#ART THAT PUNCHES YOU IN THE STERNUM

[electrospherevaults]

Friends And Foes

[Find other stories from the 2024 Friday Writing Challenge here]

This was not the first time she tried to punch her teeth out. Instead she smirked and smiled and spat her own to the floor, getting back up and wiping her blood with her hand. She enjoyed her ferocity – and some would say to the point of jealousy – but she would not dare be caught admitting that now.

Not in front of her.

Her rival and very occasional sparring buddy stood opposite her, hands on hips. This time she had bruised her, she thought, look at how she is holding onto her waist. That cocky smile betrayed pain withheld through gritting teeth.

“Tsk! You lack technique and skill, but you got one adoring quality!”

“And what is that?”

“You are stubborn, my lady!”

She rushed at her, fists raised high, her smirk showing off her fang. She had wound up, exposing her left side, aiming to deliver an overhand.

Typical.

She ducked and dodged out of the way, sliding her own arm to the underside. The sheer panic in her eyes. The delight in hers.

“ALKISSI!”

The two of them froze immediately, retaining their positions perfectly. A snapshot just before the blow landed. Their superior got up from her seat and walked across the arena, each step arriving with a hurried but heavy thud upon the floor. The two rivals breathed heavily, their bodies still entangled and frozen and immobilized. She could feel her breath on the top of her head, and the side of her ribcage clinging against her tantalizingly close claws.

Oh.

Uh-oh!

“No claws,” the superior strictly ordered as she slapped Alkissi’s hand away with her metallic stick. Alkissi let out a yelp, retracting her hand and trying to soothe the burn on her fingers. “You do not fight to kill here. Remember your training, ladies.”

Both of them pressed their fists against their hearts, showing the respect of the salute they had grown to learn. The superior’s face did not move an inch; not a hint of a smile, not a sign of respect. Instead, she sat down upon her throne and crossed her legs.

“Again!”

They turned to face each other. Alkissi cracked her knuckles, whilst the rival affixed her shoulder. They locked eyes. They each awaited the first flinch.

When you first start out on your journey to become a proper Maiden of Wrethella, you are taught all about your body. It is a delicate and powerful tool, capable of feats of strength and miracles of endurance. They then beat into you that each fight is a dance. You are no mere street rat, you represent her holy wrath. You do not simply fight, you perform war. You are an expression, an art form in motion, your bodies singing one next to another in unison, a chorus so effective nobody dares challenge a maiden in combat.

She flinched first.

Before she knew it, Alkissi had her arm grappled and pinned to her side. Her legs crossed hers, her body fell on top of her, entangled, suffocating, lungs pressed tightly against her sternum. Her neck now braced her shoulder and then her head was upside down. Alkissi landed on her back with a thud, hand still held imprisoned. She gasped for air as her rival prepared for a strike that would pin her down for good.

She had not watched for that other arm though.

Alkissi acted quickly; what should have been a quick victory now tumbled down alongside her feet. She swiped at the ankles, making the rival lose her balance and fall next to her. She landed on her arm and she yelped in pain, giving Alkissi precious few seconds to get back up and retain view over the defanged prey.

The rival tried to follow after her. She got half her body back up, one knee still on the floor when she noticed Alkissi overhead. She was simply too slow; slow enough for Alkissi to employ once more her good, old reliable method involving her two trusty hands -- bringing about an uppercut to her jaw. She punched mightily; that knocked her back on the floor.

Much to her sadness, her fang still showed as she smiled through bloodied teeth.

Alkissi scoffed playfully, rubbing her knuckle gently as she saw her stay still. “A throw? Really? After all that transpired? Heh, don’t tell me you’re going soft on me just because you’ve yet to learn how to mend a cut, Labirra!”

“Shut up,” she chuckled laboriously, a few jabs grabbing on her side.

“How about you get up and make me?”

Labirra, her rival, for whom she felt such tantalizing desire to dominate, lifted her head again. She sighed. “You still rely on fists too much, my lady.” She dropped her head back again on the floor, resting her eyes by staring at the beautifully ornate ceiling overhead. “Good fists, though. Very powerful.”

“You feeling dizzy?”

Labirra raised her hand and shook it so-and-so. Alkissi chuckled, giving one last look at her good handy right jab. She almost wanted to kiss it. Not in front of the superior, however; she would save that congratulation for later. She turned to look at the superior and saluted her again, pressing her fist with force against her heart. With this vow of combat done, the superior got up from her seat once more and departed the arena.

The next thing Labirra saw after the depictions of Wrethella and her Six Maidens clad in their colourful armour was the face of Alkissi. The bright light from the windows that extended vertically across the entire walls of the arena gave place to simple pillars and bioluminescent light fixtures hanging on the ceiling. She arose gently, holding onto her head that was accompanied by a massive headache that split her skull in two.

“How long has it been?” Labirra asked, standing upright on the wooden bench. Alkissi sat beside her, having just finished changing back into her blue robes.

“About half an hour, give or take.”

“And you dressed me up?”

“By her grace, no!” She smirked. “Not alone, at least; I had a hand help me out.”

Labirra brought her hands over her face, whole room still spinning around. “Great,” she sighed and got up.

“I hope I wasn’t too mean on ya!”

She snapped back at her. “Mean?! Motherfucker, you gave me a concussion!”

“And you punched my tooth out! Again!”

“It’ll grow back!”

“Yeah, but I liked that one!”

She laughed, taking a few steps to the door. She stumbled; she led herself to the bench next to the one she stood from just prior, opting instead to take that rest. She now had the luxury to bring her second hand over to her head and hold it in place. Surely two hands were better than one and make all this spinning stop.

She did not expect a third hand.

She turned to look at it. Alkissi was holding onto an apple. “Ain’t that your ration?” She nodded. Labirra was about to complain and chastise her rival for wasting her resources on her; then she stopped herself. She did not even utter a single word. Instead, she extended her hand and opened her palm. Alkissi dropped the apple square in the centre.

“Good girl! An apple a day keeps the traumaturgon away, doesn’t it?”

Labirra laughed as she took a chomp out of the thing. It took less than a minute for the headache to go away, and another for the blurriness to fade. She turned to look back at Alkissi and saw that cut above her eye was yet to be sewn.

She scoffed. “Don’t tell me you waited until I was better so I could fix your eyebrow!”

Alkissi simply smiled from ear to ear. “I love a good butcher on the job.” She turned around and brought the med-kit over. “Who knows, maybe tomorrow you won’t get to work your hands on my pretty face at all!”

She relented with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Alkissi.”

Alkissi stopped and looked at Labirra. “What happened?”

“Me and the girls are shipping off to Tessereich.” She clicked her teeth. “It was announced at the dorm this morning.”

“Ah. That explains you missing breakfast.” She was handed the apple back, placed gently on her hand. “I’ve heard about that planet. Nasty ongoing war for, what, ten years now?”

“More or less.”

Alkissi stared at it, taking a good look at the bite marks her rival had left. She stared it down, obsessing over the markings, Labirra’s voice droning off as she explained some things about the factions and the soldiers and all the different critters involved. In the end, she took a bite right next to hers. She turned back to Labirra.

“Wanna go at it again?”

“I told you, I’m shipping off to-”

“Now, I mean.”

Labirra stopped. Her mouth was left hanging. She did the calculations in her head. And finally, she showed her fang with her most well-adored smirk.

Not before long, they were standing again within the arena. No superior to supervise them this time. Curious how no other maiden had decided to train on this day – but it was late evening, and the sun would begin to set. Wrethella’s golden façade from the ceiling bounced off the sun’s golden rays, her eyes showcasing the two rivals where to stand as they prepared to meet each other in one final spar, as friends and foes do.

Alkissi took position. She raised her hands over to her head, keeping visual of Labirra right in between them. She was facing off against her with her side pointed towards her – one of her favourite positions to be in.

“Ready?”

She smiled.

“Always.”

Alkissi rushed in first. She practically leaped at her, feet dancing so fast Labirra had no time to react to that first jab that got her cheek, nor the second one that landed just underneath her nose. The fierceness pierced Alkissi’s own skin as her claws dug into her hand. And in the next breath, Alkissi waved her leg, aiming to kick her rival to the ground in a motion so swift it would have ended the fight before it even started.

Labirra deflected; in all the times they had faced off, her rival always preferred to be overtly aggressive than to calculate all the mistakes she opened her body up to. She could take the damage, sure, but to keep fighting like that was a surefire way to the grave, no matter how much of a glutton for punishment you are. And Labirra figured she would deliver that lesson to her once more straight. She stopped the kick with the arm, and with her other fist she delivered an uppercut straight into Alkissi’s sternum.

Alkissi gasped for air; in the next inhale, Labirra pushed her away. The next exhale found her lying down, tripped over her grounded leg by a swiping leg kick. The second kick that was to stomp her whilst she was down on the floor missed; she rolled further back and got on her knees. She turned to look again at Labirra, smiling gently as she wiped blood trickling from her nose.

“You’re giving me all the greatest hits, my lady?”

Alkissi beamed with a grin; she tried to maintain it through the pain as she got back up. She readied her arms for her rival once more.

“What are you aiming for, Alkissi?”

She clicked her tongue in playful contempt. “Didn’t they teach you never to reveal your plans to an enemy combatant, my dear?”

Without hesitation, Alkissi launched again. She went for an uppercut this time, aiming for her jaw. She was deflected once more, in time for her to launch her other fist against her mouth.

It made impact.

Labirra moaned in pain. Immediately, Alkissi sought to dance around her dearest rival, turning even closer. She shifted her whole body weight around, seeking to deliver her next blow with as much force as she could muster. She ended with her back turned against her, pressing tightly against her chest.

And, in that singular moment, she left her breathless.

Her elbow connected straight to her sides.

This dance of war is common for all the initiated in her holy ways – but unlike her old dancing partners, this one could kill you. Labirra grit her teeth, biting her lips until she drew blood. She choked the pain because Alkissi, once more, fell onto her bad over-eager habits. She stayed still as Alkissi wrapped herself into her body. The moment her elbow connected was the moment the fate of this battle was sealed. She brought her arm around her neck and squeezed tightly.

Alkissi panicked. She wound up to deliver another impact to her side, but this only worked against her. Labirra pinned that arm away, locking her own arms together.

Finally, with a careful step of her leg in-between her thigs, she pulled her towards her.

Alkissi was slammed to the floor. She coughed in pain and misery, and then her throat was held, pressed on tightly by Labirra’s own arm. She had a ferocity within her she always admired. She always enjoyed bringing it out of her – and the detractors that called it jealousy were only half-right.

But for now all she could do was stay pinned to the ground, her dear rival on top, choking her with her bare arm. All she could do was look her in the eyes, and smile amidst the pain.

“Guess I won, eh?” she coughed out amidst the choking. Labirra frowned. She ran her tongue against her teeth. She spotted the gap. Her frown turned into a furore as it dropped back into a cocky, naked smile. She released her grip on Alkissi’s throat. Her dearest lady coughed some more of her lungs out, catching the breath she finally needed.

She was not going to make it all that much easier for her as she sat upon her chest, resting upright. She saw the tooth having rolled next to them, sitting by her ear. She bent over, with force; she could not resist making Alkissi let out one more yelp alongside an expletive deriding her. She smiled with satisfaction. She took her hand and put the tooth in her palm. She closed the fingers tightly.

“Guess you won, indeed.”

[aniron48]

close to the sun in lonely lands

Felix decides to take Bond's mind off his troubles by taking him eagle-watching. It goes about how you'd expect.

Coming in with a 00leiter fluff-adjacent ficlet for 007 Fest 2023, just in time for Felix Friday! This fulfills the 2023 Prompt Table entry "The great outdoors: the sun, the smoke, the bugs, the scenery. bring it on," and is also a Rare Pair and an entry for a Theme Day!

I apparently cannot get enough of writing Felix Leiter in Maryland doing Maryland things, so here you go. I hope you enjoy, friends--you can read on ao3, or after the cut. 💜 🦅

James Bond isn’t the only one who likes nice things.

Felix has been known to splash out on an immaculately tailored tux, when the occasion calls for it. He found his favorite cologne at an atelier in Paris on a temporary duty assignment years ago and has never looked back, and some of his shoes are, admittedly, statement pieces. His taste for fine things isn’t limited to the things he puts on his body, either—the sound system for his home in Annapolis is so state-of-the-art it’s got its own line item in Felix’s homeowner’s insurance.

But Felix knows himself, and he also knows that he thrives on balance. He sticks to a detailed budget for grocery shopping and eating out—a government salary only stretches so far. He drives a mid-level sedan that is modest but more than adequate, thank you very much, even if Bond turns up his nose at riding in anything less than an Aston Martin. And Felix is at his happiest in a pair of trunks and a faded Terps t-shirt, taking his boat out on the harbor.

Or, on a day like today, in cargo shorts and that same worn out Terps shirt, trying to get James Bond to shut the fuck up before he scares all the birds away from the nature preserve.

“I’m disappointed, Felix,” Bond says, lowering the binoculars that were trained on the enterprising bald eagle that has taken over the osprey platform in the middle of the marsh. “I thought it’d be bigger.”

Felix snorts, in spite of himself. “And they say Americans are obsessed with size.”

Bond takes the bait, as Felix knew he would.

“You can hardly say size is irrelevant, after last night. Not with a straight face, anyway.”

Felix chucks his water bottle at Bond, catching him in the sternum.

“My face hasn’t been straight since 1982.”

Bond chuckles at that, and Felix feels that familiar sense of vertigo that they’re here, that this is how it is between them. It’s ridiculous that one of the easiest things in his life would turn out to be the sometime-colleagues, sometime-rivals, always-with-benefits thing he has going on with James fucking Bond. And yet.

“I’m not sure why you were so keen on taking me eagle-spotting in the first place,” Bond says. “They’re your national symbol, not mine.”

Felix shrugs. “Thought you could use the peace and quiet. Besides, you’ve got a lot in common.”

“What things, exactly?”

Bond’s face is doing that thing where all the softness leaches from it, as if he’s preparing to take a punch. But Felix has seen the man in a fight a time or two, and the thing is, when he’s actually throwing punches, he looks relaxed. He only looks like this when he’s afraid you might do something really stupid, like be kind to him. It’s taken years, but Felix has finally learned that if you want to show Bond any tenderness, you have to go at it at an angle.

And so Felix refrains from saying resilience or strength or determination or any of the myriad things that the noble bald eagle, survivor of decades of overhunting followed by decimation at the hands of DDT, only to rebound right off the endangered species list, actually has in common with James Bond, himself a frequent returner from the dead and persistent bearer of loss after loss, and who, on this occasion, is fresh from burying Olivia Mansfield, his mentor and the most fucked-up version of a mother figure that Felix has ever had the dubious honor of meeting.

Instead, Felix says, “I’ll have you know that not all of the founding fathers liked the idea of having the eagle on the seal of the United States. Benjamin Franklin hated it because they steal fish from other birds of prey. He hated it so fucking much he wrote a letter to his daughter calling the bald eagle a ‘bird of bad moral character’ that was incapable of making an honest living.”

Bond is laughing, then, his eyes wrinkling at the corners in the way Felix loves best, and after a quick check to make sure there’s no homophobic prick with a hunting license waiting in the scrub to shoot them, he leans in to kiss him. Bond’s lips are warm and chapped and familiar against Felix’s own, and Felix pours everything Bond won’t let him say into the kiss. He likes Bond like this, sweaty and slightly rumpled in clothing he’s borrowed from Felix, far away from the demands of Queen and country and all the ghosts he’s refused to bury. He more than likes him like this, he’s afraid, but that’s a problem for another day.

After a moment, Bond breaks the kiss and lifts the binoculars again, looking for the eagle.

“I’ve revised my opinion,” Bond says. “He’s a majestic bastard, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Felix says, “yeah, he is,” and affectionate fool that he is, he isn’t even pretending to look at the bird.

Title comes from the Tennyson poem "The Eagle."

[thetorturerwrites]

Hello! Requesting torture torture, maybee with body mod kink, for lucky RC. I was wondering if you'd want to take a stab at adapting Adam's SNL character - Cameron aka The Red and Yellow Knight from 'The Medieval Times' skit 👀💀 The dark ages had some unique torturing devices...🖤 Feel free to corrupt this request as needed. Tysm!

Oh Cameron. Thou art crazy.

C/W: just a wee bit of torture (lol!)

Your muffled screams turned to wails, no longer high-pitched and panicked, but low and defeated. Your head and eyes hurt; your throat burned. Every muscle ached. Your ears rang. Your tongue swelled. The worst of it was the neck pain. Held at such an odd angle by the metal jabbing into your sternum and beneath your chin, pain shot through your spinal column all the way to your ass.

You could do nothing about any of it.

The “red and yellow” knight from your birthday dinner was a fiery lunatic who’d absconded with you. He cursed and groused as he lashed your wrists together with dirty, frayed rope, choked this insane collar about your neck, and tied you to a beam in his frigid basement, letting your legs dangle in the air and preventing you from looking around, from getting your bearings.

He was tall, you remembered, broad of body and statuesque. During dinner, you’d thought him handsome, playing brief fantasies in your head of him leaping up into the audience to speak with you. You found his crazy tirades in the ring to be charming, all part of the script. Cameron, they said his name was, turned out to be nothing like you imagined.

He smelled of sweaty leather and dander. His fingernails were nearly black, caked with grime. You had to admit he had beautiful eyes, but they darted about, crazed, red-rimmed, and bloodshot. It wasn’t part of the act; he truly was out of his mind.

“You’ll pay for your heresy, witch!”

He spat in your face, followed by a sucker punch to the gut. You wheezed; all the air forced out of your body by his massive hand. The punch also caused you to jerk your head to one side, and you felt a rivulet of blood trail down from the prongs at your chin. He’d situated the thing so fucking precisely that you couldn’t even try to speak, daren’t think about spitting out the nasty gag.

A new terror took hold, though, when he cut away your clothing. No longer caring for your own delicate flesh, you thrashed violently, anything to keep away from the rusty shears currently making quick work not just of the fabric but of your dignity. Once you hung there naked, bereft of any decency, you abandoned even the wails for silent sobs.

He would torture you, no doubt. By the deranged look in his eye, he would not stray from it. No amount of begging, screaming, or fighting would change his mind. This beautiful, black-haired behemoth of a demon had every intention of turning you out.

You told yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of any more responses, but when he lifted a red-hot pincer made of iron, staggering closer to you with it, you…

[mcclainwilla]

Writing Fight Scenes, Part 3 - Being Hit

Today's topic kinda made me giggle. We're gonna talk about Being Hit.

If your character is hit in a squishy spot, they're going to react very differently than if they were hit in a non-squishy spot. Also, if your character has no fight experience, they will react very differently than if they've been sparring since they could walk.

It has occurred to me that not everyone has had the pleasure of being punched! So don't go do irl research; I have already done it for you!

Edit: Holy shit I forgot to mention that I did martial arts for about five years, so don't worry about me! Everything is fine!

Getting hit in the face

On either side of your face, curving from your temple down your jaw, is a C-shaped zone. 'C' stands for 'consciousness'. This is the knockout zone. There are two main knockouts (I named them myself):

Teleporting - you only lose consciousness for a moment. From an outside perspective, a character that teleports will get hit, fall, wake up upon hitting the ground, and probably deny that they passed out to begin with. From the first person perspective, the character will be standing, and then they'll be sitting with no memory of how they got there

Actually passing tf out - your character will take longer to wake up and when they do, they will be disoriented and have a hell of a headache. Both kinds of passing out are an indicator of brain trauma, but if your character is out for a hot sec, they almost def have a moderate concussion

Observe both of these in action by watching UFC fighting. Not kidding. It is very informative

Getting hit in the c-spot (I'm sorry. No I'm not) isn't the only way to have your day ruined tho

Getting punched in the eye is the Worst Thing Ever I don't care how much experience your character has, if they get punched in the eye they will have to take a moment. It doesn't always hurt too badly, your brain just goes 'hey what the Fuck was that'

Getting hit in the nose does hurt. I know you've heard that it can kill you (nose bone -> brain) but that is sooo rare, so. Don't worry about it <3

If your character gets hit in the mouth, they might lose teeth. They will almost definitely cut their lips/cheeks on said teeth

Getting punched in the ear hurts a surprising amount. Getting punched behind the ear is 1000x worse. There's a soft spot right behind your earlobes/jaw (that's where your eustachian tubes are. If you even care)

Your brain stem (back of the skull, right above your neck) is a second, more deadly knockout zone. If your character is just friendly sparring, do not let them hit to the back of the head

Conversely, it's pretty okay to get hit in the forehead. It'll maybe make your character's eyes water, give them a headache, but it won't end a fight. There's lots of bone (armor) there

Getting hit in the body

I'm just going to go down the line

Throat - bad. Chances are, it'll do some damage, but even if it doesn't, it's kinda like getting punched in the eye, where it just feels Wrong. (Also there's two main regions, the neck part (larynx) and the collarbones part (trachea). Both suck)

Ribs - it's not great, but it's better to get hit in the ribs than in the things those ribs protect. There are twelve ribs on each side, but only ten of these wrap from the spine to the sternum. The bottom two, called the floating ribs, do not attach to the sternum; they're easier to break and hurt way more when hit

Diaphragm (squishy bit right in the middle of your chest, where your ribcage ends) - hurts so badly. Your character will probs get their breath knocked out (their muscles spasm, preventing them from drawing a breath. They can only make wheezing sounds. Very undignified)

Liver/kidney - the liver is in the front right side of the body, underneath the lower part of the ribcage. The kidneys are in the back of the body, underneath the lowest part of the ribcage. Your character doesn't want to get hit in either one - they'll make a loud 'hnnnk' sound and it will be embarrassing

Stomach - like the ribs, it's not great, but there are worse places

Groin - take this with a grain of salt, I don't own a ballsack. Reportedly, getting hit in the loverman hurts immediately, but getting hit right where you sit will knock your character to the ground - then, after about three seconds, it starts hurting

Newbies Vs. Pros

There's not a ton for me to say on this one

For a newbie, getting hit in a squishy spot is (understandably) the Worst Thing Ever. It's not unreasonable for your character to end up crying, less from pain and more from surprise/fear

For pros, getting hit in a squishy spot still hurts, they're just able to tune it out more. And, characters with more experience may entirely filter out the pain from hits to places like the shoulders/hips/other not-so-sensitive areas. They may only realize they were hit a day later, when the bruise pops up!

I'll probably cover things like nerve bundles in another post, this one is already too long as is. Whoops. I hope y'all are able to make use of all the times I was hit during my adolescence

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

In a rut

Grór breaks her leg — sometimes, boredom is worse than broken limbs. Part 2/3 for @mrkida-art

—

Grór stared at the ceiling, her eyes once again tracing the molded ridge around its edges. The ghaspar-powered lantern had flickered out and died an hour ago, but she hadn’t bothered to re-light it again even though it would have taken her a couple of moments to find a match. Instinctively, she flexed her right leg and her knee bumped against the boot cast that encased her shin.

One more week of this, she thought. One more week of just lying here doing nothing. She could walk without a crutch now. She could run (well, she could canter along awkwardly, but the point was that it didn’t hurt anymore). She could do everything that Old Fram the healer had told her father that she was not to do until the bone knitted itself together completely — to Grór, it was simply an arbitrary number of weeks that Old Fram had pulled out of his arse.

The door of her room creaked open and Grór blinked as bright light from the hallway cut a patch across her bed. Ixil’s brown eyes glowed in her direction like Tiger’s Eye lit up from behind and the points of illumination remained as he crossed the room. She couldn’t even be bothered to greet him but turned her head listlessly as he rummaged beside her for the matches and lit the lamp.

“How’s your leg?” he asked. The bed sagged as he sat down and he tucked his legs to his chin. “Fine. It’s been fine for a week now, but father doesn’t care. He still thinks I’m an invalid,” she ground out. She looked over at Ixil and a rush of jealousy bubbled inside her. He had gone out on hunting and scouting expeditions, while she was due to die of boredom at any moment. “Want to punch something?” Grór blinked. “Always,” she said slowly, raising her eyebrow. Ixil swung his legs down and snatched up Grór’s pillow, holding it in front of his stomach. He grinned at her and nodded down at it. “And you think some feathers are going to protect you?” Grór snorted and jumped to her feet — at least, one leg jumped, whereas the other dragged behind her. “Aye. That, and my rippling stomach muscles, prince,” retorted Ixil quickly.

Grór cracked her knuckles and shifted her weight to her one unbroken leg. The two dwarves circled one another like predator and prey, Ixil’s eyes gleaming brightly. She quietened her mind and focused, making a few fake passes to get Ixil’s back up. “Just fucking punch me!” the Stiffbeard snarled. Grór grinned and feinted to the side. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you—” The blow landed square in the middle of Ixil’s stomach, but he was ready for it. Despite stumbling backwards, he flexed with the punch and only a fleeting grimace told of any real pain. “See your arms haven’t lost any strength during your bed-rest,” he wheezed, and Grór laughed. Part of her wondered if he was just doing this to make her feel better, but she really had put all of her frustration into that one. The Stiffbeard tossed the pillow to one side and instead spread his arms wide as if he were about to pick her up like a bear. “Come on then,” he said. Grór didn’t need to be told twice.

She rammed him, shoulder smashing into sternum like an uncontrolled minecart ricocheting against a rock wall, and Ixil dropped with the prince on top of him. Grór didn’t need to work hard to pin Ixil to the floor, leaning her full weight against him and gripping him tightly with her thighs like an encircling snake. Through gritted teeth, Ixil panted and groaned, eventually getting enough leverage to grasp Grór’s broad back. His fingers entwined together and elbows clenched around her ribcage as he tried to prise her off him, but she held fast and her one good knee jabbed forwards into the soft spot over the other dwarf’s kidneys, eliciting a sharp yelp.

With a surprising turn of speed, the Stiffbeard surged upwards, driving the prince away from him and back onto her feet. Perhaps he had just faked being pinned to the floor, lulling her into a false sense of security before striking? Grór didn’t have time to mull over this, but was annoyed nevertheless at how easily he seemed to free himself. They stood with arms locked like the horns of bulls doing battle, brows mere inches apart, grunting, pushing and pulling in all directions. Sweat dripped down Grór’s forehead and into her corners of her mouth, slicking the black, angular outline of her royal tattoo, and Ixil’s own facial markings, bands of dark ink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, were pulled tight as his face contorted in effort. “Give up,” he grunted. “You first,” she replied.

They both broke apart as though branded when the door flew open behind them. Instinctively, Grór knew who it was without turning around and her stomach plummeted to the bottom of her cast.

The tongue lashing they both received from Old Fram was legendary, even to Grór, who considered herself a veteran of Fram-bollocking. Neither of her brothers had been berated this hard for this long, and Frór and Thrór watched with gloating expressions, ducking behind their hands to whisper and chuckle when they were sure they wouldn’t be heard. She glared at them, knowing that they would lay into her as soon as she got out of earshot of Fram, her father, and uncle Borin. She dared not to look over at Ixil, whose tawny skin had paled. His eyes glistened and he looked as though he was about to cry or faint. Grór knew why, though: his formidable-looking mother, Bivrik, stood just behind the king and looked like a ravenous hound straining against a leash — her face puce and her lips moving silently with curses. Once Fram had decided he’d had enough of them, and left the royal reception room to a ringing silence, Grór rolled her shoulders and turned to face her father. She fixed her face into what she hoped was a mask of solemn contrition. “Am I free to leave?” “Sire,” King Dáin said, his eyes flashing at his daughter. “Am I free to leave, sire?” Grór replied, trying her best to keep her voice neutral. Prodding the bear that was Fram was bad enough without riling her father more than he was already. Dáin nodded stiffly and pointed to the far door, which Ixil was being dragged out of by his mother, his arm held aloft in a pincher-tight grip. Bivrik’s furious whispers were as loud as a nest of angry cockroaches, and Grór knew it would be a long while before he was allowed to see her again. Ignoring a couple of choice, snide comments from her brothers, she stumped to her room and slammed the door behind her, breathing heavily. Why did limbs have to break? Why did everyone still treat her like a child?

She threw herself back down onto the bed and screwed her eyes tightly shut. The ghaspar lamp slowly dimmed into darkness, until she once again lay in the black and silent bedroom, her pillow forgotten where it had been thrown aside. Another week of this. One entire bloody week. And this time, there would be no Ixil to break her out of her mood.

[icybreaths]

|| Bleach || Right Where I Want You ||

"Get up."

Blood flecked the grass spiked between Jewel’s curled fingers. Through the tangled curtain of her hair, she saw him step closer. Raspy breaths and shivers rattled her worn body.

When he readied his foot, she turned her head away and braced herself. The harsh impact threw her limp body a few feet away.

Pain pulsed from her stomach and the nausea had her head swimming with every cough like the worst kind of inebriation.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to obey me.” He was calm, cold.

Two fists worth of time to shake off his hours of torture.

“Nine.”

She growled lowly, annoyed with her own body. She was supposed to able to handle more than this, demanded it of herself.

“Eight.”

She knew what was coming next. Gods, how she didn’t want it. Right? No, she told herself she didn’t want it.

“Seven.”

She remained unmoved.

“Six.” He tucked her bloodied hair behind her ear.

“Kakos—”

“Five.”

Jewel could hear the subtle shift in his tone. His patience wore thinner with each second. Her arms were shaking. It took too much of her energy as it was to stomach her bile.

In a way, she felt trapped. She was at her limit and here he was, looming over her like an executioner trying to make her passing a little softer. Morbid. It was almost funny, wasn’t it?

He knew how to bring her to what felt like the brink of her existence. Slow, violent, and dotted with love that felt like winks from the stars above. His love felt all the more special when it seemed all she could feel was pain.

“One.”

Kakos nudged her over with his metal foot, then leaned back down, fisted the front of her tattered uniform, and forced her to stand up. The second he saw her legs falter he shoved her against the nearest tree.

Despite it all, she leered at him with her fresh black eyes and a lazy, busted grin. “Wore me out.”

At the sound of a metallic click, she flicked her gaze to his zanpakuto.

Tch, she knew it.

He brought the blade up under her chin.

Her throat bobbed as he drug the point down and left a thin red line down to her sternum. The way he slid the weapon under the trim of her uniform was so smooth she found it artful.

Before he proceeded, she said, “You ‘bout a’ruin m’clothes, again?”

He kissed the corner of her mouth and whispered, “Didn’t say you could talk, sweetheart,” before confirming her assumption with a swift arc of his blade.

The left shoulder of her uniform slid down over her bicep and bandaged breast.

The night air hit her with a chill that shivered her sweaty body and softened the ache of her bruises for a couple of breaths.

Her voice was quiet when she said, “You can do it harder than that.”

In a blink, he pierced the tip of the sword into her left breast.

She flinched. The shock would have more apparent if her eyes weren’t fucked up from his punches.

“You lost.” She could feel the blade creep in further, threateningly, as he curled his lip in mild irritation. “You don’t get to call the shots here.”

Short breaths betrayed her. As calm as she wanted to be, the blood that trickled down her torso spiked her senses with adrenaline and left a sick part of her wanting more.

Craving twisted her gut as the blade left her flesh.

“I didn’t lose –“ Anger edged Jewel’s tone as she snatched a hold of his uniform and jerked him forward into a fierce skull-bash.

She stumbled back against the tree as he fell back in the other direction.

Gripping the bark, she tucked her face into her arm, cursing at the lightheadedness. She couldn’t see straight.

His grunting set her eyes back on him. Kakos stood back up spitting curses she couldn’t fully register.

His reiatsu bristled in a familiarly electric way that brought a cocky smile to her face. Oh, she had reignited him alright.

“Heh, y’look pissed now.” she goaded, breathless, “Maybe if you weren’t so gentle I wouldn’t have any energy ta fight back with.”

The rage in his visage was so perfect. She had him right where she wanted him.

Jewel leaned away from the tree and went for her own zanpakuto. She knew she was going to lose to him. She wanted to lose, and wanted everything that came with his victory.

She hoped to feel his presence on her body for days to come.

[vannahfanfics]

Walk With Me

Word Count: 7130

Friendship, Character Study

Summary: Throughout his time at U.A., Katsuki has grown used to Eijirou often being the one to walk at his side. So used to it, in fact, that there soon comes a time that he can't imagine him not being there.

Hello, all! Here is my story for the KiriBaku Bang! My partner UntimelyRose made some incredibly beautiful art to go with the story, so be sure to check it out!

“Oi! Shitty Hair! What the fuck was all that about, huh?!” 

As Katsuki ranted angrily at Eijirou, the redhead just turned around to blink owlishly at him, which pissed Katsuki off even more. With a jab of his thumb into his sternum, Katsuki declared adamantly, “I didn’t need you to butt in! I totally had that guy!” 

Katsuki had been so ready to demolish the villain bastards who had crashed their little training party at the U.S.J., starting with the crappy butler guy. Not only had Eijirou totally stolen his thunder, but he’d also been warped away from the big fight. It was so frustrating that Katsuki wanted to yank his hair out!

“Look, Baku-bro, I get that you’re irritated about getting warped away from all the action, but instead of taking it out on me, maybe you should focus on getting back over there, yeah?” 

Eijirou just shrugged in the face of Katsuki’s ire. It was totally not the reaction that Katsuki had been expecting, and the fact that Eijirou so effortlessly saw through the fact that he was projecting his annoyance threw him for an even further loop. He was so stunned by the redhead’s reaction that all of his aggravation evaporated at once, replaced by wide-eyed bewilderment. 

However, Katsuki didn’t have the luxury of being baffled for long. Suddenly, a series of purple-black portals materialized all around them. About a dozen villains stepped through, all sporting an assortment of fierce-looking Quirks and blunt weapons. On instinct, Katsuki and Eijirou sprung toward one another to establish a back-to-back formation. 

“Humph. Focus on getting back over there, huh?” Katsuki smirked. His shoulder blade nudged against one of the gear-shaped shoulder pads encircling Eijirou’s upper arms when he adjusted his offensive stance slightly. “Fine with me. I’m gonna blast my way through these extras, so if you want to be a part of the action, keep your ass up and don’t get in my way!” he commanded as he splayed out both of his arms, small explosions crackling over his palms. 

“Heard ya loud and clear!” Eijirou cried enthusiastically, and when he slammed his hardened fists together, sparks flew from the colliding edges. 

��You cocky little punks!” one of the villains fumed. “This’ll teach you!” With a resounding battle cry, he charged at Eijirou; like the first domino setting of the cascade, his rush triggered the rest of the villains to follow suit. In his peripheral vision, Katsuki saw Eijirou cross both his arms in an X over his face to block the swordsman’s diagonal strike; sparks danced at the collision point of the sharp blade and Eijirou’s reinforced skin. Eijirou then snatched up the blade with one hand and punched the swordsman in the face with his other. All of this occurred in a span of maybe three seconds. 

Hah! Well, he’s not a weakling; I’ll grant him that, Katsuki thought with a widening grin. 

Certainly not one to be outdone, Katsuki lunged at the nearest villain and grabbed his face with his gauntleted hand. The man’s squeal of surprise was quickly overtaken by the small boom! of the explosion that Katsuki activated upon impact. It immediately rendered the man unconscious; his knees buckled, and Katsuki felt him go as limp as a fish in his grasp. With a derisive snort, Katsuki unlatched his fingers from around his smoking and soot-dusted face. Before the subjugated villain even hit the floor, Katsuki had sprung at the next. 

Thump. Thump. Boom! Thump. Ka-boom! Thump. Thump. Katsuki and Eijirou rocketed around the small, dilapidated room, and one by one, the villains succumbed to their overwhelming power. To Katsuki’s great disappointment, not one of them put up any semblance of a fight; he and Eijirou were able to defeat every single one of them in less than thirty seconds. As the last villain standing crumpled to a heap at Katsuki’s feet, the blond snorted in disdain and nudged his unconscious body with the toe of his boot. 

“They call themselves something as pretentious as ‘The League of Villains,’ but this is all they got? Either they’re a joke, or we’ve been so severely underestimated that it’s fuckin’ criminal,” he whined. 

“Well, they are villains,” Eijirou pointed out while flashing Katsuki a shark-toothed grin. “Kinda makes sense that they would be doing something criminal, right?” 

“Your puns are as shitty as your hair,” Katsuki scoffed with a roll of his eyes. There was no time to waste, so he started marching toward the door, shoving aside any incapacitated villain that obstructed his path with his feet. “If you can make a joke as bad as that, then I guess ya ain’t hurt.” 

“Aw! You care!” Eijirou trilled while scurrying after him.

“Do not!” Katsuki snapped, screeching to a halt so he could whip his head around and shoot Eijirou a pointed glare. He didn’t have his mask, however, so he had nothing to hide the faint haze of pink that rose to his upper cheeks. “‘S just that if your dumb ass got hurt, then ya’d be useless, and I’d tell your ass to stay here!” Huffing haughtily, Katsuki whirled back around and resumed stomping toward the exit. 

“Don’t you think we should go help everyone else, though?” Eijirou asked, hurrying to keep up with him. Though he initially tried to walk by Katsuki’s side, the door wasn’t wide enough for them to walk abreast, so he fell in step behind Katsuki as they walked through. 

“Think about it, dumbass,” Katsuki countered without looking back at him. Instead, he was glancing up and down the hallway to locate the stairwell. He spotted the broken neon sign reading EXIT hanging by a single wire in front of an old, rusted metal door; he began stalking purposefully toward it and continued, “That villain is their gateway. He warped them all here, and he can warp them all out if shit hits the fan. We take his ass out, and they’re stuck. Losing their escape route will send them into a panic, including that punk wannabe supervillain leader of theirs. We can clean house before the pros even get here.” 

“Wow, you’ve considered all that?” Eijirou beamed, practically radiating golden light and sparkles with how admiringly he was regarding Katsuki right now. “That’s impressive! Still, I’m worried about everyone else.” 

“You shouldn’t be,” Katsuki huffed as he kicked open the stairwell door. He wasn’t worried about anyone surprising them, so he marched right on through; they’d most certainly been underestimated, and all the villains that had been sent to deal with himself and Eijirou were currently passed out in the dingy room. 

Except for one, evidently. 

Katsuki whirled around just in time to grab ahold of the two-by-four on a collision course for both their skulls with one hand; his other whizzed past Eijirou’s head to blast the tenacious villain to kingdom come. Eijirou looked over his shoulder to see the villain shooting down the hall like a missile; he crashed into the concrete wall at the end, which immediately collapsed at the impact and buried the villain under chunks of gray concrete and other debris. Eijirou slowly turned back to face Katsuki, his eyes owlish. 

“We’re all students of U.A.!” Katsuki asserted while clenching his gauntleted fist. His vermilion eyes weren’t on Eijirou but focused on the crumbled wall at the end of the hall. They blazed with a fierce fire as he barked, “If they can’t handle villains as crappy as these, then they don’t deserve to be here! That goes double for that damn nerd, Deku!” 

Katsuki then whirled around to start plonking down the stairs. Without looking back, he snapped at Eijirou, who was still standing in a shocked stupor on the landing.

“Walk with me, Shitty Hair!” 

There was a momentary pause, followed by the sound of Eijirou’s footsteps rapidly descending after him. 

“Right behind you, Baku-bro!” 

“All right, looks like everyone’s assembled,” Aizawa-sensei frowned while sweeping his weary gaze over his gaggle of students, who had all changed into their hero uniforms and piled into the spacious training gym. Based on the way almost everyone was fidgeting, they’d spent their very short remainder of summer break just as tense as Katsuki had. After enduring such a chaotic summer, everyone was apparently keen on jumping back into hero training. Katsuki supposed that watching your classmates drop like flies—and one of them be kidnapped—could do that to you. 

Thinking about the incident made Katsuki flex his fingers with impatience. 

Stronger… He wasn’t nearly strong enough yet if he let a bunch of villains get the drop on him like that. 

“It’s only been a day since you moved in, so we’ll take it easy—just for today,” their instructor continued. “You can practice your techniques individually or spar in small groups; just don’t overexert yourselves. I’ll be monitoring.” 

He said that, but he immediately stretched out his bright yellow sleeping bag and wormed his way into it. 

Katsuki just rolled his eyes; whether Eraserhead was watching or not really didn’t matter to him. He didn’t need a goddamn babysitter. He crossed his arms as he stood there, mulling over whether he should blast a boulder to smithereens or spar with one of his classmates. While he was debating, Eijirou skipped over to him with a broad grin. 

“Hey, Baku-Bro! I got a proposition for ya!” When Katsuki nodded at him to indicate he was listening, Eijirou explained, “I wanna see how my Quirk holds up against Mina’s acid, and Fumikage’s itchin’ to get a rematch with you.” 

The redhead jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to where the bubbly pink girl was waving cheerily at them while standing next to the brooding “Prince of Darkness,” prompting Katsuki to snort. He’d been waiting since the Sports Festival to have another go at him, huh? Well, far be it from Katsuki to begrudge him that. Katsuki was definitely still sour about how his match with Shoto went. 

“So, I was thinking that you ‘n me could team up against them. Two-on-two is way more fun than one-on-one, and we make a good team, yeah?” Eijirou continued while nudging Katsuki repeatedly with his elbow. 

They did make a good team, Katsuki could admit. He didn’t have to worry about limiting his explosions thanks to Eijirou’s Quirk, and the guy’s iron-wall tactics complemented Katsuki’s more agile and dynamic fighting style. Plus, Eijirou trusted his judgment and would therefore listen to his commands without giving him any annoying lip. Sparring was honestly much more interesting than blasting a buncha rocks all afternoon, too. In summary, Katsuki really didn’t see any good reason to refuse. 

“All right,” he agreed with a nod and uncrossed his arms. “Let’s get to it.” 

The four of them secured a nice open area in the corner of the gym for themselves. Momo, who’d chosen to spend the training period working on her endurance, agreed to be their moderator. She stood on the fringes of their “battlefield,” matryoshka dolls cascading from her body and slowly piling at her feet. She waited until both the duos had taken up their positions, then sliced her arm down through the air with a shout of “Begin!”

“Here I come!” Katsuki roared. He splayed his palms out behind him to discharge several large explosions that sent him rocketing across the field. Fumikage didn’t flinch at his rapid approach, but rather braced himself to dodge. Right before Katsuki collided with him, however, Mina lithely skipped into the small space between them. 

“Not so fast!” she cried while slinging acid from her body. 

Katsuki barely managed to change direction to avoid being splattered by the substance; he lurched himself to the side using his explosions, aiming at a downward angle so that he could fall into a rolling dodge. The ground rumbled as Dark Shadow plowed into the space he’d landed only seconds before. 

“Yahoo!” Eijirou crowed and leap-frogged off of Katsuki, prompting the blond to bark out a complaint as he jumped to his feet. 

“Oi! I ain’t your springboard!” 

“Sorry-not-sorry!” the redhead laughed, then grinned wickedly. While still in mid-air, he hardened his entire body and snatched Dark Shadow into a fierce grapple before the amorphous being could slither out of reach. Once Eijirou locked his arms around him and planted his feet against the ground, he slung his entire body around, thereby whisking Fumikage right off his feet and hurling him in a circular path toward Katsuki. 

“Special delivery!” Eijirou called as he released his hold on the angrily writhing black shadow. He then hurled himself into a rolling dodge just in time to avoid the glob of gooey acid that Mina shot toward his feet to try and immobilize him. “Oi! I haven’t forgotten about you!” 

“Buckle up, Bird Brain!” Katsuki shouted, then blasted the still-airborne Fumikage with a massive explosion. Despite the intense light generated by it, Dark Shadow managed to dig its claws into the rocky ground and yank Fumikage away at the last second; Fumikage emerged from the billowing smoke cloud with his arms crossed in front of him and his legs tucked in, a little sooty but otherwise no worse for wear. 

“Woo! I knew this would be a workout!” Eijirou laughed as he landed in a crouch beside Katsuki, flicking globs of acid from one of his arms. 

But Katsuki wasn’t laughing. No, he was slipping, irises shrinking into the whites of his eyes and his breathing hitching. Stronger, he needed to be stronger; this wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. His entire body shook as black emotions swirled inside of him—anger, frustration, desperation, fear. He had to be sure, be sure that no one could get ahold of him like that again—

“Hey! Look lively!” 

Eijirou grabbed Katsuki by the arm, then threw himself sideways to avoid the oncoming rain of acid bullets, thus dragging the dazed Katsuki with him. When Katsuki landed in a clumsy squat, Dark Shadow loomed up behind him with a screech; more on instinct than anything, Katsuki drop-rolled onto his back to blast the shadowy creature with a large explosion. Through the smoke cloud, he saw the disgruntled bird hastily retreat back into Fumikage’s cloak to momentarily recuperate. 

As he lay there on his back, panting and wide-eyed and halfway between reality and nightmare, Eijirou dropped down onto one knee next to him.

“Hey, man, are you good?” he asked, holding up a hand to indicate for the other two to stop. 

Katsuki blinked several times; with each one, the shadowy image of a dingy, abandoned bar room that had been overtaking his vision faded until it was no more. Instead, it was replaced with the image of Eijirou leaning over him, his crimson eyes wide with concern. 

“Katsuki?” 

“‘M fine,” Katsuki mumbled. Before he could pull himself into a sitting position, Eijirou offered him his hand. 

Katsuki stared at it for a second. Then, with a grunt, he grabbed onto it and allowed Eijirou to pull him to his feet. 

“I’m just fine,” Katsuki said again, this time in a murmur. What was he stressing about? No one would ever be able to get ahold of him like that again. Ever…

“Come on, Baku-bro,” Eijirou smiled and patted his back. “Let’s take a walk.” 

“Yeah,” Katsuki mumbled unenthusiastically but started walking nonetheless. 

Side-by-side, they walked out of the training hall and into the adjoining hallway. The first thing Katsuki did was walk over to the large stainless-steel sink, flip on the faucet, rip his mask off, and dunk his head under the gushing stream of ice-cold water. The chill seeped through his sweaty hair and skin, through his skull, and into his whirling mind, freezing over the gears to finally bring his runaway train of thought to a groaning, shuddering halt. 

Katsuki let the water run over his head for at least a full minute until he could no longer ignore the way his nerves screamed at the freezing cold. He flipped the tap back off, then straightened up with a long sigh. He kept his head down, though, watching the water drip from his soaked hair down into the thin layer of water puddled in the sink’s silvery bottom. Within it, he could see his ripple-distorted reflection. 

He didn’t quite like what he saw, so he tore his gaze away with a disgusted growl. He turned around to see Eijirou standing right there, smiling kindly as he offered a towel. 

Katsuki momentarily debated saying something surly, but the water had cooled him too much. So, instead, he just took the towel with a soft mutter of “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

While Katsuki toweled off his hair, Eijirou just stood there, whistling as he rolled his weight back and forth from the balls of his heels to his toes. Normally, Katsuki would probably find it irritating. However, it drowned out the noise threatening to start back up in Katsuki’s head, so for once, he found himself grateful for it. 

Once his hair was dry enough not to be annoying, he looped the towel around his neck and frowned at Eijirou. 

“You’re not gonna ask?” 

“Hmm?” Eijirou blinked, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. He then processed what Katsuki had said, and he smiled. “Oh, well, I didn’t wanna push. If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. But if you don’t, that’s fine, too. I’m here in whatever way you need me to be here, Katsuki.” 

Katsuki’s cheeks flushed a little bit at that, but it wasn’t from anger. He really couldn’t describe the feeling at all—some mixture of embarrassment, gratitude, and validation that had his thoughts jumbling again. He sniffed, fiddling with the ends of the towel before he looked back down into the sink again. 

“... I just need to get stronger,” he mumbled after several seconds. “Strong enough that nobody’ll ever snatch me up like that again. And I can’t do it fast enough.” 

Katsuki didn’t look at him, but he knew that Eijirou had that almost patronizingly sympathetic look on his face. Almost, because it didn’t really feel patronizing for once. Katsuki just felt… relieved. Relieved that Eijirou didn’t laugh at him for having a panic attack in the middle of a training session. Not that the guy would; he wasn’t like that. But Katsuki feared a lot of things these days, apparently, even things he had no reason to fear at all. 

“I understand that, Katsuki,” Eijirou said. After a second, Katsuki felt the redhead’s hand on his shoulder. “This might just make you mad, but… you’re not alone, you know? Just like you don’t want to end up in a situation like that ever again, we don’t want to be powerless to save one of our friends again, either. So let’s all get stronger together and have each other’s backs. Maybe it’ll be more slow going than you’d like… but a bundle of sticks is stronger than just one on its own, right?” 

“A bundle of sticks, huh?” Katsuki echoed thoughtfully. As the water dripped from the faucet, it rippled across that puddle in the bottom of the sink; bit by bit, Katsuki found his reflection a little more bearable. He smiled slightly, then looked up at Eijirou. “Yeah, all right. I guess I can throw in my lot with you extras for a little while. I’m still gonna be number one, though, so don’t get any funny ideas about riding my coattails.” 

“I’d never dream of it, Baku-Bro!” Eijirou snickered and flashed him a big, shark-toothed smile. “Let’s get back in there, yeah? We’ve got a sparring match to finish.”

“Hell yeah, we do.” 

Katsuki tossed the towel down into the sink. It soaked up all the water, taking his reflection with it, but that was fine. Katsuki would never look that way again. Katsuki would never feel that way again. Because Katsuki was going to become stronger. 

And, to grow into a mighty oak tree, you had to give the sapling a scaffold to lean on when the winds picked up. 

As Katsuki blasted that prick Seiji Shishikura to kingdom come, he made a mental note of his latest addition to his list titled “Things That Will Never Happen to Katsuki Bakugo Ever Again”: Get turned into a fucking meatball. 

“Look alive, guys! You aren’t the only ones that guy turned into freaky meatballs!” As he shouted it, Denki took a nervous step back. They were suddenly surrounded by several angry-looking Provisional License Examinees. On the other hand, Katsuki and Eijirou took eager steps forward, both of them cracking their knuckles threateningly. 

“Hah! We know, Pikachu,” Katsuki sneered and licked his lips in anticipation. Truth be told, his pride was a little slighted after such a sorry display against Shiketsu High on his part, and so he was eager for redemption. An all-out brawl was definitely more his speed. He slammed his fist into his palm, making several mini-explosions pop off against his gauntlets. “All right, Shitty-Hair! You ‘n me are about to let loose. You’ve got our backs, right, Pikachu?” 

Denki looked startled for a split second; then, he grinned brightly and whirled on his heel to take up a defensive position at Eijirou and Katsuki’s backs. 

“You know I do! Let’s smash these guys and join the rest of our classmates, yeah?” 

“Yeah!” Eijirou and Katsuki cheered simultaneously. Their confidence, rather than rattle their opponents, instead seemed to stoke the flames of their anger. Their show of bravado was all it took for them to spring at the group of U.A. students with a resounding battle cry. 

“Come and get some!” Katsuki taunted, then brought his hands together to start forming a sphere of light between them. He and Eijirou had fought together plenty of times now—more than enough for him to know what Katsuki was about to do. The redhead activated his Quirk and crossed his arms over his eyes, which he also squeezed shut, just before Katsuki discharged his Stun Grenade. The opposing students recoiled with pained screams at the searing light and stopped in their tracks; Katsuki heard Eijirou dash toward the closest-sounding one, followed by the unmistakable sound of him delivering one of his Red Gauntlet punches to their gut. 

Before the incapacitated student even hit the ground, Katsuki blasted himself through the rapidly-fading light burst to land in front of another unsuspecting victim. All the older boy could do was watch in half-blinded panic as Katsuki’s fist rocketed toward the bottom of his jaw. Katsuki’s uppercut brought him clear off the ground, and the eyes that had been looking down on the blond in infuriated panic were now rolled back to the whites. Katsuki left him to drop like a felled oak and deal with later, too busy blasting his way back across the battlefield to grab ahold of a girl who’d teleported behind Eijirou and was poised to tap one of his targets. 

“Oh, no, ya don’t!” the blond roared when he snatched up the back of her uniform. He didn’t know if her teleporting had a time limit or what, but he didn’t give her the time to reveal so one way or another. As soon as Katsuki had ahold of her, he whirled on his heel and flung her at one of her peers, wrenching the ball away from Eijirou’s target with only a few millimeters to spare. The girl wailed as she sailed through the air. Her shrill scream cut off with a pained “oof” as she crashed into her classmate, and they both crumpled to the ground. 

“Duck, Baku-Bro!”

Katsuki obeyed Eijirou’s shouted command without even thinking about it; as the blond dropped swiftly into the crouch, several sticky webs sailed over his head to splay harmlessly over the nearby concrete wall. Eijirou vaulted himself over Katsuki’s shoulders, caught one of Denki’s conductive discs in mid-air, and jammed it into the wall to trap the unsuspecting girl in the path of the electricity that Denki discharged from his finger. 

“How many times do I gotta tell ya to quit it with the leapfrog move?!” Katsuki snapped angrily while tossing a grenade nonchalantly over his shoulders. It exploded a couple of yards behind him, sending the small group that had been trying to sneak up on him scurrying for cover. 

“But it works so well!” Eijirou whined. 

“It’s lame as shit!” came his aggravated reply. “If we’re gonna have a combo move, it’s not gonna be a goddamn children’s game!” 

“Ohoho, so, you want us to have a combo move?” 

“That’s not what I said!” 

“That’s totally what you said, Baku-bro,” Denki cut in. 

“Stay out of this, Pikachu!” Katsuki snapped back. 

As they bickered back and forth, they made a circuit of all the defeated examinees and tapped their targets. Once they’d done so, their own targets started blinking red, and little speakers within stated for them to proceed to the coliseum’s waiting room. 

“Come on, let’s get walkin’,” Katsuki huffed and started walking. 

After a minute or so, Eijirou pranced up to Katsuki and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. 

“What, Shitty-Hair? I told ya, it ain’t happenin’—”

“No, I know, this isn’t about that,” Eijirou smiled, and Katsuki quirked an eyebrow at him. “I just wanted to make sure you were good.” 

“Huh? Why wouldn’t I be?” Katsuki blinked. 

“Well, you know,” Eijirou frowned with a sideways glance at Denki, who was skipping along ahead looking awfully pleased with himself. Katsuki supposed it was warranted; the electro-dunce could pull through when it came down to the wire, and he’d saved their behinds. Eijirou lowered his voice when he looked back to Katsuki and said, “I know it still bothers you, kinda—people getting the jump on you.” 

“Humph. That’s all?” Katsuki sniffed. “Well, you’re worrying is unnecessary. I’m fine.” 

And Katsuki was, really. He was different than he was back then. He was stronger—but that wasn’t all. No, there was something else that made it a lot less frightening to be caught unawares, to find himself at somebody else’s mercy.  

He wasn’t alone. 

“I knew that Pikachu would pull through. Simple as that.” 

“Yeah?” Eijirou smiled crookedly at him, and Katsuki huffily pulled up the collar of his hero uniform as he felt heat rising to his face. “I’m glad to hear it, dude!” They walked on for several moments more, and then Eijirou looked at him again with a big, stupid grin. “But seriously, about the leapfrog move—” 

“I said no, dammit!”

“Oi, Shitty Hair! Leapfrog!” Katsuki shouted, then dropped down into a squat with his hands against the cracked asphalt of the ruined highway. He heard the slap-slap-slap of Eijirou’s boots against the uneven ground, then felt his hands push down on his shoulders to vault himself over Katsuki’s back. 

“Red Riot: Unbreakable!” Eijirou shouted as he did so, and Katsuki felt the redhead’s fingers and palm turn as rigid as rock the instant before they left his shoulders. With a tremendous roar of “Red Gauntlet!” Eijirou delivered a devastating punch to the car-sized piece of rubble hurtling toward them like a meteor. His fist drove a crater into the rock, from which cracks rippled out in all directions; in the next second, the large piece of concrete shattered into thousands of stones no bigger than Katsuki’s fist. 

The blond tucked his head under his arm while the rubble and chalky white dust rained down upon him, using it to shield his crimson eyes as they searched the dust cloud for their target. 

Where are you, villain?

Like almost every other hero student in the country, Katsuki and Eijirou’s hero training had been overhauled in the wake of All for One’s latest move. By now, almost every prison had been destroyed, and villains were running amok everywhere. The time for theory was long gone; it was put their training into practice or risk the deaths of thousands of innocent lives. To that end, the two second-years had been sent on patrol to scour the apocalyptic devastation for stranded civilians and offer them sanctuary at U.A. 

It had been less than an hour before they’d happened upon a ten-foot brute ripping apart the highway ramp and flinging the abandoned cars and concrete pieces willy-nilly into the surrounding buildings, apparently just for fun. Eijirou had recognized him as a fellow dubbed “Wrecking Crew” who had the ability to turn his hands into wrecking balls. He was a self-proclaimed artist who believed destruction was an aesthetic and had found himself a niche in a demolition company. Well, he’d apparently found only performing government-sanctioned demolition work unfulfilling, and he had been arrested some years back for bulldozing his way through several architectural marvels for the sake of his “art.” 

His haphazard demolition work had flushed out the nearby pack of hunkered-down survivors like mice fleeing their smoking mouse hole, and he’d shifted to playing some sort of twisted target practice with the scurrying civilians. Of course, the two boys would have acted anyway, but the fact that lives were on the line made it all the more imperative for them to put a stop to his wanton destruction. 

Katsuki heard the shrill scraping of metal against asphalt before he saw the white-yellow sparks dancing in the settling dust, so he had blasted himself well away by the time the crumpled, totaled-out SUV came careening through the spot where he’d just been. He landed next to Eijirou, who was brushing concrete bits from his hair with a disgruntled frown. A large, hulking shadow materialized in the fading dust cloud. It slowly solidified into the form of Wrecking Crew lumbering toward them, the splintered remains of the overpass quaking with each of his thundering steps. 

“You good?” Katsuki asked Eijirou, who just grinned and gave him two thumbs-up. 

“Totally, bro! Gigantomachia makes this guy look like a toddler kicking over his blocks,” the redhead snickered. 

“Yeah, well, he’s got an impressive fucking kick,” Katsuki growled with a gesture of the devastation around them. Granted, this guy had probably only contributed to a small fraction of it, but still—if they let him have his way, he’d be kicking “blocks” until the sun went down. 

Katsuki heard Wrecking Crew grunt in exertion, followed by the sound of creaking metal. They both turned to find him bending a light pole and snapping it at the root. He brandished it threateningly, then gripped it in both hands. 

“Batter up!” Wrecking Crew laughed darkly, malice gleaming in his eyes. He then swung the pole like a baseball bat, roaring like a freight train all the while. That light pole would probably hit like one, too—not that Katsuki had any desire to confirm. 

Katsuki blasted himself into the air, while Eijirou tucked and rolled; the light pole crashed into the overturned car that had been situated behind them, and it struck so hard that it indented the undercarriage and lodged there. Wrecking Crew tugged insistently at it several times, but when it proved that it wouldn’t be going anywhere, he released it with an aggravated huff. 

“Three strikes and you’re out!” Eijirou grinned as he sprinted across the overpass toward him. 

Wrecking Crew narrowed his eyes and started toward the redhead. His fist morphed into a spiked ball attached to his body by a long chain; he kicked it into the air and started whirling it around his head. The heavy ball made intimidating whoomp, whoomp, whoomps as it cut through the air, slowly becoming a blur as it rapidly picked up speed. 

“Oi! Up here, Blocks-for-Brains!” Katsuki shouted down to him right before he lobbed the weapon at Eijirou. Katsuki used a series of small explosions to shoot himself through the air like a missile. When the villain glanced up, Katsuki dropped down onto his head and grabbed it to deliver a large explosion straight to his face. He swiftly sprung away before he could be squashed by Wrecking Crew’s meaty hand slapping his burned, blistered skin.

“OOOOOOOOWOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!” the villain howled in agony, and the half-collapsed overpass shuddered with each of his stumbling steps as he tottered backward. The wrecking ball slammed down into the overpass, forming a crater where it landed. The concrete structure groaned, then collapsed inward on itself, sending Wrecking Crew fumbling down the slope that formed as a result. He landed in the pile of rubble with an “Oof,” but he wasn’t dazed in the slightest; his eyes gleamed maliciously through the gaps in the fingers still plastered over his face as he started sitting up, bits of rock and chalk dust raining off of his massive, muscle-bound body. 

“Take this!” Eijirou roared as he slammed his hardened body into the cab of a wrecked cargo freighter. The impact sent the cab careening down the overpass, dragging the attached shipping container with it. The shrill screech of metal-on-metal sliced through the air as the eighteen-wheeler jack-knifed; then, with a tremendous series of clangs, bangs, and crunches, it slipped down into the hole in the overpass and tumbled down the slope. Wrecking Crew’s angry roar was cut short by the thundering boom! of the freighter crashing down on him. 

Katsuki landed at the edge of the collapsed section and peered down. It took half a minute for all the dust to clear, but when it did, he saw Wrecking Crew pinned beneath the cab of the eighteen-wheeler, tossing his head slowly from side to side, and groaning in half-conscious pain. 

“Well, that takes care of that,” Katsuki huffed when Eijirou trotted up to him. 

The redhead peered down into the hole and whistled appreciatively. 

“Man, what a brute! I can’t believe he’s still conscious after that.” 

“Well, I certainly don’t wanna be here when he wakes up. Let’s call the extraction team so they can sedate him and dump him back in the cesspit he came from,” Katsuki snorted and fished a cell phone out of his pocket. Even with the heavy-duty protective phone case and reinforced glass, the screen was cracked in several places. It was just a testament to how rough things were these days. 

After ensuring Wrecking Crew’s capture and securing the safety of the civilians, Eijirou and Katsuki’s patrol time had all but exhausted, so they started on the long and desolate road back to U.A. Katsuki walked with his hands laced behind his head and kicking a stone in front of him, while Eijirou walked silently alongside him. After several minutes of nothing but silence, Eijirou hesitantly piped up, “Hey, Kats?” 

“Yeah?” the blond asked while giving his stone another hefty kick. It skittered several yards down the cracked pavement, then fell to a rest awaiting the toe of Katsuki’s boot. 

“Do… Do you think things will be like this forever?” With a sad frown, Eijirou gestured to the ruin around them—the empty houses with shattered windows and busted doors, the abandoned wreckages of cars and bikes, the overgrown flowerbeds and yards… all the lifelessness that was their new normal. “Do you think we can actually win?”

“‘Course we can,” Katsuki huffed without a second thought, prompting Eijirou to look at him with wide red eyes. Rather than kick it again, Katsuki stooped down to scoop up the rock; he continued walking, tossing it up and catching it as he did so. “First, we’ll find that shitty nerd and drag his ass back home. Then we’ll get our shit together. And then we’ll hit Shigaraki and All for One like a fucking battleship. Easy as one-two-three.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” Eijirou sniggered, and Katsuki smirked, glad that his almost narcissistic confidence had raised Eijirou’s spirits. Katsuki knew damn well that it was far easier said than done, and the truth of it was that he didn’t know for sure if they could actually win. But they had to try, or else what the hell was all of this for? 

“Well, Shitty Hair, let’s just say that I enjoy our little games of leapfrog way too much to let those crusty bastards make me give it up,” the blond smirked and elbowed Eijirou lightly in the ribs. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually!” Eijirou laughed and nudged him back. 

“Hey, I still think it’s lame as hell, but these days, I’m in no position to gripe about aesthetics. If the shit works, it works.” 

“You just said you enjoyed it!” 

“I sure as hell did not. You misheard me. Are your ears as shitty as your hair now?” 

Their laughter bounced off the abandoned cars and buildings as they trekked on, playfully pushing and shoving one another while they traded jibes. No, the future was more blurry to Katsuki than ever before—but he’d take it back, make it that clear vision that he once had, bring back the tomorrow that he’d always fought so hard for. 

The tomorrow that all of them were fighting so hard for. 

“Hey, Eijirou, walk with me.” 

“Huh? What’s up, Kats?” Eijirou blinked in confusion as he scrambled off the sofa to follow Katsuki, who was already walking toward the dorm door. He caught up with the blond as he walked through, and together they stepped out into the fading afternoon sun. 

Katsuki walked to the far end of the courtyard, and Eijirou followed without pressing him any further. For a second, Katsuki just stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing up at the painted yellow-orange sky. He could feel Eijirou’s gaze burning into his back, burning much brighter than the scarlet sun that was sinking ever closer to the horizon. Tomorrow was upon them, at long last—the tomorrow they’d fought so hard for, the tomorrow that they nearly lost, the tomorrow that Katsuki had dreamt of for so long—and yet, different than what he’d imagined, way back in the beginning. 

“So… we’re graduating tomorrow,” the blond said finally, turning back to the redhead. 

“Yeah,” Eijirou acknowledged with a small nod. His eyebrows were knit together and his brow wrinkled in confusion, and the familiarity of the expression made Katsuki smirk. “What about it? Are you in your feelings or something, dude?” he guessed, and the way he phrased it made Katsuki snigger in laughter. 

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” Katsuki admitted with a smile. He wasn’t immune to it, either—the feeling that he was about to pass through a door through which he’d never return, the feeling that everything was about to be different. It had him nostalgic, for better or for worse—and so here he was, on the border between today and tomorrow with the guy who’d gotten him through yesterday. 

“I wanted to thank you, Eijirou.” 

“Huh? Thank me?” the redhead asked, getting that owlish look on his face again. 

“Yeah, ya big dumbass,” Katsuki smiled crookedly as he punched Eijirou lightly in the shoulder. “Isn’t that a thing? Thanking people for being their best friend? Come on, now, I’m never this gracious. Enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“I-I mean, I am enjoying it,” Eijirou sputtered, reaching up to rub at the shoulder that Katsuki had just tapped because he seemed unsure of how else to respond. “I just… It’s not something I really need thanks for, I don’t think.” 

“Well, I’m grateful, regardless,” Katsuki smirked. “Without you, I think I would’ve turned out to be a real asshole.” 

“I mean, you’re still kind of an asshole,” Eijirou grinned, and Katsuki could only bark out a laugh. Yeah, he was still kind of an asshole, but that was all a part of his charm, right? 

“I appreciate the sentiment, honestly,” Eijirou smiled and put his hand on his shoulder. His expression then turned a little unsure again. “There’s just something I don’t get, I guess. What brought all of this on?” 

“Well…” Katsuki frowned and scratched at the back of his head as a blush rose to his cheeks. Fuck, why was this still so hard for him—saying what he meant? His frown deepened as he struggled to find the right words, and he looked down at his feet as he put a hand on his hip because he’d start flailing it about otherwise. 

“I was just—thinking,” he said, figuring that if he just started word-vomiting like Izuku then he would get to the point eventually. “Thinking about, you know, the past three years. And—I realized that—you’ve always been there, you know? More than All Might, more than Deku, more than anybody. You’ve always had my back. You’ve always walked with me, and—I don’t—I don’t—

Argh, why is this so fucking hard?!” he suddenly ranted, now red-faced and scowling. He straightened up, clenched his fists at his sides, and looked Eijirou dead in the eyes though it mortified him to do so. “What I’m trying to say is—is—” After several sputtery attempts, he finally forced out, “Let’s go pro together! Start an agency with me!” 

Eijirou just stared at him in stunned silence for several seconds. Each one that passed made the blood flood to Katsuki’s face. Just when he felt like his head was gonna explode, a beaming smile split Eijirou’s face. 

“Dude, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Katsuki released a half-huff, half-laugh at that, honestly unsure if he could believe what he’d just heard. Part of him had always wondered when the pin would drop—when he’d looked to his side to suddenly find that the redhead wasn’t there anymore. But Eijirou continued to plaster that big, stupid, cheesy-ass grin on his face that had shifted something in Katsuki on day one, and then suddenly it wasn’t so hard to believe after all—the notion that Eijirou had no intention of going anywhere, ever. 

“You look like you’re about to cry, dude,” the redhead teased. “Did you really think I’d say no? You’re my best friend in the whole world, my guy. Ain’t nobody I wanna walk into the future with ‘sides you.” Eijirou snickered, then held his arms out for an embrace. “So c’mere, partner!” 

And damn it all, Eijirou knew Katsuki too well, because he choked on a sob as he fell into the hug. Eijirou reached up to cradle the back of Katsuki’s head as the blond pressed his face into his left shoulder, and Katsuki gripped the other one tight to hug Eijirou close. 

“You asked me to walk with you, remember?” Eijirou murmured, and Katsuki felt him smile against the side of his head. “And I promised to, every step of the way. That’s what friends do, yanno? They walk together, they get strong together, they fight together. Road doesn’t end here, Katsuki.” 

“It’s just started.” 

[wixenburr]

Im not extremely into martial arts but i have handled many weapons, felt their weight, and learned to use them so i shall elaborate on this. Honestly i think my simple understanding will make it easier to explain.. so here we go. Bo, Tonfa, Guns, & a bit of hand to hand info:

Firstly, any weapon that is club-like is going to pack a hell of a punch. Its not being smacked with sticks, no no, these are especially weighted and made to be heavy and sturdy. They hit HARD.

The bo can be a little unwieldy in my opinion because of how long it is you know? So it like gets everywhere lol. but when you have exceptional control over it, it is absolutely a very painful weapon. I remember sparring with the bo; every clack against your sparring partners bo sent a jolt up my arms into my bones. It takes a lot of finger strength and control. And hitting ur fingers or someone with them? Ohhh man. That hurts like a motherfucker.

I dont have a ton of experience with escrima sticks, but i have used tonfas! Tonfas are essentially enhanced elbow strikes and punches. Elbow strikes in the first place are HEAVY if you do them right. And with a tonfa omg easily break bone and ribs. Dont even get me started on headshots- do you KNOW how fragile you are?? I do. Im taking anatomy & brain. You are easily squished.

Now guns; i have the most experience with these. Firstly, keep in mind some guns are heavier than others, and have bigger recoil which makes for bigger impact and bullets usually. In general, once you get the hang of your weapon its not too hard to aim and fire. Getting a new gun any time means you have to recalibrate and see how it aims; break it in before you really use it.

I doubt Jason is out there using Desert Eagles every chance he gets lol, but if he were it would also be an effective force to- well. Pistol whip. Smack a bitch in the face and break their cheek n teeth probably. Tho thats not to say any other guns cant also do that; theyre all metal weapons. Heavy enough to swing and do damage.

Keep in mind there are different types of bullets. Armor piercing bullets, bullets designed to shatter under ur skin and cause more damage, bullets designed to just be big and blow you apart with their force, etc.

Anyway tho...

Lets be real

The bats could probably take 99% of people out with a simple butterfly kick. Or even just grab your hand and put you in a Z-Lock/wrist lock or armbar. Literally just grabbing your hand and bringing you down just like that.

Idk if you've ever done hand to hand sparring before, but when i was little it was STRESSFUL. I wont lie; i cried sometimes. Its a lot of violence and stimuli coming at you all at once and when you are against a skilled opponent they can literally love tap you into submission. Imagine a flurry of hard taps against the side of your head, your torso, a flat punch to the sternum, and worst of all a sudden hard kick to the head!

It takes a lot of training to get used to being in a fighting mindset, and the everyday person- even thug- are far from that. You have to think INCREDIBLY fast to keep up with someone well trained, and even then you can Easily be overwhelmed. Keep in mind, even when you are blocking punches ane kicks with say, your forearm, they still HURT. Or if you manage to sidestep/push the hit away with its own force, it is STILL another point of violence and stress aimed straight at you.

All that to say. Yes. The bats. Are scary. Fighting is scary. Depending on your personality and tolerance to violence, it can be even worse. So.... gl ig.

Edit: @froggibus mentioned nun-chucks!!! I was gonna mention these because I've used them as well but no bats do but... okay nun-chucks fucking suck to learn. Its a PAIN. They are two sticks connected by a chain or rope and you hold one and have to articulate/swing the other. Its like you swing it around to gain momentum and a bigger impact (As long as you dont hit YOURSELF ohh my goodness) and then BAM! Snap it out and you git a hard, impactful hit! But then you have to orient them again! Part of that is swinging it to gently tap your own hips on either side- that was a big exercise for me. Tap- two horizontal spins to the other hip Tap- and back and forth.

Watching people actually use a bo staff has made me realise how scary fighting red Robin would be if you were a goon or not trained to the same level. Like I don’t think I conceptualised how much it would hurt to be hit with a bo staff until I saw people twirling those thing and don’t multiple consecutive hits.

Saw a dude (who had a Robin jacket which was cool) add a flip after multiple swings and I can only imagine how much that would hurt if he actually hit someone. Not just the massive arc of a metal pole but a flip as well?!?

I don’t know much about fighting so it’s not until I actually see people with these skills that it hits me how it would actually be

[infisonicosm-moved]

Hi! I’m so excited for the ships!

Okay, so this could get long. Bear with me, please :)

My name is Jaclyn, but close friends call me Jax. I’m 25, and I’m a bartender and aspiring musician and tattoo artist. I work nights, I’m a bit of a night owl (and an insomniac but that’s not applicable lol). I’m 5’4”, petite/slim build, fair skin, blue eyes, dyed-black (with a weird accidental ombré teal blue on the ends) 70’s shag that’s way too long (collarbones-ish?). I have quite a few tattoos and piercings (nostril, septum, multiple ear piercings; a blackbird across my sternum because of the Beatles, a hunter s thompson quote on my ribcage, a floral/fauna sleeve dedicated to my home state, pirate ship and mermaid on left leg to start an ocean sleeve, patchwork sleeve in American trad, etc etc). Usually wearing all-black, pretty standard t-shirt or tank top and jeans paired with vintage military combat boots, paired with a leather or denim jacket.

I try to eat clean, am vegetarian, but also like to veg out. I try to keep things moderate. I do suffer from a Redbull addiction, however (lol). I workout a couple times a week, I do kickboxing and occasionally go to a yoga class or do it at home. I can pack a pretty good punch if I have to—and I could share some stories lol.

I’m pretty quiet, personality-wise. Really guarded (lol) so I can come off as standoffish but once I get comfortable around someone, I open up and can be a bit of a ball-buster. I have a really sarcastic, dry, even crass sense of humor. I swear like a sailor—unfortunately, even more so in inappropriate situations. I’m stupidly stubborn, opinionated to the verge of argumentative, brutally honest (I refuse to sugarcoat anything), but also pensive and decently conversational—I really enjoy talking about the deeper sides of life and have the tendency to spur on debates or the like when in trusted company/close friends, given that I withhold my opinions unless I know they’re going to at least be given a chance. My love language is quality time tied with words of affirmation, I’m a Cancer sun, and an INFP myers-Briggs type. I like to describe myself as bone-cuttingly realistic with tints of pessimism (if you squint) (lol).

I really enjoy reading, currently rereading Slaughterhouse Five and up next is Dave Grohl’s autobiography. I enjoy drawing with charcoal when I’m just sketching for leisure, but when I’m drawing to practice my skills or working with second skin, I can sit at my desk for hours, researching different styles and techniques. Same thing with music. I’m really polishing my craft with guitar right now, and trying to teach myself at-home production, as a singer-songwriter. I’m a novice drummer as well, and have years with the keys under my belt on top of that. I’m almost entirely done with an EP that I’m hoping to independently release by the end of the year. I also like to go on runs when need be, and I love to travel. If I could get paid to travel while working, that would be the absolute best option for me. (My dream is to buy a van and just like…travel around the states, sightsee, tattoo and play shows. Suuuuper realistic, but hey, it’s the dream.)

I love all types of music, but really love the 90s and have been on a grunge kick as of late, but I’ll really listen to anything under the umbrella of rock, to be honest. Lightning Crashes by Live, She Talks to Angels by Black Crowes and Motorcycle Drive By by Third Eye Blind have all been heavily in my rotation lately. I adore concerts, and feel the most alive while in attendance or preforming. I just have a deep appreciation for art in general, but music really does it for me.

Hopefully this wasn’t too long, once I got started I just didn’t really stop? Anyway, I apologize! Look forward to seeing who you think would be compatible with me (lmao) :) thank you!

Oh this was a hard one! I jumped around as I read through this but ultimately I think I would ship you with Danny!

Jax is such a kickass nickname I'm JEALOUS.

You sound like the type of person I would like to see him date. I'm all for Danny having an alt GF/Partner.

Danny would enjoy your taste in music as I feel he likes a wide range of things as well. He would be over the moon to show you new bands to listen to! You would be his go to person to just relax and be normal. I feel Danny would also enjoy a quieter personality compared to the extroverted ones he's dated before. He doesn't have a lot of silence in his life so I feel this would be crucial for him.

[demonslayedher]

How much of Akaza's strength is his actual human strength and how much of it is amplified by Muzan's blood? Because from what we know, he's fully capable of slaughtering fully grown men and warriors JUST as Hakuji, JUST using his human strength. Akaza piercing through Kyōjurō's sternum seems like something he would be just as capable of doing as Hakuji. Punching and swiping through Dōma’s face cleanly as Akaza when he is just as capable of swiping through the heads and punching heads off the shoulders of fully grown men and warriors as Hakuji.

So I'm wondering: How much of Akaza's strength isn't just his full strength from when he was human? It might be amplified but given his diet, which is VERY limited, I honestly don't think he has much more strength as a demon. Because it honestly seems like the only things that makes him demon is his sturdier body, the regeneration and the speed at which he moves, and even the latter is debatable in how he was likely still very quick as a human.

You could argue that Akaza doesn't hold back when he's punching Dōma's head off — he despises the guy after all — while it's relatively clear that he's gauging Kyōjurō's strength and then gradually adding power to his punches as the fight goes on.

I don't know, I think this is a very interesting point when analysing Akaza when you consider his abstinence and discipline. And I remember your other meta about how Akaza might actually eat less humans overall and getting stronger through training and training and training and training.

And so, I find this ask about how much of his strength is his own and how much of it is amplified due to his demon physiology very interesting :)

In order to give this a thoughtful answer, I found it necessary to understand a little better how much strength is needed to make a human donut. I am not a medical professional, physicist, or martial arts master, and I was afraid of what I might stumble upon while poking into this topic, but thankfully the internet is full of nerds to cover topics I’m not confident in. I found the responses on this fictional world-building page most helpful, and then there’s always Reddit. Tl,dr; it’s humanly impossible.

But, taking this from a literary analysis perspective, this is a shounen manga and the laws of physics don’t matter as much as the universe’s own established rules, so I’m going to answer this with that caveat in mind.

My first inclination was “nah, a lot of that has just got to be demon strength, because turning into a demon so fundamentally changes a former human into something monstrous, it’s just a matter of how much aptitude one has for adapting to Muzan’s cells,” but then as I started digging into it more, I think you may be right. Hakuji had demonic strength in the first place.

Hakuji was born a demon, or at least called one, since he had teeth already (fun fact: this is a thing in Japanese demon folklore already, see Kidoumaru!). When he was 11, he was already in lots of trouble with the law and driven to be strong enough to keep getting away with stolen medicine, and still being called a demon child. It probably wasn’t that he was physically stronger than everyone he managed to get away from, but instead, that he was experienced in street fighting. That doesn’t mean throwing the strongest punches, it means being effective. Little Hakuji wanted quick getaways, if he had to incapacitate someone to do that, then he was going to find the fastest way to do that and get out of there.

It’s not until after his father’s suicide that Hakuji’s street fights are meant to cause harm. He hates these people, and he’s upset, and he’s bashed his knee into a man’s nose not because it’s effective, but because it’s gonna hurt the guy. But, Hakuji’s still a human at this point, and likely a malnourished one at that. For all the damage he deals others, he probably takes a lot of damage too. For example, his knee probably got pretty bruised on that guy’s face.

Keizo took Hakuji and gave him technique and repetitious training. Muscle memory gives you something to fall back on without having to think, and Hakuji’s muscles did get better nourished and primed for more power, building on his natural strength. So, when you add the adrenaline of his rage at the dojo next door, that makes for a perfect murderous storm, enough that if he doesn’t care about the damage he takes against a dojo full of men with wooden swords, he could find the most effective ways of killing them, and power through them with his reinforced strength and muscle memory, right?

Except that’s not what happened. Hakuji makes a full on blood-bath, killing with totally unnecessary force, as detailed in a two-page narration in Chapter 155. It was so gory that I shall not bother repeating most of it here, especially since in-universe, it was considered so unbelievable that the records of it were destroyed about thirty years later, as it must had been all made up. However, Hakuji was indeed punching people in the gut and rupturing organs, and pretty much none of the 67 corpses were found intact.

Now, to refer back to some of the physics related comments in the links above, perhaps he succeeded in this partly because of the physics at play—the enemies were charging into his fists, or he had them up against the walls, or his punching techniques focuses the power into a single knuckle instead of dispersing it, and perhaps he never actually broke skin when punching guts, but still had enough force to rupture organs. In any case, yeah, of course one would be quicker to think a demon did it than a human did it.

There’s another character with a comparable amount of raw punching power: Himejima. Despite being malnourished, and suddenly finding so much strength in his adrenaline that he even scared himself, he even summoned the stamina to keep doing that all night with an enemy who wouldn’t die from those repeated blows. It’s worth nothing that Himejima is kind of a freak of nature, even in-universe. This is even compared to Mitsuri who, if Japanese fandom analysis I’ve heard is to be trusted, has a condition which does have some extremely rare real-life basis, but she needs a huge amount of caloric intake because of this and can go weak without food (see light novels), so doesn’t have such a monstrous pool of natural power to draw from. Then again, if Himejima is a sideshow freak, then Genya is the circus main event, and Kokushibo recalls having met someone with the same abilities as Genya back in the Edo period. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that someone with Himejima’s freakish strength is born here and there throughout the centuries. This could be the case for Hakuji, unnaturally, freakishly strong enough to punch people apart. Maybe that ‘demon child’ phrase was saved for children who really couldn’t be described any other way. So if we take this basic freakish strength as a reason why Hakuji took well enough to Muzan’s blood to pretty quickly climb the ranks of the Upper Moons (but not as fast as Douma, who may have taken to it better, be it from his physicality’s natural adaptability or perhaps a personality-based aptitude for being a shameless demon, and who in whatever case had no qualms about chowing down on a big, nutritious diet), then we can start to wonder how much stronger Hakuji/Akaza got after that.

Clearly, making donuts came easier to demon!Akaza than it would had to human!Hakuji, who himself was a dazed and bloody mess once Muzan got to him. Like you said, speed and regenerative abilities would play a big role in that, but for pure improvement of over his martial arts abilities he had as a human, here’s a few more thoughts: 1. Blood Technique: “Hakkaisatsu” Might I just say how much I love the confidence thrown into “Hakkaisatsu?” I started practicing a new martial art last year with a lot of focus on bone structure and shifting weight through the lower body, and I’m really bad at getting the right stance (I’m used to more upright ones), that is, unless I picture declaring “HAKKAISATSU” and then I can fall right into it. Thank you, Akaza. Since most of this set of techniques is based on his techniques he learned from Keizo (and the second fanbook ascertains with a shot of Douma getting punched that Akaza’s got the fastest strikes of any demon), the kicker here is “Rashin,” the compass that allows him to read his opponent’s battle aura (a fatal flaw for poor Rengoku-san). While his formal training and street fighting as a human would have given him a sense for this, being a demon is what took it to useful levels beyond what any human could ever hope to achieve, even further than just looking into the unseen world, I think. While others may be able to look in and see the inner workings and tensions of muscles about the strike, Akaza is the only one who has a such a clear read on auras. 2. Diet At some point I got the idea that Akaza preferred training over eating humans, and I really feel like I read that somewhere, but now that I’m looking back at the fanbooks I can’t find that exact wording and I’m afraid I might have thought it up. However, I still feel comfortable sticking with that interpretation because it is stated that Akaza likes humans, especially talking to them, and when he’s not doing things Muzan told him too, he prefers to spend all his time training. The first fanbook states that because he’s spent over a hundred years training, he can fight demon slayers bare-handed. Plus, his utter avoidance of killing women makes me think he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to kill men more than necessary (though, like every demon prior to Nezuko, he would need to still eat humans pretty regularly), especially since he’s only interested in engaging with strong men who it would be a shame to have to kill. Besides, Douma’s worried he doesn’t get enough nutrition, even if he’s mostly concerned that it’s nutrition from females Akaza isn’t getting. (Douma complained to Muzan in the first place that Akaza gets special treatment for letting women off, so I guess he’s not that concerned, though.) This all just cemented in my mind, and in posts like this analyzing the demon diet, that Akaza doesn’t draw as much strength from human flesh as he does from his own training, and honing of his willpower (similar to Tamayo and Nezuko have shown is possible). And that brings us to…

3. Willpower When little Hakuji had a single-minded goal—to bring medicine to his father—that enabled him to do monstrous feats even as a malnourished child. As a adult, he slaughters 67 men in a fit of single-minded rage. Hakuji sort of thrives on single-minded focus, first wanted to care for his father, then his feelings after having lost him, then over time Keizo and Koyuki become his world. Akaza doesn’t exactly love and adore Muzan, but he’s obedient to him, and otherwise is left free to do as he likes—train, train, train, chat up strong demon slayers, try to make them into demons so they can train together, get rejected, oh well, kill them, train, train, train. Akaza does have ambition; he wants to be strong, so much so that he has challenged Kokushibo (and lost), and the goal of living long and training and is to get stronger. He has gotten stronger. As evidenced by his refusing to die even with his head chopped off, he has some of the strongest willpower of any demon—perhaps the strongest, and Nezuko would had still taken at least another decade of self-willed development to even get close to trying something like that (probably longer, but she was also a bit of a freak as far as demons go). But Akaza’s desire to get stronger has become the placeholder obsession, instead of being a means of protecting what he loves. He’s gotten far with that single-mindedness, but ultimately, that had its limits when he was forced to question himself, “why?”

[cadriona]

Some tips for writing fighting scenes, or rather, some things that may happen in a fight:

Some of these tips and tricks are from personal experience and talking with people who’ve been in the ring, while others are compiled from other writing refs that I’ve seen floating around, or so this is just a post where I wanted to add my own two cents.

DISTANCE IS EVERYTHING: If nothing else, please remember that if you can’t reach your opponent with your chosen weapon, any attack is moot. If your distance is too short ad you can’t get anything in, that’s also useless. Do not try to elbow someone in kicking range, do not try to kick someone in grapple range. You will loose. Also, per a coach that I once had, “the best block is a city block”.

FIGHTING IS EXHAUSTING: Please judge the character’s stamina and endurance (mental and physical) before making them fight for ten hours nonstop

Different martial arts have different preferences: in our current world, there are Many different martial art styles, and they all share some aspects but differ in others. Better known examples are Aikido with its throws and joint locks, Taekwondo with its kicks, Muay thai with its eight weapons (fists, elbows, knees, and shins), and more. While some simple googling and videos will give an overview of whatever the form has, some other things that may be useful to note are the prominent stances, how they prefer blocking to parrying or dodging, the range that the style specializes in, and etc. Might also be interesting to note how practitioners of a particular style prefers to absorb a blow. Finally, please note that each style encompasses a VAST repertoire and not just their signature few.

Thinking during fighting: there is a reason why they run drills with repetitive combos and drills with randomized targets, because there really isn’t much time to think in a fight and reflexes are really, really important

Dodge vs Parry vs Block: If you want to dodge/evade everything, there’s probably more of a distance. Parry is a pretty good alternative that’s a cross of evade/block and works pretty good mid distance as well, but close up is much more blocking or just taking the blow.

Torque: With torque, one can add a lot more power behind their blows. There’s a reason why the twist at the ankle or the shoulder motion is so important when throwing a kick or a punch, it adds power. It also adds distance. And leverage. Torque and momentum are very important yall.

Stance: Ok i mentioned briefly that they will differ between styles, but one big thing to note is SOFT KNEES. some stances (like horse-riding stance or whatever its called) might have feet parallel and apart, which isn’t the most stable, but a pretty uniform thing is that knees are at least somewhat bent, both to absorb blows and prepare for movement.

Kidney blows hurt! but kidneys are also more located to the back, can be protected by ribs, and are harder to get to.

Sternum strikes can knock the wind out of someone, and they also hurt like heck, which is partially why sternum rubs are a way to check the responsiveness of someone in first aid.

a blow to the side of the neck can potentially render someone immobile for a bit to flat black out because the brain throws a fit and shunts all its resources towards protecting it and the spinal cord and neglects the limbs, but that’s dependent on a whole slew of other factors

joint locks are effective because normally joints don’t end in certain directions, but we’ve all had that classmate with amazing flexibility or double-jointedness and thus locks might not work on people like them.

That said, don’t hyper-extend limbs because that’s a quick way to getting things bent in the wrong direction.

Showing your back to an opponent is impractical, but there are circumstances such as a follow-up to a roundhouse kick where you can pretty much keep an eye on the opponent for the entire duration by whipping your head around really quickly. Still causes a blind spot though, so be careful.

Muscles and fat work as a very good cushion, so depending on the body type of the characters they may prefer to take hits as opposed to dodging. Along this line of thought, it is also very important to know how to take a blow, and where to take it.

As mentioned, some of these are from experience, some from listening to people with experience, and some from reading. I’ve only got to spar once before COVID shoved all further plans down the drain, but have almost a decade of accumulated non-combative martial experience otherwise? If anyone has anything to add or correct, feel free to do so! This is very much non-comprehensive because otherwise I’d go on rambling for much longer lol

[antishaman]

Great form, bold movement, using his whole body to both balance himself and perform a powerful strike. Not bad. Coming up from the ground tends to cause some distortion with the opponent as most don't correctly gauge just how long legs could be in addition with the foreshortening of the torso. Definitely a stylistic choice for a first attack; however, Suguru's hobby is martial arts, and he already saw an opening without reprecussion.

He lowered himself instantly to a squat, propelled his shoulder and leg around to gain some momentum, and tackled Megumi's chest to knock him away. Now that he had the upper hand of balance on his side, Suguru didn't relent, and followed the stumbling teen. He threw out a series of punches in cadence of a left hook to an elbow jab, right hook into a right hand chop, roundhouse kick into stomping his foot down to prepare for another knockback with an open palm to Megumi's sternum.

Suguru's attacks were fast, but he left room for each strike to be easily read and blocked; he was gauging the others' skill level after all, and it'd be unfair to test Megumi for failing to block a knockout kick. He was looking for any shift of surprise attacks, any hint that he was hitting too hard or if he could hit harder. Once he found a pattern that his student seemed to grow quickly custom to, Suguru would throw in an odd ball of a leg sweep to test how fast Megumi can both jump and think of what to do while he's in the air for less than a second.

"Don't just look at my movements," Suguru coached in between attacks. "Read them. Read my next moves."

You could almost read the minds of your opponent when you first fight with them. Brutes who let their enraged body lead them were doomed from the start and easy to overcome; they just wanted to do the most harm possible with powerful attacks, and it would often tucker them out. Make them move sluggish and act on emotion rather than instinct. Someone who was more collected with their thoughts were the ones who had control of the situation. It was easier to read fatal opportunities when you could picture the near future of assaults.

Suguru would pivot on his heel to setup a flurry of side kicks, bouncing from one foot to the other without breaking a sweat simultaneously as he kept his arms up for balance and protection. To finish off, he got in close to Megumi's face, reaching for the teen's right shoulder and arm with intent to throw him over and slam him down.

Brow quirked in the slightest degree, perceptible only to those who, for whatever reason, studied his mannerism in an intimate light. Boring. Stiff. — Few adjectives were used in regard to the teen; the adjectives themselves speaking volumes about the person being described. It bothered him not. The world was brimming with positive and smiling faces, and it was only natural for darkness to live among the light. For the innate eeriness accompanying cursed spirit manipulation, the man which wielded such a tremendous power, all clad in black, was entirely too cheery. Fushiguro Megumi had liked the intricacies of his sensei's cursed power and the void of his colour scheme.

In another world, the two could have been mirror images of one another — some strange take on fun house mirror distortion. Ultimately Getö Suguru @antishaman and Gojö Satoru were too similar, and Megumi simply had too much of Gojö's brand of eye scorching radiance as a child. Cheery and dour truly worked hand and hand like day and night. Ieri Shoko and Nanami Kento were the appropriate contrast to Megumi's senseis, regretfully their interactions were few and far between. The somber teen did not outright dislike Getö however, as his brand of kindness leaned towards genuine than cavity inducing.

Megumi could handle it especially when it accompanied genuine training sessions without the conclusion of having his nose rubbed in a mess. Was Gojö off on another two week long weekend, out of the country? The onyx haired teen rolled his shoulders for the umpteenth time. Lingering on the relaxed feeling post-stretching while attempting, with great futility, to uncoil the tendrils of summer's heat. A nod of understanding came stiffly as to not leave the older jujutsu sorcerer in the dark before he gulped down the last of his drink; even the drinks Megumi consumed contained salty electrolytes as opposed to sweet ones.

Plastic bottle was crumpled within his grasp and set to the side to be recycled later. His sensei's height dwarfed him as he rose to his feet while wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform's jacket. A swift movement of lithe fingers, and the buttons of his jacket came undone. The dark and disgustingly heavy item was discarded with less ceremony, leaving him in standard uniform slacks and a plain black t-shirt. The kind of training session involving anyone of Getö's or Gojö's caliber should have accompanied the use of shorts, being submerged in air conditioning, and a med-kit on the ready, but Megumi and the rest of the students had to make due with what they had.

While fighting curses, there would be no guarantee of any such luxuries ... only the promise of death following one sloppy movement. Knuckles cracked with the flexion of his digits, and Megumi took on a defensive pose with a small bending of his knees and his right leg extended in front of left. He wouldn't always be fortunate enough to fight with weapons, so he would do without them for this training session. Getö's hand-to-hand was formidable; what better man to train him. He waited until his sensei was in position and ready.

The stillness surrounding the school was neither calm nor uncomfortable ... just charged. He felt eyes on him though could only hear the steady thump thump of his own heart. Megumi never wasted time. Eyes connected with his elder's, energy coiling in his legs, and then he sprang forward to release that potential energy. He kept his profile high while surging forward before ducking low, palms slapped the ground, and leg kicked upwards, aiming to strike the other's chin.

[chungledown-bimothy]

This is a song I wrote today, if you'd like to hear (read) it. All the matter that matters is localised

Just inside your eyes,

Behind the window to you sits,

All of space and time, centralised,

And I’m an event residing through it.

I’m a fraction of your mind,

The height of your words, the peak of the climb,

I’m an art fraud in the new york times,

And I can’t form the metaphor to describe,

Inside, so I hide.  

And I speak to voices never heard,

I reject the abstract to become absurd,

I’m a dichotomy of not meant to be,

What accidentally occurred.

But I exist out of time,

Like the trauma fractures the mind,

I obscure linearity,

I live in a real world parody,

Out of time,

Maybe the creation of a mind,

Who needed a circus to watch,

A deity’s escapism unlocked the face of the clock.

I punch in my hours,

I need thousands to atone,

For the volume of my thoughts,

Their yelling got me caught,

And I’m quiet in reality,

And I can’t quite grasp what is really

Going on, my abject understanding,

Is just standing in uncanny valleys,

The silent hills, the jester mountains,

And I am drinking from the fountain,

Of youth, and it tastes of vermouth,

And bad decisions and my own derision,

Written into the fabric of nuclear fission.

I wish I could envision

What this world is like to live in.

But I exist out of time,

Like the trauma fractures the mind,

I obscure linearity,

I live in a real world parody,

Existing out of time,

A subsystem of fines,

To pay for all the debt I’ve amounted,

In my facade bank accounts,

I punch in my hours,

I need thousands to atone,

For the volume of my thoughts,

Their sentry got me caught,

Liminal spaces are claustrophobic,

I punch through the walls that told me,

I’d make a bargain for this soul,

Worth nothing less than sternum tolls.

I weep into a melody,

Holding onto memories

Of when I was worth a little more,

Than my body’s bleeding sores,

I scream into the void acknowledging,

If it retuned the fire, I’d be scorched pity,

Gorged with fees.

But I exist out of time,

Like the trauma fractures the mind,

I obscure linearity,

I live in a real world parody,

Existing out of time,

Subsisting off lies,

That make me ache for more to gamble,

In reckless abandon to more fiscal brambles.

I punch in my hours,

I need thousands to atone,

For the volume of my thoughts,

Their numeration got me caught,

I exist out of time,

In perpetual motion,

I have all of time,

To pay back the ocean,

For the time it took to drown me,

I scrounge up my last penny,

And ask it why existing

Eventually costs me every.

I can’t buy back my thoughts,

Outside my skull, they’re worth more.

And I with nothing left to transfer,

Look at my purse, bereft of answers.

I exist out of time,

I am out of time,

I’m the feeling of dread,

When there is nothing left.

I am out of time.

I am out of time.

My name is the sound after the tick,

Of a clock about to kick

The bucket of time,

Spilling it all over the dime

I payed to pave the way

For mediocre graves,

I am out of time.

holy shit this is beautiful! (not surprising, but still mind-blowing)

what's the genre?

if you do ever record it, i'd love to hear it

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 01

Ch.1: Depaysement: “The feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country; being a foreigner.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.9k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

After the 2012 Battle of New York, you didn’t have anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t start working for Stark Industries. The United States government swore that less than a hundred people had died in Loki’s Chitauri attack on the city you called home, but the loss of both of your parents and your only sibling was still sitting like an anchor of depression on top of your chest. They hadn’t even been in the same buildings and thinking about those devastating hours sitting at home alone waiting for them to come through the door as the wireless network collapsed under the panic of the city still sent you into a week of night terrors. The blood never did wash out of your scrubs, one of the worst days of both your professional and personal life. Still, you didn’t blame the Avengers and thought that if anyone was going to stop the world from falling into that darkness again that it was them. If all you could do was patch up those few people skilled enough to save the world, you would manage your own emotions. Compartmentalizations, that was all you knew after that day.

It was your maternal grandmother, a reclusive woman that retired in Mallorca, that was all you technically had left. With no relationship between the two of you, it was easy to take up the offer to start working for Stark and the team, especially with how busy both Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner had been with their own research. The facilities in Stark Tower were far beyond ‘state of the art’ and you’d been given a team of androids and nurses that helped you build confidence in knowing what you were doing when, in terms of years of experience, you’d been an unlikely choice for the job. It was those years learning under great minds that you really flourished and in a few short years, had found a rhythm to your new normal. Work, apartment, study and practice technique; rinse and repeat.

There was more expected of you at Stark Industries than just the titles of doctor, surgeon, or even therapist. You kept your head down for years, expecting Stark to think he’d made a mistake choosing you. It was Dr. Cho’s encouragement that made you stand a little more straight, a little less invisible, a little more emotionally available. When the team came back from Sokovia with an entire hole through Clint Barton, Dr. Cho took him for tissue repair and you ran your checks on the rest of the team. To your surprise they weren’t in the common area, everyone dispersing and choosing their solitude, uncommon for a mission that should have been deemed a success. You found Natasha first, sitting in a room next to Clint’s. “Hey Doc, I’m all clear. Just need to know how Clint’s doing.”

Pulling up your stool you shook your head. “Nice try, jacket off.” She nodded and you worked her bruised arm to make sure there weren’t any fractures or sprains. “Dr. Cho seemed confident Clint would be fine. You know that as long as you clean up she’ll let you in there. Physically you’re good to go, but what happened out there. Everyone’s run off.”

Watching Natasha’s gaze fall, the swallow at her cottonmouth, and the brief silence it was obvious the injuries were different on this mission. “There were some enhanced kids working for HYDRA, she got in Tony’s head, banged Cap up pretty bad too. I’m fine and we got the scepter, but this one isn’t feeling like much of a success. I just have to process, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll have JARVIS pencil you in for a chat. If you’ve worked through it, great. If not, you’ve got me. I get it, really I do. He’s your person.” Offering up a soft smile you tapped away on the tablet. “Clean up so you can get to Barton.”

“Thanks, Doc. I took it pretty easy compared to Steve and Tony.” She trailed off, offering an apologetic smile before she slipped out of the door.

Pinching your nose, you asked JARVIS for everyone’s location in the Tower and the A.I. made you a map with little blinking lights. Captain Rogers was closest and you went into the gym quietly, hearing the sound of his fists lobbing into a punching bag. Quietly crossing the wooden floor, you knew that with his enhanced sense he already knew you were coming before you walked in, but it didn’t stop you from being cautious. He had swapped the suit for sweats and an undershirt and you could see the crusted over cuts on his bicep and forearms, the stain of blood on his wrapped knuckles. By the time you were within arms reach, tablet and medical bag in hand, he grabbed the bag to stop it from swinging into you. Sweat dripped down his forehead causing his disheveled blonde hair to stick to his skin and you lowered your gaze so you’d stop staring. He broke the silence first, “Did you already check on the others?”

For a moment you were tempted to lie, “Clint is with Dr. Cho. Nat’s patched up. Your turn now, Captain Rogers.” With a firm nod to the bench he surprisingly obliged. As you carefully took off the bandages on his hands, cleaning them up and wrapping them in fresh gauze, you asked about what seemed to have shaken the team up. “What did the enhanced agents in the field do?”

He stiffened, not just from the sting of the astringent on his cuts as you moved up along his arms. “The girl used some sort of mind control. Tony thinks it was a vision, but I got the brunt of whatever telekinesis she has. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The boy that got Clint was just fast, threw him off and he got hit.” Pressing one of Dr. Cho’s artificial skin patched over a deeper cut in his bicep, you took off your gloves and tapped away on the tablet before meeting his eye, wondering if he would continue. “Whatever Tony saw, it’s put some idea in his head and, well, you know how Tony is. There’s a lot of pressure to do things right, to get everyone home. I’m not saying I’m not used to it, but since I came out of the ice I’ve had it relatively easy working with SHIELD and the Avengers.”

A crease formed between your eyebrows as you looked up at him. “I know the feeling.” Letting out a slow, shaking breath you took his hands in yours, just for a moment, “Focus on what you can control, Tony’s not one of those things, but the team could learn from the mistakes made. You can make a training plan to better prepare for another run in with the kids. Until you’ve got that down, I’m sure you’ll be busy trying to find out who they are.”

Unless Steve had looked into the undoubtable file Stark had made on you upon your hiring, there was no way he knew you had lost your entire family years earlier while he was out avenging. Maybe he didn’t know you’d noticed he was a planner. He certainly didn’t know you were too or if he did, he wouldn’t know why. Both of you pulled away simultaneously, neither managing to look at the other. It was isolating, unintentionally so. The dynamics in the Tower between the team and everyone else that worked there made you feel like you had each foot in two different worlds; a stranger to the team in an even stranger land. To your surprise, he stood up and grabbed the scraps of packaging and dirty gloves, “I’ll heal up in a few days, so I promise to stay off the punching bag until then. If I need anything I’ll find you, Doc.”

It was exactly what he needed and proof that he was used to these doctors orders. Despite the job, you’d kept a low profile. None of them really knew you. You were at best ‘Doc’ and at worst completely invisible. You watched him do what the rest did after a check up, walk away without another word. Under your breath you whispered your name- seemingly the only thing you could manage to string together as you felt misplaced. It was worse than homesickness because you knew there was no home to go back to, no friends that knew your former self. Lost in your thoughts you almost didn’t hear the soldier softly repeat your name before tossing the trash in the nearest bin and marching out the door. It closed so loudly behind him you flinched.

Pulling up the map that JARVIS had made for you, you finished your rounds and slipped back into your office to fill out your paperwork, the equivalent of a debriefing report. There wasn’t much to write, not a single one of them told you what they’d seen and it was the psychological, not the physical injuries, Clint aside, that worried you. Your thumb pressed into the smooth metal of the two gold wedding bands that sat against your sternum under your scrubs, then across the links of the gold necklace that held them. It was in the unspoken images the woman had placed in Tony’s mind, the powerful scepter sitting in a lab in the Tower, and the near-loss of Hawkeye, all of it was too much at once for the team. You could hear Natasha’s voice saying she had to process that gave you the sense of being unsettled and separate from one’s place of belonging and it had you reaching for the tokens of your past.

Absentmindedly clicking away from the forms to your email you noticed a high alert message with a heading in Spanish. As you clicked, you tried to switch your tired mind into what had once been your first language but that you hadn’t used in deep conversation in years. Line by line you reread the message, thinking that what you read was simply lost in translation. Right when you were about to ask JARVIS to translate, the door to your office opened. Tony Stark never had the decency to knock so you didn’t know why you half expected him to not read your emails. “Stark, come to tell me what the kid put in your head?”

Tony leaned against the door to your office, whiskey in one hand which was more than a hint that he’d found his own way to cope with what he saw. He tapped on the tech on his wrist and projected an images of your grandmother, her villa in Mallorca, and then swiped to display medical records. “I’ve made arrangements for you to take some time off and handle everything with your family.”

Before you could scold him for reading your email or tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, your phone chimed. The screen lit up with alerts from various apps indicating a flight, Uber, and Airbnb were all set up for you. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to…”

“Ah, but I did.” He cut in, wagging his finger at you. “You’ve kept the team in one piece for years, this is the definition of doing the bare minimum. Come back when you’re ready, your job will be here. We might even manage to stay out of trouble while you’re gone.”

“I might actually buy that if it was coming from Cap, but you wouldn’t know how to stay out of trouble if you were given a manual.”  Getting out of the chair and picking up your things you hadn’t noticed you’d been crying. Wiping the tears away when you weren’t looking you managed a soft, “Thank you.” By the time you turned around Tony was gone.

Walking the familiar path to the elevator you popped in your AirPods, keeping your head low as you waited for the elevator in case someone tried to stop you or ask you something personal. The doors dinged and opened and you were met with the familiar scent of bar soap and laundry detergent. Reaching for the garage button to see it lit up you pulled your hand back. “What happened to taking it easy?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice was soft, but you kept your head down, music playing quietly in your ears, “What’s this song?” Pulling your phone out of your pocket you showed him the screen, uncertain if you could keep yourself together enough to speak, and ultimately not realizing that you hadn’t cleared the notifications from the screen when he asked with a tone of surprise, “You’re leaving for Spain?”

Fighting the burn in your eyes as your nerves seemed to insist on making you face the reality of this trip you looked up at him, only half way, talking to his chin instead of meeting his eyes, “Yeah, for my grandmother. I have to take care of… I won’t be gone long I don’t think.”

His calloused fingers lifted your chin forcing you to meet his eyes. The bright blue, the concern that melted into sympathy. “Cancel the Uber. I’ll take you to the airport.”

“You don’t have to do that. I haven’t even packed.”

“I want to,” His soft smile made you attempt your own broken smile, causing the tears to trickle down your cheeks. Despite never having a real conversation with you and knowing nothing about you, he wiped the tears away and gently squeezed your shoulder. “What’s easier for you, leaving your car here at the Tower or leaving it at home?”

You didn’t want to admit that the thing that would probably bring you home before the date on your return ticket was the team getting into trouble. “Leaving my car here.”

Giving him directions to your place proved to be an amusing distraction by the third wrong turn. Despite knowing him for three years, it was the first time you really saw him laugh. That melodic, deep laughter was contagious and you found yourself laughing into your hands to hide the ferocious blush that wouldn’t seem to leave your cheeks. With some relief you made it to your apartment and invited him in. “I just have to pack really quick.”

“I could help. Military made me a master at it.” His eyes were wandering over the place, hands in his pockets.

You didn’t need to look at him for more than a second to know that he had no idea who the people in the pictures were or that you’d lost them all. Your stomach twisted hoping he wouldn’t ask, so you thoughtlessly thanked him and led him to your bedroom, only partitioned from the living room with a vintage panelled wall divider. It was a relief you were almost never home, leaving the place fairly clean. Taking out your one small suitcase and your old canvas backpack from medical school you tossed them on the bed, “The longest I’ve been away from work was four days. I have no idea how to fit enough clothes in here.”

“Just set what you want to take to the side and I’ll get it in there. You should grab your toothbrush and computer, chargers and things.” He sat on the bed and picked up the backpack and suitcase, checking out the pockets as you tossed a handful of clothes onto the bed. You’d changed scrubs in front of other doctors and seen most of the super soldier, leaving you unfazed by the fact that he was now handling your intimates. Steve on the other hand was quickly becoming a warm shade of pink as he made quick work of the task at hand. “So...what’s the trip for?”

When Steve looked up from your luggage and reached for the item in your hands he knew immediately, as if he’d forgotten in the laughter on the car ride that he’d found you in the elevator fighting back tears. The black dress was formal but not flashy, a practical length but not something meant for an interview… and you knew that he knew as he took it and set it as delicately as he would have laid the flag of one of his lost soldiers in the hands of a mother or wife. “I just hope it still fits.” Turning away so he wouldn’t see you cry, you held your breath and rummaged through your dresser for something to wear to the airport.

As you pulled a tunic and leggings to your chest you turned around and smacked right into the super soldier. He didn’t hesitate to pull you right into a tight hug. “If you end up needing anything while you’re there just let me know. Anything at all, okay?”

You couldn’t be sure how long he let you cry into his shirt, but you knew it was soaked through when you finally slipped into the bathroom. With a glance at your phone you realized there wasn’t much time left to get to the airport, certainly not to shower. Cleaning your face and changing, you stepped back into the room to find him with his nose in the book you’d been reading that had been sitting on your bedside table, Heart Like a Window, Mouth like a Cliff. “Home is the place, for better or for worse, we learn to love.” You quoted as you picked up your backpack and put it on, “I haven’t finished it yet, but you can borrow it while I’m gone. I don’t think I’ll have much time for reading.”

He stood up and grabbed the suitcase, but not before tucking the book into the pocket of his coat. Both of you managed a smile and he looked around, “Got your passport, ID, and…”

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded and patted the bag.

“Stop saying thank you for something you’d do if the shoe was on the other foot.” With one last look around your place Steve noticed the plants and a pet fish on the window sill. “Why don’t you leave your keys with me. I’ll check on your fish and water the plants, grab your mail.”

You hesitated, but it wasn’t as if you’d been home often enough to get to know your neighbors. Telling yourself that it was okay to let a coworker be nice to you, that this wasn’t anything like forming an attachment, you nodded and passed him your keys. “I’ll completely understand if it’s an assistant that ends up coming here, but, umm…” Catching yourself from saying thank you again, you stepped into the hall and watched him lock up a bit unnerved by how quickly he realized which key belonged to the three locks.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” It was the first time you’d heard him say your name in full voice, close up and yet it somehow felt softer than it had earlier. You shuffled quickly down the one flight of stairs, but not before Steve took your small suitcase. Those blue eyes watched you the whole way, making you wonder if he thought you were about to snap.

From holding the door open to passing you the auxiliary cable and asking you to play the music from the elevator, the ride to the airport was fairly quiet. Periodically, a song would come on that would choke you up and you’d go to reach for your phone to skip it. Every time, Steve would grab your hand and give it a squeeze, waiting until you’d caught your breath before moving his hands back to the steering wheel. To your surprise he didn’t pull up to the drop off and instead parked and walked with you as far as the TSA would let him go, carrying your small suitcase and giving your hand a supportive squeeze every time you were asked about the reason for the trip overseas. Rather than saying thank you as you prepared to part ways, you cleverly thanked him in Spanish, making him shake his head disapprovingly. “Steve, you’ve been an absolute gentlemen through the hardest night I’ve had in three years. I know you said I would do the same for you, but I guess I never thought anyone at work knew I existed.”

Steve scoffed, “You’re a little hard not to notice. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way when you’re back.” Your eyebrows furrowed, concerned he was going to scold the team or worse. “Don’t make that face.” He let out one laugh and shook his head and passed you his phone. “Here. I’m getting a lot better with the texting thing. Keep in touch while you’re gone... even if it’s just pictures of food so that I know you’re eating.”

You put your number in his phone and passed it back. “I’m not going to have a problem eating.” When you looked up at him, he seemed unconvinced. “I’m a doctor, knucklehead. I’m trained in the stages of grief.”

He nodded, but you both exchanged the sort of look that said you’d keep in touch anyways, thank you, and goodbye all at once. You wanted to hug him, but felt like maybe you’d used up all the proximity of a fresh friendship’s timer in your fit of tears in your bedroom. Looking back, glassy eyed as you prepared to move through the last line of metal detectors, you noticed he was still standing there, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket as he watched you. Your chin quivered as you fought back tears. No one had stood by you through the loss of your family in 2012, now you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this, but you were eternally grateful for this man.

Your gaze felt to your feet as you fought back fresh tears and then, before you knew it, there he was, arms wrapped back around you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his warm chest. He was saying something to the TSA agent but you couldn’t hear it over the fresh bout of weepies. Steve rocked you and then lifted your face in his hands. “What did I say? If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? Don’t miss your plane. You’re going to get through this.”

Then, and you were certain he’d only done this to get your mind off the grief, he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him as you slowly untangled yourself from the hug, his eyes stayed on yours but he stepped aside to let you go after another moment or two. You didn’t say goodbye or thank you, words seemed to fail you, and you’d have an entire plane ride to sit confused and overthink how this night hadn’t just turned into some crush on America’s most high profile bachelor. Nearly twelve hours later you made it to your grandmother’s home in Mallorca, emotionally and physically exhausted. As you collapsed onto the sofa, too anxious to roam through the house just yet, your phone chimed. “It’s Steve. I hope you made it to Spain and are getting some rest before you take care of your family. Thank you for the book, I really enjoyed it.”

With a sleepy smile you type back, “Finished already?!? What did you think? I made it. Resting is TBD...”

His reply surprised you, a quote from the book, and you fell asleep before you could muster one last reply:

We cannot know the remarkable velocity at which we pull each other, tear at individuation, until the distance between us curves and no one is themselves.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. While I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[randomingoftherandomness]

This one is a bit long, but If I could still hop on the wks mpreg train and add a smidge of h/c:

Several months into the pregnancy, the family is in Four Seasons Manor leading a quiet, domestic life, more or less. But, one day wks gets into a little skirmish with a group of bandits or scorpions at the market (maybe he takes chl to help him carry the bags, a nice peacefull day of running mundane chores, until it isn't). And wks makes a quick work of the assasins without even breaking a sweat, mostly on adrenaline, bc he is now doubly overprotective AND pissed. But later at home the stress still catches up to him and he is running a fever or something similar. There are no major injuries on him, but zzs is still horrified when he finds out (it's hard not to when wks nearly faints???). So he is FUSSING over wks big time. The details can be up to you, but I just live for mother hen A-Xu, who is grumpy and scolding wks, but at the same time tender and worried about his husband even if it's nothing major.

TW: Mpreg

—

It was perhaps the moment when Chengling merely levelled him with a determined narrow of the eyes when Wen Kexing had told him to run away, that he finally had the thought, ah, our Chengling is all grown up now. It made him smile even if he had been both gratified and exasperated to see the stubborn flare of hesitation to obey.

Really, after all this time, he still was that child that had no martial arts skills whatsoever and yet was so determined to protect the old Boatman and his Shifu.

Chengling darts his gaze down to the pregnant swell at his midriff. Ah yes, Lao Wen huffs with frustrated amusement. Then there's that.

Ever since he hit the point where he looked like he’d swallowed a mountain, Chengling, Ah Xu, and even Han Ying - Han Ying! Who was always so obedient! He laments the loss of an underling - would scarcely leave him alone for even just a second; always underfoot to bring him anything he could need, always carefully and respectfully allowing him his freedom of movement but never declining any opportunity to coddle him.

In truth, Lao Wen can't deny that he likes being cared for.

But this market day, Chengling had been the only one free to follow and so he had taken him along to help carry the load. It was to be a quick sojourn into town with an eye for being back by lunch, but as always, man plans and god dispenses because he hadn't actually been looking for trouble this time, he swears!

Unfurling his fan, Lao Wen shifts his feet, readying for a fight. Ever since he' started showing, his centre of balance has been a little off and every time he had sparred or fought since, the shift had to be compensated for. Counting off the bandits that had thought their lives too long lived, he waits until Chengling sets off a Longyue Cabinet made mechanical bird before making the first strike.

Between Chengling and himself, it was embarrassingly easy to dispense of the fools. And it was hardly worth lifting a finger for. But he was tired and his feet were sore from walking all day, and all he wants is to go home and have his Ah Xu cuddle him and rub his back.

"Lao Wen!"

The last bandit was still twitching where Chengling had unhesitatingly delivered a punch to his sternum. Lao Wen feels pride bubble up in his chest and makes sure to throw an arm around him and tell him as much.

His Ah Xu doesn't wait for his horse to stop before dismounting, rushing to his side. The sight of his worry warms him, even more so when he spies Han Ying and the some of the senior members of the Manor coming to surround them with a defensive formation. All at once, the adrenaline leaves him and he lets himself be pulled into a hug.

"Hi," He answers tightly, hand curled protectively over his belly. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed.

“Are you hurt?”

Lao Wen laughs. “Nothing more than a bit of exercise, right Chengling?”

“Don’t joke, Lao Wen.”

“I’m fine. Chengling is fine, baby is fine. Stop mother henning,” He huffs, leaning in to press a kiss to that pinched corner of Ah Xu’s lips. He can tell that his husband isn’t placated in the slightest but with a well-timed wince and a sigh, he is quickly bundled up onto Ah Xu’s steed and led home.

Chengling sticks to him for the rest of the journey and no one allows him to lift a finger. On a normal basis, Lao Wen would have protested this tooth and nail, but the fight dies a quick death the moment he sinks down on their bed and gives in with a quiet hum to Ah Xu and Chengling’s care.

More than just having to compensate for the loss of his balance, he is now tired from a two second burst of energy?

Lao Wen dozes off midway through Ah Xu wiping him down of the dirt and blood, and barely feels it when he is bundled into clean and soft things that feel heavenly against his skin.

“Chengling,” He calls out in a soft slurring of the syllables when he senses that they were pulling away. “Come here.”

The obedient child comes right up to him, grasping his hand. Smiling, Lao Wen pats his head. “You’ve grown up so quickly, it almost feels like yesterday when we first met. In the future, this baby will have to rely on you to keep them safe. I hope you will be good to them.”

“Shishu, of course I will. I’ll be the best Gege to them. I’ll take care of them whatever happens.”

“Good child, you’ve done well protecting your Shishu,” Ah Xu says with clear approval in his voice and eyes, sitting down on the bed. Lao Wen watches with his own approval as the Shifu continues, “Now, go make sure Han Ying and the rest have enough hands to dispose of the bodies. We don’t need any more trouble. And tell the others not to disturb us for the rest of the day.”

Lao Wen waits until the boy is gone to sigh, letting himself melt into the bedding. He was so very tired. A gentle brush of a hand through his hair tugs him back into the present where Ah Xu is smiling down at him.

“No need for me to mother hen, huh?”

“Oh, do shut up and climb in here to cuddle me,” Lao Wen chuckles, already feeling the relief pinpricking sleep in the edges of his consciousness.

He is safe now, he is home. In a moment he will pout and ask for back and feet rubs, but for the now, he is content to be held in the arms of his beloved.

[excitedrainbow]

My dad has a shop selling East and South East Asian food, martial arts uniforms and other martial arts gear, and because of this weird moral panic he had to stop selling katanas (both of the display and used for actual martial arts varieties).

He just couldn’t import them any more and now he only has wooden practice katanas. It’s possible it also affected his sales of other weapons used in martial arts because he doesn’t have many metal ones around any more, it’s all wood or plastic or rubber practice weapons.

Have to say, a fair number of people would come in asking if we sold retractable nunchucks who were clearly looking to use them in scraps, but lol, incredible country to get worked up about martial arts, why are you asking that scenes with “chain sticks” be removed from Enter The Dragon you fucking losers

A underrated moral panic is the UK government's deep and enduring hatred of ninjitsu. From the days of video nastys banning nunchucks and shuriken from the media but not touching depictions of any type of weapon people actually have or use to Keir Starmer promising to ban ninja swords to solve knife crime, famously committed primarily with replica Japanese swords, forever. There are still presumably people with ASBOs for pretending to be Naruto in 2004, when Tony Blair executed a raid on the servers hosting Real Ultimate Power and declared once and for all that Britain will not stand for dishonorable stealth combat no matter how many shadow warriors are sent by Brussels