#limbs still weighted. thumbs hard to type with. takes a lot of effort to type without typos. im trying my best.

[orcelito]

I think the nice thing is that I was not violently angry today like I was yesterday. I was just #SadboyHours for nearly my entire shift bc I was on shift alone for most of it, and that is not very fun on new years day :(

[vulturhythm]

let us waltz for the dead - two

part one

- - - - -

They say that the devil is in the details.

Things can change with an instant's notice - there one second, gone the next.

They say that to lay with the devil is to sell your soul.

A fitting end.

- - -

The lower floor of the tavern is largely darkened when Geralt descends the stairs, only the fireplace lit. It's bewildering at first - after all, it isn't terribly early in the morning. The dull light of the tavern, combined with the stormclouds and rain outside, lend a gloomy atmosphere to everything, one that has unease twisting low in Geralt's stomach.

"Out of luck if you're looking to head out," comes a gruff voice, and Geralt looks to the bar, only partially surprised to see Nivellen there, wiping it clean.

Funny thing, cleaning something that hasn't been used.

"Come again?" Geralt asks as he crosses the room, settling onto a barstool and watching the damp rag move across the smooth wooden counter with passive interest.

Nivellen hooks a thumb at the windows, but doesn't look away from his task. "Storm washed out all the roads for miles around. Doesn't look as though it'll clear up any time soon, neither. Your horse would get bogged down, sure as anything."

Geralt heaves a sigh, frustrated by the confirmation, though not exactly surprised. "It came on fast," he remarks, gaze straying to the window nearest him. He could barely see the trees for the pouring rain, falling from the clouds in thick curtains that turned the world a murky gray and black. "Won't bother you if I wait it out here, will it?"

Nivellen merely shrugs, saying in a tone that, while not unkind, is nonetheless indifferent, "Long as you've got the money, you can stay for a week, for all I care. Breakfast served half-past nine, lunch at one, dinner at eight. Gonna cost you."

Of course it will.

Shaking his head, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his purse again. "Get a lot of traffic here, then?" he asks idly, counting out the notes for another night's rest.

"Decent amount," Nivellen grunts, disinterested. "Why?"

Geralt shrugs, setting the money down and pocketing his purse once more. "There was a man last night, said he spends plenty of time here. Thought it was interesting."

The barkeep falters, looking at him with a gaze that's not quite critical, not quite concerned. "Second thought, you might better not stick around."

That gives Geralt pause. "Pardon?"

"Nothing but trouble, that kid. If he's taken a fancy to you, well... more's the shame."

Frowning, Geralt looks up once more, uncertain as to how he's meant to take that.

Nivellen cocks a brow. "Just telling you how it is," he says, oddly curt now. "Plan on wantin' breakfast?"

Taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, Geralt shakes his head. "I'll eat at one," he replies. "I should... I should go check on my mare."

The bartender seems satisfied with this, merely nodding and redoubling his efforts to clean what must be an immensely stubborn spot that Geralt simply cannot see. "Remember the stallion," he warns dismissively. "He's - "

"A biter, I remember," Geralt finishes, sighing as he stands. "I know."

As he turns to leave, reaching for the front doorknob, he realizes that the strange glint he'd seen in Nivellen's eye is not unfamiliar at all -  no, it was pity.

- - -

When Geralt steps outside, he realizes immediately that this is not a storm that intends to show any mercy to whatever happens to be in its path. The wind is fierce in and of itself, driving the rain into his skin with force that stings. He grits his jaw, grateful that there are barely three yards between himself and the stable awning. Still, he does not look forward to crossing that scant distance.

Biting back a sigh, he makes a break for it, dashing toward the awning and having just the presence of mind to marvel at just how fucking wet he gets in the span of maybe five, six seconds. He stops short once he's under cover, sucking in a gasp for air and shaking his now-drenched hair from his eyes.

If the roads weren't washed out by midnight, they sure as hell are now.

Geralt shakes himself to dislodge some of the excess rain clinging to his skin and coat, heading inside. He's greeted by the warm glow of a lantern above, somehow just as bright as it was last night when he came to put Roach away. The stable is split in half by a wide, cobblestone corridor; there are places in the floor where the stones have crumbled away, and he can see the wood and dirt beneath. Three wide stalls line each side. To his left, Roach whinnies in greeting, and he approaches with a soft croon.

She sticks her head out over the door to butt against his shoulder, and Geralt softens, smiling to himself as he brushes her forelock smooth. "Hope your night was less eventful than mine," he tells her, resting his brow on her own when she settles. Roach merely snorts, and he hears her pawing on the other side of the door.

He rests there for a beat, enjoying this moment of peace - this moment of warmth, when the world outside is so strange and harsh. A louder, deeper snort and accompanying nicker draws him from his reverie a few moments later, and he looks up.

The stallion Nivellen warned him against is in the stall to Roach's left. Funny. Geralt is certain he was across the corridor the night before...

As he straightens up, the stallion snorts once more, tossing his head. He's a draft of some sort, a big, beastly black thing, but there's enough fleetness evident in his frame that Geralt suspects he's a foxhunter of some type or another.

Lord knows he's got the spirit for it; you'd have to be deaf not to hear the way he's pacing in his stall, tail lashing and head reared back.

Geralt watches him with no small degree of wariness, wondering who thought it a good idea to move the stallion across beside his mare.

"Watch yourself," he says in quiet warning, leaving Roach for the saddle racks in the corner of the stable. He grabs Roach's brush from the saddlebag, heading for her stall and undoing the latch to slip inside. It pleases him to see that the hay net and water trough are freshly filled; evidently somebody here is in charge of the stables. The evening before, he had found the stall in pristine shape, as well - fully stocked, clean, ready for use. Patting Roach's flank, he sets to work, brushing away the night's worth of straw bits stuck to her coat.

Roach, for all that she enjoys a good bit of fun now and then, is always docile when Geralt needs her to be, and now is no exception. She stands with her head low, nibbling thoughtfully at the hay. Geralt hums a mindless tune to her as he works, though he knows better than to turn his back entirely on the stallion in the other stall; he keeps his body turned, one eye on the black beast.

At last, he moves to Roach's opposite side, the red mare now between him and the stallion. The larger horse seems to calm some, and Geralt permits himself to relax, focusing the majority of his attention on Roach once more.

This proves to be a mistake barely five minutes later.

A clamor of hooves and a blur of movement is all the warning he gets before the stallion is lurching against the stall divider, before the stallion's head is snaking for Roach. Geralt hears his mare squeal, steps back when she kicks, soothes her with as much calm in his tone as he can when she's sidestepping into him.

Geralt curses under his breath as he rounds Roach once more, letting the mare back off to the opposite side of the stall and putting himself between the horses once more. The stallion is nearly screaming now, blood on his teeth and head tossing as he paces in place. "Never taught manners, were you?" Geralt asks irritably, watching those wild eyes roll.

He glances back over his shoulder, seeing the bite wound on Roach's neck. Sighing, he backs toward her, sets a hand on her quivering side and speaks low until she begins to calm. All the while, his eyes are on the stallion, that black coat glistening with sweat as though it had been pushed hard after a fox for miles.  "No manners at all."

The stallion merely snorts again, and Geralt can practically feel the disdain in the sound. He shakes his head, trusting Roach to stay out of reach as he leaves the stall, heading once more for the saddle racks. He carries salve in the saddlebags at all times, although he has to admit, this is the first time Roach has been attacked by something apart from mosquitoes or horseflies.

It's as he returns to the stall that the stallion strikes again. Geralt is reaching to open the door when the bastard lunges, slamming into his own door with a loud thud and lashing out. Harsh teeth close over the wrist of his extended arm, and Geralt nearly doubles over with pain.

He strikes the stallion between the eyes, hating himself for an instant, but drawing back in relief when the black beast lets go, recoiling with a squeal that hurts Geralt's ears. "Try it again, and I'll hit you harder," he mutters, mostly to himself, backing off a couple of steps to survey the damage.

The skin is torn, blood dripping steadily, but he guesses he's fortunate that the bite isn't any deeper than it is already. Geralt sighs, eyeing the stallion warily as he slips back into the stall to tend to Roach. The beast is eyeing him much the same, retreating back into the corner of his own stall with a frustrated switch of his tail.

Good riddance.

- - -

The rain has shown no signs of easing up when Geralt leaves the stable; if anything, it's pouring just as hard as it was the evening before, rain tumbling from the rooftops and beating its way down through wind-bowed limbs and leaves. Geralt sighs as he stands beneath the stable's awning, bracing himself to run. He hadn't planned on rain when he'd set out for Cintra - his coat lacks a hood or cowl, something he would have truly appreciated at about this time.

Steeling himself against the cold onslaught, he rushes for the door of the Black Dog, relieved when it opens easily under his own weight. By the time he's crossed those scant three yards, he's virtually drenched once more, and he knows it'll be a welcome relief to be able to sit down before the fire. He lets the door swing shut behind him as he stalls on the rug just beyond, letting the worst of the water drip off him here as he gives the tavern floor a cursory glance, halfway expecting to see Jaskier lounging by the hearth, or, at the very least, Nivellen behind the bar, preparing to offer up a dish.

He sees neither.

In fact, he sees an entirely unfamiliar face behind the bar - a young woman with hair that's so deep a shade Geralt isn't sure if it's red or brown, chopped short and curly and uneven. She's leaning on the countertop and nursing a tankard of what Geralt can plainly smell is ale; there's a platter of food in front of her, much too large for one person.

Geralt blames surprise on the way he falters, more than anything, staring for a good half-minute.

The woman cocks a brow at him when she lowers her tankard, and lets the silence go on for another moment before she says, with a laugh that's short and sudden, "You act as if you've never seen a girl before."

Called out, he clears his throat, shaking his head to clear it as he heads for the bar. "I was expecting Nivellen," he replies, a little gruffly, and the woman shrugs, giving him a cursory once-over as he sits down across from her. "Your name...?"

"Renfri," she replies, doing a flourish-y gesture with one hand, then gesturing to the platter in front of her. "Hope you don't mind sharing."

Geralt glances down at it - cheeses, meats, pastries, a loaf of bread, all laid out in an aesthetic pattern Geralt knows better than to give Nivellen credit for. It's obvious that Renfri has already sampled the former, mostly because she reaches for another little cube of aged cheddar as Geralt watches. "Not at all," he says, and he finds he means it; Renfri seems a curious sort, certainly a better conversationalist than Nivellen. "Is it customary to dine with your guests?"

Renfri snorts, shaking her head as she pops the cube into her mouth and turns toward the wall behind her. "When there's only one guest in the entire tavern, yes," she says over her shoulder, voice slightly muffled. "What're you drinking?"

He hesitates a moment as he reaches for a pastry first. Maybe Jaskier is part of the staff, then. "Water is alright for now," he says. "Never was much for day drinking."

Nodding, she turns away from the selection of spirits and reaches instead for a simple pitcher, filling up a tankard with practiced ease. "I see the fucker bit you," she says, jerking her chin toward the wound on Geralt's wrist. "Nasty old thing, isn't he?"

Geralt glances automatically to the torn skin of his arm. "Yes," he sighs, taking the tankard from her with a grateful nod. "Looked hungry, so I figured I'd feed him while I tended to Roach, and, well - "

" - and he whipped around and bit you," Renfri says; she speaks with the sort of firm authority that makes it plain she's dealt with the stallion before. She leans her weight onto the counter once more, cocking a playful brow as Geralt reaches for the knife resting beside the platter, slicing into the bread. "Lucky he didn't take off more of your arm than he did."

He gives a weary hum, close enough to laughter, taking one of the slices and making a rather awkward little sandwich with the meat and cheese. "Have you worked here long?" he asks her, taking a bite. "Building looks like it's pretty old."

Renfri shrugs then. "Long enough," she says; the vagueness of her reply doesn't escape Geralt, but he chooses not to comment. "Longer than the grouchy old bastard usually up here."

Geralt lets the corner of his mouth tip upward in a half-smile; the description is apt enough, he has to admit. "So, ah... you know the staff well?"

A sort of veil comes down across her eyes, but she nods regardless, cocking her head to the side. "What makes you ask?"

"Well, the, uh..." He pauses there, unsure if there's any less crass way to explain things than there was a boy who very enthusiastically seduced me last night. "The younger man who works here? He's an... interesting sort."

Renfri hums then, low and amused, and Geralt falters, recognizing the glint in her eye as the same spark of pity that Nivellen's had held before. "Ah," she says, her tone suddenly flat in the instant before she seems to pick back up her smile. "Jaskier."

Geralt nods, oddly relieved, and finishes off his makeshift little sandwich. "Does he, ah... make a habit of associating with the guests?"

"Unfortunately," she sighs, although there's something different about her now, something... off. "A habit he won't be broken of, let's call it that."

"A habit," he repeats dryly. "You sound as if this is a constant issue."

Renfri scoffs, and the shake of her head is almost resigned. "To put it lightly," she replies. "If he bothers you again, I suggest at least pretending to have some degree of decorum and leaving him behind."

Geralt feels a flush rise to his cheeks, and he clears his throat. "I'll make an effort," he replies, deciding he can guarantee at least that much.

The woman nods, though she doesn't seem entirely convinced; to be fair, Geralt himself isn't the most confident in his ability to reject the boy, should he approach him again. "See that you do," she replies simply. "I trust you'll be leaving once the storm passes?"

A response is on the tip of his tongue, but as if eager to join the conversation, a peal of thunder comes from overhead, deep enough that it rattles the tankards and glasses hanging upon the racks at the back of the bar. Geralt pauses, brows cocked in a mirror of Renfri's expression as they watch the vessels, then meet eachother's gazes.

"If the storm passes," Renfri amends with a weary sigh. "Well... I've got to go tend to things in the back, but by all means, eat what you will. I'll clean up later."

Geralt nods, the softest huff of laughter escaping him as he watches the irritated way Renfri adjusts the vessels that had slipped from their previous positions. It's easy enough to tell that Renfri is the one responsible for much of the order in this place - Nivellen likely wouldn't have given the skewed things a second glance. "I suppose I'll see you around?"

Renfri offers little more than a shrug as she grabs her drink, already walking out from behind the bar. She rounds the corner to clap Geralt on the shoulder with surprising force, and he turns his head to watch her, seeing her gaze on the rain-battered windows. "We'll see," she says, and that's that. She turns to leave, disappearing down the other hallway by the hearth.

Geralt watches her retreat until he hears a door open and close. With a thoughtful exhale, he looks up to the tankards and glasses hanging from the racks.

One glass is cracked.

- - -

Geralt retreats to his room once he's finished off the platter, pleasantly full and ready to spend the afternoon in peace and quiet. Were it a nicer day, he would have taken joy out of exploring the property, or even just the halls, but as is, he finds he wants few things more than a chance at rest - and a chance to bandage his wrist, for another thing.

The sense of something being off is the first thing to hit him as he unlocks his door. He pauses there, with it halfway open, frowning to himself. From here, he can see little more than the bed, which looks just the same as always. The window is shivering under the force of the rain and wind, but he doubts it will give.

At last, he shakes his head and pushes the door open, stepping into the room.

It takes only a glance for him to realize that, indeed, he was right - something is off.

Geralt's gaze darts immediately to the mirror.

The crack is gone, and so is the blood.

He has no words for the strange feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach.

Swallowing bewildered nerves, he pushes the door closed behind him - slowly, as if to move too quickly is to alert whatever strange imp breaks and replaces mirrors - and approaches the dresser, holding his reflection's gaze.

Surely he imagines the way his eyes look brighter, the rest of him darker, in the newly-mended glass.

Geralt stands there, evaluating the glass, listening to the wind and rain beat against the window. He stands there, holding his gaze, until the room seems to darken at his back, until his mind begins to play its little tricks - until his face begins to morph, twisting into a facsimile of itself -

- and then, just as his eyes become the brightest spot in the shadows, he blinks, and the trance is broken.

A worker must have come to check the room, he decides, turning away, and replaced the mirror.

The only explanation.

He heads for the washroom, glancing down to the bite in his wrist. It's ceased to bleed, something for which he's grateful, but he realizes the pain has only barely abated.

With a weary sigh, he holds it beneath running water, watching with a strange sort of fascination as the flow turns first crimson, then pink with time.

He loses track of the minutes that pass, jarred back into reality by the sound of footsteps in the outer room.

Geralt pauses, lifts his head, meets his eyes in the washroom mirror for an instant - sees movement in the reflection, in the doorway.

He turns in a rush, uncertain as to what he expects.

He sees nothing.

The unease in his stomach is something nearer to fear now.

Shutting off the water, he turns to face the doorway, wounded wrist hanging at his side.

It came for the scent of blood.

The thought enters his head unbidden, and Geralt blinks, shaking it away. There's nothing there.

Nothing there, either, when he walks into the main room, when he glances around.

Nothing except that mirror, a hairline crack spiderwebbing its way across the glass.

- - -

He spends the rest of the afternoon in quiet, sitting in bed and watching the rain fall.

He gives no thought to the quiet sounds coming from the washroom.

Just a rat, most likely.

- - -

Eight o' clock arrives at last, and Geralt has never been more eager to flee his lodgings than he is when he goes downstairs to see if, by chance, dinner is any more or less eventful than lunch had been.

The fire within the hearth has been lit once again, and Geralt cannot help but be relieved; it really is amazing, the difference a fire can make, in making a place feel more like a home. Nivellen is once again behind the bar, and there's a plate of what looks to be roast chicken and vegetables in front of him. He looks up when Geralt approaches, motioning toward the plate with an awkward half-smile.

"Kept it warm for you," is his simple, weary greeting.

Geralt decides not to take too much offense from the way Nivellen seems less than interested in conversation now, ever since this morning. "Thank you," he says, heaving a sigh as he sits down on what's quickly become his usual barstool. "Are you - "

But before he can finish his inquiry, Nivellen is setting a glass of madeira in front of him and turning to leave, heading for the same door through which Renfri had disappeared earlier in the day.

For a good few seconds, Geralt simply stares after him, trying to decide what, exactly, he did to offend the grizzled bartender so profoundly.

He shakes his head to clear it, picking up a fork and tending to his dinner.

- - -

It's just as Geralt becomes aware of how eerie this room is, completely empty and all but abandoned, that he feels a new presence, one that's slipping onto the barstool just to his right. Startled, he looks over, nearly choking on his latest mouthful when he recognizes Jaskier, leaning an elbow on the counter and regarding him with a cunning little smile.

"Do you make a habit of terrifying guests?" Geralt asks, once he's gotten past the risk of asphyxiation. He clears his throat, reaching for his drink and swallowing a generous dose to ease the new pain. "Where did you come from?"

Jaskier ignores both of these questions, gaze fixated on Geralt's lips as he drinks. "You're still here," he says, and there's a strange little note of glee in his tone.

Geralt hides his frown, remembering the way Nivellen and Renfri had reacted at the mention of this strange little thing. "The roads are likely washed out," he replies, setting his fork down. He wonders, absurdly, if tonight will end the same way as the last. "I'm waiting out the storm."

Jaskier hums in reply, tilting his head to the side; Geralt glances down, watches as the young man's hand comes to rest on his knee. The slow brush of his thumb sends a tremor up Geralt's spine against his own will. "Drinking alone again, I see."

"Not very many others in this tavern," he points out, and Jaskier laughs.

It's the prettiest sound Geralt has ever heard.

"I would join you," the little thing replies, and as he drops his gaze to where he's running his hand up higher, Geralt feels a spike of need drive itself through his frame, "but I've already sampled the finest brandy, and I don't imagine I should drink any more."

Geralt gives him a cautious glance, biting his lip against that strange desire. He doesn't understand how Jaskier caused it so damn easily, when Geralt can surround himself with the finest company and still encourage a bit of a chase before he beds anyone, or allowed them to bed him. "Sounds like a wise decision," he says, and clears his throat.

Jaskier's hand is nearly upon his groin now, resting high on the juncture of his thigh. Geralt is tense, willing his body to remain unaffected - but he's fighting a losing battle. The moment Jaskier's fingertips brush along the bulge of his cock through his trousers, his breath catches, and he says, in a voice that sounds half-strangled, "Are you always this forward?"

The younger man shrugs.

That's all the answer he offers before he's leaning up and in, capturing Geralt's lips in a kiss that feels of searing heat.

- - -

Tonight, it's Jaskier who has Geralt pinned to the door of his room, and it's Jaskier whose thigh finds a place between Geralt's own.

Geralt chokes on a moan of the younger man's name when Jaskier deepens the kiss that already threatens to devour Geralt alive, digs his nails into Jaskier's arms to keep himself steady as he rolls his hips down onto that slim thigh. "W - wait - bed - "

Jaskier makes a noise of discontent, tangling both hands in Geralt's hair and drawing him in deeper, deeper, licking into his mouth and rocking his hips until Geralt is moaning against his lips, rutting onto his thigh like he's in heat, goddamn him. At last, all of a sudden, Jaskier breaks away, leaving Geralt bereft when he steps away and says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Geralt is still as good as fucking reeling, his world spinning around him in a cloud of lust and confusion; he pauses to catch his breath, steadying himself against the door at his back as he stares at Jaskier.

The little thing is wearing the same clothes as the night before - an undone chemise and trousers that hug his frame so damn perfectly they have Geralt's mouth watering. He remembers the shape and size of Jaskier's cock from their romp, feels a tremor go through his frame when he imagines that cock inside him. Swallowing, he nods, and Jaskier brightens.

There's something to be said for the firmness of Jaskier's grasp when he guides Geralt to his hands and knees on the foot of the bed, those slender hands planted firmly on his hips once they make quick work of his pants. Geralt breathes out shakily, tips himself forward to rest his head on folded arms, braces himself against the initial sting when Jaskier slips a finger inside him.

There's plenty to be said of the skill of those goddamn hands. Jaskier has him panting before long, pushing back onto his hand with ragged sounds he doesn't know if he's ever made before - has him moaning aloud when he crooks his fingers up to brush over the nerves deep inside his core. Geralt's hips buck, and he lifts his head for just an instant, meaning to look back over his shoulder, but he catches a golden gaze, and falters.

Positioned like this, he's facing the dresser - he's facing that goddamn mirror - he's holding his own gaze, and kneeling just behind him, Jaskier is watching him with predatory eyes, a half-cruel smile twisting his once-soft face.

Geralt feels fear rush through him when Jaskier winks, those cornflower eyes flashing too bright, but before he can take in anything more than the absence of the cracks across the glass, Jaskier is twisting his hand once more, and Geralt is moaning aloud, eyes falling shut.

"D - darling," he fumbles out, his voice ragged with need, and the next crook of Jaskier's fingers is harsh, digging into his spot with enough force that Geralt fucking sobs.

"Don't," Jaskier says, his voice low and firm, "call me that."

As quick as the moment passes, it's gone, and so are Jaskier's fingers.

Geralt scarcely has the time to mourn their passing before Jaskier is gripping him by the hips and pushing in slow, slow, rocking in so damn deep that Geralt feels it in his throat.

He falls apart holding his own gaze in the mirror, spilling across the sheets beneath him as Jaskier's face twists into a bloody mockery of a smile.

- - -

As they lay together afterward, spent and satisfied, it's Geralt whose head is upon Jaskier's chest this time. He can't deny the comfort of Jaskier's fingers combing through his hair, nor of Jaskier's embrace, holding him steady after the younger man took him apart so entirely.

"You left before I did this morning," Geralt remarks at last, his voice hoarse from begging. The shapes in the mirror are but a fever dream, replaced by the welcome ache in his hips, in his thighs. "Had somewhere to be?"

Jaskier pauses, his fingers stilling for an instant. "Yes," he says at length, resuming his motions. "Had to go bed your mother."

The comment is so out of place, so unexpected, that Geralt laughs, lifting his head. Jaskier meets his gaze, cornflower eyes sparkling, lips quirked in a smile. "I can't imagine she's a good partner," Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier merely shrugs.

"Her son certainly is," he replies.

That's all the urging Geralt needs to lean up, stealing another kiss that gradually turns deliberate.

Jaskier moans so prettily when Geralt's cock is down his throat, he discovers.

When he tangles his fingers in sex-rumpled hair to hold him firm, they come away wet and red.

He blinks, and the blood is gone.

- - -

Jaskier is gone in the morning.

Geralt expected as much.

The storm is still raging on.

Geralt expected that, too.

What he did not expect is for the mirror to be once again shattered apart, its surface splashed with blood.

He sits up still in bed, looking at his reflection through a transparent red haze.

Out in the hallway, someone screams.

[racke7]

Weapon summary for writers

So, for a while now I've been thinking about what constitutes as a good “beginner's weapon”.

Obviously, we're excluding firearms and things like crossbows, because for all that it can take years to become skilled at it, it's not uncommon to figure out enough of the basics to be lethal within an hour.

Now, first it must be said that the “usefulness” of any weapon is based entirely around the situation they're used in.

A mace for example is a brilliant way to fight off a heavily armored opponent, but kind of loses a lot of its comparative usefulness when fighting unarmored opponents, as another weapon may be able to chop a limb off instead of just bruising it.

A spear is king on an open battlefield, but largely useless during the boarding-action of a ship at sea.

A shield is extremely useful for a number of reason, but also a massive pain in the ass to carry around for long periods of time if you're not going to be seeing active combat. And armor works much the same.

In other words, context is key to finding out the usefulness of a weapon, and equipping a beginner with an “easy to use” weapon that is useless for the purpose of whatever fighting is going to be occurring is pointless.

So, let's try to sort out a few general rules of thumb.

Swords

Swords are brilliant side-arms, meaning that they're very easy to carry around with you through everyday life. This is also the reason why they're so prominent on the battlefields, because people carry them around as backup weapons, since they won't get in the way.

Swords are rarely above 1,5kg in weight (usually hovering around the 1,1-1,2kg), though depending on the weight-distribution they can feel easier or harder to move (basically, the principle of leverage). The closer the weight-balance is to the hilt of the sword, the easier the sword is to move, however it also loses on “chopping power” because the tip of the blade becomes lighter than the base.

Needless to say, in order to swing a metal-stick around with a single hand does require a certain level of physical fitness. This can be mitigated with bigger grips that allow for two hands, since this gives the wielder more leverage against the weight of the blade. (Please note that rapiers are one-handed swords.)

There are straight swords that are “chopping oriented” and there are curved swords that are “stabbing oriented”, but generally if there's a curve in the blade there's an assumption towards chopping.

In order to properly chop with a sword, the blade needs to align with the direction the cut is aimed in. Basically, you can't cut someone by hitting them with the flat of your blade. However, because a sword is “springy” it's not quite enough to get the blade “kind of in line” with the chop, since it will want to bounce away rather than bite into the enemy. This is the kind of thing a person who works with swords for a long while can still screw up on a regular basis (though, obviously there will be improvements over time).

With this in mind, swords are very easy to bring with you, but depend highly on the skill-level of the individual to use. However, they're not impossible to learn how to use, and they're a moderately effective weapon for both offense and defense. And they're certainly better than nothing.

Bows

Bows are brilliant weapons of death, but they're difficult to aim, and even more difficult to use.

Highly dependent on a very high level of upper-body strength, a bow very much isn't the kind of thing you can pick up over a weekend (an actual combat-bow that is, ones with a smaller draw-weight are entirely possible to learn at least the basics of over a weekend).

A bow's ability to pierce armor largely depends on the draw-weight of the bow and the shape of the arrows. But it also depends on the kind of armor that the enemy is wearing. Plate or mail, what type of mail, etc.

Bows are an extremely effective weapon for hitting someone “over there” without allowing them the opportunity to come “over here”. They're therefore often included with fortifications, whether that be stone walls, hastily erected palisades, or even a spear-wall.

Bows are also very delicate weapons, because they're designed to survive the forces in one specific direction, and anything that interferes with that even a little can easily break it. The string of the bow is also very sensitive to things like moisture, and leaving a bow strung for longer periods of time is very bad, as it would deform both the string and the bow.

Shooting a bow is physically exhausting, easily on par with shoveling snow for several hours, and it will give you the muscles to prove it.

Axes

An axe works by using the momentum of the swing to hit the enemy with a chopping-blow. It's a highly offense-oriented weapon, with basically nothing at all going for it defensively.

It's fairly easy to use, because it can be considered a kind of “advanced club” and humans instinctively understand how to hit people with a club. (This is in fact one of the problems most people have with trying to wield a sword, in that a sword isn't best used when treated like a club.)

However, it has drawbacks in that there's a fairly small edge with which to hit the enemy. This can lead to a powerful chopping-blow being turned into an easily-ignored nuisance when you end up hitting the enemy with the wooden handle instead of the metal edge.

As mentioned before, axes also lack defensive options, to the point where anyone with a sword could likely slice off the unwary person's fingers without too much effort. Which is why axes were used almost exclusively with a shield readily available, which could defend the hand holding the axe and allow the wielder to use their entire reach without worrying too much about overextending.

Because it relies heavily on the momentum of the swing (and isn't constructed as a piece of wobbling metal, but instead as a solid chunk of it), an axe relies a lot less on the importance of edge-alignment than a sword. But it's also likely to be a bit more exhausting to swing around, since the weight-distribution makes it harder to leverage it into a swing.

Maces

Much like axes, maces work by hitting the enemy really hard with a swing. The difference being that they lack the chopping edge, and instead deal “blunt” or “piercing” damage, depending on the shape of the mace.

It has a lot of the same weaknesses that an axe does, but has even less to worry about with edge-alignment than the axe. It does however come with the drawback of not being nearly as focused on having “stopping power”.

Primarily it's designed for a person with armor to hit another person with armor. It has a very “consistent” kind of stopping-power, regardless of how much armor a person is or isn't wearing. But that also makes it compare a lot less favorably to something like a sword or an axe when fighting against unarmored opponents.

Shields

There's a lot of different kinds of shields in existence, everything from tower-shields to tiny bucklers, and they're all useful for very different kinds of situations.

Tower-shields are useful in a formation of pikes, kite-shields and “viking”-shields are useful for pretty much anyone not using a two-handed weapon, and bucklers are very easy to carry around if you happen to get ambushed on the way to the grocers.

Despite the fact that they're defensive things, they can be used offensively. Not just in smacking an enemy with it, but in using the shield to cover the hand that holds the attacking weapon, thus allowing them to “overreach” without actually overreaching. It can also be used to bat aside an enemy weapon and close the distance in order to hit them with your actual offensive weapon.

Daggers

Much like swords, not all daggers are the same. Some are made for stabbing, some are made for cutting, some are made for crafting, and some for decoration.

In general, a dagger designed for stabbing will have a diamond-shaped straight blade and some kind of hilt to keep the hand from slipping onto the blade when the dagger is “stopped” by the enemy's body. This is a very effective design for getting through armor, particularly mail.

A dagger designed for cutting will have a wider and thinner blade, often curving at the tip, and with another curve at the back of the hilt to keep the dagger from slipping out of the hand when swinging it around.

Daggers made for “crafting” can come in a wide variety of different shapes, and daggers made for decoration can come in even more shapes than that. (Note however that a blade with any kind of “irregularities” is going to catch on something the first time you try to use it, and is not unlikely to either sprain your wrist or twist the blade beyond recovery.)

Spears

Spears (halberds, pikes, etc) are the kings of the battlefields, and are especially deadly against cavalry. Best used in massive formations with shields, spears are easy to manufacture and not all that difficult to train a group of “peasants” to use.

Spears are basically useless in close-combat however, and are therefore highly vulnerable to enclosed spaces and enemies that somehow makes it in close despite the wall of spears. (This is why the Roman legions carried a short-sword to go along with it.)

Recommended method for dealing with a spear-formation is probably to retreat over a marshland and then pelt them with rocks as they try to follow you. Basically, they're too dangerous to risk engaging with unless absolutely necessary.

Summary

If you have a character who joins the army as a peasant, give them a spear. And maybe a few lessons in how to use a short-sword.

If you want a “single warrior“ kind of untrained battle-genius or something, give them an axe and a shield (most people of that time would at least be able to chop firewood, and even most people these days can swing a baseball-bat for an hour-or-so before their arms start trying to fall off).

Even if the enemy is so numerous that it’s “impossible to miss“ with a bow and arrow, don’t give a bow to someone who doesn’t know how to use one. They’re more likely to hurt themselves than the enemy.

[amoristt]

appetence. 

nathan prescott x reader

a/n: for the requesters who both wanted soumate AU’s, i combined the enemies to lovers request :3 it jus makes it easier on me . the au i chose is ‘shares the same injuries’! it’s super short, so sorry for that. i have another one coming out that it’s as... aggressive lol

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests as well as appreciating the complex character he is, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this !!!

Warning: language

Never in your life have you been the type of person for physical violence.

Never in your life have you had to hold yourself back from reaching out, taking someone by the collar of their jacket, and wringing their neck. Every part of you wants to see it through- reach out and tear them a new one with a certain primal rage you don’t know how to digest. It’s uncomfortable, it makes you restless. Never have you reached such a new level of absolute indignation.

Yet, here you stand. Hours after class has ended, atop the grass, secluded just before sunset.

Balled fists, narrowed eyes, bared teeth. You feel like an monster.

He stands before you, smug as all hell, and the look in his fucking eyes drives you crazy. He looks at you like he knows he’s better than you.

Arcadia Bay’s spoiled fucking brat.

He’s followed you all the way out here like a shadow. The obsession he has with pissing you off is criminal. It took one mistake of tripping him in the hallway because he wasn’t looking where he was going, but of course it was your fault. Of course it painted you as a target. First, it made you fear him, but much like a cornered animal, that terror turned into anger.

That anger festered, and festered, until you could no longer bear it.

Everyone has a breaking point. 

“What the fuck do you want?” You spit, and you can’t recognize your own voice. It makes you shiver. You just wanted alone time.

Nathan has the raw nerve to scoff and shift his weight. “Whatever I want.”

“You think I have shit for you?” The anger in your voice is so apparent that you think it might take him back as well. He’s silent, just for a moment, the arrogance falters. If not for the rage eating away every layer of kindness within you, you may have recognized the facade. But, you don’t. “Stop following me around like some freak. Don’t you have a father to disappoint?”

Low blow, but everyone knows Sean Prescott is just as bad, if not worse, than Nathan.

He grunts and straightens his back as if that makes him scary. It’s his personality that worries you- a dangerous mixed drink of white hot anger and ego. There’s so much of it inside him that he reeks self-importance. God, it drives you insane. But at least looking at him right now, one on one, you don’t fear his body. Those wiry limbs- he’s got height but it means nothing when he can barely keep himself up right as much as it is.

That’s the only thing that urges you on.

“Better watch your mouth, hoe.” He snaps.

You snarl. “Or what?”

The wind blows and something is about to happen. Something is finally going to happen.

He makes the first move. Up close, you can see the hue of his eyes.

His bony fingers catch your neck and you react violently, hands jutting out, pressing to his chest and throwing him back. He falters- you strike. Another shove to his chest, following by one more, and he falls to the ground flat on his ass. You can’t stop yourself when you meet him at the floor, fist colliding with his cheek, knuckles grating against his bones. It feels like there’s acid under your skin, and the way he looks up at you, shocked at your outburst, makes you realize this is just how you like it.

“Did you really fucking think you could just grab me?” You hiss, and when he tries to get up you lose your composure again. You rise, kick him- drive your heel into his back when he scrambles to his hands to knees to find purchase. If he get’s to his feet it’s over- you know that, so you keep him down. For good measure you deliver another blow to his see and the way he rolls has you satisfied. There’s so much blood- it spills down his face and onto the floor.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” He grunts, grabbing his stomach. You laugh sadistically.

“Oh yeah?” Boldly, you crouch. He’s still reeling and you’re proud at just how hard you struck him. “I know you’ve got this school wrapped around your little finger, Prescott, but leave me the fuck alone.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” He growls. There’s fire in his amber eyes and if you hadn’t been drugged on adrenaline you’d fear him all over again. He seeths. “Just you fucking wait.”

You stand and glare down at him, triumphant. “I look forward to it, prick.”

It’s only when he looks up at you from the floor does something change in his demenager. His eyes grow wide, breath stops in his chest. It looks like fear and you love it. He’s the rabbit, he’s the fucking prey and you’re the hunter trapping him in his place.

Seeing the bridge of his nose split is all you need to know it’s over.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” Your warning is nothing short of terrifying. “Or else.”

And it’s just that easy. Months of torment shattered by just a moment. By just the right force. 

His silence is your favorite sound, and it gets even better when he stays silent. He just watches you wide eyes, propped up on his elbows like you’ve finally taught him you aren’t fucking around. He’s not your friend, he’s not your enemy, he’s not even your bitch. He’s nothing.

No blackmail, no photos or snark, just fury and a warning you do intent on fulfilling.

You don’t give him a chance to redeem himself. Pivoting, turning your back to him, nothing stops you as you go.

The image of Nathan Prescott floored and cowering, looking you in the face and afraid to make a move, feels like a five course meals. It weighs so perfectly on your stomach, truly a meal for a champion. You’re so fucking satisfied knowing his reign has ended, knowing that even if he tries again you can take him down. The win isn’t even flashy- it’s just fulfilling.

Walking home, you feel like you don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore. Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you just made it that much worse for yourself, but in that moment, you don’t care. As you enter your dorm, you smile.

You’re proud of yourself- you took him down and left without a scratch.

Or so, you thought.

The mirror you pass by makes you halt. A line of red sticking out like a sore thumb. You eye it, step closer, and your heart picks up. This adrenaline doesn’t feel right. It’s anxiety- oh god-

“No,” You breathe, eyes frantically wide. “No, no, no.”

Reaching up, you swipe your fingers across the bridge of your nose. No blood comes back on your fingers- it makes you cover your mouth.

“Fucking- No! Not him!”

Suddenly it connects with you how quickly Nathan’s explosive anger dissolved into not fear, but shock. Absolute disbelief. You can’t picture him as the prey anymore. You can’t see yourself as the hunter, or as the cornered animal. You can’t see the satisfaction splayed out just for you. 

All you can see is the bridge of your nose.

And the gash spread across it.

All you can hear is your teachers throughout your life, all remarking the same phrase, drilling it deep into your skull since the day you were old enough to know what the word ‘soulmate’ meant. 

Soulmates, after touching for the first time, will bear the same inflicted wounds. 

You cover your entire face, horribly defeated. 

That’s how they will know they’re meant for one another. 

[erahampton-blog]

Somerset Camping

The site was just Northwest of Warminster in Somerset and would act as at least a base for the wanderings of the two rather unlikely campers. The drive down was pleasant at least. Chilled in the air, but scenic. Bishop had mostly been answering what questions he had been asked. Not taking offense or displaying annoyance, he would get in his own queries in here or there. Though at a far smaller interval. Parking was just a formality at the site. Then it was about hiking to the South towards Salisbury and the Newforest national park.

Making camp for the night, Bishop used what 'fatwood' he'd brought to start up a central fire with the larger tent already pitched. Being that the day started later tomorrow would most likely be the start of any site seeing and ambling about. Flat iron steaks were sizzling and a bottle of Glenlivet scotch was next to quiet man's leg. "Damp air, but not too bad." He muttered before taking a sip. Looking to Era nearby.

A gentle smile crept into her features as she noted the softly spoken words slipping from the man’s lips, eyes mostly focused on the flickering of the fire that played host to a gentle light show in between the density of the trees that surrounded them. ‘’I’ve experienced worse.’’ was the short answer, followed dryly by the elaboration ‘’London gets surprisingly cold at night. You’d think the inviting city streets would harbor some kind of warmth to them but they don’t, especially when you’re above it all, watching from the rooftops.’’

Properly manicured fingers slipped into the pockets of her charcoal colored coat, one wrapping around a pack of cigarettes that she pulled out almost instinctively, the other around an almost tourist looking lighter displayed with the flag of England. ‘’Want one?’’

Bishop smirked and nodded. Reaching out for the offered cigarette with his rough fingers. "Nah, not bad at all is it?" He nodded in thanks and leaned in. Letting a few licks of the furthest flames light up the end. He obviously didn't have a care for being burned, though it was cool enough out to ignore it if he did. "So, you live high up in London, eh? Where 'bouts? Rich apartment or some attic flat?" His eyebrow quirked in genuine curiosity.

This rather small, brown-haired young lady had absolutely no fear of him or what he may have done and that intrigued him. "You should tell me about you. Because you know more of me and probably everyone else that hangs around Baker Street than we know of you."

With a sly smile still visible the cigarette between her own fingers caught light as it locked gently in between soft rose colored lips, legs crossed, leaning back comfortably in the lounge chair that sat just a right distance away from the fire.

The barbecue smell of simmering meat mixed with the light breeze in the open air was relaxing enough to let out a barely audible sigh of contentment. ‘’Closer to the latter, small apartment, one floor, but it has everything I need.’’ she retaliated musingly, drawn to return the question if the follow-up hadn’t caught her off guard.

‘’I prefer it like that. You know, being the mysterious type that’s creeping in from the back of the cafe, listening to the conversation of others, observing them.’’ Taking her glance from the skies to him, her words were softer this time around, more playful. ‘’Buuuut I guess I’ll make an exception for you. What do you want to know? ‘Tell me about yourself’ is such a broad inquiry.’’

Bishop flipped the flat iron steaks for another good seer and went back to the conversation, though he was listening to what she was saying. He took a long drag as he pondered the question he'd asked. "Don't stay mysterious for too long, Era. You'll catch the attention of some very dislikable things that make their home around there. You already talk to them regularly." He brushed against his stubbled chin with his thumb and licked his lip. Wondering where he should take his questioning.

"Tell me ... if you live alone. And if so why? Expanding into family if need be. I'm always curious at what makes people tick." His voice was almost graveled as it caught in his throat with a slight chuckle. Soon enough he was parceling out the steaks he'd gotten finished and passed a plate to his guest.

Tapping the back end of the cigarette, Era equally pondered her own response, still slouching as she exhaled the smoke that would ultimately mingle with the campfire. ‘’I don’t care about dislikable, as long as it's entertaining.’’ Swaying her foot lightly back and forth, she simply watched her partner in conversation, allowing silence to seep into their company temporarily.

‘’I live alone because I prefer to be alone. People tend to get on my nerves.’’ It was a genuine enough answer, words hanging dry in the air as she shifted to sit more upright, accepting the plate with nothing more than a soft thank you and a smile. ‘’How about you, then, living the high life with all of that money you’re reeling in?’’

He passed a fork to her and nodded slightly. Luckily no knife would be needed. The meat had been marinated in wine for several days. "I could see that. People do tend to be strange things at times I suppose." Bishop cut a great bite and chewed into it. His bristling face giving way to the food with relish. Accustomed to the outdoors he merely wiped the corner of his facial hair with the sleeve of his olive drab fatigue coat.

"I've had...live-ins. Girlfriends from time to time. But sooner or later the distance begins to bother them. And the time away. And the fact that I kill. I make no secret of it other than the true details." He huffed out a breath. Steam filling the air before him and the fire. "Have you? Ever killed anyone? Or anything besides a pest?"

Albeit less brutishly, Era cherished the food just the same, savoring the flavor on her tongue as she made note of the surprising amount of effort that was put into the meal. ‘’Not bad.’’ she mentioned off-handedly in between questions, amused by the way the man chowed down, nodding lightly at his answer. ‘’I guess I could see how that’d be a thing, the killing, I mean, not everyone’s .. you know, down about living with a guy that decorates the forest with intestines for a living.’’ she grinned sheepishly, letting out a soft chuckle before making a brief pointer to the bottle of scotch that lay beside him. ‘’Perhaps I should try some of that before we get in too deep.’’

Taking a moment to recollect herself, the plate lowered almost instinctively. ‘’As for your question, I’ve worked certain jobs, but never in the field, never actually there.’’ Words turned soft this time around, letting out a short-lived sigh as her fork pressed back into the food, taking a moment to decide upon whether to eat first or explain instead. ‘’The long and short of it is that I did the ‘hacking’, as most would call it, overriding security systems, occasionally working out the faults in them, selling information that I obtained. Mainly tech stuff. So, no, I never killed anyone. Though people might’ve died on my watch.’’    

He watched her intently as he listened. His chewing slowed as he reached down to pass the bottle of scotch over to Era. "It aint vodka. But it'll do." He rasped in between bites. Taking in the information. That would explain a lot. The fact that she wasn't phased by shady types. Let alone maniacal crime lords or sociopathic investigators. "Tech is a good side of it, ya know. No having to worry about getting perished unless the operation goes too far wrong.

"And um...yeah. Yeah, I got to see an ex of mine look on in horror as some bloke that tried to mug her became a stain in White Chapel. It wasn't rage, you know what I'm saying? It was cold. Calculated. I didn't feel a thing as I snapped every limb." He grumbled out his response before taking another sip from his glass and looking on at the fire.

Era simply nodded in agreement, leaning in ever so slightly to take over the weight of the bottle and pouring it aptly into one of the bourbon glasses that lay in the grass under her lounge chair, one of the only things she’d brought herself, offering the second one to her camping partner in silent understanding he’d obviously want one.  

‘’Troublesome.’’

Leaning back into the chair, the plastic plate in her lap found it’s way down on the ground as her gaze trailed his to the campfire. ‘’Surprised you got away with it. Must’ve scarred the poor girl for life,’’ she replied almost indifferently, taking a small sip of scotch as her gaze shifted to the darkening skies instead, taken by the distant shimmering of stars. ‘’I don’t blame you for it. You know, it is what it is. Maybe you just have to find someone equally cold and catatonic, make your tendencies matter less, and your feelings more.’’

He took his glass and swished the amber liquid in it, watching it make clinging rings to the inside of it. Sign of a good twelve-year-old batch. "Troublesome...yeah. Tah say the least." Bishop took a deeper draught this time. Looking Era over as she looked up at the sky. Taking a queue and noting how clear the stars were away from the city. "Maybe you're right." He chuckled. "But I'll be honest, I don't look anyways. If things happen then they happen. No sense in trying too hard to find understanding in someone else when it's easier just to get it from yourself."

Bishop blinked and quirked a brow at the younger woman then. "Got away with it? Oh, yeah. I know a few tricks. Plus it was a snatcher no one would miss. No one looks hard for missing criminals unless they want intel." He winked knowingly and sighed. A sigh that was returned by Era in a similar fashion.

Watching the stars intently as a childhood-like remembrance of her prior obsession with space resurfaced, it slowly played silence into their company, failing to find the necessary drive for a proper answer. ‘’I’m not one for romantic entanglement, but I suppose I could agree, no use in forcing anything.’’ were the near-final words she uttered, a faint hint of amusement in the slurring of words, showing telltale signs that the subject wasn’t something worth dwelling over.

Some time passed in comfortable silence, growing steadily weary over the warmth of the fire, the joy of alcohol and melancholy of the combination, Era’s frame eventually shifted to look over at the guitar that could be seen from the small opening in the tent, readjusting her glasses briefly before leaving the comforts of the lounge chair to make way to the bicolored tent.

Arms crossed against the cold, pressing the tweed fabric of the jacket tighter against her skin, one hand briefly held up the loosely hanging flap of the tent, grabbing the guitar from within. Turning back, it only took a few steps to reach the visibly relaxed man as he slouched back in his chair, holding out the instrument, hopeful.

‘’What do you say, we end the night jamming out to some proper music?’’

[italicwatches]

[Legacy content] My Hero Academia - Episode 10

Oh jeez I have had a long day. And it’s not even done yet. But let’s take a moment to relax and enjoy ourselves, with My Hero Academia, episode 10! Here we GO!

-Opening!

-So we begin right where we left off, with the villains stepping out…And Eraser Head slamming his goggles on. This just got real…And all the villains, they’re here for All Might. They’re here to take on the man who symbolizes peace…And he’s not here. So that has their rage all the stronger…

-Episode 10! Encounter with the Unknown.

-A small army of them…And if someone can bypass the security system…Can strike when they’re on an isolated section away from the main campus…This was intentional. It’s not bad luck. They wanted a way to get at someone…Eraser Head tells Thirteen to get the kids out of here, and asks Kaminari, the kid with the electric powers, to try and get in contact directly. While Izuku is starting to get worried. He knows Eraser Head can’t take this many on with his main tricks…

-But he’s got plenty more. So he leaps in, as the ranged villains go in…But he locks them down with a flash, snatching them up, and then crashing them into each other until they’re unconscious! Come at him!

-One of the obviously changed, a heteromorphic-type(which is to say, his power is inherent, not something Eraser Head can turn off) charges in…But Eraser Head just slams him back, then using his bindings, whips him into another to take them both out! Heteromorphic types, by their nature, don’t come with long-range tricks. And he has ways of dealing with close combat. And with his goggles, nobody can be sure whose Quirk will be shut down…Being outnumbered by a slapdash mob like this, just gives him an edge as it turns things to chaos…

-Something that the many-handed man notices…As the students start getting out of there…But a shadowed figure leaps up in front of them, blocking the path, as he introduces the mass as the League of Villains. Who have come here to this home of heroes, to strike down All Might. This entire process was to hunt All Might down, and yet, he’s not here. That’s a bit of a problem, you see…

-Thirteen’s ready to unleash his power, when Katsuki and the redhead leap in! Katsuki puts out a heavy boom, as his comrade is at full hardness…But neither strike manage to get through this man made of shadows, as Thirteen begs them to get out of the way…!

-And then the shadows begin to engulf them, because his job now, is to separate off all the children, and kill them in a way terrible enough that All Might will have no choice but to emerge! Soon everyone’s getting scattered…Everyone except for Tenya, Ochaco, and a strong-man type, at least. Because Tenya reacted on instinct, grabbed the two people next to him, and leapt on out of there as fast as he could…But before he could go back for anyone else, they’re all engulfed…

-We see the results with Izuku first, who gets dropped right into water? He catches himself quickly, moving for the surface, as—As he’s caught up by a shark-type villain under the water, who was waiting for hi—

-TSU IS HERE

-YAY TSU

-FROG GIRL BEST GIRL

-She fucking underwater drop-kicks the shark man in the face, then wraps Izuku up in her tongue and goes for the surface much faster than he ever could, the two soon emerging in the middle of the Shipwreck Zone…So it’s a local warp, then, as Tsu also caught the grape kid. He does not get dropped onto the mock ship with any of the gentleness that Izuku does.

-But, yeah. This is bad. Izuku recognizes that they knew the schedule…They probably set that media intrusion up to get information…And Tsu’s also considering the math. You don’t try to go all out, do all this to take down someone like All Might…Unless you think you can succeed. This is the real deal…

-And some of the other watery villains are coming in, centered on the ship! Izuku starts trying to figure out a plan, while grape kid is busy freaking out…And Izuku knows he can’t take them all on…He can’t control his powers like that, not like All Might does…But if they want his hero. If they want the man who made him who he is…

-Then they have to be stopped! That’s all there is to it!

-Cut to the Landslide Zone, where Super-Zuko is locking villains up with ease…And in the Collapse Zone, Katsuki and the redhead are back-to-back, buff bros of battle…While in the Mountain Zone, it’s Momo, earbud girl and Kaminari, as Momo draws a staff from her arm, and has seemingly given earbud girl a pretty vicious looking machete…

-In the Fire Zone, tail-man is ready to fucking throw down. And in the Squall Zone, the falcon and the stone-man are facing a small army…

-And back in the main area…Thirteen, plus the few students who avoided getting swept up(and a few who, it seems, manage to just hold on and avoid getting yanked through a portal in the first place), are stuck holding the line…

-As Eraser Head is thinning the crowd, but now the big hitters are ready to take him on… For each and every one of our heroes, it’s a bad situation…

-Commercial Break!

-And we’re back! Back in the main campus, All Might is trying to get in touch with people, and is finding it impossible. Which is bad. He’s debating his options, as he decides to get going and look into it, going at full flex…But then he coughs up blood.

-And then Principal Nezu, who is an adorable stuffed animal person, comes to ask him not to. And he also has to ask All Might to dial things back. He’s known the man a long time, and he understands his efforts, but your body just isn’t going to hold out to both do major heroing and teaching as All Might. And soon he pours tea for All Might, and asks him to relax and they can talk this over…Neither of them aware of what’s going on…

-As back in the USJ, our group who managed to escape portaling can confirm that everyone is still in the building, which is good…But there’s the problems of this shadow man still blocking their exit, and his intangibility…As Thirteen makes a decision. He asks Tenya to get to the main campus, as fast as he can, and get the fastest heroes possible. Someone is actively interfering to keep systems from working…Tenya doesn’t like the idea of leaving the others behind, but everyone here spurs him on, as they use the nickname he got, Emergency Exit. They’re not going to be willing to go after you! There’s too many security measures outside of this building…

-And so, the choice is made. As Thirteen unleashes his BLACK HOLE, grappling the shadow man into the depths of his suit! Now, children!!!

-Back in the Shipwreck Zone, grape kid is freaking out…While Izuku is planning. It’s all water types down there. Aquatic villains. They’re operating on lots of information…And yet they sent someone like Tsu here…They don’t know their Quirks. They separated the kids to try and overpower them, not knowing what they’d be up against. All these villains are waiting, refusing to climb the boat and risk a battle on land…

-So Tsu offers Izuku as much information as she can. How high she can jump. How much weight she can hold and still stick to a wall. How far her tongue can reach. She can also release her stomach, and a very very mild toxic mucus, but those two are basically useless. So Izuku in turn tells her his. His super strength is…Well, he doesn’t know its limits. But his system still can’t take full power, and it’s nearly impossible to modulate…Every limb gets one use. And then he’s done.

-As for grape kid, he can take those balls off his head and stick them to stuff. And then they stick really well. I’m less sure about why his costume includes a diaper. But, yes. Bouncy sticky balls is all he has…So they need to figure out how to use that—

-When a water controller splits the ship they’re on, and now the thing is a real shipwreck and okay this is bad. Grape kid panics and throws some of his balls into the water, accomplishing nothing…Except, the villains don’t dare touch them, fearing they might be rather more potent…Okay, okay, time to figure out their plan.

-And the best plan Izuku has…Is to take advantage of the villainous psychology. When they think they’re sure to win…That’s when they’ll be most vulnerable, the least ready to change their approach. Both of you, get ready! And borrowing how the toughest motherfucker he knows would act, Izuku goes full rage, as he leaps off the side! He can’t dare lose his arm now…He needs to compress it, hold it…The weaker strength…Not full. Just what he can take…

-As he unleashes a DELAWARE SMASH, flicking his middle finger hard enough to kick that water apart, to spread the sea wide! TSU! NOW! His thumb and middle finger are broken, barely holding together, as grape kid adds all the orbs, letting them stick onto the villains…They start freaking out as the water starts pulling back into the center! The orbs stick and stick and stick, as the villains are gathered into a single point and unable to break loose…And Tsu gets all three of them the fuck out of there, leaping away from it all with them in tow and going right for the exit. First hurdle cleared…But there’s more to go…

-And a whole lot of others who need to figure out their own options. Because getting out of this, isn’t gonna be easy…

-Credits!

You can do it, heroes. You might just be children. You might be inexperienced. But you all got here because of that heart, that will, and that ability to push yourself…So piece it together, forge the bonds of camaraderie, and overcome the forces of evil!

We’ll just have to see if they can next time, in episode ELEVEN of My Hero Academia! Wait for it!