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journalxxx · 3 years

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By Hook or by Crook (6)

Hey kid. I’d like to have a chat with you, if you’re up to it. Would you be free this afternoon?

Izuku idly reread the text and the brief exchange that followed as he whiled away the few minutes left before the agreed time for the meeting.

Just a little over twenty-four hours before, Izuku had had a minor stroke at the mere thought of All Might texting him about a trip to the police station. Just a little over twenty-four hours before, he would have soared straight to cloud nine at the thought of All Might texting him ‘to have a chat’. It was a pity that the only emotion he could muster at the moment was a vague sense of stunned apathy.

“I’ll get that.” He informed no one in particular when the bell rang. The man installing what probably were legalized viruses on his laptop gave him an odd look, and his mother replied something indistinguishable from the bathroom. Izuku shuffled out of his room and unlocked the front door.

“Young Midoriya. Good afternoon.” All Might had reverted to his laid-back cargo pants and t-shirt attire. He seemed more tired and subdued as well, more like on the day Izuku had met him.

“Good afternoon.” Izuku gestured at him to come inside, which he did with a quiet thanks. He did not remove his shoes though, and he stopped only few steps in upon spotting the second man fiddling with the landline in the living room.

“Ah. Busy day, is it?” All Might acknowledged the technician with a knowing nod. He then turned towards Izuku and tilted his head towards the front door. “Say, how about we take a walk? I bet your house feels crowded enough without me imposing as well.”

His mother’s head peeked into the hallway. All Might greeted her with a little wave and a weirdly embarrassed grin.

“I’m going for a walk.” Izuku announced as he slipped his shoes on.

“Uhm, are you sure?” Her eyes shifted between All Might and him with ill-concealed unease.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Izuku cut short. He wasn’t in the mood for another discussion. “See you later.”

He strode out of the building without hesitation. He made his way down the stairs, through the parking lot, all the way to the sidewalk before stopping. All Might caught up with him a minute later, after lingering on the threshold to exchange a few words with his mother that Izuku decided he did not care about. He also decided to ignore the pointed stare the hero aimed at him when he finally reached him.

“Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?” All Might asked after a beat, gazing up and down the small road.

“Not really. You?”

“Any place is fine by me. I need to get reacquainted with this city, its layout is quite different from how I remember it.”

Right, All Might had just moved in. And Musutafu had likely changed a lot since his U.A. days… That would have been a tremendously interesting topic for a chat, Izuku could feel the questions popping up in his head in droves, despite everything. Unfortunately, he was under no illusion that what All Might wanted from him could be that kind of casual conversation.

They picked a random direction and started walking. For almost five minutes, they strolled without breathing a word. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it would have been under any normal circumstances.

“Had another rough night?” All Might said eventually.

“Mh.” Easy guess. The bags under Izuku’s eyes would soon rival the fixed shadows circling the hero’s if he didn’t manage to rein in his sleeping schedule soon. The nightmares had ceased, thankfully, but his head had been so full of disjointed and clashing thoughts and memories that he hadn’t managed to catch some shut eye until so late that it had become early.

Nothing made sense. Everything made too much sense. In hindsight, it felt strange that Izuku had never contemplated the possibility himself. It also felt absurd that it could be true though, instead of some sort of huge misunderstanding. That his father could be-

“Oh, before I forget. The villain is faring much better.”

“Uh? What?” Izuku blinked.

“The sludge villain whose quirk you returned.” All Might graced him with a gentle smile. “I heard he was already mostly coherent by last night, and as of few hours ago he was firmly denying ever bearing any ‘serious’ ill intent towards you and your friend, demanding to see his lawyer and complaining about the quality of the lunch he was served.”

Guilt needled Izuku’s stomach upon realizing that the villain’s plight had completely escaped his mind since his return home from the police station. How poorly committed his sympathy was. “Oh. That’s… good, I guess?”

“We guess.” All Might chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve dealt with another incident that badly in years, but I’m glad that no one suffered any permanent damage, at least. And thank you again for bringing the matter to a close in my stead.”

“It’s hardly your fault if things went the way they did. But… yeah, I’m glad he’s okay and that it’s over.” Now if only that hadn’t sparked a much worse and much more scarring mishap, at least for Izuku… “Are you all right, by the way?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Have you managed to see a doctor yet? About, uh…” Izuku pointed at his own mouth, unsure how to describe the attack the man had suffered the day before, the likes of which Izuku had only seen in movies and cartoons, usually from people sporting deadly and gory upper body wounds.

All Might laughed with inexplicable, genuine mirth. “Oh, don’t worry! I wasn’t playing it cool when I said I was fine. It’s just a thing that happens. Usually it isn’t quite as, uh, dramatic, but it really is nothing concerning.”

“But… you hadn’t even used your quirk…” Izuku could not fathom how spraying blood like a fountain on a presumably regular basis couldn’t warrant seeking any kind of medical attention, but the hero waved off his objection with finality.

“Trust me, it’s fine. More importantly...“ All Might wasn’t looking at him. He seemed deeply focused in memorizing as much as he could of his surroundings, peering here and there at street nameplates, buildings, alleys… manholes too, amusingly. But the low and soft quality of his tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking just out of politeness. “What about you, kid? How are you?”

Izuku dropped his gaze to his feet and shrugged. It was an accurate answer, actually. He’d spent so many hours torturing himself with doubts and grief and confusion that at some point his brain had sort of… ran out of energy to spare for emotions. He supposed it wasn’t the worst response he could have had. Stolid empty-headedness was largely preferable to the scorching waves of betrayal, impending doom and overbearing dismay he’d sampled the day before.

“I imagine how difficult all this must be for you.“ All Might went on, just as tactfully. “Have you talked with your mother?”

Oh, scratch that. He was still capable of feeling something. His mother was enough of a sore topic to make him clench his fists. “...Yeah. I have.”

“...I don’t think-”

“She knew.” Yeah, he was still angry. It bubbled in his chest like boiling tar, thick and sticky and suffocating.

“She told you that?”

“I heard you three talking about it last night. I was listening from outside the living room.”

“What?!” All Might seemed genuinely shocked. It hadn’t been Izuku’s proudest moment, admittedly, but let’s be honest, what else was he supposed to do? Pretend that they weren’t discussing life-changing revelations just few meters away from his bed? He was only human. All Might slapped a large hand on his face and dragged it down alongside his pointy features with a groan. “Oh, come on…”

“She knew, and she never told me.” His nails were digging painfully in his palms and- oh great, now he was getting teary again. He’d held it together for the whole day and now he was going to lose it five minutes after All Might had showed up. For the third or fourth time in as many days. Sure, why not? It wasn’t like he’d managed to retain any sort of dignity since the very moment he’d met his idol. Why bother now? “S-She’s known since- since before marrying him- however that happened… I j-just...”

All Might regarded him silently for a moment. “...Things like these look very different from an outside perspective. Especially to someone as young as you are. It’s very easy to judge, and even easier to misjudge.”

“But she knew he was a criminal - one who would not even consider changing his ways for his family - and she… wanted him around anyway? Why would she do that?! It’s- I wouldn’t want an unrepentant villain still involved in illegal business around my son! He’d be... a bad influence, at the very least!”

“Before yesterday, have you ever thought that he could be having a bad influence on you?”

“Uh? No, I… I didn’t know that he was… I never… questioned...”

All Might sighed deeply. “Your father is a notoriously charismatic man. He’s always been particularly adept at coaxing people to his side without open coercion, but with simple, well-aimed words. You never suspected that he may have been acting in his own best interest while offering or withholding certain information from you, although it may seem obvious in hindsight. I bet he managed to instil the same trust in your mother, despite what she knew about him.”

“I…” Izuku rubbed away the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t understand. He just couldn’t. And it tore at him. “W-Was it because of the money? She never... I-I thought we were good, she n-never said anything… I-If I’d known, I would have… I wouldn’t have asked for… s-so many things, I-”

“I highly doubt that a few toys and games could have had that big of an impact on the family budget. There’s no reason for you to beat yourself up over anything.” All Might slipped his hands in his pockets, sympathy plain in his sunken eyes. “Your mother found herself in a very tricky situation, through no real fault of her own. She navigated it as best as she could, and I’m sure your well-being was her top priority. Seeing the healthy and upright young man you’ve grown into, I’d say she handled it admirably.”

“...I know.” Izuku knew it, really, he understood that. But… he’d always seen his mother as just about the most transparent, honest, sensible and sensitive person on Earth. And it turned out she didn't… exactly… meet that standard, however idealistic. It had been a blow, on top of everything else, one that had left him without a real, fully trustworthy figure when he most needed it. “I know that, but… she should have told me. At some point. There’s no excuse for not doing that.”

“Perhaps. It’s hard to predict the negative impact that such a confession may have on a younger child, but perhaps she should have.” The hero conceded. “I’d refrain from handing down verdicts though. You kept some secrets of your own from her. You hid your quirk-”

“But that’s not the same thing! Not even close! A quirk isn’t as big an omission as your father being a criminal!” Izuku snapped, then immediately hunched his back in regret, his tone losing some volume but not its bitterness. “And, you know, maybe, maybe I wouldn’t have listened to him so readily if someone had warned me that he isn’t exactly an upstanding citizen!”

“Look, it isn’t my place to comment on how things stand or should stand between you and your mother, or how you should behave, but… if there’s one thing you need to keep in mind - and please do keep it in mind, at all times - is that the one person who bears absolute and doubtless blame is your father. That’s the source of all the lies that have been fed to you. Lies and deception are… what he does, really. What he’s always done. You and your mother are both victims in all this.”

Izuku sniffed and wiped some tears and snot on his sleeve. It was gross, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a logic to All Might’s words, but no logic justified the staggering duplicity that had just turned his life upside down. The unfairness of it all was simply too much to accept.

The boy looked up when All Might poked him on the shoulder to catch his attention.

“Speaking of which…” All Might swerved to the left, entering a smaller and more secluded lane leading away from the more trafficked routes. He had resumed his perusal of the area, and his expression had regained a firm, almost steely edge. Izuku followed him. “What I wanted to talk to you about concerns what transpired about your father, and how it will affect your life going forwards.”

No surprise there. The two plain-clothes agents that had shown up that morning, no doubt mourning the loss of their well-deserved Sunday rest, had been clear enough of a warning of some upheaval to the Midoriyas’ routine. All Might’s vague text had only cemented Izuku’s expectations of further disruptions.

“I hate being the bearer of bad news, but it is imperative for you to understand the gravity of your father’s position… especially to prevent him from enacting any sort of manipulation or control on you in the future.” The hero began. “The man you know as ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ goes under many aliases, so much so that we are still unaware of his real name. He has committed an astounding variety of serious crimes, over the course of decades. Even if your mother claims to be aware of his background, I assure you she doesn’t know the half of it.”

Izuku physically curled up under the weight of those words. It was… even worse than they thought? His father sounded more and more like some obscenely powerful yakuza boss or something, which was just… just...

“The police will be gathering and analyzing as much evidence as possible to find clues leading to his current location and activities. All possible forms of communications between you and him will be monitored. Your phones will be bugged, and any electronic devices you own will be fitted with tracking software. Your mail will be examined before delivery.” All Might paused, assessing Izuku’s lack of a reaction to his speech. “Did they tell you about this already?”

“S-Some of it, yeah.” Izuku’s gaze dropped to the asphalt again. The dried tears made the skin on his cheeks and around his eyes itch. “Will there be cameras too? Inside the house?”

“I haven’t heard about cameras. I don’t think so. Seeing as your father never set foot in your house, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to surveil it that closely from the inside. The outside will be watched, so we’d notice anyway if he tried to approach it.”

“...Okay.”

“...I know it’s an oppressive situation. No one likes having their privacy invaded. But know that the professionals in charge of monitoring you are utterly uninterested in you specifically, or in whatever you do with your free time, as long as it isn’t anything outrageously illegal.” All Might’s voice softened again, although not enough for Izuku to dare raise his eyes from the ground. “I hear they are especially unconcerned about peculiar web searches and piracy perpetrated by bored adolescents, and some such things. Anything that isn’t strictly related to the case at hand won’t ever make it into any reports.”

“Mh.” A couple of small mercies were better than none, Izuku guessed. He really couldn’t muster neither enthusiasm nor gratitude for them at the moment though.

“Ah, about this… Those monthly phone calls your mother mentioned are particularly relevant for the police. They are likely their best bet in pinpointing your father’s position.” All Might paused. “For that reason, we would appreciate your cooperation on that front.”

Izuku’s brain suddenly jolted into activity, a myriad of spy movies and comics coming to his mind and offering plenty of distressing scenarios he could be potentially thrusted into. “You mean like… you want me to help you find him? Get him to drop hints about where he is, or- or asking him to go somewhere where you can set up a trap, or-” Izuku looked back up at the man, without bothering to conceal the pure terror that such prospects filled him with.

“What? No, of course not!” All Might exclaimed, surprised. “I mean, it isn’t out of discussion that we may try to actively lure him out at some point, but that would take extensive preparations and precautions on our part. We’d need to gather more intel and agents, recruit other heroes first… We definitely aren’t considering taking any such steps yet.”

“O-Oh… okay…” He let out the tiniest sigh of relief. No wild capers… for now...

“Besides, even if we were, we wouldn’t use a child as bait! Your mother would be much more suited to assist us. Any request from her would have more sway on your father, and she would handle the pressure much better.”

“So… what do you want me to do then?”

All Might shrugged. “Just keep up appearances. Continue having your monthly calls with him as if nothing happened, so as not to alert him that something might be wrong.”

That wasn’t that big of a demand, objectively speaking, but... it didn’t seem feasible either. Izuku’s grasp on his own emotions was tenuous at best at the moment, and his father had always been exceptionally perceptive to his state. He really didn’t think he could endure up to two hours of small talk about heroes, quirks, school and assorted pleasantries without having some sort of breakdown halfway through. Izuku gulped, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding of his cowardice.

“...I-I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I can do that.”

Surprisingly, All Might wasn’t put off in the slightest. “In that case, you could ask your mother to pretend you got hurt in some way that prevents you from speaking. Bad tooth, removed tonsils, broken jaw, you name it. That would earn you at least another month of silence and… hopefully the investigation will make some progress in that time, or you’ll grow used enough to the situation to face him with a cool head.”

That was a reasonable approach to the issue. It was a relief to know that someone else was putting some thinking into all this in Izuku’s place, now that his already flimsy decisional autonomy had stumbled into the metaphorical equivalent of a bear trap. “...I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” All Might nodded, strangely unperturbed by Izuku's less than proactive attitude. “Other than what I’ve mentioned, you will also be followed wherever you go whenever you aren’t at home or at school-”

“W-What?” Izuku instinctively glanced around, envisioning slow-moving cars or shady individuals with sunglasses and holed newspapers observing him from bushes.

The corners of All Might’s mouth twitched upwards. “You will not be aware of it, nor will anyone else, of course. It will have no actual impact on your daily life, like all the other measures we’ve already covered.”

“But why?” Izuku griped, his heart sinking so deep that it would soon pierce through the Earth’s mantle. “My father isn’t going to suddenly drop by to say hello, you just said so yourself!”

“It’s for your own protection too.” All traces of humor vanished instantly from the hero’s demeanor. “Your father is no stranger to violence. In the past, he has resorted to brutal and immoral means to dispose of his enemies, and... I’m sorry to say that he would not hesitate to employ such methods against his own family, if he deemed it a danger to his own safety.”

Izuku couldn’t hold back a little hysterical chuckle that sounded pitiful to his own ears. “That… sounds a bit exaggerated, doesn’t it? I-I get that he’s a bad guy, but… I really don’t think he’d do something like that to us. H-He’s never even raised his voice with me, never...”

“Midoriya. I beg you to believe me when I say that you can’t trust anything of what you think you know about your father.” All Might stopped to glare intently at a narrow, dingy alley littered with trash bags. “He is dangerous. Extraordinarily so. Tsukauchi is pushing for having further safety measures enforced for your family, and until those have been granted, please be very aware of your surroundings at all times. Refrain from taking unfamiliar routes, and stick to crowded areas whenever you can. I don’t want to scare you, but even having eyes on you at all times is no guarantee of a timely intervention, under unfavorable circumstances.”

“Is it… really that bad?” Izuku breathed, gutted by the unexpected harshness of the picture painted by All Might’s words. It was… inconceivable, still. His father, deliberately hurting him? His father, whose cutting sarcasm was just about the only vaguely hurtful trait Izuku had ever witnessed? His father, a hardened, soulless criminal averse to puns and All Might trivia, and yet always so willing to let Izuku torture him with both? His father, ambushing him from dark corners? “Is he really that bad?”

“Yes.”

“What did he…” Izuku started asking, only to trail off. It was a pointless question, with a clear answer. It had been buzzing in his head for the whole night, blindingly obvious by now. “...He steals quirks, doesn't he? That’s what he does. He... maims people for…”

“I’m afraid he isn’t nearly as conscientious as you in regards to-” All Might cut himself off with a visible flinch. “Wait, he told you about his quirk? You know it’s the same as yours?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You didn’t mention that to us.” Bright pinpricks of blue were suddenly trained on Izuku with piercing intensity. It kept catching him off guard, how both of the Symbol of Peace’s towering forms could switch from amicable to intimidating at the drop of a dime.

“I-I thought… He said it was a secret- one of his confidential matters. I’ve always thought he was some sort of… prison guard or undercover agent…” God, how unbelievably stupid it all sounded now. Izuku had never felt more childish.

“...That goes to show…” All Might mumbled, barely audibly. It unsettled Izuku. It went to show what? His father’s cunning? Izuku’s naivety? Or… surely not that he could be hiding something on purpose...

“I-I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I had no idea how- how serious- I’d never-”

“Mh?” The hero blinked at him, as if emerging from a private musing. “Ah, I mean… There could be some merit to the other thing I wanted to ask of you.”

Izuku just waited, barely able to withstand the acuity of the hero’s gaze without shrinking. After a few tense moments, All Might let out a sigh and resumed walking, his eyes wandering back to the street ahead.

“To be frank… Personally, I don’t think we’re going to achieve much from all these investigations.” He grimaced, as if regretting those words as soon as they left his mouth. “Not for lack of trying, mind you. Tsukauchi is an immensely capable and dedicated officer, he’ll pursue each lead as thoroughly as humanly possible, but… Your father knows how to cover his tracks. Phone calls, payments, mail, blatant cues like those have never brought us close to him in the past, not once. To his associates, yes, to his… ‘aftermaths’, yes. But never to him personally. His circumstances were always shrouded in impenetrable security. I doubt this case will be any different.”

Buildings gave way to the open horizon. They had reached the end of the street, which merged into a largest road running along the coast. They crossed it, and kept going on the opposite sidewalk, looking down on a thin stretch of sand separating them from the sea.

“That said… he did leave one huge trail for us to find this time. A whole family, out in the open.” All Might’s eyes returned to the boy pensively. “A breakthrough like this, if you’ll pass me the term, is unprecedented. The most obvious leads could turn out to be dead ends, but maybe there is something to be found in the smaller things.”

“The smaller things?”

The man gestured vaguely. “He’s been talking to you, has he not? To you and your mother both, for over a decade. Not that often, but… hell, he even told you about his quirk, and one would expect him to be very tight-lipped about that. There might be more to dig up. Details he may have deemed unimportant, or accidentally let slip. Hints. Small things.”

Izuku was finally catching the drift. “I’m really sorry, but… I know you probably can’t take my word for it, but I really don’t know anything about what he does, or ever did. He never let anything slip about his… his ‘job’...”

“Of course not, that’s not what I’m referring to. The thing is…” The hero clucked his tongue in frustration. “We know so little about the man himself as well. His identity, his background, his history… We know next to nothing about him, and what little we do know, we were only able to discover through very unconventional means. If there’s a chance to glean one more shred of information hidden among the fabrications, I think it’s worth pursuing it.”

“So the police are going to question us about… fourteen years’ worth of chit-chats?” That seemed like a disproportionate endeavor for something as volatile as the possibility of parsing an ounce of truth. Exactly how desperate were they to catch this increasingly perplexing father of his?

“That’s the gist of it, yes. And ideally, we would like to interview you separately, to avoid that either of you could, ehr… inadvertently censor yourselves about information not known by the other-”

“Like my quirk. Or dad’s ‘activities’.“ Izuku muttered.

“...Yes. Things like those.” All Might paused, then cleared his throat. “Well… given the delicate nature of the case, we are trying to keep the workforce to a minimum, and involve as few people as possible. This ought to speed up coordination and briefing, as well reduce the risk of information leaks. Tsukauchi will be personally questioning your mother… as well as direct the entire operation. He’s quite the multitasker. And, well… since technically I’m already involved and up to speed and I won’t be contributing to the proper detective work in any capacity… we thought I might take care of hearing your side of the story.”

A little Oh was the whole extent of Izuku’s reaction as the hero’s words washed over him. All Might seemed a little discouraged by that.

“We figured it might put you a little more at ease… Talking with someone you’re already familiar with, instead of a brand new face. And, ehr… well, you mentioned being a fan, so…” He elaborated, his hands drawing half-formed shapes in the air to underline his words. He looked… almost nervous? “It’s just a possibility, of course. If you’d rather be entrusted to a proper member of the force, it’s well within your rights to request that.”

Izuku did not miss the underlying meaning of that winding speech. It was within his rights to request who he wanted to be interviewed by, not if.

“Do I even have a choice?” All Might’s guilty grimace was all the reply Izuku needed. “...No, sorry, I… That’s a stupid question. I’ve no reason to refuse either.” Surely not the faint sense of betrayal knocking on his conscience at that very moment. Could he even feel bad about betraying someone who’d never been honest with him in the first place?

“...I know it’s far from an enticing perspective.” All Might rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “It’s going to eat up a lot of your time, and people are never exactly eager to ‘snitch’ on relatives, even when they’re criminals. But I really think it could be of great help to us.”

So that was the role Izuku was going to have in this whole mess, that of a very oddly-shaped piece in a very complicated puzzle. It could be worse, he supposed. Being stuck in a room talking with the number one hero for hours could hardly be considered a real punishment. Were the topic of the conversation literally anything else, it’d be a dream coming true, even. He should push that angle on himself, Izuku pondered. Maybe he could talk himself into enjoying the whole thing, in some way.

“Since I’m no policeman, I’m amenable to reward you for the time and effort you’ll generously dedicate to the task with suitable bribing. I was thinking snacks, if that doesn’t come off as too cheap.” All Might continued with a tentative grin, although his attempt at levity didn’t stick the landing. “No? How about, ehr… All Might merch?” For some reason, his face scrunched up as if the suggestion physically pained him.

Izuku sighed. There was no point in fighting the inevitable, was there? “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“...Thank you, that is very good to hear.” All Might smiled with evident relief. He patted Izuku’s shoulder encouragingly. “I’ll say, you’re taking all this a lot better than I was expecting. For all the crying, you have quite the resilient attitude. Heroic, even!”

Izuku let out a half-choked sob. Oh. Oh, wow, that realization hurt. He hadn’t thought about that since… had it really only been a couple of days since making it into U.A. had been his biggest concern in life? And now…

“Ehr… Sorry, did I say something wrong?” All Might asked when faced with the new bout of tears streaming down the boy’s cheeks. Izuku shook his head.

“S-Sorry, it’s just… I-I guess that’s the closest I’ll ever get to becoming a hero now, uh?”

“What?”

“There’s no way they’ll let me anywhere near a hero course now, is there? My father told me it was basically impossible before, and now...”

“Your father told you that you couldn’t be a hero? Your father who is a villain?” All Might gave him a pointed look. “You may want to start reevaluating some of the nuggets of wisdom he’s been imparting on you in light of the new revelations, kid.”

“But he’s right, isn’t he?” Izuku griped. “It’s even worse now that he turned out to be a villain! A bad one too! Abusing the same overpowered quirk I have, it’s just… too great a bias, isn’t it?”

All Might seemed caught off guard, then he frowned and looked away without replying. There it was, the naked truth. Not even an attempt at a rebuttal. Out of discussion. Izuku’s dreams scattered to the wind, without hope of salvation.

“Y-You know, I actually thought… I could work my way around it.” Izuku continued among the sniffles, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I thought I could just pretend to be quirkless. F-For a while. Pass the test like that, make some friends, get… get trusted as a hero because of my work. A-and then, then one day, just… after everyone trusted me, I thought I could come out clean. And start using my quirk for good. I thought it could work. Get others to know me before my quirk. B-But it’s never going to happen now. The police know, the school will know.”

“...I must say that building your budding hero career on a lie isn’t the most solid plan I’ve ever heard.” There was no accusation in All Might’s tone, but his words still cut deep.

“I know…” Izuku bit his lip. He’d known, but what alternatives did he have?

“But I guess we can’t all carelessly parade our true selves before public scrutiny, can we?” The man sighed, scratching his own head. “You are right about one thing though. Actions do speak louder than words. You might not be able to talk your way out of your… delicate circumstances, but factual demonstrations of good intentions can go a long way.”

“That’s… That’s all I’m asking for!” Izuku’s head snapped up, desperately latching onto that single lifeline. “I would do whatever it takes to be allowed to try!”

“Well, I’d say you’re already on the right path then. Cooperating with the police is definitely a good step to establish good faith.” All Might flashed him a sheepish smile. ”...I’m not saying that just to grind my own axe, I swear.”

“Do you think it would be enough for U.A. to let me attempt the test?”

“You want to apply to U.A?” The hero seemed strangely surprised.

“Yeah. Is it… not a good idea?”

All Might took a few moments to reply. “...It might work in your favor, actually. U.A. is famous for the degree of self-determination afforded to its management by the government. If you’re worried about external interference, U.A. is your best bet to avoid it.”

A tiny, shy flicker of hope ignited in Izuku’s chest.

“...I’ve known the principal of U.A High School for a long time. He’s a bit of an eccentric, but one with an impeccable work ethic.” All Might resumed after a moment. “He’s not the kind of person to let unfair judgement undermine his institute. Especially if it prevented an aspiring hero he deems worthy from being appointed his student.”

“You mean that…?”

“I mean that if you do plan to apply to U.A. you could have a chance of making it in, regardless of your unfavorable background. If you pass the admission test, that is.” All Might suddenly stopped walking. “...What is this?”

Izuku blinked, ripped out of his thoughts, and took in the portion of the seafront they had reached. Wow, he really hadn’t been paying any attention to where they were going, had he? “...Oh. It’s, ehr… an illegal dumping site, I guess.”

“Really?” All Might commented, eyeing the sad, disregarded No Dumping sign welcoming its disobedient visitors.

“Yeah. The currents always bring flotsam to this area, so it was never clean in the first place. And then people started taking advantage of it…”

“And no one ever comes here to pick up any of this?” Strangely, the sight and the slight stench of mounds of rusting metal and assorted junk didn’t bother All Might, who climbed down the few steps separating the sidewalk from the beach.

“No, the city administration never took an interest. Everyone else just avoids this spot altogether. It’s been getting worse over the years.” Izuku had no idea why All Might was studying the piles of dismissed appliances as if they might hold some hidden treasures within, but he felt rather dumb for accidentally introducing this to the hero, of all places in Musutafu, as his first sightseeing landmark. “Sorry, I should have brought us somewhere else.”

“It’s fine.” Undaunted, All Might wandered deeply into the maze of refuse, with Izuku ruefully tagging along. “A safe, handy spot where a passing criminal in a hurry could stash some loot, don’t you think? Good to know.”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” Right. That was what it meant for a hero to know his turf, right? It went beyond street names and layouts. It meant to be aware of how each location could lend itself to certain criminal activities, what places could make for good improvised hideouts, where civilians were more or less likely to be gathered...

“How were you planning on passing the admission test?” All Might asked when they reached the water’s edge, eyes fixed on the waves crashing on the sand.

“Uhm. Well, I’ve already started reviewing the subjects listed in the syllabus…”

“I was referring to the practical session, actually.”

“Oh, uhm… Well, I tried looking for information about it online, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Apparently it’s U.A.’s policy to bind all participants to non-disclosure. They say that observing how potential candidates react to unexpected situations is part of the evaluation process, so…”

All Might looked at Izuku, his expression blank. “Yes. So?”

“Ehr.” Suddenly Izuku felt extremely on the spot. “W-Well, without knowing what I’m getting into, I don’t really have any specific strategies in mind.”

All Might cocked his head with a slight frown. “What about generic strategies? What skills were you going to capitalize on?”

“I… Well… I thought I’d just… try my best. Improvise and use my head.”

All Might blinked. “...That is what everyone else is going to do too. Except everyone else will also have a quirk to rely on, while you weren’t going to use yours. That’s a massive disadvantage right there.”

“Yes, I know.” Izuku clasped his hand behind his back in shame. That was an excellent point, one that somehow no one had ever raised with him. Everyone, including his father, instantly shot down his idea as soon it left his mouth. No one had ever asked him to elaborate on the practical details. Which he had sort of… failed to sort out so far.

“And you have no notion as to how to bridge that gap.”

“Not… not yet.”

All Might crossed his arms, sporting possibly the harshest expression Izuku had seen on him yet. It made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. “...Are you serious about this hero thing? Are you sure it isn’t just a passing fancy?”

“It isn’t! It absolutely isn’t!” Izuku answered immediately. “I just… I don’t even know if I’m allowed to bring any tools, or-”

“Tools?” All Might scoffed as he walked back to him and gave him a critical once-over. “Looks to me you already have all the tools you need, if you deigned to consider them.”

“Uh?”

“You have arms, don’t you? Hands. Legs. Arguably a head.” All Might poked at each listed limb with a bony finger as he started circling him like a starved shark. “All in working order, yes?”

“Y-Yes- I mean, I’m not ill or anything, but-”

“Then why aren’t you trying to capitalize on those? A quirk is an important part of a person, but it’s not the only one! You have a body, use it!”

“Ah, yes, I…” Izuku gulped. “It would make sense to, uh, try to get a little stronger, I guess…”

“You guess? ” All Might was reaching yet unexplored levels of visible exasperation, which was saying something considering the whole secret-villainous-father debacle. Izuku didn’t know if getting the number one hero so worked up about his little pipe dream should be considered flattering or shameful. “Being a hero isn’t a desk job! Running fast, lifting heavy weights, enduring fatigue are not optional skills! No matter what quirk they have, no hero worth their salt can neglect to keep in excellent shape!”

“R-Right. Of course. It’s just that, uh…” Izuku fidgeted. “I’m not really good at that sort of… physical stuff. I’ve always been a bit on the scrawny side, and I get tired easily, and I’m no good at brawling-”

“Despite training?”

“...I’ve never followed a proper training regimen, but…”

All Might rubbed his hands on his face. “Kid, unless they have a physical-enhancing quirk, people aren’t just born strong. They get strong by training - do I really have this state this out loud?”

Izuku was fairly sure his face was about to spontaneously combust. Of all the things he’d expected to happen in his near future, being scolded by All Might in person for his lack of commitment to physical activity was not one of them. “Y-You are right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… to disrespect you or your profession…”

“You didn’t, I was just… You seemed passionate about this two days ago...” All Might trailed off. “My point is that all the equity in the world won’t net you a place in U.A. if you don’t pass that test. And if you really are serious about raising your chances of becoming a hero, you have to give this some serious thought, and soon. You can cram months of study into weeks if you have the brains for it, but you cannot do the same with workouts.”

Izuku willed himself to hold his head up straighter. “I-I will. Thank you for your advice, it makes a lot of sense.”

The silence that descended between them was more than a little awkward.

“I’ve pestered you enough for today, haven’t I?” All Might eventually said as he took off towards the sidewalk. “Let’s go back.”

Izuku trailed behind the hero as they made their way among the waste, and almost bumped on him when he slowed to a stop to stare at a particularly high pile of contorted, rusty scraps.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I was just thinking that… What I need is a quiet, lonely place to have some private chats with you, and what you need is a way to work up some muscle and rack up some good karma, right?” All Might scratched his chin as he scanned the heaps of trash hiding the rest of the city from view. “...Say, how do you feel about community service?”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #deku #izuku midoriya

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mylittleredgirl · 4 years

Text

trekathon: disco 1x9

“into the forest i go”:

rated m for major trauma

this season is a 12-hour movie and my five-acts-for-syndication brain has a hard time parsing the plots of individual episodes, but suffice it to say:

things get resolved in this episode

making way for even more things

star trek: after dark:

until now the adult nature of discovery has been ~dark themes~ and Let Tilly Say Fuck and stamets on a three-episode shroom trip

instead of rape and grAPHIC TORTURE

it’s blessedly only shown in disjointed flashes but after that bone saw sound effect i’m never even gonna use an electric toothbrush again

keeping track of the plot threads in this episode like i’m taking notes at a board meeting:

old business: klingon cloaking technology (resolved)

old business: klingon ship of the dead (resolved)

old business: admiral cornwell captured by klingons (resolved)

old business: what the fuck is happening to stamets (ongoing)

new business: what the fuck is happening to tyler

new business: we have a klingon POW now and she’s acting real creepy

new business: where the fuck are we

that was easy:

i’m stuck on lorca’s “welp i guess you better come up with a plan in two hours to do this thing that has stymied the best minds of the federation all season or ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ”

you know how in “who framed roger rabbit” there’s this bit where roger can’t pull his hand out of the handcuffs until it’s funny, because he’s subject to the laws of the cartoon universe?

it’s like that but the laws of the star trek universe mean that they can’t come up with a solution for the klingon cloak until a) the fate of an innocent civilization hangs in the balance, and b) they have a very short deadline.

i tried to find a joke about the staples easy button in space adn came up with the “spaceles easy button.”

welcome to the a-plot, klingons:

once again, i will stand here and testify my love for the discovery klingons. kenneth mitchell as kol sticks the landing so hard

this episode is a prime example of foley artists doing damage to me personally, because those loud beep beep beeps from the super secret devices michael and tyler are planting on the klingon ship really! stress me out!!!

tyler’s mental break is appropriately uncomfortable from start to finish (and the energetic lead-up to it is especially well-done, with him getting more and more on edge as they go through the klingon ship)

i love that michael sees a strange psychological standoff happening and just shoots l’rell. more stun first sort it out later behavior is what we need sometimes

the long explosion sequence for the ship of the dead, shown entirely as reaction shots from inside the discovery bridge? brilliant

EvilWatch 2255:

“captain, i didn’t know you cared” these jerks have me wanting a lorca redemption arc at the exact moment he’s laying out his evil plan

i really admire his ability to play two long games at once

thinking about that scene with stamets in the shuttlebay and i’m honestly not sure if lorca’s subtly manipulating stamets into jumping to the starbase because he wants to bail for the mirror universe before cornwell can reopen the conversation about his command

but i THINK he intends to stay and finish out the war until stamets’s final-jump ultimatum forces his hand

why does he even want to go back in the first place? the mirror universe is terrible?? if he stays here starfleet is going to give him a medal and he might have to go to therapy for a minute but no one’s gonna try to murder him just walking down a hallway

i understand why lorca probably avoided seeing admiral cornwell after her rescue from klingon torture but “okay send her my best” is pretty cold, dude

i’d like to personally offer jason isaacs the scott bakula & jolene blalock award for playing the “lorca cares about michael’s safety far more than is reasonable under the circumstances” bits with the least sexual tension possible

it’s like he and i both took a look at the upcoming mirror universe reveal and were like “lorca was burnham’s surrogate father, yep” and then just stopped reading before the rest of that sentence, and bless him for it

oh my god michael and tyler:

it’s so raw

tyler’s complicated feelings about whether he’s complicit in his own torture because he chose to live by whatever means necessary and then it’s almost worth it because he got to meet michael “is that weird?” a;lksdgja;lsgasg

i know it’s about to get 900% more complicated but right now with their entire combined mess of trauma but him being so open always i love them so much

“i’ve found peace, right here” STOP

she falls asleep on his couch so he won’t be alooooone

other characters:

so! much! happens in this damn episode this recap would be 9 pages long but i don’t think we give hugh enough credit

in every conceivable way, but right now i’m admiring how he’s the only one of the crew who never wavers from the “that dude’s evil and i’m gonna judge to the full extent allowed within my professional boundaries” stance on lorca

i mean where are your threat ganglia, saru?? this man has literally EATEN kelpiens

and hugh and paul though, hugh and paullllllll 🥺 fighting and kissing and making opera dates 🥺 so much happiness can only end in tears

other moments of delight:

all the reaction shots from the bridge crew at all times, they’re all nosy af and i love them

and they’re so cute and proud when lorca calls them “fierce warriors all”

i think this is the first time discovery has engaged the spore drive while at warp, which was a pretty cool combination of visual effects

really enjoying tilly’s low braided space buns in this episode, definitely going to wear those tomorrow

#star trek discovery #discotrek #trekathon

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lucastheunlucky · 4 years

Text

Who Made Who | Luke&Blanche

Time Frame: Current Who: Blanche & Luke Possible Triggers: Body horror Location: Strawford Park Summary: Luke has been seeing a ghost around him and Blanche offers to help work out where she might be buried. Going back to the mass grave where he was disposed of a few years ago, causes her to lash out. She finally shows her face, and the horrors of exactly who she is and who hurt her.

Blanche pulled her yellow jeep into Strawford Park’s parking lot with a low sigh, sliding into the parking space. She was overly prepared, as per usual. Some might call her paranoid, and they’d be right, but she had seen far too much to not be. She had enough salt in her bag to kill a baby moose, as well a small iron rod, wards, taser, mace, and acid mace. Probably a bit of overkill, but if she was going to be ghost hunting - sorta - with Lucas, then it was better to be overly prepared than not at all. Swinging her backpack on her back, she locked her car and stuffed her keys into her back pocket, walking up to Strawford Park’s gates, immediately tensing. Cemeteries were always haunted, she could feel the spirits lingering inside, and she winced as she lingered outside, waiting for Lucas. She felt him before she saw him, feeling the presence of a ghost coming ath er from a different direction, and she looked up from staring at her shoes and waved. “Hey!” she called, “What’s up? How are you feeling? Any better?”

So Lucas had only one goal in mind with all this-- and it didn’t actually involve him. ‘Do not, under any fucking circumstance, have Blanche get hurt.’ There was nothing else that mattered to him, because answers could always be found in other ways, and there wasn’t a super rush. Even with this ghost-- well-- it wasn’t good, but Lucas could handle it. He waved at Blanche, her smaller stature, backpack, and youthful energy making Lucas concerned already for her safety. “Hey there, Blanche,” he gave a soft smile, and sighed a bit. “I’m feeling a bit sick, but I’m good though. You have some gear on you, stuff to help with ghosts?” He asked, pushing the gate open, and looking out at the gravesite with a thump in his throat. “It's just on the edge, back I think-- better to not walk the middle, yeah?”

“A bit sick?” Blanche’s brows knit together in concern almost immediately. This was why she had wanted to go alone. In theory, the hard part was done, Lucas already knew where the grave was. She walked with him through the gates, grimacing slightly as she nodded. “Yeah, good idea. I - sometimes I have a nasty habit of drawing spirits to me. Something about my aura or something,” Blanche said with a shrug, “So staying away from most of them would be most appreciated. But I do have stuff in my bag that’ll help,” she patted her backpack slightly. “Iron, salt, wards, you know, the usual.” After a moment, she paused and looked at him, concerned once again. “Here, we can go slow, okay? Are you sure you’re up for this”

Lucas chuckled, trying to keep his tone calm and slightly teasing. “Blanche, I don’t know what the usual is for ghosts, so I’m going to have to take your word for it. I’m not the type to grab weapons.” He’d have to remember that though, any new information on supernaturals wasn’t the worst to have. So the ghosts were attracted to her in a bad way, this put a frown on his lips, glad he hadn’t let her come alone. “Listen, if this goes sideways, I want you to come with my brother next time. There’s never a need to have shit like this bother you so aggressively alone.” He almost let out an annoyed growl, but it stopped in his throat. At her pause he looked back. “Of course, I know this seems grim and I don’t feel the best, but what if it helps? If we both feel like we need to turn around-- we will. Want a code word? Something we can just shout and we run like our ma’am’s have a wooden spoon and we’re on our last warning?”

“Oh, I am,” Blanche said automatically, with a shrug. “The type to grab weapons, I mean.” She thought back to when she and Winston went to look at the cursed chest on the beach, going to snap photos and kill Karknoids. The back seat of her old, shitty car had been full of bats, bricks, wasp spray, and anything else she could find. She was a bit more prepared now. “Salt and iron are usually good for ghosts, though. I have wards on me in case I have to ward anything off while I’m here. But I don’t think anything’s going to go sideways.” At least, she hoped not. She let out a low sigh as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Your brother?” She frowned, not sure she liked the idea of that. Blanche wasn’t even sure coming here with Lucas was a good idea for Lucas’ safety, she didn’t want something bad to happen to his brother too. “If he’s alright with that. Does he know about this?” They continued walking, Blanche letting out a low laugh. “A code word? Like we’re spies or something? Do you think we’ll need something like that instead of just saying, Zoinks Scoob, let’s get the hell outta here?”

“Yeah, he will know. I don’t keep anything from him anymore, and he’s in search and rescue, he will be able to help out if we can’t find her body,” Lucas easily said. For some reason, while they walked along the edge, steps careful, and both vigilant to their surroundings, he couldn’t help but think about Regan and how she had suggested having a picnic in a graveyard. He internally smiled at that. Weirdo. She was something special. As they moved, Lucas felt the hair on his arms rise up, and he cracked his neck as it grew stiff, the muscles feeling heavier along his shoulders and making his body groan a little against itself. “Yes, Zoinks, please say that,” he said quietly. He glanced at his phone at the rough map, but in reality, he kinda knew where it was now that he was here. His memory was broken up from the day he was put here, hazy like they were echoes of moments over what actually happened. “Shit,” he glanced down when a surprise of pain made his chest suddenly ache and a wave of dizziness hit him.

Blanche hated graveyards, always had. Whenever her parents would drag her and her little brother to see their great grandparents when they were small. Blanche would scream her head off, even though she was supposed to be the older, more mature one. Her screaming would set her brother off and it would always end with their father snarling at them to stop causing a scene and to behave. After a few failed times, they stopped going. Except Blanche never did stop seeing ghosts. “I can keep my old cartoon references going, if you want. Yabbadabbadoo,” Blanche snorted to herself, shaking her head. The spirit’s presence coming off of Lucas became stronger all of a sudden, causing her to pause as gravel crunched under her sneakers. She turned to look at him. “Lucas?” Blanche asked. Spots of blood were appearing on his shirt. He was hurt? What? “Lucas! Your shirt! Your skin - What - what’s happening? Are you okay?!”

Luke didn’t want to blame the ghost, even if it wanted to hurt him. It wasn’t her fault she died. It was Gotch’s. A low sound vibrated in his chest in a growl. “Yeah--,” he said. “I just felt suddenly sideways, vertigo, tired.” As he finished speaking the familiar southern drawl carried through the graveyard and his heart stopped for two beats before it started into a fumbling race that sent a tremble to his fingertips. ‘Another person with you? So comfortable.’ Lucas refused to look towards where it came from because he knew he wasn’t in town. He’d not heal from losing an arm that fast. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“She’s what?” Blanche gaped at him. And then she saw her appear before her eyes and Blanche stumbled back eyes wide. This was no girl - well, it was a girl, but it wasn’t quite how it should have been. She was instantly reminded of Lauren Langley’s true form, with intestines spilling out of her body. This was different. The girl was half formed into a wolf, bones bent and broken at odd angles, strange animalistic features and tufts of fur stretched over her skin. The streaked on her face from the large bullet hole in her inhuman skull. Blanche stared in horror, shaking slightly as her stomach churned dangerously. No, she had a job to do. She could be sick later. Come on. She could do this. She swung her bag off her shoulder. “Lucas?” Blanche said. “It’s okay. She’s here and she’s trying to stop you.” Blanche forced some semblance of calm into her voice. “Let him go!” Blanche commanded. “We’re trying to help you. Let him go.”

Stop him. Why? ‘Wouldn’t you want to be free of this suffering?’ The disjointed voice carried through him, and Lucas staggered into a standstill when Blanche tried to speak calmly to something behind him. When he laid at night, his nightmares were mostly seeing his packmates taken away, cut up, beheaded, but also it was this shadow of a monster that lurked in the very furthest points of his vision and whispered to end it. It’s always been this way for him. He’s been terrorized too long by Gotch. His voice would always lurk. Luke starred forward, determined to keep the feeling from scaring him, though his body creaked gently in want to defend himself. “She wants me to stop,” he swallowed thickly, taking a few more steps. He blinked a few more times, refusing to believe what he was hearing, the words kept slipping by, but it ached all of him. “Fuck--” his pulse increased. “Blanche-- forward or back?” he asked.

“Let him go!” Blanche said firmly. She pulled the iron rod from her bag, though she knew the notes she had taken that it wasn’t going to be nearly as effective as she wanted it to be. Oh hell, what was she going to do now. “Lucas, listen to me. Can you hear me. Can you come forward to me?” Blanche asked. Panic was spreading in her body, but she desperately tried to make it go far away. Far, far away. There was a part of her that wished she told Rebecca or Nigel or anyone what exactly she’d be doing today. Mind racing, Blanche had to figure out what she wanted to do now. Go back? No, the longer this thing was attached to his soul meant bad news for Lucas. She didn’t want him to be tormented for that long, he didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that. Could she get the ghost to talk to her? “Look at me!” Blanche demanded. “No you, Lucas. You! The …. Girl. Hello? Can you hear me? Let him go this instant.” Blanche stepped closer to Lucas, almost ready to reach out and yank him towards her. “We want to help you find peace. Don’t you want that? Come on.”

Lucas had amber eyes on her, hair sprouted in places along the highest planes of his arms and knuckles, and he seemed heavier, almost denser as the muscles coiled in tension, but when he looked at her, it was him seeing her with a clear gaze. He refused to have this thing hurt this young woman. Luke could handle it, making him see his worst nightmares even if it made his heart thump at a dangerous pace that stirred him into a wanted shift. He’s been through worse-- he’s suffered so long-- this was nothing. Lucas was a beast with control, and he stepped forward, without restraint, nothing physically holding him back, not that a lot could against a werewolf’s strength. It was what was behind Blanche that made his stomach sour, making it so difficult to stop the paranoia.

‘I want to kill her.’ Gotch smiled and Luke almost shattered, “I can hear you, Velma,” he joked in hopes to not fall into that pitfall, pulling the first name from his pop culture list he could. Blanche’s pulse was high as well, and panic could be easily read and somehow, that was the reassurance he needed to know it was her. “Stay calm,” he took another step. “She has to do a lot to hurt me. I’ve already been to Hell.” The person behind Blanche was Gotch, missing his arm and holding a shotgun at her head. He exhaled and the side of the ghost surfaced just out of his vision near his cheek, her mangled face not the one he always saw but unable to speak from the damage. He took another step. “She hates someone. The one who killed her, it’s all she keeps saying. She keeps showing him to me.”

Velma. Blanche let out a short laugh that sounded more like some type of high pitched tea kettle noise. “I’m as calm as I’m going to get,” Blanche replied. There was a whispering coming from the ghost that she couldn’t quite hear, and she wondered if it was because she was whispering lowly in Lucas’ ear and not to her. She didn’t want to talk to her - made sense, since Blanche actively wanted to get rid of her. But she also wanted her to find some semblance of peace. The girl would never be able to do that leeching off of people’s souls. She stared at Lucas, examining him closely for a moment. The more responsible part of her, whatever was left of that part, told her to turn back. To abandon this and come back by herself or with his brother. She met his eyes a moment. “She’s showing you things that aren’t real,” Blanche said carefully. After a moment, Blanche held out her hand to him. “Take my hand. We’ll go together, okay?”

“I have fallen for them before,” Lucas admitted, and he still couldn’t look Gotch in the eye, and a small part of him could hear Miles saying it would be extremely tough to face him in all fronts. He had to get better. When Blanche moved, and he took her hand, the illusion broke, the shotgun disappeared and the hallucination dissipated. Lucas stepped forward. His mind ached, like nails carving down his skull to believe it all. That it was real, and Lucas didn’t know if it was because he’d had nightmares for so long that he could navigate this, or because there was light before him-- Blanche’s bravery gave him pride, and appreciation. This was why you didn’t do things alone, right? He squeezed her hand to reassure her and the choice, the gravesite was close. They just had to go up a little more. Could he handle that though? Would he suddenly remember moving the dirt pressed on his face and trying to get out of the ground?

“That’s okay,” Blanche said, quietly. She was relieved when he grabbed her hand. Gently, she lead him forward, her eyes still on the mangled form of the girl that was so desperately trying to pull Lucas back. She didn’t understand why she was doing this - then again, Blanche supposed there was no need to know why, just that it was happening in the first place. Was that what her problem was? That she was so caught up in why things happened instead of just taking action and dealing with them as they came? Blanche didn’t know, but it caused a new round of anxiety in her. She clutched the iron rod in her free hand tighter as she pulled Lucas forward.

The weight on his soul seemed to pull and stretch. Like the ghost was tethered and bound to it and leaving his body behind like like a demented balloon. Suddenly something materialized near them and howled a broken, threatening sound. Lucas’ steps stopped, the very instinct to howl back came up without control, and he gritted his teeth as fangs crowded his mouth and his body shifted subtly, swallowing it down as his ribs creaked under his shirt. He turned around and it was Miles, with his face blown off, down to the bone, flesh hung off like a torn bed sheet, only his broken muzzle hung open to let the howl come through, and one eye illuminated and staring at him. ‘Late. Late. Late. This is what happens. Told you, I’d hurt them. I’d cut them. I’d kill him if you went to his side.’ Gotch’s voice whispered in his ear in familiar ways. Lucas stared at his brother, strong emotions a current in his chest, heavy in frustration and fear. His hand fell from hers, taking a step forward. “Don’t show me this--”

Until he wouldn’t go anymore and she stopped too, squeezing his hand tightly. “Lucas?” She asked. She watched his inner turmoil, eyes going from between the girl and him. “Stop it! Leave him alone! Who are you?!” Blanche snapped. Shit. Lucas said a name, seeing some hallucination that she couldn’t see, turning and walking away, his hand falling from hers. Shit. Blanche rushed forward, practically running to cut Lucas off, holding her free hand up to stop him. “Lucas, look at me. It’s okay! It’s okay, it’s not real.” Blanche bit her like and then resigned herself. “Lucas, I need you to send me the map on your phone. So I know where to go, okay?”

He closed his eyes so he wasn’t fooled. Did it mean she actually died here, and wasn’t disposed of? Did Gotch kill her so horribly? “Okay--” Luke opened his eyes, rings of gold in his brown, seeing Blanche. It was impossible not to feel this ghost’s presence now, and it was exhausting him fighting back. He pulled his phone out and quickly sent the map and plot location to her cell. “We have to go, it’s-- this is too dangerous now--” he said, wishing he could keep going but knew he didn’t want to put Blanche in any more danger. They got answers though. This wolf-- they deserved to rest. It was the least he could do.

The ghost was wailing now. A deep, anguished howl erupted from her, and Blanche could feel it ringing in her ears. “Alright,” Blanche said softly, feeling her phone vibrate. She was overwhelmed now, over stimulated by the spirit and Lucas - it happened so often like that. It was easier to be around one instead of both, and Blanche spent the better part of her life wishing it was the live ones. But she could feel this spirit. This girl’s pain. More than that, she could feel just how desperate she was and feel just how close to breaking it was. A session or two with Rebecca hadn’t done much for her senses, other than her focuses on how different sorts of spirits felt, and if Blanche took a moment to breath, took a moment to look at the mangled body of the girl, she knew she didn’t have much time left. She reached for Lucas’ hand and pulled, this time back towards the graveyard gate. “Let’s go home,” she said. And then, she would come back later, without Lucas. So she could deal with this poor spirit herself.

#x: blanche #body horror tw #x: who made who

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calleo-bricriu · 4 years

Note

work

(( I feel like doing drabbles. Still accepting these despite only having done two of like...five more. ))

Working at the Ministry for several years had, if nothing else, only allowed Calleo to practise an already innate skill at somehow hearing everything being said in a bunch of noise: Ministry meetings often went that way.

Nobody else present found it odd that he was quiet; he often was, especially if they were discussing topics or tactics in which he had no experience and the fact that he wasn't reading something told them he was paying attention and could be asked, at any point, for his input.

The trouble at the moment was that none of them wanted it. It was more familiar and somehow comforting to argue--it had ceased to be a discussion or exchange of ideas and compromise some time go--with each other and they'd fallen back to a very incorrect assumption that when the one at the wheel had had enough of listening to it, he'd simply tell them what they were doing.

Felix typically sat closest to Calleo and he noticed when Calleo reached into that obnoxious bag covered in brightly coloured cartoon parrots. He knew (or at least thought) that Calleo didn't keep wands in there, so it was likely nothing more dangerous than a cigarette or flask of something that was being reached for.

Everyone else noticed, however, what Calleo did was pull out a round, black, plastic ball with a small flat area on the bottom and set it on the table with a loud enough clack to catch their attention. He didn't appear to be angry, or even annoyed, just sort of entertained, somehow.

Felix was close enough to see the white circle and number 8 at the top and buried his face in his hands, muttering something about taking things seriously in Calleo's direction.

"I don't see why I should!" Calleo shrugged lazily and laid a hand on top of the plastic 8 ball. "You all stopped taking it seriously in favour of alternating between arguing and name calling two hours ago, that's hardly taking anything seriously."

"Right!" He picked up the ball. "Since none of you can make a decision, I'm going to ask a completely neutral in the sense that it's not alive and is, in fact, a Muggle toy, what it thinks and go from there."

Ordinarily, someone might have laughed or made a remark or simply asked him what the hell he was talking about but most of them had no idea what had just happening apart from the fact that it wasn't somehow dangerous and that Felix looked like a very tired grandparent of a child with endless energy.

"So!" He tapped the ball, "What do we think of using Felix's intelligence to make inroads in the more remote or difficult to get to Northern Unseen Market routes? Good idea?" After he'd finished the question, he gave the thing a few good shakes then flipped it over so the flat side was facing him before showing it to the group.

"Oh, hm, well, that's unfortunate; is it because there's a higher chance of interference from behind the crumbled remains of that Iron Curtain that still have strong ties to the Russian Unseen Market?" Another shake.

"Figured."

"Calleo--" Felix began, only to be cut off.

"Felix, look, you lot have been all but shouting insults back and forth and I've sat here quietly and listened to it--clearly, I've listened to it--if I had to put up with you acting like overtired children you get to put up with me acting like a garden variety children--child--you know what I mean."

A few glances were exchanged but nothing else was said and now, for however briefly, Calleo had a captive audience courtesy of a Muggle toy.

"So, there are two ways to go with that; could give up on it for now and focus on securing the more southern and central Unseen Markets as Geiss suggested."

"And once we've got a good lock on those, push further East, per Schlei and Zeiger's suggestions, then swing North and push back West to lock the Northern routes."

"Mm, yeah, that probably was a bit ambitious. Push East, per Shlei and Zeiger, then redouble back West to make sure those routes stay secure go due North, only veering slightly east to make sure Finland's chunk of the Unseen Market isn't an easy entry point maybe?"

"Right, yeah--" by now it was Calleo making all the noise in the room with a group staring at him in silence as he discussed tactics with a plastic ball.

"Finland does get a bit too close, doesn't it? Let the dragon handle Finland?"

"Brilliant! So, from all the jumbled mess that was thrown around the last two hours here's what I've got: For now, ignore the North; still too much influence strength there to make any real headway. It'd be a mess right now, so keep focus on the Southern and Central European Unseen Markets and their routes in and out of Europe per Geiss' suggestion, follow Shlei and Zeiger's suggestion to push East--but not too far East, get too close to the Russian boarder and it's likely to cause problems, then redouble back to make sure the lines taken remain secure."

Calleo rolled the plastic 8 ball idly between his hands on the table, "Once those are secure to the point that they don't need constant watching, move out of central Europe--or the central parts of countries who are in Southern, Central, and also possibly in sort-of-Northern Europe--that should net the rest of the continent from roughly Warsaw West and into Norway and Sweden and we'll let Hebridean Black handle getting at least the relevant parts of Finland's Unseen Market into line. Wouldn't look to moving into that area for another two or three years though."

Silence.

Calleo canted his head slightly, "Was that not what you were all almost shouting about, only with a hell of a lot more profanity for the last two hours? And were just arguing about where to start?"

"It was." Felix was, as he usually was, the first to speak when Calleo managed to cause awkward silences. "You could do with being a bit more diplomatic about it in future and perhaps not use Muggle Divination toys."

"Why?"

"It gives the impression," this time it was Zeiger who spoke up, "that you take nothing seriously."

"Results, I think," now he was spinning the ball like a top, "prove that things are being taken seriously, as does the ability I have to listen to two hours of disjointed, insult peppered, argumentative, nearly coming to blows sniping back and forth from a table full of an assortment of strange mustaches with matching accents, take it, and turn it into something coherent and likely to see at least some measure of success within five minutes."

"The fact that you think a silly little water filled toy with what amounts to a dice with words floating in it was any factor--" Calleo laughed and shook his head, "I plan out loud all the time, hearing it outside my own head lets me think more clearly."

"The eight ball is just a bit of fun." (And that entire meeting ended up, hours later, being delivered to Professor Dumbledore ( @messianique ) as a vial to viewed along with a short invitation to recommend any fine tuning or changes to ensure it was still easy for him to do his own work unimpeded.)

#divination #hp rp #1992 is a weird year #stories

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curestardust · 5 years

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if you want: a bunch of references to 70′s anime from Tatsunoko Production / 2 adorable girl protagonists / unique and beautiful animation

"Pandora and Akubi” is quite possibly one of the weirdest concepts I’ve come across but when I saw that it was described as "battle entertainment for girls" I of course had no choice but to watch it.

This “movie” actually comes across as 2 episodes of a longer anime. They even have an OP and an ED? It’s all very confusing.

Anyway, about that concept...it’s basically a big fucking nostalgia fest for people who grew up on old “Tatsunoko Production“ cartoons. For the younger generation, they’re more than likely more known for NGE and FMP Fumoffu. But with a quick check, the characters that appear in “Pandora and Akubi” are all from shows that aired in the 70′s. This includes Akubi as well, who’s a Genie, meanwhile Pandora is a character from the Monster Strike mobile game. My closest guess is that the show itself was for the kids and the references were for the parents who are there watching it with them.

Well, the inclusion of all these random characters makes the movie a bit disjointed and confusing. Why is there...a racer in the wild west? Why did this spirit just summon a big mecha?? Why are the girls fighting in these strange clothes?? They are all references of course. Little kids who don’t know what’s going on and the parents who get the references will probably have a grand old time but for everyone in the middle it’s hard to justify watching this.

But that doesn’t mean that there are no redeaming qualities. One is the animation. The characters are vibrant with minimal shading while the backgrounds are artistic and detailed, which creates a really nice combination. Pair that with the active animation and it’s a feast for the eyes, if you like this kinda stuff. The characters are also quite interesting, even if you don’t know the original series’ they’re from and most of them are voiced by well-known VA’s. Pandora and Akubi also make an adorable pair and their personalities constract each other’s, making their interactions fun to watch.

Still, the ending doesn’t feel very fulfilling. I really would’ve liked to watch more of the girls’ adventures in an actual anime and not just this 2-parter.

[6/10] (x)

Recommend: HELL Yeah! | Yes | Eh??? | Nope | This anime killed my parents

#dusty reviews #pandora to akubi #pandora and akubi

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therosecrest · 4 years

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I had a very strange dream. Disjointed. Shifting.

It’s even worse now, because I’ve mostly woken up ad don’t remember it so well.

My point of view this time was this man. Japanese, I believe. I I found a person’s credit card while I believe I was shopping. There was another person at some time around here, but I don’t remember.

Cut.

I returned to my bike. My actual bike, not the bike of this man. For some reason, I found someone’s hoodie was there, and some kind of device attached to it. It was shaped like a cartoon lightning bolt, or volt, and was a very small badge, but actually it was a state of the art smart device for some kind of gaming. I think I had been speaking with this person, then they had disappeared. I put the hoodie with the lightning bolt badge on. I started cycling. Towards town, to return it? Or home, taking it?

Cut.

I’m now my actual self. I switched seamlessly with the ‘scene’, but it was also like it had been me all along. Anyway, I’m riding home, but I’m topless. This kind of exposure happens quite frequently in my dreams and is the only recurring element. The device is gone, but the hoodie has been replaced with a sleeveless jacket. I tried it on, but chose not to wear it. It seemed very tight and I dlsike sleeveless clothes. I didn’t want to have my chest exposed, but I rode back towards town while covering my chest with one arm.

Cut.

I’m that man again. It’s the next day. I think I was contacted through the smart pin. Or perhaps I found a note? I don’t remember now. He wanted me to meet him and return the card, and speak with me over a meal. While from my point of view it had jumped to the morning, like they do in tv and such, apparently I had used the card quite a bit. For some reason I concluded quickly that another me had done it inbetween scenes.I think I complained of this being some Serial Experiments Lain shit.

He was a slightly older man. It was a kind of cafe, but really you just picked your instant meal and they heated it and bought it to you. When I tried to pay with cash, having exchanged my pounds for yen, the man told me in English to use card because the exchange rate was equal compared to cash.

I was supposed to be that Japanese guy, so why had I had to think about what I needed to say in Japanese at the counter? Why had I exchanged Pounds for Yen? When I searched in my pocket for a card, I found that man’s. But then I found another four or five cards! I thought the other me must have stolen some more cards without me knowing about it. I focused one one card. The cardholder’s name was ‘mother’. I paid when I found my own card. My card, not the man who was also me, but my actual self.

Cut.

The two men were in bed, in a very sort of artistic embrace. Like greek sculptures or something. It was a third peron view; I was no longer in that body. Instead, it was like I was now watching a movie. Hell, I think it even zoomed out and I was looking at the screen from a projector. It was just like that scene from Paprika.

The narrator said, and there were subtitles, that although it isn’t common in live action, it isn’t uncommon for men to sleep together in manga. The idea seemed to be that the the author had them sleep together for a shock publicity stunt or something.

I think there was still more. However, as I wrote this I’ve woken up more and forgotten the last of it. But what a disjointed dream. Myself, my dream self, and another self I couldn’t confirm. Very strange dream. And I woke up early too...

#dreams

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spookyspaghettisundae · 6 years

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Talking About Weird

Burying a corpse really takes it out of you.

Kimberly and Kevin sat on the porch of a lonesome old hut in the middle of the forest. They were exhausted.

Kim rocked on the rickety chair she sat upon, causing the dry wood of her seat and the floorboards to creak rhythmically. A cigarette nearly burnt down to the filter sat nestled between Kevin’s fingers, with a stack of ash on it standing as crooked as a leaning tower and looking ready to collapse any moment now.

Mud stained their clothing and grit turned the edges of Kimberly’s fingernails black. Kevin’s hands looked unusually unkempt, even with his black-painted fingernails concealing some of the dirt on his hands.

Cars rarely traveled the nearest road and the population density was so low in this neck of the woods that you could scream and not be heard for miles around. Aside from the few noises that the two people on the porch were producing, a deathly silence enveloped their environs. A thick fog that crept through the woods all around them seemed to further swallow any sound on this moonlit night.

“It’s funny. Weird thing happened to me a couple o’ years back,” Kevin suddenly said.

Kim lurched forward in her chair and leaned onto her knees. To avoid getting dirt in her eyes, she rubbed them with the ball of her thumbs. Kevin lifted his weary arm to take a drag from his cigarette but the tower of ashes came tumbling down onto his lap.

“Weird things happening to you? You don’t say,” she said with a hint of tired sarcasm underscoring her words. Meanwhile, Kevin was swatting away the ashes from his lap, smearing them more than anything.

After all, they had just spent the past hours burying the sorry carcass of Johnny, some poor schmuck whose body had been taken for a joyride by some alien entity that ended up murdering two people before they exorcised it in a ritual involving barbie dolls and old Polaroid photos. Unfortunately for Johnny, the thing had already fatally damaged his body and was the only reason it had been still moving and trying to rip their faces off, so Johnny was effectively already dead the moment the exorcism drove the entity out of his lifeless meat-bag.

“Hardy har har,” he said with a sigh. He took a drag from his cigarette and flinched from the bad taste of its filter burning up with the final puff. Exhaling prematurely while he spoke strained his voice while the smoke escaped his mouth, making his words come out sounding funny, “It’s weird I never thought about this, since it seems like it would just fit in nowadays. Maybe the universe was telegraphing me about my future. See, this was before I met Michael and learned of the invisible world. Fuck, now that I think about it, this was even before I started rockin’ the bass with Lost Number.”

Kevin dropped the butt onto the floorboards of the porch and brought his heavy combat boot down on it to stamp it out. What was commonplace in the city he came from sounded like thunder in contrast to the quiet out here.

His non-romantic companion and partner in crime and pupil in magick practices for the past few months remained quiet. It dawned on Kevin that most of his anecdotes were disjointed and boring.

But not this one.

“So I was working this part-time job at a gas station on the weekends. Graveyard shifts. And I mean, you see a lot of weird shit when you push a job like that. One time, I saw two furries fucking in plain sight by the gas pumps. Another time I watched a guy get gunned down in a drive-by across the street. So, y'know, weird and scary there is kind of just—like—typical Sunday night, right?

“This one night though, it was late, and I was already getting loopy. I had been binge-reading some Stephen King, and there hadn’t been any customers in the past hour or so, when this woman walks in.”

“Oh gosh, a woman? That’s some spooky shit right there,” Kim interjected, nailing the sarcastic tone to go along with it.

“Very funny. Yeah, well, this lady’s got like, a crow, or a raven riding on her shoulder. Like a fucking parrot on a pirate’s shoulder in some cartoon, but it’s this big black bird, and for real. How the hell do you train a bird like that to do that? I don’t know.”

Kim perked up and shot a glance to Kevin, catching a glimpse of a glint in his eyes—a hint of fascination, something she rarely ever witnessed in his demeanor. The guy was so jaded by all the unnatural and magick things he was regularly exposed to that everything strange looked ordinary to him.

His story certainly piqued her interest now.

“She’s dressed in this, like, I dunno, fish-net sleeves and all semi-transparent black. Very revealing, lots of pale skin, bunch of ink. Very gothy. Shit, maybe I took some fashion pointers from her without realizing it till now. But I digress. That isn’t all. Her face is painted black and white but all smeared like she just made out with a truck stop’s worth of horny truckers, and she has got the craziest fucking stare.

"So this wide-eyed lady walks up to the counter, and is staring me in the eyes from the entrance all the way over. And the crow on her shoulders is just sitting there all quiet, staring at me as well. Between the two of them drawing all my attention, I don’t notice what she’s holding in her hands.

"Then she just dumps a broken beer bottle on the counter in front of me. It’s split in half, like she busted it over somebody’s skull in a bar fight, and there’s blood on it. A lot of it. And I’m really uncomfortable at this point. Looking her up and down, trying to figure out if she’s hurt or something, but I don’t see any injuries or blood on her. I’m thinkin’, like, ‘Fuck, lady, are you alright?’ But I’m obviously speechless.

"And she starts talking.”

He shifted the pitch of his voice to mimic someone else’s and quote what he remembered. “Come infernal, terrestrial, and heavenly Bombo, goddess of the broad roadways, of the crossroad, thou who goest to and fro at night, torch in hand, enemy of the day. Friend and lover of darkness, thou who doest rejoice when the bitches are howling and warm blood is spilled, thou who art walking amid the phantom and in the place of the tombs, thou whose thirst is blood, thou who doest strike chill and fear in mortal hearts, Gorgo, Mormo, moon of a thousand forms, cast a propitious eye on our—”

Kim interrupted him, “Woah, slow down there, Sabrina. Did you just pull all of that outta your ass? Did you commit that to memory, or something?”

Kevin shrugged.

“Dunno, never heard it since. I guess it really stuck with me. I mean, in hindsight, it does sound like some authentic old-world invocation shit. Guess it really burrowed its way into my subconscious mind, or something. Maybe I was born with it.

"Anyway—she’s babbling on about sacrifices here and blood there, and then she suddenly blurts out, ‘I would like to return this and get my money back.’ And I am completely taken aback and just look back down at the bottle, dumbfounded by this random-ass request after the barrage of voodoo word vomit.”

Kevin crammed a fist into his coat pocket, then produced a crumpled pack of smokes from there. He removed a crooked cigarette from it and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. After patting his pockets to find another object, he replaced the pack with a stainless steel lighter, but continued telling his tale before firing up his cigarette.

“So my mind is racing, right? I’m worried about what to say—trying to figure out what to say at all because the silence between us is growing long and awkward—I’m now convinced this is some crazy coked-up chick, and I don’t see any gun or knife on her, but she’s got a crow riding on her shoulder, for fuck’s sake, and she’s babbling weird shit straight outta Charmed or something. And even if she’s unarmed, there’s this sharp-ass broken bottle on the counter between us, and I’m frozen with fear, worried she might grab it and gut me with it. So every instinct in my body is screaming at me, telling me to bolt and lock myself in the back room and call the police, right? She’s just staring at me all the while.”

The sound of the lighter flicking open and the flint igniting the flame created a sharp and bright sound against the quiet of the dark night. He took a deep drag and put the lighter away again.

After blowing out a tiny cloud of smoke, he said, “So I’m like, 'Sorry, but even if you had the receipt, I don’t think our return policy would allow me to take it back with the bloodstains on it.’”

Kim’s face contorted in an attempt to suppress her laughter but a snicker escaped her flaring nostrils. Kevin himself could not help but grin at the memory.

Then they heard twigs snapping. And a branch breaking. Someone walked through the woods, approaching the hut where they sat. A figure broke through the fog bank, lumbering into sight. Fresh dirt rained from his head and shoulders and limbs as he stopped and stood there, swaying.

They recognized him by his silhouette. Johnny was back. Or whatever was riding Johnny’s corpse.

“Aw, hell no,” Kim clicked her tongue and then groaned while she got up. She grabbed the rusty shovel she had leaned against the banister before they had sat down to rest there.

Kevin sighed and swung onto his feet before descending from the porch to join her. He drew the snub-nosed revolver that had been weighing down his pocket.

Neither shovel nor bullets alone would permanently put Johnny’s possessed body to rest, though. Something about the exorcism must have gone wrong. Kim and Kevin would have to get creative that night.

The rest of Kevin’s story would have to wait.

—Submitted by Wratts

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rodpupo6 · 2 years

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Project: Collective Zine

Lourenço Mutarelli

Multiple artist, he is a writer, actor, playwright and author of comic books.

Mutarelli was born in the city of São Paulo, and was interested in art from an early age. After completing high school, he attended the College of Belas Artes at USP and worked three years at the studios of Mauricio de Sousa. He was fascinated by the quantity of magazines that emerged in the 1980’s, he tried to publish his stories without success, as they were considered too “strange”.

He started his production in comic books through fanzines, distributed by the author himself.

One of the greatest influences of the comics that Mutarelli mentions, is Tintin.

On a interview he told the importance of Tintin in his life.

“ When I met him, I was very young; and whenever I read, I go back to that same frequency. It’s a fictional world, a cool thing, something that totally disconnects e from bad and difficult things.

Perhaps the best moment of my childhood was reading Tintin”.

In addition to Tintin, he also cites Robert Crumb, Will Eisner, and Argentine illustrator Jose Munoz, who he considers the best art finalist of all.

The art in Mutarelli’s drawings is difficult to qualify, something that emerges between Robert Crumb’s comics and Francis Bacon’s paintings.

Mutarelli says all the time that his creating something, is his treatment and that though it he becomes a better person, regardless of the acceptance of the work by other people and even an alleged impossibility of publication.

I've known Mutarelli for a while. His unchildish drawings have always intrigued me. Very heavy in shading using ink, for me it was always intense to look at your comic zines.

In this collective zine project, I would like to use the black and white style, because I think it suits what I want to do. Because as this is a zine of dreams and nightmares, I want to do something experimental and also completely nonsense, and trying to get out of my usual style. Black and white can bring this heavier tone to the drawings. In addition to making characters more exaggerated in their expressions.

Always original, Mutarelli takes the reader to the abyss of conscience, he doesn’t mind tracing the most deplorable profiles of our society. His works stand out for the raw image of the human being, disturbing the reader, but making him reflect on our broken society.

Raymond Pettibon

Is an American artist, who became part of the Californian Punk rock music scene in the 1980s, creating zines, posters with his sketchy style of illustration, typically using black and white drawings.

Taking inspiration from comic books, political cartoons and DIY culture, Pettibon has also cited William Blake, Edward Hopper, and Francisco Goya as influences.

Born in 1957 in Tucson, Arizona, and grew up in Los Angeles, California. He started his career as a math teacher before turning his attention to the arts. Largely self taught, he began designing album covers, promotional posters and zines for his brother’s band, the hardcore group Black Flag.

His works go through a wide of different aspects of American culture, ranging from anti-war messages using a cartoonish style, religion, sexuality and sports.

His early zines featured comic-like illustrations with bizarre, ironic, and often disjointed text. Particularly focusing on the dissemination of post-war American culture.

His works are mainly done with Indian ink on paper and many of early drawings were in black and white.

The reason to use India ink is because he considers it an easier technique to handle, in addition to being faster for the production of zines, since they are made in a very short time. In addition to having said that black and white can give a heavier and more tense look to your zines, due to its political and social aspects.

What I like about Pettibon's zines is mainly the chaotic way in which he creates his characters and his stories. In the work of the collective zine, I would like to do something different from what I'm used to, trying to use a more experimental style, in addition to wanting to use black and white drawing, to do something different from previous works.

Robert Crumb

Robert Crumb is an American cartoonist, who is considered one of the pioneers in making comics about counterculture, which discussed certain taboos in society. He mainly deals with sex, where in many of his pages he puts out all his sexual desires, and his experiences with women during his life.

Born on August 30, 1943 in Philadelphia, USA, in a Catholic and conservative environment; with a father of violent manners (broke his collarbone when he was five years old) and a fervent mother tortured by guilt, Robert and his brothers had to learn to flee quickly, and for him was the comic books that he loved so much.

In 1958 he discovered Mad magazine, becoming fascinated by people like Harvey Kurtzman, Basil Wolverton and Bill Elder, who inspired Robert and his brother Charles to create their first fanzine, Foo Crumb Brothers Almanac: Satires and Parodies.

At the same time, the fifteen years old Crumb begin to develop on of its most famous characters, Fritz, The Cat.

By devoting all their attention to this fanzines, the Crumb brothers social lives, was reduced solely to teaching their fellow students their work and selling it around the neighborhood.

1962 The entire Crumb family moves to Cleveland where Robert finds work as an illustrator at the American Greeting Card Company, where each employee draws one card after another.

To get rid of similar and tedious routine, he began to make his first paintings in some underground publications, in addition to producing illustrations and weekly strips for the periodical magazines.

Crumb began to contribute artwork to several “alternative” publications, and in 1967 he moved to San Francisco.

He uses the underground style that is characterized by an open language and contestation of the global reality that emerged after World War II. With extremely expressive and surrealist drawings, always addressing social, political and environmental issues to oppose the destructive action of man in modernity.

1968, Crumb would publish the first issue of his fanzine Zap Comix, considered as the birth of the underground comics or comix. During this period, Crumb continued experimenting in the drug world, getting in return some bad experiences with LSD, which led him, on creating on of his most famous characters, Mr Natural.

Crumb discusses the values of contemporary American society in stories that dealt explicitly with such taboo subjects as sex, racism, and drug use.

I've known Crumb's work for some time. His style extremely crosshatched and loaded in nanquin always caught my attention.

As in this project I intend to work in black and white, I would like to make a style similar to Crumb's.

Also, In this collective Zine work, I want to do something that Crumb does better than anyone else. Which is putting himself in the stories, and often putting himself in very insane situations that seem like a delusion or simply a dream.

Crumb has always placed himself in the stories in an extremely caricatured way, always in a funny and bizarre way at the same time.

Normally I don't draw myself in my works, but in this case it would be nice to do several illustrations, where I am a character and I go through imaginable situations that only a dream could offer.

Crumb can do works that can infuriate the reader, showing his perverted side that can’t be to everyone's liking. But also doing very interesting works like Genesis.

Genesis, a work that takes seriously the book that “founded” Western culture, which highlights every passage written, rewritten and edited so many times over the centuries.

Crumb, before starting the comic, explains to the reader how he chose the text to be used in this work, taking into the various existing versions of the Bible, and also emphasizes that he uses it in its entirety, a proof of respect for what he would illustrate.

Crumb continues to write and draw, married to Aline Kominsky, who is also a cartoonist. They both had a daughter called Sophie , who is also comic book artist.

Bruno Miranda

Bruno Miranda is 24 years old Freelance artist and illustrator, born in São Paulo.

He has big passion for music, cartoons and video games, and all this can be seen in his works strongly influenced by characters from pop culture.

Always a fan of drawing, he is being drafting, according to him, since he was three years old, and he always was interested on drawing people. Before becoming an illustrator, Bruno wanted to be a musician, but as he was never very good at playing any kind of instrument, he decided to dedicate himself 100% to the drawing.

The inspiration for his work, comes from the everyday life, within his relation with the world.

In addition to classic comic book artists who used a much more psychedelic style, such as Dave Gibbons, Jack Kirby and Jim Steranko. Who he always admired the way they mixed several different tones, creating compositions that always reminded him as if it was a kaleidoscope.

Creating characters full of personality and compose scenarios rich in details. Bruno has a very characteristic artistic style: he uses complex line arts, vibrant colors and a limited color palettes.

Initially he adopted a more painterly style which evolved later in the line work.

People is considering Bruno’s work as being part of a dream genre, but the artist doesn’t like to classify them. He enjoy creating illustrations without establishing rules, just giving shapes to a dream world.

For a lot of artwork the artist get inspiration from dreams and religious imagery. Providing his characters with catholic and Hindu symbols. Mostly this happens, because of his catholic background in Brazil. Another aspect, is showing people’s with their heads open or split in half, to show as if they are in a kind of Nirvana or simply in a deep sleep, where their body is getting rid of the real world, and all their vital energy is leaving their body and going to an astral plane.

Bruno Miranda's work really excited me, because he inspired me to create some of my illustrations for the zine. Because I felt that just using black and white was getting a little repetitive, so I decided to add some of his style. With totally vibrant colors, and colorful brainwaves coming out of my head like it was a dream. Just like Bruno Miranda does in his illustrations.

Despite being a relatively recent illustrator, Bruno managed to show what he came for. In making very personal illustrations, about the core of the human being, yet with a totally comic style.

Dave Gibbons

Dave Gibbons is a British illustrator, who’s famously known for being the co-creator of one of the most acclaimed graphic novels “Watchmen” together with the writer Alan Moore.

Gibbons, first work in the United States was with the Green Lantern, by DC comics began his career drawing science fiction comics, in 2000AD and in Dr. Who.

With the arrival of his work in the USA, Gibbons soon became a first name in the market. In another partnership with Alan Moore, he designed the story Superman- The man who had it all.

However it was Watchmen that made Gibbons career. Together with Alan Moore, they published the 12 issues limited series during 1986-87. It became one of the most best selling graphic novels of all time, and the only title to feature on Time’s “Top 100 Novels”.

Gibbons was responsible for look and design of this groundbreaking comic, and his collaboration with Moore has proved an enduring influence on later generation of readers and writers.

Gibbons pioneered various instantly recognizable styles. In Watchmen, he perfected a stark new twist on the nine panel comic layout that was at once intensely narrative driven and packed with symbolic depth. Through all his work, Gibbons has also managed to express one of the most influential visions of future: an unnerving blend of cyberpunk and steampunk that transcends both into something else entirely. By visualizing the machines of the future- the zeppelins and cigarettes in Watchmen for example.

Gibbons manages in many of his pages, to make a scene without any dialogue, and to show all the action of the character. His color palette is very interesting, because in Watchmen, because it is a decadent New York, he values colors like pink and yellow, to show the signs of adult stores and women selling their services. In addition to the red itself to represent all the violence that occurs in the city.

Gibbons' look has always pleased me, mainly for having such a vibrant color palette, and also for his extremely well-used use of camera angles, often not needing dialogue to understand a certain scene.

In one of my illustrations from the collective dream zine, I had made a background that was totally inspired by Dave Gibbons' style, with a use of vibrant colors that looks like a kaleidoscope. An art which pays homage to the comics of the 70s and 80s, which had a very large visual exaggeration, reminiscent of psychedelia.

Rapha Hu

Rapha Hu is a Mexican illustrator, that dedicate himself to illustrating posters, books, fanzines, record art and anything that needs textures, strokes and colors.

His works is inspired by various aesthetic topics that range from darker elements such as Crust to Pop aesthetic from comics creating anthropomorphic creatures, half animals and half humans to make a kind of “adorable horror” with them. Sexual dissidence, punk life, mysticism and the bucolic nature of staying in nature are also recurring themes in his illustrations.

In 1986, Rapha entered the world of publications and fanzines within the anarch-punk scene of Guadalajara, Mexico, his hometown. In this period, he defined his drawing style, as he began to use the aesthetics of the eighties underground, pointillism, etc.

Since then, he has produced fanzines and mini comics that have illustrated philosophical aspects, social problems or simply portraits of life. He fell in love with fanzines so much that in 2014, he founded with some friends the first graphic self publishing and fanzines fair in Guadalajara, the “Festival Zin Futuro”.

his references are mainly artists of the 80's and 70's, who were responsible for creating counterculture comics like Raymond Pattibon and Robert Crumb. He says that one of the influences he had to enter the zines world was when he saw Pattibon in a beast of Zines in Mexico City, and he was amazed by all the mixture of drawings loaded with nanquin making very strong shadings, and mainly because they represent an aesthetic punk, which Rapha always looked for in his Zines.

And Robert Crumb for his acid humor and total nonsense. In addition to having adopted the style of pointilism, much influenced by Crumb.

Rapha Hu was an artist I discovered recently, and I was amazed by his "Crusty" style that he created. Making illustrations that look like a kind of psychotic delusion, with several dark figures, in completely insane fantasy worlds.

He was a great reference especially for me to do my illustration of the nightmare (where there was a snake coming out of my mouth), because I was able to look for something that terrifies me and try to represent it in the most insane and disturbing way I could think of.

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star-going-supernova · 7 years

Text

The Nightmare’s Just Begun

This is what happens when I write while in a less-than-stellar mood—primarily anger. Title from the song Monster by Skillet. And a bit of a fun fact: the pain I describe is all from personal experience, just exaggerated a bit for the story.

Warning: this is not a happy story. There are clear and detailed depictions of gory violence and pain. Murder and injuries ahead, so proceed with caution.

read it on Ao3

When Bendy opened his eyes, he thought everything was going to be okay. The hit to his head that had knocked him out didn’t matter, because Henry was standing right in front of him. He’d get Bendy out of whatever mess he was in now, he just knew it.

But then his gaze drifted past Henry and locked on Joey in all his crimson madness. He grinned at his Creator, cruel and victorious.

“You’re awake,” Henry said. “Good. I was worried I hit you too hard.”

Bendy’s stomach flip-flopped and bottomed out, and his heart felt lodged in his throat. “What?” he whispered hoarsely— because no. No, Henry couldn’t mean what it sounded like.

Henry smiled, and it was full of condescension. “Did you really think that just because I came out on-model that I’d automatically be on your side? That I would forsake my friends, my family, for you?” He shook his head and tsked. “You’re a fool if you thought I’d care.”

Trying to find words to voice his thoughts proved impossible. How could you articulate such heartbreaking betrayal?

He had never seen Henry’s eyes— usually so bright and warm and caring— look so terribly, horrifically cold.

“Just remember, you made me this. You gave me the potential to stop caring.”

With those ominous words ringing in the silence— something about them seemed familiar, like Bendy had forgotten some important detail— Henry turned away to face what Bendy realized with growing horror was an actual pile of toons. His friends, his employees, nothing more than bodies ready for slaughter.

Bendy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his breath lodged in his throat.

Henry seemed to come to some decision, one that lifted one corner of his mouth up in a wicked smirk as he looked back at him. “You know what would be fun?” he asked, approaching Bendy. “Making you feel them die, so you can suffer for your sins.”

Eyes flaring, Henry pressed a single finger against Bendy’s chest, over his racing heart.

“Let’s see how you like it, pain worse than death but with no mercy waiting at the end of it.” And without giving Bendy a moment to even try and process that, Henry turned back, snatched up one of the unconscious toons, and slowly began to tear one of his victim’s arms off.

There was a delay, a long second where Bendy thought maybe Henry had done something wrong, but then—

He shrieked, his body convulsing, as he felt his bones and cartilage creak under the unimaginable pressure, and a sharp, shearing pain wracked through him as his muscles stretched taut like a rubber band before snapping just as easily. Eyes clenched shut, his back bowed and he lost all sensation in his left hand, and it felt like ice was overtaking his shoulder in shards, piercing and severing his ink.

With a popping splat, the toon’s arm came off their body like a chicken wing being split open. Ink erupted over the trio from the force of it, and Bendy went limp as though paralyzed. He couldn’t move his arm— in fact, he couldn’t feel it at all. If he wasn’t capable of seeing it right there on his body, he would’ve believed without question that Henry had just torn his own off instead of someone else’s.

Henry’s hand wrenched his body forward. “One down,” he whispered. “And so very many to go.”

Bendy couldn’t have contained his whimper if he’d tried. “Please,” he begged the angel. “Please don’t.”

Behind Henry, Joey spoke up for the first time in a while. “Why should we stop,” he snarled, “when you never did?”

After releasing Bendy, Henry tossed the remains of the toon at his friend, who promptly began stuffing the corpse into an ink-filled container. “It’ll dissolve now that it ain’t stable anymore,” Joey said when he caught Bendy’s gaze. “Whoever that was will just melt away. You lot are almost even less alive than we are.”

“Oh,” Henry said suddenly from where he was surveying the large pile of toons. “What have we here?” Watching the horror grow on Bendy’s face, he dragged Alice out from beneath someone else. “Look what Susie must’ve dragged in.”

“Henry, please,” Bendy begged him. “Please, you can do whatever you want with me, just— please stop hurting them!”

“Don’t you get it?” With a careless flick of his wrist, Henry sent Alice’s halo spinning upwards, where it zinged to hover over his own larger one. “I’m already doing whatever I want with you.” Turning to Joey, Henry shook Alice’s body. “Got any suggestions?”

Maintaining eye contact with Bendy, Joey said, “Tear her throat out.”

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Henry wrapped his hand around Alice’s slim neck. He paused there, motionless, and for every silent second that passed, Bendy grew more and more tense. He could barely even see with the way his tears were blurring his vision, but Henry had already made sure that wouldn’t be a problem, hadn’t he?

Why watch the systematic destruction of everyone Bendy had ever known and cared about, when he could feel it all instead?

Henry’s fingers dug into her ink like claws, and he buried them deeper and deeper to the sound of Bendy’s cracking scream.

It felt like hot pokers ramming through his throat, colliding and searing his insides. His voice faded in and out and his body understood his vocal cords to be slowly ripped free like fragile threads being snapped. The pain extended into his head, and the back of his mouth began to peel away like flimsy paper, following after the bulk of his throat. His spine bent as Henry dug even farther in, as though trying to full on decapitate him by simply ripping away everything between his head and body, for as little as he had there in comparison to Alice.

His head lolled brokenly as Alice’s ink splattered over him, her own head connected to her body by only the thinnest of threads.

The world faded in and out around him, disjointed and blurry. If Henry and Joey were talking, Bendy couldn’t hear it.

With no way to tell how much time was passing, much less if he was even truly conscious as the minutes ticked by, Bendy just sort of floated. What little of his mind that was still working kept replaying the last few moments like a looped cartoon scene.

They were gone. They were all gone. Alice, taken so completely right in front of him, Boris was who knew where, and so many familiar faces had stared dead-eyed up at him from the pile of soon-to-be and already-were corpses.

A dull pain started in his lower stomach, weak and almost pleasant compared to having his throat torn out. The pain gradually grew until his body moved without his input, hunching as much as he could in his restraints, curling around the sharp, pulsing sensation. He groaned and began to come back to himself.

It felt like something was trying to break out of his gut, like a bomb was going off in slow motion, tearing him apart without killing him.

He heard laughter right in front of him, and through his slowly diminishing willpower, Bendy managed to raise his head.

Sitting on the floor, Henry grinned back at him. Beside him, Joey was happily digging through the gory mess of a toon’s torso.

“Thought you’d given up on us,” Henry said, “so we decided to give you a little wake up call.”

Joey twisted his hand, and Bendy cried out as the pain briefly spiked, something in him bursting like a balloon that was squeezed too hard.

“You missed it,” Henry continued. “While you were taking your nap, Sammy and Wally stopped by with Boris. Of course, Boris was already dead— Sammy tore his heart out to save Wally, wasn’t that nice of him?— but that means all the Creators have been accounted for.” He smiled at Bendy with his treacherous isn’t everything wonderful smile.

Bendy dropped his head, curling up again.

“Are you having fun, Joey?” he heard Henry ask. There wasn’t a verbal answer, but from the way Bendy’s insides burned, he could take a good guess.

Drained in a way he’d never felt before, of life and hope and any will to live, Bendy tried to let go, tried to just slip away. It was surprisingly easy. Darkness, pain-free and deep, crept over him like a living thing.

“Oh, Creator,” he heard Henry say. “Leaving so soon? We’ve only just barely gotten started.”

He ignored him, and forced himself further away from this living nightmare.

“Bendy,” Henry said, his tone full of dangerous warning. “Stop it.”

Hands wrapped around his shoulders and gave him a firm shake. Strangely enough, though, the action was gentle.

“Bendy?”

It had to have been working. Henry’s voice sounded so far away. Was he dying, or just losing consciousness?

“Bendy!”

All at once, it felt like his bonds had melted away, and without so much as thinking about it, he swiped at the menacing figure he felt leaning over him. Henry managed to dodge the attack aimed at his chest, but Bendy’s right hand connected with his face.

In that moment, he woke up.

Falling over himself, he scrambled blindly away from a hoarse, pained cry, fully expecting to see a mutilated toon that hadn’t been unconscious to the world before being ripped apart by either Henry or Joey.

Instead, he was faced with a room empty of corpses. Even Joey had vanished, nothing more than a fading remnant of a nightmare, leaving only Henry in sight, kneeling on the floor. He was hunched over, clutching the left side of his face.

The pain was gone, Bendy realized. He could move again. It was only a dream.

Nevertheless, he refused to take his eyes of the angel before him. Panting harshly into the silence, he waited for some sign, something to tell him that he was for sure where he should be. His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest.

After a minute, Henry slowly straightened, unerringly turning to face Bendy even before his head was fully raised. He’d done that before, Bendy knew— he seemed to have some innate ability to always know exactly where his Creator was— but it’d never unnerved him so much as it did right then.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Henry cold eyes and cruel smile. Could he actually escape a creature that could track him so easily? Had he sealed his fate when he brought Henry to life?

A flash of color that didn’t belong dragged him away from the question lingering at the edge of his mind— could he even trust Henry? His eyes widened at the sight of the angel.

Three long, deep gashes were carved into his face, grotesquely splitting his skin. The topmost started at a high point of Henry’s hairline, cutting down through his eyebrow and over the bridge of his nose. The second went from his temple to top lip, narrowly missing his eye. The third split his lower cheek from the edge of his jaw to the corner of his mouth, fully puncturing the skin in some places, displaying the edges of his teeth. Crimson oozed from each, dripping soundlessly to splatter on the floor.

“Bendy?”

Bendy tore his transfixed gaze away from the jagged wounds to meet Henry’s eyes. For a moment, he thought he could see fear within them.

Fear of him? But— but Henry was the monster. He was the one going behind Bendy’s back, fraternizing with the enemy, he was the one planning to hurt Bendy and all his friends.

He flexed the fingers of his right hand, feeling something sticky on them. He looked down, and without feeling guilty like he expected, saw the terrible red smeared across a hand that wasn’t familiar to him. There were even bits of skin caught beneath his claws.

Claws?

Finally taking in the rest of himself, Bendy realized he was larger. More human proportioned, with longer limbs and sharper angles. Going by the length of his legs, spindly as they were, he’d guess that he’d tower over any of the humans.

The first thought that entered his mind was good, then I’ll be able to defend myself when Henry turns on me.

When, not if. He knew now, he understood, what his creations were capable of.

“Are you all right?” Henry asked quietly. He didn’t move from his position on the floor, carefully watching Bendy. “You started screaming in your sleep.”

Instead of answering, Bendy shot back, “Why were you awake?”

Giving him a strange look, Henry slowly stood, flexing his wings. “I was on first watch, like we talked about.” He made an aborted reach for his injured face before repeating, “Are you all right?”

Bendy stared at him long enough for Henry to narrow his eyes. What was going through his creation’s head? “I’m fine,” he finally said.

“Wrong answer.” Henry stepped forward, though he immediately drew up to a halt when Bendy flinched away. “Bendy? What did you see?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Brows furrowed, Henry shook his head. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

Struggling to his feet— made difficult by both the tremors leftover from his nightmare and the new, strange limbs— he snapped, “And how would you know, huh?”

Hurt flashed across Henry’s face and he recoiled slightly. “Bendy—”

“How did this even happen?” Bendy asked, gesturing sharply at himself. He’d been right. He practically dwarfed Henry the way the angel did to him normally.

Each word spoken carefully, as though expecting something to set Bendy off, Henry explained, “The ink— your ink— is malleable. That’s why Joey and the others want it.” He nodded at Bendy. “New bodies. I suppose whatever you saw in your dream was enough to make you…”

He trailed off for a moment before whispering with a half-hearted shrug, “A defense mechanism, I’d guess.”

Bendy nodded silently. He wondered if he should try returning to his normal body.

After watching him for a few long seconds, Henry fiddled with the edge of his wing. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? It’s supposed to help. Anything, please,” he nearly begged, looking like he desperately wanted to reach out to his Creator.

A day ago— even just a few hours ago— Bendy would barely have hesitated to confide in Henry, to accept whatever comfort the angel might offer, whether in the form of a wing hug or words of reassurance. But now, all he could see was the gory damage those hands were capable of.

“I don’t really remember what it was about,” Bendy said, fully aware that it didn’t sound even halfway convincing. Far be it from him to spill his guts— metaphorically this time— only to have Henry smugly confirm his worst fears. Unless, well. With Henry still obviously shaken and injured, and Bendy being so much larger— would it be better to confront him now and deal with the consequences while he had the advantage?

“Do you want to try and go back to sleep?” Henry asked, oblivious to Bendy’s internal debate. There was still doubt in his eyes, but he seemed willing to look past this whole incident. “Or do you want to keep moving?”

“Let’s walk for a bit,” Bendy said. Anything to keep him from being trapped in a confined space with the angel.

Taking a deep breath, Henry nodded and headed for the door, holding it open for Bendy as he always did. But that would put Henry behind Bendy while they walked, and— yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

“You first,” Bendy said, leaving no room for argument.

Henry’s wings tensed up in what he recognized as a defensive action, and Bendy knew. He knew that Henry got the message— that Henry was a large part of the problem. He knew that in those two words, he’d managed to fracture the friendship that’d been growing between them. He knew that if Henry truly was plotting against him, he wasn’t doing himself any favors, and might even be solidifying Henry’s decision to betray him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. As he followed Henry into the hallway, his own body feeling so unfamiliar, he wondered— which of them was the real monster?

#batim fic #Toon Angel!Henry #batim bendy #the Sinners and the Saints AU #star's stories #life and times of star

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