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swiftscion · 1 year

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deep dive character sheet

stolen from: ree and everyone else tagging: you there, all the way in the back!!

NAME: LARCEI ISAACH-LOWELL (not yet)

BODY

height: 160cm / 5′ 3

strength ★★★☆☆ (while not physically built, larcei has strength in her ability to generate momentum. acrobatics and evasiveness are her strong suits, with a body type built on lean muscle rather than overwhelming bulk)

dexterity ★★★★★ (goes hand-in-hand with her streamlined physique. her swordplay is also a honed art, learned by countless failures. she'd be caught dead (quite literally) if her stroke missed an enemy's vital)

health ★★☆☆☆ (in addition to being reckless, larcei pushes herself. her pursuit for power often leaves her lacking in personal care, but at the very least she understands the importance of eating and sleeping)

energy ★★★★★ (high-energy, though quick to burn out. larcei has low stamina and fatigues easily, but when she gets fired up there is little she lets stand in her way. also just generally an active/energetic person)

beauty ★★★★☆ (she does little to maintain it, but according to a handful of others, she is very beautiful. also reminiscent of ayra, who is similarly seen as beautiful by other characters. tell her she looks hot and she'll pull you into a stump but say she looks like her mother? and now you've got her listening)

style ★★★★☆ (laugh at the no pants thing but i think her default outfit and casual fits in some of the manga are quite stylish. the boots and gloves are eye-catching while her outfits as a whole enable her high mobility)

hygiene ★★★☆☆ (perhaps a little stinky. definitely waits a day or two more than she should to wash off the bloodstains after a big battle. she grew up in hiding so this was never exactly a priority for larcei)

SKILLS

perception ★★★☆☆ (in battle, being aware of an enemy's strengths and weaknesses is what allows her razor-edge style to succeed. she does get tunnel-visioned rather easily though, and loses points for being perceptive of little else)

communication ★★☆☆☆ (anger she communicates easily, as well as joy. but feelings of affection or things that otherwise make her feel like a burden fall victim to near-tsundere levels of denial)

persuasion ★★☆☆☆ (the only example of persuasion we find with larcei is her recruitment of the dozel brothers and this poses a few issues. firstly, she only really persuades iucharba to change his mind, as the mere sight of her is enough to convince iuchar. secondly, she cannot convince both to set aside their differences and join together, displaying a lack of this trait. and thirdly, she doesn't even try with any other enemy characters, meaning it's just not in her. she can kick and scream and threaten though )

mediation ★☆☆☆☆ (while threatening to whack both parties across the head could work in some scenarios, the vast majority where they don't and also her failure to resolve the dozel conflict earns larcei another low score)

literacy ★★☆☆☆ (a skill taught to her in group sessions in tirnanog but never anything she received formal lessons in, until coming to the officers academy. even then, she's more of a tactile learner)

creativity ★★★☆☆ (her one art is the art of the sword but she's decently creative with it. scion larcei kind of opened my eyes to her using astra for more than just swordplay so i think that is also kind of like a creative outlet for her)

cooking ★★☆☆☆ (it is edible and it gets the job done. definitely better at doing hard farm labor than cooking what she harvests)

tech savvy ★☆☆☆☆ (honor is big for her and she refuses to touch weaponry that is nontraditional (magic, ballistae, siege weapons) lest she let down the pride of her people)

combat ★★★★★ (it is literally in her blood and not only something she does for its own sake, but for the pursuit of her mother)

survival ★★★★★ (under imperial rule this was number one. calling larcei a survivor is a perfect summation of her character)

stealth ☆☆☆☆☆ (it goes against her personal creed to sneak up on people. combat must be announced and challenges shouted so that victory can be achieved against an opponent at full strength)

street smarts ★★★★☆ (see survival. she's watched one too many girl get snatched up to become, to quote her directly, "dead, or wishing i was..." loses one star for the time shannan had to save her but she has not forgotten that day)

seduction ★★☆☆☆ (is found attractive by some people (including her current partner) but doesn't actually know how to leverage that)

luck ★★☆☆☆ (this one is hard to pin down statistically since her lck base and growth are slightly parent-dependent, but given that she's got the lower stat between her and scathach i'd say she's on the unluckier side of things)

handling animals ★☆☆☆☆ (has yet to obtain a mount and things will stay this way for quite some time)

pacifying children ★☆☆☆☆ (definitely more of a hard-discipline kind of parent. she's the one who gets fed up of kids yelling for mcdonalds and pulls in to order a single black coffee)

MIND

intelligence ★☆☆☆☆ (choosing to interpet this as book-smarts, which are an obvious 'no'. she fits the jock archetype fairly well)

happiness ★★★☆☆ (this is a score that's gotten better the more she bonds with people in the group but the tragedy of her family still hangs over her head)

spirituality ★★★★☆ (sort of a big deal for anyone in jugdral, and with multiple quotes revering the sword saint it can be safe to assume she uses him as a measure of strength. definitely more focused on the human-side of the crusaders though)

confidence ★★★★★ (she risks her neck every time she rushes into the fray. to not do so with confidence would spell a quick death)

humor ★☆☆☆☆ (sometimes she does things that can be laughed at but humor isn't really a focus of larcei's character)

anxiety ★★★☆☆(with regards to ayra's whereabouts, specifically. and whether she's been living her life all wrong. the realization that she's been chasing a shadow for nearly 20 years is going to hit her hard)

patience ☆☆☆☆☆ (nope. none. gotta do it now and do it loud!)

passion ★★★★☆ (yes but only in the things she particularly cares for. if it's not a contest or chance for her to grow she will not bother)

nice ☆☆☆★☆ mean (snippy and rude with her nice moments)

brave ☆★☆☆☆ cowardly (cowardly only in the sense that she cannot accept the truth that is right in front of her)

pacifist ☆☆☆☆★ violent (incredibly so)

thoughtful ☆☆☆☆★ impulsive (incredibly so)

agreeable ☆☆☆★☆ contrary (constantly ready for fights, conflict, and competition--though she is rather pleasant with similarly-minded folk and those who earn her respect)

idealistic ☆★☆☆☆ pragmatic (the hope that ayra is alive is the only thing sliding that star to the left. otherwise she is a very realistic person)

frugal ☆★☆☆☆ big spender (grew up without a lot of money since isaach was not ruled by her family during her childhood. she knows its value well)

extrovert ★☆☆☆☆ introvert (to no one's surprise)

collected ☆☆☆☆★ wild (her penchant for violence is only matched by the quickness of her accusations. truly a loose cannon )

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ★★★☆☆ (she has a kind of plucky charm but is otherwise not remarkable in social settings)

empathy ★★★★★ (an important part of her character, having watched her people suffer at the hands of the empire. she will never forget their pain. never)

generosity ★★★☆☆ (there is a kindled yearning for her to give back to the world and ensure nobody has to grow up parentless but we have yet to see any examples of charitability from her so this one is hard to pin down)

wealth ★★★★☆ (i headcanon that she has a huge lump sum leftover from her participation in genealogy's many arenas that she uses to buy birthday gifts and stuff. she also has a tie back to isaach's throne and can sort of ask for money whenever she wants, though she never does)

honest ☆☆★☆☆ deceptive (wants to be honest but will be meaner than she wants to if it means not exposing a vulnerability. also can get up to mischief)

leader ☆☆☆★☆ follower (imagine being told, at like age five, that you have to protect some kid with your life. still dedicated to seliph in a retainer sort of way but also strikes out and does her own thing)

polite ☆☆☆☆★ rude (most people reading this do not know she is a princess)

political ☆☆☆★☆ indifferent (leaving jugdral has separated her from its politics but if she were in a paired ending or the ending in which both scathach and shannan die and she ascends the throne, this would lean left)

BELIEFS

higher power ★★★★★ (the proof of their existence is within her)

fate/destiny ★☆☆☆☆ (more of a believer in everyone making their own fate)

magic ★★★★★ (it is very real to her and she loathes it)

soulmates ☆☆☆☆☆ (she has been called that one too many times by a man she watched die so. nope)

good and evil ★★★★★ (i don't think she got the same spiel about the loptyr cult that lewyn gave seliph so to her, the conflict is very black-and-white)

luck ☆☆☆☆☆ (skill is far more reliable)

PRIORITIES

family ★★★★★ (ayra quest aside, she cares deeply for her isaachian relatives and the rest of the tirnanog group. her caretakers are loved just as much as real fathers and mothers)

friends ★★★★★ (this was a big moment for her in toa, actually. fighting for those who care about her by choice is equally as important as those who care by birthright)

love ★★★☆☆ (she is taken from a iucharba-recruit timeline but lucina exists so she is questioning this one)

home ★★★★★ (repaying debts to the land, its people, and those who would lend it their assistance, is a cornerstone of isaachian culture)

health ★★★☆☆ (neglects it if she's mad but otherwise tries to be healthy)

praise ★★★☆☆ (kind of. "an admittance that she's better than you" is more apt)

justice ★★★★★ (see repaying debts. extends also to ensuring punishment goes to those who wrong the innocent )

truth ★★★★☆ (she's a little hypocritical in this regard whenever she gets emotional but this is important to her nonetheless)

power ★★★★★ (her pursuit for power is, at times, shonen-esque)

fame ☆☆☆☆☆ (not one bit. if she did care for this, she'd introduce herself with the royal title she technically has)

wealth ★★★☆☆ (enough to survive and enough to make a difference. if she ever does take an interest in raising money, it'd be for the sake of ensuring a better future for someone else)

others' opinions ★★☆☆☆ (of those close to her only. being seen as a child or otherwise helpless blows a quick fuse on her)

#OOC #HEADCANONS #//another fun one

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fruit-salad-ship · 1 year

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I find my self interested in how competent a combatant Plum is in comparison to Peach and Gray . You’ve mentioned in previous post a long while ago that she “can” fight and that she graceful in a way peach isn’t . I would image as a ranger she must have some combat training but I’m giving the impression that she’s not a particularly adept fighter like peach and gray ?

She’s not helpless that’s for sure.

So back in the ranger days plum and peach were pretty evenly matched. Peach’s sheer tenacity vs plums very methodical practices. The school of course taught the rangers how to defend themselves, but was never overly focused on it, instead favouring relying on your Pokemon too much, something that bothered peach from day one. That being said plum finished the course, and they taught a lot more as you advanced. The girls had always had a competitive bond, and came to enjoy the friendly bouts they had before they parted ways.

Plums combat training continued, the rangers focus on defending, and evasion. Kind of built around the idea of using an opponents momentum and actions against themselves. It works well for any body type to know that, and can turn tides. She however was able to focus in on a particular area by her final year of study, and chose a more back seat, intelligent position to chase after. Her tactical mind outweighed her fighting ability, and so she made that her focus.

By the time she got to Dotaku, realising her boss was her old class mate, the size difference was notable, and she knew she’d not stand a chance against someone built like that without a plan or help. Plums able to take simple foe down, restrain them with rope, or even use some kind of lock to hold them in place. She’s not defenceless, and will throw a punch if needed, but doesn’t like to. It can be painful on impact, and tends not to do a lot as she’s quite small.

Next to grey and peach, plum really isn’t built for head on combat, she can outrun the both in a straight line, and has a lot more stamina than grey. That’s not to say the pair haven’t watched her take down a rocket goon and felt….many feelings over it. Mostly pride and arousal hahaha. The rare moments where she’s able to get the drop on either of her partners is quite impressive.

Now they’re a family, comfortably married and happy, peach has started to train her better. The ranger courses can only do so much, and she worries about her family coming in and messing with her loved ones, and the raids on the island. If anything were to happen to plum or grey, the professor would surely start a war over it. Twice a week the girls will go and train together, sometimes Rei will come too, and a few Pokemon like to tag along, but it’s all about making sure plums got some moves if things go south.

She’s improving a lot, and while she may never overtake the two big loves of her life, she can at least start to hold her own in some situations. Peach’s training leans into her tactical mind, and speed, no point strength training someone built to run and dodge, it’s her area of excellence, hone it, perfect it. And plum loved this, not only because it’s dedicated time with someone she loves, but also because she knows she can potentially one day try and face peach as an equal. If the big woman heard that she’s say plum already was equal, the amount of traps peach has fallen for it astounding, she’s got her own skills and talents and shouldn’t measure herself against others like that.

#fruit salad #brainrot

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eggcatsreads · 9 months

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June Reading Wrap-Up

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Favorite Read of the Month:

The Battle Drum by Saara El-Arifi (series)

Murder. Secrets. Sacrifice: Three women seek the truth of the empire's past. And the truth they find has the power to ignite a war in the sequel to The Final Strife.

Okay listen. I will admit The Final Strife was not a perfect book - it had some flaws and pitfalls that I readily admitted to and mentioned in my review, and if it were not a debut fantasy novel I would have rated it 2.5-3 stars, instead of the 4 I did. But the author laid the groundwork for a fascinating world, and while there might have been some issues getting there, she did - and she set up The Final Strife for an ending surprise that made you want to continue the series.

So I did. And Saara El-Arifi did not disappoint. I knew she had the potential, but writing is a skill that needs honed, like any other, so I knew she could only improve. And boy did she. The Battle Drum takes all the skillful worldbuilding, and everything she's learned and improved with her writing, and makes a legitimately phenomenal second book in a trilogy - a difficult feat for any writer. She's even able to do it while separating her characters, each with their own POVs, away from one another as they go about their missions - which can be very tricky to pull off well - without either losing momentum OR making one POV significantly more boring than the others.

While I might have rated The Final Strife higher than I legitimately believed it to be, I did NOT do any such thing for The Battle Drum. It's a legitimate 5 star read, and I cannot wait for the last book in this trilogy.

Read The Final Strife, even through any issues you find with the writing, and keep in mind it's a debut fantasy novel with completely original worldbuilding - as well as a secret twist at the end that makes some of the confusion of the world make sense. And then read The Battle Drum to see the improvement in the writing, the worldbuilding, and the storytelling and join me on this journey of seeing how this trilogy ends.

(Also there's no talking animal companion, which is what made me hate The Drowning Empire trilogy so much, and made me less forgiving for errors, because it was annoying to read.)

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Rest of Books Read Under the Cut:

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Ink Blood Sister Scribe by Emma Torzs

For generations, the Kalotay family has guarded a collection of ancient and rare books. Books that let a person walk through walls or manipulate the elements--books of magic that half-sisters Joanna and Esther have been raised to revere and protect. All magic comes with a price, though, and for years the sisters have been separated. But after their father dies suddenly while reading a book Joanna has never seen before, the sisters must reunite to preserve their family legacy.

This Delicious Death by Kayla Cottingham

Three years ago, the melting of arctic permafrost released a pathogen of unknown origin into the atmosphere, causing a small percentage of people to undergo a transformation that became known as the Hollowing. Zoey, Celeste, Valeria, and Jasmine are all ghouls living in Southern California. As a last hurrah before their graduation they decided to attend a musical festival in the desert. But on the first night of the festival Val goes feral, and ends up killing and eating a boy.

Campy fun horror at it's finest. Who doesn't want a story of what happens when the ghouls who go to Coachella wind up eating people? Who doesn't want to be on the side of the flesh-eating monsters instead of those who hunt and kill them? And also it's gay, which makes it even better.

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Witch King by Martha Wells

After being murdered, his consciousness dormant and unaware of the passing of time while confined in an elaborate water trap, Kai wakes to find a lesser mage attempting to harness Kai’s magic to his own advantage. That was never going to go well.

The Sinister Booksellers of Bath by Garth Nix (series)

Return to the enchanting world of The Left-Handed Booksellers of London in this sequel by Garth Nix, bestselling master of teen fantasy, where once again a team of booksellers must fight to keep dangerous magic under cover before the stuff of legends destroys our world.

Marina by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Fifteen-year-old Oscar Drai meets the strange Marina while he's exploring an old quarter of Barcelona. She leads Oscar to a cemetery, where they watch a macabre ritual that occurs on the last Sunday of each month. At exactly ten o'clock in the morning, a woman shrouded in a black velvet cloak descends from her carriage to place a single rose on an unmarked grave.

From Below by Darcy Coates

Years ago, the SS Arcadia vanished without a trace during a routine voyage. Though a strange, garbled emergency message was broadcast, neither the ship nor any of its crew could be found. Sixty years later, its wreck has finally been discovered more than three hundred miles from its intended course...a silent graveyard deep beneath the ocean's surface, eagerly waiting for the first sign of life.

Haunted ghost ship horror? Haunted ghost ship horror! This book is great if you were wanting some claustrophobic, slow creeping horror that slowly builds up into a crescendo - and you also wanted it to happen while trapped underwater with a limited supply of oxygen.

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The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

You may think you know how the fairytale goes: a mermaid comes to shore and weds the prince. But what the fables forget is that mermaids have teeth. And now, her daughters have devoured the kingdom and burned it to ashes.

The Lost Village by Camilla Sten

Documentary filmmaker Alice Lindstedt is obsessed with the vanishing residents of the old mining town, dubbed “The Lost Village." In 1959, her grandmother’s entire family disappeared in this mysterious tragedy except for a woman stoned to death in the town center and an abandoned newborn. She’s gathered a small crew of friends in the remote village to make a film about what really happened.

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Rating: ⭐⭐

The Bone Shard War by Andrea Stweart (GR review) (series)

The final book in The Drowning Empire trilogy.

Listen, I read this mostly because I suffered through the other two and I had the audiobook borrowed from the library. I....if you liked the first book, and the second - you'll like this. If you hated the annoying talking animal companion(s), did not believe in the "romance" between Lin and Jovis, and don't like books that don't accomplish anything and then end feeling like it's setting up for a FOURTH book despite being a trilogy - don't read this. I shouldn't have.

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Books read so far this year: 69

How I rate books.

#books #booklr #reading wrap up #reading wrap up 2023 #june #june 2023 #long post

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hazel-sawyer · 2 years

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––––– pruning the family tree, act i

Loneliness was a deep pit. To claw your way out of it, in Panem, would be a nearly insurmountable task; if grief tangled its vicious hands into the fabric of your psyche you were trapped in the cycle:

Learn to live with and without.

Live without tesserae. Live with turning into the oldest sibling. Live without summer days spent in swimming holes. Live with a near-catatonic mother. Live without a shoulder to cry on. Live with little brothers worried that they’re next. Live without a sister. Live with just yourself.

Loneliness for Hazel then bred obsession. If she could play back each second of the Games to identify where everything had gone abysmally wrong for her sister, it all led back to Holland fucking Westbrook. Watching Aspen’s interview and knowing her sister damn well enough to recognize a crush was the first red flag. Then there was the murder – Holland’s fault, even the courts agreed. It felt like every time Hazel even glanced at the Games all her sister was doing was keeping Holland from going completely insane. And what did she get for it? A sword through her rib cage. Holland’s fault.

Training was all Hazel had to channel a blind rage into. In a year, if felt she was strong enough, ready enough to take on the Hunger Games, she’d volunteer. Grouping in Pepper, who had lost her sister the same way Hazel lost Aspen was easy. Having a guaranteed person to watch her back settled Hazel and made it easier to focus on honing her skills.

Feint to the right shoulder, cut toward the back of the knee. Duck under, pass back, go corps a corps into a headbutt. They’re down on the ground. Moulinet in order to get more momentum with your swing. Dead. The stronger the swing the less time it would take to kill someone. Major arteries would make sure they’d bleed out faster. If arteries weren’t available she’d go for the gut, gullet, ankle. If she had to tear them from sinew to bone she’d do it. Winning was the only way to make things right for Aspen – the only path Hazel had to clear her sister’s honor.

Hazel walked toward the Reaping, wondering how her sister felt the day she heard her named called. She wore the same dress, they bore the same age now – Hazel drawing nearer to nineteen than Aspen ever would. This wouldn’t be the same experience, she wasn’t literally standing in her sister’s shoes. Aspen was forced into the Games. Hazel was volunteering.

Each of her hands were taken in a vice by her smaller brothers – this had become their ritual since the last Games. They wanted to hold extra tight to Hazel, ‘In case what happened to Aspen happens to you’. She almost couldn’t bring herself to think of the aftermath of her volunteering, they wouldn’t forgive her and she wouldn’t blame them.

The commotion of the escort for District Seven dipping his hand into the bowl of names brought a hush over the jittery crowd. No one wanted to be a part of the Games. They had more than served their purpose at this juncture and yet the biannual torture remained.

“Alder Reid.”

Hazel cut her attention around the crowd, trying to locate who she knew to be one of Seven’s very few Victors. If this were any other variety of lottery, she would almost consider him lucky – what were the odds Alder would be selected twice in such a short span of time? Hazel, however, wasn’t looking to be merciful, this man was in a long line of people who had, incidentally, let the Sawyer family down. Impatiently she began to bounce in place as they dragged Alder onto the stage muttering to herself, “Come on, come on, come on.”

She worried about the potential for cold-feet, not wanting to engage in letting Aspen down. Not in the final thing she would be able to do for her. It wouldn’t be fair. A young girl she recognized as being a part of her brother Teak’s class was called – the same age as Pepper. The poor thing shook and Hazel was relieved to help take her place.

“Are there any volunteers?”

Hazel’s hands lost purchase with both of her brothers, soaring directly into the air. The boys reached at her arms, wanting to pull her hand back downward, pleading softly. Her voice rang out, “I volunteer!”

Pepper volunteered mere seconds after Hazel. Their plan was working out. They were going to be in there together and – if they were lucky – one of them would get out. One of them would live.

Her face grew hard as Peacekeepers descended into the crowd, quickly creating a path to usher Hazel and Pepper up to the stage. She approached the side where Alder stood, her chest held high, confidence blooming brightly across her chest, despite the deafening pleas that poured out of the man’s mouth. Even if she had wanted to take it back, it was too late now.

She would do it for her mom.

She would do it for her brothers.

She’d do it for herself

She’d do it for Aspen.

#alright time for generational trauma #tw: gore #mostly mention #but like never too safe #selfpara #ft. alder #ft. leander #ft. pepper

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 2 years

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hi im back on my “is this normal for you” bullshit:

it’s YAZ of course it’s yaz who asks, of course it’s her who has been watching the doctor for the past week, who has seen the ease with which she gets people to do what she wants without ever answering the questions she doesnt want to answer

has watched the doctor dance the line between lies and deflections and lies by omission, has seen her weave them into a story of that night entirely parallel to what actually happened but so persuasive that yaz feels like she can remember that fake night too. like it’s not even hard to lie about it, like the story has its own truth, its own momentum

shes watched the doctor do this and seen the way over 10.000 hours that mustve gone into honing this skill and shes drawn her conclusions and shes imagined what kind of life, what kind of person, and then theyve got a bit of time and shes like time to find out, because whats the thing you tend to do after getting to know someone? you try to get a look at their environment, their circles, where are they from, socially speaking, who is around them. so she asks “have you got family?” and what she learns is nobody. there is nobody around the doctor they live in isolation

in some ways this is true for the doctor always but it’s way more of a sort of obstacle with 13 because she emphasises that isolation. she draws a picture for them of where shes from and all it is is absence. what she says here:

YASMIN: Have you got family? DOCTOR: No. Lost them a long time ago. RYAN: How do you cope with that? DOCTOR: I carry them with me. What they would've thought and said and done. I make them a part of who I am. So even though they're gone from the world, they're never gone from me. GRAHAM: That's the sort of thing Grace would have said. YASMIN: So everything we saw, everything we've lied to people about, is this normal for you? DOCTOR: I'm just a traveller. Sometimes I see things need fixing, I do what I can. Except right now, I'm a traveller without a ship. I've stayed too long. I should get back to finding my Tardis.

is anathema to social connection. she doesnt expect to stay. shes not reaching out to them as if theyre potential companions. these are Victims Of The Week relations and shes tying up loose ends. shes giving cryptic answers the way the doctor does at the end of episodes like the return of doctor mysterio (”things end. thats all. everything ends, and it's always sad. but everything begins again too, and thats always happy. be happy. i'll look after everything else”) or the planet of the dead (”people have travelled with me and ive lost them. lost them all. never again”)

these are “im the doctor. i will do everything in my power to save all your lives. and when i do, you will spend the rest of them wondering who i was and why i helped you” answers

the doctor might often give answers that companions dont understand, and companions may complain about it, but even a

CLARA: What is going on? Is this real? Please, tell me what is happening! DOCTOR: I'm the Doctor. I'm an alien from outer space. I'm a thousand years old, I've got two hearts and I can't fly a plane! Can you?

string of unbelievable nonsense tells you something of their context. mostly that it’s not yours and you can immediately adjust your expectations from ‘normal human stuff’ to ‘do you know any scifi’

by the time 13 gives up this most general bit of biographical information it’s kind of too late. “who are you really” is right. it’s like they got an inverted pyramid. where normally you’d get this general base of social information to interpret someone with and you build your more nuanced impression of them on top of it, ryan graham and yaz got to learn entirely who the doctor is as a person but in isolation, and then got the base of the pyramid dropped on top of them

of course they know her, and of course they dont. they get to see her act every day the way she does but they have no idea of the social contexts influencing any of that behaviour. she feels distant and ungraspable not because she is, but because she wont let her social environment be known to them. absence is all they know of her. not human, no family, no home. what is a person without their context.

#this got away from me and im a broken cd with this too ive said all this before i think #except i did realise something about why 13 feels the way she does #like the context thing thats new to me #but i got away from my initial point about yaz #ah well maybe it's fine #13 meta #it's so nice though bc like #i think 13 feels that lack of context too #it's not that like. she has her own coherent sense of self including social context and she is keeping it from them #she DOESNT have it #the last social context she defined herself by was bill missy nardole and university #that all got taken away at once #man what i wouldnt give to see the scene where she tells them her name

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kohakuarisaka · 3 years

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Trial By Fire (chapter 2 of 2)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Hawks stopped by your apartment, asking for a patch up, and then asked for so much more.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Role reversal: Keigo is a villain and Touya is a hero. Liberties were taken with Hawks’ quirk and is non-canon compliant. This fic is not nice to Touya. Reader and Hawks smoke. Reader has a quirk. Reader is a female with descriptive female genitalia. This fic contains graphic sexual content, including penis in vagina sex, oral sex, spanking, dirty talk, biting, degradation, and knotting. Consensual ♥

Keigo’s appearance in this fic was inspired by this lovely art piece!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

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Todoroki Touya was a prince.

Being born to a top-ranking hero was almost the same as being born to royalty. Everyone recognized his name, his quirk might as well have been trade-marked, and he had lots and lots of daddy's money.

If that wasn't enough, Touya was incredibly handsome, too. He had a full head of stunning, bright red hair and beautiful, shiny blue eyes. His smile was charming and voice was hoarse and suave.

He was a skilled fighter, always topping the rankings at UA, the talk of all 'up and coming' news articles back in his teen years. His quirk was flashy and powerful, nearly unstoppable; but, he was also a dedicated hero that trained day in and day out to hone his combat skills.

The boy with the crimson wings couldn't have the fortune of being nobody. That would have been more preferable to his reality.

His father was a criminal, a thief and a murderer. His childhood home burned to the ground when an attempted arrest went horribly wrong, and resulted in half his body being permanently scarred by burns. But, no one would believe that a hero did that to a small boy, even if it was an accident. No, of course not.

No hero academy was going to accept someone with such a reputation, with a name like Takami, with a history of bloodshed, with the evidence smeared across his skin for all to see. He was in and out of foster homes for years before he could get his own place, funded by petty crimes and gang activity, the only way he could survive.

Touya was a prince-

-and Keigo was a gutter rat.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when you told him that Touya had asked you out, even less surprised when you told him that you said yes.

Of course you couldn't resist Touya. He was everything any girl could possibly want, and he could give you a hell of a lot more than Keigo ever could: fancy dates, lavish gifts, a nice family to go home to, a name with a shining reputation.

Touya could make you happy.

And so, Keigo stopped chasing you. He stopped hoping anything more would amount to your relationship. But, even if his life depended on it, Keigo could never stop wanting you, thinking about you, loving you. No one was like you, not by a long shot. No one understood him like you did.

But, you belonged to Prince Touya.

... ..

Hawks woke in a cold sweat, torn from a nightmare. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room, panting lightly in a daze. His bare chest glistened with the evidence of his agony and his wings flexed out, feathers taut and sharped at the ends, defensive.

He glared at the unfamiliar walls, legs tangled in warm blankets. It took him just a moment to remember where he was.

There was a photo pinned to the wall by your desk: him and you at a spring carnival during your first year of high school. Your hair was longer back then and he had a black eye from a fight with some upper classmen.

The pillows and blankets on your bed were so soft and freshly washed, the scent of the fabric softener still wafting. You had dug out extra pillows and sheets for Hawks when made it clear he was intending to come around a lot more often.

Your apartment, your bedroom, your bed: that's where he was. The only thing missing from the room was you.

Hawks pulled himself out of a bed with a groan and snagged his sweat pants off the floor, where they had been discarded when he arrived. He decided to skip the underwear and just pulled the loose fitting pants on with a tired groan.

He didn't need to search the apartment to know you weren't inside. His feathers weren't picking up any vibrations from footsteps or breathing. It was too still, too quiet.

Confident of where you were, he opened one of the windows in your bedroom, nearest your desk, and shimmied onto the outer ledge, hoisting his torso through first before bringing his legs in until he was hanging outside. He kicked off the side, beat the air once with his wings to gain some momentum and flew up to the roof.

You let out the most undignified yelp when he floated up over the side of the building, bare feet toeing the edge where he landed, giving you an innocent, drowsy look.

"Holy fuck, you scared me," you hissed at him.

It was almost 1 in the morning, and you had slipped on a loose shirt and baggy shorts to head up to the roof for a smoke. Unsurprisingly, you were alone at this hour, able to enjoy the ambiance of the night without one of your neighbors mouth breathing or trying to strike up a conversation. They weren't bad people; but, you didn't want their company.

Even from up this high, you could hear passing cars, the soft squeaking of breaks and the occasional squeal of tires spinning on asphalt. Distant lights were constantly changing: traffic control, cars coming and going, people in and out of their crowded apartments.

"You're not cold?" Hawks asked as he approached you.

"Not really," you answered softly.

Despite that, Hawks flattened against your back. His hands dragged up and down your arms as if to warm them before winding around your waist. You felt more than saw his head droop over your shoulder. As he pressed in close, you felt what was his very shirtless chest fall against your back and the unmistakable outline of his cock against your behind.

"I see you didn't bother dressing," you scolded him, lacking any real malice.

"You like it," he challenged, reaching for your cigarette.

Before he could grab it, you brought it to his lips for him, turning your head to try and face him, despite the awkward angle. You watched him puff the end faintly before huffing out smoke away from you.

"Ohh," he hummed. "You bought the fancy ones this time."

"They're not fancy," you retorted gently.

He flapped his mouth, about to insist you let him buy the next pack. However, he caught himself, remembering how well it went last time. It had resulted in a fight, and you kicked him out, nearly pushing him out the window, not that he couldn't handle that, of course, and it was a funny memory, now that it was over.

Besides, if he was being honest, it was really hot when you yelled at him. Maybe not so much this time since it put him in the doghouse for a week. But, the makeup sex was definitely worth it.

You didn't want his money; 'blood money', you had called it. You adored him, maybe even loved him, wanted him, longed for him; but, you had no desire to take any of his dirty money.

You weren't delusional enough to think that that made you a good person, or somehow morally superior, not to Hawks, or anyone else for that matter. It was a choice that you had made for yourself, to try and get your life on the right track.

Maybe, letting Hawks into your bed was counter productive. He was a wanted villain, after all. Business could follow, even if he worked hard to prevent that. If Touya found out-

You shuddered at the thought, mind racing with the possibilities of what could happen. You didn't want to see Touya ever again, let alone talk to him; but, there was no guarantee that your paths would never cross again. Would he be mad? Would he try to hurt Keigo?

Sharply, you turned your head and kissed at his cheek, lips smearing across the burnt half of his face, as if trying to reassure yourself that that wouldn't happen. Hawks hummed, and you felt the vibration travel along his chest and throat and onto your skin.

"Don't burn your fingertips," he scolded you softly in a hoarse whisper, snatching your cigarette from the burning end.

You had been so lost in thought, you failed to realize the cinders were nearing your fingers, the flame having almost reached the end. You watched Hawks roll it between his fingers, drawing the paper into his palm where he crushed it. The flame died and he opened his hand, letting the wind carry the burnt remains away.

"Kiss me," you breathed, so wrapped up in the moment that you didn't care that you were outside.

He obeyed with a growl, hands grabbing at your waist harshly to spin you around. One hand flattened at the space between your shoulder blades, holding you tightly to his chest while he arched down and captured your mouth.

You heard and felt his wings beat the air, powerful and unyielding: an intentional display of dominance, most likely, that should have made your eyes roll and not your heart flutter. But, you had always been soft for Keigo, and this advancement in your relationship had only made that worse, until you became putty in his hands.

He clearly really liked to play with putty. It was bad enough that he was constantly twisting and turning your body to see what kind of positions he could put you in: something that you, unfortunately, found far more arousing than you should have. He loved to poke and prod, see what kind of noises he could get out of you. He also loved to see how far he could push your limitations.

"Baby," Hawks growled against your mouth, eyes hungry as he took you in.

"Let's be crazy," he suggested, low and hoarse, with a slight edge that made him sound like a stupid teenager again.

He tugged you in close, shamelessly rubbing his erection against your closed abdomen, and making his intentions known.

"Hell no," you retorted, smoothly, sure, but lacking in any real confidence in your rejection.

"Come on," he urged, hands and arms sliding away so he could skirt away from you.

You watched Hawks step towards the edge of the roof with the kind of confidence you would expect from a man that could fly. He casually sat down, rotated to sit longways, one leg spread out for balance while the other rested right at the edge. He leaned back, spreading one wing out along the gravely rooftop, while the other drooped over the side, feathers long and fluttering in the breeze like a crimson, tattered flag.

Hawks crossed his arms behind his head and laid back in full, looking boneless as he stretched out. He peered up at you with a wicked grin, eyes bright as they reflected the distant street lights.

"You're fucking ridiculous," you snapped at him, realizing too late that you were smiling dumbly at the shamelessly display in front of you. Your words lacked any real weight. Rather, you sounded amused or impressed, not angry.

God damn it.

"You love it," Hawks retorted with a soft laugh.

"No," you commanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Come on," he urged, rolling your name off his tongue like it was a delicious, sinful delight. "It'll make for a great memory - great story. Tell all your friends you fucked some guy on the edge of the roof. No risk: you know I won't let you fall."

"I wouldn't say 'some guy', even if I had friends to tell," you said to him grumpily, settling a weak glare on the winged villain.

Hawks removed his crossed arms from behind his head, placed one hand on the roof for balance, and leaned up. His cocky expression was gone, replaced with something soft, almost nervous, like he feared he misheard you.

"You'd tell them it was me?" he asked.

"Obviously," you uttered back.

A genuine smile found its way onto Hawks' face. Maybe, he was more deceitful than you gave him credit for. Maybe he knew damn well that you couldn't resist that face, that smile that lit up your heart, those mismatched eyes. Only foolish girls let themselves believe nonsense.

Maybe, you could be foolish sometimes.

You approached Hawks and he leaned back, excitement clawing its way onto his face as he realized he was going to get what he wanted. You smacked his chest and he fell back with a rough laugh.

A slight tug pulled his pants down enough to spring his cock free, already fully hard and leaking against his abdomen. Some distant thought was that you should have been surprised; but, Hawks had proved to be quite the animal, with such a miniscule refractory period and ready to go without much persuading.

You carefully slid on top of him, one leg braced on the roof against his side, while the other dangled over the edge. The weightlessness had you reeling back with a frightened whimper. Hawks grabbed your leg and pressed it tight against his side, keeping you planted on his lap.

"I got you," he whispered soothingly. "I got you, baby. I won't let you fall."

The bastard could fly. He was used to feeling weightless, to feeling nothing beneath his feet. You were not, and the very real risk of slipping over the edge was ever present when you felt the breeze, felt the lack of something beneath your heel.

However, when you planted yourself on Hawks, who was partially dangling over the side, you felt grounded. He felt sturdy and strong beneath you, no fear in his posture, arms and legs firmly planted, wings spread out to balance himself. He wasn't waddling back and forth with uncertainty.

It barely took you a second to relax, to feel safe when his hands gripped your thighs, holding you securely against his weight. Of course he could catch you; but, you doubted he would let you fall in the first place.

Sooner or later, you were going to have to learn to tell him no; but, that didn't have to be today.

"Have you done this before?" you dared to ask.

"Not with a partner," Hawks answered quietly.

You barked out a laugh at his answer, and watched a cheeky grin appear on the villain's face.

"What? Can a guy not jack off on the roof?" he barked.

"You're fucking horrible," you chuckled, slapping at his bare chest.

"I didn't splooge over the edge," he added on.

"You're ruining the mood," you scolded him.

Still, despite those words, and the obviously fact that he had in fact not ruined anything, you reached between your legs and grabbed at the hem of your shorts. They were wide enough that you could just pull them to the side-

Hawks choked on his next breath. You glanced up at his face. His head was angled down so he could steal a look at your sex so effortlessly becoming bare.

"Fuck," he wheezed, as if he hadn't seen you naked dozens of times by now.

Bare of underwear, fabric loose enough to just shift aside, you angled your hips until his cock caught on your folds. Hawks moaned when your wet slit trailed across his length, literally dripping over him.

"-ooohh, you're wet," he hissed softly, sincerely surprised at the discovery.

"You fucked me just a few hours ago, you animal," you retorted smoothly. Your level tone contrasted sharply with the sudden whimper that escaped you when his tip hooked on your entrance.

"Heh. Made you scre-"

Ah, you loved when Hawks gave you perfect opportunities to cut him off. You shifted your hips and sank down, enveloping his length in moist heat, and Hawks' words dissolved into a weak moan. There was no ache, as you were still prepped from earlier, likely still leaking some of him, as well.

Hawks wasted no time laying a hand against your lower abdomen. His thumb dipped between your folds and flicked skillfully at your pearl. The harsh texture of his calloused fingerprint had you whimpering and twitching. His other hand gripped your waist and guided you slowly up and down his length.

"Look down," Hawks instructed, not demanding, not crude, but soft and guiding. His eyes displayed a sort of devotion and hunger that had you helpless to do much other than obey.

Your eyes directed to the ground below, over sweeping floors, dozens of windows and a couple fire escapes. This high up, the ground looked so far away, cars like pill bugs you'd see waddling along the concrete at the community garden. Something electric shot through you, catching your breath in your throat, and Hawks let out a hoarse curse, hips shuddering.

"Fuck, you got tight," he hissed.

His hand let go of your sex and lifted up to cup your face. He turned you to face him, nudging your cheek lovingly with his knuckles. Immediately, you realized, it was his burnt hand.

You turned your head to kiss at his skin, tinged red from thick scar tissue and wrinkly. Slyly, he dipped his thumb into your mouth, the same that had been dipped beneath your folds.

"Don't be scared. I got you, baby," he cooed while you sucked the digit clean.

You smiled and laughed softly, popping his thumb out of your mouth with a lewd, wet noise. "Normal people are scared of heights, pretty bird."

"You're special," he protested, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip.

That praise had your heart fluttering, and you mentally scolded yourself for acting like a school girl.

He pressed down and dipped his thumb back inside, coaxing your tongue out until it lulled over your bottom lip. Normally, you swatted his hand away when he did things like that. But, it was difficult to resist when he was looking at you like that. One gold and one milky eye took you in with a heated gaze while he gently panted through slightly parted lips.

"That's a good girl," he praised, dragging the pad of his thumb over your tongue.

You likely looked ridiculous like this, impaled on his lap with your tongue hanging out. You almost wanted to smack him and tell him to quit; but, Hawks' hand retreated before you could tell him off.

That same thumb returned to your pearl, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. He lifted his lips a little, encouraging, the corners of his lips threatening to break into a pleased grin. You gently moved along with him, finding harmony in a steady rhythm that had pleasure sparking at your guts.

Your eyes wandered, taking in his aroused expression, exploring the plains of his muscular chest, across the burnt skin on one half of his body, to the red feathered wings that jutted out from behind him. You didn't look over the edge again; but, the sounds of the city were ever present, reminding you of where you were.

"Someone could see," Hawks suggested darkly.

You shuddered, head lulling back, and let out a weak moan. You didn't consider yourself much of a voyeurist; but, that was oddly exciting. You were covered up well enough. They wouldn't see much of you, but the act couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was.

Hawks shifted his hand away from your pearl and grabbed at your hip, long fingers curling around the thickest part for purchase. You didn't have a chance to consider the lack of stimulation before one of his feathers replaced his thumb, twirling and flicking insistently at your nub.

You moaned again, and let yourself go partially limp, somewhat held up by your hands braced against his chest, but more so by his stronger hands holding your center. You couldn't keep up with him, letting his hands guide you up and down to his length to his liking.

"-know how good it feels," he continued, some strain in his voice as pleasure spewed in his core.

He lost balance a little and the wing drooped over the edge flapped once. It wasn't particularly strong; but, it was enough to startle a jolt and soft yelp out of you.

Your hands slipped, and you were suddenly chest to chest. Hawks bent one leg to lift you higher on his lap, shifting the angle enough to bring him deeper and amplify the pleasure. His cheek slid against your neck and his lips met your jawline.

"You want them to know what a slut you are?" he snarled, less of a question and more of a suggestion.

The sensible side of you wanted to deny it. What good could possibly come of that? The feral side of you, that Hawks so expertly brought out, disagreed. You weren't ashamed of him. You were the happiest you had been in years. He made you laugh, he made you smile, and he made you come harder than you ever thought possible.

He kissed and bit a burning hot path across your jaw, drawing some loose skin between his molars beneath your ear, before wandering across your throat. He mouthed at your pulse, and the reality that he was a wanted murderer rang loudly in your ears.

You didn't recoil of fear or disgust. You moaned, loudly, arching your back and exposing one of yourself to him. He had to resist the urge to lift your shirt and bite at your breasts. If not for your modesty, than because your poor nipples had already been quite thoroughly assaulted not too many hours ago.

His dominant hand slid up your thigh, long, thick fingers effortlessly venturing up the leg of your shorts. He curled his hand around the back and dragged the pad of his finger along your union, gathering slick and remnants of his earlier venture.

Your cloudy thoughts didn't consider what he was doing, until that finger, now wet and slippery, was suddenly circling your other hole. That had you letting out a confused gasp. He didn't press in, just traced the tight ring of muscle curiously, and took your noise positively.

Hawks knew well enough, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes gave it away.

"Aww. Did Touya never touch you here?" he teased.

He pressed in slightly, being answered by your muscles flinching tightly, if your lewd expression didn't tell him enough. You looked confused, maybe even a little annoyed, but the arousal was still present, thick behind the glare you tried to give him.

As inviting as the heat was, he didn't venture beyond the pad of his finger, which felt like a lot more than it actually was. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good, either. You didn't know what to make of it, but found yourself arching into the touch, and downright mewling when he slipped out and returned to circling the ring of puckered muscle, which surprisingly did feel good.

"O-obviously, that's not-" you hissed at him.

Still, through all his teasing and adventuring touches, his hips never ceased, forcing his cock into your sopping wet cunt again and again. The wet, fleshy sounds was loud enough to drown out the bustling city beneath you.

"No more than this," Hawks promised in a hoarse whisper, hot breath fanning out over your throat.

His fingertip eased back in, met with blistering tight heat, and you let out a strange noise, confused and perhaps a little discomforted. No, that was definitely not a place you were used to being touched. But, he wandered that territory carefully, ever akin to your desires. As new as it was, there was no denying the way that touch made your skin prickle.

"You like it," he observed slyly. "Dirty girl."

It probably would have sounded more teasing if he didn't already sound so debauched, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to touch you as much as you enjoyed being touched. He had you wrapped around his finger. That much was certain. But, you weren't oblivious to the power you held over him.

"Keigo," his name slipped past your lips, breathless and dripping with lust. It wasn't really forced; but, you were intent on getting a rise out of him. "Keigo," and again. "Oh, Keigo," and again.

His teasing finger stopped and his hand shifted to grab at your meaty behind with an almost bruising grip. His pace was suddenly punishing, bouncing you in his lap almost ferociously while his hips pivoted to chase the sensation. He had you wheezing out breathless moans while he grunted and snarled beneath you.

"Close," he suddenly grunted, the word little more than a rumble in his throat.

"Yes," you agreed, deliriously high on the pleasure he pummeled into you.

It was impossible to know how he managed to hold off long enough to get you there first, or if it was specifically the tightening of your walls that got him there. You were mewling and twitching long before he howled out, and the heat of his seed burst inside you.

He was making a mess. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, sputtering out from his thrusting and leaking over his abdomen. Hawks didn't care, obviously, turning his head to kiss greedily at your mouth while his hips kept moving.

When he pulled back, you found yourself disappointed at the realization that he hadn't knotted. However, there was no way you were going to say that out loud. His ego was swollen enough already.

Careless to the mess, he lifted you off his length and helped you to your feet before adjusting his wet pants to at least clothe himself. Your combined fluids had made a mess all over the crotch of his pants, no doubt worse now that he tucked himself away. Your shorts were no better, and you could feel his seed leaking down your inner thigh.

The high wasn't quite over and Hawks was sporting an attractive red tint along his shoulders and chest, blonde locks an absolute mess. Still, at this moment, your focus was solely on getting back inside and cleaning up.

"You're the worst," you scolded him, sounding incredibly fond despite your insult. You took his arm instead of his hand and guided him back into the building.

Hawks swallowed a laugh and, together, you stomped noisily down the stairs. No one passed you by. If anyone spotted you, it went unnoticed. You hardly needed to drag Hawks, who was right on your tail. As soon as the door was opened, he pushed you inside, one arm wound possessively over your waist.

"Keigo!" you whined, flinching when his head ducked into your neck and gnawed at your skin.

"You got me riled up," he growled, pressing into you so you could feel how hard he still was. The sticky mess of his wet pants felt gross; but, you couldn't be bothered to care.

You wanted to tell him off; after all, you had done nothing, and he had done that to himself. But, you felt a tinge of discomfort at your core, aching and eager to be filled again. Your clit throbbed between your thighs, eager for more contact.

Hawks manhandled you onto the nearby wall, taking you by the elbows to plant your hands on the smooth surface. You didn't hesitate to make your consent known, arching your back and propping up on your toes as he roughly dragged your shorts down.

The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving your oozing sex presented to him. Your felt and heard his wings flap, so widely that they smacked against the walls in the small space. Knowing full well what he was doing, the sudden intrusion wasn't quite as surprising; but, still, he managed to force a startled moan out of you.

"Fuck," he snarled, forehead falling against your upper back.

His dominant hand reached around, circling your pearl as he found a steady rhythm. His seed from earlier oozed out, and it was equally disgusting as it was amazing. His free hand gripped your hips, holding you still so he could use you to his liking.

It felt amazing, and each shift of his hips punched a broken moan out of you. It didn't take long for you to feel it, the swell at the base of his cock, catching on your entrance, slowly working you open to take his growing knot.

"You want that, don't you?" he uttered harshly, tilting his head up to breathe the words into the space right above your ear.

Even though it was unnecessary, he made his point clear by shoving it all in, as deep as he could, and grinding, rolling his hips to let you feel the swell at the base.

You removed one hand from the wall, curved your arm back and reached blindly, skillfully finding his hair. Your fingers grabbed a fistful, rough but not enough to hurt him. Hawks snarled when you tugged him in, nails gently biting into his skull.

"You better," you whispered, demanding and hoarse, and apparently delicious enough that he had to stop his thrusts and tilt his head in for a kiss.

Suddenly, the closeness was everywhere, back to chest, thigh to thigh. You tilted your head back to make it easier to reach, and let Hawks kiss his way into your mouth possessively, first with soft lips before his tongue edged the soft skin apart. He dragged along your teeth before trailing your palate like he was tasting something divine.

Eventually, he was satisfied, parting from your lips with a loud pop, licking his own lips as if he had just enjoyed a delicious meal. He carefully peeled back, cock slipping free from your heat, hands letting go when he was confident you wouldn't fall.

An open palm collided with your behind, and the sound echoed around the apartment, drowning out your surprised squick.

"Get on the fucking bed," he all but snarled, the words clawing out through gritted teeth.

Your legs, steadier than you expected, carried you to the bedroom. Hawks, however, tackled you onto the mattress before you could make it, forcing you onto your back with his weight.

He chuckled into your skin and you squealed with laughter. Despite the impact, he was surprisingly gentle, mindful of his strength. Crimson wings flapped, nearly smacking into the ceiling. You briefly feared that he would get hurt on the ceiling fan, but immediately determined that he would be more likely to break it than be injured by it.

He peeled your shirt off, leaving you nude beneath him.

"I've made you such a slut for knots, hm?" he observed, leaning up on his knees to hover over you, and give you quite the view.

His cock was an angry shade of red, thick and heavy where it hung between his legs, almost tinted purple on the tip with the need for release. He had just a moment ago, and it made you wonder if the lack of knotting left him unsatisfied.

The beginning swells of his knot was an enticing girth right at the base, stretching the velvety skin of his shaft, and also tinted a dark shade of red. He was glistening all over, the tip oozing pre as if he hadn't come just a moment ago.

"-and I've made you a slut for me," you teased back, carefully placing your legs on either side of his waist.

He skillfully slipped into you with a pleased snarl, body slotting over yours carefully. He might not have been a giant, but Hawks was still bigger than you, enough to shadow you and leave you feeling small. He rolled his hips slowly, giving you a taste of that swelling before he began a steady rhythm.

Noises punched out of you, whimpers and moans and broken sounds that were almost his name. He balanced on his forearms, one on either side of your head to cage you in, while his legs planted on the bed and his tense abs did most of the work.

"So fucking good. Gnhnn - I don't deserve you," he babbled, uttering the words harshly into the space above your ear, tickling at your hair. "Beautiful and f-fucking perfect."

Hawks was a talker with almost no exception; but, still, despite having heard it all many times, he still managed to get a rise out of you, sweet nothings that made your heart flutter and skin prickle.

"Say you're mine," he demanded, tilting his head down to gnaw gently at your throat.

You swallowed, managing to catch your breath long enough to utter weakly, "'m yours, Keigo."

He lifted his head and dragged his forehead along your temple, huffing out dramatic breaths with each thrust of his hips. A bit more experienced now, you knew when he was close, when the catch became almost too much, the fullness dizzying and almost frightening. Your eyes fluttered open long enough to see his lustful stare, admiring the beauty of pleasure etched across your face.

You dragged your nails down his back, crying in ecstasy when the sparks ignited and pleasure soared through your core. Hawks' dominant hand roughly grabbed a fistful of the sheets, a frustrated grunt bursting from his throat before he roared, likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

His thrusting ceased, less he timed it incorrectly and missed this. You made a very distinct noise at the intrusion, the same sound every single time, and it echoed so loudly in his mind. He felt overwhelmed with pride, that he could make you make a sound like that, so utterly debauched and in beautiful ecstasy.

Hawks' own moans, that came out of him like a chuffing tiger, were drowned out by your delicious whimpering. If the fullness wasn't enough, his cock jerked and spurted thick, hot streams of his seed. You could feel each twitch, until he shifted forward, as deep as he possibly could go, and finally stopped.

The muscles of his knot tightened as they finished expanding, locking your cores together. Hawks' head dropped and smacked onto the sheets by your ear. You tilted your head back, nose pointed towards the ceiling as you panted, and felt his rough, staggered breath as it burned your throat.

You felt more than heard the rumbling of his chest where it pressed down on yours. It was unmistakable: the sounds of a satiated beast. The thought had you stuttering out a breathless laugh.

Hawks' nose nudged your cheek and he hummed questioningly.

"You're purring," you answered softly.

"Oh," he answered bluntly.

Luckily, he didn't try to stop it; or, he was consciously unaware of it. Either way, you hoped he wouldn't stop. You loved the sensation of being trapped with him, impossibly close and stuffed like a used sex toy. Just as much, you loved knowing that he was pleased. Shameful as it all was, he had a way of making you feel shameless.

"Baby," he cooed, voice soft and breathless, a little hoarse, like a dying engine. "Are you okay?"

Your arms and legs were still around him, clinging tight like you didn't want to let go. You were strung out and limp, sinking into the sheets, head lulled back and clearly, very pleased. Still, Hawks kissed at your jaw like he was uncertain.

"Are you okay, pretty bird?" you repeated back to him, turning your head to meet his lips with your own.

He kissed you back as opposed to answering, the soft rumbling continuing until you felt it in your own throat. One of his hands tangled in your hair, kneading gently at your skull. Eventually, he peeled back and stared down at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, like you were a specter that would disappear if he glanced away.

He was the one who would be gone in the morning, leaving only an ache in your tummy to remind you that he was here.

But, you knew he would come back.

#takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x you #hawks x reader #hawks x you #villain hawks x reader #villain hawks x you #hawks fanfic #hawks smut

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platoniclokiimagines · 3 years

Text

Loki and reader decide to have a duel and everyone at the compound talks about it and gets so hyped for it that it’s almost as if they are waiting for infinity war to come out. Loki and reader also get super serious about it and they train for weeks and everything. If u can, include both the time coming up to the duel and the duel itself and the aftermath.

——————————————————————————

W/C: 1219

Rating: G

TW: none

A/N: I spent so long staring at this prompt every time I opened my inbox, trying to figure out how best to write it, and I really hope that it lives up to your expectations. Enjoy~

“You almost had me, that time.”

“You cheated with your clone, that’s not fair!”

“It isn’t cheating if it’s literally something I can do with my magic.”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest as Loki grinned smugly. You’d spent the last two hours sparring with them, and while the both of you were pretty evenly matched when it came to the extent of your powers, they had ultimately won your last match. And you were nothing if not a sore loser.

“Why don’t you have a duel? You know, settle once and for all which one of you is the best,” Wanda offered innocently from where she stood in her own corner of the training room.

“Yeah, that could be fun. Give us all a show. Something to look forward to.” Natasha shrugged a bit as she reloaded the handgun she was using to shoot at a dummy across the room.

You fell silent for a long moment, considering the idea. It could be fun. And you couldn’t lie, it would be nice to rub Loki’s face in your victory, if you managed to win.

As you looked back over at Loki, you saw a smirk similar to the one you could feel spreading across your own face.

“What do you say, Y/N? A little duel. Winner gets bragging rights for the rest of all time.”

“When?”

“Shall we say… a month from now? Give us both some time to prepare?”

You grinned and nodded, sticking your hand out to shake on it. “Deal.”

Loki shook your hand once firmly, still smirking far too smugly for your liking. “Then may the best sorcerer win.”

~~~~~

Over the course of the next month, you spent almost every single day training whenever you could. Your powers were strong, and you’d been at the Compound long enough that you’d had time to really hone them, and take them to even higher levels than you already had. But in your eyes, there was no such thing as too much training, so you were in a training room as often as your schedule allowed it.

You’d caught Loki watching you several times, and while it didn’t bother you at all to be watched while you trained, you knew Loki well enough to not be at least a little suspicious of them trying to spy on you to see how you would fight during the duel.

“You know I can see you, right?” You didn’t even look away from the spell you were doing to send several dummies crashing into the wall.

“Oh, I counted on it. Am I making you nervous?” You could practically hear the playful snarkiness dripping from their voice.

“No, but you’re making me annoyed. I don’t spy on you training,” you pointed out, using another spell to enchant a staff to swing at the wave of automated dummies you’d asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to program for you.

“We could just call the duel off, if you’re that worried.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, and listen to you brag about it for as long as we know each other? Fat chance. We’re having the duel.”

“Fine, fine.” You heard Loki take a few steps, and then stop. “Your posture could use some training, too.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

~~~~~

It seemed you and Loki were not the only ones preparing for the duel. It was a hot topic of debate among everyone else in the compound, and they were all placing their bets on which one of you was going to win. It was rather amusing, to hear them speculate and plan who was going to win, and it was interesting to hear their reasoning.

“Loki’s been alive for, what, a thousand years? Clearly more time to practice and do better.”

“Yeah, but Y/N’s training is fresh. No room to be rusty when you’ve only been training for a couple of years.”

“I think they’ll be evenly matched. They always have been, you’ve watched them train, Nat.”

The conversation went on for the weeks leading up to the duel, and when it finally came down to it, everyone was ready to finally watch it go down, complete with popcorn and snacks in hand.

Always happy to entertain, you and Loki made a show of shaking hands before separating to go to opposite sides of the training room that had been cleared out for the duel.

“Ready when you are, Y/N.”

You grinned, and immediately waved a hand to summon a wall of magic and the duel began.

For the better part of a half hour, you sparred. Every attack you sent Loki’s way was deflected, and every spell that Loki cast, you waved away without so much as breaking a sweat.

You were almost ready to settle on a stalemate, and then Loki, just as you expected, tried to turn the tables by switching to using two daggers instead of magic.

Lucky for you, you’d been prepared for this, and whipped out your own set, the gesture met by applause and whoops from everyone watching.

Hand to hand combat was something you’d been working on much more recently, as it was a completely different skill set from your own powers, and so you didn’t have the luxury of just knowing what to do with them or how to use them.

Whatever you’d learned appeared to be working, though, as Loki seemed genuinely impressed by your skills.

“You didn’t tell me you were good with knives, too, Y/N. I’m disappointed in you.”

You rolled your eyes as you blocked one of their swipes. “What, and spoil the fun?” You made another jab, and Loki only just managed to move out of the way, and you grinned as you went to back to your playful banter. “What’s the matter? The God of Mischief doesn’t like tricks?”

“Oh, you don’t want to start with that.” Loki smirked, taking a step back from you only to step forward again, bringing both knives down toward you.

Seeing your escape, you ducked out of the way and, using Loki’s momentum, and taking the chance to play just a little bit dirty, you swept their feet out from under them, effectively knocking them over, and by the time they managed to turn around and face you, you had both daggers pointed at their throat, smug smile on your face.

“Checkmate.”

Loki seemed truly stunned for a long moment, and then nodded, accepting their defeat. “A little dirty, but a win’s a win.”

You smiled, and held a hand out so they could pull themselves up as everyone swarmed around you, congratulating you and excitedly talking about how proud they were of you and how surprised they were that you’d actually won against them.

You couldn’t lie, it felt nice to have everyone singing your praises, but mostly you were just proud of yourself, and glad that the both of you had had fun while doing it. Slinging an arm around Loki’s shoulder, you smiled, and waved a hand dismissively.

“I haven’t even told you all the best part of all this.” You glanced at Loki with a sly grin. “Celebratory drinks are on Loki tonight.”

“Hey, that was never a part of the deal! Y/N, get back here!”

But you’d already bolted halfway across the room, laughing all the while.

#Loki imagine #platonic Loki imagine #Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki x reader #platonic!Loki x reader #lightningkiki #submission #answered #action #fluff #feat. Wanda #feat. Nat

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kiingocreative · 3 years

Text

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

I often feel that it took me thirty years to write my first book, No Pain, No Game. Not because I was physically writing it for that long, but because finally publishing my first novel felt like the culmination of three decades of bad writing, half-finished novels, random short-stories and a million mundane diary entries. It took that long to experiment with my craft, hone my skills, and master the fear of putting my work out there for all to see.

Exaggerations aside, it actually took me three years to write No Pain, No Game, from typing the first word on an otherwise blank page to having a fully-fledged, ready-to-publish novel. Those three years consisted of mostly undisciplined writing, sitting down to work on the story as and when the urge arose, sometimes not looking at it for weeks on end, and only getting back to it when inspiration hit. Only when I got serious about publishing did I put in the hours consistently, whether or not I was in the mood for it. The whole experience felt like not so much like long distance running, but more like a slow, often sluggish stop-start stroll, with a heart-pumping sprint at the very end.

I came out of having published the book revved up from adrenaline, soaking in the momentum, fretting for more and ready to do it all again. Out came the laptop again, the rush to get the first draft over and done with and the mad rush into editing-land.

It’s a Marathon, Not a Sprint (and not interval running, and not a slow leisurely walk)

The thing with sprinting, however, is that if you do it for too long, you quickly run out of breath and I soon learnt that maintaining that level of effort over time was unsustainable. Somewhere in the middle of editing my first draft, I hit a wall.

A big, fat, hundred feet high brick and mortar monster of a wall. I never saw it coming, and I face-planted right into it. For weeks after that I couldn’t look at my manuscript or social media, and I had to take a proper break from it all to restore.

The break gave me a chance to introspect and take stock of what had happened. It felt to me that, if I wanted to keep on writing more books (which I did) I had to pivot from my disorganised style of writing to a more committed endeavour. There’s nothing wrong with a leisurely walk, or random bouts of interval running, but I realised it wouldn’t give me the kind of results I was truly after. I had to look at writing as a marathon, and build the sort of stamina and endurance I needed to do this many times over without burning out.

From Dilettante to Disciplined Writer

When I think back to writing my first book, I wonder if there’s some truth in the saying that ignorance is bliss. Because I was less focused on the outcome at the time, I was better able to enjoy the ups and downs of the process, especially because I only sat to work at it when I felt like it. I was also mostly unaware of the mountain of logistics that come with writing and publishing a book, so I’d be able to see the distance I’d covered, without worrying about the miles that still stretched ahead of me. Yes, ignorance was, most definitely, a little bit like bliss.

Reminiscing on her own experience, author Shamika Lindsay says that, with her first book, ‘the process felt so different and [she] almost felt the pen gliding across the paper but with [the sequel], it was like pulling teeth’. In fact, she adds, starting to write her second book from scratch felt like ‘such a chore and [she] was just so eager to complete it because [she] felt like it took so much from [her] to write than the first book’.

For R. G. Tully, author of the Ardamin series, who put greater emphasis on the editing stage when working on his second book, the process also took longer and wasn’t always enjoyable. ‘The editing grind was exactly that, a grind’, he confesses.

But you have to do it whether you like it or not, because the only way out is through. There are, fortunately or unfortunately, no shortcuts. Fortunately, because it’s the very act of going through that arduous journey that makes you a better writer in the end. And unfortunately, because there can be times it’s just not all that pleasant.

You’ll be surprised the amount of distractions that manifest themselves when you desperately need a reason not to work on your manuscript — it’s actually quite spooky. Treating writing with discipline, organisation and professionalism is exactly what will prevent you falling off tracks, and what ultimately gets the work done. And that’s the difference between a published book and one that’ll sit indeterminately unfinished somewhere in your archives.

A Tough Act to Follow

Unfortunately, there’s still a little bit more to writing your second book than just great discipline. Even when you’re able to get yourself to follow through and show up for your craft, giving your first book a literary sibling can come with its own challenges, especially because you have something to compare it to.

And it’s not only you, but your readers too, who will be expecting certain standards from your writing, especially if it’s a series. Though it shouldn’t come in the way of writing the book you want to write, the relationship of trust you’ve built with your readership through your first book still needs to be honoured, and this can cause certain amounts of pressure.

‘I felt a little pressure to keep the same feel about the story’, R. G. Tully says, ‘and to include more from my secondary characters, give them a little more depth’.

Stormi Lewis, author of the Sophie Lee trilogy, puts it simply: ‘It was a little hard to decide how to exactly start [with the second book]. At first I was worried and became overwhelmed because so many loved the first one. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I had to step back and come to terms that they loved it for being unique. And the only way I could stay true to the story and give them what they really wanted was to focus on the story and not so much about what I thought they wanted for the second.’

For others, the comparison can be more inward-facing, like author Tara Lake, who admits that writing the second book in her series has been a challenge, because she’s ‘struggled with comparison of the self: past Tara had a lot more time to devote to writing, present Tara has much less time with [her] kids being home full time from school during much of the pandemic’.

For others still, some of that pressure can be self-imposed. When writing her second book, Freya McMillan shares that ‘[she] put a huge amount of pressure on [herself] as [she] wanted it to be meaningful in a particular way to honour [her] dad, who died a few years ago. Once [she] stopped doing that, it was much less challenging to write’.

It Ain’t All Bad.

I do want to pause here and add that not everyone faces such challenges. There are authors out there who launched into writing their second book with more ease than the first.

Sabrina Voerman tells me that ‘[her] second book came a lot easier to [her] than [her] first book. The idea hit [her] so hard and fast that it took [her] aback, and [she] could do nothing but write it’, and the entire novel was written in a matter of weeks, whilst her first book took years to finish.

Same for Trevor Wiltzen, who says that writing the sequel to his first book went smoothly, greatly helped by the fact that ‘[he] wrote the second book immediately after the first, [so he] knew the characters really well’. He admits he ‘found it very freeing and really enjoyed the process’.

Even Stormi Lewis, who struggled at first, adds that ‘once [she] got started, [she] was fine’ and that ‘[she] felt the writing was solid and [her] best book yet, simply because [she] really got to develop more of the characters and the story’.

As with everything, we must then conclude, there will be as many types of experiences as there are writers out there. So how can we best prepare for what’s to come?

A Chance to Grow

Performance coach Tony Robbins says that the quality of our lives is intricately linked to the quality of the questions we ask ourselves on a daily basis. So if we need to face something that’s outside our comfort zone — starting again from scratch on your second book for instance — is it a punishment or is it a gift? Is it a curse or an opportunity?

I’m tempted to think that the level of discomfort that can come with writing your second book is a gift, because it gives us a chance to grow.

It’s a chance to take everything we’ve learnt from doing it the first time around and take our learnings for a spin to see if it makes the process easier. It’s an opportunity to improve, to work at our craft in new and wonderful ways.

It’s both daunting and incredibly exciting to face a brand new story — or a different side to the same story for those writing series — and to dare to plunge into the unknown of where it’s fated to take you. It’ll see you grow and evolve as a writer and, in turn, you’ll get to watch your writing morph into something more mature than it was before.

I say look at your writing like you do the passing of seasons: different times will have different qualities, different characteristics, different feels to them. You live and learn through each of them, and gather a wealth of experiences that eventually inform who you become. Maintaining the discipline to write through every single one of them is what will ultimately give your work all its depth and substance.

All it takes is that first word on the page.

And the second.

And the third.

And all the words beyond that.

#writingtips #screenwriting #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writerblr #writing advice #writing community #writing resources

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daddywanken0bi · 3 years

Text

That Will be All for Today

word count: 1.5k

author: Jess

summary: Obi Wan x Padawan!reader. Obi Wan helps you hone your lightsaber skills in the training room by having an intense spar session.

warnings: SFW, with slight suggestive content. Absolutely FULL of sexual tension.

a/n: I live for some tension-filled moments with a commanding assertive Obi Wan. (Him and Jango Fett in ATOC oh my GOD). Here’s a little one shot that i could not get out of my head. Thanks for being patient while Allie and I adjust to a new semester, we love you all and MTFBWY!

________________

You slash downward at the training droid with a frustrated grunt. Your lightsaber seems heavy and unbalanced in your hand, and even though your eyes are covered, you can tell you missed. It seems as though every movement you make is clumsy and awkward, which makes you upset. And the more you are upset, the more you miss. It’s an endless cycle. You’re older for a padawan, with only eight years between you and your Master. And yet, you still have much to learn.

“Focus,” you hear Obi Wan Kenobi say from behind you. “Reign in your emotions. It will do you no good to become frustrated with your failures.”

You try to calm your breathing, but you are too focused on the red-hot feeling rising in your chest. You close your eyes and concentrate on sensing the small, circular droid flitting around the room. You reach out with the Force, letting it surround you and become the sight that you are lacking. You feel a flicker of something to your right, and hone in on that area of the room. Your arms burn from holding your weapon for so long, but you breathe through the pain. You focus all your energy on the small sphere, and suddenly lash out with your lightsaber, a quick upward motion. You expect to hear a sharp clang of metal as the droid drops to the floor, but instead you can still hear the faint buzzing of its motors. You had missed again.

Utterly beside yourself, you click off your lightsaber and rip the blindfold from your eyes. You whirl to face Obi Wan, who stands a few feet away with his arms crossed. “I had that,” you yell, throwing down the scrap of cloth in your hand.

Obi Wan raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes bright. “You need to calm yourself, young one,” he says, his voice stern. “Mistakes are a part of training. Perhaps you have other things on your mind today,” he accuses while turning off the training droid and replacing it on the rack.

Images from earlier flash before your eyes: Obi Wan tying the blindfold gently behind your head, a hand brushing the hair from your neck. A shiver running down your spine as he turns you to face him, his fingers warm as he wraps your own around your lightsaber. “Don’t forget the way you hold it in your hands matters, young one. Your grip must be firm, but gentle.”

You shake your head, a blush creeping up your cheeks. Come on, you think to yourself. That is no way to think of your Master. Focus.

“I’m sorry, Master,” you say apologetically.

He studies your face, nodding slightly and stroking his beard. The silence of the empty training room envelops you both as you await his response. With a sigh, Obi Wan mutters, “Perhaps that is enough training for today.”

A slight panic rushes through your body. Training with Master Kenobi was one of the highlights of your day, and you suddenly feel guilty that your short temper had caused it to be cut short. “Wait,” you say quickly as Obi Wan begins to turn toward the door. “Perhaps it would be beneficial for me to go over some basic techniques with the lightsaber. I still feel as though I am struggling to wield it properly.”

He turns back to you and strokes his beard again, thoughtfully. After a moment, he nods. “I believe you’re right. Take a few minutes to rest, and we will practice.” You nod and walk over where you had placed your cloak and water bottle. Taking a few sips, you study Obi Wan as he strides over to a corner of the room to adjust his boots. As you watch, he drops his shoulders, letting his dark brown cloak fall to the floor in a large puddle. You glance away, feeling yourself start to blush again. You shake your head to clear the dirty thoughts that are starting to arise from his disrobing.

“Are you ready, little one?” you hear Obi Wan call from across the room. You nod, taking a final pull from your bottle and placing it back on the floor. As you make your way to the center of the room, you see your Master pull his lightsaber smoothly from his belt, and you hear the familiar crackle as it springs to life, a spear of blue fire. He whips it around behind him, spinning it easily, as if he did this in his sleep. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

You smirk, pulling your own saber from your side and igniting the green blade. “Show-off,” you taunt him.

To your delight, a devilish grin lights his face and he bends his knees, starting to lead you in a circle. You can tell he is waiting for you to make the first move, studying every small step you take. Without warning, you lunge at him, aiming for his ribs. Obi Wan dodges the attack easily, stepping backward. Your swing misses him, and you use your momentum to bring it back toward his neck. Again, he sidesteps your saber, moving swiftly and gracefully. You huff, frustration beginning to rise in you again.

“Move in, padawan,” your Master tells you. “The closer you are to your opponent, the harder it is for him to dodge. Force him to parry with his own weapon.”

You nod and take a deep breath, steadying your anger. Obi Wan is a great teacher, and you have to remember that he is only trying to help. You take his advice and stride boldly toward him, eyes ablaze. You bring your lightsaber up behind you, aiming straight down at his head. So quickly you almost don’t see it, he brings his blue shaft up to parry. As the blades cross in between you, his face lights into a grin.

“Good,” he says with a short nod.

Happiness blazes inside of you at his praise, and it pushes aside all of your frustration. Obi Wan pushes you back with his blade, and you begin to find your rhythm as you attack again. Soon, the two of you are engaged in a deadly dance, twirling and slashing with flashes of light. The only sound is that of your panting, and Obi Wan’s occasional comment to adjust your posture or fix your grip.

For a while, it seems as though you are gaining the upper hand, but you soon realize that Obi Wan was just waiting to make his move. As your arms begin to tire and your attacks become more sloppy, he goes on the offensive, berating you with attack after attack. You are forced to back up, and are scrambling to parry his strikes. The few strands of hair that keep falling in your Master’s beautiful face do nothing to help your situation. His face is flushed, eyes bright, and the grunts that keep falling from his lips are utterly distracting.

Suddenly, your back hits the wall of the training room, the cold metal surprising you as it kisses your skin. Obi Wan lowers his saber, holding it close to your neck. You feel the heat of the blue flame warm your skin, but you aren’t worried about injury. The only thing you are focused on is the way your Master is looking at you. His eyes are wild, and his chest is heaving. The hand not holding his weapon is planted next to your head on the wall, and you are suddenly aware of how close he is to you. The bottom of his tunic brushes your leg, and you shiver, not breaking eye contact with him.

Obi Wan notices your shudder and his eyes widen. His gaze dips to your lips, which are parted as you continue to suck in air. His body tenses, and he wordlessly turns off his lightsaber, bringing it away from your neck. You do the same, and for a moment, the two of you stand almost chest to chest, eyes locked on each other. The room is so quiet, you swear you could have heard a pin drop.

Obi Wan snaps his gaze away from your face and nods sharply. “Very good, young one,” he says, voice rough. “That will be all for today.” Without another word, he retrieves his cloak from the floor, slinging it around his shoulders. The door hisses as he exits without a glance back at you.

You slide down the wall, sinking to the floor. What was that? No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop replaying the moment he pinned you against the wall. Your cheeks flush as you feel a fire ignite in your chest. Uh oh. This is not good.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan fic #obi wan kenobi fanfic #obi wan x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #obi wan x padawan

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texanredrose · 3 years

Text

Showing Off

Inspired by prompts submitted to @unsteadyshade on tumblr (here), that I reblogged earlier, or AO3 (here). Also, yes, I'm very much American but I decided to use the non-American lingo in regards to soccer here. Don't look at me expecting logic, my friends, I just do what the winds of whimsy tell me.

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Blake pulled the hotel door shut behind her, following after her teammate and best friend who was further down the hall and carrying their tote bags. While she didn’t hold the same superstitious beliefs, Yang swore up and down they’d lose unless they brought along their ‘lucky’ practice ball; after going back to retrieve it, the woman seemed satisfied and started walking towards the elevator while Blake caught up. “This is ridiculous, you know that right?”

“Hey, don’t sass me; we’ve never lost a road game when we’ve had the ball,” Yang said, already wearing her keeper jersey, the material stretched a bit thin over her muscled frame. It had seen better days but, much like the ball, the woman refused to replace it, especially during their run up to the championship. “A little extra luck can’t hurt anyone. Except the other team, I guess.”

“It can make us late, though,” she said, one of her ears flicking back as one of the doors they passed opened and closed- had to be other patrons of the hotel, seeing as the rest of their team was already downstairs by the bus. “Which would mean we forfeit.”

“We’re not running that late,” Yang replied, throwing a grin her way. Then, lilac eyes were drawn behind them and lingered a moment before her lips pulled into a very specific smirk. Blake knew that smirk- it was the ‘oh, I’ve got an idea, you might not like it but you’re gonna do it’ expression, because aside from being one of the best keepers in the region, Yang Xiao Long was also ridiculously persuasive. Dangerously so, in fact. “Hey. Toss me the ball.”

“Your hands are full.”

“Wasn’t going to use my hands.”

Blake narrowed her eyes, vividly remembering the last time someone tried doing agility drills down a hotel hallway, and picked up on the subtle look behind them. After a few more steps, she turned to say something about the game to Yang as an excuse to glance behind them. And then, it all made sense.

A bit further down the hallway were two women, both of whom were dressed in sharp business attire, and the moment Blake returned her attention to Yang, she pointed at herself and mouthed the word ‘tall’ with a wink.

“C’mon, toss me the ball,” Yang said, coming to a stop.

Blake glanced at her watch and, although a touch reluctant, decided they had enough time for a little demonstration. Tossing the ball towards Yang, she stepped back to lean against the wall while the woman started juggling while still carrying both totes. With her best friend as a distraction, Blake could take a longer look at the women Yang was trying to impress, and realized a few things, chiefly: they weren’t just any business women following behind them.

They were the Schnee sisters.

Atlesian elites, borderline nobility, some of the richest and most powerful people in the world; the Schnee sisters were in the news for one reason or another practically every day. Blake was more familiar with the attitude and mentality of the younger sister, Weiss Schnee, because it was her actions that Blake, as a faunus, found most… interesting. All the way up until she assumed control of her family’s company, the woman didn’t seem much at odds with the stuffy, bigoted, narrow minded people found in her social circle. After, though, she not only did an unapologetic one-eighty in the other direction, she became so aggressively progressive that it created a wide schism in the highest echelons of Atlesian society. More than once, she’d deployed the surprisingly well equipped private SDC security forces to protect protestors from Atlesian police and military personnel, and paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep those protestors out of jail, either by paying off bonds or hiring attorneys. In a relatively short amount of time, she’d become a juggernaut for social changes, and the careful monopoly her scheming father had built became the ultimate tool for exacting those changes.

Blake could admire the woman’s sense of justice as well as her commitment to it.

The elder, though, she only knew by name. Winter Schnee stood on her sister’s side when it came to social issues and did something tangentially related to the SDC but, beyond that, the details were a blur. She’d never heard Yang mention either sister in anything more than a passing comment while they pursued the news together waiting for flights, certainly nothing she could recall that would explain why the woman wanted Winter’s attention specifically. However, it also wasn’t out of the ordinary for Yang to show off a bit for pretty ladies when presented the opportunity.

By the time Blake had made a decision herself, Yang had run through every trick she knew and had popped the ball up to balance on her chest. She motioned for the woman to pass the ball, which earned her a raised brow at first before lilac eyes twinkled and she popped her shoulders back to set the ball in motion.

Blake caught it before it hit the ground with her foot, stalling the ball’s momentum entirely for a moment before she began juggling herself. For her, it was less a skill she’d developed for showing off as one of honing control of her body and the ball, but she knew a few tricks, moving slightly away from the wall so she could juggle the ball in a circle around her while still facing Yang. It meant juggling with her heel behind her back briefly but she managed it without losing control and that prompted a low murmur from their audience. Impressively, she couldn’t make out the words, which made her think the speaker specifically didn’t want her to hear.

After transitioning between using her feet and knees, the faunus popped the ball up high enough for her head to get under it, her feline ears laying flat against her skull to prove she wasn’t using them to help her balance the ball in place, which earned a brief chuckle from Yang. Then, she began bouncing it atop her head while moving her head just so to get the ball rotating before allowing it to roll off her head so she could catch it with her foot.

With a glance to confirm Yang was prepared, Blake passed her the ball, and the two of them traded it for a while, trying to catch the other off guard to make the eventual save and pass even more impressive. It was a show of control and dexterity and, had they planned it, would’ve had a better end to the display. Unfortunately, a short pass from Yang resulted in both of them trying to save it, which sent the ball bouncing harmlessly down the hall until it came to a stop at Winter’s feet.

Then again, given the glint in Yang’s eye, perhaps that was her intention. “Oh, sorry about that. We’re just… warming up.”

With a jerk of her head, the faunus realized her friend was requesting some back-up. “Yes, we, uh… are on our way to a game. The semi-finals, actually.”

“We can probably get ya seats, if you want.” A nonchalant shrug. “You should come watch us play.”

The sisters exchanged a look then. The elder, questioning, and the younger… Blake couldn’t put a word to that look. It was equal parts goading and secretive, and perhaps something else dancing in blue eyes. She would need a lot more time to decipher that look.

And she found herself wanting it.

Then, without a word, Winter put her foot on top of the ball and rolled it back, popped it up, and… began juggling with just as much precision as they’d displayed. Except, unlike them- bedecked in jerseys, loose shorts, and tennis shoes- she was doing it in a form fitting pants suit and dress shoes, hampering her mobility somewhat though it hardly impacted her performance, executing all the tricks Yang had done. Then, she passed it to her sister, who, in high heels and a skirt, proceeded to do the same, keeping many of the tricks low so her skirt wouldn’t ride up. Which, of course, meant she had less room to manipulate the ball, had to move faster to get into position to execute each trick, and when she did a version of Blake’s around the world one, the faunus felt her mouth pop open in astonishment.

Once satisfied, Weiss passed the ball back to her sister, who caught it one handed.

“We appreciate the invitation. However...” Winter tossed the ball, hard enough that it hit Yang’s chest before the keeper thought to catch it. “We unfortunately have a prior engagement that requires our attention.”

The sisters began walking past the gobsmacked footballers and Blake didn’t miss the look Weiss directed her way as she spoke. “After you’ve won your game, perhaps you’ll join us in the hotel’s hot tub?”

Blake didn’t notice how close they were to their floor’s elevator until Winter reached over and pushed the button to call a car. “Unless, of course, you have your own post victory traditions that take precedence.”

Yang just shook her head while Blake managed to find her voice. “No. We don’t. Have traditions, I mean.”

“Excellent,” Weiss said, stepping into the car the moment the doors twanged open and hitting a button inside, smiling in a way that… well… Blake would call it seductive in another setting and found herself hard pressed not to call it that now. “We’ll see you there. Don’t be late.”

When the doors closed, both Blake and Yang were left standing in the hallway, both just… recovering from how mentally unprepared they were for their tricks to be used against them to great effect. After another moment, Yang turned to look at her, holding up the ball.

“Lucky. Ball.”

Blake resolved to not argue that point and instead focus on winning the game, ushering her teammate towards the stairs rather than waiting for the next car.

---

Weiss leaned back against the wall of the elevator. While they’d chosen to book this particular hotel for their business trip specifically because their favorite football team would be staying there, and they’d opted to not use the penthouse suite because they wanted a chance to catch glimpses of the team while going to and from meetings, neither expected to meet their personal favorite players in the hallway like that. Weiss had followed Blake’s career since college and, while responsibilities had prevented her from attending as many games as she would’ve liked, she always recorded them and watched them later. Up until the encounter in the hallway, that was how she and Winter had planned to spend their evening.

Now, though…

“Would it be inappropriate for me to bring her jersey to the hot tub in the hopes she’ll sign it?”

Winter made a considering noise. “Bring the jersey, leave a suitable pen in the room.”

“How would that accomplish her signing it?”

“Invite her back to the room.” Her elder sister smiled, and a twinkle in her eyes spoke to the crude humor of a former soldier. “I’ll be… elsewhere tonight.”

“Spare me the details,” she replied as they reached the ground floor. “... but thank you for the idea.”

As a general rule, Weiss was never overly fond of business meetings, but she found herself looking forward to the end of this one more than usual, if only to see where the night led.

---

Blake pushed out a nervous breath as she and Yang made their way towards the hotel’s pool area. The game itself ended in a shootout and while Blake had made the final goal that secured them a berth to the finals, she couldn’t relax quite yet. Post game celebrations usually involved Blake joining the rest of the team for a glass of champagne or a toast of some sort before the others prepared for a night on the town to celebrate the win. Most of the time, Yang went with them, leaving the faunus plenty of time to wind down with a book of her choice and a peacefully quiet hotel room. Even on the odd occurrence when Yang didn’t join the others, the blonde still found other ways of occupying herself that preserved Blake’s quiet.

So, rushing back to the hotel room to change into their swimwear before the hotel shut down their pool was a major break from their normal routine, and knowing they’d be going to meet two very beautiful and apparently incredibly talented women… well, she was just a touch nervous.

Unfortunately, her best friend didn’t share that anxiety.

“One piece or bikini?”

“What?”

“Which do you think they’re wearing?” The blonde shrugged, the tips of her hair brushing the back of her neck. Normally, Yang wore her hair down or in a thick braid for games, but seeing as she didn’t have the energy to deal with drying her hair again after the quick post game shower they’d rushed through. “I’m hoping Winter’s wearing a bikini or a two piece. She’s gotta have some abs, right?”

“You have an eight pack; what does it matter to you if she has abs?”

“It’s about the commitment.” With a smirk, she gestured towards her own abs, prominently on display thanks to her yellow bikini top. Along with a darkening bruise around her left eye, there were bruises along her ribs from a few sliding tackles that had almost sidelined the keeper entirely, but Yang was a bit tougher than their opponents expected. “It takes work to get these and keep ‘em.”

“And what’s the point of wearing a bikini top if you’re just going to wear swim trunks for bottoms?” She arched a brow, more comfortable poking holes in her best friend’s thought process than confronting reality as they neared their destination. While she, too, opted for bikini style swimwear, Blake had chosen a black top with matching bottoms and a light purple sarong around her hips. She might claim to be somewhat modest in comparison, but she was showing a bit more skin- which, rationally, she could justify because they were getting in a hot tub, not attending a gala, showing a bit of skin should be expected-

Blake shook her head, trying to calm her anxiety again.

“Gotta make her work for the goods,” Yang replied, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring her nerves. Then again, perhaps she had a few of her own that she was hiding, considering the way she reached up to fiddle with her hair. “Besides, my bottoms always ride up. Trunks are more comfortable. Not all of us have an ass that won’t quit.”

“Not judging, I just think it’s… silly. To focus on what they’ll be wearing.”

“What else is there to think about?”

“How hard we’re going to flirt.” She pointed out, tilting her head thoughtfully. “What to say, how to say it… what result we’re hoping for.”

“Don’t overthink it, Blakey.” A laugh. “Let’s just have some fun.”

They came to a set of glass double doors that granted entry to the pool area of the hotel… at which point they realized the pool officially closed half an hour ago. Yang cursed under her breath as Blake’s shoulders slumped. They’d missed their chance, it seemed.

“Oh, Miss Belladonna? Miss Xiao Long?”

“That’s us,” Yang replied as a hotel employee approached them, already grabbing a key card attached to his lanyard and holding it up to a sensor beside the doors.

“Here. Both Miss Schnees are waiting for you.”

The footballers exchanged a look, surprised by the special treatment. True, they were quasi celebrities themselves, but this hotel handled all teams from the league, which meant they weren’t any more famous than the average patron. Then again, the Schnee sisters had quite a bit more clout than they did and could probably swing something like being given unfettered access to the pool area.

With a shrug and a smirk, Yang opened one door and they entered, spotting the sisters sitting in chairs beside the hot tub. Both were reading magazines, with fresh drinks on a table between them, and were… well… Blake found she couldn’t immediately discern their taste in swimwear because both sisters were wearing football jerseys. And not just any jerseys.

“I see you took us up on our offer,” Weiss said, getting to her feet and motioning towards the hot tub before reaching for the hem of the jersey to pull it off. At a glance, Blake could tell it was the special limited edition run from a few years ago, and her number no less. And while she would be sorely tempted to assume the woman had found one last minute, the careful way Weiss placed the jersey on the chair- not dropped or thrown carelessly- made her think otherwise. Only then did she notice the woman had opted for a light blue one piece with a single strap, leaving her upper back mostly exposed. “Splendid.”

“Congratulations on your win.” Winter also set aside her magazine and stood up, revealing she was wearing Yang’s limited edition jersey, and she took the same amount of care in removing it and setting it aside. Much to her friend’s delight, the elder of the sisters did wear a bikini of a darker blue and also sported some abs, though they lacked the definition of Yang’s. “A hard fought victory like that certainly deserves a celebration.”

As the sisters entered the hot tub, Blake looked over to Yang, who seemed equal parts excited and… intimidated- and that second one was hard. But what intimidated her ultimately evolved into a challenge and Yang never backed down from a challenge. For her part, the faunus just found herself wondering if, perhaps, they had a different idea of who needed to impress who than the sisters did.

Removing her sarong, Blake tossed it onto the chair Weiss had used and went to the hot tub, noting how the sisters had chosen to sit across from each other. She hesitated in entering, if only because she didn’t want to be too forward. Yang, of course, took the seating as a goading taunt of sorts, and settled herself in the tub hardly an arm’s length away from Winter. Probably closer than would be considered polite but neither seemed uncomfortable or surprised by the decision, so Blake opted to test the waters herself, sitting approximately the same distance away from Weiss but also across from Yang.

Almost instantly, she let out a sigh of relief; while focusing on getting to the hot tub, she’d done her best to ignore the lingering aches and pains from the game. Now, though, she could feel herself relaxing as the warmth began sinking into her muscles. Usually, she just focused on stretches before bed and had a tub of balm if that failed.

“Should probably do this more often,” Yang said, obviously relaxing herself. “Forgot how good hot tubs feel after a rough game.”

“Speaking of that, did you get checked out?” Winter gestured towards her eye. “You took a few nasty hits. I’m surprised seventeen didn’t get thrown out of the game.”

“The Vipers always play hard.” The blonde tried to shrug off the concern. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You took a few shots, too.” Weiss pointed out. “How’s your knee?”

“I’ve taken worse falls.” She gave a wry smile. “But I’m beginning to suspect you know that.”

“I’ll admit I’ve been a fan of yours since your college days.” The woman shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance- and Blake only suspected it was a show because blue eyes didn’t meet hers as she spoke. “I hardly think that is remarkable. You’re one of the best strikers the league has ever seen.”

“Did you ever consider playing?” At the curious look she received, Blake inclined her head. “It took me years to develop those tricks, and you did them better. That speaks to a remarkable amount of skill.”

“Well, I’ll admit I entertained the idea a time or two. Ultimately, I chose my path, and it didn’t leave enough room to become a superstar footballer.” She shook her head. “I don’t regret it but, I suppose, part of the reason I practice those little tricks to keep the dream alive.”

Her ears perked up, catching something between the lines. “Part of the reason? What’s the other part?”

“Why, to catch your eye, of course.”

“My eye?” She couldn’t help the surprised chuckle that bubbled up from her chest. “You’re Weiss Schnee; you don’t really need to try to catch anyone’s attention.”

The woman’s expression faltered then. “Yes, well… unfortunately, the sort of attention I garner on my own is markedly less… impressive, by some standards.”

“I’d think those people have poor standards, then,” she said, opting to tip her hand as well. “You’ve managed to galvanize social changes that have taken some kingdoms entire decades in a matter of years. Comparatively, bouncing a ball’s hardly anything. Don’t you think?”

At that Weiss laughed, a bright, high, unrestrained sound that Blake rather liked hearing. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t be trying so hard to impress you, now would I? And you shouldn’t discount your own efforts outside the pitch.”

The faunus felt her lips quirk up in amusement. They’d been watching each other from afar all this time; the only thing she didn’t account for was the magnetic attraction that being in the woman’s presence seemed to engender. And, as she made an excuse of stretching to cover her moving slightly closer to Weiss, it seemed she wasn’t the only one feeling it. The woman, mysteriously, decided to move and dip her shoulders beneath the water’s surface long enough to bring out a lovely light pink blush to her skin, and when she sat back against the tub’s wall, she was a bit closer to Blake.

Surreptitiously, she snuck a glance towards Yang, if only to gauge how much teasing she would be in for on the flight back home the following day. She quickly realized her best friend wouldn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to teasing; somehow, Winter had coaxed Yang into her lap and was apparently giving the footballer a message. For her part, Yang seemed to be in a luxurious sort of heaven, eyes half lidded and with a silly sort of smile on her lips.

“Forgive my sister,” Weiss said, a sardonic smile on her lips. “I’m impressed she’s shown this much restraint.”

“I can hear you,” the woman replied, blue eyes flashing towards her younger sister. “But that can be remedied. Yang?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think this would work better if you were lying down.”

Lilac eyes widened as the woman tilted her head, glancing over towards Blake. With a small nod, the faunus made the silent agreement to avoid their hotel room for a few hours. Frankly, Yang had slept in a few lobbies over the years, when she’d returned too drunk to be quiet and not wanting to risk waking the faunus. She could spend a night elsewhere to return the favor.

“Yeah… I think you’re right.”

As the two got out of the hot tub and retrieved towels, Blake returned her attention to the woman beside her. “You don’t have to try, you know.”

“Pardon?”

“Impressing me. You don’t have to try.” Blake tilted her head, leaning back to brace her arms against the rim of the hot tub. “I think that’s the part I don’t like about being with the league. The mandatory press conferences and the rules- sometimes, I just want to get straight on the bus after a game and go back to reading my book, not sit and play twenty questions for an hour. It’s like… wearing an ill fitting mask.”

“You handle them remarkably well.” Weiss smirked. “But I suppose I say that because I speak my mind a bit too bluntly during press conferences. I admire your restraint.”

“I admire your candor,” she replied, very carefully laying one arm along the tub’s rim behind the woman. “I really liked the interview you did with the Atlas Economist. It looked like you were going to give that guy an aneurysm.”

“That would’ve been impossible.” A light chuckle as she moved closer, lowering her voice ever so slightly to coax Blake into leaning closer. “He would need a brain first.”

They both laughed, using their amusement to hide their shifting movements until Weiss was pressed into her side ever so slightly. They continued talking and laughing quietly until sitting in the hot tub started becoming uncomfortable. However, the faunus did her best to ignore it simply because she didn’t want to part ways quite yet. Weiss was… a lot of things- emphatic, sharp tongued, witty- but above all good company that Blake wasn’t keen on losing quite yet. However, she couldn’t ignore that the heat of the tub was taking a toll on them both.

“Your skin’s turning red,” she said, running a thumb over the ball of Weiss’ shoulder. “We should probably get out.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

They both stood and exited the hot tub, grabbing towels to start drying themselves off. While doing that, she wracked her brain for some excuse to continue their conversation but found herself coming up woefully empty. Every suggestion she could come up with either sounded ridiculous or… risque. It wasn’t like she could simply invite the woman back to her hotel room for some tea.

“Thank you for the invite, by the way,” she said, trying to buy herself some time. “A good soak after a tough game feels… fantastic. I don’t often indulge.”

Blue eyes lit up as the woman wrapped a towel around her hips. “I’m more than glad you accepted. However, if you wish to… pay me back… I’ve been meaning to ask for your autograph.”

Blake raised a brow. The request seemed… deceptively innocent, especially with the way Weiss was looking at her. “I can do that. You want me to sign your jersey?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The barest moment of silence, and then she tilted her head. “Unfortunately, the only pen I have is in my room.”

Blake took a step closer, pleased to see she actually stood a few inches taller than the woman when she wasn’t wearing heels, and lowered her voice. “Well… I suppose we’ll have to go to your room, then.” A pause. “And, maybe, we’ll think of something else I can sign along the way.”

Weiss smiled and donned the jersey, setting her hand in the crook of the faunus’ elbow. “Perhaps. Do you have any ideas?”

“I do.” As they started walking, she chuckled. “But I wouldn’t want to use a pen to sign something so… delicate.”

The woman hummed, pointedly looking at her mouth. “I believe I know of something else you can use.”

While outwardly Blake merely smiled a bit wider, internally she asked herself a question: just how far was she willing to go?

Before they reached the elevator, she’d decided that if she wasn’t officially dating Weiss Schnee by the time she boarded the plane tomorrow, she’d be disappointed in herself.

---

Weiss stretched luxuriously in her bed as the morning rays streamed in through the window. She was sore in places she’d forgotten existed- but the pleasant type of sore, the kind that eventually turned into an itch for more, and it took conscious effort not to reach for her scroll just then. It would probably do her well to show some restraint.

That mentality lasted all of thirty seconds before her scroll was in hand and she was admiring her new background picture, taken just before Blake put on her swimwear from the night before and left to return to her room. Nothing terribly suggestive or revealing, of course, just the faunus resting her chin on Weiss shoulder. An ordinary selfie. With her new girlfriend.

She couldn’t help the smile curling her lips.

The door opened and she looked over her shoulder, watching her sister strut into the room wearing her bikini with her usual air of complete and total confidence. Her jersey was held in one hand. Probably because she wanted to… show off. “You walked down the hallway like that?”

“Of course,” Winter replied, not even batting an eye at the words ‘Property of Yang Xiao Long’ written in marker across her chest and abdomen. “I’m pleased with the outcome.”

Then, a smirk.

“Please, don’t elaborate.”

“I won’t but I do hope you were as successful as I was.”

She glanced at her scroll as a message came through from Blake, a smile coming to her lips. “Indeed I was.”

Who knew giving in to her impulse to show off would have such wonderful results.

#Monochrome #Elderburn

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there.

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super.

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door.

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down.

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda’s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t d i d i f u c k i n g t e l l y o u , d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection.

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father.

okay that was funny.

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm.

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends?

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead.

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping.

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that.

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them.

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there.

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @comics-observer @buticaaba

#river thinks too hard #nightwing #dick grayson #nightwing 83 #dc #nightwing review #nightwing meta #dick grayson review #dick grayson meta #nightwing 83 review #nightwing 83 meta #dc review #dc meta

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 3 years

Text

Time for the rest of the first challenge. Event. Whatever. Words hard.

[No. 26 - Chase Down The Leader]

We flashback just a minute or so from where we left off, in order to see just how Izuku pulled off his impressive launch across the field. He stands at the start of the minefield, watching other students pick their way through - and occasionally setting off mines with missteps - while having a veritable mumblefest over the mines and the general issue of trying to pick past them.

The general gist of the mumbling: The mines are the type that blow up when stepped on, and aren’t that strong, but can throw a student off enough to possibly cause a chain reaction and lose them a lot of time. It’s better to go slow to avoid damage, even for leaping types, and trying to slow others is a guaranteed time loss. Izuku then analyzes the field in front of him, noting the spots people avoid and that most students will be most on guard at the entrance, which means there are plenty of mines left for his plan so long as they stay frosty.

Izuku puts his armor plate to work digging up mines, muttering about how anti-personnel mines should only be 14 centimeters or so deep (about 6 inches). Jirou, just making her way into the field and using her quirk to… I guess disable mines in front of her? Anyway, she actually notices Izuku is up to something and asks what he’s doing, though I think it’s not one she expects to get answered. In short order, Izuku has a pile of about a dozen mines, and mentally claims he’s taking a page from Kacchan’s book. Meanwhile, Present Mic announces Shouto and Katsuki are still in the lead, and that they’re about to cross the finish line.

Not for long, though, as Izuku names his adhoc maneuver ‘great blasting turbo speed’, throwing himself on top of his armor sheet and onto the pile of mines, launching him over the field and right towards the two leading the pack. Pretty much everyone hesitates or stops to stare for a moment, shook by the sheer brass balls it had to take to literally blow yourself sky high. The two most shook, of course, are Shouto and Katsuki, who only just start moving again when Izuku actually flies ahead of them, forgoing their fight in order to catch back up.

Izuku considers the whole experience intense, and is even more focused now that he’s managed to gain the lead. However, there’s one huge issue - he didn’t think far enough ahead to consider how he was going to land. As if that’s not enough, Katsuki is throwing himself forward with more explosions, screaming at ‘Deku’ to get back there (presumably to fight). Shouto’s not far behind, giving up keeping the others hindered in exchange for the speed he gets from icing over the field ahead of him - he doesn’t have time to worry about those behind him now.

Present Mic announces the temporary ceasefire between the two in order to chase down Izuku, and how when a common enemy appears, people stop fighting - then tacks on that, well, actually they’re still fighting, just not each other. Aizawa wonders what his friend is even trying to say.

Izuku starts floating away from his armor sheet, the larger surface area causing it to stall and slow faster then he is. He grabs onto one of the wires as he recognizes this, and that if he loses time on his landing, passing the two again will be impossible. As the two just start to rush past him, Izuku swears mentally, telling himself to not let go - while he’s still ahead, this is his only chance. So, if passing them is impossible, then he has to maintain the lead.

Somehow, he manages to flip in the air, using the momentum to bring the armor plate swinging around and into the ground right between the two, the pressure enough to set off several more mines. The two are forced to stop from the resulting explosion, while Izuku’s newfound momentum throws him readily ahead.

As he falls into a duck and roll, Present Mic announces how Izuku blows off the competition with no time to lose. He goes on to marvel at Aizawa’s class, wondering what he’s teaching the kids. Aizawa says it’s not his doing, and that they’ve been spurring each other on all on their own. Present Mic rolls on with his commentary, asking who could have predicted such an incredible turn of events? Aizawa asks if he’s being ignored as Present Mic announces the first one back to the stadium:

Midoriya Izuku. The crowds go absolutely wild. Outside the stadium, Death Arms recognizes Izuku as the kid from a year ago. At home, Inko falls off the couch sobbing while repeatedly stumbling over Izuku’s name. In an unknown location, Shigaraki watches on while scratching idly at his neck.

Izuku looks around the stadium while breathing heavily, eventually looking at one spot in particular. Somehow, he’s found Toshinori in the stands, and the two have a Moment™ from across the stadium.

These fucking two, man.

While Izuku is trying to keep himself from crying, the other students start making their way across the finish line as well.

Toshinori thinks about how Izuku has the spirit of a savior hero to the core, but the sports festival is a competition that tests the exact opposite of that - your willingness to take down the enemy. Heroes nowadays depend on popular opinion so much. So many selfishly seek to beat everyone else. But that’s not Izuku - and that’s why Toshinori chose him, even as he thoughts that lack of selfishness would be his one weakness. He claps in the stands, happy to have been proved wrong and mentally apologizing for doubting him, even as he laments Izuku’s crying habits.

Some business students nearby catch Toshinori’s attention, mostly due to them discussing Izuku’s potential and how they’d market him. They talk about how Izuku’s stock is about to rise, but it’s hard to say what’s still in store for him since he didn’t show his quirk. They then start speculating about how a hero agency would market him if they took it on, with one pointing out how he’s not much to look at, so they’re have to push his skills and his unique, almost artistic sensibilities. When the resources you need aren’t there… Well, we don’t hear how that gets handled, but Toshinori does note how some things never change.

We get a brief narrative insert about the business course, most notably how they have nothing to gain by directly competing in the sports festival. Instead, they hone their skills as salespeople and run business simulations.

Back with the hero students, we see Katsuki and Shouto both catching their breath. Katsuki is furious at Izuku once again managing to wrangle a win right from under him, while Shouto is just staring after Izuku silently. Present Mic announces more racers reaching the finish line, and that the standings will be gone over later, so the students can catch their breath for now.

Ochako and Tenya make their way over to Izuku. Ochako calls Izuku’s strategy awesome, while Tenya is in despair over losing a race with his quirk, stating that he still has progress to make. Ochako states that she’s jealous of Izuku’s first place; Izuku flushes and hides his face behind his arms, stating that it wasn’t that impressive, and was still too close. Internally, he laments that he just got lucky, that all his chance strategies happened to work. They say it’s awesome, but it was just a lucky break, and that the real test of skill starts now.

Anyways, Midnight announces the end of the race, and we get the results:

Midoriya Izuku

Todoroki Shouto

Bakugou Katsuki

Shiozaki Ibara

Honenuki Juuzou

Iida Tenya

Tokoyami Fumikage

Sero Hanta

Kirishima Eijirou

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Ojiro Mashirao

Awase Yosetsu

Asui Tsuyu

Shouji Mezou

Satou Rikidou

Uraraka Ochako

Yaoyorozu Momo

Mineta Minoru

Ashido Mina

Kouda Kouji

Jirou Kyouka

Kaibara Sen

Tsuburaba Kosei

Kaminari Denki

Bondo Kojiro

Yanagi Reiko

Shinsou Hitoshi

Kendo Itsuka

Shishida Jurota

Kuroiro Shihai

Kodai Yui

Rin Hiryu

Shouda Nirengeki

Komori Kinoko

Kamakiri Togaru

Monoma Neito

Tsunotori Pony

Hagakure Touru

Tokage Setsuna

Fukidashi Manga

Hatsume Mei

Aoyama Yuuga

I wasn’t able to find this list in word form anywhere online, so I made it myself. You’re welcome. I also calculated the points each of them had going into the second event, but I’m not gonna worry about that here. I’ll do individual and team points when we actually get to the teams. That way, we’ll know who has which teams’ headbands at the end!

Moving on with the chapter. Midnight announces that the top 42 from the qualifying round will move on, conveniently just including every hero student as well as the two non-hero students who managed to place higher. For those who placed lower, the sports festival will have another way for them to show their stuff!

(Not that we see said show, which I mean, makes sense narratively speaking, but also…)

[I was going to insert the server discussion about my thoughts on the arbitrary cut-off point here, but it’s getting long enough to merit its own post at this point. So look forward to that whenever it goes up!]

Anyways, Midnight continues on, explaining that now the main selection really begins, and that the press corp is going to be jumping out of their seats, so the students should give it all they’ve got. Now, onto the second event, which she already knows - which confirms these are predetermined by UA and they just do the randomizer for the sake of the crowds. Said event is…

the cavalry battle!

Kaminari is nervous at that, thinking about how he’s going to suck. Mineta is also looking concerned. Tsuyu notes they’re teaming up, but how, exactly? Midnight explains with a neat little graphic:

Basically, participants get in teams of two to four, and get into a horse-and-rider formation. The rules are the same as your regular cavalry battle - snag the opponent’s headbands while guarding your own - but with a twist. Each student has an assigned value based on their placement in the race.

Sato notes that it sounds like the points in the entrance exam, so it sounds simple. Hagakure comments on how this means the point value of each team is based on its members. Midnight snaps and cracks her whip at the students that she’s about to explain, so they should shut up already.

Individual point values start at five, at the bottom, so the student in 42nd place is forth five, 41st is worth ten, etc etc. However, the first place participant - that is, Izuku - is instead worth a whole ten million points.

That, my friends, is the face of someone realized they done fucked up.

Basically all the students stare down Izuku as he goes stiff from the internal panicking. Shinsou and Hatsume seem to be shown particular interest in it. Midnight finishes the chapter by noting that the higher-ranked students are the ones to aim for, and that this survival game is a chance for a comeback. It’s anyone’s game!

And with that, we end chapter 26… and volume three. Which means bonus content will be coming soon! See y’all then, and we’ll be back with more sports festival action in the next volume.

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