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a-big-apple · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on Surface Pressure 2/2

Let’s jump right back in! First part is here.

I was talking about anxiety, and here it is:

We’re back to the verse. “Under the surface, I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us.” That dissonance between what she’s showing and what she’s saying is back. She worries, it worsens, but she’s posing, ready to stop an avalanche. Mirabel is a beat behind, still putting together what Luisa’s telling her even while Luisa’s once again putting her body between Mirabel and danger.

NOW WE ARRIVE AT ONE OF MY FAVORITE PARTS!

The Good Ship Madrigal. It’s a Titanic reference, of course, but it’s literally the Madrigal, painted right there on the hull.

And the ship doesn’t swerve. Has it heard how big the iceberg is?

There are SO MANY LAYERS HERE. The iceberg is a great metaphor for what’s going on with Luisa: what’s above the waterline might be tall and intimidating, but it’s nothing compared to the depth of what’s happening beneath. It’s also a great metaphor for what Luisa fears is coming; we know from after the end of the song that she felt weak at the same time Mirabel saw the cracks, and it kept her up all night. What she can’t see and can’t anticipate is how deep the cascade failure of the family’s magic might go. There’s a practical threat to the family here, and also a threat to Luisa’s identity, her entire self-worth.

And then we have the ship, the Madrigal-Titanic, headed right for disaster. Refusing to swerve, because that would show weakness, and Alma copes with her fear by strictly maintaining the appearance that everything is fine. Like the Titanic, the ship of their family puts a lot of energy into showing beauty and prosperity, and a lot of that is real! But they’re not prepared, they don’t have enough lifeboats, and Luisa feels that it falls to her to remove all obstacles before they crash.

Mirabel is deep in it now, and there’s nothing she can do except back away in horror from what’s coming while the donkey string band in the background plays the ship into disaster.

But here comes Luisa! Ready to save the day yet again!

She leaps into action, even as the words she’s singing are expressing her anger -- nobody is actually seeing how big the expectations on her have become.

But she succeeds again! They make it to shore! Except all this action is starting to take a toll on Luisa; instead of looking ahead to what’s coming next, she’s still looking back, putting Mirabel in what she thinks is a position of safety.

She even takes a moment to fix Mira’s glasses. It’s a tender gesture, and another metaphor -- she's desperate for Mirabel to see what she’s trying to show.

“I think about my purpose, can I some how preserve this?” Is she trying to preserve her gift? Her place in the family and in the community? Literally and figuratively trying to preserve her sister and their relationship? I think all of those things are layered into this line; as with the iceberg, her fears are bigger and deeper than they seem.

But the hits keep coming, and they’re getting more personal.

Faced with her own door, the representation of her gift and her identity, Luisa puts Mirabel behind her again. There’s danger here that she knows her sister can’t understand. As viewers, we of course understand Mirabel’s perspective, how not getting a gift and a door has hurt her and made her feel lacking. But now we’re seeing the other side, this anxious, suffering Luisa shielding Mirabel from the weight of performing Madrigal amazingness.

And it’s so heavy!!!!

Luisa fought Cerberus, held up the globe, punched apart an iceberg, but struggles to hold up her own door. If she lets go to deal with the next crisis, the domino effect of the whole encanto’s expectations will crush her.

But wait!

The tornado Luisa calls “a light wind” blows them right into Oz, a place totally different from her reality where she can “shake the crushing weight of expectations.” She’s not thinking about Mirabel now, because at last she’s in an imagined place of safety, weightless. Nothing can harm them here.

And then we get this great gag with Mirabel’s glasses:

Of course, nothing here is just a gag. We’re back to those themes about perception, Mirabel drawing our attention to her ability to see what’s really going on.

AND LOOK AT THIS KID! SHE JUST WANTS SOME JOY!

SOME RELAXATION! SHE WANTS TO RIDE SIDESADDLE ON A SPARKLY UNICORN DONKEY IN A SHOWER OF COLOMBIAN FLAG CONFETTI! These are the simple pleasures of the cutest teen ever to exist.

But she’s been the strong one since she turned five, and nobody’s ever gotten to see this. She hasn’t had time to show this, or ask for it, and the music reminds us as it starts to intensify that “instead we measure this growing pressure.”

It keeps growing.

Dissonance again, but it’s a little different this time! Luisa’s smiling; in the chaotic landscape of her emotions, Mirabel is a bright spot. Even as Luisa is starting to break, she can find a little bit of peace at the tail end of her relaxation fantasy, enough to try to reassure Mirabel that things will be okay.

Mirabel even believes her, because once again, this is the loving sister she recognizes.

But the music’s building, and so are the words. “Keep going,” she’s singing, please go listen to her voice here because it’s heartbreaking, “’cause all we know is --”

She CAN’T CATCH A BREAK. The fantasy is over; Luisa is rising to meet the next challenge, and she has to drop Mirabel into the arms of gravity to do it.

Okay. I have to apologize in advance for how many screenshots I need to talk about the next few seconds of this song. We’ve dropped from floaty pink and purple clouds to this: just a red spotlight, nothing to distract the eye from Luisa, her burdens, and Mirabel. Even the music mostly drops away, and we’re left with a bare thrumming baseline and Luisa’s soft-voiced confession: no matter what she imagines, the pressure will never stop.

I’M IN AGONY. SO IS LUISA. SO IS MIRABEL.

Mirabel is now faced with the bare bones reality: her sister is in pain, and nobody else knows about it -- and unless she does something, nobody will ever notice, because Luisa still has not actually failed to do anything asked of her.

She’s still standing! Because it’s not actually about the weight.

As we’ve known from the beginning of the song, it’s about the expectations of others, the pressure Luisa puts on herself, and her inability to cope without rest, or joy, or care.

Mirabel even reaches out, as though she could help carry all this:

And then we get the most heartbreaking line of all, “Give it to your sister, it doesn’t hurt.”

Luisa told us herself, she has an indestructible surface. Nothing anyone could ask will injure her, probably nothing in the encanto is too heavy for her to lift. But she is hurting, and the way Jessica Darrow sings this line just slams me directly into my own grave.

“And see if she can handle every family burden” ??????? Awful. I’m in pain. Is she carrying every literal burden? Possibly! Every emotional one? I doubt that the adults in her life think they’re putting that on her, but that’s what she’s hearing. It’s what being praised for her strength and usefulness from the age of five has trained her to hear. It’s what an environment of secrecy, of not talking about her tío who disappeared, not talking about what it might mean that her sister didn’t receive a gift, not talking about the trauma Alma has passed on through her coping mechanisms, has wrought on Luisa. Earn your gift, earn your place, don’t complain, and don’t talk about what you’re feeling.

“Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks” also hurts!!!!!!

Luisa’s gift is extremely practical, but it’s also a sideshow. She can pick up a rock! She can pick up a donkey! She can pick up a church! Her strength seems infinite! Everybody’s watching, but nobody’s seeing what she’s struggling with.

Except, finally, Mirabel.

And after this super intense and bare chorus, cutting down right to the bone, Luisa rallies:

She let her guard down, she showed her heart, and she scared her little sister. It’s time to pull back, to bring the energy back up, because it’s terrifying to have revealed so much. Anger is safer, so she’s circled back to it! “No mistakes,” what she feels is expected, and what she demands of herself! The growl in her voice in this transition moment is SO INTENSE. We also get all the instruments back and a wicked piano run that makes me just go wild

FIERCE! Look, Mirabel! It’s leg day, Luisa’s got it handled, just pretend you don’t hear the chorus still happening!

I’m obsessed with her form here, she’s back to perfection, making everything look great:

We get a little bit of comedic relief:

And a dance break that’s FIRE but also just a little bit unhinged -- Luisa is panicking, trying to get back to an even keel where things are okay, but she’s doing that by literally performing again, in a space that looks like a tv studio set version of casita’s patio.

And poor Mirabel is back to a rough ride on the Madrigal-Titanic while Giant Luisa just grins alarmingly, fully a mask.

The Hercules vibe is back, plus a Maui from Moana vibe, plus a Genie from Aladdin vibe -- she’s presenting power of mythic, godlike proportions. “Give it to your sister and never wonder if the same pressure would have pulled you under!”

This time it is a direction for Mirabel. Forget I said all of that! Don’t think twice about asking me for anything, because there’s nothing wrong here! My job is to make sure you don’t have to worry!

“Who am I if I don’t have what it takes?” Just a girl dancing on top of a giant vueltiao, ready for the next challenge!

“No cracks, no breaks!”

But here’s where we land. Somehow heavier than the abstract weight of the world, Luisa is carrying her whole world. The entire encanto, the mountains, even the sun. (Again, kind of Superman! The sun is important to this tableau, now that it’s shining on her instead of that scary red spotlight, she can keep pretending!)

She’s still trying to convince herself: “no mistakes, no pressure!”

And as the dust settles...

We slam back into reality. The path hasn’t been torn up out of the ground. The metaphor space is gone. We’re faced with the physicality of Luisa’s panic, just heavy breathing on a random sunny day when Mirabel’s questions pushed her over the edge.

All Mirabel can do now is validate her, try to support her, and submit to some light crushing.

Good job, Mirabel! Things are gonna go downhill for Luisa from here, but only for a little while, and Mirabel’s gonna show the fam how to treat each other better!

Let’s end on a bonus hug, just because.

#encanto #luisa madrigal #surface pressure #at last i can rest #that's a lie i will probably watch more surface pressure reaction videos but you know

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the-littlest-goblin · 4 years ago

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*shows up to @essek-week 6 days late with all the prompts shoved into one fic*

based on this post by @slayerscake

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Essek, for all his magical skill, had very little experience being a fighter. But you pick things up when you travel with a group that gets in as many scrapes per day as the Mighty Nein—you don’t necessarily learn how to fight well, but you certainly learn how to fight alongside the Mighty Nein.

While Jester is a cleric, try to go unconscious near Caduceus.

“It’s not that she refuses to heal,” Fjord explained gently as he inspected the gash across Essek’s sternum for signs of poison. They were all a bit paranoid now since discovering that their previous monster encounter had, unbeknownst to them, injected a slow-acting venom into every bite. “She just prefers to take the enemy out first. It’s a strategy thing, you know. Save the healing for after the fight, once the danger’s gone.”

Essek turned his gaze over to Jester. In their post-battle huddle, while Caduceus hummed a healing prayer for the group and Fjord dressed Essek’s wound, she was several yards away helping Veth saw off one of the beast’s talons as a trophy.

Fjord continued, “Of course, if you’re like, actually dying in front of her, she’ll heal you. I mean…” he trailed off. Sure, Essek hadn’t exactly been dead-dead when he’d collapsed next to Jester during the fight, but he wasn’t far from it. The last, ironic thought he’d registered before consciousness slipped away was how fortunate it was to fall in battle right next to a cleric. As his eyes fell shut, it was with anticipation that he would be up again in a second to rejoin the fray.

When he had finally awoken, it was Caduceus’ face smiling over him, not Jester’s, and the ferocious monster had long since been turned into a carcass.

“Mm-hmm.”

Fjord sighed and sat back on his heels. “Just, maybe next time, if you have to go down, try to go down closer to Caduceus.”

“Noted,” Essek grumbled, watching with nauseated fascination as his skin knit itself back together in time with the melody of Caduceus’ spell.

When in doubt, polymorph.

“I am a bit surprised you don’t already have this in your repertoire. I have found it to be incredibly useful.”

Essek shrugged, shoving off the automatic sting of embarrassment that came with admitting ignorance. He didn’t need to feel that way around Caleb.

“Well, I have rarely found myself in a position to fly over rough terrain or transform a terrifying monster into a sloth. Until now, that is.”

Caleb laughed lightly. “Such is the adventuring life, I suppose.” He smiled, taking a break from flipping through his spellbook to look up at Essek. Even this brief moment of eye-contact felt so charged with energy that Essek had to avert his gaze, the sense-memory of guilt welling up in his throat threatening to choke him. The intensity of Caleb’s undivided attention was still difficult for him to bear. His fingers twitched to rub at the burning spot on his forehead. Instead, he gripped his pen tighter.

“Here.” Caleb flipped his book around to show Essek the page dedicated to the Polymorph spell, covered in transmutation runes. Essek recognized a few of the symbols in passing. “This should be easy for you to copy down. Then we can practice a bit. I think you’ll find casting it on yourself makes for a rather enjoyable pastime.”

Buff the lesbians.

Essek’s eyes darted between Caleb and Caduceus, unsure how to interpret this piece of advice. “Um, can you be more specific?”

Caduceus blinked at him, seeming confused. “Specific how? You mean like, which spells you should use on them?”

“No, I meant specific as in to whom you were referring. I just…” Essek glanced awkwardly around the table. Most of the group was distracted, digging into the enormous feast provided by Caleb’s clowder of feline servants. They were all worn out from a long day of hard travel and enjoying the warm reprieve of the tower.

Essek cleared his throat, trying to discreetly lower his voice without making it obvious that he was being secretive. “I have not exactly been given a briefing on all of your individual sexual preferences.”

“Oh, I can fix that!” Jester cut in. Apparently Essek’s attempts to be clandestine had failed, as they always seemed to with this group. “Caleb is—”

“That is alright, thank you,” Essek swiftly cut her off. His cheeks were already burning red-hot. “Can you please just tell me who ‘the lesbians’ are in this circumstance?”

He could feel Beau’s glare boring through him all the way from the other end of the table as she stared incredulously over her magical flask of whiskey. “You should really be able to figure that out yourself, man.”

Squishy wizards stay away from fights.

“Stay. Here.” Yasha’s growl was twice as terrifying as the insectoid beast screaming over their heads, and Essek was pretty sure the force from her shoving him behind the rocks was going to leave just as big a bruise as getting smacked by the creature’s tail, if not bigger. “Hide.”

“I was trying to help,” Essek muttered, a mixture of shame and indignation pushing him to defend himself to her.

“I know. You can help by staying alive.” A hint of softness entered Yasha’s gruff voice, although its effect was mitigated when she hefted up her massive sword. Essek instinctually slunk away from the arc of the blade. “Fighters get close, wizards hang back. That’s how we do things in this family.” She smiled at him, and another layer of the ice around Essek’s heart melted. “That’s how we keep you and Caleb from snapping like twigs. Save the close-range spells for when things are really desperate.”

Essek nodded his affirmation. Yasha turned and began running back into the melee, letting out an almighty roar. Just before she went out of range, Essek reached out his hands, whispering the incantation and twisting his fingers around the fabric of time that surrounded her large frame. Yasha paused for a moment as the effects of the Haste spell hit her, then turned to flash Essek another smile and a thumbs up.

That’s how we do things in this family.

You have to look sexy when using spells.

“I really do not understand the purpose of this.”

“We’re just trying to help you out!” Veth grinned at him mischievously. Somehow, the ghost of a goblin’s snarl showed through her straight halfling teeth. “Every good adventurer knows aesthetics are crucial to effective spellcasting.”

“That’s not—”

“Plus, we’re not fighting in the cold anymore,” Jester added. “We don’t want you to get overheated in the middle of battle.”

“That… really isn’t an issue.” But he knew resistance was useless when it came to these two. Resigned to his fate, Essek dutifully lifted the mantle over his head and began undoing the fastenings of his cloak.

Outer layer discarded, he lifted his arms up half heartedly to show his self-appointed image consultants the results. “Is this satisfactory?”

“Hmmmm,” Jester tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Can you try rolling up your sleeves?”

“I’m not taking off my shirt!”

“No one asked you to!” Veth hopped off her chair to circle around Essek, studying him with an intensity she usually reserved for things she was about to shoot. “Now, show us your stance.”

“My what?”

“You know, your sexy fighting stance.” Veth stopped in place, whipping out her crossbow and striking a dramatic pose.

“Um…” Essek attempted to mimic her, one hand on the meteorite pendant that served as his arcane focus, the other reaching out as if he were about to cast a spell. “Like this?”

Jester tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, that tank top did look really good on you, Essek.”

Essek put his head in his hands.

If you get charmed there is going to be a very high chance of Beau punching you to snap you out of it.

A constellation's worth of stars swam in Essek’s vision, pain bursting through his head like a reverberating drum; he could feel the nasty bruise blooming at his temple where Beauregard had struck him. Blinking away the stars, he turned just in time to see Beau’s fist heading towards him once again, this time making expert contact with his jaw. The force of this second blow sent him hurtling toward the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Amid the pain, a sense of clarity slowly came over him, cutting through the pleasant, misty haze that had overtaken his faculties. It gave him just enough presence of mind to scream an indignant, accusatory, “Ow!” at Beau.

She flashed him a cocky grin, seemingly amused by his tone. “Look man, this is what happens. Get charmed, get hit. Now square up.”

Essek held up one hand in an attempt to stave her off, gasping for breath. The buzz in his brain was receding; somehow, Beau had punched the spell’s effect right out of him. “No really, I’m fine now, it worked—”

But she was already going in for another punch. Helpless to stop her, Essek braced himself for the hit, thinking that if nothing else, he had to admire her thoroughness.

#critical role #critrole #essek thelyss #essek week #my writing #what is a timeline but a miserable little pile of scenes?

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papermonkeyism · 3 years ago

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I've always loved how dynamic your poses are and the way you use varying angles, do you have any tips for that? (Other than using reference and practising, though they do help a ton!)

Oof, that's a hard one!

Okay, so, I've drawn for most of my life, kinda ever since I could hold a pencil (gonna ding to 34 later this month, for reference), almost a decade of that was spent going through three different art schools, I've got couple entire degrees in this, and a lot of that means that drawing is second nature to me. I don't really have to consciously think of what I'm doing at this point anymore, so i don't know how good an explanation I'd be capable of giving.

So, uh. Couple of tips I could think of?

Practice

Yeah, yeah, practice makes a master, but don't just churn out drawings without thinking. Try to have a purpose in what you do. Draw from photos, draw from real life. Really THINK what is it that makes something look like it does. Watch a lot of videos of things moving. Dogs frolicking. Horses jumping. Google Eadweard Muybridge and study those image sequences. What makes the movement look like moving. How can you convey the weight of the thing you're drawing. How's gravity affecting it. Draw from a photo of a moving thing, and then again, but exaggerate it. Photos on their own can look stiffer than the thing they portrait, as they freeze the time, so thinkbof pushing things further to make the impact feel bigger. How about a video? Ever seen someone get punched in the face in slow mo? See where all the squishy flesh is going.

Perspective is evil, but studying it can make you so much better at drawing things.

Study from art. How have other people portrayed movement before you? Look at classical art, but also animation. Your favourite comics and cartoons. What's exaggerated? Squash and stretch? (note: it is absolutely fine to trace art for practice. Kids do that to learn, and most artist have done, and still do that. BUT! It's polite to not publish these practice drawings online without permission from the artist you copied from. And remember to credit if you do!) And don't just stick to one artist, or you risk learning their shortcuts without knowing WHY they use said shortcuts, you don't want to end up adopting someone else's mistakes in your own art by accident. Watch movies, specially animated. See how and why they work. Frame by frame if you have to or can! (Kung Fu Panda movies are visual porn, just saying)

Study composition and layout. See if you can find storyboards of good looking movies, or just watch a movie and try to draw storyboards from it. Try to find key poses

Don't worry about having a style. Most artists can't actually see their own style (I know I can't! I still have a style, I know I do, but because style is formed from muscle memory, habit and my way of seeing things, my style is inevitably mine, but I can't recognize it, as from my perspective I can only see the mechanics of what make said style, not the results on their own)

Keep a sketchbook!

(traditional artist point of view here) Have a designated place for your doodles and studies. Whenever you draw something that doesn't need to be on it's own paper, draw it in a sketchbook. Fill the sketchbook with anything and everything. Doodles, studies, notes, life drawing, two dozen faces of your favourite anime character, that one eyebrow you saw in another artist's drawing that really spoke to you, and you wanted to understand it (my sketchbooks have sometimes disembodies body parts in them, drawn in other peoples' styles because of this. I don't share them, but I absolutely do them). Date your drawings, so looking back you can easier see your progress? You probably can't see your progress while it's happening, but the hindsight of a sketchbook can help. Don't delete them, just move on. Ruined a page? It's okay, it's just a sketchbook. Turn to the next page and continue. You can learn from your mistakes, but you need to make said mistakes first!

Try different materials or mediums.

Draw with pencil. Draw with marker. Pick a watercolor and try that. Did you know you can paint with coffee? Learn how different materials feel, how they work. Not every medium will be your friend, but you won't know if you don't try.

Try drawing on black paper using only white or light colors. Carve its shapes out of the blank darkness!

Get some playdoh or modelling clay and make something. And then maybe draw what you made. Combo the 3d of the clay with the 2d of the pencils.

Like, it's not just learning to draw, as in make lines on paper. It's also about training your brain to SEE. That's the impirtant bit.

My brain works visually anyway, so I've gotten it trained pretty good at visualizing things before I even pick the pencil up.

Uhhh, is this helpful in any way? I don't know how to advice.

#Long post

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years ago

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Waking Up Alone

This is for my anon who requested something angsty and fluffy with El Phantasmo- hope you enjoy! The idea is partially inspired by the Cowboy Junkies song "Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning". (I am the queen of sad lady songs, I swear.)

Pairing: El Phantasmo x OFC

Word count: 3.091

Content advisory: language, sexual references

Sun comes up, it’s Tuesday morning

Hits me straight in the eye

Guess you forgot to close the blind last night

Oh that’s right, I forgot, it was me

The morning sun feels like an assault on your eyes, punching its way through your delicate eyelids and right through into your nerves. Yeah, you definitely had a few too many drinks last night. Gin and tonic with the girls, which you hadn’t done in ages. It ended up with pitchers at the dive you’d been frequenting since you were too young to get into bars, the place that truly catered to everyone. Beer after liquor, never sicker; liquor before beer, in the clear. Why the hell had you switched from liquor to beer?

Doesn’t matter now, you think, wrestling yourself into a sitting position while protecting your eyes with a trembling hand. Wrestling yourself. You sigh a little as you consider the term that immediately springs to mind. You didn’t mention the breakup to the girls. It still feels too strange, too ephemeral. Were you ever really a couple anyway? You suppose that’s the crux of the problem. You didn’t know where you stood, so you’d estimated that you were somewhere it turned out you weren’t close to.

If Riley The Perfidious Bastard were around, he would have made sure to lower the Roman shade you’d fashioned out of an old curtain and some bamboo rods. He was always impressed at your ability to create homey touches from spare parts. Now that he’s not around, you realize how much you’d liked having your abilities praised.

If Riley were here, you’d also be waking up to the smell of coffee, the most wonderful thing in the world for someone in your condition. But there’s nothing. No rich, roasted scent, no happy, burbling noises from the machine in the kitchen. You have to get up and take care of it yourself, which you haven’t had to do in a long time. Goddammit.

You run one hand over the expanse of your king bed, the plump mattress extending almost all the way to the window. Sure, the thing took up most of the room but you didn’t care. The room was only going to be used for sleep anyway. Well, sleep and that other, delicious thing. That thing you missed so much. Well, you missed it the way that Riley had done it. If he was really gone, you were going to have a hell of a time finding someone who could make you want to spend all day in bed the way he had. You still hadn’t made your way back to the center of the bed. Somehow, your mind refused to accept that things were over. You were still making space for him.

With a dramatic effort that has no one to appreciate it, you heave yourself off the bed and make your way towards the kitchen. You’re halfway through the process of making coffee when you realize that you’re wearing one of his shirts, one of the ones with his logo emblazoned on it. You must have just reached for the first thing you could find when you got home and, of course, that would be something from the pile of shirts you’d made next to the bedroom door; shirts to be given to charity because you sure as hell didn’t want to look at them anymore. That pile had been sitting there for three weeks, the dried traces of angry tears still on every part of it, and you hadn’t gotten around to carrying everything to the donation bin less than a block away.

Coffee is more important than anything right now, so you focus on that. You also shove a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster oven. Bread and peanut butter will help ease the seething broth in your gut and allow you to concentrate on the day. Which would be even more useful if your day actually required concentration. Band practice had been pushed back to tomorrow because Kyle and Lily were off in the country visiting her parents. Sure, you could work on the guitar parts by yourself, but it’s not like there was anything to learn. You had a handful of gigs coming up in the next few weeks, mostly local, all focused on your last album. Practice was just a matter of making sure you all kept tight and maybe came up with some new ways to make the live experience a little different for people.

As autumn shifted closer to winter, it was always the quiet season. Students were running short on money, the weather became unpredictable, and going on the road became less and less lucrative the closer it got to the holidays. It was approaching that time of year when people started to nest rather than seek a mate. Or at least that’s how it was for most people. It just wasn’t that way for wrestlers dividing their time between North America and Japan. You cringe at how that thought makes you recall the fights you’d had in the last few days of your whatever the hell it was because apparently it wasn’t a relationship.

It’s a very different feeling than at the beginning of spring, when everything was starting to pick up, when you constantly felt excited about what the immediate future held, and when you’d agreed to go to a wrestling show because Nadia was doing makeup for it. You and Wendy had shown up already drunk and had taken advantage of Nadia’s invitation to come backstage.

You’d stolen beer from kraft services and watched Nadia attending to her work while you tried to distract her by making her laugh. You’d been surprisingly successful but she was such a pro that she had no problems. The women took the longest for her to do, but all the performers had to come in to make sure that they’re coloring and contouring was perfect for tv lighting and that was how you’d met him.

The two of you had locked eyes as soon as he came in the room and had remained that way as he settled into Nadia’s chair. You hadn’t been able to tear yourself away from those huge, shiny orbs with their saucy expression and despite your inebriated state, you could feel that stare lodging itself in your memory forever.

“This is El Phantasmo,” she giggled.

“He’s a what now?” you’d snorted in response, relishing the flare of indignation in his eyes.

“Are we letting just anyone back here now?” he snapped.

“These are my friends!” Nadia assured him, slurring her speech as she motioned to you and Wendy. You’d been feeding her the beer you’d purloined as well.

“Like I said. We’re letting just anyone in.”

At that, you’d given his seat a shove with your foot, despite the fact that Nadia had started to apply bronzer to his cheeks. He was left with a dark streak across one side of his face and nose, which had made you and Wendy crack up.

“Come on,” Nadia chided, “I need to make these guys look good.”

“Good luck with that,” you laughed.

The man you knew only as El Phantasmo flipped you off and you’d returned the gesture, swiveling on your seat a little so that your hips were thrust forward. It wasn’t that he was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen, far from it. But something about him just got to you. He had such an effect on you that even as you were mocking him, you let your body move and pose in ways that were intended to resonate with his basest masculine instincts.

You’d been captivated by the show, particularly by his display of athleticism, as well as his bratty defiance to what the audience wanted. You’d booed him with everything you had and you’d been so drawn to him that you’d had to restrain yourself from running to the ring and grabbing his pert ass right there.

Instead, you’d made your way backstage again and insinuated yourself into the group that was going for drinks. You insisted that Nadia come along because Wendy had headed home as soon as the show was over. You wanted someone to hang out with so that it wasn’t totally obvious what and who you were there for. It didn’t really matter, though, because everyone was so friendly and most were so drunk that they didn’t care that they had no idea who you were.

You’d kept an eye on him for a while and then approached the bar when you saw him going for a refill, elbowing your way in so that you were right next to him, bumping his shoulder hard as you got to the bar.

“You wanna buy me a drink?” you crooned.

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll buy you one.”

“Does that mean I have to hang out with you?”

“Yup. Besides, you know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

He was laughing a little when you said it, and when you leaned over to scream your order at the bartender, ordering him a random drink since you hadn’t even bothered asking, he ran his hand down your back and gave your ass a quick slap. You’d smirked to yourself. You knew you’d seen the spark in his eyes.

“Riley,” he shouted right into your ear.

“Deaf now,” you shot back, pushing his drink at him. “You’re skinny for a wrestler.”

“Don’t need to bulk up when you’re as good as I am.”

“Anything else you’re good at?”

“Fucking women with big mouths until they can’t say anything but my name.”

The two of you had spent the night all over his apartment and, yeah, he’d lived up to his own hype. The sex had been outright feral, biting and clawing and animal-like noises until you were both too exhausted to move.

You thought about dropping a hint that you wanted to sleep there but since it was kind of obvious that this was a one-night thing, you’d waited a while then pulled your clothes back on to go. The two of you shared a surprisingly tender kiss at the door and when you made to leave, he’d looked surprised.

“You don’t want to exchange numbers or something?” He’d sounded legitimately surprised.

“Sure.”

You’d entered each other into your phones and you went home in a cab, reflecting that you did feel more of a connection than you’d realized at first.

Still, you held off calling him so as not to look desperate, but he’d called you a couple of days later. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to admit you were broke until your next royalty check cleared, you’d invited him over for dinner. The two of you had cooked some pasta together and drank a couple of bottles of wine and then tore into each other again, gradually making your way to your bed. Once again, it had been mind-blowing, but the real surprise came at the end of the night.

“Mind if I stay here?” he asked quietly.

You’d patted the pillows beside you and grinned. You’d drifted off thinking that, yes, this was something a little special and you’d woken up thinking the same thing.

Craving the crisp air on your reddened cheeks, you grab a sweater, jeans and boots and that wonderful alpaca poncho you’d found when you and Riley went to that farmer’s market. It was a weird thing to find in a place that was supposed to be all about food but it didn’t matter because it was soft and full of deep colours and even though it had been hotter than hell outside, you knew that you were going to get plenty of use from it once the weather turned colder. At the time, you thought that you’d still be going for walks and dinner and drinks with Riley.

As you get ready, your phone buzzes. Wendy sending you a message.

“Never let me do that again.”

You chuckle, remembering that however bad you got last night, she was the one who ended up trying to dance on the bar, refusing to acknowledge that she couldn’t climb up on it. You’ll all have a good laugh about it later but right now, you can’t deal with it. And the reason you can’t deal with it is because for a second, you’d hoped that it was him texting you.

Your body immediately knows where it wants to go, turning the first corner and heading for the hipster diner you eat from too often. They make a mean breakfast burrito but today, you limit yourself to one of those extra buttery croissants you love so much.

Joanne is working the counter, which is kind of remarkable since you remember running into her late into the night, but although her face is flushed the same as you, she’s smiling warmly at every customer.

“Hey there, lady,” she chuckles. “Still walking?”

“Barely. May I please have coffee and a croissant? And may I ask why Peter isn’t working this morning?”

She prepares your order, grinning. “Well he had some of the guys over to watch the game last night and it turns out he’s in worse shape than I am.”

“The bastard.”

“He was totally unconscious this morning. I hope he’s not dead because being a widow would suck.”

Everyone is in a relationship. Everyone you know is in love. It hurts a lot to think that one of those things is still true of you.

Things had gone to shit over an instagram post of all things. Him during a trip back to Japan, posing with a woman who looked straight out of a modelling agency. Immediately, you’d felt in your gut that something was off and although you hadn’t wanted to seem like you were scrutinizing his every movement, you’d been unable to hold back.

“Is something going on with you and that girl in the pictures with you?”

“Going on?” He’d seemed puzzled. “I mean, we hook up when I’m in Japan. No big deal.”

That’s where he had been wrong. It was a very big deal for you. The two of you hadn’t talked about your status but you realized that you had been assuming that because you’d been wrapped up in the romance of it all that he was too. Apparently not.

It had led to a huge fight, then another resentful exchange, and then he was back in Japan for a week. You hadn’t messaged him at all while he was gone. He didn’t contact you when he got back. You’d come home one day to find your spare set of keys in an envelope in your mailbox. No note, nothing. No request to get his set back from you. Giving someone a spare set of keys was supposed to mean something. How many women had keys to his place?

You ponder it glumly for the umpteenth time as you make your way back to the home that always feels strangely empty to you now. You’d been in the place for five years. He’d been coming around for five months and somehow it feels like he belonged there. You see a figure sitting on the front step of one of the buildings and for a second, you think it’s him, waiting for you to get home, like he used to before he had keys and could go in and surprise you with dinner, or flowers, or-

Then you realize that it actually is him, sitting on your step, drinking a beer and staring off into space. He doesn’t even look up when you come to a halt next to him.

“Dude, it’s nine in the morning. Are you starting early or finishing late?”

He shrugs without looking at you and after a long moment of silence, you sit down next to him. You tear the croissant in half and silently offer it to him but he shakes his head.

“For the love of god, eat something.”

He shakes his head again.

“Fine, become an alcoholic and drink yourself to death for all I care.” You bite into the delicious pastry, humming in satisfaction and finally he reaches over and takes the other half from you.

“Good boy.”

“Here’s the thing,” he says quietly. “I thought that since you’d never said anything, it meant that you had other guys in your life. All the guys I work with either lie to their wines and girlfriends or they just have these open things going on and I guess after a while it starts to seem like that’s the normal thing to do.”

“Well I never said that I was opposed to that. I never said that we couldn’t work something out. But you didn’t even give me the chance. You just carried on as if I didn’t even exist.”

“I didn’t, though.” For the first time, he turns to look at you. His eyes are red and swollen and something tells you that it isn’t from drinking. “I said that I’d hooked up with that girl and I had. In the past. Nothing happened when I was there last time.”

“Then why did you let me believe that something had?”

“I have no fucking idea. And that’s been killing me.”

With a heavy sigh, you reach out and place your hand on his. He immediately grabs hold.

“I think,” he says pensively, “that I felt nervous about telling you I was serious about you. I was nervous because I haven’t felt this serious about someone before. And when you got angry, I think I just flipped out and thought it meant that I was wrong.”

“Wrong for having feelings?”

“Wrong for thinking you did too.”

Your stomach flips and you tighten your hold on his hand.

“Well I did.”

He nods and stares off, his face twitching a little like he’s trying to keep from crying.

“I still do,” you tell him.

He turns and stares at you, big eyes surprised and hopeful.

“Really? Because I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “I know.”

“I miss you,” he whispers.

“Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?”

“Only if I can make it,” he grins. “You always put too much in.”

“Asshole,” you grunt, standing up and pulling him with you.

As you unlock the door, he leans in and plants a warm kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

The two of you enter your flat, hand in hand again.

#el phatasmo imagine #el phantasmo fanfic #njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanons for being a younger Avenger and mentoring Kamala

Kamala Khan x reader

warnings: avengers game spoilers, guns

a/n: so excited about this one; i made y/n just a bit older (and gn!) so that they’re in their mid-early teens during a-day! hope thats okie doke! reader has electrokinesis. this accidentally got really detailed

prompt: anonymous: “Hey there! Would you mind writing HCs for the Avengers Game about female reader being a young Avenger (around 17) and mentoring Kamala Khan?”

you were just a kid yourself when you joined the avengers

and you were an inspiration to kids around the world

“does SHIELD think nothing of child labor laws?” -bruce

the avengers became your family

and seeing what you could do...they knew you could handle yourself

and then a-day happened

the day started off so perfect

and the kids went ballistic over seeing you

“y/h/n! look, it’s y/h/n!”

“can i get a picture?”

“hi, guys! of course you can!”

but there was one kid who stuck out among the rest

kamala khan

“you’re the one who wrote about the sewers, right? i freaking loved it! may i just say your art is amazing?”

“r-really?”

“oh, yeah! and the part where you had thor spin mjölnir to push water towards the sewer lizards so i could shock them? genius!”

she could not wait to tell abu about what you had just said

you obviously took a selfie with her and handed her a little pin with your own “icon” on it

but your world got turned upside down that day

the battle was one you’d never forget

and the fighting with your own teammates afterwards would haunt you for years to come

“what do you know, y/n?! you’re just a kid!” -tony

“oh yeah? im one of the only functioning members of this team!”

“everybody calm down. y/n makes a good point, but—” -nat

“thank you”

“...but there’s some stuff you should leave up to us. you really shouldn’t have to take on so much responsibility” -nat

“she’s right, y/n. this was our fault” -bruce

“are you kidding me?! i’m just as guilty as the rest of you, i’m an equal member of this team! for years we’ve dealt with this together, taken the blame together! what’s changed?”

“y/n...you saw what we did out there. that changed everything...” -bruce

you technically were an inhuman, just not terrigen-based

didnt matter to AIM, they took dr. pym for god’s sake

so you had to run, you were on your own for a while

a long while

you laid low for five years, most boring five years of your life

at least you still had your life, though. it just wasn’t what it used to be

but you got a message one day

“‘tiny dancer,’ huh? my moneys on either nat or tony. nah, tony would have chosen ‘rocket man.’”

you couldn’t be sure, maybe it was just a random shield agent...maybe hank pym? god, this was crazy

the message brought you to, uh, cap’s memorial statue

and there was a young girl arguing with a couple of boys...an inhuman!

you hopped in and saved her, she seemed scared

“hey, kid, you alright?”

“y/h/n? is it really you?”

she seemed vaguely familiar

“are you tiny dancer?”

“no, i thought you might be? they sent you here, too?”

there wasn’t much time to chat, AIM was onto you

you two unfortunately got split up for a minute, but you were practically raised by the notorious clint barton and natasha romanoff, and various other spies

yes, you planted a tracker on her

and met her at the bus stop!

“you found me?”

“that i did, kamala. see, i do remember you”

“that is so cool! i mean—not almost getting killed, or the guy with the big head...”

“what guy? you need to tell me everything”

the whole busride was a bit overwhelming. kamala explained the resistance clues, her powers, her undying admiration for the avengers, you name it

but it made you feel good to know that there were people out there that didn’t hate you

“so what was it like? being the teenage avenger?”

“uh, it was...it was really cool. i felt like i was one-of-a-kind. but sometimes people didn’t take me seriously, it was kind of aggravating”

“yeah, no one takes me seriously either...”

“you know, depending on how this all goes, i might be able to give you a few pointers”

“really?! that’d be great!”

once you got to utah...you saw the chimera

it brought back some bad memories, kamala could tell

“you okay?”

“me? yeah, im good. just thinking...okay, well, do you have a plan on how to get yourself across all of this?”

“actually, i do!”

it was kind of creepy in there, but when you laid your eyes on caps shield, you kind of broke

“do you hear something, what it that?”

“...hulk. kamala, you need to get out of here, i’ll catch up to you, i swear”

she didn’t leave in time, so she got to see the greener side of bruce. you chased him back and tried to get bruce back

meanwhile, kamala found AIM troops...oops

bruce cooled off and man was he doing rough

“y/n, is that really you?”

“yeah, its me. surprise. how long have you been the big guy?”

“too long...a few years”

“jesus, im sorry. i’ll be right back, though. some kid brought me here, i gotta go get her. you kinda scared her off”

she was passed out when you got to her

but bruce is a doctor, he’d figure it out

“i could give her a little shock to wake her up, you know?”

“oh, i know. just let her rest for a minute. she needs it”

“right...well im gonna take a look around, maybe go see what i left behind. i could power the place up, but we’re missing some parts to actually get this thing running. best i can do is lights and doors”

you turned the little things on and turns out did leave a decent amount of stuff in here

your first pair of pistols that nat gave you, the gigantic stein that thor gifted you for your 13th birthday, gadgets tony needed an “extra boost” for *bzzt*, a note from cap that just said “good luck, y/n, you’re going to do great!” you cant even remember what it was he was referring to. you just missed him

kamala walked in while you were shuffling around and cleaning the place up

“hey, dr. banner wanted me to come get you. is this your room?”

“that it is, and it’s a huge mess. this is literally all my belongings ever”

bruce had his plan and you just went along, helping kamala out as you go

“baby steps, kam, don’t want you to pass out. but don’t worry, happens to the best of us” -you

“really? you pass out too?” -kamala

“oh yeah, for sure. tell her bruce, remember that time we had thor overcharge me to literally make me an EMP? and tony was busy listening to music so he wouldn’t get out of the blast radius and his armor shut down? so he was out of commission and i had just collapsed from it all? good times”

“y/n, we thought you died” -bruce

this hc is so long omg — anyways you guys ended up finding tony and it was sort of entertaining but he kinda punched bruce and then hugged you

“you got so big”

“shut up, tony”

you kinda harbored some bad feelings since none of the avengers did anything to help you once they started rounding up inhumans (but you still missed them)

getting attacked again

“okay, kamala, remember what i said about baby steps. dont overdo it. i trust you with this!”

“thank you, y/n! uh—oh my god!”

aaaanyways you went to the ant hill to see hank and pick up some supplies, boy was it great to see some familiar faces, then back the the chimera you went to fix it all up

“can you hold that right there for me, kamala? thanks. i think that just about does it. now i have a surprise for you...your own room!”

you helped kamala get it nice and tidy while talking about each other’s lives, she really did remind you of yourself when you became an avenger. excited, scared, underestimated, all of that. and she begged you to share some mission stories, so you obviously did

“you know, if you stick around for a while, you’re gonna have some cool stories, too. maybe even a kickass costume.”

“oh! a costume, ive got that sorta covered. check it out. a burkini, muslim women wear it for swimming and stuff. my mom got it for me”

“love it. soon we’ll find you a fitting name and update the suit, but seriously, this was the perfect way to go. you look great”

“you think so? i don’t know if i feel that cool. maybe i should try something else?”

“if that’s how you feel, you don’t have to stick to it. you can experiment all you want! but i really think you did awesome on this. come on, pose with me! and hey, i like your pins.”

at this point, you’d do anything for kamala, she reminded you so much of yourself. you would have killed for a mentor your age back in the day.

natasha was in fact tiny dancer...called it

“oh, god, y/n. you’re all grown up...im sorry we left you alone. but if it makes you feel better, i always kept an eye on you”

“well, i kind of took on a protégé...she’s like your grand-protégé. kam, c’mere”

after thor finally came back, everyone started fighting again and ditched, it felt so familiar. but you couldn’t leave kamala behind, you swore to yourself that you couldn’t do that.

she was so good for this team

MODOK was defeated (by kamala herself) but there was so much left to do, tons of threats to extinguish, training to accomplish

“y/n, tony won’t turn his dad rock off! he overrode the speakers in my room”

“oh, it’s on. get chastity’s fabric dye and bleach pens. we’re gonna start some trouble”

she gave you a high five one time and nearly broke your arm

sending each other tiny hand memes

“hey, ms. m, how’re your parents? doing okay without their favorite super-daughter?”

“my abu doesn’t stop texting me actually, says my family is super proud of me. it’s a nice change of pace”

you take her on covert missions for field training, it was Educational(tm)

*elevator music playing* “so...what do you want for dinner? i was thinking we could ask thor to barbecue”

sleepovers in her room that just turn into her showing you her superhero merch, listening to music, prank lists, sneaking off to the HARM room for hand-to-hand combat training and power experiments, thinking up new costume designs

“tip: you always need backup suits, you never know what you’re gonna run into out there. one time tony pushed me into a tower of paint cans and they spilled all over me. steve yelled at him for two hours afterwards. worst mission ever, except steve said ‘motherfucker’ and i have never recovered from the emotions of that day”

“wow, i wish i could have been there for that”

“don’t worry, kami, you’ll see some crazy ‘team bonding’ along the way”

she geeks out about captain marvel sometimes

“hey, i’ve got a book carol gave to me about ‘teens taking responsibility.’ you wanna read it?”

“is it any good?”

“i don’t know, i only read the first two pages”

you ended up having a true heart-to-heart with her after one mission when she made a mistake that nearly cost you guys the mission. you told her that not every mission is going to go perfect, each avenger had slipped up in the field, and she had just started, shes not going to be perfect

“i am literally always here if you need anything. i know what it feels like to be a teenager among legends, but trust me, you’ve made it this far and you’ve proven how much of a badass you are. i know you can take anything that gets thrown at you”

kamala said she makes vegan nachos and yeah she makes vegan nachos

you guys have to hide from the rest of the team when she makes them bc they eat ALL OF THEM

gaff (the SHEILD vendor) has you test his gear, you recommend gear to kamala

you were so excited to guide kamala on her journey of heroism

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

#kamala khan #kamala khan x reader #kamala khan imagine #ms marvel #ms marvel x reader #ms marvel imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #avengers game #avengers game x reader #avengers game imagine

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scourgewins · 4 years ago

Note

Great, thank you so much! Also I totally understand about the school thing. In fact, school for me ends in 2 weeks and I'm in a lot of pressure as well! So take your time, we will gladly wait! 1. How can I make all the faces look different? 2. Arms??? Looking normal???? PLEASE??? 3. Just a general tip for drawing bodies well? 4. How can I draw comics well? (aka make characters have different expressions and body language in a way that makes sense) Again, thank you so much!

Aw, good luck to you! Thanks for being understanding!

1. I actually struggle with this a lot 'cause I got TONS and TONS of characters! I just choose a few facial features I like to vary. My favorites are hair on the top of the head, bangs, noses, jawlines, and eyebrows. I just have a few different ones I'm good at, and I kinda rotate through them. Grant and Wally have the same square hair with square-lifted bangs, but their noses and jawlines are different, for example. I also like getting the general flavor of the being you're conveying and just adapting the shapes to that. (I just started designing human Transformers on our other blog, so I'm getting a lot of exercise with that due to the HUGE NUMBER of Transformers...)

2. Haha, arms are super hard! I'm weird and I just eyeball the proportions, but if you have trouble, you can always measure with your fingers to see if the elbows end near the hips and the hands end up halfway down the thigh. This can vary for certain characters: for example, Jack has tiny arms and Norman has longboi arms. The shapes are what make me able to eyeball the arm lengths... I got inspired by a few particular artists to make the brachioradialis muscle really defined, and to make the elbow essentially just round. I always cheat and make dudes wearing dress shirts so I can just make it as puffy and round as I want! Here is a dumb little diagram of the breakup. (Red is biceps and shoulder, green is extensor carpi or the round thing under your elbow, blue is the brachioradialis (the part that makes it super cartoony if you accentuate), and the yellow is the inner elbow and armpit.)

3. In my height charts, you can see how I generally make my bodies. Right now, I'm kinda struggling with back shapes and positions that aren't standing. Basically, I take a bent bean for the middle, make the legs extend from it, then draw the outside of the arms to start. I don't know if this'll be really helpful for you, but that helps me understand the general shapes and movements. Sometimes, I look at old comic book poses or pause cartoons to help! (The bottom one doesn't make much sense until you draw the rest of the arms, but...)

4. Ah, the question of a lifetime!!! I've spent years and years reading comics and watching cartoons and just stopping and being like, "That right there is cool. I will remember that." Some people think it's really useful to make the face yourself or use it as reference, but I can't ever figure out how to turn that into shapes. I have a few base shapes and just adapt them to look different. My favorite is the many-use "Sammy mouth" I discovered when I first started developing Sammy. I also heavily rely upon eyebrows creasing in the middle. The biggest way I get the expressions right is trying over and over again until it just feels like what it should. I'm always personally afraid of going too far and making ugly faces, but that's sometimes what you need. You can add more creases around angles or scrunchy parts to get more dynamic expressions. Just play around with it a lot. It's a good excuse to draw your favorite characters a lot!

Body language is something that you can pose for pretty easily! The thing is to remember where the action or attention is. For example, a punch can be shown as overly round to bring attention to the motion. Legs can be bent to show gremlin-like excitement... I personally overuse shoulders as expressive details 'cause my comics are usually from the head to the shoulders. I discovered it when I first started Bendy stuff, and I haven't been able to part with it since! It's a pretty easy way to show emotion without the rest of the body... You can act it out and draw what comes naturally as your character, too. I actually use animal poses sometimes 'cause they're shortcuts by instinct.

With comics, the biggest thing is to remember is to make the actions clear. The important words and actions need to be biggest or centered or darker... (You can see with mine I have background things and additions in grey instead of black or small.)

Thank you so much for asking me!!! It makes me feel so special to be trusted to give advice like this! I hope this is helpful in some way... Your art is adorable from what I've seen! I hope you keep creating and getting inspired! Good luck on your artistic journey! Keep practicing!

#Drawing Entity #Not Batim #Ask #Art Help #Gee it's so nice to yeet this knowledge at other people!#It's helping me learn about myself as well!

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zoffra · 5 years ago

Text

Why Hisoka decided to kill the troupe ?

Analysis in two parts:

1- Hisoka's pre-fight personality

2- Hisoka's post fight psychological change

Part 1 -

Let us make a point on Hisoka's character.

Hisoka's a character who takes pleasure in fighting strong opponents, it's his reason for living, it's like a drug in the proper sense of the term. If he doesn't fight for a long time, or if he's about to fight and - for whatever reason - the fight doesn't start, he'll kill anyone to satisfy his need and calm his excitement. This happens, for example, during hunter exam after meeting Kurapika and Leorio (= satisfying his need), or after Illumi's meeting with Killua and Alluka (= calming his excitement).

Other than that, he carefully chooses his opponents and will even refuse fights if he judges that the person isn't worth it.

Hisoka's incredibly patient. In order to fight Chrollo, he'll put in a lot of effort. He joins the spiders - which already isn't an easy task - and waits for three years that an opportunity presents itself, so that he finds himself alone with the leader and can fight him. The other members don't interest him - except maybe Machi to a much lesser extent.

After Chrollo lost his Nen, Hisoka assists the troupe in search for the exorcist. Shizuku assumes that Chrollo promised him a fight in exchange for his help. It's not known how long Chrollo's deprived of his Nen, whats certain is that several months go by.

Abengan's Nen works like this: he invokes a Nen beast whose shape and size varies according to the curse's power posed by his user. The stronger the curse, the longer that will takes time- and you can be sure that Kurapika's chain was far more powerful than Genthru's bomb.

Later, we learn from Gitarakuru that after recovering his Nen, Chrollo fled. During this time, he returned to Meteor city to prepare his fight and steal various capacities - in particular that of the dean, Shalnark and Kortopi. Finally, after all these waiting years, Hisoka's finally rewarded and they'll fight in a place - that Chrollo himself chooses, as floor master : Celestial tower.

I'll not describe the fight, I can only advise those who haven't read the manga to go and find out for themselves. If I could sum it up in one word, it would be 'disappointing'. But not for us, readers, for Hisoka.

Chrollo used sneaky methods, avoiding to maximum close contacts with Hisoka, while sending his puppets to fight for him, waiting for opportunities to hit him critically. Warning! This isn't a criticism, I'm not saying it's something bad, these are just the facts.

We know that Chrollo's calculating and that beyond his extraordinary physical abilities, he distinguishes himself from others by his intelligence. For me, this fight is the very reflection of his personality, calculated like music paper and orchestrated by Chrollo as master of ceremonies.

It's also a nose thumb at the relationship they've always had. Hisoka spent more time killing puppets with no interest to reach Chrollo, rather than fighting him. He finds himself in the situation where he has always been.

At the time of his 'death', Hisoka made a pact with the Nen to bring him back to life. By using condition and oath - his death being the condition to be fulfilled - he wish that his heart's functions and his lungs will be restored. And from there, the troupe will have big problems.

Part 2 -

Spiders made several mistakes. When they inspected Hisoka's body, they were negligent. When Shalnark testified to Hisoka's death by asphyxiation, no one found his hands position strange. By that I mean they're seasoned Nen users, cold-blooded killers, they know that Nen gets stronger after death.

An important detail is that you can revive a suffocation victim - it shouldn't last too long of course, but it's not as if his head was cut off. And that's exactly what Hisoka will do.

He probably used Ken to absorb the explosion, surrounded his heart and his lungs with his Gum, then practiced a cardiac massage to resuscitate himself, - I pass about after-effects that his brain would normally have undergone, which is an ease logical scenario.

Machi said one interesting thing: '[Hisoka] still paid me in advance.' This means that she was in contact with him before, and Hisoka asked her to stitch up his wounds after the fight. Machi probably understood it as 'if I win the fight, can you heal me', but for Hisoka there was probably a double meaning: healing his wounds if they were too serious so that he do himself, or if he hadn't been in fit state to do it.

Biggest mistake spiders have made has been to underestimate Hisoka.

Towards fight's end (chap 355) when a puppets horde rush towards him, Hisoka has an angry expression. Hisoka's neutral facial expression is a mischievous pout, or in fights where he has to fight seriously, he has a concentrated expression.

It's extremely rare to see him angry, and I think his change of mind manifests himself at that time. Hisoka's face takes half a page's place and is a terrifying blackness, it's an important moment. All accumulated frustration since years literally explodes during this bitter taster fight.

When he wakes up, we don't immediately notice his change of mind, but when he speaks it's clearer.

'Reality knows how to wake you up.' Hisoka realizes - if not already done - that he'll not be able to defeat Chrollo with his usual methods.

A little higher, I said the trio had underestimated Hisoka but I also think of Chrollo. During the fight he was arrogant, explaining his abilities, inviting him to flee and then, telling him that isn't to taunt him - you can't make me believe thats true.

'If you've learned your lessons from this, then next time make sure to choose your opponent and the location you fight.' Machi's words complete Hisoka's decision, it was clearly not the thing to say to him at this precise moment.

This how Hisoka's change of mind worked for me. Hisoka's an irrational person but he killed with a certain consistent logic - strong ones who deserve his attention. His death - more precisely, circumstances of the fight leding to his death - played a major role in his transformation. He's no longer undefeated and has been ridiculed, Chrollo practically whistling when he sent his puppets against him.

'No matter where they go and who they are with, I won't stop until I kill them all' It's revenge.

His actions are no longer directed by the will to fight strong adversaries, they're guided by the outright brigade eradication.

Strangely, he leaves Machi alive. Don't tell me thats because he just wants she getting her message across to the other members, there were a thousand ways to warn Chrollo and the others without leaving her alive - and considering the awkward position she was in, he could have kill her without slightest concern. - In an interview, Togashi says that he didn't want to kill her at that time because he has other plans for her.

Kortopi was visibly relieving himself when he was killed. He was a pointless opponent for Hisoka, especially considering the situation in which he found himself. This proves once again his change of mind, it's a method of murderer.

Same method when he sends Kortopi's head to Shalnark. At that moment, Shalnark grabs his friend's head - which is edifying of stupidity - to verify that it's him, and Hisoka punches him.

On several occasions, I've read some people would have liked to see a real Shalnark vs Hisoka fight. But we had it, and difference in strength is too great. At that moment, it's true that Shalnark couldn't use his Hatsu, nevertheless he could still use his Nen but he didn't even had time to defend himself with his Ten.

We don't know if Hisoka kills Shalnark in one blow, it's possible that he survived for a moment. However, this isn't what the staging seems to evoke. The fight literally takes a half page, speed with which Hisoka starts the fight and shock's power when he hits Shalnark leaves no doubt as to the fight speed end. In addition, even though Hisoka's Nen strengthened, he was seriously injured - he was able to repair his limbs in appearance, but he has no healing ability like Machi or quick regeneration like an enhancer.

The last chapter page sounds like a real turning point. We knew Hisoka was sadistic, he likes to torture his opponents psychologically (cf: Kastro fight, Goto), but we had never seen him at work physically. After his fight, he took the trouble to stage the Shalnark's and Kortopi corpses, tying Shalnark to the swing like a puppet, refering to his ability and his fight against Chrollo.

Chapter ends abruptly with a sentence / thought from Hisoka: 'There are 10 left.'

Number 10 is interesting. At that moment, members still alive are the following: Phinks, Feitan, Machi, Kalluto, Nobunaga, Shizuku, Franklin, Bonorenov and Chrollo.

That makes 9. I consider that - even if he didn't see her die - Hisoka is aware of the Pakunoda's death. He spent a lot of time with members at Greed Island and Chrollo, it's impossible that he didn't learn it.

The 10th member is therefore Illumi - reader learns of his membership in the troupe only 20 chapters later -, he was therefore recruited before Hisoka announced his vendetta against spiders.

Last point I wanted to emphasize: when Hisoka says 'there is 10 left', he includes Chrollo. This shows that he no longer puts him on a pedestal, seeing him as the head or someone important. It's simply a leg to be eliminated.

Hisoka's personality has radically changed, he has finished playing.

#hxh #phantom troupe #genei ryodan #hisoka #chrollo #machi #shalnark #kortopi

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas! Clearly, the best way to celebrate is to finish up the reread for chapter 8, featuring our favorite gremlin being the gremlin he is. Oh, and I guess Deku is here too.

[No. 8 - Rage, You Damn Nerd!]

...you know, I just realized the nerd being referenced here is Katsuki. Because we all know he’s just as much of a nerd as Izuku (reference: he’s third in the class rankings behind the actual scholastic geniuses Momo and Tenya) and he seems to be the main one raging in this chapter and volume.

Anyways, where we left off, it was just determined that Team Izuku Ochako (heroes) are facing off against Team Katsuki Tenya (villains). The villain team gets to go in first, and have five minutes before the hero team gets to go in. Everyone else is watching via live feed. All Might tells the two ‘villains’ to adopt a villain mindset, and to go out all, don’t hold back… and then says he’ll stop things if they go too far.

All Might,,, All Might, why did you tell the two most Extra™ kids in the class to go all out and to not hold back? Like, what the fuck did you expect here? Not to mention that means Katsuki was, technically speaking, sticking to the letter of the instructions, if not the spirit of things.

But yeah, while Tenya is worrying about playing a villain role and the paper mache bomb they’re guarding, Katsuki is still caught up on Izuku actually having a quirk. Tenya’s confused and notes the monstrous strength he had, along with the risk it puts him at, and asks him not to charge right at Izuku. Katsuki’s response:

Gremlin mode activated. Or maybe the Cain Instinct, hard to say with them. At least they aren’t girls - according to discord, if they had both been girls, one or both would probably be dead at this point from trying to maul each other.

Anyways, we transition outside, with Ochako and Izuku memorizing the blueprints. She mentions being relieved that there’s no punishment for failure, so she’s not worried, and also thinks All Might’s super nice. She also can tell Izuku’s worried, which isn’t hard with how he’s shaking. Izuku mentions that it’s because they’re up against Kacchan… and Tenya as well, and that they should be on guard. And- huh.

Ochako is already well aware of the relationship between the two. Not that Izuku was really trying to hide it, but like. A welcome reminder that she is very observant and good at deducing this kind of thing. She is just. Such a good bean.

But yeah, we get a brief Izuku flashback to Katsuki’s boasting, and then Izuku mentions how Katsuki is a jerk, but he‘s also amazing, mentioning that his goals, confidence, strength, and his quirk all show how he’s stronger than Izuku at this point… but that that’s also why Izuku doesn’t want to lose to him now.

So again, a friendly reminder that Izuku has no rose-tinted glasses when it comes to Katsuki, he knows how much of a jerk and a bully Katsuki is, but he still admires a lot of Katsuki’s qualities despite all that.

But yeah, Ochako determines that he is / wants to be Katsuki’s fated rival; Izuku apologizes for boring her with it, but she says it’s not a bother at all, and that they’re a team. Izuku has a moment of wordless surprise at that, and then we get into the trial proper.

In the viewing room, All Might tells the other students to watch closely and try to learn something. And we get a fantastically dramatic pose with him holding a pen and clipboard.

I can’t even with this man, what a ham. It’s good to know he’s going to avoid favoritism in grading for the classes, it does show that he’s trying to take this as seriously as he can.

Back with the duo, they’ve just snuck in through a window, with Izuku noting the number of blind corners they’ll have to avoid. As they make their way into the building, Izuku thinks about how he can’t regulate One For All, thus he can’t use it directly against someone because it would kill them. So he notes that all he can rely on is his natural strength and Ochako’s quirk.

So his notebooks aren’t just quirks, but all aspects (apparently) of hero fights. Which does make sense, but I think some parts of the fandom play it up a bit too much, either making it like breakdown personality analysis (which is not something we’ve seen as a strength of his) or, like, borderline stalkerish, which just has me roll my eyes every damn time I hear that word in relation to him. Like, get the fuck over yourselves, he’s allowed to have things he’s passionate about.

Anyways, we have one panel of calm before the storm comes blasting in.

...did he really make that leap around every corner just in case Izuku was there?? He’s so damned extra, I can’t even with this gremlin. Also, a nice dodge/save by Izuku, though the side of his face is smoking a bit. We see that the left side of his facemask has been blown away, as it deserves. Izuku checks if Ochako’s okay, and she says she is, and that Katsuki came out of nowhere. Katsuki mocks a bit about the nice dodge, and Izuku replies/tells Ochako that he expected Kacchan to come right at him.

In the viewing room, Kirishima calls out the sneak attack as unmanly; All Might corrects him, saying they’re a valid strategy and that this is practical experience. Ashido, meanwhile, is impressed with Izuku’s dodge. (Also, she calls him ‘Midori’, which validates my belief that she WOULD call him that in my fics, hoorah me!)

Anyways, Katsuki really making it clear how he like to push the limits of the rules:

And then Izuku just. Grabs his arm and fucking yeets him over his shoulder. Ochako calls it a pro move, while Katsuki is like ‘what the fuck, did he just read my moves?’ Honestly, that final slam into the ground is just so intense for a relatively ‘weak’ move in shounen terms. Fantastic, I love it. Katsuki has to take a moment to recover, while the class watches on and Izuku is In The Moment.

As Katsuki picks himself up, Izuku goes into how Katsuki always leads with a right hook, and that he’s seen it enough to know. Izuku mentions that he’s analyzed the heroes he thinks are awesome in his notebook - the one Katsuki blew up and chucked out a window. Katsuki is shown recalling the moment while Izuku continues on - he’s not gonna be a punching bag for Katsuki anymore, he’s gonna be the Deku who always does his best.

(I love the subtle implications that Katsuki is one of the ‘heroes’ he’s analyzed! Which is one of those first nods to how Izuku views Katsuki as someone to emulate!)

Ochako has her own flashback to where she mentioned Deku just screams ‘do your best’ and how Izuku had been taken with that. Katsuki is even more pissed off that he still spouts that kind of thing while scared (which is true, we do see Izuku shaking while he’s making that declaration). And Tenya… is frustrated that Katsuki ran off on his own, and doesn’t know what his partner for the exercise is thinking.

And with that comes the end of the chapter! Damn, I am almost mad at myself for putting it off, but we got through it now, and we have more battle trials to go! Thanks for all the patience, and next time we’ll get to see how the fight between Izuku and Katsuki goes! :D

#chapter 8 #readthrough #opening arcs #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #yagi toshinori #sorry again for the delay #holiday stuff #but yeah battle trial is hella hype!#and ochako is best wingwoman I just cannot with her #peak gremlin energy all around here today

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farfromharry · 4 years ago

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always (part five) | harry holland series

summary: harry, sam and tom help to set up your nursery for your little girl

word count - 2.2k

warnings - language

a/n - i’m posting this earlier than i would’ve because part 7 has a christmas aspect to it and i don’t want to post it after christmas <3

The knock on your front door startled you, pulling your attention from the tv show you were watching. You turned the tv off, jumping up from your couch and opening it to find your best friend standing there in what he called, his ‘best painting clothes.’

“What do you think?” He motioned to his overalls and plain hoodie he was wearing, posing like he was being photographed in a photo shoot.

“You’re so weird.” He scoffed, closing your door behind him and stepping into your flat.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He said.

“What question?” You asked.

“Do you like my outfit?” You rolled your eyes when he started posing obnoxiously again. You looked at his outfit up and down and gave him a tight lipped smile.

“It looks great.” He squinted his eyes at you, unsure if you were joking or if you actually hated it.

“Also, shoes off, looks like you’ve been stood in mud for hours.” With a huff he began unlacing his shoes, leaving them by the front door.

“What if i just like jumping in mud?” He asked sassily. “Are you really going to judge me for my interests?”

“Okay, peppa pig, i’m just saying, no mud on my floors.” You pointed your finger at him, watching him laugh as he pieced together your tv reference.

“That was a good one.” He commented.

“Thank you, I’m honoured.” You led him down the hall, opening the door to your cluttered nursery with a sigh.

“Here we are, voila.” You motioned your arms towards the very disappointing room, seeing Harry’s face drop.

“Very anticlimactic.” You rolled your eyes, punching his shoulder.

“Shut up.” You handed him a clean paint brush, taking another one out for yourself while Harry opened the lid of the paint bucket.

“What are you doing?” He asked, pointing to the paintbrush in your hand.

“Currently, nothing.”

“You aren’t painting, you’re going to sit down on your cute butt and watch.” He demanded. You stared at him in amazement.

“I’m not dying Harry, I can still do things.” He shook his head.

It had eventually taken a lot of convincing on your part to persuade Harry to let you assist him in painting the nursery. You were going on almost half an hour now.

“I can do bits, come on, i’ll take a break if i really need to.” He sighed. You’d been bugging him about it since he started almost an hour ago, the males patience wearing thin.

“Promise?” He asked, holding his pinky in your direction. Your eyes lit up, wrapping your much smaller pinky around his.

“Promise.” You confirmed, a small smirk on your face.

“Grab a paintbrush.” You squealed, Harry certain you almost burst his ear drums.

“I’ve never seen someone so excited to paint.” You pushed his shoulder, gathering some of the light coloured paint on your brush and beginning to paint the same wall as Harry, just at the opposite side. You were working well together, music from one of his many playlists playing out of his phone, creating a calm atmosphere in the room.

You had helped paint at least one wall by the time your feet started to ache, finding it painful to stay on your feet much longer. Harry heard your uncomfortable grumbles and stared you down until you turned to look at him.

“Do you need a break?” He asked. You nodded your head, giving in, cupping your large belly and sitting down on the floor, although that was a tiring task in itself. You watched Harry work for a little while, asking him to help you up after your feet felt better. He grabbed both of your hands in his, pulling you up towards him until you were on your feet.

“Thank you.” Before resuming your painting, you waddled to your kitchen to get you both some drinks, coming back and making Harry take just a quick break.

“Think this will be done today?” He stood back and observed the progress you’d made already, one full wall down, only 2 and a half more to go.

“Possibly, if you stop slacking.” Your jaw dropped, Harry laughing as you stood there shocked.

“Well two can play at that game, Holland.” You dipped your hand into the paint bucket, moving over to Harry and placing your hand right on his cheek.

“Y/n!” He yelled, watching as you doubled over in laughter. His mind wandered from his painted cheek and he started to see the funny side of it, deciding on getting his own back.

It ended up being a full blown paint war between you two, both of you ending up covered in paint, giggling to yourselves like children.

“You can clean this up.” You told him.

“Why me, you started it!” You grinned.

“I’m the pregnant one, and i’m gonna go shower.” You placed a teasing kiss on the one spot on his cheek that wasn’t splattered with paint. “Enjoy.”

Harry shook his head, chuckling to himself as you waddled away.

“Crafty lady.” He muttered under his breath.

———

“Oh wow, you clean up nice.” You teased, throwing him a wink.

After your shower, you felt completely refreshed, especially not being covered in cakes of paint anymore. You slipped into comfy clothes and stalked your way back to the nursery, where you were currently looking at a spotless room, yet a still painted Harry. It looked almost as if there wasn’t a paint fight here only hours before.

“I know, you’d never know some rebellious girl trashed the place.” You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “Unless you looked at me, that is.” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I can’t wait to see it done.” Harry looked around and silently agreed with you.

“It’s going to be so cute.” You finally noticed that Harry had almost completely finished painting.

“Might need another coat but, should be done soon.”

“Thank you, for helping me, again.” You laughed. He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

“I think i’d be a pretty shitty best friend if i didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” He scoffed at your teasing, playfully flipping you off.

“Harold, there’s children around.” You scolded, hands cupping your belly like you were covering a child’s eyes. He laughed at you.

“Good luck getting Tom to stop, even when she’s here he’s going to be a nightmare.” You groaned.

“I didn’t even think about your foul mouthed siblings.” Harry snorted as your comment caught him off guard, the two of you falling into a state of continuous laughter to the point your stomachs ached.

“Okay, we need to get it together.” He demanded playfully. “Let’s finish painting, then we can fuck around all we want.”

You slapped his arm at his choice of vocabulary, receiving a teasing wink from your best friend.

“Just as bad as the rest of them.” You mumbled, earning an offended scoff from him.

“How dare you.” He accused, holding his hand over his heart and feigning pain.

“Just being honest, my dear.”

———

A few days later, after the room was so ‘gracefully’ painted by you and Harry, two of the other Holland boys had come over to help put the baby's furniture together. They’d had to move the toys and clothes out before they started to put the furniture boxes in, meaning it was like a maze of baby stuff just to get to the room. Something that was definitely not very convenient for you and your large belly.

Harry and Sam had started working on the crib first, while Tom worked on the rocking chair that you would feed your girl in.

“What can i help with?” You asked entering the room, ready to do anything they needed you to.

“Nope.” Tom demanded, practically shoving you out of the nursery.

“You aren’t doing anything, you’re almost 7 months pregnant.” You rolled your eyes, seeing that there was definitely a theme between the Holland siblings. But not wanting to argue about it with him, you moved on begrudgingly.

“Fine, but if you need anything, please ask.” He nodded.

“We will.” He said. “Now leave.”

“Such a gentleman.” You commented teasingly. Tom rolled his eyes, shooing you out of the room.

You were now left to your own devices, deciding on making something to eat in the kitchen.

You weren’t really paying attention to the time, all your focus on making food. So, when Harry came into the room you didn’t think it’d be because they were already done.

“We’re finished.” Harry announced.

“Already?” You asked, your question being ignored as Harry placed his hands over your eyes, blocking your vision from seeing anything.

“Harry, we still have to walk there, and i need to turn the stove off.” You laughed. You could practically hear him rolling his eyes, turning the stove off for you before carefully guiding you away.

“I’m not taking any chances, come on miss.” He helped you up from your chair and guided you through the hall and towards the baby’s room. He made sure you didn’t trip or bump into anything, which you were very grateful for.

You came to a sudden halt, hearing the hushed voices of Sam and Tom in the room with you.

“Okay, are you ready?” Sam asked. You nodded, trying to pry Harry’s hands from off of your eyes.

“Let me see, come on.” You heard them laugh before Tom started counting down.

“3-“ Tom dragged it out for a lot longer than necessary, just to try and build up the anticipation.

“2-“ You huffed, beginning to grow impatient at the lad.

“1, and a half.”

“Oh my god, will you just let me look.” Harry laughed, removing his hands from your eyes. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright lights of the room, looking around the nursery with watery eyes. You cursed yourself mentally as your hormones got the best of you, practically forcing you to cry.

“Why are you crying?” Sam asked, rubbing your back with a sympathetic pout.

“Hormones, happy tears, all that good stuff.” You joked. You hugged the twin tightly, well as tight as you could considering your large belly. You then hugged Tom and then Harry, staying leaned into Harry’s side with his arm around your shoulders.

“Now, you just have to sort out all the boxes.” Sam stated.

You frowned, looking at the stacks of baby things in your hallway.

“Well is anyone helping?” Harry let go of you, shifting over to stand by his twin. The brothers looked at each other with a ‘not it’ kind of look. The twins did their weird twin telepathy thing and ended up pushing Tom towards you, making a break for your front door.

“Bye y/n, bye Tom!”

“Dickheads.” Tom mumbled, you nodding in agreement behind him.

“Well, i guess it’s just us.” Tom grabbed a couple boxes and placed them on the floor, allowing you both to sort through them and hang up clothes, or put away toys.

“I’m loving all the spiderman things in here.”

“Tom, this whole box is basically from you.” You laughed. He shrugged, throwing you a smirk.

“No wonder these clothes are of such good taste then.” You picked up a spiderman plushie, aiming it at his head and succeeding in hitting your target. He mumbled an ‘ouch,’ shooting you a glare whilst you smiled innocently.

“How much longer?” Tom whined, laying himself down on the floor and pretending to sob.

“Stop being a baby.” You laughed, poking his stomach with your foot.

“Come on, get up.” He groaned loudly, pushing himself up.

“I feel like I'm being punished for something.” He sighed. You laughed, handing him some more stuff to put away.

“So dramatic.” You commented.

“I am an actor, darling.” You fake gasped, turning to face him in shock.

“No way!” You stated. “Do you by any chance play this spider guy.” You held up one of the spiderman onesies he had bought a few weeks ago.

“Shut up.” He chuckled, flipping you off.

“Harry told me you wouldn’t stop swearing for the baby.” You told him, pointing to his middle finger. “You just proved him right.”

“Oh, how awful, proving Harry right.” His comment made you giggle, telling him to behave.

You and Tom were unpacking things for a little while longer, taking the time to take a breather when you were done.

After you and Tom were finally done, you were more than ready to just sleep forever and Tom was clearly ready to go home.

“Thank you for your help.” You hugged him tightly before he left.

“Always, see you soon y/n.” He waved, closing the door behind him. You sighed, finally getting a moment to yourself after a chaotic day filled with the three lads.

“And it’s just us again baby girl.” You smiled as she started to gently kick your belly, your heart warming as she knew you were talking to her.

“Yeah, it’s your mummy.” You teared up slightly, cursing your hormones again.

“Why don’t we go take a nap, huh?” You cupped your belly, heading to your room and just hoping your baby could calm down enough to let you sleep.

“Goodnight angel.”

#harry holland x reader #harry holland one shot #harry holland imagine #harry holland

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thewalkingfanfictions · 4 years ago

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I’m Not Gay -- Sam Winchester x Male!reader (part two)

I'm Not Gay — Sam Winchester x male!hunter!reader

Part One / Part Two

Description: Forced out of his motel room by his sister when she and a stranger burst through the door playing tongue wars, (Name) decides to go for walk, where he runs into Sam, tall, handsome, smart, and no, (Name) definitely doesn’t like guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Warning: Some internalized homophobia, references to sex, and some cussing. Supernatural-themed gore and violence (they fight vampires)

Genre: Fluff, I guess? A bit of angst in there somewhere probably, too, since I have no self control. Can “dat gay shit” be a genre?

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

A/N: I hate this. So fucking much. I am, however, willing to write a part three with somma dat gay smut, if y’all want. I won't do it if no one says anything, though, so someone better comment. This is a threat.

Words without A/N: 2342

Masterlist

<—————————————>

The two of us crept through the old, neglected house. It was big, two stories with several rooms on each floor, and crawling with vamps.

Looking at Lidia over my shoulder, she motioned that she was going to go north, and waved me the other direction. Taking off as silently as I could, it wasn't long until I ran into the first group. How they hadn't noticed me yet, I guess we'll never know.

Creeping closer, I got within a few feet before the group of three tensed up and turned towards where I stood. Baring their teeth, two of them launched while the third took off through a doorway. Coward.

Dispatching them was easy enough, and I was quickly on to another room, leaving a stack of bodiless heads behind me. The next rooms were much of the same: alternating between empty bedrooms, to ones with two or three vamps chilling together, the job was simple enough. It wasn't until the very last room on my side of the building that I ran into trouble.

Seven, all together, and they already knew I was there. The one from the first room who had run when I showed up was standing beside them.

Fourteen bloodthirsty eyes glaring down at me, they slowly began surrounding where I stood. My heart beat in my ears, and I strengthened my hold on my machete, trying to form a plan. I should work on the big ones first, as they could pose a larger threat--but I should really save the bigger ones for after, so I can focus more of my energy on them--but at the same time, the smaller four could be more trouble than the big ones, they are more, and they are probably faster--or I could just focus on whoever came at me first--but what if they all launch at the same time? Am I really overthinking this right now?

Fuck it.

One of the smaller ones came forward to glare at me, sharp, disgusting teeth on display as she inched ever closer. As she got within reaching distance, she opened her mouth to say something--only to be cut off by my blade disconnecting her head from the rest of her. Her body fell to the floor like a...well, like a body, and all was silent for a moment, before the rest of them launched. Slicing and dodging and trying not to die was becoming increasingly more difficult as all six of the rest fought for a piece of me. I felt the side of my face light with a sting as one of them struck out and hit me, just before my blade cut through their flesh, hands grabbed me from behind, and I swung back as hard as I could, listening to the "shlingt" of the blade cutting through its neck. Before I could move to swing again, another body was grabbing me from behind and pulling me back, turing in their grip to swing again, my wrist was caught in their fist, making me look up at my opponents face.

Familiar, smokey-honey eyes surrounded by locks of fluffy brown hair graced my vision, and my breath caught in my throat at being so close to that perfect face.

"Sam?"

He pushed me behind him and went to work on a vamp that was right behind me, hacking its head off before turning to me with a bashful smile.

"Heh, uh, hey? Fancy seeing you here," a cheeky smile lit up his face as he turned back to the fight. My heart did an odd little "per-thump" as I gazed at his muscled body (now clad in a red and white flannel that did wonders for his shoulders (not that I would, uh, notice that.)) Shaking those very-not-me thoughts out of my head, I launched back into the fight beside him.

I knew there was something familiar about his room.

It wasn't long till we had dispatched all but one. The thing launched at Sam, who had at some point in the battle lost his own machete. He dodged gracefully around the vampires outstretched claws, and managed to get ahold of him from behind, holding the beasts arms behind its back and looking up at me. Well would you look at that. It was the same asshole who'd run away before and warned the others.

"(Name)!"

Wasting absolutely no time, I stepped forward and beheaded the thing, splattering blood onto Sam's face in the process. Good riddance.

Dropping the blood suckers body to the ground, Sam stepped over it, and walked towards me without so much as a second glance at the thing. A worried look came over his face as he moved closer, and his hand reached out to trace a thumb over the side of my face. Hissing, I couldn't help but flinch back at the sudden pain that erupted under his fingertips. My own hand flew to my face on reflex, coming away sticky with blood.

Apparently the thing that punched me earlier got me a bit more than I'd realized.

"You're hurt. We should get back and clean you up before you get infected, you might've gotten vamp blood in it."

His hand carefully traced over it again, this time taking care not to hurt me, and his eyes shone with his concern for me. It was kind of sweet, actually. We only met, like, less than twenty four hours ago.

"I knew there was something familiar about you," I mumbled, gazing up into his eyes, which silently questioned me in return. "Your room. The pre-packed bags, and the half-drank coffee next to the pile of papers and the laptop. It looked a painful lot like what my room usually looks like before a hunt," I smiled.

He grinned back at me, gaze dropping a bit lower than my eyes for a half a moment before darting back up. Licking his bottom lip, (an action I definitely didn't gawk at) he opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat.

We both flinched away from each other, and it was only then that I realized just how close we had been standing, and that his hand had still been rested gently against the side of my bleeding face. Turning quickly towards the interruption, I locked eyes with my sister, who stood beside the larger figure of her bedmate from the night before, both smirking and gazing at us knowingly. I felt an ugly blush crawling its way towards my ears.

"Uh-uh-I-uhm-hey--hi-ah-uhm--" Sam stumbled from a few paces away from me, looking far more like a human-lobster hybrid than he had a moment before.

An ugly snort came out of my sister at that, and her smirk only grew as she looked between the two of us, looking like she was trying to refrain from saying something that I would most definitely punch her for. I wonder how hard it would be to dig a grave her height by myself.

"Shut up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the hotel was literal hell.

Lidia waited exactly six seconds (I counted) after we were both safely in the car and following the brothers' Impala down the road before she started interrogating me, that stupid smile still clinging to her face.

I've never wanted to punch her more.

I didn't know my face was capable of turning that red.

I was out of the car practically before it had even stopped rolling, and back in the hotel room before anybody else had even gotten out of their rigs. I could feel eyes on me the entire time, and hear my sisters uncontrolled laughter even through the closed car doors. I made sure I was already in the shower before she could get up to the room to bother me any more.

The water was nice, one of the best I'd had in a hotel, actually, and that is definitely the only reason I was in there for as long as I was. Yup. The only reason. It had nothing to do with avoiding my womb mate, and absolutely nothing to do with the thoughts going through my head about a certain 6-foot-something brunette.

After a good solid hour of wasting hot water, I finally decided it was probably time to get out. I'm sure Lidia wants to wash off too. Good luck with the few drops of hot water that I left you, punk. Drying off my hair and pulling on the baggy sweats and a tee-shirt that was way too big on me that I had thankfully remembered to grab from my bag before I rushed in here, I opened the door enough to peek out.

Of course, because it's only my luck, I got a nice side view of Dean with his tongue down my sisters throat.

Apparently they heard my exaggerated gagging sounds, because they split off and looked towards the bathroom door, eyes lust-drunk and lips red and swollen. Gross.

"Oh, don't act like you're not jealous, (nickname)," Lidia chided sassily, before rolling her eyes dramatically. "If you were in there any longer, we woulda started fucking, instead of being the polite person that I am and waiting for you to leave first."

I cringed at the thought of having to see that again, and flipped her off, before grabbing up a book and heading for the door as quickly as I could, listening to the two of them chuckling at me as I went.

“Loser.”

“Punk.”

"Your boyfriends waiting for you over in our room again, (name)!" I heard Dean say just before the two of them erupted into aggressive kissy noises, "(Name) and Sa'am, sitting in a tre--" the door slammed closed behind me.

Children. They are both complete children.

I found myself standing in front of the brothers door without even realizing I'd started walking yet, and I was knocking before I had the chance to try and compose myself. Fuck you, muscle memory.

The door opened before I'd even finished knocking, like Sam had just been sitting on the other side and waiting for someone to get there. His face flushed as we locked eyes, and I think he realized how it came across, too. I smiled at his cute ass dimples before my eyes dropped to take in the rest of him. Grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips (I'm not drooling, you are) and a plain white tee that had to be a good two sizes too small (holy mother of pecs). I probably stood there for a solid minute before realizing that it was really kinda weird for a totally heterosexual man to be staring like I was, and promptly looked away, clearing my throat and blushing stupidly once again.

His earthy chuckle was enough to break me out of my stupidity.

"Uh, so, uhm, uh--" I cleared my throat again, trying to reel my mind back into my body and refusing to look at him "Our siblings were dangerously close to fucking again and I really didn't wanna have to see that again, and I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you like last night but I totally get if you say no and I'lljustgofindsomewhereelsetogoI'msorryI'llleave--" I was half way through turning away when I felt him grab ahold of my arm, and pull me back towards him, his laugh cutting through the aggressive amount of self-loathing that was rushing through my system at the moment.

"Its okay, please don't go, Dean said to expect you over while he was there."

I paused for a second and stared at him, dumbfounded. He's a fucking angel.

Blushing stupidly, I nodded and followed behind him as he turned and swept his arm as an invitation to follow him inside. I stepped through the doorway, very aware that his hand still rested on my arm, and moved to sit on the bed when he pointed to it.

"Your face is still kinda busted up, I've got a first aid kit in here somewhere, let me help you," I was opening my mouth to protest when he turned and gave me a playful glare, like he already knew what I was going to say.

Soon enough, he was kneeling in front of me, one large hand resting on my shoulder while the other tilted my head to look at the cuts and the forming bruise. I couldn't look away from his kaleidoscope eyes.

Smearing some cold cream on my face (which I assumed was Neosporin, that's what it smelled like, anyway) I flinched slightly, which made him move both hands up to my head to hold me in place. Letting go for a split second, he reached for a bandage and moved back to cupping my face, and gently laid it over the split in my cheek. Being this close to him, smelling his freshly washed leather-and-old-book scent, I was practically drooling. It took far more restraint than it should have to not lean into the weirdly-soft hand that was cradling my cheek so gently.

Soon enough, he was done patching up my cheek, and looked up from his work. When our eyes connected, it was very much like the first time they had last night. I never wanted to look away. I don't exactly know when we started leaning in, but at some point we had. My eyes closed of their own accord, just a fraction of a second before his peachy lips were on mine. It was really just a peck, and far too soon he was pulling away from me, looking nervous. Before he had the chance to ruin the moment, or I had the chance to chicken out, I reached up and grabbed a handful of his shirt, and pulled him right back to me.

One of my hands found its way into his hair, the other still clinging to his shirt, terrified of him disappearing from my grasp. His hips found their way between my knees, where I still sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my body closer by the small of my back. By the time the both of us were too out of breath to continue, and he had to pull away, I was already far too lost to his hands.

Okay, so...Maybe I am a little bit gay.

fin

#Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x male reader #Sam Winchester crack fic #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #Male reader #this is literal trash #I'm Not Gay

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val-aquenta · 4 years ago

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Mace Windu Appreciation Week for the prompt: Vaapad and Shatterpoint. Fun fact I had no idea how to spell vaapad xD

Here on ao3

Mace moves the lightsaber in a familiar pattern, the kata’s he has created coming forth in his memories easily. The purple blade lights him up, giving his face and his clothes a purple hue. The colour is not the most special thing. Purple blades, indeed blades of any colour have been wielded, even the long-ago stolen darksaber with its unique colouring is not exactly novel. A result of an interesting crystal-Jedi pairing combined with the technology of the time resulted in the now unique colouring and sound. Mace’s blade being purple is not the most special thing. Jedi have wielded purple before. The kata’s though, those are special. Cyslin had called it a result of his ‘overeager imagination’ paired with his ‘dissatisfaction with the traditional forms.’ Perhaps she is right, she often is.

He swings the blade down in an aggressive strike before stepping back and twisting into a more defensive position. The form itself is neither focused on defence or attack, as it changes with almost every user. It is simply a way of focusing, of redirecting something not wrong or unhealthy, but sometimes unwanted, into something helpful. It is not limited to fighting, in this sense, but it also spans into everyday life.

The door swishes open, and Mace sees a robed figure in the corner of his eyes. “You’re late.” Obi-Wan sighs, undoing the brown cloak and neatly folding it onto the benches. Mace stops for a moment, taking a small breather.

“I know.” The contrite expression turns to him. “I am sorry, I had to help Anakin with his… never mind. It was a battle, to say the least.” The not exactly anger, but almost anger sparkles around him, crackling slightly in the Force with an unpleasant feeling. Obi-Wan jumps into some warm-ups, stretching his back and muscles when he’s done. Mace joins him. He calls the lightsaber to his hand, a bottle of water close behind. He takes a sip, offering some to Mace. Mace turns it down. He knows that if he drinks too much, he will end up vomiting at some point during or soon after the spar.

“Ready?” Mace asks, settling into the familiar starting stance, the hilt held loosely to his side. It is not confidence or arrogance in his pose, it is simply a man who is aware of himself and, to a degree, of his opponent as well as their respective skills. With the frequent sparring and their growing friendship, Mace would like to think that he knows Obi-Wan’s skills decently enough.

Obi-Wan smirks. He is not arrogant either, though there is a spark of confidence in his eyes. He knows, perhaps he won’t win, but he might, and he might as well have fun along the way. “Of course.” His blade springs, a bright blue hue, similar to the old crystal he had lost on Naboo. It lights up his face with a blue shade. The blade swings, humming as Obi-Wan shows off some ornamental twists before settling into his typical two-fingered soresu stance. His feet are on the floor, ready to move should the need arise, but also ready to stand firm. “I think it better to ask you if you are ready to lose, Mace.” The confidence is there, though Mace is unsure exactly how much is real and how much is part of the odd facade the man puts up during spars and fights. It is aggravating sometimes, but amusing most of the time. He can easily see how an opponent might get frustrated with the strange behaviour.

Mace snorts unimpressed at Obi-Wan's unnecessary twirls as well as his words, “We shall see who loses this match.” He thumbs on his blade, his lightsaber’s low hum joining Obi-Wan’s. “Wouldn’t want to get too cocky, would you?” He questions teasingly, a familiar smirk settling onto his face.

Obi-Wan does not exactly laugh, but he might as well. The humour and delight sparks around him in the Force, soothing the jagged edges of frustration. “I’m not cocky, simply aware.” And with that, they clash. Mace rushes forwards, as he often does, keen on finishing the job right after it has begun. He also knows Obi-wan, with his form of soresu, won’t move to start the spar. The blue and purple clash with a sharp familiar noise. The crystals sing, a joyous song at the happiness and delight sparkling around them. It has been too long since they have sparred. There is a quick flick of the wrist, his blade falling away from the clash to counter Obi-Wan’s short jab at him. The jab turns defensive as Mace goes for a sweep.

“Getting ahead of ourselves, Knight Kenobi? I did not take you for offensive measures.” Mace flips back, the blade coming around to take a jab that is deftly pushed to the side. Obi-Wan’s hands are somewhere above him. Any swings from the side are quickly blocked by quick flicks of the wrist. Indeed, Obi-Wan has become a Master of soresu as was his goal. Mace steps back for a moment after a few fruitless clashes. He takes a deep breath and really falls into the familiar feeling of vaapad.

Nothing much negative exists to fuel his fight, but he would be idiotic to not be able to fuel his fight with positivity too. He channels the happiness at this spar into the fight, hoping to prolong the fight to reach a nice satisfying end. Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow, his long hair slicked slightly with sweat. He knows what Mace is doing and, before Mace goes any further, Obi-Wan is jumping forwards with a bold attack, more like his older ataru style. It is a high jump paired with a downwards slash, truly a clean show of acrobatics and stead practice in ataru. It, however, is easily blocked. Mace has sensed it before, has seen the move not exactly telegraphed by Obi-Wan’s body, but due to Mace’s friendship with Obi-Wan, visible from the bright blue eyes.

Mace blocks and moves to the side simultaneously, humming as he wants to go up to the platforms suspended from the ceiling. He takes a lead up, effectively blocking the strikes aimed at his legs as Obi-Wan jumps up, jostling the thin platform as he lands. They trade blows, shifting back and forth in quick small steps. They trade barbs too, harmless ones filled with subtle joking and humour. Obi-Wan allows Mace to dictate the fight, and so he follows the man when he moves backwards onto a larger, more stable platform. “Scared of losing your balance, old man?”

Mace responds with nothing, narrowing his eyes. Talking during a fight, when not necessary like now, is not exactly something Mace loves. He aims a blow, packing a punch behind him that Obi-Wan struggles slightly to block. Obi-Wan takes steps back, pushed backwards until his feet tip at the edge. Looking backwards for a second, Obi-Wan takes a breath and pulls himself away, landing lightly on another platform, thin too and similarly jostling as Mace lands, not far from Obi-Wan. “Running away, are we?” He teases, pairing it with a heavy blow.

“No. ‘Course not.” Obi-Wan gasps a bit, the hair turning a rather dark brown. Obi-Wan has supreme balance, as all Jedi do. There is a familiar hum as they draw on the Force to keep on the thin platform. They trade blows moving forwards and backwards. Soresu suits Obi-Wan, his blade easily blocking the heavy blows that rain. It would seem effortless if not for the evident fatigue on his face. Mace has had decades of training and perfecting his art form. Obi-Wan, not so much. His opponent has not spent enough time mastering his form, and it shows in the occasional slips to ataru. He’s not entirely… comfortable in this new form. Mace spots the final tell, a small slip that leaves him open. He takes advantage of it, rushing forwards and disarming the man with a quick flick of his blade. There is a stop, their heavy breathing filling the air around them while Mace falls down from the slight high that comes from the joyful fight with his friend. Redirecting the joy, it leaves him somewhat euphoric. It is not something he has a problem with during a real fight.

“You’re getting better,” Mace says, thumbing off his blade, the purple light disappearing. While the blade was not at full intensity, it was still unnerving to have one close to one's neck. Obi-wan wilts, breathing heavily. “You’re still not fully comfortable though.” He notes.

Obi-Wan nods, a little bit of annoyance at himself evident in the furrow of his brow. “I know. I’m just… used to ataru.” He takes in a deep breath, calming down his racing heart. Mace clips the sabre to his belt, smoothing out some of the wrinkles on the looser tunics he wears to spar. “Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs, bowing in thanks. Mace looks at him, blinking in slight surprise. While he is a Jedi Master, it is novel that Obi-Wan refers to him in this more personal manner. It is significant, judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes search his, looking for the response.

“It is my pleasure, Obi-Wan” Mace responds with a soft smile. Obi-Wan had wormed his way into Mace’s heart as a youngling once, then again as the student of his friend, and now as an equal. Obi-Wan smiles, his presence tangling with Mace’s, a happiness pulsing through the air. Something shifts and another shatterpoint forms at the cracks of another, hovering between them. He grunts a bit, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Obi-Wan’s joyful face falls to confusion and worry. He steps forwards, a bit closer, his hands reaching out to rest on Mace’s.

“Are you alright?” Mace nods tiredly in response. He’s used to it. It has been part of him his entire life. That doesn’t mean the ability is a pain to have on certain occasions. “Is it… another one?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t fully understand Mace’s ability; it is hard to explain to someone who does not have the ability. Both able to see the cracks on physical objects, like the weakness within a transparisteel glass, but also sense the cracks bending towards important events. Anakin, Obi-Wan's padawan has many such cracks pulsing powerfully through the Force. The crack between them, a promise of something important sits like a ticking time bomb between them. Mace does not know if it is a bad thing or a positive one. He hopes the latter, for both his sake and Obi-Wan’s.

“Yes,” Mace responds, sighing deeply as the pain of a new crack forming falls away.

Obi-Wan looks down nervously, hands fiddling in front of him. Usually, the long robe would hide it, but without the robe, the fiddling is evidence. “I’m sorry, Mace.”

Mace shakes his head, “It is not your fault, my friend.” He reaches out and lays his hands on Obi-Wan's fiddling hands, stilling the nervous movements. They stand for a moment, calmly breathing. “Come on, my friend, I find myself in search of tea.”

The ginger perks up, “I got a new sample of Felucian tea. I think you’ll like it.” Obi-Wan chatter excitedly, wiping at his face with a towel and pulling his lightsaber to himself and clipping it at his belt. “I don’t recall the name of the flower in it, but it’s named sweet tea. I haven’t tried it yet; I wanted to share a pot with you. It smelled heavenly though.” Mace listens, bemused, to the chatter about tea. “That is if you want to share a pot?”

“Of course I would.” Mace nodded, folding his outer robe over his arm, and following Obi-Wan out the hall.

#mace windu #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #star wars fanfic #fanfic #mace windu appreciation week #duna writes #lightsaber training #vaapad

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seita · 4 years ago

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Perhaps random of me, but I spent the afternoon going through your content for Semi and felt very likewise when I saw your post about how hard it was being a semi stan when there is just so little content, so because you gave me yours, I will give you some as a payback, 4K of probably a little too soft dom semi to appease your sensibilities.

You are considering possibilities, coursing your tongue over your lipstick worn lips when Semi’s hand circles around your upper arm. He draws you to height without preamble, maneuvering your body into gentle collision with his own, the silken red of your dress gliding across the tight stretch of his leather pants. His eyes, dark and heavy, settle upon yours with indecipherable intent, but intent none the less that tempts anticipation to simmering in your blood.

The spike in your heart stalls, tempers out into quick bursts that bring color to your cheeks and team mercilessly with the breath in your throat, caught. You effectively force it down with a thick swallow, mascara curled lashes blinking lucidly, stemming the slow curve of your mouth that threatens his mildly expressed temper.

Semi’s grasp ghosts down the length of your arm to encircle your wrist and he gazes at you, impassive and imploring, prompting, “You’ve been bad, haven’t you?” though the traitorous twist of his lips betrays the serious insinuation.

The question gives you pause, a split second in which you catch your thoughts before they resort to indecencies and depravities. For a brief glimmer your brows furrow, but you do not take long to assume the fault that he places upon you, however inadvertently.

With a defiant upward tilt of the chin and perfectly arched brows you challenge him. “Have I?” Your tone betrays all innocence, taunting and tempting him to pull no punches, even as you appease him with the sure presence of your body, molding to the sharp cut of his figure presumptuously.

For his part Semi’s resolve remains, consuming the forefront of his thoughts, deciding his course of action before instinct has any chance to draw you in, consume you in a kiss that tells of things to come. The derisive noise he makes in his throat says as much as any domineering pass of his mouth over yours might, sets an edge of danger looming into the atmosphere around you that lures the low and warm glow of bedside lights into a casting of shadows that deign his facial expression a warning.

In response you wither, just slightly deferring to him, to the explanation he offers in brandishing his phone, thumbing through messages that are attached to your name.

“It wasn’t very nice of you to send me this while I was at a business dinner, now, was it?” He poses the question with expected subservience, natural agreement and concession, not once considering that your lips might curve contrarily, eyes gleaming with open insolence.

You do not have to look to know of the this that he refers, the uninterrupted measure of your legs peeking lace finery beneath the raised hem of your dress. Even in the picture your face is far too innocent, not at all imbued with the sinuous concept that sending such a picture surely entailed.

Still you feign your innocence, batting your eyelashes while adopting a low tone, a softly teasing voice that asks, “Did you not like it?”

He can see in your eyes the unrestrained mirth, warm and tempting, making the color of your irises appear liquid. The haze of color across your cheeks only serving to tug his mouth into a traitorous twist, honest sentiment betraying the steel in his eyes.

“Of course I liked it, and that’s the reason we have rules love, because what the fuck am I supposed to do about something like that when I’m stuck at a dinner with my managers?”

Giving a noncommittal hum you risked the forward sweep of your chest, leaning into him to breathe out, ‘anticipate.’

Immediately something dark twists his expression, fond sentimentality vanishing only to be replaced with lurid promise and you do not hide it now, the way your smile stretches in dulcet satisfaction, appease soaking into the very depths of your soul. Semi neither restrains himself, raising your cuffed wrist in order to remind you of the dynamics at play, remind you of how things go. He does not have to speak for you to hear the sternness of his voice, the reminder of, you’re not in charge here, I am, that sets poised on the tip of his tongue, locked away by bared teeth that snap oh so close to your ear before grazing the column of your neck.

His phone is forgotten, discarded upon the vanity you previously imposed yourself and his hand finds its place at the curve of your spine, endearing the slope of your figure to his will. You oblige him with the downward sweep of your shoulders, the forward press of your waist, earnestly meeting the pliant mouth he rests just over yours in which to scold, “The next time you talk back to me like that I may just have to take you over my knee.”

Fleetingly you wonder if it is your disobedience at play now or previously that he considers the slight but the errant thought is short lived, consumed in the sudden wildfire he ignites with his kiss. The damp press of his mouth is coaxing and so downright sinful that were you not shivering in anticipation at the mere thought of a spanking then his mouth would surely have dissolved you to helplessness, a malleable soul only all too happy to acquiesce his every whim.

He drags his teeth along your bottom lip in conclusive fashion, the gentle tug imploring you upright, melding your chests together in righted posture and proximity that leaves you momentarily dazed. You blink yourself back into a reality of his thoughtful face, the considering angle of his mouth. Semi arches a brow and muses, “though I suppose you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His words, an afterthought, are immediately followed with ones more present, idleness marring the proffering that accompanies his restraint erring, shifting from a lithe wrist to grasp your chin between thumb and forefinger. “You’ve always liked playing rough.”

Again you hum, agreeability gifting your features anew, foxlike and coquettish, teeth nipping at the thumb he sweeps over your mouth to be met with Semi’s devil may care smirk. His demeanor is as steady and sure as ever, even as he results you inexplicably otherwise. The sharp edge of your anticipation sings in your ears, pressing down upon you until you are practically buzzing with it, waiting.

The dark chuckle he emits only adds to the tight hold around you the tension provides. You feel it wrap its tendrils around you and pull tight, suffocating, intoxicating. He is so close that every breath you take is a sweet inhalation of scent you know to be purely his. Faint strings of boyish musk and cologne inciting you to thoughtlessly press forward.

Your words are a purr against his mouth, lashes dropping seductively over your eyes. “Only with you.”

Marginally appeased Semi allows a conceding inclination of his head, sentiment of, “You know what’s good for you,” and momentarily you are on even ground, the celebratory couple you were meant to be as of this date. But sentimentalities aside there is only brief adoration in the brush of his lips over yours and it is succinctly chased with a harsh suck of your lower lip that courses flush red when released, teases out a deep moan that implores his smile out of hiding.

Semi smiles with unfettered glee and brushes his thumb over the swollen measure of your mouth, his other hand along the exposed notches of your spine. The backless dress had been chosen specifically with him in mind though you knew there would be no merit in it for him but the handful of moments that came before he took it off. Despite intentions of contrary you had each been summoned in alternate persuasions for the night, never mind the fact that this date was meant to be yours.

You intended temptations that could amass hours in such a dress and your one ploy had served to temper him equal parts in and unimpressed. So much for your game, your play at power; Semi, with his hand pressed between your shoulders, had it all, plucked every string to his own fancy. Never unfairly, you would be the first to amiss, never in a way that didn’t appeal to you, never in a way that didn’t align every one of your dark and sordid inclinations with each and every one of his own.

When he dipped his hand down the curve of your spine once more, settled the width of hands that could pleasure and punish in the same stroke at the curve of your backside you did not worry for what was to come next, simply bit at your bottom lip and did as you had suggested he might, anticipated.

You pressed fingertips tight to the sinewy muscle of his neck, shoulders, tilting your head with doe eyes that better suited low lights and bedroom gazes. “What’s it gonna be Semi, pleasure or punishment?”

His lips assumed an angle of condescension, playful disposition guiding the affectionate brush of noses together in an eskimo’s kiss before his lips found yours in one more fitting, deep, dark and dizzying, leaving you grasping desperately at threads of reality to anchor yourself. Your hands grasped the curves of his shoulders while he acquainted himself the perfumed skin of your neck, breathing in low, warm tones, “On our anniversary? Pleasure, of course, my love, so much of it you’ll be begging me not to touch you.”

The predatory gleam of his eye was raised a swift disconnect, a step away resulting your figure noticeably cool without his pressed keenly. He offered a demonstrative twirl of his fingers, ordering, “Turn around, hands on the table,” and years of his requests make you immediately acquiescent, turning on expensive heels to oblige.

The heels of your palms meet the edge of the vanity, fingers curling around the pristine antique mahogany to find tentative purchase, to enunciate the curve of your spine, to press your thighs together. Intrinsically his dark eyes find yours in the mirrored surface, assuming a domineering possession that keeps your eyes locked even as he lowers himself to the curve of your neck and sweeps your hair aside to sear in a kiss that has flames licking your skin.

Warmth erupts from your every nerve ending with each pass of his tongue and Semi’s mouth shapes satisfaction as it sweeps across your shoulders, fingers working fine finesse on the closure of your dress, letting the slip of red pool unbecomingly low around your hips. The backless feature had boasted a lack underneath that he knew of already though you did not miss the distracted nature of his gaze when it disconnected from yours to follow the paths his fingertips trailed.

A venture of curves and almosts, ghosting along the edges of your breasts but never acquainting as you began to wish he would. Semi touched you with brevity, a glimmer of sensation designed to set you on edge, anticipation upon ever mounting anticipation as he slowly gained momentum, as he slowly lavished you in indulgent kisses that allowed him taste and you dissolving patience, just as he wished.

When his hands were a prominent weight gliding along your sides, imploring you upright to rest against his chest and raise your arms above your head you were already shivering, the tremor of your body obvious when light fingertips danced along the soft skin of underarms, tickling. The laughter such an action normally elicited tumbled from you in soundless gasps, heaving in your chest and rendering you hyper sensitive, hued cheeks hinting sheer desperation that was nowhere near peak.

Semi hummed approval into the crook of your neck, punctuating the silence of your content by sharply tugging your earlobe between his teeth, drawing a ragged moan through the seam of your lips in muffled response. Your eyelashes fluttered to descent, resting upon warm cheeks in solace as you surrendered wholly.

Hands falling from midair suspension they too found solace in smoky ash, twining, twisting, tugging, until just a slither of Semi’s composure slipped, an errant groan permitted escape. Your smile, executed in the most divine listlessness, slackened under hands that passed over breasts, palms that brushed already hardened nipples, to lure out a soft gasp, a breathy admission of Semi’s name.

In response an acknowledging hum, an arch of a brow that you could not see with your eyes still closed. He caressed the supple flesh of your chest only to catch you off guard with contrasting sharpness, the pinch of his thumbs, forefingers, scattering your errant thoughts further into disarray. The precise roll of his fingers curled desire in tight coils beneath your skin, enlisted a restless shift in your hips that he had awaited.

Semi palmed your stomach, pressing a possessive hand to your abdomen while he breathed instruction into your skin.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”

And you found in the sheer proximity of his observation heart wrenching intimacy, all subdued affections unreservedly pooling in the depths of dark granite eyes so close to your own that the angle employed a necessity to blink, to refocus your vision. You leant back just slightly, chin on your shoulder to peer at him more openly, to boldly insist where you rather shyly intoned, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A play at boyish charm and arrogance and Semi was working down the discreet side zipper of your dress. “Why?” His gaze raked over your form, followed the cascade of silk down your legs to puddle around your feet and none too discretely passed his tongue over his lips. His gaze flickered back toward your own. “Because you look absolutely devastating.”

Emboldened, teasing, you straightened, arching a challenging brow, loftily intoning, “And you didn’t want pictures.”

His answering scoff is abrupt, accompanying a sharp purchase on lace covered hips, teeth on lips. “You know why I didn’t want pictures?” he whines, nipping your bottom lip and drawing you close enough that you can feel his growing arousal through strained leather. “Because this is what you do to me,” he explains, his hand covering yours, guiding it over his length in demonstration.

“Knowing how you looked while I wasn’t there to do anything about it?” His hand left yours to self employed devices and he smiled, sheepish, earnest. “Fucking torture.”

With a sinuous smile you palmed his erection through his pants, delighting the shaky exhale that filtered through his lips and fanned across your own. “I spent the rest of dinner thinking of all the ways I could punish you for teasing me like that, and now…” he gave an ineffectual wave of the hand, words tapering off into suggestive silence and arched brows that spoke more than sentiment could.

“Now I just want to devour you. Just want to see you fall apart in all the ways I know I can make you – until you’re begging me to stop, and maybe, maybe then you’ll understand.”

Semi returned gentle hands to a tender cradle of your face, bringing your lips to his in a kiss long enough that you were laughing disbelief into the crevices of one another’s smiles, slipping buttons and zips free in growing haste and murmuring in disjointed phrase; “As if you don’t do the same to me.”

You push away the fabric of his jacket, tugging his shirt free to work through the remaining buttons. “Do you even know how unfair the sight of you in leather is?” You glance him in flirtatious suggestion, fingering the lapels of his shirt until your hands are caving to implicit need and carting him forward, affording your mouth access to his jaw that he obliges with the craned measure of his neck to eager teeth that lay claim.

His shirt finds company amongst your dress, his jacket and Semi toes off his shoes while your hands fumble with the fastener of his pants. Impatiently pushing the fabric down his thighs your hands return to the narrow planes of his hips to find the elastic of his boxers only to draw back curiously when you find none.

Before you can subdue it an unbidden moan slips out, distress nuancing your features. “Really Sem? No underwear?”

And his answering chuckle is sin.

He is reaching for you around the waist, gathering you in his arms, guiding you away from tangles of clothing with a charming smile that renders all admonishing statements inarticulate on your tongue, diffused to giggles when one awry step, one stray swing of your foot, catches the vanity and topples the contents across the surface. Adept sheepishness glances across his features and Semi mutters, “I’ll tidy it later,” and you laugh against his mouth, disagreeing.

“No you won’t,”

And a beat behind, his concession: “No, I won’t.”

But he will make it up and though it’s not promised it’s not doubted either, a wordless gesture extended between kissing mouths and tumbling forms that find comfort amongst plush pillows and linens. The weight of his figure warm and heavy atop yours expels from your lungs in sweet relief and were it not for the hands he reaffirms around each one of your wrists you would draw him closer. Yet even in the throes of playful jeers and teasing remarks Semi has not forgotten his intentions, has not forgotten what he promised lay ahead and he reminds you of as much with pupils blown so far the color of his eyes is obsidian, coal, onyx.

He does not indulge a moment’s hesitation before descending upon you in predatory stance, the muscles in his back rolling, stretching taut and tempting under coffee cream shadowed skin that your fingers itch to touch. The instinct draws reach that he restrains, an admonishing tut sounding in the back of Semi’s throat that he breathes against your neck, your chest.

“No touching,” he reminds, his voice a lofty sing song, and you can hear the curl of his mouth as much as you can feel it slanting over your skin. He lifts his head with a devilish smile scantily and immediately returns to idle touches of his tongue that feel mostly directionless, executed with only the intention of teasing as he delves lower. In his descent his grip loosens, imploring fingertips pressing to the inside of your wrists with the suggestion of compliance that for now you concede to obliging.

Your body is not so acquiescent, gradual warm up picking up where the last had left off to leave your spine arching from the mattress in a feeble attempt to garner more from him than just his tongue. Though unlike you Semi is happy to indulge restraint, despite breathless tones that feel as if a physical caress directly upon his cock, your efforts to appease him are useless.

“This is why you shouldn’t send photos babe,” he teases, tracing his tongue between your breasts, glancing up at you with wicked eyes. “It’s no fun not being able to touch, is it?”

Affronted you idly entertain your most put out expression, squirming beneath him. “I thought you said pleasure, not punishment?”

Semi shrugs and drags the flat of his tongue over one of your nipples. “Does this not feel good?” and though he asks the question he does not expect a response more telling than the shudder that rocks your chest, the fists your hands clench into. His hands ghost over your ribs, waist, hips and he lifts you sparsely from the mattress to draw you into his mouth, following, “that’s what I thought.”

And though it is what you had thought to want Semi’s teasing ministrations are so pointedly a beat behind that the more from his mouth you had sought no longer seems satisfying to receive, need having bypassed to exceeding the suckling of his mouth, the hiss of your breath at the drag of his teeth. The upward press of your hips to his is pointedly ignored in spite of the strong instinct required to ward off a downright adolescent urge he feels to rut himself against you.

By the time he moves across your chest to attend the breast left untouched you are running worrisomely low on patience, knuckles pierced white in their tightly clutched posture. Your eyes too are tightly clenched shut, fighting off the arousal doomed only to multiply if you were to watch him, to see the way he settled his weight in the space between your thighs, could not help the occasional abortive rock of his hips.

The groan he emits vibrates tantalizingly against your skin, a current of electricity that skitters across the surface and sizzles and burns, makes your throat close up with a whistle of a breath that turns his smile in arrogance. The application of his mouth is not hindered by smugness as much as it is reinvigorated, picking up pace to placate you some as he relents to shifting down your torso, teasing in sharp nips of teeth over your ribs and hips that will leave the faintest traces of him come morning light.

You do not dare to tempt diversion when his fingertips find the underside of your thighs, curling under your knees, guiding your legs over his shoulders, by opening your eyes. Fearful that the moment you locked eyes with him Semi would direct you the mildest of smiles possible before countering, ‘you didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?’ you remain unseeing, unsuspecting and vaguely suspicious of his intention only to be spared surprise by the path chosen.

The feather touch of his mouth along your thighs prompts an impatient, needy whine in your throat, your fingers to twist in your hair and Semi chuckles agonizingly into the seam of your thigh and hip, idle fingers considering the lace hem of your underwear. With baited breath you await the unavoidable discovery he is due to make of just how much of a mess he has reduced you and it comes shortly, some spare minutes after he lavishes your thighs bruises that will only serve to tug his lips with satisfaction if you dare send him any pictures soon.

At first he overlooks your aching center to meanly snap the elastic of your underwear against your waist tauntingly, but then the tips of his first two digits are acquainting with the curve of your womanhood and despite previous self-preservation your lashes flutter open to afford you the humbled expression that adorns his face when he feels just how wet you are.

There is a minute wideness to his eyes, an arch to his brow almost as if he doesn’t quite believe it though this is hardly new territory for either of you as his fingers follow your shape. The moisture coating his fingertips when he considers, rubs the two against the pad of his thumb, burns your cheeks, enlists a most dazzlingly pleased smile from him. Semi breathes out a faint echo of disbelief and errantly suggests, “Have I been too mean if you’re this wet already?”

And you know that what he means is perhaps his pace has been too unforgiving but he does not let up on it, sparing a nonchalant hum before he drops his head and presses a kiss to your lower lips. Instinct dictates your hands better placed in his hair than in your own and for your own part you have the presence of mind to recall his earlier instruction just seconds before your fingernails have the chance to drag across his scalp, deferring to drag in frustration across your abdomen in trails of blossoming red.

His name slips past your lips in a heavy plea; please, please, please, chasing the syllables in an unspecified request that has nothing to do with his languorous pace and everything to do with your desire to touch him that Semi picks up on adeptly when he notes the sting of red painting your skin.

He is in some ways feeling guilty enough that he acquiesces a modicum of your patience in allowing the small liberty though it does not employ his haste. Greedily you bury your fingers in the tufts of his hair, all out sighing with small satisfaction. The drag of your nails across his scalp catches his breath and you feel your small satisfaction grow, blooming with potential that you scarcely entertain.

While Semi does away with the dampened cloth of your underwear just to the side to perchance his tongue access you pull on the strands of his hair, urging him closer. His acquiescence is executed under his own design and followed through with a lazy probe of his muscle that dips just past your soaked lips to make blessed contact.

Your breath escapes you in a noisy whoosh that you do not have the necessary energy to feel embarrassment over, succumbing to sighs and closed lids while Semi concedes to less teasing and more firm applications of his mouth. He presses hard kisses to your clit, feeling the persistent throb of it against his lips, under his tongue when he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth to suck.

He only lets up on the singular assault when the tension in your muscles bows your body rigid, tightens your thighs keenly to his ears.

Sparing a modicum of the strength he has over you to force your legs apart once more Semi directs his tongue a new venture, lapping at your entrance and the steady flow of arousal that aptly coats his tongue, allows the easy slide of his first two fingers right down to the hilt.

The length of his fingers has always been a point in his favor that Semi has illustrated the punishing benefits of before, expertly reaching every part of you that history guarantees favorable reaction to. The thrust of his digits reaches so deeply that all at once you feel his momentum finally gaining on your own, aligning with the tightly wound pleasure in your abdomen until it is fit to burst, so very, very close that you can feel your release creeping up on you.

It takes only the flat of his tongue and a curl of his fingers to ease the locked up tension in your muscles, your thighs trembling as your nails dig painfully into his scalp and your back arches restlessly from the mattress, the flutter of your eyelashes offering no distinction between the light or dark that steals over your vision in a pleasurable haze as you curse his name, squirm away.

“Fuck Semi, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You push at his skull when you blink your eyes open and he relents enough that he lifts his head from between your legs and lazily drags his tongue over his lips, cleaning himself up, propping his weight up on his elbows in such a way that your legs slide from his shoulders.

Scrambling back enough to demurely close your knees Semi’s eyes glow with mischief and he is fastly on his knees, crawling across the mattress to drag you back beneath him.

“Where on Earth do you think you’re going?” he says, and this time he’s a lot faster about the way he settles a palm at your hip and bypasses preamble to thrust into you without warning beyond the fingers that spread you open for him, the smile that drips across his mouth. “What did I say before?”

You worry your teeth over your bottom lip, hips squirming beneath the experimental roll of his own even as you traitorously clench around him, draw him in deeper.

The breath you take is just enough to lend your voice volume, to acquiesce him an answer that rolls off your tongue with all the trappings of anticipation and overwhelm. “Until I’m begging you to stop.”

Semi hums, dipping his head down to brush your noses, to murmur, “There’s my good girl,” right against your mouth. “And I don’t hear you begging yet.”

#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #I LVOE THIS SO CMUCH #IM GONAN LSOE MY MIND #I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DSAY #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR GIFTING THIS TO ME #I DO NOT DESERVE SUCH GENEROSITY #UR WRITING WAS SO PRETTY #AND EITA!!!!!!!!!!!!#BEST BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!#BEST DICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#submission #10/10 will cherish for the rest of my LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years ago

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Oh yaaaay prompts are open! Awesome. Okay here's a prompt: Modern sonamy, Mighty has come back after being gone for so long but not just for a friendly reunion. He's actually there to win Amy's love because now he thinks he has a chance. How Sonic responds is up to you but if you can make it fluffy with a sweet ending that'd be great. Thank you so much! Love your writing.

Yes! they are back! Hehe~ And you’re lucky number NOW!

MightyxAmy is actually something I’ve thought of o-o; here’s why-

Prompt:

“I’m soooo glad you’ve decided to stick around and not go off the face of the planet for forever and never tell me anything ever again until I finally found you this time, Mighty!!!” Excited but also throwing a bit of shade in his fast-talking joy, Ray flew up and down in a pleasant glide as Mighty lowered his head in a bit of embarrassment.

“It... was really that bad for you, huh?” He did feel a bit guilty, but it was his way to just disappear into nature and... figuratively, become one living in it.

Ray just happily swooshed down and landed in a beautiful pose as he didn’t just stick the landing, he STRUCK it.

“Very nice.” Mighty had a bead of awkward sweat drop slightly from the side of his face, though subtle and hidden as Ray turned around and bowed, then laughed at his own whimsy.

“It’s been so long! I was worried I may never see you or Sonic again. Though, lately, Sonic’s easier to spot than ever before now! I mean, just look for his friends and he’ll be around there somewhere!” Ray joked, but he wasn’t quite off the mark.

In the past, Sonic was elusive, he was much more social than now than ever before!

“You have a point there...” Speaking of his friends...

Mighty had a weakness, something he didn’t want to admit but looking over at Sonic’s friends...

It had been years since he’d seen Sonic. Last time, he was stopping Eggman and his robotic menace, Metal Sonic, who were bent on stealing the Chaos Emeralds and even the Master Emerald from under Knuckles’s diligent nose.

At least, that’s how Mighty perceived Knuckles, with a level of respect for him being a type of ‘forest guardian’ in his mind.

“Will Eggman ever get over his mania for power and greed?” He tsk’d, before seeing the pink image of delicate grace but extraordinary power bounce into his sights and head over to her friends, lovingly holding up flowers as little flickies of all different species were helping her carry some fruit and flowers over to them as well.

“They wanted to say thank you! Isn’t this so sweet?” she chimed, and her voice caught him as he melted at the sight of a girl...

Yes, there was a weakness... but it was specific...

“What’s wrong?” Ray walked over to him, seeing his distracted expression and a hint of sorrow in it as well. “You look like you’re wracked over something...”

Mighty flinched, he was so used to being alone with his thoughts, he hadn’t really practiced talking about his thoughts outloud.

Though... the temptation to tell someone was too great to bare...

“Don’t say, ‘it’s nothing’ cause it clearly is-OFPH!” Ray’s mouth was quickly quieted as Mighty smushed his two, massive and gloved hands over his head and mouth, looking around.

As Ray struggled, he moved him back and let him go, making sure Ray’s remarks were far out of earshot.

“Pah, pah! Your gloves smell like old, rotten berries! Pah!”

“I’m on a diet.” Mighty looked a bit ashamed, but he wanted to talk about it... just... not really talk about it. “I can’t go over there, Ray.” He folded his arms, looking away with a small shade of similar pink to that other Hedgehog’s color... resting upon his cheeks. “I... I haven’t really been around-...” He bit his tongue, not wanting to confess it.

“What? Others?” Ray tilted his head cutely, “You know, it’s not like we’re all master socializers here.” He laughed, “I haven’t really seen Sonic and his other friends either! It’s been years!”

Sonic was actually organizing a gathering, he wanted to announce something like a new game where everyone could compete and have fun in.

Mighty and Ray were reached out to after a lot of effort, but Mighty just sighed. “It’s not just that... those my dissociating from people and living in nature has a lot to do with it...” Mighty knew he was guilty of that, but that was just his way. Nature was his calling, and he couldn’t survive in a modern world.

Even microwaves... just thinking of a robot cooking your food for you was a little ‘wrong’ in Mighty’s mind and heart.

“I’m not good around... strong women...” He ducked his head so far down that you could have sworn he was falling under Narcolepsy.

Ray blinked his eyes, innocently.

Then a knowing and an almost hidden, sly demeanor crossed his face as he put his hands behind his back and smiled, “Just strong women?” He teased, but his tone made it sound so sweetly innocent and sincere.

Mighty blushed and turned away, but as he did so, he saw Rouge pierce her spinning kick and break a boulder.

He turned away, shaking his head before seeing Blaze also training, bursting fire out from around her and melting the pieces of the rock Rouge had sent flying.

All the while, Ray watched Mighty and the actions he was seeing, smiling...

“It’s bad.” Mighty covered his eyes, “I can’t help it. I guess I’ve always seen women as kind of... small?” He didn’t know how to describe it. “So when I see that they’re strength could even rival my own...”

“Well, you are really strong!” Ray’s bubbly personality had him hop up a little closer to Mighty, “And it makes sense, since you aren’t really around women very much in the forest. Unless... You’re secretly into nymphs...”

Cheekily, Ray covered his bashful face and snickered up at Mighty, who held back bonking him on the head and turned away.

“Quit it! Those don’t exist!”

“Ohh... but you wish.”

“I do not!” Mighty swung around, clearly growing upset but more so embarrassed at his flaw. “I just... I don’t know what to do. It gets really bad around-” He stopped when Amy Rose stepped up to the girls, giving them a thumbs up with her hammer swung around her shoulders like a baseball bat.

She readied her swing as Cream rose up and hit a ball towards her. She must have been preparing for one of Sonic’s prepared Friend Games, and practically exploded the ball on impact.

“Aw man!” Amy cutely tapped her head, “Not another one...” she slumped a little and let her hammer fall serenely to her side, as though just as depressed as she was. “Hey, Sonic!” she called, waving her hands to get his attention, then placing it on her cheek. “You’ll need to get stronger balls to throw! These couldn’t even withstand Cheese’s punches!”

Cheese, flying beside Cream, buffed up his chest and sucked in some air. Looking fierce.

“Oh? You got it, Amy!” Sonic shrugged back to Tails, “That new compacted ball was tightly strung together, now what, Tails?”

“Not another one...” Tails seemed to have failed once again in inventing the equipment necessary to actually have the Friend Games work out for everyone’s differing power levels.

Mighty scooted back slightly, growing shy.

Ray saw his hands move a little together and then looked beamingly up towards Mighty, “Ah! You like the strongest of the strong, huh?”

Mighty shook his head, “She’s Sonic’s girl, isn’t she?” He turned away, not liking referring to someone as someone else’s... it sounded like slavery to him. “I mean, she’s with someone... and that’s wrong.” he shook his head, “So... I’m not.”

“But you way are though.” Ray bounced his eyebrows and then held up a finger, “Ah, ah, ah! No butts! I’m teaching you how to talk to a girl, and move passed your fears!” He flew up towards Cream in the air, rubbing the back of his head humbly as he introduced himself.

However, as they perched on a limp from a nearby tree, Charmy began to twitch in angry and flew over, challenging Ray to a contest.

“...Um, okay.” Mighty took the wrong idea from that interaction and slowly began to approach Amy. “H-hello, I’m Mighty... I’m, uh... What am I again? Oh, an armadillo... do you like Armadillos? N-n-not like a food, but like as an individual.” he stopped himself and slapped a hand up to the front of his face. “This is stupid! I’m going home!” he was about to turn around when Amy crashed through a set of boulders, training her strength for Tails’s experiment on crafting a new ball to play with, but looked strangely torn at how he was going to do such a fleat.

As he panicked, Amy turned to look at Mighty, who didn’t realize he had walked right in front of the next boulder.

“Oh, hello!” she swung her hammer away from him and cutely curtsied, “I’m Amy! Amy Rose!”

He mumbled something incoherent and she tilted her head, moving closer up to his face. “I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” She got so close that he almost felt his whole body shutting down in the close proximity.

“I-I-I like your hammer.” he stepped back, his whole face stuck on horror with the red of his emotions. His body trembled and he held himself a minute, not sure if that was the right thing to say or if that creeped her out.

“Oh, wow! Thank you so much!”

His eyes widened a little and he relaxed, turning around again to see her face light up at his compliment.

“You know, not a lot of people say that. I like you too!” she waved and moved back to Tails.

“...She...” A huge misunderstanding was forming. “Likes me?”

Ray flew back, “Well, I think that bee guy is chasing the wrong flower, but she’s a pretty cute flower, to say the least.” Ray seemed to be letting it go, not meaning anything by talking with Cream, but also seemed to have won the challenge as Cream was trying to comfort a crying Charmy. “Nothing too charming about that and jealousy.” Being a bit wiser than his looks, Ray seemed to have a good grasp on people.

“Mighty?”

When he saw his friend completely frozen in a moment of hope, he didn’t know how to read this one, but knew he missed something important.

He looked behind him for some clues, and seeing Amy speaking with Tails, he positively flew up in a burst of joy. “Yipee! You spoke with her! Conquered your social awkwardness! How was it? How do you feel?” he turned left... then right... trying to get a read on Mighty’s expression.

Mighty gripped his heart, “...I think... I’m gonna talk to her again.” He looked more motivated than ever, and crushed his fist together, looking stoked. “I think I might have a shot!”

“A...Wait, what?” Ray’s unique ability to connect with others suddenly lost it’s touch... he was totally confused as Mighty rushed back behind him and politely tapped her shoulder, making her turn in another wave of surprise.

“Oh, hello again.” her personality sparkled through his lonely sunrise...

“I’d like to like you too!” he boldly stated, and she didn’t know how to interpret that, other than giggle into her hand and continue her competitive streak.

“Alright! They say that bonds grow on the battlefield! Let’s fight our best out there! I’m glad to have made a friend of Sonic’s!” she put her bundled hands up in a very girlish behavior, one he wasn’t used too, but thought she was accepting him.

“R-right!” he almost wanted to mimic her in hopes of pleasing her in the conversation, but resisted it as it felt awkward to even think about doing.

She waved again and her and Tails took off.

He puffed some determined air out of his nostrils, “Ray! What’s the first game!?” he charged over to him, ready to train and have more interactions with her.

However, while trying his best to impressive, stick with, and battle alongside Amy, he couldn’t help but notice her fondness for Sonic...

‘What am I doing wrong?’ he wondered, and tried to mimic what the other dudes were doing for the ladies.

He lifted a boulder and threw it at a staged robot for a game that required you to bulldoze your way through an obstacle course, and reached out for Amy.

She wasn’t in need of it though, and just shook it, smiling politely.

When he saw Silver do it for Blaze... she took it and got helped up from the powerful blast in the last challenge race...

He used his strength to grip a bridge into place, but saw Sonic scoop Amy up and sped through the now stabilized bridge he was holding up...

Losing some faith, he dropped the bridge once they were safely across... and lost the challenge.

Later, Ray come up to him. “Hmm, you sure you heard her right?” After getting the whole story from him. “You know... maybe... she was complimented you back from your compliment to her.” he tried to explain, “Like, when you crush a boulder with one fist and I say, ‘nice job!’ and you go, ‘You too!’.” he acted out the scenario, but Mighty looked like the crushed boulder he was pretending to punch.

“...Oh.” he lowered his head, seeing his friend really saddened by this.

Suddenly, as Ray went to maybe reach for Mighty but pulled it back to hold his own arm instead in defeat, Sonic sped through the two and turned back, calling out. “Hey, you two! We’ve got a problem! Amy’s missing!”

Mighty rose up from his pity and nodded instinctively.

The two took off with Sonic and found that Amy had been lost in one of Eggman’s sabotages, and Mighty just so happened to be the first one to dig her out of the landslide.

Helping her up, she held onto him and he felt what Sonic must feel when he carries her, and continued to try and get her to safety.

Using his nature skills, he found her natural ointments for her scrapes and scratches, food that she was safe for her to eat, and even how to follow the water tracks back to civilization... or something like that, Amy didn’t really follow everything but was deeply impressed by him.

She did compliment him a lot though... so maybe?

“Miss Rose...” He began, but she quickly cut him off.

“Amy! No need for any of that, I’m not an old lady, silly!” she teased, fanning her hand out to shush him on trying to be so formal. “We’re friends now! No need for that.”

“O-oh... How’d you get so strong?”

“I wanted to be beside Sonic... always.” her stance changed as she dreamily looked off into the distance, trekking through the other side of the mountain since Amy was trapped on a now covered trail that Eggman had rigged. They had to move around the mountain to be safe, but were triggering traps along the way.

He felt his shoulders rest down at her mention of Sonic, and the way her entire being seemed to fall and rest in a gentle way at mentioning him.

“Uh-huh.” He looked away, “You like him... don’t you?”

“Emm... is it obvious?” She cutely teased, covering her face and swaying her body back and forth, “For the most part, I like everyone, but especially my Sonic!” she swooned, placing her hands cutely on the side of her cheek.

“Well, it’s good to know.”

Mighty and Amy looked amazed to see Sonic coming up behind them, holding some wires in his hands as he seemed to have cleared the upcoming trek before finding them.

He winked to them, “Miss me?”

“Sonic!” she excitedly dashed towards him, her arms outstretched wide as she embraced him and tried to peck his whole face with kisses, but he just kept pulling away, leaning his head back.

“Easy, Amy! Easy! You’ll spook out Mighty!” Sonic smiled but in a embarrassed and awkward way, knowing Mighty wasn’t used to Amy’s typical behavior.

But as Mighty watched them, he felt a kind of peace wash over him.

‘Ah, so that’s how a woman shows she likes a man.’ he smiled kindly to the two, then sighed and put his hands to his hips, accepting his defeat. ‘I guess I’ll have to find a girl willing to like me that much too...’

“Mighty?”

Turning back, he realized he had spaced out in his own thoughts again, excluding the world around him as he had to be social again, and waved his hands out to them as he tried to explain himself. “Ah! N-nothing! W-we should get Amy back safely though!”

“Aw, I’m a lot stronger than that, right!?” She summoned her hammer, moving away from Sonic and then presenting Mighty with a fist to hit.

She smiled bold and brave... and he admired that in her.

He realized his feelings were from a lack of experience, and that this was the most ‘liking’ Amy would ever let him receive, and was just glad he got to learn more about her.

“Yeah, you are strong.” he returned the fist bump, and let it linger there a moment as his eyes widened a second. “You... You didn’t get pushed back.”

Amy’s eyelid twitched as she was forcing her eyes closed, her feet were in a stance to withstand the light... but heavily powerful force that came from his fist touching hers.

“Uh-huh.” She spoke through the pain, but was immediately impressed by her able to withstand his power, and felt his heart race at her strength again.

“I gotta go!” he took off, letting Sonic take care of the rest as he secretly delighted in the fact that there existed a woman out there who wouldn’t get flung back by his fist-pump...

(Mighty is a tree-hippie in my mind lolol And I hope you’re okay with me stressing Mighty more than Sonamy in this prompt... I couldn’t help myself XD but Sonamy is still there!)

#mightyxamy #sonic prompt #mighty prompt #amy rose #sonicxamy?#cutegirlmayra #mighty the armadillo

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