#the amount of power he has underneath his belt figuratively and literally

[damsel-loves-machines]

“Does Lucifer moan? Does he groan? Whimper? Gasp? Squeak? Quack?”

I have a better question.

Does Lucifer break the bed?

[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 3 -- lingerie @gallavichthings

the devil in disguise

ian has a deep appreciation for mickey's halloween costume.

beta read by @mishervellous ❤️

words: 1.3k

"when you said you wanted to do a couples costume, i thought you meant with me!" ian rifled through his closet, trying to put together a last minute costume while mickey changed in the bathroom into his costume so he could coordinate with fucking tami. ian could have been an angel, but no, that simply wouldn't do.

to be fair, ian should have seen this coming after lip decided to put in an ungodly amount of extra hours at the shop. tamietti's went hard for halloween, and this year was not going to be an exception. he cursed lip for inadvertently stealing his husband away from him for the night.

this was impossible. ian banged his head against the wall.

"you die out there, firecrotch?" mickey called, voice strained.

ian was thoroughly confused with whatever elaborate feat was going on behind the closed door.

"no," he called, hopeless. he tried again, "you need any help in there?" ian reached for the knob only to find it locked. motherfucker.

"aye no peeking!"

"are you almost done? i need your help," ian sat back on their bed, sinking into their mattress and tapping his fingertips along this thigh.

he couldn't decipher all of mickey's mutterings through the wooden barrier, but the 'jesus fucking christ fucking gallagher' was unmissable.

ian grinned devilishly. he was always in the mood for a grumpy mick.

mickey unlocked the door with a click and stepped out in a red blur, discarding his old clothes on the floor in his corner of their room as if ian's world wasn't currently being absolutely rocked merely three feet away.

it took mickey a moment to realize that his normally chatty husband had yet to say a word. shit. maybe ian didn't like this kind of thing.

he bit the bullet and faced ian head on, only to meet a love-shook caricature of his husband -- wide eyes, blushing cheeks, and mouth agape, damn near salivating.

oh.

mickey smirked and flexed his arms not so subtly, "what d'ya think?"

ian unfroze from his trance, caught. he groaned and flopped back onto the bed, lifting his head and peeking at mickey between his fingers, "you're going to fucking kill me."

because there mickey was. clad in a fucking red, silk, corset cut just for his body. the red ribbons crossing in the front, carving his figure in all the right angles.

after a moment of deep appreciation and an unexpected awakening, ian allowed his eyes to scan the rest of mickey, which wasn't bearing any better for his blood pressure.

sheer, fingerless red gloves were stretched across mickey's hands, faded knuckle tattoos still visible. the glint of his ring seemed more prominent all of a sudden.

ian's eyes made their way up his arm, chest, neck. a sequined devil horn nestled into his dark hair and reflecting the low light of their bedroom lamp, giving mickey a literal red aura.

enjoying the show, mickey spun around, biting his lip. ian continued to ogle.

red fishnet stockings covered mickey's muscled thighs under almost-too-short-not-short-enough leather shorts embroidered with orange flames. pointed wings attached with some elaborate belting situation between his shoulder blades, and an arrow tail slinking around his hips.

"i think this is hell," ian closed his eyes, willing the blood to go back to his brain by the sheer power of force.

mickey chuckled darkly. "that so? ian gallagher on the naughty list?"

ian cracked an eye open, "what are you, fuckin' santa claus now?"

mickey smacked ian's stomach as he sat on the bed next to his idiot of a partner, "fuck off, ho."

"don't you mean ho ho ho?" ian couldn't resist.

"and we're done," mickey made to stand up but ian caught him by the arm, sliding his hand down until he reached the hem of the glove, inching his own fingertips underneath and sliding against his skin. his voice went deeper in the way that he knew made mickey melt.

"lemme make a deal with the devil?"

he tugged and pulled mickey onto his lap so that he was straddling him, knees digging into the soft mattress.

"what does the mere mortal have in mind?" mickey teased, voice light but eyes dark.

"kiss me and i won't tear your costume to shreds," ian ran his hand up mickey's back, catching on the wings clumsily before tracing his silk clad skin back down to his thighs. "you're looking hot as hell." the statement carried heat behind it.

mickey's breathing picked up as he considered the weight of his options.

ian grinned, trapped under mickey's control, but waiting patiently for the signal he knew he would be allowed.

a breath. two. three.

"c'mere," mickey leaned.

ian crashed his lips against mickey's own, his mouth a fire hot cinnamon. ian groaned. did mickey really have a mint for this? motherfucker thought of everything.

ian traced his hands over the mickey's chest as they kissed, following the lines of silky ribbon crossing back and forth. back and forth. lower. lower. lower.

the textures of silk and leather and skin mixing together under his hands, grasping at whatever he could reach.

mickey's weight pinned him to the mattress, helpless.

he felt fingers caressing his hair as his mouth felt warmer as they melted into each other.

what felt like an eternity in damnation later, mickey broke them apart. they took a moment to assess their equally disheveled appearances while fighting to catch their breath behind a laugh.

ian made a grab to pull mickey back in, certain he would comply, but mickey was quicker.

he rolled off with a grunt, tossing a half empty water bottle at ian's still body and nudging his leg when he didn't respond.

"you ready to go?"

"go where?" ian picked up the water bottle and idly traced its shape with his fingers.

a flick. "the party? tamietti's? your sister-in-law? ring any bells?"

ian sighed as he nestled further into their bed, "i still don't have a costume."

mickey waltzed towards their dresser, a slight unbalance in his step, and flung an old flannel on the bed.

"lumberjack. you've already got the scruff, thank you very much." he added quiety, grinning lopsidedly to himself. he was genuinely so proud he had convinced ian to abandon the clean cut army man look and to not shave for a few days to see what would happen and dear god was he enjoying the consequences.

ian finally sat up and chugged the rest of water bottle in one go before setting on their nightstand. it took a moment for mickey's words to register, but when they did -- yeah.

"you're a genius."

ian leaned up to grab mickey again, but he side stepped ian's attempts and straightened his outfit. "no sir, you gotta get changed. we need to leave like... ten minutes ago. tami's gonna have my ass if we're any later."

"tami better not go anywhere near that ass," ian grumbled, but complying with mickey's requests.

"don't worry, logger, you're the only wood for me."

"oh mickey, now that was bad."

mickey grinned as he shimmied in his satin outfit, smoothing over the wrinkles that ian had put there mere minutes before.

ian could easily stare at this image of mickey all night. as he was buttoning up his flannel, he made a mental note to buy mickey some more red.

"i think red is your color, mick." ian let slip, shoving his wallet in his pocket.

"yeah?" mickey grinned, "you too, stud," he ruffled ian's hair and pushed him out the door.

[secretaryunpaid]

Fighting Temptations...

(TNA Fanfic)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: approx. 1535

Warnings/Triggers: Death, depression,

After the painful sight of Alina’s death, Sam went on a downward spiral. His actions from that point forward led to excessive alcohol abuse. He wasn't even aware of the amount that he would consume daily.

He had come to rely on his meetings with Dahlia more often than she’d expected. So much so, that he was beginning to suck her into his depression. She was losing sight of herself trying to help him escape this loop that he’d become enslaved in.

She never imagined that her revenge would push him to this level. She was so consumed with a hatred for him, that she didn’t even think of the collateral damage her actions would cause. Being in Sam’s presence was forcing her reality to take hold of her sanity.

She’d been the cause of this… and indirectly the cause of Alina’s death. She’d recently sent a picture to Alina. The sight had Alina questioning how well she even knew her husband. 

Sam had been so loving and, although Dalton Enterprises was monopolizing his life, he was always trying to be the man she’d fallen so deeply in love with.

But Alina was gone now, and after having been forced into rehab as her condition for taking him back, along with a serious commitment, he had to pull his life together. He wouldn’t lose her, too.

undefined

--------------------------------

Sam hired Tyrese to perform “Sweet Lady”  for his proposal … Down on his own persuasive measures since she’d left when he was most vulnerable, he figured that added touch would give him time to work his courage up to take on her denial, should this strong minded woman actually allow his entertainment.

He knew that she’d mentioned loving Tyrese’s sensual voice… She’d at least focus on the words of his song… Knowing her wit, she’d pick up quite quickly on the words meaning on this night.

She’d warned Sam that if he wasn’t contacting her with a marriage proposal, she couldn’t entertain their former patterns. He’d driven her to lust and he knew it. But she’d been able to resist his charms in the end. Whiskey and bourbon were his “new orgy” as Dahlia had put it.

He’d express that underneath the pain, he’d actually fallen in love with her. Heartbroken at the words, knowing that she’d expected a totally different conversation to result from the photo she’d sent to Alina just before her demise. She becomes enraged and her persona immediately shifts to borderline girl interrupted behavior …

“You’re professing love for ME, Sam… While GRIEVING over your TRUE LOVE ??? DO YOU FUCKING EVEN HEAR YOUR WORDS RIGHT NOW ??”

Sam flinches back in absolute confusion… “You’re telling me that I CAN’T love you, too? After every time you came to my rescue … you were ALWAYS there, Lia!! How can you expect me not to grieve? But I have to move on, and I NEED YOU to do that, Lia!” But Dahlia isn’t prepared for this turn of events.

“Sam, I ..,” tears flowing heavily, “I can’t. There are things I have d- …” Sam interrupts here with a heated kiss that draws her from the ground resting only on her tiptoes … a kiss that draws every ounce of desire … that forces her to acknowledge … her love …

When he releases her, she whispers, “Love you, too…” Momentarily stunned, she allows him to kiss her more fervently, backing her against the wall … His hand groping her meaty core, his tongue racing against her neck, against her shoulder, until he swiftly drops to her center to kiss what has drawn him to her fully.

The inhale at his touch floods her with an adrenaline that she can’t resist. She wants him … She needs him … She craves him … “Yesss, Sam,” is the delicate whisper that escapes her lips as she bites down, letting the rush consume her…

“NO!”

She pushes Sam away, but he is not giving in… He holds her firmly, pulling her into his tongue thrusts … into his finger strokes … into his teething graze of her core … He growls his hunger loudly, letting her know he has seized his prey and won’t give without her trembling release …

undefined

His animalistic nature returns… his former self coming along with it … She has become his tether to reality… Her reluctance only fuels him more. 

He pulls her to the floor, laying his weight upon her as he grinds against her, “Tell me you DON’T want me Lia… TELL ME !!!,” he demands with firmness… “You CAN’T !!,” are the last words spoken as he tears away her clothing … tears away her control … devouring her moans with his aggressive kisses, sliding her thong to the side and thrusting his hardened length into her … loving her with a roughness as if punishing her for ever thinking of walking away from him …

Tonight, he will stake his claim on her heart … he will offer all of himself with each thrust, building into a powerful hammering that leaves them both convulsing with release …

As Sam lays atop her frame, she lays silently tears flowing uncontrollably … How can she love this man … after the things he’d caused her to endure … the personality changes, the … the … all thoughts end as he lifts to kiss her again … Oh damn, I can’t resist … round two is always better than the first … and with that, she is sucked in again … this time, she gives her all … because this time … this time has to be her last … but how?

“Dammit, Sam…,” is the last of her thoughts as his sex takes hold of her soul.

 After he had fully put his mark of ownership on Dahlia’s body, after she’d clawed her last orgasm on his back … he lifted her like a weightless doll, and carried her to the bed, so spoon the night away with her in his loving hold… 

undefined

Morning comes, and Sam kisses her, “Good morning, Lia. Do you forgive me for last night??” She stares into his eyes, the biggest smile of pleasure shown on her face, “Mmmhmm, forgiven.”

“Good, cause you know I never miss breakfast.”

“But, I’m sore, Sam …”

He places a finger over her lips … “I’ve got you, Lia.”

And with that, she convinces herself that this will be the final time…

“Damn, girl … I love you! You’re so damned sexy,” he growls, before giving her the most sensual and gentle love making she’s ever experienced … She now knew that he’d truly committed himself to her.

------------------------

Freddy Jackson’s “Tasty Love” is the song he belts from the shower … Dahlia can’t help but smile … “Damn, I LOVE HIM…” But the smile quickly fades as she sees the notification on Sam’s phone over on the nightstand.

“Sam, we need to talk, NOW !!!” {sender T.B.O.P .eggplant kitty emojis…}

She gets a clench in her chest … TBOP, TBOP … until she understands the acronym to be The Boys of Princeton… And just like that, her horrors flood back to mind, reaching an anxiety level beyond control. She can’t keep hold of her sanity … 

She looks towards the direction of the shower, but Sam is still in his feelings, now belting lyrics to “Just a Touch Away” by Freddie Jackson. Water drops in heavy sounds, signifying that he is still mid cleanse … “LOVE IS JUST, JUST A SIMPLE TOUCH …,” are the words he’s crooning out.

She darts for her outer clothing strewn near the door … not taking the time to fully dress … noting that Sam had literally torn her clothes off of her, she looks around frantically … As she spots his suit shirt, she hurriedly takes, grabbing her clutch and shoes…

Rushing as fast as she can, buttoning the last button, she reaches for the door handle … “I owe him a goodbye at least …” 

Knowing that she can’t leave if he is face to face, she scribbles a quick note …  “I love you, but I can’t do this Sam.” Sealed with a lip imprint, a final kiss of crimson, she drops the note near his phone, and slips out of his life …  Her plan… never look back …

Sam emerges into the bedroom, backside winding in a nasty grind … his playful side of love … only to spin around to an empty room… “Lia?”

“Hmm, morning game play, huh? Okay, okay… Let me just check the time, see if I can make this happen for her…,” his happy thoughts searching for today’s game … until he reaches for his phone, hearing the notification … “What’s this, she’s such a tease … OH !?!”

Disappointment immediately settles in, but the notification comes again … 

“Dalton, we need to get together … You owe us still,” is the last of the messages received. Scrolling further, he then reads the messages all of the way through angrily … His eyes flitting between his phone and Lia’s note …

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Whumptober day 30 (Now where did that come from?)

Okay so it’s not all that whumpy but I have been having SO MANY feels about John’s parents the past few days so I ended up writing their first meeting!

Amarillo TX, 1963

Stephen Stoker is supposed to be somewhere else right now. 

Technically, he's supposed to be meeting his host family. The Morgans, descendants of the founder of the Amarillo agency, and related to one of the hunters his grandfather immortalized by a different name in his most famous novel, are probably wondering what happened to their wayward houseguest. He's supposed to be here to teach PR strategies. His height isn't the only thing he inherited from Grandpa Bram, he's also an expert at weaving stories that conceal truths hiding in plain sight. 

But he can't ignore his instincts, and those instincts have him on the track of what he can only assume is a powerful vampire. He knows he really ought to leave this to the local teams, but the guy got off HIS plane. Slept the whole flight over, aisle seat, grumbled about the windows when he got on, and pulled a fedora down over his whole face. A battered fedora that's seen better days, and had some suspicious stains on the brim. And most damningly, he tucked his carry-on bag under the seat when he sat down. And when he pulled it out, there was a smear of dirt left on the blue carpet. 

Air travel has changed the way vampires make their way to new shores. The speed of travel means there's no time for raising suspicion, not even a need to feed on the journey. Vampires have the capacity to spread further and faster than ever. The only issue is the lethargy caused by sunlight, but choosing a flight that arrives in the night avoids that problem entirely. 

Still, vampires don't leave home without a purpose. Transporting home earth in small quantities is risky, much riskier than shipping whole boxes. This vampire is here for a meeting of some sort.

And calling for backup could mean letting him get away. Not for the first time, Stephen wishes there was a portable means of communication easily available to hunters. He doesn't have time to stop at a pay phone. 

The vampire stops outside a disreputable-looking club on a corner. He says something to the man standing on the corner, a hat pulled low over his face, and the man watching the door nods, letting the vampire pass. Fangs gleam under the streetlights when the man turns back to his vigil, tilting his hat slightly to get a better view of the street.

Stephen ducks into the shadows and considers his next move. He's not sure if he'll even be allowed inside that place. Vampires often like to keep to themselves. 

He jumps at the sound of something moving in the alley, before he realizes it's just a cat scavenging. Tough luck for that stray, vampire clubs don't serve real food, just various types of alcohol and lots of blood. 

The thought gives him an idea, and he slips back along the alley to where there's a door that most likely was used by the kitchen staff when this place was frequented by humans. Vampires like taking over existing locations. He picks the lock, much harder given that the style is different from the British type he's used to working, and steps into a dark, dusty kitchen. 

So far, so good. No one thought to post a guard at the alley door, but there will be one at the door to the main room of the club, he's sure. He peeks through the dusty glass, watching the vampire leaning against the wall on the other side. He isn't sure what he plans to do, exactly. He's carrying only his travel pouch with its shorter stakes and a small amount of powdered garlic in a bag. Hardly enough to make a raid on a whole club. And yet...whatever that vampire came to do, he came a long way. There are plenty of things that shouldn't be changing hands, especially across the ocean. 

Stephen is still biding his time when the room outside seems to become slightly brighter. He realizes stage lights have been turned on, and almost as one, every vampire in the room turns, heads fixed on what's now visible even to Stephen's human vision. Taking advantage of the distraction, Stephen pushes the door forward just enough to slip out, grateful that with his height came an awkward lankiness he has yet to grow out of. 

Now that he's inside the club, he can see what's attracted the attention of all the vampires. Hosts. Stephen surveys the group of young women, in fashionable dresses with their necks adorned with velvet bands. Most of them look pale, a few have clearly done this before, drawn back most likely by addictions to the vampire bite. Others look fresher, less washed out. Literal new blood.

One by one, they walk to the edge of the stage and down the steps, mingling with the crowd, singling out admirers or being chosen, led away to dark corners or the curtained alcoves designed for the purpose of giving some privacy to a feeding. Stephen makes his way slowly through the crowd. At least the scent of human sweat won't be an immediate reason for every vampire here to turn on him. Even at night, the heat of the Texas desert seems to cling to everything. 

Just as he catches sight of the vampire he was following, one hand resting on a leather briefcase set on a table, Stephen stops short. One of the hosts, a short, full-figured young woman with brightly tinted lips, wanders up to the vampire, trailing her brown fingers up his arm. She flips wild dark curls over her shoulder and laughs inanely. Her red dress makes her copper skin seem to glow in the dark club, and Stephen thinks she must be new. Hosts who've been fed on couldn't look that alive. 

The vampire looks at the watch on his wrist, then stands up, grabbing his briefcase, looping his free arm around the woman's waist and leading her toward one of the curtained alcoves along the wall. Stephen's seen the same thing many times before; he's a field hunter as well as a PR expert, but something about this situation is different enough to attract his attention. 

There's something about the way that host walks. And when he realizes what it is, his own blood seems to freeze. She's wearing flats, not heels, and the rolling, balanced movement of her stride is the kind of walk that every hunter knows.

He follows at a distance. He doesn't want to interfere in her hunt, she's most likely planned this carefully, and any change in her plans could get her killed. He waits as casually as he can beside the alcove where she's disappeared, pretending he's just another vampire waiting for a turn.

There's a sudden snarling scuffle from the area near the stage, probably a couple of vampires fighting over a host. At the sound, the curtain parts slightly and the young woman peeks out, only inches from Stephen's shoulder.

She jumps and looks up, her hand coming up with a silver knife in it, the blade smeared with a hint of blood in the groove. Stephen raises his hands. "Not a vamp." He smiles enough to show his teeth. She relaxes, lowering the knife. When she steps out, there's a handful of folded papers, stained with red, in her other hand. Stephen is sure that's what was in the briefcase. 

Her velvet choker is gone, but there's a thin silver chain that must have been tucked up underneath it, and a medal that Stephen recognizes from some of the Catholic hunters at his home agency. The incredibly obscure St. Marcellus, patron saint of vampire hunters. He wonders if she was wearing it under the choker. That would be one hell of a dramatic reveal. 

She takes a step toward the kitchen door, and Stephen follows. She must have planned to use his entrance as her exit strategy. It's as good as any. She frowns at him, but waits until they've both slipped through the door to the alley to say anything. 

"What are you doing following me?" She whispers, her knife held with a dangerous casualness that Stephen knows could have it at his throat in a breath. "I don't have a shadowing student right now. So talk fast, or I'll throw you back to those vamps inside."

"I'm not here for you. I'm..." He frowns, running a hand through his red curls. It's hard to explain. "I came here to teach a class at the Academy, but there was a vampire on my flight. The one you just killed. I was following him to find out what he was doing coming all the way from London."

The woman raises an eyebrow. "One of my informants told me a courier with letters from Grigoras himself was coming into town." She tucks the papers into her dress. "We've intercepted the recipient already." 

Stephen feels a chill slip down his spine. Grigoras. One of the First Circle, who is rumored to have followed Dracula to England but has never been seen in person there. He can only imagine what dangerous secrets those letters might hold.  

"You say you're here to teach at the Academy? I can give you a ride back." The woman slips the knife back into a sheath concealed in her wide belt, then holds out her hand. "Sonora Morgan."

It looks like he's met his host family after all. 

"Stephen Stoker." She blinks, probably in recognition of the name, and maybe also realizing that he's the instructor her family agreed to board.

There's a sound from inside the club, and Sonora tenses. "We should go." Someone's probably found the body. She leads him down the alley, cutting through a side street to a dimly-lit road with a few vehicles parked along it, and even fewer lights in the houses.

She slides into a heavily modified '36 Ford coupe whose dark-blue paint blends into the shadows, turning it over and pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires almost before Stephen's closed his door (he temporarily forgot that the drivers here sit on the left side of the car and was very confused). The engine roars, clearly a high-performance upgrade from the original model. He's heard that American hunters have a flair for creating their own specially modified vehicles. 

"Sorry I walked into your hunt," He apologizes as the car speeds along toward the edge of the city. 

"Sorry I threatened to let those vamps drain you," she replies with a genuine smile, effortlessly whipping the car around a turn seconds before the light changes. "Not the best first impression of someone you're about to spend two months in the same house with."

He grins, feeling the wind whipping through the open windows of the car turning his hair into a hopeless mess. "On the contrary. You're everything I would have expected from a Morgan." He's always loved the stories Grandpa Bram told about the daring, chivalrous Texan, and now he's met a relative of that man in the flesh.

"Oh really?" Her smile is the kind that says she takes that as a challenge. "Well, we'll see about that." 

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts 

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 5: Ch 3

Ch 2

Summary: An unnamed Space Explorer must come to terms with the fate of the universe resting in her hands. 

Part 1: ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

Part 4: ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

————————

Head pressed against her chest, she held me as if I wasn’t real. As if I’d disappear and when I did she’d wake up in her bed underneath a soaked pillow. Soaked because she was crying as she slept. Soaked because she wasn’t alone anymore. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered through the tears. 

Moving her away from me, heartbroken, I look up to see her eyes. They’re watery with dark circles underneath. Looking at them, made me even more heartbroken. Saamuki didn’t deserve pain. She’s not like me. She doesn’t fuck up. She puts others before herself unlike me. I questioned her, “What do you mean?”

“I heard what happened. Your homeworld. Maybe if I was there I could’ve done something. I could’ve prevented it. I could only imagine what you must be feeling right now.” Her grip tightens. I can feel my cloak twist and bend underneath her grip.

“What? No. I should be the one apologizing. I broke your promise. I couldn’t save Mikrovos.”

Just a moment ago I was the bigger person, literally, even though she stood above me. Now I’m small, as I’m once again human. I felt small. Saamuki and I are about the same height, me being just an inch taller, but at this moment with how she’s looking down at me I felt like a child who’s about to be scolded by their parents. I flinched when she opened her mouth to say, “Mikrovos?” Her voice cracked. It was as if she was a teenager going through puberty. “I was wondering where he and the others were. What happened? Please, tell me what’s happened since we went our separate ways.” 

She takes a seat next to me. I opened my mouth to respond but quickly shut it. I was about to emphasize that I’m the bad guy between us, but I retract it because the look in her eyes told me this isn’t the time for that. Those bags underneath them told me she’s been talked down to plenty during our separation. Saamuki deserves answers and nothing less. Besides, she’s the only one I have left. “As you may have guessed, a lot has happened.” 

After retelling her everything, “Wow. I mean I knew some of it, but I never would’ve guessed all of that. Are you alright?”

“Am I alright,” I look away from her, “Yes. Sure. Maybe? But, Saamuki, are you? I broke your promise. I failed you. Mikrovos...I left him.” I clenched the sheet beneath us. She, in my defenseless state, places her hand on the very thigh that was about to be the victim of adultery. This time her intent isn’t out of lust. It’s different. It’s gentle like how a mother would touch her child. Resting it there, until I lift my head, she gives me the type of smile that says she understands. On the other hand, I don’t. I don’t understand how she can be so okay with this. 

Noticing my resentment over her reaction, “I know you already. You did what you could.”

I place my hand on my chest. I clutch it. My eyes water. I’m about to cry again, but with me biting my lip I’m able to hold back my tears. “No, I didn’t. Mikrovos and the others, if any of them were in my shoes, could do it. They wouldn’t have fucked up as much as I have.”

“Well, that’s the problem. You’re not any of them. You’re you.”

“And what’s so good about being me? Tell me, Saamuki. Please. What’s so good about being the one that started a second intergalactic war?”

“Because you try your hardest even when things are against you. Even when circumstances have become impossible you always manage to do what you can to fight for things you think are right. Not many people can do that. I,” her voice lowers, “can’t. I’ve tried, but you’ve done things I’d never think of doing in a million years.”

“Saamuki?”

“With the destruction of our homeworld, my sister and I had to fend for ourselves. Some days we couldn’t eat. Some days we couldn’t sleep. We were the last of our people. We were young. We were forced into a whole new world, so to speak. My sister took whatever job she could to earn just enough for both of us to eat, but one day she got tired of it. She used her gift. She became a criminal. I didn’t like it because I didn’t want to see her one day locked up or, worse, killed. We argued. In my frustration, Cabelo found me. When my sister found out, we argued again, but that time we went our separate ways. I haven’t seen her since.” I hug her. She hugs me back. Our hug doesn’t last as long as our previous. It’s short, but I feel the same amount of burning, heartfelt emotion. 

“I’m sorry. If I could do something about that I would.”

“I know you would, but that’s why I had to split up from the group. I think I found a way to bring my sister back to life.”

“What?” It’s all I can say. What else could I have said other than it sounds crazy? I don’t have a set belief in what happens once we die. I’m not too into the idea of an afterlife, like Heaven and Hell, and that there’s a higher power out there. I guess I’d be labeled as agnostic, which once again makes me an outlier. After the first invasion, the survivors either became atheists or way more religious than they previously were. Though they make up a small population, barely a million, they make up the total population in rural areas. They claimed it was to get closer to God as cities are filled with technology, sins. These people believe our innovations are what made God wipe out a good ninety-four percent of the original population. They call themselves God’s Children. If the name they chose hasn’t already revealed it yet, they’re full of themselves. They’re more full of themselves than that commander with the electric whip, or so Ashley has said. Speaking of her, this all would have sounded a lot more interesting if she told it. 

“Below this building is a room only Cabelo is allowed to enter. Throughout the years I’ve worked under Cabelo I learned that I don’t know him all that much. He’s surprisingly secretive, but one night before we met I got tired of all the secrets. I seduced one of his guards and by doing so I was able to head down to the basement. I was lost. I didn’t know how long. Hours maybe. Maybe it was just a few minutes. It’s a labyrinth down there, but I eventually found a room where an unfamiliar language was spoken. I tried opening the door, but it was locked. No, actually, there weren’t any knobs on it. Not even a screen to swipe, but it was clear that the piece of the wall could be moved. So, I left. I did some digging and I found that the reason I haven’t heard that language before is that it hasn’t been spoken for thousands of years as it died with its civilization.”

I didn’t mean to sound so bitterly dismissive, but I did. “So, you think Cabelo is contacting the dead down in the basement?”

“He’s doing other stuff down there, but yes. I know it sounds completely crazy. I thought so too, but it’s the only logical conclusion I can think of.”

“I’m just trying to understand. Believe me, I am, but if you’re right how exactly are you going to bring your sister back to life?”

“Well, I was thinking that if I were to get into that room I’d be able to contact my sister or some other spirit about the process. They have to know. Someone has to by now.”

“Saamuki, these are a lot of maybes. It all just sounds impossible.” She eyes me like a child who’s spent all day scripting and practicing what they were going to ask their parents but just ends up hearing what they were trying to avoid. Essentially, she gives me wide eyes. “But you’re right. I always do what I think is right. So, I’m going to help you get into that room.”

It was more so I thought it was the most logical thing to do. Saamuki is focused on getting her sister back, I understand that. So, that’s the reason why I want to help her other than feeling guilty. For her to join and help me out again, I need to help her out first. 

“Thank you, but how?”

Lending me a jacket to cover my face from prying eyes, I followed right behind her with my head down. We saw no one using the winding, long staircase. It was too late in the night for anyone to be walking about. They were too busy either doing someone or being done by someone in their rooms. Or so I thought because once we stepped into the lobby I saw the reflection of a couple on the marble floor. I wasn’t panicking. They were drunk. Very drunk. Their laughter and slurred words echoed across the lobby as they stumbled towards who knew where. Actually, I was a little panicked but calm for the most part. Because I have a clearer mind, I’m only now able to realize how truly large this place is. The glass ceiling, which is in the shape of an arch, allowed me to see the floors I had just gone through. They seemed to go on forever. I’m amazed I wasn’t panting because Saamuki’s room is on the top floor. I suppose that’s about floor eighty if I’m counting correctly. Basically, I’ve burned through a lot of staircases.

Thankfully we’re able to walk to the other side of the room without a hitch. That is until a deep voice calls out to Saamuki from the other side of the hallway. 

Both turning around to the culprit with my head still down, I eye a figure who’s just as big as Mikrovos. He’s wide and bulky. Sprinkles of grey hair can be seen in the sea of their black hair. He shares the same uniform as Cabelo’s guards, but a blood-red sash had been swung diagonally across his suit. “Saamuki, what are you doing here? You know you’re not allowed in this area.” 

Walking towards him, she places her left hand behind his back and her other hand on his chest. She looks at him as she slides her hand down. He, in return, blushes. “Lucy, you know I get so bored sometimes. I know every inch of this place, but not down there,” she whined with a moan. 

As she’s about to unbuckle his belt, he can barely muster words. “Y-You know I c-can’t just do that. I’m not even allowed down there. And, S-Saamuki, who’s that behind you?” He looks over her shoulder and looks at me. I gulp. In response, she moves his head so that he’s facing her again.

“Lucy, don’t be such a bore. I’ve seen how you look at me. I know how I make you feel. Remember that night? I could make you feel like that again.” She whispers that last part under her breath.

“No, Saamuki. Maybe some other time. You know somewhere else, but I can’t do that again. We almost got caught. If we were my wife would’ve found out. My kids. Oh, God, Saamuki. I love them. I can’t bear to never see them again.”

As they bantered, I could hear someone closing in on us. So, I changed the plan and pointed my gun at the hulking figure that is Lucy. Raising both of his hands and looking shocked, but offended at Saamuki, I command before he gets the chance to speak his mind, “Let us through that door or I’m going to make sure that you really never get to see your kids again.” 

Saamuki is surprised by the sudden tension I caused. She knows that this isn’t me. She knows I don’t usually act this way, but I think she notices the footsteps too, which allows her to trust me. Or she just thinks I’m really on the edge because I’ve told her I only act this way when I am. Or both. Whatever went through my reptilian companion’s mind isn’t my focus. It’s getting the now sweating Lucy to comply before we find out who’s footsteps those are. 

[kcwcommentary]

VLD3x07 – “The Legend Begins”

3x07 – “The Legend Begins”

This is another really long critique. I have so many problems with this episode. The biggest problem is that this episode expects me to have sympathy for unsympathetic characters.

Haggar, citing the Empire needing him, touches Zarkon on sides of his head and a series of images flash. Haggar recoils at the image of a smiling Altean woman.

Team Voltron is trying to figure out where Lotor might be and what his plan is. Pidge poses the question: “Why was Voltron made out of the same material as that comet? What’s so special about it?” I can’t believe they wrote Pidge to ask that question about the “comet” since she already knows the answer: It can punch holes from one reality through to another. Allura says that Alfor found another “comet” like this one, and Coran specifies that it was Alfor and Zarkon who found it back before Voltron was made. Allura’s and Coran’s statements coming after Pidge’s comment is odd. Their comment makes it sound like it’s a revelation that Voltron was made out of the first “comet” that Alfor found, but Pidge literally just said that it’s made out of the same material.

Coran begins to tell them some history. The original Paladins were first leaders of their respective species/cultures. Cultures that “in some cases had been warring for generations,” he says while an image of Blaytz fighting some Galra sentries is shown. Are we to understand from this that the Galra had been at war with Blaytz’s people? That sounds significant and should be clarified and explained.

The five original Paladins made some “formal agreement” to protect their common interests. If they had been at war with one another, what common interests would they have that would cause them to go from war to cooperation? That’s significant and should be clarified and explained. They developed a “true friendship” from working “together […] to rid their system of those who would do it harm.” Their system? As in solar system? All five species evolved and existed within the same solar system? That is incredibly unlikely.

There’s a shot of Daibazaal, still looking like not a planet. On the surface, they’re having a relatively exclusive meal together. Coran goes over the roster. Zarkon from Daibazaal. Alfor from Altea. Gyrgan from Rygnirath (I really like his visual design, though his character is little different than an alien version of Hunk). Trigel of the Dalterion Belt. And Blaytz from Nalquod. The latter three don’t have much of a presence and are more to fill the roster than to be actual characters, especially Trigel.

Blaytz’s reaction to the server bringing him something to drink has been interpreted by a lot of people as Blaytz flirting with him. I guess it counts. It’s rather blink and you’ll miss it. I expect more for queer inclusion in stories. Zarkon displays his strict preference for hierarchal social structure, telling Blaytz, “You know that fraternizing with the servant class is not permitted. It erodes discipline.” So, Zarkon has always been severe, prejudiced, and cruel. One, Blaytz is not Galra, so even if it is uncouth for a high ranking Galra to talk to someone in “the servant class,” that does not apply to Blaytz. Two, this reaffirms what we’ve seen of Zarkon already in this show: that he stands aloof from those he leads because he thinks he’s superior to them. This is one point of contention between him and Lotor.

While at dinner, the “comet” crashes into the surface of Daibazaal. In the amount of time it takes Zarkon to evacuate the area near the crater, Alfor has set up a lab, started studying the “comet,” and already knows that it’s made of a material that can pass between realities. The show tries to handwave the fact that such a scientific determination would take more time for study than the timeframe Zarkon’s evacuation comment would allow. Alfor says they found a yellow, glowing area underneath where the “comet” had crashed. Just because the area’s there doesn’t mean that the “comet” caused it to happen. But this his hardly the only jump in logic characters are written to make in this episode.

This brings up an issue I have with this “comet” being able to pass from one reality to another: How? I don’t ask that wanting an actual science reason, but I ask what, in-story, causes it to transit from one reality to another? Why has it stopped in this reality? Some change has to occur to make the “comet” transit from one reality to another, otherwise it would be constantly transiting and would not be stable enough for them to do anything but watch it disappear into a rift. Yet they made Voltron out of it. This seems like more of the show’s magic system having never been properly defined.

Zarkon freaks out over a cat (Kova, the same cat Narti uses to see). Zarkon then meets Honerva, to whom Kova belongs. Alfor describes Honvera as the best alchemist from Altea. Alfor asked Honerva to come to Daibazaal to lead the investigation. With Altea and Daibazaal in the same solar system, I guess it isn’t unreasonable that given the timeframe of Zarkon’s evacuation comment that Honerva could have come from one planet to another.

Honerva expresses excitement about studying the “comet.” Zarkon is socially awkward around her, which is clearly to be interpreted as he’s attracted to her. Given Zarkon’s opinions on Galra superiority, it’s odd that he would be attracted to her, but whatever. She remained on Daibazaal studying the rift, while Alfor studied the “comet” on Altea. Coran’s narration says that this study took years.

Alfor introduces Zarkon to baby Allura, and Zarkon gives her a Galra helmet. Also, Zarkon has married Honerva. Alfor goes to thank Honerva for the gift, which she dismisses as nothing more than a “customary gesture.” In later seasons, the show claims that Honerva loses her maternal capacity due to excessive exposure to quintessence from within the rift. But here, where she could demonstrate the necessary warmth of personality needed for maternal capacity by commenting affectionately about baby Allura, she does not. This to me says that Honerva was never a motherly type of person, nothing was taken from her despite the show’s later retcon.

She’s been running an experiment on quintessence, one drop powering some machine for a year. Quintessence has been shown to be some kind of glowing energy until it’s somehow processed into liquid, so I guess they’ve developed a refining process in order for Alfor to refer to it as a “drop?” This would have been the perfect episode to explain what quintessence is.. We’ve been previously told that quintessence is supposedly life energy, but then how is there so much quintessence in the rift? Again, it’s supposed to be life energy, but then how is it poisonous? What kind of statement is this show making by saying that life energy can poison you into becoming maniacal and cruel?

Alfor says that “the ships I’m creating for us work on the same principle.” What principle is that? He hasn’t stated any kind of principle, he’s only said that quintessence is a potent energy source. That’s a terribly written transition. “The ore from the comet practically engineers itself,” he also says. That’s not how engineering works. The material might be easy to work with, but that’s not the same thing as the ore creating design schematics on its own. I don’t think the writers of this show know what engineering is.

Zarkon instantly thinks about “endlessly powerful ships for the Galra Empire.” So, Altea and Galra are in the same solar system, but the Galra have an Empire already. Are we to assume that this Empire is currently just isolated on Daibazaal? If they’re already an Empire, I’m kind of surprised they haven’t already tried to conquer Altea. Maybe they’re supposed to be two of the warring factions mentioned at the beginning of the episode? Again, that sounds significant and should be clarified and explained. Regardless, Zarkon here reveals that he is very much a war-minded person. The later idea that he turns cruel because of excessive exposure to quintessence from within the rift doesn’t work for me because he’s being shown to think the same before as he does after.

Alfor observes some glowing purple blob floating in a forcefield. Honerva explains that she “sent some signals into the neighboring reality and this creature answered the call. Nothing from our universe has been able to survive the passage through the rift. But somehow, he arrived unharmed.” She seems fascinated by the creature, even holding out a hand to the forcefield like she wishes she could touch the blob. Alfor comments, “I thought we discussed this. We must exercise caution. We have no idea what is out there.”

And here we have another demonstration of Honerva’s normal, unaffected personality well before she became poisoned by quintessence and turned into Haggar. “The ancients thought that lightning was shot from the bows of the gods until science proved otherwise. We must always push into dangerous territory in pursuit of knowledge.” Honerva is not some person whose warmth was taken from her. She is a driven person who has the same insatiable desire for power that Zarkon has. She views the tool of science as how she can acquire that power. She does not care about the consequences of her behavior. She does not care if anyone gets hurt in the process.

The blob screeches and more of the blob creatures erupt from the rift. Alfor and Honerva put a spherical forcefield around the area to contain the blobs.

“Alfor’s project will save us,” Honerva says. I have a lot of complaints about Voltron Legendary Defender, but there are some things I really like. Scientific illiteracies aside, I think the animation is really nice. I love the music. And usually, I think the voice acting is really good. But what in the world is with Honerva’s voice?

Alfor introduces the five original Paladins to the Lions. “I made them from the quintessence-infused ore of the comet, which provides them with an endless supply of power,” Alfor says. How is metal able to be infused with life energy? Also, this show has shown the Lions losing power many times, so clearly, they do not have an endless supply of power.

“In testing my ship, I started to feel some sort of psychic link. […] The ship wasn’t just reading my mind, it was communicating with me. They seem to be evolving,” Alfor says. The Lions’ minds literally come out of nowhere. There’s no explanation to why the ships are sentient. Alfor created these ships. He had to design and build them. They should have no capabilities that he did not design. So where do the Lions’ consciousnesses come from? The show never thinks it’s necessary to answer that. For Alfor to take them from raw materials to ships with consciousnesses, it’s not acceptable for him to not be able to explain that. That’s not how engineering works.

Zarkon’s concerned about his people being harmed by “dark creatures from another realm.” Well Zarkon, it’s your wife’s fault.

“You do not pick the beast. The beast will choose you,” Alfor says. How convenient that the beasts all choose the five members of this group and that they all happen to be here together.

This is comparatively a minor problem, but the character designs of the species of the Paladins bothers me specifically when it comes to their Paladin armors’ helmets. Their helmets are not designed for their respective head-shapes. How the impossibility of stuffing all the stuff hanging off their respective heads into helmets shaped for a human head-shape didn’t register to the artists doing the character design, I don’t know. It’s like they didn’t bother to think through the realities of the head-shapes and the helmets. Not thinking things through is kind of standard for this show’s production though.

“Perhaps you should lead the formation, Alfor. You have a greater understanding of the vessels than anyone,” Zarkon says. I’m surprised he’d be willing to let someone else be the leader. Alfor, however, has not impressed me with his understanding of the vessels. Their having an unexplained consciousness that he didn’t give them and him having no idea where it came from does not sound like understanding. “I’m a better alchemist than military leader, Zarkon. I’ll stick with being your right hand.” It’s interesting that Alfor specifies the leadership as specifically military. There are a lot of different kinds of leadership, and leadership is not inherently militaristic. But Alfor, by his comment, wants Voltron to be a military group, not diplomatic, not humanitarian.

The rift creatures break free and form into a giant single body. Zarkon leads them into battle against it. Red psychically tells Alfor that they have to fly in a formation, and they turn into Voltron. Alfor designed and built the Lions, but he didn’t design them to be able to turn into Voltron. This is not how engineering works.

“Am I a leg?” Gyrgan says.

They continue to fight. Red reveals to Alfor the slot for the bayard. So, the ability to use bayards to create weapons and additional abilities is also something that Alfor did not design the Lions to be able to do.

Having the Lions be some advanced technology they just happened to have found out in space somewhere, rather than something Alfor built while having no idea what he was building, would have at least not been absurd. Or if Alfor had been influenced by some alien consciousness into building the Lions, that would have worked too.

Voltron forms sword and they stab the body of the collective rift creatures, and it explodes. It doesn’t really make any sense why that would happen, but it does.

Alfor says they need to find a way to seal the rift. Honerva reacts, yelling, “Seal the rift? Why?” Again, she’s a person who does not care about the consequences of her actions; that’s very much antithetical to being a motherly person. Despite having freaked out about the danger to his people a few scenes ago, Zarkon now doesn’t care about the risk. Citing the power of the Lions, Zarkon is eager to continue looking to turn the rift into more power.

“I’ll decide what’s enough on my planet!” Zarkon yells at Alfor. Zarkon is already a megalomaniacal dictator, no quintessence poisoning required.

Coran narrates, “Honerva continued her experiments on the rift. Despite their differences, Zarkon and Alfor, along with the other Paladins, established a new era of peace and prosperity.” Some of the blame for what has happened has to go to Alfor then. If he could have had that conversation with Honerva and Zarkon and still go along with them, then he is complicit. Also, I don’t like the writing of this narration. The way Coran goes without transition from Honerva continued her proven dangerous experiments to everyone got along and everything was great is so significantly dissonant. The juxtaposition of the two scenes also results in tonal whiplash. We literally just saw Zarkon yell about his hunger for power, and then we’re told everything was great.

Time passes. Daibazaal has been experiencing earthquakes that Alfor says are indicating the planet is fracturing. Zarkon again screams at Alfor, “I can’t stop Honerva’s work now. She’s discovering more every day.” Alfor indicates that it’s been quite some time since he last talked with Honerva, and literally the first thing out of her mouth is, “I hope you haven’t come to try to shut down my work. There’s more hidden knowledge and power in this tiny fissure than you can possibly understand.” Still, as from the beginning, they’re both power-mad.

Kova is still alive, despite significant age, due to Honerva treating him with quintessence. “Quintessence is so much more than you can understand,” Honerva says. That’s in part because the writers of this show never actually define the parameters of quintessence, so it becomes whatever they want it to be in any given moment.

Alfor tells her that she’s gone too far, and she reacts strongly, “You’ve always been a coward. You wish to close off our gateway to enlightenment. We should be expanding it.” Zarkon wants to use Voltron to enlarge the opening to the rift.

“It’s madness. This prolonged exposure to quintessence has poisoned your minds,” Alfor says. Again, if quintessence is life energy, then how does it poison? Maybe Alfor is supposed to be irrational right now and desperately looking for an excuse for their behavior, but Zarkon and Honerva’s behavior is not coming out of nowhere. The qualities of personality that are resulting in this behavior are their natural qualities that they have demonstrated from the beginning of this episode. The only time that the personalities they’re showing right now weren’t the same as how they’ve been depicted in the rest of the episode was when Zarkon was freaked out by the cat and when Zarkon was nervous out of being attracted to Honerva.

Alfor walks way. Zarkon yells, “I lead the Paladins. I command you.” He’s always been a dictator. The Galra form of governance has always been an empire, after all. It’s not like Zarkon accidentally or tragically slipped into becoming emperor.

Honerva passes out. I literally do not care. If a character is going to faint in a story, that change in state of consciousness should produce an emotional response for the reader/viewer. The story has created literally zero sympathy for Honerva, so I don’t care about her wellbeing. Her character was not written to make us care about her. It seems more that the writers assumed that we automatically would care about her without them having to write her in a way to get us to care.

“Quintessence is life,” Honerva rambles while in bed. If the show had left quintessence as just some energy and not tried to say that it’s life, maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much. But as I’ve said so many times: How would life energy cause something like this to happen to a person?

“Alfor tried to warn me, but I would not listen,” Zarkon says. He asks the Paladins to help him close the rift. It’s obvious that he’s deceiving them.

“Honerva told me the only way to close the rift is to use the power of the quintessence. We must make the opening bigger first to gather the power,” Zarkon tells them as they stand in Voltron over the rift. No one finds his statement suspicious. He is literally saying the exact same thing he did that made Alfor walk out on him before. Make the rift bigger. More quintessence. Alfor goes right along with it this time, telling them how to make the rift bigger. This isn’t just Alfor trusting a friend who was deceiving him. Zarkon’s not really deceiving Alfor at this point. What Alfor previously said no to doing, he’s now going to do.

Somehow, Voltron goes from stabbing the ground to floating in endless light. They’re in the rift now. Zarkon has left the Black Lion and he’s holding Honerva. It’s not really a form of betrayal at this point. Maybe there’s a bit of Zarkon’s behavior that’s love for Honerva, but it seems far more likely given how he’s talked this whole episode that Zarkon’s more interested in what power he can gain from Honerva’s research of quintessence.

The rift creatures come swarming toward them, engulfing them. Honerva and Zarkon scream. Zarkon’s eyes glow purple. Voltron grabs Honerva and Zarkon and they fire their thrusters to leave (I don’t know how they know what direction to go to get out since everything looks the same regardless of which direction you look).

Coran narrates, “Zarkon’s attempt to save Honerva was in vain. They both succumbed to overexposure to quintessence. The Paladins had been deceived by Zarkon. They had unwittingly enlarged the rift, which further destabilized planet Daibazaal.” Are you kidding me? They were deceived? They were unwitting? Alfor, Gyrgan, Trigel, and Blaytz must be terrible leaders to have been incapable of understanding that when Zarkon told them to enlarge the rift that that would mean that they would be enlarging the rift. And Alfor is especially bad since he had already said no to the idea of enlarging the rift.

Coran says that Alfor evacuated Daibazaal. How? Alfor is not a member of the Galra government, literally what power does he have to order a planetary evacuation? Alfor also blew up Daibazaal. Again, he’s not a member of the Galra government. How would any of them let him make the decisions for them? This is not realistic.

Alfor then holds a huge funeral for Zarkon and Honerva. Surprise (of course it’s no surprise whatsoever), they’re not dead. Do the writers honestly think it’s dramatic to pretend they were dead? Why wouldn’t the Galra conduct the funeral? Why is this episode acting like Zarkon is the only Galra in the universe? Despite the funeral Alfor conducts, Zarkon and Honerva’s bodies are on a Galra ship. They come to and have glowing eyes.

Zarkon starts a transmission, “My fellow Galra. King Alfor of Altea has destroyed our planet.” Considering all the Galra evacuated Daibazaal and let him blow up the planet, they already know that. If they don’t know, then Alfor would have been acting without the Galra government’s permission. Are we to think that Alfor hid his destroying the planet from all the Galra except for the one who told Zarkon?

This is one of the multitudinous problems with the writing of this episode. These major events of the evacuation and destruction of Daibazaal are glossed over with very little thought. No thought was paid to what the governmental structure of the Galra Empire is like. The writers exclusively invested the entirety of the government in Zarkon because it’s cheap, easy writing. Realistically, even if they are an empire, there are still contingency plans for a continuity of governance should something happen to Zarkon. Even with Zarkon as the emperor, there are other people who would be responsible for various functions of the government.

Coran continues to narrate, “Zarkon had become pure evil.” How do the writers expect me to think of Zarkon and Honerva/Haggar as anything other than boring, cartoonish villains when they write phrases like “pure evil” to describe them? Coran says Zarkon was “obsessed only with quintessence.” So then, nothing has changed for him. Out of wanting to open a new rift, Zarkon needed Voltron, and went to war to try to get it. “The Galra immediately responded to their leader and attacked.” But they were completely non-present in decision making about their own world before then and somehow oblivious to what was going on?

“The peaceful planets of our system were not prepared, but soon they had all fallen except for Altea.” So, all the planets had poorly run militaries? And there were multiple planets that were inhabited, and they couldn’t unite against one culture who no longer had the stability of a home base? Alfor separated and sent the Lions away. Zarkon killed Alfor then blew up Altea. The Galra, who had been evacuated from their planet and no longer had a home base still had the capacity to blow up a planet? It’s so hard to believe any of this.

Back to now. Pidge says, “So that’s Lotor’s plan: Cross into other universes and get the purest quintessence possible.” Slightly too far there, Pidge: They didn’t get quintessence from another universe, they got it from the rift. Also, that is a major assumption. Just because the story of the creation of Voltron was all about quintessence doesn’t mean that that’s what Lotor is trying to get. He could actually be trying to get something or someone from another universe, not from the rift. Or he could just want a weapon to match Voltron. This show writes characters to take major leaps in logic to arrive at conclusions mostly just because those are the conclusions that the writers are writing toward, not because it makes sense for a character to make such conclusions.

Back to Haggar. “Husband, how could I have forgotten?” Mostly because the writers just decided to make you forget because they thought it would be interesting or dramatic or something. The episode ends with Zarkon opening his eyes.

For an episode that is supposed to explain and advance understanding of the antagonists’ motivations, I don’t end this with any new perspective on these characters beyond knowing that their personalities have always been that of power-mad dictators. It’s just that now the narrative wants to absolve them of their behavior by saying everything they’ve done for the past 10,000 years is because of quintessence poisoning. I guess the episode thought it was creating sympathy for the antagonists, but I don’t sympathize with them whatsoever.

[queencatherynerhys]

Taken - Part 6 TRR AU

A/N: I strongly suggest you watch the video clips before getting into this chapter to truly have a grasp of what is about to happen. I am really diving into foreign territory here so bear with me.

Summary: Liam is finally reunited with Catheryne, but he has learned new information. Could he live with someone who has such a dark past?

Movie Inspiration: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle Dance Fighting Scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx0MQxIFBW8

Black Widow: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmJMeSECMzQ

Tag List: @captainkingliam @decisso @devineinterventions2 @madaraism  @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @laniquelove @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @simplyaiden-blog @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @trianiasti @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @flyawayblue56 @pens-girl-87

Previous Parts:

Part 1 │ Part 2 │ Part 3 │ Part 4 │ Part 5

 Spies? She was raised by spies? What the hell is happening? What does this mean for us? Liam is pulled away from the questions running through his brain. He can’t worry about this right now. They have to get out of here. The way out is blocked by two tangos with heavy firearms. Bastien and Drake are holding them down. “Reloading!” Bastien calls out. “Covering,” Drake replies, laying down cover fire for his buddy.

“Liam?! Did you hear me?! Did you hear what I said?” Catheryne yells through the loudness. He blinks hard to come back to concentration and he nods, telling her that he understands. She nods, tightening the jacket that Liam supplied her. “Give me a gun,” she orders Liam.

He is taken aback by the request, not expecting it. “No, Catheryne, I am not giving you a gun,” he replies. “I came in this mission to protect you and that is what I am going to do. You don’t need a gun. Bastien, Drake and I will deal with these guys,” he says firmly.

“Goddamn it, Liam! I know you are a king and all and you’re used to being a knight in shining armor, but these men tortured me! I will exact my revenge one way or another whether you give me a gun or not!” she shouts frustratingly. She waits another second or two before groaning her response as she busies herself in search of a weapon.

She hears the gunshots being exchanged by the enemies and recognizes the sound as a Ruger 10/22. Semi-automatic rifle. Inaccurate within close range. Move fast and disarm quickly. She fiddles with the medical tray and grabs a scalpel to arm herself. She closes her eyes, summoning all her parent’s training. Who knew the day would come that I’d have to use this again. Especially here. I’m sorry, Liam. She hastily makes her way to the door.

Liam kneels behind Drake, exchanging gunfire hoping to hit one of them to gain advantage. They’ll run out of ammo before they even make it out of here. Catheryne kneels behind Bastien and whispers close to his ear, “Bastien, on my signal, lay down cover fire aiming downwards.” She twirls the trusty sharp scalpel in her hand and steadies her breath before she yells, “GO!”

She hears her name being yelled behind her as she sprints toward the attackers. She drops to her knee and slices a wound on the assailant’s knee on her left. Her attacks are nimble and fast, making her dangerous in every sense of the word. The pained enemy drops his weapon as the other gears up to shoot her, but before he could aim she moves to disarm him with lightning fast moves, breaking his arm and shoving the scalpel into his throat killing him instantly. A sound of a pistol cocking behind her pulls her attention and she whirls around catching his outstretched wrist twisting the gun out of his grasp and dislocating his shoulder in the process. His screams of pain satisfy her as she grabs his neck behind him. She uses all her gained momentum and the adrenaline in her veins assists her as she gears to snap his neck. The sound of his neck breaking fills the now empty hall.  

She breathes hard from the encounter that only lasted for 30 seconds. She looks back and declares, “Well are you coming or am I gonna have to protect myself and find my way out of here on my own?” As they run over, she sees the matching expressions plastered on all their faces, an expression of bewilderment, shock, and…fear, just as she expected. I would be scared, too, if the proper lady I’ve known for 6 months turns out to be a spy capable of killing and disposing threats. I don’t have time to worry about that now. I have to get to Dr. Mallon.

She sprints down the familiar hallways, making her way back to the prison holds. Dr. Mallon has become her friend during these horrifying month and a half. They knew what each other was feeling. He nursed her back to life, quite literally. I’ll be damned if I leave him here. The men surround her, making sure all vantage points are covered as they move forward.

“Dr. Mallon, I’m here,” she says holding the bar of the cell. The old man shuffles forward quickly and says, “Catheryne, I’m ready.” She nods in response. “Doctor, I am going to need you to back up away from the door.” On signal, Liam shoots the lock of the handle. The doctor rushes to them and they trek forward back to the entrance.

“Titan, what’s your status?” Bastien communicates to Mara, who is leading the Bravo team. “Mockingbird, explosives are planted. Making our way back to the entrance now. ETA 2 minutes,” she briefs him quickly. “Keep alert, Titan. Tangos are lurking about. Shoot to kill.”

Drake is helping Dr. Mallon upright. He looks a little upset of his duty, but he shoulders on. They travel in an organized pack. Bastien and Catheryne leading with Liam close behind them and Drake and Dr. Mallon in their rear. They round a corner quickly. Luckily, Catheryne catches a burly guard with a knife clearly meant for Bastien saving him. Her petite figure gives her an advantage being able to twist his arm around him and jabbing the same knife up his spine killing him.

She hastily glances up down the path and sees a significant amount of guards heading their way. “Oh no,” Liam says beside her. He pulls her by the arm to lead her back to the way they came from as the guards chase them. Their thundering boots shake the ground underneath her feet, motivating her to move faster. She clings on to Liam’s hands as they make twists and turns throughout the labyrinth of tunnels. The gunfire fades and she realized they had gotten lost. Drake and Bastien are nowhere to be found. She stops Liam as they reach a circular cavity. It looks like they reached the center of the tunnels. Various tunnel openings face her, and she doesn’t remember which one they went through.

“Catheryne, stay close to me,” Liam tells her. She can’t quite comprehend; his voice being muffled by the pounding of her heart in her ears. Before she can reply, assailants appear from every opening surrounding them.

“Well, well, well,” the voice sends anger throughout her entire spine. She will never forget that voice for as long as she lives. Amir’s voice was deep, smooth, tantalizing, but in the most sinister manner. Liam tenses beside her.

That voice affects him, too. For a month and a half, that voice tortured the love of his life into nothingness. He feels nothing but lethal rage in his heart. He is ready to kick his ass and pulverize him into ash, making him feel every bit of pain he caused him and her. He bides his time. One wrong move and they could very well end up dead, and he doesn’t plan on dying in this godforsaken tunnel.

“It seems we meet again, Duchess Catheryne and King Liam. Valiant effort, really. I commend you for your bravery, Your Majesty. I must confess I did not see you leading your own rescue team for our lovely girl here. Maybe I was wrong about you, but no matter you still must answer for your ancestor’s sins. Don’t fret, King Liam, unlike our beautiful Catheryne, your death will be painless and merciful,” Amir recites, almost what feels like a rehearsed monologue or maybe it’s just his enunciation and monotone voice.

Including Amir, there are 7 enemies surrounding them from all directions. They take a step closer ready to capture them. Catheryne nudges Liam’s arm ever so slightly and they look at each other’s eyes, silent conversation and agreement passing between them. It’s time to deal damage and not hold back. No mercy. Either they beat them, or they die trying.

Their opponents take several steps towards them, standing not more than four feet away from them. Liam gives her the signal to move. He takes two of the smoke bombs attach to his vest and throws it on the ground in front and behind them. In a matter of seconds, they are concealed in a blanket of smoke.

Liam moves to incapacitate the adversaries on his side. He lands a powerful jab on the man’s throat, sending his trachea back and crushing it. He uses the man’s body as a shield from the bullets firing from the enemy in front of him. He reaches him and throws the limp body of the man he just used as protection. He catches the gun-wielding foe by the arm and pulls out his pistol from the holster on his thigh and shoots him on the foot. Liam reacts with the man’s body physics, anticipating his move. He deals a damaging blow to the man’s sternum with his knee using the man’s forward momentum to his advantage.

He disposes of him quickly and drops to his knees, performing a forward roll toward his next target. He shoots the man in the shoulder and tackle him to the ground landing a punch on the man’s wounded body part, earning a painful shriek before dispatching him with another shot on his torso.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Catheryne deals with the remaining three guards. Before the fight started, she was able to sneakily acquire Liam’s dagger from his belt. She throws the knife. Her aim landing true, thanks to her extensive childhood training, to the opponent’s left eye directly in front of her. She disarms the foe on her left before dealing with the one on the right. She uses her whole body as a weapon. Their weight and figure differences were no match when it came to her skills. While he was bigger and stronger, she was more agile and well-versed in the language of fighting having had years of lessons on five different types of martial arts: aikido, jujitsu, tai chi, karate and wushu.

She wraps her legs around her opponent’s neck and uses her body to flip him to the ground. He lands hard with her on top of him and she delivers a final blow aimed at his face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious. She stands up quickly, side-stepping backwards and dodging punches from the one remaining man. He is quick, but no match. He pulls out his gun and aims for her, but she moves with lightning speed within his reach and disassembles the weapon right from his very hand. His face registers one of fear and confusion before launching a counterattack. She ducks his hook, jabbing his ribcage with a series of quick, powerful blows before knocking him back across the way. He catches his breath and shakes his head, rolling his shoulders to a fighting stance.

She taunts him with her fingers, motioning him to bring it on, “Come on. Give me your best shot.” He launches with a roundhouse aimed at her chest, and she twirls around and behind him, landing a slap punch where his neck meets his shoulders hitting a nerve that sends a spasm down his arm. He hooks his leg underneath her and knocking her flat to the ground, catching her off-guard. Before he can retaliate, she does a kip up back to a standing stance. She is done playing with this guy. She blocks his blow and breaks his knees with a push kick, but she doesn’t stop dealing her attacks. She throws with an elbow jab, dislocating his jaw and throws another punch from the other side breaking it completely. She delivers the final blow by hitting him with a snap kick targeted on his sternum, shattering it. She breathes deeply from the intense couple of minutes that just passed.

She searches the circular room for Liam and finds him disposing of his last enemy. They run to each other’s arms. “We have to get out of here,” Liam tells her. They begin to make their way to one of the many openings. Liam yells in pain beside her and she looks to see him clutching his left arm. She looks behind him and finds Amir with a gun. He pulls the trigger. Click. An empty gun meets him, and he throws it away.

He puts his hand up to a fighting stance, readying himself for the final battle. Either way one of them is coming out of here. She steps forward, but Liam grabs her arm, “Don’t. You’re not doing this alone.”

“Look at that. The king protecting his queen to the very end,” Amir admires from across the space.

“I lost you once. We do this together. It’s just a flesh wound,” Liam grits through the pain as he wraps a cloth to constrict the blood flow. Catheryne looks at him with awe. Liam has always been her knight and he will march straight into hell and the face of death to protect her. She helps him up and they face off their enemy. Together.

They circle each other. A minute of intense stare down passes, all waiting for the other to make the first move. Amir sends a throwing knife towards Liam. If Catheryne didn’t have the training she had, Liam would be dead, but luckily, she did. She catches the knife’s hilt inches from his chest and throws it back to its sender as quickly as it arrived. The distraction provided the opening that her and Liam needed. They advance toward their opponent with a round of lethal blows.

Amir seems to have the same training as Catheryne and Liam. He is quicker than he looks. He can hold both of them off. He sends Catheryne flying across the room with a powerful kick to the stomach. Her breath is knocked out of her and she struggles to get her bearings, but Liam’s scream brings her back and she sees him struggling in Amir’s hold of his neck.

If she was angry before, now she’s enraged. She stands and runs full speed and hurls a jump kick breaking the arm that Amir uses to choke Liam. “You bitch!” he grits amid his painful shrieks. “Now, you die for sure,” Amir spits out. “You first,” Catheryne replies with ragged breathing. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline pumping through her veins from the shot and the encounters, her body would be screaming in pain.

Liam steps from behind her, finally catching his breath. “I told you I would find you and kill you,” he reminds him. “You won’t hurt anyone I love anymore,” he launches at him. He throws a hook towards his face, but Amir blocks it with his good forearm, but without another arm it was no match to Liam’s powerful strike and he sends him hurtling and spitting blood.

Liam locks him underneath his body and just punches his face repeatedly, summoning all the pain, rage, and anguish that he had to endure the last month and a half. “Liam, STOP!” Catheryne commands him. The blood rushing to his head makes it hard for him to hear her, but he tries. “Stop! This is too easy. Too merciful. I want him to feel pain before he dies. I want him to die in it.” Liam stops his blows and listens to her.

They quickly drag his body back to where she spent most of her time, back to the torture room. It surprises them that they knew the way back as if their revenge was showing them the path. Liam straps him to the electric chair. Catheryne steps from behind her fiancé and orders him to go outside.

“No, Catheryne, I can handle it. I want to see him suffer too,” her usual lovely king replaced with a vindictive man driven to exact vengeance to the man who caused him so much agony.

She nods somberly and gives her attention to the man in front of her, “How does it feel to be on the other side?” He doesn’t answer her and only looks intensely at her face. If only looks could kill.

She punches his battered, bloodied face repeatedly before grabbing his face with her hand and forcing him to look at her eyes as she says, dripping with hatred, “You’re going to know exactly what I felt like. You’re going to die, but the difference is you are going to stay dead.”

She shoves a scalpel to his thigh and twists it inside him. His cries pierce her ears as she moves to slice his arm open, but Liam catches her wrist before she does. He takes the bloody scalpel off her hands. She begins to protest, but one look from him closes her mouth.

He looks at him intensely his nose several inches away from his face before he punctures his arms with the same scalpel, cutting him from the crook of his elbow all the way down to his wrist. His body speaks for himself; he is beyond angry. He has abandoned his regal, polite manner. He wasn’t the king now. In the heart of this tunnel, he is the enraged man who wanted to hurt this man in all ways imaginable. He throws the scalpel away and punches Amir in the stomach.

“Alpha, where are you? It’s time to go!” he hears in his transmitter. He steps back and informs Catheryne of the information. She turns back to Amir, who is barely lucid, and says her farewell, “Enjoy hell, you bastard!” With that, she turns on the electric chair and runs with Liam out of the room back to the entrance.

They run hand in hand out of that godforsaken tunnel. She sees the gathered team already inside the helicopter. They begin to ascend and Drake hands Liam a detonator, “Here. I think you should do it.” He nods at his friend and pushes the button. Right below them, the planted explosives go off one after another, collapsing the tunnels that held his love. He feels the heat from the blast on his face as he watches as everything and everyone inside that tunnel is buried. He whispers to Catheryne’s ear,

“Let’s go home.”

[dansphlevels]

But Love Is Overrated Anyways (pt. 16)

Summary: Dan is an angry mutant with the ability to control the cold. He shares a tent with a man Phil, who has powers over fire but refuses to use it for evil. Dan has no such moral qualms.

Length: Chaptered Fic (ch 16 = 1.5k words)

Theme: Superpowers, Mutants, Dark, Dystopian

Read on AO3 / But Love Is Overrated Anyways Masterpost / All My Fics

Chapter 16: But He Had Him Anyways

  Dan walked along the stone streets, his hooded cloak billowing around him. He no longer felt ill, no longer felt weak. That morning, he'd try to make a little ice form on a tree, then tried to make it snow, then tried to scare Mandy by touching her arm, which usually resulted in causing someone to jump from the unsuspected cold. She didn't jump, and his powers showed no signs of returning.

  They broke into the town in the early morning when people were starting to get out and go about their daily tasks. In a city such as this, there were two objectives: to replenish their supplies and to search for any mutants. Dan was always in charge of the latter. Stray mutants could be anywhere, from locked away in a prison to living life normally, their powers either so weak that they could be easily hidden, or ones that weren't obvious at sight. Jordan could have lived in a city, going about normal life and no one would ever question her. Dan wondered why she didn't.

  He scowled, walking a little faster. That wasn't him, he knew why Jordan didn't stay with the humans. They were cruel, they massacred mutants, she was better off with others of her kind.

  He stopped at a fountain, still running despite the cold. He held his hands up, closing his eyes and imagining it frozen. Solid ice, held up only by its own stubbornness.

  He opened his eyes. The fountain was still going, not even a little bit of it frozen.

  Dan kept walking, keeping an eye out for anti-mutant propaganda. He turned into a busy street, and watched each person carefully, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  He hated them. The humans, living their lives normally while Dan was forced to migrate, walking from city to city in the cloak of darkness, never being able to call anyplace a home besides the tent he folded and unfolded day after day after day. At one time, he'd lived a life that was almost normal. He was an outcast from society, but he was still a part of it. And they couldn't even let him have that.

  He made his way all the way through the busy street and turned a corner, pretending to know where he was going. He followed the street until it lead to a dead end, with graffiti art covering the walls.

  Dan knelt next to some of the text, trying to read it but it appeared to be in a different language. The only word he could pick out was 'mütantes', which he could guess was mutants.

  He stood and turned around, and for the first time, realized he wasn't alone in the alley.

  Four masculine looking figures blocked his path. One stepped forwards and barked at him in a language he didn't speak. But he could interpret: 'You don't belong here, so we're going to capture you/kill you/feed you pancakes until you explode.' Dan didn't know what the threat actually was, but he knew a threat when he heard one.

  He looked around the alley. Some tools were strewn to the side, and he walked over slowly, his hands raised in surrender. The human leader shuffled, not quite sure what to make of it.

  Dan picked up a wrench from the tools, feeling it, but it was too short. He considered just hefting the whole box when something underneath it caught his gaze. He moved the box and pulled the long, black crowbar free, testing out its weight in his hands. It must have been some sort of metal because it packed a significant amount of weight.

  Dan turned and swung. The crowbar hit the first person in the head and they fell backward, unconscious. Dan reared the metal bar back again as the other three men scattered, and he swung it over his head, hitting another one of them as they cried out in the other language.

  Dan grinned. His powers were gone, maybe temporarily, maybe... long term. But he wasn't weak. He had his cause, and he would fight for it until his last breath.

  For the first time since the incident, he felt like himself again.

  There was blood on his face, he realized, but he didn't care. Dan grinned, the grin of a madman but he didn't care because he was tired of being taken care of, tired of being weak and tired of being helpless. He was a force of nature.

  Even without his powers.

 Someone shouted his name, and Dan swung one last time, downing the last person, their hands on some sort of communication device from their belt. They fell limp, and a person talked frantically through the device in that other language.

  Dan straightened, checking that all of them weren't moving. Only then did he turn and look Mandy in the eyes.

  She was standing still in shock. "What happened?"

  "They cornered me." Dan knelt and used the fabric of one of the men's cloaks to wipe the blood from his crowbar.

  Mandy knelt, and carefully pressed his ear against one of the human's chests. "He's dead."

  Dan didn't say anything.

  "You killed them."

  "I know." Dan hooked the crowbar in his belt, hiding it under his cloak. "We need to go. They called for backup, I don't know how much information-"

  "Okay." Mandy stood, brushed off her own cloak, and took one last look at the bodies before looking up at him. "I'm sure they deserved it."

  Her tone was so full of malice and anger that Dan wondered what the humans had done to her. Their camp full of mutants was a camp full of stories no one dared to tell, memories of anger and injustice that has been swirling around for so long without an outlet that eventually, the anger became benign and turned to a grim sort of outlook. Dan didn't have that outlook because he still had that anger, and was willing to use it to get revenge. Phil didn't have that outlook because he refused it, instead insisting upon being caring and happy, spreading literal warmth wherever he went. And Mandy didn't have that outlook either, perhaps because all of her scars were too fresh. Humans had done her a great injustice, and she still had that fresh anger, the sense of /How dare they?/

  They hurried out of the alley, and literally collided with someone. Dan was about to retrieve his crowbar when he felt the burning touch, and stepped back, processing his face. "Phil!"

  "We have to go," he was saying, "Something with Jordan. We've been found out."

  He grabbed Dan's hand and pulled him towards the alley when Dan almost shouted: "Wait!"

  "What?"

  "It's a dead end," Mandy explained, giving Dan a look. "Come on, this way!"

  With Mandy leading, the sprinted away, their hands still intertwined. Phil's touch was very warm, but not painful. Dan took it as a good sign, that if he still had some resistance to temperature then maybe his powers weren't completely gone after all.

  They ran at full speed, cloaks billowing behind them. Mandy lead them through the streets with a painful amount of familiarity, taking them on the back roads that kept them out of the large crowds of people. Finally, they found their entry spot- a hole in the city wall where a few of the large stones had been reduced to confetti that read 'happy birthday!', courtesy of PJ. Mandy slid through first, as lithe and agile as a fox, and Dan and Phil quickly followed suit. They barreled into the forest, still sprinting as Mandy drew her bow and notched an arrow in it, glancing behind them to make sure they weren't being followed.

-----

  The creek was small, but it had cold water that moved relatively fast, which were both good signs that it was clean. Dan and Phil sat by it, and Phil dipped his fingers in the water before carefully wetting Dan's cheek. "Who cut you? Your cheek is still sort of bloody."

  Dan didn't answer, instead staring at the stream as Phil continued to wash off the blood. Finally, he pulled up the edge of his cloak and wiped the last of the blood away, revealing Dan's normal skin, devoid of any scratches or cuts. "Oh," he said as he realized.

  Dan played with the crowbar next to him, trying to line it up so it was perfectly perpendicular to the stream. "They were humans," Dan explained.

  "Was it self-defense?"

  Dan inhaled. "You could call it that?"

  He exhaled as Phil rested his head on his shoulder, as if he was too tired to even hold it up anymore. "Okay," he said quietly, as if giving in. "Let's just call it self-defense then."

  They stared at the stream, the clear water trickling over smooth stones, only a few centimeters deep at best.

  "I made myself a promise," Phil started, still staring at the water. He radiated warmth, and Dan never wanted him to move, never wanted to be without that warmth again.

  "Yeah?" he said, a little more quietly than he'd intended.

  "Mm-hmm. I said that if you survived- the whole frostbite thing, after you passed out and we weren't sure if you'd be okay- I said that if you survived that, I would let you teach me to control my powers."

  Dan considered this. "And you still want me too?"

  "Yeah. I... I don't know. Part of me wants to learn. I've always admired you for your control, I don't know if you knew that. But I find it pretty amazing. You just... you could always bend the cold to your will, and though I didn't always agree with it..." he took a shaky breath, "I do think it's pretty amazing."

  Dan always could bend his powers to his will. The past tense ached, like a sore muscle that had just been worked a little too hard. Dan swallowed dryly. "Thank you."

  He rested his head against Phil's, sighing. He didn't deserve Phil, deserve his wholesomeness and kindness and the way he radiated love just as easily as he radiated heat. He truly didn't deserve him.

  But he had him anyways.

Next Chapter -->

12 Days Of Prompts Masterlist / Fic Masterlist / Request A Fic

[feyria]

Final draft for Oboru

Name:­ Oboru Namikawa

Nickname: spoiled brat and swirly

Hero Name:­ The hurricane hero, Monsoon

Age:­ 17

Gender:­ male

Sexuality:­ bisexual

Personality:­ Thanks to his parents' spoiling him, Oboru has a brattish nature that tends to come out when he's angry. Even though he has that side to him, he is normally a stoic individual, a smile rarely on his face. Devoting himself to training and trying to better himself so he can live up to All Might, Oboru can also come off as a headstrong, driven character. Even though he can be seen as annoying to some, he does have a more tolerable personality where he can be playful, looking for ways to tease his friends or convince them to spar with him. He's not very competitive but will go into a slightly depressive state when losing an important fight. Oboru can also be pretty intense when All Might is mentioned and he spends his weekends training himself and his quirk to keep the vow he made to himself when he was younger. He is not ashamed of his admiration of All Might but his body still reacts to the teasing in the form of him blushing, though he constantly ignores this. He has a great many All Might collectibles in his room which he will excitedly show off to his friends as well when given the chance.

Likes:­ anything that deals with All might will keep Oboru entertained for hours on end. He enjoys going outside during windy days, sitting on the hammock hung up in his back porch. Other times, he'll slip on his roller blades and skate around his neighborhood just enjoying the fresh air.

Dislikes:­ due to an incident when he was younger, Oboru has an intense dislike(fear) of heights. Oboru is not a fan of horror movies, both because they can scare him for a few days and also because if they aren't scary theyre just plain awful in his opinion. Braces: it was about the only thing his parents' put their foot down on and he hates the way they look on him.

Strengths:­ Oboru has endless amounts of determination, never backing down from a fight and always trying to find ways to gain an advantage. Having constantly trained with his quirk, Oboru now has great control and precision with it. Although this doesn't affect his recoil, he can determine an almost exact amount of output he can generate before it really starts affecting him.

Weaknesses:­ When angered enough, Oboru can give into the bratty nature he tries to keep under wraps, taking off on his own and getting himself into more trouble than necessary. Oboru's fear of heights hinders his chances of reaching his full potential with his quirk.

Appearance: Oboru is about 5'8", an average height for his age with a slight tan, his hair is a dark brown styled in short but tight curls, his eyes are slightly rounded and are two shades lighter than his hair like creamed coffee. The palms of his hands as well as the area around his wrists contain enlarged pores that are arranged in swirls on his skin. Theyre big enough to be seen with the naked eye and look almost like tiny holes. He has about 40 of these pores on each arm, 15 on his palms and 30 on his arms from his wrists to halfway down his forearms. Oboru has a muscular build similar to a wrestler but not overly so, as in he has a four-pack of abs and he could carry something about 100lbs with either his arms or legs. He may struggle with it though. He has relatively high cheek bones, a pointed nose and braces which he hates, choosing to smile without showing his teeth or covering his mouth when laughing.

Standard Clothes: Oboru likes to wear tank tops and short sleeved shirts with solid colors or simple patterns paired with jean shorts, loose fitting knee-length pants and various trousers. He always wears running shoes like sneakers and tennis shoes. His favorite outfit is a red shirt with burgundy short sleeves, red trousers with a dark red and orange swirled pattern on the sides and red sneakers.

Costume:­ olive green sleeveless jumpsuit with swirling patterns stitched in silver. Brown tool belt around his waist filled with all kinds of medication for dizziness and nausea as well as first aid tools. He wears brown shoes with black soles, the soles as well as the bottoms of the shoes are made with a fabric that allows air to flow freely inside it. He keeps gold rimmed aviator goggles around his neck when he's not wearing them.

Weapons/Gadgets:­ Special shoes that allow air to freely travel in and out of them, making it easier for him to ride his hurricane dash. Aviator goggles to protect his eyes from gravel or sand kicked up by his winds. A tool belt filled with various home remedies and medications for nausea, dizziness and headaches as well as bandages and triple antibiotics.

Swim:­ Oboru owns a blue and green swim trouser set as well as blue goggles. He likes to swim underwater.

Sleep:­ sleeps in long pajama pants and a short sleeve pajama shirt. Naturally they're All Might themed.

Winter:­ Oboru doesn't change his style much unless it's snowing then he'll wear thick sweat pants, a light jacket and a scarf.

Formal:­ he wears a black blazer with black slacks and a red button up shirt underneath. On his feet he'll have clogs or pointed dress shoes.

*Who would they?­ Fall for:­ Oboru is a bit of an odd ball, attracted to people that are his complete opposite. Outgoing, constantly smiling or joking people with a knack for dragging others into adventures. He himself can be a joker as well but it's rarely seen even around friends unless he's in a good mood.

Befriend:­ Oboru isn't very picky when it comes to the friends he makes, so long as they aren't bullies or overly cocky/rude, he's willing to hang around them. Most of his friends end up being adventurous types that like to explore or hang around outside.

Hate:­ Oboru has a severe dislike for those that are bossy or think they are better than anyone else for shallow reasons.

Respect:­ He respects those that are quirkless or have weak quirks, yet still try their hardest to improve. Oboru also respects people that are normally considered underdogs and fight against what the world expects of them, so long as they aren't doing any misdeeds in the process.

Rival:­ Anyone with a quirk that counters his is instantly a rival in Oboru's book as well as those with powerful quirks in general.

Hobbies/Skills:­ Exceptional balance thanks to riding around on his cyclones, he's even immune to getting dizzy from anything outside his quirk recoil. He's an avid reader, constantly having a book in hand at home when resting.

*How they Act­ Towards Romantic Int­erests: When Oboru is interested in someone he turns into a bit of a self groomer, trying to subtlety fix his hair if he thinks it's messy and wearing small amounts of cologne. He avoids eye contact but may try to ask them out for casual hang outs.

Acquaintances:­ Oboru is pretty all business with acquaintances, he may crack a smile or two but still comes off as detached from others. It's not much different from how he acts around strangers since he feels that they won't be around him very long.

Towards Friends/Clos­e Friends: with his buddies Oboru finally let's his guard down, making jokes and horsing around. His passion for training pops up as well, trying to find or make time for some friendly sparring to keep in shape. Oboru also likes to hang outside with his friends, either at parks or grabbing a bite to eat.

Rivals:­ If they allow him to get away with it, Oboru will relentlessly pursue them in hopes of sparring with them to improve his own quirk as well as working out the kinks and weak spots in it.

Towards Enemies:­ When it comes to civilian or classmate enemies, Oboru can't seem to decide between totally ignoring them or constantly picking a fight with them over any little thing that bothers him. Against villains, Oboru will fight them with everything he has while also doing his best to only incapacitate them to make capture easy.

Towards Iconic Figur­es: Oboru does have other iconic figures aside from All Might and he acts the same towards all of them. He hits Iida levels of politeness; he won't make any robotic movements but he will be incredibly formal to the point that it may become uncomfortable for the person on the receiving end.

Meeting Strangers:­ Oboru can be mistaken as an aloof or unfriendly person when meeting strangers, only offering a curt handshake and his last name. If he is particularly distracted when meeting someone, he may not even look at them during their introduction.

When Facing Fears:­ while brave enough to face most of his fears, he can still unconsciously use his quirk. It's nothing serious being more of a small spiralling breeze seeping from his pores. If the fear involves him falling from somewhere high, he goes on pure instinct, most of the time his quirk will just cause him more harm then good.

In a life changing s­ituation: Being a creature of habit, Oboru hates anything that can drastically change his way of life. He'll fight it tooth and nail if possible and if nothing can be done to stop it, Oboru will try to change things back to normal. Otherwise he'll fall into a pit of denial trying to fall back into his usual tempo, even good changes don't sit very well with him if it's vastly different from his comfort zone.

History:­ After 7 failed attempts at having children, oboru was born on his parents' 8th try and they were so ecstatic that they began to spoil him relentlessly. For 5 whole years oboru never knew the meaning of the word "no", this led him to be a very spoiled pre-teen unfortunately prone to throwing slight tantrums when not given his way. "Luckily" he suffers through a humbling experience at the age of 11 when a villain with the ability to turn into a gargoyle took him hostage. The gargoyle was blasted out of the sky by a rookie hero, sending Oboru quite literally tumbling to his death. His panic and fear caused him to misfire his quirk repeatedly until the recoil left him reeling, unable to tell if he was falling or flying up. Thankfully, All might had been nearby and the hero quickly saves oboru from the misfortune of becoming one with the asphalt. Oboru and his parents never were able to thank All Might enough in their minds and Oboru himself vows to become a hero to eventually pay back the massive debt he owes to the great hero. He very nearly worked himself to death after learning that All Might would be teaching at U.A, only truly relaxing and resting after being admitted to the school.

Relationships:

Family: Kiara (mother) can also create cyclones with her hands -if used too much, her hands and arms will cramp up very badly-

Eiji (father) can control air currents -has no major recoil but is very weak in areas with little to no wind-

Currently dating Ritsuo as of four months, he's pretty shy about it but not ashamed. He just has no idea how to really act without going overboard and is a bit paranoid that they may get in trouble for PDA. They've already shared a kiss but don't do much more than that.

Ethnicity/Nationality: pure blooded Japanese; Oboru was born in Okinawa, Japan.

Fighting Style: Oboru is all about close quarters combat, making his cyclones around his hands and feet to add extra power to his strikes. The winds tend to push his opponents back or leave them winded and he is quick to take advantage of that, only backing off if they're out of commission or immune to his wind. When things get dicey, he'll hang back and switch to using ranged attacks, flinging cyclones and tornadoes at his opponent.

Habits: not a habit so much as a necessity Oboru will take a few minutes to floss his braces or fix the bands in them. He hates them with every fiber of his being so he saves that habit for when he's alone in the bathroom or if he finds a dark corner to hide in. The pores on his palms and arms are big enough to get water or dirt in them so there are times he will force air out of them to clean anything out.

Residence: Oboru stays at home with his parents; they live in a two story home with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a back patio and a front porch. His parents share one bedroom while Oboru has his own. The last room is for guests if any of them bring friends over. The patio has a hammock set up as well as two chairs and features a view of their own and only orange tree.

Musical Themes: MHA OST Hero A

Quotes:­ "I'm not cocky or stubborn, I just know I can do better- I HAVE to do better!", "Why do I want to be a hero? Since when did the desire to see people smiling in joy or relief need to be questioned?", "Even heroes need to be saved but that doesn't make the blow to my pride any less painful."

Quirk Name:­ Cyclone

Type: Emitter

Description:­ The enlarged pores on Oboru's arms and hands can generate powerful gusts of wind that, due to their placing, shape into cyclones and tornadoes of varying sizes. Oboru can use these to increase his speed as well as his strength by packing extra power into his attacks or he can use them as a stand alone attack force.

Strengths:­ Oboru can use smaller cylcones as skates to get around faster and he can increase their size to "fly" through the air. The average speed of his rotating cylcones reach about 60 to 75mph and if he gets really serious, he can crank the wind speed up to 115mph. However, going that high brings about some hefty repercussions. Very handy for keeping enemies at bay.

Weaknesses: He can only adjust the power of the cyclones currently touching his body, once he releases them they will steadily weaken over a 20 to 30 second time frame depending on how big they are. Surprisingly, the larger the cyclone, the less time it stays formed. As he continuously uses his quirk, Oboru begins to feel light-headed, dizzy and off-balance, his vision twisting and rocking as if he sat in a chair and spun himself in it. This causes headaches and nausea as well, eventually leaving him incapacitated for a few hours if he doesn't take time to recover.

Main Skills: Whirlwind fist- focuses a tightly spinning cyclone around his fist and releases it upon impact. Wind speeds normally at 40 to 50mph.

Hurricane dash: uses two mini cyclones as skates to maneuver around. They can be replenished as many times until Oboru can no longer fight his quirk recoil. The winds spin at 35mph but can make Oboru himself "skate" to a maximum speed of 40mph.

Tornado upper- Oboru charges at his target, flipping himself into a handstand where he uses his winds to spin himself like a top. The spin adds enough force to his legs that it knocks his opponent into the air. He makes himself spin at about 15 to 20mph.

Slicing maelstrom: creates two large cyclones which he then combines to form an even larger cyclone to entangle his opponent in (surefire way to set off his recoil) Wind speeds reach up to 90mph.

Eye of the storm: similar to slicing maelstrom, Oboru creates a massive cyclone using both hands. Instead of launching it at his target, he holds onto it, controlling its power and what path it takes. Oboru can only hold it for 25 seconds and immediately afterwards, he will pass out. If he is interrupted part way through depending on how long he had it, he will collapse from exhaustion and be unable to move for a few minutes. Oboru can force the wind speeds to hit 115mph at the cost of getting hit with an intensified version of his normal recoil and only being able to maintain that wind speed for 12 seconds.

[fr-blackiebelle]

The Sunrot Resurrections: Part III - The Chieftain and the Lord

First | Next | Back

@incalyscent, @tangelojack, @yuushanoah-fr, @serthis-archivist, @pinkangel725

Aramis thought that his granddaughter was strong for taking such a long time in dying.

Juarve had been in the Wyrmwound longer then Matisse who was baptized in it, and even longer then Damaris, who had walked through it to save a child. The time was reflected on her skin, red and raw as it was.

Great swaths of flesh corrupted black and purple and green stretched over her ribs, her hips. The pustules grew dreadfully large, and when they burst they leaked a yellow and red pus that drew flies. They all smelled infected to him.

But, to her credit, Juarve was silent. She did not moan or cry out, though tears flowed freely down her ruined face. Her nose was gone, leaving only a pair of mishapened black pits, as was her ears and eyes. Her antlers had melted down into stubs, like a spent candle. They both fell off at his touch.

Her skin, where the cysts hadn’t formed, was scorched and cracking. Great ravines of red streaked up and down it, tearing wider whenever she moved. Her hands had been eaten away, and Aramis could see the white of her bones and tendons in the little that remained. Her feet and wings were the same.

He had taken hold of her in the Wyrmwound, when she was thrown in as sacrifice, and pulled her out alongside himself.

He had died. He had died with smoke in his lungs and fire and traitors all around him.

But he was resurrected. His fur was the same as before, perhaps even healthier and not dull with malnutrition. He felt jittery. There was a light inside him, in his chest and belly, and Aramis could see the jagged shadows of his ribs when he looked down.

When he had crawled from the Eleven Hells, throwing his granddaughter down beside him, two ghosts from the past stood before him, both as dead as he. They had sunk to their knees and bowed their heads.

There was Mars, who had abandoned him when the fire broke loose. The fae looked the same as he did, though the light in his pale green eyes was jubilant and his back was a little more stooped.

Then there was Toril, who had been dead for decades. The pale guardian stood as strong as the day they met, proud and powerful. One of her eyes was red, and the other was light. Both her and his advisor wore armor, of a fine make, likely from the Ruins.

After they were through with bowing and pledging obedience, they rose and set to work on dressing Aramis in a armor of his own. The cuirass was fine ebony, inscribed with runes and filigree, with teeth of steelscale to give shape to the tops of his shoulders. The pauldrons were of a darkened steel, and fastened with leather straps that stretched across his breastplate and back. His gauntlets were heavy ebony, fully enclosing his fingers and stretching to his elbow. The tips were pointed like claws.

Besides those, he was given a plated tail guard, a kilt, a sash, a wing banner, and his headdress. It was not the same one he wore before, Mars confessed, but he had it made to memory. Aramis found that he had missed the weight of it.

As Mars helped him don his armor, his hands smoked and burned whenever he touched the metal, while Toril was not burned. Aramis questioned this, and was told that both their armors had a massive amount of Light enchantments on them.

It was difficult for Mars to handle them, as a Wind dragon, and Plague or Shadow dragons would be badly affected by it as well. Too much exposure would likely lead to a overexposure of Light magic. The Lady of Light had aided in their rebirth, which was why Toril’s eye shone gold and Aramis’s chest shone like a lantern.

Once he was suited up, it was time for the journey through the Boneyard. North was where Ives had taken the clan, and by the sounds of it, he had been busy.

Mars explained as they traveled. “Ives has taken it upon himself to forge alliances. Many of them have fallen through, with hostages returned or runaway, but some of them have worked out well.”

Hellreek was not a figure of folk lore, they were quite real and they had one of his bastard daughters. Rusvai, the youngest. She apparently insisted on dressing all in white to differentiate herself from him. In exchange, they had one of Akeelah’s sons. He was gentle, though his mouth was death.

When Aramis asked of the relation between the clans, Mars nearly laughed.

“Virulent,” Mars said, with a practiced tone of mirth, “Is in bed with Hellreek. Quite literally these days.”

Half of Virulent was courting and bedding one Hellreek or another, he learned. One of Naomi’s sons had a mirror back at the lair, on a clutch of his eggs, while one of his sisters was at Hellreek’s lair, with a son of the legendary Death From Above.

Just the other week, Ives had sent a strong mirror pup to Hellreek, in exchange for pick of the nest of any clutch laid to their warriors. If there was any friendship at all in the Wasteland, there was friendship between Hellreek and Virulent.

They called it the Hellrot Alliance.

The conversation changed to Ives, of the self-styled Lord Chieftain of Virulent. He had taken the Vogelzang skydancer, Cosette, as bride. The same one that he had given to that drunken oaf so many years ago. He had fathered a army off of her, and gave most of the children away as hostages, so he could foster a child from another clan’s leader.

The conversation changed to his grandchildren, of the black and grey beasts that wanted the Lord Chieftain’s favor so badly. Six of them remained in the clan, as well as a great-granddaughter, a great great granddaughter, and two bastards Aramis had gotten off of Amiria.

If they were to quarrel for the crown, grey-blue Tergailia would have the most supporters, though the blue-grey guardian, Iliutas, would win in a fight if they fought honorably.

Ilgeslys would win if they fought dirty. Kivka would kill the victor.

The conversation changed to Vogelzang, of the overthrow of Humboldt and the fleeing of Valjean and Mariele. They stole one of Sieghilde’s children when they fled, and all of them were infected with shadow magic. Cosette’s mother had to be sealed in a suit of armor and bound in prayer ribbons to keep her together.

They had barely spoken to Vogelzang since Merchannwyl took charge, and rarely received shipments anymore. They had not received word of Lorelei’s death, as of yet.

On the horizon, the great cliff of Dragonhome appeared.

The Lord Chieftain had hidden the entire clan in a great series of caverns, charming the entrance with protective wards that he thought would protect them.

They camped within sight of it, not setting a fire. They would approach tomorrow.

Aramis expected a fight.

  As they approached Clan Virulent, as soon as they came over the rise, they were contested.

Two guardians stood at either side of the entrance, though they were too far away to make out faces. Before long, a swarm of four came from the cavern to meet them.

The first to reach them was a brown, stout Imperial. He had a grand rack of antlers, and wore worn leather clothes. A wolfskin cloak was tied at his throat with a small bronze medallion. He walked with his chin low to the ground, like a stalking dog, and moved to cover their left, besides the cart. (Mars had vanished, he noted. Likely hiding in the back.) Aramis did not know him.

The second was another Imperial, taller than the first but still short. His skin was a pinkish-tan, with redline markings. His mane was wavy and pink, and he wore a solidscale breastplate. The rest of his armor was leather, dyed reddish-brown, and polished steel. He walked with his head high, like a scared dragon pretending not to be. He covered their right, to stare down Toril. Aramis did not know him.

The third was a guardian, lean and graceful. Her scales were a lovely blue-grey, though her true horns and her broad wings were a dull black. A crown of heavy black antlers sat upon her head. She was obviously the leader of the bunch, and judging from her antlers, Aramis presumed they were kin.

She had put great care into her ensemble - a woven chest piece of black and red leather that went to her waist, with a red kilt and red breeches underneath it.  A bow, grand and deadly, was in her hands, and the quiver of arrows was bound around her waist with a belt. She wore a cloak that was half red, half purple, tied at her throat with a ash-lace collar.

Her arm guards were leather, dyed a similar grey-blue as her skin. Her left arm guard was scaled with polished steel on the top, leading up to a single ebony pauldron. The banner that hung from it was a midnight purple, decorated with the black antlers they all beared. Ives had removed the headdress from Virulent’s device. He would fix that, soon enough.

The guardian stood tall before him, eyes fixed on him.

Aramis’s voice was rough and deep. He cut off his granddaughter before she could start.

“You’re Iliutas, aren’t you? I believe we are related.”

This took her at a surprise, and it flashed on her face. Aramis was thinking that she had to have been of his great-granddaughters, since Cosette was a skydancer.

The slight shock vanished, and her voice boomed elegant and strong.

“That I am, though I can’t say if I we’ve met before. Do you have business with Virulent or the Lord Chieftain?”

“I do. I would like to see Ives, as soon as I can.”

“And who are you? So that I may tell him.”

“An old friend.”

  It took Ives long enough to emerge from the cavern.

The two imperials had waited with them while Iliutas headed back, and it was close to a half hour before she returned to the surface, a red ridgeback and a black tundra (comically small besides all these giants) alongside her.

The Lord Chieftain walked with his guards on either side of him. He walked with purpose, with his head and antlers high. His blue-black mane was braided, he wore fine armor, and he did not wear a headdress.

The red ridgeback at his side did not have a nosehorn. He was missing a eye, and the other eye was a bright pink. His backspines and wings were chipped and torn. Aramis recognized his tarnished armor, he recognized the dragon he had raised from a hatchling.

Ivarr stopped when he recognized his Chieftain.

Ives stopped when he recognized his father.

They both screamed.

Ivarr’s scream was a wordless wail, like a parent who was told their child died. His legs went out under him, and the ridgeback went down to lie among the dust and bones, his hat fallen over his eyes.

Ives’s scream was a pained bellow, like a bull with a struck side. He was backing up, shaking his antlers and braids, his red eyes wide.

“YOU ARE DEAD, I WATCHED YOU DIE. I WATCHED YOU DIE.”

Iliutas had stopped, looking back at her Lord Chieftain. She stood tense, all the guards stood tense, but they did not attack.

Then, at the entrance to the caverns, a horn blew. A low, mournful note that echoed throughout the Wasteland, echoed from the Pillar to the Icefield. Three heartbeats later, the warriors of Virulent came tearing out.

The pink-maned Imperial leapt at Toril, and she took him with her teeth. She slammed into him, knocking him onto his wings, and moving atop of him. She pressed her golden gauntlets onto his throat, and golden smoke billowed forth at her touch.

The worn-leather Imperial lunged for Aramis, and the Chieftain prepared to meet him . . . only for Ivarr to attack from beneath. His hat had flown off, and he came down upon his fellow guard with particular savagery, threatening to open the Imperial’s belly with his claws, while the Imperial wrapped his jaws around his neck.

And Ives, the Lord Chieftain of Virulent, took a step towards Aramis, towards his father.

Both of them bared their fangs.

They rushed at each other with the ferocity of bulls, and met each other with their heads down. There was a great crack as their antlers hit, and a tine went spinning off into the dust. Both of them reared, claws against each other’s chests, roaring as they did.

Ives tried to bite at his throat, and Aramis did the same. Ives was wearing a gorget, he was not.

He was taller than his son, but Ives weighed more, and was more heavily muscled. He was half Snapper, and had the jaws of one. Ives shouldered him, and knocked him backwards. Ives was on top of him, gold and red smoke curling upwards from his black hide wherever the armor touched him.

No, Aramis thought, seeing colors unimaginable, I will not die again so soon.

Gathering his strength in his hind legs, he kicked out and tried to dislodge his son.

Nevertheless, he did not let go.

He cursed himself for having laid with that Snapper in the first place, cursed himself for not keeping the runt instead. In desperation, he reached up and grabbed at his sons face, trying to find some leverage, trying to make him falter, trying to -

Aramis’s gauntlets had sharped claws.

The thumb had caught Ives in the eye.

His howls were hellish.

His son released him and reeled backwards, ripping off and throwing down his own gauntlets to touch his ruined eye. He stumbled, and came down to his knees, clutching his face with his naked hands.

“Do you yield?”

Ives lifted a hand away, the other still cradling his jaw. The eye had been put out, and ran red down his face and neck, running down his gorget and down his breastplate in a great swath.

And where Aramis had touched his son, the fur had burned. It had scorched black, with gold cracking in the raw flesh underneath.

The remaining eye burned with hate and fear, surrounded by red and gold and black.

Ives spat a mouthful of blood, and it struck the ground at the Chieftain’s feet.

[robot-radar]

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Review

The 2017 Maserati GranTurismo offers something remarkable in a roadster or convertible elite six assumes that exemplifies everything that is persuading and compelling for Italian autos. The outside has bends in the correct spots; The inside is luxuriously improved. There is an astounding 454 strength 4.7-liter V-8 is useful for the sub-5.0 seconds 0-60 races. The convertible adds weight and firmness to the need and reaction of the court, yet at the same time looks awesome.

Maserati starts to act as per his age. Development deals, quality and dependability have been relentlessly ascending as the producer has presented the current Quattroporte in 2003. The earlier decades saw Maserati driving an existence of intriguing colorful personality wrapped around the hardware.

Be that as it may, the new strategy appears to work, not simply by four entryways. Just in 2011, Maserati figured out how to offer very nearly 2,700 GranTurismo, right around 33% of them here in the place that is known for hawks and crusty fruit-filled treat.

To help keep up the energy of GT, Maserati has brought the car and convertible into a quick change before the SUV of Levante and Ghibli car sub-Quattroporte touch base one year from now and fly all titles.

#gallery-0-17 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-17 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-17 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-17 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Convertible

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Inside

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Black

2017 Maserati GranTurismo 0-60

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Coupe

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Engine

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Effectiveness and Execution

The adjustments in the 2013 versions of GranTurismo Sport will convey corrective touches to the motors of mods power increment. To start with, how about we cover the style. The front belt has been marginally changed to accomplish a more forceful appearance and a divider underneath the commonplace Maserati grille.

Despite the fact that the fundamental state of the projectors stays unaltered, they now incorporate bixenon lighting, LED DRLs and versatile lighting control, the last observing the development of the guiding wheel up to 15 degrees.

Side skirts are standard in the game and also the augmented wing ventilation grilles – alluding to them as bull eyes make delegates of Maserati sleek – to help in the extraction of hot air from the motor compartment. New mirrors, 20-inch wheels (accessible in four styles) and darker dark focal points finish the outer surveys.

The immense oddity incorporates the all-new inside calfskin seats with coordinated headrest front and back headrests, a costly confirmations crash-test suggestion are not shoddy for a decent auto in its life cycle. The fortifications of the new seat guarantee meet solace and support, however without restricting skeletal casings with the nature of a most loved pants welcome.

Raise situate travelers have an ostensible separation of seventy five percent of an inch on the seat. The front seats are warmed; however, it doesn’t break, and it took us a couple of minutes to mishandle around to control the temperature situated at the base of the seats; It is not obvious when sitting. There is no sparkle missing, brakes on the high hold aluminum pedals and throttle, in any case.

In the same way, as other vehicles that made their introduction as a cut, the convertible outline of GranTurismo can be to some degree polarizing, assessments framed to a great extent from their perspective. All things considered, the convertible is sitting bare and open to its top down, loss of the roadster’s exquisite back column and backdrop illumination decrease the deplorability of vehicle bends, particularly the back wings.

From within, in any case, each feedback is tempered with copious daylight, the delicate breeze and the streaming fumes of the Italian V-8 diverted to your ears. The wind blows are insignificant and a casual discussion at street speed does not require the utilization of a bull horn (despite the fact that we would lie on the off chance that we said that it would be amusing to have demonstrations of general foolishness, through and through).

The GranTurismo has never been a pioneer in its class in torsional firmness, and cutting the steel monocoque cover does not progress. In any case, observational judgments about the extra contorting of the structure or the quake cover were hard to perform because of the delicate runway and the spread in our unit.

#gallery-0-18 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-18 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-18 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-18 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

2017 Maserati GranTurismo MC Stradale

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Interior

2017 Maserati GranTurismo MC Centennial

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Drain and the Execution

Wrap your hands around the new guiding wheel with a level base and turn the starter key without push catch here and the 4.7 liter V-8 burbles to existence with another soundtrack. Presently 453 strength and 384 pound-feet of torque (444 pull versus 376 pound-feet in 2012 Sport) cylinders, the motor has been overhauled, motor mapping amended and a radical progress of the start timing – all of office springs Paolo Martinelli, executive of the Maserati kinematic chain.

Unmanageable Formula 1 could perceive the name Martinelli of his decade’s past as the leader of the motor program of the Scuderia Ferrari, Maserati and guarantees us that his title is that of respect; The designer has unquestionably put the survey of messy screen engine engines.

Maserati is so satisfied with the most recent form of its Ferrari-mounted motor that it chose to embrace a solitary motor system with the 4.7-liter V-8 of this determination all through the GranTurismo 2013 territory. This is uplifting news for Sports customers, however takes a portion of the thunder of the GranTurismo MC basically obliterate the benefit of the previous supervisor of the personnel basically a Sport bundle.

With a taking care of helped by a 49 percent weight circulation asserted front and back 51 percent, we had an auto driving ball through some slender and bent California streets, with the standard incorporated ZF plan of six-speed “Move MC Auto “Your apparatuses through the cams mounted on the section.

The full Sport mode (available through a catch on the support) not just for the redirection of the fumes to deliver a wealthier and more energetic tone, additionally permit the controller fastens the downshift, additionally to keep up an uncertain apparatus. The best portrayal of the musical show that power prepare is equipped for delivering.

#gallery-0-19 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-19 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-19 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-19 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

2017 Maserati GranTurismo MC

2017 Maserati GranTurismo MSRP

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Price

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Driving Impressions

Don mode quickens the 10 percent versatile suspension. 100, yet we would lie in the event that we said that we had seen an incredible distinction in the developments of the body or conduct; However, it appeared to opened up street flaws.

The guiding is all around weighted and direct, the suspension control arm attempts to keep up the contact of the tires and keep the message of the bar undiluted. The braking is unfaltering and dynamic, six-cylinder Brembo pulling either auto beneath the speed with certainty.

Notwithstanding, these autos have a wild side, as well: Get forceful with 4400 books, cut 16 feet long, specifically, is like deriding a tiger framed a Las Vegas appear. The 2017 Maserati GranTurismo is expansive, colorful, and enough with the goal that it could play out a legitimate blend of self-importance and irreverence, take a costly chomp your effective personality.

Once more, press the catch on the comfort to come back to standard mode, and turn (marginally) hands milder over the front, with a suppressor, smoother running quality and less forceful changes.

Whatever your favored body arrangement, in any case, the GranTurismo GT remembers its actual mission; Maserati does not conceal the way that he needs the auto to give an adjusted and open to driving knowledge that keeps up a touch of something available for later, he stated, that “when he puts the stick to it.”

Enter the case in light of this, and you will be remunerated with an affair that is such a great amount about the legacy, way of life, and selectiveness of the Maserati mark, since this is the gross return. On the off chance that you will trade comfort for tens or extra side powers, there are numerous $ 125,000 more autos that fit the prerequisites.

Yet, in the event that you are the person who enjoys a similar perusing the mark of a jug of wine that beverages the fluid inside, Maserati GranTurismo has its name on it.

#gallery-0-20 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-20 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-20 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-20 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Sport

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Rear

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Red

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Specs

2017 Maserati GranTurismo View 3 Trims

2017 Maserati GranTurismo

2017 Maserati GranTurismo Motor Execution and Fuel

Wrap your hands around the new guiding wheel with a level base and turn the starter key without push catch here and the 4.7 liter V-8 burbles to existence with another soundtrack. Presently 453 pull and 384 pound-feet of torque (444 drive versus 376 pound-feet in 2012 Sport) cylinders, the motor has been overhauled, motor mapping reexamined and a radical progress of the start timing – all of office springs Paolo Martinelli, executive of the Maserati kinematic chain.

Headstrong Formula 1 could perceive the name Martinelli of his decade’s past as the leader of the motor program of the Scuderia Ferrari, Maserati and guarantees us that his title is that of respect; The designer has certainly put the survey of messy screen engine engines.

Maserati is so satisfied with the most recent adaptation of its Ferrari-mounted motor that it chose to embrace a solitary motor system with the 4.7-liter V-8 of this determination all through the GranTurismo 2013 territory. This is uplifting news for Sports customers, however takes a portion of the thunder of the GranTurismo MC basically devastate the upside of the previous manager of the personnel basically a Sport bundle.

With a taking care of helped by a 49 percent weight dispersion guaranteed front and back 51 percent, we had an auto driving ball through some limited and curved California streets, with the standard coordinated ZF outline of six-speed “Move MC Auto “Your riggings through the cams mounted on the section.

The full Sport mode (available through a catch on the reassure) not just for the redirection of the fumes to deliver a wealthier and more energetic tone, additionally permit the controller fastens the downshift, additionally to keep up an inconclusive rigging. The best portrayal of the musical drama that power prepare is equipped for delivering.

Wear mode quickens the 10 percent versatile suspension. 100, yet we would lie in the event that we said that we had seen an awesome distinction in the developments of the body or conduct; However, it appeared to enhanced street defects.

The guiding is all around weighted and direct, the suspension control arm attempts to keep up the contact of the tires and keep the message of the bar undiluted. The braking is enduring and dynamic, six-cylinder Brembo pulling either auto beneath the speed with certainty.

2017 Maserati GranTurismo – Has been created for those who live life to the full and seek uncompromising motoring enjoyment 2017 Maserati GranTurismo Review The 2017 Maserati GranTurismo offers something remarkable in a roadster or convertible elite six assumes that exemplifies everything that is persuading and compelling for Italian autos.