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some-dr-writings · 4 years ago

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SDR2 guys x intimidating looking but sweet S/O

Hajime Hinata:

· You had been Hajime’s best friend for as long as he could remember. You were always so smart and the top in your class. Truthfully Hajime expected you to be invited to Hope’s Peak, but… you were always rambunctious. As smart as you were, you didn’t care for rules that existed outside ones of safety. You were labeled the school delinquent, getting into fights, breaking most rules for the sake of breaking them, doing whatever you could to get a reaction from others, all the while smiling and laughing away having the time of your life.

· “Ah! Hajime! That’s amazing!” “Y/N!?” You scooped him into your arms, lifting off his feet, spinning around and around. “MY boy, going to HOPE’S PEAK ACADEMY! This is amazing!” Suddenly your spinning came to a stop, stomping a foot on the ground to do so. “Hajime. Hope’s Peak is far, so you’ll be moving right? If that’s the case, you better text me every day! Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want too, but at least keep me informed of the big stuff like how your first day was or the school festival or at least the sports day! Or, OR! If you’d like, maybe I could move with you, somewhere close to the school and I’ll just get a job in the area so you could just talk to me in person! I would visit, but even by train it’s a two-day trip and I’d probably get board at some point and get kicked off, and there’s also studying for school or work or whatever I do.” A light pink dusted Hajime’s cheeks, feeling a bit flustered at how excited you were, still effortlessly him closely, high off the ground. He swore his heart began to race seeing your absolutely beaming smile which seemed to shine brighter than the sun to him.

· When with his friends he’d speak of you often, not to the point of annoyance, just enough for them to know he clearly missed you. From how he described you, you seemed to be the sweetest, most wholesome person in existence despite being a bit rowdy. So when Kazuichi caught Hajime holding hands and appearing to be going on a date with a person covered in scars exposed by your unbuttoned shirt, haired dyed a bright blond, scary tattoos, spiked jacket and boots, even having a mask covering you face, nobody believed him till Hajime walked in on the conversation, saying that was you. After that they insisted on meeting you, wanting to know such a seemingly contrasting person existed, and when they did meet you, they gave Hajime their approval, even if he didn’t want or need it.

Izuru Kamakura:

· Many things Izuru found boring, but if he had to choose one thing he found more boring than anything else, it’d have to be the baseless rumors surrounding you, his partner, all because you had a scary face. It was so ridiculous he couldn’t even entertain the idea of you secretly being the heir of a yakuza gang or something so off the wall even he couldn’t recall. Whenever he heard such rumors as he walked down Hope’s Peak’s halls, he thought he may just fall asleep from how tiring it was, thinking about the mental gymnastics people had to go through to even come to such conclusions.

· It was another day and again he heard of your imaginary exploits of having killed a man in cold blood for money or some such and instantly he just felt exhausted. He continued to walk till he stopped before a door and knocked. “Oh, hey Izu-baby. What brings you here?” “… I just found myself here.” You chuckled, simply opening the door, taking your boyfriend’s hand and leading him in.

· You promptly plopped him into a seat, going off to get something, Izuru had the chance to examine the many brushes, hair products and hair accessories spread out on the counter. There were even several sticky notes on the edges of the large vanity mirror, neat writing noting some appointments you had. Seems like he had come in when you were cleaning between appointments. “I found a new brush and I think it should work well with your thick long hair.” You placed your a hand on one of the back rest corners of the chair, leaning a little over him, smiling as you held said brush before him. “Then test it.”

· You giddily collected his hair, your touch occasionally grazing across his skin. Your hands though covered in cuts, slightly dyed from all your hair styling work, and probably tired from having worked for almost six hours straight according to the sticky notes, they still were ever so gentle, making sure to not get caught on or pull any knots. Then you began to brush, starting from the bottom and working your way up. “Izuru, you have a few split ends, and it’s been a while, mind if I give you a light trim while I have you here?” “You have an appointment in forty-three minuets.” “Hmm… Yeah, I can get this done in time.” Once you reached the top you gave his hair a few extra strokes from top to bottom, making sure you got everything. “Oh, I also found a new shampoo which can help your hair. It’s still so dull, but at this point it might be because of your diet since I can’t seem to find anything that can work for you. Have you been eating? Has the staff been testing you on talents again and not feeding you?” “No.” You were going to ponder for a moment, to try figuring out what your boyfriend’s problem could be when said boyfriend placed a hand on your cheek, lightly pulling you beside him. Closing his eyes, he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek. “You’re so exhausted you forgot we spoke of this very subject yesterday.” “Huh?” Your entire face flushed a bright red, still unused to Izuru’s sparce displays of affection. Then to your confusion he pulled you onto his lap. “I-Izu-baby?” “You are taking a nap.” For some reason in that moment of seeing you so flustered he recalled the rumors. The thought of you even harming a fly was laughable, you were the absolute sweetest, kindest, caring person he had ever met. Holding you close he simply leaned into you, thinking you could both use a nap together.

Nagito Komaeda:

· You made your own rumors. The ones about you secretly being an assassin, you started it. The one about how you once were an international thief, you did it. The one about you selling drugs, that one was actually an accident, you were just getting a friend their pain meds, but you spread about a few more stories like it not long after. Why purposefully spread rumors many would wonder… well… there were two reasons.

· The first, you found most people annoying and simply didn’t want to deal with them, content with your small, very close friend group. It was the perfect way to get people to back off so you wouldn’t have to deal with them in their first place. You also found some fun in seeing people run from you from your presents alone, made you feel like some cartoon super villain which you found quite amusing.

· The second reason… You had always told your boyfriend the first one, but to his confusion, you’d always avoid telling him the other reason. Nagito knew you’d had to have your reasons for not telling him, but… well you were his partner, of course he was going to worry a little even if it seemed you knew what you were doing.

· But he could ignore it no longer when you took the blame for him. Nagito came up with a plan to blow up a building, forcing the exams to be delayed so his classmates could have more time to prepare for them… and you took for the blame for it, being expelled for a time, but not forever. You couldn’t even stay on your dorm on campus, winding up staying in some cheap hotel paid by the school.

· “Why did you do it?” “Eh, Nagito?” “WHY! Why did you take the blame for me!? I was trying to get you more time so you could show off in glory, but now you’re stuck here. Why did you do it?” Nagito was always so calm and composed, likely from facing disaster after disaster caused by his bad luck, but he was actually troubled, he was upset, but not even at himself like he always did thinking himself trash, no, he was legitimately upset with you. “… Normally people greet their partner with a ‘hello’ or something.” The last thing you were expected to be greeted by your first morning exiled from school was your boyfriend in such a state. “I- No. Y/N, tell me, why?” “… I…” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, this new side you had never even thought existed, yet you also couldn’t bear to look at him either so instead you looked to his feet. “I don’t want to lie to you, but… I don’t want to tell you the truth either. But! What I can tell you, is that this is fine, I chose this, I wanted this. So, you don’t have to worry about me, this just means I have even more time to develop my talent.” You tried giving him a smile, but it just ended up strained seeing that didn’t placate him. W-why? He always saw everything ultimates did was amazing and respected even the worst of decisions, yet… he was mad, and sad, and so many other things you couldn’t pinpoint not being able to bring yourself to study his expression for long.

· “No, this is not fine. What you did is not helping you. This is only a detriment. I-I-I, I just can’t understand! I can’t understand why. How did this turn out so wrong?” “… the other reason.” “Huh?” You spoke so quietly, it was but a whisper, Nagito had just barely caught it. “The other reason… It’s why I NEED a bad reputation, not just something I want for the fun of it.” You sighed, preparing for the inevitable Nagito calling himself trash and you trying to comfort him song and dance. “You’re such a volatile wild card. I never know what you’ll do next. Nagito, you literally tried to blow up a building with people inside, I know your luck probably would have saved them or something or you assumed the ultimates inside would save the day, but… that’s not healthy! You’ve been through so much and need help. I, I want to help you, but I just don’t know what to do. So… to me, the best I can do is try to protect you.” Even as his eyes widened, realizing what happened, you continued. “With a bad reputation, rumors of all sorts, both extreme and little, it can be expected that I can do anything without it being out of character. I can take on anyone’s bad actions and call it my own and all will believe it… Even if I can’t protect you from the insanity that is our life, the very least I can do is protect you from yourself, the consequences of your actions. I can’t get you to at last see yourself as decent, I can’t stop your luck from torturing you, this… this is all I can think of for what I could ever do for you… it’s the only kind of affection I can give without you saying or thinking you’re unworthy of it… though I guess I don’t even have that now, but… I don’t know, maybe this was-”

· …

· He hugged you. He didn’t know what to say. He took in everything you said, yet his mind was just blank. He had so much to say, yet he just could… All he could do was just nuzzle into you, one who was just so sweet and kind, and… he needed to better for you, Nagito at least new that for sure.

Imposter:

· Imposter wondered how they ever were lucky enough to find a partner like you. They never thought they’d find anyone who could get them to see themselves as a person even without the disguises, let alone a whole class at one point. Yes, they still disguised themselves, but when they were just with you they felt okay to not keep the make-up, wigs and costumes. They were just… whoever they were without being someone else. Their own identity was something they still struggled with but working on it with your helped.

· Individuals who could stay true to themselves no matter what were people they respected highly, that was probably what got them to fall for you in the first place. No matter who avoided you, the children who cried from seeing your large, buff figure, no matter the sports nuts who insisted on you joining their team, you always were the shy Super High School Level Flower Shop Keep who loved exercising.

· When they first met you, they were masquerading as Beyakuya Togami, not exactly the most sociable of personalities, so they thought they scared you away. When first meeting a person you didn’t speak much, instead you’d gift flowers and spoke through flower language. “Oh, well… there’s a lot you can say with flowers. I’ve just always liked them. I just like being outside, so I exercise a lot! But then I got toned, and already being on the bulkier side some people find me scary… Ah, but if I give the children flowers, they usually stop crying… unless a bee comes by, then they cry again.” Even though you were so soft spoken when you did speak, it was still rather intimidating. There was just so much power in it.

· They rather enjoyed how you’d decorate them with your beloved plants, whether it be placing them behind their ear, in their hair, or in their breast pocket. They also adored each bouquet you gave. Very quickly their whole dorm room smelled of fast-food and a light floral perfume. They pressed and kept every last flower, preserving them all even the ones from when you first met.

· You were so open and honest, even though you tried hiding it they knew when you had a crush on them- or well Beyakuya… They had no identity outside of whoever they were impersonating, but… the thought made their heart ache. So, when you came up to them with giant bouquet filled with tulips, purple roses, red roses, alstroemerias, and baby’s breath they could easily see even as you hid it behind your back, a bright blush on your cheeks, they knew what was happening, and rejected you before you could give them the flowers and confess. You hugged the bouquet close as they explained their situation, and even after, you still held out the flowers to them. “So, your identity is more complex than I knew, but all our time together still happened. And if you change identities, it’ll be like a change in color. Definitely different, even changing the meaning, but the base is still the same, you’ll still remember our time together even as someone else.” And since that moment, no matter what came, you never left them.

Gundham Tanaka:

· The moment Gundham met the Super High School Level Vet, Gundham fell head over heels for them. They were an intimidating, brutish, scarred from battles past, every last feature was terrifying, their features sharp, everything about them commanded the respect of all, even getting his Dark Devas to be weary of them at first sight.

· Caring for animals was a tricky job, it often involved getting scratches and bites, but you also needed to be patient and kind. You needed to be respected but also not appear hostile. A balance you embodied, looking fierce, yet you were so gentle and sensitive to others around you.

· The pair of you always spent time looking after his many animals, tending to any injuries or illnesses they possibly could have gotten.

· You also tended to Gundham Tanaka himself, much to his flustered, blushing protest. “I have no such injures of which you speak!” “Tanaka, you can’t even hold a pencil you hand is hurting so bad. Please let me at least look at it.” He kept refusing till some students came by asking if he were alright, fearing the scary looking person who kept looming around him all day. “Pathetic! Of such a low level you can’t even decern one’s true nature!” Then he stomped off till finally he found you. “My Emperor!” “Hey Tana-” “I seek thy aid, for only one of your caliber could even remotely stand a chance of resisting my poisoned skin, let alone tent to the curse that plagues this mortal form!” You just silently stared at him for a moment before you started fussing over him, clutching his jacket since you wanted to hug him. “What happened!? Did it get worse!? Tell me EVERYTHING about how you feel! Do you think it’s infected!? How does it hurt!? Does it sting or burn, or what!?” Gundham himself began to panic, unsure as to how to calm and put you at ease, never before seeing you worried to the point of tears forming in the corners of your eyes! However, you did quickly settle down, getting serious tending to his wound…

· And even as you did so, you avoided touching him. If you needed to apply ointment, you’d use a q-tip, you’d do anything you could to not touch him… Even you tending to him sent his heart racing, showing vulnerability, he was used to giving the care, not the other way around. He felt vulnerable in a way, he showed you he was hurting, but you were so gentle with him, so aware of him, even stopping and giving him a moment to pause and collect himself.

· Someone so attentive and understanding… He groaned, embarrassed at how giddy, and excited, and nervous even the mere thought of you made him.

Kazuichi Soda:

· He was terrified of you at first, even going so far as to actively avoid you. But then he met you. The moment he did so he was so confused as to how he found you scary? After actually taking to you, he found you, looks and all so adorable! He’d gush to anyone and everyone about how kind and amazing and sweet you were. He’d defend you to the death if a person even made the smallest negative comment about you, much to your complete embarrassment.

· After becoming your boyfriend Kazuichi would always hang around you, cooing over everything that was you, shattering any intimidating precents you had with the man hugging your arm, speaking in such a sickeningly sweet tone with sparkling eyes.

· Feeling like the world was against you, Kazuichi spent all his time with you to make up for it. No matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to he insisted on giving you all the affection you so rightly deserve!

· When you weren’t embarrassed by the man’s antics you’d be just as affectionate in return. As he tinkered on whatever you’d hug him from behind, sighing, and nuzzling into the nape of his neck, tickling him, distracting him from his work. He’d giggle, giddy out of his mind at having someone so sweet and adorable love him almost as much as he loved you!

· If Kazuichi caught even one person giving you a funny look, he’d just hug and snuggle you with a pout, glaring at others.

· “Kazu, you don’t have to defend me from everyone. I know I’m not exactly the most approachable looking.” “What!? No! You are gorgeous! Adorable! Beautiful! Don’t self-deprecate yourself!” “I’m not, I just… I know you’re affectionate, but you don’t have to be so protective, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do this every time. I just want you to enjoy yourself not feel like you have to be my knight in shining armor or something.” “Well, I can’t enjoy myself if others are being jerks!” Kazuichi would never admit it to you, but he felt guilty. He knew what it was like to be bullied, for others to make comments. He also felt guilty for judging you so much before meeting you. he was once scared with a person he instantly fell in love with after finally talking to them. He just wanted to make up for that, he wanted to say he was sorry… And feeling you hug him, thank him for being your knight, he was reminded all over why he loved such a sweet person so much, and he was determined to give you all the love he could to make up from being so cruel before.

Teruteru Hanamura: part 1

· Teru had a rather interesting relationship with the new delivery person. You weren’t mean, but your whole aura was rather intimidating with your cold demeanor and with how muscular you were. Yet of all people, you were warm and kind to him. You merrily chat about your day, or about anything. You’d get a laugh out of his flirting, even try and miserably fail at flirting back, something Teru found endlessly endearing. Whatever made Teru special he honestly didn’t care, just enjoying your company so much.

· After your hard work, well hard for most but for you it was just seemingly light stretches, Teru would cook a hearty meal for you to keep you going for the rest of the day! It was his favorite thing to do before opening the restaurant, just that single quiet moment of enjoying a meal with you.

· Teru could find something attractive about anyone, but with you… well you were certainly attractive, a stallion, a ten out of ten to him, but he found he so quickly grew feelings for you. True a person’s personality or voice could be sexy but there was something different about it with you. But whatever it was, didn’t matter to him, all he knew was that he just wanted to spend more time with you, and whatever you did together didn’t matter to him, as long as you were together.

· You sighed, taking another bite. “Is something the matter?” “I’m just going to miss this.” “What?” You didn’t even glance his way, simply continuing to enjoy your meal. “Yeah, I gotta move soon. I’ve actually stayed here much longer than I should, but… I just couldn’t resist sticking around longer ‘cause of you… again.” “Ah, well… that’s too bad. It’s been rather fun having you around.” “It’ll be alright. I know you’ll be fine without me. Actually, I’d like to ask you to make a promise to forget me.” “Forget you!? How in tarn- AH I- Ahem- How could I do that!?” You simply smiled and laughed, just as you did before. You placed a hand on his cheek, gently caressing him with your thumb. “You’re the only person I can call a friend. I know you can keep this promise, that’s just the kind of person you are. Sure, you’re a bit raunchy, but you truly are kind and care for others. You could never let me feel guilty about leaving you behind.” Teru was silent for a moment, just taking in what you said. “When will you be leaving?” “Uh… I should say tomorrow, but I’m thinking a week.” A week? Teru could work with that!

· “Please go on a date with me!” “… Huh?” In complete bafflement you just let Teruteru take your hands into his, a determined glint in his eyes. “If you’ll be leaving I want to make the most of the time we have left!” “…oh… uh… o-okay, we could do that.”

· And so, the week was filled with date after date, going all out with no inhibitions doing anything you could think of from watching a movie to sky diving. Wherever you went Teru always had a packed meal on hand for the pair of you to enjoy. It was honestly the best week of either of your lives. And all too quickly it had already passed you by.

· Standing on the bridge in the park you stood side by side watching the sun rise. “Well, that’s it, I better get going. I really enjoyed this, just as always. Thank you.” “Now hold on a moment, you can’t go just yet!” He held out a small plastic container to you. “You need a good meal for the road! Don’t know where you’re going, but wherever it is, it’d be a downright shame if I left you hungry along the way!” You simply stared at him for a moment before the softest, most earnest of smiles he had ever seen creased your lips. So tenderly you took the container. “… Some things never change I suppose… At least I know you can still keep that promise.” Then without so much as explaining your strange words, you disappeared as if you never even were there. It was sad for Teru, yet something in him knew he’d see you again, and that thought let him go back to his everyday life as if you never appeared, yet after that life just seemed more lively to him, just like those later years back in Hope’s Peak, though as to why that time seemed livelier he couldn’t quite remember.

Nekomaru Nidai:

· Being a rather intimidating looking guy with a heart of gold, Nekomaru took to understanding your situation quickly. Both of you being athletic and getting rather larger builds it just kinda naturally happened.

· Being the exceedingly kind individual you were others often took advantage of that. Even if you knew it was bad you couldn’t bring yourself to not help others in need for even the smallest of things. This was not something Nekomaru could stand, but finding you standing out in the rain for two days straight was the last straw and the man insisted on training you! You were a bit nervous at first not wanting to take up so much of your best friend’s time, but with some reassurances Nekomaru managed to warm you up, both literally and metaphorically to the training.

· At some point the training turned into days out, going hiking up mountains, or jogging on beaches, swimming in lakes and doing crossfit, sometimes going out for walks in the night, exploring the city looking for things to do, perhaps some karaoke, some slow dancing by moon light, and yeah you two just ended up dating without meaning too.

· The pair of you always came up with excuses like the slow dancing was training in balance, no you totally did not want to dance because it was a beautiful night and you could hear ballroom music not far in the distance, no that was totally not it, that’d be dumb… or so you kept telling yourself in these moments so you would not confess to the man fearing he really did only see these outings as training and nothing else.

· That was till you overheard Nekomaru chatting with his classmates, one of them asking how his ‘date’ with you went and he spoke of your beautiful hike up the mountains, not even batting an eye at their wording. Did… did he not notice, or just not care? Did this mean he liked you too? Or did you mishear? Quickly getting frustrated with this line of thinking you decided to just settle this!

· “There you are-” “I have something to tell you!” The man silently stood there, just waiting. Okay, this was it, and you took a deep breath. “I… I REALLY LIKE YOU!” “I REALLY LIKE YOU TOO! YOU ARE A CHERISHED FRIEND OF MINE!” “NO, I MEAN- I-I-I LOVE YOU, I THINK!? I DON’T KNOW!” “I LOVE YOU TOO, A LOT IN FACT!” “N-NOT AS MUCH AS I LOVE YOU!” “OH YEAH!?” “YES! SO MUCH!”

· Screaming your feelings for one another was a very common occurrence in the relationship. Even if one of you simply caught sight of the other off in the distance you’d yell ‘I love you’s, which more often than not scared or startled the people around you hearing such loud, booming voices out of nowhere.

· Life with Nekomaru could be a bit much at times, but it was well worth it for such an amazing guy.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu:

· You were perfect for him.

· You didn’t have any reputation really, but wherever you went people knew not to mess with you. Your mere presents not much but if one got close, they could feel this unsettling air about you making them go away. You, being the Super High School Level Street Fighter knew how to defend yourself from most attackers so Fuyuhiko didn’t have to worry about your safety like he’d have to with most others like the majority of his old classmates like Hajime.

· You were also the most kind and sweet person he had met. Behind closed doors you’d always have you arms open for Fuyuhiko. You’d hold him close, just let him listen to your steady heartbeat and make him feel so safe and secure. His favorite thing was to just cuddle with you.

· He also liked you being by his side, it served a dual purpose. One: if somehow when meeting some rival gang his reputation didn’t precede him, you were enough to intimidate them at a glance, despite his own baby face. The second and much more important to him, just being with you. True you were well equipped to handle yourself, but you were still human can had come back home to him plenty of times with new scars not from your usual fights, so by your side he and Peko could protect you.

· He also liked how you were with his subordinates. You were strict, showing no signs of weakness, more than willing to put them in their place should it be needed, yet that didn’t stop you from being kind. You’d do research for days on end trying to find the perfect birthday gift them. You’d train their kids by hand in all ways of fighting, but not for attacking but self-defense, their parents were in a dangerous job so your ‘day job’ of being a children’s fighting instructor helped to place their minds at ease a little.

· If he could he’d go on for hours singing your praises. You were perfect for him in every single way without a single doubt.

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thecipherlegacy · 4 years ago

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Comfort and Confessions

A short fic of when Noiren finally confesses to Kenaas. I've been in the mood to write these two lately 💛

Enjoy!

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

Noiren clung to his glass as if it were a lifeline. His ruby fingers curled around it, shaking, which caused the amber liquid inside to ripple as if there was a ground quake.

Some thing odd was happening, leaving him confused and distraught. The Jedi he had taken in and began to teach the ways of the sith to, he had really gotten under his skin. Not in a way that made him angry, oh no. Quite the opposite, really. He adored him, trusted him with his life. He had never had a good track record with trusting others, which was why the only two in his ship before the small nautolan showed up was his brother and an HK unit. But he felt this connection, this bond in the force that grew stronger and stronger with this nautolan every passing day.

"Are you going to actually drink that? Or are you going to stare into it until you get a premonition?" The alien in question broke through the man's thoughts. Noiren jumped and made an unflattering sound. He thought he had been alone at the table. But he supposed in a small ship someone would find him eventually. The sith lord straightened back up and re-wrapped his left lekku over his shoulder comfortably to once again hide the scars around his neck.

"I thought you were asleep" he responded cooly. "It's late"

"Hm. Says the man sitting alone in the dark with whiskey" the other man's brow raised at him. His large dark eyes were shining with worry. "I woke because I could feel your discomfort. Your brother felt it as well, but I insisted he sleep."

The twi'lek huffed. "I'll be fine. I'm simply nervous about trying to track down this republic captain I've been ordered to look for." He lied. In response, the small nautolan looked unconvinced and unimpressed.

"You know that I know when you lie, right?" He asked flatly as his fingers drummed in the table, as he tended to do when he got frustrated or impatient. "You've been acting oddly toward me lately. Why? Have I done something wrong?"

Noiren shook his head "No. You're perfect" he sighed, then his cheeks deepened in colour and he tried to correct what he said. "I mean fine- well… not fine, but- ugh. You know what I mean."

The other male giggled wildly at his fumbling. "My goodness, how many drinks have you had?" He asked.

In an instant the glass was up to Noirens lips and he downed the liquor inside. "One, officially" he muttered. "So were you coming out here to actually help me or just make me wish I was drinking alone in the dark in my room?"

The laugher died down and Kenaas pat his arm. "Aw Noiren, I'm sorry. Your fumbling was just adorable." He admitted "talk to me, what's eating you?"

Why did he give him that option again? HE was eating him. Every thought of the small nautolan man was eating away at his body and mind. His heart skipped beats when he was around and his mind clouded. He felt a connection to him in the force as strong if not stronger than his familial bond with his brother. Those big black eyes, vast as the night sky, stared up at him as he awaited a response.

"I'm not sure" came the lie after a seemingly endless and tense silence.

A hand covered Noiren's to attempt some comfort. Such a small hand felt so heavy on his own, and he tore it away quickly as if he had been burned by it. His regret for the action was immediate when he saw those soulful eyes turn away in hurt.

"Ah- I see. I'll stop bothering you, my friend. When you're ready to talk you know where to find me."

Noiren screamed at himself internally to say something, anything, to stop Kenaas from leaving. But instead he sat quietly while the other man left the room with a dejected slump in his walk. He hurt him. "Coward…" noiren scolded himself and poured another glass of whiskey.

This glass went down as quickly as the first. Liquid courage, he thought. After his fourth time pouring a new glass a yellow colored hand gently slid over the rim of the cup to keep Noiren from drinking from it. "I can't sleep while my brother is so distressed." Aidesan's kind voice filled the room. "What happened?"

The sith lord sighed and looked up at his brother. His head was fogged, but he wouldn't say he was drunk. "I upset Kenaas. I don't know what's wrong with me." The older man groaned and hid his face in frustration. "I haven't been able to keep a clear head around him and I feel this weird connection with him, in the force" he sighed. His brother started to chuckle.

"You really don't know whats going on?... Noiren… you're in love with the little jedi" Aidesan stated matter of factly. "Your fumbling, your staring, your-"

"No. No no, that can't be true. I… I can't be in love." Noiren denied quickly. "I swore I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't love? Or Wouldn't love him?" His brother raised a brow at him "you love me don't you? You're kid brother?"

"Yes but that's different! You're family. Romantic love leads to pain. I would be putting down my shield and letting him see my weaknesses. Weaknesses he could easily exploit later." Noiren began to pace, albeit a little crooked and wobbly since the alcohol had made him less stable.

"Brother." Aidesan stopped him with a stern tone. "Do you really think that sweet nautolan would harm you? He apologizes for squashing bugs. Give him a chance. And more importantly, give yourself a chance."

A deep sigh escaped the older one's lips, then he slowly turned to face the other man. "He deserves better. He's pure and gentle. Passionate. He's a healer and a fixer. My soul purpose is to break things and kill people."

As he finished speaking, two gentle hands rested in his shoulders. "Noiren… you're so much more than that, and even if that is partially true, he's a fixer and you're a breaker. You complete each other, right?"

This earned a chuckle that came out as a scoff. "Maybe." He muttered softly as he crossed his arms as if they were a protective barrier.

"Noiren… Go talk to him. Don't let him go to sleep feeling this way."

The older twi'lek sighed dramatically and glanced into the dark hall. "Alright. You need to get some sleep, though." He frowned.

"I will, brother. Let me know how it goes" the younger gave him one more smile, then retreated back to his own quarters on the ship. Noiren sighed again and went to Kenass's quarters nervously. He stared at the closed door. It shouldn't have been that hard to just knock, but that durasteel sheet between himself and the other force user felt heavy and intimidating.

Suddenly the door slid open, startling the sith, and the younger male was looking up at him from the other side.

"Noiren. I can feel your presence you know, we share quite the profound bond" he said as he turned to go back to his bed. "Is there something I can help you with? You reek of whiskey."

"I want to talk to you" The other mumbled. He watched the nautolan sit upon the bed gracefully. Everything he did always looked so beautiful. How had he not realized that before?

"Then speak, my friend. You know I'm always here to help you. I was hoping you would come to chat. You need to get quite the weight off your chest."

Noiren nodded before sitting beside him. "Kenaas…" he sighed as he prepared himself to speak. "when I was a child, on Ryloth, I had two brothers and a twin sister-" he started from the beginning. The younger one's dark eyes widened as he listened. Noiren had never opened up before, at least not to this extent. He always refused to talk about his youth.

"You know my brother, Aidesan. I also have my youngest brother Orcra, who was put into Imperial intelligence, and my poor sister, Arianness… she was sold as a slave. We were taken by the imperials when we were just kids. I watched them execute my parents." As Noiren spoke he attempted to not show how hard it was to talk about his family, but he didn't have to. Kenaas could feel every emotion the other man was feeling. His emotions hit like a wave in the force to the jedi and his own eyes shimmered with tears from the intensity.

"What happened after you were separated?..." Kenaas worried and gently touched Noiren's hand. This time the other man didn't pull away. He knew he was vulnerable. He needed the contact. Noirens chest rose and fell with a sputter after their hands connected. It was as if a direct link was made between them and it hit him like a brick. All of the feelings he had been suppressing, all of the feelings in his companion, the power they both held in the force. It all melted together instantly and he had never felt anything like it.

Once the shock of the new feeling passed he finally answered. "I stopped trusting people." He said. He hadn't realized that he had gotten a little closer to his friend. "The only people that mattered were my siblings. I did as I was told just so I could stay alive and keep my brother alive. That is…. Until I ran into you on Tatooine."

A small smile played the nautolans lips "you imprisoned me on your ship" he reminded him.

"But even then I felt…. Something. Something new, something strange. Something I only share with my family. It was like I knew you. But I had never met you before. And it's gotten stronger and stronger. I can feel where you are in the ship. I can feel what you feel."

Kenaas squeezed his hand a little "I know." He mumbled, then placed his free hand on Noiren's cheek "Even when we first met I felt your sorrow. Your pain. We both needed someone that could understand our hardships. The moment we met a bond was struck in the force. I may not understand why, but I refuse to question it."

The sith leaned into the gentle touch, desperate for any sort of comfort or affection. "I'm sorry I shoved you off earlier… I was afraid" his words came out as nearly a whisper. Admitting to fear wasn't easy for him.

Their foreheads gently made contact. "Hush. It's alright, it stung but I knew you would come to me when you were ready."

There was a brief silence as Noiren took a deep breath, then released it. His nerves were calming under the feeling of his companions gentle and kind aura. For every tidal wave of broken emotions he would send out, the other man's healing soul would calm and help control it by blanketing his fears and doubts in reassurance and compassion. He was the calming moon to the sith's roaring ocean.

"I love you…" Noiren let it out, a broken whisper riding a shaken breath. He hadn't realized his eyes had been closed for so long until he opened them finally to see the beautiful nautolan looking back at him with a smile and blush dusting his freckled purple cheeks.

"I know" he replied gently and caressed Noirens cheek with his thumb. "I love you too."

They sat in a comfortable silence before finally meeting for a gentle kiss. It was inexperienced, but soft, and filled with every unsaid word and emotion Noiren wanted to give him. His whole heart overflowed with his feelings for the grey force user, who could sense every ounce of it. When they parted Kenaas had to wipe away tears that had finally spilled.

"My goodness- you're so emotional and-" he chuckled happily "I never thought anyone would feel so strongly for me" he continued to try and wipe away the waterworks "I'm a mess"

Noiren could feel himself calm down fully now. Everything was out in the open. He hugged Kenaas close and buried his face in his neck. "Most beautiful mess I've ever seen" he sighed. "Would it be appropriate for me to sleep here tonight?"

A hand gently stroked his lekku "please, make yourself comfortable" the other insisted. Once they fully parted, the pair got comfortable in Kenaas's bed. For the first time since his childhood Noiren felt at peace as he clung to Kenaas and drifted off into a blissful sleep.

#mox's ocs #my ocs #my art #mox's art #mox writes #oc: noiren #oc: kenaas #oc: aidesan #nautolan #twi'lek #sith warrior/jedi counselor #swtor ocs #alcohol tw #drinking tw #this one turned out cute im very excited to finally post it #that arts a little old but thats okay

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paodequeijofeliz-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Let me tell you a good story

Bloodbound Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place after Bloodbound 3, here I’m recreating how Kamilah and MC would meet if she had never gone to Raines Corporation right away.

Summary: Thirty years after meeting Annie for the first time, Kamilah is now a wife and a mother. During a regular family dinner, she decides to tell her daughter and the new son-in-law the story of how she fell in love with Annie after an unusual meeting through the hallways of NYU.

Warnings: none.

Part 1 Part 3

Let me tell you a good story - Part 2

March 2nd, 2048

“You’re telling it wrong.” Anna shook her head in disbelief. “Kamilah Sayeed, you be a woman and admit to them that you checked my butt when I was opening the office’s door.”

“I don’t think they need to know that part. It’s not an important piece of information.”

“Ha! But me shivering when you sensually pressed yourself against me is an important piece of information?”

“I did not sensually pres…”

“Guys!” Lysia hit the table, laughing. “Focus!”

“Maybe I should be the one telling the rest now” Anna pinched Kamilah’s arm playfully. “Since you’re omitting the good bits.”

“You know what, my love? That is not a bad idea. I want to hear your version of the next part. It’s my favourite one.” Kamilah eyes had a glimpse of amusement. “And you do not dare to hide anything from our conversation in the hallway.”

While trying not to blush over that memory – and failing – Anna turned to Lysia and Drake with a happy broad smile on her face. “So, let’s continue. We went for coffee. And you mother just couldn’t stop staring at my butt.”

Kamilah rolled her eyes but didn’t interrupt it.

August 15th, 2018

“So, how do you like your coffee?” Anna had guided them to a small coffee cart by the side of the building. There was barely anyone around, unlike the other gigantic coffee carts they passed by.

The woman arched her eyebrows to the small old man playing some sort of card game with a kid. They were speaking a language she couldn’t understand. “Black. No sugar.”

“Figured.” Anna laughed softly, approaching the old man and playing a kiss on both his cheeks before starting to talk in the same language as them. “Tudo bem, Antônio? Pode me fazer dois cafés pretos extrafortes? Um deles sem açúcar, por favor.”

“You know him?” She asked when the girl took a step back, waiting for the coffee.

“Yup.” Annie drove her attention to the kid on the floor. He looked back when felt her hugging from behind, smiling and waving to both women. “I stay here a lot.”

“So I see…” those brown eyes once again started to analyse the cart, now with less suspicion. “That language you spoke. Was it Portuguese?”

“Yeah. Got it right away, huh? People usually think it’s Spanish or Italian. Every time I tell them I’m Brazilian, they just start to speak Spanish with me… Or a really loud and slow version of English. Both suck. My Spanish is horrible. And I’m not deaf.”

“Aqui, Aninha. Dois cafés bem fortes. Um sem açúcar, e o seu bem doce.” Antônio gave her a warm smile. He always remembered how Annie liked her coffee. She paid for it with a five-dollar bill and refused any change.

Slowly, they started to walk away with their coffees. The sunset was almost over, a dark shade of orange shining on Anna’s black wavy hair. She kept her eyes staring at the floor, lips twitching with indecision. It seemed she was trying to find the right words. The stranger besides her had such an intimidating aura that suddenly Anna felt like a shy teenager again, not the impressive college professor who won tons of arguments during congresses. She tried to gather courage to look at the woman once again, her mouth opening to ask a question, but someone interrupted with a touch on the shoulder.

“Anna?” They turned to face another college professor. She looked no more than thirty, blue eyes shining behind blond bangs. “Sorry to disturb you. I was just passing by. Did you get the chance to read my email?”

“No worries, Faith. I’m the one who should be apologizing, I did read the email, but I was so distracted by the donations this week I forgot to give you an answer. It was about the article, right? You sent me a sketch?”

“Yes, yes. For a new magazine we’re working on. It’s due to Monday. I was wondering if you could take a look and help me fix the mistakes. I’m sure there are plenty of them.”

The one named Faith took a step forward, practically excluding the other woman from the conversation. There was something on her smile, a hint of a special admiration.

“To Monday? Gosh, I’m so sorry. Let’s do the following. Are you staying for the lecture today?” Anna pointed to the sign on the wall. They were having those big weekly lectures with different CEOs and tonight was going to be a Mrs. K. Sayeed speaking… Among others less important names.

“What? Oh. Yeah. I am.” She cleared wasn’t planning to until now.

“Perfect. That’ll give me time to read it again and make better notes. When the lecture finishes, come and meet me at my office, we can talk about it. Okay?”

“Sure thing, Ann. I’ll see you later.” Faith took another step forward, kissing Annie on both cheeks before turning back to the building.

The woman beside her had a judgemental look on her face.

“What?” Anna took a sip of the coffee.

“Do all of your co-workers kiss you?”

“I’m Brazilian. We kiss people on the cheek. Regularly. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“She is definitely not Brazilian. I don’t think her kissing was over politeness.”

“Why, are you jealous?” Anna opened a teasing smile.

The woman answered with a short laugh. “No.” But her eyes were sparkling. Analysing. Right now, she was capturing Annie’s features: the pink-flowered blouse stuck inside social pants, stains of coffee on one of the blazer’s sleeves, her short stature, those black burning eyes.

“Why are you here?” The professor’s voice cracked the silence that lingered between them. “I mean, you’re not a student. Is it the lecture?”

“Oh. Yes. I have to be there in ten minutes.” A flash of discomfort crossed Annie’s face after hearing those words. “What? Something against the lecture?”

“No. Not exactly. It’s just… Not my kind of thing.”

“How so?”

They were back at the entrance. Anna leaned her head for a second, deciding what to do. Then, she took a step in, waiting to be followed by the woman.

“Well. Let’s just say that listening to billionaires giving advices to a hundred rich kids about how to perpetuate the same M.O. of exploitation their parents and grandparents had been doing for decades is not on my top list of good use of academic time and space.” That was the sincerest she could be without cursing. “I’d rather watch other lectures.”

“Did you watch any of the previous ones to have such a sharp opinion?”

“I did, in fact. Two. The first one, with the Canadian guy, Mr. Phelps. And last week. I had some spare time. It was… Raines. Adrian Raines. From Raines Corporation. He was better than Phelps. A little.”

The woman seemed to stiff a bit.

“What about tonight? Do you know the speakers?”

Anna’s eyes moved away to the floor. Every time she had to search for something in her memory, there were these little signals. Fingers entangling, like a little prayer about to start. Eyebrows furrowing. Lips pressing. The unknown woman noticed it all, since she couldn’t stop looking at the professor.

“Three of them. Mr. Walker. He’s a teacher here. Stupid, arrogant, and too touchy around female professors, may I add. I also know Haley, Haley Dens, I helped her with a job interview a while ago. We met during a lecture at Columbia. She’s nice, but I’m not familiar with her work. I also know the main attraction, not on person, but I read her thesis. Ms. K. Sayeed. Solid thesis. Better than Mr. Raines.”

“Hm. Tell me more about it.”

Anna kept her posture, walking slower by the minute. “How can I say it? I sensed… A little bit of naivety on Mr. Raines thesis. He’s not actually perpetuating the status quo, instead he tries to fix it’s problems, make it into a new system by improving the qualities. This doesn’t work. He’s just embellishing something that’s already broken. Ms. Sayeed is clever. Her mistakes are different ones.”

The silence and the curious look on the woman’s face were pushing Anna to continue.

“Hm. Ok. Let’s just say that Ms. Sayeed thesis is more consisting, but the end is frustrating. She admits the system sucks. With better words, of course. And that it’s impossible to fix it. So far, I’m on board. But then, her analysis stop. It’s like a Fukuyama kind of thing, you know? He said history was over. Ms. Sayeed is claiming economy is doomed. Dead. Over. Nothing to do. No one can change things. I beg to differ. That’s such a stupid and lazy conclusion. I do believe the system is broken, and fixing it won’t take us anywhere… That’s why we need to build a new one. From scratch.”

“A dreamer, aren’t you?”

Annie lifted her gaze to find a malicious smile on the woman’s face. She was suddenly stunted by the beauty of it. All the seriousness on her tone, the posture, the entangled fingers, all of it dropped. Suddenly, the college professor returned to the hypnotized teenager mode, bouncing from one foot to another. She looks like a goddess. Oh my. Oh my. She’s… Wait. Who is she?

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. I was so distracted I forgot to ask your name.”

The woman’s brown eyes locked with Anna’s as she approached. For a moment, the professor thought they were going to kiss. Her back was pressed against the pillar, so dangerously close to the stranger that lavender parfum started to dominate her senses. And even though there were a few students walking around, she wouldn’t mind having that gorgeous woman kissing her in the middle of the hallway.

“Kamilah.” She tucked a lock of hair behind Anna’s ear. The small touch sent electric signals through their bodies. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”

“Nice to meet you too.” That was barely a whisper. Her voice was gone. Disappeared.

And all Anna could do was watch as that goddess step back and head inside the auditorium, wondering if all that talk was real. If she was real.

The coffee definitely is. The taste of it was lingering on her tongue.

So was the desire to kiss Kamilah.

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #choices kamilah #bb kamilah #choices: stories you play #choices: bb #kamilah

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magpiemorality · 5 years ago

Note

Virgil wants to be part of the group. He noticed that Patton's group is a dream, they are all friends and Patton is just do nice that he wants that for him. After a lot of struggle he is included in their group but something seems off. Logan is much more flinchy than he looked, Roman and Remus were always trying to keep one another away from Patton. Dee has a lot of purple marks and cuts on his body. They all have a apologetic look to Virgil. "We tried to protect you."

This somehow became a The Boys AU. I hope it’s a good teaser! :D

Warnings: Unsympathetic!Patton, mentioned injury, implied abuse

AO3

***

Today was the best day of Virgil’s life. Because today was the day that he, of all the people in the whole wide world, got to join the premiere superhero team of America- the Frontline.

The Frontline were a collection of hand-picked superheroes that defended the United States and occasionally the wider world, staving off terrorist attacks and protecting cities from natural disasters and occasionally rescuing kittens from trees, because they were just good like that. Humble and benevolent and loyal and super.

Virgil had been a fan for years, like basically everyone who had access to social media of some kind. He followed their exploits and trained along to their regimen and collected their posters and action figures and stickers, and today he was not only going to meet them; he was going to join them!

It had been a difficult audition process, and actually he had met most of them at least once by now. That had been… weird? But cool, undeniably cool. Oh and he would get a new outfit to go with his upgraded status. Apparently his hoodie and converse didn’t quite cut it as a celebrity superhero, who knew?

So here Virgil was; sitting in the building lobby of the company that ran the team, Sanders Corp, and waiting to be collected for his initiation and welcome meeting. He was alternating between chewing his fingernails and picking at the black nail polish, wondering if he should’ve dressed up more for the occasion. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be doing any public appearances for a while yet, but maybe he was wrong? Maybe he was going to be caught on camera while looking like the emo teenage nightmare he truly was?! Why didn’t he think to double check-

“Hey kid.” He startled, looking up to see a man standing in front of him with a bemused smile. And not just any man; The Deceiver, the shape-shifting superhero and member of the Frontline. Virgil had met him once before very briefly and he’d been a little off, but today he looked different. Not like, shape-shifting different, just normally different.

“Hey,” Virgil finally replied, standing up and hefting his backpack over his shoulder. “Sorry I just zoned out there.”

The Deceiver snorted softly, but his eyes hadn’t left Virgil yet and there was something else there that didn’t match the smile on his lips. “It’s gotta be nerve-wracking, don’t worry about it. This is a big change. But you gotta focus up now kid, the big leagues aren’t like anything you’ve ever known.” He placed a gloved hand on Virgil’s shoulder, voice low and suddenly filled with an unbearable intensity. It resonated inside Virgil’s head like a warning somehow, but the superhero (other superhero, and boy would that take some getting used to) was just smiling enigmatically once again and nodding him in the right direction.

They walked straight through the security barriers with just a nod from the superhero to the blank-faced receptionist, and as they ascended the tall escalator Virgil took a chance to look around. The building was enormous and striking, and a little intimidating if he was honest, full of pristine white marble and exposing glass walls. The Deceiver nudged him gently when they got near the top, that same strange smile still on his face. Now that Virgil had had a chance to think about it he thought it was oddly melancholic; sad and a little resigned. The guy also looked pretty tired, covered in bruises and the end of a split lip.

Virgil’s eyes widened when he realised the marks probably came from a recent mission, and he abruptly remembered that the whole reason he was here now was because of an unfortunate forced retirement from the team that had left them a member short. So of course the guy would be tired, and of course he would look a bit melancholy, having lost one of his teammates and probably one of his friends to what had sounded like a quite literally crippling mission gone wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil offered quietly. The Deceiver stared at him and he explained, “about Narco? That must really suck.”

“Narco-” The Deceiver murmured to himself, eyes widening when he twigged. Virgil thought it was maybe a little bit odd that he’d had to think about it, but the guy was tired, it did make sense. “Oh, right. Yeah, that sucked pretty bad. They were… They’re missed.”

Virgil nodded, trying his best to offer a sympathetic smile. The Deceiver chewed on his lip with a thousand yard stare for a minute, and just before they got to the top of the long escalator he stepped close, clasping Virgil’s shoulder tightly and murmuring whisper-quiet to him. “Listen kid, you seem nice. This is the only chance you’ve got to get out alive, okay? When we get to the top you turn round and go right back down, walk out of here and live your life. Do it, please,” he begged.

"What the f-” Virgil stared at him in confusion.

“Just-”

“Virgil!” A bright, happy voice greeted them as they got to the top and an altogether scarier emotion flickered over The Deceiver’s face as he flinched, before he pulled up the same sad smile again.

“Too late kid. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, before letting go of Virgil and walking briskly off the top of the escalator to greet the man that awaited them.

It was the last member of the team that Virgil had to meet. The leader, their shining bright figurehead and the saviour of the world more than a few times over. Glorious and humble and utterly perfect in every way, somehow managing to be everyone’s best friend despite his status, winning the hearts of the media, elite and Average Joe alike. If there was one thing the entire US agreed on; it was that this man was the peak paragon of what humanity wanted to be.

It was Father Heartland, in the flesh.

#unsympathetic patton #ts virgil #ts deceit #the boys au #superhero au #prompt fill #writepie #ts sanders sides #ts writing #ts sanders sides aus #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #virgil sanders #deceit sanders

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dispactke · 4 years ago

Text

Infrarealism Manifesto

Manifesto of Infrarealism

——-

GIVE IT ALL UP AGAIN

first infrarealist manifesto

“It’s four light hours to the confines of the solar system; to the closest star, four light years. A disproportionate ocean of emptiness. But are we really sure there is only a void? We only know that there are no stars shining in that space. If they existed, would they be visible? And if there existed bodies that are neither luminous nor dark? Could it not be that on the celestial maps, the same as on those of Earth, the star-cities are indicated and the star-villages are omitted?”

— Soviet science fiction writers scratching their faces at midnight.

— The infrasuns (Drummond would say the happy proletarian fellows).

— Peguero and Boris alone in a lumpen room having premonitions of the wonder behind the door.

— Free money.

Who has crossed the city and had, as the only music, the whistles of his fellow man, his own words of wonder and rage?

The handsome guy who didn’t know

that chicks’ orgasms are clitoral

(Look around, shit isn’t just in museums.) (A process of individual museumification.) (Certainty that everything is named, revealed.) (Fear of discovering.) (Fear of unforeseen imbalances.)

Our closest relatives:

snipers, country boys who smash up cheap cafés in Latin America, people who fall apart in supermarkets in their tremendous individuo-collective dilemmas; the impotence of action and the search (on individual levels or good and muddy with aesthetic contradictions) for poetic action.

Little bright stars eternally winking an eye at us from a place in the universe called Labyrinths.

— Nightclub of misery.

— Pepito Tequila sobbing his love for Lisa Underground.

— I suck it, you suck it, we suck it.

— And the Horror.

Curtains of water, cement or tin separate a cultural machinery that serves as the conscience or the ass of the dominant class from a living, annoying cultural happening, in constant death and birth, ignorant of the greater part of history and the fine arts (everyday creator of its insane history and its hallucinatory fine artz), body that suddenly feels new sensations in itself, product of an epoch in which we approach the shithouse or the revolution at 200 kph.

“New forms, strange forms,” as old Bertolt said, half curious, half cheerful.

Sensations don’t arise from nothingness (the obvious of obviousnesses) but from conditioned reality, in a thousand ways, as a constant flow.

— Multiple reality, you make us sick!

So it is possible that on the one hand one is born and on the other hand we’re in the front row for the death throes. Forms of life and forms of death pass daily through the retina. The constant crash gives life to infrarealist forms: THE EYE OF TRANSITION

They put the whole city in the nuthouse. Sweet sister, tank howls, hermaphrodite songs, diamond deserts, we’ll live only once and the visions, more complicated and slippery every day. Sweet sister, hitchhiking to Monte Albán[i]. Unbuckling their belts to water the corpses. It’s something at least.

And the good bourgeois culture? And academia and the arsonists? And the vanguard and its rearguard? And certain conceptions of love, nice scenery, the precise multinational Colt sidearm?

Like Saint-Just[ii] said to me in a dream I had a while ago: Even the heads of aristocrats can be our weapons.

— A good part of the world is being born and the other part is dying and we all know that we all have to live and we all die: in this there is no middle road.

Chirico[iii] says: thought needs to move away from everything called logic and common sense, to move away from all human obstacles in such a way that things take on a new look, as though illuminated by a constellation appearing for the first time. The infrarealists say: We’re going to stick our noses into all human obstacles, in such a way that things begin to move inside of us, a hallucinatory vision of mankind.

— The Constellation of the Beautiful Bird.

— The infrarealists propose Indianism to the world: a crazy, timid Indian.

— A new lyricism that’s beginning to grow in Latin America sustains itself in ways that never cease to amaze us. The entrance to the work is the entrance to adventure: the poem as a journey and the poet as a hero who reveals heroes. Tenderness as an exercise in speed. Respiration and heat. Experience shot, structures that devour themselves, insane contradictions.

The poet is interfering, the reader will have to interfere for himself.

“erotic books full of misspellings”

The THOUSAND DRAWN-AND-QUARTERED VANGUARDS OF THE SEVENTIES are our ancestors

99 flowers open like an open head

Slaughters, new concentration camps

White subterranean rivers, violet winds

These are hard times for poetry, some say, sipping tea, listening to music in their apartments, talking (listening) to the old masters. These are hard times for mankind, we say, coming back to the barricades after a workday full of shit and tear gas, discovering/creating music even in apartments, spending all day watching the cemeteries-that-expand, where they hopelessly drink a cup of tea or get drunk on pure rage or the inertia of the old masters.

HORA ZERO[iv] are our ancestors

((Raise arsonist kids, get burned))

We’re still in the Quaternary Period. We’re still in the Quaternary Period?

Pepito Tequila kisses the phosphorescent nipples of Lisa Underground and heads off for a beach where black pyramids sprout up.

I repeat:

The poet as a hero who reveals heroes, like the fallen red tree that announces the start of a forest.

— Attempts at an ethic-aesthetic are paved with betrayals or pathetic survivals.

— And it is the individual who could walk a thousand kilometers but inevitably the road will eat him.

— Our ethic is the Revolution, our aesthetic is Life: one-and-the-same.

For the bourgeoisie and the petite-bourgeoisie, life is a party. They have one every weekend. The proletariat doesn’t have parties. Just funerals with rhythm. That’s going to change. The exploited are going to throw a big party. Memory and guillotines. Sensing it, acting it out on certain nights, inventing edges and humid corners for it, like caressing the acid eyes of the new spirit.

Movement of the poem through the seasons of rebellion: poetry producing poets producing poems producing poetry. No electric alley/the poet with his arms separated from his body/the poem moving slowly from his Vision to his Revolution. The alley is a complex point. “We’re going to invent it so as to discover its contradiction, its invisible forms of negation, even to clarify it.” A journey of the act of writing through zones not at all favorable to the act of writing.

Rimbaud, come home!

Subvert the everyday reality of modern poetry. The chains that lead to the poem’s circular reality. A good reference: Kurt Schwitters. Lanke trr gll, or, upa kupa arggg, happens in the official line, phonetic investigators encoding the howl. The bridges of Nova Express are anti-codifying: let him scream, let him scream (please don’t go pulling out pencils or little notebooks, don’t record it, if you want to participate scream along), so let him scream, to see the look on his face when it’s over, what incredible thing happen to us.

Our bridges to unknown seasons. The poem interrelating reality and unreality.

Convulsively.

What can I ask of present-day Latin American painting? What can I ask of the theater?

It is more revealing and more evocative to stand in a park devastated by smog and watch people cross the avenues in groups (that contract and expand), the avenues, where drivers as much as pedestrians feel the urge to return to their hovels, when the murderers come out and the victims stalk them.

What stories are painters really telling me?

The interesting void, fixed form and color, at best a parody of movement. Canvases that will serve only as bright advertisements in the rooms of engineers and doctors who collect them.

The painter adapts to a society that is every day more of a “painter” than he is, and there he finds himself disarmed and registers as clown.

If painting X is found in some street by Mara, that painting acquires the status of an amusing, communicative thing; in a salon it’s as decorative as bourgeois wrought iron garden chairs/a question of the retina?/yes and no/but it’d be better to find (and systematize according to chance for awhile) the unleashing factor, class-conscious, a one hundred percent deliberate deed, in juxtaposition to the values of “work” which both precede and condition it.

The painter gives up his studio and ANY status quo and fills his head with wonder/or takes up chess like Duchamp/a self-taught painting/And a painting of poverty, free or rather cheap, unfinished, collaborative, of questioning participation, physically extended and spiritually unlimited.

The best Latin American painting is that which is still being made at unconscious levels, the game, the party, the experiment that gives us a real vision of what we are and opens us to what we can be; the best Latin American painting is what we paint in the greens, reds, and blues on our faces, to recognize ourselves in the incessant creation of the group.

Try daily to leave everything behind.

May architects give up the building of inward-looking scenes and open their hands (or make fists, depending on the place) toward that outer space. A wall and a roof acquire utility not when they’re used just for sleeping or avoiding rain, but rather when they establish, for example, from the everyday act of dreaming, conscious bridges between man and his creations or the momentary impossibility of these.

In architecture and sculpture the infrarealists start from two points: the barricade and the bed.

The true imagination is that which destroys, elucidates, injects emerald microbes into other imaginations. In poetry and in whatever else, the entrance into the work has to already be the way into adventure. Create the tools for everyday subversion. The human being’s subjective seasons, with their gigantic, beautiful, obscene trees like experimental laboratories. Watch, glimpse parallel and heart-rending situations as a giant scratch on your chest, on your face. Endless analogy of gestures. There are so many that when new ones appear we don’t even notice, even though we’re making/watching them in front of a mirror. Stormy nights. Perception opens by means of an ethic-aesthetic carried to the limit.

— Galaxies of love are appearing in the palms of our hands.

— Poets, let down your hair (if you have any)

— Burn your nonsense and start loving until you come up with priceless poems

— We don’t want kinetic paintings but enormous kinetic sunsets

— Horses running 500 kilometers an hour

— Squirrels of fire hopping through trees of fire

— A bet to see who blinks first, between the nerve and the sleeping pill.

Risk is always somewhere else. The true poet is the one who’s always letting go of himself. Never too much time in the same place, like guerrillas, like UFOs, like the white eyes of prisoners serving life sentences.

Fusion and explosion from two shores: creation like a decisive and open graffiti by a crazy kid.

Not at all mechanical. Scales of amazement. Somebody, maybe Bosch, smashes the aquarium of love. Free money. Sweet sister. Visions frivolous like corpses. Little boys jerking off from kisses until December.

At two in the morning, after having been at Mara’s house, we (Mario Santiago and some of us) heard laughter coming from the penthouse of a 9 story building. They didn’t stop, they kept laughing and laughing while below we slept propped up in various phone booths. There came a moment when only Mario was still paying attention to the laughter (the penthouse is a gay bar or something and Darío Galicia had told us that it’s always watched by the cops). We made phone calls but our coins turned into water. The laughter continued. After we left that neighborhood Mario told me that actually no one had been laughing, that it was recorded laughter, and up there in that penthouse, some stragglers or maybe a single homosexual had silently listened to that record and made us listen to it.

— The death of the swan, the swan song, the last song of the black swan, IS NOT in the Bolshoi but in the intolerable pain and beauty of the streets.

— A rainbow that starts in a grindhouse theater and ends in a factory on strike.

— May amnesia never kiss us on the mouth. May it never kiss us.

— We dreamed of utopia and woke up screaming.

— A poor lonely cowboy that comes back home, what a wonder.

Make new sensations appear—Subvert daily life.

O.K.

GIVE IT ALL UP AGAIN

HIT THE ROAD

—Roberto Bolaño, Mexico, 1976

(translation by Tim Pilcher – [email protected])

#Infrarealism Manifesto #roberto bolaño #infrarealism

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jorrmungandr · 5 years ago

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2019 was a good year for games.

Lots of interesting new ideas in the space, and some refinements of old ones. Here’s a list of my personal favorite games of this year, in no particular order. Making an ordered list can be fun, but it’s ultimately pretty pointless.

Video games are such a diverse medium at this point that it’s really like comparing apples and oranges. How does Baba Is You stack up against Dragon Quest XI S? They have almost nothing in common, and their aims are so different that it makes no sense to compare them directly.

Speaking of….

Baba Is You

There are a lot of indie puzzle games out there. Making a little mind-bending puzzle is something that’s easy to do on a relatively small budget. There are also a lot of games that mimic old pixel art aesthetics of earlier game systems, to greater and lesser success. Making a truly great puzzle game, though, is a true accomplishment. Something that combines a wildly different array of elements in interesting ways, but maintains a simple readability that allows you to return to puzzles after months away and instantly recognize what’s going on.

Baba Is You is a game that accomplishes this and more. It operates on very simple, basic rules, but the way they escalate over time and require you to think outside more and more boxes with every single puzzle is simple astounding. A lot of puzzle games escalate their difficulty so quickly that it’s easy to get discouraged, put off by the impossible tasks you’re being asked to perform. Where Baba shines is that it gives you a perfect runway, teaching you things slowly but surely through a series of challenges.

This is a game where you will instantly go from feeling like the world’s greatest super-genius to a complete and utter fool in a matter of moments, from finishing one stage to starting the next. Over and over again, for dozens and dozens of levels. No game has ever better demonstrated the value of brain rest, stepping away from a problem and letting your subconscious work on it for a while. Every time I came back to a puzzle after a couple hours, I would suddenly see some option I never saw before.

One final note, the graphics are actually a perfect fit for this game. A lot of times, pixel art feels like a gimmick, something to do when you don’t have a good idea, or just mindless nostalgia-baiting. But here, it serves a gameplay purpose, giving you an absolutely clean view of the elements in play at a glance, and also serves as an homage to the simple-yet-challenging puzzle games of those older eras.

Code Vein

And now, for something completely different: An extremely anime-styled souls-like. I remember hearing about this game years and years ago, and thinking that it looked kinda… bad. But, in the meantime they really brought it all together into something fun, if not very innovative.

Code Vein is exactly the sort of thing I look for in a souls-like: it takes the basic formula and adds some new mechanics to it, and has an identity of its own. Instead of a medieval fantasy world, it’s a post-apocalyptic modern city crawling with vampires and zombies. It takes inspiration from stylish, gothic anime of the past couple decades: Code Geass, Blood+, Tokyo Ghoul, etc. The character creator is extremely detailed, but mostly when it comes to clothes and accessories.

The gameplay is… fine. It’s balanced around always having an AI companion, so they can throw bigger groups of enemies at you. It doesn’t require the same sort of intense caution of the Souls series, but that makes it more of a fun, casual experience. At least until you’re fighting a boss, then it suddenly requires you to really be on your game with dodging. If I have one complaint, it’s that the difficulty is incredibly bumpy, some areas are a cake walk and others have you struggling through every encounter.

Oh, also the area aping Anor Londo from Dark Souls. Not because it’s derivative, that’s totally fine, but because it’s a maze where everything looks the same and it’s a real pain to get through. Souls games are at their best when areas have good landmarks and make a kind of logical sense. Earlier in the game you pass through a big parking garage, and it’s perfect, just the sort of thing that translates well to this kind of game. But this cathedral-ish area… it just sucks.

It really is quite shameless.

Overally, it’s just a solid souls-like. I enjoyed the crunchy RPG elements, switching classes and balancing your weapons and armor to get good mobility and damage. The ability to just equip cool-looking attack moves as skills you can use, like spells in Souls games, is something I’d really like to see in more games in this sub-genre.

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

I was kind of skeptical about this game before it came out. Mostly because it was bringing back weapon durability, a mechanic I’ve always hated in these games, but that ended up being a non-issue. Also the school setting made me a bit wary, thinking it was just gonna end up being some Persona-esque thing where you spend tons of time on mundane nonsense while an actual war is going on.

That was all baseless, it turns out. They balance the idea of a military academy with a traditional Fire Emblem structure remarkably well, giving you a lot of freedom around what you want to do when you play the game. You can run around the monastery talking to students, managing your relationships, or you can just do a ton of tactical battles if you want.

The storytelling was remarkably good, though I feel like it was harmed a bit by the weird way it handled multiple routes with different big mysteries. Some routes ended up completely ignoring or just not getting around to some pretty major mysteries. I’m a person who likes long games, but expecting someone to go through all four routes to figure out what’s going on is a bit much.

But more than that, the way it holds back certain reveals hurts the writing in other ways. The actual revelations can’t really have any effect on the characters and their relationships because it all happens at the very end of the game. It keeps the world feeling a bit flat, without any reactions. The mysteries feel extraneous to the plot, in a weird way, when they are so important to certain characters’ identities and the core conflicts that drive the second half of the game.

The gameplay is okay, though a few of the maps are way too big. The portable Fire Emblem games reigned in the map sizes from the old NES and SNES ones, which was a great thing. But now we’re back to moving a whole army one unit at a time for multiple turns just to get to the next group of enemies. The class system was fun to engage with, balancing learning different skills to open up new opportunities, but the gender-limited classes were a real disappointment. Why can’t men ride pegasi? Why can’t women punch good? It’s bizarre, and honestly felt like it had some stuff left over from early drafts, like the pointless dark mage classes.

This has been a lot of complaining about a game I played for close to a hundred hours. Why is this game even on my list? Because the characters are fucking fantastic, and on a basic level the tactical battles are a lot of fun. It offers a paternalistic form of power fantasy, fostering and guiding your children-warriors and then seeing them destroy your enemies. It is just incredibly satisfying to play. And for all that the mysteries end up a bit frustrating, they are intriguing, and do a good job of motivating you to get through a very lengthy game.

Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night

Ah, love a good IGAvania.

This was a year where I really reached for comfort food games a lot, and this is maybe the king of that category. It’s just an old style of game that doesn’t get made anymore, done extremely well by the guy who used to make ’em all the time. Nothing super different or innovative, just the same old thing with a couple new tweaks.

It’s an easy game, but that’s entirely by design. It’s about running around this castle killin’ monsters, collecting new abilities, just exploring and poking around the corners. It’s a game that is, ultimately, designed to be comfortable. And in a time of such strife in the world around us, what could be better?

Disco Elysium

There’s already been a lot written about this game, tons of praise heaped on its writing and its interesting, hauntological world that is so similar to our own, and yet so different. Frankly, I’m really glad I got turned into this before it even came out, if I heard all that overblown praise I’d never have ended up actually sitting down and playing it.

Here’s what I’ll say: This game is a look at an ugly world, and it gives you a lot to think about, but it actually doesn’t take itself too seriously. There are a ton of extremely funny moments, a lot of straight-up goofy-ass jokes. This is not medicine that you have to suffer through, just take it as it comes and it’s a good time. This is what allows its writing to really land, it’s not lecturing you from on high, it’s engaging on a lower, more personable level.

It’s also not some super serious text that you have to pore over and consider extremely closely at every moment. It’s a game, you can save scum and try to exploit mechanics and look up answers to mysteries. Much like Souls games, people come up with all sorts of weird rules about the “proper” way to play games like this, but in the end your experience is up to you.

One final note: the game does start off with a kind of off-putting ironic tone. Some people try to downplay this, but it��s there. I can only say this: if you give this game a chance, you’ll be rewarded. It is worth getting through a few sarcastic jabs to get to the good stuff later on. It’s not some perfect audio-visual experience that will entrance you from the opening moments to the credits, it’s just a video game.

Dragon Quest XI S

I first played Dragon Quest XI last year on PC, and I enjoyed it a lot! But I didn’t actually finish that version, not really. I put a lot of time into, but ultimately burned out on the grind towards the very end.

The form that games come in is very important to how they are experienced. Dragon Quest games work best as portable games, I truly believe. It also helps that this version on the switch added the ability to speed up regular battles, so you don’t have to sit through some long attack animations over and over. The more important aspect, though, is simply the ability to pick it up and put it down more easily.

Sitting down at my PC, plugging in my controller, and pulling up a game is a subtly labor-intensive thing. It means I’m devoting a lot of attention to a game, and it has to do something to earn that on a moment-to-moment basis. The ability to just push a single button on the switch and get back into means that I’m willing to forgive a lot more down time.

Anyway, the game itself: this is not just a very good Dragon Quest game, it is the ultimate Dragon Quest game. It truly shows the value in iteration over pure innovation, taking all sorts of different mechanics and ideas from past games in the series and bringing them all together in one big package. But it doesn’t feel overstuffed, it’s just doing the same thing these games have always done, just really, really well.

Dragon Quest XI successfully pays tribute to the older games in the series while also telling a new story with entertaining twists and turns, and fun and interesting characters. It’s beautiful, everything runs smoothly, the writing is charming and light. It’s not on the same level as Disco Elysium, but it’s not aiming for that sort of thing. It’s a fairy tale, a fable, a reflection of the world in a different sense.

A lot of game critics missed this game because it’s long. And that is absolutely fair, it’s hard to fit a 100-hour game into a review schedule in this day and age. But it’s an absolute gem, a truly wonderful experience from beginning to end. I’d recommend it to anyone who just wants a game to relax with at the end of the day.

Monolith: Relics of the Past

Like some sort of Christmas miracle, there was an expansion pack released for one of my favorite roguelikes on Christmas day, just last week.

Monolith is the best twin-stick shooter roguelike, I will make no bones about it. Forget your Gungeons and your Bindings of Isaac, this is a classic NES-styled game with an absolutely pitch-perfect aesthetic and sense of humor. It serves both the twin-stick shooting and the roguelike parts of its genre perfectly, giving you a strong basic weapon to rely on, and also a guarantee of something more interesting but random in every run.

Man, there are games that I enjoy more, but I really, truly feel that this is one of the best-crafted games of the past few years. And this expansion only made it better: fixing up the UI and tooltips to make things more clear, rebalancing the weapons so that they are all useful, adding more variety to runs.

I’m not the best at Monolith, it took me quite a while to get a full win, but that doesn’t make it any less fun to play. In my youth, I was really quite good at bullet-hell games, but nowadays those reflexes aren’t there. It’s a game designed for people who can dodge endless bullet curtains, and also, now more than ever, for those who struggle with it.

It’s truly inspiring to see something that takes from the past and the present and fuses it together into something so wonderful. There are other games that really capture the NES aesthetic and sensibility, like Odallus or The Messenger, but this one really gets the spirit of that whole era of games. It is at once light and airy, and also punishingly difficult. It offers tricks and outs, but also remains utterly mysterious and intimidating.

And that’s it. There are more games I enjoyed this year, like the remake of Link’s Awakening, but these are the big ones that stick out in my mind.

There are a lot of big narrative-heavy games I never got around to finishing, or even starting. It just doesn’t really fit with how I play games these days, listening to podcasts and aiming to relax, not engage with something on a deep level.

That’s okay, though. I’ll get around to ’em in the fullness of time.

Games of the Year 2019 2019 was a good year for games. Lots of interesting new ideas in the space, and some refinements of old ones.

#baba is you #Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night #code vein #Disco Elysium #Dragon Quest #Dragon Quest XI S #fire emblem three houses #goty #Monolith #video games

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gotatext · 6 years ago

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yo, im not gonna lie guys, im super drunk, so this bio is like.... completely ocpy and pasted but;.... pls plot with me..... im so excited to bring this baby here.... i feel it is the perfect place to write her and i hven’t had the chance to in so long ..... love me..... and greta........ please im so excited this is back, last time i played jack..... n willow??? i think....... maybe archie too...... dont even remember...... who i fuckin played..... but i was here...... and queer..... loud..... and proud..... god this dumb bitch needs to sleep.....

GRETA O'DRISCOLL

20. born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots. vert into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn.

( kristine froseth | she / her | cisfemale ) hey, you hear ( young lady, you’re scaring me by ron gallo ) playing over on the ( rv lot ) ? that’s where ( greta o'driscoll ) lives! i heard they moved in from ( marfa, texas ) exactly ( four months ) ago. they’re very ( zealous ) but also pretty ( erratic ). maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the ( libertine ). starlit is full of people, but this ( 20 ) year old is really going to liven things up around here! ( nora | 23 | she / her | gmt )

personality: easy-going, deceptive, manipulative, self-reliant, profound, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent unmotivated, self-corrupting, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring.

likes: art, music, philosophy, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, fish and chips on the beach, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, DJ sets, magnolias.

dislikes: bananas, coffee, mental mathematics, children, misogyny, the imaginary future, literature, Wes Anderson films

muse tag

aesthetics: a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

cliffsnotes on biography

- she’s called greta (under witness protection), and she’s a serial dater. she’s incredibly restless and doesn’t settle. before she came to seattle, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. born into a single-parent house with two older sisters so always surrounded by women and as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention - every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result everyone from her past views her as a completely different person depending on when she met them. - she’s been involved in a series of destructive relationships because when people discover she’s not who she pretends to be she often gets explosive and defensive. - (tw gun) she’s now under witness protection and moved to connecticut because she shot a previous boyfriend in self-defence and his family are trying to have her done for murder, but she got tired of being moitored so is now even on the run from the police / her faked identity. - easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be entralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her - big into sports. big into gender politics. big into art. does a lot of art installation pieces to do with female and queer bodies. massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune. big fan of the honey bee.

full biography

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your bosom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and daredevils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six-pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three-hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty-five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wildfire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you make your name as a downtown singer while he foots the bill with pills. they have a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you live like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self-defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to vegas where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#starlit:intro #starlit:ooc #pls plot w me im going 2 sleep but.... will reply tomorrow #spam me with ideas i LIVE for that shit x #⥂ greta o'driscoll. ╱ musings.

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duhragonball · 6 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (104/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[8 February, 233 Before Age. Planet Quadzityz.]

Under different circumstances, the mission would have been simple. Lesseri and her team had traveled to the middle of the war-ravaged Planet Quadzityz. There, Lesseri and her partner Endive, would recover a pair of ancient artifacts which their alien comrade Treekul would use to locate the source of a mysterious power known only as "Jindan". Once the artifacts were safely on board the ship, they would take off and get as far from Quadzityz as possible, and then use the spoils of their mission to find the next piece of the puzzle. It was child's play for a Saiyan.

This simple mission was complicated by Luffa, the Legendary Super Saiyan. The invincible warrior had taken an interest in the Quadzityz War, and she had arrived on the planet before Lesseri's team could get there. Even their combined power was nothing compared to a Super Saiyan, and Luffa had been hunting for Saiyans for the past several months. If she discovered Lesseri or the others on the planet, she would chase after them, and there would be very little hope of escape. The only chance of avoiding Luffa's notice was for the team to suppress their power levels while they were in range of Luffa's ki senses. That meant that they couldn't fly to the building where the artefacts were stored, nor could they use energy blasts to destroy the security robots that defended the building, nor could they use their awesome strength to break free of the robots when they were captured.

It would take only a small exertion of ki energy for Lesseri and Endive to save themselves from their captors, but Luffa would surely sense that Saiyan power, even from half a world away, and then they would have an even bigger problem on their hands.

Instead, the two Saiyans allowed themselves to be captured. They now stood like condemned prisoners, trussed up by the robots' multitude of spindly arms, unable to move or speak. One of those robotic arms had produced a syringe, and without explaining its purpose, slowly directed the needle at Endive's throat.

The tension of the moment had taken its toll on Lesseri, who seriously began to wonder if it would be better to break free and risk attracting Luffa's attention. As strong and fast as the Super Saiyan was, it would still take at least a few minutes for her to get to them, and that might be enough of a window for them to return to their ship and escape. And yet, if that plan made any sense, she would have expected Endive to have already broken her bonds to escape the needle. Instead, Endive simply stared forward, as though she were silently daring the robots to do their worst.

And then Lesseri sensed something. As far as she knew, there were only four Saiyans on the planet: herself, Endive, their partner Guwar, and Luffa. The first three had been suppressing their ki all along, while Luffa's enormous Super Saiyan power had been shining like a beacon in Lesseri's ki senses the entire time. Lesseri could sense other strong energy signatures, which likely belonged to powerful warriors or alien mercenaries but none of them were Saiyan in nature. This new power, however, was definitely Saiyan, and it wasn't any of the four Lesseri had accounted for. It was as good an opening as Lesseri could have hoped for. Whoever this fifth Saiyan was, he was much stronger than Lesseri's group, so if Luffa was going to go after anybody, she would start with him. The newcomer didn't seem strong enough to keep Luffa busy for long, but it might just give them enough time to make a break for the ship.

Surely Endive had sensed the same thing. Was that her plan? Was she waiting for Luffa to engage the other Saiyan before making her move? That was probably the best bet, except the robot with the needle wasn't going to wait that long. Was it possible that they had already done something to Endive to cut off her ability to use her own ki? Lesseri didn't think they had done anything to her own powers, though she supposed she wouldn't know for sure until she tried to use them. Was Endive waiting for Lesseri to help her? And if that was so, was it in Lesseri's best interest to help her? Endive hadn't outlived her usefulness just yet, but this would still be a good chance to eliminate her, giving Lesseri a greater share of the rewards when their quest was finished. Whatever Jindan turned out to be, Lesseri didn't see any reason to share it if she didn't need to.

As she considered all of this, the point of the needle moved closer to Endive's neck. It made contact, pressing just hard enough to push the skin, and then--

"Hold! That's quite enough of that!"

There were already some lights on in the foyer of the penthouse, but now someone had turned on several more lights as he stepped into the room. He was a Quazity man, his orange skin dusted with patches of white. His shirt and pants were rather plain-looking, but the frames of his sunglasses were plated with gold, and the jewelry on his fingers and neck indicated that he was very wealthy. The fact that the robot withdrew the needle from Endive's throat indicated that he was the owner of the penthouse, if not the entire building.

"Well, well, well," he said as he approached the captive women and looked them over. They had tucked their tails into their body armor, so if he recognized them as Saiyans, he didn't show it. "I expected looters to show up, but only after the battle, not during."

He leaned in to take a closer look at Lesseri, and then impulsively ran his fingers through her long hair. "Sorry for taking so long to call off the security robots," he said. "When the bombing started, I went down the bunker in the sub-basement. I've been down there for over two weeks, you know. Maybe that's why I decided to come up and see what my pets had caught. The fighting seems to have died down a little, but honestly I was so bored that I probably would have come up here no matter what."

As he went to pick up the stolen artifacts from the floor, Lesseri looked at Endive, who now looked back at her. It was starting to add up now. While Lesseri was fretting over whether to rescue Endive, Endive was focusing her senses to detect this man. His ki was extremely faint, typical of a civilian with no combat skill, but he still had enough life force that Endive could detect him coming up the elevator shaft, so long as she knew what to look for. Lesseri was impressed that Endive had managed to concentrate so well under duress.

"You picked some interesting pieces to steal, ladies," he said as he stepped back into their field of view. "Most burgalers would have taken the golden idol on the next display case. Small, valuable, easy to fence. The scuplture of the javelin thrower is actually worth more, though. It's made of ruthentium, though most people don't recognize the metal." He held up the retort and the scroll. "But a copper retort? With a hole in the side? And an old scroll that looks like it was written in gibberish? Well, you're no ordinary thieves, are you?"

He paused, as though waiting for them to reply, despite the fact that they couldn't. "I had to kill a lot of people to get my hands on these," he said. "At first, I only dabbled in alchemy to counterfeit money. This whole building?" He waved his hand, gesturing at the room around them. "I swindled a lot of people to pay for all this. But you can't take it with you, and that happy thought is what got me interested in the Elixir of Life. I've been studying the runes on this old teapot for decades, and I think the scroll would help me, if only I could read the whole thing."

He began to pace around the room, looking at them from time to time as he tapped one of the handles of the scroll to his lips. "Maybe this is a blessing in disguise," he finally said. "For a long time, I've wondered if these two objects could really contain the secrets I need. But if the two of you want them so badly, then that means someone thinks I'm on the right track. Just like that Saiyan fellow who tried to begged me to help him with his powers. Yes, I must be getting close, or why would so many people try to stop me?"

He looked at them, and pointed the end of the scroll at Endive. "Yes, maybe it's a good thing I came up here to call off my robots," he said. "If I had let them kill you, then I wouldn't be able to find out what you know about these objects. You wouldn't want them unless you had some way of exploiting their secrets. Maybe you have an expert working with you, someone who can fill in the gaps for me. Of course, you wouldn't give up your secrets easily, but I have some samskara formulations that will dull your minds, loosen your tongues, and that just might be enough to--"

Suddenly, Lesseri broke free of her bonds, ripping apart the robots that held her and reducing them to so much scrap metal. The Quadzity man was shocked by the sudden reversal, so much so that he hesitated instead of calling the remaining robots to come to his rescue. Lesseri quickly grabbed one of her pistols from the broken robot that held it, and aimed it at the man's head.

"You so much as blink, and I blow your damn head off, got it?" she said. Once she was satisfied that he understood, she pointed to Endive, who had not yet broken free. "Turn her loose. No tricks, or you're a dead man."

"Emergency override! R-release her!" the man said. The robots opened their arms in unison, and Endive nearly lost her balance as she stepped clear of them. She picked up her own weapon and fired at the robots, destroying them before they could do anything else.

"Now, hand them over," Lesseri said, pointing to the retort and scroll in his hands. Endive stepped forward to collect the items from him.

"You sense it too, don't you?" Endive asked. "That enormous ki that just appeared out of nowhere. That couldn't be Guwar..."

"No, but whoever it is, his power is incredible," Lesseri said. "Let's just hope he kept Luffa distracted enough that she didn't notice what I just did."

"Luffa?" the man asked. "You mean the Super Saiyan is on Quadzityz?"

Endive ignored him. "Time to leave, I think," she said.

"Not yet," Lesseri said. She stepped closer to the man put the end of her pistol to his chest. "First, I want to know about that Saiyan you were talking about. The one who came to you for help."

"I... I... he said he was losing his powers!" the man said. "There was nothing I could do for him. He was convinced that the scroll could help him, but I only know how to read certain parts of it!"

"What was his name?" Lesseri growled.

"S-salziff!" the man gasped. "His name was Salziff! He said he was from the Vannis Sector, but I don't know where he went! I swear--"

Lesseri shot him before he could finish. She would have preferred to interrogate him more thoroughly, but there wasn't time.

"Now can we go?" Endive asked.

"In a minute," Lesseri said as she stepped over the man's still-smoking corpse to head back to his private gallery. "We might as well help ourselves to that ruthenium sculpture he was talking about."

*******

On the opposite side of the planet, Luffa was battling foes on multiple fronts. The warring factions in the Quadzityz sector had begun to concentrate their forces on the planet itself, hoping to secure their interests there now that the Super Saiyan and her Federation had entered the conflict. Most of them recognized that defeating Luffa was strategically impossible, though some commanders clung to the idea that reports of her power were exaggerated. In any case, their main goal in converging on Quadzityz was not so much to secure a victory there as it was to keep her from undoing smaller victories throughout the sector.

Luffa had established a demilitarized zone on a large island, and used that as a base of operations. Federation convoys would eventually land there and begin relief operations, but only after Luffa had pacified the planet. In the meantime, she zipped from one continent to another, defending her own territory while launching raids to disrupt her enemies. Whenever a unit of troops did surrender, Luffa ordered them to give up their weapons, and then she escorted them to her island DMZ. Those who refused her terms were dealt with.

"It's! The best! Offer! You're! Going! To get!" she shouted as she took a general from the Red army across her knee. She didn't enjoy humiliating a fellow warrior in full view of his troops, but Luffa could see no other way to get her point across without killing him. She hadn't ruled that out, of course, but he was more useful to her alive than dead. She would need leaders to keep her growing collection of prisoners under control.

She shoved him to the ground and turned her back to him as an air raid siren sounded. There were Green starships entering the atmosphere, and she needed to be ready for them.

"I'll be back in five minutes," she said to the Red general. "If you don't accept my terms then I'll take your weapons by force and leave you out here to die. Think carefully."

With that, she leaped into the air and rocketed off in the direction of her next skirmish. "What's the status of Blue Headquarters?" Luffa asked aloud.

"Total disarray," replied Zatte's voice from the communicator Luffa wore in her left ear. "They'll be too busy restoring power to their base to give you any grief."

"That's good, because the Greens are gonna have me tied up for a little while," Luffa said. "Are you okay getting back on your own? I might run late picking you up."

"You're fine," Zatte said. "If I don't hear from you in an hour, I'll head for the woods a mile from the base."

"Don't get cocky," Luffa said. "You can't outrun a weapon of mass destruction, and I don't like your chances against a slorg. If things get bad, raise your power level to signal me, okay?"

"And you'll drop everything to come to my rescue," Zatte asked. "I had no idea you could be so romantic in the middle of a battle."

"Not now, woman," Luffa said with a smirk. "You'll embarrass me in front of the enemy."

She stopped in midair and waited patiently for the three ships to come into view. The left one opened fire, and Luffa swung her left arm towards it, releasing a blob of green ki energy which dispersed the plasma bolt before it could reach her. The ship on the right fired a missile, which Luffa intercepted and caught in both hands. Uncertain of its payload, she spun around in midair and threw it like a shot put, sending it straight up into the sky. She then fired a ki blast after it, which would destroy the missile once it had reached outer space. Next, she turned her attention to the center ship, flying on a collision course with it's aft hull and ripping open a hole ten feet across. She exited the ship the same way, bursting out of the forward hull and taking out the ship's weapons systems in the process. Now unable to defend itself or retreat back into space, the center ship turned and ran, though it had nowhere to go. Luffa would catch up to it and escort it to her DMZ island later.

The remaining ships tried to regroup. Luffa noticed they weren't quite as aggressive this time, and she guessed that they were trying to decide how to keep her occupied without sustaining damage. Then she sensed a group of mercenaries powering up several hundred miles away, and she decided that they were a little too close to her island for her comfort. She flew off in that direction, leaving the ships to decide if they wanted to chase her or withdraw.

"Looks like I won't be back in five minutes like I thought, general," Luffa said to herself. "I'll see you when I see you, unless one of those ships decides to gun you down before then."

It was then that she sensed it. A Saiyan power, unlike any she had encountered before. She had hoped to have a little fun with the mercenaries, but she couldn't ignore the Saiyan. Whoever it was, if they knew anything at all about King Rehval's whereabouts... she couldn't afford to let them escape.

Right on cue, Zatte contacted her on the earpiece.

"Did you feel that?" Zatte asked.

"Feel what, Zattie?" Luffa replied sarcastically.

"What's a Saiyan doing on Quadzityz?" she asked. "Besides you, I mean."

"I don't know," Luffa said. She dove down over the mercenaries' position and clenched her fist once she was positioned in the center of their group. A wave of golden energy expanded all around them, and before they could do anything, they were completely vaporized. Under different circumstances, she might have offered them a chance to surrender, but there wasn't time. She had shown more than enough mercy on Quadzityz already. She had been the Legendary Super Saiyan for four years now. By now, every soldier-of-fortune in the galaxy should have known that no contract was worth a battle with her.

"I'm on my way to check it out," she said as she resumed her flight to the unidentified Saiyan.

"He's strong," Zatte said. "I think he might be as strong as King Rehval. You don't think it could be--?"

"No, I don't," Luffa said. "The ki signature is all wrong. It can't be Rehval, unless he found some way to alter his energy. But it is a pleasant thought, isn't it? Maybe dropped by to beg for my forgiveness."

"Luffa, be careful," Zatte pleaded. "This might be a trap--"

"That's exactly why I'm trying to get to him," Luffa said. "Whoever this guy is, he knew I was here and he knows he's not strong enough to beat me. He must be up to something. He might be planning to blow up the whole planet!"

At last, she was close enough to her target to see him. The Saiyan was tall and bald, with a shock of dark hair jutting out from the tip of his chin. The small town he was standing in looked like it had been hit by a hurricane, and judging from the Blue troops scattered around, Luffa suspected that the Saiyan had been amusing himself with them while he waited for Luffa to reach him.

She landed twenty feet away from him, and the impact of her boots into the ground made a small crater. "I'm only going to ask this once," Luffa called out to him. "Where is Rehval? Tell me where that bastard is hiding, and you won't have to suffer."

Before she could get an answer, she suddenly noticed a second Saiyan power. This one was much weaker in intensity, and it had only flashed into being for a second or two. It came from the city of Inoy, several thousand miles away. For a brief moment, Luffa worried that this was an accomplice of the Saiyan who now stood before her. She couldn't shake the possibility that this was some kind of suicide run, and as she wondered what the second Saiyan was up to, she turned her head and lowered her guard for the briefest of moments...

And then the first Saiyan, the bald one standing before her, sucker punched her in the jaw.

The blow actually hurt, and as Luffa recovered, the Saiyan followed up with several dozen body blows, and then a kick to Luffa's ribs. As she went flying, he screamed at the top of his lungs, gathering as much power as he could before releasing it all in an enormous ki blast, which he fired from his open mouth.

When the attack subsided, the dust settled to reveal Luffa was still standing, her arms crossed over her face.

"No, you're definitely not Rehval," Luffa said. "You're actually stronger than he is. Still no match for me, but..."

She lowered her arms and her hair shifted back to its original black color, and her eyes and the fur on her tail returned to brown. "Yeah," she said. "If I fought you like this, we'd be just about even. No, you'd be a little stronger. Who the hell are you?"

The man snorted indignantly. "You don't even remember me, do you? Asher II. The raid on the Crystal Tower. You broke both my arms."

Luffa raised one eyebrow in surprise. She remembered the raid on Asher II, and how she was hired to defend the Crystal Tower, and that there were Saiyan mercenaries in the raiding party. "Wait, yeah, the one with the mouth. That was you, wasn't it? I didn't recognize you without all that henchman gear your bosses made you wear. Yeah, I worked you over pretty good back then, but it looks like you bounced back well enough."

"Bounced back?!" he snarled. "You ruined my life! I needed that payday to pay off my debts! By the time I recovered enough to return home, my starship had been repossessed, and my mistresses had all left me for other clients! I was so weak from the convalescence that one of my associates managed to beat me up and he stole my emergency cash fund! I even had to-- what? Why are you laughing?!”

"Now I remember," Luffa said. "You were the idiot who said you kept calling me names the whole time I was beating the crap out of your team. I was gonna save you for last, but then I just got fed up with your annoying voice. I forget what it was you said that pushed me over the limit. Was it worth getting both of your arms broken? I'm just curious."

"You don't scare me anymore!" he screamed. "I spent years looking for a way to make you pay, to put you in your place, you little--!"

Suddenly Luffa was behind him, in her Super Saiyan form, with her arm raised to deliver a knifehand strike. The man barely managed to step out of the way of her blow, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid her other hand as it grabbed him by the face.

"Don't misunderstand this," Luffa said. "I don't have time to discuss your revenge fantasies, or to reduce my power to your level so we can have a decent match. The only reason I haven't killed you already is because I want to know everything you know about King Rehval. And since I won't ask twice, and you don't want to answer me, then I'll just have to pull what I need from your puny little mi--"

Not long before transforming into a Super Saiyan for the first time, Luffa discovered that she could read minds. She preferred to use this power sparingly, as she was never completely confident that she had full control over the ability. It was difficult for her to sift through another mind to pick out a single piece of information. More often, she found herself overwhelmed by memories and emotions that were not her own. In spite of her discomfort with this, Luffa still found tactile telepathy to be an ideal means of extracting information from her enemies.

But this time something went wrong. Instead of the normal flow of information--the interface of one mind to another that Luffa lacked the words to describe--there was a strange warmth, which intensified into a sensation not unlike pain, but mental instead of physical. Later, Luffa would compare the experience to eating an extremely spicy pepper with her brain. For now, all she could do was release her captive and scream as she clawed at her forehead. Breaking the connection with him had kept the pain from getting worse, but it still remained. As she backed away from the Saiyan, she could hear him laughing.

"Jolok," he said. "That's my name, not that you ever cared."

He kicked her legs out from under her, and then grabbed her by the collar of her sleeveless shirt. Luffa was too dazed to defend herself.

"You said I was stronger than King Rehval, right?" he said. "Let's put that to the test."

He grabbed her left arm and put her in a hammerlock, summoning as much power as he could to intensify the pressure.

"See, I could explain to you how I got so much stronger, except that's against the rules. There's a lot of rules, actually. To make sure no one reads my mind to learn our secrets, well, that's where the Mindworm comes in. Anyone tries to use psi powers on me, they get infected with a sort of computer program that's in my head. It's safe in my mind, but once it gets into yours, it starts replicating itself, clogging up your thought processes. Hurts, doesn't it?"

Luffa screamed, though whether she was aware of Jolok's taunts was uncertain.

"Yeah, I tried it out on a fortuneteller I met in the Reeloor Clurster. Had to see what it would do before I used it on you. She screamed for days. Finally went into a coma, but when I left her, she was still alive, if you want to call it that. You, on the other hand, well, I'm going to kill you whether the Mindworm is fatal or not. First, I'm going to break your arms, just like you did to me. Then I'm going to--"

Luffa suddenly grabbed his head with her free hand, and pulled it towards her until his neck was pressed up against her right shoulder. With a desperate howl, she pulled down harder, choking the life out of Jolok. The unspoken message was clear: "You might break my arm, but I will definitely crush your trachea." He released her, and she swung him over her shoulder like a sack of laundry.

They each stumbled away from the other as they recovered from the exchange. Luffa had stopped screaming, but there wear tears running down her eyes, and drool spilling from her mouth. Her movements were sluggish, and when she spoke, it sounded like she was half asleep.

"Cute... cute... cute trrrrrick," she said. "Shoudna... unner... unnerestimated you."

Jolok tried to respond with some defiant words, but all he could do was cough and gasp for air. Once he was finally able to talk, he said: "I get it now. They didn't want me going into business for myself. Their power, their rules. I thought... the Mindworm would be enough to stop you. Knew you'd try to read my thoughts first thing... but... you're resisting it somehow. Second attack might help... but you're not dumb enough to fall for it a second time."

Luffa opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly she dropped to one knee and put her hands on her temples as she wailed in pain. For a split second, Jolok thought this was an opening he could exploit, and then, without warning, Luffa pointed one of her fingers at him and fired a ki blast at his right kneecap.

"That's better..." she said as she slowly rose to her feet. "I feel a little crummy playing possum like that, Jolok." She began to walk towards him as he writhed on the ground, clutching at the stump where his lower leg used to be. Her voice was more lucid and her expression more alert, but the sweat on her face and the wince in her expression showed that she was still in great pain.

"Yeah, we could have had some fun and dragged this out," she said. "But this Mindworm thing hurts like hell, and like I said, I never should have underestimated you."

Before Jolok could react, she pointed at his other leg and severed that one at the knee as well. Then she grabbed his left arm in both hands and drove her knee into his bicep until she heard a popping noise that made her smile.

She rolled over his body, and then pinned his remaining hand to the ground with her boot. "Okay," she said. "Okay... it's starting to get easier to think." She ran her hand through her hair and bared her teeth. "Definitely won't be reading anyone's mind for a while. Now then..."

She pointed her finger at Jolok's chest, and a tiny sphere of light glowed just beyond the tip of her fingernail. "This is how it's going to go, Jolok," she said. "I want answers. If you won't talk, and I can't read your mind, then I'll just have to beat it out of you."

He was still whimpering and grunting from his injuries. Luffa ground his left hand under her heel, and he cried out, but he didn't open his eyes.

"No," he cried out. "Not now! Not like this!"

"Exactly like this," Luffa sneered. "It was you dumb idea to come here, and now it's time to face the consequences. I-- what the hell is wrong with you?"

Luffa took a step back-- releasing his hand in the process-- as she noticed a rapid increase in Jolok's ki. He wasn't charging up for an attack, but his power was rising all the same, as if he had lost control of himself. Then, she seemed to sense two separate energies from within his body. One was smaller, more in line with what she would have expected from a typical Saiyan. The one that continued to grow, it now felt more alien to her. No, not alien, but unnatural.

She raised her arms to defend herself from an attack, but it never came. Instead, the bizarre energy flowed out of Jolok's body and down into the ground below him. A moment later, Luffa could see it with her eyes, as a purple glow that soaked into the soil like rainwater.

"What are you doing?" Luffa demanded, but Jolok could no longer answer. He was delirious, both from the pain Luffa had inflicted upon him, and the sudden change in his power. The ki that had remained within his body was growing weaker by the second, and all he seemed to be able to do was moan incoherently while shaking his head from side to side. And then, the ground rumbled beneath her feet.

At last, she decided that whatever was happening, it couldn't be good for that much raw ki to be absorbed into the planet's crust. Figuring that Jokol was as good as dead already, she fired a blast off her own through his heart, killing him instantly. When that didn't stop the flow of the strange energy, she threw out her hands and tried to use her own power to contain it.

The resistance was intense to say the least. As a Super Saiyan, Luffa's strength was still far superior to whatever had emerged from Jolok's body, but somehow it had infused itself into the earth, and the sheer volume made it difficult for Luffa to control. The lingering effects of the Mindworm weren't making things any easier. She struggled to corral the affected soil into a bubble of solid energy, but each time she tried, she found that a little managed to slip out. It was like trying to scoop up water with a fork. She tried again, but with each attempt she had to expand her own ki field to cover a larger area of ground, which only made the task more difficult.

Finally, she reached for her earpiece to signal Zatte. If she couldn't contain this, then there was a very good chance that it would absorb into a big enough section of the planet's crust to destroy it. It wouldn't explode all at once, but Luffa doubted that she would have time to evacuate Quadzytiz, even if half the population wasn't currently trying to kill the other half. At least she could warn her wife, and give Zatte a chance to get to their ship.

She tried again to contain the energy seepage, and failed. She could sense the unnatural ki growing unstable. Luffa had no way of knowing what would happen or what signs to watch for, but it all looked very grim. Zatte didn't reply to her signal, and when she took the communicator out of her ear to check it, she realized what was wrong.

The casing of the earpiece had been cracked, probably during the battle with Jolok. Try as she might, Luffa couldn't get the device to reactivate. It was impossible to warn Zatte, and unless Luffa thought of something soon, everyone else on the planet would be doomed as well...

NEXT: The Forbidden Power.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #luffa #zatte #lesseri #endive #jolok #quadzityz #lssjluffafic

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purple-moonlights-blog · 6 years ago

Text

STRAY KIDS 10th MEMBER AU

INTRODUCTION

This AU is heavily inspired by @k-llama-llama ! If you don’t know her I highly suggest checking out her blog, she and her writings are really sweet (also some good drama just started in her AU). 🌸

I’m not 100% sure where I’m going with this AU, so please feel free to request and suggest what could happen. I really want to take in ideas from people who are interested in the story. Don’t be shy loves! ♥︎

☾☼

Btw. I didn’t use her name until the very end because my dumb ass forgot to give her a name.

Also, in this scenario, Stray Kids themselves aren’t very present since it didn’t really fit. However, I promise that next time will be a lot of Stray Kids content!

▸ Check out the Profile HERE

▸ Request for the AU HERE

▸ MASTERLIST

Words: 2342

Warnings: Swearing?⎮ And weird grammar and spelling mistakes, English is not my native language⎮

I. NEW 〈NOVA〉

(gif not mine)

With her eyebrows knitted together and her upper-lip slightly twisted up, an expression her friend David stated to be her “trying to be polite but can’t help but judge“ look - or in other words, her being a twat visage - she stared at the man, probably in his mid-thirties, in front of her.

For the past five minutes he spoke very fast and in a very strong Satoori accent, she had difficulties to understand, and thereby wildly gesticulate with his arms. The longer he talked the more he began to sweat and looked noticeably more nervous. She wasn’t intentionally trying to be rude by not saying a word the whole time, even though she was more than once encouraged to respond to his rambling. However, due to her having a hard time progressing what he was saying - her Korean might be quite good, thanks to her mum compelling her and her brothers too Korean lesson since the early beginnings of their childhood, yet she only learned standard Korean - and immediately doubting what he was saying to be true, she kept her mouth shut until she had a clear picture of what was going on. From what she could grasp, the man was responsible to recruit trainees for entertainment companies, which in the end should turn them in successful idols, that bring big profits and put the companies into positive spotlights.

He explained that he was from JYP and that Park Jinyoung personally placed in order, after allegedly seeing a video of a street performance of her dancing and singing, to track her down and convince her to audition for his company. He further explained that JYP - the company - planned to form an idol group in the upcoming month of October through a survival show and JYP - the person - wanted her in it because she would in his opinion fit perfectly into the concept.

Bullocks, she instantly thought when he told her that.

She didn’t believe a word coming from his mouth. Yes, it was true that she appeared in multiple videos of street performances that are posted on YouTube, however, she was neither an outstanding dancer nor a Whitney Huston, at least in her opinion. The more he talked the more it sounded like the plot of a Wattpad fanfiction and as the result of her distinct sense of reality, which often came across as her being pessimistic, she knew stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s called Fan Fiction after all.

The whole story sounded like a lie somebody, who kidnaps young girls and boys for human trafficking by exploiting their naivety and their dreams to make it big once, would tell. By that, she suddenly remembered her 14 years old cousin Junsuh conspiracy theory rant about the Korean entertainment industries. Two weeks ago she visited her relatives in Ilsan, where her Junshu, as usually, didn’t stop talking. According to Junsuh, the industry is through and through corrupt - a single stronghold of prostitution rings, human trafficking, child exploitation and even religious cults and a secret origination that controls the whole south of Korea.

Even though Junsuh tends to get carried away with his theories - she strongly doubted, that one of the big three companies (he refused to tell which one) pays a religious cult to use black magic on the public, so they will only buy the albums of their artists - however, that it wasn’t only glamorous and that pressure and hard work take big role in the idols life, wasn’t a secret.

Earning her livelihood through music has always been a dream for her. From small on she loved to sing - back then extremely out of tune - and dance around. When in 2008 her cousin Jia (Junsuh’s older sister), while she and her family visited their relatives in Korea, showed her Shinee’s debut MV Replay, she fell in love. Immediately she learned the dances and lyrics to the songs and dreamed of being an idol herself. The combination of vocal, rap and dance fascinated her.

Yet, after time passes and she got older, her initial spirit disappeared almost completely. More and more she realized that she didn’t fit into the standard female idol category. Beginning with her appearance ending with her personality. She wouldn’t call herself a tomboy since she despite her boyish tendency still liked typical girly stuff. In end, she always thought of separating certain things in a boy and girl category as stupid.

One day, her aunt took her to the toy store when she was made 5 years old. She asked her aunt if she could have Hot Wheels for her birthday present. The saleswoman, however, who should help her to find something, asked if doesn’t want something that is more fitting for a girl. Her five-year-old self suddenly feeling insecure choose a creepy doll, which the sale woman suggested - she ended up giving the creepy doll to the family dog to play with.

„Look, you don’t need to say yes right now. But please just come to JYP building tomorrow for the audition. Well, it’s not really an audition, you are basically already in. You just need to say yes.“ The sudden change to a clean Seoul accent made her startle up from her thoughts. The man in front of her got now her full attention. He almost looked desperate.

It is probably favorable for his career if he gets me to come to the “audition“. South Korea is highly competitive after all, she guessed

„Okay.“

„It doesn’t take long either you….wait, what?“

„I said, okay. When should I be there?“ He looked at her seemingly being genuinely surprised to hear her agree. Sure, she only accepted because she felt bad for him. Also, her class started in 5 minutes and she simply didn’t want to be rude and refuse after his effort. Nonetheless, the fact that he knew her name and where she went to University, still creeped her out.

„Umm, well 10 a.m. Wait in front of the building, I will escort you in.“

„Good, I will be there.“ She said and then added quickly before she went ahead to run to the other side of the campus to still be on time for her class. „Have a good day.“

————

At 09:30 a.m. sharp she was in front of the JYP building. She always tended to come over punctual, mainly because she included the time she will need in case anything goes wrong by her taking the bus - a short 25-minute ride - from Seongdong District on the north bank of the Han River to Gangnam District, which lies on the south side of the Han River.

Traffic jam, traffic collision, plane crashes, nuclear attacks, apocalypse and what so ever. Her constant nagging anxiety back in her head made her throw her common sense out of the window more than once.

Certainly, she didn’t expect anything, she highly doubted that the apparent JYP staff member was being legit. Either somebody was playing a prank on her or one of Junsuh’s theories will be confirmed and she is going to be sold.

In a girl group, she would stand out and not in a good way like a pretty flower would. No, she would stand out like a purulent pimple in the middle of one’s forehead. Not like she was particularly ugly or different looking. The fact that she was not special looking was the issue. In general, she was glad about that. She was never big on being the center of attention. However, in the entertainment industry, like it or not, talent is not everything. And her being as interesting as an empty sheet of paper, surley didn’t take a chance.

After awkwardly standing around for good 25 minutes, somebody came out of the building. She immediately recognized him as the man from yesterday.

He wasn’t lying about working for JYP then, she thought.

As he looked to his left and saw her standing there, he sighed with relief and beckoned her over to him. By his reaction, she assumed that he obviously didn’t believe that she will come. But she was not the type to do tell somebody she would be there and then shamelessly not come without giving the other person a notice.

„You won’t regret this, believe me.“ He said as they walked through the lobby to the elevator. „They really want you in this group.“ Who he meant with they, she wasn’t sure. He chuckled awkwardly since she didn’t respond to anything he said but rather she just nodded and gave him a forced smile. Again, she wasn’t trying to be rude, for sure not, after all in her family having good manners was an essential part. Her very English grandmother would personally fly to Korea and beat her ass if she was being rude.

In the elevator were already three guys, she guessed them around her age, absorbed in a discussion about, from what she could understand, song lyrics.

„Listen, I swear it’s good.“ Said the guy, with the darkest hair of the three of them. „You can be Fiona today, I’ll be Shrek. Ugly kind immature swag.“

She snorted and quietly chuckled to herself. The guy closest to her with silver, curly hair her, who heard her laugh, looked over to her. He raised his brow’s at first and then gave her a shy smile, which she returned.

On the fifth floor, they left the elevator and male staff knocked two times on the first door in the hallway, before he opened it and showed with a quick hand gesture that she should follow him. In the room was big glass table where three men already sat. She immediately recognized the man seated in the middle.

It’s JYP, It really was not a joke after all.

„Ah, there she is. Please take a seat.“ JYP said and gestured on the chair opposite of him. She bowed and sat down.

After he asked the staff member to leave he continued: „I’m really glad you are here. When I saw your performance I know you will fit perfectly.“

„I was told, if I would accept the offer, I will participate in survival show, right?“ She asked, slowing starting to feel excited. Even though, she gave up on her dream of being an idol a long time ago - better said, she never really tried in the first place. Deep down she still wanted to achieve that and such an opportunity she couldn’t refuse. Even if that meant she had to change herself to fit in.

„Yes, exactly. I really hope you take this chance. Even though you don’t have a training period as the other trainees participating, I believe you have potential.“

„Okay, I’m in. Where do I have to sign“ she said, full of newly found elan. The three men chuckled surprised about her sudden enthusiasm.

„The formalities we will sort out later.“ JYP answered, „Stray Kids, the name of the group you might debut in, has currently nine male trainees, which your leader Bang Chan handpicked himself.“

„Boys?“ She questioned confused.

„Yes, the management and I decided by making Stray Kids a co-ed group it will be more favorable in the future.“ He continued undeterred. She had to stop herself from making a snarky comment and asking them if they are trying to be edgy be doing that.

There is no need to act like a twat right now!

„But none of our female trainees fit in Stray Kids. So, I was obviously pleased when I found you. I hope I’m not going to regret this.“ The last part sounded bitter and her previous enthusiasm was slowly suppressed by the anxiety creeping up her throat, making her feel sick.

She didn’t want to back away now.

Maybe it’s better to be in a male-dominated group. It’s not like I fit in a girl group either, she tried to calm herself down mentally.

However, the fact that all other trainees were chosen by Stray Kids leader personally and that she basically was being forced onto them, made her feel like she was going to vomit.

„They are already informed about your addition to the group. In fact, I want them to get to know you right now. Teamwork is important and the faster you warm up to each the better!“ With that, he stood up, bowed to his colleges and told her to follow him. She bowed to the older men too and left after JYP.

„The kids are probably in the practice room right now. Since they got the chance to debut, they have been prating twice as hard.“ He said, obviously proud about the trainee’s dedication. „I heard they are very excited to meet you.“

Bollocks! I will be extremely out of place. No way any of them are excited for a possible female member.

Despite, her anxiety she didn’t wanna give up this time. She can’t just run away every time there was a construction put in her way. At last, trying wasn’t going to kill.

They went down to the second floor. At the end of the hallway, JYP opened the wooden door to the practice room and stepped in. As JYP and she entered, four guys who sat on the floor rushed to stand up and joined five other guys to bow to their CEO. Some looked very young to her. She would have guessed at least two of them fifteen years old at most.

„Please introduce yourself to them,“ JYP told her and encouraged her with a quick hand gesture to step in front.

All eyes were on her now. Some of them seemed curious, others just stared at her expressionless. And then, there was the guy with the silver hair from the elevator. He looked at her like he wanted to burn her down with his gaze. She honestly couldn’t take offense at that. Like, she understood his seeming dislike of her.

„My Name is Seol Nova and I hope we can work well together.

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vagrantblvrd · 7 years ago

Note

No Love In Desperation (fic title meme)

Oooh, okay, so that FAHC origin story where Ryan’s just starting to make a name for himself. Has really just arrived in Los Santos and is still figuring out how the city works when something goes wrong – and he gets nabbed by the FIB or some other government agency.

He figures it’s going to be jail, maybe the death sentence if they manage to track him back to some of the things he’s done, but no.

No.

Because these guys – they were wearing tac vests with FIB on them, had vehicles with the FIB seal on them and all that when they got him, so he’d assumed that’s who they were, but clearly he was wrong.

“Oh, yeah, you’re a real fucking genius aren’t you, buddy?”

It’s the kid again, mess of curls and a mean curl to his lip when Ryan looks over at him. Jersey in his voice and he’s standing like he’s expecting a fight. (Given this place, Ryan’s not surprised.)

Bunch of assholes crammed into some weird little prison, guards with batons and tasers and a mean look in their eyes.

And, see.

Ryan didn’t go easy, took out a few of these guys before they finally took him down.

They’ve patched him up, but he lost a lot of time in between that dirty little motel room and now. Woke up in a tiny little cell and he’s never been in prison, but this place -

It feels wrong.

A week, two, passes and there’s some kind of commotion. Ryan’s basking in the sun on the bench he’s claimed in the exercise yard as his.

Good line of sight on most of the yard, and other things like that, but mostly it’s in a good place to soak up the sunlight. Just plan himself there when they get herded outside for walkies and feel he sun on his skin, warm himself up because it’s always cold inside.

Michael, that mouthy kid from Jersey nudges Ryan’s leg and when he opens his eyes, Michael gestures to where the hubbub is.

New guy, from the looks of it.

Ryan huffs, about to close his eyes again when he hears Michael say – very clearly -

“Fuck.”

And, fine. Michael swears all the damn time, could, if he wanted, come up with a sentence comprised of only the word ‘fuck’, but there’s something different to it this time. (Not quite fear, really. Michael doesn’t do fear, or at least not the kind that lets anyone think there’s a crack in his armor. That there’s a weak spot to be exploited.)

So Ryan takes a second look, and the people gathering around the new guy move aside enough for Ryan to get a good look at him.

Tall, on the lean side. Scruffy as fuck, and covered in ink.

“How the fuck did they get a Rooster?”

Ryan looks at Michael, and the kid looks. It’s not really starstruck (Ryan gets the feeling Michael doesn’t do that either), but there’s definitely respect, and for obvious reasons.

The Roosters are supposed to be untouchable, nothing sticks to them and so on and so on and so on, but if the assholes who grabbed them managed to snag a Rooster? Clearly that’s not the case.

Another week, and Ramsey is sprawled out on Ryan’s bench. All lazy contentment and something smug when he smiles up at Ryan, Michael tense and so very still at Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan can feel eyes on them, knows the three of them are the center of attention, everyone waiting to see what’s going to happen -

And Ryan, he huffs. Kicks at Ramsey’s foot and the smug bastard chuckles, moving aside to let Ryan sit down next to him, and that’s it.

Because Ramsey? Pretty much an asshole cat, and Ryan’s not interested in getting into a fight with the guy. (There were a few idiots who were, though, early on. One’s still in the infirmary, the other was sent t the county morgue.)

Michael mutters something under his breath and leans against the wall behind them, and that’s the end of that.

Another week goes by, and things change.

Ryan gets hauled out of his cell in the middle of the night and shuffled to a wing of the prison he’s never seen before. Gets thrown into a conference room and there’s Michael and Ramsey and a couple of faces he doesn’t recognize.

Some asshole at the front of the table with manila folders and a weedy looking kid beside him hugging a laptop to his chest. Twitchy and nervous, eyes darting all over the place. Lingering on Ramsey for a brief moment before landing on something else, and Ryan’s getting a bad feeling.

And then that asshole starts talking and Ryan finds out the people who got him?

Not the FIB.

They’re a new branch of some other government agency, very hush hush secret. No one knows about them, and the more that asshole goes on about that, the worse Ryan’s bad feeling gets.

The asshole and his people have been watching the inmates here, on the look for potential candidates, and the people handcuffed to the conference room table are their’ best options.

Ryan, Michael, Ramsey and two others.

Some baby-faced guy with glasses and a disinterested look on his face and a kid watching everyone in the room.

The asshole keeps talking, tells them they have a choice here.

Say yes to working with him and his people, “do some good” and they go free at the end of it. Say no, and they get buried so deep in the government penal system no one can find them.

And Ryan.

He’s been patient, all this time. Waiting and waiting and waiting for a chance to get the hell out of this place. Might have started giving some thought to getting Michael out too, if he could because he’s not bad.

Ramsey -

Well, he’s been assuming the Roosters will come for him sooner or later, but the way this guy’s talking, who knows?

So Ryan says yeah, sure, he’ll do it. Figures he’ll get a chance somewhere if he plays along. Michael says yes. The baby-faced guy and the kid says yes, and everyone looks to Ramsey.

After a long, long moment, Ramsey smirks at the guy and says hes in. (Nothing better to do at the moment, anyway.)

And these idiots are suddenly a team with the asshole as their handler and that weedy kid with the laptop hanging around.

They get moved to rooms (cells without bars, but the guards carry guns and move with the kind of quiet confidence the regular guard didn’t) in this section of the “prison” and get to trade out their prison jumpsuits for a classy sweatshirt/cargo pants combo that may or may not be better, who can say.

Ryan and the others get trained up a bit. Go through an accelerated training course for government agents. (Cue montage covering such scenes as Ryan and the others in shooting ranges and learning basic hand-to-hand and so on and so on because that’s what you want to do with people who’ve already proven to be dangerous enough without training, but sure. Teach them how to be even more deadly, why not.)

And because their handler’s an asshole, he forces the poor kid to go through training with them. Awkward and quiet and out of his element, and Ramsey takes a shine to him surprisingly quickly.

Michael’s annoyed by him, thinks he’s dumb, but he looks out for the kid when they’re around other people, agents who look down on all of them and are bullies at heart, and they think he’s an easy target.

Jack and Jeremy seem to like him well enough, and Ryan -

“No.”

The kid’s persistent though, keeps poking at him with his inane little questions and hypothetical scenarios.

He helps the kid up when he eats shit on the obstacle course one day, rain coming down hard, ropes slippery and footing unsure, and kid flashes him a grateful smile and a quiet thanks as he lines up for another go at the damn thing, and Ryan -

He stops thinking of him as “the kid” and starts calling him Gavin. (It’s a bit of a slippery slope after that, because Gavin’s oddly likable and a bit of a disaster when it comes to this training, and Ryan starts to get fond of thee little idiot.)

A month goes by and Ryan likes these idiots who are his team, for what it’s worth.

When the asshole’s convinced they’re ready, he starts sending them out on “missions”.

Simple things at first, stealing shit or killing people. (Mostly both, though.)

It’s obvious from the start what’s going on is illegal as hell, but it’s that or be disappeared and for whatever reason they all seem to think this is the better choice even though it gets them shot and stabbed and bet all to hell on a regular basis.

(Ramsey’s the one who looks them dead in the eye, some little spot in the compound where the cameras don’t quite reach, dead zone, and says, “We play this right, we get out of here. We get stupid about things, we get dead.” and they listen, God help them, they listen.)

Ramsey’s the leader, Jack’s his second in command and can drive or fly just about anything. Michael’s got a way with explosives. Jeremy’s their best when it comes to close combat techniques and Gavin, turns out he’s a pretty decent hacker.

Ryan stops looking for a way out on his own because someone has to keep these idiots from getting themselves killed, you know? (Especially Gavin, who doesn’t go into the field with them too often, but when he does Ryan’s the one watching his back, and there are close calls where what that fondness Ryan feels for Gavin starts o get out of control, and it’s all kind of the worst.)

Jack’s doing a decent job of it, but they’re all so dumb.

Things are…not good, exactly but they’re not completely terrible for a bit – and then shit starts to go wrong.

Missions going pear-shaped as often as not, some little thing that has them scraping through by the skin of their teeth and tensions start to rise.

Their handler goes from asshole to raging douche, and they start to lose whatever “privileges” they’d earned to this point, small humiliating punishments to remind them they’re prisoners here, and this is the sentence they chose for themselves and it grates.

The missions get harder and the more demanding, and it takes a toll. Especially when things go wrong due to bad intel or faulty equipment. Tempers fray, and cracks start to form in their little team.

Ryan starts looking for a way out again, angry that he put that on the back burner for so long. All the missed opportunities when they were on these bullshit missions.

Gavin keeps getting pulled aside by the asshole after missions. Is exempt from whatever punishments Ryan and the others get. Starts acting squirrely, and it hits Ryan all over again that Gavin was never like them.

Might have gotten in over his head with his hacking to land himself in this situation, but he’s not a criminal like the rest of them.

Jeremy ends up in the infirmary after a bad mission, and Ryan’s looking for him to because Gavin disappeared on them after they got back. Finds him in the common room they’re allowed to use, but the asshole’s with him, and Ryan listens in,.

Hears the asshole offering to make Gavin an agent if he plays things right, keeps up the good work.

The asshole leaves without noticing Ryan who found a ~convenient hiding spot and Ryan goes in to see Gavin.

Asks him what that was about, and of course Gavin clams up. Looks trapped, almost, and won’t meet Ryan’s eyes. Won’t say anything but, “I’m trying to help us,” and “You don’t understand,” and “Ryan, please,” and Ryan snaps.

He snaps because he shouldn’t still be here. Should have found a way out months ago, but no.

No.

He made the mistake of catching feelings for these assholes, for Gavin in particular and some stupid part of him thought things might work out somehow, even though he knows better.

Maybe it was the way Geoff’s never seemed concerned about their situation here, and maybe that’s because the man’s a goddamned Rooster. Once you’ve seen and done the things one of them has, there’s not much that’s going to worry you after that.

Maybe it was Jack, or Michael, or Jeremy and the way they looked out for one another. Risked their lives for each other on these bullshit missions time and again and never once thought about letting someone die to save themselves.

And then there’s Gavin, this little idiot who’s been working against them for God knows how long.

(Who’s told Ryan about how the stupid things he did to land himself here, who’s wormed himself into Ryan’s life, gotten all cozy there in ways the other haven’t.)

Ryan snaps, because he got stupid.

“I hope whatever he offered to you for fucking the rest of us over is worth it,” Ryan says, and does a dramatic exit for that added punch.

A few days later and the asshole calls them to the conference room, tells them this is it, the final mission. (They were told they’d have to do a set number of them – successfully – before they got their reward for all this, and they’re finally there.)

Gavin still won’t meet Ryan’s eyes and that bad feeling, well.

It lasts all the way until they get sent out, all the way up until shit goes wrong so damn fast.

The chopper that flew them in goes down to an RPG round, and the agents that went in with them – first time, and that’s not a good sign – start to turn on them.

Get Michael in the side before Geoff drops that asshole, and Michael takes out another one trying to get the drop on them, and it’s utter chaos.

Agents trying to kill them and the guys they were sent in to kill are trying to kill them and a minute into the whole mess ANOTHER bunch of people show up and start shooting.

Geoff starts cackling, the sound raising hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck because this isn’t his hyena laugh when one of thee others does something stupid, no.

This is mean, vicious, and Ryan has no idea what sparked it, until he sees these new people take the agents down with cold efficiency. Sees them go on to the guys the team were sent there for and then it’s Ryan facing some woman in tactical gear holding an assault rifle on him and no bullets in his gun.

There’s a knife at his hip, an another half dozen hidden on him, but -

“Lindsay! Don’t shoot him!”

But there’s Ramsey, walking over with easy confidence, Michael and the others with him and the woman cocks her head, but doesn’t lower her gun.

“Tell him to back off those damn knives of his and I’ll think about it,” she says, mulish, stubborn.

It kicks off what appears to be an old argument between Ramsey and her, and Ryan relaxes because apparently she’s one of his.

Eventually they stop arguing and Ramsey looks around where these newcomers are going over this bloody little battlefield, making sure the area’s cleared and he sighs.

Looks to Jack and Michael and says, “Gavin?”

And that’s where Ryan learns a group of agents bundled the little idiot out when things went to hell, got him out of there and presumably back to the compound, and Ryan -

Well.

That’s just fine, isn’t it.

He goes with Ramsey and the others because this is their out, and they head to Los Santos because Ramsey’s tired of the cold and he’s heard the weather there is amazing. (It’s the kind of city made for people like them, misfits and outcasts of society with chips on their shoulders and no love for the law.)

And this is another thing Ryan learns in bits and pieces as he settles down in this city, working for a former Rooster alongside these people he’s learning to trust all over again.

Learns that Jack, baby-faced Jack looks like an entirely different man when his beard grows back in. Still calm and placid as ever (unless someone pushes him too far, and then it’s a bloodbath waiting to happen) and he bears an uncanny resemblance to a wanted picture of a certain former member of the Roosters.

Learns the agents who grabbed Ryan and thee others somehow got Ramsey.

Geoff claims he allowed himself to be caught because the Roosters had heard about this little program the agents had been considering. That they’d managed to draw in some potential assets in Michael and Ryan, and when he got there decided he liked Jeremy a whole hell of a lot, and the kid’s resourceful.

Jack, the one one most likely to be telling the truth claims Geoff fucked up and got himself caught and Burnie, long-suffering Burnie, asked for volunteers to get him out and got over a dozen before he’d finished speaking.

In the end, he picked two.

Jack, and -

“Speaking of, when are we going to spring that little shit?” Geoff asks, having interrupted Jack’s account of events an even dozen times already with “corrections” and the like. “I miss his stupid face.”

And that’s where Ryan learns Gavin’s one of Geoff’s too. (Burnie’s really, but Geoff’s stolen him, corrupted him. Jack say that with a little smile on his face because apparently everyone involved knew Gavin was going to end up in Los Santos when everything was said and done.)

It’s like a punch to the gut, Ryan half-listening as Jack tells the others the plan the Roosters set in motion when Geoff got caught.

Send Jack in - “Gavin’s idea to shave the beard, said no one would recognize me,” he says, wry twist to his mouth because it worked - to scout things out and a little while later Gavin would catch the agents’ attention. Let himself get caught, bullied into joining the program and go along with whatever the head asshole demanded – appearing to turn on the team and so forth – and all the while getting information out to Burnie and the Roosters.

Plotting everyone’s escape at the right moment and so on and such and he’s still there.

Almost a month gone by and he’s still there.

“Burnie’s taking care of it,” Jack says, and that.

Geoff makes a face, complains that he wanted to deal with it himself, that he owed the assholes who put them through hell for an experiment. Seeing if it would be more efficient in the long run they used criminals to take out other criminals. Put the ones who didn’t matter at risk and keep their agents safer and so on. (Maybe pocket a bit of the contraband for themselves along the way, line their own pockets.)

A week goes by, and Burnie comes to town. Goes to the penthouse, Gavin in tow, and looks to Geoff. Says, like he’s glad to be rid of the nuisance that is Gavin, “He’s your problem now, Geoff.”

And Gavin.

He looks like hell, skinnier than the last time they saw each other,dark circles under his eyes and bruises and worse on his skin, and Ryan reins in his anger as he catalogs each hurt he can see. Reminds himself that if Gavin’s here now, it means Burnie and the Roosters made sure whoever dared touch the little shit is either dead or going to wish they were very soon.

There’s a bit of a reunion scene with Geoff and the others, some yelling at Gavin for being an idiot and so on and so forth, Ryan hanging back and just. Watching.

And then Gavin shuffles off to the room Geoff had set aside for him and sleeps like the dead for the next day and a half.

Stumbles out of his room in the middle of the night, Ryan watching some dumb infomercial and it’s like one of their nights back in that prison compound when one of them couldn’t sleep.

Gavin hesitates before he makes his way over to the couch, settles on the far end and turns his face towards the television. Starts talking, telling Ryan everything.

Geoff getting caught, Burnie and the others calling an emergency meeting to decide what was going to be done – because Geoff had gotten a message out to them.

Code, telling them that there were a few people he wanted to take with him, but that thing they were keeping an eye on. The rumors they’d heard that these agents were using criminals to do their dirty work for them and double-crossing them just as they were reaching the end of their usefulness so no one ever found out what was happening, that was definitely a thing and Geoff was caught up in it.

Ryan’s heard all of that, knows what happened,but something eases in him at the fact that Gavin’s telling him the truth.

Gavin keeps talking, and Ryan listens and Ryan thinks things might be okay for them after all. That Geoff’s dream of this crew of outcasts and misfits might make it to the top in this city after all.

Somewhere in there, Gavin ended up leaning against Ryan as he told his story, and Geoff finds the two of them asleep and drooling all over themselves and looking stupidly adorable for heartless criminals or whatever they’re supposed to be. (HE takes pictures too, so many damn pictures that he never stops blackmailing them with.)

The Fake AH Crew become a thing, and a certain shady government agency seethes over it because the Fakes have the Roosters backing them and that’s not a fight anyone’s prepared for. (Now or ever.)

The Fake Ah Crew might have come along on its own somehow, maybe not quite the same configuration, but it would have happened.

These idiots, though. Took a bunch of criminals and trained them. Taught them how to be more dangerous, and let Geoff take charge. Let him show them how to work together as a team and give a shit about the guy next to them, and that was the beginning of the end for them, wasn’t it.

And that’s the real kicker, for the agents and governments lackeys left to clean up after this shady government agency.

Knowing they have themselves to blame for this because they they made the crew what it is, and when Gavin leaks information about that program they were forced into to the public, so does everyone else, and it’s glorious.

#miss-ingno #made-up fic title meme #fahc #fake ah crew #freewood #technically not a fic #i tend to cannibalize my own stuff a lot don't i?#/o\#prompt fills #vagrant fic

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tea-for-you · 7 years ago

Text

On Thin Ice

Title: On Thin Ice

Fandom: Kyo Kara Maoh

Pairing: Yuri/Wolfram. Ish.

Rating: All

Mirrors: AO3

Summary: On manly friendship and unintended proposals (the figure skating AU nobody asked for)

This was the troubling truth of the current situation: Shibuya Yuri's life had changed utterly, entirely, the day Wolfram Bielefeld had shown up at his doorstep and told him in no uncertain terms that after desecrating his routine like that, he had better go on and win the gold at the next Grand Prix or so God help him, Yuri would never be forgiven.

You'd think that all things that could be said about Wolfram Bielefeld were already commonly known. His technical skills, his ingenius choreographies, his brash confidence, his family history of a mother and two older brothers all world-class athletes in ice-related sports, his international career in full bloom while Yuri was still struggling to place in domestic competitions -

Wolfram Bielefeld was so, so far away from an average, middle-class guy from Saitama who had gotten into figure skating because his mother liked putting him in cute costumes. And oh, the one time they had shared a rink had been resounding evidence of how Wolfram Bielefeld belonged in another world than the one Shibuya Yuri lived in. Was it a wonder, any wonder at all, that Shibuya Yuri's average, middle-class life had been turned upside down the day Wolfram Bielefeld dragged him off to the rink demanding to see which jumps he could land?

Wolfram left his own career hanging to pull Yuri along, spent every day barking orders at him, picking apart his moves to tell him what to do better, ate his mother's curry and somehow, he had lifted Yuri up to a place where he could suddenly see his most secret dreams. And how can you tell a person like Wolfram Bielefeld that he transformed your life, how can mere words make him understand how much that means to you?

The one thing no-one had ever mentioned about Wolfram Bielefeld was his lacking appreciation of delicacy.

"Well, the wedding is obviously off the table until he can show that he is capable of winning gold in the top international competitions."

"Wait - "

"That is certainly a harsh condition - "

"It's not like that," Yuri interrupted and knew that his smile likely wasn't coming across as calm and in control. "It's symbolic. Like, round and golden, it's a charm for a gold medal, see?"

Mackenzie Henrich from CBC looked between them with a mildly confused expression.

"Yes," Wolfram continued after a brief pause, "but I have full confidence that Yuri will be able to do it. I know that he can come across like a hopeless wimp at times, but the fact that he is at all qualified for Grand Prix should be evidence enough that he has what takes to win and make good on his proposal."

"Please don't make that sort of jokes -" he reached across Wolfram to pull down the gesticulating hand bearing a ring so new and well-polished that the shine caught in Yuri's eyes every time he looked at him. Only too late did he realise that the hand he'd used to stop Wolfram from waving it in front of the camera was the one that carried his own matching piece. He yanked them both down and it probably wasn't at all subtle.

Wolfram turned to glare at him. "I'm not! As I was saying..."

The rest of that sentence was lost to Yuri when he realised that he was still holding onto Wolfram's hand, as if he hadn't been giving people ideas enough with his ill-chosen attempt at showing Wolfram his gratitude and his ambition both in a single symbolic act.

In the beginning, he had thought the shudders he felt every time he the polished gold caught his eyes was in the comfort of knowing that the bond they shared had been finalised as something tangible, something meaningful, and that Wolfram had understood his feelings. Only after people started wishing him luck had he realised that those shudders must have been the warning bells going off about his terrible, terrible mistake.

Well, not all terrible things had come out of it. He'd gotten to talk to Conrad Weller, hadn't that been a dream from his days of middle school hockey. Conrad Weller had been just as charming and friendly on the phone as he'd seemed in all his interviews, and he had been so nice that Yuri had ended up spilling what seemed like half his life story to him, while Conrad Weller - Conrad Weller - said that he thought it was more admirable to stand up for justice than to play as a pro.

"Besides," he'd laughed, "if you hadn't gone back to figure skating, you'd never have become part of our family like this!"

"Yeah, part of your family," Yuri had parroted and felt his heart glow at the thought of being family with Conrad Weller, before it all caught up with him again, "I mean, no! I mean, please don't make jokes about that, Wolf's already scary enough with how he really treats it all seriously and I meant it as a good luck charm and- "

And that was the point Wolfram had come back into the room, demanded to know why he still was on the phone with Conrad, and jealously ended the call with a demand that he keep his sweaty, hockey-playing paws off his fiancé. And as Wolfram had followed it up with a furiously typed text, Yuri hadn't been able to take his eyes off the ring on Wolfram's hand.

"Okay," that was what Wolfram had said when Yuri tried to explain it. He'd lifted his hand after Yuri slipped on the ring, and his expression had been one Yuri had never seen on his face before, and hadn't known how to interpret; he'd had to rely on Wolfram's words, even as he was contiunally learning that Wolfram Bielefeld's words often contradicted the rest of him. Okay he'd said, and when Yuri pulled out the other ring to put it on, Wolfram had plucked it out of his fingers and done it for him.

How strange, that someone whose voice was so piercing whenever Yuri wasn't performing at peak could hold his hand so softly, too. Yuri had spent the first three days getting used to the feeling of unyielding metal, and then it had stopped being a reminder about what Wolfram meant to him, and instead become the most disastrous misunderstanding.

Things were rapidly spinning out of control, and any attempts at limiting the damage were proving to be disenhearteningly unhelpful.

"It's a token of our companionship," he told Svenja Althaus from ZDF, "as athlete and coach. That's a kind of relationship that's very intimate, and - "

As Yuri stopped talking to envision the consequences of his choice of adjective, Svenja Althaus saw her chance and took it. "And do you think that your intimate relationship is a problem for your professional one?"

"Ganz und gar nicht," said Wolfram, and even though Yuri didn't understand a single word of that sentence, he was absolutely certain that it wasn't something boding well for him.

"It's the same thing - what I meant is like emotionally intimate to work together that way."

There was that now familiar beat where Wolfram and the reporter both looked at him in vague confusion, and then it took the unexpected turn of Wolfram continuing the interview in German, and Yuri could only gape in helpless witness and flinch a little every time he heard his name mentioned with that lowered vowel that Wolfram used whenever he said it in German but not in English. He had tried to stop his imagination from elaborating translations; he hadn't had the guts to look up any online news later in fear of seeing something in English or Japanese reporting on whatever it had been Wolfram told ZDF.

Gwendal Voltaire had shown up in person, because of course he'd be competing at the Rostelecom Cup. Wolfram had been off trying to be polite to his partner, who apparently apparently was scary enough to make even he come back twitchy from the encounter even as he somehow wasn't at all intimidated by his oldest brother's raging heights and icy eyes.

Of course, if Yuri's own brother was any indication, it might just be that Gwendal Voltaire was trying to make up for the middle brother's concerningly open-minded reaction. He'd yanked Yuri into a somewhat secluded corner and towered over him with a mien that must've taken years of practice.

"What do you want from him?"

"Whuh?" said Yuri, feeling his command of the English language figuratively trickling down the inside of of his leg under the weight of Gwendal Voltaire's glare.

"Wolfram. What do you want from him."

"Coach," Yuri croaked.

Gwendal Voltaire's face somehow turned even icier. "If this is some attempt at getting out of properly compensating him for the athletic and professional losses he is suffering from sitting out a full season in order to mentor you -"

"But-"

"I don't know what you did to talk Wolfram into this; he insists he did so on his own volition, which is clearly nonsense. You've given the impression of being an honests man, but it seems you are set on exploiting some weakness of his that I never knew off, and this kind of manipulation of people too naive to consider ill intentions in others-"

"No, I-"

"I know you've spoken to Conrad and that he treated this with his usual laissez-faire, but I hope you realise that I will not sit by and let Wolfram's idiocy ruin his most important-"

"You shouldn't talk down on him like that."

"Excuse me?!"

Gwendal Voltaire seemed to be as surprised at the interruption as Yuri probably should've been, but common sense and professional respect and all fear for his life had abandoned him, replaced by cold anger at how Wolfram's brother was going on about this.

"Wolf's an adult. It was his decision to be my coach - I never asked him to do it. I'd never even spoken to him before he saw that video. I don't think I've ever met a person with so much integrity as him. He's fully aware of the consequences, and he doesn't think of them as losses. As his brother, you should respect that."

Gwendal Voltaire's eyes had widened in surprise, and the grip on Yuri's upper arm was no longer bruising. Yuri merely kept his stare fixed on his senior's face, until Wolfram's brother seemed to find his footing again. But his face was no longer set in that stony anger.

"And you? Do you think it's right for an athlete of Wolfram's calibre to put his career on hold like this?"

Yuri shook his head. "I'm being selfish. If a person like Wolf is offering to help me, then I'm not going to refuse it out of modesty."

"And this?"

Yuri found his right hand held up in front of his face, and the ring was solid on his hand and heavy like their vow, and the fact that Gwendal Voltaire probably could shatter his wrist one-handed didn't at all feel like a threat as Yuri looked up to meet his eyes again.

"That's the promise between us."

Wolfram's brother was quiet for a long while, and then he released Yuri's hand.

"I'll take your advice then, Yuri Shibuya. Mind that you make his decisions worth it."

And then he jumped at Anissina Karbelnikov slamming the door open to bellow his name, and Yuri wondered if Gwendal Voltaire really wasn't as scary as he looked, at all.

That was, of course, until Denis Vassiliev from Match TV wanted to know what Gwendal thought of his brother's relations with Yuri Shibuya, and Gwendal Voltaire frankly answered that he hoped Yuri Shibuya would continue his promising improvements in order to be on pair with the rest of the family while Shibuya Yuri buried his face in his hands and tried tried tried to convince himself that that didn't just happen.

"It's - it's like a badge, to show that we're teammates?" he tried, and Jan Koudelka from Eurosport was giving him that regretably familiar look.

"Are you saying that you and Bielefeld will be stepping away from the singles competitions and look towards pair skating?"

"No! No, I meant that, um..."

Once upon a time, back when reporters had asked him about stuff like his performances and his routines and his feelings about his inevitable failures, Yuri had been capable of giving completely coherent interviews without Wolfram Bielefeld around to give people the wrong idea.

"Wolfram and I, we're not like that," he intoned, and stared Sebastian Bresadole from Sky Italia straight into his eyes, "it's not just - I mean, when you say 'friends', that's..." he knew he was floundering, and pushed through on a desperate hope that his words would make sense this time around. "It's true, we're not just friends. We're... we're something transcendental."

There was another pregnant pause, and then Sebastian Bresadola from Sky Italia carefully re-phrased his question. "So what is the reason you chose to wear matching rings?"

Yuri carefully re-phrased his answer. "...it's like, to show that a coach and an athlete need to play on the same team?"

"Am I understanding you correctly that you mean that it is the, um, sexual preference that needs to..."

Only five years worth of experience kept Yuri from crumbling to the floor.

"It's a good luck charm," he said very thinly when Takanashi-san from NHK later asked him on behalf of the Japanese fans watching, "it's a token of appreciation of the work that we have done together. Please don't listen to my mother."

#kyo kara maoh #kkm #wolfram von bielefeld #yuuri shibuya #yuuram #dumb #au

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xxomalley · 7 years ago

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( self para. mal. 002 )

who: mal, hank, delwyn, james frank, TOWNSEND and his bitches. what: the final self-para. mal finds out about townsend not keeping up the deal. turns them into monsters. when: current time!! what a wild friday night mal has

+ notes/recap at the end.

James Frank left Blacktower with his arm still busted, and Malavita Carabosse was worried. He had refused treatment from her magic, he had refused money for parts. James Frank was the kind that could not be bought or bargained with. He did not even tell anyone about his grief until the suffering was extended to someone else: Johnny Bennett, a son of one of the goons on the Isle of the Lost. Mal had not known him, but James Frank had befriended the boy at work. Only when Johnny was hurt did James Frank seek help.

And now that they were all hurt again, he had sought help once more.

She watched him leave from the upper floor window, where the office was. There were three rooms up there; two offices and a bathroom. Mal had insisted she take the smaller of the two, while Hank settled in the larger one. They needed to keep up appearances after all, though after Delwyn Jones had confessed to her his suspicions, she figured the guise wouldn’t last or very long. Still. She was more comfortable in the smaller room.

Delwyn Jones and Hank Thompson were in the room with her now. Delwyn, sitting on the chair in front of her desk; Hank, leaning against the wall next to her bookshelf. Delwyn had just come in after James Frank left, at a sudden phone call from Hank. He was still catching his breath.

After offering him water and speaking with Hank to let Delwyn have a chance to relax, Mal made him go through the whole story with Mr Townsend. She made him go through every detail, and whatever observations he had made of the other men in the building. In turn, she updated him on the situation. Delwyn, a dark look passing over his face, expressed regret that things did not go as planned. Mal assured him it was not his fault. The man had already broken a deal with Bernadette Bernard, he had been likely to break one with them. Mal had not been surprised.

“What do you think he’s doing this for?” she asked. Mal turned around, letting the men know the question was for both.

Hank grunted. “He’s a prejudiced pig, still living in the black-and-white fantasy of Isle-bad, Auradon-good. Long story short, he’s an asshole.”

Delwyn went a different route. “Money. Better business - in his eyes, at least. Kids desperate to work, willing to work for free. Scared to death of being deported. Exploitation.”

“And the employees from Auradon still receive their pay, right?” Mal asked.

“Pay day was last week,” Hank confirmed.

Mal paused there. She was still standing, arms crossed over her chest, a solemn frown on her face as she thought. “Is this guy for real?”

The two men stopped to think. ‘Real’ meant something different in situations like this. ‘Real’ did not just mean if Townsend was genuine, if Townsend would really do this all for prejudice, for business, for money. ‘Real’ meant how far was he willing to go, would he risk everything – reputation, pride, honour – to keep up his business?

Would he risk it all for revenge, was the question, and would he do whatever it took to get back at Mal for what she planned to do, to protect his people and his enterprise, no matter the cost?

“No,” was Delwyn’s answer. Mr Townsend was a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Hank nodded, the hint of a smirk on his face. Mal narrowed her eyes at Hank’s face, and Delwyn had to look behind him to see what was happening.

“You know, that building might be brick and mortar but the parts they’ve got there, the machinery…it’s an awful lot of steel and metal,” said Hank, saying this before Mal could start anything.

She just shrugged. “I know.”

The next day, Mr Townsend sent his workers off at five o’clock. “Thirty minutes early,” he had said, with a crooked grin, “because I care for you all so much.” The four workers from the Isle had passed looks at each other, and he pointed a grubby finger at them as a warning. They weren’t allowed to make jokes here. The cyborg just stared at him. Mr Townsend was no stranger to being looked at (he believed himself to be a handsome fellow, at least, in his youth) but the stare had made him feel strange. There seemed to be something else there but he couldn’t place what. Before he could think to ask, the cyborg and the other workers had left.

Looking at the timesheets afterwards, he counted how many shifts James Frank Silver had missed. Not a single one. He looked at the file he had received on the boy – the adopted son of former captain John Silver. One of those aliens, he remembered. It was why he had begun to work James Frank harder; in the absence of the other Isle brat, the work needed to be picked up. A cyborg could handle more work. In the absence of a working forklift, heavy things needed to be lifted. And in the absence of proper supervision, making the boy suffer was too easy.

Even after the strange deal he’d made with the man and his mysterious employer, no one was really supervising him. No one would know. It didn’t matter. He still had money.

And he was counting his money, wads of cash on the table, when two hours later at precisely seven o’clock, the lights in the warehouse shut off.

In the warehouse was him, the foreman, his brothers still doing fuck-all with work and just lazing about in the break-room, and his accountant. His accountant was currently with him in his office. The night shift would not start for another two hours. His brothers were meant to watch that shift. Mr Townsend had been preparing to leave for a nice dinner with his wife. He had already changed in the staff bathroom into a nice suit and tie, bought with the new money he’d received from the mysterious man.

The money he was counting fell from his hands as he stood up from his chair, trying to look out the window. The accountant’s breathing had quickened in the dark, a panic attack rising, and Mr Townsend told him to shut up.

He saw a flashlight shine past his window; one of his brothers walking down the hallway. They yelled that they would be checking the generator. Mr Townsend saw them look away from his office, forward to the hallway – then his brother’s eyes widened, and a large figure grabbed him.

The accountant screamed. More thuds echoed in the hallway. Mr Townsend scrambled backwards to his safe, throwing off the painting covering it and prodding the buttons for the code. The accountant started gathering up the cash on the table, trying to stuff them into a bag. The safe finally open, Mr Townsend took out a gun. He grasped it with both hands. Just as he turned around and aimed, the lights flickered back on and more people were in the room.

His foreman and his brothers were on the ground, unconscious, and behind them stood a young woman and a giant of a man. Mr Townsend’s hands shook, sweaty as he tried to pull the trigger.

Mal held up her hand, a green shimmer around it, and the gun was pulled away from him. It hovered in mid-air until Hank stepped forward and took it. He checked the bullets in the gun, then replaced the canister with a resounding click. He held it expertly in his hand, aiming it straight at Mr Townsend’s head.

The accountant gasped, as if about to scream again, and the woman threw the same green shimmer at his face. He slumped to the ground in one movement, just as unconscious as the rest of the men.

Mal stepped on the men as she made her way to the chairs. She asked Mr Townsend for permission to sit. He said nothing. She sat anyway, one leg crossed over the other.

“After this,” she said, “you won’t remember my face. You won’t remember his face,” she said, meaning Hank, “but you’ll remember what happened to you. I’m going to make sure of it.”

Mr Townsend’s nose flared. His hands were up by his head, caught between looking at the barrel pointed at his nose, to the girl speaking. He gulped, blinking at her. “What do you – what are you –” he stammered, “what do you want with me?”

“Rest assured, Mr Townsend, we no longer want anything from you.” Her voice was slow, thoughtful and calm. She leaned one elbow on the armrest, her finger lazily scratching her chin. “We already tried, and it’s become clear that you don’t listen. That’s okay.”

“So – so – so –” He shut his eyes for a second, trying to shake his head of his confusion. “So what is this, what are you doing to me – what did you do to them,” his eyes flickered to the men on the floor, “and you shut off the goddamn lights –”

“Your lights will be fine. And they’re alive. If you’re worried about dying tonight, that won’t be an issue.”

“Then what do you want –”

Mal gave a sharp sigh, standing up suddenly and placing her hands on the desk to support herself. She leaned forward, green, glowing eyes looking straight into his. “I already told you, I want nothing from you. There is nothing you can give me. Except for this one thing.” Her eyes flashed, becoming normal again. “Just this one thing. Everyone has a different answer for it: what is the difference between someone from the Isle of the Lost, and someone from Auradon?”

Dumbstruck and shocked, he had to process the question in his mind.

Once he did, the question gave Mr Townsend a newfound energy, and his nostrils flared again. “You kidding me?” His hands still up in a ‘surrender’ position, he threw his head back with laughter. “THAT’S what this is about? Here, let me ask you a goddamn question: why do you care? They’re villains! They’re villains. Scum of the earth, stinking villains. Monsters. Half of them – shit, half of them don’t even have a file from before they were allowed back here. Half of them didn’t even exist until the government took pity on the kids. Oh, think of the children. Goddamn third-class citizens. And you?” He paused, his eyes locked onto hers; Mal’s were slowly glowing back to green. Townsend laughed again. “Jesus, you’re probably one of them too, aren’t you? You’re not slick, honey. On your crusade to avenge these brats, well, I’m not buying it. Me, I’m just doing my job. I’m a businessman! I do good business. I do what’s best for the business, and if the best means kicking out a kid with a broken arm who can’t pay to have it fixed, then I’m doing it. If the best means using a cyborg and all his enhancements, then I’m doing it. No one gives a shit.”

That was all Mal needed to hear. Everything was clear to her now, and all the magic she used thereafter was pure green.

She lifted her hand and Mr Townsend rose into the air, bumping his head on the ceiling before being tossed across the desk to crash in front of her. He was too terrified to move. She made him watch as Hank lined up his men, her hand like claws gripping their chins. She told him that she would show him what real monsters looked like.

Mr Townsend watched as each man was woken from unconsciousness, only to feel the pain of two horns growing from their skull. He heard them scream, their voices mixing with something primal, as their faces warped and shifted to resemble grotesque imitations of animals. His accountant; the beady eyes and face of a sheep. His brothers; each, the rough beaks of chickens. The foreman; the wide snout of a cow.

He could see the girl seem to weaken physically with each face changed, her shoulders drooping and her footsteps heavy, but the brightness of her eyes never faded. And when they looked at him again, her nails digging into his chin this time, he feared them. He thought he could already anticipate how painful the change would be. But the real feeling was worse; the growing of the horns did not begin from his scalp, the pain began deep in his head, the bone growing and breaking past skin.

And even more painful was his face. All he could see was green.

Mr Townsend’s scream was the loudest of the men, and Mal could still hear it even as she and Hank walked away from Townsend & Lodge. The men were left in the office to do as they please, to call the police, to cry and shout.

The warehouse was left untouched (though she had considered burning down the building). The fate of the actual business would be left to the men, now monsters. Mal had affected their memories enough so that they would not remember her or Hank, but they would remember the events. Two people had attacked them, one with brute force, the other with magic. A man and a woman.

Delwyn Jones would be preparing accounts and money enough for a month, for each Isle worker who would suddenly find themselves out of a job. Johnny Bennett would be taken cared of in the hospital. James Frank Silver would be free.

Mal leaned against Hank as they walked to the car, her eyelids drooping and her knees buckling. It was too much magic to happen so quickly, so intimately, surrounded by raw metal, and by the time she sat down in the car, she succumbed to the exhaustion.

Hank would be able to take her home. She rested peacefully, knowing her work was done.

NOTES/RECAP:

James Frank told Mal that they were still not getting paid. Action starts the next day.

All the Isle kids went to work that day. Work ended at 5pm. Johnny Bennett is the name of the guy who got injured at work and was fired.

There are five men in the warehouse: Townsend, the accountant, the foreman, and two of Townsend’s brothers.

Mal and Hank get there 7pm. It lasts no more than 45 minutes to an hour.

Townsend looks like a pig. The accountant, a sheep. The brothers are chickens/roosters. The foreman, a cow. Their ears, eyes, nose and mouth have been changed. They ALL have large horns.

None of them will remember Mal or Hank’s faces, or how their voice sounded, or even what colour their hair was. They only know facts: it was a strong man, and a woman with magic. Townsend can remember a few things the woman said.

All the Isle kids working there will lose their jobs after this (and presumable the business will die as well). Mal gives them enough money to last a month. James Frank accepts this money.

#its fucking 4:30am i hate myseLF #( james frank )#( mal carabosse )#( mal; misc )#( mal; selfparas )#( townsend plot )#BUT BOOM THIS PLOT IS ?? DONE ??#IN TERMS OF THE 'BIG' ACTION ANYWAY #this one is long rip

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lakambinimagph · 6 years ago

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HerStory: Filipino Women through Times

Palaban!

You might already heard this word colloquially used in describing a person who has a strong disposition and who always have the urge to fight back against things that are not in the right places, or perhaps your friends have already attributed you to this word when you tried doing things they can’t imagine you can do. With the unending struggle since the Philippines was colonized until the present times, Filipino women remain steadfast and unwavering. No doubt, Filipino women are ascribed to this word too—palaban!

Tracing back the history of the Philippines, we can understand the story of the plight of Filipino women and how they have became, to borrow from popular millennial phrase, palaban as fuck.

The Genesis of a Filipina

In the beginning, God created men AND women.

One might think about the word “backwards” when talking about pre colonial Philippines. Surprisingly, this is not the case for our ancestors knew how to perceive beyond biological sexes since they, like in the eyes of God, treated men and women equally.

Amidst this equality, women shined out and never failed to be palaban. Women became the Babaylans, a position designated for a woman who they regarded highly in the community as being the healers, priestesses and counselors. If men took the role of a Babaylan they had to dress up as a woman. In marriage, our ancestors viewed women as companions and never lower—but with the same power—as their husbands. Their decisions were never relegated, since men perceived them as co-equals. They were respected by men, had the same rights, decided for themselves, were known for their wisdom, and performed important duties in business and trade.

The Anomaly between Maria and Gabriela

The lives of Filipina women was in eminent disposition until the Spaniards, who colonized the Philippines, turned the Babaylans into Maria Claras; the key roles women held in the community during the precolonial period were reduced to housekeeping and childbearing during the Spanish occupation.

Maria Clara almost always remind us of the “ideal Filipina”—a meek, submissive woman who cannot even leave the house without the companionship of her Tiya Isabel. Meanwhile, there’s Gabriela Silang who was way ahead of her time. A real badass—in every sense of the word—who took in-charge in the revolutionary activities in Ilocos—when her husband, Diego, died in the battle. She swore vengeance in the name of her husband and her country. Both ladies revolutionized the essence of being a Filipina during Spanish era. Yet why are we so stuck with Maria Clara, when there’s Gabriela who literally kicked the asses of Spanish colonizers?

Perhaps because Maria Clara paints the image of a blind follower. Someone who follows every word of a man. When a man instructs her to jump, expect her to jump too. Someone who cannot challenge the status quo... she cannot even leave the house alone for Pete’s sake. While Gabriela never relinquished her freedom neither for a man nor for a battalion of foreign soldiers. She truly is the “strong, independent woman” of her generation. Someone who took matters into her own hands by literally holding a bolo.

The Fall of Maria Clara and The Rise of Kumander Liwayway

The Spaniards may have left the Philippines but the Maria Clara they have introduced remained. And this Maria Clara continued to struggle when the Japanese came to colonized the Philippines.

These Maria Claras became comfort women or sexual slaves forcefully used by the Japanese military to satiate their sexual needs. Countless stories of women being raped, abused, and seen as sexual objects by Japanese soldiers were told. Some women had to make themselves dirty to not be noticed while some sacrificed themselves by accepting the exploitation to protect others. However, Filipino women, as palaban more than ever, never faltered. Gabriela Silang, who kicked the asses of Spanish colonizers may have died but a new version of her was born— Kumander Liwayway, the commander who wore red lipstick during war.

Remedios Gomez-Paraiso, known as Kumander Liwayway, was a commander for Philippine military who fought against during the Japanese occupation until the end of war in 1945. Kumander Liwayway certainly knew how to set her priorities straight. Stories suggest that before each battle, she made sure to swipe lipstick on her lips, get her hair done, and paint her nails. A move familiar yet revolutionary for women, since she used makeup during crucial times not to make herself “pretty,” but to uplift the morale of her comrades.

Comfort women’s chapter in our history books, however, continues until this day. Our lolas never let the atrocities committed upon them be turned into ashes, as they are still fighting to be recognized. Never mind the monetary reparations—they just want the world to shine light upon their narratives… nothing more, nothing less.

Filipino women fought during (and after) the war and took a big role in putting the Japanese colonizers back to their place.

Maria Clara and Gabriela Version 2.0

The agony of the Filipino women didn’t stop and they, too, didn’t stop proving their tenacity. After the Spanish came to the Philippines, Americans came and changed the way of the lives of the Filipinos including of the women. Maria Claras who were in-charge of housekeeping and childbearing were also became the slaves of capitalism.

Numerous businesses especially in the manufacturing industry became highly dependent on the presence of female employees, because the Americans found that Filipino women possessed qualities like patience, adapting quickly, refusal to commit frauds, and other good work ethics. These first generation professional female workers created products that were exported and helped in the economic growth for the benefit of the colonizers. Imagine the double jeopardy Filipino women were facing during this time: they have to make sure that their homes were clean before they leave for work in the morning and have to cook dinner for the family after a grueling work they have went through for the day.

Aside from revolutionizing Filipino women’s roles, the Americans also dressed up and did a horrible makeover to Maria Claras. Filipinas were made as the subject of objectification for American soldiers. Gone were the days when Maria Clara had to dress modestly, since during those times, her capacity to “entertain” G.I. aka American soldiers came into light. She suddenly became barely-clothed to adapt to G.I’s needs.

Amidst these epic tragedy, Filipino women succeed in channeling out the palaban in them. When the Americans introduced the concept education, the Filipino women grab the chance and used it to their advantage. New versions of Gabriela Silang were already professionals—Josefa Llanes-Escoda and Fe del Mundo—the new game changers of Filipina women at this time.

Although Josefa, who is fondly called as Pepa, never became engaged in the battlefield—she paved the way for multiple generations of Gabriela Silangs to breed when she established Girl’s Scouts of the Philippines (GSP). With the battlecry of serving God, the country, and the people in need, the american-educated Pepa did a great job in establishing GSP in her motherland.

Meanwhile, Doktora Fe placed women to a higher platform when she proved that we can also be professionals. We are not merely housekeepers, but we can also be licensed healers. Though she did not train another generation of warriors—like what Pepa did—nor did she became a warrior herself—like Gabriela—she used her compassion to improve the country’s healthcare system by establishing the first pediatric hospital in the Philippines.

Doktora Fe, unmarried and without kids, dedicated her life to the service. Not only did she cure ailing kids, but she also served in far-flung barangays in the country. She, indeed, lived a life full of service and compassion.

The second generations Maria Clara and Gabriela—like Pepa and Doktora Fe—deemed classrooms as new training zones before going to the battleground. Although they did not rip cedulas apart nor grasp bolos, they handled paper and pens and used their knowledge to help their kababayans back home.

History will agree with us when we say that women not only dodged bullets, but they also used their compassion throughout the years. However, now is the time to shine light upon HerStory—her sacrifices and trailblazing deeds just for women to be appreciated. Now, tell me that Filipinas are not palaban as fuck.

Words by Quimberlyn Ranchez and Chelsea Joy Serezo

Researched by Charlene Favis

Art by Charlene Favis

Image Source for Fe del Mundo, Liliosa Hilao, Kumander Liwayway, Lisa Macuja, Melchora Aquino, Josefa Llanes-Escoda, Aldaba Lim, Gabriela Silang, and Maria Clara.

#women in the philippines #women in history #badass women in the philippines #girl scout of the philippines #josefa llanes escoda #fe del mundo #kumander liway #comfort women philippines #careful whisper

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liv-andletdie · 8 years ago

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zelda sneaking away from the castle to spend time with link.

You didn’t specify a game so I’m going with my all time fave Twilight Princess (this turned out way longer than I expected so it’s under the cut forgive me)

Restful days and moments of silence were a rarity in the Princess of Hyrule’s life. Since the invasion and the subsequent rebuilding of Castle Town, the young monarch’s diary had been filled with council meetings and public engagements. The people of Hyrule were desperate and eager to see the woman who would become Queen

For The Princess, the chance to meet and talk to the people of her country, to listen to their problems and to offer her support, was an invaluable experience

But for Zelda, the constant never ending parade of nobles and councilmen, issues and problems, all needing attention and solutions; was an exhausting and soul sucking experience. She ached for the days when she could curl up in her library, content to warm her feet by the fire and get lost in the pages of a silly romance novel. Her mind drifting to fantastical stories of princess running away with farm-boys, Noblemen dueling for the hand of young flower girls, and Kings leaving their fortunes to the bravest in the land

Those days were long behind her now.

The only saving grace was the almost constant presence of her Hero. Link had been a pillar of support since the downfall of Ganondorf. During the rebuilding he had helped organize and distribute rations and building materials, offering his skills were he deemed necessary. During the nights he would retire to the taverns with the workmen, joining in the drinking and singing. Raising morale and sharing tales of his dangerous adventures, telling stories of how he befriended the new King of the Zora, how he searched high and low for attendees to a Bug Princess’s ball, and how he beat the Gorons in a sumo match.

He kept the best stories for a more private audience however. When it was just himself and his princess. Then he’d share with her stories of how he freed the light spirits from twilight, how he traveled to the city in the sky and battled a fierce dragon high above the clouds, how he fought as a proud wolf against the darkness and the Usurper King. Zelda delighted in hearing of his adventures and cherished the time they spent together.

Link was so different to the noblemen she’d been coerced to associate with before.

Even as the rebuilding drew to a close Link continued his work in Castle Town. Running errands for shopkeepers, playing with the children, and training the knights of Hyrule. He returned to Ordon briefly to check in on his family and his friends. But he had quickly returned to the city that was fast becoming his home.

While the Princess wouldn’t admit it, she was happy that he had stayed with her. Perhaps it was a selfish and childish desire to be like the princesses in her stories, having romantic dalliances with brave knights. Or Perhaps it was the simple joy of having a friend beyond the castle walls.

A Friend that she did not often get to see.

However, it was in these rare moments of silence that she found herself in his presence.She had stolen away to the garden for a brief moment of reprieve before descending into the lion’s den that was the council room. Breathing in the floral perfume of the rainbow of flowers, their colourful petals creating a paradise in the realm of mortal men.

“Must be nice to get some time to enjoy the flowers” the Hero’s soft timber had broken her relative silence, stunning her for a second. She turned to face him, a soft smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“I agree Hero. What point is there to having an expansive garden if I am not afforded any time to explore it?” Her smile clear in her words. Link stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back… was he… nervous? No. The Hero of Twilight was never nervous.

“I agree, your highness” His smile was far more clear, stretching across his face, his sapphire eyes shining in the late spring sun. Goddess he’s beautiful Zelda thought. She allowed herself a moment to just bathe in his light, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“Your highness? Is everything okay?” Oh shit, was she staring?

“Yes, yes everything is perfectly fine Hero. Sorry if I worried you” Oh Nayru bury me now. She hadn’t noticed that he’d been talking, he’d asked her something.“What is you needed?”

“I..I uh don’t.. I don’t need anything. I was just wondering… that is if you’re free, Me and the rest of the resistance were going to go to Telma’s tonight… and I’d lo…well we’d be honored if you would join us” Goddesses he is nervous.

Zelda felt her heart race, an evening away from the castle sounded sublime. Dealing with stuffy nobles throughout dinner was growing incredibly thin and perhaps spending time away from royal life was exactly what she needed. And the fact that Link had asked her personally to join them didn’t hurt either.

However, as the Crown Princess and Future Queen, she had a duty. Propriety and tradition dictated her every move. She couldn’t throw centuries of expectations away for one night could she?

Link had noticed her silence, perhaps taking it as a sign of rejection. She watched as the light dimmed in his eyes, his smile falling. It broke her heart.

She made her decision.

“What time shall I arrive?”

—

Coming up with a plan to escape had been easy, putting it into motion however was proving quite difficult.

She had faked an illness during dinner, a stomach cramp the left her unable to dine. Various young Nobles had requested to help escort her to her rooms. she had shrugged each of them off, claiming that she could manage by herself. Sir Jonah though had been particularly persistent. He had led her the long way around the castle, once she finally relented to having an escort, regaling her with tales of his own exploits. Nothing as impressive as Link’s achievements she had noted letting his dreary monotone voice wash over her. Responding only with nods or small lines of encouragement when he paused for breath.

It was no secret to her that Sir Jonah was interested in asking for her hand in marriage, half the eligible young nobles in the country were for Farore’s sake, and while he was a decent man of good social standing, all Zelda could think about was the small wooden stool next to Link’s in Telma’s bar with her name on it.

Eventually Sir Jonah stopped at the door to her room, where he insisted on escorting her inside and staying with her until the maids came. On other nights his devotion to the crown would have been applauded, he’d have been heralded as a model citizen. However, on this night his constant excuses and prolonged company were more of a nuisance than anything else.

That’s when she decided to up the ante.

Zelda had pulled out her fan, claiming to suddenly feel quite faint. Surely that would cause Sir Jonah to call for the maids and leaver her alone. But instead the poor man panicked, he called instead for the court physician, claiming it a matter of national emergency.

This is it, she thought, I’m going to get found out! I’m sorry Link.

She felt her heart sink as Jonah let the doctor into the room. The one person with the power to scupper her brilliant plan to escape the life of a princess for one night. As the old physician shuffled closer she felt her pulse race in her ears, and a sickening feeling sink into the bottom of her stomach. She clutched her silk skirts in her sweaty palms as the doctor laid his cold, wrinkled hands on her brow. She waited patiently as he concluded his examination.

“Well?” sir Jonah demanded “What’s wrong with her?!”

This was it. The end.

The old doctor stood up straight, packing his equipment into his satchel. He was silent for a few moments, prolonging the young princess’s agony, before he finally spoke up.

“It seems the Princess has a slight fever. Nothing too serious though I do suggest that she be left to rest until morning”

Wait

What?

Did… did he just… lie for her? Zelda turned to catch the old man’s gaze, watching in astonishment as he winked lightly at her. By Din I’m going mad she thought.

“Are you sure that’s all she needs?”“Yes yes young sir, no need to worry”

“But-”

“I do think it’s time for us to leave. Shall I call for the maids your Highness?”

Dazed, Zelda nodded, not trusting her voice to carry as strongly as she wanted it too. She watched as The Doctor led Sir Jonah out of the room, the young noble’s cries of protest echoing through the halls. A fog came over her mind as she relaxed against the back of the couch she had draped herself over. That was a close call, if the physician hadn’t been on her side she would have surely been found out and reprimanded for causing everyone such worry.

The fog didn’t lift from her mind, even as the maids came in, un braiding her hair and dressing her for bed. It didn’t lift as they tucked her into bed and set out her clothes for the morning. It even remained until after they left. Sharp realization lifted Zelda’s head from her pillows, She’d been lying in bed for too long, surely Link was waiting for her in Telma’s bar.

She lept out of bed, reaching under the mattress where she had hidden a set of plain clothes. A simple blue dress, a white cotton chemise, and a thick brown woolen cloak. Rushing to get ready she haphazardly tied the back of the dress closed over her chemise and stays. It was messy but it would do it’s job. Throwing the cloak over her shoulders she set about starting the second phase of her plan.

Since Link’s arrival in Castle Town the soldiers and the Knights had improved exponentially. Gone were the cowardly men who fled from the twilight battle, gone were the “entitled rich boys” as Link called them, nobles playing at being warriors. In their place stood a proud and competent army, ready to lay down their lives for Queen and country. Their constant protection was a comfort to the Princess, however tonight it was a challenge.

For the castle guards had been trained by the best of the best. None other than Link himself.

Zelda knew that behind the door 2 guards stood. If they saw her she’d be caught meaning she couldn’t use that exit. Unfortunately the only other exit was the window. It would be a 6 storey drop to the ground if she were to jump, meaning certain injury or death. Even the rope she made from her bed sheets wasn’t enough to reach the ground safely. But it was all that she had. It would have to do

Anchoring the makeshift rope to her balcony she began her descent. The sheets clutched tightly in her hands, her feet braced against the castle walls.

The silk sheets slipped under her sweaty fingers, her legs ached as she tried to control her drop. The rope came to its abrupt end outside of the window to one of the guest rooms on the lower floor. Steeling her nerves Zelda reached out one pointed toe to land on the window ledge. Her arms aching as she tried to support her weight. Getting the toe of her boot safely onto the window ledge she pushed her foot forward, trying to get a more stable footing so she wouldn’t fall. When the heel of her foot felt stone beneath it she started moving her other foot. Edging it along the wall until it joined its twin on the ledge.

Now came the tricky part.

Bracing her legs she began to lean forward towards the window. There would be enough room on the ledge for her to stand, provided that she was leaning against the window. However, if she were to time her push wrong, she could end up losing her balance and falling onto the patio below.

Closing her eyes she focused her breath, counting in her head. Once I get to Three I’ll push, she told herself. The rope slipped in her hands as she counted down.

One

Two

Three

For a terrifying moment nothing seemed to happen. Then she felt her stomach lurch and the cool feel of glass beneath her hands. The breeze blew past her face, cooling the sweat that had accumulated on her brow.

Then she opened her eyes, nose pressed against glass. She’d done it! Now she needed to find a way inside without falling. Concentrating, Zelda focused on the window lock, reaching her hand down to touch it from the outside. She imagined the metal beneath her fingers moving, the lock sliding open. She felt the window pane give way to her gentle push as she opened it enough to crawl through.

Thank the Goddesses for Magic she thought to herself.

Once she made it inside, she immediately fell to the floor. Her heart racing with adrenaline, her mind scolding her on how reckless she was being. But she was safe now, lying on top of a plush wool rug in a cosy guest room. She wouldn’t get found here, she wouldn’t fall to her death. She gave herself a moment to rest, to calm down and breathe before she continued on her way out of the castle.

Once she felt her pulse return to normal she pushed herself up from the ground. Using her powers she unlocked the door as she had with the window, and let herself into the dark corridor.

This part of the castle, she knew, was mostly abandoned. Only ever used when foreign dignitaries or ambassadors came to stay in her company. She felt her confidence return with the knowledge that she was unlikely to get caught, and set off on her way; sticking to the shadows just in case.

She kept walking, freezing every time she heard the voices of guards in the distance. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she tried to keep hidden. She needed to get to the garden, she’d be able to sneak out of the castle grounds from there. But the darkness and the shadows made travel difficult, the corridors seemed to twist trying to confuse and distract her. She ignored it, pushing onwards in the direction she believed to be right.

She saw a light in the distance, it’s soft amber glowing in contrast to the dark stone around her. Eagerly she followed it, knowing that it would lead her to the servants corridor and out into the garden, to freedom. As she neared the light she could hear Chef ranting to the scullery maids about something she couldn’t quite catch. But knowing Chef it could be anything, he was a loud and opinionated man, but he was good and kind. He also made an incredible fruit cake. Biting down a smile Zelda focused on her task at hand.

With how close she was now to the lamp, she found herself fully illuminated. If someone were to come out of the kitchen now then she’d most certainly be found. Luckily the servants would be more lenient about her sneaking out, even if they were more likely to gossip.

Opening the service door as quietly as she could, Zelda made her way into the brightly lit corridor. Chef’s booming voice became more clear as she rushed down the small stone tunnel.

“And then he practically excused me of poisoning her!” “Chef you know that isn’t what he meant”“Oh is it not Marie? He said that if my cooking hadn’t made her ill he didn’t know what else could have done it!”

“Oh Chef-”“I’ll tell you what could have done it Marie, Stress! They’re putting her highness under too much stress. She needs a rest, even the Hero agrees with me”

Zelda froze at the mention of Link. He’d been talking to Chef? About her? Anxiety started clawing at her heart. What did he think of her? He thought she was stressed! Granted she was, endless work at the castle had limited any time she had to relax and recuperate. But she was fine… mostly! Did he think she was a failure? That she couldn’t handle it?

“The Hero’s just worried about her”“But he has a point Marie. That DAMN LORD has the GALL to suggest that I am the one who has made her Highness feel faint!”

He was worried about her? He cared?

The anxious feeling bled away slightly, leaving a warm hum in her chest. She made a note to apologise to Chef, her false illness at dinner had caused a disturbance in the kitchen. Perhaps she could visit him tomorrow, thank him for his service and assure him that his cooking was not the cause of her ailment.

But now she had to focus on the task at hand, hearing footsteps coming towards her Zelda ran. She ran down the corridor as fast as she could, desperate to make it into the open air and starlight in the garden. Her boots echoed as she flew down the tunnel, less worried about drawing attention to herself now that she was so close to freedom.

The stone tunnel gave way to the fresh night air as she finally found herself in the garden. The scent of the flowers bringing back memories of earlier when Link had asked her to join them. She once again kept to shadows, determined once again to stay hidden. She followed the trees that lined the gardens, making her way towards the front of the castle. She spotted the guards in the distance, torchlight glinting of their polished armour.

Her heart leapt into her throat once again as she got closer. Praying silently that she wouldn’t be spotted she ducked behind a bush. She was close enough know to hear their voices but not their words. A soft chime could be heard from the City below and the voices of the guards fell quiet.

Zelda recognised the sound as the old clock tower. The chimes continued ringing eleven times and the guards began to disperse. A memory flashed to the front of her mind, something Link had told her when they’d been discussing changes to the castle security. It was one of her less fond memories because the visit hadn’t been a social one. But never the less she held it with her, any time spent with Link was to be cherished she thought to herself. She remembered Link had went into detail about the night watch and the guards on the castle grounds.

“At eleven the guards at the front of the castle will change over, then after 30 minutes the guards at the far gates will change over and so on. That way you’re always protected rather than having all the guards change over at once”

Thanking Link’s tactical mind Zelda made a break for it. Running past the front of the castle while the guards were preoccupied. She knew if she took her time and stuck to the shadows on the walk down to far castle gates that led to Castle Town. then she could reach them by the time the guards changed over.

She kept listening out for the 30 minute chimes from the clock tower, her feet steady. She was so close. She could practically taste the ale and hear the songs that would no doubt be filling the air at Telma’s.

She finally got to the gates just as the clock tower chimed. Waiting in the shadows once again for the guards to switch. Her muscles tensed, ready to make a break for it. The guards at the gate were taking longer to change over, perhaps the others hadn’t arrived yet, perhaps she would have to use magic to knock them out. It would be risky, if the other’s found them asleep when they came then they would know something was up! There’d be a search and security would be tightened. She’s never get to meet Link in Castle town.

She counted, focusing her breath to try and stay calm. Maybe she could cause a distraction? Get the guards to leave so she could get past. Focusing her magic, she willed a ball of light to appear. A soft blue glow appeared above the guards heads. Their attention drawn upwards, Zelda pushed the ball of light to move out and away. It wasn’t a subtle distraction by all means, but it was the best she was able to make given the circumstances.

Predictably the guards followed the light, leaving their post. She kept quiet, sticking close to them in order to sustain the ball of light. Once she was certain she could run and make it to the city without the guards noticing her she dropped her distraction and ran. The light disappeared leaving the guards in darkness, confused shouts could be heard as they tried to draw their weapons to attack what ever non existent foe lay before them. Further up the path, by the gates Zelda could hear the new shift settling into position. Their cries echoing over the path and fading into the distance behind her.

Her heart pounded in her chest but this time it wasn’t fear that set her blood rushing.

She’d done it. She was free!

—

Zelda opened the double doors that led to the square, the stone heavy and rough beneath her fingertips. The expansive square opened up before her, the torches casting a warm amber glow over the fountain, reflecting off the water making it appear as if liquid starlight was pouring over the stones. The red flags bearing her family’s royal insignia stood proudly waving gently in the wind.

It was beautiful.

But it was not the proud flags or the monumental fountain that stole the breath from her lungs. Link stood gazing into the fountain, lost in endless thought. He hadn’t noticed her arrival. Zelda took a moment and let her gaze wash over him. He’d dressed smartly, not as smart as the “Rich boys” in the castle, but smart enough for an evening drinking with friends. His trademark green tunic had been replaced with a rich sapphire blue and his boots had been recently polished.

She stepped closer, wincing at how loud her steps were in the silence of the night. Link’s ears twitched in her direction but he still didn’t look up. Confidence growing Zelda walked to where he was standing. She came to stand by his side, noting how he’d worn boots with a slight heel, making him just a little taller than her.

She cleared her throat, and finally Link turned his attention to her. A smile instantly broke out on his face. Once again Zelda found herself struck by just how beautiful Link was.

“I’m glad you could make it. I was a little worried you’d stood me up for a second there” His voice was joking, but his eyes revealed his true feelings. He’d been genuinely scared that she wasn’t going to show up, that she’d change her mind at last minute and leave him standing alone by the fountain.

She matched his smile with one of her own, surprised at how happy she felt. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world Hero”

The two stood there for a second, drinking in the way the moonlight and the torchlight danced across their features. Link offered his elbow, a habit he’d developed from watching the Nobles in the Castle, and shot her another winning smile. Goddesses if he keeps smiling at me like that I don’t think my heart will be able to take it.

“Shall we go your highness?”

She laid her ungloved hand in the crook of his elbow, pulling herself closer to him. Catching his eye she gave a smile of her own, a smaller more discrete smile. “Lead the way”

The walk to Telma’s bar was blissful and silent. The only sound shared between them was the sound of their boots echoing across the rough stone paths. Their steps were soon drowned out however by the sound of laughter and singing. Every tavern and bar in Castle Town was alive with music, the sound brought joy to the Princess’s heart. Her breath got lost in her throat as the life from the city began to burrow its way into her bones. Excitement welling up in her chest.

Link led her down a set of stone steps. Noise growing louder as they neared a wooden door. Link stopped short, turning sharply to face the Princess. A look of worry passed over his features but was soon lost as opened his mouth to speak.

“Zelda” he said, meeting her gaze with his own. “The folks inside are… well they’re not like people you find in castles. They’re… they’re a little loud and they’re really drunk. A-and if that makes you uncomfortable or you change your mind about joining us… I can… I can take you back to the castle if you want. B-but I’d really like it if you could stay”

Zelda took a step forward, closing the distance between her and Link. The fact that he’d called her by her name, and not by her title, wasn’t lost to her. She dropped her hand down to reach his, the skin on the tips of her fingers grazed lightly against the back of his palm. This is ridiculous she thought the slightest touch sets me alight! I’m a disgrace.

Link dropped his gaze to where their hands met, his breathing became deeper and his shoulders became tight. She heard him swallow as his turned his palm over, lightly holding her fingers in his. The touch was soft and gentle, his calloused fingers caressing her silken skin. With difficulty she tore her gaze from their joined hands, bringing it back to his face.

His cheeks have gone pink.

She took in everything, from how his blue eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, how his messy windblown blonde hair settled against his brow, the dignified point of his ears, the way his eyelashes brushed against the top of his cheeks when he closed his eyes, and the slight sadness she felt at having their brilliant blue blocked from her gaze.

Her eyes trailed downwards, following the slope of jaw to his chin and finally his lips. He was so close. Not for the first time in her life she felt herself grow envious of the holder of courage. For she had been blessed with Wisdom. If only their triforces were swapped, then should could muster up the resolve to lean in and take his lips with her own. To feel his beautiful smile pressed against her own.

She tore her gaze back to his eyes, desperate to shake all thoughts of kissing him from her head.

They are treasonous thoughts she reasoned. Imagining anything more than friendship between the two of you will cause only pain.

The feel of his thumb grazing lightly across her knuckles sent her heart into overdrive.

“Link” she whispered, her voice heavy and needy and pleading to her own ears. “Please”

She hoped he would understand her hidden request, Please take me inside the bar, please let me have one night of freedom, please… please kiss me. The corner of his lips quirked up in a half smile as he lifted her hand to his lips. Pressing a kiss against her knuckles. She felt her heart soar as he held her hand there for a few more seconds than strictly proper.

Dropping their hands, he offered her his elbow once again. His smile proudly displayed on his lips, his eyes twinkling with unabashed joy. Zelda took his offer eagerly, distraught at the idea of distance between them.

We’re just friends she scolded herself as he opened the door to the bar, music spilling out into the street. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

“YOU DANGLED FROM YOUR BALCONY?!” Link’s amused cry could be heard throughout the bar. Zelda hid her smile behind her flagon, slightly embarrassed at the incredulous tone he had taken.

They had entered the bar a few hours ago. Link had introduced her to the other members of the resistance who had welcomed her with open arms. The still formality she was worried about did not appear as Auru greeted her as an old friend. The others had followed his lead; Ashei had offered the seat next to her, Shad had ordered her drink. Link had taken her cloak and left it with the friendly bar keep. Rusl had asked about her work in the castle and inquired if she would ever visit Ordon. Then they had decided to get roaring drunk.

The drinks had been poured and the conversation flowed freely. Laughter rang out from the small table in the corner. As time passed on the other occupants grew tired and left, staggering home until only a few remained. Rusl had been the first to leave, claiming he had to get up early for his trip to Ordon. Auru was next, he had blamed his old age and quickly departed. Ashei and Shad had left together, leaning against the other for support as they stumbled their way upstairs.

The bar had emptied of other patrons, leaving the Hero and his Princess alone.

“There’s no need to be so loud” She giggled, Link ran his hands through his hair. He’d asked her to recount for him her own adventure, as he often did for her. He’d been curious as to how the monarch had managed to escape from her confines in the castle. He hadn’t been expecting to hear of how reckless she had been.

“That was so dangerous! You could have fallen” amusement turned to slight panic as he thought more on the logistics of her escape. “Zelda you could have been hurt!”

The young Princess simply rolled her eyes, touched by his worry “I’m fine Link”

Maybe it was the relative solitude they shared, maybe it was the alcohol flowing in her veins giving her courage, but Zelda leaned forward. She placed a hesitant hand on his knee, hearing his breath catch. Zelda’s eyes searched his face, unable to read his expression. His eyes seemed heavy gazing deeply into hers.

Zelda tore her gaze away from his, gulping down her drink greedily. She could feel his eyes on her, causing an odd feeling to bloom in her chest. She felt rough fingers lightly cup her chin, turning her head back to face him.

“I know” he said, his voice rough as he traced his fingers lightly down her neck, “I just worry sometimes that’s all”

Zelda tried not to be distracted by the feel of his fingers against her skin, unconsciously tracing circles on his knee with her thumb.

“Is that why you talked to Chef about me?” As soon as the question left her lips she regretted it. He withdrew his hand from her skin, the sudden loss of contact causing a chill. He took his flagon into his hand, staring into the liquid inside.

“You know about that?”“I overheard him mention it”

“So you were eavesdropping?” The humor came back into his voice as he took a sip of his drink. Zelda blushed at the accusation, stilling her hand on his knee she tried to look innocent.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally”

“I know I know don’t worry” She felt her cheeks grow warm as eyes met hers once again. “Me and Chef… we’re just concerned that you’re not getting enough rest. The council are working you to the bone, the rebuilding is done and Hyrule is thriving. But still they don’t let you rest��

The care in his voice warmed her to her core. She reached forward, pulling the flagon from his hands. Holding his gaze she traced her fingers along his jaw, his pulse raced beneath her fingertips.

“That’s why you asked me to join you tonight?” “Partly” he conceded, his free hands moving to rest on her legs. His touch was like fire across her skin, she found herself gazing at his lips again. The idea of leaning in became far too tempting.

“Partly?” she questioned, moving her hand to play with the hair at the back of his neck. He closed his, a soft sigh escaped his lips.

“Partly because…” His hands came to stop at her hips “Partly because I wanted to see you again”

Maybe it was the relative solitude they shared in the quiet hours of the morning, maybe it was the alcohol flowing in her veins giving her courage, or maybe it was the closeness they shared. Zelda surged forward and pressed his lips to her own.

His response was immediate, kissing back with a passion that matched her own. His lips were soft against hers, and she could feel his smile against her own. In that moment her heart became light. She felt him pull her hips toward his, shifting her into his lap. Her hands left his face, wrapping around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer to her.

When they broke away, leaning against each other, Zelda couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up from her throat.

“It’s getting late” he reminded her, making no attempt to move from his position wrapped around her. She hummed in response, moving to press a kiss against his temple.

“I should be getting you home” “If you can get past the guards”

A short laugh left his lips as he leaned in to kiss her again.

—

The journey back to the Castle was a short one. Link knew all the shortcuts, all the gaps in the guards views. They were able to sneak back onto the castle grounds without arousing any suspicion. He led her to the patio beneath her balcony, her makeshift rope still wafting in the breeze. Pulling out his clawshot he aimed at the stone above. Zelda wrapped her arms around him waiting for the unmistakable sound of metal on stone. The two were pulled skyward and Link helped her safely onto her balcony.

“This is where we part ways”

“I suppose it is” She agreed, leaning forward to press her lips to his forehead “Until tomorrow my Hero”

“Until tomorrow my Princess”

A melancholy filled the air as Zelda stepped back to the doorway, she watched as Link lowered himself down to the ground safely, flashing her a wink as he disappeared from view.

She could live without her breaks in the library, she decided. She could make do for now without the silly romance novels.

She had something even better.

#zelink #tp zelink #fanfic request #zelda #link #loz #legend of zelda

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