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whumpster-fire · 3 years

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Athanasia Part 3: Trust Born of Desperation

Tansy’s story continues! More “comfort” except really it’s just field medicine whump because she’s still pretty terrified of John.

Tansy’s refsheet

Part 1

Part 2

CONTENT WARNINGS: Animal Whump, monster whump, mention of past animal cruelty, infected wounds, amputation mention, marginally competent caretaker, painful caretaking, potty emergency

Jonathan Markeley stared at the strange animal in disbelief. When he’d first found her, he half expected the little creature to speak to him. It wouldn’t be much stranger than anything else. He’d thought better, and dismissed it as fantasy… but there was no question she could understand him, at least more than an animal should have been able to. He watched the way she flinched at the word ‘cut,’ her ears flattening.

“Damn this night,” he muttered.

Her foreleg was near ruined, broken so badly the bones came out the skin and then left to rot until the wound was a mess of pus and scabs and dead skin and flesh. It should have just closed on its own, if the creature had the same power to heal from nearly any wound that he did, but in the state she was in he had a hunch she was so starved and weak that she couldn’t. And she’d bitten down on the limb like she was trying to chew through it, like she knew what he was suggesting.

He supposed he could try it right now, just the little hatchet he used to cut firewood and the old floorboards. Perhaps it was better to – he knew a wound that festered like that could go bad fast. He’d lost friends, comrades, like that. Just a small wound, but just a day later a man’s whole arm could be weeping foul pus, and another day and he’d be dead. Nothing a surgeon could do but cut it off. A hatchet was crude, but the mess she’d make of her leg trying to chew through it would be no better than the mess it was now.

He also knew that it was a terrible idea. Whether or not she was trying to get him to cut it off now, it would end with blood everywhere, and a panicked animal trapped in a small room and screaming fit to wake the dead. He still had his ears peeled in case the innkeeper’s son was on his way up after the noise she’d just made. If she was discovered, that wasn’t good news for either of them.

Better to take her out into the fields to do it. That way the poor thing would have somewhere to run. But the thought of releasing her half-starved to death and with only two good legs was heartbreaking. What would she do in that state besides starve? Now that he saw how bad the wounds were he had half a mind to bring the hatchet down on her neck instead. But he had a feeling that wouldn’t work. Not if she was like him. Not that he knew for certain that losing his head wouldn’t kill him. Probably not, but he didn’t plan to try it. And he was worried he’d end up finding out if he was caught with whatever she was. They’d put her in that cage on an executioner’s gibbet for a reason. Probably not a good one, but likely one they’d punish him over.

The sentence wouldn’t be death at first, most likely. Lashes, branding, or mutilation. But if they didn’t run him out of town before the marks healed, if they found out… witchcraft would be the first word on every tongue.

But he had to try something. He couldn’t just leave her to drown in the mud. And he’d already taken the risk by bringing her in here. He figured he’d clean and dress the wound as best he could for the night and pray that it improved or at least didn’t get worse. But he knew it wasn’t going to be easy, or pleasant, for either of them.

The creature tries not to bite. She tries so, so hard, but he is pinning her down and grabbing her and wrapping a cord tight around her muzzle She thought he wouldn’t hurt her… she thought he wouldn’t hurt her! But he has to. She knows he is trying to help her, but knowing does not make the fear go away. She growls and hisses, and snaps at him, but she closes her eyes and holds still for just that terrifying moment before it is too late and she cannot bite him anymore.

He takes the tools, one by one, and holds them over the fire. She remembers the agony of being pinched and torn and cut by hot metal, and struggles and writhes in his grip, but he is too strong, and he has to bind her good legs to her body.

It hurts. It hurts so much. He is touching the wound, and digging in it with metal tools and cloths soaked in boiling water. Small pinchers pull out maggots and bits of dead skin and flesh. Shears snip away skin and fur and little bits of the jagged edges of the bones, and the hooks and blades poke and prod and scrape. She clenches her jaw so hard her teeth are nearly broken further, and writhes and thrashes around.

“Sshh… ssh… you’ve got to hold still. Hold still or it’ll hurt more.” His voice is tense with concentration. But she cannot hold still. It hurts too much… it hurts too much…

But finally it is over. He holds her leg straight and wraps it up tightly in cloth and straight bits of wood and metal. Fresh blood wets the cloth, but he wraps more over it, and the red spot stops growing eventually. It feels a little better. It has the sharp, stinging pain of a fresh wound, but the pressure on it helps some. He wraps her broken back leg like this too, after washing her again. It still cannot bear her weight, but it does not hurt quite as much anymore.

He cuts away the cords binding her legs and jaws. But she does not bite or try to run. Her weak struggles, and just the fear itself, and the cold because she is still soaking wet and it is only really warm close to the fire, have left her so tired she cannot move. If not for the constant crashes of thunder outside, she is not sure she could even stay awake. She drinks a bit more water when it is offered, but she barely thinks about it.

But he takes more dry rags, and rubs them back and forth over her fur, soaking up the worst of the water and fluffing it up. She is still damp, still shaking, but he pulls the thin blanket off one of the beds and wraps her up in it, and pulls her into his lap. He feeds more wood to the fire and sits with her next to it. The wind outside keeps howling in the chimney and stirring it and sending sparks through the room. She flinches every time, and eventually he gives up and moves her to the other bed.

The creature almost falls asleep in his arms. The pain and the noise of the wind and the storm, and the feeling that this is still dangerous to be this close to a human, slowly fade away. She is so tired… so tired… but she is roused almost too late by the nearly painful discomfort of her bladder. She does not notice the feeling at first, because it has been such a long time since it mattered. Even in the old cage there was no choice besides trying to only wet the bedding in the corner farthest from where she had to sleep, if she wasn’t hurt too badly to get up when they threw her back inside. The new cage was so small there was no choice at all. She was glad the floor was only bare wire even though it cut and scraped her paws. And they gave her so little water that she did not have to go very often.

When she does notice, it is sudden, and it almost hurts. She kicks and claws frantically at the blanket, afraid she will not even be able to get it off of her in time, and as soon as she is out of it she scrambles to the edge of the bed and crashes painfully to the floor. She has always had the instinct to only relieve herself far from the nest or burrow so predators cannot follow her scent as easily, and never, ever inside. And an ancient memory, almost forgotten, surfaces as well. This is a house, or something like a house, and she remembers that the entire inside is like a bigger nest. She limps aimlessly around the room, starting to panic. There is no way out. The door is closed and the man with the whip is somewhere on the other side, and the window is barred with wooden shutters and anyway she cannot jump that high with her leg hurt like this. They will know she is here and they will find her and do something worse like locking her in another cage and throwing it in a pond so its weight drags her down, but she cannot wait any longer!

She is about to give up and hope that a wet spot will not be discovered under the bed, when a hand stops her from going under and pulls her back. “No. No, not there, not there. Can’t believe I didn’t think of this… damn it...” The man drags something else out from underneath, a small metal basin, and holds her over it.

“Well, it’s good to know you’re housebroken, at least,” he mutters after he sets her back on the bed. “If you have to go again, wake me up. Don’t try to use it by yourself, it’ll tip over.”

She blinks slowly at him. The words are little better than noise. Her eyelids are so heavy it takes all of her strength to keep them open. She drags herself to the far end of the bed and collapses, too tired to even turn the bedding into a makeshift nest. Her fur is still damp, but she makes only a halfhearted attempt to groom one paw before she curls up and buries her face in the blankets.

It is still cold in the room. She is not shaking as badly, but she still occasionally shivers, and curls up into as tight a ball as she can. But something soft and heavy is laid over her, with just her head poking out. Slowly, the shivering stops, and sleep finally takes her.

Jonathan was exhausted after the day’s journey. The storm had made travel miserable, and he’d gotten into town much later than he’d hoped. He didn’t sleep in a real bed often, and usually when he did his head barely had time to hit the pillow. But tonight he tossed and turned for a while. He was afraid his movements would wake the creature curled up at the foot of the bed, and when they didn’t he had to check twice to make sure she was still breathing before his mind let him sleep.

He still wasn’t sure what she was. He’d thought the strange creature was a cat at first, when he saw her lying there in the mud by the side of the road. But when he got closer, it was clear even in her bedraggled state that she wasn’t quite like anything he’d ever seen or heard of. He’d known from the instant he saw those eyes up close, from the instant his lantern went out and he saw that they weren’t just reflecting the light but glowing, that she wasn’t anything normal. Even then he’d thought she might have been some sort of marten or something, just… different, in the same way he was different from other people. But now that he’d gotten her cleaned up, he was sure that if she even had a kind it was nothing he’d ever seen nor heard of.

She had the long, slender body of a marten or a polecat, but she was a bit bigger – at least, as far as he could remember since it was a long time since he’d seen a marten. Probably about as long in body as a cat, but skinnier. Much skinnier right now, and she felt as light as a feather. With her fur soaked and plastered to her body with mud it was heartbreaking how the skin clung to her bones, but now that she’d been bathed and dried it was harder to tell. Her paws seemed a bit like a cat’s, but with all five toes, and longer and more spread out, and the forepaws seemed almost like they could grasp things. The claws were mostly blunted or broken, but the intact ones were hooked, and sharp as needles.

She didn’t have the tail of a polecat or even a marten, though. It was longer than her body, long enough that she could wrap it around herself like a scarf, and covered in bushy, fluffy fur with a pattern of ash-white and charcoal gray rings along its length. This pattern continued onto her body, where it became a series of dark stripes than ran approximately crosswise like a tabby cat’s, but branched and merged and broke up irregularly. At her belly they faded to speckles of gray just a bit darker than the rest of the fur, but they continued into a pattern of irregular banding on her legs.

He’d never seen an animal with a head quite the shape of hers. The snout wasn’t the broad triangular shape of a polecat or stoat; it was more slender, a little like a fox’s. The skull seemed unusually wide even with the fur slicked down, and more so now that the long, fluffy fur on the sides of her head had dried out, but long whiskers extended just as wide. Her ears were an unusual teardrop shape that was at its widest an couple inches out from her head, and tapered to a narrow, but still rounded tip. They seemed too big for her head, and twitched and swiveled when they weren’t flattened against her skull in fear.

And then there were the eyes. They weren’t the beady eyes of a stoat or polecat: they too seemed enormous even with her fur no longer slicked down. They had the same slit pupils as a cat or a fox, and were the same unfortunately-striking yellow as his own – not amber brown, but a color like the eyes of an owl or a hawk – and the iris took up the whole eye, with the white only barely showing when they moved.

There was a piercing intelligence in those eyes. He’d only caught glimpses of it, because most of the time the poor thing was on the edge of passing out, but in those moments that it was clear she understood him, her eyes were so inhuman and yet more human than any animal he’d ever seen. The way she’d cried was so human.

And they’d locked her up. They’d starved her and left her rotting alive, and by the looks of it tortured her.

It was enough to make Jonathan wish he had any of the powers he’d been accused of possessing in the past. Anything more than the power to merely stay alive.

A/N: Jonathan didn’t totally think the whole hiding a wild animal in his hotel room all night thing through. Or the attempting field medicine on a wild animal in a hotel room thing through. He’s lucky Tansy’s as well-behaved as she is.

#whump #my writing #Tansy (OC)#Jonathan Markeley (OC)#immortal whumpee #monster whumpee #animal whump tw #broken bones tw #infected wounds tw #amputation mention #past animal cruelty #urine mention #painful caretaking #hurt/comfort

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furashuban · 3 years

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Searching in the Glowing Forest

An original short story with my OCs Arrowwood, Flannel and Jarno in it! and a tall man-eating badger, too, I guess.. This is also my first time posting an original work featuring Arrowwood in so long!

(it does contain a bit of physical/animal violence so please be warned or pass if you don’t feel comfortable with that)

Words: 2.2k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33220111

Summary: Offering to gather twigs to start a bonfire for him and his friends’ campsite, Arrowwood wanders into the enraptured Ellison Forest to do so. The sky darkens and he does not return, and it is up to one of his friends, Flannel, to look for Arrowwood and find out what happened to him.

“Arrowwood!” a voice yelled through the Ellison Forest, prompting the wildlife to take shelter beneath the shrubbery and luminescent fungi. “Where are you?! Me and Jarno are getting worried, man!”

. . .

Flannel, who roamed the forest looking for her friend, Arrowwood, was the same person who planned their camping trip in these particular woods. The evening started lively enough for her, Arrowwood, and their other friend Jarno once they arrived. They constructed their tents on the least hampered ground for miles, then sang a few songs on Jarno’s mandolin to settle down. Food was abundant, inventory was ample, and the far-flung distance from the camp to the city had blessed the trio with pure repose.

The summer sky, however, though enduringly lit in the Nordic climate, could still only be orange-blue for so long. When midnight struck, the hour gave way for the sun to set and the firmament to darken.

The Ellison Forest, on one hand, was home to special kinds of plants that glowed as bright as the moon. They sprouted far and wide and varied in colors, the bigger kinds glimmered in blue while the smaller ones were green; the ones neither too big or too small glowed a tinge of pink. Most were mushroom-shaped while some were like rose buds, but all of them were known to emerge from the bottom of the native Ellison Trees - thin and towering as high as apartment buildings. Their wood was gray, and their orange leaves were copious like an undying autumn. But despite the luminosity of the forest, Arrowwood proposed gathering twigs from the Ellison Trees to start a proper bonfire. Light may be more than enough in these parts by night, but it was heat that remained an issue for the group, he explained.

“You don’t think he went that far, do you?” she asked the white-haired man, tightly clinging onto her jacket to withstand the cold at the same time.

He got up from the campsite and wandered steadily into the woods. Flannel and Jarno remained without a sign of worry on their faces, anticipating their friend’s return with twigs very soon.

When the sky was totally black and the forest succumbed to a mishmash of colors, the campsite was left with still no bonfire and one person short of the group. Flannel could feel it somehow. The soft-spoken wanderer had gotten himself into trouble. Neither she nor Jarno could totally concentrate on the glowing plant life decorating the camp as they later wondered about Arrowwood.

“He should be nearby,” Jarno answered, nestled under a blanket. “These grounds aren’t that big compared to other forests. But he sure is taking his time…”

“I’m just gonna go look for him.” Flannel got up from her lawn chair and put her ushanka hat back on her head. “Guard the fort while I’m gone? Just in case Arrowwood actually returns soon.”

“Can do, Nells.” Jarno gave a thumbs up. “Just keep safe out there.” A gust of wind then blew his blanket away. “And uh, I’ll be guarding by my tent in the meantime…” he said while opening the entrance to his store-bought sheltering.

Flannel walked away from the campsite in a similar fashion to how Arrowwood did. “What could be around this forest that would make me unsafe…?” she whispered, looking around the plant life straight out of a children’s book.

. . .

The farther she walked, the colder it grew, and the trees and fungi were never-ending in sight. She was losing herself in an environment which captivated her mind's eye, she never knew just how much luminescence would be around the Ellison Forest up close. The lighting was radiant in the ground, but dim enough to let the stars to shine clearly in the sky. The wildlife was microscopic, appearing more like dandelions with bunny ears and dot-eyes, and they scattered around the multi-colored plants like it were their little villages. Maybe this was why Arrowwood was taking so long to return. It was gorgeous here. He was likely hypnotized by the rare splendor of these woods, Flannel thought. If only she had not left her typewriter at home so she could quickly write the next pages of her novel inspired by the landscape.

Suddenly, a strong pounding noise sounded in the distance, coupled with the tense grunt of an angry human. Flannel turned her attention to where she thought she heard the noise and slowly walked towards the direction. It had to be Arrowwood, she assumed, and her fight-or-flight reflexes set off for whatever was provoking his friend from afar. She kept walking, yet Arrowwood could not be seen where she was approaching.

Flannel’s foot struck a taut and frail object popping out of a bush beside her. She looked down, but much to her surprise, it was half of someone’s leg with a hiking boot attached to it. She recognized the legwear as belonging to Arrowwood and chuckled lightly at the sight of her friend nestled under a random bush, but also her way to express relief that the search for him was over.

“Gosh, I’ve been looking all over for you, Arrowwood,” she said. “Come on, I’ll patch you up back in the campsite. Those twigs for the bonfire better be there on you, though.”

She screamed her heart out and let the fright bring her up on her feet in seconds. Her breathing grew strident when she looked down at Arrowwood’s amputated leg in both confusion and worry. Did this mean he was dead? But Arrowwood was incapable of dying. What even did this to him? Barely taking a break to process the ordeal, she then felt a hand pet her shoulder, hearing her name ring close to her ear. She flinched and ran a few paces away, only to turn around and see a man trip face-down on the floor. Flannel noticed the clothes and hair of the figure, even the tone of the grunt. It was the rest of Arrowwood.

Arrowwood was a tough, merely invincible man who could handle the pain of getting crushed by boulders among other things. Flannel knew that seeing him comatose inside of a bush would be the least of her worries and took it as just him dozing off.

She reached for Arrowwood’s boot and prepared to pull him out with all her might. Unexpectedly, she fell on her back after one forceful tug of the leg, groaning at both the shock of hitting the ground and the realizing the bulk of her own strength, but she looked up to realize that Arrowwood’s leg itself was dormant on her torso. The rest of Arrowwood’s body was nowhere else, and upon further inspection, it had been bruised and paled unnaturally gray.

“Please, help me back up.” Arrowwood begged with a muffled voice.

“Oh smokes,” Flannel uttered, rushing back to pick up her friend up and hold him in place. “Arrowwood, are you alright? What on earth happened? I thought you were just looking for…for uh….” she talked while inspecting Arrowwood’s physique; his shirt and trench coat was still intact albeit stained by dirt, and his brown full beard and hair was scruffier than it usual was. His face and skin, though looking weary, was devoid of any bruises. But his jeans had its right covering ripped out, not to mention the entire bottom half of his right leg in general. “Oh gosh, your leg! W-Why is your leg not attached to your body?!”

“Now, funny story, really…” Arrowwood said tiredly. “I was trying to…Oh, hang on, you’ve found my leg.”

He released himself from Flannel’s grasp and hopped towards his detached limb, sitting down and picking it up. Arrowwood took off his boot and realigned the leg piece with his knee, holding it back together as if it were a Lego brick. He froze and took a deep breath; a white light glimmered through the gap separating his whole leg. A moment befell of Arrowwood concentrating on his body which glowed from the inside, and when the glowing stopped, he began to move his newly mended leg up and down, even stomping the floor and moving his toes one by one.

“Back together again.” Arrowwood whispered, kissing his knee before tying his boot back on and standing up without hopping this time.

“I-I didn’t know you could do…that…” Flannel stammered. She had seen Arrowwood do many unearthly things in the past, but rebuilding his body after an amputation was not one of them.

“Oh, it’s quite so, Flannel.” Arrowwood answered in his usual serene voice. “I was as dazed as you were when I first had my arm shot off and reattached in a medical ward, then poof, it was moving again after one afternoon. So, nothing to worry about, I just can.”

“But wait, why did you get your leg ripped out in the first place?!” Flannel asked.

“So, on the way back, a wild Imso Maira appeared and went for my leg, then clawed it off while trying to take the rest of me down.” Arrowwood explained. “I fought back for an eternity and scared it off. But It’s still around, so I suggest we…”

The bearded wanderer was interrupted by the bushes shaking furiously, like someone was running through each and every shrub in the forest. Both Arrowwood and Flannel crouched and prepared to either fight or flee, but Arrowwood knew very well what was impending already.

“I didn’t know there were predators in this forest.” Flannel whispered.

“There aren’t supposed to be any.” Arrowwood assured. “I think it’s just wandering like us, so stay put. I got this…”

The rustling grew louder and inched towards wherever the two were situated, and coupling with the sound of shuddering leaves was a beastly growl that ached with hunger.

Then, the Imso Maira, the same ferocious, sharp-toothed badger the size of a person, unbefitting in the sight of the Ellison Forest, pounced out of a bush behind Arrowwood and aimed for his head. Before it could shove its mouth onto its prey, Arrowwood turned around faster than it leapt and felt his grip throttling its neck. It struggled and cried in a garbled-up scream, but the tattered man holding him showed no intentions of letting it go (gently).

Arrowwood threw the creature onto an Ellison Tree and plummeted onto the ground. Seeing it was now too beaten to get back up, he was ready to showcase more of his ethereal strengths for the second time in a row. He cracked his knuckles upon approaching the creature, raised his elbow high, and hurdled his fist hard against the Imso Maira with a merciless glare. The same white light that glowed out of Arrowwood’s leg had shimmered out of the creature upon punching it, only that the light was a blazing flash out of the creature’s eyes and mouth which nearly blinded him and Flannel, and a sound comparable to a landmine boomed from Arrowwood’s punch. After the flash, he returned to his normal posture and looked down at what was left of his foe, being a flattened rug of itself with dry blood under its belly.

Flannel also took a look of its remains, then turned around to kneel and vomit. First an amputated leg found in the bushes, and now a witness to animal cruelty all in one night; the thrill and shock was too much to bear.

“Remind me never to take you on camping trips again.” Flannel groaned.

“I had to go and kill the Imso Maira, Flannel, otherwise we would’ve been the ones killed.” Arrowwood tried to reassure, patting her back gently, “I knew something like this would happen again when I agreed to tag along. It always does…” he sighed. “Look, I’ve frightened you, and well, none of that was fun at all. So, I’m sorry.” His tone was more repentant now.

Flannel wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “You’re okay now at least, so don’t apologize for anything,” she said. “Let’s just…head back to the camp. Jarno must’ve heard my scream and is probably anxious about us…”

“That reminds me,” Arrowwood pulled a grey wooden stick out of his trench coat. “I did find the twigs for our fire. There’s not much in my coat, but an Ellison Tree wood provides very potent fuel for warmth when ignited.”

“Oh, uh, that’s pretty great.” Flannel said, remembering that Arrowwood was supposed to find wood at first. “But seriously though, I think I’m traumatized. I just wanna lie down now.”

Arrowwood placed his hand around Flannel and pulled her closer to lean his head against hers out of instinct. The shorter girl gasped as she was feeling the same arm that trampled the Imso Maira to death, but decided to put her own arm around Arrowwood and try to succumb to the comfort.

“Thanks.” Flannel expressed softly.

“Thank you, too,” Arrowwood brightened up. “For searching for me.”

“So uh, is that leg actually doing okay now?” she asked. “Like, it doesn’t feel like you were just attacked by a beast a few minutes ago?”

“Not at all, Flanagan.” Arrowwood replied, marching forward with Flannel to relocate the campsite.

“Huh, well for a moment there, I thought you were going to live the rest of your life with just one leg now.” Flannel said. “Like a…like a wingless pigeon maybe.”

“Or a pirate.” Arrowwood added. “And get one of those a peglegs to walk around…Oh, hey, I actually was a real pirate back in then. It was Eighteen Ninety-Five, you see…”

“Maybe save those for the campfire stories later.” Flannel patted his shoulder.

#original work #original story #my works #ocs #urban fantasy #fictional world #eliott arrowwood #nelly flanagan #sakari jarno #last time i posted an original story was in 2018 i think oh gosh #also dont try looking for any of my old arrowwood stories since tumblrs tagging system will probably disallow you too and are gone forever #(and hope it stays that way)

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capricornus-rex · 3 years

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In the Face of Fear (5 - End)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @stellar-trinity

Summary: Kashyyyk has its own charms and surprises, but what if one of those said surprises rear its ugly, unpleasant head right in front of you in the form of a spider that’s the size of a boulder?

Tags: Arachnophobia, Wyyyschokk, Matriarch Wyyyschokk, Kashyyyk, Arachnophobic! Reader

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Masterlist

5 of 5

You landed on the soil with a cat-like posture and lightness. You and Cal—though still immobilized—watched the spider rub its face, soothing itself from the pain of your kicking. Once relieved, the spider locked all of its eyes solely on you.

“I think you’ve made it angrier,” Cal attempted to lean closer to your earshot.

“Yeah, well, I did cut her leg off. And kicked in the face. So yeah, I guess you can say I pissed her off!”

Before the Wyyyschokk could skitter back to a closer distance, you threw your lightsaber to its direction, searing the top of its hind abdomen and came bouncing back at you. If this abomination could speak, she would definitely have said something along the lines of “I am tired of dealing with you two children!”

Those words, albeit not exact, echoed in your mind—as if the Wyyyschokk had communicated withyou. But you can’t afford a moment to reflect.

It was time to fight.

“Okay,” you huffed, psyching yourself up. “You can do this...”

The Wyyyschokk screeched at you. You squeeze your hilt with both hands.

“Probably,” you shrug a shoulder during your short pep talk with yourself.

The Wyyyschokk close din on you this time, it probably remembered you amputating it—recognizing the color of your lightsaber as well—and got more aggressive in its approach. It wasn’t the slighest bit intimidated by a stick of light that you swing around, and so it proceeded to crawl towards you.

You dared not to run, even if that’s your initial impulse whenever you’re head-to-head with your own phobia. You planted the soles of your boots to the soil—balanced and erect in your erect. When the Matriarch Wyyyschokk was close enough, you swung your saber the other way, completely removing the other leg she had used in holding Cal. Her once-pointed foot was nothing more than a limb with a charred stub. The Matriarch looked at her leg stump, the pain and the anger boiled altogether into one drum-busting wail—rattling her entire body and the cavern, possibly alerting her spawns.

Covering your ears did so little in muffling out the noise, both you and Cal winced until the spider stopped screaming.

Cal continued to wriggle his way out of the cocoon, but to no avail; meanwhile, you try your best to fight off the Wyyyschokk. You transitioned from aimless swinging to more calculated attacks—although basic strikes, as they were—and evasive maneuvers. One of the objectives was to not get impaled by her other intact legs with ends as sharp as spearheads. With your size versus the Matriarch’s, you’re capable of avoiding her wide-ranged attacks and parrying the lunges. The hide of the creature’s rotund abdomen was surprisingly tougher, your slashes could only singe the shell, but not totally maim or subdue it—that’s when you realized you have to drive your saber through its weak spot: the exposed flesh on the peak of its abdomen.

She’s too fast! You observed in your mind. The only way to solve that is to completely cut off all of her limbs—you’ve taken out two of eight so far, you’ve six more to go.

There was a burst of energy seething within you, it’s probably from the adrenaline; whatever its origin, you made use of it to your advantage. The Matriarch can still attack you like normal, though her pair of leg stumps do less damage than before when they were still whole. Elusively sliding to its side before it could turn around to face you, a violent push hurtled it against the wall, bringing the Matriarch lying on her side and her grotesque feet scrambling to stand herself up; being just one second behind, you come sprinting forward with the glistening beam of light primed for a stab. A clean sweeping cut to the right severed the last joints of the Wyyyschokk’s legs, your heels sprang up from the ground and sparks flew when your lightsaber met with the spider’s tough hide.

Tearing through the prismatic, shimmering shell of its rump, there was a bit of a struggle; though, with the Wyyyschokk disoriented and physically handicapped on one side, it afforded you some time to really deal some damage. Never mind the ear-drilling howls, you supported the pommel with the base of your hand when there was resistance coming from the Matriarch. You wager a guess that you’re driving deep into the organs while the set of stumps of her left-side slap and whip at your back.

Whne the clawing had become more violent, you withdrew from the beast. Both Jedi and the little droid, BD-1, watched the spider scramble back to its feet—it now stood slanted, her menacing gait was now a thing of the past as it was reduced to a humiliating hobble unfit for something named a Matriarch. Though, it was fueled by a primal rage of killing its prey to do itself some justice.

“This has got to be the most persistent spider I’ve seen!” you commented to Cal.

“Yeah, just to get back at you for chopping her legs!”

“Fair point,” you shrugged sarcastically. “Which makes me hate it back even more!”

You sprang back towards it, the burst of power remained undying. The Matriarch rears back an inch and the sorry remnants of her front limbs are lifted from the ground—you know this move, thus you retaliated with a successful parry. The spider was quick to follow up another attack, but you were quicker—parroting a particular move of Cal’s: a direct kick right after doding the next attack. You swerved to your left—the side where the last of this great Wyyyschokk’s limbs remain intact—and executed the kick to disorient it for a brief second. A move that required one to move in the blink of an eye.

You followed it up with a duo of hard, heavy slashes that severed the left side of its body—the sternum, the abdomen—but it quickly shifted to face you, until the Matriarch attempted to redo the same attack that you parried, only this time, it won’t take a single parry to deter her. You felt the animal’s confidence of sorts that it’ll finally kill you along with Cal, reinforced by the same primitive rage that fuels its persistence, and you determined it to be its undoing.

Lunge. And then a parry.

This exchange of assault happened thrice. The third parry was the strongest, injuring the outer set of mandibles. With the Matriarch fazed after the third, you hopped on to her head like a stepping stone until you hover on the peak of its abdomen. The tip of the lightsaber aligns with the center of the fleshy, claw-shaped dermis and plunged it. You found it easier to penetrate the top than the side. Of course, the Wyyyschokk thrashed violently, you held onto your hilt as tight as you could and buckled your knees to plant your feet against its shell.

“Damn...” Cal muttered in awe as he watched, almost not minding the cocoon.

The movement became slower and more sluggish, the Wyyyschokk has depleted its energy on its dying throes, though you still held onto the hilt with the blade driven deep through the creature’s shell. In half a second, the Matriarch Wyyyschokk’s body finishes into a heavy thud on the earth, you joined the drop, your knuckles were swelling white as bone from the tightness of your grip, and then returned to its color when you confirmed your quarry to be unmoving. The Matriarch’s remaining limbs clenched and scraped the earth until she finally gave up and loosed all tension in her body. A weak squeal escapes her mouth for the last time.

Silence for ten seconds past. Either Jedi anticipated something, but hoped that it was finally over. Cal squirmed around in his silken straitjacket.

“Umm... [Y/N]?”

“Oh...” you huffed. Your hand searched for the saber still stuck into the spider’s exoshell. It took some effort to tug it out, when you did, a vile mixture of cauterized bits of entrails and sparks spurted out of the orifice. You then dragged your knees to Cal’s direction, the tip of your saber hovered an inch above the mud; you knelt at a considerable distance from Cal—the heavy load on your entire body, pounded to exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off, felt relieving. You then founded the strength to hold your saber to eye level and carefully cut through the cocoon.

“Alright, now hold still,” your weak voice was almost a whisper.

“Gently now,” Cal whimpered.

You overlooked the evident doubt in his voice knowing full well you’ve been battered by the fight, “It’s fine, I can still hold it up properly.”

Cal could feel the heat coming from the end of your saber, but he can also feel the cocoon loosening up on his shoulders, and then to his neck; much later, there’s finally some wiggle room for his arms, you worked your way in cutting it downward until his kicked the cocoon’s flaps open. He rolled over and threw the rest of the shell off of his back.

“It’s almost like you hatched out of it,” you joked.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” retaliated the redhead as he dusted off the grass and dirt from his sleeves. His sarcastic tone mellowed and shifted into a warm, affirming tone, “Hey...”

Sensing the abrupt change of tone, you looked to him, wordlessly prompting him to continue.

He plants his hand on the top of your head, fingers slightly digging into your hair and rubbed lightly. “You did great back there.”

You let out one big sigh. Your foreheads touch.

“You did it, [Y/N],” Cal said this twice, whispering proudly to you as he squeezes your hand. He sneaks a kiss on your forehead and helped each other back up on your feet.

“Come on, before the kids find out their mom is dead,” you blurted.

Speak of the devil. Both of you had to move fast as neither of you can deny that the collective skittering and hissing of the lesser Wyyyschokks are starting to get a little louder—what seemed to start as faint noises lurking amongst the rock eolved into a menacing buzz that frightened even the little BD-1.

“T-Trill!”

“BD’s picking up a lot of thermal signatures in here all of a sudden!” Cal translated.

“Well, I’m not waiting to find out what they are in person!”

Gathering his strength, Cal punched the wall with the brass claws, starting with his right hand. When he got a feel that it’ll hold, he looked over his shoulder.

“Hold onto me.”

there was no time for argument. At the corner of your eye, you could see the moss-green of the Wyyyschokk’s body popping out of the shadows. You drape your arms around Cal and he begins scaling the rock wall. You lock your legs against his hips, and quietly promised you’d literally get off of his back when you’re at a considerable distance from the ledge.

You peeked down and Cal has brought the two of you pretty far up now, the collective hissing in the shadows have taken shape into a cluster of the lesser Wyyyschokks gathering round the carcass of their mother. Their fangs twitch as they touch the dead shell of the Matriarch, the feelers in their mandibles alert them that there isn’t anymore a sign of life within her—their sad curiosity morphed into a seething rage akin to their mother’s, rooted by their grief as a whole pack.

“Um, Cal? I think they’ve figured it out!”

“Figured what out?”

“That we killed their mom,”

“Hey, that’s all on you!”

The redhead attempted to pick up the pace, not letting the pressure get to him. You briefed Cal on your plan, so when he got to the top end of the wall, he drove the claws deeper and planted the tips of his boots for traction.

He peeked over his shoulder, looking down, and seeing that the Wyyyschokks scamper from the dead Matriarch to the base of the wall. His heart rate spikes.

“Any moment now, [Y/N]!”

“I’m working on it, hon!” you grunted.

Your free hand flicked the cover of the small switch that’ll send a wire flying from your right-hand gauntlet. Once done, you extend your right arm, fist facing forward, and then a hooked cord shoots right out of the narrow runway of the gadget. The tiny spines on the hook dug into ledge’s adjacent wall. With his free hand, Cal takes the loose end of the cord out of the gauntlet’s small hatch—revealing a toothed anchor—and stabs the rock wall with it. A few good, resistant tugs confirmed that the anchor’s been secured.

“Alright, it’s good to go,” reported Cal.

You scrambled for the pouch on your utility harness and produced a zipline slider. You literally got off Cal’s back, hooked the slider over the cord, and traversed the air—hanging about twenty feet above the ground with a colony of vengeful spiders below. Shortly after, BD-1 hopped over the cord, his forked feet clicked and transformed into the same fashion of a zipline slider—then Cal held onto the little droid and joined you on the ledge.

A few of the spiders have already climbed to a certain height of the wall, others have cut through the line and circled to reach the top end, a handful have crossed the gap by deliberately passing by the rock wall and towards you. Before any of them could examine the anchor—let alone, realize that it’s there—you twisted a thin knob on the hook-end. The anchor whipped and whistled, startling the spiders near it, and snapped as it conjoins itself with the hook. Cal watched with a child-like wonderment.

“That’s pretty nifty!”

“I know, I should make one for you some time!”

Once the hook and anchor mechanism had reduced into the size of a metal pod, you returned it to its small hatch on your gauntlet and prepared for a second shot—this time, as a climbing line from the ledge to the oculus.

You’re reminded of the disadvantage on your end, “I can’t zipline upwards. I’m gonna have to borrow BD.”

“Bee-bee-chirp!” the droid was happy to help and didn’t spare a second in hopping onto the cord.

Before you could even hold onto little BD-1, a single Wyyyschokk clung onto the rock above your heads and greeted you with its maws, strung with saliva and bile. It didn’t wait any longer for either of you to react, but the pointy end of Cal’s lightsaber beamed through the roof of its mouth and then through its skull. He thumbed on the switch while his weapon was still near its mouth, the rod of light vanished cleanly, scrolling downward into the emitter.

The Force lent him enough strength to carry and toss the Wyyyschokk off the ledge, but a few would soon follow.

“Uhh, [Y/N]...”

“I know, I know! I see them!”

That courage you had on the ground against the Matriarch Wyyyschokk seemed to have died with her. Your phobia was returning in each passing minute her legion of spawn cover nearly half of the wall. Your initial grip on BD was unstable, it took you a brief minute to adjust your grip that’ll reassure you won’t fall along the way.

Clamping your fingers tight around BD’s feet, the droid’s rotors went to work and delivered you from point to point. As soon as BD’s feet touched the end of the string, you buckled your legs and sprang upward, directly out of the oculus. You knelt by the rim of the hole and witnessed the spiders miss Cal by a hair. He leaped straight out, the three of you regrouped but it doesn’t stop there—one problem after another, the spiders were gaining and they’re already treading the cord.

“Step away!”

You cut the cord with your saber, the cord twanged and whipped as it lost all the tension from the anchor and hook. The spiders that were walking on it went down with it. A few have failed in attempting to make the impossible jump and fell from a higher drop.

“Here, help me!” Cal scrambled up to his feet and then faced his entire body towards a boulder.

Immediately getting the idea, you stood up and channeled the Force; gathering strength to lift the boulder alongside Cal. Together, the rock rose from the ground, leaving an indent on its former place since time immemorial, and—fitting like a glove—clogs up the cavern’s oculus from the surface, severing the leg joint of a juvenile Wyyyschokk in the process.

The amputated leg wildly twitched, hopped, and writhed by your feet, which you jerked back out of startled disgust. The two of your watched it until it finally curled and went limp. Finally, you and Cal can afford the breather that you so desperately wanted and needed.

“Come on, we have to get back to base,” you nudge at his shoulder.

“Yeah...” he exhaled. “Yeah, let’s.”

You chuckle at his lazy bum. Your arms couold not take up his weight as you take his one hand with both of yours. He initiated to stand up when you landed on your bottom after trying to tug at him, the roles reversed, and you distanced yourself from the clogged hole of the underground cavern.

Cal clicked the button of his comlink.

“Sierra Unit, do you copy?”

A couple more impatient clicks on the gadget and he was answered with static. BD-1 tried to help by popping out his tiny satellite out of the top plating of his head, the little dish spins at a speed while the droid’s owner continues his desperate attempt.

The device finally beeped, an ecstatic male voice answers.

“Hey now, I thought for sure you were goners in that Wyyyschokk pit!”

A grin stretched across Cal’s freckled face. A huge relief befell him when his shoulders voluntarily relaxed. You shared the same sentiment, except you hid your desperation for a response on the other end of the comlink.

“Is it too early for a pick-up?” chortled Cal.

“Not at all! Just send us your coordinates and we’ll be right over... Over!”

After the transmission, you were drawn to the crashing sound of water, thus you followed it; you walk up to the more open area of the forest—finding yourselves on the side of a river, at the edge was a waterfall. The scenic view at the ridge was breathtaking. Fresh, crisp air welcome itself into your lungs, the loose fringes of your hiar whipped at the torrential wind from such an altitude, and the mist of the water tickled your cheeks and neck.

This was a wholly new area to both of you.

“Cal, over here!”

The redhead approached where you stood. He, too, was astounded by the view. Treetops and mountains that were greener than his emerald irses, and a sky that was so vast and blue; the Shyyyo Bird made an appearance, gliding over the treelines. The spray of the rapids at his left-hand side landed on his freckles and fogged BD-1’s optical lens. He realizes that there’s so much that everyone—except the Wookiees—hasn’t touched yet: Imperial or otherwise.

Not long after appreciating the view, a gray speck dotted the sky in your north, at the edge of the waterfall. Squinting through the horizon with your hand over your brow, the gray speck in the sky takes on size. The rotors of a retrofitted LAAT gunship mingle quite well with the roaring rapids—faintly, at first, until it got louder as they got nearer. A foot soldier peeked out of the doorless side of the ship and waved his free arm at you. As a response, you ignite your saber and wave it in the same manner as the soldier.

Just when you thought you were saved—the spiders have made a team effort in pushing out the boulder used to block off their exit. The thumping sound of the rock caused both Jedi to swing around and watch as the Wyyyschokks spring out of the hole. The foot soldier saw the quick transition from your glad expressions to an impatient, anxious one.

“Hurry, drop down the ladder!”

“Come on! They’re coming!”

Confused, the foot soldier was partially panicking and taking his time—unsure of the sudden mood change. He scrambled inside the ship looking for the rope ladder while the vessel lowered itself slowly. Alternating between the soldier in the ship and the rock being moved by the spiders in a collective effort, Cal locked eyes with one lesser Wyyyschokk while you clawed the air—pleading the soldier to kick down the ladder.

“HURRY!!” you cried.

The ladder was still untangling itself in mid-air when you clumsily caught a rung.

“Cal, come on!”

You manually straightened out the rope ladder and started climbing, Cal followed suit. The foot soldier shouted at the pilot to bring them up while the two Jedi were still clinging onto some rungs. The juvenile Wyyyschokks never got close to your heels; by the time they’ve completely gotten out of their den, the LAAT gunship has already carried you. The creatures curse the wind and the metal bird for refraining them from avenging their mother.

Again, you catch your breaths while the foot soldier checked on both of you.

“You’re alright, you two. You’re safe now,” he reassured. “What happened down there anyway?”

Cal nodded sideways, pointing to you, “Believe it or not: [Y/N] here killed the Matriarch.”

The soldier’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped altogether, “No way?”

The Jedi boy countered, bemusingly, “Way.”

“I don’t believe it. Well, that’s a story to tell around the campfire back at base!”

All you could do was smile. You were exhausted. There was nothing to say, but you appreciate the affirmation. The least you could do right now, after facing your fear all caged inside a rock, is reward yourself with rest.

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makeste · 5 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 246: Plot Whiplash

Previously on BnHA: Hawks handed Endeavor a copy of Re-Destro’s NYT bestseller and was all “ಠ_ಠ READ THIS!!” He then flew off back to the PLF and was all “hey guys just got back from handing out free copies of Destro’s book to everyone in a 1000-mile radius, which absolutely nobody asked me to do, well anyways you can thank me later” and they were all “SWEET.” Back at the Endeavor HQ, Bakugou got all fired up to BUST SOME HEADS but Endeavor’s sidekicks were all “WAIT FOR THE PLOT YOUNG MAN.” Meanwhile in his office, Endeavor discovered a secret code in the book Hawks gave him, which basically read “HEY WHAT’S UP THE LEAGUE HAS TAKEN OVER THE MLA AND HAS AN ARMY OF 100,000 PEOPLE” and Endeavor was like “!!!!” And then we cut to the League and Toga was all “IN FOUR MONTHS TOMURA IS BLOWING THIS SHIT TO KINGDOM COME” and then the chapter just ended. Sometimes it be like that.

Today on BnHA: Tomura sits down with Ujiko who monologues a bit about Quirk Singularity and then starts some sort of quirk-upgrading process which will apparently take four months to fully set in. And also he’s like “oh btw let me tell you about One for All” so THAT’S A THING NOW, GREAT. We then cut back and forth between Endeavor and Hawks, who both somehow come to the weird conclusion that THE INTERNS ARE OUR ONLY HOPE NOW using logic that is hard to explain on account of THERE ACTUALLY ISN’T ANY LOGIC BEHIND IT, SHHH. But anyway, so Endeavor figures out the rest of Hawks’s message and he knows that Hawks is trying to figure out what the League is up to, and something something that’s why the internships are so important. Like, I get that the Terrible Trio are future legends in the making, but these guys are seriously like “well okay let’s just go ahead and rest all our hopes on them” out of the blue, and Hawks has this big monologue about how “THINGS WON’T GO ACCORDING TO YOUR PLAN, VILLAINS” and okay then!! And then the last two pages are basically just DID SOMEBODY ORDER SOME HYPE with more shit going on than I can possibly sum up so I won’t even try lol. But damn.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

okay guys, I’m feeling kinda under the weather today, but I know this chapter’s gonna be good so lesssssss gooooooo. bring me back to life Horikoshi

(ETA: lol well there sure was a lot happening in this chapter, that’s for sure. my head hurts.)

oooooh it’s a sexy Jump cover celebrating season 4!

I really need the anime team to step up and give Ochako and Tsuyu some more screentime in the Basement Arc since the manga did not do them justice. there’s only like a 20% chance of that happening, which is depressing, but it’s 2019 and the winds are slowly changing, albeit at a geriatric pace. so I’ll allow myself to have some hope. you never know

YEAH SON LOOK AT THIS COLOR SPREAD Y’ALL THIS IS RAD

hello I love everything about this. the colors, the focus on our best girls, Deku’s bizarre-yet-awesome assorted sci-fi accessories (Deku do those headphones let you communicate with space or what), and of course, the five million TVs in the background which for some reason all appear to be from the 70s. all of this to remind us to TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR THE LONG-AWAITED SEASON 4 DEBUT. I will definitely tune in! the first episode is just gonna be the usual half filler/half clip show, but honestly season 3 was so good that I could sit through a whole hour of nothing but highlights and still be thoroughly entertained

anyway let’s move on because there are GAMES AFOOT, and we’re hopefully about to learn which direction this arc will be headed in!

OH SHIT OH FUCK

yep, that’s him. Shigaraki “destruction incarnate” Tomura. I see we’re getting our weekly dose of “just a reminder that WE ARE SCREWED” even earlier than usual this chapter, huh

so does anyone else get a chill up their spine every time Ujiko makes an appearance, or is that just me? like, god. he may honestly be even creepier than AFO. he’s just completely soulless, this guy. he’s got like this Mengele vibe to him (though that may be kinda dicey to compare horrific real-life atrocities to fictional ones in a shounen manga, but I’m just trying to explain why I find him so disturbing) and it really freaks me the hell out, ngl. anyways so him wearing a surgical mask and standing in front of this weird examination chair is pretty much the last thing I need right now. go away Ujiko

so Tomura is all “I want it cuz you promised, so pay up jackass”, and like. fair, though

I really like this new art style Horikoshi’s been using for him since his Awakening. kinda curious how it’s going to translate to the anime, or even to a color spread. but at the very least in black and white it looks siiiiick

smh look at this little punk trying to downplay how insanely freaking overpowered his quirk currently is

okay first of all, “President Baldy” is only alive because you left him alive. and he also had to chop off his own legs to stay that way. like, what kind of argument is this, Tomura? “this power is far from invincible, all my enemies have to do is amputate their own limbs and then they’ll have me right where they want me.” you know what, just go on and destroy the world right now kid. you’re getting greedy now and it could be your undoing

that is a nice parallel between him and Deku there, though. now I’m craving some Symbolic Artwork of them standing back to back each holding out their scarred right arms. maybe with their respective mentors in the background. here at BnHA we prefer our parallels nice and dramatic

sdskfjlaskdj

son of a bitch. I really wish he wouldn’t say that with such utter certainty. “the next conflict will be our last.” cue me flipping through the BnHA table of contents and trying to determine just how far along we actually are here, because this is veering dangerously close to Final Battle signaling, and like, ALREADY?? TOMURA ARE YOU JUST BEING THEATRICAL OR ARE YOU FOR REAL OMG. motherfucking DARK LORD’S LIPS curling into the WICKEDEST FUCKING CRESCENT I’VE EVER SEEN, fuck me

(ETA: it occurs to me on readthrough #2 that “the next conflict will be our last” could be interpreted to mean him and All Might specifically. like, the last conflict between the two of them. and that might very well be true, and would not surprise me at all. shit.)

fjsgk now Ujiko’s talking about research. and quirks!! glkjlkl

fully expecting the camera to cut to some NOUMUS any second now oh my god. also trying not to think about how crazy ominous that fucking chair looks. and how many people this maniac has probably strapped down to it and done god knows what to them. hey Horikoshi you know what, I’ve had just about enough of this dark shit, can we please cut back to my kids now I’m feeling too unsettled. goddammit

anyhow of course we are NOT cutting away, and Ujiko is continuing to talk about quirk evolution, and now segueing into a speech about that quirk singularity thing. -- which he apparently named?? wow

is he actually going to do something to Tomura? holy shit?? this whole time that they’ve been talking about this “power” I’ve just been assuming it was something external, like some other handy dandy villain resource that AFO’s just been sitting on or something. this is not where I expected things to go. didn’t he just get an upgrade??

anyway so here’s a brief summary I just wrote up of The Past Six Months of BnHA:

Deku: [gets a new quirk]

everyone: bruh. Horikoshi really out here giving Deku AFO Powers while Tomura just sits around starving to death on a couch. what the heck

Horikoshi: [powers up Tomura to the point where he can destroy anything just by it being in contact with something that Tomura happens to be touching] [has Tomura use this power to level an entire city]

everyone: -- oh. okay, you know what, never mind --

Horikoshi: [gives Tomura an army of 100,000 people] [also gives him command of 11 extremely lethal and nigh-unstoppable killing machines, just one of which was almost enough to take out the number one hero, LITERALLY THE STRONGEST GUY THE GOOD GUYS CURRENTLY HAVE IN RESERVE]

everyone: okay we’re sorry we get it you can sto --

Horikoshi: APOCALYPSE IN FOUR MONTHS!!!

everyone: WE GET IT WE’RE SORRY PLEASE

Horikoshi: [GIVES TOMURA ANOTHER POWER-UP]

everyone: [curled up in fetal position sobbing]

starting to think the mangaka might be the actual final villain here. hmm

anyway. so I guess we have four months until Tomura ascends to Actual Godhood and proceeds to rain hellfire down upon the world. what are you all gonna do with your four months. I personally have a lot of stuff to binge, but knowing me I’ll probably just waste all my time reading fanfic while youtube videos play in the background which I’m not paying any attention to. what am I doing with my life

oh were we not done hyping him up? there’s more??

(ETA: I got so caught up in the OFA comment I didn’t pay attention to Tomura becoming a beautiful decayed butterfly in this exquisitely creepy panel here. but damn.)

-- HOLD THE FUCK UP. does Tomura know about One for All??? because I was under the impression that AFO hadn’t told him? this would change a lot if he knew this entire time, holy shit?!

aaaaaaaaand exactly one panel later Horikoshi is all “no he didn’t know calm the fuck down” lol

okay then. so he didn’t know, and he’s only just finding out now. well tbh that’s still worthy of a smiling crying emoji face though :’) this is fineeee

shit here we go oh shit

-- WAIT, SO WE’RE JUST CUTTING AWAY FROM THEM? NOW YOU CUT AWAY? YOU GET WITHIN INCHES OF CONFIRMING THE FUCKING ALL FOR ONE FOR ALL THEORY AND THEN IT’S JUST “ANYWAYS HERE’S ENDEAVOR” YOU KNOW WHAT, HORIKOSHI, I --

just. come on dude. AFOFA 2019! let’s make it happen! dammit

sigh, so looks like it’s back to the admittedly-still-epic “Hawks passes down secret information about the villains to Endeavor” plot. I guess we’re not exactly hurting for good plots all around. I may complain but honestly we are spoiled

so Hawks is saying that he actually doesn’t know the specifics of the villains’ plans yet. well shit

apparently his feathers can only pick up sounds from short range, and the villains keep escorting him away whenever they get to talking about the good stuff. well at least that explains that potential plot hole from last week. Hawks’s feathers may have a short range, but Horikoshi’s plot hole caulking gun can fill in leaky plot holes from fucking miles away. amazing

ffffffff

don’t mind me I’m just sitting here fretting about Hawks continuing to be in mortal danger and risking his life to gather information in a race against time against the end of the world. Horikoshi out here piling up stakes like a freaking vampire hunter

but in the meantime, everyone please stop what you’re doing for a moment to look at this absolute unit of a bellhop slash security guard

apologies Lord Vader he was just trying to get to the dining hall. my bad. as you were

and holy shit I hope you enjoyed that light comedic break because two seconds later Re-Destro has dropped in to fixate Hawks with one of those Lightly Menacing Smiles he’s so infamous for. so that’s just fucking great!

HAWKS WATCH OUT FOR YOUR FINGERS

omg. imagine, a showdown between the two stealth murder MVPs of the series, Yotsubashi “Sleeper Hold” Rikiya (yes I did have to look up his real name just now) and Takami “Tag Em And Bag Em” Keigo. true, RD may no longer have legs, but he didn’t need them to choke out our little mouse buddy now did he? anyways speaking of which I just remembered that I fucking hate Re-Destro and I honestly hope Hawks does kill him. it’d be pretty easy to fit him into a bag too. he’s basically just a torso and arms now

oh sure Horikoshi go ahead and spring this on me after all of that ranting why don’t you

by the way does Re-Destro have Robot Legs now, or

looool he does

I will say this for Horikoshi, he knows my weaknesses. more robot limbs please. either badass or memeable ones, either is fine

meanwhile I skipped over this panel of Hawks and Twice being buddies in order to get to the legs, and shame on me for that. let’s go back

Twice is a genuinely good guy and I hope Hawks can tell. I wonder how fake this smile is. I feel like it’d be easy to relax around Twice regardless of how tense you are about your secret spy mission which could go south at any time. anyways this is wholesome

and now we’re cutting back to Endeavor who is taking his sweet time reacting to this whole thing. Endeavor can you fucking chill with the poker face already geez

okay wait, what

are you serious?! I fucking can’t with this lady. “now make sure to throw these children directly into the line of fire! it’s good for them and builds character!” I’m sorry, I thought this was the Hero Public Safety Commission, not the Putting Juveniles Directly Into Harm’s Way Commission?? at least change the acronym to something more appropriate then. Heinous Pathetic Soulless Cowards. just a suggestion. jesus

anyway so for a moment I got confused as to whether this was implying that she’d told Endeavor about Hawks’s undercover mission. but it seems like he’s still unaware. shouldn’t be too long before he puts the pieces together though at this rate

lol in the very next panel, even

meanwhile you’re just sitting on your ass reading a book! FUCKING DO SOMETHING ALREADY, ENDEAVOR

so he’s thinking that the “preparation” part of Hawks’s message is referring to the interns. let me back up a sec and write down the entire message as he’s read it thus far

“four months from now / rising to action / until then / will send / signals / in case / of failure / preparation / numbers”

...read like that, it really does sound like Hawks is advocating to get as many soldiers ready as possible. even if that includes actual children. including Endeavor’s own son. shit. I mean, I get that they don’t have much of a choice, but that’s still so fucked up. sure, we as omniscient readers know that Deku is their one and only hope, but they don’t know that. as far as they know these are just a bunch of teenagers with less than a year’s worth of experience that they’re propping up on the front lines. and the plan is then... what? hope they don’t die too quickly?? fuck

Hawks is out here having an argument with me in his thoughts. you wanna play it like that, Hawks? fine

I don’t know what kind of “but” you can tag on to the end of that paragraph that could possibly win me over, dude, but go for it I guess

and we’re finally cutting back to the kids in question now! with Burnin’ casually trying to crush Kacchan’s hopes and dreams

okay but I love how both Deku and Shouto are like “easy there buddy, we got you” and trying to keep Kacchan from having a fucking aneurysm sob. JUST TRY AND HOIST HIM ONTO SOME DUMB SIDEKICKS, LADY. YOU’VE MADE A POWERFUL ENEMY HERE TODAY

oh shit

oh my god. are we going to get our first actual interaction between the three of them that doesn’t consist of them grumbling annoyed introductions at each other and then running off to fight an old fortune teller omggggg

I love how Deku and Bakugou look weirdly intimidated by him lol. Bakugou where did all that “YOU’RE KIND OF A JERK” confidence go all of a sudden

YESSSSSSS

GODDAMMIT, I’M STILL SO MAD AT YOU GUYS FOR BEING ALL “LET’S JUST MAKE THE CHILDREN DO IT,” BUT DAMMIT THEY KICK ASS THOUGH SO I CAN KINDA SEE YOUR POINT

NOW HAWKS IS METAING ABOUT THEM AHHHHHHH

DAMN STRAIGHT THEY WOULD HAVE. BRING ON TOMURA AND ALL OF HIS STUPID POWER-UPS. WOW I’M WEIRDLY HYPED UP ALL OF A SUDDEN WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME

AND FUCKING LOOK AT THIS TWO-PAGE SPREAD AHHHHHHHHHHH

MOTHERFUCKER [WHIPS OUT PEN AND NOTEBOOK] TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BITCH

so Ochako and Tsuyu did indeed go back to intern with Ryuukyuu again! makes sense, she is a top ten hero after all. who’s that with them, though? almost looks like Yanagi from the hair and the mask, but the costume looks different? hmm

I CAN’T BELIEVE IIDA WENT BACK TO INTERN WITH FUCKING MANUAL AGAIN. THIS GUY IS THE BRAN CEREAL OF HEROES. though I fucking love him though so yeah it’s fine

JIROU AND SHOUJI TEAMING UP WITH GANG FUCKING ORCA AW YISS BOYS THIS IS THE GOOD SHIT LET’S GOOOO

KOUDA AND MANGA TEAMING UP WITH WASH OMG. MANGA IS THE ONLY ONE ON THAT TEAM WHO ACTUALLY FUCKING SPEAKS. IS WASH’S SIDEKICK SOME SORT OF BROOM PERSON OMG

A WHOLE FUCKING ACRE OF KIDS HAVE ALL GANGED UP ON THIS CAVEMAN-LOOKING FELLA I DON’T EVEN RECOGNIZE. WHO ARE YOU. DID YOU CROSS OVER FROM THE FANTASY AU

KIRI BACK WITH FG AND BROUGHT TETSUTETSU ALONG FOR THE RIDE HELLS YEAHHHH

KAMINARI AND SERO WITH KAMUI WOODS AND EDGESHOT I’M HYPERVENTILATING AHHH. AND SHIOZAKI TOO!! I’LL JUST PRETEND I DON’T SEE MINETA THERE IN THE CORNER. MIGHT BE TIME TO DUST OFF THE OLD “CANCELLED” STAMP AGAIN BUT WE’LL SEE HOW THINGS GO

WHO ARE MOMO AND TOKAGE AND MINA AND AOYAMA (WHICH BTW IS THE GREATEST HERO TEAMUP OF ALL TIME HOLY SHIT) TEAMING UP WITH!? TELL US. AND PONY AND MONOMA. GODDAMMIT HORIKOSHI

whew! anyway. they’re all still screwed, but by golly that was nice to have that little invigorating breather of life and hope

LOL OH SHIT THERE’S ANOTHER ONE

okay, SOMEONE TELL ME RIGHT THE FUCK NOW WHAT ALL MIGHT IS LOOKING AT OR I’M GONNA LOSE IT. holy shit. he was researching the past users of OFA, wasn’t he? WHAT DID YOU FIND OH GOD. he’s not just upset, he looks one step shy of fucking crying?? did he learn about what happened to Nana’s son and his family, maybe? shit shit shit

so Yanagi is interning with Kendou then? so who was that with Hadou and Ryuukyuu and the rest. one of Ryuukyuu’s sidekicks?

IS THAT FUYUMI (SPOILERS FUCKING YEAH IT IS) AND WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE SHE’S FUCKING PRAYING OMG. it looks like she’s kneeling at a family altar?? like saying a prayer for someone who is PRESUMED DEAD, maybe?? LIKE MAYBE A LONG LOST TWIN BROTHER OH SHIT OUT OF NOWHERE THE HYPE DON’T STOP!!

AND WHY DOES NAO HAVE HIS HAT OFF AND CLUTCHED TO HIS CHEST LIKE HE’S TELLING SOMEONE BAD NEWS. GOD WHAT THE HELL EVEN ARE ALL OF THESE PLOT THINGS HAPPENING ALL OF A SUDDEN. LIKE I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO LOOK NEXT

KUROGIRI AHHHHHHHH

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ERI’S HORN!? DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS?? AIZAWA??? HELLO!?!?

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, TEAM OT3. TIME TO FUCKING SUIT UP. APPARENTLY. WELL ALL RIGHT THEN. [JACKET ZIP] [GUN COCKING SOUND EFFECT] LET’S GO PUNCH ‘EM IN THE MOUTH

y’all. this chapter was like plot whiplash. this went in so many different directions and hinted at so many different things that I’m at a complete fucking loss as to what to process first. but I guess the interns are gonna save us all, somehow. lol okay then

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha 246 #shigaraki tomura #hawks #endeavor #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #horikoshi: [makes tomura sexy]#everyone: okay that part is fine I guess #horikoshi: [tells tomura about one for all]#me: :') :') :') :') :') :') :') :') :') welp

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dokidoki-tae · 5 years

Text

Surviving

So I wrote some HCs about La Squadra surviving their injuries. I apologize for any inaccuracies. I did my best in looking into some medical stuff for them especially Melone ugh But I didn’t dive deep into it. So here you go. Ya BOYS surviving their fights.

Risotto:

What the fuck was he doing in Sardinia AND he was in the hospital? How serious was this? He never went to the hospital no matter the injury. This was serious and he wanted you to stay home? Was he insane? You wanted to fly over there, but Risotto himself had spoken to you after being MIA for THREE MONTHS and told you to stay put. You were used to his long missions, having waited a similar period of time. You had argued with him, insisting you go to him. If he was contacting you, that means he wasn’t on the mission anymore. “I’ll be let go soon and back to you. I’m sorry for worrying you.” You felt like he just squeezed your heart. Risotto, as long as you’ve known him, as never apologized for worrying you, only for keeping you waiting. Your voice cracked when you told him to hurry back.

When he walked through your door, he looked normal, you wondered if he was really hospitalized. Then you got a closer look and saw the scars on his face and looked down at the rest of his body. Those look like bullet holes. As if he read your mind, he explained what happened though omitting some information. You couldn’t keep yourself from looking especially after he removed his cap and saw that his head had been shaved as they performed surgery there. He should still be in the hospital, you thought. “You don’t have to worry. I can take care of myself from here.” He read your mind again.

You were scared to sleep, afraid something would happen to him during the night. What if he went into shock or something? You also were afraid to sleep next to him in case you pressed on one of his wounds. He was still sensitive in those places.

It wasn’t until the next day you noticed that something happened to his foot, and at closer inspection, you realized it had been sliced clean off and reattached from the looks of it. Before you could ask him, he told you it was fine, and he still had feeling in it and it was not infected. You were exasperated and emotionally exhausted because you still didn’t know in full detail on what happened, and he wouldn’t tell you. You learned to accept it.

Every night you made love, you kissed all the bullet scars on his body, making him shiver. If anything “good” came to this, it was the fact that getting Risotto to shiver and tremble was easier now than ever before. Giving extra attention - kissing, sucking, licking- to his scars got him coming faster than you did when clenching around him.

Risotto still liked to show off his strength by carrying you and fucking you standing, showing that his injuries will never prevent him from holding back on making sure you feel good.

Prosciutto:

When you enter his hospital room and see him in his battered state, you throw yourself at his side, wailing and calling his name between your sobs. He had been there for several weeks, taking so long to contact you because Prosciutto was unwilling to reveal formation about himself. He relented and revealed you as his emergency contact.

You stayed by his side, encouraging him to talk, but he only stared blankly at the ceiling and refusing to look at you. You’d think he was in a vegetative state, but he would paw at his now amputated legs. He had lost both his legs and one of his arms. You nearly fainted when you were told the state he was found. It’s a miracle he survived.

He rarely spoke a word to you while in the hospital. The only times he spoke to you was when he asked you to leave when the nurses were going to bathe him. When you offered your help, he barked at you, calling you names and to leave him alone. It broke your heart, but you tried not to let it get to you.

When he was ready to go home, you made sure your house was equipped for him now, scheduling for things to be changed and renovated for him his disability. He was pissed when you told him, but he held his tongue. He knew you had his best interest at heart

He was scheduled to get physical therapy and prosthetics, and he didn’t want you there either. It had come to light, he was embarrassed for you to see him in such a pathetic state as he struggled to get used to his new limbs.

It took him a while to get back into sex. He couldn’t get hard; he couldn’t stand you looking at his body, but patience and open communication are key here. For a while, Prosciutto had to have the lights off, liners on, and sometimes a blindfold. After some time, he began to be confident again by the way he ordered you to touch yourself with a growl. You happily and enthusiastically did as you were told.

He eventually learned to rely on you and not be so reluctant to ask for help. He asks you to come to his physical therapy, to bathe with him, to help him with putting on his prosthetics. At some point, you take massage therapy classes to properly massage his stumps.

Pesci:

You were scared and angry after being notified of his hospitalization. Prosciutto had promised you that he’d look after him and make sure nothing happened, and now he was in the hospital. You wanted to yell at Prosciutto, but considering he didn’t inform you and was with Pesci at the time, you concluded something serious happened to Prosciutto as well.

Both men were hospitalized in the same place, running into Prosciutto’s significant other in the same place, looking disheveled and tired. They told you that Pesci was alright. “Both are alive.” And that’s what mattered. You were shown his room and gasped when you saw his entire body covered. His face had stitches all across it; you could tell the cuts were deep. You wouldn’t be surprised if it reached his skull. He also had a brace around his neck, knowing it was because it was broken when they found him. Your stomach was uneasy but that didn’t stop you from kissing his uninjured cheek.

You noticed the change in his demeanor when he woke up; his eyes looked a lot colder and meaner than the man you first knew. His eyes softened when he saw you there by his side until he finally broke down into tears himself, repeatedly telling you he was sorry.

His body was slowly healing, but they had not been able to save all of his limps, replantation had not been successful in all areas. Pesci looked dejected but your support was enough to get him to be a little more positive. The ones that did take, it would be a while before Pesci would have full control over them again and was given information about a therapist.

While he was in the hospital and in your company, he was more animated than when he was finally released. You had distracted him from his failure on the mission and his failure to Prosciutto. You couldn’t always be there for him, so he was often left with his own thoughts.

You encourage his hobbies again and make sure they keep him mobile because you don’t want his replanted limbs to go stiff.

Having sex again isn’t difficult, Pesci feels a bit insecure but when you tell him his scars are sexy. He feels confident. Even with his stump, he doesn’t feel any uglier especially when you give it special attention.

Formaggio:

When you entered and saw him unconscious on that hospital bed, you passed out immediately. Your heart couldn’t take seeing him like that. His injuries only happened recently, and you were told he might be in this state for a while. When he finally woke up and saw you, he gave you a weak smile. Even now, he was still trying to be suave. But the pain was too much to handle, and he passed out again when the nurses rushed to his room.

After some time, he would remain awake and hold a conversation. He didn’t tell you what happened and would change the subject.

You watched the way the nurses looked after his injuries. You felt like throwing up whenever you saw them remove his bandages and see his burnt flesh. They were bad. Your stomach was most uneasy because of the thought of some maniac did this to your beloved and was running around free in Italy. He did like to make jokes, “you did say you found scars sexy.” But you can see in his eyes that he was worried you’d find him grotesque. “You’ll always be handsome and sexy to me, Formaggio,” you’d tell him sincerely. He’d look away, trying to hide the tears threatening to escape.

Formaggio had many treatments for his burn injuries because they varied throughout his body. From skin grafts to antibiotics ointments, moisturizers. The first couple of months were painful, and Formaggio was short-tempered and hostile mostly from the pain and frustration. He calms down when you dress his wounds and put ointments on him after the skin grafts. It’s his favorite time to flirt.

Once his wounds are closed and he’s out of the hospital, you’ll have to help him take care of himself or else he’s going to get frustrated, leave them alone and die of a serious infection. Moisturizing can be very intimate; he’s usually watching you intently when you rub it on him.

Despite his injuries healing, he feels insecure when you look at him. He acts like he isn’t bothered when he feels people looking at him since his injuries still left scars, but he’s paranoid and once lashed out and yelled for people to stop looking at him in a public space.

Body worship is important before having sex. Just like Prosciutto, he had a hard time staying erected and beat himself up for it, so you have to take control and give attention to his body, reminding him that he’s still sexy as ever. Usually, he’s more turned on when you’re putting moisturizer on him. He’s developed a kind of pavlovian response when you bring out the moisturizer, he gets an erection.

Illuso:

You nearly drove yourself insane trying to find this man. He went on a mission and disappeared for months. You thought he had died until you got a random text message from him telling you he was alive. You wept the whole day, thanking whatever almighty being was listening.

For a while, you only communicated through texting, often asking him when he was coming home which he always ignored. He did nothing but add to your anxiety. Why wasn’t he answering your question? The one question you wanted to know? He responded too quickly for any thoughts of cheating to cross your mind. When you opened up about your worry, Illuso revealed he was gravely injured and didn’t know if going back was a good idea. He managed to get medical attention as quickly as possible but the damage had been done.

You didn’t care about that, and you did what you could to reassure him. Ultimately, it was his decision and you’d wait for him as long as it took him. Giving him space allowed him to feel more comfortable and be closer to you. You found this out when you found notes and gifts from him throughout your home. He was in the mirrors, but you weren’t going to push and force him out. Every morning, you’d go around your home and place a kiss on your mirrors in case he was watching.

Coming home at the end of the day, you’d find he was in your home, and the thought eased your heart, knowing he was taking care of himself by eating.

You left notes for him in the mirror and at times, you sat in front of your mirror in your bedroom and masturbated, hoping he was doing the same on the other end (he was). You couldn’t be physically intimate, but you wanted for both of you to have fun. Eventually, it did take a toll on you because he was reluctant to show himself despite knowing he was there. He was so close yet so far. After crying one night in front of the mirror, asking him to hold you, you went to bed and felt him crawl in with you.

He asked you not to look at him, so you were content to have his arms around your midsection. You reached for his hands and felt your heart jump when you looked and saw one hand covered in blisters, the skin gummy, and he was missing the other ones. He felt you tremble as you cried, attempting to pull him closer. You pulled him to have him wrap his arms tighter around you, refusing to let him go.

He didn’t leave you the next morning, but he hid his face from you, asking if you could buy some medical face mask for him. You obliged him and went to the store and quickly came back. He locked himself in the bathroom and asked you to step away. You waited in the living room when he came to join you on the couch.

The face mask didn’t hide the severity of his injury. You couldn't tell what he was hiding, but you knew it was bad. You wanted to take him in your arms and hold him. “Lulu...” You moved closer and lay your head on his chest, and he held you tight. He apologized for worrying you but he thought it was best considering his state.

It took a very long time before he showed you what was under his mask. It took all your strength not to look away. It looked like his entire face had melted off and pasted back on. His lips sagged and you could see the side of his teeth. You went from feeling sick to furious. What disgusting fucker did this to the love of your life? You took his face into your hands and kissed him, reassuring him that he was still the one you loved.

His entire body was similar to his face, it was covered in blisters and swollen and felt gummy. He said during his time away, he was in the hospital and very little could be done due to lack of information on what caused it. That didn’t stop you from taking him to bed. He wondered if you found him disgusting, but you didn’t hesitate to take him as he was.

You were going to look into plastic surgery and look into it for him, to see if that’s what he wanted to be confident again.

Melone:

You stood and listened to the list of long-term effects Melone will have to deal with due to the snake venom. You felt cold when they told you that he would be dealing with a lot of health issues. Your first thought was, “why was there a venomous snake in Rome?” You broke down, nurses doing their best to comfort you.

You go back to his hospital room and gently caressed his face in his sleeping state. You thanked God that he wasn’t comatose too. You don’t know what would happen to your mental state if he was.

Melone did his best to act per usual, but he slowly deflated as the day progressed. He wanted to see you and speak to you, but the venom left him completely blind in one eye and partial in the other. His tongue suffered from necrosis, so speaking to you was near impossible for now. He tried to speak but after not understanding him for the 5th time, he gave up. He could tell you were blaming yourself for not being to comprehend what he was trying to say.

Melone also suffered from paralysis on the left side of his face, though you were told it wouldn’t always be like that.

Before he was released, they warned that Melone had a high chance of chronic kidney disease and to make sure to check in with your local hospital in Naples, so he gets the proper treatment if symptoms appear in the next couple of months.

Melone’s envenoming also manifested through flaccid paralysis (loose or floppy limbs) that initially involves extraocular (muscles that control eye movement) and facial muscles, gradually descending to bulbar, neck, respiratory and limb muscles. He risked going into cardiac arrest as well. Knowing all this gave you an anxiety attack when you got home and Melone was finally asleep. You couldn't sleep, knowing everything he was going through. What if you lost him?

He had to go to monthly hospital visits to make sure he didn’t die due to these effects. You couldn’t always accompany him due to work. You also attended therapy together to get through this time. Melone didn’t like that the therapist tried to talk to him about his childhood trauma from being sexually abused though.

Talking with him wasn’t as difficult, as he had a speech therapist, and it was easier to understand even though he couldn't pronounce or enunciate some words. It was enough to be with him and hold his hand. He did open up about hating not being able to see you like he used to.

You were hesitant to have sex, having to get confirmation that it was alright as long as it wasn’t too strenuous or rough on him. Melone wasn’t able to see you, but at least he could feel you. Your moans were still music to his ears and his moans and gasps were music to yours.

Ghiaccio:

You flew to Venezia after getting a call from a hospital there, telling you that you were the emergency contact for the man currently admitted. You immediately bought tickets from Naples You couldn’t keep yourself from breaking down as you whenever your mind began to wander. As long as you’ve known him, he was never hospitalized before. You tried to think good thoughts, sometimes laughing when you thought of Ghiaccio reacting to saying “Venice” instead of “Venezia” like he would rant about at times. But you only broke down harder.

At the hospital, you were prepared to expect the worst and the staff informed you of his injury and to be prepared.

You felt your world shattered when you saw him so vulnerable and small in his hospital bed. His face was swollen and he had bandages and had tubes in his neck to help support him and his breathing. Taking deep breaths, you kept yourself from sobbing when you took a seat next to him. When he woke up sometime later, he couldn’t speak, having had a surgical tracheotomy and speaking was near impossible. You teared up as you were hoping to hear his yells.

Ghiaccio looked dejected when he was told he would have the tracheal stoma permanently due to the severe damage around the larynx, and he needed to use it for breathing at night. He is given a speech therapist to help him learn how to talk with the new device. The air in the room drops a couple of degrees but your support is enough to calm him down.

It’s difficult seeing Ghiaccio so dejected as you’re both told of the ways to look after his device such as cleaning and how to reduce chances of infections. You can tell he wants to let loose and scream something, but his injury prevents him from doing so. He felt so helpless for the first time of his life. It was as if he was being further humiliated for surviving and now has to live like this.

Finally home, he doesn’t fight you when you looked after him, though he does push you away at times. He’s reluctant to go to speech therapy, but you convince him after several weeks go by when he didn’t get to talk to you.

Sex can be difficult for him because he feels embarrassed when you give his neck attention because at times he ends up coughing or breathing on your face while you kiss his neck. Over time, he gets over it the more you give him a positive reaction. He doesn’t yell like he used to but he flips the bird more time than you care to count. Despite taking speech therapy, and being able to talk, he learns sign language since he can communicate faster and tell you how he feels with passion.

#jojo hcs #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #melone #ghiaccio #my writing #jjba #la squadra

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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Crabby Shack || Cece and Kaden

Cece had been trying to keep up with her daily routine, to keep her mind off the limb amputating karkinoids that were weaving in and out of the trees in the woods that surrounded her home. She had encountered them twice now, once with Remmy and Blanche and another time with Winston and Miles. Both times, things had gotten dangerous. She kept a near constant protection spell surrounding her house that would keep any single one from breaking into the home, but as soon as the groups banded together and decided to brave the property, she wasn’t sure how long the barrier would hold itself up. Every now and again she would glance out one of the windows into the backyard and catch one peeking through the tree line. Were they sizing up the competition just like Cece was? It didn’t matter, because the doorbell rang and Cece leapt out of her thoughts and rushed to the door, flinging it open and barely avoiding spilling her glass of wine from the force. “Hey, you must be Kaden. Need wine?”

Kaden was getting real sick of karkinoids. If he could go one day without having to try and trap and cut down an oversized crustacean, it would be too soon. And yet, here he was, pulling up to one Cece Bishops' driveway to deal with karkinoids. In the woods of all places. At least it was a change of scenery. He got out of his car, weapons and traps in hand as he rang the doorbell. So far, no monsters jumping out from the trees. But he could feel it, there was something out there. He was relieved that nothing had attacked him in the time it took her to open the door. "And I'm assuming you're Cece. I'm good, thanks." He looked over his shoulder, seeing a rustling in the underbrush nearby. "Maybe we should discuss inside. Wanna let me in?"

Cece sized up Kaden, holding onto an assortment of weaponry standing outside her home. If she had to guess his occupation, she probably would have guessed some kind of hunter or police officer, so animal control officer fit the look. He turned down her offer of wine, which she supposed made sense considering he was probably on the job right now. Though his question about being invited in was enough to spark paranoia for Cece. She had dealt with a lot of vampires, both ally and enemy. Rule number one was to avoid inviting the vampire in, though the rules were specific. “Sure. The kitchen table is right through here.” Without a distinct invitation, she could avoid accidentally letting a vampire into her home. She stepped aside, smirking when Kaden was able to easily walk inside. Not to say he wasn’t still dangerous, just not necessarily undead and blood-sucky. She led Kaden to her kitchen, where the barstools sat in front of the bar looking over the front room. “Welcome to my home, you deal with dog sized lobsters pretty often or-?” She left the question open ended, wondering if these creatures showing up in White Crest was normal or something new.

Kaden walked past her and headed towards the kitchen. It was a nice place, alright. Far better than his meager apartment that was somewhere between the Bend and Amity Road. Not sure if it was worth the near constant exposure to monsters and all manner of supernatural evil to live there, but that was her problem. He started fiddling with the traps, getting them ready to go, and slinging his weapons on him where they'd be easy to access. "Well, before this week, I would have said no. Lately, however..." He let his words trail off and gave a bit of a shrug. "So where have you seen them so far? And how close have they gotten to the house? Any try to get in, cause any property damage?"

Cece watched with a morbid curiosity as Kaden fiddled with the trap. She knew the thing was ready to be used to catch and eventually kill any creatures that posed a threat, it was Kaden’s job. Despite Cece being a little too familiar with animal traps, which they used whenever a nonhuman blood sacrifice was needed, it still seemed odd to be having what appeared to be casual conversation at her kitchen bar while Kaden prepared the deadly trap. “Mostly out in the woods behind the house. The river is about half a mile back so my guess is they’re coming from there.” Cece had only been back to the water once before, to check the place out before she decided whether or not to purchase the property. “For the most part they’ve mostly stayed behind the tree line,” She glossed over the protection spell information for obviously reasons, “Sometimes one will stray into the backyard. They’ve been surprisingly calm, I wouldn’t worry much about them but I have a roommate moving in next week and don’t want her freaked out. Or like, delimbed while carrying in boxes.”

Kaden nodded along to what she was saying as he gathered the traps and headed back towards the door. "I think I'll set these up in the back of the house then, facing the river, see what we can get. Then I'll see what can be done from the--" His hand hovered over the door handle as he heard something outside. It sounded like creaking, cackling of crustacean legs. And then a thud. Like it something ran into a wall. Odd. Then it happened again, this time the clacking got louder. Kaden swung the door open to see what was going on. Karkinoids. Lots of them. All coming out of the woods. He saw at least 4 or 5. There could have been more surrounding them, surely but they were oddly enough, all in a circle around the house. Almost like... Kaden took a moment to glance over towards Cece. "You wouldn't happen to know why..." Almost as if on cue, another of them tried to pass the barrier and it was like slamming into an invisible wall. Before he could finish his question, two tried at once. There wasn't a thud this time. Merde.

Cece heard the noise but didn’t move towards the backdoor until she realized Kaden had cut off from his sentence. Apparently, whatever that noise had been must have been something important. She grabbed the wine glass from the counter and made her way over next to Kaden. The karkinoids had finally grown a pair and huddled up against the protective barrier. The good news? It was working for now, keeping them at bay. The bad news? Anybody that new anything about magic or even believed in the supernatural would be able to easily tell why the things weren’t able to move forward. “Uh” Cece knew where Kaden’s question was going but was grateful when he was unable to finish the sentence. Instead, the noise was much louder this time around and Cece could only assume that was the unfortunate sound of the barrier failing them. “Um, so if I had to guess, that’s probably not a great sign.” She took a long sip of the wine. She figured that the cat was at least slightly out of the bag. Though that may also imply that there was more to meet the eye with Kaden as well. “We should definitely focus on those things being dangerous now and nothing else.”

Kaden sort of wished he had something alcoholic to down just then, too. "I'd say it's not." He reached down and pulled a pistol out of his holster and aimed for the karkinoid that had started to make its way through to the house, the one closest to them. He unloaded a whole mag at it, most of the bullets that hit just clinked right off of the exoskeleton. Which he expected. But one hit and the thing wailed. It didn't to a whole lot to slow it down. Kaden didn't wait to reload his gun, they didn't have time to waste. He had to wonder if it was worth getting closer, maybe give him a better advantage point to aim, maybe find the weak points. "Got anything else that can help us out here? Now might be the time to start conjuring it up or whatever." With his gun in hand, reloaded and ready, he headed to the porch and fired at the same one and two of its friends, rotating his ten shots between them. The one to the left screeched once and started bleeding but they were all headed right towards them looking barley any worse for wear. Putain. He really wanted to stay ranged with these numbers but he didn't know how long that was going to last.

Cece watched as the bullets bounced off the karkinoid. Finally, at least one of the bullets had hit its mark. But either Kaden would have to pinpoint the exact location of any weak spot or he would need a hell of a lot of bullets. “I’m going to ignore that you said that” Cece blinked at him, not exactly thrilled at the idea of Kaden already recognizing the magical nature to Cece from that damn protective barrier. Cece had never specialized in offensive magic. As much as she wished she could hurl a fireball at them or raise the dead to fight them, that wasn’t going to cut it. However, Cece didn’t like to come completely unprepared. Just in case the creatures had gotten past the barrier, Cece had wanted a backup plan, she just hoped that it worked. “Give it a few minutes and I think we may get lucky.” Cece guessed, hoping that it had been the truth. The idea was an aging spell, planted like seeds throughout the grass and set to activate once the barrier was broken. If what she had read about the karkinoids stayed true, without that exoskeleton the things were practically defenseless. And while the aging spell was by no means permanent, Cece hoped that it would do the trick in this instance. “As long as we can survive the next few minutes without the killing us at least.”

Of course, Kaden figured, it was too much to hope for that the person he was helping out could actually do magic. No, that'd be too easy. Instead just working for someone who must have contracted a spellcaster to protect the house or something like that. He sighed and tried to assess the situation. Those three were wounded, but only a little. And there were at least three more coming from various directions. Traps were going to be worth shit all now. Another mag dumped into them with almost no change, clearly the gun was out. Melee it was. He reached over to pull out his machete whens he said something about waiting. "Lucky? How? What kind of miracle are you expecting?" He was about to charge on ahead but her last comment gave him pause. He couldn't' say what it was, but he got the feeling there was more to her than met the eye from the way she was talking. Maybe she was the one with some power after all. He hated the idea of blindly trusting someone he just met but the options were looking slim. "Right. I'm going to try my best to take down what I can but if what you're telling me is true, I'm going to need you to help me distract some of those connards so I don't get mauled to death, got it?" He didn't wait for an answer or her solution and went head on at the nearest giant lobster monster.

Understandably, Kaden did not seem exactly sold on the idea that if they were patient their little seafood problem may become a bit less fatal. Or technically more fatal, just not for Cece and Kaden. “I don’t believe in miracles” Cece claimed matter-of-factly. Still, Kaden surprisingly took her word for it and instead asked for a distraction. She picked up on the word – not exactly sure of the meaning but knowing enough to recognize that it was French. She only knew it because of a member of her coven that had spoken French. If he was French, she wondered how he had ended up here in White Crest. Not that that mattered right now. Nothing about her research into the karkinoids had suggested any specific sights, sounds or smells that they were attracted to. But she figured a loud enough sound may work. She ran back into her kitchen, abandoning the empty wine glass on the counter and grabbing for two pots. She made her way to the back door and jumped onto the patio, banging them together. If she could at least get their attention directed towards her Kaden may be able to weave in and out and while they waited for the magic to get working. She would really like it if it would work more quickly.

Kaden ran out into the backyard, weapon in hand. The monster closest to him scuttled across the yard, weaving through the landscape. It was even uglier up close. And those damn claws were bigger than he ever remembered. The thing had definitely honed in on him and was aiming straight for Kaden. He knew the others had to be close behind but he couldn't concentrate on that just yet. Kaden picked up his pace, all out sprinting at the monster, leaning towards the left of it. The ugly piece of shit shambled towards him, pincers ready to crush him, but just before he was in risk of losing a limb, Kaden dodged sharply to the right. It wasn't much of an advantage, but the karkinoid lunged forward and it gave Kaden the precious second he needed to take a swipe at the joint where the arm claw met the beast's body. It was one of the few sensitive areas while the creature was upright. A wail of pain came from the monster as it began to bleed. Kaden groaned, he'd hoped he might have cut of the claw or made it at least unusable, give him one less way to die. Shit, the thing lunged for him again, not caught off guard like last time. Kaden ducked and rolled away just in time. His next swipe when he popped up went wide, nothing to hit. He was sure the others were headed to him. And then he heard an earsplitting clattering. "Fuck!" Hunter hearing, not always his favorite. Thankfully, the monsters seemed to have a similar reaction. No time to waste. Kaden slashed at the wounded limb again. This time, it hung limp, not cut clean off but certainly useless. And it seemed like the other bastards were headed towards the house again and not him. Yet. Here's hoping that "luck" she promised kicked in soon.

Cece breathed a sigh of relief when she watched Kaden’s blade slice through the karkinoid. It was working. Glancing around she could see the outer layer shedding off the whole group of them. They were practically home free now. She glanced over towards Kaden just in time to notice two of the karkinoids heading straight for Cece. She didn’t have any weapons in hand, didn’t have anything that she needed to keep that thing away from her. So she did the only thing that she could think of, swung the pot at the thing once it got close enough. Not enough to kill it obviously, but the pan collided with the monster’s head with a loud clanging noise before it crashed against the ground. Cece could only celebrate for a second before remembering she still had another one right behind it, crawling over the lobster’s body to get to Cece. She hopped up the steps onto her back porch to put some distance between the two. For now she just needed to keep away while Kaden did his work. Either that, or she needed to find a more suitable weapon of her own. Right about now she wished she owned a gun.

Kaden was impressed to see her knock out one of the monsters square in the head. It was a good solid hit. For someone without super strength, at least. Good thing it did the trick since that second one was almost to her. Thankfully, so was he. Kaden lunged and swung his blade down at the back of the karkinoid, slicing at the tail and back legs. Not a clean cut, but it was more than enough to cause some serious damage, sending the monster wailing and turning his attention to the hunter. It spun towards him, claws raised, ready to slice Kaden right back. But Kaden didn't miss a beat, he flung his machete upwards with all his strength, severing one of the claws right off and knicking the head. It was enough to make the beast collapse, unable to do more damage. That taken care of, he headed over to Cece. He paused to stab the lobster she'd knocked out through the torso, good and deep, just for good measure. "You any good with a gun or a knife? This would go a lot faster with two of us on point."

Cece had to admit that Kaden was impressive. He was skilled, a lot more skilled than any regular hunter or animal control officer needed to be. That, combined with his knowledge of magic and him being unphased by slaying giant lobsters led Cece to believe that there was more to Kaden then met the eye. But for now, they were fighting on the same side so Cece would need to trust him. He came to her rescue with the karkinoid, slaying the one that had been heading towards her and then impaling the one on the ground. Then he offered her a weapon. And while Cece was more comfortable around a blade than a gun, she much preferred to keep her distance from danger. She knew she was impressive in her own right, but dodge rolling and slicing like Kaden did was not one of Cece’s strengths. “Gun. Definitely a gun.”

Kaden was reluctant to share his weapons with anyone. It was a lot to trust someone with. But she'd managed to knock out a karkinoid with a pot and clearly knew something about magic, whether or not all the protection shit was her doing, so it was good enough reason for him to trust her for the moment. "Just try not to shoot me, got it?" He handed her the pistol from his holster and then the two mags he had on hand. He took a moment to look around, see how many were left. There were at least two more to the right and if he was correct, he was pretty sure he heard at least on more near the front of the house. "You take the two over there," he said, pointing to the right. "I think I heard something in the front. Yell if you need me." With that, he ran back down the porch stairs and started around the left of the house to see what sort of monster was trying to knock at Cece's front door.

Kaden handed the gun off to Cece and she held onto it for a long second, testing its weight in her hands. She had held a gun before, even shot one. But never at anything more than a target. When in Texas and all that jazz. “Cross my heart” Cece promised, having no intentions of shooting Kaden. At least not on purpose. She stuffed the extra magazines into her back pocket and gripped onto the pistol, simply nodding at Kaden as he asked her to take care of the two left here in the backyard while he checked out the noise out front. She waited until he had hopped off the porch and made cut the corner of the house before Cece pointed the gun at her first target. She took a breath, focused her shot and pulled the trigger. The first bullet was too far to the left, a chunk of grass about ten feet from the lobster monster flying into the air. Cece readjusted and fired again, this time just a bit too far to the right. Cece had overcompensated. Her third bullet hit its mark, the wailing from the creature evident. It seemed to be just a graze and not enough to stop the creature from crawling forward, but Cece’s next two shots sunk into the creature and the sixth shot seemed to finally stop the creature. The second one ignored its buddy’s death and kept moving forward. Cece finally the magazines last few shots and dropped the empty mag, snatching a spare from the back pocket and shoved it in, immediately pulling the trigger again to keep firing.

Kaden heard the sounds of gunshots as he rounded the side of the house. He hoped they were hitting something and not just putting holes in the grass. Not his problem just then. He slowed down as he reached the corner of her home and peaked around to see where the monster was. So far, he didn't see anything. Slowly, he leaned around farther. Still nothing. He was completely out of cover and there wasn't a single giant lobster by the front of the house. Odd. He knew he heard something. He walked closer to the front door, trying not to step on any of the landscaping too much. If she had the resources to skin karkinoids, he didn't want to find out what she did to the guy who fucked up her house. The gunshots rang out but there was no sign of monsters at the front. Not even a click of a crustacean leg. Maybe he'd heard things. He walked up to the front porch, maybe he could get a slightly better advantage point from the top of the stairs, double check before joining her. And teaching her how to fucking aim by the sound of it. He was about to turn around when a giant claw came wooshing right at him. Merde. Kaden dropped, reacting on pure instinct, and just missed the razor sharp pincer. The window wasn't as lucky. He flipped himself over quick as he could and rammed his blade up through the belly of the beast, digging it in and then pulling it out through the side. The karkinoid screamed as it collapsed on top of the hunter, spilling out blood and guts as it died. Disgusting. He'd smell like dead fish for a week.

Cece was thankful that she had taken the long-range weapon, even if her aim wasn’t anything she was ready to brag to Kaden about. She may have been wasting bullets, but at least she was keeping her distance from the monsters which kept her safer than she could say for others that happened across the karkinoids. Cece’s ears were ringing by the time Cece fired her last shot. She looked across her backyard, covered in the bodies of karkinoids that Kaden had slain. As it turned out, Cece would have all the supply of karkinoid exoskeleton that she could desire. With it, she could probably whip up a protection spell that was strong enough to keep out an entire army of the creatures. But she would have to collect that later. Through the ringing, she could hear the distant sound of a window breaking, and she spun on her heel and headed back into her home, Kaden’s gun in hand and ready to fire. She couldn’t remember how many bullets were left in it, but she could guess around four to five. Luckily, the gun wasn’t necessary as she found Kaden on her floor with a giant lobster on top of his body. “This is one hell of a buffet.” Cece quipped, pointing the gun away and smiling down at the animal control officer. “You smell awful.” That was the truth, the monster’s guts had spilled out over Kaden, tomalley and all. “You need some help getting that thing off of you?

Kaden rolled his eyes at her remark. "I got it, thanks." It didn't take too much effort to push the carcass off of him. It was a whole lot less deadly when it was, uh, well, dead. He thought about wiping away some of the mess but he was pretty sure nothing was going to help just then. He took a quick look around; the coast seemed clear. He didn't hear anything else coming. What he did see was all the dead karkinoids and the number it had done on her grounds. "Looks like you have a bit of a cleanup after this." He looked back at the broken window behind him. "Uh, sorry about that. But maybe you can get lucky again and work some magic, get it all tidied up in no time."

Though it was annoying that Cece was going to have to clean up all the dead karkinoids outside of her home, she was much less pleased about the gutted one now on her floor. At least it was all hardwood. “We aren’t gonna talk about the magic thing. Not to each other and definitely not to anybody else.” She would hate to have to make the guy forget she existed, especially since he had been so helpful. “But thank you, for your help. I think this is yours.” She held the gun back out towards Kaden, “Look if you want to wash some of that gross shit off of you before you go you can.”

Kaden was suspicious about the tight lips on the magic, but he decided not to press it. Today. He might need a favor later, spellcasters were always handy to know. And it was always nice to be able to remind them of that time he saved their life. He took the gun back without question and went to put it back in his holster. Only that holster was caked with karkinoid guts. Guess he'd just awkwardly hold it instead. "Uh, yeah, that'd be great, thanks. Might take you up on some of that wine, too."

#chatzy #writing #cece #thebickedwitchoftherest #crabby shack

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the-walking-memelords · 4 years

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A2 - Chapter 2: Not So Out of The Woods

Chapter 1

Series is rated M

Word Count: 2427

Clementine brings a few of the school members to meet with Layla and her caravan, but suspicious activity in the woods drowns Clementine in a fear she hasn't felt in years.

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It had been hours since the sun abandoned them.

Clementine paced back and forth under the silver light of the moon mingling with the fire of the torches. What remained of her half-amputated leg strained against her prosthetic, the pain making her limp more noticeable.

Where the fuck are they?

“They’ll be back anytime now, hun.” Ruby said from a nearby picnic table, cardigan pulled tight around her to fight off the night chill. Her voice was optimistic, but her foot tapped rapidly in worry.

The young woman carefully ran her fingers over the thin braids along the right side of her head, the rest of her hair hanging loose on her left. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of Louis’ gentle touch after he finally convinced her to let him do her hair.

But pretending he was there only drew attention to the fact that he wasn’t, and neither was AJ. After losing him not once, but twice, Clementine begged that third time’s the charm wouldn't mean losing him forever.

Calm down you’re overthinking this.

Louis wouldn’t let anything happen to AJ, and Aasim was probably the smartest one of them all. He knew how to keep them out of danger.

Clementine had run out of things to keep herself busy as the time ticked on, far beyond the point they were supposed to return. The bowls were washed, patrols were done, the watchtower was deemed structurally sound. Nothing left to do but wait as the night grew colder.

“See anything?” She called up to the two standing on the watchtower.

“Not much.” Violet joked, trying to be lighthearted in the absence of their class-clown. Her vision was mostly gone, completely blind in her right eye, but she still knew a walker when she saw one.

She wore her short icy blonde hair in a half ponytail, keeping the strands out of her peripheral vision. A black patch covered her dead eye, tied in a messy knot behind her head. Tennessee convinced her to let him decorate it, painting the flower she was named after with impressive detail.

“It��s too dark to see very far.” Tennesee pointed out.

“They’ll signal when they’re close.”

Tenn was now about the age Clementine was when she first came to the school. Even though he had essentially grown up, he was still that sweet and artistic boy she had met. The only thing that majorly changed about his personality was he had taken to covering the scars on the side of his head. The navy blue beanie was pulled down over the tops of his ears, obscuring most of the burn marks. Ever since they started interacting with other groups, the people would stare and whisper. The boy found it annoying enough to hide his scars. Violet was pissed enough that she wanted to fight a few of them, and she would have if he hadn’t convinced her to drop it. Though it was not so much as she dropped it as she grumbled along with the boy’s wishes and gave death-glares to anyone whose eyes lingered too long.

A long whistle came from beyond the gate, a sound that started low then quickly swooped high. Both Ruby and Clem bolted from their places towards the gate to see three innocently-smiling faces.

“I can explain-” Louis didn’t get a chance to lead with that explanation before Clementine wrapped her arms tightly around both him and AJ. Aasim smiled and playfully rolled his eyes before wrapping an arm around Ruby and giving them some space, mentally preparing for the lecture he was about to get.

“What the hell took you so long?” She bit back tears of both relief and frustration.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that.” Louis searched for a way to dig himself out of this hole.

“We were tracking a deer and went a little too far.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t find it?”

“I did.” The boy piped up.

“I shot it but it ran away into a bunch of walkers”

“Shit.” Clementine swore.

“We need to be more careful if walkers are starting to group up like that again. That’s how herds form.”

“We should see if there’s anything we can salvage before we head to the meetup point.” Louis decided.

“Bones, antlers, parts of the hide if it isn’t too chewed up. Anything we could trade with. Plus if we run into the smelly patrol that ruined our hunt, we could take ‘em out before their gang gets too big.”

“Sounds like a decent plan.” Clem agreed.

“We should leave a little earlier if we’re gonna find that deer.”

As the excitement died down a wave of exhaustion and drowsiness fell over the group and they began heading back to the dormitories. Clementine nodded to Louis and AJ as she turned to follow the Vi and Tenn, only taking a few steps before her legs were lifted out from under her. The young woman let out a gasped yelp as she looked up to see Louis smiling down at her as he carried her bridal style.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clem asked as her cheeks became warm.

“You only limp like that when your leg hurts.” He said plainly as he continued to carry her towards their room with no intention of putting her down until they arrived.

“Why are you like this.” She groaned but was unable to stop the curl of her smile

“‘Cause I love you.” Louis replied with a quick yet exaggerated kiss to her forehead.

---

The next morning the three of them set out along with Aasim, Mitch, and Brody. Waving goodbye to those who stayed to watch the school and memorizing their requests once they met up with the caravan.

“You think Layla picked up some new weapons this round?” Mitch asked with a devious smile.

“Oh, hush.” Brody scolded him, pulling her braid over her shoulder.

“Don’t you have enough knives?”

“You can never have enough knives.” The brunet smiled as he draped his arm around the short girl’s shoulder.

“Meds and ammo are top priority.” Clementine reminded, machete clutched tight in her hand as she kept an eye out for any movement among the trees.

“We need to start saving for winter. Hope you all brushed up on your haggling skills.”

They followed AJ’s lead deep into the woods until they finally came upon the clearing from the night before. The area was surprisingly devoid of walkers. The grasshoppers that fled each of their steps and the buzzing flies were the only things moving in this field.

“There it is.” AJ said with a tinge of disgust at what the animal looked like now. It wasn’t much more than a skeleton. The white of bone was more prominent than even the red of the blood, most of the meat and entrails stripped away making it nearly unrecognizable from the animal he had killed.

“Not quite the feeding frenzy I expected.” Louis joked.

“They made quick work of this fella.”

Aasim moved in closer to take a look with his by now expert hunter’s eyes. He ran his hand over a few of the ribs, feeling the texture of the bone for any imperfections.

“A few scratches but no breaks or teeth marks.” He confirmed with a mildly impressed expression.

“These will be good material for crafting.”

Clementine knelt carefully in the blood-soaked grass, prodding the carcass with her knife to examine its insides. She scrunched her nose at the vile smell, batting away the swarm of flies to investigate what she suspected from afar.

“Look at this one.” Clem beckoned him to where her blade pointed, using it to push back a piece of meat to fully show the laceration embedded into one of its ribs. It was smooth and deep against the otherwise nearly immaculate bone.

“Does that look like a knife mark to you?”

“Could be.” Aasim speculated.

“Not sure what anyone would want from a mostly-eaten deer carcass if they weren’t after the same things we are.”

“What if it wasn’t mostly-eaten when they found it.” Clementine bit her lip at the possibility.

“I mean look at it, does it look like any walker food you’ve ever seen?”

“What are you saying?” Mitch’s eyes narrowed quizzically as he defensively scanned the area around them.

“This animal wasn’t mauled, it was dressed.”

Her words hung heavy in the open clearing. They were used to interacting with others at this point. Layla’s caravan seemed to have new members every time she passed through telling tales of the other communities triumphs and woes alike. Despite all of this, no good soul could erase that happened five years ago, and the wooden replacement for her limb was a constant reminder.

“You think there’s someone sneakin’ around out here?” Brody said with a tone of worry. It was uncommon for her to come to trade meets and Clementine didn’t want something like this to put her off the idea.

“Someone who knows how to move walkers?” Louis added, not helping the red head’s anxiety.

“Let’s take what we came here for and head to the meetup spot” The young woman decided, accepting Louis’ hand to help her off the ground.

“We’re pretty far from the school. Whoever did this may never find us and if they do we’ll handle it.”

Something isn’t right here...

A body crashed loudly through the bushes at the edge of the clearing. The walker snarled through the cloth around its face as it reached for Mitch first. The freckled man smirked as he unsheathed one of his favourites knives from his belt. It had a wide steel blade that was serrated and slightly curved. He took his weapon and effortlessly fell the walker in one quick stab.

“It’s just like the others.” AJ said in almost a whisper.

“What?” Clementine turned to see the boy with a puzzled expression across his face.

“I killed two walkers yesterday and they both had that.”

Clementine could now see what he was talking about. The fabric tied over the walker’s face had a symbol of fangs painted over it. Clementine stared frozen at the symbol, a faint memory tugging at her brain. It sent a chill up her spine as adrenalin began to charge her system. It felt like something her mind wanted desperately to forget, but those fangs sunk in deep until she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.

Get out of my head!

“What’s wrong?” Louis’ fingers intertwined with her own.

“We need to leave.” She said in a hoarse whisper, barely audible to herself over the sound of her rapidly beating heart.

Louis squeezed her hand and nodded. He knew Clem would explain later, no longer being the type to keep many secrets from him. Some fragments of her memory were best left unspoken, but she could no longer bring herself to straight-up lie. The young woman nodded in agreement and leaned into him slightly as she continued to plead internally to not have a panic attack right there. “They’re gone.” AJ said as he searched the field. “I killed two just like that one but now they’re gone.” The only walkers among them were the one that mitch had just killed and another one with a bullet hole between its eyes. Dead walkers didn’t just get back up and walk away.

“There’s more of them.” Clementine said as she and the others joined him with weapons drawn.

Footsteps moved through the trees but in the wrong direction, moving farther away and gaining speed.

That isn’t a walker.

“Hey!” Clementine shouted as she chased down the unknown onlooker, ignoring the shouts from those behind her.

Leaves rained down all around them as Clementine followed the flash of blonde hair that weaved between the trees threatening to outpace her as her prosthetic slowed her down considerably. Clementine called to the girl the whole way, but she was unrelenting in her escape attempt.

What had she seen?

What did she know?

This wasn’t something she could let go. Not with everything she’d built. If her past was sneaking up behind her to slit her throat she wanted to be ready to right back.

Lady Luck must have had mercy on her at that moment as her target was sent sprawling to the ground with a cry, her ankle catching on a thick root. The girl crawled towards a boulder, whipping around and brandishing a small blade just as Clementine caught up.

“W-Why were you watching us? Who… Who are you?” Clementine choked out her questions as she tried to catch her breath.

The girl glared back through her wild straw-coloured hair with a snarl on her lips. The sight of her closer resembled a wild animal than what appeared to be a teenage girl.

“Get away from me.” She hissed, one hand clutching her knife and the other around her ankle.

“Who are you with?” Clementine hesitantly took a few steps forward.

The girl uses the bolder to help her stand and her bared teeth shape into a wicked smile. Clementine continues her failing interrogation but now her hand is slowly drifting to the sheath on the back of her belt.

She looks about ready to slit my throat.

Clementine pulled her machete out of her sheath as she asked one final question.

“What do you know about the fangs?”

“Clementine!” Louis yelled from somewhere not too far back.

The distraction was just enough for Clem to lose focus when the girl charged with a crazed scream. She slashed at Clem with her knife, only managing a shallow but long gash from her collar bone across her shoulder as she jumped back. The girl didn’t go for a second attack, booking it past her into the forest just as Clementine’s group found her.

“Don't!” She yelled not to the fleeing girl but to her friends as they tried to go after her.

“She’s fucking feral.”

Clementine pressed the collar of her now torn shirt against the stinging cut, the already red fabric staining darker with the droplets of blood that trickled out.

“You got hurt!” AJ exclaimed when he saw her hand tightly pressed to her skin

“I’m okay.” She tried to smile reassuringly, but it quickly fell flat.

“You sure?” Louis moved her hand to take a closer look, huffing at the injury.

Clementine wanted nothing more than to go back to the school. Back to her home. But unfortunately, they still had work to do.

“Let’s just find the caravan.”

#twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg aj #clouis #my writing #the walking dead game

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anchoredtether · 6 years

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Still Got It

<-- Inspired by @honestlyprettychill's beautiful Fault in Our Stars artwork -->

Title: The Therapy Session in Which I Spoke

Author: AnchoredTether

Rating: T [mild swearing, dark themes]

Pairings: Plance [Lance x Pidge]

Series: Still Got It

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: "Everyone is useful in some shape or form, at some point in their life, to an insurmountable number of people. Everyone's existence affects the fabric of space and time whether they realize it or not, and this reality as we know it is affected by your very existence. So..." I waved a hand dismissively as if I just explained something rather simple. "Like I said... no one is useless."

Lance was dumbstruck for a moment, his jaw slightly slacked and his eyebrows lowered. "Holy crow." Then his bewilderment slowly turned into a wicked grin. "Aren't you something else."

<-- CHAPTER 01 -->

THE THERAPY SESSION IN WHICH I SPOKE

Late in the winter of my sixteenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, played the same video game over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death. But... I did all those things on a regular basis. Mom became pretty adamant that I go to this therapy group, and of course, Dad and Matt jumped all over me saying it would be good for me and that I might even make a friend. It's not like I'm some lonely girl with absolutely no friends. I have Hunk. I just prefer solitude and technology and video games over people. People are exhausting. Probably the only reason I tolerate Hunk and his extroverted nature is because we can talk about tech for hours on end, whereas everyone else in the universe just doesn't get it. It doesn't help that most people give me that pitiful look when they notice my nasal cannula. Oh yeah. I have lung cancer. I'm like a computer with low RAM. Translation: I have a hard time breathing and doing other basic physical functions such as going upstairs. I'm slow when it comes to anything physical and because of that, some people look at me like I'm a kicked puppy. Maybe... just maybe being around people with similar problems will be different. Ten percent of the reason I decided to go was out of sheer curiosity. The remaining ninety percent was to make Matt shut up. Although now that I think about it, Matt never did shut up, he constantly wanted details about each meeting as if he were expecting me to meet my soulmate in a therapy session focused on death. Woe is me. I went, and went, and went, kicking and screaming the whole way. Metaphorically, of course. Although between moody pouting on the car ride to the church and snappy replies when mom reminded me to get ready, I did consider screaming... often. The therapy sessions were depressing as hell. I didn't need to hear about how others survived their chemo or their surgeries or their twelve years of cancer when I already had a perfectly good role model. My dad and brother's colleague and friend, Shiro, was a survivor of osteosarcoma (also known as bone cancer). He lost his entire right arm, but thanks to modern technology he had a decent prosthetic. I will admit, a part of me loves it when he visits so I can examine the tech of his limb at work. Sometimes Matt has to swat at me and remind me to stop drooling over Shiro's literal cancer scar. I'm not much of a talker so I rarely share any stories or thoughts at the group sessions. I try to listen and give a damn to everyone's depressing problems, but usually I'm just thinking about what I'm going to make my character do in Skyrim when I get home. The only reason I've continued attending these sessions after two months is that it keeps mom happy. The last thing I want is to do something that will make her depressed. I'm already depressed, so a little more depression each week can't do me any more damage than what is already done. This week was different. A boy with deep blue eyes kept staring at me. As we went around with introductions, it was my turn before his. While everyone was staring at me because I was speaking, it felt like only the handsome stranger was looking at me and it was causing my face to redden. "I'm Pidge. I'm sixteen, almost seventeen. I had thyroid cancer but it got treated about a year ago and now I just have a satellite in my lungs. I'm doing okay." The words tumbled out so fast I wondered if newbie caught any of it. The regulars continued to introduce themselves but I still felt those blue eyes on me. He didn't stare at me unblinkingly like a creeper for ten minutes straight, but for whatever reason his eyes continued to gravitate towards me in the same way that your eyes kinda drift towards roadkill when you're driving. Although I'm pretty sure he wasn't staring at me because I was a dead animal. That was just a horrible analogy. "The name's Lance." Oh boy was his voice smooth. It rolled like the gentle draw and pull of the ocean's edge and it was pulling me in like the tide. "I'm seventeen and I just survived osteosarcoma about..." He counted on his slender fingers. "Eight weeks ago. I lost my leg, but none of my charm." Automatically my eyes fell to his legs, which was probably the rudest thing I could have done in that moment. He was wearing jeans and high rise boots so I couldn't discern which was flesh and which was metal. What were the odds of meeting someone who survived the exact same cancer as Shiro, and lost a limb because of it? I was itching to see how the tech differed for a leg prosthetic to that of an arm but it was probably rude to ask a stranger if you could examine their fake appendage. I barely noticed what today's subject was until the group session leader, Coran, called out Lance. Everyone else was prattling on about something while I was trying to avoid the fact that osteosarcoma-man continually drew his gaze toward me. Apparently we were talking about fears. "Lance, perhaps you'd like the share your fears with the group." Coran said in his trademark pleasant tone. "My fears?" "Yes." "I fear forsakenness." "Could you elaborate? Is it a religious forsakenness?" "No, not like that. I guess you could also call it abandonment." There was a soberness in his eyes that made me curious as to what kinds of scars he bore. "At times I'm nothing more than a third wheel. Some days it feels like a seventh wheel." He gave off a soft, nervous laugh. "l used to be on the swim team, was pretty good at it too. Now I've lost a leg. I'm useless to the team. I'm currently attending the Garrison and I want to be a pilot but... apparently piloting requires both your legs. I don't know how much longer they'll continue their cancer-kid pity and let me crash the simulations before they officially flunk me out. So yeah... I fear forsakenness. Being taken for granted and disregarded because of your uselessness. I'm already halfway there, so I guess the only thing I ought to fear at this point is fear itself." The room was quiet for a moment and despite the somberness in Lance's tone, he was smiling as if all of this was no big deal. I could see it in his eyes, however. The smile was a facade. I wondered idly how many times he faked such an appearance for the sake of others. "No one is useless." I'm not sure where my voice came from but I spoke up so loud it echoed softly in the vaulted space and Coran had to do a double take. All eyes were on me, again, and I could tell some of them were wider than usual because I rarely ever spoke in these sessions unless Coran yanked it out of me, but yet again I only felt the sincere stare of the boy with eyes the shade of the sky just before the stars came out. "My dad once said..." My voice started to crack but I pushed through it. "That everyone has a purpose. We may not see it or understand it, but everything in the universe is connected, much like the energy that flows through all living things or how everything in a computer is made up of the same series of numbers. You may feel useless to everyone and everything, including yourself, but you are useful to someone. Someone out there has been moved by the words you've said. Someone out there has been inspired by your actions. Someone out there has been cheered up by your spirit. Everyone is useful in some shape or form, at some point in their life, to an insurmountable number of people. Everyone's existence affects the fabric of space and time whether they realize it or not, and this reality as we know it is affected by your very existence. So..." I waved a hand dismissively as if I just explained something rather simple. "Like I said... no one is useless." Lance was dumbstruck for a moment, his jaw slightly slacked and his eyebrows lowered. "Holy crow." Then his bewilderment slowly turned into a wicked grin. "Aren't you something else." I raised my eyebrows at him in a silent question mark. Who said 'holy crow?' Wasn't the more common phrase 'holy cow?' Either way I'm pretty sure I just imploded his brain with my answer, and Coran is also looking a tad surprised as well as pleased. We continue on with the therapy session, neither Lance nor I contributing any more to the discussion. I quickly figured out which of his legs was prosthetic. He had a habitual bouncing of his left thigh, and it was a movement that was far too natural to have done with a recently amputated leg. When the session ended I stood up a bit too quickly and grabbed my oxygen tank to haul myself out of there as fast as I could. I didn't want to talk with anyone. I wanted to run home, hide in my room and play Skyrim on my laptop in the dark and immerse myself in distraction. But before I could leave more than five feet from the ring of chairs, there he was. "You said your name was... Pidge?" Doubt. Nervousness. And was that a bit of judgment? "Yeah." I didn't care to elaborate. I pulled on my oxygen tank and continued towards the door. "Want me to pull that for you?" He asked as he walked alongside me. There was a slight limp in his step. "It's not that heavy, Lance." Why was I being so snappy? Usually I wasn't this rude to strangers. "But it's a tank." "It's a tank of oxygen. It's not that heavy." He still seemed perplexed as he shook his head, but continued following anyway. "I just wanted to uh... thank you, for what you said back there." I wanted to reply quickly with something along the lines of 'it was no big deal' or 'glad I could help' and continue running away, but instead I stopped in my tracks and said nothing. I stared at the floor and felt like I couldn't breathe, which is saying something because ninety percent of the time I have trouble breathing. "Pidge?" His tone was concerned. "Do you want to come over for dinner?" Why did I say that. Why did I say that. "For dinner?" All I did was nod. I think that's all I was capable of, given the situation. I was still trying to calculate why my voice box made the impulsive decision to invite him over to my home. Lance seemed hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I won't say no to free food. A-are you sure? You don't need to like… call your parents first and see if it's okay if I come over or anything?" "Nah." I finally gained control over my motor abilities as I grabbed my oxygen tank and started walking again. I was still working on trying to reboot my brain, however. "We always prepare a ton of food in case Hunk or Shiro decide to show up." "Shiro?" Lance's voice went up an octave from surprise. "You mean like Takashi Shirogane Shiro? That Shiro?" "Wait, you know him?" "We had the same cancer! He visited me in the hospital! That guy's my hero!" "Well I'll be…" I whipped out my phone and started texting Matt. "I'm going to see if he can join us for dinner too. Because why not?" When Lance laughed my brain realized why I invited him over. "Yeah, might as well!"

#plance #plance fanfic #flirtyrobot #pance #pidgance #voltron #vld #still got it #plance au #voltron fanfic #vld fanfic #my fanfiction

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storytimefromthecreed · 5 years

Text

Vigilante AU: Mike Dodds

Who the hell was this guy? (Y/N) pushed through her exhaustion, limbs burning, as she ran over the rooftops. Didn’t he know that she was helping the people?

“Freeze! NYPD!” He yelled behind her, but she pressed onward. After helping Detectives Carisi and Rollins on a twelve hour shift, she was basically dead weight. Her knees buckled under her, and (Y/N) fell face first to the ground.

Pain shot through her leg, and (Y/N) rolled into a ball. Something was definately wrong. (Y/N) attempted to roll her ankle, but her blood felt like fire and her ankle wasn’t responding. Damn it.

The man aimed his gun at her and rolled her on her back. A gasp escaped her at the movement, and the man lowered his gun.

“Oh my god. Are you ok?” The man crouched down to her level. He put his gun back to his hip, and approached her with raised hands. “Here. Let me help.”

(Y/N) undid her hidden blade. “Come near me. I dare you.”

“You’re....a woman?” Her hand went to her mask, and found that it had flown off during her fall. Thankfully, she still had her dark makeup on. He wouldn’t know who she was, but he had seen too much. “Let me help you.” He repeated.

(Y/N) stared at the hand like it was venomous. The sound of footsteps grew louder. This was it. The end of The Vigilante.

“Don’t make a sound.” The man’s voice was low, and he threw her arm over his shoulder and lead her behind an air grate. “Keep still. Trust me.”

She hissed in return, “Why should I trust you?”

The man frowned as a reply. Hurrying to tuck her behind the metal outcropping, the man returned to the center of the roof just as a pair of uniformed officers arrived. Flash lights landed on his face, and he shielded his face.

“All good, Detective Dodds?” One asked. Dodds? As in William Dodds? The man who called for the manhunt on her? (Y/N) bite her lip. Just her luck.

“The Vigilante escaped.” The detective growled, “I saw her run over to that side,” he pointed opposite to where she was, “and jump below. We’re not getting her tonight.” The uniforms left. When all was quiet, he returned to her and spoke quickly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” (Y/N) glared up at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.”

....

The man returned almost an hour later. Good timing too because she was stuck up there. (Y/N) had hobbled to the door that opened to the roof, but it was locked. Besides, she was in too much pain to stand.The detective returned to find her grimacing through the pain with her leg propped up on the air grate.

“Sorry that took so long. Had to throw them off our trail.” The man squatted down to investigate her ankle. Our? “Can you walk in it?” She shook her head. He sighed, “Fine. Guess I’m gonna have to help you then. Don’t stab me.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and helped her in a standing position.

“It feels like it’s burning.” The rush of blood hitting the damaged tendons awoke the fire in her limb. Amputation probably hurt less. (Y/N)’s growl shifted into a whine. Tears stung in her eyes. She ducked her head down so he couldn’t see.

“Would you mind if I carried you down?” This made her glare at him again, so he felt he had to explain. “I’m not trying to do anything but help you.”

“Why are you helping me?” The pain made her lash out. “You’ve only been hunting me down like an animal for the last three weeks. Do you know how hard it is to do my job when you and your buddies have a shoot on sight on me?”

“Because,” he squat down again and tapped her leg. His dark eyes beckoned her understanding, so (Y/N) rolled her eyes and hopped into his arms. He caught her easily, and held her securely. “You do good work. Not every officer wants to take you down. I’m just doing what I was told.” His chest was soft and she found herself leaning her head against it. The longness of the day weighed her eyes down. His voice hummed through his chest when he spoke. “You have fans, you know. We try to look out for you.”

She mumbled a reply, but then everything went black.

Warm sunlight warmed her face, and she tried to roll in bed to hide from it. It wasn’t fair! Just two more minutes!

Wait.

Her eyes snapped open.

This wasn’t her room.

The memories of last night floated into her thoughts. No sooner had she thought of him, he appeared in the doorway dressed in a different suit. His hair was fluffy, and his eyes sleepy.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” He said, “How are you?”

“How did I get here?” (Y/N) flexed her wrists, but found that her weapons were gone. She was dressed in her outfit, but she felt naked. Her eyes scanned the room, but she couldn’t find them. The blades on her shoulder? Gone. The one at her hip? Disappeared. He even took the one at her ankle!

“I brought you here. Here being my apartment.” He indicated around them. “I don’t have much in terms for entertaining, but the fridge is stocked and I have TV so feel free to make yourself at home.”

“You’re leaving?” She furrowed her brows. “You’re leaving me alone in your apartment?”

The man shrugged, a smirk growing. “Well, I still have to put on appearances while I decide what to do with you, and you don’t seem like you’d get very fair. I’m Mike, by the way. Gotta go. See you tonight.”

“I’m not a pet, Detective! You can’t just leave me here.” (Y/N) struggled to get out of bed, but found that he was right. Hobbling towards him was difficult enough. There was no way she was leaving.

Mike caught her, his arm wrapping around her waist again. She continued yelling at him. “You can’t just leave me locked up!”

“I can, and I am. Unless you’d rather be locked up elsewhere?” His response silenced her, and he walked her to the living room. Releasing her on the couch. Kindness reflected in his eyes when he looked down at her. “I’ll swing by before I go into night shift. Try to stay off that leg, ok?”

“Fine.” She spat, and her response made him smile. That smile made her growl. Mike was enjoying this.

“Have a good day.” He placed the remote in her hand.

....

When Mike returned, The Vigilante was glaring at the TV. Her leg was propped on the table, and she was wrapped in a blanket. He quickly averted his glance when he realized she wasn’t wearing her make up anymore. It seemed she had found the makeup remover and extra clothes he had bought when she was asleep.

“You don’t have to worry. I guess I have no choice but to trust you with my secret identity.”

Mike looked back at her. Large, dark eyes framed with thick lashes. Pouty lips. Tan skin. “I have no idea who you are.” He concluded.

The Vigilante cast him an annoyed look. “Good. You’re not getting my name.”

“You know mine.” Mike pressed, entertained by her responses.

“So you can give it to your dad? I think not. Hiding me in your house is one thing, you’ll get in trouble if someone finds me, but giving you my name so you can track me down when I’m better?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Did you eat?”

“I did, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mike went to the kitchen and began to hunt for food himself. To his surprise, he found dinner already made. “You cooked?”

“I figure I might as well be a good guest.” She countered.

“Thank you. Looks delicous.” Mike warmed up his dinner and took it to the couch with her. Sitting as far as he could, he pretended to watch the show. Truly, he was watching her. She looked so normal.

“Why are you staring at me?” Her voice broke him from his trance, and Mike quickly looked at the TV.

“Just wondering.”

“About?”

He took another bite. His father always taught him it was rude to speak with one’s mouth full, so he allowed himself time to think. “Why to superhero life? Surely, you didn’t wake up one day and decided to dress like a,” He looked her up and down before playfully saying, “cat.”

“First, I’m not a cat. My costume is supposed to minic a shadow. Second,” she found herself laughing, but caught herself and grew serious. He was charming. Interrogators were always charming. “It’s none of your business.” Mike nodded and returned his gaze to the TV.

“Now you’re the one staring.” He said.

“Heroes are popping up all over this city, and more.” (Y/N) explained. “Why is that a bad thing? Huh? Why is it ok for me to be hunted and treated like a monster when I’m just helping people? Police use me to cut corners, you have cops in your pocket that call me for backup. Lawyers call me when they need help. Why is my being The Vigilante so strange?”

“I thought it wasn’t my business?” Mike grinned. “Do vigilantes like ice cream?”

....

(1 month later)

As her ankle healed, she continued to stay at Mike’s. She cooked and cleaned while he was at work. There was nothing else to do.

Mike’s favorite food was tacos or pasta, depending on the day. He was a sucker for chocolate ice cream, had a major sweet tooth, and he cried when dog died during a movie. When he found out she loved keeping fresh cut flowers in her apartment, Mike returned with the most beautiful bouquet. He liked his hair played with, and he was really smart. Sometimes, when she pushed him too, they would spend hours going over the weird facts he knew. He played quitar and could sing, but decided not to pursue the career on account of his father.

“Do you always do what your dad tells you to?” William Dodds. The name gave her a sour taste in the mouth.

“Well,” Mike opened his mouth and she tossed another grape into it. Another thing he was good at. Between munches, he said, “not always.”

“Like that day you caught me on that roof.” The Vigilante pressed, “You didn’t turn me in even though your dad wanted you to.”

“Right.” Mike tossed a grape, but she missed it. Laughing, he tossed another one. Missing again. “How are you The Vigilante with reflexes this bad?” Toss. Laughing, he gave up. “I’m not wasting grapes on you. I expect you to practice when I’m not home.”

Home. The word gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling.

....

(4 months later)

“I’m so ready to never see this thing again.” She unstrapped her boot, and Mike watched from the couch. He was more reserved than normal this evening. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me. Mike, I honestly don’t know how to repay you.”

“You’re that ready to get back on the street?” Mike couldn’t stop the frown on his face. “I mean, I’m glad you’re better and all, but shouldn’t you wait?”

“I’m more than ready. I’ve been doing my warm ups, keeping in shape. Sure, I’m a little slower, but I’m so ready.” She was so happy. Her smile so bright. Mike smiled in support.

“Being roomates was fun.” He joked, half serious. “I mean, this place won’t ever be this clean again, and I know I won’t be eating that well again in a long time.”

“You’ve lived whole life without me, Mike.” The Vigilante wrapped on her hidden blades. The slice of the metal through the shealth rang like music in her ears. She smiled at him. “Besides, if you need anything, you can just catch me again.”

Mike thought to himself, “Is that the only time I’ll see you?” In a loud voice, he said, “I have to get ready for that ball tonight. You ok on your own?”

“I think I’m gonna do a quick run of the city tonight, ya know? Ease back into it.”

Mike nodded and went into his room. His heart broke at the realization that he had already lost her.

....

“When are you going to bring the girl around, son?” William Dodds said between his teeth as they posed for a picture.

“Dad, there is no girl.” Mike said, and smiled when he saw another of his father’s friends.

“Oh, so you’re staying home for fun these days? Is that what the people your age are doing?” His dad scoffed and quickly turned his frown upside down when he spied a Congressman. “Lenard! How good to see you! You remember Mike!”

“Good to see you again, sir.” Mike shook his hand. “I need to grab a water. Would you like anything?”

“Drinking such a light beverage at an event like this?” The Congressman laughed, “Your boy’s tougher than I thought!”

“That’s Mike!” The pair laughed, and Mike excused himself. Walking through the dancefloor, hoping to lose himself in the crowd and in his thoughts, Mike didn’t notice the woman who grabbed his hand.

“I’m sorry.” Mike jumped back. “I didn’t mean to-” Familar eyes peered back at him. That smile beamed up at him. “You- you’re here. You came?”

“Duh. You hate these things. Do you really think I’d leave you to do this alone?” The Vigilante was dressed in a beautiful dark green dress that matched his tie. “You were gone when I came back from my run, so I just headed over here. Sorry for being late, I just couldn’t find the right dress and we never exchanged numbers so I couldn’t call you for an opinion, and then,” She rambled through her story, and Mike tightened his hold on her hand.

“You stayed?” He pulled her in by her waist, and she crossed her hands behind his neck. They began to sway to the music. Her head went to it’s place on his chest, and Mike rested his chin on her head. They fit together.

“Of course.” She laughed, “What? Did you think I would disappear into the night and you’d never see me again?” Mike shrugged. “Mike! I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I don’t even know your name.” He whispered in her ear.

“I told you there was a girl!” William Dodds bound through the dancers, and extended his hand. “You must be the beautiful lady that’s captured my son’s heart. Son, aren’t you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“We’re not-” Mike stammered. God. Why was his dad the most embarrassing man in the universe.

“(Y/N).” She extended a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir. Mike’s told me great things about you.”

“Beautiful name. Oh, I’m sure he has.” He looked proudly between the pair. “I’ll leave you kids alone.” William winked at his son and disappeared into the crowd.

“(Y/N)?” Mike said it again. It suit her. “I figure if people already think we’re dating, I’m suppose it’s time I take you out on a proper date?”

“Just don’t think you’re taking me to your apartment too soon.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

#mike dodds #deserves better #My writing #Vigilante AU

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classyfoxdestiny · 3 years

Text

The torso in the Thames: A 20-year mystery

By Angus Crawford and Tony Smith BBC News

It’s the longest unsolved child murder case in the recent history of the Metropolitan Police. Twenty years ago, a young African boy was murdered in a brutal ritual, his head and limbs removed, and his torso dumped in the Thames.

On Tuesday the Met Police made a renewed appeal for members of the public to “be bold” and come forward with any information that may help them solve this case.

The boy’s identity has remained a mystery – he was known simply as “Adam”, a name given to him by detectives.

Over the years, there have been arrests and forensic breakthroughs. But no-one has been charged with his killing.

I have followed the case from the very beginning, even travelling to the place where it’s thought the boy may have been born, in an effort to find out what really happened.

Twenty years on, I’ve been talking to the people closest to the case. Some, speaking for the very first time.

And we have visited Adam’s unmarked grave in a sprawling cemetery in south London.

21 September 2001: The discovery

image source, PA Media

image captionThe body was found in the Thames near the Globe Theatre

It was a passer-by who found the body.

Aidan Minter was walking across Tower Bridge in central London heading for a business meeting.

It was just 10 days after the 9/11 attacks in the US and the city was still strangely quiet.

“The tide was quite high at the time, I thought it was a tailor’s mannequin,” Aidan recalls. He rarely speaks about the case. “Then it came under the bridge, and that’s when I saw the detail – the wounds and the body itself.”

Police pulled the body from the water – upstream – close to the Globe Theatre.

It’s a memory Aidan lives with to this day. “I do think about him. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.”

image captionAidan Minter (pictured in 2021) found the boy’s torso in the River Thames

The first week

The boy, who was black, may have been in the water for up to 10 days. He had died from having his throat slit. His arms, legs and head had all been expertly amputated. They have never been found.

There were no signs of physical or sexual abuse, and he had been well fed. On the body there was nothing but a pair of orange shorts – something which later gave officers their first breakthrough in the case. The label was “Kids & Company” and the size and colour could only be found in a small number of shops in Germany.

Nick Chalmers, then a detective sergeant, was one of the police officers assigned to the case – the strangest and most complex of his career.

image captionRetired detective Nick Chalmers (pictured in 2021)

“You definitely have a tie to a case, and there’s this drive to find answers. The one thing that has lingered over 20 years is the frustration that we didn’t find all the answers,” he says. He has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the case, and keeps copies of many of the case files at home

Nearly a week after the body was found, detectives appealed for help from the public on the BBC’s Crimewatch UK programme. About 60 people called in, but there was no breakthrough.

African connections

Detectives took the unprecedented step of giving the boy a name, and a reward of £50,000 was offered for information leading to a murder conviction.

Tests showed that Adam had been aged between four and seven years old and had lived in Africa until shortly before his death. Traces of cough syrup were also found in his stomach. If he had been unwell, had those who killed him been concerned enough to give him medicine? Or did they use it to make him drowsy before the murder?

Experts agreed that – because Adam’s body had been expertly butchered – it had been a ritualistic murder. Some thought it had been one of the rare so-called “muti” killings found in southern Africa – when a victim’s body parts are removed and used by witchdoctors as “medicine” for a client who wants, for example, to win a business deal or secure good luck.

Other experts believed it was more likely a human sacrifice with its origins in a twisted version of Yoruban belief systems from Nigeria. A perverted offering to the goddess Oshun – a deity typically associated with water and fertility. Subsequent forensic evidence gave more credence to that theory.

April 2002: Mandela’s plea

In April 2002, the police team travelled to South Africa to meet the country’s former president Nelson Mandela. He appealed across the continent for Adam’s family to come forward:

“Scotland Yard informs me that early indications of their investigations are that the boy comes from somewhere in Africa, so if anywhere, even in the remotest village of our continent, there is a family missing a son of that age who might have disappeared around that time… please contact the police.”

July 2002: Breakthrough

In July 2002, social workers in Glasgow became worried about the safety of two girls. They were living with their mother, an African woman in her early 30s.

Council workers found bizarre, ritualistic objects in her home. At a court hearing to take the children into care, the woman – Joyce Osagiede – told a story of cults, killings and of sacrifices.

An observant police officer thought it odd enough to warrant a call to the homicide unit in London.

DS Nick Chalmers searched Joyce’s home and found clothes with the same “Kids & Company” label and in the same sizes as Adam’s orange shorts. Joyce was arrested.

image source, PA Media

image captionPolice displayed a pair of shorts similar to those found on Adam’s torso

Officers were convinced she was an important part of the story, but she was confused and kept changing her account. She said she knew nothing about Adam, but was unable to explain the extraordinary coincidence about the clothes.

Officers weren’t able to charge Joyce. She remained in Glasgow waiting for the results of her asylum claim.

September 2002: Nigerian links

In September 2002, a year after Adam was found, a memorial service was held in London’s City Hall to celebrate his life. It was attended by about 30 police officers, scientists, pathologists and various experts involved in the case.

image source, PA Media

image captionA wreath was placed in the Thames in memory of Adam, September 2002

“Probably the closest thing [Adam] had to a family were the people who knew him because of the investigation,” says Nick Chalmers.

Forensic work continued, and by December it was clear Adam’s DNA pointed to West African ancestry. Ground breaking tests on samples of bone narrowed down Adam’s birthplace to a strip of land around Benin City in southern Nigeria – Joyce Osagiede’s home city.

media captionIn 2002 the Crimewatch team investigated the case. At the time it was believed Adam was Afro-Caribbean.

Pollen samples in his gut showed he had been living in the south-east of England for only a matter of days or weeks before his death.

Also in his stomach was an unusual substance made of African river clay – including vegetation, ground bone and traces of gold and quartz. The presence of ash showed the mixture had been burned before the child was forced to eat it – perhaps that explains the cough medicine, something sweet to wash down the unpleasant concoction?

November 2002: German connection

Joyce Osagiede – the woman who had been arrested in Glasgow but not charged – was deported after the Home Office rejected her asylum application.

Nick Chalmers and his boss Detective Inspector Will O’Reilly travelled with her to Nigeria on a specially chartered private jet. It was hoped she might open up on the flight and reveal crucial information about the murder. But she didn’t. The detectives didn’t get off the plane when they landed in Lagos, and flew straight home. Joyce then disappeared.

Shortly afterwards, German police revealed that Joyce had lived in Hamburg until late 2001 – the city where the orange shorts found on Adam’s body were bought.

More arrests

In London in late 2002 there was what seemed like a major breakthrough.

When police arrested Ms Osagiede, they found that she only had two contacts in her phone – one was for a man called Mousa Kamara. He was traced to a house in London. There, officers found an animal skull pierced with a nail, liquid potions and small packets containing what appeared to be sand or earth. There was also a videotape labelled “rituals” – a drama in which an adult was beheaded. The items seemed to be associated with Nigerian rituals, known as Juju. Detectives also worked out that Mousa Kamara’s real name was actually Kingsley Ojo. With nothing to link him directly to Adam’s murder, he was released on bail.

But there was clear evidence Ojo was involved in human trafficking and so he was put under surveillance. Within hours of being released, he was back talking to his criminal associates organising the illegal entry of Nigerians to the UK. He was considered to be a major player in a gang smuggling people into the country.

image source, PA Media

image captionKingsley Ojo arrested in Stratford, east London. in July 2003

In July 2003, after following his every move and identifying his criminal associates, 21 men and women were arrested in co-ordinated raids at nine addresses across London. That included Ojo.

October 2003: The Doomsday Plant

Botanists at Kew Gardens had been sent samples of plant remains found in Adam’s gut. In October 2003, they came to a startling conclusion. Adam had been fed parts of two different plants. First, there were small amounts of the Calabar bean – sometimes known as the Doomsday or ordeal plant, traditionally used in witchcraft ceremonies in West Africa. At this dosage it causes paralysis, but doesn’t prevent pain. Second, ground-up seeds from the Datura plant which acts as a sedative and causes hallucinations were discovered.

image source, Getty Images

image captionDatura seed capsule

Detectives believed the mixture was given to Adam before his throat was cut. It would have left him paralysed and helpless, but still aware of what was happening to him.

July 2004: Kingsley Ojo jailed

Police had enough evidence to charge Kingsley Ojo – not in connection with Adam’s death, but with four charges of people smuggling and using fake documents to obtain a passport and driving licence. In July 2004, he pleaded guilty and was sentenced to four years in jail – with a recommendation he be deported upon release.

Ojo, who was also known by a number of aliases, had according to investigators headed a “substantial” network thought to have brought hundreds of people to the UK to work in the sex trade, as domestic slaves or for benefit fraud.

Detectives hoped Ojo would still hold the key to Adam’s death.

I learned that in Brixton Prison, he gained a reputation for being a “big man”. He is alleged to have performed Juju ceremonies for money on behalf of other prisoners, one inmate informed the police.

December 2004: Inquest

In December 2004, the inquest into Adam’s death recorded a verdict of unlawful killing. It heard how he died from neck wounds suffered while he was still alive.

2005: Kingsley Ojo offers to help

From his prison cell Ojo contacted the team investigating Adam’s death. He said he had secret recordings of Joyce Osagiede recorded in Nigeria by his associates. He claimed he wanted to help track down the killer and clear his own name.

Officers interviewed him at the end of his sentence, while he was waiting to be deported. He convinced the murder team he could help – and by late 2005 was released and living back in east London, apparently assisting the inquiry.

For more than two years, he fed the police information – at one point claiming that Ms Osagiede was on her way back to the UK. This proved not to be true.

He also accused a different woman of leading the sacrificial ceremony back in September 2001. Police placed an undercover officer in her church for months – but detectives would conclude that there was no basis for the claims.

In December 2006, Adam’s body was laid to rest in an unmarked grave in a London cemetery.

The non-denominational service was attended by a handful of police officers who had worked on the case from the start – including DS Nick Chalmers and Will O’Reilly, soon to be promoted to detective chief inspector.

2008: Kingsley Ojo deported back to Nigeria

Detectives concluded they couldn’t rely on Kingsley Ojo – he was still believed to be using a false identity to commit benefit fraud even after his release from prison. In 2008, he was deported back to Nigeria.

Throughout his deportation hearing Ojo claimed that he had always “done his best” to assist the investigation.

Also in Nigeria, Joyce Osagiede reappeared and was interviewed by police. She finally admitted she had looked after “Adam” when she had lived in Hamburg in northern Germany – and had bought the orange shorts found on his body. But she said no more and vanished again.

After years of trying, I finally managed to track down a woman who actually knew Joyce in Germany. She’s never spoken to the media before.

Ria Matthes, a social worker assessing benefit claims, met Joyce and her two girls on several occasions when they were in Hamburg. She also remembers seeing Joyce twice with a small boy in the summer of 2001 who she now realises may well have been Adam. Which would make her her one of the last people to see him alive.

media captionRia Matthes, a social worker in Hamburg, met Joyce and saw her with a young boy who may have been Adam.

“I think about the case regularly,” she says. “For me he was a very shy – albeit an attentive – child. He was completely introverted and withdrawn. He remained in one spot and didn’t move.”

Joyce treated the boy as if he was a “necessary evil to her” says Ria. “[It was] like she had to drag him along with her because maybe she didn’t want to let him out of her eyesight or like she took him along so he wouldn’t have to be on his own.”

2011: Photo of Adam

For three years, investigations continued but with no new significant leads. But when detectives searched through Joyce Osagiede’s belongings left with a friend in Germany, they found a pile of photographs. One of them showed a boy of about five years old staring straight at the camera – it was taken in 2001.

Det Sergeant Nick Chalmers was sceptical about whether it could be Adam, but he had moved on from the investigation and a new team of detectives had taken over. In early 2011, the photo was given to ITV News, which tried to track down Joyce in Nigeria.

Joyce said that Adam was indeed the boy in the photo – and his real name was Ikpomwosa. She said she had looked after the boy, but had given him to a man called Bawa. For a time it seemed as if the mystery over Adam’s identity had been solved.

But detectives were unable to positively identify the boy or take the investigation forward.

2012: A meeting with Joyce in Nigeria

A year later, we found out why. Out of the blue, Joyce’s brother Victor contacted me from Nigeria. He said there had been a misunderstanding – the boy in the photograph wasn’t Adam, and his name was not Ikpomwosa. He and Joyce wanted to put the record straight.

image captionJoyce Osagiede, in Nigeria

I travelled to Benin City with Nick Chalmers, who by then had retired from the Met. We found Joyce living in a small house in a run down neighbourhood – she was pleased to see us, but at times seemed confused. She was known to have mental health problems.

Joyce told us the boy in the photo was actually called “Danny” – who Nick and I managed to track down in Hamburg.

Joyce also suggested yet another name for Adam. She called him Patrick Erhabor – something we were unable to verify.

Finally, we showed Joyce one more photograph. She instantly identified the man as someone she called “Bawa” – the person she says she gave Adam to in Germany in 2001. The photo was of trafficker Kingsley Ojo. It was the first time she had ever made that allegation.

Nick and I managed to track down Ojo in Nigeria – he would not meet us, but agreed to talk on the phone. He insisted he had no involvement in Adam’s murder. Indeed there is no evidence linking him to the killing.

image source, Facebook

image captionKingsley Ojo

But the former detective believes he may still hold the key to unlocking the case.

Responding to our report, which was broadcast in early 2013, a Met spokesperson said any new information would be “thoroughly investigated”.

2021: Remains a cold case

Since 2013 the investigation has effectively become a “cold case” with no significant new lines of enquiry.

But there has been one major development. I stayed in touch with Joyce’s brother Victor and last year he revealed to me that Joyce had died. One of the last remaining links to Adam, and potentially a crucial witness, now gone.

Aidan Minter, the man who spotted the body in the river, was diagnosed with acute post-traumatic stress disorder. He says he felt utterly helpless, knowing his discovery was somebody’s son.

“It’s the shock of – why is it there? Who did it? That’s the hardest thing. He was a small boy with a personality and it was cruelly taken away from him in some sort of ritualistic murder.”

media captionNick Chalmers is still haunted by the case.

For retired detective Nick Chalmers, the lack of answers is deeply frustrating.

“This was an innocent young child. There are people responsible for his death who haven’t been brought to justice.

“Twenty years on, I wish we knew the identity of Adam – and his parents. In reality, he is a missing child from a family, who probably don’t know he’s buried here in London.”

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keithebrainrot · 6 years

Text

Bombs Away [Junkrat x Reader]

This was the third time this week your training coach had left you standing in a cold field in the middle of nowhere. Honestly? You were getting sick of this bullshit. You had better shit to do with your Thursday afternoon than stand around in a field in the middle of October.

"Goddammit Junkrat..." You kicked a half built bomb on the ground which let off a few sparks and crackles.

"Y/n." A deep raspy voice startled you out of your little tantrum.

"Jeez.." You clutched your chest. "Roadie! You gotta stop that, man"

"Sorry... The rodent sent me." He started to gather the empty bombs you'd been tinkering with. "He told me to tell you he can't make it..." He pulled you onto his back and carried you across the field. This was nothing unusual, the first few times it had freaked you out but it was pretty comfy nowadays. You rested your arms on his head head and scoffed.

"Did he say why?" You took in the tree lining the field as Roadie jogged across the field.. He was silent for a big dude.

"No. He just told me to 'Find the Sheila and tell her what oi said.'" The base was coming into view already. Too soon for your tastes. "I'll take these bombs to our workshop and finish them up for you."

"Roadie, you don't have to do that!" You hugged around his neck against the chill in the air.

"You go find Jamison. Find out what's goin' on." He came to a stop outside the door to the base and set you down on the ground gently. "Don't tell the rodent I said this. He sounded... off..."

Before you could ask what Roadhog meant he was walking away from you towards their workshop. The doors of the base slid open and Tracer was stood on the other side.

"Oh, Y/N! Hiya love!" She was chipper as ever and her accent rang melodically through your head.

"Hi Lena! How are you?" You couldn't help but smile when Tracer was around.

"I'm good thanks, y/n. Say.. Have you noticed something off about Jamison?" She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head. "He never showed up for dinner and he's not in his workshop."

This would make the second person to mention Junkrat's mood to you. This was worrying indeed.

"I was just on his way there actually.. He ditched our training again." Tracer raised an eyebrow at that. Junkrat wasn't the most dependable but this was downright odd.

"Y/N, find out what's up with him would you? It's quiet with out him around. As irritating as he is." You jokingly saluted in response and Tracer smiled. "I have to head out. I'll see you later!" And with that she was gone.

You strolled through the maze of the base accommodation halls until you got to a sterling white door with a gold name plate which read "Jamison Fawkes." You tapped on the little touch screen to alert the person inside you were there and instead of answering back through the telecom you heard an Aussie accent soaked "WHAT?!" come from inside.

"Jamison, it's Y/N. Let me in." You tried not t shout too loud as to not alert the other people in their rooms. When you didn't get an answer you tried again. "You've skipped the last 3 training sessions with me. You owe this to me at least." You tried to make your voice sound stern but traces of pity were seeping through. Jamison obviously sensed.

"I don' owe you jack diddly squat, sheila." He started off angry but you heard a little crack in his voice at the end following by some muffled sniffling. You were leaning defeated against the door when Winston came down the hall and pulled out his master key card that was mainly used in emergencies.

"Psst! Y/n!" He raised the card with a questioning look and you stepped back from the door nodding so he could let you in.He swiped the cards and the doors slid open to let you in.

Jamison's room was tidy, surprisingly, but the curtains were closed and the only source of light came from in between the curtains of evening sun. You scanned the room for Jamison, who was stood in front of a mirror, his mechanical arm lay on his bed.

"Junkrat what the...?" You meekly moved towards him and the voice that left him startled you.

"Don't." His voice was broken and he just stared blankly back at himself in the mirror.

Every trace of anger evaporated looking at him. His eyes were ringed by red marks and his skin was almost white against the black soot which seemed to permanently stain his skin. Where his prosthetic arm normal was were scratches, some oozing red. You gathered your courage and tried again.

"J-Jamison?" He didn't make you shut up this time but shifted his gaze to you. He looked visibly hurt at your expression. You eyes traveled his body assessing new and old scars.

"Sheila." You'd never heard Jamison speak so quietly, it didn't suit him. "I can't.. I don't..." He looked so defeated, he was even struggling to string a sentence together.

"Take you time, Jamie..." You watched as he dropped to his knees and sobbed. He was wailing and the sound broke your heart. He sounded like a wounded animal. You knelt down in front of him and tentatively placed your hands on his shoulders, which were shaking violently. He wailed louder and he fell against you as he cried.

"Shh.. shh... It's fine. Shh." You hushed him and soothed his back. His wails were quietening down as he curled against you. He was just quietly sniffling. "Can you move to the bed?"

He nodded quietly as he clung to you as you both stood and walked to his bed. You moved his prosthetic arm carefully to his dresser next to the bed and sat him down and took a seat next him.

He looked dead ahead without really seeing anything as your hand traced his biceps soothingly. He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath as he tried to talk again.

"I'm sorry." He said it so quietly you only just caught it.

"For what?" You looked at him and he slowly turned to look at you, looking at you as if you should know what he meant. "For that?! Jamison.. It's fine. Everybody has moments like that."

For some reason this seemed to anger him. He shot up off the bed and pinned you against the wall with his one arm, getting in your face.

"Not me! I don't! I'm Jamison Flaming Fawkes." He raised his voice and spittle flew onto your face. He was unpredictable and unstable, you had to be on your guard. "I don't have these... these... feelings!" He pushed away from you and began to claw at the spot where his metal arm usually attached. "I blow up what I want, when I want. I don't care about anyone or anything." You could see the tears passing by his manic smile.

"Jamie stop! Stop! You're hurting yourself" You grabbed at his human arm and tried to pull his hand way from his amputated limb. "Stop! You're scaring me!"

He stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned to look at you, gripping his arm, hyperventilating and tears threatening to spill over. The cogs slowly turned in his brain as he sat you down on the bed, only he laid down and pulled you onto him and then moved to re-attach his prosthetic arm to hold you in place and use his human hand to stroke his thumb across your cheek.

"Shush, shh, shh, Sheila. It's OK. Nuts, Sheila. I'm sorry." He calmed your breathing first and then turned you to pull your face closer to his. "Please don't have a panic attack. It's OK shush." His thumb was still soothing your cheek. He searched your eyes and you searched his for peace and tranquility. His mechanic hand had moved to the small of your back to hold you flush against him and a light pink blush was dusting his cheeks under the soot.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on, Jamie?" You whispered. He guessed he owed you that much.

"I... Y/N be honest. Am frightening?" His head was propped backwards against the headrest.

"When you get mad you can be..."

"Tha's not what I mean." He took a deep breath "When I fight.. When I'm doing normal things just.. walking around. Do I look hideous?"

You were taken aback that the ever-confident Jamison Fawkes was asking you this.

"What? No!" You propped up to look at him. "Jamie, what's goin' on with you?" He looked away, looking a little embarrassed.

"Well.. I just. I don't look like the other guys here... Just. McCree or Hanzo always have girls crawling all over them but with me.. They look the other way." His gaze fell on his peg leg, which was slightly bent at the knee for comfort. "I'm just a freak." He sighed sadly.

"Jamison Fawkes no." You turned his head to look at you. "You are a kind, unique, crazy individual and we would have you no other way. You've got a good heart... A thieving.. anarchist heart but.. A good one. Overwatch would be lost without you."

He searched your face for any trace of a lie.

"Y'mean it Sheila?" He looked at you like a lost little puppy. You gave him a short, solid nod. "Then..." He pulled you forward and planted a soft, ashy kiss on your lips.

It took you a second to kiss back but when you did he pulled you even closer to him. Funny that the safest place you've ever felt, was in the arms of a criminally, insane pyromaniac. He rolled you over to be on the bottom so he could look down at you.

"I love ya' Y/N." His eyes were bright and shiny and he had the cutest little smile on his face, not his usual manic grin. "My little time bomb." You gave him a sleepy smile.

"I love you too, Jamie." You kissed one more time and then pulled him to lie next you. He pulled up the covers which were covered in soot, by the way, and threw them over you both. You were asleep immediately and Jamison smiled down at you, giving you a sweet little kiss on your forehead.

"Bombs away, Sheila. Bombs away..." He laid his head down and pulled you close to him and drifted off to sleep.

[BONUS ENDING]

Later on, Roadie walked through the door to see if the rodent was doing any better. His gaze immediately fell to the two of you snuggled against each other on the bed. He picked up the blanket which had fell off and placed in back over you. Junkrat's eyes opened slowly and he saw Roadhog in the dark and smiled at him. Roadie raised his thumb and gave you both a quiet chuckle and left. Jamie looked down at you and gave you a sleepy peck on the cheek before falling back into the embrace of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So I had just got Overwatch when I wrote this but I had adored Junkrat for a while by this point! I hope you guys liked this! I know it's cheesier than a bag of wotsits but I had to write this side to Junkrat! I love my Aussie Shrimp Pyro! <3 Potential smut coming sooon ;)

#my fic #junkrat #fluff #junkrat x reader #tooth rotting fluff #bless this man honestly #give him all of the huggles #kink rat writes

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dailyarturia · 7 years

Note

I apologize for bothering you for your objective opinion so much, my king, but once again I need your objective opinion. This time I need your objective opinion on the Berserkers. I'm severely concerned that I have shit taste in Berserkers, and I know that unlike me you are definitely a man of culture.

very large. back from ye olde days where berserkers generally couldn’t actually communicate so unfortunately a bit lacking in complex characterisation compared to others. lovin the whole ‘made to kill his own children in rage which is what qualifies him as berserker in the first place and now gives his all to keep this singular parentless child safe despite supposedly being made into a mindless raging beast’ thing. 8/10

bucket knight. also an old school zerker who can’t talk outside kariya’s fever dreams but he does scream in french sometimes. an overly loyal knight who nonetheless put his own wishes above what he believed were his king’s once and then spent the rest of his life feeling guilty about it to the point where it straight up drove him crazy because he couldn’t understand that arturia has -15 consideration of her own wants. his kink is getting shamed and he would probably get a heart attack if arturia did that hands on her hips disappointed look pose in his general vicinity. 8/10

get OUT of my HOUSE. ugly and horrifying but could totally beat gilgamesh in a fight and the image of ol gregory getting his nuts kicked in by a metal underpants enthusiast is high quality content so he gets points for that. 3/10

this is what we in the scientific community call a daughter. a good girl who just wants to be loved but has severe trust issues after being abandoned by the person who literally created her. can in fact talk but it takes a lot of effort so she doesn’t bother because like, fuck humans right, why should she put in effort to make herself understood when they’re not gonna want to understand her either way. I’m so blessed & grateful that moriarty is her dad now. 9/10

i’ll be honest I still have no idea what his character is supposed to be like its not like he had a lot of screentime in extra and extella is very bad to its side characters. ?/10

the fucking supreme. pandered to like a dozen of my kinks and gave me a few more. my first 5*. the end of my f2p days and the start of my journey to becoming the monster god. the design. the skillset. the teeth. the c l a w s. a king despite hating kings. a machinelike killer despite living for the thrill of the fight. a man who wants to just die already yet obstinately refuses to. a contradictory mess that denounces every ideal he used to live by yet clings to them harder than ever. a monster whose personal arc after being summoned isn’t how he’s still human at heart or whatever but how he was a monster before he looked like one already so like, don’t even worry about it. his mad enhancement is EX(C ) and his material entry revealed that this weird rank is bc it’s not even actual battle rage, he’s just so fucking stubborn it gets classified as mad enhancement. EX/10 the love of my fucking life

the smile of an angel. seems completely rational at first but is still classified as a berserker with EX rank mad enhancement because of her inhuman determination to save as many lives as possible without any regard for the quality of that saved life. she’d amputate all of a person’s limbs in an instant if that’s what it’d take for them to not die. she has canonically beat people to a pulp to ‘cure’ their mental issues. completely dedicated her life to becoming a healing machine at the cost of her own health and even personhood. her profile says she doesn’t actually listen to others but in her myroom lines she takes an active interest in your hobbies and opinions and she also gets flustered when you call her an angel. i literally cannot fucking wait until ch america hits NA server she’s so fucking good and i want everyone to love her. 15/10

THIS IS WHAT A FRIEND LOOKS LIKE. the actual embodiment of “cool guy has a chill day”. a smile that rivals the sun and an attitude that turns even the most ordinary days into a grand adventure. his mad enhancement is basically just that he’s kind of an idiot. 10/10

OX MOM OX MOM OX MOM her mother got knocked up by an ox demon in a dream and had to raise her in secret, and her human father didn’t accept her until she proved to be really strong and even then only as long as she would exterminate anyone who stood in the way of the clan. so scared of being shunned for her demon origins despite being loved & trusted as leader of the minamoto clan that she straight up exorcised her demon self into a separate personality to kill it (& herself with it) and was only barely stopped by the four heavenly kings. nowadays fiercely protective of anyone who knows about & accepts her demonic side to the point of insanity, which is where her EX mad enhancement comes from. a huge crybaby but gets shit done anyway. 10/10

THIS IS ALSO WHAT A FRIEND LOOKS LIKE. someone who was labeled and locked away as something evil due to being what is by all means called a monster even though he’s got a really gentle personality and likes being helpful. really good example of the whole “heroes and villains are nothing more than the roles individual complex people are forced to take on” theme fate likes to play with. has difficulty talking but it’s easy to come to an understanding with him as long as you call him by his personal name asterios rather than the name of the monster minotaur everyone assumed he’d be and he thus inevitably became. 10/10

the only reason he’s a berserker is because his name and the word “berserker” have the same etymology and the grail had no idea what other class to put him. this is the canon reason. he doesn’t have any mad enhancement to speak of beside being a lil hot blooded and liking to fight. literally only here because he likes to throw punches. got his ass beat by li shuwen in ch america because despite loving to throw a punch he’s not actually a martial artist and can’t win from someone with actual technique. a classic ‘jack of all trades master of none’, he literally sucks at being every single class but can’t not be summoned as a heroic spirit because he’s from the oldest english epic poem and a prototype for many other heroes. a free spirited adventurer who takes things as they come but can be responsible when it matters. 9/10

once a good & wise ruler but fell into insanity in the last few years of his rule before finally getting assassinated. loved rome with all his heart for its beauty & splendour but got overwhelmed by the conspiracies and other evils that were also a part of it until the goddess of the moon, who he was in love with, made him insane, which he claims saved him in his bond ce. determined from then on to become the ugliest most evil motherfucker in all of rome so that he could take all the nastiest parts of rome with him in his inevitable death and have his dear cousin nero live in happiness, if only for a while. summoned as a hero despite being very close to an anti-hero because the good ruler he was before going insane responded to a call to save the world and still intent to do his part by simply dragging everything evil down with him. 8/10 wouldn’t it be nice if chapter rome had actually paid attention to roman servants other than nero.

looks like a bratty child but talks like an archaic mob boss. has horns and huge claws. easily bribed with chocolate. has a huge sword but just fucking headbuts her enemies instead. 10/10

many berserkers are angry men but only he is anger man. classified as a berserker not just due to his battlefield conduct but also the insane commitment he had to the laws of the shinsengumi, to the point where he would personally execute former comrades who broke them. both the first and last member of the shinsengumi, a man who dedicated his entire life to upholding its values in a rapidly changing japan. surprisingly rational and during gudaguda 2 okita didn’t even realize he’s a berserker because he didn’t become the fanatic that qualified him to be summoned as one until after okita’s death. one of the coolest skillsets in the game and definitely some of the sickest animations. 10/10

NORMALISE

FINDING

AND KILLING

ACHILLES

10/10

my fuckign girlfriend 10/10

the cutest enabler. 10/10

please god let me meet her. 10/10

when will takeuchi die

#mod post #we rate servants

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randomguywholikesstuff · 7 years

Text

Quotes From: Jonathan Haidt. “The Happiness Hypothesis: Finding Modern Truth in Ancient Wisdom”[4]

Perception Hypothesis

“God created the angels from intellect without sensuality, the beasts from sensuality without intellect, and humanity from both intellect and sensuality. So when a person's intellect overcomes his sensuality, he is better than the angels, but when his sensuality overcomes his intellect, he is worse than the beasts

-MUHAMMAD”

“OUR LIFE is THE CREATION of our minds, and we do much of that creating with metaphor. We see new things in terms of things we already understand: Life is a journey, an argument is a war, the mind is a rider on an elephant.

With the wrong metaphor we are deluded; with no metaphor we are “blind””

“We have all encountered something we failed to understand, yet smugly believed we understood because we couldn't conceive of the dimension to which we were blind. Then one day something happens that makes no sense in our two-dimensional world, and we catch our first glimpse of another dimension

In all human cultures, the social world has two clear dimensions: a horizontal dimension of closeness or liking, and a vertical one of hierarchy or status

Our minds automatically keep track of these two dimensions.”

“O n c e again, disgust turns off desire and motivates concerns about purification, separation, and cleansing. Disgust also gives us a queasy feeling when we see people with skin lesions, deformities, amputations, extreme obesity or thinness, and other violations of the culturally ideal outer envelope of the human body.”

“when people think about morality, their moral concepts cluster into three groups, which he calls the ethic of autonomy, the ethic of community, and the ethic of divinity. W h e n people think and act using the ethic of autonomy, their goal is to protect individuals from harm and grant them the maximum degree of autonomy, which they can use to pursue their own goals. When people use the ethic of community, their goal is to protect the integrity of groups, families, companies, or nations, and they value virtues such as obedience, loyalty, and wise leadership. When people use the ethic of divinity, their goal is to protect from degradation the divinity that exists in each person, and they-value living in a pure and holy way, free from moral pollutants such as lust, greed, and hatred.”

Perception Hypothesis: Secular Reverance

“Eliade says that the modern West is the first culture in h u m a n history that has managed to strip time and space of all sacredness and to produce a fully practical, efficient, and profane world. This is the world that religious fundamentalists find unbearable and are sometimes willing to use force to fight against.

Eliade noted that even a person c o m m i t t e d to a profane existence has privileged places, qualitatively different from all others—a man's birth-place, or the scenes of his first love, or certain places in the first foreign city he visited in his youth. Even for the most frankly nonreligious man, all these places still retain an exceptional, a unique quality; they are the "holy places" of his private universe, as if it were in such spots that he had received the revelation of a reality other than that in which he participates through his ordinary daily life.”

Perception Hypothesis: Emotional Responses to Moral Beauty

“When any . . . act of charity or of gratitude, for instance, is presented either to our sight or imagination, we are deeply impressed with its beauty and feel a strong desire in ourselves of doing charitable and grateful acts also. On the contrary, when we see or read of any atrocious deed, we are disgusted with its deformity, and conceive an abhorrence of vice.

Now every emotion of this kind is an exercise of our virtuous dispositions, and dispositions of the mind, like limbs of the body, acquire strength by exercise.

Jefferson went on to say that the physical feelings and motivational effects caused by great literature are as powerful as those c a u s e d by real events. He considered the example of a contemporary French play, asking whether the fidelity and generosity of its hero does not dilate [the reader's] breast and elevate his sentiments as much as any similar incident which real history can furnish? Does [the reader] not in fact feel himself a better man while reading them, and privately covenant to copy the fair example?”

“Both parts of Sara's study show that Jefferson got it exactly right. People really do respond emotionally to acts of moral beauty, and these emotional reactions involve warm or pleasant feelings in the chest and conscious desires to help others or become a better person oneself”

“Keltner and I concluded that the emotion of a we happens when two conditions are met: a person perceives something vast (usually physically vast, but s o m e t i m e s conceptually vast, s u c h as a grand theory; or socially vast, s u c h as great f a m e or power); a n d the vast thing cannot be acommodated by the person's existing mental structures. Something enormous can't be processed , a n d when people are stumped , stopped in their cognitive tracks while in the presence of something vast, they feel small , powerless, passive, a n d receptive...

Religions sometimes lose touch with their origins, however; they are sometimes taken over by people who have not had peak experiences—the bureaucrats and company men who want to routinize procedures and guard orthodoxy for orthodoxy's sake. This, Maslow said, is why many young people became disenchanted with organized religion in the mid-twentieth-century, searching instead for peak experiences in psychedelic drugs, Eastern religions, and new forms of Christian worship...

Scientists may tell us in their memoirs about their private sense of wonder, but the everyday world of the scientist is one that rigidly separates facts from values and emotions..

Maslow charged, however, that the humanities had abdicated their responsibility with their retreat to relativism, their skepticism about the possibility of truth, and their preference for novelty and iconoclasm over beauty..

His goal was nothing less than the reformation of education and, therefore, of society: "Education must be seen as at least partially an effort to produce the good human being, to foster the good life and the good society.”

“But by giving each one of us an inner world, a world full of simulations, social comparisons, and reputational concerns, the self also gave each one of us a personal tormenter. We all now live amid a whirlpool of inner chatter, much of which is negative (threats loom larger than opportunities), and most of which is useless. It is important to note that the self is not exactly the rider—much of the self is unconscious and automatic—but because the self emerges from conscious verbal thinking and storytelling, it can be constructed only by the rider.”

“Leary's analysis shows why the self is a problem for all major religions: The self is the main obstacle to spiritual advancement, in three ways. First, the constant stream of trivial concerns and egocentric thoughts keeps people locked in the material and profane world, unable to perceive sacredness and divinity. This is why Eastern religions rely heavily on meditation, an effective means of quieting the chatter of the self. Second, spiritual transformation is essentially the transformation of the self, weakening it, pruning it back in some sense, killing it—and often the self objects. Give up my possessions and the prestige they bring? No way! Love my enemies, after what they did to me? Forget about it. And third, following a spiritual path is invariably hard work, requiring years of meditation, prayer, self-control, and sometimes self-denial. The self does not like to be denied, and it is adept at finding reasons to bend the rules or cheat. Many religions teach that egoistic attachments to pleasure and reputation are constant temptations to leave the path of virtue.”

Religion Ethics

“core idea of the ethic of autonomy: Individuals are what really matter in life, so the ideal society protects all individuals from harm and respects their autonomy and freedom of choice.

The ethic of autonomy is well suited to helping people with different backgrounds and values get along with each other because it allows each person to pursue the life she chooses, as long as those choices don't interfere with the rights of others.

The core idea of the ethic of divinity is that each person has divinity inside, so the ideal society helps people live in a way consistent with that divinity.

On issue after issue, liberals want to maximize autonomy by removing limits barriers, and restrictions. The religious right, on the other hand, wants to structure personal, social, and political relationships in three dimensions and so create a landscape of purity and pollution where restrictions maintain the separation of the sacred and the profane. For the religious right, hell on earth is a flat land of unlimited freedom where selves roam around with no higher purpose than expressing and developing themselves.

If religious people are right in believing that religion is the source of their greatest happiness, then maybe the rest of us who are looking for happiness and meaning can learn something from them, whether or not we believe in God

It is impossible to analyze "the meaning of life" in the abstract, or in general, or for some mythical and perfectly rational being. Only by knowing the kinds of beings that we actually are, with the complex mental and emotional architecture that we happen to possess, can anyone even begin to ask about what would count as a meaningful life.

Without a target or goal, one is left with the animal default: J u s t let the elephant graze or r o a m where he p l e a s e s . And because elephants live in herds , one ends up doing what everyone else is doing. Yet the human mind has a rider, a n d as the rider begins to think more abstractly in adolescence , there may come a time when he looks around, past the edges of the herd, and asks: Where are we all going? And why?”

Perception Hypothesis: Work Life

“Even before Freud, Leo Tolstoy wrote: " O n e can live magnificently in this world, if one knows how to work and how to love, to work for the person one loves and to love one's work

White called it the "effectance motive," which he defined as the need or drive to develop competence through interacting with and controlling one's environment...

Effectance is almost as basic a need as food and water, yet it is not a deficit need, like hunger, that is satisfied and then disappears for a few hours. Rather, White said, effectance is a constant presence in our lives:

Dealing with the environment means carrying on a continuing transaction which gradually changes one's relation to the environment. Because there is no consummatory climax, satisfaction has to be seen as lying in a considerable series of transactions, in a trend of behavior rather than a goal that is achieved.”

“occupational self direction." M e n who were closely supervised in jobs of low complexity and much routine showed the highest degree of alienation (feeling powerless, dissatisfied, and separated from the work). Men who had more latitude in deciding how they approached work that was varied and challenging tended to enjoy their work much more. When workers had some occupational self-direction, their work was often satisfying.”

“most people approach their work in one of three ways: as a job, a career, or a calling. If you see your work as a job, you do it only for the money, you look at the clock frequently while dreaming about the weekend ahead, and you probably pursue hobbies, which satisfy your effectance needs more thoroughly than does your work. If you see your work as a career, you have larger goals of advancement, promotion, and prestige. T h e pursuit of these goals often energizes you, and you sometimes lake work home with you because you want to get the job done properly. Yet, at times, you wonder why you work so hard. You might occasionally see your work as a rat race where people are competing for the sake of competing. If you see your work as a calling, however, you find your work intrinsically fulfilling—you are not doing it to achieve something else. You see your work as contributing to the greater good or as playing a role in s o m e larger enterprise the worth of which seems obvious to you. You have frequent experiences of flow during the work day, and you neither look forward to "quitting time" nor feel the desire to shout, "Thank God it's Friday!" You would continue to work, perhaps even without pay, if you suddenly became very wealthy”

“Love and work are crucial for human happiness because, when done well, they draw us out of ourselves and into connection with people and projects beyond ourselves. Happiness comes from getting these connections right.”

“correct version of the happiness hypothesis, as I'll illustrate below, is that happiness i lies from between...

every path is unique, yet most of them led in the same direction: from initial interest and enjoyment, with moments of flow, through a relationship to people, practices, and values that deepened over many years, thereby enabling even longer periods of flow.

“vital engagement," which they define as "a relationship to the world that is characterized both by experiences of flow (enjoyed absorption) and by meaning (subjective significance)..

There is a strong felt connection between self and object; a writer is 'swept away' by a project, a scientist is 'mesmerized by the stars.'The relationship has subjective meaning; work is a 'calling.'

Vital engagement does not reside in the person or in the environment; it exists in the relationship between the two”

“When doing good (doing high-quality work that produces something of use to others) matches up with doing well (achieving wealth and professional advancement), a field is healthy..

Whenever a system can be analyzed at multiple levels, a special kind of coherence occurs when the levels mesh and mutually interlock. We saw this cross-level coherence in the analysis of personality: If your lower-level traits match up with your coping mechanisms, which in turn are consistent with your life story, your personality is well integrated and you can get on with the business of living. When these levels do not cohere, you are likely lo be torn by internal contradictions a n d neurotic conflicts. You might need adversity to knock yourself into alignment. And if you do achieve coherence, the moment when things come together may be one of the most profound of your life...

“finding coherence a c r o s s levels feels like enlightenment, and it is crucial for answering the question of purpose within life..

People are multilevel systems in another way: We are physical objects (bodies and brains) from which minds somehow emerge ; and from our minds, somehow societies and cultures form. To understand ourselves fully we must study all three levels—physical, psychological, and sociocultural.

People gain a sense of meaning when their lives cohere across the three levels of their existence

Once again, happiness—or a sense of meaningfulness that imparts richness to experience—comes from between.”

Perception Hypothesis: Cultural Coherence

“To the extent that a community has many rituals that cohere across the three levels, people in the community are likely to feel themselves connected to the community and its traditions. If the community also offers guidance on how to live and what is of value, then people are unlikely to wonder about the question of purpose within life. Meaning and purpose simply emerge from the coherence, and people can get on with the business of living. But conflict, paralysis. and anomie are likely when a community fails to provide coherence, or, worse, when its practices contradict people's gut feelings or their shared mythology and ideology...

because elements of culture show variation (people invent new things) and selection (other people do or don't adopt those variations), cultural traits can be analyzed in a Darwinian framework just as well as physical traits (birds' beaks, giraffes' necks). Cultural elements, however, don't spread by the slow process of having children; they spread rapidly whenever people adopt a new behavior, technology, or belief...

The human capacity for culture—a strong tendency to learn from each other, to teach each other, and to build upon what we have learned—is itself a genetic innovation that happened in stages over the last few million years..

Individuals who could best learn from others were more successful than their less "cultured" brethren, and as brains became more cultural, cultures became more elaborate, further increasing the advantage of having a more cultural brain. All human beings today are the products of the co-evolution of a set of genes (which is almost identical across cultures) and a set of cultural elements (which is diverse across cultures, but still constrained by the capacities and predispositions of the human mind).”

“After a thousand years of inbreeding within caste, castes will diverge slightly on a few genetic traits—for example, shades of skin color—which might in turn lead to a growing cultural association of caste with color rather than just with occupation.”

“A religion is a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to say, things set apart and forbidden—beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community called a church, all those who adhere to them.”

“Human nature is a complex mix of preparations for extreme selfishness and extreme altruism. Which side of our nature we express depends on culture and context. W h e n opponents of evolution object that human beings are not mere apes, they are correct. We are also part bee.

G r o u p selection creates interlocking genetic and cultural adaptations that enhance peace, harmony, and cooperation within the group for the express purpose of increasing the group's ability to compete with other groups. Group selection does not end conflict; it just pushes it up to the next level of social organization.”

“conclusion suggests that synchronized movement and chanting might be evolved m e c h a n i s m s for activating the altruistic motivations created in the process of group selection”

Happiness Hypothesis

“What can you do to have a good, happy, fulfilling, and meaningful life?

What is the answer to the question of purpose within life? I believe the answer can be found only by understanding the kind of creature that we are, divided in the many ways we are divided. We were shaped by individual selection to be selfish creatures who struggle for resources, pleasure, and prestige, and we were shaped by group selection to be hive creatures who long to lose ourselves in something larger. We are social creatures who need love and attachments, and we are industrious creatures with needs for effectance, able to enter a state of vital engagement with our work. We are the rider and we are the elephant, and our mental health d e p e n d s on the two working together, e a c h drawing on the others' strengths. I don't believe there is an inspiring answer to the question, 'What is the purpose of life?

The final version of the happiness hypothesis is that happiness comes from between. Happiness is not something that you can find, acquire, or achieve directly. You have to get the conditions right and then wait. S o m e of those conditions are within you, such as coherence among the parts and levels of your personality.

Other conditions require relationships to things beyond you: Just as plants need sun, water, and good soil to thrive, people need love, work, and a connection to something larger. It is worth striving to get the right relationships between yourself and others, between yourself and your work, and between yourself and something larger than yourself. If you get these relationships right, a sense of purpose and meaning will emerge.”

“All things come into being by conflict of opposites”

“HEHACLITUS , C. 500 BCE”

“Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence.

— WILLIAM BLAKE , C . 1790”

“Psychology and religion can benefit by taking each other seriously, or at least by agreeing to learn from each other while overlooking the areas of irreconcilable difference...

The Eastern and Western approaches to life are also said to be opposed: The East stresses acceptance and collectivism; the West encourages striving and individualism. But as we've seen, both perspectives are valuable...

Happiness requires changing yourself and changing your world. It requires pursuing your own goals and fitting in with others. Different people at different times in their lives will benefit from drawing more heavily on one approach or the other.

An important dictum of cultural psychology is that each culture develops expertise in some aspects of human existence, but no culture can be expert in all aspects. T h e same goes for the two ends of the political spectrum. My research confirms the common perception that liberals are experts in thinking about issues of victimization, equality, autonomy, and the rights of individuals, particularly those of minorities and nonconformists.

Conservatives, on the other hand, are experts in thinking about loyalty to the group, respect for authority and tradition, and sacredness

Anomie would increase along with freedom. A good place to look for wisdom, therefore, is where you least expect to find it: in the minds of your opponents. You already know the ideas common on your own side. If you can take off the blinders of the myth of pure evil, you might see some good ideas for the first time.

By drawing on wisdom that is balanced—ancient and new, Eastern and Western, even liberal and conservative—we can choose directions in life that will lead to satisfaction, happiness, and a sense of meaning. We can't simply select a destination and then walk there directly—the rider d o e s not have that m u c h authority. But by drawing on humanity's greatest ideas and best science, we can train the elephant, know our possibilities as well as our limits, and live wisely”

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