#my art has gotten so rusty oh my god
Photo
Honey and Clover is so underrated
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
*gregorian chant* breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink bree
In another universe pups is the ABO fic I never wrote HJDHJDSHJDSHJHJFHJFSD OK so anyway I won’t lie I had to google what cum inflation was and when I saw what I saw.... yes. Ok. It got my brain gears going *rusty noise of gears turning* U know what I mean??? So i was thinking..... ***NSFW WARNING
.
.
.
You see hentai on Namjoon’s laptop one day. You’ve mastered the art of nonchalance, though. So when he comes back from the bathroom and gives you a smile—as if you haven’t gotten a peek into Things That Turn Namjoon On That Don’t Include You—you breathe an internal sigh of relief. Safe.
Except you’ve stopped taking notes and now all you can think about is Namjoon watching porn so brazenly on his laptop. Where he does schoolwork of all places! He could at least just use his phone. Also you’re just a teensy bit wet because cartoon boobs and dick is still conducive to horny hours, even if you are doing something as unsexy as critical writing.
Your study date ends with a simple kiss on the lips because Hoseok’s home this time and you’d rather not taint the living room space while he’s occupying the apartment too. Namjoon slips in a little bit of tongue though, because he’s cheeky like that.
You text Namjoon right when you get home. You lie and say you’re going to sleep early, with the excuse that you have to wake up early for a meeting with your advisor. And when he sends you his good night text, you get to it. Getting ready for bed, turning your night light to the colour red once you’ve settled in.
You have sleuthing to do.
Because the hentai wasn’t just... well there’s no regular hentai, is there? It’s just. There. Being hentai. And what’s Namjoon without an inclination for messy pussies because of—because of—
You close your eyes tight because you can’t believe what you’re about to type into the search bar on your phone.
But first!
Incognito. Whew. The shame of clearing your history would be too much to bear. So when you press enter on cum inflation it isn’t so bad. Especially when all the X-rated websites pop up and your screen just becomes Anime Boobies Galore when you click the first link.
You can’t believe Namjoon had the gall to just leave that website up there on his screen. You’re scrolling down the page and already you’re feeling hot. And it isn’t even because of the fact that you’re skimming through videos of perfect girls getting so cummed up their stomachs literally become distended. Nor is it the thought of Namjoon watching it and enjoying it, either. Rather...
Was he thinking of you when he was watching these videos? Bending your knees up over your shoulders and promising you that he’s saved up all his cum for you? Getting you to drool down your chin, cross-eyed?
(Your hand is down your panties at the third video you come across. You come pretty hard when you see the girl’s pussy literally spew semen from how hard the guy comes inside her. And when you reach post-orgasm clarity you immediately exit the browser, chuck your phone onto the floor, and hope to god sleep overtakes you within twenty seconds.)
The next time you meet up for another study date with Namjoon is the weekend. That’s a good three nights of jacking it off to the same video of a huge dongle fucking a good five buckets of semen inside his girlfriend. And when you settle all your notebooks and laptop down, you immediately go for the kill.
“Do you like anime boobs?”
Namjoon chokes on the water he’s drinking from his bottle. “I—ahem. What, uh... what brought this on?”
“I’ve been watching a lot of hentai so I thought I’d ask,” you clarify.
“Uh-huh,” he says incredulously.
“And you know, it’s just—I liked it. A lot. You know. Just for your information.”
Namjoon blinks. “Are you trying to get at something here?”
“Because I don’t really mind, you know. Porn is porn. And you can like whatever you want. Like as long as it’s nice and consensual,” you ignore him.
“Babe.”
“Like I would never make fun of you because I’m—well I’ve watched Grinch porn before but that was against my own will—“
“Baby,” Namjoon laughs, squishing your cheeks to stop your rambling. “What’s going on?”
“I like h’ntai,” you try to articulate with his hands still keeping your lips pressed in like this.
“I get that. But why?”
Oh god. You don’t even know what you want from this conversation. Maybe the guilt of catching him has caught up to you. Or maybe you also just want to have a distended stomach from having Namjoon bust a fat load inside you.
You take his hands from your face, clutch at them for support. “I saw... Um. What you were watching. The other day.”
“Ah.” You watch Namjoon’s ears turn red. He squeezes your hands right back. “You—damn. I’m sorry.”
“No—!” You clear your throat when it warbles. “N-No... it’s... well I...”
You feel his thumb rub comfort into your skin. He looks like he’s getting ready for a scolding. So when you say, “I actually really liked it and I’ve been watching it every night,” in one breath, Namjoon blinks.
And blinks.
After a solid sixteen seconds of silence, he says: “That’s really hot.”
You both stare at each other. The notebook you laid out for notes sits quietly, waiting.
“You wanna go to your bed—?”
Namjoon nearly dislodges your shoulder when he pulls you up to stand. “Yes we’re going right now.”
Something you’re really thankful for when it comes to Namjoon is how compatible you two are. You can’t count how many times you’ve both just looked at each other, no words to say, but somehow still completely on the same page. It’s like you both have the instinct of the other person ingrained in the part of your brain that deals with intuition.
You’re pretty keen on foreplay most days, but even Namjoon sees you’d rather rip your hair out than not immediately go for the feeling of his dick ramming inside you right at this very second. He laughs when you strip in record time, laying supine on the bed while he undresses.
“What’s gotten into you?” As if he’s not hard himself. He crawls over you with kisses warm on your belly, your breasts. “I have to admit. I really just wanted to fuck today.”
“Oh thank god,” you sigh. You knew something was up the second you realized Hoseok wasn’t home. He probably sexiled himself. You remind yourself to buy him dinner one day for his noble deed. “Just—I’m wet. I think. I just want you inside me, please.”
Namjoon groans. “You’re dangerous.”
“I watched hentai for three nights straight, I’m horny,” you whine in correction.
“You wanna know something? Please don’t laugh.”
“What?” Oh you’re wet alright. Namjoon lines his cock at your hole, slides tight inside. “O-Oh—what?”
“I kind of. I haven’t jacked off since the last time we met,” he says, voice tight. “Thank god you watched that shit because I probably sound crazed right now.”
“Huh?”
He grinds up till his hips meet your ass, and you shiver when the tip of his cock hits just right. “I—I wanted to save my cum for you,” he admits, sweating at his neck, and something clicks inside you, because you were right.
“I thought—about that too—ngh!”
Namjoon fucks you steady now. No more shy thrusts like he always starts off with to gauge your mood. He knows you want it. “Shit. About what, baby?”
“You. A-And... making me full... of you.”
“Oh my god.” He grabs your thighs, opening you wide. Takes a thumb to your clit like he’s on a mission. “Will you come with me? Can you do that?”
Holy fuck you’d do anything for him. So you nod, moaning with every hard thrust he gives you. Your legs threaten to close when he rubs you raw, but he commands with a low voice:
“Open, pups.”
Embarrassingly, that does it. He’s never one to order you around. And knowing he’s purposefully saved you his cum like it’s Christmas come early, you know better than to hinder the process.
Your legs shake when you open wider, feeling the warmth of his cock tenfold. “I’m close,” you cry when he slams into you.
“Feel it here?” He slides a sweaty palm to your abdomen. “Gonna give it to you right there. Make you so full. So pretty. All—mine—!”
You don’t even know if that was your signal. But the thought of him swelling you up like that girl on your screen, her womb so full with cum and promise—
“Joonie!” You shriek, toppling right into red-hot pleasure, clutching at the sheets because it’s too much. You come in waves, and Namjoon rides it with you, bucks into you with one last groan. You feel it, feel his excess warmth coat your insides just like he’d told you, and you pretend you feel your stomach balloon for more space. He rubs a grateful hand on your stomach.
“My little cum dump,” he coos tiredly, and you slap his arm with a laugh.
“Don’t pull out yet.” You slide your arms around his shoulders, bringing his tired form onto you. “Keep me plugged in.”
He laves at your neck. “Oh so now I’m out of line when I say weird shit.”
“I never said it was weird,” you whisper. “I’ll happily house all your semen.”
“Oh my—pfft. Ok. You know what? Show me that video you were watching, I need to know what’s got you like this,” he snorts, and you promise to do it later. You’ll just keep him like this for a little while.
605 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bliss
Word Count: 2.1k
Summary: Adam steals you during a long study session to go play some hockey like the good old days.
The scent of parchment paper filled the Great Hall, along with that of fresh ink. You could see it shine on the paper if you were seated directly in front of a tall window. The most light comes through during sunrise and sunset, but at the time I’m studying, I wasn’t there during those hours.
It was almost noon on a Saturday, but here I am, studying. These tables were a place I usually enjoyed, mostly because of the large quantities of food, but it soon had become the place that gave me migraines and a strong urge to doze off every now and then.
Ever since I started my sixth year, the advanced potions class had turned into a monstrosity that I wasn’t sure I could handle. At first, it started with a few trips to the hall every month. Then it turned into weeks...and now I’m studying during most of my free time.
I can’t understand why I’m struggling with this class in particular. In all of my other classes, I’m performing above average. Apparently, I just can’t get the hang of “the art that is potion-making.” God, if I hear one more uninspiring word from Snape I might jump from the Ravenclaw tower.
At this point I had been studying for at least four hours now, and I hadn’t even eaten anything that would resemble breakfast. Unless two stale crackers count. The best part about the whole situation is that I had only managed to memorize the ingredients of one potion in my whole time studying. One. So, still, I must persist. Because I do not want to spend a study hall with Snape. I let my grade fall once and suddenly I found out how awkward and unsettling an hour with the professor was. It’s not like he would even help me. He just told me to read from the book and stared at me the whole time. As much as I hate to admit it, having no time to relax was better than spending any extra time with Snape than I had to
As I reached across the table for more ink, a separate hand was already there.
“Hey.”
A long, dark robe hung from his shoulders, and a green and grey scarf was loosely wrapped around his neck. His cheeks and nose had a blush, while the rest of his face appeared icy. He carried a bag with him that had unorganized papers going every which way.
“Oh hey, Adam. How’ve you been?”
Adam passed the vial to me and I dipped my quill. He put his belongings on the table and sat on the bench.
“Pretty good. You?” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the mess.
“Eh. I’ve been better.” My voice was laced with tiredness and a pang of hunger. Nothing that would have been noticed, though.
He paused for a moment and then spoke again. “What’s wrong, Snape got you down because he couldn’t meet for a study session?”
I snorted. Me missing Snape? Yeah, sure, in his dreams. It took me a few seconds to compose myself before I responded. “No. Quite the opposite actually.” Adam hummed in response and gave a small laugh.
Once the noise subsided there was an awkward pause. I was waiting for him to respond, and I honestly didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t had a decent conversation with the kid since the beginning of fifth year. Now we’re almost done with our sixth. I decided that maybe if I returned to my studies, he’d take that as an opportunity to drop the conversation.
I hadn’t even gotten the chance to open my book before he cleared his throat. “Gosh, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” He leaned his arm against the table and rested his head in his palm, fingers twiddling with the feather of my quill.
I sighed, slouching in the process. “Yeah. Social interaction has been foreign to me.”
Adam moved his other arm to the table, resting his head in both hands now. “Well I’m glad that you were just studying and not being torn apart by the whomping willow.”
“Haha, yeah. I think I would prefer the willow.” We both laughed, knowing that potions class was hell. Well, I assumed that he thought it was hell.
“Ahh, don’t say that.” It looked as though he was trying to think of what words to say. Mouth opening and closing, eyes darting everywhere. He must have pieced together what he wanted to say. “You should join me and the guys for some skating.” I shrugged my shoulders, not answering. I knew that if I entertained the idea at all then I wouldn’t be productive the rest of the day, so I decided to read over my notes to get my mind off the subject. Still, Adam persisted. “Maybe take away some of your stress?” I paused. A break sounded really nice, but could I really afford one right now, or even have enough energy?
“I don’t know, Adam. I have an exam on Tuesday.”
Adam stood up and walked around the table with a childlike bounce in his step. “C’mon, y/n, it’ll be fun. Just like old times.” Now he was sitting right beside me, his lip now forming a pout.
“Well...I guess skating for an hour or two couldn’t hurt. What time were you thinking?” He pulled me up. “Right now!”
All of my belongings were still in the hall, but I don’t think Adam had any regard for that. He seemed extremely excited that I had agreed to go skating with him. Well, and other people. Obviously. It’s not like it was just an invitation with him. They probably just needed an extra player so the teams were even. Whatever the case, I was glad to leave my studies for a few hours.
We earned glares from the portraits as we ran through the west wing haphazardly, bumping each other as we went. Giggling filled the air and it was just like it was a year ago. There was no awkwardness, no distance. It was like we had stayed in touch the whole time we were apart. I’ll have to make a mental note to not let that distance between Adam and I grow again.
“So, this is where I leave you.” I smiled at him as I turned to enter the Hufflepuff common room. “Well, for a moment. I don’t really want to get yelled at for being in another house.” Adam shifted his feet.
“Oh. lighten up, cake eater.” He didn’t say anything, just stared at me. “Okay fine. If you’re that much of a stickler to the rules, you can stay out here.” He gave a sheepish grin.
As I walked up the stairs to my dorm, I wondered how that kid was even in Slytherin. He follows the rules, he’s super kind, and he brightens the room. Then again, you find tons of kids who break their house’s stereotypes.
I ended the thought as I reached to grab a coat, scarf, and my skates. It had been at least half a year since I used them, so there was no doubt that I would be a little rusty when I got back on the ice. Once I was all bundled up, I made my way back to the hall where I found an Adam Banks standing in the same position that I had left him.
He gave a small smirk as I exited. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He hooked his arm through my arm and started to tow me to the frozen lake that was above the Slytherin common room. A blush drew to my cheeks, but I wrote it off as the scarf I adorned. Thankfully he didn’t notice. He was so focused on getting to the makeshift rink that I don’t think anything could have phased him. Not even Dumbledore in a bright, pink dress.
The trek was long, but there wasn’t a lot of snow, so that made the trip more enjoyable. As we neared the lake, I could see the other guys in the distance. I could only make out Connie and Guy because they were holding hands, but there were four other people that I couldn’t see out on the rink.
“Who’s all gonna be there today?” I looked up at Adam. The blush on his nose was even darker now because of the cold.
“Umm, Charlie. He had the idea in the first place. Averman wanted to come too. I think Connie and Guy. And then we asked Julie and Goldberg so we had goalies.” He smiled as he spoke, his love for hockey apparent.
Adam and I had played together when we were first years, but we hadn’t really known each other then. That’s where I first learned how to even skate. While I was still getting the bearings, Adam was already an extremely skilled player. When we were closer he used to tease me about it all the time, but he eventually stopped, and then just stopped talking to me all together. Maybe that’s why I’m so excited to go skating with him. After all, there’s no better feeling than reconnecting with an old friend.
The lake was pretty bare aside from two makeshift goals on the ice, and a few benches on either side. There weren’t any blue or red lines that we would have for actual games. Just plain ice.
“And you’re sure the lake is frozen enough?” Images of me falling through into the chilly water invaded my mind.
Adam shrugged his bag from his shoulder, “I’m a hundred percent sure. And if I’m not, I personally allow you to punch me.”
I rolled my eyes as I started to sit on one of the benches, putting a skate on. “Wow. how convincing.” He didn’t respond, so I just laced up my skates. Looking at the other people skating around, I wasn’t so sure how good I was gonna be. It had been at least three years since I’d really played a game of hockey, and you could clearly tell that these people practiced consistently.
I stood up once I laced my other skate, and started to make my way to the ice. Much to my surprise, my balance wasn’t awful. I could successfully skate and stop without much effort. There were still times where I would wobble or need to regain my balance, but I should be able to hold my own.
Adam brought me a stick and nudged my shoulder. I almost tripped, but I caught myself before anything else could happen.
“You’re real funny, Banks.” I spoke through gritted teeth, still struggling to stay afoot. He offered both of his hands out to help me gain my bearings again. To my surprise, he started skating backwards, pulling me forward. I laughed, “where are we going?”
I could see Adam’s breath as he laughed with me. “To play, silly goose.” An amused expression was painted on his face while speaking, and he gave a big smile after. I started to skate with him instead of just letting him drag me along. After a moment, he just stopped. Because physics exists, I kept sliding and bumped into him. I almost fell but Adam grabbed me by the elbows before I could drop to the ice.
When he pulled me up, our faces were only an inch or two apart. The world around me seemed to fade until it was just Adam. Neither of us had said a word, we just stood there. Staring at each other. It was in that moment when I realized the blades of my skates were slipping on the ice. I didn’t really know why, because the lake was definitely frozen over, like Adam had said. It might have been because my knees had locked
Then I noticed the slight tug on my arms. I realised I was being pulled, not slipping. I was being moved at such a tiny rate that it was almost unnoticeable. Almost. As I neared Adam’s chest, I simply stopped breathing. My heartbeat sped, and I slowly started to lose my hearing. This feeling that I was only now feeling, had it been there the whole day? At the table, running through the hall, walking to the lake. Was it there the whole time? I was just to blind to have seen it. All of the time Adam and I had spent before we lost touch, was the feeling there too?
Once there was no more room between him and I, Adam started to part his lips. My stomach was instantly in knots, and my mind preparing myself for the moments that were to come. Nothing else was said, and Adam closed his eyes. With no hesitation, he closed the gap between us, and pressed his lips against mine.
There were no fireworks. No sparks, no pits in my stomach. Just pure bliss, as I kissed the boy that I met in fifth year.
#mighty ducks#the mighty ducks#adam banks#adam banks x reader#mighty ducks imagine#the mighty ducks imagine#adam banks imagine
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hetalia Family Week - Day 1: Hobbies
This is my entry for @hetafamilyweek day 1 - hobbies (and hugs)
Summary: They didn't have time for family hangouts often, with them being nations and all that, but whenever they did, it was safe to say it was the most fun any of them would have that week.
Sometimes, they would just go for a coffee or lunch or have a picnic. Other times, they would binge-watch a series while cuddling on the couch. And then, there were times like this.
This has also been posted to my a03!
Disclaimer: the opinions of the characters aren’t necessarily the authors opinion. Also, some of the sentences have been translated with Google Translate. If there is any mistake, please let me know and I'll fix as soon as possible! The translations are at the end.
Names used:
Willem = Netherlands
Femke = Belgium
Laurent = Luxembourg
Antonio = Spain
Matthew = Canada
Abel = Holland, @starflight-blog oc
Sjoerd = Friesland, @starflight-blog oc
Lieke = Groningen, @starflight-blog oc
Relevant headcanons time!
- Femke owns a cat named Mika
- Matthew and Willem are married (see end notes for more info)
- Matthew uses he/they pronouns
:readmore:
They didn't have time for family hangouts often, with them being nations and all that, but whenever they did, it was safe to say it was the most fun any of them would have that week.
Sometimes, they would just go for a coffee or lunch or have a picnic. Other times, they would binge-watch a series while cuddling on the couch. And then, there were times like this.
"Can't you two sit still for like five minutes? If you want this painting to actually look good, you're gonna have to let me actually have time to paint you!"
"What if we want it to look like Picasso?"
"Laurent, hoepel een eind op, Picasso sucks and so do his paintings."
"Don't let Antonio hear you say that."
"Antonio can go fuck himself."
"Guys, let's keep this fun, alright? I want to enjoy this day," Femke chimed in. Willem huffed but didn't complain further. Laurent grinned and continued composing a piece for the harp standing next to him.
(When Laurent had led them towards his "inspiration room" as he liked to call it, which was just a room filled with instruments, art supplies and more, both siblings had been filled with dread at the thought of Laurent playing the tuba, or god forbid, the trombone. Willem had said: "Laurent, I swear to god, if you're going to play the tuba or the trombone, I'm going to throw both you and the instrument out of the nearest window." To which Laurent had been a smartass and replied, "Can you even lift all that weight though?" That had ended up in a chase through the house that ended when Femke tackle-hugged both.)
The comfortable silence continued for a while, broken only by the occasional sigh from one of the siblings or Laurent trying the piece on the harp.
"Hey, Fem," Laurent walked up to her while he was taking a quick break, "What're you making?"
"Well, I'm trying to embroider our pets, but this stitch just won't work, godverdomme-"
"Maybe you should take a break and come back to it later? It's getting late anyway, we should eat dinner soon," Laurent suggested. Femke nodded. When no conformation came from Willem, they turned to him.
"Hey, earth to Willem! Did you hear what we just said?" Laurent asked, walking up to him and quickly stopping next to him. "Nondikass!" He exclaimed. "Willem, that looks amazing! How'd you do that in such a short time?!"
Femke, now curious, walked up to her brothers and peeked over their shoulders. "What the fuck, Willem," she gaped at the painting in front of her. It was clearly her and Laurent doing their respective hobbies, with beautiful lighting and background. The vibrant colours of the front of the painting was a stark contrast to the background, which had much softer tones. "You told us you were rusty! What part of this is rusty?!"
Willem, who was now looking more like a tomato, opened his mouth, no doubt to point out all the things that were wrong with it, but Laurent cut him off. "Nope, Mr. Perfectionist, you're not pointing out all the imperfections of this, and that's final. This is a masterpiece, seriously. Don't give me that look!"
"You know," Femke mused, "I might actually hang this in my house once it's dry."
"Guys," Willem said, flustered, "It's not that good. Really. Thanks for the compliments, but-"
"No buts!" Femke exclaimed at the same time Laurent yelled: "Not that good?!"
"Yeah, it's... the colour's off, the perspective is weird, and-"
"I am this close to actually strangling you with your scarf, Willem," Femke cut him off, her hands on her hips. "So what if it isn't perfect? That doesn't make it look any less amazing! I'll tell you what, we're gonna take a break, then we're going to come back here, and you'll see how amazing this actually looks."
Willem looked at her for a few seconds before sighing. "Fine..."
"Now don't go around brooding like that, it's no fun," Laurent said while shooting Femke a quick thumbs-up. Femke grinned.
"Now, come on! I'll make waffles!"
---
"Hey, Matthew replied!" Laurent exclaimed, effectively cutting off Willems' story on the antics of Abel and Sjoerd.
(Apparently, they had gotten into a fight over who had the most creative curse words. This had ended in Abel singing along to the curse word song in Dutch, until Lieke walked in. Sjoerd had promptly slapped a hand over Abel's mouth to stop him from ‘tainting Lieke's innocence’. It was weird.)
"What do you mean?" Willem asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, dearest brother of mine," Laurent replied with a shit-eating grin, which did absolutely nothing to ease Willem's worries. "Because you didn't seem too convinced by us literally shouting how amazing your painting was, we decided to send a picture to Matthew-"
"You what?!"
"-to see what he thinks of it," Laurent continued, unfazed. "Since, you know, you seem to care a lot about what they think, about as much as you care about what we think? I mean I would hope so, considering we're your siblings, but-"
"You're getting off track, Laurent," Femke cut him off. "Anyway, we figured that if anyone other than us would manage to convince you that your painting is amazing, it's gonna be Matthew."
"I-"
"Don't even try to deny it. We went to your wedding, remember? We know how much you care about him. Which is a good thing, by the way. So, Laurent, what did they say?"
"Well, there's an all-caps keysmash, followed by an all-caps 'what?!'. Scratch that, basically everything is in caps. So, the general train of thought is 'what the fuck, this is beautiful, how the fuck did he do this, he calls this rusty?!' And finally, 'I love it 10/10 would hang in my living room and/or show off to my family and friends. It's beautiful and I'll physically fight him on that.'"
"Awww, that's so sweet! See, Willy, your painting truly is amazing!" Femke, sporting a somehow genuine but shit-eating grin, patted her brother on the back. Said brother had his head in his hands and may or may not be crying.
"I hate you two," came the muffled reply with no real heat behind it. Femke and Laurens laughed.
"We love you too, you softie! Now come on, who's ready to spend more time together!" Femke cheered, already halfway across the room.
---
"Jezus Christus, Femke, that looks amazing!" Willem said, looking at the embroidery his sister had made. It pictured their pets, Pelutze, Mika, and Nijntje.
"Aww, thanks Willem!"
"Wait, let me see- wow, sis, this is really good! I love it!"
"Thank you, Lau! By the way, is your composition nearly finished? I want to hear it!"
"Me too, actually."
"Well, it's not done yet, but I can play what I have so far?"
"Yes please!" Femke smiled.
Laurent sat down and started playing the piece of music he had written on the harp. Moving his fingers delicately along the strings, the beautiful melody carried along the room. Once he was done, he looked up.
"So... what did you think- Femke are you okay?!"
"Yeah, sorry, it's just... it's so beautiful!" Femke cried, flinging herself at Laurent and crushing him in a hug.
"I agree with Femke, it was wonderful," Willem chimed in, walking over to his siblings. Femke quickly included him in the hug.
"You two are so talented, what the hell!"
"Fem, you're crushing me," Laurent gasped. "And don't you dare exclude yourself, have you seen what you just made?!"
"Yeah, but-"
"No buts, remember," Willem said, parroting her words back to her with a smirk.
"Why are you like this?"
Willem laughed at this. "You still love me despite it, though!"
"That's not an answer!"
"Is it not?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Guys, please stop. This is a stupid argument," Laurent rolled his eyes.
"Rolling your eyes at us? How rude, Lau," Willem said, locking him in a headlock and ruffling his hair.
"Hey, let me go!"
"Hmmm, let's see... Nope."
"Oh, come on! Fem, help me out here!"
Femke just laughed in response.
"Betrayal!" Laurent screeched, struggling to get out of his brother's headlock. Femke just laughed harder in response, almost falling over.
"You know, you could always just say the magic word to get out."
"The magic- What am I, five?"
"You certainly act like it sometimes."
"Fëck dech."
"Real mature, Laurent."
"Oh, like asking for the magic word is so mature."
"Absolutely. I haven't heard it yet, by the way. Femke, are you doing alright?" Willem asked, as his sister was now lying on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Gasping for air, she shook no.
"Seems like you'd better let me go before we make Femke choke," Laurent commented. Willem tsk-ed.
"Fine, fine. Fem, get up," he said, letting Laurent out of the headlock and extending a hand towards Femke.
"Give- give me a... minute," she said, still gasping for air. After she managed to get enough air in her lungs and not burst out laughing after she saw her brothers standing in front of her with worried (albeit semi-irritated) looks, she finally took Willem's offered hand.
"You two are utter morons."
Willem gasped. "Are you hearing this, Laurent? Slander, complete and utter slander!"
"Well, she's right about one of us, and it isn't me."
"Laurent, ik tyf je de Noordzee in als je niet ophoudt-"
"Try me, old man-"
"Who're you calling old you little-"
''Oh for- hou uw bakkes! If this becomes another argument, I will smother both of you!''
''You wouldn't dare,'' Willem said. After a beat of silence and a fierce glare from Femke, he added: ''Would you?''
''I don't know, why don't you find out?''
''Fem, you're scaring me a bit here,'' Laurent said nervously. Femke hummed. Laurent looked at Willem, wide-eyed. Willem just looked back and shrugged.
''Could you even reach me though?'' Willem, who apparently had a death wish, asked.
Femke whipped around, glaring at her brother. Willem just glared back.
''Guys, no, no one's getting killed today,'' Laurent interjected. ''This is supposed to be a fun family meeting, remember? If there's any way anyone's going down,'' he added on, a devilish grin on his face as he slowly inched closer to his still glaring siblings, ''It's going to be this way!'' he yelled as he quickly poked Willem in his side, who immediately yelped and tried to get away. To no avail, because Femke quickly latched onto his arm and started poking him in his side too.
''No, Fem, wait- What did I do to deserve this?!''
''Well, uh... you took the last waffle?''
''Are you asking me, or-'' Willem started to ask, then yelped again as his siblings started to tickle him.
''No! Please, mercy!''
''Hmmm, Lau, what do you think? Should we stop?'' Femke asked, looking at her younger brother.
''I don’t know, Fem,'' Laurent answered back, devilish grin still on his face. ''He hasn’t said the magic word yet.''
''Godverdomme, natuurlijk is dat het antwoord. Kut! Laurens, stop!''
''Hmm, let me think. Nee.''
Femke snickered. ''He looks like a worm, wiggling like that.''
''How the fuck-''
''Oh my god you're so right,'' Laurent said. ''Willem the worm,'' he started to say, but burst out laughing halfway through. Femke laid on top of Willem, wheezing. Willem, meanwhile, looked absolutely mortified.
''You two are so immature,'' he said.
''Says the guy currently laying on the floor because he's ticklish.''
''I will strangle you,'' Willem threatened.
''Try me, bit- Hey!'' Laurent started to say, before Willem had reached forward and pulled him besides him.
''You know, this is actually surprisingly comfortable,'' Femke commented after a beat of silence.
''No, you're heavy. Get off me- Lau don't you dare lay on top of Femke or I swear- oof!''
''Hmm? What was that?''
''I'll kill you.''
''Aw, we love you too!''
''... Ugh, fine, if I say it, will you get off?''
''Maybe!''
''You two are gremlins, oh my god. Fine, I love you too.''
''He said it! Lau, he said it!''
''Yeah yeah, we all heard it. Now get off me.''
''I mean... technically I never promised I'd get off-''
''Off. Now. Or I'll never bring you stroopwafels again.''
This earned him a scandalized gasp from both of his siblings.
''You’re so mean! How dare you deprive us of stroopwafels?!''
''You can't do that!''
''You two are impossible. I said off,'' Willem complained, trying to sit up. Which was hard, considering Femke was literally laying on top of him.
''Say the magic word first.''
''Are you serious right now? Femke, we are not five.''
''So?''
''... Fine. Femke, can you please get the fuck off me?''
''Fine, close enough,'' she said as she got off Willem, who immediately took a deep breath.
''Finally, oh sweet air how much I've missed you.''
''You’re so weird. Anyway,'' Femke said, turning towards Laurent. ''You recorded the whole thing, right?''
Laurent laughed and rolled his eyes. ''Like you had to ask.''
Willem gaped at them, before jumping up. ''Godver- Laurent give that camera here, right now!''
''No, I don’t want to. I must say this is great blackmail material.''
''Laurent, als je nu niet die camera hier geeft, dan-''
''Du muss mech als éischt fänken!''
Needless to say, Willem ended up chasing Laurent through the house, Femke following closely behind. In the end, all three of them ended up in a dogpile on the couch, laughing. Yeah, family meetings were fun indeed.
-------------------------
Translations:
Hoepel een eind op (Dutch) = a nice(ish) way of saying ‘fuck off’ or ‘go away’
Godverdomme (Dutch, Flemish) = goddammit
Nondikass (Luxembourgish) = used as an exclaimation, meaning something like ‘damn’.
Jezus Christus (Dutch) = Jesus Christ
Fëck dech (Luxembourgish) = Screw you
Ik tyf je de Noordzee in als je niet ophoudt (Dutch) = I will throw you into the North Sea if you don't stop. (The word ‘tyf’ is pretty rude though, albeit used by a lot of teens in my experience, so I would not recommend going around actually saying this.)
Hou uw bakkes (Flemish) = shut up
Godverdomme, natuurlijk is dat het antwoord. Kut! (Dutch) = ‘Goddammit, of course that's the answer. Fuck!’ (even though the word 'kut’ doesn’t mean ‘fuck’, it's used as a replacement pretty often. The more accurate translation would be ‘vagina’, as that is literally what it means, but it's used as a curse word more often than not.)
Nee (Dutch, Flemish, Luxembourgish) = No
Laurent, als je nu niet die camera hier geeft, dan- = Laurent, if you don't give me the camera right now, then-
Du muss mech als éischt fänken! (Luxembourgish) = youre gonna have to catch me first!
Stroopwafels are a Dutch delicacy, I love them so much. Basically, they’re waffles with syrup in between. Google them for examples and probably a better explanation.
I am physically incapable of not adding in a sprinkle of NedCan. I'm sorry (but actually not really,, as stated, Willem and Matthew are married so technically Matthew is family- *gets smacked*)
The ending is more crack and longer than I intended because I have no self-control. Sue me.
Moral of the story: don't anger short ppl. They’re angrier cuz they’re closer to hell-
Yes Willem is ticklish, I said what I said.
Bonus scene: ''Wait, so if Willem is a worm, would Matthew be like... a moose?''
''I am begging you two to stop. Laurent, stop laughing!''
#hetafamilyweek2021#aph benelux#aph netherlands#aph belgium#aph luxembourg#hetalia#hws netherlands#hws belgium#hws luxembourg#aph friesland#aph holland#aph groningen#fanfic#fanfiction#fluff#sibling banter#somerandomdutchfangirl#somerandomdutchartist
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
No Such Thing as a Fresh Start
Phic phight 2020
Submitted by @q-gorgeous: dash finds out danny is phantom. what does he do to help danny? does danny know dash knows?
Summary: Of all the people that could have found out. Out of everyone, in all of Amity Park, it has to be Dash Baxter. It has to be the one human Danny is truly afraid of.
Warnings: swearing
Word count: 8123
Danny's halfway into the locker when Dash freezes. He doesn't actually mean to stop. He got another bad grade in English class this morning and Lancer's disappointed face pissed him off so much that he needs to hit something. Stuffing Fenton into a locker is close enough. But as Dash shoves Danny's head down, as Danny flails pathetically and tries to push him off, Danny's shirt hikes up a little bit, exposing his hip.
Stretching from the waistband of Danny's jeans to up under his shirt is a patch of rough, ugly skin. It's wrinkled and bumpy, tinged red and pink. Dash doesn't know much about scars, but he knows enough to see whatever injury this was from, it couldn't have happened more than a year ago.
Dash grabs Danny's shirt and pulls it up, revealing more damaged skin.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Danny grabs Dash's hand and shoves it off with surprising force, enough that it makes Dash stumble back. Danny teeters on the edge of the locker. Arms shooting out, he manages to catch the door and brace himself against the inside wall. It doesn't look comfortable, one arm squished against his side, one leg tucked under him while the other sticks out, head ducked to avoid smacking it against the top of the locker.
Dash barely pays it any mind, though. His eyes are glued to Danny's hip. He was able to get Danny's shirt almost halfway up before he was stopped, but he didn’t even see the edge of the scar. It must be huge.
A hundred questions run through Dash's head. When did Danny get it? How did it happen? Is it serious? It looks serious. That bothers Dash, for some reason. It nags at him.
"Okay, you're actually starting to freak me out," Danny says.
Dash raises his gaze, meeting Danny's eyes. Other people in the hall are staring at them, Dash can feel it, but he can't look away. He can't stop picturing the marred skin stretching across Danny's torso.
Danny leans back, drawing his other leg into the locker with him. "So, I'm just gonna... yeah..." he trails off. Sticking his finger in the locker door grates, he pulls it closed. The hinges squeak all the way, a grating whine that echoes down the hall.
As soon as the door shuts, Dash snaps out of his daze. He shakes his head, blinking, and glares at the students that stopped to watch. "What the hell are you looking at?" he says.
The students scurry away, heads low.
Dash lingers a moment, staring at the locker, then shakes his head again. Turning on his heels, he marches down the hall, heading to the gym rather than the cafeteria. He needs to think for a while.
—
Danny doesn't know who's locker this is, but it reeks. He's sitting on a pair of old shoes and a canvas bag, probably someone's gym clothes. It takes all he has not to gag. Climbing all the way into the locker rather than out of it wasn't his greatest idea. But he couldn't stand Dash's staring, and he figured the only way to get Dash to leave was to finish the job.
Wiggling, he shimmies around until he's turned sideways—thank god Casper High has such big lockers—and peers through the grate in the door. He knows Dash can't seem him, but the sight of him staring makes Danny shiver. He waits, holding his breath until Dash finally leaves. And then he wants a minute more, just in case.
Once he's sure the coast is clear, Danny turns intangible and tumbles out of the locker. He rolls forward, almost smacking his face on the floor, and comes up dizzy. He grabs his head until the world stops swaying.
"I can't deal with this," he says out loud. There's no one else in the hall with him, so he's talking to himself, but that's not the craziest thing he's ever done. Besides, Jazz has assured him multiple times that voicing your thoughts out loud is a common practice for lots of people. It helps them sort through their thoughts better than they could if everything just swirled around their head for hours, thoughts tripping over one another left and right, struggling to take their place at the front of your mind.
Like the mall on Black Friday morning, except the doors never open and the thoughts just keep shoving, and shoving, and shoving, trying to get to the front even though there's nowhere to go.
"Maybe I should talk to Jazz again," Danny says. He stands up and brushes his jeans off, hoping he doesn't smell too much like someone else's dirty laundry. He's just lucky it wasn't one of the rusty lockers. Those ones always make his eyes and nose itch and leave red flakes all over his clothes and hair.
Danny's about to head to the cafeteria for lunch when his chest goes cold. The feeling travels up his throat, chilling his tongue, and a puff of blue air seeps out of his mouth.
"Oh, come on." Danny groans. At least it's during lunch and not class time. If he's lucky, it'll be someone easy. Maybe then he can wrap up the fight quickly and actually have time to eat, rather than sneaking bites of his sandwich during art class.
Looking up and down the hall, he double-checks to make sure he's alone and transforms. Turning intangible, he shoots into the air. It's cloudy outside, the sky dull and grey, and drizzling steadily. If Danny remembers right, it's supposed to thunder later, which makes him sigh in disappointment. He doesn't mind thunderstorms. They can actually be kind of cool. But thunderstorms usually mean it's going to be cloudy all night, which means he won't be able to stargaze while he's out for his midnight flight.
But he shouldn't be worrying about that right now. He has to find whatever ghost set off his ghost sense. Danny swoops over the school, scanning the grounds. No one's outside today, because of the rain, and the football field is soaked. He sees nothing but growing puddles.
Looping around, he heads toward the city instead. He's gotten better at sensing ghosts, especially in a wider area, which sounds like a good thing, at first. Except that his ghost sense has never been good at actually pinpointing where the ghost is. So for Danny, a wider range means more places he has to look before he actually finds the damn thing, and he doesn't have all day.
He spends half an hour flying around, looking for the culprit, and comes up with nothing. Not even a speck of ectoplasm. It could be a friendly ghost just hanging around, but Danny doesn't feel right taking that chance. Not after what happened the last time he brushed off something strange and ghostly.
Technus turned Danny into one giant bruise that day. Let it be known that while bruises are usually a small thing, they are still a sign of internal bleeding, and a massive one that takes up half your back shouldn't be brushed off so easily. Danny found that out the hard way.
Frustrated and hungry, he circles back to Casper High and touches down on the roof, right next to the hatch that leads down into the gym.
For the longest time, Danny didn't even know there was a way onto the roof. He never actually uses it, choosing to fly up, but ever since he's found it, it's been one of his favourite spots at school. The hatch only exists for maintenance purposes and students aren't even allowed to touch the ladder that leads up to it.
Danny gives the grounds around the school another furtive glance. It doesn't feel right to give up on the ghost so soon. He knows they're close by. He can feel it. If he heads inside now, he'll just draw them into the school and endanger some of his classmates.
At least that's the excuse Danny tells himself as he lowers himself to the ground, crossing his legs. Better to wait a bit, rather than tempt fate.
Laying back, Danny folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the clouds. They aren't much to look at, but he's sure they're darker than before. A squat antenna tower cuts through the top of his view. It's a relic from a bygone era, back when Casper High had an AV club that tinkered with radios all day. It's ugly to look at, but the school never took it down.
Danny rolls onto his side so the tower is out of view, closing his eyes and letting the rain soak him. He's always more comfortable when it's cold. He might regret it later, when he changes back and finds his clothes damp, but for right now, it's nice. The warning bell hasn't gone off yet, so he has a few minutes to spare out here before he really has to go back inside.
Just as Danny's getting comfortable, his chest goes cold again, and a shadow falls over him. He opens his eyes to the smooth, gleaming skull of Walker. With a startled shout, Danny scrambles upright, scurrying toward the radio tower, and faces Walker. He raises his fists, lighting them up with ectoplasm.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. "I did all your stupid community service stuff, remember? My sentence is paid."
"Ten thousand years is a long time to shave off for a little bit of community cleanup," Walker drawls.
"Oh? That's what you call it?" Danny asks. Funny way to describe Walker siccing him on every ghostly with an overdue warrant. Danny can't remember the last time he got in so many fights in one week.
"You just can't seem to stay out of trouble, punk. Damaging another ghost's lair? That's a thousand years." Walker pulls an envelope out of his pocket and throws it at Danny. It only flutters a few feet, but Danny snatches it out of the air with his telekinesis and pulls it toward him.
Side-eyeing Walker, he tears the envelope open and pulls out the folded piece of paper inside. It's a formal police report, filed by Skulker three days ago, citing charges against Danny for property damage and endangering his afterlife.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Danny says. He floats forward and waves the report in Walker's face. "You mean all this time you've actually had a formal police system? And I could have filed criminal charges? That's so unfair."
Walker loses some of his composure, staring at Danny in bafflement. "That's what you care about?"
Danny tosses the report in the air. It stays floating by his shoulder, surrounded by a soft green glow. "Is there some kind of lair registry thing? Could I register Amity Park as my lair? You guys always tell me it is, but you keep attacking it! Doesn't that endanger my afterlife? Attack my lair too many times and I might just snap, right?"
Danny paces through the air, fretting. There are so many fights he could have avoided. Skulker is so going to get it the next time Danny sees him. This is such a cheap shot. He won't stand for it. It probably breaks so many unspoken ghost codes. They're all brothers in ghost crime, aren't they?
"Skulker's a fucking snitch," Danny says.
"Bad luck for you, punk. You've got another sentence to fill out." Walker grows bigger, looming over Danny, reaching out for him with a massive gloved hand.
"Wait!" Danny shouts, shooting out of Walker's reach. He really doesn't want to get in a fight right now. "This is all official, right? That means I can give my side, and it actually matters. It was purely self-defence!"
Walker doesn't have any lips to speak of, but his teeth clack together and his aura flares, expressing his interest. "Go on."
"It happened last week. I was heading to the medieval kingdom when Skulker came out of nowhere and attacked me. Gave me this." Danny zips down his jumpsuit and pulls it open, showing Walker his newest scar, the same one Dash saw. Skulker managed to hit Danny with a new flamethrower of his, scorching him from his chest down to his hip.
Thank the Infinite Realms for ghostly healing. Danny was only out of it for a few days rather than the months he could have been. A few sniffles to his mom, plus a concerned pout from Jazz, and he was home "sick" until he healed.
"I shot him back to defend myself. We were pretty close to his lair. A few stray shots must have hit it," Danny explains.
Walker gives Danny's scar a considering look, shrinking back down to his normal size. Taking the police report out of the air, Walker scans its contents again. After a moment, he tucks it back into the envelope, which he returns to his suit pocket.
"Don't think you're off the hook yet, punk. I'll be back," Walker says. Just like that, he's gone.
Danny sags in relief, dropping back to the ground. "I can't believe that actually worked," he says. Tipping his head back, he laughs, grinning up at the cloudy sky.
Something scuffs the ground behind him. Danny groans. "Come on, Walker, I told you it was self-defence. Don't you have to investigate that or something?"
He turns around, ready to give Walker a piece of his mind. Except it's not Walker. Across the roof stands Dash Baxter. And he's looking down at Danny's exposed chest, at the scar he saw on Fenton not even an hour earlier.
"Would you believe me if I said it's a birthmark?" Danny asks. Judging by the stricken expression on Dash's face, that's a no.
—
As soon as Dash enters the gym, he heads up the bleachers, toward the back wall. There's a ladder in the far corner of the gym that leads up onto the roof. Kwan once dared him to sneak up there during their free period. It's been Dash's favourite place at school ever since. Besides the football field, that is, but that's currently flooded. He doesn't want to get soaked up to his ankles in muddy water.
Dash climbs the ladder with ease, stopping once his head brushes the hatch. He bends over, going up one more rung, and jerks upward, slamming his shoulder against the hatch. The day Kwan gave him the dare, Dash discovered there wasn't actually a proper lock keeping the hatch shut. All it has is a simple latch on the other side. To get it open, you need a special tool to stick into the seam between the hatch and the frame, and you have to jimmy it around a little bit to get it open.
Or, you can do what Dash does, and bash into the hatch over and over again until the latch jiggles open on its own. It makes his shoulder sore, but it's easier than sneaking down into the boiler room and finding the stupid stick.
Dash squeezes through the hatch, closing it gently behind him so it doesn't make too much noise, and starts across the roof. His destination is a vent sticking out of the room, held up by metal supports. It curls out of the ground like a worm, bent in an S shape. The end extends out, pointing toward the edge of the roof. It's just high enough for Dash to sit comfortably beneath it and wide enough that it provides some cover from the drizzle.
Dash settles there, stretching his legs out, and leans back against the vent. He might have to check his jacket for grime later, probably give his hair a quick wash in the bathroom, but this is alright for now. It's a great place to think. Nobody ever comes here, so there's no one to interrupt him.
His hand falls to his chest. He presses against his ribs, trailing his fingers down, tracing the path of Danny's scar. He tries to imagine what it feels like. It would be rough, he thinks. And maybe a little dry. It would feel foreign against his fingertips.
It must be from Danny's accident. No one but his friends and family knows the full story, at least as far as Dash is aware. They know Danny was there the first week of school freshman year. He didn't make much of a lasting impression, and almost nobody knew his name except those he'd gone to middle school with. Then, over the weekend, something happened. One kid who was passing on the street said he saw flashing lights and heard Danny scream.
He was gone for two weeks, the peculiarity of his absence and the mystery of his accident spreading his name to the furthest corners of Casper High. The rumours cycled through the school five times over, getting a little more bizarre each time. He spilled some dangerous chemicals, he messed with his parent's weapons, his parents shot him on accident, his friends shot him on purpose.
By the time Danny returned to school, everyone was waiting with bated breath to find out the truth. Danny refused to tell. Neither Sam nor Tucker gave even a hint of what had happened that weekend. Jazz said she didn't even know the full story herself.
Everybody lost interest after that. Danny was back, he was fine, and he wasn't telling the story. Collectively, the school decided to move on. No one thought about who the accident might have affected Danny, physically or mentally. Dash is thinking about it now.
His older sister, a nurse, has told him a few things about what big scars like that do to a person, even years after they've healed. They can be painful and stiff, impeding movement. Sensitive to touch. Easy to hurt. He thinks about how many times he's given Danny a good punch to the stomach over the last few months.
Guilt swirls in his gut, for a moment. It's quickly replaced by anger. Dash scowled, punching his fist against the rooftop. It's so stupid. So what if Fenton got hurt over a year ago? He's obviously fine now. Dash has nothing to feel sorry for. Everything Danny gets is his own fault, anyway. He's the only one who ever fights back.
Danny doesn't seem to get it that Dash would let him go if he just stayed down for once. One good wailing to set him straight, to make sure he knows not to mess with Dash, and then they can dust their hands of each other and be done with it. But Danny's one of those people that keep getting back up no matter how many times he gets beaten down.
Can't he see he's only making things worse for himself? Can't he see that if he just stops and does what Dash wants, he won't get hurt anymore? Everyone sees it.
It pisses Dash off. If Danny's going to keep doing infuriating things like defending himself, then he deserves it. He can't just go around pissing people off and expect them not to do something about it, that's ridiculous. It's not Dash's fault. It's not.
Dash curls his hand into a fist, clenching it tightly. Bringing it up to his face, he rubs his eyes and lets out a tired sigh. He doesn't want to think about stuff like this. All he does is go round and round without making any progress.
Resting an arm on his knee, he lowers his forehead to his elbow and stares at his hand. When he curls his fingers, his skin pulls taut across his knuckles. They're still red from when he socked Danny in the jaw a couple days ago. Sticking his hand out, he holds it under the rain. The minuscule drops barely dampen his skin, but it's cold and refreshing. He rubs his thumb across his knuckles, as if that can wipe away the bruises.
When it doesn't work, he lets his hand drop and resigns himself to sombre silence. It's a good day for silence. Fewer people are out because of the rain, even though it's the middle of the day. The drops, more like a fine mist than actual rain, make no sound.
Something whooshes overhead, drawing Dash's gaze toward the sky. Noise from above typically means an impending ghost attack, but he only sees Phantom. The resident ghost hero is a bright spot against the dull sky. He hovers for a moment, a white sun, then flies in Dash's direction.
Dash opens his mouth, about to call out, but stops at the last second. Phantom looks tense, mouth set in a grim line. Dash doesn't want to interrupt whatever he's doing. He tips his head back, watching Phantom fly over the school, fully expecting the ghost to pass them by.
To Dash's surprise, Phantom touches down on the other side of the roof. Dash scrambles to his feet, searching for the threat he should be running from, but it's just him and Phantom out here. When Phantom lays down, Dash hesitates, dumbfounded.
Creeping forward, staying flush against the vent, Dash grips the supports holding it up. The metal bites into his fingers and sucks the heat from his palms, but he holds it like a lifeline. Phantom's whole deal is beating people until they stay down. Maybe Dash can talk to him about it. Sliding his feet forward, Dash takes a step out from his cover, ready to talk to his hero.
The ground behind Phantom ripples, a tall white figure rising up out of the room. Dash scrambles back out of view, peeking around the vent to see.
He's never seen this ghost before. They're dressed completely in white, barring a black fedora, and have a skull for a head. Dash's first thought is that this is one of Phantom's allies. Those hopes are dashed away when Phantom sees the ghost and leaps away, immediately poising to attack.
It looks like Dash is getting a front-row seat to a ghost fight. Which is all kinds of cool, but also dangerous.
The only way off the roof is the hatch, which sits between Phantom and his opponent. There used to be a ladder crawling up the back wall, but it got damaged during a ghost attack a couple months ago and hasn't been fixed. With no escape route, Dash is forced to hunker down and watch.
It doesn't go how he thought it would. Phantom and the other ghost's—Walker's—voices carry easily across the roof. Dash hears everything they say, although none of it makes sense to him. Who knew dead people had a formal police network and criminal system? Who knew Phantom was a criminal?
Actually, that idea isn't so far-fetched. The more Dash thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Phantom doesn't act like other ghosts. He probably breaks a whole bunch of laws. The ghosts that attack the city are probably bounty hunters! That weird metal ghost is always shouting about capturing and hunting Phantom. Dash is willing to bet his football career on there being a bounty on Phantom's head.
He can't wait to tell Kwan all about this new, fascinating revelation.
Dash watches, rapt, absorbing every word. Paulina's going to be so jealous when she hears Dash got so close to Phantom. Especially with the few harmless embellishments he's going to add. She will be livid to know Dash spent the whole lunch hour hanging out with Phantom on the roof.
"It was purely self-defence!" Phantom shouts.
Dash frowns. There goes his criminal theory. This Walker guy reminds him a little of Tetslaff. Strict, no-nonsense, all about authority. Which means if you do something wrong, you don't get to defend yourself, you take your punishment and do better next time.
Walker also has that stern, "I want to execute you," look. Although that might just be the skull for a head.
Walker doesn't hang around for much longer after that. Phantom shows him an injury as evidence of his innocence, Walker threatens Phantom one last time, and pretty soon Dash and Phantom are alone again.
Seeing his chance, Dash moves out of hiding. As he steps forward, his belt loop catches on an exposed screw on the vent supports. Dash's feet nearly slip out from under him. He throws out his arms, quickly regaining his balance, and looks back to Phantom, hoping he hasn't scared the hero off.
Phantom turns, an exasperated expression on his face, and glares in Dash's direction. The glare slips away almost instantly. Phantom pales, his eyes going wide. Dash doesn't pay attention to any of that. All his focus is on Phantom's chest and the familiar scar that cuts across it.
—
Danny and Dash stare at each other for a long, long moment. Distantly, they can hear the warning bell ring, marking the end of the lunch hour, but neither of them reacts. Danny watches Dash warily, afraid of how he's going to react. Dash looks back with increasing dread, afraid of what he believes is true.
"Fenton?" Dash asks.
Danny stiffens. "Fenton?" He laughs weakly. "You mean that loser kid in your year? Is he here? I don't see him."
Danny makes a show of looking around the roof, pulling his jumpsuit zipper back up as he does. His gaze flicks down to the front of the school, the warning bell finally registering in his ears. Lifting into the air, Danny backs away.
"Sounds like you need to get back to class, citizen," he declares in a deep voice.
"Fenton, wait!" Dash says. He lurches forward a few steps, reaching out, then pulls back. Danny doesn't move. They're at a standstill. Neither of them really wants to be there, but neither of them wants to leave, either. They can't leave.
Danny needs to know Dash won't spread his secret. And if he will, then Danny needs to be prepared. As much as he wants to flee and pretend this never happened, he can't let Dash out of his sight until he knows what's going to happen next. Danny's mind is in overdrive trying to come up with every possible scenario.
Before Danny can stop him, Dash lunges for the rooftop hatch. Defying all logic, he makes it back to the cafeteria first. Dash clambers up on a table, drawing everyone's attention and shouts for all to hear, "Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom!" It doesn't take long for word to get back to the G.I.W. Wasting no time, they rush over to Casper High and detain Danny for being a class five ecto-entity in breach of the American Ecto Act and take him away. They experiment on him for the rest of his life.
Or, Dash recognizes Danny for the freak he is. His fear quickly turns to anger, and he lunges. Dash may be human, but Danny can only do so much to stop him without actively hurting him. Dash beats him to a pulp, calls the G.I.W., and leaves Danny on the steps of Casper High for them to find. They take Danny away for being an inhuman abomination and experiment on him for the rest of his life.
Or, Dash laughs it off. He claps Danny on the shoulder and agrees that Fenton is such a loser. They part ways amicably, an unspoken agreement to never speak of this again. Until Dash spills the secret to Kwan, who tells Star, who tells Paulina, who tells everyone. Eventually, word gets back to the G.I.W. They lock Danny up in evil ghost jail. And experiment on him for the rest of his life.
Logically, not every possible outcome ends with Danny being taken prisoner by the G.I.W., becoming an unwilling participant in their sick experiments. But human brains really suck at being logical when you're two seconds from panicking.
Dash's mind, on the other hand, is completely blank. Rather than running a mile a minute, his thoughts have come to a screeching halt. They laugh at him from afar, dangling just out of reach, and leave him to flounder in silently. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to move. Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom and he isn't prepared to handle that information. Fenton can't be Phantom. Fenton is infuriating. Fenton is a flea, a temporary nuisance in the grand scene of Dash's life. Fenton is a weak nobody who's only good at getting under Dash's skin.
Phantom, on the other hand, is Dash's idol. He's everything Fenton isn't and then some. Dash stares at Phantom right now and feels lost
Their staring contest drags on with no clear winner in sight. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The sky is a little darker now, and it won't be long before the clouds open up and drown Amity in a torrent of rainfall. It won't matter much for the two boys on the roof, though. They've been out here too long, standing silence, and are already soaked. It makes no difference to them as the rain grows from a drizzle, to a light shower, to a downpour in a matter of minutes.
Lightning flashes, followed a few seconds later by a great crash of thunder. Dash flinches, startled by the sound, and breaks eye contact first.
"Fenton," Dash says, advancing.
"Don't."
"Come on, I just–"
"I said leave it."
"Why are you being so–"
"Dash!" Danny bellows. His voice cracks like thunder, a trace of his ghostly wail rattling the rooftop, and is lost in the storm. Eyes flaring, he flies forward. Halfway to Dash, he jerks to a stop. He doesn't know what he will do once Dash is right in front of him. There's a burning feeling building in his chest that tells him it whatever it is, it won't be good.
Crying out in frustration, Danny turns away. He drops to the roof, curling over, and presses his hands against his ears so he can't hear Dash calling out to him. Of all the people that could have found out. Out of everyone, in all of Amity Park, it has to be Dash Baxter. It has to be the one human Danny is truly afraid of.
Dash Baxter is nothing like the G.I.W. They're a faceless mass of interchangeable bodies hiding behind the same suits and sunglasses. The G.I.W., as a whole, are threatening. Dash, to Danny, is downright terrifying on his own.
Danny aches just thinking about him. As a halfa, his body heals fast, but his mind was never granted such luxuries. If you keep hitting someone in the same place over and over, one day the bruise will sink so much deeper than skin. Danny is more bruise than boy, at this point. Pressing his head against his knees, he drags his hands through his hair, trying to stay calm.
Lightning flashes in the corner of his eyes. Rolling thunder booms through the air a second later. In the silence that follows, filled only by the staccato beat of the rain, he hears Dash's approaching footsteps.
"Go away, Dash," Danny croaks. He doesn't even care anymore. Let Dash do whatever he wants, tell the whole world who he is.
Dash stops a couple feet behind Danny. He looks down at his hero, huddled on the roof, and a strange feeling fills him. He refuses to regret anything he's ever done to Fenton, but... he wants to help. Because that's what Phantom does.
"No," Dash says.
Danny raises his head, hands dropping, and sneers over his shoulder. "No?"
Dash lifts his chin and nods, refusing to budge. "No."
Danny rakes his gaze over Dash, looking him up and down, and scoffs.
"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," Dash continues.
Danny laughs, cold and derisive. "That's what you think this is about? I can't believe this."
Dash crosses his arms, hiding his confusion behind his scowl. "You're not worried about that?"
"I was," Danny amends. "For about two seconds. Look, Dash, I don't want to... I don't know. I just don't want to."
"That's kind of stupid, Fenton. I could always just beat it out of you."
"You don't even know what it is!" Danny stands up and spins to face Dash. He reaches out, hands curled together, and throttles the open air. "Just leave me alone!"
"No." Dash takes a step forward, pushing Danny's hands down.
"Stop saying that!"
Dash steps forward again, peering down at Danny. They're practically nose to nose. "No," he hisses.
"I swear to god, the Infinite Realms, and the fucking Box Ghost, if you don't back. Off–"
Danny's hair stands on end, static shocks jump through it. Faster than Dash can react, Danny lunges forward, tackling him onto the roof hatch. An eardrum-shattering bang bursts through the air as lightning strikes the old radio tower. The excess electricity, searching for the nearest conductor, shoots toward the metal hatch currently acting as Dash's backrest.
Dash has a second to panic before the world goes cold around him. He drops through the roof into the gym, back slamming against the top row of bleachers, and rolls off the step.
Danny falls through the ceiling a second later, and the electricity comes with him. It stretches between Danny's back and the metal hatch, crackling and sizzling. Danny screams, curling in, aura turning blue. A burst of cold air pushes outward and suddenly everything around Danny is coated in ice. The electricity surges across the ice, springing into a fuse box on the wall behind Danny.
Every light in the gym bursts, sparks raining down, plunging the vast, empty room into darkness. Dash pulls himself up, rising onto trembling legs, and looks around. A few final sparks fall from the ceiling, fizzling out before they reach the floor. He can't see a single shred of light, not even under the doors on the other side of the gym.
The whole school is blacked out.
"Fenton," Dash whispers. He turns, too fast, and trips on the bench behind him. Careening forward, his arms windmill as he tries to catch himself. He hits something cold, smacking his chin against it, and narrowly misses biting his tongue in half.
Dash groans, rubbing his jaw, and carefully pulls himself up. His hands and knees slip on the ice. Now that his eyes are adjusting, he can see it gives off a slight light. Not enough to truly see by, but enough that he can find Danny's silhouette, slumped and human, at the ice's epicentre. He crawls forward and reaches out. A small static jump jumps from Danny's hair to Dash, making him flinch back.
Rubbing his finger, Dash shifts so that he's sitting. Carefully, he reaches out and taps Danny's head with his foot.
"Yo, Fenton," Dash whispers. It feels criminal to break the silence. "You dead? More dead?"
Danny mumbles something. His shoulders shift. His arm wiggles out from under him and grabs Dash's foot, shoving it away. He raises his head and glares at Dash, not that Dash can actually see it in this light.
"'M fine," Danny mutters.
Dash scoots back, giving Danny space, and strains his eyes, trying to see what Danny is doing. But it's too dark, so he gives up and settles against the wall.
Danny, coming to the same realization as Dash, pushes himself up with slow, painstaking movements. He huffs, thumps his back against the wall, and gets comfortable.
"You just got struck by lightning," Dash says.
"I got struck by indirect lightning," Danny corrects. His voice rough and his throat burns when he swallows. There's no blood on his tongue, though, so that's a bonus.
"And you're fine?"
"It shorts out my powers for a little bit, but it doesn't hurt much."
"You're lying."
"You don't know that!"
"Your voice does this wobbly thing when you lie. You're such a bad liar, Fenton."
Danny grumbles under his breath. "Why were you even on the roof in the first place?"
"It doesn't matter," Dash snaps defensively.
"Whatever."
They fall silent again. The school is supposed to have emergency lights for this kind of situation, but they don't appear to be working. Dash hopes the come on soon. He doesn't want to be stuck in here with Fenton. If he were really determined, he could try and feel his way down the bleachers, but he doesn't want to risk a fall.
Danny, caught on a similar vein of thinking, doesn't move either.
The silence is suffocating. It stretches between them, a vast chasm filled to the brim with repressed aggression. Dash can only take it for so long.
"How do you do it?" he blurts the question out after only a minute of silence.
"What?"
"The ghosts. They keep coming back, no matter how much you beat them down. How do you do it?"
Danny considers the question. Despite how stupid Dash is, he's not totally an idiot, and Danny can tell there's some hidden meaning in what he's asking. Danny's answer should be obvious. He does it because he needs to. Somebody has to keep Amity Park safe. Considering this whole mess is technically Danny's fault in the first place, he feels a little responsible for it and takes it into his own hands.
The wording throws Danny off. He doesn't beat his enemies down, he stops them. Dash makes it sound brutal, like a schoolyard fistfight.
"Dash." Danny's voice is strained. "Do you think you're like me? Phantom me, I mean."
He gets no answer.
"I swear, if you just nodded or something, I'm gonna punch you in the face."
"Why do you care?" Dash sounds defensive again.
Danny breathes in through his nose, a calming action, and exhales. "Do you think you're some kind of hero or something for beating people up?"
"You're the one who's always begging for it."
"I don't–" Danny shakes his head. He takes another deep breath. "You're serious? One hundred percent?"
Dash's silence is all the answer Danny needs.
"Oh my– wow. Dash. Just, wow. You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
"Hey, you don't get to say that. You don't know a damn thing about me!"
"I know you get your kicks out of beating the hell out of me. Because that's so damn heroic of you, isn't it? You are not a hero, okay? You're the worst."
"Screw you, Fenton! You don't get to talk shit about me like that. You're the one who's always getting in my way. Maybe if you just shut your mouth next time, I wouldn't have to shut it for you!"
"You know what, Dash? No. Fuck you!" Danny reaches into the darkness, searching, and latches on to the first piece of Dash he finds. He yanks Dash forward. "You know what the worst part about going to this school is? It's you. I'm afraid to come to school because I know you'll be here, waiting for me, ready to knock another took out. And I fight ghosts. Every day. I beat the ghost king. I've bent freaking reality. I've been electrocuted, shot, turned to goo, and you are still the worst thing that's ever happened to me! You're the villain, Dash!"
Dash grabs Danny's wrists. Rising to his feet, he drags them both upright. "You've got a big mouth for someone who's such a wuss."
The emergency lights finally snap on. They both wince, the sudden light blinding them, but Danny recovers faster. He swings his fist and punches Dash square in the face, breaking his nose. Dash's head snaps back with a spurt of blood. He stumbles back, feet sleeping on the ice, and clutches his face.
"What the hell!" he shouts, staring at the blood on his hand.
"Can't take a punch, Dash?" Danny sneers. He only has a second to prepare himself before Dash lunges. Confidence abandoning him, a primal fear rising up instead, Danny turns and sprints.
"I'm gonna kill you, Fenton!"
Danny believes him. On instinct, he leaps into the air, the fastest route of escape, and remembers too late that he can't fly right now. "Shit!" he shouts, flailing as he falls over the bleachers, the ground rapidly approaching. Panic shoots through him. He's going to land wrong and break his leg and then he won't be able to run, and catch will catch him, and he's definitely going to kill Danny this time.
The thought swells up in his head, suffocating any logical notions.
"Fenton!" Dash's voice, squeaky and panicked, rings out through the gym. It snaps Danny out of his spiralling thoughts long enough to remember he's a superhero, damn it, he knows how to talk a fall.
Just before he hits the bleachers, Danny kicks out, pushing himself off one of the benches. It jolts his leg and sends painful shivers radiating up the limb, but does the job well. He starts falling forward instead, rather than right down, barely missing the rest of the stairs. Leaning into the fall, he hits the ground shoulder first and rolls, letting the momentum bleed out. It's not his best recovery, and his shoulder and leg throb painfully, but nothing's broken.
Danny lays splayed out in the middle of the gym floor, panting. Distantly, he hears Dash's thundering steps as he books it down the stairs. He should get up and run while he can. But Danny's shaking all over and he thinks, if he were to stand up right now, he would just fall over. His body still aches from the brief electrocution.
"Fenton!" Dash says, his head popping into view above Danny. He looks conflicted, face red and angry, but honest worry in his eyes, like he can't decide if he should be glad Danny didn't become a pile of broken limbs on the bleacher, or if he should go ahead and break Danny himself.
And he can't decide. Dash is livid. Danny broke his damn nose! Dash wants to throttle him for that. But when he saw Danny falling over the stairs, one thought screamed in his head: he didn't want to watch Fenton die. For a moment, it overrode his anger with genuine concern. Now that he knows Danny is okay, though, that anger is quickly taking over again.
Danny, seeing Dash's shaking fists, thinks he knows an inkling of what's going through Dash's head right now. He pushes himself back, just in case Dash decides to stop on him. He's still too shaky to stand up right now.
Dash clenches his fists, then releases them, eyes closing. "What the hell is your problem, Fenton?" His voice is hollow.
Danny doesn't even dare to breathe.
Dash grits his teeth. "Fine, whatever, I don't care. I'm going to the nurse." He turns and heads for the doors.
Danny holds his breath until Dash leaves.
—
Tetslaff finds Danny in the gym. "Fenton?" she says, frowning in confusion. "What are you doing here? The students were all sent home."
Danny blinks at her slowly. "What?"
"You gonna learn in the dark?" Tetslaff holds the door open wider and jerks her thumb toward the hall. "Get out of here. No wonder Lancer was getting his panties in a twist, had no idea where you were."
"Oh. Sorry." Danny pushes himself up, wobbling a little, and shuffles toward Tetslaff. "No one was looking for me?"
"Your friends said you went home. Stomach bug." Tetslaff's eyes narrow. "Your sister vouched for you."
Danny freezes, hugging himself tightly. "Really? That's weird." He gives Tetslaff a shaky smile.
"You look like hell, Fenton. Go home. I won't give you detention, this time."
"Thanks," Danny mumbles. Once he's out of the gym, the urge to get out of there as fast as possible seizes him. He sprints down the hall, ignoring Tetslaff's half-hearted shout of, "No running!" and doesn't stop until he reaches the front doors, throwing them open.
Lightning flashes over the city, blinding him. He winces, ducking his head, raising an arm against the rain. He almost forgot about the thunderstorm. Glancing left, he scans the student parking lot. All he sees is an obnoxious yellow Humvee, no sign of Jazz's little Prius. She must have gone home with everyone else, thinking Danny was already long gone taking care of a ghost. He wishes he had been.
With no other option, Danny starts the walk home. The rain drenches him immediately, plastering his hair against his forehead. His shirt clings to his chest and jeans feel heavy and uncomfortable. Halfway down the block, he realizes he left his backpack at school. There's a history paper he needs to work on. Danny shakes his head and keeps walking. He can sneak back in later tonight when his powers are working again. His sleep schedule this week is already pretty much non-existent. What does one more all-night matter?
At the corner of the block, as Danny's waiting for the crosswalk light to come on, a vehicle pulls up on his left and honks. It's the Humvee from the school parking lot. Confused, Danny stares, unmoving. The window rolls down.
Dash glares at him from the driver's seat. "Are you getting in or not?" he asks.
"I– what?"
"I swear you're deaf sometimes. Are. You. Getting. In. Or would you rather walk home in this?" Dash drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Hurry up, the rain's getting in!"
Danny scrambles forward, throwing the door open and slipping inside. The seat's a little wet, but it's infinitely better than being outside. Almost, Danny thinks, side-eyeing Dash. Neither of them says anything as he pulls up to the lights, which are red now.
Danny pushes his hair out of his face, slicking it back. The style's not half-bad. At least, he likes how it looks in Dash's side mirror. The light ahead of them turns green.
"Seatbelt," Dash says.
"Oh, yeah." Danny hurries to pull it on, clicking it in place. It rests a bit too high against his neck, rubbing uncomfortably below his jaw. "Dash–" he starts.
"Look–" Dash says at the same time. They both cut themselves off, sharing a glance. Danny motions for Dash to continues. "Look. I don't like you, Fenton. I guess I got issues and stuff, whatever, that's none of your business. But you're also a hero, and it'd be pretty stupid of me to beat up a hero."
"It's stupid of you to beat up anyone."
"Can you just, ugh." Dash groans. "I'm trying to apologize to you, moron."
"Well, you suck at it."
Dash seethes, banging his head against the steering wheel.
"Hey, watch the road!" Danny yelps, reaching out to grab the wheel.
Dash slaps his hand away. "Shut up, I know how to drive. Just, I'm sorry, okay?"
Danny frowns. A half-hearted apology doesn't make anything okay. But, at the moment, it's more than anything he's ever expected from Dash, so he'll take it. For now. "Fine."
"Good."
They don't say anything for the rest of the ride, suffering each other's presence until Dash pulls up in front of Fenton Works. Danny has the door open before the car reaches a complete stop, practically throwing himself to the sidewalk. He runs up the front path and slips inside without looking back.
"Danny!" Jazz calls from the living room. She stands up, approaching. "You're soaking wet. Where were you? What happened?"
Danny throws himself into Jazz's arms and cries.
—
Dash sits on the Fenton's curb for a minute before driving off. His house is in the completely opposite direction and now he has to head back toward the school. After going to the nurse, who had thankfully still been in the building, and getting his nose fixed up, Dash's only desire was to head home and immerse himself in video games.
Picking Danny up was a total fluke. He just looked so pathetic, trudging through the rain, and Dash couldn't leave him like that. The apology had been unexpected. Dash didn't realize he meant it until the words left his lips. He's still pissed at Danny for breaking his nose, but he didn't hit back, so that was a step up.
Dash sinks into his seat, staring at how the city lights glitter in the rain. Fenton still sucks. In fact, he sucks even worse now for actually making Dash feel bad about all the bullying. He's got a lot of thinking to do. Nothing he says or does will always what he's already said and done, but apologizing was a good way to start.
#phic phight#phic phight 2020#danny phantom#dash baxter#danny fenton#danny phantom fanfiction#phanfic#phic#tumblroneshots#Danny needs a hug#he gets one don't worry#Dash needs a punch to the face#he gets that too#I hope you like it gorgi#I said I was gonna pay you back but I don't think this was angsty enough#it's more hurt/comfort#AT LEAST DANNY LIVED IN MINE
366 notes
·
View notes
Note
A scenario for you - you're a Disney Princess. What is the name of your kingdom? Who is your Prince? What does your gown look like? Which animal is your companion and what is its name?
a bunch of things just popped up in my askbox i'm so sorry i've never seen this (and i think 3 or 4 more of your asks? tumblr is rude i'm so sorryyyyy!!!!)
OKAY I AM OVERTHINKING THIS BECAUSE THIS IS HONESTLY AMAZING <33
since loving oranges is 50% of my personality and there is already the orange-nassau bloodline going on i don't see why i can't have my kingdom be named like "royaume de l'orangeraie" (literal translation being the kingdom of the orangery) because we'd all be healthy and full of vitamin c from the oranges, we wouldn't have scurvy and we'd be a happy kingdom where every families have like ONE SPECIAL recipe that includes orange and they all grow orange trees in their backyard (they also have yards... because we love SPACE here, OXYGEN WOW AMAZING). so yes, our kingdom is known for oranges we grow oranges we sell oranges the flag is orange everything is orange we host banquets and there is no wine just orange juice please and thank you
since men in monarchy and royal institutions have proven themselves to be a) unreliable b) useless and c) stupid i don't want a disney prince, i want a princess but she wouldn't even be from royal blood i don't care about the norms and protocol i want my cutesy story with like THE GIRL WHO DESIGNS MY DRESSES OR MAYBE LIKE THE ROYAL PAINTER i want the portrait de la jeune fille en feu movie to be inspired by us, i want to spend hours and hours as kids learning how to paint with her (her parents could have worked for my royal parents too, and seeing that i take interest in the arts could have lead them to hire said former painter as my tutor and said tutor had a daughter around the same age as me and we really have that childhood friends to best friends to lovers to queens trope) and we just spent so much time together like WE ARE SOULMATES OKAY SOULMATES and we live happily ever after (i guess we'd have to bring heirs to the world..................... i'm sure a cute chef from the kitchens could volunteer as tribute 👀 or WE ADOPT CHILDREN AND OH MY GOD THAT WOULD BE AMAZING) so yes, my disney princess she'd have a pretty name like they do in barbie movies, she'd always have like one loose flower tucked behind her ear, paint stains on her dress and hands and wow i love her.
OKAY HERE'S THE THING the last time i wore a dress i was like 6 years-old and i hated everything about it so much my mom had to find a seamstress who turned the skirt into shorts so i don't think i'd fancy dresses very much... i'd be more of a suit kind of gal. pants, sort of loose white shirt with a vest on top. i'm thinking a top similar to what snow white has? with the pooffy shoulders, the soft neckline and then, some simple pants with a waist band at bellybutton height or a little bit higher, like most men wear in period dramas. obviously, the top would be orange. i'm thinking the waist band too, but there would be a mix of fabric perhaps. like satin on the waist and sleeves as accent, but different fabric for the rest. different hues of orange would be my thing, from lighter peach colours all the way to rusty, blood red or burnt orange. hasn't van gogh said something about there could never be blue without complementary colours like orange? so i think i'd wear a decent amount of blue too, but more like turquoise or cerulean. my birth gem stone is sapphire, and i can imagine my jewellery being mostly sapphires too!
I'M TRYING SO HARD TO BE ORIGINAL, but i think i'd have to go with a dog or a horse, most likely a dog like prince eric in the little mermaid, big fluffy cuddly clumsy dog that is featured on all the portraits! i'm going full on queen elizabeth mode, but i think the dogs would be a staple in the family! they'd be their own royal family, since we'd keep the puppies from generation to generation if that makes sense? and i'm bringing back the sapphire theme because I LOVE WHEN DOGS HAVE TWO COLOURED EYES heterochromia is one of my favourite things ever (wink wink @ henry) and that's how the dog would get her name, from having one brown and one blue eye!!!! i'm sorry, i can't be as cool as rapunzel with her CHAMELEON PASCAL IS JUST SUPERIOR
i'm sorry i really went over board with this BUT THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST ASKS I'VE EVER GOTTEN AND THANK YOU SO MUCH IT WAS SO FUN TO BRAINSTORM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ily darling!!!!!
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Baby You’re a Haunted House (Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x Reader)
Requested: Anon
“Hi! Could you do a Mick Mars one shot where Mick and the reader are really close friends and they’re watching a scary movie at his house and she’s scared so he lets her stay over. And she has trouble sleeping so she sneaks into his room and they both awkwardly admit they like each other?”
note: finally, after an arduous hiatus brought upon by school, I have a new little request to add to the library. I’m a little rusty so I hope it’s up to par. I don’t deserve your patience, but I’m glad y’all have stuck around. :’) (also if anyone wants to change their taglist preferences, lmk)
word count: 3,219
[no warnings! just two idiots in love!]
tags: @lauravic, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3, @oldschoolimagineblog, @thecrue, @colsonbakersnoseringmain
To say you had a stressful week would be an understatement. Despite your best efforts to hold it together, things just seemed to go completely wrong of their own accord. You burnt your toast at breakfast, found an angry pink parking ticket on your windshield, and spent the entirety of your day working your fingers to the bone. It could have been your sour mood, or the melodramatic attitude you had developed since waking up that morning– but the day seemed completely and utterly cursed.
Even as you leave your shift, you can’t help but stare bitterly at the sun as it dips lazily into the horizon, wondering what exactly you did to make everything feel so shitty. It’s a Friday for Christ’s sake and it seems as though you hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to look forward to the weekend, let alone make plans.
Speaking of Fridays, you think, eyes flitting down to the watch dangling loosely from your wrist. The hands point toward 6:45, making it known that you are running incredibly and unbelievably late. Flustered, you sprint to your car, keys jingling noisily between your fingers. You should have left at least half an hour ago, but there had been so much going on at work that you lost track of time.
“Shit!” you exclaim, jamming your key into the ignition and speeding recklessly out of the parking lot. Tires screech against the asphalt as a cloud of dust erupts from behind you, settling only when you skid out onto the open road. The sky quickly shifts from honey orange to dusky purple as you retreat from the glittering lights of the city, instantly becoming more relaxed at the sight of sparse houses and distant mountains.
You and your best friend, Mick, have a Friday night tradition of staying in and watching movies while the rest of his friends– and bandmates –go out to wreak havoc on the remaining population of Los Angeles. Mick is similar to you in a lot of ways; you’re both the strong and silent type, usually only speaking when spoken and always responding with a biting comment. The two of you met in a record store off Sunset Boulevard, quickly bonding over your love for the emerging metal scene and your hatred for cheap glam rock. Nothing was ever smoke and mirrors with Mick– no, he was raw and honest. Something you admire far more than you’re willing to admit.
Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, you suppress the feeling of your heart twitching excitedly against your ribs. You aren’t sure what’s been up with you lately, but every time you’ve seen Mick these past few weeks your heart has begun to skip along to an unknown rhythm. This new sensation makes you grit your teeth in frustration. Mick is your best friend, you have no reason to feel anxious around him. Right?
Typically, when something abnormal is going on in your life, your first instinct is to tell Mick, but you already know this isn’t the kind of conversation you’re prepared to have with him. These days, it feels as though Mick is the only person you can really be yourself around and you can’t imagine jeopardizing your friendship for the sake of talking about your feelings, of all things.
With a heavy sigh, you pull into the sloping curve of Mick’s driveway, hoping the walk to his doorstep will be just enough time to get your head back on your shoulders. You rap on his door with a heavy hand, listening to the sound of crickets thrumming softly in the distance. It’s times like this where you find yourself thankful that Mick decided to move outside of the Los Angeles city limits. Sure, the drive is long and the daytime traffic could be excruciating, but there’s at least some semblance of stillness in the air.
Mick pulls open the door, greeting you with a soft smile and bright eyes. Rather than wondering what took you so long, he gives your disheveled appearance a once over and simply asks, “Long day?”
You nod, the fatigued slump in your shoulders only getting heavier as Mick motions for you to step inside. Abandoning your jacket and keys by the door, you flop onto Mick’s plush sofa with a content groan.
“Sorry I’m late,” you mumble, voice partially muffled by the pillow pressed firmly against your cheek. At this point, you had been over to Mick’s place so many times that it was slowly starting to feel like your own. You roll on your side, arms cradling the side of your head as you gaze upward with glassy eyes.
Mick just chuckles and lifts your legs so that he can sit underneath them, allowing your calves to rest comfortably in his lap. His fingers ghost the exposed skin of your ankle, making your breath hitch uncomfortably in your throat. The gesture is so familiar and yet, you can’t help but feel as though it were the first time. To your relief, Mick doesn’t seem to take note of your sudden uneasiness, and instead picks up a video tape from the glass coffee table in front of you.
“I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street,” Mick grins, “you seen it yet?”
You sit up, eyebrows knitted in concentration as you study the tape, unsurprised to see that it’s a horror movie. The cover art depicts a young girl staring entranced at a set of knife-like fingers as they hover menacingly above her head. The guys in Mick’s band often joked about him being some kind of ghoul or vampire, and his love for the spooky and supernatural really didn’t help his case.
“Another slasher, Mickey?” you tease, shoving at his shoulders playfully. Just last week the two of you spent the night watching My Bloody Valentine, all the while jeering and laughing at every ridiculous mistake that the characters made. At this point, it may as well be a Friday night tradition.
Mick rolls his eyes, “Come on, Y/N. It’s not just a regular, old slasher. This guy is supposed to come after you to haunt your dreams and shit.”
“What? You sick of me haunting yours?”
“Never,” Mick scoffs, flinging your legs to the side so he can get up and feed the tape into the VHS player. “Not if it’s you.”
For the umpteenth time that evening, your heart leaps.
...
As it turns out, Mick was right, it wasn’t just a silly slasher movie– it was a fucking terrifying slasher movie. By the time that the television screen faded to black and the credits began to roll, you hardly noticed the way your body had wrapped around itself in terror. Gripping the blanket across your lap, you jump as the dark living room becomes illuminated in pale, yellow light. You peer behind a wall of couch cushions to see Mick lurking by the lightswitch with a smirk dancing on his lips.
“Jesus, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were scared,” Mick grins, his expression infuriatingly smug.
You feel your face grow hot as your heart hammers noisily in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration bubbling from within.
“I wasn’t scared,” you insist, “I was just–just, uh, startled is all. Long day, remember?” Gesturing to your blanket enshrouded form, you hope that the dark circles under your eyes are enough to persuade Mick to say he’s ready for bed and leave you be.
“Speaking of long days, it’s getting pretty late. Why don’t you just crash here for the night?” Mick points to the digital clock on his mantle, the bright red numbers flashing 1:32.
You nibble on your lip wordlessly, trying your best to ignore the feeling of butterfly wings tickling your stomach and climbing into your throat. Mick has a point, it is getting late. However, in all your time as friends, Mick had never once invited you to stay over. Would this change things? Could it change things?
“Um, Earth to Y/N?” Mick steps over to your place on the couch a waves an impatient hand in front of your face, making you jolt upright. “What’s the matter? Freddy got your tongue?”
“You little shit, I swear to God I am not scared–!” your tangent is interrupted as a clap of thunder rumbles from somewhere outside the window, the panes rattling and shaking in protest.
A dramatic yelp escapes your lips before you have time to rationalize what’s happening, making Mick double over in laughter. With trembling hands, you pull the blanket up over your head in an attempt to shroud your humiliation from Mick’s taunting eyes.
“F-fine, you win!” you relent, voice muffled beneath the quilted fabric.
Mick pulls the blanket away from your face, his dark blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Guess we’re having a slumber party after all.”
“If you wanted a sleepover, you could’ve just asked instead of scaring the fuck out of me. We could have braided each other’s hair by now,” you grumble bitterly.
“Better luck next time, I guess,” Mick flicks off the lightswitch with a devious grin, leaving you enveloped in darkness, “Sleep tight, and don’t let the interdimensional sleep demons bite…”
“Oh fuck off,” you squeak, uneasiness creeping on you as Mick leaves you alone in the blackness of his living room. Living closer to the city’s epicentre, you can’t even remember a time it was this dark in your apartment, let alone right outside the window.
Bundling yourself into a tight cocoon, you try to let the rare patter of California raindrops soothe you into unconsciousness. Just as the fuzziness of sleep starts to curl around your weary mind, another clap of thunder rattles through the walls of Mick’s house, your eyes snapping open in fright. You attempt to regulate your frantic breaths, chanting sweet nothings of normalcy and security to no one in particular. But, no matter what you do, nothing seems to unprickle the hairs standing rigidly on the back of your neck.
Rolling over, you decide to face the room in the hopes that your tired eyes will eventually adjust to the darkness. The shadows seem to squirm and shift as your spine tingles with paranoia, making you curse yourself for ever agreeing to stay in the first place. You groan internally when you realize that, in the time you’ve spent anxious on the sofa, you probably could have made it home by now.
Goddammit, Mick.
Ignoring the oppressive movement of the shadows, your eyes wander toward the hallway. The position you have on the couch gives you a direct view of where the curve of the hall snakes into the door of Mick’s bedroom. More than anything, you wish he had stayed out in the living room with you rather than retreating to the confines of his bedroom. It would have been completely unfair to ask that of Mick considering it’s his house, but you can’t help it. You hadn’t been this afraid of the dark since you were a kid and, as far as you knew, Mick wasn’t scared of anything.
The longer you lay scrunched up on the couch, the more tempted you are to just barge into Mick’s room and see whether or not he’s still awake. Minutes feel like hours as you debate the odds of Mick being mad–or worse, weirded out–at the sight of his best friend shaking him awake in the middle of the night. If Mick were having the same problem you probably wouldn’t be upset, right? Then again, there was a better chance of hell freezing over than Mick actually being afraid of the dark.
Deciding you can’t handle being alone a second longer, you swiftly untangle yourself from the comforting embrace of your blanket cocoon and place your bare feet on the cool, wooden floor. Shivering slightly, you hug your arms around your shoulders protectively and pad toward Mick’s bedroom, a nervous lump knotting in the back of your throat.
You approach the white door apprehensively, wondering for a brief moment if testing your friendship like this is even worth it. With a hefty sigh, you abandon all caution and pull the door open, a soft breeze rushing forward and tickling your face from the sudden movement. Heart thudding unceremoniously in your chest, you find yourself faced with the sight of your best friend sleeping soundly in a tangle of black velvet bedsheets.
Lying flat on his back with arms crossed securely over his chest, Mick slept like the dead, looking just as peaceful and twice as forbidden to disturb. A soft smile ghosts your lips at the sight of Mick looking so unwound and at rest. He was always a high-strung individual, that much is true, and watching him sleep so soundly made all your anxieties from earlier feel unbelievably not worth the effort. The realization that Mick’s face alone is enough to settle your nerves makes your heart hammer out a strangled pulse of adoration, twisting your stomach into a knot.
Inching away slowly, you decide that it’s probably for the best if you just saunter back to the couch and squash your feelings. Mick deserves a good night’s rest, not a lovesick best friend who is becoming blindsided by her feelings. Cursing your heart for being so fixated on the trivial human need for intimacy, you take a step back and immediately bump right into Mick’s dresser.
“Fuck,” you hiss as the dresser’s wooden frame trembles noisily against the floor.
To your horror, the man in front of you begins to stir. Raising balled fists to his eyes, he wipes away the sleep and glances over to the source of the sound in a haze of weary confusion. Your heart plummets to the ground as his eyes find yours in the darkness.
“...Y/N?” he mumbles, as he rises stiffly from his pile of blankets like a mummy from a sarcophagus. “Am I dreaming?”
“I was just leaving,” you squeak, hoping beyond hope that Mick would be tired enough to think nothing of his best friend suddenly creeping into his room in the middle of the night. Turning on your heel, you attempt to reach for the door knob but are immediately halted by the sound of Mick’s voice.
“Wait–” Mick calls out, his voice faint, “stay.”
You suck in a breath, grateful that the cover of night conceals the cherry red flush of your cheeks. Taking a tentative step forward, you find your fingertips gingerly clinging to the cool metal of the doorknob in worry. Swallowing the lump in your throat, it feels as though you might be the one dreaming.
“Mickey, look, I can explain, I, uh–I was just…” you stumble over the words of your confession, eyes now well-adjusted enough to see Mick’s expression go soft, almost as if he were concealing a smile.
Mick chuckles at your embarrassment, his gravelly voice making your heart flutter involuntarily. “You were scared, weren’t you?’
“Yeah,” you sigh, not bothering to dig an even deeper hole, “I guess I was.”
Staring down at your bare feet, you allow a beat of silence to pass between the two of you. Mick says nothing, only stares, and for a moment you squirm at the thought that you may have overstayed your welcome. The thought alone is enough to make you cringe.
Mick clears his throat, startling you out of your compulsive rumination. Peering up like a scolded child, you watch him scoot toward the far end of the mattress and straighten out his wrinkled duvet with a lazy hand.
“Well don’t just stand there,” he grins, “get in.”
“Seriously?”
Mick rolls his eyes and pats the empty space for emphasis, “Yes, seriously. Freddy can’t get ya so long as you’re with me– scout’s honor.”
“As if you were a fucking boy scout,” you snort, unable to let your previous feelings of shame conceal the utter ridiculousness of the present situation. Here you are standing at the bedside of your best friend with a bleeding heart, and he’s already prepared to bandage you back up.
“But it’s the thought that counts, right? Now hurry your ass up, I want to get back to sleep.”
Your feet seem to propel you forward of their own accord and, before your neurotic brain can shift into overdrive, you’re already nestling into Mick’s bedsheets. You hum comfortably, the velvet still warm from where he had been sleeping. Every inch of the fabric smells of him, and it takes the last shred of your willpower to not just let your feelings leak straight out of your mouth and onto deaf ears.
“That’s easy for you to say, Mickey,” you tease weakly, “you’ve never been scared of anything.”
“I get scared sometimes,” Mick confesses, “I just wouldn’t want you to ever think differently of me because of it.”
You don’t need to see Mick’s face to know that he’s frowning.
Emboldened by his sudden admission of vulnerability, you turn on your side to face him. Mick’s eyes are fixed firmly on the ceiling, as if all the answers to life’s deepest, darkest questions could be etched somewhere in the popcorned pattern.
“W-what do you mean?” you meant to sound confident, but your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.
To your disbelief, Mick turns over as well, his deep blue eyes shining through the shadowy bedroom like the frothy caps of a stormy sea. You can practically feel your heart reaching out to him, begging to pull you under and keep you there.
Mick’s hand finds yours somewhere beneath the velvet sheets and gives you a gentle squeeze, his warm palm enveloping your cold one in an instant.
“There’s something I want to say but I’m afraid…” he whispers, voice as delicate as spun sugar, “...I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I do, and I don’t wanna lose you.”
For a moment all you can do is blink, your mind reeling from the implications of what your best friend may or may not be admitting to you. You know that you need to say something quick, but your tongue turns to sand in your mouth.
Mick’s hand still entwined with yours, you take the opportunity to move in closer. Slowly you close the gap between the two of you, leaving nothing but the space reserved for the halo of mutual body heat forming around your place in the sheets.
“I think I know what you mean,” you bring Micks hand to your chest and let the frantic pulse of your heart do all the talking.
Without warning, Mick gives you a gentle kiss on the nose. The touch is so faint, you’re almost worried you may have imagined it.
“Y/N?”
“Yeah, Mickey?”
“I think I love you.”
Your free hand rests gingerly on your best friend’s cheek, and for the first time that night you find yourself unafraid of what comes next. His face is red hot to the touch, and you wonder if anyone else knew Mick could be so warm.
“You sure you’d want to do a crazy thing like that?”
Mick just chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing feels crazy when I’m with you.”
“Then I guess I’m just gonna have to love you, too.”
#hello!#i'm kind of back for now#sorry to be so shit#the dirt#the dirt requests#motley crue imagine#motley crue oneshot#motley crue#mick mars#tommy lee#nikki sixx#vince neil#iwan rheon#80s#80s rock#the dirt netflix
108 notes
·
View notes
Text
Get to Know Me - raisinghellinotherworlds
Saw @pd3 do this and though I’d give it a go!
-
1. Name : Siren (it’s a pseudonym!)
2. Nationality: American
3. Age: 27
4. Birthday: January 29th
5. Zodiac sign (or your primal zodiac sign): Aquarius
6. Gender: Female
7. Sexuality: Heterosexual
More below the cut
[[MORE]]
8. Your looks (add a picture or describe yourself)
For the record this is the only recent picture of myself I like and this is about as much of my face as you’ll ever see bc I know my angles.
9. What do you/did you study?: I went to school for a Bachelors in Arts with and emphasis on Sciences but never finished it bc 1) college is expensive and 2) I don’t know what I want to do career-wise so there’s not a point in going back anymore.
10. What’s your current job like?/What job would you like to have?: I’m a service desk associate at a department store. Something where I could deal with less people bc boy does this job push my patience sometimes.
-
11. What is your birth order?: Firstborn/Oldest.
12. How many siblings do you have?: Technically four, but only two living.
13. Do you have good relations with your family?: My immediate family. My siblings are closer to each other (but they’re only two years apart) but we get along. I also have a good relationship with my parents though I’m not as close to my mom as I could be it’s hard to forget the not nice things your parent say to you as a kid.
14. How many friends do you have?: Lots though only a few I see/talk to on a regular basis.
15. Your relationship status: Single.
16. What do you look for in a SO?: Intelligent, kind, has a sense of humor.
17. Do you have a crush?: I guess.
18. When was your first kiss?: WHY *sighs* I was... 25.
19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands?: I’ve... never been in an actual relationship? I’d like to say serious.
20. What are your deal breakers? Being rude, cheating, and treating me like a child/you know what’s best for me/someone in need of saving (new flash, i am not your princess peach/some damsel in distress. If you need to rescue someone I am not your girl).
-
21. How was your day?: It’s still early into the day and I go to work in about an hour and a half and I get to close so we’ll see!
22. Favourite food & drink: French Fries. Or anything with potatoes. I’m a fiend. And Dr. Pepper or Coffee.
23. What position do you sleep in?: On my side/stomach on the part of the bed that’s against the wall.
24. What was your last dream about?: It was... highly NSFT and no, I will not go into detail.
25. Your fears: I’m not a fan of spiders or bugs of any kind really, I hate clowns, and I don’t like thunderstorms. Or tornados.
26. Your dreams: Move, either out of state or out of the country.
27. Your goals: See above.
28. Any pets?: A bird, Momo.
29. What are your hobbies?: Writing, playing video games, and reading (fanfic or books)
30. Any cool places in your area?: I’m sure there are but I live in a town surrounded by corn and other farmland so... it’s anyone’s best guess.
31. What was your last awkward situation?: The other day when a customer stared at me for a solid three minutes when I explained that due to the pandemic we’re no longer offering one of our services in an effort to reduce contact.
32. What is your last regret?: That I didn’t realize the true nature of some people who I no longer speak to sooner.
33. Language/s you can speak: English, Spanish (I’m so rusty though), a little bit of French, and a teeny tiny bit of Japanese.
34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? (Zodiac, tarot, etc.): I believe in my many things so yes.
35. Have any quirks?: Uh... I mess with my hair when I’m nervous? & the more nervous I get my (already high) voice gets higher and will go up several octaves the more nervous I get?
36. Your pet peeves: People in my apartment building slamming the front door all the damn time.
37. Ideal vacation: Somewhere with nice scenery and where it’s calm.
38. Any scars?: Quite a few small ones on my head from a car accident when I was just a baby (I went through a window- got a few scrapes but other than that was unharmed) and one on my hand (it’s on both sides of my hand too) from when I was toddler and got bit by a dog.
39. What does your last text message say?: “I’ll let you know when I get some gameplay posted!” I have a sideblog for casual TS4 gameplay. Was telling a friend that I was going to post new stuff soon.
40. Last 5 things from your search history: No thanks! It’s all just checking if a word is really a word and spelling anyways.
41. What’s your [Device] background?: Lockscreen is a wallpaper from FFXV ft. The Chocobros; Hope Screen is Sam & Evie.
42. What do you daydream about?: Writing mostly.
43. Describe your dream home: Decent amount of space, a library room to hold all my books... good lighting, comfy.... preferably NOT in the middle of nowhere.
44. What’s your religion/Your thought about religion: I am not a fan. Particularly of Christianity but everyone has their own beliefs and in that regard, to each their own. Just don’t try to convert me bc the answer is f*ck no.
45. Your personality type: INFP.
46. The most dangerous thing you’ve done?: Climbed onto the roof of the shed when I was little because I got something stuck up there.
47. Are you happy with your current life?: For the most part!
48. Some things you’ve tried in your life: Gymnastics, Ballet, etc.
-
49. What does your wardrobe consist of?: Lots of t-shirts, jeans, shorts, flats, boots, etc.
50. Favourite colour to wear?: Black or Blue.
51. How would you describe your style?: Extremely casual.
52. Are you happy with your current looks?: Kinda? I really need to cut my hair because it’s gotten so long it’s annoying. But I can put up with it until it’s safe again bc pandemic. My hair is not that important I assure you.
53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be?: Oh God, could I be taller? Like at least 5’3”? Which is still teeny but better than my 4’9” ass.
Do you have any piercings or tattoos?: I have 3 piercings and three tattoos (two finished, one in progress)
55. Do you get complimented often?: Maybe? I’m oblivious to the point that you could have a flashing neon sign with the compliment written on it and it would probably still go over my head.
56. Favourite aesthetic?: Biker Chic!
57. A popular trend that you dislike: Neon.
-
58. Songs you’re currently obsessed with?: Blessed Be - Spiritbox.
59. Song you normally wouldn’t admit you like: If I like a song, I like it. But if I have to pick one, I know everyone hates Despacitio. I know, ok but I really like the original version bc I like the sound. Latin music always has a fun groove to it.
60. Favourite genre?: Rock & Metal.
61. Favourite artist/band/genre?: Type O Negative, Pallbearer, Ice Nine Kills. Give me all the goth rock/metal and just fun metal in general.
62. Hated popular songs/artists?: Oh boy... don’t hate me but I um... don’t care too much for T Swift? And I’m not a fan of country.
63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5: Devil’s // Door - VCTMS, Karasu - The GazettE, Path - Apocalyptica, I Walk the Line - Halsey, Drumming Song - Florence + the Machine
64. Can you sing or play any instruments?: I can kinda play bass but I’m still learning so it’s just like... the very bare basics.
65. Do you like karaoke?: I’m very self-conscious so no.
66. Own any albums?: Yes, though majority are digital.
67. Do you listen to radio? What stations?: Yes. I have it on for background noise in my room in which case I don’t pay attention to it, but I have XM radio in my car where I listen to Octane/Liquid Metal/Turbo.
-
68. Favourite movie/series?: The Dark Knight trilogy or Hellraiser or Nightbreed.
69. Favourite genre of movies/books/etc: Horror, Sci-fi, and fantasy.
70. Your fictional crush/es: Too many. Look at my OCs and their SO’s and you’ll find a bunch of them.
71. Which fictional character is you?: My friends would say Mira Jane from Fairy Tail. My bestie says Mercedes from Fire Emblem Three Houses (minus the devout part bc... I do not have nice feelings re-religion. You do you though!).
72. Are you a shipper? List your otps, if so: Yes, and once again you’ll be reading for eternity. So I’ll sum it up as too many to list.
73. Favourite greek god?: Apollo.
74. A legend from where you live that you like: It’s said that before big disasters happen in the town I live in + the surrounding areas, that you’ll see a panther. Supposedly one has been seen before at least 4 different bad things that have happened over the years. I’m in the midwest though so take that as you will.
75. Do you like art?: I do but I don’t really have a favorite. ... I am kinda partial to Van Gogh though.
76. Can you share your other social media?: I have a Pinterest but since my other social media has my name (which I also share with an OC whoops. That’s what I get for being indecisive and going the first name the name generator gave me) I’d rather not. If you ask and we’re friends I’ll probably give it to you but...
77. Favourite youtubers?: I don’t really watch too many anymore but I’ve been watching a lot of jacksepticeye’s gameplay. Aside that I tend to just watch channels like PlayStation Access or Outsidexbox.
78. Favourite platform?: Instagram
79. How much time do you spend on the internet?: More than I should, I’m sure.
80. What video games have you played? Which one’s your favourite? Uh, if I had to list them all you’d literally be reading this for eternity. To sum it up, I mostly play RPGs/JRPGs, open-world, survival horror (my fave), and a few (emphasis on few) FPS. Favorites are (once again with a limit): Bioshock, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Until Dawn, Silent Hill 2, and Fatal Frame.
81. Your favourite books (manga also counts): do you know how f*cking hard this question is as someone who’s a bookworm? Ok, ok um... Gotta have a limit or I’ll never shut up... um... Three favorites: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, Horns by Joe Hill, and American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
82. Do you play board/card games?: On occasion! They’re best with bigger groups but alas, my apartment is rather small and I don’t have a lot of space for multiple people so I don’t play them often.
83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema? No, but it sounds fun.
84. Favourite holiday: Halloween!
85. Are you into dramas?: As in, tv dramas? Kinda? I have a friend on lived in SK for a time and got into K-dramas so I watch them with her from time-to-time when she visits.
Would you use a Death Note if you had one?: No.
87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to?: Oh boy... make everyone get along, ensure everyone could live their life to the best possible, etc.
88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse?: Possibly.
89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be?: I’m going with mythical instead of strictly paranormal but... a vampire!
90. What would you want to happen to you after your death?: As in to my body? Cremate me. To my stuff, give my books to a good home and take care of my bird.
91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick?: Most people call me by my middle name already since I got tired of people calling me the wrong name (& I like my middle name better) and insisting my first name was actually a nickname (it’s not, it’s the same as the musician I’m named after) so if I were to eventually be bothered enough, I’d have it legally changed to my middle name.
92. Who would you switch your life with for a week?: I don’t know to be honest. I’m fairly happy with my life so I think I’d just not switch.
93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo: 🌊
94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true: I took karate classes for several years, I’ve never dyed my hair, I’ve had two jobs thus far.
-
95. Cold or hot?: Cold I guess? If we’re talking in reference to seasons give me cool (aka Fall).
96. Be a hero or be a villain?: Hero because being a villain would mean I’d have to be mean to people and I can’t even pick the mean options in video games without feeling guilty so...
97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme?: um... no? I’m not quite certain what this means but I’m going to go with no?
98. Shapeshifting or controlling time?: Shapeshifting!
99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death?: Immortal.
#get to know me#get to know siren#my face#please DON’T REBLOG#my apologies to anyone on mobile#i put a read more and it shows up if i view my blog in my web browser but isn’t showing when i view it in the app!
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Statement by a man that can't exist about fears that fear can have.
100% self indulgent writing lmao
Tw: death, stabbing, Stranger centric imagery (think episode 165 revolutions), graphic descriptions, anxiety, allusions to past abuse and queerphobia
Multiple times switching identification between I, we, and he.
Statement Begins:
You don't know who I am. I'd applaud you but I have a feeling you'll be knowing soon enough. And once you know who I am… well there wouldn't be a point to any kind of conversation between us.
So that's why I'm here now. Before there's any chance of you knowing me.
I guess I should start at the beginning but to be honest there's too many beginnings that I'd have to tell. So I guess I'll start with our most recent death.
I can see you're already confused.
(The man gives a bark of laughter.)
You see, I cannot ever have a singular existence. Because for as long as the avatars of fear have existed we too have been there. A quiet presence that sits in the back of their minds. Some of them never truly realize it until it's too late.
What don't they realize, you ask? Well, that deep down behind their little power trips that they can still feel afraid. It's almost funny how many of them think themselves invincible. That there's nothing else out there that will feed off of them but their own gods.
(The man scoffs in response.) If you can truly call them that.
They just don't realize that there exists a fear just for them. A fear made to feed off of them just like how every fear is made to feed off of some poor human.
We are a... specially tailored revenge you could say. We are each and every one of their victims. We are the pain, the fear, the death that each of them have caused.
We are the victim's lost opportunities, the tears from those who mourned their deaths, but most of all I am the victim's rage.
(The man pauses for a second. The sound of fingers tapping on the wooden table is the only thing audible for a few moments.)
Sorry... my head's not fully right anymore and it takes a second for me to get my bearings.
I am supposed to always be us, but… something changed with his death. Maybe it was how he died, maybe it was because for some reason someone did remember him. I'm not entirely sure to be honest.
I just know that I died to multiple entities.
(A soft laugh and an almost inaudible mutter) Because when has my life ever been simple?
I…No. He was a student. Here on a college exchange trip for the purpose of learning more about art history. Pretty boring all things considered with the exception that all he could feel was the anxiety waging a war beneath his skin.
There was no joy about new experiences, no excitement to see things he could only dream of before. Just the constant ache and twisting of his guts every time he so much as tried to think a thought.
It has always had a hold on his heart. And going alone on such a big trip by himself? Well it was worse than he could have predicted. Eating away every bit of courage it had taken to come here.
Fear growing more and more out of his control. Fear of what people saw when they looked at him. Fear of letting his anger lash out at those who purposely hurt him. Fear of death, fear of living.
Worrying endlessly about telling truths vs telling lies. So much chaos inside one body. It really is not a surprise that it drew the attention of many of the fear's Avatars.
His existence was a flickering light in the dark that drew whatever simply looked his way. Such an easy target. Such a delicious meal.
The first to try their hand, surprisingly, was the slaughter. Cornered him in an alleyway way and ran him through with a rusty knife. It probably was hoping it's anger and lust for blood would amplify his own.
He did have so much anger. Just boiling deep down and out of sight. That need to hurt those that hurt him. The need to just hurt to try and feel anything but helpless.
It would have gotten such a good meal from him. Who knows how many he would lash out at, how many became another means to feed the Slaughter.
But it'd left him alone in that alley. Holding tight to that knife embedded in his stomach. It didn't know that another had been hunting him as well.
Easy prey made even easier for a minion of the Stranger.
(A chair creaks, his voice growing louder as if he's moved closer to the tape recorder)
Do you know what it's like to have your entire being, your entire existence slowly torn into pieces?
No?
(A laugh) Of course you don't.
Not even the Stranger knows what that feels like. Only we can ever know that. I could try to explain it but to be honest it'd be a lot like trying to explain pain to a doctor who will never try to understand.
Oh don't give me that look.
You can't believe me because you don't think we can exist anymore. And to be honest we don't blame you. You're right. We victim's of the stranger don't exist in a capacity that can be truly understood because it's been stolen from us.
He can though.
(Another creak of the chair and his voice grows quieter.)
Exist I mean.
At least exist enough that he could try and tell you that it feels like you're slowly being skinned alive. Chunks of your meat and bone are cut out into small squares and rearranged and put into something else… someone else. Your skin slowly stitched on over it, and even though it's not your body anymore you're still able to feel each pierce of the needle. Each pull of the thread.
And all while it's happening, you know your body is still whole. That the only reason there's any blood at all is because you'd just been stabbed. But you're still forced to watch as this thing takes every single bit of you and twists it into something you hate. Something that is so distinctly not you.
It takes everything that made you, you. And makes you into them instead.
(The infliction of his voice changes. Like he's suddenly waking up from a deep sleep. His voice slowly growing stronger with each word.)
It's a fear I'd always had to deal with. Becoming someone else because no one wanted the real me. Forcing me into being whatever was needed to keep some resemblance of peace between me and everyone else.
Maybe that's why, as it took me apart, I felt such an indescribable anger.
It had no right to do this to me. To take away everything I had fought so hard for. It needed to pay for trying to steal those small parts of myself that I had nurtured and cherished.
I don't know if anyone could actually hear my screams, or if maybe it had all been in my head. It wasn't even a scream of fear or pain. It was all my anger thrown into a single action to say that. I. AM. STILL. HERE.
It could never have expected me to have any strength to fight back. I didn't expect me to have the strength to fight back. Guess that's one thing I can thank the slaughter for. Gave me enough energy to take that rusty knife lodged in my stomach and strike out with it.
And I kept striking, kept stabbing. Even when my blood had run from my body and my hands had already begun to grow cold. I remember knowing that the striking red shade of blood that began to cover me was not mine. Not sure if it even was it's blood.
I guess it didn't matter in the end. At some point I'd fallen to the ground beside it. My eyes glued onto the lifeless form of what was supposed to be some hilariously wrong version of me.
I thought my last dying thoughts would be of some kind of inner peace. I'd won. I had made one last stand and it hadn't been for nothing. It couldn't hurt anyone like it hurt me.
I was wrong of course. I remember hearing it's bones crack as it started to move again. Helplessly watching as it picked itself up and became something different.
Shedding away everything it had stolen from me. Like it had never really mattered to it. Like all it had wanted to do was to make me unwhole for its own pleasure.
I don't know what happened to it because I died shortly after from the blood loss. The end had already begun to reach out to claim me, only to have it's hand slapped away like a petulant child.
(Something shifts in his voice again. This time feeling like there's more than just him speaking.)
We had already laid claim. He had already tasted the Stranger's fear even if he had not known it yet. It was such a new experience for us. An avatar that felt fear because of someone who was still human. Or as human as one can be in that situation anyway.
It was long gone before we woke in that cold alley. Our head a mess of thoughts and memories and pain. We couldn't be me yet. We were never supposed to be me.
But he was different than us.
A fear can be afraid of feeling that same fear they forced upon others turned back on to them. That's what we had always done. Savoring in it from the shadows.
But I could kill fear with its greatest fear. The fear of their victim having the power in a situation that was supposed to be theirs to control.
So be thankful Archivist. We are not your victims. And you better hope we never are. Because we'll be there to claim them.
And when we do, I will be back to claim you.
Statement ends.
#tma#the magnus archives#my OC#tma statement#My writing#tw:death#tw: blood#tw: abuse#tw: anxiety#it's also possible this is just a little bit of venting lol#got inspired to write and so I wrote
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alright, new bonus upd8... time for Catnapped Part 2.
Time to see some Jasprose tormenting a captured Prez Jane I’m guessing?
==>
--yes! But in newspaper format! --I shouldn’t post pictures because, again, this is bonus material, but... my goodness! An adorable pic of Jasprose and the kidnapped Jane looking all fucking tsundere, newsprint detailing Jasprose having declared herself Queen (!) and just, detaining Crocker indefinitely, giving her a time-out presumably until she swings back to the sane end of economics. (Hopefully with some seen-the-Light seer-ness about her actions. I wonder how Okay she is with what’s happening with robo-Rose?)
--Ooh, and we get a pic of Swifer! A small one, anyway. She looks cute. Looks like she and most of the other leftover players are congregating for a discussion with Jasprose and captive about what exactly is going to happen?
--Heh, Rose never wrote about Jasprose’s existence in the history texts of their adventure. Nice reference to the sprites’ conspicuous absence Epilogueways.
> ==>
Oh geez, Jasprose’s on a throne and everything. :D
--pff. She has some issues with their informally-written constitution, though not the ones I’d expect. Mostly technical and linguistic.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Listen, Janey.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Janeypoo.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Janeums.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Your government's a fucking joke.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: It's for clowns, by clowns, and you're the clownfucker-in-chief.
JANE: I can't believe I'm getting called a JOKE by a fucking MONGREL HOUSECAT!
Oh, geez. Hot fire getting spit here! Jasprose bringing in irrelevant knowledge from Candy Rose that isn’t canon, Jane losing any restraint--! But Jasprose’s references to Candy from her basically-Ultimate-Self status are a pretty good indicator of why she’d resort to this, considering she knows the direction Jane’s administration will probably go without a bit of intervention.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Now I'm just a simple kitty goddess with broad multiuniversal knowledge of multiple timelines' experience, who also happens to be the infinitely wise lesbotic Casanova of anyone's dreams, but I know a red flag when I see it.
I’m warming back up to Jasprose, guys and gals.
> ==>
Hm! The art style is going to continue not to really push the bustiness on Jane and leave that in the descriptions, I sort of like that.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Your lack of so much as a completed high school education and any government experience is actively inimical to the idea you could serve as a competent mid-level bureaucrat in a global government, much less its purresident!
JANE: ...
...yeah, her lack of legal experience translated right to the Constitution itself. VP Romneytroll would end up ruling by proxy, effectively, which may or may not have been any better.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Once you learn a thing or two about the three pillars of good rulership, the Carapace Kingdom will certify your election results and recognize the Earth C purresidentail government again.
JANE: Oh jesus christ.
JANE: What are these three vaunted pillars?
JASPROSESPRITE^2: It's simple, cherry pie:
JASPROSESPRITE^2: Women, wine, and song.
Oh dear. Now we’re back to the insanity I would’ve expected. The Cheshire Cat taking their turn at running the Mad Tea Party and all.
> ==>
...um... a fenestrated portal? What the fuck?? Did she “uncaptchalogue” that or magic it whole with super sprite powers? (EDIT: Anon added: "Portal/window summoning is Jasperose's main shtick. I think page 7652 is the first example." I've really gotten rusty on some late-Homestuck stuff; I think the fact this window wasn't sprite-creation-colored really threw me off.) Does it even lead to the same universe??? This could get crazy.
Omigosh that painting of everyone’s coronation in the background.
> ==>
Sending them all through the portal toge-- EXCUSE ME??????
> PROBLEM SLEUTH^2
Son of a bitch.
> PS: Inspect office.
Some Problem Sleuth fans on the art/writing team REALLY wanted to take their hand at this, didn’t they.
> PS: Look out the window.
I thought I was being hyperbolic when I said the window might lead to another universe, but dear lord. “Midnight City”?!?
> PS: Get key.
You pick up the gun.
The grip is cold against your palm. This is your only friend in the world right now. It's gonna be a long night, again.
.....I hadn’t had the slightest, SLIGHTEST clue how badly I wanted all of this until this page.
> Next.
Hah. Ace Dick has a yacht. We’re fully post Problem Sleuth aren’t we? No wonder the title.
Is the Jasprose Party gonna start wrecking shit downtown and he’s gonna be called in to fix it?
> PS: Pick up the phone.
OH GOSH this ART. She’s taken them all out for drinks in another dimension and is putting her most annoying flirt on.
> ==>
OH GOD EVERYTHING IS PINK.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: There's a lot of bad outcomes, but you aren't inherently evil.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: And you just got elected, you haven't done anything irredeemable yet.
JASPROSESPRITE^2: You've just got a lot of societal conditioning to undo!
Yup! We’re “fixing” the canon timeline’s Jane so she isn’t quite so depressingly shit, the way she got sledgehammered with awful in both timelines. Hopefully enough of it sticks that we can feel good about being Jane fans again, and feel good FOR her and how she’s turning out.
JANE: Tell me, then, JASPROSE,
JANE: In what part of this seedy bar, exactly, is my "redemption arc" located?
JASPROSESPRITE^2: I'm not quite all-seeing.
Hm. So despite the fact that Jasprose’s methods are doubtless gonna be a little flighty, she has some good Lighty feelings about success being in this direction even if she doesn’t know how. The fact that she DOESN’T know how is probably a good thing. Chances rising on a decent outcome to all this, though they were already somewhat high just by virtue of SOMEONE trying to do something about it.
> ==>
Oh my fucking god you flirty sprite. This ART.
...Heh, no wonder they brought Swifer and crew to bring some political reality to the situation, she’s really on point.
...Kanaya left her as MATRIARCH?!?? No wonder she’s peeved.
Oh shit. Jasprose is also trying to un-Dirk Jane. That’s wonderful. If we’re going to have to bear firsthand witness to Dirk fucking character after character over with morally bankrupt, skeevy narrative mind control over in the main story, at least we can see that efforts are underway to make sure any further influence back on Earth is undone in his absence. Dirk was likely keeping Jasprose out of the picture in the first place, as an Epilogue co-writer.
> Meanwhile.
Oh geez, here comes Dad. Dad and PS are gonna team up to rescue their daughter aren’t they.
> ==>
Yep, that art style can only mean one thing.
See y’all next time! I heard enough Patreon-ers contributed to Homestuck that they’ll start twice-a-month updates, so... ugh. More work for me. @_@
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Anyway, finally the game is stable, and I’ve finally gotten my core followers, time to flesh out what will be hopefully be my Dragonborn for the foreseeable future.
Ayerin the Perplexing.
She’s a Altmer Mage, or at least that’s what she claims to be, Goth-Coded, and I’m gona write her on the Autistic spectrum cause I’m on the spectrum so that’s basically half the work done, and the second she learns she’s a dragonborn she’ll start experimenting on her dragon blood, discovering a way to taint it, strengthen it and her soul so that she’d be able to do the impossible, bear both Molag Bal’s and Hircine’s curses at the same time. The way to do so, however, is still long and distant, and necessitates of a third curse, to balance the two, and allow her to survive both Vampiric and Werewolf transformations, by rendering her mortal if long lived mortal shell, immortal and undead first, before even ascending as a vampire.
She’s a Seeker of the Arcane Arts and a Mage. Her dad is a follower of the old Altmer pantheon, specifically Syrabane, the God of Magic, an Aldmer ancestor who ascended to divinity through his own efforts, and has transmitted to his daughter the same devotion to the so called Apprentice God, whose favor is obtained by the constant and tireless research of magical knowledge. He used to be a lecturer for the Arcane University, but after the war the faculty decided they didn’t exactly need his services anymore. They moved to Bravil, where he became a lowly illusion tutor in the local chapter of the mages guild, his career effectively put to a halt.
Her papa, on the other hand, doesn’t care much for gods. He’s a soldier, a legate for the Imperial Legion, stationed in Cyrodil, or at least he was. He lost a arm during the great war, as he attempted to stop the atrocities the Aldmeri Dominion, their own people, were committing in the Cyrodilian Countryside, missing the siege of the imperial city as a result. He’s bitter and angry, but he’s glad he and his loved ones are still alive as a result, even if they are being ostracized for being different, as if they didn’t just fight a war against people who were ostracizing others for being different from them.
Ayerin grows interested in magic as a result of her dad’s influence. Under the supervision of her dad, she tried to gain access to the Arcane University, but was found too curios, too interested in... forbidden lore and knowledge, even expressing some perplexity over the banning of necromancy, a now time honored tradition of the mage’s guild.
That’s when she gets her moniker. The Perplexing. Or maybe, more fittingly, the Perplexed. Always searching for knowledge she ought not to search, for powers that better be left alone, in all 5 schools of magic, baffling and perplexing her peers as much as their “irrational” reactions baffle and perplex her.
The local politics also confuse her, perplexed over why should wizard start squabbling over petty court politics. She never really understood politics in general really, she took from her Papa that way, everything had always been very straightforward for them, always a black and white issue, no matter how much people tried to paint it otherwise, and she didn’t understand why other people couldn’t see it that way.
It was only logical after all.
Her dreams are weird, black voids with white smoke, filled with still images of people, monsters, beings, objects, a weird voice, probably belonging to a old man, giving her advice, some times good, some times just weird, talking about events before her life, as if he was there, as if he knew who was there, mentioning the gods, and talking about the divines and the daedric princes as if they were old chums... or bitter enemies some times.
It’s weird, but strangely illuminating if she managed to decipher his rants, a constant companion of her nights, and she assumes it must be a Daedra working for Vaermina, or maybe one of her demiprinces, especially given how... weirdly fond he seemed to be of the nightmare mistress when he talked about her, but still, she wasn’t that worried about this, it wasn’t like a major daedric prince had decided to set up camp in her dreams after all, she could handle some minor heckling mixed in with some genuine good advice or history lessons about the history of Cyrodil, surprisingly well done and serious in tone, as if they were 2 completely different persons.
At 25 years of age, abandoning her attempts to join the Mages Guild, she decides to move north, to Skyrim. She has heard of a long forgotten cult, attempting to create a true lich for themselves, and also that the college of Winterhold seemed more open to the prospect of its members researching forbidden lores and crafts, no matter how blasphemous they might seem, and she’s all for that, finally, a place where her genius will be recognized!
So, with her blessing of her Dad and her Papa, sad to see her go but glad she’ll be able to leave the nest and follow her dreams, with enough magical research to allow her to cast at least 2 spells for every school of magic, if still really novice ones, she crosses the border into Skyrim...
And gets captured in an Imperial Ambush.
It’s almost mechanical what happens next, going with the flow as if it has happened countless of times already. She’s almost executed, but a Dragon saves her (Usually, it’s the knight that saves the princess from a dragon, not the other way around).
She flees the fort with the awkward soldier who tried to be nice to her, and failed miserably at doing so. She might have hold against him mistaking her for a Thalmor spy (And she spits on the ground at the thought, startling her new companions as they watch her give her daily prayers to Syrabane), but she always considered herself as a excellent judge of character, and of the two men that offered to help her flee, one was simply running for his life, the other had almost given his life to save a young child from the drgaon’s breath, as most other imperial soldiers were doing at the moment.
Which meant only one of them was noble enough or dumb enough to position himself between her assailants and her sparks, and that was the dumbass thought sending her corpse to a country she had never set foot in would have comforted her in her final moments.
At least he was easy on the eyes.
They leave the fort, she finds some junk, a rusty old ceremonial sword among them, and contemplates just how competent those Stormcloaks actually are if their armor and weaponry consists in some strings of leather and scraps of metal barely held together with spit and hope, she even manages to find some spiffy new robes for her, still no boots tho, forced to wander the place just with some wrappings at her feet. It hurts like hell, but she’d rather wear that than... ugh... light armor, uncomfortable and itchy as it always made her feel.
They flee the fort and he offers her to give her shelter to the near Riverwood, Hadvar’s, that’s the hot dumbass’ name, home town. It’s pretty close, and along the way they find the so called guardian stones, old pendants hidden in the hole within them. She was born under the sign of the mage, so she activates the according stone, but Hadvar mentions that unlike her birthsign, the stones do not bind her to just one sign, much to her befuddlement. She doesn’t press him, noticing his barely veiled... judgement at her choice of stone, and notices a door down the slope the Stones are perched on, embed in the mountain as she leaves, wondering what it must have been.
What follows is a whirlwind, she meets Alvor, Hadvar’s uncle, and finds herself almost stealing all the food he had offered her, starving as she found herself, eating chicken eggs raw and stockpiling potatoes for the incoming trip. She’s supposed to got to Whiterun, warn the local Jarl of the dragon attacks...
Gennarino tells her to go to Falkreath instead. It’s as close as Whiterun, and she needs to find someone there.
Gennarino is her oldest and most devoted friend. A traditional Direnni name according to her Papa when she mentioned him, it also happened to be the name of the assistant of a great Aldmer sorceress, during the war against the Sloads, obsessed with gold, who ended her days living in a remote island, at the foot of a slumbering volcano, her name lost to time.
Gennarino also happened to be a Raven. Her Raven. Who oh so happened to be invisible to anyone but her.
Or, well, almost anyone but her. She was pretty sure other animals could see him just fine, as could some of the kids she used to play with, before she was considered too “weird” to be played with, as well as one (1) drunk Argonian in the Imperial City, green and sad and screaming against the heavens in the rain, complaining about friends dying or disappearing after becoming gods and leaving him behind with all the golds and riches that he’ll never be able to share with them, while also complaining about the loud crow giving him a headache.
Still, invisible Raven, followed her all her life, his advice has always been followed by her, how would she not, he’d always been right, even more so than her, and she might be stubborn and curious but she also know the old stories, the old fairy tales about strange little creatures following strange advice to be followed to the letter, a clear, easy way for the player and the author to justify her sudden detour in the middle of such a important situation.
Anyway, she leaves for Falkreath before long, apologizing to Hadvar and the others, who take it better than she expected, before trying to buy some more spell tomes from the local trader, delighting herself in the sudden new variety in the new land (”Uh, death hound, never heard of that conjuration summon, and what is this? “Lamb of Mara”? Is this a religious spell?”). On the way, she visits the door she spotted, finding alarge, sprawling room, filled with altars to anything but her god.
She pledges herself to be a follower of her own mind, something Syrabane would probable appreciate, before inspecting the other altars. The Hermanus Mora one (Already whispering sweet knowledge to her starved mind, as she resists to its pull... for now) has a variety of books as offerings, among them a spell she had never seen before.
She prays for her god there, and leaves for Falkreath. She finds no trabel along the way, only corpses and a traveling bard, with whom she concludes her journey to Falkreath.
There, she finds Lucien, an Imperial, so easily flustered, so eager to follow her to their death, a fellow seeker of knowledge, as they say. He asks her to become his bodyguard, she who can’t even defend herself, and she accepts, both for the money he’s offering, and for the prospect of her research to gain something from their sudden collaboration...
Also because despite everything she really needed a meat shield. And something tells her that if her crow has told her to go for that one, inexperienced and incompetent as he might seem, there seemed to be a reason for that.
She’s not eager to test this concept, and decides to leave for Whiterun this time, as Lucien also suggests, to warn the Jarl of his impending doom...
Except then Gennarino grabs at her Map, a gift from her dads, that she managed not to lose in the ambush, and tells her to go to Riften instead, where another valuable assets lies. Its very insisting, more so than when he told her to go to Falkreath, so she leaves, resigned, Lucien puzzled at her sudden change of destination midway, and there, finally, meeting Inigo.
Now, they are here, a Mage who has just started her journey into the mysteries of the unknown, a Half Naked Khajiit that mistook her for someone else, a inexperienced “Milk drinker” donning imperial armor in a rebel stronghold filled to the brim with bloodthirsty Stormcloaks (Why, she just witnessed their lot violently suppress a small Imperial assault, barely 4-5 soldier, that’s where she got one of the armors before the city guard stopped her from looting the other corpses by tossing them in the river), her talking, maybe there maybe not crow, cawing at her that now, yes, she can go to Whiterun, finally...
And who knows what their future holds for them?
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shonky
Rating: Teen and Up
Fandom: Final Space
Part: 2
Link- 🌌
__________________________________________________
Still trying to leave Earth, Sheryl is reminded time and time again that bringing her son along is a big mistake. However he can prove useful.
Meanwhile Gary is reminded that his mother is a very different person from his father.
For Better Or Worse AU
__________________________________________________
“Is this wrong?”
Sheryl Goodspeed paused her actions to looked up at the sky, annoyed beyond belief. They were only a day or two into their journey, they hadn’t even left Earth yet for fuck sake, and the kid was already driving her up the bloody walls! Kid was a friggen Stickybeak, with no idea about his own personal safety, (She pulled him out of traffic twice already.) but somehow was insightful enough to know when she was breaking the law.
Trust John to raise him properly. Now she had to wreck all his hard work…
“Yes, Gary, but we need to do this.” Sheryl said, going back to her work.
They had driven down to a place Sheryl knew people stored their space vehicles during the off season. Rich tycoons that camp in space or some other nonsense. If they could get a craft that doubled as a living area, that be perfect… However she’d settle for whatever was stored in the fenced in yard.
They just needed to break in and steal one.
“Why?”
God fucking damn it.
“I’ll tell you later Gary.” She muttered, shaking her head. “We just have to.”
“But-!!”
“SHH!!” Sheryl spun to looked at him angrily, practically hiss in his face. “Listen here you little Drongo, see that there?!” She yell whispered, jutting her finger to the house just a few feet away. “That house?! If you wake up the person inside, then they’ll call the cops and take us away! You want to go into foster care?!”
The boy gave a frightened shake of his head.
“Right, then you’d best PULL your head IN!” She growled, then was back at the locks. She fiddled away for a few more moments, grumbling when she realized how rusty she had gotten. However she finally heard the tell tale click, pulling it apart and easing the door open with an ominous creek.
She looked around quickly. No signs of dogs. Or anything else. Suppose the guy just trusted his community. It was a high end area of town.
Sucks to be him.
She stepped in and could feel Gary follow behind her. She shut the door so it wouldn’t slam before leading deeper into the yard. Gary wandered a few steps away, with wide eyes.
“Are these… spaceships?” He asked in awe.
“That's a bit generous.” Sheryl shrugged. “More like space campers, space RVs and space cars, I suppose.”
“Wow…” Gary didn’t seem deterred by the explanation. He walked closer to a sporty looking craft. Likely a racing model. “W-what are we gonna do?”
“Steal one.” Sheryl said, looking over a large camper, only to deem it too noticeable and cumbersome.
“Why?”
Fuckin’....
“To go to space.” Sheryl glared at him. “Why else?”
Gary turned to her quickly, slack jawed and wide eyed. He began to bounce in place, growing a very large smile on his face. Sheryl realized what he was going to do a few seconds before he did.
“Don’t you dare!” She snapped, thankfully stopping him from squealing in excitement. She pointed forcefully to the house again, before going back to her search. As she looked, she kept having to make sure Gary wasn’t about to give them away. Sometimes he started talking too loudly and she’s hush him, forcefully. Sometimes he knocked over tins on the ground or started babbling to himself...and she kept having to stop him, wasting time they didn’t have.
This was a mistake.
He was a mistake…
Focus Sherie, focus.
Finally, near the back, she found a suitable ride. Perfect actually. It was a tow along trailer that had a self contained bubble at the front, where you could put a vehicle to move it, one just like her bike. The trailer area was smallish, but suitable. It had a mini fridge, sink, a few storage areas, a tiny bathroom at the back and two slim beds.
First, getting it out.
“Go hold the door.” She whispered to Gary, who actually ran off to do as he was told. With a heavy grunt she started to pull the vehicle from the storage area, hefting with all her might until her arms ached and her legs burned. Halfway to the exit she started to hurt.
Think of John. This is for John.
She managed it out before taking a second to breath. Gary scampered to her side, looking concerned and slightly upset. She frowned up at him from her seat on the ground.
“W-what?” She huffed.
“How were you moving that?” Gary asked. “Didn’t it hurt? Like a whole bunch? Forever?”
Sheryl moaned, standing up. “Well, sometimes you gotta work through the pain.”
“Why?”
Ah, this kid…
“Unpack our bags and get them in the camper.” Sherly grumbled. Thankfully the boy seemed interested in looking inside and ran to see.
Though still sore, Sheryl forced her bike into the bubble to act as an engine. Thankfully the bags were off it now, but looking inside, she could see Gary jumping from bed to bed, a big smile on his face as he made a mess.
Good lord this kid…
Sheryl leaned against the bubble. This was a mistake… and this was her last chance to leave the kid behind. Or at least on Earth anyway. She was tempted, so very, very tempted to just dump him here.I mean, sure he might get blamed for stealing the camper, but he was a kid. They’d let him off easy…
The boy giggled loudly, beds squeaking under his weight as he hopped around like a roided up Roo. As Sheryl put her head in her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose, the boy leapt from the trailer and ran to take a look at the rockets on the back.
This is a mistake.
“HEY!”
Sheryl looked up into the barrel of a gun, she went rigid as a man dressed in his pajamas started to come closer. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” He asked crossly, waving the weapon around.
God damn it, she hadn’t heard the man coming because of all of Gary’s noise!
Still she shifted to an unimpressed stance, scowling slightly. “That supposed to be a trick question?” She asked dryly.
The man huffed and went fumbling for his pocket, not taking his eyes off her. “N-now you just stay right there until my help arrives, or I’ll shoot you! Don’t you make any sudden moves!”
Where did this guy get his dialogue, a cop movie? Sheryl scowled when he pulled out his phone.
“Wassa matter? Can’t handle a lady on your own?” Sheryl scoffed. The gears were turning in her head, trying to think of a way out of this. Thankfully Gary was quiet now, which was making it a lot easier.
She had to kill him. She just needed to do it before he called for this so called help, or else they’d have to make a runner. She tried to lean to one side, inching her hand down her waist to a knife hidden in her boot. Guy was still trying to dial his cell, which was perfect for her. The longer he struggled, the more time she had to arm herself.
She closed her hand around the hilt when the man seemed to notice her strange posture. He straightened his gun out. “Hey! What are you-”
BANG!
Sheryl started, eyes rounded, as the man straightened like a board, then fell to the ground in a heap. Behind him stood Gary, who slapped his hands over his mouth when the man folded before him. A brick clattering down with the guy.
Sheryl blinked.
“O-Oh no! Oh no!” Gary whined, shaking his hands. “I killed him! That not good! Thats super not good!” He grabbed his hair tightly. “I friggen wreck his stuff!”
“Calm down.” Sheryl knelt, feeling the man’s neck. “He has a pulse Gary, you just knocked him out.”
Gary slumped in relief. “Oh thank crap!- Oph!” He flinched. “Sorry…”
“Fer what?”
“For swearing…”
Sheryl stared at him before laughing. “Ah you can swear all you fuckin want. I don’t give a shit. Just be quiet when we’re sneakin around, yeah?”
“Oh.” Gary stared back at her, processing this information, then hunched in on himself and spoke in a very soft voice.
“Fuck.”
Sheryl was… actually amused by this. She chuckled. “Feel good?”
“Yeah.” Gary looked up at her, but seemed a bit gloomy. “It just, dad said I shouldn’t…”
Sheryl darkened as well. “Hmm, he ain’t here now, is he?”
“No…”
Sheryl glanced back down at the man before taking his gun, she inspected it quickly, lining up her sights with it, then checked the chambers.
Empty.
So he was all bluff.
Sheryl tsked, but put it on her bike. Looking over she could see the house was still dark, but the door was open…
“Come with me.” Sheryl ordered before marching to the house. She nudged the door open, looking into the building. She flicked on a few lights once she knew no one was in the shadows.
For such a nice area of town, this sure was a dump. Everything was in a state. Newspapers and used dishes everywhere. There was no art on the walls, hardly any furniture, and it was cramped to hell.
She pushed Gary to the kitchen. “Find some bags and grab some food yeah? I’m gonna look upstairs.”
“Isn’t that stealing-”
“Gary, we’re already stealing. You konked this dude on the head with a brick not five minutes ago.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Just grab the food.”
Sheryl headed up the stairs, to a small bedroom. It was also sparse, the bed was unmade and every surface was covered in junk. She checked a few drawers and looked over the clutter. Then she found something interesting.
“Well, well, well. No wonder this place is a mess.” She said, holding up a tiny baggie of white powder. She opened it, dipping her pinky in and rubbed it on her gums. It dissolves instantly, leaving a bit of her mouth numb. Sheryl smiled. “Hello Basuco, its been a very long time.” She spotted a large amount of the baggies under a shirt. “And you brought the whole family!”
Sheryl wasn’t one for cocaine. She tried to steer clear of it, if mostly because she saw addiction as a weakness. She did, however, dabble in a few when… when John tossed her out. Thankfully she managed to slapped herself out of it a few days in and just stick to beer and smokes.
These would, however, sell very nicely.
She tossed the lot in a bag and kept looking. Eventually she found the ammo for the gun under the bed. Huh, maybe the guy thought the gun was loaded. Then a large wad of cash in his underwear drawer. After stealing her fill she came down, finding Gary struggling with a large bag of food. It was all junk food and things like that, but Sheryl didn’t care.
“Give.” She ordered, snatching it from him. She took everything down to the trailer, before tossing it inside. She looked back to Gary, but the boy was worriedly hunched over the man he knocked out. There was a sizable puddle of blood on the ground now, which she could see from the light of the house.
“Is he gonna be ok?” Gary asked, frowning.
“Hell if I know.” Sheryl scoffed, coming over. “Bleeding like a faucet though.”
“S-so I did kill him?” Gary asked, sniffling a bit.
Ugh!
“What? Your sad that you killed him?” Sheryl frowned. “He was gonna die someday.”
“Yeah, but I killed him! Me!”
“For the love of-” Sheryl knelted, pulled out her knife, and slit his throat in a quick motion. Blood splashed out, but not as much as she expected. He was likely running low, bleeding in the brain. She wiped her blood off on the grass before looking back to her son. “There. Now I killed him.”
Gary stared at her, eyes the size of pin pricks.
“What now?” She asked, exasperated.
“Y-you killed him…”
“Thats right.”
“...Why?”
She rolled her eyes. Again with the why! “To shut you up and because the less people who see us the better.” Sheryl grunted. The boy just stared back, horrified, making her scoff. “Just get in the bloody camper. I’m gonna hide the body.”
Gary slunk away and Sheryl grabbed the corpse by the legs, dragging him into the junk yard, where she covered him with a metal sheet. Her body groaned, unhappy with all the heavy lifting and pulling.
As she finished up, the dark sky rumbled, a few raindrops coming down from above. It was an ominous sign, but also a stroke of good luck. The water would ruin evidence, and the thunder would hide the noise of their take off.
Walking back to their new home, Sheryl could see Gary curled up inside, clutching the bug jar like a lifeline and wrapped tightly under some blankets. She paused, biting her lip and staring at him. He looked pretty messed up…
Well, he’d get used to it. She had grown up around that sort of thing. Maybe not people per say, but animals definitely.
She came to the bike and closed the bubble, climbing on so she could pull the ship into the sky.
“Mom..?”
“Eh?” She didn’t look at him.
“W-why did that guy have to die?” Gary mumbled. “Was it me?”
Sheryl paused again, and then turned to him.
“Gary. In this world, its either you or them.” She said lowly. “Sometimes the best thing to do is make sure there is no them at all. He would have made it harder for us to get away to space. Now that he’s dead, less problems.”
“Oh… ok.” Gary looked to the window as they started to rise in the air. “But why are we going to space?”
Sheryl looked back out the bubbled, which was rippling with raindrops.
“We’re gonna bring John back.”
The ship took off with a rumble, blending into the thunder as they rose to the cosmos.
And one step closer to John.
#final space#Fanfiction#Shonky#background character death#For Better Or Worse Au#sheryl goodspeed#gary goodspeed
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
chapter three (”showtime!”)
“I'd cry enough rain
to wash your garden away.
But I'm dry as stone,
so your trees wash away like veins.
But I've been know to
take a blow, and I know
how fair your garden grows
with, fresh deadly roses.”
-”Fresh Deadly Roses”, Soundgarden (one of my favorite SG songs no less)
November 19, 1988. Oswego, New York.
I'm waking up to the feeling of a warm body next to me. I open my eyes to recognize Lupe's black hair and her soft skin right next to my face. I have my arms wrapped around her tight, and she has her arms around my waist. I feel her naked thigh rubbing up against my own, and I feel the curvature of her hip right underneath my elbow. She's so shapely and soft that it's only helping me embrace my own softness.
My stomach feels soft and my chest is warm. I don't want to let her go. I want to protect her from the filthy scoundrels around here. Yeah, yeah, she's got her sister but I'll have to protect her, too, if I must.
I bring the crown of her head closer to my nose to drink up the gentle spicy aroma embedded within the roots of her hair. I have my fingers entwined in the tendrils of hair upon her back. She's got her chest pressed firm against mine: her skin is smooth and delicate like velvet.
“Mmm—papi—” she whispers to me with barely parted lips.
“Good morning, my little desert rose,” I whisper back to her.
She lifts her head for a look at me: her dark eyes are gaping back at me from her pallid skin and from the heart of the waning darkness around us. She parts her lips at me.
I feel her moving her hand from my body so as to bring it out from underneath the covers and touch my face. For a second, I think she's going to kiss me but she doesn't. Instead she gazes right into my eyes and runs her tongue along the edge of her teeth. It's like she wants a kiss from me instead.
So I give it to her. A soft one right on the lips. I move my head back from her face for a look into her eyes.
“Do that again,” she whispers. I give her another one, this one with a bit of my tongue along the inside of her front teeth. I look into her face again.
“How's that?” I ask her as she rubs her knees up against mine.
“Softly—” is what I think she says.
“Hm? Come again?”
“Softly—touch my nipples—”
I move my hand from her side to do just that. They're not tight and hard like they were last night at first, but as I'm letting my fingertips touch her in the lightest I possibly can, I can feel them erecting.
“How's that?” I ask her again, and I get a kiss from her right on the side of my neck. The feel of her lips relaxes my muscles and I'm feeling even softer than before. I close my eyes to surrender to the touch of her lips moving down towards my shoulder and my collar bones.
“Joey?” Mrs. Hamilton's voice floats up from downstairs. I open my eyes as Lupe's touching my collar bones with the tip of her tongue.
“Joey? Are you up here?”
“Mrs. Hamilton—” I call out, my voice breaking. I clear my throat and yet Lupe's still licking my bones like they're an ice cream cone. I hear her footsteps emerging up the stairwell before us. I recognize her hairdo in the dim light at the end of the bed. She bursts out laughing as she sees us laying in bed together.
“Oh, boy, we had some fun last night, didn't we?” she declares, pressing her leather clad hands to her hips.
“We sure did!” Lupe calls out from under the covers. She never lifts her hand from me as I sit upright for a better look at Mrs. Hamilton. It's so cold in that loft that chills run over my skin and down my back. I rub my eye with my free hand.
“What's going on?” I clear my throat again.
“There's a couple of guys here to see you,” she says.
“A couple of guys?” The first guys who come to mind are Barney and Billy.
“That Danish boy and some blond fellow.”
Lars and Matt.
“Okay—” I grunt out, clearing my throat once again. “Okay, I'll get dressed.”
I rub my other eye before pushing back the covers. I turn to Lupe once again as I'm putting my bare feet on the freezing cold carpet.
“Party's over, I s'pose,” I tell her, and she fetches up a heavy sigh. Mrs. Hamilton doubles back down the stairs to give me some privacy. I pick up my underwear and my jeans from the floor.
“You have such a cute butt,” she remarks from the bed.
“I try my best,” I admit to her as I'm pulling up my jeans.
“Nice, a little thick, and juicy.”
“Like a couple of hamburger patties,” I flash a playful grin back at her as I'm putting my shirt back on: I left Lars' arrowhead pendant at home. Oh well. Don't really need it right now anyway.
As I'm putting my socks and my boots back on, I hear Lars' voice from down below, followed by one of the girls' voices. Louie? No. That's not Morgan, either.
Once I have my boots laced up, I turn back around to look at Lupe one last time, and her propping her head up with one hand, and brushing some of her dark hair back from her neck.
“I'll catch you later, my fresh deadly desert rose,” I promise her, and she blows me a kiss. I catch it with one hand before I wheel around to head on to the second level to fetch my jacket from the chair. I gaze on back at the stage and Lupe's whole get up from last night. It was like a fusion of the high tech stuff in Seattle and the rustiness pervading New Orleans at the moment. This place does have more class in its stairwells and in Mrs. Hamilton's pussy than Oswego does in its entirety after all.
I give my black curls a toss back from my head as I grab my coat and begin down the next stairwell to the bottom floor. I recognize the tattoos of Jessica Rabbit and Betty Boop inked upon her skin. I also recognize the short slightly chubby guy with the long smooth hair and the light scruff underlining his face standing next to the tall guy with a wave of golden blond hair upon his head.
“There he is,” Lars remarks, and Matt turns around to see me with his thick eyebrows raised.
“Dude!” he greets me.
“Hey!” I declare to the both of them as I'm tugging on my jacket.
“'Mornin', Joe,” Lizzy greets me.
“'Mornin', Liz Master General,” is all I can come up with, and she bursts out laughing. I return to them. “What're you guys doing here? And furthermore, how'd you know I was here?”
“I just had a hunch,” Lars confesses, “and Mr. Cameron here went along with it, like I told Nancy and Dominique to swing by here to pick you up.”
“Pick me up? Where are we going?”
“New York City,” Matt replies.
“What's in New York City? Besides, the obvious—it being the city and everything.”
“We're playing two nights worth of shows there. Us and Mother Love Bone.”
“Oh, cool! The infamous Mother Love Bone.”
“They're touring with Skid Row, too, no less,” Lars adds, adjusting the lapels of his big olive colored overcoat: he's got on a silky looking red scarf with golden paisley embroidered all over and a pair of little thin leather black gloves. Matt, meanwhile, has on a heavy black peacoat with a fiery red scarf and big black boots like what I've got on at the moment. “Anyways, let's get a move on—” Matt advises us. “I guess it's kind of a long drive from here down to New York and Kim's terrified of traffic.”
“It's not that long, only four hours,” I point out. “Kim's afraid of traffic? You guys live in Seattle.”
“Tripped me out, too,” Lars confesses, “but yeah, his—darling chauffeur is awaiting, though.”
“Okay—I'll catch you girls later,” I wave to Lizzy and Mrs. Hamilton before we head out of Black Orchid into the bitter cold of the mid morning. There are two black cars awaiting us at the curb, humming quietly with whatever the hydrogen is bestowing power to. I recognize Chris and Kim in the passenger side in the one up front; and then I spot Dominique and her lush black curls seated behind the wheel of the car behind them. Her face lights up when she recognizes me.
“There he is!” she greets me as I open the back door on the passenger side. “Our morning cup of Joey.”
“Cup of Joey,” I chuckle at that as I climb into the seat. Lars gets into the seat right behind her while Matt takes the front; he leans over to give her a kiss before clicking on his seat belt. I can still taste Lupe on my lips and smell her in my clothes and inside of my nose.
We head off, following the other car, towards the other side of town to board onto the highway to head on down to the City.
“Quite the town you live in, Joey,” Dominique remarks as we pass by Brick's neighborhood. God, I hope he's alright. I hope that whatever is afflicting him goes away because the image of those cybernetic feathers sprouting from his head makes my skin itch. I can only imagine how painful it must be for him.
“It's nowhere special,” I admit, “not much happens and it's kinda boring and lonely if you don't have someone to talk to or hang out with, y'know?”
“Of course.”
“Seattle can be like that, too,” says Matt.
“Really? Seattle?” I'm stunned by that. “It's such a… big, advanced place, though.”
“It's just that. All the high tech stuff can get a little monotone, like Dominique and Nancy both have seen how walking downtown has gotten a little quiet.”
“Yeah, it wasn't long ago,” Dominique adds, “she and I could take the bus from the University District over to West Seattle and then walk down to Pike Place Market, and we could talk to people on the way there. We'd talk to all the vendors and the shop keepers and whomever we wanted. But lately she and I go there and we're lucky to speak to one person. Everyone's in a sour mood and robotics have taken the place of the vendors in the market place.”
That reminds me…
“Have you guys seen Maya?” I ask them.
“The girl you found?” Matt recalls.
“Yeah. How's she doing? Is she alright?”
“I totally forgot she's still up there,” Lars mutters to me.
“I haven't seen her,” Matt confesses, “but Nancy has, though.”
“After what happened at the school,” Dominique adds as she changes lanes, “she morphed back into her human form and then ran out of there before the fire alarms went off. Not even a couple of days later, Nan spotted her while she was headed over to the little art school she goes to. She was all huddled up against a dumpster in the heart of downtown. She didn't want to bother her, though, because she was looking around like an animal on the hunt for something.”
“That was a few weeks ago, too,” I point out as I remember everything Molly told me about her. Dumpster diving in New Orleans with Delphine and that strange man; I guess she's back to her roots, but this time in a different setting.
“I guess she's used to places like that, too,” Dominique continues, “moving around as much as she has, it's going to make her scrounge around like that on the streets and in the gutters. My hope is she's okay, too, because even we are still adjusting to all the advancements up there. Who knows how outsiders like her react to it.”
We fall back into silence for a moment, and then Matt sticks in a copy of Ultramega OK into the disc player to fill in the void of silence. I've got Maya on the mind as the landscape turns from lush forest to barren flatlands to the foothills of the Appalachians. Soon, I recognize the tiny towns marking the outskirts of the City, in particular Monticello. I'm getting flashbacks to when I sang for Anthrax and I had to make the drive down here by myself in my old shabby car, and I had to make my way through the arteries of the city to find the recording studio. I'm still amazed I never got lost along the way.
Soon we're in the heart of Manhattan and mere blocks the place where I used to hang out with Anthrax. And then Dominique speaks again.
“I guess Anthrax is playing about a block away from where Soundgarden and Mother Love Bone are performing later today.”
My stomach does a back flip. Oh, my God.
“Playing with their new singer—John is his name? John Bush. From Armored Saint.”
Lars turns his head to look at me and I look over at him. It's like living inside of a dream. My hope is nothing dramatic happens tonight. All I want is to relax and watch Soundgarden perform again with this other band Mother Love Bone. It's only two in the afternoon and thus, as the car before us takes a parking spot at the curb right outside of the venue. Dominique pulls up right behind them and tugs on the parking lever.
The hydrogen power underneath us drifts and dies down and the four of us climb out to the street. I glance up at the towering buildings around us and the graying sky overhead. I think it's going to rain as I turn around to see Chris and Kim climbing out of the car in front of us, their black hair streaking from behind them against the burgeoning winds. Hiro and Nancy rise up from the other side of the car: she's got on a wide pink and black striped scarf wrapped around her neck which makes her face look a little rounder and more feminine.
“Here, want me to help you guys out?” I offer the four of them.
“Oh, thanks, man!” Chris tells me as he opens the truck so as to take out their guitars and their accompanying amps. We're bone broke musicians in a big world: we need to look out for each other. I help the four of them lug their equipment into the side door on the side of this two story pale brick building; for a split second, I think I spot Charlie down the block before I disappear behind the corner, but I can't say for sure. We head into the cozy corridor with a wooden floor and single iron wrought lights suspended from thick black wires. It reminds me of the French Quarter in here except it smells of burning leaves and jagermeister. Chris and Kim lead the way down to their lush dressing room with a back wall lined with glittery black tapestry and the big black velvet couch; on the other side of the room is the entrance to what I eventually find out to be the stage: a stretch of black shiny wood before another thick black tapestry. This part smells of fresh with lemons, as if they just cleaned this place up for the bands to perform.
I'm still thinking of Maya as Lars and I help them set up their instruments. I'm thinking of her and also Delphine.
That's another question I have is what happened to Delphine after Lars and I blacked out. Did she drink us under the table? Or did she put something in our drinks to knock us out? Who knows and I'm sitting on the stool behind Matt's big drum kit with his drumsticks in one hand.
I peer out to all the empty seats making up the audience area, all of them stretching back into the darkness covering the front entrances. Soon this place will be riddled with moshers and rockers for these three bands playing here. God, I miss it. I miss standing out at the front of a band and singing my heart out for the world to hear. Maybe I can convince Soundgarden to sing a song with them because the whole vibe here has me feeling mournfully nostalgic.
I peer down at the drums and with a lick and a promise, I'm a little boy thinking he's Phil Collins again.
The sound of guitar distortion catches my ear and I turn my head to the sight of Kim tuning his guitar and playing a swirling riff. I tilt my head to the side.
“Never heard that song before,” I remark.
“Huh?” He clamps his fingers to the fret board to silence it.
“Never heard that one. Is that new?”
“Sorta. This is a riff Chris has been kicking around for a while.”
He plays it again and it tinkles and swirls, almost like the lead riff on a Beatles song.
“What's it called?” I ask him.
“Kim!” Matt calls him from behind the curtain.
“'Fresh Deadly Roses'—” He turns his head to face him. “—what's up?”
“Andy and the boys just pulled up. Stone told me Skid Row should be here soon, too, and you know what that means.”
“Showtime!” I call out.
“Showtime!” he echoes, and then he hesitates at the sight of me. “Drums are a good look for you, man.”
“I am a drummer, too, after all.”
“Oh, yeah, that's right! Anyways, c'mon and help us, Joe—” He disappears behind the curtain; Kim sets down his guitar and follows him.
I set down the sticks on top of the snare before I stand to my feet. I examine the drum kit for another few seconds.
Soon. Soon, I'll be behind the old kit of my own once again.
#after the watershed#who cares wins#now it's dark#chapter 3#new chapter#fanfic#fanfiction#heavy metal fanfiction#thrash metal#anthrax fanfics#metallica fanfics#soundgarden fanfics#grunge fanfiction#joey belladonna#lars ulrich#matt cameron#chris cornell#kim thayil#hiro yamamoto#anthrax#metallica#soundgarden#mother love bone#skid row#noir au#steampunk#amwriting#text
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
TODODEKU/KIRIBAKU VIGILANTE AU: THE ART OF HAPPY ENDINGS
I am so, so pissed. The WiFi threw a tantrum and I couldn’t upload this on Halloween, and it’s still not letting me upload on AO3. So here, have this one shot that’s 5k words about my fav children and let me feel at peace.
The Art Of Happy Endings (whenjoshisjoseph)
Rated T.
Summary: Bakugou, Midoriya, Todoroki, and Kirishima attend UA, a prestigious music school. Bakugou has a crush on Kirishima and vice versa, and the same is true about Todoroki and Midoriya crushing on each other.
Simple enough, right?
Wrong, because all of them are also a vigilante team that work together without knowing who the others are, and it stops them from pursuing relationships
.Until Shigaraki hatches his evil plot, that is.
full fic below the cut!! expect the italics doesn’t work :/
Midoriya recognises the song before Todoroki even starts to play, simply by looking at the way his slender fingers are poised. However, he still feels a rush of pride when Todoroki does indeed, begin with the opening note of Chopin’s Waltz in A Minor.
And of course Midoriya would know it; how could he not? It’s the first song he’d ever heard the other play, as well as the first song they’d played together. Part of him wishes that he could be on stage with him, accompanying Todoroki’s piano with his own violin. Then again, he’s content to watch from his special spot backstage, flowers hidden behind him.
Because this is the moment, the perfect opportunity: tonight, after the recital is over, and Todoroki is still on a high from his stunning performance (there’s no chance that his performance will be anything less than stunning), Midoriya will present Todoroki with the bouquet of red roses that he’s oh-so-carefully picked out, and with the roses, present his feelings too.
If he’s honest, it’s slightly daunting to think about, but it’s time. His best friend must know.
The gorgeous sound of Todoroki’s playing resonates within the concert hall, and the audience hold their collective breaths at the sheer beauty of his performance. Every trill and swift note vibrates throughout the space, and Midoriya, much like the rest of the audience, is transfixed.
But the sound is only half of Todoroki’s allure, and Midoriya unabashedly stares at the man as he plays. A single strand comes loose from the tight ponytail Todoroki’s hair is in, the colour matching the shade of roses that Midoriya holds. His chin is held high in the perfect pose to catch the light, and his heterochromatic eyes closely follow the notes he plays, building to a mesmerising crescendo.
Todoroki himself is, without a doubt, easily as entrancing as the song he plays.
Just before the piece finishes, though, a rough hand grabs at Midoriya’s shoulder, and he swivels in shock. Bakugou stands in front of him, gesturing for him to follow.
“K-kacchan?” he whispers, dreading what the blonde may be about to tell him.
“We gotta go; it happened,” Bakugou replies gruffly, sparing a glance at Todoroki, then at the flowers in Midoriya’s hands. His gaze softens a little.
“P-please,” Midoriya says quietly, voice beginning to tremble, eyes starting to water. God, but he’s so weak, he thinks to himself. “Not now, not now, anytime but now.”
This isn’t only the perfect chance to confess to Todoroki; it’s also his last, because Todoroki’s father has demanded he train internationally, and Todoroki has acquiesced to his father’s request. After this recital, Todoroki will be packing his bags and heading to the airport.
(The thought of it just further threatens the tears in Midoriya’s eyes to spill over.)
Bakugou steps forwards and ruffles Midoriya’s hair in sympathy.
“I know what it means to you, Deku, but there’s no waiting. It’s a shitty situation, but we gotta work with what we got. We have to be there. Now.”
And as much as it breaks his heart, Bakugou’s right; this is dire, and he has to put others above himself.
He allows himself one last glance at what could’ve been before he turns and rushes away with Bakugou, just as Todoroki skims the wings with his eyes for Midoriya, looking for support. When he realises that the person he perhaps cares about most in the world has stood him up, he steels his expression and begins Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, the opening notes played with a dissonant detachment that does not fit the mood of the song at all.
The roses lay on the floor, forgotten, and a single petal falls from what was the freshest flower of them all.
*
The term vigilante is a little harsh, and the term villain is in a league of its own in terms of guess again, shitty ignorant civilian.
Bakugou prefers to be called a hero, please and fucking thank you, but it’s at times like this where he could maybe understand why some people disapprove of his team.
“Dude, calm down!” Red Riot pleads, holding Bakugou back lest he explode yet another rusty satellite. The friendly words juxtapose the strangely modulated voice that Red Riot’s chosen (they all wear voice modulators for the sake of protecting their real-life identities, although they all know that ‘Ground Zero’ and ‘Small Might’ know each other in real life. And no, Deku doesn’t sound any less annoying with his voice modulated).
“But Shouto’s fucking late as usual, and I’m pissed,” he growls in return, but allows himself to go limp in the hero’s grasp. There’s only one other person who can get him to calm down like this, and it’s not shitty Deku.
He glances over to Deku, or ‘Small Might’, as is his hero name, and notices the pain that flashes in his eyes at the mention of that name. It’s a bitchy coincidence, really, that Deku’s crush and his sidekick should have the same name. After tonight, it’s going to be a lot more difficult for him to face his emotions, and Bakugou once again curses the villains and their dumb-as-shit timing for hurting his nerdy ass friend like that.
No matter, though. Tonight, they’re going to take them down once and for all. Well, that is if the lame hero who calls himself ‘Shouto’ would fucking appear already.
As if spurred on by Bakugou’s grumbling, the tall man lands on the roof in an elegant crouch, straightening up and striding over to the other three in his team. His face is covered in an ornate mask that seems to be composed of half ice and half fire, like his ‘ability’, but Shouto had once explained that he’d had it made from Kevlar material to mimic the textures. Ever since, Bakugou can’t help but tease him about being a rich kid. And damn right, too. The hood that covers Shouto’s hair and the costume that cover his body are both made from freaking expensive material, and Bakugou can’t help but wonder what the fuck the guy must do in his free time to be able to afford such high quality. Not that he cares. Bakugou’s outfit is still the best.
“Fucking finally!” Bakugou exclaims, and Red Riot laughs. He turns to glare at him. “What’s so funny, Shitty Hair?”
(It’s true; the dumbass has his hair styled in some weird spiky style that really doesn’t flatter him. Not that he thinks that he’s attractive anyway. Because he doesn’t.)
“Nothing, nothing, just happy that the whole team has assembled,” Red Riot replies, grinning profusely. Deku, however, doesn’t seem to share his energy.
“Small Might, is something bothering you?” Shouto asks immediately, and Bakugou is tempted to tell Shouto that his gay is showing. But the last time he did that, the hero had burst into flames, and he’s not to keen to see that shit again.
“Personal life,” Deku mumbles, but perks up (honestly, can’t he make up his mind? Bakugou doesn’t know which one the shitty nerd is more head over heels for: his posh ass piano friend, or his posh ass hero friend). Shouto smiles sadly.
“Tell me about it,” he mutters. Red Riot, like that massive puppy dog he is, senses the morale lowering, and inserts his bright personality smack in the middle of the gay shit going on between the other two heroes. Bakugou breathes a sigh of relief.
“Don’t worry, guys; tonight’s the night we finally nail the bad guys!” he says enthusiastically. Bakugou snorts, and Red Riot flushes. “You know what I mean, bro, don’t make this weird.” Bakugou is about to reply when Shouto cuts in:
“Everyone know what they’re doing?” He looks pointedly at Bakugou as he speaks.
“Hah?” Bakugou sneers. “What you looking at me for, half n’ half? Wanna fight?” Todoroki raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I do ‘wanna fight’. To elaborate, I would very much like to fight the villains, Ground Zero, but of course, we can also wait until after I’ve knocked you down a notch or two.”
“Okay, okay, let’s all just…concentrate, right? This is our chance to take down the league once and for all, you know!” Deku tries to persuade, and Shouto simply nods, all glimmer of snarkiness gone from his eyes.
Liking someone can do that to you, it appears, and Shouto is all too obvious about how much he has fallen for Deku (although the stupid shitty nerd doesn’t realise it).
Bakugou shares a look with Red Riot, who has as much insight as he does, and rolls his eyes.
“Let’s go, already,” Bakugou announces, cracking his knuckles as he steps up to the edge of the roof. “We’ve got some villains to take down.”
And with that, he steps off the edge, all geared up to kick ass.
*
The mission yesterday had been a success. Well, duh, Bakugou had freaking smashed those weird ass freaks.
(The others were admittedly cool too, though he’d never let them know that he thinks that).
Bakugou tries not to dwell on the fact that the leader was the only member they weren’t able to apprehend (the man had yelled something to Deku about revenge as he’d ran, and god if that wasn’t so fucking cliché). But what’s a single guy gonna do by himself anyway? It’d been his underlings who’d been the real threat. Then again, Shigaraki had gotten pretty far alone before he’d recruited new members, so Bakugou thinks that he should maybe get together with the other three to see if they can track him down or some shit.
He goes from the fifth bar again, playing double time just because he can. The regular tempo’s too chill for him anyway, and drumming is meant to relieve his stress, so he can do what he fucking likes. The ride symbol harmonises perfectly with the hi-hat that he hits with his right hand (crossed underneath his left, because it’s easier like that).
Now this is real music, not whatever nerdy music Deku’s always playing with his half n’ half crush. As if some dusty uptight piece would ever beat simple, free sound. But the music school they go to offers both, so Deku can do as he likes; it’s none of Bakugou’s concern.
“Bakubro?” A voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Bakugou comes to an abrupt halt to look up across the dimly lit practice room at his best friend. The streetlamps outside inform him that it’s after sunset, but as far as he’s aware, he’s got some time off from hero-ing tonight.
“Yeah?” he grunts, lifting himself off the seat and strolling over to where Kirishima is sat, acoustic guitar in hand. “Hold up; what’ve you got an acoustic for?”
Because Kirishima Eijirou, his best friend (and okay yes, goddamn crush too, who cares anymore?), plays the electric guitar. Although that’s sort of an understatement, he supposes. Kirishima doesn’t just play the guitar, he absolutely shreds it; his talent is unrivalled by the rest of the school.
When Bakugou had first met the cheery boy with straight, limp hair and a whole load of insecurity, he’d never expected him to be quite so…awesome.
But in the two years that he’s known him, Bakugou has never, ever seen Kirishima pick up an acoustic guitar. That’s always been something Kirishima keeps to himself; he has to practice with it, but he doesn’t do so when Bakugou is present.
“I,” Kirishima begins, taking in a deep breath. “I sorta feel like the acoustic guitar is my private self so I’ve never shown you what I can do with it, and I know it’s stupid-”
“For fuck’s sake, dumbass, it’s not stupid. Okay? You don’t have to feel pressured to-”
“No, no, no!” Kirishima hurriedly refutes, before slowing down. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just- I’ve been working on something for you, a cover, and I thought maybe you might wanna see it?”
Kirishima smiles at him so dazzlingly that Bakugou can hardly hold his gaze.
“Well, if it’s for me, you gotta fucking show it to me, dumbass. So yeah, let’s hear it.”
Bakugou sits down beside Kirishima and looks at him expectantly, so the other boy starts to strum.
It’s…it’s really good. It’s as if Bakugou is experiencing another side of Kirishima, something softer, something more personal, and the way his rough fingers gently pluck the opening of ‘Wake Me Up’ by Avicci hits Bakugou straight in the chest. But he’s not even remotely prepared for what Kirishima does next.
*
“What’re you all sad about?” Uraraka greets Midoriya, setting her tray down opposite him. It’s past ten in the night, but the school is still open and the cafeteria is all Midoriya’s. Well, his and Uraraka’s now. Uraraka is in the same class as Todoroki and himself, and plays the flute so brilliantly that the music practically floats about in the space. She’s also his best friend, and knows him almost inside out.
Note the almost.
Midoriya looks at her pointedly, but she doesn’t relent.
“What? Did the night end too soon?” she giggles, offering him a wink. He blinks at her in confusion.
“What?”
“What?”
They stare at each other for a moment, before Uraraka continues, slowly:
“Okay, so let me get this straight: when Todoroki rushed out of the recital early last night without even finishing the last song, and spread an announcement through the media covering the concert that his father could go to hell and that he was staying right where he was, that wasn’t all…for you?”
Midoriya spits out his noodles.
“Wait, what?!”
“He was especially off after he finished Waltz in A Minor. That Nocturne was just…wrong,” Uraraka muses, oblivious, until she catches Midoriya’s expression. “What, you didn’t know?”
It seems that the term ‘what’ is commonly used in their conversations. Or at least in this one. But before Midoriya can even process the fact that Todoroki isn’t gone, and he has another chance, let alone launch into the whole ‘I got him roses but I had to leave early so the whole thing flopped’ story, Todoroki walks into the dining hall.
And as soon as he glimpses Midoriya, he turns on his heels and walks straight back out again.
“Wait, Todoroki!” Midoriya yells, scrambling to his feet. He glances apologetically at Uraraka who waves him off, and then runs after the taller boy. It’s like Todoroki’s some sort of mirage or something, the way that he’s only seen around the corner and never close enough, but Midoriya finally catches up to him on the steps outside the large entrance to their school.
“Todoroki!”
Said person stiffens, but stops.
“Midoriya.” The words are cold and detached, and they send an unpleasant shiver down Midoriya’s spine. Nevertheless, he runs down the steps so that he’s facing Todoroki.
“Listen, about last night-”
“Don’t. I get it; I’m not worth your time. You’ve had enough of pretending to be my friend, so you didn’t bother to show up.”
“No, I was there! I…I left after the Waltz,” Midoriya tries to explain, but Todoroki isn’t even meeting his eyes.
“Isn’t that convenient? I looked for you after that very song,” Todoroki says, chuckling humourlessly. “Stop lying to me, okay? You can’t redeem yourself, and you don’t need to. We’re clearly not meant to be friends.”
Tears fill Midoriya’s eyes, and Todoroki has the decency to look guilty for a second or two. This can’t be happening, not after everything he’s already done. Midoriya lets go of his inhibitions.
“I was there for you! I was there, listening to your music and watching the way the shortest strand of your hair come loose like it always does!” Midoriya shouts, the tears spilling over at last. “More than that, I was there with red roses behind my back that I could give to you after the concert was over because surprise, surprise, I’ve fallen for you! I really, really like you, and I would never stand you up.”
Todoroki steps closer, a dangerous fire in his eyes.
“Who told you? Who told you that I…used to like you? Was it my father?”
“I…no! A-and…used to?” Midoriya manages to say. Todoroki nods, glare so livid that Midoriya thinks he may be paralysed.
“Yes, used to. Up until yesterday. Because I can’t bring myself to like someone who stands me up and then lies about it. Leave early? Really? Why? Was it a matter of life and death that you couldn’t have stayed just a little longer for me? I think not. You liar-”
“I’m not-”
“Shut up!” Todoroki roars, the loudest Midoriya’s ever heard him, and he flinches. Even Todoroki realises he’s gone too far, and almost reaches out for him, as if to console him like he usually would. But he controls himself this time. “Just…shut up,” he says quietly, walking down the stairs and away from Midoriya, who stands there for a few minutes, frozen, before breaking down. He doesn’t know how long he weeps for, out in public, before something buzzes in his pocket; his phone.
Unknown number
I’ve found you, finally
Who is this? you may ask
I’ll give you a hint
S H G R K I
But sshh
Don’t tell anyone
Come alone to the address attached
Cos I’ve got Shouto and you reallllly don’t want me to hurt him
Be there ASAP
Midoriya reads the texts three, four times. He’s just lost Todoroki, and now, Shouto’s gone too. Kidnapped. Unless he walks into a trap for him. How the hell is a person meant to withstand this? But he’s not just Izuku, he’s Small Might, too. And he knows who to go to.
His conviction doesn’t stop the tears, though.
(He wonders if anything will ever stop the tears).
*
“Feel my way through the darkness,” Kirishima sings, almost whispering, so shy and unsure in his own ability, that Bakugou wants to yell at him that he sounds like an angel. Since when has Kirishima been able to sing? And where did he learn to sing like that? Bakugou recalls that Kirishima is doing this for him, and something begins to click into place. “guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell when the journey will end, but I know where to start.”
And Bakugou can’t help it; he joins in. He misses a line, before singing, falteringly:
“’Say I’m caught up in a dream...”
Their voices are low, hesitant, and so fragile together that even the slightest wrong movement could shatter them. But this is something they could build on. Bakugou understands now, and the moment is perfect; he wants nothing more but than to make this, the way he feels, the way Kirishima looks at him, to last for an eternity.
Which is exactly why the universe has to cut it short. The shitty nerd slams the door open, face tear-soaked. Kirishima instantly stops playing and nearly drops the guitar in surprise. But Deku is fixed on Bakugou.
“Kacchan,” he chokes out, voice cracking, “I need your help.”
And Bakugou wants to say no, wants to close the door in the nerd’s face and pretend that he and Kirishima are alone, completely alone with no-one else but themselves.
He can’t do that, though, because if there’s anything he’s learned from his shared history with Deku is that Deku is not a foe; he’s a friend. A fucking good one at that, and damn but Bakugou’s gone soft because he can’t just say no to his oldest friend anymore. And judging by the tears, it’s probably got something to with someone he cares about.
Bakugou knows how that feels.
“I’ve gotta go with him,” Bakugou mutters to Kirishima, and it breaks him to hear how much it sounds like a rejection.
“Yeah, cool; I’ll be packing up and heading home now, I guess. See you tomorrow?” Kirishima replies with forced cheeriness.
Bakugou simply nods before grabbing Deku and stomping out of the room. He turns to confront his short friend.
“Now fucking what?”
“H-he, he’s got S-Shouto, and, um, he left me, uh,” Deku stutters between tears, “a t-threat. He I have to c-come alone or he’ll, he’ll…” But he doesn’t get anymore out before he openly starts sobbing.
Bakugou sighs and pulls the nerd into a hug.
“You go after him,” Bakugou commands quietly, “but attach the comms unit and take the signal locator so Red Riot and I can follow you there. We’ll be there in half an hour to give you some time to assess the situation.” He pulls Deku back slightly so he can look him properly. “Don’t do anything stupid, don’t fall into any dumbass traps, and don’t you fucking worry; we’re going to get him back for you. Got it?”
Deku sniffles, but nods, eyes taking on a determined glimmer.
“Got it.”
And then he’s off sprinting down the hallway, and Bakugou pulls out his device, sending an emergency signal to Red Riot. But there’s one thing he’s gotta do before he join the redheaded hero:
He’s gotta stop at Kirishima’s house and sort their mess of a relationship out, because he never wants to see the guy he’s half in love with fake anything towards him again.
He wants Kirishima to be genuinely happy, for as long as humanely possible.
*
Todoroki sits uncomfortably, blindfolded, and hates himself.
He hates himself for overreacting. He hates himself for making the one he loves cry. He hates himself because he can’t stop loving him. But most of all, he hates himself because the whole situation distracted him so much that Shigaraki was able to kidnap him. And even if a future with Midoriya is gone, he could’ve maybe had something with Small Might. But Small Might is inevitably going to end up hurt if he comes after Todoroki alone like he’s meant to. Todoroki only hopes that he at least consulta Ground Zero first. As rash as the hero is, Small Might and Ground Zero know each other in person, so there has to be some sort of backup Ground Zero can offer.
“Oh, Shouto; I can scare you, you know,” the deluded villain taunts. Todoroki grits his teeth.
“As if.” Physical pain is nothing to him.
“Hmm, but I know who you are, who you really are, and I’m sure if I revealed your true self to, say, Small Might, for instance, he’d somewhat recognise your face from the media. Your cover is blown.”
Todoroki’s blood runs cold. Of course, being him, the son of the musician Endeavour, most people in the city know his face, his voice, and even his hair, which is why he so completely covers himself up with his costume. Small Might would instantly recognise him. All the…the stereotypes and the rumours about Todoroki would cloud Small Might’s judgement.
He’d lose the special connection they had.
“You’re bluffing,” Todoroki growls. Shigaraki laughs.
“Are you sure about that? Only, that was an awfully long pause…Todoroki.”
Shit.
“Now,” the villain continues. “Do you think I can scare you?”
No reply. The villain snarls and repeats his line.
“Do you think I can scare you, Shouto?”
“What does it matter? There’s nothing wrong with being scared if you can be incredible anyway!” The voice belongs to neither himself or Shigaraki. Todoroki would recognise that modulated sound anywhere: it’s Small Might.
“Small Might, don’t! Don’t come any closer!” Todoroki pleads, but it seems that Small Might isn’t going to listen, because the sounds of heavy steel boots get louder. And it’s selfish, he knows; he’s primarily trying to stop the other hero from finding out that he is a Todoroki. But his concern isn’t just for himself – he has to keep Small Might safe, too.
The echoing sound of multiple guns resonates throughout the space, and Shigaraki pulls Todoroki’s blindfold off. The hero is faced with a grotesque, peeling face, before Shigaraki steps away and says, gleefully:
“Behold, my two henchmen!” Either side of Small Might appear two men holding guns at point blank range to the hero. Shigaraki reveals his own gun and aims it at Small Might, so that the only way he can go is backwards. “Oh, it was a struggle to get anyone so short notice, but these two kind men took my limited money and accepted the job! So now, Small Might, you have a choice: flee, and live, or try to protect your dear hero friend, and die.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Shigaraki laughs, louder this time.
“But of course not; you’re a hero!” He turns to Todoroki. “So really, the choice is yours, Shouto; reveal your identity to Small Might, and allow him to live, or refuse to, and be the cause of his death.”
The air is silent for a short while, before Todoroki manages, shakily:
“My hood and mask. Take it off.”
There really isn’t a choice, and Todoroki only prays that Small Might will accept him for who he really is, and not confine him to the Todoroki Shouto that the public knows.
“Why, certainly, Your Highness,” Shigaraki quips childishly, stepping up to Todoroki again. “Brace yourself.”
And with that, he whips the mask off and shoves the hood back. Before the villain can even announce his real name, Small Might blurts:
“Todoroki?!”
Shigaraki grins, and Todoroki feels like he may possibly throw up.
“Oh, who was I kidding, of course Small Might would recognise you! You see, I also know who Small Might truly is, and you two…well, I’ll let your eyes speak for themselves.” He pushes the gun into Todoroki’s temple harshly, and turns to Small Might. “Mask, off, or I shoot him.”
And it’s the same situation, except Small Might doesn’t even hesitate for a second. The green material flops onto the floor, and the sight he sees knocks the air out of his lungs. It can’t be.
Izuku Midoriya is stood before him.
And this is the worst time to think back to yesterday, and to think back to how Midoriya said he had to leave early. Was it a matter of life and death? Todoroki had asked. And now it all makes sense.
The tears spill before he even realises he’s going to cry.
*
Bakugou hadn’t accounted for traffic. He’s now only got ten minutes left before he’s got to be with Deku, which is why he barges into Kirishima’s room without knocking. Kirishima’s parents had let him in, and Bakugou doesn’t have a second to waste.
But none of that prepares him for finding Red Riot in Kirishima’s room.
*
Kirishima steps out of the bathroom in his full Red Riot outfit. He’d gotten an alert from Ground Zero about twenty minutes ago, and it takes him at least five minutes to get his hair set, so he’d responded immediately.
(And he wants to see Ground Zero as soon as possible, too; is that really such a bad thing?)
But now he has to explain why he’s dressed like this to Bakugou, his year-long crush, and he really doesn’t know what to say.
“…Red Riot?”
Okay, so Bakugou’s heard of him. Maybe he can spin this to his favour.
“Yup, that’s me!” he starts fully intending to pretend that ‘Kirishima is out and we’re friends, haha’, but then realises he’s yet to put his voice modulator on.
Oh no.
“…Tell me you’re not the Red Riot. The one that works with Ground Zero and stuff. Please,” Bakugou utters. Okay, so now he’s a bit offended.
“Uh, yeah. Yes, I am. Like, the Red Riot, I mean. That’s me,” Kirishima tries (and fails) to assert. Bakugou sits down on the bed and groans.
“Tell me this is not happening.”
“It’s not happening.”
“…Fuck off.”
“No, no seriously,” Kirishima says, “we can pretend this never happened. I know it’s super really weird to find out that your best friend is a vigilante when you yourself are just a normal music student, and I know my motives probably don’t make sense-”
“Tch, think again, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou mutters, and Kirishima stops mid-sentence. There’s only one person who calls him by that nickname.
“Y-you’re Ground Zero?!” Kirishima screeches, and Bakugou rolls his eyes.
“Congratu-fucking-lations, you guessed it,” Bakugou deadpans.
“N-no, it’s just that- it’s good! Really good!” Kirishima backtracks. Bakugou looks at him suspiciously.
“Why’s it good?”
“C-cos….oh god, this is going to sound weird, I’m so sorry, I have to say it,” Kirishima mumbles, before clearing his throat. “Because I have a crush on you and on Ground Zero and I was really torn between the two but now it’s all sort of a lot more clear and also who wouldn’t want to be superhero partners with their best buddy?”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“You…you basically voiced my thoughts.”
Kirishima looks at him for confirmation, wondering if Bakugou could possibly mean what he thinks he means. The red tinge to his best bro’s cheeks says it all, and suddenly, Kirishima can’t stop grinning.
Without giving Bakugou a second to react, he tackles him in a bear hug, and they both topple back on the bed.
“Hey, Kirishima?” Bakugou says from underneath him, and Kirishima pulls himself up a little to look at Bakugou.
“Yeah?” he responds a little breathlessly. Bakugou smirks, surging forward and pressing a chaste kiss to Kirishima’s lips.
“We’ve got people to save.”
*
“I’m sorry,” Todoroki whispers in his broken voice, and Midoriya catches his meaning straight away, giving him a small smile that’s both sad and hopeful, and it breaks Todoroki’s heart even more to see it.
“Well, as…sickeningly sweet as this all is, I’m afraid it’s all going to come to end,” Shigaraki mocks. “But don’t worry; I’ll position your dead bodies like Romeo and Juliet, if you’d like.”
But then two figures spring down from the walls and knock out the two henchmen; Ground Zero and Red Riot have arrived.
(Really, Shigaraki should’ve hired at least a few more men).
“Maybe I’ll position your dead body like fucking Macbeth or some shit, you twerp!” Ground Zero yells…except he isn’t wearing a voice modulator, or a mask, and neither is Red Riot.
Which is why he’s seeing Bakugou and Kirishima, two people in his year at school.
To call it a coincidence would be the understatement of the century.
“Okay, yeah, yeah,” Bakugou says when he catches Kirishima, Midoriya, and Todoroki looking at each other in bewilderment. “Kirishima and I came clean to each other accidentally, and that fucktard made you reveal yourselves, I’m guessing. Can we kick ass now and ask questions later?”
Kirishima chuckles.
“That we most definitely can do, bro.”
Shigaraki doesn’t stand a chance when Midoriya knocks the gun out of his hand; the four as a team are pretty much invincible, and being able to see each other’s faces does a lot for communication.
Todoroki could get used to this.
*
“Oh my god, stop sucking face,” Bakugou groans, and Midoriya pulls away from Todoroki guiltily.
“You’re one to talk,” Todoroki says, raising an eyebrow at Kirishima and Bakugou’s joined hands.
“That’s different!” Kirishima exclaims. Midoriya simply laughs, and tucks into his food.
It’s been a month since their identities were revealed to each other, and whilst they’ve gone back to the masks to keep any other villains from finding out about them (they’ve ensured Shigaraki and his two henchmen won’t be talking), they’ve adapted the designs so that they can communicate more easily.
They’ve also discovered in school that highly controlled drums and acoustic guitar really uplift a classical song, and that electric piano and violin add a touch of unique expression that sounds pretty awesome.
But by far the best discovery they’ve made are double dates. After that night, there was no more beating around the bush. Todoroki and Midoriya had a long, meaningful talk which ended in a soft embrace and the beginning of a relationship, and Bakugou and Kirishima…well, they just sat with an acoustic guitar and sang songs together, which was good enough for them. The mutual agreement of a loving relationship came from the sound of their voices melding together (in more ways than one).
“So are we going to patrol tonight?” Midoriya asks, and Kirishima stares at him, aghast.
“Dude! We’re going to the cinema tonight!” he cries. Midoriya laughs sheepishly.
“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m just nervous about that new group…”
Todoroki slings an arm around Midoriya’s shoulder comfortingly and pulls him close.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take them down if they’re a threat.”
“Damn right we will,” Bakugou agrees. “After all, we’re famous now.”
“Not us,” Midoriya insists. “Just our hero counterparts. No-one knows it’s us!”
“Yeah,” Todoroki hums. “And let’s keep it that way, this time.”
They’re so engrossed in making conversation and plans that they don’t notice their friends listening from the other table.
“Oh?” Kaminari calls.
“Famous?” Mina repeats.
“Hero counterparts?” Sero adds.
“Keep it what way this time?” Uraraka asks.
The four heroes look at each other, and collectively groan.
#tododeku#kiribaku#todoizu#bakushima#tododeku fic#kiribaku fic#vigilante au#music school au#i am sick and tired#oof#but maybe enjoy it?#ughhhhh#the art of happy endings
125 notes
·
View notes
Note
23? :D
Thank you so much @allons-y–spaceman for sending me this ask and I am so so sorry it took me so long to write it. Life/work got in the way, but now here I am, working on all the prompt requests I’ve received! Be patient with me! ;)
So here’s the one you’ve asked for… This is set during Major Crimes, early season 4, when Sharon and Andy started dating “for real”…
I hope you will like it! ;)
23. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”
Sharon Raydor didn’t know what had gotten into her mind when she came up with that idea. She surely wasn’t thinking clearly when she turned down Andy’s offer for a romantic night out and instead offered him a nice dinner at her condo, a dinner she was supposed to cook. How she thought she would have been able to cook a full meal was a mystery. She was aware she wasn’t good at cooking; although, she was a master in the art of ordering out food, as Andy and Rusty often teased her.
However, here she was, in the kitchen of her condo, wearing her red apron as she stared blankly at the mess she had made. The sauce was slowly cooking. Sharon had already prepared the pot to boil water for the pasta and she turned to look at the eggplants she had cut into small cubes. Andy was about to arrive and she had nothing ready. She took a deep breath and turned on another burner as she grabbed a pan and put some oil in it. She waited for it to heat up and took the plate with the eggplant cubes. Without thinking twice, she put the vegetable in the pan, but the oil splattered, the small hot droplets hitting Sharon’s upper arms. She let out a small cry as she turned down the burner, stepping away from the pan as she rubbed her flushed arms. She was thankful for her apron, because she couldn’t think of what a living hell it would have been to get rid of oil stains from her priceless favorite blouse.
Sharon knew she should have gotten dressed after she finished cooking, but she didn’t think preparing pasta with eggplants would have been such a challenge. She obviously hadn’t considered the frying part of the recipe. She rolled her eyes as she took the printed recipe and read it for the umpteenth time. That was when she noticed the instruction of proceeding with care during the eggplants’ frying and carefully drying off the eggplant water to avoid oil splatter. She groaned and went back to the frying pan, this time paying more attention to the process. She fried the eggplants without major difficulties. She then set the cubes to drain on paper towels before adding them to the sauce and covering the pot with the lid. She checked the recipe again when she heard strange noises coming from the sauce pot. The burner was too high and the sauce had started boiling. She lowered the flame and took off the lid to check everything was good. Sauce droplets splashed over her and the kitchen.
“Damn it…” Sharon muttered between clenched teeth as she cleaned her face. She had just put the lid back on the pot when her doorbell rang. “Oh God…” she sighed.
Sharon quickly jogged to open the door and went hurriedly back to the kitchen to stir the sauce before Andy could greet her. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him as he walked to the kitchen. He smiled when he saw Sharon, her back to him, busy stirring what was inside the pot. He smirked when he noticed the unusual mess of her kitchen. He could tell she was a little overwhelmed with the cooking. Andy neared her and slid an arm around her waist while he rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”
Sharon smirked as she leaned against him. She felt him nuzzle into her hair and breathe in her scent and she explained, “Trying to cook.”
“It smells good, Sharon.” He reassured her as he rubbed her arm with his free hand. A paper caught his attention and he took it. A smile crossed his features as he read, “Pasta alla Norma…” He put back the recipe on the counter when Sharon turned in his arm to finally face him. She shyly smiled at him as she explained, “I remembered when you told me of all those Sicilian dishes your mother used to cook, and how much you missed them…” She stopped as she realized how it sounded. “Oh God, this is stupid. I don’t even cook half as good as your mother, I don’t know what I was thinking, oh my…” She started rambling, a mortified look on her face as she covered her eyes with a hand.
“Hey Shar’…” He cut her short, putting both hands on her shoulders and looking at her in the eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. This is the most thoughtful thing someone has done for me in a long time…” He told her in a serious tone. Another smile crossed his features as he added, “This is perfect.”
“You don’t know that, Andy.” Sharon smirked, rolling her eyes. “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“My mother used to say that every dish made with love tastes good.” He told her reassuringly.
“Well your mother obviously didn’t know me and my…” She stopped as she realized how it sounded. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes as she mumbled, “Oh my God, Andy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Hey… it’s okay.” He cut her short, running his hands up and down her arms in a comforting way. When Sharon slowly cracked her eyes open, she saw Andy smiling back at her. Before she could add anything, he told her softly, “And my mother would have adored you, no doubt about it.”
Sharon sheepishly answered with a smile before cupping his cheek with her hand. Andy stared at her sweetly when he suddenly let out a chuckle. She frowned as she threw him a questioning look. He gently stroked her left cheek before informing her; “You had some sauce on your face…”
Andy saw her blushing and she looked down, embarrassed as she muttered, “Oh gosh…” Her hand reached for her cheek as she rubbed it to be sure there was no more sauce. Andy watched her with a softened look before running a hand through her hair and putting a strand of hair behind her ear, “Ok, now you’re sauce-free.”
Her cheeks reddened even more and she ran a hand through her hair as well before whispering, “Even in my hair…” She paused as she looked down and added in a barely audible voice, “I’m sorry, I’m far from presentable tonight…”
Andy shook his head at the absurdity she had just said and he gently lifted her chin with his thumb. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. Sharon was a little taken aback by the emotions she read in his hazel eyes and she wondered when was the last time a man had looked at her that way. Too long ago, she thought, as she couldn’t recall an exact moment. She made a mental note to herself to just cherish the present moment. Andy leaned in and his lips met hers for a gentle kiss. Before he could break it off, Sharon slid an arm behind his neck and drew him back in, deepening the kiss. He held her close and when they finally parted, their lips still touching, Andy whispered, “Whoa, what was that for?”
Sharon smirked as she replied, “For making me feel beautiful even if tonight I’m standing in an apron with sauce and frying oil all over me.”
“Nonsense…” he immediately shot back, “You’re always breathtaking, Sharon.”
Oh God, it had been definitely too long since she last heard such words. Sharon felt a lump forming in her throat and she cursed herself for getting so emotional she wasn’t even able to speak. She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around him again as she kissed him. The sudden strong boiling sound made them cut the kiss shorter than what Sharon had intended it to be. She let go of him when a burnt smell reached her nostrils. She turned to face the stove again, a panicked look on her face, as she reached for the lid on the sauce pot. Her face fell when she saw the contents, the stiffened sauce and burnt eggplants cubes.
“Hey Shar’, let me help.” Andy offered but he stopped when he glanced inside the pot. “Oh.”
Sharon shut down the burner and put the lid back as her shoulders fell and she sighed. Andy could read the disappointment on her face and he gently stroked her arm as he whispered to her, “Hey, it’s okay. You have no idea how many times I’ve burned food.” He told her jokingly. Sharon didn’t react, the angles of her lips still curved downward and he added, hoping it would cheer her up, “And by the way, this is all my fault. I’ve distracted you.”
Sharon hesitantly met his gaze and when she read nothing else than affection in his eyes, she mumbled with a shy smile, “I’m sorry, I wanted this dinner to be special and…”
Andy shook his head as he interrupted her, “I don’t care where we are, what we do, or what we eat… I just want to spend time with you, Sharon. Nothing else matters to me…”
Sharon didn’t know when Andrew Flynn, the irreverent and hotheaded Lieutenant who used to drive her crazy during her FID days, had turned into such a caring, sweet, and generous man. She smiled and this time it reached her eyes as she jokingly said, “Well, guess we’ll have to order dinner, Lieutenant.” She paused as something came to her mind, “At least we have cannoli in the fridge. I bought them before heading home, so you can eat them safely.”
#Major Crimes#Sharon Raydor#Andy Flynn#Sharon x Andy#Shandy#dating#cooking#what's cookin' good lookin'?#prompt#fanfiction#ilariawrites
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
ZOOPHOBIA CHAPTERS RANKED BEST TO WORSE
Hey hey hey! (*jumps off counter* ImGaY)
So, quick update. I'm no longer doing votes as no one appears to care what I post anymore. Which is a shame. Honestly, you people have no idea what evil you have unleashed upon this world. I've also been busy, so while I work on bigger posts, have some totally not filler.
For today's....thing, I will be ranking the 5 zoophobia chapters from best to worst. HOWEVER, I will only be discussing the writing aspects of these chapters. Art isn't my forte. If you want an art critique, I'd recommend bugging @rzphhs
Feel free to disagree with what I say here. I'm not some omniscient god who is perfect at everything. This is simply what think are the best and worse zoophobia characters.
If you'd like to request me to do something else, go ahead.
And of course, let's get the usual disclaimer in there. Zoophobia is by this fandom's Lord and savior, Vivziepop. This post is not a critique of her current writing abilities since zoophobia is kinda old. I believe that when we analyze stories we love and find flaws within them, we can all learn something and improve our own writing abilities. I also don't do this because I hate Vivz. I love her work. This is not an attack on her what so ever, so any wannabe edgelords who think otherwise can get off my front lawn.
-----------------------------------
THE BEST
CHAPTER 1.
Yeah, I legitimately think chapter 1 is the best. It's no surprise that this chapter was the one Vivz worked on the most. She had people read rough drafts and give her advice on how to make it better, something she stopped doing for the rest of the story. Cameron has a wonderful introduction.
I know I said I wouldn’t talk about visuals, but I love the contrast of the grey human world to the colourful safe haven. Having Kay cee lurk around, hidden in wide shots where's she's barely seen is great. She defiantly sells the creepy shady character shtick like nobody's business.
There were a lot of great character introductions in here two. You got a good sense of each character's personality. I also like a lot of the visuals here too. A lot of characters were introduced, yes, but each character got a few lines each so it didn't feel too over the top. You could argue as well that the amount of stuff being thrown at us was fitting since that would be how our audience surrogate is feeling.
I do think, however, that we should've gotten introductions to all of the main cast. Kayla doesn't say anything, neither does Penelope, and Taylor. .basically says nothing. Yeah, did you guys know Taylor and Penelope are apart of the main cast? That, and I feel that Cam should've just gotten an explanation about what safe haven is by Zech sooner.
Apart from that, I loved this chapter.
-------------------------
SECOND BEST
CHAPTER 4.
Ok, let's address my main complaint about this chapter that is basically the elephant in the room. Ever hear of the "show don't tell" rule in writing? It's commonly known that it's better to show something as opposed to just having a couple characters talking about it. This chapter....well....it's wierd in this regard. It's not abhorrent, but this chapter is an exposition dump where we're both shown and told info about Jack. I feel as though some of these things, like the Zill and Jack as children section could've been just shown. We don't need Jack explaining everything to the audience. I also feel that this chapter should've been placed earlier since it has info on certain characters that would've been nice to know earlier, like the context of Zill and Kayla's relationship.
Apart from that, I liked this chapter. It had nice pacing, and there's not too much going on. We're not hopping from one thing to another (like another chapter ), we stay on topic, and this feels like a nice, easy read. Admittedly, I don't have much to say on this because. ....it's just a nice, simple chapter. It gives Jack some great character depth, and his character motif of wanting to be happy despite his curse. The ending is also nice and the entire chapter just feels.....peaceful.
--------------------
MEH
CHAPTER 5.
Okay, this one I’d put in the middle no matter what since it’s kinda hard to evaluate something that’s unfinished.
Much like the character who stars in this chapter, I'm split on this chapter. I don't hate it....but it's nothing to write home about either.
Let's start positive. Unlike the next chapter I'm talking about, this chapter stays on one central problem for the most part, and we don't randomly jump back and forth between Addi and Mackenzie doing completely separate things. Mackenzie's thing appears, but doesn't take center stage away from the central character. Autumn and Rusty's moment on the stairs feels a little random, but it's not completely distracting. The character interactions are fun too. I loved the interactions between Addi, Dame, and Sahara, and between Autumn and Rusty. Tom and Gustav were a little weird in this chapter, but they weren't the worst thing. Oh no, the worst thing.....
Was Addison.
I'm sorry @zoophobiapika , please have mercy. I will send you cute Addi pictures to make up for this.
But HOLY FUCK, was Addison annoying! I've ranted before on the problems I have with him (go see my least favorite character list to get the full rant), but to shorten it down, Addi makes a stupid decision when he blows off his friends and goes out with a stranger because. ...that makes sense, I think. He also attacks somebody, and no one appears to be worried for Mackenzie or worried about Addi's mental state.
Also, before someone says " oh he has PTSD",
I have PTSD as well. It's a minor case, and it's hardly as severe as some other cases, but it has affected my life and the people around me. I don't feel comfortable going into detail about it, but in times of stress, I'd hurt not only myself, but other people. I almost punched a guy once.
A reason, however, is not an excuse. I still hurt other people, and I had to make up for that. Just because you can explain why a problem is there doesn't make that problem go away.
I'm just going to leave it at that and move on.
------------------------
SECOND WORST
CHAPTER 3
......what? Did you think thst just because Dame is my favorite character I'd put his chapter higher in the ranking? Yeah, nope.
Now, fangirls, put down your pitchforks, this chapter doesn't suck.......but This chapter is weird.
You know how the other 3 three chapters I talked about stayed on topic? Whenever people tell me Zoophobia, plot wise, jumps around a lot, I think of this chapter. There's just too much going on. Instead of having this chapter solely be an introduction to Damian, one of the main cast who'll play an important role in the story, we get an exposition dump about how safe haven works and demon politics. Characters like Bozzwick are introduced only for them to do nothing, and this chapter feels like it's rushing, like Vivz just wants to get this chapter over with.
Damian's freak out feels rushed and out no where. Also, when he does his best Cuthulu impression, does he cast a spell that just makes everyone stand around and do nothing? No one's screaming, no one is trying to calm Dame down, nothing. And this place is apparently full of people. Yet no one does anything but just stand around and look surprised. This chapter just feels like it doesn't know what to do.
The first book was supposed to introduce us to the characters, and a following book was supposed to go more into the lore. Why not just have this chapter be like Jack's where all we get is a simple introduction to a character? The two or three plots also keep switching back and forth randomly and it feels disorganized. Cameron (as well as everyone else during Simon’s interrogation) had nothing to do with Dame’s situation. Seriously, just shove that scene to a later point in the story and nothing would change. Actually, here’s a fun game. Count how many characters you can take out with little to nothing changing.
This may be me putting on a tin foil hat here, but it’ like Vivz couldn’t figure out how to introduce Dame in a way that would ensure that the chapter would focus on him, so she just shoved a bunch of other shit in.
All in all, this chapter has way too much going on, and is all over the place. BUT, at least all the shit that happened in here was interesting and kind of contributed to the story, unlike....
---------------------------
THE WORST
CHAPTER 2
*inhale*
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
Fuck. This. Chapter.
Ok, first of all, this chapter didn’t need to exist. Skip over this chapter, and nothing would change....except maybe Simon being in chapter 3, but hey, that fucker didn’t need to be in chapter 3 either.
Second....let’s go through each character....in alphabetical order.
Cameron: Doesn’t develop, doesn’t do anything, she just goes around and does....things. She feels like a character that could be taken out with little to no consequences, which isn’t a great look for someone who we’re being introduced to the world of safe haven through.
Carrie: Feels like she could’ve not been introduced. I love Carrie, but when people say we were getting too many characters at once in this story, this chapter is a prime example of why. Jesus Vivz, introduce us to the main cast, THEN all the lovable and huggable side characters. Seriously, the entire Vengenza thing could’ve been moved to a later chapter.
Damian: Long story short, this little shit had to turn into a sociopath for the sake of plot. I like Damian, and he defiantly made this chapter entertaining for me, but I hate the fact that the story had to have him give Kayla and Zill a problem as opposed to the problem coming about from their own flaws. Also, I don’ t think I should’ve been rooting for him to win.
Fabian: See Carrie
Gustav: See Carrie.
Horris: See Carrie
Jack: I liked him, but was he seriously the only one who knew about the anniversary? We see that Sahara knows about it, so clearly Jack isn’t the only one who knows about it. And yet no one brings it up to Zill. Either Zill is the most oblivious fucker on the planet, or Dame somehow locked nearly everyone who knew about the anniversary in a locker. Those are the only explanations I can think of.
Jackie: Not terrible, but she kinda annoyed me. I’m not sure why though, so I won’t say too much on her.
Kayla: For some reason we follow this character even though she got no introduction, and we have no context to her relationship with Zill, and we learn almost nothing about he. Great. I don’t agree that Kayla is a mary sue, but this chapter makes me know why people see her that way.
Malcolm: See Carrie
Percy: See Carrie
Sahara: See Carrie
Simon: See Carrie
Spam: Despite being apart of the main cast, he does nothing. He doesn’t contribute anything, he’s just there for no reason.
Vanex: See Spam
Vagenza: See Carrie
Zech: He’s barely in this chapter, and he feels like a complete none presence. Why was he here?
Zill: Ohhh boy....Now we get to the meat of my issues with this chapter. Okay, despite this chapter revolving around him and Kayla, we learn almost nothing about Zill. What is his character motivation? Dunno. What is his personality outside just “he’s a good guy”? Dunno. The chapter revolves around a relationship we have no context of, and this chapter feels like a fucking soap opera. The problem doesn’ t come from a fault in Zill’s character. He needs Dame to give him a problem, which for me cements how boring of a character he is. And him getting back with Kayla isn’t something he causes to happen. A vampire shows up and Kayla just happens to have a change of heart. That’s it. He doesn’t. do. anything.
Finally, like with ch. 3, the topic of the chapter jumps around between Cameron and Zill’s “plots” with no cohesion and no connection. Overall this chapter sucks.
Thanks for reading, and tell me what your favorite or least favorite chapters are!
I apologize for wasting your time.
- ATOUN
17 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
solelife
DAZ
greykolla-art
Greykolla art
willshartner
disarm
bigc-66
Untitled
chaffercriminology-psychology
Welcome to my blog. My name is Jasmine:)