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#the only thing remotely 'alien' about it is that its hair is a little wild HEHEH they didnt even try

lailyn · 3 years

Note

Can I have another loki fic with stomach ache? Any pairing is good. Also, the fic you wrote for me earlier was amazing! Now I want more....

These Chains Around Our Hearts

Pairing: Loki/Steve Rogers

"Another war movie?"

"This one’s said to be...not bad."

“Not bad,” Loki echoed. “Not one for overselling, are you?”

“I haven’t had much luck trying to impress you with my movie choices,” Steve said. “But it did win around seven Oscars or something so...not that that’s a true indication of what makes a movie great but it’s on my bucket list and I thought we could - ”

With a tease of a smile, Loki plucked the DVD cover out of Steve’s hand; for some reason, the good captain looked flustered. "Tut-tut, Captain. I was not questioning your taste in movies nor your diligence in compiling your list of buckets.”

“'Bridge On The River Kwai'," he read. "Sounds promising. Was this your war?”

“I’ve fought many,” Steve said, smiling faintly. “But you could say this was my first, yes. Only it was fought on a different front.”

“Then let’s watch it, shall we?” Loki asked brightly.

“I’ll be right with you. I just need to grab a few snacks from the kitchen - ”

“But we just ate,” Loki grumbled to himself as he picked a corner to get comfortable in, making sure there was ample room on the couch for Steve when he returned.

The pot pie Steve made for dinner had been a tad too rich and Loki felt uncomfortably full despite not having eaten very much. He listened to the sounds of Steve pottering about in the kitchen and wondered if he had any space left to fit whatever bonne bouche his host had prepared for their movie night.

Loki had suspected from the start, back when they first started seeing each other, that Steve was one nervous entertainer. True enough, when the super soldier emerged from the kitchen, his already impressive arms were burgeoning with bags of crispy, salty things, jars of dips and cans of drinks.

“Oh my.” Loki eyed the smorgasbord laid before him critically. “Is that all?"

"It's not enough? I could get some more - " But before Steve could make a beeline for the kitchen once more, a hand touched his wrist.

"I was teasing."

They settled into their usual seating arrangement, not too close but at a companiable distance from each other. Steve and his appetite dived face-first into the tortilla chips and dips, but Loki refused to partake, what with his stomach feeling as unsettled as it was.

For a film made in the fifties, Loki found it quite impressive, almost believable even, if one had not lived through the dark times first-hand.

“Did you win it?” Loki asked. “Your first war?”

Loki’s vast knowledge of the cosmos and all it contained was legendary and Steve for one knew it included Midgardian history, so there was no way this was not a trick question. “In a manner of speaking.”

“You were fighting the same war, you said. Did it look like this?” Loki pointed at the screen with his regal chin.

“No,” Steve shuddered. After the surrender of Germany in 1945, the Allied forces’ attention shifted east, and this was a film depicting the horrors of the time.

How many of his comrades-in-arms had been taken prisoner? Forced to live in squalid conditions, ravaged by disease and starved slowly to death as they slaved away in the harsh tropical sun piecing the Railway of Death track by track?

"The Auschwitz of the East." The thousand-yard stare bruised Steve's baby blues to a dark, angry cobalt. "I don't know if I could have survived it."

"Of course you would," Loki said firmly. "If any man could, it's you."

Steve's mind turned, uncertain if he was deserving of such high praise, especially when it came from none other than Loki, the God of Chaos himself.

"I am familiar with the concept of war. I was Odin's war trophy after all," Loki said casually.

Steve turned his head slowly.

"Story for another day, Captain," Loki forced a smile; he was no longer in the mood for a romantic evening, let alone a heartfelt tete-a-tete. The vague discomfort in his belly was commanding more and more of his attention by the minute.

He laid a hand on his stomach. When it twinged again, Loki knew he was in for a long, long night.

Steve caught Loki's sigh. "Loki?"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly.

Now showing was a scene depicting insubordination among the ranks, and by the time the Japanese sergeant had finished giving the prisoners a dressing-down and placed them in a punishment hut, the twinging in Loki's stomach had blossomed into a full-blown ache that no amount of rubbing was helping.

Steve caught Loki's hand grabbing his waist again. "You okay?"

"I am fine, Captain."

"Are you sure?"

"I seem to have what you Midgardians call a stitch," Loki said as he kneaded his side gently, his smile wan. "It is nothing."

At being denied its existence, Loki's stomach voiced its protest in the form of a loud, whining rumble.

"That doesn't sound like a stitch."

"You are not going to let this go, are you?"

Steve groped for the remote control that had slipped somewhere down the side of the couch. "Yeah, no. We can continue watching some other time."

Ignoring Loki's mewl of protest, he stabbed the pause button before he stood up, gathering the uneaten snacks and drinks to clear the table.

Loki rose to help, but as soon as he did, a sudden pain lanced through his abdomen, sharper than anything he had felt tonight, and he sank back onto the couch with a gasp.

Steve dropped everything with a crash. "Loki, what's going on?"

A tense few seconds later, the pained expression on Loki's face eased and his whole body relaxed. "Something I ate is not sitting right with me, that is all."

"Do you want some water?"

Loki shook his head.

"Do you feel sick?" Steve pressed.

A wince. "A little. There is a slight ache, it is more uncomfortable than painful really."

"Somehow I don't think slight means quite the same with you guys," Steve sighed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Only Steve could say something like that without sounding chastising or judgemental, only worried if not a little bit sad.

"It was not my intention to keep anything from you, Captain," Loki said placatingly. "And I speak true, it is only a mild discomfort. Perhaps I merely overindulged."

It was evident from the look on Steve's face that he did not believe a single word Loki said.

With a sigh, Steve patted his thigh. "Come lie down."

A flush of colour suffused Loki's cheeks. "I can't possibly."

He felt Steve lay a hand on his back, contemplated leaning into it, but the thought was obliterated by a fresh round of cramps so intense they folded him in half.

These things happen at the worst possible time, Loki cursed silently, groaning into his knees in sheer frustration.

Steve must have mistaken his moan for one of pain for suddenly, a strong arm enveloped Loki from behind and pull him down.

Resist, don't give in, resi -

"Loki."

Like magic, the gentleness with which Steve said his name drained all the tension from Loki's body and sapped him of the energy to remain upright. He sagged sideways in a slump.

Utterly mortified by his inelegant tumble into Steve's lap, Loki hid his face against a taut, well-muscled thigh. To his credit, the captain said absolutely nothing, only running a hand up and down the side of Loki's arm.

If his stomach wasn't hurting so much, Loki would have appreciated the comfort of Steve's lap much more vocally instead of trying not to be sick in it.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get someone? Banner? Dr Cho?"

"There is no need. I will be fine."

"What if this is something serious?" Steve patted his jacket for his mobile phone. “I should get your brother.”

“No!” Loki peered through strands of hair, which Steve tentatively brushed away. "If it were, it would have killed me already." At the aghast expression on Steve's face, he added in a hurry, "Or conversely, my healing spell would have cured it completely."

"What do you think it was?" Steve asked anxiously. "It wasn't my pie, was it?"

Loki shook his head. "No, Captain. This is just a run-of-the-mill stomachache, albeit a very irritating one. Exploring the vast diversity of Midgardian cuisine has truly been an adventure."

"Thor can eat anything."

"There is nothing my Brother can't and won't eat. I have seen Thor devour five wild boars in one sitting and that was after a light training station, imagine what he could polish off after a day's battle or two." A sullen mutter. "I am not like Thor."

"No." Steve smiled. "No, you're not. You're different."

Loki knew better than anyone all the ways in which he was different. He wondered if they matched Steve's list. "How so?"

Steve shrugged. "You were right. I like war movies. And you're the only person who'd watch them with me."

"I suppose I too am nostalgic for the olden days. Even if they were someone else's," Loki said, mirroring his companion's smile; it felt just as awkward on his face as it had looked on Steve.

He tried to make himself comfortable but lying on his back hurt too much. With his head still in Steve's lap, Loki turned onto his side and curled into a tight ball.

Meanwhile, Steve was beginning to fret. “What can I do?”

“Retire for the night, I suppose. I’m afraid I am not very good company at the moment.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

“Captain.”

“No man left behind, Loki. I’m staying.” Steve let Loki squirm against him as he tried to find the most comfortable position. “What do you need?”

“Sleep.” Loki was almost too embarrassed to admit it. “I could try walking it off, but - ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve growled. “We’re watching a goddamn movie, not kicking some alien's ass in battle."

"I'm sorry you couldn't finish the movie," said the only alien in the room.

"It's okay. I couldn't concentrate anyway."

"Something on your mind, Captain?"

Steve shook his head. "Someone," he corrected.

"Anyone I know?" Loki asked, wanting to jest, but his intestines chose that moment to coil into knots inside him, each tighter than the one before; he could barely keep from crying out, he was in so much pain.

"I'm looking at him," Loki heard Steve say in a voice so soft it could only be a product of his muddled imagination.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the grounding warmth of Steve's body heat against his face.

The beast clawing away in his belly was not real. Steve was. Good, kind, sensitive Steve.

Steve watched in sympathy as Loki massaged his stomach gingerly. "You really don't feel good, huh."

"There was a time when I would rather face the axe than admit to something so pitiful." Loki opened his eyes a mere fraction, lest he revealed too much his pain. "But no, I do not."

"I'm not used to seeing you like this," Steve said quietly. "You always get stomachaches this bad?"

Loki had to laugh; Steve looked so serious it was adorable. "I have survived horrors far worse than this, Captain."

"Yeah, but you kept it to yourself this long, so it must be pretty bad."

"Oh, you know me too well," Loki said sarcastically. "I must have been too engrossed in the film to notice my stomach eating itself."

Steve appeared offended. "Hey, it's based on a true story!"

"They did not blow it up in the end, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, baffled.

"The Bridge. There were many bridges like it along River Kwai, but the rest of it? The uprising and the sabotage? That is all fiction," Loki said flatly. "Glorious fiction."

His eyes fluttered shut with a solemness analogous to that of one burdened with bearing bad news.

It was hardly news, was it? These people had been dead for almost a century -

"Your friends did not escape the jungles. They were all packed onto ships that took them across the sea to the Land of the Rising Sun, but your own warships mistook them for the enemy and blew them out of the water. All ten thousand of them."

"Tell me one thing. Why does telling stories come so easily to you but not this?" Steve swatted Loki's hand away and replaced it with his own, ignoring Loki's surprised gasp. "Yes, war sucked. Watching your friends die in front of you sucked. But right now I don't care about any of that. I care about you!"

Loki swallowed hard. "Captain…"

But Steve was not done giving Loki a piece of his mind.

"I want you to tell me these things," he berated, his fingers curling around the taut flesh of Loki's stomach. "I'm not good at reading you."

A sharpness cut through Loki's words, a warning in disguise. "I do not want you to."

"I couldn't if I tried," Steve said quietly. "I have brought down walls thicker than you've ever seen. But I can't see through yours."

Loki fell into a silence so deep it left Steve wondering if he had ruined the moment beyond repair.

"A war hero like you has no business consorting with someone like me." Loki turned his face. "I am but a prisoner, begging for scraps from you, and from everyone else in the universe."

Steve's hand stilled. Loki's thin abdomen throbbed under his palm, the pulsations picking up pace in time with the racing of the ancient heart.

"I have been in chains since the day I was born. I will not chain you to me." Loki interlaced his fingers with the ones still clasped to his stomach. "This is a momentary comfort."

"We are all prisoners here, Loki," Steve said gently.

As all anger left him, his other hand searched for Loki's. "We don't belong to this time, but there is no escaping it."

His thumb danced across the bony row of Loki's knuckles. "There is only living."

"Perhaps I have lived too long."

"That is a decision only you can make," Steve said, the sadness returning to his eyes. "But I have just found you. And I want you to know that I care."

With the confession finally out of the way, Steve inhaled deeply and leaned his head back against the couch, his hand resuming its gentle kneading. It was comforting, the sensation of Loki's tight, concave abdomen giving little by little to his ministrations.

It was not overindulgence, the cause of Loki's pain. He knew that now.

"Captain."

"Yes, Loki?"

"What exactly do you want from me?"

Steve went quiet. The answer could not be any clearer, but Loki was notoriously oblivious to any notion of sentiment, even the most obvious one.

"You said I was your comfort. I want you to allow yourself to be mine."

Loki remained quiet for longer. When he finally spoke, his voice quaked with a timbre of hope and unbridled joy.

"If I say yes, would you do me a courtesy and let me choose what to watch for movie night?"

Steve laughed. "Sure. On one condition."

“This negotiation has strayed too far off course, Capta -”

“Steve,” he interrupted, cradling Loki's face in his hands. “Call me Steve.”

It was an offer Loki could not refuse. "Steve."

The name tasted good on his tongue. And so did those lips.

#frostshield #sick loki #loki whump #ask #fic #steve rogers #loki

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 59

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I rolled up on the Seventh Heaven on a motorcycle with Neo riding behind me with both arms wrapped around my waist. She exhaled through her nose in a slow sigh.

"Good evening Mantle. Good evening SDC. Good evening Mother who lives in the corner of my eye but disappears when I try and look at you. What do you think, Neo? We finally going to get what we deserve?" I asked.

She squeezed my chest tightly.

"I meant about Cinder. Though you and I probably deserve to have other shit happen to us. Don't you think? Just a little?"

I stroked the engine and it went off like a gun while I sat outside the bar and waited for Avalanche. The cobblestone street wasn't crowded with the little motorcycle. I'd seen some bigger models that called out to me but for now this little one was enough for me.

"I mean the shit we've done..." I laughed. I laughed hard. It was funny. It was all so, so funny. Why wasn't I able to laugh at me like this all the time? "The shit we've done we probably deserve some horrible shit to happen to us. Probably something like exactly what happened. They call that karma. Not what will happen to us for what we've done, the shit that is happening to us for what we did."

"You with Roman," I murmured. "I imagine you did some horrible awful shit. I'm not worried about it. I do awful shit too."

She squeezed me tighter. I embraced the feeling. The touch of another was something so simple. It was something so alien to me at the moment but it was all too Cetra. Maybe I was just stopping Neo from getting close to me. Maybe she wanted to be close to me. Maybe I was the only real stopping block.

I wanted to embrace it, even if it was something from a sadist like Neo. She got off on torture and killing people. And hey, I liked it too. I liked my boot on the necks of those who would stand against me. I liked killing Tyrian. I savored in the memory of his blood pouring out onto the street. I wasn't about pain but I was about killing. I was this sort of monster that reveled in death.

Would Ruby love me now? If she could see the things I'd become would she pull at my hair and kiss my chest? Would her heart beat faster for me still? I could distantly remember the pulse between her legs. I remembered the taste of her sweat, it was sweet like cinnamon. I remembered when she rode me out in an Anima forest and I recalled pressing her against the tile of a shower. Breathless moans leaving her little frame. The skin of her neck against my teeth. Her full lips against mine, so tender against my own harshness. The memory of it was enough to make me shift in the motorcycle seat with Neo clinging to me.

I wasn't sure I had the answer. Or maybe I just didn't want to accept the answer I had. Maybe I didn't like it. Maybe I was just depressing and wallowing in it. Or maybe I had a good point. Maybe at some point somewhere I'd crossed a line.

Bugs crawled around behind my face. I could feel it in my eyes and ears tonight. I picked at the inside of my ear and rubbed an eye, slow and hard.

The soft whisperings of Mother were fit enough to drive me mad. They were loud tonight. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell. It didn't exactly come with a volume setting or a good frame of reference. There was nothing to compare the loudness to. It came and it went. The bugs were like that too.

I was an alien monster to Ruby. I was part Grimm somewhere inside of me. Maybe that was how I'd tracked the Nuckelavee so well. I knew its heart because my own heart beat that same black. My blood and insides were red but so was that of the Grimm. I was inhuman.

Would Weiss still give me that small affectionate smile I remembered gleaming at me in the early Mistrali dawn? A teasing smirk on her blushing face with her hair down around her shoulders.

Would Yang still laugh when I bit back against her?

Could I ever go back? Could I ever be forgiven because I killed my friends? Maybe I really should just kill myself and be done with it. If I turned it on me… if I evened it out… would that make it better? Could I get into heaven if I killed myself?

My friends would want me to go on. It wasn't fair. I just wanted to die.

I pulled my pipe out and took a long draw on it. I had a lot I wanted to relax about. My thoughts were wild and creeping up on me.

I'd never have another calm and patient conversation with Ren. Nor would I ever share a bubbly dialogue with Nora. That was my fault. I may blame Mother but I had been the one to draw my blade against them.

What was Ruby feeling right now as I set off to cause more chaos? Did she still think of me? Did I deserve to have her think of me like that? No. I didn't. And it wasn't because I was born a monster. It was because I embraced it. I tortured, maimed, and killed with impunity.

Ruby would never do something like that. Her heart would go out to each and every person she ever hurt. Meanwhile I was content to smoke and forget 'em.

I exhaled a long batch of smoke out into the cool Mantle night air. I let the earthly odor and feeling settle over me. It was fast. Inhaling drugs worked quick like that. Much faster than anything other than injections. Ghostly hands wrapped over me. The cold suddenly didn't feel so bad and Neo's arms felt nice and warm.

Her hands gripped one another tight, just under my armor where she could be comfortable. "We deserve to die. Me and you. You and I." I told her. "And it'll get us, too. Just you wait and see."

Avalanche came backing out in a little turquoise truck. It backfired a little as it came rolling away from the bar.

I gestured to them with a wave and let them lead the way down the street. It wasn't busy out and I was able tailgate Avalanche pretty closely as we made our way to the mine.

Thoughts crept in on me as I drove under the influence. It was actually pretty easy. I'd fought Tyrian under the influence and that went well enough. My control was fine and as we slipped into traffic I was aware.

I put my pipe in my pocket and out of sight. I didn't need some officer to pull me over because of basically nothing before the operation even started.

We rode up on this massive open pit mine and stopped our vehicles. It had a spiraling depth of road to it for heavy machinery with the walls braced by metallic supports.

"Neo, watch the rides."

She nodded. She leaned her parasol against her shoulder and leaned herself in turn against my new bike.

It was a shallow gold and stripped with platinum. It was easier on the eyes than Yang's bike was. The colors were dull and metallic unlike the bright colors of Bumble Bee. She even named her bike. Maybe I'd name mine too. Maybe one I was a little more attached to than this. I could fucking afford it, I'd bought a whole plane. A nice bike would be nothing. Depending on just how nice it was.

I stepped away and Neo took my hand for a moment and squeezed my fingers. I hesitated for a moment and grabbed her hand back and returned her squeeze.

Then I stepped away for real.

Avalanche swung their way out of their truck. The vehicle heaved as Wenge made his way out of the back of it with his machine gun in hand. Bisque stepped out of the driver's seat, pistol drawn and at the ready. Jasper stepped out of shotgun with an easy grin and a wave at me.

I stared down into the large open pit of the mine with the spiraling road.

"You didn't forget the charges, did you?" I asked.

"Oh, right," Wenge mumbled. He tossed an explosive at my head which I caught.

"Where am I setting this up?" I asked. I began to step down the rings into the large open pit. Blowing the sides of the place would cause a landslide and bury the dust that was ready and waiting for extraction.

"One over there." Bisque pointed. "And another over… there. That should just about do it. Then we blow it remotely."

I laid down a wall of the place on both legs and I walked up to a strut he'd indicated and began to strap the charge into place with duct tape. I set it for remote activation with a push of a button.

"So far this is going very well!" Jasper exclaimed next to me.

A small Schnee Dust Company marked airship spun overhead. It came in low and fast.

"Go set the last charge." I told her. I drew my sword and advanced on two men descending from the plane. I activated my semblance and drew my sword. I flew up to match the height of the plane with a mighty leap. I bladebeamed it.

The beam crashed into the hovering plane and it began to spin out from the tremendous attack. Pieces flew off as it started to spiral into the massive pit. I watched the plane start to level out but it was clearly struggling to remain in the air. I had been hoping to outright destroy it but this was close enough.

I turned back to the two who had descended on guide wires. They were picking themselves off the ground where they fell from the spinning plane.

I stepped up to them and charged my semblance.

"You must be Cloud Strife." The redhead said. He coughed a little but stood firm. He pulled an electro-stick on me as he stood up and caught his breath. The other man just raised his fists with a quiet grunt.

"That's me," I spoke quietly. Speaking quiet is always more threatening than speaking loud. At least in my experience.

Kill the girl. And the boy.

Like that. Exactly like that.

"I'm Rosso. And this is Rude." He gestured with his stick. He brushed dust off of his slacks. They were both wearing full suits and Rude was even wearing a tie. Rosso on the other hand was wearing a pair of goggles up above his eyes and he had an exposed chest under his jacket. He had tattoos next to his eyes, as well.

"We're the Turks. We're going to fuck up six ways to Sunday."

"I'll make this quick." I lowered my sword down at Rosso.

He laughed like I didn't just cut down the plane he was riding in. "Get 'em Rude."

Rude came at me with his fists. I blocked the heavy string of attacks he came at me with using the wide side of my blade. I spaced him out with the giant sword. I swung it around my body and into his gut and knocked him off his feet.

Rosso came at me in an electric blue blur. It was bright blue unlike my deep wafting blue semblance. A speed semblance perhaps. He moved behind me and hit me in the back of the head with his stick. I spun to deal with him but he just blurred away again.

Rude came at me once more. He was enormously strong, but slow. His partner more than made up for his lack of speed, however.

"Cloud's engaged the Turks." Came through a mic in my ear. It was Jasper's voice. "How long until the charges are set?"

My semblance activated. When Rosso came by for another swing I blocked his attack on my sword and reached out and grabbed him by the throat.

"Rude! Help!" I slammed him into the ground through his words.

I was at my most dangerous in a one on one fight. There were certain adaptations I had to make in a two on one fight that made me considerably less formidable. For one I couldn't stand there and non-limit Cross Slash my enemies. It just took too much time while an enemy could come up behind me.

Rude tackled me but I rolled rather than be grabbed by him. I came back up to my feet.

I flew at Rude and brought my sword in a tremendous swing upwards. It caught him in the chest and smashed him into the air. I jumped and swiped my sword down over my head in a brutal strike downwards that slammed him into the ground.

Rosso appeared next to where I landed and hit me in the back with his staff, making me stumble forward. He moved around and hit me in the gut, lightning fast. I grunted and bent over.

He made for another pass but I blocked it with the wide side of Crocea Mors and slashed him to the ground such that he landed on his ass and a blue crackling of aura went over him. He wasn't out just yet but he couldn't keep getting hit by me while I was Limit Broken. He just couldn't afford it, didn't have the aura.

Rude came at me from the other side and I kicked him in the chest and brought my sword down on his head, forcing him to sidestep.

I pulled a lightning crystal from my pocket and crushed it. I swept my hand towards Rosso but Rude reached out and grabbed my arm. I stared at him for a moment in surprise before it blew up in both of our faces.

I kick-jumped my way back to my feet easily and was just in time to block another swing of Rosso's electro-stick. He pushed me back on a pocket of air rather than forcing my feet to slide over the ground. He pushed me all the way back into the side of the pit along the dirt road we fought on.

I flew straight up on the wall and front-flipped over his head, I swung my sword at his back in a non-Limit Break Braver as I flipped over him but he moved out of the way of the helmsplitter with a narrow dodge.

I backflipped in place in his direction and nearly pinned him against the wall with an upward slicing aerial attack. He tried to step in and do some damage with his staff but I followed him with two horizontal slashes that forced him to block the first and jump out of the way of the second.

Rude came up on me in a huge bear hug. He grabbed me from behind and suplexed me. I felt my neck slam against the ground.

I slid back to my feet, already hovering back up. Rude clubbed me once and I thrust Crocea Mors forward and caught him. Then I pulled him into the air with it and then slammed him back into the ground.

"Charges are almost set." Wenge's voice came through my head. "And done. We're good to go."

I backflipped in place and hit Rude with a devastating falling aerial attack that swung horizontally. It forced him to slide back and made his aura flare up in a deep electric yellow.

I chased after him and kicked him in the middle of the chest. Then I kicked him in the side of the leg, making him fall, then I brought my blade around on the side of his head.

Rosso clashed with my blade before I could bring it around on the side of his partner's head. He grunted under the force of my early executed attack.

"Gah! What are you made out of?" Rosso grunted.

"I'm a hunter. A real one." I put my shoulder into the side of the blade and slammed the entire thing into his chest and knocked him to the ground. “You’re both bad jokes. I’d laugh but I don’t find it very funny.”

I was still holding on to my semblance. In a two on one fight like this I needed the speed and strength buffs more than I needed to spend it. Without the movement improvements I'd be unable to keep up with Rosso's speed. So unless I cornered him with it, I'd still need it. It was a difficult balance to play.

So I chased him after I knocked him back and brought my sword down in a massive downwards swing. I gambled and spent my Limit on a Cross Slash. I only caught Rosso in the last two swings of it but it shattered Rosso's aura and slammed him back into the crater wall.

Rude came at me but even in my non-elevated state he was terribly slow. I swept my blade at him which he caught on his knuckles. Then I hit him in the gut with my blade, and after that I kneed him.

I tapped my microphone. "Set off the charges."

"But Cloud…!" Bisque's voice came through.

"Just do it!”

I felt the charges go off and the rockslide begin as the struts collapsed. I hovered above and backflipped three times against the wall of the crater and escaped. I landed neatly beside Avalanche and Neo as the walls came tumbling in.

I looked down and over and saw Rosso and Rude climbing back on guide wires in the still recovering plane. I watched it take off with the two 'Turks' in tow. I felt almost positive that I'd be seeing them again.

"Let's mosey," I told them. I straddled my bike. Neo hopped on and wrapped her arms around me again. She pressed herself tight against me.

I watched and waited for Avalanche to climb back into their truck.

Then I spun off on a cloud of dirt.

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-WG

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belladxne · 4 years

Text

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 1

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,568 Description:

(cross the badlands to rise again, i will see you where the shadow ends)

Eijiro wakes with nothing. No supplies, no memory, no idea of what the strange, ancient chamber he awakens in is. All he has to guide him are a mysterious ancient piece of technology called a Sheikah Slate, a kind old woman who lives near to where he awakes, and above all—the voice, gruff and reassuring, that calls out to him from somewhere far off and bathes him in golden light.

Tasked with recovering his memories and left with the entire future of Hyrule—a kingdom which fell a century before—in his hands, Eijiro has a monumental responsibility laid before him. It will be worth it, he thinks, to finally see the voice that's been calling to him from Hyrule Castle, and to finally know once more who the voice belongs to.

There’s a light behind his eyelids; a vivid, warm yellow that he can’t ignore. It’s an explosion of color—small at first, but then all-encompassing and undeniable. For the moment, he knows only these two things: that there’s a brilliant blast of golden light even with his eyes closed, and that waking up is hard.

His mind comes around slowly, in sluggish fits and starts. His thoughts are quiet in a way that almost feels peaceful and he feels sort of exhausted, like if he really tried he could drift off and sleep a while longer, and it’s tempting. Waking up is hard, yeah, but he thinks it’d be harder if not for the stony, uncomfortable surface he’s laid on and the cold, thick feeling of some sort of liquid lapping at his sides ruining what could otherwise have been a great nap.

That, and the rough voice that almost seems to grate at the edges of his mind, more than his ears. He associates it with the gold, somehow.

Oi. Come on, up. Get up already.

The voice—it tugs at something, he thinks, in the back of his mind. That near-peaceful feeling is gone, but the exhaustion isn’t, and he fights through the lethargy blanketing his thoughts to try and do what the voice asks, but it’s—it’s not easy. Not even when the explosion of light flares so bright it hurts.

Fuck. Fuck, can’t you just open your eyes? This time, when the voice presses on, it sounds… it’s hard to describe. Maybe sad, maybe lonely—but both words seem too small and simple to encompass all of the weight behind the words. Gods, you’re a lazy bastard. Haven’t you slept long enough?

And finally, he manages it; a fluttering of his eyelids, a furrowing of his brow, and then—his eyes open for real.

He’s rewarded with an immediate, There you are, so quick and colored with relief that it almost seems like the words had come unbidden, before their source had even realized they were escaping. He manages to lift his head, craning his neck to find some sign of who’s been watching him—but he’s alone. That golden glow is gone.

And now that the hard part of battling his way to consciousness is over, he’s surprised with how quickly and easily his body responds when he props himself up on his elbows, searching the dim space more fully and squinting against what few lights there are. But there really is no one else here. How?

He clambers out of the strange stone basin he’s been laid in as the last of some strange, vividly glowing blue substance drains out of it, and as he pulls himself to his full height, he’s—he’s at a loss.

This room, it’s so oppressively silent but for the sound of droplets falling from his shorts and hair to hit the floor at his feet, and some strange constant humming sound, and it’s so oppressively dim but for the blue glow of the basin behind him and the orange, constellation-like markings lit up on the walls. He has no idea what in the hell is going on.

He feels… alert, on edge as he tries to puzzle out any sort of detail that would make his surroundings make sense, but curious, too. There’s something across the way that… might be an entrance? But it’s sealed over with what seem to be several thick stone pillars or panels, pressed so tightly that not even light can seep through the cracks. Is he trapped?

He starts towards the door, not sure what he’ll do if he is sealed in, but he knows he’s not about to just sit here and rot in this chamber. There has to be a way out, and he’s not going to give up before trying to find it.

There’s a pedestal a few steps from the entryway, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He’s a little more concerned with the obvious point of exit than with staying in this odd, dust-filled space to poke at random details. He’d have walked right past the weird plinth entirely, without another thought, if an odd chime and flash of light off of the strange glowing patterns on its face didn’t startle him as soon as he got close.

With a click and a whirr, part of the pedestal starts moving—lifting and rotating, before levering some sort of small, detailed slab out of its face and presenting it upright. Is… he supposed to take that?

He only takes half a step closer, examining the glowing markings and detailed carving of the Sheikah symbol on this strange tablet that—that he suddenly knows, with all his heart, is familiar to him somehow. It’s a relief, and a comfort, when nothing else has been remotely recognizable so far. He jumps when his moment of recognition is suddenly interrupted.

We don’t have all day, Shitty Hair. That’s my Sheikah Slate. You’re gonna need it to get around.

A pout comes unbidden to his lips, brow furrowing as his hand moves to his hair self-consciously. “It’s shitty?” he mumbles, honestly more to himself than anything, his voice hoarse from disuse.

There’s a pause in which he’s left to ponder it, before the voice is back, giving off almost embarrassed tones. Fuck. Sorry. Just—just hurry up and grab the damn thing, Eijiro.

It doesn’t even come to mind to question the demand; there’s just something about the voice that he trusts, and wants to listen to without hesitation. His hand is already halfway to the slate when he pauses, a small pang of alarm and confusion registering when he fully processes.

Eijiro. The voice had called him that, right? So, was it his name? Why did he not know his own name?

Shaken, he—Eijiro?—grabs the Sheikah Slate, weighing it in his hands and looking it over distractedly. He’s too preoccupied with not knowing—well, anything, the more he thinks about it. But the device does feel right, even more familiar now that he’s seeing it up close, and that’s some small comfort as he looks up, eyes searching even though he knows he’ll find no trace of the voice.

“Hey… what’s going on? Who—...” He trails off before he can even form a sentence, because—because there’s too many questions to ask. Who am I? Who are you? Who put me here? Where is this place? What is this place? Why am I here? What the hell is going on?

Eijiro doesn’t get any time to pull his thoughts together enough to ask any of those questions, because almost immediately there’s a subdued, mechanical grinding noise. Head snapping up, he registers with relief that the patterned stone panels that blocked the entryway start to slide upwards, not making half so much noise as he’d expect as they grate past each other.

He can’t help but be a little relieved—he’s not trapped, after all.

There’s no more input from the voice, though. Eijiro feels… antsy about it. In part because it hasn’t answered what little he has managed to ask, but also largely just because… he wants to hear more of it. He doesn’t really understand why; there’s no quality to the voice that’s especially appealing or comforting, if anything it’s coming off kind of gruff and rude, but there’s something about hearing it that settles his nerves. That makes him feel like things are okay, maybe.

Not about to waste time—Eijiro has no idea if the entrance opening is a temporary thing, or not, and he’s not looking forward to finding out until he’s on the other side of that door—he hurries out, eyes scanning the next chamber.

He’s… disappointed, he thinks, to find it empty. Nearly as barren as the room before, with just as little light, and no inhabitants. No one to explain things to him. And no sign of the voice here, either. He didn’t even realize he was specifically looking for the voice before the pang of disappointment, honestly. And it persists when there’s no further commentary from him, either.

Still, this room’s only nearly as empty as the previous room—there are, at least, a few things lying around that are much more familiar than the alien architecture of this place. Two chests haphazardly placed in front of the door, and several old-looking crates and barrels—the latter of which all seem to be splintered and rotted.

So Eijiro does what any self-respecting person trapped with no belongings, supplies, or apparent clothing would do when confronted with these seemingly long-abandoned surroundings.

He starts looting like crazy.

The chests, to his relief, hold pants, socks, boots, a belt, and a shirt. He wonders if the items were placed there for him, specifically? But it’s hard to remain enthusiastic about them as he tugs them all on, discovering the socks and pants are threadbare and spotted with holes—and the pants don’t even come close to reaching his ankles. The boots and belt both seem fine, if a little dubious; he kind of feels like the leather might just disintegrate out of the blue, but they’re workable. The shirt’s so itchy and moth-bitten and ill-fitted that he tugs it off immediately, making a face as he decides, really, he may as well go without.

The barrels and crates are, honestly, much less helpful. The barrels have already caved in on themselves and smell very faintly of rot, like whatever was in them had decayed away so long ago that even the smell had had time to fade; and he’s disappointed to discover after tearing the crates apart with single minded zeal that… just about anything of use in them has long-decayed, as well. He scores an empty satchel, quiver, and sheath—all of their previous contents unusably decrepit—and a few more belts to secure them all. And an absurd amount of empty bottles, all dusty but usable. There’s also some strange hooked clip for his belt that he realizes pretty quickly is made for him to link the Sheikah Slate’s handle into.

Surveying the wreckage of the crates and barrels he’d just torn through, he finds himself pouting again. All that property damage, and for nothing that useful.

Looking around again, he takes note, down a ramp from where he’d emerged, of the only other doorway out of this room—this one much larger and more intricate, though it also seems to be made of interlocking pillars. The Sheikah symbol sits at the center of this grand door as well. And just like the last room, there’s a pedestal to the side of this door—though it doesn’t have an indentation for the Sheikah Slate to fit into, like the last one did.

He jogs down the ramp, stopping in front of the pedestal to examine it curiously. In the last room, taking the slate from the similar plinth had been what caused the door to open—he thinks, at least? Probably? It’s the thing that makes the most sense, anyway. So is there something he can do with this one, to open the way? He hardly gets any time to wonder, before the voice is back and he feels a line of tension he hadn’t even realized was there bleed out of his shoulders.

This isn’t complicated, Sh—Eijiro. Just hold the Sheikah Slate to the pedestal.

He knows he’s not in the position right now—he has no idea what he’s doing and this voice, coarse at it is, is helping him—but Eijiro can’t help but roll his eyes as he reaches for the slate. He wonders if the voice would hear him if he teased, Bossy, much?, or commented on his haughty, judgmental tone.

Unhooking the slate from its new carrier on his belt, Eijiro only wavers for a moment as he wonders which side he’s meant to hold to the pedestal—it’d be pretty embarrassing to roll his eyes at this voice for giving him shit, only to fuck it up immediately. But he settles quickly on pressing the smooth side, with the flat panel that lights up, to the face of the pedestal.

Something about that looks right, even if he’s pretty sure he’s never done it before. And he's rewarded for his guess with a flash of light and an almost musical chime as the glowing orange curved lines atop the plinth turn blue.

Well, hey, the voice was right. This wasn't complicated at all. He doesn’t really get time to bask in his success before he's jumping as a bizarre, inhuman-sounding feminine voice sounds from the pedestal.

"Authenticating…"

The pedestal and the slate both seem to be making some repetitive, again near-musical beeping sound in sync with each other, before the unsettling new voice says, "Sheikah Slate confirmed."

The symbol in the center of the huge, sealed doorway lights up blue with a hum, and then with a loud rumble parts of the door that Eijiro didn't even realize previously were there begin to rotate and unlatch and slide away, before the panels of this gate lift away to let him out as well.

This time, the difference is starkly and immediately noticeable—bright, unmistakable daylight and a rush of clean, fresh air begin pouring in when the door has only barely begun to open. The sight is so reassuring, so sorely missed even if he hadn't realized it before, that he honestly almost throws himself to the ground to try to cram his way out into the freedom of the outdoors that much faster.

He doesn’t, of course, because he's not an animal (the thorough wreckage of the crates and barrels behind him aside), but he moves to stand directly in front of the door with eager, curious eyes.

Where is he, exactly? Will he know, once he can see?

It's when the door is only around halfway lifted away that the consequences of his earlier surroundings catch up with a vengeance—the sunlight so obligingly radiant that he’s forced to lift a hand to shield himself from the light, one eye squinted against the painful relief. Goddess, but he’s so glad to feel the sunlight on his skin again.

He finds himself unnerved to realize he can’t remember the last time he’d been out in the daylight. Not in the sense that it’s been a long time—though for all he knows, it has been—but in the sense that he genuinely doesn’t know.

He keeps realizing it, over and over again—when the name he assumes is his own was so unfamiliar to him, when he didn’t remember how he’d come to be in this place in the first place, when he’d had so many questions he couldn’t even figure out where to start—but as the failure to remember persists through everything, no matter how inane and everyday the memory might be, he finds himself growing increasingly alarmed. Why can’t he remember? Why can’t he remember anything?

Before panic can fully get its claws into him, the voice is back. And in spite of its rough tone, he somehow knows this voice well enough to know there’s more to it. Below the brusque surface it’s earnest, beseeching… and above all, encouraging.

Eijiro... Hyrule needs someone unbreakable, someone who’s not gonna waver. Hyrule needs you. I—

The voice cuts out, and by some means he can’t describe, he can sense something frustrated in the silence that follows for the next beat or two.

I’m fucking waiting. So get off your ass and help me fix this mess, already.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what the voice was going to say, originally.

Either his eyes finally adjust to the light, or it somehow lessens—he wonders, suddenly, if that first blast of light hadn’t been the sun’s rays at all, but more of that explosive golden glow that had pierced his slumber?—because he can see, now, and his eyes no longer ache for trying. In front of him is a passageway, short enough to easily see up the stairs in front of him, to the opening that leads to the sky.

Gods, he can’t wait to see the sky again.

He can’t help it—he runs. He’s up the first set of dust-covered stairs in a flash, and doesn’t waver for more than a split-second when he’s confronted with a wide puddle that reaches halfway up his calves, or the uneven, eroded face of rock where there had clearly once been another set of stairs. As if he’s going to let something like that slow him down.

With a wild and eager whoop, he launches himself up out of the water he’d just soaked his pants splashing through, fingers easily finding grip on the rugged surface. It’s not so easy to tug himself up as he’d expected, even accounting for how slippery his old boots are from the water—but he’s still up the surface in a matter of seconds. He levers himself up over the ledge to sprawl at the foot of another set of stairs with only a little wheezing. Which is more than he expected, honestly? It was such a short climb.

He doesn’t give himself time to dwell on it, though, as he clambers to his feet to jog once more up the final stretch of the passageway, and out into the fresh air.

It’s… well, it’s breathtaking, out there. Even just from the mouth of the carefully-constructed cave—the overgrown grass at the foot of the entrance even looks vivid in the daylight, the sky a clear and welcome view, the foliage hanging over the entrance and the pines that dot the ground in a few places just outside all so full of life and color. There’s a volcano directly ahead in the distance—Death Mountain, his mind chimes helpfully, and he’s relieved to know something. The more of the world he sees opening around the entrance to the cave, the more beautiful it is.

Eijiro lets his feet carry him forward unthinkingly, moving slowly at first and then with more purpose, until he’s all-out running. Past grass and bushes and rocks that jut from the ground, until he’s standing at the edge of a cliff face out in front of the cavern he’d emerged from, and the sensation is all at once overwhelming, as he looks out over forests and plains and mountains and most of Hyrule in the distance.

Eyes wide in wonder, he feels like he has the entire world at his feet. It takes a bit for Eijiro to adjust to how good this all feels.

The colors are so bright, the wind and sunlight on his skin feel downright heavenly, and even just the smell of the fresh air around him is overwhelmingly exhilarating after the stifling chambers he’d just left. He looks around, again searching—if not for some sign of the voice that’s been guiding and beckoning him, then at least for something else to prompt him to speak to Eijiro. He’s the only thing Eijiro really, really knows right now—he feels a little adrift without the voice, wants to hear more.

When he turns his head, though, the wind blows his hair into his face, and he’s—startled, honestly, by how red it is. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that—doesn’t know if he should have been expecting it? Was it always red? No… he’s fairly certain it used to be black, at some point.

Little victories—he’s increasingly relieved to at least know some things. Aside from that, though, the red doesn’t bother him. He kind of likes it. A lot, actually. He wonders how long it’s been red.

His moment of distraction over, Eijiro finally catches sight of something of note—a figure off to the right, farther down the incline of the cliff he stands on. It’s a woman, he thinks? But it’s hard to tell between the distance and the hooded cloak she wears. She’s hunched over a campfire under a stone overhang some eighty feet away, maybe, tending to the flames by prodding with a stick. She looks up at him, then, and he thinks he makes out her head tilting inquisitively.

Finally—finally! Another person! Maybe she knows him, or can at least give him some context for where he is and what’s going on.

He barely takes half a step in her direction before realizing, flustered, that he should probably put on the shirt he’d discarded in the shrine. Gods, he doesn’t want to be rude. He drops to a crouch and pulls the old satchel off his shoulder, opening it and digging through the few supplies he’d managed to accumulate to try and gingerly extricate the ratty old shirt from the mess without tearing or damaging it further on anything else he’s stuffed in there.

He tugs the shirt on quickly, sighing in resignation as the scratchy, too-small shirt slides over his skin. This sucks. Is it so much to ask that he have some clothes that fit? Or that are, you know, comfortable, maybe?

But he pulls the satchel back over his shoulder anyways, hoping it won't be long before he can find something that suits him better. Standing once more, he starts down the gentle slope that the top of the cliff follows, towards the woman and her cozy fire. It's not far—he keeps up a quick pace and closes the distance quickly, only slowing when he gets nearer so as not to alarm her.

He can make out, now, more details as soon as she lifts her head—like the grey hair that spills from her deep navy hood, and the laughter lines that crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiles warmly at him. He’s not sure how old he’d guess she is—very, maybe?—but he can see some strands of dark green hair mixed in with the grey that hint at what her hair used to look like, and everything about her posture and expression screams welcoming.

“Well, hello!” she calls as he approaches, and her eyes sparkle kindly. There’s something about the color—a bright, lively green—that feels… important, somehow? He doesn’t think she’s familiar to him, but he’s not sure if how comforted he is by her demeanor is just how she is, or because he does know her. “What a pleasant surprise; it’s not often that I see travelers hereabouts.”

Eijiro hesitates. She doesn’t seem to recognize him, or, at least, hasn’t addressed him as someone she knows. Is she a traveler? If she’s not, then she has to live around here—so—so she should know something about how he got here, right? Maybe she’d seen something? She’s the only person he’s seen in a position to answer any questions, and it all depends on how long she’s been here.

His mouth, unfortunately, moves far faster than he can think of what to say, so abruptly he blurts, “Who’re you?”

He flushes immediately at how rude of a response that is, but before he has a chance to start stammering out apologies at having completely brushed off her greeting, she cuts him off with a forgiving laugh. She seems surprised by his blunder, but not upset—if anything, she looks downright delighted at his lack of manners.

“Straight to business, I see. Sorry to say it, but I’m not really anyone of note.” She pauses, and though her approachable demeanor doesn’t shift at all, Eijiro swears that for just a moment, there’s something sharper to her expression, like she’s gauging something about him—and then, almost as quick as it came, it’s gone, and she’s smiling a little wider. “But my name is Inko, if that’s what you mean. What brings a bright-eyed young man like you to such an odd place?”

See, he’d answer that, if he knew. Blinking, he looks around as he asks, “Uh, where are we?”

“Question for a question, hm?” She sits back a little, still with that warm and comforting expression, and gestures to the fire. “Why don’t you at least sit down, sweetie? Then I’ll gladly answer any questions you have.”

He hesitates. Everything out here is so—so open and bright and tangible, it almost makes the waking up seem fake. Like that bizarre underground structure he’d come from, the odd way it functioned, the air of disuse, and the voice, most of all the strange and inexplicable voice—like all of it was some weird fantasy, because it doesn’t make any sense. Out here, he’s still confused, but it all feels so much less surreal. If it weren’t for the slate still hooked to his belt, and how very real the feeling the voice evoked in him was, he might have dismissed it all. But he can’t.

And if it was all real—the last thing the voice had said to him. That Hyrule needs him, and the voice is waiting. And that Eijiro has to fix... something. Does he really have time for this?

Meeting her eyes, hopeful and kindhearted and—and there’s still something about that green that seems significant to him, though he can’t say what or why—he realizes he doesn’t have the heart to say no. She’s just a sweet little old lady! He can’t tell her he doesn’t want to sit and talk, especially when she’d seemed so happy for company she’d implied was so rare, surely the voice wouldn’t expect that of him. It might as well start asking him to kick puppies at that rate.

“Um, sure.” He figures—as long as the voice doesn’t emerge from its silence to start yelling at him, this can’t be that much of a delay. And if he does start yelling at him, Eijiro can always tell him to chill out. Eijiro takes the final few steps forwards, and starts to crouch by the fire when the wind shifts and he catches a scent so mouth-watering he thinks he’s going to die. His eyes zero in for the first time on its source—a small basket Inko has next to the fire, full of baked apples—and, by the Goddesses, he suddenly realizes he’s more starving than he’s ever been in his life.

His stomach rumbles absurdly loud and he’s grabbed one of the apples faster than he can so much as think—it’s already halfway to his mouth by the time he remembers himself, eyes flicking to Inko sheepishly.

Her only reaction is to throw her head back and laugh, and the sound’s too comforting and motherly for him to get embarrassed. “By all means, help yourself.”

“No, I—that was really rude, sorry, you can—” He starts to offer it back to her but she leans towards him and reaches forward to secure her hands around his, keeping his fingers curled around the still-toasty apple. She gives a firm shake of her head, the kind he doesn’t think it's even possible to argue against.

“I’m just one old woman, sweetie; I can’t eat all of these by myself. Have one. You sound awfully hungry.” Oh, no, she’s got a Mom Tone, too; she really can’t be argued with. As soon as she seems satisfied that he’s going to take the apple—which he does, and immediately takes a huge bite—she sits back once more. “Now, then. What’s your name, dear?”

Oh. Uh... “...Eijiro?” He really, really tries not to make it sound like a question, but he doesn’t think he succeeded. She doesn’t seem to find it amiss, however, smiling brighter and giving a nod.

“Eijiro. Let’s get started on those questions of yours, hm? Now, you asked where we are...”

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbk #bkshm #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro #bakugo katsuki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIRISHIMA IT'S BOTW WITH YOU AS THE PROTAG #I LOVE YOU DEARLY MY ROCK SON.

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verus-veritas · 5 years

Text

Collan's Caption This Catch Up

I was obsessed with Cullen McCathers. Coming to live in a college dorm after years of a hermit-like high school existence was culture shock. Back home I was the weird, skinny nerd, the token gay social outcast who did his best to avoid the rest of the small-minded, small town denizens who were all too willing torment the obvious outsider given the slightest opportunity, never mind that I had been born there just like the rest of them. So I had made sure the opportunities they got were few and far between, and I had assumed I would continue staying out of the way in college. Keeping my head down was a winning strategy. Why mess with success? What I hadn't counted on was the reality of being forced to live cheek-by-jowl with a seeming unending parade of ideal male bodies. Within the first hour I was overwhelmed by them. On the paths of the campus they walked, in the lounges of the dorm they casually relaxed, in the halls they fist bumped with their bros, and one in particular even invaded my room. I had requested a single room and had thought it had gotten approved, but in typical bureaucratic fashion I showed up on the first day of Freshman orientation to find someone already occupying an obvious double room. I had a roommate. Cullen McCathers. From that very first day, I discovered that even though he spoke to me in a friendly enough fashion and I apparently responded appropriately to the conversation, none of it really registered. He remained a remote and unattainable object despite our sharing a living space, because my thoughts, my gaze, the core of my very being seemed to be pulled into his orbit on a visceral level. He was muscled and toned like a fitness model, and he had a strong face that lit up when he smiled. His voice was sexy, his eyes were sexy, his walk was sexy. His scent, whenever I managed to get a whiff of it, drove me wild with desire, and after watching him unself-consciously change in our room to go take a shower, I knew he was hung so big that I wondered how he dealt with all of that meat in his crotch on a daily basis.

Within a day my universe shifted, and he became its center. He filled my waking fantasies and starred in my nightly dreams.

I was obsessed with Cullen McCathers. ***********

I guess my capability for intense mental concentration and focus, coupled with the depth of my obsession helped trigger the beginning of it. Each night I would think of Cullen as I drifted off to sleep, going over in detail the fragments of him I had collected in my mind that day, cherishing the nape of his neck, the swell of his bicep, the revelation of his tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. I yearned for him and cast myself towards him with wild abandon in my head. And then one night a couple of weeks into the semester, I felt myself drift off to sleep as usual with thoughts of Cullen filling my head, like the proverbial visions of sugarplums, but instead of my consciousness slipping away until morning, it slipped sideways instead and I found myself hovering just off the floor next to Cullen's sleeping body. I looked across the room towards my bed, if what I did can be called looking, seeing as I was a bodiless consciousness, and I saw my own body just where I would have expected to see it, lying and breathing gently in slumber. I was surprisingly unconcerned with what was undoubtedly a highly unusual occurrence. Instead, I was fascinated by what was happening and started to examine my disembodied self. I seemed to perceive some sort of silvery cord leading back to my body, and a scrap of information surfaced from my endless eclectic reading over the years. Astral projection. This is what this was. I had written it off as new age crap, but here was proof to me that not only was it not crap, but I had somehow managed to achieve it. I turned back to look at Cullen and saw the same silvery cord stretching out of his body and out through the wall, anchoring his dream self to his physical self as he journeyed through the night. The instant I realized this, my thoughts became action, and I flew out of the room through the wall, following Cullen's silvery cord.

The world blurred by dissolving into formless colors, before brightening and resolving into a daytime city street. Cullen was there, arguing with a police officer, a clown, and a talking cartoon goldfish in a bowl hovering in mid-air. Cullen was dreaming, and I was in his dream. I sensed some sort of change in myself and looked down to see that I had a body again. I walked towards the arguing quartet, but as I did the police officer flew up into the air, the clown popped like a balloon, and the goldfish in the bowl turned into a demonic cheerleader who began to chase a suddenly terrified Cullen down the sidewalk towards me. I was enraged that anything would dare to try and hurt Cullen, so I grabbed a parking meter out of the sidewalk and stabbed the cheerleader through the chest with it. She dropped to the ground instantly and vanished. "Oh, man! I thought I was dead for sure! You saved my life! Thank you!" said Cullen and hugged me tight. I went rigid in shock. Cullen had spoken to me, and for the first time it had actually registered as words instead of meaningless gibberish. Cullen had touched me. Cullen had hugged me! For the briefest of moments Cullen's dream world had become real to me, and the combination of his speaking to me, touching me, and hugging me threw me into such turmoil that between one instant and the next I was suddenly waking up in my bed in my darkened dorm room, gasping for air and shaking in reaction. I was obsessed with Cullen McCathers. ***********

To say that my obsession with Cullen deepened from that point on would be a gross understatement. Now that I knew I could spend all of my sleeping time with Cullen, I began to do so on a regular basis. He had starred in my dreams and now I began to star in his, sleep-stalking him every night. In his dreams, I found I could actually talk with him in a way that I was completely unable to in the waking world. Admittedly, most of the conversations were variations of his thanking me for one rescue or another since I became his dream protector and hero, saving him from countless monsters, demons, witches, aliens, and bad guys who were gunning for him because someone had framed him for a murder he didn't commit. After that first dream hug, I did everything I could to initiate physical contact between us during our nightly escapades, an arm casually draped over his shoulder, a hand gently tousling his hair, countless little touches, smiles, looks into his eyes. In the waking world, he grew more open and friendly towards me, looking at me more, smiling at me more, continuing to try and engage me in conversation despite the fact that I continued to blank it all out and watch our interactions as an observer, rather than as the active participant I was when we dreamed together.

It also dawned on me that there was a sexual tension between us that hadn't existed before. I was still jacking off to mental images of him every chance I got, but I realized he was spending more and more time wearing less and less when we were alone together in our room. He had never been shy about displaying his body, but as the days went by he went from t-shirts to muscle shirts to tank tops to bare torso, and from sweats to shorts to briefs to nothing at all. I exerted every ounce of my self control to not stare at the obvious things and be as casual and nonchalant about it as he seemed to be. The weeks passed, and the days grew shorter as fall progressed towards winter. I welcomed the turning of the seasons, because longer nights meant more time to sleep and dream with Cullen. Things might have continued on this way, but one evening in early November I went to sleep and slid sideways out of my body to find I wasn't alone in the room. There was another presence like myself, hovering just off the floor next to my bed as I was hovering next to Cullen's. It was another waking dreamer, I knew, and as I looked more closely I realized its silvery cord led straight to Cullen's sleeping body!

"Now it all makes sense," came Cullen's voice in my mind. "This is what you do. This is how you're always in my dreams." "Yes," I replied. "It happened first spontaneously, but it quickly became directed. I'm sorry. I can't seem to help myself where you're concerned." "You love me, don't you?" he asked. "Yes," I admitted sadly, thinking that this was probably going to be some sort of ending. "I've been obsessed with you from the first day. Love followed quickly once I started to get to know you through your dreams. I can't seem to talk to you when I'm awake. I think the reality of you is too much for me to take after a lifetime of isolation, but all I want is to be with you, in all ways, always and forever, to love and protect you, to be one with you. I'm sorry." "Why are you sorry? Can't you tell I feel the same way? Ever since you invaded my dreams and started saving me, I've become obsessed with you too. I go to sleep each night, knowing that you'll be there to keep me safe, even though you can't say so during the day. I could tell the feeling was there somehow, that we were connected on a deeper level. I've been longing to meet you on that deeper level, and now, suddenly, here we are." "You love me too?" I asked incredulously. "Yes," he said simply, and even though he had no body at the moment to express it, I felt the warmth of his smile on me anyway. I moved towards his warmth, and he moved towards me. We met in the center of our dorm room, still hovering just off the floor, and with no transition our bodiless bodies merged into a single being with two silvery tethers anchored at opposite sides of the room. There are no words to describe the unity we experienced in that moment. Pile every description imaginable of physical and emotional intimacy on top of each other, squeeze them all together, multiply all of that by any impossibly large number you can think of, then magnify it all again by an equally impossibly large number and you still won't approach it. Neither of us were prepared for it, and like the first time Cullen had hugged me, I found myself suddenly abruptly awake in my body in my bed. The only difference was that this time, Cullen was awake too. He launched himself, naked and erect, out of his bed and across the room to mine. I had thrown my blanket off, and his beautiful bare body landed on top of me, his mouth seeking mine to devour me. His gigantic cock leaked onto my stomach as he ground his crotch into mine, only my briefs separating us. He moaned his frustration into my mouth as we kissed, then he sat up and back, reached down, grabbed the opening in the front of my briefs, and with a grunt, ripped them open and yanked the remains out from under me, leaving me as naked as he was.

He laid himself fully down on top of me again and our legs intertwined. He kissed me again, and we were touching all along the length of our bodies, from feet to crotch to mouth. His cock ground down into me and my hips pushed myself in turn up into him, trying to somehow physically force our bodies to merge as our essences had in the moment before we awoke. Given our frenzy, we didn't last very long, and we shot together allowing at least part of our physical selves to merge into one as we mixed our cum together between our heaving bodies. As amazing as the orgasm had been, as amazing as it was that I now knew this beautiful body on top of me held a soul that loved me in a way that I had never felt before, my eyes started to fill and tears began to drip down my cheeks with sadness, because I knew that I would never be able to experience in the waking world the unity we had shared as we slept. I looked up at Cullen, and saw tears to mirror my own. I was with Cullen McCathers. ***********

I'm not entirely sure how we got through the next few weeks. We somehow got through classes and kept up some semblance of normalcy during the day, but it all seemed remote and unreal, because at night we left our bodies behind and merged together until dawn. After a while, it became harder to determine where I ended and he began. Our body language, speech patterns, and ways of thinking became similar to the point that at times it felt like we were one person living in two bodies. Thanksgiving approached, and with it the inevitable family obligations. We had become so detached from life outside school and each other that it was almost a surprise when it was time to part and we realized we should have made plans to avoid the separation. There was no help for it, though, so off we both dutifully went, to our individual destinations. Wednesday night was misery. I was back in the place I had grown up, that I hated and that hated me. I went to bed early, eager to experience the all-consuming love that I had discovered with Cullen, only to discover that I was unable to reach him fully. We had a vague sense of each other across the distance, but we couldn't seem to connect. I spent the night lonely and aching in my heart. Thursday was just as bad, spending Thanksgiving Day with my perpetually distant parents. It made no sense to me that they would want me here today after years of not really caring whether I was around or not. I had someone now who wanted me and I wasn't with him. The night was another one of yearning and a futile struggle to connect with Cullen in our dreams. Friday the separation became actual pain. My head hurt, my heart hurt, my body and soul ached to be with Cullen. I begged off the Black Friday shopping trip, knowing I would not be able to bear the long drive to the nearest town that was large enough to have decent places to pointlessly spend money on meaningless gifts. My parents drove off and I went back to my old room and flopped on the bed. After the last two frustrating nights I was feeling defeated and depressed, and I began to resign myself to not being with Cullen again until Sunday. I eventually felt myself drifting off to sleep, only this time, for the first time in months, I actually slept and dreamed. Except it wasn't a dream, it was a horrific nightmare, the details of which I didn't remember upon my panicked awakening except for the sensations of terror and profound loss. I curled up on my side, hugged my pillow, and sobbed uncontrollably at the feeling that if I didn't do something drastic, I would somehow lose the connection Cullen and I had found. I couldn't let it slip away, to become just me again instead of the unity of us. I had slept longer than I had expected to and it was already late afternoon. Knowing my mom, my parents wouldn't be back from the shopping frenzy until late so I had hours left to be undisturbed. Dropping off to sleep had almost become second nature to me, so it was easy for me to roll over and take back control of my unconsciousness. One thought was uppermost in my mind. I had to reach Cullen, no matter what. My eyes closed, my breathing deepened, and unlike earlier in the day, I slipped sideways out of my body as I fell asleep. This time I had a new determination and started to fly across the miles to my obvious starting point in my search for Cullen – the room that we shared. I felt pulled tight across the distance from my body, but I held on to where I was through the familiarity of the location. Uncertain what to do next, I hovered once again in the place that was ours, where I could feel him all around me even without his being there. I knew my sense of time was distorted when I noticed it was dark outside. I had been here simply contemplating Cullen, and hours had drifted by without my realizing. I began to notice, too, that my sense of him was growing stronger rapidly. My excitement and longing for him grew with each passing moment until the door opened, and there he was. I could tell he was as angry and frustrated as I had been. I moved to surround him and comfort him, but he couldn't feel me there. He sat on his bed for a little, but his tension didn't seem to be allowing him to relax. He turned to his travel bag and pulled out a bottle of wine, opened it, and drank some straight from the bottle, then went and sat on *my* bed and put his face into my pillow, breathing in deeply through his nose. He hugged the pillow to his chest and a tear dripped down his cheek. After a bit, he got up, tossed my pillow back on my bed, grabbed the bottle and headed out the door. I followed wondering where he was going. His goal turned out to be the top floor lounge at the back of the dorm, where very few people bothered to go. It was deserted, since it was the Friday evening after Thanksgiving. Cullen drank some more wine and gradually seemed to relax. By the time the bottle was empty, he had propped himself up across a couple of chairs and was staring blankly at the wall. Bit by bit his eyes closed, and then there he was, slipping sideways out of his body to join me. "You're here!" he said with surprise. "I've been waiting for you. I pushed and pushed to get here across the distance. I wasn't sure where I was going to go from here. The distance is difficult, but you came back, and you're here, and now we can be together again." And just like that we were. We were one again and our joy was endless. The unity of ourselves into a single being was a miracle, and all the sweeter for having been denied it the last two days. The only things that marred our joining were the silvery cords heading off to different places, Cullen's to his body in the chairs just next to us, and mine to my far away self. We were one. We needed to be one. All other parts of us were one. The cords needed to be one too. We were tugging on my silvery cord in an attempt to push it into his, when suddenly there was a sensation of severing, and an unattached tendril reeled in from a distance, flailed around as if seeking purchase, then laid itself down over Cullen's cord and into his body. ***********

We awoke with a start, disoriented from being in an unaccustomed place, uncomfortable from having fallen asleep on the chairs, and still drunk from the wine. We felt such an overwhelming feeling of happiness and well-being that we wished we could tell someone, but we knew no one would ever really understand. As I stumbled back to my room, I knew that the other bed would be remaining empty, but that was ok. I was with my love and I was within my love. We were one person forever. I was one person with no further need for two bodies. I undressed for bed and looked down at my body as usual and for the first time, happy with what I saw. I was masculine and strong in my body. I was loved and protected in my soul. I was Cullen McCathers.

Source: “Collan's Caption This Catch Up (10th May)”

#possession #astral projection #soul #roommates #love #permanent #maletransformationblog

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funkzpiel · 4 years

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WIP Post

Ya’ll, I thought I lost my flash drive. For context, I keep all my writing on it like an idiot because you don’t want to know how many times I’ve misplaced it. I found it, bless - and so here’s a few WIPs. My writing brain just fucking stalled so hard during quarantine, but I swear, I’ve been chiseling away at some things.

Includes content for the following:

The Witcher

Fantastic Beasts

Assassin’s Creed

Keep reading for WIP excerpts! If that’s of any interest to anyone, of course. ^^;

The Witcher | Stardust AU - Chapter 2:

He ached, bony weary in a way stars had no right to be. High above the sun blared down, reaching them furiously through even the dense canopy of the trees, and Geralt felt every inch of it weighing down on him. He was exhausted. Exhausted from the fall. Exhausted because it was day and usually he slept during the day. And moreso than any of that, he was exhausted by his captor-turned-dealmaker’s endless prattling. The star was beginning to wonder if the man had been cursed, he talked so incessantly, but he would have noticed the sort of energy that a curse puts off the moment it’s laid – and he had no recollection of a man like Jaskier ever being associated with an energy output that would match such a thing.

“She’s really quite fair, Geralt. Fair like the finest spilled milk – well, er, I used to think so until I met you, my pale friend. Spilled milk and delicate honey, perhaps. Yes, that seems right. Poured from the vase of Aphrodite herself. Molded, I daresay, in her image – she is that lovely. Just wait until you see her; but don’t go getting any ideas either, star. She’s mine,” Jaskier babbled ahead of him, on and on, yanking cheerfully at the chain between them sheerly because his hands swung from the sheer unexpected force of his positivity and enthusiasm.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Geralt growled through his teeth, soft so the bard might not hear him and yet unable to resist finally throwing a barb at the chatty man. He watched the trees, their tall trunks blurring pleasantly into a soft lull, making his eyelids heavy. He shook his head to rid himself of the feeling and grit his teeth painfully. Vigilence, he reminded himself. He could rest when he was home.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and the star’s bright eyes darted up only for Geralt to startle when Jaskier was suddenly standing far, far closer than he had anticipated. His jaw ached from its frustrated clenching. Jaskier didn’t seem to notice though. Just tilted his head as though that might provide him a more illuminating angle with which to study to star bound to him and said, “I’ve called your name thrice now, star. Are you quite alright?”

“I don’t know, bard. I was plucked from the sky, thrust into a form I don’t recognize and then chained to a blathering fool. What do you think?”

Jaskier just looked at him critically for a long moment, as though searching out some wound or cause, before he finally said, “I think you’re grumpy. And you need a nap.”

The Witcher | Creature!Jaskier:

Geralt had always known that Jaskier was not quite human. After all, how could he be? Geralt had not been so alienated from humanity, so separate from mankind as to be oblivious to the difference between a regular man’s lifetime and his own. And yet, over the course of decades, Jaskier did not age. His brown hair never silvered. His cornflower blue eyes never greyed or dulled. It had been easy, at first, to write it off as genetics or the benefit of devoting one’s money, however small, to the procurement of ointments and bath oils and lotions. His hands were always lovely despite hours of plucking lute strings, his skin always glowing despite hours of dust and grit on the road.

Oh, he had known. But Jaskier had never offered the information, and Geralt saw no need to ask. The bard was hardly out there slaughtering villages. The witcher doubted the man were even capable of it. He had seen Jaskier run to him – bug-eyed and pale – too many times from some monster he had accidentally startled on the road to ever believe the man a creature capable of slaughter.

So just as Jaskier had accepted him as Geralt rather than as a Witcher, he had accepted Jaskier for who he was, rather than what – whatever that what was.

Fantastic Beasts | Sequel to “And The Tag Read Simply: Pretty”

Graves stopped in the doorway of the morgue before Theseus realized he was there and took a moment to absorb the view before him. The room was meagerly illuminated, drawing long shadows on the Theseus’ face and on the blankets that covered five bodies, all set up in a row of gurneys, their bare feet pointed as Theseus. Each body had a tag looped around the toe, their names scrawled in the messy handwriting of the diener on staff when they had been rolled in. Theseus had his hands closed tight around a piece of paper. He looked old; about as old as Percival felt.

Five bodies. Five aurors, dead.

Graves felt every one of them like a crack in his bones, aching when he breathed, when he slept, when he moved. He sighed, startling Theseus from his thoughts, and slowly walked to join him. When he was close enough, Theseus moved as though to grab Graves’ shoulder – stopping only when he registered the slight flinch Graves still hadn’t learned how to control. Jaw clenched, he returned to strangling the paper in his hands.

“Diaz, Copperfield, Wu, Firth and Hollows,” Theseus said, listing the names as clinically and succinctly as he could but unable to hide the sharp constriction of his throat. Graves’ scanned each tag, noting that the names all matched Theseus’ list. Five aurors. Three of them were aurors he had personally trained in some capacity or another. One was not much younger than himself. Another was just a babe – fresh from the academy.

None of them were even on Graves’ task force. They were just aurors investigating matters utterly unrelated to Grindelwald’s crimes. In fact, all matters related to the madman had been removed from the desks of the Department of Magical Security. These men and women should have never gotten remotely close to the dark wizard’s line of fire, and yet here they were – five aurors found dead on the steps of MACUSA.

“We’re certain it was him?” Graves asked. Theseus looked at him as though he was loathe to answer, and that was all Graves needed to see to know the truth. He held out his hand and reluctantly, Theseus handed over the paper he had been strangling. It was crumpled now, but the ink still stood out bright and perfect, not one bit of it smudged.

Why are you hiding my beautiful gifts, little love?

Assassin’s Creed Syndicate | Wild Youth - Chapter 7:

He ached in horrible ways. Growing bones made fragile with cold, throbbing twofold. The sheets were twisted around him uncomfortably, but even when they’d magically right themselves he found that ensnaring himself anew was inevitable when he was so murderously hot one second, then freezing the next. His clothing clung to clammy skin, his hair too. His little hand kept reaching for something, someone, but the bed was so big and Evie was off no doubt playing.

‘Why didn’t you wear your coat, Jacob,’ he could remember his father saying, voice laden with weary misunderstanding – as though Jacob were a creature to puzzle out rather than a son. ‘Evie wore hers and now she’s playing and you’re stuck in bed. Is that what you want, Jacob?’

Heat seared around the edges of his eyes, his little jaw clenched. Of course that wasn’t what he wanted. Who wanted to be sick? Old Lady Cusick had his coat. She had been patching a hole in the elbow from a rather rough fall. It was only a few hours without it. What else should he have done with that time? Sat in the corner trying to make sense out of father’s stupid books when he could have been practicing his sneaking or his climbing or his tumbling? Just because he had trouble reading didn’t mean he didn’t take things seriously. He was trying.

Why couldn’t father ever see that?

#WIPs #The Witcher #Fantastic Beasts #And The Tag Ready Simply Pretty #Assassin's Creed Syndicate

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

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Humans are Space Orcs “Clover Chains”

They slept on the shuttle that night, Vir curled up in the corner with waffles, and Sunny lying on her back staring out the window at the vast expanse of stars. It had been a nicer view of space on her planet, but Earth was just so remote and the stars were distant. There was only one moon, and no closely neighboring planets. The Drev home world was, in fact, the moon of a much larger planet, so the night sky was practically ablaze at night. Earth sat in an inky black void, so alone.

Humans, so alone. She looked over at Vir who lay curled up on his side asleep arm draped over the dog. She had caused him a lot of trouble, she hadn’t understood just how much trouble, and instead of being with his human family, he had chosen to stay in the shuttle with her as what? A show of solidarity to the alien that tore of his leg?

The thought made her a little sick. And then his family had been made at HIM for keeping her. That confused her. Of course the old grey human and the young dark hair human were nice enough to at least meet her, but she could still see their apprehension.

And then there was Vir himself, was he still afraid of her? He had almost said as much, and that thought confused her, and hurt her more than it should. He seemed to act so normal most of the time.

She didn’t sleep at all that night, instead watching as the stars spun in the sky.

The sky faded to a soft yellow, than pink, and then blue before Vir awoke, stretching himself out beside his dog. The dog yawned, and its ears came back arching its back a little.

He looked up at Sunny giving her the bright sort of smile he was known for. You wouldn’t have thought yesterday was a terrible one by looking at his expression. Wouldn’t have known his PTSD had struck with a vengeance.

“What do you think Sunny, some breakfast?”

She tilted her head a little, “And where do we get that?”

“At the house of course.” He responded. His voice was calm and nonchalant, but she thought she detected a flash of something in his remaining eye. His posture was stiff and cool. Sunny made no argument pushing the door to the shuttle open allowing a cool morning breeze to wash over them. He stopped sunny at the top of the ramp. Pulling out the pegs they had attached, and then left, on the back of her armor when attaching the machine gun.

He levered himself upwards resting his weight on the pegs before patting her back, “Come on Sunny, let’s go.” With a modicum of apprehension, Sunny charged into the trees with the dog running beside her and the human balancing at her back. She slowed as she came into the yard.

A strange alien scene, with an unusual structure, and a soft carpet of short trimmed grass. Flashes of moon white human faces in the window peering out at them with suspicion and distrust. Vir stayed right where he was leaning on Sunny’s shoulder like he belonged there since the beginning of time.

The dog lay in the grass at Sunny’s feet. Snuffling around in the dirt occasionally licking it’s paw.

Krill was the first one to notice floating down from the porch to land on the grass.

“Are you feeling well, Captain?”

Captain Vir dropped down from her back, “Very good, thank you for asking. Are they having breakfast?”

“Yes, the other humans are feeding.”

Vir rolled his eyes, “Why do you always have to make things sound so weird.” The human wondered heading up the stairs and into the house closing the door behind him just a crack. As soon as he walked in Sunny heard voices raising slightly. There was wild gesticulating as the humans spoke with each other. Sunny looked away trying not to listen in on their arguing.

She thought of her headphones left aboard the shuttle.

And then a soft whispering sound. She turned her head quite suddenly just in time to see the two white faces vanish back behind the corner of the house with a squeal. They looked like the small creatures she had seen the day before, but these….. these must be human kits, she was beginning to see the resemblance. They had larger heads and bigger eyes than their adult iterations, but they had the same skin and same hair pattern.

Curiously, she walked in that direction leaving imprints in the grass from her passing. The whispering grew louder, and she poked her head around the corner to find two of the human kits sitting in the grass by the house wide eyed and whispering. In front of the house, Sunny could hear more of the kits screaming

The little blonde one squealed quietly in fear, and the little dark haired one almost screamed as Sunny loomed over them, blocking out the rising sun.

The little blonde one glanced around for escape then turned her eyes to Sunny, “My momma said you hurt Uncle Adam, is that true?” Despite the question, she didn’t seem worried.

Sunny tilted her head a little, “Yes, tiny human, I did.”

The human blinked, “You’re a girl!”

Sunny tilted her head the other direction, “Yes?”

The little girl tilted her head, “Did you say sorry?

“Yes, I did.”

The child tilted her head to the side in contemplation for a long moment and then shrugged, “Ok.” She jumped up from the ground and looked up at sunny. The tiny creature was wearing green army pants and tiny black boots with a yellow shirt. She stood about as tall as Krill meaning Sunny dwarfed her by almost 4 feet, “My name is Kimber, what’s your name?”

Sunny was a tiny bit surprised at the small human, and couldn’t help but admiring her bravery. Unlike the other adult humans, the tiny human didn’t seem to worry.

“Sunny.”

“That’s a pretty name, I had a goldfish named Sunny once, but he died, and we had to flush him down the toilet.”

Sunny listened to the tiny human ramble quite confused and fascinated by its, either, bravery, or sheer stupidity.

And the little creature kept talking about a million miles a minute. Sunny didn’t really understand what the creature was trying to say most of the time, and watched only half listening as Kimber talked, and then suddenly jumped up and grabbed her hand. Sunny had to duck a little, so the small creature could still reach as she dragged her into the backyard.

Sunny didn’t know what to do, she was worried that if she made any sudden moves around the tiny creature that she would break it in half. Just behind her the second tiny creature was following eyes wide. He seemed to be a little more apprehensive, Sunny had yet to understand which of them the smart one was.

She was dragged across the backyard, and past the windows where the adult humans were still waving their hands at each other and over to a row of buckets. Kimber let go of her hand and reached down into one of them puling a string of strange plants from its depths. She held them up to Sunny with the human equivalent of a big smile, “See these are clover chains, I made them ALL by myself, and I’ll probably be able to reach the moon when I’m done.”

Sunny eyed the buckets skeptically, and then took a closer look at the plants. Some type of clover, knotted together by their stems. Sunny very much hoped the small human didn’t plan on climbing these when she was done. She looked around at the ground wondering again if the human understood just how much of this she would need to get to the moon. Sure there were large patches of the stuff everywhere, but, really?

“You have four arms, so you ca help me.’ The tiny human was saying, plopping herself down in the grass where she began to tie even more of the clover together. When Sunny didn’t immediately do anything, the tiny human leaped up in exasperation, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down to sit in the grass. Sunny went to the ground in an uncoordinated mess.

Drev weren’t actually known for sitting around like this, so it was a rather awkward position Sunny found herself in, feet sticking straight out in front of her in the grass right on top of one of the clover patches. Kimber patted her arm, Sunny was still taller than her sitting down, and then began instructing Sunny on making the clover chains.

She didn’t really no one else to do other than follow the human’s instructions. And with both sets of hands she began tying the little green stems together. It smelled nice, she wondered if she would be able to eat it. Regardless of the answer, she assumed that the tiny human would not be so happy with that outcome.

Kimber looked up at Sunny after a few minutes, “You’re my friend now….. OH! I want you to meet my brother too, stay here!” She leaped to her feet and ran towards the house vanishing through the cracked door, leaving the other child and her sitting in awkward silence working on the clover chains.

A few seconds later, Kimber came walking slowly down the stairs with a bundle in her arms.

She walked slowly and carefully across the yard stopping before Sunny, “This is my brother.”

Sunny leaned her head over to look and was surprised to find and even smaller human kit bundled in a set of blankets.

“Here” Kimber said holding out her brother, and then setting him down in one of Sonny’s oversized hands. As big as she was, she could hold the tiny human snuggly in one of her upper hands. It was very warm to the touch and yawned largely snuggling itself down into Sunny’s palm.

Sunny had never liked kits much, but this one was pretty cute.

She held the creature in one of her hands while working for the tiny human with her other hands. Kimber seemed quite pleased at the outcome.

That’s when the human voices became audible.

“Where is Kimber?”

“Wasn’t she out front with the other kids?”

“Wait, Michel, where is Michel!”

The humans burst suddenly from the backdoor of the house racing down into the grass and stopping in their tracks upon seeing Sunny, a Drev sitting in the grass making clover chains with two children.

Vir paused close by serious face broken by a smile and approached as the other humans stared, “Sunny have you seen….. ah, there he is.”

Sunny twisted to face the humans, and the tiny human kit was just visible in one of her huge hands. Vir reached over and picked the kit up causing it to whine and whimper in protest, “Thanks Sunny.” He walked back to the other humans handing the baby over to one of the females standing confused and terrified at the front. She took the kit with relief and some measure of confusion as Sunny rose to her feet.

Kimber leaped up and grabbed her hand again, “Momma, Look! Me and Sunny are making clover chains to get to the moon, Sonny’s real good because she has four hands.”

The humans just stared for a long moment before the human standing next to Kimber’s mother shrugged his shoulders, and walked over. He looked up at her, “Sunny is it?” He held out a hand, “I’m Jared, Kimber’s father. Thanks for keeping her entertained.”

Sunny took the human’s hand with one of hers, “I like your tiny human, she’s brave.”

A couple other humans approached Sunny, some looking sheepish, others embarrassed, others nervous. David and Mr. Vir seemed to have warmed up to Sunny Even more since yesterday. The only human left standing was mother Vir at the top of the porch with her arms crossed a frown over her mouth.

The Captain stood at some distance from the group staring his mother down arms crossed waffles sitting at his feet. His metal foot glittered in the light of the Sun a constant reminder of what he had lost.

Sunny had the feeling it was going to take a lot more than clover chains to win over this human.

A lot more.

Excerpt from Sunny’s playlist

AC/DC: Back in Black

The Veer Union: Living Not Alive

Zayde Wolf: Gladiator

Aerosmith: Dream on

JAXSON GAMBLE: Warrior

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #earth is space australia #the drev

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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years

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You’re Not Handling the End of the World Very Well

genre: superheroes, end of the world, wlw

words: 3k

summary: After all of civilization has properly and meaningful collapsed, there are only a handful of meta-humans and villains left on the empty world.

So what happens when the villains win? When the planet has apocalypse-d and it’s all gone to shit? The real question is what do super-villains threaten heroes with now that everything else is gone.

The world’s over. Lucy Goren just wants her damn dog back.

Ko-Fi ⭐Patreon ⭐ WordPress⭐Twitter ⭐ Ao3

story for one of my patrons for ‘Random-Pick-a-Prompt’ event for April!

Lucy’s boots scraped across the chunky rubble on the floor. It echoed low and grating across the empty space, a reminder, no, a very tired and heavy-handed statement.

Lucy looked over the gloomy, remote hallway, cast in long shadows and flickering fluorescent lights overhead. She rolled her eyes gracefully at it. It was an underground government facility that had long since been abandoned, bombed, and then abandoned again. Cracks spread in fine spiderwebs from the concrete ceiling to the wall, with little peak-holes into the dark ethers of the building.

She stepped around the next heap of rubble and made her way toward the nearest fire exit at the end of the hall, technically, she could fly there, but what would be the point?

The exit sign blinked red and cast a fiery neon glow across the grey walls, a splotch of color in the faded dingy surroundings. Water dripped from somewhere far away and stagnant air entombed the hallway.

A speaker crackled to life from a black box in the corner, staticy and jumbled, it had obviously been jerry-rigged together recently compared to every other broken thing in the dilapidated setting.

It started with a laugh. A simmering boundless sound, building and rippling off the walls, echoing down the hall and toward its demise situated directly up it’s own arsehole.

Lucy kept her eyes focused straight ahead and made no move to acknowledge it.

“It’s been too long, Lady Remix.” The voice purred as the laugh died, “I suppose you’re surprised to see me again.” “Yeah,” she responded without venom. “I kinda thought you’d manage to choke on your own spit by this point?” She tipped her chin up, unwashed blonde curls tickling her shoulder tops. “Since it’s so bullshit flavored and all.” The laugh returned, hot and pleased with itself. “My, my,” the voice radiated a perfectly practiced sense of glee. “Someone updated her vocabulary. Tired of being a role model for ungrateful brats, hmm?”

Lucy made a face up at the ceiling, “You’re the only left who thinks I’m a big deal Stephanie.” She said dryly and reached for the exit door, putting her hand on the cold dented handle. “But I’ll kick your ass into next Tuesday to be my own damn role model this time.”

She opened the door and stepped into a drafty stairwell, a damp cold crawled up her spine numbly, it smelled metallic and dusty.

“Lady Remix,” the voice tutted gently, “Your confidence becomes you. But I’m afraid you’re too late.” Lucy grimaced and looked up the endless grey steps both below and above. “You’ll have to go down the rabbit hole to meet your fate, little hero!” She cackled, “And see exactly what your chivalry has brought you.” Lucy simply held up her middle finger to the camera this time. She carefully oriented herself in space, getting a sense of her body, her beating heart, and boxy solid surroundings. She touched off from the ground.

This trick had taken years of training, sweat and tears, to be able to reorient empty space itself and allow her to float.

When Lucy was a teenager she had risked her life in a toxic oil field (as you do) and managed to stop a major spill into a local water supply. She had gotten terribly sick afterward and assumed it was over. However, a mysterious figure arrived and asked if she’d like to change her fate, reorient her dying cells and everything else around them.

She was 17, she completely and totally accepted. She had been gifted the power of Spatial Manipulation, she could reorient anything within seven feet of her. That was a long time ago, it gave her a headache if she thought about it too hard.

It had seemed worth it at the time. Now she just snorted lightly.

She stared up at the speaker in the stairwell, tracing the wires with her eyes: following the cables upward and into the wall. Lucy gave a shallow smile and then threw herself toward the next story, gliding past the gaps in the stairs and doors hanging off of their hinges.

“I said down the rabbit hole, little bunny,” the speaker said tartly. “Down. Stop that.”

Lucy quickly made her way to the second story of the underground facility, confirming her own hunch. A big red door sat with the word ‘Restricted’ painted in bulky white letters across it. The letters looked freshly applied.

“Ugh,” Stephanie did not sound pleased.

Lucy twisted the locked door away, reorienting it in space to gape wide open and reveal a dark, noisy room. The place buzzed with machines and beeping monitors, appearing to be a vast repurposed storage area with only various fuzzy glowing silver screens to give it light.

Wires criss-crossed the floor, sloppily taped down and sprawling out from the center like messy vines. A personal generator hummed in the corner, computers heaped on top of each other in a maze of defunct tech, and one central enormous screen bathed the area in alien wintery light.

Lucy took a breath in through her nose and landed heavily, she let her shadow cut a long and imposing silhouette across the concrete floors, backlit by the stairwell lights. The inside smelled musty, warm, and like corn chips that had gone incredibly stale.

A giant chair faced away her, high-backed and on a set of little rolling wheels, it was positioned directly in front of the main staticked screen. Lucy didn’t bother to inspect anything and simply strode in, letting her voice fill the room. “Where is my damn dog?” She growled. “Mmm,” Stephanie’s voice was low and rumbling, the door slammed loudly shut behind Lucy. “Have you finally learned the lesson?” Lucy groaned, “Oh my God.” “After all this time,” the other woman turned slowly, painfully slowly, her face caught half in the shadows and half light of the screen. “Have you finally learned the price of loving?” Lucy made a face, blinked several times, and then turned around in a tight circle. “Kitt!” Lucy called loudly, picking her way across the floor. “Kitt, come here girl!”

“Your precious pup is-” “Shut up, Steph.” She said dryly, “Literally nothing is stopping me from re-orienting your heart outside of your damn body.”

Stephanie paused for a moment, obviously startled, her mouth pinched shut and twisted off to the side. Lucy crossed the room to a darker corner, an area evidently lived in: strewn with clutters of trash, a mini-fridge, raggedy sweatpants, and a mattress all shoved to the side.

Lucy looked back to Stephanie mildly.

“Haven’t you heard?” Stephanie puffed herself up, recovering neatly, she tossed her head back with a flare. “There’s nothing for you to orient, hero... I never had a heart to begin with!” “Oh my God,” Lucy massaged the bridge of her nose. “Are we doing this? Are we still doing this?” “Oh precious, ignorant Remix,” she simpered, purple lipstick catching the light in an easy smirk. “Pure, brilliant power will never stop. It never rests for the foolish heroes of the world! Those easily worn down and broken. I am endless.” “Have you been just,” Lucy glanced at the pile of trash in the corner, “holed up in this shithole this whole time? Stephanie,”

“For I am!” She continued blithely.

“That mattress has mold on it.” “THE HEGEMON.” Lucy gave her a completely toneless look, twitching and unamused. “Are you done?” She looked her up and down. “Because I am.” “I don’t know the meaning of ‘done’! I am The Hegemon and you will know LOSS and GUILT, those things subjected to me at a young age, a blessing of pain that gave me insights into human nature itse-” “First of all, last time I checked your name was Stephanie Brewster and you worked in accounting for seven years.” Stephanie frowned dourly at that. “And I don’t care.”

Stephanie’s nostrils flared. She was a wry, bony woman with short, wild black hair that stood up like a faux-mohawk with too much product. She had a pair of purple goggles covering eyes and patented dark shiny lipstick. A black lab coat was buttoned all the way up to her throat and tall shiny black boots clad her calves.

Her usually purple nails were chipped and bitten down to their very nubs, she looked softly more restless than usual, shifting in place and drumming her nails on the arm of the chair endlessly.

“God this place smells awful,” Lucy kicked an empty tv dinner tray. “Steph, this is so bad.”

Stephanie sniffed loudly, petulance entering her tone. “Well you aren’t looking so great either.” That was a fair statement. Lucy hadn’t showered in an uncountable number of days, her dirty blonde curls much dirtier than usual and slouchy jeans ripped around the cuffs. She wore a dingy pink night shirt, beaten up gym shoes, and a lumpy sports bra from an unknown era.

Obviously, her face was maskless and when she caught her reflection in the dead tv screens she looked back at her own bloodshot, baggy eyes. Her skin looked slightly sickly and too pale, she had even lost some of her iconic round hips and full figure.

People magazine called her an ‘Icon of Plus-Sized Girls Everywhere,’ but that was by Hollywood standards and her thighs had been mostly muscle back then. That was all a lifetime ago.

“Kitt!” She cupped her mouth and called, “Come here girl, let’s go home.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stephanie wheeled her chair around, trying to keep Lucy’s attention. “She’s not coming.” Lucy turned slowly, thoughtfully. She put her hands on her hips, “How attached are you to your teeth Steph? 32 always seemed excessive to me. But we could discuss.”

Stephanie pulled back in her chair, expression tensing. “You’re being kind of an asshole right now.” It was almost a whisper.

Lucy rolled her eyes, “Yeah, well, the world ended and you stole my dog.” She stomped her way over toward the villain, “Only one of those things I can change.”

Stephanie looked away, tone shifting from it’s usual mocking drawl. “Oh, it’s not that bad.” She frowned deeply, “Minnesota is still fine.” “Ugh,” she groaned loudly, “Pestilence got them last month. You’ve really been here this whole time, huh?” She wrinkled her nose at several packs of energy drinks stacked in the corner.

Stephanie got to her feet, unfolding her body like a lithe house cat stretching out, she tilted her head to the side. “I took shelter.” She said aggressively, “It’s what Gentlemen Damnation said to do for us Chosen.”

“Do we really have to call him that?” Lucy did another aimless turn in place. “Like, I know he painted it in blood on all major monuments. But considering those were destroyed too maybe we can stop?”

Stephanie crossed her arms over her chest. “He is the new and eternal lord of Lamb’s Blood New Earth. What else would we call him?” Lucy scratched her chin, “I’m thinking ‘Gunk I Find in between my Toes During the Summer’.” “Well, I mean-” “Burst Pustules on the Buttocks of Men in Unwashed Saunas.” “That’s kind of a mouthful.” “Ratty McRatman, the Sequel. Baby Whose Birth Certificate is an Apology Letter from Trojan. A Barnacle on the Ballsack of-” “Yes, I get it,” Stephanie reached for some sort of electric staff, “How long have you been saving those up?” She shrugged listlessly, “When is the last time I saw your face?” “Haha,” she turned around, “If I had known your banter had become so… unpolished. Well.” Lucy took a couple threatening steps toward her, “Enough.” She moved her hands quickly, “It’s almost Kitt’s dinner time and I just found a DVD copy of Space Jam buried last night. I have shit to do.” Stephanie cleared her throat, “I see you’re impatient for my hand to be played.” She tried to plaster on a new taunting smile, “I have a series of challenges even you will lose heart at! The grit of heroes tested by my might and ingenuity, tested- only to find themselves,” she licked her lips, “Lacking.” Lucy narrowed her eyes, and then took a sudden step toward her, bringing Stephanie into her zone of manipulation. She re-oriented the other woman upside down in space, Stephanie flailed for a moment, reaching for her weapon.

Lucy quickly re-oriented anything in her pockets and staff to the other side of her. “On a scale of one to ten, how fond of breathing are you?”

Her eyes went wide, “What?”

She separated the villain’s air supply from her lungs.

Stephanie’s face went two shades paler and she started clawing at her throat and kicking in space, arms pinwheeling and trying to right herself and gasp for air. Lucy’s eyes just narrowed further. “Now.” She growled. “Where is my dog?”

Stephanie kicked and spittle dripped down the side of her mouth, she gaped for another couple of strained seconds. Finally, she pointed toward the space under her enormous office desk off to the side. Lucy let her fall unceremoniously to the floor and made a beeline toward the desk.

She knelt down quickly and caught sight of a wire cage pushed into the corner. She pulled the thing toward her and exhaled. A lumpy form lay on top of a thin blue blanket, the chest of her floppy brown beagle rose and fell gently inside.

She managed a smile and unlatched the cage, reaching in to pet the dog’s side and scratch her behind the ears. Kitt didn’t stir, but Lucy knew it was only a heavy sedative.

She carefully gathered her dog into her arms and turned around.

Stephanie was sprawled on the floor, gasping for air and clutching at her chest. “That was,” she rasped and unsteadily sat up. “Completely against The Code.” “Don’t you get it?” Lucy strode over, reaching the scientist and taking her purple goggles in hand, she tore them off her head. “The Code is gone. The hero society is collapsed. Everybody’s off planet or dead,” she bore her teeth. “You won.” Stephanie’s eyes were an animated misty grey and flicked all around the room until they landed on her own empty open palms. “Yes. Gentlemen Damnat- David.” She said softly, “he said we’d win.” “Yeah,” Lucy jerked her head up to the ceiling, holding her dog close. “Woopee. He got what he wanted. Society’s over and villain’s are stealing my damn dog.” She looked down again sharply, “She’s just a dog Steph!” Stephanie’s chin dimpled delicately, “I wasn’t going to hurt her.” She looked away. “This isn’t how you play.” “I know.” The weight, the heaving immeasurable weight, settled on her shoulder tops. Lucy fell to her knees and sat dully on the floor next to her. “The rules are gone. It’s over… you all got what you wanted.” Stephanie scratched the back of her neck, “I don’t think everyone was supposed to… go.” She said quietly, “Just the foolish and soft-hearted and those who toted light and selfishlessness above the-” “Yeah, yeah,” Lucy put her hand up, “Have fun reveling in your victory. Imma go watch Space Jam with my dog.” Lucy got up to leave, knees creaking and a warm body limp in her arms. Her thoughts drifted over to the task of flying all the way home from here, even in its death throes D.C. was a nightmare to navigate.

“Wait,” Stephanie called weakly, “Lady Remix.” She carefully addressed her, “It wasn’t my plan to create The Four Horsemen. I didn’t know…” “Duh,” Lucy shook her head, “You were like, a C villain at best hun.” Stephanie wrinkled her nose, “Can’t you call me Hegemon once? For old times sake?” “No,” she said flatly, “You can call me Lucy though.” Stephanie balked, “Absolutely not,” she scrambled back, “terrible.” It was Lucy’s turn to laugh, “God. You’re so old school.”

Stephanie slowly crawled to her feet again, much less nimble and calculating than before. “Yes.” She said slowly. “It’s not as if David gave us much of a choice on how to rebuild the world,” she looked toward the dark corners, the outside. “Not even an email.” Lucy shrugged, “He took out a lot of villains too I heard,” she said offhandedly, “Everybody. And anyone who made it out just left the planet.” Stephanie considered her for a long moment, “Not you?”

She looked back to the door, “Not me.” She sighed, “duty and all that I thought.” She scowled at the door handle, “Plus… not everyone deserves off-planet.” Stephanie burst out into a dark laugh, voice resonating to it’s rough purr. “Deserve? What hero language! An arrogant mechanism of the weak to justify their own actions.” “Seriously?” “Right. Sorry.” Stephanie took a couple hurried steps toward her, hair askew and bright grey eyes surveying the area. “So, where are you now in the fight?” Lucy took a step back, “Nowhere. You can tell your master I’ve thrown in the towel,” her eyes unfocused, “there’s no one left to save.” Stephanie opened her mouth, and then closed it. She looked down at the floor unhappily, “There’s your dog.” She said in a controlled tone, “And you.” Lucy shot her a tense look, “Goodbye Stephanie.” She adjusted Kitt in her arms to reach for the door. “If you bother me again I will be more off Code than you know.” She didn’t stop her as Lucy shouldered the door open and started climbing the last of the stairs back outside. She was halfway toward the faceless metal exit door when she heard a number of hurried steps chasing after her.

Lucy stopped in place but didn’t turn.

“He really ruined it you know.” She started babbling, “He really missed the point we were all trying to drive home.” Lucy sprouted a lopsided smile and glanced over her shoulder, “What are you trying to say?” Stephanie drew herself up, “I may have been a C villain but even I know this isn’t how it was supposed to go, and I should,” she licked her lips, floundering slightly. She hunched her shoulders, “and what kind of woman of action would be if I didn’t do something?” Lucy threw her head back and laughed, it was filled with all that suffocating weight of the ages, “Are you going to be a hero now?” Stephanie put her hands on her hips, “Absolutely not!” She looked away petulantly, “hero? God no.” Her gaze followed her upwards, back to the door. “Are you?” “I don’t think so.” She reached for the door and it swung open, pouring in the ashen light of the storm clouds and empty roads. “Want to come?”

She blinked a couple times, frowned, and then nodded stiltedly.

They walked out into the broken world together.

#wlw #sapphic #short story #superheores #original story #f/f #my work #dark comedy

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

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Movie Review: Captain Marvel

Obviously, spoilers ahead. That’s a given. The short, spoiler free one: Thumbs up, go watch. The longer one, under the cut since I’m aware not everyone even got to see the movie already today.

Now. Where do I start?

I liked the movie, for the most part. Clearly it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, but I liked the fresh perspective - yes, in its aspects it was nothing new, but the combination still was and actually no way it was something new because we never had a female lead before.

I love Brie and I love Carol Danvers. And I am also really very gay. Damn did she remind me just how gay I am.

Which, sure, let’s start there why not: I love the lack of a love-story. I was half-way afraid that Carol would be paired up with Jude Law’s character (did he have a name?? I don’t feel like his name was ever said aloud... well then again I also genuinely do not care about that bitch so like whatever). I was really afraid they’d go that route.

That they didn’t and that they generally didn’t try to cram a love-story in there was insanely refreshing because it gave the movie the chance to fully commit to building the platonic relationships and that way it managed to really make me fall in love with this ragtag team of heroes that we got.

(Though let’s all be real, Captain Marvel said gay rights and she and Maria are like literally canonically raising a daughter together?? That box with belongings was like 75% photos of only Maria and Carol? Basically all of Carol’s happy memories were of Maria? So?? They’re gay?? They’re gay and very much in love??)

Some questions that the first big mission scene left me with: Who has brightly neon green glowing weapons when trying to be sneaky? And how in the world is the mohawk-function of Carol’s helmet even remotely useful? Like, it looks badass sure, but... this is her diving suit and her there-is-no-air-out-here suit so that giant slit that her hair goes through seems insanely inconvenient...?

I love the parallel between Carol and Tony though. The whole “betrayed by the man who supposedly took you under his wing and shaped you... because he shaped you to be a weapon for his usage”. Wish Tony could have proton-blasted Obie in the face too.

But mentioning that, yeah, there’s a lot of beats the MCU has already done, which is obvious and figures.

I did like the surprise twist though that the Skrull are not the bad guys. That they’re fugitives. That Carol is on the wrong side of the war.

I saw some posts about how Captain Marvel is propaganda to make girls join the airforce, but honestly the airforce was such a fucking tiny unimportant part in this and the heavy, huge message is: Don’t just sign up for a war that you don’t know what you fight for, don’t be a blindly following soldier, think for yourself, consider the other side, be compassionate. That’s a solid-ass massage.

As mentioned, I totally loved the ragtag team. Carol, Maria, Monica, Goose, Nick and Talos were an awesome team.

I have to say that Samuel L. Jackson was the glue that kept the movie together though. He played off each character so well and managed to create such a natural dynamic and bond between the characters that, in the end, that was what really sold them as a great team even in such a short time.

Also he actually made me like Fury in this movie. I’m usually more than just indifferent about Nick Fury. Like. I really couldn’t care less about him. But Fury and Goose were... so fucking precious?? And he actually genuinely made friends. Not just bossing people around and being a little bitch.

I really love that Carol is the namesake of the Avengers because let’s be real that is a weirdass name for a superhero team so I just totally dig this explanation.

And explanation I don’t dig is how Fury lost his eye. It’s stupid. Goose isn’t an actual cat. He’s been nothing but companionable toward Fury so far, why the fuck would he, in the very end, scratch out Fury’s eye. If that had happened in the beginning, okay yeah. But this was just... played for dumb laughs?

Which brings me to the one big complaint I do have about the movie.

The writing was really wooden. Very often.

Things were written as... supposedly meant to be funny but coming off as awkward, comedic tension was often really forced and in moments that didn’t need comedic scenes - like Fury and Talos checking the alien dick out (which what the fuck considering the next second it was revealed this was Talos all along why would Talos check out another Skrull’s dick??) or that “that’s your scientist” joke. Forced and awkward and not actually humorous.

I’d have also liked more... emotion. The reunion between Maria and Carol. If my best friend, who raised my daughter with me and whom I believed to be dead for the past six years, suddenly stands there? There should have been more tears, more emotions, it should have been a heartwarming, but also sad scene. Instead there was an instant cut to them in the kitchen and then the suddenly very calm and casual conversation about what had happened.

I might have also enjoyed a more 90s soundtrack, if I’m honest. I don’t know, they doubled down on the 90s theme in the trailer so hard with the Blockbuster and the Radio Shack and I was somehow expecting this to take a page out of GotG’s playbook and lay heavy on the 90s in the soundtrack. As it stood, the soundtrack was not memorable at all. It doesn’t have to be, obviously. This ain’t a musical, after all. But I think it might have been a nice bonus, especially with the failed humorous attempts this could have helped set the mood.

It could have also helped if Jude Law’s team was a little more fleshed out. As it stood, it were just Blue Chick and the Dudes. Zero personality. Like, literally none at all, those were just cardboard cutouts. Granted, they were not important for the movie, but considering they had been Carol’s team for six years and the fact that we spent the entire second scene of the movie on that mission with the team, it would have been nice had that been more than just bahm bahm violence baaahm abduction - end. It’d have been nice had that scene been used to flesh the team even remotely out into characters.

I have, at this point, absolutely given up on the fucking Tesseract, by the way. Like. Whatever. It’s with the Vikings, it’s with the Nazis, it’s on a hidden spaceship in the orbit, it’s inside a cat-alien. Seriously why did Mar-Vell have it what was the point of that. They acted like she build something strong and they wanted that but in the end they then suddenly found a wild Tesseract?? I thought that shit had gone into SHIELD possession after WWII, after Howard studied it for a while. But somehow, it made its way from Hydra to Mar-Vell, up into orbit and only in the 90s came into the possession of SHIELD? You lost me there somewhere...

Anyway, let me round this review up and come to an end!

I love Monica. She is awesome and adorable and amazing and how was she not Maria Hill’s character? I mean, in overarching context - I know why she wasn’t considering she was only now added to canon, but with everything, I really wanted her to join SHIELD and get into a high-ranking position as an adult. She definitely has to stay a part of the MCU though, in a grown-up version.

I really loved the team around Carol and I loved Brie’s portrayal of Carol - such a cool badass who looked insanely hot without needing a skimpy skirt and boob-armor (yes this is 100% a DC dig).

I’d like to hear where exactly Carol was the past 20 years. I mean yeah finding a new planet for the Skrull and defeating the Kree but like... 20 years? Did she at least gather like her own superhero team up there?

I’m curious to see her again... next month... in Endgame (honestly, I miss Marvel pacing when it was like one spring release and one winter release... this is... too much too fast I want to digest movies first before I see their directly tying in sequels??). I hope there will be some explanations!

But yes, this was definitely a good movie worth the watch!

#Captain Marvel Spoilers #Captain Marvel #Marvel #Phoe's Movie Reviews #Phoe's Random Movie Rants

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cannibalisticshadows · 5 years

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Nightcall (2/2)

[ao3 Link] . [Part One]

Megamind drops out of the media. Though the media doesn’t drop him.

The spike in his frequent fights with Metro Man has done a complete 360, much to the relief of the locals and to the disappointment of tourists. The news and media alike have leaped onto his sudden change like scavengers to fresh offal. Talk of his recent rendezvous, or lack thereof, are on everyone’s mind.

“He’s a maniac,” some talk-show host said into the speaker, hunched over a desk looking quite aggressive. The screen of the television baths the blue alien in a dull electronic glow illuminated his reflective eyes. He frowns at the person but having no good point to disagree. He’s just offended someone would be so bold to jump into the obvious.

“He’s a maniac, and Metro Man has been taking his sweet-ass time in trying to bring this alien-fuck down. Sure, sure, all-righteous and no-killing and what not. I’m sorry but he’s just pious.” Not just ballsy, but controversial. “My only guess as to why Megamind has abruptly vanished like a phantom is because our city’s hero finally grew a pair and kicked his skinny blue ass into the next life. And by God will none of us miss him. Look at what a shit-show he’s turned this city into—“

Megamind turns the TV off by throwing the remote so hard that it shatters the screen.

Sighing, he crawls out of his little nest of blankets and decides it’s time. He’s been procrastinating enough; he’s done nothing for the past two weeks and it’s getting to his head.

His plan to tell Roxanne started out sounding like the only resort to fixing him and his dumb extraterrestrial make-up, but he’s been pushing it off since he got home the last time he broke out of prison. Who knew he could really raise some hell by simply doing nothing.

Roxanne has made few appearances on television since her last kidnapping. Sadly enough, due to his absence, she had little to do (at least, to the public eye). She was the main reporter, focusing on Metro City’s star inhabitancies. Metro Man had nothing much to do besides helping little old ladies or getting cats from trees—not worthy of making an emergency announcement on the news.

And since he hasn’t seen her, he’s going into such a stump he’s made several near attempts to just show up at her place with no spray. How would she respond?

Well, he’d find out tonight.

He filled the invisible car up with his home-made energy source, making sure it wouldn’t run on empty. Tonight he was going out, far enough to reach the boonies.

And he wouldn’t be alone.

Megamind, unsure of how she’d react but knowing this would be practically life or death for him, grabbed a few essentials. The de-gun. Knock-out spray. Rope. You know. The usual. This had to go as smooth as possible for him to get serious with her, to assure her he’d never bother her again as long as he got this off his chest so he could wallow in misery with a peace of mind.

So, making sure she’s home with the affirmation from one of his spy-bots, Megamind packs up his things in the car and zooms out of the Lair before Minion can so much as ask “Where are you going, Sir?”

When he gets to her building, he uses a brainbot to fly him up to her balcony. She never locks it (Oh, Roxanne, I do question your sanity sometimes), so when he pushes the glass doors open, he enters a relatively quiet domain.

The lights over her tiny kitchen are on, illuminating her one-person apartment. Sniffing, and catching the remnants of her perfume, he follows it until—

“Mega—“ Before he gives her time to even finish saying his self-given name, he whips around and gives her a reasonably large dose of spray. She gasps, eyes roll up, and her body drops in a dead weight. Flinging out an arm he catches her, unable to keep his hungry eyes from the expanse of her pale, bare neck. Megamind splays his fingers across her bare, marveling at seeing her for the first time in weeks. It’s been too long.

Tonight she’s wearing civvies. A pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a white peasant blouse with little red and blue flowers along the neck and sleeves. She’s missed a barber appointment, he thinks, as her hair is exactly two centimeters longer than usual. Her hair’s also a bit damp, curling ever so slightly at the very ends. She not wearing makeup, either, letting him see all of her little brown freckles dusting her cheeks, like little stars in a milky white setting. He licks his lips.

Megamind ties her wrists and covers her mouth with a cheap duck tape. He’s never taped her mouth shut before, but for once he doesn’t want her screaming or complaining. And despite every Hollywood movie where the bad guy tapes the victim’s mouth shut, it’s very possible to remove it without the use of hands.

He carries her out bridal style, whistling for the brainbot to bring him back to the car. Once on the ground, he tucks her into the passenger seat and pulls the belt on, all before getting in himself.

And then he drives. He drives for a long time, content for the moment to sit in silence beside the soft rumble of the car’s engine.

Swerving through Metro City’s night traffic, the city lights gleaming in this never sleeping place, he keeps his head low as he goes, so stressed he finds himself clutching the wheel so hard it threatens to snap. The leather of his gloves scrunches.

They (he; she’s still knocked out) drive out of the midnight city into the rolling countryside, past the lake and past the forests. Lush green hillsides and vast farm lands. He can hear the road scratch under the car tires as asphalt turns into gravel and dirt.

After about forty minutes of driving, he can tell Roxanne is beginning to stir. Quickly, he pulls up beside a huge oak tree in the middle of no where, and void of another living soul for miles.

Well. There is a cow outside but it’s like, ten feet away minding its own business.

As the car comes to a stop, he turns the key and all is instantly quiet.

With a soft grunt, Roxanne squirms in her seat and consciousness slowly comes to. He doesn’t watch her, choosing to star at his bony knees and twiddle his thumbs. All he can hear is her movements, and his own rapidly beating heart.

“M…Mmm?” Her eyes slowly open, blinking in the dim atmosphere. Her eyes then open wider, and she looks around for the usual sights of a kidnapping. Seeing as they’re only in the car, and her mouth is taped, she abruptly begins to struggle.

“Wait!” He says frantically, trying to calm her like one would do for a wild horse. “It’s okay! This isn’t a kidnapping! Well, technically it is but it’s just us—“

“MMM!?” She starts to work her mouth through the tape in earnest, tongue visibly trying to lick at the stickiness.

“Please, wait! This is—I just want to tell you something. Something… important. I promise on my ancestors that you have full permission and more to beat me outside but… please. Just listen to me. Please, Miss Ritchi.”

Her struggling stops, and she turns to him with a suspicious glare. He bows his head, flushing in shame. She hates me.

Though she’s trapped him under an intense stare, snaring him more than he had with her, Roxanne goes still as if awaiting for whatever stupid thing he’s got to say to her.

“I… want to apologize, for my behavior two weeks ago. It was unforgivable.”

“Mm.”

“But—I… I…”

She glares harder. Ashamed of himself, he turns his stare to the dashboard.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t look up to catch her reaction, but she doesn’t respond verbally.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He bangs his forehead against the steering wheel with each confession, feeling all the pint up emotions in him pouring out like water from a broken dam. It burns his insides with glorious relief and bittersweet shame all at once. Yet it keeps flowing. “And I’m so, so sorry. It’s—not my choice, Miss Ritchi. I can’t help it. My b-body…Ah—s—“ he stutters, so anxious it’s close to making him piss himself. He can feel it claw at this throat, threatening tears. “My species… we d-don’t have crooches, like a human. We… fall in love. Hard. And once. Only once. Once and only with one person. And that’s it. We mate for life, like doves. Or beavers. Wolves. I-It doesn’t matter. But once the relationship is formed that’s it. Cheating or finding a second love if the other leaves or dies is purely an earthly concept. My own p-parents, they—they only had eyes for each other. Sex or romance wasn’t even a concept I understood before I met y—…. I didn’t chose you, Miss Ritchi. I didn’t want this to happen. You don’t deserve this. I’ve already turned your life into a living hell, and for that I cannot apologize enough, even onto my grave. My transgressions are unforgivable. Yet, even being here on Earth I cannot…. There is no place for me. My planet, it’s… I’m all that’s left. And Minion. I didn’t think I could possibly imprint on anyone, much less a human, in this way. Yet… I am so sorry. It’s all my fault. I should have known…”

She’s fidgeting ever so softly beside him, he hears the crinkle of the tape.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he takes in a staggering breath, wet tears rolling down his sharp face and trickling on his lips. Salty like the sea.

He can’t bring himself to speak again in fear of weeping like a damn baby, but he feels as vulnerable as one in the moment. Weak. Childish. Pathetic.

The car falls into a silence, with his shaky breaths and a light breeze rolling against the windows. Other than that, it’s as quiet as a void. He glances at her from the corner of his eye, and sees her staring outside at the cow as if it had done something personal to disrespect her.

They sit in silence for a long time.

“I’m done,” he suddenly says.

He hears her move around again.

“I’m… I’m done. With this business,” he gestures to himself in general, to the car, to his gun. “I mean, there are things you don’t know about. Things I’ve done behind cameras. In the underworld. I’ve committed enough sins to last multiple lifetimes over. There’s blood on my hands. Miss Ritchi. Like you wouldn’t believe. And… I’m going to give it up. I can’t keep doing this…

“This such a archaic concept for me. Aah, uh, did you know… Of course you wouldn’t… The males, sometimes even the females, of my kind have to… catch the other sometimes. To express that they feel the same way. Avoids miscommunication or misplaced feelings. My own father… had to sneak into my mother’s household as teenagers to propose to her. It’s—I didn’t even realize it until recently I was courting you! Unconsciously! I’m—God I’m so sorry, Miss Ritchi. I just need to go away. “

She lets out a muffled sound again.

“I’m moving from this place,” he looks around at the vast farmland, the dot of the city in the distance, reflected by his rear-view mirror. “Romania sounds nice. I do a lot of business over there. Lots of forests and hillsides where there’s no one for miles. I can’t bother you or anyone out th—”

Roxanne suddenly spits.

Looking over to her in surprise, he sees she has vanquished the duck tape and has rolled it up in her mouth to spit it onto the dashboard. Turning on one hip, she faces him with such a glower it chills him to the very bone.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” she hisses.

He shrinks in his seat.

“Don’t you dare drop this on me and say you’re just gonna leave!” She yells, pulling against her taped wrists. He opens his mouth to let out a string of never ending apologies, but—she’s starting to cry, he sees, much to his absolute horror. Has he truly upset her this bad? He really was a monster.

“How—you stupid, stupid man,” she cries out, and suddenly—he sees her raise her arms, still taped by the wrist, and he honestly thinks he’s about to be hit when—

She loops her arms around his big blue head and latches onto his neck, yanking him closer and making him clumsily fall onto the stick shift as—

Her mouth is on his. So hard do their mouths come together that their teeth clack, faces clashing together he barely has time to process what’s happening. Gasping, hands wild and unsure in the air as she seemingly tries to suck his soul out, but—he knows what’s happening, mildly, but a bigger part of him is convinced he’s dreaming or hit his head.

The feeling of her lips touching his, though, is electrifying. Every nerve in his body begins to sing and scream all at once, overwhelming him with a sensation override. She moans and presses closer, both of them awkward and clumsy as they clutch at the other from opposite seats. Clutched… he feels his hand involuntarily grab her waist, holding his close but terrified he’s mixing the signals. It feels so so so good, though, and—

She pulls away before he can even realize he was responding back, albeit unsurely. Arms locked around his neck, he mentally curses himself for tying her up. But. It felt like the thing to do at the time.

“You listen to me you son of a bitch,” she viciously spats. “You come to my place, ten’o’freakin’clock at night, and tell me you love me only then to say you’re leaving? What the actual hell!?”

He attempts to pull back, hide in his shell, run away from her furious reprimand, but his neck is still trapped by her arms. Shit. Really a bad decision to tie her up. The alien’s prepared to say something, anything, to show how much of a lowly creature he is in her light, but all that comes out of his throat are choked warbles and whimpers. “I—“

She sniffles.

He meets her eyes in surprise to see two glassy blue orbs meeting his. Frantically, he try to console the weepy female by nervously patting her back. “Ah—M-Miss Ritchi—“

“You were such an A-hole,” she says, sobbing. “Megamind, for once you were actually cruel. It scared me.”

“Oh, oh my dear—No, no, my sweet, no! I wasn’t—“ he swallows. “I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just frustrated. With myself. With my instincts. I—if I behaved any less I would have made a fool of myself.”

“Well, you already did that by yelling at me, you cabbage.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You made me feel like a whore the last kidnapping.”

He remembers that dress she wore. Wine red, rimmed in black. His... comment to it. Megamind bows his head and clenches his whole body. “I am sorry.”

“And you made me worry about you. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Confused, he looks up at her. Roxanne then pulls at her arms and lets him go from between them. Gesturing with her wrists, he catches her drift and pulls out his trusted butterfly knife and whips it out, glad to have something to do with a tool he’s familiar with. Nothing else felt familiar; alien and strange.

As the plastic finally rips away, her skin safe from his sharp little friend, she wraps her hands around his neck and yanks him to her again. Eyes wide, he numbly feels her kiss him a few quick, consecutive times before—

She slaps him in the chest.

He’s nearly got a concussion from how bad the whiplash is.

“Is it true?” Roxanne demands. He’s unable to speak. “Is it true? Do you love m—“

“Yes. Yes, I love you. A million times over.”

This little woman shakes her head, eyes glistening with something he can’t begin to understand. He feels like he’s drowning, with a weight tied to his feet to prevent him to swimming to the surface. He can't breath. She then grabs onto his shoulders. Shaking her head again, she says, “Then don’t go to Romania. Don’t leave Metro City. This place is our-your home.”

“Miss Ritchi, I can’t… stay around you anymore,” his voice breaks. “I can’t without—“

Her lips are on his again.

Shocked, but rapidly trying to learn this new skill she’s apparently trying to teach him, he responds as best he can. Periwinkle blue to unpainted pink, their lips press against each other, seining the warmth and the wet of the other’s mouth. He once saw this activity between lovers an unsanitary and strange thing, but now he understands its meaning. His lips are quite sensitive, and this kissing sets his body to flame, scrambling towards something he can’t seem to catch.

When she pulls away, he follows her, not wanting this connection to end. A tiny bead of saliva snaps between them as their lips depart.

“For such a genius, you can be unbelievably dense.” She cups his face. “I love you Megamind."

What.

"God, I love you. And your behavior, this month—I thought you’d finally lost it. Or just got tired of me.”

His first instinct is to respond yes, yes he has lost it, completely and utterly, but—

“You—you what—“

Roxanne shakes her head again, this time smiling so wide that it nearly reaches her ears, all pearly whites on display for him. She lets him go, finally, letting him think straight. Which is bad because his brain runs in about five hundred directions. Blinking rapidly to disperse the tears in her wet lashes, she continues with, “I’m glad you told me this. Because—I was considering on moving as well.”

He jolts in his seat.

“I sometimes get job offers in other places. This time… I had an offer in Liverpool.”

“Leeverpul!? What’s can you find in Leeverpul?”

“I like the British accent. And it’s far, far away from here.”

Hapless, he stares at his knees.

“Hey,” she pulls him out of his stupor. “Look at me. That’s better. Now. That stuff you said about… imprinting on me? Is that true, too?”

“All of it,” he breaths.

Roxanne nods her head and leans back against the leather seats. “Then listen to me. I love you with all of my heart. I have for a long time, Megamind. So it hurt me, so, so much with how much of a dick you were suddenly turning into. You may as well have stabbed me in the heart.” He winces. “And then you just up and vanished. Gone. Everyone is talking about you!”

He can’t believe what she’s saying. It’s nothing like he ever imagined happening in any probable outcome of this. She… actually… returned his feelings? What??? What witchcraft is this!? He really must’ve bumped his head hard!

“I... know. I see the news. I see my lack of an appearance in the public eye has given you less work… Ah, are you sleeping better?”

She looks at him in confusion.

“You were always falling asleep.”

Roxanne lets out a loud sigh. “I know… I know…”

“Why.” It isn’t a question.

“I always thought you were just a bit ol’sweetheart that grew up on the wrong side of the law. I fall in love with you a little harder every time you goof around like that. I hate that you’re always destroying something or trying to start a fight, but it was a little endearing.” She lets out another loud exhale. “And then you started acting like I was shit under your shoe.”

“N—!“

She raises a hand, and he immediately goes silent.

"So I started drinking. Tried to drink the pain away. But that doesn't work," her voice breaks a bit.

He wants to bang his head against the wall.

“And I hate that you dragged me out here,” she motions toward the countryside. “You don’t have to ship yourself off to God knows where, but stopping the kidnapping would be nice. Even if it’s apart of your… culture.”

“Whatever-Whatever you desire," he swears reverently.

“What I desire,” she says, placing a hand on his knee, “is for you to take me home.”

He nods, expecting that answer.

“And I want you to come up with me. We’re gonna have a talk.”

“O-kay...?”

Suddenly she leans over again and presses his lips to his cheek. With his breath hitching, because its still a lovely, foreign feel to him, she adds, “And then I’m going to show you how much I love you, too.”

“W—“

“I know you, Megamind. I can see it in your face. Now. Take us home, sweetheart.” She kisses his lips again.

This time he knows what to do, and copies her actions better than before. It feels like fireworks.

He’s glad he told her.

#megamind #nightcall #megarox

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charlottestarchild · 6 years

Text

Figs and Charlotte

It’s 2018 and I am visiting my good old friend in a small remote village in the south of France. I haven’t seen her in years and can’t wait to spend some quality time with her. She’s staying with her kids at her parent’s place so I booked myself into a small, and as it turns out quite cute, B&B close to her place. The village is famous for its clay pottery and so it happens that the B&B is in an old pottery fabric. Everything is the color of terracotta. My friend’s parents grow grapes and have a lovely fruit garden. We go pick peaches, apricots and figs fresh from the tree each day … On the morning of the second day, I take my plate full of fresh fruit and walk to the little terrace in the backyard of my room to sit in the sun and enjoy my fruits. Walking up the concrete stairs to the little terrace, I catch a glimpse of a guy lying on the ground, earphones in his ears, doing yoga. I hesitate for a moment but then decide to go back. I would basically need to step over him in order to get to the chairs. Way too shy and respectful of his privacy for that.

Saturday night. The kids are at sleep. Maria and me decide to enjoy some quality time. We grab a bottle of wine and simply drag out some chairs from my room onto the street and set up our own little private bodega on the street. We’re drinking lovely wine and are chatting about all sorts of things. We have plenty to catch up. Suddenly the sound of a Ukulele gets to our ears from one of the windows above. Portuguese? She says and looks at me. I try to listen. Yeah. Sounds like Portuguese. We giggle a bit and continue chatting. The sound gets louder and suddenly you can hear two voices sing. We listen for a bit, suddenly the music stops. We look up at the window where the music came from and the guy from the morning appears in the window. “Hi” he says waving down to us. “Hi” we say back.

We keep chatting about her marriage, about my divorce, about live here and there. Suddenly Mr. Portuguese Ukulele Yogi walks down the street. We start chatting about how we heard him sing in Portuguese. He’s Brazilian so yes, it was Portuguese. He says he’s visiting his friend who is staying here. Two minutes later also his friend comes down the street. A funny looking guy in dangaroos, his colorful socks pulled up towards the knees, his dark beard shaved in a funny way, one long earring dangling from his left ear. After a bit more chit chat I ask if they don’t want to join us. “We have some more chairs we can pull out”. Without hesitation they agree. Fernao, that’s the name of the Brazilian, is tall, curly wild hair, glasses. Looks a bit nerdy. Not as hot as I thought from the glimpse I caught of him in the morning but still quite cute. Sami, is from Iran but lives in Austin, Texas, he is into pottery which is why he is here in this village; he starts telling us how he got totally hooked on it by watching YouTube videos and now he finds himself here, learning from the best of the best. He’s a storyteller, that much is clear. I like story tellers. He’s much shorter than Fernao, but has very dark, mysterious eyes.

We chat about things for a while when Maria suddenly gets a phone call. Her daughter has fever. She has to leave. I’m sad she has to leave. It was so nice catching up and even now, talking to these strangers together as if we were on a holiday somewhere together in our early 20s.

I stick around and chat some more with the two guys. I can’t really say what they’re up to. Sami makes me a compliment suddenly about how beautiful my face is. I have to laugh cause at this point of time I consider my face anything else but beautiful. I look over to Fernao, shrugging in his direction as if to say “what’s wrong with your friend”. We keep on drinking wine and talk about space, aliens, nature, random encounters. I ask if either one of them smokes and Sami gets up getting his tobacco from his room. We smoke. We drink wine. We talk. Cats join us. Sami feeds them so they stick around meowing for more food. Suddenly without any clear reason why, we all get up and there’s a sense of “party is over”. We all take the chairs inside, clear up the stuff, hug each other good night “was nice to meet you”.

Somehow, I’m relieved I didn’t end up in bed with either one of them. Not that there would have been clear interest from their side anyways but I’ve been having a bad conscious about my promiscuous lifestyle lately and that would have been too much. And I’m here to visit my friend and not to fuck around. Good girl.

The next morning I’m about to hop into the shower when someone knocks on my door. It’s Fernao. He’s got no shirt on. I’m only wrapped in a towel. “Good morning!” – “Good morning”. “Sami and I are planning to go to this remote beach today. We have a rental so we can drive around. I was wondering, well, I’m sure you have plans but if not, if you’d like to join us.” I explain that I don’t know because I need to wait for Maria to contact me. Her daughter has fever so I don’t know what’s going to happen. “Ok sure, well, let us know or at least come up for a coffee anyway.” “Sure.”

I get into the shower smiling.

I make myself another fruit plate and go to the terrace upstairs. Fernao is again there doing Yoga. But this time I dare to pass him and sit on one of the sun chairs. We chat a bit. He continues his yoga. Tells me how yesterday he got up at 7am and did a 3 hour yoga session. This place energizes him. Maria calls. Her daughter had bad fever last night and her sister’s dog died. I tell her not to worry about me, she should be with her family. I will go to the beach with the guys.

Within a few hours we are on our way to the beach. It’s a bit of a drive but eventually we get there. The beach can be reached after walking for about 15min through sand dunes. It’s scorching hot. Fernao is carrying his botijo with him. Sami carries his Ukulele and a football.

We get to the beach. It is anything else but remote. It’s filled with people. Naked people. It’s a nudist beach. I make nervous jokes, how funny it is that we think we’re going to some remote beach and we end up at a nudist beach. “Well, it’s not like we were going to wear swim wear at a remote beach anyways”, Fernao says. It doesn’t take 5min and both of them are butt naked. Great.

First round of swimming I leave on my bikini. But when Fernao starts to make handstands and wheels in the sand with his shlong dangling around I feel seriously overdressed and tell myself “ah what the fuck”. I take off my bikini. I’m not exactly comfortable with my body in broad sunlight. My boobs are tiny and my nipples are ugly when they’re not hard. But well. It’s not like those two are carved out of stone either.

I don’t exactly remember when but at some point I realize that Fernao is flirting with me.

I lay on my stomach, taking in the full sun. Fernao starts touching my back. I don’t know why but it makes me insanely horny. We swim, we eat, we drink beer, we swim – life could be worse. At some point Fernao is playing the Ukulele and Sami starts to massage my feet. And I’m lying there on my back wondering HOW DID I GET HERE? How am I here? On this beach, with these guys? By the way, not sure this is clear but they are both really nice fellas. Not dodgy at all. Just really nice, funny guys.

I did start to think at some point if they have some twisted plan of luring me into a threesome. For a second I am wondering if I could be convinced but no. Seems a bit much.

We go for another swim. It feels great to jump naked in the waves.

It’s getting late and I start to have a bad conscious about having fun here with these guys while Maria needs to deal with her sick daughter and a sad sister. I tell the guys that I need to get out of the sun; maybe we could start thinking of going back soon? They don’t really seem to want to and I don’t really want to push for it, since it’s their car and I don’t want to ruin their fun. I say I go for another swim and then we see.

When I get back from the water, Fernao has explored the area in the dunes and says there is a nice place in the shade where we can hang out for a little longer. I agree. We take our stuff to the dunes and make up a camp. Fernao even brought his hammock… :D

We hang out for a little longer and decide to go back. Finally. It’s already 7pm or sth.

Once we’re back I get in touch with Maria and we meet for dinner. After that, I go upstairs to join the guys. We drink some wine, chat. Sami goes to sleep. I guess he noticed Fernao and me flirting with each other. Fernao and me have been caressing each other’s back and hair all day. I think it takes not even 1min after Sami left and we’re kissing. I am so horny. How does this guy make me so horny? My Argentinian and Colombian friends have been telling me how Latin American guys are just different. Boy were they right. We’re sitting on the sun chair kissing and Fernao is leaning in on me when suddenly the fabric of the chair breaks and we’re both landing on the floor. We’re laughing.

We get up and continue kissing against the wall when he asks: “Can I take you somewhere where I can take all these clothes off?” Yes please.

We go to my room. As soon as I close the door behind me, Fernao pushes me against the wall, holds up my hands above my hand, kisses me passionately and seems to have his hands all over me. He lifts up my dress, squeezes my but, kisses my neck. I wrap my arms around him, he lifts me up so I am against the wall, legs wrapped around him. I slide down, he opens the zipper of my dress, slowly slides it down my shoulders. I’m not wearing a bra. I’m only in panties. He looks at me and smiles. Takes my hand and guides me to the bed. We make passionate love until we fall into a soft slumber. A few hours we wake up, make love again…

In the morning, we wake up next to each other. He says “Yesterday morning, Sami asked me what I’d like for today. And I said “Figs and Charlotte””.

#figs #pottery #france #love #ukulele

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bevioletskies · 6 years

Text

everybody wants to rule the world [3/8]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

summary: peter is the one and only heir to the celestial throne. gamora is expected to successfully lead the titans to conquer the galaxy. a political alliance is in the works, and there may or may not be wedding bells in the air.

alternately: peter and gamora find themselves in an arranged marriage and want nothing to do with it, but might need each other more than they think if they want to escape their genocidal fathers forever.

word count: 13.5k

a/n: warning for creepy/abusive behavior from both thanos and ego towards their respective children throughout the entire fic. also note that this AU is very heavily based on the MCU versions of themselves, where things are basically only different because yondu took peter to ego after all.

fic title is from the song everybody wants to rule the world by tears for fears.

we will find you acting on your best behaviour...turn your back on mother nature…

ao3 | tag

Gamora rose bright and early the next morning, unsurprised to find that she could hear the faint sounds of Peter’s snoring, even through the gilded double doors that had to be at least two inches thick. She couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sound, despite its more irritable qualities. She was already starting to pick up on the nuances and personality quirks of her fiancé, rather endearing oddities that made him so unlike the other noblemen she had encountered so far in her line of work. There was a predictability in his unexpectedness, if that made any sense at all, though she wasn’t about to tell him she thought he was sort of charming (when he wasn’t being frustratingly naive).

She slipped out into the sitting room, drawing her dressing gown a little tighter around her middle in case anyone happened to have entered Peter’s quarters, but it was vacant aside from the pizza box from last night still sitting on the coffee table, causing the entire room to smell vaguely of fried cheese. Gamora briefly debated the idea of heading to breakfast by herself, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to facing Ego again, not after she had run from last night’s dinner. And Nova Prime - well, there went her chances of ever redeeming herself and her people. Stupid, Gamora told herself. You ruined everything for your people because of your own pride. You’re a warrior, not a child. Start acting like one.

Gamora knew she couldn’t afford to have another tantrum like that, lose control of herself and her anger because of how people saw her. Fighting with Peter when they were supposed to be allies, lashing out at Nova Prime for simply reading a little too much into her history - there was too much at stake for her to do anything remotely similar ever again. She was so close to achieving a world in which Thanos would no longer exist, a world in which she and Nebula could finally be free. No more mistakes could be made.

“Morning.” Gamora startled at the sound of Peter’s voice, spinning on her heel to face him. How had she not heard him walk into the room? “Is everything okay? You’re just...standing there.” His voice was pleasantly deep, raspy from sleep, hair sticking up on one side rather comically. She bit back the urge to smooth it down. “Dad didn’t come around to talk to you, did he?”

“Thankfully, no.” Her own voice was raw from lack of use. She coughed sharply. “I was just lost in thought, don’t mind me.”

“Anything I can help with?” he offered. “Like I said last night, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I am your future husband, after all,” he added with a wink.

Gamora only gave him an impressive eye-roll in response, dropping her arms to her sides as the tension evaporated from her shoulders. “We should head to breakfast now, Quill, and see if I can salvage the mess I made last night. Ask for your father’s forgiveness and hope he doesn’t ban me from this planet the moment I step into the room.”

“Well, he has no right to,” Peter said, ruffling his hair, the curls becoming more unruly with every passing moment. “But if it comes to that, I’ll tell him that if you leave, then I’ll leave, too.”

“Quill,” she said quietly. “You don’t owe me anything from yesterday, okay? It was my temper that ruined everything. Don’t risk your relationship with your father to cover for my mistakes.”

“I still don’t think you did anything wrong, but alright,” he conceded. “We should get going.”

After they both got dressed, they walked to the dining hall together, noting the absence of the attendants and guards that had lined the halls by the dozens just yesterday. Clearly, Nova Prime had already left the planet, might have even left immediately after realizing Gamora wasn’t returning to dinner. The sinking feeling in Gamora’s stomach grew stronger as they entered the room and saw Ego sitting at the head of the table with his hands clasped firmly in front of him. Mantis, Yondu, and Gamora’s people were nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, your highness,” Gamora said, sinking into a deep bow. “Please allow me to apologize for my outburst last night.”

He merely raised an eyebrow before unfolding his hands, waving her off. “Now, now, Gamora. Don’t you worry about a thing. Irani and I had a little chat after you left, and she felt bad about putting you in such an awkward position. I’ll admit, I overreacted myself. There’s no need to apologize.”

Gamora paused. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Ego chuckled. “Come on now, sweetheart. We can’t expect you to change overnight, after all.”

Peter winced. Uh oh. “Change, your highness?” Gamora said slowly. All semblance of submission in her posture vanished instantly in favor of what was starting to sound like the beginnings of a full-blown confrontation.

“If anything, Peter should be the one apologizing, not you,” Ego said through a mouthful of pastry. “Do you have anything to say to me, son?”

Peter froze instantly, his eyes blown wide with fear. Gamora instinctively reached for him, but decided against it, knowing Ego would misinterpret her intentions. “I...I don’t...I’m not sure...what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

Ego sighed, taking a long drink from his mug before setting it back down on the table with a loud clatter. “Well, that’s just disappointing. I expected better from you, son. Now, I do recall I was supposed to let you look at the guest list, but I’m not so sure I want to do that anymore. I don’t like breaking my promises, Peter. But apparently, you do.” Peter turned to look at Gamora with wild desperation, and she began mouthing the answer she knew Ego was looking for. Ego clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Ah, ah, no hints, sweetheart. Peter’s a grown man. He should be able to figure this out on his own.”

Peter’s heartbeat sped up tenfold, pounding so violently in his chest it was like he could physically feel it drumming against his ribcage. Gamora was now fixated on Ego with an apprehensive gaze. He still hadn’t answered her question, and she had a feeling he wasn’t even going to acknowledge what he had said to her. “I’m sorry...that...uh…”

“I don’t have all day, Peter,” Ego said cooly, draining the last of his drink. “And you don’t, either. So if you don’t have a damn clue, both of you should just sit down, eat breakfast, and be ready for our appointment with the decorator. He’ll be here in an hour with displays for us to look at.”

The two of them moved stiffly to their seats, Peter more shaken than Gamora. He stared at his empty plate for a full thirty seconds before Gamora dropped a bread roll in front of him, which seemed to wake him from his reverie. He kept his hands busy for the next minute or so, piling up food that she already knew he didn’t like to eat, as he continued to rack his brain for the answer. Gamora kept her gaze locked on Ego as she ate as calmly as she could, hoping he would look away long enough for her to tell Peter what his father was looking for.

There was something about Peter’s body language that disturbed her immensely, the tightness of his shoulders, the incessant tapping of his foot against the tile floor. She had already become so used to his improper posture, the way he moseyed about without a care in the world. After everything she had worried about just an hour ago, she had never anticipated Ego getting mad at him instead. You’re smarter than this, Gamora, Thanos’s voice leered, rattling about in her brain. Did you really think Ego was going to risk the alliance by alienating you? And don’t tell me you’re attached to your fiancé already. His wellbeing doesn’t matter, so long as he functions well enough for our purpose. Forget him, and focus on the task at hand.

“Who is the decorator, your highness?” she finally asked, looking away from Ego long enough to grab another piece of fruit.

“He’s a bit of wildcard, that man,” Ego answered cryptically. He was still staring Peter down rather intensely, daring him to say something. Peter refused to look up from his plate, shoveling bread in his mouth like he was starving. “Apparently he’s got all sorts of tricks up his sleeve, gadgets and gizmos aplenty. He’s not actually a decorator, per se, but he does owe me some favors, and he’s got connections all over the galaxy to some of the finest goods known to man.”

“I must admit, I’m surprised you aren’t partaking in decorating the palace yourself,” Gamora said, waving a hand at their surroundings. “Considering how...elaborate everything looks, I would have thought it to be a simple task for you.”

“Oh, I’ve got a lot on my plate. Meetings, the boring stuff. Off-planet.” Ego jabbed his fork outwards in a nonsensical direction. “I’ll be leaving tonight, after we’ve made the last few wedding arrangements. I can’t guarantee when I’ll be back, but I will definitely be here for the wedding.” He chewed slowly. “So, Peter. You figured it out yet?”

“I’m...sorry I didn’t bring Gamora back to dinner like I promised,” Peter said carefully.

“And why didn’t you, Peter?” Ego began wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin, the coolness in his eyes still prevalent.

“I was worried about Gamora,” Peter said honestly. “She was upset, I didn’t wanna force her to come back to dinner.”

“So you lied to me, then.” Ego set the napkin down, folded one leg neatly over the other, his hands coming to rest on his bent knee. “You’re really digging yourself a hole here, Peter.”

“I didn’t lie,” Peter frowned. “I asked her to come back like I promised I would, but she didn’t want to, so I didn’t ask again.”

“You better keep an eye on him, Gamora,” Ego said dryly. “You might think you’re marrying a man, but all I see in front of me is a boy. A boy who doesn’t know how to take control like a man, doesn’t know how to handle people like a man.”

“Handle?” Peter exclaimed very suddenly, clenching his fists. Gamora was alarmed to find that once again, tendrils of white light were starting to wiggle their way up between his fingers.

Ego stood abruptly, his chair screeching across the floor. He flipped his cape back over his shoulder before turning and striding away. “We’re receiving the decorator in the throne room in thirty minutes. I expect you both to be on time. Don’t give me another reason to punish you, Peter. And believe me, I will.”

The moment the doors shut behind Ego’s sweeping figure, Peter let out a loud exhale of relief, flexing his fingers outwards as the light slowly died down. Gamora could only sit in silence, unsure of how to comfort him, or if he even needed comforting in the first place. She was so used to Nebula’s tantrums - yelling, fighting, screaming for blood - that Peter’s quiet fury was completely foreign to her. “You see how he is?” Peter laughed hollowly. “It’s stuff like that that makes me wonder why I even bother sticking around. And then I remember.”

“Your sister?” Gamora guessed. He nodded wordlessly. “Then we’re in the same boat. I would have left Thanos long ago if not for Nebula. She still values his opinion in her own way. Craves his attention like it’s the only way to measure her self-worth.”

“Mantis doesn’t know any other way,” he continued. “At least I had eight years with my mom. But she’s been with Dad since she was a baby. Don’t think she ever got a hug until I came along.”

Gamora couldn’t recall the last time she had been hugged, or who by. It had to have been her mother or father. “Come on, Quill,” she said quietly. “We have to finish breakfast and get going before the decorator arrives. We can’t give your father another excuse to hurt you.”

“Right.” He sighed again, picking up his fork. “You’re right.” ______

Peter and Gamora arrived at the throne room with three minutes to spare, their own capes swishing behind them in haste. To Gamora’s surprise, she found another throne had been bolted down beside Peter’s, shimmering proudly in the sunlight, complete with emerald detailing and a plush red cushion. Yondu was already stood at its side, his back stiff as a board as he stared straight ahead, while Mantis and Ego were already settled and ready.

“Would you look at that? You finally listened to me,” Ego drawled.

“Yes, Dad,” Peter said patiently as he and Gamora joined them. He tried his best to sit as still as possible, though he could see Gamora fidgeting with her ring - not the silver rings that so often adorned her fingers, those were entirely absent today - but the engagement ring he had given her, its green diamond catching the light streaming in through the enormous windows. “And I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to talk back.”

“Attaboy.” Ego patted Peter firmly on the shoulder. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Arriving now, Taneleer Tivan - the Collector,” the herald boomed from the front of the room as the enormous front doors swung open. A man strolled in, followed by two young women who looked no older than Mantis. The only word that came to Peter’s mind in that very moment was eccentric - the man was indisputably odd, with a large fur coat over an asymmetric pinstripe jacket, absolutely dripping in jewels, with a shock of white hair and a dark blue stripe down the middle of his bottom lip and chin. The two women were in matching crisp white uniforms, a stark contrast to their vibrantly pink skin and pigtails - clearly Krylorian, and clearly his servants. “Presenting His Royal Majesty, King Ego of the Celestials, and his children, Prince Peter and Princess Mantis, and Prince Peter’s betrothed, Princess Gamora of the Titans.”

“Well, that’s a damn mouthful,” Yondu muttered under his breath. Peter had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“Your Highnesses,” Tivan purred, bowing so deeply he looked as if he were about to tumble forwards. “It is an absolute honor to be in your presence.”

“The honor is mine, Tivan,” Ego chuckled, the prior iciness in his tone no longer there. “I hope you had a safe journey here. I know we’re a bit hard to find.”

“Oh, nothing could keep me away,” Tivan replied, straightening up. “Especially when I heard that the lovely Princess Gamora was here.”

“And why is that, Tivan?” Gamora leaned forward slightly to get a better look at him. It was surprisingly difficult to read his face - despite the dramatics of his appearance and his speech, there was a dullness in his expression that left her guessing.

“Why, you’re absolutely famous across the galaxy, my dear,” Tivan simpered. “When I heard of your engagement to the handsome Prince Peter here, I knew you would make a splendid pair. I just had to come and see for myself. I wanted the opportunity to provide you both the very finest for your wedding. If I may ask, how did you two meet?”

“It was an arrangement between myself and Thanos,” Ego said, eyes flickering briefly to Gamora before turning back towards the Collector. “We figured it was about time to cement an alliance between our two kingdoms. Besides, I think it’s working quite well - my boy seems absolutely head over heels for her.”

Peter let out an undignified squeak. “Dad, that’s - that’s uh.” He chuckled awkwardly. He was unsure of whether it was acceptable to joke around with his father again, or if it was too early, and would only worsen his future punishment. “It’s a bit early to say. We’ve known each other for less than a week.”

“Nonsense,” Ego laughed. “Remember when you were a kid? You loved going on and on about finding your ‘true love’ like in those books your mom read to you. And you’ve been making eyes at her the whole time she’s been here. Father’s intuition, Peter.” He tapped on his temples knowingly. Peter sunk a little in his seat, looking over to Yondu, who looked to be enjoying himself way too much. Gamora herself looked a little disturbed.

The Collector seemed intrigued but thankfully decided not to pry any further. He spun suddenly to look at the women behind him. “Carina! Ophelia! Why are we keeping our hosts waiting? Bring them the displays they have been so patiently waiting for.”

The women startled as if they had been hit before scrambling for the large crate behind them, unbuckling the straps that bound it in place. The sides of the crate crashed onto the ground with an echoing whump, revealing a large glass box. Inside that box appeared to be a revolving orb, glowing a rich, vibrant purple. The Collector snapped his fingers, and the orb suddenly came to life, projecting a rotation of images about five feet above the box. Pictures of floral displays and sculptures more elaborate than the last, table settings and matching curtains, the sort of excessive luxury that made Gamora feel incredibly out of her element. Still, she knew she couldn’t afford another misstep, now that she had tested the boundaries of Ego’s patience. Play along, Gamora, Thanos’s voice murmured in her ear. It’s imperative that they trust you are nothing more than the prince’s betrothed. If you give up the game, know that if they do not punish you, I certainly will.

“Well then, why don’t we take a closer look? Shall we?” Ego got to his feet, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Peter and Mantis automatically stood as well, so Gamora rose to follow them.

It was unlike any mission she had ever been on before, this touch-and-go mimicry of the customs and socialization of these people she still knew almost nothing about. Not that Gamora was entirely unused to this - out of all of Thanos’s children, she was considered to be the best with people, not that that was saying much. She knew how to manipulate people, lure them into a false sense of security. But this was something else entirely, watching the Celestial royal family as they oohed and ahhed over embossed nameplates, smile in delight as the Collector described the intricacies of cutlery in detail. Even Peter, who had been shaking like a leaf not thirty minutes ago at breakfast, was now clapping his father on the shoulder, doubled over in laughter in response to an inside joke as if nothing had happened.

Gamora thought back to how all her previous jobs had gone - find the target, then hurt, torture, or kill the target. Done. It was like clockwork, with the only real variation being who, where, and why, none of which really mattered in the end, not when one was as skilled as she was. Despite its horrifying implications, she liked the routine of those tasks, the expectation of how it was all going to play out. This right here, this was unpredictable and impulsive and rash, and maybe it explained why she was holding her breath like she was drowning and had no idea how long it would take to get to the surface.

“Hey. Hey, Gamora.” Peter appeared in front of her, concerned. “Man, you’re really zoning out today. C’mon, let’s get this over with and then we can go, okay?”

“Right.” She swallowed. “Right, my apologies.”

“What’re you sorry for?” he frowned. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t I?” she said hoarsely. He looked at her curiously, opening his mouth as if to ask her something, before Ego began calling them over again, gesturing at another projection of what appeared to be an ice sculpture of Peter and Gamora in a loving embrace. She stepped closer, nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. Now wasn’t the time for her to reflect on what she had done. Focus on what you have to do, she told herself firmly. Have your moment after the deed is done. After Thanos is dead. Only then, do you deserve to celebrate. ______

As the day dragged on, Gamora couldn’t help but feel drained. Not from physical exhaustion - that was a sensation that often eluded her in favor of adrenaline - but from keeping up appearances, matching the sort of energy expected out of Peter and Mantis at all times. She had two more appointments to go - in a way, she was grateful that Ego had insisted on everything being done in a single day, rather than let it carry over the entire span of the week - before she would be free to do as she pleased once again.

The dress fitting - well, she didn’t really want to talk about it. The dressmaker was a defector from the Sovereign who, despite having nothing but ill will for her people, still had every bit of arrogance and attitude that they were known for, commenting on how the swell of Gamora’s muscle definition, particularly in her biceps and thighs, were “unsightly for an otherwise semi-attractive woman such as herself”. Gamora almost started to consider decking the woman in the face, but she wasn’t about to let her temper get the best of her again. And yes, her dress was ostentatiously gold. Seriously, she didn’t want to talk about it.

The last appointment of the day was when she was reunited with Peter. She found herself surprisingly relieved upon seeing him again, smiling tentatively and bowing in greeting, something that seemed to please Ego. Peter bowing back, almost teasingly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth, caught both Ego and Gamora off-guard, her smile growing slightly wider as he straightened back up.

After their miscommunication from a couple days ago, once they had reached a better understanding of each other’s intentions, he was a comforting presence among her uncertainty about Mantis and Yondu, and her dread whenever Ego was nearby. Peter was pleasant company, if a little scatterbrained at times. He was clever enough, a natural conversationalist who seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and admittedly very easy on the eyes (Gamora might have been secretly pleased by the tightness of his dress shirt from last night’s dinner). If he were any less amicable, she might have fled a while ago, but something about his demeanor told her that he was trustworthy.

“Cake?” Gamora said slowly. She was staring down the length of the dining table, astonished to find it entirely covered in more dessert than she had consumed in her lifetime.

“You say that like you’ve never seen it before,” Peter commented with a chuckle.

“I practically haven’t,” she replied firmly. “Cake isn’t something that’s easy to come by when one lives the way I do. And I haven’t had any since arriving.” The two dessert chefs who were standing dutifully beside the table looked somewhat offended by her confession.

“Well, then - allow me to introduce it to you,” Peter said. The chefs eyed him apprehensively as he picked up the large knife and sliced into the closest dessert, a vibrant red velvet cake topped with chocolate shavings. He passed her the plate with a hopeful smile, while she accepted it gingerly as if it were a small animal, ready to attack. Ego had since walked over to the head of the table as always, watching her expectantly. “Hey...do you trust me?”

“Marginally,” she said half-teasingly, before taking a tentative bite. She chewed slowly, consideringly. “It’s a bit sweet for my taste. I don’t really have sugar that often. It’s alright, I suppose.”

“Wait!” Peter exclaimed, moving to cut a different cake. The chefs looked to be considering leaving the room entirely since he was so insistent on taking their job. “Maybe you’ll like fruit better - natural sugars - try this.”

To Gamora’s dismay, the moment she took a bite of the second slice - some yaro concoction, oozing with a generous helping of jam - Peter seemed to have taken it as a cue to start cutting pieces from everything on the table, piling it onto an enormous plate. He brought it back to her with a brightness in his eyes, not unlike a child who was incredibly eager to show their playmate all their toys at once.

She tried her hardest not to smile at his enthusiasm. “If your goal was to make sure I’m too full for dinner, you’re certainly on your way,” she replied, though she accepted the new plate. Part of her felt ridiculous - what was she doing here, picking out flower arrangements and curtains, eating cake and tasting appetizers, like it was all she had to worry about? But then she cast a spare glance across the room with Ego, who nodded at her in what she supposed he thought to be solidarity. Right, that was the mission. Pretend like she wasn’t planning a revolution behind his back. She turned towards Peter before she could let everything she was feeling show on her face. “Are you not having any?”

“I already know which one I like,” he shrugged, pointing at a generous slice of perhaps the most modest-looking cake on her plate. Yellow cake, white frosting - no sprinkles or shavings, no fruit or chocolate, just cake. “All these recipes are from Terran cookbooks that I found at Nova trading posts. A little slice of home. But this cake? This is the one my mom taught me how to make. Or, she tried. I wouldn’t really sit still long enough to help measure out the ingredients, or stir, or any of that. But it’s a good memory.”

“Well, I have no sentimental attachment to any of these. So why don’t we go with yours?” She took a bite of the yellow cake, smiling a little as she did. “Besides, I like it. Simple, unfussy. Sweet, but not overly so. Your mother had good taste.”

“You still haven’t had any of the others yet,” Peter reminded her, though his gaze softened as he said it.

“I don’t have to,” she said quietly. “I’ll defer to you. Just this once, though. Don’t get used to it.” He chuckled in response, ducking his head bashfully.

It was then that Ego strolled over to them as casually as he could manage, apparently having become restless observing them from afar. “Have you told her about your mother, Peter?” He slung an arm over both their shoulders, jostling Gamora’s plate somewhat. “She was a beauty, that Meredith Quill. Clever, funny. A real sweetheart. I called her my river lily.”

“That’s great, Dad,” Peter said loudly, stepping out of his grasp. Gamora followed suit, wincing when she noticed some of the icing had smeared onto her jacket sleeve. “Okay, we’ve got decorations and food out of the way, Gamora’s got her dress and I��ve got my suit. Are we, uh, are we good to go?”

Ego looked at him curiously before stepping back. “Alright, I can take a hint,” he laughed, holding up his hands in defeat. “You want dear old Dad to leave you alone with your girl, I get it. I don’t blame you, son. She’s a real keeper, hey?” Peter chuckled weakly as he internally winced. “I’ll be back for the wedding, Peter, I promise. I wouldn’t miss my boy’s big day for the world!” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder one last time. “Say goodbye to Mantis for me, will you? And don’t burn the kingdom down while I’m gone.”

“Ha,” Peter said uncertainly as Ego strolled away, whistling once more. It was the same tune he seemed to whistle all the time, not that Gamora could identify what it was, or if it was significant at all. “Wait, Dad! The guest list.”

Ego paused, though he didn’t turn around. “Why don’t you ask Yondu? After all, I saw him sniffing around my study yesterday. Remind him not to do it again, will you? He should really know better.”

“I - Yes, Dad.” Peter coughed. “Have a good trip.” Ego nodded sharply before continuing out of the room. Peter then turned to look at the chefs, who looked just about as awkward as he felt. “Oh, you’re, uh, you’re dismissed. Thank you for all the cake, it was awesome as always. And please, take the rest of the week off. You guys are gonna be so worn out on the day of the wedding.”

“But, your highness - ” one of them began, astonished.

“It’s your son’s birthday tomorrow, right, Cosima? And he likes chocolate cake, if I remember correctly.” He gestured towards the table of untouched dessert. “Listen, take it all and give it to your families, and everyone who’s working the wedding, alright? Don’t let my dad’s obsession with making our wedding perfect take over your lives. Have some fun, on me!”

Both chefs looked uneasily at each other before looking at Gamora as well, apparently seeking her approval. “Where I come from, we know to never waste food,” Gamora added. “It would be a shame to see your hard work go to waste.”

“Yes, your highnesses,” the chefs chimed, relieved. They left to fetch their kitchen assistants, but not before bowing to Peter and Gamora, huge smiles on their faces.

Gamora turned towards Peter. “Generous of you. I’m impressed. And how did you remember the chef’s son so well?”

“He was one of the first births in our kingdom,” Peter explained. “His mother was working as a server at the time. She always slipped me extra servings of dessert at dinner. I remember making Yondu drag me to her room a few days after her son was born, and apparently, the first thing I said was ‘I thought babies were s’posed to be cute’.”

She snorted. “How tactful. You never really quite understood the concept of ‘think before you speak’, did you?”

“Hey, it’s all part of my charm,” he grinned. “So, what should we do now?”

“Something actually useful,” she suggested, setting her plate down. “Training?” ______

The two of them returned to Peter’s quarters, grateful to finally be alone. Granted, Gamora had suggested they invite the rest of their group along, but to her surprise, Peter had been thinking further ahead than she realized. He had asked Kraglin to escort the others to the armory and set up a secret storage area for their weapons and technology, especially Rocket’s impressive arsenal of guns. So now, it was just the two of them, and they were both surprisingly comfortable with the idea.

It was their first proper training session after the madness of their first few days together, and Peter found himself looking forward to it. Aside from Gamora’s rather unsavory reputation that he now knew to never bring up, he could only imagine the sort of things she could teach him, what he could be capable of under her tutelage. “So, what’s first? Punches? Kicks? How to kill a dude with just one finger?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him as she snapped her glove straps into place. “I’m not sure what scenario you’re imagining in which you have to kill a...man with one finger. Where are the rest of your fingers?”

“The dude would’ve cut ‘em off. That’s why I have to kill him,” he said seriously. She fixed him with another blank stare before snorting and shaking her head.

“No, Quill, that’s not what we’re focusing on. Like I said before, you’ve clearly got a natural inclination for combat and a decent skill set already, you just need the discipline. You need to anticipate your opponent’s next move before they themselves know what they’re doing.” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, stretching out her torso as she did, arms held high above her head. Peter tried to mimic her movements, though he certainly didn’t have her flexibility. “You also said you know how to fight as long as the other person isn’t fighting dirty. Well, if you’re fighting for your life, all moves can come into play, honorable or not.”

“So if I were fighting you, for example…” He cut himself off with a groan as the muscle in his lower back spasmed from his stretching. “...I could totally pull your hair.”

She stepped closer to him, her gaze traveling up his body in consideration. She tried her best not to let her eyes linger, or surely he’d tease her for it. “If you pull my hair…” she said slowly. Without warning, she kicked out one leg from under him. “...I guarantee your inability to ever have children.” He collapsed in a panting heap on the ground, clutching at the sudden ache in his crotch. “Understood?”

“Yes,” he grunted. “That was...ow.”

“Eloquent,” she drawled, offering a hand to pull him up. He accepted it with a disgruntled huff, only for her to flip him back down once more and pin him in a headlock.

“Ahh!” Peter yelped. He grasped fruitlessly at her arm to no avail, her vice-like grip too solid for him to do anything but paw at her defeatedly. “You are...relentless.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Gamora smirked, releasing him. He stumbled to his feet, somewhat dazed from the lack of oxygen. “And you have to be when your entire life is a kill-or-be-killed scenario. Has there ever been any sort of major conflicts here? War, famine, treason?”

He straightened up, though he was still seeing spots. “No, nothing like that.”

“So then why do you have any fight training to begin with? I can’t imagine your father found value in investing the time for you to train since you supposedly have an army.”

Peter smiled at that. “Nah, not Dad. Yondu. He, uh...well, I’m not gonna get into his story, but he’s a damn good fighter. When he was taking me here, from Terra, I asked him if he could teach me some moves. After a while, I think a part of him wished I became a Ravager instead of a prince. I was a skinny kid. Woulda been good for thievin’.”

“That’s where the story doesn’t quite add up for me,” Gamora admitted, dropping her defensive stance entirely. “Your father is clearly a resourceful man. I mean no offense to Yondu, but why did Ego send a criminal to pick you up instead of returning to Terra himself?”

“He said...he said he couldn’t bear the idea of being back on an Earth where my mother wasn’t living anymore. But I was the one who had to watch her die. And...I don’t know which is worse. Being right there, or not being there at all.”

“I had to watch my family die as well.” She slowly sat on the floor, bringing her knees up to her chest. “So forgive me for saying your father has no grounds for his point of view. It’s the kind of trauma no person should ever have to live with.”

He chuckled, sitting across from her. “Y’know, I’m starting to think this room is cursed. Every single time we’re in here, we end up talking about pretty serious stuff. But as long as this doesn’t end in you throwing a knife at me again, I don’t mind.”

She looked almost embarrassed as she hung her head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Quill. I spend so much time lecturing Nebula for being irrational, but I realize that my temper is just as bad. It’s something I’m working on, for when I’m...my new self, I suppose. Whatever you want to call it.”

Peter tilted his head slightly as he observed her. There was an unusual softness in the way she held herself, her shoulders loose, her palms open and draped absentmindedly over her knees. The calluses on her fingertips, the scarring on her knuckles, had faded a little bit since the day of her arrival. He couldn’t have ever imagined her to show such vulnerability around him, around anyone, but maybe she had no one to talk to like this. Not when her people were so different from her, not when her sister was more similar than she wanted to admit. It was then that Peter realized, for all of her bravado, the confidence that he had recognized in her the very first time they met, it was rooted in loneliness. And if she was starting to feel connected to him, whether because of their impending plans, by circumstance, or whatever else it could possibly be, he wanted to be there for her. He wanted to help. “Well...what else does your new self wanna do?”

“What do you mean?” She lifted her head to meet his eyes.

“I guess...hobbies? New skills you wanna pick up?” He shrugged. “Whatever you can think of, really.”

“You say that like I have a chance at a normal life after all of this, whatever ‘normal’ means,” Gamora replied. “Trust me, I have no illusion of being accepted into society after our fathers are dead. I’m sure there’s a place for me in Sakaar, where I’ll spend the rest of my days fighting for my life. It’s nothing new. It’ll be a comfort, even.”

Peter frowned. “Look, I don’t know if Nova Prime’s offer still stands after what happened last night, but what she said about me? That’s still real. I’ll advocate for you. I’ll make sure people know that it was your idea in the first place.”

She blinked, surprised. “...then I’ll ask you the same thing I asked her. You barely know me, Quill, so why would you waste your time trying to help me? And don’t give me that ‘clean slate’ crap.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you that well,” he agreed. “But you’ve said and done enough for me to already know that you’re a good person. With good intentions. And you deserve a better life than the one you’ve been dealt.”

“And what of your plans afterwards?” she asked. For a moment, she thought of reacting to what he had said - in her mind, it was an utterly undeserved kindness. She could already see so much of the goodness in Peter that others had spoken of, that she couldn’t see how he thought the same of her. Part of her was also suspicious about Ego’s light-hearted teasing - did Peter truly have romantic feelings for her? Was that part of his goal here, to win her over with generous words? It was too early to tell, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she liked the idea or not just yet. “To be blunt, you’ll be a prince without a kingdom.”

“I’d like to think a kingdom is more about its people than a place,” Peter shrugged. “Maybe I’ll keep watch over ‘em, wherever they end up. If they’ll still have me, that is.” His eyes lit up. “Hey, you haven’t met the people yet! We should do that while Dad’s away.”

“You really think they’ll accept me?” Gamora said dubiously. “There hasn’t even been an official announcement of our engagement.”

“Then we’ll do it tomorrow, first thing. Kill two birds with one stone!” At her alarmed expression, he added, “Terran expression. Sorry, I forget sometimes.”

“Forget that I’m not Terran?” she said, confused.

“Forget that we haven’t known each other that long. We’ve spent so much time together already, it’s like you’ve been here for months, not days,” he confessed, getting to his feet. Once again, Gamora wasn’t sure how to feel about that just yet, though she was also starting to forget what her daily life had been like before coming here. For all of her worries and stresses about how to behave, there was also something soothing about not hiding out in some safehouse for days, or sneaking through an alleyway, or wherever the future scene of her crime took place. Being here was downright cozy in comparison. “C’mon, let’s get back to it. I thought you wanted to discipline me.” He paused. “That sounded less weird in my head.”

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear you. I’m getting the feeling I’ll be doing that often,” she sighed as she got up as well. “Alright then, start with your feet at about hip-width apart…” ______

Dinner was decidedly more pleasant than the previous few nights, now that Ego was away. Instead of eating in the dining hall, Peter had requested the chefs make some of his favorite homestyle Terran meals and bring them to his quarters instead. Their entire group gathered in the sitting room, sprawled across the many couches and chairs, as they made small talk and greedily gulped down every last bite.

“I still can’t believe you’re gettin’ married, Gam,” Rocket said as he began licking his paws clean. Peter wondered if it would be condescending to offer him a napkin. “I know it’s an arrangement and all, but geez, you were just slayin’ a bunch of A’askavariians two weeks ago when they sold out the big guy for a lousy hundred thousand units. And now we’re gonna watch you walk down the aisle!”

“I remember that job. You were absolutely drenched in blood,” Drax nodded, taking another generous bite of his meatloaf. “It was quite the sight, Quill. You should have seen it. There is no one more formidable than your wife-to-be.”

Gamora glanced over at Peter, somewhat worried - the last thing she needed was for him to get spooked by reminders of her violent tendencies again - but he was just grinning, awestruck. “That sounds badass,” he said cheerfully. “Kinda gross, but badass. So were all of you there?”

“Yes. We tend to travel together. Gamora and Nebula are sent on missions as a pair quite often, and so Groot and I accompany them to keep an eye on them both,” Drax explained. ��Rocket just tags along because - “

“ - because I can,” Rocket boasted. “Big man don’t mind me. And he don’t scare me, either.”

“You should be scared of Thanos. I’d frankly consider it unhealthy if you didn’t,” Gamora said, poking him with her fork. She turned back to Peter. “We have other siblings, but we don’t speak of them. The Black Order...they are much more physically intimidating than Nebula and I, but we have the better track record with our father. He also acquired both of us around the same time, which is why we’re thrown together more often than not.”

“Yes, except we all know Thanos favors you over any other,” Nebula snorted as she took a sip of her drink. “It’s no wonder Korath tried to kill you so often.”

“And failed every single time, so clearly he should feel threatened by me,” Gamora retorted. “We’re not discussing this now, Nebula.”

“Why, because you don’t want your husband to know all of your dirty secrets?” Nebula shot back.

“I am Groot,” Groot said sternly, planting himself on the couch, firmly settled between the sisters. They both let out grunts of annoyance as he squished them into armrests with his overly large (and rather prickly) elbows.

“Yeah, can you two relax for a second? We got plenty of time to fight later, when we’re actually fighting for our lives,” Rocket snapped. “Right now, I just want more of this.” He held up his beer stein above his head as if it were a glorious trophy. “You mind getting me a refill, Quill?”

Peter rolled his eyes as he held out his hand, drawing slow, circular motions with his pointer finger as the glass slowly filled itself to the brim. “Y’know, I’m starting to think you guys like me for what I can do, and not for who I am.”

“Who said anything about liking you?” Rocket snarked, though he clapped Peter heartily on the back in what Peter suspected was meant to be reassurance, though the claw pinpricks in his spine made him wince. “Besides, the only one of us that’s really hung out with you at all is Gamora. But you should be honored, man. She usually hates everyone.”

“I have no patience for anyone,” Gamora corrected, smirking. “Quill is no exception.”

“Trust me, girl, that don’t wear off,” Yondu said dryly. “Oh, the stories I could tell about ‘im when he was a boy.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!” Rocket said heartily, slamming his mug against the table with vigor. The beer sloshed all over the rim, splattering over his paw, but he didn’t seem to notice. “All we ever heard before coming here was goody-two-shoes Prince Peter. Gimme the real dirt!”

“I, too, am intrigued,” Drax added, leaning forward in anticipation.

“I have stories, too!” Mantis piped up. “There is plenty to say about Peter from when we were children.”

“I feel so betrayed,” Peter sighed.

As Yondu and Mantis began telling the others about the time Peter had decided to run around the palace naked on a dare (Kraglin, who had also been a young boy at the time, thought it would have been hilarious - spoiler alert, it was), Peter moved to sit at Gamora’s feet, giving her a tentative smile when she glanced down. Deciding she’d had enough of Groot’s intrusion of her personal space, she moved to join him, finding herself oddly comforted by her shoulder brushing against his. “Why am I not surprised you were a problem child?” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m clearly perfect,” Peter replied softly. She laughed before she could stop herself. “I can’t believe our friends are bonding over embarrassing secrets about me and dirty secrets about you.”

“We’re hardly a conventional group of people, so it’s natural to bond over unconventional things,” she shrugged. “If it means we perform better as a team, then so be it.”

“Wasn’t even thinking about the plan, to be honest. I was just thinking it’d be nice to have more friends.” He stared at the dredges of his drink in the bottom of his glass. “It’s only been me, Yondu, Mantis, and Kraglin this whole time. Even then, I don’t see Kraglin much anymore, ever since he got promoted.”

“Can we really afford to be friends, though?” Gamora said quietly. “There’s so much at stake. If we were emotionally attached to each other - any of us, I mean - wouldn’t it make it that much harder?”

“Friends are what kept me sane all these years,” Peter replied. “Don’t you feel the same way about yours? Your sister?”

“They’re my subjects, not my friends,” she said cooly, though one cursory glance at her face told him otherwise. “And my sister and I have a complicated history. I wouldn’t call it friendship.”

“What about - ”

“You?” She looked him up and down again, this time more thoroughly. He squirmed a little under her gaze. “We’re engaged by necessity. That doesn’t mean we have to be friends.”

“Uh, well…” Peter trailed off for a moment, surprised by how much her words had cut him. Once again, just when he thought they were getting somewhere, she was leaving him behind instead. “We don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to, but if it’s just by principle of not wanting any no matter what - ”

“I thought we were done challenging each other’s values, Quill,” she interrupted, trying to keep her voice as level as possible. Around them, their friends were bursting into laughter at Yondu and Mantis’s anecdote, oblivious to their conversation. “I told you, sentiment is a weakness. It’s toxic. I accepted a long time ago that I was no longer going to let it into my life. It’s nothing personal when I say I only want to be allies and not friends. So just drop it, okay?”

“Fine.” He turned to look down at his own hands, twisting feverishly in his lap, sans light. “Sorry.”

He supposed there was only so much he could expect from her, having lived her entire life not knowing who to trust. To her, he was probably just another temporary face in the crowd, a means to an end. Still, Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. There was something so enigmatic about her, and whenever she was around, he found himself really enjoying her company. But if she was really this insistent on keeping their relationship strictly professional, he wasn’t about to attempt anything otherwise.

“You two arguin’ again? We don’t have time for this,” Yondu complained, plopping down on the couch where Gamora had been sitting and propping his feet up on the coffee table next to Peter’s head. “I’d say you’re like an old married couple, but you ain’t even married yet.”

“The wedding is only meant to signify our compliance,” Gamora retorted, turning to look up at him. “Don’t look too far into it, Yondu.”

“And we’re making our engagement public tomorrow,” Peter added, brightening slightly. “Yondu, you can make all the arrangements, right?”

“I really do gotta do everything around here,” Yondu said resignedly, taking another swig of his beer before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it.” ______

As Gamora got ready the following morning, grateful for the loose-fit clothes that Mantis had slipped her last night after complaining about the weird wardrobe Ego had provided her, she found herself curious about how they were going to make their engagement known to the Celestial people. The emptiness surrounding the palace still gave her the shivers, extending out so far that she couldn’t see another building for miles.

She joined Peter, Yondu, and Mantis in the sitting room, following them silently through the palace corridors to the gardens. She watched in confusion as Yondu and Peter slipped behind one of the tall hedges by the border, pushing the leaves aside to reveal a bolted door. The group made their way inside and down a metal staircase, which led them to -

“Ships? You have ships. And you didn’t think to mention this before,” Gamora said incredulously.

The four of them stood in what appeared to be a modest-sized underground loading bay, boasting a fleet of somewhat dumpy-looking M-ships in varying dull shades of gray and brown. There were a handful of guards milling about, wearing what looked more like mechanic uniforms instead of the standard issue worn by the palace attendants. Despite everything looking a little worse for the wear, it was definitely more high-tech than anything she had seen above the surface, though all the colors were much more subdued (as in, not a trace of gold to be seen), aside from one particularly garish M-ship that certainly wasn’t to her taste.

“We’re taking my ship,” Peter said, pointing to the aforementioned garish ship. It had a blue and orange paint job, and was remarkably clean in comparison to the others. Gamora suspected it spoke more to his vanity than his discipline. “The Milano.”

“You’ll be sorry you kept this from Rocket. He’s an expert pilot,” Gamora said as they walked over.

“Bet he’s not as good as me,” Peter boasted as the landing ramp of the Milano slowly lowered itself down to welcome them aboard. “I’m kind of the best there is.”

“And so modest,” she sighed, taking a few tentative steps inside and looking around curiously. Oddly enough, it was the opposite of Peter’s quarters and yet shared certain commonalities. While his rooms were warm and homely, the Milano was like most spacecraft - grays and browns and blues, its structure mostly consisting of metal walls and floors. However, there were still things scattered everywhere like Peter’s sitting room as well - books, gadgets, food that left a plethora of awful smells, the works.

Peter and Yondu went up the ladder to the cockpit, chatting amicably on the way. Gamora watched them in uncertainty before Mantis gave her a friendly squeeze on the arm, her eyes bright. “There is plenty of room up there for us to join them,” she said cheerfully. “You will love the view of the planet once we are in flight. Come on!”

Gamora was admittedly impressed once she did make her way upstairs, glancing around in wonder at the large windows that encased them. Peter and Yondu seemed to be bickering at the controls, though Peter paused to turn and wave at the girls before going back to nitpicking at the way Yondu was sitting. “Alright, alright, enough of this. You two better buckle up before we take off, don’t want any injuries!” Peter called.

An hour passed before they touched down in Id, which Peter explained was considered to be the capital of Ego’s planet, though he also added that the title was somewhat irrelevant, considering the entirety of the planet had been populated at approximately the same time. Gamora was still uncertain of how exactly they maintained order - regions, cities, towns, how could they possibly govern it all? - but after everything she and Peter had talked about regarding his father, the legitimacy of the planet and the happiness of his people never came into question.

Id was just about as vibrant as she expected, and just a touch gaudy, the streets paved with glittering tile, buildings boasting golden columns and intricate detailing. There was a richness in the landscaping that had been present at the palace, impossibly vibrant blooms of flowers and carefully maintained trees and bushes lining the pavement. People were going about their day, many of them dressed as luxuriously as their rulers, whether they were on foot or in open-air vehicles. As the Milano touched down in the landing bay, located right by the city hall’s gardens, some nearby civilians paused to watch, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they cautiously moved closer.

The loading dock lowered slowly, allowing Peter and Mantis to descend first, waving enthusiastically to their people. Gamora followed next, though she stepped a little lighter than they had, with Yondu bringing up the rear, nodding at her when she turned to look at him warily.

“Your highnesses!” one woman called out from behind the garden’s fences. “It’s so good to see you both.” The young children hanging on to her skirts slipped through the gate and ran towards their leaders with a joyful whoop, though the guard standing by didn’t seem all too concerned. They wrapped their little arms around Peter and Mantis’s legs, giggling happily.

“Hey, guys,” Peter grinned, ruffling their hair affectionately. “How’re you doing? How’s school?”

“Good,” they chimed shyly, beaming up at them with bright eyes. Mantis reached out to run a gentle thumb over their temples, antennae alight.

“You have both been very good students and very good children,” she informed them cheerfully. “That is good to know. Can’t have you causing trouble for your mother, hm?”

“Yes, your highness,” the boy promised. “I got full marks on my last math test! Mom was really happy when I brought it home.”

“How amazing, Leo!” Mantis exclaimed. “You were having trouble a few months ago with your long division, right? Then you must have made so much progress since I last saw you. She must be so proud of you. I am proud of you.”

“And how was your dance recital, Kira?” Peter asked the girl who was attached to his hip. “Sorry I missed it - we had some stuff going on. Boring royalty stuff,” he added, winking.

Gamora quirked an eyebrow at this - she hadn’t expected them to know their people so intimately. Ego, maybe, since he probably had the considerable advantage of being fully Celestial, possessing an above-average memory. But Peter and Mantis were chatting with these children as if they were just next-door neighbors.

A crowd was beginning to form by now, necks craning to get a good look at the new arrivals. Most people only had eyes for Peter and Mantis, calling out to them in excitement, though there were some curious onlookers sizing up Gamora as well, trying to figure out who she was. Yondu reached out to squeeze her elbow unexpectedly. When she turned back to look at him, he gave her what she supposed was meant to be a comforting smile. “You gonna be okay, girl. Just follow Quill and Mantis’s lead, you’ll be jus’ fine.”

After another minute or two of overenthusiastic civilians talking their ears off, Peter finally managed to weave his way through the sea of people, guiding the others towards the front of city hall and up the impressive stairs. An assistant appeared out of nowhere with an official podium, and the herald stepped forward, bowing in respect as the four of them took their places before speaking into the microphone. “Presenting Your Royal Highnesses, Prince Peter and Princess Mantis!”

“Hello, everyone!” Peter called cheerfully, waving out to the adoring crowd. “I’ve got some, uh, some pretty exciting news to share with you all.” He paused dramatically, watching everyone’s faces light up in anticipation. “I’m getting married in four days!” There was an immediate ripple of cheering and whooping - even the children looked enthused by the idea. “You guys know how Dad’s always...looking out for me. He heard about this amazing woman from another powerful kingdom and thought she would be the perfect match, both for me and for our planet’s future. And we’ve been getting to know each other for a little while now - ” Less than a week, more like, Gamora thought to herself “ - and I gotta say, I think Dad was on to something.” Peter extended a hand towards Gamora, gesturing for her to stand beside him at center stage. Trembling with nerves, she took the last few steps, the backs of their hands brushing ever-so-slightly as she did. “Meet Princess Gamora of the Titans, my fiancée and future Princess of the Celestials!”

There was a horribly drawn-out pause - at least, that’s what it had felt like in Gamora’s mind. In reality, it was perhaps no more than two seconds - before a chorus of applause broke out over the crowd, though not as enthusiastic as Peter had been hoping for. It sounded almost hesitant, but he suspected it was more in response to the mention of her home planet, and not Gamora herself. After all, if he had never heard her name, only her title, before they first met, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one knew who she really was.

“You wanna say anything?” he murmured without turning to look at her.

“I’d rather not,” she whispered back. The uncertainty on the crowd’s faces told her that nothing she said was going to change their mind about her, or at the very least, where she came from. Regardless of her own past, the reputation of the Titans was something she would never be able to shake, innocent or not. Peter turned to look at her curiously, looking almost disappointed, before turning back to wave as if nothing had happened, grinning widely at his people.

Gamora remained behind with Yondu as the siblings descended the stairs to chat with their people once more. She watched as they both practically glowed with excitement, embracing adults and children alike, or just enthusiastically nodding their heads as their subjects rambled on about the newest community events or how their businesses were prospering. “It seems irresponsible for them to travel without a member of the guard,” she commented. “They may seem universally beloved by your people, but - ”

“Who’s to say they don’t got someone lookin’ out for ‘em?” Yondu snorted, patting the yaka arrow on his hip. “You ain’t seen me in action yet, Gamora. It’s a damn fine sight to see, you can hold me to it.”

“Have you ever considered committing treason against Ego?” she asked, quieter now. “You taught Quill how to fight, after all. And I’ve had many a time where I considered driving my sword through Thanos’s skull, not that I’d ever get close enough to do it.”

“Sure, I think about it sometimes. But I’m not stupid enough to kill all of us in the process. The whole dang planet would explode,” he chuckled softly. “My loyalties lie with the kids, and they been loyal to Ego up until now. Y’know, I still find it crazy you managed to get that boy to consider doing something he shoulda thought about a long time ago. Now, I’m no parentin’ expert, but I can tell Ego’s not doing it right. No good father would ever act the way he do.”

“I can tell they both think highly of you,” Gamora said consolingly. There was something about the anger burning in Yondu’s eyes, both now and from a couple nights ago, that told her of his true intentions. Despite being an ex-Ravager captain, at his core, he seemed like the kind of person she wanted on her side. “You said it yourself - you practically had more of a hand in raising them than Ego did.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t their daddy.” Yondu looked almost saddened at having to admit such a thing. Before Gamora could inquire further, Peter came jogging back up the stairs to join them, oblivious to Yondu’s troubled expression.

“Hey, so the people have been asking for us to stay in Id tonight. They wanna throw us an engagement party,” Peter said excitedly. He was practically bouncing on his toes in elation. “We can send a ship to bring your people over to join us. I’m in if you are!”

She eyed him speculatively. “I thought we were going to go over our weaponry cache today,” she replied.

He faltered. “Yeah, I guess I forgot about that. Well, we can - ”

“ - but you wanted me to properly engage with your people for the time being, present ourselves as a united front. I imagine this would be my best opportunity since you said the wedding would be nothing short of chaotic,” she finished, giving him a small smile. “Weapons can wait until tomorrow. Rocket won’t be very happy about that.”

“There’ll be free booze?” he offered tentatively, grin widening.

“Then never mind, our change in plans should suit him nicely,” she chuckled. “When and where is this party being held?”

“Starting around dinnertime, in City Square. It’s about a dozen blocks over from here,” Peter explained, pointing into the distance. “In the meantime, I’ll get us a car and show you the sights! It’s way more awesome out here than in the palace, believe me.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” she admitted. “I am getting a little tired of being cooped up, working on our...plan, all the time. I guess I should enjoy the fresh air while I can.”

“That’s the spirit!” Yondu hooted, pumping a triumphant fist in the air. They both startled at the sound of his voice, having completely forgotten he was there. In all honesty, Peter had gotten a little caught up in the vibrancy of Gamora’s hair in the morning sun, trying his best not to stare. “And how about I go get the car? You always ask ‘em for that gaudy ol’ thing that don’t got any sort of protection at all.”

“It’s Dad’s car, so you try telling him that!” Peter called after Yondu’s retreating back as he disappeared down the stairs to fetch the attendant. “Well. Okay, then. Ready to live a little?”

“I’d hate to see what your idea of ‘living a little’ is, but it’s too late for me. I’ve already agreed,” Gamora said, smirking. “Lead the way, Quill.” ______

Gamora found herself surprised by her surroundings as they began making their way through the city on foot, having been dropped off further away from its center. Yondu had taken Mantis elsewhere after some civilians had requested she visit one of the local schools, leaving Peter and Gamora alone yet again. Considering the false decadence of the palace in contrast to its stark environment, she had assumed the rest of the planet would echo the very same, lacking depth, lacking life. But the streets were as lively as any other moderately populated planet, bustling with men, women, children, and occasionally animals she suspected wouldn’t live in harmony together otherwise. Most people bowed their heads as Peter passed, a few reaching out to squeeze his hand or arm in greeting every now and then, many of whom he greeted by name. No one seemed particularly intimidated by his presence, only made happier by it. It was a far cry from the way people reacted to Gamora or Nebula on Titan, the way that the slaves in Thanos’s possession (the very idea made her skin crawl) curled into themselves the moment they laid eyes on either sister.

“They look up to you,” Gamora commented as he guided her down a vacant alleyway. “But not in the way people look up to their master for guidance. More like...a revered hero, for reassurance.”

“I just want them to remember me well. To know I’m looking out for ‘em,” Peter nodded. “Can’t be a good prince if my people can’t trust me. But hey, if you wanna call me a hero, I ain’t complaining,” he added with a laugh.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Quill,” she teased, elbowing him gently. “And where are we going? Why aren’t Yondu or your sister here?”

“So many questions,” he chuckled, reaching out for her hand. “Come on, I thought you trusted me.”

“Marginally,” she repeated, though they both knew it was much more than that as she laced her fingers with his. They were pleasantly warm, a little rougher than she expected for a man of his privilege. He smiled in return before leading her into a small shop. It was dwarfed by its surroundings and utterly normal in appearance, lacking the gold detailing and sparkling tiles she had gotten so used to back in City Center. Instead, it was nondescript wood siding and scaffolding, with one small window that provided little view inside, no sign that boasted its wares or services. She would have otherwise thought it to be a house hidden among random shops.

Once they were inside, however, Gamora found herself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things filling up its cramped quarters, teetering shelves and crooked cabinets stocked up with random trinkets and treasures, racks of used clothing and old sheets, piles and piles of tattered books stacked from floor to ceiling. There was a small, worn desk by the door, and behind it, a finely-dressed man, who bowed the moment he saw Peter step in.

“Greetings, your highness,” he said politely, straightening up. “I heard you were in Id, but I wasn’t sure if you would be stopping by.”

“Aw, Broker. I’ve always got time for you!” Peter exclaimed, reaching over to pat the older man on the shoulder. “Besides, what better time to bring my fiancée to the best shop on the whole planet than right now?”

“You flatter me, Prince Peter,” Broker replied, though he was glowing with pride. “It is lovely to meet you, your highness,” he added in Gamora’s direction, bowing to her as well. “Please let me know if you’re looking for anything in particular.”

She smiled at him cautiously, wondering when someone, anyone, was going to recognize her, before making her way through the winding maze of goods, careful not to knock anything over. “He looks familiar,” she murmured to Peter, who had followed her to the other side of the shelf, perusing a selection of novelty keyrings.

“Broker? He used to set up shop on Xandar,” Peter whispered back. “Dad invited him to bring his business here, keep him away from the crazies who attacked his place to get their hands on rare inventory. You haven’t ever...tried to...kill him, have you?”

She fixed him with a glare. “No. But I passed through Xandar before. I was told I could find an Infinity Stone there, but my source was lying,” she replied coolly. “I must have gone by his old shop or something.”

Peter nodded sheepishly, feeling a little guilty about his question. “I wasn’t kidding, by the way. This place is pretty cool - I get stuff for Yondu and Mantis from here all the time. Broker’s got tons of weapons in the back, if you wanna check those out.”

“I actually wanted to look at the books,” she said, gesturing towards the precarious stacks of volumes that looked to be defying gravity. She felt as if one wrong move would cause the entire place to collapse into itself. At his raised eyebrow, she drawled, “What, did you think I couldn’t read?”

“I just - I - well, I didn’t think Thanos would bother teaching you,” he stammered defensively, watching in fascination as she began running her fingers down the spines, tracing the faded lettering. She lingered every now and then, before decisively pulling out a few books in particular. “I didn’t think you and Nebula were savages or anything. Just, you surprise me sometimes.”

“If it’s a skill that helps me carry out my duties, then it was useful enough for him to instill it in us,” she replied. She circled around to another stack and began picking through its selection as well. “I might as well use what little free time I have here wisely. I don’t get many opportunities for leisure, and if my life here is about to become as relaxed as yours, then I should take advantage.”

He followed her, albeit at a safe distance. “You should look at what I’ve got in my study, too,” he offered. “I’ve got tons of books in there I’ve never touched. Put ‘em to good use for once.”

Gamora smiled, something soft and pretty and utterly unexpected. Despite her reservations earlier, Peter thought she looked happier today than she had been the previous five days (and oh, wow, had it really only been five?) he’d known her. “Thank you, Quill.” ______

The rest of the day went by peacefully, with Peter leading Gamora around the city, showing her the sights. It ranged from modest to ostentatious - both the places and the people. To her relief, most passersby seemed unaware of who she really was, who she was tied to. It still made her stomach twist anxiously, though, seeing what looked to be the last of individuals of races that she or Thanos had wiped out. She had to remind herself that she was trying to save everyone now, as much as it seemed like she was doing nothing of real significance, what with her dress fittings and cake tastings. But patience was key - it could be weeks, or even months before the opportunity would make itself available to them, but it was going to happen. She would make sure of it.

They reunited with Yondu and Mantis by dinner, along with the rest of Gamora’s people, in the City Square. The sun was going down, but the streets were lively as ever, music streaming through speakers mounted on every lamppost. The crowd shifted around them like a tide, sweeping their group inwards until they reached the rows upon rows of tables in the very middle of the square. The tables were covered in mismatched tablecloths and oversized bouquets of flowers. Dishware and cutlery were already set out, while people bustled in and out of nearby houses and market stalls, hefting large trays of food.

“When you said there’d be food and booze, I didn’t think it was gonna be like this,” Rocket commented. He was perched on Groot's shoulder, his line of sight far higher than anyone else’s. “I expected, I dunno, gold everything like your dumb palace. Some sparkly, wishy-washy crap.”

“This ain’t Sovereign, Rocket,” Peter laughed good-naturedly as they neared the table. The crowd didn’t seem too concerned about watching them take their seats, already disappearing to get more food or find their companions. Peter paused, glancing at the single chair at the head of the table, before reaching to pull another one around from its side. He gestured for Gamora to take a seat. “For you, Princess.”

“Are you really going to call me that in public?” she grimaced, though she sat down without further complaint. Peter and the rest of their people followed suit, filing themselves neatly on either side of the table.

“Only when necessary,” he promised with a childlike grin.

The Celestial subjects began joining them as well, setting down the last of the food before taking their seats. There had to be room for at least a hundred people, with others crowding in to serve themselves before walking away to sit on the sidewalk or the nearby benches. It was certainly one of the strangest arrangements Gamora had ever seen, with the barricades preventing vehicles from passing through as everyone flooded the streets by foot. It was more akin to a street party than the soirée she had been imagining. Peter and Mantis began dishing out their own servings, politely declining as one kindly older woman offered to help them, so Gamora followed suit.

“Does this happen often?” Drax asked after they had been eating for a few minutes. “This celebration among your people, it is similar to the war rallies of my home.”

“Not really,” Peter admitted. “We don’t have exciting stuff happen that much. Which is why we should make the most of it! Live a little, you know?”

“I would prefer to live a very long and fulfilling life,” Drax frowned. “Why would I only want to live a little?”

“No, that’s not what that - ”

“Your highness! Let us congratulate you on your engagement,” one large, boisterous man boomed from further down the table, holding a generous mug of mead in the air. “So many of us have watched you grow into a fine young man over the years - it’s a blessing to be part of this celebration, my lord. You have provided us with your good heart for so long, to see you share it with someone else is all we could ask for.” Gamora blanched a little - they did remember this was an arrangement, right?

“Thanks,” Peter said cheerfully, unfazed. “So, tell me how you guys are doing! Is everything going okay? Chancellor Yorke is taking good care of you when we’re not around, I hope.”

“She approved the new park just last week,” a different man chimed in. “My daughters will love the new play area.”

“And you should see the school over in Otto,” one woman called, waving her hand enthusiastically. “They’ve got their music education program up and running. I’m sure you would have loved to attend when you were young, your highness. Or maybe even now!”

Gamora couldn’t help but cut in, curious. “So that’s common knowledge, then? My...fiancé’s fixation on music?”

“Fixation? It’s his passion, my lady,” the woman laughed. “I remember the day our king brought him home and announced that he had finally found his beloved son. Do you recall, my lord? You were standing on the steps of the city hall like you were this morning, except your hands were in your pockets, headphones on, bopping away without a care in the world!”

“...‘bopping’?” Gamora asked skeptically.

“Dancing, Gamora,” Peter exclaimed incredulously, putting his fork down. He was looking at her like she’d grown an extra head. “You’ve never danced before?”

“You assume that I can’t read, but that I can dance. Interesting,” she deadpanned. He gave her another inquisitive look, prompting her to go on. “I was raised to be a warrior,” she continued. “I do not dance.”

As if on cue, the music grew louder, some gentle, whimsical song crooning through the speakers, filling up the tiny gaps between the multitude of conversations occurring all the way along the length of the table. She looked at Peter accusingly, but he only shrugged, having had nothing to do with it.

“Join me?” he requested, getting to his feet. He held out a hand, though his gaze fell on her face, his eyes gentle. “Or I can ask Mantis,” he added quietly. Gamora could feel the others’ eyes on them, watching expectantly.

She examined his outstretched palm for a moment, the unexpected callouses of his fingers and the slight bruise he had on his knuckle from attempting to knock her out in combat training yesterday (and failed, causing him to spiral wildly into the nearest wall). She stood as well, accepting his gesture as she did. “Your father’s probably expecting us to dance at the wedding. I’d rather embarrass myself now instead of later,” she answered, though her stomach warmed with nerves (or maybe she was just hungry. They had barely started eating, after all).

“Forget him, I want to dance at our wedding,” he laughed, squeezing once as he led her over to the crowd. “And since you’re teaching me how to fight - with discipline, as you so kindly put it - let me teach you how to dance.”

Why do birds suddenly appear...every time you are near?...just like me...they long to be...close to you…

They stood still for a moment, her eyeing him cautiously as he watched her in contemplation, before he took another step closer, his hands coming to settle on her waist. Gamora blinked in confusion before putting hers on his shoulders, and slowly, he began to move from side-to-side, his hips swaying slightly with the swell of the piano. She followed him automatically, though stiffly. Her shoulders were still bearing the weight of her discomfort from earlier, her elbows locked tight.

Why do stars fall down from the sky...every time you walk by?...just like me...they long to be...close to you…

“There doesn’t seem to be much to dancing,” she commented after a minute had passed by, unsure of where to look. Peter’s gaze remained on her face, the mischievous spark in his eyes still evident in the evening light. “We’re practically just rocking back and forth. What is there to teach?”

On the day that you were born the angels got together...and decided to create a dream come true...so, they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold...and starlight in your eyes of blue...

“Well, we’re just doin’ something simple right now,” Peter said defensively. “Wait ‘til we try something like - ”

Gamora found herself being twirled underneath his arm as he spun her out, before guiding her back into his embrace, barely giving her enough time to catch her breath. She righted herself against him, fingers digging a little deeper into his shoulders. He was warm, a little heated from all the walking they had done and the amount of body heat surrounding them, but he was steady, graceful in a way that he hadn’t been during combat practice. He fought sharply, haphazardly, flinging himself about with reckless aplomb. Here, there was a kindness in his presence that she found welcoming, a thoughtfulness in his touch.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ pretty hard about something...again,” he said half-teasingly, half-seriously. “All that stuff you were stressing out about yesterday during those dumb appointments - is that it?”

“I have a lot on my mind,” she replied quietly. “Don’t you, considering the position we’re in?”

“Sure, but I’m trying to not make it super obvious how freaked out I am. Is it working?” he grinned cheekily, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

“You won’t be able to charm your way out of every situation, Quill,” Gamora said sternly, though the twinkle in his irises made for a much more pleasant view than the swirling cosmos of a few days prior. “We can’t have every day be like this.”

“But...you had fun today, right?” Peter looked uncertain. “I mean, I did, and sometimes coming here’s a real drag - usually I’m with Dad, and we make official announcements and pass laws and stuff, but - ”

“I did,” she interrupted, smiling tentatively. “It was quite the tour. And I’ll admit, you make for good company.” She didn’t need to look down to feel the warm glow of his hands on her waist, pleased by her words. “Maybe friendship isn’t...entirely off the table.”

“You’re just saying that,” he chuckled bashfully.

“And I mean it,” Gamora promised. “But only because I’m feeling strangely optimistic about our chances of survival. I could use more allies once we’re on the other side of this whole ordeal. Either that or I’ve had too much wine.”

Peter pulled her in closer as they took gentle steps, circling slowly as everyone around them continued to eat, drink, and dance to their heart’s content, oblivious to their prince and his soon-to-be wife. His eyes went to the table, where their friends were, watching and smiling at them, and then to Gamora’s entirely untouched glass of wine. He smiled privately to himself, ducking his head into her hair as he did.

Just like me...they long to be...close to you...

a/n: hey, all! first, i am so sorry for this chapter being later than i originally intended, school took over and then i got the flu so i've been mentally all over the place, but i've sort of got a handle on my schedule now so hopefully i can have more realistic estimates on the next chapter.

by the way, my aim is for the next chapter to be either the week before valentine's or the week of, because chapter four is going to be the wedding!! if you have any suggestions for good love songs from the 50s to the 80s that would be great for the wedding, please let me know! i've exhausted most of my favorites in my other fic and i just love music recommendations in general haha

speaking of music, the song that peter and gamora dance to is (they long to be) close to you by the carpenters.

thank you so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and i'll see y'all in the next chapter!

#starmora #peter x gamora #gamora x peter #peter quill #gamora #myfic #myfic: rtw #marvel #hey fam!! haven't forgotten this fic i've just been sick haha #honestly i'm surprised how well the lyrics of this song work for chapter summaries

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chensuggababy · 7 years

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Twenty-Four (Exo Fanfic) Chapter 4- Hanging Out With The New Brother

**CHAPTER 4**

Sitting on the couch, waiting my turn to have the tv but couldn't when a orange hair boy was hogging the tv by playing video games.

"When are you gonna be done? You had the tv all morning." I nudging the orange hair boy. He was to focus on his game then me speaking to him. Luckily I had found the remote and turn the tv off.

"YAHH!!! I was playing that!! You just made me lose my highest score!!!" Yelling at me about how I made him lose the game.

"Yah? Yah?" I questioned his yah that he said to me. It had pissed me off that he thinks he can speak informal to me. "You listen here orange hair lion head, I don't care if you lost your highest score, I been waiting for hours for the tv that you four D alien have been hogging."

"I have not been hogging the tv." he trying to play innocent.

"Have too!!!"

"Have not!!!!"

We started to go back and forth with the 'have too' and the 'have not' until we ended up calling for our parents at the same time. "What is all this ruckus we are hearing from the other room?" My mom came in the living room with Juro right behind her. The orange hair lion and I started talking at the same time as they looked at us in confusion. "Enough, sit down!" My mom yelled before getting back to calm and collected. She never had to deal with two kids at the same time, since it was just her and I before Juro and his Orange hair four D alien came into our lives.

"Now, Juro and I know you two are used to being the only child. And now that Juro and I are getting married in three months we need you to get along. A few bickering here and there is fine. Being the only child had its up of not sharing anything around the house. So what really happened in here?"

"He had the tv for hours and when I asked him if I could have the tv he was still hogging the tv so I turned to off." I explained myself.

"She keeps calling me names."

"I only called you two thing. Orange hair and Four D alien."

"And I'm not either of those."

"What color do you call that's in your hair"

"Orange"

"See so Orange hair"

Orange hair was about to open his mouth to say something when Juro interrupted him. "Alright you two. Get dressed and go out of the house and have fun." He pulled out his wallet and handed his son some money. We both headed to our rooms to get dress. I put on black ripped jeans with a grey shirt that had light blue and light pink feathers with the words 'Wild Love' on it. I put a jean jacket over the shirt and put on matching jewelry to go with it. I let my long hair down and walked out of my room to the front, where the little Lion boy was putting on shoes. Grabbing pink converse to match my outfit, we both shouted good bye to our parents.

"Where to Alien boy?" asking him as I wanted to tease him. He frowned. "Must you call me nicknames. I have a name and it Taehyung or Tae."

"I was only trying to tease you Tae." Giving him a light smile and pushing him with my shoulder as he smiled. "So where we going?" asking him. "To the park to meet my friends."

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

Once we got to the park, Tae lead me to the basketball courts where six guys were having their own game and goofing around. "Guys!!" Tae called out to them, making them stop what they were doing. "I want you to meet EunJi Noona."

"Your the girl from yesterday, I'm Jin but you can call me Oppa, that's Yoongi but prefers Suga. Then there's Jhope or Hobi we call him, NamJoon, Jimin and Jungkook our youngest." Jin introduced everyone to me. "Hi it's nice to meet you all."

"Noona will you play a game with us?" Jimin asked me, showing his cute smile that made me want to cuddle him up and never let him go. I held back on wanting to pinch his cheeks. "Sure oldest vs youngest?" asking them as they agreed on it. I was lucky I had some ball experience from my dad before he died. I love playing a game with him. The ball was tossed to me, I dribbled it threw my legs and my side as we started playing our game.

The game was four to two, I passed the ball to Tae for him to shoot it in the hoop. He throwing the ball towards the hoop, it had bounced off the rim and went bouncing off the court. "I got it!!!" stopping the game to go after the ball.

The ball was bouncing towards two guys and before I could tell them heads up, the ball hit the short guy in the back of the head. "Sorry!!!" I told him, coming to pick up the ball. "It's okay." the short guy said. I looked up to see Kyungsoo and Chanyeol standing there.

"Kyungsoo Oppa what are you doing here?" I asking him. Chanyeol didn't say anything except stare at me. "We are here with the guys playing a game of soccer. What about you?" he gave me the basketball back to me. "Oh fun. I'm here with my new stepbrother and his friends, playing some basketball." I explained as I felt me being picked up in the air and twirled around in a pair of strong arms.

"Ahhh put me down before I get sick." I screamed at the person. The person chuckled as they carefully placing me on my feet again with their arms still around me. I looked over my shoulder to see Kai. "Don't do that, you scared me." I pouted as Kyungsoo and Kai laughed at me. "Noona what's taking so long?" Tae called out as him and the group trailing behind him. He didn't seem to be happy that Kai was clinging onto me. "Who are they Noona" He asked me as he glared at Kai.

"This is Kyungsoo, Chanyeol and Kai. They go to our school. They were just playing soccer." Their faces seemed to lit up. "Can we play?" Jimin asked, Kai smirked "Sure, we could use more players." Still having me locked in his arms. Kai turned us around so we could walk down the hill but I ended up tripping and bringing us both down.

Kai made sure to secure me to his body as we rolled down the hill. I could hear his sweet laugh as we made it to a stop with me under him and him looking at me. He moved a piece of my bangs away from my face, leaving me speechless.

"Yah!!!! This is not a place for sexual relations!!!!" Someone yelled across the field. I shoved Kai off of me, so I could stand up to dust off the grass and dirt off of me. Kai was doing the same to himself when he started to dust off my back. "What did I just say!!!!" The person yelled again and this time I knew it was Suho, yelling at us as he was walking towards Kai and I.

"Excuse you, Suho but who said we were having sexual relations with each other." I pointed back and forth from Kai to me and back to Kai again. "Plus you ain't my Mama so you can't tell me what to do." My sassy mouth came out. By the looks of Suho expression he looked like he wanted to murder me.

"You kiss your daddy with that mouth? If i'm not mistaken, I am older then you and some of these gentleman are treated like a son to me so I am their mama and your mama too princess." some of the guys snickered as I had my jaw dropped down to the ground. I never knew, well I did know how sassy Suho could be but never did I imagine that he would be sassy to me.

There was a soft chuckle on my right side as I felt a hand under my chin to close my mouth. "Angel, your gonna catch a something in your mouth if you don't close it." Kai said giving me a wink as he ran off into the open field with the others. For the second time today I was left speechless. "Come on Noona." Tae grabbed a hold of my wrist and dragged me along with him to the fields where everyone was kicking the soccer ball and shoving each other.

<----- Chapter 3 Chapter 5 ----->

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo xiumin #exo suho #exo lay #exo baekhyun #exo chen #exo chanyeol #exo kyungsoo #exo kai #exo sehun

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totallyrhettro · 7 years

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The Lone Jedi, Chapter 2

Word Count: 2249 Rating: This chapter: PG. Overall story: explicit Warnings: Minor depictions of blood and injury Summary: Jedi Knight Rhett McLaughlin managed to escape the purge of the Emperor to become one of the last of his celibate order. After years of a solitary life, he finds himself with a former slave for a friend. Despite his efforts to maintain anonymity and the jedi code, he starts to realize that doing either is easier said than done. Notes: Star Wars AU; Events take place between episodes III and IV

First Chapter

*See the end of each chapter for additional notes on star wars terms*

Rhett POV

The year was 14 BBY, about five years after the events on Coruscant and the forced dissolution of the Jedi Order. Five years since one Jedi Knight, Rhett McLaughlin, had gone into hiding like many jedi were forced to do. So many of his brothers and sisters in the order had been killed that he knew they were all but extinct. When the call went out for knights to flee the inner worlds, to hide from the new darth, the former Anakin Skywalker, Rhett was hesitant. He wanted to stay and fight but he knew it was foolish. To stay was to die but to die was to let this ancient order disappear completely. So instead he found himself on Andasala, a remote planet in the outer systems governed by the Hutts, an alien family of criminals, where he hoped no one would come looking for rogue jedi. It wasn't just that he could live, undisturbed by the new Empire until it was safe to go out and find his fellow knights. Here on this forgotten planet was one of the order's lost academies, once a place of learning and contemplation. It was here he spent most of his time. Though much of the planet was covered in dense and mighty forests, the jedi academy was nestled high in forlorn mountains, far away from any of the larger cities that littered the planet. It was built in ages past, abandoned over four thousand years ago after the reaver war when all those who lived there had been killed. The once magnificent buildings fell into ruin and since then no one had entered. No one... until Rhett. Here he lived, growing food from the gardens that had once fed dozens, and hunting the wild animals that lived in the nearby forest below his mountain haven. Occasionally he visited a neighboring village for supplies he couldn't get otherwise, but mostly he kept to himself, not wanting to draw attention to his presence. He spent most of his time in the old archives, copying down ancient writings etched into the academy walls onto data pads so that the information could be preserved for future generations. When he wasn't working, he was deep in meditation, usually contemplating the information he had copied that day. He felt his work was vital to the order; if the Galactic Empire succeeded in wiping out all the jedi, the ways of the order could be permanently lost. Still, sometimes he found himself conflicted about the teachings he read, wondering if what the jedi masters believed was still relevant in these dark times. He dearly wanted to get past his doubts, but they seemed to be eternally at the back of his thoughts. Many times he questioned his own actions, especially those that he took to maintain his anonymity on this world. The Hutts enslaved thousands of workers, most of whom were worked to death in dark mines under dreadful conditions. He wanted to help them, to storm into the mining camps and free them all, but he knew that interference would reveal his true identity and the Empire would be quick to send someone to kill him. He had to be vigilant, and quiet. There were others, however, that shared his distaste for slavery, and he occasionally had dealings with such people. Often interested parties would hire mercenaries to run raids on mining camps or caravans if only to free small groups of slaves from captivity. Their numbers were few and often they failed in their attempts, but on those occasions where they succeeded, Rhett rejoiced in their efforts, if not their methods. Once, while he was down from the mountains, visiting that same small village he frequented often, a small caravan of only three transports was passing through. Though he didn't talk to the guards of the caravan directly, he knew what the cargo vessels held. He had seen such vessels many times before and even if he hadn't, the fingers protruding from the cargohold's air slits were a blatant indication of its contents. He despised the use of slaves and hated even more that, in his forced seclusion, he could do nothing to stop it. It was a common practice across the galaxy, more so in these outer worlds where law and order was dictated by the Hutts and other such organizations. It grew ever more prevalent as world after world fell to the Empire. In moments like these, when he had to watch injustices take place without interfering, his serenity was truly tested. One way he vented his anger at the events that took place without his control, was to hunt. He knew it was wrong to let his emotions control him, but years of isolation made it hard to maintain his calm state of mind. Hunting was a way to release his darker emotions without doing something rash that he would regret. After leaving the town and the sight of the caravan behind, Rhett ventured into the forest looking for game that he could kill and take home for provisions. It was hours later, as he searched for his quarry, that he felt a draw to change direction. It had been a long time since the Force had made such an impression on him and he welcomed it gladly. With only a small glowrod and his lightsaber at the ready, he ventured through the thick brush until he heard the sound of something approaching him. Suddenly, a six foot tall man burst through the trees, a large animal right behind him. He was dressed as a dance slave, with no shirt and wearing dark, knee-length loincloth. The beast, a large nexu, leapt onto the man and would have surely killed him in mere moments, but Rhett's instincts took hold. He raised his lightsaber and activated it, blanketing the shadows in a brilliant green light. With one swift strike, he brought his weapon onto the creature's neck, separating his head and his body immediately. He looked down to the slave. The man was badly injured; blood poured from his back and hand. As the jedi reached forward to help him up, the man's blue eyes fluttered closed. Rhett wasn't exactly sure what his plan was. It had been years since he had any real interaction with anyone. He knew this man would die without his help, but he also knew that if he took him back to town he would be returned to whatever slave master he served. After a little hesitation, he bent down and lifted the man up. He carried him through the woods, backtracking to where a more docile animal waited for him. The kybuck, a semi-bipedal ungulate somewhat similar to a large deer, had been Rhett's only companion over the last few years. Intelligent as a horse, and twice as strong, this magnificent beast of burden was a welcome bit of company in his otherwise lonely life. With a smooth motion, Rhett lifted the unconscious slave and draped him onto the back of his mount before searching through his saddle bags for bandages he kept for emergencies. After wrapping the stranger's wounds in the bandages as best he could, he untied the reins of the kybuck from the tree to which it had been fixed, and started leading the way towards home. It was a long and arduous journey back to the academy. After they made it out of the woods Rhett led them along a steep trail up the mountainside as the first rays of dawn crept into the sky. Occasionally he glanced at his new ward, making sure he was still breathing, always comforted by the slight rise and fall of the man's ribcage. His body was well toned but his skin was unscarred as one would have expected to see in a mining slave. A mass of blood covered much of his face, but his elegant, youthful good looks were still clearly evident. Catching himself staring, the jedi went back to watching the path ahead and tried not to think about the handsome face hanging down beside him. Instead he focused his eyes on the rugged path. Slowly, making sure the kybuck took careful steps to avoid shaking his unconscious rider, they traversed up the side of the mountain. It was midday when they finally reached the entrance to the academy ruins and the sun was starting to become unbearable. Rhett guided his mount to an area of dark shade under one of the larger trees in the courtyard. This was far enough. He took a spare blanket from a saddle bag and unfurled it onto the grass. Then, gently, he pulled the dark-haired man off the kybuck's back and placed him on top. The jedi placed a hand just over the man's face. He was barely breathing. A sense of panic threatened to seep into Rhett's mind, but his training kept it at bay. He knew he had to move quickly now if this stranger was to survive. Like a flash, he dashed through his unusual home looking for all the things he needed to help his visitor.

Once he had all the medical supplies he needed, Rhett threw off his robe and sat down beside his patient. Propping the man up on his side, the jedi unwrapped the temporary bandages and tossed them aside. Then, taking a damp cloth, he started washing off the dried blood that covered most of the unconscious man's back. He could feel the strong muscles under the skin, and he began to piece together the puzzle that was this mysterious stranger. His body was in great shape, but not worn down like a slave who labored in the mines. His skin was soft, not cracked, and his hair was dirty but neatly trimmed. Obviously this slave had been well cared for, most likely a personal servant of the Hutt's staff, if not the Hutt himself. It was fortunate that the slave was currently unable to feel pain. After cleaning the man's torso of blood, Rhett applied a thick, green ointment into the wounds, which would have been quite unpleasant on the fresh wounds, but it was a necessary step towards recovery. Then, once he had finished, he took clean bandages he had crafted a long time ago and wrapped them over the wounds and around the brunet's body. He paused to make sure the bandages were wrapped tightly but not so tight as to restrict blood flow, or be uncomfortable. He then turned the man over and leaned his head on his lap so he could examine his face. After a quick examination, he could tell the nose wasn't broken. Hopefully he had suffered no long term effects from whatever blunt force trauma had left him with a bloody lip. Taking a fresh cloth, dipped in warm water, Rhett carefully began to wipe the blood away. As he did, he started to see the man's face more clearly. It was no wonder this man had been a servant and not a laborer. He had a face like an angel, youthful and elegant, even though covered with a week’s worth of beard growth. Rhett caught himself staring at him once the blood had been completely removed, but he quickly refocused his attention to medical care. He laid the man back down on the blanket and gently removed his damaged sandals. They had been a poor excuse for footwear when they were new, but now the shoes barely provided any protection from the elements and were definitely not useful while walking over the harsh terrain of the deep forest or rugged mountains. Rhett removed them gingerly and cleaned the poor man's feet of blood and debris before applying more of the healing salve and bandages. He repeated the process for the man's hand as well.

When he was done, and his medicine was put away, the jedi paused to contemplate his new situation. It had been years since he had helped anyone, and it felt good to be needed again. It was helping others that he loved most about being a Jedi Knight, not the battles or the endless search for inner peace. Still, it was risky even having this man in his home, at this academy. When he woke up he would no doubt have questions and Rhett wasn't sure if he was prepared to answer them all. He had worked so hard to keep his presence, his identity as a jedi, a secret for so long. Was he really willing to risk it all for this stranger? The answer should have been a simple yes; a jedi should always be willing to do whatever it took to save a life, no matter what. In the old days, that would have been the only argument, but times were different now. Jedi were few and far between, and losing even one was a great loss to the diminished order. As he looked at the sleeping face of his ward, he knew what the right choice was. What was right had never really been in doubt, but what was right and what was easy were very rarely the same thing. Sighing, Rhett got to his feet. What was to come would have to wait until later. He would deal with the questions when they were asked. Until then, he resolved to care for this man, no matter the risks. It was the right thing to do. It was the jedi thing to do.

Next Chapter

Additional Notes - Galactic Empire: the galactic, constitutional monarchy and fascist government that replaced the Galactic Republic in the aftermath of the Clone Wars.

Coruscant: a planet which served as the capital of the galaxy for over a millennium. It was also the location of the Jedi Temple which served as the headquarters of the Jedi Order.

Glowrod: a device utilized for the purpose of producing light.

Lightsaber: a weapon used by the Jedi, the Sith, and other Force-sensitives

Kybuck: an animal originally from Kashyyyk. They look very much like the Tauntauns found on Hoth, if you crossed one with a horse.

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#rhett #link #rhink #star wars #fanfic #starwars #the lone jedi

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a-sweet-pea · 6 years

Text

The Last Flight

A/N: I see ‘hyperfixation’ pop up on my dash every so often, and as far as I can gather its sort of related to add / adhd, and it pretty much is what it sounds like. With that in mind, if a person had plenty of other writing projects to deal with but then they watched an episode of a TV show, and a thirty-second portion lodged itself in their brain so firmly that they watched just that clip, like, eighteen more times, while walking to pick up some takeout, while on lunchbreak at work, and it made them absolutely fall in love with the idea of reinterpreting that whole episode in a G/T context, such that they pretty much couldn’t focus on any other WIP because they were too in love with the performance of this particular actor, the combination of old-fashioned military politeness, cocky fly-boy attitude tempered with vulnerability and confusion, and big dark scared eyes and clark-kent style hair, and then they wrote almost two-thousand words about it, is that what hyperfixation is? Asking for a friend.

On an entirely unrelated note, this is a short fanfic of Season 1, Episode 18 of the Twilight Zone. Some pieces of the dialogue are taken directly from the episode, and I highly recommend watching it (it’s available on USA Netflix) if only the segment from 3 minutes in to 7 minutes in.

- - -

Witness Flight Lieutenant William Terrance Decker, Royal Flying Corps, returning from a patrol somewhere over France. The year is 1917. The problem is that the Lieutenant is hopelessly lost. Lieutenant Decker will soon discover that a man can be lost not only in terms of maps and miles, but also in time and dimension - and all of these navigational touchstones are waylaid in the Twilight Zone.

Sara was just stepping out of her front door when the plane landed. The street was empty. Not many people were up at six in the morning on a saturday, at least not in the early early spring, when the weather had a habit of acting as if it was still winter. Sara was only up because a particularly loud bird had taken up residence in the tree next to her bedroom, and she was never able to go back to sleep once she’d woken up. She was only outside because inbetween bouts of birdsong, she’d heard this weird chattering engine noise and wanted to see what it was. And she saw it the moment she stepped outside; a model airplane landing on the sidewalk going up to her house like it was a runway. It touched down at the far end of the walk, by the mailbox, and came to a stop about halfway to the stoop.

Who on the street owns a model plane? She looked the road up and down but there were no conspicuous remote-control-holding children in any of the nearby windows. Maybe someone got one for Christmas and they only ever play with it early in the morning.

The propeller slowed to a lazy twirl as she got closer. Hopefully whoever owns it put their name on it so I can return it.

Something climbed out of the plane.

What the hell?

Sara had seen videos of people putting their pets in model cars or planes; hamsters or lizards, anything small enough to fit in the cockpit. It seemed like such an awful thing to do to a pet. I hope they didn’t put their name on the plane, and then I’ll have an excuse not to return it. You don’t get to have a pet if you’re going to fly it around in a remote control plane; I don’t care how carefully you land it, that’s just irresponsible.

No, it wasn’t a pet. It must have just fallen out of the cockpit, not climbed out, because it was shaped like a person.

Now, putting an action figure in a model plane; that’s fine.

An action figure that was standing up on it’s own, despite having tumbled out of the plane. An action figure that took off it’s helmet and tossed it into the plane. An action figure that turned around and looked at her, and stumbled backward, and took off at a run in the opposite direction..

Small as it was, it didn’t get very far.

She knelt down on the concrete and curled her fingers around the fleeing figure. It wriggled in her grip; tiny hands pushed against her fingers, struggling to pry them apart.

It’s not…it isn’t…

She grabbed the plane in her other hand. It was metal, and it was still hot, like the hood of a car that’s been running all day.

They make remote control airplanes out of metal, don’t they?

She pushed back through the door, hands full, and let it slam shut behind her. The thing that could not be what it looked like still struggled in her right hand. She let her grip loosen a fraction. The plane, she set down on the coffee table. The other thing, she did not set down. She sat down on the couch and took a deep breath.

Why am I so shaky?

Her hand shook as she lifted it toward her face, opening it as she did so that her palm lay flat. And on it was an impossible creature, scrambling to his feet.

A man. A man with dark eyes and dark hair that was parted at the side and touseled at his forehead. A man dressed in a leather aviator jacket, a white scarf, clean pressed pants, and tall leather boots. A man who was four inches tall.

“Holy…” He flinched at the sound of her voice, raising his hands in front of his face as if to shield himself.

“Sorry!” She cut her volume in half. “A-are you okay?”

He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on her, but his attention was elsewhere, fumbling for something at his waist; some miniscule metal implement. When he raised it, gripping the handle in one hand and steadying his grip with the other, it became clear what it was.

“Easy, easy.” His shoulders were steady but his chest was heaving with hyperventilated breaths, and his hands were shaking so much the gun didn’t stay pointed in any one direction for more than a moment. Even so, she was such a big target (relatively speaking) that he was liable to hit something if he fired. “Put the gun away.” He swallowed, readjusting his grip. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

“Are you American?”

It took her a moment to answer, she was so startled. He can talk. That somehow made him more real (one would have thought that seeing and touching him would have been enough to establish the truth of his existence, but apparently she had still been partway unconvinced).

“Yes. Are you?”

He shook his head. “British.” The tip of the gun faltered, and then lowered. “What-who are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you put the gun away.” He nodded and holstered the gun. “Name’s Sara. Sorry for grabbing you, hope you’re not too shook up. What’s your name?”

He stood straighter, a puppet with it’s strings pulled tight all of a sudden. “Leftenant William Terrance Decker.” He brought his hand to his forehead with rigid military precision. “Royal Flying Corps.” Hearing him speak properly, she could have guessed he was British. A refined and educated, albeit currently out of sorts, English accent.

“Pleased to meet you, Leftenant.”

He lowered his arm, but he still stood rigid as a toy soldier. He turned his head one way and the other, taking in his surroundings with increasing confusion. “Where exactly am I?”

“Havelock, North Carolina. In my house, specifically. Where did you think you were?”

“Well, I thought I was landing at 56 Squadron RFC.” He laughed nervously. “But I also thought the worst thing that could happen on patrol would be to run into was a German plane, and well, here we are.”

German? Despite the fact that Germans had no doubt made many planes since, ‘German plane’ was a phrase somehow inexorably tangled up with the world wars. Add to that a British pilot, and the connection was almost undeniable. And his plane has a definite early-World-War look to it, like the one on display up at Cherry Point.

“What’s today’s date?”

He answered without hesitation, although he looked puzzled. “March the fifth.”

Correct. “What year?”

He looked doubly puzzled. “Why, nineteen-seventeen.”

“Nineteen-seventeen?” The little figure in her hand suddenly felt different. More alien. More lost.

“That’s correct.” What little composure he’d mustered over the past few minutes faltered slightly. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s…” She paused, trying to choose her words carefully. Was it possible to phrase this delicately? “It’s two-thousand and seventeen.”

He stared past her. There was different fear in his eyes now; not the wild, dangerous fear of seeing her. Something subtler and stranger.

“Uh…look here…” He spoke much softer now, voice steady despite his obvious distress. He looked down at her palm; she felt the toe of a minuscule boot tentatively tap her skin. “You…” He looked back up at her, eyes wide with concern and confusion. "You’re not joking with me, are you?"

She shook her head.

“Good lord…” Already unsteady on his feet, his weight shifted and he fell to one knee.

“Careful!”

He didn’t respond to her warning, if he even processed it. He was staring into the distance, lowering himself to a sitting position in the center of her palm. She could feel his arms shaking where they touched skin.

“When I was landing…” He was whispering still, Sara had to lift her hand closer to hear him. He was too lost in remembering to notice. “There was a thick white cloud…I couldn’t hear my engine. It was like being swallowed in a vacuum. The same sort of thing happened to Guy Niemayer. He disappeared one day while flying. At the memorial service the Cardinal said ‘He belonged to the sky, and the sky has taken him.”

“Well, he never showed up here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He jumped, shaken from a reverie.

“Well of course not, I only…” His voice trailed away. He was looking at her as if he’d only just remembered she was there. “Is this what he saw as he was dying?”

“You’re not dying!”

“Aren’t I?” He gestured at the air, at nothing. “Castaway in time and space; in the clutches of giant? It all feels to real to be a dream, and if it’s not then I don’t see what else it could be.”

“You’re not in my clutches!” Sara lowered her hand to the coffee table; the Leftenant’s fingers dug into her palm at the sudden movement. “I-I’m not clutching. Honest.” He didn’t move at first, but the longer she kept her hand flat and still, the more assured he was that it wasn’t going to suddenly lift off again. He pushed himself to his feet and walked unsteadily off the edge of her palm. Sara lifted her hand away and absent mindedly brushed her palm with the thumb of the other hand.

He’s so light.

He took a few cautious steps on the glass table top, looking up toward the ceiling, what must have been a hundred feet above him or more.

“I’m sorry…” He turned back to her with a very militaristic about face. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to."

He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. “I’m not afraid.”

She smiled wide and did one of those quick breathy laughs you can’t politely supress because you weren’t expecting it. “Good.”

A/N 2 : If this is rushed and unpolished, it’s because I farted it out. This idea was literally posessing me. Also, I spelled Lieutenant weird on purpose because they pronounced it that way. This whole post is a fever dream. I make no apologies.

#giant/tiny #fanfic #g/t fluff #g/t writing #holy guacamole i wrote fanfiction #am i a real tumblr now #I’m sorry I never post anything #happy Mabon everybody #asweetpeawriting #asweetpea #g/t

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entergamingxp · 4 years

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Let your mind wander with 40 of our best reads • Eurogamer.net

We’ve been lucky enough to publish some wonderful work on Eurogamer over the years, written by some wonderful writers, and we thought pulling some of it together at a time like this would be a nice thing to do.

If you see something you like, scroll down to the bottom of the piece and click on the author’s name to see what else they’ve written. There are some real treats I haven’t been able to include here – it’s a long enough list as it is!

Thank you everyone who contributes to Eurogamer and helps make it what it is, and thank you for reading it. Have a nice Easter weekend.

How Age of Empires 2 got some Scottish kids into RTS – Here’s a question: How do you get a bunch of disillusioned kids in the arse end of Scotland into real-time strategy games? Sam Greer remembers the 90s in Scotland and an unlikely gaming champion.

Petscop, the internet’s favourite haunted video game – Last March, a YouTube channel titled Petscop began releasing Let’s Play-style videos of what appeared to be a bargain-bin Playstation One game designed to entice undiscerning children. But things quickly took a darker turn, as Sara Elsam finds out.

An ode to video game doors – It’s easy to underestimate doors, Andreas Inderwildi writes, and yet they are also imbued with a kind of magic. If you’ve ever wanted to see a lot of lovely video game doors, now’s your chance.

After half my life, Ace Attorney’s re-release brought me full circle – Some games can have profound influences on our lives. Jay Castello grew up with the Ace Attorney series and wanted to be a lawyer – but life doesn’t always go the way it was planned.

I went Christmas carolling in Rust with a real piano, and got shot a hell of a lot – When Emma Kent heard that craftable pianos were coming to Rust (with MIDI support) and she could plug a microphone in too, there was only one thing she wanted to do. But would her fellow Rust players share in her festive spirit?

The story behind the Oblivion mod Terry Pratchett worked on – Imagine one day getting an email thanking you for the companion you made for Oblivion, signed by someone claiming to be author Terry Pratchett. Then imagine discovering, many letters later, it really was him. Cian Maher tells an unlikely story of friendship and collaboration.

The Lords of Midnight: on the legacy of a truly epic wargame – Even now, there’s little else remotely like it. Jennifer Allen remembers a cruel but magical adventure for Commodore 64. And thanks to devoted fans, there is now a way to play it.

Red Dead Redemption 2 and XCOM 2 have one crucial thing in common – companionship – From perishable squad mates to tales around a camp fire, Vivek Gohil digs into what makes companions in Red Dead Redemption 2 and XCOM 2 so special.

I was in Football Manager and I don’t know how to feel about it – Imagine our surprise when writer Chris Tapsell turns around and announces he was once in a Football Manager game, a series he loves – but as a football player. If it weren’t for a shoulder injury he may well have been a professional footballer today. But something always bothered him about his FM representation: his stats weren’t right. His height, his birthday, his eccentricity. This is the story of him getting to the bottom of it.

Roleplaying across the internet – It doesn’t have to be people sitting around a table. In its purest form, roleplaying is when a person says, “Let me tell you a story,” and the other person says, “Me too.” Giada Zavarise takes into the world of forum roleplaying.

If Ubisoft wants to cling on to Clancy, it’s time to talk politics – Tom Clancy relished a political drama so why does Ubisoft try to avoid it in his name? Is such a thing even possible? Edwin Evans-Thirlwell takes a closer look at Clancy and the legacy he left behind.

I owe everything I am to Buck Rogers: Countdown to Doomsday – You’re in a game shop in the mid-1990s and you have £15 to spend, and that’s a lot – you’re a kid and you’re poor. Jennifer Allen had a choice on her hands. What to choose? Pele? Streets of Rage? Or how about this box with the hero and the aliens on…?

Kazunori’s War: the world of Gran Turismo’s creator – He keeps a selection of pre-packed bags by his desk so he can leave at a moment’s notice. He’s an occasional racing driver. And he spun out a car at 200km/h as a very naughty youth. He is Kazunori Yamauchi, creator of Gran Turismo, and Martin Robinson travels to Japan to meet him.

It’s not easy being green: a brief history of orcs in video games – Who invented orcs, how did they get their green colour, and when did they start being more than dumb enemies? Nic Reuben seeks answers.

Why did ancient Egypt spend 3000 years playing a game nobody else liked? – Here’s a game responsible for one of the first ever instances of trash talk, a game played by pharaohs, but even after 3000 years of play, Senet went the way of the disonaur. Christian Donlan tries to find out what happened.

The boy who stole Half-Life 2 – In May 2004, a German boy wakes to find his bed surrounded by armed police officers. Seven months earlier, the source code to the in-development-and-late Half-Life 2 leaks onto the internet. Simon Parkin tells the story of a global hacker hunt, from both sides.

The six-year story of GTA Online’s long-vacant casino – When GTA Online launched, the Vinewood Casino was there. It wasn’t open but it was “opening soon”, according to a sign on the door. One year later, still closed; two years later, still closed. Nearly six years later, still closed. Why did it take so long? Jordan Oloman digs into a troubled development.

The cult of Hideo Kojima – What is it about Hideo Kojima that has crowds turn out in their hundreds to meet him? Khee Hoon Chan waits among one such crowd in Singapore, and then all of a sudden, spotlight on, Kojima is there.

Hearts and minds – Tom Bramwell puts on his best suit for the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony, and it leaves him wondering why there aren’t more heroes in games.

The US town ruled by an AI storyteller – Great storytellers talk about creative partnerships with all kinds of things, from drugs to religion to half-awake states of mind. Can artificial intelligence now be added to the list? Emily Gera shines a light on a fascinating storytelling experiment.

The God who Peter Molyneux forgot – Do you remember Curiosity and the promise of a life-changing prize for whoever tapped the last block? Brayn Henderson does – he tapped it. But did it change his life? Wesley Yin-Poole travels to Scotland to find out.

The Wind Waker inspired me to build a boat – Ever decided to build a boat because you really liked a game about sailing around? No of course not. Nor, I bet, have you ever bought an ocarina instrument because of a game, or fashioned your hair to look like Nathan Drake. Or have you? Omar Hafeez-Bore ponders the influence of games.

Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp and the feud that keeps on running – This time he’s demanding a single coconut. Philippa Warr tells the a hilarious story of two lifelong friends falling out over a valentine.

Brando and Bowie: The amazing stories of a man you’ve never heard about – He alone witnessed Marlon Brando’s last ever performance, and David Bowie kissed him on the lips. He held high positions in the video game world and directed big games for big companies. And yet, he never quite found success as we know it. Or did he? Bertie tells a long story.

Why can’t video games get shoulders right? What an inspired question! And it turns out it’s all in the shoulder blades. Alan Wen investigates.

Viva Piñata places a brutal lens on late-stage capitalism – Don’t be fooled by its cutesy looks. Viva Piñata is, as Hazel Southwell tells us, maybe the only game where the kind of business psychopathy preached on Huel-based wellness retreats outside San Francisco will actually work.

The promise of a game world you can touch – James Holland puts his hands in front of him and as the on-screen bubbles start to pop, he feels them popping on his skin, on his bare skin – he’s not wearing gloves or equipment of any kind. Is this the tech of the future?

Inside Tomb of Horrors, the hardest D&D module ever made – Just getting inside can be an ordeal, as two of the entrances lead to certain death, and losing a character level 10 or higher – all that time invested – really hurts. Why would someone make something like that? Malindy Hetfield takes a closer look.

PS2: The Insiders’ Story – The PlayStation 2 is still the best-selling console in the world. It was a landmark machine and its success made Sony feel invincible. Ellie Gibson takes us back to a time of David Lynch adverts and wild parties.

VR has already taken people with dementia to the seaside, and now video games are exploring neurological disease itself – Watching a participant literally cry with happiness as they remove the headset is not a sight writer Luke Kemp will soon forget.

Decoding Shenzhen: The Chinese city that makes the world’s tech – Known as the mecca of manufacturing, Shenzhen is a fishing city turned megatropolis, where an idea can be made a reality and sold in a market stall in two weeks. Arshiya Khullar investigates.

The human cost of Red Dead Redemption 2 – In October 2018, Red Dead Redemption set a new benchmark for the kind of production values a video game could reach. Technically, it was a marvel. But at what cost?

The folklore roots of Sekiro’s anus-ball snatching enemies – Why does an enemy in Sekiro grab a pale fleshy thing from your behind, hold it up like a trophy, then devour it in its own behind? It’s all to do with some disturbing monsters in Japanese folklore, as Ewan Wilson finds out.

Why I play video games – Dr Omar Hafeez-Bore believes a good part of why he chose to pursue medicine was because of video games, and not for the reasons you may think.

Stories with dice: the thrill of old-school D&D – Even 40 years on, video games have a lot to learn from Dungeons & Dragons. Oli Welsh discovers the joy of pen-and-paper role-playing games.

A horse named Gizmondo: The inside story of the world’s greatest failed console – It’s like it never existed now, but for a while Gizmondo – a handheld gaming machine – was going to conquer the world. The 2005 launch party even featured Pharrell Williams and Sting. But less than a year later, the company behind Gizmondo collapsed into bankruptcy. Ellie Gibson hears the whole shady story from the people who were there.

Passing on the gift of games – Have you ever passed the gift of gaming on and watched someone come to terms with it like you once did? Oh the tantrums I used to throw playing Street Fighter! Emad Ahmed has a niece and nephew to pass the gift onto, with surprising effects.

After I stepped into Yakuza’s world, Yakuza’s world seeped into mine – Wish you were there, in Japan? Well, there are few games better than the Yakuza series for taking you there. They helped Malindy remember happy years studying there, and overcome a painful memory.

The quest for Shadow of the Colossus’ last big secret – What if everything in Fumito Ueda’s renowned game had not been found? Could there be a 17th colossi hidden somewhere, waiting to be discovered? Craig Owens takes us into a world of unsolved mysteries and secret hunters.

The secrets of Dark Souls lore explained and explored – It’s not easy to get at the story in Dark Souls because unlike in other games, it’s scattered and hidden away. Richard Stanton connects the dots for us.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/04/let-your-mind-wander-with-40-of-our-best-reads-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=let-your-mind-wander-with-40-of-our-best-reads-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

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