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theodora3022 · 4 years ago

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Sheathed Claws (Part 1)

(Yandere Fukuzawa feat.Ranpo as his evil sidekick)

Summary: As a former Assassin himself, the formidable Silver Wolf Yukichi Fukuzawa can see through seemingly perfect disguises. You really should not have chosen ADA to work after fleeing the Order of the Clock Tower.

Notes: I wrote this instead of polishing my Tetchou fic, someone yells at me to do things in order- You can sense clear parental issues here, so enjoy! The reader’s ability is modelled after Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, the ability to control air currents. She is a former assassin leader of the Order of Clock tower, her superior being Lady Agatha Christie. I could have wrote this as a full fic, but I got too excited about a Mori fic and just...went with easy way with this one. The next part would be out next week by the latest.

Special thanks to @killuwumi and @bungoose for beta reading this mess! You guys are the best :))

Warnings: Female reader, Power imbalance, possessive behaviours(in future chapters), mild yandere themes, Ranpo gives horrible relationship advices

You thought your facade is good enough, that your acquaintances are none the wiser. And you are correct, at least to a certain degree. But for a fellow former Assassin, it is not that difficult to decipher from the way you carry yourself. Fukuzawa, the president of your current organization, for one.

You had paid an old friend a good sum, who happens to be a government official, to cleanse your dirty past. Nobody would find anything now, not even yourself.

To avoid any suspicions, you created this bubbly innocent girl mask for your coworkers, to gain their trust so even if the Order finds out about you they would have a hard time pursuing you. You never were particularly close to anyone, even when you let Naomi come to your shopping trips from time to time after her endless pleas. “Your western style is just so cute! I want to try it!!” Of course, you cannot say no. Guess Lady Christie was right, if you wear a mask long enough it would fuse in with your true self.

You act just like any other secretary in the ADA, polite, properly-dressed, hardworking and always ready to pick up any agent’s slack on paperwork(mainly Dazai’s). He notices how you would blend well with the background with that quiet nature, your presence barely noticeable, just like what he used to be in his assassin days. You also have a sweet voice and would look up to him with those adorable feline-like eyes while reading meeting reports to him.

No, no Yukichi, she is your employee, not a stray kitten you encountered in a park. You cannot pat her on the head or squeeze her cheeks, it would be inappropriate. He had to scold himself so very often, whenever you smile to greet him at his desk or wish him a good evening when you leave work. Maybe that is why he hired you, a foreigner with little work experience in Japan.

Since you are only a clerk, Fukuzawa assumed you did not possess a special ability, therefore he did not bother to check your background thoroughly. However, there is something that distinguishes you from the norms like Kirako Haruno or Naomi Tanizaki. Your quick reflexes are unusual for a civilian. His suspicions were confirmed thanks to Ranpo.

When Ranpo accidentally pushed one of his donuts off the table, you snatched a napkin, crouched down and caught the pastry with one hand. All done within half a second, without dropping a single sheet of the files on your other hand. Even Ranpo was impressed and gave you a few words of praise. You responded with a sheepish smile, but that smile does not look so harmless to Fukuzawa anymore. That is when Fukuzawa took a particular interest in you, who are you really? Those moves would take years of training to mould into one’s instincts.

You have hidden pockets in that skirt? He could just be paranoid, but that size is enough to fit a mini-gun or a dagger. In fact, you do carry these things around, old habits die hard. Decades of Assassin life had made you insecure without a weapon to hold. But young women often carry self-defence mechanisms right? Surely you would need them since you are just so cute. Is he just overthinking things?

Using his connections, the ADA president got a copy of your records from the Government Database. But they are nothing out of the ordinary, almost too normal. Maybe you are just blessed with natural talents, not some government spy. Because that could mean big problems, as Fukuzawa hates the government to stick their noses into his Agency.

“(Y/n)-san? She is a nice girl. She is always willing to help out everyone with their troubles. Hah, one time she even went to drag Dazai out from a ditch!”

“When the powers are out, (y/n)-chan brought lots and lots of candles for us. I cannot be more grateful.”

“She loves sweets and would often bake me some! (y/n)-chan calls me her test subject for her confectionery arts, not that I mind as long as I get half of her chocolate cookies!”

Only words of praise and gratitude, Fukuzawa cannot seem to find a single bit of negativity related to you? You are so friendly towards everyone, no one ever saw you in a different mood other than cheerfully happy.

The more Fukuzawa learns about you, the more invested he becomes. Even though it started as an investigation, he had grown fond of you rather quickly. Soon enough he finds himself smiling back to your greetings and goodbyes, even sneaking gazes full of fondness when you were not noticing.

Hm, so the agency president had taken a special interest in you huh? That is better than ideal. Now you can sleep soundly at night without ten traps set up in your apartment. People usually protect what they love right? Now you got the powerful Silver Wolf, an elite swordsman as your bodyguard!

These little actions did not get past the observations of Ranpo Edogawa. You are pleasant to have around, and if you marry the president would mean you would never leave the ADA right? He can have those delicious sweets for the rest of his days! His sensei is happy, and he got an endless supply of delicious food, sounds like a win-win to him.

So when Fukuzawa asked him to use his Ultra Deduction on you, little Ranpo did not suspect a thing and gladly obliged.

“(y/n)-chaan is a skilled assassin, with at least ten years of experience...And served in the Order of the Clock Tower as one of their finest knights, but she is currently on exile.” Ranpo and Fukuzawa exchange a glance, mixed with shock and horror. Both stayed silent for a while, digesting the unbelievable truth Ranpo just dug up.

So, his hunch was correct. But how can you, a charming lady who would help the elderly to cross the street, would give up your seat on the train to pregnant women, would help out anyone in need used to be a cold-blooded assassin? (These are all classic kindness gestures in Asia, in case anyone is confused)

Can Fukuzawa imagine you in black tights(eh idk how this came up), ending people’s lives while lurking in the shadows? No, it is physically impossible. He lived that kind of life, how can you turn out to appear so innocent? Unless you hid your evils exceptionally well. This sends a chill down his spine, the thought of someone who can fool the entire Agency of intelligent agents…

You may not harbour any ill-will towards them yet, but you still pose a major potential risk regardless. You can feed the agents poisonous cakes and even Kunikida would eat them without question. Some precautions need to be taken.

“Sensei, you like (y/n)-chan, right? Why not take her in and watch her every move, make sure she is no threat?” Another win-win situation, if you ask Ranpo. You would have all the time in the world to bake! Wouldn't that be amazing?

His smart apprentice never disappoints.

#yandere #yandercore #yandere x you #yandere bsd #yandere fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #yandere fukuzawa x reader

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bluegarners · 4 years ago

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“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts!

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it.

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill.

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed.

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of.

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection.

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home.

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge.

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl.

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward.

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet.

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming.

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it.

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy.

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now.

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer.

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated.

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more.

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in.

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit.

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted.

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange.

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands.

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice.

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma.

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort.

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person.

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience.

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #dick grayson & bruce wayne #damian wayne #Tim Drake #dick grayson & damian wayne #nightwing #batman #robin #red robin #12 Batfam prompts #dc #prompts #fanfiction #my fic

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nyxicnymph · 4 years ago

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Horizon and Edge

#2: Cause-and-effect

Later, I’m in the gym. I joined the rifle team, but I’m the only one who showed up today. I’m just clicking away. Shooting all-standing. Killer on the feet.

I reach for a pellet and grab the last one in the pellet box.

“Last one,” I mutter to no one in particular. I’m not concerned. I’ve been shooting fairly well. A lot of nines, several tens, and only two eights. This shot will be great.

I bring the rifle up, breathe in, breathe out. I sight in, then check my Natural Point of Aim. Open my eyes. I’m on target. Pull the trigger....

**********************************************

Erik:

I walk down the gym hallway, looking for my sister. I hear a THWAP! Click-click come from the open gym doors. I peek in, and see Hailey standing sideways, wearing a thick outfit.

She’ll know where Kay is.

“Hey!” I shout, trying to get her attention.

There’s another loud THWAP! And she sets something down hard. She turns her head slightly sideways, and I see what she was holding: a lightweight air rifle.

She puts the rifle down in a rack, and sticks a length of orange weed string inside the chamber, and takes off her jacket. She brings a long black box close to an orange line on the floor, and then puts her rifle inside it. Only then does she turn around. She smiles very brightly at me.

Warning bells go off inside my head. What did I do?

“Can I help you?” she says through her teeth.

“Uh, uhm,” I stammer. I’d almost forgotten why I was here. I get my thoughts together and continue, “Have you seen my sister? She’s your best friend, so I figured....” I trail off.

She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know Beth had a brother.” She’s dropped the smile.

Ouch. That’s way below the belt. I wince and reply, “Actually, I’m Kaylee’s brother, Erik.”

**********************************************

Hailey:

I knew it. “Oh,” I say. “She’s with Beth.”

“Which is... Where?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, turning around, my braid whipping around behind me.

“’Kay, thanks!” He says waving. “I’m going to go now....”

I turn back towards him. “And WHERE do you think you’re going?”

“Um... home? I think...?”

I smile grimly. “Oh, no. No, you aren’t. I don’t think so.” I grab him by the ear and drag him over to where my coach is standing. “You are going to explain to my coach why my last shot is off!” I tell him.

He now stands in front of my coach, and, wincing in pain, explains.

While he’s doing that, I ignore him, and continue packing up my gear. I have to get home....

**********************************************

Erik:

I head on home. I called Kaylee on the phone, and I’ll see her when I get home.

My ear throbs, and I rub it. Hailey can grip harder than anyone else I’ve ever met. Ow.

I sigh. Am I just doomed to be hated by her forever? This runs through my head again. I really got on her bad side today. Way to ruin a first impression, Erik. On either side.

I reach the front door. Before I enter, I take a deep breath in, then blow it out. This is going to be difficult. Probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.

I enter my house. Kaylee somehow beat me here. She must have been shopping at the dollar store around the corner. Mom is just visible in the kitchen, and Dad is sitting in his easy chair, scrolling down his phone. Kaylee is just sitting on a footrest, reading a magazine.

Mom asks me how school went, and I answer with a generic, “Okay.” I don’t lie (most of the time, and only for very good reasons), but I’m not particularly interested in telling her that the new girl at school dragged me halfway across the gym. Mostly because I was a dum-dum.

I set my bag down. Then I nervously begin to speak. “Mom, Dad, Kaylee... I have something to tell you.”

“You have a crush?” Mom.

“You have a girlfriend?” Dad.

“You have a date this weekend?” Kaylee.

Why did they all just jump to what is essentially the same conclusion? “No.” I breathe in, then out. Then I jump in. “I’m Edge.”

There. It’s out. They might be in danger, but they need to know. Besides, I can easily protect them! Plus, it’s easier for me to save the city-slash-state-slash-country-slash-world if they know. Less lying involved.

“That’s nice, dear.” Mom.

“Oh, I already knew.” Dad.

Kaylee just releases a pterodactyl-like screech.

“Kaylee? Are you okay?” I ask.

She twitches. “I... I...” She regains her composure. Temporarily. What’s her problem? “I THOUGHT YOU WERE CUTE!!!!!” She yells at me.

Oh.

“That’s not my fault!” I yell right back, while recovering from my semi-defensive pose. “Sheesh.”

“You two settle down!” Mom chides, stirring the mashed potatoes. “Erik, finish your schoolwork. Kaylee, clean your room.”

Sometimes I wonder if Mom has superpowers, too.

**********************************************

I stand on my rooftop. Mom and Dad have been informed of where I’m going (nowhere in particular; it’s a patrol), and when I’ll try to get back (11:30 by the latest).

As for why I’m standing; I don’t particularly like flying. It’s really unnerving. No, thank you.

As I begin to cross the City, I hear voices. I run a mental filter, trying to distinguish who has bad intents or not, but sometimes random thoughts still pop in.

Children laughing, the TV screen, running water, the street (Viewed from the front passenger’s seat), sizzling meat. Then something really stands out.

I probably shouldn’t have yelled. It’s a girl. She’s just thinking to herself. Why does this concern me? She continues: But maybe now he’ll pay attention. Ugh! I can’t sleep, I feel so bad.

Okay, pretty sure I know who this is.

“I need some fresh air.”

So, she’ll be coming up, huh? I wonder which roof she’ll be on. This is the business district, so there are a lot of flat roofs. Some people live above their shops, too. I’m guessing her family is one of those.

I see a figure across the street come up and sit down on the edge of the building.

I wonder what exactly she’s up to? I should go check. With that thought, I head that way.

“But when would I apologize?” She asks herself. Yep. It’s Hailey.

I crouch down behind her. “You could start now,” I whisper.

She totally freaks. Oops. She also nearly falls off the building. Double oops.

I catch her by the wrist. “Gotcha!”

She bangs into the building, lets out an “oof!” then looks up at me. “Let go of me, flea-brain!”

Um, is that supposed to be an insult?

“You sure about that?” I tease.

She looks down, then back up. “Please, pull me up.” In the back of my mind, I hear her think, Don’t antagonize the person who’s trying to help you!

I pull her up and set her safely on the building.

She says, “Thanks.” She’s standing with her back to me, but I’m pretty sure she’s as red as a tomato.

“No prob,” I remark. “It’s kind of my job.”

“Ha-ha.” She’s not really laughing. It’s a “That’s super cheesy” kind of laugh.

“Look, I’m sorry I was so mean to you,” she says. That’s mildly out of the blue.

“Are you now?” I wonder. She ignores me.

“I guess I’m still adjusting to the City, and then you scared me!”

“So, you’re new, then?” I ask.

She turns around and laughs. “New indeed! I’ve only been here for two weeks!”

I sit on the precipice of the building. “Two weeks?” I remark. “Well, you seem to have found good friends.” I’m just trying to not make her angry again. She’s actually pretty cool when she’s not yelling.

“Yeah, four of them!” She states, then lists them: “Kaylee, Beth, Grumpy... er... Cole, and Rick!”

“Four?” I ask. I guess Kaylee must have introduced her to my friends, Rick and Cole, but what about....

“Well, one of them has a... Well, she has brother named Erik, but I’m not sure I like him.”

Me....

It’s a good thing she’s turned away, or she would have seen my face, and probably realized that I’m totally Erik. I want to be her friend, too!

When she’s not yelling.

I compose myself. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I begin, “why?”

She stares out over the City. “He just didn’t make a good impression.”

All right, that’s fair. I stand up. “Look,” I say, “I should be going. Stay safe.”

“Okay.”

Before I leave, I turn back. “Um, good night,” I tell her.

“Same to you,” she replies.

I leave, feeling very mixed up on the inside.

#horizon and edge #h&e #hailey jardin #kaylee quintant #bethany harvord #my story #original story #send me asks

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ishgard · 5 years ago

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Title: Gifts & Curses Chapter 1: Nothing if Not Consistent Words: 2,545 Rating: T/PG-13 AO3 Link A/N: I opened one of those RP prompts ages ago that said something like 'Gaius gets cursed and Ahru can heal him', and then at like 4am falling asleep it burst wide open. One day I might go back, tweak it up, and fit it in to the grander story at large, but for now it’s just a stand-alone, for fun, deal.

________

Curses were tricky things, suffice it to say. They didn’t work in the ways one expected, or in ways that were obvious. Other times the cursemaker may not have been practiced in the art of it, bringing forth spite-driven but clumsy results.

As it stood, it was difficult to say one way or the other what Gaius Baelsar’s particular case was, but the effects had been wearing on him for days.

“I’m not sure, it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before…” Yulania frowned, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. She was still reluctant to help the ex-legatus, but she’d come at Ahru’s behest just the same.

Moving almost in unison with her, Arsh instead leaned forward, tilting his head this and that as he looked Gaius over, scratching his chin.

“That’s because it scarcely resembles anything it ought to. A mess is what it is. Someone slapping together whatever bits of knowledge they could assemble…” He restrained a chuckle -barely- and shrugged. “I’d be surprised if they themselves didn’t suffer for the casting of such a foolish attempt.”

In a small, dim-lit storage room in Ala Mhigo, Gaius sat in silence, gaze cast low to the ground before him, head sunk between his shoulders. He’d always thought himself a decently sensible man - arguable to some, he could reason, when he’d been blinded by grand ideals and the promise of power.

Such was neither here nor there though; whatever this curse, it weighed on him. Hushed whispers and babbling played at the back of his mind, barely audible - only to be crashed by a sudden scream, or angry shouts. Countless voices, all in unison, sometimes dulling to silence, as if to offer him some mild hope of reprieve only, of course, to come barreling over his senses again in a rush.

Sleep was impossible, his performance in battle suffered, and though he held himself together best he could, he could no longer deny the threads were growing thin.

“Can’t say I’m too surprised, there’s no small few who would love to see the Black Wolf hang - or worse.” Yulania sighed and shook her head. While she wasn’t so comfortable with their new ‘ally’, capital punishment didn’t sit right with her either.

“Think you could… I dunno, trace the aetherial patterns or some shit?” Ahru waved a hand at the air. "Track down who might have done it?" She may have been better at the aetherial arts than she’d ever been in her life, but hells if she knew how to deal with any of this. At best she could muddle her way through more basic healing, and instinct had often guided her well, but it had been clear from the moment Gaius had come to her this was well beyond anything she could pull off.

Yulania scrunched up her nose. “You really think the Elementals are going to give me a hand with this?”

“Pff, of course not. I just figured you might have some handy witch-y tricks up your billowing sleeves.” She didn’t give a piss about the Elementals, Yul was one of the most gifted healers she knew, and that wasn’t because of them. Catching her meaning, Yulania’s cheeks gave a faint pink glow, though she hid it with a frown and shake of her head.

“Unfortunately, it’s such a mess, I’d be afraid to apply any of my usual remedies. Fixing one thing could cause something else to worsen.”

Together they both looked to Arshadaya, who was now crouched down in front of Gaius, waving his hand not five ilms from his face. Gaius, however, didn’t seem to notice, his eyes wide and glazed over, mouth agape. The lines of his face were writ in horror, as if he were seeing some fearsome, terrible thing beyond Arsh’s palm and wiggling digits.

Ahru reached over and smacked Arsh’s hand back - even that did not draw the man out of his stupor, however.

“Gaius.” Bodily shoving Arsh out of the way she instead clapped her hands on either of his shoulders, trying to bring his gaze to hers. She’d seen him go like this once before already, and nothing had worked to bring him out of it then, yet still she could not help but try. There was little use in trying to wrap her mind around whatever their relationship was at this point, but she didn’t enjoy the idea of any she counted among her allies suffering.

“Another part of another stitched-together hex,” Arsh shrugged dismissively. “I don’t think wiggling him around will snap him out of it.”

“Your pointless commentary is not why I asked you here,” she grumbled back. He knew that, he knew everything, and she was oh so certain he knew how to fix this, but it was ever his wont to play so frustratingly coy.

“Yet it’s all I’m capable of offering.” Feigning a crestfallen pout, he dramatically shrugged his hands out to either side of him. Now that she knew better, these little gestures of his at times reminded her of Emet-Selch. But she quickly shoved that thought away, as she was becoming accustomed to doing every time the dead Ascian surfaced from the deep to haunt her.

“Oh, come now, that can’t be true.” Yulania was the first to speak up, as exasperated with the Ascians usual antics as Ahru herself was. No matter how accustomed to it they may have been. “According to Ahru, Emet-Selch could snap his fingers and pluck souls from the lifestream. You’ve practically done the same with her. Surely a tangled up little curse can’t pose such a problem.”

“Ah, but it can. And I’d like to remind you I very nearly died saving our darling Ahru. Emet-Selch was nothing short of prodigious in his abilities to see and understand the movements of the lifestream, and I but a paltry babe suckling at the teet by compare.”

“Imagery I could do without,” Ahru muttered. Her hands remained on Gaius’s shoulders, her eyes on his - still swimming in mute, abject fear. What nightmare of his own making must he have been seeing this time? Unable to scream, same as the dead bodies in his wake. Such was as much as he’d conveyed to her the last time this had occurred. That he’d found himself trapped in the corpses of those who had suffered for his ego, watching with lifeless eyes as even greater atrocities ensued. Their fears and horrors became his, but their anger and resentment wrapped gnarled fists around his throat and strangled him.

“Unfortunately, messy as this curse is, it’s effective. Patchwork bits of one hex and another strewn into his very soul, all twisted and knotted together with one great thread of hatred and murderous spite. Removing one could cause upheaval of another, but worse still is the very potential to unravel his very being.”

It was, at times, difficult to grasp just what Arshadaya really felt on a matter. One sentence or word weighed with amusement and curiosity, another with pity. Such was the case now, but Ahru knew the truth to be simple enough. He was fascinated, but not without sympathy.

“So… it’ll keep going like this…”

“Until it kills him, yes. Perhaps he will go mad and take his own life. Perhaps he will act rashly, or from exhaustion, and get himself killed. Or perhaps the shock will soon grow too much for his withered old heart.”

“Arshadaya, please…” Yulania’s voice was soft and small, the barest rustle of leaves on a spring breeze. “There’s no need to elaborate on what we already know just because you relish the chance to talk more.”

Again, Arshadaya shrugged, but his flippant demeanor slowly began to slip away, like a mask discarded. Instead he watched Ahru’s face in profile, the way it furrowed and stared deep into the Garlean’s gazeless eyes. Her fingers were sunk deep into the folds of his coat, making the subtlest of movements as if she hoped to massage away the tension even while knowing it would do no good.

“It’s not really a problem, is it?” The moment the words were out of his mouth she was snapped back to the present, face an amusing blend somewhere between a ‘glower’ and aghast. This did not dissuade or give him pause. “By the laws of mortals, this is a just fate, is it not? To suffer all he has made others suffer, to bear every fear and scar upon his soul. In fact, I daresay it’s better than what any judicial system might be able to fathom up. Beheadings are much too quick.”

With each word her face scrunched up more and more, but so too did her obvious annoyance. Alas, it would seem he’d become much to predictable to his favorite little mortal.

“Can we please skip the part where I have to justify my desire to help people?”

“Even old enemies who’ve done so very, very, many terrible things?” He spoke as if he were talking to a puppy, the sarcasm dripping. What fool mortal could possibly have had more blood on his hands than an Ascian, after all?

Ahru turned partway to him now, drawing her hands back from Gaius’s shoulders to fold them across her chest. She was good at nailing this particular expression, half pleading pout, half stubborn glare. But then, it did precisely encapsulate two of her most prevalent emotions; long-suffering exhaustion and willful defiance. She was not so gifted in the Echo that they could share thoughts, but he could hear her loud and clear. ’Do not make me work more than is necessary for information you could just as easily provide me freely.’

“Fine, deprive me of my fun,” Arsh pouted right back at her, though his he would argue was far more heartfelt. “I could, possibly, fix him up if you are truly so adamant about it, but it will require ample payment. Sacrifice, you might even say.”

Had the current situation not already been sobering enough, Ahru and Yulania both tensed, listening with rapt attention. ‘Sacrifice’ was no small word to them, who had buried the bodies of countless comrades, and something neither of them took lightly. Arshadaya, however, simply grinned at them both, shaking his head.

“Ahru, my darling, you’ll have to take him home with you. To Hyr’asra, and your mother.”

Immediately Ahru blanched, eyes wide and mouth agape, not looking all too different now from Gaius.

“You… have to be joking.” There was no emotion to her words, she wasn’t processing much in the way of thoughts let alone emotions, and the thoughts that did get by simply came out like some automated recording on old Allag tech.

Yulania arched a brow. While she was well aware Ahru’s relation with her mother and birthplace were not particularly great, she didn’t realize it was quite so bad as to warrant such a flabbergasted response.

“Mm, as I recall, the Hiraeth don’t take too kindly to outsiders…” Instead Yul grappled for the easy, obvious answer - or question, rather, which she posed to Arshadaya. “So, wouldn’t it be difficult taking a Garlean there?”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” Arsh moved over to Gaius now running a finger over the crease in the mans brow as if he were naught more than a statue to bear his intrigue. “Ahru can, technically get away with almost whatever she wants-” at that, Ahru nearly choked on a sudden, bitter laugh. “…The problem is she’s been avoiding it so long she hasn’t the faintest clue how to face going back.”

“Yeah, and marching in for the sole purpose of healing an ex-legatus isn’t exactly going to sit well with the uma’taja.” Ahru piped in, her words betraying her reluctance. But even as unwilling as she was, the greater reluctance was saying no to the suggestion if it might really help.

“I mean… will they punish you at all?” Yulania muddled over what they were telling her, unable to pick apart what from what. Arshadaya, conveniently, was more than willing now to be silent and pin any answers on Ahru, his golden gaze locked on her. Ahru simply shook her head.

“It… really doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“Well that doesn’t sound promising.”

“The worst punishment she’ll endure is her mothers disappointment and dissatisfaction,” Arsh offered.

“No, I’m sure they could do a lot worse.” Ahru rolled her eyes, but she was already coming to her decision. Arsh joked of payment and sacrifices, but as far as she could see it was only her own stubborn pride at stake. “Will you really be able to help him if I take him there?” She frowned, squinting at Gaius. “You said… mother could?”

“Maybe. First I’d try the ruins. We may be able to fix him there, where the aether is strong and pure. But if nothing else,” he grinned - vicious and cruel. “They could always sing it out of him.”

Ahru shivered. The phrase, however, was perhaps comically lost on Yulania - and for the better.

“Are they… bad at singing?” She hazarded, voice small and uncertain like a mouse. To that, Arshadaya laughed.

“The worst,” he answered, clapping her on the shoulder in a way that did nothing to alleviate her unease. “But if we’re going to do this, I should go on ahead and prepare.”

This time he did not wait for assurances or firm glares. A dark portal opened for him, and he was gone, leaving the women and nigh-catatonic legatus behind. Yulania sighed, looking to her friend for some sort of assurance that there was not some worser fate awaiting her. As did, unfortunately, seem to often be the case.

Frustratingly, Ahru simply smiled back at her. That same, tired smile she’d seen countless times before when, inevitably, she rallied herself off to some great battle despite however much she needed the rest. The same one she used to ‘jokingly’ breath the words ‘No rest for the weary.’

“Ahru… You really don’t have to do this.”

“Hah, I do too. I’d do the same for you, or Regi. Any of you.”

Face scrunched up, she fixed her friend with a most ungrateful and quizzical look. “I do hope Regi and I place a little higher than Gaius, Ahru.”

She laughed outright at that, genuine and hearty, and it seemed to liven her up. “Without a doubt, but the sentiment remains the same. So I have a painfully awkward family reunion waiting for me? Not much of a price to pay if it means saving someone.”

Sighing, Yul was near to agreeing, but stopped herself short seeing the apologetic grin now unfolding across Ahru’s features. “…What?”

“Besides~” she sang, “you’ll have the much more arduous task here, letting the others know what’s going on. Should probably start with Valdeaulin.”

“Oh, he'll be pissed, don’t you dare saddle me with-”

“You’re a gem, Yul. I couldn’t do this without you!” Before she could utter another word of protest, Ahru had seized her by the shoulders and given her a kiss on the nose. “Look after him a moment while I grab my things!”

And then she was darting out the storeroom door, leaving her blinking and grumbling to herself.

“You’re as bad as the Ascian…”

#ishgard writes #(let us find the answer together)#eventually #ahru hiraeth #gaius baelsar #yulania borael #arshadaya idaeus #-shrugs a lot-#i'm not 100% happy with it but I Made Progress and that's what matters... (???0 #cross-posted to ao3 solely cuz i know what a bitch my tumblr layout is #'yume why don't you change your tumblr layout'#listen.#[crickets chirp]#exactly.#i don't have a good reason #no betas we die like rabid hounds #anyway this was more me hammering out exposition and getting it out of the way in my head #which is a great sales pitch i know X'D

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idolish7rabbitchats · 5 years ago

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Izumi Mitsuki: King Pudding Rabbit Chat Part 4

Mitsuki: Manager, good work for today’s shoot!

M: It was really fun! Yaotome and Tsunashi-san were especially crazy! Lololol

Tsumugi: Good work, Mitsuki-san!

T: As expected of costumes for TRIGGER-san huh.

M: Yeah, we can’t wear that. We were demons and strawberries tho lolololol

T: Everyone was pretty cool tho?!

M: Tamaki, who is the 5th most desirable man, was having fun while holding a leaf in his mouth, saying “I’m the leader of the juvenile delinquents” so we couldn’t compete with him...lololol

T: Compete?! Lol

M: Men have rivalries between everyone lol

T: That’s difficult huh…

M: Our leader was teased by them the whole time. Yuki-san was saying “This part is your weak point right” while touching his horn lol

T: The way Yuki-san teases people is excellent!!

M: I think Re:vale’s talking skills are seriously amazing. lol

M: I was told “Strawberries suit Mitsuki so much that the strawberries are saying that they want Mitsuki to eat them!!” by Momo-san but I don’t really get it lolol.

T: You two are really friendly huh!

M: When I was watching Tsunashi-san while thinking he’s cool, he said “When Ryuu dashes water over himself, it’s water-dripping ikemen, but if Mitsuki is wet, I would think you were returning from the public pool and it makes my heart warm!” lol

T: Fr-Friendly huh..! lol

*T: Was there something else that was fun about the shoot?

M: I could play Yamato-san’s drum! Lolol Nagi was saying “Ha!” and “Yo!” so he really likes that kind of things huh!

M: Oh yeah so Iori told the mushroom story huh?

M: He was saying, “If I wore Momo-san’s hat, I’d become a mushroom” right lol.

T: Ah, yes! Somehow I felt he’s strangely particular about mushrooms... Did something happen?

M: When they’re little, boys wear hats right? Iori was walking with me while wearing a hat in the same shape as Momo-san’s right.

M: And then, a neighboring lady said to him, “My my, you’re cute like a mushroom.” That lady didn’t mean anything bad, she was thinking mushrooms equal a cute thing.

T: And that was traumatic…?!

M: Yeah, somehow that seemed like a shock so he started crying after that… And it seems like he still has a grudge against that.

T: But, it’s certainly true that Iori doesn’t wear hats much in his private life huh...

M: Since then, he has never worn a hat that covers his head completely...lol

T: I think it’s cute tho. ><

M: Well, I’m sorry about my younger brother but please don’t mention it to him...lol He doesn’t look like it, but he is an adolescent boy.

T: I get it! Oh yeah, when the conversation turned to being about Yamato-san wearing Momo-san’s costume, he said “He looks like a craft man who’ll be on an old educational channel” >< lol

M: Shiiit lololololol Yamato-san as an educational show’s man lolololol More like someone should educate that old man lolololol

V2:

T: Fr-Friendly huh..! lol

T: Was there anything troublesome about the shoot?

M: Nagi always playing with an umbrella was dangerous! He was crouching and standing up while holding an opened umbrella lol

M: Oh yeah so Iori told the mushroom story huh?

V3:

T: Fr-Friendly huh..! lol

T: Mitsuki-san holding strawberries seemed fresh and beautiful!

M: I’m glad you said that! I thought a lot about what kind of pose I should do to show my costume and the feeling of strawberry-picking.

M: Oh yeah so Iori told the mushroom story huh?

#Idolish7 #idolish seven #Takanashi Tsumugi #tsumugi takanashi #izumi mitsuki #mitsuki izumi #idol #game #gaming #rabbit chat #translation #japanese #english #game app #idol game #Rhythm game #king pudding #osama pudding

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years ago

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Best of Marvel: Week of September 11th, 2019

Best of this Week: Moon Knight: Acts of Evil Annual #1 - Cullen Bunn, Ibrahim Moustafa, Matt Horak, Mike Spicer and Joe Sabino

It only makes sense that Kang and Khonshu would have some history together.

One of Kangs many aliases over time is that of Rama-Tut, a man that once ruled Egypt before his many, many jumps through time. Khonshu is a God of the Moon and more than likely would have been someone that Rama-Tut worshipped or spat in the face of given Kang’s own ego, but the way that their relationship is developed here is amazing and fantastic, setting up a long and storied history for Moon Knight on par with that of Hawkman.

Beginning in the Egyptian Age of 2,500 BC, the Moon Knight of that era and his followers do their best to keep three artifacts away from Kang and his men as he will no doubt use them to mess with time, a power that they feel should only belong to Khonshu. In just a few short pages, we see just how far back the legacy of the Moon Knight mantle goes as this unnamed warrior fights just as valiantly as Marc Spector in the modern day. As Kang makes short work of the followers and begins to make his way through time, Moon Knight throws a few Moonerangs at the Conqueror, damaging one of the totems, casting all three through time and space.

One of the more interesting things to happen is that Khonshu takes time to visit Kang in the time stream, asking why his child has chosen to do something so horrible to his church. Kang reacts with an anger that we don’t normally see from the cold and calculating villain, suggesting that any worship he may done for Khonshu left him feeling weak and that his own mastery of time proves that he is far superior to the Moon God. Khonshu leaves him with a warning that his other Avatars will continue to stand in Kangs way through time.

From this point on, we’re planted into a modern day that is somehow changed to fit Kang’s will with the only deviation being possibly Marc Spector’s Moon Knight and several followers of Khonshu. They lead Marc through a tear in time and this takes him to the first of many locations throughout time. I won’t go through all of them, but there’s so much future story potential here for any number of Moon Knight tales and their many interesting routes. There’s a Moon Lawman of the West, to a Moon Knight that could have fought with The Invaders in WWII, a Chicago gangster that I refer to as Moons Malone and finally the first Avatar of Khonshu, a woman from Mesopotamia.

Each of these characters are different in personality and yet serve the same purpose and ferocity that we see from the modern moon Knight. Horak and Moustafa do their best to make each one of them distinct and of their times while maintaining that Moon Knight style The actions scenes that are presented are a wild and dynamic ride seeing Marc jumping around and superhero landing or kicking damn near everything in sight. One of the best shots in the book is a panel that stretches between the staple pages with World War Moon Knight punching a Nazi as Marc crashes through a ceiling window, causing glass to fall on a Nazi officer. The blur placed on Marc as he crashes down with terminal velocity is unintentionally hilarious, but also showcases just how crazy he is.

Mike Spicer did an excellent job of coloring this book in such a way that no matter what background was drawn, Moon Knights white color scheme stood out all the time. The same can be said for Kang’s green and purple, but in a more gross and “why does he wear these awful colors way.” He also does extremely well with things that give off energy, making them seem more vibrant and cool. The best examples of this are the moments when The Scarab totem is showcased with a red outline, even in the smallest situations it is absolutely eye catching and the moments when the ther Moon Knights are summoned from all over time to fight Kang and their poofs appear in bright purples and greens.

One of the other panels that stands out is the first appearance of the Mesopotamian Moon Knight. Her mask, crouch pose and makeshift bone claws make her look like a serial killer, especially with the MANY bodies of Kangs through time around her. While looking to be the most intense, she is also the most dedicated as she ends up sacrificing her life to ensure Kangs ultimate defeat at the end of the book. She doesn’t die, but she has to concentrate to keep him trapped for as long as she can so that he cannot try to use the artifacts to change time again, placing her out of time with even her God Khonshu.

This is a really interesting take on belief vs. faith as both Marc and Khonshu have differing points of views on her actions at the end. Marc, being a modern man finds it difficult finds it hard to see her as a priestess without a God. Khonshu see a dedicated follower that is only her faith, knowing that a long as she has that, then she will need nothing else. It’s hard to see whose point of view is more correct, I mean, it should be that of Khonshu right? Given that her actions are the only thing keeping the world from falling into a hellscape ruled by Kang, does that mean that she should really do nothing but concentrate on keeping the Conqueror contained?

One other development that comes out of this is the idea that Marc is starting to become disillusioned by Khonshu’s actions and disregard for the lives of his followers. At the same time, this also may make little sense in the grand scheme of things as Marc, at least by the time of Jeff Lemire’s Moon Knight series, has already conquered Khonshu for control of the legacy. He hasn’t been at the mercy of Khonshu for a long time, but who’s to say how canon this is anyway?

Either way, I loved this book and Moon Knight’s continued storied existence, high recommend.

---------------------------------------------------

Runner Up: Silver Surfer: Black #4 - Donny Cates, Tradd Moore, Dave Stewart and Clayton Cowles

Don’t read this if you’re high, Tradd Moore’s visuals are far more trippy and beautiful than any of the previous issues and this is a WILD ride.

After discovering the incubator of Galactus buried within the body of a young Ego the Living Planet, The Surfer has to make a choice of whether or not he should kill the destroyer before he is able to cause the sheer number of genocides that he will become feared for in the future, all the while his Power Cosmic is fading as Knull encroaches further on the hero.

There are so many intricacies that make Tradd Moore’s art so exciting in this issue. Moore has a particular style where everything seems quite a bit distorted and stretched. His art flows like water and allows the eyes to move gracefully from panel to panel, even in the most trippy of pages because clear lines are drawn to attract ones sight through a page. The Surfer, looks smooth, mostly thanks to Moore's use of shining techniques and dark inks for reflections.

There are grand portions of the story where you feel like you're peering into dimensions that your mind just isn't prepared for. One such scene is when the Surfer takes Galactus' incubator to a white dwarf star to absolutely destroy it. The sheer scale and magnitude of this thing was almost overwhelming, speaking nothing of its brightness as well.

At a point, The Surfer decides to enter Galactus' incubator to see into the dying days of the last universe he inhabited before this new one as he went to try and kill him. The Surfer almost looks as if he's melting upon hearing the dying screams of millions. He's heard similar cacophonous bellows of terror, but from Galactus these screams are multiplied many times over and the next half of the page is coated in a bloody red of fear.

Dave Stewart's colors are also a main contributor to this spectacular look. Stewart has an amazing history of great stories that he's colored and Silver Surfer: Black takes this to a whole new level. After the Surfer enters Galactus' mindscape, we are met with a torrent of blood, fire and Galactus' menacing shape standing above it all, acting as a warning to the Surfer. The shading of reds in the blood ocean, the flaming skies, Galactus' towering figure and the HANDS REACHING UP FROM THE BLOOD OCEAN are absolutely amazing and terrifying.

The Surfer stands out as being the only silver thing on this double splash page which speaks to Stewart's sense of page awareness as we're clearly able to start from where he appears and then work our way up to the massive Galactus up above.

Special hell yeahs given to Clayton Cowles and his expert lettering, capturing my imagination with how each bubble is used. Ego's in particular resonate with me for the choice to have purple letters offset by a background of yellow and purple that creates a hazy, 3D look. It's a small detail that ultimately gives the book and the Living Planet far more character, making them stand out very well.

Not only is the art some of the best I have ever seen, but the story told here is phenomenal as well. I have almost never seen The Silver Surfer so conflicted over something he was absolutely sure about just moments before. He meets Galan before he becomes Galactus and they have a conversation. Though the Surfer would avoid the death of thousands or more worlds, his hands would still be stained of blood, the Universe itself would face massive consequences and he will have used murder to justify his actions, making him a villain.

This is amazing storytelling in that it is not too often that we see The Surfer speak to his master with a clear mind, even more so when he knows the outcomes of his actions and has to choose between the future he knows or a potentially better future or far worse one. The conflict gives an already layered character even more layers and guilt given the action at the end of this book.

With the next issue being the last of this miniseries, I hope that the ripples of this story will continue to be felt throughout the continuing Guardians of the Galaxy and Absolute Carnage storylines. The Silver Surfer has been around for decades and is in great need of some change and if losing the Power Cosmic through the spread of black on his body is the way to do it, then I am all for it. High recommend.

#marvel comics #marvel #comics #moon knight #kang the conqueror #acts of evil #cullen bunn #ibrahim moustafa #matt horak #silver surfer black #silver surfer #galactus #ego the living planet #donny cates #tradd moore #dave stewart

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wheresmaldo865 · 6 years ago

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DabixReader Coraline Au

Well here it is! Finally! I had to watch the beginning of the movie about a billion times over to get the set up correct in what I wanted to put. Don’t worry! Art work will be coming soon! I think I’ll doodle some stuff tonight before bed. Feel free to send in anything specific you wanna see!

IMPORTANT BEFORE PROCEEDING ONWARD. FOR THIS FIC CHARACTERS MUST BE AT LEAST 18 YEARS OF AGE. THERE WILL BE NO KIND OF SEXUAL INTERACTIONS. BUT TO PLACE DABI WHERE HE IS WITH HIS SCARS HE IS ALREADY 20 YEARS OF AGE. CORALINE WAS AT LEAST ONLY 12 IN THE ORIGINAL FILMS. THATS NOT THE KIND OF STORY I WANT TO WRITE. IT WOULD ALSO OPEN THE FIC FOR OTHERS ADVENTURES. THANK YOU!

Now that the mini rant it over. I hope I did alright and again. Feel free to comment any criticisms or ideas. I’m open to all of them! Happy reading! And thank you for the already provided feedback!

~Maldo

Word Count: 1,978

Chapter 1: Strangers

The car jolted as it slowed to a rolling stop on the muddy drive way. (Y/N) body rocked forward waking her from much needed nap.

“We’re Heeeeeere!” Hizashi Yamada, Y/N father sung nearly at the top of his lungs, ricocheting the car windows to tremble under his loud and powerful quirk. The sleep quickly depleted from Y/N eyes as her instincts kicked in telling her to run. She quickly kicked opened her car door open sprinted as fast as her numb legs could. Several feet away from the vehicle, safe from any flying glass. Thankfully, the windows came back to a stand still and remained in tacked.

(Y/N) other father, Aziawa grumbled as he stepped out of the driver’s seat of the car. “You break the car windows again, you’re going to pay to get them fixed.” Aziawa warned, slowly wasting not time in making his way up to the house. The long bags under his eyes would tell anyone he just wanted to get the moving part over with and as fast as possible so he could go to sleep.

.Hizashi and (Y/N) looked at each other sheepishly smiling as they recalled the memory of him singing so loudly Aziawa had accidentally slammed into a truck… Neither one of them received any affection from him that night…

The three of them ushered themselves inside and began unloading what was in the car until the mover’s van arrived, almost a whole hour late. Just as Aziawa said it would be.

Y/N) sighed while rubbing the remaining sleep out of her tired eyes. She went out the back door of the house and sat on the porch watching the movers come in and out of the giant house. Bringing with them the mountains of boxes they had packed from their old home.

The whole scene was a saddening experience for (Y/N). She had to move away from her school, friends, and a town she had lived in her whole life. What was familiar to her. The moment Hizashi and Aziawa had told her of the arrangement, she had been slung into a cold pool of loneliness. Something she didn’t know how to deal with, let alone know how to talk to her parents about. She was a bit stubborn to think she was too old to have such feelings.

“Hey munchin!” Hizashi greeted excitedly, even though he had just taken a long road trip, his spirits were still high unlike Aziawa. Who she was sure wanted to crawl into bed and never wake again after today. Though his new teaching job may get in the way of his slumber...

“Hey, Dad.” Came (Y/N) response. She pushed away her negative thoughts for the time being and did her best to crack a smile. Hizashi beside her on the porch. Reaching over and ruffling her hair a bit. She playfully swatted his hands while smiling and laughing at his intentions. Once they gathered themselves again they spoke for a minute. About the things they would have to do and the plans they all had. The interaction made (Y/N) feel a little better. She sensed maybe Hizashi has suspected her struggling with something so new in her life.

Yet, there was still this nagging in the back of her head about the uncertainly. She thought it’s what was making her so nervous. But she would have to think about it later.

“Hey! I have an idea. I heard there was a well around here somewhere. Full all of all kinds of secrets! Why don’t you go scope it out?”

“For villains?” She responded. Her curiosity peeked by his words. The new light in her eyes caused Hizashi to grin wider.

“For villains!” He yelled, the house shaking every so slightly. He quickly covered his mouth while they both looked inside for any sign of Aziawa coming to scold them for being too loud. After a minute had passed Hizashi uncovered his mouth and whispered over to his daughter when the coast was clear. “Better keep it down before he mutes me for a day.”

(Y/N) nodded in agreement. Hizashi gave her a last pat on the head before he headed back inside and shut the door to their new home. She huffed lightly, then stood up and headed out into the large garden gate she has spotted while moving boxes. The site inside made her frown. Everything inside looked dead and had been dead for some time now.

Another low huff escaped her lips as she decided to move on instead of mopping over dead flowers.

(Y/N) eventually found a semi less muddy path leading out into the field near the house. The apple trees were a nice change of pace. They made the world seem less gray. She would have continued admiring it, if the fall of a rock directly in front of her hadn’t startled her senses.

She blinked and starred at it a moment before peering around for someone standing about. There was no one but the yellow grass and naked tree’s around her.

As many horror movies she had seen with her parents, she decided to remain quiet and cautious while she kept walking on the dirt road.

It wasn’t until she heard two hollow steps come from under her that the uneasiness left her mind. She looked down and saw a particular mud patch surrounded by mushrooms and other fungus.

She had to suddenly jump back by several feet when she heard a cat screech as high as it’s lungs could take it. A small dark green fuzzball pouncing into her visions. Her heart raced and pounded against her chest from the fright. Her eyes remained glued to the animal, confirming in her own head a beast hadn’t shown up. Though it seemed the harm had no intention of bringing her harm. Just his own amusement.

(Y/N) had to take several deeps breath before she came back to her senses.

“You scared me to death!” She screamed back at the green cat, watching as it laid itself out, almost as if it was getting ready to defend itself against her. Its big puffy hair bending along with the wind.

She took another deep breath while her eyes never left the cats presence. Its tail happily swayed back and forth, still amused at the situation.

“I don’t suppose you know where the well is? Do you?” She posed. The cat remained silent. His head bowed slightly, and his eyes made a slow-paced blink. She couldn’t help but think he was answering, saying it was under her. Helping confirm her previous speculations. (Y/N) smiled as she looked back down at her muddy feet.

She couldn’t look at it very long when a loud horn caused her to jump. Again! The second her feet landed back on the ground her body whirled around and starred point blank into a spot light. The air around her became unbearably hot and it raised many alarms inside (Y/N) head. She quickly crouched and picked up whatever stick or object next to her.

Right as a shadow loomed over her body, she took all the strength she had along with her quirk and swung as hard she could until she hit something intimidating a skull.

“Ow!” A stranger shouted as they hit the ground harder than (Y/N) had really intended to send them. But in her defense, they had attacked her first.

He took no time in straightening himself back up to a standing position. Even standing a few feet away (Y/N) could tell he was much taller then she. The teasing smile he wore on his face wracked a shiver down her entire body. She didn’t like the way he looked at her with half lidded eyes. Also, the unbearable heat was coming from him, him and his slightly blue radiating hands...

“Let me guess? A water witch? Or maybe a power quirk? Either way, girl can hit…”

(Y/N) brows furrowed into a displeased expression. The scars on his face were a bit difficult to look upon, but it hadn’t been the worst thing she had ever seen. For now, she could look past it until she need to question them further. His dark clothes and bright blue eyes raised another question in her mind…

She took the stick in her hand and threw it, aiming for his head again. However, she became blinded by bright sapphire flames and the stick was no more.

“Try again, girly.” He spoke calmly. Unphased by her actions toward him. She growled becoming slightly annoyed. It would be in her best interest not to try again.

“I don’t like being stalked by Psychos! Or their cats!” (Y/N) proclaimed, her voice echoing through the bare tree limbs. Her reaction gained a smirk from the opposing. He bent down and gently ran his long fingers through the cat’s dark green hair. His smile pulling on the skin around his eyes and mouth. (Y/N) had never seen a condition like it before. She could also see the dark purple tissue on his chest and palms.

“His not really my cat. Kinda ferine ya know? Though, sometimes I give him food. In return he brings me… little dead things.” He stated casually empathizing the use of ‘dead things.’ Not enough to make her run just yet... but the cat had been tailing her before...

“I’m Dabi.” He spoke when she didn’t responed. He stuck a hand out, his eyes edging her on for her to come closer. Daring her to come nearer. (Y/N) could hear her father Aziawa telling her to never shake a stranger’s hand. However, Hizashi had also always taught her to be polite.

She took the few steps to reach his hand and shake it. The contact against his skin made her want to retract her hand away from the dry and bumpy purple texture. She held out till the end. Immediately diving her hand into her pocket to rub against the soft fabric.

“My names (Y/N), (Y/N) Shouta.”

The sound of her last name tripped a mischievous glint in his eyes. Dabi’s brows raised slightly as if his interest had suddenly been peeked.

“Just move in hero? Where from?”

(Y/N) moved away from him again. The way he had asked the question raised another red flag and she decided it would be best to put the well in between them. Couldn’t be too careful around new neighbors...

She bent down and exclaimed it, so she wouldn’t physically show she was intimidated. Either way, it’s what she had come to look at to begin with.

Lifting the lid proved to be difficult. She could only lift it about a foot or so off the ground before she had to let go. Slamming it shut and sputtering mud all over her rain coat.

She heard Dabi hum, amused. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. He still wore the same pleased grin he had since first scaring her. He probably enjoyed watching her struggle. She didn’t want to answer herself to find out.

“Careful girly, they say it’s so deep, if you fell down it, you’d see a sky full of stars in the middle of the day.”

“Oh?” (Y/N) questioned, interested.

He simply nodded and stood up. Ignoring her question. Instead Dabi walked over to the hill where he could see the Pink Palace in full. She waited for him to say something more about his statement, but it seemed it was all he was going to say about the mysterious well.

“I’m surprised she let you move in, my mom, she owns the pink palace. Won’t rent to people with kids.”

(Y/N) scoffed at him. “I’m not a kid. I’m (18/19/20) ((Or older if that suits you)). And what do you mean by that?”

He chuckled and shrugged. Coming back to another act of silence. If all the neighbors were as strange as he was, well. (Y/N) may have a difficult time after all.

In their shared silence and just when she was deciding she would head home. She heard an echo in the trees. A woman calling for someone.

“Touya!”

She saw Dabi’s head flinch and his smile vanished from his face. He didn’t bother to say goodbye or anything for that matter. He was gone before she could think of something to say to him.

What a strange boy…

Before running home herself, (Y/N) wanted to see how deep the well really was. She knew Dabi could only be bluffing, but the idea of his words being true were exciting and could distract her for a moment longer. She scouted out a pebble and dropped it down the hole in the wood. She placed her ear up to it, listening carefully for anything. It wasn’t until a few seconds later she finally heard the distant splashing crawling its way back up the stone walls for her ears to hear.

(Y/N) shivered, unsettled by the sound.

Part 2 is here

Tag lists (Simply message me to be added)

@chims-kookies

#Dabi x reader #dabi is a todoroki #Dabi imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #Coraline Au

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fluffy-critter · 2 years ago

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#crosspost #busybee

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rkxsicheng · 7 years ago

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MGA4 | EP 4 | NEW

MGA4 Episode 4 | New Classics Team G | 장미와 가시 [ @rksxngyeol , @rksomi , @rkchungha , @rkssoojin ] Song: Bad Boy by Red Velvet [line distribution] Outfit/Hair/Make-up: [x]

Sicheng feels his confidence growing. He’s not given himself to delusions of grandeur by any means, but when his team places third out of nine, he begins to think himself competent enough to do well, at the very least, and that’s most certainly a step up from uncertainty.

His teammates had been strong competitors, of course, and he didn’t know what was coming next, but he hoped that if he poured himself into rehearsal, if he did his absolute best, he just might make it another round.

It’s only a matter of keeping up his streak.

When the episode airs, he watches eagerly. He can’t help but be happy about the fact that he’s at least featured a bit more, but finds himself cringing at how Yerim is portrayed. Sicheng knows that the girl is...difficult, she’s a good friend of his and he’s aware that she can be prickly even at the best of times, it’s kind of what he likes about her so much, her refusal to sugar coat that which is bullshit, but it still hurts a bit to see her made into some sort of villain.

She’d been kind of a brat, to be sure, but she hadn’t really been quite as bad as the show, which leaves out her softer moments, illustrates, and it claps on a light bulb in Sicheng’s brain.

Although he hadn’t exactly been neglected, he realises that perhaps he hadn’t given the show much to work with. So he promises to be a little less shy, a little less timid in the practice room this week. To push himself a little more to be friendly.

It’s a taller order than it seems, of course. He was excited to find out who his new teammates were, but notably less excited for the first day of working with them. He’s always nervous meeting new people, and their initial introductions are awkward because he can only manage shy smiles and deep bows and soft-spoken nice to meet yous, although he does make a deal with himself to initiate a conversation with every one of his new groupmates by the end of the first day, to break the ice that he might work easier with them over the subsequent week.

The leader is selected rather quickly, it’s Soojin, a cute, fairly unassuming girl, Sicheng thinks initially. The song selection takes a bit longer as they cycle through options, discussing their skillsets, crossing options off their list based on the group’s strengths and weaknesses until they decide on Bad Boy. A good choice, Sicheng thinks. It hasn’t got a rap part, because nobody in this group is a great rapper, but it still manages to exude a strong, dark energy that Sicheng thinks makes up for that. It also allows him to showcase a very different colour, versus what he presented to the judges last week, and he’s eager to do so.

Once the details are ironed out, they divide up lines, work through the beginning stages of learning the choreo, and during their first break of the day, Sicheng decides to try and challenge himself, to greet his teammates.He tries this with Sungyeol first, who is apparently also quite awkward. They exchange an awkward how are you, I’m fine thank you, and then sit in a near-painful silence for a moment before Sicheng giggles and apologises,

“Ah hyung, I’m sorry, I’m so shy...”

Sicheng is beet red, but Sungyeol is very kind about it.

Later, he tries the same thing on Somi, a rascally thing with an enormous amount of very cherubic energy, asking her how she’s doing over lunch, and she knocks him far off his game, telling him about how pretty and shiny he is, and he’s reduced once more to a redfaced, giggly mess.

It’s here that he largely gives up on this quest, although he does find that as the day wears on, it happens naturally, that the ice is broken. Chungha, who is initially intimidating, is actually quite cool, and Soojin, who he first thought was cute based solely on her appearance, proves a stern leader, running them like he imagines an actual coach might, although she doesn’t go as far as to make practice miserable, by any means, simply...very well-organised.

She in particular, helps Sicheng quite a lot. She gives him lines that stretch the limits of his vocal ability, but also takes the time to sit him down, seeming to recognise that he’s a young singer, without much experience, and give him a few short, impromptu vocal lessons, a dozen or so very important pointers. How to control your breathing for better control while dancing, for one, which Sicheng grasps quite easily; he’s danced much more intense dances his entire life and is thusly in quite good shape. She gives him advice on oral posture, as well, and teaches him how to project for more volume.

On the second day, the two of them sit crosslegged in one corner of the room and she runs through a vocal exercise with him, wherein she sings a note, and he matches it in pitch and volume as best he can. It starts out seriously, but eventually dissolves into the two of them getting louder and sillier, culminating with Soojin doing her best impersonation of an opera diva and Sicheng attempting to follow suit only for his voice to immediately crack into a low wail, which sets the two of them off into a fit of laughter.

Soojin runs a tight ship, certainly, but she’s no cruel captain. There’s room to enjoy practice a bit, too, sometimes even a lot.

He warms to everyone in his group, over the course of the week. Chungha and Soojin at one point reassure him when he expresses worry about the sultrier vibe of the song that it’s less about being “sexy” and more about rocking it in a confident way, and that he’s doing well and really just needs to relax a bit.

Sicheng can’t help but follow their lead, trying to study the ease with which especially Chungha performs, putting on an attitude that suits the track and the dance. It’s impressive.

He’s always been one who appreciates an opportunity to learn, and he’s sure to express his gratitude every time someone takes the time to help him where and when he needs, doing his best to return the favour where he can, helping the others with their vocals a bit, using what Soojin’s taught him, suggesting ways of bettering the impact of their dance. He gives Soojin a few pointers when it comes to performing when she expresses a bit of anxiety over being overshadowed.

They carefully select their costumes, and even do a fun little runway, cheering for one another as they one by one do their little dance on the catwalk and strut their stuff. Sicheng can’t help but believe that he looks good, and it’s a much-needed boost of confidence, even as he blushes so profusely that his face pulses with each heartbeat.

Sungyeol brings his daughter, an adorable little thing. Sicheng doesn’t know why, but he’s shocked to learn that he’s a father. He seems so young. Sicheng loves children, though, and interacts well with them, and so whenever he gets a chance that day, he crouches down to her level to ask her how she’s doing and coo at her just a little bit, even playfully sneaking her the biscuit he’d brought for himself as a treat with lunch.

On the final day of practice he is sure to take a minute to speak to his group.

“I just...would like to thank you for working so hard with me this week, and for teaching me things. Let’s do well together!” and although his Korean is slightly accented, and perhaps a little childish, he does his best, although he still blushes at the sentiment. It’s a little corny, is all, but he still means it.

By the time Friday rolls around, he’s surprisingly confident in his part. Not entirely lacking in nervousness, by any means, but confident that him and his group are capable of giving a worthy performance. They were awfully thorough, especially compared to his last group, who were much more laidback, even laissez-faire about certain things, whereas with Soojin’s guidance, they’d left no stone unturned in their quest to improve this performance. They’d gone about every decision with a discussion, with logic, allocating lines based on skill, thinking about who should be in the centre and when, what to wear, how best to deliver Bad Boy to their audience in every way. Sicheng hoped it had been enough.

It’s incredible how fast this week had passed, how it seemed like one second he’s stepping into the KT practice room for the first time, and the next, he’s on stage, the lights dimmed as they stand in their starting formation, and then they raise, and the track begins and they begin to move, and sing, and perform.

Sicheng has a few key moments in the centre of the performance, and he does his best not to waste a second of it, finding his cameras, painting on an intense expression, half-envisioning how he might look to a fan on the other end of it, and adjusting accordingly. He’s always been photogenic, at least, having good camera sense as a result of being sat for more photoshoots with his dance company back home than he can count. Tilt your head back a bit, stick your chin out, tense your forehead. Even when he’s not in the centre, he’s flanking the person who is for much of the performance, and is thusly sure to keep the intensity up even when the focus shouldn’t necessarily be on him.

He keeps the pointers Soojin gave him in mind every time he sings, as well, and is surprised with how much a few technical improvements can go to really making one a better vocalist, and when the performance winds down, and they’re in their ending poses, he finds himself at peace with what they’ve achieved.

As they make their way backstage he bows in greeting to the next group waiting, giving them a friendly hwaiting. He’s happy, and hopeful.

#rkmga4 #rkmga4new

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violin-and-schoolwork · 7 years ago

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models (joshua x reader)

summary: OKAY @hearteu33 YOU FUCK WITH THE GAY, YOU GET ATTACKED BY THE GAY. I WARNED YOU.

genre: fluff (i was nice)

word count: 1193

disclaimer(s): i don’t own seventeen or you! inspired by the saem shoot they did!

“Is everything alright?”

The gentle voice roused you from your thoughts. You started, fumbling with the black camera in front of you, trying your best not to show how flustered you were.

“I-I’m fine! I’m sorry about that,” you squeaked out, focusing back on the photoshoot in front of you. The model laughed, his eyes sparkling like the camera flashes.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I understand, you’re just immersed in trying to take the best pictures,” they replied. He wasn’t entirely correct. With a pretty face like that, combined with a willowy figure, and topped off with the magic of the makeup artists and stylists, it was impossible for you to not stare at him.

“U-Um, Mr. Hong? Is it alright if you move your arms a little more to the left?” You asked, checking the lighting from the camera lenses.

“Just Joshua’s fine!” He called back, doing as you asked, laughing. You hoped that the camera would conceal your blushing cheeks as you snapped away, hoping to catch the delight in his face. He truly was model material. Beautiful, but not artificial like the photoshopped images of magazines; elegant, but not arrogant like the bloated models you’ve previously worked with.

“Okay! The sweater shoots are good! Let’s take a quick break and start preparing for the jeans shoot!” you called out, clapping your hands and flashing Joshua a quick thumbs-up, grinning at him to show that he could relax from whatever strange position he was forced to be in.

“Thanks for being so cooperative,” you murmured, when he passed by, “I appreciate how patient you are, especially when you’re placed under all that pressure and spotlight.”

He beamed, scratching the back of his head bashfully, “Oh, no, thank you! Your smooth and clear directing and photo shooting makes it so easy for me! And you always make sure I’m well cared for, so it should really be me thanking you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Sure, your crush on the model was undeniable, but his peaceful mannerisms couldn’t help but grow on you. There was a reason as to why you favored working with him over any other model.

“You flatter me, Mr. Hong,” you replied, giggling lightly, “I’m only doing what I should as a director and photographer.”

“Please, call me Joshua,” the brunette insisted, clasping your hands, “You truly are far too sweet. I’ll be in the dressing rooms if you need me for anything.”

“Of course, Mr. Ho- Joshua,” you let out, trying to focus on his words and not the overwhelming but pleasant feelings of his smooth, sculpted hands on yours. The moment he was out of your view, you exhaled deeply, shaking your head lightly. It would be hard to review the photographs if he was going to float around in your thoughts like that.

You loved and hated reviewing photos. It certainly did grant you the freedom to ogle over his pictures without being deemed as a creep but it was far too difficult for you to choose the best ones, especially when he looked so stunning in all of them.

Clicking through them in your camera, you smiled sheepishly at a particular photograph of him in a salmon colored sweater, his eyes gazing in the distance, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. His cheeks were dusted the slightest shade of the most delicate pink and he was posed as if he was relaxing. He was an angel. Who could dare say that he wasn’t, especially when he could make any other model go home crying with a single photo?

Hours passed like seconds working with him. His amiable way of working, patiently agreeing and carefully raising any concerns he had was a refreshing change from the snappy models that demanded you tend to them as if you weren’t the director, overseeing all of this.

You were too immersed in clicking through the photos to notice Joshua’s stylist, a strange but good natured man by the name of Vernon, approaching behind.

“Hey, can you help me out? I have to pick the jeans for the next shoot but I don’t know how to narrow the selection down further,” he remarked, one hand on his hips and the other jerking back to gesture at the direction of the dressing rooms.

“H-Huh? Why me? I’m sure the other stylists would have better suggestions,” you replied, setting the camera aside. Vernon shook his head, tossing his curly cappuccino shaded locks off of his forehead.

“Nah, they’re too busy. Besides, you would know what looks best with the lighting and angles and cameras we’re given,” he said, grabbing your hand, “And Joshua specifically asked for you too. So you might as well.”

You let yourself get dragged off by Vernon, trying your best not to look like a flushing mess of a director when he pushed you into the rooms.

“Ah! I’m sorry about bothering you when you’re so busy,” the model apologized, “I just wanted to hear what you had to say with your expertise.”

“It’s completely fine!” You managed out, as he sauntered over to the selection, motioning for you to come over. Vernon just nodded proudly, before slipping off to the back, to do who-knows-what, leaving the two of you.

“I think this one will go well,” you commented, your fingertips tracing the rough material, “I think the color will really show the vibrancy the designer talked about with the lights we have.”

Joshua nodded, adding his own thoughts here and then as you two narrowed the list, heading out to finish another shoot.

“Mr. H- Joshua, is it alright if you tilt your head just a little bit? Yeah, that’s perfect!” You yelled out, snapping away. He seemed content with your commands, posing like the ethereal work of art he was for you to capture.

His movements and expressions were so natural that you almost would have thought that all of this weren’t set up if you weren’t there to oversee it all. His smiles, his crouches, his glances, and his way of carrying his poses out were so fluid and you couldn’t help but find yourself gawking at him through the cameras yet again a handful of times.

“And good work! We’re done a little early today! You’re all free to go home!” You announced to the workers. You made sure everyone packed up, helping move equipment and assisting with placement of certain things, seeing everyone else leave before you before turning back to your own matters.

“Hm? Joshua, what are you still doing here?” You asked, holding your bag close as you finally stepped out of the photoshoot room. He started, glancing up from his hands, his eyes wide like gorgeous moons when you noticed him.

“Oh! Er- I was just going to ask if you wanted to grab dinner with me. Since we both haven’t eaten and I thought that you would be hungry after working so hard and, uh, yeah,” he stammered, looking away for a moment before recollecting himself and gazing into your eyes. His beauty and his kindness rolled over you in ocean waves again.

“I’d love to!”

#seventeen #seventeen fanfiction #joshua #joshua fanfiction #OWO GET FUCKED JESS

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ohstardust · 7 years ago

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Let's Be Alone Together

REQUEST: from @deathbylowden A/N: Mary & I were having a little chat about our boy during a photoshoot and him wearing a suit knowing he was turning the photographer on. Well here ya go babe, hope it’s half decent for you. Title: Alone Together by Fall Out Boy My Jack playlist can be found on Spotify (x)

Y/N rued the day she agreed to a photoshoot with one of her old friends. She really ought to have politely declined the opportunity with GQ, no matter how good the exposure would be and how great it would appear on her résumé. Her résumé really wasn’t worth this, she contemplated as soon as Jack had stepped into the room, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit jacket. Y/N made a mental note to have the stylist and artistic director sacked from the publication for allowing Jack to be stood before her in an Armani suit. It was highly unfair for them to ruin her day this way. Despite trying to remain professional for the shoot, she’d been allowed enough creative freedom to be able to direct him in a friendlier manner. Simply put, she was allowed to use her friendship with him to her advantage, and she fully intended to tease him mercilessly to gain the right shots.

“You look like a complete muppet, stop pulling that face,” she grumbled, trying to force him to relax more. He’d done his fair share of photoshoots throughout his career, and even a few had been shot by Y/N, but with an editorial shoot for GQ, it felt a little more high profile and he couldn’t quite shake the let’s be super serious look. “Aren’t you supposed to be directing me? You’re a bit shit.” His eyes narrowed at her teasing tone and he smirked. Click. Y/N scowled and rolled her eyes, wiping a clammy hand on her jeans, “Shut it Lowden, can’t help it I’ve been lumbered with a dud model.” “You’re horrible, I should file a complaint about the treatment I’m receiving.” She’d known him too long to know he was deflecting, trying to disguise his nervousness in front of the camera and all involved in the shoot. It was still daunting. “I’ll tell them you were too high demand.” Jack grinned and cocked his to the side, clicking his tongue, “Sod off.” Y/N stood from her crouched position on the floor and paced over to him to try and position him more accurately how she imagined him to be. She lowered her voice to allow only him to hear here, trying to ease him, “Would it be easier with less people around do you think? If it was just us?” She saw a flash of nervousness illuminate his face before he softly smiled and nodded, “Yeah, think they’ll allow it?” “I’ll make them, I think they trust me to get the job done.” His face dropped and he broke out into a smile, his palms buried into his trousers pockets and his head was bowed. It created quite the sight on camera and Y/N was thrilled she’d captured such a natural look from him. It embodied Jack’s personality.

“Like this, yeah?” the first few buttons had been undone on his shirt and his tie was hanging loosely beneath his collar. The relaxed look suited him to no end and she could visibly see how comfortable he had become. “Can you maybe try sitting on the floor? Lean your back against the door,” as she began her direction she took on the position herself, placing herself on the wooden floor and resting her back against the ornate French doors of the lavish location hired for the shoot. Her legs spread out before her, one knee bent with her foot against the ground. Y/N tilted her head to face the outside, the sunlight pouring in and washing over her. Jack wanted to grab her camera for himself the moment she closed her eyes. “Just like that.” He meekly cleared his throat and agreed as she turned to face him with a grin. She pulled herself up off the floor and shed her cotton checked shirt as Jack resumed the same position as she had been in. as she turned back to face him, her breath caught in her throat. He looked far more casual than she had, his form was slouched further down the door and his left hand was slung along his thigh dangerously close to his crotch. Y/N wet her lips as she raised her camera to her face and caught the very evident smirk on Jack’s face as he rubbed his palm over his thigh. “Sit still.” He simply hummed in response and tilted his head as she had done earlier. The sunlight cast a beautiful glow over his skin, illuminating his face and highlighting the reddy-blonde of his hair. She worked the camera overtime for a good few minutes with minimal instruction to the man before her. He’d become a natural in a matter of a few shots. As she asked him to switch position, to lean a different way and use a prop, he questioned a styling element, “do you think I should get rid of the tie? Loosen a few more buttons.” His grin made her want to slap him so hard just to see her handprint etched into his skin, he was teasing her. “Remove the jacket but nothing more.” He quickly stood and removed the outer garment as she scanned through some of the images on her laptop, however when she glanced back up, she found him with his tie fully undonw and a few more open buttons. She let out a strangled breath and began envisioning strangling Jack himself, “You’re trouble you are, Lowden.” Jack laughed, his head tilting backwards and his body shook, “Am I being difficult?” “You know you are,” Y/N scowled, throwing a balled up spare tie at him. “You look like you could do with a break love.” “I’ll break your neck if you’re not careful.” Jack responded by lying across the floor with his arms folded beneath his head. She figured it was wise to not let the photo opportunity go amiss.

Shortly after, Jack had pulled her to the floor beside him so she could use this pose to her advantage for some close-up shots, to capture his expression and some detail. She forgot to note that he too knew her very well, knew her tells, what made her tick, and what turned her on. Perhaps he ought not to have known the latter, but enough teasing had provided him with some pointers. And he’d definitely succeeded in gaining a reaction from her. That’s definitely how she ended up hovering over his flat form. “All I’m saying is, if you had your way I’d probably be draped across a car, in the desert wearing a pair of leather chaps.” “Jack, you’re not Chris Pine,” she snorted, humoured by that particular photoshoot she’d drunkenly showed Jack one night, “pity.” “You’re the worst.” Her fists were knotted in the ends of his tie and she tugged lightly, her mouth a mere inch from his, he could almost taste her, “I’d take that back if I were you.” “Give me a reason to.” She pressed her body flush against his and kissed him, years of attraction thrown into one heated kiss. There was no holding back with their passion, yet it was still careful, the thought that anyone could walk in at any given moment. If anything, it added to the excitement and the thrill. Jack’s dishevelled state, crumpled shirt, tousled hair, all provided a gorgeous photo aesthetic that could advance his interview into that morning after look. Only Y/N would be the only one seeing the real morning after.

#jack lowden #jack lowden writing #jack lowden fic #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden x reader #Dunkirk (2017)#dunkirk imagines #Dunkirk fic #dunkirk cast #dunkirk imagine

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dontshootmespence · 7 years ago

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Washington’s Payoff

A/N: This is a thing that’s been floating around my head for a while. The reader and Emily take pole dancing classes together and the team doesn’t know. Emily is good, but the reader is skilled af. A case comes up where they need someone to go undercover at a strip club and Emily lets it slip that the reader is great. The reader is not thrilled with this arrangement. The song is Oops, Oh My by Tweet. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @hogwarts-konoha

----

“While we’re waiting for Y/N, the Organized Crime Unit has asked if we have anyone that might be able to go undercover,” Hotch said as everyone gathered in the room.

JJ sat down at the table next to Emily, waiting for Y/N to bring back the coffees that she’d offered to go pick up for everyone. “What kind of undercover work? Long term? One-time?” JJ asked.

Hotch looked out of the room to see if Y/N had made it back yet. She hadn’t so he decided to continue. “Preferably, they are looking for a female agent who can pose as a stripper at a club that Antonio D’Amica tends to frequent. They need him there and with evidence that he is conducting a ‘meeting’ so he can take him in for questioning, but none of Agent Bracco’s people can get anywhere near him because they’ve been trying to get him off the streets for years. D’Amica knows all of Bracco’s people. He figured he’d ask the BAU, because who better to send in other than one of their own, than someone who studies behavior.”

“I can’t pole dance,” JJ said, waving her hands in front of her face with increasing speed as Hotch looked between her and Emily. “No way. Ask Emily, she and Y/N take pole dancing classes for fun.”

Emily’s head snapped toward her friend. “Jennifer. Jareau. I am going to kill you.” She looked back at the rest of the team. “I’m okay at it, but I’m not great, and I don’t think D’Amica is going to be looking for a 40-year-old stripper. Y/N however is young, equally as beautiful as myself and really amazing on the pole.”

Spencer blushed at Emily’s words. Morgan just smirked. Neither of the younger male agents would admit to having some less-than-innocent thoughts about their newest female co-worker, and their female co-workers in general.

“Well, then I’ll see if she’ll go undercover for Bracco,” Hotch said. Just then, Y/N walked into the room.

“See if who will go undercover for Bracco?” you asked as you walked into the room, coffees teetering on top of each other.

Emily and JJ immediately looked away considering they’d thrown you under the proverbial bus. Only then did Hotch realize you might take a little convincing. “Agent Bracco needs someone to go undercover once, maybe twice in order to get enough probable cause to bring Antonio D’Amica in for questioning. Brace believes the best bet is to have a female agent go undercover as a dancer at one of the clubs he frequents.”

The only reason that Emily and JJ would be looking away is if ‘dancing’ meant stripping and they were the ones that let the entire fucking team know what you liked to indulge in during your spare time. “You mean dancing as in stripping? You want me to go undercover as a stripper? You do realize that’s an oxymoron? Is there anyone else who can do it?”

Hotch and Rossi shook their heads at the same time. “Bracco can’t get any of his people near D’Amica because-”

“Because they can all be recognized. And they need this?” Again, your boss nodded his head. “Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “Why not Emily? She takes the classes too!” Angrily, you snapped your head in Emily’s direction. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus! The fact that I enjoy taking strip classes in my spare time is not something I really wanted to parade around the Bureau!”

“It wasn’t me! JJ said it!”

JJ’s mouth dropped open and she started stammering about how she didn’t mean for it to come out. “I’m sorry,” she said with a strained, half smile.

You wiped the anger from your face and turned back toward Hotch, trying to remain professional. “Tell Bracco I’ll do it, but if his team can’t be there as backup then that means you all have to, yes?” The idea of your co-workers seeing you strip was humiliating. D’Amica better be going down for the rest of his goddamn life if you were doing this.

Rossi nodded. “Yes, we would.”

“Fine. When?”

“Tomorrow night,” Hotch said, handing you the number to the club. “You’ll be wearing a device in your inner ear that can’t be seen and the club owner is already aware of the situation, so just give him a call and...”

“And tell him what song I’m going to use,” you said with your eyes closed. This was so humiliating. This was meant to be something you had for yourself and now all of your co-workers were going to see it up close and personal. “I’m warning you all right now,” you started angrily, not caring that you was speaking to agents who were all seniors to you, “if I hear any remarks about anything in regards to this at all, I will kill you slowly and painfully. Are we clear?”

No one wanted to bring on your wrath and quickly agreed.

----

The next night, you got ready in the back while the rest of the team was situated outside. You were making idle chat with the other dancers backstage when you heard Spencer in your ear. “I believe D’Amica is here with a couple of associates. He’s toward the front, but none of us can be sure it’s him from the angles we’re in.”

Because you were talking with the girls, you slipped in a couple of words that could’ve been passed as an answer to Spencer and the rest of the team. Doing this in the comfort of a class had been one thing; you were comfortable and it was only you and a bunch of other women, but doing this in front of people you didn’t know and weren’t sleeping with was something else entirely. The bile was churning in the pit of your stomach. You were going to have to channel an amazing amount of confidence for this dance because otherwise you’d look out of place. This club in particular was known for having skilled, high-end dancers. You were in so over her head and you were seriously pissed off.

After a couple of other girls took their first turns on stage, you heard the announcer say your stage name, which you’d come up with by combining your favorite animal with the street you grew up on - Kitty Washington. “Please welcome, Miss Kitty Washington to the stage!”

With a deep breath, you changed your demeanor, putting on your best bedroom eyes as you walked out onto the stage in your already skimpy outfit that was about to get even more skimpy. You were wearing black suede boots, a pleated black skirt and a tight red tank top. Some of the girls went full on stripping, others did not; you were definitely in the not area. You’d be going down to the bra and panties and no further, especially not with your teammates and friends nearby. No fucking way.

For your song, you’d picked Oops, Oh My by Tweet - a song you’d heard as a kid that your mother never knew you listened to...which was probably a good thing.

I'll tell ya what I did last night I came home, say around a quarter to three Still so high, hypnotized In a trance, from his body So buttery brown and tantalizing You would have thought I needed help With the feeling that I felt So shook I had to catch my breath

Leaning gently up against the pole, you began to sway your hips back and forth, slowly but surely gliding down the pole until you were crouched down and could coyly open your legs. As you came back up, you rolled your hips around, spinning so you could get a decent look of the area. To your right were D’Amica and his friends. He was less than appealing, but you started giving him eyes. If you could get him to bring out some money, you could give him a little dance and get closer to him, maybe here something that would clinch the case for Agent Bracco.

Once you settled on a battle plan, you gathered your feet at the bottom of the pole and started walking around it, allowing your hand to glide over the cool metal. Hooking your legs around, you floated around a few times before making eyes at D’Amica again and slowly lifting your shirt above your head, throwing it backward onto the stage.

Oops! There goes my shirt up over my head, oh my Oops! There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet, oh my Oh! Some kind of touch caressing my legs, oh my Oh! I'm turnin' red who could this be

D’Amica gave you the crook of his finger and beckoned you over; it was almost too easy. Gracefully, you got down off the stage, teasing him by giving him a peek of the panties you were wearing. This was empowering in a way, but you’d much rather be doing this for a boyfriend or girlfriend. When you approached him, you turned around and place your hands on his knees, once again swaying your hips and luring him into a trance.

As you suspected, one of his cohorts mentioned something about a problem being “taken care of.” You kept him distracted by hooking your thumbs into your skirt and pushing it down your legs, deftly kicking it back onto the stage.

“Don’t worry, man. No trail. It’s taken care of.” Without even thinking, he pulled out a $100 bill and stuffed into the black string holding the thin red material that covered you.

With a wink, you made your way back up onto the stage, money of varying denominations guiding your path until you finished out the song with some of the more difficult moves you’d learned in class, including a dance called olympic style - a apt name considering the strength it required. It called for you to use nearly every muscle in your body to lift it, using your arms, flip so that you were upside down and then move your legs outward and then toward the pole, all while spinning.

Oops! There goes my shirt up over my head, oh my Oops! There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet, oh my Oh! Some kind of touch caressing my legs, oh my Oh! I'm turnin' red who could this be

You ended by clenching your legs around the pole and hanging upside down, which brought a round of hoots and hollers your way. Picking up your clothes, you passed by D’Amica one more time and gave him a final wink before heading backstage again. Thirty minutes later, after collecting the money you’d earned during that dance, which you intended to keep, you met your team back at the office, which was 30 minutes from the club you’d danced in. “Not a word,” you muttered the second you walked into the conference room. “Did Bracco get what he needed?” Hotch nodded, and you heaved a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t all for nothing. “You all owe me. Dinner and drinks? Right now? I drink as much as I want and you pay?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hotch chuckled. Emily and JJ just looked impressed. Hotch and Rossi kept blank faces. And Morgan looked flabbergasted, while Spencer looked like he wanted to drool. That was actually kind of funny.

“With all that money you earned shouldn’t you be treating us?” he asked jokingly.

You raised your eyebrows at him, pulling out the money you’d earned. It was definitely a high-end club. “How much did you make?” Emily asked in awe.

“$820 dollars,” you laughed. That’s what happened when you went to high-end clubs in DC apparently. You came across crime bosses, and politicians and other government officials with too much money. “If this whole thing doesn’t work out for me, I think I’ve found my calling, and as for dinner, fuck that. If I had to do that while everyone else watched when these classes were supposed to be our little secret,” you said, pointing between you and Emily, “I’m investing in a pair of Louboutins that I’ve wanted forever. You bitches owe me.”

As you walked out of the room to head to the elevator, Spencer continued to eye you in awe, whispering to Morgan. “What the hell are Louboutins?

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #dontshootmespence #washington's payoff

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chirrutimwe-rogueone-blog · 7 years ago

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Interview: Donnie Yen

This interview is a real treasure!!!

Acting isn’t a form of putting a mask on. When you’re done with a role, how do you usually get out of it? Is there a specific method?

Actually, that’s a very good question. I actually have a lot of discussion [about this] with my colleagues in Hong Kong, like Anthony Wong– I don’t know if you know his work. I focused a lot on crafting my acting in the last six years, and I go around trying to find different perspectives from everyone, including somebody like Anthony, well-regarded actors in Hong Kong. They tell me sometimes when you’re acting– You know, there are a lot of bits to acting, right? Where you have to be in the character, you can’t get out of the character. To [Anthony], and I agree with him, you don’t really have to be stuck in the character. At the end of the day you’re acting. If you’re playing a killer, you’re really not going to pick up a knife and just kill somebody. For me, it’s just having that control, knowing that this is my job. I want to focus into the character. Once [snaps] the cameras are off, I try to become myself again.

And how do you do that?

It’s just years of practice, right. Like, I’ll give you an example. When I did Painted Skin, I was prepping. I had all these films lined up. When I was doing Painted Skin, I was ready to go on to do Ip Man. Playing Ip Man was a tremendous amount of pressure on me, as you probably guess, right? So I was prepping in the middle of my film. So what I do is I try to be in that character for that particular film for the first half of the shoot, and then knowing that after the film I have to jump right into another character, I will get into that character on the second part of the previous film. So I remember there were a couple incidents where I was on the set of Painted Skin and I was getting into my wing chun practice in my Painted Skin outfit, right?

[laughs]

And the director caught me! We had a shot over a hill, a shot of me walking away from a hilltop or something, alone. And he spotted me with this camera on the monitor, and when I came back to him he was asking me, “What are you doing?” Well, I gotta do another film. [laughs]

[laughs]

You know, I can’t do this film forever, so I’m prepping for my next film. That’s how I usually do it, you know. I kind of pace myself. And speaking of pacing yourself, when you play different characters… Yip Man the character is very skinny, so I have to be on a constant “not-eating” diet.

[laughs] Right, right.

Really skinny. I probably ate a meal a day – no carbs – while Sammo Hung is cooking for everyone, you know?

[laughs]

Basically I’d sit in a corner.

While everybody else was eating?

Yeah, you know, just kind of not letting the scent of good food come this way, and just try to focus – this is the job, you got to do this [kind of thing]. And then for example, doing The Lost Bladesman, I was constantly eating. I’m not really a heavy/stacked guy but to play that role I wanted to be as heavy as possible. Constantly trying to adapt to what are the character’s requirements. It sounds really abnormal and difficult for someone not in the industry, but I’ve been doing it for many years; my mind tells my body how to turn into that role.

You’re known to experiment a lot in your movies with your direction and action choreography, like Legend of the Wolf and Ballistic Kiss. You’re also the first to integrate MMA into fighting scenes with SPL and Flash Point. For Wu Xia, what was your approach?

Back to the basics. Back to the Shaw Brothers. You know, when I action direct, especially in the last six years, I pay a lot of attention to the acting. I’ve been doing these action films for what, 30 years, right? And I find that to truly elevate the level of action movies, the level of action actors, at the end of the day you still have to be a great actor. It’s a proven fact, right, because there are a lot of great martial artists out there, a lot of great fighters, but that doesn’t mean that if you put them in a film, the film can work, or that they can have that kind of magic within themselves and for the audience.

So I said to myself, “Where do I go from there,” you know, six years ago. All martial arts actors talk about bettering their acting, but once they start getting to the project, they go back to staying true to the martial arts. So you basically get all the martial arts that you learned and stay true to the acting. [Editor’s note: Part of the recording was fuzzy/muffled, so parts of the last two sentences are reconstructed from memory and context.]

So you kept martial arts choreography back to basics–

Well, you know, the key is whatever character you’re playing, you link them to a particular martial arts style. Like I’ll be playing a cop, an undercover cop, I wouldn’t be posing in the middle of stopping a crime, right? [laughs]

[laughs]

I would be more hands-on combat, realistic. They all connect together, right? But if I’ll be doing a period film, then the limit is a little bit more expanded, like in Crouching Tiger[, Hidden Dragon]. So basically the farther away from modern days, I think the physical possibilities are a lot greater. Like if I do Hero – Hero was 2,000 years ago – you can fly and you can’t really challenge that. You understand what I’m saying?

Yeah, yeah.

So what I did when we shot Wu Xia, I said, “What am I going to do? I cannot do MMA, it wouldn’t look like, so what should I do?” Let me go back to the basics because, number one, again, stay true to the character. I believe that character would be doing something of that genre, traditional, kung-fu, Shaw Brothers. At the same time, the audiences haven’t seen that for a while. It’s been a while, you know, I wanted to bring that, but with a couple of tricks here and there, maybe a little bit of– one or two shots of CGI, like dissecting the body. I was inspired by watching Discovery Channel.

[laughs]

Really, I was inspired. [Director] Peter Chan asked me, “How are we going to shoot this stuff?” And I said, “You know, actually, let’s try this.” So that’s how we did it.

Is there anything you’d want to experiment with? For example, I know that you’ve done mocap before for [the game] Onimusha [3], are there any ideas that you want to try in your future films?

I want to try anything, really. Of course, as a filmmaker, you constantly have to reinvent yourself. Always throwing things back and saying, “Okay, you did this pretty good in this movie, but it doesn’t mean that you’re going to continue to do good in your next movie.” So you always have to be on your toes, you know. You have to be on top of the game and really try to stay grounded and really hear the audience, the majority of which is the younger generation. A younger audience will tell you what’s going on, you know? I communicate a lot with my kids because children are the most direct. You know, they get things from TV, and they tell me. I don’t want to be outdated because at the end of the day you’re still making a movie. A movie is for entertainment, and entertainment evolves from a lot of pop culture – pop culture influences.

But as an actor, again, the past years six, I’ll continue to craft– I’ll set a good example of what someone who started off as a martial arts actor can become. Again, at the end of the day, martial arts should be one of my advantages, packaging, but you are just an actor like any other actor. So last two years I’ve tried comedy. I just finished a romantic love movie with no action at all, you know. I will probably try more comedy – comedy-action, or more comedy less action, or more action a little comedy; 3D movies, CGI. I want to shoot a black and white movie. Actually, when I shot Legend of the Fist, I insisted on trying to have the picture in black and white. I really wanted that whole look, right? But I never got my way. [laughs]

[laughs]

I told [screenwriter] Gordon Chan and director Andrew Lau. We had daily meetings, discussion of how the film’s going to look like. In the beginning, it was more of just a remake of Fist of Fury. But then Gordon Chan came in and said he wanted to do something fresh. But then Andrew Lau said, “For marketing, you’ve got to do this.” So we always have these big debates about how the film’s going to turn out, so we kind of combined the two elements, which I thought at the end really didn’t work as well as if we focused on just one element. Instead of two elements, you know. Just too many things going on in one film.

But in the beginning with Gordon Chan– Actually, no Andrew Lau and myself, we wanted to just have a remake of Fist of Fury and I wanted it black and white like Schindler’s List. You know, let’s make a classic, heavy-drama, Fist of Fury in black and white, but then Gordon came in and he wanted [something else]… But maybe in the future.

Do you see a point where you give up action – you were talking about comedies and stuff – and say doing drama?

I wouldn’t call it giving up. I would do non-action for just the sake of having the opportunity. I mean, not many action actors are being offered to play in non-action movies.

But just like watching you in Bodyguards and Assassins and Wu Xia…

Right.

The parts I remember are your scenes, you know, with your kids, not the fighting. One of the biggest parts in Bodyguards and Assassins is you breaking everybody’s heart trying to do the right thing.

Well, maybe what I did in the last six years was working. [laughs]

[laughs] It’s fantastic!

Thank you.

So I was wondering if you [had thoughts about purely dramatic roles]?

You know, I would try, but at the end of the day, I don’t forget the business model of making a movie. At the end of the day, you’re talking about reaching out to as many people in the audience as possible. People come to see a Donnie Yen film, they want to see action. You know, I understand that, I accept it, I respect it. So, if I’m being offered to play a non-action movie, yes, I’d take the opportunity. Why not? I just finished a romantic movie, right? I get paid, I don’t sweat. [laughs]

[laughs]

It was a good experience for me, right, but I will never forget my roots and will continue to make action movies.

You mentioned shooting in 3D. I was wondering if you thought about how your action direction would be affected by 3D.

You know, I shot Monkey King – I finished Monkey King. We shot in 3D. There are a lot of restrictions shooting action, or movies themselves, in 3D because the camera is so humongous. Certain angles you can’t really– Because in action you want to have many possibilities with the angles, right? But with 3D, for example, you can’t place the camera flat on the ground, so you can’t shoot a person [from a low angle]. So if I want to shoot a low angle of a person, I have to set up a platform for the actor to stand on. So Chow Yun-Fat would jut be standing on top of a platform if I’m going to get a shot like this. Something like that. And the cameras are very heavy, so if you want to do a dead stop or fast cuts like The Bourne Identity [laughs], you know, kinda wild, it’s very difficult.

[laughs]

But you have to understand what you’re working with. I learned a lot doing Monkey King. We had a wonderful team. We hired 30 people from the Avatar team, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Really experienced experts coming [to the production], and we did that together. I learned a lot and yes, I certainly will explore doing 3D martial arts and kung-fu movies. We’re talking about Ip Man 3… D!

[laughs]

They’re talking about it, but we’re in the stage of finding out what it needs, you know? Budget, etc. Wilson Yip, our director, is exploring that possibility.

What is the most difficult role that you’ve ever tackled?

I’d break it down to two. One, obviously, is the Monkey King because, one, the nature [of the role]. It’s tough to put on that monkey make-up and outfit. You’re talking about four hours a day to put the make-up on, another hour of taking the make-up off. I remember the first day of putting the make-up on, I said to myself, “How am I going to sit through the next three months?” Just sitting there, you know, you have to be a really patient person.

And then, nevermind controlling your expression, because once you have all this prosthetic make-up on your face, you can’t really move the way you [normally] move with your expressions, right? So you have to kind of learn [how to do] your facial movements for the first maybe two weeks. Then the outfit, it’s very heavy. And that was the nature of carrying that role. Second, Monkey King has been played successfully by I recall at least two people. One is Stephen Chow. He attacked it in a comedy way, right?

Right, right, right.

You know, when I was doing Monkey King, I kind of understood why he attacked it in the form of a comedy way because there was another person before him. Older, Beijing Opera, like a TV series, very classic. [Editor’s note: Yen might have been referring to Jinlai Zhang’s portrayal here, but that’s complete conjecture on my part.] So I studied both of them and said to myself, “How can I make a difference? How can I compete with these two established, great works?” I spent at least three weeks on daily shoots readjusting the way I move my body, the way I project my– The gesture and expressions. You can be totally like an animal, like a monkey, or, like Planet of the Apes. You can be a monkey but at the same time you kind of have to retain the classical Beijing Opera because people are used to looking at the Monkey King. You can’t just totally throw that away. I’ll give you a good example. I remember when I was younger I watched Godzilla.

Yeah.

And then I was really disappointed because I wanted Godzilla to be that Godzilla using that [rubber suit]. Not to [take away credit from] the Hollywood way of making Godzilla, but I understand there will be lots of audience members coming to watch The Monkey King and they have certain expectations – you know, they way he rolls the eyes, certain Beijing Opera [gestures]. He plays with the, they [pointing to his head].

Antlers?

Right, the helmet and the two things sticking out. Certain things that I studied from the classics. Particularly I made sure that I would keep those elements and make sure when our Monkey King is presented, it’s a least like the classic Monkey King. [Editor’s note: The recording here is a bit muffled, so this is my best reconstruction from memory and context.] But at the same time, [I’m] adding new elements. Adding new elements was the biggest challenge, imitating the old [portrayals] wasn’t as much because I had a lot of confidence in my body control. I was imitating how all those Monkey Kings, on stage, Beijing Opera, how they move. But adding something new, it was something completely out of my game. So at the end of the day I created four stages of the monkey performance. The beginning, totally monkey-like, animal. I was literally sucking my toes.

[laughs]

I was rolling around, I’d grab my toes, it was a lot of improvisation, plus I was the action direction, so I had a lot of freedom for acting. I didn’t want to rehearse that much. Sometimes I didn’t rehearse at all, and I would tell my director, I’d say, “Let’s just roll it.” I felt it in my heart, let’s try it. And I was acting as I was experimenting, the way to project that moment of monkey. I don’t get it every time when I watch the playback, but I was pretty much on cue. Every time I thought of an image in my head and I acted it out and we shot it, it usually turned out…

It was pretty good, you know, it was pretty good. So in the beginning, I thought how would a monkey– Because I did a lot of research, you know? Watched a lot of Animal Channel, Discovery Channel, studied that. What would a monkey do? What would a monkey do with a banana? So I was imitating all that stuff, recalling all my childhood memories watching monkeys, watching Bugs Bunny, a lot of cartoon characters would go through my head, and when the camera rolled, I just kind of let everything go. Just be free and act.

[Editor’s note: At this point the interview had to wrap up, though I still wonder what that second difficult role for Yen was.]

http://www.flixist.com/interview-donnie-yen-211150.phtml

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