see, they'd think he was a model, standing in the kind of casual-at-attention pose that only men in magazine photo shoots ever do, with one hand in a pocket and his gaze thoughtfully locked on the cityscape horizon. The model aesthetic is reinforced by the fact that he's got a lean, strong figure and the kind of racial ambiguity that Hollywood diversity advocates love: brown skin that's not too brown, lips full enough to be either natural or recent collagen injections, thick eyebrows that are as sculpted as his cheekbones, eyes with just enough epicanthic fold to qualify as "exotic" but not in like an ethnic way.

He's not a model. He's just Manhattan, human representative of New York's contributions to the fashion, media, and sex work industries. He's not even trying particularly hard to look good. He has simply stopped resisting what comes naturally.

But he's about to be late for work -- and while New York custom permits a degree of conspicuous tardiness as a social power move in certain situations, this particular job is too personally important to him for such games. So he steps up onto the low wall that surrounds the roof, and then he steps off.

It's fine. The building is twelve stories tall; anything over five stories is required to have an elevator per city ordinance. He's been practicing, too, so all he has to do is shut his eyes and imagine, and the city's power holds him aloft in midair as solidly as if he's stepping onto flooring. (He is; it's just flooring that exists in several other iterations of his universe.) Even with this, however, he makes sure to take a step or two forward before calmly turning away from the cityscape. People don't usually stare at the back of an elevator, after all -- and verisimilitude is key. "First floor, please," he murmurs. In earlier days of the city, building elevators were a complicated luxury that required trained staff to operate. In current days of the city, many elevators run on voice activation. At Manhattan's request, there is an electronic ping of acknowledgement, followed by a very faint echo of blended, long-vanished voices: "Watch the door, please, watch your hands, going down." Then he begins to descend. It's smooth, slow; this is only a mid-sized building, not modern or expensive enough to have an express elevator. Only the fact that he's descending through thin air makes it odd.

Just above the sidewalk his descent slows, letting him drift to a gentle halt. There are a few dozen people on the street in this moment, and some of them notice as he just stands there for a moment, letting the metaphysical aethers settle and the metaphorical elevator doors open. The ones who stare are tourists. New Yorkers generally don't react to strangeness, but they do notice it, if only to shake their heads and murmur "This fucking city," to themselves before moving on. Manhattan catches the eye of one of the starers, winks and smiles, then strides off down the street.

As he walks, he hums John Coltrane's "Central Park West" -- not for power this time, but simply because he's walking along Central Park West and likes the song. It's also a beautiful day. Here at the heart of the city it is clear that autumn encroaches: Central Park is across the street, dense with color-shifting trees. Their whispers speak to the part of Manhattan that was more, once, than just concrete and cars; the island has always been here, after all, crossroads for many peoples, and those millennia of commerce were enough to form the building blocks of the living entity that it is now. But mostly, he just likes that rustling sound, and the flickers of color and movement, and the faint whiff of chemical sugars forming and breaking down within the leaves. Something about that scent, and the wind's occasional brisk sharpness, speaks to him.

There is the lightest of touches upon the part of him that is more than a man. Just a ping, to get his attention. "You wanna focus, or you gonna just keep spacing out about the pretty pretty trees, Mr. I Was Bebop Before It Was Cool?"

They've all figured out that words work better than thoughts. They are one city, the six of them, and if they ever need to, they can function as a single brain and heart and will -- but doing that is as overwhelming as it is thrilling. New York isn't supposed to be any single thing, see; the distinct characters of its boroughs are part of its strength. More personally, Manny's probably never going to be super-comfortable with letting his fellow parts of the city into his head, because he's got enough going on in there already.

But he's right in reminding Manny to focus. "Just getting into the spirit," Manny replies, waiting for a gap in the traffic before trotting across the street. Then he vaults the low stone wall around the edge of the park. It's a twelve-foot drop beyond, but he manages it easily enough, landing in a crouch in a wooded thicket already carpeted in red and gold leaves. Doesn't even make his knees twinge. Nothing can hurt New York, in New York, except New York.

Well. And one other thing.

He moves forward at a brisk Midtown pace, pushing aside the branches of small trees as gently as he can so as not to damage them. He starts finding white tendrils almost immediately. Just small patches here and there: three wigglers on a broad, still-green sycamore leaf, one on the tree's gnarling roots nearby. A patch shaped like a handprint growing atop a hooded garbage can; that one's especially nasty, positioned as it is to infect anyone who actually tries to deposit their litter in the can instead of just tossing it somewhere. "Rude," Manny murmurs. He's getting rid of the patches as he passes them, just by touching the wood or ground or metal near each cluster and letting a little of "Central Park West" riff through his mind and down his arm and out through his fingers. Earworms can be handy. Good for killing other wormlike things.

(Not so long ago, it would have taken everything Manny had to get rid of these things. He had to replace all his credit cards after symbolically buying all the real estate around a particular rock in Inwood Park. Now, however, the city is whole -- and these tendrils, tenacious as they are, are tourists from another urban locale who've overstayed their welcome. It's easy to obliterate them, but it's more important to find the bus they came in on, and deal with that.)

"Red alert!" says Padmini -- Queens -- suddenly. She tugs on the shared part of their consciousness, projecting an image onto it that is stunning in its precision: a three-dimensional and topographical map, with a moving cursor at its center and a GPS coordinate meter in the bottom corner. Padmini abruptly zooms them in on the cursor, and then she presents them with a simplified view through her own eyes.

There, jolting slightly as Padmini runs, is their quarry. To most other people in Central Park, the young man who slips down a leaf-thick hill and then scrabbles his way over a tumbled, mossy pile of bedrock is just another cross-country runner, or maybe a parkour practitioner with a greater love of natural settings than most. He's a lanky Indian-looking guy, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt -- but through the lens of Padmini's vision, Manny sees the rest. The guy's got patches of white fronds all over him, and as he runs they waft back like long hair which just happens to be growing from his forearms and shins and ass. Manny's used to this, people who look like yeti crabs, however horrible it is. Far worse is the tendril which projects from the back of the young man's neck, thick and veined in a disturbingly umbilical way, forming a long white cord which twists up and out of sight amid the trees. It stretches up into the sky, Manny knows from three months' experience, attenuating until it disappears from human eyesight with distance -- but wending southward before it does. They all know where that cable terminates.

"Mike check," says Veneza, and Manny's mental eye shifts to her view. She's standing under one of the park's stone bridges, her vision bouncing a little as she crouches to stretch out her ankles. Getting ready to run. Manny feels her excitement as the tendril-covered man comes into view, jogging over a grassy hill covered in early-afternoon sunbathers. But who's he kidding? They all enjoy this. "That's it. Come to mamãe. Drive him like a li'l doggie on the range, Queeny McQueenyface."

"I can't believe you mixed like three metaphors in ten seconds," Padmini replies -- but she zigs left, across one of the roads of the park. Manny catches his breath as she veers into a bike lane, because Central Park bikers all think they're in the Tour de France, but in the same moment he feels her latch into the bikers' sense of hurry and entitlement, drawing their power into her legs. Her pace speeds up sharply, until she's nearly flying down a sloping sidewalk, veering now and again to move around walkers and a small crowd near a pretzel vendor.

"That's the Jersey in me. Metaphors are our pork roll."

"Your what?"

"Pork roll. Look it -- wait, shit, hang on."

Tendril man has seen Veneza and stopped, halfway down the grassy hill. It's eerie to Manny how still he is. After all the running and climbing he's done, he should be out of breath, shoulders heaving, dripping sweat, but he isn't. It's just like the other cases of this they've encountered in the past few weeks; they're running on something other than human power. These tendril-people aren't avatars, however; they're more like drones, sent forth by some other malevolent consciousness and endowed with supernatural power only temporarily, and for their task. And if they don't catch this poor guy before that power gets done using him -- Well. Manny picks up the pace.

Padmini skids to a halt. (A man nearby does a double-take, then nods in a grudgingly impressed way at her athleticism.) "Shit. He's going to bolt, isn't he?"

In lieu of any reply, they all see Tendril Man bolt. He jumps off the steeper side of the rocky hill -- a ten-foot drop; Manny really hopes the poor guy was in shape before he got drafted as a spectral conduit for a hostile extradimensional essence, or he's going to feel that in the morning. Then Tendril Man takes off, moving with truly impressive speed up a paved hill-path.

"FUCK," two of them think. (Manny doesn't curse, but he empathizes.) They all take off running too.

Tendril Man is running toward a big, round building at the top of the hill. Its vendor doors are shut and there are only a few people hanging around near it, but abruptly he zigs toward a big wooden gate labeled PERFORMER ENTRANCE -- and vaults it, with the ease of a master gymnast. Manny might be able to think of a way over it too, if he gives himself a minute; surely there is some quintessentially cityish concept, like elevators for tall buildings, that he can harness to grant himself the ability to jump like that. In the fluster of the moment, however, he can't think of anything. Gotta work on that, do better at having a "jumping" construct ready to go under duress.

In lieu of leaping, however, he manages to remember the grating sound of garbage trucks barrelling down the street at oh dark thirty in the morning, usually with wonky transmissions and brakes that screech loudly enough to set off car alarms. Manny's seen several of them scrape or bang into cars without bothering to stop -- and so he draws into himself the desperate need to hurry and finish a shift, the hulking size and diesel-fueled strength of the trucks, the cheerful pragmatism of the tough workers who chuck heavy bags and kick rats with unflappable equanimity. And as Manny runs at the gate, the world blurs a little and an eyewatering stench surrounds him, and he finds it almost impossible to care about collateral damage because he's got a job to do, come on, come on, let's go...

He remembers enough of himself to dip his shoulder a little as he hits the gate. It only looks like wood; underneath, there's plenty of metal, and he sees that the gate has an electronic number-lock. Probably pretty solid. But his supernaturally-powered shoulder smashes the gate wide open, actually cracking the whole frame in half, too, and part of the fence beyond it.

Oops. Well, he'll make a donation on the website, because now that he's through the gate he sees: THE DELACOURTE THEATER WELCOMES YOU TO SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK.

Tendril Guy is running down the steps of what Manny now sees is a huge open-air amphitheater. He leaps again, a pretty impressive standing jump onto the stage -- and then he stops abruptly. There's a set being deconstructed here; Shakespeare in the Park only runs during the summer months, so someone's in the middle of stripping gigantic rolls of fake grass off the stage floor. And now, from within a huge prop built to look like a small apartment building, the avatar of New York steps forth to confront their enemy.

He's calling himself "Neek," these days -- a phonetic pronunciation of the initials for New York City. He hasn't told them his real name. Manny's not sure it matters anyway; doesn't Manny, of all people, understand that they are no longer who they were? The knowledge and joy and danger of eight million people has found its focus in Neek, and like any of their fellow great cities, this makes him strange. São Paulo was the same, whenever Manny had time and peace enough to study him: a young-old man who radiated urbane cynicism and eerie wisdom all at once. Hong Kong too. Maybe this is the difference between those who represent boroughs or neighborhoods, and those who are whole cities in themselves.

Or maybe it's just Neek. "Yo, man, take a breath," he says to Tendril Guy, as he slouches out of shadow. "Touch some, uh, astroturf. You keep letting that shit run you, won't be anything of you left."

Tendril Guy immediately turns to run, but by this point Manny has reached the other side of the stage. Veneza is in the ampitheater, trotting toward them from the other direction, and from somewhere backstage they can hear Padmini cursing and shoving something heavy aside, because apparently backstage is a mess amid the set breakdown. Unless Tendril Guy can fly -- and Manny puts nothing past the Woman in White -- then he's got nowhere left to run.

It's a dangerous time, though. In the past, whenever they've cornered one of her minions... Tendril Guy backs up, looks around, starts to get tense. Manny tries to think up a construct, and finds himself looking around. At the stage.

Neek's gaze flicks to him, and the little smile on his face widens.

"Two cities," he declares suddenly, spreading his arms wide and raising his voice. The Delacourte's acoustics are perfect, of course, designed to facilitate an outdoors theatrical performance. "Both alike in dignity! In fair Manhattan where we lay our scene."

Of course the theater absorbs this slightly-fudged homage, echoes it, amplifies it, and sends back a reverberation of energy: the faint murmurs and anticipation of a crowd, a lilt of music from a nonexistent orchestra. For just a fleeting moment Manny can almost see the suggestion of bodies in the amphitheater seats, shadowy heads that turn to each other or crane their necks or flip through Playbills. Ready to be enraptured.

Manny finds himself grinning -- but then he panics a little as Neek raises his eyebrows pointedly, because Manny doesn't have any Shakespeare memorized. But Broadway is only a few dozen blocks away; maybe he can use that instead? He sifts quickly through the grab-bag of random quotes in his head. Can't think of an actual line from an actual play, but it's a direct reference, so he clears his throat awkwardly and sings: "They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. There might be city magic in the air."

Stage lights, multihued but mostly white, appear above the seats. The lights aren't real. Manny can see most of the lighting equipment disassembled and stacked up to one side of the stage. Tendril Guy flinches suddenly and violently, staggering back. Steam rises as Tendril Guy raises his arms defensively, the tendrils on him whipping and hissing wildly as the city's light begins to burn them away.

They have to keep it going. Veneza giggles and runs down the steps, leaping to a crouch as if she's acting out some play or another, and sings, "Now is the time to seize the day! Answer the call and don't delay! New York can be righted, boroughs united; let us seize the day!" In response, loose cables curled on one side of the stage suddenly come to life, whipping around Tendril Guy's legs to keep him from running again.

One of the doors on the prop building slams open dramatically. Beyond it they can see Padmini pushing aside a rack of clothing that persistently keeps trying to roll toward her. She manages it, stumbles out, and glowers around at all of them. Veneza gestures frantically for her to take up the thread; Neek spreads his hands too in the universal sign of Come on, hurry up. Finally, with a little growl, Padmini snaps, "Oh, fine. 'Immigrants: We get the job done!'" This doesn't seem to have any effect at first, but then Padmini shoves a large, heavy-looking wooden desk out of the way with ease; she's much stronger, now. Enough to get this job done.

As performances go, it's all terrible. Slapdash, random, corny; Manny won't be surprised if in the morning they all receive a clipped-out review from a theater magazine that exists only in some alternate reality, panning all of them for defiling the stage. But as a construct, drawing on the power of three boroughs and the delight of a thousand audiences, from the Delacourte to the Fringe Festival and back, it's exactly what they need.

Then, his voice muffled by his own extradimensional growths, Manny hears Tendril Guy -- or maybe the guy within the pelt of tendrils -- try to speak. "A-all the w-world..." he murmurs, his voice thick, too deep, flanged in a way that sounds like bad special effects. He's steaming all over, now. Ah, and at last Manny sees the tendrils burning away, peeling off and curling into nothingness. As he lowers his arms, Manny sees that he's sweaty-faced and visibly exhausted... but he is smiling. He turns to face the whispering, flickering audience, and all at once Manny can feel him. Tendril Guy is part of New York, again -- and he knows it, and some part of his soul rejoices with the knowledge. Probably helps that the guy is a former theater kid himself; Manny can feel that, now that the Enemy's influence has been broken. Neek grins at Manny; he can feel it, too.

So then Neek goes over to Tendril Guy, leans close, and blows on the now-shriveled cord attached to the back of his neck. It snaps free as if Neek's breathed fire onto it, uttering a faint creel of inhuman pain -- and then the cord is snatched away upwards, into the darkening evening sky. Manny catches a fleeting hint of sinuous movement against the clouds, southward, and then it is gone.

Tendril Guy, who is now just Some Guy, beams at Neek. Then he steps back and lifts a finger. "All the world's a stage," he says again -- clearly this time, in a pleasant baritone, projecting with the ease of long practice. "And all the men and women merely players! They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."

He does the whole monologue then, perfectly. Not that Manny would know if he got it right -- but the Delacourte does, and as Manny glances out at their whispery audience, he sees smiles, hears soft "ahs" and giggles of approval with every precisely-enunciated line. As Some Guy finishes, applause breaks out, echoing with unreality but loud and enthusiastic. The artist formerly known as Tendril Guy beams in delight and extends his hands for Manny and Neek to take. They do. Padmini, her pique fading now that she's no longer fighting furniture, shakes her head and takes Neek's hand; Veneza giggles and runs up the steps to take Manny's. The applause goes on as, uh, Theater Guy leads them in first one bow, and then another. Someone in the audience whistles. Someone else yells "Encore!" It's intoxicating. They bow a third time. As at last the applause fades and the lights start to go dark... Theater Guy collapses, between them.

"Oh, no," Veneza says, her delight vanishing. "Please, not again -- "

"He's fine," Manny says, crouching by Theater Guy, though he checks Theater Guy's neck-pulse and breathing just to be sure. It's there, though the guy's skin is clammy with sweat.

"Close," Neek says. He's looking up at the sky, after the ugly cable that had been attached to the guy's neck.

It's only the second time that they've successfully rescued one of these agents of the Woman in White, sent forth from her bastion in Staten Island to... well, Manny's not exactly sure what their purpose is. Are they superspreaders meant to reinfect the city, and thus help her regain the foothold that she lost three months before? Are they drones of a sort, reconnoitering enemy territory? Either way, the result is always the same, if Manny and his fellow avatars don't catch the tendril-bearer and cleanse them in time: the person burns out and dies, all of their strength used up by the alien intelligence that has worn them like a puppet.

Not this time, though. "Let's get him outside," Manny says, grunting as he pulls Theater Guy up. "Easier for an ambulance to get to him out there."

"But what about after?" Padmini asks. She comes over to help him wrestle the guy into a sitting position, so that Manny can pull him into a fireman's carry. "Uff, he's heavy! But if somebody calls his family and they take him back to Staten Island, will she just take him over again? What if she's mad at him for getting caught by us?"

"It's fine," Neek says. He's still turned away from them, facing southward. There is an odd note in his voice, however, which makes Manny frown at his back. Neek sounds... distracted. "Most of the folks on Staten are fine. The ones who commute here lose their little wigglers when they step off the ferry, unless they've got one of those bigger cable-things attached to them. Grow 'em back on the after-work ride. They don't even notice."

"Remember what it was like when she was all over the city," Manny adds. "All those people she... infected. She used them if she needed them and ignored them otherwise. They became part of her, but they didn't seem to mean anything to her, any more than..." He shakes his head, to the degree that he can with Theater Guy on his shoulders. "Individual hairs on a person's head. How often do we notice when we lose one, or when it grows back?"

"We shouldn't let him go back at all," Padmini says, scowling. "We know she's doing something to all those people. He's safer here!"

Neek focuses enough to turn and eye her over his shoulder. His tone is mild and his expression neutral, but his words have a sharp point. "You gonna spring for an apartment for him somewhere? Let him go crash with ya auntie and the fam?"

"No, but -- "

"I know a good spot under the Williamsburg." Neek's relentless. "Probably still good even with all the cleanup and construction since the bridge broke. Warm on cold nights, hard to see so the kids and assholes don't fuck with you. We could dump him there."

Padmini sets her jaw. "Fine. Point made. But Staten Islanders are still people, and we should try to help them."

Veneza, who was peering into the orchestra pit in fascination, turns back to them, plainly uneasy at the tension she's picking up. "We are. But I mean, Pads... that's not really our job."

Now they all fall into an uncomfortable silence, because sometimes the truth is hard. And the truth is that the avatar of Staten Island is not here with them today because she has rejected them, and thrown her people to the interdimensional wolves by doing so. They are all of them New York... but they are not Staten Island, not anymore. Theater Guy's ultimate fate isn't theirs to make.

"Ay yo fuck that bird," Neek says, scowling at Veneza, who blinks in surprise. "Her and Squigglebitch tried to kill us, remember? Tried to eat you. Let Staten Island die."

Padmini stares at him. "Wait. What? Let a whole borough die? Are you crazy?"

"Fuck them." Neek gestures sharply, southward. "Everyone on Staten Island. Buncha racist redneck Republican dumbasses, nobody needs them. They're the reason she's still here, hanging over this city like a fucking guillotine. I'm tired of stressing about this shit! Let her flyover country ass die with the rest of them nobody-nothing sons of bitches."

Manny flinches, despite himself. That's beyond harsh. And something about this little rant feels... off. He's known Neek for all of three months, but in that time Neek has been a quiet and low-key leader of their group, unusually even-keeled for the personification of a city known for its aggression. Are you okay? rises to Manny's lips, but he refrains from saying it, aware that it could sound patronizing. He's wondering it, though.

All at once different lights snap on within the theater -- not stage lights, but all the rest. Padmini frowns at this. "Hey, we don't need these anymore. Which one of you -- "

Abruptly a piercing electronic alarm sounds throughout the theater, and the lights all turn a startling, awful red.

"What the shit?" Neek says. He blinks as if dazed, turning to stare up at the lights -- and then he stiffens. "Manny. You doing that?"

Manny can barely hear him over the noise. "No, why would I? Can't you stop it?" Neek is New York. He has better control over the city's power than any of them... but all of a sudden, the city feels strange. Sluggish and reluctant, when Manny gently urges it to shut off the alarm. It's responsive, but unreliable and slow in a way Manny's never noticed before.

And to Manny's surprise, Neek takes a step back, his very posture radiating unease. "I... can't. Nothing's happening. What the fuck." He shakes his head.

"Yo, uh, we should go," Veneza says, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "If that's a break-in alarm -- I mean, we did break in, but -- "

The Delacourte sits the middle of Central Park, in one of the city's toniest neighborhoods, and is the site of one of its most popular attractions. "Out," Manny snaps, when it becomes clear that Neek has been so thrown by the situation that he's not reacting quickly enough. "Now."

Veneza's already moving, running to the edge of the stage. Manny follows her as quickly as he can with Theater Guy, and Padmini grabs Neek, dragging him along when he doesn't move fast enough. "Cover your faces!" she cries -- and, yeah, if the city's magic suddenly isn't helping them anymore, that's a good idea. But Manny can't, unless he wants to drop Theater Guy, who's been through enough.

There are people milling around in front of the Delacourte, mostly looky-loos reacting to the continuous beeeeeeep of the alarm, but Manny sees how many of them have smartphones in hand. It can't be helped. He crouches and carefully sets Theater Guy on a patch of soft grass, and catches the eye of an older lady who is staring at all of them. "Call 911," he says, with as much urgency as he can. They can't stop people from filming them fleeing the scene of an apparent break-in, but maybe the sight of someone in distress will distract most of the onlookers. "This man is hurt and needs an ambulance. I don't know what happened to him, he just collapsed."

The lady gasps and starts punching at her phone. Veneza grabs Manny, tugging so he'll leave Theater Guy there on the ground. He doesn't want to. If the cops arrive first, there's a strong chance they'll arrest Theater Guy for the break-in. If he could just make sure the paramedics arrive first, and that the cops think the alarm is just a mechanical error... He touches the ground next to his knee and reaches into it, groping for the feel of city power --

He finds echoes of old audience frustration and annoyed staff and prematurely shutdown vendor services... but these energies will not move in response to his will. What's there feels different from all the other times he's ever used city power -- clotted, somehow.

"Dude," Veneza says, giving him a hard yank. They can hear sirens outside the park, coming closer. "Come on, man, I ain't doing Rikers for you!"

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Manny lets Veneza pull him away. They book it for Central Park West again, zigging southward first since there are woods and rock hills in that direction that can obscure their route for anyone trying to put them on TMZ.

In their wake, the Delacourte's alarm blares until sirens drown it out.

TWWM Deleted Scene 1 by N. K. Jemisin is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

#the world we make #the great cities #deleted scene #answered asks

107 notes · View notes