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comehomeducklings · 3 years

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Past [Part 2] (Obsession)

A/N: Some chapters will be named with either “Past,” “Present,” or “Future,” then their numbered part coming right after it. This is to confuse you less when flashbacks or anything happens. As you have probably noticed, it says “Past” for Part 2. This is going back near when Tom and her just met. Thank you for reading! <3

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

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1940 - 3rd year

“Potions is not that bad, I swear. You just have to be good at measuring.”

At the table, my friends and I are discussing our classes this year. Potions being one of my favorite topics. Devyn absolutely loathes that certain class. We have to drag her there to make sure she doesn’t skip. Poor girl tries her best to not mess up but the cauldron always ends up blowing up. I even watched her do every step once, never missing a beat. The potion still ended up failing, even though she did everything correctly. She gave up after a while, who wouldn’t. I help her do extra assignments for extra credit to keep her grade up. She also studies with me to make sure she can memorize everything and pass her tests. Amelia is pretty good at the class, she’s luckily paired with Devyn most of the time. Carrying the potion to success, with a little bit of my secret help. It’s not cheating, it’s using your resources.

I’m resources.

“Potions is not that bad,” Devyn mocks me. “If it weren’t for you two I would have gone insane in that stupid class.”

Amelia just laughs at her while eating her hash browns on the plate. She reaches her hand out to take some more eggs.

“You were able to do it before. Not the way you were supposed to, but it worked,” Amelia says.

“Exactly, just start doing it your way at this point. I don’t think Slughorn will care how it’s done, just how it comes out.”

Devyn nods her head and points at me with a fork. Her mouth full of food so she settles for that response. My plate doesn’t have much other than some bacon and fruit. I’m not usually a breakfast eater. I get my appetite at lunch and dinner time. It’s just too early for a bunch of food smells, the smells make me kind of nauseous. I’ll eat though, enough to hold me off till lunch.

The chatter in the lunchroom rises by the minute. Everyone refilling themselves before their busy day. All energy levels rising while everyone wakes up from their groggy morning mood. While my friends finish eating we continue to talk about our classes and share the schedules for this year. Most classes we had were the same except for our electives. I tried taking as many electives as possible. My family back home never really did magic. I actually came a year and a half late since my family wanted me to have a normal school experience. I learned to do everything without the use of magic, the only thing my mom taught me was the floo network, creatures, and plants. I would often accompany her to Diagon Alley when she shops. I got an Owl for my 10th birthday. A cat would have been amazing if I wasn’t allergic to it. My owl is a brown and white-furred barn owl. Don’t ask me why I named it Bartholomew. I was ten okay, give me a break. Speaking of the floo network, my mom had to chase me through it quite often because I kept teleporting everywhere. I once ran into the Ministry of Magic’s building and got lost. They had to take me home to my parents. Their faces told me everything I needed to know about the punishment waiting for me.

Halfway through the second year is when I came to Hogwarts, a second letter coming that year asking my parents to let me learn more there. So when they finally let me attend, everything was pretty new to me. My mother was the magic one in the family. Her grandmother, my great-grandmother, before her had the magic gene. Going to school was the same experience as going from a muggle-borns perspective. The difference is, I knew more about its existence. I would look at yearbooks my mom had from when she went here. She earned a lot of titles, all the achievements being recorded down. I always wondered why she never wanted me to come here. Did something happen to me, to her? I’m guessing she just wanted a normal life with dad. He has always supported her through everything. A love, a bond like that is hard to come by. He would also learn about magic right next to me. At least, the stuff my mom allowed to let us know.

That’s why I want to learn as much as I can, of what’s available. Why learn math in the muggle world when I could be learning divination. Spells of all types, potions for everything of inconvenience. My chores could be completed with just a flick of my wand. I’ve lately been learning wandless magic, on my own. Albus has helped by providing me with material to study that type of magic. The only thing I’ve managed so far is a spark coming from the tips of my fingertips. Sparking hope that I could actually, maybe, achieve that level. Now I won't get my hopes up, but that can lead me to a certain advantage in dueling. That being one of my weakest skills. Always panicking, saying any spells that pop up in my mind, and making random movements coming from my wand. Often confusing who I’m up against, although they recover from that confusion fairly quickly.

Riddle, met him once. One too many if you would ask me. I dissuade ever wanting to speak to him. Arrogance and pride flow through his tongue like second nature. I do take pride in succeeding above him in 3 classes. He is 2 classes above me but, that’s not the point. I do admit, he’s attractive. Only a little though, how else would he charm his way through the professors and students.

“Alright, I’m ready to go. You guys done?”

“Yeah,” I say. Devyn and I start leaving our seats and heading towards the huge doors.

Amelia hurried from her seat, a few steps behind since she took some fruit with her to eat on the way. More and more students also started making their way towards the first period. Not wanting to be blamed for the loss of house points. This system causes so many fights, everyone’s competitive side getting the best of their common sense. I would be lying if I said it didn’t get the best of me before. Amelia being her usual bubbly self skips backward while chatting with us. Before we could warn her to stop, she pushes someone ahead of her. Both falling down, hitting the floor. She spins her head extremely quickly, her hair sticking in her mouth from the force of the wind.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she explains. Quickly trying to digest her situation. I make my way towards her and pull her up. I fix her robe and dust off any dirt on the cloth from the floor.

“Clearly idiot, can you not use those bug eyes of yours to see?”

Devyn and I make eye contact. We understand that there are witnesses here, and one of them is bound to snitch on us if we fight. A huge scene would probably make Amelia feel even more embarrassed as well. Instead, I guided Amelia by her back. We continue on to class while I comfort her. Devyn is staying back to “talk” to the guy. Lestrange is in for it now, any poor soul would be when in the fiery path of her anger.

Devyn’s loud yells could still be slightly heard when entering the potions classroom. First class of the year, and day. On Slughorn’s table, I can see a vial with the wideye potion contained inside. I set Devyn’s textbook on her station, turning to the page that contains information on the potion. Hoping to save her confusion and time.

“Welcome, welcome! Nice to see some old faces, and new ones,” he says with the biggest grin on his face. ��Today we’ll be learning about the Wideye potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion does?”

I quickly raise my hand, rather eager. I did some reading about a lot of potions during the summer. Trying to get a headstart on my studies. This potion being one of them. Only 3 students raised their hand, one of them being me. The other, well, Riddle.

“Yes, go ahead and answer,” the professor looks my way.

I smile, “The wideye potion prevents the person consuming the liquid the ability to fall asleep. Which is often used in the medical field to wake someone from a sleep caused by a blunt force or drug.”

“Precisely! 10 points.”

I look back rather smugly at Riddle, rather happy I got chosen instead of him. I know, he could have easily answered that too. I’ll let myself bask in the small achievement for now. 30 minutes of class is just spent writing down notes, preparing us for the potion we will make. Note-taking is my favorite, especially the little doodles I get to make. We use a feather instead of the regular pen. I found it rather amusing and liked the certain feeling of writing with it. The dipping noise that the point of the feather makes when hitting the liquid ink is a very profound sound. No real writer’s bump forming on my fingers.

“That’s enough writing, I need you all to prepare your cauldron, gather the materials you need, and start your potion. If done correctly, tomorrow when we add the finishing touches and check on it the potion should be a blue/green color,” Slughorn comments. “You have 10 minutes to study your notes, then the rest of the class to make your potion. No looking back at your notes after those ten minutes.”

After scanning my notes, I stand up and walk towards the ingredients on the shelves. If I remember correctly my potion requires snake fangs, standard ingredient, and wolfsbane. I gather all that in my hand and set it down near my cauldron. Before I start, I take a moment. I’m missing something, I’m sure there was another ingredient.

Wolfsbane, check.

Snake fangs, six of them.

I have the measures of Standard ingredient.

There’s one more, I try to look around the room. Then I remember that we get an automatic failing grade if caught cheating. There’s no way I’ll let my grade drop like that. Over something so small and inconvenient too. Making my way to the shelves, I scan over the ingredients over and over again. Trying to see if any of the names pop out to me.

No.

Definitely not.

That’s an ingredient?

I don’t even want to know how that one was obtained.

This one, of course it’s this one. I even remember putting a star next to the name in my notebook. Dried Billwig stings, I believe six of them were needed. All that time wasted. Hurrying to my seat I get to work. The time goes by quickly, all that could be heard was the sizzling and whooshing of our potions. I almost knocked down my vials a couple of times. Someone actually did, their time spent on cleaning the glass off the floor. After heating the first three ingredients, I crush them together in the mortar. Then stir clockwise from what I recall, three times specifically. Finally, I wave my wand over then leave it to brew.

Just in time from the looks of it. I glance at Devyn to see how it went for her, and she looks pretty proud of herself. I take that as a blessing that it didn’t blow up this time of round. I’m guessing she took our advice and did it her own way.

A student raises his hand, “May we leave?”

“Oh yes yes, go ahead. No assignments for the first day, only the potion you made in class.”

Before I leave the classroom I examine Riddle’s station. He already left the room. His potion looks similar to how mine turned out, his workspace thoroughly cleaned. Everything used properly placed back to where it should be. Perfectly spotless, not a single speck of dust in sight. All done without magic too, surprising for someone born into the wizarding world. When I mentioned that I met him once, it wasn’t much of anything. The only way I know how he really acts is through other people. Much admire his intelligence and strong will. Others are jealous of the potential he holds for the future.

Girls are already trying to slip love potions into his drinks. I would feel bad if he wasn’t so rude to them. Only just before touching the disrespectful line. He almost drank one of their attempts before. Wouldn’t want to imagine how that turned out. Tom riddle, in love. That man probably doesn’t know the feeling of happiness, let alone love. I feel bad for his future girlfriend, she’s going to have to deal with a handful of baggage.

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“How much do you want to bet Nott will demolish him?” A Gryffindor girl to my left whispers.

Nott, part of Riddle’s group from what I’ve seen. They all eat lunch together and talk to one another so it’s a reasonable guess. Very talented duellist, one of the bests here.

“I hate to admit it, but he’ll definitely win this. I’ll still have hope for the other guy though,” I whisper back trying not to sound mean.

Nott and the other Slytherin boy are up right now. It’s a courtesy for the audience to stay quiet until someone casts the first attack or defense. From then on all you will hear is shouting of encouragement and the opposite. Nott’s eyes are focused, zoning in on the opponent before him. His wand is steady, mouth slightly parted to breathe through better. Whole-body alert and tense waiting for something. From what I'm getting, I believe he’s waiting for the Slytherin boy to go first. Nott casts spells quickly and thinks them through decently. Sometimes you're not able to create a counter-spell quick enough to defend yourself against him.

Riddle’s group and himself are near the corner of the platform. All seemingly analyzing every breath he inhales and exhales. I finally hear the whoosh of a wand and a whiz of light fly past the platform. The glow from the spell lighting our faces for a millisecond. Nott quickly counters that spell and moves to cast his own. Magic flies across the platform, all of our eyes going back and forth like a ping-pong match. The Slytherin boy starts breaking a sweat. He’s only been able to get a couple of offensive spells in there, most of his plays spent throwing off Nott’s. If he doesn’t turn the battle soon, the outcome will become very clear.

It is a little less exciting since we only know a handful of spells. So whatever you know from your own studies you use in these duels. When we move up the years the class will become more serious and dangerous. Right now it’s just to teach us how to counter and cast quickly. The proper etiquette and movement. You use spells that you know, they aren’t supposed to harm someone. Either stun them, make them fly back, or disarm. Most of those spells require a little of a higher level, most of us not even knowing of its existence yet. So what’s mostly cast between competitors is a basic spell to exert force. That force should be aimed for the legs, or the wand to disarm that way. The way someone can win here is to make their knees or hands touch the floor, or disarm their wand. As I mentioned, it will get more intense as time goes by. We're only just starting 3rd year right now, a lot more charms will be learned later on.

I shake my head to get rid of any lingering thoughts. My attention goes right back to the duel taking place in front of me. Nott quickly aims a spell at the knees and manages to bring the other boy to his knees.

“Mr. Nott wins this duel! Please step off the platform, we will evaluate your performance.”

During the practice duels today, you watch it, think of ways to help the person improve, and point out things they might have done wrong. At the end, the professor picks people raising their hands to allow them to give their feedback. Participating is part of the grade you get in here. I personally prefer giving feedback then dueling. I’m not the best at casting, I do give out good defense spells though. That should mean something, I hope.

“Let’s start with Nott, does anyone have feedback for him?”

A couple of people spread apart raised their hands. One by one they all ask questions and give feedback. They mention his feet and posture when he stands. Arms fully stretched out where it would have been more flexible to bend it slightly. When he casts he shouldn’t be walking backward. They shortly switch to the other boy’s questions and feedback. The way he never gave himself the opening to cast an offensive spell often. He would move around his area a lot. Almost slipping off the stage during one of those movements. Tom and his group privately discussed with one another. They’re probably giving Nott their own feedback and suggestions privately.

“Now, Riddle I want you to come up and…,” he scans the room for another student. After some time he points his finger at me. “You.”

I could have had a smooth sailing class. I was so close to not having to go up there. My hands start sweating a bit, my anxiety jumbling my thoughts together. Riddle’s already up there and soon to be on his side of the platform. Taking his wand out and wandering his fingers over the design. I gulp, a big toad stuck in my throat. I wipe my hands on my robe and start up the stairs. Riddle seems as unbothered as ever. We bow, turn, then walk ten paces back. During this time I try predicting who will cast first. I don’t know him very well, I’ve also never seen him duel.

I take my dueling stance and wait for the signal to start. Hoping, praying, that I don’t embarrass myself. Slipping up is not allowed, not when going against him.

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Taglist:

@empath-bunny

#tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #lord voldemort #death eaters #voldemort #horcrux #hogwarts #harry potter #wizard #post wizarding war #enemies to allies #enemies to lovers #angst #oc #poc #Oc is any race #moldy voldy

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witharsenicsauce · 3 years

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Chosen Stories From The War #44: The Glass Elevator

(Content Warning: This chapter contains brief mentions of abuse)

Camazotz’s cold heart didn’t hold much room in it for anyone. He had already relegated far too much space for Abyzou, and Bhandasura had stolen a chunk of it too, and the remains of it were far too dry and cold to make anything else out of it.

That was why he always laughed--internally--when Abyzou called their little worker drones their “children.” It wasn’t such that he hated their creations (he hated everyone, but that was beside the point), but he just could not look down at any of them, not even his own Gur-Rai, and see anything but a machine. Maybe an employee at best, and employees could be terminated.

This one, though, he had to admit, had stolen a tiny piece of his cold, dead heart. Maybe it was the eyes: the color of snake venom, similar to his. Or maybe it was that charismatic smile: they had made him for one reason, and that was to win over the crowd. But really, it was probably the way the Speaker, even as he bowed low, practically prostrating himself before the Elder, still managed to hold onto a portion of that power in their face. Abyzou would hate it, if she ever noticed. Camazotz saw it as something to respect.

“Glorious Elder Camazotz.” The Speaker looked up at him from his position on the floor, and Camazotz saw a glint of yellow behind those glasses. “You know I would never interrupt unless for the most urgent news.”

“Of course.” Camazotz chuckled. “I assume it’s something I’ll be happy about.”

“An associate has informed me that they have three of the Commander’s Inner Circle right on their doorstep.” The Speaker rose to his feet. “Jane Kelly is among them, as is Shaojie Zhang, and a name I’m sure you have not heard in years, the legendary Taymallat.”

“Annette Durand? That is a rare sighting.” Camazotz chuckled. He almost regretted that Annette had managed to escape so early on. She had been stronger than most humans he’d encountered. Maybe she could have managed where the others failed. “But she is not as important as the others. Jane Kelly is out in the open? She is practically giving herself up.”

“I believe from here, her capture will be swift and simple.” The Speaker continued.

“She is a wily thing, Navisor.” Camazotz knelt down so he was closer to the Speaker’s height, although the cold floor hurt his knees. He reveled in the pain. It meant he was still alive.

“This time is different.” The Speaker insisted. “She is looking for Vahlen.”

Camazotz clenched his fists in laughter. “Humans are so sentimental.”

“Aren’t they? But she’s still convinced, deep down, that to reconcile is possible. And I think with a bit of twisting, that could work in our favor~”

“You sound like you already have a plan.” Camazotz said.

“I do, but I would never do anything without consulting you.” The Speaker bowed low again.

“Navisor, whatever you are planning, you have my permission to execute it.” Camazotz assured him. “Especially if it will cause my beloved wife a headache she’ll suffer for days.”

The Speaker faltered at that, but only briefly. “I shall prepare to fly out at once. And on the topic of consulting you, Vox Camazotz, I do again require your wisdom.”

“Speak freely.” He waved a hand toward the Speaker. “You know there are no secrets here.”

“The humans are beginning to question the absence of the Chosen.” The Speaker raised his head, green eyes peering over black sunglasses. Both mirrored Camazotz’s own reflection back at him. He saw his own, sickly eyes looking back, and he may as well have been staring at someone else entirely.

He sighed. “And I suppose they will start causing problems if we don’t offer them an explanation soon. Or at the very least, distract them.” Camazotz raised his four arms and clasped his fingers together. “There is another gala coming, is there not?”

“Indeed, in no less than a month.” The Speaker said, and he could feel Camazotz’s satisfaction.

“I believe I may have a solution. If Xezbeth and Tiyanak have decided they want to play mad scientist, perhaps I’ll make them earn the title.”

“I apologize, I am not very skilled…” Kon-Mai admitted as her fingers ran through the long, black tresses that fell to Aisha’s waist. Her hair was coarse and thick, but looked healthy beyond measure. Reaching back toward her own curly locks, Kon-Mai acknowledged how she had been leaving them down recently, and unfortunately they’d developed some rather embarrassing tangles as a result.

“An extra pair of hands is appreciated.” Aisha assured her. “It doesn’t have to be a perfect braid, I’ll be putting it under a cap anyway.” Speaking of, she reached over and grabbed a satin underscarf and handed it back to Kon-Mai. “Can you hold that? I’ll put the hair in a bun.”

“Of course.” Kon-Mai took her hands away as she watched Aisha work. The yurt they sat in was hers, and of course since Aisha was the Jinong, it was slightly bigger and more elaborate than the other single houses in Karakorum. The walls were made of stone instead of leather, although the roof was still thatched like the others. On said walls, a few keepsakes hung, some carvings in rock done presumably by a child, a few arrows with feathers on the end, some strings of beads, a bow…and other than that, it was clean, almost pristine.

In the center, the two sat beside a small fire pit that was unlit at the moment, relying on the light flooding in from the open door. The ground was swept as clean as it could be in the steppe, and out of the corner of her eye, Kon-Mai saw a beetle saunter by lazily. She put one hand down on the cool ground and took a deep breath, rooting herself in this place.

She looked up as Aisha reached back for the cap, but instead of handing it to her, Kon-Mai (her hands seemingly moving on their own) raised the cap to Aisha’s head and slid it on for her in one fell swoop, covering her hair almost perfectly. Aisha seemed to startle, and Kon-Mai reeled back at her own forwardness.

“I’m so sorry…” She stammered. “I…I don’t know why I did such a thing.”

“No, it’s okay.” Aisha smoothed out some of the baby hairs around her face and chuckled, tucking them under the cap. “I haven’t had anyone do that for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Kon-Mai said again. “…Was that another practice Monkh performed for you?”

“When I was little.” Aisha said quietly. “ …She was so good with hair. Her hair was so different from mine, it was really curly and kind of coily, but she could pull it back in braids, or smooth it down, or…” She paused, laying her hands in her lap. “ …Thank you for helping me with this. It’s nice to not be doing my hair alone…”

“No one else comes over?” Kon-Mai asked, getting to her feet and walking over to the wooden table that held a series of metal pins and brooches, all adorned with Elerium glowing in various colors.

“No…” Aisha shrugged. “I do not mind. The others…they feel more comfortable around each other.”

Kon-Mai herself had been slightly apprehensive to come over when Aisha invited her, even more so when the Jinong had asked for help doing her hair. She had cited Kon-Mai’s own silver locks as inspiration for asking, but Kon-Mai still felt a bit guilty that she had hesitated at all. Aisha was already so isolated, and to be honest...so was Kon-Mai.

“They should not exclude you simply because you are different.” Kon-Mai scoffed, turning over a few of the brooches in her hands, and finally selecting one shaped like a seashell with a faint purple glow.

“I don’t think that’s the entire reason.” Aisha assured her. “It’s a mixture of things…jealousy is probably a root.”

Kon-Mai chuckled. “There might be much to be jealous of, but it is their own shortcomings that hamper them.” She sat behind Aisha, who was wrapping the dark purple hijab round her head. “They should use their envy to become stronger.”

“I think they think I’m the weak one…” Aisha sighed. “And that I didn’t earn my place as Jinong.”

Kon-Mai scoffed. “Monkh would disagree. She loved you too much for you to think that.”

Aisha froze, and Kon-Mai froze with her, and the two sat in silence for a moment.

“It still hurts.” Aisha admitted. “And it’s never felt right without her here, the Khatun hasn’t been the same…”

Kon-Mai quietly pinned the hijab in place with the purple brooch. It sparkled in the sunlight, turning pink then red, then purple once again.

“I need to do some hunting before the sun sets.” Aisha got to her feet and took her bow off of the wall. “Will you join me?”

Kon-Mai raised a brow. “Proper hunting? I’m afraid I am terrible with a bow.”

“I can show you how.” Aisha assured her. “And I’d like the company.”

Kon-Mai mused on this for a moment, watching the look in Aisha’s eyes go from painful reminiscence to anxious desperation. She stood slowly, brushing off her knees, and nodded.

“Thank you.” Aisha sighed in relief. “...You can take Nergui. He’s big enough for you to ride.”

“Nergui?” Kon-Mai faltered. “...But that was Monkh’s horse. You said he does not let anyone get close…”

“He was Monkh’s horse, yes.” Was all Aisha said, her eyes unreadable. “But…”

“But?”

“He’s one of the biggest ones.” Aisha stepped away, avoiding Kon-Mai’s gaze. “If you want, you can take one of the smaller ones, but I don’t think they’ll handle as well.”

Kon-Mai wanted to insist on doing so, but when she went to protest...found she was unable to speak.

Malinalli was waving in the distance as the cart came into view, and Dhar-Mon made himself smile for her. But as the cart drew closer, laden with metals and processed Elerium, she saw his face, and saw the worry lining it.Her own smile dropped.

She embraced him as he came close, squeezing around his waist and burying her face in his chest, and he put his hands on her shoulders and brought her in close, seeking comfort in her embrace.

“What happened?” She asked softly, looking up at him with worried eyes. “Did something go wrong at the mines?”

He sighed, shook his head...and then sighed again. “I do not know. And I feel we cannot discuss it here.”

Malinalli looked around, then grabbed his hand. “Let’s go somewhere private then.” She began to pull him away, stopping only when one of the warriors Dhar-Mon had been traveling with, Uyanga, called to them.

“Hey, Purple Man! You’re strong!” She jabbed her thumb at the cart. “Help us unload.”

“I was going…” Dhar-Mon began to protest, his voice shaking as he tried to find the words. “...'Purple man’?”

Malinalli stepped up and put a hand on his arm. “I’ll help too. Those look heavy and you could use all the help.”

Uyanga raised a skeptical eye, running her gaze up and down Malinalli’s body. “No muscle on you. Only fat.”

“That’s correct.” Malinalli gave her a smirk as she pushed past and grabbed a chunk of Elerium with both hands. “So you don’t want the extra help?”

Uyanga eyed her for a moment more before nodding slowly. “Just keep up.”

Dhar-Mon approached his lover, who was faring okay carrying the smaller chunks, but when she reached for a piece almost as big as her head, he stopped her. “Are you sure-?”

“Please, don’t you underestimate me too.” She said softly. “I can carry these fine, holding down patients is a lot harder.”

“I…y-you’re right, I am so sorry…” He stammered, looking down and blushing purple, his skin growing hotter until Malinalli climbed up on the cart beside him and kissed him on his scaly cheek.

“Now, tell me about the mine.” She whispered in his ear.

“We are exposed here.” He looked back at Uyanga, who was unloading her own batch of Elerium near the town’s center plaza. “If only we could talk like before…”

“The mental link.” Malinalli chuckled. “I miss you on the inside sometimes.”

“I believe I have a substitute for that.” Dhar-Mon couldn’t stop himself blushing as he said that.

Malinalli snorted, almost dropping the Elerium she had picked up. “In my head, you dummy. But maybe later, we’ll see~” She winked.

He chuckled, then his smile fell and his heart sank again. “It was everything the Khatun says it is, a great hole in the earth that slips into darkness, but the walls are lined with glowing Elerium. They process it, and in turn stabilize its radioactive properties. For the most part.”

“So you won’t become fully irradiated from wearing a necklace.” Malinalli nodded. “Smart…”

“Indeed.” He didn’t quite know what else to say on it. “The workers…seem indifferent. I met one that was friendly, but the others did not pay me much mind. Several were…they were scared of me.”

“I’m sure they were just startled, they might not get many visitors…” Malinalli looked over her shoulder, then leaned in again to kiss him, whispering as she did “But that’s not all, is it?”

“There is something amiss within the mine.” He said. “And I do not believe it is benevolent. Screams echo from within.”

Malinalli pulled away from him, worry more apparent in her eyes. “I’d love to see it.” She tried to keep her voice chipper. “You’ll have to insist the others take me with, next time they go.”

“Next time?” Dhar-Mon blinked. “...Oh. Yes. When next we go, I will take you, my darling.”

Malinalli winked. “We should go early. So we aren’t missed too much here.”

“I’m sure it will not take long. We only want to see the outer mine, after all…” Dhar-Mon looked over at Uyanga, who only generally glanced in their direction. It seemed like she hadn’t heard them.

“Maybe with some luck, we can sneak away together~”

It seemed like Hong Kong was always kind of dark. Then again, everything was dark around Jane Kelly.

She crossed her legs, leaning back against the metal bench plunked smack in the middle of a park that was way too pristine. The sky was a soft grey, and the sun hid behind a thin layer of cloud that dimmed its light just enough that the shadows covered her face.

She knew she was taking a risk out here, but she had to get away. Do something. It felt like they were getting nowhere with Dax́iiu: Zhang kept giving him good reasons to defect, and Dax́iiu just kept kicking the can farther down the road. Her comrades had assured her that it would just take time, but Jane wasn’t going to sit around holding her breath.

Time was passing, far too quickly. She’d already lost so many years, she wanted as much time as she could pry from the cosmos’ cold, dead hands. And if Vahlen was here? If Vahlen was somewhere in Hong Kong?

Jane stood up and walked briskly across the street shoving her hands into her pockets. She had to keep moving, always keep moving. Bradford used to call her a hamster, running on its wheel. Maybe that was true. Maybe she should go back to-

Footsteps behind her made her slow, and she took a quick turn down a dirt maintenance path, ducking behind a beat up truck. A couple of Trooper helmets lay on the ground beside their wheels, and the footsteps drew closer to her hiding place and then stopped.

“I know you are there.” A familiar voice called out, stilted and awkward, in broken English. “Come out.”

Jane took a moment to remember where she’d heard that--him--before. When she did, a shiver went up her spine, and she was definitely no closer to revealing herself. She envied Kon-Mai in that moment, being able to go invisible would have been really handy right now.”

“I am not going to hurt you.” He said again. “I know what you seek. I want to help you.”

Jane still hesitated. “ …I’m armed.” She said. “If you try and drag me off to ADVENT, I have absolutely no problem shooting myself.”

“Please don’t.” He said. “Please, I want to help.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Jane reached for her pocket weapon, ready to make a run for it. “You’re in Dax́iiu’s pocket. And he might be talking, but he sure hasn’t made things easy for us.”

“Please.” He said again. “I don’t know how to say. Please…”

Jane kept silent for a moment longer, then stood up and looked into the black eyes of T8Y47.

“I know what you seek.” He said. “I know...who you seek.”

“How?” Jane drew her gun and pointed it at his shoulder. His eyes were gleaming with what looked like tears, but she could never be sure. “ …How much do you know? How do you know? Who told you?”

“ADVENT knows all.” He said, his hands in the air. “I know that your name is not really Jane. I know that your mother abandoned you. I know where she is.”

Jane felt her hands starting to shake--probably from holding the gun up for so long. “You…you know? You know where she is?”

“Dax́iiu knows too.” He said. “He wants to help you.”

Jane snarled. “That weasel needs to pick a side and stop sitting on fences.” She hissed. “Mother can wait that long, if he keeps wanting to drag his heels.”

“But she can’t.” The hybrid lowered his hands. “That’s why I came to find you.”

The nearly black horse looked up at Kon-Mai with sad, dark eyes as she approached. In her arms, she held a knitted saddle blanket and a pair of reigns, and as she drew close to him, his ears folded against his head.

“Aisha, are you certain?” Kon-Mai turned to the woman who was already seated on her own horse. “He looks forlorn.”

“Do not force him.” Aisha assured her. “But…you’re doing well. He doesn’t seem agitated.”

Kon-Mai looked back to Nergui, whose ears perked up slightly as she did. They locked eyes again, and she set down her tackle and approached him slowly, hands out, just as she was.

“You were her horse.” She said softly, reaching out ever so tentatively. “You were Monkh’s horse”

Nergui let out a soft nicker and shook out his tangled mane, turning away from her.

“I know you must miss her.” She continued. “I am no substitute. I am not Monkh.” With barely a touch, she put her hand on his nose, and gasped as she felt its velvety softness. “But I…I want to…” What did she want?

Nergui knew far better than her, obviously. He responded to her touch by pressing his nose forward into her palm, then stepping forward and bobbing his head slightly, as if telling her to pet him. She stroked his nose while he brayed happily, closing his eyes and turning his face up towards the sun.

“I had a feeling!” Aisha called to her. “Do you need help with the tackle gear?”

“No.” Kon-Mai said, far too quietly. “No, I’ll be fine!” She reached down for the saddle blanket (forgoing the actual saddle, as she was far too tall for any of them) and then picking up the bridle and placing the metal bit in her palm, gently holding it against his lips, waiting for him to bite. And bite he did, taking the bit from her with the kind of ease that could only come from years of trust.

“Do you need a leg up?” Aisha called after her again, crawling closer on her horse.

Kon-Mai gave her a look. “At your height? Do not try it.” She walked around Nergui’s side, heaping her hand on his neck the whole time. “I’ll be alright.” She bent one knee slightly, throwing her arm over the top of his neck, and ran forward, kicking up and over his back and landing, seated, on the saddle blanket, pulling herself upright into a sitting position.

She straightened up, shaking out her hair, and noticed Aisha staring at her. Her expression was…unreadable, but her mouth was set in a thin line.

“What is wrong?” Kon-Mai took hold of the reigns.

“Nothing, just distracted…” Aisha turned her own horse towards the gate. “Have you hunted before?”

“Not like this.” Kon-Mai chuckled, feeling Nergui paw at the ground excitedly. “But I am always ready to learn.”

For once, Betos found herself really wishing Geist was here, if only so she didn’t have to feel like the odd one out.

Drakaina and Volk each sat on an arm of Drakaina’s throne, passing a glass of vodka back and forth between them as they chatted in their native tongue, completely acting as though Betos did not exist. She understood the hesitancy to discuss anything more serious before Senuna arrived, but occasionally they would glance pointedly in her direction and Betos, despite being invited here, felt as though she was intruding.

Part of her wanted to leave, just walk right out and communicate the level of disrespect that she felt. But as soon as she gathered up the strength to turn on her heel, the doors opened and Senuna walked in, flanked by Bradford.

“Sorry about that!” She giggled, flipping her silver hair. “I was sure I had enough time for a quick nap and well, time got away from me.”

“It’s fine, you are here now.” Betos grumbled and turned to Drakaina, who stood so Volk could keep his seat on the arm rest.

“I brought you all here to discuss preparations on an outpost attack.” Drakaina said. “We have discovered ADVENT has a city center near Erdenesant, that is small enough that my army could take it, if we had help.”

“Hold on.” Bradford held up a hand. “You said no city centers.”

“I said settlements.” Drakaina clarified. “This is technically one of those. The center was constructed only a month ago and its defenses are still incomplete until more troops can be allocated.”

“Commander.” He looked to Senuna. “Back me up here.”

“How big is the settlement?” Senuna asked. “City centers aren’t usually small. I’ve been to plenty, trust me.”

"It has a population of about 3,000 people, and as of right now about half as many hybrid soldiers guarding them.” She looked to Betos. “Guards that, perhaps with your help, could be made to quietly walk away.”

“We said we weren’t taking on a city center.” Bradford insisted. “Infiltration is one thing. This is an all out attack.”

“This is our chance to save these people.” Drakaina insisted. “Or would you rather they starve under the tyranny of our invaders?”

“I’d rather we not lose this war by getting our skulls dashed against the sidewalk while the general population cheers.” Bradford crossed his arms. “And answer me this: how do we convince them we’re the good guys? I’m not just talking about the soldiers; the civvies are going to be terrified if we run in there guns blazing to drag them from their homes.”

Drakaina seemed to hesitate a bit, and then Senuna interjected, looking toward Bradford. “I might be able to convince them to come quietly. And I could evacuate the city before the attack happens.”

“I’m not sending you back in there, Sunny.” He hissed. “Not a chance.”

“A leader should fight on the field with the rest of her warriors.” Drakaina insisted. “I have heard tales of your great power, Commander.”

“I won’t have to get close.” Senuna assured him. “Just enough to project my voice.”

Betos chuckled nervously. “You plan to perform a concert?”

“Who knows? Maybe I have some fans in the city~” Senuna winked. “But Drakaina does have a point. If the city center is that small…it’s conceivable that we could crack it. And--I’ll be honest--taking on a city center is risky business, but if we have a chance to help people get out of there...”

Bradford looked away, glowering at Senuna’s answer, while Drakaina smiled. Her nearly white eyes seemed to glitter. “I see why you are the Commander, you know exactly what must be done.” Drakaina looked back at Volk. “Your Reapers are very good at remaining unseen.”

“I’ll have Elena take a couple and scout out any weak points.” Volk stood up and downed the rest of his vodka. “I know it’s a scary concept, John, but it’s about time we start taking the fight to the Elders. Can’t play defense forever.”

“Does Zhang know you’re talking to me?” Jane asked, glancing sideways at T8Y47. The hybrid held the door open for her, gesturing for her to continue. When she hesitated, he entered first.

“Nobody knows.” He answered. “Chilong and Taymallat are...focused. On other things. Not you.”

“I’m focused on the mission, too.” Jane said. “This is a side quest at best.”

“You have been searching for so long.” T8Y47 led her down a hallway similar to the one in the penthouse, but instead of gold, this one was lined with silver and marble and dark green gems. “And you came all this way. I understand why. I understand you want to know.”

Jane scoffed. “Yeah, sure you do.”

“I do.” He insisted. “I had a mother too.”

Jane stopped. “So you’re one of the ones they ‘rewarded’, huh?”

He slowed his pace, probably realizing she was no longer following him.

“Do you remember your family at all?” She asked. “Do you remember your mom?”

He shook his head. “I do not know if she lived or died. I do not know if she would want to see me again. I only have the memory of her smile, a faint outline of light in a dark void..”

Jane swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not a therapist but…” She said softly. “...You should find her.”

T8Y47 stopped briefly in his tracks at that, looking back at Jane with black eyes.

“I’m serious.” Jane insisted. “Hey, if you’re helping me find my mom, maybe I’ll help you find yours.”

He kept watching her out of the corner of his eye. “...You would do that for a stranger?”

She shrugged. “I repay kindness. I know I don’t seem like I do but…I will.”

T8Y47 stood still for a moment longer…and then put his hand on the glass doorknob. “You will find what you seek in here.”

“Thank you.” Jane stepped in front of him, her heart pounding, her hands shaking. “...What’s your name?”

“I have no name.”

“When I’m done in here, I want you to have thought up a name.” She looked back at T8Y47 and winked. “See you in a bit.”

Jane hadn’t had time to prepare for this at all, this moment was supposed to be magical, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself a child once again, running across marble floors to finally land in her mother’s arms…

The door swung open and she stepped inside, her heart instantly dropping as she saw the spacious, dark, nearly empty interrogation room. Across the wall, rows upon rows of televisions blinked, cameras scanning what looked like a prison. In front of her was a desk, and at the desk sat a slimy looking man, smiling behind his sunglasses.

“Hello Jane.” The Speaker said as the door closed behind her. “...Or should I call you Sinéad? It’s such a pretty name.”

The wind in her hair, whipping past her face, tickling her cheeks, the sound of Nergui’s hooves thundering against the ground hard enough to shake the mountains around her…

Kon-Mai hadn’t felt such joy in years. She threw her head back, looking up to the golden sun glowing through the clouds, just as a purple arrow whizzed past her head. She looked behind her as Aisha cried out “Sorry!”

Tugging the reigns to one side, Kon-Mai moved out of the way just enough for Aisha to ride past and hold out her hand, calling the arrow back to her and scooping up the animal she had killed with it. She checked it briefly, then gave Kon-Mai a thumbs up. “Instant!”

“You are quite talented!” Kon-Mai cried, guiding Nergui over to her companion.

“Speak for yourself.” Aisha chuckled. “I didn’t know you could ride so well.”

“I’ll be honest, neither did I.” Kon-Mai leaned down and patted Nergui’s neck, and he whinnied happily at her touch.

“He’s…not usually this happy.” Aisha added. “After Monkh died…I used to try and take him out, he refused to go each time.”

“You were the one who offered for me to take him.” Kon-Mai raised a brow. “Giving me a troublesome horse on my first ride? Quite irresponsible, Aisha.”

“Well, he’s also one of the biggest ones, I knew he’d be able to hold your weight…” Aisha coughed. “No offense, I mean-”

“I know, don’t worry.” Kon-Mai giggled. “He handles like a dream.”

“I think he just likes you.” Aisha threw her leg over her horse and slid off, taking the reigns in one hand.

“Have you caught all you need for today?” Kon-Mai asked.

“Not yet, but I thought this would be a good place to stretch our legs.” Aisha said as she drew her sword. “You could show me a few tricks.”

Kon-Mai raised a brow. “That is incredibly foolish of you.” She said as she slid off Negui’s back. “My sword never misses a target.”

“Then I’ll have a real challenge.” Aisha shrugged. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“You can’t get such a challenge elsewhere?” Kon-Mai asked as she let Nergui to a green looking patch of land.

“Perhaps I could.” Aisha shrugged. “But why not you? And besides, we’re all the way out here.”

“I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.” Kon-Mai smirked as she unsheathed her sword.

“And I don’t want to be hurt.” Aisha giggled. “So I guess I just have to be good.”

“No!” Jane turned on her heel and slammed her shoulder into the now locked door. “FUCKING BASTARD! YOU TRICKED ME!”

“Sinéad, let’s now make a scene now.” The Speaker stood slowly. “I’m here to help you.”

Jane began searching for screws along the hinges, maybe she could dig them out with her fingernails, but froze as she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“You want to see your mother.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry she couldn’t be here today, she’s a very busy woman after all, running all those experiments, corrupting the Elders’ hard work, I’m sure it’s a taxing job. But she’s so happy you came all this way just to find her.”

“I don’t believe you.” Jane hissed. “You’re a fucking conman! You tricked me! She’s not actually here, is she? She never was!”

“I think you’ll find my offer is sincere.” His grip on her shoulder tightened. “You’re smart, that much I know, and you’re smart enough to know what I will do if you resist me.”

Jane froze, her body going limp as she let the Speaker guide her back to the table. He sat down across from her, gesturing for her to do the same in the chair provided.

“...How did you find out?” Jane murmured. “I’ve never gone by my birth name.”

“It wasn’t hard to piece together.” The Speaker reached across the table to where the pile of files sat, dragging one over. “Your records may not be public per se, but they were not exactly hidden either. You have a paper trail miles long whether you like it or-”

“Did she tell you?” Jane was afraid to know the answer to that. People cracked under pressure all the time, good people, but after all that if her mother had given her away…

“No, which is no surprise.” The Speaker looked over the top of his glasses, his green eyes boring into her. “Moira Vahlen is not a weak-minded human. She never even mentioned she had a daughter before. But the papers speak for themselves, don’t they?”

Jane felt her shoulders relax and droop, just as the Speaker slid her old, yellowed birth certificate across the table.

“Sinéad Vahlen.” He said, his tongue hissing against his lips ever so slightly. “You’re a very long way from home.”

Two swords clanged against each other, and the frosty air was filled with fire.

Kon-Mai’s eyes were alight, and her hair flew out behind her in a wave of snowy locks. Aisha darted to the side but still had to raise her own blade to parry Kon-Mai’s swipe downward. She blocked it, then her leg bent and she rolled away from under the Shrinemaiden’s pin.

“You fight well.” Kon-Mai said with a smile.

“I take a lot of pride in that.” Aisha got to her feet with a smile and twirled her blade in two circles, almost mimicking Kon-Mai’s own movement with her blade. “All those years of training, I would hope I’m good.”

“You…” Kon-Mai shifted backward again, getting back into her stance. “You have a good disposition for combat. Loose, almost casual, but not so easily distracted!” She dipped and darted forward, and Aisha barely had time to bring up her blade in a parry once again. She slid backward briefly, putting one hand down to steady herself, and then ducked away, letting Kon-Mai’s sword embed itself in the ground.

Aisha rolled into a standing position and plunged her blade into the ground, a purple glow emanating from her eyes. “You’re as nimble as they say, Shrinemaiden.” She drew her blade back, carving a curve into the ground, with a cloud of pink dust rising up around it. “Let’s see how you dodge this!”

Kon-Mai could only brace herself against the...wave of psionic energy that crashed over her, sending her to her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut, mind and heart both racing.

How did Aisha know that? That was her move. That was her Harbor Wave.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she looked up and saw Aisha was holding out a hand to her, but Kon-Mai only stared up at her in shock.

“How do you know that move?” She stumbled to her feet.

Aisha pulled back. “Mai…”

“Don’t call me that.” Kon-Mai hissed. “Just answer me. Where did you learn that?”

“I’m sorry.” Aisha reached out, and Kon-Mai took another step away. “Kon-Mai please-”

“Where did you learn that?!” Kon-Mai shrieked. “Nothing makes sense here. The horses, the language, Nergui acts like he knows me, and now this?! What are you hiding from me?! Who are you?!” Not waiting for an answer, Kon-Mai turned on her heel and began to walk away-

“Wait!” Aisha reached out and grabbed hold of Kon-Mai’s hand, finger’s lacing around hers.

A flash of orange light surrounded them as the sun set, and she grabbed hold of the little girl and lifted her in the air. Her braids flew around her like branches of a tree, and as she spun and the two of them laughed, Monkh felt free.

Kon-Mai pulled her hand away, shaking as she stared at it. Aisha, too, stumbled back, looking down at her hand, then up at Kon-Mai.

“...It…” Aisha shook her head, her lip quivering. “It’s you…it’s really you…it’s impossible but it’s you!”

Kon-Mai took a single step backward, her entire body shaking like a leaf. “...How do you know all this?”

“Monkh.” Aisha put her hand to her face, her lips trembling. “I...I learned that move years ago. From Monkh.”

Kon-Mai turned on her heel and ran. She heard Aisha screaming her name, running after her through the treacherous step, but she simply closed her eyes and ran forward into darkness.

Summary: The chapter begins with Camazotz meeting with the Speaker, reflecting on how the Speaker is the only one of his creations he is actually proud of. The Speaker reports that Zhang, Jane and Annette are in Hong Kong, and that he has a plan to capture them, which Camazotz approves. Afterward the Speaker confesses that people are becoming restless not knowing where the Chosen are, and Camazotz decides to enlist the help of Xezbeth and Tiyanak.

In Karakorum, Kon-Mai is helping Aisha style her hair and put it up under her hijab, and the two talk briefly about how Aisha is seen as different from the others, and some believe she did not truly earn her place as Jinong. Aisha offers for Kon-Mai to come hunting with her, and suggests she takes Nergui, the old Jinong’s horse.

Dhar-Mon returns from his trip to the mines, and Malinalli welcomes him home. The two quietly discuss what Dhar-Mon saw there, while helping to unload the Elerium harvested from the mine. Dhar-Mon and Malinalli make plans, in secret, to return to the mine again.

Betos meets with Drakaina and Volk, and feels left out while they wait for Senuna, the two actively talk with each other and ignore her. When Senuna finally joins them, Drakaina confesses she wants to attack a (small) city center. While Bradford is hesitant, Senuna agrees to help

In Hong Kong, Jane takes a break from her current dwellings to walk around the city, and is stopped by the hybrid assistant of Dax́iiu, T8Y47. He tells her he knows what she is seeking, and that he can help her find her mother. T8Y47 leads Jane back to the hotel, where he double crosses her and locks her in a room with the Speaker, who reveals that they discovered her true identity: Sinéad Vahlen, daughter of Moira Vahlen.

Back in Mongolia, Kon-Mai and Aisha have success in hunting, and Aisha comments on how good a rider Kon-Mai is. The two stop briefly to practice swordwork together, and after a brief battle, Aisha uses Kon-Mai’s own Harbor Wave attack, which scares the latter. Demanding to know where she learned that, Aisha reveals she learned it from Monkh, the previous Jinong, and then grabs Kon-Mai’s hand, triggering what seemed to be a flashback. Kon-Mai pulls her hand free and runs away, overwhelmed.

(I know it’s been a while, thank you all so much for sticking with me again. This time, it really is more health problems getting in the way of me writing, but I assure you I’m still very passionate about this story. I thank the SFTD Discord for keeping me grounded in that aspect, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It was kind of short, but we got a lot of big reveals in this one.~)

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom fanfiction #xcom au #chosen stories

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omegangrins · 3 years

Text

A Rant on the End of Tremors 7: Shrieker Island

As the main man said,

Throwing caution to the wind because this blew up elsewhere.

If you can do it with Justice League, fuck it, let's do it for every shitty movie we've got.

While we're at it, can we change the ending of the 7th Tremors movie so *MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS* Burt Gummer doesn't die or at least bring Jamie Kennedy back, or Marvel style recast Jon Heder, so he dies saving his son instead of a random-ass person who could have easily saved themselves. Or cut the forced montage of Burt clips at the end so his death is at least ambiguous. Seriously beyond pissed about that one. THAT is no way for him to go.

I would also like to point out that the next Tremors *HAS* to be titled Tremors 8: Ouroboros and bring everyone back for Burt's funeral . Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

I have feelings about it, people. *FEELINGS!!!*

One of my favourite childhood memories is picking out Tremors 2 from the local gas station's movie rentals and forcing my parents to watch it. I was probably 5-6 at the time.

Let's say that it's been a lifelong love affair ever since. It took me another 10 years before I even watched the 1st. Probably why I hold good sequels in such high regard.

I didn't even know about the 1st until it played as a trailer in front of 2 and never thought to watch until years later. That's a testament to its filmmaking if I ever knew one.

So seriously, that's how they chose to kill off one of the most well known and prolific characters in a movie/TV series known around the globe? With an unnecessaryily needed death and a montage of clips from all the other movies that are obviously better than this one.

And I'm saying that as someone who defends Chibnall/13th Doctor...

...and I'm fucking fuming because THIS is how you *actually* destroy something people love and hold dear to their hearts. It's like the ending of Game of Thrones. His shitty ass death has made it a loooooot harder to rewatch. And they are one of my favourite series!!! Not flawless but fun. But I will defend every other movie and all the episodes except this. Honestly I'll still defend 7/8ths of this one as well.

Like I said, it's easily fixed too. Fucking vice versa swap out Jon Heder for Jamie Kennedy, who the movies have been building up for the last two, and have Burt save his son in front of his old flame. Boom, you won't even need the montage of clips cause you can just have Travis and his mom reminisce about Burt instead. Show not tell. I don't even care he died by Graboid (although in all honesty, I've allways wanted El Blanco to take him down or Burt kills himself from the PTSD. It would have AT LEAST MADE SENSE. Hell, the best would be a heart attack to callback Val's "Yeah, Burt, the way you worry, you're gonna have a heart attack before you get a chance to survive World War Three.". But none of us ever get the best death.). And it's not even about Burt sacrificing himself to save a nobody. Cause that could work too. BUT YOU NEED TO BUILD THAT SHIT UP. Not just fucking drop it like it's hot.

Like I said too, the first 7/8ths ain't bad but it's an entirely different story than a swansong for a hero.

It's all about some billionaire scientist/cowboy hunter dude who likes to get his jollies off hunting the biggest and the baddest who ends up inviting people to this island so they can hunt down Super-Graboids he designed for shits and giggles. But then some Shrieker-fy....

And the pretentious douches come and die one by beautiful one while Burt tries to save them anyway and it's all spectacularly dumb fun until it comes crashing down in the final 10 minutes. Fuck, they should just cut the last 10 minutes. Then it's a perfect little Tremors ditty.

#RELEASETHE7THTREMORSWITH10MINUTESFROMTHEENDCUT

This isn't even about Jon Heder either. He's just doing his job. Hell, do what /u/VoiceofRonHoward pointed out.

"It is clear that Jon's character was just pasted in over Jamie's, the artifacts of the father-son relationship are all over it. They should have gone full Marvel and just replaced Jamie with Jon and acted like nothing happened."

CAUSE FUCK YES!! The only time a story sucks is when they don't commit. Commitment makes all the difference. Now, I'm pissed double-pissed they didn't do that instead since Heder and Kennedy are similar in terms of white-boy-ness.

Even Michael Gross agrees:

"Yes, yes. Now I can't presume to speak for Jamie [Kennedy]. My understanding was they asked him and he said no. And so that's why they went with somebody else. So I had nothing to do with that decision. I just heard the stories. I missed him for that reason. You begin a relationship with the character, and you want to continue it....

...As you build a relationship with this son, we had two, it would've been nice to have three, but that was the hand I was dealt."

One of my favourite bits of Tremors lore comes from the 5th too so it's not like I hate sequel changes out of hand:

"This is a warrior dance. Our ancestors hunting the lnkanyamba and the Impundulu.

"What's that?

"Impundulu. It's what you call the Ass Blaster.

"Ass Blaster.

"Yes.

"Hey, you know, you make Ass Blaster sound good.

Primitive cultures fighting Graboids, Shriekers and Assblasters. I just love that thought.

Hilariously, my meta opening to the 8th movie would be a flashback to 10,000 years ago and a Neanderthal-like Burt Gummer teaching others how to drive Graboids off cliffs like they did with mammoths.

Thank you for giving me the space to rant. Cause fuuuuuuhhhhhhhhuuccck!!!

Here's Michael Gross' own words from his AMA that prove the people making Shrieker Island didn't know their shit.

"The Tremors series is one very close to my heart and I want you to know how appreciated your continued effort is for your core fan base.

My only question would be were there ever any studio decisions made for Burt that you refused to comply with? Or was everybody pretty much always on the same page on what to do with the character?

Thanks again for your dedication.

- Josh"

"Thanks for the kind words, Josh. As regards the first four films, with Wilson and Maddock as the writers, we were very much on the same page. 5,6, and 7 were a bit different, because there was a 13-year hiatus between 4 and 5, and we had to refresh our memories while "reinventing" the franchise for a new audience. I will give you one example: in an early draft of Shrieker Island, a new writer wrote a draft where Burt threatened to shoot one of the bad dudes, and I had to tell him—this is true—"Burt never intentionally points his gun at another human being."

And his own thoughts on Burt's "death" and how to bring it all back together again.

Universal and the director [came] to me with this idea, and they said, 'This could be emotionally very powerful, if we have to say goodbye to this man after 30 years. And I hemmed and hawed, and I thought about it a little bit. And I said, 'You're absolutely right about the emotional gut punch this can be.' And I said, 'You're going to hurt a lot of people's feelings.' And I said, 'But I thought this franchise was over after four. So I could certainly live with it being over after seven.'

"What we negotiated -- well, it wasn't really a negotiation, we all agreed on this -- is that we kind of left the door open. >!Because although Burt is gone, we never see a corpse. We never see his remains. Everybody assumes he's gone. Is he buried somewhere? Is he unconscious somewhere? We never see Burt dead. We see Burt gone. We see Burt not returning. What does that mean? Has he been knocked out? Does he have amnesia somewhere? Does he wander off? Is he in a kind of coma? So yes, the way it ends is pretty profound."

"As regards to the end of Tremors 7, let me just say that while people ASSUME Burt is gone, we never see his remains, do we? Just sayin.'

"The only reason he has become the main character is that everyone else in the original cast moved on to other things. I NEVER thought of him as the central figure, but it just worked out that Michael Gross, like Burt Gummer, was a "survivor." :0) "

"No one would like to see it more than I!!! One of my greatest regrets is that so many other cast members fell away over time. Reba was on to other things, Kevin said no to a second, Fred said no to a third. I would LOVE one last go with all of them, but it is not up to me. :0( "

"There are no guarantees, but for those who wonder aloud if this is the final film, I will say what I have said before: SALES drive sequels, Show biz is 5% show and 95% business, so if this latest addition to the Tremors franchise, sells well, [Universal] will follow the money, and Universal Pictures Home Entertainment may will be back for more."

/u/ActorMichaelGross, the bell has been rung and the song sung. Get the producers on this ASAP!!

I was also the first person to discover the symbolic foreshadowing of Stumpy's end with Earl's sleeping bag in the original movie.

Let's just say, I really *really* love these movies. So if anyone knows anyone, hook me up to the producers of this series and I'll Justin Lin in the Fast and Furious out of this shit.

Since I don't think it's good to critique without proposing either, I say we can make up for this fuck up with the next movie. We'll call it Tremors 8: Ouroboros. After the snake which eats its own tail.

We find out Burt faked his death to get the Proudfoot Corporation to let down their guard and when everyone from the previous series comes back for Burt's fake funeral they give him ever loving shit for being such a paranoid whack-job that he would fake his death to fool a government agency. Why would he do this? He found an old photo of Hiram Gummer with a Graboid warning on the back and asks himself why this valley, why these things, why allways me? And we find out, it's not Burt. It's that lifestyles of extremes will end up in places of extremes. Burt and the Graboids are survivors of different species. Sure the Proudfoot Corporation IS using Mixmaster to combine Graboids, Shriekers, and Ass-Blasters into one super creature for the military but it pales in comparison to Burt looking at his life and wondering in shame how many ancient giants like himself he has killed. And with that, he actually dies, and we keep the ball rolling with the rest of the characters trying to stop what they allways thought was just another one of Burt's crazy conspiracies.

That's why it's Ouroboros. Everything comes back around. We could end/start the movie with Grady, Earl, and Jodi opening a Monster World in Perfection Valley a la Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. I don't know. I'm fucking trying harder than the people they paid to do this already.

It ain't perfect but I'm building on sand here so changes are gonna get made.

Like if the makers of Tremors notice this,

Then DM me because fucking A you guys need some help.

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shandaumath · 3 years

Text

Master

{The following is a retelling of RP that occurred largely between Vynlorin and @cerusaniduskbinder with a few points from @aredhelvaltieri and @barirnshadowwind, and @sparrow-of-arnud and @nivathostin for mentions.

Very little has been altered from the original RP only for the sake of storytelling flow.}

[A simple parchment was posted on the notice board in the late afternoon. Very few words were written, but the words posted there were large and elegant and demanded attention. The seal of House Shandaumath sat at the bottom of the notice.]

WANTED: Hemomancer

Any who can provide reliable information on the whereabouts of a hemomancer will be handsomely rewarded. Further inquiries should be redirected to Master Vynlorin Shandaumath.

Search with haste. Time is of the essence.

...

“Master Vynlorin. When you have time I have information you are looking for.”

Cerusani’s voice rang out through the communication device that Vynlorin hated so much. He set aside the scroll of hemomancy that he had been researching and clicked the little button on the device attached beneath his shoulder pads.

“I have time now.”

“I am finishing up an appointment. I will be available in about ten minutes.”

He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose. Another meeting with Cerusani, and it would end with just as much disappointment as the rest. But he couldn’t risk not seeing her. The fate of the sickly Ithildir depended on this hunt.

“Find me in Thornwood.”

Vynlorin left his books and scrolls in an organized mess and retreated from his study only to greet Nivathostin who had been standing outside as patiently as ever. The man had few interests and fewer words, and the master of the house had grown fond of him.

“Come, Nivathostin. We have a guest tonight.” As if being beckoned like a dog, the blue-haired ren’dorei following behind his master, and the pair made way into the dining hall for preparations.

....

It wasn’t long before Cerusani made her way into the room with classical Cerusani confidence. Her shoulders were back with her head held high even though she knew who she was meeting.

“Master Vynlorin. I made it here as quickly as I could. Thankfully I was just across the way and not in the city.” She did not dare take a seat anywhere as she waited for the man to acknowledge her presence.

The table was empty except for the bottle of Dalaran Red and two glasses beside it. One had already been filled and teased by the master of the house while the other remained cold and empty in anticipation of the coming guest. Aside from the usual servants that stood idle along the walls, Vynlorin was not alone. Next to his seat stood a thin ren’dore who, although far too skinny, seemed in decent health. The man boasted short blue hair and steady eyes that were unwavering in their inspection upon Cerusani when she arrived, but Vynlorin met her with a curious gaze as he waved to the empty seat nearest to her.

“Of course. Have a seat.”

A servant peeled himself from the wall with quick feet and reached for the bottle of wine and empty glass, pouring the woman her drink as she settled in.

Cerusani wasted no time in taking the offered seat with grace as she sat upon the wood which made a small noise. The servant who had poured the wine offered it up to Cerusani and she took it by the stem. “Thank you.” The two small words were offered to the servant before she began to swirl the delectable wine that they both enjoyed. However, Cerusani did not look at the wine but instead flitted her violet eyes between Master Vynlorin and the unknown man.

“Is he the one you need the hemomancer for? I thought it was Ithildir. That would be odd though as I told Ithildir what I knew two nights ago.” A brow arched as she shifted around the thoughts within her head. Politely she took a sip of the wine.

Vynlorin quirked a brow. “Did you? So you’ve already discussed it with Ithildir while he made no mention of it to me.” His finger gently tapped against the glass, and he entirely ignored the question she posed to him. After a moment of silent thought, he sipped and continued.

“What did he say about it?”

Cerusani sucked in the side of her cheek for a moment, contemplating.

“He said nothing but thank you. I gave him two names. Baron Herke Kruger and Lord Tion Harrowmire.” She relaxed back into the chair as she crossed one leg atop the other. “Baron Kruger once told me that Harrowmire had asked about learning hemomancy after a House of Nobles meeting. That is all I have. Though since it is frowned upon and illegal within Stormwind I am unsure if either are practitioners. It is better a lead than anything else.”

The wine within her glass swirled as she eyed the gaunt unknown man. “Did he want a glass of wine perhaps?”

Vynlorin twisted his lips and pursed them in displeasure as he received the information, but they soon pressed into a line at the attention sent toward the other man. A dismissive hand waved it off as Vynlorin looked up at the other who still remained as still and steady as ever.

“Perhaps Nivathostin’s biggest flaw is his tongue. He is a whiskey man and scorns wine whenever I offer it to him.”

There was no hiding the surprise on Cerusani’s face as she set the wine down on the table. Her eyes directly stared at Nivathostin as if seeing a made up story one only hears about once in a few moons.

“Nivathostin. Aredhele’s Nivathostin? I thought he was dead. Aredhele has always spoken of him as if he was dead. Not that she did it often. One time.” The words were low and wonderous.

Nivathostin couldn’t help but sneer at the name while his nose raised high as if he had just been insulted. “Perhaps it was always her goal,” he mused quietly with malice thick in his voice.

Vynlorin returned his gaze to his glass and allowed a snake-like grin to spread wide against his lips before chiming in. “I wasn’t aware you knew of him, Cerusani. How curious.” The master then motioned for Nivathostin to sit while waving the servants forward. “Do get a bottle of whiskey for Nivathostin here.”

With the command, the younger men scurried to the liquor cabinet, retrieved a dark bottle, and brought it to the table where they poured it into a glass and offered it to the blue-haired man taking a seat.

Cerusani finally broke her gaze away from Nivathostin and brought the eyes down to her wine glass. The ripples from the swirling radiated outward to the edges as she thought.

“I do not know much. Just the name. I know better than to ask more right now. Even if I did you would not tell me, Master Vynlorin.” As if the words parched her throat like Tanaris, Cerusani brought the wine to her lips drinking a healthy portion of it. As the glass was brought down she shifted in her seat, seeming as if she was no longer comfortable in the room. “Ithildir is dying. He had me run across Stormwind last night to fetch a potion for him. He is in no condition to fight on Sunday.”

Vynlorin shook his head at Cerusani, and Nivathostin fell silent once more as he sipped at the sweet escape of whiskey now snuggled within his hand.

“Nivathostin has had a rough few years, Cerusani, and we will do our best to make sure he’s comfortable. Let’s leave this as our little secret for now, yes?” The warlock’s predatory gaze fell heavily against the woman as his own silent threat, and the look only softened after he sipped back another dose of poison. “Ithildir is dying, yes, which is why it’s important that we find someone or something that can cure him quickly. You would do well not to fight him just as I must stay my own hand until he can recover.”

Cerusani knew the gaze that he cast upon her with the words of warning. Silence fell between the trio for a while with the only sound coming from Cerusani being the tapping of her nails atop the table.

“You want me to keep a secret for you. What do I get out of it? You’ve cast me aside. You call me a cat. You call me a disappointment. What do I get from this arrangement?” She rolled her shoulders back trying to give her the look of confidence she had when entering the room. “From your request I surmise that Lady Aredhele does not know he is here. Perhaps no one but you knows.” A brow arched as the words were pointed directly at the man.

Nivathostin paused his sip as he stared steadily at Cerusani, his breath remaining stuck in his lungs as he awaited the master’s response. Vynlorin too paused as his gaze fell into slits at the dare, and it was as if the room grew colder with a devilish curl of his lips.

“Quite simply, Cerusani, you get to keep your freedom.”

Cerusani set her wine glass down atop the table.

“I want more than that.”

Arms crossed beneath her chest as the two seemed to be in a stalemate. “You can do better, Vynlorin.” This was the first time in months that she had dropped the respect of his title.

All the servants in the room froze, stuck as statues as the tension in the air gripped their rapidly-beating hearts. Nivathostin too could feel the wrath of the master despite his innocence in the conversation. Vynlorin curled that devilish grin wider, and his wicked thoughts flashed before his eyes and danced in his mind as he considered his next move.

“Cerusani. I understand you enjoy being beaten. Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for everyone in this room what it’s like to be the subject of a lesson in disobedience.”

Cerusani should have known better and did know better but still she doubled down.

“No. I do not think I will be the subject of one of your lessons.”

The defiance flickered in her eyes as she took a moment to look from the Master to Nivathostin. Her right hand uncurled from underneath her chest and dipped into her pocket. As the hand came up from the table she held tightly onto her small communication device, finger pressed upon the button. “Lady Aredhele.”

“Yes, Cerusani?” Lady Aredhele’s voice rang out.

She took her finger off the button and cocked her head to the side once more looking at Master Vynlorin. “You can do better. Pick your next words carefully because there are different pieces to this puzzle I could pull out and say to Lady Aredhele right now.”

There was no going back. Cerusani had put this into motion.

Vynlorin squinted at the device as he heard the woman’s words ring out against his own ear from beneath his pauldrons. A soft sigh flooded from his nostrils, but he didn’t pity the woman’s fate that she had just sealed.

“Very well.”

And then, with a gentle utter beneath his breath, the shadows beneath Cerusani’s seat wriggled to life and crawled up the back of her chair only to wrest the woman’s neck backwards with its long, gangly claws. The shadowfiend crawled with tendrils and inches of nails that fashioned into claws, and it sought to squeeze the air from her neck while threatening to pierce the flesh. Nivathostin watched with dark eyes that were far too curious to hold sympathy for the woman, but the servants all sent their gazes downward and held their frightened breaths.

Cerusani pressed the button of the communication device. With all that she had left in her she squeezed out a sound.

“NIVAT-”

The word did not finish as the clawed shadows dug deeper, crushing her throat even more. With that the device fell out of her hand as the woman’s body began to grow limp.

When the radio clicked on again, the sound of broken glass was heard. Then, all was silent. Too silent. The radio connection opened after a long pause and the melodic buzz of static replaced Aredhele’s voice. There was too much emotion. Too many thoughts rushed to her mouth and she spat out with all the passion she could muster. “Where. Is. He?”

Vynlorin slammed his glass against the table and pushed himself to his feet with more fury than she would have ever seen before. His face grew dark like the very demons he commanded, and a quick flick of his wrist snuffed out every torch in the dining hall.

“Cerusani.”

That one single word dragged against the infinite dark of the shadows that now wrapped around them with the weight of every vile thought that had ever crossed the warlock’s mind. Nivathostin inhaled a deep breath that hitched itself in his throat with all the others who were unfortunate enough to be trapped in the cage with the beast and its prey.

“I am so disappointed in you.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered for a moment, taking in the darkness as it came. The little breathing that she was able to manage began to slow, become shallower. Her body limper with each passing second.

"It seems she has not responded. Would you like for me to find her, Lady Valtieri?" Barirn’s voice called out from the device.

“No no, that is alright. I will find her myself tomorrow.”

The shadowfiend grew stronger in the darkness, but its life was short-lived and soon dispersed into the rest of the room only to be replaced by the warlock’s own hand wrapped tightly around her neck. He held her firmly but allowed her breaths to trickle through so she could feel every word he uttered against her ear, his breath hot and heavy beside her.

“You could have shown me that you were capable of doing anything right, but now you’ll just be another pet to hang on my wall.”

The darkness flooded through her nostrils and reached deep into her soul, transcending flesh and breaking the barrier between life and death. His other fingers reached into his robes and pinched an empty soul shard that now glowed with anticipation for its new prisoner, and he muttered a dark and vile language as the ritual continued.

Everything within Cerusani began to twist and ache as her very source of life broke apart from her while the warlock reeled it out, slowly, slowly, until it screeched when it broke into the air and was dragged into the little shard. With nothing to see, the rushing wind that whirled within the room struck hard against the dulled senses of everyone within it, and the cold of the Nether skittered like static across their flesh.

Cerusani felt every little part of her body as Vynlorin worked his magic upon her. Her long lashes fluttered open to see the darkness of the room while the violet orbs looked as if the woman was in the depths of pure agony. Each passing moment Cerusani’s soul left her and entered the shard within Vynlorin’s grasp until there was nothing of it left inside her. Her throat beneath his hand moved as she swallowed to get out anything but nothing came.

The thoughts. The words. Everything stuck within Cerusani as her eyes fluttered closed once more. Nivathostin shuddered at the sensation of the Twisting Nether breaking through into the room, and the familiar touch of death and lost souls made his stomach churn.

Once the shard had fully sealed the soul within it, it sparked in a brilliant flash of light before falling into a soft purple glow that revealed the suffering soul within it. The anger mingling with the unnatural magics gave rise to Vynlorin’s own nausea, but he ignored it as adrenaline still pulsed within him and forced his hand to backhand the woman who had riled him so.

“You are no longer a student. No longer an acquaintance. You are a worthless animal who will learn her place.

The backhand from Vynlorin sent Cerusani’s slumping body to the stone of the floor. For a long while she laid on the cool stone before she began to come about. Her body convulsed as her skin began to glisten. The first attempt at righting her body failed with her body crumpling to the ground once more.

A retching sound came from her throat even with it being so dry. The dark floor was spewed with the wine she had consumed, and a mixture of her dinner of stew one of the villagers had made for her. The stench just before her nose prompted her to try to get up once more. Her weakened body managed to sit up as she looked around, finally settling on Vynlorin.

“Yo-.”

She had to pause a moment.

“Take everything.”

It made no sense perhaps to the men before her but it did to Cerusani. Shaking hands grasped at the chair trying to pull her to her feet, and after a few moments Cerusani was upon legs that felt like a baby deer.

“Ca-can I go now?” The view of the woman now was scant but a memory of the woman who had walked into the room with confidence.

Vynlorin stepped through the darkness, pushing the chair with his foot so he could take another step closer. That wicked hand rushed to the back of Cerusani’s neck to slam her head down against the table like a prisoner beneath his grip.

“You will address me properly.”

While keeping her head steady with one hand, the warlock returned the filled shard to its place in his robes before flicking that wrist to spark the torches alive again. The darkness fled with the flames so that Cerusani could see her captor looming above her.

Cerusani felt the impact of the wooden table against her face. Once more her stomach began to retch but there was no longer anything to give. Her body radiated with shivers as she looked up to the imposing man she had goaded into being the demon she knew lived somewhere in him. With the grasp of his hand on the back of her neck it felt as if she was his puppet when the words came out next.

“Ma-may I go now, M-m-master Vynlorin?” It was a struggle as every fiber of Cerusani ached.

Vynlorin kept her there a moment longer as he considered her plea.

“No.”

He responded with the same confidence that she had uttered to him when she damned herself to this fate. “Guards!” he barked, and the two men who had been guarding the outside of the door rushed in. “Take her to the dungeon. I’ll be along shortly.”

Each bulky man gripped an arm and yanked Cerusani with them, seeking to drag her along if her own feet couldn’t keep up. Vynlorin brushed the filth of the woman from his hands and waved Nivathostin to follow along.

Cerusani could not keep up as her feet dragged across the floor.

“Master Vynlorin. I wo-won’t say anything. Pleas-please.”

The words were the last things that left her lips as one of the guards smacked her on the back of her head, and she fell silent while they descended the stairs.

#from oblivion #roleplay #wow #ren'dorei #just warlock things

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hwangzi · 4 years

Text

Unexpected: Prologue

Read previous part here Warnings: more swearing lol

The first time he met you was on the rooftop of your school.

"Emotionless b*tch."

He woke up from his nap in his favourite spot behind the wall and thought he had heard wrong. Is someone else here? Which little fucker intruded his sacred spot for napping and skipping classes?

The voice from before hissed again and someone laughed,

"Does she even know what an honour it is to receive a confession by the Lee Minho? And she just rejected him? What a pretentious little-"

He rolled his eyes, another one of those fake *ssholes, he thought. All he wanted was his peace and quiet and now he got disrupted by some snakes spewing gossip. Time to get outta here...

He got up, pulled the hood of his sweater over his head and made his way around the cubicle, attempting to discreetly slip out from the door behind them - when he spotted a girl blocking the doorframe, her head hanging low.

Great.

Not knowing what to do or where to go, he decided to hide around the corner and wait.

"I know right? She thinks she's so high and mighty, when all she is is just an antisocial ice princess. She’s pretty, but soo boring."

The girl in the doorframe flinched, as if someone slapped her. Anybody could put one and one together - the person those girls were talking about was her.

"Yea", the other agreed, "Never hung out with us after school. Doesn't even drink or party... what’s wrong with her?"

"I know... hey, are we allowed to be up here?"

"Nah, but I needed a place for a smoke away from those nosy-*ss teachers."

"Okay. Now let's go." The girl behind them perked up, he could see the panic in her eyes, like a deer in the headlights.

He didn't know what came over him - the next thing he knew was that he stood right in front of the two girls, leaning onto the railing.

"Hey there."

The two of them jumped in surprise, then frowned in annoyance.

"What the f-”

“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re kinda invading my personal territory here so could you please get lost.”

"Why should I care?", the other girl scoffed and threw her cigarette butt right in front of his shoes.

"Because" he chuckled and took off the hood of his sweater slowly, both of them gasped in surprise upon recognising him,

“You-!”

He chuckled and approached them, demonstratively stepping onto the cigarette end,

"Thanks to you guys' lively dialogue I've heard some very interesting information. And also," he leaned in, noticing the girls' eyes widen, "if your parents knew you smoked regularly, how delighted would they be?"

"I..I- shit-" the one who smoked cursed under her breath, her friend was already pulling her away,

"Living up to your title as the school's biggest asshole, I see? C'mon, let's go."

And with that they vanished inside the building. That’s right, run from the big bad wolf. Content, he smiled to himself and put his hood back on as it got kinda windy on the rooftop. That’s when identified a small figure peeking out from around the corner. He sighed in relief.

"Thank you... You really saved me there", she approached him, her voice was weak and quiet when she spoke. The red rims around her eyes didn’t remain unnoticed when he looked at her. How could anyone so look so... vulnerable and small?

"It's nothing. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I- I could ask you the same thing." She replied, scanning the empty place.

"Oh I'm here often, I'm not really into this whole... school thing." He frowned and she giggled - which was almost contagious to the point he had to suppress a smile.

“So.. what brought you here?”

“I followed them because I thought we could eat lunch together-”

“Them? Those gossiping bitches?”

“They are-” she paused for a second to correct herself “...were my friends.”

Something about the way her voice cracked towards the end almost made him feel sorry for her. But why on earth should he be? She was just another one of those 376 students at this school that he barely knew.

Scrap that, all he wanted was to give her a hug right now.

“Look, uh...” he paused awkwardly, realising he didn't even know her name,

“Y/N. I’m y/n.” she chuckled and he continued,

“Look, y/n - I don’t know what went down between you, but no one deserves to be trash-talked like this. Maybe it’s better to avoid these types from now on.”

“I guess I've learned my lesson this time...” she wiped her face as she spoke, removing a tear that had previously rolled down her cheek.

“Also, you're better off without them anyway. I mean who cares about your private life, right? People post all kinds of shit on socials all the time so their gossip is kinda redundant."

A genuine laughter erupted in her chest and it struck him that this was the most pleasant sound he’s ever heard. Damn, she looks good when she smiles...

In the very second that thought crossed his mind, he knew something was different - that unfamiliar emotion caused him to suddenly turn around on his heels and mutter a quick "S-see ya" before taking rushed steps towards the exit.

"Wait! I don't even know your name yet! And I couldn't see your face properly because of your hoodie...”, he heard her call after him.

Yea, let's keep it that way, he thought, suddenly uncomfortable about being recognised by her. He didn't give a shit about his image, so why does he now? What makes her so different and why does she affect him like this?

Confused by his own reactions, he decided to act like he hasn't heard her and walked straight out of the door without another word.

---

After that incident, he kept seeing you everywhere.

In the halls, although now you were mostly on your own or with that best friend of yours. In history class, where you sat all the way up front so he could stare holes into your back until the lesson ended. During lunchtime, waiting in line to get food. In the school’s library, studying until past midnight every evening, all by yourself.

It was the latter where he met you most frequently, especially since the teachers got fed up with assigning extra homework for his misbehaviour and just sent him to the janitor to do his work instead.

If he was being honest, he started looking forward to this part of the day, only to see you in your half-asleep state, with your hair up in a messy bun, sitting on the very table he just wiped a few moments ago.

He wasn't the type to secretly trail behind a girl - he had dated before, but he's always been the straightforward kind - and he couldn't recognise himself whenever he lingered in your perimeter. Something inside him hesitated to confront you, much unlike his usual self, he felt strangely nervous, almost embarrassed to talk to you. Taking a liking to a stranger in the library wasn’t something he’d planned on in his high school years - it was unexpected, to say the least.

It took him another month or so to finally make up his mind to talk to you, in person this time.

It was also during that period when some nasty rumours began to spread about you - how you're nothing but a pretty face, how you despised socialising and practiced celibacy. The nickname ice princess also became an established term mentioned contextually with your name.

Despite all that, he still found you studying in the middle of the night, looking just as tired but no less fabulous as you did before (in his opinion, at least).

It struck him right then that he was in love with you.

So on one night, when he found you at your usual spot at the table, he decided that this is an all or nothing case.

Your hair, cascading down your back, not being tied up as it normally was, reflected the dim light of the desk lamp. He slowly approached your concentrated form - you didn't seem to notice him, your brows were furrowed as you kept focusing on your book.

He'll never get tired of how beautiful you are.

Unsure on how to start the conversation, he snaps out of his daze when one glance over your shoulder revealed the title of the novel you were reading. He smiled to himself.

Here we go.

Unexpected pt. 1

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 4 years

Text

Resurgence

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: okay so damn this has been in my wips for so long because i got a burst of inspo one day and i kept waiting to be in just the right groove to finish it and i finally did and holy cow so much angst... im thinking of doing a part 2 just to give a full resolution??? But idk let me know what you think!

The war has been over for a little over two years now. You've lost friends and family, but so has he— Draco Malfoy, that is.

You haven't seen him in person since the battle of Hogwarts. You didn't care to keep up with any gossip amongst peers and press either, preferring to spend your time grieving for your lost loved ones and trying to move forward. As much as you didn't care too much about keeping up with current affairs, whispers and hushed words about the platinum-haired heir found their way to you ears anyways.

Draco Malfoy, the boy who thought he had no choice— a title that would follow him for the rest of his life. Because the family defected, none of the Malfoys faced any charges. However, the Malfoy boy searches for a new home; a new life. One where he can rebuild himself and make his own choices.

The day he disappeared through the crowd of wizards cloaked in black, the day you lost so many friends and family, was the day you resolved to focus on being in the present and grieving what you lost, instead of torturing over what could have been.

You feel that right now, as you stroll down a rainy Diagon Alley after some errands and taking a small detour to check up on George. You could simply disapparate to avoid the increasing precipitation, but there's something about today that makes you want to take in every bit of mundane magic— without literal magic.

You had woken up to the sun shining through your windows making your sheets all bright and warm, an owl delivered a letter from each of your best friends, George actually smiled like he was getting back to managing mischief, and each drop of rain that falls on your skin is a reminder that you're alive— and you're happy to take it all in. Today is the first day since the war that you feel like everything is real and everything is going to be okay.

That is until you see something— err someone that makes you stop in your tracks and question if he's real. You almost drop your shopping bags in the puddle you're standing in. The fact that you're staring at him like a deer in headlights, or that the rain is soaking through your every layer of clothing, both become after thoughts as your eyes lock with his. You blink a few times, not knowing whether to trust your eyes.

It can't be.

The same face you've only seen in papers for the last year, stands a few meters in front of you, shielded from the down pour under a black umbrella that matches his usual perfectly pressed suit. He gives you a curt nod, but you stay frozen, taking in every detail of his being. His overall look is as put together as ever, but the dark rings under his eyes and the silver pools of his irises that seem to only contain the remains of shed tears, would tell a different story.

You feel as though someone has nailed your feet to the ground when he starts walking towards you. His pace slows the closer he gets until he comes to a stop a few steps from where you stand.

"Good evening, Y/N," His tone is formal, but it falters slightly with a tinge of discomfort.

You remain unresponsive, letting your eyes bore through him as he feels his breath shorten at the possibility that you can see right through him, and you always have.

"O-Oh, r-right, if I may—" He takes a step into your personal space to offer you coverage under his umbrella, but you flinch backwards, opting to stay in the cold showers. It's the only thing that feels real right now. Looking to the ground, he takes a deep breath, swallowing down whatever it is that seems to be inhibiting him. His eyes make their way back up to yours and you see pain. "Y/N, I would like to apologize- I-I'm sorry- f-for everything—"

"Oh, you're sorry?!" you cry out, your voice full of very real anger that covers up all the very real hurt inside you. After all these years of waiting for him to show some real emotion— you were rooting for him, hoping he would prove everyone wrong and show that he isn't just some cold-hearted snake, and you wanted nothing more than for him to acknowledge and apologize for all the shitty things he's done. Yet here he is, at your mercy, doing just that and it's not enough. "You can't honestly think that saying 'I'm sorry' will suddenly fix everything that's happened— everything you've done!"

Your sudden outburst startles him, and his eyes widen from the shock, but he's not surprised. He wants to make amends, but he also wasn't going into this expecting anything.

"I understand," he mumbles, keeping his head low.

For moment, the sound of raindrops falling on the cobblestone and pattering on the rooves is all that can be heard. To Draco, it's deafening, and not knowing what else to say or do, he gives you another curt nod before turning to leave.

"You coward!" You call after him, your feet never moving. He stops cold in his tracks and flinches as your familiar words sting him just as they did the last time you saw him. "Why do you always- fuck- wh-why don't you just stay and fight for once in your life?!"

You don't even know exactly what you mean by that in your conscious mind, or what you're really asking of him, although a part of you, deep down, must know. "All those years, you've hidden behind your father and that shite personality of yours- you-you have a choice- y-you always have a choice- w-why didn't you—" Your words become less and less articulate as your emotions completely take over and your left stumbling in your words. The rain might mask the tears you feel burn your cheeks in contrast to the cold droplets, but they can be heard clearly in every break in your voice. It isn't fair. "All those years— all those fucking years!"

His head turns first, locking eyes with you once again, before the rest of his body follows. He sees that same fire that's always been present in your eyes. He's always found it to be terrifying, but also incredibly beautiful.

"All those years," he repeats, starting in a small voice, gradually growing in volume as he steps closer to you. "I know I'm the biggest idiot on the face of the planet! You gave me endless chances to do better and I took you for granted, and I'm sorry- I'm so sorry for that—" He knows he deserves every harsh truth you just spat at him. You were always secretly there to support him, despite how terribly he always treated you and everyone you love— you tried to help him and what did he do in return? You've never backed down from him— or anything from that matter and it's something he both admires and envies deeply. How is he supposed to tell you all that now without sounding pathetic? "If there's anything I regret most in my life—"

His whole body comes to a stuttering stop only a step away from yours. Either of you could close the gap with a single stride, and yet, there seems to be an invisible barrier between the two of that always seems to appear the second you become too close.

Draco Malfoy hangs his head once again as he realizes that brave words weren't meant to come from his mouth. You continue to watch as platinum strands fall over his forhead to shield the weakness in his eyes. The barrier only seems to grow thicker as your owns words get caught in your throat and the two of you just stay there.

If anyone were around to witness this scene it would seem cinematic; almost romantic. A tall handsome man and his beloved caught in the rain who could take one step into the shelter of his umbrella. The warm light from the lamposts and shops reflects off of every wet surface creates a glowing atmosphere. A perfect reunion scene that would be. But that's not the case.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #hp #hp imagine #draco malfoy drabble #drabble #potatowrites #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #hp fanfic

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robronanniversarycelebration · 5 years

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Killjoys

Shamelessly stealing the title from the show. 4.8k of silliness. Spoiler: Robron love each other.

For the stunning, amazing, friendly yet sleepy Mally Mal, @robertisbisexual. I hope you enjoy the pilot episode of Robron IN SPACE!

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Aaron’s biggest reward was resting on this moron’s inability to hide away even though he has several planets and moons that would be a better choice than the most populated one. Aaron is thankful though because he can cash in on the warrant because Eureka Maru was getting old and rusty and she was barely functioning. He thought to himself, eyes up, hand to gun, and in the dirty bar overrun with aliens of the lowest walks of the moons. Aaron looked around, he was feeling a bit nervous. No sign of any person of interest. There was loud screaming coming from the people gathered around a cage where some sort of boxing match was happening.

He decided to stay at the back of the crowd watching, waiting for something to happen and for his mark to come in. All of a sudden, the crowd parts and he can see on the other side of the boxing cage and he sees a familiar face. A face staring him right in the eye, like he was sitting there just waiting for the perfect moment to make his presence known in the most dramatic fashion he could conceive. Aaron hated him, his Killjoy nemesis, the one who was always one step ahead of him, one minute earlier than him, Robert. Tall, blonde, as far as Aaron was concerned Robert had sex with half of the planetary system and he was planning to get through the other half. Aaron’s thinking was that the warrant is everything. Nothing else mattered to him and Robert was only an unfortunate obstacle that he would have to get over. At least he knew that his rival was there and he had to get to the target before anyone else.

Robert smiled from across the cage as two men were punching each other, as Aaron stared him right in the eye, then he moved to the right and Aaron followed the same direction of movement when all of a sudden commotion happened and he saw someone running away just as Robert himself started running.

“Tenlio! Stop running!” Aaron yelled as he tried to push drunken people out of his way but he lost visual contact with his target. He tried looking for Robert’s big blonde head but he couldn’t see him either. He decided to still make a run for it in the same direction and as he was pushing through the crowd, he noticed that Robert was grabbed by a group of very strong built nefarious characters. He stopped for a second, and then he thought that nefarious attracts nefarious and followed the same direction.

It led him out of the bar, somewhere in a street with random people. He went in the middle of the street and saw Tenlio running away, so he followed suit yelling after him and pulling out his gun in nonkill mode. As he was running he saw Robert being punched into a small vehicle. Aaron stopped in his tracks and looked. Robert was hunched down, beaten, not looking around him. He was looking dark and scared which for one second made Aaron dark and scared. But he switched focus back on his target because the warrant is everything.

As he was running after Tenlio he felt his feet slow down, his entire body becoming heavier with each step he took, his breath was unwilling to cooperate and his eyes were curious about what was happening in a corner, rather than following Tenlio.

“Goddamn it. GODDAMN IT!” Aaron shouted to himself as he turned around and made a sprint towards where Robert was being shoved into the vehicle.

“I’m regretting this move already”, Aaron said to himself again as he was running in the opposite direction of his warrant. One of the most prolific killjoys in the galaxy and he was leaving his target to runaway. He knew in that second that he will be mocked for it, but truly the reason why he was so competent at what he was doing was because he had Robert as competition.

Robert’s brother had mysteriously disappeared after having been accused of crimes that weren’t ever truly specified. Robert’s father has poured all his energy and money into trying to find his other kid, leaving Robert to live a life of thieves. He mostly raised himself from his teenage years, wandering through bars, picking fights, ending them on the ground. But mostly he listened. He listened to people and then talked to them back with a charm that cannot be matched and he would obtain absolutely any kind of information he wanted. The day he was approved to become a killjoy, Robert solved 3 warrants. He was smart, on his feet and willing to do whatever it took. It kept Aaron on his toes all the time because he was competition. They would often pick the same target, because they wanted to measure against each other.

Many times they have shook hands and decided to work together on catching a target. Many times they have talked over some drinks, or in the same tight spot while doing surveillance, many times Aaron never felt that snakey charm taking over him. Robert never acted like that with Aaron even though he would have multiple reasons to sneak out information from his rival Killjoy. Surely, there have been one conflict or two. A push and shove against a wall. Hot breath against hot breath, brushed fingers against skin by accident.

This is why Aaron couldn’t leave Robert in the hands of those people, whoever they were. Maybe they were enemies, maybe they were the family of someone he’s turned in for a warrant. However, that decision that Aaron has made was that he was about to save his nemesis, just because having a bit of competition made him better at finding people.

Many hours later, he found the place where Robert was kept. The security was laughable at best, all he had to do was immobilize a guard and steal their coat, nothing more, nothing less. He followed the voices that were coming through a dimly lit hallway.

“So, tell us where he is and you can go free, promise”.

“Look, you tell me where that moron is and I’ll finish the job myself”, Robert jabbed back and Aaron decided to follow his voice. He tried to tune in to his breathing from that line, he had hoped he could pick up inflexions in his voice. However all he did manage to pick up was a groan of pain as the sound of knuckles hitting a jaw bone have reverberated through every fibre of Aaron’s muscles. He tensed up again, but he didn’t lose his cool. He had a plan, and he would stick to that plan, besides Robert can take a punch.

“You, Killjoy, tell me that you cannot find your own brother? How do you still have a job?”

“Well, even my skills aren’t good enough to track down someone with his training. What am I going to do? Look through every snake hole in the universe? Besides, he can die for all I care, he’s not my brother”. Aaron believed him, he knew Robert harboured this deep dislike for Andy, who could not ever be wrong. Even as he was suspected of murder, Andy was still loved by their father. Robert was left alone to mend for himself because the family needed Andy to come back. Robert told this to Aaron some months ago over too many beers. Aaron’s heart broke and that’s when he grabbed Robert and hugged him. And he did it back. Aaron knew when Robert was being honest and this was one of those moments. The bad guys, whoever they were, had a different opinion on the truthfulness of their prisoner.

“I have reasons to believe you’re a liar, Sugden. You’ve stole, cheated, lied and slept your way through half of the galaxy. How can I believe the words of a renegade Killjoy?”

“You don’t believe anything then.” Aaron marched in there confident. “I’ll take it from here. Would you rather leave or stand back and watch as I make this one talk?”

Aaron didn’t plan further than impersonating a guard. He looked around panicked because he had no idea where to move from this point on, and he could clearly see some relief in Robert’s eyes and at the same time he could see a little bit of anger. Aaron then spotted next to Robert a case of torturing instruments. He moved towards that direction while rolling his sleeves up.

“Well, I reckon words will flow out of your mouth easier if it weren’t for all those teeth acting as a barrier..” Aaron said to Robert while gesturing desperately from his eyebrows. Robert’s expression has turned to full annoyance

“Sure, because that’s how speaking works”.

Aaron didn’t understand what was happening to Robert and he took a second more before pulling out his gun, not set on kill mind, and emptying the room.

“What have you done, you idiot!” Robert yelled from his tiny little chair. He was beaten, bruised, bloodied and even though, it was quite clear that the anger he was spitting out was directed at him, Aaron was fantasizing about dressing his wounds.

“I was working, this moron was giving me everything.”

“He was giving you everything he had in his knuckles, yes. I have noticed and yes, you’re welcome Robert. Now sit still so that I can untie you.”

“I don’t want to be untied, I want that dude awake because I know he knows my brother’s last whereabouts.”

“You know what? Fine.” Aaron dropped the knife he was cutting the rope around Robert’s hands and turned his back and walked away.

“Wait!!! Don’t leave me here!”

Aaron kept walking.

“Fine!! Ok, i’m sorry, I should have had a go at you. Please untie me?”

Aaron stopped, turned around and picked up the knife from the floor. Although he wasn’t looking at Robert he knew that the jerk was smirking. He could feel that smug smirk, Aaron swore that the temperature in any room would go up two degrees whenever Robert does that.

“That’s a phrase I’ve never said before. It’s usually the reverse” Robert said to Aaron as he leaned towards him. Aaron felt it, and moved back up. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time. Where’s your ship?”

“My what?”

“Your ship? The thing you travelled here on?”

“Oh”, Robert rubbed the back of his head while looking at Aaon and smiling cheekily. “I don’t have a ship anymore. I came to this godforsaken moon with someone. Uhm.. he was kind enough to drop me off on here while he.. Uhm… carried out his journey to another moon. Actually, I was kind of hoping to find you here working this warrant. It’s the only reason I took it. I knew I was being followed, and I knew that you would be here in case I needed help. So I decided to take the same warrant as you, hitch a ride here, and then keep you close enough so we could… do this.”

Aaron couldn’t believe what he just heard. He was manipulated in the worst way possible, not only did Robert know exaclty what he was going to do, he also assumed that he would care enough to go on a dumb rescue mission and neglect the warrant. He was frustrated, angry, hateful and impressed at the same time, but he didn’t want to let Robert know he felt anything, so he kept his cool front and replied with “OK, loverboy, let’s get that warrant. Regardless of your plans, it’s not a good look on either of us to allow a target escape like that.

Robert showed one of his few genuine smiles, filled with sincere joy. He sprung up from the chair where he was held hostage and he felt his bones hurt and let out an involuntary “ow!”. Aaron made a joke about him getting too old for this business and Robert poked his side triggering the lesser known and very well hidden, Aaron’s ticklish side.

As they were chuckling and crossing the hall together more footsteps echoed. Robert put a hand on Aaron’s chest and told him to stay back, putting his much taller, leaner, wider body in front of Aaron as if he was being shielded by this offensively good looking man.

“Wait what?” Aaron shook himself awake.

“I said wait here, behind me. They’re gone now, we can leave this place” Robert replied and Aaron thanked all the moons that he managed to avoid that awkward moment. He entertained for a second the idea that Robert could have a different interest in him rather than just some good old competition. He smiled and he shook his head at himself.

“Move faster, Sugden, we don’t have all day to drag your old bones through dodgy hallways.”

Robert smiled at him again, and Aaron swore that the hallway was all of a sudden brighter. And it actually was, because they were outside where this flickering street light was trying to do its best at a corner of an empty street.

“Right, so where’s Eureka Maru?! Let’s go!” Robert started pacing across the street and Aaron stood there until Robert realized he wasn’t followed.

“Erm.. it’s.. Resting. She’s broken and I can’t fix her because she needs this part, that is kind of hard to get so.. I.. I don’t have one, no.”

Robert stood under the flickering light and if one were to choose to see the humour in this situation would be that the flickering light was nothing but a metaphor of Robert’s mind trying to work out the information that they have no means of escape from the compound of these people who they have royally pissed off and who were most likely to come after both of them, to kill them in a few minutes.

“OK, OK, it’s alright, I can fix this” Robert started muttering while walking into circles like a scared animal.

“I know a solution. Mine’s 2hr walk from here, where’s yours?”

“Back, but In the basement.”

They were walking through complete and utter darkness. Aaron couldn’t see an inch in front of him.

“Aaron, I know I usually follow you because warrants and stuff, but please know that this will be the last time I follow you anywhere.”

“Shut up and stop complaining. We need to get out of here. We need a ship, their ship is in here, we’re stealing” Aaron said in a firm tone of voice as he moved his hand around until he found Robert’s.

“Hold on tight. We’re getting out of here” and he held Robert’s hand as tight as he could, with a force that could not be broken by the strongest winds. And Robert squeezed back. They’ve put their confidence of survival into each other. Aaron, the one who was always supposedly one step behind was leading Robert to freedom. Robert, the control freak, the one who needed to have all the cards dealt before he could make a move, he let himself guided by this yelly and grumpy Killjoy.

In the hangar where the ship was parked light came back to them and they stood and watched it. Hand in hand until Aaron got excited and sprinted to the ship. He looked back at a frozen in place Robert who had this warm expression on his face. Aaron marched to the ship and he heard Robert’s footsteps behind him.

They climbed in the ship, Aaron made it start immediately under Robert’s admiring eyes.

“Are you ready to do this?” Aaron asked even though he knew the answer.

“Yeah.” Robert replied softly.

And off they went. Aaron was hoping he would be able to put the ship outside of the atmosphere and outside of the defense sensors. In spite of all the story start to finish, he was having a good day.

“So, are we going to chase Tenlio, or… do you have someplace you might want to check out” Aaron tried to make a suggestion to Robert.

“Tenlio is too stupid to be the one warrant that should claim that they’ve escaped the Sugden - Dingle duo. So after him we go.” Aaron tried to say something, but Robert cut him off “I know what you’re about to say, and no, I don’t want to, and yes I am sure. I don’t know where he is. So we keep ahead of course.”

“Alright. Our job it is then.” Aaron looked at Robert with a softness in his eyes that he didn’t know he had. Robert had this deep stare. Fixed and intense. Determined. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing” Robert shook his head and got up from the seat near the left side panel of controls of this ship. “Do you know the name of this ship?”

“No. Why would I? What does it matter, it’s just a loan”

“Do you really want to go back to that moon?”

“Of course not, but I know these things are worth a lot in scrap value. Spare parts are a good commodity to negotiate with around these moons.” Aaron replied but he wasn’t really in the mood for this conversation.

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t negotiate with idiots”

“Oh that is long done and dusted since I’ve met you”

“When did you meet me? Where did you see me for the first time?”

Robert started leaning his tall body against the wall that would lead to the sleeping rooms downstairs.

Aaron didn’t even have to think about that moment. He remembered that day as if it were yesterday, the memory of seeing Robert for the first time would be etched into his eyelids forever. He was just getting his badge from the receptionist at the RAC and he was making googly eyes at everything that was moving. They locked eyes for a nanosecond and Aaron’s felt that deep burn inside of him since then. He needed to know things about Robert since then.

How does he go about his day, how long does he sleep, what does he eat, where does he come from.

When he used his RAC accredited search prowess, Aaron couldn’t find any information on Robert. There were loads of stuff about his family, his hero brother, his hero father, his beloved and late mother. But nothing about Robert specifically as a person. Just some silly paperwork, but it was as if he had nothing special about him, as if he had only existed inside his little norms. On paper, Robert was unremarkable. In person, Robert was a volcano.

“I know how I met you”. I was drinking at the bar on the furthest moon and you walked in, waved your credentials and gun and caught this guy and you got money. I wanted to be like you. Walk in anywhere, free of the stigma, free of the family name. So i went and gave it up when I signed on. I had hoped that we could become partners but then I learnt that the majority of the Killjoys were going about it alone. But I didn’t want to do that, so I had to find you.”

Aaron froze on the spot as Robert was being more honest than ever with his words, his voice changed, his entire body language was trying to be silenced by the brain. “Well, you should have said something”.

“I’m saying it now.” And Robert just moved in and he grabbed his face and he kissed Aaron so hard that Aaron almost melted in a puddle at Robert’s feet. But he caught up fast as the shock of the first two seconds had washed off and he started pulling at Robert’s jacket. Robert started pulling at his hoodie’s zipper and immediately jammed his hands underneath Aaron’s tshirt. Aaron felt his hands like something his skin didn’t know it needed. Aaron felt Robert’s touch with every second passing the more intense, the more sure, like his hands were made to touch him.

His tshirt flies away and a hand is taken away from his skin, only to be met with his belt buckle as it was dragging it downstairs towards the sleeping chambers.

They stumbled on each other, Robert’s head got stuck in his shirt, Aaron has hit his elbow as he was trying to shove off his trousers. They were clumsy but they were doing it together. Each second when Aaron didn’t have Robert’s lips and tongue on his, those were wasted seconds. If only he could have accepted to himself earlier that the reason why he was so infatuated with Robert and his loud and obnoxious stories was because he thought that he was painfully unavailable. Robert on the other hand was just trying to be obviously available. They only needed the better part of a year, light kidnapping and theft of a spaceship in order to give in to the attraction.

That hunger they both felt as they were undressing and the state of contempt and calm Aaron was experiencing in the moments when Robert was in between his legs. No one else has fit that way, no one else has felt that way and no one else has touched him that way. He needed it so bad, he grabbed Robert’s shoulders and dug his fingers into his skin, receiving an approving moan back from Robert.

Neither of them realize how long it has been, or what was happening on the screens because they have been intelligent enough to disable the ship’s AI.

As they sat in bed super satisfied, peaceful and calm, Robert was holding Aaron who was facing the opposite way. Every inch of his skin was covered by every inch of Robert’s skin. They were tangled with legs, arms, fingers and purpose.

“You know, I heard that Killjoys that are couples have a better success rate in closing warrants”.

“Did ya really?” Laughter came out with that reply from Aaron’s mouth. Truth is he was feeling happy. He didn’t quite understand why this feeling was so closely tied to Robert. He’s had a plethora of men suitors, but none of them has ever felt like Robert did then.

He was laying on his side, fingers tangled with Robert’s. He was peaceful and he closed his eyes and fell asleep against an already sleeping Robert.

Nothing to wake him up like a good healthy jog of the ship. Robert however was having none of that and he looked just as calm and perfectly asleep as before.

“Robert, wake up!” Aaron shook him with his entire body, and he jolted a bit.

“Yeah I’m awake, what happened where’s the rush?” Robert attempted to make an effort as he was clearly only half conscious.

“We’re being boarded you idiot, quick, wake up, please wake up and grab your gun”

“We’re being wh.. OH!” and that was the exact moment when Robert’s brain decided to produce some cooperation. They both simultaneously jump from the bed and look for their guns in the pile of clothes on the floor and Aaron can’t find his. “Well, where did you put it?!!” Robert looked at him with giant panicking eyes.

“Well, I don’t know Robert, I was so careful and meticulous with how I undressed before my slumber last night.” Aaron mocked him and he saw that Robert enjoyed it.

“Dingle, you’re meticulous alright but in other areas of activities” and Aaron felt Robert’s eyes on his body, measuring him up and down. Too bad this flirting was rudely interrupted by the door of the chambers being knocked down, Aaron jumped behind Robert’s back as Robert began to fire his gun and then lunge very naked at the people trying to fight them.

As Robert was trying to keep them at a distance, two other men came storming in and Aaron went on hand-to-hand combat in which he had a slight disadvantage with him being naked and all. Robert paused for a second to admire Aaron’s naked fighting skills.

By some miracle they manage escaping the first wave of attackers. Without thinking twice or even showing a remote to stop to get dressed even a little bit, they advanced in the halls. The ship’s emergency systems weren’t activated either which was an inconvenience, but at least they can put this chapter to the lessons learnt section.

“I hope some other dude comes at you trying to best you in combat. I like to see you fighting” Robert told Aaron and he rolled his eyes in reply. They kept advancing along the halls of the ship, in complete silence. Aaron’s focus isn’t fully on their escape from the stolen ship. He likes to occasionally take a glance at Robert, and once he caught Robert doing the same thing.

“OK, this is serious now. We have to focus and decide how we’re gonna get out of this mess” Aaron tells Robert.

“Well, finding something to wear is high on my list. And I think we can take on these guys. How many can they be? 10-15? We just took out 4 of them with barely any problems. We’ll be fine, Aaron, trust me” Robert said before he gave Aaron a quick kiss on the top of his head and also before a voice came from behind.

“Well, I’ve seen a lot more things than I was planning on seeing today, so let’s cut this short, shall we? You tell me where the other Sugden brother is and then I will kill you quickly, I promise no pain. Never had any complaints so far, so you can trust me.”

It was the same man that was interrogating Robert when Aaron came in and fooled him into taking a step back. They turned around and were facing him.

“I don’t know where he is, and I am not interested in finding him. The further away he is from me, the better. And for the record, he’s not my brother, so you can stop using that word.” Robert spat back. Aaron knew that this attitude would get them in trouble, and he tried to motion with his head and eyes that he should probably stop being like that, considering their present circumstances.

“Right, sure. I believe you. And to show you a token of my belief you will have the privilege of coming with me.” he turned around and gestured to his goons to take them away as well. However, when one of them tried to grab Aaron’s arm, he started fighting back, disarmed the guard and immobilised 4 of them in a few seconds. Before Robert could understand what was happening, Aaron had his gun pointed towards the interrogation man.

“Yeah, I don’t fancy going back to that moon, ta.” and he shot him, neutralising but not killing him. “Alright, so I think these were all. I think they need sending back home, don’t you?”

Robert was standing there stunned, in full admiration and disbelief that Aaron would do anything for him.

“Yeah, let’s send these suckers back to where they came from.” and they started dragging their currently neutralised bodies back to their ship. While Robert was carrying out the last few, Aaron rigged the autopilot to send them to the furthest moon in the Quad system.

“There. Gone.” Aaron said as they watched the small ship pulling away and flying off into the dark void. Robert turned around, crooked smile on his face, and kissed him. Hard and decidedly. “You know, we did all this while naked and basically unarmed. Imagine what we can do when we are armed and clothed.”

“Well, I don’t plan on putting on clothes anytime soon.” Aaron got up and took Robert’s hand into his, leading him back to their chambers. He didn’t look back, he knew Robert would follow with that dumb look on his face, but unexpectedly he felt Robert stop. “What’s wrong?” Aaron turned around to find Robert staring wide eyed and basically frozen at a piece of paper on the ship’s floor. Aaron examined the paper closely, and he saw that it was from an old book. He hasn’t seen one of those in a long time, and next to it, there were some words scribbled by hand. Aaron never learned how to read old human handwriting and he asked Robert what was it.

“That’s 1984. That’s…” he took a small breath and paused a little before finishing what he had to say. “That’s my mother Sarah’s favourite book. She was reading this for the millionth time right before she died. I think this is a message from Andy, to me. This is why they thought that I knew where he was!”

Aaron was stunned and kneeled on the floor next to Robert whose hands were trembling as he was holding onto that piece of paper. Then he looked up at Aaron, eyes shining and shallow and quick breaths. “Will you.. Help me?” he asked as his hand reached for Aaron’s arm.

“ ‘course I will. We’ll do this, together. We’ll find Andy.”

#robron anniversary celebration #robron anniversary 2019 #robertisbisexual #robron

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halfepic · 4 years

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@spaedia headcanon + family ! SEND IN HEADCANON + A WORD / PHRASE FOR A RELEVANT HEADCANON ABOUT MY MUSE.

To say Gilgamesh loves his family with all of his heart is quite possibly the biggest understatement anyone can ever mention. To him, his family were Gods among Gods - his parents were his idols even into his adult years, and his son was nothing more than his pride & joy. Truly, no matter what the situation is, Gilgamesh can talk for hours about how amazing his family members are. Granted, you have people like his aunt, Ishtar - but, he has good things to say about her as well.

No matter who you ask that knows Gilgamesh, they will describe him to be among the greatest sons and greatest fathers - perhaps he was not always the Great Wise King of Uruk, but he has always been the greatest in those two titles. There is a certain change to his tone of voice when speaking to or about his family, his voice becomes softer - gentler. He even takes to smiling more often, something only someone like Ritsuka has been able to bring about.

When it comes to his parents, there is no favorite Ninsun. He loves them both equally, for different reasons - but he would never be able to say who was the best to him. They’re both far too important to him to play favorites, so he will instead praise their various lovable qualities.

Another thing to note is that should anyone speak poorly about his father, his mother, or his son - they will instantly answer to the King’s wrath. He will tolerate no insult intended for either of them, and whether the person lives for such insolence depends on how apologetic they are. Gilgamesh will see through any lie that’s to save face, and if anyone should try faking an apology, they will simply be met with an even harsher punishment than planned.

As said before, he feels strongly about his family; and he feels strongly for each of them. Fret not, mongrels - you are about to learn.

NINSUN.

Gilgamesh has nothing but love for his mother. She is practically his equivalent to a guardian angel; he knows she and Shamash always watched over him, and he also spoke with her daily - though that turned into weekly when he took his role as King more serious. Though he wasn’t always able to directly speak with her, he knew she was always listening when he called to her - and she would always respond from the heavens.

In his youth, Ninsun was physically involved with his life more often. He vividly remembers holding her hand as a child and praising to all in Uruk how his mother was the most beautiful woman in all of Babylonia - even in the heavens. He remembers how such comments made her smile, and how he’d always say such things solely for that very smile. It was warm, filled with nothing but kindness.

One of Gilgamesh’s first acts as King was to ban the digestion and slaughter of cattle because of his mother’s patronage to them. Cows were then officially deemed as sacred animals, and if someone were to kill a cow without permission, they were punished based on the cow’s age. If it was an elder cow, they are starved for a week - and if it was a calf, they were put to death in return.

Though his mother was a kindhearted woman, she was still a Goddess - thus, when she angered (although rare), her wrath terrified him much more than Gugalanna ever could. She scolded him in his later years for the way he treated his people, and for the first time, he felt as if he had failed her. This was later rekindled and they obviously still share the strongest of bonds, but the fact stands that his mother is one of few beings who can spark fear in him.

Gilgamesh, though he tries to not play favorites, IS a mother’s boy. He often goes out of his way to do things in her name in order to make her proud. Examples range from creating a second temple dedicated to her to simply spreading word of her kindness to Uruk and getting its people to pray to her.

He gets his more “wild” side from her, and not his father. Of course, that side of him is truly only brought out when Enkidu is around given Enkidu’s upbringing - but the fact still stands, his mother is much more feral than Lugalbanda could ever be. She simply knows how to keep that side of her secretive.

No matter what has happened in his life, one thing that never changed was the adoration he felt for his mother. That fact remains even in Chaldea, and will never change whatsoever.

LUGALBANDA.

Gilgamesh’s father is the very first person Gilgamesh respected (if you do not count his mother, of course). Lugalbanda ruled Uruk for 1,200 years until Gilgamesh was born. Of course, Gilgamesh did not immediately take after his father in ruling - Uruk was ruled by Dumuzid the Fisherman while Lugalbanda raised his newborn son alongside Ninsun.

Gilgamesh recalls his younger years with his father as trying, because Lugalbanda taught him what was necessary for Kingship - this included hours upon hours of tireless work, sleepless nights and physical labor (personally requested by Gilgamesh, because he had the dream of being the best King that Uruk would have as a boy).

However, the Shepherd also allowed Gilgamesh free time more often than not - resulting in Gilgamesh’s cockiness in not taking certain things seriously (such as his Archer self in the Fifth Holy Grail War). This wasn’t necessarily Lugalbanda’s fault, because as much as he wanted his son to be a great King - he also wanted him to enjoy his childhood for as long as he can.

Similarly to his mother, Gilgamesh holds nothing but love for his father. The man did everything in his power to carve a path for him, and he taught him everything he could and more with the knowledge he learned in that 1,200 year rule. If one were to insult Lugalbanda, they would face Gilgamesh’s wrath just like they would if they were to insult his mother - however, there was a different case with Lugalbanda compared to Ninsun.

Unlike Ninsun, Lugalbanda was much more human than God - and the only truly divine thing about Lugalbanda was his age. But to Gilgamesh? His father was more than that - his father was his personal God. In his rule, Gilgamesh demanded that his father be referred to as a God - thus earning Lugalbanda the nickname of “Holy Lugalbanda”. Because of how Gilgamesh felt about his father, though a lesser deity, a divine temple was made dedicated to Lugalbanda - making him much more than just a Shepherd, or a past King of Uruk.

Lugalbanda was now officially viewed as a God by even the people of Uruk, not just Gilgamesh. Though, clearly his #1 patron would be his son.

UR-NUNGAL.

Surprisingly, Ur-Nungal is the only known child of Gilgamesh. Though, he would not have it any other way as he spoils Ur just as Ninsun spoiled him when he was a boy. It is thanks to his parents who were phenomenal in raising him, that he could raise the greatest son he could ever ask for. He passed the courage that he learned from his father, and the kindness that he learned from his mother, unto Ur-Nungal.

Ur-Nungal was an infant when the seven day famine plagued Uruk before Ishtar brought down Gugalanna - he likely would have died before he was a year old. However, Gilgamesh sacrificed the little rations that were meant for him - each of those seven days, for his son. He was certain that Ur would die if he didn’t do such a thing. Thankfully, the famine passed - but the Bull of Heaven descended onto Uruk under Ishtar’s command.

Unfortunately, Enkidu passed not long after repelling Gugalanna - so Ur was not able to get to know the man who would be his uncle. But, that didn’t stop Gilgamesh from telling tales of Enkidu - the Wild Man; telling about the time they defeated Humbaba, and their first meeting - how they battled one another and laughed as they were equals. Seeing Ur smile whenever he told those stories - he knew Ur would look to Enkidu just as he looked to Lugalbanda.

Embarking on his journey to the Underworld was difficult, but only because he needed to bid a temporary goodbye to his son. However, something Gilgamesh realized when the Herb of Immortality was eaten by the snake - being immortal was a fool’s wish. There came far too many consequences with living forever, one of which was watching those you care about pass on. He did not want to live longer than his son, no parent should.

So - from the day he returned, he raised Ur-Nungal and showed him what he was taught when it came to Kingship. Except, Gilgamesh wanted Ur to be just like him - but better. When Ur was older, Gilgamesh took time out of his routine to help Ur with the labor he couldn’t handle on his own - the most memorable was a temple dedicated to Enki that the two of them built together, nobody else but them.

Gilgamesh is incredibly proud of the man Ur-Nungal became. His kindness reminisced his grandmother, and his smile was similar in warmth. Although his time came, Gilgamesh was at peace knowing Uruk was in the hands of a great successor - perhaps Ur was not an expert in proper Kingship like he originally hoped, but the way he made the people of Uruk happy was more than enough for him to know that everything would be alright.

Ur-Nungal is his pride & joy, worth more than any treasure in the world - he always would be.

ISHTAR.

And finally, Ishtar - though she is his aunt, they have never once shared a familial relationship. They were more akin to rivals, of sorts. However, just because he shares no familial bond with her does not mean there isn’t a bond between them - it’s just complex.

Some think that Gilgamesh should hate Ishtar for the death of Enkidu, but in truth, that isn’t entirely her fault - she attempted to have the Gods punish him with death for the killing of Gugalanna, but because he was far too important, they chose Enkidu due to what had already happened with Enkidu. He never blamed Ishtar for that incident, because she has no authority in the end when it came to those types of decisions - it was the higher council he directed his hate to which led to the end of the Age of Gods.

For a time, Gilgamesh did harbor anger for Ishtar - but she redeemed herself by personally crafting a wooden basket with various trinkets inside as her form of apology. This was accepted, clearly, as Gilgamesh cherished the items given by Ishtar dearly - and when he lost the items in the Underworld, he was temporarily upset knowing he would be unable to retrieve them.

Later on in his life, Gilgamesh could not fault Ishtar for her anger - perhaps for the measures she took, but not the reasoning she was deeply frustrated. He was not aware of the past she held, of the reasons tragedy fell upon her lovers - he was most especially unaware at what was done to her in the Underworld and Tammuz’ theft of her throne.

Most of all, he neglected to realize that he was engaged to her already. Upon one of their original meetings, she gifted to him the bed he slept on until his final breath - handcrafted by Ishtar herself. Such a gesture, in their time, was seen as a proposal. So, their falling out was caused by both of them, not just Ishtar as many think.

Regardless of their past and how they interact now, he respects the Goddess of War. He feels as if too many people forget that there is more to Ishtar than love or fertility. Surprisingly, it’s rare for Ishtar to engage in sexual activity - at least, rarer than people think.

He also knows that she’s played a critical role in Uruk’s upbringing, as it was once and still is the city she looks after most. Uruk is her city just a much as it is his, even if he never vocally acknowledges that.

All in all, though he may bicker with the Goddess - he respects her a great amount. She has done far more for Uruk than many think, and she has suffered her own ordeals of hardship even as powerful as she is. Yet, she kept striving to show the people her kindness even after they knew her wrath - she was not malevolent in any way, and (at least for Uruk) wished the greater good of the people.

#〖 REPAIRED TABLET / HEADCANON 〗#〖 ASKS - ANSWERED 〗#spaedia #i tried to make it 35 paragraphs but alas. 34 will do

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evilrubberducke · 5 years

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Sweeter than Candy

I got the idea of Izuku and Mina cuddling while watching a movie marathon, and thus this fic was born. Expect plenty of tooth aching fluff, as the name would imply. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Mina worked hard in the lead-up to midterm exams. Now, with the exams concluded, it's time to celebrate, and what better way to do that than with an all day movie marathon with her boyfriend?

Read it on AO3!

“This seems like overkill” Izuku said as he watched Mina add another handful of snacks to the already enormous pile.

In truth, it probably was too much. Izuku stuck to his diet pretty religiously, and she wouldn’t be able to eat all of these on her own. That wasn’t the point though. Today was about indulgence, and she was going to splurge

“Nah.” Mina responded. “Overkill would be having to spend every waking minute not already devoted to hero training to studying math. Can you imagine? That would just be the worst.” As she spoke, her voice became more and more deadpan.

Izuku looked concerned by her tone of voice and stepped over to give her a comforting hug. It was unnecessary, but Mina enjoyed it nonetheless. She hadn’t done any testing, but she would be willing to bet good money that Izuku gave the best hugs in the class. He had a way of completely wrapping you in his warm arms that was just amazing.

“It was worth it though, right?” Izuku said softly into her ear.

“Yeah...” It had been, but that didn’t mean Mina wasn’t allowed to be salty about it.

Exam season was always a trying time at any school, but that went double for UA. As future heroes they were expected to maintain satisfactory grades while keeping up with their regular training, and preparing for whatever ridiculous practical exam their teachers had managed to concoct.

In addition to all that, Mina had had a personal goal. She was tired of being one of the only failing students in her class. Even Mineta was pulling better grades than her for god's sake!

So, she had given up a huge chunk of her personal time to prepare. She’d missed the season finale of her favorite reality show, she hadn’t gone to an arcade in weeks, and she had even sworn off pranks in the lead up to the exams.

She’d spent hours under Yaomomo’s careful tutelage, and even more time studying with Izuku after school every day as she tried to cram increasingly arcane formulas and facts into her poor brain. It had been a slow, horrifically boring process, but she had put her all into it. She’d even tried sleeping with her textbook under her pillow, in the hope that she would somehow absorb some knowledge by osmosis, a subject she now vaguely understood thanks to her wonderfully patient tutors.

When the exam had finally rolled around, Mina had felt more nervous about it than she had ever felt for a test before. Her mind had been horrifyingly blank, like all the knowledge she’d scraped together had fled in a fit of pique.

Then, almost miraculously, she’d known the answer to the first question. And the one after that as well. As she’d gotten further in, she'd started to feel more and more confident. Sure, she wasn’t getting every question, but most of the ones she didn’t know could be narrowed down to just two possible answers. It had felt good, like she was catching up to everyone else, instead of being left behind like always.

When Aizawa finally called time she had collapsed, happy but totally drained.

She had thought that the lead up to the exam would be the worst, but the aftermath was much more intense. Instead of being able to completely relax once she was done, like she had previously, Mina was left with a vague sense of anxiety about her performance that left her repeating the questions she already knew she had gotten wrong over and over in her head, trying to puzzle them out and failing miserably.

<I wonder if this is what Izuku feels like all the time> She had thought to herself <If so, I owe him a big apology for every time I joked about how anxious he was.>

Aizawa, at least, was prompt with his grading. They had their tests graded on their desks by the end of the day.

Mina had slowly flipped her paper over, wanting to put off seeing the grade for as long as possible. Then shrieked with delight when she saw the big B- in the corner. Sure, it was far from the highest grade in the class, or even the highest grade she had gotten in her life, but it was the highest grade she had gotten since coming to UA, and that was an accomplishment in its own right.

And an achievement like that deserved a celebration!

Thus, she had assembled a small mountain of snacks ranging from chips to chocolate to sodas of several varieties. She had also put together a leaning tower of movies from all sorts of different genres. Feel good romance movies made up a significant percentage of the stack. They would be great for setting a lovely mood for her and Izuku. And a nice palate cleanser after the classic horror triple feature she had planned midway through the day.

Lastly, she had borrowed every spare pillow that she could find in the dorms and arranged them into a fortress for her and Izuku to snuggle in while they binged.

In short, Maestro Mina had concocted the perfect day for destressing, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

She might have overestimated the amount of snacks they would need, but she had definitely underestimated the amount of tissues Izuku would go through. He was midway through the first box before the first movie had even ended.

“Sorry” He sniffled, dabbing at his eyes once more. “It’s just ...they were so in love, and then ...it was just so sad!” He broke into a fresh round of sobs at the thought.

They had started off the night with a classic animated movie about a man who flew his house away on an adventure with an astounding number of balloons. Mina was fairly certain that such a feat was impossible unless he was distantly related to Uraraka, but she wasn’t going to criticise since it made for a pretty awesome visual.

She wrapped her arms around Izuku, pulling him into a comforting hug as she patted his head. It was sweet that he was such a softie, and that he felt comfortable enough around her that he didn't feel the need to hide it. It made her feel special.

Although, they were definitely going to need more tissues if things went according to plan. This wasn’t even close to the biggest tearjerker she had planned for their marathon.

Mina could feel Izuku nodding off beside her, head dipping slightly as he struggled against the sandman. She didn’t blame him. Lunch had been both tasty and super filling, which meant it was threatening to drag her off to dreamland as well. As pleasant as it would be to take a nap right then and there in Izuku’s arms, Mina had other plans.

Days like this didn’t come often, and that meant she had to enjoy every second of it.

Instead, she stood up and stretched. Izuku shook a bit of the drowsiness from his face and looked at her curiously. She merely smiled innocently at him as she made her way to the TV.

Izuku was a little bit too trusting sometimes. He wanted to think the best of people, and that let them take advantage of him from time to time. Mina didn’t abuse that trust, that would be immoral, but she did occasionally take advantage of it to make Izuku’s life just a little more interesting.

Her plan for today involved introducing him to a classic in B movie horror that was sure to get his blood pumping and wake him right up. It was time for the horror block to begin!

Mina silently cackled to herself as she slid the movie in.

Izuku obviously knew that something was up with her. After nearly a year together, they were both getting better at reading the other’s body language, and he had gotten adept at recognizing her ‘I’m having fun pranking someone’ smile as a survival mechanism.

It took him right up until the title ‘Night of Screams 2: The Revenge of Screamtopia’ to realize what she was planning, and by that point, it was far too late.

Quick as a whip, she snaked her legs through his, tangling them together and preventing him from getting up unless she let him.

“Minaaaaaa!” He cried as he clawed at the floor. She did notice, however, that despite being much stronger than her, he made no real attempt to get free.

“Shush you. I told you the quadratic formula was terrifying, and you made me memorize it anyway. Consider this my vengeance!” She put on her best evil villainess face as she spoke. The effect was ruined by the smile she couldn’t keep off her lips, but she felt it was important to make the effort all the same.

He moaned inarticulately in response as the opening credits began to play.

Mina hummed in response, and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend once again. “Tell you what, if you get scared, you can snuggle up to me and I’ll make it all better, ok?”

It took a moment, but she finally heard a muffled “Kay” from below her.

She smiled in triumph. It had taken a lot of effort to get here, but it really was good to be the Queen.

“You doing ok back there Izuku?” Mina asked.

No response came, though Izuku clutched more tightly to her back as a shriek rang out from the TV. Another innocent down as the monster continued it’s furious rampage. It was over the top, and for a horror buff like Mina, it was nothing she hadn’t seen a thousand times before.

Izuku, however, was having a much tougher time of it. It was kind of funny. They had faced terrifying villains like Shiguraki and his Nomu, and Izuku had barely flinched. She’d even heard from Uraraka that he’d stayed calm when Shigaraki had him by the neck during the incident at the Kiyashi mall incident, trying to prevent anyone from getting hurt in the crossfire. And now, here he was cowering from some cheap blood and jump scares.

As he flinched again, Mina relented. She had planned a trio of films for the day, and while she was enjoying having Izuku clinging to her, it was obvious Izuku wasn’t having nearly as good of a time as she was.

A comedy then. One that would get him flashing that smile she loved so much once again.

Just ...in a minute or two. She really loved the part coming up, and after all, it wasn’t like Izuku would keel over from just a little more gore, would he…?

“Mina, I’m not sure how good an idea this is” Izuku said hesitantly. “There’s a real choking hazard.”

“Pfffft! My big brother and I used to do this with jawbreakers all the time, and we’re both fine! Now, hit me with your best shot!” Mina called, tilting her head back once more.

She was sitting at the foot of her bed, while Izuku was at the top, holding a bag of candy in one hand and wearing a worried expression.

Finally, at her continued insistence that she would be fine, he tossed one of the candies lightly toward her. It wasn’t a great throw, and Mina had to lunge to the side, but she managed to catch the candy in her mouth. She swallowed it quickly, then grinned at Izuku in triumph.

He smiled back at her, the look of nervousness fading somewhat in the face of her victory.

“Toldja I could do it!” She proclaimed. “I’m the candy catch master! It was part of how I trained my reflexes for UA. Now why don’t you give me a real challenge?” She winked as she said it. Technically, the line about it being reflex training was BS, but it sounded almost reasonable enough to be true, so Mina stuck with it.

Shaking his head, Izuku readied another candy to throw. They were a brand of chocolate coated berries that Mina found absolutely delicious. In fact, she was having such a hard time not scarfing the whole bag that she had proposed the game as a way to slow down her consumption rate.

Izuku’s next throw went wide again, but this time Mina wasn’t able to catch it with her lips. Instead it came plummeting directly into her right eye.

She flinched, the offending candy bouncing to the floor as she reached up to rub at her eye, trying to work the irritation out manually.

“Are you okay?” Izuku said, rushing to her side. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!” he said, taking her head gently in his hands and peering into her eye, checking for damage.

“I’m fine Midori.” She said, chuckling slightly at his response despite the minor pain she was feeling. At this point, she was more than used to enduring small pains thanks to all their hero training. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t pick up some minor scrape or cut. Sure, the accidental eye attack had stung, but the irritation was already fading.

Izuku seemed satisfied that he hadn’t accidentally put her eye out. He sighed in relief, but he kept his hands on the sides of her head, and his eyes stayed locked on hers.

“Midori?” She asked, as the moment of silence dragged on. “You okay in there?”

He smiled softly at that, and let go of her head, turning his face slightly away from hers as he did so. “Sorry. I just…” He turned his face back to hers, and she could see that his cheeks were dusted with red. “I always forget how pretty your eyes are, so when I see them up close like that, I get distracted.” He idly poked the tips of his index fingers together as he spoke.

Now it was Mina’s turn to blush, a brilliant lilac filling her cheeks as her heart started to beat faster. <Being that cute has to be illegal>

She pulled Izuku into a tight hug and planted a firm kiss on his cheek, which caused him to light up like a christmas tree, just like he did every time she kissed him. It was another one of his cute habits that she had picked up on rather quickly after they had started dating. He reacted to every bit of affection like it was the first time he had received it.

It did make her a bit sad, thinking about how lonely he must have been growing up, if that was the way he reacted. He’d told her a bit about his childhood, how he hadn’t had any friends since his Quirk had come in so late and they had thought he was Quirkless.

Instead of letting the sadness overwhelm her, Mina took the opposite approach. She hugged Izuku even tighter, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes, and his ears until he was giggling at her to stop. She’d make up for the lack of affection, or her name wasn’t Mina Ashido, girlfriend extraordinaire.

Izuku looked down at Mina’s gently snoring form. She had passed out a few minutes ago, exhaustion finally overtaking the ludicrous amount of sugar and caffeine she had been inhaling all day.

When Mina Ashido partied, she didn’t do it half way.

Smiling, he pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, tucking her comfortably into bed. The pair had changed into pajamas as the day had worn into evening, so there was no need to worry about mussing her clothes.

She sighed contentedly in her sleep, shifting slightly to get into a more comfortable position.

As he leaned down to plant a good night kiss on her forehead, he could hear her mutter something in her sleep.

“Wanna go in the haunted house next…” She whined softly.

He could only chuckle at that. One of their first dates, before they had officially become boyfriend and girlfriend, had been to Universal Studios Japan. They had been more than a little nervous going in, given their previous experience at a similarly named location.

However, it had turned out excellently. They had both had tons of fun, going on all kinds of rides until they had felt slightly nauseous, checking out the scenery, and buying overpriced gag gifts for their friends and classmates. It had even ended with them sharing their first properly romantic hug, just before they returned to the dorms.

Knowing that she was dreaming about being on a date with him, despite spending nearly the entire day with him made his chest feel warm and full.

He leaned in the rest of the way, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

She sighed in contentment and snuggled deeper into her pillows.

<How did I get so lucky?> He thought to himself as he flicked off the lights.

Just before the door clicked shut behind him, he whispered something that even Jirou would have had trouble hearing from across the room.

“Good night Mina. I love you with all my heart…”

With that, he padded off to his own room, excited to spend the rest of the day with Mina, in the world of his dreams.

Also available on AO3!

#izumina #mha #mha fanfiction #fluff #slice of life #mina ashido #midoriya izuku #movie night #two dorks in love #bnha #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #fanfiction #dekumina #minadeku

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pumpkunbread · 6 years

Text

Mermaid AU Part 2

Here it is! Still not properly titled though. I love the ‘majulian’ scene in the game, so I briefly thought about calling this ‘merjulian’ but alas it sounds too cheesy for me. Funny though. I’m excited for the next chapter! But I don’t exactly have an end plan to this? Part 1 and Part 1.5

For her tardiness the previous night, Ava, as punishment, is sent out into the open water with a tiny, wooden boat. She was tasked with fishing dinner for the evening in addition to scooping up wanted ingredients found at the ocean floor. Thankfully, a few fish decided to nibble on tied bait dangling off a wire, so now she sets to the miserable deed of searching blindly for what she needs.

It's a grueling task. The hot sun pounds mercilessly upon her back to burn her skin as the morning drags out. The hat on her head threatens to fly away at any large gust of wind, and she cannot leave this boat until she has gathered everything on the list.

To her left, the beach stretches down as far as the eye can see. Children stand near the fragile waves that hardly rise up the bank, running when it creeps up to their feet. People are seen swimming happily in the mostly clear water. The rest lay on the beach enjoying the breeze or playing in the sand that glitters like jewels in the light.

The beginning of the Coast is hardly visible from here, and she quickly thinks of Julian sitting there, waiting patiently for her promised arrival.

Except he’s not at the Coast. Two hands, pale and gleaming with scales, is placed on the rim of the boat as a single gray eye stares up at her.

“Ava!” he greets, the biggest smile splits his face.

Her eyes widen at the sound, turning towards him, back at the lively beach side, and again at him, “Julian,” she hisses, hushed as if someone else will hear her, “what if you are seen?”

“They won’t see me on this side of your boat. I’m hiding on the opposite side.”

She breathes slowly to calm her heart, surprised at his appearance while fearing for his life in his oblivious steed. She loudly exhales and lays down, arm over her eyes to shield from the blaring sunshine above.

“You scared me.” she mumbles.

He’s mindful not to lean over to follow her to avoid tipping the boat, as well as being spotted without her body blocking from the peering eyes laying on the shore. Julian keeps his eye level with the rim, but hears a faint thud of something moving inside.

A fish, one of the few, still flails weakly in hopes of returning to water in its last moments. It jumps high enough to reach his vision until snatched a second later as Julian holds it, triumphantly, in his hand. Both are gone under before she could stop him, and she sits up to look over at the rippling water, only finding her face reflecting back.

She waits for him to reappear. When he does, wasting no time, his face and hands are clean and he runs his hand through his dripping hair. The effort is useless, flopping back down in front of his left eye again. She suddenly wants to feel it under her hand, but shoves the intruding thought aside with great effort. The bones are nowhere to be seen, likely sinking slowly to the ocean floor. Unless he ate the bones. Does he eat bones?

“Thanks for the meal,” he says, “It was quite delicious.”

She does not know whether to frown in disapproval or hide her smile before it sweeps onto her face. “If you are going to steal dinner the least you could do it help me out.”

His face flushes in nervous embarrassment. “Oh! Oh, I- sorry. I’m sorry. Good catch though. You’ll have a wonderful meal tonight?” he coughs, “Well, what can I help you with? More fishing?”

Shaking her head, Ava shows him a net and list of ingredients. Only a few are scratched off, many more in need of collecting. Jars filled with water are tucked neatly into a bag to prevent the plants from shriveling on land.

“Here.” she hands him the list.

He stares at it for a long moment of time, eyebrows furrowed as he quietly thinks and rereads. The edges limp where he holds it, water soaking slowly into the page.

“Can you read it?”

“Of course. I can read more languages than you may know exist in this world. The ocean leaves much to be discovered, my dear,” he pauses again, “But... I don’t know what any of these are.”

“Unbelievable.” she chuckles, grabbing the paper back from between his fingers.

“If I may ask, what are all of these for? A net and blind luck would take hours to find all this. I can hardly imagine you fishing out here all day with such unlikely odds, its rather cruel.”

The quiet calmness, the near meditation of swaying to the gentle current of the ocean, wind blowing through her hair does not bother her. Sunbathing in the light is pleasant at any other time of year except this, when the strength reaches its highest peak to burn her skin after too long, and the wind does not carry quite far enough to cool her down through the open windows of the shop, open wide in any attempt of ventilation.

“I work as an apprentice in a small shop.”

“Oh?”

“Well, my master makes miraculous brews for the townsfolk, but our supply is running low so, here I am. Restocking. In the brilliant heat,” she wipes sweat from her brow, licking her lips as the heat parches her throat and cracks her lips. Reaching for her nearby canteen, she takes a long sip, water dripping down her chin as she drinks. Julian’s eyes watch like a hawk, following the droplets stream and her throat exposed openly towards him, but does not move.

“If I could dive down and collect them myself though..”

“Oh!” He beams, eyes sparkling at the request. “You will have to explain what they look like, though, you may just have different names for things. Maybe I have a better chance then to help you.”

He again brushes his bangs from his face to see, but after noticing again Ava cannot fight the urge to keep to herself, the want to touch his hair won’t fully leave her mind. It shines vividly in the sun, more bright than she imagined from the dark cave he carefully brought her to only yesterday. She has never seen hair this color before.

She reaches out slowly to feel his hair, locks tangling between her fingers. He opens his mouth to speak, puzzled, bewildered, but closes them as her nails scratch lightly on his scalp. He visibly melts under her touch, eye hooded in pleasure. He somehow finds the strength to speak again, although weak and timid, nothing more than a concerned whisper.

“A-Ava?”

Shocked, blinking furiously to clear her mind, she pulls her hand away. With her fingers laced with curls, it hangs on before letting her hand go, pulling, but not enough to rip out. Julian swallows a muffled sound that attempts to leave his throat at the tug, cheeks blushing furiously. The same is mirrored on hers, hands rising to rest on her face and finds it hot to the touch.

A sharp burst of wind soars between them, a much welcome breeze to cool her flesh, but not without her sun hat flying carelessly from her head, yet Ava finds herself unbothered from its sudden departure.

“Sorry!” she stammers, moving her hands now to cover her mouth, and refuses to meet his eyes.

In her avoidance, she faintly sees the head of a snake some distance away, red eyes unblinking at their direction. Noticing her watching back, the snake bleeps out their tongue and vanishes under the water, leaving only the slightest of ripples behind in their wake as proof it was no illusion in her mind.

Julian smooths out his hair and tries to change the awkward tension left hanging heavy around them.

“W-well, people always say I’m dripping with good looks.” He nervously laughs, although she is not looking yet. “Why don’t we get back to the list. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Yeah um, here let me explain…”

The rest of the morning is spent describing every plant, Julian listening intensively, and the trial and error of diving down to retrieve them. With each success, she crosses them off the list and stores each into their respectively labeled jars. During his break, Julian swipes another fish off the boat, but not before trading away bait to avoid her disapproving gaze. Ava instead resumes to fish while she waits between his dives, her only other option to simply, mindlessly, wait.

When the last item is crossed off, Julian grins brightly at his success, the faint glimpse of tiredness apparent in the drooping line of his shoulders, as she once again thanks him for his much appreciated help. She offers him another well-earned fish, but not before kissing the back of his hand as he reaches for it, and hurriedly rows back to shore before she regrets her decision, one that took much of her courage to muster. Julian swims out of sight, likely toward the cave, but not without bringing the hand to his heart, even with the fish still flopping relentlessly in the other.

So when she opens the door and shows the shop keep her - their - precious findings, the look she receives in turn is priceless, and she returns to her other demanded duties in record time.

After all, there is much to prepare for the town festival tomorrow.

#the arcana game #the arcana #julian devorak #my post #new character soon! take a wild guess who #hope you enjoyed #i know its slow #julian isnt a dork yet hes being cautious and lovestruck #its not as exciting as other versions im sure :')#ava #fics #my fic

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sumigakure · 6 years

Text

Well Then

To: @arrowsbane

From: @pwnie3

Title: Well Then

Rating: M

Wordcount: 8520

Prompt: In an AU where Orochimaru never took Danzo up on his offer for labs, Sarutobi dumps a trio of genetically-altered brats on him and hands him a ‘Teaching for Dummies’ book, which is not appreciated. Turns out, Orochimaru is pretty good with kids, but thinks he isn’t. Nobody else is buying that lie though.

Warning/Notes: I never thought I would have to tag a six-year-old for suicidal ideation but here I am. Friendly reminder that I love Kakashi and I wish my fingers didn’t know how to type independent of my will.

“Think about it,” Danzo says, then shunshins out of Orochimaru’s front garden.

The old man’s offer is tempting. A set of labs all to himself, all materials provided, not on paper anywhere. Sarutobi, ever Orochimaru’s moral compass in the absence of Jiraiya and Tsunade, has vetoed almost all of his ideas without even reading the full hypothesis. And he knows as well as Orochimaru does that if he had labs and materials, he would go ahead with his projects whether the Hokage gave him permission or not.

It’s one of the things Sakumo always said was the mark of a good shinobi– not following unjust orders, although he probably didn’t mean it to be used quite in this context.

Orochimaru traces the snake curled around his neck absently and his eyes remain fixed on the wall just to the side of where Danzo had been when he made the proposal two weeks ago. Sakumo, now three months dead by his own foolish, selfish hand, wouldn’t approve of this. Orochimaru may not know Danzo very well personally, but he knows enough about the man to figure out that the kind of experiments Danzo wants him to do won’t be the experiments Sakumo could be proud of.

When did this happen? When did he stop thinking in terms of what benefitted him and start using Sakumo’s approval as a benchmark for right and wrong?

There’s a knock on the door. Orochimaru snaps back to reality and gently reaches out with his chakra. He’s no sensor, he can’t track someone’s chakra footprint a hundred miles, but he can recognize a familiar signature ten feet away.

“Oro?” Kakashi’s voice is muffled, both by the door and his scarf. “You home?”

In a flash, Orochimaru opens the door. Kakashi is there, and judging by his clothes it’s a hot morning. His short sleeves show off the tattoos on his arms, and what’s visible of his face is flushed. Orochimaru makes a note to buy something thinner so Kakashi doesn’t pass out from the heat.

The boy doesn’t tell Orochimaru where he wants to go, but it’s easy enough to guess. Where else would he want to go with Orochimaru than Sakumo’s grave?

The majority of their walk to the cemetery is silent, punctuated only by a brief stop at a flower stand. Orochimaru picks spider lilies. Kakashi picks asters.

It is, perhaps, too late for Orochimaru to remember how terrible he is with children. When Sakumo was alive, it was easy to think of Kakashi as a small, grumpy version of his father, but with the man gone all Orochimaru can see is the five-year-old who’s lost his father.

Orochimaru clears his throat and hopes it doesn’t sound as awkward as he thinks it does. “How have you been, Kakashi?” It takes all of his willpower not to call him ‘Cub’, seeing as how, along with many other things in Kakashi’s life, the nickname likely died with Sakumo.

Kakashi makes a quiet noise. Orochimaru assumes it means something along the lines of ‘I’ve been okay’, as that has always been his answer to the question.

“How is your aunt?” Ah yes, the fifteen-year-old aunt Kakashi has been living with because Orochimaru doesn’t trust himself around children. “Is her team doing well?”

Kakashi grunts. “I guess. I think Mikoto is engaged now, but I’m not sure anyone else is supposed to know about that.”

With a faint sound of acknowledgement, Orochimaru files the information away. He can’t think of any occasion where the marital arrangements of the Uchiha clan will ever be of use, but intel is intel.

Just as the pair is about to enter the graveyard, there’s a shout from behind them. “Hey, Orochimaru!”

“That’s the guy Auntie has a crush on,” Kakashi supplies, murmuring. “Minato.”

Minato comes to a stop a respectful distance from Orochimaru. He pants a little from the exertion of, presumably, running around doing D-ranks all day. “Lord Sarutobi wants to talk to you.”

Orochimaru looks back at Kakashi, who’s eyeing Minato with something like scrutiny. “Is it urgent?” he asks like he doesn’t already know the answer.

Minato nods. Orochimaru is disappointed, no, angry. Angry at himself for not being able to put aside even this small amount of time for the boy who, for all his ineptitude, he loves with every ounce of his being.

Another glance at Kakashi. The boy shrugs. “It’s okay, Oro. I’ll be fine.”

He lays the bouquet of lilies in Kakashi’s arms with the asters. As Orochimaru is walking away, he hisses quietly at Minato. “If you wish to remain in Kushina’s good graces, you’ll keep an eye on Kakashi.”

Minato, who is most certainly recognizable as the ‘pretty boy’ Kushina referred to him as the last time Orochimaru found time to sit down with her, stands stock-straight and meets Orochimaru’s gaze– but only for a moment. Still, it’s better than most people manage. “Of course, Lord Yashagoro!” Then he runs over to walk behind Kakashi.

It takes little more than two minutes to get to the Hokage’s office, and inside Sarutobi has the audacity to be leaning back behind his desk and puffing on his pipe like he didn’t just take away precious time to be spent with the last part of Sakumo Orochimaru has.

Orochimaru stands in front of his old teacher and waits. After a few seconds, Sarutobi opens his eyes and sits up. “Ah, Orochimaru. I didn’t expect you here so soon. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

It’s been a long time since he wanted to punch something, as it’s never been his strong point, but in this moment there’s nothing he wants more than to break Sarutobi’s nose. Besides, why else would he have come in through the window, if not because he was annoyed? Even if it’s not Orochimaru’s preferred method of entry, it does happen to be one of Sarutobi’s biggest pet peeves.

“Of course not, sensei. Your messenger told me it was urgent?” Orochimaru asks, hiding his anger behind a thin smile.

“Not nearly as urgent as Minato made it out to be, but it is somewhat time sensitive.” Sarutobi pushes a file across his desk. “These are your new orders, effective tomorrow.”

Orochimaru takes the file and opens it, expecting some kind of long-term information gathering mission having to with the war effort, and his eyes widen when the papers enclosed are the ones given out to prospective jounin teachers.

“Sensei, is this–”

“I am not mistaken. That is the correct file. I am assigning three children to your tutelage and, if you’ll be willing, your care.”

The assignment hits Orochimaru like a fist to the face. “I’m not sure if you recall, sensei, but while I have many and impressive talents, handling children is not one of them.”

Sarutobi smiles. “Orochimaru, believe me when I tell you that you are uniquely suited to this team over any other mission I could offer you. Do you recall the organization Root?”

Why yes, in fact your long-time friend recently offered me a very nice position within that very organization. “Yes. You disbanded it when you took office.”

The smoke from Sarutobi’s pipe circles the ceiling. “We discovered Root to very much be alive and kicking last week, under the coordination of Danzo Shimura. After a raid on their various locations, we found four children in a lab there. One killed himself when we tried to remove him from the laboratory, but the other three are currently in rehabilitation in the hospital. They are being entrusted to you, as several experts have assured me that putting them into the Academy would be counterproductive.”

Briefly skimming the mission file, Orochimaru finds it giving him that exact information under about five more layers of official jargon and emotionlessness than Sarutobi normally uses during these briefings.

“Until further notice, you will be off the active duty roster. Your first and foremost priority is acclimatizing these children to life outside of a laboratory.” Orochimaru nods along with Sarutobi as he translates the purple prose of the file. “Oh, and you’ll probably need this.”

Without thinking, Orochimaru takes the thing his teacher passes him and when he looks at the title, in a move he must have learned from Sakumo because he’d never done it before they started dating, he absolutely bristles with fury.

Well, if there was one thing being best friends with Jiraiya has taught Orochimaru, it’s self-control, and it happens to take every last ounce of that carefully-honed control not to put Teaching for Dummies through Sarutobi’s skull.

Sarutobi, for all his old man-ish airs, is no fool and does not have the memory of a goldfish, so he must recognize the calm detachment in Orochimaru’s face as the kind of thing he used to wear just before Jiraiya became best friends with the business end of Kusanagi.

“Meet me back here tomorrow at eight. You are dismissed.”

Kakashi is already out with his team by the time Sarutobi releases Orochimaru to his own devices– Kakashi’s fourth team in as many months, if Orochimaru’s impeccable memory serves him correctly– so he returns to the graveyard alone.

As much as he loves the boy, Orochimaru is glad to have the opportunity to visit Sakumo’s grave alone, and something tells him that maybe Kakashi feels the same. The grass is pressed down tight against the ground in front of Sakumo’s uniform headstone, and a few yards back there’s another spot where the ground is just as disturbed. The flowers have been rested carefully below the deep lines that form Sakumo’s name.

Orochimaru sinks to his knees fluidly. “I had an important meeting yesterday. I wore the blue yukata, the one you always said compliments my eyes.”

It’s a common enough practice for shinobi to talk to their dead loved ones, even if not quite the healthiest. Any passing civilian won’t question Orochimaru talking to the departed quite as much as they’ll question his choice of Sakumo Hatake, and it’s not the kind of thing any coincidentally present ANBU will feel the need to report.

But Orochimaru’s reluctantly-assigned Yamanaka psychiatrist says it’s a good way to grieve (and while she doesn’t outright say ‘I know you’re still mourning the absence of Jiraiya and Tsunade’, he hears it all the same) and he knows that ANBU Panther has been told under no uncertain terms that he’s to make sure Orochimaru talks to Sakumo a little bit. Though as with all things unfamiliar, the Snake Sannin takes to it with a fair bit of caution.

“Sarutobi has assigned me a group of children to train.” He shakes his head. “I suppose my only relief in this is that Jiraiya isn’t here to see it.” A pause, the kind he used to leave for Sakumo to say his piece. “It’s summer now, he’s been gone nearly nine months.”

Orochimaru has never believed that the dead linger, but when he closes his eyes he’s willing to pretend the wind playing with his hair is a tanned, scarred, calloused hand with the most gentle touch in the world.

He stands and brushes a few blades of grass from his clothing. He walks home in silence.

When Orochimaru sits down in his kitchen with a cup of tea in hand, he finally looks over the file Sarutobi gave him.

The first student, Akira Senju, age eleven, was kidnapped when small and her eyes were replaced with a set of stolen Sharingan. She was then pumped full of bijuu chakra siphoned off Lady Mito Uzumaki to see if the Sharingan could control bijuu as easily from within as well as without.

Orochimaru’s second pupil, Akane Uchiha, age twelve, is a half Inuzuka who was tattooed with some beautifully– the report on her doesn’t say it quite like that, but art is art no matter the canvas– elaborate seals that, according to the file, give her the ability to use the Mokuton.

The final child is Hikaru, age eight, was grown in a surrogate, and is the finest example of what happens when an Uchiha member of Root and a Senju member of Root both give over DNA for identification purposes and the DNA is instead used to make a baby. Heavily tested, very intelligent, not very emotionally stable, the boy is implied to be the “problem child” of the three.

Orochimaru puts down the file. From what he can tell, both the people giving the order and the researchers who worked on these children were clumsy. It seems like multiple, independent projects were being run of each child without regard for how the effects of the other experiments would skew their results. What’s Tsunade’s favorite saying? Too many cooks in the kitchen?

What’s done though, is done, and Orochimaru can’t do a thing to remedy the errors of fools. He stands from his chair.

The house is older than even Orochimaru’s parents, and it takes ridiculous effort to keep it in good condition, but if it has anything going for it then it has to be its sheer size. The Yashagoro clan has never been large, definitely not large enough to warrant a house so big, and for the last twenty years Orochimaru has lived here alone. He has no wandering relatives who drop in on a whim to see how well he’s grown up, no drunk friends taking over his house at ungodly hours, no quiet bedmates who wake him up with fluttering kisses and a laugh like rolling thunder. Not anymore.

There are spare futons tucked away in a closet, and while it’s hardly the kind of thing his mother would approve of using his abilities for, Orochimaru is pressed for time and hardly hesitates in using– this is the kind of play on words both his father and Jiraiya would find amusing– a fuuton jutsu to air out the bedding. Perhaps, if Sarutobi doesn’t come to his senses and reassign the children, Orochimaru will find sturdier, more permanent bedframes for them.

He doesn’t sleep. Instead, he wanders the many halls of the house and tries to memorize the silence, the solitude, the way this is the one place where he lets his footsteps echo into the night. He listens for the faint memory of his father’s laugh, his mother’s admonishments, and his old grandmother’s refusal to avoid the nightingale floors when she wandered in the middle of the night.

He wonders if these children will know any better.

Orochimaru shows up early to his old teacher’s office, and is not disappointed. Sarutobi is already waiting for him, sharing a cup of tea with three children who probably shouldn’t be as small as they are.

“Ah, Orochimaru!” Sarutobi exclaims. The three children turn around sharply, even the tiny little boy.

The files hadn’t included photographs. There hadn’t been time to get the photographer out to see them, nor would he have had clearance to do so if he’d tried. But aside from the activated Sharingan, the extensive tattoos, and the multitude of poorly-hidden scars, the children don’t look like anything special. The Senju girl looks like how he would expect a little Senju girl to look. The Uchiha-Inuzuka girl looks like how he would expect an Uchiha-Inuzuka to look. The Senju-Uchiha boy looks like how he would expect a Senju-Uchiha to look.

This is good, he thinks. The tattoos and scars are normal enough, not the kind of thing most people would glance twice at. The Sharingan will be easily hidden. At least they won’t have to grow up with the look of a half-dead pixie with too much purple eyeliner and a frankly unrealistically dark head of hair and all the stares that come with.

“These are your students,” Sarutobi continues. “Akira, Akane, and Hikaru. Children, this is to be your guardian.”

The half-Inuzuka girl, Akane, stands. The other two follow her lead. Though Orochimaru knows that these children have been kept apart until now, as per ANBU policy about test subjects, they have easily fallen into something like a pack formation with Akane at the head.

Orochimaru bows his head slightly, not breaking eye contact with Akane for a second. After a long pause, she does it back. Again, Akira and Hikaru follow her lead.

Sarutobi looks between the four of them and nods. “It seems my work here is done. Orochimaru, I’ll be by later with some paperwork.”

He takes this to mean that he’s been dismissed, and so Orochimaru gestures for the children to follow him. The whole way back to his house– on foot, using the not-yet-crowded streets to travel because he hardly remembers trusting himself on rooftops when he was their age and most certainly won’t put that faith in three strangers– they trail behind him at a respectful and regular distance. Though they haven’t spoken a word to each other, the three of them instinctively fell into a standard, if rough, team formation. Akira is at the center, keeping a careful eye on Orochimaru, and on either side she is flanked by Akane and Hikaru in some kind of bodyguard position.

The first two steps inside Orochimaru’s home are nightingale flooring, and while he treads lightly and with a certain kind of speed born of practice and watching snakes go across the boards silently, the children don’t know the house. As soon as Hikaru hears the first tremulous chirp of the floorboards, he jumps back and pulls the girls with him.

“Come now. It’s just a noise the floors make. Nothing to be scared of,” Orochimaru says in what he hopes is a teasing voice. “They’re not going to hurt you any more than the grass out there will.” Though, thinking about it, the grass (or rather, what the grass hides) will actually hurt them more than the floors.

Eventually, Orochimaru gets them into the kitchen, and only then does it occur to him that he only owns one chair and his table is too small for four people. He also owns a meager set of dishes that can only hold enough food for one, maybe two people if they have appetites as small as Orochimaru and Kakashi (how old is the food in his fridge? And come to think of it, is bread supposed to be blue-grey?). Well, those bowls are probably small enough to count as cups, right?

“Perhaps,” Orochimaru starts slowly, “a trip to the market is in order.”

Orochimaru hasn’t been a child in a long time, so he doesn’t know what they like to eat. When he went out shopping with Sakumo, it always fell to Orochimaru to keep Kakashi occupied, and thus he was never really sure of what Sakumo bought for Kakashi– not to mention that Kakashi is significantly younger than Orochimaru’s students and also likely has very different preferences.

Orochimaru himself is a simple man. He buys spices when he runs out and a dozen eggs every week, ham when he can get it, and everything else comes from his mother’s garden. His parents raised him to eat what was put in front of him without complaint and that mostly carried over into his adult life.

So what do children like to eat?

“What would you like?” he asks them. All three heads jerk towards him simultaneously. “To eat.”

For a long moment, there’s silence from the three of them, but then it’s Akira who answers first. “One of the researchers in charge of me used to bring dango when I was cooperative.”

“One time someone brought me pretzels,” Akane says.

“They let me have strawberries once.” Hikaru rounds out the bunch.

The bakery sells five kinds of pretzels and strawberries are in season, and by the time the four of them make it to the dango shop Hikaru has eaten almost half the container and Orochimaru has reminded him three times that eating the strawberry hulls isn’t something people generally do.

As soon as they enter the shop– which is abuzz with people as always, seeing as how Shouta Mitarashi makes the best dango in the village and everyone knows it– the place hushes significantly. Civilians are always put off by Orochimaru’s presence no matter where he goes, and while it’s a trifling matter to be invisible in a crowded marketplace that same innocuity becomes impossible in a small, enclosed space.

Akira, Akane, and Hikaru fall into battle stance at the attention. Their shoulders square, their limbs relax, and Akane has two fingers on the kunai in her belt. Orochimaru says nothing; he just strides forward– the crowd shies away from him like he’s diseased– picks up a few boxes of sweets, and hands the money over to the owner without speaking a word.

He, and the children too, are silent the whole way home. They do not step on the nightingale floors a second time.

His three students eat their food quietly, and Orochimaru makes himself a pot of tea. When he has finished his first cup, he speaks.

“The first thing you will learn in this village is that no-one is going to be kind to you. I do not know what conditions you were in before or how they treated you there, but it will be different and worse out here. You will be feared, and that fear manifests as anger, and you may have to deal with the outlet of that anger. Strangers will hate you for no other reason than your association with me. If you wish for me to find you a different caretaker, tell me and I will do so.”

Akane crunches on another pretzel. Hikaru carefully separates the hull from the rest of his strawberry and sets it on a paper towel. Akira puts a whole skewer’s worth of dango in her mouth at once. They say nothing.

Orochimaru pours himself a second cup of tea. “Very well then,” he sighs. “It is my job to teach you how to interact with other people. I will not be lenient with your training. Starting tomorrow, you will wake at dawn and training will last until I say it stops. Do you understand?”

They nod, and if Orochimaru has the barest hint of a smile on his face, then no-one has to know.

The next morning, though waking the children by way of snake messenger was fun and he’ll never let himself forget Akira’s screams, Orochimaru faces a certain problem. After watching the children make a mess of training ground 6, he decides to pit them against each other and quickly finds that watching Akane and Akira go at it is something like how he imagines a timid Tsunade would approach Jiraiya if Jiraiya didn’t know how to control his temper and also thought he could take on Tsunade at full strength.

In short, it’s giving him a headache.

Akira has a certain kind of inhuman strength that tends to show itself in anyone with more than a drop of Uzumaki blood, and Orochimaru is quickly realizing that there’s no way she’s not at least one quarter Uzumaki– maybe it’s a byproduct of Lady Mito’s jinchuuriki chakra?– but the Senju in her negates the red hot Uzumaki blood in her.

Similarly, Akane has exactly the temper Orochimaru would expect from the offspring produced by an Uchiha and an Inuzuka and the control over her anger to match. Like most Uchiha her age she has all the musculature of a finely-carved twig, but more than enough dramatics to make up for it.

“Come on, I can take it!” Akane shouts from the proper battle stance Orochimaru just corrected her on. “Come at me already!”

Akira looks to Orochimaru with something he thinks is a question on her face. He nods minutely at her. “But…” she trails off.

The other girl makes a very loud, very frustrated noise that only reinforces Orochimaru’s belief that Jiraiya is dead and his soul now exists in the body of a twelve-year-old girl. “Come on!”

Akira flexes her hands and curls them into fists. She pulls back one arm, then throws an undercut–

Which connects just under Akane’s ribs and throws her against a tree twenty feet away. She collides with a sickening crunch which sounds suspiciously like bones breaking and it takes everything in Orochimaru’s power not to flinch at it.

Ah yes. Definitely reminiscent of Jiraiya and Tsunade’s earliest interactions.

Hikaru crunches down on a strawberry flavored biscuit stick louder than necessary and shoots Orochimaru a look he can catch out of the corner of his eye. With a sigh, Orochimaru stands and walks over to check on Akane.

She coughs, then lets out a long, painful groan. “Sensei, am I dead?” She whines.

He hums. “Not yet.”

“Can you make me dead?”

To his own surprise, Orochimaru laughs. It’s small, barely more than a chuckle, but it’s there and it surprises Akane just as much as it does Orochimaru himself. “Only if you want me to.”

For two full seconds, she’s quiet, then she reaches up with one arm and lets slip a thready “please”.

The next morning, if it can even be called that yet, Orochimaru wakes to the incessant tapping on his window. The hawk sitting on his sill has a message tied to it’s leg. He lets the bird in and takes the scroll from the leather tube, letting the hawk back out as soon as he does.

It’s a summons for tea from the Hokage. Orochimaru huffs out a breath and briefly considers whether or not he could get away with killing Sarutobi, and when he figures that now probably isn’t the best time to contemplate murder he decides to just get ready for the day. He sets out breakfast for the children– all three still asleep in their rooms– and sets one of his summons by each bedside to keep watch.

Sarutobi is waiting for him in his office with a pot of Orochimaru’s favorite tea already sitting out. It burns Orochimaru in places he can’t describe to think that after ignoring him for so long and then dumping three children even more socially stunted than Orochimaru himself, all Sarutobi can do is set out tea and play

“Ah, Orochimaru. Sit down, I’m glad–”

Orochimaru does not sit. “Spare me your pleasantries. Why have I been summoned here?”

Sarutobi sets down his cup with a sigh. “How are the children?”

“They are making progress. Considering how long I’ve had them, they’ve adjusted well, though I’m certain that they would do better under a different teacher who knows better how to deal with children. Given time, I believe they will become a strong team for almost any kind of mission.”

The Hokage nods. “Very well. If there is nothing else to discuss…” he trails off to give Orochimaru space to say something more. When he doesn’t, Sarutobi continues. “Then I believe you are dismissed.”

Orochimaru leaves.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sarutobi looks down at the reports on his desk from Panther and Bear.

Subject’s methods are unorthodox, but effective. Advise that the team remain in his care and assign the Subject a second team upon current team’s graduation.

Subject interacts well with charges. Likely extenuating circumstances contributing to camaraderie. Advise not to assign a second team to the Subject.

Fox drops down from the rafters silently. “Sounds like he doesn’t know himself too well, huh?” she says.

Sarutobi steeples his fingers. “Perhaps it is because he knows himself too well, and it is blinding him to his own strengths.”

“Perhaps it is because he’s never had to interact with children.” Crow quips.

Goose hesitates. “…Perhaps it’s because no-one has ever trusted him with children before.”

“Sakumo did,” Fox mumbles after a moment. “Sakumo trusted him and Kakashi loves Orochimaru to death.”

“I think we can all agree that Sakumo Hatake is a special case in many respects, and his son follows closely in his footsteps,” Sarutobi says. “But in this, I too will follow Sakumo. Orochimaru is better with those children than he thinks he is.”

Crow hums, disinterested. ‘They day Orochimaru realizes that children follow him like lost puppies is the day I retire.”

Hikaru, Orochimaru finds, is like Kakashi. He rarely smiles, but when he does it’s all the more precious for it. He likes to disappear at odd hours, but can always be found napping peacefully in the grass by the Naka with empty cartons of fresh fruit stacked neatly next to his head.

Akane is happiest when curled up by a window on a rainy day. She prefers hot tea and a thick blanket and a good book over training in the cold any day, and every last one of Orochimaru’s summons agrees with her (he finds them sleeping once, in front of the fireplace and curled close under the blanket to Akane, though to protect her or for her body heat is unclear). But on the hot days where the sun is too bright to look at she can’t be pulled away from the fields for anything.

Akira is the outlier. She wants to be good, wants to be better. She has bright ambitions but hardly has the means to do so. She trains with Kakashi, who outstrips her in talent at every turn but is no match for her spirit. She is the one who asks to learn the obscure jutsus, the one who practices seals a thousand times before even trying to pump the chakra through them.

They have been in Orochimaru’s care for five months, and have not mentioned leaving once.

He finds himself stopping by the dango shop every three days, it seems, and the longer he shows up regularly the wider Mitarashi smiles at him. He has a regular order and everything. More and more, Mitarashi’s little daughter Anko– who can’t be much more than three years old, but Orochimaru’s never been good at pinpointing the ages of children– decides to talks to him about his day. In twelve years or so, she’ll be an excellent saleswoman if she doesn’t follow through with her interest in the poisonous flowers Hikaru likes to braid into Orochimaru’s hair.

It’s not just Mitarashi and his daughter that have taken a shining to Orochimaru. Vendors in the marketplace have gotten increasingly familiar with his larger purchases of meat, bread, and most importantly, fresh fruit, romance novels, and pretty yet practical clothing for a six feet tall fourteen-year-old girl.

It all comes to a head the day jounin start coming to him to ask if their teams can train together. The first one, Sabe Tachibana, is a large man, taller than Akira and twice as broad, who looks like he could crush Orochimaru’s head between two fingers if given the chance.

“My team is made up of three strong-willed boys that just graduated from the Academy on their first try,” he says. “They think they’re all that and a bag of sealing scrolls. I think they need to be put in their place before I can teach them anything, but for the life of me, I can’t get them to listen. They’ve been like this for all three weeks since graduation.”

Orochimaru smirks. “Oh, don’t worry, Tachibana. They’ll be at your beck and call before tomorrow is done.”

He pretends that he doesn’t notice the five other jounin watching the inter-team practice, where all three of Tachibana’s genin show up late while complaining loudly about the hour and not giving one whit of attention to the other team on the training field.

“Sensei, are those girls?” one of them asks, his tone about as demeaning as it can get. “I thought you said we’re gonna train with the best genin team in the village, not that you wanted to get in their teacher’s pants.”

“And we are, Koushi. This is the best genin team in the village,” Tachibana responds evenly. He doesn’t acknowledge the boy’s second statement.

Orochimaru makes sure his hair swishes as he turns to face the three boys and hopes he looks more male and less androgynous than usual today. “And I thought I was pitting my team against worthy opponents. I look forward to you trying to prove me wrong.”

Tachibana gently resumes control of the conversation. He gestures to Orochimaru. “Boys, this is Orochimaru Yashagoro. He’s got the finest first-year genin I’ve seen in a long time, so keep your guard up.”

“Don’t go too hard on them, you three. Leave at least some of their dignity intact,’ Orochimaru instructs as he turns to his team.

One of the boys scoffs. “Like we need them to. What harm can two girls and a baby do to us?”

Orochimaru sees the immediate shift in the way Akane, Akira, and Hikaru are assessing the situation.

“Sensei, are you sure we have to hold back?” Akane asks, sickeningly sweet. “I would hate for them to think we’re not giving our all.”

“Dignity is useless. All that matters is skill. If they have it, then we don’t need to go easy.” Hikaru looks up at Orochimaru. “Right, sensei?”

At Tachibana’s direction, the two teams settle themselves at opposite ends of the training field. Orochimaru’s team falls easily into battle formation and move away from each other. From his place at one edge of the field, Orochimaru can see Hikaru reaffirm his grip on the hilt of his sword, Akira flex her fists, and Akane finger a tagged kunai. Conversely, Tachibana’s boys are too relaxed and hold their kunai like toys– and they’re all only wielding kunai.

“It’s a miracle they graduated, with form like that,” Orochimaru mumbles to his fellow teacher. “What kind of test did you give them?”

“I put an apple on my head and had them throw kunai at me to get it off.”

“Were you at least moving?”

Tachibana’s flush is answer enough. He clears his throat. “You fight until incapacitation or surrender. On my mark!” he shouts, raising one hand. The instant his arm drops, the three boys are off towards Orochimaru’s stationary team.

The first one to get in range is closest to Akira. She throws a punch. The instant it connects, the boy realizes his mistake, but by then it’s too late. He flies fifty feet before he hits the ground and then skids another ten before coming to a stop.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Sorry!” she calls after him.

The second one thinks it’s a good idea to go after Akane, who is, admittedly, tiny for her age and looks like an easy target. But the moment he steps into a three-meter radius, he freezes in place and all Akane has to do is walk up to him and push him over.

The third is perhaps the most foolish, because under any circumstances it’s a bad idea to approach a child holding a sword, but Hikaru is especially dangerous. It takes all of a second for Hikaru to strike out with his lead hand, drawing a thin red line across his opponent’s face and sending strands of his hair fluttering to the ground. The boy’s hand shoots up to cradle his cheek, but before he can even get it high enough Hikaru drops down low and sweeps the boy’s legs out from under him.

His head meets the hard-packed earth with a crack. With that, Tachibana steps out onto the field and ends the match.

“I hope that you remember this day as the day you got your collective asses beat by two girls and a baby. Got it?” Akane sneers. “And next time you assume our teacher needs to use his team to get access to dick, I’ll make sure you won’t have to worry about yours anymore.”

Other fresh jounin teachers almost start lining up with their teams.

The childrens’ first mission is small. He gives the missions room a collective heart attack when he enters and requests a C-rank with his team in tow. They must strike quite the image, he thinks. The Hidden Leaf’s own double-edged sword, accompanied by the unholy offspring of an Uchiha and an Inuzuka, an eight-year-old who carries himself like the most weathered of jounin, and an otherwise nondescript girl with brown hair and a set of blazing Sharingan.

The terrified chuunin behind the deck passes Orochimaru an assignment for a message run to the Fire Country capital.

“We have hawks for messages,” Hikaru states, but in the month since he came into Orochimaru’s care he’s learned to read between the lines with Hikaru.

“A hawk is faster than most shinobi, that’s true. But hawks are easier to intercept than we are. If time is of the essence, the village will send a hawk. When security is valued over speed, they send shinobi,” Orochimaru says.

Two steps out of the gate, Akane trips over thin air and nearly sprains her ankle. This is the worst injury of the mission.

Orochimaru himself has been to the capital a scant few times, and the children have never left Konoha’s walls so while it’s always a treat for the Snake Sannin to see the city it’s nothing quite like the identical look of amazement that crosses all three of his charges’ faces.

The buildings in the capital are by far taller than anything in Konoha but the trees, of which there are few here. The marketplaces are more bountiful, full of all manner of things that just don’t make it to Konoha in large enough quantities– expensive teas imported from across the sea, delicate sheer fabrics that have no place in a shinobi village, household items imbued with seals that draw chakra from the environment to cook food faster or heat beds in the winter. The fresh flowers Konoha prides herself on can’t be found so easily here, replaced commonly by shining metal or fine Suna-blown glass replicas. The sturdy weapons the children know from their home are almost nonexistent, though Orochimaru does know where to get them if the need arises. Instead, tiny shops sell decorative knockoffs that won’t hold up for half a second in the field but look nice and shiny hanging on a wall.

“Can we come back someday?” Akira asks, once they’ve delivered their message and set off back to Konoha. She has three new shawls and a set of beautiful emerald jewelry in her bag, among other baubles.

“I certainly hope so!” the other girl exclaims. Akane’s found no less than five Uzushio fuuinjutsu scrolls sitting in a secondhand store and paid less than a quarter of what they’re worth.

Orochimaru smiles despite himself, looking at Hikaru. The boy is happily munching on some blackberries and has more cartons of fruit sealed away than Orochimaru cares to count.

“I don’t see why not.”

The next time Orochimaru has the opportunity to see Kakashi is on the boy’s birthday. He is six, and after the small celebration at Kushina’s apartment– complete with gifts Hikaru, Akane, and Akira had bought in the capital, because after their first meeting with the younger boy they had all become rather attached– Orochimaru takes Kakashi to visit Sakumo’s grave.

It’s not something he would ever do with his team, simply because they wouldn’t know the significance of it and he’s not in the mood to explain why his single best bonding activity with his kind of stepson is visiting Orochimaru’s ex-boyfriend’s grave.

Dust has formed on the headstone, so Orochimaru carefully brushes it away with one blessedly pale grey sleeve before setting down the bouquet he brought today. Orochimaru’s yellow camellias look nice with Kakashi’s white roses, and they look even prettier against the grey stone.

Neither one of them says anything until halfway back to Kushina and Mikoto’s apartment.

“I miss him,” Kakashi says, his voice painfully small and muffled by the mask Orochimaru just gave him. “Sometimes I wish he took me with him.”

Orochimaru’s blood runs cold. His heart stops beating for several seconds. His mouth is hanging open, and when he gathers the brainpower to realize he isn’t breathing, his next inhale shudders in his throat. Before he knows what he’s doing, Orochimaru drops to his knees and pulls the boy to him. There are tears leaking from his face into Kakashi’s silver hair.

He can’t say he hasn’t had the same thought. He wasn’t much younger than Kakashi when he lost his own parents, and both when they died– his father from sickness while his mother was on a mission she never came back from– and only a few months ago when Sakumo took his own life, the same idea plagued his every waking moment. Why didn’t I die from the epidemic too? Why didn’t Sakumo kill me as well as, instead of, himself?

“Kakashi, I’m sorry,” Orochimaru whispers. “I’m sorry the world had made you think that way.”

He remembers being six and being left alone in that big dark house because there was no-one to care for him. He remembers being thirty-one and watching as Kakashi was left alone in his own big dark house because his clan laws– the precious clan laws the village had to accommodate for fear of clans rioting– wouldn’t allow anyone outside his clan to do it. He remembers going to visit Kakashi every day for a month and getting turned away by ANBU at the door every single time until Kakashi finally told Orochimaru to stop coming.

Kakashi’s hands clench in Orochimaru’s hair. “Sometimes I wish I had died with Mom.” He’s quiet for a few moments. “You told me once that Dad killed himself because he was ashamed of how his choices were affecting me. So he would still be alive if I had died in the Massacre, right?”

Orochimaru had told Kakashi that about Sakumo so that he wouldn’t think that Sakumo hadn’t loved his son. What possessed the gods to twist Kakashi’s mind to misinterpret it so badly?

“Oh cub, I never meant for you to take it like that. I miss him too, but I never, ever wanted you to think like that.

“What your father did was foolish and wrong, and every day I wish that someone had been there to talk some sense into him. I wish that I hadn’t been out of the village that day. I was too kind the last time I spoke of your father. He thought that by taking himself out of the equation, the village wouldn’t project their hate elsewhere and that you wouldn’t be affected. In his haste to right what the village perceived as wrongs, he forgot that he was all you had. His actions were selfish and shallow, no matter how honorable his intentions happened to be. Don’t let yourself be dragged down by the choices of kind-hearted fools.”

Kakashi sniffs, then pulls away and wipes his eyes with one overly long sleeve. “Okay. That means to stop listening to Aunt Kushina then, right?”

Orochimaru chuckles low in his chest and ruffles Kakashi’s hair. “Don’t you go twisting my words, little one.”

“Then don’t give me words to twist,” the boy shoots back, a gentle smile in his tone. Orochimaru is sorry he can’t see it.

As with all things, it comes crashing down around his ears eventually.

It is either late at night or early in the morning depending on which child Orochimaru asks for the time, and all four of them have been summoned to the Hokage’s office.

“You asked for us, sensei.” Orochimaru states as he rises from the crouch he landed in. His children straighten up too behind him.

“Danzo has escaped captivity,” Sarutobi says. It’s unlike him to be so short, to use four words where he could make it boring with twenty. “I am confident in both your abilities and those of your team, but until Danzo is captured I am placing ANBU outside your house. It is likely he will come after the children and try to leave the village with them.”

Behind him, the air goes deathly still, and for one horrifying moment Orochimaru thinks that the children have scattered just from hearing Danzo’s name. If any of the reports he’s read– many of which he didn’t technically have permission to know about– are true, it’s a wonder they didn’t run for the hills.

“You are dismissed. ANBU Crow, Fox, and Goose will meet you at your home.” Sarutobi goes silent, looking down into his telescope jutsu’d crystal ball. Orochimaru stiffens at the names.

“Sensei, is there any significance to those three ANBU being assigned to our case?” Hikaru asks halfway back to the house in his attempt to break the tense silence– something he’s gotten better at in the past months.

Orochimaru nods gravely. “ANBU Crow, Fox, and Goose are the Hokage’s personal guards. That he’s reassigning them means Danzo is more dangerous now than he was before.”

“What was lesson fifty-one again? A desperate man is a dangerous man?” Akira supplies.

“And a dangerous, desperate man is a cornered man and cornered man is unpredictable,” Akane finishes, uncharacteristically somber.

“Sarutobi-sensei never told us stories about Danzo from his youth, but I think we all know there’s a reason why he of all people was the leader of Root. Be cautious,” Orochimaru warns. He feels like he’s being watched and he hates nothing more than being watched.

The instant he sets foot on the property, a shiver runs down his spine and he drops lower to the ground. He draws Kusanagi from its sheath. When he enters the house, he does it slowly and deliberately. The children follow his footsteps exactly.

The nightingale floor shrieks. Instantly, Orochimaru extends an arm and pulls his children behind him and brandishes Kusanagi.

Danzo looks worse for wear, like he’s probably been tortured. Whoever helped him escape T&I– because there’s no way he got out on his own, not on Itsue Morino’s watch– must have had some kind of medical knowledge, because the aging man’s injuries look half-healed.

“Don’t cause a fuss now, Orochimaru. Just give me the experiments and I’ll disappear,” Danzo says, just as calmly as if he was ordering lunch, but there’s a low hum of killer intent in the air. “This doesn’t have to be messy.”

Orochimaru bristles and bares his teeth. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s killer intent, and Danzo just doesn’t have the same dark, oily chakra that makes people shiver when they face Orochimaru on the battlefield. “Over my dead body.”

The elder scowls, but he draws a bloodied kunai from one tattered sleeve and leaps forward.

Orochimaru catches the blade with his own, and it doesn’t take much to force Danzo back. He may be older and more experienced, and the chuunin guarding his cell may have been weak, but Danzo’s been atrophying in a cell for six months while Orochimaru’s been training three energetic kids in how to fight and kill.

“I will be dead and buried before you lay another finger on my children. Do you hear me, Shimura?” Orochimaru snarls. He parries away the kunai again. “But don’t you worry–” a quick slice and a dull thump– “you’ll be gone before you get the chance.”

It’s a gentler death than a man like Danzo Shimura deserves, but Orochimaru is in no mood to play with delusional old men. He has no energy to call the Hokage and tell him of events. But if the three ANBU arrive not two minutes later and find nothing of the old man, well Orochimaru can’t control his snakes all the time. They are among the more fickle of summons, after all.

As if to show just how shitty his life is, Jiraiya gets mugged a scant two miles from Konoha.

He’s been away for three years, and before he can get home to his favorite bath house– full of his favorite patrons who he used to swear could smell him coming from a mile away and still hit him dead-on with their shoes– he gets jumped. And not just jumped, but jumped by three kids.

That’s it. He’s done. He just flops down on his face and pretends to be dead. Maybe all they’ll take is his money.

But the kids climb off him and don’t even go rummaging through his things.

“Are you sure this is him, Hika?” says a decidedly female voice. “Because he doesn’t exactly strike me as Sannin material.”

“Yes. He matches the photograph in the Hokage’s office perfectly,” a child replies. “I would also like to make you aware that I am hurt by you questioning the information I gave you.”

A second girl groans. “Hikaru, when Dad told you to be more apparent with your feelings this isn’t what he meant.”

“If Dad was displeased with my actions he would tell me so himself,” the child says.

“He didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” the first girl speaks again. “He knows you’ve been working hard at opening up to other people and just because Akane can’t appreciate that doesn’t mean that the rest of us can’t.”

“Thank you, Akira,” Hikaru says with a smile in his voice.

“Can we get back to the old geezer on the ground? I think he might be dead.” Akane’s voice is closer now. Did she kneel?

“You’re the medic. And I should remind you that if you call this man an old geezer, you’re saying the same of Dad,” Hikaru snarks.

Akane snarls again. “I swear to every god above and below, Hikaru, if you don’t shut up–”

“Children!” comes a harsh cry. A harsh cry that Jiraiya recognizes. His head jerks up and one of the three– Akane, probably– trips backward and falls.

“Hikaru, Akane, Akira, what are you doing?” Orochimaru demands, his hands firmly placed on his hips.

The taller girl stands stock-straight and seems to shrink under Orochimaru’s piercing golden gaze. “Nothing, Dad.”

He rounds on the other two. “Hikaru? Akane?”

Akane points an accusing finger at the ten-ish-year-old next to her. “It was his idea.”

Orochimaru hums. “Was it now?”

“I heard through secure channels that the Sannin Jiraiya would be returning to the village via this path today and, given the emotional shambles you were reportedly left in when he disappeared in Ame three years ago we decided to wait for him and make sure he wouldn’t hurt you again,” Hikaru rattles off. “Was this not appropriate?” For a moment, Orochimaru says nothing and Jiraiya prays for the kid’s safe passage into the Pure Lands. Then, he huffs out a sigh and smiles.

“Go home, all three of you. We’ll talk later.” The children– though two of them look to be fifteen and up– make off towards the village, Akane muttering about stupid gossipy gate guards with the wrong loyalties. Once they’re out of sight, Orochimaru looks to Jiraiya and his smile wanes. “So you’re back.”

“So you have kids,” Jiraiya retorts as he stands. “Who decided to give you kids? I haven’t been gone that long.”

Orochimaru extends one arm towards the village. “A lot has happened. I’ll explain on the way to tea.”

If you enjoyed this piece, why not take a look at other pieces written by the same author on AO3.

#rated: M #Sumigakure Winter Wishes 2017 #rank: a #submission #sumigakure #pwnie3

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capbucky-0506 · 7 years

Text

Return of the Missing Cooper (FPxReader)

Being the oldest Cooper daughter was never easy. All your life, you struggled to be absolutely perfect, just like your parents wanted. But it wasn’t what you wanted. You were widely known as the “Rebel Cooper”, a title that was frowned upon by your parents. Still, they always let you get off with a small consequence anytime you didn’t do what they wanted. Like when you dyed your hair from blonde to dark brown, they yelled at you for ten minutes before only taking away your phone for a few days. Nothing they ever did really affected you.

That is, until they discovered a secret relationship you had, one with someone they despised: FP Jones. You always were attracted to him, but could never act upon those feelings until it was legal. So, as soon as you turned 18, you and FP started your epic romance. The only people who knew were your sisters, his son (who shockingly approved), your best friend Jason Blossom, and of course, your diary. That’s how your parents found out, and forbid you from seeing again. They threatened to ruin his life, and you couldn’t let that happen.

So one day, you decided to pack up and leave. Since you were 18 already and finished high school, it was technically legal for you to be on your own. All you left behind was a note saying you were leaving, and weren’t going to be back for a while. You had even halted communication with FP and Jughead, ignoring all of their calls and texts.

That was four years ago. You had quickly gone to New York to go to college, the only reason your parents didn’t interfere. You still kept in touch with your sisters sometimes. Unfortunately, you rarely had time to speak with them. The most recent talk you’ve had is when you called to tell them you were finally coming home. Betty was only 12 when you left, and Polly was 13. You couldn’t wait to see them again.

As the moving van stopped in front of your house, you felt a wave of anger crash over you. These were the people who separated you from the man you love. You had only went to a college far away to protect him. If you had it your way, you would’ve left home and built a new life with him in his trailer.

You climbed out of the moving van with just your backpack, having already delivered everything else the day before. Your nerves started acting up as you walked to the door, but you pushed them down. You were 22 years old now. You could do this.

You knocked the front door after a moment of hesitation. After a few seconds, the door swings open to reveal a familiar face.

You gasped. “Betty?”

“Y/N!”

You dropped your bag as you wrap your arms around your little sister. She grew so much while you were gone!

“Oh my gosh, Betty! Look at you! All grown up!”

“Y/N, I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

You heard footsteps approaching. “Y/N’s back?”

You let out another gasp. “Juggie!”

The now older Jughead picks you up and spins you around as Betty picked up your bag and closed the door. “Oh my gosh, Juggie! What on earth are you doing here?”

When he set you down, Betty took his hand in hers. “We’re dating now, Y/N!”

You squealed . “OH MY GOSH! SERIOUSLY? THAT’S AMAZING!”

“Y/N?”

Polly walked into the room and you let out the biggest gasp you’ve ever let out. “Polly?”

She smiled and rubbed her stomach. She was pregnant!

“You missed quite a lot, Sis,” she joked with a nervous expression on her face. “Please be happy for me.”

You rest a hand on her growing stomach. “Of course I’m happy for you! Is it a boy or girl?”

“We don’t know what THEY are yet.”

“They? Oh my gosh, are you having twins?”

She nodded eagerly. “We’ll have to fill you in on everything later.”

“Y/N?”

Your mother descended down the steps, with your father in tow. “Y/N!”

You gave Betty, Polly, and Jughead a nervous look. They all nodded with small smiles on their faces.

“Hi mom,” you said meekly. “Hi dad.”

They engulfed you in a tight hug as your mom started to cry. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. We had no right to separate you from FP. You were legal, you could’ve done whatever you wanted.”

You felt your eyes start to water and you scoffed to cover it up. “What about our image?”

They pulled away from you and your dad put an arm around your mom. “Things have changed since you were gone. We’ve realized that our image isn’t everything.”

“What happened?”

Jughead slowly walked up to you. “Y/N, my dad is in jail.”

You froze. “W-what?”

“He was arrested-”

“For the murder of my boyfriend,” Polly finished, tears in her eyes.

You looked at her quizzically. “Your boyfriend?”

“Jason Blossom,” Betty whispered.

Your heart stopped. “No,” you said in a hushed voice.“

"Y/N-”

“NO! Betty, please tell me my best friend isn’t dead and my true love isn’t in jail for his murder!”

“I can’t, Y/N. But it wasn’t him! He was framed, and we already proved it. Clifford Blossom did it.”

Tears began to run down your face. “His own father? Then why is FP still in jail? Why isn’t Clifford there instead?”

“Honey,” you mom said as she led you to the living room and sat you on the couch. “Clifford hung himself when everyone found out, and although FP didn’t kill Jason, he was an accessory. He handled the clean up, then took the blame after Clifford threatened Jughead’s life.”

After a moment of silence, you took a deep breath and stood up. “I wanna go visit him.”

Your dad tossed you the keys to his car. “Go. He needs you more than ever.”

You grabbed your phone and raced out of the house, hopping into the car immediately. All you could think about on the way there is FP. He went to jail to protect his son. He was still the man you knew all those years ago.

When you got there, you walked to the jail cell after being cleared. There was FP, slumped in the corner of the cell.

“FP!”, you called out.

He looked up at the sound of your voice. “Y/N?”

You practically ran to the cell and held onto the bars, as FP met you there.

He took your hands in his. “ Oh my god, Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I just got back from New York. I am so sorry I left.”

“I didn’t know what to think. First my wife left, now you. It hurt me so much.”

“I know, baby. It hurt me, too! But my parents would’ve crucified you if we didn’t stop. I had to forget you so I could protect you.”

He lifted your left hand and kissed it. “And now?”

You felt more tears falling. “They’re the ones who sent me here. They apologized and now we can be together!”

FP sighed. “Y/N, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be in here.”

“And I don’t care. I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

“Y/N.” He caressed your cheek with his right hand. “I want you to live your life. Don’t wait for some old man.”

“That ‘old man’ is the one I love. We’re gonna get you out of here, and you and I are going to be together again.”

“Y/N-”

You leaned forward through the bars and captured his lips in yours. He soon melted into the kiss, snaking an arm through the bars and around your waist to bring you closer.

When you broke apart, he lightly kissed you on your nose. “God, I missed you.”

You giggled. “You can show me how much you’ve missed me when you get out of here.”

FP smirked. “I intend to.”

At that moment, your phone starts to buzz and you pull it out to see a text coming from Betty.

BettyCooper: Fred Andrews was just shot. Archie is freaking. Get to the hospital now.

You let out a small gasp. FP looked at you quizzically. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated. How were you supposed to tell him that his best friend was just shot? “Um, nothing. Polly accidentally shattered a mirror I bought in New York.”

He chuckled. “Yikes. Guess you gotta head back home now?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow, and every day after that.”

You press a small kiss to his lips. “I love you, FP Jones.”

“I love you too, Y/N Cooper.”

After giving him a small smile, you put your phone away and run out of there, your hands shaking as you begin to drive to the hospital.

“Oh Fred,” you whispered. “Please be okay.”

#riverdale #fp jones #fp jones x reader #jughead jones #jughead #betty cooper #polly cooper #Alice Cooper #Hal Cooper #fred andrews #archie andrews

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celticnoise · 7 years

Link

Yesterday, Mark Warburton faced the media for his usual Friday press conference prior to a game.

The word usual is instructive here; there appeared to be nothing particularly odd about it, although the manager was under immense pressure.

If there were Ibrox PR people in the room they gave not the slightest hint that anything untoward was going on.

At one point in the proceedings Warburton was asked about a spate of stories which alleged that Frank McParland was on the verge of quitting; those stories had begun to circulate the night before last, some suggesting he was about to quit and others that he was about to be fired.

Warburton denied all of it, and reiterated his view that the club was “lucky to have him”.

He defended McParland’s job performance, and his own.

“There was a mischievous story yesterday,” he said, on the McParland reports. “Where it emanated from I’ve no idea. I’d like to know. He’s travelling again to look at players next week. I don’t understand where the stories are coming from. I’m apparently being linked to clubs, and Frank’s going – it’s just nonsense, I would love to know the origination of certain stories.”

Wouldn’t we all?

Because it becomes more curious the more one looks at what followed.

Let’s talk for a minute about “fake news”.

We’ve just been treated to 12 straight hours of it. I wrote earlier this month about how in Scottish football the truth comes slowly, but it always comes, and like with much else the facts here will only emerge far down the line when everyone concerned has already moved on.

To get a sample of how unwilling the Scottish hack pack is to actually get to the bottom of this, consider how John McGarry of The Scottish Daily Mail, opened his article on the subject today; I kid you not, a “journalist” actually wrote the sheer ignorance you are about to read as the opening line in his article.

“We can quickly gloss over the rather surreal fact that a manager is claiming he knows nothing of an official club communication detailing his resignation …”

Oh we can, can we?

Wouldn’t that be nice, and convenient, for those inside Ibrox?

Because if we “gloss over” Warburton’s denial we’re pretty much forced to accept the version of events the club itself is putting out there, right?

And if we don’t “gloss over” that inconvenient denial then we have to ask a series of much harder questions, don’t we?

God almighty.

What a world it would be if journalists did that, eah?

But in one thing, McGarry has it right; this is heading for a “messy settlement” and a court case, and that’s way down the line.

The truth will emerge many months from now, when everyone no longer cares.

Not that many of them care now.

Until the conclusion of legal proceedings, this article, and those like it from like-minded Bampots, might well be the closest thing to “truth” that exists.

If I can offer one piece of advice to the readers on this blog it’s this; bookmark this article for later reference.

You will not be disappointed that you did.

Let me go over some things for you, just to re-familiarise you with the timeline.

Just over 10 days ago, Sevco was massacred at Hearts.

Mark Warburton was not fired.

There was not the slightest suggestion that he would be.

The club had no money to pay off Warburton and his management team. That much is an established, incontrovertible fact. A rash of people inside and outside the media confirmed that, as if common sense and logic were not enough to go on.

A few days later, the club drew at home to Ross County, and they dropped to third place in the league.

Warburton found himself under the most intense pressure imaginable.

The media didn’t clamour for it, but I thought Warburton’s sacking was a formality after the Hearts game.

It seemed impossible for him to survive, even with the club in such a perilous financial state. But the sum that would have been required – £1.2 million – was far beyond the reach of the Ibrox board. They were in a bind.

Earlier in the week, an email dropped into my inbox, from someone with a fair claim to knowing the state of play inside the ground.

He told me at least one board meeting had been held to discuss firing the manager, but that it broke up over the issue of compensation. Another source told Phil McGiollobhain that an argument had been sparked between two board members over which of them would put his hand in his pocket and find the money.

Nobody wanted to do it.

In the same email my friend was unequivocal on one other fact; Warburton would not resign under any circumstances but those where he could paint it as a principled, dignified act having achieved his primary goals as per his contract; in other words, in the event the club came second in the SPL and qualified (at least in terms of league position) for a place in Europe next season. After that he would have been prepared to go on a “mutual consent” basis if the offer was right.

Warburton’s primary concern in not wanting to resign was that he would be seen as a bottler. This morning he’s seen as an underhanded backstabber instead, who resigned to go to another club, only to see that deal collapse. Not simply a snake, then, but one who took a stupid, shot in the dark at a risky proposition which backfired when “his bluff was called.” A traitor, and a stupid one at that, after a failed gambit with his career and those of his friends.

That is the story, and it is everywhere.

All of those tales have but one source; Ibrox.

Because of course, this is the club’s line we’re being given here, their version of events, originating from a board at whose helm is a guy a South African judge called a “glib and shameless liar” and of whom he said he shouldn’t be believed on any subject unless there was supporting evidence.

A guy who not one hack in the country isn’t wholly aware has dissembled and misled on everything from the money available to the manager to the club’s long term plan.

Is there any evidence here?

Like a signed resignation letter?

Like independent witnesses?

So much about this stinks, but one thing is clear, one thing stands as an uncontested fact; if this was a resignation and not a sacking then the club doesn’t have to find a reputed £1.2 million.

You can see why their version of events is so important.

Their PR people know that the key thing in putting out a story is to get your version out first; it becomes “fact” even if every single part of it is in dispute.

I’ve written about this too many times to be surprised by the tactic.

The Scottish Cup Final aftermath was handled this way. The Barrie McKay “transfer offer” was halfway around the world before RB Leipzig had said it was nonsense, and it continued to be printed and run for weeks afterwards in spite of that flat out denial.

The narrative has already been set in stone for a lot of these writers and their titles, and they will feel exactly no sense of shame if it later turns out – as I fully expect – that every single word of it was a particularly brazen, outrageous, lie.

Because in the end the club needed Warburton gone and it needed that to happen in a way that didn’t tip them into administration.

So who in the media, especially those who hover around Ibrox like flies around a fresh turd, cares how it happened?

Who cares if three men who had employment rights and an expectation of fair treatment were spectacularly done up and cast aside like rubbish?

Nobody batted an eyelid for Joey Barton when his confidential medical records were leaked, because the narrative had already been implanted in most minds that this was a trouble maker who deserved everything he got. The same idea has already taken root about Warburton, that he was incompetent anyway and thus no-one should be too bothered if things didn’t exactly happen the way the club says.

This is how things work at Ibrox.

That’s how these people do business; like a mafia family ordering a hit.

Is anybody interested in that?

Are the Bampots really the only people who’ll ask this stuff?

Are we the only people who understand that this is the weekend’s biggest story, by far?

The one these guys are almost going out of their ways not to write?

I don’t like Mark Warburton. I’ve written that enough times.

But I was a union rep and I am a socialist and this reeks like a dead fish left under a radiator.

Let’s say the club can produce a resignation letter, signed by Warburton, Weir and McParland.

Well that’s that. End of story.

Not quite nothing to see; without a firm job offer on the table resigning would have been an act of utter idiocy from the manager and his backroom team, a mistake in judgement which deserves a catastrophic ending and which would make a fantastic news story in and of itself.

I presume that resignation letter was made available to the hacks, who will all have asked to see it, of course, before simply accepting the club’s word on this?

Otherwise, this is hearsay.

The media is running with one version of events, the one that saves the club a seven figure settlement.

Will they even pretend to view that objectively?

I know how the law works on this. A resignation made verbally is perfectly valid in a court of law, but every employment tribunal in the world would ask, if faced with this scenario, why the club didn’t get a written statement to that effect, just in case someone changed their minds later.

And does a verbal resignation statement carry the slightest legal weight if, as the club allege, it was done through a third party, like an agent?

What the Hell is this?

Resignation by proxy?

Would anyone really be expected to believe that nonsense?

Here’s the scenario we’re being asked to swallow here.

On Wednesday Mark Warburton sent his agent in to talk to the club, after receiving an approach from Notts Forest.

He and his backroom team wanted to go to there and were keen that the club not stand in their way by insisting on excessive compensation.

Now, to even the untrained observer there would have had to be more to this “interest” from Forest than simply a brief, casual, discussion.

That offer would have had to have teeth, or the resignation would never have been offered.

But there was no formal, written, offer of employment from Forest – there couldn’t have been, as we’ll come to in a moment – so the interest was less than absolute. But however it manifested itself, it must have given Warburton reason to believe it held weight.

Sevco not only didn’t stand in their way, but they accepted the resignations of all three men.

Did they announce it straight away, with a cup game looming?

Did they get their reserve coach in and tell him to start preparing the team for the game?

Of course not.

For reasons known only to themselves they kept it quiet.

In the meantime, Forest, who now faced no obstacle whatsoever to appointing their top three targets, decided not to bother although there was no need for negotiations or a big settlement. Perhaps they got bored waiting, although negotiations between Sevco and the management team had been resolved in a single discussion.

Whatever, they announced that their interim team would have the jobs until the end of the season, thus leaving in the lurch the three guys they’d talked out of their jobs.

Cold blooded?

You better believe it.

(If you believe it.)

At that point, Warburton, having realised he had no job to go to send his agent into Ibrox to negotiate his un-resignation.

Then, presumably acting under his patron’s instructions, although he had no cards to play whatsoever – with no club interested – and the sure knowledge that his clients would certainly have already been sacked had the club possessed the financial wherewithal, and so with exactly zero bargaining chips, Warburton’s agent didn’t just ask for their jobs back but made demands of the Sevco board on top of that.

And they, in turn, having seen such treachery, allowed Warburton – who had no job there or anywhere else – to do a full interview with their in-house media unit in preparation for a game he’d never be around to manage.

A further day went by with no preparation done for the game but that which the unemployed management team thought apt.

Then they let him chair a press conference, two days after he’d quit, although they could have benched him and told the media what they liked.

Almost as soon as the announcement was made, Warburton was denying that he’d resigned at all.

And rather than go after Notts Forest, who at the very least would have broken one of those verbal agreement things which you will hear Sevco put such great store in this coming week, he’s going to consult his legal reps to go after the board at Ibrox instead.

He clearly blames them more than the club that enticed him out of his job and then decided not to bother employing him.

And that’s what happened. Allegedly.

Of course it is.

Because all of that makes perfect sense, right?

Which is why they didn’t announce all this earlier in the week but made this announcement on a Friday night, the traditional “good day to bury a news story” as no-one reads the weekends papers, and at a time when they knew the national titles were rushing to get their Saturday morning early editions out …

So that all would carry one version of events, the one the club wanted them to have.

Aside from the press briefing all the Usual Suspects were on hand, at once, for TV, to give the club version even more juice.

Terry Butcher was on Sky before the news had reached many people’s social media feeds. Watching him, my old man and I mused on how long it would be before Level 5 employee and Sevco mouthpiece Derek Johnstone was wheeled out for the cameras.

Before you knew it, there he was, orange shirt and all.

Even as we were watching him we wondered who would be next.

Neil McCann perchance?

Of course it was.

He, at least, suggested that there were clearly holes in the narrative and expressed some disquiet at the differing stories.

But before long all those stories had a uniform feel to them; Notts Forest were now being named in them, and the tale of the Job Offer That Came To Nothing was being put about. The Daily Record’s Gary Ralston was talking about a “bluff that had been called.”

What was the bluff? Ralston never explained it.

If his version was right the manager resigned, the club accepted it, and then the manager tried to back out.

It was a catastrophic mistake, but it doesn’t meet the textbook definition of “a bluff.”

Roddy Forsyth at The Telegraph had an even more convoluted tale, one which has popped up in a couple of other places; the three men were on the verge of being fired.

Someone at Ibrox had found the £1.2 million necessary to do it.

The sacking was to take place “within the week.”

But rather than wait for the imminent payday – which would, of course, have let Forest off the hook in paying compensation, forcing the club to both give them a settlement and forego one from the English team – these three guys resigned instead and got next to nothing …

Which makes even less sense than the rest of the “official” story.

The BBC appears to know that at least some of this is smoke and mirrors.

Graham Spiers certainly smells a rat.

And incredibly, Keith Jackson at The Record has contradicted the claims of his own sports writing team by tweeting that there were “no resignations” at all, which Warburton was equally emphatic about in talking to The Record’s rival publication The Sun.

Sevco’s conduct in this case is clearly suspect.

The suspicion naturally forms that when Warburton pondered the sudden rash of stories about other clubs wanting him and McParland being ready to quit that he was sending a message to interested parties that there was more to them than met the eye.

That he was even allowed to sit in front of the press at all yesterday, whilst the club alleges a board meeting was being organised to formalise his departure, stretches credibility to the snapping point. Something is very clearly wrong with this picture.

The “official version” of this has more holes than Swiss cheese.

There is no way this doesn’t end in a blood-letting tribunal which will cost the club a small fortune.

The “resignation”, done as they claim seemingly through a third party and with no formal paperwork, is a sham that will not stand up to scrutiny, where people have to give testimony that could draw them into personal litigation in the event Warburton and his people win.

Lying to an industrial tribunal isn’t a crime, but it could easily be construed as libellous if it implies someone else is being mendacious.

Warburton may well end up with the opportunity to go after the directors directly in those circumstances.

That opens up dark possibilities for all concerned, of course, and makes gilding the lily a heavy proposition.

Time is what they’re playing for, of course, and in that sense this has a demented kind of genius, like the logic of General Buck Turgidson, in Dr Strangelove, where he tells President Muffley they have to make a choice between two bad options.

“Mr. President,” he says, “We are rapidly approaching a moment of truth both for ourselves as human beings and for the life of our nation. Now, truth is not always a pleasant thing. But it is necessary now to make a choice, to choose between two admittedly regrettable, but nevertheless distinguishable, post-war environments: one where you got twenty million people killed, and the other where you got a hundred and fifty million people killed … Mr. President, I’m not saying we wouldn’t get our hair mussed. But I do say no more than ten to twenty million killed, tops. Uh … depending on the breaks.”

Faced with a disaster in the near future or a catastrophe in the more distant future they’ve chosen the catastrophe because it buys them that most precious commodity and gets them through the rest of the season, with a new manager at the helm.

Had they been forced to continue with Warburton he might have failed; worse, he might have succeeded.

Either way they’d have had to sack him or kiss off any season ticket sales.

This is a desperate, final gamble, with peril on all sides, but they wouldn’t be the first regime which saw its choices narrowed until one desperate, seemingly suicidal course was all that remained as an alternative to the sure-fire ending guaranteed by the status quo.

They took the shot.

I can’t blame them for it, although they did it in a retrograde fashion that heaps embarrassment and shame on them as long as the current regime is in charge. Any manager who comes in knows, furthermore, that he cannot count on loyalty or support from these people, that they will do anything to deflect blame from their own door.

When you see a major organisation conduct itself like this, whether it’s a corporation, a political party, a public body or whatever it may be, you are appalled at the lengths to which they will go in trying to survive, but you can’t help but be just as aware that what you’re watching is a last ditch effort by a regime that is crumbling into ruin.

This is the endgame, folks.

Whilst the media jumps all over the ephemera and fluff – who the new manager will be, the size of his warchest, the high hopes for a “challenge” next season – the water will continue pouring in and the guys bailing out with the buckets will have to work their balls off just to keep up with it.

Crisis at Ibrox is so easy to hide, because the media is never looking for it in the right places, if they can be convinced to look at all.

I have been covering Scottish football stories for five years now and I can honestly say I have never seen anything quite like this in all that time, or in my life. This club astounds you with its ability to constantly self-destruct.

Blame McCoist. Blame McCall. Blame Warburton. Blame King.

This club, since its birth amidst scandal and shame, has been a disaster area for everyone involved.

Mark Warburton might not have quit, but he is out now and he will be relieved about that if nothing else.

For him, this nightmare is over.

But the show goes on.

And on.

Sevco is like a terminal patient attached by tubes to a machine which is keeping him alive, although he’s long since passed the point of quality of life far less recovery, and all because nobody wants the responsibility of switching the damned thing off.

Let the media write, or not write, whatever the Hell they want. There’s a story for those who want to dig for it, but I doubt there will be much need for shovels until its time to dig a fresh grave.

Today we’re one step closer to the plug being pulled.

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