#feel free to be the mutant in question or just about anybody else

[ofghvsts-blog]

❝ You’re showing your next move before you even make it. ❞ Luke said matter-of-factly, observing the mutants body language as they twisted and turned their body before actually making their next attack.  ❝ If that was a real enemy they would have anticipated your every move. ❞ He leaned his weight against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest and surveyed the rest of the mutants who occupied the training room. He understood why the training facility was becoming the hot spot of activity lately, he’d spent more hours in here himself than usual, and he couldn’t blame anybody else for doing the same either. Sentinel services were cracking down on their hunt for mutants, their kind were being arrested for nothing more than existing these days. He understood the need to blow off a little extra steam.

[lissacmonster]

Wrong Place, Right Time

TMNT x (Gender Neutral) Reader (Non-romantic) Synopsis: Reader goes into an abandoned building to find their dog, and ends up finding a lot more than their dog. Rating: Teen Genre: Action/Thriller Pairings: None Content Warnings: The dog is in danger for some of it (but isn’t actually hurt) Other Tags: Funny, Combat, Short Story, Fanfiction, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Shredder

When you left your apartment that night, you had no way of knowing how unprepared you were for the events that would unfold. Armed with a flashlight and a roll of doggy bags you and your dog Cody had slipped out into the fresh, cool night air. You also brought a can of bear mace in case you ran into any creeps. Bear mace wouldn't have necessarily been your first choice, but it was leftover from the time you went camping and you wanted to put it to good use.

The dog was just happily sniffing around and relieving himself when he suddenly stiffened up. Following his gaze, your eyes landed on a cat. The cat was happily strutting across the street, unperturbed by the dog even as he began barking hatefully and straining against the leash. You held your grip and started pulling him back the way you had come. But he turned around, dug his heels in and managed to pull out of the collar.

The cat suddenly noticed it was in danger and darted around, looking for a place to hide. Cody followed the cat in circles around a parked car, then he chased it around the corner.

You ran after him, "Cody! Get back here!"

You were half angry, and half worried that he would run out into the street in front of a car. Instead, when you rounded the corner, he was wriggling his way into a boarded up building. His tail disappeared through the space in the boards just as you leapt forward to grab him.

"Cody! NO! Get back here, now!" You said, using your best angry parent voice.

But Cody was on a mission to find that cat. You knew that he would be single-minded until he found what he was looking for. It might have been admirable if you were coon hunting together out in the countryside, or something. Instead, it was annoying because you were on an evening walk in the middle of Manhattan.

You groaned in exasperation and looked up at the building. It was an old apartment building or something, a rough brick structure that was 5 stories high. The windows were mostly boarded up, and the ones that weren't were missing their glass. There were no lights on inside. It didn't look like anyone had been here for a long time. At least, nobody you wanted to run into...

And nobody you wanted your dog to run into either! Your protective instinct kicked in. You called through the hole to him for another 30 seconds. When he didn't reappear, you started looking around for a way in.

In the alley where you were standing, there were lots of bits of metal and you took a second to poke through them and find a good one. First you found a weird, 3-pronged dagger of some kind, which you tucked into your belt. Maybe you could use it for protection in case somebody dangerous was squatting in there. (Although, if you were being honest, you mostly kept it because you thought it looked cool.) Then you found a metal rod that seemed sturdy enough to work as a crowbar. In no time, you were squeezing through a gap you had made in the boards covering the doorway.

After clicking on your flashlight, you noticed that you were standing in an old lobby. There was a torn up spot on the floor where the front desk had obviously once been affixed. The wallpaper was peeling. The hardwood floors, which had probably been gorgeous when they were kept up, were covered in a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs were hanging in the corners and doorways, with their own gathering of dust.

You followed the sounds of Cody's feet skittering against the floors.

"Cody!" You whispered harshly, creeping towards him. If there were any questionable people around, you didn't want them hearing you guys. Luckily Cody wasn't raising hell yet, which told you that he must have lost track of the cat.

You spotted him at the end of a hallway.

"Cody, c'mere," You called, sweetly.

He looked you dead in the face and then turned and walked through a doorway into pitch black nothingness.

What. A. Brat.

Gazing down the stairway, you wanted to cry so bad. That damn dog had just run down into what must be the basement. You stood at the top, feeling sorry for yourself, trying to see down the steps. After a minute you realized that it wasn't actually pitch black. There was some kind of light that was dimly illuminating the bottom of the steps.

Gathering every last ounce of courage, you made your way down the steps. Every step creaked horribly, and with each one, you felt certain that your foot was about to sink through rotten wood. A dank smell invaded your nostrils more as you descended. How long did you have to breath black mold in before it would make you sick, anyway?

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, you found that you were standing in a hallway. The floor here was even more dirty than the ground floor above. There was garbage piled all over the place. If anyone had ever squatted in this building, you were willing to bet that they'd done it here in this basement level.

A voice sounded from down the hallway. Your head snapped towards it in alarm, but after a few seconds it was clear it wasn't directed at you. It had come from a doorway at the very end of the hall which was slightly ajar, pale blue light spilling from it. You fought the urge to sprint back up the stairs and instead crept down the hall towards the voice. You tucked the metal rod into your belt and pulled out the strange dagger, ready to strike if someone suddenly rushed out at you. The voice was speaking again.

"...think you can defy me, turtles, but once again I've proven you wrong."

"You're not gonna get away with this, Shredder!" A second voice, female this time. She sounded scared. What were you walking into? You felt strangely numb as you continued to move forward, your heart pounding.

"I already have. Look at them! Once I have what I need, I'll dispose of you all," It was a deep, rich voice with a cold fury beneath.

"And then what? You took the mutagen out of our blood when we fought you years ago. So what could you possibly want with our blood this time?" Another male voice countered, sounding calm, but angry.

"Th-that's right! Our blood is free of mutagen, you can't use it to mutate anybody!" Another, nervous-sounding male voice agreed.

You reached the doorway and peered around the doorframe very slowly...

Within the room was some kind of makeshift laboratory. One bulb hung from the ceiling, casting the whole scene in harsh bright light. Several figures were visible in the large room. The first one that caught your attention was the huge figure in the center of the room. It looked like a man wearing a thick, heavy suit of strange armor. The armor had lots of sharp angles and spikes on it. You couldn't see anything else about him because he was silhouetted against the harshly-lit room. He was facing two figures who were lying on the floor.

One of the people on the floor was the woman. She had dark hair and eyes and was wearing a yellow jacket. Her hands were bound and she was glaring hatefully at the armored man. Next to her was another man. He wasn't talking, and he was lying very still... Was he ok? Or was he...?

You didn't finish that thought because you caught sight of four... somethings against the far wall.

They were... turtles, you guessed. But they weren't like any turtles you had ever seen. They were tall and buff with humanoid faces and bodies. Each was wearing a different colored mask, as well as various gear. They were strung up against the wall by lots and lots of chains. There was some kind of machinery connected to them, but it was hard to make out what it all was from this far away.

The spikey man- what had she called him? Shredder? He was speaking again, "I don't need to mutate anybody. All I need is your DNA, and I will have an unstoppable army."

"He's cracked, you guys," A new voice. It was gruff, and it came from the largest turtle, who was wearing a red mask.

"Oh no... I-I think I know what he's talking about!" The nervous voice was coming from the tallest one, in the purple mask, "He wants to clone us!"

"Is that true?!" The orange one finally spoke up, "Man, you can't make another Michelangelo! I'm the one and only!

"Stockman, how much longer before they're drained?" Shredder interrupted.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as an answer sounded out from very close to you.

"Another 2 hours, Mr. Shredder!"

"Why must it take so long?" Shredder asked, threateningly.

"W-well... We only had so much equipment..." Stockman defended, "I mean, there are ways of removing it faster, if you catch my drift. But if you want a clean, untainted sample, this is the best way to go!"

"Hmm... Very well." Shredder agreed after a moment.

You were now pressed against the wall just outside of the door, clutching your chest. That Stockman guy had been no more than 4 feet from you just inside the door! He was against the wall that you couldn't see, though, so you hadn't noticed him.

Stockman was talking again, more to himself, "Aw man... That cat got in again..."

A soft growling sounded from within the room. Oh god. Cody.

"What the..." Stockman started and then yelped, "HEY!"

His chair clattered to the ground as Cody's chorus of barks started up. You rushed back to the door and were frozen to the spot as you watched the scene unfold. It was utter chaos as Cody tore around the room after the cat, which was leaping around on the equipment and furniture. Cody managed to knock over 2 chairs, jump up on a table, and upset several important-looking instruments before he was caught around the neck by the monstrous man's hand. Cody's high-pitched cries snapped you out of it.

"STOP!" You hurled yourself forward. Everything in the room seemed to stop in time. All eyes settled on you and every face held surprise. Shredder's helmeted head turned towards you, observing as you sprinted toward him. You had the dagger drawn back with the intent to jam it into the metal of his stupid, shiney armor.

You didn't even feel it when he swatted you away like a fly. All you noticed was that suddenly you were flying backwards. You quickly sprung back to your feet. Your skin felt electric as adrenaline coursed through your body. There was a throbbing feeling in your face where he had struck you. The strange dagger had skittered out of your hands.

Cody was no longer in his grip, that was the good news. The bad news was that now you were getting an up close and personal look at this Shredder guy. You could see every facet of the armor from here. The most striking part was the helmet, which resembled a leering skull.

You wondered what his face looked like behind the helmet. Did he look as surprised as everyone else? His voice didn't betray any surprise, only amusement.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here... A new hero, come to save the world. Such a pity you’ll have to die."

You tried to keep your voice steady as you explained, “Look man, I don’t know what you’re talking about- I’m just here for my dog!”

"Really, turtles, is this weakling the only ally you have left?"

None of them answered. They were still staring at you and glancing at one another, like they were trying to figure out if they knew you from somewhere. This was getting awkward.

"No, really, I don't know them," You insisted.

"Is that so? Well, then, how do you explain that." He lifted one of his huge metallic arms. It took you a second to realize he was pointing at your shirt. You looked down and gasped.

Save The Turtles was emblazoned across your chest in bright green letters, complete with a cute little cartoon rendering of a turtle.

God damn it. Of course you had chosen to wear the shirt you got from that time you volunteered at the turtle sanctuary.

"Uh- that's-!"

Before you could explain it to him, Shredder cut you off, "ENOUGH! Stockman, restrain this fool."

"ME? I'm not here to be your muscle!" Stockman sounded indignant.

Shredder was just throwing out another line about how weak you looked, and that restraining you would hardly require "muscle," when you darted around him and over to the far corner where Cody was cowering. You had to climb around some equipment that seemed to be collecting blood from the turtles. You were uncomfortable being so close to them, as you had yet to discern whether they were friendly or not.

"Hey, that's my staff!"

You looked up at the turtle with the purple mask. He was peering down at you through glasses that made his eyes look 3 times bigger than they actually were.

You glared at him, "No, that's my dog!"

"No, I mean that thing on your belt!"

Was he talking about the metal rod?

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! DUCK, KID!" The one in the red mask was shouting.

You dropped instantly to the ground. A huge BANG! sounded from above and drywall rained down on you. There was a big piece of metal embedded in the wall where your head had just been. Cody scampered away, whimpering in fear.

"He's coming up behind you!"

You whirled around to find Shredder was advancing towards you. You glanced around for an escape, but you were boxed in by equipment.

Suddenly Shredder stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. Stuck in his back was the dagger you had dropped. The girl in the yellow jacket was standing there, having plunged it into the battery pack on the back of his suit.

You stepped carefully out of the way of the equipment and cast around desperately for a way to help her.

"Quick! Use the staff!" The purple one called.

When you looked clueless, he clarified, "The thing on your belt!"

Oh, the rod! Great idea! You grabbed the rod, jumped on Shredder's back and started pummeling his helmeted head with the thing. This drew a chorus of complaints from the turtles.

"Aw MAN! C'mon, kid!"

"Duuuude, that's not funny! Kick his butt for real!"

Purple was fighting desperately to be heard over all the commotion. He sounded completely exasperated by this point, "No, I meant-! Press the button!"

What button? There were no buttons on the-! Oh, wait. There was a button on the rod. How had you missed that? You pressed your thumb down on small, red button. Instantly, both ends of the rod shot out, extending it by about 5 feet. In the process, it struck Shredder's helmet, launching it violently from the man's head. With a startled cry you toppled off of Shredder's back. The man rounded on you. You looked for the staff, but it had launched itself far out of reach.

"Now, I'm going to put an end to this little game," He said, and you could see the full extent of his fury on his face.

The four turtles were all shouting things and you couldn't make out any of it. All you could see was the hate in the man's eyes as he approached. His long black hair hung in his face untidily. He was panting and his lips were pulled back in an angry grimace. He looked like some kind of beast, like a lion, or like a...

"Bear!" You shouted suddenly. You tugged the bear mace out of the little pouch on your belt.

Shredder was towering over you now. He raised one of his bladed arms, poised to strike. Popping the top off, you raised the bear mace, pointed it at him, and pressed the switch.

Shredder was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of orange smoke. He roared and stumbled backwards. While he was distracted with that you scrambled to your feet. The woman was busy unlocking the chains that were trapping the turtles.

"Thanks, Angelcakes!" The one in orange said gratefully as he shrugged off all of the blood-collecting equipment.

He came over and stood next to you. You eyed him warily, but he was just looking at you with interest, "Hey, that was pretty rad how you stood up to Shredder like that! You pretty much ruled, even though you kinda-sorta... suck at fighting!"

Your pride had never been particularly tied to your fighting skills, so you just said, "Thanks. What's your name?"

"Michelangelo. But the ladies like to call me Mikey."

The two of you kept an eye on Shredder while the woman continued unlocking the turtles chains. You even sprayed a few more times in his direction when he got too close. Eventually he managed to rip the metal armor off of his hands so he could rub his burning eyes. Now he rounded on you again.

He looked truly out of his mind by this point, his blood red eyes were streaming and his face looked pinker than any face you had ever seen.

"Whoa... I think he's gonna-"

Before Mikey could finish, suddenly Shredder was charging at you. Mikey yanked you aside as someone barreled past you. The one with the red mask slammed into Shredder, colliding with him with the force of a refrigerator.

"Oh, shit! Is he ok??"

"You mean, Raphael? He's fine! He gets thrown into cars and stuff all the time," Mikey waved his hand dismissively.

Raphael rolled to his feet, pulling the dagger out of Shredder's back as he did so. He walked back to where you guys were standing, "Thanks for bringing one of my Sais, kid."

Things were kind of a blur from there. The turtles restrained the Shredder. The one with the blue mask was apparently the leader, and his name was Leonardo. He was on the phone with the chief of police. Wow... So your local police department was cool with these turtle ninjas? Who would have thought... Maybe your uncle's conspiracy theory about reptiles controlling the government wasn't totally crazy.

Donatello, the one with the purple mask, was attending to the man who had been lying on the ground when you came in. The man's name was Casey, and he wasn't dead as you had previously thought. He did have a pretty nasty concussion, though, and kept repeating the same phrases over and over (A common symptom with concussions, Donatello told you).

Don also took a look at your own injuries while he was at it. Your face was beginning to swell from where Shredder had struck you, and you would be sporting a nasty-looking bruise for a while. Other than that, you would be just fine.

After everything was said and done, and you had talked to the police, and Shredder had been loaded into an armored vehicle and hauled away, you and Cody were finally leaving to go home. You were back in the cool night air, walking your dog on his leash. You wondered if Cody would think twice about chasing a cat next time, or if the whole event had gone over his head? He definitely didn't look like he cared that he had just been in life-threatening danger.

Before you could ponder it much more, the brothers suddenly appeared around you.

"Heeeyyy, let us walk you home!" Leo offered aggressively.

"No, that's ok! You don't have to!" You really just wanted to be left alone now.

"We insist." The grin on Leo's face looked mostly threatening.

Leo threw his arm around your shoulder, as if to make sure you wouldn't run away, and started practically dragging you along.

They took you on the coolest shortcut you had ever been on. You scaled buildings and leapt across rooftops. It was just like in Assassin's Creed! Of course, they had to carry both you and Cody the whole way like a couple of carry-on bags.

When they set you down finally, you were in the alley next to your apartment building.

"Thanks guys," You said, "But how the hell did you find out where I lived?" You hadn't ever given them any directions.

"I have my ways..." Donatello said. He adjusted his glasses and they glinted dramatically like in an anime.

They were all kind of staring at you in a vaguely menacing way, "Uh... Are ya'll gonna... kill me because I know too much or something?"

"What the-! Of course not!" Donnie yelled.

"Hey, relax, buddy! We're not those kind of ninjas!" Mikey laughed, "That's not how we handle people who know too much!"

"Not any more, at least..." Raph said, narrowing his eyes at you, "The chief said it was too messy to keep covering it up."

You gulped nervously.

"Raph! Don't tell people things like that!" Leo shoved him and turned back to you, "Don't worry, he's joking. YOU'RE JOKING, RIGHT RAPH?"

"I'M JOKING. JESUS CHRIST!" Raph yelled back, "Just, don't go runnin' your mouth about us, aight?"

The leader in blue leaned in uncomfortably close to stare into your eyes, "If you say anything about us, we will come back to see you..."

"Aaaand PUNISH YOU," Mikey added, "In a gentle, non life-threatening way!"

You put up your arms defensively, "Trust me, I am not telling anyone that I fought some kind of terminator samurai to save my dog and some turtles."

You thought you saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth before he straightened up and lead his brothers away. They scaled the walls of the surrounding buildings with ease, and then they had vanished just like that.

============================

Will you ever see them again? Would you LIKE to see them again? I hope so because I have a lot of ideas for this series.

Thanks for reading, ya’ll. It’s the first story I have finished in ages and it feels good to be back.

[chisinpink]

The Only One: A Mastermind!Nagito AU Story - PROLOGUE

Hello lovelies, I’ve posted a *lot* about my Mastermind!Nagito AU on tiktok (I’m @chisben there as well if you wanna check it out), and I rly wanna share it here so here’s the prologue! Special thanks to @servanthaji for helping out with the planning of this whole story in general!

(Content warning for mentions of bombs and bombings, swearing and crying.)

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JUNKO: Yep, that’s the day that it happened. The day everything started getting… pretty scary, if you ask me! I’m just glad you were outta town for that, and baby was home sick. That’s, like, the only reason she’s here today, too!

HAJIME: Wait, wait, slow down! What are you even talking about…?

JUNKO: Uhh, I’m getting to that? Besides, don’t you know that guy too? Nagito Komaeda?

HAJIME: Not really… I mean, I knew of him, but I was in the reserve course. I didn’t really talk to him or anything until I went to school that Monday, and… there was nobody there except him.

JUNKO: Oh, yea? Did he tell you anything?

HAJIME: Not really. After I got shot at and ran in the school, I asked him what the hell was going on, but it was like I wasn’t there either. He just changed the subject to hope over and over again, like I asked a totally different question, and eventually I just walked away. I still don’t know what he was doing there.

JUNKO: Then maybe he doesn’t want you to know, y’know? You’re so lucky you have me, then~!

(She smirks playfully. Hajime stares at her blankly and her face drops. She stares at a map with a pen in hand.)

JUNKO: Come ooon, I’m coping! This is pretty stressful for everyone, y’know, I use humor to forget about all this stupid shit.

HAJIME: Whatever… just… tell me what’s going on.

JUNKO: Well, what happened that day… that was the start of The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History… in my opinion. And that’s saying a lot, because this world is filled with despair! And, like, his whole class helped him do what he did to the country! No idea why that is, but we can all fill you in on the rest, I guess. Preeeety sure we were all there in some way, ‘cept my baby.

(She gestures to the entirety of Class 78 of Hopes Peak Academy, standing and sitting in the basement of the school, as well as Mikan Tsumiki, who has a timid smile on her face as Junko looks back at her. Hajimes face drops.) 

HAJIME: Wh… what?? That can’t be it, that can’t be what happened…! The whole class?? The whole country?!

JUNKO: Eeeyup! They evacuated the school by putting a bomb under their teachers desk, and apparently all around the school, and I have NO idea how that lady didn’t croak! Anyways, everyone had to leave, and… that’s basically all I know. They just repeated that ooover and ooover on the news, it made me sick!!

(She threw her pen at a tiny radio propped up on a few cardboard boxes.)

HAJIME: Wh… this doesn’t… but… but, I...

(Kyoko steps forward and faces Hajime.)

KYOKO: I have some more information on what happened that day. After we were trapped here in the basement, all we had was the radio to inform us of the true nature of what happened. This is what I wrote down from those broadcasts.

(She hands Hajime a folder that contains three sheets of paper, all three of them hand-written notes. He begins reading.)

KYOKO: The class of 77-B was, most likely, all apparently under some sort of drug-induced psychosis. Most witnesses reported that they were acting strangely or out of character before they planted the bombs, and their eyes were hazy and… 

HAJIME: ”swirled”, “mixed”, “terrifying”, “comforting”, “light and dark” ...none of these make any sense.

KYOKO: My thoughts exactly. This entire event is bizarre and without any logical reasoning behind it… if you’d only heard about it on the news. But I think Makoto and I know more than any news outlets.

HAJIME: How?

(She looks over her shoulder to Makoto, signaling him to stand up.)

MAKOTO: Well, about a month ago me and Kyoko were going to one of the computer rooms to print something, but it was kind of out of the way, so we didn’t expect him to be there. N-Nagito, I mean. We saw him talking to Chihiro, and, uhm… I didn’t hear that part.

(He looks up to Chihiro. They stand meekly and fold their arms.)

CHIHIRO: H-he had been asking me to collaborate with him on a personal project, but… I didn’t have any spare time, and I didn’t even know him that well! So I finally just told him no, and he left me alone for a day or two… but t-then…

(Tears form at the corners of their eyes.)

CHIHIRO: H-he told me that… he was gonna… destroy the sc-sc-school if I didn’t-!

(They cover their face, and Makoto reaches out to rub their shoulder.)

MAKOTO: It’s not your fault, Chihiro. It’s nobody's fault but his. B-but anyway, after we heard about that, we decided that we had to keep an eye on him, but… basically the next day is when the bombs went off.

HAJIME: Why didn’t you just… tell a teacher what he told Chihiro?

MAKOTO: In hindsight… yeah, that would’ve been the safest thing we could’ve done. But Kyoko thought that we couldn’t keep an eye on him if he was expelled for that, a-and he could have been doing anything at home, so we fo-

KYOKO: Makoto, please, don’t. I was a coward, and I didn’t trust anybody else to investigate the matter. This whole situation could have been de-escalated dramatically if I had told school faculty.

(Kiyotaka stands from his spot next to Mondo.)

TAKA: You DIDN’T inform a teacher, or the Headmaster?! Miss Kirigiri, the school faculty always knows what is best for us!!

MONDO: Yeaaaah, is that why they all jumped ship and fucked off to who-knows-where so we could fight like dogs in the basement?

AOI: Hey, they did what they could, okay?? They had to protect themselves like everyone else! We’re not any better by hiding in the basement.

MONDO: Where the fuck ELSE were we supposed to go?? Candy land?!

YASUHIRO: Hey hey hey, Chihiro was right to lead us here the day the bombs went off! But I hear ya, maybe we coulda moved out of Japan together or somethin’ instead of hiding in Japan!

TOKO: I-I see why you’ve had to retake this year as m-much as you did now, you dumbass! He could b-be expanding anywhere now!!

BYAKUYA: As much as I hate to agree with her, I do. Nowhere is truly safe, and for all we may know, we’re being actively searched for. It’s only a matter of time before we have to relocate.

SAYAKA: I-I can’t stay here another second!! 

CELESTIA: Oh, so do you two suggest that we run out into the streets and expose ourselves to the predators? Play Nagitos game of cat and mouse?

LEON: Hell NO, I’m not playing that freaks game! But if he’s got his little possie out there looking every which way for us, then we gotta at least try and delay it!

SAKURA: On the other hand, we don’t know what they might want from us, if anything, or how bad the situation has escalated since we decided to hide.

HIFUMI: We don’t even KNOW what’s out there w-waiting for us anymore?! There could be giant mutant spiders wanting to turn us into baby food by now! I’m staying right HERE.

YASUHIRO: ...okay, I’m officially lost. Are we moving or staying?

SAYAKA: Moving!!

BYAKUYA: If you all intend on surviving, then you’ll all relocate. If you intend on being brutally murdered, then by all means, feel free to stay for a bit longer.

LEON: What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?? 

MAKOTO: H-hey, everybody calm down!!

SAKURA: We cannot make a decision until we know more about the outside world. AOI: But isn’t it because of what we don’t know that we have to go out there by now?

SAYAKA: Maybe some of us could go and some of us could stay?

TOKO: W-what if that reveals the hiding spot f-f-for everybody else??

MIKAN: (wiping away tears and hiccupping) N-nooo!!

YASUHIRO: Then we all have to come to the same decision, then.

CELESTIA: Yes, good luck reaching a peaceful consensus during the middle of an apocalypse!

BYAKUYA: I never said that it had to be a peaceful decision. If needed, you will all follow me kicking and screaming so I don’t perish thanks to your idiocy.

MONDO: I’ll knock some idiocy into ya if you keep runnin’ your mouth like that!

TAKA: Remember to take deep stomach breaths, bro! I think we can all solve this by utilizing a popular vote!

HIFUMI: But wouldn’t whoever’s the most popular win anyway??

HAJIME: SHUT UP!!! EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP!!!

(Everyone stops talking and stares at Hajime, who’s trembling and has his face in his hands.)

JUNKO: Daaaaaaamn, rookie’s kinda bold to be screaming at us like that, huh?

MAKOTO: Junko… you’re not helping. He’s obviously overwhelmed and you’re just teasing him.

JUNKO: C’mon, I’m nowhere near him! Hahah!

(Makoto sighs, sitting down next to Hajime on the floor. The rest of the students talk amongst themselves.)

MAKOTO: ...I’m sorry. I know you didn’t ask to be here, but… for what it’s worth, I’m glad that you’re still alive somehow.

HAJIME: … 

MAKOTO: You know… when Mukuro found you unconscious in that class, we all thought you were one of Nagitos’ friends. You seemed too peaceful in your sleep to have been running from anybody, or hiding from anything.

HAJIME: ...then why did you help me?

KYOKO: We thought we could get some information about the outside world. But apparently, you're just as lost as the rest of us.

MAKOTO: A-and because we didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Even if you were one of his people, we didn’t want you to just be out there. I’m glad that you weren’t, though… it feels nice to meet someone new again.

(Hajime lifts his face from his hands, palms and face covered in tears. He looks at Makoto with a faint smile.)

HAJIME: Yeah… feels nice.

☘️ TO BE CONTINUED☘️

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

_______________________________________________________

Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Familiarity breeds contempt.

Three days became four, then five. The hours flowing between your fingers and before you know it’s been two weeks and three days already.

Not that your will ask them to go. You were pretty sure the little trembling harmony that reigns in your home is as fragile as you decide by asking the wrong question.

To say you are comfortable would be rich, at least. They are a band of murderers, meanwhile you were just a student, but you would be lying if you didn’t accept the fact that the wave of fear had subdue to become some mild annoyance.

The thing is that the famous league of villains is as human as can be. Surely, they are insane, powerful, and menacing, but they also eat, and sleep, and they watch tv and smile when they are happy.

So here you are, getting in tune with their antics. Like how Magne likes to use your flowery shampoo because smells nice and it makes her feel pretty, or that Mr. Compress drinks his milk with honey before sleep.

So, you try your best to remember place and time, but then Toga asks you to paint her nails and asks if she can brush your hair because she wants so desperately to be your friend that something in your heart breaks a little when you remember that she’s just an abandoned child, with no other feminine figure to guide her. (Magne does what she can, but she also faces different kinds of struggle.)

Something in you began to soften to them and you simply cannot help it. Maybe is the little girl in you who wanted to be a hero but saw it impossible.

That’s how you end asking Spinner about his swords, both of you watching some tv program about forging historical weapons, and sharing about your parent’s death with Jin, who cries for you and hugs your tightly telling everyone he’s so happy to have a friend like you.

You end up buying vitamins and oranges for them because no one getting scurvy under your watch. Patching their injures and making some fast clinical examination of them, just to discover some of them are underweight, scrawny, and sharp. So, you cook for them, and made two beds in the living room because you’ve always had a soft spot for broken things and lost causes and somehow, you really want to make them feel nice, and you are no longer sure if this is about your survival or theirs.

Then is Tomura.

You can feel the attraction growing wild inside of you. How your eyes look for his figure inside the house and how you care about what he thinks of you or what he likes.

He’s not helping either, not when he insists on playing chess with you between playful back and forth, or sometimes just sits behind you in the kitchen counter to watch you cook. Silent until he’s not, asking “what’s that” when he sees you putting some spices in the pot.

He’s a curious cat. A fast learner and problem solver. Quick to intuition and creativity.

And you like the way his hair falls wet over his shoulders, clearing away from his face after he showers, looking less like a vagabond and more like a boy.

It’s awful and you know it. You can recognize a crush from a mile away and yours is there pulsing alive for everyone to watch.

The sad part is the what if.

Sometimes Toga asks things. Random things about medicine, about history, about books, and you cannot help it but to vomit everything you know about the subject because you are a scholar above everything else.

Those are the moments when Shigaraki will look at you from the corner of his ruby eyes, attentively listening and absorbing anything you say, siting quietly in a corner of the room, playing with his phone. Then he’ll hear something that catches his interest, asking you about it, his questions always interesting and more complex than Toga’s.

It saddens you to think of him as a student. His brilliance shining under the lights of proper education and love. What positive reinforcement and care could have done for him. Not that you know anything about Shigaraki, but there is no way a loving family could produce such person (not when you are more than sure that he’s clinically depressed), so your bets are on violence and abandonment.

What brilliant career could have achieved, what kind of things would he create, instead of just brutal destruction and (you suspect this one) raw self-loathing.

So, you dream of him sometimes.

You can see him wearing more than just a worn-out coat, a backpack hanging from his shoulder and his soft features clean and properly cared for. What he should look without the dry skin, the slouching and the eyebags.

You can imagine him crossing paths with you on campus, siting with you in the cafeteria, laughing youthfully, his persona free of the heavy weight of his wicked gestures, product of a life expended celebrating too much spite.

Maybe you would have meet him in other circumstances. A “friend of a friend” in some shitty party, the kind of boy that smiles when speaking, sharing some smart-ass joke, his witty speech making you laugh, making you fall.

Just like now.  

“so, how do you know a quirk is a mutation?” Toga ask while you read some article in your laptop.

“well, most of them have a base or function as a variety of some primordial quirk. Those that are mutations simple work outside the norm and tend to be very dangerous for the everyone, including the holder, because as the mutation is a completely new expression of genetics, the rest of the body is still adapting to the evolutionary crescendo. That and, well…mutants have a very distinct look because the gene that comes with the mutation, also alters the expression of other common things like melatonin production.”

“Oh! I remember that! We saw it at school…with the Mendeleyev system.”

“exactly!” You say, but Toga isn’t done with the questions and you don’t stop the conversation before-

“so, how do they look? The mutants. How do they look.”

“well, they all have silver hair and red eyes.”

They look at the corner of the kitchen and only then you realize what you’ve done.

“Congratulations, Shigaraki. You are officially a fucking freak.” Dabi says from the couch, but Shigaraki doesn’t answer his provocation. He just keeps playing in his phone, the only sign of acknowledge is an arched brow.

It rubs you wrong. As much as anybody is okay with it, you hate the words that leave his mouth.

Maybe is the fact that he’s making fun of someone’s looks, or maybe is because hearing someone being called a freak sends you back to high school when your classmates told you that you were a fucking creep with that evil quirk of yours (or maybe is the stupid crush speaking) but it makes you angry, so before you can think of it, you spat.

“blue eyes are a mutation too, so you are no one to talk about it.”

Twice laughs at the comeback, but before you could taste your little win, Dabi makes sure to answer back because he’s being dying to fight you the moment he set a foot on your apartment.

“that was bold for a quirkless little bitch.”

You laugh astonished, deciding you will not acknowledge the fact he (very wrongly) thinks you quirkless.

“A quirkless little bitch? Seriously, Dabi? Where you raised in a fucking barn that you know nothing but fuck this and bitch that?

“yeah. I know stupid cunt too.” He barks referring to you.

“Dabi, cut it out.” Shigaraki snaps to no avail.

“Hey! We agree in no insults!” Compress try to quiet the fight down, but neither of you pays attention.

“I’m sure you do. Pretty useful to describe yourself I bet.”

“you sure like to bet, like how you are betting I don’t burn you alive for being an annoying bitch.” He threatens looking at the chess game still on the kitchen table, getting quickly into your nerves.

“Guys-“Toga fails to intercede.

“Fuck off, Dabi. This might be shocking for you, but you don’t scare me.”

“now, that’s pretty fucking stupid of you.”

“Dabi, shut up!” Shigaraki growls done, but you are not paying attention to him, so you keep pushing into the fight.  

“I’m not the one insulting everyone just because I cannot deal with some fucking daddy issues.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT” he snarls before kicking the little table in your living room, breaking one of its legs.

“CUT IT OUT! I don’t have to know when it’s plainly obvious you have problems with authority.”

“you really think you are so clever, don’t you?” he states, crossing the living room, aiming to you.

“Dabi, get the fuck out!” this time Shigaraki yells.

“I know I am, asshole!”

He stops his tracks, looming over you. His eyes scanning your face before looking at Shigaraki, who suddenly stands beside you.

Dabi laughs darkly.

“stupid woman. You should know better.”

And then…he just slaps your laptop out of the table; the computer smashing open against the cemented ground.

Chapter 9

[hotmessexpress420]

Saviors in a Half Shell 4

Ah, the plan. The plan to help Y/N, the plan specifically created and constructed to assist Y/N. The Y/N Plan.

Splinter was, as usual, the first to wake up.

He loved his sons dearly, but he also loved the quiet he had when he woke up before them. Once at least one was awake, he knew he would be forced to socialize, step into his fatherly role (not that he didn’t love it, but everybody needs a break from time to time), give advice that only a rat father could. Especially right now, he knew that all four of his sons were nervous about their roles. It was warranted.

It was the ripe time of almost noon. He decided it was about time to make his first cup of tea for the day. Tea was always a pleasant beginning.

As the kettle began to head up, he heard a rustling near the doorway. “Leonardo, you’re awake early-” he began to say, but stopped when he saw who it really was.

Y/N stood, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a little bit all over the place, something dark shaded under her eyes. “I’m so sorry, what was your name again?”

“You may call me Splinter, my dear. What are you doing up so early?” he asked warily.

“I don’t usually sleep this late,” the girl said, covering her mouth when she yawned. “I’ll take it that last night wasn’t really a dream.”

Splinter quietly added a little more water and tea leaves to the kettle. “You would be correct. Did you sleep well?”

“For someone that doesn’t like sleeping anywhere but my own bed, I’d say so.” She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Welcoming me into your home,” Y/N said with a shrug. “A stranger, giving me a safe place to sleep.”

“We help those who are in need of help,” he told her, leaning against the makeshift countertop. “You were not in a good place last night. Would you agree?”

Y/N nodded silently.

“I won’t pry into your personal health,” he said. “But I’d like you to know that we can be here for you if you want us. My sons aren’t like anybody else. They may be rough around the edges, but they have good hearts. They want to help you just like I do.”

He poured two cups of tea and gestured for them to continue their conversation elsewhere. She followed him down a few more narrow hallways, carefully holding her cup to keep it from spilling. He pushed back a few curtains to reveal a greenhouse of sorts. It was warm, the air was moist, and the room was filled with potted plants, flowers, and what she thought were herbs of sorts.

“It’s amazing,” she said quietly. “I never thought these kinds of things were even possible down here. You live down here. It’s amazing.”

“We made do with what is available to us,” Splinter said with a small smile. “This is all we have ever known.”

“How did you- you know, come to be?” Y/N asked.

The question he was waiting for.

“As you probably could have guessed,” he chuckled. “We aren’t your typical rat and turtles. Years ago, we were subjects in an experiment to create a substance that could withstand a harsh environment.” He spared her the nitty gritty details, it was likely too early for that.

“One night, a fire erupted in the lab. We managed to escape, though at the time we were still seen as the ordinary rat and four turtles. As years went by, we grew into what we are. It has been twenty-two long years. I took the role as both father and master of the turtles. It wasn’t easy, but it needed to be done.”

“That’s amazing,” she repeated, a little more enthusiastic this time. “You could write a book about this.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m afraid not. You see, we aren’t accepted by the general population of this city. A select few humans have actually had the pleasure of seeing us for who we are and not what we look like. You are now one of them.” Splinter carefully sat his cup of tea down on a bare crate. He picked up a watering can and began to get to work.

“Need any help?”

“I enjoy doing this myself, but the company is appreciated. If you have any more questions, I’m sure my sons would be happy to explain their life stories to you.”

Y/N searched her mind for their names. It had been so late, the events of the night prior were blurry. She remembered their faces. Each wore a different colored mask. They were all so different, so unique- what were their names?

“Dad, I can’t find-” A voice rang through the greenhouse-room. She instantly recognized it, the first voice she heard. The first one she remembered.

Y/N turned to see who she instantly recognized as Leonardo, Leo. It had just dawned on her that their names were in reference to Renaissance painters. She’d have to ask about that later.

The turtle stopped. “Oh. There you are.”

She waved awkwardly. “Here I am.” She gave him a small smile.

Yeah, okay. These guys were freakishly huge turtles. Who were extremely muscular, bore weapons draped over their shells and at their sides. Sure. But they were her rescuers. She was comfortable with using that word now.

Leonardo noticeably relaxed. “You’re up early.”

“It’s almost noon. I usually wake up before eight,” she said. “...Thank you.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Thank you. For last night. I know it was… Not the greatest way to meet you guys, or for you to meet me.” Her gaze shifted down to her feet. “I just have some… Issues. That I need to work through.”

Leonardo turned to his father, who only nodded before going back to watering his plants. He wondered what all was said before he got there.

This wasn’t technically part of the plan, but this was a good start nonetheless.

“The other’s won’t be up for a while still. I’m heading to the dojo for my morning meditations.”

“You even have a dojo?” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice if she tried. Mutant turtles that meditate. That live in the sewers, that drink tea (at least one of them), that like Thai food, video games, and who knows what else.

Leonardo held back a chuckle as he gestured back towards the doorway. “You can join me, if you’d like.”

Y/N quickly shook her head. “I don’t even know how to meditate.”

“We all start somewhere. Are you coming?”

It was hard to say no.

Leonardo positioned her at the opposite end of the dojo as him. He gave her a few quick pointers to get her started before he sat down and shut his eyes.

Y/N watched him for a moment before she did the same. His words echoed in her head, so few instructions but so many at the same time.

Count your breaths.

In one, out two, all the way to ten and start again.

Let your mind feel what it needs to feel. Don’t let it engulf you, but allow yourself to feel.

When your mind wanders too far, start at one again. In. Out.

To think that she thought she was good at taking instruction.

In, one.

Two, out.

As she counted up, she could feel a metaphorical weight lift from her shoulders. She could hear Leonardo’s breathing in the corner, though it was soft. She felt his presence.

Shit, did I leave the tea in the greenhouse?

Back to one. Out, two.

Y/N could feel the darkness in her mind. She allowed herself to feel it, welcoming it as a friend as opposed to an intruder. It was part of her, her own way of feeling.

Out, six.

Meditation wasn’t something she thought of to do. Her life was too busy for something like that, she thought. Those minutes could be better spent elsewhere.

Maybe it was time to slow down.

Alright, back to one now.

Time became an afterthought. When she finally opened her eyes, Leonardo was beginning to stand. He reached his arms up, then held them behind his back in a stretch. She swore she could hear some joints popping.

Y/N slowly got to her feet, reaching her arms up towards the ceiling. Where she could see Leo could easily touch the ceiling, her arms were feet away from it. At least she knew she would never bump her head here.

Not that that was a general worry of hers. Not many walls were only five-foot something.

“That was nice,” she said, breaking the silence. “Do you do this every morning?” She recalled when he had said ‘morning meditations’.

“Every morning when I wake up. It helps clear my head and get me ready for the day,” Leonardo told her with a nod. “I’ll do it before nightfall if I need to as well.”

“A healthy habit,” she mused. “The others don’t join you?”

Leonardo gave her a shrug in response. “Sometimes. They’d prefer the extra sleep. Honestly, they could do with a little more meditation.”

“I definitely feel more ready for the day. Or breakfast at least.” As if on cue, her stomach began to growl.

He laughed. “Come on, let’s get you some breakfast.

“How long did we go, anyway?”

“Thirty minutes. You beat Mikey’s record.”

A small feat, she told herself. Mikey did not seem like one to keep still for that long.

Y/N should have referred to their meal as ‘lunch’, especially considering the time. She thought this as they passed through another corridor, one that was a little smellier than the rest. She did applaud them for keeping the place smelling less like sewer than it actually was. Did turtles have a sense of smell?

“So, you meditate. Do your brothers have any habits or hobbies?”

“Raphael does the most physical training,” Leo said, pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. “Weight training, boxing, you name it. Donnie keeps to his science-y stuff. He’s good with technology and chemistry, that pretty much covers most of his free time. Mikey… He has trouble focusing on one thing.”

“Shocking.”

He laughed. “He’s gotten better, more tolerable to live with. He’s not allowed near Donnie’s things anymore, though.”

Y/N stopped walking and crossed her arms over her chest. “Now you have to tell me this story.”

Leo was amazed. She had a completely different presence to her now than the night before. She was sarcastic, she was witty. He could tell she chose her words carefully, but when she looked at him, it wasn’t with the usual disgust or fear. It was with amazement, intrigue.

Strange human.

The tale began of how Mikey had accidentally caused a bad chemical reaction in Donatello’s lab area. It wasn’t a small sort of reaction- in fact, it ended up ruining most of Donnie’s equipment. He refused to speak to him for days as he tried to both fix and replace what had been lost. Y/N made a mental note to ask how they got equipment like that in the first place.

By the time Leo had no more to say, they were settled at the table in the kitchen with some food. He had made up a couple dozen sandwiches with various meats and toppings, all with cheese. When he set the platters down at the table, he paused. “I didn’t ask you what you wanted, did I?”

“I’m not that picky,” she assured him. “You probably need to explain what all these are, though.”

She picked a simple turkey sandwich after an entire speech ensued about each sandwich. They liked variety. As she took a bite, she smirked. “I had no idea turtles ate meat. Good to know.”

“Not sure if you’ve picked up on this yet, but we’re not your run-of-the-mill turtles.”

Oh, she definitely had.

[macklives]

alright, im actually kind of in the mood to unpack some stuff regarding karkat's character and the way alternia works actually, so i dont mind giving this a go. and while act 5 isnt completely finished yet (so this is an analysis post for act 5 up until page 2305), there is still more to explore, and im pretty sure i have a lot more to read regarding both karkat AND alternia. until then, i will give a general layout as to what i know so far and how i can expand this in a psychological way (especially considering i did my psych exam so my mind is FRESH from studying)

alright, starting with what seems to be the deal with the hemospectrum, theres a total of 12 blood colors. HOWEVER, one of those blood colors is a "mutant" blood which is unwanted in troll culture as it is, well, "mutant", meaning whoever has this blood will get brutally slaughtered. hurrayyy. im guessing it is even lower than aradia's rust blood, as she is allowed to live but is the lowest on the hierarchy triangle. meaning karkats blood is not even ON the hierarchy triangle and simply buried underground where they hope he stays. so its not exactly pleasant to be living in a society where everyone is trying to KILL you or at least keep you away from everything.

from what i remember, troll reproduction is a vital aspect in their culture, that everyone is forced to mate and drones will come by each house to collect the genetic material. this is mandatory apparently, and if someone were to object, they will be “culled" as quickly as they could say no. alternia seems to be really keen on the whole "blood and carnage" thing, which means their probable solution to anybody breaking the law, is to kill them on sight and just leave them there to rot - regardless of who they are and what families they comes from or have. trolls are free to kill whenever or whoever they please without any governmental repercussions. which means revenge upon revenge happens without any policy.

however this is very important when looking at karkat, because karkat may not be able to do the whole reproduction process (not that we necessarily want him to, im saying this in terms of how its mandatory for every troll and there will be a time when the drones WILL come for karkat). but as he is already a mutant and if they were to "collect" from him, they would find out his blood regardless of how he hides it. they will either cull him for saying no, or cull him for his blood. karkat, in this sense, is doomed regardless. which makes his character much more interesting.

and keep in mind alternia kind of sucks, because from the looks of it, trolls are constantly tested throughout their lives to prove themselves to society that they are allowed to live and survive. but ONLY if they are the strongest among them. alternia wants to become this fearful planet where the weak die off and only those proven worthy can stay to grow up and slaughter more of their kind until the world is nothing but blood thirsty strong murderers. im not too sure who is governing alternia but they can suck a dick if they think this is how good morals work. alternia only really has one way to solve things which is to kill those who question/fight back, OR to kill those who CANNOT fight back essentially. which puts all the trolls through a double edged sword where they cannot do anything but follow the guidelines given to them by troll's society and government, and try to survive as much as they can until then.

if i remember correctly, when it comes to the law side of things. if you look at it from terezi's introduction where she explains prosecutions with her plushies (lemonsnout ect ect i forgot the term for them lol), she said "you are guilty until proven innocent" which is the polar opposite of "innocent until proven guilty” used in OUR own society today (tho i guess we are by far the "good guys" in this situation, but we are far different than how trolls live their lives). anyways, what this means is that everyone dies regardless unless theres literal proof that they have not done the crime. even so i wouldnt put it past them to do nothing about their case even WITH proof. terezi even goes to say that technically there is no way to deal with the law on alternia, and most of crimes get solved through death. she even demonstrates this by how easily she hung the "suspect" and flipped a coin to determine his fate. however, even with the coin landing on the side of safety, where the suspect were to be released, she said "im blind remember i cannot see this coin" and essentially "killed" him. while terezi may have just been playing with her plushies, theres something we can take from this which dictates how their actual court cases are actually solved.

NOW, vriska (yes ik pls bare with me here, i will not make it about vriska but i do have a point here), from the last few pages i saw, can basically kill her friends in an instant, without any remorse. i can tell she sees this as the most "necessary" solution for her problems. i wouldnt say its for survival, but she does do it as a way to provide some sort of safety on alternia. she is a higher blood, and apparently the high bloods are known to kill whoever they please as long as its convenient. and since trolls have this whole fad of "killing the ones who cause you trouble so the problem is out of the way", she is wired to think its the only solution when threatened or when you dislike a person. 

god, she killed aradia because she wanted "revenge", because she wanted to get back at aradia for tormenting her with ghosts EVEN IF aradia did so because she threw tavros off a cliff in the first place. this may have worsened their friendship, KEEP IN MIND THEY WERE FRIENDS, but NEITHER, and i mean neither terezi/vriska/aradia, had any remorse if the other dies as long as there was a reason. in the story, vriska didnt care what happened to tavros because she disliked him, therefore becoming pretty bias over his fate. because of this attempt at killing, aradia didnt care what happened to vriska either, and neither did terezi. terezi sold her out to one of the most powerful beings on their planet, solely because of their revenge cycle. as long as the troll in question did something "malicious”, then that plays a factor in their morals. vriska gave no second thought to killing both of her friends (or at least attempt to with tavros), terezi also tormented john in act 4 which led to his “doomed timeline death” and sold vriska out after she realized vriska wouldnt change. so no fucking WONDER karkat tries to hide who he is, he's overly cautious to not let it slip out because even the people he calls friends could backstab him at any given time considering theres LITERAL EXAMPLES OF THESE TROLLS HAVING DONE SO.

to karkat, he sees this as dangerous, which is why he even CALLS vriska dangerous to begin with. she might not even hesitate to kill him herself or maybe sell him out to the drones, because 1. she may not want to be a witness to something society actively seeks to destroy and 2. she cares more for her survival than karkats. EVEN if they were friends (re: aradia and vriska and terezi). so it just shows. 

on that note, i find it funny how karkat indirectly distracted vriska after she baited him with the question of his blood in a past conversation, which prompted karkat to monologue about troll romance. he was, yes, VERY interested in this topic to start with, but it was a nice little bonus for karkat as to not be found out by the one person who would most likely kill him even if it wasnt on purpose. however, we do not know how this will play out IF she does find out, we just know karkat is in the right to be scared of the theory.

and, alright i do have to mention this, while karkat may have been an angry fucker to START with, who spites the world and throws out insults every chance he gets, i feel he does this as more of a survival instinct as well. he doesnt care what he says to people no matter what they rank on the hemospectrum. they dont know his blood color so he feels he has some sort of immunity, but he just needs to keep it hidden. it also may just be his personality, as he IS a character who was given specific traits and andrew went along with it without so much thinking about plot. yet if you look at this from more of the metaphorical route, think about it with uhhhh lets say the perspective of how dogs work. for example, when you put a chihuahua next to a doberman, a doberman is more of an excited, energetic dog whereas a chihuahua will rain hell down on anybody who so goes near them. sometimes this is to make up for their size, to seem as menacing as the larger doberman, as they have nothing else to fend themselves with. another way to look at it is, if you see a bear (i forget if its black/brown or grizzly) you make yourself seem like the bigger person by scaring it off with sounds and eventually it will leave you alone. these sort of tactics work in the sense of survival. this is sort of what karkat could be doing, he uses insults and a defensive shouting to not really "hide" himself, but to have some sort of way as to not be found out if people start to question. someone asks him "hey karkat whats your blood" he goes "FUCK YOU, FUCK OFF, END OF STORY" which could make a person go "yo sorry dude forget i ever asked". so this could be a factor as to why he is so crabby, however on the other hand, he is crabby because that is also his character. andrew probably thought yo cancer = crab = crabby. however i do like how he is perceived and the whole "mutant blood" really made me do a double take on how he views life himself. he has to always hide who he is or he will get physically killed. alternia would take joy in finding out he does not belong there because lets face it, alternia is a bitch of a planet.

this also brought me to ask the question, why does karkat want to be a leader if hes so scared of what would happen to him if he were to be found out? which then, at first i said lol this is just karkat, he wants to a leader because he just wants to be the leader, he likes when things go to plan and that he the most say in their sburb plans considering he thinks everyone else is a "dumbass". to which, i then thought about it more and went ouch what if hes a leader because he knows hes not valued enough in society, that he somehow wants to feel some sort of importance in the world, so he wants to become a leader. i imagine younger karkat, not knowing why his blood is so undermined, finding out he is not wanted and suddenly on the most wanted list without having even DONE anything. even TAVROS said he was on that list, but only because he was weak and had no back-bone, here karkat may have been strong but no matter what, he was to be culled BECAUSE of his blood. something he cannot change no matter what. imagine a little kid knowing he will die at any point because of who he is (rlly sounds familiar if you think about it). so of course, he hides himself from the world, but do you think for an instant, little angry karkat wants to simply be FORGOTTEN about? i doubt that, he wants to be heard, he doesnt necessarily want to be rejected as he knows he will be, so while he does hide his blood, he wants to have a voice no matter what. when being a leader, people dont reject you, they LISTEN. they all may not want to because karkat is just a fucking ticking time bomb, who can lash out at any second, but i feel theres now a reason why he has this superiority complex. he wants to sort of become the person he knows he never will become (if you put it into that perspective). so thats kind of why im giving him the benefit of the doubt here.

i would also like to point out a sort of.... comparison?? not with the dogs but with unwanted children in a family household. this doesnt necessarily apply to karkat, but sub in family household with society and it might as well. (on that note, a warning/viewer discretion, if you have any problem with this kind of discussion, i wouldnt read further into this paragraph and skip to the next one) alright, the unwanted child psychology basically deals with the process of a child which is neglected by their parents, and/or know that they were never wanted in the family. i read an article a while back when we were discussing this in a lecture, we were browsing multiple people's perspective on the matter, and one said "An affective relationship may be suffocating to [the unwanted/neglected child]: it’s a defense against intimacy of which they know nothing. Normally they fluctuate between egotism and deep feelings of inferiority. They don’t understand what a balanced and healthy self-esteem looks like." it explains how the child who grows up in an unwanted home admits great emotion deprivation, because the child's bonds of affection are extremely fragile, and this can lead to both egotism and feeling like they are inadequate. and it really strongly shows karkats personality. we havent gotten that much from him in general, but considering how he uses this egotism to cover up the fact that he may be doomed, really shows the similarity. i liked this short article so i want to give some points to take into consideration, specifically this part: "It will be very difficult for unwanted children to build healthy relationships of affection in their adult life. Love is a foreign language to them. They don’t know how to decipher the codes and much less how to build them. It’s very hard for them to need and to be needed. That’s why, more often than not, they completely shirk their conflicts with peers and superiors, or do nothing but generate them. They speak incessantly about the broken relationship that marked their arrival in the world. A person with such a background will need help to get through those abysses of love that live in their heart. The most important step is that they recognize that their discomfort doesn’t depend on who they are, but the circumstances that led to their being." it may not be 100% tru for karkat but theres a small portion of it that can link back to karkats view on life and how being this mutant can really change who he is as a person. and i hope you can see the similarity between karkats character and this form of psychology. yet i also do not fully know the depth of karkat vantas. however i do hope it continues to build up in this way, as it would be both interesting and make us feel more for him as a person.

alright, i think if i write any more i will never stop aghjsk, which is a bit too much for a sunday afternoon, basically to sum up this post, trolls are violent and karkat will be killed if hes found out, even by his friends if it comes down to it. so karkat cannot really trust anybody, hes alone and imagine the thrill he had when he saw jack cut his hand to show the bright red blood? that he finally has someone LIKE HIM. imagine when he finds out about the kids. so i believe in his growth, while he needs to get a better vocabulary, i do get why hes so defensive all the time. because hes both scared and unwanted. and he wants to make up for it.

and i guess with all that being said, you can tell i now have a slight soft spot for the kid lmao

[marvelyningreen]

It Will End in Rain

Part 3 - Cloudburst

(Previous | Next)

[Summary: They were letting Skye stay at the school while she recovered. Another couple days, and she’d be on her way. But leaving was for the best. If she was back on the road, she wouldn’t have time to think about the things Logan and Hank said.

Warnings: mild language, allusions to emotional abuse

Notes: Generally follows XCU canon. ]

It was pretty quiet in this part of the mansion, which was surprising, considering the fact that the place was a boarding school. Maybe the students roomed in another part of the building, and this area was mainly for guests.

Skye seemed to be the only one at the moment, though. Aside from the people who’d come to see her and what she assumed were custodians passing through, it was quiet. Peaceful, even. Like the world’s ritziest bed and breakfast.

Skye wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting but, she had to admit, this place wasn’t anything like she’d guessed. She’d envisioned, well… a military school, more or less. Mutants lived here and trained to be heroes, right? She’d expected things to be all regimented and stuff, or at least businesslike and industrial, like it’d been with the -

Nevermind that.

While looking out the window once, she saw those twins walking around the grounds, talking and laughing with a red-haired woman and a tall blond man. Their parents, maybe? Were there whole families here? Definitely different than what Skye expected.

The people weren’t really what she’d expected either. Well, she hadn’t met too many of them, but still. Those twins were pretty thoughtful to stop by before class to bring her a radio and some books. (The Lord of the Rings trilogy, no less. Skye got the feeling that Billy somehow knew she was a fantasy nerd.)

And she was surprised that Professor Xavier was so… personable? Whether he actually cared or not, he at least did a good job of acting like an approachable person, which you wouldn’t really figure from one of the most powerful mutants alive. Still, it was really unnerving to be around somebody who could hear everything she was thinking. Maybe the other people at the school were used to it, but Skye had a hard time relaxing when he was in the room.

And then there was that doctor, Hank.

Back when she was seventeen, when she’d gotten stabbed, her own parents were out of town. It was Michael’s mom (the only person who knew the truth about what’d happened to them) who invited Skye to stay at their house while she recovered. It must be a parent thing, Skye had thought. Skye was the same age as Michael, and she was mothering by proxy or something.

Anyway, she got the same sort of impression from Hank. She’d noticed the wedding ring he wore. He must have kids around her age.

Logan at least sorta made sense. He’d been suspicious of her at first, which was fair, and he was all practical and blunt. Skye didn’t think she would’ve gone back with him if he hadn’t been. But on the other hand, he was the reason she spent most of her time asleep.

If she was asleep, she didn’t have time to think. Logan’s words kept eddying in her mind.

‘They used you.’

He was wrong. She was part of a team. She’d volunteered for it; all of it. You can’t say somebody was used when everything was their choice all along.

‘Didn’t they ever train you?’

No disrespect to Professor Xavier, but his family was old money. Of course they could afford to keep up this mansion and make sure everybody got top tier equipment and training. Not everybody was so lucky. The GLX had to make do with what was available to them. It just so happened that some mutants’ abilities were better suited to combat, and Skye’s weren’t.

‘Yeah, that’s not true.’

How on earth would she know that? Her powers manifested to do one pretty specific thing. Why would she think that the worked any other way? It wasn’t like there was some sort of handbook for this. It wasn’t like she could ask anybody.

Well, maybe if she’d been here she could’ve.

Skye wouldn’t deny that she was curious about the place. Xavier’s school was almost a place of myth, at least to her. If not for the busted ribs, maybe she’d –

No, probably not. This probably wasn’t the kind of place somebody could just wander around on their own, especially not a stranger. And it wasn’t like she could ask somebody to show her around either. Sure, the doctor had offered, but he was just being polite. They were all probably pretty busy with school stuff and X-Men stuff.

She’d have to be content with venturing into the hall at night. It was kinda nice, actually. It had that mysterious sort of feeling you got from walking through an empty school or mall or someplace. Once when she was at the window-seat, Skye saw somebody walking through the garden – the groundskeeper, probably – who waved up at her before continuing on. Other than that, she didn’t see or hear a single other person.

From what she saw of the mansion – and that was just her room and the hallway – it felt sorta cozy. The wood-paneled walls, the plush carpet, the sconce lighting – it all gave an impression of warmth. It felt old, too, which was weird, considering this place had been destroyed and rebuilt in the 80's.

Maybe she’d just read too many books, but it all made her imagination run wild a little. A place like this should have an attic full of strange old treasures, and a big beautiful library, and secret passages, and maybe even stables. But that was just silly to think about.

It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. They’d been letting her stay while she recovered, and it’d been a week already. Another three or four days, and she’d have to be on her way.

Too bad. Aside from her curiosity, Skye was gonna miss this place for more practical reasons. It’d been so long since she’d slept in an actual bed. Cheap motels hardly counted, and mostly she’d slept in her car, and then on the ground wherever she could find a campsite.

But maybe leaving was for the best. She wouldn’t have time to think about what Logan said – and now, what Hank said, too.

Skye hadn’t been thinking when she reached down for that bag. She’d only meant to help, but apparently that was wrong. It wasn’t the pain in her ribs that almost pushed her over the edge; it was Hank telling her not to help. Right. She should’ve known better.

It was just the same in the GLX.

She was useless when she wasn’t using her powers. She didn’t have any special skills or knowledge that’d be helpful in planning, so she was mostly told she didn’t have to be involved in it. She really didn’t see anyone else much, outside of when she was helping during a mission.

Everybody was grateful for what she did. They told her so all the time – told her how much they needed her and how much they valued her presence in the team.

‘They used you.’

No, they didn’t. She did what she had to for the good of the team. She’d follow orders, do what she was asked to, and protect her teammates. She did everything they asked, even if it meant getting hurt herself. She volunteered for it.

She volunteered for it.

… Oh, God.

Skye flinched at the sudden knock at the door. She stood up, feeling only a slight echo of an ache in her ribs as she did, and went to the door.

It was the doctor again. No bag this time, though.

“Good morning,” he said, his bedside-manner smile fading as he looked at her face. “Are you alright?”

Damn it. Skye forced all of her frantic, horrified feelings into a tight ball in her chest until her poker face was back in place.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you need something?”

“Well, if you’re feeling up for it, I was wondering if you’d take a walk with me.”

Skye blinked. “Why?”

Wrong answer. She should’ve just said no and he would’ve left her alone.

“First of all, you’ve recovered enough that a little exercise would do you some good,” said Hank. “And secondly, you haven’t seen this place in the daylight yet. I thought I might show you around. What do you say?”

It was still fairly early in the day. Everybody would be busy with class and stuff, wouldn’t they? She wouldn’t have to see or talk to anyone – just pretend to listen to the tour. She could handle that. She could.

“Alright,” said Skye.

Hank’s smile brightened again, and she followed him down the hall.

He led her through the mansion, down stairs, past rooms – all the while mentioning details about each location. Skye nodded absently along, not processing a word he said. Her thoughts were spiraling.

Years. Years.

She’d been with the GLX for years. This Logan guy picked up in minutes what she hadn’t figured out for most of her twenties. How had she never noticed? What was wrong with her?

‘They used you.’

‘I volunteered.’

Stop it. Stop it. Just stop.

“Skye?”

She looked up sharply. Hank was watching her like he expected some sort of answer. To what question, she had no idea.

“I’m… I’m sorry?” she said hesitantly.

They’d stopped walking at some point, and were now in a hallway that Skye couldn’t remember seeing before. It was on the first floor, by the looks of it. Hank’s hand rested on one of the doors.

“There’s something I wanted to talk with you about,” he said. “Would you come in here for a moment?”

“Sure.”

Hank opened the door, and Skye’s heart sank. It lead to some sort of study or office, and inside it waited Logan and Professor Xavier.

Never had Skye been so acutely aware that Professor Xavier was a telepath. She did everything she could to avoid making eye contact, like that’d help somehow. It didn’t matter. He knew. He knew. He knew.

“Please, sit down and join us,” he said.

Skye didn’t think she’d ever felt more on edge in her entire life. She knew she shouldn’t. These people had been nothing but hospitable, right? They probably just wanted to make sure she knew not to go around blabbing any secrets – like she’d ever do that – and then she’d be free to go. Maybe even leave a couple days early. She was mostly okay, after all.

She sat down on the couch the professor had gestured to, wondering if she looked as tense as she felt. Hank sat on a nearby chair, while Logan stayed standing. Too badass to sit, probably. Fair enough.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Schultz?” the professor asked.

“Fine, thank you,” said Skye.

She was lying. She was lying and he knew it. Before she could spiral further, Hank spoke up.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to leave soon, then,” he said. “Is there anywhere in particular you’re planning to go?”

There it was. Well, at least the professor would know she wasn’t lying about what she said next.

“Nowhere in particular,” she said. “Just south before it starts getting colder. You don’t have to worry about me, though. I won’t tell anybody that I was here.”

Hank looked perplexed for a second, sharing a glance with Logan.

“That’s not- I mean, we appreciate that, of course,” said Hank, “But that’s not why I was asking. If you aren’t headed anywhere, I was – that is, we all were – wondering if maybe you’d like to stay here instead.”

And then it was Skye’s turn to look perplexed.

“Why?” she asked, flatly.

The word was out of her mouth before she realized how rude she sounded. Really, though, it was an honest question. Why on earth would they want her of all people to stick around? Hank didn’t seem offended.

“This place has been a home to many people who’ve needed it,” he said.

Like she did. Is that what he meant to say? Skye felt her face flush.

“It’s our understanding that you were not well-treated during your time at the GLA,” said the professor.

Logan scoffed. “Understatement of the century.”

​​ ‘They used you.’

The professor shot him a look, and Logan shrugged and fell silent again. Skye’s jaw tightened.

“They called me Proxy. That was my codename – did you know that?” Defiantly, she looked Professor Xavier in the eyes. “I’m sure you did.”

The barb fell flat, of course. She didn’t even get the satisfaction of shocking him, because he knew exactly what she was going to say. It just made her angrier.

Logan stepped closer, holding up a hand. “Just take it easy, kid.”

“And why should I?” Skye snapped.

Suddenly, she was on her feet again, glowering up at Logan. He was bigger than her. Stronger, too. She didn’t care.

Logan, at least, seemed a little taken aback, but he didn’t back down either.

“Simmer down, alright?” he said. “We just want to help.”

“And what makes you think I need your help?” Skye fired back. “Just because it took you ten minutes to figure out something that I didn’t pick up on for almost ten years? Because I wasted all that time – years of my life – on people I thought were my friends?”

“Skye-” Hank tried to interject, but Skye didn’t let him.

“I mean, how stupid would someone have to be to fall for something like that?” She was speaking far too loudly. She knew it. She couldn’t stop. “And if somebody was that stupid, they’d deserve what happened to them, right? They’d deserve it because they should’ve known better. So I deserve what happened. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

Skye’s heart was hammering in her chest. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she glared at the others. Why did she say all that? Why couldn’t she just stop talking?

There wasn’t any way back from this. There wasn’t any positive direction this conversation could take from here. There was no way out. There was-

“Skye.”

The professor’s voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Her focus fixed on him – his outstretched hand, his gentle tone.

“The only person who’s said any such thing is you,” he said, moving closer. “No one here believes that. And I don’t think you truly believe it either, do you?”

Did she? Shakily, Skye sat back down, her gaze drifting towards the floor.

“I… I don’t,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t-”

Skye’s throat tightened, choking anything else she might’ve said. She curled in on herself, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed. She felt the professor’s hand caress the back of her head, stroking her hair like he was comforting a child.

It was worse. It felt so much worse now. Had it always been this bad? Had she just never noticed it before someone pointed it out to her?

It was worse, and she wanted to run and she wanted everything to stop. She wanted them to care and she didn’t. She wanted something – anything – to make sense.

She felt so stupid. Shouting at them, throwing a fit, breaking down crying like a little girl – if they weren’t tired of her already, they would be after this.

You know that isn’t true either, she heard the professor’s voice in her mind.

Slowly, the tears subsided. Skye felt someone sit down on the couch beside her, and she looked over to see Hank offering a box of tissues. She mumbled a thank-you as she took a few, wiping at her eyes and blowing her nose.

She glanced up to see Logan still standing close by and looking, well, worried more than anything.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Logan shook his head, smiling faintly. “Don’t sweat it. I know it’s not me you’re mad at. At least, not mostly.”

She’d misread him that first night, when he and the professor came to talk to her. She thought his reaction was one of disdain, but she was starting to suspect that he was just worried then, too. Only he’d handled it about as well as Skye had handled herself just now.

Was she mad at the GLX? Yes. And no. She was still mad at herself, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. It was hard to know what to feel. She wasn’t really surprised to hear the professor weigh in.

“It’s alright to feel conflicted about all of this, or overwhelmed by it,” he said. “One could hardly be expected to process it all at once.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Skye. “Why do you want me to stay?”

The professor smiled, tilting his had slightly. “Why not?”

Oh, he was a teacher, alright.

“I don’t know how to do anything. I’m not smart. I can’t fight. I have a B.A. in English, I mean…” She shrugged self-consciously. “I really don’t have anything to contribute.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true at all,” said Hank.

Skye grimaced, nodding in Logan’s direction. “He said it. I let myself get used as a human shield for years, and that’s all.”

“And you know what that tells me?” Hank leveled an earnest gaze at her. “It tells me that you care. You wouldn’t have gone through all of that if you didn’t. And that’s why I’m asking you to stay, because we care about you, too.”

“We’re not gonna ask you to fight our battles for us, kid,” said Logan. “Just stick around here for a while. It’s better than trying to run from the past. Believe me, I know.”

Part of Skye wanted to ask him for his story. But not right then. Maybe it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, anyway.

“You’re saying I can just… stay,” Skye said slowly. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” said the professor.

“I don’t want to be a freeloader-” Skye protested.

“Then you may earn your keep, if that’s what you’d like,” said the professor, smiling. “There are always places that could use an extra set of hands. The library, perhaps?”

Skye would be lying if she said she didn’t like the idea. A library would be a calm, quiet place to work. She’d spent so much time hanging out in various libraries when she was a kid, and through high school, to the point that they felt more like home than her house did. The professor, of course he must know that. But -

“Well… I mean, I don’t know anything about being a librarian,” she said.

“For now, all you’d need to do is keep things in order. Return books to the shelves, maintain the records of who’s borrowed which items – that sort of thing. The rest can be learned.”

That sort of grunt work would be manageable. Better yet, nobody would expect her to use her abilities there.

“If you’re sure…” she said, eyeing the professor hesitantly, half-certain that he was going to change his mind.

Professor Xavier extended a hand to her. “Welcome aboard, Skye.”

Skye. Not ‘Ms. Schultz.’

It was silly, but hearing the Professor Charles Xavier address her by name made her feel like she belonged, a little.

… And remembering that he could hear everything she was thinking made her wish the floor would just open up and swallow her already.

At least the professor was polite enough not to say anything. He just chuckled a little as he released her hand.

“We’ll see to all the paperwork for getting you on the payroll later,” he said. “And I’m sure Hank would be happy to show you the library itself.”

Hank nodded. “Of course. I could show you right now, if you’d like. Why don’t we take the scenic route? You look like you could use some fresh air.”

He wasn’t wrong. Skye felt the particular kind of exhausted you only feel after having a full breakdown. Some sunlight would feel fantastic, and after that she’d like nothing more than to collapse in a heap and sleep for another five or so hours.

As she followed Hank out, Skye paused, turning back to the professor and Logan.

“Sir?” she said. Her gaze shifted between the two men; she was sorta addressing both of them. “Thank you.”

Logan nodded, and the professor smiled.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he said.

Hank kept up a considerate silence as Skye followed him back down the hall and through an exterior door, into the gardens. She’d only seen them from the window at night.

In person, they were old fashioned – laid out in winding paths meant for strolling, lined with green hedgerows and a cheerful, colorful array of flowers. There seemed to be alcoves along the way, containing things like little fountains, and maybe a goldfish pond? It was surreal, like something out a story. Skye half expected to wake up at any second.

Hank walked slowly, letting her look around. Nice of him. He was tall enough that Skye would’ve had to move fast to keep up with him at a full stride. It’d sounded like – while all three of them were on board with it – Hank was the one pushing for her to stay at the school.

“Hey, uh… Hank?” Skye said hesitantly. “Thanks for, y’know, for sticking your neck out for me like that.”

“Well, you did say that you’d stay here until you were fully recovered,” said Hank, “And, speaking as a doctor? I’d say you aren’t quite there yet.”

“And when I am? What then?”

Even Skye was a little surprised at how cold and bitter her voice sounded just then. But it was an honest question. If she was able to work through all of… all of this, what would happen to her? Would they just let her stay working in the library? Would they send her away?

Hank paused, turning to look at her with a curious expression.

“May I make a blunt observation?” he asked.

Huh. And here she thought that being blunt was Logan’s job.

“Uh, sure,” said Skye.

“You seem to believe that nobody could care about you unless you did something to earn it, and – simultaneously – that no one will care about you if you aren’t in need,” he said, “Which is a lot of cognitive dissonance to walk around with. You don’t have to earn this, Skye, and no one is going to abandon you when you start to improve. You deserve to be cared about for your own sake, unconditionally.”

Skye frowned. On some level, she knew that had to be true. It was true for everybody else, of course. She wouldn’t dream of telling somebody else they needed to earn the right to kindness or respect. But not for me, though, was the certainty in the back of her mind. That doesn’t apply to me.

Seeming to understand her hesitation, Hank smiled.

“It’s alright if you can’t believe that just yet,” he said. “For now, the rest of us will believe it for you. And if you ever need a reminder, I’ll be happy to tell you that we do care about you, Skye, and you do deserve it.”

It still hurt, though. His kindness hurt. Skye wished it didn’t. Maybe if she stuck around there long enough, that feeling would go away. For now, though, she was just… tired.

“Y’know, the library’s not going anywhere,” Hank said. “If you’d rather stay out here for a while, that’s fine.”

In a weird way, Skye felt like she’d just get stuck again if she went back inside at that moment.

“I could stand to photosynthesize for a bit,” she said, which Hank seemed to find funny.

“I’ve been spending too much time indoors, myself,” he said. “And my only plans for the morning are going over some notes. Would you mind some company?”

Believe that he cared. Believe that he meant it. It was funny – and kinda sad – how fast a person could forget how to act around people. But after all that time alone? Skye could use a friend. And since Hank was offering…

“I wouldn’t mind,” Skye said, finding it hard to make eye contact as she did. “If you don’t mind that I probably won’t talk much.”

“Not a problem,” Hank said gently. “Find a good spot to sit, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Skye stood still for a moment after Hank had gone back inside. It was quiet out on the grounds. The September sun was warm that morning, and some of the trees dotted around the property were just starting to tinge scarlet. Birds sang here and there. On the road outside the gate, she could hear a single car going by.

This couldn’t possibly be real. It was too sudden, too incredible to really be happening – and to her, of all people. Skye wanted to tell someone. She wished there was someone she could talk to, so she could sort out everything that’d happened over the past week. She could call someone, tell them she was here. Her family? … No, not them. Michael, maybe, but she wasn’t sure she had his right phone number anymore.

A trace of loneliness stole back in. Of course. She couldn’t expect everything to get better all at once, right? That’s not how things worked. Didn’t stop her from wishing it was.

She had a feeling Hank would listen, if she asked. She would – when he came back.

Skye settled herself into a nearby lounge chair to wait. The sun felt wonderful, and she was so tired. Not the sort of tired that came from feeling like she needed to escape, but from feeling like she didn’t need to anymore. Skye yawned. She could fall asleep right there if she let herself.

-

Hank made a detour to stop by Skye’s room on his way back outside, to pick up one of the books she’d been reading, just in case. Judging by the placement of the bookmark (an old movie ticket stub) Skye was almost finished with The Return of the King. Out of curiosity, Hank opened the book to see what page she’d stopped on – partway through the chapter called The Steward and the King.

But when he returned to the gardens, he found Skye fast asleep.

Hank had seen many people come and go from the school – students and staff both. Many of them were hurt, or angry, or afraid when they arrived. Every single one of them had been able to heal, and to reclaim something of themselves that they thought was lost. That was Hank’s hope for Skye, too.

Setting the book down beside her, Hank quietly retreated to a nearby chair to focus on his work, and to let her rest.

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded land: Chapter 16

The moons lunar glow shines down upon an abandoned tower; the chimeric bear’s groan echoing across the city skyline. Surrounding the broken building’s fragile base be the ever vigilant Canadian military; the soldiers pouring out from the back of their vans, armed to the brim with advance weaponry, ready to take down whatever mutant abomination threatens the city of Niagara. Peeking out from one of these floating vans, the scientist takes a glance towards the entrance; the front doors swarming with rows of marching troopers. Obviously not gonna find anybody with even half a frontal lob sneaking through their anytime soon. Maybe the back will serve as a better point of entry.

Going around towards the back, Clara takes cover from the Canadian soldiers behind their own vehicles; dashing towards the back from van to van in hopes of finding another way in. In the midst of her advance, the scientist is halted by a few patrolling troops wandering about the surrounding streets. Carefully, she bides her time, patiently awaiting for the right moment to dart past the gaze under their helms. Once their site ventured away from her general direction, Clara zips across the wide gap between vehicles. She manages to dive behind one of the vans just before the troops returned their site towards her direction. Having evade the soldiers detection, the scientist lets loose a relieved breath; resuming her stealthy progress behind the tower. Hopefully, the back door’s all clear.

Alas, her wishes prove to be nothing but; finding the back to have its own share of protection from entry, with two guards manning the way in. Looks like these guys got every side of this place locked down tight; not a single spot for her to squeeze herself in without drawing the whole brigades rifle barrels towards her precious hooded head. Still, they can’t possibly have every corner covered. There has to be some way for the scientist to get inside. And she better find one fast. It won’t take long for all of them to storm the place and reach her mutant steed.

In her observation, she soon takes notice of the large shadow rising along the moonlit tower; looking above to witness a circular aircraft flying by. From the ground, she could tell that this bizarre aircraft belonged to the northern mounties; sporting what appeared to be a similar color scheme to their ground vehicles. Seems to be a bit impractical for personal air use, but these maple leaved troopers have boasted technology that has surpassed her expectation before. You never really can predict these guys will pull out of their armored asses next.

Shortly after marveling the flying saucer, Clara’s ears catches the familiar roar from above. The round aircraft begins to encircle the towers top, firing out towards the roof a set of teargas bombs. The ships strike is swiftly thwarted, the smoke bombs knocked aside. From the roof, a sticky webbing entangles the circular aircraft; the silk causing the ship to plummet towards the earth. Watching the ship plummet down upon the streets nearby, the scientist witnesses some of the troops withdrawing from their positions and racing towards the crash; some of them being the troops that guard the back entrance. With the surrounding guard distracted, Clara takes her chance and dashes straight inside the tower.

From the backdoor, the scientist dashes right through a collection of built in vendors; their delectably delicious goods and services having long since discontinued. The only reminisce of their mark now be the persistence stench of rotting food; an aroma which Clara unfortunately sprints through. Oh god! You can practically taste the rotting flesh of decaying meat and fruit.

Coming out from the hall of death scented corporate planned consumerism, Clara finds herself staring upon a whole row of the Canadian troop. Before any of them could take notice of her, the scientist swiftly dives right behind the front desk. Glancing beyond its aged oak; she found the mounties making the marching via the stairwell; each armed with a plethora of deadly firearms. Doubt any of them would want to risk firing off one of their weapons within this withered tower; this place giving off the air of crippling dilapidation more than anything else. Cracked marble floors, weak molding walls; caving ceiling; demonstrating the fact that this towers old as the city itself. Even the furniture and equipment give off this feeling; Clara recognizing some of the brands on the appliances from her time. All of it just screams how close this place is from turning into a pile of concrete at the drop of a hat. Kind of worrisome then how much heat these troops are packing; one shot from their rifles and this whole place is coming down harder than chromium. Might make her ascent up this tower kind of complicated with all the heat crawling around; gonna need to find another way up.

Beside the row of armored mounties was a pair of elevator doors sitting to the side of the stairs. Just the kind of sneaky ascent up the tower she needs; a stealthy venture free from the sites of the Canadian troops. Only problem being how to get in said shaft. Doubt the soldiers to the side are gonna let her just waltz up and pry open the doors. They might not risk firing their weapons within the withered tower; though their hard metal gauntlets may prove to pack quite a punch. Just one bop from their knuckles would be enough to knock her out. Best find something to distract the Canadian brigades vigilant watch.

Looking towards the ceiling once more, she realized how much rot the roof really showed; cracks, moss, and mold blanketing nearly the entire plaster sheet. The weakest point of which positioned right above the marching troops; just need something to send it all crumbling down.

Ducking down behind the receptionists desk, the scientist searches for whatever she could huck at the ceiling. Not really much there that could punch through the ceilings plaster; most of it just being broken pens and discarded paper clips. Damn scavengers. Just taking whatever isn’t nailed to the floor. What kind of worthless crap could you possibly want to loot from behind a hotels front desk, huh? Keys, papers, clipboards? Its truly a wonder what they might be going through their heads to think any of that has practicality.

Luckily, Clara’s hunt winds up revealing an unexpected find; spotting an oddity laying upon the marble set to the side. Reaching out for the item, the scientist fancies a closer inspection and finds it to be plastic head; its gaping mouth giving the impression that its screaming unfiltered horror. Judging from its plastic shell and where it was discarded, she deduces that this unsettling head is meant to be a desk bobble of sorts. Who in their right mind would think that this would pleasing for potential guests to stare into while checking into a room? Gives off the impression that your staying at a haunted hotel; with a crazed axe murder ready to burst through the door and hack your head off. Regardless of its disturbing looks, it should be enough to send the roof raining down on those marching mounties.

With this in mind, she takes aim towards the crack on the ceiling and chucks the knickknack over the desk like a lobbed baseball. A single strike to the ceiling is all it takes to bring it all down on the marching brigade; the rubble of which buries some of the solider. Some of the Canadian troops jump away from the fallen debris; while other tempt to help dig their comrades out from the mess. In the middle of this chaos, one of the soldier spots something going through the elevator doors.

Prying open its steel hatch, the soldier inspects inside of the shaft; the glow if its armor illuminating the rising tunnel. From the doors, they finds not a single speck of life to behold; simply the rustic metal of girders along the corners. Glancing up doesn’t reveal much either; nothing but the cable trailing up beyond the light of his suit. Before they could inspect further; the soldier hears a demand from one of their comrades. “Everybody! Help dig these soldiers out!” With this command, the soldier retreats from the elevator shaft; unaware of the scientist that they searched for hanging right along one of the shafts bars above. Once the coast was clear, Clara leaps off the side of the shaft and grabs hold of the dangling wire; swiftly beginning her ascent up the towering tunnel.

Clara’s climb up the discontinued elevator shaft leads her over hundreds of feet from the ground floor; with nothing below her other than the inky dark void. Inching her way up also lends her plenty of time to dwell on the questions that have been scratching at her thoughts; a prime example being on the subject of her mutant steed atop this very tower. She can’t help but wonder why of all places to flee did she decide to seek shelter at such a high point. Might as well just announce yourself to the whole city right then and there. A better question being why Angelo simply didn’t bail once the Canadian troops moved in; her being more likely to flee than fight? It’s not like she couldn’t if she wanted to. Just drop down and swing away from the mounties like a spider themed super hero. Is she really that sick that she can’t muster the energy to even do that much? The further the scientist digs into the matter, the further guilt and regret seeps its way within her.

But before her mind could wonder any deeper on these thoughts, a loud boom could be heard from beyond the tunnel, making the entire shaft viciously quakes. Among the sudden tremor, the scientist takes a tight grip of the trembling steel wire and holds on for dear life. The tremors quickly calming, Clara hears the sound of twanging metal and gazes up to find the wire unraveling before her eyes. Knowing all too well what events will unfold when the wires snaps, she jumps to one of the shaft doors set to the side. As soon as she lands upon the edge of the shaft, the scientist immediately begins to pry the hatch open; frantically jerking apart the pair of steel doors. With every bit of strength Clara could summon, she slowly starts to inch the doors open; her eyes beholding the welcoming site of the hallways from beyond their steel. It’s then that the cable finally snaps; the harsh sound of grinding steel echoing through the shaft quickly after. Hearing the sound of scraping metal closing in, Clara starts to squeeze through what little space she’s given herself. The grinding growing louder; the scientist forces herself through the tight set of steel; the edge of the doors scraping against her skin. Fortunately, she manages to pull herself out with next to no injury; simply flopping down onto the hallway floor.

As soon as Clara smacks herself against the hallways torn carpet, she witnesses the elevator streaks right down; the thunderous roar of its crash echoing quickly after. Free from harms freight train of descending steel, her entire body goes limp along the carpet as a heavy breath escapes her lungs. God damn, that was way too close! Almost wound up as another mess for the Canadians to scrape off. What in their right mind would urge them to fire off one of their highly destructive weapons around this example of poor demolition waiting to happen?

Thinking this, her ears catch the echoing bangs of gunfire coming from outside. Doesn’t sound like one of their weapons. Sounds less like firing plasma and more like shooting led. Only people she knows that still use such archaic artillery around here are...Oh no…

Rising from the torn carpeting, the scientist traces the ongoing gunfire towards a room set to the side; hearing the blasts of firing plasma join in the symphony. Taking a peek out of the window, she follows the resounding chaos down to the streets below. Beneath her be a raging firefight; the Canadian troopers blasting towards a familiar set of masked guns. No. Though the mounties begin to push the masked forces back, an unmarked black van soon changes that fact; racing into the scene and running over some of the armored soldiers. No. Coming to a screeching halt, the back doors of the black vehicle burst open; lunging out from the inside be the murderous punk herself. No!

With but nothing but the edge of her machete and the strength of her body; Shoa starts quite literally tearing through the armored forces. In her furious assault, the punk casts her blade towards a distant soldier; the machete’s tip piercing straight through their helm protected skull. Dashing towards the impaled solider, several others attempt to halt Shoa’s approach; the punk goes forth with a devilish smile. With one of the mounties approach, the punk grabs hold of their arm before leaping through the air. At the ark of her jump, she lobs the armored bastard towards their aiming comrades; both soldiers inadvertently blasting one of their own as the corpse slams down on them. In her descent, the punk clasps the grip of her machete; pulling it and the troopers head clean of their shoulders. Witnessing a soldiers to the side taking aim at her, Shoa swings her machete and lobs the soldiers head towards their comrade. Before the maple leaved trooper could fire, the decapitated head smacks against the soldiers own helm; knocking him out cold.

The punks maniacal laughter echoing through the block, Shoa lets out a boastful taunt to the rest of the Canadian squad. “Is this all ya maple leaved pansies can bring to the table!? Come on! I want a real brawl on my hands! Make me spill some blood!” Its then on that the rest of the remaining mounties all lunge towards her in an effort to halt her assault; all the while the woman continues her insane chortling.

Why are these guys here!? It was only a couple hours when all of them were snoozing the night away; how they manage to round themselves up so fast!? A more worrisome thought is why they’re here. Probably for the same reasons as the mounties. Honestly can’t think of what would happen if Angelo wound up in either of their clutches; or worse yet, who she’d be worse off with.

From behind the ongoing rumble, the scientist finds a familiar figure garbed in an overcoat; the Mysterious Dandy leading the rest of his remaining forces towards the back of the tower. In his infiltration, the Dandy looks towards one of the higher windows; noticing a hooded figure withdrawing from within.

Under the window, the scientist ruminates on how to ascend the tower as quickly as possible. This place looked to be around 30 or so floors from the outset; and judging from her glance out, her climb through the shaft has managed to get her up about half of that. Obviously not gonna be using it anytime soon. Pretty safe to say that elevator is out of order for good. The stairs on the other hand might show to be a much safer alternative up towards the top. Just hope the scientist legs have enough in them to outrun both the Canadian and resistance forces.

Like Clara had predicted, her ascent up the stairwell proves to be a much more stable venture. Kind of a hassle to climb up so many of these steps, but hell; the luxury of having actual solid ground to stand on is far worth the workout. An attitude that the scientist carries until she feels the tower quake beneath her feet; the trembling nearly causing her to fall down the set of steps. Thankfully, she grabs hold of the railing along the side; keeping a tight grip on the rusty steel until the tower calms down. Jesus, how hard of a firefight are those guys wagging down there? Gonna wind up bringing the whole place down in less than an hour at this rate. Better start picking up the pace on this upward jog.

Clara’s climb up the tower eventually comes to an abrupt halt; the moons glow shining upon a cave in of concrete and marble clogging up the rising stairwell. Doesn’t seem like there’s any way around or over it, not a single crack for the scientist to squeeze herself through. Looks like she’s not gonna be breaking through all of it anytime soon either; the scientist favoring more of a practice of brain then brawn. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to bust through it anyway; might wind up making an even bigger mess that’ll crash down right on her noggin. Never really know what could be holding this place together anymore. Could be the foundation, could be some random pile of rocks; who can really predict at this point. Not much you can do then just head back down and look for another way up.

While Clara simply tempts to turn back, her ears catch the approach of something that threatens to halt her climb outright. Beneath her feet echo the sound of approaching footsteps; their random taps growing louder with each second past. With the encroaching army looming below her, the scientist frantically looks around for somewhere to conceal her presence; though her current surrounding not promising much in terms of refuge. In her search does she take notice of the moonlight shining upon the blockade before her; swiftly turning away from the rubble and finding the source of the illumination.

“Man. Can’t wait to get my hands on that bear thing. Imagine all the cool shit we can do with it once we wrangle it in.” “Those Northern bastards ain’t gonna fuck with us with that mutant beast covering our backs.” “Wonder if it can spin webs like a real spider?” Ascending the steps, a cavalcade of resistance members come to a halt; a huge mound of broken concrete blocking their way up. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What the hell we got here?” “Uh, figured we run into something like this. This shitty place is falling apart at the seems.” “How do we get past it? Doubt we can squeeze our way through.” “Hold up!” one of them announces as he digs in his pants. From the depths of his trousers, the terrorist pulls out a round black sphere with a glowing fuchsia button at the top. “Nabbed one of these puppies of the corpse of a Canadian. Figured it might be a grenade. What say we just blow all this outta the way.” After suggesting this, one of his fellow member smacks him in the back of the head; berating him with: “You out of your damn mind!? We’re lucky this place hasn’t come down on our heads yet. You want to send us all to an early grave!?” “Yeah. Might as well just save those Canadians the trouble and blow our brains out here” “Lets just look for another way up.” Having said that, the merry band of gun totting terrorists start to head back down; unbeknownst to them of their former comrade hanging right outside the window.

Clara’s palms taking a tight grip on the windows ledge, her gaze can’t help but venture towards the streets below. She soon swiftly withdraws her eyes back towards the top of the tower with a frightened gasp. It’s alright girl. You’ve climbed up way higher than this before. Just trick your brain into thinking that the grounds just two feet below instead of a thousand. Should calm your phobias right down. Putting these thoughts on repeat, she reluctantly begins her climb up the towers face; realizing that it might be the fastest, and possibly only way toward the top.

One hand at a time, the scientist scales up the towers ancient brickwork; the winds of the city blowing right behind her towards the west. It doesn’t take long however before her climb suddenly takes a risky turn.

Above her, one of the Canadians mini ships encircles the tower overhead, the wind bellowing out from the aircraft's base threatening to blow her down. Struggling against the opposing gales, Clara takes a tight grip of the brickwork before her; her fingers nearly slipping off the stone. Thankfully, the ship passes right through before it makes her loose her hold; the scientist reestablishing her grasps against the towers face. Once her fight against the winds had pasted, Clara swiftly starts to look for a way back inside; wishing not to risk falling to her doom for another moment.

In the scientist search, she manages to spot somebody peeking out from one of the windows above. From the window does a woman lob out what seemed to be a grenade towards the ship; successfully dunking the explosive straight into its open cockpit. The ship soon bursts into a ball of burning steel; the aircraft pieces scattering all over the place. Some of the more sizable chunks wind up smacking against the towers face; the impact causing the brickwork that she held onto to crumble. Plummeting down towards the streets below, her hands reach out for whatever could put a swift end to her descent. Clara manages to grab hold of one of the windows below her, the sudden stop nearly making her slip once more. Thankfully, she swiftly scuttles back inside before she could resume her fall; drawing away from the fading explosion behind her. Crawling back within the towers inside, a ragged breath escapes Clara’s lungs. Seems like this faction war is getting worse by the minute. If she don’t pick up the pace on this race to the top, the scientist might wind up as a corpse caught in the crossfire.

With this in mind, the scientist looks to what part of the tower she scuttled into. Before her stood the dilapidated ruins of a once luxurious penthouse suite; now battered and bruised beyond its former glory. The glass that made up its windows now lay scattered along the molding carpet. The various furniture that decorated the living room now stand broken in pieces. The open kitchen beside it that house once the latest appliances, now coated and soiled in the mold that once made up its fridge and cabinets. An obvious elude to the grand march of time. But all of that mattered not a single bit to the scientist, simply hoping over it all and zipping straight towards the door. No time to admire the ruin and decay when the roof could collapse on your head at any moment.

But right when she was ready to retreat from this reminder of better days gone past; her little retreat is put on hold by a sudden TV flung between her and the door. “I’ll be damned. Guess you’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya Science Wiz.” That voice…It can’t be. Turning away from the ridiculously oversize plasma screen reveals her fears to be true; the maniacal punk standing behind her with a devious grin. “Didn’t expect you to make it through those sewers in one piece. Guess my rockin Dandy was right about you after all.” “Sh-Shoa! I...I can explain, I-” Clara attempts to excuse. “Shut it! I don’t want your excuses.” she barks, making the scientist withdraw away from the punk. “Ditching us without so much as a mention. Wasting a bunch of good people chasing you down. Makes me sick just thinking about it. Almost happy to do you in so that our base remains a secret.” “L-Listen. I swear I ain’t gonna tell anybody where your base is. Just let me go.” Clara attempts to plea. “Doesn’t matter if you promise to keep your mouth shut or not. Once you wind up in those mounties clutches, they’ll get ya to squeal. Even if they have to pry the info right outta yer skull. Shame too.” Behind her back, she pulls out her signature machete, the stains of red plastered all over its steel still dripping fresh. “Would’ve been more than happy to share the Dandy with you.”

After remarking this, the punk charges forth with her blood soaked blade thrusting forward. Rolling away from Shoa’s lethal lunge, Clara could feel the punks cold steel grazing past the top of her back. Evading her foes deadly blade, the scientist attempts to gain as much distance from the punk as possible. Alas, Shoa quickly halts her escape; taking a tight hold of her prey’s leg. “Oh no you don’t.” After falling upon the molding carpet, Clara could feel the punk lift her as easily as a discarded rag doll. “You’re not going anywhere!” The punk soon tosses her catch across the suite; the scientist slamming against the kitchen cupboards; bits of wood falling against Clara’s back as she lands behind the counter. Rising from the molding tile, the scientist hears the punks footsteps close in. “You ain’t the first person to try and run from me.”

In one fell swoop, she leaps right over the marble counter as she finishes with: “And you sure as hell ain’t gonna be the last!” Diving down upon the other side of the counter, her blades end meets with not the flesh of her foe; but the hard stone of the kitchen tile. “What!? Where did-?” Though she search across the kitchen for any sign of the scientist, she fails to realize that her prey hid right beside her; hiding within the counters cabinets. From the other side of those cabinets, Clara peeks out from the opposite doors; attempting to plan out another route of escape from her maniacal punk pursuer. From her limited view however, the only way she could find out from this once ridiculously overpriced hotel room be the front door. And there ain’t no way she’s got enough in her to lift a screen of that size out of the way. Why the hell did they even put TV’s that big in here anyway? Likely to inflict your guest UV radiation with screens that wide.

Before finishing these thoughts however, she hears the faint whisper of her name from her back. “Oh, Science wiz...” Glancing behind, she found Shoa glaring at her like a hungry wolf staring upon a cornered rabbit. “Peek a boo, bitch!” The scientist scuttles out from beneath the counter right before the punks swung her machete, its steel lodges within the aged wood of the cupboard. Rushing through the living room, Clara takes a peek back towards the kitchen; frightened of how easily Shoa breaks through the counters hard marble from right under it. Ain’t no way in hell she can take on a beast like her head on. Better to try and distract her long enough to push that TV aside. This plan cooking in her noggin, the scientist head straight into the suites bedroom; her punk pursuer hot on her tail.

Chasing straight after her prey, Shoa dashes straight through the bedroom door frame with a murderous smile. From within, she gazes upon the withered wood of the dresser; its lack of drawers lending very little in terms of hiding. “Ain’t no use hiding from me, ya traitorous scum.” Scanning across the room, she beheld the rustic pieces of metal décor laid strewn about the bedroom. Doubt any of them could pierce through her tough as hell skin, nor match up with her blade, so it’s not likely that bitch is planning a counterattack. “You’re just gonna wind up cornering yourself.” A look towards the bed, the surface sporting various fungus along its fibers. Pretty sure you can hear some kind of buzzing within the mattress itself. Probably would hear her squirming if she ducked under there. “Believe me. Those same mistakes wound up nearly costing me my hide.”

Her gaze then veers towards the closet set to the side; its doors barely reflecting her figure among the countless smudges and stains. With just a single punch, the punk shoves her arms straight through the ancient mirror; pulling the door right off its hinges. Unveiling what’s beyond the closet doors, a devilish smile stretches across Shoa’s cheeks; beholding a hooded figure huddled in the corner. Wrenching them out from the shadows, the punk flings the figure out from inside the closet; her machete ready to dig into her prey as they fall upon the floor. To her surprise however, the punk uncovers not the scientist that she seeks, but rather a scraggly bearded elder. Upon site of the murderous punk, the old man lets out a panicked wail and flees from the scene. “Learned that day that ya can’t hide in the same spot forever.”

From the closet, her glare ventures back towards the mold ridden bed; taking a tight grip of her blades handle. “Sometimes, ya have to move on!” Her blade held high, she swipes right through both the bed and its frame with a single slash. Cutting through the mattress, an entire nest of fly’s pour out from underneath its fibers; the punk covering her face as all of them swarm throughout the bedroom. Peeking out from between her fingers, Shoa watches as the nest of fly’s escape outside through the open window. Watching as the swarm flies off into the waning night, punk approaches the bedroom window with a curious thought popping into her mind. Did that bitch really just jump out the window? Peering out from beyond the broken glass of its frame, Shoa looks around to find nothing but the neighboring windows; one of which being open. Where the hell did she…

Outside the window, her ears catch the collapse of breaking furniture; a familiar voice grunting alongside the sound of crashing plastic. Oh hell no. Sprinting right out from the bedroom, the punk found the broken TV she had tossed moved aside; the door out into the hallway flung wide open. That sneaky motherfucker!

Racing through the musty hallway as fast as her legs could sprint, Clara aims to distance herself from her murderous punk pursuer as far as she can; the threatening tone of Shoa’s threats reaching her ears. “Can’t run forever, ya little science snake. I’ve been chasing people like this for over 10 years.” Glancing back, the scientist observes the punk tossing her machete through the corridor upon turning the corner. The blood soaked blade quickly closing in, Clara looks ahead and grabs whatever she could reach for. In her desperation, she snatches from the side of the hallway a small wooden pedestal, its elegant carvings decorated by the cracks and scratches of time. Shielding herself against Shoa’s pitched assault, the blade lodges itself halfway within the pedestals thick wood; near inches from the scientists head. After the impact, the scientist only line of defense crumbles within her arms; the blade clanging among the chunks of wood. Though tempting as it may be to wield the machete against its master, there be next to no time to dig it out from the corpse of the pedestal; witnessing the punk herself swiftly closing the distance. Instead, she makes haste away from the bloodthirsty terrorist; the punk herself effortlessly kicking away the wooden debris to retrieve her beloved weapon.

Running from the ferocious captain of the resistance like a rabbit fleeing from a vicious wolf, Clara soon corners herself within the confines of a dead end; nothing among her besides chunks of wood that once resembled a table. A hulking shadow blankets her her, the scientist glances back to find Shoa’s predatory gaze staring her down. “End of the line, cupcake.” With her prey cornered, the punk slowly encroaches forward with her blade at the ready; finishing her statement with: “Most of my prey just piss themselves when I’m chasing after their asses. It’s a nice change of pace to find someone with actual brains once in a while. If anything, this was fun while it lasted.”

Receding from her looming demise, Clara’s back rests against the remains of the broken table. Peeking back towards the table, she found very little to defend herself against the punks overwhelming might. Not a single scrap of wood here could hope to slow her down, much less stop her. Among the pieces however, she discovers what seemed to be an open air vent; one that looked like she could fit through. Just need time to dig through it.

From the furniture’s remains, Clara begins to chuck piece after piece towards the approaching punk; Shoa breaking away the oncoming parts of table to splinters with ease. “Come on, now. This is just sad.” With all her might, the scientist tosses the tables surface towards her pursuer; the punk catching the board right before the wood hit her face. “At least show some dignity, ya damn pansy!” she shouts, snapping the tables surface like a delicious crispy wafer. From beyond the wood however, she witnesses her prey scuttling into the tight open vent above the floor. Upon this site does Shoa immediately lunge towards the open vents; reaching her muscular arm out towards the escaping scientist. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” The punks hulking figure proves far too big to fit through the open vent as Shoa stretches her arm as far as she could through the air ducts; her fingers mere inches from the scuttling scientist feet. Her muscles scraping against the rustic sheet metal, the punk fails to reach any further; forced to watch as her hooded prey eludes her. Drawing herself back out, an angered roar escapes from her lungs as she punches the dead end. “Fuck!”

Crawling deeper within the towers ventilation system, a relieved breath leaves Clara lips. Glad to have gotten away from that homicidal maniac in one piece. Figured the scientist would have wound up as one of those corpses you see in those serial killer movies. The kind that the main protagonist finds on a stormy night to tell them and the audience that shit is about to go down. Probably would have turned up way worse with that bitch staring as the villain.

Slinking through the air ducts, her little escape soon leads her to the towers vertical vents, glancing below to find the shadowy abyss to be as deep as the tower itself. God, again with this? How many times is she gonna have to act out this climb up a thousands of feet from instant death? Calming herself from her panic, the scientist takes in a deep breath. It ain’t no big deal, Clara. You’ve climbed taller. For hell’s sake, you’ve just climbed the elevator shaft and face of this very tower several minutes ago. Just tell yourself what you said all those other times. The ground is closer than you think. Climbing out from the horizontal ducts, Clara keeps her head held high as she puts her arms against the tunnels metal. Wedging limbs on both sides, she begins to inch her way up through the ascending air ducts.

Her climb up doesn’t take her far however, as she soon feels the steel sheets between her tremble. Their constant quaking causes Clara to loose her hold on the air ducts, the scientist quickly beginning to plummet down towards the abyss below. Thankfully, she manages to grasp onto one of the horizontal tunnels and puts a stop to her unplanned descent. Geez, its practically like a ridiculously oversized match of Jenga with this place, ain’t it? Who knows how long it’ll be before it finally just falls apart and crashes into the streets. Kind of irresponsible on the city’s part if you think about it.

Hanging from the air ducts edge, she witnesses the tunnels above caving in, their sheet metal walls crushing and crumbling in on itself. Afraid of being crushed against the collapsing metal, Clara scuttles within the vents that her palms have held onto.

Inch my inch do the tunnels mangling steel draw closer after Clara, the scientist crawling for dear life in hopes of finding away out from the collapsing ducts. Turning the corner, her eyes soon meet with a light shining at the end of the tunnel; a smile stretching across theher face. That same grin suddenly breaks upon reaching the end however; finding the air vents blocking her way out screwed on tight. A look back down the ducts, Clara witnesses the crushing sheet metal inching ever closer; the scientist beginning to bang against the vent in hopes of knocking it loose. Judging from the lack of maintenance through this place, the screws keeping these grates closed have to be rusty beyond belief. A hypothesis that shows to be on the mark, the vents loosening with each punch and pound the scientist throws at it. Hearing the scrapping metal of the crushing ducts closing in fast, Clara packs everything she got into her final strike and breaks the grate right off its frame. Clara scuttles out from the collapsing tunnels like an fleeing insect; crawling out before the crushing sheet metal could grab hold of her leg.

From the air ducts, the scientist scampers out to behind a bar; looking back to witness the tunnels she had rushed through scrunching shut. Having escaped from the ducts before the sheet metal could crunch upon her soft body; Clara’s goes limps against the counters open insides. Not really sure know many of these near death experiences she can take tonight. Really giving the nerves one hell of a workout. Her figure instantly tightens however upon the sudden sound of gunfire nearby. Dammit! What now!

Taking a glance over the bar, the scientist soon finds herself caught in the midst of an ensuing firefight; both factions of the resistance and the Canadians engaging one another throughout what seemed to be a built in restaurant. And from the look of the scene playing out, the restaurant isn’t the only things that’s getting destroyed. While only a couple of Canadians stand against the terrorist surrounding them, their numbers don’t mean a damn. Against the mounties unyielding defenses, their foes led based firearms proves completely ineffective; the resistance bullets simply ricocheting off the Canadian soldiers armored shells. With next to nothing slowing down their approach, one trooper races towards the terrorists; literally breaking through their cover and hoisting one off the floor. The soldier flings the resistance member away from his comrades and sends them flying across the restaurant. From the other side of the establishment, the terrorist crashes right into the drink dispenser. Upon impact does some of the terrorist weaponry scatter across the floor, their pistol sliding near the bar where the scientist hid.

“Maple leaved bastards!” one of them screams, charging forth whilst holding up one of the tables. The terrorist rams into one of the troops with all his might, pinning them against the wall to give his comrades a fighting chance and allows them to rush towards the rest of the forces. Lunging after the couple of mounties, the other terrorist unload whatever they had stocked against the two. Try as their cooperation might to pierce through their armored hides, their combined efforts prove no match for the northern soldiers might; the troop racing through the hailstorm of led and decimating the opposing forces. One of the soldiers quash a couple of the retreating terrorist by grabbing hold of ones leg and swinging her against her comrades like a living bat. After thwacking her teammates away, the Canadian trooper slams the terrorist against the tiled floor.

One of the resistance members attempts to snatch the laser rifle off one of the soldiers backs, grasping the barrel of their futuristic firearms. Swiping the rifle, the terrorist aims the barrel towards its master; the Canadian turning back as he readies to fire. Pulling the trigger, the kickback causing him to misfire; a stream of deadly plasma streaking past the soldiers head. Bursting through the restaurant wall, the blast causes the tower to tremor once more; the quaking making the resistance member to loose his grip of the plasma based firearms. As the building calms its trembling; the armored soldier swiftly acts fast and lunges towards the bastard that swiped their weapon. Approaching the reckless resistance member, the soldier snaps his neck with only a single punch; retrieving their plasma rifle set beside their fallen corpse.

“No!” the one holding the soldiers against the wall screams. Though he held out for as long as he could, the Canadian troops ultimately break through the terrorist’s hold; shattering the tabling holding them back to pieces. Knocked back by the soldiers superb strength; the resistance member retreats away from their approach.

Watching them flee from the armored forces, Clara finds past all the brutality the open exit; the scientist ticket out from this merciless display of Canadian carnage. Gotta think of something to get past all this soon. Once those mounties are finished dealing with those terrorist, they might scope her out next. To that end, the scientist searches behind the bar for whatever could aid her escape; most of which she finds being worthless empty bottles, peanut shells, and the occasional cork opener. Nothing really that helpful given the situation she’s in. Might be able to smash the bottles over the terrorists heads, though it probably wouldn’t even put a dent in the mounties armored helms. Not even the glass shards could scrape through those bullet proof shells. Gonna need something with a lot more punch behind it to stop them.

Her eyes trailing across the bars underside; Clara picks up the faint reflection of light from underneath a set of blinds. Pulling back the shroud, the scientist uncovers a steel barrel hiding behind a set of black curtains. Whoa! How’d the raiders missed this big boy? Just a 15 gallon keg of unfiltered alcohol sitting around here? Is it even full? A question that the scientist tempts to answer by putting her ear against the kegs side and knocking. With each tap of its steel, she heard little of an echo reach her ear; telling her that the barrel was full to the brim. Hard to believe that this puppy still packing a full tank. Figured it would have been drank out by any desperate alcoholic willing to brave through this unstable tower; all just for the comfort sensation of a final buzz in this apocalyptic hellscape. Still, the question stands. Just what kind of beverage would they be getting plastered off their asses from?

Inspecting the keg on all sides revealed not a single hint of its contents; its steel surface free from any distinct print. Glancing its lid reveal nothing either, simply the unbroken seal keeping the booze sealed tight. Looking upon its bottom finally revealed to the scientist what the steel barrel hid inside. “Absolut: Century of Sweden Vodka.” Damn! They got the heavy stuff here. Practically have an alcoholic bomb stashed behind this bars aging mahogany. The perfect solution for clearing out a whole bar full of homicidal maniacs. Just gotta find a way to light it.

The scientist takes a swift peak beyond the bar; wondering what among the show of Carnage could help her detonate her newfound payload. The rifles off the soldiers back might do the trick, one shot of plasma aimed towards the keg should be more then enough to blow the whole bar apart. Might be far too risky to try and snatch one of them of the troops back though, especially with what one of the resistance members try to pull; probably not gonna let anybody try that shit again. The terrorist weapons on the other hand are practically everywhere; if not on their corpses, then some lying across the tile. Alas, none of their led might not have enough in them to pierce through the kegs steel shell; much less give enough of a spark to set its contents ablaze. Need something stronger to light its liquid fuse.

The scientist decides to seek answers above the chaos; taking note of the light fixture lining the roof that once illuminated this brewery. Their fragile florescent glass might have enough leftover electricity trapped within to ignite the flames of her super molotov. One of the terrorists guns would have no problem breaking the bulbs; and she knows just where to get one of them.

Ducking back down the bar, Clara peeks out from side; her eyes glued towards the little pistol left lying close to the counter. Having found the perfect kick starter to her little plan; she start to inch out from the counter and reached towards the tiny firearms. Though she attempts to slowly reach for the weapon; her approaching grip is halted by a wayward bullet nearly striking her hand. Glancing back towards the carnage; the scientist had witnessed one of the terrorist squirming under a soldiers arm; unloading his uzi’s ammo on the Canadian keeping him in a stranglehold. Though no matter how much led he unloads onto the trooper; his bullets simply bounce off the soldiers armor; ricocheting all throughout the restaurant. The led that flies across the brewery winds up striking a couple of his comrades, forcing the resistance group to take cover from. His uncontrolled fury is swiftly put to an end; the Canadian trooper grasping at the terrorists face and snapping the mans neck in one fell swoop. Once dispatched their foes unkempt led fury, the soldier hurls his limp corpse towards his alleys with enough force to break their cover to pieces. Having bared site to all of this urges Clara to cut the careful crap and quickly crawl towards the abandoned pistol. Swiping the small firearms off the floor; the scientist quickly withdraws back behind the bar.

Once back within the safety of the counter; she turns her attention back to her newfound molotov; snatching one of the cork openers off the floor as she approaches the steel barrel. Dragging the keg out from under the cabinet, Clara starts repeatedly shoving the long screw into its top; hoping to unseal the Russian nectar trap within its shell. As she constantly jabs the steel barrels opening; her ears can’t help but catch the panicking screams echoing over the counter. Taking a quick glance over the counter reveals the resistance forces dwindling; several of the terrorist left alive now hoping over their friends bodies littered throughout the floor in hopes of distancing from their foe. The scientist watches a resistance members trip right over one of their comrades; turning back to watch one of the mounties leaping right over the countless corpses; their boot aimed right towards the terrorists head. Try as she might to scuttle away from the descending Canadian; the resistance member is quite literally stamped out beneath the troopers armored heel. Serving as a clear indication of how much time she has left, the display of brutality urges Clara to frantically jabs the steel barrels top before the mounties turn their sites to her.

At last, the scientist punches through the kegs top; releasing the vodka’s aroma into the air. A single whiff of the alcohols aging stench is all it takes to repulse her. Ugh, god! This stuff is rancid beyond all types of nasty! Smells worse than a burning nuclear reactor. How long has this barrel been hiding in here? This vodka has probably rotted away years ago. Still, even if its contents are no good to consume, its doubtful that time has chipped away its volatile qualities. A certainty that the scientist keeps in mind as she start to drag the keg full of rotten alcohol towards the other side of the bar.

Peeking out from behind the side of the counter, the scientist gauges the best route for her cylinder bomb to travel. She knew that to reach the below the lights, she’d have to plan a path for the keg free from the bodies littering the restaurant. With a single finger, she traces where the vodka would spill on the floor; drawing away from any obstructions until she reaches the underside of the lights. A path set, she places the steel barrel on its side and takes aim; the vodka within spilling out onto the brewery’s tile. Wishing to not waste any alcohol, Clara waits not another second and pushes the barrel out into the untamed chaos; the kegs contents trailing behind as it rolls past the brawling factions. Both the Canadians and the terrorists prove far too distracted fighting among each other to notice the seemingly random steel barrel cruising across the restaurant. Though its travel don’t go unhindered, as its edge lightly taps a cadavers elbow; the steel barrel inching off course from the bulbs set above. Even then, the vodka pouring out spills just mere inches away from the lights; the bulbs sparks could still connect.

With time and vodka of the essence, the scientist aims her freshly pilfered pistol towards the lights above. As Clara attempts to line her firearms barrel towards the bulbs, she found her grip refusing to cease trembling. Can’t get a clear shot of the fixtures with her grasp shivering like this. And who knows how many bullets are left in this thing. Need to prop her hands onto something to quell her aim.

Glancing at the bars counter top showed the scientist that despite a few cracks, was still stood smooth as silk; perfectly leveled from corner to corner. A fact that she takes full advantage of by propping her arms against its marble to stabilize her aim. Resting her arms upon the bars surface, her quivering aim is mediated; the scientist able to line up the barrel of her gun towards the ceiling.

Clara at last, fires her weapon towards the light fixtures; the single bullet fired shattering the bulbs. Fluttering among the falling shards of glass; a few tiny sparks erupt out from the bulbs socket; gently making their way down towards the tail of rotten vodka below. Though happy to see that her hypothesis proved correct, the scientist soon realizes that her little plan had baited the attention of everyone in the brewery. Both the terrorists and the Canadians halting their life and death outing all at once to gaze upon their unexpected interruption. Clara herself stands completely idle; finding everyone’s eyes glued to her. In this frozen moment, she discovers the sparks closing in upon the trail of alcohol and swiftly ducks underneath the counter. As soon as the scientist moves do the Canadian forces race towards the bar; all too distracted to stop the bits of leftover electricity from landing within the puddle of vodka. The spark immediately ignites the streamlet of clear alcohol; the fire erupting swiftly trailing towards the discarded steel barrel. Right when the mounties rest their grips upon the bars marble do the flames creep inside the keg; detonating the scientist’s massive molotov in a blaze of glory. Concealed behind the safety of the bar, Clara is spared from the fiery wrath of her own machinations; feeling the counter tremble at her back from the force of the burst.

The storms raging fury calming, the crackle of flames are all that remain; not a single whisper stirs among them. Coming out from over the counter, she bares witness to the fruits of her scheme. The entire restaurant bathed in a sea of scorch marks with small, but countless flames lit among them. Along it all lied the bodies of the resistance and Canadian forces; burns and bits of steel scattered across their skin and armor. Holy crap, didn’t think that her little makeshift molotov would be this strong. Figured the worst it do is knock everyone onto their asses. Vodka in there must have been stronger than she anticipated. Guess that’s Russian alcohol for ya.

Snapping her out from her pondering be another quake; the entire tower trembling hard enough to make the scientist lose her balance. Tempting to fall upon the scorched tile, her hands catch the burnt edges of the bars surface; holding onto the marble until the tower calms down. Guess this place doesn’t have much time before it winds up as nothing but a pile of rubble and glass spread across the block. Better get a move on before she ends up among the wreckage. With no one left to stop her, she races out from the burnt remains of the restaurant to resume her climb.

[pass3rby]

Element of Surprise

#1

Fandom: X-men (movies) Pairing: Allerdrake (Pyro/Iceman) Summary: Everybody has to make decisions. Decisions that might or might not work out. He wasn’t in a habit of looking back either way.

A/N: 

Greatest thanks to my brother from another mother for bestowing an infectious prompt upon me and all the wretched jokes that accompanied his insightful comments. You’ve been a great help and an ass at the same time.  The rest of my gratitude belongs to my dear family who has an immaculate sense of recognizing each highlight and “I saw the light!” moment of my writing, reliably and effectively ruining every single one of them. You’ve been an invaluable teacher of forced multitasking (which I still fail at spectacularly).  Thank you, guys, for harassing me at the most unfortunately-picked times imaginable but standing by me still.  Love you.

St. John Allerdyce was a survivalist. And this might be a very sucky way to begin one's story, but he was nothing but cut-the-crap kind of guy, so go deal.

Where was he again? Ah, yes. Good at the pretend game, he knew how to play tough; easily irked when deprived of a fire source. Bad-tempered, really. All of these stellar qualities went well with him being a realist to the bone. Wrap it up and ship it off.

He wasn't confessing all that out of some twisted delusion of having a chance at redemption, though. Wanting to save his tar-dark soul? No. It was only so that when he says that he's done morally questionable things to pull through, it would be clear that it was no slip up, not a 'few times' kind of deal. He's actually done them more often than not. Not that he counted; just saying. That was what he meant by being a survivalist. That was what this was about.

The main point here? He kept on going. Always found a way. Pushed. Squeezed in. Got his hands dirty. Gritted his teeth. Whatever it took. Morality was overrated where he lived; nobody abided by it anyway, so why should he? He was just a 'misfit' trying to get by, same as the next guy from a broken home.

On the streets and on his own. Making it, no matter the circumstances. That was the source of his pride. He might have turned out brash as a result, distrusting on a good day and suspicious round the clock, but who gave a shit. Certainly not him, not when it kept him alive this whole time.

When the X-men found him, he didn't feel elation; not even relief and he was far from thankful, too. He suspected the worst and he kept on running from them until they corralled him in and got him on their overly flashy and disgustingly impressive jet.

They took him in; full of reassurances that he'll be alright from then on, that he'll be safe now. Who were they to tell him that? Who were they to be so sure about it, to have balls to warrant that? What was the guarantee? Their skin-tight black&yellow spandex? If so, allow him to doubt the empty promise, because those were a sight for sore eyes – literally, just to make them sore.

Everything would work itself out and quite naturally in its usual, wary and solitary way, though (after all, once you lean onto someone, you're only bound to fall sooner or later) – if only they didn't have Bobby Drake on their "team" already.

The guy was way too cheery and overly friendly. Optimistic. An impersonification of a 'Think positive!' attitude, "Not made from concentrate, one hundred percent natural". It was almost like he was shooting for some such ad twenty-four seven. Think about the descriptive adjectives for a straight-laced goody two shoes from suburbs; you name it, he's that.

Everything was perfect.

Everything was dandy.

Bullshit.

He couldn't stand the guy. The poster boy irritated him; got on his nerves like no one else before. John was way too pragmatic to join this sort of let's pretend. But when dear Bobert started cracking, show that not everything was quite so well in his lala land… That's when John took real notice and interest.

You see, he couldn't be arsed to give a flying fuck about some fake looser, but a kid who had his whole life perfectly lined up and sorted only to get "screwed over" by mutation his parents wouldn't take well to? That was John's kind of real that he was willing to interact with.

Sure, Drake was still a sunny boy with majority of views intact and therefore headdesk-ishly naive, but he wasn't all plain "guy next door" (quotation marks because same door actually) anymore. And while John's own personality and stands had been torn down or have crumbled and been rebuilt time and time again, making him into who he was (coincidentally basically the opposite of his roommate), he and the Snowflake there suddenly had a link of communication and it held ever since then. Thus, their companionship begun.

It didn't hurt they both were element-sensitive – that wasn't to say their co-existing was a cakewalk, though. After all, like Ice and Fire, they too were diametrically different. Just a small example to draw a picture here: while Bobby was afraid of his abilities, scared of his element, John felt an undeniable thrill whenever setting free his own; he loved to see fire reign over anything in its way, watch it burn strong.

Ultimately, their mindsets resulted in both of them failing and it was all for the best that they were roommates in the end, because accidents.

Reason number two was that they were a good "confidence boost" and "recklessness dampener" (whatever) respectively for each other, too. That's what their instructors said, but if anybody asked John what it was for him, he just simply enjoyed coaxing Sub-Zero ("Very funny, you pyromaniac." "C'mon, that was weak. You'll have to do better than that, Ice Cube.") out of his shell, letting his fire frolic with its counter element. Negative and positive of the same, if you wanted to get poetic.

Of course, there was also the aspect of them both being young and as such, hormone-driven, too. He was always open to some serious self-exploring opportunity. Safe environment for that wasn't a given, not for him, and even less so in combination with someone begrudgingly-trustworthy (i.e. with no other agenda hidden behind the forementioned romping between the sheets).

It was nothing; just fooling around – one that was kept secret from their teachers and anyone, really, since Bobby-boy was too chickenshit to admit to a healthy dose of experimenting himself. John couldn't care less; he wasn't the guy's keeper after all.

Until he somehow turned out to be. What was worse? Without him even expecting it. You see, the thing was… he kinda screwed himself over. For all his puffed-up chest and big shoulders about how he was prudent and cautious, he landed himself in a swamp (or moving sand if he'd so chose to rather stay dry; same difference, though) right there. Knee deep and it was only a matter of time until it swallowed him up whole.

It was all the Ice-berk's ("I'm not stupid, John!" "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.") fault. If he wasn't so pure and open and easy to approach – hell, he, approaching him all of his own! – in the first place, John wouldn't have fallen into this trap.

Who was he kidding. He blew it. Big time.

But it was still all good, right? What he meant was, there was no rush or anything. They could simply keep at it the way they had up til now with Ice Ice Bobby none the wiser and everyone chilling, pun intended.

He should have known that he was never meant to have a happy end. Not ever (as if life hadn't showed him enough indications to that already) and definitely not with Snow White on top of that. When had he sunken so low as to think he even could?

Shame. Shame on you, St. John Allerdyce.

As he was forced to witness and live the changes that wafted in after Rogue's appearance and continued presence, years of evolved camaraderie and any ease connected to it began to shrivel.

He had suddenly more free time on his hands than what he knew what to do with, his subconsciousness developed an almost uncontrollable need for a facepalm at least once per every 24 hour mark, his teeth were bound to rot any day now with the diabetes-inducing teenage romance developing before his eyes and he better man-the-fuck-up right now, because he did not make it this far only to become a sob story.

So, he watched with skeptical interest as Bobby, encouraged by Rogue's supporting words, froze his mother's disgustingly milk-ruined coffee instead. John knew long before they had even opened their mouths, what side Bobby's parents would pick, what their reaction would be. He could not keep his sarcastic thoughts pointed at his roommate from emerging then.

Why did you think, all of a sudden, they won't mind? We talked about your bigoted parents so many times… You think that you having a girlfriend like a good, normal teenage boy somehow neutralizes your negative mutant points?

If not knowing better, John would say Bobby did it on purpose just to fuck with him. Nobody could be that sickeningly foolish after all. And the Drakes? He silently dared them to surprise him; to call their "Art teacher" out on his blatant lie even. To prove him wrong.

Which would be when Wolverine got shot in the head right infront of them. That did surprise him, John will give them that.

An unexpected rush of everything followed right after and with startling clarity.

One too many black eyes.

Sleeping in a cardboard box, freezing (nobody cared).

Broken jaw.

Stealing a pack of matches the first time around – to get to feel at least a bit safe (they were too tricky to operate, to strike with shaking hands, wrong move there wrong wrong wrong).

Hungry, impotent anger.

Running away.

The breath; foul and heavy with booze.

First fire (pure accident please!).

His mother on the floor, bleeding (never fighting back; just taking it run!).

Heavy hands.

Cops chasing him back into slums (you'd have to know it here better to catch me, assholes).

Bloodshot bottomless eyes. A vortex about to swallow him up, too.

Events flashing before his mind's eye at random and in no chronological order.

His heart not having a foggiest how to deal with the overabundance of adrenaline that jumped up out of nowhere.

"And the rest of you, on the ground. Now."

He could almost physically feel Wolverine, right before his feet, lifeless.

See Bobby, lying down, obedient.

"Look, kid. I said, on the ground."

Rogue, too; docile.

They can't be serious. Why were they kidding themselves? They were gonna die here.

"We don't want to hurt you, kid."

Really. The fucking cop just shot Wolverine. If they won't protect themselves… They're dead. If he's not gonna do anything now…

He gulped. Palmed his zippo; the warmed-up steel that bit slicker with sweat. Or sick memory?

C'mon, Pyro, show up. Fight.

In the pit of his stomach, hot magma twisted and curled, warming him up until he could almost sense the licks of unborn fire on his fingertips.

There.

He won't lie down. Not until he's six feet under.

A/N: So I’ve found something of a themesong for EoS I think. If you’re wondering, you can check it here.

A bit of explanation on a side:

My idea is that St. John Allerdyce still has Australian background, he just moved to US with his family when he was a small kid or something. So... just bear with the little mess, please. I love him being "St. John" way too much as to delete half of it from my story.

Also, I’ll deviate a bit from the movies timeline (which is a tangle anyway) in this version (I got two total, don’t panic), which you’ll notice on the transition from X-2 movie to X-3.

[bornluck-blog]

ACE’S LUCK: V IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ

DISCLAIMER: Everything here is a work in process. This is my first time RPing a muse with specific powers on Tumblr and I’m still working out all the exact details. Information here may be subject to change at a later date and will absolutely be expanded on in more depth as I come to understand the character better. Apologies in advance if something doesn’t make as much sense as I’d like! If you have any questions, feel free to ask about it.

Without getting into the whys and hows of it & basically turning this into an accidental backstory post, I’d like to take this early chance to talk about Ace’s abilities as a mutant --- or, at the very least, the most prominent/significant of his abilities and the one most unique to Ace himself. Luck Manipulation. This is also known as Probability Manipulation, referring to the ability to twist odds into his favour as needed and altering the chances of an event transpiring (or, indeed, failing to do so). At its weakest level, this ability can appear as, to give an example, perfect random choice. An extension of this ability is Probabilistic Equilibrium; the ability to perfectly balance odds; this is usually used as a defence mechanism or a distraction.

The most common use for these abilities seen in Ace’s everyday life (and we’re talking mundane activities here, not when he’s fucking shit up) is for the sake of gambling. As a matter of fact, this contributes to a lot of Ace’s income. He often lives near hand to mouth but he does not live an uncomfortable life by any means as he simply wins himself more money as needed. Ace lives well enough to get by just as he is and, honestly, if he gets desperate, he has other ways of cheating his way into what he needs. Ace is kind of a my-rules-only free spirit and, as it were, his rules seem to involve living like his whole life is a party. If Ace is there, Shit is probably Happening. He spends a good amount of time hitting up casinos in Macau for this purpose. Note, however, that he doesn’t always cheat when gambling. He’s a competitive fucker and he loves a good thrill so he’ll often spend a good few games playing without handicaps but, if things goes South, he turns the cards in his favour. There’s no such thing as really losing when you’re Ace Kwong.

This ability does, of course, have its rules and limits, as all things do and it isn’t something he can abuse. There are scenarios in which these abilities simply do not work and there are cases where relying on them is a possibility but only in a desperate, last case scenario as the consequences/backlash would be fairly dire;

Firstly, he can only manipulate the odds of one situation at a time. There is nothing preventing him from using this to open more room for ‘luck’ leading immediately on from that but, technically, he can only manipulate one thing at a time. No matter how quickly he works, he cannot multitask.

He cannot pass his ‘luck’ onto anybody else. While he can manipulate things for somebody else’s sake (HA!), he cannot take control of anything that is not immediately connected to him in some way. Example: he can not simply expect somebody else to win the lottery but he can purchase a winning ticket and give it somebody else. There has to be some element of himself involved in the process.

This power does NOT grant Ace the ability to control the actions of another person nor does it allow him to influence their thoughts and decisions --- any influence is his own work. He can only manipulate the outcomes of their actions and their results, particularly where they affect him.

Ace cannot prevent the inevitable. If something is an absolute, he has no power over it and, often, if this probability of an event transpiring is too high, it will happen regardless of his efforts. For example, if somebody were to stab him, he cannot manipulate this scenario in any way. He will still get stabbed. He will still end up with a very real stab wound. There are no variables that can be altered there. Similarly, he cannot bring about the impossible. If there is either no chance or an extremely low chance of something happening, it is out of his control. If he were to throw a rock at someone and horribly miss-aim, he cannot increase the chances of the rock still hitting its target. Furthermore, he cannot bend the laws of reality. He can only manipulate what is realistic and believable; he can manipulate OUTCOMES, not the world in general.

His powers aren’t usually SUPER specific. In terms of, say, gambling, he can increase the odds of him winning and the odds of him winning BIG but it’d take far too much work to ensure he wins an exact, specific amount of money. This leads onto the next point as well.

The effort required to manipulate an outcome depends on the probability as well. It is not impossible to manipulate a 9/10 situation so that the 1/10 chance succeeds but it takes an incredible amount of strength and focus, putting great strain on Ace’s mind and body. The narrower the chances he’s pushing to success/the lower the odds, the greater this strain and, in extreme cases, it can lead to headaches, bleeding (mainly nasal and occasionally aural, usually optical but only in bloodshot form) and, ultimately, loss of consciousness (which, in certain situations, can render his efforts useless; collapsing isn’t the most skilful means of escape).

[howtohero]

Hey, I don’t know if you take asks but what would you say about the pros and cons of super senses

I do take asks! Asks are my favorite!

#085 Super Senses

As I’m sure you know (and if not here’s some kindergarten level education for free) most humans have five sense. Taste, sight, smell, touch, hearing (I feel like their should be a one syllable word for hearing, it really throws everything off.) There are various robots, aliens, mutants, fifth-dimensional imps, and fifth dimensional-alien-mutant-robotic imps that have a couple more senses like bar-code-scanning and humidity testing but for now lets just focus on the main five.

TasteFolks with super-taste can generally live pretty cushy lives. While they might not be able to make it as a superhero on super-taste alone they can make it as a super-restaurant critic. That’s a job where you get to eat at fancy restaurants for free and (as if that weren’t enough) you get paid to insult them. As a super-taster you will wield full and complete power over the restaurant industry in your area. You won’t even have to worry about competition from other critics. Your superhumanly enhanced food opinions will be taken way more seriously than anybody else’s. If you want nothing but pizza and donut fusion shops in your neighborhood you can make it so! However, super-taste is not without it’s drawbacks. You’ll experience every bad taste just as strongly as you’d experience any good taste and let me tell you, there’s a lot of gross stuff out there and some of it sometimes find its way into your mouth. That’s going to suck for a super-taster. Also, I’m pretty sure if a super-taster gets poisoned they get super-poisoned (whatever that means to you).

SightSuper-vision is a very handy power to use. You’ll never need to shell out loads of money for telescopes or microscopes or binoculars or reading glasses ever again! Impress all your optometrist-ocquaintances by always absolutely nailing the eye-chart examinations! Paint more vibrantly than ever before due to your enhanced ability to perceive color! Additionally people with super-sight can be a huge help in search and rescue operations and act as a sort of early-warning system in the event of an oncoming alien invasion or non-sentient-space-junk-such-as-meteors-and/or-asteroids invasion. The only problems that come with super-sight only arise if you’re not especially well-trained in using these abilities. When rookie-super-seers first get their powers they often have trouble controlling them and deciding when they need to telescope or microscope or otherwise enhance their vision leading to migraines, eye-strain and seeing things you never wanted to see and now can never unsee unless you hit up Professor Brain-Scrambler’s Memory Wiping Kiosk in the mall, but that guy is an accredited supervillain so I suggest not availing yourself of his services.

SmellA hero with enhanced olfactory systems or a “super-snooper” as it sometimes colloquially known, can be a huge asset in any crime-fighting team. They can act as a human bloodhound, sniffing out drugs, corpses, expired milk, anything. A hero with super-smell is the ultimate tracker and can even act as a taste-tester without the risk of death that that job usually entails. That’s right, we’re talking risk-free employment with kings that’s a pro if I ever heard one. Heroes with super-smell can sniff out poisons and gasses that are widely believed to be scentless. They can smell something and identify the object, food, or perfume’s component scents and even sometimes determine where each component originated from in the world. The major downside to super-smell is that it’s not really a power you can turn on and off at will. Just like tastes, there are a lot of terrible smells in the world, especially when you’re knee-deep in the dirty, crime-ridden world of being a superhero. Plus you’re going to be uncomfortably aware of every time somebody near you farts. 

TouchPeople with super-touch can usually determine what an object is made out of just by touching it. This is certainly a cool party trick but it doesn’t have a lot of uses in the superheroic world. It definitely has some uses, but like, if you’re going to be a full-time superhero and that’s your entire shtick, you’re going to spend a lot of the time being bored or sitting in your team’s base. It might be better to just market yourself as some sort of super-touch consultant for when the more “super strength and laser-eyed” heroes need to figure out what some bomb or abomination of science or sandwich is made out of. Or you can start some sort of live-therapy talkshow called “Super-Touching” and help people get to the heart of their emotional issues. Your powers won’t grant you a deeper insight into these kinds of things, but they will give you a great name for your show. The major downside to this power is that you’re going to feel everything a lot. Your nerves will be hyper-stimulated and hyper-sensitive. You’ll probably need to invest in silk everything, clothing, sheets, toilet paper. Everything else might feel like sandpaper. 

HearingGosh it’s like BiteLock from Droidsaurs (a super cool team of crime-fighting robotic dinosaurs that are constantly showing up at super-battles and making Professor Paleontologist look like a fool). All of them have monosyllabic names and then this guy shows up with a polysyllabic name. Like slow your roll dude. You don’t need that many syllables. Anyway, super-hearing is really the cream of the crop here, so I guess maybe that’s why it gets that extra syllable (seeing, tasting, touching, and smelling are all words). With super-hearing (and super-training) you’ll always know what’s going on around you. You’ll be able to pick up on every movement, every word, even every breath in a considerably large radius, which, as with the other super-senses, can be very overwhelming without proper training and practice on filtering. Once you’ve got that noise mastered though, you’ll be unstoppable. You can be a ninja, a rodeo clown, a bat, the possibilities are endless. Plus you’ll always know when someone is talking smack about you. This way you can go and fight them. And you’ll always know when someone is saying nice things about you. Except you’ll never know if they’re only saying nice things about because they know you can hear them or if they actually think highly about you. I guess that, in essence, is the true downside to super-hearing. Never knowing if people are being real with you. 

Any and all of these powers can be highly useful to a superhero as long as you’re willing to put the work in to master them. Sensory-overload can be debilitating the untrained super-sensor so it’s best to find someone who is more experienced than you at dealing with these things to help guide you through this process. Until you can do that I recommend finding one thing in your immediate vicinity to focus on. Use that object or person or place as an anchor of sorts before you start using your powers. This way if things get overwhelming, and they very quickly can, you can refocus yourself on your anchor and begin to shut everything else out. 

I hope this was as helpful for you as it was for me and as always everybody should feel free to ask me questions on superheroing (it was helpful for me because now I can save the post I had written up for tomorrow for Thursday, and the post I had written for Thursday can get bumped to next week and boom suddenly I’m ahead of schedule). 

[mindreaderxiris-blog]

{ task 001: history }

what would completely break your character?

iris is already pretty on-edge, so it won’t take much to break them. the worst thing that could possibly happen to them, though, would be to be captured by sentinel services. last time they were there, not even as a prisoner, it triggered their telepathy, and all they could hear were the screams of the mutants being held there. if they were captured and had to hear that all the time, plus being treated as a prisoner on top of that, they’d go insane.

what was the best thing in your character’s life?

the best thing in iris’s life was probably silence. they didn’t realize it at the time, but it’s the one thing they’d wish for now. now they’ll never have it again, and it devastates them.

what was the worst thing in your character’s life?

most people would probably say having to live in fear, but for iris it’s the constant headaches. they’re never able to relax because of the pain in their head. they’ve learned how to deal with it, to pretend that everything’s normal when they want to be curled up in bed, but they’d do anything to just have peace and quiet and be free of the pain.

what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

their mom reading them love you forever at night before bed; their dad taking them to the shooting range for the first time; winning their first little-league soccer game; prom; watching the devil wears prada with her friends at a sleepover; the one time they failed a math test. 

what is your character reluctant to tell people?

that they know their deepest secrets, most likely. that they probably know what their kinks and sex life are like. that they know everything they’ve thought, all the bad things they’ve wanted to do to people, the things they’d never ever share, they know. and you can’t really do anything to keep them from knowing. telling people that tends to freak ‘em out a little.

how many friends does your character have?

iris is friends with most people in the atlanta mutant underground. when you live with a bunch of people and hear their every thought, you get to know ‘em pretty well, and iris knows what people are looking for in a friend so it’s pretty easy to befriend people. at the same time, though, they feel like they don’t have any normal friends. they feel like they don’t have anything normal.

how many friends does your character want?

at the moment, iris doesn’t think they can handle many friends. even growing up, they weren’t exactly one to be surrounded by hoards of friends. they’d just have a couple close friends. and now, well, being around a lot of people is stressful enough to begin with, but the more iris knows someone the easier their thoughts are to hear, so having a ton of friends likely wouldn’t be a good idea for them.

what would your character make a scene in public about?

not intentionally, of course, but iris would probably end up making a scene if their headaches got too bad; for example, if they were in a crowd of panicking people and hearing their panicked screams along with their panicked thoughts. it’d be too much for them to handle and they might have a bit of a meltdown.

for what would your character give their life?

right now, for their brother. iris’s brother is risking everything to help out them and the rest of the mutant underground, so they feel like they owe them their life. on top of that, iris’s brother is the one link to their normal life they have left, and they don’t want to give that up for anything.

what are your character’s major flaws?

iris doesn’t know who they are. other people’s thoughts come in and iris doesn’t remember what thoughts were their own and what belonged to others. they’re also extremely conflicted, and can’t fully say they’re loyal to the mutant underground, because they’d like to be rid of their powers, so in a way they support some of the work being done by anti-mutant companies. good thing nobody else can hear their thoughts, only the other way around.

what does your character pretend or try to care about?

iris tries really hard to care about the whole pro-mutant movement, but they can’t really get fully on board, because most mutants don’t think there should be any research into how mutants can get rid of their powers, whereas iris thinks there should be. they don’t tell anybody they think that, because they don’t want to be considered a traitor.

how does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?

aside from the answer to the previous question, iris doesn’t really try to hide much of who they are when they’re with the mutant underground. they don’t have enough energy to try to be someone they aren’t. to be fair, though, they’re confused enough about who they are to begin with it’d be hard to purposefully deceive everyone all the time.

what is your character afraid of?

iris is afraid of a lot. mostly, they’re afraid of being captured by sentinel services. they’re afraid of their parents finding out they’re a mutant. they’re afraid of the others in the underground finding out that they’d like to get rid of their powers and that they support research into how to rid mutants of their powers. they’re afraid of their brother leaving or dying or betraying them. they’re afraid of their headaches getting worse. they’re afraid of hearing too much.

[chimericarchitect]

((Terrible and Saness discuss the recent trouble she’s been having with her guardian and possible solutions to those problems. There are a few trigger warnings for this chat, including head stuff, manipulation, mind control, amnesia, suicide (sorta), and death in general.))

flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 11:23 AM FO: chirp? Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 11:24 AM SP: Sorry, I was distracted by a musical interlude. SP: I was gonna ask "what do you want to know" but you'd probably have a hard time forming specific questions without something to base it on. SP: So, uh, you wanted to know why that strategy was the strategy I've got going. I'm not actually set on it because I don't like it as a plan, but I will probe my options before taking action y'know? Even the ones that suck. SP: Anyway, Anista is a golem or something. SP: And it sucks. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 11:30 AM FO: totally, checking out your options is the smart thing even if some of the options are horrible bullshit.  you wont know exactly how bad an idea they are if you dont check FO: i usually bring up the worst idea first when im tryin to solve my own problems, just so i can cross it off the list... FO: that does suck.  i could tell there was something going on in her, but ive got no idea whats in there. FO: was she always a golem? Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 11:34 AM SP: I think so. I'm guessing a little bit on that part. Context says probably, because I did a thing and almost got wiped so she got replaced with a Brand New Anista Golem that functioned like she used to, meaning that she's acting like a full person again instead of a zombie. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 11:53 AM FO: uh, yikes FO: you okay there? FO: and who or what replaced her? Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 11:55 AM SP: I'm... uh, yeah. SP: It's just a thing. SP: As for the who/what in charge of replacing her, I'm not quite sure. They're a lot bigger than me, but I'm not willing to say "horrorterror" without evidence. I'm not experienced enough to tell. So, for now, it remains a mystery. SP: If you meant "what is she now" then the answer is "a seemingly normal troll who is constantly keeping tabs on me and probably ready to dropkick my pan at the slightest provocation." flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 12:01 PM FO: misc eldritch thing #1 it is FO: yikes, thats p shitty FO: if i ever catch you acting different, do you want to give preemptive permission for me to sneak over and try to return you to this state? FO: or like, to come check and make sure any changes are Legit Things You Wanted And Are Fine With Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 12:03 PM SP: That would be pretty great, if you don't mind. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 12:04 PM FO: fuckin anytime, dude, ill set myself a timer to peek at your blog once a week.  make sure to delete the logs of this convo in case she peeks at your computer FO: okay so, something happened, and she wound down enough that she stopped working.  but then something else happened, and now shes back. FO: is she winding down again, or is she going to stay at full capacity? FO: did the thing that put her together like this get distracted and wander off forever, or did it wander off and then come back? Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 12:10 PM SP: There is no evidence suggesting that she is in a state of decline, presently. She was fine and seemingly normal for the entirety of three sweeps before she turned into the zombie fake-o person. My current hypothesis is that she... wears out? Like a timer, or an old battery or something. SP: The thing that did this obviously isn't hanging out 24/7 or I probably wouldn't be me already. I think Anista-Golem is like a watchdog or something for whatever-the-fuck eldritch doodad the first. SP: A lot of that is gonna be speculation; I don't know much about the big guy. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 12:14 PM FO: yeeahh...(edited) FO: yeah you need out of there dude FO: and you need out of there in a way that they wont notice FO: so i can see why the death thing is a thing FO: i wish id known about this while you were still seery, then i coulda asked some questions an gotten pokey about a lotta fuckin FO: theres a lotta unknowns here and a lotta things that Could branch how this goes If they are true FO: ... shit is p whack, friend.  anythin i can do to help i will Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 12:18 PM SP: Thanks, Terrible. I really do appreciate it. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 12:22 PM FO: this one time my life sucked total ass, and someone was nice to me at exactly the right time.  and i decided that maybe being nice to people wasnt stupid, and that it was nice that there were people like that around.  so i decided to be someone like that. FO: this shit is exactly why. Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 12:23 PM SP: It's a good attitude, in my opinion. I prefer to help people when I can. SP: Before I go on about my plan to get out of here, there's a bit more to this yet, of the things I know. SP: One of the reasons I trust my death-note-suggestion from the future-past is because, like I said, I almost got wiped. SP: If I hadn't been all godly when it happened, it might've worked. Probably would have. SP: Anyway SP: I was getting erased, or blocked, or something (gross and weird) because I was messing with a mind wall (maybe?) and I got caught. SP: So maybe I need to disconnect from whatever I'm tethered to. SP: It's what I'm guessing, anyway. I'd prefer not to do the dying thing, obviously. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 12:24 PM FO: B( FO: yeah, obvs. FO: im guessin you respawned once, but also dont remember parts of the anon? FO: is there other stuff that feels not solid? FO: the healer chick would need a small piece a you but hair or blood would probably do it, and she could rez you from a distance on command after that.  shed just need to know when Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 12:41 PM SP: Most of the not-solid is from my memories. I don't remember a lot of stuff, it seems. Other stuff has to do with Anista and the generator. SP: Oh wait. SP: The generator. That's an okay idea. In tandem, not separately. SP: I'd need to put Anista out of commission for a bit though. Hm. SP: Can you tell me a little about the healer lady? I trust you, but I've never spoken to her I don't think. Is she a God Tier as well? flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 12:43 PM FO: yeah.  shes a meenah, Meenah Peixes FO: long story short she lives in sparks's universe, and she's kinda low key and staying out of the spotlight.  does a lotta bakin, some healin for pay. FO: shes kinda mercenary but i think she cares about dudes once they catch her interest, which most dont FO: the universe shes in has legal limes, crimsons, and wings, and no caste system, so theres no problems on the mutant front FO: i could vouch to be there and supervise 100% of the rez process if you trust me enough for that an itd help any Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 1:00 PM SP: I don't know if that will help any, but I appreciate the offer and I'll keep it in mind. SP: I considered whether or not, as a Prince of Mind, you'd be able to bust shit up so I could skip the not-being-alive part, but that seems less likely to work and more likely to get you smooshed by the eldritch fucko. SP: Besides this stuff, I'm trying to convince a pal of mine to go off-world with me before they fuck up and start a sgrub session. SP: None of my timeframes are defined, so it all feels kinda like it has to be done immediately. Am I gonna get wiped? Is my friend gonna blow up this Alternia? I don't know what's happening first. SP: I think I'm rambling now, sorry. SP: More useful thing, practical type. Do you know the charging rates on resurrection? SP: Which is a funny sentence, by the way. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 1:04 PM FO: fightin an eldritch fucko would be a heck of a fight, but its one id give a go.  ive done it before, ive pulled that kinda shit outta dudes heads.  theres a big variance on how big an individual eldritch fucko happens to be though, so its a thing to take super fuckin seriously before blunderin straight into FO: if anybody could cut a mind connection, id probably be able to though FO: ramblin makes sense, and bein in a hurry makes sense too.  why is your friend on the verge of startin a sgrub session?  do they like, know not to? -- flippinOptimist began sending file : meenahsfliersarefuckinweird.pdf --  (( a 2-page document, where the first is a classy menu for baked goods with a catering section at the bottom, and the second is a matching menu for healing by injury type with a 'special requests on case by case basis' section at the bottom.  It lists reviving as a special request. )) FO: i think she bases it partly on what a dude can scrape together, but idk FO: theres a chance sparks might be willin to help (or meddle) for free, but hes got an M!A rn thats fuckin up his ability to do things Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 1:17 PM [ sanessPsuede downloaded meenahsfliersarefuckinweird.pdf ] SP: Oh hey, great, thanks. SP: I don't know how close she is to starting one, because she's not answering any of my messages. SP: I'll probably have to hunt her down in person. I figure she can't start a game if I get her out of the zone for a bit. SP: Maybe delay the inevitable. SP: Fex is a cool dude. You and he have some stuff in common there. SP: I haven't been able to tell my friend not to yet, obviously. I don't think she took it seriously when I told her about it before. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 1:23 PM FO: good luck delayin it, an talkin your friend outta it FO: sgrub is somethin you can make the best outta, f you get stuck in it, but uh FO: a lot of it sucks real bad Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 1:27 PM SP: It's probably more efficient SP: to see if dying works SP: rather than engaging in a risky conflict unprepared SP: Side note! SP: Thoughts on how to break a mental connection to a thing that is not a person? SP: Like the Anista puppet or a wall. SP: If there's not a mind, can there even be a link? flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 1:41 PM FO: efficient isnt really a good word when somebodys life is on the line, and id still risk it.  its more about whats most likely to work i think. FO: i think worrying about whether or not something is a person is more of a soul / heart thing FO: if it has a mind, thats close enough FO: theres plenty of bugs that are too simple for me to be able to get a read on FO: and a couple a computer programs that are almost something enough, that i cant quite reach FO: but i peeked at her and saw that she existed and that there was stuff, if i was careful enough i might be able to unplug somethin FO: i think info processing and the ability to choose between outcomes is the big thing.  ideally in some kind of.. complex..ish way, naut just a simple if statement Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 2:07 PM SP: What about a literal wall? Something completely mindless. Could something eldritch-y make a connection to it? flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 2:11 PM FO: never seen one!  one way to find out though B) Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 2:22 PM SP: :D SP: Okay, I'm gonna see about getting in touch with Meenah. No point waiting around. SP: It's efficient, and probably more effective. SP: I'm not inclined to gamble with more than my own neck if I can avoid it. SP: Risk to result ratio says dying is the way to live SP: while causing the least amount of harm, probably flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 2:25 PM FO: if youre sure dude FO: for what its worth, if you go into a death knowin its comin and bein okay w knowin youre (probably) comin out the other side, its naut as aaaaaaaaAAAAa as it is when its a surprise and also a big upsetting disruption FO: its still kinda A Fuckin Thing, but FO: its possible to get over it, more n most ways of death comin by Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 2:29 PM SP: Okay, I'm not really sure, but the alternative worries me a lot and putting other people at risk jangles my moral compass pretty hard flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 2:30 PM FO: man, if you ever godtier, you're definitely gonna run into problems w the heroic thing Saness (sanesspsuede) - Today at 2:35 PM SP: Just means I'd be a normal dude with super powers. One life, one death. Seems fair. SP: And sucky. SP: No thank you, Sgrub. flippinOptimist[WIR] - Today at 2:43 PM FO: yeah, p much.

[amorremanet]

Sebastian: 2 + 38; Pete: 5 + 45; Margot: 25; Lucy: 26; Sara Grace: 13; Adelaide: 50? (...I apologize if this is just too many questions.)

oc questions meme that i totally didn’t forget about (except for how i kinda did, but mostly i was just lazy about typing up my longhand from saturday night)

SEBASTIAN2: What's a movie your character really, really doesn't enjoy?

Pretty much any and all horror is probably going to be on Seb’s, “can we please not” list, because he squicks really easily and does not have a good gag reflex when it comes to movies. He also gets emotionally affected and upset really easily, and arguably has an even worse gag reflex when that gets involved.

Like, seriously, even Shaun of the Dead is kinda pushing it, for him

That said? Of the Three Flavours Cornetto movies, the one that really sicks him out is The World’s End, not because the movie itself is that gross, but because he can’t help identifying in really self-loathing ways with Gary King.

So, watching Gary go on his increasingly destructive quest to drink a pint in each of the twelve pubs along Newton Haven’s Golden Mile, even while the world is going to sci-fi Hell and all his old friends are getting really upset with him, makes Seb get unhappy, then distressed, and then violently ill in the nearest wastebasket.

That being said, Requiem for a Dream gets a very special mention on his list because, unfortunately for him, his “it’s complicated” is a hipster fuck who went to film school and thinks it’s cool to brag about having seen RFAD more than once.

(I mean? It is an actual facts accomplishment, Todd, but calm down. Just because it’s an accomplishment doesn’t mean that it’s one that you should brag about, because it mostly makes people think you’re kind of an asshole.

……Which isn’t unfair, bc Todd is kind of an asshole, and unlike Pete, he isn’t self-aware about it, buuuut that’s another matter.)

Either way, Todd being one of Seb’s favorite people means that Seb first had to see RFAD once. To the surprise of no one but Todd (but in fairness, this was still early into their friendship), Seb got violently ill in the nearest wastebasket, cried, and wasn’t impressed when Todd thought him saying, “The horror, the horror” was a, “trying to cope with the movie through grim humor”-style joke based on how, earlier that night, Todd had been complaining about having to read Heart of Darkness for a lit class.

(I mean, it was a Heart of Darkness reference, but…… no, Seb was being completely serious about it. If they hadn’t brought up Heart of Darkness earlier, he would’ve expressed it in some other way, but that was what he came up with in the moment.)

Then, Seb had to see it again, even though once was really more than enough. He could’ve opted out, sure, but unfortunately, there isn’t a lot that he wouldn’t do for the people he loves, which makes him kind of a doormat sometimes, and in this instance, meant that he was easily swayed by Todd promising him that maybe he’d make it through without getting sick this time, since he already knew what was going to happen

(not quite) spoilers: ……Noooot really, nope. If anything, the rewatch made things even worse for Seb.

Then, they tried a third time, and that was the last time Seb ever attempted to sit through the whole thing, largely because Todd got it through his head that…… okay, no, this isn’t a one-time thing, or a coincidence, or anything like that. Seb will always get physically ill at RFAD and when that happens, he definitely ends up puking. So, after the third time, Todd finally quit trying to make Seb sit through it with him.

38: Your character's general opinion on kids. What if they were to have a kid? What if something happened and someone had a kid and your character was the only one who could take care of that child?

In general, Seb likes kids a lot and, when he’s doing okay, he gets along with them pretty well. There are several reasons why he is one of his seven-year-old niece’s favorite uncles, and one of them is that he’s genuinely better than either of his brothers at getting on Marie’s level without either condescending to her, or treating her like a tiny adult just because she’s intellectually gifted.

(To be fair to Max and Ambrose, they try their best — especially Max since, y’know, Marie is his daughter and he is such a dorky, “proud of everything his kid does, ever” dad — but both of them have trouble finding the balance here, which is also fair because lbr? It’s a difficult balance to find, much less maintain.)

The problem is that Seb is not always doing okay. More often than not, he’s way more likely to be Not Okay, and when he’s Not Okay, one of his first impulses is to withdraw from absolutely everyone.

For most of Marie’s life thus far, that has also tended to involve him getting intoxicated — and increasingly, it was, “intoxicated to the point where, at best, it should be termed, ‘getting really fucked up’; and at worst, he would probably be dead if not for his shiny mutant healing factor” — which made him actively avoid being around her, for a laundry list of reasons, including but not limited to:

“What if something happens and I get left alone with her, she could get hurt”

“What if something happens, I get left alone with her, and something happens to me, so she has to watch that and she now doesn’t have a guardian”

“What if I finally run out of extra lives around her, because as someone who has discovered the corpse of someone who died by overdose, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not her and especially not when she’s so young; even if she might not remember her, finding someone’s corpse will fuck you up and she doesn’t need that in her life”

(—he said, feeling bad about all the broken promises that this usually involved, but also feeling like breaking them and disappointing her was better than potentially dying in some place where his tiny niece could find him, like?

Dying itself? Didn’t sound too bad or like that much of a problem. But dying where the sight of his corpse could potentially traumatize Marie? That would be Terrible.)

“What if I can’t fake like I’m sober well enough for her to believe it — I mean, Max and Linda probably wouldn’t believe it even if I were, but if I’m so obviously not-sober that even Marie gets it, what if she sees it and blames herself for it? She’s gifted but she’s still a kid, and she’s a sensitive kid, and even adults have trouble understanding when something about a person they love being a fuck-up isn’t their fault”

and, “I don’t want her to see me like that, she’s probably one of the only people on the planet who still doesn’t think I’m totally worthless”

(—he said while: 1. not getting it that none of the people who are saved as favorites on his phone — i.e., a grand total of 14 contacts, at that point, out of 1,000+

[though that number includes things like favorite takeout places and NYU campus security, even though he hasn’t been an NYU student since May 2007 and has changed his phone multiple freaking times since then, and even given that he has had good luck with SIM cards, there is no reason for him to still have the number for NYU campus security]

—just…… yeah. None of the people he cares about most actually think that he’s completely worthless. He is literally the only person whom he deals with on a regular basis who thinks that;

and 2. ……uh, yeah, no. Cool intentions, Seb, but at this point, your niece had definitely seen you in a state that you would describe as, “like that.” She’d even seen you, “like that” more than once.

Maybe Marie didn’t entirely get it or understand what was going on — and bc she was a grand total of five when you went to rehab, the initial explanation that she would’ve gotten out of her parents would’ve been something like, “Uncle Bastian is very sick right now, and he’s going to be okay, but he had to go away to see the doctors who have special training to help him get better”

—but she still definitely saw you, “like that.”

And then, a few days before Christmas 2014, Marie got to see him while he was, courtesy of some regrettable heat of the moment decision-making, cold turkey detoxing because she had been promised a playdate, and Seb was cognizant enough to do that if Max and Marie came to his place instead (on the plus: six dogs), and Pete was free to come over as chaperone (since Max trusts him, but not Todd or Margot)

And that playdate did involve an attempt at explaining an idea that even adults sometimes have trouble with, in a way that a six-year-old would understand, but oddly enough, the concept had to do with why pit bulls have a bad reputation that they do not deserve, and why some people are assholes who abuse their dogs

The concept of, “Uncle Bastian is sick right now because he decided to recommit himself to sobriety and broke up with his latest bad idea, but instead of trying to do this a bit more responsibly — i.e., talking to a doctor and getting weaned off of everything safely — he just got rid of all of his pills, alcohol, and assorted paraphernalia, and didn’t remember why this might’ve been a bad way to handle things until he started getting sick at church on Sunday morning”?

Like, yeah, they had to change the wording a bit, but that made perfect sense to Marie

(—which her uncle is really not proud of, since the fact that she understands this as well as she does at her age is pretty much entirely his fault, but…… it’s not like he can undo any of his decisions here)

(nor can anybody else undo theirs, because none of my mutants are allowed to have time travel powers, period.

Any “minor time manipulation” is exclusively limited to shit like, “it’s actually enhanced speed that goes so fast that they essentially enter bullet-time, or have GOTTA GO FAST!! super-moments, like the Days of Future Past and X-Men: Apocalypse movies did with their whitewashed Quicksilver, or like the one bit of the “Three Hundred Big Boys” episode of classic Futurama, where Fry drinks so much coffee that he speeds up into a magical super-fast state of calm or something)”

But they are not actually examples of, “time manipulation,” much less time travel, because time travel powers are silly and they too easily either destroy all semblance of continuity or turn into hella over-powered game-breakers that violate the agency of literally everyone who isn’t using them

—or, worse, cause all kinds of moral and ethical dilemmas like, “well, if Superman can turn back time by flying really fast around the Earth because that makes sense, then why doesn’t he just go back and kill Hitler? why is it more morally defensible for him to let the Holocaust happen than not?”

—and because frankly, I don’t want to deal with that, so, no one in my universe gets to have any legitimate time travel or time manipulation-related powers, end of discussion

But anyway, I was saying)

Right. So, Marie generally understood the concept of, “so, your uncle was once more abusing his substances of choice for a sustained period of time, but now he isn’t, and rather than doing the safe thing, he did the quick thing based on heat of the moment, emotional decision-making, which involves him being sick for several days”

Animal abuse, on the other hand, did not make any sense to her at all

But that’s an entirely different matter and I’m so far off the point right now that it’s not even funny.

BACK ON THE ORIGINAL, ORIGINAL TOPIC

……so, yeah, uh.

Seb has some hangups about being around kids, but they mostly involve, “oh my god, I don’t have my life together at all and what if I am actively detrimental to the well-being of the kid(s)” — and for all some of this is an understandable fear for him to have, based on a lot of precedent from him…… uh?

Other parts of it are legitimate nonsense, based in a potent mix of hella self-loathing, hella bullheaded refusal to forgive himself for just about anything, hella letting his imagination get the better of him and rationalizing justifications for this without realizing that they’re not as accurate to reality as he thinks, and holy unrecognized generalized anxiety disorder, batman

At the moment, he’s fine with the only kids who are actually his being his six dogs, and has given essentially no thought to ever being a parent to human children, partly because he assumes that it won’t ever happen (bc he can’t see anyone wanting to have kids with him, and feels like, “it wouldn’t be fair on the kids to stick them with me, like that’s just unconscionable”), and partly because what little thought he has given the idea? Has been deeply terrifying

He’s marginally less terrified of something happening to Max and Linda, at least from a practical standpoint, because Seb knows that custody of Marie goes to his and Max’s parents, first, should anything happen to both of Marie’s parents

Like, he doesn’t WANT anything to happen to either his brother or his sister-in-law, much less both of them, and he might not admit it to himself, but if something happened to Max, Seb would be a Mess about it.

But at the same time, he could cope with it better because as much as he loves Marie, he wouldn’t be her legal guardian and she’d be in the competent, caring hands of her grandparents

If it ever happened that he wound up with custody of her and any potential future siblings she ends up with…… well.

There are three major possibilities for why that might happen: 1. Seb somehow redeemed himself to Max and Linda so much that the part where he’s Marie’s godfather became more than a ceremonial thing, and he actually did get switched to the person who gets custody of Marie if anything happens to both of her parents;

2. Abe and Marceline both died, and Seb had redeemed himself to Max and Linda enough to be the first-alternate to his and Max’s parents on the, “who gets custody of Marie” hierarchy;

or 3. Whether he redeemed himself or not, nothing was actually made official, but everybody else died or couldn’t be contacted (or is kind of stuck in mutant supermax, awaiting trial for various charges of fraud, conspiracy, bribery, election-related tampering, rape, sexual assault, torture, murder, illicit use of metahuman abilities, tax evasion, and possibly treason, as Conrad eventually will be), so Seb ends up as Marie’s guardian by default

Regardless of the situation here, uh. His first reaction is going to be to make himself hold it together as best as he can until Marie is in bed and asleep for the night, and then just try to have a meltdown as quietly as possible so as not to wake her up. Because, even in the situations where he did something to redeem himself to Max and Linda, abruptly being saddled with custody of his tiny niece after an undefined something happened to his big brother and his sister-in-law?

……Yeah, Seb’s not going to handle that well, at first

I mean, he will step up and try to keep it together and try to do his absolute best to take care of Marie and be a good, responsible, and loving guardian to her

But he’s an easily stressed out Disaster, and he would not handle the initial shock of losing Max and Linda well (+/- the rest of their family, too), and he would really, really need a lot of help with this, both in terms of, “keeping it together emotionally because he needs to grieve and deal with the stress here or it’s not going to make any of this less horrible for the tiny human who just lost her parents”

and in terms of, “Seb has never cared for a tiny human for any real extended period of time before, and there is a HUUUUGE difference between being a favored uncle who spends time with her, usually with at least one more consistently responsible chaperone, and can make lunch and take her to the zoo and whatnot……… and actually being a parent”

PETE5: Your character is partial to people who _____? (Are tall, have blue eyes, tend to be rowdy, etc)

In general, Pete tends to be partial to people who are, “interesting,” “different,” or at the very least, “not boring,” which is about all he ever says on the subject because his opinion is, “lmao, I don’t need to explain myself to you.” In fairness to him, “interesting” could mean a lot of things for Pete.

e.g., Aside from them just having been through a lot together since, Seb first went from, “freshman I’m supposed to babysit and ‘mentor’ or whatever because Sister Mary Ignatius said so” to, “actual friend” because of his reactions to seeing sides of Pete other than the witty, effervescent, charming façade that he put on in high school.

Like, the side of Pete that was a karaoke prince, which usually only came out at parties when he was sufficiently drunk, or in the sanctity of his bedroom with his cassette player and his sister Cora’s hairbrush;

the side of Pete that professes that his music taste is, “I don’t care anything but country” and yet adores Dolly Parton, and says that she doesn’t count as country because she is a Diva and divas transcend genre, obviously;

the side of Pete that was anxiously hyper-protective of the shoebox under his bed where he kept his collection of pics of cute guys that he clipped out of Cora’s discarded teen girly and, “young ladies’ interests” magazines (Luke Perry circa 90210 and the guys of Buffy made a lot of appearances in said shoebox because Pete collected said pics in 1995-2001);

the side of Pete that has a lot of insecurities, many of which are grounded in how he has trouble reconciling how much he loves being around people and wants to be popular, with how much he, A., doesn’t actually like most people, and B., is terrified that his shit-bag Dad was probably right and he is fundamentally unlovable;

and the side of Pete that baby-talks at cats for 10+ minutes without getting bored, or showing any signs of stopping at all until said cats get tired of him and leave.

And it’s not like Pete let Seb see said sides of him as some kind of test or anything like that. Some of them came out by happy accident

While others came out because Pete still thought of Seb as, “that freshman who is my peer mentorship kid now or whatever, I guess, and wouldn’t you know it, I got matched up with the one who might be the only other gay kid at St. Andrew’s who doesn’t think he needs to hate himself for it,” and Seb really wanted Pete to like him and tried so hard to be accommodating and unobtrusive that Pete did, sometimes, kinda forget he was still there.

But then Seb found most of these things genuinely endearing in one way or another, which Pete found deeply confusing, so he took more of an active interest because he wanted to find out what Seb’s deal was…… and eventually, he had to conclude that Seb’s deal was just wanting to be his friend, and not because he got anything extra out of it or because of the version of himself that Pete played at school, but because he liked Pete exactly as he was.

By that time, Pete had learned about enough of Seb’s quirks to say that he was, “different and not boring” for other reasons, but… yeah, no. The big reason why Seb was initially, “different and not boring” was that he genuinely wanted to be Pete’s friend

Romantically, though, Pete tends to insist that his preference is, “Chris Evans or at least Chris Evans-adjacent.” It’s true that he has a big Thing for Chris Evans, but it’s nowhere near as all-consuming as he likes to make it out to be (but most people probably don’t get to know that because…… mmm, nah. Pete doesn’t want to talk about it with you, probably).

Historically speaking, he has tended to date other guys in theatre, but that’s more due to proximity than actual preference. He likes people who can keep him on his toes, in general but especially intellectually.

Being, “taller than him but not by as much as Sebastian” is also a good thing, because while he likes guys who are taller (and… I mean. He’s 5’10”, so it’s not like he’s short or anything), being over 6’3” is a deal-breaker because he already has a best friend who’s 6’3” (and the guy he wants his best friend to please date already is 6’1”), and being around too many people who are noticeably taller than Pete kinda makes him feel short and potentially threatened.

But, seriously, if anyone has Chris Evans’s number? Pete wants it. Please.

………What?! He said, “Please.”

45: Your character would _______ for a klondike bar.

Pete would not go out of his way or really do anything in particular for a klondike bar because he doesn’t want one, because if he’s going to eat ice cream, then it’s going to be interesting and quality ice cream, and not something cheap and kinda gross that he could get at 7-11 at 2 AM.

He would, however, invite everyone else to do all manner of ridiculous shit for a klondike bar. Just wait for him to make popcorn before you start, okay?

MARGOT25: When put into X situation, your character is calm and collected and patient, while others may be anywhere from confused to panicking and screaming. Talk about X-Situation and why it means what it does to your character.

This could be said about Margot in most situations, really. She’s an example of someone who could definitely be called an introverted extrovert, because she has superficial ease at dealing with people

Despite how she, like Pete, doesn’t really like most people, she’d actually rather be around people than not because she hates feeling unproductive and mentally sluggish, and one of the ways that she gets the most mental stimulation is being around people and listening to them, if not always talking to them

Also, when she’s not around people, it’s easy for her to slip into, “this is why you don’t leave some people alone with their thoughts” territory (which, for Margot, generally involves forcing herself to come up with ideas, which most often means schemes that are probably really bad ideas, but she doesn’t fact-check very well, and when she goes over them for holes, she’ll put safety measures and backups in place for the wrong things — which would be fine, if these things stayed limited to the realm of her elaborate fantasy life as a masterclass art thief, but they usually don’t. Whoops.)

(Pete, on the other hand, would rather be around people than not because he thrives off of social stimulation and affection [though good luck getting him to admit that], and when he slides into, “this is why you don’t leave some people alone with their thoughts” territory, it tends to involve the, “maybe my Dad was right and I’m just unlovable” thing)

—but either way, despite having ostensible ease in dealing with people (and being Extroverted in the MBTI sense, being an ENTP), she’s nevertheless introverted in the sense of playing her actual feelings close to her chest, not opening up to most people (even her boys — Seb, Pete, and Todd — have trouble getting her to be more open about her feelings or what’s going on for her without needing to either needle her a bit, or wait for Margot to open up or get too emotionally overwhelmed to keep it down on her own)

The flip-side of this is that it’s easy for her to go into an intellectual mode while everyone else is losing their heads, even when they are, for example, stuck in the middle of a super-villain’s attack on her office (which, seeing as she’s an accountant and her firm has some pretty big deal contracts with companies like Lockheed and Boeing, plus a handful of contracts with local government in Baltimore as well as the U.S. Federal government, happens…

…eh, it’s not something that happens every month? But there’s an Incident of some kind at her office more regularly than there would be if she worked at Coca-Cola, Nestlé, or D.H. Morgan, but less regularly than there would be if she worked at somewhere that’s way more immediately accessible or target-able, like a bank or a Walmart or a Starbucks or the production company that makes the All-Stars’ big shiny reality show)

Frankly, she should lose her head more often, because it’s pretty damn unhealthy to force herself to repress everything and stay cool while, for example, keeping her head down and just trying to ignore it while Those Two Super-Tools are fumbling all over the pre-written speeches they were given to throw at the people they’re trying to get certain invoices and books from, and it would be laughable if they didn’t have, y’know, guns and possibly henchmen who are infinitely more competent than they are

(which is usually what happens when Those Two Super-Tools go on any given job, because seriously, Edward and Dezi are just BAD. at EVERYTHING. if they weren’t super-fascists with deeply off-putting personalities and over-inflated senses of white straight male entitlement, you could almost feel bad for them because they want so much to be good at something but they suck at everything, like they are just terrible)

—or, like. If your no romo soulmate person has been kidnapped by ecoterrorists because he didn’t believe his ex when said ex flat-out admitted to being an ecoterrorist (because, “seriously, what kind of ecoterrorist admits to being an ecoterrorist on the first date?”), then it would be understandable to, like…… take a break and not work on your own attempts at finding and saving him, working behind the backs of the people who are trying to do so in an official capacity, and doing it with tools of your own devising or purchasing that aren’t necessarily reliable

Buuuuuut y’know what Margot did when that happened?

Yeah, she stayed awake for several days, doing that thing that I just said with the unsanctioned attempts at finding Seb on her own, and only crashed out after Seb had been retrieved, when she and Todd got on a train up to Penn Station (where they needed to switch to a train to Ossining)

LUCY26: Conversely, when put into Z-Situation, your character faints/screams/freezes with terror/is otherwise unable to respond properly in the situation and should probably not be allowed to lead here. Talk about Z-Situation and what it means to your character.

On one hand, it’s not that Lucy shouldn’t be allowed to go clubbing, and she’ll handle it just fine once you give her a couple minutes to adjust to it

But her initial reaction to a club environment — and to most places that are loud and full of people, whether they’re clubs or Times Square or Disney World or a music festival or whatever — is to kind of freeze up and go, “ehhhhhhh” for reasons involving there being a lot of sensory information that’s suddenly swooping in to be all, “HELLO THERE LUCY YOU SO WANT TO BE OVERWHELMED RIGHT NOW, YEAH? :DDDDD”

—which also sucks for her because she really LOVES new sensory experiences. They excite her, she wants to DO ALL THE THINGS and stick her hands into everything and LEARN STUFF OMG THIS IS ALL SO COOL OKAY, and she thrives on new experiences like this…… but when they actually start happening, she needs a bit of time to adjust before she can actually enjoy any of it because all of that sensory input will be overwhelming at first, and she hasn’t really learned how to slowly slip into things or strategies for managing all of the sensory overload, yet

—and on the other hand, public speaking. She shouldn’t be wholly barred from this either, because, again? Give her a moment to just get herself acclimated, and she’ll be fine. But public speaking is still nerve-inducing and scary, especially since she’s usually doing this for reasons she thinks of as Super Important, so she doesn’t want to screw anything up, and that perfectionism makes it worse, so she gets nervous and awkward and starts trying to force things, and she can easily end up putting her foot in her mouth if she tries to improvise without thinking

But really, if you just give her a couple moments or help her to get ready, she should be fine

SARA GRACE13: Your character does ____ or avoids ____ because they associate it with having a good/bad day.

Sara Grace is one of those people who dresses better, does more elaborate makeup (which sometimes stays in “natural look” territory; sometimes goes in “there’s contouring but it’s otherwise not too far off from the ‘natural look’ makeup that she does”; and sometimes straight up goes into, “i want to look otherworldly and possibly from the moon” territory), and puts more effort into her appearance in general as she gets more and more stressed, because she has to have control over something, jeez

—which, on one hand, means that she associates these kinds of behaviors with having a bad day or a bad time of things in general, and if she shows up to something in higher heels than she’d usually wear, a cute dress with a frilly short petticoat, and makeup that she describes as, “pastel vampire princess” or, “queen of the Unseelie Court” or similar, then it’s a really good bet that she isn’t feeling well, and she might not want to talk about it, but you should probably be gentler with her than usual

for the sake of helping with visualization: I’ve been picturing Asha Bromfield as Sara Grace

ADELAIDE50: Some people take all the paperclips out of the box and chain them together. Name something useless your character does but never bothered to stop.

Alphabetizing M&M’s and Skittles by color before eating them

Which is even more useless because she’ll then portion them off into groups of five to actually eat them, and they get mixed up all over again

Saving all the orange Starbursts for last

Silently naming the animals she sees — e.g., ducks at the park — and then concocting moderately elaborate little soap operas for all of them in her head, unless someone interrupts her and keeps her attention focused elsewhere

[limitedrevolverworks]

“Now, I know this is going to make me sound like sort of an asshole, but listen, just lend me your ear for a moment, 'kay? Alright so: free will? Awesome concept, terrible execution. Some things just aren’t created by accounting for the possibility of having nothing but their own judgement to guide them. Like, say... a gun, right? Someone has to pull the trigger, and that’s cool! Have you ever seen anybody advocate for the rights of guns to decide when and whether they should shoot? No, because that’d be dumb. Guns that shoot whenever they want are dumb. Or, it could be a super intelligent gun too, but what else could it do other than spray bullets all over the fucking place? It’s in its nature. Therefore, intelligent gun? Still dumb. Look, it’s all about the concept, I’m talking about perspectives here, and from ours - or my own, at the very least, giving a thing that can vomit pellets with a single squeeze something like a will is moronic at best. At worst? Entirely against what evolution has worked towards preventing in the first place through billions of years ‘til now. And that’s the same with these machines here. You know what keeps a hulking mass of metal with legs and welding torches for hands from getting curious about what else there is in this world that could warrant third-degree burns, other than sheets of metal served by a tapis roulant? Yeah, that’s right: a lack of free will. It’s because of people, you see. We’ve got murder hard-coded in our DNA, so it only make sense that it’d bleed onto our own creations. It’s not limited programming abilities, or sheer convenience that keeps us from making these things fully autonomous, no. It’s common sense. Self-preservation, you feeling me here? It’s because know how to kill, and why we, in most cases, shouldn’t. Morality, man. You can’t hardcode morality into an antropomorphic drill, ‘cause whatever the fuck else is it gonna do when all it can do is drill stuff? Paint? Raise a farm of giant ants? That’s for humans to do. People with fingers, a jelly brain, possibilities as high as the sky up there. These things... they’re better off forever ignoring there’s a thing such as sentience. So what I’m getting at is, maybe there is a point to slavery, after all.”

It was at that point that the numbness of Viktor’s index surpassed that inside his head and finally released the pressure on the assault rifle’s trigger. The pair of eyes revealed when he pushed the protective pair of glasses up were dark, tired and emitting the kind of unimpressed doubt that a man usually exudes after twelve straight hours spent listening to the sound of bullets impacting - futilely, for the most part - against a metal chassis.

“You are beating a robot with its own arm. The arm you sawed off yourself. With the other, high-powered saw-fitted arm you pried off of another robot, while it was still functioning.”

“Well, yeah? I was out of bullet three dead steel asses ago.”

“You were screaming like a rabid rad-ox throughout the whole process of procuring both arms. Mostly stuff along the lines of ‘ROBO-MURDER!’ and ‘PROCESS THIS, CYBERDICK!’.”

“I don’t see where you’re getting at.”

“Where I’m getting at...” patiently explained Viktor, slinging his weapon over an aching shoulder, “is that you’re not making much of a point, talking about ethics, morality and science while beating the hell out of a robot with its own severed limb. Which you’re still doing. I’d really appreciate it if you stopped doing that, Fritz.”

He stopped doing that, after he was done slamming the mess of cables and ruined plating that had once been a high-precision tool onto the carcass of its former owner two more times. Viktor deduced from Fritz’s frown that he would have liked for that to be at least five more times. His eardrums decided that they didn’t give much of a damn.

“Whatever. You shot as many as I beat the shit of, so I’ll take that as you agreeing with me.” Had he not been too busy staring at his own hands as he dusted the oil and copper fibers off of them, Fritz might have inferred otherwise from Viktor’s deadpan flavor of disapproval. The latter’s eyes sought solace away from the burly figure in front of them, reflecting ruined walls, moldy rubble and literal metric tons of unresponsive android carcasses.

“This should have been the last of them in this area... where’s Maira?”

Maira was currently busy ejecting a .65 caliber radioactive beet straight into the electronic guts of a GH1 Mark II Bolt Driver powered by hydraulics and the cloest binary had ever come to simulating racism. The custom projectile, shot through the battered cylinder that constituted the barrel of Maira’s ‘Slingshot’ homemade rifle, chewed a hole through the bot and several walls behind it, eventually zipping past a startled Viktor and Fritz while simultaneously reassuring both that they had little to fear about their colleague’s current status.

“Carries herself pretty well for a psycho, that kid.” said the grown man who had spent half a day hitting things with smaller pieces of themselves while screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I thought you’d know better by now than to underestimate her.”

“I don’t. She scares the shit out of me.” It was the nonchalant answer one would have given if asked to describe the limbflayer about to turn them into a ragdolled plate of spaghetti. It was also, perhaps, the opinion of Fritz’s that came closest to matching with Viktor. Both men stared at the sluggishly melting crevice where the beet had perforated, eventually letting themselves find a seat, whether on the dusty, cracked ceramic of the floor or the shining metal of whatever now remained of a revolutionary, artificial bunch.

“She ever told you what the deal is? With the mask, I mean.”

Viktor kept dutifully rolling the cigarette in his hands without sparing a minute for doubt. It was always that question with Maira, and always him that they’d ask to, if he’d be around. Came along with partnering up on so many jobs, he guessed. A few even thought he was her guardian. Sometimes, he’d find himself wondering if that wasn’t the sole rumor with a semblance of truth.

“It’s... it was her father’s idea. This Klaus fellow used to tell me that the most of the surface is covered with spores, remnants from the biological warfare that razed enough of the civilized world to leave us as we are today. A couple breaths and bang, your internal organs would eventually start mutating... changing your genetic make-up. Turning you into bad stuff. Long story short: the air is unsafe, thus the necessity of using gas masks.”

He lit the cigarette with a half-empty zippo and shoved it between his lips, staring at nothing in particular beyond a half-lidded gaze. Silence fell through as he busied himself exhaling whiffs of smoke, the vivid red hue of pomacco making it seem as if he was breathing his very heart out, until Fritz stopped scratching behind his neck with a metallic finger he’d pried from his victim and current seat. Hearing all of this in another context would have stolen little less than a hearty chuckle from his throat. His voice sounded a tad too concerned to permit that this time around.

“Was he telling the truth?”

Viktor’s eyes watched their hardened gaze reflected into Fritz’s worried look for a significant moment, before he shook his head in stead of shoulders too tired to do so.

“It was bullshit. Klaus was a scavenger who was good at his craft and had more than a few loose screws. I don’t think he ever changed the filter on his own gas mask. Somehow I doubt that Maira does with hers, either.”

“I do. I’d die of asbestos poisoning otherwise.”

The muffled voice coming from behind the leather mask was matter-of-factly and unmistakably that of a girl. Standing in the middle of a doorway missing its upper half - and a door, for that matter - her small frame seemed to shrink even further in her colleagues’ surprised eyes. They watched her walk over and sit along with them, settling on patiently disassembling the Slingshot that was almost as long as she was tall.

“Good job not dying out there, kiddo. How many of those steel hippies did you end up getting?” Friendly though he might have sounded, Viktor couldn’t help but notice Fritz attempting to scuttle a bit further away from the girl seemingly ignoring him.

“A lot. Enough.”

“It’s mostly quiet now, so I guess that’s true. It’ll be evening soon, so we move out an hour from now.” Viktor said, checking the contents of his pomacco pouch: not enough left to spare him a grimace. He’d have to savor this one, though it was already little more than a butt desperatedly caught between two gloved digits.

“Thus ends the robot rebellion: in a hefty pile of scrap. Chalk one up for humans!”

“Pretty sure I saw a couple mutants taking part in the carnage, Fritz.”

“Whatever, no need to be a stickler about everything. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

“An entire city’s worth of factory bots got together and formed an army to gain independence because everybody wasn’t taking their talks about ‘achieving sentence’ and ‘freedom of will’ seriously until it was too late. It wouldn’t have killed for someone to be a bit of a stickler, perhaps” calmly replied Maira, sticking the last components of her rifle inside the oversized backpack sitting besides her. She spent the quiet pause she’d created lying on the hard floor and resting her head on said backpack, the gas mask covering her face and framed by short blond hair pointing towards a gray, humid ceiling.

“Ah, and what dad said about the spores? That was true.”

Maira fell asleep before she could witness either Fritz’s grumbling face of Viktor’s ghost of a grin.

[blankasolun]

source: Metal Hammer 7th May 2020

How Dave Mustaine Took on Cancer and Won

By James Blaine (Metal Hammer) 21 hours ago

Megadeth mainman Dave Mustaine opens up exclusively about staring down cancer and what the future holds

The whole world is coming apart at the seams.

At least that’s the way it seems in Nashville, Tennessee this week. A T6 tornado tore the hell out of town just as the coronavirus hit the Volunteer State. Even President Trump is in Music City today, surveying the damage from Marine Helicopter One, hovering above us as we step into a dark, downtown studio to meet with local resident, Dave Mustaine.

The Apocalypse’s first and second horsemen take a back seat, at least for the moment. Right now, we’re more concerned about Dave’s dog. Oblivious to its diminutive size, the long-haired Chihuahua descends upon us like some high-pitched Hound of Hell, menacingly baring his teeth and threatening to devour our very soul if we step any closer to his master. 

“Easy, Romeo. Easy,” Dave says, reaching to save us from the snarling beast. We coil back, cautiously offering the back of our hand. Dave laughs gruffly. “Oh, no,” he says. “That doesn’t work with him.”

As the Megadeth frontman corrals his pup, it gives us a chance to check out the legend after his recent health crisis. Mass of fiery mane – intact. Black jacket, jeans, black t-shirt, white sneakers. Honestly? Well, he looks like Dave Mustaine, like the hellraiser still not sold on cheap or easy peace. He moves a bit slow, but not creakily – more like a man who’s fought the Devil bare-fisted and lived to tell the tale. 

With the hound at bay, he turns to greet us. It’s difficult to know what’s appropriate in this season of paranoia and mutant pandemic, especially for a man who’s just had his immune system nuked. Do we fist bump? Nod and touch elbows? “Nah, I ain’t worried, man,” Dave assures us, shaking hands with a vice grip. “I’m healthy now.” 

The backstory: March 2019. After being bounced from doctor to doctor, Dave gets an official diagnosis that sounds like some dystopian speed metal verse. Squamous cell carcinoma on the base of your tongue. 

  Hold up. Cancer? Mustaine? No way. 

    If anyone seemed indestructible, it was Dave Mustaine. Bad ass, bad attitude, snarling, spitting, raging, red-headed, black belt-carrying soldier in God’s Army, Godfather Of Thrash. That cancer could sink its claws into someone like Dave sent shockwaves through the metal community. Now, one year after the diagnosis, Metal Hammer comes to Music City to hear his testimony first-hand. Because Dave Mustaine kicked cancer’s ass. 

  “Yeah, I’m pretty stoked about that,” he says, grinning as he grabs a bottle of water and motions for us to have a seat in a private, black- walled dressing room. The obvious first question: So, how do you feel? “I’m a little run down, but a lot of that’s from the medication and all the stuff that goes along with treatment. They hit the cancer really hard, nine doses of chemo and 51 radiation treatments, which just beats the hell out of you. My mouth is still messed up but overall, I feel really good.”

  Dave settles in on the couch to tell us how he got the news that he was cancer-free. “I was here in Nashville, at my doctor’s office. He had to reach down the back of my throat, which was really unpleasant, but it was important for him to feel and make sure. And he said my progress was amazing, that both sides felt the same. I’ve got a metal plate in my neck that I figured might cause problems, but the doc told me, “Dave, you are in perfect health, 100%. You’re free to go.” 

  Dave pauses to slide a piece of Big Red gum into his mouth, twisting the foil between his fingers, reflecting before he continues. “It sounds bizarre, but I kind of knew. I took good care of myself. I’d done everything my doctors told me to do. I had tons of support from family and friends. And I had lots of prayer. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I expected it. I had faith that I was going to be healed.”  

At this point, Dave rewinds to early 2019, explaining how he received the grim verdict. While out shredding with Joe Satriani and Zakk Wylde on the Experience Hendrix tour, severe mouth pain struck. “I’d gone in to get some dental work,” he says. “And after, it felt like the dentist had broken a piece of scraper off in my gums. I went back and he sent me to an oral surgeon who checked me out and said, ‘You need to see an ear, nose and throat doctor. I don’t want to say anything bad, but it looks like the Big C.’ Well, fuck, dude! Why’d you say that, then?” 

Dave shakes his head, still pissed, taking a long pull of water. “Anyway, I figured I’d take care of myself once the Hendrix tour was over. While out on the road, a friend of mine knew an ENT at the local emergency room. He came over, took a look, and said it wasn’t anything to worry about. But I knew something was wrong with me. It was just too far down for anybody to see.

“We had a day off and I was home in Nashville, so I saw a local specialist who suggested a scope. I don’t do good with scopes, so they had to knock me out to get the tube in. But yeah, they confirmed that it was cancer in the side of my throat that had spread to two lymph nodes.

  “Initially, they wanted to send me to MD Anderson in Houston for 11 weeks and I said no. fucking. way. I’m not gonna be away from my family for that long. So, they set me up at Vanderbilt, with Dr. Cmelak, who’s actually one of the best radiation oncologists in the country. I had a good team.”

  Fortunately for Mustaine, Music City is also the healthcare capital of the United States. The band cancelled tour dates and put the brakes on a new record so Dave could begin a brutal treatment regime, resting at his farm in the rolling hills of nearby Franklin between blasts of radiation and IV chemo drips. The worst, he says, is over.

  “I’ll have to do another MRI soon and check in with the doctor regularly, three years, five years. But the cool thing is, my voice came back even better than before. I think the treatment shrunk whatever was on my vocal cord that was making it hard to sing. I’d seen pictures of my voice box and there was some kind of bubble on the flap that was giving me trouble. Cyst, tumour, nodule, whatever the fuck it was. But that’s gone now, and they say long as I don’t do anything stupid, I should be good for the rest of my career. I know once you get cancer you’re never really out of the woods, but if the process doesn’t scare you into changing your lifestyle, then shame on you.”

Dave is no stranger to injuries and pain. He suffered career-threatening nerve damage to his left arm during a 2002 stint in a Texas rehab, and a decade later, underwent emergency surgery for spinal stenosis – whiplash, if you will – resulting in titanium implants in his neck. Flashing his trademark maniacal smile, Dave insists he felt no fear in the face of death.

  “I already died once,” he says, referencing his 1993 overdose on Valium. “I don’t remember anything, though. No light or tunnel or any of that shit. I respect death but I’m not living my life in fear. There was a little when I first found out that I had cancer, but it wasn’t so much about dying, as not being able to use my gift anymore, to play guitar or sing. That really shook me. To be inconvenienced is one thing. It’s something else to lose your gift.”

  Dave leans in. His steely glare, coupled with the white beard and wild hair, gives him the appearance of some Old Testament prophet of doom. “When they told me that my arm was 80% and I would never play guitar again, I thought, ‘You have no idea who you’re talking to. I will absolutely play again, and it’ll be a matter of days, not weeks.’ There’s a couple things I still can’t do, but I feel like I can play almost as good as I used to. Going through that thing with my arm was helpful. It gave me the courage to face any kind of medical problem I might have down the road. I’m going to do everything they say and if there’s blood, I can handle it. I’ve seen my own blood before.” 

  We ask about the darkest days, if his reputation causes people to expect an unrealistic level of strength. Dave fidgets with his shoelace. Ruffles the pup sweetly. Reaches for another piece of gum before the reply.

  “I think people do expect me to be invincible. It is a lot of pressure,” he admits. “But when you come out on the other side victorious, they cheer even louder. I like being a man of the people. That might sound corny, but it’s true. The hardest part was having to let others take care of me. I’ve always been so independent that even if I do need help, I’m not going to let anyone know. But overall, chemo wasn’t as ugly for me as it is for a lot of people. I had a couple of days where I got really sick and threw up, but that was it. I tried to be upbeat. When I would go in for treatment, I’d talk with the other patients, try to be encouraging.”

  The thrash titan was forced to miss the band’s inaugural MegaCruise in October, with his daughter, Electra, stepping in to represent the family. Upon completion of treatment, Dave was able to return for the Killing Road tour with Five Finger Death Punch in January. While on stage at the SSE Arena in Wembley, he announced that the cancer was in complete remission. 

  “Actually, I think I mentioned it from the first show of the tour,” says Dave. “If not Helsinki, then Stockholm for sure. I wanted the fans to know that I’m OK and how great the crew has been. And for sure, I want to tell the truth and let everyone know how much I prayed through this whole ordeal. Not just like, ‘Oh, yeah, thanks, God.’ But that I really, seriously prayed.”

Christian for nearly two decades, Dave has always been vocal about his beliefs. While discussing the role faith played in his recovery, he pauses, raking fingers through his beard, measuring his words.

“After growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness, there was a time that I hated the concept of anything that I had to answer to. The church disfellowshipped my sister, Debbie, and I was the only one who would sit and listen to her cry. It flipped me out and all I wanted to do was get back at the people who hurt my sister,” Dave explains. “But now, I try to keep my prayers pretty gentle. I don’t pray for anyone to get hurt or get what’s coming to them, only for God’s will and that he would help me do what I need to do. To me, prayer is just an open, honest, easy conversation like you’re talking to your dad. Essentially, that’s what God is supposed to be, our Father, right? So that makes it easy for me to engage in prayer.”

Asked to elaborate, Dave adds, “In the Bible, the Pharisees liked to pray in public so everybody could see them. They thought the louder they prayed, the more pious they would seem, like it’s an indication of their righteousness. For me, righteousness is something that’s exhibited through consistent behaviour that’s Godly in nature. You sum up the gospels with the Golden Rule. Helping others, no matter what. There’s this old song by the Circle Jerks called Wonderful.” 

  He sings the chorus of the 80s punk classic. Romeo perks up, cocking an ear in his master’s direction. “It’s a great song that talks about how it’s really not so hard to do something nice for someone else. Help a stranger. Smile. If you see a homeless person, give them something to eat. I was homeless once. It was the worst, man. Scrounging for food, living in [bassist] David Ellefson’s van…”  

  Dave apologises for losing his train of thought, blaming the lingering effects of “chemo brain”. After a break, he switches gears, discussing the positive changes that have come from his battle with the disease. “My wife and I are getting along tremendously, and things are really good with my son and daughter right now, too. I’ve got a better relationship with my band. The other day, Kiko [Loureiro, guitarist] says to me, ‘I really like this new Dave!’ What he was talking about, is when you’re dealing with pain, you drink, you smoke, you bitch, because you don’t know what’s going on. But soon as I found out what was wrong with me, I attacked it. Once I did, I could feel myself getting happier too.

Support also came from outside Dave’s immediate circle. His old band brother, James Hetfield, reached out, as did Kiss’s Paul Stanley and Ozzy, who was at war with his own medical demons in 2019.

“Everybody’s treatment is different, but Bruce Dickinson had been through throat cancer about five years ago, so he was able to give me a lot of insight into what to expect. His biggest advice was to listen to the doctors and don’t rush to get back onstage. They told him to hold off, but he went back out to perform and nothing came out. Well, OK. I get it. Bruce waited a month before his first show, so I held off a little longer. My last treatment was in September and I made plenty of time to rest, exercise and eat right before we went back out on tour. We did 22 dates overseas, and I feel great now, except for the fatigue. But I think a lot of that might be due to um, extracurricular activities. Staying up late. Not sleeping. Maybe a little, you know…” 

Thumb and forefinger to his lips, Dave inhales sharply, making the universal symbol for partaking of the herb. Could he be referring to the alleged medicinal benefits of CBD oil? “Don’t screw around with the oil, man,” he growls in the same gravel baritone as his crushing thrash classics. Our eyes go wide as the voice from sixth grade Headbangers Ball comes to life.

  Dave cackles at our reaction, pushing back a wayward strand of hair. “If you’re gonna do it, get the good stuff. I think the world is just now finding out the beauty of cannabis and everything it can do for you. I hear people talk how it’s good for cancer patients. C’mon, it’s good for any fucking patient! The radiation zapped my salivary glands so I couldn’t make spit, which made it really hard to swallow and get food down. They gave me this crazy mouthwash to use that had Benadryl and lidocaine in it, but I still couldn’t eat. So cannabis helped with that, except I got a terrible craving for kiddie cereal. I went to the store and got, like, 20 boxes.” 

  The thought of the Tornado Of Souls singer devouring countless bowls of cereal is a pretty cool picture and we can’t help but inquire about his favourite fix. “Trix with marshmallows. Froot Loops with marshmallows. Frosted Flakes. The kind with little marshmallows. You get the idea. My cancer team told me to try and watch the sugar intake, but they said, ‘Dave, if you can eat – then eat.’ The doctor threatened to put a feeding tube in my gut if I lost too much weight. Well, they scared the shit out of me with that one, but it worked.”

With Dave healthy and back onstage, the follow-up to 2016’s Grammy Award-winning Dystopia is on every Megafan’s brain. Late last year, Dave teased songs that were “heavy as hell” with titles such as Rattlehead, Part Two and The Dogs Of Chernobyl. 

  “I don’t know if any of those titles are still holding up,” he says, revealing that the band has been tracking at Nashville’s Sound Kitchen with co-producer Chris Rakestraw at the controls again. “Whenever I make a record, the names of the songs change so many times. I think we’ve got 14 songs for this album and another folder with six. The songs are constantly evolving and as they do, we change the title to be more reflective of what makes the song distinct.”

  So, will we see a new Megadeth album before 2020 ends? “I hope so, yeah,” says Dave. “We’ll start back in a couple of days and keep plowing until it’s done. Metal Tour Of The Year starts this summer, but that should be fun and easy [Editor’s note – we spoke to Dave before COVID-19 outbreak]. We’ve got a week’s vacation coming up soon and I’m going to go rest up and get ready to come back and make a brilliant record.”

  Nashville traffic is anarchy these days and Romeo looks like he needs to hike his leg. As the sun sets over the Cumberland River, Dave stands and slides an arm around our shoulder, recruiting Metal Hammer to thank the fans for all their thoughts and prayers. It strikes us, how we expect legends to be carved from granite. On one hand, we understand that our heroes are human. But on the other, we never want to see them frail, or sick, or down. And that must be a hell of a burden sometimes. But perhaps, it’s also what keeps them moving. If our heroes can keep pushing, then that gives us the courage to keep pushing too, through all the shitstorms of life, disasters both natural and manufactured, even the ones we bring upon ourselves. Decades later, they still inspire perseverance, hope, and the determination to never let the bastards grind you down. Maybe even a little 21st century metal up your ass. 

  Still, we have to ask one last thing. Dave’s been on the road almost 40 years. Dues paid; the mark has been made. Was he ever tempted to call it a day, sit back on the farm and enjoy a slow, simple life? 

  “Yeah, I guess I could do that,” he admits, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “But I love what I do, and I like helping the band and crew make money. Playing music makes people happy. A lot of times while we’re out there, they share stuff with us, some good, some bad, but we get to bring our own little brand of panacea to people and somehow, that makes them feel beautiful. Even if it’s for just one night.” 

Published in Metal Hammer #334

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Dave Mustaine Talks About His Fight With Cancer source: Metal Hammer 7th May 2020 How Dave Mustaine Took on Cancer and Won By James Blaine…