#but the thing is they both have their 'villain' moments. i relate more to sandy w his bcs i think if i got so yeah i'd be the same :')

[eroguron0nsense]

The Mysterious Mysteries of Mr Sir Crocodile (Character Analysis)

(Apologies in advance for discrepancies from my usual tone and for holding off on everyone who voted for this on my last poll. Honest to God I hope y'all enjoy this in some capacity because I've been procrastinating on this meta so long it's derailed ALL my other One Piece writing and I only accomplished it through addy-fuelled mania)

This was such a fucking pain to write. I really wanted to say something about Crocodile and what makes him so fascinating that wasn't like, another fan theory or just a set of headcanons, but that's easier said than done?? We could boil it down to immaculate design, screen presence, attitude, or just the fact that he got brought back as an unlikely ally who shocked everyone by saving the protagonist, but I don't know that those factors in and of themselves make for a villain who's become such an object of fandom obsession.

Whatever it is, it's certainly not backstory or depth, because 24 years and hundreds and hundreds of chapters after his introduction, we still know nothing about Sir Crocowani's past beyond a vague confrontation with the Late Great Edward Newgate (that apparently like, ruined his dreams or something?), and some totally-not-just-a-threat-to-out-him-if-he-betrayed-the-alliance blackmail material the Queen of the Queers is holding over his sandy reptilian ass. I was born and grew into adulthood in the time it took Oda to tell the world fuck all about where he's from or his inner thoughts, or his actual honest motivations and traumas.

All we have about this character are questions. Why did he save Luffy and Ace –very conspicuously after both of their lineages were revealed to the world– against all logic and reason? Does he have ties to the revolutionaries? Is he the long-lost son of Rocks D. Xebec? Did he bounce on Comrade Dragon's Monkey D and squirt out the fucking Warrior of Liberation? I assume Oda's going to tell us more about him, but at this point, he's managed to keep a tighter lid on Sir Crocs, Inc.'s past than the fucking Secret History

You may be wondering, dear reader: what the fuck is my point? What is there, at this final stage of Long Running Pirate Manga, for me–Frankie EroGuroNonsense, OP Tumblr Community Z-lister with like, 7 mildly popular meta posts under my belt–to write about the legendary Sir Krokorok that hasn't already been said or theorized? What eagle-eyed observations did I make while rereading Alabasta and writing toxic Crobin fanfic? Am I going anywhere with this? Sorta. Yeah.

Let's start with listing things we actually know about Crockpot, in roughly chronological (??) order: –attended Gol D.'s execution way back when he was my age, along with anyone else who's anyone from his generation.

–At some point, met and was known well enough by Iva that she could effectively blackmail him

–Made it far enough on the Grand Line, somehow getting to the New World, and managed to pick up an 81,000,000 bounty (low end for a warlord, presumably scouted fairly early in his career)

–Wanted to be Pirate King until he gave up on it, not 100% explicitly confirmed but most likely due to getting his ass beat so badly by Whitebeard that he settled for picking off small fry and racketeering behind a government desk job. This makes him profoundly relatable to the rest of us depressed fucking losers who acquiesce to our own mediocrity.

–At 30, after presumably licking his wounds for a hot minute, sets up shop in Alabasta, comes up with a clever evil plan to quietly build up enough arms to conquer the world with a WMD, and then gets his years-long bioterrorist coup attempt foiled by a 17-year-old.

The rest we know: after a brief moment of glory as the unsung MVP of Impel Down/Marineford, he immediately reverts to Failguy Mode, gives all his money to a literal clown, and consequently gets roped into the neverending uncontrollable PR nightmare that is Cross Guild. It's still super vague and we know little to nothing about his past before the Alabasta Saga (for all we know he had a fling with King Cobra)

...Onto his personality and mannerisms. This shit's a lot more revealing. Superficially, he's everything: immaculate Bond villain levels of charismatic villainy, unbelievably ostentatious, dripped out like a Pimp, constantly smoking cigars, absolutely dripping with smugness and grease and disdain. Owns exotic pets and a giant casino, and spends every waking moment either grinning like a maniac when he's got the upper hand or storming around in a fucking mood when anything goes mildly wrong.

He's also pretty hardened underneath all that, obviously couldn't have lived a day on the grand line or survived Impel Down Torture otherwise. But even in Alabasta, Crockery gives off an air of being distinctly more grounded and willing to get his hands dirty than other flashy, established villains who flaunt their wealth and status. A big part of it is just his really hyper-masculine indomitable tough guy persona, but even early on he's very much micromanaging his operation, fighting people hand to hand in (as opposed to, say, Doffy, who literally puppeteers people while lounging around) and makes a point to keep almost all of his followers at a distance and rely on them as little as possible. He rants a bit about how dreams and whatnot are pointless follies, as One Piece antagonists tend to do, and repeatedly taunts Vivi about how her idealism can't save her, but with the context that he wanted to find Laughtale himself, it feels a lot like projection.

The character trait that's harped on a LOT in canon, and probably the most pertinent one to whatever demons he has, is Croconaw's profound pathological distrust for everyone around him. It's a huge part of what makes him a good early foil to the Nefertari family and the Straw Hats, whose collective strength is derived from organic human connection; Crocalor, by contrast, makes sure that up until the very last moment, he keeps most of his people so distant from him that they genuinely have no idea he's even their boss. His relationship with Robin is interesting, but he turns on her immediately when he realizes she either can't or won't give him the location of Pluton and has his dramatic stabbing/"I forgive you" lines about how he never trusted her or anyone from the start. He says the same shit to Mihawk when he suggests they join forces, even citing their mutual distrust as a kind of paradoxical justification for why they'd actually work well together.

Arguably the only exception is Daz Bones, but even that relationship is still a pretty reserved one; one of the few traits Daz exhibits is a similar avoidance of human connections to his boss and even though they've ironically formed a bond despite it, I can't imagine that they're emotionally close. I find these more explicit declarations of paranoia a lot less indicative of what's actually going on in Croconut's head than subtext, but I feel inclined to mention them just because it more or less tells us that his background/trauma has something to do either with betrayal or alternatively just being jaded and deprived to the point of self-isolation.

Krookodile's character gets a little bit more interesting when we get to see him again in Impel Down being a smug little manipulative rascal right up until he gets blackmailed by his endocrinologist, which is definitely medical malpractice but also funny as hell. I also appreciate that literally the first thing he does after getting out of his cell is change into a big coat and cravat to keep up appearances, but it's not until Marineford proper that things get really complicated. Saving Luffy and Ace is the first selfless thing we see Crobat do–while yelling at Luffy that he needs to protect what matters to him properly, no less– and he just keeps fighting for them after that, teaming up with his most hated rival crew to cover Luffy's retreat and telling the entire WG to go fuck itself multiple times over. He fights everyone on sight with no regard for his own safety, talks mad shit to Doffy, and demonstrates a genuinely compelling amount of honest to god chivalry.

For a short time, we see Crocomotive less as a really entertaining cartoon villain and more as a person with hidden, profound emotions and a confusing moral code that's seemingly incompatible with the vicious little creature we met in Alabasta. We come to understand, in a few very brief lines that give us way more questions than answers, that Cromagnon has deep-seated, emotional convictions he actively suppresses, and that whatever baggage he has is probably tied to wanting to or failing to save something of his own. His resentment of Newgate, who he really really wants to have a go at (despite theoretically no longer caring about the ambitions of his youth) is indicative of a desire to revisit the fight that probably ruined his dream and ego, but it's also tinged with a deep-seated grudging respect for a living legend.

Crock–Afire Explosion's obvious seething hatred of Doffy also gives us a few more insights into what's wrong with him. On a surface level, it makes sense that he dislikes a profoundly obnoxious, even flashier fellow warlord who achieved more or less the same goal he set out to in a shorter time, fucks with his business, and then mocks him/tries to recruit him right after his very public defeat and imprisonment. He postures a lot, especially with his lines insisting he's on a higher level and that Doffy could only ever join him as a subordinate, but he's visibly steamed in their initial encounter and clearly hasn't liked him for quite some time. I bring this up because if we stretch our interpretation a little (for the sake of my argument), Croc Holliday's distaste for someone who's (outwardly) so much like himself and embodies all of his villainous characteristics from back in Alabasta might also suggest that deep down, he doesn't actually like the things they have in common; he sees right through Doffy because he's done the same shit and he hates what he sees.

Having gone over all that, I've come up with some key characteristics of Crocomelon that I'll use going forward:

–Extremely performative: puts an ungodly amount of energy into maintaining a carefully curated persona, and projecting a certain amount of power, masculinity, and prestige. Not necessarily an unnatural or inauthentic one, but a constructed and purposeful one nonetheless

–Deep-seated paranoia, hidden secrets; probably intertwined. Keeps personal details on tight, tight lockdown, probably afraid of being known.

–Constant projection of his own insecurities and failures onto other people, making a point to be uniquely cruel in Alabasta to an idealist who loves her people and a dreamer who wants to be the Pirate King.

Ironically, he demonstrably respects and defends two people–Luffy and Whitebeard–who theoretically embody everything he hates or scorns (ambition, goodness, love, connection, romanticism, greatness in the traditional sense) and he intensely dislikes the villain most like himself, or at least the one who shares a lot of his worst characteristics (ostentatious manipulative scheming rat bastard backed by people stronger than himself) –The Grinch's heart grew three sizes at Marineford because of like, the compelling power of brotherly love and reminders of his youth or something

SPECULATION, CONCLUSIONS??

The difficulty with writing anything definitive about Crocko's Basilisk is that he's such a mystery, which functionally lets the fanbase project literally whatever weird personality traits, potential backstories, or anything else they could possibly come up with onto him. So I want to be clear that I have absolutely no interest in theorizing about the specifics of his past or secret identity or potential baby daddy or anything along those lines; I'm only interested in what we can infer about his personality by extrapolating from canon. And the conclusion I keep coming back to, the one that I'm convinced is true on some level, is that Crocodile is living a lie and he fucking hates himself. Everything he does, from how he acts to what he claims to believe, is a desperate effort to cope with his own insecurity and failure and cover up a past version of himself he's deeply ashamed of.

Now, unfortunately, Oda did not conceive of Crocodile as a trans man but stories belong to the people and we can do what we want let's forget about that and play it straight because he's constantly performing gender as a means of compensating for a deep-seated shame and self-loathing from whatever traumas and secrets he keeps hidden. Even assuming he's a cis man, he deliberately chooses a hypermasculine persona with a Capital V Villain moniker and pimp outfit and speech pattern he's carefully curated to project masculine power–physical, political, and financial–and we know it's performance because we see him break kayfabe and get legitimately fucking angry whenever he's confronted by a person like Luffy, who's crazy and brave enough to try and do what he couldn't and risk everything for love and hope that he cannot bring himself to feel for another person, or reminders of the past he tries so desperately to bury.

The lessons he's wrongfully obtained from his past are as follows: Idealism is a weakness. Dreaming is a weakness. Connections to other people and being known are crippling liabilities (If he is, in fact, trans and closeted, that's all the more reason to be existentially disgusted by what he used to be). All the hope he brought to the Grand Line, all the excitement of trying to carry on where Roger left off, needs to be purged and buried because all he got to show for it was loss and humiliation. But he can't stop wanting more, and ironically, after he gives up on conquering the Grand Line, he ends up chasing the same fucking poneglyphs and weapons because his ambition's still there; it's just compromised and much more jaded.

Everything he does that's seemingly contradictory makes sense when you realize that Crocodile resents his failure and wants to avenge himself. He makes a big show of talking down to Luffy and Vivi's petty ideals and shit-talking Newgate and his family, but he still wants to fight Whitebeard like he did way back when and help Luffy protect what matters to him. He hates Doffy, who's honestly just a more successful schemer than he is because it's a constant reminder of what he settled for when he took that warlord post and fucking gave up. He claims to trust no one, but he keeps Daz by his side and rewards his loyalty because he can't help but trust someone who respects him so deeply and follows him to the ends of the fucking earth long after losing the material incentive to do so. He claims to look down on people who aim for the stars and fight for love and joy and freedom and yet, in his most vulnerable moments–not in the face of violence or imprisonment, but when he's emotionally compelled to defend a child and help save his brother–we see how badly he wants that for himself.

TLDR: Crockman Holic is deeply insecure in his masculinity, desperately needs psychological help, and his character/potential redemption arc in One Piece is just dealing with his midlife crisis.

[astrxealis]

thinkin abt parallels between my FAVES from DIFF FANDOMS (i mean lucisan and wolgraha)

[hannah-the-red-head]

A Third Submission to the Imagines Society”

(League of villains meets an Autistic child with a quirk that is the definition of too good for this world and then some)

You were a tiny thing when Twice, Toga and Magne stumbled across you at the park, staring intently at what looked like your shoes with your back turned.

Magne summarized that you were most likely around 5 or 6 years old based on the kindergarten uniform you wore, the adorable hat hanging on your back while your (h/l), (h/s) (h/c) was out and about. Usually, the tree would lose interest after a while and go about their merry way.

But there was something about you that made them stay, Toga’s curiosity getting the best of her as she skipped over to where you were on your knees, she then peeked over a shoulder to see you staring in awe at butterfly that was softly moving it’s wings while resting on the petals of a blossom planted in the nearby garden.

It was one that she had never seen before, well at least in real life, but the sandy blonde remembered that she had once seen it on the internet somewhere.

It was a monarch butterfly, and last she or anyone else knew, the species were hanging by a thread and close to extinction over the last 56 years. She had admit that the pictures were close to nothing compared to the real thing as Toga watched with starry eyes at how the orange colors splashed with black and white glowed in the sunlight.

Magne herself, followed by Twice then decided to follow toga’s lead when she began to giggle like an actual schoolgirl instead of the blood obsessed vampire they knew and loved. The two peeking at the sight of both you and Toga being the surprising perches of a collection of what looked to be more Monarch butterflies that seemingly appeared out of no where.

And one of them was perched right on the tip of Toga’s nose.

Meanwhile, you had taken notice that you had a butterfly watching buddy the second you felt her crouched down next to you, your glowing (e/c) eyes staring at her with curiosity before deciding that she was interesting enough for you to deem her harmless, despite not knowing the truth.

Because in your young and innocent head, anyone that appreciated butterflies as much as you did was a good person and/or possible friend in your book.

She looked at you when she felt your eyes on her and gave you a big smile, which from what you learned meant that she was happy. So that meant that she likes you too. You smiled widely back and a series of bright rainbow colored balls of light lifted themselves off your little form, your quirk creating more butterflies from them while your new friend’s eyes sparkled.

Your quirk was called Wonder, the specialist who gave it that name having been inspired by the same emotion felt after witnessing you use your quirk at first hand to bring a rat back to life after it had been killed by a mousetrap, and later on when they returned back to the room to see that it had been filled with butterflies flying beautifully above them.

Nowadays, you mainly used your quirk to create butterflies.

Why?

Because butterflies made you happy, they made you calm, they took your worries away... and watching them was akin to what your therapist at the orphanage called stimming, your hand movements if you easily became overwhelmed resembling a butterfly flapping it’s delicate wings.

You were also fond of anything that felt like the texture closest to what you thought butterfly wings looked. However, this obsession was also the reason why your were ostracized by the other children, ignored completely by them at the worst despite how hard the workers at the orphanage tried to explain what your condition was.

You didn’t understand why the workers had the need to get the other kids to like you, if you wanted friends, you’d get some yourself on your own.

And you never understood why you had to take speech therapy, wasn’t writing in your notebook enough? You hated loud noises, they scared away things, things that are... nice.

Things like butterflies and rats and rabbits and deer, which meant that you couldn’t appreciate them anymore if they left.

So, why was there a need to make noise or let alone talk? You could never control how loud your voice was anyways. You didn’t care about how sometimes you overheard the caretakers at the orphanage whispered things about how alien you acted.

Which led to where you were now, little you having completely forgotten that you were separated from the other children heading back towards the orphanage after school had finished when you eyes spotted a flower that looked familiar until your quirk manifested the butterfly.

They sounded as if you were broken as a human.

When in reality you weren’t, you weren’t broken and needed to be fixed. At first it made you believe those words, but the moments where your eyes caught onto anything relating to those paper thin wings that radiated with the colors of the rainbow, you’re mind went to an alternate world where those who spoke about your strangeness were nonexistent.

It was then that you remembered seeing the same flower from the picture book at your school, the pink and green flora being the type of chosen roost for the orange, white and black insect to rest on if they got tired.

You never knew how much time passed when you felt your new friend’s presence near you until you turned around silently to see a schoolgirl older than your smiling peacefully at your creation, who then smiled at you.

Smiles meant something good, right?

Your quirk activated instinctually, your subconscious telling you to make your friend happy again by creating more things that made her happy, like how butterflies made you happy. You watched as the manifested insects flew over to the girl and rested on her shoulders, two nestled on the wild hair of her twin buns and one on her nose, the sensation of it’s delicate wings tickling her skin bringing a giggle out of her.

You copied her, giggling as well as you knew that laughing is what friends did. The exchange between you two led to a pair of others appearing behind your friend, the both of them watching in awe at how gentle you were.

Meanwhile in their perspective, Twice and big sis Magne were in awe.

This was a side of Toga that the pair had never seen before, so their interest in you grew steadily as they approached you both, seeing that the number of butterflies had grown the closer the became, the same orbs of light appearing to change into other species before the skies above the park had clouds of multicolored wings flying above like a piece of artwork created by nature.

It felt like a blessing to witness a sight like this, a much desired peace accomplished after so many months of being on the run from heroes and the police.

Twice jumped up and began to comically twirl about among the flocks of winged bugs, his splitting personalities having been silenced by the Nirvana he felt surrounding him, only stopping when he heard a few giggles left your mouth while you tried to keep up with him and Toga’s free styling dances without a care in the world.

The four of you not caring that you were getting strange looks and even scowls from those who crossed your paths in order to get a better look at the butterflies conjured by your beautiful quirk.

By the time the sun had set, you and your new friends had collapsed onto the grass, laughing in between breaths from all the fun you shared in those hours of innocent fun.

And you were the one to give that sense of childhood purity of fun back to them without realizing it. In your mind, you were happy that you had finally made friends by yourself as with a kick of your short legs you sat up and turned to the one closest to you, a tall woman with sunglasses and short hair the other two called “Big Sis Mag”.

You poked her cheek and she turned her face towards yours. Taking a deep breath, you decided to try something new that you hadn’t done or were comfortable with.

You: (Yy...yourrr n....nnamme!).... (Your Name)!

It was hard at first, being silent for most of your childhood being the reason as to why you sounded like a newborn attempting to say their first word. But the pride you felt as you pointed to yourself when you said your name clearly on the second try was amazing.

“Big Sis’” eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you understood why she was shocked as the only noises you made were giggles and squeals.

You: (Your name)!.... B-big sissy... Mmmmmag! Fr...friends! T-t-too...Toga! Fri..ends! Twi...Twice! Friends!

All three had unknown expressions present while you gave them a wide toothy grin that you had never given anyone except for your mama.

Twice: I think I’m gonna cry.... No, I’m not! Grow a pair!

Twice cartoonishly wept through his mask, tears that would only exist within an Animé pouring from the eyes of his black and grey mask before stopping almost immediately, his face changing to that of a stoic man drawn in comic books.

Toga just smiled at Twice, before a weak tug on her cardigan pulled her attentions to you, your arms held out wide and with an excited glow to you. You always remembered the warmth your mother’s hugs were growing up, how safe and loved you felt when your adorable self tackled her leg in a weak koala hug before she pulled you into her own arms.

Toga: Oh does (y/n)-chan want a hug?

You nodded and tackled the blonde, arms wrapped around her neck with you cheek pressed against hers, something your mother called “cuddle bumps” as you hated it when someone kissed you.

You: C-cu-cuddle bu-bumps!

Twice: I want cuddle bumps! No, I don’t that’s weird!

You nuzzled your cheek against hers, the teenage girl internally squealing and hugging you back as she was overcome with a sense of some maternal need to protect you and the light your little self emanated, both figuratively and literally as your quirk caused you to glow a warm pink color.

Toga playfully stuck out her tongue towards him, when an idea came to her.

—————

Shigaraki: And the most logical thing that you could ever think of in that moment.... was to bring this brat home?!

Toga’s cheeks puffed up as she hugged your little form from behind while you fiddled with your quirk, a manifested butterfly perched in the palm of your hand. You loved the feeling of your big sister’s soft cardigan as she hugged you.

Toga: Of course, Shiggy! I mean they’re an orphan left behind by those “caretakers”, we even waited to see if anyone would come looking.

Twice: Yeah, it was so nerve wracking! I was bored beyond belief....

Shigaraki let out an aggravated sigh, knowing that you had wormed your way into the hearts of the most in the league, Dabi being the first to cave when you used your quirk to soothe the pain in his burnt skin. He didn’t know why, but the fire quirk user’s eyes softened when you gazed up at his skin and your smile faded, a look of genuine worry that he possibly never experienced in some time as your tiny hand went up to hold his hand with the both of yours.

The rest of the already shocked league watching as an aura glowed from your small form, the glow then moving up your arms and finally covering Dabi in the glow before then pulling away into orbs that popped like soap bubbles filled with fireflies.

Dabi reacted in a way that not even he could describe as all the unbearable burning pain his scars brought him disappeared, a strange surge of.... calm washed over him.

It was the kind of calm that one would feel when a powerful storm dissipates, allowing the warm sun to bathe the earth once again. 

And it was the type of calm that brought a heavy exhale out of Dabi, almost as if he had finally learned to breathe, tears falling down his cheeks and startling him, a hand shooting up to touch his wet face and pulling it away to see what was falling from his eyes.

This... made the tears fall harder.

Dabi had long forgotten what it felt like to cry actual salt water tears instead of blood. A relieved upwards tilt pulled at his lips as he fell to his knees before you, no words exchanged, just glances and a gentle grip of your joined hands.

You: No pain?

Your concern overweighed your struggling speech, your free hand raising up to hover next to his cheek. He chuckled softly, allowing you to place your hands onto his face.

Dabi: No pain. All better.

Your quirk was befitting for such a gentle, caring and kind being as you.

To put it simply, you could restore a person’s injuries, negative outlook on life due to traumatic experiences, and even their lost sense of morality via through your touch, being in your presence, or even by witnessing your creations first hand.

This was your power, a quirk that purified the evil living within this cruel world.

You could literally restore a person or persons lost sense of morality, your quirk changing a sociopathic killer into a saint seeking redemption just by spending an hour with you. 

Your quirk also allowed you to heal any kind of wound or cure any illness, it could even replace missing limbs and the like as long as you kept your focus.

And it was meant to be protected.

Which is why you were taken into the protection of the league of villains, the only group of people who were the first to actually care for you after your mama’s passing, and didn’t speak badly of you or your condition.

Because they didn’t mind that you were autistic, they didn’t see you as broken or wrong. How did you know that they didn’t ostracize you?

They told you.

Twice: You, broken? Ha, that’s fresh! At least you don’t have more than one voice in your head...

Toga: My quirk needs me to drink the blood of the person i’m going to transform into in order for it to work, and because of that, I was pushed away by everyone for how creepy it made me look.

Magne: Anyone would be proud to call you their kid with a drop of a hat. So what if your special needs, it doesn’t make you any less human, sweetie.

Dabi didn’t say anything when you asked, in your broken speech, if you were broken. Instead, he just ruffled your hair and let you wear his jacket all day.

Compress: This world is filled with imperfections, but who is to say that imperfections are ugly and unwanted. To me, imperfections are where true beauty lies as it shows that despite their flaws, they try again and again to make themselves better.

Spinner: Kid, I am a walking talking lizard with pink hair and a desire to follow Stain’s path to create a society where only those who embody the traits of true heroes like All Might are allowed to become heroes.

You didn’t know how to react as he continued.

Spinner: If anything, you are the most normal out of all of us, so don’t go hating on yourself because you’re brain is wired differently. You’re perfect just the way you are.

Magne: Aww, that’s so sweet of you to say, Spinner!

Spinner: BIG SIS MAGNE?!?! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?!

Toga: Enough to know that you give the best pep talks!~

[5uptic]

crewfu: fanfic spotlight :)

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Summary: Steve and Dk just wanted to explore a dungeon. That's all they wanted! A certain angel clearly had other plans.

flashover by Anonymous (Apollo & 5up, teen rating, gen | 853 words)

Summary: n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you've built up through decades of friction with the world. OR: it's pretty stupid to sleep on the tiles of a subway station, even though you are well aware you have a home. It's also quite embarrassing to have a friend pick you up from there.

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Summary: “O, to take what we love inside, to carry within us an orchard, to eat not only the skin, but the shade, not only the sugar, but the days, to hold the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into the round jubilance of peach. There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.” -Li-Young Lee, From Blossoms

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Summary: “Is everything okay?” That’s a stupid question and Steve knows it. If everything was okay, Five wouldn’t be randomly appearing at his hotel room at—Steve checks his phone—2:37 in the morning. Their group had split up for the night a few hours ago, uncharacteristically early for them, but Five had had plans to talk to—

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Summary: Apollo is having feelings, so he pushes them down and hopes Steve doesn't notice. Avoiding Steve was never going to end well. "From that moment on, Apollo becomes hyper-aware of all things Steve. The way his long leg touches his, hip-to-knee, in the bar booth when they're drinking overpriced cocktails."

Vegas Lights by amethystvxidwalker (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.3k words)

Summary: “You were planning on actually swimming with me, right?” Steve faced him, brown eyes and dopey grin almost making Five swoon. He forced himself to focus on Steve’s face rather than the black ink above his hip, small, blocky text that read ‘SUGR?’ because of course it did.

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Summary: Apollo isn’t sure when, exactly, he fell in love with Steve. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, he never really fell. Maybe, he’s been falling. He’s still falling.

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Summary: Five times Dumbdog thinks Steve is illegally attractive and the one time he tries to admit that to him. Keyword: tries.

My love is the evening breeze touching your skin by tumtummeke (Apollo & Steve, general rating, gen | 5.2k words)

Summary: Steve's love language is physical touch. Dumbdog's is... not that. A day at the beach with Steve and Dumbdog (and background crewfu), told in five touches.

be like the love that discovered sin by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 5.6k words)

Summary: It’s annoying because Apollo even left for work a whole hour early today, which should be enough time to get to his shitty office job like everyone else on the train, but unlike everyone else, Apollo also has a second job. Which leads to the last reason why Apollo is having a bad day: being pinned under an overturned car while a villain monologues at him. Well, that last reason isn’t really part of Apollo’s bad day, but sue him if he wants to include the misfortunes of his hero identity Dumbdog while listing the reasons for his bad mood. “I don’t have time for this, Suptic,” Apollo grits out, interrupting the villain’s monologue.

friends in this town by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 6.1k words)

Summary: Five only realizes he’s bitten his nails down to the quick when the sting of pain catches up to him. He’s probably overthinking. He just needs to talk to Hafu. That’s all. ...He doesn’t want to. He’s worried he will only hear an answer he’ll hate. Out back, putting off talking to his sister really gives Five a sense of deja vu. All he needs to complete the feeling is Steve. “You need to relax, man.” Speak of the devil.

this party's just another haunted house by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 7.7k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: On December 31st, Apollo wakes up in his hotel in Vegas. The problem is, it's always December 31st.

call me by your name (i don't know that's pretty gay) by Qupid (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 10k words)

Summary: “Oh!” The human suddenly exclaimed, “You probably want my name!” Five had no interest in holding the power of a name over a human, it always seemed more trouble than it was worth, “Not particu-” “I’m Steve! It’s a pleasure to meet someone as cute as you.” The human, Steve, interrupted before 5up could finish. 5up’s eyes widened as he felt the power of gaining a name rush through him.  It was intoxicating and he could see why some fae would frequently come to the human realm just to trick humans into giving up their names. Five hadn’t needed to trick Steve, the man had given up his name freely and Five couldn’t believe how goddamn stupid he was to do it. “Ohhhh my god you’re an idiot.”

you'll hear me howling outside your door by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 22.2k words)

Summary: Something warm blew against Steve’s face and, distantly, he heard a high pitched whine. A nudge, and when Steve ignored it, a more insistent push had him opening his eyes to the face of a wolf mere inches from his own. Steve laughed. How delightful!  He was hallucinating animals now. The wolf’s fur looked bright to him, but even with as dark as it was Steve could tell it wasn’t white. Maybe it was more of a sandy color. Not that it mattered when all Steve could focus on was its piercing gaze and how its eyes seemed to bore into his soul. The wolf whined again and nudged Steve in the shoulder with its nose, making the man rear back when he realized that this might actually be a real wolf and not a hallucination at all.

kinda good for my love by sweetlikesugr (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 44.7k words, chaptered)

Summary: 5up can’t really recall the exact moment when dares became his and Steve’s thing and he is not sure if he even wants to try - after all, why would you mess with something that feels so natural, that feels so right? Why not just let it take its course and see where it might lead them?

Also: mangoedges‘s 5up the human impostor collection!

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s)], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k], [added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji… you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed.

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

[sarunohadaki]

DQXI/Octopath Traveler Crossover

Crossover week: Home | 1 | 2 | 3| 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

Anyone call for a story idea with just character roles planned but no plot? Oh boy do I have the post for you! I’ve only played through chapter 2 of Octopath but from how things are going I have a few ideas for plotlines… on the whole, however, this post outlines each of the characters and their backstories.

Character descriptions under the cut because it’s long! Mentions of a character who's deaf, another character who's trans, and another character with DID.

I’ve been loving Octopath Traveler, but if there’s one thing I had to nitpick, it’s that there’s not enough moments woven in between all the characters! There’s a “travel banter” feature that covers the thinnest bases, where at some points in the game, the option for travel banter will appear on your screen and you can select it to see two characters have a short conversation. You have no choice in which characters talk to which, and you can’t go to that chat feature whenever. Also, let’s say you’re doing someone’s storyline. The other characters don’t talk in other’s cutscenes!

It sort of feels like there are eight games in one when you format the game that way. It's a little… disjointed.

Premise: Another fusion fic where the eight characters in Octopath are swapped for the team in DQXI (plus Gemma). Each character can still have their own backstories and subplots, but I am hankering hard for an overarching plot and antagonist. Maybe there’s, like, an evil League of Villains or some cult. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a place to slot that in, right?

Just like in the game, you stick to one character’s perspective and travel around to pick up the rest of your team, only in this fic, there’s varying dynamics between all the characters and oh boy it’d be prominent.

Characters

H’aanit ➡ Elimelech (El)

The Hunter

Born deaf, Elimelech hunts with his wolf companion and a quiver on his back. Despite appearances, El is not one to be underestimated; he is the pride of his village, which has recently celebrated his rite to adulthood. However, with adulthood comes an unexpected discovery, one which spurs him to leave the village in search of answers to his true heritage.

A literal strong, silent type. But has his shy moments, too. I can imagine you having to tap his shoulder to get him to see you talking to him sometimes, and he has this cute, brief look of curiosity on his face… 🥺

Similar to how H’aanit spoke in Middle and Old English, I think sign language would be interpreted the same way in this world. So everyone’s comprehension of SL is good, signing back… maybe not so good.

Animal companion (Sandy but beefed up into a wolf) would help him interact with the world, or at least keep him out of trouble.

Therion ➡ Erik

The Thief

Like the muck wiped off someone’s shoe, Erik’s not much wanted in most places, but luckily not thought about, either, which helps when he’s stealing coin purses. After a heist goes wrong, he’s tasked with retrieving priceless heirlooms to get back something important.

Does Derk fit well as replacement for Therion’s best buddy? (Sure?)

Therion was apparently well-known despite no one knowing what he looked like. Maybe I can make the opposite work for Erik.

The whole thing with Therion was getting a silver band off his wrist but I still like Erik’s canon plot more, so I’d find a way to shove that in.

Tressa ➡ Gemma

The Merchant

An ambitious and overly friendly adventure wannabe, Gemma uses an anonymous journal as her guide to the wonderful — and perilous — world beneath her feet.

Original plot for Tressa tracks fine, although wouldn’t it be cool if Gemma’s journal were written by Sudo Nim??

Old Dragon Quest had merchant classes, too. Wonder if there’s anything in those mechanics I could add to this fic.

Gemma and El hit it off right away and converse excitedly about everything from cuisine to cute boys. Though… no one tells Erik, who thinks they’re crushing on each other. (love triangle that really isn’t, haha!)

Cyrus ➡ Rab

The Scholar

Newly retired and looking for a new purpose in life, Rab decides to answer a decade-old mystery. While scholarly work has always been a hobby for him, he’s prepared to get to the bottom of this puzzle and hone his analytical skills in the process.

Definitely NOT following Cyrus’s plotline here

I could still have fired Rab (similar to Cyrus) and claimed workplace discrimination, but I like my alternative: “Rab was the head of a royal estate but got bored and ‘quit,’ putting someone else in charge so he could go fart off elsewhere.”

Is Rab related to El in this??? He could be. (Sercretly.)

Alfyn ➡ Sylvia

The Performer

A talented performer with an elusive path, Sylvia has called many places home. Following in the path of a traveler who once changed her life, she sets out to bring smiles to people’s faces and avoid the roots of a past that refuses to leave her alone.

Alfyn was last on the list when I was doing matching so sorry Sylv that you got matched with this backstory. But I can adjust it to make it work

Sylvia and Alfyn both have the goal of cheering up sick kids and ya know I think Sylv could learn some healing stuff along the way! She’s much more than just a pretty face, you know.

Someone from Sylvia’s path definitely shows up again and that will be trouble for her

Primrose ➡ Jade

The Dancer

Jade’s patience and sharp mind have sustained her through years of hard living, although it is all worth it when she finds her chance to exact revenge upon those who killed her father.

— Pretty straightforward, can take a lot from Octopath’s plot for this one.

— Hard decision of whether to somehow incorporate this into Hendrik’s storyline or make Jade’s father and the king Hendrik serves two completely different people

Olberic ➡ Hendrik

The Warrior

An erstwhile knight of a fallen kingdom, Hendrik melts into life in a quiet mountain village until word comes of a former comrade who’d turned traitor and killed their liege.

Jasper is the traitor, obviously!

As for their slain liege… can it really be Carnelian again when that’s Jade’s storyline? Like a plot twist that they were both following the same guy this whole time? Probably not. Probably needs to be someone different. Or Carny can just be twice as dead.

Ophilia ➡ Serenica (Serena and Veronica)

The Cleric

A level-headed cleric, Serenica serves the faith alongside her adoptive family. She takes up the torch to fulfil a traditional pilgrimage to rekindle light across the realm.

This one is complicated and I’m not sure how I’m going to do it yet

I wanted Veronica and Serena to both inhabit the same body and considered them having Dissociative Identity Disorder. I am very not sure about this. If I do it that way, I’d want to do it properly, with a sensitivity reader, research, etc. Because being respectful is Cool.

(P.s. There was fanart but someone (me) misplaced the art and never took photos of it???)

[rip-a-dip-dip-you-potato-chip]

what have I created?

idk if yall like this, but they just exist not i guess :/

ok the the first one is Royalty AU

first things first, when I say Royalty AU, I don't mean the classic shit we've all become accustomed to. Im talking about the good old Chinese royalty! And I want to emphasize that these guys will/should be dressed in century appropriate attire. As someone thats read a handful of 'marinette, princess of china' fics from the ML Fandom, I've noticed a common trend. Marinette wouldn't be in the culturally appropriate clothes, always ballgowns. Not that there's something wrong with it, its just most of if not all these fic are set in China, so I'd expect Chinese royalty to dress as THERE dress code calls for. And since this AU takes place far in the past like, it won't make sense for any of the characters to be in royal clothing that wasn't from there region. I'm not trying to white knight/gatekeeping. Im Guyanese not Chinese. But since JTTW and Monkie Kid take place in China, it's only right. In my opinion that it. You don't have to outright agree with me.

With out of the way, it's time for that good old AU crack

- Wukong is the king of the Flower Fruit kingdom(or a different one if you'd like, again I'm only familiar with what western culture has taught me, but I'll try my hardest) 

- he’s single but rumor has it he used to/still is dating the Vigilante/thief The Six Eared Macaque

- *chants ShadowPeach violently* 

- no one know whether it true or not

- On of his wanders around the kingdom he finds an abandoned baby in a basket. 

- and no shit sherlock it's fucking baby Xiaotian 

- I think we all know where this is going because i'm a simp for Monkey Dad & Monkie Son shenanigans

- Xiaotian becomes prince

Shit, ill be referring to Xiaotian as Mk from now on, I mentioned this before in a fic I wrote for lmk that Mk's a nickname for Xiaotian for some reason- wait i don't have to explain my self to you people!

- Sun loves his son

- MK is treated differently by staff and others because he's not blood related to the king

- no one mistreats MK per say, because there King loved his adopted son, but words are said behind his back

- Sometimes MK hears what’s said, and he feels as if he won't live up to his dad’s legacy.

- He meets Mei during a festival

- Mei is from a noble family, that wouldn't mind if they got a connection into the royal family.

- but it becomes hella clear to Mei’s family very fast that the two are just friends, and will always will be. but hey there daughter is bffs with the prince so that's a plus.       

_

- the Demon Bull Family is rules a kingdom as well, I dont/am not creative enough to think of a name I leave that to you.

- It's a common misconception that DBK is a tyrant, when he’s not. 

- most of the time...

- they have been at war with the Monkey King for some time now and settled for a peace agreement.

- that agreement being there sons to marry

- oooo original i know

- MK and Red Son are roughly the same age, Mk being 20 and RS 22

- RS is revolted/disgusted at the idea of being wed to the Monkey Kings child, even more so when he realizes MK is adopted,

- but, that all changes the second he meets MK while he meets him by accident when he gets kinda lost in the palace when he and his parents go to discuss the arrangements.

- the second he looks at MK, he's instantly in love. MK less so, he's nervous and honestly kinda bummed he's not marrying someone he loves but it's for the good of his ppl, and he'll do anything for them.

- RS isn't even aware that MK is Suns adopted son until MK walks him back to the meeting room.

"Oh There you are MK! I was about to have a servant go fetch you!" Sun Wukong says, gesturing for his boy to come sit with him.

"S-sorry for keeping you waiting I got caught up in my lessons with Mr. Tang" MK responds, sitting next to his father. Red Son looked gobsmacked. The beautiful young man he had bumped into, was the prince of this land? Damn, life truly blessed him. Or cursed him depending on how you looked at it.

- the two are left alone in a separate room for a while.

- And MK straight up tells RS why he's agreeing to this union.

"Look Red Son. I've dreamed about meeting my one true love for a while. And I would give almost anything for that dram to be real. But I wouldn't ever dare give up my people, for as there price they mean more to me. I'm doing this for them, no other reason" MK says, his back straight and hands folded neatly in his lap. The look in his eyes was a mix of sadness, but that was drowned out by loyalty and determination. It just made Red Son fall for him even harder. Clearing his throat Red spoke.

"I understand, for im doing this for the betterment of my people to. But I propose a wager"

"A wager?"

"Yes, if i can make you fall in love with me by years end, before our marriage, we can live together like in the fairy tales from far away. But if I fail, in a years time afterwards you will be permitted to find your own path in life" Red Son stated. MK took a moment to process what was happening.

"So, if you succeed in making me fall in love with you, before our marriage we can live happily ever after?" Red Son nodded in response, letting the younger continue.

"And if I shouldn't fall for you, in a years time after our union, im free to leave?" Red Son nodded once more.

"So, what do you say?"

...

"Deal"

In the end, your free to choose their fate, should Red Son win the hart of Mk? Will he fail? Or will he let him go, and let him travel the country, after all Mk's a free spirit and keeping him trapped in a big house is like keeping a cannery trapped in a cage only for its song, only for it to dul. Or will the unthinkable happen and will both boys find their freedom? together or appart? I don't know, because that's all up to you 😉

personally, I’m partial to where MK and Red Son both find freedom together. Like they straight up run away together to somewhere far away and just live out there lives together. 

this could also be genderbent thing as well. MK or Red as their respective counterparts. Again it doesn't have to be, but it’s whatever bro. im just spitting out the idea. 

Also, there is a main side plot that they fight the WBS throughout the year as well, along with other shenanigans you wanna throw in.

____

The second is a My Hero Academia/BNH/MHA AU

truth be told i'm not a big fan of MHA i think it to over hyped(this is also coming from the same person that’s a Fairy Tail fan lol), and the fandom i don't even know how to describe that mess, but I will admit not the whole of its toxic since every fandom has some toxic members, some even more so. 

I just sometimes find myself enjoying MHA AUs like the Fullmetal Alchemist, Danny Phantom, Evil!Deuk AU and several others. 

to make it clear I don't see this AU taking place the same time as the main plot of the actual Anime/Manga. This could be either like 6-10 years before or after the plot idk bro. But i’ll do this after the main story plot of MHA, so keep that in mind ya? another thing, the gang is still in China, the top hero school in the world just so happens to be in Japan, and it’s only ever mentioned by Sun wukong and other pro heros. So MK never attended AU. in short it’s only ever mention/ reference.  

_

- Mk was considered Quirkless as a kid. 

- he was just a late blumer, i swear  

- Mai’s Quirk is called Dragon. 

- it pretty much works the same way as it does in the show(duh)

- Tang’s got a knowledge Quirk, 

- my man can retain information and he’s basically an archive of information drawback being his personality lol 

- Piggsy is a Animal that gained a Quirk

- in cannon to my current knowledge, there are two other characters that can confirm animals can become sentient. the characters being Fumikage Tokoyami, & Nezu the principal at the school UA.  

- Sandy is just Conner Kent, aka he like superman but can't fly, or shoot lasers from his eyes. And blue.  

I have two scenarios for Macaque and Wukong  

*- The first one is that, Sun Wukong & Macaque are brothers. twins to be exact. 

- they where legit people, but have mutation quirks that made them too like monkeys. 

- the added powers were just a boues. 

- Sun and Mac are close growing up, like there brothers but also best friends.

- the draw back to there quirks could honestly be whatever you want bro idk, same with the others tbh. Personally I like to think Sun just has lack of motivation, and Macaque needs to draw on other people's energy.

- Sun is a hero, Monkey KIng and Mac is a villain Six Eared.

- Sun was always treated has the golden child in the family, Mac always resented that, but there shitty up bring didn’t stop the two from being good brothers to one another.

- soon tho the resentment became hatred when Sun was able to attend UA in Japan, while Mac didn't.

- Mac be angy 

- so he became a villain, and joined the Chinese branch of the LOV(league of villains)

- Sun doesn't know this till he finds out during the all out war during the main story. and by that time he’s a full on hero with is own agency(The Flower Fruit agency)    

- when the hero's ultimately win and Mac is arrested 

- This ultimately hurts Sun a lot, his brother was in jail now, arrested for his involvement and wrong doings, he knew nothing about this! this brother, his blood. A bad guy? why? he hadn't seen his brother since he left for UA, he hadn’t seen him when he came home, and started his agency. 

- this just puts Sun into a funk so he’s not as active as he used to be, and he starts thinking he might need a successor 

*- The second one is that they were two separate people that had similar quirks and both attended UA but Sun ended up in the hero corse. so 1A.

- Both Macaque and Sun have similar quirks, Sun’s is obviously more light based while Macaque’s is more shadow based(this applies to the first one as well)    

- Macaque was placed in class 1B, U.A.’s High's Heroics Department, I believe, you can correct me. 

- In cannon Class 1A and 1B both went to the training camp. I can see the teachers pinning Sun and Macaque against each other to hone their skills. 

- And because of that they become great friends    

- In fact when they graduate they both co-found there hero agency together in China and are a duo.

- But due to Monkey King’s popularity and Six Eared's association with shadows(people sometimes saying he has more of a villains quirk than a heros) the public see’s Macaque as Sun’s sidekick when thats far from the truth. 

- now it’s up to you whether you think that Wukong and Macaque would be in a relationship together, but knowing how cooked we all are, ShadowPeach is a thing here more than likely. 

- If you do or don’t support/ like the ShadowPeach aspect, the two would be living together regardless since its more cost efficient. 

- They my be heroes but living costs are expensive!   

- I would imagine there would have been a huge fight/argument between the two in privet of course, at there home.(or in there shared office if you want the extra angst of the other people they work with hearing them fight)   

- If the two are dating, then this would either lead to an out right breakup, or Macaque just up and leaving with Wukong thinking he’ll come back once he’s cooled off. But after a week, with no sign of his partner, or him answering texts or calls, not even coming into work. Wukong gets worried that something might have happened to him. so there wouldn't be a confirmation if they were still a thing or not. 

- But Wukong remains hopeful, despite the nagging at the back of his head, and gut telling him to go find Macaque, or atleast make a public statement, or even just tell another pro hero about it.   

- on the not so shippy side, Macaque and Wukong still have there argument, and much like the ShadowPeach esc side, Macaque up and leaves, and isn't seen for weeks. the only difference here is that when Wukong comes home one night to there flat, most if not all of Macaques stuff is gone. 

- where as if this was the ShadowPeach side, Macaque leaves all of his possession in the flat he and wukong share. for the simple reason being, he still loves him and wants to go back, but Macaque being Macaque can’t bring himself to do it, especially after seeing just how hurt Wukong looked when he yelled at him just before he left.  

- in other words, ANGST DIALED UP TO A 10 BABY  

- in either case, its a news report that confirms Wukong's suspicions that he desperately didn’t want to believe, and that is Macaque turning into a villain.

- much like if the two were brothers, Wukong just can’t take it and is no longer as active as he once was, and is thinking about, either A) Retirement  B) Saying, “Fuck Society, Be Gay Do Crime” and join Macaque as a villain himself, or C) find a successor, and a way to bring Macaque back to there side, but most importantly, back to him.    

- also extra points if you're after people's hearts and want to make them suffer;  - If there dating, Wukong curle’s up in the bed he and Macaque shared, holding/wearing something of great value to Macaque and just crying himself to sleep, where as Macaque is getting wasted on alcohol, as he stumbles out of the bar he’s in, he either see’s something that reminds him of Wukong or while he’s trying to put his wallet back into his pocket, a photo of them on their first date fall’s out. and Macaque just cries in a nearby alley way. And it’s there where he gets indoctrinated into the League.

       - If there just friends, macaque heads to the nearest forest and just levels it, where as Wukong just gets engrossed into his work, trying not to think about it. you could add you own spin on this, again i'm just spitballing.             

- NOW BACK TO MK! :D     

- Obviously MK is a huge Monkey King fan     

- at Twenty MK has come to terms he's quirkless (HE’S NOT)

-for ANGST reasons MKs fokes kicked him out at this realization at 13.

- he works at Piggsy's Noodle shop, and has been since he was 14.

- don't need a quirk to drive or cook!

- the boy lives a content life with his new family, till DBK happens :D

- DBK runs a Mafia(in conjunction with TLOV) and has been in jail for like 5 years thanks to Monkey King, PIF and RS brake him out one night when MK's out making a late night delivery since Piggsy had the bright idea to go 24/7 service!

- one thing leads to another and Mk somehow manifest what looks like the Monkey King's staff, but its not, it’s MKs powers, it just so happens to be the same power the Monkey King has. And it practically goes down the same way in the pilot. 

- but unlike the pilot Mk and Mei go straight to the FF Agency, after making a panicked call to Pigsy and Tang.

- one way or another Mk are lead into Wukongs office. Mei being forced to stay in the lobby.

- they have there convo, butterfly monkey squishing included.

- "And so, I want you do be my success-" BOOM 💥

- from there they rush downstairs and see that the lobby has been infiltrated by the DB fam, and you know fight.

- once the DB family seems like there down, PIF wisks them away. Much to Monkey King’s displeasure.

From there stuff kind plays out like cannon, the calabash ep is just a conjoint quirk the Demon bros have. As for EP9, ill have to script that one out myself lol. I'll get onto it as soon as my will to commit stabs me in the face. Till then have a dancing Kermit the frog.

Now if you'll excuse me, am about to Kermit a felony :D

(For legal reasons thats a joke)

Psst @writingamongther0ses its done

[palbabor-writes]

Yōkai

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Horror Tales

Warnings: Ghosts, spirits, blood, gore, adult language, death, mentions of violent crime

Word Count: 9403

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t. 

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Notes: I went with a whodunit theme for this fic with some healthy ghosts and haunts thrown in. As this is pre-All Might’s retirement, Hawks is the #3 Hero.

Yōkai

Yōkai are a class of supernatural monsters and spirits in Japanese folklore. The word 'yōkai' is made up of the kanji for "bewitching; attractive; calamity" and "spectre; apparition; mystery; suspicious."

The small island of Miyako is renowned for its turquoise waters, pristine coral sanctuaries, amusement parks, and sprawling mansions. All in all, it’s a trust fund tourist trap. Still, like most pristine and shiny things, there’s a seedier underbelly that’s scrapes against the rough, sandy bottom. Come at low tide and you’ll catch a whiff of decay and rot. 

Miyako Island is another example of that duality that exists within everything. No matter how pretty the water, there are always dark creatures that lurk in the shallow shoals and coves.

Hawks isn’t looking forward to his new assignment on the island. He’s been called in by the HPSC and Miyako’s police force. There’s been a string of unsolved murders and, with the onset of August, tourist season is in full swing. Homicide is bad publicity during the best of times. But, combine the discovery of freshly charred corpses popping up in various buildings, piers, and alleyways, with mass hysteria and you’re going to have a big problem on your hands. 

For eight open murder cases, there’s not much for Hawks to go on, and the data he does have is spotty. 

Hawks poured over the notes as soon as he got off the phone with the HSPC, the luster of the new assignment fresh in his mind. He swiped through the briefings and crime scene photos that were attached in the long email from Miyako’s chief of police. 

It looks like the trouble started in the poorer areas of town. No matter how bright the city lights shine, there’s always the common shadow of a downtrodden, overworked, and underpaid populous straining under the weight of “keeping up appearances.”  

Who else would do the nitty gritty jobs that ensured that the tourist season stayed afloat, and, most important of all, profitable? 

Sadly, it’s the blue collar areas that first experienced the horrors. The notes on these cases are borderline elitist, skirting close to xenophobic. The usual: ‘it was just something that happened when you crammed people in that close’. ‘What else did you expect’? ‘Most of the victims aren’t even from the island’. ‘They’re strangers, they’re not locals.’ ‘They’re not one of us’. 

The word immigrant pops up in the documentation frequently and it feels like a slur each time it appears. There’s a slinking, cloying animosity curling behind the looping words. 

It pisses Hawks off.

The only reason he’s been called is because the crimes have jumped over the poverty line. Now, two prominent members of Miyako society have been murdered. So, what’s the connection you ask? 

It’s the state of the bodies. 

All of the victims, rich or poor, have been mutilated. Something sharp was drawn across their skin, cutting and splicing, marring them, marking them. Then, as if to add insult to injury, they’d been set aflame. It must have been a scorching blaze. Something that leaves them so crisped and blackened that they’re more husk than human. In each case, it’s taken dental records to identify the deceased. 

The Miyako chief of police is doing a review of the known peculiars with Hawks. 

“They mirror the, uh, earlier crime scenes. As you can see, this one, she is, er, was a woman in her late 30’s-”

“She was 37,” Hawks supplies, his golden eyes running over the chart that the chief of police is showing him. He’s trying his best to hide his agitation, but his feathers still bristle, the red plumage flaring, refusing to lay against his back. 

“Uh, yeah, a bad age they say.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, it’s supposed to be bad luck. You know?”

“I don’t. Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?” 

Hawks has to grit his teeth to keep his tone even. He’s really not liking the way these crime scenes are processed and he’s made his opinion known to the police chief and investigative team. Why now, he’d pressed, hours after flying in, sweat still clinging to his brow. Why didn’t the bodies matter when it was relegated to the lower socio-economic citizens? 

He’s also critical and skeptical of the motives of this police chief. There’s something about the whole thing that feels...off.

 But, now’s not the time to project that suspicion. He’s only just arrived, besides, he needs more information, more data. Despite his agitation, he gets why the HPSC sent him on this assignment. He’s known for doing things quickly. Plus, he’s usually calm, collected, and he’s got the clout to get things moving again. 

He’s also observant. The HPSC both loves and hates this particular skill of his, but it’s to their benefit in this instance. His sharp eyes might spot something that’s been missed, they’d said on the phone with him as they handed off his assignment. If he played his cards right, they said, he could pull these murders from unsolved to solved. Oh, and the commission is thinking these murders might involve some agents from the League of Villains. 

It’s not a confirmed connection. 

There’s nothing solid about it, besides the body mutilation and burned corpses. But both are known habits of two members of the League. They’re shadowy leads, more steeped in hearsay than fact. All the same, one is rumored to have a fascination with blood, and the other, has a proclivity for using a bright, blue flame. It’s a hot heat, perfect for cremation and these bodies have all been practically, well, cremated.

“Have you met the other heroes that will be assigned to work with you?” 

Hawks snaps out of his head and nods at the tall, balding police chief. “Amano and Matsuura? Yeah, we’re supposed to take a look at the first locations as soon as this...meeting...is concluded.” Hawks hopes the police chief can hear the air quotes he just put the word meeting in. 

“Good, good. I saw your additions on the later cases. I really feel that we should look a little harder into those. One was a member of the city council. He was beloved by the city and-”

“If I’m looking for a pattern, there’s a higher probability that the killer was sloppier in the earlier cases. New habits and all. I’ll get to the councilman when I get to the councilman. Again, this string of murders started in the lowlands. While I realize that doesn’t get you the most publicity, and I hear a re-election is coming up for your position as chief of police this fall, I’m not going to pick at certain elements of this and leave others by the wayside. 

You gotta’ problem with that, take it up the HPSC. But, listen, they’re a lot meaner than me and they’re not going to like that you’re obstructing my investigation. You asked the commission to send someone down, and, lucky you, you’ve gotten yourself stuck with me.” 

Hawks flashes the police chief a bright grin, his teeth gleaming as his eyes crinkle to crescents. The man stammers for a moment, his face flushing under Hawks’ false joviality, then he tosses a bulky manilla folder on the desk. 

“Why you...I heard you were an arrogant son of a...no, no.” The chief sputters, his teeth clenched, anger bared behind the grinding of his jaw. “You’re right, we’re so very grateful to the number three hero taking time out of his busy modeling schedule to lend us a hand with these murders.”

“Ooh, you saw that spread in the sports magazine? Nice use of color right? Loved that new set of watches I’m sponsoring.” 

Fucking prick. Hawks is used to this kind of irate reaction, hell, it’s pretty expected now. He’d heard it so many times he has it memorized. Yeah, yeah, he’s twenty one, a kid who’s too big for his boots. He has no idea, no real world experience. Did you hear how he talked to me? The audacity.  

Let this guy try to report his snarky attitude, it’s not going to get his low level wannabe bureaucratic ass anywhere.

“I’ll get my agency to send you a signed copy. I had no idea you were such a fan! Lemme grab these files, got some work to do. Catch you around, sir!” Hawks pantomimes a salute, a serious expression making his eyes narrow. Fuck this dude. He’s got bigger fish to fry.

Closing the door on the police chief’s mottled expression, he meanders down the stairs of the police precinct, his wings still arching and rustling his temper. You’d think this case didn’t matter to these buffoons. The sheer implication of Hawks’ presence should clue them in. The HPSC doesn’t do anything lightly. Nah, these killings could be related to the League. Plus, his background checks on the victims had revealed some startling discoveries. 

All of them, down to the nineteen year old restaurant hostess, were involved in minor villain activities. Some had smuggled drugs, some laundered money on the side, one was a known broker. They kept climbing the ladder of severity. It was worrisome. 

While the chances of the LOV’s involvement was low, the commission was still searching for their hideout. He’d caught wind of some of the activity revolving around that ongoing mission. He wasn’t assigned to it, but he liked to keep an ear to the ground. 

Association with the LOV or not, these homicides kept bothering him. There’s something he’s not seeing. He dislikes the sensation. It makes him tense, ill at ease. Once he steps outside the police headquarters he launches himself into the sleet grey skies. 

It looks like rain. 

If he’s wanting to glean as much as he can from those early crime scenes, he better hurry. Hawks doesn’t like rain. It makes his feathers feel bogged down and dampened. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on evidence. Rain can whisk the little details away, slicking and drifting as it washes down to the vast sea. It can easily snag vital clues on its meandering path, erasing as it goes. 

******

The first murder took place on the fourth floor of a shabby apartment. The victim lived in the 19th unit and was a 43 year old male. He was a well known loner. So, it was a shock to discover that he ran a pilfering ring. The ring wasn’t a small scale enterprise either. No, this went deep. It connected to three other islands and the Japanese mainland. There’s no way this guy was a simple recluse. If anything, he was nothing short of a criminal mastermind. 

His body had been left in an odd position. It was likely staged, purposeful.  

He was discovered by his landlord. Rent was due and it was unusual for him to be late with the payment. So, the landlord let himself into the 19th unit. It’s a small wonder no one reported the smell earlier. Apparently, it was putrid, acidic, gut churning. A mix of tarnished copper and old, rotten meat. 

In all likelihood, he was murdered elsewhere and dragged back to the unit. Nothing in the room, besides his corpse, was scorched. The victim was splayed on his small bed, but the placement was strange. His feet were resting on his ashen pillow, shoes still on his feet. Meanwhile, his head was at the foot of his bed, pointing northward. 

Hawks and one of the assigned heroes, a friendly guy named Amano, are going over the case file with two members of the forensic team. Apparently, one of the team members hadn’t been part of the original investigation clean up and bagging. As Hawks and Amano are sharing the crime scene photos, asking the forensic team questions, the taller of the two, gasps, clapping a hand over his lips. 

Hawks tilts his head at the man’s reaction, his feathers automatically feeling for his pulse. It’s elevated and the guy appears to be truly bothered. It’s an upsetting picture, to be sure, but this is his job. He cleans up blood and guts for a living. Surely, he’s seen worse.

“You ok?” Hawks’ asks, his amber eyes shifting over the man’s face. 

“F-fine. It’s just, well, look at him.” 

Hawks takes the photo back. Did he miss something? 

“What about him?”

“Look at the direction his head’s facing.” 

“Uh,” Hawks examines the position of the hazy sun that peeks through the rain clouds outside the window. “North?”

Now the other forensic team member gasps. What the hell? What does facing north have to do with anything? It’s a cardinal direction. What would they say if he was facing the West? Again, are these people deliberately trying to bog his investigation down?

“I don’t see what, uh, relevance that has.” Hawks tells the two, looking over to Amano. The hero doesn’t seem to be bothered by their outburst. He just shrugs at Hawks’ frank stare.

“It’s supposed to be bad luck, but yeah, there’s not-” Amano begins, finally placing some clarity on the forensic team's outburst of paranoia, but he’s interrupted by the taller, jumpier man. 

“Not just that. You collect iron in your blood if you sleep facing north. It brings death.”

The guy said death like it might summon the fearsome spector down on them at any moment. Amano coughs, his hand covering a badly concealed smile. “Yeah, sure. Facing north is bad luck, and, I guess it can bring death, too. Learn something new everyday...”

“Worked pretty well in this guys case,” Hawks muses, arching an eyebrow at the jittery forensic team. “You guys see anything else? Something a little more, I don’t know, pertinent?” 

They don’t get much further with that crime scene.

Amano tags along for Hawks’ review of the other two cases. His agency runs out of this area and he was one of the first responders. He’s not got a lot of extra information, but he knows the people and they know him. It takes the edge off, lets the locals open up a little more. 

The next case is in a home. Well, home feels generous, it’s more like a shack. Apparently, the victim liked to collect cat figurines. Like, really, really liked to collect cat figurines. There’s over sixty of them, they’re scattered around the place, tucked into nooks and crannies. It feels like a thousand little eyes are watching the two heroes as they canvas the space. It’s creepy.  Hawks dislikes the sensation. His feathers keep lifting, feeling, spreading out.

The woman had been found at her kitchen table. She was propped into a chair, sitting, like nothing in the world, save her crisp remains, was amiss. The only way you could achieve a staging of that caliber was to wait for the body to enter rigor mortis. 

That takes time. 

Full rigor sets in around 5 to 12 hours after death has occured. Whomever did this must have had time to spare. And they weren’t worried about being caught during that time. No, they were too busy planning out the dramatic effect of their crimes.  

Once again, he feels like he’s missing something. 

One body was left pushing a garden cart. Literally, the man was found, early in the morning with his hands tied to a wheelbarrow. He was posed mid task, his arm lifted, reaching for someone, or something. Trouble was, the guy didn’t work as a gardener. No, he was a low level broker. Someone darting under the criminal radar. He’d eluded the police and heroes for months. Looks like his luck ran out.

The eighth body, the congressman, was discovered at a popular wharf. This crime scene is still in the process of being cleaned up, so there’s a flurry of people bustling around. Amano, and the other hero, Matsuura, who’s also been assigned to Hawks’ investigation, are talking with witnesses, gathering information and scheduling interviews. This kind of hero work is never ending. Hawks is grateful they’re willing to take on the grunt work. 

As Hawks is kneeling, peering over the ledge of the pier, looking down on the blackened wood and debris, a loud cawing breaks out. It echoes on the wind, coiling and lifting. It’s a funny sound. Like it’s far away and dulled. It makes Hawks’ wings fan out, overstimulated and brittle. The heroes and crime scene investigators debate on the origin of the noise. It doesn’t help that there’s no bird that’s wheeling above them. No, the skies are dark and empty, with a light misting of rain starting to drip onto the lashing sea. 

“What is that?”

“Is it a gull?”

“It’s creepy. There’s nothing even flying around. But, it sounds so close.”

“I think it’s a seabird. It’s gotta be, sometimes they fly out here looking for fish.”

“I’ve never heard a seagull sound like that.”

“There are other birds besides seagulls, idiot. It could be a pelican-”

“It’s a crow,” Hawks’ supplies, standing and turning back to the clutch of people who are quickly gathering up their supplies, doing their best to get the important pieces of evidence protected from the rain. 

“Huh? Did he say a crow?”

“Oh, damn, that’s a sign of death.”

“No...I think it’s illness, not death.”

Hawks’ walks to Amano and Matsuura, he tells them he’ll meet them back at the police headquarters. He needs to start his interviews if he wants to even have a prayer of snagging a bite to eat. He’s been subsisting off coffee since he flew in and his stomach is rumbling, loudly. 

The investigators are still debating the meaning of the crow caws when he takes off. His wings beat powerfully beside his head and he lifts above the grey storm clouds, coasting high, past the skyline. 

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t. 

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye. 

Things feel off in every crime scene. Were their belongings really left that way? Or, have the details been staged? Plus, the murders keep escalating. The particulars are spreading out and deepening as they interweave. The major connecting thread is still the state of the bodies, but even that is starting to feel vague. Hawks shudders a bit of excess moisture from the tips of his wings. Fingers crossed, some of these witnesses and relatives of the victims will have a little more substance for him to chew on.

******

Oh, they have something alright. 

It’s more hushed rumors and strange folk tales. God, the sheer frightened gullibility of these islanders is wild. The whole place feels so backwoodsey, lost in a bygone era. There’s always a prayer or blessing that needs to be uttered. Or, some supernatural logic that he needs to look into. Did you consider the devil, Hawks? He hides in the details, you know? 

It’s fucking weird. 

Hawks is treading in unfamiliar waters with this tripe. He didn’t grow up with any of this. The HPSC certainly hadn't offered him a course on Japanese islander folk traditions during his childhood. Still, these people, for the most part, seem well off, educated, cultured even. Some aren’t even from this island. But, they seem to be infected with the same disease: ghosts, oni spirits, and bad omens. It’s a whirling circle of nonsense and Hawks’ wants off this ride.   

“I got a call from her.”

“From the victim, your sister?”

“Yeah, it came in at 4:49 am.”

“Ma’m, that’s not possible. The coroner noted that rigor mortis had set in by 2 am”

“She sounded faint. It was like she was underwater, but it was her. She screamed at me.”

“She screamed at you?”

“Yeah, it was this low scream. Kinda, like a gasp? Like she couldn’t breathe. It kept getting louder and louder and louder. It hurt my ears. They felt like they were ringing, pounding. Then, the line just went dead. I can still hear it, that scream. Every time I close my eyes, or whenever I least...I-I can still hear her.”

“Do you have your phone records?”

Hawks is trying to make sense of it all, but it’s like they’re talking to each other before they come into the interview room, telling each new interviewee to up the ante. 

See if you can spook the number three hero. Go on, it’ll be fun. 

There’s a slew of strange occurrences. Disembodied voices, knocking on windows, doors opening on their own, quiet voids of cold that they step into. Ghosts keep popping up.

Then, there’s the oni spirits. They have red faces and they lean in close, their fangs reaching, gnashing, grinding. One woman, who was married to one of the victims, burst into tears, her terrified sobbing turning into a frantic wail. 

She had seen an ogre in her back garden. It was pushing a cart and the cart was on fire. Hawks’ checked his notes as he patted the woman’s back, trying to help her move through a few breathing exercises. One of the victims was found propped, pushing a wheelbarrow, could it be…

No. It’s another dead end. 

This woman didn’t know that dead man, the one who was pushing the cart. She didn’t even live on the same side of town. Ugh, this is endless. It might be easier if he did apply these delusions to his investigation. At least that way he’ll feel sane. 

Some of the victims had been acting suspicious, paranoid, on edge before their deaths. One of them had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night and ran off. The next day she was found dead in her home, burnt and drifting into ash. 

“So, she got the call and just ran out the door?”

“Yes. But, she let it ring four times.”

“You said that already. I’m not sure-”

“She picked it up after the fourth ring.” The aunt of the victim is looking at Hawks expectantly, her blue eyes wide, starting. 

“I don’t-”

“You know what that means...don’t you?”

“The hidden significance of picking up a phone on the fourth ring? No, no I don’t.”

They never fully expand on their weird theories. They’re normal comments to them. He debates looking up the meaning of the number four on his phone, but he tamps down the urge. It doesn’t pertain to the case. It’s useless drivel, a waste of time. 

An adult man shows him this ugly, ugly drawing of a cat. It’s pulling a flaming cart. Hawks doesn’t even want to touch the paper. The man keeps pointing back at it as he goes over his neighbor’s timeline. 

This particular witness is connected to the city councilman. The one that was oh, so important to the police chief. It’s a high profile case and it’s being taken seriously. Yet, here’s this supposedly credible witness, flashing a childish scrawl up to his nose, asking him to look for the phenomena, like it’s a normal request to ask the number three hero to look for nonexistent demons. 

‘There’s gotta be more to this’, he tells Hawks, his voice broken, fervid. ‘Something, something has to be there, after all, the councilman was murdered for a reason’. 

The man with the drawing is right about that, at least. 

These are not random crimes. The MO is too similar. Every single victim was involved in some sort of villainous activity. Yeah, the guys correct on that one sane theory of his: ‘There’s gotta be something there’. But, whatever it is, it’s not this cat thing. 

Hawks calls a halt to their interview and glumly munches on his cold chicken sandwich as he waits for the next witness to be called in. His head is pounding and he’s praying for some new development to fall into his lap, at least that way he can conclude things and get the hell off this island. 

****** 

The 9th victim is an outlier. 

He’s high up in social circles and he was a popular man. He’s also been accused of money laundering, tax evasion and fraud. He was acquitted on all charges, but his past never did stop nipping at his heels. However, that’s not what makes him an outlier. 

No, that’s reserved for the state of his body. 

Most of the victims have been burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind, save bone and gristle. You can still see this guy's face and defining features. He’s a little charred, but it’s almost like the flames stopped right before they got past his chin. 

They transport his body to the morgue and Hawks finishes the combing of the crime scene, setting up a new batch of interview times and creating witness reports. He leaves just as the sun is dipping under the horizon. 

******

It’s late now, and the cool sea breeze blows in through his open hotel windows, soothing across his crimson plumage. It’s his first evening off in over a week. He’s still working though, typing his reports into his laptop. 

He’s forgone his usual coffee this evening. He wants to try and see if he can catch a full eight hours tonight. God, what a fucking delicious treat that would be. Eight hours? That’s the real ghost here. 

He shuts off his laptop and flops himself across his bed, his wings tucking into his side, burrowing his shoulders into their reassuring warmth. 

He slips into the lull between realities, his mind whirring, the case resting heavily against the forefront of his thoughts. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he can’t distinguish between dream and actuality as he drifts off. 

There’s something there.

It keeps to the edge of his vision, a dark shadow that leeches the color from whatever it touches. He can feel it watching him. It shifts quickly when he cocks his head to get a better look, sliding across the blank expanse like quicksilver, fluid and slick. 

He looks away from the edges of his dreamscape and turns. He blinks in surprise. He’s at one of the crime scenes. It’s the one with the man in the wheelbarrow. There’s a crowd pressing around him and that dark figure is blotted toward the back, lurking, watching. The people around him murmur and whisper, too soft to hear. They don’t seem to notice him. They also don’t appear to have faces. They’re just blank voids, with soft notches where eyes, noses, and mouths should be. Unthinking, Hawks reaches for one of them and his hand slips through the air, weightless and heavy in the same motion. 

When he blinks again he’s in that lady’s shack, the one with all the cat figurines. That wraith is sitting at her kitchen table. It’s not moving and he doesn’t feel particularly threatened by its proximity. Still, he dislikes this whole thing. If he can touch it, maybe he’ll wake up.

He’s stepping forward when he hears a soft mewl. There’s a black cat on a shelf. It’s tiny and lithe. It jumps in front of him, a low purr rumbling from its chest. It looks up at him, orange eyes fastening on his amber ones. Odd, he thinks, that woman only had figures. No living cats were evident in the house. 

The cat chirps four times. It’s a light, high pitched sound that makes his ears ache. It almost sounds like a phone. The cat lifts its tail and turns, padding soundlessly into the next room. Intrigued, Hawks follows.

Now, he’s walking down a street. The cat is still in front of him, weaving in and out. That purr of it is loud and sharp as it vibrates around his ears. He keeps trying to get the feline’s attention. He pspsp’s at the dark cat, clicking his tongue, but it doesn’t respond. Hawks is distracted, not paying any mind to his surroundings, wholly focused on the feline. 

The voice startles him. 

It’s rasping and deep and it’s calling his name. Not his hero name, no, it’s saying his real name, over and over. 

KEIGO TAKAMI. 

Keigo Takami, he thinks, stumbling over words that make him, him. It sounds strange now, foreign. He hasn’t heard that name in such a long time.  How did…

The voice is coming from behind him now. He whirls around and is face to face with that man. The 9th victim, the one whose face you could still see. He’s charred and battered, and blood is dripping in long rivulets from his gaping skin, pooling onto the ashen sidewalk. 

His eyes are wide, searching but not seeing. The pupil and iris are both milky white, rolling around in the cavities of his sockets. Then, his mouth pops open. It’s horrifically wide, like it’s caught in a scream. His teeth are crumbling before Hawks’ eyes, black pearls that slide from the man’s lips and clatter around his feet. 

Hawks is stunned, unsure, but, fuck, he can’t move. He tries to flap his wings, knowing that they’ll tug him away from this horror that’s in front of him. Except, there’s no whoosh of air, no lift. There’s nothing. What? How... 

His hands bat at the emptiness along his back. Where are they? What is this? His fingertips press along his shoulders, searching, desperate. His quirk, it’s...it’s just gone. He’s frantic now and that makes him clumsy. His feet tangle under him and he falls. Grounded, his legs instinctively begin to push away from the shell of a man in front of him.

The figure moves with him. Hawks keeps scrabbling away, but the man is even closer now and his bare feet are disintegrating with each shuffling pad forward. Still, he keeps on. Hawks tries to move again, tries to shift, but he’s been cast in stone. He can’t look away...he can’t…

The man is almost upon him now. His fingers are crumbling, the ash they create is making him choke. He can’t breath, he’s wheezing, unable to pull oxygen through his trembling lips. Hawks’ lungs are burning...

Then, Hawks’ wakes up. 

He’s sweating. His skin feels hot and his wings are flared. The feathers are quivering, searching. They bring him back bits and pieces. There’s someone sobbing two rooms over, someone is sleeping below him, their breath warm, he can almost feel it, pushing in and out, in and out. There’s a phone ringing. How many rings? What if it’s four...

Stop, stop.

Hawks tucks his wings back, ignoring the sounds, the sensations. The plumage wraps around him and he ducks his head into the darkness that they blanket him in. He’s comforted by the reassuring, solid presence of his quirk. He thought he’d lost it. His shoulders still hurt from his flailing motions. What is going on? He’s never had a dream like that. It felt so...so real. 

No. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He doesn't believe in this stuff. It’s not real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

He tries to lay back down. 

He’s cooled off some, but his wings keep flapping, he’s stopped trying to fight them. His quirk is going into overdrive. This hasn’t happened to him in years, not since he was a kid. He tosses his pillow over his head, trying to stifle out the noise his quirk keeps drowning him in. He’s tired and overstimulated. Each breath stings and he tries to count, to walk through the steps that have been with him since childhood. Just be still, Hawks. It doesn’t matter. 

The sun is peeking over the horizon when he finally dozes off, his head heavy, fogged with exhaustion. 

******

Hawks grabs two nitro coffees the next morning. 

He practically inhales the dark liquid, hoping it will let him evade the haze of tiredness that thrums through his veins. It’s a slow day, thank God. There’s nothing of note that occurred the night before. Everything is pacing along its planned trajectory. There are no new bodies and the last interviews go by without any mention of spirits or the paranormal. 

Matsuura offers to take him for some lunch. Hawks, always eager to expand his palette, eagerly agrees and the two men head into the city. It’s a weekend, so the streets are crowded. People recognize Hawks and he chats with them, grateful for the welling of normalcy that the interactions bring. He’s signing an autograph when he catches sight of movement in a darkened alleyway. 

It’s not a particularly noticeable shift, but something about it feels strange. Hawks hands the freshly signed soccer ball back to the gang of kids around him and tilts his head toward the motion. He blinks. What the fuck? That’s not possible. 

It’s the man from his dream. He’s walking, steps heavy, sluggish and he’s moving into the alley. The 9th victim? But, but how? What? 

His wings react to his agitation and he hones in on the spot, reaching, snatching at anything he can sense. His fierce wings never let him down. They’re versatile, practiced and perfected. Feathers detach and shimmer into the midday sun, ducking around corners and onto rooftops, feeling. 

There’s nothing. 

No heartbeat, no footsteps, no voices. Hawks’ eyes had slipped closed as he felt for the man and he snaps them open again, his avian pupils dilating, constricting to a fine point. He turns to Matsuura and tells the hero he’s going to check something out. His wings lift before Matsuura can answer and he flaps into the air, the sea breeze assisting his ascension.

The rooftops are empty and Hawks scans the streets below, his wings rustling as he pulls himself along. Maybe it was a trick of his mind? Did he really see that guy? That’s a stupid question, how could he have? That man is dead. It’s gotta be his tired psyche. He didn’t sleep well, plus this case has been on his brain so much that he’s even dreaming about it. 

He lands on a nearby roof, his boots hitting the tiles roughly. Hawks closes his eyes again, sending a few more feathers out. The man, if he is real, will take this path if he is using the alleyway as an escape. There are no other routes available to him. 

He’s still attuned to his scattered feathers when he hears the cat hiss at him. His eyes open and he sees the animal. It’s a black cat. 

It’s across the street, lingering in an open window, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Hawks narrows his eyes at the aggressive display. There are way too many cats on this island. 

As he and the cat continue to engage in their silent staring contest, he hears a scritching sound coming from the street below. Hawks follows the noise, leaning over the edge of the rooftop. A child is playing below. She is sketching something into the concrete with bits of multicolored chalk. 

It looks like...huh? 

It looks like some kind of cart, but, why...why is it on fire? She is busy tracing the licking flames, a yellow piece of chalk clutched in her small fist. She’s humming a mindless song. It sounds like some kind of dirge. It’s soft and melancholic, following a minor tune. A shiver creeps up Hawks’ spine, but he ignores the pebbling of his skin, shaking his head.

Curious, Hawks wheels down, tapping along the street. He keeps a little ways away from the girl, he’s not wanting to startle her. His long fingers reach behind him, into his utility pocket that sits on his belt. He tugs out a small sticker sheet. He always keeps little trinkets in his pockets. It takes real effort to put people at ease and Hawks prides himself on his ability to steadfastly maintain that part of his image. He kneels on his haunches, dropping himself to a friendlier level before calling out to the little girl.

“Hey! That’s a pretty picture.” His voice is all light and honey and he has a bright smile on his face.

“Oh!” the little girl chirps, beaming her own grin back at him. “Thank you!”

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“It’s a Kasha.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what a Kasha is. Can you tell me about the Kasha?”

“They come to take away bad people.” The little girl replies, going back to her sketch, perfecting her lines and colors. 

“Oh! There’s a kitty in your drawing. Is the kitty a Kasha too?” Hawks asks, noticing the calico cat that’s attached to the handles on the front of the cart. It looks angry, vengeful. Strange for a kiddo to draw something so eerie.

“That’s the spirit of the nekomata, silly. Don’t you know anything?”

“Haha,” Hawks laughs, a genuine sound that makes him throw his head back, his hand bashfully scratching the back of his head. “Guess I don’t, huh? Do you like to draw...ghosts?”

“Not really. If I draw them they won’t-”

A distant voice is calling out a name. It’s female and coming from a house a few feet away, no doubt the girl’s mother or sister. The little girl calls back. 

“Coming mama! I gotta go, mister.”

“Here,” Hawks begins, detaching a smaller feather and drifting the little set of stickers over to the girl’s chubby hands. “Thank you for answering my questions,” he smiles. She coos and snatches the sparkly sheet, the sunlight catches the glitter that adorns the stickers. He tickles her cheek with his detached feather and she laughs. 

Her mother calls again and she starts to run off, her yellow shoes pounding on the street. Belatedly, she pauses before rounding the corner and bows low, a quick thank you slipping from her mouth. He waves back and smiles as she walks into her home, the door clicking behind her. Once he’s alone in the alleyway his grin drops and he stands, looking down at her drawing. 

It’s so freaking odd. Sure, sure, these cases are in the news. But the drawing looks...familiar somehow. 

Oh, that’s why. 

That man he interviewed, the one connected to the congressmen, had drawn something similar. Even then, back in that dark interrogation room, the strange figures looked like something he’d seen before, but where?

That nagging feeling is back. It pulls at the back of his mind. What is going on?

Hawks pulls out a small notepad and replicates the girl’s drawing, noting the colors and positions of the nekomata. As he sketches, his wings arc above his head, lifting and lowering meditatively. 

******

He comes back to the police precinct, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets. As he walks toward the chief’s office he runs into Amano. He’s the elder of his two assigned heroes and a font of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. Maybe he’ll know something more about this doodle that keeps cropping up.

“Hey, Amano, you seen any weird drawings around town? Or, at the crime scenes maybe?”

“Weird? Like how?”

Hawks pulls out his notepad, flipping to the page with his sketch of the cat pushing the burning cart. Amano chortles, one gloved hand coming to cover his mirth. 

“What is that? It looks terrible.”

“I’m not much of an artist, I'll give you that one. In my defense, it’s based on a kid's drawing, so cut me some slack here, man. She said it was supposed to be a kasha and a nekomata?”

“Oh! Yeah, I can kinda see that now. I know what those are. According to legend, kasha appear during rainstorms. They steal corpses out of their coffins. Some of the older folks say they collect the souls of the damned. You can’t get the souls back if the kasha get them, they’re taken to hell, or eaten, depending on what version of the story you’re listening to. 

I mean, they’re all just old wives tales. We used to tell them on camping trips. They’re bedtime stories, something to scare kids into being good. Ooo, misbehave and you’ll get taken to hell. 

Eh, that feels kinda strong when I say it outloud, hopefully people don’t tell their kids stuff like that. Anyway, it’s not real.” Amano pauses, his head tilting at Hawks’ serious expression. “Isn’t it a little early to be getting into ghost stories? It’s summertime. Besides...” 

Hawks tugs his phone out of his jacket pocket, flicking through the crime scene photos as Amano elaborates on how ridiculous this ghoulish conversation is. Normally, Hawks would agree, but there’s got to be...oh...OH. 

There it is. 

His finger stills over the glass of his phone. It’s tiny, basically a scrawl, but it’s there. He flicks through some of the other photos, swiping through the different locations, searching. Ah-ha! Again, there’s that scrawl. This time, it’s almost cropped out of the photo. Still, there are two crime scenes with the scrawling of chalk. 

It’s a tiny drawing, so tiny he looked right over it originally, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s there, plain as day. It’s a drawing of a tiny cart with a cat pulling the handles, lugging the wheels forward. 

Amano is still talking when Hawks looks back up. Hawks butts into his elaborations, not caring that he’s interrupting the man. 

“Ok, so they take evil doers away? Spooky. Question for you. You got any theories on why it’s cropping up all over town?” Hawks lifts the phone to Amano’s face. Amano takes the device and examines the strange markings, his brow creases, but he hands Hawks his phone back with a small smirk on his lips.

“It’s just talk, man. People do all sorts of superstitious things around here. Don’t look too hard into it. You believe what you want to, I don’t know. If that makes sense. Like those old sayings: ‘Don’t clip your nails before bed’. ‘No whistling at night’. It’s just something to say.

Superstitions are weird like that. Kinda like why you don’t have a fourth floor in a hospital. The number four looks like the word for death when you write it out. It’s bad form. It’s asking for trouble. So, don’t put a fourth floor, and boom, no problems with death.”

Hawks hums at Amano’s explanation. Ok, that superstition about the fourth floor, yeah, that one he had heard about. Amano claps a hand on Hawks shoulder and tells him he’s going to call a few more witnesses in. Hawks nods distantly, his mind whirring, processing. Despite Amano’s assurances, something still feels off.

******

He’s got a night shift. 

It’s only for one evening, so it shouldn't fuck up his sleep schedule too much. Hawks has already decided that he’s going to circle back to all of the crime scenes. He’s not used to being out of the loop, or being the one that people are looking at quizzically. 

He’d shown the drawings to the head investigator and the man had given him a blank look before asking Hawks if he needed some time off from the case. If he’d been asked that question a few days later, Hawks might have taken him up on the offer. 

It’s been five days since he had that dream, but he’s still seeing that man. He’s determined to haunt him, to flit on the side of Hawks’ vision, drifting around like a dead leaf in a breeze. 

He saw him at a bus stop the other evening. His dark hair was plastered to his face, burnt skin sloughing off his shoulders. He looked like a walking horror and Hawks had brought himself to an abrupt stop, staring at the figure below. The bus pulled up to the stop seconds after, the sleek metal shielding the man from view. By the time Hawks lifted himself higher, the man was gone. 

He saw him in windows, peering sightlessly out of the glass. He spied the man walking home from the train, trailing long streams of ash and smoke behind him. He never makes any sound. He’s not alive, so why would he? He had spoken to him in his dream, called his name, but after that? There was nothing. 

The vacancy of his presence is what startles Hawks the most. 

There’s nothing to feel, nothing to sense. It’s just this vast, blank, emptiness. For someone with a quirk like his, it’s deeply unsettling. Hawks’ life revolves around his ability to sense, to feel. The plight of the dead man makes his chest hurt with its loneliness and abject barrenness. Is that what it’s like to die? You drift into this void, alone? He doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Is this his routine? Is he trapped in an endless loop, playing out his final movements? How long does he have to participate in this charade? Is this some kind of purgatory for him?    

Distracted by his thoughts, Hawks spots a different man down a dark street as he flies overhead. It looks like he’s pushing a creaking wheelbarrow. Wait. A wheelbarrow? He looks again, wheeling back through the night sky, but there’s no one there now. No, the street is desolate, not even the gleam of the moon can brighten the winding sidewalks. 

Is this really a ghost? Do these visions even exist? Hawks has never given the topic of the paranormal much thought. It’s always been an outlier, untrue, and untested. A pseudoscience. Well, ghosts or not, whatever is going on, Hawks needs some rest. 

The rest of the night passes uneventfully and Hawks collapses onto his bed, drifting to sleep as soon as his golden head hits the pillows. 

******

After a goodnight’s sleep, it does get a little easier. 

He feels like his mind has cleared, the cobwebs brushed to one side, for now. Despite the clarity, he’s still seeing something. The man hasn’t gone away. No, even the daylight sun isn’t able to banish him. He saw him in his hotel lobby this morning, waiting for an elevator. By the time Hawks zoomed over, he was gone, the only evidence of his presence is the rising numbers on the illuminated floor panel, clicking up, toward the 4th floor.

That night, while getting a late night coffee, Hawks, long since given up his avoidance of caffeine in the evenings, spies something a little more sinister. As he’s paying the friendly barista, he notices someone lugging something across the road. It looks like it’s heavy, dragging against the street. They’re struggling to hoist it and it’s looking more and more like a body to Hawks’ frazzled nerves. He can’t be sure if it’s the specter that’s been lurking after him, but he’s not taking any chances. Again, Hawks is fast, but it’s not his speed that’s letting him down here. 

Each and every time, there’s just nothing there.

Is he freaking haunted now? Is that a thing? That crazy dream hasn’t returned, so that’s one, fleeting, plus. Wait. Does thinking about the paranormal bring it into existence? Is that how ghosts work? Ugh, if he’s going to be plagued, he might as well read up on this shit. What the fuck is going on? Is it the town? Is it the pressure of this case? Is it him?

As he takes himself, and his coffee, up to his hotel room, he ponders the strange predicament he’s landed himself in. He can’t fit all the pieces together. It’s too strange, too abnormal. He wants to lay down, try to get a little sleep. But, a hero's work is never done. He’s got another report to type up and another set of interviews to schedule. 

As he sits at the small desk that faces the window, he hears a strange cawing. It sounds close, almost like it’s right outside the glass. It’s not the call of a seagull, no, it’s that crow again. But, crows aren’t indigenous to the island. He’d looked them up after that discussion on the wharf. No crows have been spotted on the island in over 50 years. The last known specimen was an old bird, living in the Miyako zoo. It died over 3 years ago. 

Hawks pulls himself to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor. He opens the window and pokes his head outside. He can smell the salty aroma of the sea. It tickles his nose and makes him take a big inhale of air, filling his lungs with the crisp aroma. The crow can still be heard, shrieking into the night. There’s a soft, familiar, beating of wings, too. He cranes his head, scanning the blackness, his wings are lifted as well, but there’s no bird. Per usual, there’s no movement, and no creature is flapping its way into the night sky. 

He closes the window and the cawing echoes to the other side of the room before fading away. Annoyed, he takes a sip of his coffee. Hopefully that’s the last he’ll hear of it. He’s got enough ghosts fucking with him, thank you very much, he’s not wanting to add a disembodied crow to the role call. 

******  

The next morning Hawks is on a patrol. 

The murder cases have stagnated again. While this, on the whole, is good news, simply because there are no new bodies, he still can’t get that damned drawing off his mind. It feels like things are slipping away from him, pulling out with the tide and into the vast realm of the dreaded: unsolved cold case. 

He’s frustrated, no, he’s not frustrated, he’s pissed. 

He feels like he’s letting the whole town down. He’d been called out here to do a job, but what good has he really been? Sure, the townsfolk are weird, the police chief is an ass and the lead detective pretty much has Hawks written off as a conspiracy theorist nut, but he was sent here to do a job. He’s good at sniffing things out. He’s good at being a hero. He’s not good at waiting, and that’s all this case has turned into, one long stint of stagnation and thumb twiddling. 

Hawks glides across the bright sky, the sun reflecting warmly on his ruby red feathers. His eyes and wings are alert, feeling for any disturbances. He’s rounding onto the main street when he sees him.

It’s a living, breathing man. Hawks can feel his heartbeat, it’s pounding against the man’s breastbone. Only problem is, he shouldn’t be in the realm of the living.

The 9th victim ducks into a large bank, his familiar dark hair gleaming in the sun. 

Hawks maneuvers to land immediately, his wings tucking against his back and dropping him to the earth at an alarming speed. He startles the small huddle of pedestrians on the sidewalk, but he’s too intent on catching his quarry to smooth any ruffled feathers. He races up the steps of the bank, one broad, gloved hand yanking the glass door open.

There he is. He’s talking with someone. Hawks can almost hear what he’s saying, he just needs to get closer…

“Sir? Can I help you?”

It’s a bank employee. He’s wearing a crisp blue suit and his eyes are wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Hawks pauses at his question, then slides past him, but it looks like it was just enough time for the 9th victim to evade him. He’s walking now, disappearing from view, stepping down a back hallway. It looks like he’s following someone…

Hawks turns back to the bank employee, his wings vibrating with annoyance and impatience. “I need to talk with that man, he’s wanted in a murder investigation. My name is Hawks, my hero number is-”

“Oh, I know who you are. O-of course, please, do what you need to d-”

The bank employee’s voice fades as Hawks lifts himself, pulling over the heads of the people waiting in the lobby. A few feathers dash out, feeling, searching. 

Where did he go?

Hawks reaches the hallway in record time, his wings folding as he paces over the marble flooring. There’s not much back here, but it does lead to a large, closed vault. Damn it all. 

“Sir, sir, SIR! Can we help you? I am the bank manager. You’re not permitted to be back-”

“Sure, you can help me. I need access to this vault. There’s a man, you can check your security cameras, he just walked-”

“I do not have access to the vault. You will need to make a formal-”

“Whaddya’ mean, “you don’t have access”? Then find someone who does. Two men just...Damn it…”

Hawks phone is ringing, he tries to ignore it, but it persists, vibrating and chiming against his leg. The bank manager is bristling, his mustache quivering as he babbles on about warrants, and how heroes can’t act like cops. It doesn’t matter if Hawks is the number three, he can’t ignore protocol. He needs to come back with a warrant, or get out…

His phone’s ringtone continues to slice through the tense air and Hawks, after the 9th, exasperating, ring, lifts it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID: it’s the HPSC. Fuck. He accepts the call on a final, shrill note.

“Hawks, here.”

“You need to come back...there’s been...All Might...Kamino...attack…”

An intermittent static keeps breaking over the phone line. It’s a crackling sound, snapping and rustling, it makes his skin crawl. It almost sounds like someone is whispering something, just below the faint hissing. “What? The line is breaking up-” Hawks lifts the phone, ah, there’s no bars in here.

The bank manager is still carrying on, heedless of Hawks’ inattention. “And so, I am within my rights to ask you to-”

“I’m going to need you to wait here and don’t move. Yeah, yeah, sure thing buddy, I don’t have a warrant, but I can make things pretty rough for you if you don’t do as I say. You don’t want to be involved in this case, believe me. Now, do what I asked and stay here.”  

Lifting his wings, he flies across the lobby again, swiping a quick text to the police chief, if they hurry they might be able to catch this un-dead, dead guy. He jets himself onto the sidewalk, scattering a gaggle of beach goers. 

As he re-dials the HPSC’s number he hears it again. It’s the call of that crow. It startles him and he almost doesn’t lift the dialing phone to his ear. God, this has gotta stop. He scans the sky for any physical sign of the screeching bird. It’s close, cawing and shrieking into the wind. It’s different from the other calls it’s made. It sounds angry, desperate, trying to reach him...trying to tell him something... 

The line picks up and a voice repeats the familiar greeting of the HPSC. 

“HAWKS, here,” he says, vexed, eyes scanning, looking for the disembodied crow. 

The person on the other end asks for him to hold, and a few seconds later the head of the HPSC is answering, her soft voice both grating and reassuring to Hawks. 

“Hawks. You need to return to Tokyo, immediately. All Might has been attacked by All for One. There are developments that we cannot discuss over the phone. Leave whatever intel you’ve gathered for the Miyako police chief and get back here. This is a national emergency. We need all hands. I don’t need to tell you, but the implications of this are dire. Hero society as we know it will be forever changed. I repeat, drop whatever you’re doing and get back to headquarters.”

The line clicks and that static sound rises again. There’s a garbling, muttering sound that’s rising from the hiss. It’s saying his name. KeigoTakamiKeigoTakamiKeigoTakami. 

Then, all is silent. The voice is gone, the cawing is gone. A deep feeling of dread washes over him. It makes his feathers flair, plumage spreading and flexing. All around him, voices are chatting, laughing, living. They have no idea, blissful in their ignorance. Everything is, no, nothing is ever going to be the same again. God, All Might. If he can’t recover, if he dies... 

Hawks lowers the phone, his eyes wide. Suddenly, all these ghosts of his don’t feel so important now.

Notes: @hawksweek2020​

Beta edited by @albinoburrito​

[eriklivesinmybasement]

Rise of the Guardians: Is it as good as we remember?

(Oof! I’ve been working on this one for a long while! Buckle up buttercup, this is gonna be a long one!)

(Before I get into this, I want everyone to know that I’m not claiming anything to be fact. This is just my personal opinion).

Back in November of 2012, we were greeted with Rise of the Guardians. This movie, based on the books entitled The Guardians of Childhood, written by William Joyce, gave us a new and unique take on our favorite childhood characters. This included Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Jack Frost, and more.

While it didn’t do so well at the box office, it seemed to explode in popularity. It spawned a fandom fairly quickly, even spawning a couple fandoms that branched off of it. For a long while there it seemed that, wherever you looked, you saw cosplays, fanart, tribute videos, fanfiction, etc. Loads of people seemed to absolutely love this movie, and I, as a twelve-year-old at the time and thus a part of the target audience, was no exception.

Even now eight years later, I still claim to love this movie. Even though I haven’t seen it in a long while, it left a huge impact on me as a writer and artist, which is why I am sad to see the fanbase slowly dwindling away. So I went back and watched it again, and as I sat there ready to press the ‘play’ button, I began to wonder. 

Will this movie be as good as I remember it?

And the answer? Yes and no.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still really like this movie, and I still stand by it being one of my favorites. But just like everything else in life, nothing is perfect. And while still amazing, this movie does indeed have some flaws. 

And as I like to save the best for last, I’ll start off by diving into some of the movies flaws.

Flaw #1 - Pacing

The pacing in this movie can be a little awkward from time to time. Nothing super jarring, but enough to make me go, “I’m sorry, what?”. 

Some scenes seemed to just jump from one to the other without much warning. Either that, or the transition from one scene to the next seemed a little off. One example of this is when North, Bunny, Sandman, and Jack Frost set off to the Tooth Palace. There was nothing inherently wrong with these scenes, but the transition between the two seemed a little awkward. One minute we were having a nice, calm moment between North and Jack, and then all of a sudden we get a quick, action-like sequence with the sleigh.

Another moment that felt awkwardly paced was the introduction of the movies villain, Pitch Black. It seemed like there should’ve been more buildup to him. We got a bit, but moments of buildup seemed quite few and far between. When he was introduced it felt almost a little random, him just appearing for a few moments and disappearing just as quick didn’t seem to work or do him justice.

There are other scenes, but I won’t go over those now, as I guess I’m probably already bugging some hardcore RotG fans.

Flaw #2 - Unexplored Questions and Backstories

Alright, before I get people shouting me down about how, “If I want backstory and questions answered I should read the books”, hear me out.

When you make a story, whether it be in the form of a movie or book, you’re going to want it to make sense. You’re going to want everything to tie together. It’s true that the original books do this, but it’s not seen in the movie. So for those who watch the movie, they may walk out confused about some aspects of it. The two parts I’m going to focus on here are Pitch Black’s backstory, and how Sandman came back to life.

Every story needs a good villain, and Pitch Black is certainly a well-defined villain. But here’s the problem. We get no backstory or explanation as to how he came to be. We do get a quick flashback to Pitch during the ‘Dark Ages’, which gives us his motivation as to why he’s doing what he’s doing. But that’s it. We get no other real backstory to how he came to be. Actually, we don’t get that for any of the other Guardians besides Jack Frost. But again, the other Guardians lack of backstory could be forgiven, as none of them are the main characters. But it’s important to tell a villains backstory because it gives the audience something to connect with.

Onto the next question. How exactly did Sandman come back to life?

This is a question that’s actually been on my mind for a while now. How exactly did Sandy come back? In the movie we clearly see him die, so how did he come back from the dead? The only lead I got is that maybe the kids somehow brought him back. During the final confrontation with Pitch, Jamie touches some of the black nightmare sand and it turns gold. It’s later on after that that he looks to the other kids and says, “I know what we have to do,” and they run offscreen for a little while, only for Sandy to show up soon after. Did Sandy come back through the kids believing in him again? Did they preform some sort of ritual to call him back from the dead? Who knows. It’s a dumb nitpick, I know, but I still wonder.

Well, now that I got that out of the way, and the RotG fandom is probably coming after my head, I’ll go over the strengths of this movie. And trust me, these really help the movie stand out.

Strength #1 - The Characters

All the characters in this movie are phenomenal! But to be honest, Jack Frost was the reason I originally wanted to watch this film when it first came out. Growing up I never really heard any stories about Jack Frost, and the only Jack Frost I ever saw in the media was of a withered old man. So seeing him portrayed as a teenager seemed pretty interesting. And the character was handled and written very well. His backstory was intriguing, he had a fun and enjoyable personality, but that’s not all.

One thing that was really great about Jack Frost’s character was his struggle throughout the story, and it’s actually a pretty relatable struggle as well. In the story, Jack Frost starts out not knowing who he really is or why he’s even alive. Not only that, but it seems that no mortals can see him, effectively making him invisible to the entire world. The story follows him as he looks for answers to his identity. 

This can be a very relatable situation, especially for preteens and early teenagers who are still trying to figure themselves out. And most all of us get to this point. We reach a time in our lives, often in our youth, where we start to wonder exactly who/what kind of person we are. Along with the desire to discover ourselves, there is also the fear/feeling of being invisible and isolated, not understanding where we exactly fit in. Again, everyone reaches a place like that as well, where we feel invisible to the world. Just a passerby. Like we have something amazing to share, if only we could get someone to see it. 

The other characters don’t come off as deep or complex as Jack, but that doesn’t make them any less enjoyable. Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Sandman were all very creatively designed and portrayed. A lot of the fun from this movie actually came from all these strong, drastically different personalities clashing with and bouncing off of one another. It made for some fun dialogue and hilarious moments which had me laughing off and on throughout the beginning of the film. 

Strength #2 - The Villain

Pitch Black is, without a doubt, one of my favorite DreamWorks villains. I loved everything about this character. From the voice, the design, the aesthetic, it’s all wonderful! But the one thing that set this villain up above many others was that he straight up killed an important character onscreen.

Reminder, I was twelve when this movie came out, and up until then, I wasn’t often exposed to death scenes like this in animated films. I grew up majorly on Disney animated movies and shows, and when a character died, it was usually offscreen. And on the occasion it was onscreen? The villain only indirectly killed a character. For example, in the Lion King, Scar pushed Mufasa into a gorge where a stampede was taking place. Scar killed him indirectly, as he’s the one who put him there, but the stampede is what really did the work.

But in this case it was much different. It’s not like Pitch took Sandy off to the side and killed him there. No, we legit saw this whole scene happen and play out on screen. When I first saw it, it blew my mind! This was actually kind of new for me! We saw Pitch take that shot at Sandy, and we actually saw Sandy’s final moments as he died. When you have a villain physically kill off a beloved character on screen, it sends a message. It sends the message that this villain isn’t all talk. That this villain really does have great power of their own, and that they are serious about getting what they want. That they aren’t going to let anyone get in their way. They mean business. And that was perfectly executed in this scene. (No pun intended).

Strength #3 - The Creativity and Art

I think it goes without saying that this movie is unbelievably creative! Everything from the locations, animation, and the characters themselves in both personality and design are just bursting with creative energy! The animation is incredibly detailed, and for DreamWorks as an animation studio, I think this has to be some of their best work. The colors, textures, details, and everything in between are just so beautifully done. In terms of creativity, two of the locations I want to talk about are the Tooth Palace and Pitch Black’s lair. 

When it comes to the Tooth Palace, the artists and creators were given a lot of creative freedom. In media there is no set idea of a place where the Tooth Fairy lives or operates. We all know Santa lives in a workshop, and it makes sense to think that the Easter Bunny lives in a Warren, but no one really knows what to expect when it comes to the Tooth Fairy. When we saw the Tooth Palace, we were treated to some highly detailed and stunning imagery, all with a lovely color scheme of soft pinks, purples, and blues with accents of gold. Not to mention the design of the structural design was a spectacle itself to behold.

And then we have Pitch Black’s lair. As a lowkey goth at twelve years old in the early 2010s, the aesthetic here made it one of my favorite parts of the movie. This set here is similar to the Tooth Palace in that, the creators had a greater level of creative freedom, as we never really think about where exactly the Boogeyman lives. I mean, we know he kinda lives under beds, but that doesn’t sound as cool as living in a spooky, gothic underground secret lair. (But in all honesty, I do really enjoy the detail of the entrance of his lair being under an old, broken down bedframe. It’s a very good nod to the old stories).

It’s like a maze. A labyrinth full of shadows, and looks like the interior of an old, gothic castle that’s somewhat tilting into an abyss. It’s color scheme is predominantly full of grays and blacks, and the surprisingly elegant-looking cages hanging from an invisible ceiling really helps to establish a more gothic look. And since the lair is very dark and shadowed, it fits and aids Pitch black perfectly, in that he can morph in and out of shadows as he pleases. This gives him plenty of places to hide as he’s making an effort to mess with and get into Jack’s head.

The last piece of creativity I want to touch on is how the characters are presented. And holy crap after this movie this is the only way I can view Santa, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, etc.!

They take these beloved characters that we are already familiar with, and, while still somewhat showing them as we know them, present them in an entirely different way. 

We all see Santa Claus as this huge, lovable man with a big belly who’s always jolly. And while that is what we get from this Santa, or North, as they call him, it’s very much flipped on its head. While still jolly, North is very eccentric, high-energy, and is strong-armed, duel broadsword wielding Russian warrior with tattoos. Seriously, who thinks of a Russian warrior when they think of Santa?! Well, now I do! Also the fact that he’s not always super happy like other incarnations of the character. We get to see that he’s very capable of getting both upset and frustrated. It’s a pretty interesting way to humanize such a beloved character.

We then have the Easter Bunny, who is played by Hugh Jackman. Say that out loud. The Easter Bunny is being played by Hugh Jackman. Growing up, me and many other kids saw the Easter Bunny as a small, cute little critter who hopped around the world leaving baskets and painting eggs. Not a tall, boomerang wielding fighter from the Australian outback. Not only that, but giving him a small rivalry with North was interesting, and snot something I ever really thought about. As well as the idea of a the Easter Bunny having somewhat of a temper.

In terms of character design, I feel like both the Tooth Fairy and Sandman had the most creative freedom. We don’t see these two characters often portrayed in media, so they were able to receive some really cool and unique-looking designs. Especially the Tooth Fairy. Did you ever think of the Tooth Fairy looking a like an elegant cross between a beautiful woman and a hummingbird? No, of course you didn’t. But Rise of the Guardians gave us just that, and it truly set its place for it’s own individual take on this childhood legend. 

Pitch Black is a fairy creative villain as well. When you hear about the Boogeyman, you don’t get very scared. The name actually sounds a little silly when you say it out loud. And even then, because of the success of The Nightmare Before Christmas, you usually think of their incarnation of the character when you hear that name. But this version of the character is actually much different. He’s not this weird, in-your-face kind of monster. He’s a very subtle, yet terrifying character. When I first saw the movie in theaters, there were kids in the room crying at moments when Pitch Black came on screen. It’s also interesting the way his powers work. We all grew up knowing the Boogeyman as someone who just hid under beds. We had no idea what magical powers he may or may not have had. So giving him the ability to morph into the darkness and into shadows was a pretty cool concept, but also solidified that he had a weakness. Light.

So, In Conclusion...

As I have gotten older, I admit that this movie does look a little different to me now, versus when I saw it as a preteen. I’ve noticed some interesting flaws here and there, but I’ve also been able to remember why I fell in love with it in the first place. It’s a very different kind of movie, but that’s part of what makes it so much fun and interesting.

The characters are delightful, the villain is intimidating, the story, while awkwardly paced, is still pretty solid, and is all tied together with a great lead character. And as you get invested in the story, you’ll find yourself getting really into the all artistry that went into creating this movie.

At the end of the day, it makes me sad to see the fanbase for this movie slowly dwindling away. But I feel there are always going to be people out there who enjoy this movie. And you know what? You never know what the future holds. Perhaps there will be a movie in the distant future. Or more likely a animated series on either TV or Netflix. And for the hardcore fans, go and read the original books. 

All I can say here is that, every now and again when it starts to get a little nippy outside, I’ll sit in my living room with hot chocolate and give this movie another watch.

[split-n-splice]

A small fic in which heroes aren't all about fighting villains and a young Shego has qualms with a particular F word.

Find on FFn or Ao3 in chapter form. 6k

“The F Word”

She’d only been a hero for a few short months. Already she’d aided in the arrest of more than a dozen men and women, some – if not most – of which probably needed therapy more than incarceration.

For starters, bird-brained Dr. Robinson had gotten into a turf war involving the defacement of property with a bird-loathing guy who looked like a scarecrow, with his bristly beard and ill-fitting rags. There had been a geeky woman who’d posed a more serious threat by allegedly hacking various electronic systems of city officials and murdering them via electrocution, and even though Team Go had caught her in the act, she’d destroyed the evidence with the press of a button and walked free with the aid of a good lawyer. Likewise, Mr. Richie had the wealth to get out of jail when busted red-handed for trafficking, despite Shego herself testifying to being bribed and touched when left alone to interrogate him. And then there were the occasional costumed losers desperate for a confrontation with local heroes cleaning up the streets. So far, they could all pass as normal people more or less.

At least until she met Gloria Grace.

Shilo sat alone now on the bleachers at school – as a student, not a hero – with a turkey sub sandwich left uneaten on her lap. Two weeks in a row, the sophomore had left campus to take lunch across town, but her big brother had caught on and put his foot down once he’d learned she’d been skipping class too. He’d tracked down one of her connections yesterday, consequently catching Alex smoking and very nearly busting her, but the stoner had gotten off the hook by snitching that Shilo wasn’t taking lunch with her lately. He’d just barely caught Shilo yesterday, and today as well, right as she’d been about to sneak away to go hitch a ride across town. They’d had a little argument, and now she was stuck under his watchful eye as he chowed down on a bench somewhere above her, chatting and laughing loudly with his clique.

Another cherry tomato struck the back of her head, and she turned a deaf ear to Hugo lightly chastising the girl who’d thrown it only to be immediately accused of having a crush on “the freak.” Somehow no one at school had made the connection yet that they were related. With Hugo’s broad build and Shilo still a little on the scrawny side, it was hard to see the family resemblance. Not to mention, only one of them had a sickly complexion other students feared was contagious.

She heard disgusted whispers behind her back, and when Hugo dismissed the girl who’d been all over him until now, Shilo was the one to take the heat for it. The scorned woman dumped her salad over Shilo’s head as she trotted down the bleachers, scoffing, “Freak,” back at her as she left.

“Fuck you too,” Shilo spat back, clenching her fists and planting her rear back down to resist the urge to sock the girl. Civilians were off-limits, she reminded herself, breathing deep and counting to ten before shaking off the lettuce. Her hair was still short, but it tickled down the nape of her neck now and was long enough to cover her burning ears, and she benefited from a clip to hold back her bangs.

A hand brushed her head, and she smacked it away in reflex, turning sharply to shoot a heated glare up at her brother come to wipe salad dressing out of her hair with a wet tissue. He ignored the rebuff and plopped down just above her, continuing to clean it off while she snorted and rested her cheek in her hand, scarcely tolerating it.

“You need to eat,” he said quietly.

“Not hungry.” On cue, the growl of her stomach claimed she was a liar.

Breakfast had been canceled, as Hugo’s beeper had gone off as he’d been reading the morning paper with a front-page blurry photograph of an entity that had been “terrorizing” Go City’s crumbling and underfunded Southside for months. Global Justice was a little late in informing them of the sighting. Their father had taken over breakfast prep from Shilo and wished them luck then, echoed by her young twin brothers. Shego had barely convinced Hego to let it go, just in time to get to school before they were tardy. There would be other chances for him to serve justice on the monster scaring the townsfolk, she’d told him.

“I gotta piss,” Shilo announced suddenly, hopping up. He almost stood to follow but she shot him a scowl and he slumped back.

“I’ll give you five minutes, and then I want you back here.”

Ignoring the allotment and giving him the finger, she took her sub sandwich and left.

A quick clean up in front of the restroom mirror, and she was ready to sneak off – but Hugo knew better than to let her out of his sight. She barely bit back the urge to scream in his face when she exited the lavatory and nearly ran into him.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

She grimaced at the bell chiming just then. “Um, to class?” she lied.

Hugo stared her down for a moment before uncrossing his arms and stepping aside to let her go with a nod. “No more skipping,” he said sternly.

“Yeah. Whatever.” She looked down to the sandwich she carried, still wrapped up and untouched. “Catch you later.”

Forced to go their separate ways, Shilo seized the opportunity to slip away once and for all. Lately, Hugo had taken to reminding her how dangerous Go City was for a pretty girl to wander alone in. His concern was more bogus than the flattery. She was superhuman now and she could fend for herself now better than ever with the aid of her comet-given gift of alien fire. There was really nothing to worry about. Big brother just didn’t want any of them out alone without backup in fear that someone worse than the average criminal might get a hold of any member of Team Go. Hugo bought into it easily though, convinced danger and threats lurked around every corner.

In any case, the supervising organization had locked a monitoring anklet on her. If she ran into trouble, all she had to do was flare up and Global Justice would be alerted and Hugo’s beeper would go off so he could come save the day. He loved hearing his beeper go off.

Breaking the private school’s stupid dress code, Shilo tied her stiff blue jacket around her waist and sighed in relief as she relaxed back into a hard seat on the bus minutes later. After just a few moments of the bus driver eyeballing her bare legs, she tugged at her skirt and moved to the back. Not that the back was any better when another man turned to look her over and a woman with a small child moved away from her, probably afraid of her hue like so many were when she wasn’t clad in Shego’s uniform.

++X++

Eventually, she’d made it across town, keeping her head low to ignore the variety of stares.

She wasn’t fond of venturing out to the Go City slums alone, but a few residents were familiar enough with her by now to keep their distance, and she hadn’t even once used her glow on them to win a healthy respect.

For months now, Southside had racked up countless reports of a creature prowling the streets after dark. Yesterday “the Southside Freak” had come out in daylight, and a photo had actually been snapped and plastered across local papers. Guilt gnawed at Shilo and she clutched the sub sandwich closer. She’d pickpocketed cash from a punk kid earlier, justifying to herself that the rich snob didn’t need it all that badly. A quick stop at a shady convenience store for a two-liter and big bag of chips, and she was off to find a shady niche beneath a rotting old fishing pier on a shoreline littered with garbage.

It was a tricky trek down with an armful of goods, across jagged boulders coated in places with sharp mussels, but she made it without dropping or squishing anything.

“Hello?” she called out into the dark shadow of the abandoned pier. “Anyone home?” As she crept out of the light, her eyes adjusted.

Something moved then, and if she didn’t know any better, she might have feared it was a leg of the pier collapsing as it bent.

The local known as the Southside Freak crossed the shadows in two long strides, coming to a pause before Shilo. She stood almost eye-level with knobby scabbed knees set into stilt-like legs for a moment before the living urban legend crouched down. Her head still hovered far above Shilo’s.

She tipped her head back to offer a smile and held up the sandwich, chips, and bottle of coke. “I brought you lunch,” she said, steadying her voice.

The gaunt giantess reached out with trembling fingers the length of Shilo’s forearm to delicately take the two-liter. “Thank you,” she mumbled politely, her voice both booming and fragile at the same time, and turned away to awkwardly shuffle further up the shore to a sandy spot she’d cleared of rubble, just out of the water’s reach during high tide.

Shilo followed and sat down beside the giant girl. Well, she wasn’t really a girl. Or maybe she was. Gloria couldn’t remember her age. She couldn’t remember where she’d come from either. One thing was for certain – she didn’t come out of nowhere. Someone as tall as her couldn’t have. It seemed like each day she’d grown another inch. Shilo chalked it up to her imagination.

She’d finally had her first fleeting encounter with Gloria a month ago, but it was hard to say if she’d really been shorter back then. And then, little more than two weeks ago, Team Go had been called out again to investigate a sighting. Shego had unwittingly cornered her beneath the pier, and by the green light of her fire she’d seen the long-limbed figure trembling, wrapped up in sheets stitched together with fishing line that sufficed as a dress. The Southside Freak had quietly and desperately begged Shego not to hurt her, pleading for her to just leave.

So she did. She didn’t even tell her brothers what she’d found.

Of course, she’d come back the next day as Shilo, and she’d brought a token of peace with her. Since then, rain or shine, she’d been skipping school and sneaking off on weekends to bring lunch to the famished Southside Freak whose name, she learned after a full week, was Gloria Grace. At close to twenty feet tall, glorious or graceful weren’t words Shilo would use to describe the gangly giantess. She often suspected the girl had made up the name, but never questioned it aloud. Gloria it was.

Shilo unwrapped the sandwich as Gloria carefully sipped from the bottle. “I couldn’t make it yesterday,” she said, as if the starving girl hadn’t noticed, and added in a mutter, “sorry.” She would have brought more cash than what was necessary for the bus fair and lunch, but Hugo was careful about how much he let her go to school with lest she bring home some gateway drug and risk spoiling the good hero name. As it were, Gloria needed the meal more than she did.

She passed up the sub and opened up the bag for Gloria too without taking a single chip for herself, staving off the hunger pangs.

“So,” she said carefully as the giantess savored each bite. She tore her eyes off the sheet-clad girl, finding an old fishing pole lodged in the rocks a little ways down the shore to watch instead. Most days Gloria swore she caught enough marine life to sustain herself – she certainly smelled like she did – but a girl couldn’t survive on fish alone. The mere thought made Shilo gag a little, but she cleared her throat and ignored the pungent odor permeating the air. “Is today the day?”

Gloria held a tiny chip between two overgrown nails and frowned at her knees. Then she shook her head. “N-no. Not today.”

“You can’t hide forever, GG,” she pressed gently. It was a fact. The girl had certainly become worse at staying discreet, if the increasing number of reports had anything to say about it. She tried not to frown too deeply at the ocean when the giantess scooted away from her. “I know you’re shy, but the sooner you get it over with, the sooner we can…maybe…get you back to normal. Or as close to normal as we can.” Clothes that fit her would be a good place to start. She’d recently tried learning how to sew for GG’s sake, but there wasn’t enough time in the day for it. Not with the burden of Team Go duties anyway.

“I like it here.” She wasn’t a very good liar.

“You were seen yesterday.”

Gloria winced. “Yeah.”

“The weather’s going to get bad this weekend,” Shilo noted, knowing already she was failing to persuade Gloria to come out of hiding. Before the giantess could disregard it too, she added, “And my sweet sixteen coming up. Would be cool to have a friend there.”

The long-limbed mutant nearly dropped the bag of chips. “I-I’ll take a rain check,” she said nervously.

Shilo rocked back, quipping, “You sure? We could talk about boys, paint each other’s nails.” She tried to laugh lightheartedly, knowing full well that bringing a giant girl over to hang out wouldn’t fly. “I’ve got a big brother you might think is cute.” The notion was absurd, but it worked to bring a very human blush out on Gloria’s bony cheeks.

The giant girl fidgeted with her sheet-dress and shook her head. “You wouldn’t want a freak like me crashing your party.”

“Ah, the more the merrier,” Shilo said flippantly. “Come on, GG. What do you say?”

Gloria Grace looked down to her with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

“Hm?”

“The more the merrier,” Gloria echoed curiously. “You’re not a freak.”

Shilo spared a glance up at the giantess finishing off the sub sandwich in two bites. She wanted to tell the giant girl that she wasn’t a freak either, but that was a far stretch from the truth. Gloria was a lot of things – scared, scrappy, exceptionally tall – but she wasn’t stupid. The giant girl knew she was unusual to terrifying degree, and it daunted even Shilo.

She stood then, brushing off the sand. “I gotta get going.”

“Wait!” The desperation in the giant girl’s voice was pitiful. “You’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you?”

Biting her lip and hugging herself, she could do little more than shrug in reply. “No promises – but I’ll try. Bye!” She spun then and began picking her way across the boulders back up to the road. One small glance over her shoulder, and she saw the pale figure and head of dirty brown curls peeking out from under the bridge.

“Goodbye, Shilo,” called GG after her.

Shilo gave a small wave and was gone, barely catching a northbound bus in time.

As she flopped down in the back, watching the last glimpse of ocean slide away, she mulled over Gloria Grace’s words. “You’re not a freak,” she repeated to herself. It felt like a lie. Her chest constricted and she swallowed hard. Even if the giantess was undoubtedly the more peculiar of them on the surface, they were both misfits. Gloria didn’t have to know that though. Shilo almost hoped she’d never make the connection. Someone who didn’t view her as freakish was nice in a way, even if it meant hiding a part of herself.

++X++

She made it back to school in time for sixth period, but she’d barely shrugged on her dirtied jacket to conform to dress code when Hugo came sprinting up the hall to cut her off. She knew she’d been caught the instant she saw him bowling towards her.

“There you are!” he gasped. He didn’t pause to shoot the breeze – merely latched onto her arm with a grip like a tourniquet and began hauling her away. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Her shoulders would have slumped if she was given a chance, but instead she was forced to stumble after him. “What is it this time?” she groaned, exasperated. She could take a good guess. He wouldn’t be in such a hurry for anything else.

If there was any question about it before, the glance Hugo shot her told her all she needed to know. He couldn’t openly discuss the details in a hall full of ears – not outside of uniform anyway. So he pulled her along quickly as he could without slinging her over his shoulder to pick up the pace.

Once she’d claimed shotgun of his coppery old Sloth, Hugo barely waited for her to buckle up before flooring it out of the parking lot. Moments later, they were pulled up behind the junior high, tween brother Milo popping up out of his designated hiding place in the bushes to dive into the back seat.

“Sweet!” he practically shouted, voice cracking in Shilo’s ear. He leaned between the seats, smelling strongly of sugary donuts he must have conned out of a classmate, and Shilo had to hold her breath to ignore her hunger pangs. “What is it this time? Someone threatening the ballpark again?”

“No,” said Hugo, making a beeline for the nearest Global Justice hideout where Betty Director herself would be waiting for them. “The Southside Freak was just spotted.”

Sitting on her hands, Shilo sank in her seat and scowled out the window. She should have guessed they were being sicced on GG again. They were called on her no less than twice a week. So far, Shego had been able to steer her teammates clear of the giant girl, who was still adamant on keeping her low profile to avoid confrontation she was so sure she’d be faced with should Team Go or anyone else catch her.

The way Hugo’s knuckles paled as he gripped the wheel, she couldn’t say a confrontation wouldn’t escalate and blow up. “We’ll catch the monster this time,” he swore. “And then the people there can rest easy at night.”

“I think the people from Southside have a lot worse to worry about than a walking lamppost,” Shilo grumbled.

Her big brother flicked an unhappy frown her way. “We should have been on this ten minutes ago,” he chastised. “Where were you?”

“I bet you a fiver she was smoking again,” Milo said and leaned over to take a whiff. “Hego, you got a breathalyzer on you?”

Shilo shoved her little brother’s face away. “Breathalyzers don’t work that way, idiot.”

“Quit fooling around,” said Hugo. “We’ve got to make this quick if we want to catch it.”

It. Shilo rolled her eyes.

Sooner than she would have liked, she was zipped and buckled up in the snug form-fitting attire of Shego, the second uniform she’d worn today.

The head honcho of Global Justice wished them luck, wearing a smirk for Mego and giving Hego an approving nod. Suspicious eyes cast to Shego however, and she was glad to escape them, following her brothers back out of the hidden conference room and into the alley to get back in the car – only it wasn’t the car they’d arrived in. Global Justice worked in mysterious ways and had the means to do mysterious things – like replace the Sloth with a white Spider customized with vibrant bolts of color coinciding with each member of Team Go. Shego turned a blind eye to the two little red stripes in the paint job.

The sportscar was a trap – and not just a deathtrap – but the seats were comfortable and Shego knew for a fact that the radio wasn’t as static-ridden as the ones in the old Sloth or family van – not that she ever got to enjoy it. The pricy convertible wasn’t for pleasure. It was armed to the teeth and the dash was equipped with advanced technology for tracking, spying, and communications that Team Go still hadn’t fully learned to operate. Even without the rocket boosters mounted to the back, the Go Kart was capable of reaching 300 miles per hour – just in case they were ever in a hurry.

It was excessive and nothing more than a flashy bribe to tempt them with the gadgets and luxuries they could have if they gave up their family life to play GJ’s game indefinitely. Their family was just shy of dysfunctional enough not to buy into it just yet, even if Hugo – Hego – reveled in playing the game at any given opportunity, convinced he was duty-bound.

Shego was just tying on her domino mask as they sped out of the ally, feeling like a clown and hating that people pointing and gawking was becoming an everyday occurrence as they sped across town. She rehearsed in her head the protocol she’d set in place for when they reached Southside. She’d tell Hego to look over there, while she’d take Mego and look elsewhere, steering them clear of the pier where the resident cryptid took shelter.

That plan was blown out of the water when Hugo pulled abruptly to the shoulder, the pier in question in sight. “Around here,” he announced. “Spread out.”

“Mego, you’re with me,” Shego said anyway, and made a grab for her little lavender brother.

He dodged her, shrinking to duck before bouncing back. “No way!” he said. “I’m going to find it first this time!”

Hego shot him a smile over his shoulder as he strode off toward the defunct pier. “You call for us when you do,” he said, as if he really had faith in his little brother. After a month of tracking the mysterious creature supposedly terrorizing the neighborhood, honing in on her location with each sweep, Shego could tell he just wanted the goose chase to be over with once and for all, even if it meant Mego got credit for it.

She knew from experience that Hego was unmovable once he got in the mindset. The best she could hope for was that the giant girl had taken shelter in an alley or someone’s garage somewhere as she dashed after him.

He opened his mouth to tell her off but decided it was a lost cause, and cracked his knuckles instead, no doubt ready and eager to punch something. He really liked getting to show off like that lately. “The Southside Freak was spotted around here,” he stated with a nod toward the dilapidated pier, and Shego grimaced once more at what Gloria Grace had been dubbed. It was an official label of the supposed culprit terrorizing the neighborhood, filed away with many others like it in GJ’s records.

“What if she’s not a freak?” Shego blurted suddenly, jumping out ahead of Hego, hands up to stop him.

“Sister, you’ve seen the photos,” he reminded. “This thing defines freakish.” It was a hard point to argue.

She couldn’t smother her nervous chuckle. “But what if it’s all just a big hoax?” she suggested, not for the first time.

Hego was ready to brush her aside, but slammed a fist into his palm as if to drive his point. “Then we’ll reveal the culprit behind it and call it a day.”

“It could just be a prank—”

“When it comes to destroying private and public property, it’s no longer a prank,” Hego argued.

Shego opened her mouth again but before she could even think of anything to add, the frenzied barking of a dog followed by a car alarm and a crash interrupted. She turned and the last person she wanted to see came tumbling out of a street ahead, scrambling in her mad dash for the pier.

++X++

While Shego stood rooted in place, her brothers sprinted past her, their superpowers activated and ready for a fight. Gloria Grace’s bewildered eyes locked on hers, if only for a split second. Next Shego felt her legs begin to move just as the Southside Freak backpedaled to run the other way.

 “Don’t let it escape!” Hego bellowed, and he grabbed hold of Mego, who was happy to bounce into his hands to be hefted up and thrown like a missile. Barely hitting the mark, the lavender boy landed on the giant’s back and clung to her sheet-dress like a baby monkey.

Shego raced past her big brother, giving him a shove of annoyance that didn’t even faze him.

“Halt! In the name of justice!” Hego shouted at the giant, as if any perpetrator was ever that compliant. Shego might have rolled her eyes at the rehearsed line if she weren’t preoccupied, and she ignored the order he barked after her. “Shego! Trip it!”

Gloria Grace covered ground fast with her long legs, seemingly oblivious to Mego squealing for her to stop as he held on like a tiny purple backpack. Shego pushed herself harder to catch up, desperately hoping with every beat of her pounding heart that the girl wouldn’t bump into a deadly power line by accident as she ducked beneath the cables every few paces.

“Wait!” Shego screamed, but the gentle giant must not have heard her. She barely heard herself.

She heard the engine of the Go Kart revving up behind her though, and barely had the chance to flick a sidelong glance before the sportscar zoomed ahead of her, only to pause just long enough for Shego to hop in. Hego stomped on the gas a little too eagerly, lurching them forward, and she caught his eyes popping wide in alarm. He’d only been driving for a few months and it was much too soon for him to be behind the wheel of such a vehicle.

Ahead, Gloria had taken a turn inland and was bounding through traffic, many vehicles swerving out of her way and at least one rear-ending another. The compact Go Kart barely zipped through in her wake.

Hego’s hand hovered over the dash and the numerous buttons and knobs there. “Which one of these deploys the—?”

“You are not launching anything at her!” Shego snapped. She was braced in an awkward crouch in her seat, holding on tight to the door and headrest, ready to jump on Gloria or wave her down – or something—

“I’m not going to hurt it!”

“You guys!” shrieked Mego as he was jostled upon the giant’s back. “Any time now!”

“Get up alongside her,” Shego ordered, and Hego threw her a questioning look. She scowled back. “Do it!”

His apprehension was fleeting, but he must have trusted her to have a plan because he did as she requested.

Ignoring her brother’s worry, Shego stood as straight as she dared in the speeding Go Kart now zooming along beside the panicked giant’s shins. “GG!” she shouted around cupped hands. “GLORIA!”

Wide panicked eyes snapped down to her, and Shego scarcely had the chance to hope it was recognition she saw in them. Gloria took more two gigantic steps and reeled, curly brown locks bouncing around her gaunt face as she came to a sudden stop uncomfortably close to the next set of power lines across her path.

Hego’s fingers hooked her belt then, pulling Shego back down into her seat to keep her from flying out as he hit the brakes and whipped around in front of the giant collapsing back on her rear. “That thing is a woman?” he blurted in realization now that he finally had the chance to really observe it.

Shego threw a worried glance back and was relieved he wasn’t springing into action as he’d been so ready to before he’d thought to fetch the Go Kart. Even someone as dense as Hego could read a room, though his aura all but shimmered in pops of blue around him in anticipation for a fight.

Jumping out of the car, Shego held her hands up in peace, stopping in her tracks when the giant girl began shuffling back at her approach. Car horns and alarms blared and civilians were still screaming as they scattered, but she tried not to let the commotion bother her as she called up, “We’re here to help you.” It was a lie. The assignment wasn’t to help the perpetrator – it was to take down and capture an unidentified creature. Plans had a funny way of changing though. She could only hope Betty would be understanding.

“Sh-Shi—?”

“Shego,” she corrected before her name could leave the giant girl’s lips.

“You’re one of them?” cried the giant, her distress resonating off the surrounding buildings towering above even her.

“It’s okay, Gloria,” Shego swore, hands up and unlit. She had a hunch Gloria was terrified of Team Go’s glow – especially hers, which presented itself as something too similar to fire. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Huge hazel eyes were brimmed with tears and she looked from Shego to Hego approaching slowly to stand just behind her. She didn’t look terribly convinced, but seconds passed without one of Team Go’s signature fights breaking out.

“Someone get me down!” howled Mego suddenly, his head peeking up over Gloria’s shoulder.

He was almost shaken off with her startled gasp, and GG dented a car hood as she leaned aside to gawp at the boy clinging to her. It was a wonder she didn’t brush him off like a bug in reflex.

“Oh, just jump, Mi— Mego,” Shego snapped at him. It wasn’t that far. He’d be fine.

Before he could work up the courage leap down, Gloria reached over and, as gentle a giant as ever, plucked him off her shoulder. Mego didn’t complain about the ride in a palm the size of a chair seat, but he hopped off before she could set him down herself and stumbled unsteadily toward his teammates.

Hego was quick to give him a congratulatory smack on the back that nearly knocked him to the pavement. “Way to go, champ!” he praised. “Good job holding on. You could take up professional bull riding.”

A woozy groan answered Team Go's posterboy, and then Mego was doubling over, upchucking his lunch. Which had been colorful, to say the least. “Dude,” Mego whimpered, tears streaming past his domino mask and down his cheeks, “I’m never eating donuts with sprinkles ever again.”

Shego cringed and tore her eyes away, stepping back quickly before the mess could get on her boots. She looked up to Gloria, the giant girl still stunned but clutching herself.

A hand rested on Shego’s shoulder and she flinched, looking up at her big brother who was looking down gravely at her. “You know the Southside Freak?” he asked.

She swallowed and nodded in reply.

++X++

So she got in a bit of hot water that day.

It didn’t end with a distraught lecture about a whole slew of things from Hego once they were in private or a slap on the wrist from Betty for withholding information. The penalty wasn’t too severe, but it was still a little more than a simple grounding. She had makeup work to do for skipping classes, she was essentially put back under house arrest, and the supervising organization swore to keep a closer eye on her for the foreseeable future until she proved herself trustworthy again, which meant hanging out with particular acquaintances at school was no longer an option to fill the social void.

She’d anticipated the punishment and was ready to accept it, even keeping her aggravation to herself when the morning after the Southside Freak was – peacefully – taken into custody, the newspapers began selling stories of Go City finally rid of another terror, all thanks to Team Go. Of course photographs had been snapped before a semi-truck had arrived to take the scared woman away to one of Global Justice’s outposts.

Shego had felt like she was lying through her teeth when she promised the research center would help her sort out her little mutation crisis.

Otherwise, the case of the Southside Freak was put behind her. There were bigger fish to fry and a new villain of the week to contend with. She had enough on her plate juggling family, school, and hero life to dwell on closed cases she was officially no longer involved in.

Some weeks later, like a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, relief washed over her to discover big brother had kept their end of the deal. She almost didn’t recognize the brunette towering over the front door when she answered it. The giant girl was still inhumanly tall, casual jeans and tee custom tailored, but she was much more proportionate now, even if she still had to stoop to fit under the porch roof.

Gloria Grace was a stage name as it turned out, as she was a born and raised performer. She was a circus freak by definition and she was happy with her hand in life. She’d been seventeen and on tour with her folks, who were exceptionally tall themselves though they no longer held a candle to her, when Lady Fate came to Go City last April. Gloria never returned home to her trailer that night. Whatever had happened to her during her strange year away living on the outskirts of Go City, Global Justice’s team of clever scientists had been able to treat, gradually reversing the effects.

Her memory was still sketchy, GG explained as she sat on the front porch with Shilo to sip cola, but she still knew how to do what she did best – and that was be a freak. She smiled as she said so, and gave Shilo a handful of tickets for the traveling circus that had come to Go City. Shilo was apprehensive, but the show was for one night and one night only, so she took them and smiled back and promised to see her there.

She almost didn’t go.

She was glad she did.

It took some degree of begging before her pops let up on the curfew restriction and agreed to an outing for the sake of overdue quality time with the family. Surrounded by them on all sides, either popcorn or the twerps in her lap, Shilo waited anxiously for the giant girl’s debut that night, beating back the fear of the audience gasping in horror.

She was nervous for nothing. Despite first impressions, Gloria Grace the Giant Girl lived up to her title. The crowd was surprised – but in a remarkably good way that put her worries to rest. Oohs and ahhs were a much better sound than the screams of terror Gloria had been met with time and time again over the past year.

Gloria fit in among her own family of misfits, and her extraordinary condition was a more than welcomed sight. Shilo watched as the giant girl in the billowing skirt and vibrant sequins fluffy frills preformed her dance routine with a family larger than life and assisted in the performances of others. Throughout the whole evening, the giant girl wore a smile. It wasn’t just for show, either.

When all was said and done, Shilo slipped away from behind the circus tent, waving a tentative goodbye to the exuberant young lady who was ecstatic to be reunited and back bigger and better than ever, though she had joked about standing to lose a few inches, as if it would be as easy as diet and exercise.

The last she saw of GG was through the rear window of the family van, catching a final glimpse of her happily signing autographs and posing for photos.

Clearly some people – mutant or otherwise – took genuine pride in being a freak.

As Shilo sat on the edge of her bed that night, studying the radium-green plasma bubbling from her hands, she couldn’t help wondering if being a freak was for her.

[luki-fanfic]

KHR/BNHA Fanfic: The Restaurant with Sushi That’s Out of This World

This idea WILL NOT LEAVE MY HEAD!  Too many people getting into BNHA and dragging me along for the ride!  I watched the first season when it first came out and then keep diving into fic’s so naturally, I decide to tell this fic with the BNHA characters in focus rather than the KHR ones! (brain starts imploding on the lack of logic).

If I get round to doing more, it’ll be a snippet-style fic rather than a full on story, if just to keep me sane.

Present Mic first spots the restaurant when it’s his turn to patrol the local neighbourhood around UA.  With so many heroes on staff and the constant threat of attacks, it’s safer to have everyone on a random schedule to deter any would-be villains from causing trouble, or allowing anyone to learn the rota.  It’s a security measure that results in the surrounding area having some of the lowest crime statistics in Musutafu, but also means real estate is at a premium. Businesses will fight to the metaphysical death to get their store in these streets.

So while it’s not unusual to see a new store open, the lack of familiarity with the name does draw the hero’s attention. Self-owned businesses are rare – the sheer amount of capital deters most of them from starting here, choosing lesser known neighbourhoods to build up a client base before making the leap.  Since he’s never heard the name ‘Takesushi,’ or even heard down the grapevine of the venture, it must be completely new.

That’s enough to pique his interest, and when the school day is over, he decides sushi would be a good dinner option.

It’s clearly only been open a few days judging from the number of people carrying grand opening vouchers.  Eventually, once the novelty dies down the restaurant will be judged for it’s food, but Hizashi highly doubts the owner would dare risk opening here if he didn’t think he could compete.  At the door he’s greeted by a pretty girl with golden blonde hair, who asks if he’s looking for a table or take-out.  She doesn’t bat an eye at his appearance, and happily directs him over to the take-out. line.

Thankfully, the queue isn’t as long as it could be – it might not be all that ‘heroic’ of him, but people do have a tendency to let heroes cut in line, and Present Mic is more than popular enough to find himself at the front of the line in a matter of minutes.

There’s a young teenage girl minding the till, a frail looking thing, with dark purple hair and an eyepatch decorated with a skull motif.  Her mouth drops just a tad as her eye glances up, taking in Mic’s leather and hair, and he waits for the inevitable spluttering that comes from coming face to face with a hero.

“Um, good evening” She offers.  “Welcome to Takesushi, may I take your order?”

He almost double takes, but grins in delight.  For such a young girl, she’s quite the professional.  

Unsure of what would be best, he orders one of the specials advertised, and hangs back after paying.  The order heads to the back, where he can only see one man working with a knife, although there’s a pair of teens – a brunet and a black haired boy who’s clearly related to the chef - working on packing up boxes or putting together platters. Anything not immediately heading out to the bar is being carried out by a rather punked out silver haired teen and an older boy with white hair.

It’s a lot of teenagers – the chef is the only member of staff that can be older than 18, but they work like a well oiled team.  

“That was very impressive of you” he hears, and his attention is drawn back to the girl at the desk, now greeting the next customer in line. “My daughter works at a 7/11, and every time a hero walks in she turns into an excited mess.  She’d never have gotten two words out in front of Present Mic.”

Some of the others in the line chuckle, and Hizashi’s lip twitches into a grin, trying to pretend he can’t hear the conversation.  

However, instead of insisting she was just doing her job – or even admitting that she’s not a Present Mic fan, the girl just blinks and says.

“Who’s Present Mic?”

There’s a hideous screech that lasts all of two seconds before Present Mic realises it’s coming from him and shuts up, while the entire line goes silent.  Even the busser’s, and the chef looks up from the fish.

The woman looks embarrassed, and the girl is starting to shrink into herself, so clearly it’s up to Mic to defuse the situation.  As iconic as he is, Present Mic’s dropped in the rankings since taking on the role at UA, and he’s hardly as prevalent as the big hitters, so this is hardly the first time he’s gone unrecognised. Admittedly it doesn’t normally happen this close to UA, where he’s seen on a near daily basis, but it does happen.

“Hah hah, that would be me young lady” he says, walking back up to the counter.  “Guess I need to be doing more rounds, not often I meet someone who doesn’t know me.”

He snaps a pair of finger guns in her direction and grins.

“Present Mic, the Voice Hero and star of ‘Put Your Hands Up’ on Hero FM” he announces.

The girl hunches down, face starting to redden.  

“I don’t listen to radio.”

Mic laughs.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m a bit much for some people, nothing wrong that.  Which heroes do you like?”

It’s an easy enough question, and one that even the most embarrassed person can usually answer after a hero faux paus.  If all else fails you can just blurt out ‘All Might’ and move on.

Yet, what should have been an easy out for the girl seems to cause more problems.  Her face pales and her eye flickers to the side.  She looks like the kids in Mic’s class when he springs a test on them without warning.

“Chrome, are you okay?”

They both look up to see the chef heading towards them, eyes narrowed. Behind him, both teens are watching, the brunet looking as nervous as the girl.

Mic holds up his hands in a placating gesture.  

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” he says, and genuinely means it.  “I’m just surprised there’s anyone in Musutafu that hasn’t at least heard of me.”

“We’re new around here” Tsuyoshi offers, and all but thrusts a bag into Present Mic’s hands.  “Enjoy your meal.”

It’s a strange feeling, for a hero to feel so unwanted, but not a single one of the teens looks friendly – the silver haired one is outwardly glowering – so Present Mic grabs the bag, waves to the line, and heads out the door.

As if she hadn’t spotted the last five minutes of awkwardness with her co-workers, the girl at the front door bows and says with an impressive amount of cheer -

“Please come again!”

Yeah...Mic doesn’t think so.

Normally, Present Mic would let it go.  Maybe the girl genuinely didn’t like heroes, or had a bad experience – it happens.  Maybe she had a quirk that had resulted in bullying and chosen to reject anything about heroes to protect herself.  It didn’t really matter - if a civilian has issues with heroes, so long as they’re not breaking the law, they have a right to be left alone.  Normally, he’d just take note of Takesushi’s apparent ignorance and dislike and make a point not to eat there again.

However...the sushi was really good.  As in, melts-on-the-tip-of-your-tongue good.  So good he was having cravings less than 3 days later.  The chef was either exceptionally trained, or someone on his staff at a flavour enhancing quirk that they were using illegally – either way, he wasn’t quite ready to give it up.

Thankfully, the nature of heroes meant he didn’t have to, and the next time he enters – it’s as the casually dressed English teacher, Yamada Hizashi.  It’s early in the afternoon, but there’s still a handful of customers despite the early hour – every time he passes in the evening the place is booming, the food good enough to maintain the customers even after the newness wears off.  

There’s no young greeter this time, just the chef, who nods and greets him as Hizashi sits at the bar.

“Welcome to Takesushi” the chef greets.  “I’m Yamamoto Tsuyoshi.  What can I interest you with first?”

Hizashi grins, tapping at a menu at some of the morsels he’s been pining for all week.

“Let’s start with eel and tuna, then...ah, surprise me.  What do you recommend?”

Yamamoto grins back, and starts preparing the order.  His hands move with impressive grace, and Hizashi can’t help but be drawn in – and eagerly digs in once his order starts arriving.

“So what brings you to Musutafu?” he asks between plates – and oh, the sushi’s just as good in the restaurant.  “Moving out of the big city?  Moving closer to the big city?”

The man smiles back.  “I guess it was...intuition?  We needed a fresh start, and something about this town drew us in.  When this building became available, seemed like a perfect fit, and here we are.”

He breaks off for a moment, taking the plates he’d just finished preparing to a handful of other customers in the corner, and Hizashi focuses on his meal.

“That is not physically possible!”

The sushi drops from his chopsticks as Hizashi snaps his head back at the outraged tone.

Turns out the teenagers aren’t as absent as he thought – they’re all crammed into a booth in the corner, along with a much younger boy with sandy blond hair.  They’re all staring at a tablet on the table, and the silver haired punk boy is half standing, looking frustrated at what he sees.  Most of the table seems amused by his outburst, but the girl Mic had unwittingly embarrassed is frowning at him.

“...Um, are any of us physically possible?”

The boy waves frantically at the screen.  “He has wings!  An additional set of limbs!  Growing from his shoulders!  Do you understand the anatomical impossibility of that!”

“So did Byakuran,” says the black haired boy, and the punk’s throws his hands into the air.

��Byakuran’s were a manifestation of metaphysical energy!  They weren’t real, physical limbs!”

The fluffy brunet ducks his head down.

“They felt real...”

This immediately results in the silver haired boy dropping to his seat and trying to desperately console the boy next to him, only to start ranting again at the next clip – yelling about the heat limitations of the human body before spontaneous combustion becomes a possibility.  Hizashi can’t help the chuckle before he turns back to his meal, only to see Yamamoto watching him indulgently.

“Sometimes I think I should sell tickets” he says.  “They’re incapable of not attracting attention.”

“Are they watching hero clips?” he asks, because that seems a large change up from the last time he walked in here.  

Yamamoto shrugs.  “They got a little blind-sided last week, heroes aren’t that prevalent where we’re from, so they’re trying to catch up on the local talent.

“Hiee!”

“Oh come on!  How did he not break every bone in his arm!”

“That’s so extreme!”

“Wow, he was like a grown up Sasagawa.”

“Turf top uses...you know!  This guy doesn’t.  It doesn’t make any sense!”

The man’s lip quirks.  “With varying degrees of success. Flashy...quirks aren’t something they’re used to seeing in broad daylight.”

Hizashi however, frowns before glancing back at the table, and then back at Yamamoto.  His eyes   search behind the man, and starts looking at the photos on the shelf.  Yamamoto and his son feature prominently, but he’s starting to realise all the kids are featuring quite consistently.  A tad too much to just be friends or employees considering how new the restaurant is.

“Wait...are they all yours?” he asks, because there’s no resemblance whatsoever – the youngest doesn’t even look Asian.  Sure, with quirks that’s not as odd as it used to be, but the ages-

Yamamoto follows his eyes to the photo’s and grins.

“Foster kids” he admits.  “Takeshi’s mine, but the rest...more or less adopted us.”

He picks up one closer to the side, clearly the newest of the lot as the restaurant is in the back.  It’s Yamamoto with all off the teens grinning as the youngest boy holds up a hand written sign saying ‘Now Open.’

The man shakes his head.

“Tsuna was in a bad place” he says, finger tapping at the small, brown haired teen in the centre.  “Not through any fault of his own but...he couldn’t stay there.  So when a friend of his found a way to save him, free from everything that was slowly killing him, he took it.  But most of his friends weren’t much better off.  When they realised, they refused to let him go alone.  They’d been through too much to let him leave them behind.”

Tsuyoshi’s smile dims, eyes glancing away.  “It was tearing Takeshi apart.  As far as he was concerned, Tsuna and the others were family, but so was I.  There was no choice he could make that wasn’t going to make him miserable.  So I made sure he didn’t have to.”

The photo gets put back, and he hands over another plate.

“I packed up my shop, filled in a thousand ridiculous custody forms and here we are.  New life, new world, new beginning.  For all of us.”

“You seriously took in what, seven kids just to keep your kid happy?” Hizashi squawks, jaw hanging a tad lower than he would like to admit.

“Well, they needed some kind of adult figure in their lives” Tsuyoshi chuckled.  “And Takeshi needed them.  You don’t know what he was like before Tsuna – I wasn’t letting him go back to that, and I wasn’t going to let him run away from me. Besides, in a town like this, they’re practically angels, haven’t had a single problem with them.”

He pauses, and then huffs quietly to himself.

“Well, no problem that could conclusively be linked to them anyway.”

Hizashi just shakes his head in wonder.  “You’re quite the hero” he offers, though he’s a little surprised Yamamoto dumped all of this one him – perhaps with so many teens running around, the man hasn’t had much adult company.  He’s probably been desperate to talk, and Hizashi’s interested enough to let him continue.  There’s more the story – exactly when and how his son became involved with what appears to be half an orphanage, or some kind of multiple abuse case is probably just as gripping, but Yamamoto seems to bring himself to reality, shaking his head and offering up a final plate.

“Sorry, don’t often get to talk these days.  What about you?  You work in the area?”

Hizashi smiles.

“I’m...an English teacher at one of the local high schools” he offers.  “Long hours but I enjoy it.”

“Wouldn’t be Seirin would it?” Yamamoto asks, mentioning one of the nearer non-hero schools in the area, known more for their sports programs than it’s academic prowess.

“Afraid not” Hizashi offers.  “Is that where they’re enrolled?”

He partially gestures with his chopsticks to the group in the corner, and Yamamoto nods.

“Takeshi really wants to play baseball professionally, so he looked for somewhere with a good team, and the enrolment was within everyone’s ability so they stuck together, even if it’s not the greatest fit for some of them.  Keep getting calls asking why on earth I haven’t encouraged Hayato to go to a better school, or even just test out for university – god knows the brat could get in without trying if he wanted.  But you’ll only pry him from Tsuna’s side when he’s dead.”

Behind his glasses, Hizashi raises his eyebrows.  “That sounds a little...”

“Hyper dependent?” Yamamoto offers.  “Probably.  But he’s much better than he used to be, and that’s saying something.  To be honest, they’re all a little like that.  Tsuna draws people in, even when he doesn’t mean to.  You’d think so many personalities would rip a group like that apart but, Tsuna’s particularly...gifted, at keeping harmony.”

Hizashi chances another look at the group – and now that it’s been brought up, he can see the connections.  The silver haired boy and Yamamoto’s son are flanking the brunet, both leaning into the boy slightly more than most Japanese would consider appropriate, and while the group is mostly watching the screen, whenever someone speaks up, they look at Tsuna first, as if waiting for approval to continue.  The fluffy teen is controlling the entire conversation, although from the way the teen is acting, he’s either very aware of this, or completely oblivious.

“He’s oblivious” Yamamoto replies, and Hizashi chokes when he realises he said the last part out loud.  “Tsuna spent most of his life being told he was no good at anything.  It’s a difficult mind set to get out of, once you start believing it.”

Hizashi nods in understanding.  He’s heard Aizawa rant enough times about the Entrance Exam to know the world isn’t kind to those that don’t fit into a certain category.  

“So many students come through our doors with problems that go unnoticed until high school” Hizashi replies.  “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll get through to them before they graduate.”

Quirks, financial status, intelligence, ethnicity, society breeds a need to excel, and unfortunately, that means someone needs to fail along the lines.  At least ‘Tsuna’ is finally getting the help he needs, between Yamamoto’s new custody and his hoard of very close friends, Hizashi is sure the teen can learn to excel, rather than becoming a victim, or worse, a villain.

Part of him is itching to pry more, but even Yamamoto is starting to realise how much he’s dumped on a complete stranger, because he’s shaking his head and stepping back, choosing to clear up some of his bench.

“Clearly I’m spending too much time around teenagers” the chef jokes. “I’ve taking up gossiping.”

Hizashi laughs softly.  “I promise, I’m not complaining.  Not the first time I’ve been used as a sounding board, and won’t be the last.  Your story is safe with me.”

Yamamoto’s lips twitch.

“It’s not exactly something secret, it’s not all that impressive when you strip it down” he says, brushing it off.  “But thanks for listening anyway.”

“For sushi like this” Hizashi says, gesturing at his plate.  “I’ll happily take some conversation with the deal.”

Yamamoto grins, and hands him the bill.

“Then I look forward to seeing you again.”

[lord-bad-guy]

Villain Archetype: Heir to Lovecraft

"The day you KILLED me, dear Sandy, I fell into another WORLD. There are dimensions beyond the ones we PERCEIVE -- collectively known as the SUBTLE REALMS. And these realms -- well, let's just say they're INHABITED. Call them ENTITIES, if you like. SPIRITS. Things cast aside when the maker FORMALIZED his creation. They have their OWN god now. A KING OF TEARS. And he so DESPERATELY wants back into our world." ~ Johnny Sorrow The Heir to Lovecraft is a villain who invokes the Cthulhu Mythos of HP Lovecraft and other writers. EXAMPLES: Rasputin (Hellboy comics and film); the Revengers, Modred the Mystic (Marvel); Johnny Sorrow (DC) RELATED ARCHETYPES: Cult Leader, Servitor, Cosmic Menace POWERS AND ABILITIES: The Cthulhu mythos is existential horror, and the Heir embodies this genre through madness, alienation, body transformation, and Secrets Man Was Not Meant to Know. He is unsettling and an object of fear. He may wield magic, but this "magic" is just as likely to be defined as "science we can't understand". If he does work spells, he can summon the pitiless denizens of other worlds, Servitors which need no instruction before the thoughtless slaughter of all those who happen to be witness. Most of his evil work, in fact, is done through servants. This kind of Heir has little in the way of direct fighting ability. The Heir can pass as an ordinary man, but he is secretly a monster whose frail fleshly form will be revealed as something inhuman and horrifying. Alternately, he was human until his confrontation with cosmic truths transformed his body as well as his mind. This monstrous nature might be as simple as a host of tentacles erupting from his body, or it might be something more bizarre, like Johnny Sorrow's invisible but deadly face. He is probably immortal, either already dead or a host for the eldritch entities he serves, and this invulnerability is one of his most useful powers, allowing him to survive an encounter with heroes long enough for his own less direct tactics to become a threat. For the Heir, intelligence is a curse, not a blessing. His Intellect and Willpower are his highest attributes, despite the fact that he is mad as a hatter. Indeed, it is precisely his insanity which makes him virtually immune to psychic powers, intimidation, or persuasion of any kind. He is specialized in Occult, Mental Resistance, and, if he was led to the ghastly truth through the study of the mad, Psychology. OTHER QUALITIES: The Heir knows truths which man suspects but dare not accept: that we are puny, insignificant beings who matter not at all on the grand scale of the universe. Rather, the cosmos is home to entities we shall never understand, who have been here for eons untold and who will persist for ages yet to come. Utterly alien and vastly superior, they are the giants of eternity and we exist only in their shadow, not really permitted to live but rather alive by the grace of their inattention. This knowledge has driven the Heir mad or, rather, it has changed him in such a way that human society calls him mad, though he may in fact be the only sane one on a planet of self-deluding madmen. Both a Servitor and a Cult Leader, the Heir has learned how insignificant humanity is. He considers himself a superior being because of this knowledge, and he will not hesitate to sacrifice his followers. But in reality, he is only the most enlightened of the insects; his masters will not even notice when they accidentally crush him. Consider how the Heir interacts with the Mythos. Is there a particular patron whom he serves, such as Yog-Sothoth, Hastur the Unspeakable, Shub-Niggurath, or Cthulhu himself? While much of the Cthulhu Mythos is in the public domain and can be used by anyone (accounting for some of its popularity in video games, films, and comics), it is also common to add to the Mythos with the creation of new Lovecraftian elements, such as the Cancerverse, the King of Tears, or the Many-Angled Ones (first seen in Grant Morrison's Zenith). STORIES: When the Heir to Lovecraft appears, he is usually trying to find a particular object or person which he needs before his non-Euclidean masters gain egress to our world. Alternately, the Heir is trying to free his master, who has been imprisoned within a mountain, at the bottom of the sea, or in space. The heroes must prevent this from happening. On rare occasions, the heroes have to actually travel to the dimension where the Heir's masters dwell, but that place is so alien to human beings and so awful that we can survive there for only a very short time. In comics and gaming, this Lovecraftian dimension has recently been conflated with the Kabbalistic notion of the Qlippoth ("shells"), a universe which existed before our own and which is inhabited by the rejected detritus which God saw no use for in our, his second, creation. This shift from existential horror to an "anti-verse" from which (endless and grotesque, but highly punchable) horrors crawl may have happened because Lovecraftian horror and superheroic action make for strange bedfellows. Superheroes are defined by power, but the protagonists of Lovecraftian horror are generally powerless. Heroes usually win; Lovecraft's heroes see loss as inevitable. Super heroes are both important and lauded for their good deeds, while the academics, scientists, and reclusive artists of Lovecraft's New England discover man's cosmic unimportance and die alone and unmourned. For all of these reasons, the Heir to Lovecraft often ends up looking a lot like a traditional super villain, at least until his masters arrive. Until that moment, the heroes have plenty of opportunities to fry tentacular horrors with their heat vision. In fact, superhero stories argue very strongly against the cosmic truths that lie at the heart of Lovecraftian fiction. Superman and Captain America insist that our struggles are important and the weakest of us are the most cherished. Spider-Man and Batman demonstrate that it is within our power as human beings to make the world a better place, that this is a responsibility we must embrace. And while Lovecraftian horror and superhero fiction agree that the universe is strange and, in many ways, beyond human understanding, the Heir to Lovecraft sees that as horrifying while the superhero embraces it as "Amazing," "Incredible," and "Uncanny." When superheroes triumph over the Heir to Lovecraft, they're not just expressing how they see the world, they're validating their genre.