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misschiuahua · 4 years ago

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Marjorie

Explicit - Part 1 of 3

Summary:

Marjorie is a colonist onboard of the Covenant, when a power surge wakes her up from her stasis and destroys her pod.

They're still six years away from their destination and she can't go back to sleep. Her only companion is the synthetic, Walter.

Nobody could fault her for feeling snappish.

However... It seems like Walter has a suggestion to make her feel better.

Notes:

So, don't think too long about this one. It's just an excuse for sex with Walter inside the Covenant.

It doesn't follow the movie (so they never land and they never meet David).

Just a nice time with a nice synthetic.

This is pure smut. You’ve been warned.

Chapter 1

They were still six years away from their final destination -Origae-6 -when her stasis pod malfunctioned. Actually, Marjorie’s pod wasn’t the only one that malfunctioned, but she was the only one that survived it.

A shockwave made a few systems burn and created a fire inside the ship. Despite Walter’s fast response to it, 7 colonists burned to death while other 12 suffocated inside their pods. Marjorie was the only one who survived, but her pod was damaged. She couldn’t go back.

She’d have to wait six years to reach their new home awake.

Walter -the synthetic -told her that -as she was unharmed -and there were no further threats to the ship, he couldn’t wake the rest of the crew.

He assured her he’d do his best to fix her pod so she could go back into stasis, but soon enough, it became clear it wasn’t possible.

Marjorie had always prided herself in being a strong woman, one that could handle adversities without breaking down. However, the day that Walter told her she wouldn’t be able to go back into stasis, she’d cried. A lot.

The idea of spending six years alone with a synthetic, travelling through space wasn’t a particularly pleasant one.

Arrangements were soon made; she got a cot and Walter procured food for her.

Marjorie did her best to keep busy, but she was a botanist, and there were no plants to look at. She managed to find things to read, research, but she still felt so useless.

Time went by slowly in space. Or so it seemed to her.

After one year and a half, it felt as if she’d already lived one hundred years on that blasted spaceship.

Walter was decent company -for a synthetic, at least. He talked to her often, because he was concerned her mind might deteriorate if she didn’t have interaction. He also made her exercise and feed well.

It was like having a nanny.

Marjorie believed she’d handled things well enough, if one considered her position.

But… After 18 months, she wasn’t that well anymore.

She snapped a few times at Walter for no reason at all; she was feeling cranky and trapped. Her skin felt electrified and sensitive and she was just so fucking…

There was a knock on her door.

“Come in.” She called, snapping a book shut.

It was Walter, obviously.There wasn’t anybody else.

She sighed. “Walter. I’m sorry about earlier.” She told him, even as he entered her room and let the door close behind himself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it’s not fair to treat you this way.”

He was silent for a minute. “If I may, Marjorie?” He asked, in that overly polite and formal way he had of speaking.

“Yes?”

“I’m aware of what the problem is.” He told her quite simply. “You’re sexually frustrated.”

“I beg your pardon?” Was he for real?

“You’re feeling pent-up because of the situation, so I imagine you aren’t able to find release on your own.”

He wasn’t wrong. Marjorie had always been healthy and open about her sexuality, however in those last months, she’d been unable to bring herself relief through masturbation.

Perhaps because of this feeling of being trapped inside this ship, wasting so much time, her libido had been affected. After a few -frustrating -tries, she gave up on masturbating all together.

If she was to be honest, she couldn’t find pleasure in the act anymore. Her fantasies vanished from her head, probably because the situation looked so bleak.

“As you were able before…”

“Oh my god!” She snapped. “You’ve been keeping track of this?”

“I’ve been keeping track of your health.” He pointed out, like it was the same thing.

“I can’t believe this.” She sighed, hiding her face in her hands, feeling humiliated.

“If I may?”

Now what? “Yes?” She groaned.

“My design is considered attractive to many people.” He spoke.

Wait… What?

Marjorie looked at Walter in confusion. “I… Guess.”

She wasn’t blind. She knew he was attractive in that very clean kind of way. And she couldn’t say he was terrible in general; despite her moods and her pressing solitude, Walter had been a constant companion. Whoever had programmed him, had made him quite…

“...so you would consider me.” He finished, and Marjorie realised she hadn’t actually paid attention to what he’d said.

“Consider you for what?”

“To relieve your tension.”

It took Marjorie way too long to understand what he was saying.

Not exactly to understand it, but to accept he was actually offering to…

“Are you suggesting we have sex?” She gasped.

“I’m fully capable of performing it.” Walter informed her, like he was telling her he could administer CPR. “It’s part of my programing.”

Who the hell would program him for such things? What was even the point?

“So you’re like a sex bot?”

“No. This is a feature to be used at my discretion, if I find it necessary.”

“And it’s necessary?”

“It might make you feel less stressed and snappish.”

Great. The synthetic was telling her she needed to get laid. Just wonderful.

Marjorie took a deep breath in. “That’s very…” Another breath in. “Kind of you, but I’m fine.”

Walter didn’t seem like he agreed with that, but he didn’t push. He told her that, if she reconsidered it, he’d be available.

Awesome.

***

The problem was… Once Walter presented the offer, Marjorie couldn’t think of anything but it.

She saw herself watching him more and more, and that question kept burning in her mind: why not?

For the first time in what seemed like forever, she was actually feeling something other than worry and loneliness. There was a thrill deep inside her, a desire…

It took her two weeks to decide to just go with it.

She was finishing her dinner, when she gathered her courage. “Walter?”

“Yes, Marjorie?”

“Is your… offer still standing?”

He turned to her with those old eyes of his. “Yes, Marjorie.”

“Okay.” She let out a breath. “I know you have some duties now, but… Once you’re free, can you stop by my room?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, then got up and left, hurrying to her room. She thought that asking would be the difficult part, but Walter wasn’t a difficult man -synthetic. He wouldn’t gloat or tease her about her need; he’d just go with it.

For her health, apparently.

Once she was back in her room she paced, then organized -which took like five minutes, because she didn’t have things to make a mess -then paced some more. She washed up, then changed clothes, then remembered she had three outfits and he’d seen them all.

She wasn’t trying to seduce him.

When Walter finally knocked on her door, Marjorie forced herself to sit down on her bed. She cleared her throat before telling him to come in.

He entered much like he had two weeks before, and Marjorie saw the door closing behind him.

“Just this once.” She told him from the start.

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Is there anything that…” Oh god, why was this so strange? “Anything you can’t do?”

“Nothing that will damage my body or system.” He informed her simply.

Fair enough. “And if I don’t feel comfortable…”

“Whenever you wish to stop, just say the word.”

“Right…” She was really doing this, right? “Come here. We’ll try… Kissing for a bit. I guess.”

She laid down on the bed, and Walter came and laid next to her.

“Okay.” She took another deep breath. This wasn’t looking like that great of an idea now. “Kissing.”

“Yes, Marjorie.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly. Marjorie thought he’d taste like rubber -like kissing a boot might taste like -but it wasn’t that at all. It was a bit strange -his lips weren’t warm, but they also weren’t exactly cold -and they did feel a lot like normal lips.

Walter kissed her slowly for a while, until she pressed her tongue to his lips and he opened up for her.

It was strange, but it wasn’t bad. Actually, he was a great kisser. He matched her rhythm perfectly, like he was learning and applying what he’d learned immediately. It was strange not feeling his breath against hers, but Marjorie was enjoying this.

She’d never thought she’d missed physical contact this much.

Her hand went to his nape as she pulled him deeper into her kiss. Walter’s hand dove under her shirt, but only to caress her waist, not going any further.

Marjorie suddenly felt hungrier than she’d felt in a long time.

“Walter.” She gasped against his mouth. “Here.” She pushed his hands down, hoping he’d get message without her actually having to say it.

Fortunately, he did.

His hand found its way inside her loose pants and into her panties. His finger teased her clit in slow circles, before venturing further down.

Marjorie felt a bit embarrassed to admit she was already wet and waiting for him, but she didn’t mind that much at this point.

Walter put a finger inside her and she gasped into his mouth. The heel of his hand kept pressure on her clit, as his finger fucked her slowly.

Marjorie pulled her shirt up, exposing her breasts to him. “Here. Please.” She whined softly.

Once again, he understood what she wanted without her having to explicitly say it.

His lips closed around her nipple and sucked it, making Marjorie mewl in pleasure.

At some point, he added another finger inside her, the pumping motion getting faster and harder. The heel of his hand was mercilessly grinding against her clit.

He crooked his fingers inside her pussy, and Marjorie came with a scream.

She’d missed that sweet release.

She laid there, sprawled on her back, trying really hard to catch her breath, while Walter patiently waited for her.

“Take off your shirt.” She told him, her face flushed and her skin covered in sweat. “Then lay on your back.”

Walter did as told, while she got up to get rid of her own clothes. Once she was naked, she straddled his thighs and opened his zipper, just enough to free his cock.

She pumped him with her hands -even though he probably didn’t need her help to get hard. She just wanted to feel it, to get this sense of -fake -power.

He grew hard on her hand. He was long and nicely thick, and Marjorie wondered -not for the first time -why the fuck he was even built and programed this way.

People had some weird ideas.

But then again… She was about to use him, so…

She rubbed her pussy against his hard cock, like a cat in heat, spreading her wetness on him. She then grasped him and held him in place while she lowered herself inch by inch.

He was thick and it had been a while for her, so she did it slowly, loving the stretch of him, and how his cock felt so real and so good inside her.

Walter’s hands had gone to her waist, but he wasn’t pulling her down on him. It felt like he was just giving her balance to keep her pace.

It seemed like forever until he was all in, and she was sitting pretty on his nice cock.

“Oh god.” She felt so full and so alive.

Marjorie leaned forward, finally looking at Walter again. His eyes were fixed on her face, taking all the details in.

It felt incredibly hot just then.

She put her hands on his chest and moved experimentally. Oh yes, good to go.

At first, she rode him slowly. She let herself feel every inch of him moving in and out of her pussy. She enjoyed the feeling of his body dragging across hers as she moved. His hands helped her along, but he didn’t rush her; he let her set the pace. She let her nipples brush over his chest and kissed him long and slow.

She felt languid and as if she could do this for hours.

Then, something started building and coiling inside her, and slow wasn’t that good anymore.

She straightened up and started riding his cock properly, bouncing up and down on it. She moved his right hand to her tit, showed him how to massage it for her.

Her own hand went to her clit and she rubbed it furiously.

She was really close, just so close…

Walter pinched her nipple and she came, calling his name. However, since she didn’t really need to worry about his pleasure, she kept riding him to come down, instead of just stopping.

She liked this way much better.

She dismounted him and fell back on the tiny bed, breathing even harder than before, but feeling extremely satisfied.

“Thanks.” She murmured to Walter, still not believing they’d actually done it.

He sat up. “You’re welcome, Marjorie.”

She thought he’d just leave, but Walter -always so attentive -cleaned himself up, then did the same for her.

“I’ll leave you to rest.” He told her softly, since her eyes were already closing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Marjorie.”

“Thanks, Walter…” She murmured sleepily once again.

As far as unique events went… This was pretty great.

#My writing #fanfic #posted on AO3 #smut #robophilia #although... i'm not sure #let me know if walter fits the criteria #alien covenant #walter #part 1

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katcadecascade · 4 years ago

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Road to Home (RWBY fic)

Summery: Rhodes reaches the Glass Unicorn at 11:40pm because someone asked him, “So who’s at home for you?”

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Volume 8 Chapter 6

aka my take on Cinder’s backstory AU

“So who’s back home for you?”

Rhodes kind of hates his name. It’s almost like cruel irony or a bland destiny to always be traveling, constantly on the move, and never staying too long in one place.

“No one. I don’t really have a place to return too.”

He believed that’s just how his life is as a hunter of Grimm. It feels like he’s always taking one mission after the next, a pattern that takes him across the kingdoms. All alone, it’s easier that way, efficient Rhodes believes.

It’s a cold truth he concluded on after his team parted. Talk about a crossroads.

“Hmm.”

Yet every once in a while there’s a hunt that demands many hunters. An abnormally large nest of Nevermores in Vale. If he had the option, Rhodes wouldn’t have joined. The path he wanted to take is the one that’ll take him back to Atlas, all the way back to Cinder.

She’s a tough kid in a not so good situation. That’s all Rhodes can really say on the matter, what with the loose child labor laws and the old reputation that keeps that hotel running. Look, Rhodes ain’t the man for critiquing ethics and socialism, especially Atlas and Mantle of all places.

Still though, he did what he thought was best for Cinder. Train her in secret, visit monthly if possible, and not take her with him. The life of an active huntsman who’s constantly traveling is not ideal for a kid to tag along. At least in the Glass Unicorn, Cinder is under a roof and away from the Grimm.

Or at least that’s what Rhodes keeps telling himself.

Each day he’s away from the girl, he tries to come up with another reason as to why he should not just up and take Cinder with him. For obvious reasons, it’s kidnapping. Then there’s the whole issue of his entire life is not child friendly.

No home for Cinder to be warm in. No extended family that can keep an eye on her when he’s away. No teammates…

And yet last month's visit, there was hesitation on his tongue, wanting to ask if she wanted to accompany him. It’s an outrageous idea, tactless and unreasonable. Training her for the academy entrance exams is the smarter play, a long one but way smarter than just thrusting Cinder onto the road with him of all people.

Rhodes is not the most upstanding role model to look up to, no less having to travel with. Imagine his surprise when a kid looks at him with starry, wide eyes. He doesn’t deserve any of that, not sure if he ever will, yet he kept training her. He kept returning to Atlas for Cinder.

“What’s that humming supposed to mean?”

There’s not many people for Rhodes to return to, even less if anyone ever wanted him in the first place. Cinder is the exception though, his mind excuses. She doesn’t know the mistakes he made, the suffering or aftermath.

In due time, the academy would give her a better life, not him. Just gotta stay in this waiting game, for Cinder’s sake.

“It means that I think you’re lying.”

That’s a long road he’s forcing Cinder to walk. For the longest time, Rhodes believed that was the only course of action for Cinder when really it’s just the path of least resistance. All because he is a coward stuck in the crossroads.

“...Fine. There’s this kid I look out for, that’s all.”

All the excuses he accumulated began the moment he saw Cinder in that dusty storage room. Of course she’s miserable and of course he pities her. Rhodes wasn’t the strategist of his former team, nor was he the heart. He was just the tank, master of waiting for the perfect moment, and the one who ends up walking a long road all alone.

It’s stupid of him to think Cinder should endure it all alone. It’s collassily ignorant of him to give her attention and leave the next day and think that’s proper teaching. It’s akin to constantly relighting a candle wit. One day there will be nothing left to spark.

“That so? It sounds like you must care a lot about her. She must miss you too.”

It took too long for Rhodes to think that maybe his interference has made Cinder’s life worse. He gave her a direction, a goal to reach the academy, a dream of freedom on the open road. Hope can be a powerful and dangerous thing.

Rhodes knows first hand how devastating it can be when hope ends out. He can outlast a storm, a horde of Grimm, nearly anything but that’s no guarantee for the people around him. This always lingers in his head when he’s out on bigger missions with a group of hunters.

“She’s not mine.”

This particular Nevermore hunt had a few familiar faces for Rhodes, all of whom he’d avoided. Then by luck he was caught by some of the newer graduated hunters, probably with only three or five years of experience. Not the ideal team up but the less he complains the quicker they complete the objective.

If only that white hooded huntress wasn’t so talkative and observant. If only she didn’t dig into his vague words and made him think. If only he had learned all of this months early for Cinder’s sake.

“My boyfriend has a baby girl at home. I might not be her birth mother but I will always see her as my daughter.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

There’s a knowing glint in those silver eyes. “You look like you’re eager to return home.”

Rhodes couldn’t get that line out of his head. Eagerness is a burden on long trips, it’s the annoying sibling to waiting, and it’s the very thing on Cinder’s face whenever Rhodes enters the Glass Unicorn.

Eagerness is in his heart that first night after meeting Cinder. He wanted to return. He wanted to take less missions away. He wanted Cinder to finally leave that place.

Why did he insist on making her wait?

Each and every excuse he came up with nipped and lashed at his ankles on every step he took closer to Atlas. The Grimm hunt was dealt with at a near blinding speed and that huntress said she’ll cover for him on the post-hunt reports that he always hated.

For transportation to Atlas, Rhodes had to suck up his pride and call the only other teammate who’s not dead.

“You wouldn’t ask unless it’s an emergency, Rhodes. An airship will be at the airport in an hour.”

“Thank you Willow, I mean it.”

True to his former teammate’s words, the huntsman was later in a private Schnee jet enroute to Atlas. If he was more reckless he would’ve hand it land right at the Glass Unicorn but attention was the last thing he wanted.

Once on the streets, he was practically retracing his steps all the way back to the hotel. Through the late night streets, up the steps and through the fancy lobby. At the reception desk, perfectly orderly is the woman of the establishment.

Her wrinkle lines move along with her cordially smile, prepared for greeting clients no matter the late hour.

Rhodes never thought of this madame in good graces. Rumor has it that the Glass Unicorn didn’t always have child servants back when the lady’s late husband was in charge. Under new management as the saying goes and the regular clients here didn’t bat an eye when the staff dwindled to one young employee.

It’s hypocrisy that he was a part of the silent crowd and only now does he actually react.

On previous visits, he’d always just booked a room and waited for the lobby to empty to get to Cinder. Right now though, Rhodes doesn’t have the patience to wait any longer.

Once upon a time, he had to brainstorm a myriad of lies to get Cinder out of the hotel. Excuses that range from she’s a missing link in a case or outright threatening to her to hand over Cinder. Well he’s not entirely sure how any of those scenarios would play out but it doesn’t matter in the end.

The mood in the air changes when two blonde girls come running out of the staff door. They’re both frightened out of their perfect composure.

“Mom, come quick, we found something.”

“It’s Cinder, she has a weapon!”

Their mother glares at her daughters and clicks her tongue once the sisters notice the client present.

“Leave,” she demands lowly, “now.”

The girls scamper off in another direction while the lady smooths down her skirt. One hand lingers inside the pocket.

“Pardon me, Huntsman Rhodes, I have to attend to the matter.”

She takes one step, one loud clack of her heels away from the reception desk and Rhodes knew that this was it. It had to be now or never.

“Wait,” Rhodes didn’t waste his movement, striding past the lady and blocking her path to the door. “It’ll be best if I go.”

Scowling as politely as possible, she argues, “Sir, I assure you that girl is absolutely under my control.”

“You’re awfully confident,” Rhodes snaps. This is taking too much time, who knows what’s Cinder doing right now.

“I am,” she raises her voice, not appreciating his attitude.

It looks like she’s about to lecture him about respect so he cuts her off. “I’m going in there, not you. Got it?”

He’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making. Yes he’s angry and impatient and just wants this whole hotel gone. Something about him must have conveyed his true rage because the madame stands frozen, confusion and fear in her slacken jaw and how she took a step back.

Then he sees how her eyes flicker to something behind him.

On some sort of instinct, she took her hand out of her pocket. Clasped there is a remote with a yellow button, her thumb pressed down.

There’s a scream in his ears, a chilling shock down his spine as he turns around and sees Cinder at the doorway. She dropped the sword he gifted her and has one hand on the frame to support her shaking body as electricity rumbles and bites at her neck.

Rhodes never thought to ask why she had a fancy necklace. He wonder how stupid he is for failing to recognise lightning dust. He’s even more of a failure to be surprised that this is happening.

To add more evidence that Cinder has spent far too long in this hotel, Cinder grits her teeth and lets go of the doorframe. She starts limping over, the shockwaves going up and down her skin. Rhodes watches in horror and perverse awe before he hears a button getting mashed.

He grabs the madame’s wrist, snatching the remote out of her hand in seconds, and crushing it in a steel hand. It’s pathetically small help, clearly everything Rhodes has trained Cinder for was not the help she really needed.

There’s a momentarily delay in the remote’s signal as the shock collar continues. Cinder reaches a shaky hand up and rips the collar off, glaring at the source of all her pain.

“Cinder,” Rhodes interferes with her path but the girl is still glaring at the madame. “Let’s leave right now. You don’t have to stay here any longer.” He knees down to her, desperately wishing that the fire in her eyes won’t burn her up. “I’m sorry it took me this long to get you out.”

She still hasn’t looked at him. Yet at his apology tears start welling up. Cinder marches past him, stalking up to the madame who’s backed up against the frontdesk.

“Without you, I am nothing,” Cinder tells her and her tone sounds odd to the huntsman, like the words are warped around her tongue and teeth.

She thrusts her hand up, still holding the shock collar, and harshly presses it to the madame’s throat. In mere seconds, the metal is superheated in Cinder’s grip and the madame cries out, jerking away and falling sideways on the desk and then falling to the floor.

The madame clasps a hand around her neck but Rhodes saw the burnt skin there, diamond shaped like the collar’s centerpiece.

“But because of you,” Cinder hisses and throws the collar at the madame’s face, “I am everything.”

The girl is a heaving mess, her hands curling up and steaming.

“Cinder,” he calls and the girl’s whole body flinches.

Swirling around, Cinder angrily demands at him, “She deserves so much worse!”

“And you deserve better and you will get it all if we leave right now.” Rhodes begs her, “Please, will you come with me?”

Cinder quietly gasps at his question. Some combination of awe and surprise on her young face as she starts crying more.

He honestly doesn’t know if he can talk her out of murder, revenge realisticly. But if he can just take her away from this place then maybe she’ll choose otherwise. Maybe she’ll always want to kill these people but for right now, he needs to physically get away from these people.

The heat of her semblance dims from her hands as Cinder wipes the tears off her cheeks. She stumbles over to Rhodes and once close he hugs her tight. The girl bawls into his chest and Rhodes wastes no time to securely carry her in one arm.

He remembers to pick up Cinder’s fallen sword as he gets up. The madame on the other hand is still on the floor, trembling and confused but not making any motion to stop them. There’s a frantic wheezing coming from her too.

When she glares at them, Rhodes frowns back. “No one is going to ask about tonight, got it?”

The madame bitterly coughs and manages to croak out, “Leave.”

He lets her have the final word and marches out. Cinder got her breath back and has wide, teary eyes as they approach the doors. She squirms for a bit and he lets her down.

Standing on shaky legs, Cinder pushes open the doors with all her might. The wide swing of the doors shakes the frame but the girl doesn’t care. On her first step out of the hotel, the grandfather clock in the lobby rings twelve.

One step outside of the Glass Unicorn and Cinder felt like sobbing, running, and collapsing at the same time. Her hand squeezed tight onto Rhodes’ as she trembled against the midnight air. Its chill is heavenly on her overheated skin, an after effect from the electricity.

It’s all over now. She’s finally free from the madame and her hotel. Cinder just wants to run despite her straining muscles so she leans on Rhodes. He mumbles something about hurrying to the airport, hoping that a plane is still there but Cinder barely comprehends.

She’s actually free and Rhodes had wanted her to leave with him. Each visit, Cinder truly thought that he didn't want her around. The plan was for the academy, where he won’t have to deal with her but instead he actually asked.

Granted Cinder had wished he’d asked like the first night they met. Or maybe years earlier, that would’ve been good too. But here they are. It took her obnoxious step sisters to get too nosey and for Rhodes to finally be there at the right time.

Yet it still feels like Rhodes is late. The madame had one last play with the collar and Cinder wanted to finally end her. She can still feel the buzz in her neck.

Even though they’ve only walked down the street so far, Cinder feels too close and so far away from the Glass Unicorn. She feels like sobbing again.

“Hey, hey,” Rhodes moves his arm to comfortably enwrap her with warmth, “it’s okay now Cinder.”

A sob hitches in her throat and it’s like her semblance is burning her from the inside. Cinder doesn’t think she’s okay right now, she doesn’t believe she’ll ever be okay, but finally walking out of those pristine doors felt so good.

Somewhere in her thoughts, there’s the question on how it would feel like if she actually gave what the madame and her daughters deserved. At the same time, Cinder never wants to enter the Glass Unicorn even if her life depends on it. Which it does not though, she doesn’t ever have to be there again.

She’s finally freed.

That hopeful feeling gets lodged into her throat when suddenly a nice looking car pulls up in front of them. Rhodes holds her close as her heart hammers. Cinder can’t phantom what is going on as the well dressed driver exits and approaches them.

“Mr. Kolossos,” the man nods politely and when he looks at Cinder she flinches but he continues with another nod, “Miss.” He opens the backseat door and waves over, “This way please.”

“I didn’t call for a car,” Rhodes said and walked on, guiding Cinder away from the car.

As they’re passing the open car door, someone from inside scoffs, “Just get in here, Rhodes.”

In the nightlight, it’s hard for Cinder to see inside the car but she sees a feminine figure that matches the voice. Cinder can’t help but shake.

Rhodes on the other hand freezes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up unless you want to walk all the way to the airbay. The jet’s not there by the way.”

The huntsman huffs quietly but up close Cinder can see his lips barely form a smile. He catches her gaze and he winces. Rhodes pinches the bridge of his nose before whispering to her, “Cinder, I know you’ve been through a lot right now but do you still trust me?”

She doesn’t like the unsureness in his eyes, like she’s the one who will hurt him. Cinder knows there has been nights where she outright hates it when he leaves or his plan to wait seven years in that hotel. But every time he comes back, Cinder can’t help but want to hope that this time, she’ll join him.

And now it’s happening she knows that Rhodes is the only person she can rely on. If she’s on her own, well, she’ll have to be everything she needs. Cinder doesn’t know where that will take her but right now, she wants to stay with Rhodes.

“Yes,” Cinder tells him, squeezing his hand back.

“Thank you,” Rhodes smiles and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. Being thanked and stuff, especially over feelings. He looks back over to the car and huffs, “Fine, we’ll get in.”

Rhodes goes in first, still holding Cinder’s hand and worryingly looks between Cinder and the door closed behind her. Cinder kind of appreciates not being in the middle seat. Feeling trapped in a fancy enclosed position is too soon for her anxiety.

Still though, Cinder peeks behind Rhodes’ bulk to see the lady. The car starts up and when they’re passing under streetlights, Cinder sees white long hair of a woman only seen on TV.

“I never imagined this is what your emergency was about.”

“Well, I didn’t need to tell you Willow,” Rhodes said plainly.

Willow Schnee rolls her eyes and accidentally makes eye contact with Cinder. She presses her lips in a thin line, neither mean or annoyed, simply processing. Eventually she sighs and looks away, “You two need a place for the night. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay Rhodes and…”

The empty silence has Willow awkwardly glance back to her. Cinder has never seen an elegant lady look awkward before, it’s kind of odd.

“Cinder,” she fills in.

“Cinder,” Willow repeats. “Alright, well,” she sighs again, faces the front, “we’ll be at home soon enough.”

At that word, home , Cinder tenses and relaxes. Any place is better than the hotel. She leans into Rhodes’ side and closes her eyes.

Thanks for reading!

#rwby fic #rwby spoilers #rwby #cinder fall #rwby au

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tasteful-robot-loving · 5 years ago

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a tfa shockbee commission for @whirly-says-be-gay-do-crime!

ao3 link

Longarm has never been on a date before. A good thing because Shockwave has never been on one either. It would be an embarrassing fact for him if it were not encased in dedication and duty to the Decepticon cause.

As it is, though, inexperience makes him nervous. It is an emotion he’s familiar with, but only on the barest of levels.

“So, where’re we going, Longy?” Bumblebee asks, looking up at him with his signature grin in place. But it looks wobbly and that is enough to calm Shockwave just a bit. Bumblebee is nervous too and that is somehow reassuring.

“I thought we’d go get some energon,” Shockwave says carefully, watching Bumblebee’s face for his reaction. “There’s a diner a few blocks away from a transport station downtown. I thought we could take a shuttle there.”

Bumblebee simply nods, expression turning somewhat contemplative, “Should I go back to the barracks and get my credit chip?”

“No,” Shockwave says immediately. “I’ll pay. I have more than enough saved.”

And that was technically true, on some level. Longarm certainly didn’t have savings tucked away, stuck on a recruit’s meager pension—barely enough to buy himself energon some days—but Shockwave did. And he was more than willing to use it for his own personal pursuits, even if he couldn’t transfer any shanix to Longarm’s accounts without suspicion.

“Are you sure?” Bumblebee asks, suddenly looking conflicted. Shockwave, with all he’s grown to understand Bumblebee, knows it’s the guilt of accepting someone paying for him. He even did the same with Bulkhead.

“Of course,” Shockwave says. He doesn’t bother to hide his affection and lets his optics soften. Bumblebee’s own frame seems to soften as well at the reassurance.

“If you say so,” he says. “The shuttles don’t run past ten hundred for recruits, right? Bulkhead mentioned it once but I don’t remember.”

Shockwave nods, turning to look at the shuttle schedule projected on the station wall. It’s only a little bit for show. Shockwave has forgotten exact times in the unfamiliar anxiety that seems to wrap itself around his spark.

“The shuttle should be here soon. Do you want to sit?” Shockwave gestures toward the bench that they’ve both avoided.

Bumblebee nods. He practically sprawls himself across the bench. Had it been anyone else, Shockwave might have found it annoying, but Bumblebee somehow makes the action endearing. Still, Shockwave nudges him, “Scoot over, please.”

Bumblebee grins—a little less nervous—at him but pulls his legs in nonetheless, “You really are this polite all the time, huh?” he asks.

“Is there a problem with that?” Shockwave raises an optical ridge as he sits down beside him. He does not betray the sudden shot of worry that shoots through him.

“Nah.” Bumblebee looks away and worries his lip, pulling his legs to his chest. “It’s cute.”

The latter is spoken quietly, but Shockwave’s audials, enhanced for Spec Ops, pick up the words easily. It’s flattering almost, making the part of Shockwave that harbors affection for Bumblebee warm.

“Do you mind if I stretch out?” Bumblebee asks after a moment. There’s barely a moment before he retracts his statement, though, speaking faster than Shockwave had ever thought him capable—and Shockwave had thought him capable of speed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Just forget it.”

Bumblebee is already scrambling to pull himself even further away even as Shockwave tries to figure out what to say.

“It’s fine,” Shockwave blurts, reaching for Bumblebee before stopping himself. He forces himself back into a neutral position, watching Bumblebee with bright optics.

Bumblebee pauses, locking optics with Shockwave’s. There’s a moment where they’re both silent, before a shuttle pulls to a halt in front of the transport station.

“Our shuttle’s here,” Shockwave says awkwardly, drawing his gaze away.

Out of the corner of his optics, he can see Bumblebee nod. Shockwave stands and the shuttle’s doors open. It’s empty inside, something that is somehow both relieving and terrifying.

Shockwave fears that he’s already ruined his chances with Bumblebee. The awkwardness between them is almost palpable, even as they sit down and the shuttle takes off. The ride is equally grueling and silent. Shockwave does not know what to say.

Thankfully, Bumblebee can’t seem to stay quiet. It is something that Shockwave adores about him. “I, uh, sorry. For the shuttle station,” he says.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Bumblebee,” Shockwave says, trying to take his voice into the low tones of reassurance. Bulkhead would have been much better at calming him than Shockwave—than Longarm—but he’s not here now and Shockwave must try his best.

“I made it awkward,” Bumblebee says, averting his optics and deflating a bit, voice not quite dripping in self-flagellation.

“I’ve heard that all first dates are awkward. It’s nothing to worry about,” Shockwave says again. He cracks a smile that he hopes will reassure Bumblebee as the little mech looks back at him.

Bumblebee hesitates, but slowly smiles back. Shockwave’s smile turns genuine as it can be. It’s comforting to know that this has not been ruined yet.

“So, you going to reveal any more of your plans, Longy?” Bumblebee says. His voice isn’t quite light, but it’s not as strained as before. He sounds much closer to Shockwave’s friend rather than an awkward first date.

Good, Shockwave doesn’t want Bumblebee to be anything but himself.

Shockwave resolutely shakes his helm, “You’ll see when we get there, Bumblebee. But I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“How do you know?” Bumblebee shoots a bit more easily, a bit more petulantly.

“You trust your dear friend Longarm, don’t you?” Shockwave asks. It’s uncharacteristically teasing, but Bumblebee only seems to bring out all of the playful parts of him. “I’d never lead you astray.”

Bumblebee’s expression scrunches in false consideration before he nods, “Alright, I trust you.” The shuttle slows and comes to a stop. “But only because I won’t have to wait.”

Shockwave laughs lightly as Bumblebee shoots from his seat and out of the shuttle.

“C’mon, Longarm,” Bumblebee calls back, looking over his shoulder. “You’re being slow.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Shockwave reminds, amused.

It causes Bumblebee to skid to a stop, turning to face him. “Then come on,” he demands again. He’s truly energetic now, as if their earlier fumbles had no affect on him at all. Shockwave admires his resilience.

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Shockwave says. It borders too much the thin line between personas. Shockwave would never say something so blasé but Longarm would never use quite the turn of phrase.

Bumblebee’s shoulders fall and his gaze turns downward. “That’s not a bad thing, right?”

“No. It’s very… you,” Shockwave says, meaning it. “It’s a part of what makes you so alluring.”

Bumblebee’s cheeks light up pink at the phrasing and a sense of victory pulses in Shockwave’s spark. Bumblebee was cute when he wasn’t being a little slagger, but Shockwave liked both sides of him.

Shockwave steps past him and Bumblebee catches his servo. When Shockwave looks down at him, Bumblebee is looking away from him, but his cheeks are still bright pink.

“Is this okay?” Bumblebee asks quietly.

Shockwave can practically feel his own frame melt, “Of course. Now, come on. We’re almost there.”

The walk to the diner fills with Bumblebee’s chatter once more. He never seems to be restrained by embarrassment or awkwardness. His whole demeanor seems to fight against it. Shockwave wonders if it’s him trying to combat it or if he is naturally like that, but he does not get to consider it for long. The diner, aptly named Crossflight’s Diner, comes into view.

“Is that it?” Bumblebee asks as it does.

“Yes,” Shockwave confirms. “They have a large selection of energon and I never got to know your preferences.”

“Anything’s better than boot camp rations,” Bumblebee says, making a face at the thought. Shockwave could agree. The boot camp’s energon dispensers somehow made already bland energon taste worse.

“Agreed,” Shockwave says, letting Bumblebee slip through the door before him. “Will you pick a booth?”

Bumblebee takes the request in stride, grabbing a snug and cozy booth that sits right next to a window. It gives them a view of the street, shining with lights as the dark cycle becomes more pronounced.

“This will work, right?” Bumblebee asks.

Shockwave nods, “Yes. The streets get quite lovely at this time of the cycle. There are less bots obscuring the lights.”

Bumblebee looks out, optics shooting around so fast Shockwave would think he’d get a helmache were he not Bumblebee. “It is pretty. But it seems empty,” he says.

“That’s true,” Shockwave admits.

He picks up the menu on the table. “Do you want to look at the menu or do you have something in mind already?”

“Do they have anything sweet?” Bumblebee asks as he looks back at him.

Shockwave nods. He says, “They have a cobalt and copper mix. I hear it’s rather sweet.”

Bumblebee looks practically enthused as he nods, “Get me that then. I love that stuff.”

“I’ve never tried it,” Shockwave admits as he makes his own selection.

“You can try some of mine,” Bumblebee tells him.

The idea itself is sweet but it makes heat rush to Shockwave’s—to Longarm’s cheeks. He wonders if he’s as pink as he feels.

A serving drone wanders over, placing a tray in front of them both before wheeling away. “What kind did you get?” Bumblebee asks curiously.

Shockwave takes the silver speckled energon into his servo. “It’s zinc,” he informs dutifully, taking a sip of it.

Bumblebee takes a sip of his own energon, humming at the sweet taste. “Mind if I give it a try?”

Shockwave passes the cube off to him and watches him take a delicate sip. His expression scrunches, “How do you drink this stuff?” he complains. “It’s sour.”

“And I imagine yours is overwhelmingly sweet,” Shockwave says. He takes a sip of Bumblebee’s discarded cube just to make a point and finds himself right. It practically makes his denta hurt.

Bumblebee huffs, lightly shoving Shockwave’s cube toward him and stealing his own from Shockwave’s servo.

“Any other plans, Longy?”

“I was going to take you dancing,” Shockwave admits. “But most of the clubs don’t allow recruits inside. Highgrade regulations.”

“It’s fine. We can always dance some other time,” Bumblebee says. “There are no rules against ballroom dancing in the barracks, even if Wasp and Ironhide might make fun of us for it.”

“That’s true,” Shockwave concedes, smiling once more. Bumblebee always seemed to be able to make him smile. “I’m not much good at dancing, though.”

“I can teach you. I’m good at all sorts of dancing.” Bumblebee reaches across the table to take Shockwave’s servo in his own. His optics are soft and hold something Shockwave can’t name.

It makes Shockwave want to kiss him again.

“You going to kiss me or not, hot shot?” Bumblebee asks, a teasing echo of the statement that preceded their first kiss.

“Perhaps not in public,” Shockwave says a bit breathlessly, toeing the thin line between himself and someone else once more.

Bumblebee looks smug, like that’s exactly the answer he was expecting. It reminds Shockwave that Bumblebee, for all his awkwardness, is full of bravado and he knows how to use it.

Half a joor passes before they’re stumbling out of the diner, Bumblebee laughing at his own joke. Shockwave can’t help but be caught up in the same breathless euphoria.

“Kiss me now?” Bumblebee requests, optics crinkling at the edges.

“We’re still in public,” Shockwave reminds.

Still, Bumblebee tugs him down. Shockwave meets him in a sloppy yet chaste kiss.

After a moment, Shockwave pulls away, “Ready to go back?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Bumblebee responds.

The way back to the shuttle of a blur and the ride itself is quiet. Bumblebee’s chatter falls away within breems and Shockwave feels a weight on his shoulder moments later. Looking down at Bumblebee, he’s met with the littler mech in peaceful recharge.

It’s cute and gorgeous and enamoring.

Shockwave wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer and holding him, bathing in the perfection of the moment.

#transformers #tfa #shockwave #bumblebee #shockbee #maccadam #commission fic

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monsterdoodles · 5 years ago

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Thoughts on Steven Universe Future 3-13-2020

Together Forever: This episode was a lot less about Steven and Connie, and more about just Steven than expected.

Connie has some plans for college, but we don’t quite get to know what her career goals are exactly. She’s planning on getting into politics, but I’m not sure at what level or what branch. Not that that matters to the episode too much or anything. The University of Jayhawk is all the across the country from Delmarva. This is a distance that Steven cannot emotionally handle right now. Upon this realization, he sinks down into his bed, part of his “floating” powers.

It is good to see that he and Connie keep in touch at least over video calls. On a slightly more concerning note, Steven has memorized Connie’s schedule down to the minute.

Garnet says at the end of the episode, that there was no future in which Steven wouldn’t propose to Connie. I’m guessing had he talked to Garnet instead, he would have proposed to her out of spite or in an effort to prove Garnet wrong.

Instead of Garnet, we do get Ruby and Sapphire this episode. Steven doesn’t seem too surprised by their appearance in this episode, so I imagine that they have been teaching these classes for a while. Ruby is doing some kind of nature scout class, did she make those badges herself, or are they part of a nationally recognized scout organization? Either way she’s teaching some gems and Onion about the beauty of nature. Steven tells her about how Connie seems to really have her life together and knows what she is doing.

I can see a parallel here with Ruby and Sapphire, and Steven and Connie. In this particular case, Steven is Ruby. He doesn’t have the foresight that Connie does right now. He, in a way, lacks future vision.

Ruby, either lacking the knowledge of what might be socially acceptable or being too excited about prospect of Steven expressing his love, tells Steven that he should propose to her. Ruby’s logic here is that it worked for her. She ignores the fact that she and Sapphire had been together for over 5000 years and that they are adults.

Steven visits Sapphire as well, she is teaching a class on alternate timelines. I wonder what that entails exactly. I suppose that they do all of those equations that she explained to Steven, but with the understanding that the future still isn’t as predictable as one might think. She also encourages Steven to propose to Connie despite the fact that she is aware of the sociological implications of this, but she’s a hopeless romantic about it anyways.

Steven declare to the gems, that this will be his last day as Steven Cutie-Pie Demayo Diamond Quartz Universe. Interesting that that interaction with Garnet from almost 4 years ago left that impression on him. That is the same day that he learned about future vision, so I suppose that just stuck in his mind. Also, was he planning to take Connie’s last name or add Maheswaran to his plethora of middle names (that he thinks belongs on official documents for some reason).

He makes his plan. He gets jam, glow sticks and cake. On top of the world, he dresses his best and asks her out from outside her window. He says they’ll be back in 15 minutes (this reminds of an episode of How I Met Your Mother, but the season and name escape me).

At the beach, in the same place they first met, Steven has a picnic set up. Had this just be a romantic gesture or a proposal to date, not marriage, things probably would have gone a lot better for him. Connie responds well to all this. She has been shown to have romantic feelings for Steven in the past, she attempted to kiss him in An Indirect Kiss and she successfully kissed him on the cheek in the movie. Steven sings his song with the sentiment of “I want to be me with you”. The lyrics of which, like many love songs in my opinion, have a codependent quality to them. Steven doesn’t know his future, so he wants someone else to be his future, to be someone else.

Connie, very sensibly, says no. They are young, have never discussed this, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t even an item. She also tells him, “It’s a not now” because there is plenty of time. Steven is in his unending quest for stability, and he still hasn’t found it. Throughout this conversation Connie and Steven occupy opposite spaces on screen. They are in different places in their lives right now, sure and unsure, stable and unstable.

I think if Steven were around more teens his age, he might not be feeling this way, so much at least. He would realize how many people don’t have their lives figured out at this age. Many people his age just want to graduate high school. He really needs to talk to Greg about this. Greg wanted to be a musician, but he was also a community college drop out. He didn’t have everything figured out. (I’m pretty sure this will be part of next week’s episodes in some way)

Connie is willing to stick around when her alarm goes off. Steven tells her to go, probably because he doesn’t want to burden her and because he won’t be holding it together for long. As soon as she leaves, he lies back and creates a crater. The shockwaves ruining the picnic. He lies there until dark.

When he gets up, Garnet is there. She explains to him the inevitability of this situation. She tells him that the hole he is trying to fill won’t be filled by Connie or Stevonnie. Connie is not his “missing piece”. In this scene, Garnet is towering and Steven feels almost as small as his younger self. I think this accentuates how young and foolish Steven was this episode. He holds a frustrated look during this conversation. He says he blames Garnet for making this all look so easy. Reminds me of Cry for Help/Friendship. Pearl had felt the same way about Ruby and Sapphire/Garnet. Steven and Pearl craved that perceived perfection.

Steven then eats his feelings.

Growing Pains: I was wrong in my prediction that Steven would either be stuck in pink mode or have a human ailment.

The episode opens with a scene from the newest instalment of dogcopter. In the movie, Dogcopter proposes to a dog named Drew. Steven laments the fact that “everyone else is getting married”. He continues to eat his feelings like at the ending of last episode, and then his body starts getting out of control. He keeps growing sporadically. He mostly ignores it because it doesn’t hurt him physically.

He wants to reach out to someone who isn’t Connie right now. He can’t reach the gems, so he calls Greg, who is on tour with Sadie and Shep right now. Greg is having a great time, and Steven won’t rain on that parade, even when Greg offers to call him back. He almost wants to call Connie, but she calls him instead. His shapeshifting forces him to answer her call.

He can no longer hide what’s going on with him, since it is manifesting physically. Connie suggests that he should see a doctor. He doesn’t want to bother anyone even when he is physically unwell. He even describes it as a waste of time. Connie persuades him.

Steven pays Doctor Maheswaran a visit, Connie escorts him in. As soon as Connie leaves the room for them to conduct tests, she calls Greg.

This episode really explores how both human and gem Steven really is. He has a human body and it is effected like a human body is. But he is also a gem, it makes his body react unusually and if he’s fractured skeleton is any indication, it is keeping him alive.

Dr. Maheswaran finds out about Steven’s physical traumas through his x-ray. She asks him if he had any particularly traumatic experiences. Steven basically recalls the entire show. Dr. Maheswaran goes on to describe the physical aspects of trauma and the way the body reacts in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen in any piece of fictional media. Steven’s body is trying to protect him from danger that isn’t there anymore. Minor stress to him is now the equivalent to major stress. To make things worse, he feels as though his support system is gone.

When he thinks back to the proposal, things go haywire. As his body continues to grow in size, he takes up more and more of the room. He is almost too big to fit. There is nowhere left for him to hide. He yells “I can’t be around you right now” much in the way he yelled “I just want to fix it” back in Volleyball. His yell shatters the windows.

Greg finally arrives, revealing that Connie had called him. Connie still very much cares about Steven. He explains to Greg that everything feels like the end of the world to him now.

Receiving understanding and support from Greg is what gets Steven to go back to his normal size. At home he continues to explain his fears and worries. All of which, as Greg explains, are normal. Steven now knows what his problem is, or at least one aspect of it, but I don’t think his problems are solved just yet. From the way he “swells up” in response to stress in this episode, I think something big is about to happen in the show. Something so big, that for his body to protect him from it, he will grow into the giant monster from the opening theme song.

Predictions for next week:

Discussion of leaks ahead

Mr. Universe: Still no episode description for this one, but I imagine this is where Steven crashes the van. Steven is still not in a great place right now, and while he seems more willing to talk about things, his body is still reacting in a way that is unsafe for him and others. I believe that this will lead to the van crashing. As others have pointed out, this episode may involve Pearl because she played a big part in the episode Mr. Greg. I still somehow think this episode will be the story of how Rose decided to have Steven, if not it will be about how Greg made the decision to drop out of college and take on the rockstar persona Mr. Universe.

Fragments: This is where that first leak came from, the “leave me alone I need space one”. I’m still not 100% sure what “fragments” is in reference to. Others I have discussed with have suggested memories. I am not entirely sure the direction of this.

#steven universe #steven universe future #su spoilers #suf spoilers #su leaks #suf leaks #long post #j posts about stuff #c #corrupted steven theory #Did tumblr like just eat this post or something #what's going on???

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nuttyrabbit · 6 years ago

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Forge the Coelacanth Bio

So a couple of days ago,an anon sent me an ask telling me to talk about my OC Forge. Seeing as how I’ve never formally introduced him on here, I thought I’d instead just post a ref an a brief description of him. Instead, that turned into writing him a full on fucking bio.

So once again, before diving into the bio proper, I should give a major shout out to @pidgeonspen for not only designing Forge, but also helping to beta read and edit his bio.

With that out of the way, let’s get into the bio proper. Like always, everything is under the cut

Name: Forge the Coelacanth

Age: 1000+

Height: 6'0

Occupation: (Former) Commander of the Atlantean Knights

Personality: Contrary to what his imposing size, booming voice, and various scars may imply, Forge is an incredibly affable and endearing individual. His commitment to those he is sworn to protect goes beyond the purview of his duties, going so far as to try to befriend or at least get to know most of the people within Atlantis, especially those he fights alongside. Because of his extended lifespan, Forge has formed friendships that transcended generations, from the first of a line to the last. As a result, many considered him just as much a part of their family as those related by blood.

Forge is also an incredibly jovial person, often indulging in revelry with others following a successful mission or other joyous occasion. In these instances, his love for telling stories, singing classic Atlantean songs, and of course, his boisterous laughter all make themselves readily apparent. His jovial nature also shows itself around children. Forge absolutely adores children, having raised many himself over his long, long life and even having adopted some who had become orphaned. But above all else, Forge has an unwaveringly strong devotion to both Atlantis and what he believes to be “justice”, even two centuries after its fall. As a result, he has no tolerance for anything he either perceives or is told is “evil” or a threat to Atlantis and resorting to any means he deems necessary to get rid of it. On that note, Forge's morality is rather black and white, firmly believing in notions of objective "good" and "evil", leaving little to no room for any sort of nuance or moral "gray" area.

All of these traits have in some way or another contributed to him becoming a sort of "living legend" amongst his people, treated with immense respect and in some cases, even reverence.

While Forge appreciated and even sometimes used his status as a living legend to inspire his people both on and off the battlefield, he disliked the idea of being out and out worshipped and even discouraged the few that partook in it from doing so. At one point, Forge was rather religious. He often prayed to Atlantis' patron "god" of Levias for a variety of reasons, ranging from victory in battle to the continued propserity and safety of Atlantis. But as Atlantis fell to nothing, so too did his faith, feeling that he was no longer worthy of his god’s protection for one reason or another

Skills: One of the things that gave Forge his status as a living legend amongst his people was his nearly unmatched skill in combat. In particular, he is extremely skilled and adept in the realm of lightning magic, channeling it through both his armor and his sword to devastating effect. His most frequent application of this magic is simply shooting lightning from his sword, but he can also cover his entire body in lightning as a makeshift barrier, create massive shockwaves by slamming his charged sword into the ground, use it to supercharge his limbs, giving him a significant boost in strength, and even call down bolts of lightning. Even without his magic, he is still devastatingly adept with his sword. The sword itself is a massive greatsword, forged by Forge himself from pure Atlantean steel and named "Tempest". The sword is also magical in nature, being attuned to Forge specifically.Despite having centuries of formal training,his style actually forgoes finesse and formal technique in favor of a surprisingly loose style, revolving around using a combination of swinging Tempest around, using his lightning magic, and his own raw power to simply overwhelm foes. As stated before, Forge is able to use his status as a living legend to inspire his allies, especially on the battlefield.

Hobbies: Forge is someone who has rarely, if ever had the time to truly pursue any hobbies between his duties as an Atlantean Knight, his duties as a father and husband to the families he has helped to raise over his extensive lifespan, and other miscellanous matters. On the rare occasion he had a usable amount of free time, he usually either spent it honing his abilities through training. However, that changed once he decided to not start another new family after the 2nd one he had formed ultimately ran its course. With all this newfound free time, Forge had to find something to do, and indeed he did. He rediscovered a field he had very briefly considered pursuing a long, long time ago: blacksmithing, using it not only to craft novelty items, but also repair and improve both his equipment and that of his fighting companions.

Likes: Atlantis (Obviously), children, Octopus/squid (His favorite food. Don't worry, they're just normal animals, not mobians), storytelling, mead, combat/battle, blacksmithing, singing.

Dislikes: What he perceives as "evil" and general injustice, being the object of worship/reverence, bureaucracy (Politics just goes over his head), his near-immortality, bitter foods.

Backstory: Forge was born into the world as Atlantis, which was but a a small, simple city at the time started its expansion into the empire it would come to be mythologized as. As such, Forge grew up hearing about the glorious conquests of the Atlantean armies, the brilliant innovations of Atlantean scientists, and how the people of Atlantis were the noblest, smartest, and strongest people of the Seven Seas. But above all else, Forge heard and witnessed countless tales regarding the Knights of Atlantis (Or more simply known as the Atlantean Knights); an elite group of soldiers and guardians who were said to represent the very best of Atlantis, men of unmatched valor and heroism whose explots inspired some of Atlantis' finest artistry. The young coelacanth could not help but be enraptured by these tales, by these men who seemed to be larger than life, who represented everything noble and good about Atlantis, who were equal parts loved and revered.

As he grew up, Forge's fascination with the Atlantean Knights continued to grow larger and larger, as did his nationalistic attitude about Atlantis and all it stood for. On the cusp of adulthood, Forge knew that he wanted to serve his country someway, somehow, but he wasn't sure as to how until it hit him. Instead of merely fawning over the Atlantean Knights like everyone else did, he could *become* one, be the shining knight that all others aspired to be. Even though he knew it would require a nearly Herculean amount of time, effort, and perhaps even blood to do so, if it served Atlantis well, it would all be worth it.

And so, Forge enlisted in the Atlantean army. It was there he would earn his trademark armor, his legendary blade and mastery of magic. With these in hand, Forge would come to aid Atlantis in many of her conquests, quickly climbing the ranks and gaining the attention of his superiors due to a combination of his combat aptitude, valor in battle, and unmatched dedication to Atlantis' cause. Before he knew it, several decades had passed and before he knew it, Forge would finally take his place amongst the Atlantean Knights, fulfilling his near-lifelong ambition, and even starting a family along the way. But something else had shown itself. Despite his many battle scars and literal decades given to Atlantis' conquests, Forge himself looked as if he had barely aged at all.

Forge continued to serve Atlantis, taking part in her many conquests, leading her crusades - all the while continuing to raise his family. Decades came and went, his love eventually passing on to the next world, their children growing older and older... and for Forge, time had seemed to stop. He outlived them all, never seeming to age further. No matter what he did, whether it be forming yet another family, leading endless crusades against Atlantis' enemies, or throwing himself fully into his duties and working tirelessly to uphold his personal sense of justice and righteousness, he could not escape one simple fact: he would come to outlive everyone he would ever know and loved. He would be forced to watch everyone he cared about wither and die, and no matter how much he tried not to, he would come to feel immense pain at every loss he suffered. Forge tried to keep himself busy; starting yet another family, leading crusade after crusade against the enemies of Atlantis, burying himself into his work- but little of it helped to distract him from the truth: he would come to outlive them all. As time went on, he would bury everyone he came to know and care for, and it never did get easier. When the last of his children from his second marriage passed on, Forge solemnly decided that bloodline would be his last, instead focusing on his duties as Grand Commander of the Atlantean Knights. He defended his homeland against all her enemies, both real and imagined, his loyalty to those in power absolute and unwavering.

Forge was so convinced that this was what he was meant to be - a paladin of his people, carrying out Atlantis' will and standing as a testament to her greatness. He would gladly give his life and soul to protect his home from the perceived evils that dared threaten her... but he as unable to see that the greatest enemy to Atlantis came from within. The rulers of the great city, the aristocrats and the councilmen, nobles and advisors -- all of them polluting the seemingly unfaltering city with their greed and corruption. Forge was so eager to please, to abide by his superiors and do whatever it took to keep his city safe, that he didn't see any of it for what it was. He never questioned the crusades he was told to lead, the atrocities committed during those wars, the supposed heresy he was called to put an end to - he did it all for his homeland, for his people. He had to, in his mind, lest Atlantis fall for a moments hesitation.

But no matter how hard Forge fought to smite the "evils" plaguing Atlantis, he ultimately could not stave off the inevitable. Centuries of greed, corruption, and in-fighting came to a head and the once seemingly invincible empire of Atlantis tore itself asunder from the inside out. Soon, despite Forge's best efforts, the once great empire of Atlantis that had stood triumphantly and unfaltering for centuries, her capital city a shining beacon of greatness and prosperity, was reduced to naught but ash. Her once vast empire, which stretched for endless miles, was shattered, with her territories either abandoned or fought over by the very people they had once conquered. And her people, once innumerable, were reduced to none but a select few surviors, amongst which was Forge. Soon enough, they too would perish, leaving Forge as the sole survivor of his people, the last relic of a once glorious civilization.

Forge's worst fears had come to pass. Not only did he outlive all those he cared about, but he even outlived the very thing he had loved so dearly, the empire he had spent centuries helping to build and defend. The streets he had spent his life patrolling, the houses he had raised his families in, the taverns in which he celebrated his greatest victories, the graveyards where he mourned his worst losses, they were all gone, which nothing but ash and rubble in their place. There was nothing left for him there, but he couldn't just abandon all he had fought for for so long, could he? No, he decided, he could not. He had sworn an oath so very long ago that he would defend Atlantis to his last dying breath from all that may harm her, and even though there was nobody left to defend, nothing left to protect, he could never break that oath.

And there he stayed, guarding the ashes of what little remained; an unmoving, unwavering sentinel with nothing left to protect. As he partook in his seemingly fruitless patrols, his mind couldn't help but wander, and it always end up at the same place asking the same question: Why? Why did Atlantis fall? What had destroyed it? And the answers to those questions would always pin the blame on one person and one person only: himself. Forge had failed Atlantis somehow. Maybe he hadn't fought hard enough. Maybe he wasn't vigilant enough and let an "evil" in that had destroyed her people. Maybe he wasn't able to unite the people in a time of crisis and be the leader that they had needed. No matter what it was, the blame would always shift inwards. But he wouldn't fail them now, he couldn't. He may not have been able to save his people, but he can at least try to save what's left. If there was anything to be gained from this curse of his, it was that he could stand vigilant forever, and that the legacy and spirit of his people would never truly be lost.

For over a century, the coelacanth continued to stand vigil at the tomb of an empire, bound there by his unwavering sense of justice and his oath. Things would change over time, for a threat unlike any other would come to this hallowed ground: creatures of pure darkness and reek of fetid evil began to manifest, drawn to the very ruins Forge swore to protect with his life. And protect the remains of Atlantis he did - but no matter how many of the foul creatures he smote, more would spawn as night fell. The horde was unending, and Forge eventually realized to put an end to this evil, he would have to destroy it at its source, whatever and wherever it may be... and that meant he'd have to leave Atlantis to find it. Even if it meant temporarily leaving the ruins at the mercy of these monsters, he knew he could not idly stand by while such vile creatures existed, seemingly intent on destruction. It was time to take action and to put a stop to these monsters for good.

And so, in his search for answers, he emerged from the depths to a land none of his kind had dared to venture: the surface world. A world so vastly different from everything he's ever known, where the black & white ethicality he'd so strictly followed would be challenged, a land where he would be confronted with an evil far beyond anything he had ever encountered... and where he would ultimately come to face the truth about what really caused the fall of Atlantis.

#Sonic OC #Forge the Coelacanth #Sonic FC #Sonic #Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic Fan Character #Archie Sonic #OC Stuff #I've been sitting on this character for the better part of a year now #It was about time really #OC Bios and Refs #OC Bios and References

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 6 years ago

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Invincible [Chapter 10] Unbreakable [Katsuki Bakugou]

Am I ready for this? I ask this question to myself over and over. The answer is no. I am not prepared to fight, not with so little experience. Only pro heroes are permitted to fight villains; novice heroes like myself will only complicate matters. Even now, my stomach rolls like a tide. I take a step back, determined to flee, but a strong grip has my wrist.

My eyes snap over to Katsuki. He seems unafraid, almost as if he’s ready to fight. I can’t understand his motivation. How does he control his fear? I want to turn and run. This is almost ironic to me, seeing him bury it. Not so long ago, he had been nearly killed by a villain. Yet now, he isn’t afraid. No, maybe he is. Maybe he sees them differently. I remember feeling afraid during the sludge man incident, but the thought of losing Katsuki made me act. I let go of my fear, and fought to save him. He’d do the same for me, wouldn’t he? I believe so, and with this resolve, I imagine his life depends on my ability to act. I clutch my hands tightly into fists, and stand my ground.

Imagine life without him. I can do this. I realize Katsuki’s motivation probably comes from his determination to win. Just because there are many of them, doesn’t mean we can’t win. Aizawa seems to believe this as well, slipping a pair of yellow goggles over his eyes. He orders Thirteen to begin evacuating us, claiming that a villain is using their quirk to jam the sensors to the building. He’s ready to fight, despite Izuku’s observation of him. Eraser Head is truly a professional.

I watch in awe as Aizawa leaps from the stairs into the central plaza. He cancels out the quirks of two ranged villains, and uses his scarf to capture them, striking the two against one another and successfully knocking them out. He’s amazing, and I wish to see more, but Thirteen motions for us to follow them. I move in front of Katsuki, heading toward the entrance doors. But, a villain made entirely out of mist appears in front of us, blocking our escape.

“Greetings,” he says politely. “We are the League of Villains. Forgive our audacity, but today, we’ve come here to U.A. High School – this bastion of heroism to end the life of All Might, the Symbol of Peace.”

Anger pulses through me. No way can they beat All Might. What kind of villains would be dumb enough to believe this? They don’t seem to be very smart, breaking into a school of heroes. All Might isn’t even here. Obviously they didn’t watch the news this morning.

The mist man wavers, stating to himself that his role remains unchanged. I realize he means to kill us. I gasp and step back, but a hand grabs my shoulder. Katsuki bolts forward, nearly knocking me off my feet – Eijirou stands with him. They attack the villain with both their quirks, but the mist man reappears unscathed. His body quickly eclipses Katsuki and Eijirou, then circles the group. It completely surrounds me; darkness is all I can see. I shout out for the blond, but my breath catches in my throat. My body feels like it’s being squeezed through a small tube, but it’s over within minutes.

The air around me becomes cloudy and bitter. I can feel the rain as it beats down onto my slender body. An urban environment appears below me. Tall buildings reach up to a domed ceiling as strong, cutting winds spiral out of control. I realize I am falling from the sky, and quickly. I need to stop myself somehow. A million thoughts pour into my head at once, but I focus on the few I know might save me; the first is to use my quirk at the opportune time to send a condensed blast at the ground. It should slow down my speed, but the landing will still be rough. I have a second thought; to surround myself with water, like a bubble. However, I fear at this speed the water will only weigh me down. I’ll smack the street like a ton of bricks.

I decide on the first idea. I need to build up the water, however. It’s fortunate that I am in the downpour zone. The element is all around me. I push my hands close together, manipulating the water into a sphere while making it more compact. I focus on making the sphere tighter; the water spins like a miniature whirlpool inside the space. The ground becomes closer and closer, until I am nearly there. When I am in range, 2 meters exactly, I launch the orb.

It hits the pavement at full force, breaking the asphalt as it does. The shockwave of the blast sends me flipping over the strike zone and onto the concrete. My breath leaves me. I gasp for air, lying on my back as the wind and heavy water hits me in the face. It sort of stings, but at least I’m not dead. I try to arrange my thoughts as I catch my breath.

I am in another zone, obviously. That means the others are alive as well. The mist man must have separated us for some reason – I imagine to keep us from escaping. But why? Do they only want to kill All Might? The rest of us must be bait.

As I lie there, a sudden noise catches my attention. I turn my eyes toward it, just in time to see a cluster of shadows emerge from the alley between two enormous buildings. I pull myself up and onto my feet as they surround me.

“Looks like we found one,” a being with Venus flytrap-like extensions says. A shell envelops it’s head and upper body. So they’re all villains.

I realize they must have been waiting for someone to drop down. I am unfortunate to be that someone, but no matter, I know what I have to do. I activate my quirk; the water stops falling around me in a 2 meter circle. This is all I need. I don’t know how long it will take me to win, but I defiantly won’t lose to them.

“Come on then,” I urge them. “I don’t have all day.”

They attack me without question. The few using range go first. Their quirks reach me, but I easily dodge them and use the compact bullets to shoot them down. Walls keep me from being hit as I fend off attacks, but the few who have quirks that provide them with extra strength easily destroy them. I need distance to win, so I put as much between us as I can. However, a female with large ape-like arms slams the ground beside me, knocking me back. I roll away from her, and stand. I use my long range attacks to keep her back as I build the water in a sphere with my right hand. It won’t be too strong, but it should be enough to hurt her.

As she goes to slam the ground again. I jump back and aim for her arms. The sphere collides with her, knocking her back. It works as expected, but I am starting to feel light headed. I release my quirk, hoping to give myself a chance to catch my breath. The villains swarm me one by one, but I dodge their attacks the best I can. I need a second to regroup. A mock store catches my attention. I run for it, and once I am inside, I slam the door shut and lock it.

My body feels exhausted. The suit at least helps keep me warm and dry, but my head twinges like hell. I am afraid to touch my face. I know my nose is bleeding, but I don’t want to know how much. I just need to try and relax. I don’t have much longer to try, considering the villains are pounding at the door behind me. However, to my surprise, the banging stops. I lean my head against the door, hearing my name being called. It sounds like Fumikage, and when I open the door, I see Koji and he have taken out the remaining villains.

“Are you hurt?”

I imagine he means the blood. I wipe the remaining bit onto the sleeve of my costume, shaking my head in disagreement to his question. “I’m fine, but it could have been worse. Thank you both. There were too many of them for me to handle.”

“You did well, Usui. No matter though. We’re here to help,” Fumikage tells me.

I give him a gentle smile, and do the same for Koji. The shy male seems to be cold. I assume the powerful wind and rain is too much for him. I move into range and activate my quirk, shielding us. “It’s not much, but I hope it helps.” A twinge of pain shoots up into my head.

“Not a bad quirk to have in a place like this,” Fumikage mentions. “I believe I heard you tell Yaoyorozu it’s called Hydro-Telekinesis, am I right? The villain who separated us must not have known. If he had, I doubt he would have sent you here.”

“It’s true that I have an advantage, but I also have a time limit. My head begins to ache and my nose begins to bleed if I expend it,” I tell him. We’re a team as of now, so I don’t mind telling them about my quirk. I left out the actual time frame just in case.

Koji grabs my attention by shaking his hands. He gives me a thumbs up, so I take it as his sign to tell me that he is okay. He must be taking into consideration my limits. I stop using my quirk, and allow the water to fall around us. Weights feel like they lift from my shoulders, but the dizziness makes it hard for me to concentrate.

“Any idea how far the plaza is to here?”

Fumikage shakes his head. “No idea, but I can probably use my quirk to get onto higher ground and check. The exit can’t be far. We can regroup with the others, if they’re still there.”

I hope so. Honestly I doubt that I can make it. I feel terrible, but I know that the others may need us. Koji and I agree with this plan. I take a step forward, but something cracks against the concrete, filling the area with smoke. On instinct, I activate my quirk. It does no good to prevent the smoke from entering my lungs, so I begin to cough. I feel something take ahold of me, pulling my body from the haze.

Koji helps me stand. Fumikage is beside us; his quirk activated. A shadow-like beast is attached to his chest. I stare in awe, but the moment is short lived. Another crack tears at the pavement, but this time something emerges from it. A being with a warped and inhuman appearance wiggles up in front of us. I squeak in fear, but Fumikage uses his shadow beast to shove the being away before it can attack us. It uses it’s pointed head to dig back into the pavement, once again disappearing from sight.

“Be on guard. His quirk is a strange one,” Fumikage orders.

We stand close to one another. So far, the villains nearby are hiding. They obviously don’t posses a quirk strong enough to take us on, but the being that can dig through the ground can, I assume. I wonder if the smoke from earlier is a distraction? Maybe we can figure out when it will attack.

“Is your shadow beast fast enough to catch it?”

“More than enough,” Fumikage answers. “The smoke will tell us when he will attack, I assume. Before I couldn’t hear him digging because of the rain, but I can now.”

I don’t understand what he means. Koji taps my shoulder, pointing up. The field in which my quirk can be used is activated. There is no noise, so we should be able to hear.

“Keep it going, Usui. I’ll listen for him.”

I do as Fumikage asks, despite the pain. My body feels faint. But, at last, we hear him. A crack hits the pavement between us, and the villain using the long range pods fires another into our area. The three of us jump forward. I spin around just in time to see the shadow beast capture the being.

“Got it,” Fumikage announces.

It squirms like a worm in the beast’s grip, but it doesn’t escape. Fumikage can no longer help us, but I know Koji and I are enough to take on the others. Several villains pile out onto the street. There are few of them. I am thankful, because my quirk may not hold out. The water fluxes around me, spiraling like ribbons. I will put my all into this fight. This is my plus ultra.

The pros arrive in time to help us, but the villains are beat. Koji ties up the worm being, and hands it over to the authorities. I am happy. I hope to never see it again. We learn from it the true intention of the League of Villains. They had plans to kill All Might, but apparently not with numbers. The villains that we beat up had been nothing more than a distraction for us – the entire class of 1-A. The real threat had took on All Might, but as expected, the Symbol of Peace beat it. I had been told by Ochaco that Katsuki had seen it all. I doubt he’d tell me if I were to ask.

For the meantime, I am sitting in the back of a type 2 ambulance van, wearing an emergency blanket to keep warm. The staff puts cotton plugs up my nose to stop the bleeding, but they tell me I am fine. My body feels stiff, and I am a little embarrassed, but Koji and Fumikage give me a thumbs up to assure me that everything is okay. I am thankful to have them around. Both seem to be okay, except for the fact Koji is wearing a thermal blanket, like myself. They are ushered away by the lead detective, and I am told to wait until I feel better, so I do, watching as the police take the villains away into custody.

I am happy. The villains had been unsuccessful in their plans. I recall hearing Ochaco say that Izuku broke his legs defending All Might. Aizawa and he were the only two harmed, and although I don’t know my teacher’s condition, I know that Izuku will be okay. Our class held it’s own against the villains, and for once I am happy that I was able to help.

A smile pulls at my lips, but it’s short lived once I hear someone clear their throat. I glance over and see Katsuki. He sits beside me.

“You look like absolute shit,” he says.

I agree with a nod. “I feel like it too. I exerted my quirk a lot more than I should have, but we beat them, so that’s all that matters.”

“Don’t go thinking you can match up to my strength, dumbass. That bird bastard told me you were bleeding like a stuck pig from the moment he found you,” he snaps at me. His arm circles around my shoulders, bringing me closer to him. “Luck is all it was. If you had been warped to the zone I was in, there’s no way you’d be in the condition that you are now.”

I lean my head against his arm, fighting back a sob. He’s only trying to protect me. The blond acts so mean, but I know he cares. Our relationship is meaningless, but I am someone he generally cares for. At a time like this, I assume he just doesn’t want to be completely alone. I am the only person to stick by his side this long, so I don’t see him pushing me away because of the path we’ve taken. Honestly, playing girlfriend to Katsuki makes me happy. I truly like him, even if his feelings to me boarder on allies.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

Katsuki flinches. “The hell are you thanking me for?”

“You’ve always been a good friend to me. I value your opinion, even when you word it to make me feel bad. That’s why I’m thanking you,” I explain.

He doesn’t sugar coat the fact I am weaker than him. I can respect this. I can also enjoy the fact he acts like protecting me is a burden on him, even though he does it a lot. Since pre school he has watched out for me. If he hates it so much, he hides it so well. I wonder what this truly is?

“You’re a good boyfriend, Katsuki. I like being with you,” I tease him. My elbow nudges his side.

The blond pulls himself away from me and stands. He turns and faces me, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Now come on. If you feel well enough to joke, then you can walk your lazy ass to the bus.”

I scowl at him. What does he mean? I’m not lying to him. I do as he asks, but once I stand a wave of dizziness washes over me. I fall almost immediately. Thankfully, Katsuki catches me. I can barely see his reaction, but I imagine he’s confused.

“I don’t feel so good, Katsuki. Something is not right,” I pant, feeling short of breath.

He picks me up, pulling me close to his chest. My fingers bury into the fabric of his costume, as I allow my head to rest against him.

“Shut up and relax, woman. I’m going to find someone to help you,” he orders.

I smile, but whatever he says next is a blur. My ears fill with static, and despite the blanket warming me, my body goes cold. My world suddenly goes dark.

#katsuki bakugō #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #heroes and villains #oc #fumikage tokoyami #koji koda

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 6 years ago

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Their Hero Academia, Chapters 5-8

Presented raw and unedited. Edited versions will eventually be added to Ao3, where chapters 0-4 can be found here

Their Hero Academia – Chapter Five: Toshi Midoriya and the First Heroics Class

The next morning found Toshi rising early, as he usually did. It was a habit he’d picked up from his dad years ago. They’d go for a jog or another workout and then make it back home in time for breakfast. He always looked forward to it and intended to keep up his exercise program while he was at U.A. It was good for the mind and the body.

It was nearly seven by the time he returned to the dorms and most of the Class was already assembled in the common room, eating various combinations of breakfasts. They were still in the process of developing a chore wheel for the dorms, which would end up including some light cooking. Sitting at one of the tables with Asuka and Izumi, Shinso gave him a sleepy wave, then beckoned Haimawari over to join them. Good. That meant his efforts yesterday were being rewarded. Not that he’d have expected anything less of his friends.

He returned the wave and headed to the small kitchen, where Takiyo Aoyama was preparing complicated looking omelet with the help of Akaya Koda. He gave both of them a polite nod, while he searched the cupboard for his power bars. “Smells good, guys,” he told them.

“Of course it does,” Aoyama said. “I’m the one making it.”

The blonde boy’s illumination was barely noticeable, but definitely growing as he spent more time in the light of both the lamps and the sunlight filtering in through the windows. Toshi understood that he kept his room totally blacked out while he slept, so that some of the light he absorbed throughout the day could bleed off. By the end of the day, he’d be nearly too dazzling to look at, unless he burned off some of the power.

He also understood that, like his adopted father, Aoyama’s Quirk was not entirely under his control, requiring multiple support items to use the light he absorbed for much more than glowing brightly. Toshi couldn’t imagine what that was like. Sure, he’d accidentally launched himself into the air when he was surprised, but to have that much trouble with a part of yourself…

Koda gave him a gentle nudge. Despite her size (both the tallest and widest in the class), she was possessed of one of the gentlest demeanors of anyone Toshi had ever met. “Arrogance ill becomes anyone, Aoyama,” she told him. Her voice was especially incongruous with her build and size, soft, like the wind whispering through the grass. “Especially after I convinced these peppers to grow, that they might season our meals. Do not dishonor their sacrifice with your pride.”

The large girl had an… interesting perspective on things sometimes. But to each their own.

The point seemed to be made with Aoyama, though, even if he didn’t seem to completely buy the idea of dishonoring the peppers’ sacrifice. “As you say, Mademoiselle Koda,” he said, reluctantly. “I...appreciate your help in these culinary matters.”

Not exactly a thank you, not exactly an admission of fault. Of all the children of Class 1-A, Toshi knew Aoyama the least well. He hated to think badly of anyone, but he couldn’t exactly say he liked what he had seen. Maybe he’d grow out of it? Especially once they all really started working together? Toshi could only hope.

Koda held Aoyama’s gaze for a moment, then decided that was probably the best she was going to get. She helped him begin to plate the omelets. “Would you care for any, Midoriya?” she asked. There was clearly only enough for two, but he appreciated the gesture all the same, especially since Aoyama was making a rather unpleasant face behind her.

He shook his head, already biting off a piece of one of his power bars. “I’m good,” he said. “You two enjoy.”

Toshi walked out of the kitchen, taking in the rest of the room. The Iida twins were absent, probably at spending their pre-class hours in one of the workshops in the Support building. Sero was busy filming Sato with his phone, no doubt streaming his friend’s eating of a cactus for all the internet to see. Ojiro was pointing out something in a magazine to Shoji, who appeared to be doing his best to feign polite interest in whatever celebrity gossip the invisible girl was sharing and to Mineta, who was mostly drooling over the models on the cover. Chihiro absently munched on a breakfast sandwich, lost in whatever music she had streaming through her phone.

That only left Katsumi unaccounted for and she was likely still up in her room, getting in her morning workout. Where Toshi’s leaned more towards running, Katsumi’s involved more weight lifting and punching. Probably nothing to be worried about.

His phone buzzed, letting him know he had a text.

Dad: Hey, champ! Ready for your first real Heroics Class today?

I sure hope so! I can’t imagine what Grandpa Might has planned!

Dad: Just so long as he doesn’t have you fight Katsumi. I don’t need to hear from Bakugo about that!

He wouldn’t really do that, would he?

Dad: Probably not on purpose. But you know Grandpa Might!

Do I ever! He keeps following me around! They had to kick him out of the classroom four times yesterday!

Dad: I’ll talk to him. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll get Grandma.

***

Their table of four looked like it was going to become a permanent table of five. When they’d gone to the cafeteria, he’d made sure Haimawari knew he was welcome to join them. It was good having someone else around who clearly had the same kind of appreciation for Heroes that he and Shota did. Granted, it made more sense for someone like Haimawari to be into them, since he wasn’t from a heroic family. Katsumi had frequently pointed out that being such fanboys when their families were already Heroes didn’t make that much sense. But neither of them cared.

“Anything interesting in Pro Hero news, Shinso?” Izumi asked. Like Toshi, she had seen that their friend was practically vibrating with something to share. Izumi was polite enough to offer him an avenue to let it out.

“Only the coolest!” Shota bubbled. “Red Riot and Real Steel fought Diamondhead!” He pulled out his phone, showing them video of the two Heroes fighting against a Villain who could turn his skin to diamond in a very similar way to how their Quirks worked. As they watched, they saw the two Heroes land a punch against Diamonhead that caused a shockwave big enough to shatter all the nearby glass and knock loose objects over.

“The news report said you could feel the impact for miles away!” Shota added

“Oh, man,” Haimawari said, “that was one hell of a punch!”

“Yeah,” Shota said. “They’re both so manly!”

“Shinso,” Asuka began, “that was a lot of property damage… Maybe we shouldn’t be cheering that.”

“But it looked so awesome!”

Toshi shook his head. “Red Riot and Real Steel are good at what they do. They wouldn’t have done that if they had another choice. Judging by his Quirk, I don’t think anything else would have knocked Diamondhead out.”

“Think Kirishima-Bakugo’s seen it yet?” Shota asked. “Bet she’d love to see her dad in action! He’s all, like, “Pow! Bam! Take that, evil doer, for my manly heart is pure!’”

Toshi had to laugh at that, catching Izumi politely chuckling and even Asuka trying to hide a laugh behind her hand. “Okay, yeah, Uncle Eijiro does kind of talk like that.”

Haimawari frowned for a moment. “Keep forgetting you guys are all pretty much family. I can’t imagine what it must have been like growing up around that many heroes.”

“They’re just people,” he told him. “If you’re only seeing them when they’re being Heroes, you’re not getting the full picture. That’s part of who they are, sure. Some more than others. But that’s not all of who they are either.”

There were all kinds of things the public didn’t get to see. Like the way Dad could cry at the drop of a hat or the way he still geeked out when he talked about working with other Pro Heroes (not that Toshi didn’t join him in the geeking out, mind you) or the way Mom obsessively checked their bank account or had their shopping cart total figured out to the penny before they got to the check out, even though financial insecurity was a thing she’d long put behind her.

“Trust me,” Asuka said, “my father’s “Darkness” speeches don’t work nearly as well when he’s telling you to pick up your room.”

Toshi knew from experience that Asuka’s mother could be far scarier with as single look of disappointment than her father could in full “warrior of the night” mode.

“What do your parents do, Haimawari?” Izumi asked.

Toshi could swear there’s the tiniest moment of hesitation before Haimawari answers, but he has to be imagining it.

“Nothing as cool as yours,” he says. “Dad owns a convenience store in Naruhata. Mom’s a writer for a Pop!-Weekly.”

“The music magazine?” Toshi asked. He’d seen Chihiro reading it from time to time. When Haimawari nodded, he added, “That’s pretty cool!”

That got the skinny boy laughing a little. “Guess it all depends on your perspective. They’re just my parents to me.”

“Seriously though,” Toshi said. “It is pretty cool. You should tell Chihiro. She’d big into music.”

“Sorry,” Haimawari replied, “still learning everybody’s names. Chihiro is…?”

“The blonde girl with the ear-Quirk,” Izumi told him. “Chihiro Kaminari.”

“Mineta’s friend,” Asuka elaborated.

“Ooooh,” Haimawari said. “Her. She’s got, ah, interesting taste in friends.”

“She’s not as bad as Mineta,” Toshi assured him. “Try and talk to her. Couldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

***

For their Heroics Class, Mr. Aizawa and his grandfather had taken them to Training Ground Epsilon. Unlike most of the Training Grounds, which were designed to replicate specific kinds of environments, Epsilon was essentially a long open field, with an observation bunker at one end. It was a warm day, the sun shining, and the sky clear, though their gym uniforms were comfortable enough in it (apparently, the costume department was significantly behind this year). Toshi was a little bit surprised that Mr. Aizawa could stand that much direct sunlight.

“Normally,” Grandpa Might said, “we’d start Heroics off with the Battle Trials, pitting Hero against Villain in a death-defying race for control of a bomb which might very well destroy the entire world!”

He waited a moment for a reaction from the class. When no one other than Shinso (who cheered, of course) responded, he looked a little deflated, but he went on. “Unfortunately, due to a… ah, Quirk misfire with Class 1-B, the Training Grounds for that is currently unavailable and undergoing repairs. So we have prepared an alternative exercise.”

Okay, Toshi was definitely going to have to pay more attention the other Hero Classes. If someone in 1-B had a Quirk powerful enough to do that kind of damage…!

Grandpa Might went on, “We’ll be splitting you into teams of four. Your job will be to defend the Observation Bunker, where the rest of us will be. Your job will be to defend the bunker from waves of robots that will be attacking!”

“However,” Mr. Aizawa said, “if even one robot makes it to the Bunker, then your team loses, no questions asked. Because it means everyone inside is dead.”

Ojiro shot her hand up. “Do we get to pick teams?”

“No.”

“As Heroes,” Grandpa Might explained, “you’ll often find yourself working with other Heroes you’ve never met before. You’ll need to improvise working with a wide variety of Quirks on the fly. This will help with that and help you get acquainted with your classmates’ Quirks!”

“And,” Aizawa added, “I don’t trust any of you to make good decisions about teams. The teams will be as follows. Team One: Midoriya, Aoyama, Sero, and Tensei Iida. Team Two: Kirishima-Bakugo, Shinso, Ojiro, and Mineta. Team Three: Todoroki, Haimawari, Sato, and Sora Iida. And Team Four: Tokoami, Koda, Shoji, and Kaminari.”

Okay, he could work with that… Pretty good Quirk spread on his team. Pretty good spread on all four teams, actually. At least Aizawa and Grandpa Might were giving them a fighting chance.

“The hell? You losers better not make me lose!”

…He honestly hadn’t expected anything else from Katsumi.

***

In general, Toshi thought he was pretty good with his Quirk. He could lower his personal gravity until he could bounce off the walls. And with split second timing, he could increase it until he turned into a cannon ball and then bounce back away. He’d sparred with his dad and trained more than a lot of people his age probably had. Being all second generation heroes, they definitely had some advantages going in, though they hadn’t all worked together much. This would still be a real test.

He slowly adjusted his gravity, bringing himself back down to the ground.

“What did you see, Toshi?” Tensei asked. While he could actually fly rather than float like Toshi, he was more like a rocket, needing to keep moving, which was not always as ideal for observation.

“Three one-pointers and two two-pointers,” he said. “About 50 meters out, coming quick.”

Aoyama was glowing in the afternoon son, difficult to even look at directly. Reflective wristbands likewise glittered in the sun. “Should go out after them? Show them what we’re made of?”

“No,” Toshi said. “Our mission is to protect the Bunker. We need to stay close to it, but not let them get too close. You and Sero need to hang back. You’ve both got long range Quirks.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Midoriya!” Sero said, tossing off a little salute.

“Are you sure you and Iida don’t just want to grab all the glory for yourselves?” Aoyama sneered. “Keeping me on the bench while you get to be the heroes?”

“I don’t like your tone, Aoyama,” Tensei said. “Toshi is no glory hog!”

“And perhaps I don’t like yours!”

Toshi’s bad feelings about Aoyama returned. But now was not the place to get into it. “Uh, maybe we should just…”

“They’re here!” Sero shouted, interrupting any further argument.

And indeed they were, three one-pointers rolling along on their treads, and a pair of floating two-pointers. According to the further explanation Grandpa Might and Mr. Aizawa had provided, the waves would only get stronger. They ten minutes. Either they held the line that long, or one of the ‘bots got through and they lost.

He didn’t want to lose. Especially not with his grandfather watching. He didn’t want it to be this haphazard, he’d wanted some kind of plan. Dad had drilled into him how important having a plan was. Now…

“Let’s get ‘em, guys!”

Toshi concentrated, bringing his gravity to near zero and took a jump, bouncing up like he had springs under his shoes. It carried him up and over and then at the right moment he increased it three fold. He immediately fell like a stone, crashing into one of the one-pointers, smashing in its head. Quickly, he switched back to low gravity again, bouncing off and landing on the sand.

Already, the blood was rushing in his head. He couldn’t do that kind of rapid switching for too long, not without getting a killer headache. Not to mention the effects of all that gravity on him. He was tougher when he amped his gravity up, but it put its strains on him.

Around him, the others were tearing into the rest. Tensei had flown through one of the other one pointers like a battering ram, propelled by his jet engines. “As suspected! They still have not fixed the structural flaw! Quite disappointing, but good for our Team!”

Sero was quickly wrapping up the remaining one-pointer in his Acid Tape, this time making it as acidic as possible. It was a good combination of his parents’ Quirks, really, the ability to create tape like his dad, but with all the different and variable properties of his mom’s acid. “Die, evil robot, die! Hey, with a dry, cool wit like that, I could be an action hero!”

And Aoyama… was staring down both two-pointers. His glow intensified until it was blinding. “Let’s see how these ruffians fair against my Dazzling Beam Blaster!” Both of his arms snapped up and his wrist bands flared, each unleashing a powerful golden beam of light that punched holes right through the two-pointers. His overall glow was diminished after that, still lending him a bit of a sparkle and getting brighter by the moment, but it was clear he had spent a lot of energy.

He gave himself a small clap. “That’s how you do it, boys.”

Okay, so Aoyama was powerful. But that didn’t mean Toshi had to like working with him.

And then, just like that, a buzzer split the air, signaling failure.

“What? How? We got all of them!” Sero said.

“Probably something you lot did,” Aoyama snapped.

“An unseen variable, perhaps?” Tensei mused. “Some x factor I did not anticipate?”

“Uh, guys?” Toshi said, pointing behind them. A one-pointer was already at the bunker, and others were moving in from the sides.

Mr. Aizawa’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Perhaps next time you’ll know to watch for all directions. I expect all the rest of you to have learned something from their failure.”

“DO NOT WORRY, YOUNG GRANDSON! FAILURE IS BUT THE FIRST STEP TOWARDS VICTORY! I MEAN, AH, DO NOT WORRY, YOUNG HEROES! YES, I WAS TALKING TO ALL OF YOU!”

…Maybe he’d be better off just floating away. He could get a job as a parade balloon. Anything sounded better than being here right now.

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 6: Isamu Haimawari and the First Big Mistake

He wasn’t hurting. In fact, he felt like he was past the point of pain. But he could hear people yelling, screaming. Strange, he could swear he smelled something burning…

“Go!” he heard Aizawa yelling. “Get them to Doc Clock!”

And it had been going so well…

***

Well, if the son of the Number One Hero could mess up on their very first real Heroics exercise, maybe Isamu didn’t have to feel so bad about how he was probably going to fail too. All four of the first team had had impressive powers, but they hadn’t been watching their backs. Plus there was the whole thing where they’d been too busy arguing to pay attention to anything. Still, he’d done his best to congratulate Midoriya on at least getting to smash one of them. The green haired boy looked pretty down from his failure. He would be too.

After the first group had returned, the second group had set out. The absolutely terrifying Kirishima-Bakugo took the lead, with the other three following her.

She looked around. “Loud Kid,” she told Shinso, “you’re on lookout. You two, you’re with me. And for fuck’s sake, look around you!”

There wasn’t any arguing this time like there had been with Midoriya’s group. Kirishima-Bakugo was simply too frightening for the rest. Ojiro looked the most like she was going to say something (Maybe. You could only read so much body language on a floating gym uniform), but chose otherwise.

The robots were quickly upon them. Kirishima-Bakugo raced out to meet the first one, letting out a scream of “DIE!” as she did so. When she got close enough, she gave it an open-palmed slap on the two-pointer’s side and seconds later, a massive explosion rocked the robot, destroying it.

“That’s how you do it!” she screamed.

“Whoa!” Isamu yelled. He remembered how she’d made the spoons explode like firecrackers in the cafeteria yesterday, but he hadn’t know she could do anything like that.

“Yeah,” Midoriya agreed. “her Quirk is pretty powerful. She can release this liquid from her hands that does… something to whatever it touches and makes it explode. The more she lets out, the bigger the boom.”

“…Remind me never to make her angry.”

“Trust me, Haimawari, when I say ‘good luck with that.’”

Kirishima-Bakugo had already destroyed another two-pointer, while the rest of her team were making short work of the rest. Ojiro stopped in front of the one of the one-pointers and then simply… disappeared.

“Wait,” Isamu asked. “She can get more invisible?”

“Uh-huh,” Midoriya explained. “What she’s really doing is bending light. Her skin’s always doing it, but she can extend it to anything she’s touching, like her clothes.”

The one-pointer suddenly jerked and bucked, like something was trying to climb it, and then its head suddenly disappeared! It stopped completely, staying still on the sand. With the one-pointer distracted, Mineta gave it a powerful kick with one of her hooves, knocking it down. The robot’s head reappeared as Ojiro returned to view, jumping off of it.

“Oh, that’s good,” Midoriya said. “She made its head invisible so its camera couldn’t detect anything!”

Mineta was doing a decent job of her own as well, even without team work. She lowered her head, aiming her horns at one of the remaining one-pointers. From the tip of teach horn, a stream of purple spheres fired forth, starting the size of a pea, but rapidly growing to the size of a baseball. They stuck wherever they hit the robot, jamming its joints and obscuring its vision until it could neither move nor see, at which point she rammed it, knocking out its control panel.

“Hey!” she called out, “if I do well enough, do I get a kiss?”

“I thought I told you to stop hitting on me, horse-legs!”

“Sheesh! You’ve really got no sense of humor! Besides, maybe I was talking to Ojiro!”

“In your dreams, Mineta!”

The remaining one-pointer was demolished by a shrieking Kirishima-Bakugo, blowing its treads off with a pair of powerful explosions. “More! Bring ‘em on!” she yelled. “Keep fighting, all of you!”

And the second wave was on them. More two-pointers this time, but still a few one-pointers. Like last time, some of these started coming in from the sides.

“From the left!” Shinso called out. As one drew close, he took in a deep breath and then let out a long, low tone. Isamu could see the air between him and the robot ripple and the ripple slammed into the robot, knocking it over as though it had been punched. Shinso kept up the tone until the rippling wave punched a hole in the robot’s chest.

That was… that had definitely been a thing. Isamu remembered how Shinso’d made the ground flow like a wave yesterday.

“What,” he asked, “what exactly is his Quirk?”

“Beats me,” Midoriya said. “They call it Vocal Harmonics. He does a sustained pitch and stuff happens. Different things for different pitches. Nobody’s really figured out any logic behind it. Trust me, they’ve tried.”

The others leapt into action too. Kirishima-Bakugo exploding them, with Mineta and Ojiro slowing them down for her and Shinso.

It was in the fourth wave that things started to go south for them. The one-pointers were gone, two-pointers making up the majority of the wave, along with a single giant three-pointer.

It started when the two-pointer had Ojiro down, one of its massive arms pinning her to the ground. Her clothes flickered in and out of visibility as she tried to squirm away, but to no avail. “Argh! No fair!”

“I’m coming, Ojiro!” Shinso called out. He took in a breath again and started coughing. All the explosions Kirishima-Bakugo had been setting off had stirred up a massive amount of smoke, smoke he sucked into his lungs. Another two-pointer pinned him, face down on the ground.

Kirishima-Bakugo lashed out, heading for the three-pointer, causing explosions along every two-pointer between her and it. Mineta fired off more sticky balls from her horns, but panic was throwing her air off, not to mention that the smoke was also interfering with her ability to aim.

Kirishima-Bakugo reached the three-pointer, sliding under its reach and tapping its arm. But she was also clearly running out of whatever liquid she generated to make things explode, because the explosion she created was clearly much less powerful than she had expected. She stared at her hands like they had betrayed her.

And then the failure buzzer sounded, as the three-pointer had reached the bunker.

“Well, you lasted longer than the first team,” Aizawa said, his voice ringing from the loudspeakers. “We’ll review everything tomorrow. For now, get back to the Bunker. We’ll let the smoke clear out before Team Three goes.”

“Good job, Team!” All Might said. “Though you might want to learn to take it easy, Young Kirishima-Bakugo! There’s a time for going all out and a time for caution!”

The robots released Shinso and Ojiro, the former of whom offered Kirishima-Bakugo a hand up, but she batted it away, getting up on her own and stomping towards the Bunker, her face set in a deep scowl.

Isamu finally remembered to close his jaw. If his team lasted any time at all… it was going to get intense out there. He was pretty sure his Quirk wasn’t going to be any good for smashing robots, but maybe he could be a distraction for some of the others? Or get a couple of the robots to smash each other?

Midoriya gave him an encouraging grin. “Hey, you’re up next! You’re gonna do great, I know it.”

He returned the grin, maybe a little sheepishly. “Maybe. Gotta try, anyway.”

Okay, deep breaths. He could do this.

***

When the smoke had cleared, Team Three was finally able to step outside the Bunker. “So,” Isamu said, “how do we want to do this?”

They’d already seen the first two teams. They definitely wouldn’t devolve into in-fighting like the first group, but hopefully they wouldn’t mess up the battlefield like the second either.

“I’ll guard the rear,” Sato volunteered. “My Quirk’s no good unless they get real close.” Isamu remembered catching sight of him a few times during the Entrance Exam, tearing into a robot with his teeth. It wasn’t something he was going to forget anytime soon.

“Good,” Todoroki said. “Sora, Haimawari, you both have mobility-based Quirks. Do you think you can control the left and right edges?”

“I’ll give it my best,” he assured her. Hopefully that would be enough.

“Just leave the driving to me!” Iida said.

Todoroki nodded. “Then I will do my best to hold the middle. Remember to support each other when you can, and try not to make too much of a mess.” Her lips twitched slightly when she said the last part. A smile, maybe? Isamu didn’t know her well enough to know.

Really, Todoroki was quite the puzzle. There was the strange power she seemed to have over the ginormously scary Kirishima-Bakugo. And Torodoki herself was so reserved, quiet, but firm. It was hard to know what to think of her.

And then the first wave of robots was upon them, the same mix as the other two times. Two two-pointers, three one-pointers. Iida went right, so he dropped to the ground and went left, his Quirk pushing him along like a bullet shot from a gun. Maybe a little too fast, as he was coming up on the one-pointer faster than he expected.

He didn’t have nearly the power to go with his speed to ram his way through it like he’d seen Tensei Iida do in the first round… but maybe he had some skills they didn’t! Instead of trying to dodge, he kept going and when he got close to the one-pointer jumped on the robot and kept going, sliding over it as easily as he had over the ground. The nearest other one-pointer took a swing at him and he added an extra burst of speed, carrying him over the robot’s shoulder and down his back. The second one-pointer’s blow hammered home on the first, smashing a hole in it and bring it down, giving him just enough time to hit the dirt and slide away.

He skidded to a stop. “I… I did it!” He’d managed it a couple times during the Entrance Exam, but he really hadn’t been sure he could do it again.

“Good job, Haimawari!” Todoroki cheered. “But keep alert!’

A two-pointer was nearly upon her, but she pointed a pale hand at it and frost began to appear along its surface, until its skin was frozen solid and it started to crack under its own weight. Todoroki grimaced with the exertion of it, her pale features flushing. She pointed at one of the one-pointers, this time unleashing a blast of flames that quickly took it down. As she stopped the flames, her condition improved.

Weird, actually. Every time he’d seen her make ice, she made fire right after. He didn’t know what that meant.

But he needed his head back in the game. He saw Iida taking down the last one pointer, her jet engines giving her more than enough power to knock its head clean off.

“One more two-pointer,” he said. “Heading towards Sato!” The thick-lipped boy took up a defensive stance, but he wouldn’t last long against that.

Isamu threw himself forward and saw Iida keeping pace with him. “There’s a design flaw,” she told him. “Lots of them, actually. But the leg joints are especially weak. If we both hit it at the same time in a different leg, we should be able to take it down.”

“Got it!” he said, squinting against the dust their speed was kicking up. He was definitely going to need goggles and a mask if he was going to keep doing this kind of thing.

He concentrated, pouring on the speed, kicking himself into a higher gear. Iida kept pace, both of them racing to towards the robot. Sato, to his credit, held his ground, bearing his teeth at the machine. He and Iida reached the robot at the same time, both of them striking a leg joint. The joints buckled and the robot toppled over. Sato pounced on it, opening his jaw wider than Isamu would have thought possible, taking a huge bite out of its head.

“Blegh,” Sato said. “It’s stale!”

Yeah, he wasn’t going to ask any follow up question about that.

And there wasn’t any time. The next wave was already starting.

***

By the fourth wave, they were running out of steam. Iida was down, having run out of fuel from overusing her Jetpack. Sato was curled up on a ball, his belly bloated, moaning.

Todoroki looked dead on her feet, and even Isamu was exhausted. This was the longest and hardest he’d ever pushed his Quirk continuously. At least during the Entrance Exam, he’d had spurts where he could rest, catch his breath for a moment.

“You… okay?” he asked Todoroki, as the next wave came towards them.

“No,” she said. “I do not think I can keep fighting much longer.” A hard, determined look set itself on her face. “But I will go down fighting.”

She brought up both hands and Isamu could feel the temperature dropping. A massive block of ice incased every last robot in the fourth wave, two and three-pointers both.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

Quickly, however, he noticed that Todoroki had gone even paler. Her knees buckled and she began to fall.

He found himself moving before he could even think. Even as he heard someone yelling, telling him no…

Too late, he remembered about the flames. As he caught Todoroki before she could fall, her body erupted in flames and his world turned to pain.

***

He sprung up with a gasp, only to find he was no longer on the battlefield. Instead, he seemed to be in… a hospital bed? He had to be in the medical building. How was that possible? He’d taken a blast of fire that could melt steel to the face. Isamu was pretty sure that he should be dead, or at the very least, severely burned. But his hands were unblemished and as he felt his face, he realized that was too.

“What?”

“You’re awake,” a voice said, as he heard the curtain around the bed part. “Good. You gave us all quite a fright when you were brought in.”

At the foot of the bed, he saw a woman in thirties, wearing a white doctor’s coat over a black and purple costume with a clock insignia on her chest. She had blue-white hair down to her shoulders, but what was most noticeable was the horn growing from her head.

“How…?” he began.

“Are you not dead? Or at least not more severely injured? That would be my doing.”

“I thought I heard someone say something about a… Doc Clock? Is that you?”

The woman smiled. “I never did like that name very much. A friend of mine called me that when I was a student here and it stuck. I am Doctor Eri Izumi.”

“Ah, nice to meet you, Doc. So do you have a healing Quirk or… Because I didn’t think there were any like that that were that strong.”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that. I can rewind living matter back in time. It’s best if I have an idea of exactly how long. But on the plus side, you’re now about twenty minutes younger than you used to be.”

Well, that was a new one.

“Are you feeling up to visitors? A few of your friends are waiting on you.”

He nodded and she turned to a very elderly woman that he now noticed was napping in an electronic wheelchair at a nearby desk. “Recovery Girl!”

The old woman’s eyes snapped open. “Just resting my eyes!”

“Of course you were,” Doctor Izumi assured her. “Do you think you could go get Haimawari’s friends?”

The old woman smiled. “Of course, dearie. Just leave it to me!” She threw the wheelchair into motion, nearly clipping a wall on her way.

Realization hit him. “Todoroki! Is she okay?!”

Doctor Izumi nodded. “She’s fine, just resting like you. It was a brave thing you did. Or as my father called it, “A damn fool heroic stunt.�� That’s practically high praise from him. I’ve told him to have you take it easy for a few days though. Rewinding can be stressful on the body.”

Wait. What? She couldn’t have been talking about All Might, so she had to mean…

He was going to file that under things he wasn’t going to think about.

“What do you mean I can’t see Izzy, you shriveled old crone!”

“Who’re you calling shriveled, you whipper-snapper! Why, when I was your age, I knew how to talk to my elders!”

“That was my foot you just ran over, you senile old fool!”

“Young Kirishima-Bakugo…!”

“Katsumi, please…!”

Eventually, the noise died down and Recovery Girl brought Midoriya, Shinso, and Tokoyami, along with All Might. The former Number One Hero, here to see him. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Young Haimawari!” All Might beamed. “Quite the display of heroics out there! Though I really would ask that you not do anything like that again! This old heart of mine isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“Oh, really?” Doctor Izumi asked him. “Did I not do a good enough job the first time?”

“What? I, Eri! You see…”

“Relax,” she told him. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Oh, of course…”

Doctor Izumi chuckled and shook her head. “Just a few minutes, now, all of you. Haimawari needs his rest.”

As his new friends gathered around his bed, Isamu thought he might actually be doing all right after all.

Their Hero Academia -- Chapter Seven: Izumi Todoroki and Trying to Make Amends

“Mama! Daddy! Look! Ice! Ice!” She had been so happy the day her Quirk had come in, showing off her power to her parents by making ice cubes.

“Oh, wonderful, darling,” her mother had said.

“That’s good,” her father had said, smiling. He smiled so rarely, always seemed so lost in thought, but he always smiled for her and her mother.

And then she had started feeling warm. Too warm. “Ow! Hot! Hot!” And little flames danced from her hand…

***

Under normal circumstances, Izumu would have been glad to see her parents. But these were hardly normal circumstances. Not when she was lying in a bed in U.A.’s medical building. Not after what had happened on the Training Ground. She had pushed herself too hard and had collapsed during training. That too, would be cause for concern, but not as much as she was facing now. If she’d had more endurance… maybe she wouldn’t have collapsed.

Maybe she wouldn’t have injured Haimawari. Her memory of the event was fuzzy, but she knew she had seen him racing towards her as she had collapsed. He would have been at ground zero when she had ignited.

Mr. Aizawa had been direct, but not unkind, when he had told her what had happened. She had badly injured the young man, burns over most of his body. If it had not been for Doctor Izumi (He was injured by one Izumi, saved by another. The irony was not lost on her), he very likely would have died. And only the doctor’s unique Quirk had saved him from a lifetime of permanent injuries.

He had told her, had not tried to tell her that she should not feel guilty. Instead, he had told her to use that guilt to motivate herself, to make sure it never happened again. She would.

She should never have tried to absorb that much heat at once. Unlike her father, she couldn’t just lower the temperature to make ice. She absorbed the heat into herself. And that had to go somewhere, manifesting as flames. She could hold it in for a little while, but the amount of heat she’d absorbed, coupled with having already reached the limits of her endurance during the training exercise, had overwhelmed her. And when she had passed out, all of it had come racing out at once.

“We’ll just bring you home for a few days,” her mother said, “so you can recuperate properly. You’ll be feeling fine in no time.”

She hadn’t wanted her parents called in at all. Students got hurt all the time during training at U.A. It was to be expected. They had a fine medical staff, even beyond Doctor Izumi. And students pushing themselves too hard were nothing new either.

But it had been a fight to even allow her parents to let her attend. Her mother in particular had been extremely against it, worried over her health. They had settled on a compromise, one suggested by her father. She would be allowed to attend, but they were to be called if anything disastrous went wrong with her health. And pushing herself to exhaustion definitely counted for that.

“I do not wish to return home,” she said, looking to her father for support.

“You collapsed, Izumi,” he said. He looked over to her mother, then back to her. “We need to look out for your health. If you push yourself too hard…”

She could make her already fragile state even worse. “But if I do not push myself,” she said, “I will not improve. The only way to surpass my limitations is to push them.”

“We’re not asking you to drop out,” her mother said. “Just to take a few days off from more intensive training. You can keep up on your regular studies still.”

It sounded perfectly reasonable. But she understood her parents, understood their caution and worry. It would be a very short journey from coming home for a few days to staying longer to not returning to U.A. at all. The arguments would be logical and well-reasoned. And if she was forced to endure them, she could see her resistance wearing down.

Which was why it could not be allowed to happen.

“Doctor Izumi already recommended the same to Mr. Aizawa,” Izumi said firmly. “So I am already excused from active Heroics training for the next week. Here or home changes nothing about it. So I would prefer to stay here.”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, her father let out a small laugh. “Such a stubborn girl,” he said.

Her parents exchanged a glance and as one, both said to the other, “She gets that from you.” This, in turn, prompted them both to laugh. Her father’s short and sharp, her mother’s longer, fuller.

“My health is always my concern,” Izumi went on. “I am aware I cannot last as long, run as fast, or work as hard as some of the others. But I am where I want to be. I want to be as good a hero as either of you. And I cannot do that if you treat me like a fragile flower.”

Her life had revolved around her health for as long as she could remember. Long doctor visits, the best specialists an absurdly considerable fortune could buy, enough medications to fill a large truck. Constant reminders that she just couldn’t keep up with her friends. And even the bullying that Katsumi had protected her from. But she truly was getting better. Getting stronger. Even months ago, she wouldn’t have been able to absorb that much heat fully rested, let alone exhausted. That had to be proof of something.

She took in a breath. “Please.”

Her mother looked like she was going to disagree, but finally managed a nod. “All right,” she said. “But I want you to have a visit with your regular doctor. Doctor Izumi has my utmost respect, but her primary training is emergency medicine.”

“Probably as good a deal as you’re going to get, Izumi,” her father said.

That was… better than she could have hoped. She unclenched a hand she didn’t realize she’d been clenching.

“I can agree to that,” she said finally. “Thank you.”

“Get back here, you hooligan!”

“Screw you, old woman!”

There was the sound of running in the hallway, until Katsumi appeared where the curtains parted, frantically looking behind her. “Crazy old lady didn’t think I could jump over her, but I showed her. Got halfway down the hall before she could even get turned around!”

She seemed to realize that it wasn’t just Izumi in the room and had the self-awareness to look slightly sheepish.

“Ah, hello, Mr. Todoroki. Mrs. Yaoyorozu.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed with anger as she drew her own conclusions. She dropped into a fighting stance. “You’re not taking Izzy! You can’t! I’ll… I’ll fight you! You’ll have to go through me first!”

She really didn’t mean to—Katsumi looked so serious—but Izumi actually burst out laughing. Her parents just looked confused, looking back and forth between the two girls.

“Katsumi,” she said. “That was never an option under serious consideration.” Not the whole truth, but it would prevent Katsumi from getting angrier. “And we have reached a further agreement to allow me to stay.

“But thank you for your support.”

“Oh,” Katsumi said, deflating slightly. “Well… good.”

A shriveled hand suddenly gripped Katsumi’s wrist. “Got you!” Recovery Girl said. “And I told you, no more visitors!”

The ancient Hero used her free hand to put her wheelchair into reverse, dragging Katsumi with her.

“Hey! Let go of me, you crone! You can’t do this! I’ve got rights!”

When they were both gone, her parents both looked over to her, incredulous. Izumi just shrugged. “Katsumi is always watching out for me,” she explained.

There was another shared glance between the two of them, the meaning of which she did not fully grasp. In point of fact, her father’s expression was quite confused, while her mother seemed to be trying to communicate something she couldn’t even guess at.

“I see Bakugo and Kirishima’s daughter is the same as ever,” her father said.

“Your… friend is quite devoted,” her mother observed.

“She is,” Izumi agreed. “I am quite lucky.”

***

Once she was back at the dorms, Izumi sought out Asuka Tokoyami. She could have gone to any of her closest circle of friends about this, but what she needed right now was the kind of bluntness only the bird-headed girl could provide. Toshi would try to soften the blow and Shota would inevitably get derailed into telling her how awesome she’d been prior to that fateful moment. So she needed someone who would tell her like it was. She just counted herself fortunate enough to have made her way back without having run into Haimawari. That was another good reason to avoid Toshi or Shota as sources of advice. They shared a floor with Haimawari.

She found Asuka in her room, the door open. Her friend’s room was tastefully decorated, with bright, floral prints on the walls. Asuka was at her desk, where she was typing on a green computer, the monitor of which was shaped like a frog’s head. “Asuka?” she asked. “May I come in? I need to talk to you.”

Her friend stopped typing and looked to the doorway. “Sure,” she said. “Come on in.”

“Thank you,” Izumi said as she stepped inside. Asuka gave a slight nod to the spare chair in the room and she took a seat.

“How’re you feeling?” Asuka asked.

“Well enough,” she replied. “I am on several restrictions as far as Heroics go for a time, and I must see my doctor, but I am being allowed to stay. How is Haimawari?”

“Physically fine. Doc Clock fixed him up. We brought him back as soon as she cleared him to leave. Toshi and Shota got him to bed.”

“And mentally?”

“Harder to say. He was more concerned about how you were. But he did almost die. Who knows how he’ll handle it when he gets time to process it.”

Not exactly what she had wanted to hear, but also exactly why she had come to Asuka in the first place. Bad enough that she had potentially damaged her own career, but if she had waylaid someone else’s as well…

“I would not know how to begin to apologize to him,” Izumi said. “A simple “I’m sorry” does not seem sufficient for setting someone on fire.”

“Probably not,” Asuka agreed. She placed a finger on her face, near her beak. “But you should still try. I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean to do it.”

“Would… would some kind of apology gift be appropriate?” Perhaps that was it? Certainly, money was no object in that regard.

Asuka shook her head. “Definitely not. Don’t make it look like you’re trying to buy his forgiveness.”

There was a brief flash as Frog Shadow appeared, manifesting over Asuka’s shoulder. “But if you’re throwing money around, we could use a new phone.”

“Really?” Asuka asked her familiar.

Frog-Shadow just shrugged. “Your phone’s boring. No games!”

Green-feathers ruffled with irritation. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“You never go anywhere fun, anyway!”

Izumi got the feeling she was now intruding on something rather personal. “I, ah, I shall leave you to your discussion, Asuka. Thank you for your honesty.”

***

Izumi stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her to give Asuka and Frog Shadow their privacy. She had known the bird-headed girl nearly all her life and considered her one of her closest friends, but she still could not even begin to understand the relationship between the girl and her Quirk. Granted, there was much about most of her classmates and friends she did not understand.

Kaminari was outside her dorm room, sitting on the floor, occasionally looking down at a text book or scribbling something on a piece of paper. She looked up. “Get the advice you’re looking for?” she asked.

Izumi raised an eyebrow at that. “How did you…?”

“I’m not that dumb, Todoroki. I was there and I saw what happened to Haimawari. And you’re probably one of the kindest people any of us knows. So yeah, you’re probably worried about what to do next. And everybody knows Tokoyami won’t sugarcoat anything.”

“I hurt him, Kaminari. I am not sure how you walk back from that.”

Kaminari shrugged, but it wasn’t a dismissive one, as far as Izumi could determine. She brought up both of her Extension Cords, sparks dancing from the tips, then pressed the double-prongs of each together, setting off a spark that set her twitching for a moment, before she pulled them apart.

“You and me, we’re not that different,” Kaminari said. “Your flames got out of hand, I can electrocute somebody or fry my own brain if I’m not paying attention. See, I did that on purpose just now, but it doesn’t take much to set off a spark if I’m not careful. All our Quirks can be dangerous if we’re not careful. Yours, mine, even Shoji’s.”

Her right Cord pointed at Izumi. “The real important thing is learning and not letting it happen again. We all came here knowing it was going to be a rough road and we might get hurt. Just gotta make sure it’s never the same way twice.”

Izumi nodded. “I… Thank you, Kaminari. I shall keep that in mind.”

The sound of hooves cut off any further discussion, as Mineta ran down the hall and into her room. The door reopened for a moment and she stuck her head out. “If anyone asked, I was here all night!” The door closed again.

Yes, she was never going to completely understand all of her classmates. But she especially was never going to understand Mineta.

***

It was not until the next morning that she was able to speak to Haimawari. Though exhausted by the day, she had slept poorly, replaying the events of the previous day over and over in her mind, trying to figure out what she should have done differently and what she could say now.

She let him eat breakfast with Shota and Asuka, eating hers instead with the Iida twins. They were too distracted with sketching something to bring up the events of yesterday. It brought her a little respite, at least.

Finally, though, she had to approach Haimawari and the others. “May I,” she began, finding her voice faltering. He did not flinch from her, but seemed slightly uneasy in her presence. That… that had to be something. Something she could hold onto, build up from. “May I speak to you, Haimawari, privately?”

“Come on, Shota,” Asuka said, rising. “I’ll help you with that homework problem before class.”

“What homework….” Shota began, until comprehension dawned on his face. “Right. Homework. Gotta go. See you in class!”

It left the two of the alone. Everyone else in the Common Room was busy enough. Everyone had seen what had happened. They would likely not be disturbed. Even if Haimawari looked like he would rather be anywhere else. “Ah… sure,” he said. “We can talk.”

She took the seat opposite him and took a deep breath. “I’m told you tried to save me yesterday. Thank you.”

At this, he did smile. “Just doing what heroes do. Felt like I was moving before I could think.”

Izumi nodded. “I’m told many of us have had a moment like that.”

The silence hung before them like an uncomfortable cloud.

“I hurt you,” she said when she could bear the silence no more. “Badly. You could have died because I pushed myself beyond my limits. Because I was not strong enough to control or contain my Quirk.”

He looked down at the table and folded his hands in front of him. “I definitely didn’t think I’d come that close to dying on my second day,” Haimawari said after a moment. “But I’d do it again. Even when I caught on fire, all I could think was “at least I went out doing the right thing.’”

“I am sorry,” Izumi said. “You should never have been put in that position. Never should have had to face that.”

“Isn’t that why we’re all here?” he asked. “Because we can’t help racing into danger? You don’t have to apologize to me, Todoroki.”

“I must,” she said, now looking down herself. She realized she was crying. “If anything more sever had happened… If Doctor Izumi had not been able to… I do not know what I could have done.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “P—p—please,” he said. “Don’t cry. I said you don’t have to apologize to me, and I meant it. But if it means that much to you, I accept your apology. And I forgive you.”

She looked up. He was smiling and there was not a hint of malice or fear in his eyes. “I was afraid you would hate me,” she said. “Or fear that I might hurt you again.”

“Don’t really have it in me to hate people,” he said. “Got plenty of room for friends, more than I’d like for fear, but no fear for my friends. I’ve got plenty of doubts all on my own. Like what I’ll do when my back’s to the wall.”

“I would guess you’ll probably rush in and try to do the right thing again.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“So,” she ventured. “We are… all right? Things are “good” between us?” Why did people have to be so complicated?

“We’re good, Todoroki,” he said.

“After everything,” she said, “I must insist that you call me Izumi. It only seems right.”

“Only if you call me Isamu.”

“It is a deal.”

***

“See, Izumi?” her father said. “You just have to make sure you let the fire out. Careful where you put it though.”

“I know, Daddy! I know!”

“Just keep it balanced,” her mother had told her. “And you’ll do just fine.”

“We know you’ll make us proud.”

Their Hero Academia – Chapter Eight: Katsumi Kirishima-Bakugo and the Need To Woman Up

Katsumi’s fists pounded into the heavy bag hanging from her ceiling, letting her vent her anger and frustration. At least, that was the theory. As of right now, it didn’t seem to be doing her much good. The events of the previous day kept playing over in her mind.

It had been one shit show after another. First, her team had fallen in the fourth round. She’d exhausted her reserves and run out of explosive power and the rest of her team had let her down to boot. Some people might have said that lasting four rounds was good. But not her. She was aiming for the finish line.

And then Izzy… She’d always known Izzy was powerful. But she hadn’t realized just how powerful she was. That girl truly was silk hiding steel. Even if she’d pushed herself too far. But Katsumi did the same thing. She could hardly blame Izzy for that. Even if her heart had seized up in her chest when Izzy went down.

In some dumb way, she was grateful to the Newb. If he hadn’t caught Izzy… Dumb Newb had damn near gotten himself killed for it though. Maybe she really could ease up on him. A little. She had a reputation to uphold.

But her thoughts lingered longest on what she’d said in front of Izzy’s parents. She’d threatened to fight two Pro Heroes, one of them the Number Three Hero. She’d threatened to fight them for Izzy, to keep them from taking her away. Who knows what she would have done if that withered old crone hadn’t dragged her off?

Well, Dad probably would have laughed and encouraged her. So that was something. Papa on the other hand…

“You are a mess, girl,” she told herself, pausing to catch her breath. “And you’ve got it bad.”

There was a series of knocks at her door. Three short taps, one hard tap, a pause, then two more hard taps. Go Beyond! Plus…ULTRA!

Katsumi shook her head. “What do you want, Toshi?”

“Can I come in?”

“Before I answer that, do you have Loud Kid with you? Because I cannot deal with him before I’ve had coffee.”

“Shota’s having breakfast with Asuka and Haimawari.”

“Then you can come in.”

Toshi slid the door open awkwardly, as he was carrying a pair of coffees and a pair of those Pro Hero branded power bars he liked so much. “Thought you might like some breakfast,” he said, offering her one of each.

She eyed the coffee mug suspiciously. “What kind of coffee is that?”

“It’s coffee-flavored coffee. Black, no sugar.” Toshi made what she was guessing he thought was an imitation of her scowl. “Like my heart.”

She gave him a blank look. “Was that supposed to be me?”

His eyes went wide. “Ah… that depends on whether or not you liked it?”

Toshi could be annoying sometimes, but he did know how to make her laugh. And whether she liked it or not, he was always looking out for her. For all of them. Even if they didn’t want or need it. She took the coffee mug and gave him an affectionate punch in the arm, nearly causing him to spill his own coffee. “You’re all right, Toshi,” she said. “Thanks.”

She accepted the offered power bar and took a bite out of it. “So what’re you really doing here?”

“Why do you assume I have an ulterior motive?”

“Because you only bring me food and coffee when you wanna talk.”

“Well, you do get kind of hangry…”

She rolled her eyes. “Out with it, Toshi.”

“Just checking up on you,” he said. “After everything that happened yesterday, I was worried about you.”

Her pride flared. Who did he think she was? Some kid who needed a babysitter? She wasn’t somebody who needed looking out for, like Loud Kid. “I’m a big girl,” she said.

“I know that,” he said. “But yesterday… yesterday as rough.”

Sometimes, Toshi had a real talent for understatement.

“I mean, you and me, we know the risks. Our parents are Pro Heroes. We’ve seen them get hurt sometimes. Sometimes badly.”

That was true. Dad got hurt all the time, mostly minor scrapes, cuts, and bruises. But she was still haunted sometimes by a memory from years ago, when Papa had been badly beaten by a Villain named Strongarm. She remembered seeing him broken and bandaged in that hospital bed, she remembered hanging onto Dad. It was one of the only times she could remember seeing him cry…

“You don’t have to remind me,” she said. “I know getting hurt’s a possibility.”

“You know you getting hurt is a possibility.”

She paused, coffee cup halfway to her mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I saw you, when we were watching Izumi’s group…” He trailed off, as she began to glare at him. “I didn’t mean to! But you were getting kind of loud and everything! But, every time Izumi nearly got hit or had to dodge or when she collapsed… I saw your face.”

“Probably the same kind of face you were making,” she snapped. “It’s Izzy. We all care about her.”

“Yeah, we do,” Toshi agreed. “And maybe I’m not a really great judge about this… but maybe you care about her as more than just a friend.”

She had him pressed up against the wall, one hand on his neck, before she knew what she was doing. Both coffee cups had clattered to the floor, spilling their contents on the carpet. “The hell did you just say, Toshi?!”

His eyes were widening as he struggled against her grip. “Can’t… can’t… breathe… Katsumi…”

With a growl, she let him go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said…”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked. Did the whole freaking school know? How the hell was she supposed to make people quake in fear of her if everyone knew she was soft over somebody? …Did Izzy know?

Toshi shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t talked to everybody about it, but Asuka noticed it even earlier than I did. But I don’t think most of them know. Shota definitely doesn’t. And we’re not going to tell him.”

Okay, that all added up. And she could definitely cross Ojiro off the list of people who maybe knew. If the invisible teen knew, the entire school would have known. People in America would have known. Theoretical evil twins from an alternate universe would have known. No gossip was safe from invisible lips.

She jabbed a finger in Toshi’s direction. “You tell no one about this.”

Toshi backed away from her finger, up against the wall. “Is this… is this because you like girls?” he asked. “Because we’re all okay with that. Sero’s gay too, you know…”

“It’s not that, you idiot!” She threw her hands up in frustration. “First off, I like guys and I like girls! And that’s still not the point! It’s… it’s an Izzy thing. I don’t know if she’d feel that way about me. I don’t know what a girl like her would even want with a girl like me.”

Toshi held up his hands. “I don’t know what to tell you, Katsumi. I really don’t. But I think you’re going to have to do something. You can’t just keep circling like that.”

He offered her a smile. “What I do know is you’re a pretty amazing person. And you and Izumi have been friends a long time. That’s not going to change, no matter what else happens. And I’m your friend too.”

“…I really hate it when you make sense.”

The silence hung over the room for a moment. “This isn’t the part where we hug, Toshi. Get outta here.”

He laughed as he exited her room. “Okay, Katsumi. I’m… I’m rooting for you.”

***

When she stepped into the Common Room, Katsumi was a woman on a mission. She was going to find Izzy and she was going to talk to her. An actual talk, with words and everything. The kind of mushy, touch-feely talk Dad derided and tried to substitute grunts for and the kind that Papa was so good at.

Step One: locate Izzy.

Actually, Step One turned about to be: Dodge the Chaos.

“You take that back, Frenchie!” Mineta snapped at Aoyama.

“I just call them like I see them, Chéri.”the blonde snapped back. “You prance around here, trying to seduce everything with a pulse. You know what that makes you.”

“Okay, that’s it!”

“Bring it!”

What happened next… couldn’t exactly be called a fight. Not with both of them just standing at arms’ length, flailing their arms and slapping them hands against each other.

And then some of the others started cheering them on. Sero was recording the whole thing on his phone, Ojiro was cheering on Aoyama, Kaminari was cheering on Mineta, and the Iida Twins were yelling at everyone that fighting would not be tolerated…

Yep, she just sidestepped that whole thing, passing by Koda, who was watching the whole thing rather helplessly.

There. Izzy was at one of the tables… with the Newb.

Great. Just great.

Maybe she could try the whole “being nicer” thing?

Yep. She was going to walk over there and ask to talk to Izzy. She wasn’t even going to threaten the Newb into moving. She was going to put on her friendliest face, go over there, and talk to Izzy.

So why weren’t her legs working?

She was Katsumi Kirishima-Bakugo, the wo-manliest Hero-in-Training in the whole school, daughter of two of manliest and most awesome heroes on the planet. She didn’t back down from anything. Not from a fight, not from a challenge, and definitely not from a girl she’d had a crush on since she was eight.

One foot in front of the other. She could do this.

So why… was the Newb… holding her hand? And grinning like an idiot? And Izzy was smiling too…

She ran.

***

Izzy was back in school finally, having been gone for a long time because she’d been so sick. She’d ended up in the same class as Katsumi.

There’d been three of them. She didn’t remember their names. She just remembered what they’d done.

She’d fallen on the playground, while they were running, playing tag. She wasn’t as fast as anyone else, panting and out of breath.

“Why don’t you just stay down?” one girl had sneered, all three of her eyes cold and cruel.

“Nobody wants to play with a sick kid like you!” another had taunted, her spiked tail swinging behind her.

“Can’t believe somebody like her has Hero parents!” a third had said. “They must be so embarrassed!”

“All of you, shut up! Leave her alone!” She’d picked up a handful of rocks, letting her explosive power seep into them. She wasn’t supposed to use her Quirk while at school or on the playground, but they just made her so mad…! She threw the rocks, where they exploded at the mean girls’ feet, all bang and no flame, but more than enough to scare them off.

“Fine!” the three-eyed girl had snapped. “You want her, you can have her!”

She offered Izzy a hand-up. “It’s okay,” Katsumi had said. “I’m here.

Slowly, Izzy’s sobs stopped. “Thank you,” she’d said. “I didn’t… I didn’t know they’d be so mean.”

“Don’t worry, Izzy,” she’d said. “Anything happens, I’ll exploderize them!”

Izzy had pressed her hands to her face. “I… I wouldn’t want anybody to get hurt…”

“Aaaw, maybe I can just exploderize them a little?”

“Maybe just a little, Katsumi.”

“Don’t worry,” she told Izzy again. “I’ll take care of you.”

And Izzy was hugging her and she had never felt more like a Hero than she had right then.

***

Katsumi hadn’t gotten far, just under one of the trees in the courtyard. She wasn’t going to cry. She was not going to cry. She was Katsumi Kirishima-Bakugo, and she definitely did not just go crying over anything.

She was… she was happy for Izzy. Yes. Izzy absolutely deserved all the happiness in the world. She couldn’t be mad at her for finding happiness…

“ARGH!” She let out a scream, releasing some of the rage she felt burning up inside her. Katsumi was well aware that she had what some might call “anger issues.” And sometimes, yeah, she let it out at the wrong times. Usually when someone pissed her off or did something stupid. But she had rarely been as angry as she was right now. Angry at the unfairness of it all, angry at missed chances, angry at herself for waiting so long.

She needed something to punch, something to explode. But no targets presented themselves. And she was smart enough not to just unleash random property damage. She didn’t need the headache or the detention that would come with that.

Problems she could punch were so much easier to solve.

“Katsumi.”

She looked up and blinked rapidly, because she had to be dreaming. It was Izzy. But why would Izzy be out here?

“Katsumi,” Izzy repeated. “In all the time I have known you, I have never seen you run like that. What’s wrong?”

Words left her mouth before she had the chance to stop them. “You came running after me? You break up with your new boyfriend already?”

Confusion worked its way across Izzy’s face. “My… what?”

She struggled to remember the Newb’s actual name. “Haimawari. I saw the two of you. I’m… I’m happy for you. Much as I hate to admit it… he seems like the Hero-type. And you deserve the best, Izzy.”

“Katsumi,” Izzy said, still looking very confused, “Haimawari is my friend. That is all. I don’t know what would lead you to believe otherwise.”

“I saw the two of you! Smiling, holding hands…”

“Ah.” Izumi nodded. “We were just speaking to each other. I apologized for setting him on fire.”

Only Izzy could have delivered a statement like that.

“He forgave me,” she went on. “I was… grateful for that. I was so ashamed of what I had done to him… I feared he might hate me.”

No one could hate Izzy, that much, Katsumi was certain of.

“So you don’t… like him, like that?” Katsumi prompted. “You’re just friends?’

“Just friends,” Izzy assured her.

Relief washed over Katsumi like a wave, quieting some of the flames of rage within her. Those flames were quickly replaced by icy, cold dread gripping its way around her heart. Izzy might not have been involved with the Newb… but she still seemed blind to how she felt about her.

“I am sorry if I upset you somehow,” Izzy told her. “I know… I am not always good at knowing how other people will react. But I truly do not understand why it would upset you so.”

Katsumi looked away, the words dying in her throat for once, instead of escaping before she could consider them. How could she tell Izzy how she felt? What if she didn’t feel the same way?

“Katsumi. Please. Talk to me.”

It was now or never. Time to Woman Up.

“I’m in love with you, Izzy. Been in love with you for a long time.”

And then the dormitory exploded.

#my hero academia #my hero academia: vigilantes #their hero academia #fan fiction #fan fic #My writing

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livmoose · 6 years ago

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Va, Tosca!

I’ve been fascinated by ‘Tosca’ since three years ago, when I first heard it in Kiev opera. What motivated me to dig deeper was the stubborn anti-Puccini bias of music critics that started with the opera’s (nay, it's antecedent play’s) premiere and didn’t really cease by this day. Which I cannot understand at all: ‘Tosca’ is literally one of the most popular operas in the world, outperformed only by such eminent names as Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, Mozart’s ‘Die Zauberflöte’, Puccini’s own ‘La Boheme’ and Bizet’s ‘Carmen’. So what gives?

‘Tosca’, original poster, 1899

The premise of this 3-act opera by Giacomo Puccini is rather simple: a villain wants a girl who loves a boy who loves her back and also helps revolutionaries. And also it’s a tragedy, like in a Shakespearean Everybody Dies kind of tragedy. You can pretty much guess the plot from there.

What I personally like about this opera is the combination of lightning-fast plot (the action takes place within several hours on June 17-18, 1800), finely developed character portraits, and music that explains and foreshadows everything you need to know.

Naturally, I don’t take the vague criticisms of ‘Tosca’ all that well.

Ha più forte sapore [bits of history and background]

Puccini’s opera is based on a 1887 5-act play ‘La Tosca’ by Victorien Sardou.

Puccini had seen La Tosca at least twice, in Milan and Turin. On 7 May 1889 he wrote to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, begging him to get Sardou’s permission for the work to be made into an opera: ‘I see in this Tosca the opera I need, with no overblown proportions, no elaborate spectacle, nor will it call for the usual excessive amount of music.’

M.J. Philips-Matz ‘Puccini: A Biography’

I found this quote, and it instantly clicked: it’s exactly why I like ‘Tosca’.

In contrast to Sardou’s initial work, Puccini’s opera is much more succinct and direct. It has almost zero overblown dialogues and soliloquies that don’t promote the plot or develop characters (well, maybe there is this one lyric soprano-tenor duetto ‘Amaro sol per te m’era il morire’ [‘Only for you did death taste bitter for me’] in act III that’s a bit too long for my taste, but even this slow moment is essential because it gives the audience an opportunity to breathe as the final shockwave looms closer). But the rest of it is actually interesting to see and hear.

For me, ‘Tosca’ is one of the very few operas that are targeted at people who are not fifteen and overly dramatic adult audiences who don’t need same things repeated at them all the time and who can catch what is happening without seeing each and every small detail. Puccini squeezed Sardou’s acts II, III and IV into a single second act, and it works. We as an audience don’t need to see the whole scene at Cavaradossi’s house to understand what happened there. We can use our imagination to paint the rest of the picture.

Looks like the critics do not agree with me on this one.

Perché, perché, Signore [criticisms galore]

The infuriating part about the critical landscape of ‘Tosca’ is that the critics don’t seem to agree on a single point of reproof. Some complain that the opera is too wordy; others, conversely, are not satisfied with the plot rushness (the view that both librettists of ‘Tosca’, Illica and Giacosa shared). Critics called the opera ‘three hours of noise’ that lacks style and cohesion. Julian Budden [opera scholar] faulted the ‘inept handling of the political element’ while commending ‘a triumph of pure theatre’. Burton Fisher [opera writer] described the sensuous love duet ‘Qual’occhio’ as ‘an almost erotic lyricism’ and ‘pornophony’.

Is it just me, or do the critics dislike ‘Tosca’ precisely for the nuances I love about it: coherence of the plot, acute and restrained drama, absence of excessive political speculations (it was not meant to be goddamn ‘Les Miserables’) and, well, musical puns? More on that later.

Not to say ‘Tosca’ didn’t receive its share of praise. Charles Osborne [music critic] believed the plot of ‘Tosca’ was taut and effective while the characters had enough opportunities to shine both in terms of dramatic development and musical elaborateness. Some also praised the richness of Puccini’s score:

[Puccini] finds in his palette all colours, all shades; in his hands, the instrumental texture becomes completely supple, the gradations of sonority are innumerable, the blend unfailingly grateful to the ear.

Ippolito Valetta [music critic] ‘Rassegna Musicale’ in ‘Nuova Antologia’

The aspect of criticism that I did find explainable was based on ‘disconcerting vulgarities’ as put by Gabriel Fauré [composer]. To be honest, the opera really does not lack in violence: Tosca undergoes sexual assault, is broken by the need to defend her chastity with murder and by the death of a beloved, and finally commits suicide. For the public back in 1900 such developments truly could be regarded as a bit too much.

For modern audiences, however, the events are nothing to be shied away from. The opera aged exceedingly well, not losing a bit of its attractiveness in romantic and dramatic sense. Even more so, the criticism that ‘Tosca’ still receives today makes little sense. Joseph Kerman’s [musicologist] remark on ‘Tosca’ as a ‘shabby little shocker’ from the middle of the century, well after the actual real-life shock of two world wars and the brusque shift of public morale, was way off the mark. Thomas Beecham [conductor] bitingly responded that anything Kerman said about Puccini could ‘safely be ignored’ (it almost makes one thing something personal’s involved).

Besides, some modern scholars share my perception of ‘Tosca’s treatment:

Scholarly presses and journals still deeming [Puccini’s] operas too popular to be worthy of serious study continue to shoot themselves in their collective foot.

Deborah Burton ‘Tosca’s Rome: The Play and the Opera in Historical Perspective (review)’

By Burton, Puccini was often simply ‘snubbed by the musicological establishment’. The fun part? Puccini put on his Scarpia persona to cynically and kind of affectionately if you ask me describe ‘Tosca’ as ‘zibaldone’ [‘hodgepodge’]. He referred to it as ‘a vile opera’ and ‘quella putana di Roma’ [‘that Roman whore’]. If this isn’t love.

Già, mi dicon venal [quick glance at the initial play]

Similar criticism of abundance of violence was applied to Sardou’s play. Tosca’s behavior was deemed ‘unchaste’, and the brutality disturbed both critics and theatre fans. Jules Favre [statesman] even called it ‘cette pièce vulgaire, sans intrigue, sans caractères, sans moeurs’ [‘vulgar piece, without intrigue, without characters, without morals’].

The most offensive part of the play was, apparently, Cavaradossi’s torture. Even off-stage, his screams prodded the critics to warn women against seeing ‘La Tosca’ as the play could ‘inflict irreparable injury on persons yet unborn’.

Despite this, the play was an immediate success. It toured around the world, and even the harshest critics couldn’t ignore its dramatic effect:

As to the play itself, I will only add that it is offensive in its morals, corrupt in its teaching, and revolting in its brutality, and yet everyone who admires acting is bound to see it.

Cecil Howard [theatre critic] ‘La Tosca’, ‘The Theatre’

So. Let’s see what threw people in such a dismay, shall we.

Io de’ sospiri [plot and why it’s good]

Sylvester Feodosiyevich Shchedrin ‘New Rome. Castel Sant’Angelo’, oil on canvas, 1823

It all starts with Roman ex-consul Angelotti escaping the clutches of tyrannical justice. The fugitive runs into Mario Cavaradossi, painter and Bonapartist who agrees to help him. Two men are interrupted by Mario’s passionate lover and Roman opera celebrity, Floria Tosca. After a fit of jealousy she leaves the church, and Cavaradossi leads Angelotti away from the city to hide in his villa. Right afterwards, Baron Scarpia, chief of police and the embodiment of tyranny emerges on stage and, when Tosca returns, devises to use her jealousy to lead him to Mario and Angelotti.

Second act is all about torturing Cavaradossi (off-stage) and Tosca’s gradual breakdown. Scarpia demands the location of Angelotti, which she surrenders to save Mario from suffering. Then Scarpia tries to force Tosca to give herself to him, which she agrees in exchange for her lover’s life - only to stab unsuspecting Scarpia with a knife.

The rest of the main cast dies during the third act. Mario’s ‘staged’ execution appears to be not so fake as Scarpia promised. Tosca, inconsolable and heartbroken, jumps to her death as the soldiers, who discovered Scarpia’s body, corner her on the ramparts of Castel Sant’Angelo.

The plot pretty much follows Sardou’s play, although the action was tightened (mostly by avoiding obvious plot turns) and the list of characters sharply compressed.

Sardou’s act III features a scene that is not present in Puccini’s opera: Cavaradossi’s villa, the painter, Angelotti, and later Tosca and Scarpia. One of the things I liked about the opera is that it doesn’t have this scene. It’s excessive and basically tells nothing that audience couldn’t have picked up from the unobtrusive operatic dialogue in act II. Puccini - Sardou 1:0.

Obviously, Mario’s execution was not fake. In the play, Spoletta reveals this fact to Tosca. In the opera, he at first misunderstands Scarpia’s order (hilariously so, as he nearly confesses the whole thing to Tosca), which allows the audience to guess their scheme. 2:0 for subtlety.

In act II, Scarpia questions Mario with the backdrop of Tosca’s cantata performance off-stage, in the depths of Palazzo Farnese. 3:0, this whole piece is just gorgeous.

Puccini wanted ‘La Tosca’s plot stripped of everything excessive (which is, lamentably, a rare practice for operatic genre):

[Puccini] cut Tosca to the bone, leaving three strong characters trapped in an airless, violent, tightly wound melodrama that had little room for lyricism.

M.J. Philips-Matz ‘Puccini: A Biography’

Ignoring criticisms, Puccini also persevered in his clear vision of how the ending should be - by the way, nearly the single thing he and Sardou agreed upon. A good thing undoubtedly; I’d hate for this to happen:

Puccini’s librettists also disliked the suicide, and an alternate ending for the opera was (briefly) considered: rather than leap, Tosca would go mad, collapse, and die on the body of her lover (presumably of Sudden Operatic Death Syndrome).

Susan Vandiver Nicassio ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know about Tosca’

Pure gold of a remark. Thank you, Susan.

‘Tosca’ is a very tight, succinct work, beautifully paced. I like how the acts are structured and developed. Act I, the longest one, was clearly meant to be expositional. Also, it’s the melodramatic one, with inclusion of comedic motifs that significantly lighten the mood (think the character of the Sacristan and continuous good-hearted mocking of Tosca by her lover).

Act II is unexpectedly macabre: there’s not a trace of the lightheartedness of act I. A real drama ensues, with torture, violence and grim ending (Tosca murders Scarpia in cold blood, which I, as a cynic, viciously enjoy every time). This act is also shorter while it still has enough room for Scarpia’s intricate manipulation and blooming deconstruction of Tosca. The characters are well-developed and nicely motivated (at least in part Sardou’s merit).

Act III is the shortest (just over 20 minutes), and it’s a full-on tragedy. The final plot twist was hardly intended as one. This act is an emotional roller-coaster. Combining hope and death, it is based on fragmented pieces, which makes the whole thing feel real, not operatic. The opera ends strong and loud, and it’s perfect that way. The audience is left with the sense of tragedy that is not undermined by unnecessary lyricism of long pre-death arias (like in Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, I absolutely hate the last act). With the rush of events, the delay at this point would be unendurable.

‘Tosca’ is chaotic in its final scene, just as it should be. Tosca the character makes the (suicide) decision in a blink of an eye, and I absolutely love the impression that she makes it out of egotistical motives: she is to be captured by the soldiers - not because Mario is dead. This is the kind of nuance that defines the difference between real living people and operatic character embryos. When the opera ends, I always find myself speechless and anguished not irritated at how annoyingly long it takes for the characters to die (looking at you, Verdi).

E lucevan le stelle [characters breakdown]

Palazzo Farnese, 2018. Now French Embassy in Rome

First and strongest impression about the characters of ‘Tosca’: gosh, they are not dumb! So it is possible.

One of the major appeals of ‘Tosca’ is that the characters feel like real people instead of archetypal damsel in distress, knight in shining armor and flat cardboard villain. Although Scarpia bends a bit in that direction, being completely satisfied with his villainous villainy, he acknowledges it, giving off the air of a ‘connoisseur of evil’ instead. William Ashbrook [musicologist] recognized Puccini as a portraitist who honed lifelike characters. Even the smaller characters like the Sacristan (‘an avaricious hypocrite’), Angelotti (exhausted but proud-spirited escapee) and Spoletta (when Scarpia says ‘jump’ he asks how high a perfect minion) are miniature studies of human nature. ‘Tosca’, in his opinion, is a portrait gallery of real-life people.

Floria Tosca [soprano]

For some unfathomable reason, ‘Tosca’ is defined as a melodrama, which is totally different from how it feels with its darkness and the fact that everybody of significance dies in the end. Wiki says melodrama is ‘a dramatic work in which the plot, which is typically sensational and designed to appeal strongly to the emotions’ - basically, plot over characters. Instead, [scenic] tragedy (defined by Google) is ‘a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character’.

The latter is literally the plot of ‘Tosca’, especially as the title character undergoes a whole set of the most traumatic experiences (concessions to conscience, attempted rape, murder in defense, witnessing torture and execution of a loved one) in a span of just several hours. This set of experiences naturally draws a basis for her downfall (literally): under stress and with no opportunity to think thoroughly, it is not surprising that Tosca commits suicide.

She is strong-willed and passionate, pure-hearted (which is probably why she doesn’t see through Scarpia’s schemes) but not stupid, loyal but also jealous. More out of habit, if we to believe Julian Budden [opera scholar]:

[Cavaradossi, act I, scene 5] Mia gelosa! [My jealous [Tosca]!]

[Tosca] Si, lo sento, ti tormento, senza posa. [Yes, I feel it, I torment you unceasingly.]

All in all, she is a harmonious character in dire circumstances, and it’s a true delight to observe how Tosca, despite how broken and devastated she is, finds the power to oppose her offender. This is the real plot twist (character twist?) of the opera - and I assume the reason that ‘Vissi d’arte’, Tosca’s major aria (an emotional plea of a character who is about to betray her very self) is so well-known and recognized.

Mario Cavaradossi [tenor]

In comparison with Tosca, Cavaradossi is a deceptive character. At first glance he might appear rather flat: nothing more than a loyal lover and a proud revolutionary. Upon closer inspection, however, the audience discovers liveliness and realism many male operatic characters severely lack: he jokes with Tosca instead of oh-so-common sickeningly sweet sighs of love. He knows her flaw of being prone to jealousy - but doesn’t take it too close to heart. He listens to her without interruption as she tells him about Scarpia’s advances (for sure, I was waiting for a hateful scene where he would scream ‘how could you’ at his lover and bang his head against a wall). And he actually knows how to appreciate that she willingly sacrificed her purity for his sake (and he sings an aria about it, too: ‘O dolci mani’ [‘Oh, sweet hands’]).

Besides the believable romance with Tosca, Cavaradossi has excellent dynamics with Scarpia. As the news of Napoleon’s victory arrive, Mario - once tortured - cannot resist the urge to relish in how stars turned for his nemesis:

[Cavaradossi, act II, scene 4] Vittoria! Vittoria! L’alba vindice appar che fa gli empi tremar! Libertà sorge, crollan tirannidi! [Victory! Victory! The avenging dawn now rises to make the wicked tremble! And liberty returns, the scourge of tyrants!]

Tosca tries to stop his prideful speech, aware of how this flows right into Scarpia’s intention to lock revolutionary Cavaradossi up. But Mario is lost in his surging emotions and forgets both himself and his lover at this moment - truly a detail each of us can relate to.

And also Cavaradossi seems to know that his death is not going to be faked - a twist that no one but pure-hearted Tosca is fooled by. He doesn’t believe in Scarpia’s generosity for a moment, and so he doesn’t even try to pretend he is surprised but ironically ridicules the mere idea of a magnanimous villain:

[Cavaradossi, act III, scene 3] Scarpia che cede? La prima sua grazia è questa… [Scarpia yields? This is his first act of clemency…]

Unbelieving but relieved by Tosca’s appearance and intoxicated by her hopeful rambling, Mario chooses to spend his last moments languishing in her presence: he doesn’t want to spoil this time for neither of them. Beniamino Gigli [opera singer, performed as Cavaradossi] wrote in his autobiography that ‘[Mario] is certain that these are their last moments together on earth, and that he is about to die’.

This interpretation of the character is common among the opera singers:

Unlike Floria, Cavaradossi knows that Scarpia never yields, though he pretends to believe in order to delay the pain for Tosca.

Tito Gobbi [opera singer and director]

However, instead of displaying understandable despair, Cavaradossi falls back to his original optimistic self and starts to subtly mock Tosca’s attempts to teach him how to die theatrically. She replies with ‘non ridere’ [‘you mustn’t laugh’], and he softly reassures her. They’re just so sweet together without the usual operatic mawkishness.

(I suspect Tosca is not entirely convinced of their unscathed escape from the clutches of now-dead Scarpia, as well. No wonder she feels uncomfortable at the prolonged preparations.)

Baron Scarpia [baritone]

The villain of this story was actually the first among the main cast to catch my attention. Scarpia is just so explicitly entertaining in his sardonic wickedness. Still, I can see how he could be interpreted as the least 3-dimensional of the three.

Scarpia is a clever interrogator and a talented manipulator. He knows where to hit and when to push to get the answers he needs. Pressing Tosca more and more, he breaks through her defenses until she is frustrated and annoyed to the point of losing her self-control:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] L’Attavanti non era dunque alla villa? [So, the Attavanti was not at the villa?]

[Tosca] No, egli era solo. [No, he was alone.]

[Scarpia] Solo? Ne siete ben sicura? [Alone? Are you quite sure?]

[Tosca] Nulla sfugge ai gelosi. Solo! Solo! [Nothing escapes a jealous eye. Alone. Alone!]

[Scarpia] Davver? [Indeed!]

[Tosca] Solo, sì! [Yes. Alone!]

[Scarpia] Quanto fuoco! Par che abbiate paura di tradirvi. [You protest too much! Perhaps you fear you may betray yourself.]

Tosca, with her passionate, fiery temperament, explodes - Scarpia knows about this peculiarity all too well and is able to use her outburst as a clue in his investigation. He continues the pressure all through act II: Mario is tortured, and Tosca is forced to listen to his agony. She eventually crumbles, unable to persevere in keeping Mario’s secret:

[Tosca, act II, scene 4] Nel pozzo… nel giardino… [In the well… in the garden…]

This confession is so succinct, just like the rest of the dialogue in this opera. Tosca doesn’t say ‘wait, I’ll tell you everything’, doesn’t try to play for time; she just betrays the whole thing in two short phrases, without specifying what she means. There’s no need: they’re on the same page.

And then Scarpia goes one step beyond and acknowledges his villainous ways, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing but makes him a bit more caricature. Delightfully so, but still. While Tosca nurtures released Cavaradossi to conscience, Baron cunningly waits for the opportune moment, and strikes, ordering Spoletta to bring in Angelotti. He gloats at Cavaradossi, smugness dripping off of him: see, she betrayed your trust! Mario, tortured, exhausted, half-conscious, falls for it, throwing Tosca’s hands away:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] Nel pozzo… del giardino. Va, Spoletta. [In the well… In the garden. Get him, Spoletta.]

[Cavaradossi] Ah! M’hai tradito! [Ah, you have betrayed me!]

Cavaradossi picks this up from the dialogue between Scarpia and Spoletta - again, no one clarifies anything. Like you do in real life. Subtlety y’all.

Now that the villain has Cavaradossi locked up and preparations for his execution in progress, he is one step away from getting what he wanted from the start. Tosca consents to sleep with him but still cannot conceal her hatred, unavoidable ‘you can have my body but not my heart’ trope, which doesn’t stop his lust in the least - on the contrary, inflames him more:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 5] Che importa? Spasimi d’ira, spasimi d’amore! [What does it matter? Spasms of wrath or spasms of passion…]

Naturally, when Scarpia is finally killed by Tosca, the audience is bound to feel satisfaction and not regret. Even Floria, the established virtuous character, has no shame as she recognizes Scarpia as the ultimate threat:

[Tosca, act II, scene 5] Ti soffoca il sangue? Muori dannato! Muori! Muori! Muori! È morto! Or gli perdono! E avanti a lui tremava tutta Roma! [Is your blood choking you? Die accursed! Die! Die! Die! He is dead! And now I pardon him! All Rome trembled before him!]

But Scarpia is a disillusioned aristocrat rather than a one-dimensional villain. What lets him gain more flesh is his motivations - get rid of the rebels (for power rather than ideological considerations) and get the girl (personal gain), - his backstory and notoriety among the revolutionaries, working relationships with other characters and the fact that he continues to live through his actions (arguably the main theme of the opera). Even when dead, Scarpia continues to serve as a villain of the story: Mario dies, and Tosca shouts her curses at him:

[Tosca, act III, scene 4] O Scarpia, avanti a Dio! [Oh, Scarpia, [we meet] before God!]

This gives weight to the character as Baron doesn’t disappear as soon as he dies. His life and death both have consequences. His actions have lasting power - a feature that fictional villains far too commonly neglect.

Even though Scarpia possesses some cartoonish features, he is far from being as simple as Wile E. Coyote. Meep meep.

Vissi d’arte [finally, let’s talk music]

Riccardo Manci ‘Mario Cavaradossi singing ‘E lucevan le stelle’, inspired by the tenor Giancarlo Monsalve’, 2014

William Ashbrook described Puccini’s music as ‘telegraphic’ and ‘highly charged’. The reason behind such an impression is the combination of several major leitmotifs that interact, evolve and explain the story. Fugitive motif, love of Tosca and Mario, Scarpia’s theme, torture motif, Tosca’s theme and Cavaradossi’s farewell to life are used as a patchwork that tells the story. These leitmotifs - what Edward Greenfield [music critic] calls ‘Grand Tune’ concept - are memorable and unique, as well as quite distinct from their musical surroundings:

Puccini does not develop or modify his motifs, nor weave them into the music symphonically, but uses them to refer to characters, objects and ideas, and as reminders within the narrative.

Burton Fisher ‘Tosca: Opera Study Guide and Libretto’

Torture motif is one succinct example of how a single simple melody is used to pump up the mood. It first appears as a foreshadowing with Scarpia’s forming intention as he learns Cavaradossi was taken into custody:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 2] Meno male! [Not bad, not bad!]

It grows more and more pronounced as Cavaradossi is questioned - threatening but not quite powerful yet. On the backdrop, Tosca’s cantata also gains volume and solemnity - pure delight mixed with anticipation of terror:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 3] Questo è luogo di lagrime! Badate! Or basta! Rispondete! [Beware! This is a place for tears! Enough now. Answer me!]

And the theme finally loses its careful insinuative tone and thunders at full volume when Scarpia orders Mario into the torture chamber, right before Tosca’s eyes:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] Mario Cavaradossi, qual testimone il Giudice vi aspetta. [Mario Cavaradossi, the judge awaits your testimony.]

The melody elaborates with Mario’s torture heard from off-stage, reaching its breaking point as Tosca breaks and reveals Angelotti’s hiding. It repeats again after Mario is released - slow and woeful, intertwined with Tosca’s and Mario’s love theme that is now devoid of its previous light hopefulness.

Statue of Michael the Archangel, Castel Sant'Angelo, 2018

I love how music acts as a separate character in the opera. It talks to the characters, responds to them, inquires and leads the conversation. In act I, while Cavaradossi sings about his love to Tosca, the Sacristan reprovingly grumbles about obscene youth on the background. Besides, here lies the great benefit of veristic [realistic] opera that allows the characters to have duologues - Mario and Floria sing their lines separately in a conversational form rather than a boring duet.

Music gives the opportunities of quieter moments, to talk in phrases but also in gestures. During act II, Tosca uses gestures a number of times to answer Scarpia: a nod of the head, a wave; subtle yet expressive. They nearly don’t talk while Scarpia writes her a letter of safe passage. This quiet scene also allows Tosca’s character to unfold, her decision to feel earned. She sees the knife, she hesitates a moment; then she grabs it and hides behind her back: the decision is made. No words necessary; the score allows the characters to be silent while it tells and develops their story.

And it also allows the characters to talk all at once, without listening to each other. By the middle of Act II, as they learn about the battle of Marengo, Mario starts to shout about victory, Tosca tries to shut him up, and Scarpia reels about hanging the revolutionary. They clamor; chaos ensues, and music supports the flurry of eddying noises by playing disparate motifs. The best part about this scene is that it delivers the message loud and clear, on both levels of plot and emotions.

Talking about Puccini’s score, it’s impossible to ignore the musical cohesion and integrity: each of the three main characters has their theme and their own designated aria that allows them to shine. Moreover, as each of their arias happen once per act, I enjoy the interpretation of their dominance: Scarpia in act I, Tosca in act II, Cavaradossi in act III.

Act I. Scarpia’s ‘Te Deum’: lust, menace, church bells

The theme of the villain is played out in contrasts that reflect his character: cunning and smart - but ruthless and just on this side of crazy. Scarpia is also a figure of power, both literally and figuratively, and he is foreshadowed in the score long before the actual appearance of the character on stage. As Baron is first mentioned in the conversation of Angelotti and Cavaradossi, his dark theme abruptly breaks through the much less strident music:

[Angelotti, act I, scene 6] Tutto ella ha osato onde sottrarmi a Scarpia scellerato! [She has dared all to save me from that scoundrel Scarpia!]

Immediately, this menacing ascending theme is associated with the villain. Later, as he enters the stage, no one calls him by his name, yet the audience immediately recognizes him as Scarpia as he is accompanied by that same simple motif.

The appearance of Baron sobers and darkens the mood instantly, his leitmotif invading other themes unscrupulously. Establishing yet another contrast, his conversation with Tosca is escorted by the tolling of bells that lasts till the end of act I. Scarpia raves about his poison spreading through Tosca’s thoughts, and his unnerving, acrid soliloquy transforms into the solemn Adagio religioso in ‘Te Deum’.

This superposition of profane lust of a ferocious man and sacred sublimity of the Catholic chant is what makes the audience shudder. The final ‘Te aeternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur’ [‘Everlasting Father, all the earth worships thee’] should be the solemn virtuous hymn to God but instead the act ends with Scarpia’s theme reiterated in thunderous chords - an ominous admonition of impending threat. Brilliant. Act I definitely belongs to Scarpia.

Act II. Tosca’s ‘Vissi d’arte’: plea of a broken soul

Second act is all about tempo. The action rushes forward non-stop. Scarpia gives Tosca less and less time to think, to estimate her situation, pushing her to her into the abyss (count how many falling jokes I make through this post). However, he misjudges Tosca’s limits and pushes her just a bit too far.

The point of no return for Tosca is her aria where she asks God why she has to endure all this suffering.

[Tosca, act II, scene 5] Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva! […] Nell’ora del dolore perché, perché, Signore, perché me ne rimuneri cosi? [I lived for art, I lived for love: never did I harm a living creature! [...] In this hour of pain, why, why, oh Lord, why dost Thou repay me thus?]

The score is lyrical, slow and wailing as Tosca mourns her faith. The aria ends with a low sob that is nearly spoken with raw emotion instead of sang. (Fun fact: while today the opera is probably most well-known for this aria, Puccini didn’t really like it and wanted to cut it out of the opera altogether; in all honesty, it does lack the musical potency of ‘Te Deum’ and ‘E lucevan le stelle’ even though it’s a palatable piece that delivers the idea of character deconstruction rather well.)

Tosca is left completely broken. Modern sopranos commonly fall to their knees while performing this aria, and there’s a good reason: when Tosca finally finds the power to stand up, she is a different woman. For me, this is when the main plot twist happens: usually, heroines in operas are meek and hesitant instead of decisive and offensive. Tosca breaks the pattern and shoves the knife through her offender’s ribcage. She owns act II.

Act III. Cavaradossi’s ‘E lucevan le stelle’: I die in despair

This aria is so renown even people who dislike opera have heard it at some point. It starts with a subtle, tender clarinet solo (possibly the most well-known operatic clarinet theme of all times). The melody is forced up but then sags, losing its power. It’s the pace of destiny, dragging and sorrowful, measuring what little time Cavaradossi has left. This is Andante lento composed in minor key and slow tempo - something that Mosco Carner [musicologist and conductor] calls ‘Puccinian lament, reserved for a character in an extreme situation - death or suicide’. Perfect to denote present anguished dolor.

Mario meditatively recites the first two lines, which feels like an improvisation. The audience witnesses an extremely intimate although fragmentary memory that ends in a grieving ‘muoio disperato’ [‘I die in despair’]:

Puccini insisted on the inclusion of these words, and later stated that admirers of the aria had treble cause to be grateful to him: for composing the music, for having the lyrics written, and ‘for declining expert advice to throw the result in the waste-paper basket’.

William Ashbrook ‘The Operas of Puccini’

Bravo, maestro!

I dislike the currently popular hysterical sobbing at the end of the aria that can be heard from modern tenors (e.g, in staging of ‘Tosca’ at La Scala). It sounds as a ‘hoquet tragique’ [‘tragic hiccup’] that jumps out too much and is slightly out of character - such rendering is more appropriate for Tosca’s character not Cavaradossi’s.

Still, this is arguably the most beautiful, heart-wrenching lyrical aria I’ve ever heard; I’m literally still not over it, after 3 whole years of listening to it, sometimes on repeat. Also, Placido Domingo is the best Cavaradossi, shut up I’m not wrong (1976 film starring him and Raina Kabaivanska is wildly enjoyable).

As a bonus, act III (specifically its beginning and ending) deserve an honorable mention. Despite where the plot says the most dramatic moment of the plot is, for me, it’s the beginning of act III. Here’s the pinnacle of the opera: the contrast between the serene aria of a shepherd boy accompanied by the love motif - and the grim, heavy, shuddering theme of Cavaradossi’s farewell that the orchestra splashes on you as if it is a bucket of ice cold water. The music swells - you wait for the volume to stop growing, but instead it just tears through your eardrums.

The timpani are impossibly good for this piece. Intruding the peaceful, pastoral Roman morning full of hopeful dreams and the colors of sunrise, they suddenly throw the audience into the pit of pure unadulterated horror. Trembling and vibrating on low frequencies, they gift you with the feeling of earth opening under your feet, sucking you into the dark depths you’ll never get out of to see light - say farewell to life.

Similarly, the ending is extremely powerful. The drums start slowly at first, setting the rhythm. Before Cavaradossi’s execution, the orchestra is subtle and insinuating; it accrues and thickens in its vicious predictions. After the shots, as Tosca discovers Mario’s death, the tempo breaks through the roof. The music is desperately, deafeningly loud, it screams of tragedy. And, well, I am aware of the plot of the opera by now, but I’m caught off guard every time. I blame this on music. It just so perfectly reflects the mood of the events; it’s pure gorgeousness that gets to my very core every time.

There’s another point of criticism I need to mention in regard to the final theme that ends the opera: against logic, it is Cavaradossi’s farewell instead of more fitting love theme or, even more appropriately, Scarpia’s motif. This I cannot disagree with as, plot-wise, using this theme would provide the dramatic closure for the opera. However, given my love for theme of farewell, I cannot find the heart to dislike Puccini’s choice after all. Act III is largely focused on Cavaradossi, and the finale acknowledges this.

...Undoubtedly, Puccini was a genius. It’s not easy to comprehend the mastery with which he weaved a handful of simple motifs into a powerful story I cannot stop listening to. But also, there’s this:

Puccini’s sense of humor was often of the schoolboy variety, and he found risqué musical puns irresistible. In Act II of the opera, after Spoletta has assured Scarpia that ‘everything is ready’ for the execution of Cavaradossi, the Chief of Police turns to Tosca and softly asks, ‘Ebbene?’—’Well?’ She says nothing, and the score tells us that she indicates her submission by nodding her head. But at her silent reply the orchestra, anticipating the two-note theme of the ‘execution’ motif, plays the two-note phrase, A and C, or in Italian solfeggio, La and Do. The syllables, in addition to being musical symbols, also happen to be words in Italian: the words ‘La do’ mean ‘I'm giving it,’ and it is the usual way for women to say, I'm ready to give ‘it’ (to you).

Susan Vandiver Nicassio ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know about Tosca’

It is quite possible there’s more of such minutiae. I’m not sure how to feel about a piece that simultaneously cracks me up and throws me into a pit of despair. But I definitely like it - that much I know.

Castel Sant’Angelo, 2018

Recondita armonia [some fun trivia]

The tone of the dialogue was elevated quite a bit. Get this: comforting Cavaradossi after he was tortured, Tosca says ‘Ma il giusto Iddio lo punirá’ [‘But a just God will punish [Scarpia]’]. The initial line was ‘Ma il sozzo sbirro lo pagherà’ [‘But the filthy cop will pay for it’]. Far less distinguished, my dear.

Puccini visited Rome specifically to mimic the early morning bells. Kudos for authenticity. Also, initially, the composer spent an ungodly amount of money to cast the bells he needed for the performance of ‘Tosca’. The orchestras till today have difficulties satisfying the composer’s vision.

Sarah Bernhardt, an actress who became the prototype for Tosca in Sardou’s play, while performing in Rio de Janeiro in 1905, injured her leg in the final scene when jumping from the rampart. As a result of poor treatment, she lost her leg ten years later. Gory.

Two of the most famous opera singers chose this opera as their farewell: Maria Callas as Tosca gave her last performance in 1965, and Luciano Pavarotti as Mario Cavaradossi in 2004.

In one of the performances with Placido Domingo as Mario Cavaradossi, his son was featured as a shepherd boy.

Before Puccini got to write ‘Tosca’, Giuseppe Verdi expressed his interest. He didn’t like the ending though and wanted it changed - I think we’ve barely avoided another ‘La Traviata’ there, oof.

Oscar Wilde saw ‘La Tosca’ and believed the torture scene was great as it showed how far people can go (no wonder; he was working on ‘Salome’ that evoked indignant discontent of the critics in a similar fashion). George Bernard Shaw also saw the play and, while disliking it utterly, still predicted it would be great as an opera.

In Sardou’s play, Cavaradossi gained a reputation of a Bonapartist in large part because of his mustache. That’s the conclusion I’ve made after seeing these two quotes: ‘Even his mustache was suspect’ and ‘Tosca’s confessor told her it marked him as a revolutionary’. This is gold.

#opera #puccini #tosca #IMHO #why criticism #lots of rambling #greatest opera ever #i don't understand why critics abuse it

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keferon · 6 months ago

Text

Guys. Hear me out.

Remember when in Cyberverse everyone got their minds transferred into fake artificial digital simulation of an infinite fucking parade while their bodies were imprisoned? Now. Imagine Shockwave trying to pull that kind of move on First aid.

Under the cut:)

First aid feels wrong.

Which isn't weird, but this kind of wrong is brand new. It's not nausea from drugs or weird withdrawals after neural connection. It also doesn't feel like a concussion.

It feels like he's a lab mouse running through a maze.

There's the cheese. There's the electric shocks. There's no way out and never has been.

He thinks it might be the fault of Pharma's new drug. Or his fucking pilot position is finally eating away at him, or Vortex is finally done playing with him and just broke his brain.

There are people running around him, each of whom definitely knows what their place is and where they need to go. Everyone has a purpose and a position and some important job to do. They hardly even talk to each other, just nod and run on.

Amazing synchronization.

First..Felix feels like a kid lost in the mall.

He has. He has to do something, right? What does he need to do? Fuck. What day is today anyway?

He heads over to the schedule board and stares at it like an idiot for a couple minutes. It's Tuesday. The work day is in full swing. All the shifts are here. But he doesn't recognize the names of the employees. All the pilots are accounted for, but his name isn't on their list.

Must be a mistake?

He turns away from the board and looks around the room once more, this time more carefully. He just needs to find someone to ask. Preferably someone familiar.

He can’t recognise anyone.

The feeling of strangeness doesn't get any less.

The uniforms on the people around him are similar. But not the same.

The badges are all another color.

And he's surprised by this, but at the same time some part of his brain tells him that it's all familiar and he's seen it before.

“.... then I thought, we could do something different, you know?”

Felix flinches as Swindle and Onslaught walk past him. They are clearly in the middle of some sort of discussion and don't notice Felix staring at them.

Swindle is wearing a pilot's suit. Onslaught is wearing one, too.

Screw the weird schedule. THIS is wrong.

Onslaught frowns, but when he opens his mouth there's a strange amused respect in his tone

“You slippery eel.”

Swindle smiles. His smile, Felix notices, is not the same at all. He doesn't look like an actor from a commercial. He looks like a worn-out but proud of himself man.

It's wrong, but he's seen it before, it's strange but it's familiar. He wants to go up to Swindle and ask what's going on. He wants to understand the damn schedule. He wants to...

…

First Aid feels wrong.

Which isn't weird, but this kind of wrong is brand new. It's not the nausea from the drugs or the weird withdrawals after a neural connection. It also doesn't feel like a concussion.

It feels like being a lab mouse running through a maze.

You got the cheese. And here's the electric shocks. No escape. Never has been.

It's all the same.

He's not sure where he's going. Everyone around him seems very busy. Running about their own business, not paying attention to him and--

What is he supposed to do? He can't remember what day of the week it is. Shit. Is it Tuesday? He can't remember.

Does he need to find a schedule?

Everything feels weird.

By the schedule board, he almost crashes into Swindle.

“...You realize, if we can both get out of this shit, we can get others out too.”

Onslaught...still looking strange in his pilot suit instead of his usual uniform. Swindle pokes him in the side with his elbow as they both walk past Felix, completely ignoring him

“You just. Think about it. Even if you can't fire Offy from the pilots, you can at least free him from these disgusting experiments.”

Felix wants to go over and say hello. Politely and unobtrusively. And also kindly ask, “what the hell, boss?”

But you see it every day, his brain tells him. Have you forgotten?

It makes him feel wrong.

Here's the board, here's the schedule, just lift your stupid head up and see what you're supposed to be doing.

He looks at the board. It's Tuesday. It's dumb sheets that don't have his name on them. He wants to go up to Swindle, he should go up to Swindle, right?

…

It's all wrong, but it's a new kind of wrong. It's not from drugs or neural connection. And it's almost certainly not a concussion.

He's feeling.... hell, what day of the week is it? Tuesday right? He looked at the blackboard yesterday.

He stops. And makes a titanic effort to concentrate the jelly his head is now filled with instead of his brain.

Today is Tuesday because?...because yesterday was Tuesday? And the day before that, too? This is some kind of trippy shit, not a broken neural connection….

He's not looking for the schedule. He's seen the schedule a million times and he knows what's gonna be on it.

He's not sure where he's even going. The layout of the base is different. Not much, but enough to confuse him. He's still stubbornly checking out every familiar place he can find.

He doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't.

He still doesn't see a single damn familiar face.

Ambulon's gone, Pharma's disappeared somewhere too. No Tailgate or Wheeljack anywhere to be seen. And the layout is a little different and all the badges are the wrong color and Felix can't even read what's written on them because every time he tries all the letters blend into an indistinguishable blur.

He's trying to talk to someone. Anyone. But everyone either brushes him off or straight up ignores him. It's like he's a ghost or a lunatic or all of the above.

Everything is so familiar, but at the same time it isn't and his brain frantically clings to the last possibly familiar thing.

Vortex. He needs to find Vortex.

Even if it is him who is going insane and not everyone around him. Vortex is insane in his own, unique way, but he won't ignore him. He may get a good laugh, but it's still better than blindly poking around every corner by himself.

First Aid feels wrong.

Which isn't weird, but this kind of wrong is brand new. It's not nausea from drugs or weird withdrawals after neural connection. It also doesn't feel like a concussion....

He snaps at himself. NO. Hell no.

Vortex. He needs to find Vortex.

The hangar looks surprisingly dark. The people look unfamiliar. And another schedule board beckons him to come over and check to see if it really is Tuesday, but he ignores everything and heads straight for his Mech.

Vortex hasn't changed a bit. Even the radius at which people avoid him is exactly the same.

And looking at him doesn't give Felix that fucking sense of wrongness.

He sees Vortex a lot. He just knows it. The thought is natural, in contrast to the others. That's good, that... It may sound strange, but Vortex is the most normal thing he can perceive right now.

He feels like he's grown little wings. His feet carry him up to the open cockpit and he barely notices the steps beneath him.

Vortex is here and he will understand and even if he doesn't, at least he won't ignore him. Vortex gets bored too quickly so he never minds distractions, no matter how absurd and...weird..they…

Huh…

Felix almost climbs into the cockpit, but freezes, right on the way in.

It's empty.

He crashes into that realization like an invisible wall.

The cockpit.... is clean.

It doesn't smell of chemicals or scrubbing agent. There are no thin streaks of old browned blood in the seams and crevices. There are no dents or stains on the edge of the visor.

The cameras are dead still and the screens are off.

There's no smell of stale blood or decay.

There's no one here.

But the back of his neck still tingles with the sensation of someone else's eyes staring at him.

“The fuck do you think you're doing?“

First Aid flinches startled and turns around.

There is a pilot standing a few feet away from him with a cigarette in his hand.

“..I’m..”

“I wouldn't stand there if I were you” smiles the stranger eying him with a suspiciously bloodthirsty smile “those things are glitchy as fuck. Might chop off something important.”

First Aid continues to stand just under the open visor. Maybe it's surprise or maybe he's too used to the idea that Vortex won't cut him in half. The pilot in front of him looks.... geez, where has he seen him???

Has he ever seen him at all? That green suit looks awfully familiar.

And the voice. There should be more mechanical notes in that voice, First Aid thinks. It should have more static and reverb and squeaks and rumbles and clicks and that quiet hum that sounds when the cockpit systems are turned on...

First Aid jumps off the Mech.

“Vortex...?”

The pilot casts him only a slightly surprised look at first, but a moment later recognition flares in his eyes.

“What the fuck....AID??”

First Aid instantly takes a swing and punches him in the face hard enough to send him wiping the dust on the floor.

“You!!!”

“Ha,” says Vortex from the floor. “Hahahahah ooooh Do it again! ”

First Aid kicks him. Vortex laughs like he's been told the world's happiest joke.

He sounds…alive. Alive and human and there’s no metal in his voice and

“What the fuck?”

Vortex stops laughing, but still doesn't get up off the floor

“What's the last thing you remember?”

First Aid still does nothing but stare at Vortex stunned. The human Vortex. Victor? Shit

“Until Tuesday, you mean?”

Vortex hums

”Till Tuesday.”

What was before Tuesday?

Another Tuesday. And another and another and another and another.

Someone from downstairs bangs loudly on the railing and berates Vortex for a safety violation, ordering him to put his cigarette away.

Vortex points his middle finger down somewhere and throws the cigarette over the railing.

Oh god. Oh shit.

First Aid swallows nervously.

“Shockwave...he used something...to control you-Mech...I mean. He did something, I think. I remember I couldn’t move couldn’t do anything. And now I’m in this hhhhplace? I don’t really recognise it.”

Vortex twitches the corner of his mouth and finally rises from the floor.

“Well I do.”

He looks like he is sick, First Aid thinks. He looks sick and he looks human and he has arms and legs and eyes and that stupid curly strand of dark hair sticking out from under his helmet and the dark eye bags.

“The bastard made up some sort of dumpster to transfer your consciousness in while he does shit to your body.”

First Aid clenches his hands together

“But there were two of us in the neural connection. And it took two of us to transfer here too...”

It suddenly dawns on him

“Wait. This base, these, everything. This is what the Mech project looked like in your time?? And Swindle and Onslaught and the staff is different and...”

Vortex raises his eyebrows smugly.

“...Here you are ...you're a human...” finishes First Aid.

Vortex pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

From somewhere below, a loud angry bang is heard again

“Tex, you bastard stop smoking in here.”

“Fuck you, Off,” Vortex yells back.

Then shrugs his shoulders

“I've always been human. No matter how hard Shockwave and his science shithole try to change that.”

He holds out an opened pack to First Aid

“Want some?”

First Aid feels awful. Terrible as if from the drugs, terrible as if from the neural connection. Terrible as if he had a concussion times two.

But Vortex is here and Vortex believes him and even if it turns out they're the ones who are crazy and not the world around them, at least they're crazy together.

First Aid takes a cigarette

“Thanks...”

_______________

#transformers #texaid #wait….is this a texaid fic that doesn’t need trigger warnings??#is that legal??#vortex #first aid #tf mecha universe #mecha writing #mecha ta writing #swindle #onslaught #blast off #on/off #mecha kef writing

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presumenothing · 7 years ago

Text

meteoric // 平步青雲

Or, what if the ones framed alongside Prince Qi wasn’t the Chiyan army... but Prince Jing’s instead?

(AO3)

They’re drawing up plans for this week’s drills with Nie Duo – the Chiyan army hardly lacks battle experience over any terrain one could care to name, but Donghai presents a rare opportunity to test that mettle over water – when Wei Zheng crashes into the command tent at a flat-out run, face red with more than mere exertion. “Young Marshal!”

Lin Shu’s gaze flicks quickly from his lieutenant to his father, who nods slightly. Outside of official situations, the Chiyan generals have never been excessively particular about protocol, and whatever made Wei Zheng agitated enough to rush in here is clearly urgent.

“What is it?” he asks.

“News from the capital, they’re saying that–” is all Wei Zheng manages to get out before they’re again interrupted, this time by the officious tones of a herald.

His father’s gaze meets his again across the length of the table, and Lin Shu doesn’t even need to guess at what they’re both thinking: what could bring a court herald all the way out here?

The answer, it turns out, runs something like this: “Xiao Jingyu and Xiao Jingyan have been found guilty of plotting treason against His Majesty, and are posthumously stripped of their titles. The Chiyan army is hereby ordered to return to Jinling effective immediately. Thus it is decreed.”

It is his father accepting the decree in a perfectly flat voice even as slow horror permeates their ranks like an inexorable tide, because Wei Zheng hadn’t been the only one with friends in Prince Jing’s army – or even Prince Qi’s, for that matter.

It is the dull roar of Jingyan’s name in his head.

(The answer, as far as Lin Shu is concerned, runs exactly like a lie through and through, and he will tear Meiling apart with his bare hands if that is what gets him the truth.

“Xiao Shu.” His father is already starting to roll up the first of many maps covering the table. “Go, get the men ready to return.”

“Father,” Lin Shu protests.

Marshal Lin looks up, but his hands don’t stop moving, even as he tears two letters to shreds and casts them into the fire.

“We have our orders,” he says finally, but Lin Shu hears We don’t have a choice and – well, they really don’t, not with the damning brand of traitors on the line.

Seventy thousand lives have never weighed this heavy before, even in battle.)

ii.

“What’s going on? Jingyan-gege would never d–”

Someone rounds the corner, and Lin Shu reacts on reflexes newly honed on this return to Jinling – he tugs on Nihuang’s hand so that she stumbles forward mid-sentence with a sharp cry, though he relaxes on recognising the tall figure of her father in matching white and blue.

“Huang-er,” Lin Shu says, and Nihuang startles because he hasn’t called her that since they were much younger but he needs her to listen this once. “You can’t talk about Jingyan or Prince Qi like that, do you understand? Not to me, not to anyone.”

Much as she’d complained about it, it’s a perverse blessing that Nihuang had spent most of the past year in Yunnan with her father, learning the ins and outs of their army.

Mu Nihuang is perfectly capable of holding her own in almost any fight, of that Lin Shu has no doubt, and she’d never known Prince Qi that well anyway.

But Lin Shu had also returned to find the capital of Da Liang deadlier than a knife’s edge, where one wrong question could draw more than blood, and he already has too many people to worry over in this capital for reasons obvious and otherwise – his parents, Aunt Jing, the Chiyan army. Xie Yu, Xia Jiang, Prince Yu and Xian.

He doesn’t know how much of this Nihuang can hear in his voice, how much she’s already guessed, but then she asks “Why?” barely above a whisper and he knows that she doesn’t just mean the reason why their friend’s name is now unspeakable.

“I don’t know yet,” Lin Shu admits, just as quietly. “I’m going to find out, but until then, can you do this for me?”

Nihuang bites her lip before nodding, and Lin Shu steps back, gently pries his hands from her grasp. “Duke Mu,” he says, with a respectful bow.

He is met with an even nod. “Young Marshal Lin.”

They haven’t addressed each other this formally in years – Lin Shu and his almost-uncle, fellow warrior, future in-law. Though the last is no longer to be, now.

One cannot win a battle without sacrifices. He dreams in strategies; this is the first of many.

Lin Shu draws himself up to his full height. “My father has something to discuss with you this evening, if you’re amenable.”

Duke Mu exhales, tired and knowing. “Is that so.”

(“Lin Shu-gege?” Nihuang says, and he hates how her voice quavers and breaks now, where it hadn’t before.

“Everything’s going to be alright, I promise,” Lin Shu answers, and swears, silent and terribly sure, that he won’t let this be a lie too.)

iii.

The sudden dissolution of the long-standing betrothal between Lin Shu and Mu Nihuang sends shockwaves throughout the court of Jinling – only to be quickly overshadowed the next day by the sudden and violent fallout between Lin Xie and his only son, told in hurried whispers of overheard arguments.

Chiyan’s marshal (its only marshal now, the rumours say) demands a private audience with the Emperor that very afternoon, sweeping past the guards like a raging fire, and the entire city watches with bated breath.

(“I’ve spoken to Wei Zheng and the others. Half the Chiyu battalion can be reintegrated back into the main army, that’ll make just over fifty-five thousand men in total.” Lin Shu hands two lists to his father, names of the men that are no longer his. “Meng-dage says that the Imperial Guard can take perhaps another four thousand, at best. The rest will have be reassigned among the border armies.”

His mother places the tea set on the table – all their servants have been dismissed to a careful distance – and glances over the papers quickly as she pours the tea out. “Including Yunnan?”

Lin Shu receives his cup with both hands, and nods. “Excluding the Mu army would end up drawing the wrong kind of attention to them instead, though we should at least avoid sending any of Chiyu’s ranking officers.”

Even without anyone else around, none of them have given voice to the reasons why this stripping of force is necessary, why seventy thousand men of Chiyan had entered Jinling wearing only the lightest of armour and sword, why Lin Shu is now single-handedly tearing down everything he’s ever built.

None of them need to.

“If the Emperor asks, let him believe that you regret your decision in giving me too much power too soon.” Lin Shu feels his smile twist into something bitter. “He won’t need much convincing on that front, I think.”

His father grunts in wordless assent, only studying the lists for a moment longer before folding them up again, and the room falls quiet aside from the crinkle of paper.

“...Xiao Shu.” If he’s ever heard his mother sound this hesitant before, he doesn’t remember it. “You don’t have to do this. Your father can handle it.”

And that would have been true, in any other situation; but Lin Xie is not the one who’d been tutored by Prince Qi, not the best friend of Prince Jing, not the young prodigy who already commanded a good third of the Chiyan army before the age of twenty.

Jingyan hadn’t even had ten thousand men.

Lin Shu uncurls his hands from where they’ve clenched into fists, shakes his head. “That’s exactly why I have to.”

His parents exchange one of their silent looks, and Lin Shu waits.

Then his father stands to retrieve brush and paper from the side table, while his mother turns back to him, lays her hands over his.

“Don’t worry about my brother, then,” says the Grand Princess Jinyang, with the same smile that he’d learned from her, sharp and blinding. “I know what he wants to hear.”)

iv.

Lin Shu arrives at Langya Hall in the early morning.

The brisk wind on the mountain path clears his mind for perhaps the first time since that day at Donghai, and he thinks that he can understand the draw of this location – could stay here for long, even, if not for everything that had happened on the plains below.

He hands his father’s letter to the attendant which comes over, waving off his explanation of how Langya’s questions work. “Is your master here?”

The attendant bows politely. “Please wait a moment,” he says, which isn’t really an answer either way, but that really isn’t surprising by this point.

What is surprising is the person who descends the entrance stairs a minute later, the letter vanishing up one billowing sleeve to be replaced by a fan.

“If you were expecting my father instead, I could almost say the same to you. Well, that’s one question answered and paid for, at any rate.” The young man shrugs easily, all long black hair and flowing white robes. “I don’t suppose you have any more?”

“Two more, actually.” Lin Shu studies the young master of Langya Hall – Lin Chen, his father had told him – with undeniable curiosity. They look more alike than different now that he’s shed his usual attire for plainer clothes, hair falling dark on his shoulders in the half-knot he hasn’t really worn in years, even when Jingyan kept teasing him about trying to look too serious, and –

“Two?” Lin Chen repeats with false shock, flicking his fan open and waving it lazily about. “My, we’re going to be here for a while. No wonder you came this early.”

It’s no longer difficult at all for Lin Shu to imagine how his father ended up fighting for three days and nights here, if they’re both sons anything like their fathers.

He puts all those thoughts out of his mind and asks, “Will you help me overturn Prince Qi’s treason case?”

The fan doesn’t even waver in its arc. “You’re assuming that he was innocent.”

“Will you help me overturn Prince Qi’s treason case?” Lin Shu asks again, implacably.

Neither of them so much as blink. “Langya Hall has never interfered in matters of the court, by tradition.”

He doesn’t ask a third time, only waits.

The young master snaps his fan closed and points. “And what do you intend to pay with, for such a question?”

Lin Shu smirks. “I’m sure you could use an additional assistant around this hall of yours, correct?”

“You?” There’s nothing fake about the surprise, this time, or Lin Chen’s light snort of amusement. “Aren’t you thinking a little highly of yourself?”

It’s not a no. Lin Shu is the one to shrug, this time. “I’m sure Langya Hall is perfectly capable of judging something like that. Is it not?”

“There are easier ways to get employed, you know.” Lin Chen crosses his arms, closed fan tapping an irregular rhythm, and still doesn’t say no. “And your last question?”

Lin Shu takes a breath; it catches in his lungs. “Is Xiao Jingyan still alive?”

The young master stills, and lets out a sigh before turning away. “You’d best come with me, then.”

“What, you’re not asking me to pay for this question?” Lin Shu blurts out, and it sounds nonsensical even to him, but his very person feels suddenly immobile from the weight of this final answer.

“Maybe I’m still deciding,” Lin Chen retorts, and tosses a careless glance over his shoulder when Lin Shu still doesn’t move. “Do I need to lay out the red carpet or something, o great Young Marshal Lin?”

(He’s not that person anymore – or at least he can’t be until this is settled and done, but he is still his father’s son, even here in the jianghu.

Lin Shu pushes one foot forward and the next, until they’re standing together on the stairs, and takes one last step. “It’s Mei Changsu, actually.”

“Changsu.” Lin Chen considers this for a moment, nods. “I’m Lin Chen.”

“I know,” he answers in a half-singsong tone.

Lin Chen side-eyes him as they start down a long corridor at a brisk pace. “Oh, is that how you’re going to play this?”

His answering grin almost feels real.)

“Jingyan? Oh thank god, Jingyan–”

#nirvana in fire #lang ya bang #nif fic #lin shu #lin chen #(and a whole host of previously-dead characters lmao)#fanfiction #mine #this is terrible bUT I'M POSTING IT ANYWAY BYE

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inazuma-eleven-translations · 8 years ago

Text

Animage September 2013 - Interview with Suzuki Tatsuhisa (Ibuki Munemasa)

Full scans can be found here: http://inazuma.pmsinfirm.org/?p=322

Translator’s Notes: This is for @shindouyerin. Since I haven’t seen Galaxy yet, I’m really sorry if I made any mistakes! But I kinda like Ibuki, because he reminds me of Hakuryuu. He seems soooo stubborn, haha.

He painfully lost 3 goals to Resistance Japan! What should Ibuki study from here on in order to become a guardian deity for Raimon?

Ibuki Munemasa/ Inazuma Japan GK/ Shirt Number 1

Joined the team under the condition that he would get to study basketball overseas. Incidentally, his way of speaking is informal*, so is this one of the characteristics of Gassan Kunimitsu’s soccer club?

*He doesn’t use polite Japanese.

Special Move - Wild Dunk

Just like a dunk shoot from a basketball player, he slams down on the ball with shockwaves from a big hand. “Speaking of keeper special moves, Endou’s God Hand has a strong impression, so I was glad he could also unleash a big hand with bang. With Ibuki’s special move he swings down from the top, and meeting the ball face to face like Endou is very Ibuki-like. I feel like he’s not relying on any tricks or anything. But I think he can learn even cooler special moves from here on, so I’m looking forward to seeing them.” (Suzuki)

Captions

Gassan Kunimitsu Soccer Uniform - At the meeting for choosing the representatives, he appeared in Gassan Kunimitsu’s soccer club uniform. He wore the same red goalkeeper uniform as Hyodou, and his shirt number was 20.

Gassan Kunimitsu Basketball Uniform - He has the strong, sturdy arms of a basketball player. Since it’s the same color as Minamisawa and the others’ uniforms, is this the school color of Gassan Kunimitsu?

The Lone Wolf Sportsman, Ibuki

First we’d like to hear about how you felt when it was decided that you would play Ibuki.

First I received the script and Ibuki’s character design.

It wasn’t an audition, but you were asked to play him?

Yes, the role of Ibuki was offered to me. Since I hadn’t been part of the Inazuma Eleven series since the movie ‘The Invasion of the Strongest Army Ogre’ where I played the role of Escavan, I was looking forward to seeing what the story would be like this time. I feel this way no matter what the role is, but to me meeting the character I’ll play is the most important thing. I thought about things like ‘In Ibuki’s situation he’s a basketball player, so why is he going to play soccer?’ and ‘I wonder if he has a pretty combative personality?’ But my impression of his is changing as time goes on.

How is it changing?

I thought he was a lonewolf. He’s carrying a burning fire within him, but he doesn’t always show it. So to the people around him, he’s a difficult kid to decode at first glance.

When he was doing special training with Tsurugi, he didn’t say anything to the Captain, Tenma, about it. He just suddenly disappeared from the morning assembly.

That’s right (laughs). There’s no meaning to a keeper that can’t stop shoots, so he put everything aside to train. Ibuki also doesn’t really participate in the scenes revolving around the players’ daily lives. He’s a character we haven’t even once seen how he speaks to the other team members, so it’s hard to tell if he’s close to the others. So I’m pretty worried too. Just what kind of kid is he, anyway?

We can conclude he’s not too close to them.

Probably not. He doesn’t seem to have much interest in what’s going on around him. I think he truly is a good kid, but isn’t his way of getting close to others in some respects not great? It’s because he’s a very straight-forward character that his pride is high that he shows a lot of stubbornness, and he’s the type who creates a lot of unnecessary friction between himself and the people around him. He’s cool, but he’s also faced a lot of difficulties and we can only imagine and look forward to his thoughts and the parts of him that haven’t been shown yet in the story. Ibuki is getting to know his true self.

The drama Ibuki has had so far is mainly clashing with Shindou.

Yes. Ibuki’s probably worrying about ‘Why is Shindou acting this cold to me?’. ‘Let me at least do this!’ and ‘Even though I’m trying my very best!’. I think this kind of story can happen in real life too. Whether you’re in school or in your work life, there are situations where your efforts just don’t feel appreciated or recognised.

When he said ‘I don’t care about soccer or Inazuma Japan!’ it left a deep impression.

‘I don’t care about anything else, so just recognise me already!’ was how he felt, wasn’t it. When you put people under pressure, you can divide them into two types. The type who retreats into their own shell, feeling extremely depressed or the type that even if everything around them crumbles they’ll keep showing you that they’ll do things their own way. I think Ibuki is the latter.

During the match where they can withdraw from the team (Note: Haven’t seen Galaxy don’t know the context) Ibuki declares immediately that he will stay behind. He says ‘If I leave now, I’ll be unsatisfied.’

Right. I think Shindou’s harsh but correct criticism provoked Ibuki’s pride as a sportsman.

Then even though if he leaves the team he can play basketball abroad, he refuses.

I think that before he’s a basketball player, he’s a sportsman. Even though he was suddenly told to play soccer, it doesn’t mean that he’ll hesitate in practicing from morning to night. So he’s not really thinking of it as turning down an offer to play basketball abroad. He knows the thing he needs to do right now is not play basketball, but train as a goalkeeper.

Thanks to that training, Ibuki’s become able to stop shoots. But Shindou still doesn’t recognise him.

Yeah, ‘why not?’! There’s the feeling that something’s still missing before he can truly be able to play soccer. I think Shindou’s true intentions will soon be revealed, but right now he’s the one person challenging Ibuki. But though be challenged Ibuki grows as a person which I think he’s grateful for. But if he’s to put it into words, he won’t say anything more than ‘That Shindou is a really annoying guy,’ (laughs). Everyone else recognises that Ibuki is doing his best, but for Shindou, who is aiming for the world, he’s still not satisfied.

The first time he successfully used Wild Dunk, everyone else gathered around in awe.

Shindou didn’t move. Shindou is a good soccer senpai for Ibuki. What Ibuki can receive from Shindou and Tsurugi, who have a lot of experience with soccer, is (Note: can’t figure out this sentence atm). It’s nothing to do with age or gender, I think Ibuki is the type to really enthusiastically get into people who recognise him.

It would be good if he became closer to the other members too.

It seems like he especially has no connection with the girls (laughs). Since he really only has interest in training, he’s not really aware of the other members. When he opens his heart to everyone sooner or later and one by one communicates with them, I wonder about just what kind of odd conversations he’ll have with them (laughs). When I think about that, I look forward to it. In episode one the other Raimon members appeared, and everyone looked like really close friends. The two goalkeepers Shisuke and Sangoku were particularly memorable.

Finally, Ibuki’s highlights from here on out. The match against Resistance Japan is a painful memory, but…

It’s because of this painful memory that makes Ibuki want to train even harder. Resistance Japan’s level was certainly a different level than what he’d faced so far. I think it was very beneficial for him to face them so soon after just starting to play soccer. Because Ibuki’s had good sports reflexes from the start, and he’s trained that ability during his time as a basketball player so from now on he can definitely find his feet and show his real ability. And his being a lone wolf will change in a good way. There’s a tendency to think ‘I can surpass everyone by myself’ but through Ibuki understanding ‘Everyone’s hearts being linked together is an important thing too,’ I think it would be good if this message can also be transmitted to viewers. Since Ibuki will learn some important things, I’d be happy if he could watch over everyone’s growth in Inazuma Japan.

#i finally translated something #inazuma translations #ibuki munemasa #inazuma go galaxy

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pacsettravel · 8 years ago

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Headlinin’: 11/27/17

We’re having a huge sale today, so please go check that out! Seriously guys, this is the biggest one we’ve ever done. Go get it! :D Alrighty, on to this week’s main story...

MUCH ADO ABOUT DOGEN

I’d like to talk about balls. No, not the sports ones. The kind that are metaphorical, the kind that you have when you stand up for what’s right in the face of intense opposition. I mean, think about it: there’s stuff that takes courage, and there’s stuff that takes balls. Asking someone out to prom? Courage. Telling a Firefly fan to let it go, since Fox canceled their show fifteen years ago? That’s courage with a little bit of balls. Standing up to the bully ten times your size? That’s balls.

Bringing your baby to work with you when you’re a politician in one of the most male-dominated societies in the world? That’s more balls than you’ll find at a basketball tournament. [Washington Post]

Image courtesy Asahi Shimbun/Getty Images

Just look at this picture. Words fail me. Here, check out the video:

youtube

This is Kumamoto City Representative and certified bad ass mama Ogata Yuka and her son Dogen, who has a very nice hairstyle going for someone who’s only seven months old. She made the “mistake” of bringing her son to work with her, which resulted in many male members of the chamber crowding around her and demanding she leave - with some of them even demanding she apologize for doing so (even though Dogen was being a good boy and not making any noise).

According to her official bio, Ogata is a graduate of the Tokyo University of Foreign Studies and holds a graduate degree from George Mason University in Virginia. She’s also worked as a program officer with the UN’s Development Program in Yemen, which I imagine is not the UN’s easiest mission. After moving back to her hometown, Ogata became interested in local politics and ran on a campaign emphasizing support for working mothers, traffic/pedestrian safety, public health and welfare, and promoting tourism to Kumamoto. [Editor’s note: we’re working on a tour pitch or two, Ogata-shigi!- Team PacSet]

Fun fact: Ogata was elected when her first child was just 1 year old, and the day she brought Dogen to work was her first day back from maternity leave. Now personally, I would have appreciated a “Welcome Back” cake, a balloon bouquet... maybe some of Kumamoto’s famous Ikinari Dango* with a nice message written on it? Like this?

But hey, I guess a bunch of old dudes being rude is kind of like a welcome. I mean, isn’t that how the bullies welcome the nerds back to class in all of those teen movies? Sorry, I digress.

Although child care is provided in municipal assemblies in Kyoto and Akita (as the WaPo points out), Kumamoto’s model male citizens decided to get their pantsu in a bunch over this, eventually forcing Ogata to leave Dogen in the care of a friend before returning to the chamber.

In a statement, Ogata said that she wanted to bring attention to the tough conditions facing working women in Japan. She’s not wrong; numerous [Bloomberg/Benchmark] articles [Japan Times] have been written about Japan’s shortage in adequate day care facilities and how hard it is for women in the workforce. In fact, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe has cited making the working world more friendly to women a priority, since Japan’s birthrate is declining and the benefits of being a mother are not all that attractive if you want to have a career/support a family in Japan. However, apparently Abe forgot to mention this to fellow LDP member and “guy at the pachinko parlor” Haraguchi Ryoji, who said that Ogata could be “subject to punishment for disturbing the chamber over a personal reason.” [Mainichi Shimbun] Which I guess I understand... I mean, I bet no one in the LDP has ever been in a scandal for personal reasons, right? (Fun game: Google “LDP Scandals” and see how many you can find in 10 minutes!)

The truth is that there is still a cultural stigma against working mothers in many social circles in Japan. Not too long ago, having a baby meant a women would leave work altogether and focus their entire lives on child rearing. Even today, mothers that go against the grain are often harassed by other mothers and people who aren’t parents at all but have so many opinions. Which is probably one of the reasons why Japan’s fleet of online trolls have since invaded Ogata’s Facebook page and are tweeting nasty replies to English language stories about her. Nice of them, isn’t it?

Regardless, we hope that Ogata-shigi keeps fighting for working women, that we are able to create the best Kumamoto tour EVER, and that Dogen can keep that clean, awesome looking hair forever. <3 Speaking of clean...

I’LL HAVE A WASH AND DRY WITH THAT YAKITORI

If you have traveled with us, you know how tough it can be to find coin laundromats in Japan sometimes. Fortunately, the effort to make them more common just got a massive (and I mean massive) push from a somewhat surprising source: convenience store (conbini) chain Family Mart. (LINE NEWS)

That’s right - one of Japan’s biggest conbini chains, the place where you get a meat bun when you’re hungry, a manga volume when you’re bored, and a Pocari Sweat when you’re drunk, is installing coin laundry! According to an official statement, the company is planning on rolling out the service quickly, with laundry popping up in at least 500 locations by the end of 2019. [Family Mart]

I’ll level with you guys: I’m trying to think of a negative angle to this story, and you know... there just isn’t one. The thought of being able to wash my clothes during FanFest while eating a lemon ice, buying breakfast onigiri for the next morning, and browsing the latest Shonen Sunday? What did I do to deserve this kind of joy?!?!?!?!

The best part? Because the competition between conbini chains in Japan is such a bloodbath, it probably won’t be too long before Lawson or Seven Eleven decides to try out Coin Laundry as well. Japan in the summer is all kinds of humid - keeping it clean is a concept I can definitely get behind.

TAKA IS NOT [ONE] OK [ROCK] WITH SMAP... KINDA

One guy isn’t keeping it clean this week in the world of gossip; ONE OK ROCK front man Taka sent shockwaves across the Japanese interwebs this weekend when he dissed recently disbanded J-Pop royalty SMAP during an appearance on Super Beaver singer Shibuya Ryuuta’s radio show late Thursday night. Although both of their bands specialize in rock and not the kind of J-Pop sound SMAP embodies, the two were discussing which song from the band they like most. Taka’s selection? SMAP’s 1993 single “Ten Dollars”:

dailymotion

This is a somewhat deep cut from the SMAP catalogue; it’s from when the group still had six members, and it wasn’t nearly as popular as SMAP’s turn-of-the-millenia hits Lionheart and Sekai ni Hitotsu Dake no Everyone in Japan has heard this song twenty million times oh god please make it stop**.

After the song played, Taka voiced a sentiment that many indie rockers, rappers, and artists in Japan have long thought but always been scared to say. SMAP is... eh. From the man’s own mouth: [Model Press]

“Actually, I hate them, really. I hate SMAP. They’re like Japan’s national group,” said Taka. He’s not exactly wrong; SMAP’s TV show was one of the view where western stars appeared regularly, and even Eric Clapton wrote a song for them. Yes, ERIC CLAPTON. Taka, probably realizing that the internet could twist such a comment out of control quickly, added: “No matter which group you’re in, whether you’re an idol, a superstar... we’re all just human... Being in a group like that shouldn’t be your WHOLE life - that’s tiring. So when I heard SMAP was disbanding, I was thinking, ‘Wow, they really worked hard to come this far...’” I can’t help but agree with Taka myself; to have a group be your entire life until you’re alone again - that’s truly a Mighty Long Fall.

Taka’s comments were also a reflection of the public’s sadness when SMAP disbanded - so much so that many thought the group should keep going. Indeed, artists in Japan that are popular are expected to devote their lives to their work to a degree that many in the west would consider horrifying (just ask any former idol star... ugh). For what it’s worth, many on Twitter and message boards in Japan agreed with Taka on this point.

Now if some of those nice, sympathetic folks would go help support Ogata Yuka... that would be awesome.

NOTE: I’m off on Japan Holiday next week, so this column will be on hiatus. We’ll be back in a few weeks with more goodies. Until then, be lovely to each other!

*About the Dango: The popular YouTube series Cooking With Dog (RIP, Francis ;_;) actually did a segment on how to make Ikinari Dango; check it out! We miss you, Francis the Dog... <3

**title edited for accuracy

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sarkastically · 8 years ago

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Kiss for Luck

(This was inspired by listening to pop punk power ballads in my car before work. Light sexual situations. Passing mentions of battles. Not the best but hey drabbles are fun.)

“Kiss?” Chirrut asks, coming to a stop directly in front of Baze, planting his staff securely in the sand of the training yard, grinning like a fool. It's a grin that only gets wider, brighter, as he watches Baze blink rapidly, flush staining his cheeks, which he tries to hide by ducking his head, looking at the ground. Losing has never been something Chirrut takes gracefully, which he proves even more by using his finger to tip Baze’s face back up so he will look at him. “Just for luck, of course,” he adds with a wink that could easily make the declaration out to be a joke the way that everything he says can be a joke to those who don't know him well.

Baze knows him well. Better than anyone. But Baze is also in the habit of closing his eyes to things he thinks will hurt him. Pretending this is a joke will make it easier for both of them. “For luck,” he agrees, and Chirrut does not miss the fact that his voice is pinched and strange. Does not miss it but does not question it either because even though he can worry someone away to their wit’s end with inquiries when he wants to, he knows that chasing it will only distress Baze. Plus then he might change his mind, and Chirrut will have ruined this chance.

Chirrut kisses him quick, refuses to let himself linger the way he wants to, deepen it the way he wants to, lose himself in it the way he wants to. Maybe that will happen another day. For now, he will be satisfied with the brush of lips against lips, closed, fast. They have had more intimate hugs. Then he frees his staff from the sand and vaults over the wall to spar because he is not sure he can watch Baze’s face, see what settles there like a storm across the sky. He needs action, not contemplation.

He wins the match even though his mind is on the kiss.

Later, in the darkness of their room where they are so close but still too far apart even though he can, and often does, stretch his arm out to run his fingers across Baze’s skin, he claims that it was the kiss that allowed him to win. Baze just makes a noise in his throat that Chirrut has not heard before. They do not talk about the hundreds of matches Chirrut has won without a kiss; he would refuse to acknowledge them even if they did.

It becomes a routine, Chirrut stopping in front of Baze before a match, before a test, before prayers or meditation, anything. He will appear seemingly out of nowhere, sometimes breathless from running the span of the temple. “Kiss for luck,” he will say, and Baze obliges. No matter where he is or what he is doing or who he is with. He just stops and kisses Chirrut as though it is the same as breathing, the same as walking. Sometimes his face still flushes, but he kisses. Each and every time.

It quickly stops being just a routine. It just is. They don't talk about it or what it means or how sometimes, when he catches Baze alone, it is not just lips against lips in that hurried manner. Slowly it unfurls into something more like a rose blooming. Baze’s fingers on his cheek, along his jaw, brushing unruly hair from his face, tracing his ear. Lips that begin to part, linger, tongues that explore. The way one or the other of them will whimper or sigh, shift closer and more inextricably into the embrace. The hands that rove under robes; Chirrut is the first to explore that new ground and the noise that Baze makes when he does so is enough to send shockwaves through the Force itself he is sure. Or just through him. But the fine details of the thing don't matter much when he can draw that noise out of the other man anyway.

The day before their Guardian trails, Baze won't stop pacing, muttering to himself, talking through meditations and forms and theories. He is so nervous that it stains the entire room and makes Chirrut restless. When he passes close enough to touch, Chirrut catches the sleeve of his robe, pulls him to a stop, pulls him to him, in front of him, traps him between his legs as Baze practically twitches with anxiety. Chirrut fists a hand in Baze’s robe to pull him down so they are face to face and he can trace the arch of Baze’s teeth worn lips with his eyes.

“Kiss for luck,” he says, hoping to soothe him, hoping to calm him, something, anything to stop the pacing. And because he wants to kiss him, desperately always wants to kiss him, but has not figured out a way to do so yet without the words. They are a mantra, a magic spell, almost as sacred as any of the chants they use during meditation. Possibly more so since they only belong to them.

Baze is crowding him back onto the bed almost before he finishes speaking, and Chirrut hums out pleasure as the barest hint of teeth scrape over his bottom lip. Sometime later when scorching kisses have melted into softer ones but still on the inevitable road to something else, something more than they've done before, Baze pulls away for a moment, eyes askance and hands busy fixating on the front of Chirrut’s robes because it has always been hard for him to look at someone when he has something important to say, and Chirrut has never begrudged him this habit because it is Baze; there is nothing about Baze, even the annoying things, that is not dear to him.

He is tempted to ask “What, beloved?” but says nothing because Baze is sometimes easily startled away from words so Chirrut cherishes every one he manages to wring from his lovely lips and infinitely lovelier heart.

The words are quiet almost a sound more than speech, but Chirrut is an expert at listening to him by now, can understand anything he says no matter how low or gruff. “Kiss for love?” And Chirrut swears that the question mark at the end is as big as the universe itself.

It feels like his face will split from grinning, that the brightness in his chest will rend his body in two and burn their entire moon to ash, and he wouldn’t mind at all because of that question, which is a declaration as much as anything but cautious in the way that Baze is always cautious, checking the temperature of the water before he gets in. Chirrut normally rushes right off the sides of buildings without even checking how tall they are, but even he has been careful here because there was so much to lose. “Very much a kiss for love,” he says back, hands buried in Baze’s hair to keep him there, to make him look at him now because he wants him to see as much as he wants to see. How this had been his goal all along even though he couldn’t find the words to express it that way, didn’t want to push, didn’t want to rush. So he invented a childish game to do it for him.

A childish game that has more than paid off because Baze glows like kyber has been embedded inside of his skin. It makes him lovelier than normal, which is saying something because Baze is the sort of man that everyone stares at, who catches everyone’s eye even though he spends his time looking at the ground, face hidden in the mane of his hair, eyes averted, waiting for what he feels is inevitable criticism. But Baze is gorgeous and glorious and his. Maybe. Hopefully. It wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t lovely to anyone else. It wouldn’t matter if pilgrims to the temple didn’t sometimes stop in their prayers to just stare at the man with the deep eyes and the deeper voice and the broad shoulders. Chirrut would want him no matter what because his heart is a glimmering star inside a unfurled flower that keeps growing to try and surround and shelter all who come near it.

He has never known a heart like the heart Baze has. He imagines there will never be another in the whole universe.

He is greedy because he wants it so. Even if it will never stop spreading itself thin, he wants it to come home to him, to curl up with him, to let him mend it when it breaks, and it shall break. It has broken quite a few times already, but it never loses its light. If anything, it just gets brighter because the cracks let it shine through more.

“I would rest in your light forever,” he sighs, lips so close that they brush across Baze’s as he speaks.

Baze blushes and shakes his head, averts his eyes, never one to know what to do with compliments, never one to understand words like that directed his way, and this is why Chirrut keeps his affections playful. It is easier for Baze to acknowledge that, after all. “Just kiss me,” Baze says after a moment, face still hot when he presses in and then there is no more time for words at all.

They become each other’s that night fully.

The next day, Chirrut asks, like usual, “Kiss for luck?” and Baze arches a curious eyebrow at him as though confused until Chirrut pulls at his ear. “I want to win. Kiss for luck first. Kiss for love later.”

Baze chuckles, the sound of an underground river thrashing its way through rock, and kisses him, light and quick, the luck kiss, before they enter.

When everyone asks how they managed to pass the trial on the first try, something rarely achieved, Chirrut just grins and claims that it was Baze’s kiss. Baze, of course, recommends studying, though he flushes when Chirrut quirks an eyebrow at him and taps his neck with a finger, reminding Baze of a bruise sucked there during their studying the previous night. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend not to notice how quickly the pair makes excuses to head to bed as well as the fact that they leave with arms slung around each other, Chirrut’s hand grazing over Baze’s backside as they walk.

In the years that pass, the phrases become code, used when different things are needed because it is easier, especially for Baze, to parse things in that way. Although it is common for Chirrut to be asking after luck more than love. Chirrut is the one who loves the fight, after all. Chirrut is the one who prefers to throw himself into increasingly difficult activities.

When they attempt to guard the gate against Stormtroopers, Baze asks for the luck kiss, and Chirrut’s heart clenches, but he gives it.

When Chirrut loses his sight, it takes him sixteen tries before he can get the words to leave his lips, but he asks for the love kiss. (He thinks it hurts Baze more to hear it than it does for him to say it, which is why he tried to avoid it. Anything to keep mending that heart. It is so shattered these days, he thinks their moon will burn from under them in its blaze.)

When Baze returns from a stint with bounty hunters, scar across his face like a fissure across a mountain, all he can do is sign into Chirrut’s hands. He asks for love, and Chirrut gives it. Again and again. Until enough love has been given that Baze’s soul trickles home, follows his body, resurfaces from wherever he buried it in order to do what he has done. Chirrut doesn’t ask. It’s better that way. He knows it’s okay when Baze rumbles out laughter like an earthquake after he pulls at his beard and teases him, asking if he has become a bantha as a disguise.

It goes on like this for years, the back and forth of asking for things needed in the best way that they have figured out when nothing else can be said.

And then, one day, it is all that is left.

Before Scariff, Chirrut catches the sleeve of Baze’s flight suit, tugs him into a corner that he assumes is dark and away from prying eyes, which he has never cared about but sometimes Baze does. He assumes that Baze will make a wall of his body anyway. Few people bother a man with a cannon on their back.

He knows even though it has not necessarily been said in so many words that they are not coming back from this one. The end is near, and it will hopefully be a good end that will mean something, that will help people, but oh how he wishes it were not the end. Even though there is the Force, and everything is forever in the Force. Even though he trusts that he will not lose this, not lose Baze, he will lose this sense of Baze. He wants to touch every inch of him, make sure that he has forgotten none of it, but there is no time.

There is, however, time for one thing, but he doesn’t know which to ask for because the one seems too light, especially for Baze, and the other seems too final, and it has never been in Chirrut to give up, which is what it feels like even if it isn’t.

Baze is quiet because Chirrut is quiet, and neither of them is used to that. But Baze knows what it is to need time, and gives it willingly as he has always given so much of himself, willingly, freely, until there is almost nothing left.

“I will rest in your light forever,” Chirrut says, thinking about Baze’s heart, the light inside of him, the way he will look in the Force, the way he will overwhelm the Force completely.

He can hear the tears in Baze’s voice when he speaks; they are thick things he is trying to hide in the back of his throat, and the effort is threatening to choke him. “Chirrut, don’t.”

“Kiss for love?” Chirrut asks, and his voice wavers because Baze’s does. They have always been like this, the sun and the moon, taking turns as each, one reflecting the other.

Baze presses Chirrut’s free hand against his cheek so that he knows when he shakes his head. “Kiss for luck,” he says, and it’s a wonder that he manages the words at all.

When they kiss, it is both. Both the rush of battle, the reminder to come home quickly and safely, as well as the lingering stay, stay with me, you are always mine. It is not just both; it is everything. It is a lifetime spent together, falling in love with the universe together, falling in love with each other, all wrapped up into one thing. It is laughter and loss and a thousand small moments that flicker through his mind like the toys of shifting glass they sold in the Jedhan marketplace. It is the knowledge that the moon they called home is gone, and the only home that remains is the one they each made in the other.

Baze kisses with the hope that this will not be the last, that this will buoy them through, that they will win as they have always done. Chirrut kisses because he cannot go on without the reassurance that this is steady, that it will continue when nothing else does, that it will remain when the end comes.

As it turns out, neither of them are wrong.

#spiritassassin #sara writes #sara's fic #sara's drabbles #otp: i don't need luck #otp: i protected you #otp: i am one with the Force

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