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naffeclipse · 8 months ago

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A Gesture Returned

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

I had so much fun writing this request by the sweet @rinzydings who wanted a Y/N reuniting with Eclipse, and bearing a very important gift (and confession)! Their Y/N is so sweet and I loved combining their character with Eclipse's. There is so much sweetness and fluff! Which is must deserved after all they've both been through. I hope you enjoy! <3

———

The gray base is stark against the icy expanse of the north pole. A structure long since frozen into its foundation and left almost lost in the piercing wind and swirling snowflakes, you glance backward at it once before leaving it behind.

It’s been a year since you first met the orca siren. You saw him in between that time in the mild temperatures of spring, where the negative degrees weren’t as bitter with its touch and the sun rose and fell in time with a full, proper day. Now you have returned once again in autumn, in the aftermath of a summer full of endless sunlight.

Of course, you kept busy. Other destinations called out to you, and you felt yourself rushed to find the last of the places on your must-see list to ensure you would not go without. Pictures platter the inside of your computer of beautiful landscapes beside tropical seas and sprawling cliffs.

Slowly, your gloved hand falls into your inner pocket. Touching over the thickness of your coat, you remind yourself that your gift is still there. It’s waiting for the recipient.

Michael and Vanessa know your intentions. After a whole year of adjusting to your relationship with Eclipse, they are easing into the thought of you growing close with a siren that was once out of the realm of nightmares for them. They no longer fear for you like they once did. Your dear Eclipse and your sweet friends share far more in common than they once believed.

Your decision sits heavy on your heart—not with dread or anxiety—but with eagerness. A want to fling it out into the world and cause it to rear into realization runs through you. You dearly hope you may relieve yourself of this tension very soon.

Eclipse is out there, somewhere. He must have caught sight of the helicopter approaching.

You’ve learned much about Eclipse’s life and culture that you’ve gathered in your short bursts of seeing him. Courting gifts and becoming mates are important. You understand now what exactly it means to belong to him, and for him to belong to you.

For so long, he has waited in the icy waters alone. His family was dragged up in nets and gutted with spears by a horrible, wicked man named William Afton. He grew up with no kindness, warmth, or guidance. You couldn’t fault him for the tragedy that befell him, but you did grow fearful after he stole you away the first time and changed you against your will.

Now you’ve had time to understand him. You watched him let you go, and you returned to find him waiting with open arms.

Your gloved fingers roam over the irregular and smooth shapes of the gift you come bearing. He gave you so much. There’s something you want to give him in return.

Vanessa and Michael might not understand everything between you and Eclipse, but they support you.

You choose Eclipse.

Leaving the base behind, you waddle—ever the bird in Eclipse’s eye—across the frozen layers of ice that make up the great Arctic. You do not wander for long before the sea spreads dark and blue beside you. The sharp contrast of pale snow and choppy, deep waters overwhelms your sharp eye for images to capture.

You have many pictures of the ocean. Each one uses the light and angle to capture a swell of waves, the same as you experience a great rise of emotion, searching for your mate.

Emerging from the depths with a striking arch of his lithe and powerful body, Eclipse lifts his head above the sea. His stunning dorsal fin strikes high into the air, burning red and orange before melting into the lovely pattern of black and white upon his body. Even at this distance, you see his mouth full of teeth spreading into a grin.

A soft sound carries over the waves. A song of welcome. You close your eyes briefly to truly catch the sound of Eclipse’s voice over the Arctic wind and splashing waves.

You hold up your hand and wave, at last breaking into a trot as best as you can. Avoiding a dreadful plunge on the slick ground, you trek to the edge of the water. Eclipse dives down. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Eclipse!” You call as you drop to your knees beside the water. “Eclipse, I’m here!”

You lean over the slushy tide, mixing with shards of ice and blue-gray water, only to be greeted by a crescent mark face of black and white. Eclipse thrusts himself beside you, pushing onto the ice with an impressive flick of his tail. His impressive size easily dwarfs you. Minding the droplets flinging off of his sheeny body, he drapes himself along the ground before you in a dramatic presentation.

“Birdie,” Eclipse rumbles deeply. A flare of deep joy overtakes his red and yellow eyes. His grin remains wide, and it is painful to wait for his hands to dry enough before he takes you by the arms and engulfs you in his presence. “You came back.”

“I said I would,” you answer softly.

“You did.” He turns his face down, and with delicate effort, pushes your goggles carefully up your face. The bitter sting of the frigid air rushes your skin. To combat the dangerous cold, Eclipse captures you in a full-face nuzzle.

You softly sigh under the tender but deep fussing of his flat nose against you. He moves over you, going from cheek to cheek and even tucking himself under your chin for a moment, uncaring that your wool scarf gets in the way. His tongue slips out from between his lips to lick at your jawline. You resist a ticklish twitch, and instead, anchor him for a moment against you. Closing your eyes, you return the gesture and lay yourself entirely against his face.

For one precious moment, Eclipse warms you.

Then he kisses you on the nose. You laugh once in quiet surprise.

“Let me see you,” he whispers.

You hold still, your eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun shining over Eclipse as if he were waxed and polished. His body never ceases to amaze you.

Gently, he takes your hood and pushes it back. The cold quickly swirls over your head. As you learned before your first trip to the icy land, the head loses the most heat from the human body, and that is why it’s important to keep it covered.

Eclipse tenderly lifts his hand and runs his clawed fingers through your short hair. When you first met, he admired your dark strands with the blond streak you dyed into it, straight down the middle. He admired you in the way one would admire an exotic bird.

“Handsome,” he murmurs. “I missed your strange fur.”

“Hair,” you correct with a smile.

“Hair,” he echoes, before kissing the crown of your head. He reaffixes your hood over you before settling his arms over your legs and holding your gaze. “Tell me about your travels, birdie.”

You need not wait for another invitation. It’s not often you get the opportunity to ramble about your photography, but Eclipse always lends a listening ear. You’ve learned how genuine he is, as curious as you are, and just as insatiable for new, beautiful things.

First, you tell him about Ocracoke Island. It is not the most exotic land you’ve traveled to, but it is nonetheless abundant with stunning seashells and a lively beach filled with yellow sands and green waters. Then you traveled to Shell Beach in the Australian winter. Awe Striking scenery fueled your photograph as the pale beach glistened to tiny, white shells beside an ever-endless blue sea. Then you traveled to Jeffreys Bay. The water is most gorgeous there, a pale blue-gray with rich seafoam flooding over an entire shoreline worth of shells.

He doesn’t ask, but it’s clear that you favor tropical and seaside environments during the last six months of your travels. Eclipse has many questions when you talk of such places, such as the creatures there or what you enjoy most about visiting such environments. He draws his claws softly over your gloved hands as you continue to speak.

Truly, he gives his full attention. Though his eyes may wander over your small fingertips or short stature, he is no less aware of what you spill from your lips.

As you finish telling him of carefully walking along Jeffreys Bay, you gently free your hand from his grasp. His eyes flare for a moment. His claws flex, watching hungrily as you reach into the inside of your coat and withdraw the most precious gift you are about to give.

“I have something for you,” you start softly, your fist curled over the offering, “It would mean so much to me if you accepted it.”

Eclipse tilts his head down, eyes crinkled in curiosity. The shine of his burning red frills catches on the sunlight. You swallow down your heart. Carefully unfurling your fingers, you present Eclipse with a courting gesture.

Laid upon your hand is a cord of strung seashells. Tiny, spiraling, and flat shells clink softly together to form a gradient of deep red, burnt orange, periwinkle, soft baby blue, and pure frost. Six months you spent finding the precise colors. The ones of Eclipse, and the ones that were on your tail when he had changed you into a siren. Those cool, soft colors never quite left your head.

Neither has Eclipse left your heart.

The gravity of the gesture is not lost on you as you study Eclipse’s wide eyes and gaped mouth. He reaches out as if handling thin ice, and strokes the shells with his clawed fingertips. The seashells are tiny but solid. A musical clink echoes at Eclipse’s brush of his hand, and he lifts his eyes.

“I accept,” he answers in a low, powerful voice.

Your entire being flutters, warm and reassured.

“May I?” you ask softly, lifting the cord and carefully taking the ends. “It’s meant to be worn… if you want to wear it.”

“Birdie, I desire nothing more than to display your gift on my body.” His declaration sends a sweeping heat into your cheeks.

“Your hand,” you say, your eyes filling with misty tears.

He obeys, offering his arm. You level him out to expose his wrist. Slipping the bracelet of seashells around the sinew-packed bones, you deftly tie it and ensure the cord will not unravel anytime soon.

“You gave me many gifts during our courtship,” you say deliberately. You lean back to admire it upon his wrist. “I wanted to return the gesture in kind.”

His hand clenched as if to contain emotion within his fist. He holds his hand and twists it this way and that, watching the seashells swing slightly against his shiny skin.

“This means much to me, birdie,” Eclipse lowers his gaze at last to you. His chest puffs up with pride. The glow in his gaze is as soft as candlelight. “I will treasure it.”

“I’m glad…” you say, holding back something behind your tongue that stings and causes your entire body to squirm.

In the moment your eyes dart away from him, heavy with words you can’t yet dislodge, a claw curls carefully under your chin. A spark fires in your chest. Gently but firmly, Eclipse lifts your head to look deep into your eyes. His constant grin thins into concern.

“What is troubling you?”

Your throat bobs softly. His eyes dart once to your gift before returning to you, and for a moment, a shine of fear returns to his gaze. The same as when you told him you had to leave the very first time.

You answer quickly but softly, “I’ve never stopped thinking of you, and I've never stopped caring for you, Eclipse.”

His expression softens like the sky in the morning after a wicked blizzard. His claw carefully draws along your bottom lip.

“My little siren,” he rumbles, but there’s a hint of melancholy in the endearment. “How precious you are.”

“I've come to a decision.” A fluttering erupts within you, and you slowly reach out to hold tight to his arm. “Eclipse, I want to stay with you.

You watch in both awe and whirling emotion as Eclipse is struck dumb. His jaw drops. His eyes flare wide open. His touch upon you slackens as if he were about to slip back into the water in his stupor, but instead, he looks at you as if seeing you again for the first time.

A fist squeezes your heart, and you forget to breathe. Is it too late? Does he still want to have you?

“I’m… I’m…” The apology fumbles on your tongue as you try to turn away, but Eclipse grabs you tighter, stopping you in your tracks.

Then you feel the tremors in his hand. Ripples of emotion take over his strong and sleek body, falling down his shoulders and into the very flukes of his tail. His eyes burn deeply.

“You will stay with me?” he asks, caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. “Truly, birdie?”

“Yes,” your voice almost cracks. “I love you. I want to be with you as a siren.”

Saying the words frees something within you. The pulse pounding in your ears calms. Eclipse’s hand upon your chin softens into a tender touch. He leans very close. In a gentle brush of his sea-salt-tinged lips, he kisses you deeply. His fervor almost pushes you back, but his arms wrap around and hold you perfectly in place.

He breaks the kiss softly.

“I love you, my mate.” He tilts your head softly as he nuzzles your cheek. “When you are ready, I will take you into the water.

Your heart sways within you. It is difficult to not recall how frigid and consuming the Arctic is, and the panic you felt underneath the water. But this is different.

He loves you truly. He let you go, and you step back willingly into his arms.

“I will make it quick, birdie,” he whispers, “I am yours eternally.”

You smile before caressing his face, touching the corner of his mouth, and feeling the slipperiness of his black and white skin.

“And I’m yours,” you smile.

With gentle reverence, Eclipse helps you undress. You urge him to hurry once the cold begins to attack your skin. Mentally, you must brace yourself once more for the cold of the water. Eclipse cradles you close against his body as you shiver violently in the sub-zero temperatures.

He bows over you, and with a conjuring of a song from deep within his chest, magic fills the air with the force of thunderous waves. It fills you as he presses his lips to your mouth, and together, you slip under the surface.

Your courting gift of seashells sways around his wrist in the water.

The power of his magic takes you gently out of a world of footsteps and leg strides and into a body fit for cutting through storms and sailing through seas. The colors upon your fluke tips are the same as you remember. This time, you allow him to remove the last of your clothing. Completely bare, transformed, and magically thriving, you are reborn.

He embraces you. The length of his tail easily surpasses your own, and you are held safe as he kisses you within the frozen brine.

#naff's writing commissions #apex polarity #orca!eclipse #giving something a little back and returning the love #smooch smooch mwah #naff writing

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asce-of-hearts · 9 months ago

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So, I was wondering if you could write about a female or gender neutral darling, for BNHA, where the yandere catches their darling in the act of trying to end themselves. When they question their darling, they just respond that they feel like they are just a burden to their yandere and feel that the yandere shouldn't have to take care of them. Darling does have Stockholm Syndrome. How would yanderes Eraserhead, Present Mic, Fat Gum, and Gang Orca respond to this. You can choose the method of what the darling was using. SFW, please.

However, I do completely understand if you are too uncomfortable to do this ask! I wish you luck with your grades!❤️

Burdened

contents: Yan!Pro heroes x gn!reader scenario in which they catch reader about to commit suicide.

more pro hero content here

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE, HURT COMFORT, SOFT YANDERE.

A/N: The scenario I wrote is ambiguous enough so you can interpret it as whoever you would like telling you those words. since I found myself writing the same thing over and over again just with a different character. I hope this suffices.

He feels that something's off. Maybe its his sixth sense, he feels this need to run back home and check on you. He doesn't know why, he just knows it. It itches in the back of his head, crawling all over his skin.

It could be anything really. But he's paranoid. Maybe you played too rough with the cat and ended up with a scratch on the arm, or fell on the bathroom.

Or worse, you ran away.

He can't focus, he really can't. He fakes whatever illness, inducing himself to vomit isn't that hard all of the sudden. And he runs back home. He opens the door with strength, startling the cats. Yet you're nowhere to be found, not a sound. He slowly walks inside, quiet, it's too quiet.

He sees the trail of blood on the covers, and follows it to the bathroom. He doesn't care why or how, his hands stop you right before the blade hits your skin again. He cradles you in his arms, quietly, gently, not minding the red staining the water of the bathtub. You don't answer, but you seem alert. That's enough for him.

— There was no need for you to do this, — he whispers against your skin as he presses a kiss to your open wound, carefully wrapping a bandage around them all. — Guess I'll just have to be more careful with you. Never leave you out of my sight. — His voice is rough, but his tone is gentle. He seems tired. But that night he can't sleep, he watches the rising and falling on your chest, paranoid once again, maybe it'll stop when he leasts expects it.

He can't let that happen. He loves you too much for that.

— You don't burden me, you know that? — He whispers to your sleeping body. — You could never... You're my adoration. — He sighs, wrapping his arms around you once again — I wish I could scold you for this, but you seem so fragile right now. Like you could crumble if I held you too tight. — He kisses at your temple, then at the nape of your neck. — I'll keep you safe.

hope you enjoyed this, have a good day/night

TAGGING: @jessicainhell @pasteldaze @rosemary108233 @yukimutsu . @repostingmyfavs @artist-in-training-wheels @eroscastle @DollyWonyoung @garfieldthomas @goldenglow149 @Voidthewriting @hbk99450 @stranger00001 @DelicatelyCraftedBambi @rania200527 @kitzusune @mizzhellsingstuff @Aki-sazuki @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @Notreallyablogger @akirahyoshi @lilyalone @ayn-yurbestie @florcxo @oliviathatgirl @awkward-artists @duchessofhell85

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fantasblog · 2 months ago

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Megalomaniac!ford:here we go.

Toddler Cosmo combo: Weeeee

Also bonus comic.

Characters and belongs:

-Cosmo combo (manicdeity offspring) belongs to me

-megalomaniac Ford and king orxa (orca form) from euclydia rises belongs to @orxinus

-nebula (manicdeity offspring) belongs to LiamYLim (x)

-deity bill cipher from star falls au belongs to fazfuri

#megalomaniac ford #my art #deity bill cipher #cosmo combo #nebula au #manicdeity #digital art #drawing art #gravity falls au #Gravity falls #king orxa #galaxean orxa #euclydia rises #star falls au #art

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fruitcoops · 9 months ago

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Best Beloved

Day Thirteen: our final day of Fic O'Ween 2024, brought to you by the most special girl in the world. She was spared a spooky movie, as she did not partake in the midight margaritas for obvious reasons. Characters (except our leading lady) belong to @lumosinlove, and MASSIVE massive thanks to @noots-fic-fests for organizing another wonderful year <3

Day 12 movie: Beetlejuice (1988)

Movie theme of the fest itself: Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), with a sprinkling of Freaky Friday (2003) for our dream-hopping, out-of-body experiences. I hope you enjoyed reading and following along as much as I enjoyed writing these!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

“How is it?”

“…working, but don’t tell him.”

Lily took a pointed sip of her hangover cure (courtesy of James) and rested her elbows on the kitchen island. Remus joined her a moment later, laying his whole head on his folded arms and abandoning his own concoction to the side. The ‘Whale of a Time!’ novelty mug from their Alaskan summer trip bore a cheerful orca waving its fin, directly at odds with his general aura of headache melancholy.

“I wonder what she dreams of,” he mused, muffled by the thick sleeves of his hoodie.

Below them, Hattie’s paws gave a twitch.

“Seems important,” Lily agreed. She braved another sip. It was disappointing how well the awful thing worked.

Remus hummed, and tilted his head slightly to the side. His eyes remained on Hattie’s side, rising and falling in an even pattern ever-so-rarely interrupted by a huff. Her nose wiggled; he smiled. “Nah. She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Evil squirrels,” Lily pointed out.

“They steer clear.”

“Rival gangs?”

Remus’ next breath was a laugh. “She has never met an enemy.”

Lily frowned. “Delayed dinner?”

Remus paused, blinking slowly. “Maybe. Aw, look, she’s chasing something.”

Fuzzy black paws picked up the pace. Quick flicks, back-and-forth, scraping just her smallest nail along the floor in tiny, inch-long crescents. Hattie’s nose wiggled again, searching for whatever eluded her in the land of beautiful dreams inhabited by the best-loved creatures. Even her eyelids fluttered.

“Hattie,” Remus called softly. “What are you doing, Hat Trick?”

Hattie’s tail gave a thump. She settled with a last hard puff that flexed her nostrils. Her paws fell quiet, save for one last stretch.

Hattie was having the most fabulous dream.

Her people, all her people, wandering about—then home, after discovering several dropped crackers when people started leaving. A car ride and bedtime and scritches and treats snuck under the table to her and every last one of her people petting her all night long, even through the thick Dad Shirt she had been put in before they arrived.

(That part was confusing. They had so many Dad Shirts in the house boxes, in all sizes. They got thrown into the weird bags with interesting smells and went out with her dads every day, but they always came home smelling like unfamiliar laundry and not the sweaty strangeness of their playing-with-friends clothes. Also, Hattie wasn’t usually dressed in Dad Shirts. Everyone else found it very funny.)

And now! Now she had a butterfly, big and yellow and bouncing just ahead of her snout. She had jumped at it first, then pranced after it, and now she was allowed to run-run-run across soft, flat grass.

It was wonderful.

“She was so goddamn cute in Pads’ jersey last night—”

“Oh my god, I know, I died when he brought her down in it.”

Lily buried her laughter in the rim of her cup. “It’s uncanny.”

Remus grimaced briefly around the dregs of the Emergen-C-Gatorade-Tums-Pedialyte smoothie, but his fond smile returned without issue. “It’s so…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “From day one, I swear. The eyes?”

“The hair!”

“It’s dead-on.”

“Sorry for leaving lipstick on her forehead.”

Remus shrugged one shoulder. “It blends in. She’s fine.”

“Animal testing,” Lily joked.

“The glitter, maybe.”

“The margs took over. I’m not liable for my actions.”

Their mutual wince made Remus pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Jesus, yeah, and they were so good.”

“It makes me so mad,” Lily mumbled into the cuff of her hoodie. “Like, come on, at least make it taste like danger.”

“That salt rim.”

“The fucking salt rim! French sea salt? Are you joking right now?”

“And the sugar sprinkled on the top.” Remus shook his head with a noise of faux disgust. They sat quietly for a few minutes. Outside, garage door hummed. Remus leaned over and knocked their shoulders together. “Thanks for coming over this morning.”

“Your husband actually begged mine to heal him.”

“And he did. You should keep him.”

Lily gave him a disbelieving look. “He’s not going anywhere.”

The butterfly led Hattie over bubbling streams and gentle slopes just meant to be sprinted down. The wind ruffled her fur and carried the bird songs right into her ears, no effort necessary. She was out of breath. It didn’t matter. The butterfly was right there—she almost had it.

“Hi, boys,” Lily rasped as the door to the kitchen opened.

James barely glanced up from kicking off his tennis shoes with a bag in one hand and coffee in the other. “Boo. Trick or treat?”

“Treat.”

“Everything bagel with scallion cream cheese.”

Lily buried her moan in the countertop and reached a blind, grasping hand out across cool marble. Wax paper crinkled; a soft greeting followed, then a kiss to the back of her head. She squinted in the low light of late morning as James paired it neatly with a second to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Dearly. Endlessly. Forever.”

His cheeks pinked. “Back at you.”

“Mhm.”

Remus was halfway through his own bagel when she looked over. Her stomach rumbled in pure jealousy.

“Oh,” Sirius said happily, pointing past them. “She’s dreaming.”

Triumph. Hattie rolled onto her back and stretched her legs out as far as they would go, each toe flexed and every joint extended. It would be better with belly rubs, but a wiggle of her shoulders in the moss was more than enough to satisfy.

The butterfly hopped between her back paws, then up to the front. It tickled the pads and the fur between them. She tipped her head to the side for a better look at the fluffy bits of its wings, but a flop of her paw startled it into the air.

The butterfly set off again, this time toward a rich green forest. Hattie leapt up with a bark and a bound, and didn’t look back.

#hattie #remus lupin #lily evans #lily potter #sirius black #james potter #coops #jily #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fic o'ween 2024

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scribbles-here · 1 year ago

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Do you take requests?? Cove x Mc/reader where cove stays outside to long and gets heat stroke and mc takes care of him? I thought it could be a cute fic

Yes I do !!

︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻︻

𝙷𝚘𝚝 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚊𝚢

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Being on your feet and exposed to the sun all day with rising temperatures seem to be a recipe for disaster.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: horrible description of a heat stroke, vomiting, you can decide if you are already in a relationship with Cove or not.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Cove Holden x F! Reader

𝐀/𝐍: never had a heat stroke before but my brother did a few years ago when he joined a band camp during high school, so I'm putting in a few details from what he's told me. xP

︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼︼

Gritting your teeth, you hauled the heavy black trash bag over your shoulder and trudge through the sand to the large garbage bin that stood at the edge of where the sidewalk was. Beads of sweat rolled down the side of your face which you used your shoulder to quickly wipe away, the sensation tickling when it fell. Volunteering for ORCA had its ups and downs; you could be invited to charities one day and then melting in the sun the next.

"Just a few more bags and we'll be finished here [Name]," A voice breaks you out of your thoughts. Turning your head to the source, you make eye contact with familiar green eyes. Cove gives a wobbly smile and tries to wink. "We can go get frozen yogurt after this."

"That sounds so good right now," You whined, wiping the sweat collecting on your hairline. "I'm dying in this heat." He chuckles and starts heading towards the pile of trash bags on the other side of the beach before he stumbles. With quick reflexes, you go to steady him. But upon seeing Cove up close, you noticed that his face was pale, and his breathing had increased and a bit labored.

"Cove?" You called out in worry, removing one of your hands from his arms to place the back of it against his hot cheek. "Are you okay? You're a bit... pale."

Cove groans and places a hand on his head, eyebrows knitting together in pain. " 'm f..fine..headache." He attempts to take another step before falling onto one knee.

"Cove?!" You shout, kneeling down to his level and he immediately rests his weight on you. This catches the attention of other volunteers as they quickly rush over to help. "Cove, what's wrong?!"

A small whine of pain leaves his chapped lips before Cove's green eyes roll to the back of his head; his body drops into your arms.

"COVE!"

✰

Sitting on a plastic chair inside the First Aid tent, you watched Cove go in and out of consciousness. He layed in the bed with his shirt off and he was covered in ice packs in an attempt to cool him down. Cove's green hair swayed in the breeze as you fanned him with a folder you borrowed from one of the nurses that ORCA had hired for cases like this.

Your arm was getting sore, but for Cove, you'll keep going. It wasn't much longer when the boy finally comes to, his eyes settling on your blurry figure.

"Oh my gosh, Cove!" You rest your hands on the bed and lean into his space, causing him to let out a squeak as he scrambled to sit upwards.

"[Name]-" But it seems like he got up to fast.

Cove slaps a hand to his mouth, face turning into a sickly green. Noticing the signs you were told earlier; you quickly grabbed the puke bucket that was placed near your chair and held it out in front of Cove. He opens his mouth and blows chunks.

Few minutes pass by as you wait for Cove to finish, a hand settled on his back in an attempt to comfort him. The green haired man spits into the bucket one final time, takes a deep breath, and lets out a big sigh. Cove turns his head slightly to look at you with an embarrassed look.

"That...was something."

You let out a snort. "It was, but- are you feeling better now?" Setting the bucket down, carefully, you brush away Cove's bangs and used the back of your hand to check his temperature.

Cove bites back a blush forming on his cheeks as he watched you lean closer through thick green lashes. "I'm feeling a bit icky, but I'll manage." The smile that grows on your face makes him desperately wanting to lean in and give you a kiss, but he holds himself back.

"Do you need anything? Water? Snacks? More ice packs?" You began listing off things Cove might need. A warm hand rests on your shoulders stopping your listings.

"Can we get frozen yogurt?" Cove bites his lip as he awaits your answer before adding on with a laugh. "Later of course! Once I get better."

"Later it is then." You giggled.

-----------

Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi!

#x reader #fanfiction #cove holden x reader #our life beginnings & always #cove holden #stars o writing #stars o

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superficialdomina · 2 years ago

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Awful things

Summary: A short alternate read on the "Terrible, awful things" moment in S2. GN reader.

Word count: 940

Warnings? Lots of Loki angst, implications of past trauma/pain. Spoilers for S2 I guess? No smut in this one (explicit or implied).

Note: I know this won't be for everyone, but I just wanted to give him this.

Lean hands gripped the controller, knuckles white.

Loki’s voice was even, despite the rising breathlessness. “I’ve done some terrible, awful things.”

X-5 gasped as the cube compressed, but Loki barely registered him over the ringing in his ears. The prisoner spoke again; Loki couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t need to.

“Please tell me the truth.” There was a pain in Loki’s chest, a tightness constricting in parallel with the light cage in front of him. Hide it, his inner voice whispered. Be what they expect you to be. He pasted a carefully crafted sneer over his face.

“Well, if none of this is real, I guess you aren’t either.” The light behind his eyes was blinding, but it was almost over…

And then it was. Mobius was striding into the room; they had their answer. “Let’s go, Zaniac.” As Mobius and B-15 led X-5 from the room, Loki felt the familiar rush of blood thundering through his head. Sucking in breath, he sank to the floor.

***

Booted footsteps echoed as you negotiated the TVA corridors, dim lights bringing a familiar ache to your searching eyes. He must be here. Somewhere.

Another corner, another empty interrogation room – no, not empty. There, slumped against the wall. A pile of a man in a crumpled jacket.

Not a man, you heard his voice in your mind.

You dropped to one knee, facing him.

“Loki, it’s me,” you murmured, “It’s OK. I’ve got you.” You reached out and took his hands, which were surprisingly cold. He raised his eyes, and you gave a sharp inhale; they were red with grief.

His hands shook as your fingers traced their thick veins, gripped his palms, helped him to stand. It was alarming, seeing him like this - his strength, his swagger, vanished. “I’ve got you,” you murmured again, and he took you at your word, letting his not insignificant weight fall against you as you half-led, half-carried him back through the maze of hallways.

At last, the door to your simple TVA living quarters closed behind you. Together you sank to the floor, his back to your chest, you supported by the bare, beige wall. You circled your arms around him, pulling him flush against you. And you waited.

Slowly, his breathing steadied; his trembling abated.

“What happened, Loki?” you whispered gently. “Tell me what happened in there?”

Loki slowly turned his head, resting his cheek against you. His eyes were closed as you soothingly carded your fingers through his inky hair. “X-5,” he muttered. “We – I – tortured…” Pain briefly twisted his beautiful features. “We interrogated him. It was… cruel.” He shuddered again.

You pressed the flat of your palms into his broad, solid chest. If I want it enough, can I be his armour? “You hurt him?” you ask quietly.

Disgust crossed his face again. “No,” he spat. “Not pain. Not really. But he… He was afraid. Terrified.”

You bit your lip in confusion. “Loki, I… I don’t understand. You didn’t hurt him? But that’s… That’s good, isn’t it?”

Loki opened his eyes, but he was staring at nothing. “He… believed… No, he knew I would hurt him.” He swallowed. “I watched a seal, once, being hunted by a pod of orcas. It was trapped on a shelf of ice, surrounded by predators. Nowhere to run. Nothing to think or feel but absolute, abject, terror. I saw that terror in X-5’s face. I smelled it. The fear of someone who knew he was going to die.”

It was your turn to shudder.

“Your reputation precedes you,” you said gently, understanding. You’d seen the footage. I don’t enjoy hurting people. It was necessary… for the illusion…

“Indeed,” he replied bitterly. “What’s that expression you’re so fond of? ‘Living down to their expectations’?”

“Loki, you didn’t hurt him.” You lifted his chin so that he met your eyes. “You could have. You didn’t.”

“I have done,” he began, “terrible, awful things -”

“Loki, stop.” You let a hint of steel through, a desperate attempt to reach him. “You’re spiralling.”

There was a pause as several breaths trembled through him. Considering at length all that he had done, all he had lost. What it had cost. When he did speak again, it was gut-wrenchingly quiet.

“I’m not – I don’t want to be – that man. Anymore.”

Nodding, you closed your eyes. “You choose your path, Loki, and I will walk it with you as long as I can.”

You’re not sure how long you sat like that; the two of you, pressed together, as if you could hold him long enough that all the pain of his eons-long life would bleed away. As if you could be the chrysalis he needed. You knew it would pass; Loki felt things fiercely, but eventually this, too, would be packaged up and added to the growing shadow he carried. As you sat, quietly listening to Loki’s breath become even, you thought about the other times he had come to you like this, twisted in self-curated torture at an act, a memory. It hurt, to watch him hurting. But you also realized what a deep privilege it was. What an honour, that he let you see him like this; bared, broken, exposed.

Eventually, Loki pushed himself to seated, and turned to face you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours, his nose grazing your cheek.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes… I will be.” He stood, straightened, sweeping errant locks from his flushed face, shaking himself free of the residual cortisol like a cat after a fright. He offered his hand, and pulled you to standing.

“Dinner?”

“Italian?”

“Divine, my love.”

This is outside my usual content so I'm not even sure if I should tag you guys, but here we go: @lokisgoodgirl @infinitystoner @muddyorbsblr @divine-knight-hand @acidcasualties @lokischambermaid @so-easy-to-love-me @sarahscribbles

#Loki fic #loki angst #loki spoilers #loki x reader #loki x gn reader

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allthegeopolitics · 1 year ago

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The Mediterranean yachting season has kicked off for the summer – and it didn't take long for another yacht to fall victim to a killer whale encounter. A group of orcas sank a 50-foot sailing yacht in Moroccan waters on Sunday in the latest of several similar incidents involving the highly social species that have occurred over the past four years. An unknown number of orcas were involved in the incident, which took place in the Strait of Gibraltar, Spain's maritime rescue service said Monday, according to Reuters. The incident is the most recent in a spate of bizarre orca encounters with boats that have been on the rise in recent years, primarily in Mediterranean waters south of Spain, where many yachts cruise during the summer months.

#Whales #Killer whales #Orcas #Yachts #world news #news

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thateldribitch · 2 years ago

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To Be Tender

Yandere Floyd/Reader; Yandere Jade/Reader. Briefly mentioned Yandere Azul/Reader.

Word Count: 2114

Kind of part of a series, could be read as standalone though. Here's part one!

CW: Possessive behavior, kidnapping, yandere behavior, the tweels being grabby and creepy (but not sexual.) The ocean. Conditioning and manipulation. We're getting psychological this time bitches.

“Darling….” A warm breath makes your eyes flutter in the false dawn. The magical lights begin to tick past the faint blue of the night cycle to an early morning gray. The faux stars dim. The projected moon clicks off. A groan trickles past your lips… petering off into a whine as his limbs untwine from yours. Cold. You curl into a ball, soaking up the warmth draining from the bed. A hand strokes through your hair, tenderly. Warm lips press to your forehead. “...business trip… evening…. Back before you know it….”

Words drift in and out of your barely thawed consciousness. Too cold to go to sleep; too sleepy to fully wake. A quiet chuckle escapes Azul’s lips, as he swaddles you in a sinfully soft blanket. It’s weighted…. And that too-light feeling fades with a sigh of comfort. Sinking… back into sleep…. Hours later… the bulbs in the walls begin to burnish to a sunshine-gold… your eyes flutter open.

You scream into your goddamn pillow.

Even the fabric smells like him. The blanket is worse, though. Gods, whenever he leaves like this he swaddles you in soft blankets, weighted and covered in his cologne. The texture feels all too similar to his skin, the plush softness of his caecilian body…. It should disquiet you. It used to. And yet you’ve been Pavlov’d into relaxing beneath the false warmth and weight and scent….. Spitefully, you kick the blanket off of you and curl into a ball.

It’s worse when you remember he only gives you the blankets when he’s not in bed with you. Because why would you need anything but his body to keep you comfortable? You’re just glad he stopped using his body as the bedding. You have something akin to a mattress now. It’s. An upgrade. Sort of…. More nest-like than anything you’re used to, but it’s… comfortable, at least. But it’s still too cold without a blanket. Or Azul. Pinching your lips, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to eke out a few more minutes of very uncomfortable sleep. It’s more irritable half-awareness, though; meditative, almost.

The lights eventually warm to something akin to mid-morning light. It stirs you like clockwork. Gritting your teeth, you sigh and stumble up and out of bed. You clumsily swim into the kitchen with groggy little kicks. There’s a lovingly prepared plate waiting for you. A thick slab of meat perfumes the water with a mouth-watering marinade. It takes you a moment to realize it’s an orca’s flank. With its contrasting skin delicately flayed and its teeth artfully scattered around the plate’s edge, the cut glistens on a bed of sea-greens.

It’s fresh. And warm. Domestic, with the intimidating hint of showing off—look what I can kill for you. Look at how strong I am, how capable. But not only that, but it’s purposefully seasoned to your tastes. For a moment… you just stare at it. It’s conditioning. You know it’s conditioning. Bile rises into your throat. Hunger falls to a distant memory. Instead, desperation rises. A need. A need to get out, you need to get out before his calculated attempts at Stockholm syndrome really start to work.

You smack the plate off the counter, breathing heavily. The meat sinks. The greens float and scatter. It’s not enough. It’s not enough. The exit is clear. An open cave, a crack in the trench wall. This is your prison. But why would he need a locked door or bars to keep you where he wants you. The intimidation of the exit is so effective in the first place. The abyss stretches out before you—a yawning, frigid maw beyond the temptingly enchanted light and heat of Azul’s cavern. But your heart beats restlessly. It’s a constant tempo of your need for freedom.

It takes many start-stops; many failed attempts of trying to gain the courage to brave the darkness again. Even more so to move through it. Because the trench just consumes. Life, light, everything. Even though you must not be more than a few feet out—is it only a few feet? It feels like miles. Like a current dragged you down further and you just couldn’t feel it because it’s so damn cold. You’re numb. Okay. Okay, no, calm down. Calm down. There’s not a living thing in these icy depths, nothing beyond what Azul lets into the trench. It’s as if even the most fearsome predators quake at the idea of entering such dangerous, dark waters. It’s. Fine.

Move.

You’ll never get used to swimming through pure ink. It’s directionless. No up, no down—just black. The only sound is the bubble of your breath and the pound of your heart. But the darkness swallows that too. It’s not alive. But it feels like it. A weight, a presence, a monster. Where’s the cavern? Fuck. Fuck, you went out too far, where’s the ledge, you usually use the cavern’s edge to guide yourself up. Fuck…. It’s so cold. Dark, so dark, so cold. Up. Down? Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck—

“My oh my,” a voice sings out in the dark, “Another escape attempt so soon?”

You turn towards it. From the opposite direction, a body crashes into you, sharp teeth sinking pointedly into the back of your neck. It doesn’t hurt. More like. Scruffing a kitten, really. Just with sharper teeth. Instinctively, you fall limp, gasping for breath. Floyd coos as he releases his toothy grip. He rubs his cheek against the back of your neck. He’s warm. Unfortunately warm. Wrapping around you like a living blanket, all velvet skin and soft hair. Floyd can be unfortunately gentle when he wants to be. A content few clicks escape him as he feels you curl into his warmth, nosing closer to him as the chill is burned from your skin. Another shiver—this time, in self-disgust. You hate that this is comforting. You hate that you can breathe easier at the sight of Jade’s golden eye bobbing in the dark.

“And oh so injured. Dear, you mustn’t push yourself like this…. Not when you’re hurt,” Jade lets out a put-upon sigh. Something’s running over your bandages. Pain blooms. Panic bursts like a firework, brief and bright, until your mind registers that it’s Jade’s fingers skimming over your injured ankle.

“Fuck you, Jade,” you hiss.

“If you’d like,” he responds with a small smile that barely shows the points of his teeth. They glitter in the glow of his brother’s gaze, like some monstrously illuminated, razor-sharp smirk. You glance away, glaring off into the darkness. He chuckles softly. “Come along. Let’s get you warm.”

He says that like you have a damn choice…. There’s no such thing as personal space with these two. Floyd’s iron grip constricts you to the point that you wheeze out a breath. Jade’s so damn close that you can feel him twining like a protective ribbon around you and his brother. The one benefit you’ll give to this is that it’s warming you up pretty quickly. Though, you do try and flinch away as Jade rubs at your icy fingers. Sure, it gets feeling back into them, but….

“Hey. Close your eyes, Toadfishie,” Floyd rubs his cheek against your head, mussing up your hair. You didn’t even realize your eyes were open…. “You’ve been in the dark for a minute. Don’t wanna hurt’cha.”

Begrudgingly, you squeeze them shut… even if it goes against your every instinct. Why would a prey animal want to close their eyes around a predator, after all? A shiver claws its way up your spine as the familiar heat of the cavern spills over you. A relieved breath puffs out of your lips, as you melt against the twins. You can’t… help it. The gentle fussing feels so tender. Fingers skim over your ankles.

Maybe you’re a little delirious. Maybe you just… need the comfort, need that tense feeling squeezing your heart to just ease. Just a little. But then Floyd licks at the bite mark he left on your neck—and your whole body goes stiff as a board. Struggling, you squirm out of his arms and right into Jade’s. He clucks his tongue, tucking you tightly against him as he cleans the faintly bleeding tooth marks.

“...Easy now, Pearl,” he murmurs, voice far softer than usual. “...I just don’t want this to get infected.”

“You don’t have to lick me to do that,” you point out, almost bonking your head against his chin. One of his arms cages you against his chest; the other holds your head, gentle but firm. Completely immobilized, all you can do is spit curses and kick your feet a bit. You feel his smirk against your neck.

“It’s faster,” he chuckles. His thumb swipes gently over your cheek, just barely skimming the corner of your lips. You learned a long while ago not to bite them…. But it is tempting. Not that your useless teeth could have punctured their skin anyway.

They like pointing things like that out…. Because their ‘courtship’ has a lot less to do with bribery and conditioning, and more with showing off. Look how strong they are, how capable. They like… proving themselves? They catch increasingly deadly meals. Orcas, giant squids, sharks—proving they can provide for their mate and young, they told you once. That they can protect you. It makes you shiver. At least Azul doesn’t admit things like that with a big, toothy grin. The honesty is… almost refreshing. It’s not a song and dance of subtle manipulations and calculated softness. But it’s still—

“Jaaaaaaaaade, Toadfishie spilled their food,” Floyd pouts, poking at the floating pieces of your meal.

“Have you eaten at all this morning?” Jade murmurs, eyes narrowing. In concern? Frustration? It’s so hard to tell sometimes. Their features are so alien. What you do know is that they all hate it when you don’t eat. Sharply, you inhale as you feel him trying to get you to subtly look him in the eye. You glance at him, glance away. Anywhere but that damn golden eye. “Pearl—”

“No, I didn’t, okay?” You writhe in his grip, uncomfortably screwing your eyes to the wall. “I-I—” You start, then abort the sentence. They don’t deserve an explanation. Trusting them with your fears, even if they can guess at them, makes your skin crawl. You’re not going to tell them anything more than what they demand to know.

“...What would you like to eat?” Jade murmurs, after a moment. You open your mouth, shut it. They won’t get you surface food. You’ve asked before. They don’t let you have anything that reminds you of the surface…. Except for clothes, but even those are more in the style of merfolk nobles. All clinging clothes that can’t get caught in the current; fancy embellishments over scales or skin.

“Mmmm,” Floyd’s displeased hum, bordering on a growl, is your only warning before he snatches you out of Jade’s arms. It knocks the wind out of you. Even more so as he starts swimming back to the entrance of the cavern. “Let’s go to the surface.”

His offer startles you, as you jerk your head to him in shock. It must surprise Jade too, because he immediately swims in front of his impulsive twin. “Floyd—”

“Jade, c’mon, they’re not eating. And they had a back-to-back escape attempt! Toadfishie needs to stretch a bit, they’re too cooped up. Bored!” He flails one arm out, the motion moving the water in a slight stream of bubbles. “Lookit their Toadfishie pout!” He squeezes your cheeks, then pushes his face against yours to ‘pout’ with you.

“...We can’t just take them to the surface without telling Azul.”

“Then let’s get them surface food and bring it back—”

“I really do not think—”

“He’s gonna be more mad if we can’t get ‘em to eat!”

“Mad is a strong word.”

“It’s fuckin’ accurate though!”

“He would be disappointed.”

“Disappointedly mad.”

“At us, perhaps.”

“...Yeahhhh, I can’t see him gettin’ mad at Toadfishie.”

“I still don’t think—”

“...Please?” Timidly, you glance up at them, then down. The two fall silent. Their golden eyes fall like heavy weights upon your quivering lips. Your tears are nigh invisible in the water, but one of them thumbs at your cheek regardless. The tiniest sniff escapes you, but it falls to small sobs. “I won’t try to run, I-I just— please.”

“...Alright, Pearl,” Jade softens. His forehead bumps against yours, hairlines brushing tenderly. A small hum rises in his chest, vibrates through your body. Almost soothes you.

“Just please don’t cry, ’fishie,” Floyd murmurs, almost frantically nuzzling at your neck.

…

It’s nothing but a hollow comfort.

Okay because I know some of y'all might question the nickname, Floyd calls you Toadfishie because: Reader is “slow” (compared to them anyway); likes to bite; and the sour look they give him reminds him of toadfish. Sounds unflattering but he thinks it’s cute lol.

Thanks for the kind tags and comments guys :D It really encouraged me to write this next piece!

#yandere azul ashengrotto #floyd leech/reader #jade leech/reader #yandere #divider by cafe kitsune #twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto/reader

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cetacian · 2 years ago

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The Fall and Rise of Orca: Orca Joins a Furry Gang

Warning: This post contains spoilers for "Dawn of DC" Batman and Robin Vol 3 Issues 1-3.

After moving out of Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne and his son Damian experienced growing pains with Bruce wanting to enroll Damien in high school in order to further his socialization, while Damian wanted to focus on crime fighting. After foiling an attempted kidnapping by White Rabbit, further evidence suggested a conspiracy to target one Dr. Kafira for his DNA sequencing work. While heading out to check on Dr. Kafira, Batman and Robin arrived at the site of another kidnapping attempt with the kidnappers having some familiar faces among them:

While I'm happy to see Orca and Croc together again, this is definitely a huge step back from them trying to get their lives together. The loss of Monstertown and Tusk's hotel took a huge toll on everybody it seems.

Though at least they seem to have made some new friends:

Wasn't Man-Bat undead at last check? Did he get brought back to life or is this a different man-bat? I hate not being able to keep track of characters' status because there's no continuity between stories, even though they're taking place in the same city on the same Earth in the same universe.

Okay, rant over. On the plus side, minor villains The Terrible Trio are part of this gang and they've got a surprise for Batman and Robin: they've become true hybrids of their animal identities beneath the masks! In the ensuing fight, Man-Bat attempts to fly off with Dr. Kafira as a mysterious sniper takes aim at Batman:

Man-Bat was able to escape with Dr. Kafira in tow along with the rest of the gang as Batman and Robin had to deal with a new problem: the pellet shot by the sniper contained some form of gas that attracted bats to Batman in order to attack him.

The first issue sets up a lot of intrigue with questions of who the animal hybrid gang are working for and why, though I feel like the father-son drama between Bruce and Damian has been done before and causes the story to drag a bit. Maybe it'll get better over time.

On the bright side, Orca got to be on the extended cover art for the first issue:

Issue 2 resolves the bat attack with Batman using a smoke bomb filled with herbs and other scents to repel the bats before he and Robin headed home to regroup. Meanwhile, the mysterious sniper was reveal to be a woman calling herself Shush and that she was working with the animal hybrid gang. She soon had to deal with dissent in the ranks from Croc and the ravenous appetites of The Terrible Trio, asking Orca to guard Dr. Kafira in order to avoid him being devoured by them:

Shush then went off to speak to the mysterious boss the gang was working for and the boss addressed Croc's concerns and pointed out that she would need to deal with the loose end of White Rabbit, concerned that the former member might inform Batman and Robin about the gang's plans. As Bruce and Damian discussed what they had learned, the concern over Bruce finding a cure for the pheromone altering chemical he had inhaled from the pellet was raised, forcing him to work from home to find more information. The next day, Damian had a rough first day at school, soon choosing to play hooky and don the Robin costume in order sneak into Blackgate to interrogate White Rabbit. An plan of action echoed by his father, who showed up shortly before Shush lead an attack on the prison with The Terrible Trio in tow, intent on silencing White Rabbit for good.

More intrigue and curiosity grows as to why a non-hybrid like Shush is involved in this plot. I'm not enamored with genderbent Hush here as Hush was never that amazing a character to begin with in my opinion, but I'm willing to reserve full judgement until we get to the end of this storyline.

No Orca appearance in Issue 3 as Batman cornered Shush, assuming she was working with Hush, but the tension was soon broken with the revelation that she had set a bomb up somewhere in Blackgate as Damian went after The Terrible Trio in order to save White Rabbit from being assassinated. However, Shush soon caught up with White Rabbit, taking her hostage. After Batman disarmed the bomb, he and Robin pursued Shush and the Trio in a car chase. Batman was soon able to rescue White Rabbit as a crash forced Shush to make a hasty escape and White Rabbit claimed not to know what the gang's master plan was. Damian pursued The Terrible Trio to the gang's base of operations in the Gotham Zoo, soon finding a woozy Dr. Kafira, who claimed to have been injected with some kind of chemical. However, before he could aid the doctor, he was accosted by a very different looking Man-Bat.

This issue flowed a lot better as far as the mix of family drama and action, so that was a plus. I'm curious to see if White Rabbit is lying or telling the truth/partial truth. The man-bat at the end doesn't look like the one that took Dr. Kafira, but time will tell if that was an art error or deliberately misleading the reader. Either way, the goatee and sideburns on the cliffhanger man-bat are a dead giveaway that it's grandpa: Ra's al Ghul, here for yet another scheme to fuck up humanity in order to save it. Him going for hybridizing humans and animals happened in another continuity (the animated film Batman vs. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles), but I'm still curious how the method and goal might differ in this storyline.

More to come as issues come out, hopefully with more Orca next time.

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vivere-est-nocere · 1 day ago

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Jade Rabbits (3)

Chapter 3: Verdelune and the One That Got Away.

directory

It’s a clear, sunny day. No clouds that allude to possible storms nor overly strong winds that threaten to knock you over—the perfect weather for an interhouse Duelo match.

Bodies soar over and past your head at speeds easily breaking the usual records, the riders gripping onto and leaning against their brooms as they clash midair, a flurry of warring colors of red and violet.

Today’s the day of the Adler v. Lang match, and the colosseum is packed with students of all houses in cheer. As you sit next to your roommate, Lauren, you watch as players rise and fall, taking to the air with a gusto you never could have imagined leading with during your own broomriding classes.

That, however, is a story for another time.

What matters now is the one player who does not follow suit with the others, his feet still planted firmly on the ground. That player, being Mash.

‘What is he doing?’

You look on, but are careful not to let too much concern enter your eyes. You are a Lang student after all, and after your little sorting fiasco, you don’t need any more rumors of you being Adler’s reject. Moving your gaze from field to stands, you spot Lemon and Finn on the opposite end of the colosseum, their expressions showing off the same confusion and worry that you’re feeling deep down.

The game’s started, Lang’s winning, and Mash, the Adler MVP’s personal invite, is doing absolutely nothing.

Ding!

The familiar sound of the Duelo bell rings across the surrounding area as Lang scores their forty-ninth point over Adler’s measly ten.

Seeing this, Tom Knowles, the same guy who went out of his way to pressure invite Mash flies down and lands upon the ground, pulling said raven-haired boy into a terse huddle. You can’t make it out fully, but there is the occasional yell of “burning” and “bamboo” that echoes into the stands. Mash looks unmoved.

A thought then creeps into your head, one you hope that is surely off the mark.

‘Did Tom even explain the rules to him?’

You watch as Tom points out the players riding on brooms, the ball, and then the ring, motioning wildly. Mash nods his head in a new, vague understanding. Ah, so he didn’t.

Forcing a rousing war cry from his throat, Tom jumps back on his broom, rising into the air as he motions for Mash to join him. He’s so focused on Mash that he completely neglects to notice the flash of violet heading right towards him.

With a crash and a sickening crack, Tom Knowles crashes down into the ground, body long since separating from broom as he tumbles straight into the colosseum wall. Gasps break out from the Adler and Orca dorms as the Lang students around you cheer in approval. You keep a straight face, stopping yourself from cringing as you watch his body crumple up in an unnatural way. Lauren bites her lip in rapt excitement. You hope that her energy covers for your lack of.

The Lang student that crashed into him—Crispin Blaise, if you remember correctly—looks less than apologetic as he stays in the air, not even bothering to check on his victim. With a self-satisfied smile, he goes back into the fray, scoring a sixtieth point for Lang as the rest of the stunned Adler team helplessly flail at their captain’s predicament. Mash is over to Tom in an instant, helping to prop him up into a sitting position.

A sinking feeling enters your stomach as they exchange words that someone from a distance like yours could never hear. Taking your wand, you mutter a simple set of words, Audius Exto, pointing in their direction and flicking the tip to your ear. With it, you’re able to make out the tail end of the conversation.

“...But Mash, I want you to know—” Tom starts, a hand gripping Mash’s. “In the end, what matters isn’t winning. It’s just the fact that you gave it your all.”

Ding!

“—And with that, another point goes to Lang! With a score of ten to sixty, the outcome of this match seems plain as day!” The announcer calls, ending the little moment between the two of them. You cheer along with the crowd, despite how rotten it feels doing so. There’s something to be gleaned from Tom’s words, but you know for a fact that some part of them is misguided. Winning does matter, and anything said against that is either losers trying to cope with themselves or winners feigning humility for the sake of a further image boost.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Three more points to Lang. With this, the game’s end feels all but assured.

That is, until Mash stands up, plucks his broom from the ground, and takes to the air.

“So he can fly…” Lauren mutters beside you, she and the rest of the crowd watching in amazement as he remains floating in place. Soon enough, he jets forward, almost knocking the entirety of Team Lang off their brooms completely. With one hand, he grabs the ball and tosses it through the ring, its speed as fast as a bullet, not to mention the curvature of its throw that allows it to boomerang back to him.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The score bell continues ringing, but this time in service of Team Adler over Lang, the ball never once leaving Mash’s position. In fact, he needn’t move at all as he hovers in place.

At least, that’s what it appears to be.

But, upon closer inspection, you notice something strange. He’s…kicking. Rapidly. It’s almost as though what’s keeping Mash afloat isn’t the broom at all but simply the displacement of the air from his legs. But that should be physically impossible without magic, right? And to use magic during a Duelo match would be cheating! And Mash really doesn’t seem like the type to cheat, or even care enough to try.

Besides, you didn’t see him perform a spell. You don’t even think he has his wand on him.

Of course, this could all be the work of someone else, but to do that would mean they’d need to keep their concentration on Mash to control his rapid movements. Scanning the crowd, you find people focused on him, but none of them in the middle casting a spell, which means…

Mash is doing this on his own. Without magic.

…Have you ever seen him perform magic in the first place?

You think back, concentrating on the entrance exams where you first met. You didn’t want to entertain the thought at the time, because doing so would be insane, but everything he did could technically be explained by something other than magic—a finger trick here, a few rapid movements there. Normally, you wouldn’t even think to consider the alternatives. After all, who can just lift a boulder with their thumb or run fast enough not to sink in water? But then again, who could do that without uttering a spell or so much as pulling out their wand? Even less possible.

The frown on your face this time is not one feigned to appease the displeased Lang crowd as you watch your team lose. And when it finally does happen, you get up from your seat, ignoring a bummed Lauren, and make your way to the colosseum’s underground tunnels.

You and a certain musclehead need to have a talk.

<><><>

Wandering around, you pass swathes of friends and foes alike, the twisted results of the match the hottest topic to discuss. Adler students grin, Orca students recalculate their Duelo bracket predictions, and Lang students are on the prowl to berate a certain losing team of theirs.

Through it all, you navigate the crowd, moving like a salmon through opposing rapids as you go against the flow of foot traffic. It takes a bit, but finally you find who you’re looking for.

Mash. He stands, surrounded by newly-earned adorers. Your eyes meet his.

He turns, looks at you, and raises a hand in greeting. You don’t greet him back, instead grabbing him by the collar and yanking him away from the festivities, though you have a feeling that if he cared, he wouldn’t have budged an inch.

Steering him through the inner workings of the Duelo colosseum, you watch as the number of surrounding students begins to fade until there is no one left around to hear you. Good.

Turning, you affix Mash with a cold stare.

“You don’t have any magical affinity, do you?”

<><><>

“Not once have I heard you utter a spell, and I mean a real spell. Listing muscle groups and then saying ‘magic’ after does not count.” You chide, pacing back and forth, listing inconsistencies on your hands. “You don’t even use wands unless it’s to stab or hit something. If anything, all the power is coming from your biceps. And another thing—”

Mash sits in the corner of the now deserted Adler Duelo locker room, looking absolutely defeated as you give him the point-by-point breakdown of your hypothesis. Not once has he tried to speak up in protest, though you’re not sure whether it be out of an inability to deny what you’re saying or a general respect to not interrupt a woman when she’s speaking.

“I’ve had my doubts, since what the implications of this would mean...” Your tone darkens.

This is a world where your propensity for magic dictates everything in your life. To be magicless? It’s unthinkable. Not just out of social rejection, but the very scary and very real reality that governmental termination in the name of “genetic purity” waits around every corner.

You care about power, you do. You’ll be the first to admit how scathing the thoughts that come to your mind are when you see someone stumble on a simple spell or act above their marking amount. You’re not a perfect person, and you won’t even venture to say you’ve got the greatest personality around when it comes to ideas about lines and potential and such. But damn it if it isn’t a bit extreme or horrifying to think that there are people below you whose very existence is threatened for something out of their control. You don’t like your life as it is being a single-liner, but at the very least, you have a working one.

Maybe there’s a method to this power-scaled society that you give in to, but you still don’t think people deserve to die for it.

But they do. Every day.

“Everything you’ve done up to this point, while it should be physically impossible, can still only be explained by raw might over any sort of use of mana.” You eye the locked door for what feels like the twentieth time in the past five minutes, making sure to lower your voice despite casting a silencing spell over the surrounding area. “Is your magic line even real? Or is that another trick too?”

Getting up in Mash’s personal space, you wait for him to push you away. He doesn’t. So, you look at his face closely. The mark is the usual deep black, seemingly seared into his skin like it would be on any other person.

“I mean, it looks real… Do you just have mana channeling difficulties or something?”

“No. Brad’s just really good at counterfeiting. Kinda scary since he’s supposed to be a cop, but, y’know.” Mash speaks up for the first time since you dragged him here. He shrugs his shoulders, rubbing at the mark in demonstration.

“Who the hell is Brad?”

“The guy who blackmailed my family and wants to mooch off of me becoming a divine visionary.” He says it with utter apathy in his voice. “—Which is fine, since all I want is to live in peace with Pops.”

You stop, taken aback by the earnestness that’s entered his voice. Not once in the many days you’ve known him have you heard much emotion or care for anything besides creampuffs come from Mash, so this is a surprise.

“... That won’t stop the Bureau of Magic from coming after you. You know that, right?” You shake your head. “Even if you become a divine visionary—which is next to impossible, mind you—do you really think one guy can make a difference like that?”

“I do.”

He says it, not with his usual uncaring naivete, but with a stubborn sureness so sharp, you can’t help but look up in surprise. That’s weird. For a second there, you almost wanted to believe him.

You massage your temple in hopes that the feeling will bring you back down to Earth. If societal change were that easy, then things wouldn’t be the way they are now. This is your life, you can’t just start to doubt it because some boy with insane core strength says and thinks he can do whatever he wants. That’s not the way the world works, and it definitely is not what your family has taught you time and time again. So fine, if Mash wants to play pretend and say that he’ll become a divine visionary, he can do just that—you, for one, won’t encourage him, but you won’t try to stop or expose him either.

This is something between him and the rest of the world. You have your own life to manage.

“Alright.” You concede, making your way over to undo the door lock you’d set. “Believe what you will, but just know—”

The lock comes undone, and with it, the silencing spell. You open it, swinging the door open with a bit too much force. Finn and Lemon appear on the other side, faces filled with excitement morphing into confusion at the sight of you leaving Adler’s changing room. You ignore it, and you ignore them.

You look back at Mash, just for a moment.

“—If someone like you thinks they have a shot, then don’t be surprised when you see me taking mine.”

ii.

A week has passed since the now-famous Duelo match, as well as since you last spoke to Mash.

It’s not that you’re avoiding him on purpose (or maybe you are just a bit), but you don’t really know how to approach him now that the cat’s out of the bag. You mean, Mash doesn’t have a magic mark! He should be dead! But he isn’t, and it’s all because of his absolutely insane musculature. How do you just casually continue to hang out with someone like that?

The answer is: you don’t. It’s probably better off this way anyway. Even if Mash were some normal single-liner guy, his rapidly developing friend group wouldn’t have done you any favors with your parents. A poor girl, a musclehead, and a painfully average nobody. You were obviously slacking in the socials department.

Mother and Father seem to think so as well, if their latest Yowler has anything to say about it.

“... It’s been almost a month, and all you have added to the Verdelune name is humiliation after humiliation. Threatening the headmaster with your wand, letting the Sorting Unicorn read your weaknesses, and getting involved with the delinquent who tried to bury Vice Principal Cregos alive!? Unbelievable!”

The unmistakable voice of your mother screeches from the unfolded red parchment. Around you, fledgling owls squawk in aggravation, some even coming down to peck at you and the hands holding the Yowler. Perhaps you should’ve waited to unseal the enchanted envelope after you exited the owlery.

Your father’s voice rises next, like your parents are operating as some sort of tag team squad to berate you.

“And don’t bother with any excuses! If you were really serious about this, then you would have been placed in a dorm next to Crown as planned. Instead, you’re off gallivanting near the bottom rungs of Lang like some common tail-chaser.”

“Perhaps it’s time we pivot…” Your mother’s voice has calmed, but contrary to what one may think, this is a sign opposite of good. Your mother is the type to enjoy hearing the sound of her own voice, so the moment she goes silent, you know she’s plotting something, and whenever she’s plotting something around you, you usually have a good idea of the nature of her plans.

“Nolan Drake was also placed in Lang, yes?” Her words are slow, deliberate, like a snake swallowing its prey. “The Crowns have a more prestigious bloodline, but they’ve been a pain to attempt to infiltrate. The Drakes, on the other hand—”

Your father finishes for her, seemingly having entered the same page.

“—They were always a much more amicable sort. Especially when it came to their Nolan and our (y/n).”

It’s like a peach pit has taken root in your stomach and has begun growing its tendrils. Not Nolan. Anyone but that slimeball they call a mage. He’s always been such a tough act to be around, ever since you were kids, and you have a strong feeling that things will only get worse once you start courting.

But it’s not like there’s much room for you to protest. Yowlers are prerecorded letters, so screaming back at one will do nothing but further invoke the owls’ wrath upon you. And even if you were face to face, you doubt your parents would listen to anything you have to say. You’re not your brother, your thoughts don’t matter, and, in the end, what they’re doing is what’s best for you. Maybe if you were born a better mage, things would be different, but in a society based on power scales, you were lucky to even have led the life you’ve lived up until now.

You’ve been throwing yourself into your studies, you really have, but outside of your usual areas of comfort, you haven’t shown much of any progress. The time for being selfish is beginning to wane.

“Two lines are two lines.” Your parents agree in unison, voices laced as sweetly as a poisoned apple. “Maybe it’s best we reevaluate our expectations for you. Perhaps even asking for mediocrity has its limits.”

You stand there and take it, the reminder of what you are, what you lack to be, and let a familiar feeling climb up from your feet, through your back, and settle over your chest as disappointment after disappointment is expressed. They were overbearing, but, ultimately, right—just like the headmaster, and just like the Sorting Unicorn. You’re nothing, no one, a little fish that’s nothing more beyond the predators it attaches itself to to clean. How could you ever dream of becoming more than what was already expected of you?

You’d never realized before just how greedy you are.

“... Well, I suppose that’s all for now.” Your mother sighs, resigning herself to their newly concocted plan B. “Just, remember (y/n)—”

Your father finishes for her again, but you know the sentiment is shared between the two. “We love you. Just… in the future, try to make it less difficult to do so.”

With that, the Yowler settles, folds back up, and tucks itself away into your hands.

You stand there for a few precious moments, allowing the owls to continue in their pecking as the last words of your parents fully absorb. You don’t want to go after Nolan, you really don’t. But for them…? You suppose everyone has sacrifices they must make in life.

After all, did you really ever think you had a chance with Lance Crown? How laughable.

<><><>

You’re exiting the owlery when you hear it: the sound of voices talking, terse with the unmistakable crackle of magic in the air. Straining to make out what they’re saying, you once again cast Audius Exto (such a handy spell for curious people like yourself) and slink closer into the bushes.

“... We’ll have a duel for each other’s silver coins. The school may look down on magical duels, but it’s not like you have any choice other than to accept. Not as long as I hold this, that is.”

That voice… It’s Lance Crown, but what is he doing out here? Not to mention, a duel? And what was this about his opponent not having a choice? Your usual logic tells you that this isn’t your business, that the best course of action is to flee and leave the flashy displays of power to the double-liners. But another part of you, some twisted sense of reasoning, perks up at the mention of silver coins.

Becoming a divine visionary isn’t easy, and it isn’t cheap either. Easton Magic Academy runs on a system composed of coins: gold, silver, and bronze. A certain amount of gold coins allows you to enter the competition to become a divine visionary, with five silver coins or ten bronze coins being able to be fused into a singular gold coin. Though, it’s always better to err on the side of caution and gather as many coins as you can, even if you meet the requirements to enter the Divine Visionary Candidate Exam.

Through your studies, you’ve amassed a singular bronze coin, nothing particularly special in of itself, but still considerably impressive considering how long it’s been since you’ve entered Easton. Of course, there are those like Mash or Lance, or even the Magia Lupus who boast a host of silver coins, but they are examples far above the normal crop you lie in.

“And judging by your personality, the fact that I could use a trick like this to get you out here says enough. Not that I’d ever need the handicap to beat you.”

Arrogant, but, likely correct.

“You know, I saw what you did during the entrance exams, how soft you were. Prioritizing a couple of girls over your own goals.” You stop. That description… Could he be talking to whom you think he is? “Some would call that selfless, but I call it a loser mentality.”

You’ve stopped moving, electing to crouch still in the bushes by this point, and by the gods, are you lucky that you did. A shockwave erupts from the direction of Lance and possibly Mash, the wind whipping your face even when concealed behind the foliage. The ground in front of your bush is forced down, trees shooting back, and grass being packed into a sturdy dirt pit, almost like an arena floor. Noticing the pulsating dark purple mana in the air, you quickly come to a conclusion. This is the work of a Crown’s gravity magic, no doubt.

Covering your eyes from the impending dust and debris, you make out the two figures that stand tall in the manmade clearing. Lance Crown and Mash Burnedead, just the men you expected, as well as the two men you most wanted to avoid, Nolan aside.

“There. Now we have some clear boundaries.” Lance’s voice rings clear and true across the field, the concentration of your spell broken but no longer needed.

“I’m not into flashy displays.” Mash lunges forward at an incredible speed, fist pulled back in preparation to strike. “—I’m a more direct kind of guy.”

“Trying to win against me without magic?” The blue-haired double-liner scoffs, flicking his wand with a practiced ease. “Graviole.”

Instantly, Mash is forced into the ground, flat with cracks spiraling out from beneath him. He looks pitiful next to Lance, who stands tall and proud, and who you notice is holding something quite curious: an ornate bottle that contains Finn, Lemon, and Tom. You recognize it to be an antique, able to hold multiple people inside upon the opener’s removal of its seal.

‘Was this what he meant by Mash not being able to refuse his challenge?’

If that was true (which seems likely), then Lance really was being absolute scum, endangering the lives of his fellow students to start a fight with an uninterested party. You understand the desire for coins—the sooner and the more one gathers, the better—but this was just being plain reckless. What would happen if a prefect or professor were to find out? He’d be at risk of losing a lot more than a silver coin.

“—Scum like you can spend the rest of your lives crawling on the ground.”

Mash stays pinned down and silent, struggling and failing to raise himself any higher than his hands and knees. Lance sneers. “Don’t bother trying to stand up. No human can bear the force of this gravitational spell.”

But, you notice, Mash isn’t trying to do that—no, he’s shoving a fist deeper into the ground, burying himself to his upper arm. He stays there for a moment, then pulls back, the ground splitting beneath Lance as he does so. From it erupts thick roots, the remnants of one of the trees blown away by Lance’s Graviole spell.

Falling back, Lance waves his wand, gliding through the air before landing in a crouched position a few levels below Mash.

“Funny. Now you’re the one crawling on the ground.”

“Graviole!” Lance is quick to the draw, but Mash is quicker, rushing in with another punch even as the modified gravity takes its effect on him. He misses the attack, Lance managing to dodge out of the way, but he doesn’t stay down for long, somehow moving even quicker than before. On and on they continue like this, Mash on the attack whilst Lance maintains defense. You have a feeling this can go on forever, their skills equally matched.

Then, Mash throws an uppercut. It misses Lance, but not his pendant, the chain snapping free as it soars through the air right in front of Mash. Lance’s concentration breaks, and with that, his gravity spell disappears. Mash crouches down, picks up the locket, and opens it, pausing for a good long while before slowly looking back up at Lance in a rare, never-before-seen display of horror.

“L-l-lolicon…” His voice wobbles, and he takes a step back in disgust. “I need to call the police. Y-you’re a pervert.”

Your eyes widen. You can’t see the image in the pendant from the bushes, but judging by Mash of all people’s reaction, it must be bad. Or completely innocent, and he’s just being the usual idiot he is.

“I don’t have a Lolita complex, you idiot. I have…” Lance speaks with a deadly seriousness. “...a sister complex.”

This is too much. It is at this moment that you can’t help but trip over yourself in the bushes, mind reeling from the revelation that Lance Crown is an incestuous, perverted, and possibly still lolicon weirdo. So he was rejecting you and every other girl in the school…for his little sister!?

On your way down, your ankle snags on a branch and a small gouge cuts into your flesh, making you hiss in pain.

“Who was that!?” Lance snaps, his head swiveling in your direction. You freeze, your hands midway through to cuddling your leg. Maybe if you don’t move further, he’ll think it was just a deer or a bird or something harmless. You then notice the extremely inconvenient head-level hole in the bush, allowing Lance and Mash a crystal clear view of your face.

“Verdelune.” The double-liner says with bared teeth. “Get over here, you damn stalker.”

‘Well,’ you look around at the flattened ground and blasted trees, ‘Too late to try and run now.’

Ducking down and out of sight for a moment, your bush rustles before a figure pops out of it. It’s you, obviously. You make your way over to the two men, trying your best not to let them see the way you hobble. That damned branch had drawn blood.

“Gentlemen. What fine weather we’re having today.” You look up at the sky in wonder, hands clasped loosely behind your back. “I just love taking walks out in nature during my free periods—”

“—Save the bullcrap for your Lang man-slaves.” Lance spits, cutting straight through your little front with an absolutely brutal look of disdain. “What the hell are you doing spying on us here? This duel is between the idiot and me.”

“Am I an idiot?” Mash asks earnestly.

Stopping before them, you shrug your shoulders noncommittally. “I just happened to be in the area, is all. By the way, is it true you’re into your little sister?”

“W-what!?” Lance sputters, looking absolutely appalled. Funny, he was so adamant and proud about saying he had a sister complex just a few moments ago, and now he’s the very picture of scandalized at your words. What was different now? Was it the fact that a girl was calling him out on his perversions instead of a guy? Was that it? Or maybe you were more charming than you remembered, and he was utterly embarrassed at having a girl such as yourself specifically lay witness to his fetishes.

… Nah. Not likely.

“The only thing I have for my sister is a pure, brotherly love!”

“Then I don’t think you know what a sis complex is…” Mash shakes his head, still keeping a fair amount of distance between himself and the pervert. “Anyways, hi (y/n). Long time no see.”

“Hey, Mash…” You reply awkwardly, not quite sure how to hold yourself in front of the guy you’ve been avoiding for the past month.

“Enough of this!” Lance cuts through the weird tension that hangs in the air. He points at Mash first. “Give it back.” Then you. “Stay.”

You both obediently obey, Mash tossing back the locket and you standing next to Mash, not daring to make another run for it now that you’re in recognized Lance Crown range. He catches the keepsake with one hand, stuffing it into his robes before leveling the two of you with an even glare.

“Tell me, what is the most precious thing in this world?”

“Cream puffs?” Mash ventures forth.

“Magical power?” You offer up.

“Human life?”

“Bloodline status?”

“Love?”

“Genetics?”

“Freedom?”

“Money?”

“Cream pu—”

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!” Lance interrupts your brainstorming, growing more agitated with each incorrect answer. He grips at his head in frustration, teeth grinding and hands clenching. “Gods, could you be any more dense or vapid!? It’s as simple as one plus one equals two; blue and yellow make green! The answer is obvious!”

“What is it then?” You ask.

Dragging a hand down his face, he levels you with a dark stare you can’t help but shiver at. His eyes are focused, but wild, glaring at you with an intensity you’re only used to receiving from your family. “My little sister.”

…

……

………

“Creep.” Mash summarizes skillfully for the two of you.

iii.

You’re nine years old. Face still full of baby fat and knees always inexplicably covered in scrapes.

For what feels like the thousandth time over, you brace, leveling your wand at the practice dummy, and shout. “Aestus!”

You can feel it before you see it: the suctioning force of environmental mana moving into your body and through your wand, a pale green glow emanating as the particles bunch and join together. A heated breeze wafts over you, even though you’re indoors, and your left hand, which holds your wand, begins to warm.

“Aestus!”

Lights flicker, there’s a slight tremor in the ground, and the wind picks up, swirling around your form as you hold on and grit your teeth. But beyond that, nothing happens. The dummy remains untouched.

“Aestus!” You repeat again.

Nothing seems to change as you recite the spell over and over and over again, the channeling energy beginning to phase out and give way to empty air.

“Aestus! Aestus! Aestus!”

The glow dims, the buzzing recedes, and you are left alone in a room with nothing to show, save for a dripping spurt of light from the end of your wand, pathetic and useless. You’re about to readjust your stance and try again, when a clear voice rings out from the doorway behind you.

“Don’t bother.” Virid steps out from the shadows, arms crossed and expression unimpressed. For a twelve-year-old, he looks surprisingly stern, more serious than many of the tutors you’ve met with. “Sloppy form, thin concentration, and you’re tripping over the pronunciation.”

Your cheeks burn a deep red as he points out the last part. Try as you might, you’ve still been struggling with the last remnants of a lisp that’s come from your younger years, though by no fault of your own efforts. Day in and day out, whenever you’re not in lessons or training, you’ve been running those word exercise drills your mother hammered into you. It was bad enough having your parents breathe down your neck whenever you tripped on your teeth, but Virid now too?

“You’re pushing yourself too hard.” He shakes his head as he walks up, stopping beside you just to pluck the old training wand you’d snatched from your tutor’s satchel out of your hands. “Mana doesn’t respond to insecurity.”

You bristle, your face still swelling from the last slight. You can’t even get a word in edgewise as Virid rolls the wand between his fingers, spinning on his heel and pointing it towards the still untouched dummy.

“Aestus.”

There are no surrounding effects; there doesn’t need to be. In an instant, the mana surrounding the two of you is channeled into Virid and travels out of the wand, erupting with gusto in a show of glowing emerald tides which engulf the training dummy. The waves swell, crashing into the wall and almost touching the ceiling before they neatly drain down into nothingness, taking the dummy with them.

‘... Show off…’

Virid doesn’t turn back to you, doesn’t even bother addressing you directly as he lowers the wand.

“Leave the spellcasting to me, sister.” Is all he says before he leaves the training room, the clacking of his heels punctuating your thoughts as he exits. The doors slam shut behind him, and again you are alone, fists clenched and eyes watering.

He embarrassed you. Again.

You look dumbly around the room, legs wobbling and hands useless without a wand, though something tells you they would be equally ineffective even with a magic tool in their clutches. Cursing your brother and giving the spot where the training dummy used to sit a final glance, you hang your head in defeat, trudging out of the room only once you’re sure there’s a sizable distance between your brother’s and your departures.

Table manners lessons are next, and you know how much your parents loathe when you’re late. An hour of memorizing forks and spoons and knives.

… Maybe that’s all you’re good for after all.

<><><>

“I’m going to drop this bottle off the cliff. Then, I’ll speed it up with my gravity spell.” Lance dangles the antique over the edge. You look down. The fall is easily tens of feet, no way survivable for a normal human, much less a bottle full of tiny ones. “I know you’ll try and catch them. But just know that when you do, I’m going to make a bid for your silver coin.”

He stops, falters, if just for a moment, before readjusting his grip on the bottle. “I’ll do anything for my sister, even if I have to play the monster.”

Your brows furrow. Freak nature aside, what does he actually mean by that? Why does he need to become a “monster” for her? You rack your brain for clues.

Lance’s younger sister, the second Crown, Anna.

You don’t know much about her, just that she's a few years younger than you and that she’s a single-liner like their parents. She hasn’t been seen in public in recent years, whether it be due to sickness or scandal or something else, you’re not quite sure. Her parents never seemed to give much away, didn’t even look all that concerned when she stopped appearing with them. It was only after Lance rejected them that they started to scramble.

But, whatever it is that ails the Crowns, it can’t possibly be able to justify endangering human life over a singular silver coin. Keep excelling in class or break sports records like Mash, you don’t care—but a move like this? It’s a level of scumminess that even you feel the need to take a step back from.

You’re about to do just that, to step back and wash your hands of such an illegal situation, because Nolan Drake is slimy scum, but at least he isn’t an attempted murderer, when it happens. Not even Mash can react in time to intervene. Lance lets go of the bottle, just as he says, and mutters “Graviole,” forcing an even quicker, deadlier descent.

You scream, you can’t help it. Finn, Lemon, Tom—they’re relatively low-level nobodies, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to die! Tom has a Duelo team, Finn’s brother is a divine visionary, and Lemon—well, all human life has some inherent worth to it, doesn’t it!?

“Well, what’ll you do?” He turns to Mash, ignoring you entirely.

The scream has died down in your throat, and you too turn to Mash, expecting a similar look of helpless horror. Instead, you find him stripped down and stretching like this is all some sort of elaborate pre-workout. His robes lie to the side, the silver coin sitting atop them out in the open and ripe for the taking.

“I’ll do hamstring magic.” He gets down into a sprinter’s crouch. “Big Bang Dash.”

‘Is that supposed to be some sort of spell?’

“The choice of losing, and the choice of not rescuing them…” Mash raises his head, an almost magical glow emanating from his golden yellow eyes. “Neither are choices I’ll settle for making.”

With that, he breaks away, running at a speed almost imperceptible to the human eye. Shockwaves and dust ripple out, just like when Lance first cast the gravity magic to make his field, and within the blink of an eye, Mash is gone. Now it’s just you and Lance, the two of you standing atop a cliff with a silver coin just begging to be snagged.

You look at it out of the side of your eye as it gleams atop Mash’s shed clothes. So open, so free, so vulnerable. You could take it…

…

… But you won’t.

Yes, the thought is a surprise, even to you, but the staunch tug of your heart keeps you from making a grab for it. Conflicted as you are about everything you’ve learned of Mash, you still can’t find it in yourself to betray the same simple-minded guy who came to your and Lemon’s rescue during the entrance exam.

The same can’t be said for Lance, however, as you see the look of dark determination in his eyes.

He warned Mash. He said he’d do it. And now here he was.

You take a step forward, placing yourself between him and Mash’s robes.

“Move.” It’s not a request, it’s a demand—you know the difference well. Still, you do not budge, moving closer to intercept him. When Lance takes a step to the right, you do too, and when he slides to the left, you follow, like some sort of goalie on their way to confront the offensive line.

“I don’t care if you’re a girl, I’ll use my magic on you all the same if you don’t get out of my way.” Lance threatens, brandishing his wand. There are still a few meters between him and you and the robes which hold the silver coin. For once, you don a serious look, no longer all sugar and smiles, and puff out your chest.

“Try me.”

“Graviole!” He commands, the familiar dark purple and black magic bursting from his wand to form a column of raw mana over you, forcing the world down. Grass flattens, a bird flying overhead plummets, and you—you look Lance Crown in the eyes, and smile.

Back straight, legs strong, you stand tall. Lance’s eyes widen, brows raising in utter disbelief. You don’t blame him, even Mash couldn’t help but be affected and forced down by his spell, so why were you unaffected? It’s not like you could have slipped out a counterspell in the moment; you didn’t even have your wand pulled out.

Speaking of that, you reach into your robes, retrieve said wand, and rush forward.

Lance flinches, not being able to help the instinct to step back when being rushed, the confusion and surprise of you resisting his magic not helping him. You close the distance between you within a few strides, getting right up in Lance’s face and—

—And pass right through him.

Lance blinks, turns, and comes face to face with you. You’re standing, but not on the cliff.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hisses, reaching out to cast his overused gravity magic again. He may be a double-liner with a family signature, but that’s no excuse to overrely on just one spell. What is this, amateur hour?

“Stalling for time.” You answer simply, motioning behind him. He turns and looks, only to be met with the sight of Mash, bottle in one hand and silver coin in the other. He freezes, likely wondering the same as you did in that Duelo match all that time ago.

“I don’t have time for this. Gravi—” Not one to give in to defeat so easily, Lance turns his wand from you to Mash, just about to fire off that same damn spell. You move to try and intercept, but Mash holds a hand up. You stop.

“You’re right. Let’s stop this.” Mash dons his robes, tucking his silver coin safely inside an inner pocket. “You don’t seem like a bad guy. I don’t think we’re the ones that should be fighting here.”

“... What?”

“The bottle’s empty. You dropped a fake.”

‘... Huh? So all this about threatening Mash was…?’

Mash tosses it to Lance, walking over before pulling at the double-liner’s robes with incredible speed and precision. Before long, he pulls out a bottle—the real bottle—and shrugs as his friends cheer from inside. “And…we’re done.”

“Huh!? You can’t just stop this here!” Lance shouts. “Why would you give up the chance to win my silver coins? Are you trying to screw with me!?”

“No, not really.”

He bristles. “Then why…?”

Mash isn’t even looking at either of you anymore, busy trying to unscrew the bottle without ripping the thing in half and shattering it entirely. He answers with the same casualness as though he’s been asked about the weather. “I guess I’m not really the type to make rational decisions. Call me clumsy.”

You don’t know what it is exactly, but something in Mash’s words seems to strike a chord in Lance. He stops, drops his wand, and rubs at his temple with an exasperated sigh, looking between the both of you. Dropping his head, he mutters, “I’m done. I’m heading back. The fight will stop here for now.”

He walks past, not even bothering to spare you a glance, but looking at Mash for a brief moment instead. “But, a deal’s a deal. Take it.”

He tosses him one of his silver coins, and walks away. Mash catches it, pockets the coin, and goes back to releasing his friends, who fly out from the bottle’s opening with a puff of gray smoke. They swarm him in an instant, Lemon swooning and planning their wedding, Finn crying in gratitude, and Tom whooping with way too much energy.

Mash just looks tired, and a pinch regretful for being so trigger-happy about opening the bottle.

“By the way, thanks for the assist—” He turns in the direction where you were standing (levitating?), but finds nothing, no one.

You’ve gone, and this time much more quickly than you appeared.

iv.

“I never took you as the soft and sensitive type, Crown. Just another new facet of you I can’t help but admire.”

Lance stops in his path, not bothering to turn and look as you appear, leaning against a tree behind him. He doesn’t deign to give you a proper response, instead opting to switch the subject around.

“Cheap trick you played back there, Verdelune.”

You smile, and maybe just a bit of it is real for once, a semblance of pride at getting the best of the Lance Crown, if only for a few moments. “Really? Because the professor had a much more charitable assessment of my ‘tricks’ when I presented them to her.”

“Excellent work as usual, Miss Verdelune.” Professor Mevitable shakes her head in clipped approval. “Combining Dupliply Ipso with Audius Exto? It’s unheard of in the realm of illusory spells to amalgamate sensory spells this way, but genius all the same! Full marks!”

“Dupliply Ipso. Manufacturing visual clones of the self. Audius Exto. Projection of auditory stimuli. Quite handy for when you want to make people think you’re somewhere you really aren’t.” You explain sweetly, doing your best to keep your voice modest. It was quite the lucky shot, being able to cast it so fast when Lance called out to you, but it paid off in dividends (thank you, foliage). After all, gravity magic does jack squat to the incorporeal.

Lance rolls his eyes, opting to continue forward and leave you behind in the brush. “Like I said—cheap.”

A slight pep in your step, you walk along after him, arms folded behind your back, and your usual charming mask cranked up to eleven. The walk back to the academy will take a bit, so how could you even think to waste it on anything other than charming Lance? The answer is you wouldn’t, and you won’t. Your parents may want to pivot to Nolan now, but that doesn’t mean you need to give up on Lance entirely. Self-preservation is all about the self, isn’t it? You can’t be faulted for being a little selfish in the social game that is your life.

“‘Cheap’, ‘brilliant’, who’s keeping track of what my thinking would be described as?” You just barely make it to Lance’s side, completely aware of the way he speeds up every time you get close. But, it’ll take much more than that to deter you. You quicken your steps until you’re essentially jogging. ”Enough about me, I want to hear about you. Graviole, wasn’t it? I’d love to practice form with you some time…”

It’s cliche, but easy bait. After all, if you’ve learned anything from shadowing your parents at social events, it’s that people with pedigrees and passed-down power love flaunting said assets as their own when asked.

“You say that like you could ever keep up.” Lance ducks to the left, letting go of a branch he pulled back. Luckily (or unluckily for him), your ever-present poise allows you to duck in time, avoiding a stinging whap to your face. “You act smart in class, Verdelune, but I’ve seen your pathetic attempts at casting more than the basics, so don’t act like we’re equals.”

You keep smiling, and it reaches your eyes, but it’s more so in a bare-teeth display of primate aggression than genuine amicableness. So he has the gall to act all high and mighty even after you beat his ass in a battle of wits?

“You’re so right.” Your pride swallows like a large pill, but by the gods, do you get it down with gusto. Just accept it and smile and turn it into an opportunity. “Then maybe I need some pointers from the top student in our class. How about it, Mr. Crown?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, so you’d like us to be on a first-name basis? How forward La—”

“Don’t call me that either. In fact, don’t speak to me at all, Verdelune.” Lance stops, and you, unable to acclimate to the sudden change in speed, barrel right into his elbow. You rub your nose. He continues glaring, nary a hint of sympathy to be found in his expression. “Don’t touch me either.”

You flutter your eyelashes. “Waiting until marriage? How romantic.”

“...” What’s the opposite of interested? Disinterested? No, that’s not a strong enough word. Perhaps repulsed? Yeah, that’s how he looks. Repulsed. “... You’re unbelievable, you know that, right?”

‘Sorry, Lance, but if your desires and their antitheses had any effect on me, then I wouldn’t have tailed you this far during a free period.’

“Of course I do, Crown—”

“—Again, don’t call me that.”

“I get told it allllll the time.” You put a finger to your lips in thought, making sure to drag your teeth across them so they redden ever-so-slightly. “Though usually the connotation is more positive than this.”

He gags. You choose not to dwell on or take offense at the gesture, instead finding a strange sense of pleasure at his discomfort, as though it makes up for your own deep unwillingness to be in this situation either. This is actually kind of… fun.

… What was that thought just now?

You blink a couple of times, eyelashes batting in that overextended way you’ve trained into muscle memory. It takes a moment to register, but you tally the expression on your face. You’re smiling, but not in the usual forced way that hurts your cheeks and pulls at your mouth. It’s almost subconscious the way your eyes have crinkled and your lips have lifted, and you quickly scramble to undo it.

Before long, the approved-style smile is back on your face, but now Lance is looking at you weirdly.

Great. You overstepped, got a little too ballsy pushing his buttons (something which your father would vehemently reject for a girl like you), and now you were grinning like an idiot in the middle of the forest.

You clear your throat, smoothing your skirt, and wincing ever-so-slightly when you hit the snag on your leg from that little fall earlier. Still, the smile stays on.

“Apologies.” You’re careful not to call him anything when you finally address him again, now with a drooping, puppy-dog expression. “It seems I was acting a bit too forward. Let’s start over.”

“Let’s not.” Lance is walking again and avoiding your eyes. You limp after him.

“Is this about the silver coin? I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you sullying your image with—”

Again, you get a faceful of back as you smack into Lance’s still body. You pull away, already ready with your next spiel, but the words on your tongue die away the moment you lock eyes with his icy blue ones.

“It’s always about ‘image’ for people like you, isn’t it?” He hisses, eyes narrowed and cold. “Always about making yourselves look good and hurting anyone you need to in order to do just that.”

‘Well, that’s unfair.’

“That’s not—” You start, but unlike Mash, Lance seems to hold no qualms about interrupting a woman.

“I told you, Verdelune. I’m done. Piss off, leave my sister and me alone, and go find some other double-liner purse dog to wag your tail at.” He pulls out his wand, and once again, you force yourself to not flinch. You’re with him in the flesh now, meaning your presence no longer holds immunity to his Graviole spell.

Lance ignores you, though, muttering something under his breath as green flames spark at his feet and engulf him, burning at his figure until nothing is left standing in his place. You stand there, looking dumb for what can’t be the first time in the day.

‘Ah. A teleportation spell.’

Honestly, you’re surprised he didn’t do this sooner. Maybe your irresistible presence was enough of a distraction to him that he didn’t think to do it… Or maybe he just enjoyed your conversation that much?

You smile, for real again.

‘… Heh. What a funny thought.’

#jade rabbits #rayne ames x reader #lance crown x reader #mash burnedead x reader #mashle x reader #mashle #mash burnedead #lemon irvine #finn ames #tom knowles #lance crown

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naffeclipse · 1 year ago

Note

(Mocking that rather rude ask from earlier)

Oh wow look guys naff wrote another amazing story with a beautiful plot with all the right rising and falling action sequences how dare her >:(

You must love writing so strong that it is able to evoke emotions like how writing is supposed to do how dare!!!

I can't belive it has a happy ending with beautiful bittersweet undertones!!! The nerve of some people to write so well!! >:( how dare you bring me joy through writing about that silly little grabby orca man for shame!

(I love your writing sm don't listen to anyone you are amazing naff keep doing what you love)

ALSJFDASLFDJ Thank you, ahhh! You're so sweet <3

I don't take comments like this to heart. Weirdly, the person would keep reading my writing when it's clear I write stuff they aren't into? And that they also couldn't wait until I officially finished the fic??? IDK really rude and entitled anon! But thank you for the kind words <3 Many nice comments on it also helped make me feel better too.

#compliments #naff nuh huh

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lightinfections · 2 years ago

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Andreana goes on a mission with the other hunters to the ocean for the first time, so used to opening up targets for the others only and making the kill easy, finishing them off as they tried to run away from the feral shark and destructive orca. But the closer they get she starts to feel off, something in her gut yearning to get out, she starts to kill before rhey get close enough, pumping more arts into her crossbow than she did before and still being fine.

Then the singing starts, Laurentia falling down and Specter rising back up to sing her cursed song, Skadi joining in the harmony and suddenly shes filled with the urge to drop the gun and run, rip the seaborn limb from limb, her tentacles another instrument to add to the song. She starts to hum, her shots coming faster, more precise, more arts, her tentacles bracing for less. When it stops she feels like pure electricity is in her veins and she never wants it to go away.

She notices rhe first flecks of red in her eyes and white in her hair that night and asks gladiia to be put on more assignments with them.

#andreana #arknights #abyssal hunters #skadi #specter #laurentia #gladiia

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sylfen · 7 months ago

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Inversion: Ch. 1 - In Pursuit

Next→ On Ao3.

Relationships: Ramattra/Genji Shimada, Cole Cassidy/Hanzo Shimada

Summary: Following a skirmish at Suravasa Temple, an Overwatch strike team is led to Null Sector’s base of operations. During infiltration, Genji quickly understands things are not what they seem to be. Caught between loyalty to their causes, stopping an emergent threat and wishing to save a subjugated Zenyatta from the clutches of Talon, Genji and Ramattra both face an ultimatum: Stay the course or tempt fate and act outside set confines. What follows is a choice made in desperation, putting in motion a dance of manipulation and revelation. Figures from the past return, a global conspiracy is laid bare, and the future is more uncertain than ever. In between it all, Genji and Ramattra come to learn they are opposites only in part—and what should be crystal clear becomes exacerbated by budding feelings.

The atmosphere of the aircraft was quiet, pregnant, as if the pressurized cabin encumbered even the moods of its passengers. A low, incessant whine from the Orca’s engines drilled into Genji’s head, yet even that felt muted under the tension.

His gaze remained locked to the holotable, at the projected map and the pulsing sphere floating above it. A flicker distorted the rendered orb, Genji’s heart skipping a beat.

The signal of the fleeing ship could not fail. Not now. His fingers dug into his folded arms at the thought, restlessly tapping a foot against the floor.

Next to him, Angela pored over the data streaming across the displays. She had not looked up at the holographic render, not since they had left the safety of India's coast a while ago. The wireframe forests and valleys were now the endless expanse of the Bay of Bengal, its flat terrain offering no tangible reference of movement. Only a dreadful yawn of nothing above and beneath the water.

“Target stationary,” Angela reported, breaking the incessant quiet.

“Roger,” Lena crackled through the comms, her voice level but focused. "Decelerating.”

“Were we spotted?” Brigitte asked. She anxiously weighed her heavy mace and leaned in to peruse the data for any potential hostile reaction.

“No signs of yawing or a counterattack.” Angela shook her head. “It’s just… Hovering.”

“Be prepared,” Genji warned, finally speaking since boarding the ship. He rubbed at his arms, displacing small wisps of ash from his singed jacket, frowning when they swirled and coiled in his vision. “...I was given no quarter.”

“It is a civilian aircraft, is it not? Could it possibly have weapons?” Reinhardt left his seat to aid the three younger agents, squinting at the instruments in search of an overlooked detail.

“Maybe it’s a bluff.” Brigitte pursed her lips.

“Deception!” Reinhardt bellowed, slamming a fist on the table, thrilled by the theory. “Yes, a wise tactic!”

Angela’s mouth twitched in a faint smile at the boisterous attitude. “Don't get excited just yet, Reinhardt. We haven't confirmed anything.”

Momentum shifted with the slowing ship. Genji braced himself to avoid falling over, ignoring the dull aches clinging to his body and prickling the sensors of his cybernetics. All the while, he watched the rendered signal as if its tracker might cease transmitting, even though the lights had long since turned loud in his eyes, stinging them.

In the same moment equilibrium returned, the hologram changed.

A formation ascended from under the static sphere, too large to possibly gauge. For the onlookers, it could very well be the ocean floor shifting upwards, rushing to meet them.

Winston's voice filled the communications channel, his words calm but weighted under pressure.

“We need eyes on this.”

The holotable’s map shrank to a corner, a live view from the cockpit taking its place. Whatever Winston was referring to was hard to see at first; it blended well, the small gloomy blur beneath the restless water. While the rendered formation continued to rise in the map, the small shape grew and darkened.

The cabin hushed. Breaths hitched.

In front of them, the ocean bulged upwards. A monster of liquid, distending upwards and upwards. Then, suddenly, the surface tension broke. Water parted aside, cascading down white metal.

“It's rising straight outta the ocean!” Tracer exclaimed.

No one responded. All eyes remained transfixed on the slowly emerging behemoth. It revealed itself as an ivory halo, irregular and lined with glowing blue. It continued its path into the sky, eclipsing the setting sun. A separate crescent traced its inner circumference, dancing against its solar backdrop.

The iconography was telltale. Genji clenched his jaw.

“We have been brought straight to the lion's den,” Reinhardt said gravely. No shock nor awe, only composure, honed and sharpened during the terrors of the Omnic Crisis. It anchored the team, pulling them back into the moment.

Throughout the harrowing reveal, the civilian craft had been stationary and unresponsive. Now it moved swiftly, straight for the metal beast.

“Any plans?” Lena requested. The edge to her voice suggested she wished to act, but did not want to endanger her comrades.

Genji could empathize. Urgency prickled his skin.

“Yes. Approach the ship but keep an escape route ready,” Winston ordered, already one step ahead of everyone else. “Athena, scan for any points of entry.”

“Gotcha. Hang tight, loves!”

The ship lurched with sudden acceleration, wrenching everyone back. The holotable's live feed scattered, replaced with a diagram of the Null Sector ship. A supplemental quadrant provided a closer look, locking on to a row of large hatches. One was in the midst of opening for the civilian craft.

“That port’s armed to the teeth. It’ll chew us up before we can shoot,” Brigitte observed. Emerging details agreed, emphasizing defensive measures along the hatch.

“Yes, I’m afraid this requires a more pragmatic angle,” Angela's eyes darted around as she thought out loud. “We need another means of entry.”

As their distance to the behemoth decreased, the holographic figure turned more elaborate. Athena highlighted points of interest, presenting potential means of infiltration. A list blipped into existence, and in a flash the AI had ordered them by probable usage. The most promising were the narrow inlets running along the length of the ringed hull. Yet they were too small for the Orca.

Chatter continued, juggling strategies and concerns. Genji’s eyes narrowed.

He had already decided.

“Bring me close,” he said, moving toward the craft’s rear exit. “I’ll disable the defenses from the inside.”

“That’s suicide!” Angela swiftly dislodged herself from the holotable. A pallor beset her face, eyes wide. “I know this is personal to you but there has to be another way.”

Genji stood fast. “We risk detection every moment we hesitate,” he said firmly. “This is our only window.”

“He’s right. Let him go,” Winston interjected, voice strained but decided. “Brigitte, inform Sojourn. Request immediate backup. Tracer, rendezvous.”

“Roger, getting even closer.”

Angela hugged her arms close to herself. Brigitte stepped beside her, touched a hand to her shoulder. Genji entered the airlock and turned around, locking eyes with Angela. She did not protest further; the pained look said everything, and it twinged his chest.

Winston scrambled from the cockpit, rifling through a compartment on his armor. He took a deep breath as he approached the stern.

“We don’t know what to expect from here,” the gorilla explained, opening his balled fist to present a small device to Genji. “It’s a partial module of Athena. In case we lose contact, she’ll still be able to assist you.”

Genji nodded, slotting the chip into a hidden port in his helmet.

The airlock slipped shut with a hiss, separating the team. They gathered behind the glass, beside Angela, Brigitte still comforting her.

Though Genji’s stance remained strong, his heart thrummed loudly. Nevertheless, the icon lighting up in his HUD coaxed a small smile.

“Hello Genji,” Athena greeted.

“Hi Athena.” He replied, giving the agents a thumbs up. “Let’s give it our best.”

“Opening stern,” Lena announced. “Good luck, Genji!”

Brigitte raised a fist. Reinhardt and Winston both gave a solemn nod. Angela extended a hand toward the glass.

The rear hatch slid open. Wind and chill blasted into the chamber. Genji clutched onto a bar, steadying himself.

Ahead, the leviathan drew ever closer. Expanding as if to bathe reality itself in devout metal.

Genji slotted his shuriken. Reached for his wakizashi.

He inhaled. Cast off the lingering doubts shackling him.

In his mind, the resonant voice from the hijacked city systems echoed. Null Sector’s holy message tingled his spine.

We welcome you into the Iris.

Genji would heed it. His feet left the threshold.

#overwatch #ramji #slow burn #yeehan #romance #action #more tags on Ao3 #fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #gay

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medea10 · 1 year ago

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My Review of The Rising of the Shield Hero: 3rd Season

Seriously, I forgot this was coming back for the fall season. But there was no way I was going to forget that season three was coming. Crunchyroll jumped several guns to not only announce a second season to The Rising of the Shield Hero, but announce a third season in the same breath. This was in 2019. Do you know how long ago 2019 was? What could have caused my blah attitude and pessimism to come up here? Season two happened.

Oh, but Medea, Myne wasn’t involved in season two. How could it be that bad?

Okay, Myne had her bitchy hands all over season one and I loved that season. Season two was rushed to a point where I need ten volumes of the light novel to get the jist of what the fuck just happened. Me not seeing Myne was a treat and if she was involved in season two, my opinion would still stand.

HISTORY: Isekai. Shield. Outcast. Blah, blah, blah! Here’s season one and season two.

SEASON THREE: Shit, the bitch is in the OP theme. I’m going to lose my shizzle on this review, aren’t I?

In the aftermath of the tortoise arc, there’s a glitch that seems to be affecting how Naofumi sees stats and part of his shield. Then, we’ve got the queen relying on Naofumi once more as it seems that the other three heroes are missing in action. Bitch is too. Normally, I would say good riddance on everybody disappearing, I hope they get eaten by a giant chicken. But that’s just my anger popping up again. I have leftover resentment from season one where I just want retribution for Naofumi. I know they’re technically heroes, but they’re shit-heroes. And as for bitch, I hope that she’s not only eaten by a giant chicken and shit out off of a cliff. She must be up to no good knowing her. And then there’s a little something that really grinded Naofumi and Raphtalia’s gears. Demi-humans and slavery!

Yeah, it’s not a modern Isekai without slave-trades.

Naofumi and his team wind up competing in an underground fight club. Save some twin tiger demi-humans. Don’t get too excited, this tournament arc was only the span of 1 or 2 episodes. They do go back to the underground fight club near the end of the season, but it’s not worth mentioning. Naofumi is staying true to saving previously enslaved demi-humans. Meanwhile, we’ve got a phoenix-sized wave about to occur in a couple of months and no one knows where the other heroes are. This season, we get to know more about the other three heroes; Ren, Motoyasu, and Itsuki. Not only what happened to them during the tortoise arc, but before they were sent to this world.

Motoyasu was ditched by his entire team when he couldn’t even make a dent in the tortoise from last season. Itsuki went full-on Judge Claude Frollo. And Ren’s entire team was slaughtered. But a certain someone came in and toyed with each and every one of these boys.

…

AND NOW, MEDEA IS ABOUT TO MAKE NO SENSE: I truly apologize for the raving I am about to unleash.

AAAAAHHHHH! OOGA BOOGA! OOGA BOOGA! ROOOOOOOAAAAAAAAWWWWR! KILL THE BITCH! KILL THE BITCH! REN, YOU FUCKING IDIOT! YOU SAW THE TRIAL! YOU WERE THERE! YOU SAW HER FIGHT AGAINST THE SLAVE CREST! ITSUKI TOO! WHERE IS THE CREST ON THE BITCH’S CHEST?! WHAT WITCH-FUCKARY SAUCE IS THIS?! SOMEBODY! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!

My anger is warranted. In the span of a single episode, Myne claimed infamous status in the anime community as the worst thing since Shou Tucker. Let’s not go too ahead of ourselves. I’d say she’s just between Griffith and Shinji Matou. I’m just glad Motoyasu saw Myne’s true colors (AGAIN) as she lied AGAIN about him raping her. Lying about being raped seems to be her ace in the hole time and again. This woman is worse than tumors on your uterus.

Not even Filo doing an idol performance in the same episode could calm me down. Nice try, anime!

NEW CHARACTERS: Quite a bit more girls added to the roster. We got the drunk orca, the glitch in human form, and the tiger twins. They are all orphaned demi-humans. Give Naofumi some credit as we finally got one male teammate.

Sadina is a human and orca, I guess. She has a lot of history with Raphtalia and that’s the end of that tale. Spoilers.

Then, there’ S’yne. She’s the girl who sounds glitchy every time she speaks. S’yne is at first not trusted by Naofumi due to an earlier reputation. But she sticks around.

And then there’s the tiger twins, Fohl and Atla. Naofumi saved them from that underground fight club. Before, Fohl was barely scraping by and earning whatever he could to help his ailing sister. Now, the twins are thriving (despite Atla being blind and sometimes has trouble walking). Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

JAPANESE CAST: *Sadina is played by Ami Koshimizu (known for Makoto/Jupiter on Sailor Moon Crystal, Kallen on Code Geass, Ryuuko on Kill la Kill, Holo on Spice & Wolf, Rosa on Umineko, and Anemone on Eureka Seven)

*S’yne is played by Maria Naganawa (known for Kanna on Miss Kobayashi, Platelets on Cells at Work, and Komekko on Konosuba)

*Fohl is played by Kouhei Amasaki (known for Otto on Re:Zero, Kousuke on Tomo-chan is a Girl, and Monoma on My Hero Academia)

*Atla is played by Konomi Kohara (known for Chika on Kaguya-sama, Roxy on Mushoku Tensei, Miu on Domestic Girlfriend, Chitose on Tonikawa, and Kai on Hitoribocchi)

ENGLISH CAST: *Sadina is played by Alice Himora

*S’yne is played by Lisa Reimold

*Fohl is played by Kieran Regan

*Atla’s voice actress is unknown at this date and time

SHIPPING: Rishia really, for real, truly needs to give up on Itsuki. And if the slap in the face he gave her wasn’t enough of a big indicator…no, it truly needs to be one. I’m glad she stepped up to try and reason with him. But…eh, I got nothing else for this. I’m just annoyed by Itsuki dropping Rishia for being weak and Rishia still devoted to him.

And Raphtalia still loves Naofumi. It’s still unrequited. And she will still get jealous of anyone hugging, rubbing on, or sleeping with Naofumi.

ENDING: It’s obvious that Bitch has been poisoning the minds of every, single one of the four heroes. While Naofumi’s interaction at the beginning of the series was bad enough, Bitch took advantage of the other three during really rough moments of their journey. And all I can say is, Naofumi was wrong to keep her alive for this long. He should have just allowed the queen to have her daughter’s head chopped off. Motoyasu was dropped once it was shown that he could not make a dent in the tortoise from last season. In Bitch fashion, she claimed Motoyasu raped her making him out to be the town Harvey Weinstein. With Ren, Bitch manipulated him after losing his teammates in a gruesome way. But she ditched him soon after Naofumi got involved and helped him out. Finally, there’s Itsuki.

Itsuki wound up with a cursed item given to him by Bitch. These cursed items have not done anyone any good during this season and caused a lot of damage for the heroes who had them and Naofumi having to clean up the mess afterwards. When Ren was possessed, it caused a lot of trouble for innocent bystanders. Ren, Itsuki, and Motoyasu are all terrible and made terrible messes throughout the majority of this series. They should be licking Naofumi’s boot every morning when they wake up. Sorry, leftover hatred again. However, Itsuki’s sense of justice pissed me off further down the series. Itsuki pulls off his stupid justice kick by attacking Naofumi’s crew and innocent bystanders with his bow and arrows. Hell, he was going to kill Rishia because she didn’t believe in his “justice”. Thankfully, she and Naofumi were able to end Itsuki’s cursed justice. Itsuki is just mentally broken, but is cared for by Rishia.

Hmph. He should have just been left to rot in a wheelchair like Kirito in SAO. Not even sorry for that!

Okay, we’re at the final episode. Not sure when we’re going to see this wave attack with a giant phoenix. In two months is what Naofumi says but who the hell knows! And Bitch is still on the loose. She did drop Itsuki pretty fast, leaving him broke and broken. I know everyone wants Naofumi and the other three heroes together. I’ve been against that from the beginning. Sorry, last time! As of this moment, Itsuki and Ren are with Naofumi and his crew. Motoyasu…everyone still seems to avoid him like the plague. Yeah, he’s annoying. But mostly it’s because he wants to lewd Filo and now calls Naofumi, “Father” because, yeah, he technically did hatch Filo. Who wants to tell Motoyasu that Filo is technically a couple of months old? Okay, final episode. What’s in store?

Raphtalia is royalty!

Do what now?

Naofumi gave Raphtalia some priestess garb. Sadina got scared and warned her to remove the clothes immediately. Just then, Naofumi’s area is attacked (AGAIN). Usually, it’s slave poachers or someone under Bitch’s control. These new guys are different entirely. This time they want to kill Raphtalia. Why? Because she’s really the heir of this place called Q’ten Lo. Raphtalia’s father was the original ruler but abdicated and started a family. Sadina has been watching this family from the very beginning. So, there’s much more to Raphtalia’s family than just what we learned in season one. Naofumi is understandably pissed that these spies from Q’ten Lo are after Raphtalia and have been watching her pretty much her entire life. So, I guess we’re going to Q’ten Lo now.

Okay anime, that’s fine. But a few things. Phoenix wave is going to hit in less than two months. Filo still needs to up her stats after the whole dragon incident. Bitch is still on the loose. Itsuki is on par with a roasted parsnip. We don’t know where Motoyasu is nor do we care. Still in the dark about the tiger twins and that guy at the palace who hates Naofumi. Naofumi is about to drop everything to prepare for the biggest wave to date to go to this place we only learned about five seconds ago. And most importantly, THE ANIME IS OVER!

Yes, this does set us up for a possible fourth season or movie. As of now, we have a fourth season in the works. But I just have to ask myself this. Do I even want it? Okay, stupid question. I do want to see it for what happens. It’s just that I’m kinda in a slump when it comes to this anime. Most of that blame does stem from the previous season. This season wasn’t as bad, but it’s a far cry from where things were in the first season. I’ll give the anime this, it spiked my blood pressure on my day off from work. That’s not a good thing!

So, I guess we’re going to this Q’ten Lo place, meet new characters, and take a total detour from where this story was going with fighting the waves. Then again, this season had absolutely no wave-fighting. And I’m sure we’re not going to get much clarity of any other character that gets introduced and is a “insert-something-here” hero. I’ll give season four a fighting chance if someone throws a Molotov cocktail at Bitch’s face. For those looking for an improvement to season two’s disappointments…I can’t lie. You would probably only like half of the series. Anything involving Wyndia, dragons, and the whole lot of demi-humans might lose your interest.

For now, every season of Rising of the Shield Hero is on Crunchyroll.

#the rising of the shield hero #naofumi iwatani #raphtalia #filo #motoyasu kitamura #ren amaki #anime review #tate no yuusha no nariagari #the rising of the shield hero season 3 #rishia ivyred #malty melromarc #atla #fohl #sadina #s'yne #itsuki kawasumi

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