#so that their underlings were forced to design clothing

[singingkestrel]

Malice.

I mean, if there's anyone in HFW that screams malice, it's Erik Visser.

Though there might be some people out there who consider him more of a polarising figure?

...

He was outstanding in his chosen field, after all.

[gaelic-holiday]

The Brightest Smiles, Part 1

They hadn’t intended to become a crime boss, honest. When they’d started, he’d just been protecting the people who lived there. They’d taken the money from the attackers’ wallets, and the people they saved would usually feed him as a thank you, and that was how they got by. He’d started getting into the analysis market too, which closed the rest of the gap for them to get necessities. He’d say hello to the people sleeping on the streets, and chase off anyone harassing the working girls and boys on his evening walks, but he never thought anything of it. He’d use his spare cash to help out the other residents of the sprawling neighbourhood, would run errands and the like for people, and would help people find proper shelter when storms rolled through.

And then they’d started running into trouble with the gangs. He’d beaten up a high ranking member of one of the gangs in the area for hitting his boyfriend, and had earned the wrath of the whole gang. Apparently getting your ass beat by a little kid makes your followers lose respect for you though, so after a significant number of (failed) attempts on their life, the gang fell apart. The gang members scattered to various gangs in the area, with some of the members even choosing to follow Nightshade themself.

The breakdown of the gang controlling that area had prompted a turf war, though, and when the violence reached a level that they couldn’t protect the people of their little corner of Death Row from, he resorted to disassembling and taking over the rest of the gangs by force. They assassinated the major leaders of all of the gangs participating, and the leaders of any gang that tried to move in in the aftermath. That was how he’d gotten the name Nightshade, after the poisons made from toxic nightshades that they’d used, in various ways. Almost everyone they went after wound up dead, but the people who weren’t bad enough for him to justify killing he dosed with a non-lethal paralytic instead. They almost universally fled immediately after waking up.

With the upper rungs of the leadership of each gang either dead or fleeing the area, the gangs in question splintered. What had previously been eight mid sized gangs fighting over Death Row was now several dozen smaller gangs, all competing to carve out a place while still reeling from the loss of leadership.

That was where Nightshade stepped in, offering the fragmented gangs deals to work under him, as long as they followed his rules. Namely, that they didn’t sell or otherwise go after children, and they didn’t mess with the people just living their lives, to start with. Anyone that didn’t agree they drove out of business by disrupting their operations, driving away their underlings, and stealing their customers.

Once they had an area cleared, even if they were still fighting for other areas, they started going around each area, getting to know everyone. He learned the names of the street kids, and listened to the stories of the people living in the area. They’d deliver blankets, and food, and clothing, or paying one of the street kids to deliver it for him. They also made sure everyone knew how to reach him, and that they were welcome to, either by phone or by sending a message with one of the street kids.

While he was doing that, he set up security details to ensure the safety of the working girls and boys, and to make sure no one caused problems in any of the brothels. They got to know each of them while he was at it, and made sure to help anyone there unwillingly get home. If someone was selling their body he wasn’t going to judge, by they weren’t going to allow anyone to force someone into it.

The security details soon expanded to cover stores in the area, as well as designated safe zones for drug deals or other drop offs to take place, and patrols to replace the corrupt or absent cops and heroes, and enforce their rules. They also took over patrols, both enforcing the rules and making sure that the enforcers were sticking to the rules themselves. If you hurt or otherwise harmed a child, or messed with the people he protected, you were not welcome in Death Row.

The gang members, especially the ones on the security details, had adopted the black roses from the upper arms of Nightshade’s leather jacket as their new gang symbol, and soon enough they became known as ‘The Roses’.

Just protecting their people wasn’t all they did though. After all, this had all started with him lending a helping hand. With their new resources, they started setting up soup kitchens and shelters, affordable and subsidized housing, affordable daycare, rehab centres, after school programs, funding the school, and investing in businesses members of the community wanted to start.

Nightshade never stopped patrolling though, ever after he started school. Each afternoon and every night, they’d go out and make they knew everyone they were protecting, made sure everyone was safe.

They made sure no one was forgotten.

[leam1983]

Stupidity

Today's a Sunday, I usually don't take work calls on weekends, but Walter rang me up as a heads-up, telling me one of his underlings would call me in a few minutes, sounding... excessively panicked.

So, we've got morons in the Sales force that attended a concert Friday night and kept their phones in the outermost pockets of their backpacks. Someone with an Exacto knife and a few rolls of tinfoil went to work while they stood in front of their seats, noticing absolutely jack squat.

"We've got contacts on speed-dial!" says the douchebag. "We can't lose 'em!"

I sigh. "And you never thought to export your address book in CSV format?"

A long silence. "What's a CSV?" I beat back the urge to strangle them over 5G network coverage.

"You're running an Android. With a little luck, Google will have a reasonably recent image of your phone in stock. Get yourself a burner, reconnect using your Google creds and you should be able to recover your address book. Past that, for the love of shit, export it once a month."

From contrition, he moves to curiosity. "So where's my phone now?" I mostly just blow a raspberry and steer my mental map of the world towards Shenzhen, China, and particularly towards a small neighbourhood that's within twenty minutes on foot of Apple's Foxconn factory, which is known to take local and small-scale contracts on top of Apple's. Think refurbing Androids to sell on Wish, for instance. A neighbourhood that, notably, has a handful of iPhone repair and resell shops that everyone who's either watched Strange Parts or tried to hack an iPhone knows about. Foxconn's had a hard time of late, and some middle managers were caught running smuggling rings for prototype builds or B and C-grade installs that would easily get lost in the shipment volumes.

"Long story short, my guess is your phone is currently wrapped in tinfoil and stuck at the back of something inoccuous, like a shipment of clothes or furniture headed for China. Within a week, you'll find its gutted corpse across seven or eight Pixel 6 refurbs, all of them tied to Chinese IMEIs."

He's obviously flustered. "Why would they do that?"

I try and verbally convey a shrug. "Microelectronics are a bitch to source, thanks to the pandemic and Ukraine, among a few other factors. Why wait a month for a handful of factory-new Google-designed cameras when you can swipe used ones at the cost of something as annoying as Western laws?"

[thatfreakything]

Dark Sorcerers Don’t Laugh

(So I’m exhausted and I’ve been going through some ~family issues~ but I live and here’s a fic that I finished a couple of weeks ago. I’m still not doing too hot, so I don’t know if I’ll post anything else for a while, but I’m technically okay and I’ll probably still write on and off for the next few weeks. On a lighter note, I actually really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you all like it!)

Warning: This is a tickle fic, and I run a SFW tickle-themed blog. NSFW are more than welcome to read, but please do not reblog if you are primarily kink themed blog. Thank you for respecting my boundaries.

Fandom: Cookie Run: Ovenbreak (can apply to Kingdom as well)

Ship: Pre-romantic(?) Licorice x Herb

Characters: Lee!Licorice, Ler!Herb

Words: 3106

Potential Warnings: I see Dark Enchantress as a pos but she’s only talked about, not physically there; mentions of kidnapping (but once again, no action)

"Stupid Dark Enchantress, sending me on this dumb tracking mission…"

Licorice was not having a good day. His normally-respectable boss, Dark Enchantress, had called for him earlier that day. She said she had an "important mission" for him -- but he felt that any old subordinate could have pulled this off. He was meant to track down someone named Gingerbrave, as he had been in contact with some hero-types lately and could have some valuable information. A simple fetch quest -- how insulting. Licorice couldn't believe it! He'd shown so much dedication to the Enchantress, hoping that she would throw him a bone and treat him like a proper employee, and he'd put so much effort into even the smallest of assignments (though he often screwed up). But apparently, he just wasn't good enough.

Well, fine then. He didn't need her anyway! It's not like she would even notice if he quit.

But...for as much as he didn't want to say it, he did need Enchantress. She'd given him purpose, for as twisted as it was, and he needed to help her see all of her plans to fruition. That was the deal, and if he didn't complete his own duty, then he'd be regarded as a coward. He was at an impasse.

He thought for a moment as he walked, trudging his feet in the dirt. His adversary, Pomegranate, had received a much better quest than him -- she was going to spend the next week designing weapons and writing spells to make Enchantress' forces even stronger. Just thinking about it made Licorice green with envy. He could do impressive things, too! He just had to prove himself, and with the slim opportunities he was getting, he'd have to go above and beyond.

What if, instead of simply interrogating this Gingerbrave guy, he kidnapped him instead? Then he'd bring him back to Enchantress, and she would not only be proud of Licorice's accomplishment, but she'd also have a potential new underling. If anything, that would put Licorice above someone else, and he'd get closer to being Enchantress' favorite! The sorcerer snickered deviously -- all part of his master plan. That'd show all of them! He felt powerful just thinking about it.

That is, until he tripped and tumbled into someone's garden.

"Agh! What the--?!" Licorice growled with annoyance, muttering curses to himself while trying to stand. Unfortunately, whatever kind of plants these were had long and thick vines, and the more he struggled, the more tangled he became. "What kind of maniac grows something so frustrating?!"

"Oh, my goodness, are you alright?" a sweet voice called out. Licorice flinched and looked up, making eye contact with a young and adorable gardener.

He was very sweet-looking -- that was the first thing that Licorice noticed. His hair was soft and a light green color, and he had a tan skin tone. His clothes were simplistic and modest, and he was slightly covered in dirt. He looked concerned, and Licorice realized that he must have stumbled into this person's garden in particular. "So this one is responsible for these stupid vines," Licorice thought.

"Yeah, I'm...fine." His response wasn't convincing in the slightest, but what else was he supposed to say? "I just...fell and got stuck, I guess. Stupid things..."

"Do you want some help?" the gardener asked, holding his hand out kindly. Licorice sneered.

"I'm fine," the sorcerer repeated, struggling but remaining tangled. "I can handle it. But while you're here, do you know anything about a guy named Gingerbrave?"

The plant lover did not respond right away. He stared at Licorice, clearly studying him and trying to figure out his motive. Licorice glared back -- he knew this soft boy probably wasn't going to tell him anything, but it was worth a shot. What could go wrong?

"I...don't know much about who you speak of," the gardener answered finally, "but I might be able to point you in the right direction. Just let me help you get free, first."

Licorice rolled his eyes impatiently. "Fine. Make it quick, alright?"

The kind man nodded and knelt down, working to gently untangle the vines. "My name's Herb, by the way. What's yours?"

"None of your business," the sorcerer grumbled rudely, tapping his foot and letting Herb do what he needed to. This wasn't a horrible setback, but it was still a waste of time, and this made Licorice angry. The sooner he got out of this jungle that could barely be called a garden, the better. He had an evil plan to put into motion, and being slowed down wasn't helping him at all.

"Ah, hold on, there's a really big knot right here...might take a little while," Herb pointed out.

Licorice groaned. "Why don't you just get some shears and-- AAH!" The spellcaster jerked in surprise at the very sudden feeling of fingers on his rib cage. They weaved underneath the vines and wiggled around, making him clear his throat and look away. "L-look, just hurry up!"

"Of course. I'm going as fast as I can without hurting you or my plants," Herb explained, continuing to prod around Licorice's torso and make him twitch with suppressed mirth and embarrassment.

There was no "big knot," really. Just one small vine curled around Licorice's torso. It could be undone easily, if Herb found the end of it. But, of course, Licorice didn't need to know that. He was clearly up to no good, with the way he'd been muttering and sneaking around before tripping into Herb's precious garden, and then he'd asked about Gingerbrave. Herb was a generally trusting person, but he wasn't stupid, and he'd never sell out one of his friends. So for now, he'd distract this mysterious stranger, and then he'd send him on his way.

Apparently, though, his "untangling" method was yielding some interesting results.

Licorice was trying to cover up his reactions, and he was failing miserably. He wasn't laughing (yet), but he was still flinching at every little poke that Herb gave to his torso. He bit his lower lip in an effort to hide a growing smile.

"Are you okay there?" Herb asked after a few moments. His voice was kind, but with a slight air of amusement to it -- it made Licorice's ears go red.

"I-I'm fine!" the sorcerer snapped, though it sounded more like a squawk in execution. He tugged at the vines on his wrist -- Herb hadn't undone them yet, and he was still stuck.

"You've been saying that a lot, and I'm starting to think it's not true," Herb hummed, deciding to use Licorice's nerves to his advantage. The gardener started by poking more strategically, testing the waters -- he first counted a few ribs, and then he went in between them for good measure. Then he walked his fingers up and down Licorice's side. The smothered giggles were absolutely worth it.

"Y-yohou're doing that on puhurpose!" Licorice whined, trying to seem annoyed. Herb simply chuckled at him.

"I don't really know what you're talking about -- of course I'm purposefully trying to untangle these vines." Feeling a little more playful, Herb gave a few soft pokes to Licorice's underarms (this earned a not-so-quiet squeak), and then he went a bit rougher by tweaking Licorice's lowest rib.

"GAHA--" Half of a cackle escaped the sorcerer before he clamped his mouth shut out of embarrassment. Herb smiled at him sweetly.

"What's so funny?"

"N-nothing!" Licorice blurted, looking away from the gardener and wishing that he could hide the smile that he was failing to force down. He had to make it through this -- he was not going to be humiliated by some simple, random man that he had stumbled across on this stupid mission.

"Nothing?" Herb confirmed with a soft chuckle. "But you laughed."

"I did not," Licorice responded indignantly, having a sort of 'how dare you' tone. "I'm a sorcerer, and a powerful one too. Dark sorcerers don't laugh."

"Oh, really?~"

At the sudden mischievous tone, Licorice went bright red and gulped. He'd made a challenge, he realized, and that would likely be the death of him. He didn't get another chance to protest before Herb started kneading at his stomach, making him break out into surprised guffaws.

"BAHAHA, WAHAHAHAIHIHIT! NAHAHAHA!"

Herb smirked slightly, still kneading gently as well as he could through Licorice's cloak. It didn't really seem to protect the sorcerer much, though -- he was already cackling, and Herb couldn't tell if it was from the tickling itself or the built-up tension.

"GEHEHET OHOFF OF MEHEHE!" Licorice protested, kicking his legs and reaching to try and pull his hood over his face. Why, of all things, did it have to be this?! It didn't hurt him, physically or mentally, but it was embarrassing -- his laugh was loud and he hated it, and he was more ticklish than he'd ever care to admit. He couldn't tell what was worse -- the idea of any of his coworkers finding out about this, or having this weakness exploited by a random cute guy.

"But why should I? I'm helping," Herb teased. The growl that Licorice tried to respond with lost its thunder as it was swallowed up in his laughter. He started to object and declare that he was not, in fact, helping -- but then he noticed that the gardener had started kneading with only one hand, and he was moving the vines around Licorice's legs. Of course. The sorcerer pouted a bit, trying to regain his composure and squirming away from Herb's ticklish touch.

After a little while, the kneading stopped, allowing Licorice to catch his breath. He whispered a few not-so-subtle curse words, and he eyed Herb carefully as the other worked around his calves and thighs.

"Are you doing okay there?" Herb asked, looking up and meeting Licorice's gaze. His expression was genuine, and the sorcerer could only respond by averting his gaze with a flustered grumble. Herb chuckled a little. "Alright, good."

The gardener began working to unwind a rather thick vine, which was curled around Licorice's thighs and knotted with other vines in some places. This one was going to take a while. Herb sighed and started by untangling the knots -- they were all tight and close to Licorice's legs, so they were hard to work with.

But as he worked, his fingers brushing against Licorice's legs, the sorcerer flinched at each little touch. He glared at Herb, but this proved to be a bluff as his shy smile began to creep its way back onto his face. "Cahan you go any faster?!" Licorice snapped in an effort to hide his rising giggles.

Herb didn't seem to be threatened, and he instead raised an eyebrow at Licorice with a teasing smile. "Don't tell me you're ticklish here, too."

The sorcerer's face had to be completely red at this point. "I'm n-nohot!" he huffed, jerking his legs away. His heart skipped a beat when Herb grabbed them back and clawed gently at the tops of his thighs. "W-wahahahait! Thahat's nohot fahahahair!"

Herb giggled a little to himself, clearly enjoying this. He continued to work at the knots, but he would periodically pause to scribble at Licorice's sensitive legs, keeping the poor sorcerer in stitches. Though his laugh was much less loud here, his thighs were a worse spot than his stomach (and he was grateful for Herb remaining gentle this time). And even though it was quieter, his laugh was still humiliating. Thankfully, Dark Enchantress and Pomegranate had never seen him like this -- he didn’t know what he’d do if that happened.

"You're adorable," Herb murmured, not realizing he'd said it out loud. Licorice just about died, sputtering and staring at Herb indignantly. ADORABLE?! He was not adorable! How dare this random gardener call him that?!

"E-excuse you?!" he retorted. "I am not adorahahaAHAHA WAHAHIT WAHAIT NOHOHO!" The sorcerer was cut off by sudden clawing at his ribs, another one of his bad spots. "YOHOHOUHU--!"

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Herb asked nonchalantly, unable to hide his smile as he went up and down Licorice’s rib cage. He wiggled his fingers in the spaces in between the ribs, making Licorice throw his head back with laughter, and then he began to count from the top ribs down to the bottom, one by one. It drove the sorcerer absolutely mad.

“CUHUHUT TH-THAHAT OHOHOUT!” he whined, trying not to lose himself in the mirth. He couldn’t stand this! A random cute boy, whose garden he had fallen into, was somewhat trying to help him, smiling at him sweetly, and tickling him to the point of tears. Was he dreaming? That was the only possible explanation for something that was so humiliating.

“Oh, I will! And I’ll get you free pretty soon, don’t worry,” Herb said reassuringly, patting Licorice’s head with one hand and thoroughly confusing him. “But I’m enjoying myself right now -- it’s not every day that I get an adorable stranger tangled in my plants -- and you seem to be enjoying this yourself, too!”

What?! Impossible. There was no way that Licorice was enjoying this! It was far too demeaning to be likeable in any way...wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Licorice was...leaning into the touch, or...wishing it would never end...

It wasn’t often that he got much affection anymore. He got along with a few of his coworkers, his fellow servants of Dark Enchantress, but the others made his life increasingly difficult. He and Pomegranate didn’t talk to each other if they didn’t have to, and both of them were fine with that arrangement. And as for Enchantress herself, she was very...authoritarian. Licorice was devoted to her, yes, but that didn’t make her any less annoying when she assigned him stupid missions like this or repremanded him for little things. But that was fine -- she was an evil overlord, and that was her job. He was fine with that. He could live like that.

Right?

His thoughts were rudely interrupted as Herb brought his hands down, squeezing at Licorice’s sides and then at his hips. This made the sorcerer squeal and buck before breaking into an endless string of giggling. “W-wahahait! N-nohohot th-theheheherehee! Heheherb!”

Herb melted at the adorable tittering, and he was absolutely enamored with Licorice’s giddy smile and rose-colored blush. He continuously switched between squeezing and clawing for Licorice’s hips to keep the giggles coming, and his efforts rewarded him with a few snorts. “You’re so cute!~” he cooed, smiling down at the sorcerer (who whined at him in response).

“Nahahahat cuhuhute! Nohohoho! Ehehehehe!” Licorice forgot about struggling and began to worry only about hiding his face -- he was so embarrassed that he thought his heart was going to explode. Herb had discovered all three of his worst spots (right after the other, no less), and he was still tangled in those dumb vines that were keeping him there. He didn’t know what to do, and he’d given up fighting back his laughter, so he decided to just sit there and take it. It wasn’t like he minded much, anyhow.

“Well, I think you are!” Herb argued back with a smile, slowing to a stop. Licorice was starting to hiccup, and Herb didn’t want to go past his limit. Once he stopped, he let the sorcerer catch his breath and went back to working at the vines. There wasn’t much left -- just the ones around his arms now.

It didn’t take long for Herb to finally untangle the last few vines, and he slipped them off with ease. Licorice was still catching his breath with a few stray giggles escaping now and then, so the gardener ran off quickly to fetch a bottle of water. When he returned, Licorice was a bit more stable, and he took the bottle gratefully. He drank quite a bit before stopping and looking up at Herb.

“W-what...the hell...was that for?” he managed to ask. Herb smiled at him and patted his head again.

“Well, like I said, I don’t get many cute strangers around here anymore,” the gardener explained, earning a quiet embarrassed groan. “But also, I saw the way you were sulking earlier, all angry and mumbly. They say laughter’s the best medicine, so I thought I’d try to cheer you up while untangling you!”

Licorice was quiet for a few moments. Cheer him up? Why? Perhaps it was better not to ask and just accept it. He tugged his hood lower in one final effort to hide his shyness.

“T-thanks, or...whatever. Now can you give me some directions?” he asked impatiently. He wanted to complete his mission quickly.

“Oh, of course!” Herb stood up, helped Licorice to his feet, and then pointed off in the distance (which was the completely wrong direction, but once again, Licorice didn’t need to know that). “You’re gonna want to go that way, as far as you can reach. I’m not sure if the guy I’m thinking of is who you’re looking for, but that’s what I remember.”

The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “Alright. I’ll be on my way then.” He started to leave, then paused. “Maybe I’ll...see you again on my way back.”

Herb chuckled a bit. “Let’s hope you don’t get tangled up in my garden again if you come back. Safe travels!” He waved as Licorice began to leave, content, but also hoping that his friends would be safe.

Licorice walked onwards. He was still jittery from the encounter, and he was watching his footing a lot more closely now, but he was...oddly calmer. He was in less of a ranting mood, and he was much less tense than he had been earlier in the day. Maybe the encounter was a good thing for him -- but of course, he’d never admit that to anyone. He tried to get his head back in mission-mode, but it was hard when all he could think about was Herb’s teasing and that stupid, sweet smile of his. What gave him the right to be so cute, anyhow?!

The sorcerer sighed and continued to think on the matter. He likely wouldn’t be able to find this dumb Gingerbrave person, and even if he did, he’d likely fail in capturing him or getting any information -- he always failed, even when he tried his hardest. A crippling defeat would make Enchantress even more disappointed in him, and he already knew that he wouldn’t want to return to her for a couple of days. He’d need some way to relax, detense, unwind.

Maybe he would stumble into Herb’s garden again on his way back. On accident, of course. He wouldn’t mind.

[archerofthemists]

Phantom Pains

TW: Blood/severe injury/loss of limb/mentions of suicide

Sparring was a very common pastime at Evernight Castle. If they weren't out on an errand or mission given by Salem, then her followers may as well be keeping sharp in their skills. 

Watts preferred to work in his lab, designing weapons and other useful tools. 

Emerald and Mercury, being the youngest and seen only as Cinder's underlings usually only had one another to spar with. 

Althea, having only recently risen in the ranks, still trained with Tyrian, her former master and now partner. 

Hazel, with his size and strength, typically wouldn't fight against any of his "teammates". 

And then there were the Grimm. Salem kept various breeds of them penned up for the sole purpose of training, but only Hazel and Cinder ever liked to use them for practice. 

However, ever since Salem had promoted Althea to her inner circle, the archer had felt the need to prove she was worthy of keeping the position. She had killed plenty of Grimm in her life, she'd gone to Beacon Academy for the God's Sakes. Killing the Grimm in her village had given her a spot in the damn school to begin with, to give her a chance to become a real huntress. 

Although, ever since she'd fled the school and had been living on her own, isolated and answering to no one, she hadn't had as many opportunities to fight Grimm. She'd had to save her energy, because she never knew when she would eat next, so she just did her best to avoid the damn things completely. 

But now that she had a purpose in her life again, it was time to get her head back in the game. 

Tyrian kept her on her toes plenty when he was still her superior. Surprise attacks right and left, whether he leapt down from the rafters onto her or hid under her bed at night, the man had had her looking over her shoulder constantly. 

Hazel was a behemoth that Althea had to beg to get him to spar with her and she was pretty sure he was holding back when he finally would give in. 

Watts didn't really fight, at least not in a style that was compatible with Althea's, but when he needed to test out a new weapon she was happy to play guinea pig for him. 

Cinder saw herself as "above" the rest of them, being a Maiden and she didn't like sharing her "disciples". 

So Althea began using Grimm for practice. She realized how rusty she was against the creatures, but it was any skill; you never really forget it. She had forgotten just how good she was at it though. But damn it...she never knew when to quit.

Taking on two Beowolves was a little ballsy to do by yourself, but Althea wasn't exactly alone. Hazel and Tyrian had grown accustomed to watching her when she practiced killing Grimm, out of the way and behind the safety of the pillars that supported  a balcony.

Tyrian, because he enjoyed the show and he was a little proud of himself for finding such a treasure as Althea. 

Hazel, because God's, there wasn't anything else to do around the castle at the moment. And plus he couldn't deny, the woman had skill and watching her certainly wasn't boring. He glanced down at his scroll and frowned; her aura was getting far too low, and one Beowolf was still alive and kicking. 

"She needs to stop." He glanced at Tyrian who looked almost mesmerized by his former disciple. "Her aura is almost gone. One of us should step in and finish it."

Tyrian waved the larger man off, not taking his eyes off the archer as she easily dodged the Beowolf's large paw as it swiped at her. "If she can't handle it then she will ask us for our help. Don't insult her abilities, Hazel." 

But Hazel grumbled softly and reached for the dust crystals in his pockets. "You shouldn't overestimate her abilities either just because you've got a crush." 

Tyrian's eyes flashed purple for a moment and his tail twitched. He growled to himself as he watched Rainart stab a couple of crystals into his biceps. "You just hate seeing people enjoy themselves, don't you?" The faunus sighed. 

"No, just when it's you. You're not denying the crush either, I see." Hazel remarked. 

Tyrian locked the man with a seething glare that would have made the average person shrivel up inside, but Hazel just scoffed. "Good, cause no one would believe you if you did deny it." 

He turned and stabbed his arms with the lightning dust, wincing only slightly as it spread through veins. "Althea! You're done, I'm gonna help you!" 

"I've almost got this!" She yelled before firing an ice-dust tipped arrow into the Beowolf's back legs, freezing it in its place. With a running start she used the Beowolf's back as a springboard to leap high into the air above it. 

Her plan was to deliver the killing blow from above - a dagger right through the Grimms eye as she had spent her last arrow immobilizing it. She had just grabbed the hilt, began to twist in the air, when the Beowolf had reared up on its frozen back legs and its jaw came down on Althea, taking her right leg in its teeth before falling back down on all fours, slamming her against the floor with the full force of its body. Her aura broke in an emerald swirl and she went rolling across the chamber floor. 

Most of her that is.

The two huntsmen were frozen in shock for a moment, gold and hazel eyes locked on Althea's motionless and bloodied body. 

Hazel was the first to snap out of it, the gnashing of the Beowolfs teeth as it swallowed the limb it had just torn asunder. It had broken the ice around its back legs loose and was completely free as the giant of a man began to charge it head on. 

When Tyrian began moving towards his fallen partner he didn't even realize it. His legs felt numb and yet they were still carrying him over to her crumpled, discarded body. 

The blood was everywhere, splattered and smeared on the chamber floor in morbid patterns that the faunus usually found pleasure in. 

 

The next thing Tyrian realized, he was running down the halls of Evernight, the dead weight of Althea bleeding out in his arms didn't slow him down in the slightest. 

It didn't completely register in the scorpions brain that he was running to Watts's office until he was bursting through his door. It was just purely instinct. Automatic. Where else would he possibly ever go?

The Doctor was at his desk, bent over some new contraption he was working on like always. His head snapped up at the intrusion, annoyance written on his face until he fully registered the scene standing in his door.

Tyrian covered in blood, cradling Althea's pale form, showing no signs of life. Where her right leg had been, was nothing but a bloody stub. 

"Help." It was the only word that left Tyrian's trembling lips, raspy and desperate. 

"Get her on the table. NOW!" Watts was on his feet, stripping off his jacket and tie as he helped Tyrian carry Althea into the small adjoining room that had been converted into a meager OR. However Arthur hadn't dealt with such a serious trauma in a long time and he'd certainly had more equipment, more help. His mind was racing as he tried to mentally inventory what he had, what he could use to save Althea's life.

"What the fuck happened?" Arthur pulled on a pair of surgical gloves with a loud snap, his emerald eyes surveying the damage.

"She...she was fighting Beowolves and…"

"More than one?!"

"Her aura was low and we thought she could handle it…"

Arthur sighed harshly as he gathered gauze and began to try and stop the bleeding of Althea's remaining leg. "You promised you'd never scare me like this again!" 

Tyrian could do nothing but stand and watch, his whole body beginning to tremble as he watched. He couldn't hear Watts yelling at him over the ringing in his ears.

"Tyrian! Tyrain, God dammit I need an extra set of hands!" Watts felt guilty for a fleeting moment as he tossed the box of latex gloves at the faunus. They bounced off his bloody chest but it did the job in snapping him back to reality. 

It was bloody awful work getting Althea's leg to finally stop bleeding. Once Watts was satisfied with her vitals and felt she was stable, he moved her into the tiny recovery room. Hooked up to various machines that would start screaming if her pressure bottomed out. 

So he gently led Tyrain into the adjoining shower and turned the water on, waiting for it to warm up. They were both covered in Althea's blood and Watts was tempted to just throw his clothes away, burn them maybe. He had plenty of other clothes.

Watts automatically began to help Tyrain out of his stained jumpsuit and harness, and the faunus didn't resist in the least. His body was still gently trembling and Watts hoped that this incident wouldn't scar him too deeply. He didn't know what Salem might do if her best weapon was permanently damaged like this.

In the back of Arthur's mind, he was already planning the schematics of a replacement leg for Althea and oh Gods...someone was going to have to inform Salem about what happened. How would she plan to punish Althea for this? Because she surely would.

"One thing at a time…"

He unbraided Tyrian's hair, finding more sticky dried blood in it as well. Steam was beginning to spill out of the shower so he gently helped Tyrian under the water before Arthur got undressed himself and joined him, knowing that Tyrian was in no state to bathe himself. 

For a good long moment the only sound was the hissing of the shower and Tyrian's occasional sniffle as he pulled himself back together and Watts scrubbed the blood out of his long hair.

"What did you mean earlier?" He finally asked, so softly that Arthur had to take a moment to be sure he had heard him correctly. 

"About what?"

"When you said that she had promised to never scare you like this again, what the fuck did you mean?" Tyrian turned around to face Arthur.

The Doctor was quiet for a long while, staring into Tyrian's golden, begging eyes. There was never any easy or kind way of saying it.

"A few months ago, Althea tried to kill herself." 

He watched his words take time to register completely on Tyrian's face. A choked off whimpering sound escaped his throat. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"She asked me not to. She didn't know what Salem might do to her if she found out. And now this…" Arthur sighed. "Gods why did she take on two Beowolves at once?" 

" She tried to kill herself…" Tyrian murmurs gently and Arthur could tell that he was on the verge of losing it all over again. 

So Arthur pulled him close against his chest and let him.

Everything was fuzzy. Her head, her vision, even her body felt fuzzy and disconnected. And her leg...God's her leg….

"Don't move too much." Arthur's voice. Althea felt his hand gently stroke her forehead and she tried to make her eyes focus on his face.

"What...hap'n…" 

"You had an...accident." Arthur sighed "Although that word doesn't seem appropriate for what happened...because it wasn't an accident was it?"

"I...I had it…" Her throat felt raw, everything ached except...why couldn't she feel her right leg?

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING." Arthur hadn't yelled at her like that in a long time. Althea was ashamed to admit that she flinched a little. 

"Arthur…" Tyrian's voice.

"You lost your leg, Althea!" She may have heard a quiver in his voice that time. She wasn't totally sure.

"Guess that explains why I can't feel it." Althea couldn't remember a lot about the incident. She'd been twisting in the air one moment and the next she was waking up here. She vaguely remembered Tyrian rushing her through the castle.

"You were careless, reckless and for what? You promised you would never do something like this again." Arthur's voice was a little steadier now as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed.

"I promised I wouldn't hurt myself again." Althea hissed as she hoisted herself up in the bed a little more, her vision clearing enough to see how upset her partners were. 

"And so you've gone and replaced it with reckless endangerment of yourself!" Arthur looked like he hadn't been sleeping. How long had she been unconscious? 

"It wasn't like that." Althea wiped the sleepy gunk from her eyes as she got her bearings.

Tyrian was curled in a small chair by her bed, wrapped in a comforter. He looked just as tired and drained as Arthur. God's, what had she done?

"I should have stepped in sooner." Tyrian sighed. "Hazel, the sentimental giant, warned me. We knew her aura was low and…"

"You just didn't know when to stop." Arthur sighs. "Or you were hoping to get hurt."

"I wasn't trying to get hurt! Damn it!" Althea looked down at the bandaged stubb that had been her right leg and she swallowed the lump building in her throat.

"Don't worry, I'm already designing you a new one." Arthur sighs.

"Don't. I don't deserve it." 

"Well you bloody well can't work for Salem on one leg, can you? And if you can't can't for Salem she'll kill you." Arthur stood up. "Although that's probably exactly what you want."

Althea watched him leave and she rested back in the hospital bed, keeping her tears at bay.

"I'm sorry." She finally murmurs to Tyrain. "I really didn't mean to…"

"I should have stopped you." Tyrian crawled out of the easy chair and up alongside her in the bed. "When your body got slammed into the ground I…" 

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I…" yeah keeping the tears at bay wasn't working very well. 

No, Salem had not been happy but she hadn't been nearly as angry as Watts had expected her to be.

Thankfully Hazel had been the one to tell her for the very first time, right after he'd finished off the Beowolf. Although, who the hell knew? She could act so calm and collected before the storm finally hit.

Watts had nearly had a heart attack one night when he'd gone in to bring Althea some dinner and Salem was right there, sitting at the foot of her bed and talking with her. It was an odd sight to say the least: a tall, ancient and immortal being just sitting there in the tiny recovery room. So out of place and somehow so horrifying. 

Apparently Salem had wanted to see how Althea was doing with her own eyes and it hadn't looked like she'd gone had hurt the injured woman in any way.  Perhaps Salem would see the loss of leg as enough punishment and leave it at that.

Tyrian hadn't left Althea's side once, getting her what she needed and Althea had started reading to him a lot to pass the time. Thankfully Salem hadn't sent him away on any missions. Arthur wasn't sure if the faunus would have been able to concentrate if she had.

Recovery was not going to be easy. Arthur had drawn the perfect schematics for a new leg and he had been coming and going from Evernight to trade for some of the parts he would need. 

Althea's phantom pains had started and were becoming almost unbearable. A mirror method had helped, but Arthur hoped that a new leg would do more good. Althea's balance on crutches was horrendous, and her ability to actually walk could be therapeutic in and of itself. 

Finally when he was satisfied with his work on the prosthetic, he showed it to her. Shiney and silver with green accents along the joints and toes and a small "W" engraved on the upper thigh. Watts always left his signature on what he created in one way or another. 

"The good doctor does such wonderful work doesn't he?" Tyrian mused as he looked the new limb over, his own shiney tail clicking behind him. 

Arthur smirked softly, he certainly didn't mind having his ego stroked. 

"I would have had this done sooner if you hadn't lost the leg above the joint." Watts sighs.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." Althea chuckles dryly. 

"There won't be a next time." Watts says firmly as he prepped the stubb of her leg. "Right?"

Althea smirked down at him and nodded gently. 

"Don't you dare ever scare us like this again. I mean it." 

[ddarker-dreams]

Round Them Up. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: kidnapping, canon typical violence, and some degrading language. word count: 3.4k.

A simple philosophy of budding romance is to keep date nights special. 

You’ve been told this for a long time, that the intimate experience between partners is always meant to be cherished. That with time, among other things, feelings start to change, or fade away all together. It’s a frightening aspect that you used to concern yourself with, the possibility of losing the spark that ignited passion within you in the first place. If these months dating Giorno Giovanna have taught you anything, it’s that these doubts were wrongfully planted. While he’s a busy man, he’s always gone above and beyond for your sake. Fancy dinners at the finest of establishments, picnics on the best private beaches of Italy, and even occasional trips to Milan or Rome. It isn’t the luxury that draws you to him like a moth to flame, but rather the enigma of a personality he brings. Every interaction with Giorno is imprinted on your mind. 

Charismatic, thoughtful, blessed with quick wit… your long list of admirations for him goes on. Humming lightly to yourself, there's an extra pep in your step as you take on the relatively mundane task of shopping. Shopping for clothes is usually one of your least favorite activities. Having to go in and out of dressing rooms, trying on multiple sizes of clothes just to find the one you need is out of stock, or the cashier pestering you into signing up for a credit card. The regular reservations that come with purchasing new clothes for your wardrobe are thrown out, as you’re too preoccupied looking forward to tonight. Giorno’s compliments of your person always feel so sincere, like every word has been designed only for you to hear. 

Tonight will be no different, an event marked on your calendar for the last month.

A romantic, seaside dinner. For the special occasion, you’re wanting to look the part. Feeling over the fabric underneath your fingertips, you inspect every item on the rack with potent interest. Keeping in mind the most flattering cuts for your body type, and the colors that complement your hair and complexion, multiple possible outfits are piled up one after the other. It’s difficult to fathom that you’ve already been in this store for a little over an hour, still undecided. Store clerks have come and gone, most trying a little too hard to keep you pleased. Finding their hovering around your person stifling, you managed to make your way around the store in hopes of avoiding further confrontation. It doesn’t strike you as strange how you haven’t seen anyone around lately, really. It’s not that busy a time of day, you believe.

“This should just about do it.” 

Hoisting up the tentatively picked selection, you make your way towards the back to try them on. When making your way over, you hear your phone buzzing, and look down to see who it is. There’s no fighting the smile that blossoms on your lips at the sight of Giorno’s name popping up on your screen, your phone background a picture of the two of you baking together. There’s flour smeared over his cheek, a result of your doing. Calling back fondly on the memory, your heart leaps in your chest at the chance to talk to him, if even for a brief moment. Sliding to unlock your phone, while balancing your clothes in the other arm, you see he’s asking about your day. 

A heavy set of footsteps saunter towards you, like a foreboding omen. 

“You must be real happy talking to whoever that is, huh?” A gruff voice catches your attention, and you look up to see an older looking man. He’s of intimidating stature, having broad shoulders, towering over you by at least a foot, accented with a navy suit. By his side are two men in a similar get up, all glowering down at you as if you were a speck of dust. You look around to see if it’s really you he’s speaking to, a spine chilling sensation trickling down your spine. There’s not a single soul in the store, other than the four of you. Not even the cashiers are at their station, the employees that were once buzzing about having vanished in thin air. 

There’s some malicious forces at play here. You need to get out of this, as soon as you can. 

Gulping, you subconsciously take a step back, pressing your phone to your chest. “Uh, I’m sorry… but can I help you…?” 

You cringe at how your voice wanes, not wanting to showcase your helplessness if you could help it. At your further prying, no information is offered. Time is set to a standstill, every passing second feeling more sluggish than the last. The main figure of the group regards you with little warmth, grabbing a picture from his breast pocket. He looks from the object in his hands to you, scrutinizing every detail. Never have you felt so small, so powerless. Whatever is going on here is sending alarms off in your head, a nasty premonition of things to come churning your stomach violently. 

“Now, listen to me real carefully. I don’t fancy the thought of messing up a pretty face like yours,” he opens the inside of his jacket, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a handgun. You almost faint at the not so subtle message. “Follow me without any fuss, and you have my word no harm will come to you.” 

Your eyes dart around, searching for help that you’ll never find. Nausea and dizziness are cumbersome, rolling over you like crushing waves. You don’t know what to expect, all you can assume is that this won’t end well. Not trusting your tongue to form the words necessary to prevent the situation from getting worse, you nod your head once. The skin underneath his eyes tighten in mirth, pleased with your subservience, waving off the men behind him. He steps over, gesturing for you to join him by his side. Heart thrown into a frenzy against your ribcage, you’re amazed by how a simple task such as walking grows borderline impossible. Your phone is taken from you in the process, the chance of being tracked through that method now lost. He said that if you came along easily, you won’t be harmed, but why should you believe him? There has to be some way out of this.

The intermingling of speech between the group surrounding you gives the opportunity to look around, having spotted a series of hallways that are fire exits. Your main objective would be avoiding any possible gunfire, the cover these hallways bring the best and possibly only opportunity at an escape. You hold your breath, worried that any change in your breathing might be an indication of your hastily put together plan. With all your strength, you pivot on your heel, fully intending to run to cover. You make it a few paces, a sharp pain in your wrist preventing you from making it any further. A pained noise leaves you at the sudden jolt of pain, the joint being twisted painfully. Too taken with the ringing of your ears to notice their reprimanding words, you’re tugged along roughly. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, dark bruises forming alongside the rapidly swelling skin. To make matters worse, the vice-like grip remains, since they no longer trust you not to make an escape attempt. 

Where the stranger walks, you follow in admitted defeat, wanting to alleviate the pain of your wrist. He leads you out the back of the store, many men in similar outfits standing against walls, or slithering in the background. A black car with tinted windows is your final destination. It’s pulled against the curb, the unknown man opening the door for you both to enter. Your nose crinkles at the aroma in the car, a combination of heavy cologne and cigarette smoke. Other cars follow in a single line behind you, the engine roaring to life. It makes you jump, your nerves frayed. There’s too much on your mind to pin down a single question, the tenderness of your fresh injury not helping in that regard. Having a plan to grasp onto, even if it’s a fallible, would be preferable to this. For now, you will yourself through the anxiety that plagues you to search for a solution. 

Once the car has taken off, he looks over to you, frowning at your limp hand. “You look scared outta your wits, little miss. Let’s see… that means you must really know nothing.” 

Now that you’re seated, the time to gather scraps of information has presented itself. This man isn’t a fellow Neapolitan, holding an accent reminiscent of northern Italy. From the few orders exchanged to what you presume to be his underlings, the dialect could possibly be Tuscan. What would people from there ever possibly want with you? It’s a prayer that may never reach the ears of god, but you pray they’re not taking you somewhere that far away. The best case scenario would be somehow escaping when the car is moving before it reaches the highway, but the car door is locked. Is smashing the window possible? It looks thick, likely bullet proof. There has to be a better opening. Your last escape attempt left much to be desired, but it was a knee jerk reaction. At least they didn’t open fire on you, but would you be so lucky for the next try?

Returning your attention back to the stranger, you immediately regret it. He’s wiping dried crimson off his hands with a handkerchief, staining the cloth. The sight answers the question from before, now certain that bloodshed isn’t one of the cards off the table. The pungent, metallic scent is undeniably blood, fresh one at that. Bile rises to your throat at the sight, hurriedly looking away as if it’d erase the nightmare that you’ve seen. Adrenaline continues pumping through your body, a momentary reprieve from the pain your wrist injury has brought. 

Your wandering eyes must have been too much of a giveaway, the man next to you letting out a humorless laugh. “This? I have to admit, Don Giovanna’s men aren’t easy to rid of. I was expecting more of a security detail around his prized passera. Though, seeing as you’ve been kept in the dark, keeping too many men around you might be suspicious.” 

There’s a certain bloodlust in the man’s gaze when he speaks Giorno’s surname, that chills your soul. The facades of a polite gentleman fade away, replaced by the spitting image of a mobster. His semantics in referring to you leave much to be desired, though the misogynistic language is the least of your concerns. Holding onto the lackluster set of information at your disposal, you take a wild stab in the dark at what could be happening here. While you’ve never intermingled with the mob, it’s not an uncommon tactic of obtaining wealth. Fleeting as it may be, some people go into crushing debts, having made deals with the devil. 

Sitting up straight and setting your lips into a straight line, you project a more composed version of yourself. You don’t want to give away the depths of your fear. “I’m not sure what it is you want with Giorno… but if it’s a money related debt, please let me help with it. I don’t want him to be in trouble.” 

The mobster takes a second to register your unprecedented words, eyes widening. Does that mean you figured out what the motivation here is? This assumption is thrown out the window as he bellows over, incapable of masking his amusement. 

Cheeks flushing with indignation at how he sputters out a condescending laugh, you want nothing more than to assert yourself. If not for the possible repercussions for doing so, you’d have done it long ago. “Unless you’ve got hundreds of billions of lire in that purse of yours, that won’t work, I wouldn’t count on it. His no drug policy has cost us more than you could imagine.” 

The jargon in use here erases all doubts from your mind. There’s no denying the fact that this is somehow related to gangs, Giorno, or both. You’ve never meddled in your partner’s affairs. Never so much as blinking at an eye at the smooth explanations for his coming into wealth, not seeing the point in prying beyond the surface. The usage of Don had caught your attention earlier, though that can sometimes apply to wealthy or powerful men in general. A lump forms in your throat as you think more on the subject, arriving at the conclusion Giorno is involved in more than you ever anticipated.

---

“Are you sure about clearing the schedule for tonight?” Mista inquires, giving the pistol in his hand another glance over. He inspects every groove, having already familiarized himself with all aspects of the weapon. Checking to make sure it can work at all times is a necessity, seeing as he’ll never know when the time will come to use it. Giorno leans back into his chair, not paying immediate heed to the gunslinger’s concerns. He steals a glance down at his phone, still expecting to have seen a message from you by now. At the further absence of your response, he responds to Mista. 

“There’s nothing left to discuss. I’ve made my demands of them very clear.” Giorno fights back the urge to sigh, the weight of dealing with rebellious groups sadly nothing new. As long as their avenues of making money involve the drug trade, they won’t ever bend permanently, all of the promises naught but lip service. Not even long lasting Passione allies prove to be fully complacent. That was all before him, anyways, when they could operate without accountability. 

“We have enough evidence of their conduct. Niceties are no longer necessary.” 

Mista raises an eyebrow, catching onto the hidden intent laced within Giorno’s words. “So it’s come to that, huh? You’d think the stories of what happened to the former narcotics team would be enough to keep them at bay. It was brutal, right Fugo?” 

The aforementioned male fights the urge to roll his eyes, leaning against the hardwood of Giorno’s desk. While his role is more of an advisor to Giorno than Mista’s, he can’t help but express a similar sentiment. There likely isn’t a better option, having discussed and been promised dozens of times that the mafioso from Tuscany would cease their drug trades. Each time has proved a fruitless endeavor, the Don from the most prominent group in that area going through great lengths to hide his tracks of the grimy dealings. 

“But you know, Giorno… Enzo’s men won’t be taking kindly to being cut off,” Fugo pipes up, taking the opportunity to voice his own share of concern. “You’ve been giving them the cold shoulder for a little over a week. It’s only a matter of time until he figures out what’s going on, or worse… does something about it.” 

Giorno gives a look of recognition, having already thought of this. It’s undesirable to think about, but seeing how the day’s heading, he might have to cancel his plans for you tonight. “I’m expecting it, yes. It’s a shame how stubborn he’s been on the matter.” 

Fugo’s lips part, only to be interrupted by the door to Giorno’s study suddenly being flung open. Scrunching up his eyebrows at the impudent entrance of one of Passione’s underlings, all words of admonishment disappear when spotting what’s unmistakably your phone in the guard’s hands. The room goes dead silent, Giorno standing from his spot and walking over to inspect your belonging. In the world they live in, this is a threat, most likely relating to the very topic the three of them were just discussing.

“When did this show up?” Giorno takes your phone into the palm of his hand, Mista and Fugo leaving their own spots to do the same. The guard is flushed, out of breath, most likely having run from the entrance of the villa to this spot. Even under the immense pressure this brings, Giorno’s tone remains an even timbre. Fugo spots the slightest of shakes in his fingers, eyes moving back to the guard for the sake of Giorno’s privacy. It’s affecting him on some level, but he knows Giorno; and how he deals with stressors like this. 

“J-just now, sir,” The guard explains in a frenzy, chest heaving for air. “We lost contact with [First]’s escorts about five minutes ago, I already sent out men to the last known spot she was seen at.” 

Giorno’s lips twitch downwards in evident displeasure, lips pursed. This misfortune of human error will be addressed at a later time, when he knows you’re safe. “Why was I not alerted sooner?” 

“We thought it might be a technical issue--”

Your phone has already been imbued with life, morphing into a butterfly from the usage of Gold Experience’s ability. Giorno strides past the bewildered guard without care, Fugo and Mista following soon after him. Fugo reaches down into his pocket, procuring a set of car keys, seeing as Giorno’s set on walking towards the garage. For once, neither he or Mista offer any quips to lighten the situation. Their knowledge of your relationship with Giorno is fuzzy at best, morally obscured at worse. Fugo’s turned a blind eye to the private life of his Don, not wanting to dip into the rabbit hole. He’s seen enough to know you’re blissfully unaware of Giorno’s invisible touch in your life. 

Mista is the first to try and speak up. “We’ll get her back, Giorno.” 

“Of course.” The words are curt, borderline snappy. They make their way to one of his many sports cars, their attention set on the butterflies movements. Fugo notes how it’s heading north, further confirming the suspicion that you’re currently in the hands of the gangster group from Tuscany. Giorno receives a plethora of phone calls in the drive, ranging in information regarding the attack and your possible whereabouts. A group of cars with unmarked license plates were confirmed by some of the workers at the mall, who had been threatened into compliance. They gave rough descriptions that fit the bill of one of Enzo’s Capos. This feels deeply personal, cutting too close for Giorno’s liking. 

He had not been expecting such a brazen counterattack, operating with casualties in broad daylight is almost unheard of. A testament to their desperate mindset, if he had to guess. It’s true that they’ve been bleeding dry ever since he’s enforced the zero tolerance drug policy, not that there aren’t other options of securing wealth. The unsavory method is one of the easiest and most lucrative, before he was in charge that is. His mind goes to you, and the possibilities run rampant. 

Gold Experience can heal any physical wounds inflicted on you, but the mental scarring… that will be another issue entirely. 

Though, he’s certain that they won’t kill you. You’re too valuable a bargaining chip, but there are fates far worse than death. Thinking about it brings emotions to the surface he hasn’t experienced in a long time, flurries of malicious thoughts pointed towards your captors forming. They’ll meet a befitting death -- he’ll make certain of that -- but your well being is of the top priority. Giorno wills himself to remain in control, fighting off the shakiness that threatens to overtake him. The last thing he needs to do right now is allow his carefully crafted composure to slip, it would serve no one. 

He catches Fugo sending him the occasional glance, but thinks little of it. 

There’s a strong resolve unique to you, Giorno believes. He regrets not having placed tighter security on you, mentally drafting up ways to avoid a situation like this from ever repeating again. It’ll be a much more constrictive way of living, and while it pains him to think of you losing some freedoms, it’s all for the greater good. Having been so caught up in his personal feelings of allowing you the autonomy to do as you please is what led to this misfortune in the first place, a mistake he will not repeat. When you’re back in his sight, completely safe, he’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

You’ll come to understand it. 

[aion-rsa]

Scarface’s Tony Montana vs. Michael Corleone: Which Al Pacino is the Boss of Bosses

https://ift.tt/3haJ9K7

Scarface hadn’t been made when Pete Townshend’s 1974 song “The Punk and the Godfather” came out, but The Godfather certainly had. The Who’s anthem was a musical allegory about the rock scene, but the lyrics might as well be interpreted as a conversation between Michael Corleone and Tony Montana. Possibly right before they rumble.

Al Pacino played both men in both movies, and in each film, he begins the story as a punk. But in The Godfather, at least, he grows into the establishment. Michael becomes don. Tony was a shooting star on the other hand, one on a collision course with an unyielding atmosphere. Both roles are smorgasbords of possibilities to an actor, especially one who chased Richard III to every imaginable outcome. Each are also master criminals. But which is more masterful?

The obvious answer would seem to be Michael Corleone because he turned a criminal empire into a multi-billion-dollar international business, and lived to a ripe old age to regret it. Cent’anni, Michael. Tony Montana doesn’t live to see the fruits of his labor, but his career in crime is littered with the successes of excess.

Montana is a hungry, young, loose cannon, just like real-life’s “Crazy” Joe Gallo, who went up against the Profaci family in the street fight which Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola used as inspiration on The Godfather. Gallo stand-in Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo (Al Lettieri) did a lot of damage while he was trying to muscle in on Don Vito Corleone’s territory, selling white powder. Montana leaves a larger body count in the wake of his cocaine empire career. 

Scarface is Pacino’s film. The whole movie is about Tony Montana and his meteoric rise through money, power and women. The Godfather is a mob movie, crowded with top rate talent in an ensemble case, but it belongs to Marlon Brando. While Michael inherits the position by The Godfather, Part II, he shares Godfather roles with Robert De Niro there, and people come away feeling a little sorry for Fredo. Michael isn’t the focus of an entire film until The Godfather, Part III, and by then folks were only distracted by his daughter. Tony Montana owns the screen from the moment it opens until his last splash in the fountain under the “World Is Yours” sign. The picture was his.

Making Your Bones on First Kills

Pacino brings little of the wisdom of his Godfather role to Scarface’s title character. This is by design. Every crime boss has to make his bones. In mafia organizations, real and cinematic, the button men on the street are called soldiers. And every soldier has to go through basic training before they’re ready to earn their button. Michael gets assassination training from his father’s most trusted capo, Pete Clemenza (Richard S. Castellano) before he goes out to enjoy the veal.

Scarface doesn’t give us many details of the crimes Tony was involved in while still in Cuba, so he makes his cinematic bones executing General Emilio Rebenga in the American detention camp for Cuban refugees. The two scenes are polar opposites in all ways but suspense.

When Michael is sitting at the dinner table with Sollozzo and Police Captain McCluskey (Sterling Hayden), he lets Sollozzo do all the talking, easing him into comfort before pulling the trigger. Tony barely lets Rebenga get a whimper in during his first onscreen hit, which plays closer to an execution. Tony covers the sounds of his own attack with a chant he himself begins. It is a brilliant overplay, especially when compared to another scene that resembles The Godfather, with Tony killing a mid-level gangster and a crooked cop towards the end of Scarface. 

A major difference between the two roles is best summed up in a line Tony says in Scarface. He learned to speak English by watching James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart. Montana comes from the Cagney tradition of broad gangster characterizations. In The Godfather, Kay Adams (Diane Keaton) asks Michael if he’d prefer Ingrid Bergman. The young soldier has to think about it. This is because Pacino is miles removed here from Bogart, who played Bergman’s lover in Casablanca. Pacino’s two gangster icons approached their criminality differently, and Pacino gets to play in both yards.

Pacino remains on an even keel in the Godfather films, but gives a tour de force of violent expression in Scarface, which burns like white heat.

The Handling of Enemies and Vices

In Scarface, Pacino gets to be almost as over the top as he is in Dick Tracy. His accent would never make it past the modern culture board at The Simpsons, but he pulls it off in 1983 because he says so. Pacino bullies the audience into believing it. It’s that exact arrogance which makes us root for Tony Montana. We don’t want to be on his bad side. But the chilled reptilian stare of Michael Corleone is a visual representation of why Sicilians prefer their revenge served cold.

Michael is diabetic, and is usually seen drinking water in The Godfather films. Sure, he has an occasional glass or red wine, and possibly some Sambuca with his espresso, but Michael always keeps a clear head. Tony, not so much. He makes drunken scenes at his favorite nightclubs, and not only gets high on his own supply, but gets so nose deep in it he develops godlike delusions of superheroic grandeur.

Montana is impulsive, instinctive, and decisive. Tony kills his best friend Manny Ribera (Steven Bauer) immediately upon finding him with his little sister Gina (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio). Michael waits until his sister Connie (Talia Shire) is on a plane to Tahoe before he has her husband killed in a hit years in the planning. Later Michael hangs his head silently as the shotgun blast which kills his brother, Fredo (John Cazale), echoes in the distance.

Tony, meanwhile, continues yelling at Sosa’s right-hand man long after his brains are all over the automobile’s interior.

Clothes Make the Man

Tony is written to be charismatic. Even coked out of his mind, he’d be a better fit in Vegas with Fredo’s crowd than with wet blanket Michael in Tahoe. Tony sports white suits, satin shirts, and designer sunglasses. Michael accessorizes three-piece ensembles with an ascot. This isn’t to say Michael had any issues with getting somebody’s brains splattered all over his Ivy League suit. 

Designed by Theadora Van Runkle, Michael preferred dupioni silk. That’s smart. The dark navy wool chalk-stripe suit Tony wears in his death scene was designed by Tommy Velasco and carries the class of a tuxedo. It was after 6pm. What do you think he is, a farmer?

“I’m the guy in the sky, flying high, flashing eyes. No surprise I told lies, I’m the punk from the gutter,” Roger Daltrey belts out on “The Punk and The Godfather.” This is exactly against the no-flash advice Frank Lopez (Robert Loggia) tries to impart on his young protégé in Scarface. Tony was raised not to take any advice other than his own. He also ignores his consigliere’s advice on several occasions. When Manny reminds Tony the pair of them were in a cage a year ago, the rebel gangster says he’s trying to forget that, he’s going after the boss’ girl. 

“I come from the gutter,” Montana proudly contends. “I know that. I got no education but that’s okay. I know the street, and I’m making all the right connections.” 

By contrast, Michael attended Dartmouth College and then dropped out to join the Marines after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Michael is both intelligent and well-connected, loosely modeled on Joseph Bonanno and Vito Genovese. He also accepts the wisdom of his father, who most closely resembled “The Prime Minister” of New York’s Five Families in the 1950s, mafia boss Frank Costello.

The Better Family Man

Pacino’s Don Michael Corleone has access to all his family’s connections, stretching back to the old world. He learns to expertly pull the strings of powerful men, like his father did, but as he grew, he bent. Michael is friends with senators, meets with the President of Cuba, has money in the Vatican, and confesses his sins to a Pope. Michael was insulated throughout his childhood and criminal career. If Tony gets in trouble, he has to get out of it himself, or with the help of a handful of low-level operatives.

Michael is the family rebel, risking his life and getting medals for strangers. He also gets to be both the prodigal son and the dutiful son. He gets the fatted calf and pays the piper. He even tips the baker’s helper for the effort. Michael comes back to both of his families, crime and birth, with a vengeance. He is there for his father the moment he is needed. Michael is the better family man. Tony’s mother is ashamed of him, and he completely ruins his sister’s wedding. Michael’s family means everything to him, and while he still manages to lose them, he actually maneuvers his two families well over rough waters for a very long run.  

Tony Montana is the rebel’s rebel. Even before he tosses off his bandana at the dishwasher job to make a quick score, we knew. He was born bad, in the cinematically good way. This also makes Montana a natural at crime. In The Godfather, Michael has it in his blood as a Corleone, but has his heart set on college, a straight career, and a shot to bring his whole family into the American Dream, which for Montana only exists as a wet dream.

Tony never gets past the hormonal teenage phase of his love of America. He wants to love his new country to death. He is turned on by the dream. He wants to take it. Not earn it. No foreplay necessary, as he claims his latest victim’s wife as his own.

Managerial Skills

Michael is pretty good with his underlings, when he’s not having them garroted on the way to an airport or advising them to slit their wrists in a bath. He promises Clemenza he can have his own family once the Corleones relocate to Las Vegas. He lets Joe Zaza (Joe Mantegna) get away with murder as the guy he sets up to run his old territory in The Godfather, Part III. Michael doesn’t keep turncoats like his trusted caporegime Tessio (Abe Vigoda) around for old times’ sake, and he doesn’t suffer fools at all. It may seem he cuts Tom Hayden (Robert Duvall) loose a little fast, and without warning or due cause. But if he was a wartime consigliere, he would have seen it coming.

While Tony Montana may have a competitive and fast-tracked entry program for new workers (“hey, you got a job”), he’s also the guy who shoots his right-hand man Manny for marrying his sister. Tony exacts a brutal and dangerous revenge for the death of his friend Angel Fernandez in the Miami chainsaw massacre, but doesn’t lift a finger when his cohort Omar Suarez (F. Murray Abraham) is hanged to death from a helicopter by drug lord Alejandro Sosa (Paul Shenar). Michael does have a tendency to have his soldato kiss his ring, but he’s not entirely a .95 caliber pezzonovante.

Read more

Movies

Scarface: Where Tony Montana Went Wrong

By Tony Sokol

Movies

The Godfather Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone Proves a Little Less is Infinitely More

By Tony Sokol

One of the most important skills a boss must exhibit is how to delegate, and Corleone is a minor Machiavellian master at his delegation. He whispers orders from behind closed doors. Tony is more hands-on. The only reason he tells Manny to “kill that piece of shit” Frank is because he’s already humiliated his former boss into a shell of a real man.

Montana is in the trenches with his soldiers and sets standards by example. He shoots a guy on a crowded Miami street in broad daylight. Montana is a born triggerman and only reluctantly delegates the duty. He has 10 bodyguards when Sosa men raid his mansion fortress. He takes the invading force with one little friend, an M16A1 rifle with a customized grenade launcher. But it sure doesn’t help the employees getting murdered outside.

A Handle on Finances

We don’t know what kinds of criminal activities the Corleone family were involved in between 1958 and 1979. Still, Michael had proven himself a traditionalist and a bit of a prude, so he spends most of his career shaving his take from harmless vices and avoiding drugs, which he sees as a dirty business. But through whatever means, by The Godfather, Part III, Michael has earned enough capital to buy himself out of crime.

Michael gambles successfully on Wall Street, keeps the Genco olive oil company going, and invests in hotels, casinos, and movie studios. He’s got to be pulling in a billion dollars a year in legitimate business. He makes enough to pad the coffers of the Vatican, and his share of Immobiliare stocks pulls in another $1 billion.

Tony looks like he’s earning about $15 million a month. But it doesn’t look like he puts much stock in his future. He makes no investments, only purchases. His only visible holding is the salon his sister works in. But we also have to take into account that he built his empire from scratch. Michael inherited his. And while the head of the Corleone family can blackmail a U.S. senator with a tragic sex scandal, Montana fares no better than Al Capone with tax evasion.

Who Would Win in a Mob War?

Scarface is as violent as the 1932 Howard Hawk original. Blood is a big expense, and 42 people are killed in the 1985 film. It came out amid other over-the-top action blockbusters like First Blood and the contemporary reality of the South American drug trade. So, it would seem, the film has far more violence. But they are easily matched.

The Godfather has a horse’s head, Scarface has a chainsaw. Michael’s brother Sonny (James Caan) gets machine gunned to smithereens at the toll booth, Tony blows the lower limbs off his would-be assassins at a nightclub. Omar is lynched in a chopper, the upper echelon of the mob is taken out by helicopter fire in The Godfather, Part III. Tony and Michael each get to kill a cop.

Both mob figures survive assassination attempts. Michael loses his wife Apollonia in Sicily in a car bombing meant for him. He also avoids the trap Tessio sets at the meeting with Emilio Barzini (Richard Conte), on his turf, where Michael “will be safe.” Tony lives through his initial professionally ordered hit, as well as being saved by Manny from certain death by chainsaw.

While Michael Corleone is able to take care of Barzini, Victor Stracci, Carmine Cuneo, and Phillip Tattaglia – the leadership of the five families – at the end of The Godfather, Tony Montana can only put up a good fight. The Corleone family would win in a protracted war against Montana’s cartel, but there is a possibility Tony would have outlived Michael while the battles raged. Expert swordsmen aren’t afraid to duel the best in the field, but they’re scared of the worst. 

As far as crime tactics and strategic villainy, Michael Corleone plays a game of chess. Tony Montana plays hopscotch. He wins by skipping cracks in the street, but he only rises as far as the pavement.

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[somegirlsnerdywords2]

Anime i’ve Watched

That begin with a K (Part 2)!

Yep this is how i’m going to bring over all the anime and manga i’ve watched and posted about on the old blog. It’s not so detailed but it will have to do. Anything new I watch or read from this point on will have their own posts.

Karneval

Genres: action, fantasy, josei, mystery, sci-fi

Synopsis:  While in search of his precious friend, a young boy named Nai falls captive to a beautiful woman, whose looks are matched only by her taste for human flesh. Meanwhile Gareki, a clever thief, is in the midst of robbing her luxurious home. After causing a distraction, Gareki agrees to help Nai escape, but they are discovered upon the woman's return. As she transforms into a ghoulish monster, the boys flee. On the run, Nai and Gareki are found by "Circus," a government defense agency that deals with criminal activity too difficult for the police to handle and protects civilians from "varuga"—terrible monsters that devour humans for sustenance. In the hope that it will lead Nai to his missing friend, he and Gareki decide to join Circus. On their perilous journey, they face dangerous varuga and begin to uncover the secrets behind a shadowy organization known as Kafka. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2013 with a total of 13 episodes. 

My Thoughts: Love the character design and I was interested in the story but the series is far too short. I’d suggest you go read the manga (which is farther along) but it’s rarely updated so I can’t confidently say it’s worth the read. Your choice is read/ watch this and suffer alongside me with the lack of updates or erase its existence from your mind. Your call! 

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru (Run with the Wind)

Genres: comedy, sports, drama

Synopsis:  Former ace runner of Sendai Josei High School, Kakeru Kurahara is chased away from a convenience store for shoplifting. Shaking off his pursuer, he runs into Haiji Kiyose, another student from his university. Haiji is impressed by Kakeru's agility and persuades him to live in Chikusei-sou, the run-down apartment where Haiji resides along with eight other students. Having lost his entire apartment deposit at a mahjong parlor, Kakeru accepts the offer reluctantly. However, Haiji reveals a secret during Kakeru's welcoming party: the apartment is actually the dormitory of the Kansei University Track Club. He unveils his ultimate goal of participating in the Hakone Ekiden—one of the most prominent university marathon relay races in Japan. Unfortunately, all the residents apart from Haiji and Kakeru are complete running novices. Worse still, none of the inhabitants are even remotely interested in being involved with Haiji's ridiculous plan! With only months before the deadline, will the fourth-year student be able to convince them otherwise and realize his elusive dream of running in the Hakone Ekiden? [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 10/10

Finished airing in 2019 with a total of 23 episodes. 

My Thoughts: This was a masterpiece in my opinion, an anime I won’t soon forget and one of the best of its season without a doubt! Good stuff right here and not in a high school setting which is a change of pace for a sports anime! A very satisfying anime that I highly recommend. 

Kaze Tachinu (The Wind Rises)

Genres: drama, historical, romance, film

Synopsis: Although Jirou Horikoshi's nearsightedness prevents him from ever becoming a pilot, he leaves his hometown to study aeronautical engineering at Tokyo Imperial University for one simple purpose: to design and build planes just like his hero, Italian aircraft pioneer Giovanni Battista Caproni. His arrival in the capital coincides with the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, during which he saves a maid serving the family of a young girl named Naoko Satomi; this disastrous event marks the beginning of over two decades of social unrest and malaise leading up to Japan's eventual surrender in World War II. For Jirou, the years leading up to the production of his infamous Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighter aircraft will test every fiber of his being. From witnessing firsthand the growing antisemitism in Germany to fatefully reuniting with Naoko at a summer resort, his many travels and life experiences only urge him onward⁠—even as he realizes both the role of his creations in the war and the reality of the waning health of his beloved. As time marches on, he must confront an impossible question: at what cost does he chase his beautiful dream? [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8/10

A film released in 2013

My Thoughts: Beautiful and dreamy but not one of my favourite anime films unfortunately. Still very good though!

Kekkai Sensen

Genres: action, comedy, superpower, supernatural, vampire, fantasy, shounen

Synopsis:  Supersonic monkeys, vampires, talking fishmen, and all sorts of different supernatural monsters living alongside humans—this has been part of daily life in Hellsalem's Lot, formerly known as New York City, for some time now. When a gateway between Earth and the Beyond opened three years ago, New Yorkers and creatures from the other dimension alike were trapped in an impenetrable bubble and were forced to live together. Libra is a secret organization composed of eccentrics and superhumans, tasked with keeping order in the city and making sure that chaos doesn't spread to the rest of the world. Pursuing photography as a hobby, Leonardo Watch is living a normal life with his parents and sister. But when he obtains the "All-seeing Eyes of the Gods" at the expense of his sister's eyesight, he goes to Hellsalem's Lot in order to help her by finding answers about the mysterious powers he received. He soon runs into Libra, and when Leo unexpectedly joins their ranks, he gets more than what he bargained for. Kekkai Sensen follows Leo's misadventures in the strangest place on Earth with his equally strange comrades—as the ordinary boy unwittingly sees his life take a turn for the extraordinary. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: I recall this terribly sad episode that was an absolute masterpiece but to be honest the rest of the series didn’t leave much of an impression on me. I didn’t even bother watching the second season when it came out. Do what you will with that information.

Kenka Banchou Otome: Girl Beats Boys

Genres: action, martial arts, school, shoujo, TV short

Synopsis:  Kenka Banchou Otome - Girl Beats Boys, Hinako Nakayama has spent all of her life being raised in state-run orphanages, without ever knowing her family. As she's about to enter high school, Hinako is approached by Hikaru, a boy who claims to be her twin brother. According to Hikaru, Hikaru and Hinako are the children of the head of the powerful Onigashima yakuza family, and Hikaru wants Hinako to switches places with him at Shishiku Academy, an all-boys school overrun with the nation's toughest delinquents. Can Hinako save her brother, find romance, and become the new boss of the school? (Source: Crunchyroll)

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2017 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: Reverse harem style, tv short with a tomboy female lead. Not really long enough to leave much of an impression but fun enough if you have some time to waste. Surprisingly great art/ animation.

Keppeki Danshi! Aoyama-kun

Genres: comedy, seinen, sports

Synopsis:  He is charming, cool, athletic, a good cook, but more importantly, he's a clean freak. Aoyama is idolized and respected by everyone, but they can only admire him from afar due to his mysophobia. Despite that, he plays soccer—a rather dirty sport! As the playmaker for Fujimi High School's soccer club, Aoyama avoids physical contact at all cost and cleanly dribbles toward victory. However, the path to Nationals will not be easy for Fujimi's underdog team. But alongside striker Kaoru Zaizen, Aoyama will show everyone that even as a clean freak, there are things he's willing to get dirty for. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2017 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: comical with what I recall to be very little focus on the actual playing of sports which is a bummer if that’s what you’re looking for. It was alright but there are definitely better comedy (and for sure sports) anime's out there! 

Kill la Kill

Genres: action, comedy, superpower, school

Synopsis:  After the murder of her father, Ryuuko Matoi has been wandering the land in search of his killer. Following her only lead—the missing half of his invention, the Scissor Blade—she arrives at the prestigious Honnouji Academy, a high school unlike any other. The academy is ruled by the imposing and cold-hearted student council president Satsuki Kiryuuin alongside her powerful underlings, the Elite Four. In the school's brutally competitive hierarchy, Satsuki bestows upon those at the top special clothes called "Goku Uniforms," which grant the wearer unique superhuman abilities. Thoroughly beaten in a fight against one of the students in uniform, Ryuuko retreats to her razed home where she stumbles across Senketsu, a rare and sentient "Kamui," or God Clothes. After coming into contact with Ryuuko's blood, Senketsu awakens, latching onto her and providing her with immense power. Now, armed with Senketsu and the Scissor Blade, Ryuuko makes a stand against the Elite Four, hoping to reach Satsuki and uncover the culprit behind her father's murder once and for all. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

Finished airing in 2014 with a total of 24 episodes. 

My Thoughts: One of my top three favourite anime's of all time despite my not giving it a perfect score and the sole reason i’m such a Trigger fangirl despite the way they continue to disappoint me with each and every new release... Highly recommend! Fair warning there’s plenty of skimpy outfits and fan service which may turn some off but if you can get past it this really is an anime worth checking out. Great story, characters, music and style! A chaotic feast for the eyes and ears! I really should rewatch it... 

[creativedumpyard]

The Emperors Finest

// a small tribute to a long gone campaign

Shah looked upon his Warriors. He was proud of them. He loved them all. The Squad of the Khornate Astartes, lead by the madman Loup always willing the destroy and murder.

Idawask Liskis men were just as bloodthirsty, although they were able to follow more than just the simplest commands.

His eyes fixed upon the newest recruits of his small contingent of warriors. A man named Nemelek and his ramshackle bunch of Heretics and renegades alike. They still had to show their worth. The leader of their crusade, Grand champion Tissav Kak just recently send these men to his command. Shah smiled, his perfect white teeth shone. They would make a fine addition to his plans.

His right hand Apollius cleared his throat. Shah ripped free from his entangling vision of greatness and started to speak to his underlings. “Welcome, my brothers! Welcome to another day of the Siege of this godforsaken Planet. We have taken City by City. Fortress by fortress. Now only this bestial Walled City is between us, and the Victory we so dearly crave! Cindar shall be ours, claimed for the Dark Gods!” As he spoke of Victory, an almost predatory smile sneaked on his face. Only to be immediately to be extinguished and replaced by a more heartfelt version.  

“The grand champion, blessings on thy name, wants us to go in hard and fast. The main forces will be waiting in the north east, while we concluded a fast blow to the few remaining Void-Shield Generators! There will be resistance, but we assume that the most of them will be stationed closer to the North eastern gates.” Shah paused a moment. His Warriors seemed ready. “Loup, you will be going to head to the Gates. I have full trust in your ability to crush the resistance there. My personal squad and I will be behind you.” Loup and his bloody-red Men screamed and held their Chainaxes up high.

“Idawask, you will be going south over the wall. And the new Squad of brother Nemelek will be doing the same Maneuver in the east. All of you will be supplied Jump-packs for this Mission, but be careful not to damage them! We will start in about an hour, as soon as the Main forces resume the Shelling. Get Ready!”

He quickly punched his chest plate with his right fist and turned around. He still had some planning to do and no time to waste.

The gathering thinned. The Khornates were already running hot.

Nemelek turned to his newly assembled squad. He wasn't quite sure as what to make of his new position or the people he now lead into battle.  There was the Beautiful Blood Angel renegade Cassiel. He was an excellent fighter that used an giant Eviscerator. Most of his red Armour still had emblems of his past. Just his Aquila was scratched and painted over with a black Chaos-cross. Nemelek wasn't too sure about why Cassiel joined the forces of chaos, but he was eager to prove himself. He was more concerned about the slow Nurgle Marine and the Slaaneshi Swordsman with the Insane Eyes. While the Nurgle Marine Ogmha Inititium was a Psyker and thus was extremely effective in battle, he was way too relaxed and always seemed to take this Siege more as a personal Hike.

The Slaneeshi pledged Astartes was just quite the Handful. Flavian Charosean did not enjoy getting commands. He had a slight tendency to go off course if it meant his personal recreation. And one could only assume what that meant, coming from the Emperors Children and their Offspring. A long Whip made from a stiff, Fleshy substance protruded from his left forearm. It ended in sharp hooks and tiny blades. Sometimes it almost seemed to move too quick or too agile to be just a weapon.

The last one was Venatus. A Nightlord far away from his usual legion or tactics. So far he had proven somewhat reliable. Venatus already had a Jump-pack, a longer and slimmer design with numerous silver arcs of metal lightning engraved on it. While Nemelek witnessed what cruelties this man was capable of doing, he seemed content with sitting in the dirt and cleaning his Bolter for now. He cleared his throat.

“Get to the Armory, I want all of you ready and with a Jump-pack in half an hour!”

Flavian and Cassiel rushed off to get their hands on better quality Jump-packs. Ogmha was slowly walking in the general direction of the armory, completely ignoring time limits.

“Lucky that you already have yours, huh?”, Nemelek said to Venatus. The Nightlord stopped cleaning his rifle for a second but resumed without even looking up. Nemelek shook his head slightly and went to get himself an Jump-pack as well. He had seen how bad some of those were in shape and he didn't want his to fail mid flight.

Nemelek stood on a burned out Chimera Tank. From this slightly elevated Position he was able to see the City in its full might, the sprawling gun towers on the walls, the trenches dug up before and the tiny dots of busy commute in between that were the defenders. He turned to check if his squad was ready. All stood ready, equipped with the Jump-packs. Flavian was already getting bored and flinging is sword through the air.

“Squad! Move out!” Nemelek jumped down from the Wreckage and activated his Power fist.

Since their Mission was not to clear the trenches, they jumped over them using the fire from their jet-engines. The Human defenders were largely too shocked or too scared to shoot at them. But sometimes Laser beams or bullets darted in their general direction. Their short jumps carried them far over the battlefield in mere minutes. Soon after they arrived at the Wall. Massive overhanging gun nests opened fire on them. Before the Gunners had time to properly take aim, Ogmha stepped to the front and held up his staff. He gestured with the bony, nauseating excuse for a Wooden staff and a bubbling green shield of psychic energy surrounded them in an instant. Bullets and lazers bounced off or evaporated. Nemelek voxed to his squad, “Ogmha and Venatus you take take of the gunners on the wall. Flavian, Cassiel and I will jump over and secure the other side”.

As he flew high on his howling engines, Nemelek saw that the inner wall was spiked with stairs and ammunition cranes. Then came a street, broad enough to fit several tanks with ease. Behind the street were a few warehouses as well as small bunkers and living quarters for the less fortunate civilian. A few blocks to his right he could see an opening in the buildings. Another thick gray wall with ugly fortifications climbed up high.

The bigger street to his left was his landing spot. Cassiel landed a few meters in front of him, Flavian further to his left on a small house. In this exact moment more armed forces streamed into the street from the inner city. They opened fire just a few moments later. Laser beams darting all around the Space Marines as they ran into cover. “Cassiel, go right. Flavian, jump into their left flank!” He saw Cassiel's Helmet head turn in his direction and nod. The Man let his Eviscerator scream with blood lust and anger as he flew a short arc to meet the first of the attackers. Effortlessly parting body parts and killing two men that stood too close to each other in a single blow.

Flavian cackled as He swung his Whip up high, crashing it down into a soldier, freeing him of clothing and skin alike. His victim had no time to scream in agony before the long silver blade of the Slaaneshi split open his torso up to is nose.

Nemelek used his Bolter effortlessly. Splattering blood and entrails through the ranks of the advancing Soldiers. The shock of the attack let the Mortals forget about morale and discipline. They opened up their formation to flee into cover. Unfocused Las fire punched through the air around the advancing Astartes, but their ceramite armor deflected the shots. Not more than small smoldering chips in the paint was all that stayed.

The street emptied after the Soldiers dove into Cover. Nemelek was able to see the end of the street where now two Chimera Tanks drove around the corner. “Heads up! We've got Light Tanks ahead!”. His Vox alarm was not necessary as the tanks opened fire immediately. The mounted Heavy bolters posed an actual thread to the Astartes, as well as to any cover that wasn't solid enough. As Nemelek jumped behind a thick half high wall of Ferroconcrete the explosive Shells hammered into the Asphalt where he just stood. These tanks had a higher priority than any of the scared soldiers left behind.

Flavian Reached for his Plasma pistol. A thin cable connected it to his power pack. He felt the Bone and Mother of Pearl decorations on the Grip, the powerful thrumming of the coils. The last Artifact of his Past in the III. Legion. His Jump-pack roared as he flew directly into the small crowd of Soldiers behind some Wreckage that they had used as cover. A few swings with his sword and whip were enough to send half the group to the warp and the other fleeing in terror. His engines roared again and he jumped in a short curve directly at the one of the tanks. The Gunner was still aiming at Nemelek. Far too late he got aware of the danger the violet clad Marine posed. As the Gunner tried to rip the Turret up to meet the new target, Flavian aimed almost based on Instinct and shot his pistol. The searing hot ball of plasma burned the Man and his gun but not before one bolt shell exploded on his pauldron, ripping him around. Flavian crashed, loudly swearing, into the pavement. He jumped to his feet the moment the ramp of the chimera lowered itself and more Human soldiers ran out into the open. “Filth! How dare you shoot at ME?” He screamed at the top of his Lungs while charging forward. While the Imperial standard Las-rifle is a good medium range weapon, it was never truly suited for close combat situations. None of the soldiers even stood a chance against a genetically enhanced warrior of the Adeptus Astartes. Sword met flak armor and sliced it apart. Blood and entrails spilled to the floor, as Flavian focused on his blade to agonize instead to kill. His whip sliced through the skin, ripping apart faces as well as disarming the few that tried to draw combat knives. Just a few seconds later and no mortal was left standing, most of them winding and crying at the feet of the Ceramite Monster. To fulfill his quest of destroying the tank, Flavian unhooked a Krak Grenade and threw it into the still open crew department of the tank. As it exploded, the blast broke through the thin inner armor and annihilated the Driver and the engine alike.

Cassiel was already weeding out the humans behind their fortifications. His massive chain sword cleaving bone as well as metal. When Nemeleks warning came, he already scanned to area for more targets. He was way closer to one of the tanks as he rolled onto the plaza. The Chimeras gunner turned the massive gun towards him, but Cassiel was already charging at the tank. His anger fiery hot in his chest, about to overtake his senses. In a short burst of energy from his back engines, Cassiel threw himself atop the tank, just behind the gunner. The man let go of the turret and stared in horror at the massive red angel looming over him. His Eviscerator catching the man atop his head and striking down, halving him along his spine. As the blood rippled against his helmet and stuck to his hands, Cassiel roared. Using his strength he leaned into the Chain-sword to slowly cut into the armor of the tank. The metal screamed and sparks flew, darting around him like small angry insects.  With Blood lust he hacked his way into the Drivers chassis and disabled the tank by leaving nothing unbroken and no-one alive.

Flavian closed in on the Tank that got tortured by his furious cousin. He inspected the damage with childish glee and a bit of envy. “By the Mother! You are really a Danger to behold, Cassiel.” He turned to the still furiously hacking and slashing Man. “Cassiel! The Tank is done and so is the crew. You can stop it now?!” He said, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the clash of metal.

Cassiel turned. His shoulders squared and his head held low he assumed a vicious combat stance when he sighted the Slaaneshi. Immediately sensing the hostile intend, Flavian stepped back in confusion. Did he just offend Cassiel? “Cassiel? Are you alright?...I mean I- I didn't want to offend ..” But before he could finish the question, Cassiel roared and stormed at him, Eviscerator held up high. Flavian was shocked and reacted almost too slow, parrying the massive chain sword with an unusually crude flick of his Sword. But the Red Angel did not stop, hacking and slashing at the confused team member. Flavian was put into a defensive position that he did not enjoy.

“CASSIEL! By the Gods, what are you doing? STO- STOP IT”

Flavian was confused by the sudden aggressive action, as well as the pure Blood lust the he felt in every strike.  

[catracorner962]

Glitra Week Day Seven: Horde Glimmer Princess Catra

Written for Glitra week on Tumblr! Catra is Princess of Brightmoon, Glimmer is a Force Captain in the Horde. One day she sneaks into the palace to steal Princess Alliance plans. Catra catches her.

“Princess! Princess!” The flustered cries of the guards made her ears twitch.

“What is it?” She demanded, running out into the hall, her tail skirting for balance on the polished floor.

“I...it’s her again your majesty,” Juliet answered, doing her best to compose herself. “She’s made her way to the war room. We tried to apprehend her but she…”

Teleported,

Catra thought, seething. Her mind raced. This was hardly the first time the irritating Force Captain had snuck into the palace, smuggling weapons and stealing alliance plans.

“I’ll find her,” she snapped, turning on her heel without waiting for a reply.

Catra barreled down the brightly lit halls, past her own spacious sleeping quarters up to the main level of the palace and into the war room. She sniffed, trying to make out any detection of glittery sparkly nonsense. Hardly a thing was touched. Chairs still in place, windows shut. Only the absence of papers altered her to the Force Captain’s robbery.  Catra hissed, unsheathing her claws. Her tail twitching.  She sniffed again, eyes shifting around the room.  

“I know you’re hiding, Glimmer. I can smell you clear as day,” she forced the name out with a teaming rage.

Catra went stiff, the hair all over her going straight as shimmering tell tale sparkles glistened behind her. She spun, swiping, and cursed as Glimmer’s gloved hand caught around her wrist.

“Hey Princess,” Catra’s eyes narrowed. The force captain smirked, impressed with herself as she tightened her grip around the princess’s arm.

“Let me go, Horde Scum,” Princess Catra wrenched herself away. Glimmer’s laugh echoed among the room, raising the blood in the princess’s veins. The Force Captain pulled a scroll from somewhere behind her red glittering cape. She read it for a moment, her pink, gray eyes alighting with delight.

“So your plan was to continue beating our bots, take samples of them and then what? Make your own? We both know Brightmoon doesn’t have the technology capable of replicating anything close to our designs.”

Catra growled, swiping the paper from Glimmer’s hand in an instant, taking brief satisfaction in the flustered look of Glimmer’s face.

“Why are you doing this?” Catra demanded, fists so tight her own claws nearly bled her palms. Glimmer threw her head back with indignant laughter.

“I have guards out there looking for you,” Catra hissed, “the only reason they haven’t found you is because I haven’t raised the alarm. Now answer me!” Catra threw herself forward aiming to shove Glimmer down into one of the chairs. Glimmer giggled, dissolving into a puff of pink cloudy smoke and reappearing on the other side of the room.

“Why am I doing this? Because I am going to win, and the best way to do that is to find out what your little alliance is planning. Though it doesn’t seem like much of a plan!”

Catra bit her tongue, stalking over to Glimmer and pushing her out of the chair with an unceremonious thud.

“No,” Catra corrected, “why do keep doing this?” Glimmer straightened herself, turning towards Catra and shrugging, leaning against the circular table and jumping up to sit on it casually.

“Doing what princess?” Glimmer coked a brow with an arrogant smile. Catra found herself flushing, watching the force captain’s eyes roam down her figure.

“Doing this,” Catra gestured around the room. “Coming back here! You could get caught, and don’t you have underlings or something to sneak around for you?”

“Sure I do,” Glimmer answered, leaning precariously forward. Catra folded her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling exposed despite her clothing. Glimmer’s round eyes continued to travel from her face, down over the curves of her sides, her hips. Suddenly aware that the Force Captain’s legs were on either side of her, straddling her where she stood.

Wish I could teleport away.

“Guess I just like seeing you flustered, Catra.” Glimmer’s hand reached out, and Catra nearly flinched at the touch of fingertips against her chin. Warm and stubble. Careful.

The princess stiffened, sucking in a quick breath. Glimmer’s fingers delicately traveled up her cheek, almost hesitant. Her cheeks ran hot, tail flicking.

Snap out of it Catra! You’re a princess! She’s from the Horde!

Catra willed herself to scratch at Force Captain’s face. Glimmer back peddled, unable to teleport away before Catra yanked the collar of her uniform, pulling her back down onto the table. Glimmer reached a hand to her face, covering the  five red lines across her cheek now puckering with blood. She smiled devilishly.

“Like it rough huh princess?”

“What are you…?” The words died in Catra's throat. Silenced by Glimmer’s full lips against hers, warm and wet and desperate. She tried to reel backward but the Force Captain clothed her knees against her legs, holding her firmly in place. Without thinking, Catra pulled her arms around Glimmer’s neck, pulling her further into their wanting kisses. Aggressive perhaps, romantic...definitely not. Needy and curious, absolutely.

She even tastes like glitter, Catra mused, fingers carding through the Force Captain’s plush pink and purple hair. It was not an unpleasant thought.

“Damn Princess, I don’t know what I was expecting but  not this!”  Glimmer whispered through another bout of kissing.

“You’re so annoying,” Catra snarled, her grip on Glimmer tightening around her arms, claws scratching against her back. The force captain let out a small moan, deepening their kiss so much Catra nearly gasped for breath. Satisfied, Glimmer drew back, biting Catra’s lip for good measure.

“What...what was that for?” Catra demanded, stepping backward out of Glimmer’s forceful embrace. The force captain shrugged, non-committal.

“Well I best be going princess. I have a war to win and you have a glamorous castle to...I don’t know, lounge about it.”

“I am not lounging!” Catra bristled, indignant.

“This was fun princess, I’ll see you later.”

Catra reached out to seize Glimmer, who answered with one more heated kiss. Ferocious and with a promise of more to come. Catra’s stomach did summer salts in her stomach.

“Glimmer!”

The Force captain only grinned, disappearing into a haze of pink.

“Princess Catra!”

Juliet barged in before she could compose herself.

“We have not located the Force Captain, but we have scouts out on patrol searching for her as we speak.”

Catra stole herself a breath then regained her composure, hoping she hadn’t given herself away.

“Let her go, she’ll be back.”

“But...princess,”

Catra looked out the window. The billowing smoke plumes of the Fright Zone visible far off in the distance.

“She’ll be back Juliet, trust me.”

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

Overwatch’s Halloween Costumes (Part 1?)

Anon said: “Hiya ^^ since it's Halloween season (at least, at the time of writing this), I have a halloween-inspired request! What do you think the Overwatch cast- heroes and villains alike- would dress up as for Halloween?”

A/N: Better late than never, am I right?

Also, I was finishing the last half of this piece, had Zarya and Zenyatta left, and then my computer glitched sent me back to my homepage. So yeah, lost half of writing, felt like throwing my computer, decided to just post what I got. It’s been a rough couple days. <D

Hope you enjoy what’s here, sorry for the missing content. Maybe I’ll write the rest when it’s not two am, guess we’ll see.

~~~

Ana

She’s very sarcastic with her costumes

Very Jim from The Office-esque

More often than not it’s an ugly Halloween sweater with a matching ugly Halloween headband, or a shirt that says something along the lines of “This is my Halloween costume”

She has forced Pharah into doing embarrassing mother-daughter costumes a few times as well

She’s more treat-oriented than costumer-oriented

She’s nabbing all the candy

Ashe

She hasn’t done the costume thing since she left Blackwatch

She was practically forced to do Halloween costumes back in the day, and it’s made her hate it

She’s already got that goth bandit look going on anyway

Has been asked if she’s wearing a costume (plus ‘Nice wig/contacts!’) while wearing regular clothing more than once

A bandit underling once asked if the group could do costumes among themselves and her response was threatening to shoot him in his kneecaps

Someone else tried to give her payment in chocolate coins as a trick and they were never seen from again

Baptiste

Loves to do costumes with his patients

He’ll dress up in his hero gear for kiddos and help patients create minimalist costumes for themselves

Probably passes out candy and those funky light-up Jack-o’-lantern headbands to people who can have/wear them

Reads Halloween stories or puts on Halloween movies for kiddos

When he doesn’t do hero gear, he lets people vote on what they want him to wear

He also l o v e s trick-or-treating

Bastion

Naturally, there’s not much costume-wise that a Bastion can do

They’ve tried to put Ganymede in ‘costumes’ (more like flower necklaces or a leaf on the head) but with little success

They’ll wear things they find in nature as a costume sometimes, such as leaves and flowers and sometimes a shiny piece of trash or lost article of clothing

Once some teenagers spray-painted them a costume, it was very exciting

When Torb begrudgingly gives in to caring for Bastion, he and the kids help Bastion get dressed up for the holiday

Brigitte

Loves Halloween

Like immensely

Decorating and planning for it at least a month in advance

This includes plans for costumes

There’s no telling what she’ll be, she’s always something different

You know it’ll be good and hella elaborate, though, because she’s been working on it since last Halloween

D.Va

Similar to Brigitte, she’s always got a new, fun idea every year

Usually animal-themed, or themed after whatever charity she’s partaking in that month

Unlike Brigitte, however, she hates when people celebrate holidays way in advance

How her costumes are always so put-together and cool, no one knows, because she always says she came up with it the night before

Doomfist

Not a costume man himself

Halloween-colored sweaters are the most you can hope for him

He does like giving out candy and going to the annual Talon Halloween party, though

People learned very quickly not to try to force a costume on him if they didn’t want to sleep with one eye open for the rest of their life

Genji Shimada

He really likes costumes, but it’s difficult to find/make one that works well with his current form, so he usually doesn’t wear one

He loves to admire other people’s costumes, and help people create them if they need it

He has dragged Hanzo into doing sibling costumes once or twice before

Hanzo Shimada

It is possible to coerce him into a costume if you’re his s/o or if you’re Genji

Anyone else attempting to get him into one will get an arrow pointed at them, though

Junkrat

Doesn’t really do the whole costume thing

In normal sense anyway

Instead he just kinda

Puts on a funky shirt, or some outfit he stole from someone/somewhere and calls it a costume

He’s far too busy stealing candy from people who won’t give him any when he goes trick-or-treating anyway

Lucio

Goes all out for his costumes

There’s always a new idea, and oftentimes it corresponds with D.Va’s costume, especially if they’re both at the same charity

The amount of times he’s been able to design a different type of frog/toad/amphibian costume is wild

After the holidays, he has to take some much-needed hair care time, because his hair style, color, etc changes at least twelve times between October and February

McCree

He’s already wearing a costume, thank you very much

Vintage cowboy, baby

If anyone calls him vintage, though, he will demand a competition to see who is more spry

Yeah, he doesn’t do the costume thing much, just spruces up his look a bit to fit the part of a regular, old-fashioned cowboy

A different hat, serape in a different pattern, loses all the high-techy bits of his gear for the day (except for his arm, of course), etc

Despite not doing much costuming herself, Jesse gets so much shit for ‘cheating’ Halloween

She’s usually the one he’s fighting for spryness

She usually wins

Mei

She’s far too busy for costumes, believe it or not

She’s more of the decorating type

However, she does want Snowball to enjoy themselves, and they love Halloween, so she helps them dress up

It’s usually nothing simple

Mercy

She adopted Ana’s sarcastic costuming style at some point

Probably absorbed through time and admiration

Tied with loss of innocence and gain of seriousness that growing up and working as an Overwatch medic does to a person

Plus, she works all the time, and definitely works Halloween, so a simple ‘costume’ with a little dry humor works much better in her field than a whole elaborate outfit

Moira

Hah, a costume?

That’s funny

The most you get is candy bowls around the office (only of Moira’s favorite treats) and maybe some Halloween colors in her attire

So

Nothing much different than the usual

Orisa

Matching costumes with Efi, whatever costume that may be

A fairy and a unicorn

A pair of knights

Ana and Pharah in their uniforms, once, which made Ana laugh out loud and Pharah flustered

Pharah

Speaking of Pharah

Similar to Mercy, she works a lot and takes her work very seriously

She also takes Halloween not very seriously

Therefore, it’s rare she’s not working during the holiday, and she definitely wouldn’t be wearing a costume

Unless Ana drags her into one

At most, a Halloween-themed sweater might appear at some point in the day if the compound is chilly

Reaper

His work clothes are his costume

[spell-cleaver]

#71 and #52 with Luke and Vader, please? Or with just #71. If you have the time. Also I really love your fanfics! 😄 You are the best and one of my inspirations for writing. And all of your stories have either moved me to tears or brought me many smiles! Thank you for your stories! 😁

Ahhh thank you so much!! This made me smile like crazy :D

I ended up setting this as a tie-in to/in the same universe as Sparks, only a few years before, so if you haven’t read that, all you need to know is that Vader’s raised Luke since he was a tiny baby in this, but that Luke’s not dark. It references the fact that Luke knows his father hates tookas, and I decided to write why :)

Why Vader Dislikes Tookas

Vader was a force of nature—of the Empire. He worked like the machine his treacherous masters had made him a part of; he excelled in everything; and he was indifferent to hunger or sympathy or any other such human weaknesses that could hinder one's work.

Well. All but one of them.

He disliked working on Coruscant as a principle. It was, as his son often complained, too loud. It held too many memories, few of them good. Most of all, it held his master.

But right now it also held his son, so he did not want to leave this world of ghosts behind just yet.

Said boy was currently working just as hard as Vader was supposed to be, in the next room over. Their penthouse wasn't small, but Luke's bedroom and the small adjoining study backed onto Vader's... quarters... and his study, so if one ignored the petty realities of walls and doors, they were less than two metres apart.

It was distracting.

Luke was young, his mental shields new, and it was such that Vader sensed every flicker of irritation, minor triumph, even outright guilt, presumably over how poorly he thought he'd been working, as he pored over his summer work. He could almost imagine his frown, the adorable way his eyebrows furrowed just like hers had, him absentmindedly chewing the end of his pencil...

Luke had just completed his first year at the Academy. He wasn't unused to their exacting expectations for students' quality and work ethic—Vader was no lenient teacher himself—but he was still irritated by them. And an irritated twelve year old could be...

Well. Distracting.

Vader shook his head and returned his attention to his datapads. While it was highly inconvenient that the rare time he got to spend on Coruscant with his son also on the planet was spend filling out menial datapads any aide could handle, it was important to get this done, and details of Palpatine's precious Project Stardust were too classified for him to delegate.

Two more datapads to go, then perhaps he'd go to free Luke from the boy's self-imposed obligation to study; take him flying, as he hadn't for so long...

He glanced up from his datapad and started so badly he dropped it.

Luke grinned at him, a little shyly. How the boy had managed to slip from whatever sheet calculations he'd been doing next door to loop right out of his quarters and enter Vader's study unnoticed was beyond him. Perhaps the boy was subtler than he'd thought; he might make a good thief, if Vader was to teach his son to carry out his dirty work like some common lackey.

Vader, unseen behind the mask, raised patches of skin that no longer bore eyebrows. It twisted his scars painfully but Luke seemed to get the message.

"I..." He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Vader's brow-less skin inched higher. "What is it, Luke?"

Luke fidgeted, raking his hand through his hair—still cut short for the Academy—and that shy grin returned.

Vader suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

"I— I just wanted to ask you—"

He finally squared his shoulders and said, "I want a pet."

Vader didn't blink.

"The headmaster said he'd be changing the rules next year to allow students to bring one pet to the Academy with them. Can I—"

"No." Vader returned to his work.

"But Dad!"

"Father."

"Right. Sorry, sir." Luke said the title without even thinking about it. It was a moment before Luke remembered Vader was not one of his instructors, and Vader remembered Luke was not one of his underlings.

They both laughed a little; it broke the tension.

"Father," Luke corrected himself, smiling again. "Please! I— It gets really lonely there sometimes, and really lonely here when you're away, and—"

"You have not made any friends?" Vader interrupted, ignoring his shortening of breath at the thought of Luke being lonely without him. His respirator must be acting up.

"I have," Luke said. "I told you about them."

"Remind me."

He gave him a look. Vader had found that no one could look quite as effectively as twelve-year-olds—or perhaps that was just Luke. "Biggs is the guy a few years older than me who got put into my year because the education isn't great on Tatooine, Hobbie is..."

Vader stopped listening, too busy trying desperately not to react to the mention of that disgusting dustball. He'd have to explain his less-than-kind past on that stars-forsaken planet one day, but he'd prefer to do it when Luke was less... astute.

"...and then there's Leia—"

Wait. "Leia Organa?"

Luke looked surprised—and far too innocent for either his own good, or Vader's. "Yeah?"

"You should not be befriending her. She is a political hostage for her father. She is there to learn Imperial ways and to encourage her to be a less vexing leader of Alderaan than her father is."

"Yeah? So wouldn't me showing her that not all Imperials are as mean as the ones who keep shunning her only help that?"

Vader... couldn't argue with that. He didn't try to; he looked down at his son and saw only Padmé.

"I still don't want you talking to her."

"Father." Luke pouted. "See, this is why I only have a couple of friends. And feel lonely. You say I'm not allowed to have any more! A pet—"

"Is yet another line on the list of things you are not allowed, Luke, do not try to make me feel sorry for you in order to win the argument."

Luke hissed out a sigh.

"Would it help if I cried?" he asked.

"It would make it worse."

"Blast." Luke's forehead wrinkled momentarily, then he widened his eyes, jutted his chin up, and pleaded, "Please, Father. Empire Day is coming up. As an early birthday present!"

That weak argument did little to sway him.

But Vader did share one emotional vulnerability with the rest of mankind, and it was exactly that vulnerability that Luke's puppy-like expression was designed to appeal to.

Vader stared him down, jaw twitching.

Then he let out a sigh the vocoder declared as a burst of static.

"There is an urgency to this," he observed acutely. Luke—who had been grinning at his father's apparent capitulation—blew his eyes wide. "There is a reason you want to adopt a pet now, and a reason you are being so insistent even when you know that by testing my patience is unlikely to endear me to your cause."

Luke shook his head fervently. He said nothing, but his lie coloured the Force anyway.

"Luke?"

"It's nothing! I swear, it's nothing!"

"Luke."

He floundered. "I..."

Vader closed his eyes. "Please. Tell me that there is not an animal in this home."

"Technically humans are animals—"

"Luke."

Luke swallowed.

Then he tilted his head towards his bedroom. "Come with me?"

Vader had a very bad feeling about this.

But he got up, consciously turning off his datapad and laying it down on the desk. Pushing his chair back and standing.

He saw Luke swallow a little bit when he straightened up—Vader knew he was very tall and intimidating, while Luke... was not—but he just tilted his head. "Shall we go, then?"

Luke nodded. He mumbled something that might have been yessir under his breath but it was gone too quickly to tell.

Upon entrance, Luke's bedroom did not inspire confidence.

"Did you learn such untidiness at the Academy?" Vader drawled.

The room, large as it was, was a tip. Clothes strewn everywhere, cupboards and wardrobes hanging open, crumbs spilled across the floor.

A plate of biscuits sat in the corner. It looked like it had been sitting there for a few days.

"Promise you won't get mad?"

That did not inspire confidence either.

Vader's only response was to fold his arms.

Luke grimaced and got the hint.

He tiptoed over a floor booby-trapped with clothing and blankets everywhere one looked. His foot caught on one; he tripped, head pitching towards the corner of the bedstead—

Vader caught him with the Force, irritated, and dumped him on the floor. "Trips to the medbay will not get you out of explaining yourself, son."

Luke grimaced and shoved himself to his feet. He ruthlessly dusted himself off, scowling at the plate of biscuits Vader had shoved him onto.

"Ew."

"Luke?"

He grumbled.

But he took two more steps, to the wardrobe propped half-open. He bent down to pick up one of the biscuits still scattered across the floor and held it out in front of him like a peace offering as he opened the door again. Like...

A flash of grey leapt out at Luke. Two seconds later, the blur was gone. So was the biscuit.

Luke was nursing a shallow cut in his forearm that wept blood.

Vader peered around the open door to the gloom of the wardrobe. An angry, yellow-eyed blob lay curled around four other little blobs, using what appeared to be a pile of Luke's Academy uniforms as some kind of nest.

A tooka cat, he observed, entirely without amusement, and her... offspring.

"Luke?" His voice had an edge to it.

Luke threw his hands up; the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding now. "She was already there when I got back from the Academy! She must've crept in somehow and set up a home while we were all away!"

"And why didn't you tell me? There's a herd of them!"

"A family! She's got babies! I didn't want you to kick her out to be wild again!"

"She was wild?" Vader whirled on him. "Those scratches could be infected, you need to get them looked at—"

"Can't we keep her?" Luke begged, doggedly ignoring Vader's rapid change of topic, "please?"

He pulled out the pleading puppy eyes again.

Vader had already established that he was not immune to the puppy eyes.

"No," he said, with some effort. "And you are going to go to the medbay to get those looked at."

"But Father..."

Luke looked so disappointed that, really Vader didn't have a choice but to add: "I will find a suitable shelter to give them to, son. They'll be much happier with people who have the time to look after all of them."

Vader, to be fair, had no idea that the shelter would shut down in five years and become a favourite meeting spot for a notorious burglar. He didn't know that these very kittens would grow into cats that adored that burglar.

Luke's grin was worth his promise. "Thank you, Father."

"But we are not getting pets." Vader wagged a finger in his face; Luke wrinkled his nose. "Ever. And especially not tooka cats."

Luke pressed his lips together, but they twitched upwards in a smile. He nodded his head.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Send me a prompt and I’ll write you something.

[oneofyatosfollowers]

One of a Kind- Chapter 10

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/52789816

It's a little unconventional for an Eve to come bursting out of the trash shoot. But Hiyori stepped out proudly, showing the plant to the occupants of the room. Captain Tenjin stared with wide eyes, jaw dropping a little more every second. Beside him, a Pr-T dressed in pink with short black hair asked what the meaning of the rude disturbance was. Tenjin waved at the other woman, a beautiful cyborg with the ends of her long hair tied at the waist. She leaned forward to hear his words.

"Tsuyu, take Mayu and leave. Not a word of this." Tenjin look at Mayu as well. Both woman nodded in compliance, quickly taking their leave. Once the door slid shut behind them, the captain drifted forward.

"You found it." Tenjin leaned forward to take it from Hiyori, holding it in his hands like a poor man who was just given gold.

"Yes sir, but there's something I have to tell you. I think-"

"-What was it like?" Tenjin questioned. Hiyori blinked, thrown off her train of thought.

"What was what-?"

"The planet. What was Earth like? The 'skyscrapers'? What of the libraries? The 'Gothic Architecture' and art?" Tenjin got louder with his inquiries, sounding like a king making declarations. He hovered away from the Eve, trading the plant in either hand as he flung his arms up towards the sky. Hiyori stepped forward, hands out and ready to dive to catch the glass bottle.

The captain came back to stop where he was before, in front of the halo-screen of his computer. Now, Hiyori could see why the room was dimmed. The computer showed overlapping pictures of agriculture under a blue sky, thin humans in old clothing dancing in a line, and framed smudgy images. Tenjin grew quiet. Hiyori choose to stay silent, somberness settling in the room.

"We lost so much," Tenjin looked at the plant, "We ran away from the responsibility of care, in favor of being softened by comfort." The captain of Heaven's Sun turned to look at Hiyori with a truly mournful expression.

"It's not the same, is it?" Tenjin drove his chair back towards Hiyori, eyes downcast. In his other hand, he held a stick-like device. A helmet projector. He held it to her, barley noticing when she took it and plugged it into the side of her helmet.

Tenjin took a sharp breath at the first couple seconds of the flat, brown landscape. His lips pressed together as her camera pointed down when she scanned the ground, the pieces of glass and plastic clear as stars. Tenjin saw the ship leave the dull blanket of pollution clouds through the hole it first made, before the camera turned to the skeleton outline of the city. He turned away, gazing out the window at the stars

Hiyori looked sadly after her captain, feeling the slightest guilt at having to be the one to show him the reality of her mission. Hiyori looked meekly back at the recording, smiling slightly at the part where she was introduced to Nora. Next came the movie night, to Hiyori's embarrassment, in which the opening song started to play.

"I recognize that tune," Tenjin said from behind the chair, "it's from that cartoon franchise?" He leaned heavily on the arm of the chair, rubbing his face and eyes. The captain then looked at the baby cherry blossom and smiled.

"I should probably get you some water." Tenjin said, making his way to the sink in the corner. At this point, the recording showed her stepping into the pod, laying down as the glass door shut over her. Smoke filled her screen, then the recording went black.

Hiyori looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. Earth wasn't so bad. Not much different than the other dessert planets the ship passed. At the very least, she thought with a smile, Yato was very fond of Earth. He said he had things he wanted to do with her.

Hiyori looked back up to the screen, the words 'Syncing Pod Security Camera' printed bold over a loading wheel. The screen was then split into six sections 'Front', 'Rear', 'Left', 'Right', 'Top', and 'Bottom'. Yato was gazing down from the top, first curious and nervous, then sad. He placed a hand lightly on the glass top, holding it there for a bit before sitting down on the ground. His hand left a mark, something she often chastised him for.

The right camera focused on him sitting criss-cross with the side of his head resting gently against the side. The footage didn't sense any more movement, so it skipped ahead to later that evening. Yato was still in the same spot on the ground, but looking up. Her audio caught rumbling in the distance and Yato got up and left the screen. Just as it had started to pour, Yato came back with an umbrella which he held over the pod. Hiyori watched as she was pushed inside his home, and her pod was wiped dry by the scarf Yato wore around his neck.

"There we go, all clean!" Yato looked down with a small smile. She had spent enough time with him by now to know it was forced. Her pod took up most of the space, so the bottom camera recorded him army crawling under her to get to his bed in the corner. Yato tossed the blanket over her again, fixing it so her face wasn't covered, then curled up on the mattress.

Movement wasn't caught again until morning, when he took off the blanket and brought her back outside. He sat back down in his usual spot with a stick to doodle in the ground with. Then, he talked. The Wall-E talked to her, asked her questions she would never answer, told her his dreams, his experience, what he liked and didn't like. Among other things.

"I know you told me not to move you," Yato's voice came from her speaker, "But I wanted to show you so many things. I wanted to take you to Capybara land- you like the movie right- and show you mountains. If you liked watching the fire, there's an oil spill we can light up. I wanted to show you the view from the tallest tower while having a picnic. Show you all my favorite books in the library, I told you I read them all four times didn't I? And take you treasure hunting!" Yato stopped drawing and pulled his knees to his chin.

"Would you even like that? Do humans find that fun?" He buried his face in his knees.

"What's it like being human, on that ship? I read that loneliness can kill creatures but," he looked back up with glazed eyes, "I'm still here. Functioning just as I always have." He went silent again. Hiyori felt her hands squeeze, the back of her eyes going hot.

"Want to hear a secret?" the audio asked. Hiyori barley nodded. There was some shuffling, and Hiyori looked back to the feed to see Yato scooting close to her, leaning in to share.

"I was the prototype for the Auto pilot for Heaven's Sun." Yato said looking directly at the camera. He smile grew a bit as he looked over his shoulder then back at her.

"It's kinda a huge top-secret thing. But my biological father was the man who successfully merged human and tech. He was known as-"

"The Crafter."  Hiyori breathed in shock.

"Once he became head and over-saw production of the other cyborgs, plans for the Auto became apparent. I was the first test for that form of cyborg, something that my father himself designed and worked on. No one else. Even better, I was successful. It was a rocky start- of course I'm still a Wall-E, obviously- but our overall design and systems are the same. Different from all the other cyborgs out there, since we were made by him alone. Everyone else was made by his underlings." Yato rolled his eyes at that part, then grew serious once more.

"Father had us train together under his careful watch. Me and Kouto. We had to be strong, 'broken in', in order to handle the old fashioned surgery. He never did like the fact I could beat him. He was a prissy rich boy while I was often left alone. Ran with the wrong crowd and all that. And being a street-rat puts you in a lot of fights," He smiled and thumbed to himself, "So I often came out on top." Yato went back to his criss-cross position. Hiyori crept even closer, her mouth was quivering and she didn't know why. Her cheeks felt warm and she felt her eyes crinkle at the corners. She squeezed her hands together even tighter over over beating heart.

"But, dad wanted me to stay away from the rest of humanity. Clean up a human-free world." He finished. Tenjin came back in the room, watching Yato show Hiyori how to play Tic-Tac-Toe. He smiled at Hiyori  though the screen.

"Auto? Can you come in here?" Tenjin spoke to the arm of his chair. The Eve jumped, words clogging her throat. She never got to tell him! It wasn't just a theory or speculation anymore, the Auto might really have it out for Yato. When did she start trusting him over her own Copilot? Her mouth was open when Kouto's door slid open behind her.

He wore the same pristine white and black suit he always did, both arms folded neatly behind his back. He scanned the room with a blank expression, eye brow raising at the sight of Hiyori, but he didn't look surprised in the least. Hiyori quickly unplugged the projector and hid it behind her back.

"Captain?" Kouto cocked his head at Tenjin as he made his way across the room. His eyes locked on the plant, his strides became more urgent, powerful. The Auto stopped directly in front of Captain Tenjin, who seemed to have a new resolve.

"Auto, Miss Iki found the plant again. Start the protocol." Tenjin gave the order and began driving  away. Kouto stepped in front of him again with an out-stretched hand.

"Of course Captain. Give it to me, I'll see to it immediately." Kouto bowed a little with a smile. Hiyori stepped forward a bit, not wanting to defile her protocol but caring less and less at this point.

"Captain." They both looked to her, Tenjin a little impatient but confused. The Auto gave her the same look of contempt he gave Yato, eyes flashing a deep blood red. More machine than man.

"Eve," Kouto addressed Hiyori, "Your loyalty to Heaven's Sun is admirable, but your service here is no longer necessary. Please return to your commander." Kouto didn't look twice at her, turning back to Captain Tenjin.

"Now. Sir. The plant." He moved his hand closer. Tenjin looked at it, then at Hiyori as she stepped closer, then back at his co-pilot.

"Auto, I feel compelled to do it myself. As the captain of Heaven's Sun."

"That isn't necessary, sir. I promise you will receive full credit and I will be more than happy to take care of this matter myself."

"This isn't a matter of credit, Auto. People have become far too reliant on the luxury of having things done for them. I for one will no longer stand for it," Tenjin pushed past Kuoto again, "If we want to change things for the better, it's best to start with the change of mind." Tenjin asserted. Hiyori breathed a sigh of relief, feeling pride and gratefulness for her captain.

For a moment, Kouto remained still, eyes overcast as his back returned to being ram-rod straight. His arm then quickly stuck out, hand gripping the top of the captain's chair in a vice. Tenjin lurched backwards, chair rearing back dangerously. This time Hiyori did come forward, watching as the chair fought for a moment before sinking back to in front of the Auto. She caught Tenjin's shocked expression before he was spun around. Kouto kept a hand by the captain's head, other hand still outstretched.

"Captain, please, I insist. Hand over the plant to me." Kouto said. Hiyori came to the side of her captain, fixing Kouto with a glare as she put a hand in her gun.

"Kouto, what is the meaning of this? Explain yourself," Tenjin pressed at Kouto's silence, "That's an order." Tenjin brushed off his hand as Kouto straightend back up. The Auto stared down at his Captain, watching the plant get tucked away under Tenjin's coat.

"Aye, Aye Captain. This way, please." Kouto marched across the room to his own computer, typing in his password. He then pulled out an old key from under his uniform, hanging from a chain. Flipping up a plastic square cover, Kouto stuck the key into the motherboard. The computer went black, then the text 'A113' flashed in white letters. The screen went dark again until a dark red cartoon eye opened up on the screen.

"Subject 2. Access granted." said a voice that seemed to jump octaves. A video began playing. Front and center was a large man dressed in a long white lab coat with a black shirt underneath. He had scraggly, almost unkempt black hair that swept over his eyes. He sat as a desk, it's contents hard to make out due to the overall darkness of the room. The light that flicked from behind him, casted a glow over his upturned lips.

Hiyori and Tenjin sucked in a breath. Even with the poor lighting, they knew exactly who this was. A controversial man who's face and alias was in almost every text book.

"The Crafter." Hiyori let out a hushed whisper.

"Hello Heaven's Sun," The Crafter began, "I imagine if you're viewing this, a significant time has past since your departure from this lovely planet you destroyed." The Crafter sat back in his chair, letting it sway to the side, humorless grin still in place.

"The fact of the matter is, this planet is no longer capable of supporting human life. I realize the politicians told the public my creations- my army- would be able to clean up after us in five years. This was, is, a lie. In fact no creation on Earth can erase what we have done to this planet. So, just a few hours ago, before the grand departure, my closest confidants and I have issued 'A1-13'. The command that the ships will be cruising indefinitely."

"'Indefinitely'?" Tenjin cried in outrage. Kouto's attention did not waver from the man projected in front of them. The Crafter still stayed staring off somewhere above the camera, he brought his legs up on the table and crossed them at the ankles. He checked his watch then crossed his arms.

"All ships have been equipped to run for eternity. So long as all cyborgs do their job, humanity will be able to live happy, carefree lives on the ships forever," he waved his hands in fake cheer, "By now, all the space cruisers have left. Making me the last man on Earth," his smile finally disappeared as he mumbled, "Subject 1 should be leading out the other cleaners right at this very moment." The Crafter went silent. He then sat up at his desk, folding his arms one over the other.

"All of this has been set in motion. In correspondence to A1-13, 'Operation: Recolonized' is dismissed. No human shall return to this tarnished planet. Ever," he smiled again and stood up, "This is the last human on Earth, 'The Crafter', signing off." Yato's father said his goodbyes and his smile cut out from the screen, the blood-red eye symbol showing in his place. Kouto took out the key, placing it back around his neck and under his collar, then turned to the Captain.

"As you can see, Captain, our superiors have ordered us to remain in space. That plant is no longer necessary," The Auto held out his hand in a more exasperated fashion, "Now if you would just give it to me, I will properly dispose of it and everything can go back to locating the stowaway." Kouto stated. Tenjin moved backwards with suspicious eyes.

"No, wait a second. If he sent that out the day we departed, than that information is nearly 700 years old. Clearly he was wrong!" Tenjin waved the plant at the Auto. Red eyes flared up with a raging fire, but Kouto's face remained neutral.

"The Crafter was not wrong. You saw the video, those Wall-Es failed to clean up the planet, even after all this time. One measly vine does not mean an entire population can be sustained." Kouto's voice was heated as he kept his tight position. Tenjin was shocked by the demeanor his co-pilot emitted, backing up an inch more.

To both the men's surprise, Hiyori stepped between them. She took care not to fully block the Captain, but she fixed Kouto with a look of absolute fury.

"If The Crafter was the last human, the last man of great power on Earth, than that must be the last transmission to be sent out to any ship." Hiyori gouged the Auto's expression. His went wide for a moment, before shifting to a more puzzled look.

"Yes. That is correct. None of the cleaners had access to the motherboard." Kouto started to look a bit amused when this information riled up Hiyori even more. The captain called her name in question when she took a step towards Kouto, fist balled up at her side.

"Then how would knowledge of the Wall-Es dying off even reach the ship in the first place!" Hiyori raged. She never raised her voice, taught otherwise, but she never felt such anger before. Never felt like this before. In the short time she's known Yato, she's felt more emotions than she's ever felt in her entire life on this cushioned ship. All of them, real and strong. Alive. Just like Yato.

Hiyori continued to seethe, arms shaking at her side. She bared her teeth, waiting for the Co-pilot's denial that never came. Beside her, Tenjin moved forward, his face of equal outrage.

"The only way for that information to carry over was for it be pre-meditated. Auto, explain yourself! Was the Wall-Es' deaths your doing?" Tenjin roared. After a beat of silence, Kouto let out a sigh, a ghost of a smile coming across his face.

"Now captain, that is just ludicrous. I can assure you I had nothing to do with the deaths of the Wall-Es."

"But you knew about it." Hiyori demanded. Stepping forward again.

"Irrelevant. Operation: Clean-Up has failed," The Auto narrowed his eyes at the Eve, "We must follow directive."

"Now you listen here, Kouto," Tenjin came forward again, "If my research of our records is to be trusted, that planet is capable of holding thousands of magnificent species. Most of which cannot survive without our help. Our ancestors made this mess, but we have the power and the technology to help. Turning our backs for the sake of luxury is not a liable answer. It's an excuse," Tenjin glared up at Kouto, "We have to go back. As the 27th Captain of Heaven's Sun I order you to open up the hallow detector."

Captain Tenjin heaved a breath, eyes never wavering from his Co-pilot's. Hiyori looked at her captain once more, wanting to smile but too angry to do so. Kouto stared at Tenjin for what felt like centuries. Letting out another sigh, Kouto dispersed all the tension in the room.

"Very well," Kouto reached up to tap his own ear-piece, "Go-4 get in here." Hiyori let a breath of relief, holding her hand over her pounding heart. She was worried for nothing. Just because Yato didn't like the co-pilot, did not make him evil. After all, they were trained under the same man. Kouto was just doing his job.

"Miss Hiyori." Tenjin hissed urgently next to her. Hiyori looked over in question. Her captain gripped the arms of his chair tightly, teeth grinding together as his eyes flicked to the elevator door. Hiyori's heart jumped in her throat, the Go-4's sketchy aura and face creeped into her mind. Just as fear laced itself in her system, the elevator doors opened, and Kuguha stepped through. He approached the captain without prompt.

"This is mutiny!" Tenjin backed away with the plant but was too slow to hide it. Kuguha whipped  out a hand from under his pancho, a red beam of light coming from a black dot at the center of his palm. The plant was tugged into a sphere of the red light and harshly yanked back to Kuguha.

"Eve, arrest them." Tenjin turned his eyes to Hiyori who nodded.

"Right." Hiyori equipped her blaster, pointing it at Kuguha, wiping off his smug grin.

"Go-4, surrender the plant," Hiyori held out her palm, "now." Kuguha's eyes locked into the gun and his one hand came up in peace. He took a step forward, awkward smile crawling back onto his face.

"All right, Miss Hiyori, there's no need for violence. A pretty young thing like you can't handle-" Once Kuguha got close enough, he tossed the plant over the Eve's shoulder. At the distraction, Hiyori couldn't react fast enough. Her arm below the gun was grabbed and a shot was fired up into the ceiling. Hiyori was whirled around, arm held between her shoulder blades, her back was pressed against his chest. She struggled against his hold, glaring up at the tanned cyborg then at the co-pilot. Kouto looked at her with a corrupt smile, eyes mocking her while she fought, he reached up to tap his ear piece again.

"Wall-H when's the next scheduled trash evacuation? Perfect," Kouto walked the plant over to the trash can, "No, no, everything is fine. I'm sending something down to be added to the next removal." The Auto thanked the worker, violently kicking the captain's chair away when he made a lunge for it, and let the bottle fall down the shoot. Hiyori cried out as the plant tumbled into darkness.  

[triscribe]

Tavekriti

So after chatting with @fialleril last night (muffled fangirl squeaking) I found myself struck by the need to write a little thing about why Ekkreth takes the shape of a little red bird when they could be, quite literally, anything else.

(All Tatooine creature and culture headcanons either come directly from or are inspired by the amazing Fia, who is a wonderful person for allowing others to come play in the same sandbox!)

Listen closely, for I tell you this story to save your life.

One day, as Ekkreth was walking along, they found themselves accosted by a little red bird with black wings and grey eyes, which flitted all about their head and refused to be shooed away. Bemused, Ekkreth stopped, and addressed the small creature. “Little one, why do you pester me so? What have I done to earn your ire?”

“It is nothing you have done,” the bird replied. “But my mate sits injured in our burrow not far ahead, and if you keep to your current course, Trickster, you will surely trod upon the entrance and harm him further.”

“You could have simply asked me to alter my path, then,” Ekkreth said.

“I was afraid you’d laugh, and deliberately stomp as you went, the same as Depur’s servants when they came this way - that was how my mate came to be injured in the first place, and our eggs crushed at the same time.”

Good humor gone, Ekkreth bowed their head. “My sorrow for your loss, little one. Gladly, I will avoid your home, if you would be so kind as to guide me around it.”

The bird settled upon Ekkreth’s shoulder, and soon steered them through the sandy gullies and out the other side without incident. Before leaving, however, the animal took a moment to look Ekkreth in the eye.

“Travel towards the Leaking Cup for two nights and Grandmother’s Hand for a third, and at the base of the leftmost cliff you will find a small spring with clean water and many bugs to eat. Clean your tracks as you go, however, or Depur’s slavers may find and pursue your trail.”

Touched, Ekkreth pulled out their water pouch and an empty nut shell; they poured a few drops and offered the tiny container to the bird, who delicately took it with a claw. “For you and your mate, little friend, along with my thanks.”

They parted there, the bird returning home and Ekkreth journeying north towards the stars called the Leaking Cup. But that was not the end of their story.

On the second night that they walked, Ekkreth saw the glow of firelight ahead, and slowed their steps. When they could hear the sound of raucous, cruel laughter, the Trickster changed their shape to resemble a dune snake, silently slithering across the warm sand to peek over shallow dune.

Several of the servants who caught new slaves for Depur lounged around a wasteful bonfire, helping themselves to food and drink, while a small family with chains around their wrists huddled together nearby. Angry, Ekkreth wound their way around the camp, coming to a stop close to the slaves. A heavy staple pinned their central chain to the bedrock, impossible for hands alone to pry up.

Ekkreth, though, had many tricks besides clever hands.

Before acting, however, they started to sing a soft, crooning lullaby, watching as the slave family heard it and stilled where they sat.

“~Oh Brother, my Brother, the cup that we stole,

It’s leaking, my brother, that cup has a hole~

Place it we must in our grandmother’s hand,

Perhaps she can fix it, with sun-heated sand~

If not then we’ll go to the left of the wall,

And hide the cup there, in a hole so small-”

“Hey!” One of the slavers shouted. “Shut that singing and go to sleep!”

Ekkreth immediately stopped, though when the man returned to his meal, they could hear at least one of the slaves humming their tune. Satisfied that the instructions had been received, Ekkreth settled in to wait.

Depur’s slavers gradually fell to sleep, their fire dying down to embers. Only a single man remained on guard, facing away from the chained slaves. Ekkreth seized their moment to act, and slithered forward into the family’s midst. One small child nearly squeaked, but her mother’s fingers squeezed her own, reassuring.

Oh so slowly, Ekkreth pushed and wiggled their way in-between the staple and the chain, scales as hard as the Great Mother’s bones forcing a gap to form. After Ekkreth passed through completely, they turned around to repeat the action, making their form a bit bigger around. Again and again they slipped between, creating a larger and larger gap, until the staple came free completely.

“Go,” they whispered to the grateful family. “I will make a distraction for you.”

That said, the Trickster slipped away from them, around the far side of the camp and up the side of a dune. They waited until the moonglow illuminated the stretch of sand directly in front of the guard before crossing it. He noticed, and froze.

Gleeful, Ekkreth slowly slithered closer, until they came to a stop coiled around the man’s feet. Clearly terrified of potentially being struck by poison fangs, the guard remained stock still for hours, until all three moons had set and the first sun’s glow could just be seen in the sky.

It was obvious when the other slavers awoke by their furious shouts. Ekkreth picked their head up to watch as some ran to the spot the family had been chained, and others hurried to the tops of the dunes around their camp, searching in vain for some sign of where the escapees had fled.

One, though, came towards Ekkreth and their trapped guard - the enraged Taskmaster.

“You!” The woman shouted. “Why did you not wake us when the slaves were escaping?! Face me when I address you, coward!”

Stammering, the guard could do nothing to point downwards, at Ekkreth. The Taskmaster followed his gesture, eyes widening when she finally noticed the massive dune snake. Unlike the petrified guard, however, she was able to act on her fear instead of freezing in place. Drawing forth a knife, the Taskmaster held it up to throw.

Ekkreth took that as their cue to leave.

Fast as lightning, the Trickster launched forward, easily avoiding the blade and curving up the side of a dune. Finally free, the guard they’d held prisoner all night collapsed, tripping up the Taskmaster as she tried to follow Ekkreth.

“Get that snake!” The woman shouted, struggling to get back to her feet. “I want its hide!”

Laughing, Ekkreth hurried onward, wanting to gain a bit more distance before they assumed the shape of the rappali bird and took to the sky-

-but the Taskmaster had more than bladed weapons hung from her belt.

A heavy weight suddenly came down overtop of Ekkreth, and they rolled to a startled halt. Thrashing, the Trickster tried to get out from under the thick oilcloth, but a great many bodies piled on, weighing them down. The muffled sound of the Taskmaster’s voice rang out, ordering her underlings to secure the cloth around their prize.

Trapped inside the newly formed bag, Ekkreth struggled as the slavers carried them back to the camp. Before long, they were dropped onto the flat surface of a sled, the bunched folds of the oilcloth secured with more than enough rope to keep the Trickster from finding an opening.

For three days and nights, Ekkreth could do nothing but sit in place, unwilling to reveal their true self until a clear escape route appeared. The guards would laugh as they kicked the bag, discussing how fine the dune snake’s scaly skin would look stretched out upon Depur’s palace wall. Frustrated more than fearful, the Trickster hissed in reply.

Then came the moment when their patience paid off.

Something small landed atop the folds of the bag, and began to nudge at the loops of rope holding it shut. Ekkreth awoke from their doze but did not move. More nudges and tugs proceeded to loosen the bindings, just enough that a tiny sliver of an opening appeared. Quickly, Ekkreth took the shape of a kirik fly and buzzed through it.

Their friend, the little red bird, chirped as soon as the Trickster appeared. “I am glad to see you alive, Trickster. The family you sent to my spring were all quite concerned, and would not leave off their pestering until I promised to come looking.”

“Then I will forever be in their debt, and yours as well, little friend,” Ekkreth replied. After a moment’s consideration, they changed their shape again, to match the bird before them. “In fact, from now on, when I escape from Depur and his servants’ clutches, I will do so looking like you, Tavekriti - so that all the Great Mother’s Children will know you are a friend and ally.”

Laughing, the two of them took flight together from the sled, the Taskmaster driving it unaware of her prize flitting off into the sky.

True to their word, whenever Ekkreth had reason to live up to their name and go walking in the sky, they did so in the form of a little red bird, with black wings and grey eyes.

Tavru - red; Ekrit - bird (made up by yours truly)

Ekkreth - Skywalker, the Slave Who Makes Free

Depur - Master

Tavekriti’s design is modelled on the Vermilion Flycatcher

Thanks for reading!

[starwarsstreettalk]

Reylo?   (Part I - Pro Reylo Perspective)

Definition: Reylo (pronounced RAY-LOW) – the romantic pairing of Rey and Kylo Ren from the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy “ST”.

So about the Reylo concept... there are certainly many arguments for and against Rey and Kylo coming together in a romantic, or frankly in any way.  That being said, this post will provide some Pro-Reylo thoughts and observations.  It will be followed in a coming post with anti-Reylo opinions as well, as I like to play Devil’s Advocate. Disclaimer: before you like or dislike my post, it is not the place of this author to weigh in on what she would LIKE to happen, only what I think WILL or WILL NOT happen, based on clues in the story, movies and novelization only.  I may also point to subtle clues given by the writer/directors.  Please read with an open mind.

  Reylo clue #1:  Rey and Kylo’s first meeting on Takodana

Kylo Ren takes Rey captive on Takodana.  He doesn’t have time to find BB-8 and believes that the girl has the map in her head, and he is interested to know more about her, so he takes her with him to Starkiller Base.  So, Kylo Ren, with a stormtrooper only yards away, makes Rey unconscious and “bridal” carries unconsious Rey to his ship himself - and quite a distance besides!

Kylo carrying Rey to the ship was NOT in the novelization.  It was only in the movie.  Visually, JJ Abrams maybe wanted to create imagery that will be more significant as the story moves forward, particularly, a surprisingly tender connection between Kylo and Rey.  The Dark Prince and Secret “princess”.  From a fairytale perspective, this was like Aurora meeting Prince Phillip or Ariel meeting Prince Eric.  Someone of Kylo Ren’s importance and rank surely would not normally carry a grown woman approximately 1/2 mile.  He would make an underling, a soldier do it.  This may very well have been foreshadowing a romance very early on in the story before anyone really realized what was potentially happening.  In the director commentary of the movie, JJ Abrams basically references this fairytale story aspect himself.   It’s not your imagination!

Reylo clue #2:  “I’ll Come Back for you” dialog (Rey’s Vision on Takodana)

Going back to Rey’s vision in Maz’s castle basement when she touched the lightsaber, in the novelization, Rey hears what is called “THAT voice” and someone says “Stay here, I’ll come back for you.”   We did not see this from the flashback of Rey being left on Jakku by her ... well somebody.   Is this novel reference what we think it is?  Was it Rey’s parents?  Or could this actually end up being spoken in Episode IX by Ben Solo? You decide! I can picture this and I kind of like it.  It would certainly be thematic. 

Why include this “...I’ll come back for you” line in the novel but take it out of the movie?  Was it cut from the script at some point?   If so, you have to ask yourself why? Maybe it’s because we were not allowed to hear that person’s actual voice in Episode VII.  It was too early to reveal the person behind that bit of dialog.  Or it could just be that it was unnecessary (if it was indeed her parents) to have them say they would try to come back.   

We have no idea still if Rey’s parents meant to actually return to her or not.   Hopefully we will find out.  If not, Rey needs to move on from this past of hers.  But if this was actually Kylo Ren/Ben Solo, imagine that there is a scene where they are together and for some reason he has to leave her behind but promises to come back, harkening back to the last time she heard those words that have haunted her for all of these years.  If Reylo is real, he WILL come back, indicating that she was special, she is loved.

Reylo Clue #3: Kylo Ren’s “Money Shot”

Need I explain this one?  Well, let me go ahead and do so anyway.  Look, regardless of what great physical shape Adam Driver was in by the time of filming this particular force connection scene in Episode VIII (the one where he is wearing only black, high-waisted pants), Rian Johnson would not just decide “oh heck, let me include a beefcake shot of Kylo Ren” (only the second one in Star Wars history) if Kylo Ren is in ANY WAY related to Rey (brother, cousin, etc…) - that would just be icky.  And whether you like him or not, Rian Johnson is too sophisticated a filmmaker for that.  This is not some sleazy CW show.  

This is the scene that actually made me realize there WAS a Reylo dynamic.  I had no idea there was a Reylo before I watched this.  I was honestly, completely oblivious.  I thought for sure, Rey was Luke’s daughter.  This was the scene that prompted me to do the research on the Google machine.  This is why it is an obvious clue.  After all, I watch a lot of those sleazy CW shows.  I can tell when two characters are going to eventually hook up.

Reylo Clue #4: The Hut Scene, Bare Shoulders and Hand-touching All the Way Across the Galaxy

Like the Kylo Ren shirtless scene, Rey is all wet and her shoulders are bare in this scene holding a little blanket barely covering her wet clothes and body.   Things are getting a little familiar, no?  We go from fighting and snarky dialog to clothing starting to come off and sitting in front of a fire within hand touching range of each other.  That Rian Johnson… I hope I still sound objective here, but again, this is where my “CW” radar went off.   Firelight, bare shoulders, wet hair, gloves off, bare hands reaching out, softly touching, Rey and Kylo have tears running down their cheek, then Dad comes in and interrupts.   What is happening????   Separate those two!!!

Reylo Clue #5: Snoke taking credit for the Force Connection = Disappointed boy

When Snoke reveals to Rey, in front of the kneeling Kylo Ren, that it was he, Snoke, who opened the Force connection bridge between Rey and Kylo, Kylo looks slightly upward with a subtle yet angry face as if to say “What the Hell????” He was surprised, disappointed, hurt.   Snoke said he saw Kylo Ren as too weak to hide his feelings from Rey.  Snoke used Kylo as a tool to get at Rey, the real threat, not Luke Skywalker.   This is yet another blow to Kylo Ren, who saw the Force connection between him and Rey as something special, something the Force intended.  Instead of an opportunity for Kylo to find a kindred spirit in Rey, he learns that this experience was something manufactured by another person.   It reminds me of that Hallmark Christmas movie where the girl creates a dating app for her business and starts “dating” the cute guy that came up as a match in order to show her boss how well the app works.  Then the poor guy finds out she was just going out with him to forward her career and he decides to move back to his hometown, but she races to find him before he leaves to tell him that she really likes him and they end up together at the end.   The point is that the dude was hurt to find out that it wasn’t “fate” that brought them together but some stupid computer algorithm.  Technology can be a real bitch sometimes.  And so could Snoke apparently.

Reylo clue #6: Kylo’s Botched “Proposal” to Rey after the throne room fight mirrors a classic literary romance!

Fans of Pride and Prejudice, like me, will find strangely familiar the moment that Kylo Ren, in a moment of passion and heightened self-confidence, asks Rey to join him in ruling together. When the offer is not immediately accepted, his ego takes over.  He makes Rey cry and tells her she is nothing, a “nobody”, only then to tell her that regardless of her being a nobody, with no real connection to anything or anyone, she means something to HIM and wants her to join him.  This is, of course, followed by her justifiable rejection of this proposed partnership and the pair of them going their different ways. 

This is mirrors what happens in the novel by Jane Austen, but in this case Mr. Darcy is Kylo Ren and Elizabeth Bennett is Rey.  If you read P&P, you will also know that Elizabeth misjudged Mr. Darcy based on her initial impression of him and that first impression somewhat tainted her reception of Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal.  Also, despite being raised wealthy and well-educated, Mr. Darcy’s social awkwardness caused him to inadvertently hurt her feelings while expressing his true and tender feelings for Elizabeth.

We also see that Mr. Darcy’s pain of rejection influenced his transformation into a better, less proud man, worthy of Elizabeth’s love, and his second marriage proposal is more graciously accepted.  If Episode IX follows this story influence, we may see something of a transformation in Kylo Ren aka Ben Solo.  Look for signs in the first act of Episode IX of Kylo changing his own behavior and proving himself more worthy.  Otherwise, I’m not sure how he would be worthy of a romantic relationship with anyone, except someone as mean as him who will stab him in his sleep.  

Final thought on this scene – if Kylo Ren’s feelings for Rey were not romantic, would he have extended his hand to her?  If Rey were a man, would he hold out his hand to him?   No, he would not.  He wanted her to take his hand and walk away with him like they were the new power couple, like a King and Queen, like a Prince and Princess, not merely as a “partner in crime”.  He is a man, she is a woman.  It seems reasonable to him that she would say yes to him after they just slayed the dragon together. Also, Kylo Ren has been thinking about this new vision for the future, internally planning.  This is not spur of the moment.   He knew Rey was coming to him, he knew what he had to do.

Some last thoughts

These are the big clues, albeit not as obvious as Anakin and Padme, and the Han & Leia thing was way more obvious, more flirtatious.  If Reylo was the plan from the beginning, this is definitely a slow burn but totally possible, a modern day twist of the classic story - designed from the beginning to shock and surprise and audience.

The Reylo concept has been a very divisive topic among Star Wars Fans.  The point here is that you can be objective and scientific about this, keep feelings out of it. 

I will not be disappointed if Rey and Kylo don’t have a romantic relationship in the last movie of Star Wars.  I just hope the ending makes sense.  This is the Star Wars universe, not real life.  Yes, we interpret movies and TV through a current day lens, but anything can happen in this world.  The filmmakers are trying to surprise/shock us.  At this point, would Reylo be the shock/surprise or would Reylo be the obvious outcome?    Is the average fan even aware of Reylo?  I asked my mom about it and she just doesn’t see it.  What percentage of people also watched Episode VII or VIII and Googled “Rey Kylo Ren romantic” and found two years worth of online post about it?

Final thoughts

For Reylo to happen, there has to be a catalyst for Kylo to be redeemable, a believable turning point.  

Does Rey have to have a romance? 

Do you think we’ll see a more mature, more confident, sexier version of Rey in this story?  If so, then I think we’ll see her with a sexier counterpart/partner, someone with the intensity and passion of Ben Solo (Kylo), not Mr. Nice Guy Finn or Poe.  (see my next post!)

What is the true significance of Rose’s line about not destroying what we hate but saving what we love?  Will Kylo love Rey, and vice versa, and will that be key to ultimate end of the story? 

And by the way, what did Kylo mean when he said to Rey “don’t be afraid, I feel it too.”

[voidsentprinces]

Voidsent Warden of Despair

What faith will you cling to when the very ground around you turns to dust? What hope will you have when all your friends, family, and loved ones vanish in an instance? When the one you looked up to succumbs to the dark. When all has failed and turned to ash? What can you say is done?

The Warden of Despair, has a singular goal. To ensure that the Voidsent Princes do not get out of hand. And to maintain balance in Eorzea by constantly being at odds with her savior. Even if that means she will have to slash his throat as many times as it takes to stop him from moving. No matter how brief a respite it might provide.

When the Warriors of Light in Tartarian were chosen. Two of these adventurers were stationed in the Church grounds when they gained their calling. The knight and his priestess. The priestess was chosen to be a crutch for the group. To maintain faith in the Mother Crystal and the light that shone. She was the lynchpin that held them together and the chain of fate that bound them.

She healed their wounds, bandaged their gashes, and enriched them with knowledge. Cheering and supporting them from behind the enemy’s lines. When the mage fell to Mammon. It was her who pushed the group on to fight the Great Serpent. To strike down the Daemon of Tindress. To combat the shadow as it slithered into the hearts of the desperate and down trodden. And even when the world fell into darkness, she held tight her faith. It was the only thing keeping her from being consumed by the void like the others had.

Falling unconscious in the deep, deep dark. Protected by her knight’s armor which became twisted as he consumed the dark to save her.

What he had become in exchange.

Having abandoned his light and sacrificed himself. She would awaken and keep her promise. As the last, untarnished Hydaelyn bearer from Tartarian. She followed the dark path her knight left behind and entered into Eorzea. Immediately she was able to smell seven scents of the dark. And the Mother Crystal would contact her stating that her new mission was to ensure the corruption didn’t spread.

The priestess traded staff for blade.

First she met the Prince of Envy. An insidious and malicious foe, the humanoid tainted form of the Great Serpent, her group faced in yore. On a battlefield near the very edges of La Nosca, that did battle. Blade and spear struck as a monsoon blew in. The prince calling upon the water to aid him and in turn the Warden called upon the light to pierce Envy’s heart. Painting her black armor red, she took his heart to ensure his obedience. Much to his chagrin.

Next, the tracked the Prince of Lust. A flamboyent and fiery soul. He was a simplier case as he merely wished to find his sister. Giving the Warden, his heart at her very firm request. Lust pointed her into the direction of the Black Shroud. The gloom only made by the presence of the Primal, Odin. Is where she ran into an old friend turned feral.

The ranger formerly a Warrior of Light was turned made and ravenous by consume voidsent flesh. For thirteen days and thirteen nights, the two matched wits. Hunting and being hunted by one another. Each one of them come close to killing the other. On the forteenth day, near the sylph encampments. She was able to finally ambush her tainted companion of old. Carving out his heart by losing her right arm in the process. As he devoured it up to the shoulder.

Luckily for her, the Voidsent Prince of Greed was a more willing sort than he was when her group came to seal him. Offering her, his support and heart as a sign of goodtidings. Even though he technically wore her mage companion as a meat suit. The next mark would take her months to track down. As they could only be tracked in her dreams.

Soon enough while laying under a Doman sky, she met the Voidsent Prince of Sloth. And after a game of riddles, which she barely managed to win. Belphagor gave her their heart and the schematics to a genius piece of magitech to replace her right arm. Bringing the design to Cid with a hefty bag of gil and a contract forcing him not to allow any other to use its design even threatening Nero at blade point to ensure it. She gained a new arm and went to the most difficult task.

Following the corpse pyres left behind in and around Ul’dah of gang members and criminal kingpins brutalized. She finally came face to face with Gekido, the Voidsent Prince of Wrath. And it was a long battle. For next nine months, the Warden would find herself in constant conflict with Gekido. Fighting his lackies, assassins, and people under his thumb. Coming close to dying herself when she faced his personal onslaught. But, she adapted and hardened. A previous woman of the cloth, becoming a veteran of the battlefield.

Cutting her way through a hundred score of minions and underlings and right hand men. Eventually facing off with Gekido one last time. The hulking beast of rage fighting and not letting up for a second. And she treating him in kind. Until at last her blade broken and her ribs were shattered. At the last possible moment, she stabbed her broken blade through the beasts heart. Paralyzing him long enough to carve it out of his chest.

With six hearts now in her possession. She began to heal and prepare herself for her final mark. For two years she listened for the smallest hints of a dark  being roaming the outskirts of Eorzea. Leaving imps and creatures from the void in his wake. Appearing as a Paladin to some or a devil to others. Upon buying a new blade and honing it properly for six days. She began her search for her fallen knight.

Eventually, she found him in an Ala Mhigan mountain range. Feeling immense sorrow, she had her duty to see to. She must never waiver from her path in the light of the crystal. And so, with no words and a heavy heart. The Prince of Pride and the Warden of Despair. Both beings who had lost so much, clashed. Heavy blade meeting Doman craftsmanship. The resounding of these failed heroes of Tartarian meeting in the bloodsoaked country of the downtrodden.

No drawn out or climatic finished. No brilliant tactics or monologues of greatness. Nor memories of the past. In six minutes, her knight fell before her. And she tore his tainted heart out as well. With them, she bound the seven princes to herself. Their hearts now placed in her body as she would become their prison, their jailor, their warden.  She would keep them in check and succeed where she had failed. Her white hair turning black, her silver eyes becoming heterochromic as her body was imbued with their void. A sliver of the Mother Crystal in her heart to maintain her station.

The Voidsent Princes would beckon to her call. But only when she hunted the Ascians who had plunge her own world into the dark. And so she began to wander the realm. A lone warrior who said little, once a priestess who supported her companions. Now a jailor of the Sins. Doomed to pay for her failure to see her task through on Tartarian. And keep three of her companions from tainting others. A deep melancholy worn on her face and an endless road ahead of her.

Discarding her name and marking herself as the Eighth Voidsent.