#at least so far the knife aversion isn’t back

[stillness-in-green]

MVA In Memoriam (4/5)

The Comprehensive Account of the Butchering of My Villain Academia

(Introduction and Part One, Episode 108: My Villain Academia) (Part Two, Episode 109: Revival Party) (Part Three, Episode 110: Sad Man's Parade)

Part Four, Episode 111: Origin: Shimura Tenko

Chapter 233 – Bright Future

• Twice clearly having arranged a Skeptic puppet to where its arm can be used as a pillow for Toga’s neck. A cute little character detail while also being kind of disturbing? Very on-brand for the League! A not-immediately-plot-crucial visual of a member of the League demonstrating obvious care for another member? The guillotine awaits!

• A little explanation about how clones’ physicality and memories work relative to the last time Twice saw the people the clones are based on. This is a very useful little nod of explanation to something that remained unclear from the dialogue of Mr. Clone-press last chapter. Twice’s quirk is pretty arcane in its ins and outs, frankly, and the clearer those details are, the fewer plot holes you’re leaving for later.

• The scene of Skeptic being right on the verge of confronting Twice. Skeptic has, oh, about five moments where he’s obviously a big tense neurotic who’s unpleasant to be around if things aren’t going his way, and the anime deleted or downplayed all but two of them. As ever, it’s obscenely damaging to the characterization of the MLA cast, who we have little enough time with as it is. Further, it was a particularly weird choice to make with Skeptic, who is as of this writing the only major MLA character who’ll emerge still free and active from the War Arc. Why shaft the characterization of the one of new characters who’s going to be getting the most attention out of any of them in the next arc, with yet more scenes yet to come after?[1]

• A full page’s-worth of Spinner’s rationalizations on targeting Trumpet and ordering the Twice doubles to do the same. This lays out the details on why targeting Trumpet stands to relieve some of the load on Shigaraki. It isn’t because Trumpet’s quirk makes the crowds more dangerous, though that is true. Spinner targets Trumpet because he’s seen enough to know that attacking the MLA’s leaders gets them crazy riled up; he knows that if he makes himself a threat to Trumpet, then all Trumpet’s followers’ attention will shift focus to Spinner, leaving Shigaraki with less to deal with.           Spinner also knows that that is ludicrously dangerous to him personally, given his weak quirk, but he actively makes that choice anyway, because that’s how much he’s devoted himself to Shigaraki without (yet) quite articulating the nature and reasons for that devotion. Targeting Trumpet without any of that reasoning made for a perfectly sound tactical decision, but it missed the regard Spinner shows the unnamed mobs of the MLA, and it really missed the probable savage beatdown and even possible death that Spinner consciously chooses to risk for Shigaraki’s sake.           Of course, a chunk of what the episode deleted is flashbacks to scenes the anime also cut, so they couldn’t figure into Anime!Spinner’s reasoning. This does not excuse yet more cuts to Spinner’s arc and characterization; it only adds to how badly the anime maimed him.           Also, on a less salty but still confused note, deleting all the Twice clones from the beginning of the scene and just having Spinner running along a wall past mobs of people instead of laboriously fighting his way through the street to the van was really dumb. Why did all those MLA people just stand there and let him run by? Where did all the Twice clones that just helped save Spinner from a huge flurry of long-distance attacks disappear to? Come on.

• Trumpet’s thought that using Sevens Loud will draw every bit of strength from their warriors, but that it’s necessary. Setting aside that it looks far less necessary when there hasn’t been a crowd of Twice clones fighting Trumpet’s people this whole time, just Spinner by his lonesome, we still lost quite a bit to this cut. Firstly, a nuance on the trade-off Incite gives—that its stat-boost is temporary, and that it’s borrowing from the future to pay for the present, a stock that is limited and a bill that will come due when the effect wears off.           Secondly, it’s another demonstration that the MLA leaders aren’t just thoughtlessly wasting their followers’ lives; they’re very consciously doing cost/benefit analysis on how much danger their people are in versus what stands to be gained by the potential exertion or outright deaths those people will suffer. It’s cold reasoning, yes, but that’s how the Liberation Army operates: not for the personal gain or lackadaisical ease of the people on top—Trumpet would just have been in the tower speaking through city-wide loudspeakers, if that were the case—but for the advancement of the group’s ideals.           It also just grants Trumpet some interiority, but of course the anime can’t have that.

• The note in Trumpet’s meta-ability explanation that the more his voice causes the air to vibrate, the stronger Incite’s effect. This is—good god, it is literally the entire design mentality behind Sevens Loud! Sevens Loud purpose isn't to make his voice louder so more people can hear him (which I would think is the most logical assumption an anime-only person would make as to why he puts it on); it’s to make himself louder because being louder enhances the boost. It’s about the quality of the effect, not the quantity of targets. This is why Trumpet has the thought about how using Sevens Loud will drain the strength reserves of his people. There’d be no correlation there if Sevens Loud were only about boosting his range.

• When Spinner got porcupined in the anime, they did a close-up on his face, possibly to avoid the gore of showing the spines piercing through his forearm. That’s fine, but they also emphasized the reaction by having him lose his grip on the huge fuck-off knife he had clutched in his teeth. In the manga, sure, he yells in pain, but he doesn’t lose the knife. Indeed, he gets the guy off him by slashing at him with it—a shot the anime dropped. So Spinner doesn’t even get to keep displays of his pain tolerance, a trait he doubtless improved during those six weeks against Machia. Why does the anime hate Spinner so much, you guys? Why did it go out of its way to make him look lamer, when Dabi and Toga were out there getting anime-original flourishes to make them look cooler?

• Spinner’s thoughts, “When I get inspired to act, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing! I’m just a loser jumping on a bandwagon. Or at least that’s what it looks like.” A humorous bit of self-awareness from Spinner here. The anime got at the self-awareness. The humor, as we’ll see, not so much.

• Spinner’s thoughts, “Look at me. Look at me!! With all that prejudice in your eyes!” Hah hah, laughed BNHA the anime nervously, what prejudice are you talking about, Spinner? No idea what you could possibly be referring to there! This one’s particularly annoying because, while one might think that the anime was just dodging the heteromorphobia angle it eradicated all references to back at the beginning of the arc, the prejudice line isn’t even about heteromorphobia, not really.           See, the Japanese line there literally translates to, “With those colored glasses!”—to see with colored glasses being a Japanese idiom for seeing something from a biased viewpoint. So aside from being a wordplay jab at Trumpet’s choice in eyewear, it’s also about Trumpet’s expressed view that Spinner, having been a shut-in with a weak quirk who decided to take his resentment out on the world, can’t possibly amount to anything much. So, what, did the people in charge of making those cuts think Trumpet was right? Why even keep the line where he disparages Spinner if you’re not going to let Spinner call it what it is? He’s not calling out fantasy racism there, anime! He’s calling out the bias against weak quirks that even the good guys in this world sometimes partake in!           Possibly it’s because non-villains in the world[2] sometimes use reasoning that leads logically to quirk supremacism that the anime got gunshy with it, or it was more reluctance to give the villains—and the Too-Real Iguchi Shuuichi especially—moral ground for accusations against their society that get too close to real life. Whatever the motivation, it’s a bullshit cut.

• Shigaraki calling RD “Detnerat,” presumably because he neither knows RD’s real name nor cares to dignify him by using his code name. The anime, again, made neither the connection nor Shigaraki’s recognition explicit, so it lost the specificity and pettiness of that little snub.

• A little exchange between Giran and a Twice clone as they flee. It doesn’t give you much you wouldn’t assume just from seeing them flee, but it always feels more immediate and empathetic when the characters talk and you can see their expressions, instead of just a quick shot of them from behind as they run away in complete silence. Heck, running away in complete silence is actively out of character for Twice!

• Because the anime has some kind of aversion/restriction on showing hand-related violence, it radically changed how Shigaraki lost his fingers,[3] resulting in the loss of several important shots. To the best of my parsing, in the manga, when Re-Destro makes that first big jump to avoid Shigaraki’s decay wave, he comes back down specifically aiming for Shigaraki’s outstretched left hand, spread wide and flat on the ground. Shigaraki tries to evade (you can see the blur of his left arm in the panel where RD lands), but either RD does manage to clip the hand or he simply hits the ground with so much force that the sheer explosive burst of rock shreds Shigaraki’s hand and part of his coat sleeve. Being so much larger, RD then simply snags Shigaraki by the wrist before he can get out of range. It’s very fast, a burst of speed and violence, and very different (read: cooler) from Shigaraki flipping end over end in slow motion in a way that seemed to imply visually that he was thrown well out of RD’s grabbing range.           As to the shots we lost? I counted three. First, Hana’s hand crumpling amidst all the flying debris. Second, that big dramatic panel of Shigaraki’s maimed hand ribboning blood into the air as the narration box finally drops Re-Destro’s identity and code name. Third, the shot of him catching Shigaraki, almost delicately, between one thumb and forefinger and delivering the, “Was it this hand that committed such evil acts?” line—a clear threat to what of that hand Shigaraki has remaining—as we find out what his meta-ability is.           This is all hugely dramatic in the manga, because, of course, readers always assumed Shigaraki needed all five fingers to activate his quirk, and here Re-Destro nigh-effortlessly robs him of fully half his capacity to use it. It’s a shocking turn-around and instantly ups RD’s threat level by allowing him to permanently maim Shigaraki in a way that no one, hero or villain, has done before or since. Robbing Re-Destro of the immediacy of that seemingly devastating blow—inflicted within moments of meeting the real Shigaraki—did immeasurable damage to his credibility as an arc boss.           The shot in the manga is also just arresting visually, with RD finally getting to properly loom over Shigaraki. Most of the shots up to this point have been framed such that, while RD is obviously bigger, he and Shigaraki have still been moving and fighting in a pretty level way. This is the first place where the viewer is situated so squarely behind Shigaraki that they can really feel how massive RD is in comparison. It’s certainly a more impressive visual than this mess—thanks, anime; thanks, whatever broadcasting standards forced overworked and uninspired animators to undertake a redraw of RD’s quirk reveal panel when every other member of the MLA brass had theirs carried over directly from the manga.

• A chapter-ending cliffhanger of Slidin’ Go helping direct traffic on the outskirts of Deika and the warning rumble as Gigantomachia approaches. Aside from being a nice little tension boost—Will Gigantomachia roll up just in time to see Re-Destro making a mess of Shigaraki? Who will he target? Will Shigaraki ever be able to win him over if he sees a scene like that?—it’s good foreshadowing for what the news reports will eventually be saying. Remember, the claim is that a bunch of villains lured Deika’s heroes away and then attacked the city while it was defenseless; that’s why we never see any of the MLA’s heroes involved with the fight once it starts. And now, here, we find out where they’ve been the whole time: making sure no outsiders get in who might be able to undermine that narrative.

Framing Shifts

• Once again had an MLA member using their Detnerat item say its name out loud, when it’s clear in the manga that they’re just thinking the names internally. Once again, it was kind of silly.

• When Spinner flashes back to watching Stain on TV and being inspired, the manga uses a shot of Stain’s face, snarling and defiant. The anime used—a shot of Stain from behind, only visible from the shoulders to the knees, hunched so that his lower back and ass were towards the camera. Bones… What exactly were you implying lit Spinner’s fire there? Or did you just not have the time or budget to go pull Stain’s reference sheets for drawing his face?

• A tone issue, but a major one: Spinner should be grinning, face alight with accusatory challenge, as he hurls his accusations of the MLA/Trumpet being the same bandwagon-jumping nobodies that he is. This is the moment in the manga where we see Spinner truly throw his hesitations and his doubts to the wind and embrace Shigaraki’s nihilistic fervor and the beauty, value and profundity of emptiness. So what if I’m empty? So what if he wants emptiness? Who cares about other peoples’ ideals if their ideals leave no room for me? It’s not a heroic triumph, but it’s a triumph all the same, and losing Spinner’s smile made the moment far too bitter.

• Meanwhile, in exactly the opposite problem, Shigaraki by this point is not smiling. In fact, he’s barely on his feet, swaying violently in place with accompanying sound effects. While his words are openly mocking, he seems to wholly lack the energy to back them up with his usual verve. The anime didn’t have him smiling, admittedly, but the whole time the ‘camera’ wasn’t directly on his face, his voice actor was reading the lines with an uneven, chuckling cadence that suggested Shigaraki was seconds away from breaking into howls of laughter. He was also, of course, impossibly clean, at a point at which his manga counterpart is muddy, bloody and tattered from the horrifically extended combat he’s been living for six weeks. It’s stuff like this that made it so impossible to take the Army or even Machia as much of a threat in the anime, when, other than the red cords on his hands being broken, Shigaraki looked absolutely no different than usual.

Additions

• Gave Spinner a tiny bit of new animation when he got mobbed by people hopped up on Incite. It was nice, but if they were going to give him a flourish, I’d rather it have come when he swipes Porcupine Dude off him with a combat knife. Or, you know, just kept the bit of him telling the Twices to attack and his reasoning on why.

• Cut inside briefly to show a ballerina girl dancing through a darkened apartment right before she sliced a neat circle out of the wall. I love it, A+, exactly the kind of expansion on the action of the manga I wanted to see. My only complaint is that her manga self looked more like Pearl from Steven Universe.[4] XD

• A quick new shot of RD when Shigaraki was hounding him about his feelings. His teeth were visibly gritted, the corners of his mouth pulled down. It stands out because there’s only one shot of RD there in the manga, and in it, he’s smiling, close-mouthed and calm. The anime copied said shot, smile and all, then cut away, and when it cut back, Re-Destro had a totally different expression on his face. Baffling. Anime!RD having a dour scowl everywhere manga!RD is smiling in a tight, controlled way was all over the fight scene, and it detracted from the sense of RD’s menace every time.

Chapter 234 – Destruction Sense

• The illustration(s) accompanying Re-Destro’s, “Let’s not judge people by their quirks,” line. The pictures are cute, but the real loss there was the note informing us that they’re excerpts from a children’s book published by Shoowaysha—Curious’s outfit—called Quirks and Us. That’s a very concrete illustration of the kinds of things the MLA is getting up to in the world, and an equally concrete thing an anime-only viewer lost. Of course, that viewer never even found out Curious was in publishing, so it wouldn’t have meant anything on that front, but there is one other thing I think is notable: the way that book implies that the only people explicitly pushing a “don’t judge other people by their quirks” message are the radical Liberationists.           See, the rest of the story touches on the virtues of a nonjudgmental attitude here and there, but actually finding people willing to say it out loud is—unprecedented, I think. Deku comes across situations where he could say something like that multiple times and he never, ever does—not to Shouto, nor to Shinsou, nor to Eri, nor to the giant fox lady. And that’s not even touching on Shouji’s mask, or the discrimination Spinner faced, or the CRC “losing support” without being declared illegal. I think the manga itself is against judging people by their quirks, but it’s interesting that it doesn’t make its characters into mouthpieces to say as much. This is because its characters are thoroughly enmeshed in a society that very much does judge people by their quirks, regardless of whether or not it will say that doing so is bad or rude or prejudiced.           Re-Destro and the MLA aren’t immune, of course—Re-Destro himself says that quirks are linked to personality—but they adhere to a different set of values than the larger society does. While Hero Society talks about quirks in terms of being heroic and/or useful versus villainous and/or useless, the MLA spectrums instead emphasize how capable a person’s quirk is of helping them exert their will and how ambitious the quirk’s bearer is in that exertion. That is, their ethics are less about morality and utility-to-society than they are about aspiration and utility-to-self.[5] Both worldviews have their pros and cons, but that, I think, is what the children’s book is getting at when it says not to “judge”—don’t assign an arbitrary moral value to a quirk; judge a person by their actions.           And isn’t it interesting, that the only explicit verbal statement of that value comes from the leader of a radical cult descended from a famous insurrectionist quoting a children’s book published by a member of selfsame radical cult? The value is not ever stated by a member of the heroic cast, so are we to assume that the heroes don't actually believe it? Do people profess to believe it but everyone knows it’s only for courtesy’s sake, with only the MLA willing to breach that wall of “things we don’t talk about in polite society” to actually talk about it in anything other than platitudes? Obviously, you lose this entire line of discussion when the "don't judge people by their quirks" value is just never mentioned at all.

• The phrase, “In that case,” from RD’s, “You will never measure up to me.” It establishes continuity to what RD was saying before. He’s not taking breaks from talking while Shigaraki has flashbacks; the two are happening concurrently.

• RD’s, “Cracking apart…?” reaction to his Decayed fingertip, and the dripping blood from the injury. I’m not hugely fussed about the former, but I like the latter as indicative of what Re-Destro’s Stress powers actually do. That is to say, he isn’t covering himself in a thick shell of Stress power or something; his Stress powers make him physically larger, infusing his body and swelling his size. That’s why he bleeds when Shigaraki touches his fingertip.           Admittedly, the size distinction was more obvious in the anime, where the audience watched RD’s shoulders inflate like balloons last episode, compared to the manga, where you don’t get in-between animation. Still, given that RD still has that wound even when he goes back down to normal size, and is still wearing bandages for his speech a week later,[6] it’d be nice to mark the severity of the wound with a bit of blood. Oddly, the anime did keep the wound for the crater scene, visible red slices opened in the flesh along the length of his finger, very obviously the sort of injury that would have bled upon being first sustained. Maybe RD ran afoul of whatever the studio mandate is on when Decay has a dust effect and when it leaves gore? (More of that later.)

• Shigaraki’s, “Mother!” for the first panel we see of her. It’s obvious enough who she probably is, but odd that we got a whole bunch of narration for Hana, and likewise an acknowledgment of his grandparents, but not even a single word for Nao.

• Very significantly drops the grandfather’s, “Eating yummy things helps make the sadness go away.” Grandpa’s not just randomly handing Tenko his favorite snack in that memory—he’s trying to treat some kind of grief or wrong without actually addressing the wrong, opting to just put a flavorful band-aid on it. That could be fine if it were something outside Grandpa’s control, but we’ve already gotten some early hints from Hana’s phrasing that things are not okay in the household, and thus the grandfather’s attempt to bribe Tenko with sweets is just as ominous a sign of what’s to come as the grandmother’s attempt to guilt him into not crying lest he make her cry too.

• A little shot of Shigaraki stirring in the rubble when RD answers the phone. It’s a nice demonstration of their size difference, especially comparing both of them to Machia, who we just saw tearing through buildings like the kaiju his theme music declares him to be.

Framing Shifts

• When Shigaraki narrates that Hana always took him by the hand when he got weepy, she actually does take his hand in the manga, her fingers wrapped around his, his clasped over hers. It emphasizes that this is what he can’t do anymore, simply hold hands with people, the innocence lost aspect, and it suggests the closeness he once had with his sister.           In the anime, she reached out a hand but wound up taking him by the wrist instead, his hand splayed open beneath hers. This suggested, albeit very implicitly, that maybe that innocence was something he never had from the beginning; it also suggested less reciprocity in his relationship with Hana. Even though Tomura said in narration that their hands were joined, what we saw was that Hana just pulled him where she wanted him and he didn’t fight her on it, not that he held her hand in return.           Alternatively, the anime could have been drawing a parallel to how her hand would eventually be gripping his wrist in a much different context (a more necrotic one, for starters) later in life, though if that's what they were going for, they could have stood to tweak the dialogue so it actually matched the onscreen action. (Credit to @robotlesbianjavert and @aysall respectively for these two theories!)

• Shigaraki still having his fingers when Re-Destro squeezed his hand made RD look like a real moron. I assume the intention was that he assumed he’d done enough damage—broken bones, torn ligaments, etc—to prevent Shigaraki from being able to move his hand in more than spastic twitches, but like, if all it takes is a hard enough spasmodic clench to dust you, you are playing much riskier games than the MLA is generally portrayed as favoring. (Not that the anime kept many of the scenes that demonstrated all the planning and prep that the MLA did as groundwork for their attack, as I have complained about at length.)           In the same sequence, Anime!RD turned and bodily hurled Shigaraki away from him, while Manga!RD threw him a similar distance with nothing more than a flick of a finger. Anime, why you gotta make Re-Destro look so lame all the time?

Additions

• Just one episode prior, the anime managed to turn in an entirely reasonable assemblage of swiping and dodging between Shigaraki and Re-Destro while RD was rambling on about the Mother of Quirks. What the hell was the excuse for this episode’s ridiculous shot of Shigaraki literally running circles—big, broad circles—around RD multiple times in the time it took RD to finish one (1) thought? For heaven’s sake, if you don’t have the budget for flashy, just use slow motion or more flashback animation or something. I know there’s more leeway for long thoughts in manga, where the reader understands that thoughts are moving far faster than action, and that it can be hard to bridge that gap for anime, where motion is motion but voice acting still has to rattle its way to the end of a sentence. I understand that measures have to be taken to account for that. Still, I promise, something that just looks a bit padded is much preferable to something that looks outright dumb.

• I admit to having found huge Stress monster RD pulling out a teeeeeny-tiny cellphone very funny—even more so the distinct cracking sound it made when Skeptic reported in bad news and RD’s fingers tightened infinitesimally—but the manga suggests fairly strongly that RD’s just answering on some kind of earpiece or micro-receiver, the same kind of thing Ujiko hands out and that Skeptic is associated with on multiple occasions. It’d be nice if RD could have kept more of the jokes he actually makes, the ones that stem from his native good humor, rather than the anime making up new ones based entirely in the contrast of Re-Destro and the viewer’s expectations of Re-Destro.

Chapter 235 – Shimura Tenko: Origin

• The man at the door, whom Nao is apologizing to at the beginning of the Tenko flashback and the apparent reason Tenko got busted for playing hero. I don’t love the way deleting this obscured that Tenko, in some fashion, troubled someone to lead to Kotarou dragging him down the hall (the anime also dropped Kotarou’s subsequent line, “Causing trouble?!” that’s supposed to supplement his, “Playing hero again?”), but it’s not like the manga doesn’t imply that the same thing would happen for any hero-based rules infraction, regardless of whether it troubled strangers or not. No, the much, much funnier thing to me is how it just fuckin’ torpedoed the most obvious thing people point to when they posit that All For One gave Tenko Decay, kicking off the entire tragedy: the man at the door with the conspicuously shadowed face and the even more conspicuously AFO-like suit and dress shirt with the top button unfastened.           Listen, I hate that theory and what it would do to the narrative of Shigaraki Tomura/Shimura Tenko as Hero Society’s long-overdue reckoning, the villain they can’t put down and the victim they can’t silence, so watching the anime summarily cut out the scene that really kicked the theory into overdrive was very validating! Conversely, I still can't deny that it's a plausible theory, so if it does turn out to be true, that means the anime shot itself in the foot on the most obvious bit of foreshadowing this side of AFO addressing Tenko by name when he finds him in the alley. The schadenfreude of that would also be very funny. Really, unlike every other cut this season, I regard this one as win-win for my personal experience with the anime.           Incidentally, I was very prepared to complain about the anime dropping all the changes of clothes the Shimura family goes through over the course of the flashback—I regard the timelapse as one of the major points against the AFO Gave Tenko Decay theory, since it’s never taken a quirk bestowed by AFO multiple days, maybe even multiple weeks, to kick in before—but it turns out I’m a lot less bothered about them not taking the time to change the side characters’ clothes when the anime also deletes the dude at the door who is the only reason I care about clarity re: how much time the flashback covers! But just for the record, while they had more outfits than I was expecting them to, the family did go through fewer changes of clothes in the anime than in the manga.

• The full echo of the line about kids being sneaky and simple in favor of Narrator!Shigaraki just letting out this exhausted, rueful, “Ahhh, kids are…” I actually rather like it. It’s a clear reference back to the earlier line without having to restate the whole thing, and Uchiyama Kouki’s delivery is really excellent.

• Kotaro’s first slap of Tenko, the only one directly portrayed on-panel, and Mon-chan’s barking in response. On the one hand, I think there’s an argument to be made for the scene flowing a bit better like this—why wouldn’t Grandpa try to stop him from going for that second slap; why wouldn’t Nao pass Hana off to Grandma and do something instead of just standing there yelling for the entire scene? It makes a bit more sense if they’re hesitant to intervene because Kotarou has “only” grabbed at Tenko’s collar and they don’t yet know how that it’s going to escalate to naked physical violence in a way that it never has before.           On the other hand, that first slap is so visceral and shocking. Nowhere else in the manga is domestic violence portrayed more sharply and directly, in greater detail or more cruelly generous panel space than in this moment. It’s in the difference in size between Kotarou and Tenko, the force behind the hit that’s enough to knock Tenko clear off his feet, the pages upon pages of gut-churning lead-up to this moment and what we know will be following soon after.           Also too, it makes the family’s failure to help Tenko much worse that no one else acts when Kotarou pulls back for a second hit. The first one, you could almost excuse because no one saw it coming; the second throws those justifications out the window and spits on them afterward. Two hits are important—not only for what they tell Tenko in the moment about his family's inaction, but because two hits speak in ways one hit doesn't to how wildly uneven the power balance is in the house, that Nao and her parents could witness something like that and not only fail to intercede, but then take who knows how long to work up the courage to confront Kotarou afterwards.           I understand very well the fear of showing this in a family TV timeslot—the violence is so much more real than any big fantasy beat-‘em-up could ever be—but it’s the kind of thing that really drives home what Tenko needed to be saved from even back then, a social issue that heroes as they currently exist were in no position to address. Far from demonstrating that heroes aren't at fault for what happened to Tenko, though, what this scene truly does is vividly illustrate the flaws in All Might's social contract, in which his power and smile seem to promise that he can save absolutely everyone, only to leave children like Tenko out in the cold with no explanation as to why. It's brutal because it has to be, and the anime shying away from depicting Kotarou's physical abuse undercut that.

Framing Shifts

• There was a bizarre, nonsensical change to the scene at the beginning of the chapter where RD is figuring out how Shigaraki survived/got back up after taking a Burden attack head-on. The manga’s explanation is that Shigaraki didn’t actually take a full force hit because he was Decaying it even as it was blowing him back. This is somewhat silly, given that even a reduced-strength Burden is still strong enough to put him through multiple buildings. It is, however, less silly than the anime’s take, in which Shigaraki touched Re-Destro rather than the corporealized Stress of Burden. How Re-Destro survived a full-fingered touch from Shigaraki’s completely uninjured right hand[7] went totally unexplained; the problem was then compounded by Re-Destro delivering manga-accurate lines about Burden not being an evadable attack despite “evasion” having nothing to do with Shigaraki’s actions.           Anime!Shigaraki didn’t dodge the Burden attack any more than Manga!Shigaraki did; unlike Manga!Shigaraki, however, Anime!Shigaraki also did nothing to reduce the impact of the attack. So not only was how Shigaraki survived the Burden attack not explained, the change to the material also opened up the plot hole of how Re-Destro survived a direct touch attack that Shigaraki in the manga never lands.

• There was also an extremely weird decision made to give Tenko dark, gray-blue eyes, obviously reminiscent of Nana’s, and suggest that they became red at the same time as his hair was changing to white. But in the manga, other than the size, there’s no difference between young Tenko’s eyes and how Shigaraki’s eyes have always been drawn—an unshaded iris with a visible pupil and a relatively thick line delineating the iris from the white of the sclera. Tenko’s eyes never matched those of anyone else in his family, least of all his dark-eyed grandmother. His hair changed color because of a trauma response,[8] but his eyes were always red.

• Relocated Shigaraki’s first, “Little kids…are sneakier than you’d expect. And simpler,” to underscore Hana showing him Nana’s picture in the study, squarely centering the line on her. And like, yes, that line does get its bitter echo later when Hana panics in the face of her father’s fury and throws the blame onto Tenko—but that line isn’t just about her; it’s also about what Tenko wanted to hear from the other adults in his life. It didn’t matter that his father didn’t approve; if he could get at least one adult to say he could be a hero, to take his side, then he could feel vindicated.           It’s a child’s sneaky, simple reasoning: if an adult’s words are absolute, you just have to get one (1) adult to agree with you. It’s asking Dad if you can do something you don’t think Mom will agree to, and then going to Mom with Dad’s permission held defensively in-hand. Laying the line over Hana obscures that it’s as much about Tenko’s craving for external validation as it is Hana’s (entirely understandable) deceitful streak.

• After half a season full of internal monologue being voiced aloud even when it made little sense to do so, the anime decided to render clearly talk-bubbled dialogue—Tenko’s chatting at Mon about how he feels like he could take on the world—as internal monologue instead. Who talks to their animals in their heads when they could be talking at them directly like pet owners the world over?

Additions

• Added a few extra stills of Kotarou rebuking Tenko and dragging him around. I don’t think they’re inaccurate to the situation, though I wonder if it really needed to be underlined two more times than the manga did. Maybe they were trying to make up in advance for deleting the first slap?

• Added a few new stills of Nana and child!Kotarou. They hurt my soul and I love them without reservation.

Chapter 236 – Shimura Tenko: Origin, Part 2

• Hana’s second apology. What needs to get across was communicated with her first apology, but I do think the second one adds some naturalism to the dialogue. It feels very normal for a child feeling extremely guilty to apologize multiple times, like the more times they say it, the more true/convincing it will become.

• A bit of Tenko’s internal monologue—thinking Hana’s name, and Mon’s, and that he can’t talk. The anime slipped some attempts at verbalizing “Mon” into the dialogue, and it was painfully obvious just from listening to him gag and choke that he was too horror-struck to get words out, in ways that would be a little harder to convey on the page. Also, he thinks again that he can’t talk just as Hana runs away, so it gets across regardless. No real complaints here.

• Some thoughts about how he’s itchy, which, given what his itch represents (or at least what he thinks it does), they probably should have kept for continuity’s sake.

• Tenko’s last, “Hana-chan!” just as he grabs for her. I can imagine it having just that little bit more desperate impact, especially given Sekine Arisa’s great delivery of the first “Hana-chan!” but his delivery of the first one was great—weeks later, I can still remember it clearly—so it’s not a snip I’m inclined to doomsay about.

• Hana’s verbalization as the Decay hits her. Given that they kept Mon-chan’s last whimper, it’s kind of inconsistent not to keep this. It’s grueling, sure, but no more so than the rest of the horror show shortly to follow.

• An echo of Nao’s defense of Kotarou’s anti-hero stance. Frankly, I think anime already over-indulges in echoing dialogue we’ve heard not ten minutes prior, so I don’t mind losing this—in the manga, the moments would have fallen in different chapters, so it makes more sense to squeeze in the little reminder, but that wasn’t necessary for the anime, in which the original moment and the callback happened barely more than five minutes apart. It was obvious what the mental image was meant to draw attention to, since Tomura was narrating about exactly what his grievance was, and the image was followed by the two equivalent moments with the grandparents. (Admittedly, it hurt that correlation a bit that Grandpa’s line about the ohagi being intended to make the sadness go away got cut, but the sentiment was pretty clear from the man’s expression of nervy, abashed guilt regardless.)

• The line of Decay that splits Nao’s eye, one of the more vividly horrific little grace notes in the chapter. It undercut the grotesquerie just the tiniest bit, but the scene’s grotesque as-is, so I can understand that slight edit for TV standards. The discrepancy between Decay-to-dust and Decay-to-gore, discussed below in Framing Shifts, was much more damaging.

• A shot of Kotarou just after he hits Tenko with the tree pruning shears in which he looks, briefly, incredibly distraught, like he’s just realized what a monster he’s become. The anime didn’t make the slightest of attempts to keep that spasm of horror, grief, and regret, and thus lost that last moment of sympathy for a man deeply traumatized by a heroic character’s actions. It’s my only complaint about Anime!Kotarou, who I was otherwise far more pleased with than I was afraid might be the case, but it’s a complaint I must register nonetheless.

• A bit of inarticulate yelling before Tenko screams, “You... Die!!” It helps get across Tenko’s rage overflowing, to have that wordless garble before he can actually wrap words around it. He was still having trouble talking, too, so it makes sense that his first vocalization would just be a long, incomprehensible screech. That said, with the music there to supplement the mood in a way the manga would lack, I don’t think the anime’s rendition of the scene suffered overmuch from its absence.

Framing Shifts

• The anime, of course, has always gone the dust route for Decay because Decay is a little too gruesome for family hour TV, and anyway, when Tomura gets as fast with Decay as he is in Deika, he really is just insta-dusting people, such that not even blood remains. But he wasn’t that fast or that thorough as a child, hence why it’s all so much gorier—and it needs to be, because it’s hard to imagine Hana freaking out like she does if all she sees is a pile of dust instead of, well, dog gobbets. (Also, if his family had gone the dust route, it would have been very hard to convince the audience that Tomura’s hands are his family hands and not fakes provided to AFO by Ujiko.)           This obviously put the anime in a difficult spot, but apparently the decision they settled on was—to not decide? Everyone we saw in the active process of decaying decayed into dust as usual, but then once they were done decaying, once that transition from person to ruin was complete, there were all these heaps of gore everywhere. It was a very strange and distracting inconsistency that hurt the scene much more than any of the nearly invisible cuts, and I hope the blu-rays will change it.

• Added Grandpa catching Grandma as she staggered at the sight of things in the yard. Since his body language in the manga (the only non-Decayed shot of him in the sequence) has him leaned more forward, like he’s still halfway through running towards the kids, I thought this was a nice little touch on why he stopped, for reasons other than just the obvious.

                                                         ---

Episode 111 was about half of a really strong episode. Most of my complaints about the Shimura Family flashback are very minor, and most of the ones that are less minor are still easy to overlook when the rest of the presentation was so strong. Unfortunately, the non-flashback half of the episode had as many problems as ever, and those aren't over yet.

Come back next time for Part Five, Episode 112: Origin: Shigaraki Tomura. Assuming my complaining about the finalized gutting of Spinner's arc doesn't get too out of hand—which it may; if so, I'll tack on one final part to wrap things up—I'll also be running down a quick overview of the Paranormal Liberation Front scenes in the Endeavor Agency arc and some various odds & ends.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Yes, I know the Skeptic Confronts Twice scene goes nowhere, but maybe, instead of deleting it, they could have patched it up by showing Skeptic turning away from the confrontation when the tower went down? You know, actually made an effort to improve on the material?

[2] Bakugou, of course, but also Inko, Kotarou, and, very prominently, even All Might. Deku circa MVA has an entire arc lying in wait for him about how much he’s internalized All Might’s paternalism re: having the strongest quirk.

[3] Indeed, as of the scene in the crater, he still hadn’t lost them at all! He had his prosthetic by the time of the speech, so I guess we’re meant to assume that Ujiko or some MLA doctor declared them past saving and amputated them. I hope I don’t need to tell you how unbelievably lame it is to have a shounen manga character sustain a permanent injury like that off-panel.

[4] It’s the pointy nose.

[5] That, at least, is the best way I’ve found to reconcile all the related-but-distinct values professed by the various members of the MLA brass, from Re-Destro’s focus on liberation and purpose, what exactly Trumpet chooses to cite when he’s talking about Spinner not “amounting” to anything much, Geten’s open extolling of quirk supremacy, and so on.

[6] In the first big double-page spread. Oddly, no bandaging is visible in the other panel that has a good shot of that hand, possibly because Horikoshi was more focused on drawing RD’s empty pant leg. The anime kept the obvious wound during the crater scene, but not the bandages during the speech.

[7] I assume, anyway, that Re-Destro only survives Shigaraki’s first touch because it’s a weaker Decay, coming as it does from only from two fingers rather than five.

[8] The fabled Marie Antoinette Syndrome. Never been scientifically documented as such (hair can whiten because of extreme stress, but not overnight) but it endures in fiction because it’s pleasingly dramatic. Trauma-based eye-color changes, not so much.

#my villain academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha meta #my writing #stillness has salt

[codename-adler]

foxes + onesies (9/9)

based off of that one post i saw and don’t remember, where people once caught Allison wandering around Fox Tower in a giraffe onesie, and i absolutely melted for her. here is the Foxes’ journey to getting a onesie each!

Kevin

every Fox has bad days

some bad days begin with a specific feeling

when Andrew feels ghost hands as he wakes up, when he feels his body too tight for his bones, or hid bones too big for his body

when Neil feels every sound like a knife to his skin, when the scars on his face feel like phantom pains, when he feels a grown man moves too fast, too close to him

when Allison feels jeans cling too much to her thighs, when her shirt brushes too much on her abdomen, when she feels the food she ate resting in her stomach

some bad days begin with a specific date

when it’s the anniversary of Tilda’s death, and Aaron cannot be in the same room as Andrew, no matter how far they’ve come

when it’s the anniversary the Boyds’ divorce, and Matt can’t leave Dan’s side for one second, no matter how strong their relationship is

when it’s the anniversary of Mary’s death, of Evermore, of Nathaniel’s last birthday, of Baltimore, and Neil can’t take a single look at himself in the mirror, no matter how many times Andrew worships his face with his mouth and his fingers

or, when it’s the anniversary of Kayleigh Day’s death, and nobody remembers, not even Wymack, and Kevin is all alone with this grief that is other, unlike any other he carries everyday, unlike anything he can compare to, and he doesn’t know how to feel anymore

Kevin vividly remembers that day, and he sees it luring around the corner as August approaches

but this time, there is no more Riko to worry about, no more mafia to be scared of, no more Ravens to antagonize him, no more Master to punish him for even attempting to grieve every year

and no more alcohol to make him forget

Kevin quit drinking the day they won championship, they day Riko was killed died

it’s been a year and a half, now, and Kevin still wants to drink the minute things get hard mentally

(it’s also been a year and a half since the Foxes started getting onesies, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, and only Allison remembers that summer where it all started)

so when Kevin enters his bad days, his bad weeks, the Foxes are used to his mood swinging back and forth between Queen of Assholery and Feral Fox

but Kevin isn’t

he isn’t used to feeling all of this, to always think, and think, and think, until everything inside his head is as loud as the outside, until it’s all too much

yet he’s still expected to go on

still supposed to function, to perform, to be a decent human being when he’s not even sure he even feels human anymore

and so when Kevin snaps, the Foxes are supposed to be used to it

they’re not

nobody is

it’s summer practice

the 9 Foxes came in early, before the two new recruits arrive

Kevin is in the middle of yelling at Neil, who is very much yelling back at him

there’s that moment very full of testosterone where each of them throw away their gloves and helmets and sticks

they’re an inch from each other’s face and then Kevin suddenly… stops

he completely stops

his face goes blank, his feet move him back, his arms go slack

he looks at Neil, and he looks, and looks, and looks…

as if he could find an answer to a question he doesn’t know he’s asking

Neil, who has never learned to watch his mouth after all the trouble it got him into, keeps tearing into Kevin

Kevin keeps backing up and Neil keeps pushing further

but apart from his backwards movement, Kevin doesn’t react

pure apathy doesn’t suit him nearly as well as it did Andrew

the other Foxes are so silent, that between two of Neil’s breaths, they can all hear him whisper

“Stop.”

but Neil doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t want to

it gets so out of control, even Wymack has to step in, on the court, when he sees Kevin so unresponsive

it gets so bad, eventually Neil, too, stops his yelling and just looks at Kevin

and he looks, and looks, and looks…

as if he could understand the question Kevin is asking an answer for with his pleading, green eyes

“Stop… Just- stop. I can’t- anymore… “

Kevin shakes his head and looks at the floor as hatred and hurt grip his guts

he takes another step back

suddenly he jerks his head back up and looks at Neil

“I hate you. God, I hate all of you.”

he looks at all his Foxes

then leaves

Kevin Day leaves the court

behind his back, he doesn’t see Matt holding back a furious yet teary-eyed Dan

he doesn’t see Renee leaving her goal to join Andrew’s side, her big racquet blocking his way

he doesn’t see Nicky putting his hand on Neil’s shoulder, squeezing in empathy

he doesn’t see Allison throwing away her racquet against the plexiglass wall with all that she’s got, fuming and hiding her tears

he doesn’t see Wymack matching over to Neil, a whole speech ready to give Neil his piece of mind

and he certainly doesn’t see Aaron collapsing to the ground, his hands holding his head and gripping his hair, his breaths shallow, his jaw clenched shut, his eyes dry yet red-rimmed

but from behind Kevin’s back, none of them see him either

they can’t see him losing his breath as he starts running away

they can’t see him clenching and unclenching his left hand

and they certainly can’t see him crying

the week that follows is undeniably tense between all the Foxes

that week also coincides with a lot of events

there’s the new Foxes’ arrival

there’s the start of classes

there’s the mandatory psych session with Betsy before Exy season starts

and there’s August 27th

Mom’s accident

Kevin remembers the day vividly, he truly does

he remembers because the week of the accident, he was supposed to start school for the first time, on September 1st

he had picked his outfit for the first day, he had new red Exy-themed shoes, he had even planned the lunch he wanted to have that day in his lunchbox (spaghetti squash casserole. yeah, weird kid.)

on August 27th, Mom didn’t come home

on August 27th, he went to the Moriyama property

on August 27th, he settled into a weirdly well-accommodated room that fit both him and Riko

on September 1st, he woke up with Riko and they prepared for their first day

on September 1st, Kevin wore his planned outfit, put on his red shoes

on September 1st, Kevin did not have spaghetti squash casserole

she left him nothing but an aversion for squash, red shoes, and Exy

which brings us as to why, on August 27th, as all the team is mandated to talk an hour with Betsy Dobson, Kevin Day volunteers to go first (with Aaron volunteering to go second and be the designated driver for the pair)

none of the Foxes have really talked to Kevin since the previous week’s outburst

Kevin has no other outlet for this painful day

it’s either talk to Betsy, or ruin 496 days of sobriety with one vodka bottle

the only words exchanged between Kevin and Aaron, on the drive to Reddin Medical Center, are, surprisingly, from Kevin

“Somebody should get you a new goddamn car.”

he doesn’t elaborate further than that, but Aaron looks at him strangely

his car really is garbage, though

once arrived at their destination, Kevin doesn’t wait for Aaron and bursts in Betsy’s office without warning

it takes at least half an hour of Betsy talking before Kevin gives up his silence

everything was already there, he just had to open his mouth and let his words fall

Kevin: I’ve been sober for 496 days. I’ve been thinking about my Mom’s anniversary for the past few weeks. That’s today, now. And last Friday, I told Neil, then the whole team, that I hated them. Care to unpack that for me?

Betsy: I can help you sort some things out, of course, Kevin. But this is your baggage. I’m afraid I can’t do this without your help. Why don’t you tell me more about this hatred you feel towards your teammates?

Kevin: I dont. Hate them. I don’t… I hate what they do to me. How they treat me. Their double standards. How they forget, how they dismiss. Mind you, I’m well aware of my asshole status. I know I am. But them… they’re… they’re mean. Vicious. They cut and stab and don’t care about what’s underneath. They don’t care that I helped them get the title of Champions. They don’t care that I was there every step of the way, that I was right there beside them when we played the Ravens, when we won. They don’t care that Riko died, that he once broke my hand, that I was legally kidnapped, that I went through hell and still lived to walk on my own two feet. They don’t care that I, too, once had a mom. They don’t care that my Mom died. They don’t care. To them, I’m still just a cunt. It’s unbearable. They don’t give a shit and I’m so, so tired, Betsy. I’m not asking for much. I just want… I want- I want them to let me breathe. I want them to realize that, I’m just like them. I’m a Fox. I’m a Fox as much as they are. I wake up everyday, and feel all this weight on my shoulders, in my stomach, on my heart, but I carry on anyways, and I don’t know why, but I do, just like them. Is that so hard to grasp? Is that so hard to accept? What am I doing wrong, Betsy?

Betsy: Oh, Kevin…

the rest of the session passes in a blur

Kevin talks about how every time he takes a photograph, he thinks of Kayleigh, of how brightly she smiles in all the photos Wymack has of her, of how he wishes he could take pictures of her with his own camera

Kevin talks about how every strong woman in the Irish folklore he reads about wears Kayleigh’s face

Kevin talks about how he thought Thea had been a bit like her, and how, in the end, she hadn’t been at all, she was her own woman, a woman he didn’t know and didn’t love, and how he thought he had lost a bit of Kayleigh again when they separated

Kevin talks

he talks

and Betsy listens

when his time is up, Kevin’s voice is hoarse with exhaustion and sadness

he lets Aaron in as he decides to take a run back to Fox Tower

his mind tries to guilt him into going back to the court, but between facing the Foxes after that and isolating himself in his dorm, Kevin knows what’s best for him

he is only disturbed in the late evening, when Wymack enters the dorm

even Neil, Andrew and Nicky hadn’t come back yet

Kevin knows something is wrong

Wymack isn’t supposed to be here

Wymack: Day… Listen, son.

Kevin sits up on his bed

Wymack: Argh, I’ll cut the bullshit. It’s Abby. There’s been an accident. Her car’s fucking scrap metal now. She was brought to the hospital 45 minutes ago, I just got the call. She’s going into surgery. We’ll all visit her in the morning.

Not again

Not Abby

What the fuck is this life?

Wymack: Number Seven wants to see you now. Don’t ask me why, I don’t wanna know. I’ll let her in, don’t make me regret this. Sleep good, son. I’ll see you tomorrow.

he opens the door, takes one last look at Kevin’s tense form, and leaves as Allison comes in

she’s wearing her giraffe onesie tied at the waist, with an oversized WALKER 09 t-shirt

she stands in front of Kevin until he looks up at her

Allison: Scoot over. We’re watching The Crown.

and Kevin, dumbfounded, lets her and moves

he finds himself quite intrigued by the storyline, enough to only worry about Abby with his fingers, fiddling with one of the giraffe’s horns

after the third or fourth episode, Allison starts to talk, eyeing Kevin’s fingers playing with her onesie

Allison: Wanna know the latest gossip? Even Andrew has a onesie, now. God, I can’t believe this is a sentence that exists. Andrew Minyard owns a fucking onesie. Do you know what that makes you?

Kevin stays silent, eyes fixed somewhere not quite on Ally’s laptop screen

Allison: That makes you the only Fox without one.

Kevin: Oh, so now I’m a Fox? Didn’t seem that way earlier. Or, like, ever.

the dealer chooses her next words very carefully

Allison: Just because we hadn’t seen it yet, just because we were too busy stuffing our heads up our asses, doesn’t mean you weren’t a Fox… I know, I know. Hard to feel like one when the others give you shit non-stop. Been there, done that. And now I’ve done it to you, too, and I’m… Sorry. We’re dysfunctional, there’s no changing that. But- We can do better. We’ll try, promise. I think you’ve made quite an impression on Betsy today, ‘cause we all received a good talk from her during our sessions. I mean, don’t expect Andrew running in to apologize, but, you know… Something about Betsy turning severe makes you re-evaluate your life choices. We’ll do better, Day.

Kevin looks at her, then

really looks at her

and nods

yet just as he turns his attention back to the screen, Allison leaves the Netflix page and googles “onesie adult”

Kevin: Oh, no. Absolutely not. Nope.

Allison: Oh, yes, yes, yessss!

but then, of course, there’s a knock at the door, and Allison gets up, opens the door, lets the person in, whispers something, and leaves

just like that

and oh

It’s Aaron

Aaron: So… Allison tells me you’re finally getting yourself one of those stupid pajamas too?

Kevin: I am not. What are you doing here anyway? The others will be back soon, I assume.

Aaron: Well, it’s my shift…

Kevin: Your what now?

Aaron: No, it’s not like that! We just… We thought you’d want some space because of… today… But then Abby… We didn’t want you to be alone.

Kevin: Really. Who’s “we”?

Aaron: The proud Palmetto State Foxes’ Exy team. All of them. You know, Dan, Matt, Renee, Allison, Andrew and Neil, Nicky… Me.

once again, Kevin can’t help but stare, deeply surprised

Aaron: Andrew and the others will be back for the whole night, but for now, it’s my turn. I wanted to take the first “watch”, but Allison said she had business to do with you. And I’m not getting in the way of that woman.

Kevin honest-to-God snorts

Kevin: If by “business” she meant bullying me into buying this onesie shit, then you should have gotten in her way. I’m not doing that. It’s fucking dumb.

Aaron: Hey!

Kevin: Aaron Minyard, don’t tell me you’ve participated in this madness…

Aaron: So what if I have? It wasn’t exactly on purpose, but I got one. And you don’t. So really, who’s dumb here?

Kevin: What is it??

Aaron: Not telling you.

Kevin: C’mon…

Aaron: Nope. You can’t bribe me. I’m not telling you shit. However, what I can telling you, is that it feels kinda wrong that we all have a pajama and you don’t…

Kevin: Oh my God, fine! What did the others get?

Aaron: Well, besides Ally’s giraffe, we got a tiger, a dinosaur, a teddy bear, you’ve seen Nicky’s unicorn nonsense, and I’m not quite sure about Andrew’s… Oh, and Neil’s is a fox, obviously. That predictable dumbass.

Kevin: Okay, well, I want a fox too.

Aaron: No, Kevin, you can’t.

Kevin: What? Why not!?

Aaron: Because. Neil’s already got a fox. Do you want to be a copycat AND a predictable dumbass?

and so until 1 AM, Kevin and Aaron bicker about each of Kevin’s suggestions (a Palmetto Foxes onesie, a USC Trojans onesie, an Irish-themed onesie, a white fox onesie, a gray fox onesie, and so on…)

when Andrew, Neil and Nicky come back into the dorm, Kevin’s almost laid all the way down on his bed, his head resting on Aaron’s elbow, as Aaron is sitting right next to him, laptop propped on a pillow and his fingers scrolling away

Aaron looks at Andrew, sighs, and looks at Kevin

they nod to each other, before Aaron gets up to go back to his dorm

Kevin sits up correctly when Aaaron is gone and Andrew approaches

Kevin pretends not to notice and googles one more idea, “brown fox onesie”

as he scrolls down and down and down, Andrew looks over his shoulder

and points at one picture

Andrew: That one. Now go to bed. We’re getting up at ass-o’clock tomorrow.

for the third time this evening, Kevin is shocked

he does look at Andrew’s pick attentively, though, and decides to go with it

that night, even if images of Abby covered in blood plague him for at least an hour, Kevin falls asleep to the memory of Aaron’s skin against his cheek, which somehow translates into dreams of Kayleigh resting both her hands on his cheeks as they sit in a field of wildflowers

a couple of weeks later, Kevin doesn’t tell the team his onesie has arrived

but he is forced to admit it when, for Halloween, they organize a huge party for themselves only, where they decided to wear their pajamas as costumes for the night

Kevin feels so stupid in his outfit

he even had to buy a LARGE because he’s so fucking tall

but it still feels… comfy… warm… not so bad…

maybe this can work for him…

it’s only when he steps into the girls’ living room that a problem arises

Aaron: What the fuck is this.

Kevin: Hum… A brown fox? Technically, Neil’s is orange, so you can’t shit on me!

Aaron: That- That’s not a fox, Kevin! What the fuck.

Kevin: Okay, well what are you then?? A mutant mouse?

Aaron: What are you- Oh my God, you don’t know what Pokemons are.

with that, Aaron turns around and yells for his twin

Aaron: ANDREW JOSEPH FUCKING MINYARD. YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE, DIDN’T YOU? YOU BASTARD.

he storms off yelling

Kevin only reunites with Aaron at the end of the night, on the girls’ balcony, both sober

Kevin: You know, for someone who pushed me so much to do this stupid thing, you’re not being very nice about it. I know you wanted me to be “original” or whatever, but it’s not like I look like Neil! Why are you so upset?

Aaron: Kevin. It’s not a fox.

Kevin: Oh for God sake’s Aaron, you-

Aaron: It’s a Pokemon, Kevin. They’re like little monsters, kind of, and it’s a videogame, but there’s anime, manga, and collectible cards and… I used to- I used to collect those. Before. I lost them, now, but see this? This is one of them. It’s the main Pokemon, actually. His name’s Pikachu.

Kevin: Okay… Who am I, then?

Aaron: You… You’re Eevee.

Kevin: And what’s “Eevee”…?

Aaron: Pikachu’s girlfriend.

and oh.

Oh.

Kevin: Andrew didn’t tell me… The little fucker. I thought- Sorry. I didn’t mean to be another pawn in one of Andrew’s little games. Why did he do that to you?

Aaron: I think you know why.

Kevin looked at Aaron

Aaron looked at Kevin

Kevin: Fuck.

Aaron: Yeah, that.

Kevin: What?

Aaron: Nothing!

Kevin: Aaron.

Aaron: Kevin.

Kevin slowly invaded Aaron’s space until his back touched the railing, and placed one hand on each side of the backliner

Aaron looked up at Kevin

Kevin looked down at Aaron

Kevin: Okay?

Aaron: Okay.

and Kevin grabbed Aaaron by the hoodie of his pajama, and pulled him close, closer, closer, closer, until their lips met, at last

it was a long-awaited kiss, a careful kiss, a kiss of home and yes and oh and warmth and safe

Kevin reluctantly pulled away and rested his forehead on top of Aaron’s, knowing they have very little time before the other Foxes found them snogging on the balcony like a goddamn cliché

Kevin: Aaron.

Aaron: Kevin.

Kevin: I’m gonna ask you something stupid, and you can’t punch me for it, okay?

Aaron: Fine, okay.

Kevin: Do you want to be the Pikachu… to my Eevee?

Aaron: YOU FUCKING MORON!

and with that, Kevin burst out laughing, as if the Foxes’ attention wasn’t already on them the second Aaron started yelling

Allison and Matt knowingly started whooping with their beers raised for a toast

Dan was facepalming hard, shaking her head, but smiling nonetheless

Renee smiled her genuine, angelic smile while clapping Nicky on the back as he choked on his drink

Neil, arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with contentment

and Andrew. Andrew had no reaction at all. at all.

he was looking at his nails, no knife in sight, no fucks given

which, in Andrew’s language, meant everything

and so that October 31st was one for the books, the books about the good days, the good feelings, the good memories

because the Foxes had those, too

Kevin Day had good days

Aaron Minyard had good days

Allison Reynolds and Renee Walker had good days

Dan Wilds and Matt Boyd had good days

Nicky Hemmick had good days

Neil Josten had good days

even Andrew Minyard had good days

God knows they deserve them

these onesies, as silly, as stupid, as corny, as childish as they may be, were a proof of that

a proof that the Palmetto State Foxes could be better, could do better, and could get better

#part 9 of 9! #it's over guys... #i finally did it #this is for you my dear Kevin Day #and for you too my dear Foxes #god that was fun #and they lived happily ever after in their stupid onesies #that's all thank you all #foxes + onesies #kevin day #aaron minyard #kevin day x aaron minyard #kevaaron #aftg #all for the game #aftg series #tfc #trk #tkm #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #nora sakavic #allison reynolds #renee walker #renison #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #twinyards

[septic-skele]

Headcanons for my interpretation of the Swapfell brothers ^^

Fell HCs

Swap HCs

Sable

He can never seem to find a consistent sleep schedule.

If he’s ever seen full-on grinning, it’s safe to assume something unfortunate has happened to somebody he dislikes.

His real smile is smaller and softer. There’s rarely ever an occasion for it, but it’s a privilege to see.

He tends to have dry, bitter humor at all the wrong times; his jokes consistently fall flat, but it’s probably just the wrong audience.

He has plenty of admirers who would vie for his attention and favor. He dismisses it by assuming they’re all after his status and position.

Staying still for too long unnerves him. Within ten-fifteen minutes he’ll probably be drumming his fingers or bouncing his knee or tapping his foot as inconspicuously as possible.

He’s claustrophobic. (Breathing fresh air on the surface for the first time would probably be one of his favorite memories)

Touch averse; unless it’s a superior or someone he trusts with his life, he’ll jerk away from others’ touch and probably bare his teeth at them none-too-subtly. 

He’s got a knack for torture interrogation but doesn’t enjoy it. Revenge is the only kind he’ll take satisfaction in.

He’s hard to impress. If someone makes a ridiculous mistake, he’ll be petty and hold it over them for a good long time. If it was a dangerous mistake, he’ll hold distrust and a grudge.

Over time he and Pike have created a whole system of code phrases used to praise, comfort, warn, reassure, etc. each other in public. 

Sable is semi-fluent in more than one font, which is another good avenue of secrecy.

Because of all these precautions, it’s hard for him to just be open and say what he means sometimes. Straight answers may have to be lured out of him -- unless he dislikes someone, in which case he’ll be insultingly blunt.

The “master/pet” dynamic is a façade, intended to make a show of power in front of the townsfolk and keep Pike near him for protection. When they’re out of the public eye, Sable checks in with Pike regularly to make sure it’s not going too far for his comfort. (Looking back, he regrets coming up with it in the first place, but they’ve come this far already.)

He spoils those he cares about with various gifts but downplays it by making it out to be his “obligation.” (If there’s a sudden noticeable increase in presents, it probably means he’s worried about you.)

Animals are fond of him even when he isn’t fond of them.

Pike

For the sake of the act he’ll tolerate it when Sable calls him “Pup” but others who try to do the same will probably get an unimpressed stare or just be flatly ignored.

His jaw is a little janky. He smiles crookedly and tends to mumble, rasp or drawl. 

He may end up skipping meals sometimes because he wants to avoid the hassle and pain of excessive chewing. That being said, he has a huge sweet tooth, so he’ll survive solely on hot chocolate or syrupy smoothies.

He doesn’t really know how to take a compliment. He’ll probably freeze up or get self-conscious and try to shrug it off.

At his best he’s a pretty fast runner; he could probably enjoy parkour.

His love language is touch but he’s learned to be sparing with it -- small brushes of the fingers, little elbow nudges, very loose hugs. If someone reciprocates more openly, he’ll just completely melt in delight and relief.

When he cares for someone, he has a hard time saying no to them because he really wants to see them happy. 

On that note, he has an unfortunate tendency to fall into relationships that manipulate or lean too hard on him. He’s very much aware of the moments when others take advantage of him, but he still wants to make himself useful and keep “earning” to deserve their affection.

He’s an emotional sponge; he absorbs others’ emotions into himself almost on instinct, which is why he hates conflict. He’ll get upset about an argument that he isn’t even a part of and snap at the participants to stop and work it out.

Tugging at the neck and hem of his shirts is a nervous habit (which Sable hates because Pike is stretching out good expensive shirts.)

Has episodes of dissociation and occasionally panic attacks. 

He doesn’t remember where his facial scars came from and at this point he’s afraid to ask.

Self deprecation central. He believes that his brother would be safer/better off without him around to be a liability. 

He has acted on these thoughts before but when it failed, he backed off from trying again because of how badly Sable reacted to the “accident.”

Losing Sable is his worst nightmare and until that incident, it didn’t even occur to him that Sable might have the same fear about him.

The collar has probably saved his life (or at least bought him a few more precious seconds) when the human tried to decapitate him. The knife couldn’t go through as easily.

#undertale #swapfell #headcanons #sans #sans undertale #papyrus #papyrus undertale #sf sans #sable #sf papyrus #pike #someone get this man some therapy

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

There was a thing in my mind that needed to be written. Unfortunately, somewhere during this I knew I would not finish it, I would not make that into an actual fic – for several reasons, one being I reached some low point in writing once more, which seems to be quite normal but rather unfortunate for finishing ideas ;) Still, there is something here that may work for its own. It’s a bit angsty, I guess, and for once this is actual Emhyr whump, which feels a bit strange. Maybe you would like to guess how it could have ended. I think Geralt would have found some trick to convince Triss to heal Emhyr. 

The pain was sharp and harsh, strangely familiar, like an old acquaintance. Even as he fell, before he hit the ground, above all the noise and chaos that immediately erupted, he recognized that pain. How peculiar to recall, Emhyr thought, as he watched his blood form a puddle beneath him. The confusion around him did not seem to concern him, and the noise subsided.

Faces appeared above him, orders were yelled; there were sounds of fighting and a lot of shouting, and he was glad that all of it was getting quieter. Finally, there was the only face that mattered. A wolf with cat eyes, sometimes golden, sometimes amber.

"My flame," Geralt said softly, and that's when Emhyr knew it was severe, and his eyes fell shut.

When he opened them again, he was almost surprised to be there still. Sounds, smells, and the feel of soft sheets told him he was in his bedroom. It was not a dream, and he was still alive, of which the pain was both warning and reminder. Geralt was there, sitting on the bed and holding his hand; how strange this was, tables turned. That seemed to be Emhyr's duty: to take care of his adventurous husband. To scold him, to calm him, to take his pain away.

It had been a long time since he had felt like this, so helpless and powerless in the face of pain. A long time since it had been his own. Now he almost did not know how to meet this foe adequately. Holding hands didn't seem to help that much, he realized. It only aided the one who wasn't lying there.

"When were you planning to tell me about this?" asked Geralt calmly.

Too calmly. He was angry, Emhyr realized. No, not necessarily angry. He seemed confused, amazed, maybe even hurt. How ironic, Emhyr thought.

"Who was it?" he asked, surprised by how normal his voice sounded. How ordinary, when nothing was ordinary.

"Don't deflect," Geralt growled, "Someone managed to ram a knife into you in the middle of the throne room, and it's only thanks to Adan that I didn't rip the guy to shreds on the spot. Don't look at me like that; yes, there's still enough of him left. We'll figure out who he is."

"Some lunatic, that's all," Emhyr replied absently. He found it unusually difficult to focus.

"No, you know who is a lunatic?"

Here it comes, Emhyr thought. It was inevitable.

"Seriously. You made a contract with Triss that she can't heal you in certain situations? What's this nonsense?"

Emhyr felt a sigh rising inside him, a strange feeling bubbling to the surface, demanding to be expelled like excess air.

"This contract has existed for a very long time," he replied. "It has been made with every sorceress, not only Merigold, but every one before her."

"Why don't I know about it?"

"You are not the court sorceress, Geralt. There's no reason you should know about it."

"No reason? You dare to tell your husband to his face that he has no right to know about such decisions?"

"The fact that certain things have altered in my life does not change this fundamental decision," Emhyr replied firmly. Solid as a rock, at least he hoped so.

"That's insane," Geralt argued.

Emhyr watched him, his beautiful, headstrong husband who had never learned not to show his emotions on his face. The tense jaw, the brows pulled sharply, his voice, somewhere between undisguised anger and fear – he was just always too emotional. Geralt was his channel, his catalyst, the manifestation of his own feelings, which encompassed far more than what he ever showed on the outside – and that was very little, for a good reason. Emhyr also felt this anger and fear. This pain, utterly different from the physical sensation that was drilling in his guts.

"This contract," Geralt continued as if giving a lecture, "says that if a severe injury is not instantly fatal, it may only be treated conventionally."

"Well? I'm still alive, so apparently, that kind of treatment is possible."

Geralt ran his hands through his hair as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, as if he were talking to a child who was on his last nerve because he just couldn't make it understand how the world worked.

"Possible," he said, "but also uncertain and dangerous. And simply unnecessary."

"Unnecessary, yes," Emhyr replied unexpectedly and with some bitterness. "I didn't expect it to end like this, of all things. "

"It doesn't end at all," Geralt disagreed.

"Geralt..."

"No. Neither like this nor otherwise. Your stubbornness is ridiculous. This can be healed in no time."

"It's not a small thing."

"It's only not a small thing if you don't do anything about it," Geralt replied heatedly. "Are you going to throw away everything you've built because of some silly aversion to magic?"

Emhyr looked at him sternly.

"I have a daughter, as you know. The realm loses nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

Geralt jumped to his feet, and as he spoke, his voice grew louder.

"And what about me? Doesn't what I lose count?"

His fists clenched, protruding knuckles so white that Emyhr could almost feel the fingernails in his own palms. Somehow, Geralt managed to calm down. He sat back down at the bed. With a firm grip, he took Emhyr's right hand in his, held it up, held the ring in front of his eyes.

"This is a promise you made," Geralt said seriously. "You think two years is enough? That's fucking selfish. You think those two years were so wonderful that they outweigh the past. As good as two decades or more because they made you forget what was before. And that's true, but not just for you. And I want more of that. I don't want it to end now, and you know very well it doesn't have to."

"Magic of this kind always comes with a price," Emhyr replied, searching Geralt's gaze. This was significant; it was important for Geralt to understand. "Keeping someone alive may have side effects that you find worse than the thought of dying. You should know that."

Oh, Geralt knew. He had experienced this kind of magic not only once. All the memories, the dark feelings, the pain that was sometimes worse than the wounds, even if they were already healed. Magic that gave so much, more than was natural, also took something. It took a piece of you and made the worst of it that was possible. Unpredictable, inevitable. To live on, even if the will to do so was strong, was not always a gift. At that moment, he understood.

"It's because of the curse," he stated, his gaze as soft as his voice, and that's what made it so hard.

There was this pain that wouldn't subside, and part of Emhyr felt he deserved it. That it was right that this feeling was boring into him, like hitting a hook into such a rigid wall, it was slow going. The wall hardly gave way, even when the plaster crumbled. He was used to hiding behind that wall, but the plaster crumbled much more quickly when he looked at his spouse.

"Back then," he explained quietly, his gaze drifting, far into the past and away from Geralt, "a long time ago, someone told me that true love could be one-sided and still have enough power. The words of the original spell could certainly be understood that way. But spells are tricky, aren't they? So all these years, no one could tell me for sure if the seed of that curse had not remained in me. Whether the sheer fact that the curse was overcome with lies and tricks mattered."

"And then what?" asked Geralt. "Do you think that would make me love you any less?"

Emhyr resented that hopeful little smile on his face. That assurance that everything would be all right if he just let him do his thing. He didn't believe in that.

"I would love myself less then," he answered sternly. "There are some things that no one wants to go back to. Things you've done. Thoughts and feelings that should never resurface. Don't you understand that this isn't about you, Geralt? What I would do to save you, no one can put into words. But I don't want you to do that. Some things aren't worth it."

Emhyr saw by his eyes that he still did not believe him. But he saw more, and that hurt almost more than the pain in his side.

"You know I could just make you," Geralt said, and as if to prove it, he snapped his fingers, a gesture meant to imply a power that was meaningless to Emhyr for a good reason.

"I know above all that you wouldn't," he replied.  

Geralt lowered his head. Then, very slowly, he withdrew his hand from Emhyr's, forgoing the impulse to stroke it one more time, and stood up. Without another word, he left the room.

#writing #fanfiction #Emhyr x Geralt #whump and feelings

[rookisaknight]

Raf Tanager, meet Hope County

⤘⤘⤘There’s a new Deputy in Town⬽⬽⬽

So as a side benefit of getting into this fandom again with a brand new gender and a brand new vibe: a brand new deputy. Excited to introduce you all to my boy, they were developed for a joint Deputy au with @ophiebot​ (who will do this for their Deputy Elijah Rook if so inclined). Not exactly reinventing any wheels here, but this time its about the indulgence.

FYI, Molly is still extant, but her story I think has been explored in my brainspace as much as it needs to be. 

➷The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.)

Rafael "Raf" Tanager (birth name REDACTED). 5'4", prone to chub but hardening up with the frequent exercise, solid build. Freckles on cheeks that darken as time goes on. Short hair kept red by some truly obsessive hairdye upkeep, which is harder than you might think. Hazel eyes. Burns and shrapnel scars around the eyes and mouth.

2. How old are they?

24

3. Sexuality and gender?

Bisexual, transmasc genderqueer. She/they/he but a preference for they/he when he doesnt trust the person using them.

➵Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

Raf grew up closer to Missoula, but he’s still a Montana native. They’ve been at this for around 8 months, pretty much right out of graduating college. Even they honestly aren’t sure how they ended up here, just the latest in a series of adrift jobs after graduating, taken primarily to avoid any potential financial dependence on their  family. Probably would have resigned soon were it not for. Everything.

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

Pratt: Used to hate his guts. The teasing felt too much like flirting for their comfort and he was honestly kind of a bully. Now its trickier. He's pathetic in a way that’s hard for them to be around, as awful as that is, because it hits too close to home.

Hudson: Had a massive crush on her for most of their early days that pretty much went out the window post Eden’s Gate. They still try a little too hard to impress her though.

Whitehorse: Intellectually, they resent his passivity since it means a lot of Eden’s Gate ended up falling in their lap and he’s STILL insistent that maybe they should have left it alone when they’ve all had months to realize why that was a bad idea in the first place. Emotionally, well, they’re maybe a little in need of a father figure or two.

Elijah Rook: The former Rookie. They were quietly a little intimidated by him prior to all this and that’s never fully gone away, but they’ve now been able to witness more of his dorky side that makes it a little harder to take him seriously. You try chaperoning this guy from one end of Hope County and considering him at all frightening.

3. Do they have an education?

They have a MASTERS and its never relevant to anything because its a humanities degree, specifically the classics. Part of the reason they’re a little adrift currently, there was no easy dismount out of college. Just a hell of a lot of debt.

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Missoula, or close enough to it. They picked up some Latin and Greek from their degree. The Latin comes in handy more often than you’d think, what with the cult stuff, but the reading material is a real bummer.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

They’ve never had many friends in college and high school that could outlast physical proximity and they basically ghosted their family since that was easier than coming out to them at a certain point. So no, no one they want to find them is looking.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

His father is a preacher, and while there’s some baggage there they would still describe themselves as broadly religious. Or at the very least superstitious.

➷Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

The crash was honestly the easiest part. That was just panic. The chase was the hard part. The helicopter exploding ended up catching them in the face, leaving them with burns and scarring that would remain for the rest of their life. She's lucky she wasn’t blinded. Still, he was forced to stumble out of the woods in intense pain and bleeding out. Had it not been for Elijah they definitely would have been taken then and there.

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

Terrified. Not just because of what they’ve done but because Raf knows intuitively that he's susceptible to it. As early as their first encounter they have a hard time breaking the hold Joseph gets on their mind. Even though they’re conscious of HOW they’re being manipulated, its hard to resist it.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

At that point Raf would’ve happily taken literally anyone who seemed to know what they’re doing and wasn’t holding a gun to his head.

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

Absolutely the nightmare scenario: people’s lives depending on them and their ability to be decisive. Had it not been for Elijah they probably would’ve high tailed it out of there and tried to find someone higher up the authority chain to deal with this mess. Still, just abandoning them all didn’t sit right with him either, and by the time they’d liberated Fall’s End even he had to admit he was there by his own choice.

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

Again, Raf doesn’t really do well with people depending on them. Alone. they probably would have found it a lot more miserable, but Elijah significantly helped lighten that load for them in terms of having a direction. They’ve found out they’re accidentally pretty good at working with a variety of people and can even be inspiring without meaning to. Still, in their ideal world they would’ve been left alone, or at least remained a foot soldier.

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

All guns for hire were recruited, but Sharky and Nick were their go-to’s, Sharky for personal reasons and Nick for air support. Grace was usually the adult supervision when Nick couldn’t make it but. To be frank Raf's aim isn’t great and it drives Grace a little nuts on prolonged missions. She’s tried teaching them but it never really seems to stick.

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

Sharky. That relationship was a bit of a cold opener  (and don’t bother, Sharky already beat you to that joke). After getting their face fucked up during the escape they’ve had a pretty healthy aversion to fire and explosives, making his recruitment a little harrowing. Still, Sharky's sweet in his way, makes them laugh and breathe a little easier when the pressure gets to them, and operates on a pretty similar brainwave. They’ve been joined at the hip since their first few months in Holland Valley. They’re both a little on the codependent side, but really, who are they to complain.

8. Feelings about Joseph?

Joseph taps into a lot of vulnerabilities inside of Raf intuitively. The absence of a strong support system, the loneliness, the fear, the directionlessness, the relationship with their own spirituality, it all provides him a unique entryway into their psyche that he is exactly the kind of person to exploit. As a result, he tends to fixate on them over Elijah, usually to their detriment. Still, that connection can sometimes go both ways, and there are things about Joseph that Raf understands which even his brothers never fully do.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

John: They have a unique capacity for antagonizing him. Probably because as an oldest child themselves they know exactly how to jab at the youngest child insecurities. Still, that relationship didn’t stem any deeper and he focused his energies a little more on Elijah. Still, they have him to thank for the Sloth scars on their arm, thanks for that. They’re starting to run out of unmarked skin.

Faith: Faith, meanwhile, was a little more directly focused on Raf, partly because her region was the first time they had to operate a little more on their own. For personal reasons, Elijah wasn’t particularly able to engage with the Bliss. Meaning if Burke was ever going to get saved Raf had to be the one to go in there, again and again. Faith, like Joseph, can tap a lot of that loneliness that Raf has, as well as some gender and sexuality stuff Joseph can’t touch. Suffice to say Sharky had a pretty good reason for being as overbearing as he was during those months, even though he was eventually able to do the job. As a side note, they haven’t had access to their ADHD meds for MONTHS and it doesn’t help when the cult drug is the first thing to make your head feel clear in a while.

Jacob: Jacob was utterly uninterested in Raf and the feeling was mostly mutual. He doesn’t really get him or what he’s about, just knows that the county would be better off when he was put down. Transition goals, though (don’t tell Staci they said that).

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

Animals yeah, you don’t live in Montana as long as they did without hunting occasionally. People....well. You can get used to it.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

Resist. I wouldn’t. Raf might.

➷Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

They usually prefer to show up to spots early and lay traps, try to minimize the direct combat involvement. When it can’t be avoided though, their pistol isn’t ever far and neither is a hunting knife.

2. Stealth or firepower?

Stealth, one hundred percent. Sharky and Eli are here to do the firepower.

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

A lot of bad movies with the boyfriend and a LOT of poker, one of their more unknown talents. Resistance isn’t gonna fund itself.

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

Wherever there was a bed they could fall into. Their little trailer they’d been living in prior to all this got absolutely decimated while they were healing up on Dutch’s island.

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

He’s got almost supernatural luck to the point that a couple of their guns for hire have gotten superstitious about bringing him to certain events. Including fishing. The catch just always seems somehow a little better. Also he’s privately obsessed with the 1998 recording of Cats and is terrified of anyone finding out.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry deputy #oc: raf tanager #oc: elijah rook #joseph seed #sharky boshaw #long post #far cry rook

[cadcnce-archived]

          BIG ASS CHARACTER SHEET FOR                    FANTASY VERSE WYLAN

I found an image while going through my files for cursed pics to send @spiritmaiden​, they had the audacity to take it and fill it out for the fantasy verse of their sky-zel, so I of course have to match the effort for Wylan because I’m not about to be shown up. It’s hella involved, nobody’s getting tagged but damn if you want an exercise in hitting your character then give it a shot. Most is under the cut because of length.

Character’s Name: Zachary Reis (Born) Wylan Rechtur (Used) Character’s nicknames: Ze (by his sister) Wy (by his friends and preferred) Zephyr (mercenary name, also what you’d see on any wanted posters) Gender: Male Righty or Lefty: Righty Age: 25-26  Height: 6′-0″  Weight: ~180 lbs Eye Color: Emerald green, bright and wide filled with a mix of confidence and playfulness. Hair color: Dark brown, messy and falling to his ears. Unkempt may be a good descriptor, but he generally keeps it down flatter at the least.  Distinguishing marks: His body is pocked with marks and scars from fights and other disagreements, but the ones most easily discerned are knife scars on his hands, and a short arc above his left brow. Describe physical traits in one passage: A good way to view him is concealed strength and agility. He’s toned and in good shape but doesn’t often dress or carry himself in ways that would flaunt this. His posture and pose are loose, and his expressions can be lazy and playful. So the moment he flips that switch and uses the full brunt of his power? It’s a surprise. He’s also a bit on the lanky side, his body size doesn’t fully compliment the size of his limbs. 

FAMILY/ RELIGION

Parents: Mother and father were disappeared/dead when he was just a bit over 6 years old and his sister was an infant. They were involved with the church but not royalty themselves. Wylan never spent much time figuring out what. They had a life left for him and his sister that he threw away as well. His father was a gentle soul while his mother was razor sharp and firm. Siblings: Younger sister, Katelynn Reis, but goes by Lyn with her friends. Wylan calls her Kat. She’s ~5 years younger than he, and remains with the church training and working as a healer. Whereas Wylan ran away from being a Paladin, she stayed strong to become a Cleric.  Significant Other: Verse dependent, Wylan typically is averse to romance and prefers casual encounters.  Children: None, nor is he open to them initially in his canon.  Other relatives: None remain living that he is aware of. He and his sister were raised by his grandmother on his father’s side, but she passed away shortly after he left the knight’s academy, when Wylan was roughly 16-17.  Pets: None. But he does enjoy talking to cats. Friends: Wylan is the type who ‘knows a guy’, he’s close with many tavernkeeps and makes nice with the adventurer’s guilds and their members as well. His work as an informant necessitates things like this. Wylan is also the type to consider most anyone he encounters and converses with a friend, whether they like it or not. His best friend though would easily be a wandering adherent by the name of Emke. I don’t care what the thread is about in some way she’s involved in his life. They’re platonic soulmates. Enemies: As a mercenary and hunter, some others in his craft would consider Wylan to be their rival, and in many cases he would view them just the same. It’s hard to say he has any enemies outside of pointedly evil factions however! Relationships (other): His relationship with his sister is an odd one. They’re still in touch via letters and the occasional visit, and he does what he can to support her with his money, but they’re not close like conventional siblings. There’s a strange codependence between them. Wylan depends on Lyn as a ‘rock’, and she depends on him as the ‘sea’. Ethnicity: Human! His origins are mostly a mix of Germanic/Portuguese if you wanted a comparison to Earth races/ethnicities. Religion: He recognizes the existence of higher powers but his relationship with them isn’t the best. As if being rebellious to his parents wasn’t bad enough he has to be tsundere towards The Light. This is noted when he uses holy magic such as wards and smiting spells and getting rebound into his own body upon use. Superstitions: He’s incredibly wary around the undead and spirits. So catch him spreading salt when he has to camp somewhere less than lively. Also give him a moment to sharpen his silver weaponry...  Diction, Accent, ETC.: His dialect is pretty clean, though this depends on who he’s speaking to, being the travelling sort he is he’s capable of lightly ‘faking’ various accents, or just being lazy with his own manner of speech. Traces back to proper speaking that was drilled into him as a child and then his own rebelliousness. SCHOOL/ WORK / HOME Education (Highest): He was well learned with the academy work that he actually accomplished. While he never finished and never put his all into his studies, it was clear to his teachers that he had a gift for learning but a problem with conviction.  Degrees: None! But just so I still have something here, one of his informal titles is ‘The Gale’s Fang’. Vocation/Occupation: Jack of several trades, wrapped up best as a mercenary informant, and a monster hunter. He’s good at tracking both people and monsters and taking them down- lethally or not so much. Employment History: Wylan was fully involved with the knight’s academy from the age of 6 to 16, so for those 10 years he had his hands full dealing with that and trying to figure out himself (poorly). Upon leaving the academy after the accident, he took up arms and was given tutelage by the thieves’ guild which taught him how to use his senses and move quietly through the shadows. Wylan didn’t make a good pickpocket, but he was good at reading other people and exceptional at duels. It wasn’t long before he took the advice of the guildmaster and made better uses of his talents. Not necessarily for good, but for more profit. By the age of 22 he was an accomplished and well connected informant, bartering information as well as putting his swordwork to use headhunting and slaying monsters that made issue outside the cities in which he frequented. This continues to current/canon start of interactions. Salary: He’s affluent enough not to worry too much about his state of living, but he can be prone to splurge spending that puts him in a bind for a few weeks at a time, at least until the next job puts money back on the table. Status and money: Continuing off the above, he’s decent enough with his funds (after sending money back to help out his sister) but wouldn’t be well off enough to be considered rich compared to his modern verse. Fortunately he has enough renown that jobs aren’t too hard to come by for him. And many barkeeps and friends are willing to open a tab for him. So he’s not too desperate.  Own or Rent: Wylan typically rents inn rooms when he stays in the cities, and camps when he’s out in the woods. Technically he also owns if you count helping his sister keep her own place running (thought it’s really about 30-70, with his sister funding most of it)  Living Space: Wylan never stays long at the room. It’s a place to go back to and sleep. Personal belongings? Very few. Most things he owns that he wouldn’t want to lose stay back with his sister kept in a basement or separate room that he uses on the rare times he’s back in the capital/holy city from which he originally hailed. As you can imagine, this isn’t very often.  Work Space: N/A! He doesn’t have one! Given his work is almost entirely in the field. Main Mode of Transportation: CATCH A RIIIIIDE. Though he’s apt to have a horse around for transport if he isn’t going too far. Long voyages for when he changes locales would probably be hitching a ride with a caravan. He also doesn’t mind voyages on foot too much. PSYCHOLOGY Fears: Externally he has an aversion to ghosts and spirits. The concept of the dead coming back to haunt you isn’t something he much cares for. Having access to light magic should mostly assuage this, and yet it can give him goosebumps anyhow. Ironically he has a fear of large mammals in his modern verse but that shit doesn’t apply here given he’s a monster hunter! Internally he fears being forgotten, not making a name for himself, and dying before he can truly feel alive.  Secrets: His birth name, Zachary Reis, isn’t something he will bring up with anyone. It’s not necessarily a ‘dead name’ for him, but it’s one he threw away the same time he decided he was going to toss away his ‘fate’ as a paladin. Taking the name of Wylan was another way he took his life for himself in his mind. Despite this being a path of self destruction. His sister is also something he doesn’t often bring up unless he very much trusts that person.  IQ: Surprisingly high. He picks up a lot of information doing the work he does, but you wouldn’t be blamed for not believing this. Eating Habits: They could be a lot better. He eats enough to get by, but his diet isn’t as varied as it could be. Wylan hunts small game when he can, but he isn’t an exciting cook so ALAS. This boy prefers hitting up taverns and getting basic meals like stews, jerky, sandwiches, etc etc. Sleeping Habits: Wylan is a very light sleeper. Typically if you so much as step into the room he’s sleeping in he’ll snap into awareness. It takes a loooong day of exertion to keep him sleeping deep otherwise. Frustrating is how he ‘fakes’ being asleep. So someone could come in and start rummaging and he would still breathe and move as if he were still sleeping. Up until he sits up and stares or cracks a joke. Dare you to kiss him when you think he’s asleep.   Book Preferences: History tomes every now and then. Wylan doesn’t read much fiction and prefers any time he spends reading to be somewhat productive! Make up for other education he missed as part a result of running on the academy. He also reads up on magic and sorcery to work on the wind affinity he also has.  Music Preferences: Wylan doesn’t play any instruments but he DOES love love love to dance and sing. He’s an entertainer at heart and loves to rally people however he may. Suffice to say he’s amusing to go drinking with. And not just because he starts bar fights to amuse himself. Groups or Alone: He’s primarily a lone fighter. Some hunts he will of course work with a team of other hunters, he’s not stupid enough to take on the larger beasts by himself, but there’s a preference for doing things on his own terms. He’s self aware enough to know that his ways and methods can be grating, but ah... how all of that clashes with his desire to show off and have an audience. Being Wylan is suffering. Leader or Follower: He’s both, but prefers to be a follower if he can help it. Let other people make the plans then nudge them this way and that to better fit your own methods. He’s a prankster and a good compliment to most parties after all, so you’d be wise to utilize him! Lest he utilize himself... but that said, he’s an anti-hero, so there’s possibility in there for him to be a leader as well and take charge. It just isn’t his default nature and he’d rather not. Planned Out or Spontaneous: Wylan is chaos incarnate. Most everything he does outside of necessity/work is spontaneous. All his mischief and plans are cobbled together and thrown out there. Sometimes he’ll do a bunch of things at once, like throwing a bundle of darts at the wall to see which ones stick. And oh my fucking god don’t get me started on being romantic he can’t plan for shit in that department. Journal Entries (Do they keep one?) Nope. Not a daily journal at least. He’ll keep notebooks and the like for jotting down intel and what have you for jobs he takes up. But most of the time he’ll just have little notes in his pocket, and not really chronicle his life. He may also make ‘fake’ entries to tease people or trick them. See what he did to Zelda the one time. Be careful what you believe... Hobbies, Recreation: Tricks!! Sleight of hand!! Cards and dice!! Part of growing up and learning with a thieves’ guild is getting involved in lots of things that make use of your hands and dexterity. He likes playing random games with folks and oh! People watching. Stalking. Not the cutest thing but Wylan makes a hobby out of ‘testing himself’ and exercising his talents. His hobby is unfortunately annoying people, to summarize. How Do They Relax: His hobbies help him to relax! Also, if you can believe it, sitting back in a group conversation and watching the conversation happen and move forward. Learning about other people is something he likes doing, which is hypocritical since he can make himself so difficult to learn by contrast. BUT THE REAL THING HE DOES.. is practice sword fighting. Slow rhythmic swings of his blade, almost like a dance. He focuses his thoughts and calms his soul when he practices. It’s like a mix of swordfighting, dancing, and yoga. Controlling himself. Feeling himself. It’s multiple things.    What Excites Them?: PEOPLE. Things! Happenings! The unknown and pushing himself to new limits. Honestly one of Wy’s biggest drives is doing something or becoming something that will make him ‘Feel Alive’. Because for all of his antics and frivolity he’s very much fighting an encroaching darkness in his soul. So he’ll search out bizarre things to get involved in. It’s one of the reasons he’s bugging Zelda, because her involvement in witchcraft and his own suspicions have him interested huehue. Pet Peeves: Being ignored. Like perfectly disregarding his existence and whatever he’s getting up to. If you’re not reacting to him being him then that means he’s not being effective and he’s losing. It’s his only real weakness...  Prejudices: None. He’s not the most respectful person so most everyone, royalty or important or otherwise gets subjected to similar treatment. If anything, the more important you are the more likely you are to get annoyed! Attitudes: He’s usually with a front, a mask if you will. His general attitude is curious and nosy, but that’s fronted with a playfulness and proclivity for being annoying. Don’t be fooled, he’s usually something more pensive and calculating underneath that exterior. Wylan actually quiets a fair bit once that mask is taken away, his mood swings down and his tone is a touch deeper. Stressors: Things going awry and his friends being put in danger. He absolutely does not do well with people he cares about being hurt. One of the worst things that can happen to him is his sister dying for example, and has lead to one of his most self destructive plots I’ve written, in this verse especially. Lovers? Don’t hurt them. Don’t endanger them. The idea of rivals or enemies going after people he cares about.. hoo. MAN. None of that please. He can be SO damn possessive. In relationships he’s very self conscious as well of fulfilling their needs. So if his partner remarks, regardless of how offhandedly, they’d like more of something he will TRY TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN.  Obsessions: Being an absolute pain in the ass. And in cases where someone has wronged him or someone close to him? Tracking them down and getting closure/revenge. That shit takes him to the brink of killing himself. Addictions: None to the point of being problematic, but he does love eating pickles.  Ambitions: To make a name for himself, to be renowned and respected. To feel alive and accomplished as a person. He’d also like to take down a dragon someday. Get some armor from its scales and a sword out of that shit. As Seen by Others: Capable and dangerous, but impossible to work with for long periods. Keep a tight lip around him lest he use that information against you and learn things you’d rather keep secret. A lecherous womanizer. As Seen by Self: A body of broken glass, encased in a shell, covered in masks. Who are you? What are you? Where are you even going? You’re lost. You’re aimless. You’re swimming and swimming and eventually you’re going to be tired, aren’t you? ASTROLOGY/PHISIOLOGY Birth Date: October 10. Time of Birth: Evening. Western Astrological Sign: Libra Traits Associated with Western Sign: Social, Clever, Unreliable, Diplomatic Traits Associated with Chinese Zodiac: N/A, seeing as I don’t age Wylan with the years this doesn’t really apply. Handwriting: Clean when he needs it to be, but otherwise a quick script with lots of pen strikes. He’s capable with drawing diagrams and the like as well! This boy can throw out monster diagrams with weak points and other ecological notes oh yes yes. Sexual History: Wylan was already exploring that sort of thing before he left the academy, so yes... as early as 16 he’d already lost the v-card. He doesn’t really do relationships and enjoys casual encounters. Many a maiden at the bar or elsewhere has taken him for a spin. Typically partners aren’t reoccurring in fantasy verse, however. He’s... well, very good in the performance category.   General Health: A+ healthy aside from the sleep and subpar diet bits. Strong and good stamina. Medical History: He’s nearly died one times too many. Been stabbed, cut, poisoned, bitten, but hey he’s still alive! And that’s what he’d argue matters with this business. Allergies: SHELLFISH. Chronic Illnesses: None to speak of. Handicaps: He’s somewhat of a type B tsundere. It’s awful.  OBJECTS Purse / Bag: He’s got a coin purse that he’ll carry spare gold around in for spending on what have you. Supposedly food but he’s weak to splurge purchases. Most everything else he keeps on him in his pockets and his belt. Wallet: Uhhh see above, coin purse!!! He’s got enough for the week or so!! Don’t try and pickpocket him because he will catch you and you will feel stupid. Fridge: He doesn’t keep food around. He more or less has to scavenge for everything he eats either through buying or hunting. That’s kind of the life for the vagrant he is, isn’t it? Medicine Cabinet: N/A, but he does keep bandages and salves at his room.  Glove Compartment: N/A!! Junk Drawer: NNNNNN/AAAAAAA Kitchen Cabinets: Wylan get a house so I can fill this out challenge. Bedroom Hiding Place: Behind a wall panel or somesuch if he can manage. Otherwise in the floor or outside the window. Closets: His wardrobe typically includes tunics, coats, leather armor and harnesses for his weaponry! He’s got a couple swords in fantasy verse, and he’s got throwing knives and a grappling hook!!  Backback: Yeah uh see above, what a question. Locker: None Desk: WYLAN KEEP ITEMS AROUND CHALLEEEEENGE.  Clothes pocket: Daggers, notes, maybe a writing implement and paper so he can jot things down. He’s also got little knick knacks like a gem or a monster tooth to show off. Isn’t it cool??? Also lint.

OTHER Halloween Costumes: Werewolf!!! Get him in either just a lazy one with gloves and ears or deck him out in the whole garb. Love that idea on him. In one verse Big Bad Wolf is his nickname, and in another he flat out IS a werewolf! So yeAH. Tricks: He’s very skilled at sleight of hand!! Card flourishes and dice rolls. Cup games. Illusions and dexterity... he’s a slippery one! He’s also likely to catch you in words, using things you say against you. He gets really meta and oh how annoying that can get... Talents: SWORDPLAY- He learned from a very early age at an esteemed academy where only the best knights get trained. He mixes that style with a more ‘street’ type that he picked up with the thieves’ guild and even further as a monster hunter and mercenary. Suffice to say that all mixes together into multiple stances he can switch between depending on what he’s up against. Strong sweeping strikes, vicious stabbing and leaping, poised dueling and parrying... he’s a TOUGH fight. MAGIC: Wylan is at odds with his use of holy magic that utilizes the light to bless and heal. Until he comes to terms with himself and the power he wants to channel it’ll have ‘blowbacks’ on himself. Fingers will burn, head will ache, and his stomach will flip. But it’s still undeniably effective for where it is! Aside from that he knows some wind magic to supplement himself. He’s not known as ‘Zephyr’ for nothing after all! Gusting steps, slashing winds, REALLY BIG JUMPS!!! If you throw him he’s a fantastic projectile! And lets see- DANCING! He learned it first as part of his etiquette as a knight, but it’s something that’s evolved with him and oh does he enjoy festivals for that reason. Ballroom styles are what he’s most familiar with. Dance with him. Please dance with him. Politics: Indifferent! Doesn’t care for authority figures to begin with so in any case or kingdom with a monarchy he’s very buh about it. He’s very self-accomplished and his beliefs would push him towards meritocracy over anythign else if you ask me!  Flaws: Suspicious, possessive, and very persistent. This could be a strength too but for the most part can be seen as a detriment because of how it ends up being applied. Which is in self-destructive tendencies WOO. He’s also very lustful, and can be distracted by a fine woman and let himself be swayed by his desires over time. Have I mentioned he isn’t the most reliable? He’s apt to lie to people and give intentionally wrong impressions just to make it easier for him to slip away. You gotta go up a few levels to unlock that... So yeah, sins are WRATH, LUST, and ENVY. Strengths: NONE. Okay if you earn a solid place as his friend there is almost NO limit to what he’ll do to protect you. Wylan has a ridiculous amount of determination and mental fortitude and he can and will strike down a GOD to keep those things that are precious to him. He’s also an amusing character to have around, if you are feeling bummed he is almost guaranteed to find a way to cheer you up and support you if only so he can not feel as guilty teasing as he usually does HUE. He’s got a very up beat personality! Sure, a lot of it is a mask but he WANTS it to be real and that’s what really matters if you ask me. His reckless optimism can be endearing. There’s a lot of other surprising mental qualities such as how clever and quick witted he can be. Part of that mental fortitude lets him think and fight on his feet regardless of how much pressure he’s under. It takes a LOT to dampen his thought processes. Drugs/Alcohol: He drinks frequently, but he wouldn’t be counted as a drunkard. Wylan rarely drinks to excess, and prefers to do so among friends and good company. Passwords: Uh, do ritual prayers count? Magical spells? Heh. Email Address, Home Page, Blogs, etc.: Oh if only this were for modern verse... Time and place: Medieval fantasy! Magic and creatures! I also love throwing Monster Hunter vibes in for the big monsters he goes up against. Special Places: For him? Cliffs overlooking the ocean. Abandoned temples he can just chill at. For all he enjoys being around people now and then he really appreciates quiet isolation. Special Memories: Lots of memories with his sister before they more or less split ways. There’s one in particular where he was trying to teach her swordplay when she was just a little girl, and she about stubbed his toe when the wooden practice sword fell right on it. Her panicked attempts to try and heal him were something that really stuck with him.

#musings :: about #verse :: fantasy #dash :: games hc #THIS TOOK FOREVER #but was so satisfying to write and get out there #hell fuckin yes #if you actually read this? props tbh

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXReader part 42 (O)

It was the worst day. 

“I hate you.” Shigraki said after kicking the stretcher Overhaul was strapped to. “Tell me again whose the next leader is going to be.”

Overhaul had accepted not only had he lost, but he would die too. 

“Have you come to kill me?” He croaked.

“No, I thought of something you’ll hate even more than that.” Shigraki said. 

Now what? What could be worse.

“I hate you truly.” Said the deranged man. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Mr. Compress marbleized Overhaul’s left arm. What next his leg? His head? He was a husk of a man. He wanted it all to be over. Laying there, strapped down felt like an entirety. They were going to pull him apart and squeeze him out, weren’t they?

 “Two little boxes, which one holds the finished product?” Shigraki said, holding the blood bullets of Y/n and Eri. How dare he. That was all he had of Y/n… she wasn’t the finished product, but she proved he could change the world. Now that man is holding her with his filthy hands. “I’ll just take both.”

“That’s mine.”

“You know what I think, Overhaul? I think someone who's obsessed with erasing quirks shouldn’t have one of their own.” Shigraki said. “Don’t you agree.”

 Overhaul was now waking up more and understanding the soon consequences. As the man reached for his arm and began decaying, fear infected Overhaul. Something he hadn’t felt in awhile. He never thought he’d lose to that kid or Lemillion. They were never supposed to try that hard for only one child. They had an escape route in everything! Everything he had worked for, Pops, Y/n, the world…

“If we don’t cut that off your whole body will turn to dust.” 

 The knife went through. 

“And just like that you’re helpless, you’re a weak quirkless loser! All the fruits of your labor belong to me! NOW YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A THUMB TO SUCK ON! You’re DOOMED TO WATCH FROM THE SIDELINES As your DREAM FALLS APART! Let’s do our best!”

Dry, his body felt dry. The air was suffocating. His longs felt like they were con-caving and collapsing. The pressure of his actions were crushing him. He would have to live and never be able to put Pops back together. He wouldn’t die from his failure but be forced to face it everyday. He let out a throating scream as they walked away. He couldn’t fathom what would be next. Mercy. Mercy the thought he would have facing that man. He thought he would just end him and be done unlike those heroes. Pops was going to die and it was his own fault. All the precautions he took, all the planing, experiments, sacrifices and risks for this. 

When backup arrived he was mentally undone. Unable to speak or help them, but they knew it was the league anyway due to the burns. It wasn’t like they needed Overhaul anyway, only to just throw him away in jail. They lightly sedated Overhaul, he was still able to hear and see, but his mind was everywhere. As they loaded him back in, one of the paramedics found another small box. 

“A ring? Who was this for?” They laughed shoving the diamond in his face.

 Y/n. He lost her blood, he lost her ring, now he had to understand he was going to lose one of his best supporters. His men supported him out of fear, curiosity, maybe a bond to the old boss, giving them life purpose, or wanting to further their strengths. They were with him because of their own small reasons that affected themselves. Y/n loved him. For all that he was. He had his secrets, but he did it to protect her. If he died, he knew she would grieve, but would take care of herself. The truth was going to come out, him alive would now haunt her wouldn’t it. He kept her far away from his work to keep her mind safe and body safe. Now police were going to find her, and do what with her? They’ll accuse her of her blood in the drugs, or tie her into being some sort of accomplice to his crimes even though she was at work. His men won’t know her, and won’t drag her down, but the court case she’ll go through will unravel her. Her parents will tell her “I told you so” and she will lose her mind. He knew she needed him for comfort and support, he wasn’t the best at it, but now he’ll be caged, helpless and away.

 Kai lost his arms. He was locked in a cell alone. The food was flavorless. His eyes dull. The prison told him they were maybe going to invest in robotic arms. He lost all forms of his power, but his heart still beat. Kai would dream about the days with Y/n. How so badly she tried helping him with his touch aversion, and now he finds himself internally begging for it once more. The accidental brushes followed by the apologies, or to hear her sing in the choir once more. He kept replaying memories in his head. He didn’t know where she was, if she was being interviewed, if she was safe, if she knew, and how she was taking it.

 An officer came in and tried getting more information about the case, any customers, possible other children, how it came to be. Kai wasn’t much help. He was in jail with no chance to leave. All his luck was out and how he would rot in prison. He may have lost, but just giving out free untampered information like that wasn’t going to be given freely like that.

 He lost track of time. He couldn’t see the sun, nor the sky. Unlike before he did sleep more. He could never tell if they did turn off the lights there. There wasn’t even a clock. Then something happened. 

“You have a visitor.”

___30- minutes earlier. __

 “And that’s all the safety procedures here.” The guard said .

“So Chisaki Kai isn’t as monitored because he doesn’t have arms?”

“He was a waste of a camera space. All he does is lay down, or sometimes walks in a circle. When he gets approved for robotic arms then we might. It’ll probably be a mood booster for the guy.” the guard explained. “His quirk has been disabled, there is nothing he can do.”

“He doesn’t really need a mood booster.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty terrible out there in the world, but he’s pretty pathetic here.”

—present 

  Kai was hoping it was Y/n. Angry, sad, whatever feelings she harbored he wanted to see her alive. Anything. He kept her separate from all the business but how long would the police and league know about her connection to him?  He kept all her letters and had a picture of her, even gifts he had planned to give her. Disappointment took hold of his body when it was a man. He was tall, muscular but thin, and blond. He wore a yellow hoodie. He didn’t look professional but reminded him of that damn schoolboy Lemillion. The guard put him in a chair and left. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” Kai wasn’t feeling it, sure it would be the most human interaction he had in awhile, but he wasn’t looking for a stranger. This many surely wasn’t a lawyer. 

“My name doesn’t matter to you. I have information you’d be interested in, and I want information out of you.” The man said. 

“What could you-“

The man held a picture of Y/n in a hospital bed. It was a recent picture. Her arms were bandaged and so was her head. Her eyes were closed. Was that the Shigraki’s doing? How did he find her? She’s not dead is she? No, that man is too calm.

“What connection does she have with you?”

Kai pressed his lips down. 

“I don’t know what you’re implying-“

“(First name last name) was found at the scene of the compound. She was injured by the debris that busted out when you blew a hole. Ms. (Last name) would have no reason to go to that neighborhood at all that morning, her work was in the opposite direction. Examining police records she was attacked by someone because of an alleged connection to you three years ago. I can continue, but you get the picture.”

She was there? Why was she there? Why of all days did she go to the compound without contacting him? How bad were her injuries? 

“Her blood was found in some of your bullets. Don’t make me ask again.”

“She‘s my girlfriend.” Kai finally answered. “Is she alright?”

“I’ll get to that when that comes up. What did she do for the Shie Hassakai? Why was her blood in those bullets?”

“Her blood was the experiment. I knew her quirk would be able to affect most bodies. Once it was proven quirks can go into other bodies, I was able to go to the next phase.”

“Did she let you take her blood?”

Kai looked away.

“Did she consent to that, Chisaki?”

“No. She was drunk when I took her blood. She had been drinking a lot.”

“Why?”

“She cut ties with her parents.”

 The blond man sat back, as if that was the first thing he learned. 

“You're a sick man.” The blond said. “You preyed on her didn’t you.”

“I tried keeping her away from my work.”

 “What’s her quirk?”

“It’s a regeneration quirk.”

“How did she learn of it?”

“She lost her fingers.”

“Was it your fault?”

“I couldn’t protect her.”

“And you couldn’t protect her now.” the man growled. “Intentional or not, these injuries are your fault.”

“Is she alright?” Kai asked. “I’ve answered enough questions to at least deserve to know that.”

“She hasn’t awoke yet. This isn’t her first concussion. The hospital put her in a coma.”

Kai’s eyes widened. Y/n too. Pops and Y/n were going to leave this world behind and leave Kai here to rot in jail for years on years! He could save her if they took him to her!

“Should she worry about the League of Villains?” The blond asked.

“Yes...I don’t know if they know of her existence, but I don’t know if they would look for her.” Kai said. “Tell me, is she going to die?”

“I don’t know.” The blond tall man said. 

Kai looked at the man he thought didn't look threatening at all, but was the absolute worst. He toyed with him information about his love, his angel.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“She better be protected.” Kai told him. 

“That’s none of your business.”

His rock bottom kept digging deeper. Pops was going to die. Everything he worked for was now undone, stolen. Y/n is in a coma.

#overhaulxreader #overhaul #chisaki kai #chisaki kaixreader #bnha #bnha fanfiction #xreader

[nelllraiser]

bela lugosi’s def not dead | nic & nell

LOCATION: the drive-ins. PARTIES: @bountybossier​ and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: stab ? stab!!  TIMING: sometime in March

Nell had been staring for...probably much longer than was socially acceptable, squinting into the darkness towards the truck a few spots over to see if it was, indeed, who she thought it was. She hopped off her motorcycle as the movie continued to play on the drive-in screen, passing annoyingly in front of those that were trying to enjoy the film. As they grumbled about her getting in the way, she could see the vaguely familiar outline, and wasted no time in popping up next to the truck, her eyes barely managing to clear the side of it as her hands gripped the edge, her feet on tiptoe as she said in a horrendous attempt at a whisper, “Sam Hill- is that you?” 

The hunter had to do a double-take when he saw the drive-in theater on one of his nightly drives. Romance wasn’t exactly for Nicodemus and classics were fine, but what really caught his eye was the horror double-feature on Sunday: The Wolf Man and Dracula. What better way to forget about the shit of reality than to immerse himself in what humanity thought was actually going on? One large water bottle and bag of popcorn later, he was posted in the back of his truck and watching the opening credits of Dracula. He snuck a sip of his flask and reclined back against a bag of salt. He hadn’t heard the whisper at first, or maybe his subconscious chose to ignore it. He only looked over when he felt eyes on him. It was her. Nell. To keep from loudly swearing and interrupting, he shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. He squinted and whispered back. “You here for the movie or are you stalkin’ me?”

Perhaps Nell had a similar reason for being here. It was simply amusing to see what twisted tales of the supernatural had managed to leak into humankind, and then see how they thought how it could make a better story if they just entirely messed it all up. Nevertheless, she still enjoyed the movie Practical Magic. Not that this was that film. Dracula was always a good way to unwind as she perhaps laughed a little too loud at the parts that were meant to be...well...scary. But it was ridiculous! Nevertheless, her bottom lip jutted out as he seemingly ignored her. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said stubbornly when he posed his own query. In another moment, she’d clambered over the side of the truck and into its bed, apparently inviting herself. “Can it be both? I choose both. Except you’d have to be cool enough to stalk.” He was definitely cool enough to stalk, she just wouldn’t admit it.

Nicodemus watched in quiet resignation as she clambered over the side of the truck like a child at the play area of a McDonald’s. “Well, fuck I’d hope it’s me,” he muttered in response as he looked between her and the screen. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he shook his head. Honestly, a run-in at the movies was the least troublesome encounter he’d had in the last, what, three days? His sour mood sweetened some, not by a lot, and he tipped his head. “Sure, it can be both.” He paused and squinted at her. What, was he not cool enough to stalk? Why was he even entertaining that thought? Lugosi was supposed to be entertaining him. “Oh, me being not cool is the reason you’re here? Good to know, I’ll remember that.” With a grunt, he jutted the popcorn bag at her and looked away. “...I ain’t gonna eat all of it.”

Nell’s amused grin was already sliding into place at his response, settling into the truck beside him as she folded her knees up near her chin. “That’s for me to know, and you to not find out.” She wasn’t exactly in the business of telling bad-ass bounty hunters her rather...lengthy history of latching onto people she found undoubtedly cool. But she hummed for a moment as he seemed to give in a bit to her tease, and she figured she’d give him a little something. “Alright fine- it’s both, then.” Nell looked down as she said the words, fixating on the popcorn in case his reaction to her admission was negative. Hopefully, her tone might have been joking enough to pass it off as no more than a joke if need be. As the popcorn came her way, she wiggled a bit in her excitement, always quite thrilled to have food at her disposal. “Thanks!” Her exclamation was perhaps a tad too loud, earning a replying ssssh from another drive-in goer a car over. Without hesitation, she stuck her tongue out at them before turning back to Nic. “So you a horror guy?” she asked before taking a healthy handful of buttery goodness and popping it into her mouth.

Instinctively, Nicodemus shoved himself to the other side of the truck like a socially awkward dog at his first day of daycare. He took a long drag of his water bottle as he side-eyed Nell. It was troublesome trying to figure out why she seemed so keen on following him lately. And even more so, trying to figure out why it didn’t piss him off as much as he initially figured it would. He huffed and leaned his head back. “Give it time, kid, I ain’t bad at sussin’ shit out.” A snort followed at quick addition. “Annnd that was quick.” He took a massive handful of the popcorn and held it on his lap. The hunter didn’t mind her outburst, but the car over did and Nico picked his head up to stare at them. The next person that shushed them was getting a knife in their tire. His head tilted at her question before he nodded. “It’s either this or historical romances,” he said, completely deadpan. “There’s no inbetween.” Bela Lugosi stalked across the screen, cape drawn. Nic squinted. For all his night vision was worth, it didn’t help much with a giant screen behind it. It looked like someone was mimicking Lugosi just a few rows ahead. “Was this a costume showin’ or what?”

It was impossible for Nell not to notice Nic’s apparent aversion to where she’d sat in the truck, though she did her best to brush it aside. Maybe he just didn’t like sitting next to people. She tried not to take it personally. Besides, she was too wrapped up in her popcorn eating to take any prolonged notice of anything he was doing, far too pleased to have something to eat in front of her. “You don’t get that one,” she replied stubbornly. “You didn’t ‘sus’ anything. I just decided to tell you so it doesn't count.” She wasn’t sure what to make of his reply about movie preference, but tried her best to tamp down the excitement that came with the thought that they might have something in common. “What like...Gone With the Wind and stuff? The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society?” But she finally looked up from her precious popcorn at his question, joining him in squinting into the night. A light snort dropped from her. “No- it looks like maybe someone’s just really into Lugosi. Their cape isn’t even that good.”

"Nope, I sussed it with keen precision," Nicodemus said, hands slightly splayed at his sides. The slight annoyance in her face was enough to spur him on and he damn near cracked a sly grin, gaze sliding to the corners of his eyes to look at her. He adjusted in his seat, sat pretzel style, and leaned forward with his elbows in his knees. "Yup, secret of mine. 'Spose you earned it, but frankly my dear, I don't give a fuck." Proud of himself for his own spin on a line from a film he finally watched about five years ago, he tipped his head at her. Shattering his senses to make himself useful outside of his grandfather's idea of demon hunting had him constantly on edge, but there was something about the drive-in that particular night that had his teeth tight. "Fuckin' cosplayers." Except, the man ahead looked eerily like Bela Lugosi but stiffer. Like something pretending to be a human-shaped person and he was lurking close to cars, trying to snatch at something. Someone. He sat up and reached into his jacket. "That ain't a cosplayer, Nell."

Nell gave a soft eyeroll, the corners of her mouth upturned as her amusement grew. “Sure you did, old man. Just keep telling yourself that.” But her slight grin turned full force the moment he confirmed their mutual taste in films, along with a laugh that tumbled into the air with his doctored quote. “Okay, but do you watch-” Her excitement  and smile were cut short as she watched the strangeness of the supposed cosplayer unfold, eyes straining to see what was going on with a bit more fervor as she leaned forward. Crawling towards the tail of the truck, she frowned, that strange sense of something being not entirely right crawling up her neck. Shit. Nope. Definitely not a cosplayer. Nell was already making her way out of the truck to go confront the Lugosi wannabe when she hesitated a moment later, looking back over her shoulder at Nic. Sure, he was a badass bounty hunter amongst other things. But she’d rather keep him safe from any supernatural shenanigans. “You know, I’m just gonna- go- talk to them. You just uh- stay here. Or leave. Leaving would be better. Or you know actually, I think we need more popcorn. Maybe you should go get some. Please.”

The hunter lost track of their initial conversation, far too focused on the Lugosi that he couldn’t quite get a read on. Fucking damn it. Nicodemus just wanted to watch the movie, not have to deal with stabbing or shooting shit for at least twelve hours. So much for that idea. It was back in one of Dracula’s coffins. His fingers skirted along the stake held up tight in his jacket but he didn’t move. Damn it. She didn’t need to get involved in this but then there she was, urging him to go get more popcorn. He shot her a look. “You’re gonna go talk to ‘em?” He shook his head twice and pulled up into a crouch before he threw himself over the truck bed. “How about you go get the popcorn? You seem more about it than me there, Nell.” The utterance of please confused him. Was she...worried about him? He looked between her and the fake Lugosi. He had already placed himself between her and the approaching figure, a subconscious action that he’d think about later. “I’ll go talk to ‘em, alright? Get this shit sorted.” He bit at the corner of his lip. “Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna talk to them!” Nell insisted, a frown furrowing her brow. Couldn’t he just go get the dang popcorn? The longer she waited, the more squirrelly she got thinking that something unsavory might be occurring only a few cars away. “No!” She insisted stubbornly, perhaps even stomping a little with the word. “You- it’s- gentlemanly isn’t it? The guy gets the popcorn? You’re from the South, right? You know!” What the hell was she even saying? This was almost as bad as telling Kaden that her biting him had been performance art. Her frustration only grew as he seemed to block her path, and she bent to look around him towards whatever was still going on with the Lugosi character. “No, I’m talking to them! Look just- please just- don’t go over there, alright?” Nic getting hurt was something she certainly wasn’t willing to risk, and her features grew a little less intense as she spoke the request. And then she was doing her best to step around him and in the direction of the disturbance, jogging her way over there.

“Well maybe I wanna talk to ‘em too, huh? Ask ‘em about their...cape an’ shit.” Nicodemus didn’t have time for this. Fake fuckin’ Dracula was getting too close for comfort and he still wanted to watch the fucking movies. At her mention of him being from the South, he let out a loud, annoyed sigh. “Oh yeah, because if there’s anything I am, it’s a southern fuckin’ gentleman.” If she meant to distract him by having him go into a Cajun French rant, it almost worked as she started to slip around and away from him. Why was she so damn keen on dealing with it alone? He grunted and spit off to the side as he took off after her. “Fuck that, we’re both talkin’ to ‘em. Just get behind me if they do anything fuckin’ weird.” He said it with finality and he looked at her as they neared the stranger. “Hey, fuckass, what are you do--” Fake Lugosi rounded on him and Nicodemus was prepared for the lunge that followed, arms up as the body hit him. He maintained balance and shifted on his feet, grabbing the back of Lugosi’s jacket to flip him over. Thankfully, he was parked off to the side to avoid people. Sans Nell, apparently. If no one noticed a goddamn thing, it would be for the better.

Damn, the Cajun French rant bait hadn’t worked. “Or you could get behind me!” Nell replied stubbornly, in much of the same tone that this entire conversation had been spoken within. Nevertheless- it was...nice that he seemed to care. But she didn’t want him to get hurt by some lame-ass vampire! The conversation slipped away as she watched the fight already beginning to unfold, and a simple exclamation of “Nic!” fell from her. The single word was mixed with worry and annoyance, not at all pleased that he was being put in this situation. She quieted quickly, though— not wanting to draw even more attention to the little scuffle that was happening over here. With reflexes that were a little too fast, Lugosi was back up, and lunging once more. “Stay down!” Nell growled between gritted teeth as she took her own turn, dropping to sweep a leg out to kick Lugosi’s feet out from underneath him. He didn’t look feral, not having that sort of crazed aura about him that vampires generally did when they were starved which meant...was he simply hunting for sport? Or just shits and giggles at a vampire movie?

The hunter’s eyes shot to look at Nell. Jesus, she was concerned. That was a funny thing that Nicodemus would seriously wonder what the fuck was about later. The vampire didn’t seem to care that there were two people actively trying to put his ass down. Nic grunted and watched, impressed, as Nell put the vampire’s ass to the dirt again. He pressed a hand against Fake Lugosi’s cold neck and pressed his face into the dirt, fanged mouth open and full of mud. “Alright,” the hunter murmured as he shifted on his heels. “Don’t know what your fuckin’ deal is but this ain’t the fuckin’ place for it, sharptooth. Don’t try it again.” The vampire hissed, or tried to, with a mouth full of dirt. He glanced up at Nell, then over to the cars not that far away. His ears picked up someone talking, whispering about what was going on over there. There being where Nic, Nell, and the vampire were. He grumbled. “Just doin’ security, keep watchin’ the goddamn movie,” he said, voice raised by a thin margin. His grip tightened on the back of the vampire’s neck as he tried to pull him up by the scruff like an angry cat. “Nell, got a feelin’ he might bolt. I ain’t got a stake. You?” The vampire went rigid at that and threw his head back, clocking Nic right in the face. His grip faltered enough for the vampire to shrug him off and do just what he said he would: bolt. Right for her.

People were watching. Which meant that magic wasn’t really an option. Nell had been trying to use less of it in situations like this even moreso than usual, all to aware of how Miriam was slinking about these days. Plus….she didn’t exactly know Nic’s opinion on witches, and wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready or not to discover it. Nevertheless, she was somewhat amused by the picture of Nic holding the pitiful creature. If it hadn’t been clear that this particular piece of trash was...exactly that, she might have fought the mention of a stake. Instead, she simply shook her head. “Not on me.” Next thing she knew, the thing was charging her, and brown eyes widened as it grew closer. A snarl curled her own lips as it closed in, and she dug in her heels. What she did next wasn’t the most graceful of fight techniques...but raising a foot to harshly kick the vampire in the privates certainly proved effective enough as he doubled over. Then she was darting towards a nearby, empty car to duck behind it under the guise of searching in the mud. Taking the chance to perform a bit of clandestine magic, she summoned a wooden stake from seemingly thin air. “Found one!” she called out before making sure she muddied up the weapon that had been sitting in her room at home not seconds ago .”Catch!” With that, she was launching the piece of wood towards Nic, for she was no longer in stabbing proximity.

Nicodemus realized the absurdity of the question right after he asked it. Right, most people didn’t normally carry fucking stakes on their persons at any given moment. Even he barely did. Only when the situation called for it. Needless to say, he didn’t expect fucking movie night to be one such situation. As he shook off the headbutt, he looked over in time to see Nell handle it about as tactfully as he would and tried very fucking hard to not grin. It failed and it lit up his face, just by a slim margin. Then she was running away and that grin faltered. Was she about to fucking leave his ass after they’d shared some shitty popcorn? The audacity. As she returned, stake in hand from who knows where, he was glad to be proven wrong. He reached up and caught the stake. In as smooth of a motion as he could, he pivoted and went weight, plus stake, first into the Bela Lugosi wannabe. The vampire gasped for a second before the burst into dust, which Nicodemus promptly blocked with his body as a couple curious humans glanced over. “Part of the show, folks. Regular fuckin’ mindfreak,” he said gruffly. Maybe it was the tone but it was enough to get eyes back on the screen that the real Lugosi stalked across. The hunter looked at Nell, forehead furrowed and eyes squinted. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say we make an alright team.”

Nell couldn’t even begin to describe how beautiful the scene was while Nic caught the stake and promptly turned the vampire to dust. There might have been fireworks. The mayor might have been there promising the pair of them keys to the city for being such upstanding and badass citizens. Either way, her fists punched into the air in tandem, a wide smile on her lips! “Yes! Amazing! We kicked ass!” But didn’t this mean...apparently she wasn’t the only bounty hunter around who did other forms of hunting on the side. After all, he was the one who’d asked for a stake. “Yeah, nothing but a loser!” she called out after Nic finished his own explanation. “I’m helping,” was the only explanation she offered. Her grin had already been wide, and it wasted no time in looking as if it might split her face, eyes crinkling in a way that was also a telltale sign of being up to absolutely no good. “I wasn’t gonna say that.” Nell bent at the waist, retrieving the stake from the pile of dust, and pressing it back into Nic’s hand. “I was gonna say we make an awesome team.” With that, she began to lead the way back to the truck, intent on finishing the movie. “Do you think the popcorn’s still there?” Then, because she never knew when to stop, shit-eating grin and all, “And next time you get to be the one getting behind me. We’ll take turns.”

#// please pretend that this happened...a while ago THANKS #chatzy #bela lugosis def not dead #wickedswriting #ch:nicodemus

[wickednerdery]

Anonymous  asked: Death Naughty Alphabet?

I’m so delighted that someone asked for this, for her, I can’t even, haha! For one, I’d have never thought anyone would be interested in knowing such things about a female OC, but since you are let’s do it! 

NOTE: Tumblr marked this inappropriate and denied my appeal - apparently Tom kissing girls or laying on his back is too much to handle, lol - so this is merely a repost. Death is from Encounters with Death. Let’s hope Tumblr isn’t a dick...again lol!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

Assuming the lover’s survived the actual act, Death’s post-coital behavior depends widely on what’s needed. If she needs a place to stay or is trying to lower a target’s guard she will stay as long as necessary. She can and will pretend to be in love, she will read the other’s needs and play into them to the fullest. If given the option though, she’ll prefer to move along quickly. Death’s not into cuddling or conversation - what are we, friends now? - to the point it can actually make her outright uncomfortable if made to do it without a clear reason (such as for a mission).

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Death loves every part of herself; some would say she’s arrogant, full of herself, but she argues “self-esteem is a good thing to have…if I don’t love myself, who will?” On a partner of her own choosing she’s not overly picky, focusing on more general things such a build that suggests they can handle her in the sack. That said a nice face and great ass will also catch her attention.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

She’s an expert at faking it and tends not to actually orgasm; she’ll get aroused, very close, but rarely are partners able to push her over the edge. If she does orgasm and it’s very very intense, she’ll squirt though. Partners that accomplish that she’ll return to. No matter the gender Death doesn’t care if another comes inside of or on her body, but prefers not to let it hit her face or have to swallow during oral as she’s generally not fond of such tastes or consistencies. IF she allows for either it’s a good indication she’s enjoying the other in and out of the bedroom enough to willingly be flexible on her own wants.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

A successful job can get her as, if not more, excited than any sexual activity. For her there is a rush almost dangerously close to arousal in watching her targets die as a result of her handiwork. This can carry over into the bedroom even when her lovers are not targets…it’s not uncommon for her to choke a partner to the point of them nearly passing out or using a knife to cut them, enjoying the violence as much as any sex act.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Her sexual experiences began early in life so she’s got a lot and absolutely knows what she’s doing. She’s experienced a wide range of partners so is also skilled in adjusting her own habits, shown experiences, and even apparent preferences to suit whoever the lover of the moment is. Despite the high level of experience, rarely has it been pleasurable or even pleasure-seeking for her so much as a means to an end. Because most of her experiences haven’t been her choice and/or included violence it often shows in her own selection of lovers.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

If given the choice, Death will always fuck in a position where she feels she’s got the upper-hand. That, obviously, includes any variation in which she’s on top…though especially the cowgirl position where she can both be on top and in the most control of the experience. Also, from this position, she can watch the other person’s reactions to what she does be it killing or pleasuring them. This need to be in charge can also carry over with her straddling a partner on a chair or the like.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

While Death’s humor is not so much goofy as dark, she would be considered more relaxed than serious in the sack. Like with murder, sex can be seen as sport to her. It’s something to enjoy, if you can, and not take too seriously. In fact, getting too serious during sex is likely to turn her off.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Provided she doesn’t need a cover that requires her to be otherwise, Death is always very well groomed. Her wigs are always in perfect condition and of the highest quality, she attends famous salons, and uses high-end products. Assuming she’s not wearing a wig, the carpet does, in fact, match the drapes and is often trimmed to a manageable “landing strip”.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Sex is a means to an end, it’s a game, it’s never a romantic/bonding moment for her…even when she might behave romantically. During sex she’s goal-oriented - whatever the goal is - rather than emotional. Attempts to add intimacy or some element of love-making may very well unnerve her as she’s unsure what to do with any sort of attempt at (emotional) depth during the act.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Death does masturbate, but not with much frequency. When she does though, she’s far more likely to think of a successful kill than anything else. This said recently she’s found her mind occasionally wandering off to her previous interactions with one Jonathan Pine and been able to find nearly as much satisfaction in those sessions as with thinking about prior kills. She’s also fantasized about her and Pine killing together…everyone needs goals, right?

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

She’s big into knife, gun, and blood play…usually subjecting her partner to such things, but not averse to letting specific, repeat, lovers also hold to a blade or weapon to her or even cutting her some. Anything rough, pseudo-violent, or aggressive are always going to be up Death’s sexual alley.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the deed)

Usually somewhere private because she’s often about to kill her partner OR is otherwise trying to keep a low profile. This said, if the mood strikes her, Death will have sex regardless of where she is. She doesn’t care about getting caught and sometimes find amusement both in her partner’s potential worries and the shock of others when she is.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

More than anything (even aggression), it’s a challenge that arouses Death’s desire. Someone who can take her on without fear or thoughts/hopes of outright taming her. They need to be not easily defeated, not willing to just fold to her, but also willing to stroke her ego by letting her win. It’s a difficult balance and rarely achieved by others, but a select few have managed to get her truly aroused…including her latest lover, Pine.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

That soft, sweet, gentle, and emotionally intense act known as love-making. While she’s had to act it out to get close to targets, she hates it. At best it’s a boring turn-off, at worst it makes her outright uncomfortable.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

She’ll always prefer receiving, even if she doesn’t reach orgasm it can feel amazing and get her close enough to satisfy. It’s also one of the few times she’ll allow herself to be in a potentially vulnerable position. While she will give, and can be quite skilled at it, Death is rarely into the act…it’s far more likely that she thinks it’ll help lower the other’s guard and/or get her whatever she truly wants. IF she gives for the sheer enjoyment, however, she’ll absolutely put her considerable skills to use and indulge her partner, not stopping until they’re begging for climax and nearly fainting after.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Often fast, always rough bordering on violent. She can go slow, sensual, but only does so as is necessary. She’s far more likely to enjoy taking her time with a kill than a fuck. Even if she slows things down, the aggressive side remains nevertheless.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Death will absolutely prefer a quickie over proper sex; a quickie gets the sex out of the way so she can move onto her true goal, whatever it may be. 9/10 times she will indulge in fast and furious sex over anything else and this has borne out even with those she wishes to have sex with.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

For her profession she can’t exactly afford to be squeamish so she forever remains open to new experiences. At least trying something new keeps it interesting, give her ideas for when she might select a lover on her own. And risky behavior is in her nature in every day life so it feels almost natural in the bedroom or anywhere else she might have sex.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Given her athleticism, that she’s got the strength and stamina to kill fully grown men if need be, she’s more than capable of going a few rounds in the sack…she rarely does though. More often than not she feigns exhaustion to not have to continue. If she keeps going, encourages another round, you’re doing something very right.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Aside from the standard vibrator, Death doesn’t have much in the manner of sex toys. Any she might need she’ll merely buy, then get rid of once they’re no longer of use…just like most her partners, haha! Her own vibrator is usually just reserved for herself, but she’ll use it on a lover if the mood strikes her. One toy that she buys with more frequency and for her own, personal, pleasure though is a strap-on…one that’ll she’ll use on whatever lover allows her the pleasure to. Death also uses rope, cuffs, knives, and even guns her in sex-play, but those hardly qualify as standard “sex toys”. It’s more common for her to use them on her partner - merely because she finds more power in doing so - but isn’t averse to having them used on her now and again.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Just as she doesn’t want a partner to just fall into the sack with her, she refuses to do any such thing herself. Beyond just teasing, she enjoys posing a challenge. If you want to be a true lover of hers you’ll have to prepare for a chase, for her to tease until you’re ready to just force her into submission.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Her profession, her life, is all about staying under the radar and that translates into sex as well. While she can get loud if need be, Death tends to remain as quiet having sex as she does killing a target. If you can get her to make any kind of genuine sounds, no matter how small or rare, you should consider yourself thoroughly enjoyed by her. The sounds she actually make tend more towards deep moans, groans, and gasps…if you can make her pitch high you’ll be her new favorite.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Her dealings with Jonathan Pine are highly unique for Death. Not only did she get sexual with him for little reason aside her own enjoyment, she neither killed nor seriously harmed him after even when it may have benefited her to do so. She’s allowed him to top her on more than one occasion, freely given him oral sex, and even found his taste acceptable. Beyond sex she’s also let him into her private world a touch and indulged in softer, more “romantic”, acts such as dancing. While she would not declare any kind of love for him, she does care for him and finds enjoyment with him beyond sex and violence.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Death is athletically built with thin, but firm, muscles throughout. While not the classic hourglass figure, she most certainly has the curves of an adult female and would not be mistaken for a male unless she made the effort to do so. Her breasts are noticeable, though may be considered small by some while her ass is rounded, high and tight, atop muscled thighs. Her skin is smooth, not tattooed, but spotted with various scars in different stages of healing. As mentioned prior her pubic hair is well-trimmed (and occasionally waxed) into a landing strip…her inner lips just poke out from her outer, clit is of average size and sensitivity, and she only bleaches her asshole if she feels she must for a job, which is incredibly rare.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

She actually has a remarkably low sex drive given how much sex she has. Death would be completely fine going years without sex as, in general, it’s viewed as a tool more than a pleasurable activity. This said, if she finds someone with which she finds the act pleasurable, her sex drive may increase significantly…but only with that specific person.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Death usually doesn’t actually stick around long enough to fall asleep or has sex at times of the day not conducive to going to sleep afterward, haha! On those occasions in which sleep would be an option she still rarely does though. She leaves or stays up listening to the other person sleep until she can longer remain awake. Actually sleeping with another is rare for her, but a sign of trust if she does - whether of the person or merely their inability to hurt her.

((And that’s what I’ve got for Death at the moment, haha! I don’t see much changing beyond what occurs in character growth, which will happen over time, no doubt. Thanks again for asking for this, Anon, it was a ton of fun and highly educational for me!!))

#jonathan pine #the night manager #death #aka pine's love #encounters with death #characters in my head #headcanon #asks #asked and answered #repost

[sootcloak]

Crow’s Shadow: Carrion Circle

Second part of a short serial installment I’m working on as a general exercise on plotting, editing and the like. You can find the other parts linked here - {Part One: Repair Required} - I’ll add the last link once Part Three is up. Same spoiler warnings as Part One apply. Same general content warnings apply.

~2400 words, featuring Hilda the Mongrel and Rostnthal the Reborn. Centered around a tense cross country trip, and the looming specter of a dangerous foe. Twelve help me I’d hoped I could fit more of the plot into this one the last part is gonna be so long, such a pain to edit.

A cold, mountain spring cuts through the highlands. The water runs babbling over old, long-smooth stones. Along its bank, a cart is still. A pair of chocobos sleep, curled in on one another. Bright yellow feathers pool starkly against the grey and white of the highland’s snow-covered earth.

The campfire, dim and growing colder by the minute, pops and sizzles in the moonlit dark. Every few moments, the earth rumbles with a heavy snore from deep in Rostnthal’s chest. The old Sea Wolf is leaned up against the back of one of the birds, a canvas sheet thrown over both he and the chocobo. Hilda lies beneath the cart itself, nestled up in a tight ball of quilts and jackets.

In the back of the cart, Vavara rifles through the packed supplies. She loads specially marked shells into her revolver. It’s reflective white metal glints in the moonlight. It has a mirror shine in the dead of night, it’s engravings doing little to break up the perfect polish she’s maintained. It is a slow process, painstaking with just one hand. The cartridges hum and vibrate in their chambers, the ether concentrate within nervously singing to her heightened hearing.

Six shots in each cylinder.

If he’s there, it’ll take at least fifteen of these to break his barrier. Even with aether-charged rounds, the inadequacy of her armaments hangs over her. Missing an arm means choosing between her spear and a firearm. Damaged as she is, she might not even have enough aether at her disposal to ignite the spearblade.The core nested between her lungs is pressed cold and stark against her heart, like a long-dull knife. Her soul, nestled within it’s crystal depths, aches from long-faded scars. Her whole body would be a treasure trove for him, secrets to decipher, power to steal. Weapons to wield.

Even then, measured against his life - her secrets, her safety, all things are cast into the pot.

--

She loads a spare cylinder with slow, committed strokes. It’ll take a long time to reload the weapon, even with this preparation.. She didn’t pick this hand, but she’ll play it till the cards are on the table. Folding was never an option, anyways.

Light falls on the small camp, the morning sun casting light into the narrow crevice beneath the cart. Hilda wakes up with a yawn. Her arms stretch across the dirt, eyes squeezed shut. She growls softly deep in her chest, and sits up. Her forehead slams into the wood with an audible crunch.

“Seven hells-” She snarls.

“Gyahah!” Rostnthal’s laughter echoes over the small glade, watching with a gleaming eye as she clutches her forehead.

“‘Ey, Ashenheart! I won! Ye’ owe me a drink when we get back!” His grin is audible, a chuckle reverberating in his voice.

“I never agreed to playing your game.” Vavara says. “Besides, I owe you more than a drink if we all return safely.”

“Heh. Humorless. What with ye’ hangin with the Scions lately, thought you may’ve lightened up some. Guess even they can’t get ye’ out’a that shell.” His voice is no less mirthful, seemingly unfazed by her chilled tone.

“A’ight, come get yer food. Breakfast’s done.” He slaps the side of the kettle, ringing loud and full. Still groaning and clutching a bloodied face, Hilda drops into a cross-legged sit besides Rostnthal.

They goad and poke at one another, the words fading into white noise as Vara sits atop the cart.Her eyes’ light dims, old, ash-soaked memories rising from the shadows of memory. A wave of nauseating nostalgia hits her in the gut.

“You not eating?” Hilda prods Vara with an empty bowl. The old, smoke-scented memories submerge into the dark again. 

“Not right now. I had hardtack before you two were up.” She pushes herself up to her feet, her arm stretching, slight shoulders squaring for a moment under the winter overcoat.

“I’ll get the birds ready while you two eat. We need to move soon.” Her footsteps crunch in the snow as she walks away. A hanging tension in the air slowly seeps into the air as she walks away.

“Y’know,” Rostnthal calls out, voice low and rumbling. “Ye’ still haven’t told us where we’re goin’. Or anything else of substance, really.”

“Yes,” She says as she hoists the barding onto one of the birds. She glances over her shoulder, eyes dimly glowing with an unnatural, cold light in the shadow of the brim of her cap. “I am aware.” The words are biting, dismissive.

“D’ye intend for us to go into whatever trouble is brewing blind?” His tone is calm and grim, his one, good eye locked on hers.

“I do.” She returns his gaze, ironclad.

“An’ if that means things get bloodier than they ‘ad to?”

“It won’t. I can’t protect you on the battlefield. Not in my condition.” She turns away, leading the chocobos to the cart’s front. She clips their barding in, the ‘coos’ and ‘kwehs’ of the birds giving her occasional pause to double check her work.

“So you won’t be there.” She says without turning. “I’ll be leaving you and the birds out of danger. When my student finds you, you’ll take him to Dragonhead.” 

“Wait, what?” Hilda pauses halfway between bites, eyes narrowing. “I came out here to help, not to be a damned taxi. You’re not traipsing off on your own, ‘specially not after all your talk about this fucker who’s hunting you.”

“You want to help?” Vara’s grip on the wood tightens, words turning venomous. “Then I’ve told you how. You want to die? Then go on, follow me after we part ways.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Hilda’s tone sours, “What’s your deal? We went over this on our first day out, and now half a week in you’re changing your tune? We know it’s dangerous, we get it.”

She sets her half-finished meal aside, standing up. Her hands come to rest on her hips, Rostnthal’s eye moving to rest on her.

“We signed on for this. We knew it’d get bloody, we knew it’d be a close thing. Y’think we’ve not learned to read you? That we were blind to what we were getting into?” She says, defiantly staring down at Vavara.

“So you’re going to ride in and save the day? Vanquish the bad man with your shiny gun and sporty marksmanship? You think you have what it takes to stand against  a man who’s decided he’d rather be a demon?” Vavara takes a deep, steadying breath. There’s something about the question which makes Rostnthal’s hairs stiffen. The skin on the back of his arms and back prickles. He’s still watching Hilda, a blooming anxiousness slowly taking up more space in his chest. He pushes the feeling down.

“Wouldn’t have stepped up if I didn’t think I could help” Hilda says, “An’ I may not be some vaunted champion of the realm like those you’ve been keepin’ the company of, but I-”

“You sound like a child. Too busy playing hero to see the danger you’re in.” Vavara’s chiding words cut through her momentum.

“What do you believe you are wagering? Your life? That in failure, you would die?” Her laugh is a single, wrenching cough. “This isn’t a battle of life and death. I’d sooner shoot myself in the head than allow any of those ‘vaunted champions’ to face him. Even the Warrior of Light, no especially the Warrior of Light.

“He does not kill. He captures. And those he captures become another one of the Empire’s experimental weapons. You would not die, you would become a monster to be sicked on your allies, your friends, and your loved ones.

“So I will face him alone. And you two will ensure an innocent boy does not become a monster because my past came to call. And if after hearing that, you still want to be the hero? Fine. You can be like all the others before you and die like one, too.” Her voice nearly chokes at the end. Shoulders tense, she pushes out a hoarse, whistling breath.

“I’ll do what I do best. Survive. And whatever I have to do to make sure he gets through this too? I’ll pay that price. Worry about yourself.”

“Vavara.” Rostnthal says, leaning in. “What’s so important about this kid that yer so concerned about ‘im getting captured.”

“Nothing. He’s just-” She begins, only for him to hold up one hand to silence her.

“Ye’ never go this far ‘just because’. I’ve seen ye’ in the ‘eat of battle. Cuttin losses ‘as never been somethin’ yer averse to. Even with lives. So if this kid is a hazard to himself more than anyone else, I reckon ye’d try and save him, sure. But to be willin’ to train and tutor a complete greenhorn, let alone throw yerself into the fire for ‘im?? Doesn’t add up.”

He waits. His eye locked on her back, her greying, braided hair shifting with a breeze. Hilda glances between the two, silence bubbling and steaming with tension.

“He is Blessed.” She speaks with a hushed admission, her voice accompanied by an undercurrent of choked, hissing metal.

“And from my observations, he has an aptitude for its power rarely seen. But he is young, foolhardy. I took him in because he otherwise would have found the Scions. And I refuse to see them make another martyr.” She glances back to the other two, over her good shoulder.

“His power will invite controversy and challenge, especially if he cannot wield it. And should Llain capture him, the prospect of an anti-eikon weapon imbued with the power of the Echo is a looming threat I cannot risk. If he can wield the Echo, if he learns how to use it to reinforce his sense of self and being, then he would retain his sanity through any kind of augmentation. Any kind of torment.” Her hand reaches up and rests flat against her chest, claw-tipped fingers scraping against the cloth and leather of her coat. 

“His soul could reside in even steel and crystal, and be unharmed by the process. But if he is captured before he learns to understand and wield the Echo, he could well become a weapon of terrifying power. An incarnation of death made manifest in steel and ceruleum.”

“I refuse to be the mother of death.” She says, softly, almost-inaudibly.

Rostnthal opens his mouth to speak, but the glare he receives from her in return stifles him for a moment.

“None of that changes what you must do. I trust you enough to determine your own path, if you will not heed my warnings. I will tell you what you need to know, even if it is not all you want to know.”

“No, it does change what we need to do. Whether you think so or not.” Hilda says, her confidence returning.

“That kid. What’s his name?” She asks, eyes fixed on Vavara’s.

“Tahve’ir.”

“Well, he’s going to need a teacher still, by your tone. So getting him out isn’t enough. I’ve got to make sure you both get out.”

“And if you can’t?” Vavara says as the two share a long, grim stare.

“Then I get him out, and come back for you. You said he doesn’t kill, and I doubt he can make it back to Garlemald in a single night. So, we get Tahve’ir out, and if you get caught in the meantime, I’ll run back and get you out in the night.”

“Nah.” Rostnthal’s voice rumbles softly, quietly. “Ye’ ain’t got experience with that kinda work. I’ve ran with the yellow jackets and the like, bustin’ slave rings and smashin’ smugglin’ ops. If she gets caught and we have to pull out, I’ll go. An’ you’ll take the kid.” He looks towards Hilda, a confident spark in his eye.

“Alright. Best not mess it up, y’old drunkard.” Hilda says, she cocks a nervous grin and playfully jabs his arm. He just chuckles grimly.

“So you won’t heed my warnings.” Vavara’s voice is distant, a kind of shrill, haunting whistle riding under the injured voice. “It always happens like this.”

“Chin up.” He says, crossing the distance between himself and her in a few steps. He drops to one knee, and rests one hand on her shoulder. He grips her softly, confidently.

“I’m not ignorin’ what ye’ said. We can’t win in a direct fight? Then we’ll just have to run ‘im ‘round the bush. Keep ‘im guessin’. Keep ‘im dazed. We’ll work on strategies on the way there.” He takes a deep breath, and then stands. He climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Have faith.” He says, patting the birds with a solid, steady palm. “‘Ave faith, an’ all will be well. Besides. Yer not meant t’look so glum. Doesn’t suit yer’ image. Times like these, a snarl’s better.”

She just takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and nods.

She jumps up into the back of the cart as Hilda finishes dumping the last bits of the kettle, and scooping her bowl back up into one hand. The dinnerware sack lands in the back with a cataclysmic, chaotic crash.

As soon as her boots are fixed upon the wood, Rostnthal whips the reins and the birds kick up dust as they run.

--

The sun sinks back low in the sky again. Pale-red light streaks across the untamed mountains between Ishgard and Ala Mhigo.

A small shack with a sprawling, chaotic garden sits on a low, narrow plateau. Heavy, metal boots scratch into the wet, snow-melt fed earth. A man with sandy skin, a straight back and strong shoulders stands at the edge of the homestead. His hair is neatly, painstakingly pulled into a long, salt and pepper braid. It rests on his armored pauldrons, and hangs down to his waist. His eyes, a gilded, ember orange, take in the small, humble abode.

In one hand, he holds a thick, angular blade. It’s gunmetal edge reflects no light, despite the bright morning. Coarse and rough, like a painted, sharp thorn of ink clutched tight.

In the other, he holds a stark, shining revolver. It’s pearly white metal casts myriad colors onto the ground around him, and up onto his own blackened platemail. 

In the light of dusk, his aura shines bright and ethereal around him. Dancing, half-there reflections in intangible glass.

He takes a deep breath, and cracks a cheery grin His shadow stretches over the gardens in the evening light. He can smell the faintest hint of ceruleum in the air.

“Finally. Progress.” His smile is all teeth and ambition.

#ffxiv #ffxiv creative writing #aegis' writing archive #hilda the mongrel #rostnthal the reborn #Vavara Ashenheart #vavara kir vara #llain rem corvis #ok so i was Not Expecting the last part to get seen at all and then uh #then it got seen by someone who i respect and all of a sudden it got a small handful of notes and reads #gave me the motivation i needed to get this to a point where i'm comfortable enough to post it #i'm also genuinely a little more confident in this portion of the exercise #not because i think it's any better? #cuz honestly not a lot happens #it's just setting up the big climax as best as i can so that it has some weight. #but when i read through aloud and silently during editing it all flowed much better #and that was my biggest self critique of the last part was that certain parts just would not flow at ALL #i also feel i captured Vara's cold dismissive tone better here #she's not a necessarily bad person but she's definitely Not Nice #also just for mobile formatting using the double dashes to try and signal line breaks will hopefully help make it more legible in general #insert boilerplate 'i hate this formatting on this site' here #anyways thanks for hearing me rant and for supposedly reading #means a lot to me #have a lovely day fuckers

[multisfabulis]

Trust’s Complexities

Word Count: 3889

TW: Referenced self harm, referenced drug/alcohol usage, and implied abuse

So this was a surprise project I decided to write because I was inspired to write something similar to a fanfic I read around the time. Took me only 10 days to finish this and I’m surprisingly happy that, outside of two sections I needed to rewrite, this was written as is. It’s another RLD segment as well so I got to write more of my two favorite emotionally constipated assholes so that was great!

Fun fact: this is just about 200 words shorter than “A Game of Spite” was so that’s neat!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA

     Ravi knocked on the door several times, glancing around as he did so. He felt uncomfortable being here. The whole place reeked of smoke and mildew and he felt as if he were being watched. It was a good thing he decided to wear his jacket before coming here. So long as he kept the hood up and the jacket zipped, he could pass as a guy looking to get his next fix rather than the androgynous mess he was.

     “Come on, Luce, answer the damn door already,” he grumbled under his breath as he knocked again.

     It had been over a week since he last saw Luce. His visiting him after work became part of his routine so when he hadn’t shown up the first couple days, he grew concerned. As the days went on, his concern deepened to worry. Their last meeting had him cleaning up the other’s self-inflicted cuts so he had reason to be anxious.

     What if he wasn’t okay? What if he was lying on the floor bleeding out because he cut himself too deep? What if he was already…? He shook his head to rid himself of the bad thoughts swirling around in his mind.

     He was probably fine and he was just overreacting. Luce’s like a cockroach; annoying and notoriously hard to get rid of. At least he wasn’t as gross looking as one, at any rate.

     The door swung open just as he was about to knock again. He looked up into Luce’s tired red gaze, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in and his skin seemed paler than usual. There wasn’t any blood dripping down his fingers like last time so that was good. About the only good thing he could see from how haggard he looked.

     “Snowbird.” His voice sounded hoarse.

     “You look like shit,” he said, biting back the urge to correct him. “Sound like it, too.”

     Smiling tiredly and letting out a scoff, he replied sarcastically, “Thanks. That what you normally say to someone you haven’t seen in over a week?”

     “If I could say that to everyone who came to work, I would, believe me.”

     If he could still act like a dick to him, then he was fine. Yet the worry kept nagging at him, especially with how horrible he looked right now. What happened in the past week to make him like this?

     “So what are you doing here?” Luce asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

     “Checking in on you?” he replied confusedly, “Why else would I be here?”

     “You were worried about me?”

     “Yeah, I know, it’s surprising, isn’t it?”

     A shout from around the corner made him jump. Yep, this place deserved a “fuck you” and he wanted to hightail it the hell outta there. If Luce didn’t invite him in this instant, he was gonna barge in there himself.

     Stepping to the side and beckoning him in, he asked, “You wanna come in?”

     “Oh, god, yes,” he replied, quickly walking inside the apartment.

     It became quite apparent that this place was just as bad as the outside as soon as he entered the living room. The best word he could use to describe the smell was ass and he couldn’t tell if the faded yellow walls were painted like that or stained with nicotine. Another thing he noticed was just how bare everything was. Aside from basic furniture, there were no pictures, decorations, just anything to make it look like it was lived in. This was depressing.

     “Well--” he took his hood down and unzipped his jacket-- “I don’t know which is worse, the inside or the outside, and I want to die.”

     “Oh, hush, it’s fine,” Luce said, closing the door behind him. “Besides, this was how it was when I moved in.”

     “What, was the last person who lived here a fucking smoke factory?” he asked.

     “Like you don’t smoke.”

     “I do it outside on the fire escape! This looks like they painted the room with nicotine and did a shitty job!”

     A laugh fell out of Luce’s mouth as Ravi went over to the nearest window to open it. While it wasn’t much better outside, the smell was at least bearable. Now, if only he had some hand sanitizer so he didn’t feel like he’d be catching a disease by merely touching the stuff in here…

     “So, where have you been?” he asked. “As stupid as it was, I was worrying over you.”

     Running a hand over his head, he replied, “You sure you wanna know? It’s not exactly pretty, Snowbird.”

     “Uh, yeah.” He shoved his hands inside his jacket pockets. “Why else would I be here if I knew it wasn’t something serious?”

     “I’m an addict, trying to get clean.”

     Well, that shut him up. It managed to explain why he looked like absolute garbage and why he hadn’t been seen in over a week. He always seemed so calm and attentive, not what he imagined addicts to be like. Then again, there were times he’d catch him fidgeting so that might’ve been an early sign.

     He looked down at the poor excuse of a coffee table. Faded rings and specks of white dust marred the otherwise oaken brown wood. Guess that answers the question of what he was addicted to.

     “Bet that must’ve sucked,” was all he could say, a couple laughs sprinkled in among the words.

     “Yeah, it sucked like hell,” he said, sitting down on the couch. “Not the worst hell I’ve gone through but it was hell all the same.”

     “Is that why you…” He rolled his shoulders and grimaced.

     “No but it’s sorta related to why I decided to sober up.”

     “Which was…?”

     “How should I explain this? Let’s just say that, when you were treating my cuts, I didn’t do what I usually did when someone would touch me.”

     “You don’t like being touched?”

     “Blame my lovely mother and father for that. Gentle and loving they were not and ruined touch before I even knew it wasn’t supposed to hurt.”

     Now this was a first for him: guilt. Yeah, Luce would’ve been in trouble if he didn’t help him and he didn’t know about that aversion of his but that didn’t ease the guilt he felt. Did he unknowingly remind him of the pain he suffered?

     “Hey, Luce, um…” God, he was never good at this sort of thing. “if I triggered you in any way by doing that, then---”

     “Snowbird, it’s fine,” he said, no doubt trying to assuage his guilt, “you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you were just trying to help.”

     He always had trouble discerning whether Luce was lying or not. If it wasn’t said in his typical teasing and irritating manner, then he meant it. Then again, he seemed like the type of person to lie about something like that so as to not worry others. Hell, him just now finding out about the other’s addictions was proof of that.

     “Anyway, if it weren’t for you doing that, I wouldn’t have realized it.” He gave him a tilt of his head in confusion. “I trust you.”

     He looked at him in shock as what he said began to sink in. He trusted him, something he couldn’t believe was a thing. Yet it wasn’t a lie. He said it without any hesitance or amusement to his voice.

     The concept of trust was easy enough to understand. Trust was just something that was unheard of in these parts. Trusting someone meant leaving yourself open for a knife in the back and the pain that followed afterwards. It was too great a risk for him to take, especially with so much riding on his shoulders.

     Trust was only something he had for himself. He couldn’t trust people to look after him and Amelia after their parents’ death and he couldn’t trust them now. Trust and people were things he couldn’t afford to waste time on. It was so much easier being a loner than a person others saw as an easy target. If life was going to force that upon him, then he was damn well going to abide by it.

     But was that right? Could he really and truly say he didn’t trust anyone? The only person he could maybe have a smidgen of trust for was… Oh, goddammit. Of course it had to be him. It had to be the biggest asshole he ever had the utter displeasure of knowing.

     Honestly speaking, it could be worse. While Luce was and always will be an asshole, he wasn’t an asshole. He didn’t look at him the way other men had, much less touch him when the rules explicitly discourage that. Then there was the whole matter of nursing his cuts and worrying about him after a week of not seeing him… Yep, it was official. He trusted Luce.

     Scoffing, Ravi said disdainfully, “Boy, you’re a real dumbass for trusting someone like me. Why would you ever want to trust a person who talks shit behind people’s backs as much as I do?”

     “Snowbird, stop.” The way he said that so seriously unnerved him. “Why do you always put yourself down like that?

     “Yeah, you talk like an asshole but you’re far from being one. You’re kinder than you give yourself credit for. In all the time I’ve known you, you’re willing to put up with anything and make whatever sacrifices are necessary if it means the little snowdove will be taken care of. Hell, you were willing to help and worry over a guy like me, someone you’ve only known for a few months. She’s lucky to have you in her life.” He stood up and walked over to hesitantly take hold of his hand. “As am I.”

     Blood rushed up to his cheeks in a rare display of fluster. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die from that embarrassing spectacle. How dare he make him blush!

     Letting out a chuckle, Luce said amusingly, “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you blush, Snowbird.”

     “Shut up!” He backed away suddenly, feeling his face grow hotter. “I’m only doing it because you had to be a dick and do that!”

     “What, speak the truth?” he replied, shrugging.

     He fanned his face to cool off while huffing. It was humiliating enough to hear him say all that but even more so to know he meant it. No one ever spoke that highly about him in his eighteen years of life. That was also his first time having anyone actually reach out and touch him in that manner. It was strange and new and…a sensation he wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with.

     “You’re actually kinda cute when you’re like this,” Luce teased, smirking.

     Crossing his arms, he retorted, “Oh, great, the flirting’s back. Not like I missed that while you were holed up here!”

     “Okay, okay, look, I’m sorry.” His smirk turned into a warm, if small, smile as he leaned to one side. “What’ll make you feel better?”

     “...Let me see how much you trust me.”

     “Okay.”

     “You don’t even know what it is yet!”

     “You wanna see how far you can touch me before I ask you to stop, right?”

     He had him there. He wanted to see how much he trusted him and, as horrible as it was, how else could he observe that than by touching him? Even if it was to satiate his curiosity, it felt wrong to essentially exploit Luce’s trigger. It wouldn’t matter how much trust was between them if it became shattered by doing this.

     “I won’t do it if you’re uncomfortable with it,” he vowed. “I don’t wanna go too far to where you get a panic attack because I didn’t respect your boundaries.”

     “I know you won’t,” he replied in the serious tone from before.

     “Don’t say stuff just so I don’t worry. Tell me if you’ll be okay or not.”

     “Lemme prove it to you.”

     Thin fingers wrapped around his wrists as he placed his hands on his cheeks. He had to stand up on his toes in order to reach him. His cheeks felt warm against his half covered palms. This felt weird yet strangely nice.

     “Now do you believe me?” he asked.

     Retracting his hands, he replied with a simple “Yeah.”

     “Well--” he kept a hand locked around his wrist as he sat back down on the couch and positioned him to be in front-- “do what you want.”

     “What if I go too far? Luce, I don’t---”

     “I know you won’t. I trust you.”

     It was shocking to see such a change in Luce from a week ago to now. He hadn’t noticed it before but touch was never exchanged between them. Up until their last meeting, physical contact was nonexistent. Now, he couldn’t keep his hands off him, something he guessed was good since it meant he overcame his aversion somewhat. Why wasn’t there a better word for overcome?

     His thumbs ran over his cheekbone as his nails brushed his earlobes. He seemed to be okay for now, his eyes closed and delicate lashes resting atop his cheeks. Something glinted in the early evening sun and he reached out to touch it. Soon as his fingers grazed his ears, his grip on his wrist tightened and his brow furrowed.

     “You okay?”

     “Yeah, it’s just… I don’t have the best experiences with people touching my ears, one way or another.”

     “You want me to stop?”

     “No, I’ll be fine. I just need to remember it’s you and not…her.”

     Despite his misgivings, he pressed onward. He brushed dark locks away from an ear to see what was twinkling in the light. Two simple stud earrings adorned his ear, mildly surprising him.

     “Didn’t know you had ear piercings.”

     “The eyebrow one didn’t tip you off?”

     “Well, your hair’s so damn long, I couldn’t see them till now.”

     Luce chuckled as he decided to move on. His fingers threaded through his hair before arriving at the nape of his neck. Already, Luce was sucking in a breath as if bracing himself for his touch. He slowly trailed down, gauging the other’s face for a reaction telling him to stop. His middle and ring finger swept over a particular spot and that earned him a response.

     He leaned into his touch, slightly dragging him along by his wrist. That must’ve meant he liked it, at least what he assumed that to be. He began pressing his fingers into that spot, massaging it and caressing it. Doing that made Luce turn his head and bury his mouth into his free hand.

     “Oh, Ravinn…” he mumbled, the hand gripping his wrist moving up to capture his.

     The sudden shock of hearing his name stayed his hand. That was the first time Luce ever said his name, his full name at that. Now he knew there was something serious going on between them. He only really started suspecting it a little bit ago but this just proved it.

     He brought his other hand back up to his cheek. His heart began to beat faster as he wondered what to say. How could he give voice to seemingly random thoughts without coming off as a creep? How would Luce react to him asking for one? Why did he want this with him? All these questions with no answer in sight and it frustrated him to the point of exasperation. He just had to go for it.

     “Luce, is it okay if I…” Red eyes peeked out from underneath crescent lashes as his eyes darted to his lips.

     Luce’s answer was letting out a breath he seemed to be holding in while closing his eyes once more. He was unsure of what that meant before he felt an arm bring him in closer by the waist. It gave him an idea but he needed to know.

     “Is that a yes?”

     “Yes.”

     Tilting his head up, he leaned in close and tried to stifle a shaky breath. This was it, the moment of truth. This could either make or break whatever he had with Luce so he needed to not regret this. With closed eyes and breaths mingling, he gently pressed his lips against his.

     His tongue traced over his lips, asking if he could go further. Luce tentatively parted his mouth and he took his time diving in. He didn’t want to scare him or feel like he was disregarding his boundaries. He may not know what his experiences with kissing were but he wanted this one to be good. Their mouths moved in slow unison, hands on his back and warmth settling into his core. He pulled away first, opening his eyes to see the other’s fond gaze.

     It wasn’t like other kisses he’d see on TV. It wasn’t intense, wasn’t very long, and it didn’t devolve into making out. Yet it felt good, it felt nice, it was just…a short and sweet kiss. He liked kissing Luce and it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it to be. His first kiss was with Luce, something he was admittedly happy with.

     Luce buried his head into his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He carded through his dark hair, playing with it and feeling the soft locks go through his fingers. No words were spoken between them, hearing only the sounds of their quiet breathing. They simply held each other, content to stay like this for however long they wanted.

     It was safe to say he wasn’t “friends” with Luce anymore. They were something else now, something he couldn’t put a word to. Dating wasn’t right and being in a relationship was too close. He knew he felt something with him but who’s to say it’ll still be there later? Who’s to say Luce wanted to be with him? He’s only a week sober, his emotions might still be jumbled up. Either way, this was a complicated mess of wants versus realism.

     He wanted to be with him, he surprisingly did. But a relationship just wasn’t feasible right now. He needed to focus on giving Amelia a better life, the future that was suddenly ripped away from him close to 5 years ago. She was his top priority and nothing would ever change that.

     Yet he knew she’d want him to be happy. So, maybe, by that logic, it’d be okay to pursue whatever this was with Luce. It’d be temporary, of course, but it meant he wouldn’t feel guilty for being selfish.

     “Hey, Luce? He felt a rumble against his chest. “You okay with…being whatever this is?”

     He turned his head to the side and replied, “Yeah. I don’t know what this is but yeah.”

     “You sure? It may not last long.”

     “I know and I’m positive. I’ll just enjoy the time I spend with you till then.”

     He let out a rare chuckle, his arms around his neck in an embrace. He knew of the circumstances surrounding his love life and he understood. If only the men who’d repeatedly ask him out at work did the same…

     This was a thing they had. Describing it as a relationship sounded too permanent and exclusive. It was an indefinite fling, something he planned on making the most out of while he still could. It may be a complicated mess but he didn’t care if people couldn’t understand it because it would work for him.

     “Is it okay if I stay for a little bit more?” he asked. “I know I’ve got Amelia waiting for me back home but I told her I’d be gone for a while so…”

     “Yeah, that’s fine,” he replied, his hold on him tightening as he brought him in even closer, his face in the crook of his neck.

     Playing with his hair once more, Ravi dropped down into his lap. He could get used to this. With this being his first foray into the world of romance, he was bound to stumble or even fuck up a couple times. They’d deal with those when they came up later down the road. For now, this was nice.

     “And Luce? I trust you.” He should’ve said it earlier but now was as good a time as any.

     “I figured as much.” His breath tickled the side of his neck and he could just see the smirk that annoyed him so.

     “Shut up.” Without the usual bite of his tone, the corners of his mouth turned up into an even rarer smile.

#airi's writing #oc; Luce #oc; Ravi #Red Light Dregs #self harm mention #addiction tw #implied abuse

[randomwordsandstormydays]

The One Where Mandy Gets Her Crew

Check it out! This is the first writing I’ve done for my OC Mandy Sepha.

TW: character death, graphic depictions of violence, cursing, aggressive language

Mandy is going to kill Helios.

He’s a piss poor excuse for a crew leader, and a raider in general, and he’s made one too many comments about her tongue, or lack thereof, for her to even begin to respect him. But that’s not why he needs to die. No, she’s going to kill him because The Death Dealers have lost more members in the six months since he’s taken over than in the two years prior to his rise to power. She’s sick of having to recruit garbage raiders because he’s getting her people killed more quickly than she can find replacements. Even that chem junkie she picked up last week is better suited to run their little outfit.

So, she’s going to kill him.

It’ll be simple enough, there isn’t a single doubt in her mind that she’s smarter than him, and she’s willing to bet a whole slew of caps that she’s better in a fight, too, which is going to make this a whole lot simpler. Helios has always underestimated her, whether it be in her fighting skills, her weapons accuracy, or her intelligence. That kind of doubt will only make it easier for her to gut him. All she has to do is challenge him in the arena next week, she’ll put him down in front of the entire gang, and then claim the spot of crew leader for herself.

Most of the members already respect her, because even if their shitty leader can’t see her potential, everyone else can. In fact, just a few weeks ago, a couple of the more senior raiders were discussing who would be a better fit to take over, on the off chance that an accident befell Helios. She was eavesdropping, one of her specialties, when Kilthau dropped her name. That, combined with the overwhelming support from the rest of the group, was one of the factors that led to her decision.

Since then she’s been preparing. It wasn’t hard to take over for Ophelia in the sparring pit, and every day she spends at least two hours there practicing taking on men and women bigger than her, stronger than her, smarter than her. There isn’t a soul she hasn’t taken on by this point, except for the crew leader. And that will be rectified soon.

Kilthau approaches her two days before the arena matches while she’s on guard duty. He offers her a cigarette, which she takes but doesn’t smoke, before claiming the seat next to her at the top of the wall.

“I know what you’re planning to do,” she watches him in her peripherals but doesn’t respond, “and I want to help.”

That surprises her, she knows that he believes she should be in charge, but going against the crew leader is punishable by death. If she loses, and Helios doesn’t kill her right there and then, she won’t live much longer anyways. If it’s discovered that Kilthau helped her, he’ll die too. However, she’ll take all the help she can get, if he wants to risk his life, that’s on him, hopefully he’s not expecting her to protect him. Nothing is free, however, especially when dealing with raiders. Her eyes must convey her suspicion.

“I do want something in return, but I believe it will also be in your favor.” She nods, encouraging him to continue. “When you become crew leader, I want to be your personal bodyguard,” he laughs a little at the look on her face, “I’m getting old, Mandy, raiders don’t usually live to my age, and no I won’t tell you want that is.” That gets a very small smile from her. “You know I’m a good fighter, but every run we make, every settlement we take over, that could be my last.”

For the first time, Mandy really looks at him, and the indicators of his age are all over. He keeps his head shaved, but the coarse hairs on his chin reflect gray-white in the mid-day sun. As she stares an amused look passes over his features, revealing wrinkles by the edges of his mouth and crow’s feet by his eyes. If she had to guess she’d put him in his early forties, much too old to be a raider. It’s obvious that his intelligence is what has kept him alive, and she wonders why someone so smart, with so much potential, is wasting his life with The Death Dealers. She’s not going to ask, though.

His offer is a good one, and she’s not going to let it pass. He takes her hand when she offers it, squeezing once before letting it drop. Mandy raises one of her eyebrows up, telling him to continue.

“We all know Helios is a tank. He’s big and strong, which is why all you young kids thought it would be a good idea to put him in charge,” at her aversion to that he corrects himself, “okay, maybe not you specifically, but you understand.” So far he hasn’t said anything she doesn’t already know. “Well, what you might not have heard, is that he’s got a bad shoulder. Get your thumb or blunt weapon into the joint there and you’ll immobilize him.”

That is news to her. A weakness like that is easily abused, no wonder it’s such a closely guarded secret. She wonders how Kilthau found out. He’s on his feet before she has a chance to ask.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

Less than 48 hours she’s staring across the arena looking Helios dead in the eye and gripping her ripper in a tight fist. He glares at her, looking at her like she’s no better than the blood drying on his boots.

“I should have known you were going to challenge me,” he sneers at her, “you’ve had it out for me since day one.” Obviously he gets no response from her. He turns to address the raiders surrounding the fighting pit. “Do you really want to follow a former slave? If she was taken before, how do you expect her to be strong enough to lead you now?”

The crowd is divided, half of them know her, respect her, and have never looked down on her because of the life she lived prior. Hell, more than a few have heard her story and congratulated her on her success. It’s not often a slave rebels, and it’s even less often that they win. Helios doesn’t respect that, doesn’t respect anyone who wasn’t born into the raider life, who had to fight tooth and nail to survive, to pass initiation, to prove themselves.

The other half are chemed out, riding the waves of artificial bliss, only loyal to the strongest, the current leader. She’ll win them over, and then they’ll cheer for her.

He faces her again, mouth twisting into an ugly grin. “You really want to follow a woman who wasn’t strong enough to stop someone from cutting out her own tongue?”

Anger pounds through her at his words, but she knows that anger will only make her sloppy, anger will get her killed.

But honestly, fuck Helios, how dare he? She was 19 when she snarked off to the wrong raider, her newest owner. He didn’t believe in second chances, and before she could do anything to make up for her words, he forced open her mouth and cut out her tongue. Now, five years later, he’s dead, killed by the same knife he used on her, and she’s alive, ready to take down another raider who thinks he’s better than her.

The memory of his blood pouring across her hand and down her arm fuels her. She’s stronger now than she was then, Helios doesn’t stand a chance. He’s still waiting for her anger, watching her like a predator, but unable to convey much more fear than she would feel when faced with a simple radroach. His face dissolves into rage when she smiles at him, bright and wide, and then flips him off. The crowd shouts their glee at her taunting and Helios’ gaze darts all around, confused by their flipping loyalty. He seems to realize that he’s not the one they want to win.

Just as that thought crosses through Mandy’s mind Helios makes his move. Even as large as he is, he moves quickly, and the distance between them is covered in just a few seconds. No matter, though, she’s ready.

Before he can complete the punch that he’s aiming at her skull, she ducks to the side, rolling and using her momentum to get away from his fist. She’s on her feet quicker than he can turn around and she uses this to her advantage. One quick kick to the back of his leg has him dropping to his knees on the floor and then another has her boot connecting with the side of his head, sending him sprawling across the ground. For a moment she considers ending him there, her ripper is ready, but it’s too quick. He hasn’t suffered enough.

The roar of the raiders registers as she takes a few steps back, letting Helios get his bearings, and their cheers encourage her. By the look in his eyes he knows that he should be dead, that she spared him for the sake of a better show. He won’t underestimate her again.

They go back and forth, passing blows between them in equal measure. He gets a solid hit to the side of her head, which rips one of her piercings out, but she returns the favor when she cuts off a chunk of his ear with her ripper. She has no idea how long they fight, but she can feel herself flagging, luckily, Helios is tired too. He takes a step, like he means to charge her again, but it’s a ruse, a ruse that she fails to notice. The ground hurts as it slams into her back, and the wind is knocked out of her, her moment of weakness has opened up a golden opportunity for Helios.

She doesn’t feel panic when his hands close around her neck, she’s been in this position more than once, she knows how to get out. Hooking her leg around his is easier than she suspected, he’s underestimating her again. The shock on his face when she flips him onto his back and knocks his hands away nearly makes her laugh out loud, instead she jabs her thumb into his shoulder joint. His yelp of pain is genuine and loud, and she takes a moment to let his whimpering mewls wash over her.

Then she slashes the ripper across his throat, silencing his screams.

His blood is hot as it sprays across her face, but she’s all smiles. Once the dark red liquid stops pouring out of him, she stands and faces the majority of the raiders. Kilthau is already down the stairs and making his way towards her. Pride is written all over his face and it makes her feel accomplished, even more so than the blood drying on her face and staining her teeth. Kilthau reaches down to grab her by the wrist and in one swift motion he lifts her arm up.

“To your new crew leader, Mandy “The Silence” Sepha! Head of The Death Dealers!”

The screams from her fellow raiders pour over her, and in that moment Mandy knows that she’s exactly where she belongs.

- - -

Click here to go back to my OC writings master list.

#oc: mandy sepha #random's ocs #random writes #randomwordsandstormydays

[touchmycoat]

kinktober: day 15

day 15: rape fantasy

Obvious content warnings for this one. Nothing really happens, just discussions of and a breakdown of how the fantasy might be shaped in Sabo & Koala, still in the context of MAS

Relevant thoughts:

1.@hexenmeisterer sent me the brilliant Francesca Coppa essay “Slash/Drag: Appropriation and Visibility in the Age of Hamilton.” The idea of slash as a theatrical act of reappropriation, plus subjectifying male characters for feminine sensibilities.

2. Andrea Glik, queer + poly relationships-specializing therapist, talking about BDSM as trauma processing and healing (not exclusively, but as one tool). Her conversation with Tina Horne on “Why Are People Into That” about all the traumas that come with living in rape culture.

3. Sophia McDougall’s article “The Rape of James Bond,” mentioned in Coppa’s essay, about the argument for “realism” when overportraying rape scenes of women in mass media, and how it’s never “realistically” applied to male characters.

 They didn't have a tell us everything kind of relationship, a fact which Sabo appreciated more than he could ever even say to Ace.

There was the obvious stuff, of course, with the RA. As if being a Revolutionary wasn't enough, being Chief of Staff meant he was so beyond the if-I-told-you stage; he was supposed to pull the trigger, drain the artery before the question's even finished.

There was also the less obvious stuff. Stuff that ran not underneath the surface layer, but under the bottom of the whole damn pie tin. Related, yes, to the RA, because what in his life wasn't, but not the easy summation of X plus Y equals Z. More of a derivative, really. The powder burns that could've been from a gun or a firecracker, the mysterious plus-C.

The burn in question: a fantasy. The fantasy: rape. Self-disgust didn't even begin to cover how Sabo felt about this particular burn mark.

The thing was, it really had nothing to do with Ace or Marco. It was a quagmire that's sat in his mind since what felt like day one. The RA taught, amongst many things, hyper-vigilance, which translated into hyper-paranoia. The world is your enemy (fact), and they will destroy you at any opportunity (also fact). Destruction can take on many different forms.

Koala understood. She had been the red-faced hyperventilating anger-fear that first put it into words for Sabo. Don't you just wish sometimes, she had said on the night she dropped that well-practiced smile, became all teeth and impact tests against steel, they'd just fucking do it to us already? Get it over with?

What, rape? Sabo had asked, a bit shell-shocked.

Can't hurt worse than being branded, getting stabbed, getting kneecapped, can it? So what do I have to fear? Koala asked in a tone so ironic she sneered at herself. I hate this murky unknowing. What's one more thing to survive? It's just training, isn't it? If I've done it once, I can bear it so much easier the second time. We know that.

Horror was subjective, so what Sabo took away from Koala's venting that night was a deeper meditation on an annoyingly real fear. Humiliation was the name of the game, and the RA has taught them that well. To break a sentience, you destroy their sense of identity; if their sense of identity involves bodily autonomy and sexual agency, then that's what you take away. Broken creatures can be more easily made to crawl for scraps from the table, and when they've reduced you to that state, it's only a matter of time before you give away all of the RA's most integral secrets. It was easy to swallow the cyanide before it got to that point, but wouldn't it be nice to survive and fight another day?

(Wouldn't it be nice to come back, to Koala, to Ace, to Marco?)

So, the balm for the burn: practice. Koala made a lot of sense (as always). If I've done it once, I can bear it again.

That wasn't really the kind of thing Sabo could so easily ask his boyfriends though.

Optimistically (and he was a changed man for love now, he practiced shit like optimism), Sabo could imagine horror and pity and discomfort and well-intentioned-but-ultimately-misguided nagging about the dangers of his job. He could imagine the twin looks of shock and aversion and Ace and Marco's faces, could imagine wanting to cry at one and punch (plus cry at) the other. He could imagine the sharp veer into a more polite subject of conversation, then the slow distancing due to that foundational lack of understanding, and then losing Ace to that moral upstanding lovely bastard and also losing access to Marco's bed. Also Marco, whatever. And that was the best scenario.

There was no worst scenario because every other option was just worse in different ways. He could imagine hurting Ace, knifing into that age-old sensitivity of being thought of as a demon, as evil, as his father's son because why else would Sabo be asking him to commit rape? Even faked, even negotiated, Sabo wouldn't dream of making Ace occupy a role of repugnant brutality he's never even wanted to play.

He could imagine hurting Marco, because god that man was easy to hurt. Just because Marco liked to roll on his back and present his center of mass for the stabbing, just because he didn't flinch when the knife went in didn't mean Sabo hasn't hurt him. Sabo knew, okay? Knew very well the sacrifices it took to be with someone as damaged himself. He's already taken so much advantage of that too-fine, gossamer line Marco drew between things-I-want-for-me and things-I-want-because-someone-else-wants-me-to-want-them, he might actually destroy Marco if he asked for this too.

Marco, I need you to be the villain.

Marco, I need you to not just hold me down, but beat me down. Punch and kick and suffocate me. Break me down, and let me bear it. Oh yeah, and I need you to find pleasure in this too.

Right. Ace wouldn't let him do that to Marco, and more importantly, Sabo wouldn't even let himself do that to Marco. The man would just say yes, and then Sabo would've gone and fucked everything up again.

Okay, so boyfriends are a dead end, at least for the time being. Which was fine! Sabo could hardly blame them (especially given the fact that this has been an entirely solo endeavor on his part so far). The problem still remained though, gone itchy with irritation.

(Cont’d)

#kinktober 2019 #marcoacesabo #tread lightly #i think it makes sense tho for sabo and koala #the constant threat and fear of rape as a weapon of war #but also the transformative power that can come with eroticizing and kinkifying it #i dunno dude i'm working stuff out too

[appolyonicarchive]

❝  i’m fine, let me see your face.  ❞

          night missions are always more chaotic, harder to keep track of all the moving pieces especially when everything goes to absolute shit. the monocle isn’t infallible, who would have guessed ? underestimated numbers in the enemy, and underestimated positions, as it turned out, the academy wasn’t the only one with an eye in the sky. not that emilie had been the one to dispatch them, she’d had her hands full trying to pick off whatever numbers she could. eight superpowered kids might amount to the force of a small army, but that doesn’t mean that they are immune from the disorientation of false information. sir reginald had unwittingly fallen right into a trap.

          too bad for the ones setting the trap, these supposed children have far more capability than what may meet the eye. especially when backed into a metaphorical corner. there is a method to the madness, a marking of the levels of desperation from the redheads position on the rooftop. she always starts with the compound bow, the arrows. despite how reginald may grow annoyed that the first weapon she reaches for is the one that fires at the slowest rate, it will always be the weapon of choice, heralded by an anguished cry of someone receiving the painful shock of an arrow embedded in the shoulder, forcing them to drop their weapon. one to the knee of another attempting to sneak up on luther, now foiled. but there is only so much that can be done prancing around the edge with a compound bow.

          the next step, when things start so seem more dire and the quiver is emptied of ammunition, is less merciful as she positions herself flat on the rooftop, aligns the stock of the gun against her shoulder. six bullets currently in the magazine, five spares, ready for the fastest reload she can manage. the first shot will give away her position, and while 30 shots may seem like a lot, every last one has to count for something. so she takes a sharp breath in, and the almost silent shot rips through a stomach. not necessarily fatal, enough to let her sleep at night as they tumble to the ground, and the hailstorm of bullets follows, though not all are her own, and through the scope of the sniper rifle she can spy the carnage in the pools of light that occur by the moon and other more artificial sources. there’s a fair amount of unintentional friendly fire from what she can tell, especially when those guns are aimed at five who disappears in the knick of time. it brings a small smile to her face that she feels more than a little guilty about.

          seventeen shots and the small army seems to have diminished greatly from the combined efforts of the children. they’re not out of the woods yet, but the victory seems inevitable. steady even as the counter sniper attempts to take shots, but clips the stone at the edge of the roof instead as she monitors the situation through the scope, her shots slowing as she is determined to make every last one count. and that’s when she sees something at makes her blood run cold.

          a figure falls into a pool of light, not moving, not breathing, and seemingly all too familiar. it can’t be---------- it CAN’T.  ❝  five.  ❞  her voice is a whisper, lost to the night as the light blinks out above the figure, plunging the area into the pitch-black that surrounds it. she doesn’t realize she’s gotten up, moved to the edge of the roof, an unconscious moment she only seems to wake from as the word rips from her throat ragged and raw and splits through the night with such ferocity that it wouldn’t surprise her if it could be heard for miles.  ❝  FIVE !  ❞

          it feels like her heart stops, sinks like a stone as she realizes exactly how bad of a move she’s made as something whizzes by her ear. a quiet buzz, like a bumblebee. there’s no cover like this. dropping to the rooftop once more, the air exits her lungs in a singular motion, and she has to regain it again as she hears the fire escape groan under the . of course she expected this after giving away her position on the first shot, but she didn’t expect to be winded. didn’t expect to be shutting down waves of grief as she rolls onto her stomach, pulls out her pistol and takes aim, holding her breath.

          the first of them doesn’t manage to set foot on the roof, falling back with a loud sound ringing out as the headshot knocks them back. the next are a bit more of a struggle. she doesn’t know she’s crying until she can’t fire straight but when the shots are done, there lay two corpses, each adorned with an uncharacteristic number of bullets, in much more intentionally fatal placements than em would aim for under normal circumstances. but this is for five. this is vengeance running hot and unbridled in her veins, even as the tears run hot down her face.

          bony fingers curl into tight fists against her skull in the absence of an ability to knot them into the hair that’s been pulled back into a tight braid. the silence of the night closing in like a vice, and it seems all is quiet. if she could let out another scream she would, but it seems all the sound is stolen from her lungs and when the radio crackles next to the bow and splits the silence she does not wait for the message as she grasps it and throws it off the roof with spite. it doesn’t matter what the monocle orders. five is dead. nothing matters right now except this. the silence and the cold on the roof as she brings her knees up to her chest. out of bullets save for the sniper rifle, though not unarmed with the hunting knife gleaming in the moonlight beside her.

          there is nowhere to hide on the flat top roof. no shadows save for the one cast by her curled body as she rests her forehead against her knees, having ripped off the domino mask and holding it so tightly in her right hand that she’s not sure it will ever regain its shape again. there’s footsteps approaching her. strange that she didn’t hear the fire escape, but her left-hand curls around the knife, tucks it into the shadows and pretends she doesn’t hear the approach of an enemy that stops just a few steps shy.

          ❝  i’m fine, let me see your face.  ❞

          it can’t be. her breath falters, and the white knuckle grip on the weapon releases one finger at a time. she does not life her head to the exposure of the moonlight. not for a long second. she doesn’t want him to see the red rings that must have formed around her eyes, the tear stains on her cheeks. has he ever seen her cry ? she doesn’t think he has. ( not that she can remember at least, though it’s a rare occurrence even across the multiple lifetimes that they’ve shared. )

          her throat closes, like a tightened fist as she raises her head, pushes the hood back and exposes herself in a moment of true vulnerability. something she has never dared to do, not even in past cycles as she struggled and strained for something resembling survival, the crestfallen expression morphing into something indescribable as she sees her brother, alive in front of her.  ❝  you’re alive.  ❞  there’s an explanation to be had, of that much she’s sure. probably a mistake in the heat of battle, someone who looked the part just enough in her brief glimpse. or maybe it was him, but the distance and dim lighting made it too difficult to discern the true extent of the damage. it doesn’t matter. not now.

           the force with which she launches herself up from her seated position is surprising even to her, but not as surprising as the fact that she wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. so touch averse she always keeps a distance, both emotional and literal, but it dissipates in the moment as she holds onto him tighter than she ever has. but maybe that’s because she’s never felt the pain of losing him, even briefly. even when it was only ever in her head. suddenly a few tears don’t seem so much like an admission of guilt or vulnerability, as she sobs into his shoulder, the mask slipping from her hand and onto the rooftop.

          she doesn’t care what reginald will say about her failure to respond to the radio. she doesn’t care that she should have already disassembled the rifle and begun to make her way to the rendevouz, or that she’s likely to be yelled at for drawing such attention to herself and giving away her position so blatantly the way that she did. all that matters is this moment. the redhead clings to him all the tighter for it.  ❝  i thought you---------- i thought i lost you.  ❞

@apocalypsedeterrent​

#apocalypsedeterrent #EM IS HAVING A WHOLE ASS MOMENT OF VULNERABILITY SHE NEEDS A MOMENT #SHE WAS SO FUCKING SCARED FOR HIM #V. I BREAK AND I BLEED BUT I DO NOT FALTER ✂︎ ━━ i come home the temptation to stay away will always be there but i come home ¸

[tibbygetsrekt]

        Had another one of those crack fic moments! All the f/o’s under one roof would be absolute madness but for a single fic? It’s... survivable. Bon Apetit!

“We’re going to Area 51 boys!’

    Their announcement was met with absolute silence, daylight streaming through the door they’d just burst through. It was as if they’d thrown a grenade into the room and no one was sure if it was live or not.

“Wait… where?’ Frank asked, when no one else wanted to ask the obvious.

“Area. Fifty. One.’ They enunciated each word, still standing in the door as if expecting all of them to get up and get going immediately.

    Silence again. Hannibal staring at them with a politely curious expression but internally he was doing quick math. This level of manic commitment had to be at least three pots of coffee. Czernobog, who had no such reservations, took a long slow drag of his cigarette before swiping his hand across the checkerboard with a sigh and grabbed his hammer.

“What?! No!’ Hannibal snapped at him, refusing to move, fingers tightening on his book before turning his attention back to the figure in the doorway. “Tiberius Rex, sit down.’

“No! Hannibal listen-’

“I will not.’

    Their jaw set, attempting to stare him down before realizing the futility of that and instead looked towards Heavy.

“Bring Sasha, and call the boys!’

“I do not think Ms. Pauling would approve-’

“Too hell with that uptight cunt!’ Sweeney barked, laughing as he darted out of the room.

“That’s the spirit!’ Sending an air five his way, that he swiped at as his long legs took the stairs three at a time, they turned to Dutch. “You coming? I got a plan.’

    They did not have a plan. They were just going to wing it, and hope for the best.

“Tiberius…’ Hannibal slowly stood from the couch, the book placed in his seat. “Why don’t you sit, and we can hear this plan of yours. Frank is a military man, as is Heavy, after a fashion-’

“We can talk on the way, it’s a… twelve-hour drive?’ Waving off the request, they turned their head to the kitchen. “Eddie! EDDIE! Come upstairs, we’re going to go rescue aliens!’

“I thought this wasn’t happening until September or something…’ Frank muttered as he went back to cleaning his guns.

“That’s the beauty of it, that’s months away. They’re only just trying to fortify the base, it’ll be like the Spanish Inquisition!’

“What’s that?’ Sweeney asked, hopping down the last four steps to land with a bang on the floorboards. His shirt was gone, blue streaks curving down from his shoulders, and four slashed across his face. “Where’s my spear?’

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!’

    They laughed, as he looked briefly confused before shrugging it off and going to hunt down his preferred weapon when not using his fists. Laughter was still bubbling out of them when Eddie finally came out of the basement looking disgruntled.

“They’re not wrong, Cannibal.’ Frank shrugged when the rich red-hued eyes landed on him. “Everyone on social media is screaming September, they’re expecting something probably in November. Just think of it as an early birthday present for them.’

“.... I love you.’ Tiberius whispered, even as Eddie tried to figure out what was going on by the conversation currently circling the room.

“Wait, where are we going, darling?’

“Area 51. It’s where they keep all the alien tech,’ when he looked less than enthusiastic, Tiberius sucked air through their teeth before putting on a serious expression. “It’s also where they… did experiments.’

    That was all Eddie needed, his hand lifting to skim over the right side of his face. Hannibal looked like a mix of proud and aghast, stepping around everyone else to take hold of their arm.

“You need to stop this, it was funny but you’re going to get people killed.’ He paused, realizing his stance and his teeth grit together before pushing the frustration away. “A lot of people, very publicly.’

    Hand motioning towards Eddie’s back as he left for the kitchen, and one of Hannibal’s knives.

“It’s the publicly thing that’s bothering you, isn’t it?’ They asked, not bothering trying to pull loose. “We can’t wear masks, Hannibal. That would obscure our vision.’

“Your vision is obviously already obscured.’

“That’s rude, you know I can see just fine without my glasses.’

    When he let go of their arm, they didn’t rub the area despite how tight his grip had been. Instead, they trailed the direction Sweeney had gone, surprised to find Dutch at their heels.

“So… there are aliens at this military facility?’

“Yes. Supposedly. Probably.’ They finally admitted, peeking in a room and finding it empty.  “But isn’t the idea thrilling?’

“I guess it is.’ He was thinking of the money that could be made selling what they found, or even alliances made off world that could be very lucrative. “But we’re driving?’

“Well… I mean I was going to, but I don’t think that we’d all fit in my Ford Focus.’ Frowning as they finally admitted the problem out loud. “Just getting Heavy and Sweeney into Odysseus is a struggle. And I don’t think you guys would be comfortable sitting on each other’s laps…’

    Cut off by running smack into Sweeney’s chest, they caught their balance, beaming up at him.

“So wait, aliens? Alright.’

    Almost as if he were still trying to convince himself. To be honest, it sounded like a laugh, and that’s all he needed for a reason. Sweeney was more self-destructive than Tiberius who was grinning up at him.

“If you’re going, then you will be bringing bottles of water.’

    Tiberius’ eyes rolled. That meant Hannibal wasn’t going, not that they were all that upset at the idea. It was his choice whether or not he was going to, and they were going to respect that. To be fair if any alien in the place was telepathic it might be better if Hannibal didn’t go or they might be more terrified of the rescue party.

“And you, drink now.’

    A glass of water entered their vision, and they took it out of habit. Hannibal said drink, eat, they usually did. He was more aware of the last time Tiberius had then they were. But even as the rim of the glass met their lips, they paused, pulling it away to stare at the water suspiciously. Actually, given his current stance on-

“Ow!’

    Glass falling to the floor, they grabbed their arm, turning a betrayed expression to Hannibal who didn’t look the least bit chagrined. But they had a high tolerance, it was their saving grace, Tiberius thought to themself even as they felt their head going fuzzy.

“Rude! Go eat yourself.’ They muttered, unable to swipe at him as they felt their body listing to the side.

    Sweeney caught them, scowling at Hannibal as he bent to lift them. Arms hanging loosely, head lolled back, he ground his teeth as Hannibal gave the unconscious burden a quick look over before going back into the living room. The Irishman was hot on his heels, frustration making his voice rough.

“Why in the name of Bran did you do that?!’

“When was the last time you saw them sleep?’ Hannibal countered cooly.

    He didn’t have an answer for that. That wasn’t really his category. He knew anger, and he knew drinking, and… Hannibal was staring at him as he slowly lowered himself back onto the couch, patting the cushion next to him. Czernobog let out a sigh through his nose as he let the hammer arc down to rest on the floor, plopping back into his chair and setting up the game again.

“So we’re not going?!” Eddie sounded outraged, and Hannibal leveled a cautious look at him.

“To Area 51, where the aliens are?’

“… Yes?’

“Edward, there is no Area 51 for us to go to. They were having… a hysteric episode.’

“Ah… those can be nasty.’

    The tension was slow to leave the broad shoulders, but it did, even as his fingers rolled the knife hilt against his palm. Moving towards Sweeney, he ignored the way the taller man’s arms shifted, trying to subtly move Tiberius out of reach.

“What did you give them?’

“A mild sedative is all.’ Hannibal picked up his book, leaning back on the couch. “They’ll wake in a few hours and most likely apologize for their overly energetic outburst earlier.’

“They do that a lot.” Eddie hummed, a small smile playing across his lips before turning back the way he’d come into the event. “Tell them that they need to come down later on, I’ve a new outfit I want to size on them.’

    Still looking disgruntled about the whole thing, Sweeney kicked at the coffee table to move it before half falling onto the couch. The only reaction from Tiberius was a sleepy little grunt, which Sweeney felt a flash of guilt over. Heels slamming down on the coffee table, taking a smidge of pleasure at the scowl that flashed across Hannibal’s face.

“So how long has it been since they slept then?’

“I don’t know for sure, but I’ve been around far longer than the rest of you.’ He was smug about that, considering Tiberius’ subconscious aversion to commitments.

“So you just magically know when she’s been up too long?’

    Hannibal leveled a look at the irate Irishman, and then cast an only slightly softer look down at the unconscious form in his arms.

“Not magically no, but you get to know a person. They need rest.’ Attention turning back to his book, dismissing the rest of the room, he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “If you can manage to stop howling.’

“Wait, so now we’re not going?’ Dutch complained, falling into a chair with a huff of irritation.

“No. Tiberius would not hunt aliens.’ Czernobog answered, already lighting another cigarette even though Hannibal glared at him as he did so. A low grating chuckle rumbled out of his chest. “They would hunt monsters, do hunt monsters.’

    A pointed look at Dutch had the man flushing, mouth opening to retort only to have his mouth snap shut when Hannibal gave a sharp hiss. Of course he wasn’t the only one that Czernobog looked at, and he didn’t exclude himself. But he was comfortable with being dark, a nicotine stained finger moving a black checker piece, as Heavy sat down across from him to study the board before moving one of the white ones.

“She’s got a type.’ Frank said mockingly when it was clear Dutch was fuming. “But at least she doesn’t try to change us, or try to make us feel bad about the things we do. So, I’m alright with it.’

“I don’t require changing.” Dutch snapped, arms crossing over his chest as he slumped in the chair, ankles stacking.

    No one argued with him, mostly because it was clear he was spoiling for a fight, secondarily because too much fighting meant waking the unconscious mess that was cuddling closer to Sweeney’s chest, smearing blue paint on their face. Slowly the room quieted again, as if Tiberius hadn’t kicked the door in not twenty minutes ago and set the lot of them on edge one way or another.

“Maybe we should offer a trip? They might like going woods walking?’ Sweeney muttered, chin resting on their curls. “How long until the heat drops off?’

“Not til after their birthday, so maybe as a gift for Mabon. It may be cooler in September.’

“Yeah, that sounds about right.’ He paused when Tiberius made a noise, not a word by any means, but it was something. When they settled again, Sweeney smirked. “How much did you give them?’

“Enough to drop a small horse, they metabolize too quickly otherwise.’

“…. A houseful of monsters indeed.’

#tibby’s library ;; f/o fics #crack!fic ala f/o

[whatsupwhump]

Whump Bump of the Month:  Laws of Motion

(where the new, the slightly old, and really old fanfic gets bumped to your attention in broken down, comprehension reviews)

Whump Bump of the Month: Laws of Motion

Written by: pennflinn

Posted on Ao3: November 26th, 2017

(word count: 4,858)

Fandom: Flash (CW TV)

Ship: Barry Allen/Iris West

Summary: A collapsing building is just part of the job. Being buried beneath the rubble was never part of the bargain.

Obvious but obligatory warning: The following contains spoilers for the entirety of the aforementioned fan-fiction. It contains quotes and personal opinions, both done out of appreciation for the author’s time and efforts put into their work.

“Laws of Motion” written by @pennflinn was chosen for the b-lated January Whump Bump of the Month for it’s astounding ability to allure a heartfelt sense of loss of hope, struggle, pain and heroism in its such short word count.

@pennflinn is far from new to bringing her audiences in with little words, instead focusing on simplistic punches that wrap up her plots tighter than a shiny Christmas present. There’s no dragging alongside a prologue or introduction when starting this fic -- rather you’re immediately presented with the problem Team Flash and Barry Allen are faced with: a collapsing building.

As the narrative so wonderfully goes on to say, none of this is new for our characters. Iris makes a mental note that, albeit hesitate to call it routine, burning buildings and breaches in the space-time continuum were all coming to be the norm. Still, Pennflinn doesn’t fail to captivate a sense of urgency between characters, gut-punching usage of verbiage like “His groan turned into a drawn-out yell” and “She was staring at her phone, pale as a sheet” doing wonders to satisfy a whump itch.

Character Whumped:

Barry Allen

The Enjoyment of Whump!Barry:

Barry Allen is a unique character for whump, not in the sense of being a superhero -- of which a lot of fans like to gravity towards for the trope of “hero who can’t save themselves” -- but because he has superhealing and an intolerance to prolonged pain, poisons and medications. It’s the latter that really makes the Whump!Barry spark. Though your time torturing the fastest man alive is limited, it can be intense, brutal and bring a mental and/or emotional pain after.

Flavor of Whump:

Foreign object in the skin -- a building collapsed leaves Barry with a back full of tiny shards of glass.

Comforter of the hurt/comfort:

Primarily Iris West with a dash of Cisco Ramon and Caitlin Snow.

[ Laws of Motion ]

The story transcends similar to a constantly moving camera, capturing moments of time scattered throughout an otherwise routine and somewhat insignificant event in Team Flashes life. It’s even mentioned in narrative that after having his back broken, clearing the use of his legs leaves more than just Barry with a sigh of relief.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| Cisco broke into a shaky smile. "So, you've just had a building dropped on you. How do you feel?"

"Spectacular," Barry croaked. He was cut off from further comment by Caitlin tearing off his cowl and fitting him with her own oxygen mask.

"Does anything feel broken?" she asked, while simultaneously shining her penlight into his eyes. Iris didn't need the light to tell that he was definitely concussed. "Can you move your legs?"

It was always the worst case scenario, ever since the Zoom incident. And judging by the way he'd been hunched over that girl, tons and tons of metal pressing down—

Barry's face scrunched as he agonizingly bent one knee, then the other. He groaned as he let them drop back to the table, but he bent each of his arms up as well to prove his mobility. At least, what limited amount he had. |

The groundwork is laid down neatly and without hesitation as Caitlin goes on to explain what the readers already know, and are subsequently excited for.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| Tweezers already in hand, Caitlin felt around for one piece near Barry's shoulder blade. "I'm going to have to pull these out, Barry," she said, having learned over time to narrate her actions. Whether or not it helped with the pain itself, it at least seemed to help Barry in identifying the source of it. "Some of these are..." She moved lower, frowning at the soft flesh beneath Barry's ribs. "...they're buried pretty deep, and I'm afraid some may have splintered into smaller pieces under your skin. They're going to require a minor surgical procedure—"

Barry moaned, and Iris whipped her head toward Caitlin. "Surgery? Isn't that the kind of thing that local anesthetic is for?"

"Minor surgery. We can't use anesthetic," Caitlin said, her face drawn and tight and deliberately blind toward much of the world. "You know that."

"I don't want to," Barry said, shaking his head, half-delirious, the fingers on one arm clenching and unclenching on the sheets. Based on the look of it, Iris was pretty sure the other arm was broken. "Please. Don't. Not now, please." | 

The introduction of a Barry who doesn’t have the strength, mental or physical, to withstand the usual agony of healing his injuries is what makes this story so unique. Pennflinn goes on to spend time focusing on Barry’s struggle with the pain, his ability to hold it together deteriorating moment by moment.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| She pried the pieces from his upper back first, and quickly, so Iris and Cisco could plant their hands on Barry's shoulders and hold him down while he thrashed, screamed, begged, sobbed.  |

Credit where credit is due to a moment of weakness written sharply yet precisely as Pennflinn makes the decision to capture Barry’s pain in short, gut-punching words.

Comfort is later found in the source of Barry’s lightning rod, Iris West. After giving him as much time as she felt she could, she goes to find him in one of the bathrooms in the deepest part of STAR Labs.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| Barry was facing away from her, and even though he was in front of a mirror, he didn't see her—his head was bowed over the sink, his working hand planted on the side and shoulders hunched. The way his spine curved reminded Iris of how he'd looked when he'd been uncovered from the rubble. Arched over the little girl, bracing against whatever might bear down on them both, getting crushed beneath the weight of a building. A loose shirt covered the damage: the stitches, the layers of gauze, the deep red bruises, the cast that encased his shattered arm.

In the ten seconds Iris waited in the doorway, he didn't move an inch, not even when she gave a light knock. It was only when she stepped into the room itself, her heels too loud on the tile, that Barry stirred. She knew better than to touch him, especially not without warning, especially not now. The physical wounds on his back were one thing, but she knew from hard past experience that they were only part of the unconscious touch aversion in situations like these.

"Barry?" she whispered, venturing to break the ice that way instead.

At this, he lifted his head and met her eyes in the mirror.

The lower lids of his eyes were pink, and his whole face sagged. He met her gaze with desolation, misery, a pleading look that said, I don't want to do this anymore.

Without a word, Iris moved forward. She reached out a hand tentatively. He allowed her to place it on his shoulder, her touch light. His face didn't crumple, exactly, but it wilted deeper into defeat. His breath shuddered under her palm, and she softened. |

The clarity of imagery here is worth noting and while never caught properly on the show, I would pay to see this recreated by an artist. Iris’s ability to wordlessly comfort Barry in his weakest moments, free of any judgement or disgust, is beautifully written here.

It’s not long after that Barry disappears, seemingly stuck in his own head.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| He picked up on the fourth ring, just when Iris was beginning to wonder if he'd left his phone behind as well.

"Iris."

"Hey," she replied. All at once she was very aware that she had no idea what she intended to say. "I just woke up. Are you alright?"

"Taking a break." Barry's voice sizzled, popped, through the phone line. "Might be a couple days. Don't worry."

He hung up before Iris could confirm that she was worrying, despite anything he said to the contrary. She held the phone up to her ear still, listening to the dead air.

It was only later that she'd see the international charges tacked on to her phone bill, a twenty-second call at 5:45 in the morning. |

His return is met with doubt, capturing a side to the hero often not seen. The strong, brass, brave Flash is suddenly exposed in the presence of his loved one, stating his nearing approach to a breaking point.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| After the meta had been safely locked away, Barry sat alone for a long while in the recovery bay, elbows up on the cot, face buried in his hands.

"I can't do it," he'd said when Iris had sat beside him. Even under her light questioning, he hadn't said a word more, and eventually she'd let him be.

That evening in the apartment, Iris kept the evening news on low while Barry made dinner. It was part of her nightly routine, practically required given her choice of profession. Tonight, she tuned out most of the national news, the breaking stories, in favor of listening to Barry putter about the kitchen. Steam whistled from a pot, a knife thunked against a cutting board, a can opener ground dully against metal.

The latter part of the newscast, near the end of the broadcast, was what caught her attention. Not because of what they were saying, but by what they were showing. Images of the ruined apartment building, the few piles of rubble that still remained.

Throwing a glance over her shoulder to ensure that Barry was busy, she turned up the volume a few clicks.

"…still missing, following an evacuation by Vibe. Vibe has since ignored our request for comment. With us tonight we have a very special guest in the studio. Six-year-old Grace Parks was shielded from the falling building by the Flash, and she has a message for him tonight. Grace?"

Grace Parks, round-faced and pink-cheeked and so vibrantly alive that only a six-year-old could be, faced the camera. She wore an earnest expression as she studied the camera lens, no doubt never having anticipated appearing on the news.

"I just wanna say," she began in her squeaky voice, "that Flash told me I was gonna be okay and now I'm okay. And I hope he's okay, too. I miss him." She glanced furtively off to the side, as if looking for confirmation that she was doing well. When she turned back, the corners of her mouth were downturned slightly. "Flash, if you're listening, I miss you. Thank you for saving me. You're my hero. And I wanted to say that. Thank you."

The feed cut back to the two news anchors, one of which was nodding sympathetically. "No doubt we all feel the same as little Grace—"

Some sixth sense caused Iris to angle her face back, and she was shocked to find Barry standing behind the couch, fixated on the TV. She quickly punched the mute button on the remote. |

Barry’s struggle between his own physical well being and the well being of others is so well detailed in the story, if not profoundly stated in the scene that follows.

[ Laws of Motion ]

| Once, when they were kids, Iris had accidentally knocked over Barry's Lego Star Destroyer and sent hundreds of tiny pieces skittering across the floor. Through her tears, she'd apologized over and over, feeling she'd destroyed something precious, something that could never be put back together. But it can, Barry had told her. Staring at the seemingly infinite number of broken parts peppering the bedroom floor, Iris had asked How? And Barry had smiled reassuringly: One block at a time. |

The story concludes as Barry aka the Flash goes to spend his time rebuilding the building that collapsed, inspired by the little girl he saved and returning her home to her.

Favorite Aspects:

[ Laws of Motion ] holds a side of Barry Allen that I have yet to see in any other written works. It seizes a side of weakness to his character without over-saturating the emotions. The blip of tears, cries, struggle and agony are all believable if not as well executed as Grant Gustins performance of Barry Allen within the show.

With his friends and family lending support, as well as all of Central City, he moves forward past another physically demanding injury with the mere words of, “tell me where I can go next.", exquisitely if not perfectly capturing the true essence of the the Flash.

#flash #barry allen #cisco ramon #caitlin snow #cw #whump #fanfiction