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mycenalucentipes · 1 year

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I'd like to request fred and george weasley head cannons! Specifically how they would go about dealing with their feelings and asking out a crush in each house. So how fred would deal with realizing he likes a girl in Slytherin/Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw/gryffindor and how he would ask them out. Same with george.

(Bonus points if you wanna do for Ron weasley, harry Potter, and/or draco Malfoy too)

a/n: This seems fun, so I’ll give it a shot! I think I’ll do Hufflepuff and Slytherin for Fred and then Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for George. Sorry to split it up, but I get pretty carried away with writing^^’. These headcanons might be more like one shots, I apologise.

a/n after writing some more: I’m sorry, these are definitely more like one shots. Umm, I'm not so good at headcanon stuff, so I hope you're not too disappointed! Also will try to get around to doing a Draco version of this over the next week???

Summary: Headcannons(err more like oneshots) on how Fred and George Weasley deal with falling head-over-heels for their crush!

Warnings: Fluff I guess? A couple swears here and there, Fred and George and maybe you confessing your ever growing young love for each other

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Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff!Reader

1.1k words

You were just a typical shy, kind hearted Hufflepuff girl. You wouldn’t throw an insult in anyone’s direction. Though you weren’t afraid to hex or charm someone. You tended to stay out of people’s way, ducking through the crowd and avoiding as many shoves as possible to get to your next class through the busy halls.

It was in a 5th year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Charms class that you shared with the Weasley twins. Professor Flitwick paired you and Fred up for an essay on your two most recently learned charms. The Severing and Colour Change charms.

It was during this duo effort that he found himself falling hard for you after an incident during the essay.

You both decided to work in the Gryffindor common room one evening. Practising the charm as well as writing about the two. He cast the Severing Charm with too little caution or regard for his surroundings.

Let’s just say, you ended up with a new haircut that night and were not too happy. Without skipping a beat after it happened, you shot the Colour Change Charm at him, turning his hair a bright indigo blue.

Fred didn’t even care that his hair was blue(well at that minute). He stared at you, awestruck that you had retaliated. Up until then, you were just the Hufflepuff that stayed out of everyone’s way. Never cursed or gossiped. Of course, Fred profusely apologised, all while laughing his head off.

“You know, love. I must say, you look quite cute with that new haircut of yours.” He gave a cheeky smile before running away from your wand pointed at him, not wanting to see what else you might cast at him.

Fred didn’t know why he never noticed you before. He wishes he would’ve. He loved seeing this new side of you and desperately wanted to get to know you more.

Every Charms class, he would start sitting next to you, and distract you from lectures. He would write jokes to you on scraps of paper, or just nudge your arm or leg endlessly until you jokingly kicked him back. One time, you accidentally knocked him in the shin a little too hard that he yelped quite loudly in class.

“Mr. Weasley, do you have something to share with the class?” Flitwick asked with a little bit of irritation in his voice.

“N-no sir, sorry!” He squeaked out, rubbing his shin under the desk. You shot him an apologetic look, then went back to listening to Flitwick continue on.

George would tease him endlessly about his new little crush on the Hufflepuff girl. He noticed the lovesick daze his twin would be in during meals in the Great Hall. Fred would sometimes just get lost in staring at you while you joked around with your housemates.

Occasionally, you would catch him staring, then smile a bit. He loved the way your eyes sparkled when he caught his gaze. Or how your smile would instantly brighten his whole world.

Even after the project ended, he made every effort to try and hang out with you. Whether it be plopping himself next to you during meals or even following you to the library to study. Which, didn’t actually include much studying when he was around. He was far more fond of staring at you and joking around.

You quickly grew accustomed to his constant attention, flirting, and shenanigans. You loved it all, but you would never dare be the first one to confess. So you quietly went along with him, watching and admiring, not having the confidence to believe he would like you back. Boy were you wrong. This man was whipped. For you.

One abnormally normal Thursday, you sat through the regular same old charms class, ate the same meals, talked to the same friends, Fred pulled you outside to the courtyard after class was let out. He gently led you by holding your small hand in his larger one.

“Fred? Are you alright? Where are we going?” You asked, growing more concerned as Fred’s pace picked up. In all honesty, Fred was a tad nervous. Sure girls flirted with him here and there and he would sometimes reciprocate that. He was a charming guy, what can you say?

Fred would not say a thing on the way to the courtyard. Heck, you still had no idea where this boy was taking you. You could sense a nervousness about Fred, which was quite odd to you. You’d never known him to be nervous about anything. Even in potions when Snape would drill him and Fred would just joke and laugh about it. So why was he so worked up today?

You both sat down at one of the corridors’s archways that bordered the school’s courtyard. You could finally see his face. He looked just the slightest bit flustered with a light pink dusting his cheeks. This is new. You thought nervously. Fred fiddled with your hand a bit, refusing to look into your eyes.

“Freddie, what is it? You’re scaring me…” You whispered out to him. He finally looked you straight in the eyes, guilt flashing through them.

“Oh! No, please don’t be scared. Merlin, I’m so sorry, love, haha,” Fred apologized while grabbing your other hand now and facing directly towards you, “ Just a tad nervous, but I have to tell you now, I can’t wait any longer.” He began rambling on about how much you meant to him and how he couldn’t take his mind off of you. You lived rent free in this man’s head and he didn’t know how to contain his feelings any longer.

“Fred, what are you on about?” You smiled, feeling giddy already. You had a suspicion of where this might be going. He stopped rambling, feeling his full confidence and charm return.

“Y/n, I was wondering if you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? I quite fancy you. I really, really like you a lot!” He beamed with a wide grin. Even though you felt this might be what was happening, your face still turned into one of shock. Fred’s smile faltered for a second, but not for long.

You flung yourself into him, giving him the warmest, sweetest bear hug you could manage. As you dove into him, he let out a small “oomf!” before returning the hug.

“Yes, of course I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you!” You happily cheered. “And I like you too!” Fred couldn’t have been more happy with the outcome. He was completely, utterly head over heels for you.

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Fred x Slytherin!Reader

877 words

I think even if the reader was a Slytherin, Fred would still be pretty outgoing and wouldn’t shy away from her. He also wouldn’t hesitate too much to finally confess his feelings. I feel that he wouldn’t be able to keep his feelings to himself for very long. Here’s another scenario of Fred slowly realising his ever growing crush on you. It hits him like a slap to the face and he can’t contain these feelings to himself anymore.

Fred wasn’t really sure how his crush started. Maybe back in his third year, whenever you cheered on one of his and George’s pranks? He was amazed he was able to catch your attention, because the whole “Gryffindors and Slytherins will never mesh” thing. Since then, he never really saw a reason to totally resist all Slytherins. You were different.

You weren’t snobbish or all high and mighty about being a pureblood Slytherin. You never bullied anyone. Except for Pansy occasionally. She usually deserved it though as she often picked on some poor Hufflepuff girl or a non pureblood Slytherin. You also never put up with Draco’s shit. So you and Malfoy ended up with a mutual understanding that neither of you would mess with each other.

Another part to add to his growing feelings was 4th year, watching you stand up to Professor Snape after he picked on George a bit too harshly. Of course, the twins could’ve stood up for themselves, they could care less about Snape and that class. Something in you had just snapped that day. It cost you 20 Slytherin house points, but you couldn’t bear to see Snape bullying any more students that day.

Now to the part we are at today, 5th year. You both became friends over the past couple years. You were currently in the middle of pulling off some prank with Fred and George. Fred and George had a plan that involved you since you had an in with the Slytherins.

You were to “accidentally” trip and fall into Pansy. In the process you “accidentally” slop some Out to Lunch Fake Moustache lotion on Pansy’s face. While you had her distracted, Fred and George would slip some Dungbombs into Crabbe and Goyle’s robe pockets.

The plan went off without a hitch. Pansy was screaming bloody murder when she started growing facial hair. She only found out when Draco started cackling at her as she approached the Slytherin table for lunch. The laughter didn’t laugh long whenever Crabbe and Goyle entered. Nearly everyone evacuated the Great Hall after this.

The three of you made a run for it. Filch was close on your tails, too close. George sacrificed himself so you and Fred could get away together. He winked at Fred with a salute, then turned around and grinned at Filch, not a glint of fear in his face. Just pure humour and amusement.

The two of you slipped into one of Hogwarts’ secret passageways that led all the way to Hogsmeade. You and Fred laughed the whole way there.

“Man, I gotta thank your brother later for taking one for the team.” You laughed, nearly out of breath from your workout.

Fred laughed along too, excited to finally have you alone. As you both made your way to The Three Broomsticks, he grew a little nervous. What if you didn’t like him like that? What if you fancied George? Or didn’t even want to date a Gryffindor? Man, he needed to calm down.

After sitting down at a table in the corner with your butterbeers, he noticed you looked a bit flushed. “Y/n, are you alright? Pansy didn’t hurt you, did she? Are you fevered?” His mouth rushed with questions.

“N-no! Silly, I’m good. I just… Fred, I need to tell you something.” You replied. A look of concern spread over his features, fearing for the worst. He was so in love that his mind was a little wonky about this. He would lose all sense of reality when he stared into your beautiful eyes. His mind and heart would race when you would accidentally brush hands or place a hand onto his forearm.

Finally, you stared into his eyes, “I like you!!!” You loudly declared, standing up to further prove your point. You startled quite a few patrons surrounding you. Fred slightly startled too, eyes going wide as he was not expecting this. He didn’t think you would confess to him. You stood there breathing heavily, waiting for his response.

“Love, I really, really like you as well!” He exclaimed as he too stood up. He pulled you close and brought your faces close to each other. “May I?” You nodded a little shyly, closing the gap between your lips. Once again, you shocked him. It took a second for him to lean into the kiss.

When you did break away you confessed, “I’ve fancied you since year two, Fred.” His eyes widened. “Year two!?” You giggled bashfully and nodded while looking away. Fred gently used his hand to guide your face to turn back to him.

“I really should’ve realised sooner. I think I only realised a month back if I’m being honest.” He said, a blush clear on his cheeks and ears. “Although, I’ve always been quite fond of you. You’re my little snake now.”

You laughed and hugged him once more. You were finally his, and him, yours.

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George Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

1.3k words

Now, I think George would try to be more subtle about it? It might take a bit more prodding from Fred to finally tell you directly.

Though George never really took notice of you until third year of Hogwarts. You were mostly lost in your thoughts to yourself a lot and weren’t the most bold student. You were 11-13 though, that’s fair enough.

It wasn’t until you made friends with the Golden Trio. Ron Weasley specifically. You and Ron became best buds in your third year and his first, like a sibling relationship. You met all three of them on the train. You had noticed Harry and Ron in one of the train compartments and asked if you could join them. Mostly because you figured the red head would be the Weasley’s younger brother!

Ever since then you had been helping Ron with homework, attend quidditch matches with him, and even sneak him out to Hogsmeade. After a year of knowing them, during your 4th year, Ron invited you over to stay with them for winter break! So of course you had to go!

It was wonderful there, with everyone, the atmosphere was warm, cosy, and overall felt like another home.

When Ron introduced you to everyone, you definitely caught the attention of George Weasley, he was stunned to silence by your character and beauty. He thought you were the most beautiful thing to cross his path. He just had to get to know you better. Also because you meshed so well with his family!

He was in awe at how much Ron looked up to you and how smart you were. You always helped Ron with his homework. Maybe you would help him too with his! Merlin knows he didn’t care much about his homework. Whenever meal times came around, you were always first to volunteer yourself to helping Mrs. Weasley out in the kitchen. You also could talk for hours on end about the muggle world with Mr. Weasley, being a half-blood yourself. You definitely had some information to share with him.

At some point during your stay, you decided you would try to befriend the Weasley twins. They were in your grade, so why not get to know them? George was elated by this. Falling in love was new to him and made him a little shy when it came to you.

Over the next week of break, you and the twins got very close. Often playing wizards chess, quidditch, or just pulling pranks on the others. You did accidentally give them both pig ears and pig tails with a prank formula gone wrong. They both found it hilarious and decided to try and make more of whatever it was you did.

Since it would get cold, George would let you borrow his jumpers. He thought you looked absolutely adorable with how oversized they looked. He loved that they were his that you were wearing as well. You often would go to George and ask for a jumper to borrow when it would get cold. It was often rare to see you not wearing one of his jumpers around the house anymore.

Some nights, everyone would sit down by the fireplace and just share stories or jokes. You also situated yourself next to George, even leaning against him a few times (all of the time). His heart would flutter every time he felt your presence lean against him. He loved it, absolutely adored it.

A couple times, you would fall asleep against him. He knew as soon as your weight would sink into him further along with the sound of your gentle breathing. He would then gently prod you awake once it got late enough and everyone had gone up to bed, leaving just the two of you.

“Hmm…oh, hey George? Where did everyone go?” You pondered as you slowly sat up.

“Oh, they left for Ireland, said they’re not coming back for a couple days.” He shrugged as you gave him a look of ‘wtf’. He burst out laughing, “Kidding, kidding, I swear, they all went to bed. It’s past 11:00pm.”

You playfully smacked his arm, “Oh, you! Sorry for dozing off on you. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked so enchanting in your sleep. I couldn’t bear to disturb your peaceful slumber, so why wake a pretty face?”

“Y-you don’t mean that. How can I look beautiful while sleeping? I know for a fact that I sleep-talk and drool occasionally!” You giggled while leaning back into his side, resting your head onto his chest.

“Okay, so maybe you drool, but it doesn’t take away from your cuteness!”

No matter how you looked, George would always slip in a compliment to you. He would even spin your self doubts into compliments.

Eventually, it was time to go back to school! It was a couple months before George came to terms with his feelings for you.

Whenever George realised his crush on you though, he would try to subtly flirt with you. He would always flatter you, never missing an opportunity, oftentimes he would or if you were walking down the hallways together, he would playfully nudge or bump shoulders with you during your odd conversations.

You often talked about really random things. Like, what a chair’s scream might sound like if a desk chair suddenly gained sentience. Or what if frogs harmonised their croaks and ribbits to mate?

If you both were through a crowded hallway, he would grab your hand or wrap an arm around your shoulders to keep you close and not be swept away by the bustling students.

Whenever you got excited over something, for example, you aced your potions exam, you would run to George after class and throw your arms around him. He would instantly hug back.

He loved the way your hair smelled, how it felt when you hugged him, how your laughter would ring through his ears. He loved it all, couldn’t get enough of it.

He also loved when you would attend the quidditch matches and cheer him on. So he decided he would confess to you after a match one day.

“Hey Y/n, meet me after the quidditch match today!”

“Why do you even ask,” You replied with a laugh, “I always do that anyways.” George just shrugs and runs off to catch up with his teammates.

Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Of course, Gryffindor came out on top! The Gryffindor stands cheered wildly, you included. You rushed down the stands to meet George.

When things calmed down, he took you somewhere a little more private.

“Y/n… I wanted to tell you that meeting you has been the most wonderful moment in my life. Hanging out with you has been an even more wonderful time. You captivate my mind everyday. I can’t help but admire you!”

“George, what are you on about?” You looked up at him questioningly. He sighed with a smile and ran his hand through his hair.

“God dammit Y/n, haha. What I suppose I’m trying to say is that these feelings have transformed into something more than just…friendship.” Oh. You blushed heavily, finally getting the hint. “I like you, like, like-like you, Y/n!”

“Oh George! I like you too! I feel the same way! I-I never knew you felt this way.” You mumbled into his chest. As soon as he had confessed, you had thrown yourself into a hug with him.

“I noticed,” He chuckled while hugging you back.

“I guess, looking back, a lot of our interactions like that make sense now.” You laughed at your own obliviousness.

George would be so flustered and over the moon that you two were finally a thing, that he would forget to ask you out on a date. He sincerely meant to do so. So on your way back to the dorms, he would suddenly spin towards you and ask you to go out with him for lunch/dinner whatever you prefer!

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George Weasley x Ravenclaw!Reader

I profusely apologise for these becoming so long and like..kind of not headcanons again.

1.4k words

As a Ravenclaw, George would be drawn to your wit, sharp mind, and creativeness. You weren’t just a typical bookworm. No, you put your intellectual prowess to use. Often to cause mischief or shoot back sarcastic comebacks to any rude students or professors.

At age 14, you became an animagus, a pine marten! You might be more of a shy and withdrawn Ravencalw, but people just seemed to gravitate towards you. You never had any problems getting along with people. (Minus a few Slytherins…)

You and George had Transfiguration class together. This was 5th year charms, so you were learning some vanishing spells as well as more of turning animals into inanimate objects. McGonagall had paired the two of you up for an essay presentation. You looked over to him with a small grin, and he of course, returned the gesture.

You two would meet during evenings either right before dinner, or nights after dinner whenever George didn’t have quidditch practice.

He always looked forward to these meetings. Conversing with you was so easy, it just felt so natural to him. He loved how well spoken you sounded. You were always researching something about a different charm or spell. You were always experimenting with some new charm or spell to get different reactions out of it.

A couple times you tried testing it out on him as you both worked together. You hadn’t meant for as many mishaps as you had, but George enjoyed them nonetheless.

One time, you were attempting to give shoes a pair of wings. After hearing this fun fact, George offered up a pair of his shoes. Your spell went just a tad awry, giving his shoes a rat tail, ears, and four legs. His shoes scurried away down some drainage. They’re still wandering around the undergrounds of the castle to this day…

Another time, you were practising a transfiguration spell with George. This time it was actually for your project and not just some random experiment you conjured up. You turned him into a ferret. A bloody ferret. You were casting the spell, when someone knocked into your wand hand, thus redirecting the spell towards George instead of the wooden box that sat on the table in front of you.

You had no clue what to do. You hurriedly picked him up and ran to McGonagall. She just sighed and turned him back as soon as you explained why in the world you came running to her with a ferret in your hands.

“George, I am so so sorry!” You blushed while frantically apologising to him. He laughed and just said, “It’s all good love. No harm done!” You both ended up bonding over these little mishaps. George ended up loving so many of them he had you help implement some of your random charms into the Weasley twin tricks and sweets.

Finally, the night before, you both finished the project. You just wrote about the importance of casting transfiguration spells correctly. As well as incorporating the charms that would turn people into animals. (Yes, he begged you to include the time you transformed into a ferret). Though you now knew how to undo that spell. You had to beg McGonagall for that one.

“Hey Y/n, wanna turn me into a ferret again?” George kept pestering you that night to do so. He wanted to show off your skills in class tomorrow. At first you heavily protested. What if you couldn't do it right again? (“That's the point of practice, silly!” George would retaliate. He loved getting you worked up. He also felt honoured that you cared so deeply for his safety.)

You eventually caved, figuring it could be fun. You still had yet to show him your animagus form. Martens and ferrets happened to be of the same family, so why not? You sighed, casting the spell, and watched as he quickly shrank to the form of a ferret. He ran right up to your legs, running around in circles. You giggled at his playfulness and then transformed into your pine marten form.

His little ferret form gave you a shocked face as if to say, “Wtf!? You’re an animagus!? Bloody hell that’s amazing!” He loved this. So. So. Much.

Your presentation went very well! A few times, you had to nudge George in the arm to keep speaking, he’d get lost in your words, listening to your voice. Once he got speaking though, he really did take over a lot.

After this, he, like Fred, would insist that you keep hanging out. You would often join him for meals or trips to Hogsmeade, along with some other Gryffindor friends.

George wanted to form a strong friendship bond with you. He did so, without even realising he fell for you, until Fred’s words hit him deep one time.

He would always make sure to hold your hand and buy you a couple treats at Honeydukes. He knew all of your favourite candies by now.

If it was cold, he would lend you his scarf and hold your hand inside his coat pocket. He rarely would leave your side for anything.

Everytime your hand was in his, his heart would skip a beat. Or if you weren’t beside him, he found himself longing for your presence.

Fred would make fun of him endlessly, but lovingly, for how whipped he was for you.

He would often sneak into your dorm/common room late at night and pester you to cast the ferret spell again, and have you run around with him in your pine marten form. He loved roaming the halls with you as a little animal. You wouldn’t get caught near as much unless McGonagall was roaming for some reason. It was much easier to hide away from authority.

It was one fateful night, you both scurried your way up to the astronomy tower in your animal forms. Once you reached the top, you transformed back into your human form, and undid the ferret spell on George. You were both panting heavily, large grins spread across your faces, as Mrs. Norris had almost caught the two of you.

George stared into your eyes, admiring the starlight that reflected so beautifully in them. He could never get enough of your beauty. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and summoned the courage to speak. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a little while now,” he began, a little shaky, but full of sincerity.

You looked towards him, a blush rising to your ears already, “What is it, Georgie?” He smiled at the use of his nickname from you.

He grasped both of your hands, intertwining both of yours and his fingers together. “Well, ever since I’ve gotten to know you from our project, I’ve really come to appreciate and admire your brilliance, scheming, creativity, and the special feelings of the moments we spend together.” He confessed, a blush now covering his face.

“Oh really now?” A large smile grew on your face as you brought one of your hands up to softly caress the side of his face and into his hair. As if to urge him to continue.

“I-I’ve realised that my feelings for you are more than just friends. I really want to be something more than just good ol’ pals, y’know? You just, light up my whole world, brighten every day!” He paused as he was getting really excited. “I’ve fallen for you Y/n, and I cannot get up. I would really love for you, if you would take me as your boyfriend?” His face almost matched his hair colour. He was bright red, his heart was pounding twice as fast, waiting for your reply.

“Oh, Georgie, of course I would!” Your voice responded, full of love and tenderness. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear something like that from you. Your humour and kindness, how you see me for who I really am, it’s been amazing getting to spend time with you. So of course! As long as you’ll have me as your girlfriend!” You both laughed. He picked you up into a hug and spun you around.

When he set you back down, you stayed in each other’s warm embrace for a while. Breathing in each other’s scents, you both appreciated the peacefulness and love that surrounded your atmosphere now.

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End a/n: I really hope this last one made sense xD. I lost my mind a little trying to write it out. Hope you enjoyed!

#nicosnwrites #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley #george weasley #george weasly x reader #george weasley x y/n #weasley twins #hp headcanon

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repcommquotes · 11 months

Text

Star Wars Insider N 87 - Odds

Republic Commando Odds By Karen Traviss;

Note: This story takes place 65 to 67 days after the events of the novel Star Wars Republic Commando: Triple Zero.

Everyone knows that Intel's about as reliable as a Weequay quay ball. But that doesn't mean it doesn't have its uses. Sometimes it's the lies and myths that tell you everything you need to know.

place and time: separatist droid factory. olanet. siskeen system -460 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

Atin liked a big, satisfying explosion as much as the next man. But there were better ways of putting droids out of action than turning them into shrapnel. He just didn't agree with the technical details this time.

"Ordo told me you were argumentative," said Prudii.

Atin bristled. But coming from Ordo, it might have been a compliment. "I just want to get it right."

Atin edged along the gantry above the foundry floor, feeling along the rust-crusted metal railing for a sound section that would take the weight of a rappelling line with a fully-kitted Republic commando on the end. The only illumination was the red-hot glow from the durasteel sheets feeding into the rollers; droids didn't need light to see. The night-vision filter in his visor had kicked in the moment he and Prudii entered the factory.

It was a high-value target. The factory was said to be one of the largest outside Geonosis. Again, intel seemed to have lost something in the translation.

Atin found what felt like a solid section of railing and checked the metal's integrity with his gauntlet sensor. Flakes of corroded metal fell to the gantry floor, and he brushed them carefully into a gap to hide signs of entry.

"Five per cent extra carvanium does the job." Prudii - Null ARC trooper N-5 - pulled out his belt toolkit. "Trust me. I've done a lot of these."

"I know."

"And? Did it work? It worked."

"Okay, I'm not a metallurgist."

Prudii peered over the rail as he checked his rappelling line. "Neither am i, but I knew a man who was."

Atin didn't ask about his use of the past tense. He was both an assassin and a saboteur, and at the top of his game in both fields. Until Atin got to know him as well he knew his Null brothers, Ordo and Mereel, he would err on the side of caution. Nulls were as mad as a box of Hapan chags. There were only six of them in the army, but it felt like a lot more.

Omega Squad was back at barracks again for a few days. Atin missed the rest of his team, but he'd volunteered for this mission to learn a technique. And learn he would.

I can do this. Argumentative? I just like things to be right.

Prudii dropped down the line, his kama spreading in the air as he descended in complete silence - no mean feat for an 85-kilo man in full armour. Atin took a breath and paused before dropping down after him. If a droid detected them, the mission was over. They'd have to blow the factory - again. And then the Seps would switch production elsewhere - again. If they just churned out millions of substandard tinnies, crippled at the molecular level by a little tweak in the automation, it would save a lot of hunting.

"Nothing personal," Atin muttered, wondering what went on in their self-aware metal heads. "It's you or me, vode."

"What?" Prudii's voice filled Atin's helmet.

"Just trying not to be... organicist."

"Don't give me all that droids-have-rights osik."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Atin.

He landed next to the Null lieutenant, and they skirted the assembly line. On the factory floor, 20 metres below ground level, the rhythm of fully automated production continued uninterrupted. Only worker-droids were around during the night shift. Durasteel sheets rumbled between the rollers, were caught by giant claws, and moved to the next assembly line for cutting. At the end of the conveyor belt, a clamshell press shaped the torso cases of battle droids around a form before dragging them through cooling vats with a hiss of steam. The whole place smelled of soot and burning.

A maintenance droid -just a box on wheels with a dozen multifunctional arms - trundled past Atin and Prudii, as blind to the electromagnetic profile of their armour as all his kind were. Atin still held his breath as it passed. But no sound escaped from his sealed helmet. He could yell his head off at Prudii and nobody else would hear a thing. The deafening noise of the assembly line would have drowned out all sound anyway.

"There it is." Prudii pointed to what looked like a run of oversize lockers on a far wall. Their hinges were as corroded as the gantry. "I hate rust. Don't they do any housework around here?"

Atin eased the cover open carefully. No, the Seps didn't inspect the automated settings very often, as long as the stateboard reported that everything was running okay. Inside, racks of data wafers fed template information to the different production lines, dictating wire gauges, alloy proportions, component ratings and the thousands of other parameters that went go into making a battle droid. Atin and Prudii had just opened up the brain of the entire factory. It was time for a little surgery.

"How many times have you done this?" asked Atin.

Prudii sucked his teeth audibly and rocked his head, counting. "Lots," he said at last.

"And they haven't noticed yet?"

"No. I'd say not." Prudii clipped bypass wires to the bays above and below the slot to isolate it. "Just so I don't trigger the safety cut-out." He inspected a substitute data wafer - apparently identical in every way to the Separatist ones - and inserted it into the slot. "This'll make sure the foundry adds too much carvanium to the durasteel, and that the quality control sampling reads it as normal levels. See?" He pointed to the readout on the panel. A cluster of figures read 0003. "Machines believe what you tell 'em. Just like people."

"You sure that's enough?"

"Any higher and it'll be too brittle to pass through the rollers. Then they'll spot the problem too soon."

"Okay..."

Prudii took a breath. He was remarkably patient for a Null. "Look, when these chakaare reach the battlefield, the overpressure from a basic ion shell will crack their cases like Naboo crystal." He removed the bypass clips and attached them to bays flanking a vertical slot further up the panel. More spiked wafers replaced genuine chips. "And just in case they get lucky and spot that little quality-control problem, this one will reduce the wire gauge just enough so that when it takes a heavy current, it'll short. I like to introduce a different batch of problems for each factory, in case they spot a pattern. How much more of this do I have to debate with you?"

"Just checking, sir."

"Drop the 'sir.' I hate it."

It was a precise calculation: just enough to render entire production runs of droids so vulnerable on the battlefield that they were almost useless, but not enough to flag the problem when the units were checked before being shipped from the factory - checked by service droids using the same falsified data.

Prudii had to be doing something right. The kill ratio had climbed from 20-to-one to 50-to-one in a matter of a few months. The tinnies still hadn't overrun the Republic, despite the claims that they could. While Prudii worked, factory droids skimmed past him, oblivious. He stepped out of 'ù their way and let them pass.

"Is it true you've tracked down General Grievous?" asked Atin. '"Cos I know that two of you were tasked to hunt him..."

"Not me. Ask Jaing. Or Kom'rk. Their job, not mine."

Atin hadn't met them yet. "If they've found him, the war's as good as over."

"You reckon? Well, it doesn't look like it's over yet."

Atin took the hint and didn't ask about Grievous again. He kept watch, DC-17 rifle ready, anxious not to use it for once. It was odd to be invisible. He wondered why the Grand Army didn't use stealth coating on all trooper armour, seeing as most of their land engagements were against droids.

There was a lot that didn't add up in this war.

"There," said Prudii, closing the panel gently. He stood back to inspect it. "We were never here."

They climbed back up to the gantry on their lines and slipped out the way they'd come. It was pitch black outside. They had an hour to get to the extraction point and transmit their coordinates to the heavily , disguised freighter waiting for them. On Olanet, that meant crossing '. kilometres of marshaling yards serving the nerf-meat industry. Atin ;' % could hear the animals lowing, but he'd still never seen a live nerf.

"This place stinks." Prudii settled behind a repulsor truck in a yard full of hundreds of others and squatted in its shadow. The harmless but nauseating stench of manure and animals penetrated his helmet's filters. "Five-seven, are you receiving?"

"With you in 10, sir. Stand by."

Prudii made no comment about the 'sir.' He took the data wafers out of his belt and attached a probe to them, one at a time. He struck Atin as a kindred spirit, a man who wouldn't let any inanimate objects get the better of him, but he was still hard work.

"Shab," Prudii muttered. He held but a wafer. "What do you make of this?"

Atin slotted it into his own wafer reader and relayed the extracted data to his HUD. The readout was just strings of numbers, the kind of data he'd need to analyze carefully. "What am I looking at? I normally blow this stuff up. I've never stopped to read it."

"Look for the code that starts zero-zero-five-alpha, 10 from the top row."

"Got it."

"That's the running total of units off the line since the wafer was inserted to start the production run. And the date."

Atin scanned from left to right, counting the line of numbers and inserting imaginary commas. "996,125. In a year."

"Correct."

"Not exactly smoking." Atin checked that he wasn't missing a row of numbers. "No, just six figures."

"Every factory we hit is producing numbers like that. Judging by the raw material freight we monitor, there're still a lot more factories out there, but I think we're talking about a few hundred million droids."

"That's reassuring. Thanks. I'll sleep well tonight."

"And so you should, ner vod." Prudii popped the seal on his collar, lifted off his helmet and wiped the palm of his gauntlet across his forehead; it came away shiny with sweat in the faint light leaking from the HUD. Somehow he looked older than Mereel and Ordo. "They say they're making quadrillions of droids." He paused. "A quadrillion has 15 zeroes. A thousand million millions, not a few hundred. Are we missing something here?"

Atin took no offence at the explanation. Anything more than three million was bad news in his book; that was how many clone troops were deployed or being raised on Kamino. "'They' say? Who're 'they'?"

"Now that's a good question."

"Anyway, it only takes one to kill you."

"But where are they all? I've bimbled around 47 planets this last year." Prudii made it sound like sightseeing. Atin had a sudden vision of him admiring the visitor attractions of Sep planets and then fragmenting them. The grip of the Verpine rifle slung across his back was well-worn. Atin had no real idea who Prudii hunted, and he was happier that way. "Seen a lot, counted a lot. But not quadrillions. They just don't seem to be able to produce anywhere near those numbers."

"But that's why we're fighting, isn't it?" Atin tried not to worry about the HoloNet news and took the political debate as something that didn't matter, because one droid or a septillion, he and his brothers were the ones who would still be in the front line. "Because the Seps are going to overrun us with droid armies if we don't stop them. So why not just reassure the public that the threat isn't that big?"

Prudii looked at him for a moment. Atin got the feeling that he felt sorry for him in some way, and he wasn't sure why. "Because it's only the likes of us that are finding this out every time we crack a Sep facility."

"You report it?"

"Of course I report it. Every time. To General Zey. Mace Windu knows. They all know."

"So why is the holonews news saying quadrillions? Where did the figure come from?"

"I heard it first from Republic Intelligence."

"Well, then..." Intel was notoriously variable in quality. "They make it up as they go along."

"Even they're not that stupid."

Prudii replaced his helmet and held his hand out to Atin for the wafer. He didn't say much after that.

Millions or quadrillions. So what? Atin, a man who enjoyed numbers, looked at the 1.2 million clone troopers deployed at that moment, added the two million men still being raised and trained, and didn't even need to place a decimal point to work out that he didn't like the odds.

But he never did. And it never stopped him from defying them.

"Want me to relay this data to HQ?" he asked.

"No," said Prudii. "Not until Kal'buir sees it. Never until he sees it."

A good Mandalorian son always obeyed his father. The Null ARCs were no different: they looked to Sergeant Kal Skirata - Kal'buir, Papa Kal - for their orders, not to the Republic. A Mando father put his sons first, after all, and they trusted him.

Skirata would always outrank everyone - captain, general-and even Supreme Chancellor.

place and time: tipoca city. kamino -461 days after the battle of Geonosis

Ko Sai was a devious piece of work.

Mereel - ARC trooper N-7 - had always thought of Kaminoans as cold, arrogant, xenophobic, and even suitable for barbecuing, but he'd never seen them as scheming - not until he began hunting their missing chief scientist, anyway. She hadn't died in the Battle of Kamino, as everyone thought. She'd defected.

Why? What motivates her? Wealth? Not politics, that's for sure.

He knew she was still alive, because she was on the run from her Separatist paymasters, now. In the cantinas of Tatooine, he'd heard rumours of a bounty. And when you had only your rare skill in cloning to trade, in a galaxy where non-military cloning was now banned, your attempts to raise credits were hard to hide from those who knew where to look.

The world of Khomm and Arkania had really suffered from that ban. Mereel knew exactly where to look.

He stood to attention in the ranks of troopers in theTipoca training facility, a good, obedient clone as far as the Kaminoans were concerned. A perfect product. But their identification systems weren't quite as foolproof as they'd told the Republic. They certainly hadn't spotted his fake ID transponder code. The little chip cycled through randomly generated IDs and, without his distinctive kama and blue-trimmed armour, he could disappear right in front of the kaminiise. Not even the patrolling KE-8 pilots looking for defective clones could spot him.

You think you're infallible, don't you, aiwha-bait?

One of the Kaminoan technicians walked along the row of troopers and paused in front of him, blinking, gray-skinned, its long fragile neck tempting to a man trained to kill. Mereel, frozen at attention, fantasized: blaster, vibroblade or garrote? These vile things had wanted to exterminate him as a kid, and he would never forget that. He and his five brothers had been a cloning experiment the Kaminoans considered a failure: but Kal Skirata had saved them.

There was time for revenge later. Kal'buir had taught him patience.

Patience is a luxury. I'm ageing twice as fast as an ordinary man.

He needed to pass through Tipoca City and grab some data without being noticed. The Kaminoan moved on. Mereel savoured the knowledge that he knew more about chief scientist Ko Sai's whereabouts than the Kaminoans did, and they'd searched for her very, very hard.

You're going to give us back our lives, gihaal, me and all my brothers. Mereel included the Republic commandos, the poor cannon fodder meat-cans around him, and even the Alpha ARCs, who'd been ready to kill clone kids to stop the Seps from using them. An vode. They're all my brothers. Even the Alphas.

As the troopers fell out, he slipped in at the rear of a line of men to cover his progress toward the administration core of the building. One glanced at him, the slightest head movement betraying what was happening under his helmet. The man was probably well aware Mereel was a stranger from the minute telltale differences in gait or bearing, but he said nothing. No clone could possibly be a security risk.

I'm just borrowing some information, ner vod. I'm not even going to sabotage this cesspit of a city. Take no notice of me.

As the line passed a corridor leading off at 90 degrees, Mereel wheeled left and walked calmly down to the end of the passage. The heads-up display in his helmet scrolled floor plans and data before his eyes. He looked both at it and through it to focus on the systems terminal set in the wall. Since the Separatist attack on Tipoca just over a standard year ago, security had been tightened, but that was just for Seps and their droids. Amateurs and tinnies. Nobody could keep out a determined Null ARC.

"Mer'ika," said the voice in his helmet. It was quiet and concerned: Skirata rarely raised his voice to them. "Don't push your luck. I want you back in one piece."

"I hear you, Kal'buir." Mereel slipped the docking pin of his forearm plate into one of the terminal's ports. A couple of troopers looked his way from the end of the passage, but he remained unhurried. I'm just calibrating my suit. "We might not get another chance to come back here. I'm grabbing everything I can."

Along with the legitimate outgoing code that requested data from the Tipoca mainframe, a second hidden layer hitched a ride to access the root of the entire system undetected. Mereel now had Republic Treasury encryption and de-erasure keys, courtesy of an obliging Treasury agent called Besany Wennen, and they were the most advanced available. Now he could read not only Treasury data, but also find encrypted files between Tipoca and the Republic that had been hidden from his previous probes. He might also be able to recover the data that Ko Sai had stolen and deleted.

He wanted her critical research on controlling the ageing process i in humans. It might work both ways, they said. That meant it was worth a fortune. She would try to sell it.

The tree of files appeared in his HUD, a field of flickering amber and blue symbols like a garish fabric. What looked like a plain white wall to humans on Kamino was actually a riot of colour beyond their visual range. Only in the Kaminoans' digital systems did Mereel ever get a glimpse of the way their heptachromatic vision saw the world.

Lots of blue and orange and purple. Tacky. Tasteless.

If he copied just the files he knew he needed, it would take seconds.

You might never get a chance to come back again.

The mainframe held 10 petabytes of data. It would take minutes.

Boots clattered past him. Mereel concentrated on looking like a regular trooper maintaining his armour's systems, but it was hard to stretch a 30-second procedure. He could hear his breath rasping in his helmet. So could Skirata and his brother Ordo, waiting in orbit to extract him.

"You okay, son?"

"Fine, Kal'buir."

"No heroics," said Ordo's voice. "Get out now."

Mereel looked at his HUD icon: still amber, still downloading. He was pushing it, all right. But he'd pushed his luck a lot more for the Republic, and a bunch of strangers and jetiise didn't mean half as much to him as the welfare of his brothers. The amber icon flashed. More boots clattered past the end of the passage.

Come on... Come on...

It was taking too long.

His peripheral vision, enhanced by his helmet's systems, saw the Kaminoan pause and turn to walk towards him. Fierfek. That's all we need.

It was a crested male. It stood in front of him, feigning concern. He knew it only sawhim as a commodity.

"You have been downloading longer than average, trooper."

"Just checking, sir." Mereel heard a faint click on his audio feed: Skirata was edgy. "Slow data response times on my HUD."

"Then please proceed to Procurement and have them run diagnostics."

"Yes, sir!" Don't bank on it, aiwha-bait. The icon in his HUD changed to green. "Right away, sir!"

Mereel withdrew the docking pin and walked back down the passage in the general direction of Procurement. The moment the Kaminoan was out of sight, he dropped back into the ocean of whitearmoured bodies and worked his way down the wide corridors and walkways to the maze of service passages that led to lesser-known landing platforms.

Mereel knew every metre of the complex. Skirata had encouraged the Nulls to run wild as kids, much to the disgust of the Kaminoans. He looked into the cloud-locked sky and rain hammered his visor like shrapnel.

"Ready, Kal'buir," he said. "Get me out of this dar'yaim."

place and time: republic special-ops freighter tiv z766/2. cato neimoidia portal. hydian - 461 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

"This wasn't in the op order," said Atin. "We were supposed to sabotage the factory and return to base."

Prudii had ordered the traffic interdiction vessel to Neimoidian space. The pilot didn't seem worried. TIV pilots never did.

"I know," said Prudii. "But this is all about presentation."

"Even this TIV can't take on an armoured transport."

"You sound scared, ner vod. Look at me. No helmet. Would I take a risk without my suit sealed?"

Atin considered showing Prudii where he could dock his character assessment the hard way. "But it's not unreasonable to ask why you're presenting a target to the Seps just to get a few thousand droids that are probably from a spiked batch anyway." He paused for a breath. "Lieutenant."

"No need to stand on ceremony with me, vod'ika." Prudii shrugged. "We're all brothers. Even those unimaginative Alpha planks, Force bless 'em. Why am I doing this? Emphasis, ner vod. Emphasis."

A small, bright spot grew larger in the view plate and resolved into a yellow and gray transport with horizontal spars picked out in scarlet. Prudii let it draw a thousand metres behind the TIV.

"Ready torpedoes," he said.

The pilot tapped the console. "Torps ready."

"Steady..."

The transport was accelerating slowly towards the jump point.

"On my mark..."

He was calculating blast range. Atin could see it.

"Take take take."

"Torps away."

A spread of six proton torpedoes streaked from the concealed tubes in the ship's underslung drive. The TIV shuddered. Atin reminded himself that his Katarn armour and bodysuit was space-tight for 20 minutes, and then realised help would be a lot more than 20 minutes away if anything went wrong. It always was - why did they bother? But Prudii didn't have his helmet on. Either he was confident or he was mad, and being a Null meant he was probably both.

The first and second warheads punched one-two into the transport's starboard flank in a blaze of gold light. Atin didn't see the rest strike because the TIV accelerated from standstill to way too fast in a matter of seconds, heading for the jump point. It was definitely emphatic.

Stars stretched and streaked before them as the TIV went to hyperspace and left the stricken transport far behind. Prudii wasn't even waiting to confirm a kill. He smiled as the acceleration levelled out and the TIV settled steady again. The pilot yawned. Atin said nothing.

"You're going to tell me what an or'dinii I am for pulling that stunt, aren't you, ner vod?" asked Prudii.

"Pointless bravado." If he took offence, Atin was ready to swing at him. "Reckless, even."

"But it's what the GAR would do if it came across a droid transport and didn't know a lot of tinnies were already as good as useless, isn't it?" Prudii sounded as if he regarded the Grand Army as something separate and external. "I didn't bust my shebs around half the galaxy this past year so the Seps could work out that their tinnies were already sabotaged. So it's worth the risk to make it all look real. If we don't take a pop at them whenever we get the chance, they'll wonder why."

Atin dealt in the measurable and the solid, things he could deconstruct to find out how they worked, and things that he could build. He was trained in camouflage and feint attacks. But the world that the Nulls moved in, the arena of black ops, was a nebulous haze of bluff and counter-bluff. Just when he thought he had the hang of it, they'd do something that was obvious in hindsight but that hadn't occurred to him at the time.

"You think they're that smart?"

"I never underestimate the enemy," said Prudii. "Especially when I'm not sure who the enemy is." He tapped the pilot's shoulder. "Drall RV point, my good man, and make it snappy."

"You Null boys are my favourite fares," said the pilot, and yawned again. "Never a dull moment."

place and time: republic special-ops shuttle. uncoded. en route from kamino to drall RV point corellian space - 461 standard days after the battle of Geonosis.

Mereel swung through the hatch into the crew bay, and Skirata gave him a playful tap on the ear with the flat of his hand.

"Don't do that again," said Skirata. "If those gray freaks had caught you, they'd have reconditioned you."

"They might have tried." Mereel caught Ordo narrowing his eyes in disapproval: Kal'buir was not to be distressed, ever. "Anyway, this could well be worth it."

Safe from detection even by the Republic, they sat in the crew cabin of the unmarked shuttle and pored over the data from Mereel's haul while they waited for Atin and Prudii to rendezvous. They watched the files play out on Ordo's datapad like the latest holovids while the Treasury software from oh-so-helpful Agent Wennen flagged the most heavily encrypted files and those that had been subject to secure erasure.

Mereel was almost joking when he keyed in the search parameter "Palpatine." It was always worth seeing if there was data about key politicians in any files he sliced, just in case, but he didn't expect to find anything.

But he got it.

"Osik," he cursed.

"Problem?" Ordo nudged him.

"Maybe." Mereel stared at a triple-encrypted file that yielded to the Treasury software. But it wasn't a message or a data file; it was a copy of a holotransmission.

He hit the key. It was a frozen holo of Lama Su. Fierfek, it was the Kaminoan Prime Minister, and he appeared to be talking to Chancellor Palpatine.

Skirata swallowed audibly. "Now this is where life gets a bit dangerous."

But they watched, transfixed, as the shimmering blue image of Lama Su sprang to life from the datapad emitter.

"If you require more clones beyond the current order, then you must authorize us to begin further production immediately. An initial payment of one billion credits...."

There was a crackling pause: Palpatine's response wasn't recorded, but it was clear he had interrupted. Lama Su's head bobbed in annoyance.

"We must make it clear that the current Kamino contracts terminate in two years. Apart from the special facilities you ask us to set up on Coruscant, Chancellor, you will have no further clone production beyond the current three million unless you commission more now..."

There was nothing more. It appeared to be all that Lama Su had filed, probably as some kind of personal insurance. If the date was correct, the conversation had taken place some months before.

"Shab," Skirata hissed. "What are they playing at?"

Ordo slowly raised his hand to his mouth. Mereel, who thought he'd seen it all, revised his grasp of political subterfuge on the spot.

"So is the Republic going bust and not paying its bills?" asked Ordo. "Or are we seeing something else?"

"Cloning facilities on Coruscant? General Zey never mentioned that."

"Maybe he doesn't know. There's a lot Zey doesn't know, after all... lots about us, for a start."

"How's the Chancellor going to pull that off?"

Skirata interrupted. "See what else you can find." He'd started chewing ruik root again and Mereel gauged his anxiety by the speed of his jaw. He was going like a machine now. "I don't like this at all."

"If this is all the army we've got for the foreseeable future," said Ordo, "then we'll be overrun in two years."

"Unless Prudii's patent droid remover saves the day," said Mereel, stomach churning.

Why didn't I pick this up earlier?

All Nulls were adept spies, used to knowing more about the Republic's inner workings than the Senate itself. Mereel could even find out the smallest and most private details if he needed to, maybe even how many times Palpatine used the 'freshers each day. He'd thought that no information escaped him. So being surprised by totally unexpected information left him uneasy and ashamed.

"How did I miss this, Kal'buir?" he said, feeling he had let him down.

"You didn't, son," said Skirata. "You found it."

place and time: RV point. drall space. corellia sector - 462 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

Prudii obviously hadn't seen Skirata in a long time. Atin watched, fascinated, as he turned instantly from glib cynic to adoring son, hugging Skirata with a clash of armour plates. He stood back, and Skirata patted his cheek, an indulgent grin spreading across his face.

"I have some interesting data for you, Kal'buir." The two ships hung linked together by a docking tube, a long way from Republic scrutiny as well as the Separatists. They gathered in the crew bay of the smaller TIV. It was a tight fit. "We're still not finding droid numbers like Intel claimed. We have to reassess the nature of the Sep threat."

Atin thought Prudii just meant numbers. It was now obvious that the droid numbers were flawed to say the least. Atin would have been happy to just write that off as Republic Intelligence being di'kute - nobody with any sense expected intel to be accurate anyway - but it seemed to bother all three Nulls a great deal. Ordo and Mereel, their helmets stacked side by side on the deck like two decapitated heads, wore matching frowns of concern.

"Come on, this is supposed to be good news," said Atin.

Ordo shrugged. "Depends where the original estimate came from."

"But what if it turns out to be right?"

Mereel looked mildly exasperated. "If they had even one quadrillion droids, or a tenth of that, we'd know all about it - because they'd use them, and they'd invade Coruscant." He glanced at Skirata, as though waiting for permission to go on. Skirata shook his head. "Anyway, a factory processing more droids than that needs a lotofdurasteeland parts, and we'd notice the traffic. We're not seeing quadrillion-ton shipments of ore, metal or components."

"Then it's just Sep propaganda. Everyone talks up their troop strengths."

Atin simply couldn't see why it mattered. They had a better handle on the Sep droid numbers now, and a good strategy, for the time being, for making sure that the millions didn't count for anything like that number on the battlefield. He settled back into an alcove in the port bulkhead and inserted his test probes into the wafer's terminals. He just wanted to see the data for himself, or as much as he understood of it.

"We're fighting small fires all the time, all over the place," said Skirata. "Zey might think these numbers are good news, but it's like saying we're drowning in three metres of water instead of a hundred."

Atin hadn't been raised by Skirata like the rest of Omega Squad, but he knew the man well enough now to read his reactions. He was completely transparent with clones; he didn't seem to be able to deceive them, or even want to. "There's something you're not telling me, Sarge."

Skirata put his comlink on standby. "Yes, son, there is."

"So it is Grievous, then? Because if it is..."

"It's messy politics." Skirata - a contract killer, an accomplished thief, a man who diverted Republic resources whenever he felt like it - would never lie to his boys. He promised them that. "If you know about it, it might endangeryou."

Atin wondered what might be more dangerous than being a Republic commando. It wasn't exactly a steady desk job. But he trusted Skirata completely, even if his curiosity was devouring him. "Okay, Sarge. Orders?"

"Get back to HQ with the TIV pilot and do a bit of skills transfer. Teach the rest of the lads how to make nice crumbly droids."

Ordo cut in. "And thank Besany Wennen for me, will you?"

Atin worked out that Prudii wasn't going back with him. "You're telling me to get lost, aren't you?"

"For your own good," said Skirata.

It had to be Grievous. Fora moment Atin wondered if they didn't think he was good enough to go after the Separatist general with them, and then he started worrying for Skirata. Even with a bunch of Nulls, the old di'kut would be insane to try to tackle him. And Atin had no intention of walking away if that was on the agenda.

"Straight question, Sarge."

"Don't put me on the spot, At'ika."

"Are you going after Grievous? 'Cos if you are, I'm not leaving."

"No, we're not going after Grievous."

Atin scrutinized his face. "Okay, Sarge. Be careful, anyway. Whatever it is."

He climbed back through the hatch to rejoin the TIV pilot. Most of the time, he really didn't need or even want to know what the Nulls got up to. Or Skirata, for that matter. He just didn't want to lose any more brothers.

And even if he worked out what was going on, it wouldn't change his job one bit.

place and time: rv point. drall space - 462 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

"Okay, what's your assessment?" Skirata prepped the secure link to General Zey back at headquarters. "What are we going to tell him?"

Ordo shrugged. "Nothing about the holorecording - yet."

"We'd be failing in our duty if we didn't advise him to change tactics, though," said Mereel. "Again."

"You know it's not his decision."

"But it's still our duty."

Skirata frowned and opened the secure link. The Jedi general seemed to have been caught on the hop - the holoimage showed him in his undershirt, hair disheveled.

"Another confirmation of droid production numbers, General," said Skirata. "Same as before. Worst scenario, maybe a few hundred million right now."

"That's better than we thought. I needed some good news.

Successfully neutralized?"

"My lads are completely reliable."

"I know."

"We think... look, it's pretty clear from what we're seeing that we're facing small-scale conflicts in waves. If we concentrated all our forces on completely overwhelming them a sector at a time, instead of scattering our troops across a thousand fronts, we could break the Seps a lot faster."

Zey chewed his lip. "I hear what you say."

"A big push. Consolidate our forces and hit 'em hard, then move on when they're crushed and hit the next sector. This piecemeal approach is just damping down fires temporarily."

Mereel waited for Zey's reaction. The Jedi looked tired. It was hard to find anyone in the Grand Army who didn't look in need of a week's sleep.

Zey dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "I agree, militarily. General Windu reminds the Chancellor of this proposal whenever he can. The answer's always the same. Palpatine thinks it'll be seen as excessive force and might alienate the neutral worlds."

Mereel had no patience with politics. "Tell him we're feeling pretty alienated right now, too."

"I understand your frustration, Lieutenant."

"What does he say about the droid numbers, then?"

Zey shrugged. "He believes that underplaying the threat might be foolhardy."

"Always easier to get the voters to foot the bill for a war if they think the enemy's about to invade, eh? Is that why Republic Intel came up with the quadrillions figure?"

"You're a cynical man, Sergeant."

"Yeah. I was a mere for too long."

"I never said you were wrong."

"Okay, General," said Skirata. He managed to sound irritated. Zey knew the game by now; the two of them conducted a coded conversation, both knowing what the other really felt. Mereel admired their pragmatism. "We've not found the hub of the Seps' droid production. I assume you'll want us to carry on looking."

Zey sounded older these days. "The Chancellor is most insistent."

"Understood, General."

Skirata closed the link and stared through Mereel for a moment. Then he focused on him again. "Palpatine doesn't want to talk about the real numbers. Clone production on Kamino looks like it might stop dead in a couple of years. I say the objective of this war isn't the one we're being told it is."

"You sound like you expect politicians to tell the truth, Kal'buir."

"Nah, I'm not that senile yet." Skirata gestured to Ordo for his datapad, fingers beckoning. "We're bringing the plan forward a little, lads. I'm marking a date on my calendar just under two years from now, and making sure we're ready to take care of our own by then. You understand me?"

"Understood," said Mereel. Skirata had what he called an exit strategy: his plan for the end of the war, not just for himself, but for the Nulls... and maybe any clone who found himself out of a job. "Okay, everybody looks for Ko Sai now."

"What about Grievous?"

Ordo handed the datapad to Skirata. "Last time Kom'rk got a fix on him it was leaked information. Someone wants us to find him. Until we work out who and why, we keep a little distance."

"Works for me," said Mereel.

Wars often didn't make sense. He'd read plenty of history, and he'd absorbed Kal'buir's lessons; politicians often made decisions that flew in the face of professional military advice. Whatever the Republic was up to, a long-running war of skirmishes suited Palpatine's purpose.

But it didn't suit Mereel. And it didn't do the mounting numbers of clone casualties any good either. He felt no guilt whatsoever about using the taxpayers' credit to get the best outcome for himself and his brothers, both those in the field now and those to come.

Three million against... how many? Hundreds of millions. They were bad odds, but they weren't impossible, not with the Nulls and a few thousand commandos around. But working out odds meant being clear who the enemy was, and the more Mereel learned, the less certain he became.

"Cheer up," said Prudii, "Average kill rates are going up all the time. I reckon we can shoot for at least 200-to-one." He took a hand-size slab of metal out of his pack and held it up with a grin. Then he smacked it down hard on the edge of the console. It crazed and broke into pieces. "Those tinnies just can't take the strain like we can."

No, those weren't impossible odds. Bad, maybe; but not impossible. Mereel sat back in the co-pilot's seat, took out his datapad, and began combing through the hidden data of Kamino's clonemaster. Ko Sai had the whole galaxy in which to hide, but she was hiding from men she had personally engineered to be the very best.

The odds weren't in her favour.

glossary

carvanium - metal used in alloys

vode - (Mando'a) brothers

osik-(Mando'a) equivalent of "poodoo"

chakaare - (Mando'a) term of abuse (lit. thief, petty criminal, "grave-robber")

ner vod - (Mando'a) my brother

kaminiise - (Mando'a) Kaminoans

aiwha-bait - insulting Mandalorian term for Kaminoans

an vode - (Mando'a) "brothers all."

jetiise - (Mando'a) Jedi (plural) also means Republic

fierfek - Huttese curse

vod'ika - (Mando'a) affectionate diminutive form of "brother"

Mer'ika - (Mando'a) affectionate diminutive form ofMereel

shebs - (Mando'a) backside

di'kute - (Mando'a) idiots, morons

merc - short for mercenary

chags - small, unpredicable, highly excitable Hapan amphibians

heptochromatic - able to see in six colours including ultraviolet

petabyte - a quadrillion bytes of data

dar'yaim - (Mando'a) a place you want to forget, a hell

TIV - Traffic Interdiction Vessel (disguised vessel used for boardings by GAR special forces)

or'dinii - (Mando'a) "complete lunatic"

#Republic Commando #This is getting harder to find so here we go.#Omega Squad #Atin

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intheticklecloset · 3 years

Text

My Hero Academia Sentence Starters #21-30

A collection of the MHA sentence starters I’ve done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories.

~~~

21) Lee Bakugou, Ler Todoroki

“Get off of me!” Bakugou snapped, shoving at Todoroki, who was currently trying to crawl into his lap. “Back off!”

“You said I could if I won,” Todoroki replied calmly, pausing in his approach. “Don’t make me use ice shackles.”

Bakugou bristled. “You don’t have the guts, you—”

Todoroki wordlessly snatched up his wrists, shoved them to the head of the couch, and used his ice to freeze him in place. Then he finally reached his destination, settling himself on the blonde’s hips. “You were saying?”

“G-Get off,” Bakugou demanded again, though this time through a shiver from the cold. “Idiot, you can’t just—”

“You said…” Todoroki reached under his shirt to rake his nails down his ribcage, effectively silencing his protests and replacing them with a yelp and a few giggles. “…that if I won, I could tickle you for five minutes. And I did win. See there?” He nodded toward the TV, where his character stood over Bakugou’s in victory.

“Y-You…you cheated somehow,” Bakugou tried, trying his best not to break into another fit of giggles at the light skittering along his sides. He squirmed, twisting his head to hide his smile. “You couldn’t have w-won without cheheheating.”

Todoroki rolled his eyes, then shoved Bakugou’s shirt so far up he was able to slide it up his arms and over his eyes, blinding him. “Stubborn as always.”

“W-Wait! Icy-Hot, I can’t sehehehehehehee!” Bakugou squealed, giggling uncontrollably as Todoroki scratched lightly at his sweet spots. He could feel his cheeks growing redder by the second, but he couldn’t do anything about it, helpless as he was. “Stahahahahahap, this isn’t fahahahahahair!”

“Well now, that’s too bad.” Todoroki was smirking; Bakugou could hear it in his voice, even if he couldn’t see it. The light scratching became gentle kneading, and finally the blonde dissolved into actual laughter, squirming and kicking but going nowhere fast. Todoroki chuckled. “Maybe next time you should put up more of a fight.”

22) Lee Shinsou, Ler Deku

“Don’t call me cute!”

“But you are!” Deku smiled up at Shinsou, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him closer. He nuzzled himself under his boyfriend’s chin. “You’re super cute!”

Shinsou tensed, trying to pull away. “H-Hey, don’t – Midoriya, stop it—” He couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out of him as he tried to twist his head away from the mop of green hair, unable to pry himself free of his partner’s firm hold. “That tickles! Don’t—”

Deku looked up at him, eyes wide and bright with excitement. “Tickles?”

Shinsou’s cheeks turned pink. “N-No, I mean – I mean yes, but – Midoriya!”

Deku held him even closer, standing on his tiptoes to better reach his neck and collarbone, peppering them with light kisses that made Shinsou dissolve into helpless giggles. “Now you definitely can’t tell me you’re not cute, Toshi~”

“Stahahahahahap,” Shinsou giggled breathlessly, trying to push Deku away and failing. “You d-dohohohohon’t understahahahahand, it tihihihickles so much – plehehehehehease!”

“Light tickles really drive you crazy, huh?”

“Midoriya, plehehehehease – Izuku!” Shinsou squealed when Deku reached up to trail his fingers along the back of Shinsou’s neck down to his shoulder blades. Honestly it was a wonder the taller boy hadn’t completely collapsed yet. “Ahahahahahaha, nohohohohoho! Stop, plehehehease!”

Deku giggled, finally slowing his light tickles to a stop, wrapping his arms around Shinsou’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. “Just admit it. You’re cute.”

“Ugh, fine,” Shinsou relented, grabbing Deku’s hips to both pull him closer and dig in without mercy. His boyfriend exploded into laughter, and Shinsou grinned from ear to ear at the sound. “But you’re cuter.”

23) Lee Deku, Ler Shinsou

“Gee, I wonder where you are~”

Deku pressed both hands over his mouth to keep his giggles at bay, waiting anxiously in the darkened closet for Shinsou to find him. Because he would find him. It was a matter of time, and Deku knew that. Probably the taller boy already knew where he was and was just messing with him by pretending he didn’t. The thought made Deku’s heart race faster.

Suddenly the door to the closet flung open, and all Deku could see was the outline of his boyfriend before Shinsou dropped to his knees, grabbed his sides, and dug his fingers in relentlessly.

“Aiieehehehehehehe!” Deku burst into giggles, squirming and kicking but not fighting back. He knew it was pointless, and besides, he was having too much fun to want to stop now. “Hitoshiehehehehehehehe!”

“Yes, Izuku?” Shinsou teased into his ear. “My, you seem especially ticklish today, don’t you?”

“No I dohohohohohon’t!”

“Yes, you do~” His fingers dug into his sides even more, one hand sliding up to his ribs as well. “Tickle, tickle~”

“Nahahahahahaha Hitoshiehehehehe!” Deku flopped backward onto his boyfriend’s lap, and Shinsou took the opportunity to worm his fingers into the smaller boy’s underarms, making him shriek with laughter, kicking the air wildly. “AHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“I don’t hear you asking me to stop, ‘Zuku~”

“BEHEHEHEHECAUSE I DON’T WAHAHAHAHAHANT YOU TO!!”

Shinsou beamed, hoisting Deku up so he was seated in his lap rather than lying on it, wrapping him up in a bear hug and squeezing a hip teasingly. Deku let out a scream of laughter, struggling in earnest now but going nowhere fast. “Is that so? Well, then, allow me to give you more of what you want~”

24) Lee Bakugou, Ler Ojiro

“Not so tough now, huh?”

Bakugou’s arms trembled with the effort to keep the shelf from tipping over while Ojiro’s tail brushed along his exposed underarms. He gritted his teeth. “J-Just gehehet the screw into the wahahall already, you i-idoit!”

One of the single shelves in the kitchen area had suddenly broken free from one of its hinges just moments before, and without really thinking about it, Bakugou darted forward to keep it from making a mess of spices and pan sprays on the ground that they’d have to clean up later. He’d successfully managed to balance the shelf while Ojiro went to the storage closet to get a new hinge and a couple of replacement screws, but now that he’d come back, all the tail hero seemed to want to do was mess with him.

Bakugou was desperately trying not to laugh. That tail of his was so soft and plush, and it tickled like crazy, but he’d rather die than give Ojiro the satisfaction of hearing him beg.

“Come on, Bakugou, you know you want to giggle,” Ojiro teased, standing with his hands on his hips, tools in his fists. He continued to brush the tail all over his underarms and neck. “Let it out, now. Come on~”

“Fihihix the shehehelf, you stupid extrahaha!” Bakugou snapped, really fighting the urge to bring his arms down to protect himself.

“Fine, I know what will make you laugh.” Ojiro stepped right up to him, pulled his shirt up to expose his ribs, and brushed his tail over the sensitive skin there.

Finally, Bakugou had no choice. Forget dying – he just wanted out of this situation. “Agh, fihihihihine, fine! Stahahahahap it before I drohohohohohop everythihihihing!”

Ojiro obliged, grinning. “That’s more like it.” And he finally got to work repairing the broken shelf.

25) Lee Kaminari, Ler Sero

“Dude, did you just snort?!” Sero laughed, pressing his fingertips deeper into Kaminari’s knee pits. “Oh my gosh, do it again!”

“NO!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Denki was losing his mind laughing, pounding the floor with his fist in an effort to tap out. Another snort slipped out of him, making him even more embarrassed than he already was. “STAHAHAHAHAHAP, SERO!!”

Sero chuckled, finally leaving his knees alone to scribble at his thighs instead. “You’re too ticklish for your own good, my friend.”

“Tehehehehehell me sohohohohomething I dohohohohohon’t know!”

“Okay. You’re also stupid cute when you’re tickled. Bet you didn’t know that.”

Surprised, Denki lifted his head, taking in Sero’s sweet smile and blushing all over again. “I-I am nohohohohohohot!”

“Yeah, you are.” Sero scooted up to sit at his side, grabbing his waist and squeezing. “You’re super cute. Like, I might actually die, you’re so adorable.”

Denki tried to push him away but only succeeded in weakly grasping his wrists as he tickled, which only made him more sensitive. That and the teasing were really doing a number on him. “Nohohohohoho, stohohohohop it!”

“But you’re cuuuuute,” Sero whined playfully, poking randomly up and down Denki’s sides and ribs, making the blonde yelp and squeak and roll around helplessly. “So. Cute. You’re. So. Dang. Cute!” He teased with each poke, enjoying the bright pink flush that was coming over Denki’s face and ears.

“Sero,” Denki pleaded, finally managing to grab his arms and free himself from his tickly demise, if only for a moment. “Y-You can’t…just say that. Unless you…you…”

“Mean it?” Sero grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “I do mean it.” Then he kissed his neck, and Denki dissolved into giggles all over again. “You’re such a cute, ticklish little sparkplug~”

26) Lee Deku, Ler Shinsou

“You can’t make me!”

“Oh?” Shinsou leaned down to Deku’s face, smirking, pinning his wrists to the wall even harder. “Pretty sure I can make you do anything, Midoriya.”

Deku opened his mouth to reply, then clamped it shut. He was fairly certain Shinsou wouldn’t use his quirk on him without permission first, but since he wasn’t 100% sure, he decided to err on the side of caution.

Shinsou quirked a brow. “Giving me the silent treatment, huh? Well, I can fix that.” He shoved Deku’s arms above his head, crossing his wrists and pinning them both with one hand while his other reached down to scratch lightly in the smaller boy’s underarm.

“Eep!” Deku squeaked, unable to help the tiny giggles escaping him as he tried to twist away. Shinsou’s finger started digging in a little deeper, making him break instantly. “Nohohohohoho, Shinsou!”

“Gonna say it now?”

“Nahahahahahaha!”

“Very well.” Shinsou grabbed his thigh, pressing his thumb into the space where it met his hip, and Deku nearly buckled, the sensation was so strong.

“GAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHO!!” He screamed, laughing uncontrollably. He tugged at his arms but Shinsou was surprisingly strong for how lean he was. “NO FAHAHAHAHAHAIR!! SHIHIHIHIHIHINSOU!!”

“Say it.”

“NOHOHOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAHAY!!”

With a growl, Shinsou kept drilling into that ultra-sensitive spot while leaning down to kiss Deku’s neck, making the poor boy squeal with hysterics.

“OKAYOKAYOKAHAHAHAHAY I’LL SAHAHAHAHAY IT JUST STAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“That’s more like it.” Shinsou smirked, stopping his assault but keeping a hand on his thigh in warning. “Out with it, Midoriya.”

“I-I…I’m a…” Deku groaned, turning to hide his face in his shoulder. “I’m a…c-cutie pie.” He cringed. “That’s so embarrassing, why did you make me s-s-sahahahahay thahahahahat?!” Shinsou had started scribbling over his open tummy, making him giggle all over again. “Nahahahahahaha!”

“I made you say it because it’s true,” Shinsou replied, smirking, kissing his cheek. “Duh.”

27) Lee Bakugou, Ler Kirishima

“Ohoho, you like to be tickled here, don’t you?” Kirishima teased over Bakugou’s roaring laughter, scratching at his bottom ribs with purposeful strokes. “But you’re just too ticklish to stand it! Hmm…what to do, what to do…?”

“KIRI STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Bakugou pleaded, writhing on the bed helplessly, his arms tied to the headboard above him with the very necktie he’d worn to school that afternoon. His uniform shirt had been unbuttoned and opened up for ease of access, and the vulnerability was making this all so much worse. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“But you so obviously like being tickled here,” Kiri hummed in mock distress. “I don’t want to stop when you love it so much!”

Bakugou flushed red, desperately squirming everywhere he could. Kiri’s fingers kept up with him, and his face was just so cute as he so easily made the blonde fall apart, and the atomic teen was losing his mind. But the redhead was right – he did love to be tickled here, even if he couldn’t stand it. He kicked his legs uselessly, both loving and hating that he couldn’t bring his arms down to push him away.

“NO MOHOHOHOHOHORE, KIRIEHEHEHEHEHE!!” He screamed, the gentle, persistent scratching truly driving him up the wall now. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Had enough, giggles?”

Bakugou hated that nickname because it made him so dang flustered every single time. Still, he nodded frantically. “YEHEHEHEHES, YES, ENOHOHOHOHOUGH!! PLEHEHEASE!!”

Kiri gradually slowed to a stop, allowing Bakugou to reenter the world of non-tickles with as much ease as possible. Then he leaned down and planted a kiss on his lips. Bakugou hummed in surprise and appreciation, kissing right back until Kiri pulled away and grinned. “Want another round?”

28) Lee Kaminari, Ler Bakusquad

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. The others stared at him. Denki could feel himself beginning to panic. Had he just said that out loud?!

“I…I mean…uh…” he stammered, trying to take it back however he could but unable to find the words. He hid his face, not knowing what else to do. “I’m sorry, forget I said that.”

“Forget?” Bakugou said incredulously.

“Oh, we’re so not going to forget that,” Sero teased.

Kirishima chuckled. “So you want to be tickle tortured, do you?”

“That’s so cuuute~” Mina squealed.

Denki was blushing so hard he felt like he’d gotten heatstroke. Seconds later his hands were being pried away from his face by Kiri’s strong arms, and Sero, Bakugou, and Mina were all wiggling their fingers at him. “Eep!”

“Here we come~” Mina teased.

Bakugou smirked. “You asked for it, dunce face.”

“I can tie you up with my tape if you’d like,” Sero said, holding up his arms for emphasis.

Denki gasped, shaking his head frantically. “No, nonono, I can’t – I’m t-too ticklish for that!”

“You’re super ticklish, huh?” Kiri teased into his ear. He chuckled. “Get him!”

And get him they did, drilling their wiggling fingers into his sides, his ribs, his belly, his underarms – even throwing in a couple of squeezes to his hips and thighs once in a while. Denki tossed his head back and unleashed a long string of laughter he’d been dying to let loose for days. God, he’d wanted this so bad, but had never had the courage to say it – until just now, apparently.

“So, what was it you said?” Sero teased, wiggling a finger into his belly button. “‘I want to be tickled until I can’t breathe’?”

Mina cooed, Kiri laughed, and Bakugou smirked evilly. “Consider it done, dunce face.”

29) Lee Todoroki, Ler Bakugou

Todoroki often restrained his attacks during training for one purpose: he didn’t want his friends to be scared of him. To stop tickling and teasing him mercilessly just to see him lose his mind in laughter. To be close in a way he was afraid he would put an end to by unleashing the full force of his power during training.

Unfortunately for him, Bakugou took issue with that approach.

“You better stop holding back on me!” the blonde snapped once their training session was over for the day and the entire class was beginning to pack up and leave the grounds.

Todoroki hesitated. “I just – I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Bah! You couldn’t lay a finger on me, Icy-Hot, especially if you’re holding back like that!”

Todoroki merely shrugged and looked away.

Bakugou growled. “I’ll make you see things my way.” In a flash, he’d kicked Todoroki’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground in surprised heap in the moments before Bakugou ripped off his shoes and started scribbling wildly over his socked soles.

“AIEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA BAKUGOU!!” Todoroki screamed with laughter, unable to hold back his reactions whatsoever. Curse him for going after his worst spot right off the bat! “STAHAHAHAHAHAP I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T TAKE IT!! PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Promise you’ll stop holding back on me and I’ll stop tickling you to death,” Bakugou demanded, turning to look over his shoulder at the mess he was making of the normally stoic boy. “What do you say, Icy-Hot?”

“OKAYOKAY FIHIHIHIHIHIHINE I’LL STOHOHOHOHOHOP HOLDING BAHAHAHACK!!” Todoroki pleaded, laughing hysterically as he writhed on the ground. “I’LL DEFEHEHEHEHEAT YOU NEXT TIHIHIHIHIHIME!!”

Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Bakugou ripped off his socks next, going straight for his toes. “Oh, will you, now?”

“NONONONO I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY I TAHAHAHAHAKE IT BAHAHAHACK—!!”

30) Lee Shinsou, Ler Deku

“Relax, it’s just a massage!” Deku laughed, highly amused by his poor boyfriend’s increasingly distressed state. He kneaded into his shoulder blades again for emphasis, making Shinsou choke on a laugh.

“Gah! Pfft no – no it’s nohohohohohot! You knohohohohow what you’re doing, you jeheheherk!” Shinsou tried to sound angry, but it came out as more of a whimper. His legs kicked behind him as he squeezed his arms to try and keep them in place above his head so he could rest his cheek on them. But another scribble between his blades from Deku had him cackling into the bedsheets all over again. “Nahahahahahahaha! Stahahahahahap it alreadyehehehehehe!”

“I’m literally not even trying to tickle you,” Deku giggled, swiping a finger from Shinsou’s shoulder blades to the base of his neck. “Well, at first I wasn’t, anyway.”

“Leheheheheave me alohohohohone! I cahahahahan’t take thihihihis!”

“Oh, I think you can.” Deku leaned down to press soft, feather-light kisses along Shinsou’s upper back and shoulder blades, and his usually well-composed boyfriend broke down into a long string of utterly helpless giggles, squirming desperately.

“Izuku, nohohohohohohoho! Nohohohohohot thahahahat – it tihihihihickles! Plehehehease!”

“Does it now? I would never have guessed.” Deku chuckled, trailing his kisses from his shoulders to the back of his neck, nuzzling into his ears from behind, enjoying the half-whine, half-moan that came out of his boyfriend. “Tickle, tickle, little Toshi~”

“Dohohohohohon’t call me thahahahat,” Shinsou begged, turning his face to the side to try and catch his breath a little better. “You’re smahahahahaller than me.”

“Yeah,” Deku agreed, blowing air across the back of his left ear, making him shiver and giggle at the same time. “But baby talk works way better on you, doesn’t it, my ticklish little Toshi?”

Shinsou’s cheeks turned hot pink. “Shuhuhuhuhut up…”

Deku kissed his neck again. “Never.”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #tickle drabble #compilation #quick prompts #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #sentence starters #shindeku

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precisemuseum · 4 years

Photo

Puyo Puyo PC-98 Manual Translation

Once upon a time, in the age when the power of magic was bestowed upon the world, a powerful sorcerer created a great spell named "Owanimo." One of the strongest spells of all, it could banish monsters to a space between dimensions, but he sealed it away, recording it only in his "Book of Magic."

Not because it was forbidden knowledge or incredibly hard to use, but because to him, it seemed useless. And thus, the spell entered a dormant state, awaiting a day when a new sorcerer would come forth...

Years came and went until finally, the seal came undone with the appearance of a great sorceress: Arle Nadja. One day, this auburn-haired girl with golden eyes came across the Book of Magic.

"Owanimo...?" Arle studied the chapter on forbidden spells for what seemed like hours. "When four monsters of the same color are in your sights, chant this spell loudly. The Goddess of Time shall listen, and whisk the monsters away to a space between dimensions."

Arle continued to read, learning the Owanimo spell, but then closed it with a heavy sigh once she finished.

Why set it aside like that? Well, Arle had never seen "four monsters of the same color" as the spellbook described.

"I spent so much time reading, and it's not even a spell I can use for anything..."

But just as fate brought the Book of Magic into Arle's hands by chance, so it brought from the world of darkness the very monsters she had read about.

And thus, a great battle awaits. With her great magic abilities, and the newfound power of "Owanimo," Arle Nadja sets out to protect the world.

CHARACTERS A・C・P

Arle Nadja The protagonist of the game and the (aspiring) sorceress who released the spell "Owanimo". Nobody knows how she ended up this way, but despite looking like she wouldn't hurt a fly, she's actually a merciless girl that slaughters innocent Puyo. She currently attends a magic school, but she's already too scary for anything to stand in her way. That's my opinion, anyway.

Carbuncle During the game, when you find your eyes moving towards the center of the screen... Awww~! He's sleeping!!! This is Carbuncle. When he's lying still, he almost looks like a loaf of bread, but as he sings and dances he shows off a wide range of movement and facial expressions. A truly profound deuteragonist.

Puyo Puyo Despite their fate as short-lived, jelly-like monsters who are stacked and popped, they have managed to secure a leading role this time around, and even get to dance on the title screen. They're sure to enjoy this special opportunity to perform on a grand stage in five different colors. Looking at them with an empty stomach will reveal their appetizing nature and make you hungry. Hehe.

Arle, the protagonist, is brimming with curiosity.

PRACTICE STAGE ENEMY MONSTERS

Skeleton T While he appears as the epitome of a tea-loving Japanese man, he is a fine monster as well. He will be the first opponent you face during your trials. But you'll find that in a rather endearing way, he's a miserable fool who doesn't even know how to rotate his Puyo. Boohoo. Sipping bitter green tea during battle will instantly make you one of his tea-drinking buddies.

Nasu Grave An eggplant. Specifically, a Kamo eggplant. On top of that, he makes for a rather strange presence. Just what the heck is this thing? Despite appearances, his defensive power is high, so novices might find themselves struggling a bit. You'll have no choice but to keep at it and apply a steady technique. But in the end, your opponent is still just an eggplant. A regular talking eggplant. …Heh.

Mummy Even though it's called Mummy, it isn't a mommy. It's a mummy. What? You already knew that? Oh, deary me, I'll wrap it up then. (←One-man comedy routine.) Mummy is an opponent that makes you want to bully it because the crying face it makes when it's about to lose is just too cute. Sorry, Mummy.

The Goddess of Time whisking the monsters away.

BATTLE STAGES 1-6

Draco Centauros As you might expect from someone who shouts "Rawr", this half-dragon being takes pride in those sharp horns. Appearing as the first obstacle of your quest, this opponent has top tier judgment and piece precision but takes forever to think things through. Because of that, she's a pitiful lass who is only ranked as a third-rate monster girl... You heard me right! Draco is a girl. I'm sure someone around you thought she was a boy...

Suketoudara A pollock who has an aura of coming from some far-off sea. However, he seems to have the character of an Edokko. He's an athletic-type who tends to err on the side of caution. However, he's also arrogant. When he wins, he makes a face that screams "You're no match for me!", which is truly aggravating. Many say they especially don't want to lose to him.

(TL Note: Literally meaning “Child of Edo”, Edokko is refers to a person born and raised in Edo (renamed Tokyo in 1868). It implies personality traits such as being assertive, straightforward, cheerful, perhaps a bit mercantile.)

Sukiyapodes Let's just get this out of the way; he has a giant foot. It measures about 16 mon. Even though he has a complex about it, he directs that frustration into bettering himself. Well, we're not sure if that last part's true, but he always has a cheerful expression on his face as he slowly and steadily builds precise chains. He's a bit of an unpleasant guy.

(TL Note: mon is a unit of length for measuring the size of one's foot. 1 mon is equivalent to 2.4 cm. His foot is 38.4 cm, or 15.12 in.)

Harpy Now then, it is time for Miss Harpy's song. She loves singing more than she loves having three meals a day. She could sing for ages if no one stopped her. If there was something like a "Puyo Puyo World Karaoke Tournament", she'd win for sure. But unfortunately, this is only Puyo Puyo.

Sasori Man “How d'ya do, partner? I’m a famous Naniwa salesman known 'round these parts as Sasori Man. Put 'er there! Huh? Yer askin' for my secret to success? I ain't spillin' the beans no matter how much ya beg. That's somethin' to look forward to when we do battle. Till then, happy trails.”

Panotty A flute-playing boy. But honestly, he's nothing more than a noisy, mischievous brat. He disrupts his opponent's chains by dropping large amounts of Nuisance Puyo on them. Everyone has fallen victim to his antics at least once. What a truly ruthless Puyo technique. For when his last flute sounds, the dead shall be raised. Just kidding.

BATTLE STAGES 7-12

Zombie A zombie. All of his lines are stuff like "Ugheeee." This zombie is quite the formidable trickster. Sometimes he will be swiftly defeated, and other times he will take you by surprise and suddenly pull off a huge chain. If you don't take him seriously, you'll find yourself in a tough spot. Battle with caution.

Witch In the forest stands a grand mansion. Living there was a very ordinary family whose lineage can be traced back hundreds of years. The family's only daughter was born and was raised in a very ordinary fashion. But there was one thing that was not so ordinary...That young lady was a haughty witch. Ohohoho! Ohohohoho... *fadeout*

Zou Daimaou Pawoo! The mammoth mogul has arrived! A young aristocrat who comes from an ancient and distinguished line of royal Indian elephants. An irritating fellow who likes bad puns, gives his words an elephantine quality, and casually rhymes. He also enjoys Puyo Puyo. Plus, he's strong. An aphant-garde aristocrat whose ground-shaking chains are as sharp as his tusks.

Schezo A silver-haired man with deep blue eyes. Schezo, the embodiment of picturesque beauty. However, he's been deemed a pervert thanks to Arle, and strives to restore his honor by challenging her.

B-E-A-U-T-Y! Perfection won't pass you by! P-R-I-N-C-E! Of the Puyo Puyo World, it's meant to be! Go now! Go forth! Show us what you're really worth!

...Well, this has turned into something rather silly..

Minotauros Risking life and limb for his duties, a bull who lives by the code of chivalry, leaving a flurry of cherry blossoms in his wake. That is Minotauros. Ever since Rulue rescued him long ago, he has served as her devoted attendant like a faithful dog. Seeing him like this brings some to tears. For Rulue, he'd go through hell and high water. He's giving it his all today, and his one-eyed look is as cool as ever.

Rulue A woman truly worthy of the title of "Fighting Queen". The queen of the Puyo Puyo world. There's nothing that she can't obtain... Oh wait, there is something — Satan's love. Possessing a very jealous nature, Rulue is always lying in wait, ready to obliterate anyone who gets close to Satan. It's rumored that her true strength is even greater than Satan's.

BATTLE STAGE 13

Satan He is the king that rules over heaven and earth. He soars the skies with wings that slice through wind. His two horns point towards the heavens. His sharp eyes are like glistening gems. Cloaked in the veil of night, his devilish hand beckons you in. He is darkness’s cherished protege. It seems playing Puyo Puyo is a guilty pleasure of his. His true strength is unknown. It's said he's won the Puyo Puyo World Championship a countless number of times. In any case, he's obviously a bigshot. Can you truly defeat Satan, who boasts of elite skills in speed and chaining?

(You can download the PDF here)

#puyo puyo #translations #tl acy #text #puyo puyo pc 98 #source florek #photo

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tamakiamajikistentacles · 3 years

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Disappearance 4: The Child {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! This was a chapter I had a lot of ideas for and was very excited about while writing!

Disappearance Masterlist

While Toga didn’t hate their associate’s teleportation quirk, she did miss Kurogiri and his warpgate. He was a much better conversationalist than the skittish bald man in the back of the antique shop above their safehouse, plus she enjoyed the dramatic flair of his quirk more. The dark swirls suited her tastes much more than the bright white glow she experienced now.

She kept a hold on the boy as she blinked away the slight dizziness from the teleportation and took in the familiar basement of the tea shop. They’d only started using this shopping center recently since it had better clothing for the kid’s size. It didn’t hurt that the shop was close enough for a quick getaway if necessary.

Scanning the area as they stepped outside, she did notice the pink and red UA heroes on patrol. The curly pink one was wildly telling a story to a small group of citizens and the spiky red one was walking towards a nearby train station. She made a mental note to alert their associates of the increased hero presence; she and the rest of the League should’ve been told about the higher risk.

She brushed the dark hair forward over her shoulders and bowed her head slightly to hide her current face. These heroes were close to Katsuki Bakugo and could recognize her easily if she wasn’t careful. Still, with a firm hold on the boy beside her, she pressed on towards the mall.

The entire time they shopped she kept a watchful eye out for the heroes but didn’t see them inside the complex. Their intel said that they did patrol around the shops throughout the day but it was possible they just weren’t coming around this part of the mall around this time. Even so, she stayed alert until they finished choosing the boy’s new clothes.

With their purchases in one hand and the kid in the other, she stepped out of the shop and headed towards the door. The afternoon shopping rush was entering and she was thankful there would be more cover as they made their way back to the tea shop. Tomura had said to keep the boy in the sun for a bit to try and see what might happen but she was going to err on the side of caution with the two heroes lurking.

Toga saw the bouncy pink one to her left as she stepped into the crosswalk and kept her head low and the kid close, watching the different shoes blur together as she walked. They were only a few meters from the tea shop, from being safe, when she felt two tugs. One on her hand from the boy as his hand was wrenched from her grip and one on her leg as her foot was held in place and she tumbled to the ground.

The bag of clothes spilled out into the street and she hit the pavement hard, scraping her hands and feeling her ankle pop awkwardly. A woman stopped to help her up but she waived her off as she looked back to see thick white tape wrapped around her foot and sticking her to the ground. She sat up and untangled herself as she looked around for the boy.

Panic was bubbling in her chest at knowing she would be in a lot of trouble with Tomura for losing him, and she turned in place as she scanned the area around her. Her ankle throbbed and the blood rushed in her ears when she didn’t see him, instead coming to lock eyes with the red-headed hero standing at the entrance to the mall.

She knew he recognized her but all she could do was run, the pain sharp as she dashed the rest of the way to the tea shop and leaving the clothing strewn in the crosswalk.

Kirishima watched the imposter flee towards the shop and Mina try to give chase through the crowd. There were more people than expected and they were lucky Sero had pulled off his part as well as he had.

From where he stood he could see Sero approaching with the small boy at his side. He’d wrapped him in the hoodie he’d been wearing for his undercover streetwear and he looked positively tiny in the sea of olive green around him.

When they got close, then knelt down to the boy’s level and smiled warmly. “Hey little guy.”

“I’m very sorry, sir, but he simply won’t speak with me,” the man said timidly. “There’s no way for me to determine if this may be a form of selective mutism or the result—”

Katsuki sighed tiredly. “He’s not responding at all?”

“Not verbally. A few times he would give me a nod or shake of the head but to properly assess him I would need more.”

He looked towards the window into the small conference room where the boy sat. He was lightly tracing square and triangle patterns on the table with his fingers instead of coloring with the art supplies the psychologist had initially brought in.

“You got more toys? Like Legos or blocks or something?”

“Yes, I do have some wooden blocks in my bag.”

He nodded towards the room. “Put them on the table closest to the seat across from him. I’m gonna see if he’ll talk to me.”

Moments later Katsuki was sat at the small table across from the little boy who still had yet to speak. Fearful eyes stared back at him for a moment before darting to the right, one hand absently scratching at his arm.

Deciding to try and ease the tension in the room he looked away from him and busied himself with building a small structure with the wooden blocks between them. He started with a haphazard Jenga-like tower, then decided to try a castle with the cone-shaped blocks as spires.

After a few minutes he felt eyes on him, and without looking up asked, “Do you want to play with these?”

From the corner of his eye he saw the dark mop of hair bob once timidly. It was progress, and he slid the blocks over to the other side of the table. When a full moment passed with the toys in front of him, he slowly took them in his hands and looked them over before starting to stack them.

He could only watch the child in wonder, completely in awe at the parts of him that were so distinctly Chiasa. Even with the grease and knots matting down his hair he could tell that it was dark brown like hers. The concentrated pout of his lips as he focused on building his tower took him back to the nights she stayed up late to finish her projects and that same expression was illuminated by her computer screen.

His heart ached in his chest knowing that this boy was the closest he’d been to her in four years but he hoped that soon he’d have them both in front of him. He could love this little boy if he was a part of her—part of him already did, he thought.

“My name’s Katsuki. Can you tell me your name?” he asked, receiving a shake of the head in answer. “I’m a hero and that means I can help you if you talk to me.”

He paused his building and ran his fingers gently over one of the green blocks, hesitating for a few seconds before whispering, “Kid.”

“Your name… is Kid?” Katsuki asked, his tone even despite his confusion and bubbling anger.

“Yes. And Boy.”

“Is that what your mom and dad call you?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “You have red eyes like him. But you don’t scratch like him.”

An ice-cold chill ran up his spine as his worst fears were confirmed with two sentences. He felt sick knowing what this meant, what she would have experienced. She would never by choice, not knowing everything that monster had put him and his classmates through for years.

“Is… is your dad’s name Shigaraki?” he asked, knowing and dreading the answer.

The boy nodded. “Spinner calls him that. Toga calls him Tomura.”

“And what does your mom call him?”

It didn’t matter what she called him, she shouldn’t even be near him.

“She’s always ‘sleep when I see her,” he replied, spinning the block in his hand. “She doesn’t talk to him.”

A picture of what this child and Chiasa had been through over the years began to form in his mind and he pushed down the overwhelming urge to vomit. Instead, he sat forward and continued to speak with the child to get as much info as he could.

The bland hallways of Tartarus always unnerved him, but this time he was too focused on the task at hand to dwell on it. He had questions that could surely be answered by the man he sought out, though his annoyance couldn’t be kept at bay when the smarmy grin slid across Dabi’s face.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen any of you UA brats other than Shoto,” he said from behind the glass separating them. “What’s the occasion?”

Katsuki walked past the chair reserved for him and stood as close as he could to the glass, all without breaking the villain’s gaze.

“Ohh, serious business then,” he teased, resting his chin in his hand.

“What was the League planning at the time you were captured?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Dabi seemed intrigued by the question. “You wanna know plans nearly five years old? Didn’t take you for the cold case type.”

“This isn’t the time for games!” he snapped. “What was Shigaraki planning?”

“That asshole was always planning different things, nothing was ever set in stone. Doubt he managed to pull any of them off considering you’re alive and so’s Shoto. Why’s it matter?”

“He’s taken hostages and we need to know everything we can. They’ve been with him too long as it is.”

Dabi’s eyes widened slightly in surprise or appreciation—he wasn’t sure which. “Shit, he really got that pretty brunette of yours?”

“Why did he want her?” Katsuki asked lowly.

“To fuck with you,” he scoffed as if it were obvious. “You helped to take away everything from him—he was just returning the favor. ‘Eye for an eye’ type shit. But since All Might bit it he couldn’t take your sensei like you took his, so he settled for your girl.”

His palms were crackling at his sides, smoke escaping from the tight curl of his fists. Every bit of information brought more questions but he was no closer to finding her than he had been. His entire being ached to scream and blast his way through the glass to wring the villain’s charred neck if for no other reason than he had known that Chiasa being taken was a possibility.

“Where would he take her?” he asked through gritted teeth.

A shrug. “Don’t know.”

“Bullshit,” he growled. “We know the League has safehouses across half a dozen prefectures. Where would he keep her?”

“You said it yourself, they’ve got a lot of safehouses. This happened after I was brought in so I wouldn’t exactly know the final verdict on where she’d be taken anyway, hero.”

“If you knew she was going to be taken you know more than just the fact she’s got brown hair. You’d have to counter her quirk and I’ll bet that needed some special fuckin’ consideration. She’d have to be kept out of sunlight or she’d be able to blow you all to hell within an hour!”

Dabi stretched his arms over his head casually. “Told you: I don’t know where she’d be. It’s been like five years.”

“And she’s been there for over four of them!” he shouted, banging his fist against the glass violently enough to make the villain jump. “I always knew you pieces of shit were low but what Shigaraki’s done to her over all this time? Keeping her captive? Fuckin’ forcing himself on her? Making her have his kid? Is that what the League does now? I never supported your fucking cause but at least you had some lines you wouldn’t cross back then. You fucking—”

“His kid?” Dabi said with a sneer. “That dusty little virgin wouldn’t know where to stick it if a girl had a neon sign pointing to her pussy.”

“Then why do I have a kid sitting at my agency with greasy hair and red eyes that can’t stop scratching at his skin and says his dad’s name is Shigaraki?”

“I wasn’t there to—”

“But this little boy was!” Katsuki snapped. “He’s been there all his life and he doesn’t even have a name; your merry band of assholes just called him Kid or Boy. You may hate being Touya Todoroki but at least you have a fucking name.”

Dabi bared his teeth at the mention of his birth name.

“I don’t even think this child has meet his own mother,” he continued, jaw set. “When I asked him about her he told me that every time he’s ever seen her she’s asleep. He has nothing. No name, no quirk, no hope. And no mother, all because of the League.”

He fixed Dabi with a hard stare, the villain now shifting uncomfortably as he thumbed a staple on his wrist. The silence stretched between them for a moment, and then two, and soon almost ten minutes had passed.

Until a single word was given in a quiet grunt.

“Nagoya.”

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!

Disappearance Masterlist

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bltngames · 4 years

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SAGE 2020: Indie Games

SAGE may closed more than a day ago, but thankfully, the website remains up for those who still want to download its games. So even though this article is technically very late, nothing listed here is out of date. The event may be over, but the games live on! Which is honestly a relief, because I think doing ten games per article is taking its toll on me. Normally, when I’d write for TSSZ, I’d do somewhere in the realm of 5-7 games per article, and even that would eventually burn me out. After writing about 20 games this year, I was clearly starting to feel like I was running out of steam. Oh well. We live and learn. Here’s another ten games!

There’s one more article left after this, a sort of “honorable mentions” round-up that will feature much shorter blurbs as I blow through way more games way faster. If I didn’t talk about your game here in these three articles, now’s your chance to let me know so I can say something about it in the final article.

Anyway, onwards to our ten indie games.

Victory Heat Rally

I’m all for any game channeling the spirit of Sega’s old SuperScaler arcade technology, and Victory Heat Rally is all about that. Everything about this game seems so MY AESTHETIC that my only complaint is that I’m hungry for more. A lot more. This demo is a simple time trial on one race track and I’m itching to sink my teeth into literally anything else this game has to offer. There is an older demo from back in April with more content, but it’s running on a different version of the code base -- this newest demo is significantly improved both in terms of visuals and control. I really don’t have anything else to say about it. There’s not much here, but what’s here is charmingly retro in the style of Sega’s Power Drift, but cuter and even more colorful.

Sondro Gomez: A Sunova Story

I had been interested to revisit Sondro Gomez after playing the first demo last year, but I don’t know if I just wasn’t in the right mood for it this year or what, but I kind of bounced off the game this time. To my memory, Sondro Gomez is a kinda-sorta side game in the Kyle & Lucy universe. You may remember Kyle & Lucy as one of a growing number of games coming out of the Sonic fan gaming community trying to break out as an original title. A while ago, the developers announced a partnership with Stealth to use the Headcannon engine to make the game with, something that extended to Sondro Gomez here. The problem is, it feels kind of weird now, and I can’t quite put my finger on why. I think it’s the little stuff -- you don’t get a lot of positive feedback when attacking using your whip (the sound is a bit quiet), and the difficulty balancing errs on the side of caution. I died a couple times in my time playing this newest demo, but I wouldn’t characterize Sondro Gomez as a game that feels challenging. Some of that probably has to do with the fact this is still just a demo, which means you spend a long time fighting the same four enemy types in every single level. There’s a lot of charm to the story and the characters it involves, but that only takes you so far when it feels like you’re doing the same things over and over in the actual levels, you know? Either way, the touched up visuals and the new boss fights are welcome. Interested in seeing what the full release looks like next year.

Delta Gal

In retrospect, a Mega Man Legends fan game seems like a no-brainer, doesn’t it? Where Delta Gal has a leg up is in controls. Even considering the era Mega Man Legends was released in, it had very awkward controls. Delta Gal’s response is to embrace standard third person action game controls with a mouse and a keyboard. Now, there is controller support, but even once you get it set up, you have button layout presets like “Bad” and “Almost Good.” Honestly, if you can, just play it with a keyboard and mouse. The demo offers about 30-40 minutes of gameplay, with a bit of the town, a forest section, a cave, and one whole dungeon. Visuals nail the best parts of the Mega Man Legends low-fi aesthetic, colors are vibrant, and the pixel art textures look very good. The town is full of characters with lots of personality, too. A particular favorite being the guy who runs the junkyard who likes to show off by flexing his muscles but then ultimately chickens out when it comes to exploring the cave he discovers. The only downside I’d say is the sound design. The game sounds okay, but some of the music is a little bland, and certain sound effects lack the right kind of punch. Granted, this style of sound design isn’t easy, so I can empathize with the developers in that respect. Honestly, it doesn’t really detract from anything at all, so maybe it’s not even worth bringing up. Either way, good stuff, and I’m looking forward to the full release.

Bun n’ Gun

Here’s a cute little game about a bunny in the old west. I’m absolutely in love with the visuals and the music here, but the gameplay is… interesting. Bun isn’t a typical shooter or platformer, thanks to the fact that he appears to only have one arm, which is occupied by his gun. Now you wouldn’t think this would matter, as it’s pretty easy to design a game around only having to jump and shoot, and that’s fair enough. But there’s a strange heft to this character. It takes them a little bit to pick up speed, and it takes them a bit to slow down, and there’s an unmistakable, split-second delay between pushing the jump button and actually jumping. I know enough about this kind of game development that a delay between pushing a button and actually jumping has to be a deliberate design decision, and I split on whether or not I like it. I don’t think I hate it, because it’s pretty easy to get used to the way it feels, but it does mean you’re working with a handicap when it comes to split-second movements. Given the bunny seems to only have one arm, though, perhaps that’s the point. Either way, it’s cute. Give it a look.

Shield Cat

I feel like I’ve been over-using the word “charming” to describe games at SAGE this year, but you know what? Shield Cat is charming as heck. People also tend to think it’s reductive to describe things by comparing them to something that already exists, but I say nuts to that, too. Saying “It’s like…” is an easy shorthand, and besides, if somebody is saying your project is like one of their favorite games, it just means they’re giving you praise and might lack the words to accurately describe that praise. Thing is, that’s actually kind of hard to do with Shield Cat. The nearest relative to this game would be The Legend of Zelda, but Shield Cat honestly plays very little like Zelda, beyond having a top-down perspective. Secret of Mana, maybe, with the stamina meters? I don’t know. Regardless, this is a charming (!!!) top down action game where you roam around exploring an overworld and solve light puzzles. It controls well and the aesthetics are nice. Can’t really get much better than that, though I do have to wonder what it is you’re supposed to be doing in this game. It took me about 30 minutes to see everything available in this demo, but there’s no story setup and only the smallest pieces of what could be considered a dungeon. What’s on offer here is interesting enough that I find myself wanting to know more about this world. For example, it’s called Shield Cat, but clearly you’re some kind of ferret. What’s that about? Guess we’ll have to wait and see.

Prototype N

I’ve sat here staring into the void wondering what to write about for this game for a long time, because it’s one of those demos that’s just… a solid and fun game that nails exactly what it’s going for. I would say that Prototype N leans a little too far towards the easy side of things, but the third level provided in the demo ramps the challenge up enough to be just about perfect. And, really, that’s it. That’s the game. You get two softer introductory levels to get you acclimated to the controls (which are similar to Mega Man, but different enough not to be a direct clone) and one “real” level to actually give you a bit of a work out. There’s nothing else to really say. This has the vibe of a 1993 or 1994 Capcom game, or maybe something from Data East. Every single part of this game’s presentation is laser-focused on that aesthetic, and it pulls it off flawlessly. Sound design, music, visuals, it’s a bullseye. This game fell out of a time machine in the best way possible. Definitely give it a look.

Yan’s World

From a game that nails the SNES aesthetic to this, a game which pays tribute to the Virtual Boy… but not really? I actually became aware of Yan’s World many years ago through a mutual Discord, and it always looked interesting, but simultaneously a little confusing, something that still mostly holds true to this day. Per the game’s own Kickstarter sales pitch, Yan’s World is “stylized as a lost title for Nintendo's Virtual Boy.” I can get down with that, but the game almost instantly breaks its own rule because Yan’s primary method of attack is to shoot a missile from his head that can only be aimed using the mouse. As such, Yan’s World doesn’t have controller support, even though one of the stretch goals currently listed on their Kickstarter page is to make a version that can be played on real Virtual Boy hardware. And, honestly, what’s the deal with this game’s whole… everything else? Why is this kid an onion? Why are the platforms made out of clocks? Why does all of Yan’s dialog make him seem like he’s sort of pissed off when he’s got such a big happy smile? There’s a bit of a hand-wave to suggest the entire game takes place inside of a dream, and for once that actually means throwing logic out the window, I guess. Oh, the missile is a pillow? Fine, whatever. Use it to blast this demonic apple, and then threaten to kill an innocent NPC. It’s a dream! Despite how little sense that makes, it… kind of works? The sprites are big and lovely, the game controls well, and the level design is plenty creative. I can’t fault the game for that, it’s just trying to figure out everything wrapped around the game that feels so bizarre.

Cosmic Boll

I don’t know if I really understand what’s going on in Cosmic Boll, but I love to play it just the same. This plays like if Treasure made Dragon Ball Advance Adventure while strung out on cocaine. The end result is pure hyperactive chaos. There is a whole complicated combat system at play here, and a very lengthy in-depth tutorial when you first start the game, but you can figure out a lot of it by just skipping the tutorial and playing the game for real. You can get by pretty easily by just mashing buttons and seeing what happens, and that’s not a complaint, because a lot happens in this game. Like, constantly. It never stops, it never really slows down. You’re always zipping around, spinning and flipping and punching soldiers, explosions everywhere, collectibles everywhere, just utter madness. It’s Sonic the Hedgehog plus Devil May Cry plus Gunstar Heroes and all of it is mixed up in ways you probably don’t expect. All of this is to say that Cosmic Boll is messy and cool and fun and you should probably play it.

Brock Crocodile

This is a game I’ve seen a lot of around social media, and it’s nice to finally be able to try it. Weirdly enough, this is the first game all SAGE that has flat out refused to see my controller. For the last few years at SAGE, I’ve been using a Playstation DualShock 4, which typically causes me all kinds of headaches with games expecting an Xbox controller. This year, I’ve been using an 8bitdo SN30+. These things are designed primarily to be used on the Switch, but using a controller macro, you can change it to Xbox or Playstation modes. The “Xbox” mode has served me well so far, but Brock here fails to let me use the controller at all. Fortunately, with only three buttons, Brock manages to be mostly playable on a keyboard. That being said, a lot of this game feels a little bit off. The camera is kind of swimmy, as it's almost constantly in motion trying to get a better angle on what's around you. Brock himself doesn't have a smooth acceleration curve either -- it's more like shifting gears in a car, where you reach one top speed and then click up into the next highest speed. That can work, but Brock changes gears much too quickly and without much feedback, making it look like one jerky acceleration curve instead of two. And then there’s the visuals. Level art looks great, character portraits look great, but I’ve never been the biggest fan of the sprites I’ve seen in this game. Take Brock himself, for example: he’s got insanely thick thighs for some reason but the rest of his body looks thin and wispy, and he stands with kind of weird posture. The good news is, despite these complaints, Brock Crocodile is actually really fun to play. You eventually get used to the game’s control quirks, and the level design and included boss fight are excellent, striking that perfect balance where they aren’t too easy but don’t feel unfairly difficult, either. Plus, even though the cutscenes aren’t skippable (annoying as I was dealing with controller issues), the writing is snappy and the dialog is funny. It may not be perfect, but there’s still a lot to like here.

Marble Launcher

Here’s one of those games where you can tell the creator is just starting out making games. And that’s great! These sorts of endlessly complex, winding mazes are exactly the kind of levels I started making when I first got into game development when I was 16 or 17 years old. One could spend hours searching every nook and cranny in these levels, which is simultaneously awesome and exhausting. Thankfully, near as I can tell, nothing FORCES you to go exploring, so if you’d rather just finish the game, it’s easy enough to head straight for the goal. Gameplay is extremely simple, otherwise. You’re a marble, you can attack enemies by bouncing off of their heads, and you have a slam move. That’s it. You might think that with this being a marble game, you’d get real rolling ball physics, but all you get is simple platformer controls. They’re good enough, especially considering how esoteric the shape of the levels can get, but it’s hard not to be a little disappointed. Still, it’s not a bad little game for what it is. Controls a bit better than some of my earliest attempts at game development, too.

Thirty games total! That’s a lot of games to talk about. And there’s still more to come, so stay tuned for that.

#sage #sonic amateur games expo #writing #review slew #indie games #victory heat rally #sondro gomez #delta gal #bun n' gun #shield cat #prototype n #yan's world #cosmic boll #brock crocodile #marble launcher

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luna-waning · 4 years

Note

help how to make coffee that doesn't taste like shit

I'm here to help! I don't know the limitations of your situation, so I'll give you a few options. but it took years for me to even try to like coffee and even then it was because I was working 3am at a coffee shop and needed it to survive xD

So I'm your girl!

First: The Coffee.

If you currently hate the taste of coffee this won't help a TON just yet, but different coffee has different taste and now that I've gotten into coffee I've changed the brand I use on several occasions as I find better coffee. To start I suggest Cafe Bustelo. They have the classic yellow bag but they also have one in in a black bag thats even better and they have a instant espresso that tastes like strait cereal milk when its sweeted (but is significantly more expensive). My point is, if you can't get into one-maybe try another, there are differences

I recently tried dunkin donuts coffee and was deeply disappointed.

Second: The Amount.

Idk if you're making you're coffee at home, but let's assume you are.

This is a trial an error thing. I got hooked on espresso at my last job so when I started making it at home it was significantly weaker so I would add a TON of coffee in my friend found it undrinkable. but I chilled out on that and she was excited I got different coffee. I didn't, I just started using 3 scoops instead of 5.

If you are using a stovetop percolator DO NOT FILL THE COFFEE BIT TO THE TOP. About a table spoon will do. You only have to make the mistake once, and I'm sparing you.

In my regular coffee maker I put about 3 large tsp to whatever the 6 marker of water means xD

If even after sweetening, etc, it's too bitter, play with how much coffee to how much water, maybe its too much coffee for you making it too bitter.

Third: Sweetner

If you think coffee tastes trash: this is a must!

Mix them in before any kind of cream so they desolve well in the heat

Sugar-Sugar is the most basic and accessible sweetner and I find a good cup of coffee needs about 2 tablespoons of sugar mixed in to be palatable to my tastes. You can start at less than this and you can always add more!

Saccarin/sweet n low/pink packet - This is my personal favorite. It gets some flack but todayifound out did a great video on why that's nonsense. Your body doesn't metabolise it and so it's 0cal. It's also much sweeter. So where I might need 5 sugar packets, I only need 1 pink packet.

I haven't played much with other sweetners as I don't care for the taste, but they all tend to be sweeter than sugar, so err on the side of caution when adding.

Find the right sweetner for you♡

Fourth: Cream

Creamers are magic and you can get actual creamers which come in a whole isle of flavors to try, or just use whatever milk at home, or if you're a psycopath like me, use none :D

If your concern is calories Walden Farms exists with their 0cal miracles. I haven't tried them but I'm not sure how you fuck up a creamer xD

Babys first coffee:

I strongly suggest for your first coffee you make a type of Cafe Con Leche. This is how I was taught to make it and this is the first drink where I was like "wait... coffee can be..... GOOD actually!?"

Just for this one experience, leave calorie concerns at the door. For this one time, for future coffee enjoyment. I feel it's important to understand that coffee CAN be enjoyable, before you start experimenting. Because if all your experiences are experimenting you might give up on coffee all together and I'm guess you don't want that-given your question.

Pour about 3/4 of the cup with coffee.

Put an obscene amount of sugar in it I wanna say at least 4 tablespoons. Make sure you use 2 spoons, one to scoop and one to stir. You basically wanna take a sip and be like "is this... palatable!?!" if you're like "eh, I guess I could tolerate this" it probably needs more sugar.

Fill the other 1/4 with milk.

Once you've had a good experience with coffee you can kind of, work backwards to the coffee thats right for you and your lifestyle.

Play with how much creamer you like, some people like just a spash, and some like half the cup. Play with how strong you like your coffee. did it taste kinda weird and water? Add another scoop. Did it feel like nothing you did removed the bitterness? Use less coffee. If that doesn't work, try different coffee. Decide you like it but its too hot? Freeze some left over coffee in an ice cube tray so you don't water your coffee down.

I drink mine with one sweet and low pack. But I started pretty sweet and slowly lessened the cream and cut down/changed sweetner.

I hope this helps! Good luck!

#personal #coffee advice

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thesilverdragoon · 4 years

Text

The Crystalline Mean

Previous: The Musica Universalis

Next: An Iron Grip

Wandering around for a short while around the marketplace eventually led him to the so called Spagyrics. More specifically, one of the citizens noticed him limping down the walkway, and suggested he visit the place (and even offered to walk him over there, though he declined.)

The outside of the facility looked about as plain as everything else within the Crystarium. That is to say, extremely elaborate and ornate in terms of architectural style. Or perhaps that was just the doorway. Vesevont had never been to any sort of hospital or apothecary that looked as… clean? as this place did.

Letting out a small sigh, he inhaled sharply afterwards and continued on inside, muttering to the worm. “Stay quiet.” Puffy wriggled in his chest, causing him to scrunch his face up.

Immediately an old elezen woman with gray sideswept hair and big round glasses looked up from her writing desk in the corner, standing as he came inside and moving towards him to help. “Well, here’s a new face!” She sounded pleasant, almost like a grandparent might have. “You can sit over here.”

Ves tried to wave her away, but found he actually needed the help as another pain shot through his spine. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and blinked away the small tears in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you- I… I think I pulled a muscle-” “That’ll get them every time. Always happens at precisely the wrong times. Running from an eater, squatting down at the-” “Not in my legs-” The Ishgardian sat down slowly, biting back a groan as took the weight off his feet. “My arm and my back- it shoots downwards is all-” “I see, give me a moment will you? Hanameen?? I need to fill out the log book, take this one will you??” The old woman called out, leaving Ves at the bedside as she returned to her desk. She didn’t sit down, and instead rotated her book around so that she could continue writing in it. “Name??”

Not long after came another elezen woman, much younger and with long, wavy light-brown hair and a very freckled face. “Coming, coming- Oh! Hello there!” She smiled at him. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Ves immediately felt his face grow hot, and stuffed it down as quickly as he could. “I’m uh-” “Name sir!” The old woman snapped her fingers to get Ves’ attention (which only made him even more flustered.)

“V-Vesevont, ma’am.”

“Vesevont. Sounds foreign. But if that’s your name it’s your name.”

The one named Hanameen rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t mind her, Miss Chessamile’s a fiesty one, even in her old age. It keeps things interesting around here I’d say.” She glanced over her shoulder and grinned.

Chessamile let out a short ‘hah’ at that, but smiled nonetheless. “Yes, yes I’m the babysitter, putting bandages and salves on every wound you could possibly imagine! And everyone’s better off for it aren’t they?”

“They sure are.

So then! What’s wrong? You look all right to me, no eyes missing, no guts spilling out the front, no blood?”

Ves swallowed again, his mouth feeling drier by the second. “I uh…”

“Well don’t be bashful about it! Says he pulled a muscle!” Chessamile said aloud from her desk.

The Ishgardian wanted to suck his neck into his torso to hide. His face at least.

“Pulled a muscle?” Hanameen repeated, tilting her head.

“Well I mean- I don’t really know-” Ves paused. “It’s my arm actually- I think I need a mechanic more than I need a chiurgeon-” “A chiurgeon? I wouldn’t exactly call myself that, but let’s have a looksee.” Hanameen pulled up a stool and sat beside the edge of the bed as Ves held his prosthetic out.

She took it, turning it over a few times as she gauged his reaction. “My, what a fancy looking thing this is. Are you from Eulmore?” She asked, slowly moving the arm up and down. Ves’ breath hitched, so she stopped. “I don’t remember. People have been asking me that all day long- the Exarch had me brought here from the woods outside the gates, he said-” “The Exarch??” Immediately the memory of the morning she’d seen the Exarch walking across the plaza from his tower came back as clear as day. “The Exarch ventures from the tower on a semi-regular basis- but to see him in such a hurry to be somewhere was quite odd. I remember it!

Are you a friend of his?”

“I uh-” Ves’ head went blank.

“Hanameen,” Chessamile shot a warning glance.

“Oh don’t mind it, I’m just curious is all!” The knight looked back and forth between the two woman, confused. “Uh? Why th-” “It’s an unspoken rule around the city, but seeing as you’re not from here apparently... We aren’t to question the Exarch’s personal business or relations. Out of respect mainly. While being a mysterious figure himself, the man’s done everything in our best interest here, and protected us for so long.” Chessamile explained. “It would be unwise to accidentally invoke bad luck or some sort of curse for prying. Not that that would actually happen but, you never know.”

Hanameen chuckled. “Chessamile errs on the side of caution. And for good reason. As you can probably plainly see.”

Ves tried to smile but it looked lopsided and funny. His nerves were getting to him. “Ahah…”

Puffy writhed painfully in his chest again, causing him to suddenly shudder and bend forward a bit more.

Hanameen leaned back slightly but placed her hand flat on his chest to catch him, “Are you all right???” “N-...Y-yes...” “You’re sweating.”

“A-am I-” He was.

The woman stared at him with a fair amount of concern, before going back to his prosthetic. “...If you say so…

Well… have you tried taking this off?? Perhaps the arm’s pulling on something and causing you discomfort. It might be broken. I’m no mechanic, as you so graciously pointed out earlier, but I’m sure Katliss upstairs could find someone or something for you in the meantime.”

The idea seemed so obvious. Why didn’t he think of that?”

Vesevont hummed, unsure as he reached across with his normal arm to disconnect the prosthetic. There was a sudden jolt of electricity (or so he assumed) and then a hiss as the piece detached from the port installed onto his shoulder. He set it down carefully on the bed beside him, breathing a sigh of relief.

“How about now?”

“I don’t really notice anything different.”

“Walk around for me a moment.” Hanameen instructed, standing up and moving the stool out of the way with her foot.

Ves stood up slowly, looking down at his legs as he took a few experimental steps forward.

His knees didn’t shudder, and his footfalls felt all right. His back wasn’t killing him near as much.

“Any better?”

“Yes- it has to be the arm- I probably damaged it while I was out in the woods...” He sighed, looking back towards it in dismay. “The only thing I’m worried for now is that I’ve no money to pay for repairs...”

Hanameen put a hand to her chin in thought. “I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet. We may be able to find someone to take pity on you and do it for a reduced price, or for free. You’ll have to hash out the details.

Do you know where to find the Crystalline Mean?”

Ves scratched at his face with a finger, “I’m afraid not.”

“Here, I’ll walk you there then. It’s just upstairs, and the stairs, lucky us, are right next to the Spagyrics. It’ll take only a minute.”

“Only a minute!” Chessamile repeated. “Famous last words.”

Hanameen ignored her and moved over towards the doorway to wait, with Ves trailing behind her like some pitiful looking stray. “We’ll be back!” She called out, before leading him away.

As they turned left to walk towards the iron stairwell leading upwards, Ves looked back several times. “...You were right, she’s a spitfire.”

“I told you! She can take care of herself, certainly.

So what happened in the woods?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, before the Exarch came out to meet you.”

“OH- oh-” At that point Ves was hardly sure if he should share or not.

...It would probably be all right.

“Well- I was stumbling down the path, completely lost, when I ran into one of the Crystarium’s patrol groups- the ones with the blue scarves?” “Those are the Lakeland guards. They’re stationed outside at Fort Jobb and watch the roads. My two sons’ father is with their unit.”

“Oh?” Ves’ ears perked up. “Oh- I see.

Anyhow, I had run into them and ...Captain Lyna?? The viera??” Hanameen raised a brow and paused at the top of the first set of stairs. “The what??”

“...The viera?” “What’s that?”

Ves stood still, mid-step. “...You know… the ears?” He raised his hand and motioned above his head.

“You mean Viis?”

“I thought her name was Lyna-” “No, no, Captain Lyna is a Viis. You know, with the,” Hanameen mimicked his motion with both her hands above her own head.

“...OH- oh-” “Viera… what a strange word. Do you have words for the others as well?”

“I mean- maybe??” Ves huffed. The stairs just kept on going.

“Well- what are we called then?” Hanameen asked, continuing on.

“Elezen.”

She laughed in disbelief. “Elezen?? Now I’m really curious as to where you’re from.”

“Well what are we called then? Here??” “Elves.” “...Elves? And you think elezen is ridiculous?”

“A little bit!”

By the time they had reached the top of the final stairwell, Ves was out of breath. Though he’d at least learned several new words by then.

Hanameen seemed perfectly fine. “Goodness, look at you. Do they have stairs where you’re from I wonder?” Ves’ brows furrowed once he caught his breath. “It’s been a very long several days, I’ll have you know. I have no idea where I am, or how I even got here. I think I’ve a right to be tired after three entire stairwells.” He hadn’t gone up that many stairs in a while, truthfully. But he wasn’t about to admit that.

Not to mention, carrying the prosthetic only added to everything, as it was a bit on the heavy side (and this was the lighter model, Mei had said...)

“Don’t remember, and why is that?” Hanameen asked, hands at her hips.

“Pixies.”

“Pixies? You came from Il Mheg?”

“I think so… I just woke up in a field of flowers and managed to find my way to the forest outside the city.”

“Well that explains it. They’re tricksy little things, pixies. You’d do well to stay away from there in the future, lest you be forgetting everything you’ve just learned today!

Anyway, here we are, you see that terrace over there?” Hanameen walked a few paces away from the stairs and pointed straight ahead. “That’s the Crystalline Mean. Many of the city’s crafters gather here and set up shop, if you will.”

Ves frowned as he raised his brows, scanning the area jam packed with said craftsman and all their...crafts. And things. There were entire stations set up and dedicated to every sort of thing he could possibly imagine. Where would he even start?

“...Overwhelming isn’t it?”

“...Yes.” Hanameen sighed through her nose, “Come on. I’ll introduce you.

...Come on!!”

Ves shook himself out of whatever intimidated trance he’d fallen into and quickly went after her.

“Katliss!!” The woman raised an arm in greeting as they approached another elezen- or elf woman in a leather tunic and a hat with goggles standing at a wooden counter.

“Hanameen! ...You never come up here. What do you need?” Katliss asked, sizing up Vesevont from her spot. “Newcomer?”

“Yes, his prosthetic is damaged. He came in complaining about muscular pain, but I think we figured out that it was his arm causing that.”

Katliss sighed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head slightly. “That’ll do it. Can’t say I’ve seen any prosthetics of that make before. That’s quite a fancy piece of equipment you’ve got there.” Not to mention his coat. “Eulmoran?” “I don’t know.” Ves answered flatly.

“Pixies got to him.” Katliss cringed and sucked her teeth. “Ooh. That’s a shame. Well, I can find someone to look at it for you if you’ll give me a moment. From that slack-jawed look on your face I take it you don’t have a method of payment either huh?”

Ves’ ears turned bright red again. “...No. I don’t.” The woman laughed. “We’ll figure it out. Come on then! I’ll take him off your hands Hana.”

Hanameen smiled, “Thanks.

Well it was nice meeting you Vesevont! Try not to pull anything else while you’re here.”

Ves sputtered and squinted at her as Katliss took the prosthetic from him. Hanameen waved at him several times before leaving back to the stairs.

The knight let out a low ‘hmmm’ as they moved further into the terrace in search of a mechanic.

“Are those that work in the Spagyrics normally that… well not standoffish but-” “Sarcastic? A bite to their humor? Absolutely. With how many people come in day in and day out, dying or otherwise, I’d imagine you’d have to be in order to keep your head intact.”

“Mm...” That much he could understand.

#dovah writing #this was going to be even longer but i decided to chop it off at 7 pages #everyone thinks hes eulmoran ves is just yelling

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imaginebnhavillains · 6 years

Note

Hello, i was wondering if i could request a AU reader insert for hanahaki AU,bnha,with toshinori yagi or spinner or shigaraki (which ever one inspires you more), a fem reader who's the one experiencing the diesease? Thank you in advance. Have a nice day!

ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME THE EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS

I chose Shigaraki as the character for this because I mean… I am Admin Shigaraki for a reason, after all. But also… If you guys remember from a while back, I wrote the reverse of this situation and it ended in a tragedy… well, this time I wanted to give you guys something a little different :’^) FYI, writing even one remotely fluffy sentence related to Shigaraki can be ridiculously difficult.

For a fun little easter egg, look up gardenias in hanakotoba!

ALSO I have to put most of it under a cut bc this ended up being WAY too long… you inspired me, anon

and i also wrote w/ gender neutral pronouns bc i want everybody to be able to relate to the story :’^) i hope you don’t mind!

i hope you like it!!

-Admin Shigaraki

It started when you were alone in your room researching your next job. A faint tickling sensation began to manifest in the back of your throat. At first you ignored it, focusing on the screen despite the distracting flutter in your windpipe. It’s probably just allergies, you told yourself.

However, the ticklish feeling in your throat wasn’t the only thing distracting you from your work. It was with a certain sense of irony that you continually found yourself sidetracked by thoughts about the League of Villains’ leader, Shigaraki Tomura—the person who would be most frustrated by your failure to finish your job. Focus, (y/n), focus! You gritted your teeth, growing irritated at your lack of concentration. I have to finish this, or else Shigaraki will strangle me!

Staring intently at the monitor, you began aggressively pursuing every possible lead on the man you’d been told to track down. He was once a mere petty thief, but had grown to commit more and more intricate and sophisticated crimes and had garnered a bit of a following. Shigaraki had become interested in the man’s accomplishments, but not in the sense of seeking a potential alliance—rather, he was disturbed by the man’s growing prominence in the underworld and wished to see him taken out as quickly as possible. Knowing your Quirk was best suited to assassination, Shigaraki assigned you to the mission. “You have one month to take him out,” he’d told you. “I don’t want to see your face again until you do.”

Hours ticked by and you continued to check and recheck information on your target. All the while, the tickling in your throat amplified. It grew to an itchy sensation, and then ballooned into mild pain as you started to cough. “Don’t tell me I’m getting a cold right now,” you grumbled hoarsely, clearing your throat and continuing to scour the internet.

You were forced to suspend the search as the itchiness and pain refused to stop. Frustrated, you trudged to the bathroom and began shuffling through your medicine cabinets in search of a cough suppressant. “This should do,” you muttered, pouring out a dose of the medicine and quickly drinking it. “Now I’ll be able to focus.”

Two hours later, you concluded your search. You had to take a break—the throat pain had grown exponentially since taking the medicine, much to your distaste. What on earth is wrong with me? You wondered grouchily, plopping down on the couch and turning on the TV. As the news played clips of a recent hero-versus-villain clash on the screen, you were suddenly seized by an uncontrollable coughing fit.

Spasms began to rack your body as the coughing became volatile and impossible to halt. What’s happening to me?! You coughed, bringing a hand up to your mouth. The coughing continued. Why won’t it stop?! You were wheezing, gasping and choking, all while searing pain filled your windpipes. I can’t breathe…! Panic blossomed in your chest as a particularly violent cough splattered something warm and sticky against the palm of your hand. Directly after that, a final cough caused the fit to end. Only when you removed your hand from your mouth did you realize something flimsy and wet was stuck to your palm along with the saliva and blood you’d hacked up.

What is that? You slowly plucked the object from your palm, and only when you cautiously wiped the blood away with your thumb did you recognize that it was a white flower petal—likely a gardenia. “H-huh—?!” you choked, shocking yourself with the awful sound of your broken voice. “How did that get stuck in my throat?!”

You winced in pain, regretting your choice to speak aloud. The pain from before had grown to unprecedented severity, undoubtedly because you’d coughed up a sizable flower petal. Knowing this was something you had to figure out immediately, you forced yourself to return to the computer and searched for incidents of people inexplicably coughing up flower petals.

Before long, you uncovered an article discussing a disease known as hanahaki. “Oh?” you murmured, flinching yet again at the sting in your windpipe. You skimmed the short article in order to learn more about the condition.

Hanahaki disease is an exceptionally rare condition that causes the victim to develop a living, flowering plant in the lungs. The flowers of the plant are frequently sucked into the windpipes during exhalation, causing excruciating pain, uncontrollable coughing fits, and occasional choking or death. The real danger of hanahaki, however, stems from the continual growth of the plant within the lungs, which gradually reduces the host’s ability to breathe. After one to two months, a host is generally left unable to function and will eventually either suffer pierced lungs or suffocation as the plant outgrows the lung it inhabits. The only cure for the disease is complete surgical removal of the plant from the lungs. However, symptoms can be temporarily lessened through the use of a specialized medication.

While the cause of hanahaki is unconfirmed due to an inability to reliably diagnose a medical reason, it is anecdotally stated to stem from unrequited love. In fact, of the three confirmed cases in modern times, all three victims assured doctors that they were in love with somebody who did not feel the same. When the plants were removed from two of these individuals, they recalled no longer feeling anything for their former love. The third victim ended up mysteriously resolving their symptoms around the time that they entered a relationship.

It was from a shady source, yet you still found yourself unable to ignore the haunting similarities between the described symptoms and your own case. Thus, in order to continue with your mission, you quickly ordered the medicine and continued to plan your assassination of the rival villain. You couldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your work for the League.

—————

At long last, the day had come. You were ready to take out the villain, and there was still a week left until the end of the month—you were comfortably ahead of schedule. Everything was perfectly planned, and the only problem that still stood in your path was the lessening effectiveness of the medicine for your hanahaki. Now more than ever before, you found stray petals occasionally making their way up your windpipe, causing you tremendous pain each time.

I’ll be fine, you thought to yourself as you made your way out the door. This mission is planned perfectly; there’s absolutely no chance that I’ll fail!

Yet you decided to err on the side of caution, so you’d left a message for Dabi and Himiko asking them to stop by your place that evening. You told them that if you weren’t home, chances are that you’d been captured or killed by the enemy, and proceeded to provide the address of the villain’s hideout in case someone else had to come take the man down. Hopefully at least one of them would check to see if you were alright.

As you approached your target’s location, you tensed up, ready to react to any sign of movement. A few twists and turns through alleyways led you to the warehouse you knew the fledgling organization inhabited, and you wasted no time sneaking inside. Once you took up your position near the ringleader and his group of followers, you were horrified to feel an itchy sensation gradually building up in the back of your throat.

No. No. Not now! Any time but now! You frantically thought. As you crouched just out of sight, you found yourself suppressing the powerful urge to cough. Just one sound could be enough to thwart your entire plan end get you killed, and as you continued to hold back the coughing with all your might, you were completely unaware of the man headed in your direction.

The ringleader himself could not sense your presence—however, you had neglected to look into some of his henchmen’s Quirks, and that left you vulnerable to the man who now approached you. He was a man whose Quirk allowed him to sense anxiety, and the sudden spike from behind the stack of crates which sheltered you from view was enough to arouse his suspicions.

Just as you turned to flee, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hide your illness for the entirety of the mission, a hefty blow to your back knocked you flat on your stomach. A large, heavy boot slammed itself down on your back, and you heard a deep voice call, “Hey boss, I think there’s somebody here lookin’ for you. Seems like an assassin.”

The weight from the man’s strike was enough to force a coughing fit onto you. Choking and wheezing, you spewed a mouthful of blood and gardenia petals onto the dark gray concrete in front of you. Just as the villain boss and his other followers approached you, the combination of pain, anxiety, and your disease caused you to slip into unconsciousness.

—————

“What do you mean?” Shigaraki gruffly asked, glancing at Himiko and Dabi with an unamused expression. “There’s no way (y/n) was captured. They’re perfect for that job. You must be mistaken.”

“Doesn’t seem that way. We even waited for another hour to see if they were just late, but it seems they really got caught. Not a sign of them anywhere.” Dabi leaned against the wall and watched Shigaraki with piercing blue eyes.

The League of Villains boss was clearly disturbed by the possibility of (y/n)’s capture. For what seemed like the first time in a while, he started to claw at his neck, letting out a distressed sigh in the process. To Dabi and Himiko’s alarm, the man clenched his other fist around a nearby glass and rapidly decayed it, sending water and ice flying across the countertop. “Well then, it looks like we all have to go get them back and kill that bastard. Call the others up—we’re going to finish this tonight.”

“Alright, alright,” Dabi waved a dismissive hand at Shigaraki and pulled out his phone. “Let me call them.”

—————

When you awoke, your arms and legs were strapped to a chair and your body was restrained with ropes. Your assassination target sat a mere yard away from you, chuckling as you vainly struggled against the restraints. “At least you gave it your all,” he said calmly, a smile slowly creeping across his face. “Now… why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“N-never—“ you choked up before you could finish what you were planning to say. As the coughing fit seized full control, the man before you stood up and walked closer.

He raised a hand and brought it down harshly against your cheek, causing a loud smack to echo throughout the dark warehouse. “Stop coughing and answer me!” he shouted angrily.

You couldn’t stop coughing, though. Tears welled up in your eyes as you regurgitated a mouthful of petals onto your lap, spilling blood down the front of your shirt and chin. Your medication was wearing off, and you knew the fits would only get worse from there. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t stop…” you wheezed as you felt another few petals rise up your throat. “I need medicine—“

Another fit overcame you before you knew it, causing your adversary to grow even more impatient. Just as he lifted his hand to slap you again, you were stunned to see an explosion of blue flames erupt from the doorway, taking out several of the rival villain’s guards. “Wh-what?!” he gasped, whirling around. “Who the hell are you guys?!”

Shigaraki, approaching at the head of his band of villains, spoke in an ominous tone. “We’re the League of Villains, and we’re here to take (y/n) back and send you to hell.”

At the sound of Shigaraki’s familiar voice, a wave of mixed emotions crashed over you. You were unbelievably happy to know he’d come to finish the job and ensure your safety, yet at the same time, you felt anxiety over how he’d handle your failure and what he’d think of the pathetic reason for which you’d been captured. As the other members of the League of Villains took care of the remaining enemies and provided the ringleader with a particularly gruesome death, you were yet again pulled into a coughing fit. Another mouthful of blood and petals burst from between your lips just as Dabi and Himiko approached to untie your restraints.

“Woah, (y/n)!” Himiko gasped, eyes widening as a few drops of blood splattered across her cheek. “What’s going on with you? Why are there flower petals in your mouth?”

“That’s nasty as hell,” Dabi commented, scorching the ropes that were binding you to the chair. “Did somebody hit you with a weird Quirk or something?”

You shook your head, unable to verbally answer them. Your throat was in agonizing pain, and the petals and blood continued to come up. It seemed to you as if you were about to choke on your own blood. “This doesn’t look so good, Shigaraki,” Dabi called out. “You should come take a look. (Y/n)’s in horrible condition and has flowers in their throat.”

It was abundantly clear as Shigaraki approached that he was incredibly angry and distressed. There were bloody claw marks on the side of his neck and his hands were quivering slightly. “(Y/n), why the hell didn’t you say anything about this…?” he hissed, picking up a fistful of the petals that had scattered on and around you. They disintegrated into a fine powder at his touch. “Hanahaki?! We could have sent somebody else on this mission while you got treatment for this… it could’ve been game over if we hadn’t gotten here in time. And unless we can do something about this hanahaki immediately, you’ll die anyways—!”

“Hanahaki…?” Dabi and Himiko asked in unison, confused.

Fists clenched in frustration, Shigaraki turned away from your chair. “Who is it?!” he demanded, glancing back at you, fiery red eyes visible from beneath the hand that concealed his face.

A brief pause in the coughing fits allowed you to speak. In a hoarse, feeble voice, you confessed the truth. “I-It’s… you.”

You could see the thin man’s entire body tense up at your words. “That’s impossible,” he responded, approaching you again. “I mean… it has to be a glitch, then. That can’t be right, since—“

“Since what?” Himiko asked, glancing back and forth between the two of you. “What’s going on, anyways…? What is hanahaki?”

Shigaraki clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, looking down at the ground. “Since I might… might feel the same way.”

“I looked it up, Himiko,” Dabi said, showing Himiko the screen of his phone. “It’s a disease experienced by someone suffering from unreciprocated lo—huh?! You’re kidding, right? Is this a joke?”

“Shut up.” Shigaraki pulled the hand off his face and cast a particularly aggressive glare in Dabi’s direction before glancing back at you with a much more docile expression. “Hmm… I guess it can happen if you don’t know, too.”

You heard nothing of what Dabi said, nor Shigaraki’s response to him or yourself. The entirety of your thoughts were hinged on Shigaraki’s previous words. He… feels the same way?! You were utterly baffled. As you sat there in shock, you suddenly came to the realization that you no longer felt the urge to cough, and instead your pain was beginning to ebb.

Shakily, you rose to your feet and took a couple steps toward Shigaraki. You threw your arms around him in a hug, completely catching the man off guard. He wasn’t used to affection whatsoever, but tried to reciprocate the hug as best he could without activating his quirk. “I’m sorry I failed—and that I didn’t mention the hanahaki…” you croaked quietly.

Shigaraki let out a sigh and buried his nose in your hair. He mumbled in reply, “It’s fine, I guess. Just don’t do something stupid like this again.”

#hanahaki aus give me life #admin shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #bnha #imagines #bnha imagines #mha #mha imagines #scenario #bnha scenario

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progeny-of-the-fury · 6 years

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The Scouting Mission

Log date: 8/30/18

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the reader’s enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participant’s knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @ragizi @wyranimh

Rageant Lacordaire: "Gather around, those among you with the will to serve Gridania this eve."

Hestia De'bayle sighs, reaching up to tug down her turbans mask over her gaze.

Cinnabar Prentice returns! Praise the Sun! A smile speaks well enough to a successful order.

Bruno Suvois asks her as he sets about tying the weapon to his belt. He gives it a few testing tugs, before nodding.

Svana Heart: "Sounds like a call for drinks to me, and aren't those hard to turn down."

Bruno Suvois: "That works! We'll have to figure out a night for it soon, then. Until then, though, duty calls!"

Rageant Lacordaire: "The Elder Seedseer has declared a reward for the adventurers, or in this case the house, who can dispense with a pest that has eluded the Order of the Twin Adders and the Wood Wailers alike. A relatively new gang of cutthroats and vagabonds who go by the "Black Mites;" I'm not certain what's so black about them yet. We're to patrol the roads and see if we can lend our benefactors assistance in the matter; after all, we call their land home."

Svana Heart nods along, keeping a gregarious grin just long enough for Bruno to set upon his task before the more honest, distraught grimace of worry is set free.

Cinnabar Prentice 's head slowly cants aside. An expression of inquiry; confusion; set upon her face as she looks to Hestia... though attention returns to Ragi when he recites the order.

Bruno Suvois: "What're we aiming to do, exactly? Just put on a scary show for them? If they're familiar with the woods, then a band of armored knights trudging through their turf out to be pretty easy to avoid, wouldn't it?"

Rageant Lacordaire: "Mayhap, but their modus operandi seems to be to ambush even well-armed convoys. They're ruthless and territorial, or so it is told. It might be that we'll catch them unawares, as we are more experienced than those who typically wander the roads."

Jacline Kerelle: "Mm, mm. Lotta them caravan guards don't even know how to fight, really. Just strap on a mail shirt and sword, call it a day. Easy money. So I've heard."

Rageant Lacordaire: "We shall go forth without delay." Rageant slung his axe from his back and set the blade in the grass between his feet, gripping the haft in both hands and lowering his head. "We who have gathered this day shall go forth as one and see these roads safeguarded. Fury walk with us, for we are driven by our sense of duty, of which there is nothing higher. Say the words with me and feel their truth within thine blood; Aucun Supérieur."

Hestia De'bayle peers over toward Rageant, before looking out toward the rest of the group as they all spoke amongst one another. A flared sort of breath leaves her as Rageant recites the House's motto, she repeating it out dutifully, "Aucun Supérieur."

Jacline Kerelle: "A... acken, sup.. urrirur." Cough, cough.

Bruno Suvois: "Aucun Supérieur!" repeats with a boisterous tone.

Cinnabar Prentice bows her head and brings close her arm in the house salute for the maxim: "Aucun Superieur." Fuck you, all I can do is ümlauts.

Jacline Kerelle: "Acken Super-roar!"

Jacline Kerelle psychs herself up alongside Rageant Lacordaire!

Bruno Suvois: "I look stupid."

Their patrol began as dusk descended upon the woods, a cold breeze from nearby Coerthas weaving its way through the trees, rustling the leaves, and numbing the cheeks and digits. For an hour their path winded before them until at last something of significance emerged; a wagon, sitting down the road beyond the range of their voices, with its belongings seemingly scattered about the path. Rageant stopped them ere they drew close. "Halt; there's something ahead."

Jacline Kerelle snerks and covers her mouth. "N-no. It's... it looks good! Very, uh.. Round."

"Mm," Hestia lifts her visor, allowing for the group to move forward before her.

Jacline Kerelle seems lost in thought.

Rageant Lacordaire: "Look alive; my eye sight isn't so keen as it was in my youth, but I see something."

Bruno Suvois rolls his shoulders as he marches along, head held high the entire time. His body ached, but he didn't let it show, and he certainly didn't let it slow him down. Thankfully his shoulders were much more comfortable thanks to Vilette's tip.

Jacline Kerelle glances around the trees as she strings her bow with practiced hands. "I see it, too. Looks like a trap, from here, don't it?"

Hestia De'bayle: "The mask I don is built for archers and darkness, I shall reposition to a higher viewpoint."

Cinnabar kept relatively quiet for the travel. They were on a hunt of sorts; it demanded attention. Her ears saw as much as her eyes as they marched along, treading lightly- ere they come to the scene just ahead... Her eyes narrow a touch, scanning high and low nearby, for any signs of presence beyond their own...

"It does seem precarious; we'll wait for Hestia's appraisal. Gods, and I had begun to doubt we'd find anything this eve,” Rageant murmured.

"A trap? What if it's people that need help?" Bruno questioned. "Someone could be hurt up there!"

Hestia sees that there is a single man, an Elezen, sitting among the random junk strewn about. He appears to be sitting on some kind of silver blanket.

"Shh... It, very well could be... You remember the, wagon in La Noscea? In the rose bush, Jac?" Cinnabar asks.

"If they need help, they needed it a long time before we ever got here. Watch the flanks." Jacline cranes her neck, scanning the treetops.

The shell lights up with Hestia’s neutral tone. "I have repositioned. There is what appears to be an Elezen man in the distance sitting upon scattered clutter. Some sort of blanket shimmers beneath him, it holds a silvery hue. I would approach with caution."

Pressing his forefingers to his ear, Rageant gave a nod to the others. "Bruno may be right; we should proceed, albeit it cautiously."

Bruno exhales through his nose. "A silver blanket? What could that be?"

"I shall keep watch over the area and keep my arrows ready if needed."

Cinnabar’s brow dips for the words from her pearl. "Mh... Silver... blanket..?"

"We'll soon see, for speculating may do us no good." Rageant turned and waved to Hestia, gesturing toward the scene she'd survey as if to signal their intentions, and then made the approach.

Jacline answers him with a quirk of an eyebrow and a shrug of a shoulder, then spreads out to their flank to advance on the site while keeping an eye out.

Bruno does the same, scrambling up the hill on the right side, moving cautiously and keeping an eye out around the trees.

Jacline hunkers down next to a tree, watching from the undergrowth.

"Thank the Gods," the Wildwood Elezen opened immediately, rising to a kneel and then a stand. From the looks of it he was a tailor - uncut cloth and rugs were strewn about the dirt, virtually none remaining where they presumably belonged in his chocobo drawn wagon - the chocobo, too, was missing. "Bandits," he sputtered immediately "They've gone and run me of my merchandise." The coast seeming clear, Rageant offered no response but instead waved to the two lingering on the periphery of the site.

With the wave given, Cinnabar rises from her crouch at treeside, approaching with eyes a-scanning the surroundings; the scattered goods and the like…

Bruno trotted forward, coming up behind Rageant. "Did you see which way they went?"

"No," said the Elezen, who raised his arms and began raving. "They gave me a whack and ran off with my goods and my steed." His gesticulating was peculiar, as if he was a stage performer attempting to impress with his words.

"Gave you...a whack?" Bruno questioned.

Jacline sniffs and glances down the road the way they came. "As bandits're wont to do, eh. Must be some tracks or somethin'..."

"Aye, with the blunt end of a spear, he did." The Elezen whistled loudly, in the manner of one who had seen something spectacular and was at a loss for words. He then began rubbing his head as if the blow were fresh. "Aye, was a right good blow, too." He whistled once more.

Bruno gives the man a skeptical look. However, he'd leave it for now and instead turn his attention to the wagon itself, moving over to get a closer look around it, and inside of it.

With the mention of chocobo, Cinnabar’s eyes take to the road... fresh tracks... droppings... feathers... all would aid, just as much as her question. "... I am, pained for your loss, sir... Have, any come this way, before us? Ere you were, attacked? Any which, you are aware, for?"

Jacline quirks her mouth at the man. "Musta left quite the bump, huh? Mind if I take a look, make sure you're okay? I'm a healer, by trade."

The man appeared nervous now, perhaps by Cinnabar's line of questioning. Bruno could find some few of the rugs not been removed from the wagon; too heavy for the effort perhaps. "I err... yep, a real big bump. No need, no need, I'm sure I'll be fine. Uhh, what did you ask again, you spectacularly tall woman, you?" As he spoke, the man lifted a nearby fallen bough, a small enough branch that he could begin tying a black piece of cloth to it.

"Have any others, passed through?" Cinnabar reiterates, eyes abandoning the road in favor of the man... Her brow quirked, with that response. Eyeballing his cloth-tying motions... She takes greater account, now, of what the man wears…

More suspicious, now, Jacline casually circles around to his rear, keeping an eye on his hands as she cuts off the easiest escape route. "Really must insist," she says, louder. "Let us check your wound. Man gets hit that hard, he's got somethin' nasty to show for it. Unless, of course, he's lyin'." For emphasis, Jacline draws one of her long daggers and taps it against her thigh.

"Oh, right, you know I'm not sure come to think of it," replied the man cryptically. He was garbed poorly in a drab tunic and trousers, dirtied by the elements - not exactly the finery one would expect of a merchant who traded in cloth and materials. As Jacline approached, he raised one hand defensively. "Hold on, now, what're you going to do with that?!" His other hand was, curiously, waving his brand new makeshift flag to and fro. Sweat bead upon his brow despite the bitter cold.

Hestia spots some figures encroaching slowly, stealthily, from the northeast using the trees and underbrush as cover.

"What, this?" Jacline holds up her knife, giving it a flip and turning it this way and that, so he can watch the light gleam off its edge. "Just lettin' it breathe. You like breathin', don't ya?"

“Oh for crying out loud..." Bruno sighs, turning on the man. Lacking any hesitation whatsoever, he'd raise a fist and aim to crash it against the side of his head.

"Attention," Hestia voice rang again, "an undetermined number of figures are approaching from the northeast. They are using the shroud of the trees and nearby foliage for cover by the looks of it. If they grow close, I will shoot a warning shot."

Cinna's eyes widen, taken by the man's motions- she looks around, then reaches to press right to her ear--

Rageant's posture changed visibly at Hestia's warning, and just as Bruno clocked the man, sending him tumbling to the ground - not unconscious, but reeling in pain. "Ah, what'd you go and do that for?" He'd dropped his flag now and laying on the ground he, too, seemed privy to the change in demeanor. His immediate course of action - scramble to his silver blanket, or what was more closely identifiable as a blanket made of chainmail. "About bloody time," he cried.

"Remain calm, scouts and rely on one another. This situation is still within our control."

A singular, distant "wark!" echoes through the wood. One of the birds chased off the man's wagon? Unlikely, given that it sounds from the south of the trail already passed....

Hestia's warning had come just in time; the figures in the woodland emerged, more than a dozen, charging closer to the scene and raising their shortbows to nock arrow and loose their volley upon the patrol. To their fortune, that upper hand was robbed them by Hestia's scouting. They loosed their arrows, certainly, but not before the gap could be closed or cover could be taken.

"Black... Mites. Black Flag..." Cinnabar turns her attention northbound along the trail- taking but a moment ot gather her bearings; hand upon her weapon and hairs standing on end with attention. "En garde... En garde," she repeats; firm and audible to the others in company.

From her position above, Hestia fires more than just a warning shot. Aiming at one of the on-coming figures that threatened her companions, the woman let loose an arrow into one of the mens chest.

Jacline sneers and rushes to intercept the man going for the 'blanket', aiming a kick square at his face as he reaches down! So much for playing!

"En garde!" she reiterates, had any not heard! Her halberd in hand, she aims the business-end forth; core firm and arms tensed as springs as she moves to intercept the reinforcements.

Bruno curses as the arrows come flying. He'd duck behind the wagon for cover, and struggle for a moment to draw his sword and shield. He hangs back for now, waiting to see how the others fare before he chooses his course of action.

Not quite as expedient as hoped, Svana at last reveals her change of heart and attire. Astride an overworked porter's chocobo that already grows anxious to the sight and tension of the scene she charges into the fray, leaping with the selfsame reckless vigor as she did untrained in joust. Drawing steel in midair she leaves the panicking bird to flee and closes the few yalms yet to the archers with a howl of laughter!

Rageant rushed into the fray alongside Cinnabar, but their assault was met by lancers who braced their spears and prevented them from being able to engage the archer force. Svana's unexpected attack however allowed her to break into their line, sinking her steel into an archer and incapacitating them. All the while another of their numbers were felled by a soaring arrow that came from the silent woods.

Meanwhile, Jacline had successfully driven her boot into the side of the batman's head, and he fell limp before he could take his cover.

Their line broken by Svana, a half dozen lancers paired off and engaged the three melee combatants with their spears, attempting to pierce their flesh and drive them back.

Jacline gives the downed bateman a second kick in the face for good measure. Then the arrows come, one nearly catching her in the neck as it thwips through the fur at her collar, a few more thunking into the wagon. With a grimace and a curse, the elezen ducks behind cover and returns fire at the back line!

Rageant charged his pair of foes, whipping his axe in a frenzied horizontal slice that caught one of the lancers on the stomach, drew blood, and sent him doubling over onto his knees. His armor absorbed the brunt of the other lancer's glancing assault, whom he turned to address next.

Cinnabar Prentice's attack was stifled by the barrage of arrows. Nothing managing to penetrate her layers of armor just yet. Seems they might have opted to assail the largest target they could spot, first... Typical. Even so, she intercepted successfully with the others; thrusting and chopping at the frontline- working to keep them at a distance!

Bruno stands once there's a break in the arrows. The adrenaline starts to kick in, making his blood warm up. He charges forward with a yell, into the line of lancers, managing to bat their weapons aside with his shield before he'd shoulder tackle one to the ground, and make to bash his head with the shield.

Not stopping an instant even as the line reforms in her wake, Svana becomes a winding trail of steel and mocking laughter. The two lancers contesting her are met with an unrelenting pressure of false-starts and feints to draw out useless reprisals. All but dancing around them she slips through the threat with a pair of arcing slices and hounds the retreating bowmen in turn.

Some bowmen frantically nocked their arrows in shivering hands, while others broke rank and fled at the sight of their combined assaults and their falling comrades. The lancers, embroiled as they were, pressed their impotent assault upon the Bayle fighters, though their numbers had dwindled such that they no longer outnumbered them - and Jacline's unfortunate victim was out and unconscious straight away.

She's on fire! Jacline jabs a handful of arrows into the dirt, then kneels and fires one after another, unleashing a one-woman volley on the shaken archers.

Bruno stands from his unconscious target, turning as another drops their bow and charges him with a shortsword. He blocks with his shield, chuckling. This shield served him far better than the kite shield did. Another tip from Vilette paying off. He skips forward, bringing a heavy kick down on the man's knee, breaking it backwards and sending him to the ground screaming and holding it. Another bandit is soon upon him, slashing at him with an axe. The first blow clips him, scraping his mail, before he parries a second, and then a third with his sword. He thrusts it forwards on instinct, and impales the adversary through the chest. Bruno tenses up, his heart skipping a beat as he lowers the dying man to the ground. He releases the hilt of the weapon, standing up. He looks around with a blank stare, watching as the others continue their fights.

Clink! Clack! Rip! Arrrgh! As the enemy falls, Cinnabar's advance presses forth, swallowing the remainder as the lower jaw to Svana's upper in the formation, swallowed by Bruno and Ragi... Jac? Jac was the tongue. Licky lick, slurp poke, delicious~... While most of Cinna's attacks maimed, she didn't seem keen to pursue the coup de grace on any who were unwilling to fight, from there on... Taking to defense, and scanning around for any actual threats- eye on those laid low besides.

With as many targets near at hand, none of them yet armed to ward off a close-in foe, Svana makes short work of the bandits that do not scatter quickly enough from the pursuit. Wasteless at first, hamstrings, throats, her violence becomes ever more cinematic as the final marks are made with the rest maimed or fled. In a show of excess she lets the last man draw a knife and make his defense, all but humiliating him with petty counters and persistent evasion.

With uncanny accuracy, Jacline's arrows find more marks than not, evident by the shrieks and cries. The ones that don't end up curled dying on the ground are limping or running into the trees in full rout. Hurray!

With a falling swipe of his axe, the end of his foe's lance was severed, a prelude to what awaited them. He threw his weight forward, his stocky build advantageous for doubling his foe over and brought the haft of his weapon between the foe's legs, lifting him over the Miqo'te's own back and hurling him to the ground where a final unceremonious chop parted the aggressor from his head. By now, the entirety of the attacking mob had been killed or incapacitated (but for Svana's plaything).

Even as the sounds of fighting died down around him, Bruno still just...stood there. He looked down at the deceased man who still had his sword lodged in his chest. Bruno's face looked pale, and his hands shook at his sides.

Once it's clear there's no more arrows coming her way, Jacline sets her bow aside and goes to rifle through the bateman's pockets, if he had any. Then she checks the mail shirt to see if it's her size!

<Hestia De'bayle> "Status report of everyones condition?"

Beckoning the knife-swinging-slasher with a free hand and a winded scoff even as he fights on to the brink of exhaustion and panic, she steps aside as he lunges forward in a desperate last-ditch effort to close the distance and outdo her weapon's reach... only to find that same blade at his ankle with her step aside, by its flat, as he trips and careens off the small ledge behind her.

<Rageant Lacordaire> "Bruised from an arrow hitting my chainmail but fully intact."

<Jacline Kerelle> "No holes I didn't have already! What're we doin' with the survivors?"

<Hestia De'bayle> "All apprehended personnel are to be brought to the Twin Adders nest for interrogation."

"Poor sods hadn't the faintest they were up against a gladiator." Rageant murmured.

Quiet... Relative quiet... Nothing was visible above them- around. Cinnabar was breathing hard, but steady through flared nostrils. The trembling of her hands in the adrenal rush was only noticeable once she stowed her weapon and began to settle, eyes around the fallen... She counts those who are still squirming...

<Cinnabar Prentice> "M-milady, they are numerous; wounded... some gravely... m-might we hail the, Wailers, to aid in, their return?"

Grin just a bit too cheery not to be wicked with flecks of blood scattershot across her pristine white coat, Svana quips along to that assessment, "Giving them the runaround works best when they expect discipline and rigor. Nobody'd see me in a uniform."

<Hestia De'bayle> "Yes. I will see that they are fetched to assist in the transport. Standby until then."

"I must say, I am glad I did not have to do this alone; I may've fallen prey to their trap, clumsy and slow-sprung as it was. I'll take it from here, and see that they're all given to the Twin Adder's custody. You should return to the Dawn Vigil for rest; or whatever it is you do after a battle." Rageant noted to them all.

"Bruno... Are, you injured?" Cinnabar queried the lone man of silence- though eyes flicked hastily back toward Jacline first, before finding him catatonic. "... Bruno...?" And... down, to the sword-embedded corpse.

<Hestia De'bayle> "The Wailers from Treespeak Stables are accompanying me back to the location. We shall be there posthaste."

<Cinnabar Prentice> "Aye, aye..."

Jacline takes the time to strip the batman of his shirt, then use it as a makeshift rope to hogtie him in place, then returns to searching the wagon for potential loot. Her size or not, she drapes the chain shirt over one shoulder. That'll surely trade for something good!

Bruno blinks back to life, head raising to look at the others. "Huh? Oh. I, yeah, I'm fine." He swallows heavily, trying to parch his dry mouth. "Some scrapes...bruises."

Hestia approaches with three Wailers behind her, one of them holding a hand to their ear as they seemingly report back to Gridania. "I will visit the Adders nest myself and offer them a full report of the situation," she declares. "This could potentially put the Shroud on high alert for some time."

With a grin, Jacline gives Bruno a sharp swat on the shoulder. "Heh! First time you ever stick somebody?"

Cinnabar’s still-vibrating hand comes to rest on the man's shoulder, giving the novice a pat of comfort. "... He... Would have, done worse... had he only, managed, before you," she calmly reassures him; eyes locked to his.

"How fare you three?" Hestia inquired.

Bruno looks between them, settling on Jacline. He nods slowly. "Yeah..." Was all he said. "Plenty of fights before, but never...killed anyone before."

"Mh... Shaken, but hale and whole. Mhm." Cinnabar boasted some arrows dangling from the extremities of her chainmaille and underlying padding, but nothing of flesh and bone.

Bruno reaches up, tugging the coif down and wiping his sweat-caked forehead.

"Fights for life or death are often the ones that leave their mark the deepest. I mean not to sound melodramatic in saying such, but it is only the truth: tonight will see you a changed man, Suvois. For better or worse. Let us hope it is the former." Hestia consoles.

"Where precisely did you learn to fight like that, Svana?" Rageant asks.

Cinnabar Prentice gives Bruno another pat on his shoulder, ere reaching down... The elezen is spared the gruesome deed of withdrawing steel from the corpse, but neither the unsightly wound it left behind nor the sound thereof. blade grasped behind the guard, the brand is offered pommel first to Bruno to take once more.

Bruno looks to Hestia, and simply nods to her before turning away. "Something to get used to, I guess." He said, his voice evening out a bit as his body calms down. Yet he's lacking the usual cheerful confidence that he usually carries. He takes his weapon back, pulling a cloth from somewhere in his armor to wipe the blood clean.

Jacline clicks her tongue at him and winks. "If they didn't wanna die, they'd stay home, eh? Better them than us." Despite the casual air, the elezen is visibly on edge, and she can't quite hide the tremor in her hand as she relieves her bow of its string to let it rest. She nods and smiles at Hestia, and pats Cinnabar on the arm as she passes. "Gonna get my arrows back. Waste not want not!"

"Understand this as well... Bruno. There is no shame, in sorrow. Even knowing it was either your life or his, it was still a life. Still someone who maybe had a chance to be different. But they did not give you that option. You are not weak for the pain you might feel. You are strong for it." Hestia insists.

Cinnabar Prentice jerked at the pat- clearly on edge a bit herself! But she's quick to shine a smile and nod to the dusky elezen!

With her eyes first to the scene down below Rageant's question stirs Svana along to a distracted and belated answer, "...Hm? Oh, damn good question. Couldn't tell you precisely. Somewhere between Hingashi and Sharlayan." Useless as that is she's quick to clarify, "That wasn't fighting though, mostly. Bandits, thugs, even hard ones like these... They'll lose to even numbers in trained hands, every time. This-... More of a show, really."

"...Right. Thanks, Hestia. I knew it was going to happen someday. After all, man or beast, blood's going to have to be spilled if we want to protect the good folks of this world. Probably better that it happened so suddenly,” Bruno murmured.

"Halone smiles upon you, Bruno. She understands the squall of your heart, and will help see it mended in time. Often, death is a mercy. Some are too lost to be saved," stepping forward, she offered the man a firm. comforting pat on the arm before turning and walking away.

"That doesn't exactly answer my question but I get the point. Aye, untrained rabble the lot of them, hoping for easy killings by my reckoning, they'd planned to pelt their own with arrows if that chain blanket is any indication." Rageant lowered his axe's blade so it hovered just over the grass, giving it a swift twist that shook the blood loose from its mythril edge.

".... Was there not a, chocobo?" Cinnabar blinks, looking back up the hill again, whence the bandits came.

"Yeah...Well, either way," Bruno turned to Cinnabar. "Thanks for the concern. "Today came as a bit of a shock, yeah, but I'm glad to have been surrounded by friends during the ordeal."

"If there was, it more than likely has long but run away. Cinnabar, Rageant, Bruno. I am returning to the estate and wish to see you three in my office once you return. Madame Kerelle. Svana. Excellent work as well." Hestia calls out toward them.

“You shouldn't go off by yourself, Dame de Bayle. Do you want me to accompany you?" Bruno asks.

Jacline flits from one body to the next, relieving the living and dead alike of their arrows. Along with any pocket-sized valuables they might have been wearing. There's a shrill cry as she yanks the earring out of one man's ear, only to discover he was still alive. "Ahh! Eheh.. sorry," she mutters, pocketing the trinket. Then takes the arrows out of his quiver to claim as her own. That'll save time making more later!

Hestia offers him a wordless stare, it masked behind her hawk-like visage. "I can assure you, I will be fine on my own. Thank you for the offer, regardless."

And Cinnabar blinks back to Bruno, giving another warm, if odd smile! "Mh! I... I remember the, first time I had need to... dispatch, another... I, do not care to... Kill. If, it is. Is not with need." She nods softly,. then looking to Hestia. She gives a slow nod of affirmation. "Mh... A-aye, Dame..."

Raising her weapon in a brash salute, Svana returns Hestia's praise with a chuckle, "Fast as I could get back, not quite as quick or clear as those arrows. Practicing more than a lance I see."

"An old lesson from that of my instructor. He always ensured I was well rounded. I had not much use of my old bow, but now incapable of wielding my lance, it has become far more useful." Hestia responds.

“Alright then...Just worried about there being more, is all. After all if I was them, I'd be hungry for payback right about now." Brunk adds.

“I can't land an arrow worth a damn. Depth perception issues and all that." Rageant responds with tempered jest.

Hestia snorts some. "My humblest condolences, Rageant," she reaches a hand to tap her mask. "Hawk-eye goggles. They help with viewing more than what the naked eye can see alone. Very useful for archers. I wish to have them made for any ranged units the House employs."

Bruno looks down at the life he'd ended, considering it closely. He couldn't deny the way it made his stomach turn, but he mentally steeled himself and told himself to get over it. It worked, for the most part. "Is it weird that I kind of wish I knew his name?"

Jacline returns to the group, her quiver positively bursting with new and used arrows. "We really gotta find a better class of bandit," she says, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. "Don't think these guys ever seen gold before."

"Mh... I, suppose they'll have, no such chance, now." Cinnabar shakes her head, smiling to Jacline. Something of pride in it, for the arrow-slinger's prowess!

"His name will not bring you comfort, Bruno. It will only bring you remorse forever more. You are better off." Hestia assures.

"I have to head back. Well-fought, Svana. Or rather, good show." Rageant says.

"I am taking my leave as well. Forget not my request for your presence," Hestia says without further remarks, turning to march away.

#Journal #Austere Keeper #Boisterous Globetrotter #Rose Maiden

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xekstrin · 7 years

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Day Three - AU (Got Your Heart Under My Thumb)

A/N: This is technically a spinoff / sequel of Got You On My Gaydar, a story where Mercy has a sweet little one night stand with Pharah. Hana doesn’t even know who she’s more jealous of.

2750 words

It’s a modern AU and I 100% wrote it off the seat of my pants, which is something I haven’t done in a long time so it was pretty refreshing.

Anyway it’s also angsty. Have fun?

The day started with a series of headaches. An aspirin and a full breakfast took care of one. Angela had plans to monitor her water intake closely as well, to err on the side of caution. Right now she had nothing but work on her mind, and her body was just a tool to get the job done.

Until Hana grabbed her by the front of her crisp white lab coat and dragged her into the elevator, forcing her up against the wall. "You are such a piece of shit."

"Good morning, Hana," Angela said, prying Hana's hand off her with a smile. "Did you have a rough night? You look tired."

"Didn't sleep," Hana grumbled, rubbing at her eyes before continuing. "I can't fucking believe you. I know you went home with that eye-tattoo girl last night. I had dibs!"

The elevator dinged as they rapidly approached the top floor. Angela desperately wished it would pause, that others would arrive and save her from this conversation. "That's inappropriate to discuss at work."

"I'm not your coworker. I'm a VIP and you'll treat me like one."

Angela's lips thinned in displeasure. "It's a hospital, Hana. Not a convention." She waved Hana's outburst aside, huffing loudly. "I'm not going to kowtow to you because you're a celebrity."

"Yeah, and I'm not going to pretend to be nice to you off-camera!" She prodded Angela's chest several times. "I had dibs, Angela. I had dibs. I invited you out, and you, you---"

"You wouldn't have fucked her anyway," Angela snapped, lowering her voice to a hiss. In shock, Hana took a hurried step back, eyeing Angela warily. "I wasn't going to pretend I didn't want something because you thought it would be fun to toy with her for a few hours. And if you tell any of my patients---" It was her turn to get physical, shoving Hana another full step back. "What we were doing last night, I'll drag you out by the scruff of your neck and toss you onto the sidewalk. I don't give a damn how much money you bring in. You misbehave in my hospital, you put your hands on me again, you're out. Understand?"

A spark of challenge lit up in her eyes, one Angela wished she wasn't familiar with. They'd known each other for years-- ever since Hana was a child herself. On and off they'd crossed paths, and now here they were again and Hana wanted...

What did she want? Angela couldn't tell. She came, she visited the kids too desperately sick to do anything. She lit up the halls with music and laughter. She streamed with them, too, and when she left, the hospital was always hit with a few million in donations. It wasn't just this hospital, she did this around the country--- around the world.

Maybe she had a favorite doctor to terrorize in every city she visited. Maybe.

Hana relented.

"Fine. Okay. You're obviously still hungover and I shouldn't have ambushed you first thing in the morning."

Could it be? She'd tiptoed around this headstrong young celebrity for months now. But now that she pushed back, suddenly Angela was getting some respect.

Angela pressed the heel of her palm to her throbbing temple. "Yes."

The younger girl rubbed the back of her neck, looking sullen. Angela wondered why she even cared who she went home with-- she was acting like a jilted lover. Not a stranger. Not someone who's life Angela had saved, many many years ago. Who ignored her for a decade and then returned like a hurricane, demanding Angela's constant attention for some unfathomable reason.

If she's trying to be my friend, Angela thought, smoldering with anger still, she's doing a very poor job.

Pointing an accusatory finger at her, Hana stepped back as the elevator doors opened. "Then you owe me lunch later, so you can tell me all the details. No take backs!"

Hana vanished. Angela had her rounds to do.

The doctor sighed, wondering if it was too late to call in sick and go back home.

Hana came once or twice a year. In the summer, or the winter. Sometimes, Angela would boot up her computer and hover over an email, wondering if it should be sent. The only time she was able to write something coherent was when it was for someone else.

Hana Song,

She erased it.

Dear Hana,

Covering her face with one hand, she held down the delete key.

Miss Song--- Ms. Song. Mrs. Song.

No, that was not right at all.

Fucking English.

She finally settled for something brief and to the point, like a report. But some of her emotions slipped past her, regardless of how hard she tried to mask them.

Hana,

There's a kid here who really wants to see you. I feel like maybe you could get him to smile.

I know this might not be easy for you, and that you have a life outside this hospital. It's not easy for me, and I've done this for many, many years.

The hospital chapel knew her well at this point. So did the bar down the street.

Occasionally she went to visit Fareeha for drinks, but it never went as far as it did that first time. On some level she was relieved. She thought Fareeha might be, too. She thought maybe Fareeha needed a friend.

She had no idea how to end the email. Giving orders, she could do. Asking for favors from a girl who probably didn't even like her very much? Beyond her.

If you can't come I understand.

She signed off with her nickname, the ones the kids gave her. Hana called her that, too, once or twice. A long time ago.

Mercy.

No matter how much they insisted it was born out of affection, it always sounded like a cry for help.

Settling back in her office chair, Angela looked out the window. This high up, and she could see the city skyline as the sun dipped below the horizon. Purple and gold, edged with red and yellow like freshly sliced mangoes, dripping with syrup.

Sipping from a flash she kept in her desk drawer, Angela sighed to hear the ping of an incoming message. But when she saw who it was from, she did a double take.

Hey Dr. Ziegler,

Hana wrote. Briefly, Angela wondered if she had also deliberated on how to open up to the body of her email.

Can't come right away but I'd be happy to show up and be charming for a bit as soon as I can

I'm really happy to hear from you and hope you're doing well

Does the kiddo have an online account anywhere? What's his real name, also, if that's okay for me to have? I'll add him to the Super Special Hana Song Gamer List

Whatever that is.

I'll let you know when I can make it over there. Tell kiddo I am super excited to meet him <3

Love, D.VA.

Hana took a while to finally arrive, but not through any choice of her own. She had previous engagements. But she could play a few online games with any of the kids who wanted her gamertag, or have video chats with them. Apparently some of them were really good at that whatever-game she was famous for, Minestar or Warstrike or Hoverwatch.

Fucking hell, Angela. At least learn what game the girl plays, if you're going to beg her for favors.

Just because she found it trivial didn't mean it wasn't important. It was obviously important to Hana, and it was obviously important to her kids and a good chunk of people all over the world.

So when Hana did arrive, Angela debated sending someone to go pick her up. Or perhaps to call her a cab. Flowers? ...That would be stupid.

I'll just take the bus, dude, Hana texted her. She always was on her phone, so it was the easiest way to reach her. That's what Angela told herself. You don't have to worry about me. I know my way around the city by now.

More than once, Hana said she missed her. It felt like she was telling the truth. When she came through her office door without knocking, she grabbed Angela and squeezed her tight in a hug.

"Doctor! It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Hana," she said, and surprisingly enough she meant it. "Nobody bothered you on your way here, did they?"

Hana blew out a raspberry. "I'm not A-list famous, babe. And I probably never will be until I get my face on the silver screen." Lowering her voice, she leaned in and added. "Which might be sooner than I anticipated. Just between you and me."

The idea of Hana branching out made her smile. She knew that the younger woman worked hard at her career, had been looking for such an opportunity for years now. "I can't wait. I'll tell everyone in my family I'm friends with a movie star."

Hana glowed with pride. At the smile on her face. At being called her friend.

She excitedly told the kids that Angela was the best surgeon in the world, and she should know. Hana was born with a congenital defect, a hole in her heart. She made some cheesy joke about needing it patched up.

A few days later, Angela drove her back to the airport. She carried her luggage, bright pink.

And later, she got another message.

I love you, Doctor <3 I'm happy you invited me.

Angela didn't know how to respond to that so she deleted it, pocketing her phone and looking up at the planes taking off. Wondering where they were going. Wondering which one Hana was on.

Then she messaged her back.

Are you going to make another joke about how I touched your heart?

An instant response.

Yes. I'm gonna start signing off like this now <03

I'm taking off soon, Angela. Send me more emails. Tell me happy things.

That was the last message she got for a while.

A month later she got another message from Hana.

YOU HAVEN'T SENT ME ANY HAPPY EMAILS, U FUCK

Angela rolled her desk chair to the side, eyebrows quirking up. Hana had sent an attachment, a picture of herself flipping the bird with both hands. She must have enlisted a friend to help her take this one.

I have very few happy things to share.

Yeah, well, I have few fucks to give. What are you up to?

Working, my dear. As I'm sure you're aware.

It's your day off.

She started wiggling a pen between two fingers, letting it rap out an irritated rhythm on her work desk. How on Earth did Hana know that?

So?

So I'm in town again and I'm ravenous. Come get me.

The tempo increased until she suddenly came to a halt. Her pen rested point down on the desk.

Then Angela got up and headed downstairs, muttering in German the whole way there.

In the car, she greeted Hana with, "I have no idea why you're so rude to me."

Hana tossed her backpack into the footwell, and her suitcase into the backseat. "I'm only rude when you're insensitive."

"I'm perfectly polite. I have only ever not been polite when you've acted like this."

"Because you're as thick," Hana said, leaning over to roughly shove her forehead against Angela's. "As a fuckin' milkshake!" Then her face fell. "Wait, that sounded like a compliment."

"Don't worry." Angela flicked her fingers against Hana's nose to force her back with an angry little grumble. "It didn't."

"Well... good." She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms, lowering the brim of her flat-billed cap. Stubbornly sulking there like a child--- infuriating--- Angela knew it would take nothing more than a few words and she could snap her in half, it would be so easy to break her and use her---

Angela gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles went pale. She started driving away without a destination in mind. "There's not many places open this late at night." She said, even-keeled again. In her mind's eye she imagined a dark pool of water. Perfectly still and black, in a forest at night. Nothing disturbed it, nothing rose up to the surface. Nothing long-toothed swam underneath.

Stripes of light washed over Hana from the street lamps overhead.

"So what were you going to do for grub?" Hana asked. Once Angela cooled off, Hana seemed to follow suit. That was bad. The type who fed off the energy around her like a vampire? Bad. It was probably what made her so charismatic, though. Angela could easily imagine her in front of a large crowd, a stable feedback loop of energy until the room could be set on fire with just a spark.

"I have food at home."

"All right then, doctor." She slid the seat back a little more to give herself leg room. Angela glanced down. High waisted shorts. Warm-weather clothing despite the temperature outside. Did Hana travel like this for comfort, or had she been in a rush? "Take me there."

Caught up in her own thoughts, it took her a moment to process that. "Don't you have a hotel?"

The lights kept striping by, reflecting in Hana's dark eyes like sparks of gold.

"Do you want to go to a hotel?"

That was what it took to finally make it all slide into place.

She always fell for these types. The hard, strong girls all prickly and dangerous. There was always something terrified inside, easily malleable. Tender and rich, like licking marrow off the length of a bone snapped in half.

But more than that...

Pulling up to her driveway, she unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over. Pulling Hana to her chest, she held her tight, stroking the top of her head.

"Tell me what happened," she said, squeezing her.

Taken aback, Hana tried to struggle away at first. Half-heartedly. There was a fire in her, eager to jump out and consume. Angela knew from experience she was probably just trying to burn away everything--- the good and the bad--- everything so long as the bad was gone and scoured clean.

"I don't---" Hana started, insulted. "Nothing happened."

"You flew to a strange city in the middle of the night without telling anyone, to try and fuck a woman you barely know. Tell me what's wrong, Hana. Let me help you."

This time Hana flinched. "I don't want your help!" She pushed Angela back, forcefully. The hands that had clutched at her now turned to fists, angry, seeking something to grab and break. "I don't need you to help me, Angela! I don't need you to fix--- I don't need you to keep trying to be a martyr and making it all about what you can fix---"

She wiped at her face roughly, head bowed.

"I didn't get the movie deal," she said at last, voice rough. "It went to some pretty blonde girl, because of course it did. There's always some pretty blonde girl trying to ruin my life."

"That's not what I'm trying to do, Hana." Wiping away her tears with a thumb, Angela held her again. "And I don’t think you need fixing, either. So tell me what you need."

Shoulders shaking, she began to cry. Not a single tear fell that wasn't fought over tooth and nail, a frenzied battle against letting anything fall at all. "Please let me stay here," she said in breathless gasps. "Just for the night. Then tomorrow I can feel like an idiot. Because only an idiot cries over--- only it isn't just because of that, there's so much--- there's so much."

"Please," she said again, sobbing harder. "Please. Mercy."

Angela kissed her gently, first her cheeks and then her lips, startling her out of her hiccups.

"Come on then." Angela kissed her again, and this time Hana responded with overwhelming need, almost melting from it. "Let's get you inside. You'll feel better after having something to eat."

Laughing softly, to distract from how hard her chest was still hitching, Hana wiped at her face with both palms. "Do you promise?"

She kept a steadying hand on the side of Hana's neck. Then her thumb trailed down the column of her throat, pulling down the V of her neckline to find it. Old, old scars, long faded away. One long slash down the center of her chest.

"I do. Let's go."

#hanamercy #pharmercy #(kinda....)#not really #just a line here and there #fanfiction #overwatch

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kendrixtermina · 7 years

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Extra Typology Vol #3 - Part 7, A: The Vigilant Style (Basics)

This would be the classic “Survivor” sort of person- Every other Video game protagonist.- These are individuals with an exceptional awareness of their environment: They are constantly alert to anything that is awry, out of place dissonant & dangerous, especially in their dealings with other people.

They are quick to notice mixed messages, hidden motivations evasions & subtle distortions of the truth that elude or delude less gifted observers. With such focus, Vigilant individuals frequently assume the roles of the social critic, watchdog, political author, ombudsman & crusaber in both the public & private arena, ready to spring upon improprieties, particularly abuses of power.

(in terms of other typology systems, this may have overlape with xSTx personality types (especially ISTx) and would tend to be 6w5s or 8w9s on the enneagram)

The Six Domains

Relationships

A key domain for the Vigilant type is that of relationships, but not in the way that it is for some others. Rather than being very invested in them, they’re better described as being very picky & discerning about relationships:

They’re acutely aware of power & authority in their relationships and, throughout all aspects of their lives, seek to mantain their freedom & indepence from domination: Their organizing principle is that they cannot be subordinated & insist on autonomy. In relation to other people, Vigilant people seek to be unambigously in charge of their own destiny - all their dealings with people are marked with caution and reserve.

That doesn’t mean that they’re necessarily cold or unfriendly, or that they prefer to be without bonds - though they might be uneasy among strangers and slow to warm up, Vigilant Individuals can be gregarious & comfortable around people once you get to know them, but they are slow to commit - Even in their established relationships, they will value their privacy & hold back part of themselves, preferring to sit back, watch from the sidelines & evaluate until they are certain that a person who shows interest in them can be trusted not to hurt or dissapoint them.

Underneath their aloof, guarded demeanor, they are often sharp-witted, polite, full of good advice and gifted with a great sense of humor, often of the dry or snarky sort - however, not many people may notice as they rarely pursue relationships in an active manner & are often misunderstood as noncomittal because their reserve continues even when they’ve been involved with someone for a long time - they tend to “slide” into relationship upgrades over time - ultimatums or pushyness will be read as power plays & result in the Vigilant partner’s retreat: Clingy people need not apply. Despite this, they are very loyal to their partners (& expect the same in return.)

One way to differentiate them from other types is that despite their outward reserve, they tend to be insightful & perceptive people-watchers who quickly pick up on the implied pecking order & subtle power plays in social interactions and may have noticed & memorized far more detail about the people around them than one would expect. They are almost always aware pf people’s underlying motives & try to figure out what people truly want from them - they may, however, err on the side of being overly suspicious, particularly as the style grows more extreme - Not everyone has hidden motives, and even if they do, that doesn’t mean that they can force anything on the Vigilant person - Such individuals may have a tendency to invest others with a power they do not have, or assume that others are watching them just as closely as they are watching those others.

Work

Vigilant types are suited to many careers - They’re observant, careful, perceptive, sensitive to subtlety, tactical, alert and not easily fooled, qualities bound to serve both them & their employers. Furthermore, they’re as serious and industrious about their work as they are about everything else in their lives, especially if they have Conscientious and/or Serious Streaks. They work hard, can be ambitious and are often very sucessful - if they know to pick their battles.

Vigilant individuals will be sensitive & alert to the power structure in any organization they operate in, and that includes their office politics and the authority figures in their work settings - coupled with their dislike of dependance & subordination, this can make the work hierarchy unstable, unlike the’re also high in a politically giften style such as Self-Confident (In which case that same perceptiveness will likely be used to maneuver them through the organizational mess & climb up the ranks)

Such cases aside, the degree of Vigilance in one’s personality tends to be directly proportional to one’s mistrust of authority & discomfort with organizations - strongly Vigilant people may be inclined to think that any sort of power will immediately be used against those who have less of it - (And in their defense, this is often true) & make politically diasdvantageous decisions in the name of their independence instead of establishing & using power of their own, preferring to remain closed off & defensive - when they feel that people are interfering with their idependence, they might rush to defend themselves rather than the cause, or so one could frame this, and one could debate wether one wants to call this integrity or poor political instincts, but it can lead to a “Self-Fulfilling Prophecy” scenario where the higher up’s reaction to perceived uncooperativeness is taken as a confirmation the Vigilant type’s suspicious feelings - Such people should consider working as consultants or independent contractors so that they can pick & choose what cooperation they want to parttake in.

Not all Vigilant folks are this combative, though - many may seem eager to please on the surface, while feeling inwardly apprehensive, whereas others may be happy to create their own little niche wher they do their job & escape the notice of the powers that be, willingly forgoing the benefits of political ties.

It should come as no surprise then than Vigilant employees can be hard to manage - like Conscientious types, they often work best when they’re given independent roles and managed with a light hand - they rarely take advantage, however, if they spot inequities in company policies, they’ll be the first ones to protest, unionize or blow the whistl, serving the watchdog role that comes so naturally to them.

Self

Vigilant individuals have a definite sense of themselves. Most have an inner sense of rightness: They believe that they’re the sane ones in an insane world. They have strong opinions & don’t often doubt themselves and, as mentioned before, they have a hard time admitting their mistakes & accepting criticism.

Their antennas are focussed outward: It’s easier for Vigilant types to detect the faults in other people.

Worldview

For the Vigilant Person, the World is something of a minefield, and it’s populated with people who might take advantage.

This leads to a sense of alerness that can be very useful in urban environment and unsafe neighborhoods. Vigilant individuals don’t like surprises and n anticipating danger, they are prepared for any emergency - plus, they react quickly, though they may not be aware that they have a faster reaction time than most people and instead grow annoyed that others seem to be slow & clueless at times.

And whatever real or exagerated dangers Vigilant-style people may perceive out in the world, they’re quick to show it that they can stand up for themselves.

Emotions & Self-Control

This style is generally marked by emotional reserve, but with one important exception: When Vigilant types feel threatened or challenged, they will show you, be it through argument, outburst or temper, that they are not to be messed with.

Otherwise, Vigilant individuals rein in their expressions of feelings and resist giving in to impulse. They do not take emotional risks, and unles there’s some Dramatic, Mercurial or Devoted style in their pattern, have a hard time abandoning themselves fully to their feelings - Even sexually they may hold back to a degree. Tenderness may be difficult, att least, until the person is finally ready to trust & commit. Vigilant individuals have a hard time with ‘I love you’s’ and prefer that their mates understand them and not require verbal reassurances. That said, they can be possesive and extremly jealous, although they probably won’t talk about it.

Their only outlet may be humor - with their acute awareness of subtlety, ambigity, irony and context, many Vigilant types have a well-developed funny bone, though their humar can be somewhat acerbic.

Life Choices

Leadership

As managers, Vigilant Individuals need to be asured of their underlings’ loyalty & may be generous with praise, favors & rewards in order to earn it - but if they suspect disloyalty, they will be angry and unforgiving. On the extreme side, they may mistake ambition for disloyalty & make it difficult for their subordinates to rise in rank, but in general, they take good care of their staffs while perhaps promoting a view of upper management as something omonous against which they will act as a protector - indeed, if their employees are ever wronged or treated unfairly by the organization, the Vigilant manager will not hesitate to stick up for them.

However, since people of this style need to be or feel in complete command, they will not feel comfortable delegating important (that is, politically powerful) responsibilities - they make it their business to be fully informed about the workings of their department & won’t hesitante to put in extra work, not only to earn their staff’s loyalty, but to keep a watchful eye on what’s going on.

To begin with, many Vigilant people might chose a more independent track within the organizaton where they can perform their duties without having to worry about managing other people.

Job Recomendations

Vigilant Individuals work best in fields where they can operate outside of direct, full-time authority. They often have a mind for technical, realistic things and with their exceptional astuteness, focus and debating skills, they often make good ritics, diagnosticians, academics, lawyers, investigative reporters and researchers.

Their perceptive savvy, including the ability to understand multiple layers of communication, may also serve them well in detective work, as interviewers, in sales and (as long as it’s moderate) as therapists. And, because many of them naturally identify with the role of the underdog, they often contribute to the effectiveness of social & political causes -

On the other hand, some strongly Vigilant individuals may prefer to work with machines rather than people, & their ability to focus comes in handy here.

Stress Sources

To be at ease, Vigilant individuals need to feel that they are firmly in control: this is why it takes so much time for them to become comfortable in relationships.

For such a person, loss of control presents a circumstance of extreme stress and dissapointment in relationships can be hard to come to terms with; Furthermore, there exists a tendency to read loss, change or relationship trouble as a personal betrayal before considering explanations like “We just grew apart” or “We’re just incompatible”.

Their primary coping mechanism is self-defense: They will focus on the other person’s errors and refuse to hear about their own, plus, they can be touchy about criticism - it’s not that they can’t take it and will lapse into tears, collapse into self-doubt or fly into indignant rage, but they’ll feel attacked, take it personally and react by defending themselves. They’re not really natural compromisers & may keep grudges.

Although they may react bitterly to the end of a relationship, their resilient autonomy serves them well in taking care of themselves & getting through the hurt - like Conscientious people, they may throw themselves into their work. Already negativistic by nature, there’s a risk of becoming embittered and staying away from new relationship for the long time it takes the wound to heal.

Parenting

As parents, Vigilant individuals are loyal & protective, perhaps, in some cases, overprotective. They may encourage mistrust of others & the world in their offspring, or feel threatened when the kids begin to rebel & assert their independence.

Nonetheless, though they may not be the most emotionally demonstrative folks, Vigilant parents are generall dedicated, responsible and, underneath it all, deeply caring & determined to protect them from harm.

Romantic Compatibility

Vigilant individuals do best in relationships with nonthreatening people and usually avoid those who will try to dominate the relationship or hog the top spot. Overall, they need a partner who will reach out to them, but offer predictability, and, above all, steadiness & loyalty, as Vigilant people cannot tolerate jealousy.

For obvious reasons, that means that Self-Confident, Agressive and especially Adventurous types are pretty much out of the question.

By contrast, Sensitive, Self-Sacricing and Devoted mates possess a lot of the necessary qualities & could profit from the protective Vigilant type looking out for them. Those would probably be the best matches, assuming no one involved is extremly unhealthy.

Conscientious types can have a lot in common with the Vigilant - As long as they manage to avoid control issues, they may often appreciate each other’s intellectual capabilities & ability to work, and will be able to count on each other’s loyalty

Individuals who are very Dramatic or Mercurial, by contrast, are usually too emotional, unpredictable & too indiscriminately needy for attention to provide a safe heaven for the Vigilant types, who may be prove to jealousy. If they do make it work, the emotionally recitent Vigilant type may profit from having someone more social & expressive around.

What about two Vigilant types teaming up? Well, it may cement them in an us-against-the-world type of union, but they’d need to have similr beliefs.

For similar reasons, a Serious type may be a good match, as both would share a dark, suspicious mindset and appreciate each other’s steady, independent and hardworking qualities.

Likewise, a Leisurely type may share their mistrust of authority & unwillingness to be pushed, though the Leisurely partner’s tendency to do their own thing & need for space could also provoke suspicion in the Vigilant, or they could be perceived as unreliable for being less focussed - It kind of depends.

Specific Issues

The Vigilant Person & the System

As they are very perceptive of authority structures while at the same time tending to question & suspect them, Vigilant people often play an important role in society & politics - Our world needs individuals who are on guard against abuses of authority & power and can detect ulterior motives.

While their watchfulness & sensitivity to flaws may hamper their personal relationships, they often serve as champions of the underdogs, protectors of the downtrodden and freedom from oppression - they’re your political critics, activists, protesters and whistleblowers, the journalists who bring corruption to light - besides, they’re usually good debaters and their strong Opinions, their certainty about the righteousness of their mission & their intense concentration of their goals makes some of them into heroes and leaders - They rise powerfully to their defense & the defense of their cause and don’t back off when opposed, often with a courage that inspires others to follow them.

One thing to understand about them is that they only come off so cynical because they have such high standards - In a sense they are idealists who want to believe in a better world, yet, wherever they turn, they see evidence of our flaws & wrongdoings, somehow expecting more from humanity than it seems to deliver, and taking it hard when it doesn’t.

However, not all of them can be Batman: Less savory individuals may end up as hatemongers, radicals or conspiracy nuts who seek to “protect” people from completely imaginary evils.

#oldham #oldham personality #personality #typology #extraTypology #Vigilant

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princessvicky01 · 7 years

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Why is it so cold?

One off Cullen POV fan fic: Pre Cullen X Annabel Trevelyan relationship, SFW, fluff, mild angst, romance, and light comedy all in one!

Haven has fallen, the Herald has made it to the camp but is riddled with fever. Cullen watches over her as she rests, but as the fever takes hold he gets a glimpse of her past and his own feelings in the process.

Based on an idea from the wonderful @blue-moon-magic a while back - I hope you like it!

Comments, likes and reblogs are love - Thank you XD

—-

The wind is cold and bitter. It whips through layers to chill everyone to the bone as it has done relentlessly for days. Standing with one hand resting on his sword hilt Cullen withstands another blast which stings his ears and bites at his nose. Despite how frozen and weary he feels, his lips twitch in a tiny smile at the scene before him.

The Herald of Andraste was here, in a make shift bed, being cared for by the revered mother and people he considered friends. They had made it out of Haven, she, had made it out of Haven.

“Cullen, can I have a word, please?” asks the Herald.

His attention snaps back and he nods stepping closer. “Of course.”

Annabel strains to sit up and apparently decides to rest propped up on her elbows instead, her face flushed with effort. “A word, alone?”

He feels a lump catch in his throat. What could she possibly have to say to him that the others couldn’t hear? Dumbfounded he nods. “Erm, yes, of course.”

The advisors and Mother Gisele exchange glances with each other, then him before reluctantly dispersing. Once seemingly out of ear shot Annabel looks up at him.

“I’m tired,” she states begrudgingly her gaze dropping. Puzzled he finds himself frowning in response. He thought that much was obvious? She’d survived meeting their enemy, and his ‘dragon’, fallen down a mountain, trudged through the snow and collapsed at their camp. And yet she was reluctant to admit she was tired?

“You’re going to think I’m weak, or childish but…Will you stay with me? Stay up with me…Not leave I mean?”

He can feel her bright eyes searching his and can almost see a glitter of hope in them. However, he’s still slightly taken a back, surely Mother Gisele or a healer would be a more suitable option?

He’s about to voice his opinion but is drawn to whatever glimmers in those eyes. How could he refuse such a simple request, when she had done so much? Been through so much. “Erm…of course…”

“Thank you,” she sighs collapsing back. Clearly the potent medication the healer has given is starting to take effect as her eyes struggle to remain open and her head sloshes to one side. “It’s silly, I know…” she yawns. “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to feel you have to, but…” Dragging her eyes open she looks back up at him.

“It’s fine, my lady,” Cullen nods and decides to sit. It was going to be a long night, but at least she was here, she was safe and so were a great deal many more than he’d even hoped for.

She snorts a derogatory laugh at him. “How many times?…It’s just Annabel…”

A half smirk plays on his lips as he leans forward. There is no ‘just’ about her. He goes to reply but she’s already fallen asleep, head resting to face him with pale lips slightly parted. He notes that this is the most peaceful he’s ever seen her. She’s normally glowing with energy, bouncing on the balls of her feet, radiating warmth and humour, greeting him with the widest smile he’s ever known…

For her to even ask him to stay is distinctly out of character, she always had such a carefree manner, to see her worried is disturbing.

Disturbing but not unwarranted. The healers had done their best and she was under the influence of every healing herb they had but still he had been warned that a fever ran deep. There was a chance it would take hold, worsen in the night, a chance they might lose her still.

Perching by her side he did his best to not contemplate that, even though it gnawed at the back of his mind. She was so bright, illumining everything and everyone around her. To lose her…no he mustn’t dwell on such things. She was a fighter, a warrior, a survivor, she would be fine, whatever fire burned inside was too brazen to be extinguished by the cold.

Covered in a film of sweat Annabel awoke and huffed, tossed and promptly attempted to sit up. Cullen stirred from his doze as she slumped back onto her damp pillow with hair clinging to her face and concern to his.

When she tossed her again, growing fretful, he placed a cold cloth to her forehead as he’d been instructed. He still wasn’t sure why she’d insisted he’d stay, he’d looked after his fair share of ill comrades over the years but was not qualified to provide any actual help. Thankfully Mother Gisele slept close by and her presence reassured him as he softly mopped the sweat from Annabel’s brow.

“Bryan?” Annabel’s voice was soft, almost lost on the wind but he caught it.

“Hm? No…you’re sleeping,” he replies gently taking away the cloth that had disturbed her.

“Like Mother?”

He furrows his brows. “Erm…I don’t…” he looks around. Did she mean the revered mother? It’s late and everyone is fast asleep, other than some distant snoring the camp is deathly quiet. Was it the fever talking? “Get some rest,” he whispers giving her arm a little squeeze then withdrawing.

“Don’t leave,” her face scrunches in distress and he returns his hand.

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Mother promised too…” she said distantly.

“I…I’m sorry, you’re not making any sense,” he said, eyes searching her features for an explanation.

“Bryan, why is it so cold?”

Cullen gave a heavy sigh, she was clearly delirious and he was at a loss for how he should respond. The way she spoke, with the innocence of a child, made him wonder just where and when she thought she was. And he had no idea who this ‘Bryan’ was either.

He offered the only thing he could think which might help warm her, removing his own cloak despite the frigid air, he lay it over her. Carefully he tucked the furs up around her chin.

“Mother always lit the hearth…I don’t think father knows, he’s too sad…” her voice is quiet and pondering.

“Annabel…I don’t…I’m sorry,” he flusters.

“Will it be cold where Mother’s going? Is that why her skin was so cold?”

With a heavy heart he suddenly realises what she’s talking about. It seemed her mother must have passed away when she was young. He knew nothing of her family, save they were noble and fairly well respected, in fact he knew very little of her at all. He supposed it was only fair, after all, she knew nothing of him. “Shhh-“

“Don’t shh me Bryan,” she lashed out under the blankets. “Just because I’m little don’t mean I’m stupid. Tell me. Why is she so cold? Why won’t father come see us? Why is it so cold? Why…?”

A few people grumbled and rolled over, but most seemed so weary that they drifted back off to sleep despite her commotion. Growing tired himself he replies. “It’s cold because we’re out side, I don’t know where your father is and your mother…I don’t know. Now rest.”

His voice, despite its almost military tone, seems to soothe her and she settles back. Resting her cheek against his fur trimmed cloak, he can see her eyes darting under closed lids, clearly re living a vivid dream. A deep pang of empathy fills him.

“Father forgot about us again didn’t he?” she asks her voice down trodden.

“Maker’s breath…” Cullen shock his head. “No… I’m sure he wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s ok…” she nuzzled into in his furs. “He’ll return someday, do you think he’ll bring mother back with him?”

Rubbing his face Cullen sighs heavily, deciding perhaps he should just ignore her, if he didn’t engage maybe she would slip back off into a deeper slumber?

“Why did she have to go?”

The question is truly pitiful, and even though she is snuggled asleep, her expression seemed lost. It tugs at his heart, to see her suffering, trapped in a painful dream, an old memory and he’s forced to look away.

“Bryan?” She asks with caution.

His amber eyes flick back to watch her carefully while he remains steadfast in his silence.

“Bryan?” She calls tossing to the side, searching for someone who isn’t there, she shouts the name again, her cry desperate. He hears a rumble of complaints from disturbed men and eases his hand on her forehead, his resolve at tough love already broken.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs softly.

“No, no its not, you said you wouldn’t leave, you said you’d stay! Why does no one stay?!” Shrill and demanding her voice pierces the still night air.

Maker, she is feisty even when asleep riddled with fever and thinking like a child. He had wondered if her fire had been an act, a front she put up to cope with the title of ‘Herald of Andraste’ but no…whatever ferocity she has inside runs through to her core. Determined, demanding and brutally honest. She didn’t hold back, wasn’t afraid to ask the hard questions or find out their answers.

“I didn’t leave…Annabel, it’s Cullen, Commander Cullen,” he tries to draw her back from where ever she has wondered in the Fade.

“C-u-l-l-e-n,” she said, as if hearing it for the first time.

“Yes, now go back to sleep,” he states leaning back in his seat to try to rest his straining eyes.

“I like him,” she adds. He opens his eyes a crack, checking if she was winding him up, as she so often did, but she still seemed to be fast asleep.

“He’s warm and kind…” she muses. “He thinks he can hide it…but I can see.”

A half smile creeps onto one corner of his lip and he sits forward slightly. He can’t deny he’s tempted to find out more but knows it’s wrong given the circumstances. “You need to rest,” he said softly.

“No…he needs to rest,” she replies her brows furrowing. “He works and worries too much…I don’t like it.”

He gives a light chuckle. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he replies, attempting to reassure her and falling into her pattern of speech.

“Good,” she mumbles. There is a long silence and finally he hunkers down hoping for some peace.

“Bryan? Do you think he likes me?”

Snapping awake his eyes jolt open. “I…err…” Even though she’s not awake he glances away, the openness of the question too bold for him to know how to answer.

“That’s a good question,” Leliana’s smooth voice states as she slips into view, dark blanket draped over her shoulders.

“Ah, Leliana…” he staggers to his feet, his muscles frozen stiff. When she raises a questioning eye brow at him he scowls. “This is not the time,” he grumbles then looks down to Annabel. “She thinks I’m someone else. A Bryan?”

Leliana folds her arms and appears to consider the name. “I cannot think of any of our officers with that name with any close connection.”

He shakes his head. “No…that’s not it…does she have a brother, perhaps?”

“Yes. An older brother, an heir…We wrote to the Bann as soon as she gave her name. Her brother replied, which was most peculiar in itself. He was less than impressed we had her in chains…but has since pledged the support of house Trevelyan. Yes, a Lord Bryan-”

“Yes,” Annabel exclaimed with a pitch of joy. “Bryan!”

They both look to her, half expecting her to be sat upright, but her body is still, with the trace of a smile on her lips.

“She thinks you’re him?” Leliana smirks. “She must be confused indeed. By all accounts he is a formidable man, alluding to threats even, if we did not keep her safe within the Inquisition.”

“Threats? Why wasn’t I told?” Cullen demands trying to keep his pitch low through worry about disturbing the Herald once more.

“They were empty threats, Commander,” she waves her hand dismissively.

“Commander?” Annabel echoes the title. “Commander Cullen?”

Cullen smiles, relieved, that she’s finally understanding. “Yes, Commander Cullen,” he breathes, hoping that will be the last time tonight he has to repeat his own name.

“He thinks I don’t notice,” she smiles and giggles lightly. “How he blushes when I catch him staring.”

A sly grin comes across Leliana’s lips. “Is that so?”

Annabel giggles again. “Umm hmm, his cheeks glow but I don’t mind, it’s rather cute, I like how-“

“Right, that’s enough,” he snaps. He would not have his, desires, as such, split out for all to hear. “She needs her rest, as do I, so if you don’t mind,” he gestures for Leliana to leave with a hard stare.

The spymaster challenges it for a second with one of equal measure before tipping her head. “Of course,” she turns to leave but hesitates. “Although think of what we could learn? About her, about the conclave?”

“No,” Cullen states flatly. “She is vulnerable, that would be taking advantage of a frightened child.”

Leliana stares questioningly at him.

“Never mind,” he waves her away and she languishes off back to bed.

Several quiet hours pass and eventually he dozes off only to be woken by a fitful bout of Annabel’s coughing. She sweat drenched and mumbling incoherent things about dragons. She has gone deathly pale and he feels a hard lump rush up to lodge in his throat.

Instinctively he’s on his feet and rolls her onto one side to ease the retching. Every breath she draws makes an audible wheeze from somewhere deep in her chest and his heart races. He moves to fetch Mother Gisele but she’s already rushing over. Various of the Herald’s companions are also up, looking over nervously through puffy eyes as Cullen backs away to allow the healers some space.

He watches helplessly for a few moments as she coughs so violently that she wakes half the camp. Maker no, he finds himself begging, he’d fretted and worried endlessly about whether she was alive or dead…and now this. For her to be here, to have found her way against the odds, only to die in the cold grasp of the night?

He starts pacing and Cassandra is soon there to offer a calming arm on his shoulder. “Cullen, you’re freezing, you need to rest, come,” she states.

“No,” his answer is simple and absolute. “I said I would not leave her and I will not.”

“She is in safe hands, now come, warm yourself by the fire, just for a bit.”

Cassandra is right, he is freezing, his fresh sweat chilling against the icy winds which still drive across the land. Tempted by the warmth he glances to his friend, he’s about to agree when a bedraggled cry sounds out.

“Bryan!”

His focus returns to Annabel and at once he’s striding back to her. When he arrives, he finds her sobbing, tears soaking her face and chest heaving with the effort.

“It’s ok,” he grabs her hand which has come loose. “I’m here.”

Those close by watch on, confused, but unwilling to interrupt as it seems the action calms her. She settles and much to everyone’s clear relief the coughing eases to a steady heavy wheeze.

Cullen can feel her squeezing and while her grip is not overly strong it gives him hope, she is not willing to let go. He looks to Mother Giselle. “What do we do?”

“There is nothing more we can do,” she replies. “It is up to the will of the Maker now.”

“What? There must be something,” his eyes harden, refusing to believe what he’s hearing.

“Keep her warm, reassure her and pray. Have faith Commander, her will is strong.”

He hangs his head. That was not the practical answer he had hoped for. “Thank you, revered mother,” he said closing his eyes, the chant of light already forming in his mind.

“I will be here if you need me,” she said, nodding then moving off along with the healer and the roused companions.

Cassandra remained for a moment. “The Herald is a remarkable woman,” she said. “If anyone can survive this, it is her.”

He nods lightly, taking her comforting words on board, he senses her leave and within a few moments he’s alone with Annabel once more. He watches the rise and fall of her lungs, vision blank to the rest of the world as he prays for her. Exhaustion eventually sets in and he is forced to shut his heavy eyes, although he still sits perched by her side, his hand curled around hers.

Such small hands he’d noted, not seemingly the hands of a warrior at all, he’s pondering on how she manages to wield a blade when he feels her stir next to him.

“There was so much blood…Why was there so much?” Annabel mumbles and he sighs heavily, although at least she’s able to speak without coughing. “Why is it still so cold…”

His thumb rubs her hand, reminding her he is there with a subtle gesture.

“She’s not coming back is she?” Annabel asks her voice small.

“No,” he replies gently. “But I’m here.” He can feel her fingers rub back through his gloves.

“Thank you,” she said. “Please, can you hold me? Like she did?”

The request is so pure he feels his heart crack once more. Its wholly inappropriate and he rejects it on instinct. However, the revered mother’s words echo in his head. Keep her warm and reassure her, plus then he’d also know she was safe…He’s worn out and frozen to the core, the offer not only to lie down, but to lie down with her curled beside him is a temptation like none his ever known. Save maybe once…but still professionalism holds him back.

“Annabel…I don’t think-“

She releases his hand and rolls over, shifting to the edge of the bed, seemingly to make space for him, the effort brings out a slight cough. “Please,” she said her voice straining. “Cullen.”

At the sound of his name his eyes widen slightly. He’d assumed she thought he was Bryan, he glances briefly around and wonders if he’s heard her correctly.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs her voice fading. “I just-“ her words are broken by coughing and promptly he lays down beside her, propped up on his elbow while his other hand rests on her back.

“It’s alright,” he rubs through the layers and her chest eases. He can see no harm in indulging her until she falls back to sleep so he decides to remain there, for now.

The bustle of the camp filters through and he groans at the disturbance. He’s warm and comfortable with no desire to stir. His cheek is resting against something soft, and as more of his senses return to him he realises one arm and leg are curled around the delicate curves of a woman. He smiles faintly to himself, content, until a spark of realisation hits him.

Opening his eyes he finds his nose is buried in Annabel’s hair and his body draped over her. Abruptly he sits up into the frigid morning air, dawn has just broken, and blinking in the pale light he soon spots Mother Giselle observing silently from close by.

He glances back to Annabel who rolls at the disturbance, her leg looping over his and hand resting on his chest, with a panic he shoves her away. She groans distastefully but doesn’t stir as he promptly gets up.

“I was just…” he pauses, trying to find the right thing to explain the situation and rubbing the back of his neck as nerves kick in.

“Do not fret child,” Mother Gisele smiles softly at him.

Still he feels the burning need to justify his behaviour. “She was cold…she asked me…” he sighs heavily. “I just wanted to do what was best, for her, that is all.” He glances back to Annabel.

She has snuggled into his cloak in the warm spot he’s left behind and it hits him. That really was all he wanted. To help her, to protect her, to comfort her, whatever it took to see her smile again. Maker’s breath he was in over his head. “You won’t say anything, will you?” He asks turning back to the revered mother.

“My lips are sealed,” she said, nodding her head lightly to him with a glint of knowing in her eye which throws him a little off balance.

Still her words are reassuring. “Good,” he sighs, relaxing a fraction, he hears a cough and spins back to Annabel. She’s now sitting up, hand over her mouth trying to catch her breath once more. “Annabel? Are you alright?” His question is cautious, half expecting more nonsense, but she gives him a little nod and takes the water skin Giselle swiftly hands her.

“Not going to lie,” she rasps a little laugh. “I’ve been better…” she rubs her hands against her face, clearly groggy and when they settle back into his fur mantle she stares at it for a moment, then back up at him. “Thank you, Cullen…” she said, eyes and small smile so sincere he feels warmth blossom in his chest despite the chill and fog of his breath.

“Your welcome, Annabel.”

——

Thank you for reading

#cullen fan fic #fluff #sfw #cullen romance #cullen x annabel #cullen x trevelyan #mild angst #my writing #why is it so cold?

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reclusive-cat-lady · 7 years

Text

Stratagem

Summary: Rick leads Negan into a trap only to have an unexpected turn of events causing things to heat up between them.

Pairing: Negan x Rick Grimes

Word Count: 3337

Warnings: NSFW, strong language, violence, apocalyptic gore, dubcon, domination, angry sex, asphyxiation with a scarf, ass slapping, fingering, anal sex, orgasm denial, Rick being a prick

Tags: @negansmutweek @negans-network @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash

A/N: Written for Ash’s 2K challenge and Negan Smut Week. Somehow all my smutty one shots slowly evolve into dark erotica. Sorry not sorry. Rick had a mind of his own here. Not my fault. Did I actually write this?

Negan was in a worse mood than usual upon his arrival at Alexandria. The last drop was not only light but full of useless items which only served to elicit further tension with the Saviors. While Fat Joey, Dwight and the others present to collect the offering failed to ensure that their leader would be pleased with the paltry hull they brought back, Negan partially blamed himself for leaving ‘dimwitted fuckers,’ as he put it, to do the job. Not that he regretted having spent the time fucking two of his wives instead. Simply put, he would rather have competent soldiers who he could entrust not to fuck up something for just once. He was beginning to think this simple request was too much to ask for in the apocalyptic world they lived in. Hell, the dead had more brains than half of his men, he thought.

Method and strategic calculation were two attributes that kept Negan two steps ahead of everyone else. His performance as a volatile manic was the icing on the cake that kept his enemies on their toes. The citizens of Alexandria, namely Rick Grimes, remained none the wiser to his ever continuing mind games. When Negan and Lucille showed up at their gates a record four days earlier than the last unexpected visit, every soul there had fallen prey to this ploy of fear. The townspeople had grown accustomed to the shrill clank of barbed wire clashing against the metal bars of the front gate for each time it served as a harbinger of terror. Only this time the clangor was more demanding, forceful.

The alarming arrival was first noticed by Francine and Heath who were nearest the entrance when the ominous silhouette of a man carting a bat was cast across the front gate. Each waiting for the other to act first, both stood in silence as Lucille’s teeth gnashing assault on the metal continued. The increasing racket caught the attention of Rick who wasn’t far from the scene. In no hurry, he sauntered toward the entryway. Reaching the latch, he slid one door and then the other to the side allowing Negan entry. Without as much as an acknowledgement or glance at Rick, Negan presumptuously stepped foot into the safe zone. Standing in place, his dark eyes scrutinized his surroundings.

“Where’s the fucking emergency?”

“Excuse me?” Rick deadpanned.

“The emergency that kept you fine, neighborly folk from greeting your guest in a fucking timely manner.” Any humor implied was firmly contradicted by the anger showcased on Negan’s face.

“I can only assume this emergency is why you’re here before we have your offering ready.” His words seethed with suppressed anger.

“Thing is, Rick.” Negan’s lips curved in a wry smile. “You have to have a full fucking load the first fucking time if you want the next one to count. And seeing as I didn’t get my shit the last fucking time that tells me you don’t have shit for me this week.”

Daring a step closer, Rick met Negan’s cold gaze. “You might wanna check with your guys then. Every man and woman here will attest that they saw their things put on that truck.”

“First off, I know you meant to say my things. Second.” Ever the showman, Negan paused for dramatic effect. “That truck didn’t have even half of fucking half your shit.”

“We tried. Seems our usual supply source is overru-“

Negan interrupted, “if I wanted a fucking excuse, I would have fucking asked for it. What I did ask for? Your shit. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. Do you?”

Breaking eye contact, Rick gazed past Negan in silent defiance.

“Well?” Negan purred.

Emotion remained void from Rick’s face. Knuckles whitened as his fists clenched tighter. “No. No.”

“You of all people, Rick, know what an understanding kind of guy I can be. Lucille on the other hand? Now if it were up to her, she’d make your body as limp as a fucking whiskey dick. But I’m giving you a choice. Get me my shit or I get you a new dead friend. Shame you’re out of gingers and Asians to choose from.” Jutting his jaw, Negan continued, “Better yet, how about that smoking black chick.”

Rick contorted his face in anger, shattering his composed façade. His jaw set with gritted teeth as his eyes leered into Negan’s own in passionate rage. Fury boiled in his blood as dark, malicious thoughts consumed him.

Negan shot Rick an expression of mock concern. “Now what the fuck has got your dick in a twist?”

Rationalization told Rick he should subdue his anger but his mind betrayed him as his body continued to tense, blood boiling with hatred. The nonchalant attitude Negan displayed only added fuel to the fire burning within Rick.

“Oh, wait. You thought I meant to kill her?” Negan let out a boisterous laugh. “Excuse the fuck out of me for implying anything other than making her my fucking wife. Hot, gutsy chick like that? Give me a week alone with her and she’ll be begging to have my fucking dick in that pretty pussy of hers.”

It took every last ounce of composure Rick possessed not to break his jaw at the deplorable insinuation of Michonne engaging in a carnal act with a vile monster such as Negan was to him. Reminding himself of what could happen, what he could lose, he took a proverbial step back, instead simmering on other ways he could make Negan suffer. His pulse and breathing slowed as sound judgement began to set back in. He knew far too well the consequences of going up against Negan but he couldn’t allow him to take the woman he loved most dear. Rather than the insubstantial dream of Negan’s death at his hands, images of his adversary being torn apart by the undead conjured in Rick’s mind. Rick now knew what he had to do.

“You want your stuff, right? Why don’t we go get it? Right now. You and me,” Rick offered.

Negan couldn’t have been more proud that his intimidation tactic once again set Rick the Prick in his place. Or so he though.

It was by sheer luck that Rick Grimes had stumbled across a wholesale warehouse not but twenty miles from the community of Alexandria. He and Daryl brought back a truck full of canned goods, toiletries and housewares along with selective knickknacks which had sufficed for the last month and a half of the Saviors demands.

Since the dawn of Negan’s despotic rule over Alexandria, Rick’s law of averages theory seemed to show itself more as wishful thinking than a reliable statistical outcome. This was substantiated upon his last run to the warehouse which he discovered to be abound with walkers leaving no pathway but one to enter the building. The merchandiser entrance in the back of the store was left mostly clear as the abandoned trucks created a barricade which impede the walkers from getting through. Not even the most well trained solder could clear the hordes of undead teeming the interior of the warehouse as the expanse left for little coverage once inside deeming it a death trap. This was why, of course, Negan and Rick were on their way there.

Negan pulled up to the rear entrance as Rick had instructed under the pretense of the majority of supplies being in the back storeroom. Everything was going to plan with not a walker was in sight on this clear, crisp day. Negan backed the truck into one of the loading docks with a smug grin.

“This is what I’m talking about, Rick. I ask you for shit and you give me a fucking warehouse. This is something to build a relationship on,” Negan drawled as he stepped out of the truck carting Lucille in hand.

Ignoring Negan’s unremitting egotism, Rick hopped out of the truck with high hopes that he would continue to circumvent any shortcomings in his stratagem. Though he staggered a short distance behind to err on the side of caution. Negan had allowed Rick to carry his hatchet which was tucked into his belt.

“As much as I’m enjoying the ever living fuck out of your company, I don’t have all fucking day to dick around. You coming?” Negan said as he stood by the entryway.

Knowing he had the upper hand, Rick defiantly continued his torpid pace trudging up the stairs to the door, boots scuffing the concrete below.

“Ladies first,” Negan jeered as he bowed in mock obeisance. Rick sauntered past him with disregard, his hand hesitantly reaching toward the doorknob in trepidation of the unknown dangers lurking on the other side. It was all together possible the walkers had found a way into the storeroom since his last visit. He pushed aside his instinct to barge in baring his hatchet as to prevent alerting Negan to the danger he was luring him into, Rick instead risked the odds by coolly opening the door as if entering the safe zone of Alexandria. Braving a step forward, Rick found the place as he’d last left it. Skylight domes adorned the lofty ceiling bringing natural illumination to the expanse of the chamber, though the storeroom itself was small compared to the entirety of the building. Negan followed behind as Rick strode to the center of the room.

“This is it,” Rick said gesturing to the wall of towering wooden pallets loaded with a conglomeration of everything from bulk cereal to espresso machines. Negan circled the room with a pompous stride swinging Lucille to his side as he perused his endless options.

“Ohhh, I could use one of these!” Coming to a halt, Negan brandished his beloved bat at the stack of cast iron charcoal grills stacked before him. A thick layer of plastic sheath held the tower in place. Leaning back in admiration of his newest favourite cooking appliance, he withdrew the sizable knife from his cartilage belt with his free hand. “Hey, Rick! Give me a fuckin’ hand with this.”

Rick reluctantly obliged on account of impatience for Negan to move on to the warehouse floor where the real feast awaited him. He palmed out his hand, expecting to be given the knife Negan held, only to be greeted by the unwelcome caress of Lucille instead. Rick abhorrently resented being forced to carry the very object that had caused him such grief and remorse when she took her first swing before his tearful eyes. Pushing such grim thoughts aside, reassurance swept over Rick as he cast his gaze to a sight that served as a reminder today would be his final meeting with the loathed bat and her master. Within feet of the parcel, which Negan had been unhurriedly marveling at, were the one-way swinging doors that held back the horde of walkers lurking inside.

“Well I can’t very well cut this shit open with her in my hand now, can I?” Negan said in response to having taken notice of Rick’s visible distress. Turning his focus back to the pallet, Negan carelessly sliced through the plastic wrap with no regard to the excess boxes beneath. The teeth of his knife snagged, sending the towering mass toppling into the double doors creating an open passage to the conjoining room. Rick’s ploy had gone into effect sooner than expected putting him in the line of danger as walkers began piling in by the masses. He bolted for the door leaving Negan in the wake of the undead.

The odds of survival were not in Negan’s favor should he precariously fight a dozen or more walkers with a single knife. Sooner he seal Rick’s fate with his own by sacrificing his only means of defense. Without hesitation, Negan threw his knife, successfully hitting his target.

Rick tugged furiously at the door which was wedged shut from the knife’s mark. The force in which it hit secured it deep within the wood thwarting any escape. With no choice but to push back toward the multiplying horde, Rick stormed forth with unyielding ferocity. The piercing barbs of the bat he wielded connected with the skulls of the undead, vanquishing as many as three in a single stroke. Lucille’s savage kiss left a trail of carnage as Rick fought to clear his way to the only remaining refuge. The sickening pop of splintering skulls coupled with the moans of the walking dead. Rick delivered a final blow before slipping into the confines of the storeroom freezer. He slammed the latch door behind him. Rick turned to assess his surroundings only to be met by a harsh blow to the face. He fell to the floor, dropping Lucille in the act.

“Stand the fuck up, you fucking fucker. Before I fuck you up even more,” Negan exhorted as he towered over Rick. “I don’t think you have any idea how fucking pissed off you’ve made me, fucker.”

Unwilling adhere to his demand, Rick defiantly remained in place as Negan glowered above. In a swift movement, Negan delivered a kick only to have his foot meet the metal door in the place where Rick had just been. Having rolled to the side before the assault, Rick was already to his feet with Lucille in hand as Negan doubled over in pain from the impact of his foot colliding with the hard surface.

“I have to say, Rick, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Negan huffed as brought himself upright. The inconvenience of being unarmed left him with only manipulation as a weapon. “I mean, have you fucking looked at yourself these last few weeks? You’ve been sulking around like a whore in a-”

Rick’s fist met Negan’s jaw with enough force to send him tumbling backward. He propped himself up against the ledge of the shelf he had collapsed into but before he could turn around to face his opponent, he found himself trapped in a chokehold as Rick gripped his crimson scarf with enough tensity to constrict his breathing. The clonk of the bat dropping to the floor echoed in the small room as Rick raised his free hand to wrap tightly around Negan’s throat while the other remained firmly clutching his scarf which served as a physical restraint.

This was the opportunity Rick had awaited from the moment they first met but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to put to death his most hated foe. His veins surged with rage but lacked the bloodthirst he’d thought would come with having Negan’s life in his hands. Silently cursing himself for his weakness, he loosened his hold, shoving Negan forward so that his torso was pressed firmly into the shelf below.

Negan gasped for air with deep, heaving breaths. “Damn, Rick! If I’d known you were such a kinky motherfucker, I’d have fuckin’ slid my dick down your throat ages ago.”

Having been subjected to Negan’s incessant innuendos, Rick had come to spurn them. This time was different. It dawned on Rick that Negan’s propensity for sex was his greatest weakness. He now knew the ultimate way to subjugate his oppressor.

“Is that what you want?” Rick growled as he pressed his hardening member against Negan’s backside. “My dick.”

Negan had found Rick’s actions to be unexpected to say the least. Unused to anyone having the balls to verbally contest him, Negan was unsure how this would pan out. The thrill of it all was arousing him more than he cared to admit. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pretend to himself that he didn’t want Rick Grimes to fuck him right then and there in the confines of a storeroom freezer. All that was in the way was his massive ego. It was a rare occasion that anyone but him was in control. Pinned down, with his ass up, at Rick’s mercy was not quite how he would have liked this situation to go. Unwilling to yield to Rick’s domination, Negan contented by reciprocating with a flippant rebuttal.

“Seeing as you’re the one with your fucking dick practically up my ass, it seems pretty fucking obvious who needs a good cock job.”

If Rick could see Negan’s visage, he would have been privy to the wry smile etched across his face. He also would have probably smacked his ass much harder than he did. Negan winced at the impact of the blow, his cock growing uncomfortably hard.

“Really, Rick?” He said through clenched teeth. “That’s all you fuckin-” Negan stopped midsentence at the shock of having his pants pulled to his ankles. Even more unexpected was the invasive push of a single finger inserting into his ass. Recalling the time he’d allowed Sherry to experiment with a strap on, he knew better than to resist if he were to experience more pleasure than pain from the penetration. After another few moments of teasing his entrance, Rick inserted a second finger which he began tauntingly pumping in and out. Just as the stimulation was beginning to build, Rick abruptly withdrew his digits. Negan cock twitched with heated anticipation as the clasp of a belt being unbuckled followed by a zip resounded from behind. Rick tossed his hatchet to the side.

The exhilaration of the unknown coupled with biting frustration from the absence of control was more than he could handle. Negan cocked his head over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of what depraved things were to come. His eyes took into view the erogenous sight of Rick’s thick cock as it sprung free glistening with pre-cum. After a few strokes, Rick lubricated his member with as much saliva as he could muster. This provided no reassurance to Negan that the experience awaiting him wouldn’t be uncomfortable to say the least. Regardless of his trepidation, Negan’s body teemed with burning desire. Before the other man could take notice of the hunger in his eyes, Negan turned aside his lust blown gaze. Rick caught sight of his sudden movement and advanced toward him with vehement fervor.

Feeling the tip of Rick’s cock prodding at his tight opening, Negan gulped a guttural moan. Taking his erection in hand, Rick slowly guided it inside. The sensation of a pulsating dick quite differed from the inertness of a rubber dildo and was a whole new experience from anything he’d felt before.

Once adjusted to the size, Rick pulled out all but the tip before sharply sheathing his length to the hilt as he grasped his hands on either side of Negan’s hips for better leverage. Still determined not to give Rick the satisfaction of complete control, Negan held back from any audible expression of pleasure with only a grunted ‘fuck’ when he was pulled in harder. The ruthless constraint of pressing fingers dug painfully into Negan’s naked flesh with bruising force. He soon found his efforts of physical reserve to be in vain with each shudder his body traitorously ceded to. Rick’s thrusts picked up speed setting a savage pace.

The ultimate supremacy Rick now held over his former oppressor served as the retribution he long craved but it wasn’t enough to satisfy his malignant rage. Rick shifted his hips as his rhythm became more erratic. His inner thighs clenched with building pressure. Blood pulsated through his veins as his cock convulsed with shooting pleasure. Overcome in violent ecstasy, Rick withdrew before Negan could find his release. Collapsing to the ground beside Lucille, Negan trembled with unfulfilled desire.

Paying no mind to the frustrated state he inflicted upon Negan, Rick zipped up his pants with satisfaction before crossing to the other side of the freezer to pick up his hatchet. The muffled moans of the undead had silenced indicating they had moved on. Wielding his weapon as a precaution, Rick swung open the door to find a clear exit from the building with only a few stragglers from the herd. Without another word, he set off for Alexandria leaving Negan to rethink ever returning there.

#Ash’s 2k Writing Challenge #negansmutweek #negansmutweek17 #negan's thirst squad #negan's network #my fanfiction #negan x rick #negan smut #rick grimes smut #negan fanfiction #negan #rick grimes

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wykart · 6 years

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A Crack in the Mask

Summary: “Yasmin wasn’t sure who the Doctor was anymore. Everything she thought she knew about the woman – the happy-go-lucky, hyperactive joker, that could melt the resolve of the universe with her compassion – only now was that image pulled away to reveal the struggling, broken, husk of a being underneath. A crack in the mask.“

Ryan, Graham and Yaz get a glimpse of the Doctor’s true nature when she comes to rescue them from the clutches of malicious aliens.

*warning: some pretty graphic violence described*

Check it out on ao3 here

Chapter 4:

By her calculations, it would take approximately ten minutes for her to suffocate in the vacuum of space. The first thing to go would be her eyesight, as she knew from experience – the first things to fade would be the stars around her, and the ruins of the Sagirian ship. After that, the regeneration process would begin, and she would burn out brilliantly in the vast emptiness, the next one along would be dead before they were ever truly alive, truly aware. How many more lives did she have to go? Curiosity was as good a reason as any to find out. Maybe she would keep going on forever, fizzling out, burning, bursting into life only to have it snatched away. A star; forming, burning, collapsing, and forming again, each new face alive only for a glimmer of pain, a moment of stars. Maybe she would find some sliver of strength to carry on, maybe she would claw herself from the wreckage and into the TARDIS. Now, all she did was wait; wait for the world to collapse around her.

They wouldn’t have wanted this, she thought to herself. This voice of compassionate reason often took on the likeness of another; usually Clara, but now she saw Yasmin’s face too – both of them only truly alive in her memory. No, but this is what you deserve. That was the voice of herself, of the boy on Gallifrey sobbing alone into the dark, the lonely warrior surviving at all costs, destroying everything in his path.

“They can’t be gone, not again, never again!” She screamed, out loud this time. “It’s my fault, it’s always my fault. I thought I could do this again but I’m sick of it! “Bill…” she trails off, and begins muttering names under her breath, as if she were chanting some kind of spell or mantra. “Rose, Donna, Amy, Rory, Sarah Jane, Lucie, Peri, River, Jamie – “ Her words spiralled into intelligibility, rising up once again in a strangled cry. “I can’t do this anymore! Clara, I’m sorry, I can’t, why do I have to… I should have died, this me should never have even been born!” Her final cry sent a stagnant silence over the hall, enough for her to hear the near-silent pounding on the glass. Four knocks. The sounds still sent a shiver through her. The Doctor whipped around, wild eyes clinging onto this newly emerged sliver of hope. She points the sonic screwdriver at the glass, shattering it into near-dust that dances through the air and settles on the forms of her three friends, standing shocked and stricken amongst the carnage.

The stood still, blinking dust from their eyes and adjusting to the light. Yaz’s eyes were glistening with tears. She didn’t know what to say; what words could possibly suffice?For a moment, the Doctor seemed as if she were unable to react, simply standing there as if she were trying to discern illusion from reality. “Are you really here?” she muttered, voice a hoarse and strangled whisper, “or am I just doing this to myself?”

Yaz felt a lump rising in her throat, threatening to spill tears from her eyes. “We’re here,” she assured her. The Doctors knees seemed to buckle from beneath her, causing her to stumble forward with a gasp of relief.

“I thought they’d –“ she darted to the three of them and looked to be going in for an embrace before she stopped herself short. She adjusted her facial expression to appear more cheerful, and rubbed her eyes on her coat sleeve before straightening up and addressing them cautiously. “You were behind the mirror, the whole time?” She ventured, trying to mask her panic, “how much did you see?”

The three of them exchanged a worried glance before Ryan blurted out; “well it don’t matter right now does it?”

“No, not if this ship is about to crash,” Graham added, relieved, “which, by the sounds of it –“ as if on cue, a part of the wall encircling the hallway collapsed inwards, sending a cloud of debris clattering down.

“Right, yes you two, brilliant,” the Doctor said, returning to her usual rapid, energetic tone. “I’d hand out points but I think that one might have been a little to obvious, you gotta really surprise me for a share of these points!” Graham and Ryan gave a half-hearted chuckle, but the Doctor didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she grabbed Yasmin’s hand and started pulling her along, indicating hurriedly for the others to follow. “Come on then!” She chirped, “no time like the present.”

The Doctor led them back through the entrance – the TARDIS doors flung themselves open to greet them, bathing the crumbling hall in golden light. She rushed them through, taking one final look around at the wreckage before shutting the door behind her and rushing to the controls.

Ryan, Graham, and Yasmin stood around the outskirts of the console room, clasping the wall for balance as the Doctor rushed around and fiddled with the systems. It took a few minutes for her to stabilise the flight, and by the time she was finished she had to wipe a layer of sweat from her brow with the bottom of her coat. Yaz wondered when she got the chance to wash that thing, one of the perks of having a time machine she supposed.

“Phew,” she gasped theatrically, sauntering over to the three of them. Before she could make one of her staple boasting remarks, she caught sight of their expressions. “You alright, you three?” She asked, eyes suddenly wide with concern.

“Just fine Doc, a little shaken up is all,” Graham reassured her, forcing a grin.

“No, no you’re not alright, look at you!” She stepped in front of Ryan and raised herself on tip-toes. She pulled out her sonic and brought it up to his face to scan him, but he flinched away at the sight of it. She let out a nervous laugh, “you’re all a bit jumpy aren’t ya. You sure they didn’t feed you anything – maybe there was something in the air, livestock processing is nasty stuff – or – “

“Doctor,” Yaz said, interrupting the Doctors spiral of mumbled anxieties, “it’s not that.”

The Doctor eyed her nervously. She shifted her gaze around the room and flashed them all a nervous, whimpering smile, as if she were on the brink of tears. “You’re afraid of me,” she muttered, already resigned to the truth. Yaz saw no point in refuting it, so she stayed silent in confirmation. “Yeah,” she Doctor sighed. She seemed to shrink in on herself as she let herself down to the floor, half-falling. She hunched her shoulders and turned her gaze away, instead staring at the closed doors at the front of the TARDIS, and to the dark, eerie glow of the universe outside that filtered in, beckoning. The three onlookers exchanged a worried glance, unsure of what to do.

“Doctor –“ Yaz began, as she lowered herself down next to the Doctor with caution. She’d hope that the rest of that sentence would have come to her by then, but, instead, she stayed silent.

“It’s okay,” the Doctor replied, still not turning around, “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she sighed, somehow managing to shrink further into herself, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“But why, why did you do it? If we were already gone then what was the point?”

She looked up, staring Yaz dead in the eyes with her own – bloodshot and reddening. “Because you were gone, in that moment, to me, you were gone. The universe had a debt to repay, and I collected.”

“You avenged us.” Yaz surmised, her tone cold and distant.

“I guess so, yeah.” The Doctor shrugged her off, trying to quell the voices starting up in her mind, Clara’s words; I will die and no one, not here or anywhere else, will suffer. She couldn’t do it then, she couldn’t do it again now. Don’t be a warrior, promise me, be a Doctor.

“Well don’t.” Yaz replied, “if… when something really does happen to us, any of us, don’t take revenge. And never, ever blame yourself.” She reached out and put a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. Her muscles were tensed up and shaking, knitted together in knots of anguish.

“I know you’ve lost people Doc,” Graham piped up, sitting down on the other side of the Doctor, “so have we all. Though from that list of names…” he trailed off as the Doctor eyes met his own, “that’s more than most.” He lent in closer, giving her a cheerful smile. “You’ve got us now, and eventually there’ll be someone else that comes around won’t there?”

“It’s like me nan always said,” Ryan says, still standing by the far wall and looking out into the distance, “the worst is always coming, but so is the best.” The Doctor whips around, clearly surprised by Ryans most sentimental addition. Yaz looks at Graham, who replies with a proud shrug of the shoulders. Ryan looks taken aback, but continues all the same. “And, err, that’s why you have to keep on going… or something.” He added, as if to add a layer of cool indifference. It didn’t work.

“Aww, thanks Ryan,” the Doctor sniffs, “see! There is a good surprise, gold star for Ryan!” The Doctor jumps to her feet, rubbing her hands together with excitement. “So,” she says, dancing over to the controls, seemingly cured of her little episode, “where to next team?”

“Err, actually Doc I was thinking I’d head home.” Graham said. The Doctor looked crestfallen, all of that renewed energy suddenly swept away. “N-not for good!” He added hastily, “just for tonight you know? Just for a little break, that was quite the ordeal.”

The Doctor forced a smile, “Yeah, sure thing.”

“In that case, I think I’ll head home too,” Ryan added, “keep ya company.” He was thinking about Graham all alone in that house, how much he had wanted to escape from it.

“Thanks mate,” Graham said appreciatively. For a moment, he looked as if he was going to go in for another fist bump, but thought better of it and turned the awkward gesture into a sort of half salute.

“Alright then, back to Sheffield, and I promise it won’t take fifteen tries this time, I’m finally getting the hand of these new systems. Yaz,” she turned to face her, “what about you?” On the surface, it was a question, but anyone could see that the Doctor was pleading. It was the same look she had given her when she’d finally got them all back home the first time. Ready to part ways, Yaz had invited her for tea to give her an excuse to stick around. She was lonely – today had proven that tenfold – and she wasn’t about to leave her friend alone after going through what she did today, after doing what she’d done.

“Nah,” she shrugged, “I think I’ll stay here for a bit. When I do go back home, it needs to be on the same night we left, promised I’d grab some bread from the shops or I’m going to catch an earful from me mum.” It was as good an excuse as any, and a true one at that. The Doctor’s face lit up with appreciation and relief. Yaz beamed.

“Off we go then!” She declared, and cranked one of the many levers on the control panel to set them on their way.

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