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crazyk-imagine · 2 years

Text

Play a Tune

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Assistant!Wolfe!Reader, Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace (implied)

Characters: Assistant!Wolfe! Reader, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Reuben "Payback" Fitch, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, Javy "Coyote" Machado, Neil "Omaha" Vikander, Billy "Fritz" Avalone, Callie "Halo" Bassett, Brigham "Harvard" Lennox, Logan "Yale" Lee, Penny Benjamin

Briefly mentioned: Nick “Goose” Bradshaw, Carole Bradshaw, Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe

Warnings: SMUT, P n V, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, teasing, Bradley calling the reader a brat (more than once), he also really REALLY likes his name (some might say it’s a name kink), fluff, singing, Bob is reader’s bestie, Pete gets deja vu, shameless Hangman and Phoenix longing for each other tease, only Coyote knows about their feelings, mentions of papa Goose and papa Wolfman, there’s a lot to unpack here

Word Count: 9,843

Playlist for PAT: We Are the Champions by Queen

Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis

Footloose by Kenny Rogers

A/N: I didn’t plan on making this a smutty one but then before I knew it, it was. I have no regrets

*Reader is Wolfman’s daughter and technically has “two” call signs, (Mave and Wolfman were close after TG and all the competing and Goose’s death. Reader easily became Mave’s fav out of the four of you [your two brothers and sister, who are also in or have been to TG]. Mave always took you with him whenever he was out working on whatever and you two were always singing hence Harmony). Howler is reader’s official call sign, courtesy of her pop’s and because if it was a good mission she’ll howl in victory

*We all know Maverick is Rooster’s surrogate dad, but he doesn’t want to replace Goose, so he chose to be the “Uncle” figure

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You fall back onto the piano bench, messing up his classic go to song. You push yourself up, cringing at the sound of the wrong piano keys being played. You turn to Bradley, “sorry.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

You spin around, “you mind if I try something?”

He says nothing, gesturing for you to go for it. You nod, fingers gliding along the keys, a familiar tune enters the bar.

Bob takes notice of how more than half the bar moves closer to your side, close to crowding the piano. A smile stretches across his lips, he’s the only one who knows.

I’ve paid my dues

Your voice drifts through Bradley’s ears.

Time after time

It’s you.

You’re the one who gets the entire bar involved… better than he ever could.

Everyone’s heard you play before but, he was one of the few who were never lucky enough to put a face to the voice.

I’ve done my sentence

But committed no crime

He’s brought out of his thoughts by the whole bar singing. He notices the nodding of your head; he turns and starts playing beside you.

And bad mistakes

I’ve made a few

He joins in.

A gentle smile dances cross your lips

I've had my share of sand

Kicked in my face

But I've come through

The two of you sing.

And we mean to go on and on and on and on

You glance over your shoulder, “come on everybody. I see some familiar faces and I know you know this song.”

Bradley shakes his head; a smile manages to stretch across his lips. He sometimes forgets how fun it can be at the Hard Deck.

We are the champions, my friends

The customers at the bar sing in sync.

And we'll keep on fighting till the end

We are the champions

Bob glances over at Natasha and Mickey (who aren’t paying attention to him, focusing on the way you make the crowd move in sync in a way none of the others have ever seen done as smooth as this before).

The snacker shrugs heading over towards his friend. He stands beside the piano, too nervous to chime in.

No time for losers

'Cause we are the champions of the World

You glance up to find the nervous man standing there, you offer him a smile, hoping to ease his nerves.

Bob would rarely join in when it was the two of you or just you doing something just like this. He's always been more of a “I’ll watch a few people do it before I join in”. It’s gotten better over the years but there are times where he’s still that shy young man you met a few years ago… like now. He hesitantly smiles back, fiddling with his glasses.

Bradley takes over, letting you move away from the bench.

You grab Bob’s hand, pulling him closer so he can stand in front of the seat, you stand on now. You place your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to sway side to side until he starts doing it on his own.

The customers in the bar follow along and sway with the two of you.

The man with a mustache (whose name you still don’t know) lowers his voice, letting yours (and Bob’s) overpower his.

I've taken my bows

And my curtain calls

You glance over at the other pilots and point

You brought me fame and fortune

And everything that goes with it

I thank you all

You wave them over with a smile.

Mickey and Billy are the first to run over, standing on either side of Bob, the former doing his best not to stand in front of their fellow pilot.

But it's been no bed of roses

Neil and Callie stand beside Billy (who’s on Bob’s right).

No pleasure cruise

I consider it a challenge before

The human race

And I ain't gonna lose

You gesture for the other customers to quiet down, giving the pilots and WSO’s time to shine.

And we mean to go on and on and on and on

Logan shoves Reuben and Bringham in your direction.

We are the champions, my friends

And we'll keep on fighting till the end

We are the champions

Javy drags Jake closer to the piano, pointing to the blond when you all sing

No time for losers

Jake shoves Javy away from him with a small smile.

'Cause we are the champions of the World

A wide smile stretches across your lips as you raise your arms, wanting to hear everyone again.

We are the champions, my friends

The beautiful sound of her bar’s loyal customers singing your usual tune brings a smile to her face and Penny can’t help but join in.

And we'll keep on fighting till the end

We are the champions

You move Bob over to the one side of the piano, beside the kid with the buzzcut. You glance around, noticing how the other pilots you’ve seen here on numerous occasions now surround the piano.

No time for losers

'Cause we are the champions of the world

You turn around, spreading your arms and fall back.

Those in front of piano seat catch you, carefully setting you down. They kind of expected this because this is the way you usually end whenever you’re on the piano.

You smile to those who caught you, “I thank you all.”

You practically hop back over to the man with a mustache, plopping down beside him. “Hi.”

He turns, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “hi.”

“You ever gonna take those things off?”

“’Fraid not. Gotta have some mystery, right?”

You pretend to think about it, “I think not.” You lean over, gingerly snatching them off him, placing them on your head. “Ah ah,” you swat his hand. “You’ll get these beauties back after we get to know each other.” You stick your hand out for a handshake, “deal?”

Now it’s his turn to pretend to think about it. He shrugs, “I guess.”

You blink once, twice; a shiver runs down your spine as he lifts your hand closer to him. “Oh, you’re gonna be trouble for me, aren’t you?”

He stares up at you through his lashes, his mustache tickling the back of your hand when he removes his lips to talk to you. “Do you want me to be?”

“You answer my question with a question. Oh, yeah, you’re trouble.”

“You wanna play another song?”

“Maybe later,” you pat his shoulder, standing up. You lean against him, whispering, “how about a dance instead?”

He says nothing.

“You’ll get your aviators back,” you say in a sing song tone.

He can’t lie, he’s intrigued and has been since he first heard you and the fact that you didn’t just call them sunglass like every other girl who’s chatted him up… interesting. “One dance?”

“One dance,” you confirm with a nod.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, sweetheart.” He turns, his dashing chestnut eyes searching yours only to find mischief.

“Oh, honey, you don’t know what you’re in for.”

Bradley narrows his eyes ever so slightly, “I’ll give you something to remember later.”

You lean in closer, your nose bumping against his letting him think you were going to kiss him before you lean down closer to his ear, “I’m counting on it.” You step back, walking away knowing that he’ll follow (and if not, you’re catching up with Bob for the rest of the evening). You’re not even halfway across the room when you’re pulled back. You place your free hand on his chest as you set your other on his shoulder. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

He raises a brow, “sounds like someone’s a little full of themselves.”

You shrug, “what can I say? I got my dad’s genes.”

“I see.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. That’s why I gotta talk to you, get to know you, right? So, I can know if that’s true or not.”

You click your tongue, “you’re learning.”

He smirks, pulling back spinning you around once before pulling you back into his arms, your back against his chest. “Think you can handle this?”

“Oh, I know I can, the question, can you, pilot?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him. “You know what I do.”

“Affirmative.”

“And yet, I still don’t know a thing about you.”

“In due time. In due time.” He hums.

Before you know it, you’re being spun around again, this time you laugh, finding yourself letting loose.

You spin around, bumping into someone, aiming to quickly apologize until you look up. “Maverick!”

“Harmony, you’re here?”

“Sure, looks like it.”

“Still giving me lip I see.”

“Don’t give me that look. You know you’re happy to see me.”

He sighs, “can’t say that I am.”

You scoff, shoving his shoulder.

Pete glances over your shoulder, finding Bradley getting closer. He uses his eyes to gesture to you.

Bradley clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

“You forgot this at Penny’s yesterday.” Pete holds your father hat in his hands.

You take it with a smile, removing the aviators and switching it for something a little homier.

“I see you two finally met,” says Pete, glancing between the two of you.

“We who?” You ask.

“You and Bradley.”

“Bradley?”

“Bradshaw.”

“Oh. Oh.” You stare at the young man with wide eyes, until you change the subject. You lift the aviators up for him to see, “now you’re definitely not getting these back, Bradshaw.”

His jaw drops, “now hang on a minute-”

“You still owe me a dance,” you place your hand on his chest, trying to push him back towards the jukebox.

He doesn’t budge. “I did dance with you.”

“Oh, no you didn’t.” You walk around him, holding his wrist guiding him towards the jukebox while you hook the aviators onto the collar of your shirt. “I want a full dance with the one who sings, “you shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain-”

“too much love drives a man insane.”

A smile dances across your lips, you look over your shoulder, “atta boy. You’re gettin’ it now.”

You push the number to get the song you want to play. He half expected you to play his song but raises a brow at the song of choice instead. You see the look he’s giving you, “don’t judge me, Bradley.”

It takes him a second to respond. “I’m not- I’m not just- uh- find your song of choice interesting. That’s all.”

“Liar.” You let go of his wrist, standing in the middle of the bar.

Been working so hard I’m punching my card

Bradley’s fellow pilots look at you in confusion until three other customers stand beside you dancing with you. The pilot interested in you sucks in his bottom lip to keep from smiling more.

Eight hours, for what?

Oh, tell me what I got

Bob joins you.

I gotten this feeling

That time's just holding me down

Now that he thinks about it, you and Bob are pretty close. Have you two met before? Bradley knows Bob has a friend that should be coming to town… soon?

I'll hit the ceiling

Or else I'll tear up this town

He musters all the courage that he could to stand in front of you, following your steps.

You smile at him, “glad to see you could join us.”

“You’re about to be more even more surprised.”

Tonight, I gotta cut loose, footloose

Kick off your Sunday shoes

The mustached man sneaks his way beside you, holding his hand out for you.

Please, Louise

Pull me up off my knees

Jack, get back

C'mon, before we crack

You slap your hand onto his open palm, letting him pull you close.

Lose your blues

Everybody cut footloose

Jake leans closer to Javy whispering, “how is it that he can get the one interesting girl in this place?”

“I don’t think that’s who you’re thinking of.” The cocky pilot jerks his head back, “what?”

His friend raises a brow and tilts his head.

He knows who Javy is talking about, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He gulps seeing Natasha smiling, watching as the bar becomes even more livelier than before… maybe this could be his chance to ask her out talk to her?

Dig way down in your heart

You're burning, yearning for some

Somebody to tell you

That life ain't passing you by

The music seems to disappear as you feel your hat being stolen off your head only to find that he’s wearing it.

You don’t comment on it.

He places your hands on his shoulders, letting you wrap your hands around his neck, thumb brushing against the edge of the hair on the back of his neck.

Pete settles in a seat in front of his dearest Penny; his eyes wander around the bar, curious to see who’s here tonight and finds the two of you enjoying yourselves.

A sad smile tugs at the corners of his lips, nostalgia hits him hard in his heart and clouds his mind with those precious and irreplaceable memories. He always hoped knew, he knew Bradley would find himself a good woman but seeing you two reminds him so much of Nick and Carole.

The boy, now a man, certainly gained his confidence and flirting from his dad (Pete never quite knew how Carole accepted the dork he called a best friend, but anyone could see the love they shared so it didn’t matter). And tonight, he can see that flame being reignited with the two of you.

Pete shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink wondering how his nephew is gonna be able to handle you.

Wolfman was… a lot to some but still a damn good RIO (obviously since he was in Top Gun) overall your dad was an interesting man. He always found it funny when you didn’t quite go for the same route your dad did, but Pete and Leonard are proud of you non the less.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head. What are you thinking about?” asks Bradley.

“How you seem to pull of that hat better than me.”

He huffs out a chuckle, “I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ll take the compliment. Now, stand right here.” He reaches for the aviators, slowly pulling off and out of your shirt, setting them on your head like you did earlier. “Now, we both look good.”

“Is this the type of claim that a dog has when it pees on a tree?”

He stares at you with a confused expression as he laughs at your comment before calming down. “I’m not gonna lie and say I’d be happy to see you dancing with another person.”

You stare at him through your lashes, “then we’re in agreement?”

He nods, “seems we are.”

“We’re dance partners.” “We’re together.”

You tilt your head, “if we’re together, I don’t know because someone didn’t ask.”

He squints his eyes, thinking back to everything that’s happened tonight. “Seems like you’re right… how about this, we continue our dance and I take you out on a date, a proper one. We can talk and get away from all this.”

You know he’s mainly referring to the crowd. “As long as we can trade back.”

He sucks in air through his teeth, “I don’t know, I think I look good right now.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “cocky pilots.”

He smirks, leaning down to whisper, “you have yet to find out how cocky I can be.”

You scoff, turning your head to the side, unable to take his “flirting” at this current moment. “You’re so gonna be trouble for me.”

He shakes his head, unwrapping your arms from him.

You open your mouth to ask him what’s going on, you’re walking towards the register settling your tabs. “Brad-”

He shushes you, “this is a pre-date to our actual date.”

“Pre-date?”

“Just keep quiet while I take care of you.”

You narrow your eyes at the bar top, mimicking him under your breath.

Pete chuckles, finding the situation amusing reminding him of when Nick was just beginning to woo Carole.

You hear him and make your way over to him. “Why didn’t you tell me he was such a- a-”

“Such a?” Pete asks with a smirk, finding this whole thing hilarious.

“A punk.”

The laugh that was waiting to escape gets caught in his throat. “That’s one way to describe him.”

“I mean, I know I’m no saint but jeez, am I that bad?”

“You? No. No,” he shakes his head. “…Maybe a little but it’s okay.”

You shove his shoulder, “you’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“You wanted an honest answer.”

“I never asked for an honest answer.”

“I thought it was implied.”

“You thought-” You narrow your eyes at him, “you’re an evil, evil man, Maverick.”

He lets out a hearty chuckle, “oh, my call sign. I’m in trouble now, aren’t I?”

Bradley wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back. He leans down to whisper, “I gotta talk to Mav for sec, you mind talkin’ to Penny in the meantime?”

You turn your head, tilting it up to look at him, “you just don’t want me to ease drop on your boy talk, huh?”

There’s that smirk he’s come to know and have a very strong liking to. “Humor me, won’t you?”

“Fine, fine. Have your boy talk.” You wave him off, detaching yourself from him.

“It’s not boy talk, that sounds weird.”

“You’re the one that said it first,” you argue.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“See now with the way you’re silent. I win.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No, no, you really don’t.”

“Oh, but I do, Bradshaw.”

He slaps his hand over his heart, “oh, last name. You wound me.”

“You’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head, watching you lean over the counter, talking to Penny before turning to Pete. Bradley leans over, giving Pete a side hug, whispering, “I’m takin’ her out on a proper date.” His uncle gives him a smile, nodding, “you treat her right, okay?”

“Of course, I am. What kind of man do you take me for, huh?” Pete shakes his head, “I’m just trying to warn you. You mess with her; you’ll be in for a world of hurt. Her words, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just doing what you said.”

“Oh, yeah and what’s that?”

“Don’t think.”

The smile falls from his face.

“Bradley-”

“How can I think about anything when it feels so right.”

It feels like he’s been sent back to youth, that nostalgic feeling has returned. Pete shakes his head that smile from before slowly creeps back onto his lips. “You two have fun, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Later old man,” you say, stealing Bradley away from him.

He watches as the two of you leave.

Penny steps closer, leaning down so he can hear her. “You, okay?”

Pete whirls his head around to look at her, “yeah. Never been better, Penny.”

“What’s that smile for?”

“Nothing, nothing just uh- thinking about the past.”

“Is that a good thing?”

One corner of his lips tugs upwards, “yeah, definitely a good thing.”

“Come on,” he groans.

“I am not as fast as you Bradley, give me a-” your cut off by your own screech when you’re thrown over his shoulder. You use one hand to push yourself up and the other to hold the aviators.

You look up and find Bob dancing with one of the nicer, less rowdy girls you’ve noticed come into the bar once or twice. Your eyes wander around the room, trying to catch anyone’s attention to “help” you, only to find Natasha dancing with Jake. You’ve got a wide smile stretching across your face not only because those two idiots finally did something about the tension between them but also because you’re about to earn half, if not all the bet money.

The last few verses of the sang play as the door closes.

Everybody cut, everybody cut

(Everybody) everybody cut footloose

Your feet are finally on the ground again. You huff, smacking his arm.

“What was that for?” He whines, rubbing his arm.

“Don’t you have any manners.”

“Manners?”

“If you’re gonna toss someone over your shoulders like a sack of potatoes, you should at least have the decency to ask first.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wanted to get out of the one place that wouldn’t let me hear your beautiful voice.”

You throw a fake glare in his direction as you cross your arms, careful not to break the aviators you hooked onto the collar of your shirt again. “Don’t try to sweet talk me now, Bradshaw. You’ve already got my attention.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know, it doesn’t look good on you.”

“That’s rude, sweetheart.”

“Tell me where your takin’ me.”

“I don’t know if I want to take you anywhere now.”

“Oh, now you-” you groan, “must you be such a pain in my ass.”

“I don’t about that. I mean unless you’re into that kind of thing,” he winks at you.

You throw your head back, laughing. “You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Nope. Guess you were right. You do have your hands full with me.”

You bite your lip to prevent you from smiling more but fail. “Take me away or lose your one chance to talk to me.”

“Get in the car.”

“Bossy.”

A smack fills the air.

You glance over your shoulder, mouth agape.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he says as if that excuses him from smacking your ass.

“You are not the boss of me, mister.”

He hums, “that’s what you think.”

You roll your eyes, ready to open the door when he beats you to it. You stare at him for a second. “So, you can be a gentleman?”

“Who says I’m not?”

“No one. No one.”

He hops into the driver’s seat, shutting the door. “If I let you choose the music, will I regret it?”

You shake your head, “no… but something tells me with the way you dress, we’ll be fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks with a curious tone.

“Your style is a little outdated compared to everyone else but, I think it suits you.” You snatch your hat off his head, placing it onto its rightful place.

“That hardly seems fair.”

“What does?”

“The fact that you got your hat back and I don’t have my aviators.”

You let out a quiet huh. “Guess you’re right. Turn towards me.”

He turns, you carefully set the glasses on him, staring at him once they’re on him. “What is it?” asks Bradley.

“You look very…” you peck his lips, “handsome.” You pull back, leaning into the seat, waiting for him to drive.

He turns his head towards you, “again, that hardly seems fair.”

“What does?”

“You got the first kiss and here I was being all cute, waiting for the right time. Shame,” he shakes his head, further adding to the joke.

The corners of your lips tilt up ever so slightly, one side off to the side; you scoot closer to the middle console, placing your hand on his thigh. “Oh, darlin’ we’ll be doing a lot more than what we’ve been doing tonight.”

Bradley shakes his head, “will we now?”

You tilt your head to the side, resting it on the seat, “that all depends on you,” you pat his thigh.

He starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot, “promises, promises.”

You lift your hand off his thigh.

He stops you from taking your hand off him and sets it back on his thigh, letting his hand weigh down on yours.

“That will be fulfilled.”

He hums, “don’t temp me.”

“Oh,” you shake your head, “I would never.”

The drive is nice; it’s quiet, the wind blowing through your hair as you keep one hand on your head to prevent you from losing your hat. “Where we going?” you ask.

He doesn’t say anything for a second.

You cut him off before he can even answer. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Is it- is it raining?”

“What? No.”

Not even five minutes later, it’s pouring.

You ask him if he knows where the closest supermarket in your neighborhood is, which he does, you direct him to your house after he passes the store’s parking lot.

You two run out of the car, you hurry to open the door.

“Come on. Open it, open it.”

“I am trying,” you hiss at him.

“Okay… could you try to open it faster?”

“I am this close,” you pinch your fingers, “to leaving you out here.”

“Your fingers are touching,” he points out.

“Exactly, so don’t temp me.”

“Don’t be like that.” You open the door, shoving your hand onto his chest, “ah ah.”

“What?”

“You were nothing but mean to me when I was rushing to open the door. That’s very rude of you, you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you when my clothes aren’t sticking to me.”

“Promises, promises.”

“That I intend to fulfill.”

You stare at him with a blank expression, turning around, walking further into the house. “Take off your shoes, you’re not tracking anything into my place.”

He’s quick to enter, doing as you asked.

You walk back into the hallway, holding out a towel for him which he happily takes.

“So, you- uh- you live here alone?”

“Usually, yeah.” You flip your hair over, placing the towel on the back of your head, wrapping it. You flip your head up, holding the towel to make sure it doesn’t fall off your head. You blow out a breath of air, finding him staring at you. “What?”

He shrugs, “nothing. So, you’re usually here alone?”

“Yeah, just depends on if my brothers or sister gets deployed in town.”

“Okay.”

“I guess you could call it a family frat house.”

He chuckles. “Is it still a frat house if your sister stays here.”

“Probably not but we don’t need to go into the specifics… Do you want to shower or eat first?”

“I’m fi-”

“Don’t tell me that. C’mon, we’ve been at the bar for hours with little to no food and if you tell me that you’re not starving I’m gonna tell you that you’re full of shit and force you to eat something.”

“Alright, alright. I- uh- can I shower first?” He asks with a low tone, sounding almost like he was nervous.

“Follow me. I’m sure I can find something my brothers left behind that you can borrow.”

You bend down checking the bottom dresser drawers for sweatpants (your brothers never wear anything but comfy, pajama like things around the house). You move up grabbing a shirt and a pair of boxers. “All of this is clean, I promise. I buy new stuff a few days before any of them come over, so all of this is new.”

“I’d just be happy with a towel if you had nothing.”

“I’m sure you would.”

Neither of you say anything but the way your pupils dilate tells the other all they need to know.

“Alright, bathrooms in the room just open that one there,” you point to it. “And you’ll be all set. I’ve got to do a couple things since the rain’s getting heavier. Will you be fine on your own?”

He gives you a small smile, “I’ll be fine. The question is, will you?”

“Ten minutes away from you?” You place the back of your hand on your forehead, “whatever will I do without seeing your pornstache’?”

“Hey, hey, don’t hate on the stache’.”

Your hand falls off your forehead; you state at him with a serious expression. “Oh, believe me. I’m not.”

“Have fun. Just know if you’re in there for too long I’ll know what you’re doing,” you shout from the hallway.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Thinking about me a little too hard.”

Bradley looks down, realizing that you did see the bulge in his shorts. His top lips curls in annoyance, this is not how he wanted you to see him… at least, right now.

You make sure all the windows and doors are locked and closed properly before looking around your kitchen hoping to find something good to make that’ll fill your belly’s.

You sigh, removing the towel from your head opting to clip up your hair. You turn your phone on, searching for the music app, playing your most recently played playlist leaving it on the counter away from the area you’ll be using.

You aren’t paying too much attention to the sounds of the water from the shower, aiming to not think about a wet… naked… Bradley.

And, your mind is straying, you return your focus to the food in the pan.

Your soul leaves your body, and you lose your breath when Bradley wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you further into his embrace. “Smells good.”

“I sure as hell hope so since you just scared the living daylights out of me.”

“You look fine to me.”

You open your mouth to respond when he adds on. “No, you don’t fine- I mean you do, don’t get me wrong you do but, fine isn’t the right word I’d use. There are too many that could be used to describe you right now, but I can’t pick one.”

“Suck up. Okay, here’s the plan. I'm gonna put the lid back on, let this cook on low while you stay here or watch something in the living room so I can go take a shower.”

“Okay,” he pecks your lips, letting you go.

You run out of the kitchen, stopping in the doorway of your room, realizing how relationshipy that was and how it brings butterflies to your stomach as you think about how much you liked it… and him.

A knock on your door brings you out of your thoughts. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You, okay in there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ve been in here for a while, I was wondering if you were okay.”

There he goes being a sweetheart.

“I was just enjoying the hot water a little too much, I guess. I’ll be out in a few alright?”

“Okay.”

“Oh, you’re still here.” You clench the top of your towel tighter, unsure of what to do with your hands.

“Yeah.” He pushes himself off your bed, standing in front of you.

Your eyes follow his every move.

Bradley bends his head, leaning into you; his eyes switching back and forth between yours, “is this, okay?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“How far are you willing to go?”

“How far are you?”

You take a step forward, placing a hand on his forearm will your unoccupied hand plays with the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Because I know what I want to do.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to take my time with you, watch you unravel as I make you feels thing no other guy has ever made you feel.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself," you tease.

"It might be," he leans in, resting his forehead on yours, staring into your eyes as if he’s trying to get a glimpse of your soul. “But it’d be worth it if I got to spend the night with you.”

“I must be pretty special then, huh? Out of all the ladies at the bar, the Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw wants to have his way with little ol’ me.”

“You seemed like the only one who’d put up with my ass.”

“More like I’d be the only one daring enough to do all that I could with it.”

“Careful there, sounds like you might be insinuating something you might not mean.”

“But we both know I mean it.”

“We do.”

“Stop talking and kiss me,” you breathe out.

He cups your cheeks, pulling you closer as he invades more of your space.

You open your mouth, letting his tongue pass your lips, mingling with yours. You feel the cold wall against your back. A low whine comes from the back of your throat.

He pulls back, smiling as he brushes his thumb against your cheekbone.

“Guess you like to be a little rough when you’re with a girl, huh?”

“What do you mean?” He asks between the kisses he makes (of course, leaving a hickey or three for all to see) as he trails down your neck.

“You could have easily spun me around towards the bed.”

His breath fans across the place where your neck and shoulder meet as he chuckles. “You complaining?��

“Oh, no. Definitely not.”

“Good.” He moves away from your collarbone, moving up so he can kiss you again.

Suddenly you slap his shoulders.

He jerks back, staring at you with wide eyes and terrified expression. “What? What? Are you okay? Should we stop?”

“Oh, we are not stopping.”

“Then why did you hit me?”

“The food.”

“I turned it off before I came up here.”

You scoff through your nose, “so, you did plan on seducing me?”

“No, no. No, I didn’t. I actually wanted to talk but then you came out wearing this surprisingly,” his hands travel down, landing on your hips, “soft towel and- and-”

“You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes!” spills out of his mouth before he can think. He pauses his movements, realizing what he said. “No, I mean no. Now you’re just twisting my words.”

“You’re spouting the truth without my help, darlin’.” Your hands slid across his shoulders, moving down onto his chest. “Why are you wearing your shirt? I put this in the dryer, so it was dry and for you to have something of your own to wear.”

His mustache twitches as he fights the urge to smirk. “I wanted it to be fair.” He hands travels down further, fingertips brushing against your thigh near the edge of the towel. “I mean I have something to rip off you, I thought you’d like to do the same thing to me but,” he extends the word. “Since I seem to be wrong,” he pulls away to take off his shirt, “I’ll just get rid of it myse-”

You rip the shirt open, buttons ripping off flying across the room, bouncing off walls, falling to the floor. You glide your hands along the top of his shoulders, getting your hands underneath the shirt so you can shove it off him.

The shirt falls into the crease of his elbows. His hands are on your waist again.

“Take it off.”

“So bossy,” he says with a teasing tone.

“Says the one doing the teasing.”

“Me? If anything, I’m doing the persuading.”

“Is that how you see it?”

He nods.

“Well then it seems like you’ll be working hard all night long.”

“Someone is very confident in themselves.”

You scoff, “like you haven’t thought about it.”

“Why would I go and do a thing like that?”

“Because you’re a horndog and don’t know how to handle me,” you finish with an “innocent” smile stretching across your lips.

Bradley’s eyes darken, he leans in.

You find yourself leaning in without realizing it.

“You’re gonna regret saying that baby.” His hand grips the back of your neck, holding you in place.

You gulp whatever saliva was in your mouth, at the thought of what’s about to happen. “Am I?”

He steps to the side, guiding you towards the bed. “Just can’t be quiet for one second, can you?”

You try not to focus on the heat building up in your core, instead, you enjoy the feeling of his bare chest against your towel covered body. You hiss as the cold air hits your body; you know your nipples are harder than they were just a second ago. “Could’ve given a girl a little warning,” you grumble.

He moves closer to you, one hand on your stomach, holding you tight against him. He leans his head down to whisper, “I thought you didn’t want me to be nice. I thought you said, you expected me to be rough with the way I moved you to the wall instead of the bed.”

You don’t say anything.

“Did I finally stump you? You have no comeback now? Aw,” he mocks you.

“Shut up.”

“There she is.”

“You keep talking like that I’m leaving.”

He picks you up, tossing you onto the bed, crawling over you. He gives you a cheeky smile as he hovers above you. “I don’t think you want to.”

“Maybe not,” you reach down for his belt without removing your gaze from his.

His stomach clenches as your fingernails scrap against his skin.

“Or maybe I’m trying to annoy to the point you’ll fuck the brat out of me.”

A shaky breath slips through his lips, he glances down, observing your moving hands. His head snaps back up to you, he cracks a smile. “Well, now that I know you’re plan. I’m not gonna do that.”

“Or maybe I’m pulling some reverse psychology shit.”

He crawls off you, removing the last piece of clothing he has on.

You scoot up, resting on the pillows as you watch his every move.

“Either way you’ll be left with a smile on your face.”

His hand wraps around your ankle, he jerks your body closer to him as he climbs onto the bed. He’s on his knees, heels digging into his calves.

You can feel his hard on pressed against your warm core. You roll your hips, tired of the waiting and the talking. “Come on,” you whine.

He shakes his head, grip tightening on your hips as he holds his breath.

You can see the veins forming along the sides of his neck; you can’t help but wonder- “do you have a veiny dick?”

He chokes out a laugh. “What?”

“You’re holding your breath and I can see them on the side of your neck,” you reach up, brushing your finger over it.

He shivers, “okay, you can stop now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“You will if you know what’s good for you.” You stick your tongue out at him.

He tuts, shaking his head. “You have no shame, do you?”

“Seems like it but, that’s what drew you to me,” you throw a wink in his direction.

He doesn’t look back at you as he trails kisses along the base of your neck, being sure to focus on the area where your neck and shoulder meet then moving along your collarbone.

You scratch the back of his head as he does so, needing to keep your hands occupied.

“Someone’s greedy.”

He says nothing as he fondles your chest, kneading one breast while he leaves hickies and sucks on the other one; he takes his time giving each breast the same amount of attention.

You don’t want to move, in any way that would let him know how much he’s affecting you right now, but your body and your brain aren’t in sync. You roll your hips; quiet cries escape you.

He almost doesn’t hear them, but you can tell by the air huffing out of his nose onto your skin that he finds it amusing.

You could care less as he moves back down you, kissing the sides of your body.

His mustache tickles as he leaves hungry kisses against your ribs, sucking on your skin, leaving a hickey or two (that’ll definitely stays on you for a couple of weeks).

This results in your body jerking, curling into itself.

He stops, resting on his knees as he caresses your leg. “Hey, now. If you want to feel good, you’ll stop.”

“But I already feel so good.”

“Don’t give me those fake doh eyes, sweetheart,” his face is less than an inch from yours, “because we both know I can make you feel really good.”

You lift your leg up onto his hip, heel barely digging into the flesh of his curvy bottom. “And that’s exactly why I’m riling you up.”

He shakes his head, letting your leg fall of him. The hair on his lip continues to tickle you as he nips at the inside of your thighs.

You huff, curling your fingers in his hair, tugging on it.

He groans, the vibration of the noise makes you smirk.

You know exactly how to rile ‘em up.

“You sure you’re alright with all of this?” He asks as he stares at your glistening bare slit.

You’re too into your thoughts, feeling cocky to notice Bradley’s movements.

Your jaw drops open. You look down, his head pops up. “Why?” You whine.

“You weren’t paying attention,” he says with a serious tone even though your wetness shines on his lips and in the hairs of his mustache.

“So, that means you play with me to get my attention?”

“Yeah.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “I’m so close to leaving you high and dry.”

“I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.”

“You are such a-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, the taste of you mingling with your shared saliva as his tongue enters your mouth.

You move one hand towards his side, poking him hard.

“Ow.”

“Don’t cut me off like that then.”

“I thought you wanted me to treat you like the brat you are.”

You gasp, partly because of what he said but also because of his fingertip slowly entering you.

“I can try and tame the brat in you, but I want to make sure you can enjoy it, yeah?”

You give him a mumbled response, nodding your head.

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes for me.”

Your eyes snap open, you didn’t realize you’d shut them in the first place.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, “you ready to start enjoying the night?”

You clench around his fingers in response.

“Just remember you asked for it.” He doesn’t stop moving his fingers in and out of your core, oh no, he would never do such a thing.

You fight the urge to close your eyes, wanting to see how he looks going down on you.

Bradley swipes at your buzzing bundle.

You jerk, head bobbing forward.

He does it a few more times before he starts sucking on your clit and doing a “come hither” motion with his fingers.

You can’t say anything, can’t tell him how good it feels with him doing- whatever it is he’s doing, your mind is fuzzy as he continues.

He switches from sucking on your bundle to licking it.

He is the least bit relentless as he speeds up the pace of which his fingers are moving at.

You cry out, hips rolling and thrusting against him; it’s hard to stop when you feel so good, so good and you let him know. “So good. So good.”

He lifts his head, thumb rubbing your clit so he can talk, “knew I’d get the brat out of you so you can be good for me.”

You open your eyes, staring at the ceiling, a shaky chuckle comes out before you can say anything. “Believe-” you moan, “believe me you didn’t, hon- honey.”

“Guess that means I gotta try harder.”

You smile, closing your eyes, “yeah.” Your head snaps up, staring at the devilish, hunk of a man, “wait- what?”

He speeds up the pace, his fingers hammering in and out of you so fast you don’t know what to do.

Your thighs are shaking almost closing in on him but with his one hand on your thigh, keeping you spread for him prevents his erotic death from happening. “Oh. Oh. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“My name’s not God, sweetheart.”

A throaty moan comes out as your answer. “Shut- shut up.”

“Say my name and you’ll be a happy girl.”

You can feel yourself getting closer.

“Say it.”

“Brad-” you moan as he speeds up his pace even more, sucking on your buzzing bundle again. How is it possible for him to go this fast and not get a wrist or finger cramp? Why are you thinking about that right now? “Oh. Oh. Brad- ohhh- Brad-” is all that slips off your tongue.

He moves away from your heat with a pop, you groan in annoyance.

Your hands clench the sheets between your hands, not wanting to rip his hair out (because boy, oh boy, does he make you feel like a winner).

“Come on, sweetheart. Just a few more letters.”

You throw your head back, mouth agape wanting to say more but with the way your body tingles, it doesn’t happen.

Bradley’s hand sneaks its way up your torso, playing with your gorgeous tits for a few minutes; tugging and pulling at your nipples, wanting to make you feel good (and his touch everywhere) right now until he can properly have his way with you.

You can feel his hand on your neck, and you know he can feel the way your pulse increases at this motion.

He doesn’t stop there though, he grips your jaw with one hand, forcing your head down clearly wanting you to look at him.

Your eyes snap open, dilated pupils hiding your natural eye color.

His ego skyrockets at the sight of your fucked out expression even though he’s barely done anything to you.

“You say my name one time right now and I’ll reward you for being such a patient brat. How’s that sound?”

You nod; you would give him anything he asked for at this moment if it meant you could cum. He slips his fingers into your mouth.

“Say it.”

You stare at him with pleading eyes and what seems to be a (pathetic) confused expression as you suck on his fingers.

“Say. It.”

You moan, your vibrations sending a wave of confidence and horny through him.

“Say it and you’ll get what you want.”

You shake your head.

He sighs, removing himself from you.

“Wh-” you try to say only to find yourself face first into your sheets, “woah!”

The movements of him behind you tells you that you’re about to enjoy yourself.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you up closer. He lines himself up against you; you arch your back, hips rolling against him. He bends down, “all you had to do was say one simple word, but you couldn’t even do that.”

You scoff, dropping back down onto the mattress, “whatever.” You nibble on your bottom lip, waiting to see what he’s going to do next.

Bradley smacks your ass, chuckling at your surprised yelp. He grips your hips, forcing the lower half of your body off the bed and onto his lap. He releases one your hips, rubbing his stiff, covered cock against your core. “You still good? You with me?”

“How can I not be when you’ve barely done anything?”

“Just remembered you asked for it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly slides in, not wanting to hurt you (or blow his load too soon). His hips snap against yours, you lurch forward, unsure of how to balance yourself having never been this full before.

You pray this never has to end until he pulls out, leaving his dripping, latex covered cock in you before he hammers into you once more. You rest your forehead against your arm, hands clenching the sheets and he continues to take you higher and higher on a euphoric level.

The only noises in the room are skin slapping against, his quiet groans and the quiet gasps that escape you.

You do, God, you want to call out his name so bad, so, so bad but don’t just to drive him crazy.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” You ask with a smirk.

He growls, hauling your torso upwards against him; his hand rests on your neck, not squeezing the area but still letting you know who’s in control (right now). “Say it,” he hisses into your ear.

“No.”

His free hand slides down your side, moving towards the front of your belly. He moves lower and lower until he finds what he’s looking for. He doesn’t start you off at a slow pace to ease you in, he’s quick to circle your clit, moving at the same speed his hips thrust into you.

Your moans are louder than before, you whine. “Roost- Rooster.”

“Uh-uh. Say my name. Not my call sign, baby.”

Your breathing becomes more ragged as he speeds up which you didn’t think was possible. “N- no.”

A loud sigh enters your ear but you’re unfazed until the euphoria and tingling leaves you.

You fall forward, bracing yourself before you could face plant into the crumpled sheets. Your head snaps in his direction. “Why?” You whine.

He sticks his bottom lip out, throwing an unsympathetic pout your way. “Poor baby.” He leans down, pulling you back into his lap.

You sit back onto his lap, his hard cock resting against the curve of your bottom. Your hands holding onto his thighs, hoping to inch closer to the one thing your needy for right now.

His hand finds its way back to your neck, guiding your head back onto his shoulder. “Are you gonna be a brat the whole night?”

A light chuckle escapes you, “no… not the whole night.”

“Is that more bratty behavior I’m sensing?”

“Bratty, never. Slight defiance, maybe.” You tilt your head, looking up at him, “are you not enjoying it?”

One side of his mouth tugs upward, “good to know.” He pushes you off him, turning you around.

Your arms lock around the back of his neck, your chest against his.

He sets his hands under your thighs as he moves off the bed.

“Where were going?”

“Somewhere I’m sure you’ll be able to scream my name.”

Your back hits the nearest wall, not hard enough to knock the wind out of you. Your chest heaves with every breath you take, anticipation floods through your veins. “Oh, yeah?”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Someone’s c-”

His hips snap, this position much better more filling than before as he fills you to the brim. “Was the word you’re looking for,” he pulls his hips back and snaps into you once more. “Cocky?”

“Don’t,” a shaky breath comes out of you, “don’t get too- confident there. It’s not- a- ah- ah- good look on you.”

“Okay.”

You tilt your head up, closing your eyes once they roll into the back of your head. Your nails dig into the side of his neck and shoulder. “Br-”

“Come on now. Say it.”

“Brad-” A high pitched moan cuts you off. “Brad-”

“Just a little more, sweetheart.” He observes the way your mouth opens, the ideas running through his head make him slow down.

Your head snaps up, “no. No. Not again. Please?” You ask with a whiney tone, hips rolling against his to make a point.

He moves closer, his chest against yours as he focuses solely on making you cum right here and right now. One hand sneaks between your body’s, his thumb circling your buzzing bundle.

You start clenching around him.

“That’s it, just a little more.”

Your breathing stutters, it’s too much. “Brad- Brad-”

“Don’t give up now. You’re so close to getting what you want, sweetheart.”

You cup his cheeks and yank his head closer, wanting to feel him everywhere. You push his head away from you, keeping him close enough for him to feel your breath on his lips. You stare into his pretty chesnut eyes and whisper, “Bradley.” You think you hear his breath hitch before you close your eyes, vision going white. You stutter his name in slow, unsteady breathes as he helps you ride out your high.

He hardly slows his pace, giving you enough time to catch your breath.

You open your eyes, blinking a few times to focus on him. Your chest heaves as you take deep breathes, your fingers curl in his hair gaining his attention. “If we- God, man what did you do to me?”

He smirks, “I made you feel good.”

You scoff, tugging on his hair; he grunts, his grip tightens on your hip and thigh. “You keep doing that and I’m gonna lose it.” You lick your lip, wetting it on purpose to distract him.

His gaze does indeed travel down giving you the opportunity to clench around his length.

He stills inside you, head in the crook of your neck with his mouth latched onto the skin of your shoulder, you can feel his groans vibrating against your skin followed by the faintest whisper of your name.

You hum, petting the back of his head, “did lose your composure, big boy?”

He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. “You know exactly what you did.”

An evil smile stretches across your lips, “I do, and I don’t regret it one bit.” You tap his shoulder, “now let me go.”

“You sure you want me to do that?”

You purse your lips, “okay, you cocky man. Here’s what’s going to happen,” you point to him. “You’re going to help me walk to the bathroom so we can both shower because I’m not gonna lay in a bed with a sweaty guy, unless you’re not staying then-”

“I’m staying,” he interrupts. “If- if… that’s okay.”

“Your cock is literally still inside me and you wonder if you spending the night is okay. Oh, I’m definitely keeping you.”

He scoffs through his nose, “I didn’t realize I was a pet, sweetheart.”

“You are, now take me to the shower or lose your place in my bed.”

He pulls his semi hard cock out of your, now, pulsating core.

You unwrap your legs from his waist, giving the hint that you want to walk (with his assistance of course).

You two make it to the bathroom with little to no issues (all thanks to the hunky man).

After standing in the shower, letting the warm water roll down your body’s, relaxing you.

It takes less than an hour for the two of you to fall asleep, you in a t-shirt and him in his (now washed and dry) boxers.

Bradley’s still sleeping.

You purse your lips, jealous that he can sleep some more than you. Your eyes wander around the dark, barely lit room; you stop at the sight of his shirt.

You get out of bed, slipping your feet into your slippers not wanting to feel the cold floor, pausing to look back at him, sighing out a relief that he’s still asleep. Next time you’ll be careful when getting out of bed.

You grab the shirt, gripping it tightly when you think about that last part again. “Next time?” Your head snaps over at the snoring, adorable, mustached man in your bed, tangled in the sheets. The corner of your lips tugs upwards, a gentle smile dancing across your lips, “next time, indeed.”

You walk over to the window, opening the blinds a bit so little natural light can escape and brighten your room up in an hour but, in the meantime, you’ll settle for your headlamp.

You reach into the drawer of your nightstand, grabbing the headlamp before opening your closet, searching for your sewing kit.

You sit back on the bed carefully setting your kit in front of you, not wanting to lose your needles (you did that once and let’s just say it was not a fun night).

Bradley rolls over and opens one eye; he smiles, staring at you, resting his head on his hand. "What're you doing?"

You finish working on this button, you were lucky to get three done before he woke up.

"Fixing your shirt."

"You didn't have to do that."

You take the headlamp off your head, rubbing your forehead. "I felt bad."

"Why?"

You sigh, "hang on." You open the blinds and run out into the living room, taking a picture frame off the table nearest to the wall, and run back into your room.

You hold it out for him.

He takes it, staring at it for a second. "Oh." "Sorry."

"No. No. It’s okay… why- uh- why do you have this picture?"

"My dad obviously."

"Which one is he?"

"You know the hat I was wearing tonight."

"Yeah?"

"Look for it." You settle back onto the bed, starting to work on another button.

"Wait!” He pushes himself up, “you're Howler?!"

You nod "yeah, you know who I am?"

“How could I not? You’re all anyone talks about and your Bob’s best friend.”

“The first thing I can imagine happening. Pilots like to gossip but I didn’t realize anyone knew I know Bob.”

“I put it together last night. Bob’s never one to warm up to a person that fast.”

You nod, sitting back on the bed, “fair enough.”

He doesn’t look away from the picture.

“Do you want me to put it back?”

He shakes his head, “no, no. This is- this is actually nice.”

“Is it?” You set his, now, finished shirt on your nightstand along with your sewing kit. You scoot closer to him, resting your elbow on the pillow, your hand rests on his shoulder. “How so?”

“I’ve seen almost every picture of my dad, but I’ve never seen this one before.”

“Yeah… I think my dad stole his camera because there’s a few others with Goose chasing after him and then the two wrestling with your dad looking pretty victorious as he dances around with his hat on.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle.

Bradley turns his head, watching you with a small smile.

You turn to see his star dazed expression. “You want to see more?”

“In the living room?”

“And the few boxes I got around here somewhere. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

He cups your cheek, leaning in, “let’s do it.”

Neither of you had talked about it, what would happen between the two of you the next day; you risk it and kiss him.

“I’ll make the food this time.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god! The food.”

His arm wraps around your waist pulling you back into his.

“Let go,” you whine.

“No, no. Calm down, I took care of it last night.”

You stop fighting his hold, “you did?”

“I did, now can you stop freaking out?”

“Maybe. Let me go so I can go find the boxes.”

“If we must.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You push yourself out of bed, barely out the door when you hear, “are you wearing anything under your shirt?”

“My answer depends on your response.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone in this house ever get out of bed as fast as Bradley did in that moment.

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twosroos · 2 years

Text

All Grown Up [Chapter Five]

roos says ! a bit of me rushing the plot, adding in some jake for fun, and just fuckin around bc why not >:)

desc: Bob's gone for a few days on a trip, it goes great until it suddenly doesn't.

fluff, angst

notable characters: robert "bob" floyd, jake "hangman" seresin

TWs: mentions of past abuse, panic attacks

ao3 link ! last chapter ! next chapter

Today was Monday, and Robby would be out of town from around noon today, to about four on Wednesday to visit mutual friends of yours he hadn’t seen in years. You would’ve gone— loving the group to death, but it was too close to your derby on Friday and the Fourth of July party only a few days later. Today was also the first day of summer camp for both of your sisters, they were only going for July, just as you and Bob had done almost three decades prior. So, you had to spend the morning coaxing them into going. Now, the four of you stood at the entrance to the little family-owned summer camp, you kneeling in the dirt to give Genevieve a big hug while Molly clung to her brother's leg.

“You just got back!” She whined, punching his thigh. Bob laughed and kneeled, forcing her to step back.

“And I’ll be back, Molly.” He smiles, pulling her into his chest, “I promise. You’ll see me on Friday. It’s just a few days of orientation."

“Rob…” Molly whines and you laugh as Genevieve goes over and grabs her hand.

“C’mon. We have to go. Bobby will be here when we get back. Just like my sister!” Genevieve smiled, dragging Molly over. Seemingly begrudgingly accepting her fate, Molly walked alongside her best friend. The two girls waved goodbye to both of you as they walked away, their counselor kneeling to talk to them and give them big hugs as she greeted them. Once the two were safely tucked into the wooded entrance of summer camp, you jiggled your keys to signal Bob to stand back up. He did, with flushed cheeks, and the two of you walked back to your single cab pickup. You and Bob played old country music as you drove back home, silence enveloping you.

When you pull into the driveway, Bob turns the music down before you shut off the car and you turn to him.

“How… I—“ Bob sighs, “I wish I had been there for Molly when she was growing up.”

The sentence hits you like a train. You knew that he’d come home when Molly was born and tried to send her gifts and stuff every birthday or major event, but he’d missed a lot of his younger sister's life. It hadn’t occurred to you just how much it would affect.

“You still have a lot of time,” you try and offer, “she’s only five, Robby. I don’t remember much before my seventh birthday.”

“I know. But she’s gonna be in camp by the time I’m leaving again.” he buries his head in his hands and sighs heavily, “I mean this time I’ll only be gone for around two months but still, it sucks.”

“Are you going over your— well, our birthdays?” You ask. Your birthday was one day before Bob’s, it was the reason you became friends in the first place.

“Yeah. We’ll be in Nevada this time I’m pretty sure.” He laughs, "It's weird, soon I'll probably have spent just as many birthdays in random places as my own home."

"I hate that one day that'll be right." You huff, using a bit of shoulder force to knock open your door so you can get out. Bob follows suit, and when he says goodbye an hour or so later he gives you a spine-breaking hug while he promises he'll be back on Wednesday. And while you promise him you'll save him and his friend's seats at your derby, you successfully resist the urge to press a gentle kiss to his skin.

The pining is one-sided, you remind yourself as you bitterly think with a bright smile on your face as you wave goodbye to Bob in his truck, that kiss years ago meant nothing, and never will. Even if you desperately wish it did.

Tuesday passes without an issue. You drop the girls off at summer camp and they bounce off with promises to be good and be in one piece when you pick them up at nine that night. You go to lessons, train a few kids, then go home and practice with your mom and both of your horses until a quick left-over dinner around eight. When you pick the girls up from camp, Molly shows you a little painting of a plane she made for her brother. It's cute, though definitely not what a jet-- a Hornet, you think you heard Bob call it once while regaling a story, looks like. When the girls go to bed, you stay up with your mother and Jenny to start preparing everything possible for the party that was coming around the corner faster than you could realize. It was a week away, and you’d be spending every waking minute either at work, training at home, or working on food or decorations for the party.

Your derby, or competition as your mother called it, was during Friday's annual Fourth of July fair. Which didn't run on the fourth, it ran the last weekend of June. It always had. At the annual fair, they hosted three events you were helping train for, barrel racing, calf roping, and bull riding. You had done the first two since the end of high school, plus having ridden horses your whole life, but for the bull riding you mostly just made sure no one died to a rouge bull at any given moment. The farm you trained at— Cherry Lake Farm and Lessons, also offered bull riding, which is where Bob had done it a few times in high school but never enough to be in any sort of rodeo. Just like your horse riding. Now you helped about five people train their skills of riding bulls, even if the idea of riding a bull scared the daylight out of you and you were gonna be riding in the fair. You felt all grown up, living out dreams you never saw in yourself as a kid.

On Wednesday morning, you’d left home at around eight forty, assuring your mom you would help her set up the day before the party. She’d already opened up the two barns and the chicken coop with your sister before driving her and Molly to camp after you'd left, so you were able to soak in those extra thirty or so minutes of sleep before your body automatically woke you up and told you to get going. Usually, on work mornings, you'd drop the girls off at camp, but not today. Today, you rode your truck the short but sweet thirty miles to work, stopping at a local gas station to fuel up and grab some breakfast as you did every morning you worked. Everything seemed to be going perfect, the sun was warm, not hot, it’s cool enough to roll down your windows without the sun making you sweat, it’s so nice you don’t even run your air conditioner, and the bagel you got was better than any breakfast bagel you’d had there before.

Then you see Shannon standing at the stables with her arms crossed when you pull up to teach lessons.

Your stomach drops to your feet, and then through the floor of your truck, through the gravel driveway, and through to the center of the Earth— or hell as your mom would say. You park your truck in your usual spot under a willow tree, and sit there for a moment, contemplating even getting out to face her. Inevitably, you do, noticing you don’t have much more than twenty minutes before you need to clock in. So, you bite the bullet and turn off your truck, collecting your items in a small tote you sling over one shoulder before you hop out of your truck and use the key to lock it. As soon as you approach her, the rocks sounding your movement, Shannon turns to see you.

“Miss Lees?” you call, walking over slowly. She pauses, gaping, before shifting from foot to foot nervously. This is exactly how she had reacted to meeting you in person the first time, the day you had to move out of Mike’s shitty apartment. It makes your stomach slick.

“Y/n. Hey.” She says back, “I wanted to catch up with you a bit since we’re all back home for a few weeks.”

You tilt your head, one hand resting slightly inside your tote where you can toy with the fabric of your hat's rim, “y’all are back home?”

“Me and my brothers.” She murmurs and if your stomach can drop further, it does. It makes you want to vomit, the idea of Mike being near you. His hometown was around forty-five minutes away, Chris had told you Mike and Shannon would move back at some point, you had hoped it would be after the party.

“He’s trying to come to the party, isn’t he?” you murmur and she nods, rocking from foot to foot again as she rubs her shoulder with a bite to her lip.

“Shannon he can’t, Robby’s back and he’ll kill ‘em.” you rub your face, sighing heavily, “Shannon.”

“I needed to come here to tell you, I tried swinging by your house but you weren’t home. I came straight here.” You curse, seeing the genuine panic on Shannon’s face. Everything starts to come crashing on you, but you set your jaw and nod to her.

“I’ll tell my parents, and Tom, and Jenny.” You huff out, turning when you see a familiar black pick-up rolling up. You cannot place who owns it for the life of you but you feel your heart rate pick up.

“Y/n,” Shannon murmurs, and before you can turn to her your attention is grabbed by your phone vibrating. When you check it, the name Jake Seresin states back up at you.

The truck is Mike’s.

You pick up the call and send Shannon a look, mouthing the old safe word you’d come up with— oatmeal. You’d never say it otherwise, since you didn’t eat oatmeal, and she nodded and rushed over to Mike’s truck. You weren’t sure if he was driving it, because you knew Chris was using it for a while, but goddamnit you weren’t about to get fucked over without any chance of defending yourself.

“Seresin?” you call, waving hello to your boss as you slip into the office beside her. She flashes you a smile, and even if you can tell she wants to, doesn’t comment when you rush to your little shared office in the back and lock the door.

“Mike’s in—“

“— I know.” you groan, “his trucks at my job.”

“What?” Jake says before you hear him pull the phone back and shout, “Rooster! What the fuck— no, stop that.”

“His truck is parked outside my job right now, Seresin. And Shannon’s talking to either him or Chris who’s driving it. I have a fucking derby in two days, so much training and planning to do, and I don't have time to get sidetracked by my old abuser!" You shout, throwing yourself down onto the office chair and bringing your face into your knees, "What time do you get here tomorrow?"

"Real early," Jake says, "But he's there?"

"Him or Chris." You restate and you hear Jake curse. There are sounds of shuffling, someone asking what's wrong before you hear a bell jingle and the sound of waves comes over the phone-- along with the wind.

"Y/n. Shannon's there, right? She told me she was going to find you." Jake's voice falls into the serious tone you remember him using when you'd met him in Texas. He was a flirty guy, who loved joking around and living off adrenaline, but he got serious when he needed to.

"Shannon's here, she told me they are all home for the holiday." You look at the wall of medals, trying to keep yourself calm as you reread the names on the golden, silver, and bronze painted medals and the multicolored ribbons that decorated the walls with their respective trophies.

"So she can help you, right? And, Bob's driving back right now, I'm sure of you call him--" You're not entirely sure when Jake was filled in that his Bob was your Robby, but it made this a thousand times easier.

"If Bob steps foot on this property, and Mike's the one driving the truck, I'll have to talk to the cops after witnessing a murder." You deadpan and Jake snorts.

"Alright, look, stay wherever you are that's safe, okay? Do the breathing things Chris would do with you, and if anything happens you don't call anyone other than the police." He says and you gulp, nodding.

"Okay."

Jake sighs, "I have to go, training calls, but text me when everything's sorted."

"I will," You smile, small, "Thanks, Jake."

"Of course, Y/n. Your brother-- or your sisters, would kill me if I didn't help you." He says and that makes you laugh, even if your chest tightens and you can feel a panic attack coming onto you. Obviously, you don't want to keep Jake away from his work, so you bid him goodbye as happily as you can fake with cherry laughter and jokes before the world comes in on your as you press the end call button. You end up nearly dry-heaving on the floor, hands pressed to your face as you sob, biting back every exhale or inhale that you can, trying to be as quiet as possible. You feel like you're dying, the feeling of your lungs contristing making your chest burn.

Hands are on your shoulders, pressing into them, arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. You panic, pulling away, crying and blubbering nonsense in your panicked state, and though the person lets go of you, they keep a hand on your back. It's grounding, and the voices over your head begin to blur and unblur until you find it easier to listen to the counting someone keeps repeating. It's Shannon, your brain realizes a second later and you fully relax, leaning onto the person who'd grabbed you in the first place, assuming it's your boss.

Once you've calmed down enough to reattach your brain to reality, you blink the unshed tears away and wipe your face, thanking Shannon as she hands you a few tissues, then moves the trashcan over to throw them out, then gives you hand sanitizer and facial wipes to wipe down your face. The person holding you doesn't speak for a really long time, even after Shannon tells you it was Chris the whole time and then assures you that your emotions are valid and that feeling them at that moment was okay. Though you haven't had a panic attack about Mike in such a long time, you're sure that half of this meltdown was also just part of built-up stress. Then, you look to see who's holding you, since you feel back enough to do so and you nearly throw yourself away from him.

Holding you, one arm wrapped tight around each side of you, is Robert-fucking-Floyd. Who wasn't supposed to be home for another two hours.

He sheepishly smiles.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfiction #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x you #robert floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x reader

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

Text

Ready When You Are

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader

Word Count: 1006

TW: Fluff, Kissing, Love Confession, Friends to Dating?

Top Gun Masterlist

Just as you are leaning on the arm of the couch trying to slip on your stiletto, there is a knock at the door. Still struggling with the shoe, you yell, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Can we talk?” Your best friend’s voice calls out from the other side of the door. He sounds tense like something is bothering him.

“Now’s not a good time, Rooster. I’m about to leave for my date with Hangman.”

“I know. That’s what I need to talk to you about. Can I please come in? Just for a minute.”

You sigh as you finally slip on the shoe and pick up the other one. “Yeah, whatever, it’s open.”

You just get the second shoe on and are straightening up when your door opens and Rooster walks in. “I’m sorry to bother you but I couldn’t wa-” He stops mid-sentence as he sees what you are wearing.

You straighten out your dress and look at him skeptically. “Too much?”

“No,” he breathes. “You look….”

“Ugh! I knew I should have gone with just a pair of jeans and a sweater. But Hangman said we were going to a nice restaurant, and I never get to wear this so-”

“No, I was going to say you look amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform or workout clothes.”

You shrug as you feel heat spread across your face. “Thank you. I thought I’d try something a little different. I haven’t been on a real date in almost a year, so I figured, why not?” You walk over to stand next to Rooster and, in your heels, you are actually standing eye level with him for the first time. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

He looks down at the floor and swallows heavily before blurting out, “Don’t go on this date!”

Your brow scrunches in confusion. “Why?”

“You know why,” he says.

You sigh. “Okay, I mean, you can say it. I know Hangman is a self-centered, arrogant, jackass but it’s not like I’m expecting this to turn into a long-lasting relationship or anything. It’s just been so long since I let loose and had fun. And if he’s proposing that, why not take him up on his offer? It’s not like I have a long line of guys asking me out.”

“What about me?” Rooster mumbles, still looking at the floor.

“You? What about you?”

There is a pause before his eyes lift to meet yours. All the shyness and insecurities he had been giving off up until this point are suddenly gone. “What if I were to ask you out? What would you say?”

“Rooster, I don’t have time for jokes. I’m going to be late as it is.” You start to walk away but he grabs your hand, holding you in place.

“This isn’t a joke. What would you say if I were to ask you out?”

You stare back into his eyes, neither one of you as much as blinks. “Well…. are you? Asking me out.”

“…… Yes. I want you to go with me tonight instead of Hangman. Not as friends. As my date.”

You pause a moment to consider before asking, “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to mess up what we have. Your friendship means everything to me and I can’t lose that.”

Rooster nods. “I agree. But what if we gain something even better? Just one date. If it’s too weird or we feel uncomfortable we can call it off at any point and just go back to being friends. No harm done.”

Once again, you consider his offer. “….. And you’re not just doing this because you don’t want me to go out with Jake?”

He holds up his hands, “No. I swear. I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while now, but I couldn’t find the right time. And while this isn’t what I was planning, I couldn’t watch you go out with Hangman without at least telling you how I feel. So, what do you say?”

“I say…. Yes. Let’s give this a try.”

Rooster’s eyes instantly light up as his face morphs into a look of disbelief. “Really? Okay, great!”

“My one condition is you have to call Hangman and explain why I won’t be showing up to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can do that.” An evil grin stretches across his lips at the thought of informing his rival about the situation.

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh and say, “I have to get something out of my room while you call, but I’ll be right back.”

As you disappear into the next room, you can hear him on the phone, “Hey, Hangman….. Yeah, I know, she told me. But about that-”

You chuckle softly as you close the door to your room and pull out your own phone. After dialing, you hold the phone to your ear. “Phoenix! It worked exactly like you said it would! The thought of me going out with Hangman was just the push he needed to finally grow a pair and ask me out…… I know, but you know how these military guys get. They have to be the dominant ones who make the first move but sometimes, they just need that little extra push……. Thanks, I’ll definitely tell you everything. But, uh, maybe don’t wait up tonight…… Hey, if he’s half as good in the bedroom as he is in a cockpit, I’m in for one wild ride…… Got it. Thanks again and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

As you hang up the phone, you try to contain the smile of absolute joy that is spread across your face. Your feelings for Rooster had shifted from friendship into something more a few months ago, but you hadn’t been able to make a move. However, thanks to Phoenix’s brilliant idea, things finally seemed like they were working out.

You take a deep breath and open the door. “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

#sfw repost #fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #f!reader #miles teller #fluff

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years

Text

Ready When You Are

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader

Word Count: 1006

TW: Fluff, Love Confession, Friends to Dating?

Note: Thank you to @mercury-mae for requesting "Don't go on that date." "Why?" "You know why." "Say it." with Rooster! 💖

Top Gun Masterlist

Just as you are leaning on the arm of the couch trying to slip on your stiletto, there is a knock at the door. Still struggling with the shoe, you yell, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Can we talk?” Your best friend’s voice calls out from the other side of the door. He sounds tense like something is bothering him.

“Now’s not a good time, Rooster. I’m about to leave for my date with Hangman.”

“I know. That’s what I need to talk to you about. Can I please come in? Just for a minute.”

You sigh as you finally slip on the shoe and pick up the other one. “Yeah, whatever, it’s open.”

You straighten out your dress and look at him skeptically. “Too much?”

“No,” he breathes. “You look….”

“Ugh! I knew I should have gone with just a pair of jeans and a sweater. But Hangman said we were going to a nice restaurant, and I never get to wear this so-”

“No, I was going to say you look amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform or workout clothes.”

He looks down at the floor and swallows heavily before blurting out, “Don’t go on this date!”

Your brow scrunches in confusion. “Why?”

“You know why,” he says.

“What about me?” Rooster mumbles, still looking at the floor.

“You? What about you?”

“Rooster, I don’t have time for jokes. I’m going to be late as it is.” You start to walk away but he grabs your hand, holding you in place.

“This isn’t a joke. What would you say if I were to ask you out?”

You stare back into his eyes, neither one of you as much as blinks. “Well…. are you? Asking me out.”

“…… Yes. I want you to go with me tonight instead of Hangman. Not as friends. As my date.”

You pause a moment to consider before asking, “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to mess up what we have. Your friendship means everything to me and I can’t lose that.”

Once again, you consider his offer. “….. And you’re not just doing this because you don’t want me to go out with Jake?”

“I say…. Yes. Let’s give this a try.”

Rooster’s eyes instantly light up as his face morphs into a look of disbelief. “Really? Okay, great!”

“My one condition is you have to call Hangman and explain why I won’t be showing up to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can do that.” An evil grin stretches across his lips at the thought of informing his rival about the situation.

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh and say, “I have to get something out of my room while you call, but I’ll be right back.”

As you disappear into the next room, you can hear him on the phone, “Hey, Hangman….. Yeah, I know, she told me. But about that-”

You take a deep breath and open the door. “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @lorecraft, @skvatnavle, @edwardbaldwin, @lacontroller1991, @the-untamed-soul, @fangirlinc, @srry-itshockeyszn, @sparrows-corner, @mads-weasley, @clints-lucky-arrow, @the-untamed-soul, @

#fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #f!reader #miles teller #fluff

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lackadaisicalnereid · 3 years

Text

The Game: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some authors! I was tagged by @elasticella & am tagging @bohemicns @kwritten and @ravenbells if they are up for it. It was fun to think about and fit in nicely with me trying to figure out stylistics recently, so good for me.

1.deal with the devil

Malady is tired and Lohse is young.

(oh, do I love words which are not quite opposites but become opposites through being put in a sentence together. also, short sentences, yes.)

2. money dick power

(money)

Rachel almost wishes she could be embarrassed about this,

(dick)

with Quinn's fingers stroking her clit at a steady pace, and Rachel's fingers in response twisting in Quinn's hair,

(power)

but Rachel had misplaced most of her sanity decades ago, and there wasn't much of it to begin with anyway.

(yeah, this is one of those things that happen to me sometimes, idek, here I'm interspersing the entire fic with the repetitions of money, dick, power which is what the characters got on their matching tattoos, rhythmically mimicking one of the characters getting the other off with her hand, what ever are my choices)

3. a fire burning

Nyota's not sure even as it's happening, why she's in the landing party.

(ah, the thing in clauses when the referent for the pronoun comes after the pronoun itself, i cherish you so)

4. king of something

When Jane first sees Valkyrie, let's just say that it's a lot.

(one of my probably most used openings - both key characters present, making first contact)

5. falling, except

They keep falling - except

(in contrast to #4, a more in medias res approach, which i also do like sometimes, and then there's the the not-really-finishing-the-sentence thing which i also sometimes employ)

6. we’re all strays on a sidewalk

Magic can be many things.

(generic present tense statement, how i both worship and fear you)

7. but you took your toll on me It will never happen.

(ah narratorial OR character prediction for the future that starts the fic and its repetition creates the structure)

8. to avoid death, marry the hangman

6. They are in Clytemnestra's bed, always in Clytemnestra's bed, in lieu of crimes ot yet committed, Clytemnestra at least claims Cassandra away from Agamemnon's bed and for herself.

(this is the type of rambly opening line i honestly thought i'd find more of in my fic, but alas there hasn’t been much of it lately, but i do do the thing here where i number events and then scramble their order, which i have fun with both reading & writing)

9. come nightfall you’ll be waltzing through my door

Paris in summer is wonderful – at times.

(ah generic present tense statement, we meet again, ending on a hedge, and i do love hedges, also i’m itching to finish the next chapter of this blair/dan whatever it is)

10. Upper East Side, a queendom

Blair is a queen.

(maybe the shortest sentence on this list. i really do like a short opening line)

11. little beast

A story needs to start somewhere, so let us say this story needs three protagonists now.

(oh, hello narrator, nice to see you again, this is probably the most present distinct narratorial voice i’ve ever tried, even i occasionally think it’s obnoxious)

12. above all else, a god needs compassion

Tally is strong.

(oh i was wrong about #10 being the shortest. who knows if i'll find a 2-word opening line somewhere)

13. girls are cruellest to themselves

For the first time in recent memory, Abigail Bellweather does not know what to fucking do.

(i do like to employ swearing occasionally, and also i do consider characters not knowing sth a good starting point - see also #3 and #4)

14. the only apple on the only tree (that we’re not supposed to eat)

It's always the only apple on the only tree that we're not supposed to eat, and it's the same fucking shit all over again, except this time it's Laura looking at Baph, all metal and goth, and dark and grief, and not hers, not even remotely, and thinking, yes, I pick you.

(rambly again, and swearing (must have been a phase) and hello religious motif, we meet at last, i was wondering when you were going to show up, also i do the listing thing which i like in the second half of the sentence, and i do the free indirect discourse thing, i think?)

15. as goddesses do

1. Hera hears about Persephone long before she meets her.

(oh, see: #4 except this is even before the characters' first contact, which makes it kinda like #3)

16. everything i want here "I love her - Father, Mother, please," Paris begs, as well as Paris was ever capable of doing just that.

(you know for some reason i just love the as well as Paris was ever capable of doing just that second half of the sentence, but that's probably because i have a lot of thoughts re: Paris & begging & family and i like the staccato of what Paris is saying, this might just be my favorite of the openings here )

17. so many things i’m not allowed to tell you

1. It's this: Katherine comes to Mystic Falls.

(oh, short event description with some narratorial intervention and framing, hello)

18. am i your demon yet

The nature of it is that she never comes to Baph.

(the nature of what, that is the question, and i do love a good opening question, also - if she never comes to Baph - what does happen? so many questions and so little time)

19. girls in the mirror are closer than they appear

It would be silly to pretend Laura does not know that Sakhmet has eaten someone.

(i wish i'd made this sentence shorter, or changed something in the rhythm maybe, but i liked the epistemological focus on the pretending and/or knowing, so *shrug* what’s a girl to do)

20. forever just means forever

There is a corpse, or more than one corpse, maybe one or two or three.

(again, epistemological uncertainty, my best friend, see: #19, also aren't corpses just a great starting point, who's with me)

#meme #elasticella <3 #fic fic fic

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fantroll-purgatory · 6 years

Text

Crypha Castan

@persephoneanmystery

(Okay, so we’re getting into “writer’s special interest” themed trolls I guess? If I get too technical, just let me know! She’s kind of… flat. I think her concept is so well defined that I have trouble deviating from it to flesh her out. You ready for six straight Prospit dreamers? I… don’t think I am. Let’s go!)

Her character and theme is definitely really straight forward and tightly knit. I don’t know if I’d describe her as flat, though! Still, I’ll play around in the guts of her profile to see if we can tug anything out.

Universe: Beforus!

Name: Crypha Castan

“Crypha” comes from Cryphonectria parasitica, the fungus that causes Chestnut Blight! It’s one of my favorite named fungi because “Cryphonectria” just… sounds like a good super villain name. “Castan”, perhaps fittingly, is from Castanea dentata, the American Chestnut, a reference to this one’s ability to just… absolutely devastate things when she puts her mind to it.

I love this a lot. Ruthless and destructive, a true blight. Ready to bring the world down. This also reminds me of an analysis of 1984- a fun fact about chestnuts is that they’re a symbol of honesty and justice, but in the book their repeated reference is used to symbolize the mutation of from the old world order of justice to new world order of injustice. Maybe I’m just flaunting my AP skills here, but the historical literature linking of chestnuts and totalitarian regimes is a fun note here!

Age: Roughly 7 Sweeps

Theme/Story: Crypha’s always been a leader since the day she was spawned, she likes to say. Something of a genius when it comes to keeping things alive, she decided to study to become a naturalist. She runs her lab (that she likely shouldn’t have but… details) with an iron fist, and her understudies know better than to get in her way. Once Crypha sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her. Her lab’s focus? Molds, creeping and blanketing.

Strife Specibus: Flaskkind

Crypha doesn’t like to get her hands dirty, but when push comes to shove, the girl can whip up a mean cocktail. She’s tried acid, explosives, mind control pheromones… All of em have some efficacy when applied directly to a fool’s forehead.

I love that. Very rude, to just splash something in someone’s face. Excellent fighting strategy, though.

Fetch Modus: Hangman

Crypha keeps her modus relatively simple, but it’s got a twist. She can’t ever choose what item she’s taking out. The hangman just simply gives her the amount of letters in the item’s name. She sometimes just memorizes everything that’s in there as a mental exercise. If the man is hung, her item is crushed and thrown out at her.

Blood color: Cerulean/Blue

Crypha certainly embodies the blueblooded idea of “doing the most harm”. She’s ambitious and devoted, and she knows she’s good what she does. In fact, she often believes that there’s nobody else out there that can do it her way! This leads to her underestimating everyone around her, and overestimating her ability. Atop of this, she’s seethingly jealous of anyone she thinks is getting credit for something she’s good at, and therefore she should be doing. Really, the worst combination of traits for a PI.

Symbol and meaning: Perhaps ironically-

SCORSCI, THE FIXER

Trolltag: [AA] adamantineAscomycete

“Adamantine” is a mythical kind of metal (I’ve often seen it in video games as a sort of off-blue color to boot) that’s impossible to break. Crypha believes herself to be impenetrable, hence the tag. To avoid going all mycologist up in here, “Ascomycetes” as a type of fungus with a wide set of traits (mostly defined my shapes of fruiting bodies and types of sexual stages and-) that many plant pathogens are grouped under. Both Cryphonectria and Cordyceps are Ascomycetes!

Beautifully fitting.

Quirk: Crypha talks like a damn saturday morning cartoon villain, always capitalizing her M’s and laughing ominously at the end of her sentences hehehehehe….

Special Abilities (if any): While she possesses the classic Cerulean Mind Control powers, Crypha has fine tuned hers into a weapon of mass destruction. Or so she thinks. One of her biggest experiments is being able to turn fungal spores that affect insects into ones that can affect Trolls. She’s been successful, but it has drawbacks. She has to craft them beforehand, but once directed they’re relatively easy to program. The problem is once she turns them on, the troll in question is helpless to do ANYTHING she hasn’t programmed. She has to be incredibly specific in what she says or it could be interpreted by the troll’s “inferior brain” as something else.

I know I helped brainstorm this idea, but it’s still so cool and the drawback is so fun to imagine in action. And her frustration when things just don’t go her way? Beautiful.

Lusus: Crypha’s been told it’s a great honor to have a Leafcutter Queen as a Lusus. She doesn’t really see the appeal. She doesn’t do a lot of like, parenting. She just sits and eats fungus all day and hatches the mindless workers that actually do the day to day work around their massive underground fungus garden of a hive. She has to give her a little credit though- her Lusus certainly ignited her love of mold, taught her the importance of letting the grunts handle the labor, and has given her basically infinite specimens to experiment on! The amount of ant corpses outside her hive that have been overgrown with parasitic fungus is… too damn many.

It’s no wonder she’s interested in picking up a higher place on the hierarchy, considering she’s got such a ruling class mother. The ant thing gives me another idea, though…

Interests: Mycology, Pathology (Specifically of Insects, like Trolls), Bartender Mixology, The Ethics of World Domination, The Ecological Necessity of The Hemospectrum, High Society Rules of Engagement

We can probably add a mild biology interest just because she’s working with implementing mind control on Physical Beings. And maybe she could be just a little interested in Marine Parasitology. Y’know, just in case seadwellers start frustrating her plans.

Appearance: Crypha is never seen anywhere without her lab coat and goggles. Always gotta practice good laboratory practices, even in the field! ….Even at home. Her wardrobe is intentionally spartan and plain, she doesn’t like colors outside of grey and black. Even Cerulean is a bit too bright for her eyes. She loves turtleneck sweaters more than she’d like to admit, and her hair is always a mess because she very rarely styles it. She just pulls it back to keep it away from her equipment. She’s always got this oddly faraway look to her- like she’s not looking at you, she’s looking through and past you. It’s deeply unnerving.

Personality: Crypha’s a dreamer and an ambitious dreamer. It’s not enough for her to just think about doing amazing things; she intends to go out and make them a reality. The problem is that her big plans are of subjugation and control. She wants an army of mindless but well-trained zombies to do her bidding. What bidding? She… hasn’t gotten that far yet. As someone so obsessed with protocol and propriety as she is, it’s odd that she doesn’t always think so far ahead. She never knows just what she’s going to do with the things she makes and achieves. She just knows that she wants them, and she wants them now, so god damn her if she’s not going to have them NOW. Crypha doesn’t really have “friends” because she’s not the kind of person who would want them. To her, there are people who are beneath you, people who should be beneath you, and Crypha herself. It hasn’t escaped the notice of many of the people around her that she’s insufferable and somewhat scatterbrained, but if you cross her, watch out! That girl can turn from zero to six thousand degrees Kelvin in an instant.

Most of my recommendations are going to come in here, since you’re dissatisfied… so I’ll talk about the idea that the ants gave me here, I guess! So, you know how worker ants are called “Drones?” Well….. I was thinking about what you said, about her attempting to Destroy Through Life, and how she hasn’t quite gotten that down yet. So on top of the attempts to take control of people’s brains, maybe you could give her a pointed interest in trying to craft new creatures? The drones are a tool of the hierarchy and help out the people who are above her, after all. So maybe she makes a habit of nabbing any that come out her way and experimenting on them in some interesting ways? Ways that usually involve failure and/or destruction, but still. It’d be a way of creating doom, actively tearing these things apart. I’m just thinking… weird, smushed together creatures like the Amalgamates in undertale. Hell, maybe she even grabs a troll corpse or two to throw into the mix every once in a while. Her hive is a little bit nightmare fuel.

Maybe you could expand that temper and make her a little prone to histrionics? Just because she wants things her way and she wants them NOW, and she’s not so fond of when other people’s needs are put above her own, and it’s not fair, it’s not FAIR-. What I’m saying is maybe she could be the fit-throwing type, a gracelessness that kind of embarrasses her afterwards but it feels a bit necessary when her emotions are running high and her prospitan emotionalism meets her scorpio intensity meets her life-i-ness.

Title: Prince of Life

Active Classes That Remain: Maid, Witch, Thief, Prince,

Passive Classes That Remain: Sylph, Page

Princes dance around using their Aspect because they are so innately tied to their Aspect’s opposite. Crypha’s a wonderful example of when a Prince goes power mad. She’s a destroyer of deviation, a destroyer of innovation. She rules her lab with an iron fist, refusing to let any opinions or facts reach her ears that didn’t come from her own mouth, even when it’s to her detriment. She’s surrounded by death and decay, the end of Life, the inevitable Doom of all things.

She’s not a true Doom player, of course. That ego and self-centered streak of hers is all Life, all the time. Crypha is so certain that she knows what’s best for literally everyone that she wants to program their brains with mind control spores and puppet them like some kind of biological marionette show. She destroys their Lives through another form of Life.

Like any good Prince, she rejects anything to do with her Aspect subconsciously. She’s a stickler for rules and restrictions, and sets those upon herself as much as she does everyone else. She’s much better at the whole “Destroying Life” part than she is at the “Destroying Through Life” part, but she’s getting there. And woe betide anyone who gets caught in the aftermath of that.

I LOVE this for her.

Land: The Land of Forests and Overflow

Crypha’s hive gets picked up and thrown at the ground, destroying a set of ancient looking redwood trees in the process. They extend all the way towards the the featureless, white sky, and it is here that Crypha realizes she has a really big fear of wide, open spaces. She retreats into her hive as thunder rumbles, and then that same sky opens and rain comes pouring out.

Her hive is swept away like a leaf in the river, as a deluge is unleashed upon the world. This is no ordinary monsoon, this is something biblical and world ending. It drives Crypha insane immediately. What kind of season is this? This doesn’t make any sense!

She must leave her hive immediately if she is to get anywhere. The corpses of ants surround her and something pings in her mind. Soon, she’s paddling around on an exoskeleton raft, using a leg as a oar, composing rules for proper boating as she does so. Something is drowning this place, doing as it pleases.

It needs to learn its place in the hierarchy.

Dream Planet: Prospit

Prospit Dreamers tend to be a bit bubbly, energetic, and optimistic people. Crypha is none of those. She’s not a Dersite because she possesses none of Derse’s dissatisfaction. She believes that she is the best, and that’s how the world works. She doesn’t question it, she merely goes with it. She’s the kind of person that if she doesn’t have a defined set of rules for how the world should work around her, she panics- flailing and gasping for air.

She also seems like she could secretly be the capricious type, so it fits.

Design:

Horns: I wanted them to look a bit like antennae and a bit like pictures of cordyceps sprouting off of nats, so I gave them some protrusions and caps. I usually don’t do this many branches, but this was an aesthetic exception.

Hair: I wanted to make it as messy as you’d said, so there’s lots of flippy and overlapping clashing bits. I put her hair up in a bun to keep it out of the way, but also because I could vaguely make the bun look like an ant butt.

Goggles: I edited them from Eridan’s glasses if I’m being honest. I tinted them with Cerulean just to put that barest pop of color in there.

Eyes: I wanted to make sure her pupils were small for that faraway, creepy look. I gave her really low set eyebrows so she could look slightly Villainous.

Mouth: I wanted to make her look mildly smug and gave her some teeth shaped a bit like a pincher.

Top: A lab coat, but in a slightly dark grey. She’s also in a sweater, as you said. I made her symbol relatively small and shoved it in the corner. I wanted her to have her symbol and blood color somewhere on her design, but wanted to respect that she’s not fond of bright colors. So it’s just very, very tiny.

Pants & shoes: Edited from Vriska, I wanted to keep them relatively simple. Grey slacks and some black square-toed lab shoes.

She’s so deliciously evil!

-CD

#persephoneanmystery #crypha castan #crypha #castan #ceruleanblood #cobaltblood #review #redesign #cd review #submission

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eirabach · 7 years

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Heathens [8/14]

Summary: After the events of Renegades, Emma finds herself the reluctant monarch of a struggling Kingdom, her only advisors a mish mash of those who’ve betrayed her in the past, and her only comfort one very uncomfortable pirate.

Believing her long lost parents could still be alive, Emma and Killian set out to find them and reunite them with both their daughter and their throne.

Easy.

Right?

Thank you so much to everyone who’s commented so far, I hope you continue to enjoy! This chapter and the next are two of my favourite things I’ve written - so I hope you like them too! All my thanks and love as ever to @phiralovesloki and @katie-dub for their beta work and general amazingness, and to @seastarved for her incredible artwork!

Rated: E. Warnings for violence and corporal/capital punishment specifically in this chapter! @killian-whump this one’s going out to you.

This chapter 4.4k

Other Pairings: Snowing

Catch up on tumblr: Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six or here on AO3

Chapter Seven: Blood on the Floor

When he’d been dragged from the cell they’d thrown him into almost as soon as they’d arrived, and the guard had left David, bemused and enraged, behind, he’d assumed some sort of… personal treatment was in order. The rack, perhaps, or the whipping post. He was no stranger to either, after all.

He’d assumed the guard’s brutish manhandling of him as he practically threw his chained body down the courtyard steps had been due to frustration with the way Killian’s knees refused to buckle at the prospect, but then he’d seen the waiting crowd, heard the slam of the pillory being opened, and suddenly, he hadn’t been so sure.

“Is this is really necessary?” Killian asks as the prison guard as he’s bodily forced into the shackles of the pillory. “If I could just speak to the king, I’m sure he’d - ”

“King’s got nothing to do with this,” the guard spits as he slams the shackles down painfully hard on Killian’s bare wrist. “This is just a bit of fun, y’see.”

“Fun for who, exactly?” Killian chokes out as the collar tightens around his neck.

“Me, of course. Ain’t got a hangman’s stomach, so this is as good as I can get.”

“You’re taking this all very - very personally,” Killian gasps as the guard gives him a solid cuff around the back of his head and sets his ears ringing.

The man stands up straight and folds his arms.

“I had a lad, once. Brave he was. Stupid, perhaps. Joined the Navy didn’t he? Your lot got him on his first voyage.”

“My lot?”

“Pirates,” the man spits, “Dirty, filthy pirates. Scum of the Earth, every last one of you, and you, oh, you are going to feel it.”

“Marvel at the great pirate Captain Hook!” he bellows to the crowd. “Come see him in all his glory! Shall we thank him, one and all, for his years at sea? Shall we show him our gratitude for his treatment of our fine navy?”

The crowd snarls and jeers, seething with hatred, as someone pushes a large wicker basket before the pillory.

“You’ve made your point,” Killian grits out from between his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your son.”

The man leans forward, his hands on his knees, and smiles.

“Too late.”

The sharp, wet smack of the first putrid vegetable sends his head reeling to the right and he grits his teeth against the sting of the laughter that follows.

“Good shot!” someone calls. “Get the stump, go on!”

A howl of agreement, and then the frame judders under the onslaught of half-black turnips and slime-coated lettuce. Killian struggles to keep his eyes open and his mouth closed as they rain down on him, acid sending his vision blurry and his head throbbing under the onslaught.

He thinks he sees, just for a moment, a young boy stood by the basket, a rotten apple in his hand as he seems to consider his shot, and over the cheers of the crows, over the thundering of his own blood, he thinks he can hear Liam calling his name.

“What you doing? Killian? Killian!”

The weight of the apple in his hand, the bruise blackened face of the man in the stocks, and Liam, Liam behind him, his hand on his shoulder, his guiding light.

“Why?” he asks, and Liam’s reply is as grim and as tight as his grip as he pulls him away.

“You can’t know another man’s story, Killian.”

Yes, brother, he thinks, his eyes closing as something harder, sharper, slashes his cheek. I can.

Killian’s only respite after the humiliation of the pillory is a barrel of icy water thrown over his head and thin prison-issue garb before he’s tossed back into the cell he shares with Dave, the promise of their looming execution on the guard’s gleeful lips.

That was three days ago, and this morning is to be the last they’ll ever see.

“Hung,” says David for the fifteenth time since dawn had risen and brought a breakfast of mackerel and eggs to the condemned men’s cell. “I’m going to be hung.”

“Hanged, actually,” says Killian with false cheer. “Thought a king might know that, but that’s royalty for you,” says Killian as he picks the bones out of his fillet. “Never appreciate their education, and all about the capital punishment until it’s their necks on the block. Perhaps if King Eric had been hugged more as a child we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“I’m a shepherd,” David says with a scowl, “About to be hung like a piece of mutton, and for what? Associating with a pirate? Perhaps if you hadn’t dragged me into this mess, I’d be at home!”

“With what, your sheep?”

“Do you have any idea,” David seethes, “what it feels like to give up? To lose everything you’ve ever loved in one fell swoop? Yes, I’d be at home with my sheep! My sheep are all I have!”

Guilt itches at the back of Killian’s neck, and he considers telling David right then, about the daughter who’d grown up to be the Saviour, the determination with which she’d set out to find her father. Her certainty that somewhere, somehow, this man’s True Love is still alive.

Waiting.

But that means telling him how Killian has failed them. How Killian watched this man’s daughter sink to the depths. How fate took her, in a way, as assuredly as it will take this man, this good-hearted shepherd King, for the sin of daring to bestow an ounce of kindness on the undeserving soul of Killian Jones.

Of admitting that Snow White will wait forever, and David is helpless to prevent it.

“Rather a desperate turn of events all around, if you ask me.” Killian says instead, shaking his head. “No. I’m sorry, your Majesty, I truly am, but I didn’t ask you to brain that bloke, did I? I wasn’t to know just being in my presence is a death sentence nowadays.”

“Your presence encourages poor choices,” says David, and shoves his plate away, “so I shouldn’t be surprised. How can you eat at a time like this?”

“Well, there’s not much else to be done about it,” Killian says with a shrug. “And it’s pretty good, you sure you don’t want any?”

“Am I sure - ” David sucks a breath between his teeth. “Do you even have a plan to get out of here?”

Killian drops his fork and any attempts at pretense, his expression darkening as he looks out of the barred window towards the shadow of the gallows.

“None whatsoever.”

“So what, you’re just going to die?”

“Maybe it’s time,” he says. “I’ve lived a long, long time, mate, and there’s more I love waiting for me there than there is remaining here.”

“Me, too,” says David, letting his head hang back against the stone wall. “I never thought I'd be scared, you know? I thought - I thought when it was time, I’d be ready. Ready to join Snow. And yet - ” He lets his head loll to the side. “Are you so sure they’re waiting for you?”

“I’m not a priest,” Killian says. “Far from it. But I’d like to think - what’s the alternative, eh? Nothing? Can’t be worse than here.”

“Can’t it?” asks David, and sighs. “I wish I knew, that’s all.”

Killian swallows hard and looks at his feet, bare apart from the chain around his ankles. He doesn't know if his next words are cruelty or comfort, but he knows he can't go to the gallows with them unsaid. Not when David’s desperation is so familiar to him.

He wishes he knew, too.

“Your daughter - Emma - ” he stops, pausing to swallow the ache that seems to follow her name. “What if I told you I know that she’s waiting for you?”

“How would you know that?” David laughs grimly, then his brow furrows. “How do you know her name?”

“Because,” Killian sighs. “I rather hope she’s waiting for me, too.”

“You know Emma?” David says, scrambling up onto his knees. “How? Why? Are you telling me she’s - ” His mouth works helplessly around the last word, his face bright red.

“Gone?” Killian winces at the word. “Aye. I loved her, but I couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save any of them.” He looks back out of the window. The clouds are gathering now, the wind picking up. It won’t be long. “Not even myself.”

“What do you mean, you loved her?” asks David, rearing back against the wall of the cell, his already pale face blanching to the colour of the stone behind him. “What happened - what did you do to her!”

“Nothing,” Killian insists, shaking his head against the implied accusation even as guilt makes his last meal sit unsteady in his stomach. “Nothing she didn’t ask me to! I was her - ” and it’s his turn to pause, the words tripping over themselves to escape and yet none of them quite right - lover, consort, captain - “friend!” His shoulders sink, the realisation stinging at the back of his eyes. “I was her best friend. And she was mine.”

“And she was alive,” David says softly, his eyes far away. “And you loved her.”

“I did. I do.” Killian shakes his head. “We were looking for you, you know. I don’t think this is quite the reunion she had in mind.”

“Looking for me?”

“Aye. You and the Lady Snow.” He smiles, a sad, wistful little thing, but genuine enough. “We were neither of us cut out to rule. Emma had the idea that the two of you may be better suited. I don’t think she was expecting - well.”

He gestures to David, but he’s too busy gaping to take any offence.

“But Snow’s - and Regina, is she - ”

“Dead, mate?” Through the window they hear the sound of a hundred or more feet skittering over the cobbles, voices raised in excitement, as the dark figure of the hangman strides past their cell door. “Aren’t we all?”

The crowd that forces its way through the prison gates and into the courtyard ebbs and flows like a sea of humanity baying for blood, small children propped on their father’s shoulders, young girls shrieking with laughter at their friends.

Emma spits bile over the parapet above their heads, and hopes it lands in their eyes.

“This is entertainment?” she hisses. Ariel wrings her hands, her long red locks covered in a heavy cloak.

“It’s been a hard winter,” she says. “The suffering - ”

“Clearly wasn’t enough,” Emma growls.

“Emma, please,” Ariel pleads, “you must remember that this is a seafaring nation - these people have lost many loved ones to pirates - and your Killian Jones is no innocent man.”

“I told you,” Emma says, her eyes flicking over the crowd, searching for something, anything, that might act as an escape route. “He’s changed.”

“And I believe that,” says Ariel. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I know.” Emma reaches out and squeezes Ariel’s hand. “I know what you’re risking for us. Thank you.”

“As I said, I’m an old romantic,” Ariel says, and then adds wryly, “and completely mad.”

She pulls a steel hook from the confines of her cloak, handing it over to Emma with a wink and a smile.

“Please don't ask what I had to do to get that.”

Emma squeezes the metal tightly, and tucks it into the waist of her breeches.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Ariel shakes her head. “Don't thank me yet.”

There’s a last push from the rear of the crowd, and then the iron gates are drawn shut behind them with an ominous creak, a hush falling over the crowd as the hangman strides out onto the gallows.

“I’ll spare you as much time as I can,” whispers Ariel, “but the rest of it’s up to you. Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” Emma says, watching the loop and the turn of the ropes as they’re attached. Two of them. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Easier said than done,” mutters Ariel, and she turns to scurry down a staircase to join the masses below leaving Emma alone with nothing but her roiling stomach for company.

She hasn’t got a clue what she’s doing. No plan, no resources, just a view of a gallows, and the sure and certain knowledge that she won’t survive watching him die, and someway, somehow, that’s going to have to be enough.

She’s still got her sword, and her dagger tucked into her breeches, she’s still got her wits - such as they are right now - and she’s got Ariel’s sworn promise of distraction. At her feet are a couple of half barrels, mainly empty after a rainless few days - and the flag of the Maritime Kingdom flutters in the breeze from a flagpole that juts up beneath her.

She sees more than hears the frisson of excitement that runs through the crowd as the metal doors of the prison grind open, people standing on their tiptoes and elbowing each other for a better view of the damned men as they're dragged out onto the dais.

There's an older man with graying curls and a mutinous expression who shakes his captors' hands from his shoulders and stands surveying the crowd like a man who’s found himself in a terrible dream, his bearing almost regal despite the way his hands are tied behind his back, and then - and then - there's Killian.

If the other man looks mutinous, then Killian's expression can only be described as - well, cheerful. He nods to the crowd, throws a wink to the young girls who've pushed their way to the front of the crowd, and practically swaggers his way to his own death.

She wouldn't have expected anything else, not really. Once a showman, always a showman, but this isn't a swan song she's prepared to witness.

The barrel wobbles beneath her as she tests her weight against it, her focus split between where the older man appears to have chosen to berate Killian with his last words and the gentle sway of the flagpole.

If she misses this, she isn’t going to be witnessing anything. Ever again.

No pressure.

She waits for the moment Ariel mounts the dais, the little hand gesture the two of them had agreed upon the only hint that the queen isn’t truly there to pass final judgement on the ne’er do wells alongside her, leans forward, and jumps.

She hits the flagpole with a clatter, tangling herself helplessly in the flag as she scrambles for grip before clinging on to the wooden pole like an infant chimera to its mother’s back. The crowd at the base of the flagpole looks up in shock as the pole begins to sway alarmingly beneath her sudden weight, and she sort of grimaces down at them in a way she hopes is reassuring. A small child opens her mouth as though to scream and Emma shakes her head furiously, struggling to press a finger against her lips. Luckily, Ariel takes the opportunity to clear her throat, and their attention is drawn back to the gallows.

“Citizens of the Marine Kingdom,” she begins in her bell-like voice as Emma begins to shimmy indelicately down the pole. “It is always a sorrow for my husband and I to proceed with events such as these, but it is our duty to see that justice is done for the - ” Emma slips, only her right elbow catching in the rope stopping her from falling the fifteen feet to the ground below, and Ariel stumbles. “For the good - and the - the glory - ” Emma untangles herself enough to slide another five feet, and is judging the remaining drop when the hangman moves to cover Killian and the other man’s faces with the rough sacking hood they’re to die in. Killian’s mouth is moving, she can see it from here even though she’s no hope of hearing him, and gods help her but it looks like Emma.

“I’m coming,” she says, all air and fear leaving her in a single breath, and falls.

He remembers the queen, not like this - oddly nervous, her hands twisting in the silk of her cloak as she condemns the already dead - but younger, bolder, with a tail made of shining scales and a passion beyond his tormented understanding. He wonders for half a moment if he shouldn’t appeal directly to her, for Dave’s sake if not his own, but her eyes are fixed firmly on the crowd, her back forever turned to him, as David continues to mutter pointless threats beneath his breath.

“If there is an afterlife,” David hisses, “I will kill you in it, be sure of that.”

“That would be more frightening if it weren’t for the noose,” Killian mutters out of the side of his mouth. “It rather takes priority.”

“I can make it frightening,” David assures him. “You wait.”

“You’re assuming I’ll see you there,” Killian adds. “Rather hopeful of you, but thanks anyway.”

“That’s enough,” spits the hangman. “Her Majesty is speaking and your breaths are numbered. Save ‘em.”

“For what?” snipes David, and his head is covered by the hanged man’s hood.

Killian swallows hard, and for a moment lets his eyes close, runs through the faces he can only hope are waiting for him on the other side. His mother, Liam, Milah.

Emma.

He opens his eyes one last time as the hood descends, and for one moment he thinks he can see her, a vision floating above the crowd, her golden hair wild in the breeze, and then he sees no more.

She scrabbles to her feet as the drums begin to roll, their thunder rolling out as the crowd surge onto their tiptoes, all desperate for a glimpse of death at work. Elbowing her way through them, hand tight on her sword’s pommel, she finds herself fervently muttering aloud, her breaths cut short and quick in desperation as though she's willing him to hear her somehow even if it's the last thing he ever hears.

I love you I love you I love you I love you.

She's never told him. Never. And the drums reach a crescendo, the crowd surges forward, tears running hot down her cheeks, Ariel’s frightened face blurred and distorted.

The hangman pulls.

The trapdoor drops.

The world stops.

She doesn’t know how she gets from twelve feet away to the gallows in less than a breath, nor why the hangman is bleeding at her feet, only that the ropes are swinging and their feet are twitching and her sword is sharp, sharp sharp as she slashes the first man down. Somebody’s screaming, several somebodies, the whole world, probably, but it’s far away - only I love you on her white, cracked lips as she rips off the hood.

The man stares up at her through bloodshot, watery eyes, as she throws him aside.

“Not you,” she hisses, and maybe he balks at that - she feels like he balks at it, his rheumy gaze fixed on her - but she hasn’t time to care. Another swipe, another clatter of bone against wood, and she’s dragging him to her, her tears wet against his sackcloth skin. She rips off the hood only to realise that beneath he’s too pale, blueish lips and still lashes, a violent, livid mark at his throat where the rope has tightened.

“Don’t be dead,” she whisper-sobs, her sword abandoned as her hands rove over his too still chest. “Don’t be dead. I’ll kill you.”

“Emma?” The other man is behind her now, her sword in his hand. “Emma, is that you?”

“Don’t be dead,” is all she can manage, and he shakes his head, the movement jerky like a man rising from a dream.

“You need to go!” Ariel, still stood at the front of the gallows, her arms held out placatingly towards them as though warding off enemies of the crown, speaks through gritted teeth, her eyes wild. “The guards!”

And sure enough over the echoing screams and gasps of the crowd and her own panicked breath, Emma can hear the approach of chainmail and hooves.

“I can’t,” she says, her fingers tight in the worn fabric of Killian’s shirt, “I can’t leave him.”

“Then you’ll die with him!”

“Emma, please,” entreats the stranger, “it’s too late.”

“No.” The guards are upon them she imagines, Ariel frantically thinking of a way to keep them back a moment or two longer, but it doesn’t matter. “No,” she mumbles, “I just got him back.”

She squeezes her eyes tight against the tears that keep falling, takes a deep breath, and presses her lips to his cold ones to breathe life into his lungs - once, twice, three times.

“Don’t you dare,” she pleads, and behind her heavy footsteps mount the gallows, loud voices, large hands that reach out and grab at her clothes.

She has no idea how she does it, only that she does, her hands thrown out in front of her as she twists around and lightning streaking through the air. The crowd scream as one, the sound of a hundred frightened pairs of feet thundering through the wood beneath her as she scrunches her face up in concentration, the white light from her fingertips sending the guards wincing backwards.

“No,” she pants out. “I don’t think so.”

The swords that the guards had been holding are ripped free and arc towards her, the men’s astonished expressions the last thing she sees before she grabs hold of Killian’s sleeve with one hand and hooks her ankle around his companion’s leg, closing her eyes and willing the fire within her to get us out of here, get us out of here please!

The screaming stops, suddenly, replaced by the sound of bird call and the drip, drip, drip of rain falling softly through the canopy.

Her sword drops to the floor with a dull thud, the man who had been holding it staring around himself in bemused wonder, but she only has eyes for Killian, only cares for the slight pink plush returning to his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelids as he draws first one rasping breath and then another.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she hisses again, “not ever, do you hear?”

He smiles, a small uptick at the corner of his mouth.

“Never, love. Never.”

“Good,” she snaps, and thumps him hard enough in the shoulder to send him roiling and wretching against the forest floor.

“Oh, shit, shit I didn’t mean - “

“It’s quite alright, love,” he gasps out once his stomach is empty. “No doubt I deserve it.”

“No doubt you do,” grumbles the other man. “Are you always this much of a drama queen?”

“It’s a habit that doesn’t only apply when at death’s door, I’m afraid. Why, does that put you off wanting to kill me?” he manages, before coughs wrack his body. Emma rests her hand on his back and scowls up at the other man.

“Who are you?” she asks sharply, rubbing firmly between Killian’s shoulder blades as he hacks into the grass. “And how the fuck did we get here? Was that me? How - ”

The man’s jaw twitches, and he shrugs in a poor showing of nonchalance.

“Damned if I know. There was smoke - and this bright light - and then,” he gestures around them, “we were here. Wherever here is.”

“Magic,” Killian says, smiling up at Emma between coughs. “That’s my girl.”

She shakes her head, but he nods, wincing at the action.

“You might not know how you did it, Swan, but you saved us all. Again.”

“The Saviour,” says the other man, the word falling out on a long breath, his eyes wide. “It’s true.”

“I don’t do autographs,” she says sharply, “but you’re welcome, I guess.”

“No, I - ”

“Swan,” says Killian, something bright and cheeky and delightfully comforting flickering to life in his gaze, “I’d like you to meet my new mate.”

“I’m not your - ”

“Dave, meet your daughter. Swan, King David of Misthaven.”

“Wait, what?” Emma's jaw drops, the blood draining from her face as she stares up at the man she rescued entirely by accident. The man with long, grey blond hair and a set to his shoulders that makes her muscles twinge in recognition. “You're the King of Misthaven?”

“No,” he says, his voice cracking, “not for a lifetime - but Emma, oh Emma, I thought you were dead.”

He scoops her up from the floor and into his arms, his hand cradling the back of her head as though she's an infant, and she stiffens instantly, the feeling both awkwardly unfamiliar and strangely right. He holds on regardless, his arms shaking slightly as he holds her tight.

“Where did you go?” he asks, the words pressed into the crown of her head. “Where have you been?”

“I rather think that's a question she's been planning to ask you, mate,” Killian says, still crumpled forward on the forest floor, and Emma forces herself to pull back from the embrace.

“Something like that,” she says. “You never found me.”

“I didn't know I could,” David says, and she can see the truth in his eyes, hear it in the gaps between his staggered breaths. “If I'd known, Emma, if I'd known - ”

She steps back, her palm held up between them, and shakes her head. It hurts, the thought of him wondering, looking, wanting her, hurts deep in a part of her soul that she'd thought she'd buried long ago, and she can't face it. Not now, lost in the wilds with this man who claims to be her father and Killian wheezing at her feet.

“Not now,” she says as his eyes widen in disappointment. “Not - not never, but not now.”

“Alright,” he says, and reaches down to pick up her sword, handing it back to her with a bow of his head. He lifts the two guardsmen’s swords that have accompanied them to wherever the hell they are, testing the weight of them and smiling slightly. “Where to?”

“Anywhere,” she says, and heaves Killian to his feet, shifting her weight as he leans heavily against her. “Literally, anywhere.”

“Together?” he asks hopefully, swinging Killians other arm over his shoulder, and she manages a smile.

“Together.”

#cs ff #cs fic #csbb #cs crew #captain swan #clare vs heathens #clare vs writers block #the chapter that made killiancygus attempt to blow her nose on a cat #my lifetime achievement

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miguelmarias · 5 years

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The Rising of the Moon

The Rising of the Moon is a modest-looking black-and-white Irish production lasting under 80 minutes, entirely shot on location with actors recruited mainly from the Abbey Theatre. It was the first venture of Four Provinces Productions, created by Lord Killanin, Ford, Roger Greene, Brian Desmond Hurst and Michael Scott to promote a national cinema in Eire. As Ford got no salary - he made it for fun and had a good time - it cost the ridiculous amount of US $256,000, when cheap Benedict Bogeaus productions of the time (including several Allan Dwan masterpieces) had budgets of a up to a million dollars. In spite of which, The Rising of the Moon grossed worldwide (although it was not released in most countries) less than US $100,000 and therefore drew a loss of a quarter million. Not even the Irish appreciated it: it was forbidden in Northern Ireland, and even though its last episode recounts the successful evasion - with the general complicity of most people - of an activist who has been sentenced to death, IRA supporters resented Ford's daring to show a British officer ashamed of being reduced to a hangman. Though most sources date it in 1957 (the year it was released, on May 16 in Dublin, the next month in Britain, not until August in the U.S.), or even in 1958, The Rising of the Moon was filmed in Spring 1956 and fully completed (and copyrighted) inside the year, between The Searchers and The Wings of Eagles(both also finished in 1956). It is certainly, of the three, the lesser film, if that is the right adjective for such a personal piece. A rarely seen movie even now, seldom mentioned and never properly appreciated, and certainly obscured by the two films it comes between in Ford's filmography (one of them the work that has become Ford's greatest film for almost everybody, the other my own favorite amongst his movies), The Rising of the Moonshould nevertheless not be missed.

The Rising of the Moon is, to be sure, a small picture, devoid of great complexities or transcendent meanings, even if it may be one of the most personal films Ford ever made, one of those that most fully and precisely reflect their author's intent. And limits, when visible, are revealing: this is what John Ford could have attained, had he been an Irish filmmaker. He would have been confined to a very simple cinema, probably restricted to local subject matters, more or less realistic in approach and humorous in tone, but unable to reach the mythical, epic and historical dimensions, the rich complexity of the two American masterpieces he made that same year.

Confronted with such dramatic peaks, The Rising of the Moon is rather a quiet Irish valley, its height barely that of a small hillside. Which makes it no less pleasant to watch nor less deeply felt by its author. Besides those two long-winding rivers, the Western a metaphoric tragedy, its more contemporary counterpart the biography of a close friend, screenwriter Frank "Spig" Wead, The Rising of the Moon has the concision and modesty of a short story or a sketch, multiplied by three. Because The Rising of the Moon tells three independent stories and is rather a collection of three shorts than a true feature. All were adapted by Ford's favorite screenwriter, the unsung Frank S. Nugent, from tales very different in origin and flavor. The first, The Majesty of the Law, is a melancholy and humorous anecdote by Frank O'Connor; the second, A Minute's Wait, springs from a Martin J. McHugh comedy, although it seems a blow-up to twenty-three minutes of the beginning of Ford's most famous Irish movie, The Quiet Man (1952), when Sean Thornton (John Wayne) gets down off the train and asks the way to Innisfree. The third is an updating to the Black and Tan War of Lady Gregory's dramatic piece, The Rising of the Moon (also the name of a well-known folk song), here retitled 1921. All of them are presented, and provided with brief off-screen commentary, by Tyrone Power, enlisted on account of his Irish roots.

Much as I like it, and despite great moments, 1921 is the least convincing of the three. The blame lies with a very artificial stylistic choice of Ford's that I fail to understand and that amazes me - I keep forgetting about it - every time I see the film; it annoys me till I succeed in not paying attention and Ford drops it, only to indulge again in such an un-Fordian device as systematically tilting the camera: a quirk I cannot but see as some sort of self-parody of the celebrated "expressionism" that ages today his otherwise impressive 1935 The Informer. Not even Peter Bogdanovich dared to ask him, but his book-length interview never dwelt on The Rising of the Moon, and the few who have commented on the film - so vaguely that I suspect they might have never seen it - didn't notice such an anomaly (neither Tag Gallagher nor Joseph McBride did), which one could expect from earlier Orson Welles or Carol Reed (not only in The Third Man [1949]) but is quite shocking and unlikely coming from late John Ford.

The second story is probably the most Fordian, this being its only drawback: it might seem a bit repetitious in comparison with the three or four minutes which, in a lighter and less extravagant fashion, illustrate the same topic - the Homeric unpunctuality of the old Irish railways - in The Quiet Man. There is an incredible number of characters - around twenty, each with his or her own individual traits drawn with affectionate humor, often paired in miniature vignettes linked with astonishing ease and subtlety, quite at odds with the interruption the whole episode represents, and in what may be the utmost expression of Ford's notorious penchant for digression. The actors are as enjoyable as the dialogue and the comedic construction, freed of any theatricality. It has the most hilarious line in the film - old Jimmy O'Dea's oblique proposal to the bespectacled barmaid in the station: "How would you like to be buried with my people?"

The first story is the most mysteriously naked, perhaps the most deeply Irish, slower in rhythm and with no action at all. Instead, it offers an inextricable mixture of dignity and longing, melancholia and good-humour, respect and bitterness, and is prodigiously acted by Cyril Cusack as the reluctant police inspector Michael Dillon, Noel Purcell as the old proud rebel moonshiner Dan O'Flaherty and Jack MacGowran in a ferret-like role, Mickey J., that recalls the one he played in The Quiet Man. Although less brilliant, it may be the purest and most serene segment of The Rising of the Moon, which Tyrone Power as the narrator introduces in quite a conscious, reflective and revealing way: "This is a story about nothing, or perhaps about everything," before showing us minutely how a very unhappy policeman walks to a nearby hamlet with a tower which is a national monument, crosses a small river in a rowboat, and calls upon the old illegal distiller, and both of them, and soon Mickey J. as well, drink while they nostalgically comment on how the old secrets, the old songs, the old art of making whiskey are being lost in a modern lifestyle (which includes radio and movies) which doesn't have the time required for the craft. It soon appears that the old moonshiner would rather go to jail than pay the fine that's been imposed on him for injuring with his cane another old man who had called him a liar. He's too proud to accept the money his old friends (and even the victim) are ready to give him, and which he does not really need (he has savings enough for that), and he feels he did what he had to, that he was justified, and is not guilty, so he will rather give himself in. "When it suits you," the policeman insists. They finally agree on Friday, and so we see old Dan leave his home on Friday morning and walk down to the jail, where Dillon is waiting to receive him.

http://fipresci.hegenauer.co.uk/undercurrent/issue_0509/rising.htm

#Miguel Marías #john ford #the rising of the moon #fipresci

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sheepydraws · 7 years

Text

I’ll Kick Your Ass! I’ll Kick My Fiancee’s Ass! I’ll Kick My Own Ass! (8/11)

Facebook Messenger, Group Chat

Ryoga: My phone’s out of commission for a few days, so don’t try to call or text.

Shampoo: Ha! I told you that case wasn’t indestructible

Ukyo: Did you drop it into a jet engine or something?

Ryoga: Worse. Akari found a tumblr with pictures of me dueling Ranma. For Akane.

Shampoo: Oh shit!!!

Ukyo: So she bashed your phone in?

Ryoga: Akari is a very gentle, creative, pissed off person. She wouldn’t do something like that.

Scrawled in every public restroom between Ryoga’s flat and Sheffield in permanent marker:

LOOKING TO GET DICKED DOWN.

MEN ONLY, THE BIGGER (PERVERTS) THE BETTER.

PLEASE CALL/TEXT/SEND NUDES TO: [Number Redacted]

NO NAMES, JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU’D DO TO ME

Ranma’s Diary

Of course I was going to drive up with Nabiki and Akane, but now dad expects me to stay with them, too. Something about our heater not working. The problem is lack of cash flow, not a busted valve, but the Tendos have guest rooms and tons of food, so I wasn’t going to complain.

‘cept the Tendos also have world war three going on right now, and I’d almost rather go home and try my luck with the space heater than listen to another meltdown.

Akane dropped the P-Bomb on her dad on our way home. She’s been flat and distant ever since she heard, and then she just blurts it out. Interrupts Nabiki and “Car Talk” mid-sentence. Nabiki’s mouth shut so fast it clicked, and Soun turned the radio off, even though he didn’t believe Akane till he saw the video.

We spent the next hour skidding along the freeway while Soun talked, mostly to himself, asking questions like, ‘How are we going to afford this?’ and ‘She doesn’t even date, how could this have happened?’, that no one could answer.

I felt pretty fucking awkward, listening to this guy I don’t really know monologue at his only daughter who wasn’t there, but Akane got all bright and shiny. She went from looking like a zombie to having apple cheeks, and smiling at me. Holding my hand and telling me that this was a family thing that I shouldn’t worry about—even though I might marry her? So it would be my family thing too? And her hands are really soft but they have really distinct calluses so they aren’t just floppy mush, but I didn’t want to think about that so we played hangman in her totally-not-a-diary till we used words that would make urban dictionary queasy and we had to stop.

It was interesting watching the reverse with Kasumi. One second she’s stirring away at a risotto for lunch, flushed with the steam, the next minute she’s snow pale with two red spots on her cheeks cause she’s still stirring the risotto.

First Soun was mad because of the money, but Kasumi claims she has a lot of money from her videos. Then he was mad because she doesn’t want to move out. She says it’s more sensible, and the baby can stay in her room for the first few years, and after that hopefully Nabiki will have moved out. I think Nabiki would have been pissed off that Kasumi was making decisions for her, if she hadn’t looked like she was considering climbing out the kitchen window to get away.

Now Soun is mad because Kasumi won’t tell him who the father is. She won’t even say if she did it artificially or not. Kasumi isn’t budging on this. Every time Soun brings it up her lips go thin and she burns whatever she’s cooking. Not that there isn’t plenty of pound cake, fudge, fried rice, casseroles, and whatever else Kasumi thinks up. Part of it is because of the holidays, but most of it is because it keeps her busy. I’m not complaining, but it’d be nice to eat in peace.

Facebook Messenger

Ukyo: So has your girlfriend murdered you yet?

Ryoga: Akari wouldn’t do that. She’s left rotten eggs on my doorstep, tried to send me a computer virus, and apparently gave every degenerate in England my phone number, but I don’t think she’s working up to murder.

Ukyo: I tried to warn you, man. Love makes you go bananas.

Ryoga: Uh-huh…

Ukyo: What?

Ryoga: Uh, I saw you kiss Shampoo.

Ukyo: She kissed me. She felt guilty for hiding things from me. It was a one time thing.

Ryoga: Right.

Ukyo: Look, have I noticed that Shampoo is pretty? Yes. Is she really funny and not afraid to laugh till she shoots soda out of her nose? Yes. Do I feel comfortable around her and like how it feels when I wake up in the middle of the night and can hear her breathing? Of course, I’m human. Have I pictured her wearing stockings and a garter belt? Maybe, but I’ve pictured you doing the same thing, so I’m going to put that down as normal human urge as well. You’re great, and so is Shampoo, but I’m not in love with either of you.

Ukyo: Ryoga? You there?

Ryoga: Sorry, I think someone just hurled a burned sponge cake at my window. I have to deal with this.

Ryoga: It was full of jam and cream.

Ryoga: Like how you’re full of shit.

Ukyo: If I like Shampoo, explain why wasn’t I upset when I heard she had kissed you.

Nabiki Tendo’s Bank Statement.

December 18th Withdrawal.

From: Savings

To: Patreon, Kasumi Tendo [Donated as: ANONYMOUS]

Amount: 5,137.56

Comment: N/A

Kodachi’s Journal:

I DON’T WANT TO WRITE A CHRISTMAS POEM, JESUS H CHRIST.

EVEN IF TATEWAKI IS MY BROTHER HE CAN’T JUST BARGE INTO MY ROOM RANTING ABOUT PHOTOS AND FAMILIAL LOVE AND LOW RISE JEANS (seriously why is he so obsessed with those? No one has been into low rise jeans since Britney Spears had kids.) AND WHEN I TELL HIM TO FUCK OFF BACK TO HIS ROOM HE SAYS I SHOULD WRITE A NICE POEM ABOUT SNOW AND ANGELS AND GOOD FOOD, “Like Keats” HE SAYS.

WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT KEATS? I’VE GOT A SPRAINED ANKLE, AND LIKE, I AM SO SICK OF HAVING SPRAINED ANKLES AND WRISTS AND BROKEN TOES. I LOVE GYMNASTICS, BUT I’M KIND OF SICK OF IT? LIKE, I SHOULD BE TRAVELING TO A MATCH RIGHT NOW, INSTEAD OF KEEPING MY LEG ELEVATED, BUT I’M HONESTLY SO SICK OF THIS SHIT I DON’T EVEN CARE. I REALLY LIKE MY TEAMMATES, BUT THE ACTUAL GYMNASTICS BIT?

FUCK, I USED TO SNEAK INTO THE GYM OR PRACTICE MOVES IN MY ROOM WHEN I WAS INJURED. I LOVED THE TWINGES OF PAIN. IT WAS EXHILARATING. Now it’s just like…Pain hurts.

AND SO DOES MY BROTHER, TRYING TO TELL ME WHAT TO WRITE WHILE HE GOES TO HIS ROOM TO JERK OFF TO PHOTOS OF GIRLS WITH DOLLAR BILLS IN THE THONGS STICKING OUT OF THEIR JEANS OR WHATEVER THE FUCK HE DOES. I’LL WRITE A ODESSY OF SCORCHING HEAT AND DEMONS, FUCK YOU VERY MUCH.

Not Anal

Mousse doesn’t work for grandmother anymore. She fired him for trying to knife one of my friends. The new girl is pretty nice. Her name is Konatsu. She’s one of those people who catches on to things pretty quickly and probably is good at math or dancing or something, but is still a total idiot.

Example: I’m telling her about a soap opera she’s thinking about starting, and I say, “The sex scenes are really good, too. If that sweetens the pot for you.”

She stares at me blankly. “What?”

“They’re really passionate, you know? It doesn’t feel like they’re posing for the camera.”

“What does that mean?”

That was when I remembered that this girl is like sixteen doing part time, and maybe she honestly has no idea what I’m talking about. “A-a lot of the time it feels like they’re being directed, and it’s really obvious. Like you can kind of hear someone saying, ‘okay, now moan, and make sure to turn your head so you’re facing the camera’, you know?”

“What does ‘sweeten the pot’ mean. Is that a euphemism?”

See? Lights are on, but nobody’s home.

She’s still better than Mousse.

I’ve been thinking about him a lot, though. Now that he’s ignoring me I can think about him without getting a ‘speak of the devil’ feeling creeping up my back. I can even run through the good memories without worrying I’ll want to get back together with him.

Studying at his house, coming with him when he dog sat for his neighbor and then getting into their pool, challenging each other to speed eating contests with jello packs in the cafeteria. Mousse could be a lot of fun when we were bored and actively trying to come up with ways to get into trouble.

I like that I can think about the sex again, too. Mousse was never as pushy about sex as he was about us getting back together. He was kind of surprised the first time I said, in the same tone I said things like, ‘How many of these milk cartons do you think we could drink before someone yells at us?’, or, ‘no, that’s probably illegal’,

“Do you think we could get away with having sex?”

We planned it out like a jewel heist. He would have to come to my house since his bike was kept on his front porch and mine was always in our foyer. I’d make sure the kitchen window was unlocked so that grandma and mom wouldn’t wake up at the sound of the door opening. Then he’d have to creep up the stairs, skipping almost every other step to avoid creaking.

Honestly, I think I spent more time being excited about the smuggling a boy into my room thing than the actual losing my virginity bit. But that part was pretty nice.

If Mousse had wanted to move away from here, or just been okay when I said I wanted to, we might still be together. Or would it have been even messier because I would have fallen for Ukyo and Ryoga anyway? I keep thinking of dating Mousse as ‘simpler times’ but who am I kidding?

Forwarded To: Ranma Saotome From: Nancy Sulivan Junior

Private Materials

Certification of Report of Birth (of a United States Citizen)

Ayame Saotome

[Information Ranma already knew]

Father: Genma Saotome Mother: Nodoka Saotome (Née Kumon)

Nodoka Saotome’s Facebook Profile:

In her icon Nodoka is a handsome woman in her early forties with doe eyes that make her look younger than she is. They are Ranma’s eyes. His hair too, he thinks. Not that he can tell when his father has been bald for as long as he can remember.

Her banner photo is Japanese calligraphy, saying something about honor and passion. Her description says she works at a dojo, and her public albums show her working with children in oversized gi’s and heavy belts.

She looks happy.

Of course she does, it’s fucking facebook. No one posts sad shit on facebook. No one writes about leaving their husband and losing their child. They don’t write about how much they miss that kid every single day and pray that somehow they’ll find them again over those obnoxious tri-fade backgrounds.

Ranma would never admit that he was hoping for it.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Laura, things are such a mess. I’m glad you suggested I write it out. I couldn’t explain it over the phone, when all I wanted was to hear you joke about how your day went. (Sidenote: You should put that egg story in one of your videos. It was hilarious).

I wish I had been able to warn my family about this. Springing it on them three months in hasn’t been easy for them. I thought if I waited until I knew I was pregnant they would all be too excited to worry too much or try to talk me out of it. I thought pregnancy had this magical effect on people, where they suddenly became too happy to worry, but my family has far too much to be worried about.

Nabiki sent me her entire savings account. Every cent. She tried to do it anonymously through patreon, but I knew it was her. She was bragging about how much she had saved up last month, and I don’t believe some generous person just happened to drop that exact amount into my paypal. I sent it back to her, and I tried to explain that I have plenty, but she said, “Kasumi, there is a reason I have been on birth control since I was fourteen—Kids are the worst investment on the planet. They eat money, and you can’t expect any returns.”

I reminded her that she got on birth control because she spent months telling dad about how painful and irregular her cycle was until he just wanted her to shut up about her uterus. She said that was also part of it. I know she sounds heartless (she does try so hard to give off that impression) but she was trying to be kind, and realistic.

Akane is mostly confused. She keeps asking all these question about how it feels, and what I’m allowed to do or not. I’m not sure if she’s excited or concerned, or just curious. She was the one who told dad about it, and I’ll be honest, it was a bit of a relief to have it out. If only dad hadn’t absolutely lost it. He’s angry, and I’m angry at him for being angry, but I understand why he’s so upset.

“You know, adoption is still an option.”

“So, when did you actually know? Is it kicking?”

“I don’t understand Kasumi. How did this happen? You’re a smart girl.”

No one wants to talk about the baby, though.

Wait, no. I was making macaroons yesterday, and Ranma came in from his morning run and said, “I always liked flower names for girls.”

I had no idea what he was taking about for a minute, but it did get me to look up from my macaroon piping. “What?”

“Like Violet and Rose and Daisy. I always thought they were cute. For guys you’ve got to have something solid. Something you can build a house on, you know? Like Jordan.” He nodded once, as though it was decided, and popped a cookie into his mouth before his father burst into the kitchen. He and Ranma started talking about run times while I clutched my piping bag and tried not to cry. They say pregnancy is emotional, but I think they’re only referring to the one whose pregnant.

Anyway, thank you for listening, Laura. Hugs and kisses<3

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hey, hun, I finally had time to sit down and read your e-mail, and I’m sorry I can’t get down the coast again to be with you. I know I wouldn’t be much help, but you sound like what you need right now is a good hard squeeze and a friendly face.

Tho, I’ve got to say, maybe it would help if you told them how you did it? Maybe they wouldn’t be as neurotic if they weren’t imaging some clueless dude out there paying for his coffee at starbucks, with no idea he’s going to be a father.

You took charge of your live, hun, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Otherwise, I think what they need is time. Right now they’re probably all thinking that this is still reversible, you know? They’re in shock.

Hey, what if you took the train up to me? See NYC under the christmas lights? I’m kind of busy, but the city is full of stuff to do. You could relax a little, eat some takeout, maybe do your christmas shopping? We could do another collab! Maybe a QandA to post between Christmas and New Years?

Maybe the best thing for you all is a little space.

Ranma’s Diary:

I got up at two in the morning and went to piss. It wouldn’t be worth writing down if I hadn’t seen the kitchen light on and found Kasumi in there. She was pouring herself a glass of milk.

“Are you doing that pregnant lady thing where you drink three glasses of milk every day?” I asked.

She laughed in this super high pitched, chirpy way that creeped me the fuck out. “No, I just woke up craving it.” She rubbed her stomach. Or, her uterus, I guess. “I’m already having trouble getting comfortable lying down.”

“That sucks.” I said. “Do you think it would feel better if you got into your pajamas?”

Kasumi did that ‘five nights at snow white’s’ laugh again. “I totally forgot. It gets so cold in my room sometimes I don’t want to take my clothes off long enough to get changed.”

“Okay.” I said, because I didn’t really care, but at the same time I was getting really freaked out. I looked past Kasumi for a second, at the dining room, and I saw a rolling suitcase lying under the dining room table.

I could have asked, I should have, but Kasumi’s an adult, right? Also, she might have done that laugh thing again, and every time she did I felt like a demon was creeping up on me.

So I said good night and went back to bed

Now all anyone can talk about is the fact that Kasumi has disappeared, and I want to say something, but then I might have to talk about what happened next.

I went back upstairs

Forget it. I’m sure Kasumi’s safe, and everyone is all freaking out over nothing. So she wants to be alone for a while. Can you blame her?

Akane’s Diary

I feel like this is my fault somehow. I heard something weird the night she left, I know I did, but I ignored it.

And why did I ignore it?

I woke up in the middle of the night to Ranma on the stairs right outside my door. He was just standing there, one foot on the stairs, the other on the landing.

“Ranma?” I whispered.

He jumped. “Akane?”

“What are you doing?”

He came to stand in my doorway, a black silhouette against the yellow of the hall light. “I couldn’t remember where my gi was. I left it on the couch.”

I squinted at him, trying to see his expression. “Were you up?”

“No, I woke up.” He waved his hand and added, “It’s not important.”

His voice was kind of thick and raspy from sleep. It was nice. It reminded me of…

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Of course it was Ranma on Halloween. Guess what everyone, I’ve figured out the meaning of life! It is TO MAKE FUN OF ME.

I should have told him to go to bed and then tried to go back to sleep and forget about it. Sure, he was about the right height, and his voice sounded similar, and when I couldn’t see his face it seemed really obvious, but that didn’t mean he was Batman. Anyone can be short and do a decent batman impression.

“Could you come here?” I asked.

He hesitated, but then he came and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Closer.”

He slid down the side of the bed till our faces were just a couple of inches apart. From that close I could see him properly, so I closed my eyes and tried to pretend the air was crisp, and my armor was digging into my shoulders, and everything smelled like alcohol and cheap plastic.

“What is it?” Ranma whispered.

“What were you for Halloween this year?”

Utter silence.

I guess it was better than a lie.

“Wow.” I said, really stretching out the word, “Wuh-ow.” I started laughing at the way my own voice sounded. “Of course. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Look, Akane, I didn’t even know it was you until-“ I knew what he was going to say. It all clicked inside my head. That was why he ran. Because why deal with things in a civilized way when you could just let fight or flight take over. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t finish that sentence.”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to-“

I heaved my pillow at him. “Get out!” I whisper yelled, because I didn’t want anyone finding him in my room. I went to shove him off my bed, but he dodged and stood up himself.

Something about not being able to make contact, not being able to feel a satisfying weight against my palms, made me even madder. I chased him out of my room saying, “You asshole, you fucking asshole!”

He tried to reason with me again at my door.

“This is why I didn’t say anything about it! I knew you would react like this.” His expression softened a little. “Maybe it’s a good thing? We had fun, right? If we get married-“

“We aren’t getting married.” I said, and to my horror my voice broke at the end of the sentence and I started crying. I’ve never cried like that before, sudden streaming tears. “I don’t care what our dads say, I make my own decisions. I am never going to marry you, Ranma.”

And then Ranma said the exact thing I didn’t want him to say.

“But if you’re trying to do the opposite of what they want, are you really making your own decision?”

I closed the door on him. I waited until I heard his footsteps on the stairs again, and then I slid to my knees, forehead pressed to the wood, and kept crying. I haven’t been this confused since I was eight years old and I started doing things wrong. When I started feeling strange in my own skin. It wasn’t me though, it wasn’t my fault. It was everyone else who was suddenly obsessed with boys and girls and their difference, and which side I was on.

At least then on some level the answer was easy. I mean, I know who I am. It was everyone else I had to convince.

All this stuff with Ranma makes me feel like no matter which way I go I’m always rubbed the wrong way. Like something slices into me, but it’s corkscrew shaped so no matter which way I turn it cuts me so half of my skin peels away. I want to be my own person, I want to decide who I marry, but now I feel like I want Ranma to be an option as well.

I was thinking about shit like this and trying to find a good metaphor when I heard something that I swear was the kitchen window opening and closing. I swear, there was the little squeal it has, and a thud as it shut again. I’m sure that was what it was.

But I was too busy thinking about myself and my unmasked man.

I’m such an idiot.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Akari, since you’ve blocked me on everything and refuse to talk to me in real life, I thought I might at least try to explain myself here.

I never cheated on you. I did duel a guy for a date with a girl, but it wasn’t just because I wanted to date the girl. It’s complicated, but the guy is a jerk and the girl thought the best way to get him to leave her alone would be if someone bested him in combat.

I didn’t even win.

I understand if you don’t want to be together anymore, but I want you to know that I never went out with Akane, or kissed her, or anything like that. I want you to know that I still have my honor.

All my love,

Ryoga.

P.S: At least stop indirectly attacking me? I have now seen enough dick pics and rotten eggs to last a life time.

Latest post from fuckboisgetmoney.tumblr.com

Big sis done got knocked up and run away, little sis’s engagement dangles by a thread, and the middle child is involved in a blackmail mexican stand off.

We’re a god damn soap opera.

#at least i like soap operas #no one’s getting laid tho

Kasumi Tendo’s instagram(@riceandsalt): A photo of one of the infamous Black Tap milkshakes, a cake batter milkshake with a frosting and sprinkle covered rim, garnished with a hefty slice of funfetti cake, whipped cream, and a cherry.

A photo of Laura wearing a blanket cape, posed dramatically in front of a window overlooking a snowy city.

A photo of Kasumi’s nails, freshly painted pink and white, with cutsey teddy bears on the thumb. The work is professional, and quite good at that.

A photo of Kasumi, standing sideways in front of a mirror, her sweater tucked into her bra so you can see the beginning of a baby bump. The skin on her stomach is pink in a line across the top where her lap top was just resting. Description: After #iluvuLaura and I posted the AMA I got a lot of questions asking for #babybump photos, so here’s a quick one❤️.

ILuvULaura’s Latest Video: Christmas QandA with Kasumi Tendo! [Published December 23rd]

The girls are sitting on the chairs in Luara’s kitchen, snow falling in the windows behind them. You can see the photos hanging from Laura’s fridge, her family back in Newport, her last dog, her graduation photo. On the bar just behind the two of them are mugs with tea for Laura and hot chocolate for Kasumi. They look relaxed, Kasumi leaning back in her chair, one hand resting on her stomach.

Laura: So, I know this says it’s a Christmas Q and A, but since Kasumi’s involved there were a lot of pregnancy questions.

Kasumi: And isn’t that was Christmas is all about? [laughter]

Laura: I’m just saying. Actually I want to get a couple of the most common pregnancy questions out of the way first.

Kasumi: Right, right. I think the three biggest ones were, ‘when are you due?’, ‘what will the name be?’ and… [She glances at Laura, a little uncomfortable with the next part]

Laura: Yeah, there were a TON of people asking about the father.

Kasumi. Yeah. Anyway, I’m due sometime in May, although I don’t put much stock in that. All three of us, my sisters and I, we were born wildly off the mark for the due date.

Laura: Really?

Kasumi: I was born almost a month early—well, earlier than the due date, I wasn’t actually premature. Nabiki was two weeks late, and the doctor who did Akane’s first ultrasound got everything fucked up and she was really small, so she was born two months before anyone expected her.

Laura: [Laughs] That’s so weird. I was right on time. Like, the exact day.

Kasumi: Your mom probably went to a better doctor than mine.

[They laugh and swap childhood anecdotes. It’s an all around good time for everyone but the Tendo family watching at home.]

Ranma’s Diary

I like being legal, but around Christmas I always miss being a kid. Being excited and selfish and doing all the cheesy traditions with a huge grin, and dreaming about the toys I would get—Christmas is the best when you’re a kid. I always got cool stuff, too. I could always count on my dad.

This year I couldn’t think of any shit I wanted. I asked dad for one of those fancy pedometers that tracks your heart rate and stuff, and some sweaters. The only thing I was excited about was whatever Kasumi was going to make for dinner, but she’s in New York.

Oh, yeah, turns out she was staying with a friend. Soun lost his shit. He straight up had her reported missing when she’d been gone twenty-four hours, and now that he knows where she is he’s on a train up there to drag her back.

It’s going to be nuts, but right now we’re waiting around and eating all the food Kasumi left. Dad’s at the gym. I think he’s pissed about something, but who cares. It gave me like five hours to stare at mom’s facebook page.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, man. I gotta fix things with Akane, and my mom, and Kasumi, and maybe all the Tendos, but I don’t even know where to start.

Okay, wait, I know what I want for Christmas. I want Soun and Kasumi to get back at like three am tonight and scream at each other in the living room, but then cry and make up. That’s what Ukyo and I did and

Last five posts from okinomiyakimeansiloveyou.tumblr.com:

5. Mean Girls gif set

4. I’m telling you, this whole ‘no romantic relationships thing is pretty sweet. Like, you know what dating leads to? ENGAGEMENT. Fuck. I know a guy who’s engaged, but not exactly. It’s a whole thing. Anyway, he calls me up on Christmas eve eve and says, “How do you apologize for kissing someone?” cause he masked man-ed HIS OWN FIANCE.

So, after I finished laughing, I said, “Dude, you’ve got two options. You can try to tell her she’s just THAT charismatic and you couldn’t help yourself,”

“She’ll fucking kill me,”

“Or you can just apologize. There’s nothing else for it. She wanted to kiss you right?”

“I guess. When she thought I wasn’t me.”

“Well, it’s fucked up, but honestly it’s so fucked up all you can say is sorry. You can’t talk your way out of this. Just apologize and let her go from there.”

LIKE I HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.

I mean, between this and my boy Ryoga having to deal with a semester of pent up anger from his ex, and my girl Shampoo crushing on him (or maybe just giving us all the runaround) I don’t care what people say. Not being in a relationship rocks. You don’t have to deal with any of this shit, and people still come to you for advice.

What? Yeah I’ve had three eggnogs. I’m drunk and sugar high and single and it is a good day to be alive.

3. A gif of Purity Ring lyrics overlayed on a background of patterns shifting color hypnotically.

2. Fucing rum man. Fucking A shit

1. But, like, what, if RyeRye and Shammy do gety together? Are they gonna fuck me out? I like those fuckers so much I don’t wanna be just some friend that intorduced them. Also, it’s totally not even right now. I have to kiss Rye Rye. Then it’s even,,,,right? Yeah. I wanna see how he compares. Like sHAMMY’S GOT THAT GOOD SHTI WHERE SHE LEANS IN AND HER BREASTS GET PRESSED UP AGAINST YOURS AND SHE SMEELLS LIKE A MEDAOW BUT RYRRYE’S GOT THAT SQUARE JAW whoops that was capslock, and he smells like fresh deoderant and liene annd I mean I just gotta check for sciense. Yes. Science. Goooood.

Facebook Messenger

Shampoo: MARRY CHRISTMAS! 🎊

Shampoo: Btw, did you get a weird drunk dial from Ukyo at like two am this morning?

Ryoga: It was seven over here.

Shampoo: So you were on the other line! I thought I could hear you, but Ukyo kept talking over you.

Ryoga: Did you understand anything they were saying?

Shampoo: Not really. Something about love. I think it was the love doesn’t exist spiel.

Ryoga: I thought that might be it. It sounded sort of like she was telling us not to get together????

Shampoo: That’s so weird. Why would he think of that?

Ryoga: I don’t know.

Ryoga: We did kiss.

Shampoo: But you had a girlfriend then. And then I kissed Ukyo, so it’s all even.

Ryoga: Actually, I haven’t kissed Ukyo.

Shampoo: Do you want to?

Ryoga: Maybe then she would feel better? We’d all be on a level playing field.

Shampoo: I feel like this is sliding into threeway territory.

Ryoga: yeah

From: [email protected]

To: KasumiTendo96@gmail

Kasumi, are you alright? You seemed okay when you left but I just wanted to make sure you were ok. Your dad was really pissed.

Merry Chirstmas, by the way. I hope you’re happy and with loved ones.

From: Kasumitendo96@gmail

To: iluvulaura@hotmail

Oh lord. Laura, are you sitting down?

First of all, I’m fine. Yes, dad was pissed, but he had the right. If my kid did something like this I’d be worried sick too.

We cried a lot on the train ride home. People were looking at us weird and avoiding us as they walked down the aisle. We were both crying so hard, and the train was barely heated so our noses were just pouring snot. Basically everyone is scared and worried and we’re all really confused right now.

Honestly? I thought this was going to be easier. At least the pregnancy bit! But I think it would be like this even if I was married and everything was a little more conventional. There would still be crazy questions and fears, and late night crying jags. Only things might have gotten off on a slightly better foot.

But it’s good to be home. I think everyone has at least accepted what is happening. I’m making a belated Christmas dinner with all the favorites, which won’t be ready till tomorrow, but just the thought has perked everyone up. Akane is trying to help, and is telling me about all the crazy pregnancy stuff she’s learned on the internet. I’m telling her what’s totally fake and what is mostly fake.

Nabiki is talking about preschools, and how the really good ones require you to get on a waiting list NOW, and it turns out that while everyone else was panicking over where I was, she was buying a crib and setting it up in my room.

Dad’s been telling stories about when we were all babies. Some of them are funny, and some are mildly terrifying, especially the ones involving the dojo. Dad noticed that I looked really worried and he said, “You really can drop a kid on their head a few times, and they’ll still turn out just fine. Don’t worry if you fuck up a little.” which didn’t exactly make me feel better,

but I didn’t feel worse either, so…

Oh, and Ranma.

Hoo-boy. This is the part I thought you might want to sit down for.

When I got home Ranma was waiting for me in my room. He was sitting on my bed with his laptop, but he was cross legged with his eyes closed like he’d been meditating or something. He scared me out of my skin.

“Kasumi,” He said, like he hadn’t just ambushed me in my own room. “I have to ask you something.”

I closed my bedroom door and put my bag down. “What is it?”

“What would you think if your kid was trans? And your sister wasn’t.” He added.

I sat down on my bed. “I don’t know if I can really answer that. I remember how I felt when Akane came out.” It was sometime before her senior year. It was ridiculously hot in the kitchen. I was making lemon bars for something I don’t even remember-lemon bars, the easiest things in the world!-and I was sweating bullets, and Akane walked up behind me and started lecturing me on the history of the trans movement in America and the fluidity of gender. I half thought she had a school project on it until she got to the point. “I was surprised mostly. It was in the news a bit more then, but you know how it is. You think of it as something that happens to other people’s brothers.”

Ranma nodded, but he had this flat look on his face that said I hadn’t really answered his question. “Right, but would you have felt different if it had been your kid?”

I tried to think about it, I really did, but I just can’t say. “I might be a little more worried about them. I mean, Akane was almost eighteen. I knew it was her decision to make. I think if my child said that their gender was different than expected I might be more concerned about how that would effect them, but I want them to be happy. If that’s a part of their happiness I would have to support them.”

Ranma seemed a little more satisfied after that, but then he said, “Now pretend you’re like twenty years older and come from a more traditional family. What would you think of it then?”

At that point I threw my hands up and told him I couldn’t answer for anyone else. That was when he’d told me he’d tracked down his mother (I mean, it wasn’t hard. She lives a few hours from Ranma’s school in the opposite direction from our town and she has a facebook account) and he wanted to talk to her. Only he can’t because she thinks she has and daughter out there somewhere and, well…

Oh, Laura I can’t talk about it too much, but he got all choked up and then wouldn’t cry, which was worse. Listening to him trying to explain it all when his throat was closed off and he was shaking…I held him for a while but I don’t know what to do. If my kid is trans or gay or queer it won’t matter as much because there’s Akane. But for Ranma…He doesn’t really know his mother’s family, so he has no idea how they would react.

Although…Ah, I don’t want to write this, it’s so indulgent, but it made my heart so warm.

I had to stop hugging Ranma because it was a little awkward, us both sitting and his legs pulled up like they were, and then he said, “You’re going to make a good mother.”

I said, “All I did was listen and give you a hug. I don’t think that’s all there is to mothering.”

“That’s all I want my mother to do when I see her.”

I worry about Ranma, but then again I don’t. I think even if his mother jilts him, he’s strong enough to handle it. And he knows he has somewhere to go if he isn’t.

Kodachi’s Journal

Freezing temperatures

Snow long since tracked away

The buzzing of new years clackers fades.

Boredom hangs low and grey as the sun

You can’t look at your brother without fighting.

Oh Ranma.

Either you have taken me for a ride

Or you owe me one.

From: TKuno

To: NabikiTendo

Seeing as we seem to have reached MAD, may I inquire as to the health of your pregnant friend?

From: NabikiTendo

To: TKuno

You are lucky I’m bored, and shocked, and get to rub your face in the fact that the courtesan and the accountant were banging.

Yeah, she’s all better after a relaxing trip to New York.

From: TKuno

To: NabikiTendo

New York? Wouldn’t being in a city that big be somewhat dangerous to someone in her condition?

Also, it’s a soap opera. I’m sure there will be another reversal of fortune eventually.

From: TKuno

To:NabikiTendo

She’s pregnant, not a blown glass ornament. Women have been having babies since forever. We’re pretty good at it.

Also, you are such a reacher. Did you see the sex scene between C and A? Now that was chemistry.

From: TKuno

To: NabikiTendo

Women have also being dying from complications since forever. I only wish you understand that I am sincere in my desire to for your friend to be healthy. I think that baring children is one of the noblest acts of mankind.

Also, I will not debate the merits of various sex scenes with you.

From: NabikiTendo

To: TKuno

You got anything better to do?

Facebook Messenger

Shampoo: We should stop talking about this.

Ryoga: If you want to.

Shampoo: I don’t know. It feels inappropriate.

Ryoga: It’s not like we work together or anything.

Shampoo: I know.

Shampoo: But why does Ukyo have to be involved?

Ryoga: They don’t. This doesn’t have to be anything. We’re just talking.

Shampoo: Talking leads to doing and doing leads to pregnancy.

Ryoga: I think I know how to put a condom on.

Shampoo: You’ve had sex before?

Ryoga: No. Not sex-sex. But the condom bit is easy.

Shampoo: You and Akari never fucked??? And she’s still this mad?

Ryoga: She’s a bit less mad now. We’re not talking, but she’s stopped actively trying to fuck me up.

Ryoga: Also, does having sex make a difference?

Shampoo: I think so. Stuff changes. After Mousse and I did it we got closer. And we thought we were really slick too, never talking about it in public, just doing long lingering glances. And touching more. We were more comfortable with that.

Ryoga: Why would that make it worse when you broke up?

Shampoo: We did The Thing. I think we both sort of felt like that really meant something. Like maybe we’d last.

Ryoga: But that’s what high schoolers think. We’re in college now.

Shampoo: So why didn’t you and Akari do it?

Ryoga: We were always going to do it. We were always planning on it. We were always going to get there…

Shampoo: Buuuuuut?

Ryoga: It felt like something we couldn’t take back.

Shampoo: Yeah, like after that you have to be together forever.

Shampoo: This is why we should stop talking about this. And never mention it in front of Ukyo. Ukyo doesn’t believe in forever, and I don’t want to feel like we’re using her.

Ryoga: But I don’t want to use her. I want…

Shampoo: yeah

Akane’s Diary

POSSIBLE WAYS I COULD GET OUT OF SPENDING TWO HOURS IN A CAR WITH RANMA:

1. Fake illness too severe for me to make the drive. (That would be pretty hard to fake without getting sent to the doctor. It would mean dad would have to make the drive twice, which he would be kind of hard on him. If anyone found out I was faking I might have to explain. Kasumi would take care of me and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.

2. Injure Ranma so that he is at the hospital when we leave. (If I suddenly broke Ranma’s leg I would probably wind up in therapy. Also, the bag of dicks probably deserves an education. Or something)

3. Call a cab and leave early in the morning. (Do you know how much a two-hour cab ride would cost?! Dad would murder me, but not before making me explain why I did it)

4. Steal our car early in the morning. (See above.)

Maybe I’ll just stay up really late the night before and sleep in the car. Being unconscious is kind of like not being there, right?

#ranma 1/2 #fanfiction #personal #text

0 notes

the-apocryphal-one · 7 years

Text

I don’t know if the last one ever submitted since I got an error message so just to be safe, I’ll send it again. You can delete this if you got it anyway.

For the “Leon thing being written upside-down”, it was the same in the Japanese version? That definitely works more there, but couldn’t the localizers have changed it or something? Make it so part of the blood was wiped away, or smeared, and it would be harder to tell? That might have been able to fix up the problem easily enough. Ah, well. There are definitely some people who hadn’t picked up on it. Not because they’re dumb or anything of course, but because they think differently.

I’m going to kind of skim through the second, third, and fourth case because they’re not very interesting to talk about. It was mostly the mid-game stuff so it would probably be the most boring part of the game if I ever decided to replay DR for whatever reason that might be. I'm not saying it was bad–in fact, I was very invested in what happened to Chihiro, and the double-murders was a really fun aspect to everything.

Sakura’s death had the most emotional investment–especially since I had been talking to her a little more on my free time periods, and I like how the ideas for the culprits were flying all over the place, complete with three different confessions. I thought what happened was kind of obvious but it was still pretty neat, and I liked it. Hina wanting to kill everyone as punishment for “killing” her best friend was an interesting take too. I could definitely see where she was coming from. When Hina confessed, my first thought was that Sakura had gotten Hina to poison her protein drink so Hina’d have “murdered” her, Sakura would write a suicide note, everyone would think it was a suicide, vote Sakura, and Hina would be able to escape the school. Hina confessed because she wouldn’t be able to handle herself with the knowledge that she’d helped Sakura to kill herself, then killed everyone else in the school in the process. It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as that, but that would have flown, right?

The gameplay for the trials was as fun, as always. I like being able to use other people’s statements as truth bullets. That always manages to spice up the gameplay. The rhythm mini-game is probably the most fun. Whenever I’m firing the truth bullets, I usually end up applying Ace Attorney logic to things and that sometimes screws me up. The Hangman’s Gambit is kind of lame. I still haven’t forgiven it for calling DID “schizo”. I get why they couldn’t make the player spell out the entire thing, or DID, but why did they use Hangman’s Gambit for it at all? I’m going to just say this is something that was really hard to localize/translate and it worked at least a little better in the Japanese version of the game.

I just don’t have much else to say about this portion of the game, except Celeste’s execution was so suiting to her character; it was very elegant, but just as brutal as I expected from this game. The creators have done such a great job on putting together these creative executions which is…worrying, but I’ll just not think about it and just enjoy them for what they are.

Anyway, I’ve gotten to the first free time period after the fourth trial and I’m pretty sure this is where the game’s story starts to pick up. Things are moving a lot faster, and there’s a lot more stuff being introduced. Like the sixteenth student, Sakura hinting that the Mastermind probably did something to us, sneaking into locked areas with Kyoko, etc..

The sixteenth student was pretty easy to guess (an extra stand in the courtroom “just for decoration”? Yeah, okay, game) but it’s a neat idea and I really want to know were the game’s going with it. I don’t have any idea what they might do, but I’m thinking the sixteenth student was the same person who attacked Makoto in the secret room? On the other hand I’m not sure, because they apparently get killed in chapter five. I don’t think they’d kill off a character that quickly, would they? Sayaka and Leon were kind of necessary, and Junko was to demonstrate that anyone could die so don’t mess around with us. Unless, of course, chapter six is actually the final chapter and “chapter seven” is just an epilogue or something.

Something that was introduced in in between the second and third trials was “The Tragedy”, I think it was? Talked about something horrible that happened a year ago, and the school had to shut down about it. It was dropped until we were able to find that nightmare fuel bloody classroom, complete with body outlines. Interestingly, the blood is red and not pink. I’ve thought up until now that the artists did the pink blood for artsy reasons, but now that I’ve seen actual red blood, I’m starting to think that’s not the case. Byakuya brought up how the blood changed color but since it’s been hinting at that the Mastermind might have done something to the students’ memories/bodies, that could just be one of the things he/she did. Is the students’ blood somehow different than normal blood? Are these characters already dead or something and stuck in purgatory? Cyborgs? Is that why their blood doesn’t look red like blood’s supposed to? Questions, questions. If they are in fact altered in some way, the body outlines might be the characters that we’ve seen thus far. Someone cracked, then went on a rampage, killing what could possibly be some of the characters in the game. Most specifically, Kyoko, Makoto, and possibly the mystery sixteenth student. Whatever her name was. That is, of course, if Kyoko isn’t the sixteenth student herself and is acting in as one of the students that didn’t miraculously survive the slaughter.

That’s all I can remember what I wanted to speculate about, so I’ll talk about the characters next.

I like Makoto a fudge more. I don’t dislike him, but I don’t really like him, either. He’s not as dense as he was in the first trial so that’s probably the main reason. I remember he said that neither of the killers in trial three were entirely innocent, which is a good change of pace from last time. I can’t really tell if it��s inconsistent writing, or him growing as a character because he hasn’t really changed all that much. He’s still a little personality-less, but like I said before, I don’t dislike him at all. The player’s mostly here to experience the ride with him and that’s fine. The other characters are zany enough to keep me interested so everything won’t get stale.

Kyoko’s interesting, and probably my favorite of the students so far. She seems to be the female lead next to Makoto. I don’t have much to say about her. I’m glad she’s not giving me the answers to everything anymore but still helpful. I have a star next to her name in my character profile thing so I guess that means I’ve talked to her to the maximum amount?

Genocide Jill’s…fun, I guess? Seeing her murder victims and how brutal she was to them really makes her a little too psychotic to entirely enjoy the brand of humor she’s supposed to be bringing to the table. She can still be pretty funny sometimes though. Her random spouting of a website during a “testimony” was really funny. Still, though, she’s still pretty entertaining a lot of the time.

Byakuya’s a Grade A Asshole although I’d rather him not die soon because we’re running low on students. The potential murderer will always have him to kill and not me.

I like Hina. She has a fun personality.

Hiro’s dumb. There’s nothing I have to say on him. He’s just so useless and pointless to the plot. …But he’s also another person that someone can kill that isn’t me. I take back what I said about him being pointless. He still has his uses.

And Monokuma is still the most entertaining character in the game. I liked the advertisement he shoved in my face during the theater thing. His emoticons, fourth wall leaning, and sometimes outright fourth wall breaking make him that much more entertaining. Yeah, I just said it was hard for me to swallow Genocide Jill’s brand of humor because of how psychotic she was, but her brand of psycho is very different than Monokuma’s. Also, he pulled the Censored for Comedy trope. How can I not love him forever?

This is as long as I want to go. I probably made a bunch of typos and run-on sentences so I apologize. In my defense, it’s late and I want to be able to write all this down before I forget. Yeesh, I can only imagine how much I’ll want to talk about everything once I finish the game. XD

Meanwhile… must…resist…from…going…to…TV…Tropes…

----

It was the exact same. I’m not sure why they didn’t change it, maybe censorship laws or something...but then again it is the first case, so it’s probably not all too bad to have it easy for the audience. The real mystery comes from figuring out Sayaka’s role in it, in my opinion.

Personally I found case 2 the hardest, and cases 3 and 4 easy to guess the culprit--though Aoi claiming to have killed Sakura did throw me off, and I started wondering whether she had or why. I like the idea you came up with, though, my best was “maybe she was way more gutted over her being the mole than anyone else? and killed her for ‘betraying’ her?” Either way it was still very emotional. Chihiro’s trial still sticks as my favorite though, the little guy was so fascinating and important and had some real depth.

Hangman’s Gambit is a bane on all players, haha. Like I guess they did “schizo” for convenience (since DID would be really easy), but from what I hear it was more accurate in the original Japanese version.

I liked Celeste’s execution a lot, too. Monokuma setting it up to be the grand death she’d love, only to switch out by having her die a common death she’d hate, is very trollish and clever of him. Not to mention the visuals are probably my favorite.

Yep, this is the part of the story where everything really starts rolling towards the climax!

Chapter six is the last chapter. As for the sixteenth student and the masked attacker...that’s one of the grand mysteries of the school!

No, the blood being pink is just a stylistic choice--I think the blood there is red there to signify that it’s dried. They were going to go with all red blood originally, but had to change it to avoid a higher rating. That said...there is something wrong with the students, that Monokuma has done. You’ll find out what eventually :)

Makoto is kind of vanilla, but I like him because genuinely nice, male characters are kind of rare. He is a bit static, but I don’t necessarily think that’s a problem since it lets him be a “normal” point for the audience.

Yep, that’s what it means. And yes, Kyoko’s one of my favs too. I really liked her argument with Makoto in Chapter 4, it was petty and hypocritical and really humanized her. Her mentor/friend relationship with him works really well, and they play off each other’s weakness.

Toko and Jill are also favorites of mine, for reasons I can’t say. But they are a set of the most interesting characters in the game.

Byakuya’s still a giant dick, but I was actually kinda warming up to him at the end, if only because Toko/Jill’s stalking brought some needed levity.

I never took that much of a liking to Aoi, for some reason. She’s sweet, but just didn’t interest me as much as everyone else around her, I guess.

LOL, you’re not alone in your thoughts on Hiro. I was sick to death of him by the time Chapter 5 rolled around, like “YOU’RE alive but Kiyotaka and Chihiro aren’t?!” At least Byakuya contributes to trials.

Monokuma will always be one of the best characters in the franchise. Always.

Again, it’s no problem, and I still love hearing people’s thoughts on it! Seeing everyone’s speculations and guesses is a lot of fun, and it makes me happy to know you’re enjoying this great game so much :)

Resist! It’s worth it! (Especially since TvTropes doesn’t hide spoilers for any of the DR entries except the newest one)

#dangan ronpa #submission #answers

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