#that was a bit of a problem in this piece around the chest/bandana area.

[caracello]

okay, okay. after testing a bit with a piece i have of them both together, i think i like the purple bandana. the browns in fragment's outfit still pick up on dg's design well enough to tie them together. i tried shifting the blue as well, but found it didn't really make much of a difference against such a red background. and considering the majority of these games take place on mars...

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

The first to react was Kine.

“Hey~! Water! It’s the sound of water!”

“Where’s the sound coming from?!”

Kirby and co. surveyed the area.

“The tree’s roots!” Kine shouted. “The water's coming out of the tree’s roots!”

From the roots of the Dreamstalk, in the lake, clean water gushed out. Not only the water, but the Dreamstalk itself was changing. The trunk and leaves were dull colors, but, in the blink of an eye, it became a bright green.

“Look!” Kirby yelled. “The Dreamstalk’s all better now!”

“Because Pirka’s heart has been cleared,” Coo said, “the spell’s effects have disappeared. Which means…”

Coo got cut off by a sudden voice.

“Huh? Where am I? Why am I here?...”

It was King Dedede.

Looking as if he had just woken up from sleep, he looked around. Meta Knight was also returning to normal.

“What happened? Why is water flowing out of the roots of-”

Meta Knight looked at the group one by one, and, in the end, stopped on Pirka. He seemed to have pieced together what had happened. He sighed, and picked up his treasured sword Galaxia again.

“It seems that King Dedede and I, possibly, were being controlled. Sorry.”

“What? I don’t remember anything about being controlled!!” King Dedede insisted.

“Don’t you remember?” Rick asked. “You sent me flying with your hammer!!”

“Wait, what?”

King Dedede shifted his focus. His sharp gaze caught Pirka.

“You did this, didn’t you!?!”

“Wait, Dedede!"

Kirby stood in front of the great king and spread his arms out to block him.

“It’s over already! Pirka’s our friend now!”

“What do you mean she’s our friend now!? What an insult to someone as great as myself!!”

“I told you it’s over!!”

“Out of my way, Kirby!!”

King Dedede, looking absolutely furious, swung his hammer. Kirby nimbly dodged.

“Hey, that’s it,” he said, “let’s play tag!”

“Whaat?!”

“King Dedede’s it! Everyone, run!”

Kirby started running. Rick, Gooey, and Pirka ran in different directions.

“Heyyy! This isn’t a game of taaag! I’m getting really mad right now!!”

King Dedede, absolutely furious, chased after Pirka. Pirka was fast, but she was no match for the king, who was making a serious effort. In the blink of an eye, he caught her.

“Get ready, you pesky pixie!”

He was about to squeeze her, but Kirby tackled him.

“That’s enough! Pirka’s it next!”

“Yeah, I know!”

“RUN AWAAAY!” Pirka screamed.

Kirby started running. Even King Dedede got caught up in the fun and ran.

“Why am I…?” he said. “I shouldn’t be playing stupid games like tag. I’m really mad right now, so-”

As he said that, when Pirka started drawing near, the great king picked up in speed.

“Who would get caught by a loser like you!? Not me!!”

“Waaaait!”

As Pirka chased after the king and Rick, before they knew it, a loud laugh filled the air. Before everyone ran around, the lake had been filling up with more and more water.

“Clean water~!” Kine said. “Listen, Coo, do you think this water’s fine to swim in?”

“Perhaps,” Coo said, “with the shadow cast over Pirka’s heart gone, the Dreamstalk has regained its original power. This water should be pure and unpolluted.”

“Is this the same water that Kirby sucked up~? Are Kirby’s stomach and the Dreamstalk connected? Umm… umm…?”

No matter much he thought about it, it was impossible to understand. Kirby’s stomach was full of mysteries. So, Kine stopped thinking about it and jumped into the lake. As he swiftly swam around, he called out:

“Feels great~! This lakewater is super clean!”

“It appears the situation has been resolved,” Meta Knight said, “I was far from able to help. I was holding everyone back…”

“No,” Coo said, “if you two hadn’t fallen under her control, we would’ve caught Pirka much sooner. If that had happened, Pirka wouldn’t have been able to have a change of heart. In the end, we were very lucky to have struggled.”

“...though I’m hesitant to admit it, that is correct.”

Meta Knight nodded his head, then raised his voice:

“Come, let’s return to land soon.”

Kirby and the others, who heard this, stopped playing tag and gathered.

“Pirka, let’s go together!” Kirby said to Pirka.

“Huh? No, I...”

Pirka shook her head.

“Don’t worry,” Rick said, “of course we’re not gonna spill all the details to everyone. We’ll just tell them that we worked together with you to solve the problem up here.”

“Thanks, but I’m going to return to the village I came from, not Dream Land.”

Pirka looked at everyone.

“I haven’t gone back since I was exiled, but I still want to see everyone there. I must apologize to the children I had controlled. I don’t know if I could ever accept forgiveness, but… this time, I will try to become their friend.”

Pirka’s eyes were brightly sparkling.

“Is that so?”

Kirby nodded his head.

“Well then, farewell, Pirka! But, since we’re your friends, remember to come visit us here in Dream Land sometimes!”

“Thanks. I am truly grateful, Kirby.”

Pirka tightly held Kirby’s hand.

“Goodbye, everyone!”

“Goodbye, Pirka. See you later!”

Pirka spread her transparent wings and took off over the lake.

“Now then,” Meta Knight said, “let us return to the small boat.”

“Okie dokie!”

“Back to the painfully cramped boat again, huh?” King Dedede said as they walked to the small boat. “Great… hmm?”

Noticing Gooey unsteadily walking beside him, Dedede groaned.

“Why are you coming with us? Gooey!”

“Huhhhh?”

Gooey looked at the king in surprise.

“Because I wanna go home.”

“Didn’t you fly your way here?! You can go back by yourself!”

“Nah. I’m tired after all that fighting.”

“There’s no room for you!”

“There is~!”

“If I say there isn’t, then there isn’t!”

...somehow or other, all seven of them boarded the small boat, getting jam-packed in.

The small boat landed on the shore of the Rainbow Islands. Everyone who had been eagerly waiting for the return of Kirby and the others gathered at once. Captain Vul and the Meta-Knights greet Meta Knight, the first to get down, with cheers of joy.

“Lord Meta Knight! You’re safe!”

“Indeed. The operation was a success,” Meta Knight plainly informed. The Rainbow Islands’ inhabitants, surrounding the small boat, resounded.

“Just as one would expect from Lord Meta Knight!” Captain Vul shouted excitedly. “With Lord Meta Knight’s power, the Rainbow Islands were saved! Everyone should be grateful!”

“No, Captain Vul. It wasn’t my power.”

Meta Knight didn’t seem to want to be thanked, but Captain Vul didn’t understand.

“Oh! Someone as heroic as Lord Meta Knight would never show off his own accomplishments! What modesty! Everyone should follow his example!”

“Aye!”

The Meta-Knights were in high spirits.

“I knew I could count on Lord Meta Knight!”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t accompany you!”

“I wish I could’ve seen Lord Meta Knight’s efforts!”

“Please let us hear the whole story later!”

“...”

Meta Knight became more silent than usual. After King Dedede got down from the small boat, all the Waddle Dees simultaneously sprung up in celebration.

“Hurraaaay, hurraaay!”

“Hurray for His Majesty!”

Just like Meta Knight, the king had been under Pirka’s control. However, he held no shame about it.

“Of course,” he said, proudly puffing up his chest with pride, “prepare for a barbeque on the beach! Grill the meat and vegetables! Don’t forget the marshmallows! Set up my parasol and beach chair!”

“Yes, Great King!”

Bandana Waddle Dee handed the king his life preserver and sunglasses. The king was in the mood for a vacation.

“Let’s get this party started! A beach party, Dedede-style!” the great king shouted in high spirits, when, suddenly, the area became dark, and then raindrops started falling.

“Wow, rain!” the islanders shouted with joy.

“Hurray! It’s been forever since we’ve gotten rain here!”

Their faces lit up, as they merrily frolicked around in the rain. Kirby, Rick, Kine, Coo, and Gooey got down from the small boat. Pick dashed up to Rick and embraced him.

“Welcome home, Rick! You really did it! It’s raining again!”

“Thanks to your lucky charm!”

Mine, seeming happy, cuddled up to Kine.

“Kine, did you get hurt?”

“I’m A-OK! I did my best for you~!”

“I know. I knew that if anyone could make it rain again, it’d be you!”

Pick and Mine, along with a large number of islanders, crowded around the group.

“Thanks, Kirby,” Pick said, “you saved the Rainbow Islands.”

“Gooey saved your island. We just helped him!” Kirby said. As he did, the islanders started clapping loudly.

“Thanks, Gooey!” they shouted.

Gooey, who was not very good at being all sunny and radiant, waved his tongue shyly. The rain steadily evolved into a downpour, dampening the dry ground. The once dried-up lakes and rivers filled up with water again. The fish jumped in with great energy. Of course, the only one on the joyous island who had become sulky at this sight was King Dedede.

“Ughhhhhhh…”

His plans of vacation had been ruined.

“Who had to make it rain!?” he yelled with a bitter-sounding voice.

“Um… you did, Your Majesty…”

“Wait, you’re right! Ughhhhhhh… I HATE THE RAAAAAAAIN!!”

The violent sound of rain drowned out the king’s laments.

The rain continued for the whole day, moistening the dried-up Rainbow Islands.

The next morning…

As the rain stopped, the morning sun shone down on the Rainbow Islands. Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee, who had woken up early, walked to the sandy beach.

“I knew you could do it, Kirby,” Bandana Waddle Dee yelled, “the withered flowers are all better now!”

“We all worked together to get the job done!”

“I wish I could’ve gone with you too…”

“You could’ve gone with us if Meta Knight’s small boat was just a bit bigger.”

Kirby and Bandana Waddle Dee agilely jumped over a puddle of water.

“Tell me about what kind of adventure it was! What was above the clouds?”

At Bandana Dee’s question, Kirby sweetly smiled.

“It’s a secret!” he said.

“Huh? Why?”

“No matter what!”

“Oh, tell me, Kirby!”

“Nuh-uh!”

It was a secret that he couldn’t even tell a close friend like Bandana Dee. Bandana Dee seemed disappointed, but then, suddenly, he noticed something and yelled:

“Kirby, look! The Rainbow Bridge!”

From island to island, pretty Rainbow Bridges connected. Due to the lack of rain, the bridges had begun to fade away into nothing. Thanks to the rain returning after so long, the seven bright colors sparkled.

“Woah…”

“How nice!”

As the light of the morning sun intensified, the Rainbow Bridges’ colors grew prettier and prettier. As they basked in the refreshing breeze, the two would forever admire the Rainbow Bridges.

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[morgana-ren]

I noticed youd said that you get more shiggy requests. So, if you'll indulge me for a sec.

We've had gatos input on how strade would be if the roles were reversed. Mc somehow had him under their control with the shock collar on.

I want your input because your writing is so detailed i know id enjoy reading what a submissive little bitch he'd become.

Please and thank you Morgana.

ily :3

Oh OH You know me so well! This is one of my favorite things to daydream about when I get angry or annoyed because since Strade is such a garbage human being, it tickles me so much to think about how cathartic it would be to turn the tables.

So as well all know, Strade, while very experienced, is not the brightest bulb in the box. He’s got years of know-how behind his expertise in kidnapping and torture, but there’s some shit that just kind of evades him sometimes. Double checking your ropes after he gets a little too excited and wants a dirty basement floor romp, for example. Thanks to his overexcitement and shit-idiot brain fungus he’s got going on, it’s entirely possible for you to slip your bonds. This mistake, in canon, costs him his life. 

But what if MC wasn’t so kind? 

With a level head, you might be able to scrounge around his torture room for a little bit. Maybe he has a needle with some knockout liquid hanging around for “difficult” catches. Maybe you just wait around behind the door until he walks in and smash him on the head as hard as you can and knock his ass out. Either way, he’s got plenty of restraints, and now he’s the one cuffed to a rusty pole. The look on his dumb face when he comes to is priceless. 

You’re not making the same mistakes he did. He’s triple tied to that thing. You know he’s strong, and you’re playing on his home field. You’ve got to be prepared for everything. At least long enough to get upstairs and find help or call the police. Right? Right? 

But what if you don’t?

What if, after he comes to and is sputtering and howling and hissing things at you in German that would make Lindemann blush, you decide not to go for help? He’s mad. He’s oh so very mad. He does not like this, not one bit. But he’s panicking beyond what you’d expect, even for a serial killer who’s been two-timed by his own victim. There’s something else in those dilated eyes. Something you’ve become very acutely familiar with over the last few days. You can still smell it lingering on you the same way it’s staining his shirt now. 

Fear. He’s afraid. And not of death or capture. 

I mean, he very well might be terrified of those things, but whatever it is he’s feeling right now is far overshadowing that. His face is red, and you can practically see the veins in his neck popping in rhythm with his thrumming heartbeat. He’s sweating extensively, and while that’s not uncommon for him, there’s not that macabre jolly smile plastered across his face. He’s baring his teeth and snapping at you like a feral hound, swearing to end your miserable life in a manner that would make the ghosts of his past shudder in horror for you. 

You don’t put it past him to snap these ropes any second and wrap his hands so tightly around your neck that your eyes pop like overinflated balloons. Even if the cops show up and try to escort you to safety, there’s an unspoken darkness in his glare, something that promises pain in your future even if they manage to subdue him. A promise that you can’t guarantee yourself that he can’t keep.

It strikes you that you know nothing about this man.

Surely someone out there knows about this. Someone knows about him and his little hobby. Monsters run in packs and even if you can’t see them, you know they must be there. Best case scenario, they can’t have him spilling their secrets so they find a way to end his life before the police can. Worst case scenario?  Worst case, they come for you. 

You’ve seen enough Hollywood horror movies to know just how wrong it can go if justice is left to the authorities. You haven’t seen much of it, but this looks like a pretty nice house. If he has money, he can just buy his way out. Who is to say that he doesn’t already have a deal with the cops? Kidnapping people is risky business, especially when folks begin to notice that you’re gone. Surely he has some safety net? 

What if he’s part of a network of psychopaths? There’s been enough late-night conspiracy youtube binges in your existence to know that shit like that is perfectly plausible. What if he’s just one of many? What if they have the pull to see him set free even after you’ve gone through the proper avenues to get him locked away? What if, one night, when you think he’s rotting in a 6 x 6 cement cell miles away from you, you wake up back here in this basement with even more Strades with different names and faces but each one shares the desire to see you ripped apart at the seams and devoured?

No. HELL no. You’re not going to be the cliche victim. He can bark and screech at you until his throat is sore and his gums bleed, but the plain and simple fact of the matter is that you have this monster on a leash, and you’re not about to hand that leash over to someone else. 

How many people has he killed? How many have met their end in this godless basement? How many unsuspecting people has he dragged here only to take them apart piece by piece until their eyes glaze and their final breath moistens his cheek as he watches the light in their eyes extinguish? Do you even want to know? Would it make you feel better or worse to know that, at least for now, you’ve narrowly escaped such a fate? 

You have to know. 

His screaming turns fearful as you ascend the stairs. Again, not for fear of being caught, but because he already has been. It’s so odd to hear the phrase “Don’t leave me here!” from his quivering chest when he’s apparently in the place he values most, and there’s a sick sense of catharsis that settles in your gut as you listen to him begin to whimper and whine. You don’t let yourself dwell on it but you do slam the door behind you loudly enough that he will be forced to acknowledge that his pathetic pleas mean nothing to you. 

His house is painfully average, at least for someone like him. He’s even got portraits up with what must be friends or family or someone that cares enough to pose for a cheesy photo with him. If you didn’t know better, you’d say an upstanding, if a little tacky, upper-middle class man lives here. The furniture is unremarkable and well cared for but lived in enough to not raise suspicion. His kitchen is filled with expensive appliances that might as well be fresh out of the box. His fridge, as expected, is filled with beer and various quick meals. Not much of a cook, you guess.

The car sitting in the garage costs in the six digit range and looks like it’s the most beloved thing in the entire area. It reeks of Armor All and disinfectant, and you’re willing to bet that if he was so inclined, he could put it on a showroom floor right now. He’s got tools and cables of all sorts thrown about, but not the kind you’ve gotten so used to. Maybe he actually does use them for their intended purpose sometimes. 

As you walk the length of his home, you notice a distinct lack of screaming. You can’t hear anything, not even a peep from the basement, and you are very certain he’s crying up a storm down there. Interesting. He’s go this place sound proofed. You’re not sure what you’d expected, but it’s good information to have regardless. 

After you’ve sated your curiosity by observing the dragon’s den, you make your way to the upper level. He’s probably not foolish enough to leave any sort of evidence behind where friends and neighbors can see it, so whatever it is you’re looking for is going to be somewhere a little bit more personal. Perhaps like a bedroom? 

Bingo. 

His bedroom, much like the rest of his house, looks about what you’d expect. King sized bed, wooden dresser with a TV and player on top, and a desk beneath the window. Sliding closet doors with all manner of free range dad apparel inside, and honestly, it’s the closest you’ve been to laughing since you got here. He would wear cargo shorts and plaid, wouldn’t he? A scrounge through the drawers of his dresser and closet reveal nothing remarkable, but you’re willing to bet your injured thigh that there’s something special in the desk. 

Just like you’d expect, the desk is locked, but you’d noticed a pair of keys sitting willy-nilly out in the living room and you’d picked them up. About 7 key changes later and the desk pops open for you like a cheap whore. He really isn’t too bright, is he? Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting this to ever be a problem. Either way, you’re grateful he’s a moron. 

Inside the drawer seems to be loads of DVDs, unmarked except for dates. It feels like you’re the unprepared cop in a serial killer movie as you look down at them. You don’t need to watch them to know what they are, but you’re going to anyway. You have to know. You need to know just who you’re dealing with here. 

You pick one at random and pop it into the DVD player and the scene that greets you seems all too familiar. A hunched figure, bloodied and tied to the pole you’d become so intimate with over the last week. This person was in much worse shape than you, however. You could see shadows moving off screen and the camera fuzzes and refocuses repeatedly as what you assume is Strade messes with the controls. Not long after, he emerges, practically skipping into frame. Even though most of his face is concealed behind a hideous bandana, you can tell he’s smiling. It reaches his eyes. 

He says what appears to be a rehearsed greeting and you’re left wondering just how crazy is he? Is he talking to his future self? You can see him making these videos to relive his sick, sadistic fantasies but talking to himself like an absolute lunatic is just a little disconcerting. However, you also acknowledge that the only reason you’ve even thinking about this is to distract yourself from the fact that you’re watching a homemade snuff film that you almost starred in yourself. 

And then he begins. 

Despite the visceral horror on display before you, the urge to vomit never comes. You watch, blank faced, as this poor soul is faced with every horror a human mind can conceive. It goes on for long. Too long. And Strade never stops talking. 

The realization sets in that’s because he’s not the only one watching. 

He’s not talking to himself. He’s responding. This wasn’t for him. This was for them. 

If you had any emotional energy to give, surely you’d be absolutely horrified, but you don’t and you can’t. You’re not even surprised. Someone like Strade, that bubbly personality and 1,000 watt smile, of course he’d find a way to utilize his talents. He’d found a market. He had a hobby and he made money from it. ‘Love your job and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ and you are just so willing to bet he loves his fucking job. 

You let the video keep playing as you sit up from his bed and leave the room. You make your way down the stairs, back to the living room, and then back to the basement door. You open it and immediately are bombarded with the sounds of his screaming and hateful vitriol. It doesn’t phase you. You’re not sure anything will ever again. 

Calmly, you walk into the room and stare at him. He doesn’t cease his incessant threats until he realizes you’re waiting for him to finish so that you can speak. He finally silences himself, though he continues to rip and tear at the ropes holding him hostage as you tell him you found his little home video collection. 

“Let me out.” He demands, and you realize he doesn’t quite understand that he’s not the one in control anymore. Of course a dog without a tangible leash will continue to run wild. You needed to drive the point home. 

You turn your back to him and begin to ruffle through his various cabinets, searching around the nooks and crannies for something that will help him understand just what position he’s found himself in. You make a very interesting discovery next to his med kit. A collar. A literal collar. 

Poetic justice. 

It’s thick and burdensome and more than a little hideous. It’s definitely homemade, because not even the most fucked of BDSM sites are going to offer something like this. It’s accompanied by a small remote with a large red button and not much else. You push the button and yelp in pain, the collar clattering to the floor as it slips from your fingers. It shocked you. It was so very painful, but you’re smiling. 

You retrieve it from where it fell and pop it open, observing it curiously. Strade watches you through wide eyes and sniveling, trembling lips. The look on his face is a dead giveaway that you’ve found something you really shouldn’t have. The toothy grin you flash him shows him that you understand that. 

Without a word, you approach him, holding the open collar in your sweating palm. His struggles begin anew and before long he’s practically yanking his arms out at the sockets trying to get away from you and your newfound toy. He’s throwing his weight around and doing whatever he can with his limited movements to make damn sure you can’t get that terrible thing around his neck, but it’s all in vain because energy is finite and he’s been expending a lot of it over the last hour. 

He’s breathing heavy and you could swear he’s begging between heaves as you clap the collar around his thick neck. His flesh bulges from the side and you’re fairly certain it was made for someone much less burly than himself in mind. You get the odd urge to adjust it on him like a necklace but he’s still dangerous, even caged. You feel weirdly... proud.

“Stop-! you don’t know what you’re doing!” He hiccups, and as he pulls his head upward, you can see he is indeed crying. “Please! Don’t!” 

You’ve never thought of yourself as particularly sadistic, at least in that sense, but some ghostly force pushes your thumb down on that big red button. Watching his eyes go wide and his body convulse and seize fills you with a sense of sheer euphoria that can’t properly be conveyed. The utterly satisfying clang of his head hitting the pole at mach 5 as he shakes and bumbles almost humorously while the collar sends x amount of volts through his body makes you giggle. 

When you finally pull your thumb off the button, he’s still shaking from the residual shock, drool and mucus bubbling from his mouth and nose and sloping down onto his chin. He looks defeated; utterly pathetic. Is this how you looked to him all those times he stood over you grinning as he gifted you pain the likes of which had been unthinkable to you before you met him? The desire to push down again is overwhelming but you’re determined for him to understand there’s a point to this misery. 

There’s a thousand thoughts going through your mind right now faster than you can comprehend them all, but they all have the same general principal. This man is a murderer. This man is a rapist. This man is contained. This man is afraid. This man is at your mercy. 

And unfortunately for him, you just ran out. 

‘How many’ you ask, despite already knowing. If the videos upstairs are any indication, there’s more than he can probably count. More names and faces than he can practically remember and they’re dead because of him. He looks up at you through wet lashes with a trembling lip, already caught on to the fact that there is no correct answer. Your thumb hovers over that seductive red button and he’s quick to spit out whatever he can regardless. 

“I don’t know! I don’t!” 

You don’t doubt that he’s being honest, but it sickens you none he less. You press that button for half a second and he jolts up off the floor as much as his restraints will allow. When he comes to, his eyes can barely focus in on you and when his slumps over, you can see the burns from the collar already settling in on his tan skin. You’re not sure how to turn down the voltage or how lethal it is, but you don’t really care at the moment. If he dies, he dies. You’ll deal with the complications of that later. 

You could sit here all day and grill him, literally and figuratively, about his track record of atrocities, but it won’t bring you any peace. You’re not sure that peace is something that you’ll ever feel again, all things considered. Meeting the monsters that dwell in the dark is drastically different than simply acknowledging that they exist, and through some twist of fate, you’ve been given the opportunity to show this particular monster that he’s no longer at the top of the food chain. There’s so much you could do, so many things you want to do, and it’s at that moment you realize you’ve spent too long staring into the abyss to try and claw your way out. 

You’re being offered the chance they never were. You’re holding the controls now. He’s already crying and you’ve barely touched him, barely done anything besides shock him a little. You remember that feeling well. If you recall, you were already crying before he put that knife to your thigh on your first day with him. 

Truth is, you decided the second he fell unconscious what you were going to do. 

Maybe a revenge like this isn’t yours to take, but you’re taking it regardless. For yourself, and for every sorry sap that’s met their end in his cement hellhole. They died for you to have this opportunity, and you’d like to think that maybe they’re there with you in this moment. Even if you never knew them, you feel a strange kinship with them. After all, it was almost you. 

He continues to babble underneath his breath, various pleas for mercy or sympathy or any form of compassion you can muster from your still aching body, and though you desperately wish you did, you can’t find any. You’re certain when you look in the mirror next, it won’t be your own eyes looking back at you anymore, but something closer to his. Maybe you did die in this basement, because whoever you were before you met him is long gone and has been replaced with something so much more empty. 

You explain to him, as gently as you can, that it’s your turn now, and his resistance will only make this harder. You don’t delight in seeing him in pain (whether or not that’s a lie has yet to be determined) but it’s a necessary evil for all he’s done. You don’t believe his life is yours to take, but you’d be as terrible as him if you let him loose on the world again. You can’t trust anyone but yourself, and since this situation is so delicate, you need a bit more time to think on it. 

He doesn’t seem to understand, at least until you’re binding his legs and securing his head snuggly to the pole. Maybe it’s overkill considering the man looks like he belongs in a shibari magazine right now, but there’s no precautions you can’t take. You can’t have him escaping. It’s far too soon, and you have such wonderful things planned. 

Were you a kinder soul, maybe you would put him to sleep because it’s so apparent he’s terrified. Being bound like this has really brought out his inner little bitch, and the way he’s looking, he’s going to piss himself. But its a price it’s only fair that he pay, all things considered. You don’t know what time it is or even where you are, but you know you’ll return to him when you’ve been rejuvenated, eager and ready to begin on him. You’re only a few steps toward the door when he begins shouting, words barely discernible between his emphatic weeping and sobbing hiccups. 

“D-don’t leave me here in the dark! Let me go, let me out! You can’t! You can’t leave me here like this!”  You grin softly, turning slowly to face him, and tell him that you can and you will. You ask what he’s so afraid of, but you don’t wait to hear the answer as you step through the frame and shut the door behind you, leaving him to rot in his personal dungeon. It’s only been an hour and he’s already so pliable. You wonder what you can make him do when you really make it hurt. Psychology says it takes 7 years to brainwash someone and coerce them into absolute compliance, but you’re willing to bet you can have it done in a few months. 

You already know one of his fears, and are very clearly not ashamed to exploit it. How many else does he have, you might wonder, already planning tomorrow’s festivities. Maybe you were sicker in the head than you thought. Maybe Strade just brought out the worst in you, stripped away all that made you human and left you with raw hurt and despair. 

It’s tempting. To give in. To sit and massage your aching body while listening to his screams as they echo through the soundproofed basement. But you’re tired, and you haven’t slept in a bed in over a week. His looked awfully nice. Maybe after that, you’d wash the dried blood from your battered body, order some food, and appreciate the niceties that civilized life had to offer. Niceties you took for granted. 

After that?  Well, after that you had a new pet to train. 

[wing-ed-thing]

Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Part II)

Notes: OOOOh she a long boi. Enjoy, you won’t believe how many edits this went though. Time to throw this out into the void.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIIIChapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI 

Summary: You can't stand Might Guy. Honestly, how could anyone be so boisterously unaware and sickeningly positive? Your heart sinks as the both of you are teamed up to infiltrate and collect information from the Hidden Sound's gritty nightlife. Maybe losing yourselves in the dark of the underground will help you both come to an understanding.

You shifted your pack full of equipment on your shoulders and patted yourself rapidly on the cheek in an attempt to snap your groggy features into liveliness. It had been a long, restless night. You kept thinking about the mission. The case file had creased in certain areas of the pages the more you thumbed through it. Your bag was packed and repacked several times. Last night, it seemed as if the moment you returned to your bed you felt the urge to get back up.  

Exhausted, you stood in front of your mirror on your way out the door. You tucked your hair in a bandana. You were used to wearing civilian clothes, but the lack of forehead protector was never something you could get used to. It meant that you were a kunoichi of the Leaf and it felt wrong to not bear the symbol of your home.

You locked the door to your tiny apartment and headed the direction of the Konoha gates. It was early, much too early for anyone to be out. At the horizon, the sun was still a bit away from rising. Nature stood still, calm, and silent. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, you were used to waking at this time. It was not because of your own will, but because of a certain loud-mouth training outside your window. You shuttered, thinking about your fellow Jounin and his mini. Yes, he did have a “mini” now, but didn’t mind the Mini-Might as much as you minded his mentor. His mentor was the one that would go on earnestly about “youth” in front of your apartment while you were trying to sleep. Irritated, you promised yourself every morning that you’d storm down there and give Guy a piece of your mind. For some reason, you never did.

You tried not to think about your unfortunate travel partner and focus on the giddiness that always overtook you when you were assigned to covert missions. It really brought you a certain kind of joy to know that Tsunade thought of you for this. It was no wonder; undercover information gathering was your specialty after all. You were a clever prosthetic cosmetician, the best in the Leaf if you might add. With your skills to bend your appearance combined with your signature jutsu, you lived for times like these. You didn’t know what it was. Perhaps, it was the satisfaction that came with becoming someone else completely. Maybe, it was the thrill of extracting information from the most unwitting of targets that gave you such a rush. You could feel it in your core. Anyone can make a flimsy transformation, but you? You were the real thing. The feeling coursed up through you to extract a small squeal of joy from your lips as you nearly skipped along your way.

That feeling came to a sudden halt as you noticed the outline of Might Guy standing, waiting for you. He would be early. You should have expected that. You remembered why you were less excited about this mission again. As you approached, his figure grew larger. Now, while you were used to wearing civilian garments, you were definitely not used to Guy wearing civilian garments. He stood in front of you. His outer shirt was loose. A darker olive green undershirt ran down his arms and bunched up around his elbows. You didn’t think there was ever a day that you had seen Guy without his signature jumpsuit. No, you believe you saw him once in mourning robes at a funeral. But did that really count?

“Guy-san,” You called out almost tentatively as you came into his view. You were so used to that gaudy thing he wore that you might not have recognized him under normal circumstances. “You’re early,” you pointed out stiffly.

“No, not at all, (Y/N)-san,” He told you. His charisma was deafened compared to usual but it still shone through as was typical of Might Guy. He was a bit tense. It must have to do with your conversation with him the previous day. You couldn’t help but mentally pat yourself on the back, gloating to yourself that he should know to limit talking to you. You stuck up your nose in a huff.

“Well if you’re ready, we should probably get going.” You strolled past him, not even giving him the slightest glance. “We have 30 hours ahead of us.” You pointed out as you started out towards the forest. You ran up the nearest tree and sprang into a front flip. The branch shook lightly as you landed, hardly turning before you began to skip along the trees. You made it a point not to look back, sure that Guy was only a short distance behind you.

Once again, you enjoyed silence. The breeze from your rapid movement whirled in your ears. Your hair rippled in the wind. The air of the forest seemed more crisp than usual. It was dense ahead with intricate branches shooting in every direction. Guy’s figure appeared in front of you. With a scowl, you sped up in front of him, bounding ahead. Guy called out to you, but you were too focused on your game. No way you weren’t taking the lead on this one. You gripped the first branch that obstructed your way. Using it for support you channeled your momentum into a midair cartwheel. You free fell head first, you heard yelling after you. You caught another branch and launched yourself back into the air like a trapeze artist with a burst of chakra. There was nothing more freeing than being a kunoichi.

But once again, you were reminded of the damper as Guy appeared in your peripheral. You rolled your eyes, wondering why Might Guy had to ruin everything for you. You continued your intricate gymnastics.

“We should probably talk about the mission.” He spoke from somewhere behind you. You sprang ahead, pretending not to hear. You dove and Guy had no choice to follow as you continued flipping and somersaulting through the air.

That was when you felt it and your smile was quickly diminished. Something was off about this area of the forest. You stopped, hand against the trunk of a tree you sat quietly. Guy appeared next to you wondering why you stopped. You wordlessly sped forward once again.

You sensed something but was unsure what it was. You attempted to focus but Guy kept calling to you. The two of you were deep in the forest. You shot through the air faster and faster, trying to locate what else or who else was in the forest with you. You could feel one… two… You couldn’t focus, Guy kept calling to you.  You got this horrible feeling. It was like a fluttering in your chest and a pit in your stomach. You felt off, distracted. You tried to shake the feeling over and put your power into reaching your full speed. You were getting close. Close to finding whatever was out there-

A hand latched onto your right wrist. Unwittingly but without hesitation, you reversed your momentum into a kick. Guy blocked your leg, letting go of your arm and you both skidded onto another large branch. You crouched in a defensive position.

“What the hell is your problem?” You snapped at your partner. You had never seen Guy so serious.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He demanded it softly, but sternly. You looked around you. The two of you were out in the open. You could sense something close by. Leaves rustled.

You ran towards him without time to think, pushing him to the base of the tree before you were struck. You gritted your teeth as the skin on your shoulder just barely split.

“You gave us away, you idiot!” you grunted. Losing traction on the rough bark of the tree, you plunged along with the kunai knife that struck you. There wasn’t enough time to recover. The ground erupted into a puff of smoke as you hit the forest floor. You howled, immense pain pooling in your left shoulder.

Guy had made his way down from the trees, but not before three figures surrounded you. Two of them faced Guy while the third gripped you by the hair, dragging you up from the ground. You growled, trying to not cry out from the pain.

“What do we have here? Travelers from the Leaf?” One barked.

“Looks like it!” the one with the grip in your hair proclaimed. You observed him as best as you could from your disadvantaged vantage. They seemed to just be robbers or possibly scouts. You weren’t sure. While they didn’t seem heavily armed, they were in a three man squad bearing the Hidden Sound symbol. They caught the two of you off guard. This one wouldn’t be easy. “Why don’t you guys rough up the boyfriend? See what he’s got on him.”

You shifted, both you and Guy were in trouble. You tried to move the arm you landed on, but you were only met with pain and failure. You tried to take a look at your captor. If you could just touch… You reached up to grab his hand with your right one. Cloth. Gloves. Dammit. The man looked down, tugging your head down harshly, “Aw don’t worry, sweetheart, I didn’t forget about you.”

You could hear Guy fighting, but your lowered head couldn’t see much of anything. You felt your captor’s sleeve brush against your knuckle. There it was. Stretching, you swiftly slid your hand up under his sleeve. Your fingers touched his skin but just barely. You tightened your reach as your chakra gathered in your fingers. The ninja behind you slackened as you maneuvered yourself to face him, still gripping him in a forearm handshake as his legs locked. You could still hear Guy. Your other arm dangled at your side.

You took him in, absorbing his face. His grey eyes, the scar that bisected his face, his heavy-set jaw. You never forgot a bitch.

“Who are you?” you demanded, hearing the sound of battle behind you. He was dazed. More chakra gathered around your hand. You could see the consciousness in his eye slowly diminish. “Look into my eyes,” you requested firmly. His eyes met yours. “I asked you who you were and what you want.”

“W-we are, we are,” You started deeply into his eyes. “We are of the Sound.”

“Yes, you are,” You whispered, beginning to stand. The ambusher swayed. “And what are you doing in the forests of the Land of Fire?”

“We’re here. We’re here in the forest. Forest of the Land of Fire.” You weren’t getting the answers as quickly as you wanted. You sent another surge of chakra to your hand, quickly moving your grip from his arm to his face. You did it quickly. In the split second where you weren’t touching, you saw his senses start to return to him. You put a stop to that as soon as your hand reached his cheek.

“Yes, tell me why. Why is the Sound pushing the border?” The potential scouting ninja parted his lips. You concentrated, attempting to keep your hold on him for just a bit longer. Sweat began to drip down your temple. Your hand moved to his forehead. “Tell me.”

He was gone, completely under your spell. He opened his mouth to speak. It was hard to control with one hand, but you couldn’t help but congratulate yourself on finishing this mission one day in. Minimal injury and you found a helpless underling who would tell you everything. You really hit the jackpot.

That was, until your prey was ripped from you like a fly torn from a spiderweb. You felt him slip through your fingers. His body slammed into the tree behind him, the trunk buckling from the impact. Might Guy stood over him. You looked behind you, the other two scouts were out as well, bleeding profusely. You stood from your kneeling position.

“Guy, what the hell?! I had that one wrapped around my finger until you ruined it!” You stormed over to him in a rage. “What the fuck is your problem? Didn’t I tell you to not get in my way? I knew you’d do this, Might Guy!”

Guy took your lashing, face uncharacteristically stoic for the length of your tantrum. You cursed him, going up to the crippled ambusher. You put your right hand on his face, chakra flowing through your fingers. Like you expected, your jutsu didn’t work. You whipped around to Guy.

“We could have been done with this mission before it started!” you exclaimed. You kept grumbling while Guy stood straight-faced and silent. He listened wordlessly and patiently as you ranted. Throughout all the name-calling and blaming, not a word left his lips. You finally ceased when you began to run out of air. Guy stood tall in front of you, facing you as an equal. He had the same stoic and serious face as before. You listened.

“We are on a mission together. Whether you like it or not, that was Lady Tsunade’s call.” He crossed his arms. He wasn’t angry or vindictive in the way he spoke. He was just... Guy. “You are my partner and I was assigned, no, ordered to protect you. I will continue to do that as that comes down from the Hokage. Dislike me all you want, but I ask that you save it for when we get back. We’ll have to work very closely for this mission, so it would benefit us to have a civil partnership.”

Your face burned and you avoided his gaze. He was right. And unlike you, he didn’t have such a short fuse.

Guy approached. “May I?” You hesitated but soon nodded. He laid two strong hands around your arm and shoulder.

“It’s dislocated.” You remarked. He hummed, snapping your shoulder back into place in one swift movement and you let out a string of curse words. He said nothing, offering you a hand to test the movement in your arm. It was sore, but you could move the joint again. Your hand lingered in his. You looked up into his eyes, lingering there too before you quickly retreat your hand and look away.

You tentatively stretched your arm again. “Thank you, Guy-san.” Those words in that order felt unnatural to both of you coming from your mouth. Odd, but not something you couldn’t get used to.

“Are you okay to get going again?” You nodded and the two of you sprang back up to the trees.

It was once again silent as you traveled with Guy. Despite a lack of exchanging words, you passed the time lost in thought. Why would Sound bandits be so far into a forest in the Land of Fire? You thought back to the ambush, the tight spot you were in, and Guy. You thought back to the information you almost got, Might Guy taking on three of the enemy at once. His frame as he came to your rescue. Your hand in his. You nearly tripped at the thought.

“Are you okay?” Guy asked as you recovered from your stumble.

“Yes!” You told him quickly.

You tried to focus on the three that ambushed you. You wondered what that one bandit was going to say. Nonetheless, this was confirmation of what Tsunade had told you. There was something stirring in the Sound.

Dusk was closing in. The sky was various shades of pink and purple as both you and Guy decided to set up camp for the day. You finally got to stand still, your pulse beating rapidly from your travel. Your calves burned. Both of your packs hit the ground. Guy worked on getting a fire started while you laid protective jutsu around your campsite. You stood, breathing in, focusing on your surroundings. The two of you were completely alone.

“So,” you began. You weren’t used to talking to Guy. For whatever reason it made you so flustered! You hated being flustered. “You wanted to talk about the mission.”

Guy blinked at you. “Yes, I did.” You sat by the fire, gesturing for Guy to sit as well. The silence was uncomfortable. You took out a ration of food you carried in your pack and Guy did the same.

“We should probably start using each other's new names.” You offered. Guy only nodded. You continued, scuttling to make nice conversation, “Umm… The informant put in a word for us at the club. Eh… I think my role is pretty obvious but what are they having you do?”

“Bartender,” Guy stated matter of factly.

“You, a bartender?” You asked, quirking your eyebrows. “I would never have expected you to bartend.”

“Oh yeah! People are surprised all the time,” Guy chuckled. He perked up with his usual Might Guy gusto.  “I won’t lie to ya’ I’m pretty excited. According to Kakashi, I make the best Old Fashioned.” He began to smile.

You took in his jolly features. Maybe that was the reason you never yelled at him each morning.

“I’ll have to put that to the test,” you joked weakly. You gave a small smile as you looked at your lap. Happy was a good look for Might Guy, you decided.

“I don’t think you’ve ever smiled around me,” Guy remarked. “Or at least at anything I’ve said.”

“Why would I?” you snapped out of habit. You paused, feeling guilt creep up on you. Before you could apologize, Guy burst out laughing. You laughed nervously along with him.

“You’ve always been a feisty one!” Guy proclaimed, “You have the fire of youth in your heart.” You rolled your eyes. There he is talking about “youth” again, but you couldn’t help help but feel complimented.

“Thank you, Guy-san… um… Genki-san.” You responded. The words still felt foreign, but it was something you could get used to. The new name didn’t help. “You, uh… you do as, as well?” Flustered, your face started to heat up. You could just blame it on the fire.

“You can call me by my real name when we are alone,” Guy offered. He was slightly taken aback, but was encouraged by the olive branch you were extending. You were trying.

“Um, of course.” You cleared your throat. “Allow me to take first watch.” Guy looked at you. Were you trying too hard?

“No, let me. You need to rest that arm of yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“I recuperate quicker than most, I’ll be fine with less sleep.”

You accepted his invitation there, settling into your make-shift bed of a few blankets. You looked to the stars, projecting them onto the backs of your eyelids as you settled into sleep. Feelings swirled around in your gut. You still didn’t like Might Guy. You repeated that to yourself, though the more you said it, the less you believed yourself.

He’s just annoying, you thought to yourself. He’s a capable ninja, he’s just annoying.

Yes, that was it.

That’s what you’re going to tell yourself.

[a-lil-perspective]

•Braids and Bavodu’e•

A/N: Directly affiliated with the “Serendipity With A Slice Of Sergeant” series, this spin-off is for Uncle Crosshair. There are three segments spanning within this narrative that each depict different phases of time. To clarify—the order will proceed as such: Middle, Beginning, End. In total adoration for this particular concept with Crosshair, I poured my heart and soul into the curation, and I hope you all find enjoyment within. Feedback, recommendations, and requests are always appreciated. @shadow-hyder @obiorbenkenobi @thegoodbatch @starflyer-104 @karpasia @kriffingunlucky @everyonehasanindividuality

•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️▫️•

“I... do not think you’re doing it the right way, Crosshair. It says here in the guide to weave over, then under—”

“Tech, kindly close your yap so I can concentrate.” Crosshair bit out, sighing in frustration over the seemingly impossible task. “I know what I’m doing.”

He had no idea what he was doing.

But when Hunter’s daughters came bounding up to Crosshair with a hairbrush and a plea—how could he refuse?

After all, it was just one braid in a little girl’s hair—how hard can it be?

The six-year-old jittered with excitement. “I can’t wait till it’s done!”

“I can’t either,” Crosshair mumbled through a hair accessory clamped between his teeth as he worked.

A sniper and ex-Super Commando against toddlers and tresses?

No problem.

///

Crosshair’s hands smoothed over the entirety of the girl’s hair; signifying his completion, finally, of this one kriffing braid. His contentment over the results made up for the aching in his wrist. He was no hairdresser, and yet—clenching and uncurling his fingers before cracking his knuckles to alleviate the strain—Crosshair figured he’d better start building up the muscle strength in his hands; a sneaking suspicion that there would be many more braids to come.

His deduction was already confirmed when Tech promptly planted the three-year-old Rowena straight into the sniper’s lap, next.

“You have to do Ro’s hair, too.” Tech needlessly explained.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Crosshair sneered, rolling his eyes and once again favoring the tactic of sardonic responses to conceal his discomfiture for whatever situation he found himself in.

“His name isn’t Captain Obvious, Ba’vodu!” Alarasmé’s high-pitched voice cut through the tension, her lack of knowledge on sarcasm pointedly intervening. “That’s Uncle Tech!”

“You’re right, ‘Lara—but tell Crosshair who your favorite Uncle is, hmm?” He encouraged, a feeling of total confidence and surety in the girl’s pending answer.

“You, Uncle Crosshair.”

Her confirmation managed to simultaneously inflate Crosshair’s ego and deflate Tech’s. The engineer’s mouth lay agape, his downcast expression symbolic of crushed spirits, and the image of Tech’s pout allowed Crosshair to become wholly amused by his vod’ika’s lack of dignity around a six-year-old.

“I... Alara... I thought I was your favorite Ba’vodu?” The engineer was utterly baffled, devastation evident in his voice.

“That was only yesterday, Techie.” The girl stated with complete disregard for her Uncle’s feelings, as if her admission towards a shift in predilection was the most justifiable thing, and a predictable reoccurrence, at that.

Apparently, it was.

“But... but Crosshair has practically had a running streak for three weeks now!” Tech whined, to which the sniper simply cast him the most smug expression the engineer has ever seen.

Had there not been small children around, Tech swore to himself that he would’ve punched that stupid smirk right off his ori’vod’s face, he was that indignant over the ranking.

So he attempted to compensate for his trauma and descending favor by kneeling in front of the three-year-old with her locks currently tended to as he worked on coercing his desired validation out of the toddler.

“Rowena, Tech is your favorite Uncle, correct?”

The toddler giggled and reached her tiny fingers out to yank at Tech’s goggles, pulling them away from his face before abruptly letting go; the resistance from the band around the back of his head causing the corrective eyewear to suddenly retract with a thwack against his skin. The sound of Tech’s yelp of pain nearly overpowered Crosshair’s cackling.

“You di’kut, you had that one coming, tryna reason with a baby,” the sniper managed to choke out through his wheezing, to which Tech scowled, soothing over both the fresh sting around his delicate eye area and his further injured pride.

“As a matter of fact, I think the response was a good sign. According to research, babies and small children naturally present with more attentiveness and personality to people they favor—“

“Awe don’t worry, Techie,” the sniper brushed his vod’ika aside with a goading stroke of snark. “It’s not your fault—not everyone can be as well accomplished as this Ba’vodu.”

It was true—while Crosshair was slightly begrudged to admit—his deft and nimble fingers that procured precision in every aspect of his work were, unsurprisingly, the most ideal candidate for constructing intricate hairstyles.

Not that he was complaining one bit.

///

“Papa! Look at my hair!!” The little girl gave a proud twirl in flaunting the new style to her Father upon his return with Uncle Wrecker.

Hunter’s eyes widened, signaling his eased integration of whimsicality and theatrics into his daughter’s exuberance. He was a natural; proof of his intrinsically befitting role of Fatherhood on display time over again.

“Alarasmé?! Is that you?! I barely even recognized you, you’re even more beautiful then I remember!” He knelt to be eye-level with his daughter in emphasizing his payments of the highest respect and reverence for her beauty; his surprise remaining authentic, and his compliment even more so.

Truthfully, he was thoroughly surprised at beholding his two daughters that day... with their hair beautifully styled... by... Crosshair?

Hunter’s brows furrowed while curiously regarding his vod, whose own attentive gaze was fully occupied with giving purpose to the last thin strands of hair on the youngest girl. If Crosshair felt Hunter’s intense gaze of perplexity boring into him over his unprecedented behavior, he had yet to acknowledge it.

He did feel it, and was pointedly ignoring.

“All done, Ro.” Crosshair announced upon promptly attaching the finishing touch to Rowena’s head before she bolted out of the chair in racing her chubby toddler legs over to Hunter, who matched her eagerness as he lovingly scooped up his ik’aad to also exalt her beauty and express his adoration for the girl’s new accessory—

So that’s where his red bandana went.

“Papa! Your turn!” The girls pulled a now flustered Sergeant over to Crosshair, who suddenly flashed Hunter the most devilish grin before patting the stool in front of him in an overly welcoming gesture; each word dripping with deliberate emphasis.

“Yes, Papa Hunter—have a seat.”

“Uh, I don’t think so—“

“I insist.”

The intense begging of his daughters mixed with the thinly-veiled intimidation tactics of Crosshair left Hunter with little choice than to flop unceremoniously down into the chair, but not before turning to greet his vod with a glare and feigned warning:

“You’ll regret this.”

“Oh, I think not, Sergeant—I am going to enjoy the absolute kriff out of this.” Crosshair smirked, playfully smacking the back of his ori’vod’s head. “Now be still and enjoy your braid. Remember to smile for Tech’s recording.”

/// *** \\\

“Do you want to hold her, vod?”

There it is. The dreaded question Crosshair knew was coming.

The nauseating one that caused his head to spin and a sheen of sweat to break out across his forehead; a question that triggered Crosshair’s urge to promptly flee the scene.

Not that the idea itself dreaded him—but who was he kidding; his hands were used to cradling rifles, not babies.

Certainly not infant newborns.

“You’re not gonna break her, vod. Don’t worry. She’s tougher than she looks.” Hunter replies with reverence for his firstborn and innate realization for the way Cross was so conflicted; as if the sniper’s contorted and downright terrified facial expression wasn’t overt enough.

Crosshair’s hands unconsciously drifted defensively in front of him, and he noted the way they were slightly trembling.

Of course Hunter noticed, too—he deliberately approached Crosshair last with news of the baby’s arrival, equipped with full comprehension for the way his vod would instinctively portray a great deal of resistance to the encounter, originating from his suffocating trepidations. Inwardly, Hunter couldn’t place fault; the prospect, his new reality, was also just as utterly foreign to a man groomed for the role of a Sergeant and super soldier all of his life. He was actually a Father now.

Crosshair’s stammering became the only audibility as he desperately searched for the right words. “I... I don’t... How do I—”

“Just position your arms, exactly like mine here,” Hunter gently instructed, stifling his slight hilarity in regarding Crosshair’s plight and uncharacteristically timid behavior. He slowly transferred the bundle, leaving a last piece of advice on how to support the baby’s head with the act of cradling.

There she is. The moment Crosshair’s fret over, the focal point of his immense stress for nine months straight; all condensed into this one moment:

A moment that forcefully yanked the air from the sniper’s lungs. Fear. Joy. Exhilaration. Assurance. Swirling emotions enveloping and succumbing to solidification; leaving his vision in cloudy haze, nearly bringing the man to his knees. The moment he swore his heart would beat out of his chest from the hammering against his ribcage and the pure adrenaline rushing through his veins.

A moment of—

“How does it feel, Ba’vodu?” Hunter’s genuine smile and elation reeled Crosshair back, momentarily.

“I...” Crosshair faltered, not trusting himself to speak. Not yet.

Don’t stare. Stay calm. Act normal. Breathe—

He swallowed hard, lowering his octave to just above a whisper and opting for the incitement of a casual inquiry as he desperately tried to compensate for the weight, or lack thereof, in his arms.

She was... way lighter than a rifle...

“What did you name her?”

“Alarasmé.”

The hard eye rolling of Crosshair briefly allowed the sniper’s usual derisive quips to surface in that instant. What a name.

“That’s too big for a baby, you di’kut.” Both men chuckled at the ribbing.

“She’ll grow into it. Besides—we figured there could be lots of nicknames to come from it: ‘Alara’, ‘Lara’, ‘Lar’—”

“That’s... better. Pretty.”

“Glad you think so, vod. You know your opinion is the only one I care about.”

Crosshair’s wry smile spread across his features, mirroring his ori’vod’s. He appreciated the former Sergeant favoring the antidote of humor to ease them both into the new transition, despite Hunter currently looking a little worse for wear.

His thoughts flickered to a more pressing question, the one that plagued his thoughts the moment medical droids ushered her back.

“And... Y/N? Is she—?”

“She’s doing great, vod,” Hunter’s smile projected reassurance.

Crosshair exhaled in relief, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d held captive. “That’s good... figured as much, otherwise you wouldn’t even be coherent. Surprised you didn’t pass out right on the spot.”

“Me too.” Hunter’s deep laugh echoed against the stark white walls of the hospital. “But I did have to send Wrecker outside until he could stop howling from sheer excitement. And I sent Tech in there to keep an eye on her while she rests.”

“Resting and Tech do not go together, Hunter. I think baby fever is stunting your sound judgement here.”

“Cross—relax, would you? Tech’s not gonna bother anything. Everything is fine, I promise: Y/N is OK.” Hunter inhaled patience and breathed out compassion before gently continuing, a sense of fond remembrance coloring his features.

“You should’ve seen her, vod; she was SO happy. Could barely pry that little one from her arms.” The former Sergeant carefully eyed Crosshair in accentuation over his next statement. “But she wanted you to see the baby. Was askin’ about you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Crosshair felt a contemplative frown tug the corner of his lips as his brows furrowed in intense deciphering of Hunter’s admission.

Y/N... was asking... about him? Wanted to make sure he was okay? Even though she was the one giving birth.

Hunter should count his lucky stars. Maker, that woman was so kriffing compassionate and thoughtful, her altruism a real rarity.

If someone were to ask; this was but one of many reasons why Crosshair loved you so damn much.

He could hardly breathe at the pang of guilt now coursing through him—talk about a real shabuir. He could’ve made himself available for support instead of trekking around the hospital to wallow in his reservations and anxiety.

Crosshair felt he did a major disservice to the people whom he deeply cared for, who relied on him—and he fervently sought to make amends.

Maybe he could start today...

The sniper’s eyes finally drifted to the bundle in his arms and settled on the baby now slightly squirming as she cooed and suddenly blessed Crosshair with the image of two pools of dazzling brown eyes reflecting; soft and warm and curiously regarding the company of a temporary acquaintance cradling her. Her face was tender; concave features and tiny lips immediately curving into a half smile.

Crosshair couldn’t breathe.

He nearly clutched his chest, seeking to address the now smoking hole in the center courtesy of a newborn, his niece, and her well placed shot point-blank through his heart.

Impressive by even an expert sniper’s standards.

It was as if suddenly, instead of blood seeping from his exposed heart, it was pure ardor forcefully expelling and completely washing away disquietude to project a vulnerability so lovingly welcomed and an intimacy so deeply cherished in that instant; an indescribable moment Crosshair wished he could capture the essence of forever.

A moment Crosshair fell in love.

With stars in his eyes and total adoration for this beautiful human created from an unrepentant devotion, the sniper quickly decided with an unwavering resolve that love was the most powerful thing in the entire galaxy—a raw purity that suddenly reached out to evoke healing and restitution through solely the grasp of her tiny fingers.

And it was with slight amusement and full reverence that Crosshair acknowledged how only a child of Y/N could have such an effect of him.

Hunter felt as he was was intruding on a private moment with the way Crosshair’s entire mood and expression finally shifted; hardened layers peeling back to reveal a raw core of delicate emotions—a demeanor in his vod that Hunter had not witnessed the materialization of in a very long time.

A tiny droplet on the baby’s blanket became the only indication to Crosshair of his emotions now manifested through his glistening eyes.

Worry and anxiety became evident on Hunter’s face as he carefully watched the silent tears now roll down his vod’s cheek and patter against the cloth swaddling his newborn daughter.

He’s crying... Crosshair doesn’t cry... Is he just utterly overwhelmed? Overjoyed? Scared?

Hunter reached out tentatively, unsure of what to do, at a loss for what to say.

Tell me what you need, kih’vod...

“Crosshair? Do you... want me to take her back now—?”

“Hunter,” the sniper choked out, unabashed in his unequivocal bliss. “She is perfect.”

Absolutely perfect.

—Such were the emotions of love and doting magnified upon the addition of another beautiful daughter; proof of Crosshair’s inflated eagerness at Rowena’s arrival evident through the scenario of Wrecker’s form nearly put to the ground as Crosshair practically shoved his way to get to the new baby girl first.

/// *** \\\

“—And he’s just SO nice, great listener, super cute, too—“

“I don’t like him.”

The now thirteen-year-old whipped her head around to regard her Ba’vodu, who nearly lost his grip on the girl’s ebony locks currently under revision of a new hairstyle.

“Uncle Crosshair, you don’t even know him.”

“I don’t have to. If any boy likes my niece, I don’t like him. It’s very simple, love.” Crosshair solidified his terse judgment with a twirl of his finger in signaling Alarasmé to revert to her original position, allowing him resumed access to the back of her head.

The eldest daughter of Hunter grumbled and crossed her arms, complying with Crosshair’s instruction. “You never like any of mine and Rowena’s friends. That’s hardly fair.”

“I don’t play fair, sweetheart. You should know that by now.”

‘Lara simply ignored her stubborn uncle in continuing with her story. “Anyway, so he approached me after a class, and guess what??”

The girl’s enthusiasm was utterly endearing, and her theatrics intrinsically drew a smile out of Crosshair. He decided to humor her.

“What, beautiful Alarasmé?? Enlighten your uncle Crosshair.”

Her barely contained excitement suddenly effervesced in the form of an absolutely delighted squeal that echoed the entirety of space and left a ringing in Crosshair’s ears.

“HE GAVE ME HIS HOLO FREQUENCY!!”

Crosshair was immensely glad Alara’s back poised to him possessed the inability to behold the deep scowl etched into her Uncle’s face in that moment.

But she was practically glowing with elation, and Crosshair wasn’t about to rob her of a childhood exuberance that was so authentically pure and wholesome.

But he couldn’t help himself—you’d think they were the sniper’s own offspring, what with the way he was utterly enamored and obsessively overprotective of his ori’vod’s daughters. Kriff. They were his literal undoing.

Crosshair suddenly emerged to behold two large pools of beautiful brown studying his face, searching for a reaction, silently pleading for his approval.

He swallowed his skepticism and disdain for some stranger, little more than a kid, contending for his niece’s beautiful heart; forcing his most genuine smile in response.

“That’s... really great, ‘Lara. I’m happy for you. Let me know if you want me to kill him.”

“Thanks Ba’vodu—hey, I can kill him myself, thank you very much—“

“Good girl, verd’ika. That’s what I like to hear.” Her assertation became Crosshair’s favorite part of the news; a sense of pride and borderline sadistic satisfaction culminating from her bold reassurance. He made no qualms of obscuring his pleased smirk from the teenager when her own suddenly reflected back at him.

“Awe. Do you feel better now, Ba’vodu?” Her animated expressions thoroughly amused Crosshair, reminding him once again of just how much the young girl favored her father’s personality the older she aged; his physical resemblance even more so.

Crosshair couldn’t get enough of it.

“As a matter of fact, cyar’ika—I do feel much better in knowing the four ex-Super Commandos in your life have done you justice by instilling in you the shameless instruction of kicking someone’s ass whenever needed. Yes.” He allowed a hand to deviate from her hair in playfully stroking her cheek before withdrawing; a sudden realization flickering. “You haven’t actually told your Papa yet, have you? You might want to—”

“No!” ‘Lara’s cry startled Crosshair. “Please don’t tell him—he is the worst and weirdest about this stuff, and Rowena already gives me a hard enough time, as it is!”

So you came to the most critiquing Uncle you have? He bit his tongue to keep from spitting out, recognizing the way that wouldn’t allay her distress.

Deep down, he also knew why both of his former Sergeant’s daughters spent so much of their time consumed with Crosshair—he was a good listener, typically calm and level-headed; not overly rumbustious, prying, or a downright troublemaker like the other men. While the sniper’s abrasive nature remained a steady inherence, his many unique forms of gentle conveyances resonated profoundly with the girls. Without fail, both females came to Crosshair for the deep conversations, always intrigued by their enigmatic Ba’vodu’s wisdom presented through his scope of very unfiltered perspectives. Sniper rifles, late night sweets, and new hairstyles were the focal point of their relationship.

Crosshair would allow himself some leniency—he was a pretty good Uncle.

Though he shifted full credit to their beautiful mother, who initially cultivated Crosshair’s soft refinement so many years ago; her two children further reinforcing that self-growth in the man.

Two children...

It‘s been five years since, but the pain of loss from what would’ve been a third child—a son of Hunter’s that never carried to full term—still heavily bore it’s remnants of poignancy.

It never got any easier to quell the grief.

“Cyar’ika... you have to tell him soon. That stubborn Daddy of yours will find out one way or another.” He chuckled lightly before softening his tone. “You know that.”

A sigh of defeat emitting from the girl tugged at Crosshair’s heart strings as he watched the way her eyes became acquainted with the floor for a long moment; harsh silence uncouth in the act of creating a palpable weight of melancholy to encompass the atmosphere.

An abrupt sound cut deep through disconcertment with the sudden clearing of Crosshair’s throat, an act that signified a redirected topic of conversing between the awkward Uncle and crestfallen teenager.

“Your hair is getting long, Alara.”

That seemed to do the trick, and Crosshair was satiated with the way her brown eyes lit up slightly and expression eased into a relaxed state as the beautiful smile that Crosshair found himself missing made it’s way to her lips once again.

“I know, Papa told me the same thing just this morning.” She stifled a laugh before continuing. “Said he was gonna grow his out even longer so that there would be competition. I told him you were gonna braid it again if he did.”

Crosshair chortled. His ori’vod‘s humor was so outlandish. “And I might just, anyway—what I wouldn’t give to see that again on your old man,” he mused in humored recollection, to which the young girl eagerly obliged in the shared remembrance.

Crosshair no more than withdrew his hands from the stylized hair before Alara’s own fingers instantly flew to splay atop her head in appraisal of the intricately woven locks. Both of Hunter’s daughters were modest in their hairdressing skills, but it was a unanimous agreement between them and their Uncle at an earlier stage that they preferred it this way—‘long chats and endearing head pats’—as the girls liked to call it.

Crosshair leaned back in the chair, analyzing his work in the form of a braided crown adorning the circumference of the girl’s head and spanning from temple-to-temple, before he allowed his own satisfaction to display.

The teenager flashed Crosshair a dazzling smile before her praise followed suit. “Nice work Uncle Cross; you’ve done it again.”

“I aim to please, cyar’ika.”

Crosshair eyed his niece for a long moment as a sense of urgency and obligation began to permeate his stance. Visible confusion danced across Alara’s features as Crosshair’s solemn gaze and hands now resting determinedly on her shoulders instantly perked her attentiveness.

“Alarasmé, I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.” The resolution in her voice faltered briefly as her head cocked to the side in nonchalant contemplation. “Unless it’s to finally beat Uncle Wrecker in arm wrestling—that’s definitely not gonna happen.” She giggled, and Crosshair quickly matched her humor before continuing in earnest.

“Promise me that you won’t ever let some boy or anyone break your heart. You and Ro are tough, like your momma. But that doesn’t mean you won’t always have four ex-Super Commandos on your side. So also promise me that you’ll never forget how much your family loves you.”

The girl remained silent for a moment in the absorption and intense processing of her Uncle’s heavy requests.

“That’s a lot of promises.”

“Promise me, cyare.”

“OK Ba’vodu—I promise.” She reaches up to swipe at the man’s cheek. “No need to go all soft, ram’ser.”

Ram’ser. Y/N’s favorite term for him.

“Hey, just like I have Papa’s heart, Uncle Wrecker’s, and Uncle Tech’s—” she tenderly continued, splaying a hand across Crosshair’s chest, “—I have yours, too. So mine can’t break when there’s already plenty of hearts to keep it company. Don’t worry.” She pulled the man into a tight hug before retracting and playfully prodding his shoulder, her eyes quick to sparkle with mischief.

“Now take me to the shooting range—I want to nail a target from ten klicks while sporting this hairdo.”

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Well, howdy there. I’m up to episode 8 of Ranma 1/2, the second episode of the introductory arc for the best boy in anime history, Ryoga Hibiki. Last episode gave us a general idea of who he is, but it’s this one where we’ll get to see him and Ranma actually fight, as the title gives away. I’ve said it before, but I absolutely adore titles like this. One time I was writing a fanfic for this series, and I won’t lie, making up similar styled titles for chapters was one of the best parts. So, excited to watch it, next paragraph I’ll have done just that!

That...was kind of disappointing. I was really looking forward to this episode, and while there was a ton of stuff I really enjoyed about it, there was a lot I did not care for in the slightest. But before I talk more about that, I’ll do my recap.

Though there is a bit of an issue there, too. About half or more of this episode is Ranma and Ryoga fighting. I’m recapping the episode to you in a text-based format, so going blow-by-blow to describe every move of the fight would be pretty boring, I’d imagine, even if a lot of what happens is actually really great and ties together well. But on the other end of the spectrum, a lot of the plot momentum in the story is carried by the ebb and flow of the fight scene, so just glossing over it wouldn’t work either. I’m going to try for a middle path, but I apologize if I don’t stick that landing.

The episode starts at Furinkan High School, in the middle of the night, as the school’s Chemistry Club is secretly meeting to put their finishing touches on an...explosive mine? Which then blows up? I’d love to tell you this makes sense later...but it does not.

We cut from there to Ryoga, who is dramatically monoguing about how badly he wants to kill Ranma. NEXT SCENE. At the Tendo Household, Ranma and Akane are discussing again why Ryoga wants to beat Ranma up so badly. He’s still confused, since he was sure it was because of the bread. Speaking of Ryoga, Kasumi shows up to deliver a letter that arrived from Ranma, from his rival. It’s a letter of challenge, but the date on it was the day before. Ranma doesn’t think that’s a problem though, considering Ryoga’s relationship with timeliness. To accentuate that point, we get a small scene of Ryoga misunderstanding someone’s directions and going the wrong way, again.

The next day, in what looks to be between classes or during lunch or something, one of Akane’s friends comments on how long her hair has grown out. Akane notes in narration that it’s “finally” longer than Kasumi’s, to really connect the dots we see she’s thinking of Dr. Tofu. But there’s no time for that, Ryoga is back again! In the sports field! While sports are going on! He gets knocked out by a stray ball, but in no time Ranma is down there to fight him, and most of the school has gone down to watch.

Nabiki and her henchwomen, which she has apparently, smell an opportunity, and organize a betting ring on the fight. There’s some brief banter between Ranma and Ryoga, during which it’s revealed it’s actually been a month since the last episode and Ryoga ended up on Okinawa while lost (meaning he’s now been to all four of Japan’s main islands), but then the fight finally begins. Ryoga starts by mainly using his umbrella, and Ranma sticks to dodging.

From there, we get a few audience cutaways. It turns out everyone put their money on Ranma, so Nabiki realizes she’ll need to do something to make sure Ranma loses and she doesn’t lose a ton of money on the bets. The Chemistry Club shows up, and they realize that if Ranma dies, they’ll have a chance to...do something to Akane they never clarify, but is implied to be somehow taking ownership of her. Yeah.

Back to the fight, Ryoga tosses his umbrella at Ranma as a distraction, then pulls out a length of wire and throws a handcuff onto Ranma’s wrist. Now they’re chained at the hand, so they’ll have to fight close quarters, which favors Ryoga more. The umbrella ended up landing near the audience, and some of them try to lift it, only to realize it weighs an incredible amount. Even Akane, who is quite strong, can barely lift in less than a foot off the ground. Realizing that Ryoga’s been carrying this monster of a weapon with one hand this whole time, seemingly with no difficulties, Akane tries to warn Ranma that his opponent is far stronger than he seems.

We cut from there to a student running to see Kuno, and let him know Ranma is fighting some really strong guy who seems to be around Ranma’s level. Kuno claims he is “meditating”, which turns out to just be looking at posters of Ranma in his cursed form and Akane while trying to decide if he likes one more than the other.

Ranma finally decides to take this fight seriously, and uses Ryoga’s trick to his advantage by tangling Ryoga into being grappled, with only one hand to use and Ranma sitting on his back. It’s a great move, but Ryoga is in fact so strong that, with one hand, he can throw both of them dozens of feet into the air, where they start fighting mid-air. That was a miscalculation on Ryoga’s part though, as Ranma is basically built for air juggling.

They end up outside the initial fighting area, right where the Chemistry Club hid a bunch of their explosive mines. They don’t blow up as they’re stepped on though, and after several gags they end up trying to beat up Ranma by jumping out with mallets...right as the fighters dart away for somewhere else, setting off their mines and blowing themselves up. And that was the last anyone heard of them. I guess they’re actually dead. It’s canon now.

Nabiki runs after Ranma and Ryoga as they leave the school entirely for their fight. They’re just on some random street of the city now, and the handcuff tether broke as they left the filler characters behind. Nabiki approaches Ryoga as they’re fighting, offering him what she claims to be a steroid, but is actually just some vitamin pills. Ryoga takes them anyway, and with that plus Nabiki’s thorough encouragement, he acts as though he’s suddenly far stronger. Thanks, Placebo Effect! In fact, he lefts a cement telephone pole out of the ground and uses it as a melee weapon. Amazing.

Ryoga chases Ranma through the city and into the zoo, where some animals are let out from the carnage of their battle. By this point, Ryoga is getting tired of Ranma running away all the time, and says he’s acting like a girl. That hits Ranma’s Berserk Button, and he starts fighting back, breaking the weaponized piece of public property and several other things just as the other students start arriving to keep watching the fight.

The only problem is that A) Ranma broke a water fountain, making it spray water everywhere; B) Ryoga dodged the water using his umbrella, but Ranma got splashed and his curse activated; C) Ranma’s favorite shirt was slashed in the chest area earlier, meaning now parts of his breasts are showing. Ryoga is confused for a second, and Ranma actually gets really emotional, making it clear how much he hates his curse, how much of a struggle living with it is. From Akane’s face in the background, she finds it a bit overwrought. Kuno also briefly shows up to leap at Ranma, only to be taken out with a kick.

If Ranma thought the reveal of his curse and his explanation of how bad it makes him feel would make Ryoga take it easy on him, he thought wrong. In fact, Ryoga seems even more angry now, pissed off at the idea that looking so attractive could be a genuine problem. (Some fuel for you Ranma/Ryoga shippers out there.) Ryoga reveals a new trick. Apparently he has a bunch of bandanas, and he can throw them as sharp boomerangs? Okay.

Worried about him, Akane tries to help Ranma get out of there, sure he wouldn’t be able to win in his cursed form, only for Ranma to have to protect her, picking her up into his arms to run away to get some room away from their assailant. They then have a brief moment of realizing how close they just were, and each struggling with whether to go into why they’re upset at the other or say something about their cute moment. They both decide to go with the former. Oh, and there’s a brief cutaway scene of some zoo person trying to catch an animal, seeing Mr. Saotome come out of a store in his cursed form, and assuming he’s an escaped animal too.

While Ranma and Akane argue in a tree, or as Ryoga accurately calls it, “flirting”, he cuts down the tree using his best, which can apparently become tense and really sharp? Anyway, he’s on the attack again, and in the heat of the moment Ranma says a very bad thing, insinuating that he doesn’t like Akane. She slaps him, absolutely done with him. After all, she’s been worried about him, tried to help him, and in response he’s gotten angry and insulted her. Ranma tries to recover, going after her, but she dramatically turns around to say she is done caring about what he thinks...right as one of Ryoga’s sharp weapons falls from the sky, cutting off a large chunk of her hair mid-turn.

That’s the end of the episode! It was a lot, but it also wasn’t. Hmm...where to start, where to start...should I begin with what I didn’t like, or what I did? I think I’ll actually get the rougher parts out of the way first, so then I can relish talking about what I enjoyed.

There are no two ways about it: this fight, which I had remembered so fondly over the years, is full of filler material. To no one’s surprise, the Chemistry Club are anime-only characters, and unlike other such new elements from later in the series, which I enjoy to certain extents, these characters are nothing. Actually, nothing would have been better. They add no stakes, nothing worthwhile at all, they break up the fight in the process, and what we see of their characters is genuinely despicable, even worse than Kuno. It is left vague exactly what they want Akane for, but it’s left open to interpretation enough that it could be anything from getting her to join as their only girl club member, to being their shared sexual object. If you think I’m reaching for that, please, watch the episode. These are the inceliest incels who ever inceled, and they kind of scare me.

They’re not the only rancid fat in this episode. Kuno did not need to be here. At first, I was happy to see we’d get a little bit of him during this story, but his first scene was just a boring repeat of an already becoming stale joke (Hahaha isn’t it funny that he’s in love with two people at the same time?) and his second scene lasts for about four seconds and is a dull moment in the middle of an emotional scene for Ranma. Genma’s cutaway scenes aren’t as bad, but they’re not really good either. They’re the most neutral.

Of all the side-stories going on here, the only one I actually liked was Nabiki’s. It affected the plot a little, it was in-character for her while driving further to show how money-obsessed she is, she got some anime-only henchwomen out of it (Kikuko and Ryonami for those who care), and I never felt like it was hurting the fight itself. I get that a lot of these other elements of the episode were there for comic relief, but in my opinion it was bad comic relief. It undercut what the other parts of the episode were trying to do, not accentuating them like they should have, and they were just unappetizing. My last complaint would just be a lot of the opening scenes, which were basically mini-recaps about who Ryoga is and what he’s like, didn’t really feel needed.

All of that out of the way, allow me to now gush over what I love about this episode. This fight isn’t the best Ranma vs. Ryoga fight in the series (In fact, I don’t think it would make my Top 3. Yes, if you haven’t seen this show, they really do fight that many times over the course of it.) But it is still a pretty good fight with lots of memorable moments. Ryoga is the first opponent to actually test Ranma’s strength in any real ways, and there are some really killer bits of action here, such as the grappling, the mid-air fighting, and the telephone pole weapon.

What makes this more than just a cool looking fight are the emotional aspects to it. On Ranma’s side, he doesn’t really care about fighting Ryoga, up until his pride is hurt by Ryoga’s comments. For the first time, it’s Ranma getting mad, and from that we get to see how Ranma feels about his situation. That draws out some hints to the mystery behind why Ryoga is angry as well, if you’re paying attention to the clues. (I couldn’t think of anywhere else to mention this, but I am still reeling from how often Ryoga this early in the series relied on weird weapons. Where does he get them? I am quite glad (if I remember correctly) that they phased that part of him out with time.)

On Akane’s end, in addition to another case of Ranma saying the wrong thing to really hurt their attempts to connect with one another, we also learn more about her hair. While a little clumsy, early on it’s made clear, without being outright stated, that the reason Akane wears her hair long, and has been actively growing it out, is so she looks more like Kasumi, hoping to catch Dr. Tofu’s eye. Thus, when the episode ends with that hair being accidentally rendered far shorter, we know that means something to her.

I’d also say this episode does a good job of getting us further into the idea of a status quo developing. After all, it’s apparently been another month of Ranma living with the Tendo’s now, and the school at large seems to be settling into what Ranma brings to them with his presence. They’re not stunned by someone showing up to fight Ranma, they’re chasing after them to watch it. Only other thing to note is, in addition to Nabiki’s minions, Akane’s best friends finally appeared, Yuka and Sayuri. I actually wasn’t sure at first, since Yuka’s hair is a lot shorter than will be her norm later on, but I did confirm that they are in fact her equivalents to Ranma’s Hiroshi and Daisuke. They get even less characterization than those guys do, but they’re a nice addition to the growing cast regardless.

I still have a few characters who have shown up that I haven’t done a spotlight on, but none of them really featured in this episode, so I decided to do my first repeat. That’s right, we’re talking about Ranma again, and because I’ve already discussed his voice actors and actresses, I won’t need to go over them again, except to say I still love his Japanese voice actor for his uncursed state, but find his actress in that language to not quite work for me.

So, it’s been a little while since the first episode, and we’ve gotten to see Ranma a little more. Since this was an action-heavy episode, I think I’ll start with talking more about his fighting style. I said in that first episode that Ranma is fast, and he is. So far, he’s spent most of his fights dodging his opponent, rather than attacking them, and when he does it’s sometimes with such speed that they don’t even see it happening. It’s the very fact he’s more defensive that is occasionally shown to annoy Akane, and you can see it having another layer to it: Ranma would much rather avoid things he doesn’t like, rather than face them head-on.

But he’s not just quick, he’s quick-witted. To match his meticulous mobility, Ranma thinks on his feet, always looking for ways to outmaneuver or outsmart his opponents. We can see from how easily he lifts Ryoga’s umbrella, even in his cursed form, at the end of this episode that Ranma is also very strong, but he doesn’t rely on that strength, he uses his brain instead. Personally, I’ve always thought that was evidence that, at least with Ryoga of all people, he would probably lose a straight-up strength vs strength fight, but I’m not sure if that’s ever openly stated. Still, I also don’t see Ranma lifting telephone poles out of the ground.

In terms of his personality, I’d argue that through the episodes thus far, Ranma has shown to be a complex protagonist. On the surface layer, he’s a fairly abrasive person. He enjoys nettling people, at least those he knows are easy to rile up, and frequently says the worst possible thing to someone without realizing the damage his comment will do.

But there’s also more to him than that. Whether he wants to admit it or not, and he clearly doesn’t want to, Ranma does care for Akane. He does go out of his way to try and comfort her, cheer her up when she’s down, give her advice with her problems. When she might be in danger, Ranma runs in to help, and is upset that she’d endanger herself during his fight with Ryoga. In other words, Ranma is a tsundere, leaning fairly heavily on the tsun side.

One other important piece of who he is that we’ve gotten only hints of here or there so far is his pride and how it relates to his masculinity. Ranma is a very proud person, and he’s clearly not a fan of people taking him lightly or treating him in a way he doesn’t like. That includes being treated as though he was a girl, because he isn’t.

That is honestly understandable. Sometimes, completely outside of Ranma’s control, his physical body changes into something he doesn’t feel comfortable with. When he’s in his cursed form, people see him and treat him differently, and he keeps trying to assert his masculinity, to no avail. Ryoga gets Ranma angry by saying he was acting like a “girl”, completely unaware of the curse at the time. As I’ve said before, I think this actually relates quite well to the transgender experience, in these cases specifcally gender dysphoria and midgendering. I can’t remember how much we’ve seen of it up to now, but Ranma’s rejection of femininity in any way, something he does to try and preserve his masculine pride, often leads to him acting rude or even misogynistic to others. It’s an interesting part of his character, but I do feel the need to say right now that I absolutely hate the stereotype with trans men where some people claim they act misogynistic to try and be more masculine. Like, I know some people do it, but using that brush on all trans men is just wrong and transphobic, no thank you.

Welp, that certainly was an episode. Even after going into all the really interesting and good parts of this episode, I am still left with a bad taste in my mouth. By no means did the bad outweigh the good, but the fact the worst parts of the episode were frequently interspersed among the best parts of it broke up the pacing in a bad way for me. It’s still in the top half of the episodes so far, as I’d put it between episodes 6 and 4. The current ranking is now:

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

This storyline isn’t over just yet though! Next week, we’ll be looking at the fallout of Akane’s impromptu haircut in episode 9, “True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!”. See you all then!

[ofbeastsandwizards]

Cinderella - Sherlock x Reader

The First installment of my Happily Ever Never Oneshot Collection!  Pairing: BBC Sherlock x Reader

Summary: Living in the sucluded, poor and rundown area of London, the young peasant girl never thought she’d meet the prince, the heir to the throne, of England. Nor did she think she’d meet his less popular, detective brother. And even more so, she’d never expect falling head-over-glass slipper for him either.

Warnings: fluff, lotsa angst, a bit of swearing. It’s also hella long so there’s that lol

Enjoy!

————

Her name was [Y/n]. The young girl lived with her stepmother and her daughter in her father’s old home on the edge of London. It was run down, but beautiful none the less. She would have had money. Would have been respected, if her late father hadn’t married the skunk that was sat on the living room armchair. [Y/n] was scrubbing relentlessly at the tiled floors, her clothing old and torn. She wouldn’t have minded working. She really wouldn’t have. If she was getting paid, or even working for somebody even a smidgeon less greedy than her current ‘employer’, who thought nothing more of her than a slave.

Sometimes that’s what [Y/n] felt she was to her. Nothing but a slave. It was sad sometimes, but she tried her best to maintain her composure.

Today, however, her stepmother’s daughter, Anna, had received an invitation from the royal family. As her father had been a once wealthy duke, the entire family was requested to attend, despite him no longer being alive.

Anna screeched giddily when [Y/n] had handed over the envelope. They hardly ever got mail. It was almost always over the internet nowadays, not that they could afford to even own a laptop or computer.

Her stepmother was stuck in the past anyways.

[Y/n] stood patiently until Anna’s ear-piercing screams were silenced. She bounded towards her mother. “Mum! Mum look! We’ve been invited to the royal ball!” She exclaimed.

Her mother examined the paper and grinned slyly. “Well! I suppose we’ll have to find you a beautiful gown now won’t we?”

[Y/n] frowned. She knew it wasn’t her place, but surely, she’d get to go? “What about me?” She asked quietly.

Anna’s screeches were silenced at her words and her stepmother sent her a deadly stare. “Did I say you could talk, brat?” She hissed.

[Y/n] began to boil and she bit her lip, staring at the ground, to keep from an angry outburst. “N-No, ma’am.” She mumbled.

She huffed, and stood from her seat brushing past the young girl. “Besides! I wouldn’t want you there anyways! Ruining my image! Are you insane?” She laughs.

The girl shook her head once more. “N-No...not at all ma’am.”

She scoffs. “Well you act it sometimes! Get ahold of yourself girl!” She tuts, hitting her shoulder harshly as she waltzes out of the room. She turns. “So, you are not going! You need to finish your chores! And I will not have a filthy girl like you be standing with me at the Royal Ball!” She exclaimed, exiting the room with Anna in tow, a small frown of pity on her face.

[Y/n] was left standing there, like a time-bomb, ready to explode into a million, fuming pieces. She turned and stomped her way up the steps to her attic room, and closed the door in anger, locking it.

She threw herself onto her bed and screamed into a pillow.

I’m tired of being treated like shit! I’m not some piece of worthless trash!

Then, she began to break down into tears, turning over, as she choked on silent sobs.

Am I?

She shook her head, lip quivering.  Then suddenly, a knock on her door interrupted her self-loathing time. She sat up, and wiped her nose of her stained sleeve.

“What do you want?” She yelled. She realized she shouldn’t have sounded so harsh, as it may have been her stepmother and she braced for impact.

“[Y/n]. It’s Anna.”

She practically snarled at her pity-filled voice.

“Go away!” She hissed.

Anna frowned from the other side of the door. Despite being the child of that evil woman downstairs, she wasn’t all bad. Yes, she was greedy and selfish, but she also easily felt pity for those around her and ‘wanted to help the needy’.

“[Y/n] I’m sorry for what my mother told you. I convinced her to let you come with.” She murmured from behind the door. “The ball is tomorrow night.”

[Y/n] was silent then. She had never been that nice to her despite how nice she seemed at the moment.

“Oh.” “Make sure you actually wear something presentable.” She snarked, before her footsteps faded down the steps. [Y/n]’s frown deepened, and she held up her middle finger towards the door, sticking out her tongue childishly.

She frowned and lowered her hand, collapsing backwards onto her bed, sleep overtaking her.

———— time skip ————

It was morning now, and [Y/n] had woken up late, much to her stepmother’s distaste, who had a full day of shopping planned for Anna whilst [Y/n] was to clean the entire house to receive her ‘‘reward” of attending the ball.

[Y/n] had just finished doing her chores, and it was about 4 o’clock now. She had a few hours to spare, and so she took it upon herself to break out the only nice dress she owned. An heirloom from her mother, which was a beautiful baby blue gown, but the problem was, it was ripped and torn, and had blood stained onto the fabric.

[Y/n] wasn’t sure what the blood itself was from, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. Her mother’s past was all a blur to her. She was a beautiful woman, yes, but her father told stories of her adventures and how ‘badass she was when he met her’. She chuckled to herself, but grimaced at the sight of the blood once more.

“I can’t possibly wear that.” She grumbled, and tossed it onto her bed. She skimmed through her closet of bland sweatshirts, t-shirts, bandanas and jeans and frowned when she couldn’t find anything.

“Well this just sucks arse.” She bit her lip and stared at the gown laid out on her bed. The sleeve was ripped, and so it no longer laid upright but hung down. The tulle on the skirt was ripped and frayed, and there was a blood stain near the lower hemline, which could easily be concealed, but there was also a rather obvious stain on the chest area, about the size of her head, which colored the blue a wine red.

The idea of wine crossed her mind for a moment, and an idea struck her. She bundled the dress in her arms and raced from her room and down the stairs. She made her way outside and out the separate door and into the wine cellar below her house. She fumbled with the door, before it creaked open and she slipped inside.

The room was dark, and she could barely make out the forms of large barrels and bottles stacked throughout the room.

She reached to her left and flicked on a light, stumbling down the stairway and towards a large bottle of red wine, which matched the color of the blood stained onto her dress. She grinned and cradled it in her arms, stumbling back up the stairs and out into the courtyard, crossing back towards her house and making a b-line for her bedroom.

Once upstairs, she got to work. She located the area of the tulle that was ripped and slit it upwards on the skit, creating a leg slit that looked as through it was supposed to be there all along. She decided she’d hem the slit, and she got to work on the sleeves. She fixed their rosed covered fabric and stitched the sleeve back onto the body of it, re-adjusting it so it went off the shoulder. She stood back. Apart from the blood, it looked like it was supposed to be that way.

Then, she dumped all of the wine into a large bucket and dropped the dress into it. She would let it soak for half an hour and let it dry for another.

Once the first process finished, she dug around for the old clothespin that was buried somewhere in her room and strung it in front of the single window inside her bedroom. She brought the dripping gown up to it and clipped it on.

It sagged, having been still soaked in wine. [Y/n] held her nose at the strong scent of alcohol. She never was an alcohol fan. She suspected she never would be, as she’d rather keep her dignity.

She moved back towards her bed, but tripped on a scrapbook peeking out form under her bed frame.

“Ah!” She shrieked, falling forward and landing on the bed. She grumbled, sitting back up. She leaned over the bed and picked it up, examining the cover.

Her eyes softened as she read the front cover. In words written in glittery writing was the title; “[Y/n]’s Wedding Scrapbook!”

It was everything that she wanted her wedding to be like. She would wear a beautiful off-white gown, complete in a [favorite wedding dress style] style, and a beautiful flowing, floor length train. Everything was perfectly planned out.

Her hand turned a page and she saw her and her mother and father, sitting in the grass, having a picnic. It was an old Polaroid picture.

She remembered the most important thing about her wedding.

She’d have her father walking her down the isle, a proud smile on his face as she approached her soon-to-be significant other. She bit her lip, closing her eyes and tears piled up and out of her eyes, stinging her cheek.

Her lip quivered and she choked a bit, shaking her head and slamming the book closed. She slid it back under her bed, and laid her head back down on her pillow.

She waited for the dress to dry completely, but she grew too impatient, and she didn’t want her stepmother and Anna to see her fixing up the dress. So, in a rush, she collected the damp dress, holding it out in front of her to preserve her clothes best she could.

She reached the laundry room, and put it inside of the dryer, turning it on and waiting as it dried the dress. She hoped it wouldn’t shrink or rip, and took care to put the setting to ‘gentle’.

After the 10 minutes had passed, she took the dress from the dryer and examined it. All looked well and she grinned.

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of the front door opening. She gasped and went as fast as she could straight to her room, just as they stepped inside, her stepmother and Anna talking rather loudly from downstairs.

She pushed her door closed in a swift motion and it made a dull click. Then she heard her stepmother yell from downstairs.

“You’d better have something nice to wear to the ball or you’ll be staying here!” She screeched from downstairs. [Y/n] smirked to herself and rolled her eyes.

“You wanted nice. Let’s see your face when you see my gown then.” [Y/n] snickered to herself as she sat on her bed, facing the window. Her dress was still bundled in her arms as she giggled at Anna’s muffled attempts to put on her gown from just below her in her room.

[Y/n] decided she should get ready, and so she changed out of her stained clothing and pulled the dress over her body. It was a bit snug on her, but she didn’t mind. She approached the mirror in her bedroom and admired her reflection. The dress was beautiful, and wasn’t too revealing which pleased [Y/n], as she didn’t really like low-cut dresses, but the fit was close to perfect. She grinned but then her eyes met her hair.

It was a mess of tangled strands, dangling [above/below/at] her shoulders. She grumbled and ran a comb through it, until it looked presentable, wincing the entire time. 

After her hair was mostly presentable, she looked herself over once more, and stretched her arm to the jewelry box sitting on the small indent of wall above her mirror. She clicked open the latch, and opened the lid.

Inside was a silver chain necklace with a beautiful silver locket, shaped in an intricate story-book like design. The book opened to reveal a tiny picture of her father and mother, back when they were young and carefree. She smiled warmly at the photo, and clicked the locket shut.

She swung the chain around her neck and struggled momentarily before managing to connect the other end. She nodded firmly to herself once giving herself another once-over.

Then, as if on cue, there was a knock on her door.

“Hey! You’d better be ready!” Anna exclaimed. [Y/n] bit her lip and snatched her trench coat from her bedpost, and buttoned the long jacket over her dress in an effort to cover it as best as possible.

She rushed towards her door and opened it, Anna had a scowl on her face and turned when she walked out her door. She turned and closed it and they made their way downstairs. Anna was clad in a turquoise gown, which was overly poofy, and resembled that of a pageant gown rather than a ball gown.

[Y/n] stuck out her tongue at her sense of style and rolled her eyes as they went outside to get inside of the pickup truck that her stepmother owned. She was already in the drivers seat, and [Y/n] squeezed her way into the crowded and dirty backseat.

Good thing I’m wearing a coat.

———— time skip ————

“Alright.” Her stepmother stopped the truck down the street from the palace. “I have some rules. You-” She waved a finger at [Y/n]. “Stay 20 feet away from us at all times.” She stated.  “And don’t even think about talking to my prince!” Exclaimed Anna.

[Y/n] rolled her eyes. “Fine. I won’t.”

“Oh! And don’t you dare go near the ballroom. You are not to dance with the prince or any duke! Have at it with the waiters though, they’re all worthless blokes.” Her stepmother stated.

[Y/n] sighed and nodded. Her stepmother looked pleased, and they all exited the car. The mother and daughter darted straight down the street and towards the palace, leaving [Y/n] to scoff and follow after them, digging around for that letter to gain entrance.

Once they reached the gate, the guard looked over the paper and nodded, letting them inside. Her stepmother and Anna went straight inside and [Y/n] lingered behind, climbing the steps.

She entered, and pulled off her coat, handing it to one of the men collecting them, and took a deep breath. She listened to the distant music and laughing people down the hall. She strayed a bit away from the crowd and stayed on the outskirts of the ballroom. A man carrying a tray with glasses of water passed her. She gracefully picked one up and took a sip, thanking the man.

She then spotted somebody much like her, staying near the outskirts and leaning against a marble post. She approached him and leaned on the next post over, sipping her water.

They both stood in silence, before she looked towards him, examining him. He had brown- almost black, curly hair, and a defined face. He was wearing a suit, which was fairly casual for this style of party, yet still very formal.

His eyes were scanning the crowds of dancing couples, solemnly watching them dance. Then, his eyes landed on [Y/n].

She sucked in a breath and turned away, choosing not to talk to the man. Then, he broke the silence.

“I’m guessing you’re not a fan of party’s then either.” He stated. The music blared dimly in the background.  [Y/n] sighed. “No, not really. You aren’t then?” She asked.

The man shook his head, eyes still watching the crowds. “No. My brother’s always forcing me into them.” He stated.

[Y/n] chuckled and followed the man’s gaze. “I’m sure he means the best. He can’t be any worse than my stepsister.” She stated.

The man was silent. [Y/n] turned and leaned towards him, her hand extended. “I’m uh, I’m [Y/n].”

He eyed her hand and looked back up, ignoring her gesture. “Sherlock Holmes.”

[Y/n] stiffened at the name. That detective prince guy? She cleared her throat, and leaned back, returning to her place, bringing her water up to her lips once more.

They stood like that for a while, before Sherlock made a sudden movement towards her, which startled [Y/n] half out of her mind.

“You haven’t left yet.” He observed. [Y/n] froze and gave him a cheeky smile. “Why haven’t you left yet?” He asked, a bit more concerned this time.

[Y/n] furrowed her brows. “You haven’t given me a reason to leave yet.” She stated, rather confused.

Sherlock studied her face and leaned back a bit, still examining her.

[Y/n] stood her ground under his harsh gaze before his eyes softened a bit. “Well, usually when people hear my name, they go running.” He stated.

[Y/n] shook her head. “It takes a little more than a name to scare me, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes in contemplation. He then looked away.

“You’re very different from the girls that usually attend these types of things.” He said.

[Y/n] smiled crookedly. “Is that good or bad?” She asked, crossing her arms, whilst still holding the glass in her left hand.

Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment, before glancing back towards the ballroom, and looking back at [Y/n] with an intrigued smile.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked, sounding a bit unsure of himself.  [Y/n] smiled, and nodded. “I’d love to.”

Sherlock let himself smile a bit wider, and [Y/n] stopped leaning on the wall, and placed her glass on a nearby table-top. The pair made their way to the ballroom dance-floor and stood near the center.

[Y/n] placed her hand on Sherlock’s arm, and her other connected with Sherlock’s. Sherlock hesitantly placed his other hand on her waist and they began to sweep across the floor gracefully. [Y/n] refused to meet his gaze, and instead decided to talk a bit to lighten the mood.

“So.” She started, her eyes barely flickering to his. “I take it you know how to dance then?”  Sherlock turned to meet her eyes. “Yes, I learned when I was fairly young. And what about you?”

[Y/n] stifled a laugh and took a deep breath. “My father taught me when I was five.”

Sherlock nodded. “You had to have come here with somebody.” Sherlock mumbled, which seemed more of like a comment to himself rather than to [Y/n]. But the young woman caught his words almost immediately.

She smiled. “If you mean being left alone by my evil stepmother and stepsister, then you’d right.” 

Sherlock hummed, and his gaze scanned the crowd. His eyes then widened as they met something in the distance. “Get down!” He yelled a bit loudly, pushing [Y/n] onto the ground as he crouched low to the ground as well.

Gunshots echoed through the hall, the crowd erupting in screams, people ran like wild and a few bodies were scattered along the floor. “Dammit!” Sherlock hissed.

‘‘What the hell?” [Y/n] was growing anxious and her body began to shake. She sucked in deep breathes and looked around at the screaming people.  Sherlock turned. He now has a gun in his hand. It was pointed to the floor and [Y/n] eyed it suspiciously, before meeting his gaze as he spoke. “Listen to me. You need to get somewhere safe, and stay low to the ground.” He began to stand up, but [Y/n] grabbed at his coat tails hurriedly.

“No!” She stumbled on her words for a moment. “I-I’m not running away. I’m not hiding. I’ve been doing that all my life. I’m coming with you.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked her over, the screams growing louder. He groaned in annoyance but held out his hand for her to take. She offered a bittersweet smile, and took it.

Sherlock pulled her up, and the pair scurried into the hallway where they had previously been standing. [Y/n] picked up her glass from before, and smashed it against the marble posts, creating a fairly large and sharp piece of glass. Sherlock eyed her, and she shrugged, a smirk on her face.

He turned back around and held his gun in front of him, slowly making his way towards where the person was shooting from the staircase. [Y/n] held her shank in front of her, following in Sherlock’s steps as they made their way closer.

Sherlock cued her to go on the opposite side of the staircase and wait for him to give her the signal, (which was Sherlock firing his gun), and the young woman obeyed. Sherlock approached the man, who was clad in a trench coat and had a balding head.

Sherlock stood near him, and the man ceased his firing, the screams still filling the room from below. “Hey!”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Come to stop me Shirley?” He growled, pointing his gun at Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged. 

“Not really.” Then, Sherlock pointed his gun to the ceiling, and fired.

The man let out a sickening laugh.

“You missed.” He snarled, a hideous smirk on his face.

“You’re right, I did.” Sherlock lowered his gun. ‘‘But she didn’t.” Just then, [Y/n] stabbed the glass into his back and the man gasped, falling backwards. [Y/n] stopped back and watched as he fell to the ground, gasping for breath eyes staring up at [Y/n] as Sherlock approached and looked down at him.

The glass dug deeper into the man’s back and he narrowed his eyes. [Y/n] dusted off her hands, which were now stained with blood, and joined Sherlock’s side.

“I hate you.” The man spat, blood pooling from under him. [Y/n] frowned, and hummed.

Sherlock put away his gun and pushed his hands into his pockets. [Y/n] looked to him. “What now?” She asked.

Sherlock looked her over at her, then looked towards the door. ““We should probably leave.”

[Y/n] laughed and nodded. “Good idea.” She smiled, and the duo made their way to the palace gates.

Once outside the large doors, they stopped in the garden. “We never did finish that dance, did we?” Asked [Y/n]. Sherlock looked down at her and smiled a bit.

“No, I suppose not.”  “So....?”

Sherlock took [Y/n]’s hand and they began to dance again. The night was peaceful despite the commotion from inside. They danced in silence for quite a while, until they tired, and stopped dancing to walk about the garden. 

“Y’know, I never thought something like this would happen to me.”

Sherlock glanced down at her as they walked. “What? Killing a murderer?”

[Y/n] snorted and looked away. “Well that, and-” She motioned is between herself and Sherlock. “This.”

Sherlock looked at her in confusion. They stopped walking.

“You’re a prince. I’m nothing but a common girl living in London.”

Sherlock looked a bit offended. “Like that should matter?” He asked.

“Well it usually matters to most people. I’ve never even danced with anybody but my own father. I never thought I’d even go near the palace. And yet here we are.”

“Exactly. Why does your social rank have to have anything to do with if you can meet new people, or dance with them?”

[Y/n] looked away. “I was raised by my stepmother to think that way, I guess.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to think that way.” He reasoned.  [Y/n] smiled a bit. “Yeah, you’re right.”

They stood in silence for a while, continuing their walk. “Hey, Sherlock?” She asked.

Sherlock hummed. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

[Y/n] smiled. “For tonight, for the dance, for everything.”

Sherlock returned the smile, and [Y/n] leaned over to hug him. Sherlock froze and stood still while she clung to him. He rolled his eyes and slowly, hesitantly wrapped his arms around her form.  “You’re welcome.”

Woahhhhh that was fun to write! :O 

I don’t know! What did you guys think? Anyways! Let me know if I missed you on the tag list! I lost a few of the asks so maybe resend them if you get the chance! Thanks! :>

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[antheiin]

Revered - Supergiant Challenge

Part 3 - 3,411 Words

Part 1 | Part 2

The garden is an interim, an in-between time that acts much like purgatory. In it, Miriam has time to her own head, enough to think about just what this entire thing means. Maybe, she’s floating about in a dream, in which there has been an entire city built out of pieces she hasn’t even experienced, full of people she can hardly picture coming up with. That’s the part that makes it hard to completely buy in to, the fact that she can’t reasonably make it all true.

Though, the impossible had been proved to her a few times before. Namely, her ascension, which had been put away as an impossibility when Miriam was younger. So, at this point, it could go so far either way that she hates to make any conclusions.

Fedir and her had talked for a time, under their breaths and slowly traversing the overgrown areas. He had told her more when pressured, spurred on by Miriam’s insistence and furrowed brow, the edge of concern in her voice that didn’t reach a whine, but still expressed her distress. They had gone over the impact on her in their initial attempts to remove Miriam from the location, her panic rushing her out the door before she could be truly impacted by it.

Bleeding a god from their mortal form was a phrase that made Miriam just a tad bit nauseous to think about. The implications of anything of that nature happening to her person was worth the upset. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t watch in a horror movie, but when the process was placed further into reality, she found it repugnant at best. That was all she needed at that moment, but leaving sight of the house behind meant lowering her anxiety at least a little bit, forcing Miriam to think.

What else would happen? What else could happen, even?

Fedir had answered her with that prodding, and she’d known the moment his voice lowered even more in preparation had let a rock of dread settle into her abdomen. Despite her own abilities not requiring the first law of physics or thermodynamics, this apparently does. The extent of the power requires input of its own, something not found on any measurable scale.

Hundreds of thousands of people, he had said, people who would be going about their days before suddenly seizing and being taken by the actions of people miles and miles away. People they had never met, doing this for a god that they had not met, and likely would never meet in the end. That fact scared her, and badly, so running away from the source of it seemed like the best possible option to undertake.

Miriam had run and run and run, not looking back to the house until she snagged herself on a crawling root, falling down with a muffled thump that turned into a semi-uncontrolled somersault. Fedir’s footsteps behind her skidded on the stones lining the path, both of their breaths caught up in a shallow wheeze.

“Hey, hey, you can’t run away like that.” Fedir is hissing his words, crouching down to help Miriam get to her feet. She does so, stumbling and clutching at her chest as she tries to stomp her panic down. “It makes a lot of noise. I don’t want us to be heard. There’s not a lot of places to hide here.”

“Can’t we go any faster, then?!” Miriam’s voice, while hushed, strains and even cracks at one point, her fingers digging into Fedir’s sleeve. “Things were already pretty bad, but that extra information just makes it so much worse.” It could be comedic, were the situation not so dire.

“...Fine.” Fedir stands, pulling Miriam up with him, and linking their arms together. Somewhat comforted, she squeezes her son’s arm, and tugs them onward, content to take the lead this time. “Just, keep your ears open.”

Any strange sounds, any oddities, and she was about as likely to hurt someone as she was to flee.

“I can’t, I can’t wrap my head around why they would do this.” Miriam speaks softly after the next few minutes of walking don’t alert to anyone following them. “If that many people are going to die, how do they know that they all won’t just be wiped out?” It’s a reasonable question, in her mind, but Fedir doesn’t seem to know anything on it, and shrugs his reply.

Perhaps the philosophies of Katherine Piwowarski had held on for the time she’d skipped through. After all, in Poland, there had been twelve-hundred present, scattered about and ranging from warrior sorts to children. It was a compound, practically disguised as a rustic little town. That was enough people to pass a story on to colleagues and children, for however long. It wasn’t as if she was taking in the world after the sun had gone out, or something similarly catastrophic. Those philosophies of Katherine’s were timeless, to a degree, and her gospels claimed to be by Miriam’s own tongue, a wondrous collection of obsession and a belief so strong it had manifested itself into a global threat.

The entirety of it wasn’t something Miriam knew. But, in her times bound to the center house in the first foggy town, Katherine had ranted and cooed as she sprawled herself across Miriam, the oxygen tank hissing with the effort of her preaching. At times, when her mind didn’t scream with danger alarms, it was almost serene. A different sort of her could have been loved by a woman invested more in her power than her person. At least she was beautiful, at least she was hard pressed to pull her attention away from Miriam for any length of time.

For the Miriam who was desperate and lonely and unsure about what had happened to her, this was set up as a story reaching it’s romantic conclusion. She had liked Katherine for a good long time, when she seemed like a dream come true. Really, if she had not become what she was, she could have loved Katherine dearly. Could have taken Bruno and Tabi along as well. At one point, there was a Miriam so intuned with the world around her, who would be happy to tie herself to a group of similarly odd sorts. They could have been friends, really.

Miriam could have married a woman like Katherine Piwowarski had she not been what she was when they met. There have been fragments of a reality like that that she’s been gifted, where the idea was more prominent. Katherine could have been something wonderful in her own troubled existence.

Besides the gift of blood in the dirt and stone, the interim garden is left with little else to present. Miriam does pluck a flower, a dappled lily that she cups in her hands, unsure of what to do with it. She needs to chase away this face before the people around can get attuned to it. “I’m switching up again.” Miriam speaks lowly to her brother, and tugs the cloak further around herself, as if hiding the transformation in her cloak. This form is a bit more slight, and the notches in her borrowed hands and the blonde hair at a weird length makes her think that she’s landed comfortably as Cole. He wouldn’t mind, she doesn’t think. It’s for the good and safety of her and someone she cares about very much. The pilfered lily is slipped behind an ear, shaded by the heavy weave of her stolen cloak.

“Thank you hon,” she mumbles that bit under her breath as the pair leave the garden, diverting from the path to clumsily scale an adjacent stone wall. “I’ll take good care while I borrow this for awhile.” Really, Miriam assumes that she can hold this form while Cole is Cole. No issues with one physical form, and multiple vessels jockeying for it.

On the other side of the wall, the world drops into brambles and oddities that she only sort of recognizes. Miriam had gotten better with botany as time had gone on, but she still is lost when her feet hit the ground. The snarls at her ankles prompt a grumble, and Miriam has to pull herself free, before bending to unsnare some of Fedir’s coat from tangle of thorns.

“What’s through here?”

“This is where it starts getting bad. Someone’s going to alert that you’re gone like, any minute. People use the path through the wooded area like a main highway. So we’re going off the grid for a bit.” Miriam nods, thinking of leave no trace mentalities that had been imbued on her during some camping expeditions. She can do off the grid, she can disappear.

“Then let’s, get a bit off trail, I want to repack our bags. Quiet as possible is the plan, yeah?” She’s picking her way down carefully, cutting north-west to get away from the garden. The noise of bugs drops off, and for a moment, they’re cast in silence that’s just relaxed enough to not be a problem. Once they’ve left that silence space, and have gone back into the faint murmur of the woodland, does Miriam take her bag off, and gesture for Fedir’s.

“This shouldn’t take long.” The bags are near empty, but hardly neat. Miriam moves lightening fast, pulling things out and tucking them away. The spotted extra boots are given a stern look. “I hope you ordered on the larger size, I guess I can stuff these with socks if I need to.”

“I don’t know women’s sizes, so I just got what looked close. So uh, it’s probably not the best.” Honesty, that’s something to appreciate. Rearranging Fedir’s bag as well, she finds a few more things. A locket (tarnished), a few pill bottles, and an obscene number or bandanas (colored obnoxiously). It’s worth little more than a chuckle, before they’re both heading out down the hill and through this woodland.

The woods surrounding the gardens and the hidden town had grown exponentially since the people had come. Well, the fog had rolled in first, blanketing it from imaging, and swallowed up in the same way the fog swallowed up the sound. Between the foreboding evergreens, to the ferns so broad that they could pass for an eccentric skirt. Those sensitive to the subtle changes of the world- the deities and Conduits she once knew- could tell that there was energy bubbling over this chosen land.

It’s kind to them, though. The woods is quiet and mossy, and allows for slips and falls and blunders with great forgiveness. Nevertheless, the serenity only lasts for forty-five minutes, as most things do. The silence was broken apart by voices coming closer, urgent feet crunching through the rock. Clutching Fedir’s arm, Miriam pulls them into the brush, fingers digging in and her other hand clasped over her mouth to prevent the whimper in her throat from working out.

“The Sergeant ordered anyone…” The first voice is muffled, but Miriam feels cold at this point, and by the way Fedir stiffens, he’s unhappy too. Determined to get a better sense of what’s being said, she worms forward, still hidden in the brush, but just a little bit closer to the source. “The Sergeant ordered anyone who isn’t in a vital post to comb the gardens and down into the Walkways. Said that there’s been a breach.”

“Oh, oh my.” The next voice is thin and reedy, really, Miriam could call it reedy without being wrong. “And I had heard that the High Priestess retreated at the news, both her and the Maw. Is the Sergeant still running the front lines like he does?”

“If he didn’t, I’d be surprised.” She can catch a glimpse now of a tall, broad man, built like a lumberjack .That’s the muffled voice. A few feet to his side is a girl no more than five feet tall, practically a fairy, considering how delicate she looked next to him. Miriam sits on her conscience, and wonders about the benefits of simply eliminating these two, to make them a problem no longer and never again.

But, she just can’t make herself, and instead, focuses on their words for something useful.

“The breach,” the woman starts, her fairy voice twisting itself into a sigh. “She got out of the house the High Priestess was holding her in, didn’t she?” It’s snide now, grating on itself and making Miriam shiver. “Now we’re all putting up with extra for the sacred cause because someone couldn’t get the whole thing right in the first place.” Kind of an interesting way to consider things as a cult member, but Miriam figures she wouldn’t know unless she was one person. Just best not to judge it.

“Seems so, but keep your voice down.” The woman is admonished near immediately, and Fedir fidgets when the sound can be hidden by speaking. “You don’t know who’s coming. We should hurry anyways, before we’re late.”

And with that, the footsteps and voices faded as the pair went further down the tree lined path, leaving Fedir and Miriam behind. She’s shaking without realizing it, and has to grab at a tree limb to keep herself steady as she gets out of her stiff legged crouch.

“That can’t be the last of it,” Miriam mutters, casting a glance to Fedir, before helping to pull the boy to his feet. “It was twelve-hundred here the last time I remember. How many are there now?”

“Uh, let me think.” Fedir chews on his lip, back to leading the way as he takes both himself and Miriam through the least dense parts of the woods, still remaining off the path. Eventually, he seems to give up, and shrugs to Miriam with an apologetic sort of look. “I think over four thousand, now? I dunno, I tried to do some research, but it’s all cloudy, and I think they’re all over the place. How come you don’t remember any of this?”

Miriam, unsure and unwilling, shrugs right back and stares at her feet for awhile. “I just don’t. There’s, there’s this whole section missing.” Waving a hand, her brow furrows, expression desperate for understanding. “Like waking up from a dream to, this. Nightmare, something.” His mouth stands agape, unsure and unsteady as they keep hiking just off the edge of the path. The fact that he squeezes her hand, and says no more, makes her a bit anxious.

It’s miserable walking and snagging on every other briar in the woods. However, it’s safest, by all arguments, and while they can’t talk much, it’s easy enough to pretend to be a woodland creature, venturing just out of sight. Miriam, in the meantime, tries not to manipulate anything, tries not to flex any of what she is. The plants feel heavy, as if weighted down by the atmosphere of this place. Worth watching, but touching is far too dangerous. It’s distracting, even, the way these things exist.

Too distracting, she finds out soon.

They’re about ninety percent of the way there, Fedir says. It’s an estimate at best, given how things feel so much different when you’re looking at them theoretically. Still quiet, walking one foot in front of the other, with an ear out for danger. So, it comes as a shock to hear someone else again, a shrill sound that sounds a bit too surprised to have been following for long.

“Oh, that face of your’s, I don’t recognize it. And I know everyone. So, It, it has to be you! They said that you were hiding in someone else’s skin.” It’s no voice she’s known before, cracking up an octave and stammering on itself. Whipping her head around, Miriam finds herself about six feet away from a young woman in a hooded cloak, her round glasses eschew on her nose. “You’ve been right here the whole time! What luck-”

Deciding that she doesn’t like that tone at all, Miriam grabs Fedir’s wrist, shoving the boy back and behind her with the nudge of her hip. “Stay behind me, run if you need to.” The words are muttered, strangled out, really. Fedir looks cross, but nods his agreement to the frantic, nervous plan.

“She told us you couldn’t just leave us.” The strange cultist is stock still, too still, her smile stretched across her face. “Turn face from those who would deny your faith. Keep your goddess close and reap her bounty.” It sounds like verse, and Miriam hates this entire thing more and more each moment, limbs stiff and frozen in place. “Reap the fruits of your labors.”

“Stop.” She warns, fingers digging into Fedir’s wrist. “Just, I, please stop. We don’t have to do this. We just want to go home.” It’s begging, really, her attempts to get the woman to allow them to pass. In response, her head tilts, and she gives Miriam a quizzical look. That isn’t comforting, not at all.

“But goddess,” the whine makes Miriam drop her disguise in a fit of fear, suddenly much smaller and damn near cowering. The stranger’s smile splits her face open, and she takes another step forward. “Your home is here, don���t you know? Nothing else.” Another step, another little skip that sends her off the path and into the woods, ankle deep in the undergrowth. “There’s no leaving us now. It wouldn’t be fair, after all this time the priestess has worked to bring you here with us, to grant you your power.”

That paralyzing dread stays, and Miriam can hear Fedir step back behind her, wrist still stuck in her grasp. Still smiling, the stranger slides forward again, the hem of her pants snagging on a thorn or two. She moves so slowly, that it’s hard to process, so hard that Miriam suddenly processes just how close she’s gotten to them both, how her smile has widened more and more, how open her eyes are. It’s like watching a haunting in progress, specters clambering over a living body. A moment later, the stranger is close enough to hear her breathing.

“Let me take you home.” She lunges, snapping a hand around Miriam’s free wrist. Throat stuck, all she herself can do is stand stock still, gaping at the scene. But then, Fedir finds himself faster, and pulls his mother, trying to tear her from the strange woman’s grasp.

“Let go of her-!” His cry jumps Miriam forward, and she struggles too, trying to twist herself loose as the woman snaps her other hand onto Miriam’s forearm, fingers like a vice. It feels like she’s going to die, like this stranger is going to snap her up and bring her back to be pulled apart at the seams, for people to die. This feels like the end of the world.

With nothing else on her mind, Miriam releases Fedir and snaps forward like a let go spring. The fact that she’s breaking someone’s nose is a little surreal. Despite the power, violence makes her nervous, and the memories of her own crimes is painful. Desperation does terribly funny things, though.

Faced with a great deal of pain, the stranger recoils, releasing with one hand, and then another, reaching to clutch at her face as she bleeds. Miriam’s own arm is clawed up where nails have tried to break her skin, the marks sure to bruise. In reply, the strange woman lashes out, and briefly, Miriam sees a sea of stars.

It’s difficult to process, immediately after being hit in the face. This is somewhere between a slap and a punch, her hand curled and nails striking Miriam’s cheek. Pain blooms soon enough, and Miriam just wobbles in place while the both of them try to process what’s just happened to them. Fedir, with more sense in that moment, grabs Miriam’s arm and yanks.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta go! Now! Go!” She stumbles at the first tug, dancing over her feet and trying her best to not fall. It works, thankfully, and Miriam manages to break into a run.

The edge of this woods isn’t far now, and comes closer and closer the more they run. For now, the goal is to escape, to hide away from the strange woman until she loses direction of where they are. She’s too perceptive, too interested, and too touchy. Best to just keep trying to taste freedom from this nightmare.

After all, there’s just a bit longer to go.

[bangtanbabeloveyourself]

Oh What A Wedding

Pairing: Female reader x BTS

Tags: Casual, Slice of Life, Home, Family, Wedding, Bridesmaid, Groomsmen, Future Fluff, Future Smut, Series, Chapter

Chapter: 1|2|

Word count: 2.5k

Writer’s Note: This is my first attempt at a multi chapter piece. I’ve also never written about all seven members. This chapter contains no smut but there will be smut in the upcoming chapters! If you like it, don’t forget to reblog so others have the chance to read it as well!

Summary: You’re a new novelist and your little sister is getting married. Because of work, you could only show up two weeks before the wedding. While preparing for the wedding, the groomsmen catch your attention, but not as much as you catch theirs. They make a bet as to who can win your heart first and you may have just found your next novel.

You walked over to the baggage claim area with an exasperated sigh. Flying was such a pain in the ass but it would be worth it. You were going to see your little sister, Katherine, get married. You had never been more happy for her. She was such a sweet girl and so was her fiance. They had been together since they were kids. Shane was one of the neighbor boys that you both had grown up around. They were inseparable up until graduation. Shane had gotten into a modeling gig that required him to move out of state for a while. That was the time your sister had spent in college. There was no doubt in her mind that they would end up together, so she planned her career around his and got a degree in fashion design.

She had always been the more fashionable of you two. Usually the older sister was supposed to be the trend setter. She loved to rub it in your face too. But you paid no mind to it. There was nothing wrong with your oversized sweatshirts and cartoon leggings. In any case, your choice in clothing hardly mattered when your career was solely based on staying indoors.

Once Shane had gotten a good footing in his modeling agency, he came back to your hometown and proposed to Kat. With the money he had earned and the money that parents had been saving for years, the wedding was to be done in under a year from the proposal. That didn’t give you a lot of time to get your life together first, but there was no chance you were going to miss your little sister’s wedding.

You had moved away too shortly after college. You were a writer by trade and passion and let’s be honest, trying to get your foot in the writing career in a small town just wasn’t very likely and you refused to use your parents’ business connections to give you a head start. So you had moved closer to the Big Apple to help you with that. Luckily it paid off too. You started off in a small editing position for an up and coming blog that later blossomed into a social media conglomerate.

You had moved up in position over the few years you had been there and so you had more liberties to your projects. You had managed to get ahead in a lot of your work and with your boss’s blessing, you’ve been taking your free time to try and write the romance novel that you had dreamed about since you were a young girl. The only problem was that you had no clue where to begin. The want to write was there, but you had no inspiration. Your dating life was massively lacking since you left college which left you with little to work with. You had secretly hoped that coming to your sister’s wedding and witnessing their ceremony would help give you that little spark of romance that you needed to get your writing started.  

You saw your bag coming around the conveyer belt and quickly went over to retrieve it. You huffed as you lifted the bag off the belt and onto the floor with a thud. You weren’t one to bring more than one bag, but that also meant that the bag that you did bring weighed twice as much as it should. You pulled out the handle and started to wheel it over to the exit.

You were expecting your parents to come and pick you up near the exit. But as you reached closer, you didn’t see them anywhere. You reached into your jacket to grab your phone but groaned when the screen didn’t light up. Great, you thought. As you looked around for an outlet you noticed a tall man with blonde hair holding a sign that had your name on it. You eyed him cautiously wondering who he could be. The man didn’t look familiar at all.

You tried to wiggle back towards a crowd of people but it was too late. He had spotted you and gave you a giant grin. He waved his hand and jogged over to you. You took a step back when he had moved a little too close into your space for your liking. He bowed at you before meeting your gaze and smiling again.

“Hi Y/N. You probably don’t know me, but I’m Jin. I’m a friend of Shane’s. I came to give you a ride back to your parent’s house.”

You eyed him over again before crossing your arms against your chest. “And I’m supposed to believe a stranger holding a sign with my name on it, that I should go with him?”

He ran a hand through his blonde locks before giving you a sheepish grin. “I suppose it does sound kind of creepy. But I promise that I’m only here as a favor to your family. Your parents had an issue with catering and had to go take care of it and your sister had another fitting for her dress. So Shane asked me if I’d mind giving you a ride since I was already here to pick up his best man. I’m here to pick up the second most important people at the wedding, so that makes me the third most important otherwise the maid of honor and the best man wouldn’t even show up.” he chuckled, trying to make a joke.

You gave him a soft, uneasy smile before looking around. You didn’t see another person with him. “Okay then, Jin, where’s the so called best man then? If I could meet him, I might be more inclined to believe your story.” It all reality, you did believe him, but you thought there wasn’t any harm in giving him a hard time.

His face fell slightly and you saw the worry in his eyes. “Oh, he’s actually in the car already, I’m sorry. I know this sounds sketchy but I can’ go get h-”

You raised your hand to cut him off and giggled. “It’s okay Jin. I’m just kidding. We can go.” He nodded and ushered you to go first, trying to hide the blush from his face, no doubt.

Once outside, he lead you over to the parking garage. “Yeah, this isn’t sketchy,” you say as you roll your eyes. You saw Jin tense up again and you chuckled. “I’m still just kidding Jinnie, no reason to get your panties in a bunch.”

He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I’m sorry. I just know this looks shady. But my car is just over there, you can even see Namjoon already.” He started waving towards the car, but the man inside had his nose buried in a notebook, frantically making notes from the look of it.

When you got to the car, Jin used his key fob to pop the trunk and reached over to grab your suitcase from you. You let him take it without another fuss and he motioned for you to get in. You nodded and opened the rear passenger door directly behind the driver’s seat. The man he referred to as Namjoon, jumped at your sudden intrusion but when he saw Jin, he relaxed a bit. The man before you was just as gorgeous as Jin had been. Geez, models. Doesn’t Shane have any normal looking friends? you thought, bitterly.  He was wearing a bandana to keep his purple hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, you must be the maid of honor. I’m Namjoon, best man.” He gave you a soft wink and you smirked. “Best man, huh? Never seen a best man with purple hair,” you teased. “ I’m Y/N, Kat’s older sister.” He raised an eyebrow. “Quick to quib, I love it.” He gave you a big dimpled smile that honestly made your heart melt a little. He was already gorgeous but those dimples almost did you in.

You shrugged slightly before turning to put your seatbelt on. “Well, in my line of business, it’s better to be quick witted. If you aren’t funny, no one cares anymore.”

When you turned to face him again, you noticed he had shifted a little more to face you. “And what line of business would that be?” he asked as Jin finally shut the trunk of his car. You followed him with your eyes as he got into the car.

“Oh, I’m a writer of sorts. I’m the lead editor at Wave,” you said as Jin settled into the driver’s seat.

“Wave? Isn’t that one of those funny vlog sites? That’s all over social media? I think I just watched one of their videos about cooking while at your desk.” Jin stated as he looked at you from the rearview mirror.

You shrugged. “That’s what we’ve been reduced to, but yeah. That’d be the one. Unfortunately we have to cater to the public or we would be out of business. It’s not all bad though. I did learn how to cook a full chicken without having to leave my office.”

You heard Jin chuckle before he started the car. “Fair enough. So then, shall we get going? You parents were nice enough to let all of us stay at your house.”

That didn’t surprise you. With hopes of you staying in town, your parents had renovated the old pool house and turned it into every teenager’s dream house. All of the excitement of living on your own without the responsibility. They had finished it your senior year but your heart was set on New York. Your sister did stay there though and commuted to school every day from there, so it didn’t completely go to waste. Now it would be the party house before the wedding.

“Yeah, that was really nice of them too. Especially considering there were so many groomsmen. Why aren’t there any more bridesmaids?” Namjoon asked, turning from his notebook to look towards you again.

“What do you mean? There should have been seven including myself.” You said as you grabbed your charger out of your purse and plugged it into one of the USB ports in the back of Jin’s car.

Namjoon shook his head before turning back towards the front. “Not according to Shane. Apparently it’s just you and two of your cousins.”

Your jaw dropped. Your sister hadn’t mentioned her friends dropping out of the wedding at all. What had happened? You thumbed over your now charging phone before turning to look out of the window. “I honestly don’t know. My sister hasn’t really talked to me much about the wedding. She wanted to wait until I got back home.”

Jin cleared his throat before giving a sheepish grin. “I can probably explain that one.” You and Namjoon both turned your attention to him. “Well, since we were in between gigs, your parents had let most of the groomsmen stay here the past two weeks with them. I think things got a little out of control after a party we had. Feelings got hurt and I think the girls just didn’t want to stick around so they dropped out of the wedding.”

Namjoon groaned and gave Jin a punch on his arm. “What the hell, man? Can’t you guys keep it in your pants? How is that supposed to make the agency look? Did none of you think of that?”

Jin’s face was slowly turning red as he looked back towards you through the rearview mirror. Your eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked back towards the road. “It’s not our fault. You know what alcohol does to all of them. The girls were the ones who started it anyway. Who am I to deny them love from Mr. Worldwide Handsome?”

You couldn’t hold back the snicker from his comment. He looked back to you again with an eyebrow raised. “What? You don’t agree with me?”

You blushed instantly before clearing your throat. “Uh, I mean. You’re all models or something right? You’ve gotta be attractive to someone.”

Namjoon let out a snort before shaking his head. “Yeah, way to hurt his ego. He’ll be sulking about that all day.”

He was right. Jin immediately got a pout on his face and you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning. Namjoon patted his arm. “It’ll be okay. You’ll always be sexy to me,” the man teased. Jin rolled his eyes but stayed silent, instead deciding to turn the radio on, ending the conversations for the rest of the trip.

Within forty minutes, you had arrived to your parent’s home. Namjoon was the first to exit the car, heading straight back to the trunk that he had popped in the glove box before exiting. Jin got out as you collected your phone and charger and went over to your door. He opened it for you and you gave him a soft smile. You couldn't remember the last time someone had opened your door for you like this, because, let's be honest, New York City isn't known for its manners.

You walked back to the trunk to retrieve your bag. Namjoon had already gotten it out for you and moved it towards you. “Oh, thanks.”

“No problem. I just thought it would make this. Little quicker. I'm exhausted and wanted Jin to show me where I'm staying. I was going to ask you, but obviously you're just getting here too.” Namjoon looked to Jin and motioned for him to take the lead, and he did.

Jin lead you both around to the side of the house where a little dirt path lead you to the back yard. You grew up in this house, yet your mother's garden down this path always took your breath away. Despite everything your mother did, she always made time to garden. She had roses, tulips, daisies, hibiscus, lilacs and lilies too on top of dozens of others you couldn’t even name.

The path takes everyone to a large wooden fence. Jin opens the gate before holding it open for the both of you. As soon as you're through the gate, the smell of chlorine and a campfire fill your nose and the fragrant flowers disappear. You used to hate smelling that every day but now, it just brings back a flood of memories of your childhood with your sister.

You're brought out of your reminiscing by the shouts of whom you assumed to be the other groomsmen. They had all been messing around the pool when you guys had entered. Once they saw their friends, they all started chaotically exiting the pool. It honestly surprised you that none of them got hurt in the process.

You stood behind Namjoon and Jin as they were greeted by their friends. You pushed down the handle of your suitcase before pulling out the strap to make your way to your room. You were stopped by a hand to your shoulder. You turned and Jin gave you a soft smile before ushering you towards the group of young men.

You sighed as you set your bag down and turned to face them all. You quickly looked over them. You had to fight the urge to drop your jaw as you took them in. You had to hand it to Shane. He picked a beautiful career to get into.

[fallout-fallen-knight]

Fallen Knight: Prologue

This is the first segment of what will hopefully become an ongoing series, following my Lone Wanderer Christopher as he travels through the Commonwealth. If feeback is positive, I’ll post more information about Christopher and more chapters as I write them.

Enjoy!

Christopher Farris awoke on the morning of his thirtieth birthday to the sound of rain on a tin roof. The shack - if you could call it that - sat on top of the ruins of a building in the south side of a city that had once been called Boston - at least, that’s what the ghoul family he had bought directions off of said it was. The man who had owned the shack lay dead ten feet away, his body cold and stiff in the morning mist.

Christopher had never been a fan of birthdays. His tenth birthday hadn’t been anything special - just an old pip boy, a weird poem from his neighbor, a sweet roll that his childhood bully immediately took from him, and a BB gun that Christopher put in the back of his room and let gather dust. He spent his twentieth birthday under the lash in the Pitt, preparing to fight for his life and his freedom. His twenty-fourth birthday was the last time he had ever been in the Citadel. The last time he had ever seen Sarah and Owyn.

And yet, when Christopher awoke, his Pip-Boy had worked for long enough to display the official birthday notification: a small animation of a Vault Boy wearing a party hat, and a short message that read “Vault-Tec wishes you a happy birthday!”. Christopher tapped the screen once with a dirty fingernail, trying to dislodge the animation, but nothing could make it leave.

Christopher sighed. The Pip-Boy had been on the fritz since Jersey, and any day now, it would give up the ghost and finally die. Or so Christopher hoped. If it finally died, he would have no problems with cutting or prying it off his wrist and selling the parts for scrap. In its current state, the map, flashlight, holotape reader, and VATS were all unusable. But it still functioned as a radio, and that was good enough reason for Christopher to keep it around.

Christopher rolled off the filthy mattress and climbed unsteadily to his feet. The shack he had slept in was hardly that, with only two walls to keep out the cold Commonwealth air. But considering the other places that Christopher had stayed in his trek north, this was a luxury. It had a mattress, a chair, and a small ammo can that Christopher had picked through. Compared to the state of things in the Commonwealth, it was practically Tenpenny Towers.

Christopher smiled at that. A joke. He hadn’t made a joke in such a long time, especially to another person. Most of the people he encountered in the last few years were either trying to scam him out of his caps, kill him, or somewhere inbetween. Most didn’t like jokes.

Christopher rubbed his eyes and began smoothing his clothes, which had gotten askew in the night. His large, strong hands moved almost robotically across his wide chest, pushing and pulling his clothes back into place. He then wrapped a leather belt around his waist. On it hung a pistol jury-rigged together from scavenged parts, and a switchblade that was a parting gift from someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Christopher squeezed his eyes shut. No. Don’t think about the Vault. Don’t think about the Capital Wasteland. Shut it out. Shut it all out. He carefully felt around for his bandana and tied it around his face. There. A bit of anonymity for the wasteland. Nobody knew he he was now. That’s the way that Christopher liked it.

Christopher opened his eyes, picked up his heavy pack and swung it onto his back. It rattled with the sound of a dozen different pieces of scrap all crammed together and banging against each other. Scavving wasn’t an easy living by any means, but it worked for him. He was strong enough to carry the scrap other scavvers couldn’t and pull himself up into areas where stairs and elevators didn’t reach. If he found a door he couldn’t open, he could just force the lock or, worse come to worst, break it down with a strong kick next to the knob.

On the back of the pack hung two more keepsakes from a lifetime ago: a Chinese assault rifle he had picked up off a Talon Company asshat in downton DC, and his childhood baseball bat. He hadn’t used either in years. The assault rifle was impractical to use for how much ammo cost and how rare it was, and the baseball bat was more of a relic than a weapon at this point. But he couldn’t bear to sell either of them. He was sentimental like that.

Christopher sighed. If the directions from that family were accurate, Diamond City wasn’t too far west from here. A day or two’s journey, tops. He adjusted his pack, put up the hood of his jacket and walked to the edge of the roof he was sleeping on, taking care to avoid the long-dead man lying on the rooftop. Christopher took in a deep breath and surveyed the ruins of Boston. This was gonna go great.

[aconvenientenemy]

River Greenwood and Torrential Arinth

River’s bowstaff hit the tallest tree branch and he slides on it quickly, too quickly, so quickly oh god he wasn’t prepared to come in this quickly. He scrambles for the button that releases the ridges and it slows him down enough to hurt his arms but not enough to stop from being hurt by the tree trunk.   He groans against the tree, hands tight on his staff. “Thank you. Good job, Ainihkiwa.” He let got of one side to cling to the branches and begin his climb downwards. Halfway down the tree he hums appreciatively. “Ooh there’s some water nearby.” River sped up his downwards climb, eager to get to the water.    River found the water source quickly. He was running some down his arms and on his face when he heard the tell tale sounds of someone else flying through the air. His wolf ears flicked up. A late shot?   He looked up in time to see a kid flying, arms and legs flailing like he was running. No weapon was drawn and he didn’t seem to be a faunus.   “Kid?” River muttered, feeling anxious, ears pressed against his head. “Kid!” He lashed out with his semblance, launching water up to engulf the kid and bring him down, a few feet from slamming chest first into the tree he was headed for. “What was your game plan there, kid!? Hit the tree as hard as possible and see who wins??” River starts yelling as soon as he flushes the water off the kid, who sputters and falls on his hands and knees.    He coughs out the water that got in his lungs and shakes his head, adjusting his bandana and making eye contact, locking in their partnership. He got up, adjusting his heavy material skirt and taking his hair out of the braid to redo it. “I calculated the speed and damage it would take to deplete my aura. I would have had enough left to spare.” He nodded at River as he finished his braid. “But thank you, you saved me from having to rest.”    River gaped at him. “To rest. I saved you from...” He licked his lips and turned away, twisting his bowstaff in his hands. “Having to rest. Cool. This is my teammate. Awesome. Good job with the rescue there, Mingan, now he’s your problem!”    “Mingan? My name’s Torrential, good to meet you.” Torrential said, breaking River’s rant and holding his hand out in greeting.    River eyed his hand, almost suspiciously, and took it, shaking cordially. “I’m, my middle name is Mingan, I’m actually called River.”   “Most call me Tori.”   “Well, Tori. Gotta find those chess things.” River says, eager to start walking. Once they decide on a direction River gives Tori a once over. He... doesn’t appear to have a weapon.    “Tori.“ It sounds enough like a question that Tori glances over and quirks an eyebrow. “Where’s your weapon, dude?”    Tori smiles, pats his midsection.    River laughs, sudden and loud, ears standing tall, happily. Tori laughs with him, pulling his weapon off from where it was wrapped around his waist and snapping it down.   “Oh Grimm!”  River shouts as it snaps near him. “That’s what you meant!”   “Yes?” Tori says, smiling still. “It’s called an Urumi, but I call mine Curación Herida. It’s a sword whip, essentially.”    “That’s cool. Where’s the gun bit?”    “There’s no gun bit.”    “What? How’d you get into Beacon with no gun bit?” River’s perplexed. He figured he had skimmed in by being able to launch projectiles from his weapon.    “Where’s your gun bit?” Tori asks.    “It... uh.” River whips his Bow out and notches an arrow. “It shoots arrows.”    “That’s not a gun.” Tori points out.    “I know! I just. I figured you had to be able to shoot something to get into Beacon.”    “I wasn’t aware of that. Maybe they won’t let me in after all.” Tori shrugs, continuing to walk.    “What? Are you okay with that? You think they’d do that? Launch you into a Grimm infested forest and then tell you you can’t join the school because you don’t have a gun in your weapon? Is that something that can happen?”    “Notch your arrow, Mingan.” Tori whispers sudden, urgent. He’s standing still, whip at the ready and he digs his feet a bit harder into the forest earth. Barefoot, River notices.    “Did you lose your shoes in the fall?” River asks, dumbstruck, as a giant boarbatusk rams into him, knocking him off his feet and cracking his back against a tree.    “Mingan!” He hears Tori yell as if through a waterfall. Everything feels fuzzy. His ears flick back and forth like they have a mind of their own.    The boarbatusk changes direction to follow the scream and Tori starts to attack, swinging his sword like a whip and managing to lash off the front right leg of it before it cut into him with it’s tusk. Besides being pushed back, Tori doesnt seem to notice the hit in his aura.    River gets back up, clearing his head, and feeling the area for water and not finding enough to gather. He grabs an arrow and clicks the dust into place on the tip before he notches it and sets it off into the exposed hide of the Grimm. The dust sets off and freezes the back left leg of the creature. It stumbles but continues it’s charge towards Tori again.   Tori manages to sidestep it as it runs in, slicing a tusk off as it goes.   “I have an idea.” Tori says. “Shoot it’s stomach, that’s the weakest part.” He begins running headfirst to meet the Grimm.    “How do you know?” River shouts, notching another arrow.    “I’ve read about most Grimm, Mingan. Just shoot it’s stomach.”    River aimed his arrow at the Grimm, following it’s movements as it got closer to Tori. “Kind of a four wheel drive creature, Tori, I don’t know what to do here.”   “Do what I said.” Tori answered as he lashed his urumi out at the boarbatusk, looping it around it’s neck and jumping. He uses the momentum of his jump and the pull of his weapon to yank the Grimm off it’s front foot and hold it up as River sees his target and lets the arrow loose.    The Grimm dissolves and Tori’s urumi falls to the floor behind him. He gets up, breathing heavily, and wraps the sword around his waist again.    “Where on earth did you train to learn how to do that?” River asks once they start their walk again.    “Are you okay?” Tori asks, stopping them to place a hand on the side of River’s face. He looks into River’s startled eyes and moves his hand through River’s short hair.    River blinks. A lot. “Yes? Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not even at half aura yet.”    “Good.” Tori removes his hand from River’s personal space and pauses in his steps, feet firm on the ground. “The closest Grimm is about a mile away. If it gets any closer you need to maybe listen to me when I tell you to notch your arrows, River.” He says as he starts to walk again.    River is absolutely thrown. What just happened? What is this kid?    “Okay?” He replies after a moment of silence, his ears twitching like he was listening for the wind. “I’m sorry?”    “Mingan.”    “Yes?”    “Does that have anything to do with the, the small, that...” Tori had trouble remembering the word. “Community? That small community of people living on the edge of Vacuo?”    “Yeah, actually. That’s where I’m from. My tribe.”    Tori nods. “Tribe. I was under the impression that your people had long hair. You’d look good with long hair.”    “I’d.” River found himself floored again. It was. Interesting. He wasn’t used to people being so outspoken in anything besides anger. “Thank you?” He was confused, intrigued, certainly, but mostly confused. His smile was lopsided as he let out a slight huff of a laugh, pressed down ears standing up again. “Thank you.” He said with more conviction.    Tori nods again. He points suddenly, smiling wide. “The pieces! We landed closer than I thought.”

[cllrnat]

Chapter 2

Major Wolfe however had other ideas for all the secondees; she had arranged a military transport and medical plane which was waiting at Bristol Airport.

Start as they mean to go on she thought, giving herself an inward chuckle, these NHS dignitaries want to learn about trauma, well ok then, let’s begin right now.

Bernie was humming happily to herself as she finished for the weekend, changed out of her military attire, got in her Jeep and drove off the base and down into Na’ama Bay to relax.

When she was working she lived in the base’s military accommodation, but as soon as she had time off to herself she was out of there, into the bay to dive and relax, and also staying at her own property. A place all of her own where she felt safe, relaxed and had utter peace and quiet from the hectic lifestyle of a soldier and Officer.

Bernie was not an isolationist, she liked people but on her terms and in her time. For one of the first times in her life Bernie Wolfe was able to do things exactly as she wanted and was happy, well sort of.

When she thinks ‘sort of’, this is because she has almost everything she wants here, apart from someone to share her life with. Enjoy relaxing nights on the veranda, lie in the desert and watch the stars, sit and sip wine while having a ‘cuddle’. Yes, Major Berenice Wolfe loves cuddles and cwtches (sorry for those who don’t use the word cwtch or cwtchy babas, but it’s a Welshism, a bit like using the word daps/dappers instead of trainers. It sounds warm and snuggly and safe - cwtchy).

However, she has had to reign in her desires. She is living in a Muslim controlled Country where her desires could get her imprisoned. She is also, still a serving officer in Her Majesty’s Forces and despite recent changes in equality and diversity she has kept her private life exactly that. They have known her for 30+ years as a married woman with 2 children and didn’t wish to become the centre of gossip here.

She was miles away when she pulled into her parking space behind the Dive Centre, went into the centre and began her meeting with Akram and Amani. She was really looking forward to a few days off from Surgery and spending time with her friends and relaxing by going diving.

Serena’s smile drops and she is cursing all the plagues from the bible onto whosoever arranged this “fiasco”, and she is quite clear it is a fiasco to treat all these highly qualified NHS medical professionals as if they were …. what? Ordinary? Normal people? Nothing special? OK, she thought, point taken. Somewhere inside there was a tiny twinkle of admiration for this ‘Major person’.

Serena did what she always did best and that was to smile, flirt, break the ice and network; she introduced herself to the other medical staff who were ‘fortunate or was it unfortunate’ enough to get a 3 month break in the Desert. Most of them were Operating Department Practitioners, nurses or theatre assistants from various hospitals around the UK and the other forces, there was only one other Surgeon from London and he didn’t seem impressed to be here. Conversation was stilted and almost like pulling teeth for Serena, so she went back to her area and got her iPad out and went back to her reading.

4 hours later they landed at the MFO’s private airstrip just at the edge of the base, Serena was excited now, she had never been to Egypt and had 3 whole months to relax, learn, enjoy and hopefully sightsee. Deep down she was really thankful to Henrik for forcing her to have this rest and recuperation whilst still maintaining her dignity, after all the distressing times she has recently endured; Edward - the Drunk, Elinor - the Brat, she loved her daughter immensely but she was so like Edward she found she really didn’t like her, then Mummy dearest - how she missed her mother, but she had missed her for far longer than just since her death and bore the scars of the trials and tribulations. Serena believed Henrik sent her here for some Serena time, and she bloody well intended to experience everything on offer. Smirking to herself as she walked off the cargo plane into the stifling heat of the Sinai, let’s see what’s on offer then.

they were all assigned a driver to take them off the base, unless they wishes to stay and have quarters assigned. Serena knew that Henrik had chosen a really exquisite Hotel actually within walking distance to the base with all facilities, and to Serena’s delight a Dive Centre.

Serena had been determined she was going to learn to Scuba Dive in this wonder of the world, she had read up on all the dive sites, dive centres, fish, live-aboard boats and had even bought herself a mask, fins and snorkel ready for learning. She had pre-booked diving lessons before leaving the UK but had made some stipulations in her email to Akram at the dive centre. She had explained she was there for a while and would like to get trained during her days off. However, she did have the first few days free and wondered what they could do for her in regards to training. As she had a disruptive timetable she also asked if she could have 1-2-1 training. She had already received downloads of video’s and her training manual, so she could begin studying and not have to waste the exquisite sun by sitting in a classroom.

She had deposited her suitcases etc in her Hotel room and went in search of something, some piece of mind, something to distract her,  she wasn’t sure what until she noticed the Dive Centre she was booked in with, so decided to go and introduce herself and possibly get a schedule of events that didn’t clash with her primary role of learning Trauma. She advise the receptionist she may have to alter at short notice if her sessions clashed and was assured this was no problem, her tutor was extremely flexible and would cater to her directly as she was paying for 1-2-1 treatment. Serena smiled inwardly, looking around she was very aware that most of those working here were young and they all wore the same diving instructor uniform of shorts, t-shirt and caps. Serena thought to herself they were all a tad young and wasn’t a Cougar or cradle snatcher thank you very much.

Just when she was going to walk away for the evening, Akram asked whether she would like to meet her Diving Instructor before they started lessons tomorrow? Thinking it would be one of the young boys lolling outside she resignedly mutters ‘I suppose so’.

‘Hey Bernie, you back there?’ Akram shouts. ‘Come meet your new student’.

Grumbling, chair scraping and muttering was heard from the back room, when out walked Bernie.

Serena’s jaw almost hit the floor; Bernie was not a man but a bloody gorgeous leggy blonde. Leggy being an understatement, those legs, phew, they went all the way up to ……. christ what an arse.

Hellooooo, Serena thought to herself. What the hell is up with you Campbell? you have never, ever, ever perved over a woman. I know but look at this goddess in short shorts, clinging vest top, ray bans pushed up on her forehead and a bandana tying her loose blonde hair out of her eyes, she was shoeless and Serena’s eyes were drawn from the toe ring right up to those lips and deep brown staring eyes, that were looking at Serena with huge amusement and something else, she felt exposed and naked like Bernie was staring deep into her soul and could read exactly what was on Serena’s mind.

Serena gulped loudly, which brought an amused smirk from Akram and Amani. They had never seen Bernie stop dead in her tracks like that. She stood still for a moment like she was poleaxed, her fringe flopping over her eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, she pulled her glasses down to cover her eyes, mumbled ‘nice to meet you, see you tomorrow 0900 hrs sharp’ and almost ran from the place.

Serena just stood there watching this exquisite woman run from her. A broad smile spread across her face and the smile actually reached her eyes, something that hadn’t occurred for such a long time. Her hand went to her chest and throat, and asked ‘was it something I said?’.

‘Don’t worry about Bernie’, Amani mumbled close to her ear, ‘she’s not very people oriented, until she gets to know you and comes across as rude and abrupt, but I can assure you after that display, she sure as hell wants to get to know you’.

As Serena left the dive centre and continued to roam and explore Na’ama Bay, she saw a silhouette at the farthest point of the bay and wondered whether she should interrupt the woman or just leave it until tomorrow. Serena not being the sort to leave things lie strode determinedly but casually in that direction.