#i wonder if they could even cook up another villain after all this?

[orange-orchard-system]

Sometimes it's like. You look at someone and you wonder how they go about their days with a reliable memory. What that's like. What it feels like to just know things, to be able to give examples of your life, to be able to answer a question of a happy memory you have without racking your brains for scraps. You plug it into the search box but all you can think about when you see the results is what it must be like to remember that you forgot.

And sometimes it's like. You wonder how anyone functions without that warm feeling in the back of your head of your others, always there for you. Happy and hopeful and picking each other up when one of you falls – maybe a little frayed at the edges, maybe with some wounds that need healing, but sticking together all the same. It's warm like a campfire and warm like excitement, warm like how clouds look to be, even though you know they're cold and wet. You can turn back to them and get a thousand whispered promises of support before you even ask.

And sometimes it's like. You see people laughing at a joke in which you are the butt, the punchline, the freak. And you wonder how they can hate you, how they can show it so casually, what gave them the courage, what prevented their shame. But you never wonder why, because you already know – that's what the joke's about.

And sometimes you know you're not going to remember something even as you're standing in the middle of it. Maybe you try to enjoy the moment – but does it really matter when you're not really experiencing it in the first place?

And sometimes you wonder where you are. And sometimes you wonder who you are.

And sometimes it's like. You're staring at the person who just said they know you, and you have no idea if they're telling the truth, and you have no idea if you can trust them. You don't remember them, but maybe they remember you? Or maybe it's a lie – maybe it's a trick, like how the bullies from childhood would pretend to care. Like how your parents would pretend to care. So you turn them down and admit you don't recognize them, because disappointing someone genuine is safer than risking a knife to the chest – after all, you don't even know if it'll be figurative or literal.

And sometimes it's like. Did your food go bad because you forgot about it? Or is it still good, and you just don't like it right now? Will you like it again later? Did you make the wrong decision in cooking this tonight and not saving it for later? Or did they just change the production of the ingredients? Can you stomach your dinner when you hate it? When it tastes so bad, but used to taste so good?

And sometimes it's like. A melody of a conversation, played with no one else and your mind as the instrument. Hums and bells and chirps and whistles; an orchestra could never outperform what you hear from your own head. It is beautiful and wonderful and you wish everyone could get to experience this, but then you remind yourself that not everyone would enjoy such a thing. And then you wonder why.

And sometimes people write those with voices in their head as murderers. And you watch an ad for an upcoming horror movie with apathy; you can't even be disappointed anymore. You've been upgraded from joke to villain.

And sometimes it's joy passed around from one self to another, gaining momentum, swinging and singing and flying until you can't help but beam and you bite your tongue to keep from laughing because one of your selves just told the best joke you've ever heard.

And sometimes you cry, and they are the only ones there to comfort you.

And sometimes you lash out at them. And sometimes they forgive you. And sometimes that forgiveness only makes you bitter, because it's so foreign. It's the person claiming to know you all over again – why should I trust you? Especially when we make each other into jokes and villains in the eyes of everyone else?

And sometimes it's like. I have no choice but to trust you, to be vulnerable with you, and somehow that makes it easier.

And sometimes your others argue over which bowl to use for your cereal, only for all of you to forget the spoon.

And you wonder what it would be like to remember.

And you wonder what it would be like to decide so easily.

And you wonder what it would be like to hate someone like you – until you remember that you know the answer to that one, because you know what's it's like to hate yourself.

And sometimes your others help you write something that isn't quite poetry but isn't quite not, and you've been trying to write something like this for a while but struggled to find the words, and you're up way too late and should honestly just go to bed but first you have to write this down, and your week has been shitty and you're not out of the woods yet, but at least you have their warmth as you trudge through the dark – something small (but not insignificant) to keep you going, being pulled along by hope that isn't yours and a duty to the ones who have been there for you when no one else was.

And sometimes it's like. Can you guys just choose a spoon already?

#front soup.txt #plurality #pluralgang #actuallyplural #plural system #takashi.txt #poetry #actuallydid #pluralprose

[sseniita]

not in love

cw suggestive (a lil)

Hero’s image was one of glamour and power. Their golden hair shined with glitter, their blue eyes were kind and hypnotising, their body was chiselled to perfection and they wore bright colours with a magnificent cape they swung around excessively. Absolute perfection. At least that’s how it looked from afar. 

Very few people saw the bandages, the bags underneath their eyes, the oil sticking to their hair. And even fewer noticed the tiredness in their voice, the slowness they walked with, and the way how whenever they got a chance, they’d close their eyes and breathe. In fact, only Villain ever noticed. 

“Rough day?” The familiar sight of Hero walking into their shared apartment with their arm encased in a sling and a new bandage over their bicep was as reassuring as it was concerning. They made it home, will tomorrow be the same? 

The hero could only smile as they dropped their duffle bag, hard on the ground. “Ya. A little.” They said trailing their way to the villain on the couch who already had their arm spread out, ready to welcome their little hero. Against Villain’s wishes to steal a half of the jewels in the museum and run away, it was established early into their relationship that Hero won’t stop what they do best. Each day they’ll come home with bruises and scrapes, another day of the city being saved, and in return the Villain would be there, bandages in hand and kettle whistling. It didn’t really seem fair to Hero and the guilt was starting to eat them. 

Rather than a loving partner, Hero felt they had made a personal doctor out of the Villain, taking advantage of them. Soon the Villain would have to feel some sort of grudge against the Hero. Right? They were a villain after all. 

“You’re doing it again.” The hero was lost in thought in the comfort of their partner’s embrace when they finally snapped out of it. 

“Doing what?” 

“Overthinking. Gaslighting yourself.” The villain could read people’s minds. Not in an invasive, torturous kind of way but in the way that Hero would smell chopped onions and chicken broth and would know the villain was cooking up love in the kitchen. The villain sensed emotion and discomfort. Manifested in a stiff neck, or difficulty breathing. Hero wondered if maybe they should become a doctor. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“I worry about it. A lot.” The hero sighed at the objection. Tired, annoyed and stressed the hero gave in to themselves, finally standing up and taking the villain’s hand, leading them into their bedroom, Villain followed quietly, immediately analyzing the atmosphere. 

Hero might have thought it selfish if they didn’t know the villain loved them. They would have thought it manipulative if they knew the villain would oppose. And the villain wouldn't ever oppose- not that it was against his will- but perhaps the feeling of being needed by one of the world’s most powerful beings made Villain feel important. Or at least that’s how it started, some sick power kink. It slowly morphed into something softer, when Hero still smiled in the mornings, and Villain would find comfort in it. Villain should have known they couldn’t keep control of a supernova for long. Love was an explosive thing, but what was left in the aftermath of the cataclysm? Nowadays, more than the loving partner, more than a doctor, Villain would become the medicine. 

They both knew this, but by some delusion, they’d continue anyway. The way the Villain’s tongue trailed against Hero’s chest and neck felt the same as their wandering stitches, their hands in all sorts of places felt like the bandages that’d cover them up, and the endless kisses inflicted on the hero were a million little needle pricks full of lidocaine. Before, Villain used to be rougher, more selfish and less lovely- an attempt to block out Hero’s repeating thoughts fearing betrayal, manipulation, and treason. Those weren’t there anymore, Hero was filled with pure bliss and the only one overthinking was the villain. 

Making sure to not hurt Hero more than they already hurt, making sure to touch the right places, assuring Hero was getting exactly what they needed. They used Hero’s thoughts as something of a satisfaction scale. 

Hero felt guilty, yes. But now, in this ritual, they were selfish and greedy, a desperate attempt to feel numb. Hero never had anything of their own, their uniform was rented and technically belonged to the Hero Association, Their belongings were regularly repossessed after destroying a road or street sign, hell, their very image was copyrighted.  But this, the villain- was theirs. The Villain cared to a concerning extent and as much as Hero hated for the Villain to be a shell of what they once were, Hero was addicted, completely and wholeheartedly to their love. So much so, that it was no surprise when the hero found a letter saying nothing but goodbye beside their favourite breakfast the next morning.

#hero x villain #angst #writing #original fiction #criticism welcome #hero and villain #villain x hero #this was supposed to be cute #idk what happened

[doumadono]

EMERGENCY REQUEST!!

HIII before this I just wanted to say that I really love your blog!! Your writing style is so organized and satisfying 🫶🏻

I was wondering if you could do Izuku as a parent to a rebellious girl. His daughter wasn't even rebellious in the first place, she used to be so sweet and so thankful for the gifts Izuku would give her. You could say that she was a daddy's girl because of how much she clung to him in her youth, but after her mother (Y/N) passed from a villain attack that could have been AVOIDED and the heroes were too late; she lost faith in the heroes especially Izuku. She also had some realization that Izuku was barely home and without her mother, the house felt so empty. Izuku's gifts were an apology and she started to receive more of them after her mother's passing. In time, her resentment for Izuku grew and she stopped interacting with him altogether even if Izuku made more effort for his daughter (whether it would be being home more often, cooking her delicious food like her mother did, buying more gifts, etc.) it meant nothing to her. She started getting in fights, turning her back against the hero society, going home late despite Izuku's protests and ignoring him completely as if she never knew him.

How would Izuku deal and react to this behavior? More importantly, how would he deal with the grief alone?

This is based of a true story because my older sister used to be like this back then, except our parent didn't make an effort to reach out. I wanted to see what would my favorite character do if his own daughter would be like this and he actually tried to make an effort. 😅

Rebuilding bonds - dad!Izuku & Y/N's daughter

Warnings: aged-up Izuku (+25yo)

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Izuku Midoriya had always been a devoted father. He cherished every moment with his daughter, watching her grow into a sweet and thankful child. She used to be a daddy's girl, clinging to him with a warmth that filled their home. But that all changed after the tragic day when her mother, Y/N, fell victim to a villain attack that could have been avoided. The heroes arrived too late, and in that moment, something within their daughter snapped.

The once adoring child began to resent not just the heroes but also her own father. Izuku felt the weight of her growing anger and disappointment, and it tore at his heart. He tried to compensate for her mother's absence by showering her with gifts, seeing them as apologies for his perceived failures. The house felt emptier without Y/N, and the gifts served as a poor substitute for her love and warmth.

Despite Izuku's attempts to bridge the growing gap between them, his daughter's resentment festered. He spent more time at home, cooked her the same delicious food her mother used to make, and continued to buy gifts. Yet, nothing he did seemed to reach her.

One evening, as he prepared dinner, he couldn't help but feel a knot in his chest. The sweet aroma of Y/N's signature dish filled the air. He glanced at the clock; his daughter was late again. Frustration and worry clawed at him, but he waited patiently.

When she finally walked through the door, it was clear that she had been in yet another fight. Her face was marked with fresh bruises, and she refused to meet her father's eyes. Izuku sighed and set the table, laying out the meal he had painstakingly prepared.

"Sit down, sweetheart," he said, his voice gentle but tinged with sadness.

She obeyed but remained silent, pushing her food around the plate. It was as though she were a stranger in her own home. Izuku couldn't bear it any longer. He put down his own fork and looked at her with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"I miss your mother too," he began, his voice shaky. "But pushing me away won't bring her back. I love you, and I'll always be here for you, no matter how angry or distant you become. I want to help you, but I can't do that if you shut me out."

His daughter's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for the first time in a long while, she met his gaze. "I just don't understand, Dad," she whispered. "Why didn't the heroes save Mom? Why weren't they there in time?"

Izuku sighed deeply, his heart heavy with the truth he had been wrestling with. "I ask myself that question every day," he admitted. "I wish I had the answers, but I don't. All I can do is honor her memory by being the best father I can be and doing my part to make the world safer."

And then, without warning, it happened. She suddenly pushed her untouched plate of food away and shot up from her chair, her eyes brimming with tears and anger. The dam that held back her pent-up emotions finally broke, and the floodgates opened.

"I hate this! I hate you, and I hate everything you represent! You say you love me, but you're never here when I need you the most! You couldn't even save Mom!"

Izuku watched in stunned silence as his daughter's anguish poured out. Her anger and grief were like a storm, and he was the one in its path. He had expected this moment, had known that she needed to let it all out, but he had never been prepared for the intensity of her emotions.

She continued to scream and cry, her words a torrent of pain and frustration. She accused him of being a failure as a hero, of not living up to the ideals he had always held dear. She blamed him for her mother's death and for the emptiness that had consumed their home.

Izuku didn't interrupt or try to defend himself. He let her words wash over him, absorbing every bit of her pain. He knew that she needed this release, that it was the only way for her to begin healing. His heart ached as he watched her crumble before him, but he knew that this was a necessary part of their journey.

The room was heavy with the echoes of her screams, and as her sobs began to subside, Izuku approached her cautiously. Gently, he pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close as she cried in his arms.

"Dad, I…" she choked on her words, her voice quivering.

Izuku held her even tighter, his own eyes glistening with tears. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here. You can say anything you need to. I want to understand."

Her tears soaked into his shoulder as she found her voice again. "I just don't know what to do. Everything feels so wrong. Mom is gone, and you're…you're never around… You pay more attention to being a hero than you pay to me…"

He sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I miss her too, more than words can say. And I'm so sorry, I wish I could have been there when you needed me."

"Why couldn't you save her, Dad?" she asked yet again, her voice filled with desperation.

"If only I knew, sweetie," Izuku whispered, his voice filled with regret and longing.

She sniffled and buried her face in his chest. "I don't want to hate you, but I don't know how not to."

He held her close, his voice soft and comforting. "I love you more than anything in the world, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right between us."

They stood in silence for a while, the weight of their emotions heavy in the air. Izuku knew that this was just the beginning, but it was a crucial step in their journey towards healing.

His daughter finally looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. "I don't know if I can forgive you, but I'm willing to try."

Izuku nodded, tears still glistening in his eyes. "That's all I can ask for, sweetheart. We'll take it one step at a time, together."

The storm had passed, and the air in the room felt lighter. It was the beginning of a long process of healing and rebuilding their relationship, but they had taken the first step together. Izuku knew that it wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to be the father she needed and to help her find her way back to the light, even in the darkest of times.

The truth was, the grief settled heavily on Izuku's shoulders right after his wife's death. He found himself grappling with the loss of the love of his life, the mother of his child. The pain was relentless, and he often felt overwhelmed by sorrow. He had lost not only his wife but also his closest confidante, the person who had always been there to support him.

In the days following her death, Izuku withdrew into himself. He was a hero, but he was also a grieving husband and father. He would sit in the darkened living room, lost in memories of Y/N. Their laughter, their shared dreams, and the simple moments they had enjoyed together haunted him. He would often reach for the family photo album, flipping through the pages with tears streaming down his face.

However, he knew he couldn't allow his grief to consume him entirely. He had a daughter who needed him, a daughter who was struggling just as much, if not more, with the loss of her mother.

Over time, their conversations became more open, and the walls between them began to crumble. Izuku continued to work as a hero, but he also became a hero in his daughter's life. He attended her fights, not to scold but to offer guidance and support. He listened to her grievances about hero society and tried to help her understand the complexities of their world.

He also tried to create new routines and traditions that would help them both heal. They visited Y/N's favorite places together, shared stories about her, and kept her memory alive in their hearts. Izuku worked hard to make her feel less alone in her grief.

Their journey was far from easy, and the grief of losing Y/N still loomed over them both. But they faced it together, healing slowly, one step at a time. Izuku remained a devoted father, determined to rebuild the bond with his daughter and show her that heroes, even with their flaws, could still make a difference in the world.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #izuku hcs #izuku x reader #izuku fluff #izuku midoriya #izuku midoria x reader #mha fluff #emergency request #izuku midoryia #deku fluff #midoriya fluff #midoriya x reader #mha midoriya #midoriya x you #deku x reader #deku x reader fluff #dad!izuku midoriya

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 52

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

He's supposed to be dunking on someone else, but I feel like we're all affected by this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Mikey had been texting you non-stop.

No matter how innocuous it was, it troubled you just how flagrant you were being. In the week since the first, you hadn’t had a single flare up. There should have been anger. There was a rage that should have been parboiled like his damn chains on your skin. Instead, you’d simply stared when you’d received the first message after having just arrived at work. The surprised exclamation about Donnie also liking cooking had only given you pause. It wasn’t even a white flag. It was a blob on an otherwise empty message board. A single blip that you could pocket and forget; it was the second text that caused you to respond.

It was an image of Splinter screaming with a hand up as he tried to fend off the phone.

With only a few words and an image, you put it all together. The aging starlet had continued his streak of being the worst communicator. Based on the fact that Splinter was in his favorite chair, you set the scene of Mikey spending time with his father. Maybe catching up as adults with busy lives did, Splinter, many months after the fact, would have tossed an off-the-cuff comment about how you’d told him Donnie cooked, for better or worse. Mikey then incensed by the claim, rushed for confirmation and, against his father’s wishes, took a photo to validate his utterance.

The strange understanding of someone you barely knew had you crafting a response.

You: He went through an intense science related phase is all.

That single watering was enough to grow a field.

What followed that day was Mikey info dumping about some chef who dabbled in the same. He went on and on about how said man made cooking easy before outpouring an explanation of the years long hiatus between parts of his show. There had been a cookbook made in the interim that seemed to solidify network choices and you were soon on the receiving more pictures, now of Mikey with his signed copy.

Then another, where a starry eyed Mikey who maybe looked a few years younger was photographed with the man you could now attach a face to.

You’d meant to leave it.

In all the time he’d been sharing this story, you hadn’t responded once.

From his end, all he received were read receipts and yet he kept going.

Each time you took a break there was a new rolling number of messages and you caught up on them like reading the paper.

Sipping tea to warm yourself in the late afternoon, you were at the very least entertained. Part of you clung steadfast to the brick he’d tried to hit you with, but there was a disconnect from that menace and this voice. He was now a newsletter to be read at your leisure and you imagined this would be the last. A single blip on the radar that was Michelangelo, you’d have one better memory of him to hold onto.

Going back for your last work stretch until clock out, you wondered how that chef had reacted when he found out about his mutant devotee. You imagined he’d accepted Mikey’s looks then he’d probably followed it up with some guilt about animals and autonomy. Thinking of cow mutants and their stand to eat more chicken, you were soon off and gave your phone a final once over before heading out.

Your preview message wished you a nice night and you read backwards to catch up.

Mikey: Alright!

Mikey: That’s enough of that!

Mikey: Thank you for tuning into DJ Dr Delicate Touch CPAs radio hour

Mikey: We hope you had a good time listeners

Mikey: Okay wait who even listens to the radio anymore?

Mikey: I gotta do this like a podcast and thank my sponsor

Mikey: ShipStation, it’s better than the post office probably

Mikey: Fr tho

Mikey: Thanks for your time

Mikey: Have a nice night! 😁

Odd.

It was strange.

Putting your phone away, you should have been mad.

No matter how much you tried you couldn’t summon it.

The entire trip home, you tried to think about what you were missing.

The best you could come up with was that his words of leaving you be during the kidnapping had been ones you used more than once in your daily life. A level statement from one with otherwise untethered shoulders, it spoke of some kind of maturity. Besides Leo, the other two each had it in their own flavors. Mikey’s made the least sense as he flittered like a confused butterfly, while Raph seemed like the only one with a touch of reality.

You shouldn’t indulge this.

It was in reaching for your door knob that you were struck with an odd thought.

You weren’t.

Why worry?

Feeling like you had wasted your ride home, you left your concerns at the door as you stepped into the space with your partner.

A pleasant evening followed and the next day arrived without a similar hitch.

The following morning rolled out in a relaxed state that found you at your desk. It was sometime around 10am that you got another message.

Mikey: You ever wonder why eggs don’t taste like chicken?

Stupid.

That had been your first thought.

Of course they didn’t; they were embryos, but a second thought had you typing.

You: If you can’t taste then how do you know that’s still true?

It was mean.

You couldn’t even convince yourself that you hadn’t mean it that way.

Part of you did.

Part of you also felt like shit for poking fun at an obvious disability.

What did you even know about it?

You knew he couldn’t smell cum on you like his brothers.

That had to correlate with taste and yet you were the tasteless one.

It’d show him, you decided.

There had to be a barrier.

You weren’t familial.

You weren’t friends.

You were whatever you had with Leo at best.

Two photos thrown into the ether and an open line in case of emergencies.

The silence said you’d put the matter to bed.

Your phone should do the same.

You had work.

Moving to set your device down, you spied a percolation of bubbles before a giant image spawned.

Raising your phone on sheer instinct, you stared down at a meme.

An image of a turtle with its mouth open as if it had just been burdened with the reality of its existence.

Mind blown.

Mikey: TREE FALLS IN THE FOREST WHO!?

Mikey: THATS SO GOOD

Mikey: IM THROWING THAT BACK IN LEOS FACE RN

Mikey: REACTION IN COMING

Mikey: HERE WE GO

Mikey: HES EATING GOLDEN GRAHAMS GOT HIM

Your lips parted as you stared.

Mikey: aw man wtf 😩

Mikey: It didn’t land!!! 😩😩😩

Mikey: I did wait like an hour before responding

Mikey: He said it first btw

Mikey: Credit where its due

Mikey: Though wait hold up

Mikey: I take it back

Mikey: He totally got it from a video

Mikey: OH I KNOW

Mikey: Give me another! Hurry!

Scrambling for an unknown reason, you started to type out one before erasing it in exchange for another.

You: Does a straw have one hole or two?

You stared at the blank screen with an odd impatience until again there was a snap of bubbles and several images jockeyed for screen time.

They were a series of different images all conveying that his mind was blown.

Then another bout of silence.

Your cubicle felt way too large.

You were a tiny speck amongst moveable walls.

Mikey: GOT HIM!!!!!!!!!!!

A series of party gifs appeared in rapid escalation.

Mikey: He stuttered and everything

Mikey: Leo: one- no two… wait…?

Mikey: THE LOOK ON HIS FACE

Mikey: I’m running now btw

Mikey: He’s totally chasing me

Mikey: Dropped his cereal!

Mikey: LOSER IN THE BATTLE OF THE MINDS

An image of a chef loading penne into a gun had you slamming your phone down.

Hand over your mouth, you tried to contain your laughter until you stumbled away.

Far from the too big walls of your office and into the bathroom where you released your giggles.

You could see it.

You could see Leo turning to brotherly rage after being beaten by a quip from his younger brother.

The playful nature of chasing after him, bowl in hand.

Then the fateful spill where Mikey left him to clean up the mess.

Sputtering and washing your hands only to feel the cool water, you attempted to reign yourself in when you felt a similar bubble and pop as Mikey’s messages gave.

You’d mistakenly activated something.

Something you’d be stuck with. 

It was too late in a non-lethal sense.

That something was a week of near non-stop messages from the orange turtle.

Or rather the Ornate Box variety, which was one of many things you’d mistakenly waded into knowing about the man.

He had an awe inspiring bit of knowledge from over a dozen fields, though he wasn’t an expert in any of them.

He had ADHD which he spoke of as some shitty roommate he was forced to deal with.

He had over a thousand reaction images all sorted by mood.

More than one of which he’d created and you realized you were vaguely aware of them as they’d gone viral.

He had no idea anyone else used his pictures.

He both had a huge and non-existent social media presence.

A handful of accounts with millions of followers, he was a ghost of a bygone era that some people still whispered about.

He had completely forgotten. 

He’d logged off one day after deciding that it wasn’t good for his health and never looked back.

He didn’t even seem to have realized he had that number of followers in the first place.

He was authentically him.

That made him dangerous.

You understood now why younger Donnie had shunned him. Someone that open was terrifying. His power was too great for one single soul to hold, even with his faults. Those came mostly in the form of his attention span which made you almost wonder if he was struck with his attention disorder if only to restrain his power. The odd balance of the universe that Mikey himself had explained to you one night, he was as he needed to be.

He was infectious.

The clear baby of the family, he also appeared to be the other men’s favorite. Setting aside how they were loudly ranking one another, it was how Mikey conducted himself that had sucked you in. Even when he was plowing, bullheaded, into something without a care for the repercussions, it was difficult to fault him. It was comedic in a sense, but in a larger one it was more.

He was devastatingly earnest.

Not once had pretext revealed.

It had been on your way back to your desk after refilling your water bottle on the third day that you realized he could have an ulterior motive. You guarded yourself then. Reading back to see if you had let something slip and keeping an eye out moving forward. 

Only, he’d smashed the thought.

Unlike Leo, he never seemed to lead anywhere. 

In fact, he hadn’t brought up Donnie once since that first message. In the time since, you’d mostly placed that surprise as one he related to cuisine itself. Cooking for Mikey was elevated to an art form and he respected it with the worship of a clergyman.

In that way, he seemingly understood Donnie better than you.

From the way Mikey talked about food, it was nearly the same as Donnie talked about his passions. They both had the brash exterior of a scientist with a careful consideration of blasphemy in case their faith was infringed upon. Things were meant to be done a certain way, whether it be handed down by their field’s forbearers, and to deviate was a cardinal sin. 

Mikey was a little more self aware. 

Though he hadn’t brought it up, you eventually placed that original conversation hadn’t been about some chef, but about Mikey himself. 

That was why he’d thanked you.

He was explaining away his own confusion.

A learned habit you imagined came from a family where actions were rarely done with obvious intention, he was definitely the type to beat a point to death.

It only acted to enhance his innocence.

He could only be a mastermind far beyonds the likes of Donnie if he intended anything else. 

Your conversations were nothing more than two people casually getting to know each other. 

He was a regular guy with a love of life in spite of its hardships.

Even after the long day he’d had yesterday where everything had gone wrong and a villain had made off with a little old lady’s retirement check. Mikey’s resolve hadn’t been shaken. He’d taken the woman to go get groceries even while she made comment after comment about his species. He spoke of it all with a sense of levity and how, when he’d carried her things back to her apartment, she’d berated him outside of it in case he thought to rob her later. All taken with a grain of salt that he dismissed as he didn’t know the life she lived, he then explained the art he’d seen.

On the way home, beaten in a mental sense and, not doubting, but worn on humanity he’d sworn to protect, he described a mural.

Graffiti that he refused to take a picture of as that would muddy its message, he wove poetry about its lines. Colors warm like a sunset, he’d gone and traced the paint against the brick. He described the bubbling of the layers and how he could see which direction the artist took the cans in vivid detail.

He hadn’t even needed to say it renewed his faith.

There was no ending message that said he was reminded of why he chose to do this.

He only explained the mural before switching subjects as if that life affirming event meant as much as asking about a TV show you’d been watching the night before.

Donnie had taken notice.

You knew that right away, the first time you responded to a message in his periphery.

You texted your friends regularly, but this was new.

That excitement of getting to know someone in a flurried catch up.

He’d never seen you like this.

He also didn’t mention it.

You were thankful.

You hadn’t figured out how to explain it.

Donnie respected you.

You loved him.

It probably wouldn’t have been an issue had it not interrupted on the fifth night.

You and Donnie had been making love. You languished in calling it vanilla because that was the world’s most expensive and coveted spice. Never a dull moment with your partner, it was a casual renewal of your bond that had been interrupted by your phone vibrating loudly on the nightstand.

Kissing Donnie away from the distraction, the sudden flood of messages meant that for you the sound became a backdrop. It had taken less than a minute before he'd abandoned your lips to glower down at you.

“We’re not discussing this while I’m inside you.”

He knew.

Of course, he knew.

He knew you were talking to one of the other turtles.

He might even know which.

You would to drill him on the how after.

“Gonna be hard…” You feigned trailing off and nudged from beneath him.

He took the bait with a wary lowering of his lids.

“Considering there’s always some piece of you inside…”

He’d growled and under the cover of fucking you for your insolence, your phone had somehow been thrown safely across the apartment.

When you found it after, you ran through the messages accrued. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be?” He responded without pause.

“How’d you know?”

“Yesterday morning you asked me to grab your phone.”

You looked over where he was folding some freshly cleaned sheets.

“I don’t usually inspect your electronics. You received a message as I was passing it off.”

“Why… aren’t you mad?”

“Are you under duress?”

“No.”

“Blackmail?”

You snorted. “Not even.”

“That one is…” Donnie’s lip curled with silent fury.

You felt guilt. “He’s a lot.”

“Incessant.” Your boyfriend looked right at you.

“He’s something… I don’t know.”

“It’s not my business.”

“I mean, it is.”

“No.”

“Donnie.”

“Who you speak to is not.” He snapped a top cover. “I trust your judgment.” He turned to construct a stack and moved away.

It wasn’t a blessing, but in an abstract way you understood where Donnie was coming from.

“Now if it was the blue one…” Donnie murmured from beyond your sight.

You had rolled your eyes and kept talking to Mikey.

Around the tenth day, it had become part of your routine. He wasn’t the type to necessarily wait or care for a response. He’d blow up your phone at any and all hours and as the newness of him wore off and settled into what seemed like a long term thing, you now responded to him at specific times. Usually catching up in the morning and at lunch, his late night messages were slowly forgotten as you had a series of new year hangouts with friends. Donnie’s attendance had been relegated to only one event where he devastated his social battery through one droning charcuterie board.

Resolutions to enact now that would surely be forgotten by February, your schedule was filled. It was after one such lengthy dinner that you’d come home, greeted Donnie, buried yourself in sheets, and realized you hadn’t heard from Mikey all day.Unearthing your phone as you cuddled up against your drowsy partner, you found no messages in your inbox and your brow came down with concern.

Mikey always messaged you.

The quick worry was doused just as fast as you reminded yourself how busy you were. He surely was as well, especially with all his hobbies, and also you barely knew the man’s real schedule. Your conversations with random ones, usually dictated by whatever topic of the hour interested him. It had been so easy to rely on him leading that it was sort of eye opening to find he hadn’t been the one to reach out. It made you scroll back through your messages where you quickly found that not once had you ever instigated.

Is this why he checked out from reality?

That flippant part of him, his supposed failing.

People were so quick to attach themselves to him, did he have to hold everyone else at arm’s length?

He made it simple, but was that his intention?

He never had ulterior motives.

Even when he was setting up for a punchline, he’d mistakenly jump the gun without waiting for the lead up because he was so excited.

He was good natured.

Leaning your head further against Donnie’s carapace, you wondered if there was something beyond.

If this was how he treated everyone around him, then there must have been an inner layer.

The true self he protected, was it a worried one?

Did he break?

Did he cry?

Was his heart always on his sleeve?

A bleeding one.

You felt Donnie rouse.

Stilling, you felt bad for having woken him.

“You okay?” He asked without bothering to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you go back to sleep.” You nudged him with your nose.

There was a long bout of silence that stretched and made you think he had done just that.

You sat amongst versions of Mikey guarded.

A series of clay soldiers, each modeled to protect their host.

All fragile in their own ways.

“It’s about him.” Donnie spoke softly, carrying little in his tone.

You nodded.

“We can…” He hesitated before unintentionally clicking his tongue with parted lips and an exhale. “In truth, I would rather never speak of this, but it concerns me. I don’t want you to feel that you cannot speak to me about something.”

You gave a small understanding huff.

He gave the gentlest shove backward to alert you that he was going to roll over.

You moved out of his way.

He got situated on his opposite side and stared you down. “A lengthy way to say: speak to me. About anything. Regardless. Even the blue one.”

“I feel guilty.” You blinked up at him. “That’s not why I’m upset right now, but I feel guilty about talking to him after what he did to you.”

“That is not your fight.” He brushed your cheek.

“We’re one. You’ve said that before. I should hate him. That would be doing right by you and-”

A finger pressed to your lips cutting you off. “I appreciate the thought, but no.”

You pursed your lips against his digit.

“How to explain…?” He asked the air. “Our union is to share burden. To ease the other. Do I seem perturbed?”

You looked around the top half of your vision and hoped to indicate that certain messages received had interrupted one union in particular which garnered his ire.

He pinched your lips down against his thumb.

You giggled.

“My quarrel with them has not been put to rest, but it is as good as dead. With the rat’s deal and our current trajectory a lifelong one, I can’t see a way in which that would change. That does not mean I am not cautious, only that they are bound by duty to you as am I.”

Your eyes widened.

He came in to rest his lips against your forehead as he spoke. “You have unintentionally settled a life long grievance. I am content in knowing I hardly have to think of them.”

You touched your pads to Donnie’s plastron.

He took it as you wanted to see him and backed up enough for you to.

“You’re okay? You promise?”

“I will inform you if I do not care about a conversation’s contents. If you give me fodder otherwise then I have grounds to take up the sword as I have always wished.” In the dark he especially glinted with malice.

“Are you using me?”

“Not explicitly.” He caught a playful kiss.

You pushed him away. “Terrible.”

He hummed an agreement.

“I’m worried is all.” You had to stop and locate your phone. “He went from messaging every day and then today nada.”

“Did he have plans?”

“He’s always doing something…” Your brow furrowed.

Donnie looked up and away with a sort of satisfaction.

“I’m hoping he’s not dead.” You retorted, dryly.

“Your loss.” Donnie responded with another wicked smile.

“It’s too soon to ask. I guess part of me is worried he’s already-” You cut yourself off.

Since when had you become attached?

Sure he was fun to talk to, but you knew loads of fun people.

Mikey was something all his own, but there were millions of people on the planet.

He, in particular, had a specific glaring failure of his person.

One that manifested across from you.

It was also the tether of which the two of you had met.

The odd dichotomy of it all felt abysmal.

What did you want?

It’s not like you’d thought Donnie would join their little family.

The dynamic would never be a solid one.

He had his own support system now.

At the same time, you felt a strange attachment to these beings.

The ones you could not help, but were inadvertently stuck with all the same.

You had always wondered what happened to Leo after the gym incident.

Had he reconsidered his position?

You hadn’t dared ask Mikey.

That wasn’t the youngest’s business.

Mikey had his own life to live.

They all did.

What bound them to you?

What bound them to each other?

You softened.

What binds anyone to anything?

You looked at Donnie anew.

Your partner shifted against his pillow watching you go through the motions.

“I thought we were becoming friends and I’m kind of sad in case he changed his mind.”

If surprise struck him in any way, Donnie betrayed none of it.

He only reached out and fixed a flyaway hair on your head.

“If he has, then he is a bigger fool than even I conceived.”

You buried yourself into your mate’s chest.

He rumbled a soothing churr and you let your eyes drift shut.

You would have made it to dreamland if a sharper nagging vibration hadn’t interrupted your journey. 

“With age, they say.” You felt Donnie pick up your phone from where it had once again been forgotten.

“It’s him?”

“Yes.” He passed you the device.

“Thank you.”

He only hummed a response before rolling over. “Wake me if you receive good intel.”

“Uh huh!” You snarked, rolling onto your back to check the message.

Mikey: Oh man group was wild today!

You: Group?

Mikey: Yeah! We ran a lemonade stand to raise funds and as an exercise and there was only one fire!

Mikey: New record!

An image of a cartoon penguin cheering came next.

You: I have no idea what you’re talking about

Mikey: Group! You know!

You: I really don’t

Mikey: Did I not…?

Mikey: Dang it! Why didn’t you say anything?

You sent an image you’d gotten from him of a cartoon character from your youth raising a judgmental brow.

He responded with a picture of a tanuki snickering.

You imagined he’d get along well with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

Mikey: Me and another mutant named Todd run a villain rehabilitation therapy group

Mikey: My other dad, Draxum, once put together a league of bad guys to try and crush or turn us or whatever he was doing at the time

Mikey: I forget

Mikey: Anyway Todd was a member (long story) but one day years ago when we were doing our yearly camping trip (longer story) I brought up how he was actually good and he said all the guys were good!

Mikey: I kinda…

You watched him struggle to respond for the first time.

Your gaze flicked to Donnie.

Mikey: Not to make it weird but have a personal tie to that

Mikey: You know

Mikey: You get it

Mikey: Anyway not to make you uncomfortable

Mikey: We decided to start a group with an open invitation coffee donuts the whole thing you see in movies in case anyone wanted to talk it out and learn why and whats of good and bad and if that’s really a thing cause I don’t think it is

Mikey: We all just got stuff

Mikey: Sometimes that stuff sucks

Mikey: You never know whats really going on with someone else

Mikey: Yeah!

Mikey: Wow that was long

Mikey: Is it hot?

Mikey: Are you feeling hot?

Mikey: Heat wave in January!

Mikey: Global warming!!

He sent a comic about people being hot tied to the concept.

You: You’ve been running this group for years?

Mikey: Yep! We just had our… I don’t know… like 4 year anniversary

Mikey: We’re gonna do something big for 5

Mikey: Four was like a pizza party

Mikey: tbf one two and three were also pizza parties

Mikey: Who hates pizza?

Mikey: It’s pizza!

Tapping your screen, you took a breath before sending your next message.

You: Are you doing it in hopes someone will come?

Mikey: …

You watched as Mikey stopped responding.

Was that too much?

He’d just skirted the topic for your sake.

Mikey: In the beginning yeah

Mikey: Like a small part of me

Mikey: Even when the rest of me gave up

Mikey: Always hoped…

Mikey: I don’t know

Mikey: It’s sappy

Mikey: The others call me dumb

Mikey: I thought I had a track record

Mikey: Good old Mikey he can convert the best of them with good intentions!

Mikey: The therapist of the family!

Mikey: All you have to do is talk it out!

Mikey: You know the wild thing about group?

He waited.

You: What?

Mikey: It taught me the exact opposite.

The period there really caught you.

Mikey: That even coming in with the best intentions doesn’t mean anything

Mikey: You can’t control other people’s reactions

Mikey: Only your own

Mikey: That good and evil is a stupid depiction

Mikey: No one is really one or the other

Mikey: I’m not better than anyone else

Mikey: I’ve done some stuff

Mikey: I’ll tell you

Mikey: That doesn’t read write in text…

Mikey: I won’t literally tell you

Mikey: Even though I could

Mikey: Man actually I might!

Mikey: Not the point though what I’m trying to say is there is so much out in this world and healing is a wild journey and there’s so many ways to take it and la dee da this is usually where people start to think I’m a crazy hippie man flower child born in the wrong decade!

Mikey: Point is

Mikey: I stopped doing it for him or anything else

Mikey: I do it for me now

Mikey: I love therapy and if someone else gets something out of it then I’m STOKED

Mikey: And not cause I did it

Mikey: Its getting to see them do it?

Mikey: Them break through their trauma

Mikey: To see themselves as something more than what they were told or what they were forced to be

Mikey: Whatever

Mikey: It’s great

Mikey: How was your day?

You smiled and clutched your phone to your chest for a long moment before returning to the text chain.

You: How often do you do it?

Mikey: Every Wednesday!

Mikey: Wait

Mikey: OH ME GOSH DO YOU WANT TO GO!?

Mikey: YOU SHOULD TOTALLY COME 🤩

Mikey: Wait not because I want you know who to come you get that right?

Mikey: Oh gosh you don’t think that that’s what I’ve wanted all along right?

Mikey: The weight of my actions is suddenly a bus!!!

Mikey: Y/N!!!

You: I don’t! Stop! You’re spiraling!

Mikey: Fweh

Mikey: Really?

You: Yes! Stop!

Mikey: FWEH

Mikey: Bullet dodged!

You watched a Matrix gif appear

Mikey: Fr tho I think everyone should come

Mikey: Dad came by once!

Mikey: Leo won’t!

Mikey: Jerk! He needs it most!

Mikey: Raph comes when he can but everyone always ends up attacking him its funny

Mikey: Drax is always there tho

Mikey: YOU CAN MEET HIM!!!

Mikey: …

Mikey: I should be honest about something

You: ?

Mikey: Not the first messages but like after

Mikey: How I kept messaging you wasn’t totally innocent

You squeezed your phone.

Mikey: You… I don’t know what you did but like obviously you reached Donnie but you super did something to Leo

Your head fluffed your pillow.

Mikey: Like seriously hes been different

Mikey: Softer

Mikey: Kinda thoughtful?

Mikey: He was peak mad before so its a really noticeable change

Mikey: Like hes finally thinking about things instead of just holding his usual grudges

Mikey: I had to see what the big deal was about you

Mikey: Were you stepping on my therapist territory?

Knowing he would keep going on, you penned out a message.

You: What did you find out?

Mikey: That you’re just a person

Mikey: Just like everyone else

Mikey: I should have known

You watched a gif appear where a random cartoon character asked how many times they had to teach an old man a lesson.

Mikey: That’s a beauty of life

Mikey: You just keep learning!

-

Standing outside a community center, you thought about what you were about to do. 

You were going to attend this week’s group therapy session with Mikey. 

He hadn’t been intrusive when you dodged responding to his offer, but in the last few days, you had asked question after question. He accommodated them like some kind of monk and when you finally requested the address, he unleashed a barrage of memes that had momentarily slowed your phone to a crawl.

Berating him for it, you’d gotten the information and ended up here after work.

A few people trickled in around you, human and otherwise, and from your last text with Mikey, he was here somewhere to set up the dreaded chairs he had told you so much about.

Shooting off one last message to Donnie and having already promised to take him out this Friday as pittance, you heard a gasp to your left.

You were slow to turn and then forced to look up.

“Y/N!”

“Hypno!” You went straight over to the hippo who cordially took your hands.

“Small world! What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to…” You glanced center then back. “Are you…?”

Hypno lit up. “Could you believe? I found these meetings after our little soiree!”

“The group? Wait, I’m glad you’re okay! I’m sorry we got separated-!”

Hypno blew a raspberry and rolled it into a sound. “Pssha! I’m quite alright. Knew I would be! Knew you would be too! I like to imagine I cleared the way for your escape! Not my first shindig ruined by those infernal turtles!”

 You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Still…”

Hypno nodded furiously before gesturing for you both to move. He then offered his arm and you took it with him covering your hand comfortably with his own. “Yes, well, you inspired me that night.”

“Me?” You craned your neck.

“Why yes!” He huffed, holding his head high. “Softening the great Donatello! Weren’t you something? You were!”

“I’m just…” Mikey’s text rang in your ears. “…a person.”

“It only takes one to change your entire trajectory.” Hypno told you thoughtfully as some random man held the door. “Thanks, mate!”

The man responded in kind and even scrambled to get the second double door. More pleasantries were exchanged and you entered a gymnasium where a bunch of fold out chairs were formed into a circle.

“Where was I…? Oh, yes!” Hypno squeezed you in a move to steer you towards the refreshment table. “Our little talk sat with me, you know? Give yourself more credit. You got through to this old hippo’s heart! You made me think, ‘Hypno, old boy, do you like the villainy or do you like the captive audience?’ That was you!” He released and you stared at a table covered in a cheap cloth with donuts and drinks dotting its surface. “Do try Todd’s lemonade. It is absurdly delicious.”

“Mikey said.” You eyed the sweating pitcher and Hypno poured you a glass.

“Michelangelo!?” He crooned, passing you the first and pouring his own. “That’s new! You weren’t too keen on him last I saw!”

“Last I saw he was attacking you…” You grimaced and tried to cover your nerves with a sip. Hit with a  sudden burst of sunshine flavor, you had to set your glass down and exchange it for the entire pitcher. “What is in this!?”

“Right!?” Hypno downed a cup that was too small for him and you poured him a second. “This is Todd’s true evil.”

“I’m hearing a lot about this guy…” Things were moving too fast. 

You’d meant for this to be some casual peek into Mikey’s life. 

Everything felt like it was suddenly happening so fast. 

You didn’t mind the company. 

You’d thought of Hypno off and on since you last saw him. 

Reconnecting with him was a great bonus, but there was something unsettling about how unconcerned you felt. 

“You’ll meet him! He’s…” Hypno scanned the room. “Not here yet or in the back, but he’ll introduce the affair.”

You nodded, sipping more of that citrusy drink.

“Bother! I keep getting distracted. It’s been too long!” Hypno gave an animalistic snort which caused his ears to wiggle. “As I was saying, again, I found this advertisement stuck to my shoe one day and chanced upon this lot. They enforced what I was thinking. There’s more to me than what I do. Some may use it to excuse themselves, but they’re missing the greater message!”

You watched on with wide eyes.

“And bollocks to our partners!” Hypno threw his head high. “We’re our own people who make our own choices, isn’t that right?”

“Well, yeah, b-but…” You hadn’t even bothered asking Donnie to attend.

“Warren can be a bit hardheaded…!” Hypno’s gaze narrowed before he wilted in a fond sigh.

“Love…” You patted Hypno’s arm sympathetically.

“Y/N!” Mikey’s voice cut through the room with an echo.

Suddenly surrounded, he was swamped with a dull murmur of greetings that he desperately tried to dodge. Everyone wanted something from him and he ended up outright screaming in someone’s face that he was busy. It split the crowd like a tide and allowed him to charge over without further interruption.

“See what I mean?” Hypno giggled a whisper to you. “If that’s not a form of so-called ‘evil’ I don’t know what is!”

You tidied up your laughter as Mikey reached you. 

“I did not think about how to say hi!” He announced and wiped his hand as if he was going to offer it to you before thinking better.

“Eh, it’s fine.” You shrugged.

“You know, Ron!?” Mikey sprouted, dispelling the strangeness.

“Hypno, please!” The hippo groaned.

“Mikey, please!” Mikey mocked back.

“I’m sensing a thing…” You gestured with your cup.

“It totally is.” Mikey stared listlessly at you before something over your shoulder caught his eye.

He animated with immense joy and blew right past you.

“Nice to be on good terms with your parents.” Hypno mentioned without malice.

“I think you turned out pretty good without them.” You told him as you turned to see where Mikey had gone.

You heard Hypno babble something emotional that didn’t connect to real words, but all reality seemed to close in at the menacing sight of an enormous fuchsia colored goat man. As if waiting for his spotlight,  the man then belted out a long burst of maniacal laughter. If it weren’t for the fact that Mikey was literally hanging off his arm, you might have been more worried about what you’d actually walked into.

“You finally got that darned pot working?!” Hypno cupped around his mouth to shout. 

“Yes!” The goat turned, revealing a coffee pot in hand by lifting it up high. “No more shall we suffer under wretchedly incorrect brew times!”

“Y/N!” Mikey called and, with a flip like a gymnast on a bar, snatched the pot from the man’s hands.

The goat turned his attention from Hypno to you as if you were some grotesque bug on the hippo’s lapel.

“Seems like you caught the Baron’s eye.” Hypno nudged your side.

“Baron?” You asked and were assaulted with a comment you’d heard before.

What I do know is I came into possession of a yokai known as Baron Draxum.

Hooves beat the wooden gym floor and you were now the Baron’s clear target.

You bumped Hypno who fussed and steadied you, unintentionally blocking your escape.

In a hop and a skip, Mikey reached you first and chirped happily. “Y/N! Draxum! Draxum, Y/N! This is my other dad!”

“Nice to… uh…” You stared up at Draxum as he glared down his nose at you.

“You don’t look like much…” Draxum spoke with a gruff voice.

“I’m really not…” You wilted.

Draxum craned a brow. “Hard to imagine someone so meek would tame one of my more successful creations.”

“Barry.” Mikey put on a bit of heat.

Draxum sighed. “It is nice to meet you. I await picking apart your psyche.”

Mikey shoved him. “He means chat! He can’t wait to chat!” He clucked nervously before continuing to push a stiff Draxum over to the chairs. “When are you going to remember that words mean things!? Different things!”

“My speech is impeccable.” Draxum huffed, allowing himself to be pushed as if he were on a dolly.

“If that’s worn you out then you’re in for quite the night.” Hypno tittered.

“This is…” You blinked at the magician and back to the crowd starting to form.

“A lot and it only gets weirder!” Hypno cheered and started to join while beckoning you to come with.

Staying close to what you mentally dubbed your accountability buddy, you both took seats. Mikey got Draxum in one of his own and shared with him a few stern words before he leapt away to plug the coffee pot in. Draxum folded one leg over the other and stared casual daggers at you while Hypno fed you gossip about the members.

“Hello, friends!” A small mutant appeared on the stage holding a puppy and though there was no one to operate that sort of thing, a spotlight shined upon him. Dressed in a preppy outfit stolen for a 1980’s catalog and with a puppy tucked under one arm, he commanded a silence that fell over the group.

“Look upon him.” Hypno joked in your ear. “You are in the presence of the Spine-Breaking Bandit.”

Your head flew to Hypno’s in complete disbelief.

“Did everyone get some lemonade? It’s a fresh batch!” The furry mutant easily leapt off the stage. ”I got service puppies for everyone tonight! Pet them to your heart’s content! They love that! And to whoever gets Steve, remember to scratch behind the little fellas ears because he just loves that doesn’t he?! Doesn't he!?” Dropping to a baby voice, the so-called Spine Breaker pet the puppy in hand before a dozen more poured out from the stage.

Everyone getting one as described, you soon had a mutt in your lap and Hypno was cooing with one snuggled up in each arm.

“Oh! Everyone!” The mutant clapped on approach. “I’m happy to report we raised $123 dollars for Repo’s surgery! Good job!”

“Enough for a single Tylenol.” Draxum clicked his tongue loudly. “The medical system you humans endure is more tragic than anything I could have concocted. Though I suppose you did survive those plagues….”  

“Yeah, I’ll take you experimenting on me again any day!” A strange hybridized mutant with rabbit ears slapped a monkey arm to his dog-like backwards knee and gave a bright bout of crowing laughter.

“Now, now. Every bit helps.” Mikey approached.

“Sure does!” The bandit chirped.

“Not to put you in the spotlight, Todd’s going to do that anyway, but we have a special guest tonight.” Mikey turned to address you.

Your eyes lost focus at the middle bit of Mikey’s sentence.

Todd.

The man standing next to Mikey was Todd.

The man with the puppies.

The man who made the sunshine lemonade.

The man he went camping with on a yearly basis.

Who ran the Cuddly Cakes Puppy Rescue.

Who founded his own scout troop that regularly won awards. 

He was the Spine-Breaking Bandit.

You turned to catch Hypno’s sleeve in a death grip.

Behind you Mikey was still going through his introduction.

“Tell me you were joking!?” You shouted at the magician. 

Hypno blinked. “Which part?”

“That is not a Spine-Breaking Bandit!” You threw an accusatory finger at Todd.

Todd put a hand to his chest.

“That’s a-that’s a-!” You stuttered, not knowing what kind of mutant he was.

He was a fuzzy one.

He was a soft one.

“Capybara.” Todd offered.

“Capybara! Capybara?!” You turned to stare at him. “That’s the most friend shaped one!”

Todd giggled. “Aw shucks!” 

“I thought you were honest with me!”

Draxum gave a single chuckle that he tried to cover up under a hardened exterior.

Poser.

“I was…” Hypno urged you to calm down.

“Yup!” Todd offered, walking over. “He’s not wrong, ya know!” 

You gave an unhinged stare.

“It’s part of why I’m here today, silly!” Todd reached you and held out a hand. “I know better than anyone about the darkness that can grow inside of your heart!”

You shook his little claws.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things; I killed a lot of people.”

It seemed impossible staring down at this jolly fellow.

“I also decided that wasn’t what I wanted anymore…” Todd released you and you could tell he was addressing the room. “Physically, by mutating, I was given a new lease on life. I didn’t have to run from the police anymore. I could start fresh. I had a choice! So it happened after I broke into the zoo to snap the spine of that worker who’d made fun of my teeth earlier that day, sometimes it happens! Chances come when you least expect them!”

You gawked, stepping back to give him the floor.

“Friend!” Todd looked up at you. “Capybaras have quite the sweet reputation. Who’da thought? Not me! But it was through these fellas and myself that I realized nothing was permanent!” He rounded and everyone’s spirits seemed to raise. “You’ve all heard the story enough. I won’t bother y’all with the details again, you all know! The morals are the same!”

“Yeah!”

“We’re not just evil!”

“They’re just words!” 

Todd smiled. “What I’ve done qualifies me to help. I know what it’s like. I saw what I was capable of. I learned I could choose to be kind, to be happy. To spread joy! How else could I stand before all of you?” He did a turn with his arms spread. “To understand is to have been there or learn by proxy…” With a glance, Todd nodded to Mikey who shot back a grin. “Which brings me to you…”

You tensed.

Your proxy wasn’t one who wanted a spotlight.

In fact, your proxy wasn’t supposed to be affiliated with any of this.

Your proxy wasn’t here. 

“It’s all because of you…”

Could you stop him?

He was the Spine-Breaking Bandit. 

There had been something he’d clearly left out of his transformation.

It very much sounded like he had still killed that zoo attendant.

“… that Hypno joined us!”

You paled before color struck you with a slap.

It seemed so obvious.

Not everything was about Donnie. 

Wasn’t that why you were here?

Hypno chortled, bashful. “Oh, stop!”

You trailed after Todd as he approached the magician. “You know they also say Hippo’s are the deadliest land mammals!”

“What do they know!”

“Hypno would never!”

Hypno smiled at Todd and then you. “Thank you.”

“I really… didn’t… do…” You watched the faces look upon you with warm welcomes. “… anything.”

“No?” Todd spun around to give you his attention. “I don’t think that’s true, friend, but why don’t we listen and see!?”

“It all started when I was a boy…!” Hypno began and everyone took their seats. Watching the meeting, each person took their turn amongst the attentive group. Between short shares, Todd or Mikey would speak up and reaffirm or point out a note in someone’s story. Of the humans there were ex-cons or those wronged by the system. From the mutants they were either deemed evil by existence or had turned to crime out of necessity.

Even Draxum, who had served as a lunch person for several decades now, took a moment to share a moment where he had not killed someone who bumped into him at the grocery store.

They acknowledged kindness in that and you couldn’t help but think that there was.

You didn’t know, but it seemed clear Draxum was working through some long bred hatred.

It made you wonder how old he was. 

What with his plague comment and all. 

It was also painfully obvious that he was only there for Mikey.

His son meant the world to him. 

It made you think that if he had succeeded in his ridiculous plan to raise warriors then it would have never panned out the way he thought.

Parenthood would have softened him more than it already had.

Nothing was so obvious.

As the group came to a close with words to work on, you mused over your partner.

Like Leo, you couldn’t imagine Donnie attending, but that didn’t mean either party was lost.

Each person handled themselves differently.

You were all trying to survive.

There was sure to be some actual darkness out there, but none of it seemed to be around you.

People were standing and you moved with the group for the sake of it.

Hypno ushered you with quick words saying he had to go as Warren was waiting, but he took the time to exchange numbers with you in a blur. Happy with the exchange, you shared a quick hug and the room soon emptied out. Todd was wrangling puppies and Mikey dismissed him saying he had clean-up. Thanks were passed for another week and a few slips were signed until it was just you, Mikey, and Draxum left.

“This would be done instantly with my vines.” Draxum complained, carrying a row of folded chairs.

“And I’m not in the mood to explain to the center why we busted the floor for a ninth time.” Mikey rolled his eyes.

You moved to close up a few chairs on instinct.

“You don’t have to do that!” Mikey called out. “What’dya think?”

You shut the single chair you had and held it to you. “Did you know what I’d get out of this?”

“No?” Mikey stopped with a too large stack that quaked as he thought the point over as if it was new to him. 

Before he could come to a conclusion, there was a domino affect chair slide that took Mikey out with it. 

Draxum folded a hand on his hip as if that proved a point.

“Fine!” Mikey bellowed before bringing up his hands. Within a blink his eyes swam in a sea of orange and you stumbled a bit as basal fear caught you. In an instant, chains shot out around the room and you scrambled back with a little noise. Not necessarily captured, you were encased in a n amalgamation of a laser grid. 

Different than anything you’d seen, they moved in a sort of coordination and you settled realizing the chains were hooking through all the chairs. In a taut pull, they all folded up via gravity and then in a flick, they traveled in a cohesive clicking system until they were placed in a rack on the far side of the room.

“Happy?” Mikey’s power tapered off and he glared at his dad.

Draxum gave a satisfied nod and approached the snack table to grab some coffee from the newly fixed machine.

You stared after him as Mikey watched over.

“He’s impressed by you.”

“Doubt that.” You glanced at Mikey.

Mikey shrugged. “He is! Probably from you calling Todd out. He likes when humans don’t follow what he calls norms. Something about ones with fight in them.”

“I didn’t mean…” You shirked. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Mikey held his hands up with a sarcastic purse of his lip. “Please, telling someone they aren’t what they are at therapy? Totally cool and normal.”

You put your face in your hands.

“What did you get out of it?” Mikey asked, unwilling to pass forgiveness.

That seemed so very like him. “Something I was feeling about you all.”

“Us?... Wait, me?!”

You nodded out of your hold and let your arms fall to your sides. “You know when I first met you all I thought you were the villains.”

Draxum snorted into his mug.

Mikey shot him a dirty look before returning to you. “Cause Donnie lied to you!”  

You smiled. “Just like your first text. You use his nickname.”

Mikey flushed on contact. “N-nickname? N-no! That-!”

“It’s okay.” You tapped his shoulder. “Well, it’s not. Even I wasn’t allowed to use it when I first met him, but I’m just saying, I get it.”

“In…” Mikey took a deep breath. “In almost every way I’ve accepted it. We’ll never be family. We aren’t.”

You nodded.

“But we are.” Mikey had a hollow finality to his voice that he sent to the empty room. “I’d never say it to his face.”

You gave a little upturn of your lips in understanding.

“You’re dodging my question.” He folded his arms.

“The one about you being villains or about what I thought of tonight?”

Mikey had to study you. “Both!”

“To the first, perspective, to the second… perspective. Same thing in different ways. It’s all about it, I hear.”

Mikey unfurled to give his own quirked grin. “Ain’t that something?”

“Quite.” Draxum walked up, leaving an empty refreshment table in his wake.

Not sure where the trash had gone and questioning if him being a goat meant he’d eaten everything and the tablecloth, you gawked at the man.

“Shall we add a guest to dinner?” Draxum made a show of bending his body to examine Mikey like he was below him.

The folded hands behind his back were rubbed with faint nerves.

Draxum was still trying.

He probably always would be.

“Yeah!” Mikey seemed none the wiser. “Y/N, wanna come eat with us? We do this after every meeting!”

“Um…”

Draxum rose back up and reviewed you benevolently.

“I think… I want to get back home to Donnie, if that’s okay?”

“Oh, sure!” Mikey acted as if he was waving you off, but at the last second, swung his body in so he could  pretend to whisper secret information in your ear. “Good choice, foods never as good here. Now brunch, brunch is the meal ticket you want to get on.”

“Brunch is not available to you as of yet.” Draxum made a decree.

Mikey nodded in a solemn way that said he already knew. “It’s a whole thing.”

“You must prove worthy.” Draxum cracked his neck with a wicked smile.

“I’ll… try to get on the brunch ballot sometime then…” You glanced between the odd pair as Mikey bounced away.  

“Text me when you get home?”

“Sure.” You nodded. “It was nice… meeting you like this. In a less kidnappy way.”

“Yeah!” The turtle chirped.

“You too.” You looked over Draxum with a grin of your own. “Minus the last part, obviously.”

Draxum only gave you a single nod.

“He likes you!” Mikey sang.

Draxum punted Mikey clean across the room with a single strike.  

Mikey’s ring laughter at the act was the only thing that soothed you. 

You also took it as your cue to leave. 

You were never going to get used to that casual super-powered violence. 

It spoke of family, but their strength meant it pushed dangerous limits. 

It must have come with the territory. 

What with them created to be living weapons. 

Donnie was so easily tender you sometimes forgot what he was capable of. 

He also wasn’t raised with brothers. 

It was so strange to think that the cruelest amongst them was the softest. 

You very much wanted to curl up in his arms. 

Heading out into the dark night air, you decided it would be the first thing you’d do before unloading upon him this hell of a night.

NEXT

Always shouting praise to my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

[whumble-beeee]

Let’s Have A Chat (You’re All Talk)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 4

Content: brief minor whump in flashbacks, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), gun mention, past captivity references, tied up, torture "threats", begging, tazer,

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[In terms of punishing and torturing your hero, 'fear of the unknown' is one of the most powerful tools available in your psychological torture toolkit; The anticipation of what might happen to them is often more torturous than whatever real tortures you have cooked up for them, and is a wonderful addition to any torture scenario!

It’s a very delicate skill, learning how to use a hero’s own fears against them (excluding villains with fear-based powers), but it is absolutely essential in almost all aspects of hero-keeping; whether you want to torture them for information, beat them into submission and servitude, force them to follow your rules or desires, or just have some good old fashioned fun messing with them!]

* * * * * * * *

“No,” Stan grunted. Enough was enough.

“No?” the mercenary’s voice broke into a small, disbelieving laugh, which just served to make Stan double down harder on what he hoped was the right choice.

“No. We’re not ‘chatting’. Not–” the world tilted on its axis, darkness creeping in his periphery again. Stan leaned his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. “N-not you and me, not now, not–... ever.”

Deeby just hummed another laugh at the display. “You should probably eat that protein bar, bud. Should help a bit with your head. And your mood, you're being such a little asshole right now.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but brought the protein bar up to his face to properly inspect. Though it was more of an accusation as he looked straight past it and narrowed his eyes at the bounty hunter instead.

The mercenary rolled his eyes in kind. “It’s not poisoned. Look, eat the protein bar and I’ll cut the ropes binding your legs, yeah? That good enough for his lordship?”

More than good enough for his lordship. A welcome trade, in fact. Especially since Stan was planning on eating the protein bar anyway. And especially because Deeby could probably just shove it down Stan’s throat if he wanted.

Stan nodded with a small ‘mhm’ before the bounty hunter could take it back. It took him a moment to maneuver the bar so he could open it with the metal of the handcuffs biting into his wrists every single time he pulled them too far apart, but he eventually found himself holding a successfully unwrapped protein bar with only slightly aching wrists.

“I'm eating this because I think I should,” Stan clarified as he brought the bar up to his mouth. It was cookie dough-flavored. Deeby had good taste in protein bars at least. “Not because you told me to, okay?”

“Uh huh, noted. Feeling less like a little shit now?”

Stan took a moment to make a full show of reluctantly nodding, irritated head tilt and all, before cramming the rest of the bar into his mouth. Before long, the ropes binding his feet were no more (after much restraint not to kick Deeby in the face when he got close with the knife again), and the protein bar was gone all too soon.

“Great!” The mercenary clapped his hands together. “Now we can talk! Ya like jazz?”

Stan grit his teeth. This Deeby guy just doesn't quit, does he? He wasn’t going to budge on this, even if he was slightly more fed and less dizzy now. He couldn’t just forget the total beatdown from earlier, the torturous soreness wracking every part of his body made sure of that.

“I'm not. Talking. With you.”

“Something’s gonna happen one way or another, runt. I’m just trying to give you the easy option considering you’re a little fucked in the head right now. Hard way’s not off the table, never will be.”

“We already talked!” Stan tried. “Remember? I asked you your name, you wouldn’t tell me. Then I asked you why you kidnapped me, you wouldn’t tell me! Who you work for, wouldn't tell me! Then you beat the crap out of me, and now I feel like I’m dying and leashed like a damn dog! That’s just gonna happen all over again! Let’s just skip over that so I can go back to dying on the floor, thanks.”

“Oh!” Deeby lit up like a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night, and Stan, for just a brief moment, almost let himself feel the same relief that a sailor might when they saw that spotlight on from the freezing, rain- and wind-swept deck of their lost ship. That he would actually leave Stan be. But then…

“You wanna hear about my gun?”

He pulled the revolver from his hip holster and held it up like a prized trophy. “It’s an original Smith and Wesson 1957 Model 19 revolver, it's pretty famous for being the first handgun to use magnum cartridges and making that a common thing. It was also standard issue for the border patrol in the ‘70s, which is where it came into my family,” he chuckled. Stan could only stare dumbfounded. He was really just going on a rant, huh? 

“One of mis tíos just fuckin’ swiped it from one of the officers and they were pissed, chased after him, nearly caught him too but he managed to wiggle away, slimy little guy. And then my mom was so mad with him, nearly beat him half to death before their mamá even had the chance to. So anyway, I got it when I was just a kid, it was all broken and kinda shitty when I first got it, but it was a family heirloom and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world, so I started to get into it more, started fixing it up a bit, replacing parts until it worked right and fiddling with it until it worked right, then started making upgrades to it, learned how to shoot it–”

”Holy shit!” Stan yelled, lurching to meet the mercenary’s eyes.  “Are you trying to Stockholm Syndrome me or something?! I don’t want to hear about your gun! I don’t want to talk to you, or hear about you! I don’t like you, I hate you, I don't want to have a nice little conversation with my fucking kidnapper! We aren't talking! Ever!”

A moment of silence. Stan realized he had gone too far again as the mercenary's eyes widened in disbelief. 

But he refused to back down this time. 

So he continued to glare into the mercenary’s dark brown eyes.

But then the bounty hunter let out a barking laugh. “Stock–... Sto-ockholm…?” he said, almost to himself, voice airy and high with disbelief. “Na-ah… Nah, no, no...”

His gaze suddenly shot to Stan, face unnervingly blank. Stan tensed up, instinctively pulling his extremities in to protect himself, to make himself smaller. This was… new. 

The mercenary took a few steps toward him. Then a few more. Until he was right in front of Stan, looking down on him like a god would from the heavens above.

“You ever been… tortured?... Stan?”

The soft, weightless lilt of his voice turned Stan’s blood to ice.

"Never stop fighting back."

"Let GO OF ME!" He hit at an uncaring, unyielding fist. "LET GO!!"

"Just tell us about your powers, it doesn't have to get ugly."

Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie.

“N-no-o,” he barely managed to squeak out. His vocal cords may as well have been dunked in ice water. Same as his entire body, with the way he was shaking. Why did he always have to press too far?

“All you gotta do is show us your powers, kid.”

He didn’t move, the light of his powers staying tucked deep in his core. They tazed him again. They'd done it so many times now, it barely even mattered now. He was used to it. He'd never break.

“There's no use fighting, we have ways to force it out of you. We just want to give you a chance to cooperate first.”

Deeby hummed, as if it were quaint to him, the thought that someone could have never possibly been acquainted with the hot, unyielding spindles of torture twisting and morphing them into something unrecognizable, something animalistic, something… altered. Someone to never be the same again.

“I've been tortured.” He chuckled, never breaking Stan’s gaze. “More than once, actually. Hazard of the job.”

He glared into his torturer's bright blue eyes, fires of defiance burning brighter in his own.

“Never.”

 He knew what all their eyes looked like. It was the only thing he could glare at, they always wore medical masks and scrubs and lab coats, so it was the only part of them he could see. So professional to do such visceral, horrendous things.

They tazed him again.

Stan didn’t move. Just stared. Then sputtered slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

The bounty hunter didn’t seem to have such reservations, though. He moved forward wordlessly and crouched down in front of his captive. Stan’s breath hitched. He could hear his heartbeat, feel it pounding in his chest, slow, careful, thunderous. All consuming. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape. Were the bounty hunter’s eyes always such a dangerously dark scarlet? No escape at all.

Then Deeby grabbed either of Stan’s biceps, wholly wrapping his hands around Stan’s upper arms, and urged him upward to his feet. “Here, Stan, get up, I wanna show you something.”

The sky-blue eyes flashed to a colleague. “This isn't working. Let's just go with Plan A like I wanted to from the beginning.”

The colleague started to voice their protest but was cut quickly off.

“I don't care how old she is, I know! But being gentle doesn't work, it never does, and it never will! It’s time for the big guns.”

A grown-up hand grabbed his upper arm, drugged him up off the floor, and shoved him forward, iron-gripped no matter how much he kicked and screamed and cried out. Inescapable as he hit and tried to tug away. Unyielding.

“Wait–, wait, no, no, no, please! We–!” Stan cried, unsuccessfully trying to stay wrapped in his little ball of safety on the floor as the force pulled him upward, the dull roar of his beatings from earlier turning once more into a raging insistence of constant strain. “We can talk, we can talk! I just– I can’t– can’t– don’t–... please, please!”

Stan hissed as he put weight on his bad leg in his struggles, and had to practically fall into Deeby’s arm to relieve the agony. 

Deeby didn’t pay the struggling human in his clutches any mind and started to step backward, never once taking his eyes off Stan as he dragged him slowly but surely toward the middle of the room, ankle chain jingling as it dragged across the hard cement floor. “Cálmate, chiquito, te estás poniendo tan alterado. Just do as I say and you’ll be fine.”

Tears burned at his eyes as he tried to grasp at Deeby’s arms, the pressure building up in his sinuses making it so he could barely breathe. It was so much harder to struggle to get away when he had to physically lean on his captor. Torturer.

“I don’t–” his voice cracked as it shot up his register, and he grasped in another breath as tears started to fall. “I do-on’t speak S-s-spani-ish… plea-ease–”

They abruptly reached the end of the ankle chain-leash, and Stan pitched forward with a screech, practically into Deeby’s chest before Deeby stiffened his arms and righted him again. Stan tried to make himself so tremendously small, tried to hide even though he was already captured and chained and physically being held by a man who had shown he wasn’t afraid to, and even enjoyed, hurting him.

And now in the center of the torture room, on the very end of his literal chain.

Nowhere to go.

“Of course you don’t, white boy.” Deeby sighed, a hint of that humorous light shining back in his eyes. He gently grabbed his jaw and tipped his gaze upward. Those bits of red in Deeby’s irises seemed to bleed out into the rest of the world, infecting everything with crimson and scarlet and fire and flames.

The world burned around them. Stan tried to pull away, but the bounty hunter’s grasp held firm.

“It means calm down, chiquito,” he said from somewhere miles away. “You’re getting so worked up, making everything worse for yourself. I won’t hurt–”

Stan seized up and grabbed at Deeby’s arms even as they held him in place, clawed at them, pleading, shaking as tears rolled off his chin, down his neck, and soaked into his shirt.

“PLE-E-EASE!” He cried. “I don’t– I don’t want– I can’t be tortured!” He prayed that wouldn’t be taken as a challenge. “Please don’t… torture me. I can’t… Please.” Not again. Not again.

Deeby looked down upon him, carefully peeling Stan’s trembling fingers off his arms. A small, unnerving smile tugged at the sides of his eyes, like a father looking on as his toddler struggled to produce a finger painting that wasn’t just a staining hideous mess for the hundredth time in a row.

“Who said anything about torturing you, bud? Wait here a moment.”

Deeby shoved away from the quivering mess and made his way over to the wall opposite where Stan’s leash-chain was anchored to the floor, and jumped up to grab the end of a previously unseen chain that, when when the bounty hunter grabbed it off the hook and let the length of it fall free, swung down and hung from the ceiling right next to Stan. 

Stan took a single unconscious step backward from the thing in terror, and immediately his buckled buckled in a flurry of strained agony, sending Stan straight down to a kneel. He clutched at the offending knee joint, cursing the mercenary for making him overwork and twist his knee in that failure of an escape attempt and hurting it so much worse in the first place. At least before he could kind of hobble along without a cane or a crutch. It wasn't pretty, or fun, but he could do it. Now he was practically immobile.

And he just had to hope it would heal correctly.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to move?”

Stan whipped around and nearly toppled over again in the process. “I– I jus–!” 

Two hands grabbed under either of his armpits and hoisted him back up to standing before Stan could even stutter out another terrified plea. He was so dizzy that he was almost thankful that the man grabbed him under the arms to keep him from falling again. Even with how the action in itself made him want to scream.

“Deeby, Deeby, we can talk, we can talk, you don’t–! You don’t have to–”

“Did you just call me ‘Deeby’?” He stopped in his maneuvering Stan, a petrified hush falling over the hero as he forced eye contact once again. “Like the name ‘Deeby’, not the letters ‘D’ and B’?”

“Uh--... No, no…” Stan squeaked.

Deeby’s amused smile faltered just slightly. 

“Don’t lie to me runt, that shit’s funny... Deeby, huh?…” he mused, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Not very creative, but you gotta give points for simplicity… Pft, Deeby… ”

Then his attention shot right back to Stan. “Anyway, stop whining and squirming, I’m about 5 seconds away from actually getting pissed. Are you gonna listen to the story, or we gonna do plan B and actually give you something worth screaming about?”

Stan wanted to keep struggling. Yelling, being defiant, begging, pleading, fighting, something. Those thoughts fueled him as he held the bounty hunter’s gaze; he didn’t want to just roll over and let him do as he pleased with him. But the way the hunter held him now, and the way he physically overpowered Stan time and time again just made him feel like a small, hissing cat uselessly fighting against his owner as they held him high into the air as some sort of punishment. And the fear of something worse happening finally managed to overpower the blind panic that fueled his previous fight. The tiredness continually crept through his bones now, the ache of his injuries starting to once again overpower all other senses.

So when the stare of Deeby became unbearable, Stan pursed his lips and squeezed shut, bowing his head in concession with a small, shaky nod.

He just hoped this lost battle wouldn’t become just one in a never-ending sea of them.

The mercenary let out an infuriatingly triumphant huff. “Great. Don't move. I mean it.” 

Then Deeby let Stan go almost too fast, and he had to readjust to fully supporting his entire battered body again.

He had to shift to support his entire weight on his 'good' leg instead of agitating the bad leg further, or god forbid using his cane or a crutch. Or his powers. The good leg would get painfully sore very quick if he had to just keep standing here. Especially since he was already feeling the bruises from earlier starting to bloom.

But this was better than literally all of the alternatives. He just had to let Deeby talk and hopefully, he wouldn’t torture Stan.

Simple.

He was looking forward to it already.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

#whump #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #captivity whump #tw recapture #trans whumpee #disabled whumpee #(un)official guide #honestly nothing happens in this except for Stan freaking tf out #but what else is new lol #i gotta give this poor boy a break at some point #but that point will not be today! #gotta traumatize him so much more before he earns some rest sadly

[incorrectshantaequotes]

Rotty Rotten's Dream Team, pt. 1

Business is as usual in Lazytown, with Rotty Rotten cooking up another scheme to thwart Shantacus' efforts to keep the town active and healthy, and a great one too, if she says so herself - after all, four heads are better than one! Cloning herself was a genius move...only, well, she didn't actually clone herself, per say, and none of them know how to be proper villains, but no matter! She'll make this work! Even if it takes a musical number! Especially if it takes a musical number.

NOTE: This takes place after the last April Fool's fic, but you don't need to read that one to understand this one. I still have not watched Lazytown, but we all know that song. You know the one.

--

Sometimes, Rotty Rotten really had to stop to appreciate her sense of interior design. After all, most people wouldn't exactly be clamoring for an underground location - even before Shantacus rolled into town and got everyone moving, most of the inhabitants did enjoy being in the sun, and Rotty could fully admit to herself that she occasionally liked to go out in it too. But she did make it an extremely tough decision! Not only did her house have the appropriate flair for a villain like herself, but also had all the luxuries she could ever want - a heavenly, fuzzy couch, the largest TV in Lazytown (technically, Shantaflop had a bigger one up in her blimp, but she barely used it so Rotty decided it didn't count), and a fully stocked mini-fridge! All the things she needed to lay around and do absolutely nothing. Even when she wasn't actively slacking off, it helped give her lair a nice, cozy feeling. Put her in a good mood. Especially when she was about to get a scheme rolling, such as right now.

"Come on, come on, just a little bit more..." Rotty Rotten tapped her foot impatiently, a bit giddy as she looked down at her watch to check the time again. She almost went over to her laptop to double check the estimated delivery time, but the doorbell rang before she could, and her grin grew wide. "Aha!"

She rushed over to the door, opening it with aplomb before nodding to the deliveryman outside. "Thank you, good sir! Here's a tip for you, and have a wonderful day!"

With that, she rolled her package inside and shoved the door closed with a quick backwards kick, giggling to herself as she rolled it further into her lair over to her workspace. Rotty would have gone with a full evil laugh as she set the package down, but frankly she was far too excited to be that composed, so she settled for letting her giggles get louder before she pulled out the box cutter. "Alright! First, let's double check to see if this is the right thing..."

She took a moment to circle around the package, carefully looking it up and down and nodding a bit to herself. It was taller than her by a fair margin, as she expected, and the box did seem to fit the dimensions of the item she ordered. "...hmm, got the right address...name's on this thing...'handle with care, arcane material inside;' sounds about right...think the only step left to take is to just cut the box open!"

With a push of her finger, she flicked the blade out and ran the box cutter down the side facing her. Carefully - still wanted the box intact in case this did turn out to be a wrong order - she pulled out the object inside with bated breath...and her grin grew wider still. "Oh, yes! This...this is perfect! Shantacus will never see this coming!"

Rotty did let out an evil laugh this time, eyes glinting with glee as she took in her latest purchase from over the internet - a grand, full-length mirror, with an ornate silver framing around the reflecting surface. One could easily mistake this for a completely ordinary mirror, but Rotty Rotten knew better. She'd made sure to triple check her sources, go to the seller with the best and most honest reviews, and read through the PDF of the user's manual the seller graciously provided on request five times over. She hadn't really dabbled with the arcane before, and didn't really intend to after this, but the end result would be well worth it. She knew she had a tendency to put a bit more confidence in her plans than was entirely earned, but this was different. It wasn't so often that her plans could be so simple and yet so effective, after all!

The plan had found its way into her head around this time the week before, as she'd looked over the blueprints for a potential trap for Shantacus. Capturing the blue-clad heroine was easier said than done - the woman had superhuman speed that Rotty couldn't react to, an uncanny intuition to avoid her tricks after plenty of exposure to her, and a tendency to be extremely...for lack of a better word, flippy. It was very distracting, for reasons she was not going to say out loud (especially because, after that one time she sprained her ankle, she was fairly certain some of the kids had a betting ring regarding her and Shantacus, and while Rotty might not have had any stake in it she was determined to win). All of which was to say, most of her Shantacus traps had to be Rube Goldberg-esque contraptions, or required Rotty to lure her in, neither of which were ideal. And then, out of the blue, it hit her - what if...she just got a helping hand? Or, to be more precise, made a helping hand?

It was so simple, Rotty wasn't sure how she could've possibly missed it before! With enough people working to set up traps across Lazytown, Shantacus couldn't possibly dodge them all! And once she'd finally captured Shantacus, victory would be hers! The only real issue was, how to do it? Her first thought had been robots, but she'd seen enough sci-fi movies to know how that would go: they'd probably decide to overthrow humanity, or worse, the robots would unionize, and Rotty would have to deal with the one evil she dared not unleash, even on herself...paperwork. Urgh. Rotty Rotten was all for unions, but it just wasn't worth dealing with one herself. So, with robots firmly placed in "no," the next logical step was clones! After all, she was a smart and intelligent woman, right? She could figure out a deal with herself.

Unfortunately, Rotty Rotten may have been good with tech, but she wasn't that good. So, with that in mind, she'd opted for a magic substitute. The Mirror of Selves-Reflection (which Rotty thought was worth the purchase just for the name alone; the name being slightly awkward was far outshined by the wordplay) had been hard to find, but surprisingly simple to purchase! She hadn't known there was an entire eBay website for magic items, but there was. Trying to make sure she wasn't being scammed had been an ordeal, but if this went well...oh, the things she could do! Finally, with a copy of her own mind to help her with her goals, Rotty Rotten would catch Shantacus once and for all, and then...! Well, she hadn't figured out what she'd do after that, but she could workshop something with her clones. Part of the benefit of having four heads instead of one!

The only real issue with the Mirror of Selves-Reflection was how it required an elaborate ritual to actually use it, but...there was a reason Rotty had requested the user's manual before she actually got her hands on the mirror.

"Alright, in you go!" Without much fanfare, Rotty Rotten picked up the mirror and awkwardly stumbled over to a large, clunky machine in the middle of the room, sliding the mirror into a thin slot on the side of a particularly bulky box. With that, she pressed a green button, and she heard the sounds of pipes extending and connecting to the mirror with a hiss of steam, with the slot closing up to hide the process. It wasn't supposed to be used as a battery for a cloning machine, but it was definitely possible, and she didn't feel like going through that whole ritual every time she wanted to clone herself. Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen? No clones?

"Now, for the main event..." Rubbing her hands together with glee, Rotty pranced over to the console for the machine. Setting the number of clones to three for the moment, she then turned her attention to the big switch right in the middle, and pushed down with all her might. A steady hum began to emit from the machine, visible cogs beginning to churn as lights flashed on and off. Taking a few steps back, Rotty Rotten took a moment to appreciate her work as everything began to go faster, the humming rising in pitch as all the moving parts came closer and closer to reaching their peak. To be completely honest, most of it was for show; there really wasn't any complex machinations in there when most of the work was being done by the mirror, but it gave everything a sense of grandeur, and that was the most important thing!

"Alright, Shantaflop, time for you to face your worst nightmare...myself!" With that dramatic declaration, Rotty Rotten let out a full maniacal cackle as every part of the machine reached max speed, cogs whirring fast enough to give Shantacus a run for her money and lights flashing like she was at a rave, the humming of the machine going higher and higher until...ding! With that one little chime, the machine very quickly slowed to a stop, and with eager anticipation, Rotty Rotten ran over to the other side of the machine, where a pipe was sticking out and turned towards the ground. Looking down, Rotty Rotten braced herself for the inevitable weirdness of seeing, well, herself...but she had to stop to do a double take as she actually looked at the results. "What the?"

The thing was, that was definitely her, alright. The green skin, hair, and red eyes were kind of unmistakable, and it helped that there was some purple on all of their clothing. She couldn't exactly call them clones, though! Two of them were younger than her, for one thing - thankfully not kid-aged, because that would have been a hassle, but still younger - and of the two younger hers, one of them was dressed like something out of a high fantasy film, with the her that actually matched her age apparently having a similar taste in fashion, albeit with a more modern touch. It honestly stumped Rotty - the mirror should've made perfect clones, not...whatever this was. Did she miss something? Did the machine mess up the process somehow?

Figuring it was good to double check her sources, Rotty Rotten went back to the package, looking around the cardboard to find...aha! The user's manual, this time in print! Flipping it open, Rotty began to speed-read; hopefully she could find the source of the problem quickly. Warning, blah blah blah, side effects may include, blah blah blah, alternate universes, blah blah-WAIT A MINUTE. Rotty Rotten started scanning that paragraph again, making sure she was reading it right...and then immediately smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh, come on! That is so not cloning!"

All this time, she'd skimmed past the part that went over how the Mirror of Selves-Reflection actually worked, because she assumed she already knew: cloning! It cloned people, because that was what she asked for, and that was how it was presented to her! Except, no, what it actually did was pull alternate versions of herself from different universes. Alternate versions of herself that were living their own, alternate lives, up until the mirror had so rudely interrupted them. Great. Fantastic. So, she was going to have to spend a few hours converting her "cloning" machine into one that would send them all back to their appropriate worlds, because she knew she wouldn't want to be dragged into an alternate universe and be stuck there for the rest of her life, and to make matters worse, she had no idea what these alternate hers were like! They might not even be villains, for all she knew!

But, as Rotty heard a few groans coming out of the pile of alternate selves, she sighed and put the user's manual down for a moment. Alright, whatever. She was just going to have to roll with this and hope for the best. Walking over to her various selves, she started to help them up to their feet.

--

Ow.

That was Rottytops' first thought. And her second and third thought. Her fourth thought, after she got over how sore she was, was "where am I, anyway?" One moment, she was in the family caravan, preparing to ask Shantae out for a date, the next she was here, in a pile of bodies. She couldn't really see much of her surroundings at the moment, with her view being almost exclusively limited to the floor - some kind of blue metal, but not the kind of blue she associated with Ammo Baron. No, this was more of a dreary blue, a shade she'd expect to see in a haunted house. Before she could contemplate what that meant though, she felt the weight of whoever else was in here with her get lifted off, and then someone else's hand reached out to her. "Come on, up you get..."

Wow, sounded like whoever that was had a rough day; she could practically feel the exasperation from here. She also sounded a lot like...Rottytops, weirdly enough, but the zombie girl decided to ignore that for a moment, just accepting the hand and pulling herself to her feet. She looked around, intending to take in her surroundings, but instead she found herself reconsidering her choice ten seconds ago to ignore how the mysterious woman sounded like her, because now Rottytops was wondering - did she somehow acquire three entire clones while she wasn't looking? She hadn't really encountered clones before, but this really looked a lot like a clone situation.

The one closest to her was wearing armor almost like that set she'd found in Shantae's closet a few months ago (her girlfriend had, unfortunately, refused to elaborate beyond mentioning she'd gotten it during the Siren Island incident), only with a diamond-shaped breastplate that covered more of her torso, as well as different coloring - purple with silver trimming rather than red and gold. Oh, and the animal pelts. Those were also there. They were all over her doppelganger, the majority serving to form a pseudo-cloak of sorts as well as a longer skirt, with the others serving as simple decoration alongside a collection of animal teeth and claws. Her hair was done up in a ponytail, much like her Fillin disguise, but other than that she practically looked identical. She also had a massive hammer, the head of the weapon having detailing resembling a castle on the front and back end while a skull sat in the middle. It would be extremely tempting to reach out and smack someone with it if Rotty didn't know that she'd likely fall to pieces trying to swing that thing.

The other two were, thankfully, easier to tell apart from her, because they were clearly older, more Risky's age than hers. The one adult clone that had been in the pile with her had a sense of aesthetic that Rottytops had to appreciate - she wore a tattered purple...wizard's cloak? Trenchcoat? Some sort of hybrid between the two? Whatever it was, it was tattered, purple, and had a set of white ribs around the torso as reinforcement. Out of the four, she had the longest hair, with just enough of it hanging in front of her face to shadow her eyes and make them seem to glow, which, combined with her mischievous smirk...again, Rottytops really had to appreciate the aesthetic, there. She'd somehow managed to land the perfect balance between "monster from a ghost story," "powerful wizard," and "used magic carpet saleswoman," and honestly, Rottytops was considering taking notes. Maybe not too much, though; her older clone was perhaps a biiiiiit intimidating.

That left the only her who, as far as Rottytops could tell, had not been in the pile, and frankly the most confusing one. She was dressed up in a vest and pants with red and purple vertical stripes running up them both, with a dark blue, sleeveless undersuit beneath it, exposing her bare shoulders and the stitch tattoo around her left arm (which confused Rotty a little bit; did she never get that arm detached or something?). Finishing off her choice of clothing were a pair of simple gloves the same shade as the undersuit, as well as a pair of skull earrings that matched Rottytops' own. She also had the closest hairstyle to Rottytops, albeit with some differences; she had more of an undercut, leading to a slightly choppier hairstyle than Rottytops herself, but otherwise it was pretty close.

Before any of them could start talking, the last clone Rottytops had looked at sighed, and spoke up. "Alright, I know my own thought process, so I'll answer your most immediate questions: yes, we're all the same person; no, we're not clones. I was trying to make clones of myself, but I got ripped off with a stupid magic artifact that gave me different versions of myself from alternate universes. Don't ask, I'll explain in a bit here. Now, care to introduce yourselves?"

Oh! Alternate universes. That would've been...her third guess, probably. Second guess would've definitely been secret identical twin she somehow didn't know about. She definitely had questions, but Rottytops was willing to let...herself? Explain herself? That didn't sound right. Man, this was going to be confusing. Still, she gave her older self a winning smile, and said, "Rottytops-"/"Rottytops-"

She immediately stopped herself, and turned to look at her identical self, who frankly looked just as shocked as she was. Her older self in the pinstripe suit sighed wearily, shaking her head. "...we'll put a pin in that. How about you? Please tell me your name isn't the same as theirs, too?"

Her other older self paused to consider the question for a moment, then casually shrugged. "I mean, technically it is? Only my brothers know about that, though. I tend to go by Lich Baron these days."

...oh. That...might explain the intimidation factor. And was also mildly concerning, ringing plenty of alarm bells in her head; aside from Squid Baron being basically harmless, anyone with the name Baron was bad news. And judging by the wary expression of her armored self, that wasn't just the case in her universe, either. Her other older self just looked mildly confused, clearly not recognizing the significance of the title. Which was both relieving, because that meant she probably wasn't a Baron herself, and worrying, because it meant she didn't recognize Lich Baron for the danger she represented. As if to prove her point, her older self spoke up then, "So...what? You just have a lavish house where you store all your goodies or something?"

Lich Baron seemed surprised for a moment, but then the smirk was back, and she let out a slight chuckle. "Yeah, something like that."

Her older self squinted at Lich Baron for a moment, suspicious, but then shook her head, turning her attention back to the group as a whole. "Well, you can call me Rotty Rotten. Now, back to you two - do either of you have another name I can use? Because, fair warning, if you don't, I will just use One and Two."

"Oh! Uh..." Rottytops took a moment to think. Well, she did have Fillin, but she didn't have the outfit on, so would it really feel right...? Eh, everything about this situation was weird; she'd worry about the logistics later. "Well, I did make an alternate identity for myself once. Fillin-"

"-De'Blanc?" Rotty Rotten interrupted, eyes wide in surprise. Rottytops was a bit shocked, herself; apparently that scheme wasn't exclusive to her. Who knew?

"Just the Blank, but...yeah, exactly," Rottytops nodded slowly. "I'm guessing that one's a no-go, then?"

Rotty Rotten looked to the side, a slight blush on her cheeks. "...yeah, let's...not do that one."

Oh, there was a story there. But, out of respect for her older self who was apparently responsible for all of this, Rottytops decided not to ask. Yet. She would put her expert badgering skills to use later. Before she could respond, though, her armored self spoke up.

"So, guess it falls to me to use a different name, then?" She questioned. Now that they weren't talking at the same time, Rottytops noticed that she had a slight accent that none of the others had, including herself. Rotty Rotten started to say something, but her armored self shook her head, lifting her hammer and resting it on her shoulder. "No worries, I'm fine with it. Just call me Cadaver."

"...huh," Rotty Rotten took the name in stride, taking a few steps back to look over them all, and then shrugging. "Well, if you say so. Now! Onto the more important question...are any of you villains?"

Rottytops blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden non-sequitor and the weight Rotty Rotten put on the word villains. Without thinking, she remarked, "I consider myself more of a prankster dabbling in the art of chicanery, personally? I've only done like, one evil thing and felt really bad about it later."

Cadaver raised her hand. "My first few days of existence were as the brainwashed general of an undead army trying to take over the world. Wasn't really me in there, but I still remember all of it. Does that count?"

Rotty Rotten looked utterly poleaxed. "...no, no it does not, and I am very worried about whatever standards your villains hold themselves to. Lich Baron? You?"

Lich Baron simply looked up and answered, "Yup."

"Oh, thank you! I got worried when the Mirror of Selves-Reflection turned out to be an alternate universe thing instead of a clone thing," Rotty Rotten sighed in relief, and suddenly those alarm bells were back in full force. "Alright, Rottytops, Cadaver, go ahead and help yourself to the lair while Lich Baron and I discuss business; I'll be sure to send you back to your homes by the end of the day. Now, Lich Baron, what are your skills exactly...?"

Rottytops looked to her armored self, who thankfully seemed equally concerned about this whole thing. Before either of them could start talking to come up with a plan, though, Lich Baron answered, "Oh, I raise the dead."

Rottytops looked back just in time to see the utter horror and disbelief on Rotty Rotten's face, which Lich Baron seemed completely oblivious to as she went on, "So, you want an undead uprising? I don't know exactly what your plan is, but there's not a lot of schemes that don't go smoother if the hero is busy fighting off an undead uprising. Normally I wouldn't put too much effort into this kind of thing, but you're, well, me, and I happen to have a show I don't want to miss, so I'm willing to give you a...eh, decent undead uprising. What do you say? Sound fun? Have a specific time, or-"

"NO! No undead uprising! Ever! Are you out of your mind!?" Rotty Rotten hissed, pulling her other self close. "Think of the children!"

Lich Baron stared with wide eyes. Rottytops almost felt bad for her; she knew what it looked like when she was faking confusion, so she could tell that Lich Baron honestly didn't get why Rotten was opposed to an undead uprising. "...eh, fair enough, I guess? I'm fine dialing it back; less work for me. Guess I'll just go with...ten skeletons? That sound good? Just ten?"

Honestly, Rottytops thought that did actually sound reasonable, especially compared to the Barons she knew, but Rotty Rotten clearly thought otherwise. "I said no undead uprising, and I meant it! What is WRONG with you!? Ugh, never mind; worst case scenario is fully in play."

Before Lich Baron could say something in her defense, Rotty Rotten turned to Rottytops and Cadaver. "Alright, you two! I am going to teach you how to be villains..."

She swiveled to face Lich Baron with a glare. "And I'm going to teach you how to be chill."

Rotty Rotten turned around, shaking her head as she whispered to herself, "Honestly, undead uprising...what are they doing over there?"

With that, she started to march, addressing the whole group as she walked off. "I'm going to ready the presentation now! It should only take a few minutes, so don't go anywhere!"

Huh. If it were anyone else, Rottytops would be concerned, but her alternate self seemed to have a far different idea of what villainy was than was typical for any of their universes. So, as it was, Rottytops was curious to see where this was going. Maybe she could do something to test the waters real quick...? See how far this goes, anyway. She thought it over, running over different ideas in her head, before stumbling over one that made her grin in anticipation.

Clearing her throat to catch her older self's attention, Rottytops remarked, "Will the presentation include a musical number?"

She expected Rotty Rotten to just be confused, or perhaps roll her eyes at the joke. She did not expect her to actually consider the question, looking very contemplative as she stood in thought. Eventually, she answered, "...no, I don't have one prepared at the moment, but you know what? We ARE doing a musical number later. I will guarantee we do a musical number later. You can bet on it."

With that, Rotty Rotten walked away, leaving Rottytops stunned in her place. Well, damn. She was going to be in a musical number now, apparently. Was that just normal in this universe? Was she the prankee, here? Before she could contemplate this further, though, she was interrupted by her other older self.

"...I am chill, though," Turning to face Lich Baron, Rottytops looked up to see...wow. Was she pouting? She was absolutely pouting. It was kinda funny, honestly, compared to how intimidating she'd been earlier. Maybe she shouldn't get so much of a kick out of what was technically her own misery (or however you'd quantify the misery of your alternate self), but Rottytops was willing to chalk that up to her being a naturally funny person even when she wasn't trying. "I just spook people sometimes, I don't even make my undead do anything! Aside from like, theft, but that's in the job description. What do you guys think? You think I'm chill, right?"

"...eh...?" Rottytops shrugged, giving Lich Baron the universal so-so gesture. "I mean, towards the end, sure, but you did open up with a whole undead uprising."

Clearly despairing, Lich Baron turned to Cadaver, who simply responded, "You're better than Hypno Baron."

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Lich Baron slumped over. "No one appreciates me here..."

--

True to her word, Rotty Rotten had set up her presentation - whatever that entailed - up relatively quickly. Rottytops, or rather, Cadaver, could appreciate that this supposed "villain" was considerate of their time, even though they'd only met because of a misunderstanding in magical artifacts. She'd wasted no time in establishing what the situation was, making sure they all had names to call each other, and - to some degree - informing them of why she'd set up her cloning plan in the first place, even if she hadn't actually said the reason out loud. It was the sort of directness that Cadaver could appreciate.

Truth be told, it was...nice to be able to go by Cadaver again, if only for a little while. One of the only intended freedoms Hypno Baron had given her back when she was first resurrected was her choice of name, and for that, she'd chosen General Cadaver. That name had lasted up until she and Hypno Baron had come face to face with Bolo's party and she broke out of his control, for after he was defeated and she stuck around...well, she knew exactly where she wanted to go, and as much as she liked her name, she saw no point in using a name that they'd only associate with the cold, calculating general at Hypno Baron's side. So, she'd picked out another name, joined Bolo's party (the others still made jokes about how she didn't, you know, ask, like a "normal person," but it worked, didn't it?), and that was that. Rottytops was a nice name, too, and in some ways better than Cadaver ever was, but Cadaver was still the first one she chose.

Shaking her head out of her thoughts, Cadaver sat down next to the other Rottytops, with Lich Baron on the other side. Truth be told, Cadaver couldn't quite get herself to let her guard down around Lich Baron - she was far too familiar with the dangers of necromancers to let herself do that - but, contrasted to how Rotty Rotten seemed to perceive her, Lich Baron ultimately seemed harmless. Or, rather, she could do harm, but she had a feeling most of the time it was very negligible. More like that strange fellow who kept making a nuisance of himself, Squid Baron, than the mad Hypno Baron she was familiar with. And Rotty Rotten, whether she wanted to admit it or not, seemed closer to the other Rottytops' description of a prankster than anything else.

Rotty Rotten pulled down a screen and cleared her throat, and with that cue the lights darkened and something flickered on, projecting an image onto the screen - a simple purple backdrop with gears and skulls on it. Cadaver let out a slight hum of appreciation, then turned her attention to her alternate self as she pulled out a pointer. "Alright, let's give a bit of context first..."

Extending the pointer, she tapped the screen, and the image changed to a serene-looking town with bright, cheery colors. "So! This, right here, is where we currently are: my perfect little hometown, Lazytown! A town where no one did anything, really, and I was able to sit back and relax to my hearts content...well, it used to be, anyway."

The presentation switched to her next image, showing what appeared to be a blue airship, high up in the sky. Cadaver's eyes widened, and her old general mindset started kicking into overdrive - airships were a hypothetical in her world, with no one having the manpower or materials to build one themselves just yet, so to show one so casually likely meant that either the technology they had here was more advanced, airships were incredibly common, or some combination of both. It'd be a fairly difficult target to take down, too, considering the only one who might be able to get into the air was Lich Baron...but, before she could strategize further, Cadaver shook her head and firmly reminded herself that, no matter how reasonable she was and likely would be, this was still the word of someone who actively called herself a villain, so she might want to hold back on the militant strategizing for now.

"You see, a while back, let's say...oh, a year or two now? Someone showed up and decided to get people moving, and that someone's name was Shantacus," Rotty Rotten growled, her tone layered with something bitter as she shook her head. For her part, Cadaver felt her face scrunch up in confusion, and a quick look around showed that her alternate counterparts were equally confused, even Lich Baron. Of course, she was quick to connect the name to Shantae, one of her party members, and she wasn't really surprised to find out she was a hero in this world, but...it was a bit hard to imagine herself at odds with the half-fae girl. In complete defiance of the typical slippery and treacherous image the Rogue class carried with it, Shantae was very earnest, often trying her best to communicate with her team and even the opponent if it was clear they could see reason. And while they'd be at odds in this world, Cadaver also knew for a fact that she wasn't really the type to hold grudges, with Hypno Baron being an exception. Needless to say, something would have had to go terribly wrong for Shantae to be in the same class as Hypno Baron here, and by all accounts, it hadn't - so, she had to wonder, was Rotty Rotten's anger real, or simply performative? A question to consider for later.

"...and with her around, the whole town started getting into fitness, with running and sports and yoga and blegh," Rotty Rotten gagged, sticking her tongue out and shuddering in disgust. Cadaver, personally, couldn't relate, but she did see Lich Baron nod in sympathy. "Do you know how much noise that much running and exercise makes when you live right underneath people's feet? Because let me tell you, it's a LOT! And since I couldn't exactly file a noise complaint for an entire town, and believe me, I tried, the solution was clear - Shantacus had to go! And so, thus began our esteemed rivalry..."

The other Rottytops raised her hand.

"Yes, Rottytops?" Rotty Rotten turned to her similarly-aged counterpart, and Cadaver very promptly reminded herself that she wasn't responding to Rottytops for now.

"Genuine question, can you not just, like...soundproof your place, or something?" The other Rottytops asked, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow. Honestly, she'd been wondering that herself, so she turned her attention to Rotty Rotten.

"Well...yes, I've got better soundproofing now," Rotty Rotten muttered, a blush dusting her cheeks as she looked away from her audience. "But at this point it's the principle of the thing! Lazy is LITERALLY in the town's name; we don't need any of this fitness junk! So Shantaflop can take her sports and her diets and shove it...whatever, that's not important right now! Moving on!"

She tapped the pointer to the screen again, switching the image to another shot of the town. "Now, obviously, the most effective method of getting Shantacus out of town is just catching her myself, but that tends to be very difficult to do for...reasons you are about to witness for yourself. I hope you don't mind if I take a step back, because this is...very depressing for me to watch."

Without further ado, Rotty Rotten tapped the image again, looking away and walking off to the side, but rather than the image changing entirely to a new one, it began moving. Cadaver was impressed and wondered what it was; magic? Technology? Some combination of both? She didn't ponder about that for long, though, as the moving image showed Rotty Rotten peeking out from behind a bench, a comically large net slung over her shoulder. She looked around, clearly anticipating something, and then her eyes darted to the right, and she grinned, jumping up to her full height and swinging the net down-

Cadaver could fully admit she was attracted to Shantae. The girl was clever, but humble, kind to a world that often didn't extend the same kindness to her just because of who she was born to, and incredible in a fight in ways she couldn't help but admire, having an uncanny ability to detect and take out ambushes to the party before any of them were even aware of the danger. It wasn't something she acted on, given that her teammate seemed incredibly shy around her for some reason - she suspected Sky knew, but the druid had grown more and more exasperated each time she asked, so she clearly didn't feel like telling her - but it was nice for her to think about. Maybe, at some point, she'd be able to work herself up to make the first move, but only when she was sure Shantae wouldn't be scared off when she asked.

All of this was to say, she wasn't quite prepared to see Shantacus in action for the first time. The blue-clad heroine adeptly flipped in the radius of the net and out in the blink of an eye, outpacing Rotty Rotten without even trying, and when she zoomed up behind her to give a grin to the villain...the way Shantacus smiled, and the way she laughed, so confident and carefree, got her heart racing in ways she hadn't thought it could anymore, considering her undead nature. Her strategic side wanted to slap her upside the head and make her pay attention, but for once, Cadaver couldn't bring herself to care, and as the moving image unfurled into a compilation of various failed capture attempts, her focus was entirely on how confident Shantacus' gait was, how sure she was in herself, and, to a lesser extent, the way her body had been toned to perfection. She personally didn't quite care about that sort of thing - she thought Shantae's more athletic build fit her more than an Amazon - but it was a nice bonus. All Cadaver could think of, seeing Shantacus, was, how could I get my Shantae to act like this? How could I make her this confident?

A long, drawn out wolf-whistle snapped Cadaver out of her reverie, and she realized with some embarrassment that the compilation had ended without her realizing. Looking over, she took some relief in that she wasn't alone, as she saw that the other Rottytops was blushing like mad, eyes snapped to the screen and wide with disbelief. Before she could look to see Lich Baron's reaction though, she heard the thwip of a robe being raised high into the air as quickly as possible.

Rotty Rotten sighed wearily. "I don't know how you managed to connect any of that to your undead shtick, and I don't care - no undead uprising."

"That wasn't my question," Lich Baron stated, her grin clear even when Cadaver wasn't looking at her.

"Then what was it?" Rotty Rotten snapped, clearly expecting her alternate self to not have an answer.

"Is Shantacus single?" Lich Baron asked, with approximately zero hesitation or remorse. Almost immediately, the other Rottytops' blush grew, and though she didn't have a mirror for reference, Cadaver was sure she had her own, similarly-sized blush. As for Rotty Rotten, she had her own blush beginning to rise as she started to indignantly squawk, trying to form words but failing for a few moments.

"T-that's-Shantaflop's relationship status is NOT RELEVANT to this conversation!" Rotty Rotten finally managed, shaking her head furiously.

"Yes it is," Lich Baron shook her head in disagreement. "Because, well, Captain Shantae is fun and all, nice to tease, puts sooooooo much effort into hiding how much of a softie she is, and I would like to actually get a relationship with her going at some point...buuuuut she also has trust issues up the wazoo, and while I'll still pick Captain Shantae over her every day, Shantacus having NONE of those issues, and being jacked on top of that? Putting up some serious competition there. If she's anything like the good captain, I don't think it'd be too much trouble to seduce her into a trap...and, I mean, if you aren't going to do anything-"

"Absolutely not!" Rotty Rotten hissed, crossing her arms in an X. "There is to be no, and I mean no, flirting with the enemy! Snackcakes is off-limits-"

She suddenly stopped, her blush growing more as her words silently sunk in. Cadaver slowly raised an eyebrow as she considered the clearly more affectionate nickname for the hero, and the other Rottytops' expression slowly turned into a grin of its own, as she opened her mouth to say something-

"You heard nothing. You did not hear Snackcakes, you heard Shantaflop. That nickname does not leave this room," Rotty Rotten shook her head, taking a moment to glare at each of them. "And it especially does not leave this room in front of the kids, because I don't know what bet they have going on with me and Shantacus, but I am winning it, do you understand me?"

"Mhm. Hear you loud and clear, boss," With a mock salute, Lich Baron gave Rotty Rotten a nod before leaning back, clearly pleased with herself.

In the meantime, Cadaver was starting to piece together the picture. Her alternate counterpart was clearly attracted to Shantacus, that much had been made clear, but considering they'd started out in opposing roles and still disagreed on how fitness should be handled in this town (she still didn't get WHY that was their conflict, honestly; she supposed it might just be the weird standards of this world)...hmm. Did she just not know how to make the switch? Was this some sort of elaborate way of flirting with the hero? Cadaver didn't really care much for complicated schemes. She could make them, sure, and definitely understand them, but she knew from experience that so many complex plans had a tendency to fall apart the instant you did something they didn't expect - for instance, braining Hypno Baron with her hammer the moment she snapped out of his control - so she preferred the more direct approach. This would all be so much easier if Rotty Rotten decided to forgo the "villainy" and just ask Shantacus out on a date.

"Moving on..." Said villain shook her head, tapping the pointer to the screen again to move it to the next image. "Normally, in order to get anywhere close to capturing Shantacus I do need to use tricks like that, but there's a reason I was trying to clone myself - if we set up enough traps around town, then it doesn't matter how simple they are, Shantacus will have to fall into one of them eventually. Quantity has a quality all its own, after all! So, I'm going to teach you all how to set up some traps, and then, once we all go around and set them up...bye bye, Shantacus! Any questions?"

Part of Cadaver wanted to ask if Rotten would just go ahead and ask Shantacus out, but she didn't think that'd be well-received. So, she thought of another question as she raised her hand.

"Yes, Cadaver?" Rotty Rotten nodded towards her.

"What do you plan on doing if you succeed?" Cadaver calmly asked, raising an eyebrow. Not once had Rotty Rotten mentioned her plans for after the fact, after all.

Almost immediately, Rotty Rotten's face fell into one of irritation. "Well, I was going to work it out with my clones, but considering I'm the only me here - no offense to all of you, of course - I'm just going to have to figure it out later. Don't worry about it. Anyone else?"

Cadaver, the other Rottytops, and Lich Baron looked at each other, then shook their heads in a decisive no.

"Good! Now, prepare yourselves; we'll be heading towards sunlight in a few minutes!" With that, Rotty Rotten gave a decisive nod, and walked off, presumably to get materials.

Cadaver waited for a few moments, then stood up and began to walk off to a further part of the room from Lich Baron, hammer in hand. As she found a wall and leaned against it, contemplating her next move, she saw the other Rottytops stand next to her out of the corner of her eye.

"So...are you going to help weird not-actually-a-villain-you? Or, uh, us? Or...wow, this is confusing," The other Rottytops shook her head. "But, you get my point, right? Figured I'd ask the only other hero in the room."

Cadaver tilted her head, then nodded. "As long as we take precautions to make sure the traps don't catch anyone else in the crossfire, I don't see the harm. I'm mostly just hoping to convince her to ask Shantacus out on a date directly."

"Ah, okay, cool, cool, I'm not the only one who thinks this is an elaborate date set-up, good to know," The other Rottytops gave Cadaver her own nod, pleased to be vindicated.

Cadaver paused for a moment. "Out of curiosity, how did you get to that conclusion? I know my line of thought, but I want to hear yours."

The other Rottytops very quickly started blushing again. "Well, uh...honestly, when I thought about it, it sounded like something I would do if I was desperate enough? And, y'know, wasn't already dating my Shantae, but that's besides the point."

Cadaver considered this new information, then slowly turned her head to give the other Rottytops' a raised eyebrow and her most deadpan look. What was it Bolo said to Shantae that one time? "You're your own worst critic?" She was certain it wasn't meant to be applied like this, but she was definitely feeling critical of her other self right now.

"...hey, I wasn't saying it wouldn't be stupid, I was just saying I might do it!" The other Rottytops defended herself, then, after a few more moments of being beset by her judgement, sighed. "Honestly, how come you're the only one of us who has their shit together, anyway? And I'm including the adult-adults on this one, not just us young adults, because Lich Baron and Rotty Rotten absolutely do not have their shit together."

Cadaver snorted. "I think my party's druid would disagree with you on that front, but, in short? You'd be surprised how many problems a hammer solves."

The other Rottytops looked at the hammer in question longingly, then sighed, slumping over. "Man..."

She shook her head, despondent, then perked up without any warning. "So! Onto other topics - how about you and your Shantae, eh? You got some kind of relationship going on?"

Now Cadaver felt her own blush forming. "Ah...it'd be nice, but no, not really. She's a little shy around me, so I figure it's best to take things easy before I actually make a move. I don't want to scare her off, you know?"

"...mhm," The other Rottytops slowly turned her head in a mirror of how Cadaver had done so moments earlier, and suddenly she had flashbacks to when she asked Sky about why Shantae was so shy around her. And also felt incredibly judged, for some reason. "Say, out of curiosity, when did this shyness start?"

"Oh, that?" Cadaver thought for a moment, tilting her head. "I took a blow from a Naga for her in a temple - Shantae had been running ragged from going through all the traps in the place, so she didn't quite react to the thing as fast as she usually did, and I stepped in. Took my arm off, but I returned the favor and then some right afterwards. Still remember how awestruck she looked, back then...she'd been a little wary of me sticking around the party before then, but after that? She was happy to include me, albeit with a bit of an issue approaching. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. Just got an actual answer to my question from earlier," The other Rottytops nodded sagely.

"What?" Cadaver squinted, looking at her other self in confusion.

"Balance of the universe. Balance of the universe is what's going on with you," With approximately zero elaboration, the other Rottytops started walking away. "Gonna go do a few stretches before we head out. Nice talking with you!"

"Wait, what? What are you..." Cadaver blinked, trying to decipher what the hell that meant, before something clicked in her head. "Wait. Do you know why my Shantae's so shy with me?"

"Yup!" The other Rottytops turned her head, giving Cadaver a view of the shit-eating grin that she now had. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out! You'll just want to bash your head into a wall afterwards!"

"What?" Cadaver squinted, trying to make sense of her other self, but all she got in response was a resounding cackle as the other Rottytops walked away. She still waited to see if there was going to be an actual answer, but after a few moments, she sighed and turned away. At least she got more out of that than she did with Sky. Still, though - you'll figure it out? It couldn't be that obvious, could it? She was so certain there was some sort of complex reasoning behind Shantae's shyness, it couldn't be that simple. Like, say, if Shantae was attracted to her, she'd be able to recognize that for what it was, right?

...

...Oh.

OH.

Her alternate self was right. She did want to bash her head into a wall.

--

This April Fool's fic will be continued...next week!

#shantae #rottytops #fic #april fools #reversal au #watch quest #“wait what's with those last two tags” hehehehehehe

[randomrabbidramblings]

Random speculation about "Rayman in The Phantom Show"

[A bit of story related theories from what we have at the moment. I only know Rayman's lore and abilities in a very superficial way, so if you know more about him and want to add something, feel free to!]

First of all: I find it strange the objective is just to fix Phantom's Space Opera Network's ratings… Will it make this a more open worlded Tower of Doooom? Nothing wrong with that, I'm just wondering if there will be more plot to this than we got told. How could Phantom possibly convince the Heroes to do such a thing after Kingdom Battle? And where would his expected song fit into the story? He seems like he's gone on the good side, so… no Rayman roast? Unless it's a friendly roast? I find Phantom's heel-face turn a bit odd.

[I'm very torn between hoping for him to betray the Heroes at the end and having him as a final boss, or actually having a friendly (or at least passive) Phantom. Both lead to a very fun time, lol. Evil Phantom thinking he got them all while Beep-0's like "I told you guys!" and nice Phantom trying (in vain) to convince the Heroes he's not a villain this time.]

The enemies seem to be all the kinds of Darkmess infested baddies we've already seen in Sparks of Hope and The Last Spark Hunter. They are called "supporting crew" by the narrator, so maybe the place isn't infested with them, unless it's all an excuse to hide the fact Phantom's show has disaster ratings because of them.

There are Darkmess eyes and puddles too, so looks like the DLC is set in between the previous adventures and Cursa is still around. Or Phantom somehow managed to get his hands on some of Cursa's minions, but this doesn't explain the Darkmess.

We can kind of piece together what's happening in this scene: seems like Phantom just made his entrance after the lift scene seen in the trailer (there's its staircase behind him) with Rabbid Peach and Rabbid Mario reacting accordingly. We can also get some info about the environment. It seems to be the entrance we already saw in the trailer. On the corners of the floor there are dirt mounds? Is that dust or sand? Is the building in a desert or just very dirty? In Phantom fashion, like the old theater in Spooky Trails, the place seems a bit run down with ripped wallpaper revealing bricks, torn curtains and glass on the floor. At this point I'm wondering if the problems with the Space Opera Network are due to the Darkmess infesting the place or to Phantom's... very poor understanding of "keeping the workspace free of hazards".

This is the lift Phantom is seen coming out from in the trailer. And of course it's one of the few things not damaged in some way. He has standards! I don't know what's with the green color theme for him instead of blue, but I like it! I imagine this lift connects the various sets we've seen. In this floor there seems to be some minor sets for different shows, like a cooking show with Alkementor, some kind of music show with DJ Cheep Tuna (no more stranded on Beacon Beach, Augie seems to have finally paid him, lol) and one with a red Spark. I think it's some kind of dating game? There are three hearts on the background screen and the floor has the shape of a pink letter.

Phantom in his intro scene and on the poster has three spotlights on him. Probably a callback to the ones that kept him invulnerable in each phases of his battle in Kingdom Battle or maybe they are hinting at another boss fight. Either way, he sure does seem like he's very afraid of ending up like last time with the spotlights following him even when he's inside the lift, lmao. It would be funny if he sometimes popped up in places where physically there shouldn't be any spotlights, but still lights shine on him for some unknown reason

Finally, I wonder if there will be Phantom's backstory portaits like we had with the Wardens. They could explain a lot of things, especially how and why he's apparently not evil anymore. I don't know how they managed a (supposedly) good guy Phantom, but I bet he's going to be very annoying (in a good way, lol) and a very insufferable boss to his crew. Reminds me of another insufferable, drama-causing Rabbid from Spooky Trails we've already encountered.

#rabbid #rabbids #mario rabbids #mario + rabbids #sparks of hope #mario+rabbids sparks of hope #mario+rabbids #mario rabbids sparks of hope #mario + rabbids sparks of hope #sparks of hope dlc #rayman in the phantom show #my rambles

[the-entity-child]

Faith was always in short supply in the fog, and Nea knew this as well as anyone else. Granted, to say she was a woman of God at any time of her life would be nothing short of a lie. How could men and women of power fill their pockets with blood-stained cash to fill their empty hearts with anything to make them feel whole? Using race, class, or even the name of whatever God could allow them the most support, they would taint it and use it for vile deeds. She couldn’t stand there and take it, tagging the walls of the towns she once lived in, trying to expose the deeds of such people many times before. Now that she was here, she was in the realm of something akin to a horror movie with a crazy alien god, classical slasher villains with chainsaws, and monsters of all makes and shapes. With each passing day, if days are even real in this realm, she would learn more slowly, but more likely, another question would be asked, like what is this entity, why does it feed in this certain way, and can it bleed?

To make a god bleed was the oddest question she had in mind. If God could bleed, could she and the other find a way to kill it and go home? But a part of her wonders: if they do go home, would they appear at the times of disappearance? Would it be as if nothing ever happened and all of this would be a simple dream? So many damned questions with barely any answers! She could ask most of those crazed killers that she saw slaughter her friends before her eyes; most would just stab or crush her throat before she could ask the more human-looking killers why this was happening. But in truth, she only saw one killer who seemed to want to answer her questions—the same one that now sleeps beside Quentin, as if she wasn’t the same woman from before who slaughtered him as if he were nothing more than a dog needing to be put down. Junko Yoshida calls herself, but to Nea, she will always be seen as “The Entity Chosen.” As she once called herself before, she is nothing more than a survivor, like the rest of us.

Nea couldn’t help but look at her in disgust, and she knew she wasn’t alone in this, but some, however, dare say she was just another victim like the rest of them! How could she be able to live nicely without the risk of being beheaded or ripped apart by the Hillbilly or Leatherface while enjoying killing the same people she now calls “brother in arms"? She just stared daggers into the sleeping woman, but soon she would hear someone speak.

"Nea, for God sake, relax; she is not hurting him; in fact, I think this is the best sleep he has had in a while.” She would barely look to the side to see Steve standing there, finishing up a bowl of stew, she would guess. Not long after Junko joined the survivors, a cauldron with supplies to cook appeared next to the fire. Most weren’t sure if it was a gift of goodwill from the being that holds them here or some kind of trick to gain more emotions from them so they wouldn’t be thrown out as quickly. Whatever it was didn’t ease the tension and anger she felt for Junko; just the thought of her being here made it worse. How many times has she personally been stabbed and toyed with by this brat? She saw that fucking large smile and shark tooth-like grin! Those eyes weren’t the eyes of someone with a job; those were the eyes of a bloodthirsty freak who enjoyed her screaming for someone to help her while watching her slowly die in horrible pain and agony. Worse yet was when she was the last one alive, and she knew she was gone. Junko always ended up hungry after a hard day at work as a survivor, and it was just the same as before, only instead of home-cooked food, the meal was fresher. Nea still got cold sweats seeing those teeth. Junko had always placed a hand over her neck out of reflex.

“How can we even trust her?” She quickly stated that Steve could only give a disappointed look. “We talked about this before with everyone," Before he could finish that thought, Nea just gave him a glare. “She is nothing like us, Steve; she is a goddamn freak! How many times has she fucking killed us with that box cutter or that crazy knife of hers? Well, I know it’s way too much!” She cried out, pointing at the sleeping Junko. “She isn’t even close to us, man. Sure, she helps, but it’s because of her that we are here in the first place! Not to mention that crazy cult of hers that, for all we know, could have been spying on us this whole time! That damn cult of her could be behind so much pain and suffering hell; I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew more about that Demogorgon, then she lets on!” She yelled. What could this freak be hiding? was the question that filled her mind, and she couldn’t tell what answers would help them or not. Until she saw Steve give a disgusted look towards Junko, but not the type she felt towards her, but rather something unnatural and horrible.

She looked behind her to see her sleeping there, or so she thought. However, a quick and trained look towards the black, meaty, blood-gushing hole in her head showed that it was moving only slightly. She was awake! Nea wanted to say something, only to see the other eye show an odd orange-yellow-ish glow as she got up to stand, smiling a tiny bit. Nea could almost see those horrible, sharp teeth showing themselves as she feared the possibility of pissing her off. However, Junko would wave her hands to claim them. "Nea, please, I mean you no harm, but I shall admit that hearing those comments is a bit disheartening. My faith is not some crazed “cult” as you see in movies or books!” She said as she looked towards Steve with a smile. “But I will say that my faith has been hoping to learn more about the beast that you and your friend fought against. Reminds me we should talk about your However, before she could finish, Steve interrupted, pointing at one of his eyes. “Why is your eye doing that?” He asked clearly close to losing his composure to the disgusting sight of Junko's blown-out eye, as before long they could smell something being burned to see that Junko held her head, hissing a bit in pain. “Entities are quick to heal from wounds, and I am no different. It seems like my eye was trying to heal itself, but the bullet in my head burned it away.” She stated it as if that wasn’t a horrible thing to endure! Nea was feeling a wave of sickness flow through her at the horrible smell that came from the hole in her head. As soon as Quetin would seem to wake up, not long after coughing up at the smell himself, Junko seemed to cover her eye a bit to try and deter it as best she could, but Nea could still smell it.

“Fucking creep….” She added before going out into the woods a bit, just far enough away so the smell wouldn’t follow her. She could almost puke at the smell, but thankfully she had a moment to herself and to reflect on her situation, looking up at the forever-night sky. She could say what she wanted to about the entity or the bastard offspring named Junko; she could admit it was relaxing, if only because it was the few places around that offered her peace and a claim from the horror deeper in the woods. Sadly, however, she would see the sky change as rain clouds brew overhead, and she could feel drops of rain fall onto her face as if to wash away the dirt and grim from trails before. However, that wasn’t the end, as soon as she could hear the faint sound of gunshots far deeper in with the sounds of explosions from maybe bombs, she couldn’t really tell. Then the oddest sounds rang louder than the gunshots or the bombings. It was bells, more specifically church bells, that gave loud rings that would once call people of faith to worship whatever god they thought was real and true, but now it felt more like a warning to stay away or maybe to help them, as if saying, “We are here; please save us.”

Nea couldn’t tell how she felt, but she knew that an odd part of her wanted to run towards it. Maybe it was curiosity that ruled that idea, but she did everything in her power to try and walk away from it all, only to be met with the full force of Junko's body running into her, causing them both to hit the ground hard. Nea was fine; she just felt the wind getting knocked off her, but when she looked towards Junko, she could see a fragment of fear and worry on her face as she quickly got herself to her feet and ran deeper into the woods to be gone from sight. What the fuck was going through her mind? Nea thought to herself as she dusted herself off to see both Steve and Quentin following after her as best they could. "Guy, what the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?" Nea would call out as Quentin only looked back to quickly say, “We can’t just leave her to die. Plus, maybe wherever she goes can help!” He said he was going back to follow the two. This was fucking stupid running into what sounds like a goddamn warzone following a crazy woman! But shit, they had a point; they couldn’t just leave her to die, plus there had to be a reason why she would willingly run towards a place.

So she ran after her through the forest and trees, catching up with her two closest friends and allies, but had already lost Junko within a few moments. However, it wouldn’t be long before they could hear the gunshots and explosions become closer but, oddly, die down as they came closer and closer to them. The rain still never died down with it, though in fact it seemed to have gotten worse, with thunder crashing throughout the skies above as soon as the three of them would find themselves at the steps leading down towards an odd-looking town.

No, a town wasn’t the best word for it, as they could see many odd areas, a large prison-like area barbed wire fences now rammed through with tanks and cars of all makes and models, some of them clearly not of human design. A large ship bigger than any they could have seen in their lifetime was near a dock, waiting seemingly forever for someone to come aboard. In the middle of it all, however, they would find a large hole in the middle of the town near a cathedral bigger than anything made back in the normal world. As the three walked down, knowing damn well Junko had gone to the church, they would find it littered with dead bodies, spent casings, and bullet holes along the walls of homes and small little businesses. There were no weapons to be found, but they could find that many of the corpses had different symbols, be it that odd entity symbol they see around the place, some of a black dog head, or some never seen before in hell. A great number of them only had an ugly red cross scar on their faces and looked like they enjoyed being blown away by gunfire. Nea honestly didn’t know what was creeping her out more than the bodies or the watch towers, propaganda posters with old loudspeakers hanging all over the place. Nea knew what this place was. Her gut gave her a great idea of what it was.

“We are in one of Junko’s goddamn prison labor camps! Look at this place poster of her demanding people to work for redemption! How many innocent people could have died here??"She would say that this was just giving her more and more reason to despise the woman. However, Quentin, usually the quiet one, spoke up with his own idea. “Maybe the people here aren’t innocent? Could it be possible that the people she kept here were bad people?” He had a point; she wasn’t fully sure who was kept here, but still, how could she do such a thing? "Actually, can we ask her where the hell we are and what the hell happened here? I swear, I almost tripped over the shell casing more times than I want to admit!” Steve would suggest clearly trying to lighten the mood. Nea would sigh as she still felt unease about the whole thing till they came across the cathedral, where they would find what seemed to be a last stand for whatever army was trying to hold the church. However, that wasn’t the first thing Nea noticed, as soon as she would come across a single pyre that held the remains of a burned person. She couldn’t even tell if the person was a man or a woman. Well, she couldn’t tell what the person could have looked like before being burned alive. She had to endure the horrible smell and the feeling of vomiting wanting to come up, but thankfully she endured it as she quickly went past the open door as Quentin and Steve followed behind.

Ruined and battle-ready may be the best way to describe the inside pews flipped over or ridden with bullet holes or slash marks from something she wasn’t really sure of. She knew this at least back in its early years; she had to admit that seeing such a church would fuel her creative drive for the arts, but now it just reminds her of the horrors that men of power can commit on good people for greed or power. Most of the stained glass windows were broken into rags of cloth hanging from the tips as someone or something tried to break in. However, once they found Junko, they would find the last remaining window untouched by anything around them. Junko was on her knees, eyes closed, hands on her sides, as if praying almost to this window.

It was an equal match of artistic brilliance and horror if you look past it for religious purposes, and Nea could only see it as art and not a sign of true faith from a horrible cult. It showed a woman, more than likely Junko herself, a pre-survivor without her normal glasses on her knees, seemingly crying about something. But it could also be a look of shame and disgust at herself, and the tears are actually blood running down her face. Yes, that seemed more than likely, as the area around the kneeling woman had corpses of men and women, signs of guts or wounds hidden away to make it more appealing, but a pool of blood was clearly seen around the kneeling woman. The woman killed them, it seemed, and for what reason Nea couldn’t tell. Behind the kneeling woman was a black, shadowy figure of the entity symbol, one of the entity claws placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. It seemed to be comforting to the woman, but even then, such a thought seemed impossible if that was the entity or an idea of what the entity could be like. She looked over to her friends to see their reactions, with Quentin in a daze, almost looking around the place, walking not too far from them, and Steve seemingly next to her, waiting for her to be done, head bowed down as if praying with her. She knew he wasn’t actually praying; he was just trying to be kind to her, but how the fuck could he do such a thing?

“Where are we, Junko?” Nea said a tone of demand thick within it, walking close to Junko at her side, the opposite of Steve, who looked at her mouthing to let her pray. Fucking let the crazed cultest pray to the monster that held them to be slaughtered? Fuck that she thought as she would grab a hold of her shoulder, shaking her a bit and her head bobbing with the shakes. “For fuck sake, where the hell are we?! Why do you own a labor camp??''She asked, pushing her down a bit and almost hitting the ground. Junko was almost in a trance, it seemed. Steve looked a bit worried, speaking softly just so she could hear, "Nea, come on! I would rather not have you two fight while we are in some random camp.''As he said, they would hear Junko speak in some kind of language they had never heard of, only understanding one word. “Throdogoth l' entity.” She would say this before opening her eye and standing on her feet again. “This is, or a rather great copy of, Kurouzu-cho Penitentiary, a penal colony we set up trying to learn about something that went down here.” She said it in a matter-of fact tone.

She easily confessed to owning a labor camp. How the fuck could anyone trust her? “Do not worry, the people here were the worst of the worst; no one, any of you two, would care for or feel pity.” She said she was looking towards Nea specifically. “But good men and women died trying to defend this place from rival armies, so I request you not tag this with your art, Nea," she would add, looking dead into her eyes with that one good eye and a fucked-up hole in her head that was once an eye. She was trying to make her bend to her will to put the fear of God in her, but no. She would not bend to people like her. “I will do whatever the hell I want, Junko. It's not like you can stop me either way. Kick my ass here and you risk a killer jumping us; try to do it at the campfire; what stops someone like Bill or Ash from knocking your teeth out.” Nea knew Junko worked well with those two, but she could tell those two may be able to handle her if she tried to kill or hurt anyone. A staredown was happening, and Nea wouldn’t lose to some cultist! But sooner or later, someone had to blink, and sadly, it had to be here because of what Steve said.

"Wait, Junko, the two of us? There are three people here. Me, Nea, and Quentin.” There was a thing of fear in Steve's voice as Nea quickly blinks, turning her head to where Quentin was just standing. Fuck, he was gone! He was just here; why would he wonder off like that? “He couldn’t have gone far; we just need to keep a claim head and,” A loud, horrible scream cut Junko off as Steve led the charge, following the voice, with Junko quickly following. Nea did the same, worried that Quentin could be hurt! She was stupid; why didn't she keep a closer eye on him? For all she knew, Freddy was messing with him! Through the post-battle-ridden hallways, they tried to pinpoint the screams as they could make out a faint heartbeat from each of them. That means a killer was near; for better or worse, Nea knew they could at least find Quentin faster.

Soon they did, as he ran himself into a wall, holding his wrist, and side blood dripped down faster than he could sweat. Nea and the other two quickly ran to him, helping him take a knee to check his wounds. Steve was keeping watch as she and Junko quickly went to fix him up as Junko would speak. “This wasn’t a normal weapon by the looks of it; slash wounds look amateurish, like the weapon was improved instead of battle-ready. Almost jagged too.” Could it be the Legion who was here? Nea thought. She knew one of the thugs' knives could fit, being more like a stick with sharp blades on it than anything. But Quentin shot down that idea as he stuttered a bit in pain in his voice, almost hissing as Nea did her best to fix the wound. "It was some glass shard that got me. Fucking dug in deep... looked like a hooker you see in an old 80’s flick!"

Nea didn’t know how to react to such an idea, but when she was about to ask Junko what that could mean, she had to have some ideas of future killers who at least had to be good for something, but instead Junko's face almost went pale, her good eye giving a stare into nothing. Sweat ran down her head like bullets, as if scared of something but of what she didn’t know, and to be frank, seeing Junko of all people getting scared didn’t give her hope.

She saw Junko get scared or worried before they were sure they were survivors getting hunted down almost daily. Any man or woman would be scared deep down, but this wasn’t the normal fear she saw in Junko. This was pure, unfiltered dread on her face; this was a look that Nea knew all too well, and it was something she could never see on a killer face. Junko would slowly start walking away from the trio of survivors. Steve quickly tried to grab a hold of her shoulder to stop her, but almost in a blink of an eye, Nea would find Steve flat on his as he held his now bleeding nose to quickly see Junko running towards where Quentin came from.

“I told you she couldn’t be trusted! Now look, she is running off to leave us for dead!” Nea yelled, knowing deep down that was far from the truth. But the anger and frustration of seeing both of her friends hurt didn’t help the matter at all. "Well, I’m not leaving her; something clearly is not right with her, and better to know now why she is scared than later!” Steven said as he quickly helped Quentin to his feet. Nea offered him a shoulder to lean on as they followed where Junko ran. Deep into the church of a dark faith, they went as the heartbeat became louder at times, but they couldn’t find the killer, only finding Junko about to head up some stairs.

"Junko, you best explain what the fuck is going on before I kick your sorry ass!” Nea cried out, causing Junko to stop and look towards the three of them. Fear still owned that face, but it looked akin to how she would feel about losing her friends in a trail, unsure if she would find them before the killer. “Come on, we gotta get out of here, man. I’m not feeling so hot.” Quentin could barely mutter as he looked close to passing out. However, “And what?! Leave her to fucking die! The fuck is wrong with you all. How can you act in such a cruel manner? A trio of godless heretics!” Oh, pot calling kettle black, almost Nea thought as she wanted to speak her mind, but Steve stopped her by speaking first. Honestly, it might be a good idea if he was better at calming people down.

“We aren’t leaving anyone behind, Junko. Please calm down before we all get hurt.” Those words seemed to get through to her a bit, but soon they would hear a new pair of footsteps akin to high heels clicking against the floor of this once noble house of faith. The heartbeat grew louder and louder as Nea would whisper towards Steve, “Come on, let’s leave her! She can handle herself; besides, she would have wanted us to live anyway!” Steve, however, shook his head, as, out of either bravery or foolishness, he would move closer towards Junko as she looked towards the top of the stairs. Then they would see the being that hurt Quentin and the reason why Junko was once scared.

She didn’t want to look back as she heard Junko scream in pain, and it was horrific. She learned that entities can die, it seems, and they scream just like people, almost. {Holy shit this may have been one of the largest things I done in a good long while and to boot I got good art drawn! Said art is made by the great and kind @hex-we-need-therapy so please show them love and support! New Killer will be spoken on in a bit to be sent asked or roleplayed with if needed!}

#dead by daylight #dbd #dead by daylight oc #dbd ask blog #dbd oc killer #ask blog #dead by daylight ask blog #dbd oc #dbd oc blog #survivor event #possible trigger warning

[setirophx]

Meet the Writer

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

(CANON MUSES) - i dunno man. i like 'em a little broken and a little fucked up. and a bit of a smartass with a soft heart under it all. that really applies to most my muses to some degree. reno started out as my fresh start after leaving a pretty terrible stint in another fandom. he was easy to approach or to approach others. he was a blank slate enough that i could be creative with crafting a background and development while still having a basis to work from. there also weren't several variations of him over decades of ever changing content via movies and comicbooks to narrow down from. and now he's practically straddling that canon vs oc line for me. this version of him is mine and mine alone. for sephiroth specifically, i'll be honest, i didn't really care too much about him for the longest time. mostly because he felt too empty and boring to me as a villain. so i didn't feel compelled to making up some background to fill in the gaps. then i played crisis core and that humanized him for me. but i still hesitated to actually write him. and then evercrisis came out with him as a teen. and just. i just think he's neat now. (OCs) - aw man, i love ocs so much. i have such a penchant for creative overflow and end up making them in batches. (usually all related to a single story or universe) but i know they can be a hard sell if they aren't already aligned to a fandom. which is totally understandable! i really have too many ocs that i'd love to write, especially in ff7 verses, but its hard to juggle them all. a few of them still have blogs, so maybe one day i can bully some people into writing with them. (:<

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

its not that i dislike writing anything in particular. on the contrary. i would love to write more questionable content. though i'd prefer to write these less savory themes with people i'm most comfortable with and understand that its just exploring things in writing and not some fucked up reflection of myself.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

what i really love writing are moments where characters who don't know love or trust is open and vulnerable with someone. they're opening up and learning to really trust someone for the first time. they're showing the real person hidden within. the actual moment or connection doesn't matter. it could be friends, lovers, enemies, or whatever. tho i will admit that i do enjoy writing some raunchy smut from time to time.

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

a lot of them start as mundane thoughts about whatever numdane thing i might be doing in that moment. cooking, cleaning, eating, whatever. then i wonder how that character would react in that same situation. then the thoughts and what-ifs only grow in complexity and depth. or more abstract and philosophical depending on mood and development.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

music is an absolute no. it gets me distracted. but i also can't do silence. to i meet in this weird middle where i que up a bunch of random videos on youtube into a playlist and let it play in the background. most of it is like, reddit comps read by some soothing voice. i don't have to actually think about what i'm listening to. sometimes i'll get real lucky and listen to some deep dive into a character i'm writing and it gets the thoughts flowing.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

its a little bit of both. a goal is in mind, whether its my goal or a shared goal with my partner, but its something to reach. however, the actual journey to that point doesn't matter. that gets winged to hell and back. even with a goal in mind it can and sometimes does change in the end. and i'm perfectly okay with that. i like seeing the trajectory change over time one post at a time.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

very much so! both romantic and non. because shipping isn't just romance, but that deep connection between two characters. i try to not focus too much on romance, i swear. i enjoy ans strive to give my characters a variety of relationships.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

when i was new and young on the internet for the first and i was hot emo trash, i chose possibly one of the stupidest anime weeb ass handle i could. oni-sama666. and ever since then my nickname has been oni. the only exception is during my time playing ff14. those that know me from there first, or period, call me reno.

ᴀɢᴇ?

i might as well crumble into dust. age 31

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

Sept 23rd

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

purple, preferably lighter shades like lavender and lilac

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

ugh never make me choose. it changes literally every day. but a consistent favorite right now is savin' me by nickelback

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

a silent voice (eiga koe no katachi / the shape of voice). shit makes me bawl like a doddamn baby every time

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

the first two episodes of x-men 97. i'm super gay for gambit in a croptop.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

wasted on you — morgan wallen

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

a am a slut for a good plate of spaghetti

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

firstly, i want to state that i live down south in the states. our winters are incredibly mild. but i'll take our winters over all three summers we have.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

i'm not as close as i'd like to be. i think very highly of many people here and want nothing more than to be the weird little monkey banging symbols in their dms. but i also don't want to be annoying! my little noggin is always so full of feelings and thoughts about both my muse and about other people's muses. but its so hard getting over my nervousness.

Tagged by: tagged MYSELF

Tagging: be gay. do crime. steal it.

#; ( ooc ) #; ( munday meme ) #since i missed out yesterday #long post #resisting urge to always readmore my ooc posts

[daybreakrising]

@ccaptain:   after the splendid Valentine surprise Wriothesley graced him with, Kaeya has only one request for him.

   ' i promised Lisa to help her reorganize a few books today...' he starts, a finger tracing little spiral on a bare pectoral.' and i'm still sleepy, but you seem to be energetic today, ' pale diamond watches him, a little too innocent.

   ' while i get a few more minutes of sleep and steal your pillow, would you be a darling and go warn Jean and Lisa that you seized me away from them for the day? ' just a little too innocent... ' you could say hi to them too, ' he adds, smiling and kissing up that nice jawline of his. ' they haven't seen you in a while. '

   and so, his man is ceremoniously and pratically kicked out of bed, with a very pleased cat-like Kaeya rolling to sit and give Wriothesley a few more apologetic kisses before he sends him off. it's very just that the one who disrupted his schedule goes to warn poor Lisa, who is surely waiting for him with warm tea and buttery biscuits on a pretty tray... 

   it's only when the front door closes that Kaeya reveals himself to be wide awake, on the prow like a cat. the window of his bedroom, thankfully facing the opposite direction his poor fool of a boyfriend walked in, is cracked open- and, in his palm, a small bird made of Cryo takes off, flying directly to the KoF headquarters. specifically, to the window of the library.

   without another hesitation, he gathers his shirt and pants, and he's in the kitchen, fresh ingredients pulled out of the fridge, a pot already placed in a strategic place under the sink- and an apron tied around his hips and chest. 

   poor Wriothesley... falling for the rouse of a sleepy, sore Kaeya, believing that he'd simply go and notify Jean of his absence and be back home to cuddle, the ordeal taking only a few minutes at best...  he'd laugh like a villain, if he had a decent evil laugh in store.

   he really fell for it hook, line and sinker. ...or at least, if he didn't, he had the decency to still play along.

   truth is, that the Duke isn't the only one who had a surprise for him, this day. Kaeya's plan was to start preparing a certaint dish for him, then wait until evening for Wriothesley to show up- and presenting it to him as a romantic dinner, some candles on the table. and him showing up changed absolutely nothing- for Kaeya Alberich plans many scenarios ahead.

   this particular one started almost a month ago, with him tracking down a certaint melusine- which was more than happy to provide him with a certaint recipe- and give him some cooking tips after he had sheepishly admitted that he had no culinary talent. her enthusiastic encouragement filled him with determination- and filled his pocket with a sheet of paper noting down the ingredients and passages necessary. she also swore secrecy- that meeting between them shall never be of knowledge.

   and Jean and Lisa... ah, his accomplices! his partners in crime! the honest grandmaster had all the support of a much more cunning witch behind her, the latter awaiting for the little Cryo bird to signal her that Wriothesley was on his way. she would have kept him otherwise occupied with organizing books on his behalf- or something else sprung on him at the last moment, per their plan. and, just like that, the poor Duke was trapped for a while- and Kaeya had all the time in the world to cook.

   a deep breath later, the pot's contents was quietly simmering, the only accident being a small cut on Kaeya's finger and a bit too much oil on the surface of the soup- swiftly frozen over with a spoon infused with Cryo, per Fayetta's tip in how to deal with it.

   and the smell... oh, he sniffs the air with cautious wonder, wide-eyed. it's divine- it's so surprising that there were only two small accidents... and that he could make this at all. just soup for some, but this is such a special food that he cannot ruin it...

   and he didn't. he's just as stupefied with himself as the pot of perfectly cooked soup, who stares back at him in what he thinks it's disbelief, and a few carrot pieces coming to the surface. now he can tackle the had a stare down with a surprised soup off his bucket list.

   when the front door opens again, the stove has been turned off, and Kaeya is blowing softly on a ladle, an hand cupped under to prevent anything from spilling out. he meets Wriothesley with sparkling, mismatched eyes, his apron spotless, the smile on his face one of soft triumph.

   ' welcome back! taste this- and tell me what you think of it, please? '

Oh, he knows something is up. Kaeya has never, ever, kicked him out of bed for any reason. But, if his man wants to have his secrets, who is he to deny them? After all, he did surprise him by turning up early - it's entirely possible Kaeya had plans of his own that have since been disrupted. So, whilst he doesn't fully believe Kaeya's innocent explanation for getting him out of the house, he goes along anyway. And, he reasons, it's probably only going to be for an hour, maximum. And it would be nice to see Jean and Lisa again - it has been a while.

It wasn't an hour.

By the time he drags himself back to Kaeya's door, he's feeling the effects of moving bookcases around the library for what felt like an eternity. What began as simply helping Lisa reorganise some shelves turned into a full makeover of the library itself - only for her to change her mind and ask him to put everything back again once they were done.

And it was, very obviously, entirely intended to keep him busy and away from home. He's not stupid, after all.

So, he's expecting some kind of surprise awaiting him when he steps through the door, but nothing in the world could prepare him for the aroma that greets him upon entering. He stops dead, eyes wide as he is suddenly thrust back to his youth - he's on the streets, surviving on wits alone, when a smiling, friendly face leans under the pathetic canopy of his makeshift shelter, and offers him a flask of something that smells delicious-

"Kaeya?" He stares at the man before him, ladle in hand, apron on - and blinks in confusion as the image swims, blurs. It takes a moment to register that his eyes are tearing up just from that first hit of such a warm, fond aroma.

"What..." He joins him beside the stove, graciously accepts the offered ladle. The moment the soup touches his tongue the tears are shed - just a few, born of happiness, and of sentiment. He doesn't know how Kaeya has this recipe (though he can make assumptions), or what prompted him to even ask for it, but he is choked with emotion that he can't process fully.

So, instead, he plucks the ladle from Kaeya's grasp and sets it aside, then frames that pretty face with both hands. "It's perfect," he utters, voice thick with feeling, "it's... perfect." A kiss is planted, firmly, upon the other's lips. "You are perfect."

He hooks an arm around Kaeya's waist to tuck him in snugly beside him, then turns his attention to the large pot on the stove. He lifts the lid, basks in the familiar aroma, and sighs with absolute bliss. "I think... I think this is one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me."

Another kiss is pressed, tenderly, to Kaeya's temple. "I love you, so much. So, so much."

#ccaptain #muse; wriothesley (genpact) #source; g.enshin #;if a wolf is in love with the moon; then he is the moon and i the wolf (ccaptain; kaeya & wriothesley) #( THEY'RE SO SOFT- ) #( wrio knowing exactly what's going on but still being surprised by it anyway ;_; )

[dyinggirldied]

LP!Jennette as Marie Antoinette

This one is just a musing while cooking, but imagine how the Lovely Princess might went in another direction. Here, this is after Athy’s execution and I imagine Jennette and Kiel (his name is too long) were 19, for Jen and probably 25 for Kiel. They had married. The empire celebrated. All was good, until Claude’s black magic karma eventually hit him and after weeks of dragging, he passed away.

Jennette was crowned Empress, and Kiel her Consort. Things began to change. Roger and countess Rosa overlooked most of the matters, pulling strings. I thought Jennette might still be raised innocent and demure so she left most of the matters for those two since to her, they were somewhat family and she trusted them. Too bad for Jennette, those two' greed grew exceed and they did a lot of immoral things, the most unforgivable: raising the common people's taxes.

Jennette's reputation took a hit, with the commoners began to grow irritated towards her, even though the faults lied in her aunt and father-in-law. Kiel, lost in his sorrowful infatuation with Athy, and still stucked in the following-my-father's command-mindset, didn't stop his father and aunt-in-law. Jennette was none the wiser, and she spent her times with her ladies in waiting (all actually followed countess Rosa's orders, of course). I also imagined those ladies to always to use Jennette's innocence and kindness to ask her for stuffs, like expensive diamond necklace for my cousin whose mother just passed away and etc.

Years passed, and Jennette spent her times organizing and drinking tea at parties with other ladies and did the basic empire paperwork allowed by her "family". Outside, the commoners grew more and more wrathful towards the one they had initially gifted the moniker "Lovely Princess". Just like Marie Antoinette, who was initially welcomed and beloved by the French, she was eventually villainized and hated, with rumors going wild and wilder till no one could separate fact and fiction.

The commoners spread rumors about how the now despised Empress was a woman who cared naught but for the most luxurious jewelry and spent millions of gold coins on extravagant tea parties and dresses. The Emperor Claude was a cruel, ruthless and murderous man but he at least did his work, never raised the taxes so unreasonably high and he could intimidate his enemies.

By the time Jennette and Kiel realized this, it had been too late. Revolutions arrived, with fire and calls for the death of those higher-ups. The commoners and even magicians far outweigh the nobles and soldiers in number, and the victor was clear. Some nobles managed to escaped to another country but some didn't, duke Roger and countess Rosalia among them. Those two had been the first to meet their fates beneath the merciless Madame Guillotine and under the cheering and jeering of the crowd. Next came Ijekiel. Then, the former empress Jennette.  

Jennette, after days in prison and waiting for her execution, had bitterly and regretfully wondered if this had been how Athy felt, during those seconds before and during her execution. Still, Jennette's heart missed her dearest sister, even after all these years and she hoped, with false optimist, that if she could see Athy again, she really wanted to hug her and apologize.

She lied her head on the guillotine, the yells and shouts of the people who had come to watch grew louder and louder, and thought Fairy tales never tell you about this.

#this one got away from me and just become longer #poor jennette #marie antoinette #The lovely princess #who made me a princess #wmmap #jennette de alger obelia #claude de alger obelia #ijekiel alpheus #roger alpheus #countess Rosalia #bad ending

[cauzukofleascum]

Old Comforts in a New World (Togata Mirio x Reader)

Chapter 5: Mixed, not Fixed

Things with you and Mirio had gotten complicated. Mirio had been coming over practically every day since his return. At first, it was fine, you didn't mind him visiting for a bit, after all, he had just lost his quirk and he was still recovering from an awful battle with a strong villain. Soon, things began to change. Afternoon visits stretched into the sunset, sunset-lit goodbyes turned to nights filled with needy panting and moaning and an odd sense of emptiness as you laid alone in a slowly cooling bed. Even those began to change.

Those steamy nights turned into ones filled with cuddles and warm embraces, and you started to wake up to hot breakfast on the table. He was good company, his food wasn't bad, and quiet nights in his arms served as a wonderful destresser. The problem was, within the two weeks he'd been coming and going, you'd grown feelings for him, despite knowing his...reputation. You'd seen his phone, flooded with texts and Direct Messages from tons of girls. His social media pages, which you totally weren't stalking, were filled with thirst trap selfies, and under those posts were even thirstier girls. Guys too, especially whoever Mineta Minoru was. You were sure that Mirio was just using you as a quick squeeze until he felt better, and you hated that you were letting yourself be used by another hot guy with issues that used sex as an escape. Every time you let Mirio's hand rest gently on the top of your head or his fingers wrap around your waist, you mentally reprimanded yourself. The last thing you needed was another relationship, especially with a playboy like Mirio. You told yourself that you would text him and let him know that he wasn't allowed over anymore, that you needed to sleep alone, that you could cook your own breakfast, but deep down you knew that you couldn't turn him away.

The blonde heartthrob himself strolled into the dining room where you currently sat, typing away at your laptop, filling out the last data figures your company needed so that you could call it quits for the night. "Y/n~," he purred, leaning over your shoulder to place a kiss on your cheek, sending your heart into a whirl of mixed emotions, "I'm going to grab something to eat. Do you want anything?" "Er, no, I'm not really hungry." You said, not looking up from your computer. He didn't move from over your shoulder, he just stared blankly at you, lips pursed, thinking about something. You stopped typing but kept your eyes focused on the computer screen. Silence settled between you two like a cold blanket of air.

What the hell was happening right now?

Finally, he spoke: "You know you need to eat, I always get so worried if you don't eat." He stood up, sighing, and placed his hand on your shoulders. He gently pressed his thumbs into your back and began to massage. You relaxed under his big, warm hands and finally conceded, "Yeah, alright, just something small though." Mirio seemed satisfied with this, patting your shoulder and heading out of the front door.

You shook your head, closing your laptop, and went to shower and put on your pajamas. You climbed into bed and shut your eyes, waiting for Mirio to get back, even if deep down, a tiny part of you didn't want him to come back.

#mha angst #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mirio togata #mirio togata x reader #mirio x reader #mirio x y/n #mha x you #mha x y/n

[aweskeetskeet]

the pleasure quirk

Cw: squirting, breeding, cumming inside, multiple orgasms

Context: there was a new villain on the loose that had an interesting quirk. The villain can shoot some weird beam at you it immediately makes you horny, causing orgasms without anything touching you, the only way to fix it is with intercourse.

You were walking down an alley holding 2 bags of groceries taking the shortcut home when you bumped into someone and fell over. You looked up and saw the villain that had been on the news for weeks now. You froze in fear, being quirkless you were terrified. You stood there body shaking wondering what to do, how to get out of this situation. You tried to run but you just couldn’t. All of a sudden he looked at you and smiled. You were trembling as he pointed his finger at you and a bright green flash of light struck you and you looked up and he was gone. All of a sudden you were wet. You were crouched over on the floor with adrenaline rushing through you and you felt hornier than you have in your entire life. You were breathing heavy feeling the knot in your stomach grow as your body started to shake and an orgasm ran through you. You moaned loudly clenching around nothing and your clit throbbing. You fell to the floor as the knot started to build up again and you came another time. You were screaming in pleasure yet agony. You NEEDED to be fucked knowing that it was the only way to fix this. You thought for a moment as another orgasm ran through you and realized your ex lived near by. Pro-hero katsuki Bakugo. You didn’t want to fuck a stranger and you knew that even though he was your ex, because he was a hero would most likely help you. You continued to crawl screaming as orgasm after orgasm rushed through you with the slightest friction of your jeans enhancing them. You managed to make it to his doorstep throwing yourself into his porch and banging on his door collapsing. “F-FUCK KATSUKI!!” You screamed “KATSUKI HELP” he ran to the door recognizing your voices and swinging the door open to see you doubled over in pain sweating and teambling moaning loudly as you came again. “QU-QUIRK VILLAIN NGK- NEED YOU TO AHH FUCK ME” he scoops you up realizing it was the villain all over the news that did this to you. You clenched onto his shirt burying your face in his chest cumming again. He took you to your past shared bedroom. “I’m gonna help okay?” Bakugo hasn’t seen you in months with honest hope you would come back but never expected it to be under these circumstances. He leaned over you undoing your shirt already hard as hell at the moans you were letting out. He started kissing your neck and ripped your pants off seeing a pool of your juices and cum pouring out and down your legs. You came again as he pulled his his dick out. He started to finger you to prep you. “AHHH JUST FUCK ME PLEASE” he immediately slammed into you and you tossed your head back. You screamed immediately cumming in his cock but it wasn’t enough. He thrusted fast into you. And leaned down sucking on your nipples and using one hand to rub your slit. You couldn’t even speak you were moaning so loud clenching on his dick. “F-fuck you’re so tight” you missed bakugos cock and how he made you feel. You missed him and the way he would touch you. The way that he was the only man that could successfully make you cum. You didn’t just miss the sec though, you missed everything about him. The late night cuddle movie sessions. His cooking. The way he would hold you after you had a nightmare. The only reason you broke up is because he started getting too caught up in his hero work. And you couldn’t handle all the injuries he would come home with. You had a constant fear that he one day he wouldn’t come home and it took a Major toll on your mental health but right now all you wanted was him. Orgasm after orgasm rushed through you. “FUCK DADDY CUM INSIDE ME PLEASE” “what if ngk- what if I get you” he’s breathing so heavy reaching the brink of his orgasm. “Pregnant” “I DONT CARE KATS I WANTED ANKID WITH YOU ANYWAY” he stopped his movements and you screamed needing him to keep moving “I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cut that youll definitely get pregnant.”

He started thrusting again rubbing your clit fast and he came inside of you. You then squirted in him and he leaned down resting his forehead on yours slowly pulling out and you breathing heavy as the orgasms came To a stop. You looked up at him and kissed him. “Thank you” You fell asleep under him sore as hell and exhausted as fuck. You had tears streaming down your face and he wiped them away he picked you up and carried your sleeping body to the bathroom and started to clean you up. The hot water woke you back up and you groaned. “I missed you y/n, I missed you so much” he had a single tear run down his face. You lifted up your weak shaky arm and wiped the tears away. “Me too” You said groggily fading in and out of sleep with a smile on your face. He finished cleaning you up with a smile on his face and dried you off putting one of his hoodies over you and his sweatpants having to pull and tie the drawstring so they didn’t fall off. He Carried you to his bed and layed down next to you after taking a moment to clean himself off. It was dark out now and he pulled you close slowly drifting off to sleep with you in his arms.

Should I do a part 2 of them getting back together?

[armin-stan]

Being A Pro Too Young

Katsuki Bakugo Fanfic

wooooo class of 2013 brain rot!!!!

warnings: mommy issues, sort of manga spoilers, bakugo showing his emotions for once

"Thank you so much, Dynamite!" Tears practically soaked the poor woman's face as she smiled up at the spiky-haired blonde. He forcibly smiled and nodded to her, "Just doing my job."

He watched as she made her way to the paramedics before letting his shoulders slouch and a sigh out. This had to be what? The tenth villain attack he'd stopped today alone. Katsuki was tired; his arms were aching and twitching in pain. His chest was tight. All he wanted was to go home and enjoy some spicy curry.

He left the scene after dealing with the paparazzi and eventually was back home. The moment he entered the door, he simply threw himself on the couch and scrolled through his phone. An Instagram post of Deku's popped up; it was a photo of him and his mom. He smiled; Inko was always too kind to both of them. She was a wonderful mom. If only Mitsuki was that kind.

Katsuki was so drained and just wanted to have the comfort of a home-cooked meal from his mother, even if she did chew him out if he came into the kitchen. Even if she never showed him the usual loving care of a mother. She never was the gentle, loving mother with him; she even practically threw him in the tub as a toddler during bath time. She never congratulated him on good grades; the only time she seemed to show affection was during the fight with Shigaraki. He was considered dead for a few minutes. Death was the moment his mother was the regular kind of caring.

However, Mitsuki's form of affection was exactly what he wanted right now. No, it was exactly what he needed. When his crimson eyes settled back on the phone, he noticed his thumb now hovered over a familiar contact. He hesitated before pressing the call button. It rang a few times before a familiar voice answered.

"What is it, Katsuki? You never call." He didn't even realize how scared he was until now, but his voice cracked as he spoke, "Can I come over for dinner?" The way the words quivered from his lips softened Mitsuki's words, "You're lucky I realized I made too much curry tonight. Come and eat all the extras." He contained a smile and got back in his car.

That might've been the fastest he'd ever made his way back home. Right now, all he wanted was his mom's freshly cooked food and a few aggressive forms of love.

When he made it there, the spiciness caused his eyes to burn in the best way possible, "Katsuki, how's work been?" The familiar gentle voice of his father. He used to think his dad was such a pushover, but now he admires how kind Masaru can be all the time. He was always so patient with Katsuki. How he managed to, is far beyond what Katsuki can comprehend.

As Katsuki sat down with a large bowl of curry in front of him, his eyes began to water. It was just from the spice. Then with the first bite, tears began to pour from his crimson eyes. It was just from the spice, right? As each bite went by, he began to softly sob. This wasn't from the spice.

"Are you ok?" Masaru's eyes met Katsuki's tear-filled ones with immense concern, "Yeah... Just the spice..." He sobbed as he took in another bite.

"Katsuki, we all know you're not crying because of the spice. Don't lie." Mitsuki glared at her son as he put the spoon down and began to wipe some of his tears away. It was a fruitless task as he began to sob even harder.

"Mom, please, can I stay here tonight?" His words were broken like an overused vehicle and they pained Mitsuki's heart.

"Fine, but don't think you can move back in." A teasing smile appeared on her lips. She didn't even say it but everyone knew...

He could stay as long as he needed.

#katsuki bakugō #pro hero bakugou #mha bakugou #mha spoilers #mha #bnha #bnha angst #angst is my favorite #katsuki bakugo angst #katsuki bakugo has mommy issues #mitski #class of 2013 #fanfic #my hero academia

[brick-a-doodle-do]

Special Valentine

Happy Valentine's Day brick!

Here's the story that goes with that picture I drew for you!

Word Count: 1.3k

The day typically would have been seen the same as any other, but on this particular slow morning a certain disguised hero was already having the time of his life. Like usual, he'd woken up way before his roommate had and was already in the kitchen tending to their breakfast and a secret snack he was making specifically for this day. He laughed to himself as he took and spun a few times while mixing the dough up, humming in delight at the particularly powerful strawberry smell. His ears stayed poised to listen for his roommate unlocking the door, hoping the smell of food would lure him out somehow. With that thought in mind, he sped up, moving quickly as he pieced together the treats out of that dough and got them on pans, then in the oven.

He dusted his hands off before sneaking over to the hallway the other's bedroom was in, standing out of sight around the corner as he heard movement from inside. He grinned and pressed his back up against the wall in an attempt to remain fully hidden, keeping his squirming tail behind him so it wouldn't give him away. The ambush was complete when the door clicked, pure silence followed as his roommate listened to the silence suspiciously, then the smallest sigh and movement. He found it strange that he could never hear them walking, but the slight shift of the scales on that long tail was enough to give it away.

The instant his roommate stepped to the corner, the cat leapt out at him with a playful roar and latched onto the much taller man. Like always, he was immediately growled at as the dragon, Irzayn, glared at him and started trying to pry him off. "Will you stop doing that?! Get OFF!" He was trying and failing to pull the smaller man off and it was only agitating him even further.

Varazae laughed merrily and eventually shoved himself away from Irzayn, narrowly missing the irritated swipe of sharp claws. The dragon never really hurt him even when it did connect, but he didn't feel like having another shirt torn. "But why not? You're not even awake when you come out of there! You are now!" His tail wiggled slightly from entertainment and he hurriedly spun around to dash back towards the kitchen after receiving a murderous look. "You can't kill me! I'm the cook!"

Irzayn narrowed his eyes but gave in with a grumble, lazily heading to the couch and sitting down, turning on the TV. It was immediately showing news of a recent bloodbath that ended with the hero's loss, and the escape of Voidshire. They both watched the TV, but with different thoughts. Varazae felt rather…depressed over that fight. He had also taken part in it but for some reason kept being the only one left unharmed against that villain. Irzayn, however, felt extremely annoyed that they were blaming the bombs on him and that he hadn't gotten that artifact without getting hurt. He was still sore from it, one reason he never liked being jumped on.

The two did their normal activities, Irzayn watching the news while Varazae fussed in the kitchen. He wanted this to be a masterpiece, and judging from the lovely smell floating from the oven and how the dragon kept glancing over impatiently, he figured he'd gotten it down pretty good. With a flourish, he got the treats out of the oven and set on the stove to cool down some. The especially strawberry flavored cookies sizzled further on the hot pan as they finished and the cat smirked, wondering if he should mess with them. He doubted Irzayn knew what day it was.

He gave a nod after a little more before he playfully called out, "I'm all done!" He had to hold back a snicker when he heard the other get up so quickly. Irzayn always did like strawberries, so he guessed this much was natural. Even so, he waited for the tall dragon to enter his kitchen before grinning up at him. That blank, tired, annoyed, and unbothered gaze was all he got in return, like usual. He hummed in thought as those strikingly unique golden eyes drifted towards the pan of cookies. "...do you know what day it is?"

Successfully, that yanked those amazing eyes right back to him. "...why? It's just Tuesday—" He was cut off when the tiny cat stood on his toes and his hand shot out, hooking Irzayn's neck to yank him down lower so their faces were closer. His eyes went wide and he yelped, "Vara—"

A finger touched his lips and the cat looked serious for a few moments, before the gaze softened and he gave a sweet smile. "It's Valentine's Day. I made you cookies, don't you have something for me?" He really didn't think the dragon would, but he wanted to mess with him some. He was met with a long stare before it turned more annoyed than anything. What he didn't expect was for the dragon to nod and reach into his pocket. "What…?" Vara's eyes widened when he caught sight of a little charm, one that you'd hang on your bag. It was a little kitten playing with a croissant and…to be honest Vara had no clue where he could have found something so weird.

But once it registered he gasped and dove for it, reluctantly pulling his finger away from Irzayn's surprisingly soft lips as he tried to get the charm. But Irzayn held it out of reach above his head as he stood back up, frowning for a long few moments before allowing a smirk. Varazae proceeded to growl, his tail flicking in agitation. "What? You expect me to give it to you after what you did? You haven't even paid me yet—"

Vara promptly shoved a cookie in Irzayn's mouth, watching the dragon double over and cough, having nearly choked on it. The cat snatched the charm from his suffering roommate and stuck out his tongue at Irzayn. "Thanks Irza! Hope you liked you're cookie~!"

Irza proceeded to give him a glare, still clutching the counter and trying to breathe, but pushing himself back up and finishing the cookie properly. Even he couldn't hide how his long scales tail wiggled happily. "Shoving it down my throat is not a nice way to trade."

Vara shrugged and grabbed a cookie before bolting so he could avoid being grabbed. "You're the one who started messing with me!" He always found it hilarious how angry Irzayn's face could be when his tail gave away what he was actually feeling. The motions were so similar to a cat's that he had no trouble learning the body language either. Now in the living room and out of reach, he spun on his heel and smiled brightly at his counterpart. "Thank you Irza! I mean it! Happy Valentine's Day!"

Irzayn watched him retreat and rolled his eyes, but when Vara spoke again, he couldn't help but stare at the joy on his friend's face, his heart feeling like it skipped a beat. A hand flinched towards his chest as his eyes went wide again, but he turned his head away. In a much quieter voice, he muttered, "...yeah. Happy Valentine's Day…" He didn't know what that feeling in his chest was, or why he felt it with both Quickvine and Varazae, but he'd never admit to it. Just like he'd never say how delicious these cookies were, and how much a precious friend he thought Vara was. Yep. Just another typical morning for the hero and villain pair.

—

END

Hope everyone has a lovely Valentine's!

(brick here)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH EFSDJFSAFKDEWKSFDEWKSAFEWSAFC I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS TO BE IN MY ASKBOX ????? WHAAA 3D THIS IS AWESOME AND FUCKING ADORABLE !!!!! VARA JUST SHOVING THE COOKIE DOWN HIS THROAT AND ATTACKING HIM IS SO CHAOTIC I LOVE IT :DDD THANK U SMSMMFSNDFJDS FEWSD

#brickmission #nmw #brick talks vaza #AAFS ESDIGFEWDSKEWKDS THANK U SO MUCH THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING AND SO ADORABLE I AM OBSESSED WITH VAZA SMMSNGFJSD

[stillness-in-green]

Chapter Thoughts: 376 — On Knife’s Edge

Back from a pretty intense string of work days and not-long-enough vacation, and getting back into the meta! I don't have a tremendous amount to say about this very transitional chapter, but have a small collection of observations anyway:

O  Other than just for the visual, I wonder why Toga partially detransforms when she notices Ochaco and Tsuyu’s arrival?  I suppose if she isn’t transformed, she can stop her timer on it, giving her more time transformed later, but it seems like the camouflage would be more valuable any way you cut it.    

O  Loling at Kinoko complaining about having her spores counteracted by Dabi’s fire again, just like at the Villa against Machia.    

O  Haha, wow, that translation about getting the defeated villains away from the scene lest they get burned up is way different from the leaker’s translation that they had to be gotten away lest they be set free (presumably by the Twice Legion).

It’s certainly true, though, that Dabi does not have a history of being extraordinarily careful about where his fire goes.  Indeed, one of the big differences between Todoroki combatants and, say, Geten is that Geten has very fine control over his element but can’t produce it out of thin air, whereas the Todorokis can freely create their element but have minimal control over it after they’ve manifested it.  They can’t extinguish their own flames (nor Shouto vaporize his ice), which is perhaps a decent parallel for the way their family problems likewise tend to require a measure of outside intervention.    

O  Jirou’s line about the Demon Lord feels a bit off to me, like she’s buying into AFO’s narrative in ways that I don’t know if feel terribly in character for her.  Tokoyami I can absolutely see calling AFO by that moniker, but Jirou?  Some of that could be chalked up to C. Cook’s oft-erratic attempts to localize idioms or different levels of formality, but this one’s straight out of the Japanese.    

O  It's telling, I think, that for all the time and page count spent implying that heroes are never going to win this without finding a different approach, and the same amount of focus on Class 1-A being the path to a brighter future full of better heroes, here we see that for at least some of the students, they are still very much mired in a fight or flight binary.

To wit, Tokoyami says that there's nothing they can do here, so they must flee. One or the other, not even a thought to finding another solution. Talking to the villains is not even tabled, despite that being exactly what Ochaco charged after Toga yelling about wanting to do.

Now, of course, the heroes have repeatedly squandered a lot of their less high-stakes chances in this regard, so the villains are very much not in a place that they're at all easy to talk to (though AFO leaving the field would sure help), but that's kind of the whole point. Heroes reject all opportunities to talk to villains in favor of just stopping them, no questions asked about why they're acting the way they are, and so the villains just come back more violent, more extremist, and less open to communication each time. That is the cycle that cannot be broken until, as Nedzu said, someone takes the difficult and frightening first step of changing it.

Shouto's made some attempts and at least got Dabi talking; Mirio made a single quip about Shigaraki lacking friends and made ShigAFO go totally haywire; Deku is looking for signs of an opening to make dialogue. For all that I think they were trite, even victim-blamey nonsense, the effects of Shouji's words are clear: he brought a riot to a standstill.

To say the least, I'll be watching closely what Ochaco does next. Unlike Tokoyami,* she has not at all raised the possibility of fleeing, and, while the narrative jumping around and Toga's own difficulty in being pinned down keep cutting her off, she has made a few attempts at engaging Toga verbally. Here's hoping she gets the time to finally go all-in.    

O  Touya promising to destroy as much as he can of what Endeavor is trying to protect is a curious line in the current context.  Who or what is there, here, that Endeavor is protecting that Dabi hasn’t already destroyed, and that would be compelling and relevant?  There’re all the kids, of course, but much more prominent in the Todoroki story in general is Hawks.

There’s no shortage of people suggesting that a second confrontation between Dabi and Hawks would give Endeavor a chance to intervene in some fashion, and I quite like the idea of Endeavor having to save his eldest from Hawks’ ruthless pragmatism.  Conversely, saving Hawks from Dabi would send all the wrong messages!  On the other hand, Hawks really does need to—as AFO points out—face the consequences of his murder of Twice, and while Dabi has some precedent for involvement in that plot, Endeavor decidedly does not, and I’d kind of hate to see Toga’s plot, and Ochaco’s along with it, get sucked into the Todoroki Family Drama.

Something to keep an eye on!    

O  AFO’s comment about Kurogiri is potentially very interesting, but a little thin at the moment to bank much on.  Did he expect Kurogiri to come to him, so Kurogiri not having done so is sub-optimal?  But Kurogiri’s whole purpose was to look after Shigaraki Tomura, so unless he gave Kurogiri instructions otherwise, of course Kurogiri would go to Shigaraki!  But then x2, if he gave Kurogiri explicit instructions to come to him and Kurogiri didn’t follow them, wouldn’t he remark on that in somewhat stronger terms than just vague musings about what Kurogiri probably did?

My hope is that Kurogiri’s reactivation is in some fashion not quite as AFO expected thanks to Spinner using The Hand and his own naked plea instead of a voice recording, and that this small change will balloon outward in ways that complicate AFO’s plans.  I don’t think we can quite say that for sure based just on his very tiny proviso, but it wouldn’t be out of keeping for AFO to downplay anything that goes in the slightest wrong, so I definitely don’t think we can rule it out yet, either!  Fingers crossed.    

O  It was and continues to be hilarious that Hawks can still delay AFO when they both know good and well he’s on borrowed time by asking him more needling questions about his plans.  I would ask AFO if he’s capable of pressing pause on the stereotypical Evil Overlord behavior for one single minute, but I know he isn’t, nor would he want to be.    

O  Hmm.  Back in Chapter 354, Hawks thinks very explicitly that Endeavor as he is now (or at least as he was in Chapter 354) could not fight and beat Dabi.  Yet here, Hawks begs him to “put a stop to Touya.”  Now, I don’t for a moment think that Hawks has really stopped thinking of Dabi as Dabi; I’m altogether sure he just used the name Touya for Endeavor’s sake.  But does he think Endeavor can do this now?  Has something in Endeavor’s various proclamations over the course of the fight changed his mind?  Or does he still not really believe Endeavor can win, and that’s the reason he lays out the stakes at such length, and then openly begs him—please, put a stop to Touya?

Of course, one also can’t discount the possibility that he is also wagering Endeavor is less likely to die against Dabi than he is in a continued battle with AFO.  Be it personal affection or the stark calculus of keeping the Number One alive for future battles now that the current plan has failed, we certainly can’t take Hawks jerking AFO’s chain about how Endeavor’s already beaten him and doesn’t need to do so again at face value.

(Mind you, Hawks successfully jerking AFO’s chain about how he lost to Endeavor is very funny.  Truly, if it weren’t for the fact that engaging AFO is keeping Hawks from much more interesting confrontations, I’d say they deserve each other. As it is, I would like AFO to kick that bird out of the sky now, please and thank you.)    

O  Endeavor getting the tiniest bits of eye-shine in that last panel there, I see.  As indicators go for how Horikoshi wants us to read his feelings towards Touya, that’s a fairly positive one, particularly for Enji.  Judging from a quick scan through his wiki gallery and a few of his key scenes, eye-shine is quite rare for him; I could only find it for his two, “Watch me,” statements to news cameras, a little bit during the High End fight, and this chapter’s final panel.  Best of luck with those good intentions, Enji!  Because man, are you going to need it.

---

* Who is, after all, Hawks' protégé. Hawks blatantly self-sabotaged his own, single attempt to talk down a villain, and has otherwise shown less than zero inclinations to try and talk any of his opponents down. He's the man who's a bit too fast, after all, not the man who engages in lengthy and uncertain negotiations with terrorists in hopes of defusing the situations they've caused. Between the man who moves too fast and his Plus Ultra-oriented curricula, small wonder Tokoyami hasn't learned a thing about de-escalation!

#bnha #bnha 376 #flyboy the red #flyboy black #todotalk #bnha afo #uraraka ochaco #chapter thoughts #my writing