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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

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Welcome to Oblivion--Ch. 24

Chapter 24

Spring semester classes picked up amid a foot of snow and temperatures well below freezing. It was so odd being back in the dorm. I’d spent most of my winter break crashing with Roman and Dean at their apartment. Of course, I’d driven back home to see my parents on Thanksgiving and then for a few days at Christmas. Luckily, those days had coincided with Roman’s trip to Florida to visit his family. Seth dipped out to Iowa to see his folks. Dean put off his trip to Ohio as long as he could, but he ended up leaving the same day that I did.

Sonya’s stuff was dumped on her bed when I dragged my suitcase into our shared room. A box of donuts sat on my desk, a note propped in front of it. Welcome back, roomie. Schedules showed up. Looks like we’ve got a class together!

For the first time, I noticed the envelope beside the box of sweets. I smiled ruefully, realizing that Sonya had opened it for me. Students at Grand Mountain took some kind of active elective, but since I was working with the Poms, I’d gotten a waver from the requirement. But Sonya had talked me into signing up for a kickboxing course with her. I guess we’d both gotten a spot.

A loud banging on the door that lead to the bathroom we shared with our suitemates drew my attention. I yanked the door open, unsurprised to find Ember on the other side. The yellow and orange streaks in her hair were brighter than before break. She must have redone them recently.

“Come on in,” I said, grinning. She threw her arms around me and hugged me hard.

“We didn’t think you’d come back,” she said calmly, pulling out my desk chair and plopping down in it. Ember propped her feet up on the edge of the desk, but not before stealing a chocolate-frosted donut from the box.

I stopped, right in the middle of tossing my suitcase up on my bed. “Who didn’t? Did you think I was going to drop out or something?”

Ember rolled her eyes and spoke around the huge bite she’d just taken. “Sonya and Drew had a betting pool going,” she mumbled. “He figured you’d be shaking up with Ro and Dean.”

The way she said it made me suspicious. “Ember, how many people know about that? About me, Ro, and Dean?”

She waved her hand in the air as if it wasn’t a big deal. “The entire hall. All the way up.”

I sank onto the edge of the bed. My heart skipped a beat. “Jesus. If the entire hall knows, the whole campus will know by the time classes start tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nobody’s business.” She watched me with her preternaturally bright eyes. I could never quite get a fix on their color. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. But I can’t lie… a lot of us are curious about how… it’s not every day that you know someone who’s dating two people at once and it’s all out in the open.”

“It’s not really out in the open, Ember.”

“You know what I mean,” she replied, snatching another donut. “You guys aren’t going around behind each other’s backs. Everybody is on the up and up.”

I rolled my eyes and flopped back on the bed, narrowly missing cracking my head against the wall. “It’s weird. Like, when we’re together—just us… well, sometimes Seth is hanging out with us, too… it all feels pretty normal. It’s not a big deal for me to go on a date with Ro or with Dean, but the thought of going out with both of them at the same time… it frightens me. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it, but I’m afraid of what people are going to say about them. Ro has a strong position on the team. I don’t want campus gossip to mess that up for him.”

The door opened just then, and Sonya spilled into the room with her girlfriend Peyton in tow. My roommate grinned and stepped back out into the hallway. Her voice echoed through the entire hall. “Pay up, McIntyre! She’s back!”

Groaning, I lifted my head to look at her. “Seriously? I thought Ember was joking.”

Sonya practically shoved my suitcase to the floor before bouncing up on the bed beside me cross-legged. Peyton hopped up to sit beside Ember on my desk. “Nah. Scottie owes me a hundred bucks.”

“So, what’s it like?” Peyton asked, curiosity in her bright, wide eyes. “Have you guys…?” She wiggled her eyebrows and held up three fingers.

“No!” I exclaimed, not sure whether I was insulted or intrigued by the idea. “That’s not how… we haven’t…”

Ember gave Peyton a playful slap on the knee. “Ignore her, Addy. She’s got her mind in the gutter all the time lately.”

Sonya grinned. “That’s why we’ve been having so much fun.”

Peyton pulled a face that made me want to crawl under the bed and never come out. “Ew. Both of you. Shut up.”

“But come on,” Peyton cajoled, her Australian accent becoming a bit more pronounced. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”

My immediate response was to shout an emphatic no. But I couldn’t. Because she was right… I had thought about it. More than once. And apparently, my silence was answer enough.

“I knew it,” she exclaimed, pointing at me. “And I guarantee that they’ve thought about it, too.”

While it wasn’t easy to see me blush, I was sure that there was heat rushing beneath my skin. I ducked my head and tried very hard not to focus on the images that were already playing around in my head.

***

“What’s up, Addy?” came a familiar voice behind me in the coffee shop line. I turned to see Seth Rollins standing just over my shoulder, dressed in a grey hoodie, black leather jacket, and a black beanie. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, a grin on his face. His cheeks were bright red above the line of his beard.

I huddled further into my coat, which I’d tugged on over Roman’s Pirates hoodie. “Not my body temperature, that’s for sure.”

He laughed, and I noticed the fact that there was a gap between his front teeth. “You think this is bad? It’s what… twenty-eight degrees outside? Ha!” He rocked back on his heels before pushing me a few steps forward. The line was moving. “It was nine degrees in Iowa this weekend.”

Smirking, I looked him up and down. “And yet you’re bundled up like you’re going to the Arctic.”

“Cold is still cold, Addy.”

I shrugged and smiled. My turn came, and I grabbed Seth by the wrist. “Come on, your caffeine fix is on me today.”

Seth grinned. “Far be it from me to turn you down. Ro and Dean would kill me for making you unhappy.”

“Bullshit,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just order your damn coffee.”

I was impressed by his order—it was almost as insane as mine. Maybe Roman was right. Maybe I was a bigger caffeine addict than Seth Rollins. Still, the barista looked strangely at both of us when we ordered four extra shots of espresso in our already caffeine-laden concoctions. Once we had them, we wound our way past the line that had stretched out the door while we waited.

We found a spot in the student center and stepped out of the way of people pouring in and out. I cupped my hands around the cup and tipped it carefully up against my lips. Seth didn’t bother. He took a big sip and sighed, as if all was right with the world.

“So, what do your classes look like this semester?” he asked, leaning back against the wall.

I dug my schedule out of my bag. While I’d picked up my books the day before, I hadn’t really paid attention to timing. “Let’s see, I’ve got history of post-Roman Europe, pre-calculus, astronomy two and the lab, kickboxing, English composition, and intro to international politics.”

His head nodded toward the paper in my hand. “When do you have the politics class?”

I glanced over the schedule one more time. “Tuesday and Thursday at eleven with Dr. Depaul.”

“Me, too. Nice!” He held up his hand and I gave him a high five. “Maybe I won’t fail polisci this semester!”

I rolled my eyes, checking the clock. “I’ve got English in ten. See you around, Rollins.”

***

At noon, I practically ran across campus to the student center. Not only was I desperate for warmth, but I was starving. I’d gone through English and pre-calculus that morning, and I had history at one. I was desperate to get some food in me before I had to sit through lectures about the Visigoths and the unification of the Franks. Plus, practice started again this afternoon, and I wasn’t going to get anything to eat until well afterward.

I ran up the steps to the second floor, surprised to find the line ridiculously long already. I caught sight of a familiar face near the front of the line. Thank God for football players, I thought just as I shouted, “Hey, Highlander!”

Drew turned around, a smirk on his face. When he saw me, he waved me up. No matter what people said, college wasn’t entirely different from high school. Athletes still ruled the place. And I suppose it didn’t hurt that Drew was six-foot-five and looked like he could bench press a full-grown grizzly.

He wrapped me in a warm hug and tucked me in front of him in the line. “You cost me a hundred bucks, Addy,” he said playfully.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I replied, scanning my ID card as we slid in the door. I was overcome with the sweet scent of lasagna and garlic bread. “Dear sweet baby Jesus, that smells good.”

Drew laughed out loud. “Go on, then, lass. I’m not getting beaten to a pulp in practice because you fainted from malnutrition.”

“Why does everyone think Ro and Dean are going to hurt them because of me?” I asked, walking backwards toward the main line.

“Because one is a big ass football player and the other is an insane cage fighting shmuck?” I knew that voice. I swept around, grinning. Dean stood there in a leather jacket and beanie, backpack over his shoulder. Roman wasn’t far behind, balancing a tray loaded down with food.

“Come on, princess,” he said, grinning. “We’ve got lunch handled.”

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kickscene31 · 4 years

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ransomedbard · 5 years

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Course Correction

As the decade draws to an end, Trowa joins Quatre and Wufei on a working vacation, but they still manage to find time for a New Year’s toast.

For @gwcocktailfriday ‘s New Year’s theme

—————

Trowa floated weightless inside the cramped airlock, relishing a moment of downtime.

It was now past 11pm on New Year’s Eve. His friends had been on the outside of the ship for hours, working their photographic magic in the waning moments of the decade while he steered the ship in an endless loop with minor variations to set up their shots. Half an hour ago when they’d called him over the com to let him know they were finally finished, he had welcomed the news with a private sigh of relief. But then they’d followed that announcement with an invitation to join them outside to “ring in the New Year”. So he picked up his tired bones, set the autopilot and suited up as instructed, and was now waiting for them to finish setting up whatever surprise they had in store before he exited the hatch. If it was to happen before midnight, they had better hurry - there were only nine minutes left.

He passed the time musing over what the surprise would be - a picture for him to post on his own social media was his guess. A kind and appropriate gesture, given the nature of their trip, but perhaps wasted on him, because he only had an account in the first place to keep up with what they and his other friends were doing. In turn, those friends made up his scarce two dozen followers - although if he posted their photograph that might change; Quatre and Wufei had tens of thousands of followers each.

Neither of them had set out to become a minor celebrity; it had simply built up slowly over time. Wufei, who traveled often for work had made his start after he posted images of a lunar eclipse that he happened upon by accident. Taken on a shuttle leaving the Earth for L3, the planet hung vast and bright in the foreground, casting a dark, crisp shadow over the moon. The stark beauty of it had fired Wufei’s imagination and he began to seek out more. He chose unique and little known conjunctions and phenomena, performed his own calculations as to when they would occur and the best approach to take, and then scheduled his flights on everything from luxury cruises to commuter red-eyes in order to capture them.

If Wufei’s specialty was capturing nature‘s rarest moments, Quatre’s by contrast was all about making you believe in the reality of things that had never existed. He delighted in trompe l'oeil, forced perspective, and strange camera lenses; he was a wizard at capturing reflections, utilizing atmospheric distortions, and other tricks to fool the eye. But his real genius was in the intricate miniatures and props that he made himself and integrated into his scenes - always as practical effects, as both he and Wufei prided themselves on not altering or compositing an image after the fact.

They had each fallen into spending more and more time on their respective branches of photography, and amassed a respectable following, at which point they had started good-naturedly ragging on each other. This had naturally escalated into the issuing of a challenge that had attracted a lot of attention and reblogs. After several of these occurred without a clear victor, they had announced their “End of the Decade” collaboration. He suspected this had all been planned in advance, but it was a stroke of genius, uniting their fans and heightening their fame.

Trowa was deeply amused by it all - until he got caught up in it. At the beginning of December, Wufei and Quatre had asked him if he’d be willing to help them out, as their plans had grown to be too much for the two of them to accomplish alone. Realizing he had unspent vacation days that would otherwise go to waste, he took the last week of the year off. They’d picked him up in the early hours of Christmas morning, and since then he’d been piloting the ship while they worked together to pull off some of their most ambitious shots.

He hadn’t been prepared for how physically taxing it would be. They were exacting in their requirements and he’d had to raise the sensitivity of the controls to the utmost and work with hair-trigger precision to get the exact rotation or angle they wanted. The itinerary Wufei had worked out had foregone a regular sleep schedule in the interest of catching as many interesting photo opportunities as possible, and the many hours Trowa had spent bent over the controls had added sore shoulders and a painful neck to the list of sacrifices he’d made for their art.

But you’ve enjoyed it nonetheless, chimed in the part of his mind that remained a sort of neutral observer, and Trowa nodded in agreement. The last few days had been hard, certainly, but the freedom from his daily responsibilities, the energy of his friends, and even the hard-won accomplishment of lining up the perfect shot for them made up for it. Yes, this trip had been better than he hoped, and a bit of an eye-opener; it had something he’d been missing.

What exactly that something was, he didn’t know yet, but in his unhurried way he was confident that he would figure it out, and then make any necessary changes. His philosophy of life owed much to his piloting roots; making course corrections was simply second nature.

He glanced at the clock built into the airlock wall and tapped to activate his com mic. “Five minutes left.”

Wufei made a reply that might have been “ugh,” but followed it with “come along up starboard, and — Quatre, could you move that out of the shot?”

Trowa had already cycled the air out of the lock, so within a minute he was out on the exterior of the ship, his tether clipped to their walk line. It was a small runner, but it still had a few outside cargo attachment points for bringing along any bulky items that were safe in the vacuum and radiation of space. Trowa knew his friends had made good use of these points for mounting tripods, but he stopped short when he spotted what they’d done for his surprise.

Smack dab in the middle of the starboard side was a tall, round bar table of sleek dark wood and three matching high backed chairs. The table was set with a softly glowing lamp with a dark shade, a few square napkins, and even what looked like a small puddle of spilled drink.

Trowa laughed delightedly, then settled himself into the chair in the middle and tucked his safety line behind him, out of sight. “Very nice. Don’t tell me you’ve filled my sip-line with alcohol?”

Wufei chuckled. “That would be going a little too far.”

Quatre took the seat at Trowa’s left, his hands full of three champagne flutes, each seemingly full of the light golden liquid. A gentle cascade of rising bubbles was frozen in each glass.

“Full of dyed resin,” he said, giving the one in his right hand a little shake and offering it to him. “And an upward pointing LED in the base; otherwise they looked too dark.” Trowa took the glass and settled it between his gloved fingers in a natural pose.

Wufei finished fussing with the camera mounted on a tripod a meter away, then came and sat down with a little tap of his hand on the table like a runner touching home. “Done! And with ninety seconds to spare!”

Quatre passed Wufei his glass and they all took a long moment to look behind them at the background for their picture. The Earth was high and relatively small, occupying much the same position the moon might in the Earth’s night sky. Compared to their usual shots it was pure simplicity, but even a novice like Trowa could see in his mind’s eye how well it would come together.

Only a minute remained before midnight. They turned back to the camera, relaxed and all smiles, just three friends enjoying a night out. Quatre cracked a joke, and Wufei carried a few bars of Auld Lang Syne.

Trowa was content to sit quietly and soak it all in. He felt closer to that missing something already.

The camera flashed a red light rapidly in warning as the flash prepared to fire. Trowa lifted his glass slightly and tilted it towards the center of the table, and his friends followed suit, the rims touching in a silent clink.

“A toast,” he said, “to the New Year - and all the possibilities it holds.”

#Gundam Wing #Fanfiction #gwcocktailfriday #Trowa Barton #Quatre Raberba Winner #Chang Wufei #Happy New Year everybody!

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mxopifex · 5 years

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So @somuchbetterthanthat posted this about wanting a 19th century AU JonMartin and @kristsune added a bunch of enthusiastic tags. This isn’t quite exactly what they were asking for, but the opening line has been lodged in my head since I read the post and was begging to be written

[AO3 link]

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that it’s all done with mirrors.” Martin held the glass plate negative up toward the window to look at the odd inverted image it contained. There was a couple sitting together on a small bench holding hands. Behind them loomed an indistinct figure that would have been a spectral white in the printed image but which was an ominous looming black in the swapped values of the negative.

“I am not going to tell you it was done with mirrors.” Mr. Sims frowned as he leaned close to Martin’s shoulder to peer at the negative. “It’s not done with mirrors. They just expose the plate twice. First with the so called ghost and then a second time with whatever poor ignorant soul paid to have their photo taken with a ghost. I know Mr. Magnus has an interest in spiritualism, but really. I can’t imagine why he would have purchased some sham studios’ negatives.” Mr. Sims could be counted on to know the inner workings of any so called supernatural phenomenon, from spirit boards to ectoplasm. Martin wasn’t sure how he managed to gain such knowledge, but he enjoyed provoking him into explaining.

“Maybe he thought they were a good laugh?” Martin bit his lip and began to chew, before he realized what he was doing and quit. The first time he’d been called in to help Mr. Sims with organizing one of Jonah Magnus’s unusual additions to his library he’d worn a raw spot on his lip. Mr. Bouchard, the butler, had been furious over it. Footmen were not to have unsightly sores on their mouths. Not even when forced to work in close quarters with the infuriating and delightful Mr. Sims.

“Oh yes of course. A great lover of jokes, our employer.” Mr. Sims rolled his eyes, and turned to walk back towards the center of the library. Martin liked the way he said “our employer.” He made it almost sound as though a university educated gentleman’s secretary and a footman shared a place in life simply by both working for the same gentleman. “I don’t know where he means for us to put these. It’s not as if the library isn’t already full of his odd collections.” He ran his fingers thoughtfully along a shelf packed with boxes of letters.

Martin replaced the first negative into the box it had come from and pulled out a second. Mostly for something to look at that wasn’t the forbidden fruit of Mr. Sims’s backside.

This one had a similar composition to the first, but this time the ghostlike figure had its mouth open. And while the rest of the figure was vague and indistinct, its teeth were perfectly clear and crisp and midnight black. Two perfect rows of pitch colored teeth revealed by lips pulled back in a scream.

“Martin!” He felt a hand on his elbow, and he started so hard he nearly dropped the pane of glass in his hand.

“Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?” Mr. Sims looked more concerned than upset, but Martin’s gut clenched with the shame of having been caught slacking all the same.

“I’m sorry. Don’t know where my mind went.” Martin quickly slipped the negative back into its slot in the box.

“Are you feeling unwell? You’ve gone a bit pale.” His hand was still on Martin’s elbow.

“Never better,” he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Decided where you’d like to put these?”

“I think so, but it’s going to require rearranging and,” he paused, “condensing the items already there.” Mr. Sims flourished the statement with a sigh, and Martin tried not to hope too hard that it would be the sort of rearranging that would take all day.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives

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spaceexp · 6 years

Photo

An analemma, a composite image taken from the same spot at the same time over the course of a year, from the village of Callanish in the Outer Hebrides in Scotland, UK. Equinoxes are the middle points

via reddit

#space #science

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apod · 2 years

Photo

2022 June 21

Analemma over Taipei Image Credit & Copyright: Meiying Lee

Explanation: Does the Sun return to the same spot on the sky every day? No. A better and more visual answer to that question is an analemma, a composite of images taken at the same time and from the same place over the course of a year. The featured analemma was compiled at 4:30 pm many afternoons from Taiwan during 2021, with the city skyline of Taipei in the foreground, including tall Taipei 101. The Sun's location in December -- at the December solstice -- is shown on the far left, while its location at the June solstice is captured on the far right. Also shown are the positions of the Sun throughout the rest of the day on the solstices and equinoxes. Today is the June solstice of 2022, the day in Earth's northern hemisphere when the Sun spends the longest time in the sky. In many countries, today marks the official beginning of a new season, for example winter in Earth's southern hemisphere.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap220621.html

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tomeofwords · 6 years

Text

Motive

His son was quirkless. He stared at the documents before him, his mouth set into a straight line. There were no signs of quirk development in his son. None that the doctors could see at least. Clearly, he could not have a mutant quirk as those traits would have been present when he was born. There was no sign of any changes in his body structure to accommodate a transformation quirk either. Even if he had gotten a emitter quirk like his mother, there was no signs of changes in his brain or body composition to be able to properly wield it. The only anomaly that could be found in his child’s body, in fact, was some extra bone in his feet. As a result, there was only one conclusion that the doctors could come to. Izuku Midoriya was quirkless.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath, lest he destroy the documents before him with one of his many quirks by accident. He had not accidentally set off a quirk in decades, but he did not want to test his luck with the documents before him. Inko was already upset enough with the diagnosis after all, he doubted destroying the documents would help her mood. Opening his eyes once more, he gazed down at the documents on the table in front of him, seeing it but not really pay attention to it. No, his mind was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how this could have happened. He had a multitude of quirks, so many that he had honestly lost track by this point. Sure, he was a first generation quirk user, but both him and his younger brother had some type of quirk, so surely their family had strong enough genes for quirk development. His wife was a fourth generation quirk user herself, so she had the genes for it as well. So why had his son not been born with a quirk? He found himself drumming his fingers on the table in thought. There was the possibility that Izuku was similar to his brother in that his quirk was one that could only really be shown when used in conjunction with another quirk. Then again, what would that do for the small child? He wouldn’t be able to use it without possessing another quirk.

Of course he could just give Izuku one of his many quirks. It would not be very conspicuous, especially considering that the child was four. He could just blow it off as the quirk developing a bit late. His wife and son would be too delighted by the appearance of a quirk to really question how the doctors were wrong as well. In fact he did have a levitation quirk that was similar enough to Inko’s own quirk. Perhaps that was something to consider- As if contradicting him, his mind conjured up images of those he had given a quirk to in the past. Men and women with faces grotesquely distorted, their tongues out and dripping drool as they barely managed to make the beginning stages of sound. Lifeless eyes staring into his soul as their arms twitched in a feeble attempt of movement. He tries to think of his innocent child in the same way. But, the image of son’s innocence gaze replaced with a vacant void has him scraping the idea in an instant.

No. Giving him a quirk was out of the question. At least until he perfected the process so that it had less side effects. He really should be beginning that artificial human project soon. Putting that thought away, he glances behind him at the door just down the hall. It had been closed since he had gotten home and he had the distinct feeling that it would remain that way for a while more. He had gotten home a few hours after Inko and Izuku had gotten back from the doctor’s office. For once, Izuku had not come out to see him, instead hiding in his own office while Inko tearfully informed him of what had occurred at the doctor’s office. Upon his request, she had offered him the documents they had given her before going to their room to lie down. Since then he had been alone in their living room, waiting for his son to eventually make his appearance so he could talk to him. But he had failed to leave the room, even to just use the bathroom. A cold sensation began to grow within his chest at the idea of his tiny son curled up in his office chair for hours by himself, haunted by thoughts of his new quirkless diagnosis. Now, he was not the best when it came to comforting Izuku. He cared for his child, that could not be questioned. After all, Izuku did have this nasty habit of charming anyone into caring for him. (In all honesty, he was surprised that his son did not at least have a charming quirk.) Still, he usually left comforting to Inko. Emotions came easier to her, though sometimes he wondered if they came a bit too easily. However, with her resting now, it seemed that she was out of commission for a bit. Which left the job of comforting Izuku to him. He slowly got up from his seat, turning as he did so in order to begin making his way to the door. With a few quick strides, he found himself at the door, knocking firmly on the wood. “Izuku?” He waited for a few seconds for his son to respond. When he said nothing, he just pushed the door open, looking into the room to check on his son. He spotted his son instantly, recognizing his bushy mane of hair at his desk, in front of his brightly lit computer screen. To his surprise though, he noted that Izuku’s head was lying on the desk, signaling to him that the child had possibly fallen asleep. Ah. That must have been why he did not answer his call. A small sigh escaped him as he walked over to his son. He must have fallen asleep watching videos on the internet again. Honestly, he needed to talk to Inko about limiting his time on there, that couldn’t be good for him. Though, in this case, at least it provided him something to distract himself with. He got over to the chair and peered over the back of it, examining the scene before him. Sure enough, his son was fast asleep on his desk. Izuku’s head was positioned over folded up arms, though his face was tilted to face the computer screen. The artificial light from the computer washed over Izuku’s face, allowing him to spot the dried tear tracks on his face, as well as the small bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. His lips twitched just a bit at the sight of his sleeping child. When Izuku slept, he was peaceful and quiet, something he never was when awake. Izuku was not a bad child, but he was most definitely an energetic child. It made him appreciate the moments he was quiet all the more.

He moved around the chair and reached down, ruffling his son's hair gently before he turned to the computer screen. He planned on taking his son back to his room to sleep, but he needed to take off the computer first.

His lip curled as soon he spotted the figure on the screen though.

All Might.

The man seemed to mock him, standing proudly on the screen in that gaudy red, white, and blue outfit of his, his head thrown back into an exaggerated laugh.

His hands curled up into fists at his side.

Just like the rest of the One for All users, All Might was proving to be a thorn in his side. Minus the fact that his son was almost scarily obsessed with the man, he was already receiving reports of his attacks on his empire from the idiot. He had taken out a decent chunk of his underlings already and showed no signs of stopping. As much as he hated to admit it, Shimura had given her quirk to- His mind froze mid-thought, latching onto one work in particular. Given. His gaze slowly shifted from the computer screen to his son. One for All could be successfully passed on to someone without any of the side effects that normally came with transferring the quirk. It did have it’s own side effects from what information he could gather on it, but if he went about it the right way he could be able to minimize the backlash from the quirk. Not to mention, if he could find a user that he could influence, then he would not have to worry about an One for All user fighting him. On the contrary, that user would be an invaluable asset to his work. Besides, he was sure little Izuku would absolutely adore a quirk that was just like his hero’s. Perhaps he could let All Might draw a bit closer. After all, minions were replaceable. It would not take much to convince more fools to join him. And when the time was right- “Daddy…?” It took him a second to realize that his son had woke up. He had to blink a few times before finally recognizing his son’s tired eyes staring up at him, filled with confusion. “Daddy what’s wrong…?” the child mumbled again, clearly still half asleep as he reached up to be held. . He reached down to pick him up without a second thought, pulling him close to his chest. He reached up to pat his head reassuringly, slowly rocking him from side to side. “Nothing is wrong Izuku.” he assured him quietly. “Just go back to sleep alright?” “Okee…” he murmured, letting himself be pet as he rested his head on his shoulder. He could only smiled, tightening his hold on the child just a bit. Izuku Midoriya, the ninth holder of One for All. It had a nice ring to it.

#izuku midoriya #midoriya hisashi #all for one #all for one is hisashi midoriya au #dad for one #writing #oneshot

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emperorsfoot · 5 years

Link

Chapter four is up!

This time we finally get to see the clone as an actual character instead of just an unconscious prop.

Meanwhile, Catra drags Hordak to Mara’s ship in the Crimson Wastes and they discuss Catra’s plan... as well as revisit the definition of failure.

There were a great many things Hordak disliked. But it took a special kind of dislikable thing to anger him to the point where he could say, with absolute conviction, and without the shadow of a doubt, that he hated it!

Traitors were very high on his list of hates. One traitor in particular. One brilliantly intelligent, irrationally positive, absurdly energetic, prehensile haired traitor. Hordak could say that he very justifiably hated her. He vowed he would see her again, and exact his revenge!

Failure was another of his top three hates. Both the failure of his subordinates, and his own personal failures. Especially his own personal failures. He should never have trusted the Princess in the first place. He should have known better. She was originally their prisoner. What motivation did she have to help him? None! It was his own failure of judgement, failure of security, and failure to maintain boundaries that allowed her to slip in and exploit his… defects. A mistake he planned to correct in the not-too-distant future.

But the thing that was quickly rising on his list of top three hates, the thing that was vying for the coveted spot of the Most Repugnant Thing in the Universe According to Lord Hordak… was sand!

Hard, coarse, dusty, vile stuff!

It got everywhere!

Stuck under his talons. In his mouth. In his eyes! But worst of all, inside the joint and delicate inner workings of his exo-suit!

From the first step he and Catra took into the Crimson Waste, it seemed like the sand had a personal vendetta against him. Was trying to end him. If not by killing him outright, then by exposing his weakness to his companion for her to finish him off. After all, Force Captain Catra seemed to be a perfect student of Horde philosophy. Putting it into a level of practice that would make even the strict and difficult to please Horde Prime proud.

Hordren and Red Hord would’ve liked her too.

Hordwing and Hode would have hated her.

But Hordak tried not to think about Hode. His old mentor. The one who’s position on Prime’s cabinet he took over after the older clone expired. What would Hode say to him now?

‘Every situation can be turned, Zero-Zero-Three. No fall is too far for one to climb back up from. Provided you are strong enough. Are you strong enough, Zero-Zero-Three?’

Hordak liked to think he was strong enough.

Hode probably never had to deal with the betrayal of a- a- a useful associate he allowed to get too close. Hode never would have allowed one to get so close in the first place. To weasel her way past his boundaries and under his barriers. To give him new armor while simultaneously breaking down the other armor he’d carefully constructed around himself. An armor which allowed him to rise in rank within his division of the Empire. An armor which allowed him to ascend to a seat on the ruling cabinet itself! Hode never would have been so foolish, or so… weak.

Hordak liked to think he was strong, but –thus far- all evidence was to the contrary.

The wind changed, blowing a fresh cloud of dust around them.

And this All High Host-cursed sand was really testing him!

Hordak wrapped a hand around the opposite wrist of his exo-suit, already feeling the tingling of a malfunction coming on. He would not have a ‘tizzy’ in front of Catra. The fact that she was supposed to be his subordinate aside, she was in the position of power in this particular situation.

She could navigate the Crimson Wastes, he could not. She knew where they were going, he did not. She was physically fit and able-bodied, he was one prosthetic suit malfunction away from being an invalid. She had a plan, while all he had was a vague demand for satisfaction from the one who betrayed him. At this moment, in this situation, Catra was the one in control.

A fact he was sure she was just as aware of as he was. Though she had not capitalized on it yet, and Hordak had to wonder as to why. After his treatment of her over the past year, she must be harboring a grudge. All High Host knew he held a grudge against Hordren when he was still new to the cabinet and very green. Freshly promoted and newly named. Still getting used to being called ‘Hordak’ instead of ‘Zero-Zero-Three.’

“Keep up!” Catra snarled at him.

She stood, silhouetted against the empty, cloudless sky. A sky that looked as dry and uninviting as the sand through which she had dragged him. Mane of hair blowing in the wind. Tail flicking back and forth in irritation. For such a clever and formidable… survivor, she was incredibly easy to read. The cat-girl was impatient and annoyed. Not exactly the image of a leader with a plan. She did not look collected and in control. She looked frustrated.

‘Do not give into frustration, Zero-Zero-Three.’ Hode often repeated to him. Repeated to him so often, in fact, that it caused the very frustration the older clone was warning against. ‘Frustration is one of the mind killers. It clouds the ability to think.’

Perhaps that was why Entrapta’s betrayal had taken him so utterly and completely by surprise.

He had been struggling with his portal project for years. For almost as long as he had established his own little facsimile of a Horde Supremacy here on Etheria. For as long as he’d had the resources to build a portal, he’d been trying to do just that… and failing at every attempt. Again, and again, and again. He was angry, and he was impatient, and he was frustrated.

So, when this energetic little Princess appeared in his lab and just fixed it, as if it were nothing, as if it were easy, he didn’t think twice. He didn’t question. He didn’t stop to wonder the why. All he cared about was that she could give him what he wanted, and so he gave her what she wanted. Unlimited access and resources.

She managed to keep the ruse up for a very long time. So long, in fact that they actually created a working portal. So, long that she actually allowed him to succeed.

Except she didn’t allow him to succeed, because that was also the day she brought the Alliance in to destroy him.

But he would destroy her in return. He promised himself

As she had forced him to watch the destruction of all that he cared for, his one and only way home, so too would he make her watch as he destroyed all she cared for. Her precious Princess Alliance, her home Queendom of Dryl, her laboratory, all her inventions and experiments, her notes, those blasted recordings. He would wipe her very existence from the face of this world! And he would make her watch as he did so. He would see her face as she realized that he had destroyed her. That he had taken all but her life. And when she begged him to take that as well, he would refuse.

Entrapta was a brilliant scientist, after all. She was a valuable resource, and Hordak was not in the habit of throwing away resources. Perhaps he would present her to Horde Prime as a gift when he finally returned home.

…If he ever returned home.

The prospects were not looking good from his side, and there was no way for him to know if Prime received the signal from the other side.

Trying very hard to control his breaths so that Catra did not hear him wheezing, Hordak finally crested the top of the dune they were climbing. The gasp he made had nothing to do with his lungs being desperate for breath.

There, in front of them, jutting up from the desert, was an arrow shaped space ship. Not Horde in design. The Horde preferred sharp angles and hard lines. This one was smooth and elegant. Not unsimilar to some First Ones’ designs he’d seen. Not a Horde ship, then. A First Ones’ ship.

“C’mon.” Catra snapped. Then was bounding down the other slope of the dune, towards the ship.

Hordak longed for a sandworm to come up and swallow her whole. A shame the Great Makers were only native to Arakis and were not found on Etheria. We would have longed to see the cat-girl get eaten, then wash the sight down with fresh glass of Spice.

He followed her to the ship.

The sand had gotten in here too.

Sand truly was a horrible thing. It was hard, and course, and it got everywhere. Hordak hated the sand.

But there was less of it inside the ship. And, inside the ship it was cool, without the harsh sun of the Wastes beating down on them. Cool, and dim, almost dark. Not unlike his own Sanctum. It was almost homey inside the crashed First Ones’ ship, and Hordak felt himself relax before he gave his body leave to. The hand around his wrist letting go, as the tingling that was the warning sign of an episode subsided.

Taking a deep breath of the dry air, he let his aching lungs rest for a moment before asking the necessary question. “Why have you dragged me here?”

In answer to this, Catra kicked a console and a hologram appeared. A hologram of a very familiar, two and half meters tall, shiny, Princess, savior. Except that it wasn’t the one Hordak was familiar with. The She-Ra that destroyed his portal and defeated him was former-Force Captain Adora. This She-Ra, however, identified herself as…

“I am Mara, She-Ra of Etheria, and I am gone.”

It kept repeating. On a loop. The same sentence. She was She-Ra, and legendary hero of Etheria, but not the She-Ra he’d spent the past year being thwarted by.

“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Force Captain.” Hordak turned –what he hoped- was an intimidating scowl at the cat-girl. “Why have you brought me here?”

Catra crossed her arms over her chest, as if she were impatient with him. As if he should just know, without having to be told. Since he did not know, it was very inconvenient for her to have to explain.

“There’s a larger message.” She told him. “I saw it, but it was glitching. Skipping around, like an old laser disk with a scratch. I’m not techy. But you are. Fix it.”

Hordak raised one pale, waxy brow-ridge. How dare she presume to give him orders!

Except he knew exactly how she presumed to give him orders. She might not know it yet, but one carefully placed blow from her could kill him. He was not as strong as he used to be. He had not been as strong as he used to be for a very long time. Far longer than before he began making real and meaningful progress with his portal. Entrapta might not know it, but she actually saved his life when she built the exo-suit for him. Her Alliance might have won a lot sooner, and she might not have had to betray him at all, had she not gifted him with this one prosthetic suit.

Absentmindedly, Hordak touched a talon to the gem on his collar. A shard of a First Ones crystal in a dusky fuchsia color. Did Entrapta know truly what it was she was doing for him when she made it? Or did she just think it was ‘something nice’ that would prompt him to trust her more. Not just trust her more, but trust her completely. Because, at the end there, Hordak did trust her completely. Not just trust her, but want her. Want her there. When the portal was activated. Their portal. That they had made together. He wanted her standing next to him when that lever was pulled and the universe opened up for them.

But she wasn’t there.

Entrapta had been nowhere in sight. She hadn’t even showed up to laugh in his face and call him a fool for how easily he allowed himself to be manipulated by her.

Hordak did wonder where she went. Why she wasn’t there. Even in the capacity of an enemy, she should have been there. It was a decisive moment.

Catra impatiently tapped her foot on the sandy spaceship floor.

Hordak lowered his hand from the crystal at his collar. There would be time to dwell on Entrapta. Later.

“I fail to see how a corrupted message file from a long-dead speaker is of any importance.” He informed Catra.

“Because.” Began the cat-girl in a voice similar to the one she used when she had to explain something to Force Captain Scorpia. Something Catra felt should be obvious and couldn’t understand why the other people around her weren’t getting it. “That other She-Ra mentioned a weapon. I’m sure of it. And a super-weapon is exactly what we need right now. We could defeat She-Ra and take down the whole Princess Alliance in one strike.

“Assuming you know how to use this weapon.” Hordak pointed out.

“That all depends on what the weapon is, now doesn’t it.” Catra crooned. “That’s what you’re gonna find out. You’ve been incorporated First Ones’ tech into your experiments since before Entrapta came along. You’ve got to have figured out how this stuff works by now!”

Unconsciously, Hordak placed a hand to the crystal on the collar of his exo-suit. He hadn’t figured out the First Ones’ tech. Not really. He spent so much time and made so little progress. Entrapta was the real First Ones expert. Entrapta was what Catra needed. He was a poor substitute.

But he also wasn’t going to tell Catra that.

“If what you say is, in fact, true, then will She-Ra and her Princess Alliance not return to reclaim the very information we are seeking?” He pointed out instead.

But if the Princess Alliance did come to reclaim a former She-Ra’s message, and that message was buried in First Ones’ data, they would need to bring Entrapta. If he remained here and prepared an ambush for the Alliance, then he could see Entrapta again. He could have satisfaction!

“Which is why we’re gonna get it first!” Catra announced with a level of confidence that was completely unfounded given their combined knowledge of First Ones tech was barely above that of a child.

Then Catra smiled a malicious little grin. One full of dark irony and her own helping of vicious satisfaction. She scooped up handful of sand up off the floor and crossed the space between them.

“And Hordak,” she cooed up at him, almost as if with affection. “You do know what the meaning of ‘failure’ is.”

He felt a small stone of dread sink into the pit of his stomach at the question. He knew she had to be just as aware of the shift in the power dynamic between them as he was. He knew she had to be aware that she held the advantage in this particular situation. It seemed the cat-girl was capitalizing on it after all.

“If you thought the atmosphere was problematic…” She climbed up on top of the ship’s darkened and lifeless console to close the height difference between them. She looked him dead in the eyes, mismatched heterochromia to pupilless red sclera. Face stony and impassive, she dropped her handful of sand into his exo-suit, so that it trickled under the lip of the collar bow between the suit and his already sensitive skin. “…wait until you get a load of the environment.”

The almost instant skin irritation was bad enough. But then he felt the tingling that warned of a suit malfunction. The exo-suit Entrapta fitted him with not know how to communicate with his existing cybernetic implants to compensate for the foreign irritants. Hordak tried to hold his composure as best he could. He really did.

He still found himself leaning against the ship’s console. Using it to support his weight as his prosthetics shorted. Sparking visibly in the dim chamber.

Still standing on the console, Catra knelt down to whisper in his delicately pointed ear. “I trust we understand each other.”

Hordak barely managed to raise his head to look at her. But he very clearly caught her toothy grin of satisfaction.

…

It was safe to say that Socrpia had no idea what she was doing.

She didn’t know much about children, and she knew even less about clones. In the holo-dramas she sometimes watched, all clones always came out of the tubes –or tank in Little Hordak’s case- fully functioning. Able to speak, and stand, understand language and follow commands. In the holo-dramas Scorpia watched, clones were given some kind of programming or education while still gestating. So they could function like people.

Entrapta, however, did not appear to have done this.

When the little Hordak-clone first began to breath, the first thing they did was cry. Loudly.

Imp placed both of his pudgy hands over his ears and fluttered up into the rafters to get away from the sound. Scorpia similarly clapped her pincers over her ears, at a bit of a loss as to what to do.

The next few minutes were a blur of cuddles, and cooing non-sense reassurances to the clone –whom was even more of a child than they looked- when Little Hordak was finally calm and quiet again, Scorpia turned her attention to a meaningful escape. The Alliance had beaten them, Catra had betrayed her and their friendship, original-Hordak was missing.

Scorpia lifted the small child up into her arms and stomped from the lab.

Imp just barly managed to swipe Entrapta’s discarded recorder as he flew to keep up with the Force Captain. If there were any answers to the question that was the young clone, it would be on that recorder.

Scorpia carried the clone to her own quarters. Imp flapping behind them, hugging the recorder to his tiny chest. He seemed determined to stick close to the Little Hordak, almost as if they were the actual Lord himself.

Taking a sheet from her bed, Scorpia wrapped it around the clone’s naked body. She cut the hem so they could walk on their own –assuming they knew how- and cut a hole for their head, transforming the former sheet into a kind of sloppy shift. It was red, like everything else in the Horde, a stark contrast to their whiter-than-white skin and vibrant blue hair. One might have argued that the sheet brought out the color of their eyes, except the clone’s eyes weren’t really a true red. At least, not a red the same as original-Hordak’s red.

They still glowed slightly, as if lit from some internal light. An interesting bioluminescence not usually found on Etheria. But the color was different. While Hordak’s eyes were a primary-red, or a true-red, the clone’s were closer to fuchsia. An extremely bright pink with violet undertones.

Scorpia sat the clone on her now bare bed and turned to pack a quick bag for herself. But she stopped when she felt something tug on her arm. It felt almost like the sheet was tangled around her. Something coiled around her forearm and pulling.

She looked back, dark eyes going wide at what she saw.

It wasn’t the sheet wrapped around her arm. It was the clone’s blue mohawk of hair. That long tail of hair. As long as they were tall, blue and narrow, just like Hordak’s but… Scorpia looked at the hair coiled around her arm. She watched the strands move over her armor as if they had a mind of their own. She felt them try and tug her back, closer to the clone. Hair that functioned the same as any limb. Prehensile hair. Just like Entrapta! They looked like Hordak, but they had Entrapta’s prehensile hair! Maybe not the same color or style, but the same physical capabilities.

So… not a true clone, then. A combination of the two of them. An amalgamation. A composite.

An offspring.

Scropia hadn’t found Entrapta’s last experiment, she found Entrapta’s child! Entrapta’s child with Hordak. –Gross.- Scorpia inwardly cringed, there was no accounting for taste. And only Entrapta would have a baby through experimentation rather than… the usual way.

She tried to peel the hair off her arm, hooking her free pincer claw under it and all but prying the tight spiral of blue off her. It look a surprising amount of effort, the hair was stronger than they looked. But then, Entrapta’s hair had always been stronger than she looked.

Free of the limb again, Scorpia darted around her room, throwing things messily into a standard issue duffle. Spare armor, civilian clothing, underclothing. But when she darted into her private bathroom –as a Princess she was entitled to the privilege of her own washroom and toilet- the clone began to cry. Scorpia was literally the only person they knew, and she was suddenly out of sight.

She poked her head out from around the doorframe. “Hey, hey, I’m still here, kiddo.” She tried to sooth. “Uh, Hordak? Lord-? Little Lord? Little Hordak.”

Seeing her again, the clone gave a soft sniff and stopped crying.

Scorpia went back into the bathroom.

The clone began to cry again.

“Of for the love of-“ She poked her head out again.

The clone stopped crying again.

“This is not the best time to play Peek-a-Boo, Little Hordak.” She called to them.

Imp fluttered onto the bed next to the clone. Partially in an attempt to distract them, he understood the necessity of getting master’s… whatever they were to master- out of the Fright Zone before an enemy, or a rival for power learned of them. But also partly because Imp was still confused by them. By this stange new organism that hatched from a Horde cloning tank, the same as master, and the same as Hode before him. The same as every Horde clone ever. And yet they did not smell like every Horde clone. They didn’t not smell like master. Not entirely. They smelled… mixed. Hybrid. Alien.

With Imp distracting the clone, Scorpia was able to finish her frantic and haphazard packing. With the duffle thrown over her back, the strap crossing her chest, she scooped the clone back up into her arms.

There was more than one skiff already missing when the trio made it to the hangers. It looked like Scorpia wasn’t the only one who decided to jump ship after the Sanctum blew.

She settled the clone as best she could. Horde skiff’s weren’t exactly designed with seatbelts, but Socrpia didn’t trust the clone with his infant-like understanding of things not to fall out while she was piloting. She laid her duffel bag over their lap, hoping that would be enough to keep them in place. They were a kid, maybe they’d think of the duffle as an awkward heavy blanket.

“Stay down, Little Hordak.” Scorpia instructed, not even sure if the clone understood or not.

They blinked back up at her with those odd eyes. Glowing and solid sclera devoid of iris or pupil, like Hordak’s, but fuschia in color, like Entrapta’s. For half a second Scorpia wondered if they did understand.

Then the clone smiled back at her. Smiled, as if they were not fleeing a defeated military instillation full of deserters, looters, vengeful zealots, and the very enemies that defeated them in the first place. Clearly, they did not understand as much as they thought they did.

“H’dak!” The clone’s smile was also not like Hordak’s –not that Scorpia had ever actually seen the Lord smile. But Hordak’s teeth were red. Almost as red as his eyes, although, they didn’t glow –obviously. But the clone’s teeth were white. A perfectly normal color for Etherian teeth. Still sharp, and pointed, with elongated canines coming down into fangs. But they were not red. More of Entrapta manifesting itself in the clone. “H’dak!”

They were so utterly oblivious to the gravity of their situation. So innocent and trusting of her. Scorpia couldn’t help but smile back at the ignorant creature. “That’s right, kiddo, you’re Hordak.”

Imp shot a disapproving frown in her direction. This amalgam creature was most definitely not master! He held the recorder in his hands. The moment they were safe and not moving anymore, Imp was going to go through every sound file on the whole thing. He would dissect Entrapta’s notes until he discovered what this… what this genetic composite really was.

“H’dak!” The clone said again as Scorpia piloted the skiff away from the Fright Zone.

That was four days ago.

Not knowing where else to go or what else to do, Scorpia navigated them to Dryl. It was Entrapta’s Queendom, after all, and the little Hordak clone –whom she had started calling ‘Dak’- was Entrapta’s creation. It stood to reason that Dryl would be the perfect place to taken them.

The staff of Castle Dryl… had mixed reactions.

Baker, Soda Pop, and Busgirl glared at Scorpia darkly. Before word of the Horde’s defeat reached them, they were –technically- under Horde occupation. Their ruling Princess having gone over to the Horde willingly. Dryl still hung Horde banners, and was still filled with Horde soldiers. Where Baker, Soda Pop, and Busgirl once served only one eccentric and only occasionally terrifying Princess, they now had to serve a whole occupying army.

Then a Force Captain shows up out of nowhere in only a skiff, no other soldiers or guards, and a small child in tow. It was an odd event to say the least.

The occupying soldiers’ reactions were less hostile and more confused. Not all of them had ever even seen Hordak in their lives. They only knew what he looked like from vague description. But those whom had been in the presence of the leader of the Horde definitely, definitely could recognize him. Lord Hordak was not something one easily forgets. One look at the small child holding Scorpia’s claw, and sucking on their hair was all it took for some soldiers to note the resemblance and jump to conclusions.

The Horde was defeated. The Princess Alliance won. Hordak was killed. And one surviving loyal Force Captain escaped with a young child that could only be Hordak’s heir.

It was the kind of story told as the prologue to an epic opera. ‘Lord of the Rings’ –Etheria version. ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ –Dryl redux.

Scorpia sat down with Baker, Soda Pop, and Busgirl in the kitchen. They were the highest ranked staff in the castle –the highest ranked native staff- there were higher ranked Horde Scorpia could have talked with, but that could wait. She wanted these people to know what she’d discovered first. She wanted Entrapta’s people to hear it from her, not the scuttlebutt of occupying soldiers.

They sat at the kitchen table, using it as more of a makeshift conference table.

“I don’t see why you had to come here!�� Busgirl blurted out what everyone else was thinking.

Baker and Soda Pop looked nervous. During her previous visit, Force Captain Scorpia had never been cruel to the people of Dryl. In fact, compared to other Horde officers, she was downright nice! Sociable and happy. Inexplicably cheerful and easy to get along with. The kind of person that put others at ease and made one forget that she was actually an agent of a tyrannical regime that was slowly taking over the planet. But, Scorpia was still a Horde officer. Testing her patience was never a good idea.

But Scorpia didn’t seem all that tested. In fact, she looked a little… awkward. One pincer scratched at the back of her head while she looked for words to explain things.

At the other end of the room –where there was no stove or carving knives for a child to hurt themselves on- Dak played with Imp. At least the staff assumed it was play. The little Horde-Etherian hybrid was trying to grab at the fluttering deamon. Clawing at the empty air with their tiny taloned hands. Occasionally they would make a jump to close the distance between them, but Imp just hovered higher, keeping just out of reach of the small master’s clone.

“Want!” The child snapped in frustration, glaring up at Imp whom insisted on hovering just out of reach. They had added several words to their vocabulary over the past few days with Scorpia. It wasn’t just ‘H’dak’ anymore. Now they could convey their ‘want!’, mangled Scorpia’s name into ‘Sc’pya’, expressed their displeasure with a pitchy ‘No!’, and understood to ask the dreaded and terrible ‘why?’

It had been four days since Scorpia and Imp found them in a cloning tank in Entrapta’s old lab. In the space of four days, little Dak had gone from the mentality and understanding of a newborn infant, to that of an 18-month old toddler. Clearly, they inherited Entrapta’s intelligence. Either that or it was just a trick of the cloning process. Scorpia didn’t know enough about any of it to hazard a guess.

Imp just chortled at the clone. Flapping over to perch atop a kitchen cabinet. He opened his mouth wide and threw the little Hordak’s own word back at them. ‘Want! Want! Want!’

In response to this taunting, Dak just growled. A low, feral sound, forming in the back of their throat. Not a sound the average Etherian could make unless they hailed from a furry sub-species.

“Oh, geez, uh,” Scorpia was trying to explain to the staff but wasn’t quite sure how, “ya see, the thing is… Little Dak isn’t just Hordak’s, uh… Hordak’s whatever. They’re also Entrapta’s!”

All three Dryl staff looked confused. “The Princess’ what?”

Frustrated with his Imp playmate, Dak tried to climb up onto the counter, using the drawer handles as foot holds. They used their hands to brace against the wall for balance on the new, higher surface, and reached their hair up to grab the little deamon for him. The thin blue mohawk coiling around the Imp tightly, entangling the small creature as if in a tentacle, and pulled Imp down off the shelf.

“Mine!” Dak announced triumphantly.

Imp just gave a chirp of resignation. He was caught. But then, that was the whole point of the game, after all. Horde were predators. Since master’s… whatever they were, didn’t recive any programming during gestation, they would need to be trained the old fashioned way. Imp was just lucky that Hode made sure Imp knew what the old fashioned way was before the old clone expired.

The staff just stared, open mouthed and wide eyed, at the child. A miniature Hordak, or so they’d been told, none of them had ever seen Hordak before. But a miniature Hordak whom also enjoyed their own Princess’ power of prehensile hair. A trait no other family on Etheria had. A trait that was unique to the royal house of Dryl. This ‘Dak’ wasn’t just Hordak’s… whatever, they were also Entrapta’s… child?

But, that couldn’t be right. It hadn’t even been a year since she was lost in the Fright Zone and joined the Horde, and this child was very clearly a decade old –in physical appearance, at least. Mentally they seemed a little over a year, but that was still too old to be the naturally begotten child born from the leader of the Horde and their Princess. Reproduction did not work that fast!

Dak noticed everyone staring at them and bared his teeth in a challenge. Teeth that were as pointed and sharp as Hordak’s, but white and enameled as an Etherian’s. They hugged Imp tighter to them. “Mine!”

“I guess that’s a good explanation right there.” Scorpia laughed good-naturedly. As if this were just a friendly conversation and a friend’s child had just done something cute. As if a giant bombshell nobody really understood hadn’t just been dropped on the staff. When Scorpia noticed that no one else was laughing along with her, she cringed.

“How is this even possible?” Baker approached the child. She was about to offer them a hand to help climb down off the counter, but Imp hissed loudly. She thought twice, not wanting that little deamon creature to bite her.

Imp glared a challenge at the other too, in case they wanted to interfere with the Horde hybrid’s training too. Master’s… heir? had to learn on their own. Master’s heir had to be strong. Otherwise they would not be Horde.

“But you get why I brought them here, right?” Scorpia asked.

All three staff exchanged a grim look. Yes, they understood. Young Hordak, second of his name, was not a lost heir of the Horde smuggled out of the Fright Zone by a loyal Captain to be raised to reclaim the thrown. Little Dak, was Entrapta’s successor, the heir to the Dryl Queendom. They were being brought home by a friend of their… (creator’s?) mother’s.

“You did the right thing.” Baker decided as she watched the pale child climb down from the counter on their own.

They had to let go of Imp to do it. Using both their hands, and their hair, for balance. But they made it down off the counter all on their own, and they didn’t stumble or fall once. Given more time and practice, they would become just as adept at climbing walls and sneaking through air vents as their mother.

“H’dak!” They announced once their feet were firmly back on the floor.

“That’s right!” Baker cooed, clapping her hands to congratulate them as if getting down off a surface without hurting themselves was a praise-worthy feat.

Dak placed a hand to their belly, frowning as they tried to think of the correct word for how they felt. “Want.” They decided. They patted their belly to make sure the adults in the room understood. “Want.”

“Are you hungry?” Baker asked. They were already in the kitchen, she could make something easily.

For half a moment, Dak looked confused, not sure what the grown-up was asking. They were still learning and language was confusing. “I’m H’dak.”

Imp fluttered down to perch on top of the child. The clone’s shoulder’s were much narrower than master’s. Imp could not perch on Dak the same way he perched on Hordak. The little deamon balanced on the back of their neck instead, one pudgy leg thrown over each shoulder. He looked at the Baker, opened his mouth, and repeated her own word back at her, ‘Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.’ To confirm for her that, yes, that was what master’s heir needed.

Nodding her understanding, Baker got to work. Pulling out mixing bowls and baking pans. Flour, eggs, milk, sugar… all the things that went into her cooking for the child’s mother.

While Baker worked, Soda Pop turned to Scorpia, a serious frown on his face. “So what’s you plan with this child?” He asked. “What are you going to do now?”

Because they might be the heir to Dryl, but they were also the heir to the Horde –assuming the Horde practiced hereditary inheritance. The staff did not like the idea of their Princess’ only child being used as a pawn in some Force Captain’s machiavellian schemes for power.

Scorpia scratched the back of her head again. “See, the thing is… I was kinda hoping you could just take them for me?” She confessed. “Take care of them, I mean. The kiddo doesn’t know anything about anything and I can’t have a kid tagging along where I’m going.”

That was not the answer Soda Pop was expecting. He was expecting the Force Captain to invite herself to stay. Install herself as Dak’s regent until they came of age and could take over Dryl. Use the clone’s pedigree for her own ambitions. Instead she was just… dropping him off at home?

“Where are you going?” Soda Pop found himself asking.

This time, when Scorpia answered, it was not sheepish or unsure. She did not scratch the back of her head awkwardly. She was resolved and firm when she spoke. “I made a mistake.” She admitted. “I betrayed a friend and sent her to a really bad place. I gotta go there and get her back.”

Soda Pop raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. He didn’t know Horde soldiers had friends. Let along friendships that were deep enough to prompt someone to go on what sounded like a dangerous and possibly life-threatening quest. “Who?”

Scorpia cast a forlorn look at Dak. “Their mother.”

#entrapdak #hordak #entrapta #entrapta/hordak #she-ra season 3 #clone baby au #non-binary oc #fanfiction #ao3 #RenkonNairu

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menswearmusings · 5 years

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Do Yourself a Favor and Get a Decent Tie Rack From Dapper Woodworks—A Free Product Review

I don’t wear a tie everyday, and I don’t have a ton of ties, but the storage solution I had for the roughly 20 ties I do have was annoying and lame. Buying a better tie rack just wasn’t a high priority for me, and thus, my ties hung on a roughly $12 hanging contraption from T.J. Maxx. It made me very, very sad.

My sad T.J.Maxx tie rack.

Enter Dapper Woodworks. The man behind the company, Justin Trewitt, has been at this for two years as a side job to help create some supplemental income for his family while simultaneously engaging his interests in woodworking and menswear. As with many business ideas, his started when he wanted a way to store his pocket squares, so he just made his own. He realized perhaps other men facing the same situation would be interested in such a product, and soon he was selling on Etsy. His product selections now include shoe horns, coat hooks, collar stay organizers, the aforementioned pocket square organizers and of course, tie racks.

Justin asked me whether I would like to have one of his custom-made tie racks in order to give my impressions and give an honest review of it (note my free product policy here. TL;DR I keep my opinions honest and don’t accept free stuff in exchange for positive coverage). I measured my closet, and since he does custom-sized racks in addition to the standard stock sizes, asked for a 20-inch rack, which he told me stores 37 ties—way more than I currently have, so I’ve got room to grow. Since it was a custom size, I got to choose the wood, peg metal and whether it had the optional top shelf. Ultimately, I picked walnut with brass pegs, with the top shelf included, which I figured might help a little bit with dust, but also provide a nice spot to store a couple belts, silk knots, collar stays and whatever else.

He set to work immediately, posting progress images on his Instagram. Within about a week, he’d finished it and was ready to s—oh no! He messaged me to say he’d accidentally made it 18 inches long, not 20. Being super apologetic, he remade the 20 inch one within a few days, and it was on its way to me.

For this type of product, it’s very simple to determine whether it’s great: Is it real hard wood, not composite? Yes. Is it sturdily constructed? Yes. Are the cuts on the wood smooth, without jagged edges? Yes. The joints are fitly joined together, the stain is even, the pegs are secure and perfectly spaced. And he’s also put the next level of fit and finish into the installation aspect. On the back are keyhole slots, just as you’d find on any professionally made wooden shelf. Included in the box is a mounting guide, but instead of a flimsy piece of paper, it’s a full-length piece of wood with holes drilled in it at the exact spacing of the keyholes. Leveling it is a breeze, the three-dimensional wood taking the uncertainty out of whether or not a piece of paper was perfectly flat against the wall.

You could probably find all of those aspects in a mass produced, ugly tie rack from Container Store for less money, just as you can also get a mass produced, cheap tie from The Tie Bar for less money than a Drake’s tie, and it’ll accomplish the utilitarian aspect of the product. But what DW is doing is vastly superior in almost every aspect: it’s much more aesthetically pleasing; you can choose from half a dozen beautiful wood grains and multiple peg styles; you know who is making it and that you’re supporting him provide for his family; and now, even better, he has begun donating a portion of every month’s sales to a nonprofit that provides education, food and medical care for children in need.

In all, it’s an excellent product befitting a fine tie collection, the pedigree of which is sterling.

That said, the price seemed really high to me, especially at first. The standard 18-inch wide tie rack starts at $140 without the shelf, and $190 with.

But, like, a single Drake’s tie is $150. On sale, you can maybe score it for $75.

This $200 tie rack holds 37 ties.

Given how sad and lame most tie storage solutions are, it’s an absolute no-brainer for someone who has a collection of beautiful ties, and who also would like to store their clothing in a way that isn’t sad. That is, if you’re trying to use wide-shouldered hangers, decent garment bags, and shoe trees in your shoes, a tie rack makes perfect sense.

My recommendation

Measure your own space and get a rack that makes sense. The 18-inch will likely fit most spaces and holds enough ties for most guys, I’d guess. I 100% recommend the top shelf. It keeps dust off the ties and is a useful spot to put things like his lapel pins or belts or artwork. I love the walnut finish, and the brass pegs make it feel masculine. Use code MM10 for 10% off.

So there’s my review: the solid hardwood Dapper Woodworks tie rack is an excellent product that gives me immense pleasure, and which exceeded my expectations in how easily Justin makes the mounting aspect. The quality is very high, being profesionally built and using materials I am confident putting my finely made ties on.

I temporarily installed the rack for the photoshoot below, because getting this rack actually inspired me to do a DIY renovation on my real closet, but I didn’t have time to get that finished before the deadline to publish this review.

I asked Justin a few questions about his background, the origin of Dapper Woodworks and what he plans next. You can check it out in full below.

GET 10% OFF YOUR DAPPER WOODWORKS ORDER USING CODE MM10!

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)

Menswear Musings: What do you do for your day job?

Justin Trewitt: I’ve been working for my family’s company for the past 5 1/2 years in Plano, Tx. We do financial planning for individuals and we also just started doing business brokerage so helping people buy and sell businesses. I started in customer service, but now I do a lot of behind the scenes preparation for client meetings. Basically lots of staring at a computer screen and Excel spreadsheets.

MM: How long have you been doing DW?

JW: I started Dapper Woodworks in November of 2017 so just over 2 years now. We had just decided for my wife to quit teaching to be a stay at home mom with our first son so I wanted to find a way to create a little extra income for our family.

MM: What got you started making these tie racks?

JW: Well I got into woodworking when my wife and I bought our house a few years ago. We didn’t have a lot of furniture so I just learned how to make some! I have also been into menswear after learning to dress better in college. When I began thinking of side hustles I decided that I wanted to combine my woodworking hobby with my passion for menswear, and that’s how Dapper Woodworks began. My first product was a pocket square rack that I made for myself out of cheap wood because I couldn’t find a good way to store my collection. I figured surely I wasn’t the only one with this problem so I made an Etsy store and put it up for sale. I knew I needed more products so I made a few tie racks out of some scrap wood and hardware. It took over a month before the first order, and then people began requesting custom sizes and woods and it’s just taken off from there!

MM: Have you had a big response?

JW: The response has been way bigger than I could have ever imagined! When I began I was going to be happy with a sale or two every month. We are 2 years in now, and I just counted that we’ve sent over 400 items all over the world which is just crazy to me! I think people really enjoy them because there aren’t any good options to display your ties or accessories in a beautiful way. When you invest a lot of money into your tie or pocket square collection you might as well display it on a rack that has the same level of craftsmanship. I believe people really enjoy the custom aspect because each product is unique and is made their specifications

MM: How big is your personal tie collection and what’re you favorite ties and why?

JW: I’m in the process of redoing my collection, and filling it with higher quality ties that reflect the quality of my products. I had a bunch of cheaper ties for my previous job that I got rid of so I still trying to fill my smallest rack that holds 21 ties. My first nice tie was my Kent Wang grenadine which I absolutely recommend to anyone starting a collection. The cool part about being in the menswear space is meeting other brands, and several tie makers that are running a side business like me. I’ve got a couple of really great grenadine and shantung ties from H.N. White in England. A beautiful brown cashmere tie from Oxford Rowe. Also this incredible 7 fold tie from Shawn Christopher who is the only brand I know that makes his own ties instead of having them manufactured.

MM: What’s the most gratifying thing about this business for you?

JW: Beside being able to provide for my family this business has helped pay for my wife and I to go on 2 mission trips to plant churches in Tanzania. We needed to raise all of our own funds, and had lots of other expenses such as doctors visits, vaccines, and passports and this business helped cover all extra expenses. Also we have just partnered with our friend’s ministry Twelve21, and a portion of each month’s sales will be going toward sponsoring a child that will provide an education, food, and medical care. It’s just been really neat to trust God through this whole process, and see where he has taken us!

MM: Any new products you’re working on that you

JW: Besides the tie racks and pocket square racks, our shoe horns have been very popular this year. I’ve also introduced a few smaller items like our collar stay organizers and cedar blocks. But going into 2020 I’m hoping to add some new tools to the shop and start making some valet trays, and maybe some shoe racks. I’m always trying to think of new items that are menswear and woodworking related, and if you ever have any suggestions just let me know.

Read more at Menswear Musings

#dapper woodworks #Menswear Musings Recommends #product review #tie rack

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aidanhnd1bphoto · 5 years

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Catch Me If You Can

SPORTING EVENT..RESEARCH

Adults running about a field chasing a ball, or running very fast, jumping over things of varying heights, throwing things, catching things, hitting various things with a stick. In a small confined space punching each other. Or swimming up and down and up and down. Sitting on the back of a running horse.The list is almost endless. This world of needless physical exercise is called Sport...and is full of drama and emotion, both for those who do it and those who watch it...apparently!!

In this project I will show a selection of these people, both participants and spectators in the “moment”, engaged in their chosen activity.

Using a variety of photographic techniques I will attempt to make a visually appealing assortment of images....So here goes, first things first...

How to do it!

With every sport there will be a differing set of challenges facing the photographer.. The size of the area, is it the size of a boxing ring (for two people punching each other) or the size of a football field (for 22 people kicking a ball) or even bigger.

How close can you get to the action

How many people are taking part..just two or a whole lot.

Is it indoors or outdoors

Natural lighting or specially constructed lighting specifically for the sport in question.

All of these different scenarios will dictate what kind of equipment the photographer will need and the way the camera should be set up.

So before you can really start it’s helpful to know what sport you will be photographing. Sometimes you will just have to learn quick and work it out on the job.

SOUND ADVICE FROM PEOPLE WHO DO THIS FOR A LIVING

Having just read a google’s worth of ‘Top ten essentials for sports photography’ and for the basics there seems to be a general consensus with the preferred functions on the camera. The main factor for professionals is continuous burst speed with some of the present crop of top the range sports oriented DSLR’s shooting 14fps or more. With the speed of the action things are changing in those fractions of a second and having the ability to be able to follow those changes so closely is a highly sought after function. With most prosumer cameras these days the ISO capabilities are becoming increasingly impressive with ISO32000 in the native range of the camera becoming the norm and with that also stunning reductions in the noise at these high ISO levels. These ISO levels really assist in reaching the shutter speeds used in a lot for freezing this high speed action. Starting at 500th of a second and going up. 2000th of a second is not unusual. Along with high ISO the next thing to assist in these high shutter speeds is the next topic of general agreement....

Lenses.....lenses should be fast, as fast as can be. The aperture of a good lens for sport if using a zoom is f2.8. It’s not uncommon for a professional sports photographer to have 3 camera bodies.The most common, and most versatile, setup for most professional sports photographers is to start with the trio of 16-35mm ƒ/2.8, 24-70mm ƒ/2.8 and 70-200mm ƒ/2.8 lenses. These three options provide all the coverage needed to shoot everything from wide-angle shots of a packed stadium through any action happening up to midway down most sporting venues. Though these lenses are not cheap, when it starts to get to the bigger fast primes that will allow you to see the action close up at the other side of a stadium or football field they can cost the same as a nice family car. For those beginning their sports photography there are some great lenses that along with the high ISO capabilities just talked about it will do a great job without having to be so wide open. A 70-300mm f4-5.6 or even 150-600mm f5-6.3 will do a great job of covering that far away action.

Another piece of advice where there is general agreement is in positioning. Get to the venue early and have a good look at all the potential spots and make sure you’re good to go with your settings before the action starts....But don’t stay in the one place and don’t just focus on the action. In the audience there is as much drama as on the field of play, or after some high point of action...the reaction. There are winners and losers and both have equal visual weight and potential to produce the image that encapsulates the moment and the whole event.

Another is ..You are a photographer first and foremost, the subject is sport but the intent is a striking image with light and shadow, composition, balance, colour, story all fundamentals.

WHERE TO SHOOT.

If you are not inclined to sports then it is apparently very easy to block it out of your daily experience and be blissfully unaware but as it happens, open your eyes to sports and its everywhere, EVERYWHERE!

Local newspaper for local events, google to check out what's on in your local area and further afield. Amateur or professional. Check out sporting arenas, sports and athletic clubs, football stadiums. If there is a particular sport you are interested in you can refine your search. If you’re not to bothered which sport to start with then prepare a general polite letter asking whether you can come and take photos. Send it out to as many events as you can find. Cast the net far and wide and the chances are you would be spoiled for choice.

Here we are about two months later...It’s taken a while to get access to sports, longer than I had at first thought but now I have I’m hoping for a variety of sports to shoot. I made contact with Glasgow University Sports Association which is the umbrella organisation for more than 40 sports clubs at the University. The Association has recently been actively seeking Photographers to shoot all the club games.

Seeing as time was running out on the brief I took the first possible opportunity to shoot. It was an inter-university fencing tournament Men and Women. Men against Bath University..cant remember the women's opposition University.

As soon as I was confirmed to shoot I started to watch some YouTube videos on the rules of the sport, the moves and the scoring.

It was quite a challenging shoot. It was in a large, bright gym hall. A long (14m) rubber mat with the essential markings for the game was rolled out and taped to the floor about two meters from the wall. Too close to the wall to be able to shoot from the wall side, just too near the swishing blades. The problem was that this wall was one vast mirror reflecting not just those fencing but the spectators and myself. This made for a challenge to minimise the distraction of everything else in the reflection.

In fencing the action is fast. In Olympic sports second fastest behind shooting I was told by one competitor. I was set to f4 and to get the quick exposures I needed to freeze the action (1/1000th/s) the ISO was pushed up to 6400.

Saturday 8th March. 9am-5pm. Glasgow Caledonia University. Today I shot a trampolining tournament with all Scottish Universities competing. It was in a large high gym hall with what looks like big halogen spotlights. There’s about 200 people in the hall, mostly either competing, judging or organising. Its not open to the public. After some shots my exposure settings settle at 1/320th f4 ISO6400. I didn’t want to push the ISO much higher and had to make a compromise with shutter speed. In many of the images there is movement in the feet of the athletes. I made a decision based on the aesthetics. I liked this slight movement in many of the images, a suggestion of movement. There was no high vantage point so I made do with standing on a chair. It gave me enough of a height advantage to clear the images of the people walking about in the hall. They really didn’t add to any of the images. I did include one or two all the same that didn't distract from the action.

I’m much happier with this set of images than with the fencing from the previous sports shoot. With that shoot the large wall mirror behind the 🤺 that ran the length of the hall was so distracting..reflecting everything in the hall..the fencers, the other competitors...and me! It made it almost impossible to get simple, strong images being much too busy.

This time around it was a far easier shoot to get a more aesthetically pleasing result. Often against a background of a large plain wall with few distractions and with lighting that also had a dramatic quality.

Overall i’m extremely pleased with the results. There are some possible portfolio contenders.

Third and final set of photos for the brief. This time it was outdoors, in the evening, cold and pouring of rain. Bellahouston outdoors ski and snowboarding center. Again it was an inter universities event sponsored by Glasgow Taxis.

It was a difficult shoot. Unevenly lit, there were pools of light and areas of dark. The area was large and the athletes were going at speed. This demanded several skills. The most challenging was to get a handle of the AF system on my new camera. Sports are generally demanding on AF and this was no different. Using 2 camera bodies..Canon 5dmk3 and 5dmk4 with a 24-105 f4 on one and a 70-300 f4.5-5.6 on the other.

The action started just as it was beginning to darken so the exposure needed to be adjusted over the first half hour or so until well after sunset and the only light was artificial. Because of the layout of the slope and the nature of the contest there wasn’t much variety of movement and routes taken down the course. At the end of the ski tournament there was some snowboarding a ski freestyle which promised a lot more exciting images but unfortunately the heavens opened as this began and the rain poured down. Having been out in the bitter cold with no gloves for 3 hours (lesson learned) and the lenses not being weather sealed to a Scottish downpour level I decided to retreat.

This has been a thoroughly enjoyable brief, much against expectation. There have been challenges at every event that I would like to think I have dealt with and overcome to produce many images I'm very happy with. I have become more aware of the reasons why sports photographers need that extra quality in their gear. Proper weather sealing and fast f2.8 lenses are just near essential for any professionals working in this area. Knowing something of the sport you are shooting helps. Getting to the venue early and checking it out, finding where the good light is, also helps enormously. And moving about to get different points of view.

There have been many photos taken for this brief-in total probably near 5000. Of those I have whittled it down to 500 or so. The final challenge is to choose the final 6 for printing and submission.

Of the 3 sports I shot for this brief the trampolining was by far the most enjoyable and i’d say successful. Producing the most images I was happy with. Well lit venue with not too many visual distractions and the sport itself was so conducive to aesthetic interpretation.

The time spent has been quite considerable for this brief with two full days and one half day of shooting and then because of the huge number of shots another 3 full days of choosing, deleting and optimising the images. That said, there has in fact been very little optimisation in post. In all three sessions I have used lens correction, in some a tweak of white balance. And in very few a touch more, lightening shadows or reducing highlights but very little else.

On revising everything I see that after 5000 photos I've forgotten one of the requests of the brief..to have a panning shot!!! This is bad news. Time is very short and to shoot some more sports is a days worth of work. First getting some sports to shoot, shooting and then picking and processing. For not reading the brief properly I’ve lost a day at a very crucial point in time where I need every second. One big lesson learned. Less than 2 weeks to go.

SOURCES .. So Far

https://artsandculture.google.com/exhibit/the-art-of-sports-photography-from-prints-to-images-1835-2017-the-olympic-museum/MwKStrCJtolhKg?hl=en

https://www.amateurphotographer.co.uk/technique/how-to-shoot-action-and-sports-photography-625

https://photographylife.com/getting-started-with-sports-photography

https://improvephotography.com/52236/15-tips-get-started-sports-photography/

https://petapixel.com/2018/12/06/6-simple-tips-for-getting-started-in-sports-photography/

https://expertphotography.com/complete-guide-sports-photography-87-tips/

#catch

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breakingdownsu · 6 years

Text

Chorus Chapter Fifteen

….

So we're finally at the end of Chorus (minus the epilogue, which will be forthcoming), thank you all for sticking with the story all the way to its sporadic, stumbling conclusion. Since Murder Pearl and the Orthoclase/Ginger pair have proven so popular, I was thinking my next longform multi-chapter would be a Homeworld-set detective story featuring the three of them prominently. Thoughts?

…..

The journey back to Lapis' mansion was deathly quiet. Orthoclase was unusually grim and tight-lipped, and though Ginger was as blank-faced as she always was, Steven could sense a tension in her. Of course, Steven himself was keeping his mouth shut because he was sure if he opened it, he would collapse into a gibbering mess.

There had been six of them on the outward journey. Of those six, one was incapacitated, one was dying a slow, painful death and one (the dangerous one) had taken off for reasons of her own. The one they picked up to take back with them was gravely injured. The only one who could possibly fix what was wrong with her was good, but didn't know if she was that good. She wouldn't be able to tell until she got back to the mansion where her full stock of equipment was waiting.

Who wouldn't panic, under those circumstances? Distantly, Steven gave himself a little mental pat on the back for holding it together for as long as he had.

When they finally arrived back at the mansion, Orthoclase practically kicked the door in. Every gem gathered in the living room looked up, but she stormed past them without a word. She made her way to the table she was using to operate on and started prepping it, as Ginger rooted out her surgery tools.

“What happened?” Amethyst demanded, looking Steven up and down for signs of injury. “Did you get her? Where's the other two?”

“We got her,” Steven told her. “But...it's pretty bad....Orthoclase is going to operate...that thing hurt Buttercup and Murder Pearl stayed behind to kill it....”

“What thing?” Amethyst asked. “What did it do?”

Steven opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't find the words. Amethyst stared at him, waiting, increasingly strained-looking.

“Amethyst,” Garnet called, strangely calm. “Leave him alone.”

Ginger had pulled out the box of lead shavings they'd used to hide Pearl, and Garnet watched carefully but from a respectful distance as they pulled her out of the box and onto the table. Steven saw her fists clench but she clearly knew even as capable as she usually was, she was as good as useless in a situation like this.

“Holy shit,” Amethyst spoke in one harsh exhale. “What did they....what are you...”

She sputtered for a moment and fell silent, watching Orthoclase peer into the crater left in Pearl's gem by the black tendrils. Ginger rubbed some sort of oil on a long thin skewer and handed it to Orthoclase, who slowly and carefully slid it inside the gem as far as it would go. Pearl's fingers briefly twitched, and then she was once again deathly still.

“What can you do?” Garnet asked, as Orthoclase pulled the skewer back out.

“Honestly?” Orthoclase answered with a bitter edge to her voice. “Under any other circumstances I'd be telling this pearl's owner to get her processed and get a new one.”

Steven felt the bile rise in his throat, and one look at Amethyst told him she felt the same way.

“That's not an option,” Garnet said tightly.

“Don't I know it?” Orthoclase laughed harshly. “All the contacts, money and other pearls that I tossed into this...project. You'd think I'd have more to show for it...”

She was full of bravado, even now, but her heart wasn't in it.

“In professional terms,” she began to explain. “She needs those fragmented tendrils pulled out, they've penetrated the subdermal layer and are fused to the core composite, which means I'd have to excise the upper layer before I get them out, but she'd need a fully-functional gem to even think about doing that...and she doesn't have one.”

“Can't you get the ones in her gem out first?” Steven blurted out. “And you use filler, don't you? For pearls that don't work right...”

“Pebble, there's barely anything left of her gem,” Orthoclase told him. “The tendrils are holding it together like scaffolding, if I take them out now the whole thing is dust. If I try putting filler in now, it'll just cement the tendrils in there and most of it will fall through the gaps. I don't have that much filler to spare, I don't think even a repair centre has that much filler to spare. I'm sorry.”

“I can use my healing spit,” Steven tried, though he knew if that was an option they would have done that first. “I can...”

“That would reactivate the tendrils. Not to mention what's left of her spike,” Orthoclase told him, gently but firmly. “She'd shatter straight away.”

It's not over. It can't be over. We got her back.

It felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. If they'd gotten to her sooner, she might have been okay...but with everything they had to do to get to her in the first place they couldn't have gotten there sooner...

It's my fault. I waited too long. I should have gone for her sooner.

“Try using live filler.”

Ginger spoke quietly, but it was like a gunshot breaking through the tension. A small shot of hope.

She was peering into the crumbling wreck of Pearl's gem, solemn as a grave. Who knew what she was thinking? Orthoclase scoffed incredulously, raised her arms to the ceiling in a gesture of frustrated helplessness.

“Live filler?” she laughed without humour. “From what donor?”

“Take your pick,” Ginger shrugged. “You can start with me.”

Amethyst covered her eyes, but not before Steven saw relieved tears escape from her eyes.

“For the love of Core,” Orthoclase swore. “That's more filler than one pearl can give, and even if I had done the procedure before, even if it had been done outside of simulations...”

“It's experimental, not impossible,” Ginger cut in. “If any gem can do it, you can.”

“Well, as nice as it is to hear your confidence in my abilities...”

“Can't you try it? Even if it doesn't work, it's something, isn't it?” Steven cried.

Orthoclase turned to him, as if she couldn't believe they were ganging up on her like this.

“I could, pebble,” she said. “I could do all sorts of things. Problem is, this procedure probably won't work, plus if I get it wrong it could kill the pearl that's donating the filler. How many more pearls are you willing to throw away for this one?”

Steven couldn't answer that.

Ginger, however, could.

“Any one of us would be happy to give our lives for her,” Ginger said. “Ask them if you don't believe me.”

For the first time, they all turned to look at the pearls gathered in the living room. None of them had attempted to get any closer, but they were keeping a close vigil on what was going on.

“Fine,” Orthoclase growled, then turned to the gathered pearls. “Do any of you want to let me stick a pipe through your core circuitry to harvest living nacre from your manifest bodies directly? Bearing in mind if I stick the pipe wrong on the first try you're as good as shattered?”

She clearly wasn't expecting every hand (or other working limb) to be raised, but perhaps she should have. The pearls had already proven themselves willing to sacrifice their lives for the Renegade Pearl. Orthoclase sighed, rubbed her temples and groaned.

“Okay then,” she grumbled. “We'll try it. I'm not making any promises, but we can try it.”

The relief hit Steven so hard he nearly fainted. Shakily, he sat down on the ground beside the operating table. Pearl's hand was dangling slightly off of the side, and he reached out to thread his fingers through hers. They were cold, but if he concentrated hard he could almost feel a slight pulse of life in them.

Ginger handed a long tube and a sharp needle-like instrument to Orthoclase, and turned to pull her hair to the front.

“No,” Orthoclase hissed, just loud enough for Steven to hear. “You're not going first.”

…..

The first five times, Orthoclase got the placement wrong. It shattered the first pearl (Blackberry)and stopped the next two (Lemonade and Jane)from moving. They crumpled to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut. Orthoclase managed to get some of the strange shimmering liquid she needed out of them, but it wasn't much. The pipe fed it directly into Pearl, the forceps held her jaw open to receive it.

The procedure was unpleasantly close to violence. All the Crystal Gems looked away when Pearl's jaw was cracked, uncomfortable as it was to watch it done to a regular pearl it was unbearable watching it happen to Pearl. The cannula Orthoclase used to pierce the donor pearl's core spine had to be thrust downwards at the exact spot with enough force to go through the several layers of the manifested form. It looked uncomfortably like Orthoclase was stabbing them.

After the fifth pearl (Meg) only lost the feeling in the right side of her body, Orthoclase perfected the technique. The sixth pearl (Rosemary) was hit in exactly the right spot, and the tube filled with nacre almost instantly.

“Holy Core,” Orthoclase whispered, more to herself than anyone. “This might just work...”

Slowly, Pearl's gem began to reform itself. As soon as one pearl began to wilt, the cannula was pulled out and she was replaced by the next in line. Ginger was deep in concentration, pulling the tendrils out of Pearl's gem by micro-measurements, as soon as it was safe to move them a little. She had excised some of the skin on Pearl's face to inch away the black strands there. Orthoclase was fully occupied with her stabbing and monitoring the flow of nacre.

When almost twenty pearls had been drained, a curious thing began to happen. Pearl's gem started flickering, projecting a broken image up at the ceiling. Steven tried to make it out, but it was too blurry to be seen properly. Her hand was a little warmer now, but Steven thought that might just have been the heat from his own hand.

When the image did clear enough for him to see it, he didn't recognize it. It was a projection of a tall red gem in a strange puffy outfit, laughing and talking to someone. Pearl had shown him a lot of things from Homeworld over the years, but he had never seen this gem before.

“That's one of mine,” the pearl who was slumped over next to him (Dandelion) piped up.

“One of yours?” Steven asked.

“The monster took most of her memory,” she explained. “We're giving her ours.”

Simple words, but the weight behind them hit like a sledgehammer. Those little blue cubes she'd been stacking in his dream, trying to keep the monster out, telling him that he couldn't be there...

“She kept yours safe,” Dandelion assured him. “She protected your memory as long as she could. It's still there.”

Pearl's gem flickered on and off throughout the procedure, the images becoming clearer and clearer as more nacre was pumped into her. They were filled with little exchanges, smiles and songs and touching hands. Stern commands, whispered secrets, casual indifference. Steven saw, for the first time, what gesture-speak looked like to a pearl's eyes, fluid and clear and beautiful as prayer.

What he didn't see was any note of harshness, any of the myriad cruelties visited on pearls by the gems that subjugated them. It was all joy and kindness. They hadn't just gifted Pearl with their own lifeblood, but given her their best, most treasured memories.

Ginger was the last pearl to give her nacre, and Orthoclase did hesitate, just a little, before stabbing her with the cannula. She turned her back to the images projected by Pearl's gem for the first time; for all her talk of wanting to know what Ginger was thinking, she didn't want to invade her privacy so directly.

Perhaps she would have been surprised to know that Ginger's most treasured memories were of her. Or perhaps that was exactly why she turned her back.

…..

“It'll take about ten cycles, maybe more,” Orthoclase said when she handed over the lead-lined box where Pearl's recovered gem was stored. “I don't know how long it'll take on your planet. It's anyone's guess.”

A shuttle had been sent down for them from Lars' ship, once the procedure was finished Orthoclase advised them to get off of Homeworld as soon as possible. Murder Pearl would likely be making her move on the lab soon and once she did whatever she was planning, the skies would be strictly monitored. She and Ginger brought them to the drop-off point; Steven had barely enough time to say goodbye and thank each of the pearls and the other gems that had helped them.

Lapis had scoffed in her haughty manner when he thanked her, but bid him a fond farewell all the same. The pearls seemed taken aback that they were being thanked at all. The temptation to try and smuggle a few of them back to Earth was so overwhelming that Garnet insisted on holding his hand as they left to stop him.

At least Blinky, let's bring Blinky, so she doesn't have to go back to...

“You'll look after them, won't you?” he asked Orthoclase, as the shuttle's doors opened for them.

“Of course,” Orthoclase assured him. “Won't be nearly so easy without your healing spit, but no matter. If you ever change your mind about going into remodeling...”

“I won't,” he cut in.

“Shame,” she shrugged.

“They will miss you,” Ginger told him. “Even the ones who didn't get to meet you.”

“They won't say anything, will they?” Amethyst asked, sounding a little panicky.

“No,” she answered. “We are good at keeping our secrets.”

Orthoclase snorted with good humour, and all the while Steven tried not to cry. He hated Homeworld and the awful things he had seen there, but his love and gratitude for Orthoclase and Ginger were so forceful he couldn't stand the idea of not seeing them again.

“You can come to Earth with us,” he said suddenly, ignoring the stares from Garnet and Amethyst. “The shuttle's big enough...”

“Our place is here, pebble,” Orthoclase said, gently but firmly. “We have work to do.”

He hugged them both before he was pulled away into the shuffle. It didn't feel like nearly enough to express how much he loved them; they had risked their lives multiple times for his sake, done their best to accommodate him despite never having seen a human, much less a child before. Their absence would leave a hole in him that could never be filled.

He watched them from the shuttle window as they rose into the clouds. Orthoclase's long lean figure looking up into the sky, Ginger's petite frame stuck beside her like a mismatched set of salt-and-pepper shakers.

Someday, he might come back and find them. They would be fine, middling along doing the most illegal of things right under Homeworld's authoritative noses and getting away with it. They had promised they would message him.

They would be fine.

#steven universe fanfiction #steven universe #tw body horror and creepy stuff #orthoclase and pearl #murder pearl

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