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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?

Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.

I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.

So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)

I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here

alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"

I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!

(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)

(3.3k)

(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)

Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.

“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”

Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.

“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.

On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.

Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.

But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.

No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.

Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.

He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.

Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.

But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.

Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.

It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.

Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.

Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.

Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.

It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.

Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.

Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.

Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.

“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”

Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.

“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”

“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”

“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”

Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.

“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.

“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”

Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”

His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”

And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.

He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.

He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.

He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.

More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.

His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.

They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.

Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”

Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.

The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”

Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.

It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.

“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”

The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.

“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?

“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”

Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.

He wants them back.

“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”

“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”

Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. “Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”

Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.

Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”

“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.

“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”

Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.

Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”

Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.

“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.

Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.

It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.

There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.

But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.

#asks #pokemon au #the long awaited snippet!!!!#so i didn't get to all of obi-wan's pokémon teap #team**#and yes the 'unopened pokéball on his belt' refers to his being the trainer of a legendary pokémon #(zamazenta because i like that)#i really hope this is both a) readable to people who don't know shit about pokemon and #b) readable to people who do know shit about pokemon #because i am right in the middle #somehow i made this about love languages again but that's just me and my relationship with #obikin

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amaya-chwan · 3 years

Text

Takeaways from Therapy Game Restart 14 + Illustration Book Release Date

Hello again everyone! ❤️💛💜

It's finally here... chapter 14! In all its glory! 😍🥰✨

Before we get to our takeaways, just some news I missed in the last post!

🎉 SENSEI'S ILLUSTRATION BOOK WILL BE RELEASED AROUND THURSDAY, 23RD SEPTEMBER! 🎉

Image taken from this Twitter post from Dear+!

It is titled "日ノ原巡イラスト集　DARLING" and boasts a collection of illustrations from Sensei's works so far: Secret XXX, Therapy Game, and Kamisama no Uroko.

The current price is ¥2970 with tax (¥2700 without tax). If you'd like to preorder it on your proxy shopping service, I've found it on the Comi Comi Studios website here! The bonus for purchasing it on this website is a B5 clear file~ I haven't seen it on Animate just yet, so fingers crossed it'll appear on their website soon with another (different) bonus! ❤️💛

Alright, with this amazing news done, let's move onto our takeaways, the long awaited takeaways! Thank you for being so patient with me! 💜

My short life update: currently in week 8 of lockdown and I haven't left my house in a long time other than for exercise or groceries. But I do have my vaccination appointment booked so YAY! 🎉

Here are our takeaways for this chapter:

Oh man, we pick right up from the last page of chapter 13. MINATO, BB, YOU LOOK SO PAINED! 😭

Sensei is the BIGGEST tease... that's all we got of that Minato and Shizuma scene...👀😭

The female staff at the veterinary hospital have really mellowed out! They're not bad, after all. ☺️

Oh dear, Nakajou-sensei, please get better ASAP!

Whoa... did Onodera just...?? I'm starting to think back to that Onodera discussion we had a couple of months ago... 🤔

Poor Shizuma, always roped into Onodera's workplace stuff! IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE GREAT PEOPLE SKILLS, SHIZUMA! PROUD OF YOU! 😍🙌

Man, Onodera has a really... blunt way of saying things to her human clients. Wow, brave. 😲

But I will say, Onodera really is good with animals. 🙌

Yet again, I think about that Onodera discussion we had... 🤔🤔

And that’s it for this chapter’s takeaways! For a more detailed breakdown/summary of this chapter, please continue after the cut! There may or may not be a surprise scene (or two) there. Please keep reading if you want to see~ 😉✨

Our chapter begins where we left off in chapter 13--Minato pinning Shizuma down on the bed. Shizuma looks up at Minato and reflects on his actions that caused the pained look he is seeing.

Image taken from this Dear+ Twitter post!

On the next page (title page), the dialogue reads: Shizuma wants to understand what it is about his director (Onodera) that is making Minato uneasy. // However, that beautiful liar hides it well...

(I believe we are taken back to the morning before Shizuma and Minato meet up for their date.)

The title page features Onodera walking back to the clinic, bread in hand, with a cat cozying up on her leg. We are then brought to the clinic's lunchroom, with the female staff and Shizuma on break. The roster in the room shows that Onodera is extremely busy, Nakajou-sensei has afternoon house call appointments, Tatsumi is Nakajou-sensei's support for these appointments, and Shizuma has a half day and finishes in the afternoon in lieu of working on his scheduled day off.

Shizuma asks his coworkers what presents they like from their partners and takes note of their answers. One of the female nurses asks if it's Minato's birthday. Shizuma confesses that their relationship has been affected by the various things happening lately, so he wants to get Minato a gift before seeing him later that day.

The nurses quickly pick up that the gift is a "tribute" of sorts as this line of work means a lot of missed appointments and dates, and Shizuma confirms their suspicions. While the nurses realise male-male relationships and male-female relationships aren't that different in this aspect, everyone in the lunchroom is alerted to someone shouting Nakajou-sensei's name.

Shizuma and a nurse see Tatsumi with Nakajou-sensei, who has collapsed on the floor. While the staff are concerned about Nakajou's well-being, she brushes it off as a dizzy spell. Before they can help her up, Onodera sweeps her off her feet and carries Nakajou to her (Onodera's) office. While Nakajou asks Onodera to put her down out of sheer embarrassment, Shizuma and Tatsumi are in shock, with Tatsumi commenting on Onodera's manliness in that moment. One of the other nurses gently smacks Shizuma's shoulder and tells the two to grab a blanket and a drink for Nakajou.

In her office, Onodera asks Nakajou why she's been overworking herself to the point of collapsing. The nurse (who gave the gentle smack) very obviously hints to Onodera that it is her fault. As Nakajou calms the nurse by saying that's just how the director is, Tatsumi asks Nakajou about their afternoon appointments. She says she'll be fine to go after a little rest, but the nurse says she mustn't overexert herself.

After a few back and forths about who should go and the clients' needs/personality (picky about the vet, had a pet that doesn't like men, etc), Onodera says she will go. The nurses are shocked and reminisce about all the issues they've had when Onodera interacts with the owners. Tatsumi and Shizuma stand there, and can very clearly imagine those situations happening.

While Onodera rearranges and informs the nurses of the shift changes to accommodate Nakajou-sensei, Shizuma has a terrible premonition that unfortunately comes true: he is appointed as Onodera's support for the afternoon house calls.

Wearing a sulky expression, Shizuma packs the necessary equipment in Onodera's car and reminds her that he has a very important engagement that night that he cannot miss, and as such will leave immediately after the house call appointments are done. Onodera bursts his bubble, and tells him to give up on those plans while he can since this is the line of work he's chosen.

As Shizuma reads the client files, he questions Onodera on why he is her support when he's never attended to these clients before. While Onodera tells him that good coordination is important with a physician's support and that he's the only one she can rely on to give her an honest opinion and calm the clients, Shizuma realises that he's basically the mediator between her and the owners. She confirms that this is his strong point, has great expectations for him, and proceeds to drive. Shizuma then reads the patient files at lightning speed, realising there's a threatening 'something' that Minato has sensed, but that's just how the director is. He then vows to make it to their meeting tonight, no matter what.

The first three house calls, as expected, involve Onodera insulting and angering the owners--Onodera tells the first client that his insistence on seeing Nakajou rather than a 'young' director is having a negative effect on his pet who needs immediate medical care; Onodera offends the second client, inferring from their conversation that her pet's appearance is more important than the need to shave their fur and get an ultrasound done; Onodera accuses the third client of being irresponsible in caring for his exotic animals and asks for more effort on his part. In all three scenarios, Shizuma awkwardly smiles while trying to ease the tension.

The scene skips to Onodera and Shizuma arriving at their fourth and final house call for the day. Just as Onodera explains to Shizuma that she must check a whole host of things at house calls (and indirectly be too blunt about it with the owners), Shizuma asks her to consider the owner's feelings and change when and how she says things. She glares ahead in silence, and Shizuma is just glad that she is now aware of it. He again reminds her to talk with the owner nicely and gently as he probably won't be able to help with the next client as their pet dislikes men. Onodera tells him to just sit in the corner and witness the client become furious while he doesn't help, making him feel slightly guilty for saying that. He is now adament on not helping her.

They reach the owner's home and we meet an elderly woman named Shiratori and her 9-year-old male cat, Tono. Shiratori apologises to Shizuma as her cat doesn't like men. Tono hisses at them as Onodera opens his cage, but is then coaxed into submission by Onodera who covers his vision with a towel and takes him into her lap to calm down. Shiratori and Shizuma are surprised at his sudden docile nature, with Shizuma witnessing how well she deals with animals.

As Shizuma looks on at Onodera while she completes a check on Tono, he sees she is crumbling at the friendliness and talkative nature of Shiratori, who sings nothing but praise for Onodera and how her family must be proud to have such an amazing daughter. Aiming to ease her troubles and remembering the earlier guilt-trip she gave him, he redirects Shiratori's attention to her broken fly screen and offers to fix that plus everything else that needs repair in her home.

Onodera watches as the two leave the room for a bit before apologising to Tono for ignoring him. Tono looks on at Onodera happily while she asks him how he can live with such a lively human and to tell her his secret to this. She brings him into her arms once more to check his limbs, and as Tono looks up smiling at Onodera, Onodera sees her reflection in Tono's eyes, and both seem to realise something.

BG Text: Stare...

Suddenly, Shizuma and Shiratori, who are busy fixing the window, hear a loud crash and rush into the room to find Tono atop the cabinet and Onodera on the floor, with her hair in disarray. In the next panel, Tono is shown to be hiding in the bookshelf, looking on irritatingly at the humans. Shiratori apologises to Onodera, who shakes it off and says it's nothing to worry about and no harm's been done.

Shiratori asks if Onodera will fix/tie her hair up again, but when Onodera says her hair tie was broken when Tono used her as a launchpad to get on the cabinet, Shiratori runs to get her a new one. As Shiratori gushes over the 3 piece dopey looking character hair tie set she received as a present from her grandchild (and lets Onodera pick one), a greatly displeased look is plastered on Onodera's face. Shizuma, in shock, notices her displeasure and hopes she just thanks Shiratori for it. And Onodera does, bringing a great big smile to Shiratori's face.

As Onodera and Shizuma leave, Shiratori says she's glad to have talked with Onodera and invites her to come over again. As she says this, we see Onodera looking back with a blank look in her eyes.

And that’s it for this chapter! THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! 💜 While I was surprised at the lack of Minato in this chapter (Sensei legit is such a tease, LOL 🤣), I'm happy we can learn more about Onodera. Ngl, I'm starting to really question if Onodera is male or female now, given what transpired in this chapter. I guess we shall see in the next one!

I also changed the formatting a bit and removed the bullet points. Please let me know which format is better/easier to read! Ahah!

EDIT: Spelling and grammar checks are done! Didn't change a lot, but hope it reads better! 💜

📢 As always, please support Hinohara-sensei by purchasing her books and CDs! 📢

And please also refrain from resharing these translations and images outside of this post! Thank you for understanding! ❤️💛

There won't be a chapter in next month's (September release) Dear+, so I shall see you in two months for the next chapter (Dear+ November Issue, to be released in October).

As always, stay safe during these turbulent times and look out for each other and for your loved ones! 💜❤️💛

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stardusttkachuk · 3 years

Note

happy birthday! how about prompt 34 + matty?

34. “If you’re bored we could have sex.”

— — — — —

Growing up next door to the Tkachuk’s had its perks. You always had someone to watch sports with when they were on, you had been to countless NHL games when their dad was playing, and even more when the two boys started playing, and you had a best friend to hang out with all the time, even though she was a few years younger than you. You two were like sisters.

Another added bonus was the Tkachuk’s threw the best parties. So when Taryn graduated, they made sure to host a huge barbecue/pool party to celebrate.

You had wandered inside after swimming for a few hours, finding yourself a drink to sip on while you waited for food to be ready. Matthew found you at the kitchen island, leaning on it across from you.

“Whatcha doin’ in here? I thought you’d be out there with Tar and your guys’ friends.”

You shrugged. “Eh.. I’m a little bored of swimming, or actually I’m bored of lounging on the pool floaties.”

“Hey, if you’re bored we could have sex,” Matt suggested nonchalantly.

You scoffed. “Ew, no,” you said, nose scrunched up as you made a disgusted face.

“Did you just ew me?” Matt asked. “Come on, Y/N. I’ve known about the crush you’ve had on me since middle school for years!”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I have not had a crush on you since middle school.”

“Are you sure? Because Brady told me otherwise. I heard you got a little drunk the last time you saw him and you spilled some pretty interesting secrets.”

“Oh really?” You laughed. “Maybe I was lying because I didn’t want Brady to know about my crush on him.”

“Whatever. Brady is three months younger than you and you always said you’d never date a guy younger than you,” Matthew accused.

You shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“Really? You’d pick him over me?” He sounded genuinely upset at this silly conclusion he’d come up with and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Watch your ego there, Chucky,” you said, moving around the island to stand beside him. “And for the record, you were in middle school, I was still in elementary school.” You placed a kiss to his cheek, then ruffled his curls as you headed towards the door. You could see gears turning in his head and the blush that rose on his cheeks when he realized what you meant.

“Hey, wait!” He called, just as you reached the back sliding door that separated you two from the party. You turned around and waited for him to continue. “Why’d you say ew?”

“Because it’s your sisters graduation and I didn’t want to think about her walking in on us doing that.”

Matthew cringed. “Oh, yeah, that... that’s ew. Wait!” he stopped you as you placed your hand on the handle, ready to head back outside.

“Are we going to talk about this later then?”

“I would hope so.”

“Okay...”

You turned back around, but groaned as Matthew yelled wait once again, turning around to face him.

“I’ve liked you since elementary school too.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk blurb #hockey #b's birthday blurbs

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hardskz · 4 years

Text

bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh.

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.” Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him.

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste.

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!”

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record.

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.”

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize.

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II.

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories.

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II.

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade).

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong.

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long.

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table.

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall.

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back.

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers.

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly.

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed.

“Don’t wanna come like this—”

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.”

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants.

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace.

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

#yes the ending is rushed oops sue me #may consider part 2 so heads up #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #smut.mine #dom!chan #sub!reader #crispy.txt

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theflashdriver · 3 years

Text

Too Late

A mysterious visitor draws Blaze to the docks, having made his presence known through Marine and requested conversation with her. His reasons for this, who he is and why he's even here are all unknowns. Despite this rudeness, the ruler of the Sol dimension can't help but feel a bizarre tension in the air. Written for sonamysilvazeweek 2021, using the bonus prompt of hurt/comfort!

This one is more intended to be pure angst than romance but it is very soft, I hope folks enjoy!

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These past two days had brought a bizarre tension that Blaze knew the origin of but not how to confront. Yesterday morning, a little before noon, Marine had burst into a royal meeting with all the disruptive force that she could muster. The now adult raccoon, stood in front of ministers and community stakeholders, had freely and willingly babbled about a weird old wizard who had offered to help with her ships if he could meet with the princess. Naturally, due to a combination of the shipwright’s tone and chosen way of relaying this information, Blaze had rather exploded at her, insisting that she leave and that this so-called wizard should make an appointment. When the girl had tried to stand her ground, she’d been asked if this person was a threat. With a grumble of no, knowing she was beat, the raccoon had made her way through the halls but out the castle entirely.

That was, until eight o’clock this morning. The young raccoon had barraged her way into the royal bedchambers, claiming that the same old wizard had successfully pulled eight of her crashed ships from the ocean and aided in their repair by merely waving his hand. She said that he was some kind of psychic sent from the other dimension and that, despite how weird and old he was, he apparently knew Cream, Sonic, Tails and the others. All those things had piqued Blaze’s interest, of course they had, but none of them propagated her curiosity quite like Marine claiming he’d sat on the dock ever since he’d arrived. He hadn’t eaten or even slept; he’d simply sat waiting for the princess.

Unfortunately, just like the day before, today had been filled to burst with work. Gardon had passed away three months ago and, although the monarch was now mature, the burden of that loss was still weighing heavily on her. No longer having that confidante, that source of sage advice, was finally beginning to wear her down. Hours were spent dealing with fussy landowners and handling minor issues, with both sets of Eggman long gone too, the guardian part of her role had been regulated to a mere title. It’d taken until now, approaching night on this summer day, for her to find the time and leave the castle.

The evening was humid, even by the docks, but that wasn’t too abnormal for this time of year. A dark sky hung overhead; grey clouds formed a barrier that barely allowed the pink of the sunset to pierce through. She was dressed in her usual working garb, her purple coat and white tights, but she wasn’t entirely sure if this was work. Marine’s descriptions of this man had been sparse to say the least- apparently, he was old, would glow with a strange cyan light and looked rather homeless. Blaze wasn’t even certain that her aid was needed in the Chaos dimension and so she hadn’t brought the Sol emeralds; according to Marine, he was just here to meet with the princess.

Blaze quickly found herself at the stout dock that Marine tended to work off of. Sure enough, no fewer than eight vessels that she could scarcely recognise were happily floating along either side of the wooden boardwalk. None of them held her attention for long though, despite how ludicrous and intricate their designs were. No, Blaze’s eyes quickly fell upon a cloaked figure sitting at the very end of the dock.

Her attention was immediately captured by a set of seven quills, the formation of which she’d never seen on a hedgehog before. They were long overgrown and, though she could tell five ascended from his forehead while two stretched from the back of his head, they’d all began to matt into one continuous mass of grey fur. The cloak Marine had described was actually a garb formed from brown burlap, heavily stitched in places and acting as some strange poncho with long and billowing sleeves. Strangely, his right sleeve hung loosely at his side while his left reached up to cradle his head.

“Hello there? Are you the one who’s been waiting for me?” She called out, trying to get his attention.

“Oh, hello,” A croaking voice half-hummed from the form, he didn’t so much as turn back, “It’s a shame you didn’t come yesterday, the sunset was wonderful.”

Feeling a little slighted by the hedgehog’s cheekiness, Blaze responded in kind, “Well, I’m sorry but my role finds me rather busy.”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I think I can make this work,” Once those words sounded, the hedgehog’s back straightened and his hand left his chin.

She watched from behind as he pointed to the sky and, though she wasn’t sure what to expect, she couldn’t have anticipated what would happen next. The once grey shroud that had blocked the sun was suddenly tinted cotton-candy blue. She watched as his fingers curled into a fist and the cloud mass seemed to convulse, almost gathering at a single point, before he flicked his wrist and spread his fingers. The clouds parted into a wide circle that breached the horizon and, as it did, his hand was made fully visible. A cyan circle shone on the back of his palm; by the tears on his worn glove, she could tell that it was part of his hand.

“Oh, today’s even prettier, is that normal for this world?” It was only then that the form turned for face her, not rising and bowing like most of her subjects would but simply glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile on his face.

Behind him, the sun couldn’t be more than an inch away from the ocean’s surface and the sky was the most glorious shade of pastel pink… but that couldn’t hold the feline’s attention. Her eyes locked on the hedgehog’s face, the face of an old and tired man. Sunburn marred his muzzle, giving him a rough appearance despite his smile. Plumes of white fur breached his garb’s neck-hole, wrinkles covered his face and there was an age in his eyes that spoke volumes to the feline. Marine hadn’t been inaccurate to call him a wizard, what he’d just done was ludicrous and he surely looked the part, but something in those bright yellow eyes called to Blaze in a bizarre way.

Stumped, finding herself unable to answer, Blaze managed another step forward before catching herself, “What on earth did you just do?”

“Oh, I just pushed the clouds away,” He said, so very nonchalantly, as he turned back to the sky, “Don’t you think it’s pretty?

“It’s certainly prettier than it was,” She conceded through clenched teeth, daring to take another step closer. Though he didn’t seem threatening, this bizarre figure had just split the sky with no more than a wave of his hand, “Marine was insistent that I come down here as soon as possible, was there a reason for that?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, no. I would have happily waited for a few weeks at least,.I heard that you’re very busy,” He patted the spot on the docks next to him, smiling back at her again, “I just wanted to talk with you a little, after that I’ll be on my way.”

Under normal circumstances, Blaze would have turned tail there and then. If he was just here to talk and willing to wait then he could book an appointment like all the rest; but these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d parted the sky, brought ships back from the depths and... well, something bizarre was buzzing in Blaze’s head. As she looked upon his form, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu; she’d never seen this old man in her life and yet he looked so familiar. The term anemoia came to mind but she was struggling to recall its meaning. Without even really thinking, she found herself stepping closer still to the grey figure- soon she was standing by his side.

It was as he turned back to the sunset, releasing a sigh of contentment, that Blaze truly understood what she was looking at. When Marine said he’d raised and repaired her ships with one hand, Blaze hadn’t thought that he lacked the other. His right arm had been reduced to a stump, bound at its end, but that wasn’t where the damage ended. Only his right leg poked free from his garb to hang over the edge, this figure had seen far more than his share of adversity. Even the smiling form of his muzzle seemed slightly battered and, even over the scent of sea air, the stench he carried was that of brimstone and sweat decades aged.

“And what is it that you want to talk about?” Blaze, rather bluntly, managed to ask.

“Well, um,” He tugged at his chest fur, “I have a couple of questions to ask, but I’m sure you’ll have some for me too. How about we take turns asking things? I asked one then you get to.”

Today just kept growing more bizarre, he hadn’t come to ask her anything, he’d come to play a game of twenty questions. Even with Marine, even with Sonic or Amy or any of the others, if they tried to confront her like this then she’d ask them to simply cut to the chase. But as she stood above him, a question did find purchase in her mind. He apparently knew the others, that meant he was probably from their dimension, so why hadn’t they bumped into each other? He was an older hedgehog, was he related to Sonic? She didn’t think so, but it was so bizarre- it was like she knew where he came from, it was almost on the tip of her tongue. Even his name, it was as though she was so sure of it but couldn’t verbalise it no matter how she tried.

With a heavy sigh, not masked in the way she’d try to hide such normalities during her royal meetings, Blaze dropped down to sit beside the grey figure, “Fine, ask away.”

“What, really? O-Okay,” He seemed just as surprised as she was about her willingness to go along with this, “I’m, well, I think I’m eighty-two now. How old are you?”

Blaze blinked; this absolute stranger had just asked the princess her age in such a blunt manner. His lack of tact was frankly astounding but Blaze wasn’t off put. If anything, there was something strangely homely in how casually he’d asked, “I’m twenty-eight now, going on twenty-nine.”

“Oh wow, it’s like we’re opposites,” He immediately seemed to notice, smiling even more warmly than he had before, “Your turn then.”

A couple of ideas floated in her head, questions that felt strangely pointless to ask despite her not knowing the answers. Eventually, she managed to settle on one.

“Marine said you knew those in the other dimension,” She posited, “Do you come from there? I’ve been over a few times now and I don’t think I’ve ever…” For whatever reason, another surge of déjà vu forced her to hesitate, “Seen you.”

“Oh, yes, right. I don’t think you would have, no,” He seemed to stumble over a collection of thoughts, “I’m from there but not from then, you see. I’m from their dimension but a very different time. Two-hundred years in their future, I was born. The time I came from though, that’s long gone, overwritten by my travels,” The old man said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, “It was a bad place to live to be honest, overrun by monsters long before I was born. It took a lot but, after almost a hundred years of work, it’s finally all sorted out. I kept going back to the past and preventing disasters, now there’s nothing left to prevent,” And she found herself listening, as if it was the most regular of answers, “I guess I kind of come from nowhere now though, it’s nice there but it’s not exactly home. I’m just drifting now really…”

“Right…” The princess mumbled, trying to take that all in and finding it surprisingly easy.

Up until now things had been weird but now things were surpassing the point of strangeness. Looking past the other oddities this figure presented, for her to hear what she had just heard and feel as though that was both truthful and normal was the most bizarre sensation Blaze had ever experienced. Perhaps it was because she was used to introducing herself as a princess of another dimension but the fact she was so unphased by his words was thoroughly phasing her.

Before she could dwell on it too much, he was smiling at her again, “I’m wondering, the others mentioned that you were a pyrokinetic, would you mind showing me…?”

Again, without much thought, Blaze found this usually questionable proposal agreeable. She raised her right hand between them and, with no more than the click of her fingers, the top of her forefinger was set alight. Almost immediately he moved in closer, his bright yellow eyes marvelled at the exposed flame.

“Though it took me a while to properly control it, I’ve had this power for all my life,” She explained, snuffing the light against her palm, “What about you? What’s that symbol on your hand and what did you do with the clouds?”

As if to match her, the hedgehog raised his hand. Light seemed to pulse and ebb from the shining mark at his hand’s centre, tinting the environment around it. Once that had been shown, in such a casual way, the hedgehog turned and gestured to the sea before pointing his forefinger up. A light seemed to well in the dark depths of the water and, almost instantly, the waves ceased their lapping. Slowly coiling its way up, like some great serpent emerging from a lake, a long tendril of water, bathed in that same cyan glow, began to extend from the sea. It cut the sky, stretching a good ten metres up. Then, with a further wave of his hand, it fell away from them as though it was a tree that’d been chopped at the base. With a colossal splash, the waves restarted with a brief degree of additional aggression before, eventually, settling back into their regular pattern.

In any other situation, coming from any other person, Blaze would have taken this as some vague show of force. She knew that he could manipulate more than water, she’d seen him shift the cloud many miles in the sky, but he’d chosen to control the element that directly countered her own. Again though, for some unthinkable reason, Blaze couldn’t find the emotion to be shocked or perturbed.

“I’m psychic, I’ve had this power for as long as I remember but, to be quite honest, I’ve got no idea how it actually works or where it comes from,” His smile grew a little warmer, “I never really thought it all that important, all that matters is how these powers are used.”

“I’ve tried to embody similar thoughts myself,” She quickly responded, attempting not to dwell on that or the thoughts that came with it, “It’s your turn.”

“This is my big question, but I know this might be a little strange to ask. You don’t have to answer it if you’re not comfortable,” He said, as if everything up to this point had been normal, “Do you like living here? Do you like being the princess?”

This wasn’t a question Blaze was new to, it wasn’t uncommon for children to ask what it was like being a princess, but Blaze thought his version carried a little more weight. He wasn’t asking about the simple things, like sleeping in a big bed or heading public events. For whatever reason, the princess knew he was asking if she actually enjoyed the role she’d been born into and, again for some unknown reason, she felt prompted to answer truthfully. This stranger was compelling her to unearth truths in a way that she hadn’t dared before.

“It’s… difficult,” She muttered, “Even though I hold a privileged position, even though I know I’m luckier than most, I don’t know that I’ve ever been comfortable,” Her head found her hand, her gaze drifted to the sea, “I can’t see my friends often, I can’t choose where I go and when, I can’t even stroll to the docks on a whim,” For some reason, although that was true, saying it aloud felt incredibly selfish, “But, it would be a lie to say I’m totally uncomfortable here. Marine keeps things interesting. Though I’ve seen adversity I’ve either been able to handle it or found the strength to call upon friends to aid me. Even if it’s not perfect, I’m happy I can live here and bring justice for those around me. I don’t know that I could ever see myself giving it up or…”

Blaze caught herself, grinding their conversation to a halt, “This is hardly professional of me; I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I shouldn’t be talking to anyone like this.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I told you I minded all that or that I wasn’t enjoying our conversation,” His eyes seemed to flicker away from hers and, though he spoke positively, his grin drooped ever so slightly, “I simply have a face that a people find familiar, I think it’s got something to do with my travels through time. People tend to speak with me in ways that they wouldn’t others.”

Somehow, despite the softness of his expressions and the newness behind their interactions, the princess could see that he wasn’t telling the total truth. There was something in the bending of his brow, the way the words hung on his lips. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t to do with him at all. Maybe it was the way his words resonated with her eardrums.

Equally though, she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t see what he’d said, “You do have a rather…” She rummaged for the right words, good and polished words, but what she drew was far too flimsy, “Kind face,” Though her stomach churned at her inaccurate choice of words, she pressed on, “Though that concerns me, it does really feel as though I’ve met you before. Were you a friend of Gardon’s?”

“Gardon?” The word rolled off his tongue, she couldn’t recall hearing that name in his voice at all. She knew the answer before he seemed to, “No, I don’t think so. Who’s Gardon?”

“He was,” Her tongue hitched on words like a hoe dragging through rocks, “Like a father to me,” That seemed right to tell him, even if it wasn’t proper to admit, “I didn’t especially realise that when he was with us but, despite that, I think he knew. He’d looked after me since I was a little girl, I can’t imagine he didn’t occasionally consider himself in that role,” She found herself stumbling, emotions were bubbling to the surface but, for some reason, despite her oversharing, she didn’t care, “I probably should have said I shared his view or made my attachment clearer but, given my position, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“Well,” Hesitantly, shakily, that glowing hand of his came to reside upon her shoulder. Any normal stranger would have promptly been brushed off, told to keep their hands away, but something about that weight upon her shoulder ebbed with a further familiarity that she could not place, “It sounds as if I’d love to have been a friend of Gardon’s, I’m so sorry, Blaze.”

It was only now, having sat with him for a while, that Blaze was beginning to pick up on subtle aspects of his mannerisms. Every word seemed as though it was intently thought out, as if he was running through a thousand memories every time she finished a sentence- so often punctuated with a hum or the word well. It was as if he was doing what she had done for so many years; carefully choosing his words, trying to match her royal status. The only difference was that while she searched for professional words, he seemed to do much the opposite. Not once had he remembered to call her your majesty or your highness, regardless of how much thinking he did.

“Though it’s not the same, I’ve lost someone close to me too,” For the first time since they’d started their conversation, his gaze had flickered away from her and back towards the sea, “Then again, I-I suppose that’s to be expected when you reach my age,” He took another moment, his remaining hand slipped from her shoulder to his knee as he seemed to catch himself, “No one so recently of course, but it’s hard to forget,” She watched his brow furrow further, his fingers seemed to push deeper into his cloak as his words slowly spilled, “You never actually want to forget. If you do, you’ll regret forgetting, more than anything else in the world.”

Once again, the two found themselves sitting in silence. Blaze the cat, the cold and hardened queen of the Sol dimension, felt a few bizarre words weighing so heavily on her tongue. In a matter of moments, with only a handful of words, the tension between them had remounted and tripled. Despite that, she was about to make things even more awkward.

“D-Did you love them?” She stumbled to ask, rather immediately regretting it but finding it impossible not to say something in continuation, “The person that you lost, I mean.”

“Oh, I loved her more than anything,” His answer was so immediate, “So much in fact that I can’t help but think I very much took her for granted. She never took to the word love well, it always seemed to embarrass her, but I feel as though I should have said it a million times more,” Unlike the name of Gardon or so many other things Blaze had heard today, the word love in his tone sounded so unforgivably familiar. It made her feel as though she was some kind of demon for not knowing where she’d heard it, “She was smart, brave, strong… and so much kinder than she probably liked to think, let alone that she could stand to admit,” The way he spoke seemed to carry a nostalgic joy and love that Blaze couldn’t recall seeing in any person, across their entire life “She’d scold me so often, I don’t think she realised that was how she showed her love. I don’t think I knew it either, but I would still go too far and get myself hurt just trying to impress her. It was all with the intent to do good of course, never pointless, but...”

A spark had grown in his eye, another glow that she recognised, but so very quickly he seemed to snuff it. Worry lines appeared on the hedgehog’s brow as he turned back to the sunset.

His smile frayed away at the seams as he mumbled, that love wasn’t gone but now it was being tiptoed around, “Well, she went too far herself a handful of times…”

This old man, this man almost three times her age, had already established a connection with her that few people, inside or out of her kingdom, had managed. Somehow, in a matter of minutes and without seeming to try, he’d managed to bring her fully out of her shell and allowed her access to his. No, it was more than that, it was as if she wanted access to the walls around this history he’d lived.

“I’m…” Something about this felt weird to say, even though she knew it was right, “Sorry for your loss too.”

“I’m sure she loves watching the sunset,” He half hummed before catching himself and beginning to stammer, “W-Would have loved to, rather. This world is so very pretty, though I haven’t stayed for long, I’ve found myself rather smitten with it,” With his hand, he gestured out to the horizon and she followed his pointing, “Islands littered with limitless wonders, a glorious sunset every evening, softly rolling tides and wonderful people,” He spoke such simple words but they were so plainly from the heart, “Yes, this must be the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited. Even better than the world I made.”

Having not watched many sunsets, Blaze didn’t think she was in a good position to judge but there was no denying the prettiness of this sky. The soft pink of the ether, fading orange away from the sun and red towards, it was truly breath-taking to behold. The way the silver clouds hung, parted by his will, as if it were a picture frame surrounding the view made it all the more special. It was as if he’d revealed something she’d never have noticed, like he’d excavated some fossil or deciphered some ancient code.

“I’ve…” She caught herself before she could say something naïve again, “I must profess, I never really watched it until today. It just seemed so regular, as if it wasn’t worth noticing,” That turned his head but she kept her focus on the view in front of them, “But you’re right, it is beautiful,” In this moment, having discussed so much, Blaze felt bold enough to finally pry and ask the question she weirdly felt she already knew the answer to, “What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, I don’t think you asked so I didn’t give my name,” He’d tried to make it sound as though he’d just realised but Blaze could tell that was intentional, “I’m, um…” It took him much too long to provide an answer, “I’m Venice, yes, sorry. Its been a while since I’ve heard my name, let alone used it.”

“Venice?” That name didn’t sit fondly on her tongue, it didn’t seem to suit him at all. No, without even watching him speak it, Blaze knew that he was lying, “You mean, like the city in the other dimension? The one with the canals.”

“Y-Yeah,” He muttered in an attempt to reaffirm, “I think I was born there. I must admit, its been too long for me to really remember now. It’s really beautiful, but it can’t compare to this…”

“I see,” She didn’t feel as though she could really fight him on this, not directly at least.

In the silence that followed, Blaze couldn’t help but tear her gaze from the skyline and attempt to look upon him again. His heart seemed to always be on his sleeve; he was perpetually trying not to lie but plainly obfuscating the truth. Now closer, she could make out little details that were lost on her before. While his missing arm and leg were the most obvious marks on his body, it was clear that the tattered shroud he wore was intended to cover more. On his muzzle, just beneath his left eye, was a thin but clear gash that stretched almost the entire length of his cheek. The hedgehog’s nose looked as though it had been broken at least once, the way his left shoulder seemed to slump suggested that arm hadn’t escaped unharmed too and he was missing no fewer than three teeth.

These injuries would make any normal person feel bad for the hedgehog, but something about them was impacting Blaze a magnitude more than she’d expected. She’d been to hospitals in the wake of disaster, she’d seen people with injuries like his and even far worse following great storms and fires and floods, and she had felt for them… but it had never seemed quite so personal. Perhaps it was because he was older and she had just lost Gardon, perhaps it was because he’d shown her kindness, but Blaze doubted that. It was probably because of the bizarre connection she had felt this entire time. Who was this old man, who had he loved and what was he doing here?

Despite that question hanging in her mind, a very different one fell from Blaze’s mouth, “Do you want to talk about your partner some more?”

Equal parts of his face read that he did and didn’t want to but, ultimately, he resumed his talk, “I remember every detail, every little thing about her, as if we were together only yesterday. The way she’d flinch and brace at every bump in the night, the way she’d try to hide her laugh whenever I was especially stupid, the purrs she’d babble whenever things were truly peaceful, how she’d fuss over me while bandaging my injuries only to fuss more when I offered to help with hers,” Emotion now seemed to be overwhelming him, he went from staring straight at the sunset to turning such that she couldn’t see more than the edge of his muzzle, “There was this word she’d use, scolding me but not scolding me every time she spoke it. I didn’t even know what it meant for ages; it took me until very recently to know just what she meant by it though…”

Before she could even puppet her tongue, a question forcibly spilled fourth, “What was that word?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can stand to say it,” Somehow, by only seeing the edge of his ears furrowing and the slightest shake of his body, the princess could tell that the old hedgehog was at least hurting if not actually crying, “I’m sorry.”

Carefully, slowly, Blaze reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. That contact seemed to freeze him entirely or, perhaps, it would be better said that her touch had petrified him, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, I’m sorry you lost someone you clearly cared so much for,” For whatever reason, even though it was what so many had said to her after Gardon’s death, that didn’t seem like enough, “But, judging by what you said when I first arrived, I’m sure she’d be very proud of you. It sounds like you’ve lived a difficult life and done more for your world than people will ever know.”

“She probably would be,” He turned back, eyes red and plainly tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his stub, “I suppose, I lived up to our agreement.”

“You had an agreement?” She automatically pried before instantly regretting her forwardness.

“We promised to save our world, regardless of the cost,” Those words carried a weight that, try as she might, Blaze couldn’t shake. He concluded with five simple words that carried a tremendous weight, “That cost was rather high.”

Again, words seemed to leave her before she could question whether it was right or wrong to ask, “Do you think it was worth it?”

“I like to think this was,” Pulling his hand from his face, he rubbed where his right hand should have been, “Other things though… no, not so much, but there’s no going back now. It’s too late now, there’s no way of making up for what we exchanged.”

Blaze didn’t even need to ask the next question on her mind- the gap was filled without her permission. He lost his partner, whoever this woman was, to their task, at what stage and age she had no idea, but Blaze could feel her heart bleeding for him. He was old and so there was no real way to know when he’d lost her, he talked as if it was recent but to her it felt as though she’d vanished from his life long ago. This was just so strange, Blaze felt so many things that she couldn’t express and couldn’t recall feeling before. Why was he talking with her about all this?

Floundering, struggling for something to raise his spirits, Blaze blurted, “W-What about the others? I assume you’ve spent time with Cream, Sonic, Amy, all of them? Bonding with them helped me, did it do the same for you?”

“To an extent, I can’t deny that, but I haven’t seen any of them for decades. I’ve been dealing with their children and their children’s children and so on…” Recalling that seemed to return some of the joy to his muzzle, “Their faces began to blur towards the end, I’m sure I called one of their furthest descendants Amy more often than by her own name,” He almost chuckled, “It feels like yours is the most unique face I’ve seen in years, Blaze.”

Not once had he referred to her as princess or by the likes of your majesty, he’d asked about it as her job but it clearly wasn’t who he considered her. The name Blaze seemed to fall from his mouth and slip into her ears so easily, as if it almost belonged in the space between the two of them. Venice didn’t seem as though it’d capture nearly the same space.

“But no, there was no replacing her; not even partially,” He managed to continue, bright eyes gleamed with light even as the sun was rapidly setting, “Knowing them helped certainly but it's only now, as I reach this twilight age, I’ve realised quite how much I miss her.”

Part of Blaze wanted to believe that was the only reason he was here, that the old man was a wandering soul that’d long lost its leash, but there was something in itching at the back of her head that told her that wasn’t true. Furthermore, while it sounded like there was some truth to what he’d said, it didn’t seem like the whole truth; his talk of forgetting echoed in her mind. Regardless of that though, this sad hedgehog had rather endeared himself to her and if she could help shed some of that weight from his shoulders then she’d have done good today.

“What was she like?” She more gently questioned.

“My partner was, and always will be, the best person I ever knew,” His remaining shoulder started to relax, his whole form seemed to loosen as his stare returned to the sunset, “She knew me better than I knew myself, whenever I was pushing myself too far she wouldn’t hesitate to stop me. Without even blinking, she wouldn’t hesitate to knock me down or tell me I was being foolish. My emotions would get the better of me rather often while, even though she usually felt the same as me, she subdued most of hers. Whenever she couldn’t though, whenever things grew too aggravating or a defeat crushed her, I was there as best as I could be to help,” Even though he was looking off into the distance, she could tell he was more imagining than staring at the sunset, “She’d read poetry and prose while I liked to play games and investigate history, but we shared a number of things…”

For whatever reason, though she assumed it to be second-hand embarrassment on the part of Venice’s long-lost partner, the way he’d phrased those first compliments and briefly regaled her with their history was warming the princess’ heart further still. She found herself shifting just a little closer, entirely enamoured with the way he talked about this woman. Though Blaze couldn’t even begin to picture this other time traveler in her mind, she felt as though she was familiar too. Albeit, in a very different way.

“The world we were born into was practically devoid of nature, plants refused to grow and rain rarely fell. The world of the past that we knew came from books and, of the collections of books we found, none would interest us like those tomes containing nature photography. They let us see waterfalls, lush green grass and sights we couldn’t have even fathomed,” He reminisced, “As soon as I found out about them, I’d compare her to a star so very often. It always seemed to embarrass her just a little, how I always thought they were so very pretty. I never meant it like that at the time, but hindsight and a life of living paints a rather different story. I was so very… well, it’s not her word, but I was very oblivious to both of our feelings.”

A few clouds had begun to drift, dusting the sky and obscuring the end of the sunset, but with a wave he rearranged the sky again. As he did so, she watched as his attention was pulled from that imagined place and arrived back at reality. What was pink had gradually drifted to a deeper red and the colour had begun to overwhelm the dark clouds that lingered upon it. Even as it was nearing its end, even if the sun would dip beneath the horizon in a matter of minutes, it was all still so beautiful.

“The way the sun paints the sky in such a natural way never ceases to amaze me. I love a bright blue sky, free of clouds, but the way this one contrasts and blurs them is just so…” The joy in his voice reached a crescendo, “I’m just so glad that I finally got to see this with you.”

“See this with me?” Blaze blinked; she’d been overjoyed to hear him talk so freely but that stumble caught her full attention.

Her questioning seemed to stop him in his tracks, just as it did her. What could he have possibly meant by that? Panic and regret crumpled his face, “Um, yes… I’m glad we could have our meeting, as in…” The hedgehog’s head quickly whipped from her again, “But it’s been so long, the sun’s almost set. I’m sorry, Blaze, I’ve taken up far too much of your time,” A flash of cyan emanated from beneath his robes and, before Blaze could even understand what was happening, he’d materialised a leg from light and risen to stand tall. His remaining hand was extended down to her, “I’m sure you must be very busy…”

“N-No, I… Venice,” As she took his hand and said that name for the first time, it felt so wrong in her mouth. It absolutely wasn’t his name, “I don’t know what has happened, or even who you truly are, but meeting you…” She scrambled for the right words, “I don’t know what it is, but I feel as if there’s much more to you. I’ve never talked to someone like this, let alone a stranger. We’ve hardly been together half an hour but-

“Th-That’s why I need to go, even that’s too long,” He grumbled before a pulsing hum began to overwhelm his words. He raised his remaining hand and from the ring in his palm a disk of cyan light was projected. With another gesture, it was pushed outwards and Blaze could see a swirling blue vortex within that hole, “I’ve probably stayed with you longer than I should have, I’m sorry.”

“Why did you actually come here? What did you come here to do?” Why was her voice wavering? Why was she getting louder? What did it matter if this stranger left? “You can’t have crossed time and space just to see me, why would you do that?”

“Even if things aren’t perfect, I’m glad you’re safe and comfortable here,” He wasn’t listening to her or, at the very least, he wasn’t acknowledging her words, “Please try to enjoy yourself. If you get the opportunity, please be with your friends more and live the life you want to live. You were…” He managed to look at her again, smiling while his eyes were stained red with tears, “You are brilliant, Blaze. I’m so glad I made it here before the end,” Without turning from her, he stumbled forward and vanished into that void.

Her immediate reflex was to follow but the hole collapsed on itself and vanished in the air, spluttering out his final words, “Good luck,” as it vanished from reality.

Alone on the docks, left with only the sound of the waves and the whistling of wind, Blaze felt something inside her ache in a way she’d never ached before. Who was that figure, why did she care, what had he meant by his end and why had he come? She didn’t feel like she was watching one of her citizens die, she didn’t even feel as she had at Gardon’s funeral; this was alien to her and yet so familiar.

Having only risen to her feet a moment ago, she stumbled back and ended up sitting on the dock again. Ahead of her was the sky that he’d cleared, the sun had just dipped beneath the horizon. It was only a matter of time before his last impact on the world would be blown away, clouds were already encroaching on the space he’d made. He’d be wiped from this world, the ship’s he’d revived for Marine would surely sink again, but, for some reason, that old man had claimed an eternal place within the princess’ soul.

Why that was and who he was she’d surely never know, but she hoped her heart would stop aching soon.

#sonamysilvazeweek2021 #silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #angst #fanfic #marine the raccoon

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pines-troz · 3 years

Text

Weekend With The Warners: Chapter Nine

Summary: When the CEO assigns Pinky and The Brain with the important task of watching over the Warners for the weekend, Brain is prepared for any antics that the children have in store. What he didn’t take into account was forming a familial bond with the kids.

Word Count: 13,643

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849962/chapters/79879516

Inside the cab, the Warners were gathered in the back seat of the vehicle, anxious to reach Acme Labs. Wakko was overwhelmed with guilt for not saving Pinky and Brain from their lab coat-wearing captors. They buried their face into Yakko’s chest while the eldest Warner did his best to soothe the middle child’s woes.

“It’s all my fault,” Wakko whimpered.

“Shhh, don’t be so hard on yourself Wakko,” Yakko gently reassured, pulling his younger sib closer to his side. “You did what you could.”

“But now they’re probably going through some terrible experiments.” Wakko lamented.

“They won’t be, at least not for long,” Yakko said determinedly. “We’ll bust ‘em outta there and give those scientists a taste of their own…”

Dot overheard her older siblings’ exchange while conducting some research on her smartphone. The Warner sister looked up Acme Labs on various websites and was surprised to learn about the company’s terrible reputation on many levels. Unethical animal testing and workplace complaints surrounding sexual harassment.

She knew that Acme Labs must have been bad enough for Animaniacs to poke fun at them with the Pinky and The Brain segments, but never to such a heinous degree.

The cab turned a corner and reached a foreboding facility that stood underneath the suspension bridge and close to the city skyscrapers. Yakko took his debit card from his hammerspace and swiped it through the machine, paying a cab fare of $12.95.

“Thanks for the ride, pal.” Yakko quietly told the cabbie as he exited the vehicle. Wakko and Dot also thanked the driver as they followed their older brother out of the van.

The driver gave them a wary look as the siblings walked away, wondering what three toon children would want to do in a laboratory on the rough side of town. Once the siblings entered the front gates of Acme Labs, the vehicle zoomed off, leaving a cloud of exhaust behind as he drove away.

The siblings stared at the company’s new logo, a blue sign with orange lettering. The company adapted with the times in regards to giving itself a minimalist makeover as opposed to the flashing red lights or the bold green-yellow neon lights from the 90s. But the trendy, consumer-friendly glow-up did little to conceal the company’s dark and hideous nature when it came to animal cruelty. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot stood close to each other as they faced the foreboding laboratory that contained their new special friends.

Acting as the ringleader of the group, Yakko alerted his younger siblings as he clapped his hands together. “Alright, sibs, our family is in danger and it’s up to us to rescue them.”

Wakko nodded in agreement as a grim frown crossed his face. “Right. Then let’s give those scientists hell,” he darkly muttered as he took out an unusually large wooden mallet from his hammerspace intending to clobber any white coat he came across.

But before Wakko could make their vicious rampage, Yakko put his index finger on their red cap, stopping the middle child in their tracks. “I admire your valiant and unwavering spirit, Wakko, but we can’t just go in guns a-blazin'.”

“Yeah, we need to develop a game plan to outsmart those scientists,” Dot interjected. “And I believe I came up with a foolproof strategy to trick those whitecoats and liberate Pinky, Brain, and all the other animals imprisoned in the lab.”

Yakko perked up his ears. “Ooh, so what do you have in mind, sis?”

Dot motioned for her older siblings to come closer. Yakko and Wakko were eager to hear what their baby sister had planned and immediately ran to her side. The siblings formed a group huddle and Dot whispered her plan with hushed excitement.

- - - - - -

Inside the other testing room, Pinky sat on the exercise wheel with his limbs sprawled out while holding a half-eaten food pellet. The mouse wistfully observed the green cage. Everything looked the same. The green bars, the straw floor, an exercise wheel, a full water bottle, and a food pellet dispenser. The only thing missing was Brain.

Pinky felt all achy and gooey and Garfunkley without the love of his life. He began to pull on the metal tag that tightened around his right ear. He figured that the scientists tried to give him some free jewelry as compensation for participating in the separation experiment. While a nice gesture, nice shiny objects couldn’t replace the warmth and comforting companionship of his partner. But he had to be strong for Brain. A month without his beau would be difficult, but he needed to gather all of his strength to persevere. So he decided to lift his spirits by singing the one song he believed could solve all his problems.

“Just say narf! Just say narf!” Pinky sang boisterously. The mouse waved his feet to the beat of the song, hoping to feel its cheerful energy. “Don’t you know to be glad, just say narf!”

But as he sang, the somber ambiance of the room remained unchanged. The scientists surrounding his cage merely scribbled on their notepads, ignoring the mouse’s tune. Pinky’s spirits dwindled as he sang the next verse. “Every day is a joy and so marvelous.” But his hopeful optimism was snuffed out like a candle. “Don’t you ruin it with plenty of fuss.” His enthusiasm was diminished into tiredness as he finished the verse.

“Just say zort, just say- Poit! Oh, what’s the point?” The downtrodden mouse drearily declared. Pinky took another bite of his food pellet and sighed. He’d tried to sing the one song he used to cheer up Brain, only to find that it wasn’t working its usual magic.

As he swallowed the chewed-up food pellet, he took another glance at the big chunk of swiss cheese that stood in the middle of the cage. While he initially took a few bites of the cheese after the scientists placed the plate down, he couldn’t bring himself to finish it. He had lost his ability to taste cheese after numerous experiments the scientists put him through as a young mouse. Though he secretly envied Brain for having his taste buds intact, he loved hearing him describe the different tastes of various cheeses. But Pinky was content with the food pellets that the scientists provided. They reminded him of his home life with Brain, and any positive reminder of Brain was good enough for him. Though the food pellets would be more satisfying if he had some three-in-one oil to sautee them with.

Pinky let out another woeful sigh. Perhaps he should try to sing again at night after the scientists left. He could belt out ‘Somewhere, Out There’ to the pale moonlight and pray that Brain would sing the accompanying verses from the other room; Maybe then, Pinky would feel less alone.

Meanwhile, in the other testing room, Brain curled himself into a fetal position facing the glass wall. The mouse stared at his pitiful reflection: his floppy ears flattened against his bulbous head, the grey bags underneath his eyes, and the small amount of snot that oozed from his twinkling red nose. Brain kept all of his focus on his hideous appearance and away from the small cheese platter that stood in the center of the cage. The melancholic mouse let out a ragged sigh. He needed to be strong for Pinky. But he could only hope that the inane experiments the scientists had in store for him were manageable at least.

It was then that the faint sound of crinkling static reached his ears. Brain furrowed his brow in confusion and turned his attention toward the intercom stereo perched above the doorway.

“Helloooo, scientists!” a fast-talking young voice exuberantly announced.

Brain slowly propped himself up from his position by the side of his cage when he heard Yakko Warner’s enthusiastic voice. Could it truly be him? Or maybe this was just a hallucination cruelly reminding him of what he once had. But the sight of the scientists turning their attention towards the intercom was proof enough that this was very much happening.

“So the CEO of Acme sent me and two other unpaid interns down to congratulate you all on the tremendous work you’ve accomplished so far this year,” Yakko announced. “And as a reward for all of your hard work, he’s holding a surprise party, where you’ll each be receiving a bonus check of five thousand dollars!”

The scientists gaggled excitedly amongst themselves. Brain raised his brow upwards at the sight of the white coats getting ecstatic over the news.

In the other room, Pinky sat up straight on the exercise wheel upon hearing Yakko talking through the intercom. The mouse grinned from ear to ear.

“Egad, Yakko is here! And that must mean that Wakko and Dot are somewhere in the lab as well!” Pinky happily thought as he tugged his feet and eagerly rocked himself back and forth. “Troz! Oh, I knew those little sweethearts would come to our rescue!”

“But that’s not all, folks,” Yakko added eagerly. “We’re closing up shop early to hold a special party for all you special scientists!” The teen’s voice dripped with venom at the word ‘special’. “There’ll be a buffet table, party games, music, and a ball pit! So everyone come on down to the garage right away to receive your bonuses and we’ll get this party started!”

The scientists dropped their notepads and cheered. Brain watched the scientists rushing through the door, no doubt stampeding down the hall to receive their coveted prizes. The short mouse glanced around the empty room and allowed a devious grin to cross his face. Those moronic scientists had bought every lie Yakko fed them. Hook, line, and sinker.

In the other room, Pinky grinned as the scientists fled the room. The mouse merrily hopped around the room, dancing for joy. The kids were going to rescue him and Brain and they’d all be reunited once more!

Back at the office, Yakko, who now donned a white lab coat and floral button-up shirt in addition to his regular attire, turned off the intercom button and leaned back in the office chair. The teen merrily spun around in his wheelie chair. Everything was going according to plan!

Yakko then hopped off the chair, opened up the window, and dove to the ground, secretly thankful he was only on the first floor. The teen took out a lab coat from his hammerspace, hastily putting it on as he ran around the building.

Once he reached the garage, he found a large white truck sitting by the open door. Yakko walked around the vehicle and noticed Wakko’s other self, the one he met during that fateful trip to Paris, happily humming in the driver’s seat. The other Wakko greeted Yakko with a friendly wave, and Yakko happily waved back before sprinting through the open door.

Wakko and Dot, who also donned lab coats, waited patiently in other parts of the garage. Dot settled inside the ball pit while Wakko sat on one of the ceiling lamps. Yakko joined his younger sister in the ball pit. The siblings looked over to Wakko, who eagerly gave a thumbs up. Yakko and Dot smiled mischievously as they dove into the ball pit.

Seconds later, the scientists clamored in the room all at once, eager to receive their checks. But all they saw was a few tables filled with various bags of chips and a pitiful-looking kiddie pool filled with colorful balls. They all looked at each other in confusion, murmuring about the poorly prepared party.

Acting quickly, Wakko descended the ceiling and landed on their feet. The middle Warner sibling slammed the door shut and proceeded to board up the door with wooden boards and nails. Satisfied with their handiwork, Wakko turned around and flashed a sinister grin at the scientists. Wakko then reached into their hammerspace and pulled out a comically large roll of packaging tape and immediately wrapped up five of the scientists in tape.

“Dear Lord, one of our failed experiments has come back for revenge!” A middle-aged scientist shrieked in terror. The other scientists screamed as they backed away from the unusual creature of indeterminate species.

On cue, Yakko and Dot emerged from the ball pit with gift wrapping and packaging materials at their disposal. The Warner brother bounced near one scientist and imprisoned him with gift wrapping paper. Satisfied with his handiwork, he proceeded to tie up the next ten scientists with the same method of capture. The Warner sister noticed the nine scientists trying in vain to make their escape through the garage door and immediately pounced on them. She enveloped them into a giant dust cloud as she secured them with wrapping paper. Once the dust cleared, Dot happily clapped her hands as the scientists struggled to release themselves.

Wakko hopped over to the back of the truck and pulled up the door. Yakko and Dot wheeled the hapless scientists into the truck on box carriers. The siblings gave each scientist a comical smooch before dumping them into their vehicular cage.

The siblings hopped out from the truck. Yakko quickly did a headcount of all of the scientists as he ignored their cries for help.

“Well I think everyone is accounted for!” the eldest Warner declared.

However, the sudden sound of a door falling to the ground reached their ears. The toon siblings turned around to see three security guards gawking at the sight.

“Well, almost everyone is accounted for,” Yakko remarked.

He looked to his younger siblings, each of them sharing diabolical grins, before lunging at the guards and enveloping them in a messy dust cloud. Once the cloud dispersed, the guards were tightly wrapped in wrapping paper and decorated with tape-on ribbons.

Dot sprinted towards the back of the truck as Yakko and Wakko heaved up one of the guards to throw to their sister. The older Warners tossed the first guard over to Dot, who caught him with relative ease. She gave him a smooch on the cheek before tossing him into the truck. The siblings repeated the process with the other two security guards. Once their adversaries were all piled in the truck, Dot flashed them a feigned friendly smile.

Yakko hopped over towards the back of the truck, reached up the handle, and slammed the door shut. He clapped the dust from his hands and happily gazed at his siblings. “Well, phase one went down much easier than I expected.” He declared as he pulled Wakko and Dot into a tight hug. “Great job sibs!” Dot happily nuzzled her brother’s cheek while Wakko happily wagged their tail upon receiving the compliment.

The other Wakko put their head out through the window and grinned at the Warners.

“Thanks for all the help, Other Me!” Wakko shouted with a smile.

“Anytime, pal!” The Other Wakko replied with a thumbs up. “Next stop: Denver, Colorado!” He returned to the driver’s seat and eagerly turned on the ignition. The truck drove through the garage door, sped out of the lab, and zoomed through the street.

The Warners waved as the truck drove off into the distance. With the first phase of the rescue mission complete, the siblings took off their lab coats and tossed them to the side. They clapped the dust off their gloved hands when a recording of ‘The Senses Song’ reached their ears. At that moment, Yakko recognized his cellphone ringtone. “I’ll get it!” He announced as he fished the phone from his pocket and answered the call. “Yello!”

“Hey Yakko,” The voice of a young adult male answered. “It’s me, Skippy!”

“Skippy is that you!?” Yakko exclaimed in shock at hearing an older Skippy Squirrel. “You sound way older since the last time we spoke!”

Wakko and Dot looked at each other with curious glances. The younger Warners pressed their heads against their older brother to get a better listen. Yakko didn’t mind the invasion of personal space as he listened to Skippy.

“Yep, that’s one of the many wonders of puberty.” The squirrel responded in jest. “Listen, I’m sorry for not answering your call earlier. I was out running some errands and Aunt Slappy got into a little scuffle over at the bingo hall.”

“It’s all good,” Yakko casually replied with a wave of his hand.

“So what’s up?” Skippy asked.

“My sibs and I are in a bit of a pickle.” Yakko began, sounding a bit more serious. “Pinky and Brain have been held captive in Acme Labs. We managed to take care of our special friends in lab coats and blue uniforms without any problems, but we need some backup for the next phase of our plan.”

“Go on,” Skippy replied, who was intrigued by the whole situation.

“We’re rescuing Pinky, Brain, and every single laboratory animal and we need you and Slappy to blow up the lab to Kingdom Come!”

Skippy chuckled excitedly. “Oh, Aunt Slappy is gonna love this!”

“Love what?” The elderly squirrel called out in a cranky voice.

Skippy placed a hand over his smartphone and turned toward his geriatric aunt. “The Warners are rescuing Pinky, Brain, and all the other lab animals from Acme Labs and they want us to blow the place up.”

Slappy’s eyes widened with excitement and she deviously rubbed her hands together. “Looks like Happy Hour has arrived early!”

Skippy smiled at his aunt before resuming his phone call with Yakko. “Okay, my aunt’s onboard!”

The Warners hopped up and down in jubilation upon the news of allies accepting their role in the plan.

“So I’ll swing by Acme Labs in my truck and help you and the mice load up the other lab animals,” Skippy explained. “And once we leave, I’ll give Slappy the signal to launch a large-scale assault on the lab.”

“Sounds great!” Yakko affirmed.

“Cool! I’ll arrive at the lab in ten minutes!” Skippy declared.

“See you then!” Yakko said as he hung up his smartphone. He promptly focused his attention on his younger siblings. “Alright sibs, now we’ve got to move fast.” He commanded.

“Right!” Wakko and Dot chorused.

Wanting to put their Great Dane genes to good use, Wakko immediately got down on all fours and sprinted towards the broken-down door. Once he reached the hallway, he sniffed the air for any clues of the mice’s whereabouts.

The middle sibling galloped down the hall until they found a door marking Pinky’s scent, which was a mix of cheesecake and perfume. Wakko pressed their face upon the glass, with Yakko and Dot mimicking their sibling’s actions. The trio saw Pinky, who wore a metal tag on his right ear, prancing about inside a green cage, which sat in the middle of the room.

Relieved that Pinky was safe, Wakko removed their face from the glass. “I’m gonna go find Dadoo and redeem myself while you two will go rescue dad and the rest of the animals!”

Yakko and Dot looked back at their sibling and gave them a hearty salute. “You can count on us, baby sib!” Yakko cheered.

“We believe in you, Wakko!” Dot confidently added.

Grateful for their siblings’ compassion, Wakko nodded back before scampering down the hall on all fours.

Yakko opened up the door, allowing Dot to walk in first. The siblings sprinted down the room, eager to reunite with the lanky mouse.

“Pinky!!!” They exclaimed in unison.

The buck-toothed mouse perked his ears at the youthful calls and was overcome with relief.

“Yakko! Dot!” Pinky exclaimed. Tears began to emerge at the sight of the eldest and youngest Warner siblings.

Yakko opened up the door and immediately scooped Pinky out of the green cage. The lanky mouse embraced the teen’s thumb as tears of joy began to pour down his face. The teen used his left pointer finger to gently stroke Pinky’s back.

“Oh, thank heavens you came!” Pinky cried, relishing the warm sensation of gloved hands. “Where’s Wakko?”

“They’re off saving Brain,” Yakko answered, giving Pinky a much-needed head scritch.

Pinky’s eyes glistened with joy. “Oh goody! Zort! We’re finally safe, and it’s all thanks to your clever idea of tricking all those scientists.”

Yakko chuckled at the mouse’s compliment. “That’s sweet Pinky, but I can’t take all the credit because my baby sister was the one who came up with that brilliant diversion!”

Dot smugly nodded her head, taking in the compliments her older brother showered onto her.

Pinky turned his attention towards the Warner sister with warm blue eyes. “You did all that?” He asked in an astonished tone.

Upon hearing the gentle cockney accent, Dot’s pride melted into humbleness. Pinky possessed an aura of kindness, which was stored in those gleaming cerulean eyes. Much like Dot’s cuteness had a powerful effect on others, Pinky’s gentle spirit seemed to have a similar effect.

The Warner sister could only respond with a barely audible “Uh-huh.”

“Oh, my smart little angel! I am so proud of you and I bet Brain would be too!” Pinky exclaimed as he opened up his hands, wanting to hold his surrogate daughter.

Dot noticed the mouse’s physical pleas and gently took him in her hands. She held Pinky close to her cheek.

“Oh, I missed you so much, sweetie!” Pinky declared as he nuzzled his cheek against hers.

Dot allowed the tears that welled up in her eyes to fall. She wanted to hold Pinky close and never let him go again. “I missed you too, Dad.” She sniffled.

Yakko smiled sweetly at the joyful reunion. He took a step backward to let his sister have her moment with the mouse.

Pinky opened his eyes and noticed that Yakko was a little further back than he was before. He looked back at the eldest Warner and gestured for him to join them. Taking this cue, Yakko closed the gap as he wrapped his arms around his younger sister. He felt his sister’s arms embracing him, as well as a small paw gently patting his shoulder.

He could get used to this.

- - - - - -

Meanwhile, Wakko sniffed around the checkered tiled floors of the hallway until he caught a familiar scent. A combination of lab chemicals, chumsicles, and a hint of cologne that could be purchased at the mall. Standing back up on his feet, the middle Warner sibling opened up the door and entered inside.

After Wakko walked into the room, he slammed the door shut. The sudden sound alerted a short mouse with an unusually large cranium, who had been pacing around the glass cage he was placed in.

Wakko stopped in their tracks as he was overcome with guilt once more. Had they intervened in time, Dadoo and Dad would not have been captured.

Brain stared at the middle child with shocked eyes. He tried in vain to cover the metal tag on his ear with his paw. Part of him felt ashamed of being seen as a lab animal as opposed to an ambitious and determined mouse bent on world domination. But the relief of seeing one of the Warners again overpowered his insecurities surrounding his image.

“Wakko?” The mouse quietly inquired.

“Dadoo!” The middle child called out. Blinking away the tears that started to form, they sprinted towards the cage to rescue their surrogate father.

Overcome with relief, Brain’s ears perked up upon hearing his voice. The mouse turned around and saw the middle child. “Wakko!”

Wakko lifted the lid off of the cage and scooped their hands to retrieve Brain, but his vision became blurred by the tears that stung their eyes. The sight of the toon crying greatly concerned the mouse.

“Wakko, what’s wrong?” Brain inquired cautiously.

“I-It’s my fault that you and Pinky got caught!” Wakko sniffled.

Brain’s eyes widened with confusion. “Wakko?”

“I should have saved you two when I had the chance, then you wouldn’t be stuck here” The middle child cried. “You must hate me…”

The mouse felt a pang of sympathy in his heart for the poor toon. Wakko must have been worried sick about losing him and Pinky. Brain wondered if his parents felt those same emotions as they watched the Acme scientists steal their only child before their very eyes.

During the first few months during his initial captivity at Acme Labs, a young and naive Brain always pondered if his parents thought about him. The mouse often wished his parents would swoop in and rescue him from his cold steel cage and bring him back to the warmth of the tin-can he once called home. But as the days passed, he accepted the stark conclusion that two simple field mice could not stand a chance against the cold-hearted scientists employed by a decently-funded corporate scientific research facility.

As Brain stared at Wakko, he realized that they, along with their siblings, were toons birthed into the world by pencil and paper to be harbingers of chaos. The children were, by design, zany to the max, and were powerful enough to take over the world if they so desired. However, they used their toon powers for good by liberating him and Pinky from the clutches of unethical animal testing. Brain commended Wakko and their siblings for going the distance to rescue him and Pinky. But he could not stand to see Wakko harbor such self-loathing despite their remarkable heroism.

Brain carefully grabbed Wakko’s right thumb and began to caress it in a soothing motion. “Now that’s just preposterous. I could never hate you, Wakko.” He comforted the middle child as best as he could. Emotions were more Pinky’s strong suit, but Brain was going to try his hardest to alleviate Wakko’s woes. “When Pinky and I arrived at the lab, I feared that you and your siblings wouldn’t come for us. Fortunately, you proved me wrong. You and your siblings have saved us, and you have my eternal gratitude.”

Wakko wiped away the tears from their face as they listened to Brain. The mouse did not hate them at all. The mouse loved them a whole lot! Overwhelmed with relief, Wakko gave Brain a great big kiss on his cranium and proceeded to nuzzle their forehead against their Dadoo’s. After processing the loving gesture, Brain carefully wrapped his arms across Wakko’s forehead. He planted a gentle kiss to reassure Wakko that he was grateful for their presence.

After a few moments, they pulled away from the embrace. Wakko looked at the cage and immediately spotted the big slice of swiss cheese. “I didn’t know they had snacks in the lab!” The toon exclaimed as they were about to take the sumptuous cheese.

“Wakko, NO!” Brain shouted instinctively, but the middle Warner sibling easily retrieved the cheese off of the plate. The mouse stood with his mouse gaping. Wakko did not receive any electrical shocks or any other negative reactions. They got what they wanted without any issue.

Wakko was about to eat the slice of cheese when he noticed the distressed expression on Brain’s face. “What’s wrong, Dadoo?”

“What was wrong?” Brain thought to himself. A wave of unpleasant memories flashed through his mind. He could practically feel the electrical shocks from the stunning plate course through his body once more. He instinctively stepped away, clutching his chest with his hand. How could he possibly recount the painful and traumatic memories to this wide-eyed innocent?

Wakko tilted their head to the side, watching Brain step backward with concern. Perhaps Brain was hungry! They didn’t have much time to eat after brunch and Brain looked like he could use a nice snack. So the middle Warner sibling concluded that their Dadoo needed to have some nourishment.

Wakko broke the cheese in half and placed the bigger portion in his right hand. “Here Dadoo, have some cheese!” The toon kindly offered. “After all, sharing is caring.”

Brain stared slack-jawed at the middle child. The mouse stared at the sumptuous cheese that sat on a gloved hand as he felt a war waging inside him. One side yelled at him to back away. The cheese only represented the inevitable pain that would come from pursuing his desires. But upon looking at the soft white glove underneath the cheese, the other side of him gently reminded him of his loved ones and the bonds he forged with them. Brain recounted all of the pleasant memories he and Pinky made with the Warners in the span of one weekend. All of the fun shenanigans by the poolside, singing karaoke, telling stories before bedtime, and playing in the park. Then there were the moments that brought about his parental instincts. Standing up for the Warners when he confronted the gang of hooligans, caring for Dot when she was sick, taking Wakko back to the library so they could retrieve their precious drawing and the down-to-earth conversation with Yakko.

Brain knew that the Warners, while zany and chaotic beings, were good kids at heart and that they would never maliciously go after anyone they cared about. He looked at the cheese in Wakko’s hand and back at Wakko, who gently smiled at him. Brain realized that the child meant no harm and only wanted to help him.

Gulping down his fears, Brain decided to take a leap of faith and go for the cheese. With trembling hands, he cautiously reached out and touched it and felt nothing. No painful electric shocks, no sense of helplessness. Just the soft texture of the cheese.

Brain carefully took his cheese into his paws. Just as he looked up at Wakko, he saw that the toon was about to swallow their portion of the cheese. The mouse widened his eyes in horror as a terrible thought popped up. The scientists wouldn’t provide food during an experiment out of kindness. There had to be some nefarious purpose involved.

“Wakko, wait!” He commanded.

Upon hearing the anxious voice, Wakko looked back at Brian with concern.

“I-I need to make certain that the cheese isn’t laced with any toxic substances.” Brain stammered.

Inspecting the cheese in his hands, Brain sniffed it only to be reminded of its alluring aroma. He then decided to take the next step and perform a taste test. Taking out a small piece of cheese, Brain licked the piece, expecting anything other than the delectable Swiss cheese racing through his taste buds. Noting that the cheese was safe, he consumed the small piece. With each chew, the mouse slowly noticed the tears pooling in his eyes. Brain blinked away the tears, allowing them to stream down his furred cheeks. He stared at the other piece of cheese in his hand, deep in his ponderings. He wished that he could have allowed himself to let his guard down much sooner. But the relief of learning he could place his trust in his loved ones outweighed his regret. Feeling a great sense of peace, Brain gladly consumed the rest of the cheese without a hint of hesitation.

Wakko worriedly stared at Brain, wondering why he was crying over a piece of cheese. The more the middle child thought, the more they realized that maybe the cheese symbolized Pinky.

After all, they were mice and mice did love cheese! But hold on...Did that mean Brain was sad that he ate Pinky? Or did he just simply miss Pinky’s presence? Oh, man. Metaphors were so confusing!

Wakko gently scooped Brain up into their gloved hands and tried their best to comfort the downtrodden mouse. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back with Pinky in no time!”

Brain stared up at Wakko as they wiped away the stray tears with their right thumb. He knew that the toon child was blissfully unaware of his past trauma concerning his broken trust issues that stemmed from unethical animal testing and how it tied in with the cheese. Perhaps he would inform him when he was ready and willing. But for now, he relished the warm and comforting hold of Wakko’s hands.

“Thank you, dear Wakko,” Brain gently told his surrogate child. “For everything.”

Wakko smiled back at their father figure. “You’re welcome, Dadoo.” They soon remembered the other part of the rescue mission. “Oh! And Yakko told me that we should also free all the other rodents while we’re still here.” Wakko informed the mouse.

Brain smiled. “I admire your unorthodox approach to animal activism.” After a moment of pondering, he needed to address an important issue. “However, I pray that your idea of liberation isn’t just dumping them in a remote jungle.”

“Don’t be silly, Brain!” Wakko replied as they started to carry the mouse out from the lab. “My sibs and I contacted some professionals who’ll take them to a properly-funded animal sanctuary.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Brain sighed.

As Wakko and Brain entered the hallway, they immediately noticed Yakko and Dot running towards them. As the siblings sprinted, Brain noticed that Pinky was riding on Dot’s left shoulder.

When they entered the hallway, Brain and Wakko immediately noticed Yakko and Dot running towards them, with Pinky riding on Dot’s right shoulder.

“Brain!” Pinky called out. Tears flooded his eyes as he gazed at his beau once more.

Brain looked over to see his partner, safe and sound. “Pinky!”

Pinky leaped from Dot’s shoulder and sprinted towards Brain. The smaller mouse opened up his arms as he crashed into the lanky mouse’s loving arms.

“Oh Brain, I missed you so much!” Pinky cried.

“I missed you too, Pinky.” Brain confessed, cupping Pinky’s cheeks with his tiny pink paws. Without a moment to lose, Brain leaned in for a kiss. Pinky wrapped his arms around Brain’s back, pulling him closer.

After moments of sharing a blissful kiss, they parted lips. Catching their breath, Pinky and Brain stared into each others’ eyes. Blue eyes that shined like the ocean gazed upon pink eyes as soft as the cherry blossoms. Feeling the love that radiated from those cerulean orbs, Brain instinctively pressed his large forehead against Pinky’s. Pinky purred a soft ‘Narf’ as he nuzzled his bulbous red nose against Brain’s button nose.

Yakko, Wakko, and Dot looked on, smiling warmly at the tender reunion. However, the rattling of the front door startled the mice and the toon siblings. Yakko stepped forth to protect his family from any potential antagonist that dared to separate them again.

Instead, a tall, brown adult squirrel entered the building. The mice and the Warners paid their undivided attention towards Skippy Squirrel. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. The top of his head was covered with scruffy hair and he was dressed in a white t-shirt covered by a green-and-black flannel shirt.

The squirrel grinned upon seeing the group. “Hey fellas,” Skippy greeted with a friendly wave.

The siblings and the mice were surprised by how deep the squirrel’s voice had gotten over the years. But the shock was soon replaced with joy as the Warners grinned excitedly at their former co-star.

“Skippy!” The Warners exclaimed as they launched themselves onto the squirrel, tackling him in a loving hug.

“Boy, you’re certainly taller than I last remembered.” Yakko complemented.

“And you guys are still the same,” Skippy remarked.

“It’s a long story, but we were in suspended animation for over twenty years,” Yakko explained. Skippy wordlessly nodded. He seemed to understand the situation but refused to press any more questions to avoid stepping over any boundaries.

Pinky sprinted towards the squirrel and hugged his bushy brown tail. “Oh Skippy, I missed you so much! Narf!” The mouse cried. “I haven’t seen you since Brain and I attended your Bar Mitzvah!”

“Oh yeah, that was back in 1999,” Skippy added as he carefully plucked Pinky from his tail, allowing the lanky mouse to relax in the palm of his hand. “Oh, wow, it’s been a while, huh?”

Brain, however, stared in disbelief as he cautiously approached the young adult. “Good heavens, is it you?”

Skippy chuckled, offering the mouse to hop on his hand to keep Pinky company. “Hey Brain, long time no see!”

After embracing the mice, the adult squirrel looked over towards Yakko. “So what’s the scoop?”

“Right, we should proceed onto phase two of our plan.” Yakko addressed with a clap of his hands. “Brain, do you happen to know where all the other lab animals are kept?”

“Yes, there were a few cages of mice in the room I was in.” Brain answered. “And I’m certain that they were all unwilling participants in that half-baked separation experiment. ”

“Poit! And there were some mice in my room, too!” Pinky added concernedly.

“As for the whereabouts of the other animals, they’re held captive in a storage facility located in the second to last door down the right-wing of the lab.” Brain continued, pointing his hand down the hall to direct the others down the correct path.

“What kind of animals?” Dot asked worriedly as she clasped her gloved hands together.

“Rats, hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, rabbits, some dogs, a couple of cats, and, if my memory serves correct, a chimpanzee.” Brain listed off.

“Oh wow,” Skippy muttered in shock.

“And do you know the location of the animal sanctuary you plan to take them to?” Brain inquired.

“Oh yeah, a group of animal activists from down under would be taking them there!” Yakko replied. “They took care of the bun infestation a while back, and they’re more than happy to take the lab animals to their government-funded animal sanctuary.”

“I can get them to pick up the animals at Slappy’s place if that’s convenient.” Wakko piped up.

“Go for it.” Skippy approved. “I believe I have enough room on my truck bed to safely transport all the animals to my aunt’s house.”

“Awesome!” Dot cheered.

“Faboo!” Wakko added enthusiastically.

“So how about it, team?” Yakko declared as he placed his hand in the middle. “Let’s go give the other animals a chance at a better life and blow this seedy lab to bits!”

Wakko and Dot eagerly placed their gloved hands over their brother’s. Skippy placed his hand on top of Dot’s. Despite their diminutive size, the mice placed their paws on top while standing on top of Wakko and Dot’s arms.

“Alright Animaniacs, let’s roll!” Yakko exclaimed.

The others responded with a resounding cheer as they raised their hands in the air. While Pinky and Brain were sent flying into the air, they were thankfully caught by Wakko and placed on top of their red cap.

Setting the game plan into motion, the mice and the toons scoured the lab to round up the remaining lab animals. Pinky and Brain used their knowledge of the facility to guide the toons to the specific rooms where the animals were kept.

They plucked the cages and placed them into the wheelie carts. Brain and Pinky noted the confused and anxious responses from the animals. However, he knew that they were being transported to a better place, and they hoped that they would find peace and comfort in the animal sanctuary.

About fifteen minutes later, the gang retrieved all of the lab animals. Dozens upon dozens of cages were loaded onto many carts.

Brain smiled contentedly at the accomplished task when he felt a soft paw tap his shoulder.

“Um, Brain,” Pinky said shyly. “Don’t you think that maybe we should grab our stuff from the cage?”

Brain stared at Pinky for a moment. His partner was always the sentimental one, keeping his belongings in their sardine tin. The pictures of Pharfignewton, the shirt he brought him from Dollywood, the spellchecker-

At that moment, Brain realized that Pinky had a point. “Perhaps we should grab our belongings from our cage.” He sagely agreed.

“Wakko?” Brain asked, alerting the middle child beneath him. “Would you be a dear and take Pinky and me over to the west wing of the lab? We need to grab our things.”

“Of course, Dadoo!” Wakko happily obliged.

Yakko, Dot, and Skippy overheard the conversation and smiled in agreement.

“Alright, you guys go do that while we pack up the animals in the truck,” Skippy announced.

“Will do!” Wakko saluted as he started to skip down the hallway, careful not to drop the two mice he carried on top of his cap.

Not a moment later, the trio stopped at the large green doors at the end of the hallway. Wakko cautiously opened up the door to find an abandoned research room filled with various lab equipment, desks, and chairs. Pinky and Brain gazed at their surroundings as Wakko tiptoed over to the green cage that sat on top of a table.

“Is this your place?” Wakko inquired as he pointed at the empty cage.

“Yes,” Brain answered in a serious tone.

The mice hopped off of Wakko’s hat and trotted over to their soon-to-be-former abode.

Pinky and Brain went inside their cage and looked at their precious sponge bed. The couple approached their special sardine can, which was filled with many precious keepsakes they gathered over the years.

The mice opened the lid, only to discover all of their valuable possessions were just as they left them. The radish rose whachamoozit they acquired after that fateful Halloween. The many caricatures of Brain, which were lovingly illustrated by their son Romy. Pinky’s high school graduation cap. The mouse-sized guitar and black cowboy hat from Brain’s stint as country musician Bubba Bo Bob Brain. Pinky’s precious spellchecker. Finally, Brain found the most important artifact in their humble treasure trove, which was a small globe keychain. The mouse couldn’t help but smile as he held the world in his hands.

Pinky walked away from the sardine can and took in the surroundings of his home. “Poit! I’m going to miss this old place,” He sadly sighed before hugging the exercise wheel.

Brain pondered for a moment before an unusual thought hit him. “I know this is going to sound preposterous, but I don’t see why we couldn’t take our cage as well.”

Pinky gasped, his eyes widening in excitement. “You mean it, Brain?”

“Whatever makes you happy, my dear Pinky.” Brain responded with a chuckle.

Pinky enveloped Brain in a tight hug and spun him around. “Narf! Oh, thank you Brain!”

“Yes, yes, now please put me down before you crush my lungs.” Brain commanded. Pinky sheepishly placed him back on the ground and carefully patted his back.

But the floor started to rumble when Wakko held up the cage. “Alright dads, let’s blow this joint!”

But the classic phrase caused Pinky to wear a stern frown. “No chance, young toon!” He chastised. “Smoking is terrible for your health! I had to help Brain kick his addiction to cigarettes, and I am not going to see you go down that same path!”

“But why would you think I like a disgusting hobby like that?” Wakko asked defensively.

Brain pinched the bridge of his brows. “Pinky, Wakko was not referring to smoking when he said let’s blow this joint. It’s a common phrase people say before they leave an undesired location, much like how we should be leaving this God-forsaken lab!”

Pinky’s frown transformed into a giddy smile. “Oh, well thanks for clearing that up for me, Brain! Troz!”

With the mix-up now resolved, the trio left the room, leaving the second home the mice had come to accept.

After exiting the building, they noticed that the truck was all packed up. Every cage was carefully placed in the truck bed, with elastic wires securing the top shelf. Skippy had closed the driver’s seat door, ready to take everyone to their next location.

Dot alerted her sibling and the mice from the open passenger seat door. “Come on!”

Wakko clutched the cage to their chest and sprinted towards the truck. They hopped in, settling in between their siblings. Dot closed the door, giving Skippy the cue to start the engine.

Pinky and Brain sat comfortably in their cage, as they were surrounded by the toon siblings. The mice were glad that everyone was safe and sound.

Yakko noticed the mice settling some items that were stored in the old tin can. “So what do you have there?” The teen curiously inquired.

“Just some valuable keepsakes.” Brain softly replied.

“Like our son Romy’s wonderful drawing of Brain!” Pinky showed off the picture of Brain dressed up as a traditional circus clown.

“Well, that’s an accurate portrait, if I do say so myself.” Yakko quipped.

Brain raised his brow in frustration, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at the teen.

“Oh, Brain!” Pinky alerted him by tapping his shoulder. “Dot was the one who came up with the clever rescue plan!” He praised in a sing-song voice.

The shorter mouse looked over at the Warner sister with a pleasantly surprised smile. “So that genius plan was all your doing?”

Dot perked up at the praise. “Yes, it was.” She answered while flashing a confident smile.

Brain walked up to the other side of the cage and placed his hand through the bars to pat her hand. “I’m incredibly proud of you, Dot.” He said. “If you keep exercising your keen mind, you just might be as intelligent as I am.”

“Or maybe I might be even more intelligent than you are right now.” Dot teased.

Brain’s smile changed into an offended scowl. “Alright young lady, let’s not get cocky here.”

Suddenly, Wakko let out a horrified gasp. “Dadoo, you just said a swear word!”

“Have you no shame? ” Dot added in feigned scorn.

“You star in a children’s show for goodness sake, you have a wholesome image to maintain!” Yakko chided.

Brain let out an exasperated groan as he buried his face into his paws. He could hear Yakko, Wakko, and Dot’s bubbly giggles, no doubt savoring his annoyed reaction. But as his frustration started to simmer, a small smile began to form as he was immensely grateful to be in their presence once more. He would gladly take playful jabs at his pride over inane and cruel experiments any day.

Skippy started up the truck and began to drive off, leaving a visible dust cloud as it zoomed away from the premises. Brain looked at the toon siblings, glad that their weekend had turned out well despite some difficult setbacks. He debated whether or not he should bring up their brief moment of captivity at Acme Labs to the CEO.

Brain’s eyes widened in shock as he remembered one crucial detail he had forgotten about. “Oh, shoot, the credit card!” He anxiously yelled. “I must have left it in the park along with my mechanical suit!”

Pinky immediately rushed over towards his partner’s side, taking his hand and rubbing it in soothing motions. “Now, Brain, it’s not the end of the world.”

“But it’ll be the end of our careers if we don’t return it to her.” Brain moaned.

The Warners sympathetically stared at the mice. “Aw, chin up guys, I’m sure it’s at the park.” Yakko offered. “Hey Skippy, would it be too much trouble if we made a pit stop?”

“No worries,” Skippy assured while keeping his focus on the road.

From the comfort of the cage, Brain inspected the adult Squirrel’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Time was certainly kind to him. He looked to be in shape and relatively healthy for a squirrel his age. Brain then thought about the young man’s aunt. It had been so long since he and Pinky interacted with the geriatric toon veteran. He could easily recount the moment they first met.

- - - - - -

Warner Movie Lot, 1992

Brain tugged Pinky by the wrist as they scurried into the sound stage. He spent the last ten minutes watching Pinky work up the courage to ask Marvin the Martian to sign his scrapbook, his little pet project to document his part-time job on Animaniacs. Luckily, the toon veteran was gracious enough to sign his autograph into Pinky’s special book. Pinky nearly fainted from the act of kindness, but Brain managed to catch his roommate before meeting impact on the ground. The smaller mouse courteously thanked Marvin for the gesture and helped Pinky back up on his feet.

“Pinky, this is the last time your frantic search for autographs interferes with our schedule.” Brain chastised. The mouse knew how much Pinky’s happiness meant to him, but his new job was just as important. The mice were lucky that they landed the job as supporting actors for a promising variety show, and Brain planned to use his newfound celebrity status to sway the masses into submission. The one drawback to his plan was how the writers were steadfast in wanting to portray him as a lovable failure rather than an important authority figure. But the mouse chose not to dwell on this flaw. He could work through the demeaning material if it guaranteed adoration from impressionable viewers.

“Poit! I’m sorry Brain,” Pinky apologized.

The mice made their way onto the stage, joining the large and colorful cast members. Brain let go of Pinky’s wrist to check his wristwatch. It was 11:27 AM. The mouse released a sigh of relief. They arrived right on time.

Brain turned his attention back towards Pinky. “No need to fret, Pinky. At least we made it on time.”

The mice swiftly joined the rest of the cast on the sound stage. They had made their acquaintances with most of the main cast. Pinky became swift friends with practically everyone on the set, and everyone except Pesto returned the affection. Brain was a little more skeptical, though he did express his fondness for Hello Nurse’s brilliant mind.

Just then, the voluptuous intellect, donned in her traditional nurse’s uniform, walked by the mice, but not without a friendly greeting. “Pinky, Brain.” She politely addressed them with a smile.

“Ah, greetings Heloise.” Brain politely replied with a nod.

“Hi, Hello Nurse!” Pinky chirped while waving at her.

Soon afterward, a middle-aged man with black hair sporting a light blue tuxedo approached the sound stage and looked at the various actors. Brain had seen him quite a handful of times on the movie lot. Mr. Director was his name, and he tried to assert his dominance and so-called ‘comedic genius’ wherever he went.

“Alright, look alive people!” Mr. Director commanded in a serious tone. “Since this show is poised to become a comedy smash, I took it upon myself to direct the remaining portions to this show’s opening theme. And with my comedic genius, I will do everything within my power to ensure that this opening will be memorable and, most importantly, fun-”

But the pompous director was interrupted when a trio of toon siblings bounced into the building. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot Warner stepped in time as they bounded near the sound stage. “Boingy! Boingy! Boingy!” They chorused.

The siblings then leaped onto Mr. Director, who started to panic as the zany children demolished his boundaries.

“Hey there, sweetheart!” Yakko teased with a sly smile before giving him a comedic smooch on the cheek.

But Mr. Director was not having any of it. “Enough with the kissing, and the hugging, and the teasing!” He whined in an obnoxious, nasally voice.

The toons wordlessly hopped off of him and made their way to the set. As they scanned the wide and colorful cast, they immediately set their sights on the rodent duo they recently befriended. The children bounded over towards Pinky and Brain and dug their heels into the ground as they screeched to a grinding halt.

“Hi!!!” The Warners greeted the mice.

“Hello, children!” Pinky exclaimed with a wave.

“‘Sup?” Brain muttered sardonically as he dug his hand into his fur pocket.

“Thanks for taking us to McDonald’s the other day,” Wakko mentioned as he pulled out his little toy truck from his hammerspace. “Now I get to play with my Happy Meal Toy all day long!”

Mr. Director quickly took attendance of all the cast members to be featured in the grand finale. He then gave a sharp whistle, alerting everyone in the room.

“Alright, almost everyone is here. But the only two people missing are Slappy and Skippy Squirrel.”

“Present!” A rough voice barked.

Everyone turned to see a grey squirrel with a green cap guiding a younger brown squirrel into the sound stage. The elderly squirrel wore a sour frown as she led her nephew to the sound stage.

But Mr. Director stopped the squirrels. “And where have you been?”

“Stuck in traffic.” The geriatric squirrel spat.

“Sorry, sir,” The younger squirrel mentioned. “My aunt Slappy is a bit cranky.”

“Cranky? I need you to be funny!” Mr. Director chastised. “And on top of that, I can’t work with toons who don’t show up on time or aren’t funny!”

But the director felt the blunt force of the squirrel’s green purse as it hammered his head, causing him to shout “Flauvein!” in his nasal tone.

Slappy grinned as she turned her attention to her impressionable nephew. “Now you see, Skippy, you should always take a purse with you whenever you leave the house.” She advised while she opened up her green bag. “That way, you can easily carry your most valued possessions around wherever you go. Such as your money, your car keys, and your heavy cinder block!”

Skippy quickly took out his crayon and notebook from his hammerspace, flipping through the pages until he reached a blank page, which happened to be the second to last page. As the squirrel jotted down the important lesson, he was unaware that his sage aunt was observing her pupil writing down her advice.

Slappy looked over her nephew’s shoulder and was quite impressed with the nearly full notebook. “You got a lot of notes there, huh kiddo?”

“Well, I do have a good teacher!” Skippy complimented with a smile. Slappy let out a small snort before playfully ruffling Skippy’s hair.

Once he gathered his bearings, Mr. Director proceeded to get the shoot over and done with before he received any more comical amounts of pain. “Alright, places people!” He shouted in his nasal voice.

The mice tried to find their place. Brain knew that the Warners were supposed to take center stage since they were the main stars. The smaller mouse scanned the area for possible spots for Pinky and himself. He settled on standing behind Wakko and ahead of the two squirrels. He tugged Pinky to the desired spot and waited for the director to give out their cue.

“And action!” Mr. Director commanded.

Pinky and Brain followed their cues as they raised their arms in the air alongside their co-workers.

“We’re Animaney! Totally Insane-”

“Cut!” The director yelled. He stood up from his director’s chair and began to chastise the many actors. “Wakko, stop sticking your tongue out! Hippos, you need to switch places with Ralph and Chicken Boo. Goodfeathers, I need more feeling from you three! And where on earth are Pinky and The Brain?”

The other cast members murmured amongst themselves as they did what they were told. Many of them scanned around the room in the hopes of finding their diminutive co-stars.

Brain let out an exasperated sigh. It was moments like this that he wished he was of human stature. Pinky looked over to his frustrated roommate and softly patted his head.

Unbeknownst to the mice, Slappy looked down to find the pair of white mice standing in front of her. The elderly squirrel let out a groan as she bent down. She scooped up the two mice in her hands and lifted them for all to see.

“Found ‘em!” She gruffly called out.

The squirrel stared at the two white mice in her hands. The tall lanky one gazed in shock with his big blue eyes. The smaller, and much chubbier, mouse crossed his arms and furrowed his brows as he gave a menacing stare with his pink eyes.

Despite Brain’s serious demeanor, Slappy couldn’t help but smirk at the adorable display. “You’re not a morning person either, I take it?” She humored.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Brain replied. “And I greatly dislike being touched without permission.”

The squirrel was admittedly surprised by how such a small mouse could have a deep voice. But she could sympathize with his complaints. “Well, that makes two of us.”

Pinky, on the other hand, was trying his hardest to contain his excitement. One of the Looney Tunes was holding him and Brain in her hands!

Slappy noticed Pinky’s heavy breathing and tilted her head in mild concern. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m Pinky!” He blurted out.

Brain rubbed his temples as he felt the wave of secondhand embarrassment course through him.

But Mr. Director noticed the way the squirrel held the mice and was immediately inspired.

“That’s perfect!” He bellowed from the director’s chair, catching everyone’s attention. “Slappy, keep holding the mice just like so! Not only will the mice be visible to the viewers, but it greatly symbolizes the passing of the torch, with you, the elderly toon, raising the eager newcomers! Oh, I am such a genius!”

Slappy and Brain looked at each other with incredulous expressions. This pretentious director was trying to find meaning in every pose. But Pinky did not seem to mind.

Fortunately, the rest of the filming went off without issue, as the mice followed their cues along with the rest of the cast. Pinky couldn’t shake off the excitement of being held by one of his favorite cartoon stars. Brain, on the other hand, secretly liked being lifted in a way that showcased his importance.

Once filming wrapped, Slappy placed the mice back on the ground, but not without feeling a shot of pain course through her hip.

“Are you alright?” Pinky asked worriedly.

“Eh, it’s nothin’ to worry about.” The elderly squirrel dismissed.

Pinky suddenly became nervous again. He wanted to ask the squirrel to sign his scrapbook, but he was afraid of getting rejected.

Brain noticed Pinky’s apprehension and deduced that it had something to do with obtaining another autograph in his precious scrapbook. So he decided to motivate his friend to gather his courage the best way he knew how.

“Oh, just ask her already!” Brain barked with an annoyed frown.

Pinky obeyed Brain’s command and decided to take a leap of faith. “Poit! Oh, um, Slappy? May I please have your autograph for my scrapbook?” He shyly asked.

Slappy cocked her brow up in interest but decided to oblige the humble request. “Yeah, sure.” She replied while taking out a pen from her purse. “It’s been a while since anyone asked, but I aim to please my fans.”

Pinky smiled as he handed her his scrapbook. Slappy opened up the book and flipped through the pages. Skippy peered over her shoulder, wanting to take a gander at the scrapbook. The first page featured a colored photograph of the mice standing in a meeting room posing with the show’s executive producer. She flipped through the pages to find snapshots of the mice working on set, pictures of their co-stars, and various crew members. The latter half of the scrapbook was filled with autographs from various Looney Tunes and Hanna Barbera stars. She found a blank page and decided to write her name in big bold letters.

Pinky also noted Skippy’s interest and thought up a fun-fun, silly-willy idea. “Oh, you can also sign my scrapbook too if you’d like! Troz!”

Skippy was stunned. Someone wanted to have his autograph?! Even though he was young, he was aware of his aunt’s legacy in show business and had some doubts that he might never live up to her expectations. But with the humble request of his co-star, he began to feel hopeful that he might be seen as an equal.

Slappy happily handed the scrapbook and pen to her nephew. “Go at it, Skippy!”

Skippy signed his name underneath his aunt’s signature before passing the book back to the jolly mouse.

“Wow, my very first fan…” Skippy exhaled.

“Try not to let the fame get to your head, kiddo.” Slappy teased as she patted his head.

“Oh, thank you so much!” Pinky said excitedly, hugging the scrapbook close to his chest.

Slappy looked at the two mice and smiled. Feeling less cranky than she was when she arrived at the studio, she decided that it would be best to get to know her co-workers more. “Why don’t you two come with us,” The squirrel offered. “Speedy Gonzalez is supposed to be joining me for lunch, and I think he would get a kick out of meeting some up-and-coming rodent toons.”

Brain then felt the need to correct the misinformed toon veteran. “Actually, Pinky and I are genetically altered lab mice who were mistaken to be toons by the studio executives and only accepted this job so we could take over the world by gaining the love and adoration of the impressionable children and their parents.”

Slappy stared at the mice with incredulous eyes. While the mice appeared to be quite animated, she could buy that they were, in fact, actual lab mice. She also noted that he was equally honest about his acting career. “So you’re serious about getting into the business?” She questioned. The Brain stared at her as she did not immediately dismiss his claim in jest, but gave her an affirmative nod to her inquiry.

“You got a lot of gumption, I’ll give ya that,” Slappy said in earnest. “But I’ll show ya the ropes if you really wanna stand out.”

“But I already have jump ropes back at the lab,” Pinky explained. Brain shook his head at his roommate’s inane response and swiftly bopped him on top of his head. Pinky guffawed as he saw the colorful stars swirl around his head.

Skippy laughed at the mice’s antics. The bubbly giggle reached Slappy’s ears and she promptly looked over at her nephew. While Skippy was an impressionable kid, he was particularly picky when it came to entertainment. She learned the hard way that classic animated tearjerkers were a big no-no unless she wanted to sacrifice most of her bank account to pay for his therapy sessions. And it was hard to find a decent cartoon nowadays that wasn’t based on a preexisting IP or a shameless thirty-minute toy commercial. But clearly, these two rodents seemed to have as much chemistry as Laurel and Hardy.

Slappy looked over at her nephew once more before turning back to the mice. The elderly toon let out an amused snort. “You two have comedic potential.”

As the rodents were about to leave the set, they heard an audible cough coming from Mr. Director. The pretentious filmmaker stopped the group in their tracks. He was not ready to let them leave so soon. “Now, may I have a word with Pinky?”

“Only if they have a vowel,” Pinky replied with a serious nod.

“Great! Now Pinky, sweetheart, your performance was swell, but we need to improve your overall image.” The director critiqued. “Now you’re a funny little guy, but you’re not funny ‘ha-ha’, but funny ‘ho-ho’, and the reason you’re not funny ‘ha-ha’ is because of your buck teeth. No one wants to watch a cartoon character with buck teeth. A cartoon character with big feet, absolutely! But not with buck teeth, oh no. Fortunately, I know a handful of dentists who would love to fix your teeth, for a reasonable price of course.”

Pinky’s happy grin slowly transformed into a dismayed frown as he took in the criticisms the director hurled at him. He pressed his fingers against his overbite with concern, unaware of the fact that Skippy was also starting to feel insecure about his front teeth. Was he not a pretty mouse?

“Do you mean to say that I’m….ugly?” Pinky sadly asked, trying his best to fight back the oncoming tears.

“Well, objectively speaking, yes.” Mr. Director replied flatly.

Pinky whimpered as the tears flowed down his face. While he knew that ugly people can be beautiful in their own way, it still hurt to be on the receiving end of such mean words. Screwing his eyes shut, he clutched his tail as he started to cry his heart out.

Brain felt his heart go out to poor Pinky. But then his flaming fury began to take hold. Brain balled his paws into fists as he growled at the superficial filmmaker. No one, not even himself, could insult Pinky’s outward appearance.

“How dare you make my friend cry, you hack!” Brain snapped at the director. “Pinky is a beautiful and charming-looking soul, both on the inside and on the outside, and I do not take kindly to anyone who dares to mock his appearance! Especially from Jerry Lewis look-alikes!”

Mr. Director gasped in shock. “No you listen here, you son of a-”

But Slappy silently intervened, swinging around her green purse while wearing an indignant frown.

“Or maybe, let’s not with the hitting, and the smashing of the head with the purse.” He drawled in his nasal voice as he cowered away to the side.

“Well, if you insist.” Slappy cooly replied before hitting the director’s gut with her purse. The director let out a cry of pain as he clutched his stomach and fell to his knees.

Slappy smirked as she placed the purse across her shoulder, glad to have pushed the director off of his high horse. She looked over at her new companions, as Pinky scooped Brain up into a tight hug.

“Oh thank you, Brain!” Pinky cheered.

Brain instinctively kicked his tiny feet as his taller friend nuzzled his cheek. “You’re welcome Pinky,” He replied as he tried his hardest to keep his composure. “Now please put me down.”

Pinky immediately respected Brain’s wishes and carefully placed him back on the ground.

Much to Slappy’s surprise, Skippy stepped forward to speak to the mice. “Pinky, I think you look fine just the way you are!”

Pinky blushed lightly at the compliment. “Zort! Oh, you’re far too kind!”

“And Brain, you did a very good thing by standing up to that jerk.” Skippy praised. “Pinky must be lucky to have a nice friend like you.” ”

Brain felt himself smiling at the sincere compliment. But the smile vanished when he remembered that he had a serious image to maintain. “I am many things, the young squirrel,” Brain addressed, but his mind started to blank. “whose name I do not know at the moment.”

“Skippy!” The young squirrel happily responded.

“Right.” Brain agreed. “I am many things, Skippy Squirrel. A mouse of superior intellect, a future world leader, and an up and coming rhythmic gymnastics athlete.” He listed off his attributes with his fingers. “But with that said, I am not nice.”

“Oh, yes you are, Brain!” Pinky playfully teased as he squished his friend’s chubby cheeks.

Brain merely crossed his arms and shot an indignant glare. “Cease your prodding, Pinky, or I shall have to hurt you!” He bitterly commanded, and the taller mouse sheepishly hid his hands behind his back.

“Now that’s comedy!” Slappy chuckled at their antics. She could easily find herself watching a whole sitcom starring these two goobers. While the mice didn’t seem to be the ‘bomb-and-anvil’ types (the superior school of comedy in her book), they more than made up for it with their humorous banter and contrasting personalities.

The shorter mouse then turned his attention to the geriatric squirrel. “Of course, your aunt did most of the heavy lifting, so to speak, by standing up for us. And, as I’m loath to admit it, I am in your debt.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Slappy dismissed as she waved her hand down. “So are you two comin’ to lunch with us or what?”

“Count me in!” Pinky cheered.

“Yes.” Brain agreed.

Skippy knelt on one knee and extended an open hand in front of the mice. “Can I pick you up?” he asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Brain allowed, deducing that they would reach the commissary faster by hitching a ride on the young squirrel as opposed to walking on foot.

“Oh, goodie! We’re going on a ride! Narf!” Pinky exclaimed as the younger squirrel lifted him and his best friend off the ground.

Slappy smiled at her shorter co-stars as the group started on their merry way. “I have the feelin’ that this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

- - - - - -

The truck came to a stop, bringing Brain back to the present. Picking up a small bent paper clip, he trotted over towards the cage door and picked the lock. As he swung the door open, Wakko turned the cage around and allowed the mice to hop into his hands before placing them on top of his hat. The rodents stared out the window to see the sun dipping low over the park. As the Warners and the mice hopped out of the car, Skippy quickly paid the parking meter before joining the group.

“Poit! Hey Brain, do you think it would be best if we released the mice here?” Pinky asked as he wrung his paws together.

Brain took a moment to think about it and realized that Pinky had a point. He remembered seeing the frightened expressions of the field mice as they were ripped apart from their home in the wild. It would only be fair to return them to their home.

“You’re right, Pinky.” Brain commended his partner, gently taking his paw into his own.

The toons overheard the conversation and were quick to act. “We’re way ahead of you!” Yakko affirmed as he started to unload the truck bed.

“Now, the only thing I need to do is find the suit.” Brain mentioned.

“It’s over there, Dadoo!” Wakko alerted, pointing a finger over towards a largely abandoned suit in the middle of the park.

“I can help free the others while you go fetch your giant suit! Narf!” Pinky told him before hopping off Wakko’s hat and falling to the grass.

“I’ll help you get it!” Wakko declared as he broke out into a sprint. Brain steadied himself in the middle sibling’s hold as he ran across the field.

Yakko, Dot, and Skippy retrieved all the cages that housed the various mice. Pinky stared at his fellow rodents. He recognized some from the various experiments, from the maze runs to the makeup tests. The other mice started to claw anxiously at the glass upon recognizing their domain. Pinky hoped that the mice that were captured earlier could be reunited with their families while his familiar companions could find better lives with their fellow rodents in the field.

“Let the mice run free!” Pinky declared.

The toons and the squirrel opened up the lids and placed the cages sideways, allowing the mice to escape. Pinky smiled as he watched the mice scatter across the field, many of which were getting reacquainted with the softness of the green grass. Many of the former lab residents instinctively followed the field mice. Pinky blinked away the tears of joy that formed. He prayed that the mice would have happier days ahead of them.

Meanwhile, Wakko managed to reach the suit without any issue. Brain was thankful that the suit was right where he left it.

Wakko lowered their hands to the ground to let Brain down. The mouse hopped off and ran towards the right side of the suit, noticing the wallet was still snug within the pant pocket. Brain was relieved that no one had pilfered the suit for any valuables. The mouse reached into the pocket and used every ounce of his strength to retrieve the wallet. Pinky sprinted towards his beau’s side and helped him pull the wallet out. With a tug, the mice successfully fished out the wallet, which opened up. Brain looked to see the familiar glow of the company credit card and breathed a sigh of relief. He no longer had to fear the CEO’s wrath.

At that moment, Yakko, Dot, and Skippy reunited with the group as Dot carried Pinky on top of her head. The golden light coming from the wallet indicated that the card was still there and the mice no longer had to worry about losing their acting jobs.

Brain decided to check the engines to make sure that the suit was still fully functional. Opening up the right shoe, he entered the metallic footwear, climbed up the leg, and hopped in the pilot’s seat. Pinky hopped off of Dot, anxiously waiting for Brain’s giant head to pop up at the top. Meanwhile, Brain pulled the lever and the seat rose to the very top.

The others looked at the head hole with bated breath until Brain’s large cranium popped out.

“Honey, I’m home!” Brain drawled in a near-monotone voice.

While Brain moved the suit back on its feet, Pinky clutched his stomach as he laughed. “Oh, that’s a funny joke, Brain! Narf!”

“I’m not devoid of humor.” Brain replied as he picked Pinky up and placed him in the front pocket.

The Warners reached into their hammerspaces and pulled out their bingo cards, which were filled with various callbacks from the original Animaniacs. Yakko quickly placed a stamp over the ‘References to Win Big’ block. “Bingo!” The eldest Warner shouted as he proudly waved his bingo sheet, causing Wakko and Dot to groan in defeat.

Skippy pulled out his smartphone and decided to move forward with the final phase of the plan. He went to his contacts to search for his aunt’s name. Once he found her name, he pressed the green call button and pressed the phone to the side of his head.

After a moment, he heard his aunt’s cantankerous voice. “Hello,”

“Hey Aunt Slappy,” Skippy casually replied. “Just wanna give you the heads up that the lab is now abandoned and everyone’s safe. The ball is in your court now.”

“Lemme tell ya, it’s great to be back in business!” Slappy remarked from inside her secret hideout. The geriatric rodent reclined in her seat as she operated the control panel, no doubt eager for the signal to open fire on the lab.

“Right now we’re at the park getting Brain’s mechanical human suit,” Skippy informed her. “We’ll be back in about five minutes or so.”

“Say, why don’t you kids stay at the park for a few more minutes?” Slappy asked as she geared up the missiles from her control panel. “I’ll make sure to give you kids a little fireworks show as a treat!”

“Sounds like fun.” Skippy chirped. “And you can fire when ready.”

“Oh I’m always ready,” Slappy confidently announced before ending the phone call.

Skippy put his phone away and turned around to face the others. “My aunt’s gonna put on a little fireworks show.” He mentioned.

“Ooh, fireworks!” Pinky exclaimed.

Wakko eagerly climbed up the suit and perched himself on top of Brain’s shoulders. “And I get to have the best seat in the house!”

“No fair! You got to sit on top of him last time!” Dot argued as she climbed up the suit. “Daddy, tell Wakko to move!”

“Now cease your squabbling, children!” Brain commanded. “You can both sit on my shoulders as long as you two apologize.”

Dot took the big-headed mouse’s words to heart. “Wakko, I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“And I’m sorry for hogging the seat,” Wakko replied.

“Aww, it’s so nice to see you kids get along.” Pinky cooed as he felt Yakko pluck him from the suit pocket.

Suddenly, a wave of missiles flew over their heads and proceeded to descend towards the infamous laboratory that sat underneath the suspension bridge. Within seconds, a loud explosion could be heard from miles away as the laboratory was reduced to rubble.

Suddenly, a few fireworks launched into the air, decorating the sky with glittering colored lights.

Skippy held out his smartphone, filming the whole spectacle to show to his aunt later.

Wakko and Dot cheered at the sparkling display, and Brain couldn’t help but smile at the two toon children perched on his shoulders. He looked past Wakko to see Pinky contently sitting in Yakko’s hands, and watching the colored lights reflected from his soft blue eyes.

Yakko let out a peaceful sigh. After pulling off a daring rescue, it was nice to be reunited with his loved ones once more. And the surprise fireworks show was a nice way to cap off an eventful day. He looked up at his siblings, happy to see them have the time of their lives and fawning over Brain. Yakko took another glance at Pinky. To his surprise, the mouse looked up at Yakko and gave him a friendly smile. There was so much affection stored in Pinky’s face that it would be a crime not to smile back.

“Are you enjoying the pretty fireworks, love?” Pinky asked the teen.

“Oh absolutely!” Yakko replied with a smile.

Pinky eagerly clapped his paws together. “Zort! Well, it makes me happy that you’re happy!”

With that, the lanky mouse smiled at the toon once more before turning his attention back to the bright lights that decorated the night sky.

“I could get used to this,” Yakko thought to himself.

Brain continued to admire the fireworks when he heard a small metallic sound coming from his side. He peered over his shoulder to find Yakko resting his head against the mechanical suit’s chest. The wholesome sight humbled Brain. Yakko had been forced to be the parental figure for his younger siblings for far too long, so it was nice to see him act like a regular kid. But it deeply moved Brain to learn that Yakko now trusted him and Pinky to be his parental figures.

So Brain decided it was best to return the affection. With deft hands, he swiftly moved the lever to guide the right hand on top of Yakko’s head and proceeded to gently ruffle his hair.

They all watched the night sky as one last firework exploded, showering the dark canvas with glittering green lights. The sparkling lights spelled out the phrase “Now That’s Comedy!”

The Warners clapped at the fireworks display. Brain looked over at Pinky, who was in awe of the dazzling green lights. He looked over at the fireworks and let out a small chuckle. “The old dame’s still got it.”

Hello!

Firstly, I want to apologize for not updating this story sooner. I have had a lot of things going on in my personal life, one of which is a passion project I am excited to share with you all. I and my friend Mitchekie have put together an unofficial Pinky and The Brain podcast called Poitcast, which is set to premiere in July. We've already recorded two episodes and it's been a wonderful labor of love and I hope that you can take the time to listen to the pilot episode when it drops.

The main reason why this chapter took much longer to write because I wanted to come up with a creative idea for the rescue mission. After some brainstorming, I decided to incorporate Slappy and Skippy into the story. Both characters were a lot of fun to write for and they'll appear again in the next chapter.

Fortunately, there are only two chapters left and they are significantly shorter. The next chapter is halfway done and the last chapter is a brief epilogue, so the hiatuses will not be as long.

I want to thank Mitchekie for beta-reading this chapter.

And finally, I want to thank you, dear reader, for sticking with this story and being patient in between chapters. I love writing this story and I am glad that this story has received a lot of love.

Please leave a kudos or a review if you can! Thanks for reading!

#animaniacs #pinky and the brain #patb #brain #pinky #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #slappy squirrel #skippy squirrel

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pencilofawesomeness · 3 years

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Fics I Absolutely Adore and Would Recommend to Anyone

I’ve been meaning to do this for a long, long time, because I love reading fanworks and they deserve a lot of love and I love sharing things that I love.

Obviously this isn’t everything, and if it’s not on this list that doesn’t mean I don’t love it, it just means I forgot at this moment. I will be adding to the list and I remember things or come across it again. (Trying to sort through my bookmarks and subscriptions is like trying to catch a fish bare-handed.) I’m also gonna shy away from the one-shots, even though I adore fun one-shots, just for the sake of organization. The list would be super long otherwise, and those are best sorted by fandom. Here... Here are just some brilliant works I want to rant about.

Disclaimer: I say “recommend” because I would recommend these works, any time any place, but do keep in mind the story’s rating and tags and stuff. Not everything is kid-friendly.

There is absolutely no hierarchy to the list below. They are added as I add.

Fairy Dance of Death

by Catsy ( @fairydanceofdeath )

Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 660,282 Status: ongoing

「AU reboot of the entire SAO storyline, beginning from the premise that Kayaba Akihiko was obsessed with magic and Norse Mythology rather than swords and pure melee. As a result, he created the Death Game of Alfheim Online rather than the floating castle of Aincrad—a world in which player-killing is not a crime, and the nine player races are in competition with each other to reach the top of the World Tree. Multi-POV epic following the stories of multiple canon characters throughout the game.」

If Catsy wrote the SAO light novels and anime, SAO would be among the legendary series. Fairy Dance of Death has this amazingly simple premise of making Alfheim Online, the video game from the original series’ less-than-stellar second part, the game that the main cast becomes trapped in. However, it’s so much more. They took the characters and made them characters, and everyone gets ample spotlight—even background characters that normally wouldn’t receive a second thought. It’s masterful work, and to boot, there is a lovely frame of in-game mystery and player conflict. The organization is phenomenal and I aspire to world-build the way they did. Not to mention that stakes are so much higher and this series has ripped my heart to shreds more than once.

It has also brought me great joy, and even when I was in the dumps and didn’t want to read anything, a FDOD update made me pick up my phone and read when I otherwise wouldn’t have. It has a really special place in my heart. It updates once in a blue moon, but that’s okay.

Even if you have never seen a single piece of Sword Art Online, Fairy Dance of Death is still a great read. In fact, it’s the Better Version of SAO, if we’re all being honest, so I would especially recommend it if you hadn’t seen the original. Or if you have. The characters are given so much love and detail, to the point where Fairy Dance of Death’s characterizations are More Canon to me than Kawahara Reki’s work. It is just a beautiful piece of fiction, and it makes you question the depravity of man on levels that SAO shied away from.

Poisoned Dreams

by StrangeDiamond

Fandom: Genshin Impact Word Count: 82,852 Status: Complete, with a complete sequel and more to come

「 Every night now, Diluc dreams of death. Usually Kaeya's. In between these nightmares his life is falling apart. It doesn't take Kaeya long to realize that this is something much more insidious than simple bad dreams. His brother's life and sanity are on the line and there is nothing Kaeya won't do to save him. Bonus chapter added.」

In a growing fandom from a new game, StrangeDiamond swooped in and characterized these bad boys so well I think it’s canon. It really breathes life into the video game lore, and it’s an A+ depiction of awkward sibling re-bonding post-Terrible-Happenings. Poisoned Dreams can be read alone with a basic understanding of Genshin storybuilding, but StrangeDiamond has an entire group of fics and oneshots set in the same headcanon, and they integrate them really well and subtly together. Not to mention that the narrative style is really clever with making you question what is real and what is dream (a big point in this story) and the inner voices of the point-of-view characters are very compelling.

One Word to Change the World

by AgentMalkere

Fandom: Fairy Tail Collective Word Count: 43,988 (30 parts) Status: probably never coming back

「 In just one universe, Ultear called out to her mother instead of turning away and the fate of Fairy Tail and the world was irrevocably altered. These are glimpses of a world where a single word made all the difference.

In other words, welcome to the Butterfly Effect - Fairy Tail style. 」

It’s a really cute canon-divergent, and while the series makes no attempt to re-write Fairy Tail, it addresses the major events and just snippets in between. It does a good job at giving the vast cast ample spotlight, but it’s also an easy read. It’s special to me because it was the series that made me really pay attention to Bickslow in particular, and I respect that.

Vigilantis Pretium Libertatis

by aradian_nights

Fandom: Attack on Titan Word Count: 399,226 Status: Complete

「 Five years ago, an accident freed Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, and Armin Arlelt from an experiment that forced the most extraordinary powers onto them. After five years of separation, of being raised apart to be heroes by a set of three very different adults, they meet again. As they uncover the truth behind their captivity they realize being free and being heroes are sadly nothing but an illusion. 」

This wrecked me.

I still remember when I read it. It was the beginning of 2018, and I had the flu and a lot of time on my hands, so I binge-read this. It was simultaneously the best and the worst thing I have ever done, because I resonated with it so deeply there were times I was just staring up at the ceiling wondering what was real. I empathized with the characters to a level I rarely achieve, and I empathize easily. I laughed. I cried. It was amazing.

I refer to this story in conversation to this day. It handled themes published authors have only dreamed of achieving. Heck, if Dani (the author) took out the names of the AoT cast and replaced it with new ones, it could be its own stand alone novel. It is worldbuilding from the ground up, and any fandom knowledge you take in with you is used against you like a knife leveraged against your throat. Yet, no one is out of character. It’s phenomenal. I would say more, but this is something I daren’t spoil for anybody, because you must be as wrecked as I was. Vigilantis Pretium Libertatis is a level of writing I achieve to gain as a writer myself. It is a masterpiece in every sense of the word.

Life in Glass Houses

by blueskyscribe ( @blueskyscribe )

Fandom: Transformers (Transformers Prime, Transformers: Shattered Glass) Word Count: 119,900 Status: Ongoing (maybe, I hope)

「 No one would have thought Bumblebee and Knock Out were capable of getting along, but when they're stuck in a strange new world and their only hope of survival is cooperation . . . Yeah, they're probably doomed. 」

I could be biased because Knock Out and Bumblebee are two of my favorite characters, but it really is brilliant. Two enemies, stuck together—but not in an overly cliché way. It’s the right amount of cliché, with heaps moral conflict and inner conflict and sometimes just beating each other with a broom when no one is looking. It’s also a fascinating look into what makes a character the way they are in relation to the morals they possess, and how stalwart those morals can be. I can’t help but think of this story whenever I see or write a “role reverse” or mirror-verse AU. It does an excellent job at making all of the characters engaging and their own character, despite being in a mirror-verse.

Yesterday Upon the Stair

by PitViperOfDoom ( @pitviperofdoom )

Fandom: My Hero Academia Word Count: 424,070 Status: Complete

「 Midoriya Izuku has always been written off as weird. As if it's not bad enough to be the quirkless weakling, he has to be the weird quirkless weakling on top of it.

But truthfully, the "weird" part is the only part that's accurate. He's determined not to be a weakling, and in spite of what it says on paper, he's not actually quirkless. Even before meeting All-Might and taking on the power of One For All, Izuku isn't quirkless.

Not that anyone would believe it if he told them. 」

As a person who normally doesn’t read these kind of minor canon divergences, especially at the time of reading, I frickin’ love this fic. In fact, I think YUTS gave me a deep appreciation for canon divergence fics. It’s MHA in all of its glory but it’s so much more, and even the parts that rehash canon give new light to the characters and their points of view.

I had read Viper’s work before and saw Yesterday Upon the Stair filling my inbox, and then I finally watched My Hero Academia. It was one of the first MHA fics I read and it still has a very special place in my heart. I recommend this series to people who don’t even watch MHA; in fact, there are some who might prefer the darker tones and themes of heroism vs apathy to the main series. Not to mention the writing style is phenomenal, and I aspire to be that good. It made me laugh. It made me cry. Yes, tears streaming down my face crying. It is the best ghost story I have ever read.

the Vantage Point Universe

by Aggie2011 ( @aggie2011whoop )

Fandom: The Avengers (MCU) Collective Word Count: 1,032,651 (35 parts) Status: Ongoing (just slowed down)

「 Six months after the Loki incident, Clint isn't adjusting well. When an enemy from his days in the Army comes back to haunt him, he'll be forced to face a part of his past - and to move past Loki, if he has a hope of finding his place with the Avengers. (First of a universe created to center around Clint Barton) 」

// description taken from first installment

Have you enjoyed the MCU, especially the first-era Avengers phase, but like me, were disappointed in the fact that Hawkeye was barely there? The VP universe is for you.

I honestly have a hard time remembering what was canon and what was VP. And if it’s not canon, it should be. The VP universe gave so much life to Clint and to Natasha and to all of SHIELD and even the rest of the Avengers. It’s just...so good. It’s completely immersive. It focuses a lot on Hawkeye and Black Widow from before the Avengers team-up, as well as after, and it all flows together so beautifully. Not to mention that I can be reading a mission that happened pre-series, so I know that they are going to live with all of their limbs, and I still sit there on the edge of my seat the whole time.

The OCs, minor as they are, that are created for this are also wonderfully done. I can’t believe Dan and Phil don’t exist in canon. Every character, canon or no, is engaging and dynamic, it is a pleasure to follow each point of view. The emotional turmoil is also handled very well, and the VP universe carries the MCU trend of humanizing its heroes and takes it so much further.

Ghosts of the Future

by Evan Stanley ( @evanstanleyportfolio )

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog Word Count: comic (18 issues) Status: ongoing

「 About 200 years in the future, Silver the Hedgehog is an average kid living in San Francisco... except for his strange and terrible dreams of a dying Blue Hedgehog, a Black Hedgehog, and mysterious gems called "Chaos Emeralds". What will he do, when these "figments of his imagination" appear before him in his real life? 」

// description taken from first installment

Okay so this is the only one that isn’t an Ao3 story, but rather a comic on DeviantArt. However, it is still one of my favorite stories. Even though it takes the commonalities of Sonic canon and turns them on its head, GotF really treats the characters well. There are enough familiar world elements to create intrigue, but it is set in a completely different take of the future, so there is ample opportunity for world building and being able to engage with a completely new thing. I wish SEGA put as much love in the series (namely the games, because the comics are *chef’s kiss*) and all of its possibilities as creators like Evan Stanley do.

The friendship and family relationships in GotF are so diverse and all so fantastic to witness. It’s a keynote example of the new hero and the old veterans, and both parties are active and trying their best.

Do not be alarmed by the starting art style. Sure, it’s rough around the edges at first, but then it gets better, and then it gets gorgeous, and then you’re left there so stunned that it looks like just life canon art. And then you could be like me, blinking slowly as my small brain finally connected that this Evan Stanley is in fact the Evan Stanley. GotF is an amazing fanwork, but she also draws and writes for the Official Canon comics (the IDW ones now) and that work is also phenomenal and should be supported.

Whirlwind

by Lynse ( @ladylynse )

Fandom: Danny Phantom, American Dragon: Jake Long, Miraculous Ladybug, Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja Word Count: 75,556 Status: Complete

「 Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny really should've expected something like this when he got that phone call from Jake. (Secret Quartet fic) 」

I have to start by saying that I adore all of Lynse’s fics, and I chose this one simply because it is one of my favorites. But it’s all fantastic, one hundred percent. I also love Mirrored, the sort-of prequel to this fic, but Whirlwind just has the chaotic pure bean energy that each of the shows bring and it foils against each other so perfectly. This is the epitome of the Secret Quartet crossover, truly.

All fandoms and all characters get ample love, and the way the reader gets to see just how badly the characters’ assumptions are going is positively wonderful. It’s so easy to fall into the “I know what’s happening and so do the characters” trap, but Lynse leaps over it gracefully and lands in greatness. The fic had me smiling like a maniac one minute, and feeling sorry for my babies the next. Wonderful. Simply fantastic!

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imo-chan-imagines · 4 years

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『 Haikyuu!! Week 2020 | Day 5 』

· Sept. 29th → Habit is Second Nature ·

Characters: female!reader, Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou, Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi Tadashi (+ bonus characters: Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Testurou)

Prompts: A. best character development + B. patterns and habits

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), PG, fluff, headcanons, patterns and habits, best character development

A/N: I haven't done any character x reader stuff for this challenge yet because I tend to do NSFW stuff. But I thought I'd do some fluffy stuff about the characters with the best development and their habits as your boyfriend! (Plus a couple of bonus boys, because I couldn't help myself!! 🥰)

All my Haikyuu Week 2020 posts will be SFW, but I have NSFW stuff on my blog too. Feel free to take a gander. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy ♡ Imo~

Haikyuu × reader / patterns and habits

☆ Kageyama Tobio ☆

Gets up at 5:30am to go for a run every morning but forgets to send you a 'good morning' text don't be upset, it just doesn't really occur to him

Gets all giddy when he receives one from you, though literally cannot stop smiling. Doesn't know what to do with himself

Often forgets his pencil case and comes by your class to borrow stuff

When he buys milk from the vending machine, he will start buying some for you as well without you asking he's trying to show he cares

Milk makes him happy, so it should make you happy too, right? 😭

Frowns and blushes when you start hugging and nuzzling him in public he'll start stammering, too, if you took him by surprise

But then he pouts when you stop 🤭

Is embarrassed about asking you to touch him my poor touch-starved baby 😭

Blushes and looks at the floor whenever he talks about something romantic or intimate

Leans his forehead against yours when he wants to express how he feels but doesn't know how I might be crying...

He loves hearing the sound of your voice, so he often falls asleep while in the middle of a late-night phone call with you you can hear the soft sound of his breathing through the receiver 😭😭

Writes down important dates you tell him because he just knows he's going to forget them

Discretely interlaces his fingers with yours when he feels vulnerable prOTECT HIM

Lots and lots of hugs from behind because eye contact can be a bit much for him, and he's sometimes nervous about you seeing his face

Can get angry and shout at you without warning when he's stressed or upset, and he feels terrible after

Writes out his apologies on reams and reams of paper and rehearses them a million times in front of the mirror but somehow still forgets most of it?

Smiles like a literal angel when he does something to make you happy that's all he wants, y'all 😭

Will try his best at everything, whether it's trying new things with you or doing the same old stuff he's always done

Nuzzles the back of your neck when you're spooning, and kisses his way across your shoulders and down your back as a way of saying, 'I love you and you're mine'

☆ Hinata Shouyou ☆

Says the cheesiest, most romantic things to you with a straight face, but blushes and hides his face when you return the favour

Bounces around the room when he's excited

Always asks you how your day was and is genuinely interested

Rests his head on your shoulder when you're sitting together

Shouts really loudly at random moments because of surprise/frustration/excitement/any sudden emotion, really 😅 gives you mini heart attacks

Always sneezes really fucking loudly??

Sends you adorable cat videos when he knows you've had a bad day

Subtly presses his leg against yours whenever you're sat together, especially when you're both supposed to be studying 👀

Wipes your cheeks and kisses the end of your nose whenever you've been crying

Sings in the shower because he thinks you can't hear him

Will give his gym towel to you with a smile whenever you get soaked in the rain rather than dry himself off

Treasures every little gift you get him

Is fine becoming a human hot water bottle by little-spooning every month when your period comes around he runs at a really high temperature, and actually really enjoys it. So cute 😍

Runs down the halls to your class every break to bring you your favourite drink from the vending machine

Loves sharing cakes with you and feeding each other it sounds cringy, but he makes it so cute and natural

Always pulls goofy faces when he Snapchats you

Leaves you cute voicemails when he wanted to talk to you but you're busy

Shows up unannounced at your house when he's troubled because he just really needs to see you

If he just sees your face, then he knows that it's somehow going to be alright

Y'all, I can't 😭😭🤧

☆ Tsukishima Kei ☆

Teases the crap out of you on a regular basis just to see you all pouty and frustrated

Pretends not to remember your birthday/anniversary/etc. every year so he can drop by your house later that day and surprise you with a gift

Pulls your cheeks when he thinks you're being too cute

Kisses the ends of your fingers when he wants to show affection but doesn't know how

Flicks your forehead whenever he thinks you're being stupid or irritating 🙄

Lowkey blushes every time he sees you cheering for him in the stands I SEE THAT LITTLE SMILE, TSUKKI

Makes you sit on his lap all the time for no good reason other than to tease you bruh

Often ends up taking the teasing too far and winds up feeling rotten because you're now genuinely upset

Sucks at applogies, but will always try to set it right if he's at fault, even if it's awkward

Gives the biggest, warmest hugs when he wants to which isn't much, but hey. Take what you can get

Always sends you a text to make sure you've got home safe, but it's never in those words. It's always under the guise of something else Tsukki, pLEaSE

Grumbles to himself out of jealousy whenever you show attention to other guys, especially his brother

Deliberately gives you his sweaters and hoodies to wear after a shower because he thinks it's super cute, but acts like it's nothing you ain't slick, Tsukki 🤣

☆ Yamaguchi Tadashi ☆

Reaches for your hand first whenever you're together

Nose and forehead kisses when he sees you in the morning

Hand-picks a bunch of flowers for you every Monday because he knows you hate Mondays 🥺🤧

Waits for you at the gate after school every day

Always stands up for you, no matter what he may be soft, but he's not a WUSS 😠

Asks to borrow your other earphone whenever you're listening to something

Wants to spoon with you whenever he's feeling down and you'll never refuse

Always arrives 15 minutes early for every date despite changing his outfit several times out of nervousness

Blushes in pride whenever he lends you his jacket because you're cold adorbs

Sends you little pick-me-up messages when you're busy so you can read them when you're free

Helps you tie up your hair for gym class, and is surprisingly good at making pretty hairstyles

Traces his fingers over your palms and other body parts whenever you're curled up together

Has your name saved on every social media and contact list as something cute like 'My Sunshine 💛' or 'My Honeybee 🐝'

Twiddles his hair around his finger a lot, especially when he's daydreaming about you let's hope he doesn't start balding 😭

Will rush to your class with an umbrella on rainy days in case you forgot one

Loves sitting on the swings with you whenever you pass them on the way home, and making you giggle by pushing you higher and higher

(Bonus boys)

☆ Bokuto Koutarou ☆

Sends a stream of soppy hype-texts every morning for you to wake up to

Will stop by your house and pick you up for school, even if you live literal miles away from him he just wants to see you

Grabs you by the waist and picks you up at least once a day, often in front of a crowd of people he's a fan of PDA

Peppers you with kisses when he sees you for the first time each day

Hypes you up to no end. Literally cannot sing your praises enough

Is constantly looking for compliments, and is not-so subtle about it

Gets easily depressed when you don't notice he did something differently etc.

Will kiss you in front of everyone when he wins a game and you come down to congratulate him literally doesn't care. He's too proud of you

Is constantly asking for massages, whether or not he needs them, because he enjoys the contact

Sometimes you want to staple his mouth shut because he has a habit of getting too excited and talking with his mouth full 🙃

Doesn't stop texting you and sending you Snapchats

Is kind of oblivious if he's done something that upset you, and starts freaking out when someone Akaashi finally tells him

Doesn't plan or rehearse his apologies, because he literally just says exactly what he means 100% of the time

May start choking up and crying if what he did was bad enough, because he just feels so, so guilty

Constantly reminds you when you said you would make him a lunchbox because he loves it so much and wants to boast to his friends

Likes you sitting on his lap while you do stuff together I mean...👀

Calls you 'puppy' and 'kitten' etc. unabashedly in public boi, pLEASE

Insists on giving you piggyback rides whenever your feet hurt 🐷

Saves every single selfie you send him. He treasures every single one, and tears sometimes come to his eyes when he scrolls through them he's so whipped for you, my gal

☆ Kuroo Testurou ☆

Stays up all night texting you he might be getting bags

But it's fine. It just adds to the emo look

Takes your bag and carries it for you without you asking him to

Facetimes you randomly

When you ask what it's about, he says he just missed you/wanted to see your face smooth mf

His hand always finds its way around your waist whenever you're walking together

He scrolls through your old conversations when he misses you

Will ruffle your hair to tease you just so he can spend the next 20 minutes brushing it for you

Steals food from your lunch every day he's lucky he's pretty

Stands outside your house with a boombox blasting love ballads like a giant nerd when he wants to surprise you just imagine it for a second. Let the image sink in

Ends up stroking your hair when you're cuddling together

And subconsciously cradles your stomach a lot because he really wants to start a family with you Testu!!! 🥺😭🤧

Always sends you 'Send This To Your Crush Without Context' videos, despite the fact that you guys have literally been dating for years no caption or anything, either. Just the video

Will probably continue to do it even once you're married, tbh

Always, always, always walks you home

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arrthurpendragon · 3 years

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ICYMI 4/24/21

This is a list of OC fanfictions that have updated over the last week. Some that were summitted, some that I found in the #ocappreciation tag :) I hope you find a story! :)

Doctor Who

Time Child: Preservation by: @dannifielding

Sequel to Time Child: Recovery. Danielle Fielding certainly never saw herself housing the biggest monster in the universe while her husband and his newest companion travelled the universe, nor back at university feeling like she'd gone full circle. But something lurks out in the stars that might just save her from her past, should she listen? 12/OC. READ CHAPTER 21 FFN

Falling Skies

Not Dead Yet by: @jemmalynette

OC. Sequel. Season 2. Three months have passed since Tom took off on the alien ship and he's back, much to the relief of Grace and her brothers. But life hasn't got much easier since his return. Now Grace must navigate new threats from the alien enemy, loss of a loved one, and the promise of a new safe haven. But can she make it with her family in one piece? READ CHAPTER 3 FFN

Game of Thrones

Growing Strong by: @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

When the Kingdoms are thrown into chaos Astrid Tyrell ends up in the newly crowned King in the North's camp, where she ends up finding herself growing closer to the king through kind words and company that does not look to him to be anything but him. And when a betrayal hits she offers him more, and with it finds herself wed and moving far from where she ever thought she'd end up. READ CHAPTER 2 FFN + AO3

Grishaverse

Kingdom of Cards by: @materialkii

Returning to court after a year away, Irina Lantsov is unnervingly no different to when she left. But the cracks in Irina's dazzling mask begin to show, and the Darkling sees more than the spoilt princess she appears to be. With Irina's secrets and Ravka's future hanging in the balance, the game is changed once again when Nikolai comes home. READ CHAPTER 2 FFN

Kings and Queens and Vagabonds by: @papergirlverse

Reyka Kovacs was a wanderer. It was in her blood, passed down from ancestor to ancestor, never staying in one place for long. But that was before Ravka, before a woman in red stole her away from her parents and forced her into a prison with gilded walls and watchful eyes. And then a Sun Summoner appears at court and Reyka finally sees a way out. READ CHAPTER 2 FFN

Harry Potter

Blood Does Not Family Make by: @nurselaney

Cateline Fawley has felt the burden of her destiny from childhood. Her mother's visions are her inheritance and she feels pressure to rise above her father's sins. Harry Potter is the boy-who-lived, the Chosen One who must defeat Voldemort when he returns... and Cate is the unknown factor who is determined to make sure he succeeds. TW:Discussion of past rape of secondary character READ CHAPTER 7 FFN + AO3

The Clockwork Collections by: @booty-boggins

Bonus material based off 'The Clockwork Locket' and 'The Phoenix Ascending.' Marauders Era. READ CHAPTER 1 FFN

Decadence by: @materialkii

Phoenix Black is torn between a bright future and a Death Eater husband, and what her heart desires—her older brother's best friend, Remus Lupin. With both of her brothers in peril, Phoenix's role in the First Wizarding War is set in stone, as the Black family hurtles headlong toward tragedies they will never recover from. Remus/OC. READ CHAPTER 16 FFN

Make Them Gold by: @fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs

Asterope Malfoy after being mutually disowned wants to make herself gold and free herself from the confines of her family's dark past. The last thing she wanted was to wind up in the Triwizard Tournament, have a year long identity crisis, and fall in love with her best friend. But things never did go easy for the members of the Black family who tried to free or better themselves. READ CHAPTER 35 FFN + AO3

Marvel

As I Was by: @sgtbuckyybarnes

The Captain America exhibit had always been the one constant for Harper Rhodes. Until she walks out of her office one night to see a man she believed to be dead standing reading her work. A man with a shining metal arm. Soon Harper begins to uncover truths she could never have predicted. Truths about the family she didn't even remember and the people she thought were friends. READ CHAPTER 23 FFN + WATTPAD

Power Rangers

Aegis by: @fandompariah

A new threat bearing a familiar name is gathering its' forces. Tommy led a force of over 100 rangers in a desperate attempt to buy time. 20 years later a new generation of Power Rangers are being assembled to defend the galaxy. This is an OC centric story, though several canon characters will appear and have prominent roles. READ CHAPTER 81 FFN + AO3

Turn: Washington’s Spies

Luck be a Lady by: @ms-march

Lady Adrienne Fairfax had never gotten to know her betrothed. Lawrence Washington was a man twice her age who was arranged to marry her eldest sister, Anna. However, after Anna’s passing, she found herself being the only one who could have fulfilled the marriage contract, as she had none of her own. Anna died when Adrienne was 3. And by the time she reached 13, Lawrence was sent off to fight a war for King and Country. After that, he fell prey to the same illness that took Anna and died not long after. Her family considered this as a sign.

Adrienne had always been stupidly ambitious, and she intended to use his naive attachment to her benefit. Now, she was not a bad person, but she frankly had goals to reach. Goals that she’d never achieve if she did not jump at all opportunities to achieve them. Unfortunately, this godforsaken winter encampment was a sacrifice she must make to maintain her influence over the over-glorified Commander-in-Chief. READ CHAPTER 22 AO3

If you would like to be added to future ICYMI lists, send me the link via ask/submission by next Saturday! Be sure to be following me and your fic is an OC fic! :)

ICYMI Masterlist

#ocappreciation #icymi #oc fic update saturday #doctor who #falling skies #game of thrones #grishaverse #harry potter #marvel #power rangers #turn washington's spies

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soukokuwu · 4 years

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NAKAHARA CHUUYA

FOREVER YOU

》 sadly, angst (chuuya x reader)

》 trigger warning! death

》 summary: it’s your birthday, and Chuuya has plans

》 word count: 2.2k

》 i- i tried.. i wanted this to be better but also i suck so have some slight angst, guys 🥺 let me know how it is

“every inch of you is the most beautiful thing that God ever created”

︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻⋆︻

Chuuya hummed to himself as he strolled into your shared apartment, flinging his coat on the coat rack before making his way into the kitchen with the groceries. Skilfully, he started chopping up the beef and toasting the bread, making your favourite beef sandwich, with no changing the recipe you taught him.

An hour later, Chuuya was armed and ready. He looked at the wall clock. 11am. Right on time. He had requested a leave day from Mori, to which Mori had no qualms about.

Every year, on this date, he’d request a day off. Unless an extremely urgent matter came up that only Chuuya could handle, the ginger would rather spend the day with you. It was your birthday– and anniversary– after all, and even though you’d always tell him it wasn’t necessary, he did it anyway, and he knew you were secretly grateful for it. For the past three years, the two of you had a routine: meet up at the same spot, 12pm, and spend time together.

Picnic basket in hand, he got ready to leave the apartment. “Today marks the third year,” he whispered to himself, heart pounding loudly in his chest. “Why do I still feel like this?”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

By noon, Chuuya had arrived at the usual spot. His lips curved into a smile as he spotted where you were, slowly making his way over. He thanked the heavens that the weather was good today. It was a breezy day, and even though it was noon, the sun wasn’t too strong. Not that it would matter much, there was a lot of shade provided by the trees near your spot.

Chuuya wore the biggest smile he could manage as he approached you, his mind flashing back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

It was five years ago.

You were the secretary to the lousy excuse of a CEO of a tech company, who happened to be Port Mafia’s enemy. Diligent and knowledgeable, you had attracted Chuuya’s attention since you introduced yourself. All he had wanted was to extract information directly from your boss, but he had ended up getting it from you. As he expected, you had been smart enough to see through his disguise. But much to his surprise, you voluntarily agreed to cough up information on your boss. The disdain you had for the CEO was obvious by how you handled the whole situation. Chuuya didn’t know what went down between you and the CEO, but he knew you hated the man, and you wanted to be rid of him. So, after the whole ordeal, which thankfully landed the CEO in jail, Chuuya offered to help you get another job, away from that environment.

That was when the two of you had formed a friendship. At first. But after a few dinners, a few wine discussions later, you couldn’t help but admit it to yourself too, he was as attractive as they could get. Chuuya had been nothing but considerate, putting you first, thinking of you even when he should be worried about himself. It was hard not to fall for him. It was a big bonus that he is as handsome as he is. Not that you could ever find it in yourself to admit it to him directly, considering how shy you could be when it came to these things. But, nevertheless, Chuuya knew how you felt.

As your friendship progressed, the dinners outside after work translated to dinners in either of your homes, the glasses of wine you usually drank turned into bottles, and the small conversations turned into passionate kisses.

You loved how he was always gentle with you, making your heart melt, treating you like the most precious thing in the world. Something you had never felt before, despite having been in several serious relationships in the past.

Chuuya, on the other hand, had never dated seriously before you, and it surprised him how fast he had been moving with you. But it was a good kind of surprise, a pleasant surprise. Not once in the relationship did Chuuya ever regret pursuing you, or letting you into his whirlwind of a life. You were of strong mind, and never let the fact that he was an executive of the Port Mafia be a problem. If an issue arises, you certainly weren’t a child about it, and it was one of the many things Chuuya admired and respected you for. Any arguments that happened would never find its way into the next day, and anything petty or toxic never found their way between the two of you. And he had decided, then and there, you were made for each other.

It had been only six months in and the two of you had already decided to get a shared apartment, solely due to the fact that it was getting tiring only getting to see each other through video call every night. Both of you did have hectic work schedules after all. The decision to move in together proved to work wonders for your relationship. He knew he had never felt as happy as he did after cohabitating with you. Heck, just after your relationship passed the one-year mark, Chuuya had already thought about marriage, and he was glad that you seemed to be on the same page as him.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

And today, it’s the third anniversary. Chuuya couldn’t believe how fast time flew. He had laid out the food and poured the wine in a wine glass. It was a simple meal, and yet it meant so much to him. Slowly, his hands traveled into his coat pocket, fiddling with the small velvet box.

“Hey,” he mumbled, hesitant. “If all that didn’t happen, would you’ve said yes?”

But you didn’t say a word.

You couldn’t.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Three years ago.

Chuuya had left the mafia headquarters early and was going to head to your workplace to surprise you. It was a special occasion after all. He bought a bouquet of your favourite flowers before heading over. He was grinning ear to ear as he got closer to your office. He could just imagine how happy you’d be the moment you saw him. He couldn’t wait to give you an endless amount of surprises that day.

But then it all happened in a split second.

He was just across the street, and even in the crowd of people, your eyes had caught his. A throng of people pushed past you, running out of the company lobby. The structure had already started to crumble, and you knew it was too late. There was no way you could escape in time, no way Chuuya could propel himself forward in time. You were in too deep. But then you smiled as you mouthed to Chuuya, ‘It’s okay.’

And then the building swallowed you.

‘Bomb kills 37 in suspected terrorist attack’ was the headline for your demise.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

There was only one word to describe Chuuya after what he witnessed: inconsolable.

A part of him was lost forever.

He didn’t show up to work for weeks. Mori knew exactly what his executive needed, and he didn't interfere in his grieving. There were no urgent missions that needed Chuuya’s personal tending to anyway. And even when he finally did appear, no one dared mention you. Those who knew of the two of you already texted Chuuya their condolences, not that any of them ever got a reply.

How could he bear to see or talk to anyone when he blamed himself for not being able to save you? All he could think of in the weeks after your death was how he should’ve went off earlier, how he probably shouldn’t have stopped for the flowers, then maybe, just maybe, you would still be in his arms, alive. Perhaps engaged to him, even.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

The first anniversary consisted of just a bouquet of daisies, your favourite.

The second anniversary saw a little more effort. There was music, and Chuuya recited some poetry.

And now, now was the third anniversary. Of your death.

Dying on the same date you were born. Was this what people considered poetic?

Chuuya pulled his hands out of his pockets, letting go of the box. He reached for the sandwich he made and took a bite, well aware of the tears welling in his eyes. He didn't stray from your recipe at all, and yet it tasted different. The wine he downed did nothing to soothe the ache in his heart, serving only to make it worse when he remembered it was your favourite.

He spent the next hour there with you, staring adoringly at your gravestone. Just seeing your name carved on there made him feel just a little more home. Sure, he always visited when he had the chance, but with nothing in tow. Your birthdays would always be special. He had decided that when you were still here and he would keep it that way even when you’re not. No matter how stupid he felt talking to thin air, he would still do it anyway. It was the only time he would ever allow himself to act as though you were still here. Not that he could talk much. Just a few words and he would start choking up.

It was the same every year.

After visiting you, he would go back to your shared apartment and clean up. Although, it was empty almost 364 days of the year, given Chuuya lived in his own apartment, the one he had before he moved in. He couldn’t stand spending the night alone in this place, not anymore. He also couldn’t bring himself to throw any of your belongings away. Everything was still where they were three years ago.

Usually he would just make sure everything was neat and tidy before leaving to occupy himself. But this year, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but wallow in your loss. The moment he got back, he shut the front door, leaned back against it and fell to the floor. The tears he had tried to hold back came rushing out. He looked around and all it did was make him feel even worse.

All he could see in the empty living room was the two of you playfighting on the couch. He was tickling you, and happy tears would be streaming out your eyes. You were deadly ticklish. You couldn’t tolerate it for the life of you. Or the times you would tickle him instead, when he was beating you at a playstation game. Sometimes he’d still beat you, and you’d pout and stick your tongue out so adorably. Then he’d let you win the next game.

In the kitchen he could see himself throwing flour at you during one of your baking sessions. There were days when you were bored and had roped Chuuya into baking with you. He had feigned defiance by playing with you during the process. Truth be told, he loved doing anything with you. You always made it a good time. Baking would usually end with the both of you covered in flour or chocolate, sometimes not even having baked anything. And he wouldn’t trade it for all the food in the world.

In the bedroom all he could envision was the intimacy. The first time you had fallen asleep together, his arms wrapped around you, the alluring scent of your hair permeating his senses. The first time the two of you became one, how gently he had handled you then, how passionately you had returned his love. And similarly, all the times after that.

Then there was the bathroom during your morning afters, where you would be brushing your teeth and Chuuya would appear behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you into the shower with him instead. How you’d complain but you’d be smiling brightly at the same time. You’d be content to be pulled anywhere, as long as it was with Chuuya.

The last place his eyes laid on was the balcony, still decorated with the fairy lights he had placed. Exactly three years ago, he decorated the balcony with fairy lights the moment you left for work. That was all part of the plan. Decorate the balcony, go to work, leave early, surprise you at work, go for a good dinner, come home... and propose to you. You had been together for two years then, and Chuuya didn’t want to wait any longer.

Chuuya pulled out the velvet box from his coat and opened it. The diamond ring glimmered brightly. Not once did he stop carrying the ring. He didn’t even know why, he just did. It was as though he felt like leaving it around would risk the chance of him forgetting you.

And god, he didn’t want to. Never. You meant the world to him. The only one he was sure he would sacrifice himself for. But he didn’t get a chance to. You had left. And neither of you had a say in it.

He leaned his head back in frustration, his hands falling to the floor, his grip around the red velvet box never loosening. But for the first time in a long time, he let himself go, he let himself cry this out, his emotions taking over him. All he could think of was the grief, and how everything would be fixed if only you were here. Why did you go somewhere he couldn’t follow? Why wasn’t he allowed a goodbye? Why of all people did it have to be you?

I miss your laugh. I miss your smile. I miss how you’d make such a mess whenever you cooked. I miss coming home to you. I miss touching you, kissing you. I miss our little talks. I miss everything about you. I miss you, I fucking miss you.

“Come back, I love you,” he sobbed, burying his head between his knees, “Please come back to me.”

It’s so lonely. Too lonely.

︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼⋆︼

“please come home, this doesn’t feel right.”

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thatboomerkid · 3 years

Text

Giff -- SpellJammer Race for Pathfinder

Giff -- SpellJammer Race [19 RACE POINTS] for First Edition Pathfinder

Known to the gnomes of Markovia as the nilski konj vojnici, to the Hin plantation-owners of Covington Farms as los mercenarios gigantes del río, and to the human field-workers laboring near New Arvoreen most-often simply as “those big goddamn bastards,” the giff -- as they are called in their own guttural, roaring language -- represent a recently-contacted species of huge, violent, powerfully-built, terrifyingly-focused, and dangerously cagey combatants.

In the little-over-a-century since their discovery by the Hin, platoons of giff have already carved a bloody name for themselves across the wilds of Verdura -- and far beyond -- as unparalleled river-guides, rowdies, strike-breakers, mob debt-collectors, private enforcers, heavy-weapons units, siege engines, bodyguards, and elite soldiers of fortune.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

original image by the incredible Claudio Pozas, here

Type: Monstrous Humanoid (3 RP)

Ability Score Modifiers: Mixed Weakness (-2 RP)

+2 Strength, -4 Dexterity, +2 Constitution, -4 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom

Size: Large (7 RP)

Giff gain a +2 size bonus to Strength and a -2 size penalty to Dexterity (already included above). Giff also suffer a -1 size penalty to their AC and a -1 size penalty on all attack rolls; they gain a +1 bonus on combat maneuver checks and to their CMD, and suffer a -4 size penalty on Stealth checks.

A giff takes up a space that is 10 feet by 10 feet and has a reach of 5 feet.

Base Speed: Normal speed (0 RP)

Languages: Standard (0 RP); giff speak their own eponymous, curiously poetic language, and most are -- in the modern day -- also conversant in Low Kozah-Talosii (usually spoken with a thick, pompous Verduran accent).

This bastardized dialect, the so-called “Common tongue” favored across Pyrespace for use in international, intercultural, and interplanetary trade, is a degraded mongrel variant of High Kozah-Talosii: the ancient root-tongue of both Arvorean and Brandobarin, still employed by the Church of Yondalla for use in sermons, hymns, and in all official records.

Big Damn Guns: Giff are treated as gnomes for purposes of the Experimental Gunsmith Archetype. (0 RP)

Darkvision: Giff have 60 ft. darkvision (0 RP); giff have relatively poor eyesight while out of water, which is easily corrected with simple lenses -- such as a monocle -- for use while reading. This vision is not poor enough to impart a mechanical penalty on Perception checks or attack rolls made by the giff.

Natural Armor: Giff have +3 natural armor (4 RP)

Natural Attack (Headbutt): Giff receive one natural attack, which is treated as a gore attack that deals 1d8 bludgeoning damage. (1 RP)

Natural Swimmers: Giff have a swim speed of 30 feet and gain the +8 racial bonus on Swim checks that a swim speed normally grants. (1 RP)

Powerful Charge (Headbutt): Whenever a giff charges, it deals twice the standard number of damage dice with its headbutt plus 1-1/2 times its Strength bonus. (2 RP)

River-Sense: Giff can sense vibrations in water, granting them blindsense 30 feet against creatures that are touching the same body of water. (1 RP)

Slow On Land: Giff often select the Clumsy, Easy Target, Magically Inept, Nearsighted, and Slow Reflexes Major Drawbacks (0 RP)

Spell Resistance (Greater): Giff have spell resistance equal to 11 + their character level. (3 RP)

Sporting: The species-wide love of warfare exhibited by the giff draws a sharp line of distinction between “sporting” and “unsporting” combat (see below). (-1 RP)

Sporting combat includes arm-wrestling, fisticuffs, darts, cards, dice, checkers, chess, billiards, cricket, rugby, skeet shooting, tennis, and golf, alongside tests of boasting, carousing, headbutting, toast-giving, swimming, push-ups, and a complex, ritualized sort of thunderous, unarmed mixed martial-art performed solely while stripped down to breeches & undergarments, usually in ankle-deep to waist-deep water, ending in pin or submission, which -- up to a point -- also serves as a type of flirting.

The military mentality of the giff even makes special allowances for a variety of “sporting” duels to the death. Establishing a proper duel requires a huge number of complex ritual elements that -- in the end -- mostly boils down to both giff formally acknowledging that:

Both giff are armed with approximately the same quality of weapons & armor (warhammer, combat knife, pistol, full plate, etc.)

Both giff have equal access to military support, including healing

Both giff have a grievance, no matter how petty

Both giff are suffering approximately the same level of injuries

Both giff have made arrangements for their estate, and for the treatment of their body after death

Once a “sporting” challenge to the death has been agreed-to by both parties, anything up to and including outright murder of one’s opponent is considered fair game.

Several major holidays each year celebrated by the giff include a “violent dueling festival” as part of their celebration; to outsiders, these events have a very bizarre, genteel, 1800s-Victorian-Teddy-Roosevelt-meets-The-Purge sort of feel to them:

“Happy holidays, friend; best of health this year to you and to your kin. And I say, old chap, don’t suppose it’s high time for a kukri-duel, eh, wot wot? Seeing as you got drunk on my finest brandy, made a pass at the missus, wiped your prodigious buttocks with my table linens, and micturated in my hedge-row as of Christmas last, well ... in lieu of an apology, what say I have Jenkins fetch the carving blades, eh? See which of has the moxie, shall we? Cheerio and have at thee then, old sport?”

If this formal challenge to a lethal sporting-duel is declined, the challenger must make all possible accommodations to guarantee the immediate physical safety of the giff she just challenged (at least until such time as the two giff part ways once more): providing the giff with weapons, armor, food, water, medicine, reading materials, a place to sleep, liquor, smoking tobacco, and anything else a gentleman or lady of high breeding could reasonably expect to have access to (even while imprisoned).

In short: if the challenged giff dies immediately after declining a duel, it is considered very embarrassing for the challenger.

For his own part, the declining giff must treat her challenger with the very utmost level of respect ... or risk being guilty of unsporting conduct, a fate far worse than mere death.

Any giff who finds herself about to violate the terms of properly “sporting” conduct instantly becomes aware of the error, just as if she were wearing a phylactery of faithfulness and, at all times, actively contemplating the thought of doing bodily harm to another giff: this behavioral limitation is not built as a trap for players to accidentally stumble into, but -- instead -- as an interesting roadblock to navigate around.

If two or more giff find themselves forced into a position of armed conflict against one another on a battlefield, both groups traditionally retire for at least a day of drinking and sorting-out ranks; on rare occasion, one platoon will join the other; more likely, all giff involved in any part of the operation will quit their current hirings and look for work elsewhere.

Any giff who engages another member of her own species in any type of unsporting combat -- attacking another giff with a weapon, for example, or with magic -- immediately suffers a -2 penalty on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls and saves; she continues to suffer this penalty until such time as she is able to make amends: presenting her victim with a formal written apology, or seeking our her victim’s family to beg their public pardon.

Each month, this penalty increases by 2. Guilt is a poison that grows by degrees, after all: ever-gnawing.

While she is suffering penalties in this way, if the giff is presented with the chance to punish herself – or a non-giff opponent! – while presented with something that reminds the giff of her betrayal, she may find herself compelled to do so regardless of the consequences:

Any time her betrayal is directly brought to her attention, the giff must make a Will save (DC = 10 + her character level + the Charisma modifier of the wronged giff). Failure means that the giff falls into a rage of abject self-loathing, completely focused on her own guilt for a number of rounds equal to the DC, above. Until she has finished with this exercise in hate, the giff can take no action other than to harm the reminder of her failure or enable herself to harm it: grappling a human shipmate who mentioned her old friend so that she might headbutt the human while strangling them, for example, or calmly loading a shotgun so that she might shoot the human dead in cold blood.

Note that the giff, while wracked with guilt & grief, is not required to do anything or harm anyone: she may simply stare at an old photograph and feel sad, for example, ignoring everyone around her.

During the fury of this black tempest, the giff suffers a -2 penalty to her AC.

Once the giff successfully makes amends, either with the wronged party or with the victim’s next-of-kin, all of the above penalties are removed. Entire subsets of giff society -- mediators, arbitrators, and negotiators -- are explicitly adapted to making absolutely certain that any errors in sporting conduct among giff are resolved quickly, and to the satisfaction of all parties.

Should she fail to make amends before her death, any giff who has harmed another giff in an unsporting way invariably rises again as an undead horror of some kind (often a blood knight or graveknight): reborn as a rotting, lurching mountainside of infinitely destructive hated.

Note that the Sporting Racial Trait is not purely social, but rather acts as a species-wide ingrained psychological virtue: two giff living on Fenris who never expect to see the wide rivers of Verdura again are still bound by the rules of “sporting” conflict; neither could shoot the other in the back any more than either of them could grow wings and fly to the moon.

Undead giff do not possess the Sporting Trait, which is seen -- by living giff -- as the most abhorrent and disturbing quality imaginable.

Note, also, that the desire to behave in a sporting manner extends only to fellow giff: Chaotic Evil giff will routinely massacre unarmed non-giff by the thousands, bellowing with laughter as they do so, and even a Lawful Good giff will rarely think twice before sucker-punching a crude human making drunken threats and impolite remarks at the bar.

-------

Giff Timeline:

1603 A.D. (118 years ago): The colony of New Arvoreen is established on Verdura; giff make contact with Hin (and their human servants) for the first time.

1620 A.D.: First generation of giff who have always known about the existence of Hin, humans, and -- most importantly! -- firearms fully comes of age.

1636 A.D.: New Arvoreen is significantly expanded.

1667 A.D.: Nation of Markovia -- the technological-marvel nation named for its Founder, Monarch and Supreme Leader, Dr. Adlai Markovitch -- founded on Verdua; diplomatic trade established with New Arvoreen.

1669 A.D.: City of New Arvoreen significantly expanded.

1702 A.D.: New Arvoreen significantly expanded; land officially cleared for Covington Farms, soon to be the largest agricultural facility in the system; rates of forcible immigration of indentured humans to New Arvoreen tripled.

1721 A.D.: (current year)

original image here

Giff Ranks: Lieutenant, General, Colonel, Major General, Lieutenant General, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain General, Brigadier General, Field Marshall, Major, Captain, Sergeant Major, Commandant General, Wing General, Lieutenant Colonel General, Staff Sergent, Master Sergent, Master General, Grenadier General; note that “Lord” may be added to any military rank, alongside the designations of “First” and “First Class” (for example, “First Lord Brigadier General First Class”)

Giff military ranks are, effectively, meaningless noise to everyone except the giff themselves: every member of the species is a decorated officer of some complex rank within some elite military company or another, but such ranks are largely ceremonial and may be inherited, purchased, or passed through elaborate, bombastic ritual.

Further, the only thing preventing a young giff from forming an entirely new military organization & immediately naming herself -- of example -- Supreme Acting Field Commander and Secretary General of the Armies and Navies at Wartime is -- up to a point -- her own willingness to do so.

Male Giff Names: Any invented male Hin name.

Female Giff Names: Any invented female Hin name.

Giff Family Names: Any invented male Hin first name

Society

The giff are military-minded, and organize themselves into squads, platoons, companies, corps, and larger groups. The number of giff in a platoon varies according to the season, situation, and level of danger involved.

A giff "platoon" hired to protect a gambling operation may number only a single soldier, while a platoon hired to invade an illithid stronghold may number well over a hundred.

The giff pride themselves on their weapon-skills, and any giff carries a number of swords, daggers, maces, and similar tools on hand to deal with troublemakers.

A giff's true love, however, is the gun. A misfiring weapon matters little to the giff (occasional fatalities amongst soldiery are simply to expected); it is the flash, the noise, and the damage that most impress them.

Even unarmed, the giff are powerful opponents. Against non-giff, they’ll often wade into a brawl just for the pure fun of it, tossing various combatants on both sides around to prove themselves the victors.

Once a weapon is bared, however, and the challenge becomes “unsporting,” the giff consider all restrictions off: the challenge is now to the death.

The giff prize themselves as top-quality mercenaries, and to that end take great pride in owning -- if not always wearing -- elaborate suits of full-plate armor. These suits usually include massive helms featuring hyper-detailed, semi-realistic images of exotic monsters on the crests, inlaid with ivory and bone along the largest plates.

Armor repair is a major hobby among the giff, although great skill at the craft is surprisingly rare.

The giff are deeply suspicious of magic, magicians, and magical devices; their legendary foes, the Five Tiger Princes, are despised for their esoteric abilities as much for their wicked deviltry.

image here

Family

The giff are, for the most part, happiest among fellow members their own race, intermingling broadly with the Ghoran -- whom the giff utilize as an edible, inexhaustible workforce -- and the Tengu: another unofficial “servitor race” of the giff, most often used as messengers and household servants.

Ghoran living on giff lands are stoic: dutifully tending the fields of the giff in exchange for protection from ten-thousand other, vastly more predatory dangers. For all that giff treat the ghoran as disposable -- a ghoran living on Verdura produces one seed each year, and can grow a new member of the species in a single month -- the giff do not want the ghoran hunted to total extermination. That, for the ghoran, is saying something,

Tengu, on the other hand, are deeply prized by the giff as staff, usually in the roles of personal assistants, groomers, decorators, butlers, bartenders, man-servants, attaches, major domos, and maids. Since all giff are “wealthy land owners,” to one degree or another, the true power & prestige of a giff can be accurately measured by the number of tengu he employs.

Giff otherwise consider anything larger than them deeply threatening, yet also complain bitterly -- in private -- about the fragility of the smaller races. Outside their own platoons, the giff are happiest among military organizations with a strong chain of command.

For this reason, giff hold the Church of Yondalla in exceptionally high regard.

Giff especially despise the catfolk: although they don’t speak of it to outsiders, a century ago the giff were on the verge of extinction: hunted for sport and trophy by servants of the Five Tiger Princes, their people nearly cut to nothing and their lands held by only a few remaining families. Since their acquisition of firearms -- and the arrival of the Hin -- the catfolk have broadly retreated.

Every giff -- male, female, and giffling -- has a rank within their greater society, which can only be changed by a giff of higher rank. Within these ranks are sub-ranks, and within those sub-ranks are color-markings and badges. The highest-ranking giff gives the orders, the others obey. It does not matter if the orders are foolish or even suicidal: following them is the purpose of the giff in the universe. A quasi-mystical faith among the giff -- who claim to worship, in a vague way, the Golden General Bahamut, who was killed and eaten by the cowardly Five Tiger Princes in order to steal his strength -- confirms that all things have their place, and the place of the giff to follow orders.

This makes the giff very happy.

Giff platoons can be hired from their sprawling, palatial riverside plantations and mountain hunting-lodges by anyone looking for muscle. The social leaders among the giff are contractors: these specially-trained giff review prospective employers according to ability to pay, then make a recommendation to powerful warlords and famous adventurers among the giff. The leaders, in turn, consider the danger of the job, and whether taking it will enhance their giffdom.

Giff jobs are usually paid in firearms & gunpowder, though they often will accept other weapons and armor. Aboard ship, the giff require their own quarters, and will often request to bring on their own large weapons. They favor fire-projectors and bombards for ground work, and will happily blaze away at opponents regardless of the tactical situation.

The giff require the ships of others because they have -- for the most part -- no spellcasting abilities among them.

Giff of both sexes serve in their platoons, and both fight equally well. Giff young are raised tenderly until they are old enough to survive an exploding arquebus, then are inducted fully into the platoon.

The giff practice equality among the sexes in battle and in childrearing. They live about 70 years, but do not take aging gracefully. As a giff grows older and begins to slow down, he is possessed with the idea of proving himself still young and vital, usually in battle.

As a result, there are very, very few old giff.

#pathfinder #SPELLJAMMER #race #options #1st edition

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