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kikiwhataboutthatbrendon · 4 years ago

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Breathing Through Allium

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830425?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_401219202

The Revived AU, The Survivors of Death. This series was inspired by @navy-leader and their comic. This AU is the 'what if all cannon dead were revived' on the Dream SMP. I do hope you all will enjoy!

The void is more quiet than usual.

Wilbur, Tommy, Schlatt, and Mexican Dream haven't had the most eventful of days. Mexican Dream is nowhere to be found, Schlatt is staring into the void, clutching a bottle to his chest, while Tommy and Wilbur are talking, still catching up, despite the fact that Tommy has been dead for a week and hasn't stopped talking.

Tommy falls quiet to take a breath after finishing the story of what happened to L’manburg, the tired look on his face makes Wilbur smirk.

“Don't get too tired,” Wilbur warns him playfully, “it’d be a shame if you couldn't tell me more, you’ve only been talking for about seven days.”

Tommy scowls at him, yet the look holds no malice. “You're so annoying.” Tommy mutters, biting back a smile.

Schlatt whirls around, an incredulous look on his face at the statement. “Says you!” He exclaims, startling both Tommy and Wilbur. “You haven't shut the fuck up since you got here!”

Tommy and Wilbur share a look then burst out into laughter, much to Schlatt’s annoyance.

The void falls nearly silent, but it’s not uncomfortable, it's nice, and it’s broken by an ear shattering thunderclap followed by the unmistakable roar of a dragon. The occupants of the void startle, souls nearly leaping from their chests. Tommy snaps towards Wilbur, takes a breath, then is swallowed by the void without so much as a scream. Wilbur dives for him, and disappears just as Tommy did. Schlatt follows, and Mexican Dream last.

The void is silent as it always should be.

Dream stares at the book between his hands, a sick smile on his lips as a thunderclap rings through the SMP, his head tilts back as he takes a deep breath, his power running like lightning through his veins. His mask is nowhere to be seen, and it makes the smugness on his face clear as day. A portal to the void rips through the obsidian ceiling of the Dream’s prison cell. Dream stares at it, and his breath hitches as a form falls through it and crashes to the floor, followed by three others. He takes a step back, genuine fear sizing his body at the sight of who else he brought back.

Tommy groans, biting back a sob at the pain throbbing through his body. Wilbur’s chest spasms and his breathing stutters, trying to inhale past the pain burning through his abdomen. Schlatt sits up with a gag as soon as his back hits the floor, scrambling to the side as his body forces everything in his stomach up. Mexican Dream scoots away from Schlatt, holding a hand to his head as the world spins. He looks around the cell, confusion clouding his expression.

Dream meets his alter ego’s gaze, and Mexican Dream immediately gets on the defensive, despite the pain in his skull and chest, ignoring the bloodstain of a crossbow bolt on his chest. “¿Dónde estamos?" He growls, which gains the attention of Wilbur.

Wilbur glances behind himself then looks to where Mexican Dream is burning a hole through Dream’s skull. Wilbur stares at him, unmoving, as he sits up. The front of Wilbur’s sweater is stained a dark red, both his sweater and trench coat are singed, there's not a part of him that isn't covered in either dirt or soot. Blood drips from the corner of his lips and his head, Wilbur doesn't seem to notice.

Dream closes the book slowly, dropping it with a stutter, “I… I meant to only revive Tommy…” He says, voice catching when Schlatt spits and turns abruptly, amber rams eyes finding his gaze. The side of his head is bleeding, his suit is also covered in dirt, and there's a faint red smudge at the edge of his mouth.

Wilbur feels rage bubble up inside him, grip going white knuckled as he balls his fits. He lunges at Dream, fist coming down on his face with a sickening crack. Dream’s head snaps backwards and he stumbles to the floor, Wilbur doesn't hesitate to pin Dream with his weight and bring his fist down on the murderer again and again and again.

Schlatt scrambles to his feet and musters all the strength he can to pull Wilbur off of Dream, Mexican Dream leaps from his place on the floor to help Schlatt. Wilbur thrashes against them, yelling profanities while Tommy stares up at them, expression disbelieving and terrified between the sight of Dream writhing in pain and Wilbur’s freshly blood stained hands.

“Let go of me!” Wilbur hollers, still pulling against Schlatt and Mexican Dream.

“You're going to fucking kill him Will!” Schlatt shouts back, yanking them further away from Dream.

“He’s no use to you dead man!” Mexican Dream says hurriedly, casting a worried glance at Schlatt, not that he could see it beneath his mask.

“He killed my little brother!” Wilbur roars, seething at the man he’d beaten bloody.

Dream doesn't even move, the yelling and heat of the prison cell fading as he blacks out, body going limp.

Tommy swallows hard, his entire body aching, his fingers tangling in the bandages around his arms that are coming unraveled, revealing marred skin, scars, cuts, and bruises showing beneetheeth the blood stained cloth. Blood is dripping from his nose and head, getting into his eyes. Tommy whimpers as he forces himself to his knees, Wilbur’s voice loud in his ears. “Wilbur…” Tommy calls, casting a pleading look to the man who has yet to stop yelling.

Wilbur stops in the middle of a sentence, looking down on Tommy. He rips his arms from Schlatt and Mexican Dream with a glare, quickly crouching down to Tommy’s level. He’s still brimming with rage, but Tommy is more important to him than kicking Dream’s skull in.

“Hey,” He says softly, voice gravely from yelling, “I’m sorry for yelling, are you…” He trails off, staring at Tommy, noticing that it’s blaringly obvious that Tommy is not okay.

Tommy shakes his head, a few tears falling down his face as blood continues to get in his eyes from his busted forehead. Wilbur wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side. Tommy flinches with his entire body at the pain that sparks across his skin. Wilbur cringes to himself and softens his voice, “Close your eyes,” He whispers, “it’ll eventually stop the stinging.”

Tommy does as Wilbur says. Wilbur looks up to Schlatt and Mexican Dream, opening his mouth to say something when the lava curtain to their right falls.

The lava falls to reveal Sam, he’s breathing heavily, having been summoned to the prison and sprinted to Dream’s cell when he heard yelling.

Wilbur curls around Tommy protectively and pulls his body to his chest. He sets his arms under Tommy’s knees and back then pushes himself to his feet, standing with Tommy secure in his arms. Tommy leans further into Wilbur’s chest, suppressing another whimper of pain.

Sam stares, speechless. Four people are standing before him, four people who should be dead, the kid he let die is in one of their arms.

“How…” He manages after a long silence, gaze fixed on Tommy, which Wilbur doesn't really appreciate.

Schlatt looks back to where Dream should have been, to tell Sam how, but his response dies on his lips.

Dream’s gone. - You can commission me for fics on my Patreon! :D

#tommyinnit #wilbur soot #jschlatt #schlatt #mexican dream #dream #awesomedude #dream smp #the revived au #the survivors of death

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gordonradiotv · 4 years ago

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{ A summary of tonights chapter 9-12 Q&A stream!:

“You can interpret this however you want like I’m not gonna say this is canon, but I like to think Benrey and Gordon kissed a few times when they were teens but were really ‘haha no homo right’ about it”

Benrey “carries things he thinks are fragile with all four arms” which is why he would carry baby Joshua with all four arms

When Joshua was born Benrey immediately made the joke that Gordon named his kid after his friend Josh from Gamestop

Each character’s “worst flaw” goes as follows: -Gordon - His hero complex. Gordon’s want to protect others isn’t the issue, but the extent of which he takes it to is a huge fucking problem. He’s an Icarus and if he’s not too careful he’ll fly too close to the sun -Benrey - His pessimism, it’s the one thing that really stops him from completely climbing out of the rut he’s in and facing the things he’s most afraid of -Tommy - His inability to accept help from others. Tommy can handle a lot, but for that reason he thinks he can handle everything. He thinks he’s Atlas, and letting all his frustrations pent up like this won’t be pretty -Coomer - While not a coward by any means, Coomer’s biggest obstacle is fear. He attacked Gordon in the boss fight out of fear, he refused to tell Bubby this was a game out of fear, etc. Coomer has since decided he will no longer let fear hold him back- but how far is he willing to take that? -Bubby - His false pride. Bubby holds himself to such a high standard of perfection at all times, this means even the tiniest of mistakes are enough to bring him to his knees.

Tommy bashing in the skeletons skull in a fit of rage “wasn’t even a fraction of what Tommy lashing out looks like”

Yes the scene at the start of the chapter 12 comic pages was inspired by Lilo and Stitch

Tommy is biologically Gman’s son! And “You can decide if that’s because of mitosis or not I don’t want to discuss whether or not Gman fucks”

There was a VERY VERY EARLY ON DRAFT on GRTV where there would’ve been a mini-boss fight against Bubby. This is no longer the case though. I also wanted to do music for the Bubby boss fight and the song would’ve been called “Professor Inferno” if it had been made

Yes Benrey does the kneading thing- his alien species is very cat-like, turns out

You may get a TASTE of Gordon and Benrey’s history in the future but a lot of it is up to interpretation, have fun with it!

Gordon is a metalhead and can do a SCARILY GOOD screamo-music scream. He’s also good at singing and playing guitar!

“I dunno if this is canon or not but the thought that Benrey and Gordon had a shitty garage band in high school is very cute to me”

Gordon “grew up rough” and this will be explored more later down the line

I think that’s about it! }

#ooc

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writer-and-artist27 · 4 years ago

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One Lostbelt King to Another

Summary: Scathach-Skadi came from a world that never saw an end and Humanity’s last hope dying alone. To see one of the creators of said worlds discard the Yaga as nothing while baiting a little one into becoming a murderer, she cannot stand for it. Not when said little one gave Skadi another meaning to the word “love.”

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Note: Inspired by this comic and how Skadi came to my Chaldea back in Epic of Remnant. Roughly based on my experience going into the Grand Battle of Lostbelt 1, where Skadi and Achilles were the front-liners on my team to beat Anastasia, well... Writing this felt good.

And, hey, since I’m publishing this just when I finished Lostbelt 2 and finally ascended Skadi to her final form, I’d like to think this is a small thank you to the purple-haired Caster who came to Chaldea when she was needed the most. This is also based off of a headcanon that Leo had given me once, where my Skadi came to me before any version of me encountered the Lostbelts, so she saw a doomed future. Thus, this story happens.

For those not in the know, this oneshot is a distant sequel to all my previous Fate/Grand Order works, and giant spoiler warning for the ending of Lostbelt 1 and certain plot elements of Lostbelt 2.

Dedicated to @withanina, who’s seen me through my own journey in this very tumultuous mobile game.

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Patxi had fallen first, his snout buried in the snow and a smile stuck to his dead face. Blood was already staining the white snow red, and no one said anything except for the occasional sob from the Chaldean Master.

It would’ve been the perfect time to strike.

But before anyone could say anything, a rune was already writing itself into the cold Russian air. Kadoc could faintly make out the purple shimmer that read destruction before Anastasia was being thrown back, and he felt himself scream before he could hear it.

“ANASTASIA!”

He didn’t realize how painful it was to hold up his Command Spells for supporting his Servant until she appeared with a gust of cold wind in front of Humanity’s last Master.

It was supposed to be impossible.

Vy, a simple foolish girl who shouldn’t have amounted to anything, shouldn’t have had that Servant come to her aid. That Servant should have been in Ophelia’s Lostbelt over in Scandinavia. Not in Russia, not here. She shouldn’t have been helping a girl who was fighting for Proper Human History.

“You…” Anastasia was just as shocked too, if her wide eyes were any indication. “You are a Lostbelt King. You shouldn’t be here.”

Scathach-Skadi simply brushed some snow off her purple dress as Vy slowly stood up from her knees, tears in her eyes. “Skadi…sama?”

“Either I have lost my hearing or I must have heard something insignificant. Nonetheless, I am here.” Skadi turned her back on them and Kadoc grit his teeth. She was — she was underestimating Anastasia. She was underestimating him, Kadoc Zemlupus, as an opponent in favor of focusing on the weaker, crybaby Master. What was going on here? Why was she—

Mash Kyrielight let out a shaky breath. “Skadi-san, you—”

Skadi sighed. “Hm. You seem to have found yourself in another troubling situation, little one. Your shield maiden has certainly grown tired.” No one in the cold area missed how the Lostbelt Servant’s voice softened in Vy’s direction as she brushed her ponytail back past her shoulders. “Allow me to help you once more, especially in defeating an insect who dares call herself a Tsar.”

“Insect...!?” Kadoc could see Anastasia bristle before he could feel it in his hands through her shoulders, and she clutched Viy to her chest. “How dare you call me an insect! You shouldn’t be fighting for Proper Human History!”

“You certainly act like an insect, along with your pitiful sight of a Master, Tsaritza.” Skadi sighed again, reaching out to Vy with one hand to help bring her back to her feet and steady her. “How very much like a mere rat to not even know what you have follied in. To know I share a former title with you is now a burden of shame on my shoulders that I feel the great need to brush away.” Skadi then shook her head. The motion was almost like a mother disappointed with her child. “Who I side with is none of your business.”

Great. Another nutcase in Vy’s favor.

A single tear rolled down Vy’s cheek as she continued to stare up at the Servant in front of her. What a fool. “Um… Skadi-sama?”

“Not that honorific, little one,” Skadi said without skipping a beat, briefly turning around to press one gentle hand against Vy’s head, patting her hair. Her voice had softened all over again. “‘-san’ is sufficient. ‘Skadi-san.’ Otherwise, please do not force yourself any more. You have done enough for now.”

“But— But I—”

Kadoc felt himself go silent once Skadi reached over to press a soft kiss to the top of Vy’s hair. Kyrielight gasped, Kadoc felt bile start to climb up his throat. What the fuck am I seeing right now?

Anastasia hugged Viy tighter to herself once Skadi stepped back, and by then, Kadoc could clearly make out the horrible, ugly red that stained Vy’s cheeks. “Sk-Skadi-san?”

“Good child. Now stand back.” The Lostbelt Servant smiled before slowly turning to meet Kadoc’s eyes. And, for the first time in his life, Kadoc felt a shiver travel up his spine. “I will handle this.”

If there was a descriptor for “godly bloodlust,” then perhaps the dictionaries in Lostbelt histories should have included Scathach-Skadi’s name.

“You vile Crypter,” Skadi whispered vehemently, raising her wand. “How dare you traumatize one of my children and give so many others false hope.”

“False? How is it false when—”

“It is false when these lines of history are doomed to die, vermin,” Skadi hissed. Without a single ounce of hesitation, Skadi then pushed her ponytail back to write another rune in the air, clearly one that was Primordial, and Kadoc raised his hand without thinking. “To give the people of these Lostbelts false hope of living alone in victory is a crime deserving of divine punishment. You made all of us think we could live again in a miracle. But no. We were all doomed from the very beginning, even if the Trees of Emptiness grew, and you dared to make us believe that we could survive. You deserve far more than divine punishment.”

Kadoc wasn’t expecting the newly made rune to go to Vy and Kyrielight of all people. He should’ve expected it, but for some reason, his legs couldn’t move. The Ortinax armor glowed a soft purple hue, accentuating the shock in Kyrielight’s eyes transforming into grim, fierce determination as she then ran to place her shield in front of her silent Master. “Senpai, please stay behind me. Everything will be alright, I-I promise. I’m here.” Kyrielight then threw her head towards the towering purple-haired Caster. “Skadi-san?”

“Shield maiden, protect the little one for me,” Skadi said softly, shaking her head. Her wand was raised, poised to write in the air again. “I have some insects I must swat.”

“R-Roger that, Skadi-san!”

“…I don’t understand. My Master is doing the right thing in trying to raise the Tree of Emptiness and expanding our Russian Lostbelt. You should know this since you are — were a Lostbelt Servant, Scathach-Skadi.” Anastasia said finally, narrowing her eyes at the opposing queen. “You should know just as well as I do of the responsibility that comes with trying to prevail with our worlds.”

“Do not call me by that title when I have already lost my world,” Skadi snapped darkly, and this time, Anastasia stopped. Kadoc felt his blood freeze too because the Russian air seemed all the more colder. What did she just say? “I lost my subjects — my people, my Scandinavia — no thanks to you insects. Surtr destroyed everything with his flames and you Crypters did not even care in my reality. You left me — all of us — to die.” Skadi shook her head, waving her free hand to create the beginnings of a giant icicle behind her. “It was only when I lost everything to the flames that I found another chance. It was through my folly that I found this little one in the wreckage of Chaldea.”

This time, Skadi didn’t turn back to meet Vy’s eyes. The fighting stance Skadi was in didn’t allow for that. Kadoc could easily read the emotions on Vy’s face, from the awe to surprise to tired resignation, and even then, there was a touched glimmer in those brown eyes behind the long brown hair and black glasses that had him reeling.

“I had thought that I knew what it meant to love in that miracle of my Scandinavia. To kill and to love. But I was wrong. You all were wrong.” Skadi nodded to herself, closing her eyes as she turned back to face the battlefield. She pressed her free hand to her chest. “Love is to care for others outside of yourself. Love is asking what one can do to help, even when you are weak and unsure. Love is enjoying every day of life as it comes in the world. Love is—”

Selfless.

“Love is making sea-salt ice cream together and laughing over the failures,” Skadi finished.

Kadoc blinked. Anastasia did too, lowering Viy. “…What?”

“Of course you two wouldn’t understand. You gave up your humanity just to make this long journey to validate your own selves. How pitiful.” Skadi wrote another few runes in the air with her wand, the purple glow accentuating the glare in her violet red eyes. The giant icicle behind her head seemed to grow all the more massive. “Making a nightmare of others’ lives, killing more than 7 billion people in reality, and then villainizing the one girl who is trying to give a form of salvation to all living this hell? Disgusting. Not even worth my time and love.”

Kadoc bit the inside of his cheek enough to taste metal. “Why you—”

“That is enough, Skadi. Even if you are a former Lostbelt Servant, I will not tolerate you insulting my Master,” Anastasia interrupted, brushing her cape behind her. Viy was already emitting a dark aura. “You will all die here.”

“No,” Skadi smiled for the first time Kadoc had seen, and Kadoc grit his teeth once his eyes suddenly focused in on the green hair and orange scarf hovering behind the purple-haired mage. No way. “You both will perish under my heel. I am not the only one here to put you out of your misery.”

No way.

Vy wasn’t supposed to be able to summon Heroic Spirits bordering on the powers of Gods. She wasn’t strong enough.

So then—

“Both our heels,” Achilles of Greece suddenly interrupted, and with that green spear shouldered between his neck and shining gold armor, the smirk on his face matched Skadi’s smile as he raised one fist in the air towards Kadoc’s direction. “Because you two did something worse than give people false hope.”

“Indeed, famous Hero of the Trojan War,” Skadi hummed, the Runes in front of her immediately flying over to the allied Rider, “they follied more than they thought.”

Achilles rolled his eyes, lightly elbowing Skadi in the side once the Runes stuck to his chest armor and disappeared, and Kadoc couldn’t believe his eyes. These two Servants — they were familiar? A Lostbelt Servant and a weak Servant from Proper Human History — they could be friendly? “Cut the cutesy language, Skadi. We know what we have to do.”

Vy gripped her hands behind all the Servants as her Command Spells glowed against her black Mystic Code, tears still in her eyes.

“Of course. May you take the first blood, Achilles?” Skadi said softly. “Teach these insects how they could not have prevented the Incineration of Humanity with their follies.”

“Sure.” Achilles then grinned and leapt forward, and Kadoc found himself yelling out once the back end of that same green spear was nearly in his face if not for Anastasia. “You two jerks have a lot to answer for, y’know.” The words were said casually, almost too casually when considering the amount of strength being used to handle the spear so close to Kadoc’s person and Anastasia’s pained grunts under the weight.

“I-I have no idea what you are prattling about, Hero,” Anastasia growled. “Viy—”

“Oh? I’m wounded, miss Tsar.” Achilles then kicked Anastasia hard and Kadoc felt himself flying too once Anastasia collided with him. If not for the Russian winds and dodging the sudden ice projectile coming towards him, he might not have heard it.

“You hurt our Master. Our kind, workaholic Master who should’ve rested back at home with her family once Goetia disappeared. But instead of helping her, you took her home away from home in Chaldea and hurt Mash by killing the only familial figure she had left. So, what happens after this is simple.” Kadoc clutched Anastasia to his chest once they landed in the snow. Achilles then put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Kadoc could feel the blood start to rush to his head once that chariot came with the fanfare of loud green lightning and horse neighing.

Noble Phantasm. Shit.

“You hurt our family, you die.”

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[Image Description: A screenshot of a team lineup in Fate/Grand Order, simply titled “Front Line.” The Servants in the lineup include, from left to right: Scathach Skadi, Achilles, Marie Antoinette, Chevalier d’Eon, and Mash Kyrielight in her Ortinax costume. End Description.]

This is the least I can do for the Servants who helped me through some of the hardest fights I’ve had emotionally. This isn’t a full replication of the team I used when going into fighting Kadoc and Anastasia, but the main players of Skadi, Mash, and Achilles are here at least.

Let’s go save the world, everyone. Thank you for staying.

#fate grand order #vy plays fate grand order #writing #oneshot #scathach skadi #achilles #mash kyrielight #long post #cosmos in the lostbelt #tw: long post #kadoc zemlupus

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gofordrakgo · 5 years ago

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slice of life, pregnancy, drakgo pleeeeease

Well! This took me awhile to get around to, but it’s finally written! I hope it proves to be worth the wait! Enjoy some drakgo fluff!

"Though her skin still beckoned his lips he resigned himself to kneading his knuckles along her spine the best he could in the somewhat awkward position, while they watched the snow falling over the ocean. “Does this count as their first snowfall?” Drew teased quietly."

The list - scrawled across an entire wall of the kitchen in variously colored erasable markers - had been thoroughly ingrained in his mind for weeks. He knew every possible choice by heart. That didn’t stop him from turning his attention to it as soon as he popped the homemade cinnamon rolls into the oven. Cradling a mixing bowl in one arm, he absentmindedly stirred the ingredients for the icing together as he stared at the list.

He knew they needed to make a decision, and soon, but he was as indecisive as ever. He just hoped that when the time came they would somehow instinctively know and that they wouldn’t end up regretting the decision later on.

Arms wrapping around his waist behind him pulled him out of his distracted stupor, and tension he hadn’t noticed faded as he relaxed into her.

“Good morning,” he greeted just before his wife’s hug loosened. Her hands traveled up to his shoulders, and then to his head where she pushed her fingers through his hair. A pleasant shiver coursed through him when her lips pressed against the nape of his neck.

Sometimes he missed his long hair and wished that his flower sprouted out of his arms instead, like that one popular arachnid comic book character. Then, perhaps, he wouldn’t have had to cut off his ponytail to stop the vines from tangling in it. When she was there, however, silently reminding him that she liked it the way it was, he forgot all about his petty regrets. Not to mention the fact that even though they had left villainy and begun using their proper names in conversation he really had no interest whatsoever in looking like a hero. Even if he technically was one. And even if he was quite proud of his accomplishment.

Stretching an arm out he let the bowl of frosting fall to the counter so he could turn and give her a proper kiss before she asked, “Have you narrowed it down any yet?” tilting her head toward the list behind him.

He shook his head and stepped away to take their breakfast out of the oven. “Have you?” he asked in turn as he frosted the piping hot cinnamon rolls.

She looked more than a little dismayed when she also had to shake her head. Her shoulders slumped. “Nope. Not even a little.”

“Well, we still have some time.” He was trying to be comforting, but he knew it wasn’t much use. The decision had been weighing on them for months.

“We might not, Drew. You never know.”

With a horrified sense of glee, he realized that she was right. A few weeks earlier than expected wouldn’t be too unusual. He practically collapsed to his knees in front of her and planted a kiss on her stomach. “You two better not even think of coming early. At least let us narrow it down a little first,” he quietly, almost jokingly, begged. She brushed her fingers through his hair again and for a brief moment his eyes fluttered shut and he let his head go limp against her palm.

Icing splattering against his glasses made him sputter and pull away.

“Those are–,” he cut off his warning at the sight of her raised eyebrow. Of course, she wouldn’t care at all that they were still hot. A breathy laugh left him as he stood to rinse his glasses in the sink.

He’d asked her once if she ever thought of the fact that it might hurt the babies to eat things that were still piping hot. Having a slice of homemade pizza hurled at his face fresh out of the oven was a good way of telling him to shut up, though speaking to a medical professional about it had been more helpful at reassuring him the babies would be fine.

“The twins like them,” she said, grabbing his hand to let him feel them kicking with all the giddiness as she had the first time they’d moved.

He grinned, drying his glasses off with his shirt. “I’m so proud.”

Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck, dragging him into an unexpected kiss that tasted like cinnamon and sugar. When she stilled, leaving him delightfully breathless, she murmured, “Guess what?” against his lips.

He only managed to hum his acknowledgment, greedily focused on her touch and the feel of her lips on his to properly respond.

“It’s snowing,” she told him, turning her head as she pointed out the window above the kitchen sink. He took the opportunity to turn his desire fueled attention to her neck. For a moment that would have been too short if it had lasted hours, she held him close, letting out a content sigh that warmed him to his core. With a shuddery breath, she gently pushed him away. “Drew. Breakfast. Snow.” She was smiling at him as she said it, though her voice sounded serious.

“Drew… Shea,” he argued, gesturing to her. Before he could move back into her she stuffed a bite of cinnamon roll into his mouth. It was a bit conceited, he was sure, but he instantly let himself be distracted by how delicious it was.

He just managed to grab a roll for himself before she snapped up the whole tray and retreated into the living room with a wry grin. Staving off a smirk he trailed leisurely after her, shaking his head at the sight of her cross-legged on the ground in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. He paused to watch her for a moment, still flabbergasted nearly a year after he finally worked up the courage to tell her he loved her that, for some reason, she had decided she loved him too.

Snatching the blanket from the back of the couch on the way, despite how comfortably warm it was inside, he joined her on the floor. She settled herself between his legs almost immediately with her back pressed to his chest and her hands atop his over her stomach.

“I love you,” they synchronized.

She let out a low moan, muttering some complaint that her lower back was hurting, as it had been doing more and more frequently. Though her skin still beckoned his lips he resigned himself to kneading his knuckles along her spine the best he could in the somewhat awkward position, while they watched the snow falling over the ocean.

“Does this count as their first snowfall?” Drew teased quietly.

Shea snorted, shaking her head.“If they’re still inside my body, then no.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he said, not at all surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes. He’d cried more in the months since he’d found out he was going to be a father than he had in all the years since the day he dropped out of college. Which, admittedly, had been far too many tears then. Until he’d met her. Someday…someday he would tell her she had been the one who inspired him to seek the world.

“I’d still like to have names for them,” she countered, rubbing her thumb in circles on his knee. “Even if we named one Petunia like your mother wanted.”

“She thinks she’s so funny,” he muttered. “ Oh, Drew,” he began mimicking his beloved mother in a falsely high pitched voice, “how cute would it be to name a little girl after a flower, just like her daddy?”

Shea patted his knee. “We both know that’s not how that conversation went down… Drewbie.”

“Oh, haha,” he replied dryly. “Yes, she did call me Drewbie. But every other word was… um… Every other word was verbatim!”

“That’s a big word!” she just continued to mock. “And you even used it right! I’m so proud.”

“You know, if I didn’t love you as much as I do I’d—”

Shea snorted without letting him even finish his sentence, twisting in his arms as she shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t.”

He managed to glare at her for an entire five seconds before his facade cracked and he grinned. “I really wouldn’t,” he agreed, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Her face softened, in a way he was slowly getting used to. “I love you too,” she murmured, although she didn’t really need to. Surprising though it was, he could practically feel how much she loved him when she smiled so warmly at him the way she was.

Just as they both leaned in for a kiss the loud ringing of what was meant to be an emergency phone interrupted them. With a sigh, he quickly pecked her lips then shot her an apologetic look as he clambered to his feet. She was still giving him that same soft look as he rushed across the room to answer, so he figured it may be safe to guess that she wasn’t upset with him.

Before he could even say hello, his mother’s shrill voice was crooning in his ear. “Have my two babies figured out names for their two babies yet?”

He sighed, mouthing, “It’s my mother,” to which Shea only smirked and directed her gaze back to the snow. Of course, she wasn’t surprised about who dared to call them so early in the morning. As much as he loved his mother, her once weekly phone calls had turned into more than three times a day since he’d told her about the twins and he was growing unfortunately tired of talking to her. It hadn’t helped that his mother spent the first three months yelling at him for not inviting her to the wedding. He didn’t dare to mention that they’d had it in a panic less than a day after they’d realized Shea was pregnant.

“Good morning, Mother,” he greeted as politely as possible despite his annoyance. “And no. We’re still trying to narrow it down. But we’re getting closer!” That was a lie, but he hoped that it would dissuade her from trying to give him any more suggestions.

It didn’t.

“What about Petunia?” she asked. He could picture the over-excited grin on her face as if she were standing right before him.

“Mother,” Drew sighed, not sure if he should be annoyed or worried that she was repeating herself. From the corner of his eye, he could see Shea attempting to get off the floor and he rushed back to her to give her a hand.

She smiled at him and popped the last bite of… the very last remaining cinnamon roll into his mouth while - unaffected by what he thought was an obvious lack of interest in her unhelpful suggestions - his mother continued, “Azalea?”

“Mother, please.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Shea whispered, and he couldn’t help but watch her as she walked away. He couldn’t resist smiling as he watched her drag her fingers through the tray, licking up any remaining trace of food and he reminded himself silently that he would have to try making them with strawberry icing for her.

“Marigold?” The squeal that followed made him jerk the phone from his ear and wince in pain. Rubbing his ringing ear he switched the phone to his other hand just in time to hear, “Oh, Drew, Mary Lipsky would be so cute!”

Exasperated beyond measure, he tore his gaze away from Shea’s backside and grumbled, “I am not naming my children after plants.”

“But they could be little twin flowers!”

Lying to his mother for the second time in one short phone call didn’t make him feel particularly good, but it didn’t stop him from pointedly claiming, “I think I hear Shea calling for me, Mother! I have to go now!”

He almost began to cry when even claiming his eight months pregnant wife was calling for him didn’t stop her. “If it’s a little boy you could name him Cedar! Or Cypress. Or Oleander!”

“It’s twins, Mother,” he reminded impatiently. “It might be two little boys. Goodbye!”

He really did feel bad for hanging up, cutting off her farewells, but he was too tired of listening to her incessant rambling to care too much.

Similarly to the way he had been not an hour earlier, Shea was staring at the list hard enough his head ached. “What were your mother’s suggestions this time?” she teased when she saw him walk into the room, and she twirled an uncapped marker between her fingers.

“They were all plant names.”

“Tell me anyway?”

After a moment of annoyed grumbling, he listed off the names, rolling his eyes when she added every single one to the list as if it weren’t tortuously long already. He sidled up behind her again, massaging down her back and hips before letting his hands rest lightly on her stomach, delighting in the slight movement beneath his palms as she continued to twirl the marker and glare at the wall.

He had let his head fall on her shoulder, his face nuzzled against her neck, and his eyes had begun fluttering shut by the time she whispered to him, “You know what? I kinda like Oleander, actually.”

“I do too,” he muttered against her skin, annoyed at himself for letting his mother get in his head. He’d been so confident that they would find names on their own, without anyone else’s help. “Little Olly... We’re not doing it.”

Shea laughed, presumably at how whiny he sounded, and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. “Middle name?”

“That… could work,” he mused as he stood up straighter and moved to face her as they talked. “But we’re not telling my mother!”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you just going to keep our children’s names a secret? Oh don’t pout,” she added as his face fell. “You know I just want to kiss you when you do.”

Grinning, he rocked forward and landed a gentle kiss on her lips, happy to oblige anytime she even thought she might want a kiss from him.

“I kind of like Azalea for a middle name too,” she admitted as he pulled away.

“Well, fine,” he whined, gesturing wildly at the list. “But picking their middle names doesn’t help if they still don’t have first names!”

“How is it that the brilliant Doctor Drakken could name all those schemes and inventions, but now can’t even name his own children?”

He grunted and crossed his arms. “How is it that the great and powerful Shego could fight off teen heroes all day but now can’t even stand up off the floor on her own?”

“I’ve got two six-pound parasites growing in my stomach,” she laughed. “What’s your excuse?��

“Nngh– I love those parasites and their host too much to risk ruining their lives with names that don’t suit them!” He snapped his gaze back to the wall, glaring at the list with growing resentment. “I don’t want them to hate me,” he mumbled after a moment. “Giving them names that they grow up and get made fun of over would be the quickest way to get them to.”

“They’re never going to hate you, Drew,” she assured him, squeezing his hand. “You’re going to be the best dad they could possibly have. Come on, let’s just forget this for a little while.”

Trying not to cry, he let her tug him to the door. “What are you doing?” he asked, giving her a watery smile and pushing his glasses aside to swipe at tears before they fell.

“We should enjoy the snow for a few minutes,” she explained, tugging her coat over her arms. She held up her boots to him, which he slid on her feet and laced up for her before getting himself ready to go outside as well.

“This might be our last childless snow,” he murmured while the two walked out into the haze of gently falling snowflakes. “And I can’t even throw snowballs at you.”

“The twins are on my snowball fight team as soon as they’re old enough!”

“Why do you get them both?”

“I just deserve it. You can have your flower help you.”

“It doesn’t like the cold!”

“Then I guess you’re just gonna lose.” She shrugged nonchalantly at him before turning her gaze up to the sky, opening her mouth to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

He really did love her. Which he supposed explained why he moved closer to whisper in her ear, “Wanna make a deal?”

“I don’t have a soul to sell. You know that.”

He laughed but shook his head. “Whoever picks the names for the twins gets them on their snowball fight team.”

“Oh,” Shea cackled, already turning on her heel. “You’re so on, nerdlinger.”

He followed after her as she walked back into the kitchen, and while she plopped herself down at the table to resume staring at the list, he made himself busy making hot cocoa moo with an extra splash of cinnamon in her mug.

“You know what?” he murmured, three cups of cocoa moo and two bags of popcorn later. His eyes burned and he felt like his brain had turned to liquid inside his head, from doing nothing more than thinking about the list for so long.

“Hmm?” came Shea’s sleepy response, half-asleep with her head on his shoulder.

“I think we should erase the list. Maybe we’ll just know what to name them when we see them. What if we decided on names and then we see our babies and they don’t look like a Rosie or a Cypress?”

“Tell you what, Doc,” she muttered. “I think that’s the first good baby name suggestion you’ve made in two months.”

Despite his objections to her statement, he made quick work of washing the list off the wall. As he turned back to her, a weight lifted off his shoulders despite the fact they never made a decision, he teased, “I suppose you were right, Shea. Lists are lame.”

#drakgo #drakken #shego #shego x drakken #drakken x shego #drakgo fanfic #gofordrakgo #oneshot #List #anon #11 pages #2989 words

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fauveshumankaiju · 5 years ago

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uncle Ni...

He told Ni first.

Actually, he didn’t tell anyone at first. He threw up in the bathroom of the family practice clinic, then sat on the bench in front of the parking lot for an hour before driving to CVS to get mouthwash and splash some water on his face at the drinking fountain outside. After a little bit of vacillating he also grabbed some prenatal vitamins on the way out. If all else failed, he could always take them while not pregnant, after all. Baby vitamins probably wouldn’t hurt adult Rodan.

Then he sat at the beach for another hour, watching the water lap at the sand. It was fall and chilly and overcast, even in Monsuta, which was rarely properly cold.

He thought, for the first time in a while, about his own family. Wondered how they were doing, wherever they were. They didn’t seem to want to have a lot to do with him – he wondered if they would if they knew that he was involved with a foreign billionaire. He wondered if they knew how much he’d changed since he saw them last. Not that he particularly cared to find out.

One hand resting on his stomach, he stared up at the white sky and thought about what kind of a parent he’d make, if he ended up being one. It’d been a month, apparently; he couldn’t remember what he’d done in that past month, but he was a chemist. He handled all kinds of weird teratogens, he’d had a few glasses of wine, he definitely hadn’t taken his prenatal folate supplements. His brain was helpfully providing him with all the weird mutations he’d learned about in his undergrad intro to biochem courses, which really was NOT helping the anxiety. Of course he’d fuck this up before it even started. How was he supposed to know he should be looking out for getting knocked up? He was a man, for god’s sakes, his anatomy was different from most, sure, but he dutifully stuck himself in the ass with a syringe once a month to claim the right to shave, sweat like a stuck hog and, oh, yeah, not get pregnant. Turns out the last purported effect of hormones was false advertising.

After some more staring and shivering in misery, he went home. Home being the Ghidorah’s apartment downtown – at least one of the brothers was bound to be there at any point in time and Rodan had a spare key if they weren’t. Ichi was usually flying around the world or in a conference call; Ni was in and out of town doing his own inscrutable work, but at least San might be there.

I can’t face San, he thought sickly as he locked his bike in the underground garage and keyed in to the elevator. He thought of San’s sharp, gentle face, the boyish joy on it when he found something new and interesting to play with. He would say whatever Rodan wanted him to say - even now that Rodan didn’t know what that would be. He’d bend over backwards to make Rodan happy even if it wasn’t what the Ghidorahs wanted. Rodan would say – “I wanna do this, high speed low drag, let’s have this baby and raise it and be domestic and shit, congrats on your new heir, I guess, I promise I didn’t do this intentionally to trap you and your rich powerful brothers into a relationship with me or something like that,” and San would be game. He could also say “I’m telling you this just to let you know, but there’s no way in hell that I’m gonna let this thing live rent-free in the body I spent my life trying to get, so it’s eviction time.” And San would be game for that, too.

San would be a pretty good dad, Rodan thought. Masochistic tendencies aside he was gentle and attentive to the things he wanted to keep safe. He thought of the Dane bobbing a toddler on his knee while he watched cadaver dissection films and huffed in amusement.

The elevator up to the penthouse apartment had bizarre club-like lighting, low and purple-blue. It stuck out to him right now for some reason. Rodan studied himself in the elevator mirror as it dinged upwards. Small, lean, dressing nicer than he used to in black jeans and a bright button-down but still sporting his old red leather jacket and combat boots. He leaned in closer, staring himself in the eyes, evaluating. The face in the mirror looked back at him, brazen and daring.

30 and still sporting a mohawk. Bitching. Didn’t look like much of a father, though.

Daddy, his mind (un)helpfully supplied.

The elevator opened and he let himself into the one door on the other side of the anteroom. Theirs was the only place on the top floor of the building; it had the best view of the city, the Monsuta bay arcing out into the distance through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, the glinting buildings on view in Ichi’s rarely-used bedroom. Rodan liked the view, but the building itself was always a little cold for his taste.

He kicked off his boots into the hall closet when he got in, jangling his keys as advance warning.

“I’m home!” he called. He’d been out for the past few days and staying overnight at his own apartment, since it was closer to work. San had been bothering him about moving in with them for weeks but Rodan liked to try to preserve this last vestige of independence while he still could – the Ghidorahs were overgenerous with him, but life had always taught Rodan that other people’s kindness came with strings attached.

“On the couch,” Niels called from the long, flat couch in the living room.

Rodan dropped his shopping bag on the counter and joined the middle brother on the couch. Ni was dressed in a devastatingly fashion-forward flightsuit, the top zipped down and tied about his waist over a sleeveless turtleneck. His eyes flicked upwards as Rodan collapsed onto the couch next to him – he didn’t respond, as usual.

“How’s it going?” Rodan ventured. It was hard to tell, with Ni, whether he was in a conversational mood, but it seemed rude not to greet him. Not that the middle Ghidorah ever had any compunction about that.

Ni was on his desk-sized tablet, surrounded by fabric swatches and upholstery books like a king holding a very strange patchwork court. Peeking at the screen on his lap Rodan saw a collage of floor plans and schematics, probably for the Xilien apartment complex that was nearing completion on the south side of Monsuta. Once the building was done, Ni and San would get to work decorating while Ichi took care of the business side of the development business. Ichi didn’t talk about work at home, though, so Rodan’s familiarity with the corporation came mostly from watching Ni fling inspiration images across his tablet screen and fume over comically large paper architecture diagrams.

“Fine,” Ni tapped his pencil against his lips. “We are getting somewhere, finally.”

“Yeah?”

“M-hm. The issue with the climate control – it has all been sorted out. I’m going to start finishing the walls next week.”

“Wow, that’s a quick turnaround time for contracting.”

“Ech, there are only so many painting companies in this town, and they can only refuse so many of our generous offers. Principles, money. No contest.” He sounded satisfied, which explained his unusually effusive mood. After a second, he remembered politeness. “How are you?”

“Pregnant.”

“H-what?”

Rodan tapped himself on the stomach and smiled thinly.

Ni’s eyebrows shot up to his fringe. A moment. He cocked his head owlishly. Rodan pursed his lips and nodded.

“How?”

“Are you asking about the mechanics? Because it’s like-“ Rodan made a circle with one thumb and forefinger and stuck the other pointer finger inside. “-you know..”

“Jesus kristus, stop that!”

“You do know something about sex, right? They had sex ed back in Denmark?”

Ni set his tablet briskly on the coffee table and collected himself for a second. Rodan almost had the good sense to be scared. Ni was normally restrained, cool and aloof, but this wasn’t a normal situation. This was a very Ni-will-lose-his-cool-and-get-real-scary situation.

“They don’t know about it yet,” Rodan supplied quickly. “I don’t know how to tell them. If. I tell them. I don’t need to, I could just take care of it on my own and it won’t be a problem. I thought that one of you should know about it, at least, so you can weigh in on it, since on a molecular level it’s technically genetically your kid too, so you have a say in what happens, and if you’re angry then at least I know Ichi definitely will be to so I can just figure out what to do based on what you do-“

Ni cut him off with a single finger and an icy stare. He’d pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head after rubbing his face.

“... You talk so much.”

“Yeah, bastard, I’m nervous.”

“You think that we’re going to be unhappy about it.”

Rodan exhaled and settled back into the couch. Damn uncomfortable piece of furniture. “Well, yeah. I’m not exactly-“ he gestured at himself “prime 1-percent relationship material.”

Ni didn’t respond, staring at him.

“Not that I think I’m less than you guys, obviously, it’s just – if you had the choice, you probably would have wanted to be tied down to someone else. Someone you could be seen out with and not worry about what some gossip site would say about you slumming with your trashy American boyfriend. Someone Ichi could take to dinner parties in Europe, someone who could take San out every night when he gets into his weird moods, someone you could trust. And this whole thing is just going to tie you down to me, and then I’m going to…” let you down, he thought lamely.

Ni was still staring at him. Rodan swallowed and looked away with weak finality.

In one swift movement the Dane swung over to the far side of the couch, slamming one leg down over Rodan’s lap to straddle him and planting his hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the couch. Rodan cursed and tried to grab his arms to push him off but he got batted away. Fuck, he forgot how strong Ni was. All that construction and jiu jitsu. Well, if he had to die, this wasn’t the worst way to go, strangled by his lovers’ twin brother.

But Ni wasn’t trying to kill him, at least not right now. In fact, it felt almost like he was trying to be gentle, which felt as unnatural as his attempts at speaking Spanish sounded. His grip was soft as he raised a hand, reaching out to touch Rodan’s face, before deciding against it and resting it on his shoulder again. Rodan let out the breath he was holding.

“If they find out, they are going to do everything in their power to convince you to keep them.”

“Why would they do that?” Rodan breathed. Ichi, he meant. San, he couldn’t imagine having a strong opinion on his potential fatherhood.

“Because they’re our blood,” Ni said slowly, looking down at Rodan’s chest. “The thing that separates us from the rest of the world, those crass dumb creatures that we have to deal with outside, is our blood. It ties us together. It makes us who we are. It’s inescapable and irrefutable. And now you share that blood, too. You and the children you’d have are part of our family no matter what. You understand that, Rodan, yes? You are part of our family now. You are Ghidorah.” He clapped Rodan’s cheeks in his hands, part slap and part affectionate tap, like he always did to San. “If you talk about yourself like you did I’ll get very angry with you. You are Ghidorah. Nobody insults Ghidorah, even a Ghidorah.”

“You’re not… mad?”

Ni shrugged, then made a circle with the fingers of one hand and stuck his other hand’s pointer finger in. “I don’t know what else I expected when this started happening.”

“Yeah, well, my bad. I didn’t do my research.”

“Neither did we.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Ni, you’re, like, 99% not the father.”

“Genetically, you said, I might as well be.”

“Well – yeah, you got me there.” Rodan sighed, feeling himself relax. Then, a little more seriously - “So what do you think I should do?”

Ni looked down at him, arms crossed, his face arranged into a carefully neutral mask. “Do whatever you like. Don’t worry about Ichi and San, though. Your children will want for nothing with us as their fathers. Just don’t tell them about your having them right now unless you’re completely sure you want to have the children.”

“Children?” Rodan scoffed. “Plural? No way in hell I’m doing this again. If I’m doing this at all.”

“Oh, of course,” Ni said casually. “They’re going to be twins, at least.”

“Oh! Are they.”

“Yes. They’re Ghidorah.”

“That’s a pretty bold declaration, Doctor Niels.”

“And mark my words, it’s true. We always come in multiples.” Ni swung off of Rodan’s lap and pushed himself back into his couch corner where he stretched himself over the armrest like a cat. Rodan suddenly missed his weight and the spicy smell of his aftershave and he had to mentally slap himself down when he had the split-second urge to go crawl into Ni’s lap. He might be surprisingly cool with being an uncle, but that didn’t mean that Rodan could push the tenuous peace that he’d been trying to build since they’d met.

He rested his head on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Uncle Niels. He’d probably give the best presents. Ni was up all night most nights anyway, he could feed the kid if they woke up. Probably not with the rest of the messy childcare business, but Rodan and San could probably take care of that, and Ni might even end up liking the kid once they were old enough to hold a conversation.

Oh, god, here he was thinking like he’d already made some kind of decision. What would Mothra do in this situation? She was the most has-her-shit-together person that he knew. She’d probably make a list of pros and cons, and then Goji would encourage her to stop thinking so hard about it and go with her gut, and then – yeah, not helpful.

Who was he kidding? He was Rodan Rodan. He lived his life on the razor’s edge. He burned down a building and got himself tied up in a relationship with the violent-minded billionaires who owned it. Equations were for the lab, and even then, Rodan did his best work when he forgot about measurements and mathematics and went with his gut. That’s what got him here, a priceless apartment in a beachside city with a job he loved and a life that never stopped being interesting and terrifying and beautiful. With three interesting and terrifying and beautiful partners who might consider staying with him here for a little while.

How do you feel, right now? He asked himself. Ni’s stylus tapped; the heating had turned on. Outside the clouds were boiling but the two of them were safe together, peaceful.

He didn’t know where he’d be in eight months, how he’d feel then, but right now? He smiled. He’d go with his gut.

#pregnancy ment #next time: Ichi has a wholeass breakdown #RODAD!#fauve writes #i just wanted to write some damm daophin backstory #Ni is not the MOST in character but i just drew this out and wanted to get through it! nd on to the good development!#rodorah #ni #writing

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sternerstufftoys · 5 years ago

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The Old One

As Blurr was 'The Fast One', so Kup is 'The Old One'. That's pretty much all he is, start to finish, A to Z. Kup is old, almost to the point of parody. In the days of G1 cartoons and Marvel comics he was already pitched as the oldest of all the Autobots, which was a) a bit of a shame for Ironhide who had already cornered the 'crotchety old geezer' market, but who cares I guess as he was dead by then, and b) rather an odd trait for a newcomer. But IDW managed to push his age into the realms of outright hyperbole, having him spend bazillions of years in alternate dimensions just to hammer home the fact that Kup is immeasurably, impossibly old. In a race that is effectively immortal anyway, this is somewhat redundant.

Still, in the season 3 cast, as with Blurr, Arcee, Perceptor and all the others, it helped him stand out. Being old was Kup's thing so that kids would be able to play out his character all the more easily. Most kids know at least a couple of old people, so Kup as a character was familiar and recognisable. Not like, for example, Bluestreak; if a 5-10 year old child can accurately and easily roleplay intense PTSD masked with false cheerfulness and bravado, then someone ought to be asking questions.

At first I wasn't sure what to make of Kup's Titans Return toy. As it came out of the packet it seemed a little lanky, a little tall for a cranky old geezer. But then, clumping the double guns onto his back like smokestacks (flip them around for a neat jetpack), hunching him over slightly and bending his knees a bit and... there he was. Grumpy as the day is long: my Kup.

Once again, Takara went out and did a fancier cartoon-accurate deco with rounder arms and a show-accurate face, but blech. Boring! Give me my weird shiny teal grandpa any day, his face all a-scowlin', his clumpy great fists a-clenched. As with Blurr, Hasbro aimed for the platonic ideal of Kup, rather than some guy off a dodgy 80s cartoon.

Happily, Kup's transformation is one of many in TR that just blows your socks off every time. While it doesn't quite reach the heady heights of Triggerhappy or Topspin, being largely based around manipulating thing panels, everything moves in fun, unexpected ways. The legs unfold and wrap around the side of the vehicle in a totally unique way, and the cockpit sits at an angle with everything still clipping together. And like the best Transformers, Kup is just as much fun in alt mode as robot.

I remember being highly sceptical of G1 Kup as a kid, despite not owning the toy. Both his name and vehicle mode just made no sense to me. Despite my brother's explanation that he was a picKUP truck, the alt mode was just a weird lump of nothing as far as I could tell. It looked half-finished, like there was supposed to be a trailer hanging off the back there. The TR toy is pretty much the same, so I'd be all ready to hate on it again... except for how the weapons mount at the back. With tiny pegs for Titan Masters to stand on, the truck bed becomes a battle-ready combat deck. It's inspiring, with guns facing backwards and operated by tiny little people, Kup's ready to engage in epic chase scenes while his buddies fire back at their pursuers. And yes, this makes Kup one of only a few TR toys that can interact with more than one Titan Master at once.

If I'm being finicky I guess I could complain that getting his own titan master to sit in the cockpit is a bit of an arseache, but this is a nitpick. Kup is a worthy addition to the cause, not graceful but a jolly good time. And if you're good, he might just sneak you an energon treat. Thanks grandpa!

#transformers #maccadam #toy review #kup #titans return #season 3 autobots

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bulbasaur-propaganda · 6 years ago

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Inspired by the dumb kids who think we only pick Bulbasaur for the difficulty setting and not for the appealing or stats. Bulbasaur isn’t even the Easy Mode (that’s Squirtle), and for some reason, it’s ok for them to pick Cyndaquil and the other fire starters who are considered the Easy mode, but pick Chikorita the hard mode of Gen2 and they will criticize you...

- comic artist is False Knees / Twitter.

#pokemon #bulbasaur #charmander #chikorita

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cannibalisticshadows · 6 years ago

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Nightcall (1/2)

Inspired and named after the song “Nightcall” by Kavinsky

Rating: T

Pairing: Megamind/Roxanne

Tags: Angst with a happy ending.

Summary: Megamind can’t take it anymore. He has to tell her.

(ao3 link) | (part 2)

He’s sick.

It’s shameful how badly the words sit on his tongue, begging as if it’s life or death to be said. And it’s sick. So, so sick. Evil gods above, common sense screamed that everything about this was wrong on a million levels. Though “common sense” never applied to him much, this was a boundary even he was unwilling to cross. Their relationship was professional!

But how can he help it when he sees her walk away, hips swaying side to side like a metronome that seems to beat to his heart. He wants to cry out from the tugging at his soul the farther she is from him.

So, he supposes that’s why he’s always taking her. Mr. Tighty-Whities goes out and entertains hundreds of woman, but there’s only one woman that’s worth the effort.

These day’s he’s taking her more frequently. Half-assed schemes be damned, all he cares now is seeing her face again, right in front of him and not on television. To hear her voice being spoken just for him, tones low and seductive and just for him.

Temptress...

He can’t even...

He digs his fingernails into his palms so hard that even through the kid leather it hurts. He can feel it behind his gums, unsoothable even with his own tongue, which drools with the mere thought of being allowed to touch her in the most chase of ways.

The need to have her to himself has become overpowering. He writes out absurdly poor or well-thought-out plans just for the sake of telling Minion to fetch Ms. Ritchi. Once every-other week has become weekly.

Weekly incidents have become twice, or even thrice, a week.

“Are you okay?” She asks suddenly, tied to her chair and being quieter than usual. No. No that’s not right. She’s supposed to be talking about the plan. Taunting him. Bantering with him. Why isn’t she!? "You kinda seem... tired."

He nervously runs his hands down the crappy built control system of today’s Evil Scheme. It’s cold here, biting at his exposed skin, but the heat of his desperate, sick want keeps him heated. Bitting into his lower lip, he hunches over the buttons and knobs with his back turned to her. But he watches her from the little mirror he put beside him.

“I am ecstatic,” he says with false, half-mad cheer. “Today is the day Metro Man will die.”

“Wow,” she says mildly. She pauses. “Never hear a death threat before.” Despite her tone they both know it’s true. He usually says defeat. Is she frightened for once? Nowadays he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He bites harder, this time on the tip of his tongue.

He tastes metallic, and it burns his throat.

“Just shut up and be a damsel for once?” He sneers, baring his teeth and turning around to show her. He’s angry at himself, not her.

But it makes Roxanne jolt in her seat, comically surprised. Then she goes still, eyes wide with... Something. He can't read her. Always guessing, with her. She doesn’t respond, but shrinks a bit in her chair, glowering at him with suspicion.

It’s a weird feeling to drawl out this reaction from her.

~.~.~

He’s becoming more desperate to help his vice. Withdrawal starts the second Wayne throws him into prison, keeping him quiet and brewing over the duration of his stay. The guards notice; they steer clear of him.

No one is surprised when he breaks out not twenty-four hours later, snarling at the one puny guard who dares to raise a gun at him when he comes charging out.

Minion, barely given the warning he’s breaking out on his own, manages to catch him a few miles away from the prison he’s running from.

He’s sick. Still sick. Still wants to barrel himself through this confusing life with the little bits of the drug that’s pretty much the only thing keeping him afloat. An unquenchable hunger that has nothing to do with food, and it gnaws at him like a flesh-eating parasite. And it’s so, so wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be physically shaking everything she moans his name in tiredness at yet another kidnapping. Shouldn’t be crying into his pillow at night because he wants to hear her voice outside of the television.

Kidnappings are more frequent. At the third kidnapping this week, Roxanne is barely awake which slightly pisses him off. This is a two-person job. He can’t just broadcast their trysts with her snoozing!!! He wants to grab this little woman by the shoulders and shake her—gently—because he just wants to talk to her.

Curse his alien psychology. Because he damn well knows what is happening to him. He knows why he’s resorted to spending more time in his room, biting at his own flesh because he can’t have what he wants. No. What he needs. Minion is starting to catch on, a bit, and Megamind cannot let that happen. No. No he doesn’t feel anything more than an annoyance for Ms. Ritchi, Minion! I am not falling into the same cycle my ancestors did!

He has to convince himself that his tone is somewhat convincing. Because it isn’t.

Tonight he’s determined to do it better. Today’s kidnapping ended before it even began, thanks to a sloppily build machine. It ended with a bitter, nasty remark at her choice in dress. He feels like a boy on schoolgrounds, tugging at the cute girl’s hair to get her attention.

But anyway. He fixed the machine and he demands a do-over. Tonight. At this very moment.

She’s at home, according to one of his spy-bots. not gonna admit that he’s so wretched over his own alien heart he’s started to spy on her in an indirect way.

He’s already on his hoverbike, because Minion, bless him, finally passed out from being worked too hard. He’s getting really close to Roxanne’s place when—

“Oh, no you don’t,” says a disapproving, gruff voice.

Snatched out of the air, his bike’s handles caught in the same beefy hands used to grab his collar, Megamind finds himself dangling and flailing his limbs.

Fucking Wayne. Fucking fucking fucking Wayne. What does he have to do at this time of night around Roxanne’s place, the bloody creep.

Oh. No. Megamind’s the creep, he viciously realizes, eyes ablaze with fury. Wayne’s the perfect boyfriend. Fuck him, Megamind weeps internally.

“Listen, little buddy,” the meat-head starts, pissing off the other alien even more. “You’ve kidnapped Roxie four times this week. What’s your problem?”

“You are my problem,” he hisses vehemently. “Let go!”

“No,” Wayne sighed, flying off closer to her apartment. Still spitting curses, but also rather confused, because why bring him to his destination when he was usually dropped off at the prison when caught? “You need to see this.”

Wayne drops him on the balcony without delicacy, making Megamind hand on his side with the air sucked out of him. Huffing, he stands and wipes dust off him. He breathes in, catching the faint vegetation scent of her potted plants.

His long-time enemy lands beside him on his white-clad toes, staring inside of the glass doors. Peeved, he meets where his gaze lands.

It’s Roxanne. Yes, she is home, and not at all conscious.

She’s still dressed in the same outfit from earlier; a sleeveless, deep wine-red—almost black—dress that flared at the knees, hugging her hips and derrière like a godforsaken glove. She looked good enough to drink. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, earlier,

That could have been a terrible, terrible tease if she hadn’t spent the duration of their short encounter today falling asleep. Why was she so tired lately?

She’s conked out on her red couch, one leg hiked up over the back of the couch, the other hanging off with her heal barely hanging onto her big toe. Her hair is completely disheveled, her mouth parted open as she drools slightly onto the couch’s fabric. One of her arms is curled up behind her hair, with the other hanging off the side of the couch.

And with that hand she’s gripping onto a bottle of wine. Her mascara has smeared down her face like black veins.

“You need to back off a bit,” Wayne said, his heroism voice gone and replaced with something that actually sounded human. It made things a hundred times worse because Megamind knew what his problem was.

He stood and stared at his poor Roxanne. Why. What the fuck is wrong with him!?

Wayne grabbed him by the collar before he could linger another moment, and he’s being thrown back into prison, to the bewilderment of the Warden. Can’t blame the old man; everyone could see Megamind was finally losing his marbles. He could see the thoughts in their eyes.

But as he sat in his cell, the tv on but muted, familiar orange jumpsuit scratchy against his sensitive blue skin, he thought over this hell of a month. He was sick of this. Sick of his wretched alien secret of this… need.

It should be below him. It should be abolished from his DNA; a trait his pre-evolved ancestors needed for… things. He was a scientist; an evil genius; a lone wolf. He shouldn’t be made weak by the simple, kind smile of a blue-eyed reporter.

Yet he was.

And he knew what he had to do.

Before it destroyed him.

#megamind #nightcall #song inspired #megarox #avi writes

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mantlehold · 2 years ago

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* REGINA’S VERSES.

( more details above. )

riverdale verse (pre / post timejump) — canon divergent portrayal. takes elements from s1, s2 and minor from s3; the rest is canon divergent. post timejump regina does not take over the car dealership from her father but she sells it off and cuts off contact from her father. retires from her professional football career due to a knee injury and returns to her brief modelling career before moving back to riverdale to take care of her mother.

archie comics verse — takes elements from new riverdale (2015) and reggie and me. still a work in progress. but regina is at times a little toned down than her counterpart reggie who is a little more over the top and vicious compared to her and she isn’t as insanely jealous as reggie is as she sees it as pointless and she doesn’t sabotage moose and midge’s relationship despite having a massive crush on midge. but she is still just as chaotic and retains her thrill seeking, trouble making and flirty qualities and hidden depths of kindness. like in the comics, she is neglected and ignored by her parents, especially her father.

the hunger / vampronica verse — inspiration from jughead: the hunger and vampronica comics. reggie in the vampronica comic was turned into a moroi vampire by ivan, a strigoi vampire so naturally, this will apply to regina. regina, now a moroi vampire is struggling to adapt to her vamprisim and thirst for blood and refuses to drink from her fellow townsfolk, sneaking into the local hospital to steal bloodbags so she can satiate her thirst. she also parties a lot more to deal with this and her life at home.

fandomless verse — a college student or a working model who isn’t as much as a party animal as she was back in high school. she’s either studying her gender studies major or is travelling all over the globe for her modelling shoots. she’s very sociable and friendly but still closed off emotionally.

famous / actress verse — kang hye rin. an actress and model who goes by ‘regina’ for her stage name, she keeps her private life separate from her public persona and life. known as an up and coming sapphic icon on the big and sliver screen with a charismatic and flirty personality, she has been rumoured to be a womaniser by the tabloids (which is false).

gumiho/kumiho verse — a mischievous nine tailed fox from the myths who can transform into a young women, mainly to seduce men and eat their hearts/or livers. and regina mainly does this to men who have committed crimes against women, children and the vulnerable. she has a very ‘detached to life’ quality to her and doesn’t exactly care about humans and their morals; but she does occasionally get attached to women and fools around here and there aka sleeping around without getting attached in fear of feeling more ‘human’ if she pursued anything romantic.

drummer / band!au verse — drummer of the indie rock band ‘vampire panic’ and occasional vocalist. streams on twitch in her spare time when the band isn’t going on tour or writing music together when a new album is coming up.

#( * verses — i'm reggie prime baby. )#oh booooy.

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a-robin-among-thorns · 7 years ago

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Too Old For Your Age

Part 2: By Torchlight

Original inspiration post, Part 1

I can’t really call these drabbles anymore since I’ve started playing with an overarching theme and they appear to keep getting longer. Either way, my sincere apologies that this took so long. Life, school and good ole fashioned writes block, you know the song and dance. That said, part 3 WILL be much sooner I promise.

One last thing, Chise is 19 in this story. I put that in context clues in the first part but felt it might be best to state that out right.

Word Count: 3,537

Dinner proceeded without much grandeur, although it felt ever so slightly different sitting right next to Elias.

Feeling somewhat guilty watching Ruth placed alone at the start of dinner, Chise had almost contemplated returning her chair to its original side. That was until a sharp ‘Don’t even think about it.’ flashed through her mind followed by an almost imperceptible smirk from her familiar.

It was supper like any other, vegetable stew, lemon and garlic chicken breast, baked potatoes and all with a generous serving of bread, butter, and honey, but it had been peppered by little pats on her shoulders or fingers occasionally curled around an unoccupied hand. She even found herself settling her palm on his forearm absentmindedly. Until she realized what she was doing and suddenly became very invested in buttering her bread.

‘You keep that up and you’ll end up with an entire stick of butter on there.’

She sighed and resolutely tore a buttered end between her teeth.

Ruth snorted around shoving half of a potato down his gullet. ‘Why is this making you upset? It’s not as if you don’t hold hands and such with him constantly nowadays.’

‘I’m not upset!’ She felt so strangely defensive and she couldn’t fathom why. ‘It’s just…that’s usually, because he started it or he’s upset and I want to make him feel better. Just doing it without a reason... feels greedy.’

‘Why? Elias does it all the time to you just because, and I know you don’t mind. Why do you think he would?’

...that’s different.

Ruth disguised an eye roll with a glance to the counter. ‘If you say so.’

Once supper was finished, Chise helped Silver clear the table and was about to make her way for her evening bath when she came across the party favor bags on the counter. Should she try and come up with something else to do this night? Or would that be too stifling?

‘As shocking as it might sound he does enjoy doing things with you.’ Chise shot Ruth a glare who answered with a scoff.

She let out a small sigh, grabbed her bag and made way for her room.

As her hair dried from her bath, she emptied the contents of the little party favor onto her bed for a better look. The crayons were nowhere to be seen, likely given a more permanent home by Silky. Two Little plastic dinosaurs came from the bag. They were cute, but Chise couldn’t think of anything to do with them. Lastly was the paper book, upon closer inspection; a comic book. It was rather small, apparently, a sample size specifically to be given out at parties. On its cover was a boy in a red and black striped jumper and a black furred animal, both wore mischievous grins.

‘Dennis the Menace and Gnasher...’ She read.

Her mind briefly flashed to a night years ago where once again she had been unable to sleep thanks to an intrusive imp taking residence on her futon. Unaware of her plight, her cousin lay on his belly, a sheet pulled over his head while he read his manga by a flashlight.

Well...he does likes to read before bed anyway.

Her slippers quickly rapped down the stairs before briefly pausing in the foyer adjoining the kitchen and living room. She could hear Silver Lady still rummaging lightly in the kitchen before she slipped in.

“Silver,” Chise called lightly gaining the brownie’s attention, “I was wondering...do we have a torchlight anywhere?”

Silver cupped her chin between her thumb and forefinger in brief thought before putting down the bowl she had been washing and moving toward the counter. With a light hum, she opened a drawer and pulled out a short cylinder, handing it to Chise delicately. It was certainly an old torch, bearing slightly tarnished silver casing and a large convex bulb. Yet Chise always found any ‘modern’ technology housed in the old manor to be amusing and charming.

Chise smiled fondly and hugged the torch to her chest. “Thanks, Silver, I’ll take good care of it.” Silver nodded and returned to her work.

Steeling herself with a quick breath, Chise entered the living room where Elias had retired for the evening in his lounge chair. He was the very picture of a scholarly gentleman, One elbow propped with a lazy grace against the chair arm and his muzzle was buried in a book with a title she couldn’t read. And here she was in her pajamas with a comic book.

She suddenly felt very foolish and tried to retreat when he gazed upward at the soft footfalls of his apprentice. Crap. Caught. He cocked his head curiously, waiting for her to speak.

She sighed. No turning back now. “Elias? Are you doing anything important?”

“Not particularly, why?”

“Well...I was wondering if you’d like to try another childhood activity with me?” She was grateful that both of her hands were filled preventing her far too frequent fidgeting. “It’s not hard and since you usually read before bed I thought you might like it. But you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

He marked his page and closed the book with a light thump, giving her his full attention. “Of course I’d like to. What are we doing?”

“Um...I thought we could read this comic together before we go to bed.”

“That sounds nice.” He uncrossed his long legs and started for the couch when Chise interjected.

“Actually! I was...um thinking...we could read in your room? There was one other part to this...” she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Of course we can. Just let me have a few minutes to change to nightwear.”

He strode up the stairs, leaving Chise in the living room. She could mentally feel Ruth chastising her for being needlessly awkward but chose to ignore it. She followed into his room shortly where Elias sat in his dark blue pajamas on the edge of the bed waiting for her. His dressed down state had a calming effect on her nerves and she smiled a bit more confidently.

“Could you stand for a moment?” He complied.

Grabbing the heavy comforter, she began tugging the blankets, moving to tuck them on the headboard. After the ends of the blankets were successfully curled around the top and bottom of the bed, she took one of Elias’ large pillows and propped the bottom end of the blankets against it. Lastly, she took her own tiny pillow to prop a small opening on the side of the bed. Comic and torch in hand, Chise wiggled into the little doorway she had made that was just big enough for her to crawl through. Settling herself against the headboard, she saw Elias peeking through the entrance looking uncertain but amused. Grinning, she patted the mattress in invitation.

He struggled to maneuver his head through the entrance and almost succeeded before his horn caught on the comforter. The fort came down with a rush of air as Chise yelped. She could hear Elias shaking his head free as she pulled the blankets off. Once untangled, he glanced up at Chise sheepishly, muttering an apology.

“No, its fine, this was a silly idea anyway.” She said with a chuckle.

Elias took one of the blankets in hand, peering thoughtfully.

Nettles in the shadow...False holly in a ring...

The blanket in his hand snaked upward before unraveling and melting into a dome encasing the entire bed. The only light came from Elias’ ember eyes, which gazed at Chise expectantly.

“How is this?”

She smiled, fondly remembering this a similar barrier that had shielded her from storms. “Perfect, we probably should have started with this.”

She clicked the torch on, bathing the two of them in a gentle yellow light. Elias propped his remaining pillow against the headboard before sitting cross-legged against it. He glanced at Chise and patted his thigh. Chise couldn’t help but scoff at his forward yet somehow polite invitation. After she had crawled into his lap, Elias snuggly wrapped his arms around Chise’s waist sneaking in a quick nuzzle to her cheek. Chise liked to fancy herself used to his affection, yet it could still put a nervous flutter in her belly from time to time.

“So what are we reading?” From her seat in his lap, Chise could feel Elias’ every word rumble through her body.

Still gripping the torch in her left hand, Chise arranged the comic book across her knees. Elias dipped his head against her shoulder for a closer vantage. His eye bobbed like a red firefly in his dark socket, first down at the open book then back to Chise.

“I’ve seen this strip before, although I’ve never actually read it.”

“Really?” He nodded lightly so as not to jostle her shoulder.

“It’s been around for over half a century and appears in the newspaper occasionally. Oddly enough, a strip of the same name came out in America around the same time.”

“Huh, how funny.” She wondered to herself how much he knew of America. She had only vague knowledge of the new world but would like to visit if given the chance.

“I hear comics in Japan are laid out a bit differently.” He stated curiously.

She thought for a moment. “They are, most of them are in black and white. And the panels go left to right instead of right to left.”

“Why is that?”

Chise couldn’t help but grin at the unfiltered interest in his voice. Despite the unhappy memories of her homeland, she did still foster a fondness for her culture and enjoyed sharing little bits of it with Elias. Ever eager to learn he always seemed receptive to her little vignettes. He’d even expressed interest in learning Japanese. They had agreed that it would be a venture better suited for winter when they would have a bit more time on their hands while the garden slept.

“Because Japanese is written vertically from right to left. Unlike English which is written horizontally from left to right. So it makes sense that the panels are laid out in the same direction the sentences are read.”

“Ah, and the color?”

“Well, they’re usually written by only one person and the come out pretty often. Black and white makes it quicker to do and less expensive.” She had seen a few American comics in libraries and was awestruck by the expanse of color.

“Did you ever read them as a child?”

“Once or twice. I liked Doraemon.” Although she was a tad uncomfortable with how closely she resembled the bumbling boy Nobita.

“Let’s buy a copy next time we’re out then.”

She shifted a bit to fit more comfortably against Elias, who fully settled his large head against her shoulder, and began to read the thin book out loud. Despite her best efforts, reading English was something Chise still struggled with from time to time. But she had found reading out loud with Elias occasionally to be handy practice for not only for reading but her pronunciation as well. Tonight she put a little extra effort in making the words on the page lively through dramatic flourish and character voices. The comic was colorful with expressive silly art. Its humor was a bit on the crude boyish side, but she found herself smiling at the troublemaking antics. Elias even uttered a chuckle at the ornery boy sawing a table in half because he was bored.

About five minutes in, a very large, and obvious in hindsight, a flaw in the plan presented itself. The book was a collection of short strips, reminding her somewhat of 4-koma manga, and was, overall, about ten pages long. Even with both of the sample comics from both her and Elias’ bags, the pages had been read from cover to cover and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. She placed the thin pages on her lap in defeat.

“That was...really short. Sorry, I should have waited till I had a longer one.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He paused in thought for a moment. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

He withdrew his right hand, with very noticeable reluctance, and traced a rectangle in the air with his forefinger. He stuck his hand through the shape he had made and quickly retracted bringing a tan book in tow. Chise took it in her hands as he lowered it to her lap. On the cover were illustrations in green ink of a man and woman in Victorian garb surrounded by three children in nightgowns and a large dog wearing a floppy bonnet sitting between them. On the left of the title stood a man in a long coat and hat sneering down at the children. On the right, a girl with feathers in her hair held a hatchet. Resting on the title with his arms draped over it lazily, a boy with an almost fae-like disposition in his features smiled at the scene below.

“Peter and Wendy by J.M. Barrie.” Chise read with intrigue.

Elias’ chin bobbed slightly against her shoulder as he resettled his arm around her waist. “You might also know it as ‘Peter Pan’. It is my understanding that this story was first a stage play later transcribed into a novel.”

“There’s a film based on it too. I think I saw a bit of it once in a daycare.” She turned the book over, feeling the slightly cracked spine and edges against the pads of her fingers.

“Is this an original copy?”

“Yes, I received it as payment from a colleague in London about a century ago, when it was still new. Silver likes to have up and coming literature on the living room shelves when the chance arrives.”

Ah, so those were Silver’s collection. Chise had thought it a little odd that Elias had taken to collecting poetry and fiction for decoration in the main room. Although she often found him leafing through the pages when there were no matters or orders pressing on their necks. He may not have started the collection but he appeared to appreciate it.

“Have you read it before?”

“I’ve skimmed the pages but not thoroughly. There are many like it in the living room, but I had heard it was undignified for grown humans to indulge in stories for children.”

She often had to remind herself that despite the confidence in which he went about his actions, Elias was very worried about how he appeared to others. Much like she was. “Did that bother you, being seen as undignified I mean?”

He was silent for a moment, as he often was when he searched for words to give meaning to the uncertainty floating in his chest.

“I suppose it did at the time. I was- what did you call it? Self-conscious about how I was viewed. I didn’t want to give anyone any more reason to stare at me than they already did. But over time I came to realize that people with preformed opinions would think what they would regardless of what I did, so I might as well do as I pleased.”

Chise considered this. She had dealt with preformed opinions as long as she could remember but her approach had always been to be as subservient as possible in hope that she would at least be tolerated. The idea that she didn’t owe some kind of apology for taking up space or causing trouble was still one she was unused to. That she could live in and act in any such way simply because she wanted to.

“That said,” She was pulled out of her brief contemplation by Elias readjusting his position against the pillow “this is one indulgence hadn’t considered revisiting in quite some time. I’m rather eager to find out what it holds.”

Smiling, Chise leaned her cheek against the row of sharp teeth lining Elias’ jaw. Elias’ appreciative hum rumbled through her back and shoulders as he returned the gesture.

“Let’s find out then.”

They decided it would be best to trade off reading, Chise taking the job as narrator and any female characters while Elias took the rest. Chise had a little trouble with the slightly outdated English diction, but Elias was patient in explaining anything unclear to her. Before long they were engrossed in the tale of the boy who refused to grow up.

Chise enjoyed the quaint attitude the book had toward its outlandish whimsy. She laughed a bit at the scene of Wendy recovering from a bullet while a house was built around her, saying it reminded her of her long rest before meeting Titania and Oberon. Elias mentioned the several cases where the book’s depiction of magic to be intriguing particularly the gold pixie dust. He said that might explain why he had heard tell of aerials insisting to human children that they could fly if they just grasped a bit of the light they left as they flew.

They hadn’t planned on finishing the novella in its entirety that night, yet at some time near three in the morning, Chise closed the book without needing to mark it. She rubbed her eyes with her palm a taking a long yawn. She muttered pardon me around her droopy eyes before noticing the Elias had stiffened in his crisscross position, no longer resting his head on her shoulder but staring out at nothing.

“Elias, is something wrong? Did you like the story?”

“Nothing is...wrong and I liked it...except maybe the ending?” The question in his tone seemed aimed at himself rather than anyone listening.

Chise shifted, setting aside the torch and book so she could hold his hand as she settled against his chest. His free hand found her shoulder, rubbing it absently as he stretched out into a more comfortable position that they could fall asleep in. Chise felt the pent-up tension in his frame ease just a bit.

“What didn’t you like?”

“When Wendy and the lost boys returned to London but Peter chose to stay in Neverland, I felt uneasy. And then again when he returned years later and felt betrayed that Wendy had grown and married even though he had been given every chance to stay with her. It felt...familiar but in an uncomfortable way.”

Chise drew another yawn trying to fight the fluttering in her eyes.

“I don’t know if there’s a specific name for that feeling, empathy? Nostalgia maybe?” She shrugged “but I think you saw a bit of yourself in Peter and what he ended up doing felt scary because it felt like something you have done or might do?” What a shameful teacher she was! Elias was being open and honest while she couldn’t keep her eyes open!

He hummed. “That might be it.” He said flatly.

He was very scared to admit it, but in addition to what he had confessed to Chise, there had been one scene in particular that sent ice down his spine. When Peter had flown ahead to London, trying to bar the window and prevent Wendy from leaving Elias had thought of how he had almost lost the love of his bride through no fault but his own. He had very nearly been the boy flying at the window sill, watching in hurt and betrayal as his Wendy formed a life without him.

He gripped her shoulder a bit tighter.

“In some ways you are a bit like Peter, unstuck in time I mean.” Her blinks we’re getting much longer as she continued. “But Peter refused to grow up, even when given the chance. You really don’t give yourself enough credit sometimes.” She was rambling a bit, her words considerably less guarded in her half asleep state. “Anytime you do something wrong you always admit it and I’ve seen you grow from it. Even this, I mean yeah we’re technically indulging in childhood but not because we don’t want to grow up. But because growing up too soon took childhood from us and kept us from growing properly.” Elias noticed that Chise was including herself in this observation and wondered at it. Perhaps it was simple drowsiness. But perhaps not.

Chise rested her cheek against his chest, “We’re not in Neverland anymore.” Her weight went slack against him as her eyes sealed shut like a flower closing its bloom.

Elias quietly watched her shoulders rise and fall as light snores whistled through her loosely parted lips. He wasn’t sure he understood everything she had meant, or if Chise had even understood while sleep was setting in her, but felt comforted by her easy assurance. If she thought he was different from Peter Pan, he would believe her. He had learned that her intuition was right far more often than it was wrong.

He released the spell holding the quilted dome overhead and it floated on top of them before wrapping them up in warmth. Something caught his eye on the right of the bed and he shifted carefully to grasp it.

Elias was very quiet, except for the occasional chuckle, so as not to wake his Chise while he thumbed through the comic one more time before bed.

#the ancient magus bride #mahou tsukai no yome #mahoutsukai no yome #elias ainsworth #chise hatori #elias x chise #chise x elias #robinthorn #fan fiction #fan fic #stormy writes #too old for your age #Evidently I can't just write simple fluff I have to inject feels into everything blah!#this one is kinda all over the place so I hope it comes across as coherent

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loadsuperior898 · 3 years ago

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Crimebustersthe Creative Archive

Meera Borwankar JCP, Mumbai and head of crime branch

Crime Busters Wiki

Earn 125 points on every ticket you buy. Rack up 500 points and you'll score a $5 reward for more movies.

The Kickstarter campaign for the first issue of The Crimebusters is complete, and was a rousing success. Thanks so much to everyone who supported it! Im really looking forward to sending out the comic and hearing what you all think. And Im hard at work already on issue #2, so Ill certainly be sha.

She made history on July 21, 2004, when she took charge of Mumbai?s famed crime branch to become the first woman ever to head the department, which has to contend with, among other things, one of the world?s most organised mafias. The 46-year-old mother of two teenage sons pipped Arup Patnaik, special IG of the Special Reserve Force, and K.L. Prasad, an IG at the state police headquarters, to the post. Borwankar is known as one of the toughest officers Maharashtra has had ? her bosses, subordinates and the criminals she has tackled will heartily vouch for that. During her stint with the state Crime Investigation Department from 1993-95, one of the important cases she investigated was the infamous Jalgaon sex scandal in which local politicians were accused of duping young girls with false promises of jobs and loans. For her work, Borwankar has received the President?s Medal for meritorious service in 1997, apart from the Police Medal and the Director General?s Insignia. Educational high point? She has studied policy analysis in law enforcement at the University of Minnesota in the US.

G. Aswati ASP, Gadchiroli

When asked about how a woman police officer can make a difference in the lives of ordinary women, Aswati replies, ?A woman is seated in front of me right now. She is telling me about things in her life that she can never tell a male police officer?. Aswati (seen here with her husband C. Dorje) emphasises that women will certainly make a difference as far as crimes against women go. She may be the daughter of acclaimed Malayalam filmmaker Adoor Gopalakrishnan, but her aspirations have little to do with art. Known as an officer of integrity, she belongs to the 2000-batch of Assam cadre and was posted in Assam before being transferred to Maharashtra as assistant superintendent of police of the Naxal-infested Gadchiroli region.

Made in Maharashtra: Maharashtra has in fact a high number of women police officers compared to other states. Apart from Borwankar and Aswati, the state police has Sridevi Goyal, special IG, railways; Rashmi Shukla, deputy IG, prisons; Archana Tyagi, superintendent of police, Ratnagiri district; Maria Fernandes who is posted as deputy commissioner of police, headquarter-II, Mumbai police; Supriya Patil-Yadav, DCP, state intelligence department in the state police headquarter in Mumbai, deputy inspector general of police (prisons), superintendent of Arthur Road jail, Swati Sathe; and deputy commissioner (traffic) Pradnya Saravade. Saravade works as the deputy commissioner of the social service branch which falls under the direct supervision of Borwankar. As DCP in-charge of the port zone, she had unearthed a racket of exotic foreign-made cars being imported into India through corrupt port officials.

Blog Archive 2020 (152) July (25) June (30) May (31) April (30). Picturescape biology. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

Damayanti Sen DCP, DD, Calcutta

On the phone Damayanti Sen, deputy commissioner of police (special), detective department, Calcutta, sounds as no-nonsense a person as she later transpires to be. She doesn?t mind interviews, she says, provided the talk revolves around her ? no personal questions, please! When you see Damayanti Sen (left), sitting in her large Lal Bazaar detective department room, she looks incredibly young, a tiny figure in her large straight-backed leather chair. But she exudes self-confidence. Because she doesn?t think that one?s gender makes any difference to the job at hand. Not in her profession and not in any other. ?No, I don?t think that women are better or worse off in a job. The only reason people ask a lot of questions related to my gender, is because there are fewer women in my profession now than men. But as that changes, people will stop being so interested.? Sen did her bachelors and masters in economics from Jadavpur University, both with a first class first. She took her IPS exams in 1996 and says she just happened to drift into the profession. She is married and her husband is in teaching.

Kanchan Chowdhury DGP, Uttaranchal

The country got its first woman director-general of police with Kanchan Chowdhury taking over as the head of the force in Uttaranchal since last year. Chowdhury wants to do ?something concrete for the women of Uttaranchal? and is planning to set up counselling centres in every district, not only in Uttaranchal but in the entire country. ?These centres could provide shelter, counselling, rehabilitation and other needs of oppressed and depressed women,? she elaborates. When asked how she felt that about being the new DGP of Uttaranchal and commanding a force of so many men, she says, ?Nothing special. But being the head of the police force, I shall see that my command is obeyed in letter and spirit.?

Chowdhury is, interestingly, the inspiration behind the Eighties? TV serial on a woman cop, Udaan.

Kanwaljeet Deol JCP, Delhi

As joint commissioner of police, Delhi headquarters, she has reduced several hardened criminals to their quaking knees, and as an official who brooks no oversight from her teams, is regarded with considerable awe by her colleagues too. Currently holding two posts, she is also the acting special commissioner of police, administration. She swears by T.S. Eliot and Marquez, but when it comes to her own literary skills, prefers to write something like 101 Tips To Survive The City (Penguin, 2002). Deol belongs to the Union Territory cadre, and joined the IPS after an MSc in physics from Punjab University in 1977, chiefly to be with her husband, Shamsher Deol, who had qualified for the IPS the year before. She says she owes her knowledge of the nitty-gritties of the police system to her first posting in 1978, in Panjim, where she had three police stations under her. She thinks policing is like mothering. ?Policing has been regarded a man?s profession for a long time. It?s a fallacy. I think policewomen give a more palatable image to the public. Team. They provide a soft side to a hard profession,? says Deol, who is on a mission to create a more effective police force in the 10 years of service that she has left.

Vimla Mehra JCP, Crime Against Women Cell, Delhi

Crime Busters Wiki

As joint commissioner of police, crime against women (CAW) cell, Delhi, she is taking joint commissioner Kanwaljeet Deol?s work forward (it was Deol who was at the forefront of the cell in 1986). Mehra, who has been heading the cell since 2002, and has brought in some very effective changes in its functioning, started with a posting in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands after her induction into the IPS in 1978, but has held an array of posts which required a fair amount of courage on her part. She was posted as additional DCP, south, after the infamous 1984 riots in Delhi, and has worked in the Central Reserve Police Force for four-and-a-half years, which included two years in the Rapid Action Force (RAF). The CAW cell deals mainly with matrimonial crimes, including domestic abuse, dowry deaths and other related crimes. Mehra may also be credited with starting the 1091 Helpline, a 24-hour distress call centre for women, a mobile helpline which immediately starts for the destination called from and a post box service, where women can write to P. Box 5353 for help. Now a strong 170-member force, the women?s crime police also imparts training in self-defence. ?I am all for improving our gender sensitivity in 2005,? says Mehra.

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