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mlwritingprompts · 4 years ago

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submitted prompt: A different mask for a heroine.

Edited to fit the rules.

AU where Marinette broke the mirror in her room while trying to capture / get away from Tikki, and so rushes out after transforming without getting a chance to see her reflection.

The battle is terrifying and fast-paced, and she’s running so high on adrenalin it’s not until and hour after she gets back to her house that she’s finally calmed down enough to check the internet to see what people are saying, and sees for the first time exactly what “Ladybug” looked like.

The blood drains from her face.

She’d seen flashes of her arms and hands, red with black spots, but everything had been moving too quickly to take in any other details.

Now, looking at the hundreds of pictures and videos being uploaded by the second, she realizes with horror that she wasn’t so much wearing a suit as she was covered in red and black paint. It’s so form-fitting that she might as well be naked.

She hadn’t even had time to notice in the fight, she was too busy freaking out, but now she has more reason to freak out! She was out there swinging around practically naked! And people saw her! Everyone saw her! That “costume” didn’t leave anything to the imagination!

She’s hyperventilating before she knows it, panicking about what happened and panicking more and the thought of having to go out like that again. It’s like a nightmare where she went to school and forgot her clothes, but this time it’s real. It actually happened, and Tikki has to spend half an hour straight trying to calm her down.

The only reason Marinette doesn’t rip the earrings off and vow to never put them back on again is the crushing weight of the responsibility suddenly on her shoulders, and Tikki’s frantic, frantic assurances that the “suit” can be altered.

Tikki swears up and down that Marinette doesn’t have to ever look like that again if she doesn’t want to. It’s the most basic version of the protective suit the Miraculous can create, not meant to function on its own, but meant to be an undersuit for man-made armour or clothing for ceremonial or cultural reasons.

But it can and will change, Tikki just didn’t have time to explain how to do it because the situation with the Akuma was progressing so rapidly.

She apologizes over and over again, stressing that nothing like it will ever happen again, and wastes no time in explaining to Marinette how to change the suit. She has to tell Tikki what she wants--show her, preferably, so Tikki can get it as close as possible--then she and Tikki will confirm the choice, and then she has to instruct her to add the additions to the base suit with the specific phrase, “Tikki, donn this.”

The options aren’t limited to clothing, she can have any kind of weapon, or even multiple weapons she wants, and they aren’t constrained to the red with black spots that the undersuit had. Marinette’s imagination is the limit. If she wanted to, she didn’t even have to be human. She could give herself wings or claws or extra limbs. Anything Marinette can think of and describe to Tikki, she can have.

Marinette doesn’t waste any time. She grabs her latest sketchbook, and starts drawing. She goes all out in not only making an actual protective suit, but also makes sure that it hides as much of her body figure and face as possible. Going as far as having a magical mask that hides her face and also modifies her voice a little to be more neutral. And she gives it an actual dynamic design that makes her appear serious, not just endless, cutesy polka-dots.

Oh, she does have some spots, but they’re not cute. They’re the kind of spots poison dart frogs have. They’re the kind of spots poisonous animals wear as a warning for others to stay away. Ladybugs are poisonous, Tikki told her, and Marinette doesn’t want anyone to ever look at her the way they had to have while she was transformed the first time.

Tikki overwrites the understuit with Marinette’s new design, and Marinette transforms and de-transforms ten times in a row just to make sure it sticks, and to make sure it’s just as she imagined it.

When the Stoneheart Akuma begins to multiply and Marinette realizes her mistake, she goes out to fix things, now in her new, actual suit, to everyone’s confusion.

The new costume hides her identity completely, and is as far from the original version as it can possibly get. The armor conceals her figure, and her voice is different, and its easy for everyone--Chat Noir included--to assume straight away that she’s someone new. Chat Noir even asks her if she knows when Ladybug will be showing up--

And Marinette, without even a beat of hesitation, because she came prepared this time, she’s going to be prepared from now on, tells him, “She wasn’t prepared for the responsibility, so she gave her Miraculous instead. You can call me Simetra.”

To her confusion, Chat Noir reacts with anger. His ears flatten, his tail lashes violently behind him, and he demands, sharp teeth bared, “You took her Miraculous?!”

Marinette holds up her hands, confused. “No,” She said, “I didn’t steal her Miraculous. She gave it to me, because she didn’t want to be a hero.”

She was expecting him to calm down. She thought wrong.

“You have to give it back!” He snapped, clicking out his weapon and expanding it threateningly into a staff as he slid into a crouch, “You can’t just take someone’s Miraculous! Ladybug and I are meant to be a team! We’re meant to be partners! We’re meant to be together! Give her back her Miraculous, and give me back my lady!”

With a wordless yell, he charges at her, swinging his staff like it’s a baseball bat.

She blocks his attack with ease, spinning her flail to create a shield while she grabs her off-hand dagger, exclaiming, “What are you doing!?”

He doesn’t let off his assault, he just snarls and slams the staff into her shield again, shouting, slamming again with each statement, “We’re meant to be together! We’re going to get married! We’re going to run away together and live on a deserted island all by ourselves! We’re going to get a pet hampster, and name it--!”

“You just met her yesterday!” Marinette shouts, flabbergasted and quickly becoming enraged.

“I love her!” Chat Noir shouts back, “I’ve loved her since the moment I laid eyes on her! Give me back her Miraculous, and tell me where she is so I can return it to her! You weren’t chosen, she was! Ladybug and I are meant to be together! You’re could never replace her!”

Marinette has heard enough.

In one quick move, she slams her flail forward, forcing Chat Noir to stumble back. As he falls, she slashes out with her dagger, cutting his tail off at the base so that he won’t be able to maintain his balance.

He goes down hard, and for one split second, Marinette considers just leaving him there. She considers leaving, giving him a chance to cool down, a chance to be reasonable.

But only for a second.

He liked her when she was wearing nothing but the undersuit. He’s claming to be madly in love with her, when he only knew her for maybe a combined total of twenty minutes, when she was wearing nothing but the undersuit, practically naked. And now that she’s wearing actual armour, he doesn’t like her. And he’s claiming to be in lover with her. He’s claiming they’re meant to be together. He’s saying he wants to take her to a deserted island with no one else around.

She’s heard enough.

She knows what his Miraculous is, it’s the black ring on his hand.

Taking it from him is not difficult.

His identity being revealed as her new classmate, Adrien, is a little more difficult. But only for a second or two, then she gets over the shock. This is the boy that Chloe has been friends with her whole life. This is the boy who put gum on her and Alya’s seat to punish them for not bowing to Chloe’s every whim.

Why should she be surprised that he’s a sexist creep? Why should she be surprised that he’s an even bigger jerk than she originally thought?

She puts on the ring so she won’t lose it, snaps out her wings, and launches herself into the sky before she has to hear another word out of his mouth.

And she’s not just flying aimlessly, either.

She knows exactly where she’s going, exactly who she’s going to.

She wanted to give Alya her Miraculous.

Well, now she can do one better.

And she’ll make sure Alya knows everything she needs to know before she transforms.

=======================

Excuse my language but, I really need to ask; what the hell were the writers thinking when they made every female superhero wear a bland sexist costume!?

And personally, the awful female costumes are the fourth worst things in the show, the other three being the disgusting treatment of the female characters (especially Marinette), the awful plot, and pointless lessons.

Rules for the blog - send a prompt

#AU prompt #miraculous ladybug #ML salt #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Marinette deserves better #Adrien salt #Adrien salt prompts #Adrien was and is and most likely always will be an entirled misogynistic creep who treats women like trophies #misogny #submission #Show!Miraculous #Show!Marinette #Show!Adrien

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beskarberry · 4 years ago

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Valkyrie

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 4

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“What... did you... do?” You hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you poison him?! Give me the antidote right now or so fucking help me I’ll tear every limb off your ugly little body!” You were seething, fear and fury stoking fire behind your eyes. The bounty only laughed harder.

“Antidote?There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.8k

Content warnings: Canon-typical violence, SEX POLLEN + rough sex, oral sex (m receiving) and kink talk (not gonna list all of them but they’re all very common.) There’s another filk song reference in this one that I’ll link in the replies.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT TAG! The bounty uses she/her pronouns so if girl on girl violence makes you squeamish please read ahead with caution! Also know that I >>do not<< use any gender-specific slurs (b*tch, c*nt, etc.)

<-Previous Next->

Everything. Was. Purple.

Purple! The grass, the sky, the trees, if you could call them that. The pulsating, gelatinous towers that spiraled into the sky were definitely alive, but you weren’t sure if ‘tree’ was a fitting word for them. Their branches were long and hanging, weighed down by some kind of berry or fruit that glowed with teal streaks. Your next bounty was on a habitable moon orbiting an enormous gas giant that took up the entire skyline. It was lush with vegetation and sparsely populated, a perfect hideout for an Ardennian.

The Razor Crest was parked in a meadow of lavender grass, though once again you questioned your choice of words, watching the way the long wet leaves wiggled in the breeze. You breathed deep, letting the rich, humid air fill your lungs while your traveling companions followed behind you down the old ship’s ramp. Baby beans trotted right past you on stubby legs, picking things up off the ground that he probably shouldn’t be putting in his mouth, but was too sneaky for you to stop him from doing so. You heard the Crest’s access door shut, and turned to see Mando eagerly trotting along to join you.

No, not ‘Mando’... Din. Mr. Mystery finally had a name, though you were still conflicted about using it. The man had spilled so many secrets into you in such a short amount of time that the butterflies in your stomach were breeding many-legged worms. Squirming, creeping things that quickly metamorphosized back into their illustrious true selves, and you weren’t sure which part of their cycle was making you more nauseous. But they were your secrets to keep, your heart wearing his name like a locket; safely hidden where nobody but you could see.

You had slid the heavy beskar bucket back up the ladder to him while he stayed in the dark of the cockpit, the knowledge of his facial features still kept by your hands alone. The pair of you had then stood close together at the armory, him with his helmet back where it belonged and you with your bright eyed mask protecting your crown. At the equipment cache he couldn’t stop talking, pointing out and picking up a variety of weapons and traps that would work particularly well for this simian quarry. Everything had a story, and he told you all about the bounties he had pulled trophies off of, or things he had gotten as rewards for helping someone else. He’s giddy. You could only listen along as he prattled away, handing you grapple after snare until you had to start putting things back in the armory, just so you could have your hands free again.

Hands. Every time he gave you another tool of the trade to add to your ever-growing inventory his hands brushed somewhere on you. Leather tipped fingers glancing quickly on your wrist, a lingering palm on your shoulder; each fleeting touch lasting just slightly longer than the last. He was struggling to keep his hands off of you, reluctant to give up the intimacy you had both been working at in the void-black darkness of the flight deck before atmospheric reentry tore you both apart. What other prayers of devotion could he pour into you, if you’d just had a little more time? ‘You belong to them, that is The Way’. The oath he had made to you was followed coldly in your mind by another string of words, ‘I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian’.

You couldn’t think about all the words that you still needed to unpack, it was hunting time. The six-limbed simian was wanted for, checks puck notes, chemical warfare. She had blasted her way to the Guild’s Most Wanted list by lobbing incendiary bombs and poison gas grenades through a meeting of outer rim parliament, and the price on her head might have been higher than yours. The bounty puck specifically stated she was to be taken alive. Super. The droid-face mask wasn’t going to be much protection for your lungs, but it might at least keep your eyes safe. You took time to pack extra bacta and some quality rations, plus one of your new bantha-wool blankets. You woke up that morning on Tatooine, and the voice of your tortured circadian rhythm wondered if you would be sleeping rugged tonight somewhere on this heliotropic hellscape.

A bounty fob blinked lazily from the larger hunter’s belt, indicating that the quarry was on-world, but not close enough to catch. The three of you would have some walking to do. The child tried to make friends with every wiggly thing, running on his short little legs from fern to fern, hunting for treats. The little beastie’s adopted father chased him through the grass, trying, and failing, to keep him from getting into trouble. The sight of the mighty metal man being defeated so easily by a baby made you laugh, and the sound of your melodic giggles drew his attention.

“What are you laughing at?”

Oh no, I’ve been caught! “I’m laughing at you, rust bucket! The scariest person here isn’t either of us, it’s him!” You pointed to where the child was tearing through the reeds after some kind of amphibian, and started laughing harder when Mando cursed and flew after his impish son. The rowdy child had a frog-like creature hanging from his mouth that vanished the second his dad tried to pull it away.

“Stop eating things you find on the ground!” The baby only squealed at the scolding, earning himself a grumpy, papa-patented sigh. Mando picked up the potato-sack of a child and dumped him unceremoniously into the hover-crib that floated along behind. “You can get back out when you learn your lesson! I don’t want you to get sick.” The baby made huge, sad eyes up at his dad, but Mando turned away quickly to avoid their hypnotic powers. You were doing your best to hide your giggles, covering the part of your mask where your mouth was, as if that would help. The Mandalorian strode up to you with a swagger. “Oh, you think that’s funny, cyar’ika?”

“You don’t?” You caught your reflection in the black gloss of his visor as he sauntered up to you, and your bug-eyed doppelganger only made you laugh more. A wall of beskar stood in front of you, eyeing you with slow tilts of his helmet while you got it all out of your system. When your breaths returned to normal you looked down at your hands and found that they had made friends. You had reached out for him without even thinking, and you were a little embarrassed that they had gravitated to him so naturally. He squeezed your hands gently before letting them return to you, and you heard the songs of star-lost sailors whispering in the back of your mind. The nights are long between the stars, and lonely, too, for me. I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

“Night’s coming fast, we should keep moving.” Hunting mode reactivated, your companion started towards the undulating wilderness. He wasn’t wrong, within a few hours the massive planet that hung above you drifted out of view, replaced with a sea of glittering stars. The foliage around you glowed with otherworldly colors, teals and violets splattering their dense leaves and curling down their jelly trunks. Their loveliness made it easy to distract yourself from the task at hand, your eyes chasing the occasional yellow and red flashes that blinked from insects high in the branches. Ahead of you a large old tree had fallen over, and between its trunk and its upturned roots the spot was easily defensible.

Mando busied himself with clearing squishy sticks and leaves from the area to make a campsite while you looked for something to start a fire with. Nothing looked burnable, everything had a gooey, wet consistency, but some dead leaves under the log were dried out. They would have to do. You made them into a neat pile and pushed some rocks in a circle around them for safety, now you would just need a light.

“Hey, tinman, I need some heat!” He followed your pointing finger with his helmet and waltzed over to you, happy to be of assistance. He started up his wrist mounted flamethrower and used the pilot light to set the tinder ablaze. Not even fire could escape the overwhelming purpleness of the estranged moon as the blaze kicked up a bright indigo with a low heat. You got to work getting dinner around, pulling savory Tatooine treats out of your pack, pushing some of them towards the heat source so they would be warm. At the bottom of your bag you found some soft, squashed thing, and pulled the remains of breakfast out into the light. It was mashed, but it was still probably edible. “Mando, you never ate your breakfast.”

“What?” He looked at the sad excuse for a meal that you were offering him, eyeing it with curiosity. “You got me breakfast?”

“Yes? I told you that I would, though I guess it’s dinner now. Here.” You waved it at him so he would get the hint, and he took it carefully from you with timid hands.

“T-thank you. You’re very kind.”

“And don’t you forget it!” You whooped with overwhelming confidence, but the sweet words made you blush under your mask. Before he could turn and leave the safety of the fire to find a private eating area you reached for his hand again, pulling the armored paw to your forehead and knocking it softly against your mask. Kov'nynir. A wistful sigh escaped his modulator, and you knew the act of affection was well received. He bent himself down to where you sat at the fire and pressed his own forehead against yours, rumbling with contentment. The gentle sound made your heart swell, such a simple gesture that carried so much meaning. A bounty hunter’s life was fast and dangerous, why should finding companionship be any different?

You pushed your heads together just a little harder before he pulled himself away from you to go eat. You lifted your own dinner and the baby’s from the hearth, poking at it with your fingers to make sure it wasn’t too hot for Mr. Green Beans to eat. The child took it from you eagerly, content in his protective pram and making gross little noises while he ate. The food tin you had was much better than day one’s menu: bantha meat and Tusken hardtack with a side of more mystery mush. Your partner chose to take his meal elsewhere, fading into the darkness behind the fallen log where he could remove his helmet and eat in peace. Someday he might make more sense to you. The clank! of an empty food tin hitting the ground brought your attention back to your campsite buddy, the baby having thrown his clean plate at you.

“What’s wrong, booger? You bored? Alright.” There was a tiny bit of energy still left in your bones, and what better way to spend it than entertaining your precious audience. You pulled yourself to your feet, taking a moment to dust the spores from your pants and pull your backpack on before launching into song.

“When we pulled into Naboo’s Port in need of R&R,

The crew set out investigating every joint and bar.

We had high expectations of their hospitality,

But found too late it wasn't geared for spacers such as we!”

“And we're banned from Naboo, everyone!

Banned from Naboo, just for having a little fun!

We spent a jolly shore leave there for just three days or four,

But Naboo doesn't want us anymore!”

Green baby hands tried their best to clap in time with your sailor song, accompanied by adorable cooing noises while he tried to sing along. Your rambunctiousness summoned Mando back over to the fire, and he sat down on a large rock next to his foundling, watching you through his visor as you danced around the fire with flailing limbs.

“Our Engineer would yield to none at putting down the brew;

She outdrank seven space marines and a demolition crew!

The Navigator didn't win, but he out-drank almost all,

And now they've got a shuttlecraft on the roof of City Hall!”

You ran through the chorus again, taking a second to notice that tinman was tapping his foot to the beat along with you. You wondered briefly if they ever sang on Mandalore. You took a deep breath to continue-

“-KABOOM-!”

The fireside exploded just meters from your spinning dance, and you were hauled backwards to safety by your oathsworn protector,along with his foundling, and ushered towards the safety of the trees.

“-BOOM! Ba-BOOM! KERPLOW-!”

Trees and plants exploded on either side of you as you ran through the luminous dark. The Ardennian! Neither of you had been paying attention to the bounty fob, blinking fast and red under his cloak. Above you the sound of something swinging through the branches caught your ear, and you pulled your blaster and fired behind you.

“Bwahaha! Missed me missed me now you gotta kiss me, two-arms!” You couldn’t see her, but her taunts gave you a better idea of her position, firing several more shots towards their source. You knew you had to take her alive, but that didn’t mean intact.

“Go go go!” Mando was at your back, doing his best human shield impression while he hurried you away from the bombardment, the child’s bulky pram tucked uncomfortably under one arm. Your flight through the forest was haunted with vicious cackling and the sound of serene foliage being obliterated by the explosives that rained down around you, choking you with incendiary fumes.

A clearing materialized ahead, and the three of you rushed out from under the unmerciful trees. When you had gotten far enough from the tree line you both turned your eyes to the canopy.

“There!” Picking up her heat signature on his visor’s infrared sensors, he pointed to your target, his other arm still occupied with protecting the foundling. You grabbed the barrel of the pulse rife that was still slung over his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The ball of electricity arced from your little trio and collided with the trees, the sound of pained screams and crashes followed the wounded pyromaniac as she fell hard to the ground. Bullseye.

”Stay here, Mando, I got this! Keep him safe!” You stormed into the woods after the sounds of distress, snare at the ready to take the bounty alive. You were angry, rage powering your stride as you chased after her like a Corellian tracking hound. Angry that your sweet moment had been ruined, angry that she’d put the foundling in danger, angry that your partner had been pulled from the comfort of the fire to fulfill his duties as guardian. You sprang over roots and fallen branches, catching the sight of movement where the Ardennian was making a run for it.

“Oh no you don’t! Get back here!” Your words boiled with so much fury that they almost weren’t your own. Balls of fire exploded around you in a last ditch effort by the primate to kill you first. You dropped a knee into the loamy soil to steady your shot.

Woosh! The net sailed past her by mere inches, and you flew to your feet to begin the chase again.

“Ha! Grow some more arms and maybe you’ll have better aim!” Fire erupted around you again, but the flames that seared at your eyes came from inside, burning with fuel siphoned from your heart. You took another shot.

Woosh! Miss! FUCK. You had one shot left on the snare-slinger, and you had to make it count. The trees were thinner here, how long had you been running? The simian was struggling to get away now, the long slimy branches too far apart to swing through. Behind you the sound of thunderous armored boots told you that Mando was hot on your trail, and you were glad to have the back up even though you had specifically told him to stay put. Nobody listens in this crew. Something green and gaseous poofed next to you, and the terms of the bounty puck came back to you clear as day: chemical warfare. The Ardennian was out of bombs and had switched to gas canisters, hurling a variety of brightly colored poisons at your face. Third time’s the charm.

Woosh! The net flew true, tangling in the many limbs of the fleeing quarry and throwing her to the ground. Gotcha! You bore down on her as brightly glowing vials sailed over your head, landing on something behind you with a crash! You were on her in an instant, shoving a blaster in her face.

“You’re done, chuckles! It’s over!” The fear in her eyes vanished as quickly as it had appeared when she glanced back behind you.

“Ha! I don’t think so, stinky. You’re gonna have yer hands too full with that to deal with little old me.” You followed her gaze, and froze from the ice crystalizing in your veins. Mando stood a ways back, still as a statue. Bright neon pink goo slimed its way down his helmet and dripped onto his chest plate. You turned on the Ardennian again.

“Antidote? There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!” She was howling with laughter in your grasp, and the sound of her mirth was like nails on chalkboard to your ears. You practically threw her to the ground, running back to your incapacitated partner. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Mando! Hey hey can you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong!” The glowing pink slime was still on his helmet, and you hunted for something to wipe it off with. The closest thing was his cloak, so you reached for it and went to clean the pretty pink sludge from his helmet when an armored claw shot up and caught your wrist. The action startled you, but you were happy to see him still able to move. “Mando? You ok?” Slowly, with almost robotic precision, he turned his gaze to you.

“Cyar...’ika....?” His words were long and labored, the strain of them sending a chill through your bones.

“Yes! It’s me, Mando. I’m right here, I’m gonna get you taken care of. I- I’ll find some bacta or-” Your words were cut off by another wicked claw on your shoulder.

“So... Beautiful...” The lustful words made the gears in your head grind to a halt. Really? Right now?

“Ok great, glad to see you’re fine, now can we get back to hunt-” He cut you off with a hand at your throat.

“Beautiful.. and mouthy. So... fucking... mouthy.” A leather tipped hand snaked up your neck to your lips, grabbing at your jaw and pushing a thumb in past your teeth. You tried to spit him out but his other hand latched on to the back of your skull. “I’m going to put that mouth to good use, mesh’la.” Your mask was tossed to the ground, and the ‘good luck’ the Ardennian had wished you now made sense. Whatever was oozing down the front of his helmet was driving him into an uncontrolled sexual frenzy, and you were the sole outlet for all his desires.

“Mando! -Blech-! Man- Din!” He stopped trying to get down your throat at the sound of his own name, hearing it for the first time from your lips. “Din! We don’t have time for this right now! Get a grip!” Oh, but he already had a grip, and it was tightening on your scalp.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my name.” The command dripped from his modulator the same way the poison dripped down his face, and he started walking you backwards by the hair until you bumped against a squishy tree. The change of emotion from rage to fear to confusion made your head spin, and the new contending feeling of heat building in your guts was making itself known.

“Knock it off! Fucking hell, she’s going to get away if we don’t do something right now! ”

“Let her. You’re the only one I want.” The weight of his arms on your neck and shoulders became too much, and the man who you had shared a such a sweet moment with not too long ago was now forcing you to your knees. You dropped to a kneel, and your face was hard pressed up against the solid bulge that was trying to rip its way out of his pants. He took only a second to free himself, pushing his throbbing cock against your teeth. “Open wide.”

You wished you were meeting with mini-mando under better circumstances, but if getting him off would get you back to the hunt, you were happy to help. The taste of him on your tongue sent electricity through your body, spooling up fresh heat between your own legs. Above you Mando was making deep, guttural groans as you took his cock all the way to the back of your throat, wrapping a fist around where you couldn’t reach without gagging. You glanced around his leg to where you could see the hover-crib, floating a good distance away with the shield closed tight. Good, he doesn’t need to see this. A swift thrust brought your attention back to where it was demanded.

“That’s a good girl, take it all in. Let me make a mess of that pretty little mouth of yours.” He had a death grip on the back of your hair and the side of your jaw, pushing up to keep you open enough to take his length. Inside you were swirling your tongue around the tip every time it slid past, making sultry praises flood from his modulator. Most of the words were garbled, raunchy and alien, probably Mando’a. Spit leaked from the sides of your mouth, making good on his word to make a mess of you. The claws in your hair pulled tight, forcing your nose into the tuft of soft hair at his base so he could pump your throat full of cum without you escaping. “Ahh~! That’s it, mesh’la, drink it all down.”

The hot spunk made you choke and gag, tears rushing to your eyes, but you still swallowed as best you could. When he finally let you pull away you gasped for air, coughing on the ground at his feet.

“There! *cough!* is that... -blech-, better? Can you hunt now? Are you done?” The potionmaster was probably long gone, you couldn’t hear her fucking cackling anymore.

“Cyar’ika, we’re not done until I say we’re done.” The spear at your cheek was still hard as beskar, ready for round two. The armored man yanked you to your feet, shoving you face first towards the nearest tree. The tree’s flesh was soft and squishy, a fact you would be grateful for soon enough. Your hips were pulled backwards, and a buzzing sound told you he had pulled a vibroblade from his belt, stabbing under your pants’ edge and pulling down the crack of your ass until your clothes were cut away; leaving just the legs and your boots to protect you. The cold air hitting your cunt gave away your arousal, and he zoned in on it like a falcon, pressing still-gloved fingers to your wet slit. The roughness of the leather invading you made you cry out and your knees buckle, squirming under the intrusion of one finger, then two; pumping in and out of you to stoke your flame.

“You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty, and strong. I’m gonna lose myself in you, fierce little thing, and I never want to be found.” His hands ripped away from your swollen cunt, and the head of his cock was pressed to its lips. Both of you made delicious, filthy noises as he buried himself to the hilt, the slick of his own cum making a wonderful lube. “Fuuuuuck, you’re hot inside, lovely girl. My cock was made just for you.” He barely made it a few inches out of you before he was slamming back into you again. The force of him behind you smashed you face into the soft, forgiving tree, though you wished you could find somewhere for your hands to grab hold. He fucked you like a man possessed, and you were sure there would be bruises on your hips and thighs when he was finished.

His mouth ran like surging lava. “Fucking.. Maker... beautiful girl, beautiful hunter! Hunter-killer! I knew you would be a challenge to hunt, but I never thought you would be the one to capture me! You’re a work of art on the killing field! Mmph! You are mine and I’m going to fill your belly with my warriors ‘til you’re fit to burst. They’ll be so ferocious! Born with daggers in their teeth.” Vulgar words between thrusts made your entire body hot with a mix of embarrassment and lust. You might never know if the neon goo had given him the desire to breed you, or if he adored you so much that he wanted more of you to care for, but you did know your contraceptive implant would be having none of it either way. Still, his damning words flowed. “Nobody will ever put their hands on you again but me. I’ll give you everything you desire, cyar’ika, anything you ask for will be yours. I’ll bring the stars down from the sky if you ask me to! I- I’ll- I’m gonna...”

The Mandalorian stilled behind you, twitching as his cock spilled into you and ran hot down your thighs. His breaths were gasping, broken and desperate for air. His fingers digging into the soft skin on your hips would leave their mark for sure, and though he’d done a fantastic job of scrambling your insides you still felt warmth in your chest. Even in his poisoned, delirious state of mind, all of his thoughts were of you alone. The grip on your ass loosened, and the sound of a heavy thud hitting the ground told you he had fallen down into the soft purple grass. You struggled to peel your face from the jelly tree, standing like a newborn fawn on shaky legs. The bright pink streak on his helmet had lost all its glow, and your human rust-bucket was slumped over on his side, still as the grave. Not again, fucksake. You clambered over to him, digging under his cloak with your hands until you found his pulse. Still alive.

“Alright Mando, fucking stay here this time like I told you to.” You glanced around the meadow, but the Ardennian was nowhere to be found. Fuck! All that work for nothing. You groaned, looking down at what was left of your pants. You checked all the pockets, finding your lucky krayt teeth and a bacta patch before kicking the ruined fabric off over your boots. You dropped down to the spent form of your comrade, tilting his helmet up and slapping the bacta patch on one of the hickies you had left there a few days ago. You took a moment to stuff the teeth into one of his many pouches since you no longer had pockets of your own. With your ass in the wind you made your way over to the floating pram to check on your tiny pal. “Hey beans, you doing ok? Your dad and I were just having a little-” you spun the cradle around. Empty.

“No! Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK!” The bounty had made off with Din’s infant son, your little buddy! You couldn’t stop the fear that dried your throat and brought tears to your eyes. Get a hold of yourself! Find him! NOW! Familiar rage welled up behind your eyes, and you raced back over to your unconscious guardian, still laying in the dirt and making it extra difficult to untangle the pulse rifle still slung over his back. Your hunting instincts were on high alert, and the sound of shouting caught your ears. “I’m gonna get him back, Din! Just... just fucking stay here!”

You tore off after the noise, every horrible scenario running through your head at once. Would she steal him? Would she hurt him? Would she kill him? Rage flared hot in your chest and threatened to burn you alive, your feverish skin icy with sweat. Wet leaves slapped past your bare knees so fast that their thin edges left vicious paper cuts. You didn’t care, nothing else mattered but the foundling. The sound of shouting grew louder, and you thundered though the trees to another clearing by a narrow wine-dark stream.

“Help! This thing’s got me! Get me down, please! Get it away from me!” The simian terror was hanging in the air ahead of you. No, not hanging, floating. She was thrashing her arms, but all that did was slowly spin her in place. The sight was magical, but more important was the safety of child. On the ground near her, he stood with one fat little paw in the air, pointing at his abductor and concentrating with all his might. You didn’t know how he had escaped, or what the actual fuck he was doing, but you didn’t hesitate. You pulled the pulse rifle from your back and fired, once, twice, three times until her limp body was hanging in the air, knocked out cold. Or dead.

Baby beans crumpled to the ground, and the Ardennian followed suit, the ugly noise she made when she hit the ground brought a wicked smile to your cheeks. The baby’s little eyes were bleary and tired under his big droopy ears, and you scooped him carefully up off the ground to pull him in for a good, strong hug.

“Did you get the mean lady, sweetie? Good job! I don’t know what the fuck you did but hey, no questions asked, alright? I’m just glad you’re ok.” He smiled up at you with his tiny toothy grin before conking out in your arms, leaning heavily against your chest. You set him back down on the ground, just long enough to tie that six limbed asshole up tight, using everything you still had above the waist to keep her captured. You tied her arms to her feet and slung her limp body over you like a rucksack, then picked the foundling back up. With your bounty, baby, and bare ass you started the hike back to your fallen man.

Mando still laid where you had left him on his side, and you were annoyed to realize that, out of everybody involved, you were the only one left awake. Fantastic. You returned the baby to his floating bucket, pulling it closer to the pair of you this time, and dumped the Ardennian in the dirt. There was no way you could maneuver three bodies at once, somebody was going to have to get up and walk.

“Mando! Mando get up, we gotta go.” The man in question didn’t budge, soft, muffled snores your only response. You tried everything you could think of, pulling on his hands and legs and shouting, anything to wake his ass up. You knocked on his helmet, “Ground control to Major Mando, time to get up! Rise and shine, bucket boy!” Nothing, he was going to have to sleep the after-effects of the potion off, so he was staying right where he was.

You had no idea how far you had gotten from the campsite, and the cold night air on your bare booty made you remember your half-nakedness. On the ground scattered around the pile of living beskar was your backpack and the remains of your pants, along with the rest of your trap gear. Start packing more clothes. You went for the gear first, pulling another set of cuffs and a good strong rope out, and added a few more knots to the half-dead quarry so she wouldn’t be pulling any bullshit in the night. The backpack still had the bantha-wool blanket wrapped up tight, and you tied it around yourself like a skirt. Better than nothing.

Kneeling on the ground next to your Mandalorian, you cleared yourself a space to sit down, taking an extra second to make sure all his bits were tucked back out of view. You leaned back against the crook of his hips, feeling the slow rise and fall of his belly at your back. You were so tired, how many times had you been on the run in the last cycle alone? Your body desperately craved sleep, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the bounty. Anger crept its way back into your eyes again, and you wanted to take it out on her, channel your inner rancor. No, she’s already lost. Go to sleep.

But the merciful tug of sleep didn’t come, and when you realized why you felt foolish. The child’s pram was on the ground where you had pushed it next to his fathers’ armored head. He was sleeping like a little prince, and didn’t move at all when you pulled him out of the crib. When he was situated in your arms you pulled Mando’s cloak around the three of you for extra warmth. Sitting upright was a horrible way to sleep, but with the baby safely in your arms and a blaster at your side, you were able to catch a handful of winks.

You woke up many times that night, worried that something might happen to your baby or your partner, and each time your eyes shot open you glared at the dark form in the grass; though not once did it move. Still, you didn’t trust that you were safe, and only when the rim of the planet that dominated the sky drifted over the horizon could you actually keep your eyes closed. But the blissful comfort of real sleep was torn from you by your lounge chair trying to get up on its own. The rush from trying to sit up too fast knocked Mando right back down on his back, and his hands went to his armored temples to try to stop the world from spinning.

“What...where am... where’s....” He shot up like a bolt of lightning “WHERE’S MY SON?!”

“Right here!” You turned yourself to show the bug-eyed bundle to his father, letting him see that the child was safe. Mando wrapped his arms around you and the child, and you could hear his quick, shuddering breaths coming out from under the helmet. The hug was tight, a comforting fortress around your shoulders.

“Are you ok? What happened? Why are we in the grass? Where’s the bounty? Did she get away?” His questions gushed like a river, urgent and frightened. You pointed at where the Ardennian was still on the ground, far enough away that she was out of earshot. She was awake now, but still immobilized. Her eyes were fixed on you, and you could see the edges of her mouth turning upwards into a snarl to bare her teeth. Din’s hands were all over you, inspecting you for damage, and his breath caught in his throat when he reached your waist. Big, ugly red and purple fingerprints were swelling up between the scrapes on your skin, and he pushed the edge of your makeshift skirt down to follow their horrifying trail; they were everywhere.

“Who did this to you?” The volcano behind the beskar threatened to erupt with molten malevolence, “Did she do this to you?”

“No Mando,” you sighed, a little hurt that he didn’t remember. “You did.” The wall of metal armor went stiff as a rail, his visor locked on your eyes, looking for the truth. But the truth was right in front of him, and he couldn’t accept it.

“What? N-no.. I would never... I could never hurt you, cyar’ika! Please... please tell me that I didn’t do this.” His fingers ghosted over your marks, but never touched them, his hands afraid of dealing more damage to your lovely skin. “I-I couldn’t have... I’m... I’m so sorr-” You cut him off with a hand on his helmet where his mouth might be.

“It’s not your fault, you were poisoned. I’m just glad you’re alive, Din.” The sound of his own name made his shoulders droop and his hands come up cradle your cheeks. You couldn’t meet his visor, the closeness of the distraught hunter making you flustered, so you tried to crack a joke. “I’m just glad you wanted to fuck me instead of the Ardennian.” The way his helmet snapped backwards made you realize he didn’t remember that part either. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I took it like a champ! You’re gonna have to do better than bruises to hurt this mighty hunter!” Your attempted words of comfort didn’t seem to work, and he pulled you and the wiggly child back to his chest in a world-erasing hug.

“Please just tell me you know I wouldn’t do this to you on purpose, I never want to hurt you again. Please.”

“Mando! I’m fine, really.” He held your head firmly, the blackness of the visor trying to bore though your very soul. You nodded in his grasp, “I know you didn’t, it’s alright, Din. I forgive you.” The force of his helmet knocking against your forehead almost made you see stars. His hands were wrapped around your head, holding you as close as he could in the intimate gesture of his people. You didn’t blame him at all for what happened, but it would be a while, if ever, before he could forgive himself.

“Oh isn’t that puke. Spare me the lovey-dovey crap and take me back to the Guild already! Buncha bucketheads.” You didn’t want to address the Ardennian that hollered at you from from the grass, but the beskar bucket turned on her in a heartbeat. He sprang to his feet in a flash, pulling the pulse rife from the ground and firing, stunning the target for the fourth time, fifth time, sixth, seventh.

He’s gonna kill her. You grabbed at his arm, demanding his attention “Mando, you got her, it’s over! It’s done.” Stance wide and chest heaving, the barrel of the long rifle stayed trained on the bounty for what seemed like an eternity before being lowered back to the ground. “Good, good, see, everyone’s ok. Let’s get back to the Crest and get out of here, sound like a plan?” He nodded, still watching the limp-again simian for signs of movement. When he was sure there wouldn’t be any more argument he stalked over to the quarry and slung her over his shoulder, ready to make the long march back to the ship. You set the baby back in his pram so you could take a second to grab everything off the ground, making sure you had your pack and your mask, and followed Mando back through the woods.

After hours of silent hiking, the Razor Crest came into view, and you had never been so happy to see the old girl, pretty as a plum in the violet haze. Once everyone was aboard, the fog of the carbonite chamber filled the tiny cabin to the brim, and left a new dark block in its wake. The Ardennian’s body was limp, though thankfully still alive; but the mischievous sneer couldn’t be erased so easily. You took a deep breath, sighing with relief that this hunt was over. Two down, one to go. Then Nevarro.

Your Mandalorian hadn’t spoken to you the entire trek back to the ship, and he was distracting himself by placing all the weaponry back in their spots in the cabinet. He’s still upset with himself. You still wore the bantha-blanket skirt, and its soft edges swished around your ankles. Gently you placed your hand on his shoulder, and he jumped violently under your touch as he was brought back to the present.

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” He didn’t meet your eyes, but his hands stopped fussing with the armory. “Really, Din, I don’t blame you at all. I’m ok.” You tugged on his waist, bidding him to turn and face you, but still he couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor. You ran your hands from his shoulders down his chest, trying to bring him comfort with your touch, but when you saw his utility belt you remembered what was in his pockets. A flashbulb of an idea lit up in your skull, and clear as day the reason for your frivolous purchase on Tatooine made itself known. “You know what, I’m so not-mad at you that I have a present for you.” You grabbed his belt to dig through the pouches, but strong hands shot up to carefully take your wrists.

“Mesh’la no! Not after.. not after I- I can’t. I don’t deserve your affections.” Your eyes met his visor, its gaze no longer staring down at the floor and instead watching you with intensity. A smile broke it’s way out past your teeth, followed by a knowing laugh.

“No, that’s not what I meant, good thought though. No, Mand-...Din. Din, I have a gift for you.” He hesitated to release your arms, but when you were free of his delicate hold you went back to the pockets on his belt and pulled the opalized krayt teeth from one of the pouches. Your companion’s visor followed the glittering treasures as they were brought into the light, and you wished you could see his bewildered face under the beskar. You handed them to him, and he carefully turned them over in his palm, letting the fossils catch the light and revealing their intricate patterns. His helmet tilted slowly, baffled that such beautiful things could be pulled from anywhere on his body, but the way his beskar sent streaks of light over his armor gave you a fantastic new idea.

Taking the treasures back from him you unscrewed the button fasteners that protruded from their backs, revealing the small, strong magnets hidden underneath; and pressed them up to his helmet. The teeth fit perfectly in the recesses of his cheeks, like they had been made just for him; and though you knew hunters didn’t wear adornments, they still looked lovely. “I know you can’t keep them on, especially when we go hunt, but they still look nice on you. Now you get to be my lucky charm.” His soft leather fingertips rubbed gently at his cheeks, feeling the way the indents had been filled with the precious jewels. The ship didn’t have any mirrors, and he would have to see how the swirling pools of crystalized moonlight looked the next time he took his helmet off.

Wordlessly he reached out for you, taking your face in his hands and pulling your head to his so he could press your foreheads together. You were becoming fond of the mysterious gesture, letting the butterflies in your stomach stretch their iridescent wings and fan contentment into your heart. You pushed back against him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders, locking his helmet to you. The whole galaxy could fly apart at the seams and you knew you would be alright, as long as you were right where you were, shielded in your Mandalorian’s embrace. I wonder if he feels the same. Tiny claws on your leg pulled your attention to the floor, and you were overjoyed to see big black orbs staring up at you.

“Little Beans! C’mere you, get in on this.” You hauled the foundling up between your bodies, letting him get a good look at you and his father. He chirped away, happily patting his papa’s fancy new trinkets, mesmerized by their shine. The little creature was full of energy, but you had been on your last leg for hours and you couldn’t stifle your yawns any longer. “Boys, I can’t keep this up anymore, you’re both awful cute, but I need sleep.”

“Of course, cyare, you’ve earned it.” Mando reluctantly stepped away from you and rolled out the Tusken sleeping mat that you had purchased. It was much thicker than the sheet originally on the little cot, and a hundred times more forgiving. You were comfy in seconds, and the warm embrace of sleep started pulling on your limbs and shutting your eyes. A different touch was on your arm, and you lazily opened one eye to see an armored hand pulling the bantha blankie up snug around you. Sweet, thoughtful murder-machine is what you had thought of him that first day, and the stupid pet name made you chuckle.

“What does that mean? That word, sire-eeka or sigh-air, they’re Mando’a, right?” You wouldn’t let sleep win you over without a fight, even if it was a fight you wanted to lose.

“Cyar’ika. The closest translation in Basic would be sweetheart, or darling.” Here we go again with Mando’a 101.

“Sweetheart, huh? Pfft... sounds like you like me or something. What’s the other word mean? You’ve never used it before now.” He sighed, long and tired, and you could see the foundling on his lap, still enthralled with the glittering opal on his fathers' metal face.

“I...I don’t know how to translate that one, but it’s more than cyar’ika, stronger, with more depth.” Something about his posture told you he might be lying, he knew exactly how to translate that word, but he wasn’t ready to tell it to you. He might, though, when he was ready.

“Alright, tin man, if you say so.” Your eyes finally let themselves close all the way, but even in the darkness behind your lids your devious hands still found their way to him, giving his hand a good squeeze. “Teach me more someday?”

“For you, ner cyare’se,” Your hand was pulled up from the blankets until the backs of your knuckles rested on the cool beskar of his brow, “I’d bring you the stars down from the sky, if you asked me to.”

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aflowerthatbloomed · 2 years ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚🍒 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 🍒 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ series masterlist˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ plot: a college student who was as sweet as cotton candy and a professor who was as stern as a dean somehow make the perfect recipe for success. It is Aurora Lennonsburns begging of the year essay. she wants more than anything to become an English professor like her favorite teacher Mr.Hiddelston. Though mean and sour she loves the way he teaches she finds his lessons quite insightful and useful. She finally picks a title for her essay. She calls it enchanting. It almost matches her topic about the connection between humans. Mr.Hiddleston is impressed with her work. And for the first time, aurora puts down her book and starts to pay attention to her surroundings. but what if there was another interest, a small-town boy who was in a diner just making it by. The two seem to havean odd little fling. and Mr. Hiddleston doesn’t like that.

warnings: this book contains age gaps, drinking, smoking, family problems, mental illness, etc please tell me if you find something i should add to this list! :)

☄. *. ⋆chapter 3: so you were in a band?

“I’m going to get you rora!” A playful voice called out to a little girl running around in a grassy field. Her rosy cheeks were flushed extra hard due to the strong southern sun beaming down on her cherub cheeks. Her pretty tanned skin was glowing just like her bright smile. The boy chasing the girl had cropped dark hair. His radiant eyes glistened blue as he cheerfully chased after his younger sister. The one thing in the world he was sure he would love for the rest of his life.

Her pudgy face smiled largely at her older brother, she was so naive, so trusting, so painfully unaware. Her white little sundress was flowing in the sun. The bruises on her knees broke her brother at times knowing that they weren’t from the playground. Still, he would chase her even though he was eighteen just to see her laugh innocently. The brunette girls' brunette curls were bouncing all over the place as she waited for her brother to come and catch her like a butterfly.

“Come and get me, Chrisy!” Her squeaky voice squealed not knowing how her brother was surely slowing his pace down just so she could take the upper hand. Christopher. A freshman in college ready to conquer the world in three years. Wanting to do everything in his power to leave the south. The pair were not born in the south, they were born in the big apple. Where their mother wanted them. Though she did not have much of a choice about that anymore.

“I’m gonna get you rora-belle!” The second he said that he increased his speed a crazy amount his large hand palmed her tummy and he lifted her up. Her giggles made the world seem a little less cruel. He wishes he could have that sound tattooed on him. Just so he will always know she was safe and happy.

Lifted in the air the small girl was a giggly flailing mess her skinny limbs were kicking in every direction her laughter was uncontrollable. Her frizzy hair was all over the place like a baby lion.

The giant field of baby breath flowers, the long tufts of grass, and the windy warm southern air were enough to make both forget so much. It was like a drug. Momentarily reliving their pain until it wears off. Like Cinderella's dress.

“Chrisy! That tickles! Why-!” laughter-filled the gorgeous field. Chris started to relentlessly tickle his younger sister's sensitive skin.

“Because you’re a little lion and lions need to be tamed.” He growled playfully, placing her bare feet back onto the soft ground giving her some little leftover tickles. The short-haired man squatted like a frog matching the height of his younger sister. His once playful demeanor fell as he turned serious.

His sister was no idiot. She knew when someone was upset. Her once giggly face fell as she moved closer to her brother. She was worried. She knew when something was wrong. Her small hands reached up and cuffed her brother's face as if he was the most delicate precious thing. Her tenderness made Chris want to sob. Instead, he lent in to her touch kissing her tiny dirt-covered hands not minding.

“Now bug you know I will be leaving soon…” his voice cracking, not even wanting to give her the talk he was about to. Everyone has left her. Now he was one of many on her list. She was only six.

Big hazel doe eyes pooled sadly into her brothers. For only being the age of six she had such an understanding smile on her face. It made no sense to Chris. She was not angry, not even showing sadness other than her eyes. He wondered where this maturity came from if he could even call it that. It was more of surviving than anything.

“I know,” her soft tone caught him off guard a bit. Swallowing a growing lump in his throat he placed his hand on top of her dirty one. He sweetly took his free and pulled her into his chest. Doing everything in his power not to sob.

“I need you to listen because this is very serious…You know papa can get mean sometimes to you—to all of us. I need you to listen to me. If papa ever puts a mean hand on you, you run. I need you to either run to Mrs. Davis's house, the police officer, or the mailman! Hell, I don’t care if you go to school. I just need you to run so you could be in contact with me or bubba Theo. You need to get as far away from him as possible,” he begged his blue eyes looking desperately into hers. The curly head girl nodded furiously, noticing her brother's concern but the nod was not enough for him; he needed her words. He needed to know no matter what she would run.

“Words rora!” He said loudly, making the small flinch a bit in his hold. His features turned soft, not meaning to yell at the girl. Instantly pulling her closer his one arm hugged her tight. Whispering sweet apologies not meaning to frighten her.

“I am so sorry sweet girl. Did not mean to scare you. I just need to hear you say you understand. I need to know that you understand. Daddy's nice my love and I have no idea how to get you out of this house. Just know I’m going to try.” He told her with a sad smile.

“I understand bubba, I understand. If papa is mean I run,” her small hands added more pressure on his face making intense eye contact to let him know.

She understood.

Removed his hand from on top of hers. He took his large arms and engulfed her in a tight hug. Placing his head on top of hers, “I love you rora-belle.”

“I love you Chris who never misses.”

The two of them sat in the field hugging. Not even hearing a door slam closed. But they both knew what was coming but Aura just clutched her brother tighter.

☄. *. ⋆

Stacking chairs on top of each other I felt my arms grow muscles that I wasn’t even sure I had. And of course, Mr. I’m built like the rock johnson over there was lifting these chairs as if they were light as feathers. These chairs were made of solid metal. I’m no weak cookie. Yet I’ve helped move like twenty and I already want to take a nap.

“You know just because you’ve got muscles it doesn’t mean you have to use them,” I whine, placing one now the twenty-first chair on a stack. I just stood there semi-depending on the leaning tower of chairs.

A cocky scoff left his pierced lip, but no verbal words were said. I just stuck my tongue out in reply, noticing him carrying two chairs over his shoulders. I really wanted to throw one of these chairs at him like I was a donkey kong. The static sound of the radio filled my ears, it’s been like this for a while. A bit of unorganized chatter. I didn’t mind it. I actually preferred the spurts of conversation rather than talking my lips off. Though either one didn’t matter.

But I was growing tired, and I needed something to keep me up. My eyes flicked over to a picture frame—a black-rimmed frame with a colorful photo like a magnet. I instantly gravitated toward the wall where the picture frame was.

It looked to be like a band. But an intense band. Each person was decorated in all black, jeans, shirts, shoes, and make-up. It wasn’t that—that made it intense. It was the chains they all had around their clothes, the red lighting illuminating the room that looked to be filled with smoke due to the blurriness of the photo. The people jumping in front of the stage. Two guys with long hair were ripping on the guitar, looking engrossed in their craft. I couldn’t make out their faces due to the fuzziness of the smoke. I noticed a girl on the mic looking as if she was screaming into it. Her messy jet-black locks looked to have chunky highlights. She wore a plaid skirt with a leather corset. My eyes then landed on the drummer. His dark hair was loose and looked to be drenched in sweat. His body was covered in what looked like a fishnet shirt that had leather covering the sleeves. The drummer's body was lathered in ink. Gulping a bit as I realized who it was.

He looked scarier back then. Or whenever this photo was taken. Though for some reason. I thought he looked great. It suits him. Even though in the shot he looks enraged bagging his sticks aggressively on his drums he still looked sunnier? More in his element.

“So you were in a band?” I whispered to myself never really believing he was in a band. My hand brushed the frame of the photo. A part of me just couldn’t believe it. The way I know him he would have probably thought things like bands are stupid. And so a part of me never thought it could be true.

A clink of a chair made me turn my head up to see Sebastian towering behind me, he had a dangerous look in his sharp blue eyes making me shrink a bit thinking I did something wrong. Feeling his figure looming behind mine made me squeal a little shifting from under his tall self. Now I was standing beside him. Shifting my gaze around the room I wouldn’t make eye contact. I didn’t know if he didn’t like talking about the band. Did I offend him?

“It’s not nice to snoop,” he scolded coldly, making me shudder in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I instantly replied, whipping my head toward him and making eye contact letting him know I meant it. To be fair the frame is in a public restaurant.

I mean his demeanor took a full 180… I guess the band isn’t his favorite subject.

“Don’t say sorry.”

“Sor- okay…”

I watched as he shook his head amusingly. My mind was spinning. I wanted to know every single detail of that photo. Did he still play the drums? Does he play any other instrument? Can he sing? Why were you wearing fishnets as a shirt? Every lingering question was toying with me like it was child's play.

“You’ve got questions don’t you?” I heard him state. I bit my lip as I shook my head lying not wanting to make him more uncomfortable. I just floated back to tables grabbing a chair and carrying it over to the other stacks. Trying to think of ways to make this less awkward. But my thoughts were cut off when I felt a hand on my head.

“Don’t be a stranger kid… The band is just something I’m not used to talking about that much anymore,” He said softly.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, let’s talk about something else kay’?” I reply genuinely, doing everything in my power not to make him uncomfortable. A feeling every person dreads.

“Alright but don’t feel bad, why don’t we start moving the tables to the back room so we have the middle of the room empty?” He asked, moving on swiftly.

I nod making my way to the clothed tables. Swiftly removing the picnic patterned cloth and I begin to fold it.

“What are you doing,” Sebastian's confused voice asked if I was reading a book upside down.

I mean I have done it.

“Folding?” I say questionably confused on why he was confused. I mean what does it look like I’m doing? Flying?

I watched as he walked over to me. I couldn't help but laugh at his perplexed features. His dark eyebrow quirked up while his fleshy lips were pressed into a straight line and his steel-blue eyes were narrowed in on the table cloth in my hands. Smirking a bit I continued to fold until the red and white fabric was in a perfectly neat rectangle. When I was younger I and my brother would always race to see who could fold our clothes the fastest. He wasn’t home that much due to him being a nineteen-year-old teenager. In college. So whenever he came for a visit he would come up with fun ways to help me with my chores.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked, baffled. Using my hand to cover my lips I couldn’t help but let a chuckle escape my lips.

“Folding?” I tried to confirm again, taunting him a bit.

“Yes, the linen origami!” Sebastian groaned, annoyed picking at his lip ring. Feeling the cloth leave my hand. His tattooed hands lifted it up, inspecting it like a kid looking at a toy.

“Sebastian, you're telling me you own a diner but you don’t fold your tablecloths!” I screech in shock.

“Yes, Aurora. I just stuff them in the closet. Never needed to fold em’—now stop making fancy table napkins with a picnic blanket and shove them into the closet over there,” he said, annoyed, strutting over to the open closet and tossing the cloth in there.

Huffing annoyed, I flipped my hair over my shoulder and ran into the deep closet space, “You can preserve space if you keep them nice and folded.”

The closet was a wreck, to say the least. Dust was covering the limited shelves, a mop lingered in the corner of the room. A shockingly clean flannel hung on the rusted knob of the door, while piles of boxes were sat building up the same fuzz that carpeted the shelves. Clearly thrown table cloths scattered the floors and now my new perfect folded cloth is on top of them. Placing my hands on my hips in annoyance I walk back out with my face scrunched up annoyed over dramatizing it knowing it annoys him.

Something I learned about Sebastian since August, he hates over-exaggerating things. Him being the grumpy old man he is, I used to come in complaining saying how I was going to die if I didn’t get a fill of his Carmel coffee. He proceeds to tell me just because you want something that bad does not mean you're going to die if you don’t get it. I didn’t know how to explain to him I was joking so I just sat there nodding my head eating my toasted bagel waiting for him to give me my coffee.

That day it took me ten minutes to get my coffee.

There was not a soul in the diner by the way.

“What is it? Why’s your mouth hanging open? when you catch flies don’t cry to me,” His monotone voice muffled. I catch how he now added a cigarette to his growing collection of lip accessories. Moist lips held the stick of nicotine balancing it as his ringed hand lit the cigarette with his left hand that covered the flame. The smell was somewhat comforting.

The smokey smell of burning ash made my brain automatically return to my old house. A two-story white picket fence house. The overgrown lawn and flowers, the porch with my dad sitting on his rocking chair with his cigarette and beer bottle.

I would never mind the cigarette smell but the potent smell of beer would forever be tattooed in my head.

Gosh, I hated beer.

“Your closet is a pigsty,” I taunt cheekily.

His eyes twinkled with amusement as he took his first inhale of the tobacco. Using his two fingers he removed the cylinder from his lips while keeping them apart a bit of smoke was released into the room. Scrunching my nose getting used to the new scent added to the room.

“Pigsty? Well, I guess I need some pigs?” He jokes, placing the nicotine stick back into his mouth and leaning back on the table.

“I know the perfect one,” I mumble, rocking back and forth on my feet.

“Yea? Who?” he asked, repeating the same action as before.

“You!”

I snorted and escaped him. I never heard him snort before. But his cigarette fell onto the floor and he quickly stepped on it. Before I knew it he was pouncing toward me like an animal would its prey. Squealing a bit I dashed around the maze of tables that we had failed to begin to put away. Giggling wildly I ran between circle tables watching as he was across from me. His face was lit up with mischief, his eyebrows lifted up to his hairline, and a Cheshire smirk graced his face. My body was enraptured in adrenaline. I giddily run slipping on my own two feet as I watch him run toward me around the table. Like on instinct I bolt in the other direction.

I felt like a child. It felt like being in the school park running during tag. He looked so silly. Less serious. He should be like this more often. His blue eyes I swear are twinkling like the ocean on a sunny day. His dark locks were no longer in a quaff but now it was a fluff mess. Even covered in tattoos and piercings he managed to look like a pure little kid.

Before I managed to run any farther I felt an arm cut me off. Before I knew it that arm lifted me up off the ground a bit. The pressure on my stomach made me laugh like crazy, the tickly sensation made me squirm like a worm. I got a small wife from his shirt. From being so close. A vanilla scent, it was a little musky but still, it held the sweet smell. His shirt has a subtle smell of tobacco. And for some reason the sweet concoction made me feel a little red. Maybe it was the close proximity but whatever it was made me feel very weird.

“What is it, kid? Ticklish?” his gruff voice taunts me, making my cheeks heat up. Not even being able to respond I felt his large hand fall on my stomach and started scribbling on it madly. Breathless laughs were my only response to his action. A small snort escaped me. I couldn't hold back. I was just laughing letting the serotonin fall over me. I haven’t been tickled, hugged, or held, in a long time. But this feeling I wouldn’t mind feeling again. Though another snort left me.

“Who’s the pig now,” Sebastian mocks, letting me down but his hands are still slightly tickling me.

“Still you!”

“You're a dead kid!”

“No, I'm standing right here!” I sassily remark placing my hands on my hips.

“I’m gonna-”

“Okay let’s put these tables away tomorrow I start this tutoring thing and I need to mentally prepare,” I cut him off moving over toward the tables. Hearing footsteps behind me I giggle in knowing Sebastian is hot on my tail.

“You know what, fuck this kid and his party let me drive you back to your dorm. I don’t need you walking back at this time,” Sebastian suggested making me look over my shoulder. The thought that he wanted to take me home was endearing. But in no way was I allowing it.

“You’re not taking me back. I'm a big girl and I can handle myself!” I joke.

My soft hand was placed on my shoulder, “come on, I want an excuse to get out of this place and you’re not giving it to me. So be a doll and please let me take you home.”

Oh, so he just wanted an excuse to leave.

Welp, as long as he didn’t feel obligated to drive me, that's fine.

“Sure sounds good!” I replied.

“Let me just shut the lights and we will get going sounds good?”

“Sounds great!”

I watched as I left to go into that messy closet and before I knew it the room turned dark. I couldn’t see much but I saw Seb’s tall shadow. Carefully moving my way toward him we both went toward the door and out to the dark sky. It was chilly. I saw Seb hold the red and black flannel in his right hand. I smiled at the thought of him wearing it. He probably looked like a little lumberjack.

“Here put this on,” I looked to my side to see him holding the lumberjack thing like he was holding it out for a child to slip it on. Scrunching my face I chuckle, “You want me to wear it?”

“Yea now put it on,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. Not having the urge to fight with him I slipped on the red and black flannel and let the soft material engulf me. It was really soft. It felt like a small cloud. And it smelt like his vanilla and cigarette smell.

“Thanks, Seb,” I whispered a little flushed that I was wearing his sweater. He was always so nice and kind. It made me envious. I wanted so badly to have his kindness.

“Don’t sweat it, kid let’s get going.”

“Yea let’s.”

#bucky x female reader #marvel #loki #loki laufeyson #books #fanfic #fanfiction #mcu #thor #thor odinson #wattpad #professor x student #professor #oc #romance #lovetriangle

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years ago

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What I Thought About the Climax of "Reunion" from Amphibia

Salutations, random people on the internet who are already scrolling right past this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

So, Season Three of Amphibia is coming pretty soon. And I am...excited, but not as much as most people.

If you've seen my reviews, you'll know that while I do like Amphibia, I wouldn't go so far as to say it grabbed me as well as a series like The Owl House. With a show like that, it took me until Episode Five before I realized The Owl House was something special that was worth remembering. For Amphibia? It took me until the Season One finale before I had a similar reaction. But, to be fair, that's because this series is really good at making an ending. "Reunion," for example, takes a lot of the small things the first season has been building up, taking plots from episodes I considered filler and tying it all together in a pretty satisfying ending. I know people are still reeling over the epicness of "True Colors," and all for a good reason, but I want to start the new season on the right foot by discussing a moment that made me consider giving the series a chance.

But it also contains spoilers, so if you haven't seen Amphibia yet, now might be a good time to check it out. It may not have grabbed me and might not even grab you, but trust me when I say that it's worth it just to get to that final scene.

Now, let's review, shall we?

Grime Explaining Flipwart and Bogjump: One thing I will always defend about this series is its humor. More often than not, it succeeds in getting a chuckle out of me with perfect timing and solid comedic delivery. And stuff like this? Where Grime takes a break from his evilness to explain how two board games work to two teenagers? Only to then give up and stick with a simple answer? Yeah, I'm sorry, but that's funny to me. A good thing, too, given how this show relies more on humor than anything else. It may have an overarching plot and its fair share of grim moments (I give you Marcy's maybe death), but Amphibia knows when to keep things light amongst the darkness, which I always appreciate.

Anne Pleading with Sasha: Here, the scene showcases Anne's own personal struggle with Sasha. We know Sasha's a bad friend, primarily because we have eyes. But Anne still needs convincing. Because while she speaks up, she still doesn't assert herself. Anne doesn't yell at Sasha or tell her she's going too far. Instead, she just begs and pleads, hoping to seek the bit of humanity of this girl that Anne sees as a friend. Only for Grime to cut things short in demanding Hop Pop.

Anne Grabbing a Sword to Defend Hop Pop: This, on the other hand, was a defining moment for Anne. She spent so much time with the Plantars, risking life and limb for their own personal health and safety in multiple episodes before this one. So in desperation and due to being backed into a corner, she yanks out one of the guards' swords and orders people to back up, including her "best friend." This moment is when Anne is right on the edge of standing up against Sasha, ready to do all she can to help a person, er, frog that treats her right.

Sasha Talking Anne Down: But she isn't fully ready to fight back yet. Sasha sees the panic and desperation and uses that to her advantage and takes control. She speaks calmly, attracting Anne with talks of going home and pointing out the ridiculousness of standing up for Hop Pop. And my blood boils with how easily she does it. It was like a light switch, turning off her intensity just so Sasha appears to be empathetic. Even though she isn't. You can tell just how cold hearted she can be with the way she says the line "End of discussion." Does the way she say that really sound like a person who has Anne's best interests at heart. I wouldn't think so.

Sprig’s Reaction to Anne Lowering the Sword: And neither does Sprig. I mean, look at Sprig's expressions when he sees Anne lower the sword:

First, there's shock and empathy in seeing Anne crumble to Sasha's will. And unlike the fake empathy Sasha offered, you can see that it's real.

Almost as real as the look of pure disgust he gives Sasha afterward. Personally, I can't blame him. Sprig cares deeply for Anne, as the two of them have the most real friendship out of everyone else in the main cast, one built on mutual trust, respect, and willingness to have the other's best interests at heart.

Sprig Standing Up for Anne: This only proves my point. By slingshotting mud (was that mud?) into Sasha's face and praising how incredible Anne is, Sprig proved he really is the true friend that Sasha can only wish to be. And it's just the boost Anne needed to snap out of her stupor and do, in her words, "something that [she] should have done a long time ago."

Anne Standing Up to Sasha: If standing up for Hop Pop was a defining moment for Anne, defending Sprig from Sasha was a moment Anne could never go back on. It was one thing to fight for her found family against soldiers she's never met before. It's something else to do that against Sasha, Anne's best friend, who she pleaded with earlier and was so close to falling into submission for. But not anymore. At this moment, Anne decided to think for herself and do what needed to be done. Rather than let a bully tell her what to do instead.

Grime’s Words of Warning for Sasha: Grime’s little warning is similar to how a commander gives tips to a fellow commander in leading the troops. Because that's what Sasha really seems like. Not a friend, but someone who takes charge and orders what Anne and Marcy should do rather than listen to the opinions of the group. You see it more in "Battle of the Bands," and that's why I think she follows his advice to "stamp this out." Especially with how he finishes his warning: "Fail, and nothing will ever be the same."

There are two things to take away from that.

The fact that Grime was right. Sasha failed, and nothing was the same because of it. Anne now stood up to her and won't take her orders anymore. The thing is, that would have happened if Anne failed or not. Sasha winning may have stamped Anne's spirit a bit, but it still shows a dark side to her that wouldn't have been forgotten for long.

The fact that Sasha vocally admits that she won't let things change. It proves how twisted her mindset on friendship is that Sasha would willingly partake in a sword fight with her "best friend" because she refuses to have Anne standing up for herself. She likes being in charge and refuses to lose her power no matter what needs to be done to keep it.

If Anne defending Sprig is a moment where she crosses the line for the better, Sasha listening to Grime is a moment where she crosses the line for the worst.

“Anne, you don’t have to do this”: I love how Hop Pop tries to talk Anne out of the challenge. It's his life that's on the line, but he cares just as deeply for Anne as she does for him, that letting her duel Sasha, her supposed "best friend," is a choice he doesn't want her to make.

“Yes, I do.”: But Anne isn't about that. She now knows the type of person Sasha is, and letting her get away with more control is something no one should allow. And Anne won't. Not anymore.

The Fight: The fight isn't all that special compared to other action animation, and even to a certain fight scene we see in "True Colors." But as is, it is still pretty tense. I mean, for f**k's sake, it's two thirteen-year-olds fighting each other with swords! It's a miracle that only Sasha got a small scar at the end of it. Plus, while not the show's highest standard yet, there is a lot of effort and attention put into this battle. Anne is a lot more inexperienced and frantic with her attacks, where Sasha shows she was trained well in her time with the toads and is rotten given that she cheated by blinding Anne to force a victory. In a way, it illustrates the desperation the two of them have for winning, making Sasha's actions, in particular, easier to root for Anne.

Anne Wins: So when Anne is victorious, it's all the more satisfying. Primarily thanks to the look on Sasha's face. Look at it:

That is the definition of shock and anger, mostly shock. Sure, Sasha might be ticked that she lost, but it's Anne's words that I think really hit a specific soft spot: "You're not going to push me around anymore." That's probably the first time that Anne called Sasha out on her awful behavior. Saying that she's standing up to her huts, but pointing out how Sasha basically controlled Anne and how that's something she won't allow anymore, could be an eye-opening moment that Sasha needed.

Grime Goes Against the Deal: Ok, full disclosure, while this post is meant to shine a light on how great a scene is, there is one complaint I've got to get out of the way. You see, Grime going against his deal to let Hop Pop go free if Anne wins was way too predictable. Because why the f**k would he?!

I mean, does this seriously look like the face of a man you can trust? This scene may excel at everything else, but this one predictable moment is just a little off to forgive.

The Tower Blowing Up: This predictable moment, however, is done flawlessly. Because there's a difference between a twist and a payoff. Where a twist is meant to shock the audience, a payoff has to, well, pay off a setup brought up earlier in the story. And Wally's boom-shrooms going off at just the right time, transitioning to the most iconic moment of the series? Yeah, that's a payoff done right.

(Also, Wally cursing his one eye is hilarious)

“Lean On Me”: By the way, NOT joking when I say what follows is the most iconic moment of the series. All of which is aided by the inclusion of "Lean On Me" by Bill Withers. I'm not a music theory major and have no idea if the song itself is actually mildly appropriate to the scene, much like how "All Star" and "I Need a Hero" work perfectly for Shrek and Shrek 2, respectively. With that said, "Lean On Me" really does add an extra Umph! power to what follows. And as Matt Braley, series creator, describes, it is the coolest thing, but it will never happen again.

(Apparently, the song was too expensive).

Anne Goes to Save Sasha: Believe it or not, I actually do love this decision. Sasha may be a bad friend...Actually, no. Sasha is definitely a bad friend, but that doesn't mean Anne wants her to die. Not after all the good times that they had with each other. Anne might refuse to let Sasha push her around, but she's not ready to cut Sasha out of her life. Not yet.

Anne Holds Onto Sasha, the Plantars Hold Onto Anne: ...I mean...just f**king that! Through this moment, we get a perfect idea of how Anne's relationships work.

To put it simply, the Plantars raise Anne up and keep her safe, where Sasha just weighs her down and risks her safety. And the saddest part is that Sasha knows this.

“Anne. Maybe you’re better off without me…”: Some say that this could be Sasha trying to get in one last manipulation, using her own sacrifice to stick to Anne for choosing talking frogs over her. While I could see that perspective as a possibility, I personally take this moment as Sasha finally realizing the damage she causes for Anne and admits her faults. Sure, Sasha might have backpedaled in later episodes. What with refusing to change and even directing her anger towards Anne instead of towards herself. But that's because she had time to process these events and unfairly aim her negative feelings at Anne for wanting something better. So it doesn't seem implausible to me that Sasha admitting that Anne's better off without her is something she believed deep down and, for just a moment, allowed herself to accept this heavy truth. I won't deny the possibility that she's still trying to manipulate Anne, but to me, with the tone and expression Sasha has with her admission, you can't fake that. And you can't fake what she does next.

Sasha Lets Go: This...shocked me right down to my core.

I knew Grime would go back on his word, and I assumed the boom-shrooms would pay off somehow. But Sasha, willingly and unhesitantly, letting go of Anne's grip and falling to an expected demise? I...I couldn't have ever predicted that. Not with what we've seen from her before. When I hear how people see this as one last manipulation tactic, I just can't see it. Yes, there are monsters on this planet who would go this far, but I don't think Sasha is one of them. Later episodes like "Battle of the Bands" (despite a rough start) show signs of a person who could be better, and the Season Three trailer hints that she might actually learn from her mistakes. So her letting go, with no way of knowing her survival, could be the first sign that Sasha would one day make that first step. She might not be able to become Anne’s friend again, thanks to burning that bridge in "True Colors," but she'll at least try to become a better person. She just needs to do one good thing in her life first.

Plus, whenever I see this image:

I’m reminded why I could never say that I didn’t like this show.

Grime Saving Sasha: A lesser viewer would say this cheapens Sasha's sacrifice, but not to me. She had no way of knowing Grime would save her, so to her, so this is still a bid decision to go through with, even if she couldn't have gone all the way. In no way does it take away from the sacrifice, just as much as it doesn't strike a chord deep in Anne's heart.

Anne Breaks Down: Because what else would she do?

It's true, Sasha isn't a good friend, and Anne would likely be better off without her. But that's not what Anne's thinking at this moment.

She's thinking about the good fun she had with her best friend.

She was thinking about the person she could lean on.

And she was thinking about how she almost lost this person forever.

So when it all comes crashing down on Anne at once, there's nothing left to do but cry. It is such a real moment that proves one thing: There was effort put into this finale.

IN CONCLUSION

Would I say Amphibia draws me in as much as The Owl House does? No. But it still has my respect. A finale like this proves how hard the writers try to give a good experience. Even if a Schmuck like me thinks that all the pieces don't come together, they still do all they can to make a beloved series.

Season Three is on the way, and while I'm not as hyped as others, I still can't wait to see how it ends. Because if "Reunion" taught me anything, this series really nails an ending.

(And if you want me to do a scene breakdown of the finale in "True Colors," I'll tell you now: I won't...alright, maybe I'll do something for the mid-season premiere. But no promises!)

#amphibia #amphibia reviews #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #captain grime #hop pop plantar #sprig plantar #reunion amphibia #what i thought about #scene breakdowns

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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kariachi · 5 years ago

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The Endless Desert

We have the animal life settled out on the coast, where there’s water and shelter and things like that, but coast and shoreline is not common on Osmos V. Most of the planet is desert, with some large lakes (19 large lakes, across the entire damn planet) and a proportional number of springs and ponds dotted around. That’s it. Most of the planet is deserts, with little to no perspiration (we’ll hit up the mountains later, where things’ll get mixed up a skosh), rare pockets of water, and the kaminobrach acting as the only real equivalent to plantlife because they got there first and are using up all the water and space you don’t need to be moving around to get. Fuckers are extending some damn magiroots, let me tell ya.

But the plantlife we already know, what we need is to get our animals out here, teach them the ways of the sand.

Red Sea species are not happening. There is not enough of, anything they need to survive. Oxygen. Food. Water. There is not shit available. Red Sea species are shoreline only, and at this point Red Sea only. But we still have the Grey Sea species to work with, and they have changes to make for their own sake.

Issues faced in the desert are-

One, so much sand. All the sand. Pretty sand, yes, because it’s made up of like iron and gold and amethyst and shit like that alongside fucking rocks, but still. Fucking sand everywhere.

Two, where is the water? Is there water? Probably not. They’re gonna have to figure out how they’re getting and retaining that shit. Because holy fuck.

To start with, we’re going to make some adjustments to some fuckers. Nobody has a respiratory system, so we’re going to replace it with a complex water storage system. This should increase the amount of time all these fuckers can go without drinking, especially if over time it becomes more efficient, keeping more water in less space. Make things a bit easier for everybody.

The kamees have it relatively easy on the water front, at least. Their food is literally just magic and water, so they can probably get the majority of their water intake from their food. Still, they’ll need to adjust to best take advantage of the situation.

We’ve been splitting things into twos so far, so we’re going to continue here. Two diametrically opposed designs. One will optimize to get all of it’s water from the kaminobachs they eat, while the other will very much not.

First one is going to have the least efficient water storage system, but then it won’t really need it all that much. It’ll be a smaller kamee, say two foot at the shoulder, since it’s foodsource is lower down to the ground and it’s relying on it for it’s water consumption. It’s forelimbs have webbed fingers and webbing running to the shoulder from the outermost fingers, to maximize skin contact with dinner, while it’s mouth will specialize to suck up the sort’ve gel manacytes start becoming as they lose energy.

It’s not the biggest change in history, but it’ll do them, and they will be muskamee, literally ‘mouse kamee’ since they’re a small.

Second branch will go the opposite direction. They’re going to grow out those legs. This will not only give them a better vantage point to sense the kaminodendri that signal the presence of large amount of water without other things getting in the way, but also help them get to that water faster with their longer strides. As a result they’ll also probably have longer necks than other species descended from the oophera, sorta like shorter alien giraffes. Since being tall sort’ve fucks with access to dinner in this case, their forelimbs are going to grow longer, with small claws, webbed fingers, and grasping abilities. This will allow them to reach down and rip up parts of the kaminobrachs to eat.

To add a little bit to this, long legs means they can get a far distance, not just from predators if needed but also from each other and so they’re going to start developing a tubular outgrowth on the shoulders that, when opened and faced into the wind, gives off a distinct whistle they can use to find mates across larger distances.

They’ll also practice a new step in childcare, traveling to the nearest body of water when it comes time for their eggs to hatch, so their young have ready access to food and water. Until this point members of this phylum have just, dropped their kids wherever they are when they hatch.

These guys will be cankamee, ‘singing kamee’.

Which brings us to the fendven, who are gonna have to change to work with their new circumstances. Gonna have a change a lot.

These guys, I don’t know if you remember, eat of the meat-things. Now this is fine, but because they’re not using the things they properly eat for energy, just for proteins and things, there’s a lot of waste going on. Lot of shit that’s going in that can’t really be used and so just has to come back out. And since they’re getting their water from drinking and from their prey, which is spread out across a massive fucking desert, they don’t have a lot of that coming in. And digestion takes fluids. And hacking up waste like they’ve been takes fluids (saliva and shit, to help shit go down, to help shit come up). They’re just using a lot of fluids they can’t recover all that great. So, what does a bitch do?

Well, a bitch has figured out absorbing matter. And a bitch has been able to convert fats and meats directly into energy. So they’re just gonna lean into that.

From now on this family doesn’t need any of this digestion bullshit, they’re just going to drag nutrition straight out of the dinner right then and there. Instant usage, some extra can go into their preexisting fat storage for use between meals, bing bang bosh, Bob’s your uncle. This definitively restricts them to eating live prey, but they were gonna struggle to find dead prey anyway. Plus, without need for the stomach to digest shit this will allow it to shrink down and make more space for things like a larger water storage system.

These fuckers will be able to go for ages without getting a fucking drink, camels eat your heart out.

But now, for the specific specializations. We’re gonna go for two, as is the theme- one for hunting small critters and one for hunting large.

The small-critter-hunter is gonna be larger than the muskamee, much like coyotes are larger than hares. They’ll have the same sort’ve webbing adaptation they have though, able to just grab hold and immediately get to optimal eating. Still gonna have the claws and bony spikes to keep a solid grip while they do so. The toes on their first pair of legs will also have some digging ability to them, allowing them to get under and flip pelvore if they find them.

Again, not a lot of changes, but it works for them. These shall be the ampliven, for ‘ample hunter’, since they’ll have larger numbers than the others.

The large-critter-hunter is gonna be a bit more. They’re going to specialize in hunting the cankamee, which means while they’ll get the same webbing adaptation (is handy) they’re going to get larger than the ampliven, taller and sturdier. They’re also going to move into another all new skill for Grey Sea species-

Pack hunting.

These guys are going to form mated pairs, hunting together and raising their young, which in this case is more letting their young hang around for safety. Because cankamee are large, it’s more effective to hunt in twos than alone. To coordinate these hunts, their stridulations have gotten more complex to allow them to communicate basic things like ‘that one’.

Them we shall call cynamath, ‘sand dog’.

Now, we’ve gone over all the desert descendants of the celven, so let’s take a little break here to go over some shared physical traits, for future reference and work if nothing else.

First off, because nobody was nice enough to recommend numbers everything has three toes because Power of Three. Three toes, three fingers. Yes I am a nerd, if you didn’t notice.

Second off, limbs, these fuckers have, in order- 1 pair of forelimbs used for manipulation of the environment specifically food, 3 pairs of legs used for locomotion, 1 pair of almost winglike limbs on the back associated with a piece of textured armor they use for stridulation, 2 pairs of a sort’ve flippery-handy limb at the ass end for use in carrying stones and metals for absorption purposes, and 2 pairs of flippery-handy limbs at the far ass end for egg carrying purposes. On males the whole of the ass end in dedicated to material holding.

Next, sensory shit. There’s three main senses for perceiving the world around them- energy-sensing, hearing, and smell. Their ears take the form of frog-like tympanum, with one large set on either side of the head and a smaller one behind the shoulder of every leg. A series of gel-filled organs exist along the sides and back as well as in the head that form the energy-sensing system. Feathery scent-receptive tendrils follow the same lines along the sides, with a few appearing at the front of the head. Since so much sensory input comes from so many parts of the body the brain is vaguely decentralized, by which I mean a good chunk of it resides in the head and the rest just sort’ve trails down the back in a protective shell of iron sulfate-based bone.

Side effect of of their iron sulfide-based skeletons- all Grey Sea vertebrates can detect magnetic fields, and as such always have a sense for what direction is north. Some babes will get funky with this later.

Coloration, straight up don’t come into play. They don’t need it for camouflage, they don’t need it to handle the sun, they don’t need shit. Pick a color and/or pattern and go hogwild, have fun.

And, with that over with, we move forward.

The geoppoie have no real changes to note. Seriously, they just followed fuckers out here to eat them. “But there’s no water our here at least” speak for yourselves these fuckers have the power of dig. They can burrow down to water and eventually something is going to figure out you can take advantage of that. As it is right now the females are the biggest predator around so nobody is starting shit yet.

Which leave us with the sculpanettes. The taurthyre aren’t going to be coming out here, mostly because they’re already heavy and their method of locomotion doesn’t really work well with kaminobrachs and eating them. Too high, can’t climb. The other two will be moving to the desert though, because they can.

Both will be gaining the water storage system and both will be figuring out water absorption because it works best for them, but beyond that-

Well, beyond that the pelvore won’t be changing at all. Getting larger maybe but that’s about it. They’ll do a bit more to head for living things as well, like kaminobrach sprouts and sleeping or downed critters, because they need that sweet sweet water.

It’s the scurufla that are going to be making some major changes. And they’re going to be fun ones. For the most part they’re going to function as standard, but their shells have developed several segments. This doesn’t come into play most of the time, but when they begin dehydrating these babies will go into a brumation state and curl up into a vaguely spherical shape, allowing the wind to carry them until they eventually hit water. They’ll also do this when an ampliven tries to flip them, leaving the predator unable to get at their vulnerable underbodies.

They are, drumroll please, amenspher, ‘wind balls’.

And lo, but we have a basic desert ecosystem. Next up is either going to be the meeting of the animals, the progression into the mountains, or everything continuing to refine. We’ll see.

#the babo project #ben 10

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 6 years ago

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Their Hero Academia: Chapter 20

My on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fan fic! This time featuring Kimiko Ojiro! Chapters 0-19 (plus the interlude) can be found here

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 20: Kimiko Ojiro Stands Out

Kimiko was pretty sure the boredom was going to kill her. Of course, she’d said that about the rest of the morning’s classes, but Hero Art History was probably going to nuke her brain the most. It was not nearly as interesting as the name made it sound, being more about the art of heroing throughout history. Which was boring!

At least their teacher was hot. Skyline was tall and blonde, with muscles that showed clearly through his sleeveless blue and white bodysuit. The big white cape was probably a bit much though. About half the time, he was nearly tripping over it or getting it caught on something. For an American, his Japanese was surprisingly good. Or maybe not so surprising, considering his father, Captain Celebrity, had relocated from America to Japan ages ago.

Even now, the boredom was seeping in, as Skyline was explaining about how, many years ago, an American Pro-Hero had nearly derailed a passenger training while fighting a Villain, which had resulted in a lawsuit that had ultimately led to more lawsuits which had led to America and several other countries (but not Japan) deciding to revoke all Pro-Hero licenses for nearly twenty years. Boring! Who cared about something that had happened that long ago, before any of them were even born? Besides, Quirks were a lot less common in those days. These days, nearly ninety percent of the population had them. They’d never do anything like that again!

One of the nice things about being invisible? So long as she wasn’t, like, completely slumped over asleep, no one could tell if she wasn’t actually paying attention. Well, her dad could. But he could do the same for Mom too. He’d had plenty of practice with invisible people.

“All right, who can tell me the name of the law that led to the re-registration of Pro-Heroes in those countries that had outlawed them?” Skyline asked.

The hands in the front row all went up: Asuka Tokoyami, Toshi Midoriya, Shota Shinso, and Izumi Todoroki. Skyline’s eyes scanned the room. “Ojiro?”

Crap! She had no idea what the answer to the question was. She’d zoned out during that part of the lecture. “It’s, ah, um… I don’t know, Mister Skyline.”

“Perhaps someone—someone not in the front row—could help Miss Ojiro? No, not you, Mineta, you’ve got too much American in your background not to know this already.”

Skyline’s eyes looked over the other students again and Kimiko could tell he was making a concentrated effort to look around her, not through her, to look at the students in the back row. Not everybody did. She was used to it.

“Haimawari?” Skyline said. “What was the name of the act?”

“Ah, the official name was the International Hero Accord. But a lot of people called it the Deavor-Parr Act, after the lobbyist and Pro-Heroes who were the reason it passed in the first place,” Haimawari said.

“Good,” Skyline said. “Not many people know the other name and it’s not in your textbook. How’d you know it?”

“My dad’s a major Hero fanboy,” Haimawari said. “I kind of am too, I guess.”

Skyline grinned. “That does explain your essay from last week. I was pretty sure Midoriya or Shinso had written it, until I double-checked the name.” A soft laughter rippled through most of the class.

Just what they needed. Another nerd! Midoriya and Shinso were too much sometimes as it was.

Their teacher shot a look at the clock. “Okay, almost lunchtime, so I’ll shut up for now. Homework for tomorrow is Chapter 12 in your textbooks and one page on the repercussions of the Leopardon Act of ’78.”

Kimiko barely stopped herself from letting out a groan.

***

“Okay, Kimiko, we’re recording,” Takuma Sero (one of her total BFF’s, even if he utterly failed at being a gay best friend. The thought of some of the things he considered fashionable made her shudder) said, holding up his phone. “And three… two… one!”

The two of them and Kenta Sato had finished their lunches and, being barred from filming more “Will Sato Eat It?” in the cafeteria, they’d had to adjust their filming scheduling and gone with one of the projects that starred her instead.

The irony of a video series starring someone who couldn’t be seen was not lost on her. But she came from a long line of invisible people. Her mom was, both of her mom’s parents were, and so were several other relatives of the Hagakure side, though some were more visible than others. She actually had a cousin who was just slightly transparent.

And sure, maybe she didn’t really know what she looked like. But she knew who she was. And she had plenty of friends and family that saw her anyway.

“Hello, everyone!” she said, grinning and looking into the camera, giving it an exaggerated wave. “Can you tell I’m smiling? Because I’m totally smiling! I’m Kimiko Ojiro and this is Gossip Corner! Bringing you all the juiciest gossip straight from the student body of U.A!”

She held up her own phone, showing Takuma’s social media page and one of the selfies he had taken on his date with Tensei Iida. “Okay, so this one is old news, but it bears repeating! My best friend and total pink cutie pie had himself a date with this pink-haired hunk of jet-fueled hotness! And they’re going on another one! Let’s all wish them well and hope we get lots more pictures come beach season! Hashtag—Pinkysquared!

“But wait… there’s more!” She turned and pointed behind her, the sleeve of her uniform mostly showing the way. Takuma followed with his phone, zooming in on the table across the room where Midoriya sat with Tokoyami, Todoroki, Haimawari, Shinso, and Sora Iida. Iida was sitting as close to Midoriya as humanly possible, pressed right up against him. Midoriya himself looked a little flustered, but ultimately happy.

“Yes, that’s right, it’s a two for one Iida Special! It looks like Sora Iida is now dating Toshi Midoriya! This one flew right under everyone’s radar… even mine! That’s right, viewers, I literally did not find this out until Monday afternoon!”

Takuma brought the phone back around to focus on her. “How did this happen? Will they stay together? Will she accidentally kill him testing some new gadget? Will someone have to explain the birds and bees to them in an incredibly awkward conversation?” She shrugged. “That’s what makes this so great! We! Don’t! Know! But I promise you all, as soon as I find anything out, you’ll all be the first to know! Hashtag—Iidagreen!”

“And just so you don’t think I’m just focusing on Class 1-A… I have it on good authority that David Togata, of Support Class 1-G…” She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot across the room. Takuma followed again and focused in on a tall, skinny boy with a mane of wild blonde hair, glasses, and extra-long, multi-jointed fingers, sat with others from the Support Department and also Tensei Iida.

“…Has broken up with his Junior High girlfriend! That’s right, ladies, he’s on the market! Get him while you can and remember to be direct! You know these Support Department types don’t always pick up on subtle flirting! Hashtag—SingleScientist!”

Takuma returned the phone to filming her again. “That’s all for today! But remember my promise to you, viewers! If it’s worth knowing, I’ll make sure you know it! I’m Kimiko Ojiro and this has been Gossip Corner! Remember to hit like and subscribe!”

Cutting the video, Takuma gave her a thumbs’ up. “Great job, Kimiko,” he said. “I’ll add some stuff in post and get it uploaded tonight.”

“That wasn’t a nice thing to do to David,” Kenta said, crossing his arms. “You don’t know if he even wants another girlfriend that fast.” Sure, he was happy to go along with whatever Takuma came up with, but apparently now he had standards?

She shrugged. “You worry too much, Kenta! I’m just putting it out there in the wild. I can’t be responsible for what happens after that! He’ll probably thank me for getting him out of those dirty workshops! Don’t be such a wet blanket.”

Besides, if you wanted to get noticed and you were invisible, you either went big or went home.

“She’s got a point, Kenta,” Takuma said. “And it’s good for hits. Besides, it’s a big school. Dave’ll probably never notice.”

“Just for that,” Kenta said, holding up a paper bag, “I’m not sharing these donuts Dad made me.”

Horror swept over her face, but Kenta and Takuma just looked at her. “…I’m making my horrified face, right now! If you don’t share, I’ll… I’ll…” She waved her arms wildly. “I’ll never forgive you!”

Kenta just laughed. “Relax,” he said. “I’ll share. I’ll share. I’ve got enough for all three of us.”

There was no way she was missing a chance at Kenta’s dad’s treats, and they were as good as promised.

“You know, Kimiko,” Takuma said, “one thing I’ve always wondered… how do you find your mouth?”

She rolled her eyes. Not that he could see it. So she put a little extra irritation into her voice. “How do you find your mouth, Takuma?”

“I dunno. I just do.”

“Same thing for me,” she said. “I’ve just got better proprioception than most people. Mom and my grandparents do too.”

“Proprio-what?” Kenta asked.

“It means I’ve got a really good sense of where my limbs and body parts are,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “Learn something new every day.”

***

Back at the USJ, Kimiko was working with Daisuke Shoji, Tokoyami, Haimawari, Tensei Iida, and Katsumi Kirishima-Bakugo. Having already worked with All Might and Water Spout, they were now working with Doc Clock. So far, the results had been somewhat mixed. While Tokoyami’s Frog-Shadow and Daisuke’s strength and Extendo-Limbs were ideal for rescue operations, and the mobility offered by Haimawari and Iida’s Quirks at least offered them good options for extraction, neither her Quirk not Kirishima-Bakugo’s was exactly good at clearing the rubble or getting into tight places to rescue someone.

Or at least, that’s what she’d thought going into this week. She was used to using her Quirk for hiding things or hiding herself (thank goodness she didn’t have to go into the field naked like Mom did!), or even occasionally disoriented a robot or security camera. But on Monday, All Might had suggested that she could use it to render rubble or walls invisible, letting her and everyone else see beyond them for easy visualization of rescues or finding buried people.

That had been a revelation in and of itself. She had some memories of using her Quirk to try and look inside Christmas presents, but all she’d managed to do then was make the entire package and everything in it invisible. But with a little coaching, she’d found she could do layers.

What Doc Clock was now suggesting was even more surprising.

“You’re like a portable x-ray machine,” Doc Clock told her on one side of one of the rescue animatronics. She’d already put the others to work and was watching them through a small monitor, in-between offering Kimiko some instruction. Somewhere inside the simulated city, she was sure she could hear Kirishima-Bakugo cursing about how stupid the whole thing was and how she hadn’t gotten to blow anything up in three days.

“No radiation, minimal danger of potential interactions with other Quirks, though if they’ve been really badly injured or burned, you may have trouble finding a safe point of contact,” Doc Clock went on. “But you could do a lot for field triage, maybe a more if you went for a Hero-Paramedic’s license. A first responder who can do an in-depth assessment and more than basic first aid? You’d be remarkable.”

Remarkable? Maybe. She’d pretty much given herself to mostly being an Underground Hero. With her stealth and the martial arts training she’d gotten from her dad, she knew she could be formidable when the situation called for it. But even that was at odds with the media personality she wanted to cultivate along with Takuma and Kenta. This was something that had never occurred to her…

“Okay,” she said, “so walk me through this.”

Doc Clock nodded, looking down at the dummy. “So the animatronics aren’t a perfect simulation, but they have enough inner workings that we can give it a shot. If this works out and you want to keep going with it, we can find some live people for you to work on. If nothing else, I’m sure Dad can “persuade” some of your classmates into volunteering.”

While Doc Clock—Eri—had been the unofficial Class 1-A mascot and thus was familiar to all of them, Kimiko still found it almost impossible to believe that the laid-back, cheerful doctor was their dour Homeroom teacher’s adopted daughter.

“But what you’re going to do,” she went on, “is concentrate on just using your Quirk to make a small portion of their chest invisible. Just enough so we can see through the top layer and see what’s inside. Give it a shot. You can’t break it.”

Kimiko sucked in a breath and placed a hand on the dummy’s chest, concentrating on her Quirk. Just a little bit invisible… just a little bit invisible…

Slowly and spreading out from her palm, the dummy’s chest began to look like it was just fading away, revealing a most of mechanical workings inside. “I did it!” She threw up both hands in the air in a cheer. Of course, the second she broke contact, the invisibility went away.

Doc Clock gave her a smile. “You did. We were all pretty sure you could, but to see it… very impressive, Ojiro.”

“Wait,” Kimiko said, as things clicked in her head. “…If I do that on a real person, will I see all their guts and stuff?”

“I’m afraid so,” Doc Clock said.

Kimiko shuddered. She hadn’t considered that. “Eeeeewwww!”

“Most people have lots of stuff,” Doc Clock said. “And with some Quirks, we’re discovering new Quirks all the time. You’d have to do a lot of studying to stay current.”

“Double ew!” Kimiko exclaimed. Still… “But you think I’d be good at it?”

“You’ve got a good eye and an invaluable Quirk. I think you’d be great at it.”

***

Kimiko fought the urge to fall asleep. After the day’s session at the USJ, she’d actually taken up Doc Clock’s offer of some more literature to review for Quirk-Paramedics as well as some general medical texts. While some of it was fascinating, some of it was as dusty and dry as could be. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought of before and the thought of all those guts made her more than a little sick to her stomach… but it sounded like she might be able to do a lot more good than just sneaking up on people and smacking them upside the head.

“Hey, Kimiko!” she heard her door open and turned to see Takuma and Kenta barging their way in.

Kimiko was neither as girly as her mom, nor as plain as her dad, but her room was definitely her own. Her bookshelves were filled with “tell all” scandalous autobiographies and saucy romance novels, and posters from romance movies and other “chick flicks” covered most of her walls. She also did have a small sparring dummy in one corner, for when she felt like working out a little.

If Takuma had been able to see her, he would have been dead from the withering gaze she gave him. “I told you to knock! What if I’d been changing or naked or something!”

Takuma reared back his head and laughed. “One, if you’re doing that, you should lock your door. Two, I’m gay. And three…”

Kenta put a hand on his shoulder as a warning. “I would not finish that thought, bro. You know she can kick your ass.”

She held her gaze on him until he withered under it, even unable to see it. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I should have knocked.”

“Good,” she said. “Now what’s up?”

“Gossip Corner’s only been uploaded an hour and it’s already got nearly a thousand hits! You’re gonna be a star, Kimmy, baby!”

She let out a high pitched squeal of delight. “All right!”

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Kenta said. “We didn’t ask anybody if we could put them out on the internet like that.”

“Pshaw,” Takuma said. “They’ll thank us for making them famous. Besides, they’ll never know. We all know all Toshi watches is Hero videos anyway.”

“This is gonna bite us in the ass, I just know it,” Kenta said.

“Relax,” Kimiko assured him. “Besides, this is all on me and Takuma anyway. You’re not in these.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanna see it explode in your faces!”

“You’re sweet,” she told him. “But relaaaaaax.”

Still, as long as she had both of them here…

“Guys,” she said, “do you think I’m smart?”

Both of them exchanged a look and seemed to be trying to communicate by some form of guy-telepathy. Takuma in particular looked like he wanted to get out of her room as fast as he could. Kenta, at least, looked inclined to stay.

“You’re not dumb,” Kenta said, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Definitely not,” Takuma agreed. “And you’re all kinds of clever. Who came up with the plan that got me a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Kimiko asked. “Wait, you’re not distracting me with gossip! Answer the question. Do you think I’m smart? Do you think I could be a doctor?”

“What brought this up, Kimiko?” Kenta asked.

“Just… something Doc Clock said today,” she said. “She said I could be a great doctor or paramedic. And that my Quirk would be perfect for it. I’m kinda thinking about it. But it sounds like a lot of wrong. And a lot of studying. It’s only been a week and a half and I already know I’m barely keeping up in class. What if I’m perfect for this… and I can’t do it?”

“Then you’ll be good at something else instead,” Takuma said.

“Sounds like a lot of hard work,” Kenta added. “But you put a lot of hard work into all that gossip stuff too. If you can quote chapter and verse on film and TV, you can definitely memorize how a body works.”

“You wanna study this stuff, we can help,” Takuma offered. “I bet there’s hundreds of videos out there to help you study it. Finally, my countless hours on the internet are about to pay off!”

She had to laugh at that. “Your grades are worse than mine, Takuma. But I appreciate the help.”

Later, after the boys had left, she scribbled something on top of the notepad on her desk.

The Paramedic Hero: X-Ray?

#my hero academia #their hero academia #mha eri #fan fic #fan fiction #My writing

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