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mayapplin · 2 years ago

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(adds an icon to this shit like it’s a post on my rp blog just for my peace of mind)

bolded - applies. italics - applies sometimes. bold + italics - applies greatly.

ILOIX

fight honorably / fight dirty / prefer close - quarters / prefer range / chat during / go silent / low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance / attack in bursts / attack steadily / go for the kill / aim to disarm / fight defensively / strike first / provoke easily / provoke their opponent / tease / get visibly frustrated / shout while attacking / use strategy / focus on their battle / experience conflicting thoughts during battle / rush in recklessly / try to read their opponent before fighting / fight wildly / fight calmly and / or apathetically / fight with anger / fight with excitement / fight because they have to / fight because they want to / fight without regards to wounds / run away when wounded / hide wounds / take a blow to protect another / prefer a blade / prefer a gun / prefer to use their ability / prefer a bow / prefer a shield / prefer a pole arm / prefer a personalized weapon / prefer magic or spells / prefer brawling / their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional / transform for battle / fight as they appear / rely on strength / rely on speed / use everything they have / hide their full potential / exhaust quickly / high stamina / doubt their strength / proceed with caution / behave arrogantly / brag after landing a hit / belittle their abilities / use psychological tactics / use brute strength / avoid civilians / strike down civilians / damage surroundings / avoid damaging surroundings / signature fighting style / making it up as they go / mastered their skillset / learning their skillset / fancy footwork / sloppy footwork / messy fighter / elegant fighter / accept defeat / refuse defeat / beg for mercy / compliment their opponent / insult their opponent / use unnecessary movements ( flips, twirls ) / move efficiently / barely move (he ain’t runnin don’t ask) / prefer to dodge / prefer to block / defend their blindside / has no blindside / use all available advantages ( ex: use a gun but also throw punches, kick out while blades clash, etc. ) / strictly use one main method / play around / hold back / fight ruthlessly / show mercy / wait for opponent to be ready / strike when opponent isn’t ready / fear death / fear pain / fear killing / has ptsd / avoid fighting / has lost a fight / has won a fight / has killed / refuses to kill / want to die standing / would succumb slowly.

Truthfully, Iloix does not like fighting and never has. Violence is done when necessary, when it’s the only working option, and he’ll take up the helm before he places that burden on anyone else. (He’s been through so much, what’s more? What’s another drop in his cup?) Ranged fighting is his safe place, for his mind and (sometimes) his body. Up close he sees the pain and anger and anguish of those he’s fighting, and sometimes it’s too much.

He’s deathly quiet, regardless of what job or position he takes within battle. His task is at the forefront of his brain always; however, when tanking, he’s more susceptible to emotional thoughts, and if he’s having a particularly rough go of things lately, he can get sloppy. Most of the time, he’s dependable and strikes when he feels it’s necessary. He’s good at analyzing whoever he’s fighting and steers away from expending extra energy on useless tactics. He will gladly put himself in harms way to take the brunt of damage in order to keep his comrades from suffering.

Overall, Iloix is a consistent fighter and willing to take up any class in order to ensure others’ safety. But fighting is a last resort option in his mind.

S’TRAWBERRI

fight honorably / fight dirty / prefer close - quarters / prefer range / chat during / go silent / low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance / attack in bursts / attack steadily / go for the kill / aim to disarm / fight defensively / strike first / provoke easily / provoke their opponent / tease / get visibly frustrated / shout while attacking / use strategy / focus on their battle / experience conflicting thoughts during battle / rush in recklessly / try to read their opponent before fighting / fight wildly / fight calmly and / or apathetically / fight with anger / fight with excitement / fight because they have to / fight because they want to / fight without regards to wounds / run away when wounded / hide wounds / take a blow to protect another / prefer a blade / prefer a gun / prefer to use their ability / prefer a bow / prefer a shield / prefer a pole arm / prefer a personalized weapon / prefer magic or spells / prefer brawling / their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional / transform for battle / fight as they appear / rely on strength / rely on speed / use everything they have / hide their full potential / exhaust quickly / high stamina / doubt their strength / proceed with caution / behave arrogantly / brag after landing a hit / belittle their abilities / use psychological tactics / use brute strength / avoid civilians / strike down civilians / damage surroundings / avoid damaging surroundings / signature fighting style / making it up as they go / mastered their skillset / learning their skillset / fancy footwork / sloppy footwork / messy fighter / elegant fighter / accept defeat / refuse defeat / beg for mercy / compliment their opponent / insult their opponent / use unnecessary movements ( flips, twirls ) / move efficiently / barely move / prefer to dodge / prefer to block / defend their blindside / has no blindside / use all available advantages ( ex: use a gun but also throw punches, kick out while blades clash, etc. ) / strictly use one main method / play around / hold back / fight ruthlessly / show mercy / wait for opponent to be ready / strike when opponent isn’t ready / fear death / fear pain / fear killing / has ptsd / avoid fighting / has lost a fight / has won a fight / has killed / refuses to kill / want to die standing / would succumb slowly.

S’trawberri is a strictly ranged fighters, and they’ll tell you as much. They have a strong preference for healing above all fighting in general, and that has set this standard of fighting at a distance in order to have a wide range of sight in order to keep tabs on the battlefield. They also exclusively take on jobs that rely on magic and have healing capabilities, just in case. Due to being one of the original warriors of light, they have the most experience out of my wol gang when it comes to fighting on big, wide battlefields amongst multiple fights, and they prefer that to one on one fights actually.

Strategy is one of S’trawberri’s strengths ! They’re a quick thinker and able to come up with tactics in the moment that may help give the gang the upper hand in a fight. They don’t have a lot of physical strength or muscle mass, so they steer clear of fights that place them within melee range of anyone. She’s also willing to try things she’s never done in a fight if she thinks it might help and the chances of success are high. Rather than being a main fighter, they’re more likely to play the support role and aid in dealing damage rather than taking it on.

S’trawberri is highly-capable and experienced, and she’s willing to fight to get things done. However, healing and support is the role they’d prefer to play.

O-RAN-INNA

Out of the gang, Ran enjoys fighting the most ! He thinks himself a tank most of the time, but he could mostly be thought as as predominantly a DPS. Ask him, and he’ll say he’s allergic to ranged fights — close ranged is his forte. He has the lease amount of experience when it comes to fighting, and due to this, he’s prone to mistakes and sloppiness, which has cost him some fights as a wol. However, inexperience does not deter him in the slightest. He gives all of his energy and will to every fight, as if it’s guaranteed to be his last. Nine times out of ten you’ll see him smiling in a battle because he derives genuine joy out of the interaction, regardless of opponent.

Ran is incredibly loud and shouts if he’s talking to an opponent. He doesn’t ever shy away from talking in the exchange. This makes him prone to getting worked up and angry if his opponent says something to tick him off, and it can greatly affect his fighting style. He’s reckless and over-zealous at times, meaning he won’t hesitate to jump directly into a battle, even if he’s more than likely to lose. He’s arrogant and confident and will keep going and going until he can’t anymore. He’s of the belief that fighting and his skill are all he has to his person, so he puts everything into them, above all else.

Despite being messy and inexperienced, Ran has tenacity and confidence on his side, and if thrown out on the battlefield, he’s not going down unless he takes someone with him.

(too sleepy to do sanchir. tune in next time. <3)

#personal #iloix lounapard #s'trawberri lockes #o-ran-inna

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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Whumptober Day 17: Dirty Little Secret

CW: Creepy whumper, whumper POV, implied whump of a minor, implied noncon references

“Well, Kelly, you’ve spent an hour talking politics, is there anything else you’d like to hear my thoughts on today?” Governor Oliver Branch sits easily in the padded chair behind his desk. It’s a deep, dark burgundy with little brass accents, and not that he intends to tell Kelly Donahue this particular bit of information, but it very comfortably holds the weight of two.

“Well, let me check.” Kelly smiles at him - bright, perfectly-applied deep pink lipstick, camera-ready stylish-but-demure blue dress, legs crossed politely at ankles, sensible heels. Shellacked hair. The cameraman, on the other hand, is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and looks like he’s ready for a beer at the bar downtown.

Oliver would rather be at the bar, too.

Still, he’s just as camera-ready as Donahue - had his boy get his favorite suit out, a charcoal gray so dark it’s nearly black, while they played Interview. Baldur loves the game - one of the only times Oliver allows him to speak, when he pretends to be a reporter asking Oliver questions, and Oliver loves the sparkle he gets in his eyes.

He loves extinguishing the sparkle, at the end of the game, even more.

The color of his suit is carefully chosen to pop against the chair, and he hasn’t worn it on TV before. It’ll go over well, he’s sure of it. Even Nancy had nice things to say.

The tie he’s wearing - a burgundy that matches the chair with a brass-colored tie pin, just to hammer the coordination home - was wrapped around Baldur’s wrists this morning. There’s a delicious little thrill to wearing it now, knowing that some of Baldur’s sweat is still in the silken fabric.

He takes a breath, thinking of the way the boy knows how to beg, and how delightful it is to read in his eyes how much he would like to beg for it to stop, but is too well-trained to do anything but beg for more.

The shameless scandal of it all, if they ever found out, always adds an edge to their moments together. Baldur is, of course, as close to a relationship as Oliver has had since he decided to run for Governor.

Got a little annoying to keep paying to keep rumors underwraps. Didn’t cost so much more to simply buy himself someone no one else will ever know about. An easy financial decision, nothing more.

A financial decision that knows exactly how to do that thing with his hips-

“Are you open to some questions about your personal life?” Kelly cocks her head, and her hair doesn’t move an inch. Oliver can’t help the way his eyebrows raise, very slightly. Whoever does her hair… Oliver would very much like to offer them double their wages at the studio to get them to do his hair instead.

“Oh, of course, Kelly. You know, I’ve always been an open book to my constituents, since I ran for city councilman and read my own ‘don’t ask about’ file out loud during a meeting.”

A nice bit of theater, that. He claimed to have gotten it from his opponent, but really… Oliver had written the damn thing himself. No one knows your dirty little secrets better than you do, after all.

“Yeah, I remember - I was there for that.” Kelly laughs, tucks a bit of hair behind one ear.

Oliver blinks, looking her over. He thickens his southern drawl, one of the things polls routinely find his constituents find endearing about him. Just a good old boy from Charleston, somehow finds his way to California to settle down for good. Really, it adds a hint of sincerity to all is falsehoods. “No. Impossible! You’re hardly old enough, my dear.” It sounds like idle flattery, but for once, it’s all genuine. Oliver’s been governor of this great state for nearly a decade, and was city councilman for quite some time before that, and Kelly can’t possibly have been out of school-

“I was a senior in high school,” She says, almost shyly, apparently guessing at his next question. If he were a different man, he might flirt with her. But what’s the point, when he has someone - something better, hidden away just behind that door?

“What led a senior in high school to attend a boring old city council meeting? Sure you weren’t such a good civic-minded young citizen as all that?”

She giggles a little, then glances over her shoulder, mouths something at the cameraman. Oliver can guess what. Edit that out.

Kelly Donahue doesn’t want the episode to be aired with her giggling like a schoolgirl at a bit of idle flattery. Well. Everyone has their things they like to hide, don’t they?

She has her giggle. Oliver has a teenage boy locked in his bedroom.

He almost wishes he’d had Baldur hide under the desk for this, instead. Imagines speaking with Kelly, all sincere interest and open honesty, while petting through Baldur’s soft, shining hair, hooking fingers into his collar to pull him up against Oliver’s leg… He thinks about hosting a perfectly normal interview while Baldur is drugged to dozing, right there.

He’s done it a dozen times with field trips and one-on-ones. Flirting with disaster - with the absolute chaos that would ensue if the boy were found - is exciting in ways that nothing else in Oliver’s life ever has been.

Baldur’s so very good at holding so very, very still for him, and feeling that boy shaking with energy he isn’t allowed to expend, fighting all his own instincts... Oliver had his youthful indiscretions, and there is no drug, no girl, no boy, no drink… nothing in his life, absolutely nothing, feels as good as knowing that Baldur’s entire body is begging him to move - and one word from Oliver means he can’t.

And if he does - if he breaks the order, if he cannot help but disobey it… well, then Oliver gets to do his favorite thing on Earth. He gets to tell Baldur it’s time to play a game.

Then he gets to hurt him, and hear the way he cries.

There is no power on earth like the power you could hold over another human being’s very nature, and all for a bit of money changing hands in discreet ways. Thank God for shell corporations, or he’d be in prison by now.

“Oh,” Kelly says, blushing a little, interrupting his thoughts. He ticks his smile a little wider. “I was there to argue about something with the Pledge of Allegiance, actually.”

“Ah, yes. The Young Republicans Club. I remember that whole mess.” Oliver waves on hand, gives a soft laugh. “If you’re still in contact with any of them, I do hope you’ll give them my absolute apologies for stealing their thunder that night. I promise you, Kelly, Scout’s honor-” Oliver crosses his fingers up in a little salute. He was never once in his fucking life a Boy Scout. A little money changes hands, a few documents are forged, and now he was an Eagle Scout who led community service. Funny how that works. “-I had no idea what any of the topics were going to be, I was too nerved up that night, really I was.”

“Oh, that was years ago.” She waves her hand a little, but her own smile has widened in response to his. “It’s not a problem. I was just… honestly, I didn’t see it at the time, but it was a privilege to see that kind of political theater in action.”

Oliver’s laugh is bright, and loud, and he wonders if the boy can hear it, through two doorways and a hallway’s worth of distance. If he’ll listen for the sound of his Sir’s laugh, to try and gauge when it’s over. If he’ll be waiting at the door to the bedroom, waiting to be allowed out, to be given permission to do… well, anything.

“Theater? I am wounded, Kelly. I was merely being honest-”

“Now, Oliver, I know a bit of showing off when I see it - I do plenty of it on my own.” Kelly laughs, too, and they are such good friends, Oliver and the journalists who come here to interview him. He’s a boring bit of story, honestly - a reliable progressive governor of a reliably progressive state. No wife and no kids, no scandals, no weekend indiscretions.

Governor Oliver Branch does his job and does it well. His legislature likes him, more or less. His constituency adores him. He’s been re-elected in a landslide. There’s been talk about Presidential aspirations, although Oliver’s never thought any higher than the Senate.

Senator Oliver Branch.

Now that sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

He’ll have dumped the boy by then, of course. No loose ends. The boy has plenty of skills to find himself a new keeper. Even if he doesn’t, he won’t be Oliver’s problem anymore, will he?

He’ll buy another, then.

He and Kelly chat, the interview going off without a hitch. It’s softballs all the way through, easy-to-answer questions, because no one has any difficult questions for him these days. No, Oliver is a good governor in a good state doing good things with good intentions.

Oliver smiles. The questions are easy and his approval ratings are high. There’s been some discussion about a Presidential run, although he’ll of course be bashful and refuse such an idea. His character can’t take the scrutiny, he’ll say, and everyone will laugh.

All great men have things they’d rather hide, after all.

Although perhaps not things quite like this.

Down the hall, behind a locked door, Oliver Branch’s dirty little secret sits wearing only one of Oliver’s button-ups, knobby knees curled up to his chest, collar buckled snugly around his neck.

The boy rocks and rocks, staring through the tiniest gap in the drapes over the balcony door, watching the clouds move in the sky and wondering what it would feel like to go outside.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes

#whumptober2020 #whump #box boy #chris the strawberry blond romantic #oliver branch is gross #implied noncon reference #torture references #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #whumper pov #captivity #implied whump of a minor

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bubblegum-writes · 4 years ago

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quid pro quo

request: Hello!! I was thinking if you could write something with Katsuki where his s/o is a healer / booster for him and his quirk - basically her healing and quirk boosting abilities work best with quirks that are associated with warm temperatures, she can boost his damage by 75% - in short he has to look after her and stuff because when she boosts his powers she gets weak and so after fights they snuggle with each-other in his dorm 🥺💗 sorry if this is too specific 🥺

A/N: IM SO SORYR LORD HAVE MERCY THIS IS LATE BUT LIFE IS SHIT YA KNOW!!!!! also dont u worry ur pretty little head no need to be sorry! im tryna explore new ways of storytelling so i apologize if this is shit lol. also the italics are gonna be semi-flashback things if that makes sense. AGAAAIIN bnha and katsuki bakugou aren’t mine so copyright go and eat my entire asshole lol. also this aint edited at allllll lol

For having a quirk that works best with quirks that raise the surrounding temperature or warm temperatures in general, Japan wasn’t the best place for whatever god to put you at when you were born. The temperature could get decently hot during summer, that is true, but the winters can be equally, if not more, brutal. Not only did it affect your quirk, but your entire mood and aura. During these colder months, your classmates felt both the cold winter winds and your sour mood. No matter how hard they tried to cheer you up, they couldn’t help that your body simply wasn’t made for the cold.

“C’mon, let’s go out and have a snowball fight!” Denki had suggested from his spot on the common room couch. Classes were over for the week and plenty of snow had fallen on the ground for there to be ample fun to be had within it. Mina, Sero, and Kirishima all hollered in excitement, while the rest of those present either hummed in agreement or moaned in annoyed interest. You, however, didn’t say or even acknowledge the blonde’s suggestion, as you were too busy lying on the floor wrapped in a blanket with multiple heating pads on you.

“What about (Y/N)? We don’t want to exclude anyone due to health or quirk conditions!” Tenya nearly shouted as he lectured everyone about the importance of ‘never leaving a man behind’. You briefly smiled and thanked the universe for making Iida so considerate (and even more briefly entertained the idea of going out). You turned yourself and all the blankets around you towards the rest of the group and smiled slightly. It wasn’t lost on anyone that the cold was never kind to you, so they all started coming up with ways for you to enjoy the fun they had planned.

“We could tape the blanket around you!” Said Tsuyu, pointing to a blushing Sero’s elbows.

“No, we could get one of those hamster balls, heat it up, and put you in!” Izuku proposed.

“You stupid fucking extras, I have the best idea,” came a voice that had yet to speak during the whole ordeal. Katsuki was leaning back in one of the couches, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Everyone turned silent as they looked towards the explosive man, even you raised your head from the ground to lend your ear to what he had to say. You had yet to notice that he had joined everyone in the common room, assuming he went to workout earlier. “(Y/N), you come out with us and have a good time,” his lips slowly turned into a light-hearted smirk, “Afterwards, I’ll take you to your favorite ramen shop to warm up.”

Immediately, the room erupted in noises of confusion and elation. Confusion due to the fact that no one else was aware of yours and Katsuki’s certain… relationship and elation due to the fact that everyone could finally go out and play. What you and Katsuki had was a cute relationship, born out of necessity but had grown into something more. He knew that you despised the cold, and that your quirk didn’t work well in it either. He found this out when you two had been partnered one day in a tag-team sparring exercise.

“Alright, (Y/N) and Bakugou, you guys are going against…” You didn’t bother paying attention to who you were going to battle; all you could focus on was the fact you had been paired with Katuski, your well-kept secret of a crush. You felt your body flush with heat as you searched the training grounds for him. You eventually found him with his eyes already burrowing into yours. You saw the fire within his eyes to be one of anger or maybe even hatred, but you couldn’t have been farther from the truth. You had also caught his eye; sure, you weren’t the most powerful person in the class, but your quirk had the ability to boost those that were at work around you. On top of that, you could also use the same quirk to heal those around you, at the cost of expending your energy and use it to restore another person’s body.

“Oi, (Y/N), get your ass over here!” Katsuki yelled from across the small area as he waved you over. Shaking your head out of your haze, you jogged over to him with a nearly unnoticeable shyness on your face. “So, I have a strategy and you’d better listen to it!” Katsuki nearly spat in your face. You winced, but during the whole time he was talking, you had to focus everything you had on what he was actually saying, and not on his beautiful red eyes, or his soft-looking hair, or his toned muscles, or his plump li-

“Did you get all of that?” He taunted with one perfect eyebrow raised. Despite your best efforts, you'd had completely and utterly failed to pay attention to his strategy.

“Uh, could you give me the short version of it again?” You shyly asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Fine! Long story short, you stay behind me and make sure I don’t get too hurt and I’ll make sure they don’t touch you.” Katsuki started the sentence with a snarl, but by the end, his face had relaxed and his eyes almost held a tenderness to them. You told yourself you were seeing things as you peered into his eyes and just quickly nodded your head. The both of you took your spots on the field, and without noticing one another, you both were glancing out of your peripherals to make sure the other was okay.

This was also when you noticed your opponents for this fight.

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath. You and Katsuki were up against Shouto and Mina. You weren’t too worried about Mina and her quirk; as long as you could avoid her streams of acid, you were in the clear. Shouto, on the other hand, would be difficult for you to overpower or even avoid. If he hit you with his ice quirk just once, you were almost guaranteed to be done for, for at least the next couple hours. There was fear clearly written on your face as you noticed Shouto, and Katsuki didn’t ignore it. He knew the basics of your quirks and that the cold would inhibit you, and sometimes even harm you far more than a regular person.

“I need to keep (Y/N) safe,” Katsuki thought as Aizawa started the sparring fight. Part of his mind told him that he thought that because if she went down, most likely, so did he. However, the majority of his conscience told him he thought that for far more romantic and loving reasons.

“C’mon you fucking extras!” Katsuki yelled and teased as he blasted himself high in the sky, making sure you were moving far away from your guys’ opponents. He focused on Shouto and Mina and tried to decipher what their strategy was. Mina started excreting acid from her body as Shouto started to use his ice quirk to quickly strike you down. You were running as fast as you could from both of them to try to gain as much distance as you could before Katsuki could blow them to smithereens. However, that didn’t quite happen. Shouto had absolutely no ill feelings towards you, but this was a battle he planned on winning. Both he and Mina used as much power as they could muster to ensure that you were out of the fight so they could focus on Katsuki. However, Katsuki realized this too little too late. They would take you down, then focus on him

“(Y/N)! Watch it!” Katsuki yelled as he lowered himself to the ground close to Shouto and Mina. Despite the short distance between Katsuki and the opposing team, they still focused on you. You only turned around in time to see Shouto’s ice start nearly grasping your feet and ankles; you ran even harder as you nearly hyperventilated trying to run away from him. Katsuki saw the absolute horror in your eyes, and launched himself to stand between you and Shouto and Mina.

Despite all he had given, he was too late.

Right after you turned around for the second time, you saw and felt the ice start to curl around your feet. A harsh scream left your lips, which made even Aizawa cringe and almost call off the whole battle. Mina had long stopped her acid attacks to ensure you weren’t hurt by her quirk, but she watched in horror as Shouto slowly encompassed you in ice. Your body convulsed in an almost demonic way, your feet facing outwards as you bent at the waist as the ice crept upwards. Your screams only increased in both volume and levels of anguish as tears started leaving your eyes. You turned towards Shouto to start pleading for him to stop, but he did as soon as he saw your red and teary eyes. The ice had reached your chest at this point and your arms were held by your sides. The pain you felt was extraordinary; your body felt as if it were cracking in every joint and bone it had. The pain was so horrible that as soon as you closed your eyes to blink away the tears, you had no choice but to finally pass out from the pain.

“(Y/N)!” Both Mina and Shouto yelled as your head went lip as your body was encased in ice. Shouto ran up to start thawing you, but Katsuki quickly landed and kicked him out of the way.

“Get out of the way, fucking Half-n-Half!” He snarled at the Todoroki boy. Katsuki gave him one of the most evil looks he could muster before he turned around and put his hands on the ice around you. Hehastily went to work to get you out of the ice as Aizawa started walking (albeit quickly, as he was concerned for his students’ wellbeings) towards you all. The ice quickly melted before the teacher could get to the scene, and before Aizawa could put a word in, Katsuki declared, “I’m taking (Y/N) to Recovery Girl!”

Before Aizawa or even Shouto or Mina could mouth their opinions, Katuski had melted your body from the ice, picked you up bridal-style, and started sprinting towards the nurses’ office. You were barely holding on to consciousness, but the last thing you saw was Katsuki’s face as he ran to get you help.

After that terrifying incident, when Katsuki refused to leave your side even after Recovery Girl had given you the all-clear, it became clear to you and most of the class that there was something more to your guys’ relationship than classmates. No one would dare to comment on it for fear of being the object of Katsuki’s anger. Which led to this moment, where the class was gearing up to play in the snow with everyone stealing glances at Katsuki helping you into your snowgear. No one had ever seen him so gentle and the look of pure adoration in his eyes was hard to miss.

As soon as everyone was thick with layers and looked like plush, colored marshmallows, the class ran from the common room to the outside where the fluffy white flakes had created a plush playground for them. Small cheers and whoops erupted as everyone went their separate ways, with Momo and Ochako starting to build a snowman with Mezo using his multiple hands to grab as much snow as possible to add to the growing pile. Denki and Eijiro had started a snowball fight between them and Shouto and Izuku, and Fumikage and Toru had started building an igloo.

You, however, were shivering out of your socks. You and Katsuki had barely made it out of the doors before you stopped in your tracks.

“Tch, come on, have some fun with these losers,” Katsuki murmured in your ear, causing shivers to run up your spine, “and I’ll let you be the big spoon for once.”

You immediately ran to join the nearest group of classmates faster than you could say, “Really?” Throughout the day, you spent quality time with most everyone in the class. Truth be told, they were happy to see you come out of your comfort zone and actually enjoy all the weather had to offer. You even forgot why you were out in the cold in the first place, you were having so much fun! However, as the sun flew threw the sky and evening became night, everyone finally tuckered out and retired back to the dorms. As everyone else went to their respective rooms, you and Katsuki gathered in his.

He knew that spending time in the cold would make you tired and possibly even sore because of your quirk, but he always remembered how to make you feel better again. Usually, it was a bath that he had prepared, scorching hot with a bath bomb or two, take-out, and whatever was on Netflix that fit the mood. Today was no different; as you warmed up and chilled out in the bath, Katsuki called your favorite ramen shop and ordered your favorite item for delivery. After a while, you came out of the bathroom with your pajamas on and a face mask upon your face. He smiled, a smile only reserved for you, a soft and gentle smile he was, quite frankly, scared to show anyone else. You scuffled over to his bed and joined him under his blankets, and quickly wrapped yourself in his arms. Artificial heat didn’t compare to heat produced by a human, especially that of Katsuki. Quickly forgetting both the incoming ramen and your face mask, you fell asleep in his arms as he traced meaningless patterns over your back and scratched your scalp gently. Well, they might have been meaningless to you, but he was consciously drew the characters for “I love you” deep in your skin, just in case you would ever forget.

#bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha fluff #katsuki fluff #my writing

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wing-ed-thing · 4 years ago

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Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Chapter III)

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIIIChapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI

Guy woke you from dreamless sleep in the middle of the night. He laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. It was time for your watch. You bolted up at the touch, propping yourself on your left palm. The kunai from under your pseudo-pillow felt heavy in your grip against his neck. Guy had kept the fire kindled, but just barely. The dim glow outlined his face as he lingered kneeling over you. You relaxed, recognizing him after a few blinks. He looked exhausted, but gazed upon you with concerned eyes. He recoiled his touch softly. You put your kunai down. Wordlessly, Guy settled into his makeshift cot.

You stretched, sitting up against a large fallen branch. The heat from the little flares warmed your cheeks. You threw a small piece of wood on the embers, watching as the tiny flames licked the offering. The light burned just bright enough to see your surroundings, but not enough to give you away to any that may be lurking in the woods. You breathed deeply and closed your eyes to focus. No other chakra signatures anywhere around.

Guy tapped out quickly, curled up in his blanket to your left. He gave out a light snore. He must’ve been a lot more tired than he let on to you before. Raven black strands slipped from his forehead, falling across his eyes. You glanced around. You were alone. Gingerly, you reached over and tucked the stray strands back, but quickly recoiled as a small shock pinched your nerves. You shifted back against the log.

Much like the night before, you found yourself thumbing through the case file once more. Bits of light fluttered on the page. You ran a finger over your new name, new identity. The name of the club where you were to become the equivalent of a cabaret girl, a hostess. The file felt thin and light in your hand. The Leaf did not know if the plot by the Sound existed, let alone it’s details. You rolled the edge of the paper in your fingers. The layout of the city printed on the page wrinkled at the border. You have long since memorized the image. You tossed the pages into the fire. You wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

At the rate you and Guy were going at, you’d arrive later today. You took a few items out of your pack and began work on your face. As tedious and expensive as it was to do missions like this, it was the only way for an undercover mission. Any ninja could use a transformation jutsu, but any team with a half-skilled sensory ninja could sense a small, yet continuous, flow of it from a mile away if they really tried. You ran a brush down your cheekbone, the tinted light posed a challenge, but not one you hadn’t overcome before. You tried not to grin as you thought about what new products you could buy with your reimbursement ryō. While you got the process down to a science, it still took focus.

In time, you witnessed dawn impose itself on the world. Little by little, you observed the orchestra of the forest. As the sun began to rise, you could hear birds, see them fly overhead as they began their day. Small rodents rustled in the treetops. For a while, the forest took on a teal blue tint, but the hue changed as the sun rose. Beams of sunlight trickled through the trees. The saturation became green and gold. The fresh, crisp air pleasantly shocked your lungs. The daylight shown on your sleeping partner’s relaxed features.

You shifted and shadow once again enveloped his figure.

Guy began to stir by the time you were finished. As you were packing your equipment back up, his eyes suddenly shot open. He sat up in his make-shift cot.

“Alright,” he stated, stretching his arms over his head, “Breaktime’s over.”

He turned to you. He arched his eyebrows and assumed a semi-defensive posture. Guy’s brows sewed together in confusion. You rolled your eyes, sighing.

“It’s me, genius.”

“Riiiight, right.” Guy took in your new features. He had heard about your abilities, but hadn’t had a chance to see them up close. He tilted his head. If Guy hadn’t known you, you could have easily been a different person. He mentally bisected you. Closing one eye and squinting the other, he raised his hand to block his vision to your face. Same clothes. Same body language. Same figure. Guy moved his hand. Different hair. Different facial structure. How did you pull that off?

“Are you going to stop staring?” You questioned, not looking at Guy, “It’s unprofessional and if you’re up then we should really head out.”

Guy nodded, gathering both of your things together. You dispersed all evidence of the camp and dismantled the protective jutsus. Not long after, the two of you once again vanished into the trees, not a trace left behind.

There were about 15 more hours to go. This, of course, did not include the extra time it would take as you crossed the border to the Country of Rice. Naturally, “civilians�� like yourselves don’t have chakra control so for a portion of the trip you will be walking in case you were unlucky enough to get stopped by Sound patrol. Every few minutes, you scanned ahead for any chakra signatures. You were getting lucky today. Unlike the day before, you found little trouble as you traveled with Guy.

You shot through the trees. In the distance you could see the Valley of the End. The two statues stood tall at the end of your sights. You were almost to the border. The closer you got, the clearer you could hear the falls. They tumbled down into the canyon carved by battle. You had heard about it, but you never got a chance to actually see it. Breathtaking. You stopped to take it in.

“Why’d you stop?” Guy asked, coming to perch on the same branch as you. You took a moment to catch your breath, hands on your knees.

“I’ve just never seen it before,” You confessed, motioning to the landmark. You took a deep breath, standing back up straight. “This is the line into the Land of Sound. We should probably start walking soon.”

“We can take a break, you know. We’ve been making good time.” Guy offered. He had rarely seen you interested in anything. If you wanted to take in the valley, he would happily indulge you. You stretched your limbs.

“What, are you slacking off now?” you asked haughtily. “You don’t want to be the first one to the Sound?” You regretted saying that as soon as it left your lips. It definitely wasn’t a challenge. You were just being sassy, giving him a hard time, but Guy perked up.

“Are you talking about… a race?” Guy’s eyes were wide in excitement, a dumb grin enveloping his features. You huffed, hands on your hips.

“No, I don’t want to race-” But he left before you could finish. Not one to be outdone by Might Guy of all people, you started after him. You called out from behind, “You’re ridiculous!” Guy let out a hardy laugh in front of you.

“You only say that because you’re losing!” You sped up into the tops of the trees, running across the tops. Guy took a brief look behind him, not seeing you. But before he had time to fully look back in front, you slammed down a few feet in front of him. In an instant, you pushed on a smaller branch with your foot, bending it down before launching yourself forward. It swung forward, uppercutting Guy. He grunted as you advanced smugly. “Very interesting! Very creative!”

You moved forward, flipping and maneuvering among the tree limbs. But you couldn’t keep your lead for long. Neck and neck, Guy took a straightforward route. You closed in rapidly on the border to the two lands. You both swiftly passed by Hashirama’s head. In your peripheral area, you caught a glimpse of his opponent, Madara. You passed by their silent stare off, landing in the Land of Sound.

Guy had his arms crossed, his chest puffed. You blew a strand of hair from your face.

“Okay, you ‘won’. Doesn’t mean you have to gloat.”

Guy’s smile grew wider. You turned away with a scoff, beginning to walk down the outskirts of the forest. You found a beaten path. This was likely the route that civilians typically took. Guy followed as you sauntered away, trying not to betray how sore you were about your defeat.

Despite expending energy on your “challenge”, Guy hovered energetically around you. Out of your peripheral you saw his animaled hand motions. Your mind filled in the wide eyes and raised brows which he without a doubt wore. You strolled on and Guy chatted on. You didn’t know someone could talk for so long. You didn’t particularly care to register what he said. Perhaps, being tuned out was your mistake. You focused on the path ahead, searching for chakra signatures every once in a while. What you were not focused on, was the hand that came to clamp down on your shoulder. The fingers that brushed against your skin. It should have been a friendly touch, a playful gesture to most, but as soon as Guy’s skin met yours, the same electric current that you felt that morning coursed through your body.

It happened in an instant. The sensation faintly rose within you, looming, running behind the scenes of your sensory system. You felt it at your core, something that could only be described as purely Might Guy. His will stood out sharply and his energy zapped throughout every fiber of your being. The feeling deposited itself in your bones, picking up something to exchange. You felt it: the mix of emotions, the anger, the annoyance, and something else. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on began to leave your system. You had never felt this feeling before. Your heart began to pound in your chest.

You shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me!” You shrieked. You stumbled a few steps back, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your eyes widened from your rapid heart rate. Guy had stopped in his tracks, slightly shaken, holding his hands defensively and low. You looked into his eyes, panicked. Softly, you warned him, “Don’t touch my skin.”

Guy’s eyes were on you, betraying worry. You felt that your heart had skipped a beat. You found yourself holding your breath. Your chest moved as you slowly exhaled. Guy waited for your word, standing stone-faced and silent. You flushed slightly, ashamed at your outburst. The corners of Guy’s lips turned upward as he gave you a reassuring nod. You relaxed, but Guy did not.

He glanced over your shoulder, unmoving. You turned only to be met with a pair of Sound Ninja. How could you not sense them before?

“Is there a problem here?” the first patrol asked.

“Not at all, sir!” Guy answered with his usual Might Guy charisma.

“No, problem!” You laughed, “There was just a spider! Came straight down on my head! Sorry to inconvenience you two, so embarrassing!” The two patrols weren’t interested.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” the second dismissed. He glanced at you over, eyes lingering in a downward position as he smirked. He shifted closer to you. Guy tensed. The first patrol came around you, to sandwich you and Guy between the two of them. “What’s your business in the Country of Rice?”

“Work,” Guy responded.

“Do you have work visas?” the patrol closest to you questioned, leaning down, his face now in close proximity to yours.

“Yes.” You took the opportunity to take a step back as you reached into the side of your pack. You produced two small booklets. The second patrol’s hands came over yours and took them from your hands. You felt a small shock, but nothing near as electrifying as when Guy touched you. Instead, it was the slimy feeling of a weak will. A feeling you were familiar with and confident you could conquer. You looked into the eyes of the Sound ninja. His hand lingered a bit longer at your stare. A small burst of chakra. “We are simple travelers and nothing more.”

The ninja’s eyes glossed over. You removed your hand from his. Handing one to his partner. You focused on the dazed ninja as he idly flipped through the little booklet.

“Aoki Genki-” You second glanced at Guy and then to you- “and Takeuchi Yume… tell me, have you seen any Leaf ninja wandering these parts?”

“We haven’t seen much of anyone wandering these parts.” Guy’s statement wasn’t false. “Why? Is something the matter?”

“Another patrol squad got roughed up at the border not too long ago. By what we can only assume from the fallout, it was a group of Leaf ninja.” The first patrol answered, following his partner’s lead.

You inwardly rolled your eyes. You got confirmation that the squad that ambushed you were ninja working on behalf of the sounds, but they were most definitely not at the border.

“How terrifying!” you feigned.

“Let someone know if you see anything,” The two ninja handed your visas back to you. You tucked them back away. “We wish you safety in your travels.”

“We will,” you assured them, smiling graciously, “Thank you for your service.”

The Sound patrol disappeared. The second ninja was still glossy-eyed.

You and Guy spent the rest of the walk in silence.

Finals have been crazy. I’m trying to do these once a week but the next might be delayed a bit. I’m trying to not edit these too much. I want to do this for fun but I can’t help but stress myself out when it comes to series and if people like them. I’ll keep doing these for fun!

#might guy #might guy x reader #shy!readerxmightguy #might guy relationship #Maito Gai #maito gai x reader #maito guy #Maito guy relationship #cabaret #naruto #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto imagine

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ladyfantasy98 · 4 years ago

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Flyers and Favors Part 3!!

Hello everyone! I hope you all are staying safe and sane in these difficult times.

So a few days ago I published another chapter to my Danny Phantom fanfic “Flyers and Favors” to fanfiction.net. You can read it there, or right here under the cut!

Thank-you all for your amazing support for this story and me!

You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Danny Phantom flew through the air at a breakneck speed, arms clasped to his sides. He strained himself forward, ever further, relishing the cool air blasting him in the face for a moment. He wanted to look behind him to see how close his opponent was, but he knew he couldn't afford to turn around now; it would cause him to slow down too much.

So he focused on his end goal: the tallest oak tree in Amity Park's...well...park. At 70 feet tall, with an ever-expanding canopy of branches and a thick, wide outer bark, Danny would recognize it anywhere. If he could just get there he'd be in the clear.

A buzzing sound on his left, closer than ever before. The enemy was catching up. With a last burst of speed and a strangled cry, Danny lurched forward, arm outstretched, reaching for the tree. His hands closed around one of the branches, and he swung himself around it a few times, expending his built-up momentum. After a couple more cycles around the branch, he turned to face his adversary. Breathing hard, he grinned and exclaimed,

"I win again, Valerie! Take that!"

Valerie Gray, also known as the Red Huntress, hovered on a black hoverboard a few feet away from the oak tree. She had slowed her own dash to the tree once she saw that Danny had beaten her. She was dressed in her signature red and black battlesuit, composed of ecto-charged nanobots (rewired by Tucker to prevent Vlad Plasmius or Technus from overpowering it). She touched her helmet and it melted away, revealing the scowl on her face and her curly brown hair, pulled back in a high ponytail. She crossed her arms and glared at the Ghost Boy.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Danny. But like it or not, I'm getting closer all the time," Valerie answered, her glare transforming into a smirk. Danny shrugged, unconcerned, and floated down to the ground. Valerie followed, dismissing her hoverboard with a couple taps of her heels, landing softly on the grass.

"Sure, sure, just keep telling yourself that," said Danny. Dusk was setting in, the last of the sunlight fading behind the horizon. That, coupled with the shade of the oak tree, made Danny's glowing green eyes stand out even more.

The night was quiet, aside from the occasional bird call or squirrel scampering up a tree. Snatches of conversation and laughter floated along the air as people headed home for the night. It might have been June, but the longest day of the year was still a week or so away, as was the end of school. Thankfully for Danny, Valerie, and their friends, they had officially graduated high school last week and were no longer slave to the school schedule.

They did, however, still adhere to a town patrol schedule. Ghost attacks in Amity had lessened in the last year or so, but they were still a problem. Danny and his cousin Danielle could usually contain the ones that slipped out of the Fenton portal, but that still left their stronger enemies, and occasionally natural portals in nearby towns or wild areas would open up, allowing random ne'er-do-well ghosts access to the town.

Tonight was Danny and Valerie's turn on patrol. Once high school classes became tougher and the class/patrol workload became harder to manage, Tucker had created an automated shuffler that determined who went on patrol each night, whether they had a partner, and who that partner was. Last night Sam and Tucker kept a lookout; the night before it had been Danielle. Sometimes, when Jazz was home from Columbia University, she would take a shift to alleviate her brother's and his friends' burden.

After making a few loops around town and finding no disturbances, Danny and Valerie had decided to take a break and race each other towards the park. Danny hoped they could be done for the night, since there hadn't been any whiff of ghostly activity.

But then - almost as if the universe had read Danny's mind and wanted to prove him wrong - a shiver rippled down the Ghost Boy's spine and he gasped, emitting a blue wisp of air.

"Ah, man," Danny groaned, before adopting a fighting stance, eyes darting around for the source of his Ghost Sense. Valerie copied him, sliding into a battle-ready pose, body tense.

A familiar female laughter echoed around them, and then Ember McClain faded into view before them. She hovered about five feet off the ground, clutching her purple and electric blue guitar to her chest.

"Wassup, punks," she greeted, grinning wickedly.

Valerie growled in response. "What do you want, ghost?"

Ember's grin faded. Nose turned up, she glanced away from Valerie and looked at Danny instead. "How can you stand to hang out with her, Phantom?" the ghost asked icily. "Three years in and she can't even remember anyone's name."

"I know better than to say your name, you wannabe American Idol," Valerie retorted.

Ember's eyes blazed with anger. "Wannabe!?" She raised her guitar and aimed its neck at Valerie, who raised a red ecto-shield in response.

Before they could engage, however, Danny hovered between them, arms spread wide. "Woah, woah, ladies! Let's calm down a bit, alright? It's such a beautiful summer evening, do we really have to spoil it with fighting?"

"She started it," both Valerie and Ember exclaimed in unison, followed by glaring at each other.

Eventually, though, Ember turned away from the huntress. "But don't worry, Dipstick, I don't plan on fighting you tonight."

Danny brightened at that. Maybe they could actually come to a peaceful resolution for once, and he and Valerie could be done for the night. "Really? So you're just gonna head back to the Ghost Zone now? Awesome."

Ember threw her back and laughed. "Ah, you wish, Baby-pop. But I've got free reign tonight 'cause you're not allowed to stop me, remember. You said we could do whatever we wanted as long as we did it after your graduation, right?"

"I...did not say that, actually," Danny responded. Then he frowned. "Well, I mean, I didn't say that exactly. I guess the "wreak havoc" part could have been misconstrued..."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "I knew sending that flyer was a bad idea," she muttered.

Danny sighed. He rose up into the air, green ecto-energy surrounding his hands. "Alright, Ember, I'm sorry, but I can't quite let that happen. But I'm sure we can work something out. I guess I do sorta owe you for letting me finish high school first."

"Yeah, Dipstick, you do. And don't worry, I got something special for you right here," the popstar replied, reaching into her pocket. Danny raised his still-glowing hands, while Valerie flipped open a wrist-blaster. They waited, breaths held, watching for Ember to make the first move. Ember pulled her hand out of her pocket and -

- thrust a piece of paper into Danny's face.

Danny reared back, surprised, his ecto-blasts sputtering into nothingness. He grabbed the paper from Ember and examined it. Printed onto a cream-colored paper, blue and black lettering exclaimed:

You're Invited!

To: Danny Phantom's Graduation Party

Where: Ember McLain's lair, the Ghost Zone

When: Saturday, 2pm

Requirements: You're capable of NOT trying kill the Ghost Boy for a few hours

RSVP: Immediately. Note - Party crashers welcome, but you will be forced to clean up afterwards

The ghost boy looked between the paper and Ember. Ember was looking to the side, arms crossed.

"Well?" she asked, still not looking at him. "Are you going to be there or not?"

"I - I don't understand. You're...throwing me a party?" Danny asked, bewildered. Valerie frowned and snatched the paper from him, eyes widening as she read its contents.

"Well...yeah. I mean. It's a big deal. Graduating high school...not...not everyone does it, you know," Ember said. She glanced at him, a strange bluish-green blush on her face. "And...you've had a rough time with it. Because of all the ghost fighting you do. So, I...yeah. We're throwing you a party."

"Wow. Um. Thanks, Ember," Danny told her. He floated downwards, putting his feet on the ground. He had attended a few graduation parties this summer already - Valerie's, for one, as well as Star's (again, because of Valerie). And he, Sam, and Tucker had had a combined graduation party at Sam's house for all their families - Mr. and Mrs. Manson hadn't been thrilled with the idea, but since Sam had not only graduated high school (something they'd feared their rebellious daughter would have abandoned during one of her moods), but with good grades and plans to go to college as well, they'd indulged her her specific celebratory requests.

Danny had enjoyed those festivities, even if they'd been a little embarrassing, too. But he'd never in a million years thought anyone in the Ghost Zone would throw him a party, especially Ember - and for a human milestone celebration at that. He hadn't even thought the flyer would keep so many of his frenemies away, and yet, he'd had an almost ghost-free last couple weeks of school.

"Hey, Phantom! I asked you a question! The response says immediately, so respond immediately!" Ember snapped, breaking Danny from his reverie. He shook his head to clear it, and saw that she was glaring at him.

With a sheepish smile, Danny answered, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there. Thanks again, Ember."

The popstar returned his smile. Tension left her body, and she sounded satisfied as she said, "Good. I'll see you there, then."

"Oh, actually," Danny started, looking over at Valerie, "is it alright if some others come, my friends I mean? Since -"

"No!" Ember snarled, her hair lighting up in fury. After a moment it died down, and the bluish-green blush returned. "I - I mean, no. This is - this is a ghost party, that we're throwing for you, halfa. So - ghosts only." A pause, then, "You can bring Danielle, then. But no one else. Got it?"

"Got it," Danny replied, sweat-dropping a little.

"Good. So you're coming. Remember, Saturday at 2 o'clock." Ember leaned in, getting up in Danny's face. Her eyes narrowed as she growled, "Don't. Be late."

Danny nodded dumbly. Ember pulled back, nodded approvingly, and then jettisoned off, riding on her guitar. Danny watched her go, wondering how he could have offended her this time.

Valerie also watched the ghostly musician leave, a frown on her face. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Danny?" she asked. "Accepting her invitation?"

Danny turned towards her, tilting his head. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, you know...it's Ember. She's caused you and the town so much trouble over the years."

Danny waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, yeah. But so has practically half the Ghost Zone. It's no biggie. Even if this is some kind of prank or trap or something, it's nothing I can't handle." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Right?"

Valerie's lips quirked up, but she still sighed. "I know you can handle the ghosts, Danny. When you're fighting them, that is. It's just...lately you've settled into this...kinda friendly stalemate, and I'm just worried...I don't want you to get hurt, if they take advantage of your forgiving nature."

She reached out a hand and placed it on Danny's arm, leaning in slightly. Her gaze softened as she looked at him, pale green eyes crinkled in the corners. "I care about you, Danny. You know that."

Danny smiled back at her, warmth spreading through him. He covered her hand with his for a moment, relishing the touch, but then - slowly, hesitantly - he moved it off his arm. He and Sam were officially on - another - break, but whatever he may or may not be rekindling with Valerie, he wanted to make sure it was something they were both ready for, that it wasn't a rebound or a pre-college summer fling. He wanted to take things slow.

"I know you do, Val. And I appreciate that. And...I hear what you mean. About the ghosts." Danny rubbed the back of his head. Valerie had gotten a lot less fanatical about eliminating ghosts once she'd learned that Vlad Masters was really Vlad Plasmius, and that Danny Phantom was really Danny Fenton. She trusted Danny to make judgement calls on whether or not a ghost needed destroying or simply to be sent back into the Ghost Zone (98% of the time, he decided it was the latter).

But there were times when a more forceful hand was needed. Ghosts could be destructive, whether they meant to be or not. That was why Danny became a superhero in the first place. Why he and Team Phantom did patrols every night. Why Valerie and Danielle had spent last summer on a ghost-hunting road trip, sending ghosts that slipped through natural portals around the country back home.

And maybe Danny had gotten a little cozier with his enemies than ever before, but that wasn't bad, was it? He never let them run wild, never let them hurt anyone. If he turned a blind eye so Kitty and Johnny could have a date, or let Klemper sleep over a few times, what was the harm?

And if this party really was an excuse to ambush him or something - well, then he would just have to remind the Ghost Zone who was the boss.

Danny smiled at Valerie, who still looked concerned. "It's fine, Val. Don't worry about it." He rose up into the air, merging his legs into a wispy tail. "Let's head in for tonight, alright? Sam said we could watch a movie at her house after we finish."

Valerie stared at him for a few more seconds, before she nodded, a reluctant smile on her face. "Yeah. Sounds good."

She put her helmet back on and activated her hoverboard. Danny waited until she was in the air, and then the two of them sped off towards their friend's house.

...

Saturday rolled around quickly enough, and at 1:45pm, Danny and Dani stood in front of the Fenton portal.

Dani rocked back and forth on her purple sneakers. She was wearing a dark purple tank top and black shorts, her black hair pulled into a loose ponytail. "I'm so excited! Going to Ember's for a party? This is gonna be so fun!"

Danny chuckled. "Yeah, well, don't get too carried away, alright? Honestly, this could still be a trap."

Dani rolled her eyes. "Please. Faking a graduation party and ambushing you is so not Ember's style. Walker's, maybe, but no one else's."

"Yeah, that's what I said." Danny had reassured his friends of the same thing countless times over the last few days.

From one of the workbenches came an angry rattling sound. Both halfas turned to see a white and green Fenton thermos shaking in a glass container. It currently contained Skulker, and probably would for the rest of the summer. Dani had insisted on it, since he'd so blatantly ignored Danny's request to not bother him during finals.

Danielle stuck her tongue out at the thermos, then turned to her cousin. "Come on, let's go already!"

"Alright, alright." Danny chuckled once more. Then, gathering his energy, he exclaimed, "Going Ghost!"

Danielle grinned as two white rings appeared around her cousin, transforming him into Danny Phantom. A second later, she let the transformation wash over her, and then there were two Phantoms standing in the lab - black and white jumpsuits replacing their regular clothes, black hair dyed white and blue eyes now a glowing green.

Danny floated over to the portal opener and pressed his thumb into the DNA scan. A mechanical grating sound was heard, and then the portal opened, revealing the swirling green vortex that led to the Ghost Zone.

Danielle joined Danny in the air, and then both Phantoms flew from one end of the portal to the other, leaving the human world behind.

#danny phantom #danny phandom #danny fenton #half ghosts #danielle phantom #dani phantom #danielle fenton #valerie gray #the red huntress #ember mcclain #fanfiction #fanfiction.net #flyers and favors #part three #there will probably be a part four #at some point

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sparklingpax · 4 years ago

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Tales From Iacon - Part 2: Intentions

A/N:

-Part one can be found here and I also have a wattpad where I’m posting updates as well as other stories! (user is @/kunixjiro)

-Idk if this was an appropriate title for this part but the idea was that they both had their own intentions and well....you can see how it turned out.

-Sorry if this is badly written (and for any typos, mistakes, weird phrasings, etc)

-Also sorry that this is long af O//O’’

-This part isn’t so fluffy ^^’’ But dw I promise I’ll resolve everything in time....anyway, hopefully nothing got too ooc or anything! Enjoy!! <3

///

It was no secret that Megatronus was a gladiator.

He was not ashamed or afraid to admit his purpose—to kill both beast and bot alike.

For the entertainment of the crowds, and in accordance with Cybertron’s corrupt caste system.

Such a life was a choice he’d made long ago, when he rose up from the mines and cast away the life of a meaningless energon miner. With it, he’d cast away a name given to him—a name which held no meaning anyway.

D-16 was no more—he was Megatronus now.

///

The wild cheering of the crowds invigorated Megatronus, fueling his drive to utterly mutilate the monster hulking before him. All he could think of was the desire to fight stronger and harder than ever before—to show off his power so he could bask in the glory of the hundreds all around calling his name.

“Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus!”

The deafening roar of the onlookers filled his audio receptors, causing Megatronus to grin wildly, and the injured monster to bellow in terror. It stumbled forward hastily, only for Megatronus to dodge and deal another blow with his sword. Much to the delight of the crowd, the beast cried out in pain and reared up to attack Megatronus again.

There was no fear as Megatronus gazed into the black eyes of the beast, lit only with primal rage. They bored into him for only a moment before it shook its head and charged.

Call my name! Call it louder—shout it to the skies, Cybertronians!

He stood in battle stance, breathing hard but not yet tired. Bright lights all around blazed down on his plating, making the grey and burgundy glow as silver and red. His optics were alight with a wild look, as if he knew the battle was over and victory was in his very grasp.

Megatronus tossed away his shield, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. He released a savage cry and charged right at the monster. Screams of excitements and fear sounded from every angle as he neared the gaping jaws of his opponent.

The gladiator swung the sword and neatly sliced off half of the grey tongue that greedily reached out at him. The monster instantly recoiled, writhing in pain. Blue blood sprayed everywhere. The warm, sticky liquid showered Megatronus as he slid the weapon into its holder at his hip.

He paid no mind to it, for he had known the tongue would bleed the most.

Megatronus took a running leap off the dirt and landed on the back of the beast. With his own servos, he grabbed its snout and yanked it towards him, bending its neck backwards to injure it further. It tried to swing him off, but Megatronus stabbed his sword into its body. The crowd collectively shrieked with anticipation upon seeing the legs of the monster buckle beneath him.

Before it could scream in pain again, he vaulted off its body to the side, twisting its neck with a fatal, sickening crack. There was a brief, abrupt silence while the monster moaned more quietly, attempting to move. It crumpled inward with a low huff.

A pool of energon gushed out from its wounds, soiling the ground around it as Megatronus backed away to watch it die. He grinned with pure delight—breathing heavily, limbs quivering with exhaustion—at his work. Only seconds later, the beast went totally limp.

It was done.

The volume of the crowd was loud enough to sound as if the whole of Cybertron had packed into the small stadium.

Megatronus was victorious again.

He felt pride and joy rush through him as he raised his sword and cried out to the masses before him.

“I AM MEGATRONUS, KING OF THE PITS OF KAON!!!”

“Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus! ”

“I AM LIVING PROOF THAT ONE DECIDES HIS OWN DESTINY!!”

Hundreds packed together in the seats raised their servos and shouted as loud as they could, amazed by the skill of the gladiator before them, and filled with inspiration. Megatronus felt something warm in his spark, for he knew Orion was one of the many voices.

There was no disputing it now, D-16 was truly no more.

///

Outside the arena’s seating, there was a dimly lit, blue corridor. Various clumps of bots milled around there. Some were making their way out from the seats, conversating excitedly about the fighting, or were making their way back in. Others stayed outside for whatever reason they had. A quiet murmuring filled the space, contrasting greatly from the deafening roar of the arena.

Orion Pax had his back up against the wall, breathing hard. He tried to steady his breath, attempting to erase the images of the brutal murdering of that beast from his mind.

He had never seen anything so violent in his whole life.

Orion couldn’t bear it a second longer, hearing the crowd cheer hungrily for the monster to suffer more, and chanting all the louder for its death. All of it had felt so…wrong. For a second, he had wondered if everyone in there had lost their senses. Surely a society of civilized people wouldn’t bee chanting for the death of a living, breathing creature? Or will it to be tortured?

And yet…they were.

He had slipped out to regain himself a little, and decided he’d return to his place when the act was finished. At least, if Orion didn’t watch some of the real fight, he’d see the aftermath. After all, Megatronus had invited Orion as a…somewhat esteemed guest. It was only fair that Orion, too, should raise his voice to cheer his friend on.

I’m here for Megatronus.

I’m here because he invited me.

I’m…here to…support him….

His stomach turned upon thoughts of what he was doing to the creature at the moment. He heard a loud roar of pain and the noise of the crowd increased greatly. Orion shook his head and slid down to a sitting position.

I’ll…I’ll wait here until it sounds like it’s over…or else….I just might purge…

///

“So then, Soundwave,” Megatronus shook hands with the quiet mech and nodded. “I’ll be off. I’m meeting someone now. We can speak again tomorrow, if you like.”

Soundwave nodded, then turned and left. Megatronus watched him go, interest dancing vaguely in his gaze.

What an interesting bot, being so quiet and yet saying so much.

The gladiator was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and it seemed the adrenaline that had pushed him through the fight was finally fading. With a small grunt, Megatronus stumbled and fell against the corridor’s wall for support. To Megatronus’ frustration, his legs were tremoring a little. He let out a sigh, straightening again after a moment with a small wince.

I suppose I…expended a bit too much of my energy today…

He still felt pride and joy in his victory.

Even still, all my efforts were worth it. I stand alive once more.

“Good evening, Megatronus!”

Orion’s voice reached Megatronus before he sighted his friend at the other end of the corridor. Orion picked up pace and jogged down the hall to meet him.

Megatronus immediately felt his exhaustion dissipate.

Orion had seen the fight!

He was eager to know what Orion had thought of it all. He knew it Orion’s first time seeing something as graphic and epic as this.

But more than that, Megatronus was eager to know what Orion thought of him. Battle brought out his truest form, and that form was Megatronus’ greatest pride. Having somewhat of an ego, Megatronus knew that deep down, all he needed to keep going was some sort of praise.

After all, who wouldn’t? Validation is a beautiful thing, especially in one’s own art.

“Orion, it brought me much joy to know you could make it tonight!” He and Orion shook servos and greeted one another, then started slowly back up the hall so they could leave the building. Megatronus continued, “How unfortunate you could not have seen me last week, when I, with great fervor, slayed—”

He paused, sensing Orion tense up next to him and look away.

Odd.

“Never mind. Anyway, you are usually too busy with your studies or your work. How is it that you came tonight?” Orion sighed.

“My apologies. I hope to be a master archivist one day, and full commitment to my studies is essential for me to reach that goal.” He looked up at the sky speckled with thousands of stars and smiled. Shifting his gaze to Megatronus, who was listening intently, he nodded. “I did get time off tonight, though. I have Alpha Trion to thank for that.”

Megatronus patted him on the back.

They continued through the quiet streets of Kaon—well, the backstreets, to be specific. Megatronus knew how ugly the main streets could get with all the crazy bots running around at night. He wanted no part in it tonight as long as Orion was with him.

And Orion is no fighter.

“Megatronus, uhm…” Orion’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked a little nervous. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I…I hope you can be patient with me.”

“What?”

“You might feel offended.” Orion tried elaborating. Megatronus, however, was not following. “I am only asking that if you are mad, that you don’t take it out on someone else…or that you can understand what my reasoning was.”

Offended? It made little sense. Yet his friend remained tense, and would not meet his gaze. Megatronus immediately felt guilty. Have I said something wrong?

“Orion, I do not understand what it is you refer to!” He picked up his pace, trying to think of changing the subject. He so desperately wanted to know about what Orion had thought of his battle with the monster!

“About the fight tonight…” Orion’s gaze dropped to the ground and he halted. Megatronus, who had walked a few paces ahead, stopped and turned. Oh, he read my mind. How funny; I was just about to ask!

“Listen, Orion, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not—”

“I had to leave halfway through the fight. I…” He slowly lifted his gaze to meet his friend’s. As he’d suspected, the beginnings of frustration had already begun to spark into it. He mustered all his confidence to finish. “I waited in the hall because I couldn’t take anymore of the violence…or the bloodthirsty crowd. It…did not feel right at all.”

An uncomfortable silence weighed on the pair.

At last, Megatronus turned away and sighed quietly, breaking the silence. Orion felt guilt and embarrassment to the depths of his spark. He opened his mouth to say more, then thought it better not to. He figured Megatronus would have something to say to him.

“So…that’s it?” Disappointment was fully evident in his voice, causing Orion’s spark to twist more. Megatronus turned back to his friend and moved closer. His hands were folded behind his back. Orion swallowed.

My intentions were to be honest, but I fear I have taken an imprudent course of action…

Orion decided not to voice the thought. Instead, he quietly responded, “Yes.”

“I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’m…very hurt, Orion.” Megatronus kept his voice level as he gazed into the archivist’s eyes, yet Orion could still hear dejection in its tone.

He realized he had to fix this.

But how? What do I say? Orion Pax, you foolish child!! He scorned himself internally.

“I am sorry, Megatronus. I understand that words will do no good, but for the moments I was there, your courage in the face of the beast was admirable.” Megatronus looked away. Indignance and annoyance welled up inside him.

He’s probably making it up.

“And that is the honest truth.”

Orion looked earnest.

He also looked and sounded guilty.

Is it? Or are you telling me what I want to hear? Why did you come if you knew you couldn’t stand violence and a crowd’s wildness? Orion, you anger me…or rather…

Megatronus then remembered his friend’s quiet plea for peace and patience beforehand. To lash out at him would wound their friendship forever, and give Orion the wrong impression of Megatronus. All that aside, Megatronus realized he…felt no anger towards his friend. The heated emotions faded, quickly replaced by pangs of rejection.

…such is my fate, being a lower-caste bot raised in blood, darkness and cold steel. Of course Orion does not find it beautiful, and I should not have forced him to witness such things.

It seemed they would have to allow time to do its work.

Megatronus began to walk away, saying nothing more. Orion called after him, but received no reply. His friend disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving Orion feeling guilty and ashamed.

I won the battle, but I now feel…defeat.

Megatronus felt exhaustion creep back into his limbs.

///

On his way out of the city, Orion paid no attention to the tranquil, moonlit nature around him. He was instead lost in thought.

Had I said nothing, I’d have lied.

He shook his head.

I can’t lie. I won’t lie. I know it would have come out eventually, and he would still be hurt.

A pang of sadness twisted his spark again.

Why couldn’t I bear it even for his sake? It is because I do not understand it that I fear it, I know. But...it is his joy...his art....and I was not there for him.

As he reached a train station, Orion still did not have any real thoughts in mind as he punched in the location for his ticket.

When the train arrived, Orion boarded and sat by the window.

I realize now that my intentions were faulted. It would have been better to stay quiet, becuase then I would not have hurt him.

He closed his eyes.

Time will have to heal this wound.

26 notes · View notes

tatooines-ghosts · 4 years ago

Text

HAPPY 2020s ENDING Y’ALL!!!

Enjoy a little blog-exclusive Shades AU that I affectionately refer to as the No Jedi Allowed AU, feat. everybody’s favorite prequel-era Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Sometime this last summer, while trying to work past writer’s block, I toyed with a little AU idea for funsies, I made a post about it, said I wasn’t going to do anything else with it, and left it at that. Until a month or two ago when, still in the throes of writer’s block, I took that little AU idea and figured “fuck it, I’m not working on the next chapter, but at least it’s writing SOMETHING Shades related” and made a real thing out of it.

This is Part 1. Future parts will come out at some point in the future, I’m thinking about making these a holiday special or something haven’t decided yet. (And really it’s only blog-exclusive because I cannot make a series on AO3 and remain anonymous so...)

Enough rambling. Please read, I hope you all enjoy this look at how things might have gone a little differently if a couple Jedi didn’t end up going all the way out to Tatooine to stick their noses into Hutt business.

Please assume content warnings given on AO3 may apply to this story as well. Also, beware spoilers if you are not fully caught up on the main story.

No Jedi Allowed AU - Part 1

Jango Fett heaved a long sigh as the door closed behind him. He had just finished up a long job for Jabba, one that should have been quick but ended up requiring well over a week of stake outs and reconnaissance, but in the end he got his man, as he always did. Jabba had at least expressed his gratitude suitably, in money and amenities. He had given Jango one of the better guest suites and was probably going to send up one of his better girls for a night of entertainment.

Jango began shedding his armor, considering what he would do with the slave girl. He really didn't have the energy to draw anything out. He hoped it wasn't going to be a new girl, explaining how things work was more effort than he cared to expend. Really he just wanted a shower and to sleep, but he wasn't about to leave his stuff unattended with a stranger on the way.

There was a light rap on the door.

"Enter."

The slave entered pushing a dinner cart. Jango breathed a sigh of relief. "Skywalker, nice to see you again."

She flashed him a small smile. "Been a while, hasn't it, Jango?" She paused just over the threshold and let the door lock behind her. "The usual tonight?"

"Sure." He finished removing his armor and set it aside carefully aside. "Get yourself ready, I'm hitting the shower first."

He stepped into the 'fresher, leaving Skywalker alone. Ten minutes later, he was stepping back out, with the provided robe draped around him. His clothes were a little rank, and the quick rinse he gave them in the shower wasn't enough to really clean them. They'd get a proper wash when he got home.

Skywalker had set up dinner, laying out the food and drink from the cart on the little dining table for him. She was perched at the holotable, flipping through the selection of games. There weren’t many games, as most visitors to a Hutt pleasure den were usually otherwise occupied in their rooms, or wanted to watch porn.

"How's dejarik sound? I'm not feeling anything particularly strenuous tonight."

"Fine." Jango sat down in the free seat. He grabbed the complimentary bottle of liquor and poured himself a healthy glass. He offered Skywalker a drink, but she declined. She did pick at the fruit he offered to share. There was always more food than he could eat, and he knew the slaves didn’t get fed nearly as well as guests.

She made the first move on the dejarik board. "How's Boba?"

They fell into comfortable conversation about Boba, about Skywalker's sister, about the recently finished racing season – Jango congratulated Skywalker on another victorious season. They played a few lackluster games of dejarik. That was a bit unusual, Skywalker was a worthy opponent, and she didn’t usually lose more than once or twice.

He beat her soundly for the fourth time in a row, the board resent, his turn to make the first move, but instead he checked the time. "I think I'm going to turn in. It's late enough."

"Yeah," she agreed distractedly. She fiddled with the edge of the gauzy white shawl wrapped around her. She looked pale, uneasy.

Jango gave her another critical, searching look. Her behavior was odd enough, was she supposed to be spying on him? Bribe him, coerce him, assassinate him? He knew Jabba wasn’t opposed to taking out a troublesome being with some poison served by a pretty face, but Jango hadn’t done anything to offend his second-best employer recently. The Hutt had no reason to want him dead, or otherwise intimidated.

Maybe Skywalker was just having an off day, or dealing with some other problem. He wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t his business.

Her outfit tonight was white and copper, paper-thin linen wrapped in layers to be made suitably opaque, with copper metal accents to draw the eye and match the heavy collar around her neck. It was one of her softer, looser costumes. Aside from looking pale and anxious, Skywalker looked pretty good, a little softer, better fed. Jabba kept his slaves starved and stick thin, save for a few exceptions for the fetishists. This was a change, but not a poor one. Maybe Skywalker was being treated better after another successful racing season.

He turned off the holotable and stood up to stretch. The bed was looking very comfortable, and he wanted to get out of here early tomorrow morning.

Skywalker didn't move. "Jango, I need your help."

He fell still. This was a first, she had never asked for his help before. He'd taught her a few tricks to defend herself against handsy patrons who hadn't paid for the privilege to touch her. Maybe someone was a little more aggressive than she could handle. But Jabba had enforcers on staff whose job it was to take care of people like that. There wasn't anything else he could do for her. She had nothing to ask him to smuggle of planet, and there probably wasn't anything she knew of that he could bring to her. Which meant she was about to ask him to do something very stupid and probably impossible.

"What is it?"

She turned her wide blue eyes to him, her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and she worried it as she considered her next words. He could read her indecision clear in her face. His heart sank. If she was so afraid to even say the words, it couldn't be anything good.

"I need you to free me and my sister."

Jango actually laughed, a single, dry bark. "You're joking." She wasn't. "You want me to steal you from the Hutts? Never gonna happen. Jabba would kill us both for just considering it."

She didn't seem particularly disappointed with his rejection. She implored, "Please, Jango, you're our only hope for freedom."

"No. No way." Even if he wanted to, Jango wouldn't risk earning Jabba's ire, no matter how much he liked Skywalker.

Yes, he felt sorry for Skywalker and her little sister. Being born slaves was unfortunate, but it was their rotten luck that they ended up being owned by Jabba the Hutt. If anyone touched Jabba's property, or thought they could steal from him, they were dead already. Jango had been hired several times to bring in a bounty on someone who had done exactly that. He was not going to put himself on Jabba's shit list.

"I'm pregnant!" she blurted out. "Please, Jango, I can't let my baby be born a slave too." She shifted her arms, removing the shawl from around her waist, and there was the unmistakable roundness to her belly. "I don't even know if Jabba will let me keep my baby."

Jango sighed heavily. "He let you keep your sister."

"Because I didn't give birth to her, because he needed leverage over me after my mom died." She drew a shaking breath; he could see tears gathering in her frightened eyes. "He hasn't even made up his mind on whether he'll let me have the baby. Any day now he could take them from me if it stops me from being able to serve. He'll cut the baby out of me, he'll kill them. And if I do get to have them, then what? He'll steal them from my arms, or just use them like he uses Shila. Please, Jango, I can't go on like this. I want my baby to live. I want to raise them. I want Shila to grow up and know what freedom is."

Jango didn't move, didn't speak, his eyes stayed on Skywalker. His brain was already picking at the idea; it wouldn't be too difficult to – no! He was not about to ruin his career and risk his life for a pregnant slave girl, it's not like the baby was his. What stake did he have at all in Skywalker's future? None! If he tried helping her and they got caught, Boba would be left fatherless. The boy might never know what became of his father. But Anakin... she was the victim of her circumstances. Her little sister and her unborn baby were innocent of the whole matter. They were just slaves.

It wasn't like Jango was opposed to slavery, it was a lucrative evil for the dark corners of the galaxy, and it kept him paid, fed, and employed. He was a mercenary; he wasn't a saint, or even really a good person. Killing was never personal, it was for the job, but he still had a code of honor. And abandoning Skywalker after she asked for his help, after she had exposed herself to be in such a vulnerable position… that was breaking his code.

Would he be able to live with himself if he left her here to her fate? If Jabba stole her child, would he ever be able to look her in the eye again? And Boba... was this the kind of example he wanted to set for his son? Disregarding the lives of children and babies because he didn’t want to risk his own neck. Shameful. Dishonorable. No true Mandalorian would sacrifice a child’s life for their own comfort.

"Ossik," Jango hissed under his breath, dropping back into his seat. "Okay. Fine. I'll get you out of here."

Freeing Skywalker and her little sister was easier than Jango suspected it would have been. Granted it was easy for him to go where he needed in the palace, and nobody looked at him twice. He met Shila Skywalker, the little ad'ika he had heard so much about from her older sister. It was clear they were family, they shared the same face, but where Anakin was fair haired and blue-eyed, Shila was dark haired and brown-eyed. Reportedly she looked like their mother, Shmi, but Jango had never met the woman. Shila was young, only three years old, and she was quiet and shy, and frightened of Jango; a fact that was not helped at all when Jango had to cut the slave chip out of the child's stomach. It was just beneath the skin, and he didn't have to cut deep, so he was able to be very quick about it, but it still had to be done without pain killers.

It hadn’t been pleasant or fun for any involved. Skywalker had to hold the child down, keeping her hand pressed over Shila’s mouth to muffle the screams. But Jango had been the one with the knife. It would probably be some time before the child trusted him.

She flinched away from him with a whimper, hiding her face in her sister’s shoulder when he offered his hand after it and apologized. “Sorry, ad’ika, but you were very brave.”

The elder Skywalker, on the other hand, hardly made a sound when Jango carved out her chip from her shoulder.

With the girls freshly unchipped, Jango smuggled them unseen into his ship and stowed them in a hidden compartment in his cargo hold. It was specially lined to block life signs from most scanners, and certainly anything Jabba had his hands on out here. He left at dawn, nobody looked twice as he had made several comments before about leaving early, and he had never made a habit of staying very long in Jabba's palace in the first place.

Only when he was safely in hyperspace and clear from any Hutt influence did he release his cargo from the hold. Shila had been soothed to sleep by her sister, but Anakin was fully alert and terrified.

"Thank you for doing this," she said gratefully. "Jango, I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you. You saved our lives."

"Don't thank me yet. Just because I got you out of there doesn't mean you're safe. Jabba's not going to like losing you."

"I know." Her hand moved behind Shila, rested against her belly. "But you've given us a chance."

A few hours later there was a small explosion at Jabba's palace. Nobody was injured, and the damage was minimal, but it threw everyone and everything into hysterics. In the chaos, it took time for someone to take count of the slaves, and then they noticed two very valuable slaves were missing. Search parties uncovered the hastily buried tracker chips, coated in dried blood and sand. Jabba's wrath was terrible and he turned the planet of Tatooine upside down looking for Anakin Skywalker.

Jango landed Slave I on the storm tossed landing pad, rain drummed against the hull. It was midday, though the rainclouds were so thick it might as well have been midnight. He dropped from the cockpit down to the passenger hold, where Skywalker sat with her sister.

Anakin, he supposed he should get used to calling her by her first name. They were aliit now. Whether she knew it or not, when Anakin had thrown her lot in with him to gain her freedom, Jango had brought her into his tiny clan. There really was no way to get around it. Releasing the Skywalkers into the galaxy to fend for themselves was as good as putting a blaster bolt in the back of their skulls. Jabba would have them back and dead, or worse, by week’s end. There was safety, at least, in a clan, security under the Fett name; even if the clan had doubled it in size overnight.

Shila was sleeping soundly, curled in her sister's arms and lap, but Anakin was alert and worried.

"What's that noise? An attack?"

The rain was so familiar to Jango, he tuned it out automatically. "What? No, that's the rain. Water falling from the sky," he had to clarify. He realized rain probably wasn't a word that ever got thrown around on Tatooine.

Anakin glowered at him. "I know what rain is. My mother told me." Her cheeks went pink. "I just didn't realize it made much noise."

Jango gave her some credit. "It is coming down rather hard out there. Come on. We'll get you inside and into more suitable clothes."

Kamino was cold, and the cloner's kept their facility chilly. Anakin's service costume was not going to cut it. He opened the cargo ramp, a blast of cold, wet air swept in.

He heard a gasp and a yelp behind him, Shila had woken up. Anakin tried to comfort the child in Huttese, but Jango could see her own eyes were wide with fear. This much rain and water had to be a shock. But Jango was hungry, tired, and ready to change into something more comfortable. He didn't want to stand here until the desert natives got used to rain.

"Come on," he said again, taking Anakin by the arm and pulling her forward. They walked quickly from ship to facility door, Jango keeping his grip firm so Anakin didn't slip and fall on the wet walkway, her shoes were less suitable for the slick metal than her clothes were for the climate. By the time they stepped inside, Anakin was shivering. Whether from the cold and wet, or everything else, he wasn't sure but thirty seconds in the downpour had turned her costume downright indecent. The flowy white linen had turned translucent and plastered against her body. It made the curve of her belly even more obvious.

It was a good thing Skywalker was so distracted looking around at everything else to not notice him staring and frowning at her. Well, more accurately, staring at her abdomen. A seed of doubt quickly settled and bloomed in his mind – not the first to grow since he agreed to free the Skywalkers, and he squashed it like the others. Having a baby around soon was going to make things interesting.

He sighed softly and shook his head. That little bastard was going to cause him a lot of trouble, he knew it already. After all, it had been the baby that tipped him over to helping the Skywalkers in the first place and inevitably put him on Jabba’s shit list.

How long would it be until Jabba put a bounty on his head? He couldn't possibly be so lucky as to escape without suspicion.

Jango stepped off down the hall, wondering whether the Skywalkers should be seen by a doctor first or if he should just take them home. When the ad'ika began to complain of the cold and the wet, he bypassed the corridor turn that would lead to the medical wing.

Their apartment had that mild, unlived in scent when he stepped in. Boba would have been left with his Kaminoan caretakers while Jango had been gone for a few weeks.

"Come on. We'll get you dried and change clothes before getting you to a doctor."

"Doctor?"

Jango stepped into the 'fresher and dug out some clean towels. He buried his derisive snort in the linen closet. "I doubt Jabba wasted any expenses on having you checked out, didn't he?"

"No, he didn't." Anakin folded her hands over her belly. "I thought for the longest time it might be dead inside me, but I've started to feel them move."

Jango handed her two towels. "How far along are you?"

"Almost six months."

Anakin bent to wrap Shila in the fluffy towel so she didn't see Jango frown at her. He was no expert, but he was almost certain most women were bigger by the time they were five or six months pregnant. Sure, she looked pregnant, but only barely.

"You sure about that?"

Anakin stilled, but nodded, her voice was low and confident. "Yes. I know exactly when it happened."

Jango wasn't going to press the issue. The Kaminoans could figure out the nitty gritty biological details. He moved to the bedrooms, "I'll find you some dry clothes. Won't fit all that well, but they'll be warmer and more suitable than that costume." He pulled a shirt and a pair of pants with a soft, drawstring waistband from his closet. The Kaminoans would have no trouble fabricating something more suitable for Anakin and Shila to wear, but this would do short-term. The little girl's clothes were the basic pants and tunic of Tatooine, but Anakin's costume would be entirely unsuitable for Kamino's climate, not to mention just daily life.

Jango grabbed a shirt from Boba’s room for Shila. It was big enough to be a dress on the child, and the sleeves fell past her hands, but it was workable with a few adjustments. Anakin's clothes were just as ill-fitting, but she didn't complain. She just had to pull the drawstring tight to keep her pants secure around her waist.

"It's only temporary," Jango assured her as she tugged at the oversized shirt. "We'll get you some better fitting clothes ‘fabbed once the Kaminoans get their measurements."

"It's fine," Anakin said quietly, fingering the shirt fabric, it was probably sturdier than anything she'd worn in a long time. Jango's clothes were made for warmth and wear. "This will do."

Jango took them back from the apartment and into the cloning complex, through the cold white hallways to the medical facility. It wasn't empty, it never was. With how many clones the Kaminoans spat out, the medical facilities were always busy; someone was always hurt or sick or injured, or having their genetic aberrations evaluated for viability. But the entrance from Jango's side of the facility kept him separated from the main body. He had mentioned the cloners to Anakin before, but he wasn't sure how much she had picked up on though. It had been a passing conversation as he taught her how to play sabbac. He felt like explaining it in whole might be a bit much for the newly-freed slave.

His side of the medical facility was a little clinic set aside from the main body of the medical wing. It was just one room; the medical bed dominated one side, while cabinets of medication and supplies lined the other walls. There were two doors, one they came through and another that went into the larger facility.

Jango flipped a switch on the panel by the facility door, it would summon a doctor. It must have been a slow day because a Kaminoan stepped into the room a few moments later, one of the doctors. Her big eyes scanned over Anakin and Shila before turning to Jango.

"What can I do for you today, Jango?"

"Doctor Wey Luma, this is Anakin and Shila Skywalker, new additions to my aliit. They both had subdermal chips removed that need patching up, and health checks, and Anakin's pregnant."

Kaminoans weren't nearly as expressive as humans, but Jango could see the excitement in Wey Luma's face. The doctors working with the clones were human specialists, but it wasn't like they came across any pregnant ones in this facility. She would probably become a scientific celebrity just on the fact that she got knocked up. He hoped Anakin wouldn't mind the scientists pawing at her. Probably not, she had enough practice with drunk Hutt patrons, and the Kaminoans wouldn't want to fuck her.

He turned to the Skywalkers, "Wey Luma will take care of you. I need to make some arrangements for your stay here."

"Okay." Anakin nodded and set her sister on the bed at the doctor's encouragement. Jango left the room and pulled up his comm.

He made a call to Taun We to arrange for a bigger apartment, they would need more space with Anakin, Shila, and a baby on the way. Plus supplies and clothing for the new additions.

And it was time to get Boba back from his caretakers and introduce his son to his new aliit. By the time he stepped back into the exam room, Anakin was perched on the medical bed, and Wey Luma was practically buzzing with excitement.

"Such hybridizations are almost unheard of," the doctor trilled. "You could provide us with priceless data."

Anakin looked nervous. She chewed on her lower lip while her hands rested over her little belly. "Would that mean you'll make sure the baby is healthy?"

The Kaminoan paused, confused. Jango stepped in quickly. "They'll take care of you and the baby regardless of whether you agree to let them study you."

"Oh, yes, of course," Wey Luma insisted quickly. "We would not withhold medical treatment. But… you would just do us an enormous favor if we were able to study you and your child."

"What's so special about it anyway?" Jango asked before Anakin had to agree to anything.

"He's half-pantoran. Humans and pantorans typically do not mix genetically."

Jango grunted in understanding. He understood only the most basics of genetics, and he imagined Anakin understood even less. "She'll think about it."

There was nothing else they needed from the doctor, so Jango took them back home.

Taun We was waiting with Boba and a small crate of supplies, the new clothes. Kaminoans were nothing if not efficient; the clothing fabricators must have gotten Anakin's measurements from the medical scans.

There wasn’t time for more than the quickest introductions, as their apartment had to be packed up and everything moved into bigger quarters. A squad of droids expedited the process, and after only a couple hours, they were fully moved into a new apartment.

Taun We and the droids left the newly expanded Fett clan alone to get properly acquainted.

“Boba,” Jango put a hand on his son’s shoulder, pushing him forward ever so slightly. “This is Anakin and her sister Shila Skywalker.”

Boba’s dark eyes traced over the Skywalkers. Confusion curled in his head, father had never brought home anyone before, much less a woman and child. He’d met a few of his father’s more trustworthy associates before, but Anakin didn’t look like a bounty hunter or well… much of anything. What was it about them that had prompted such a sudden uprooting? Why were they now living together?

He’d heard Jango and Anakin muttering about a baby earlier during the move. Was that why? Was she his father’s… girlfriend? Was Shila his half-sister? A natural born Fett heir?

Jango’s grip tightened on Boba’s shoulder and he quickly remembered his manners. “Hello.” He nodded quickly to Anakin and Shila, and then turned to his father for further explanation.

“Anakin and Shila are alit now. I expect you to treat them as such.”

Aliit? Them? That word meant something in Mando’a, Jango wouldn’t throw it around casually. But he knew his father’s adopted clan lines, he knew the branches and offshoots, and distant relations belonging to the family that had taken his father in as a boy. Skywalker was not one of those family names.

“Where did they come from?”

“Tatooine.”

That illuminated very little for Boba, but he could hear the mildly dismissive tone in his father’s words. Now was not the time for more questions.

Jango pushed Boba forward a little more. “Anakin and I need to talk. Can you keep Shila entertained?”

“Oh, okay.” Boba craned his neck a little to peek behind Anakin’s legs, where Shila was hiding. “Shila?” The child buried her face in the back of Anakin’s thighs.

Anakin smiled slightly and scooped her hand behind the child’s head and pushed her forward towards Boba. She said in gentle Huttese, “Go on, Shila, go with Boba.”

Shila stumbled forward, gripping tightly to Anakin’s sleeve. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and Boba didn’t miss the way she flinched away from Jango.

“Introduce yourself.” Anakin prompted.

Shila stuttered out in Huttese a quiet little, “H-hello.”

Boba looked back to his father once again, asking silently if Shila only spoke Huttese. His father nodded curtly, yes.

No worry there, Boba was near fluent in Huttese, so he smiled at the little girl and said back to her, “Hello Shila, I’m Boba.”

Her eyes lit up when she finally understood his words. Boba offered his hand and the child took it. He led her off down the hallway to her new bedroom, right across the hall from Boba’s.

“Let’s see what kind of toys we can find.”

Boba thought he was getting a little too old for toys, but the move had unearthed a lot of old stuff he had nearly forgotten about. He pulled the box down and set it on the floor for Shila to explore while he moved to the open door and tried to listen to whatever his father and Anakin were discussing, but they were speaking too quietly for him to overhear. Jango was clattering around the kitchen, preparing their evening meal, but also making enough noise to purposefully discourage eavesdropping.

Annoyed and disappointed, Boba turned back to Shila. She had tipped most of the boxes contents out onto the floor and had promptly ignored all of them for the plush Aiwha that was almost as big as she was. It must have been a gift or something, though Boba had never particularly cared for the stuffed animal; or many plus toys in general. Shila seemed to like it, though, so he held no qualms bestowing it upon her. Shila was so delighted and excited over the gift, she even dragged it out to the kitchen when they were called for dinner to show Anakin what Boba had given her.

Shila was all set to sit the Aiwha at the table with them for dinner, but Anakin had her put it back in her room. Jango wouldn’t have cared either way – it wouldn’t have been the first time a toddler would have insisted that a favorite toy had to be a dinner guest – but Anakin was still trying to figure out her place in this whole affair, so he wasn’t about to step in a parent her baby sister. Not yet at least.

Shila was still very much frightened of him, even without his armor and the knife, it would be some times before she warmed up to him. Probably when the pain and scar from her tracker faded. Having everyone around her able to speak the same language helped, but Jango knew the child couldn’t only know Huttese for forever. Galactic Basic was a must, as was Mando’a, and Kaminoan would be useful too. He had no doubt Shila would pick up new languages quickly, children that young learned fast. Anakin on the other hand needed to start Mando’a lessons as quickly as possible, picking up the language would be harder for her, but it was something she had to know.

Nobody in his aliit would not be fluent in Mando'a.

"You keep using that word," Anakin observed over dinner. "'A-leet' what does it mean?"

"Aliit means family, of the same clan."

She frowned at him, her brow furrowing in suspicion. "But we're not-"

"You are newly freed slaves. You have no clan or family. You're foundlings and I have taken you in, so now you are part of my aliit. The galaxy is safer for you this way, you have protection."

Anakin stared at him, caught between gratitude and suspicion. “Does this mean we will have to change our names?”

For practical reasons, it would be safer for Anakin and Shila to adopt new surnames; it reduced the chance people would recognize her by name. But he understood the importance and attachment beings could have to family names. If he told her she had to change, she would probably do so without complaint, but that might make her resent the name, resent him and this gift of freedom he was giving her. Then again, this wasn’t something he felt was within his power to decide for her. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Anakin nodded slowly, considering something else. “Does that mean we’re trapped here?”

Trapped wasn’t the word that Jango would have chosen, but he knew where she was coming from. What was the point of being free if you had nowhere to go except back to slavery? With no home, no family, no resources, or friends to turn to Kamino could feel like a trap.

“For now,” he said reassuringly, “You are safe here, and hidden. Kamino is not widely known to the galaxy, nor will the Hutts think to search for you here. And there’s no chance of anyone seeing you and turning you back over to him. If you find staying here to be truly interminable, I can make other arrangements for you, but it will take time.”

Most of the suspicion left Anakin, though Jango could still read a little unease in her. Freedom would take time to adjust to, and it had been less than a day. Her eyes skimmed over him and to the dark, rain-lashed windows that made up a wall of their living area. She managed an uneasy smile and said lightly, “Well, it is very different from Tatooine.”

#long post #not kidding y'all #this is over 5k of story #story related #no jedi allowed au #shades of tatooine #anakin skywalker #jango fett #boba fett #star wars #Jango is ace and there is nothing that will ever convince me otherwise!

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hello-boxing-fan-blog · 6 years ago

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10 Simple Tips for Struggle

Life is complex. As well as techniques, skills, instructions and many other things. After all the training you've had (or not) ... the last thing you need is more to confuse your head and prevent you from using your most natural weapon, INSTINCT.

So here are 10 simple tips to help you focus on the fight:

1. Trust you in the fight

You're there to attack, kill, detonate, win. Have that thought all the time. Do not enter thinking "let's see what happens" ... this is exactly what makes you think twice and increases your chances of losing the fight. There is a difference between being smart and being cautious. Watching and thinking is good, but please - TRUST YOU!

2. Focus on what you need to do

Strike, avoid the counterattack, move. You need to worry about what you need to do instead of worrying about getting hurt or other things. Avoid thinking about many other things. It is a real waste of time / energy to worry about things you can not change. Just attack, then move. The moment you stop worrying about being hit, you probably will.

Every blow must have a blow. This makes it faster and stronger. It also helps you relax and save energy while helping to set a rhythm. Keep in mind that this needs to be a SMALL BLOW, not a resounding huff and puff.

4. Breathe in defense

Breathe when you block, escape or dodge. Breathe whenever you are on the defensive so your body can take full advantage of this "resting state". Breathe in a relaxed manner without panic.

5. Walk, do not run

Running and jumping expend energy. Walking through the ring, away, around your opponent saves a lot of energy, passes confidence, and even makes it easier for you to stay in or out of range. You do not have to walk, you can use whatever leg work you want but do it as if you are walking. No panic, okay?

6. Drive your elbow (not your fist) at every stroke

It does not matter if it is a jab, straight, crossed, uppercut, a blow to the head or body. Try to drive your elbow and press it on every stroke. This simple tip makes it easy for your arm to have a good fit for the blow with your elbow supporting the wrist and transferring the maximum of the force. Many people worry about the position of the first and throw the fist ... but the fist has fragile support and does not transfer as much energy unless it has the arm support.

7. Never cover your eyes or let your opponent out of your sight.

Avoid dodging your head below your opponent or in a position where you can not see your head. If you are too close and dodging in an uncontrolled way, try to hold it so you can find it. Some have the custom of always being able to see the opponent's chest, it can also be that way.

8. Lean on your opponent

This tactic works well to wear it off and cause it to waste energy throwing blows without power. He will also be losing energy trying to regain his balance. Of course, you can not make boxing a sumo fight, you should actually throw a punch here another while leaning. This tactic works best if you are taller, taller, have stronger legs or need to rest.

9. Watch out for your opponent's stronger hand.

Many fighters have only one stronger hand (dominant hand) that causes all damage. Stay tuned only to this side and you will realize that it is virtually impossible for him to hurt you. Sometimes your opponent will stop using BOTH hands when you take away the opportunity to use the stronger hand.

10. Pretend to attack the head, and then attack the body. (OR VICE VERSA)

Always very simple and effective. The more tense and out of control the fight, the easier it is to use this trick.

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greencrusader13 · 6 years ago

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All Were Innocent Once: Chapter 6 - The Two Masters

It’s a week late, but here is the next AWIO chapter. I’m uploading it a little earlier than the usual 2:00 PST since I’m going to head off to see Captain Marvel here in a bit.

Anyways, here we have another Eonur chapter, as well as the first appearance of an actual canon character from SWTOR. I decided it based on a poll awhile back, and I’m happy with the result; it works perfectly. Hope you enjoy!

Another quake shook the interior of the ship, rattling a row of commemorative glasses arranged upon the shelves of Lord Rhoral’s quarters. Eonur had taken to a corner there, seated with his knees against his chest as far as he could manage from the Imperial guards that stood near the blast doors, their blaster rifles trained on whatever might come through them while watching a security feed of the outside hallway. Still he remained within Lord Rhoral’s inescapable sight regardless of how much he wished to be out of it. He found no comfort in the Sith Lord’s presence, only fear and anger.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the Imperials announced the Republic ambush. The sounds of warfare and violence were well outside of his earshot, and no further reports had been made. For all Eonur knew it could’ve been over already.

Lord Rhoral himself sat behind a row of polished silver chess pieces at a table in the center of the room, hand stroking his chin as he contemplated his next move against the golden pieces. No sooner had he moved a silver piece before reaching out with his power to move one of the golds to take the silver pawn he’d just played. His game had no concept of allegiance, not when he controlled both sides, and his victory was ensured. Eonur had seen his previous master’s household play the game sometimes against one another, but never a match between oneself.

The Sith Lord’s amber eyes flicked up and locked on to Eonur. His expression remained neutral, if not intrigued. “I suppose it would be a foolish question to ask if you were familiar with this game.”

Eonur kept quiet despite all past experiences having taught him that silence in response to a direct question often resulted in beatings. Lord Rhoral was probably capable of even worse, and yet Eonur couldn’t bring himself to answer. Fear, hatred, and anger constricted his throat and blocked all forms of response. Jowporin was dead by this Sith’s hand, snuffed out in an instant without reason.

That was the worst of it, the senselessness. He’d seen many other slaves die before, some blasted or shocked to death from disobedience while others died of exhaustion brought on from days of intense labor. It was expected. Lord Rhoral had no purpose in killing Jowporin, nothing to gain from the violence.

Lord Rhoral – as though sensing Eonur’s resentment – rolled his eyes in response to his silence. “Yes, yes, the wookiee is dead. Your rage will help you later, but right now you’re just wasting your energy.” In a firmer tone he added, “Sit,” and nodded towards the other chair directly across from him.

Hesitantly, Eonur rose to his feet and climbed into the chair. Its deep red wood was unnaturally smooth, feeling more like polished glass than any sort of carving. The whole room held an air of refined hollowness, an insincere ornateness that belied something far more savage. Red carpeting covered the floor, the Imperial sigil in its center. The brightness of its color made it seem as though servants cleaned it regularly to a point of perfection. A shelf stacked with books and holocrons sat adjacent to Rhoral’s made bed, each volume arranged in a neat line. And yet despite this refinery, the Sith Lord hung the heads of various beasts and creatures the likes of which Eonur had never seen. Their faces appeared contorted, fearful even. Eonur felt himself shrink under their demented gaze.

Lord Rhoral began resetting the pieces, paying Eonur no heed as he did. Despite the demonstration of his powers just moments before, he arranged the pieces by hand in simple movement that were as methodical as they were swift. When he’d finished, Eonur’s gold pieces lay in direct opposition to Rhoral’s silver.

“We have time to spare,” Lord Rhoral said. “In the meantime, we can play while our soldiers put down the Republic’s hounds.” He then diverted into the rules of the game, explaining what each piece did, and how they moved. His summation felt of little help: by and large the game still felt unfamiliar, and Eonur knew he was playing against someone far better than himself. “The objective of chess isn’t so much about taking your opponent’s pieces as it is about taking the right pieces. Playing too aggressively and aiming for rampant destruction will only cost you your victory.” He locked eyes with Eonur once more. “Consider that a metaphor.”

Eonur nodded slowly, dropping his gaze from the Sith’s. It was probably best to avoid mentioning that he didn’t know anything about metaphors.

The first round went as well as he could’ve expected. Lord Rhoral dismantled any semblance of strategy Eonur put up with lethal ease, often seeming to know his next move before Eonur had even decided it. With a gentle flick of his finger Lord Rhoral pushed over Eonur’s king without so much as touching it. A wry grin spread on his face. “Again.” And he began setting up the board once more.

Each subsequent match proved itself to be an exercise in futility. On occasion Eonur would manage to take one of Lord Rhoral’s pieces, only to then lose his own in the process, followed by several additional losses. All the while the Sith sat across from him, amused. Neither of them spoke, and the only sounds were those of the battles occurring on the ship and the board.

After one game Lord Rhoral looked up at Eonur, his expression one of annoyance. “You play weak.”

“I’m still learning,” Eonur grumbled, focusing his attention back on the chessboard. He reached for his pieces, only for Lord Rhoral to slap his hand away. Wincing, Eonur nursed his stinging hand.

“You play weak,” Lord Rhoral repeated. “I’ve watched what little strategy you possess closely. Many times you were in a position to cripple me, dull my advance, even gain the upper hand, and all you had to do was sacrifice a pawn. Yet you refused. I wonder: was it stupidity or weakness that stayed your hand?”

“I’m trying not to lose pieces.”

“They exist to be your sacrifices. They are to be disposed of in pursuit of victory. They mean nothing.” Lord Rhoral rapped his knuckles on the chessboard with each word. Bated anger emanated from his cold glare, and once again Eonur felt afraid of the Sith.

But the more he thought on Lord Rhoral’s words, his fear gave way to anger once more. He’d heard a similar line of thinking from his masters in the past, from his underlings and anyone who answered to him. Slaves were nothing. Slaves were expendable. They existed only to do the work of their master, whatever the toil or cost.

And Lord Rhoral had treated Jowporin as such, as nothing, and had killed him as such. The Empire had planned on using Eonur himself as a pawn in their siege, and he likely would’ve been sacrificed to their ambitions too if not for Lord Rhoral’s notice of him. Eonur only lived because the Sith saw him as potentially more useful than as a sacrifice.

Eonur knew what it was like to be considered nothing, and knew it to be wrong. Jowporin had meant something to him; he had mattered.

“I don’t want to play your game anymore,” Eonur said.

Lord Rhoral said nothing at first, fixing Eonur with a cold gaze that seemed to drain all semblance of life from the room. “In time you will. For now, there can be other ways you learn. Pain is a teacher second to none. You’ll be well acquainted by-”

Sudden beeping from Lord Rhoral’s holocom silenced him. A distorted image of the same Imperial woman who’d informed them of the attack appeared on the disc. In the background Imperial brass were issuing frantic orders, and the destruction around them sounded closer than ever. “Milord, the Republic has boarded. We’ve lost the hanger bay, and Republic soldiers interrupted before we could finish arming the slaves for detonation. We’re sustaining heavy casualties.”

Lord Rhoral shot to his feet. “How?” he snarled. For a glimmering second Eonur thought he sensed fear.

“They have a Jedi Master with them. Our surveillance shows that he’s-”

But she had no time to finish. A sudden blast cut off the rest of her words, followed by the sound of blaster fire. Silence followed, and Lord Rhoral was left holding the empty holocom in his palm. His wiry red fingers curled around the device, constricting it ever tighter until it was crushed in his hand. Blood oozed between the cracks.

Eonur couldn’t help but take glee in Lord Rhoral’s defeat. Defiance emblazoned him with a previously unfelt courage, and he sat up higher in his chair. He was probably going to die – this Republic didn’t seem keen on taking any prisoners at the moment, but he didn’t care. Without Lord Rhoral it probably would’ve happened anyways in the battle he’d been bought for in the first place. Jowporin’s death would not go unpaid.

“You lose,” Eonur said quietly.

Lord Rhoral did not seem to hear him, instead staring at the opposite wall in a blank rage. His attention then snapped back to Eonur. “Get up,” Lord Rhoral seethed, seizing him by the back of his shirt with his bloodied hand and dragging him to his feet. Before Eonur could steady himself a crimson blade hissed to life mere inches from his neck, the weapon’s hilt steady in Lord Rhoral’s hand. Even then he couldn’t bring himself to fear Lord Rhoral.

Yet the Sith Lord remained distant, now focused on the blast doors sealing out the Republic forces more than anything else within the room. Lord Rhoral’s hunger seemed to radiate through his very being. His bared teeth made him resemble an animal, one that eagerly awaited its cage to be opened.

From the corner of his eye Eonur saw motion on the video feed. A man stood outside the blast doors, a deep hood obscuring his face from sight. Despite being in a warzone, he seemed to carry himself serenely, walking almost as though out for a stroll. His gaze drifted upwards to the camera, and with the slightest flick of his wrist he waved. Then he stretched out both hands towards the blast doors. Metal shrieked under as it was forcibly torn apart, the locks trying their hardest to sustain their function. The ship itself seemed to tremble from the Force the man wielded.

The Imperial commander in Lord Rhoral’s room barked an order, and the others rushed themselves into position, forming a horizontal line that wedged themselves between the door and the Sith. Whomever was trying to enter would face a firing squad.

Suddenly the blast doors were ripped open in a terrible wave of energy, the metal lurching inwards on itself as though made of malleable plastic. Eonur heard the striking hum of another blade, and an instant later a blur of blue cut down the soldiers faster than his own eyes could track. They fell in seconds, one after the other, leaving the man alone with Eonur and the Sith. The man remained posed for a moment with his blade across his chest, then shifted, bringing both hands to its hilt while guarding his body from them.

In a single flowing motion the man removed his cloak, and for the first time Eonur could see his face. While not considerably old, the lines under his deep brown eyes suggested that he was well past his younger days. He seemed to regard Lord Rhoral with cautious familiarity, and did not lower his weapon.

“Orgus Din,” Lord Rhoral said, his voice full of disdain.

“Rhoral. I see time hasn’t made you any more pleasant.”

Lord Rhoral raised his own blade slightly, the red beam humming even closer to Eonur’s neck. He shied away as best he could, but Lord Rhoral’s other hand gripped his shoulder’s too tight for him to move. “Another step and the boy dies. Could you live with that, Jedi? I know I can, and I was ready here to take him as my apprentice.”

Orgus Din’s eyes flickered to Eonur, but his expression remained resolute. “Lower your lightsaber and let the kid go. You’ve lost. Havoc Squad has already secured your ship, and many of your men have surrendered. We don’t need any more bloodshed today.”

“Insolent worm!”

Just then Lord Rhoral loosened his grip on Eonur’s shoulder. Acting purely on instinct he drove his elbow into the Sith’s side, staggering him. He dove to the side, scrambling into a corner while the Jedi took advantage of his distraction. Orgus Din closed the distance in a fraction of a second.

But Lord Rhoral moved just as fast. Their lightsabers clashed in a screech of energy, locking until Orgus spun away. They moved as a whirlwind each of their strikes matching evenly with one another. Eonur watched – amazed and terrified – as their battle unfolded, Lord Rhoral’s savagery on full display against Orgus Din’s disciplined technique. He could sense desperation from the Sith, fear even.

Orgus lunged and, with a twirl of his lightsaber, sent Lord Rhoral’s flying from his hand, sheathing itself as it flew through the air. It rolled towards Eonur’s corner, clattering as it came to a stop at his feet. The Jedi pointed his blade at the Sith’s throat, but did not make the killing blow. Lord Rhoral raised his hands meekly, pathetically.

“It’s over,” Orgus repeated.

“All right, I surrender,” Lord Rhoral said. “Take me into Republic custody if you wish. Please show me mercy.”

“I’m surprised you know what mercy means, much less that you’d expect it to be given to you. I thought the concept was lost on Sith.” Still Orgus Din lowered his lightsaber and began his approach.

Eonur saw Lord Rhoral’s fingers twitch, and his lightsaber trembled in accord. In seconds that felt endlessly stretched it leapt into motion, hurdling towards Lord Rhoral’s hand as the crimson blade raged back to life before Orgus Din could react.

“No!”

Eonur reached out as though to catch the lightsaber before it could take flight, though it was far from his physical grasp. As though hearing his cry the weapon froze, suspended midair between the space separating Eonur from Lord Rhoral. It shook violently as Eonur’s will fought against the Sith’s, and it seemed as though it might burst into shards at any moment.

It was all Orgus Din needed. In a swift motion he slashed Lord Rhoral deep across the chest. The Sith fell, the diagonal burn still sizzling as his body hit the ground. Eonur couldn’t sense anything from him anymore. He was dead.

With a heavy sigh Eonur fell to his knees. Lord Rhoral was dead. Jowporin had been avenged, and he didn’t need to fear the Sith Lord anymore. The surge of emotions forced tears into his eyes, and Eonur watched as they fell to the carpet in single drops.

He then felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned his gaze up. The Jedi – Orgus Din – watched him, eyes full of sympathy. Eonur shuddered, then without meaning to he wrapped him into a tight hug.

“Hey, you’re safe now,” Orgus said, patting Eonur on the back. “Did he hurt you?” Eonur shook his head. Orgus then guided him back to his feet, his hands firm on Eonur’s shoulders. “That was some quick thinking you did there. You probably saved me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really. That was pretty handy of you, thinking to use the Force like that.” Orgus glanced around the room. “Come on, you shouldn’t stay here. Would you like to go somewhere safe.”

Eonur hesitated. The last time he’d shown excitement at his situation improving Lord Rhoral had killed his best friend. What if these people – the Republic – were no different? He stepped back.

“You don’t need to be afraid. Where we’ll go there will be a lot of people who will help you, and you’ll be safe. Would you like that?”

He brought his eyes to meet Orgus Din’s again, making note of their serenity. Whereas Lord Rhoral’s had held barely restrained brutality and deceit, the Jedi’s felt pure, truthful. Slowly Eonur nodded.

Orgus Din rose to his feet with a smile and pulled out a holocom from his pocket. “Tavus, it’s Din. We’re going to need to take a detour back to Coruscant.”

#awio #eonur #swtor #swtor oc #swtor fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #star wars the old republic #orgus din

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dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 6 years ago

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this took longer than expected

A young Batman raced down the gloomy streets of his city. His breath frantic, his heart racing as he fled his pursuer which chased him tirelessly. Every time he thought he had out run it, he heard its thundering footsteps a moment later. Normally, the 18 year old was not one to run from a foe like this but what choice did he have? Sure he had fought lots of difficult fights and while he wasn’t GREAT at fighting huge opponents yet, but he still won in the end.

But this thing, he had never encountered anything like it, a tireless machine with powerful armor. No matter how many times the Bat tied up its legs and tipped it off a roof edge or buried it in junk like he did with Killer Croc, it kept getting up and chasing him, red eyes gleaming in the shadows.

Batman slunk into the shadows of an alley way, desperate for a moment’s rest.

His breath became the only sound.

*Thunk Thunk Thunk

The telltale noise of the beast’s feet reached his ears. The Bat groaned and readied himself for battle. As soon as the thing entered the alley, Batman leapt out in front of it and threw an explosive pellet in the robot’s face. As the smoke cleared Batman only hoped the surprise attack was enough. He had no energy to continue fleeing or fighting for much longer. But the smoke gave way to the machine’s unscathed features.

It was a huge, spider like robot with 6 legs and shiny gray armor. Its head held 4 glowing red eyes and 2 electrified mandibles. On its forehead was a crest of 3 dots in a triangle. It lunged at Batman who rolled out of the way, his movements sluggish and clumsy from hours of being chased.

The beast acted quickly and pinned the hero down with one of its front legs. Batman struggled as his capture raised its head and extended its cruel mandibles. It swung its head down, the Bat shut his eyes and braced for the blow.

It never came.

The teen opened his eyes. A white gloved hand had grabbed the beast’s head from behind and pulled it up and away from Batman.

“Oh, no you DON’T” came an echoed male voice.

Wait, that voice, could it be?

The figure yanked the robot back and threw down the alley.

IT IS

Danny Phantom in all his glory.

He turned to the bat, his awesome cape flowing behind him.

“Are you alright?”

Batman tried to gain his composure, for he was in the presence of Earth’s champion.

Who fought and defeated the evil ghosts that attacked the world.

Who stopped the Desasteroid from destroying Earth.

Who has a statue in every capital of the world.

Who could stop criminals and terrorists and prevent wars with only his words.

Who convinced America and Russia to get along.

Who scolds violent cops and advocates for human and animal rights on all fronts.

There were a few superheroes in the word, and they ALL wanted to be just like him. He was the first, he came almost a decade before anyone else at age 14. He set the precedent for heroes, everyone else grew up watching him on the news. He was amazing, not to mention his human allies.

Tucker was unrivaled with anything to do with tech. Batman had based his own technology on Tucker’s work.

Jazz was a brilliant phycologist who comforted children during Phantom’s fights, and was an even better peace talker then her brother.

Sam was a brilliant fighter of her own merit, as well as a passionate fighter for the environment and human rights.

The bat stood up and tried to look dignified.

“I’m fine. Just having an ant problem” Danny used lots of puns, Batman tried to use them like Danny, but was better at deadpan humor.

“Ha ha, nice one! Now let’s get this thing, any ideas?”

‘Helikeditandnowhewantsmyopiniondon’tfreakoutjustsaysomethingcool.’

“I was hoping you had an idea”

‘I am the worst’

“Hmm, you have a grappling hook, right? Think you can tie it up long enough for me to climb aboard?”

Batman nodded.

With this strategy it only took a minute to disable the robot. As it lay dead Batman decided to try for some answers.

“Do you know what this thing is?”

“Don’t know, one chased after me as well, my team and I used it to scan for others like it and that’s how I found this one. Bu the one I have, let’s say was in more pieces than this one”

Phantom thought for a moment before saying

“hey, do you have a lab or base here in Gotham?”

“I do, but wouldn’t your lab be better?”

“Well, my stuff is more suited to ectology, and this thing is definitely not ghost related. Plus, I don’t really want to hull it all the way home”

“Alright, let me call a ride”

Batman pressed a button on his belt and the Batmobile rolled up.

“Wow nice car”

_Time skip_

After inspecting the robot and performing tests on the materials, the heroes came to several conclusions: It was highly advanced, was made of alloys not found on Earth, but its programming was very alarming.

“It’s only advanced enough to perform actions, it can’t think for itself. What does this imply?”

“It receives orders from another computer”

“Yes, it also means that our hunters were most likely expendable, so how many does their master have?”

“Phantom, this may be serious, how should we proceed?”

“Continue to monitor for other units like it, I can extend my search range to the edge of the solar system, but until the commander make a move, I don’t know what we can do beyond preparing ourselves. I’ll leave the thing here, see what you can find on your own.”

The veteran hero walked to the tunnel Batman had brought him into, but before he left he turned to the Bat and said:

“Hey Batman”

“Yes?”

“I hope we can work together more in the future”

And the half ghost went on his way.

(( I hope you enjoy! think you could make something on this au? I would love to read that))

#submission #dpjl

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atomkrp-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

WELCOME TO XAVIER’S, KIM DOHYUN !

… loading statistics. currently aged twenty-three, entering first semester of xavier’s in seoul, south korea. decrypting files… mutant has the following records: strength +4, durability+3, agility +6, dexterity +5, intelligence +7. currently, he is classified under tier omega.

BACKGROUND.

From an early age, Kim Dohyun had always known that he was different; and not in the traditional sense. As a Korean child growing up in England, he had always known that he looked different, and maybe even acted a bit different than the other kids, but this feeling went beyond that; it alluded to something that went deeper than his families ethnic background. This suspicion of his had laid dormant in the back of his mind, until one day it finally decided to manifest into reality. While playing Monopoly with a group of friends, the eight-year-old discovered that if he wished hard enough, the dice would miraculously fall on the numbers that he had wished on. The first time it happened, he wrote it off as a fluke, something that his overactive imagination had conjured up. However, after the sixth and seventh times, he started to note somewhat of a pattern. It was at that moment where that sneaking suspicion began to morph into a terrifying confirmation; he was definitely different, and he needed to keep this a secret.

Eight years later, at the age of sixteen, Dohyun had known for certain who he was, what he was, and that he needed to hide this part of himself from his parents. They were traditional, and their beliefs had led them to believe that mutants were unnatural abominations that went against the will of their god. They had even gone so far as to moving the family back to South Korea after hearing one of their neighbors had a daughter who was exhibiting signs which they classified as “unholy, unnatural, and ungodly”. Without proper training, or a proper support system, he quickly found himself slipping into the “wrong crowd”. Under the cover of night, he would sneak out of their apartment and slink away to the underground casinos and gambling corporations run by the shady men and women who called the streets their home. His unassuming and innocent exterior worked in his favor, allowing him to manipulate and scam scores of individuals out of large sums of money. initially, he had only meant for these places to serve as a training ground, a place where he could test the limitations of his ability, however it quickly morphed into something more sinister. He became consumed with greed, finding pleasure in his ability to secure risky wins just by willing the odds in his favor. He felt good being in control and knowing that he had a certain control over those around him; it was a feeling more potent than any drug and he had become seriously addicted to it.

For years, he had a steel tight grip on the underground, eventually earning enough money to cut ties with his parents and move out of the oppressive environment that they had unknowingly created for him. It didn’t take long for news of his success to spread throughout the underground, and people began creating all sorts of explanations for his success. They began calling him Chance, the baby-faced genius with a golden hand, and Dohyun had absolutely thrived in the attention that he was receiving. Without his parents breathing down his back or the threat of ever losing any gamble, he lived his life recklessly and without consequence. He was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted and thought nothing of the damage that he was potentially causing. However, living a life without consequence oftentimes yields consequences that are far worse than what one would expect.

Without proper training and only his own research and experimentation to back him, Dohyun never thought to explore possible outside weaknesses to his ability. He had seen himself as invincible and unbeatable, as evidenced by his perfect winning streak over the span of seven years. All it took was one moment of carelessness for his empire to come crumbling down. He became too overzealous, not taking heed of his weakening physical state. His opponent was a stranger, a mysterious individual who exuded the same cockiness and greed that fueled his spirit. No matter what pathway he chose, the odds never seemed to work in his favor, and for the first time in years he felt himself slipping. As his frustration grew, his control over his own abilities gradually began to decrease, ultimately rendering him useless against his opponent. Eventually he felt himself succumbing to the rage that welled up inside him; he knew that there was great danger in losing control over his abilities, and had he been in the right state of mind, he might have thought against aiming his anger towards those around him. However, Dohyun wasn’t in the right state of mind, he hadn’t been for a long time, and the last thing he remembered feeling was a terrible rumble under his feet before everything turned dark.

When he awoke, he found himself in what looked to be an interrogation room, sort of like the ones he had seen on television. It didn’t take too long for him to piece everything together, and he knew that he had royally fucked up. Dohyun knew that he needed help, which was what led him to confide in the officer that had walked in to question him. He answered all of their questions, even going so far as to explain more about his ability and all of the information he had gathered over the years. No matter how helpful and candid he was, he knew that it wouldn’t erase the damage that he had caused and the lives that he had ruined. After what had seemed like forever, he was visited again by more officers and officials who had regarded him with interest. A few moments passed before one of them spoke, offering him a choice. He could accept the legal punishment for the damage that he had caused over the past seven years, or accept an invitation to an academy, one that would help him learn to master the ability that had caused so much destruction. So, being a man who spent much of his life picking and choosing the paths that would benefit him the most, it was almost too obvious which choice he went for.

MUTATION.

Dohyun’s mutation allows him to manipulate probability, or the likelihood that certain things are to occur. This essentially allows him to manipulate the outcome of any given event or situation, so long as it is something that can feasibly happen. Probability manipulation also grants the user with the ability to see many different outcomes, essentially giving them a quick glance into a probable future. Until they have a better grasp on their powers, inexperienced users often use an aid (such as a coin or six-sided die) to help them understand their power; this allows them to learn how to control their abilities by training them to manipulate the outcome of the dice roll. Most inexperienced users are able to manipulate probabilities that have more than a 50% chance of occurring in real life with little to no trouble. As the ability is developed, users will eventually gain the ability to make more improbable events happen with less of an energy expenditure.

STRENGTHS.

As a result of the mutation, the user is able to view and calculate multiple different outcomes to any given situation, and essentially choose the most desirable path. In essence, the user can calculate approximate odds of multiple situations, allowing them to pick the route that is most beneficial to them/the scenario at hand

As soon as the user chooses a route or pathway, the effects happen almost immediately after the user wills for it to occur. As long as the user has the energy to expend, they can make multiple things happen at once.

When their power is used, the user is the only one who notices that a change has occured. The change seamlessly fits itself within the timeline, making it seem as if things were supposed to happen that way.

At their most powerful, users can spontaneously manipulate odds or outcomes at will. This grants them the power to shift ratios with low probability to having a higher probability.

WEAKNESSES.

In order for the user to cause or prevent a situation, the probability of it occurring in real life must be within a certain range. In order to cause an event to happen, there must be more than a 0% chance of it occurring in real life; and in order to prevent a situation from occurring there must be less than a 100% chance of it happening.

In order to change the probability of a given situation, the user must exert an amount of energy equal to the event that they are trying to prevent or create. Events with a less than 50% probability of occurring will consume a lot more energy than events with more than a 50% chance of occurring. In short, this makes it more difficult to make more unlikely events occur.

As this ability consumes energy, there is a recharge period between uses. Recharge time depends on the amount of energy consumed, meaning that it can vary between a few hours to several days (this is dependent on the situation that was altered).

While it is relatively simple for the user to change the probability of a future event, changing the probability of a past event proves to be more difficult. In order for the user to change the probability of a past event, that event has to be something that was witnessed by no other person but the user themselves.

The ability of probability manipulation has no effect on other users of the same or similar ability (abilities that fall into this category include certainty manipulation, uncertainty manipulation, etc.) meaning that if two mutants with the ability of probability manipulation were to face off against each other, the combined use of their powers would cancel out, making them powerless against each other.

In order to properly control their ability, users must be of sound mind and body. if the user attempts to access their powers while under extreme stress or during times of emotional instability, they have the potential to skew probability, which could possibly cause cataclysmic events.

Without control, this power is extremely unpredictable and extremely dangerous. Inexperienced users, or users who haven’t been properly trained may only be able to trigger events that have a limited number of outcomes. Essentially, this means that they would be able to change the outcome of something like a dice roll or a coin toss but wouldn’t have the ability to change the outcome of an actual event

#at:profile #tw gambling

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the-voyager-kota · 6 years ago

Text

Fighting Spirit

The Jade Forest, a long standing symbol of beauty and harmony within Pandaria and home of the Tian Monastery, a place of learning for new students of the ways of the monk. Being the most accepting to those that are not pandaren, races from all over Azeroth come to begin training either for self defense, spiritual enlightenment, or their own personal reasons. Master Hoon Dullhide, a brown furred pandaren, one of these classes by taking a group of students to a clearing in the forests just outside of the monastery. The class was entirely of novices and nearly all of them were of foreign races. The pandaren that were there were practically children and they kept up with the other students all too well, drawing some ire and embarrassment from the others along the way.

As Master Hoon spoke his lessons, walking back and forth in front of the dozen students that sat in the grass, a male kaldorei stood just behind him towards the treeline with his hands clasped behind his back and gaze looking over the students. The elf's light leathers adorned with red feather and ropes were contrasted by the dark purple skin and the bright cyan hair that grew in a closely shaved beard and in a long ponytail behind his head. His expression was hard to read as it fell over those sitting, not stern or hardened but not showing any bit of affection either.

"Master Hoon, we don't need a lesson why punching and kicking works. We came here to learn to do it!" A female voice piped up. A blonde haired sin'dorei sitting near the middle of the class voiced her impatience with the class being given. "Why did you bring us all out here? I learned a new technique yesterday and I was hoping to spar with the other students back at the monastery." Master Hoon stopped in his pacing and merely smiled at the blood elf, a gentle chuckle answering her.

"Oh have you now? I would very much like to see it." He turned to the kaldorei behind him. "Sallo, can I trouble you with sparring a round with our friend, here?" The kaldorei bowed his head.

"Of course, Master." Sallo stepped forward to stand at the front of the group as the blood elf got up from her spot and stood across from him, her eyes fierce as she readied herself. Sallo simply bowed to her with his hands remaining behind his back and stood upright as Master Hoon moved to stand behind the row of sitting students and proclaimed the start of the spar.

"Begin."

Sallo slightly widened his stance but otherwise let his hands remain clasped behind his back. Not a moment after Master Hoon spoke, the female rushed forward with a flurry of wild punches and kicks being thrown at Sallo's head and chest. Every one of the strikes only felt air as Sallo steadily stepped backwards and bobbed from left to right around every attack. Continuing his evasion, Sallo noted when they were backed to the end of the line of students and he easily rolled around to her back when ducking under another punch. An opportunity was given to him as she was slow to turn around but he did not take it, choosing to teach a lesson rather than hand her a defeat.

She whirled around with a kick but he bent backwards and it sailed right in front of his face, his demeanor still calm. He paced the fight back along the line of students again and again, his opponent becoming even more frustrated and embarrassed with each pass and her strikes becoming more wild. Her breathing was becoming labored as more energy was expended and Sallo saw the real opportunity that he wanted.

As she reached out with a strike and put her whole body's weight into it, Sallo stepped to the side and left his foot out in her path, the force of her strike carrying her forward to trip over it and squeak as she fell face first into the grass. Laughter erupted from the class and Master Hoon only smiled. "Now, now. All of you should be thanking her for learning a lesson for you, not laughing at her perceived defeat." He made his way around to where the female was gathering herself, her face red from embarrassment. "Do not be so quick to rush into defeat. Let victory find its way to you."

The master stepped aside and let Sallo face her once more, his fist in his hand in front of him as he bowed and she begrudgingly did the same. As they bowed, Sallo's voice carried to her in an almost whisper. "Keep your weight on the back foot." The blood elf blinked as they came out of the bow and looked to the still stoic face of Sallo, a purse of her lips given before she hurried back to her seat and the kaldorei returned to the master's side.

Master Hoon smiled at the class and continued. "Now, where was I-?" The words had barely left his mouth when a distant booming sound echoed through the forests. All of the students looked around in a confusion but both Master Hoon and Sallo looked over the peaks to the west towards the Peak of Serenity. Master Hoon looked in frightened awe at a green glow and massive ships hovering over the Peak. "What...what is this?"

Sallo stared with his arms at his sides, mouth slightly open and murmured, "The Burning Legion." Sallo's attention shot to the class, all now stood up and looking towards the distant peaks with fear whispering through the group. His voice hardened with urgency and he looked to Master Hoon. "Master, we must get the students back to the monastery."

Before they could even turn to start back, a splitting crack thundered through the sky and a Legion ship shadowed them. Sallo looked up with wide eyes and the hum of the formidable structure was only accompanied by the cries of panic from the class and Master Hoon trying to calm them while keeping fear out of his own voice as much as he could. Sallo watched the ship trail forward towards Tian Monastery and the beams of green energy come down as its soldiers touched down. The monastery was no longer an option.

"Quickly! We must head east towards the Temple of the Jade Serpent!" Master Hoon proclaimed. Motioning the students along, the group began to head through the lush forests. Sallo slowly backed towards them, his vision glued to the catastrophe that was happening in the distance. Tearing away, he ran to catch up as the group was in a hurry and he took up the rear as Master Hoon lead the way through the trees.

Sallo lost his sense of time, not knowing if they had walked for a mere minute or a whole hour as he gazed around the forests in search of attackers. Master Hoon called out. "Sallo! A word, please." Sallo jogged up to the front of the group, passing students mumbling to themselves and all trying to make sense out of what was happening. Sallo leaned in to speak in a hushed tone to the master.

"If the Legion has returned, no temple will be safe for long. We must find out if there is a defense forming."

Master Hoon merely looked forward in response, his voice gentle but his brow laced with concern. "We have students under our care. That is our only focus at this moment. Keep sight of what is in front of you, not on what may or may never come forward."

Their conversation was cut short by a cry of pain from behind them. Sallo whipped around to see one of the human students fall to the ground in smoldering green fire. As they peered through the forests in the direction they came, Legion forces sprinted through the brush, hulking demons grunting and brandishing their spears while eredar readied their foul magics. Cries of panic overwhelmed the students and all began running past their master through the trees hoping to not be one of the few who were cut down but foul spells and flying weapons.

It all so quickly descended into chaos as the demons caught up to them in seconds. Sallo sprinted through the trees and let a quick fist crash into any demon who caught up with the group but it wasn't enough. He could still hear some of the demon's finding their prey and students being slain with outbursts of agony. Some were even taken prisoner, harshly subdued and carried back towards Tian Monastery. As Sallo stood up and looked for who was left to defend, he saw two students cowering behind a tree. The blood elf female that he had sparred with before was clutching a young pandaren boy, shielding him behind a tree.

Just out of the corner of his eye, Sallo could see the flash of metal and time moved in slow motion as he turned to see a spear hurtling through the air straight towards them. There was no time for him to intercept it but it was another quick movement that stopped it. Master Hoon's form was between them and the spear before Sallo could even realize what was happening and the weapon burst through his chest and just poked out of the old pandaren's back. The two students cried a whimper and Sallo rushed over to Hoon who was laboring his last breaths. A large hand rested on Sallo as he held his old master up. "Keep sight...of what...is in front of you." He aired out before the large master collapsed forward onto the spear that killed him.

Sallo stood wide eyed, that slow motion effect coming to him again as he looked around the scene. Corpses littered the forests of those who stood up against the impossible foe that still pressed towards them in growing numbers. Sallo looked to the blood elf and the young pandaren still behind the tree and he hardened his resolve, making towards them. He slid behind the tree and put a hand on each of them. "Do you remember Master Hoon's teachings on chi?" He said as gently as he could.

The two looked at him with teary eyes, almost confused. After a moment, they both nodded.

Sallo looked around the tree at more of the demons getting closer and nodded to them. "Alright, I want you to close your eyes and recite them back, okay? Keep your eyes closed and tell me what chi is." The blood elf seemed ready to question or even protest but he looked at her, a steel in his eyes as he repeated himself. "Close your eyes and tell me what chi is." He was given another look, one of panic and confusion but they both eventually complied and closed their eyes. As they began, Sallo breathed out and stood up, making his way around the tree and eyeing his enemy.

Chi is the spirit energy within all beings.

A wild felgaurd came rushing through the brush with a roar, his spear pointed at Sallo. The elf ducked low under the thing and swept his leg under the felgaurd to make it crash to the ground before keeping his momentum and driving a heel into the front of its skull, his chi focused in his strikes to create such a force that bone cracked and the demon lay limp.

Chi is not a magical source. It is the will of yourself, your fighting spirit.

More emerged to attach Sallo and the monk quickly darted forward with a flurry of punches in lightning succession and drove one of the demonic soldiers to the ground while feeling the skin of his arms break and bleed as the monster retaliated until its demise. The other bounded past him and towards the huddled students. Sallo picked up the spear of the one he dispatched before it even hit the ground and sent it hurtling back into the second demon's neck, pinning it to the other side of the tree from where the students were and causing them a moment of panic. Sallo cried out, "Keep going!" before he felt a bolt of fel energy impact his abdomen and he was knocked to the ground gasping for air.

Chi has no limit just as your self has no limit. It is as strong as you will it to be.

Sallo looked up, his teeth grit, to see the eredar caster readying another spell as it approached. The kaldorei's abdomen smoldered green but only for a moment as a gentle blue glow pulled the flames away and left only the damage they had managed to cause thus far behind. He pushed off of his back foot and launched himself forward, rolling under the next green fireball that came out and coming out of it driving a heel straight up into the chin of the eredar, sending it skyward. Sallo lept up after the demonic creature and grabbed around its neck before twisting his body around in midair to let the momentum break the eredar's neck.

To master my chi is to master myself and my own destiny.

The corpse landed with a thud and Sallo fell to his knees, bleeding clutching his wounded gut and wincing as he looked forward. He could hear them, more demons coming through the forest. The kaldorei was unsure how long he could keep this up before being overwhelmed and fear began to tickle at the back of his mind. He saw his own corpse next to those he had slain, the students captured or killed and all because of his failures. His yellow eyes closed and a slow breath was taken in. Fear would not take hold of him. If this was the day he was to die then he would die in defense of those it was his duty to protect. opening his eyes and standing, he readied himself, hands up and eyes in the woods.

Chi is the spirit within all beings.

Sallo tightened his knuckles before opening his palms, his breaths steady from his nostrils.

Chi is not a magical source. It is the will of yourself, your fighting spirit.

That blue glow emerged from his body again, a gentle mist wiping away the blood from his arms.

Chi has no limit just as your self has no limit. It is as strong as you will it to be.

All felt quite for a split moment, the calm before the storm. A gentle breeze rustled the trees around him and blew at his hair. Sallo remained a statue, ever ready for a last stand.

To master my chi is to master myself and my own destiny.

An armored eredar broke through the treeline roaring wildly as it charged forward seemingly out of control. Just as it made it a few feet from Sallo, its eyes rolled back in its head and it collapsed forward to reveal crossbow bolts pierced all along its armor. Sallo blinked and looked up to the treeline with wide eyes to see a mixture of demons and black armored pandaren emerge in gruesome battle, the pandaren having the upper hand. The Shado-Pan had come to Tian Monastery’s defense.

From where Sallo stood in the present day, stepping from a ship onto the docks of Duskscale harbor, he wondered if it was mere luck that he and the students had been rescued that day and taken to the Wandering Isle where he had remained to aid in the war with the Legion. There, he had helped train those eager to fight for their world and stepped onto the front lines a few times himself. Part of him now put stock in the pandaren's strong beliefs of destiny.

Either way, the war was over and the monasteries were beginning to rebuild but Sallo had decided that he had been away from the rest of the world for too long. He was seeking an old friend.

As he walked down the harbor, he stopped one of the workers. "Where can I find the captain of the Veil Jumper?"

#Sallo #monk #warcraft #rp #alt

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rmjagonshi · 7 years ago

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Prompts, huh? How about some fluffy bonding time with Stan and Dipper? Or Ford and Mabel? Your choice!

Went with Dipper and Stan becasue the Ford and Mabel one came out really angsty. More hurt/comfort than anything. Hope its ok?

He could feel someoneelse in the room. He didn’t need to see or hear them to know they were there.He didn’t spend ten years on the streets and not develop the skill to read hissurroundings, to feel the shift in the air and know that another living being hadentered the room.

He didn’t do this often.Not anymore; there wasn’t really any need to practice. But with all the mentalenergy he’d been expending lately trying to get the damn portal up and running,he needed to work out his frustrations. The old lather of his boxing glovesstill supple after all this time. The weight of the punching bag comfortingagainst his onslaught.

He paused to breathe, onegloved hand braced against the bag, sweat beading on his skin.

“Grunkle Stan?”

Logically, it had to beone of the twins, but his great nephew’s voice still startled him. He took aquick glance over his shoulder to see the boy standing in the doorway, ablanket wrapped around his body.

“What’s up, kiddo?Shouldn’t you be asleep? Way past yer bedtime.” It wasn’t, not really, with fewresponsibilities during the summer, the kids could go to sleep when they wantedand get up when they wanted. He didn’t care much, let’em have fun.

“I couldn’t sleep.”Which was obvious, but that didn’t explain why the kid had come to talk to himrather than just bug his sister like he usually would.

The boy entered hisroom, the blanket dragging along the floor behind him, to sit on Stan’s bed.Stan waited a few moments, but when Dipper didn’t speak, he turned back to thebag and continued smacking away to the bag. He used to be really good atgetting into his opponent’s blind spots, taking a pummeling until he saw anopening and taking the win by a knockout. He footwork needed help though; thirtyyears of sedentary life was killer.

He punched hard at thebag and let his swing away and then back at him. He blocked and aimed left,right where his opponent’s blind spot would be.

“Can you teach me?” Stan’sleft hand slid across the surface of the bag, knocking it sideways and into hisface. He used his body weight to still the bag and rubbed at his nose, blinkingat the boy kneeling on the mattress, watching him. He couldn’t see the kidclearly, his glasses sitting on the nightstand.

“Hang on, kid, can’t hearya without my glasses.” He took the few steps over to retrieve them, ignoringDipper’s confused question as to why Stan needed glasses to hear.

With his sightclear-ish, Stan sat down on the bed next to the boy. “Now, what was that?” Dipperlooked less willing to make his request than he had moments ago. He wrapped theblanket tight around him and stared at the rug. Stan sighed, so he was gonnahave to pull it out of the kid, huh? Fine.

“What’s eatin’ at ya? Yawouldn’t be here otherwise.” Dipper just worried his lip in response. Stangently laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Can’t help if ya don’t openup, kid.”

Dipper opened and closedhis mouth several times before he could choke out a response.

“Would you teach me howto box? Not, not like attacking or anything, but, just…like how to block or something.”

“Someone bullying you?”

“What? No, not…not here.”Dipper paused and curled himself up more before continuing. “There’s, this kid,back home, that won’t leave me alone. I get into fights all the time with himand nothing I say or do will make him stop. It’s part of the reason Mom and Dadsent us here. So, Mable and I could have one summer where I’m not coming homewith bruises.”

Stan hummed in thought,listening to Dipper recount his tale. He nodded, understanding exactly what thekid was going through. He and his brother had been bullied a lot when they wereyounger. But while he had had years upon decades to get over his bully, Dipper wasstill facing the mental scars of his. Maybe…

“Maybe he likes ya?”Stan knew it wasn’t that, but Dipper’s sputtering and barely contained laughtertold him that it was the right question. Pull the kid out of his moping.

“What?! EWW! GrunkleStan! He’s a jerk! Even if I was interested, he’s just…a big poophead!” Stanchuckled at the kid’s choice of insult. It was one he used when he was youngtoo.

“Alright, well, I guessI can show ya somthin’”

They spent the next hourworking on Dipper’s stance. Stan taught Dipper how to keep his balance, how toblock, and how to divert the momentum of a punch. Stan stood behind the bag andswung it at Dipper a few times so the boy could learn to sidestep a punch andaim for a weak point. He didn’t have any gloves that would fit Dipper’s smallhands, so he’d wrapped them as best he could with tape to give the by somepadding. He showed Dipper how to hold his wrists stable, and where to put theforce so that he wouldn’t break or sprain anything. The boy didn’t have muchstrength – Stan had been trying to work on that with all the chores he hadDipper do – but the kid was fast and agile. Like Stanford, a LOT like Stanford.Hmmmm.

“What does this kid do,anyway? Just mess ya up or what?” Stan was holding the bag as Dipper triedagain to punch with full force and keep his wrist straight.

“Yeah, kinda. He used totease me about my birthmark, then, when I got interested in ghosts andcryptids, he glued hair to my face and called me littlefoot.”

Stan snorted, not bad,but still not refined enough. Not as refined as the stunts he and Stanfordpulled when they were young.

“You know what he’sinto?” Dipper tried again to hit the bag with full strength; it hardly moved.

“What do you mean? Ow.”Dipper sipped too far in the last punch and bent his wrist back.

“Like, I dunno, does heride a bike, have a hobby, or like some girl?” He was treading on dangerous territoryhere, he had to be careful. Small things were ok, but Dipper was still youngand not nearly as tough as he was; kid was not going to handle being broughthome by the cops well.

“He’s got a skateboardhe keeps in his locker. But I don’t understand how that means anything.” Dippermassaged his wrist as Stan knelt down and gripped him by the shoulder.

“Here’s the deal, kid.And you didn’t hear this from me, got it?” Dipper nodded. “I can teach ya howto pop a locker, those are stupid easy. Com locks, at least the cheap ones, youcan hear when the tumblers lock. You pop that locker in-between classes andleave it open. If he’s as much of a jerk as you say, I guarantee others will bewanting to get back at him. Let someone else take the board. Serve him right.”

Dipper’s jaw dropped. Hestared into Stan’s eyes like he couldn’t believe what he had heard. He blinkeda few times and closed his mouth, ready to retort something, but nothing came.

“Hey, I’m a world classscam artist. What kind of advice didja think you were gonna get?” Stan beganunwrapping Dipper’s hands, wadding the tape up and shoving it in his pocket. Hestood and threw an extra towel at Dipper, the terry cloth hitting the thirteen-year-oldin the face. Dipper sputtered, glaring at Stan as he wiped off his brow andneck.

“Get to bed, kid. It’sgoin’ on one in the mornin’. And yer sister is gonna be runnin’ circles ‘roundyou ‘cause she got a full night’s sleep.”

Dipper turned to leave,towel and blanket wadded up under his arm. He paused at the door and turned backas Stan was putting his tape and gloves away.

“Grunkle Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Stan heard thekid make his way across the hall and up the stairs to the attic room. Darnkids. If they kept this up, he was gonna have a hard time letting them go backhome. Maybe he’d call up Dan and ask if the kids could come up for springbreak. Or maybe he’d actually close the shack down for the holidays and headdown to California himself.

Stan pushed the glovesin the drawer aside and thumbed at the old photo of him and Stanford standingin the boxing ring laughing it up like they had all the time in the world. Itwas so nice to have a family again. But he couldn’t grow complacent. He hadonly just finished repairing the cable connections downstairs. He had to keepgoing.

“I’m gonna get you back,Ford. And when I do, we’re gonna be a family again. They’ll love you, I knowit.”

#writing prompts #gravity falls #stanley pines #dipper pines #boxing

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misccee · 7 years ago

Text

13x16 Fix

Repost for time difference

Castiel is jetlagged. He is billions of years old—he was once able to fold time & space!—but an airplane has foiled him. His Grace thrums unhappily—it wants to reestablish his vessel’s circadian rhythm—but Castiel has the feeling he shouldn’t be expending energy so close to his task. Who knows what tribulations he will encounter. Could be another set of clay warriors. Could be a giant snake. Could be Chuck casually reading the paper. Who knows really, with the way these things usually go. Castiel has learned not to have concrete expectations.

As Castiel swipes at the djinn in front of him while another tries to grab him around the waist, he realizes that he did have expectations after all. He was expecting maybe a mythical beast to defeat; or a trial of riddles; a booby-trapped walk of faith (and damn, he’s watched that movie with Dean too many times if that’s the expectation his otherworldly brain has conjured up); but certainly not a rouge pack of djinn who took up residence because they were bored and they could.

“I can’t wait to taste your dreams, Angel,” the one currently grappling at his waist hisses into his ear as he licks it.

Castiel swings an elbow back into the djinn’s gut as he flips his angel blade and throws it at the one dancing in front of him. The blade pierces its throat, and it gargles pathetically around the blue-black lifeblood it aspirates on.

The elbow wasn’t as effective,and Castiel feels himself being pulled down. He’s deadlier with his angel blade, but without it he’s just deadly. He manages to wriggle around and place a smiting hand on the djinn who was behind him…but he trips over the feet of another djinn Castiel had—sliced? stabbed? (he can’t really recall all of the ways he’s dispatched the djinn at this point)—and he finds himself on the ground. On his back.

Again.

All these years and he still cannot balance right without the aid of his wings.

He only has a moment to berate his clumsiness before two more djinn appear at his opponent’s side. Castiel spits blood out of his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue on impact. He waits for them to close in before he rolls away from their outstretched, grabby hands. Blindly he reaches behind him and—blessedly—his fingers curl around the hilt of his blade. Castiel swipes out in an arc and manages to wound two of his attackers, who hiss and jump away.

The third—the pest who has consistently gotten the closest to Castiel’s vessel—grabs him by the lapels of his trench coat and hoists him up. The djinn’s smile bleeds across his face revealing his sharp teeth, his breath an acrid breeze across Castiel’s face. Cas stomps on the djinn’s instep and gives him a patented Dean Winchester head-butt, and the creature stumbles back.

The other two have collected themselves, and—with Mr. Too-Close-for-Comfort—begin circling Castiel. Cas just rolls his shoulders and chuckles. On his feet, angel blade in his grasp, he has the upper hand.

His laugh must have unnerved them somewhat because they are glancing at each other. They start conversing in their sibilant language (one he’s heard Sam refer to more than once as Parseltongue and would not be dissuaded against the inaccuracy of that label). Castiel doesn’t know if the djinn do it because think he can’t understand them or because they know he can.

“I am unsure of this.”

“He is bloodied, but does not appear to be tiring.”

“He has already sent six of us to Purgatory. Do we wish to join our siblings there?”

“You know,” interjects Castiel, “if you just give me some fruit—as I asked when I first arrived—I’d be happy to be on my way and spare the rest.”

Their attention snaps back to him and they hiss in unison.

Castiel flips his blade a few times and raises his eyebrow. “Or I could cut a swath through you and let you join the ‘party’ in Purgatory.” Flip, flip. “I was fighting wars before your alpha was even a glimmer in Eve’s eye, but sure—test me combat.”

They hesitate knowing the truth behind his words, but indignant about being called out over their battle prowess. A look passes between the three of them and their stances relax.

Mr. Too-Close speaks at him, “You will speak with our Malikah.”

Castiel straightens but doesn’t relax. “Do I have your word I will come to her unharmed?”

The djinn smiles at him, baring his razors again. “We will bring you to her as you are. What happens after is none of our doing.”

The djinn queen is sitting in an obviously handmade wicker chair under the tree, one leg slung lazily over an armrest. She considers Castiel with a look that wouldn’t melt butter. She gestures airily at his ‘escorts’ and they leave his side to join with the others in their pack. Her face is graced with a wicked smile.

“Are you a present?”

“No, Malikah. I am here on a…quest of sorts.”

She swings her leg down and leans forward, raising her brows at him.

“And am I not the treasure you seek?”

Castiel squints. The devil is loose, a Prince of Hell sits its throne, a war-torn angel army threatens to invade this Earth, and he’s getting hit on.

Again.

“Your…uh…beauty is a…treasure indeed. But…um—”

The djinn huffs out an amused laugh and waves at him to stop.

“I know what you seek. It is what every being who comes here seeks.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder and Castiel sees the pile of bones.

Lovely.

She rises from her chair languidly and saunters over to him.

“But you, Angel. For you I require a very different price. Hmm. No, a favor is more like. Will trade a favor for a bit of fruit?”

Her hand comes up and she trails a tattooed finger along his stubbled jawline.

“Um. Ok,” he sputters.

The pack of djinn on the sidelines titter.

Castiel is sitting in another wicker chair. He shifts self-consciously under the weight of the flowers on his head the necklaces of teeth—of all kinds—wound around his neck. Three female djinn are painting his forearms (he’d staunchly insisted that he’d keep his shirt on, but his sleeves rolled up), neck, and bare feet. He feels naked without his trenchcoat.

“What exactly is—” he starts, but the djinn painting his left arm shushes him.

“Don’t move. You’ll ruin the line.”

“Ok.”

Castiel surveys the area. The pack of dijnn are mostly standing about in clumps talking animatedly with each other. Even with his heightened hearing and understanding of the language, he can’t seem make anything out—the sounds are too breathy and too many of them overlap—so when they all quiet, Castiel perks up.

The three djinn attending him stand and move away (the one who spoke to him earlier snaps at him, “do not move too much before it dries!”) and a djinn he didn’t fight appears on a platform. The djinn begins to sing a capella—there are no words, but the melody is ethereal and heartrending. Hand movements accompany the notes, but Castiel can’t tell if it’s a language he doesn’t speak, or if the movements are of the signer’s own making.

He leans over to the closet djinn, “So do I, um—" but he is cut off with an aggravated hiss.

“Do not interrupt!”

So Castiel sinks back into the chair. He starts a little when the pack of djinns start clapping and stomping. At first it seems uncoordinated, but after a few beats he realizes there’s a cadence and pattern to it, with some djinns clapping and others stomping in turns. As the song and beat pick up, a cadre of djinn break free and start wheeling and spinning and slapping and clapping at each other’s hands in a mesmerizing sort of ballet.

There is a cry—it doesn’t appear to be a part of the song—and Castiel sees the djinn queen approaching. She is decked out in her own set of flowers and creature teeth. There’s a certain sort of thorny beauty to her that reminds him of Meg Masters.

Another djinn appears before Castiel suddenly and holds a carafe of sweet-smelling…something…out to him.

“Now. You drink now,” the djinn says in English. Castiel hesitates, but the djinn is insistent, “You not displease her.”

So Castiel accepts the carafe and takes a sip. The attendant makes an aggrieved noise and tips the bottom of the carafe so that Cas is forced to drink down the sudden onset of liquid on reflex before the last of it is spilling out of the sides of his mouth and trickling down his neck. He hopes the tracts don’t smear the calligraphy on his skin. He looks around inconspicuously—he does not see the artist who yelled at him to take care, but he still refrains from wiping at his mouth.

The sounds of bodies pounding on other bodies begin to beat within his vessel. The djinn queen is getting closer to him, but she suddenly seems very far away. The dancers start spinning, but Castiel can’t tell if that’s part of the dance or because of the sudden inebriation he realizes is occurring to his vessel. His Grace pulses in agitation, but it feels like swimming through molasses to try and access it, so Cas just closes his eyes.

A warm hand is on his cheek, and—as he opens his eyes—another is pulling him to his feet. Castiel sways and tries to focus. The djinn queen gives a joyful laugh. She takes the crown of teeth from her head and places it in his hand at the same time as swiping the crown of flowers from his head. She grabs his noodle arm and raises it up.

“Put it on your head!” she shouts, pointing at his head as she fixes the flower crown jauntily on her own.

“Oh, um. Right.” Castiel slams the crown of teeth on his head—it was closer to his hand than he’d judged—and adjusts it to stay.

The djinn queen is looking at him, so he says, “So…uh. What exactly is this favor? This seems…um…ritualistic in nature. If I had to guess—” she claps her hands directly in his face.

“Now we dance! That is the favor that you will give to me. A dance at this celebration!”

She grabs his hand, twirls him awkwardly, and yanks him into the sea of serpentining bodies.

Castiel is rudely awakened by a jab of toe into his side. Curious. His does not need sleep, but there is a slight ache behind his eyes that informs him he didn’t sleep so much as “pass out.” He calls his Grace and the ache alleviates. He sits up from where he’d been lying in the dirt to squint up at the djinn who belongs to the offending toe.

It’s Mr. Too-Close-for-Comfort—because of course it is—and he’s looming over Castiel, holding a full bag.

“Get up, angel,” he says.

As Castiel stands he takes stock of himself—he’s still clothed, but the designs on his skin are no more than blue smears now; his crown is nowhere to be found, but there are a couple of crushed and bruised flowers stuck in his hair. What. The. Hell.

The djinn shoves the bag into Castiel’s chest, producing a slight oomph from him.

“Your prize for favoring the queen. Now leave. We have both honored our words. Let us not break them now due to lingering.”

Castiel looks around—he sees a mound of sleeping djinn in clumps all over the territory—but he does not see the Malikah herself.

“I…thank you.”

The djinn laughs at him.

“Have fun with your…quest. Do not forget that you are now bound to us of your own free will. She may yet call claim on that again.”

Castiel shifts the bag in his grasp as he turns to leave—it contains the sought-after fruit (which Cas is just now wondering how he’ll have to mojo though customs)—and heaves a full body sigh.

It would appear that he’s gotten married.

Again.

Src

#scoobynatural #13x16 fix #castiel #castiel’s adventures #djinn queen

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