#arc spray system

[quirkwizard]

It’s kinda funny how much 1B got ignored in the final arc, and from a narrative perspective it makes sense not to clutter things up to much but aside from a few brief appearances the arguably best attention they get is for monoma for copying warpgate and eraser. With that being said assuming anyone cared enough what do you think the class B “Iron Might” items would be like?

That just makes me think that All Might just has another car full of tech just for the 1-B kids. All For One thinks he's got Toshinori dead to rights and his second car, Heracles, comes out of nowhere with another suit like it's the second stage of a boss fight.

-Awase: Giant metal pillars that fire out and sear themselves onto the target to deal damage and weight them down.

-Kamakiri: A giant sword. Would it be more fitting to have swords pop out of him? Yes, but I want him carrying a buster sword.

-Kuroiro: A cape-like extension meant to camouflage with it's surroundings to hide the user.

-Kendo: Giant fists. Just a ton of armor all coming together to make a giant set of meaty claws.

-Kosei: Sets of floating plates that act as both platforms and shields as All Might needs them.

-Komori: Sprays that activate a fast growing mold meant to fester in wounds and inhibit breathing.

-Manga: A series of marked grenades around the suit that can disperse various effects, such as a flames or electricity.

-Juzo: A set of drills from the hands that can help him rapidly dig underground.

-Reiko: A series of drones meant to latch onto and control anything All Might sicks them on.

-Rin: A set of tiny, jagged plates that can stab anyone the user grapples and be fire out like bullets.

-Shoda: Pilebunker. Just a giant hydraulics system meant to add some extra punch to his fist attacks.

-Ibara: A series of cables to coming from the back of the suit to tangle and bind with.

-Tetsutetsu: It's a giant suit of armor that helps protect All Might from bigger attacks. It's literally the same as Kirishima's.

-Bondo: A cannon near the upper back of the suit that fires out the same face acting concrete used in the License Exam.

-Sen: Various gyros around the suit to make parts of the armor spin and help improve the damage of the other weapons systems.

-Jutora: An additional layer of armor meant to augment the user's natural strength and give a more beastly appearance.

-Pony: Missiles. Just a bunch of homing missiles centered on whomever is unlucky enough to be in his line of sight.

-Setsuna: A series of small, multi-purpose drones linked up to the suit's sensory system. Maybe they could double as quick replacement parts.

-Kodai: Various pieces of micro tech that's meant to unfold and expand into larger weapons. Possibly used in tandem with ome of the other weapon systems.

-Monoma: An operating system meant to monitor and redeploy the various tools in play, effectively acting as the reserve for all the other gadgets.

[ofmermaidstories]

Hi!!

Just wanted to let you know I've re-read for loke the 10nth time the seeing-deaths!reader×bakugo story and oh my god it's so good, it's one of my favorite stories ever

If you feel like it, have you ever thought about Bakugou's side of the story? Especially after the ending. I think the story is perfect as is and doesn't necessarely need a sequel but I often wonder about this Bakugo so I'd love to hear any of your thoughts if you feel like sharing them!

Anyway, love your writing and have a good day!

Xo

The ghost story. 🥺

I hadn’t actually sat down to think about how it would effect Bakugou, like, in-depth until mei-writes reblogged it and pointed out how devastating a loss would be for an older Bakugou, one who fought so hard to make through to the other side of his (in Mei’s brilliant words!!) inferiority complex and anger. 🥺 I said in reply that I thought Katsuki would like, throw himself into work until he broke, as a way of regaining some control/giving himself a distraction, but that it wouldn’t work. And it wouldn’t!! I think it would be an unholy drive, though; I always saw our killer as getting away that day (it’s why we die, it’s a distraction), and I don’t think Katsuki would give himself even a moment’s grace to process things. He’d just—immediately chase after him. Of course he has to. He failed to get this guy once, and look what hap—anyway. Don’t think about it, not now, get this bastard first. 

Katsuki would genuinely scare everyone who cares about him. Denki, Kirishima. Izuku. When Katsuki finally finds and corners the guy it’s like, idk, in some industrial real-estate, just a warren of warehouses and factory floors and empty parking lots. Katsuki’s been going 24/7, he’s running on fumes and fury, and this prick is like, making machinery and walls topple down in a spray of fine steel dust, piping hot concrete. Inorganic material that reacts to insane heat differently than—

You know, Katsuki’s always prided himself on how tightly controlled his explosions can be. On the discipline it takes. But like I said, he’s running on empty. He’s exhausted, he’s not letting himself think of why he’s here in some fucking shitty-ass industrial park, chasing down a fucker who’s laughter keeps echoing around these fucking buildings—so maybe he loses his temper. Maybe his explosions start rippling through warehouses and storage spaces with plastic containers of hazardous materials until he creates an inferno. Maybe, just maybe, when Izuku arrives (breathless, afraid, his jaw tightening when he finds Katsuki standing motionless in front of a blaze so high and hot it’s that the blond is shimmering with sweat, dripping like jewels) it’s too late.

Death during legal intervention. That’s the phrase used in the coroner’s findings. It’s shocking, and there’s some grumblings—by the press mostly, who brand Dynamight a danger to order and decency. Anti Pro-Hero groups arc up about it, and maybe a justice-system reform organisation pushes for actual punishment. But mostly the public forgives. The guy was dangerous. He killed people! There’s literally footage of it from multiple angles, it’s so horrific and sad. The looks on the victims faces, before it happens. Still. The Hero Commission can’t let it look like they don’t care about order—Katsuki’s on immediate leave, two months, half-pay. 

His friends are still scared. They enact the Sit-a-Chan system, babysitting Katsuki, making sure he doesn’t do anything crazy. He hates it—people in his fucking space when he doesn’t want them!! Deku’s the worst, he hovers, but Kirishima and his yapping is a close second. And then Denki—ugh. He’s the one that notices the extra toothbrush, in the bathroom. The little toiletry bag, wedged in between Katsuki’s shaver, some callous cream.

(Denki’s heart drops to his ass when he realises, and carefully—quietly, before Katsuki can notice his silence and get suspicious, he peers into Katsuki’s bedroom.

He doesn’t know what he’s afriad of finding—a lifesized mannequin of you, maybe, dressed up in your clothes or whatever, paint smeared on its face. But Katsuki’s room is neat and tidy, spartan almost, his bed made. 

There’s just—

Denki’s mouth thins, sad, when he sees it. On the end of Katsuki’s bed is a small pile of fresh laundry, neatly folded—all in colours Denki’s never, ever seen him wear.

“Got any plans for what you wanna do with the—with everything?” The asshole asks, suddenly, as Katsuki tries to ignore him by pretending to take a nap on the couch. 

It takes a moment for him to register what the walking charging pack is saying, his body recognising it before his brain, his chest immediately tightening at the words.

Fury jerks Katsuki upright. “If you’ve touched one fucking thing—”

But Denki’s hands are already up in surrender. “Nah! Nah man, I promise, I’m not gonna do anything.” There’s a beat between them, where Denki watches him, mouth shut before he says, very, very gently, “No one’s gonna force you to do anything. I’m just—curious. Izuku said you’d met with… with the mother. Of both of them.”

Talking to Kacchan is a lot like talking a tiger, at times; red, feline eyes staring at Denki unblinkingly, untrusting, until they cut away to the kitchen, his table. The expression on his face doesn’t change, but Denki can only guess what he’s thinking of. Who’s he’s thinking of. 

“There’s nothin’ to do,” Katsuki says, eventually, voice hard. “Whatever’s here is it.” 

Denki nods. Your apartment, your belongings—your mother probably dealt with all that. Suddenly he realises just how little his friend has of you. A folded pile of clothes. A toothbrush. Time.)

Two months is a lot of downtime for a man who’s used to saving the country regularly. The things left in Katsuki’s apartment move around, like your restless ghost is unsure of where to leave them, Katsuki’s restlessness unsure. There’s nothing of value to them and your Mother had shaken her head when Katsuki had mentioned that he—that you—that he had a few things of yours, if they were important—

But still. He doesn’t know what to do with them. The book you were reading slips in among his own, sticking out like a baboon’s ass. He hands up your cardigan in his wardrobe—just to get it out of the way, he tells himself. The bag of your skincare and shit—an italian handcream, a lip balm, moisturiser, some other things—still sit behind his mirror, where he sees it every day.

He doesn’t tell anyone when he leaves the city, your little toilet bag shoved in his dufflebag, unceremoniously thrown in the backseat of his car, sleek and black and shinning under the city lights as he drives. It’s the closest you’ll get to leaving the damn place, together; though Katsuki doesn’t let himself think that. 

Your Mother, when Katsuki had met her, had almost seemed—resigned. Not surprised.

“It’s been hard,” she’d told him, his skin prickling uncomfortably. “Not just—not just this. But… but being unable to help throughout everything. Did you—did the two of you ever talk about… about your quirks?” 

Katsuki had shaken his head, his jaw locking. He had always assumed you were quirkless; you had always avoided the conversation. 

Your Mother had swallowed. Nodded. “If you ever… if you’re ever our way, back home, please—please call in. It would mean a lot.”

To her. To you, maybe, if you’d still been here. To Katsuki too, though it’s harder for him to admit to himself. 

He drives through the night to your hometown, the sun rising when he finally makes it, pulling in off the road, just up on a hill that overlooks the town lights below. It’s a chilly morning; Katsuki leans against his car, scuffing at the gravel under his boots as he shoves his hands in his pockets. Maybe he’ll get some answers here. Some insight into what was going on in there, behind those big, unsure eyes you’d sometimes look at him with. 

(He does, and he doesn’t. Your mother has pictures of you, ready, when he makes it. You in highschool with a tall, redheaded boy that’s all grins. You as a small kid, with an older, smiling woman, round and soft-looking. 

Your mother is silent as she watches Katsuki take them in. 

“They’re all gone, now,” she tells him, when Katsuki eventually glances back to her. 

You and your collection of ghosts. Your mother tells him what she knows, and it’s not everything—but he thinks he finally begins to understand.)

[itsnothingofinterest]

Hey, while I’m rambling about all the consequences of Deku killing Tomura, what is going to happen with the quirk singularity plot line now?

I talked about the Singularity in full here, but to go over it again real quick:

Dr, Garaki long theorized, and recently found proof by studying Eri’s blood, that as people with strong quirks reproduce to make children with stronger quirks, they will/did reach a point where we start to see quirks that people can’t control, leading to disaster as those quirks manifest. If a solution were not found, humanity would go extinct due to those walking-nuke children, or due to not reproducing so as not not risk walking-nuke children.

Prospects of a new solution being found by normal scientists always seemed low too; Garaki 'led' that field as the sole interested party and it still took him 70 years to produce a treatment on the backs of so much unethical experimentation. But almost all his work & research was destroyed, he’s unlikely to help if asked since he hates the heroes, and that’s even if the government starts taking the singularity seriously enough to ask before executing him or just let naturally kick the bucket.

And given how it’s already started, I don’t think the scientific community has that time to start from scratch.

But luckily the one piece of Garaki’s work needed to save humanity from extinction remains; and in another's hand too, so we don't need the spiteful mad scientist's co-operation. Tomura already went through the procedure to make his body singularity-proof, and so what I always thought could happen is once he and Deku set aside some differences and start working together, he could just let some people research his body and-

Oh…right…

…Fuck.

Way to go Deku, you’ve saved the day once more. Sucks for tomorrow though; I guess those future kids and their dangerously uncontrollable quirks are just plumb out of luck.

(On that note, isn’t this just salt in the wound of every ‘baby step in the right direction’ solution to the few systemic issues the League brought up that these last few arcs have chosen to address? How many more baby steps will be made by the time humanity is an endangered species? Will they have stopped spraying heteromorphs with pesticides by then do you think?)

Boy I hope for the people of the MHAverse’s sake that one of those long shot theories for how Tomura could survive this come true; because they look kind of screwed otherwise.

[calciumcryptid]

Things Arc Has Done so Far

Arc rapid-fire angrily texted the admin of a site he does not know for putting his photograph up without his permission (this is the only valid thing he has done in the entire show so far).

When the admin wasn't quick enough to take it down, Arc then sent a photograph of him flipping them off with full view of the middle finger (valid, but give the admin a second mate).

His response to Arm spraying water all over his face was to fall in love with him even more (fine, I am not going to kink-shame). He even allowed this guy to wipe off his face for a bit despite his scary and elusive exterior.

As soon as it was suggested Arm was cold, Arc made an excuse to go to the bathroom so he could give his jacket to Arm. He did this by throwing his jacket in Arm's face.

After Arm offered his jacket back, Arc told him to keep it so Arm could have some pre-relationship boyfriend clothes. Arc did this by claiming he doesn't wear anything after anyone and he couldn't stand Arm's perfume.

He routinely drives Arm around, even though he was asked to do it roughly three times (the first time he outright rejected). One of those instances was driving him to and from the hospital after Arm embarrassed himself on stage, so Arc has interesting taste.

After Arm remarks Arc wouldn't want his perfume to stink up his [Arc] car, Arc responds by very blatantly sniffing Arm in public. He does all of this to prove that Arm wasn't wearing any perfume, so he was free to get in his car.

He told Arm to find the site admin (which is Arm) as a return favor for a car ride, which is a very disproportionate return favor and yanked on Arm's tie to pull him closer.

As soon as Arc returned to his condo, he demanded his friends give him their keycards back because he doesn't want to be cock-blocked in the future. Arc has only interacted with Arm three times at this point.

Side Note: It is not canon in the show, but the previous point leads me to believe Arc has masturbated off-camera at least once during the first episode.

Arc showed up the next day, unprompted, to drive Arm (+ his friends) to campus.

Arc, presumably, made Arm sit in the passenger seat, even though backseats are made to hold at least three people and Arm and his friends are a total of three people.

Arc left the food and drinks his football fans gifted him to go and get food at the resident cafeteria so he could bother Arm. In order to do this, he missed the second half of a football game to all of his friends confusion.

Side Note: Does he have Arm's schedule memorized? Though, as a fellow engineering student he probably is going off his first-year schedule if it is all gen eds and base courses (of course, Thailand's university system is probably different than the States).

Arc paid for Arm's drink (and presumably food) unprompted. When asked why, he called Arm a dog (fine, if that is what you are into).

Arc walked away after stealing Arm's drink to ensure Arm would have to follow and sit by him. To keep Arm with him, he made it a stipulation he would not accept a random girl's friend request if Arm left.

Arc fed Arm food with a spoon.

Arc took Arm's phone, unlocked it with Arm's face identification, and called one of his friends so Arm could say he was leaving on his own and Arc could monopolize his time.

Whatever the fuck the dorm scene was.

Instead of taking a shower in the football field showers or at his condo, Arc decided he wanted to take a shower at Arm's dorm.

While taking his shower at Arm's dorm, Arc asked Arm if he could use his shower gel. Despite, you know, all the previous scenes of him complaining about Arm's smell and blatantly sniffing him public.

After taking said shower and using said shower gel, Arc walked out of the shower, half-naked, with only a towel around his waist in a dorm that was not his infront of his gracious host [Arm] without the permission of his gracious host or his gracious host's roommate.

Instead of answering Arm's question of where his shirt was, Arc answered by figuring out which bed was Arm's and lounging across that bed like a slutty self-satisfied cat.

After Arm accidentally fell onto Arc and tried to pull-away, Arc pulled him closer to him in a generally romantic way.

Then, Arc flips them over so Arm is on his back and leans in real close while confessing he doesn't want to mess with anyone else.

Arc appears to sniff Arm again.

Finally, Arc watched Arm walk away with his eyes firmly on his ass (you cannot convince me Arc was not staring at Arm's ass).

I need to remind everyone this is only episode one.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Got dragged into the My Hero Academia rabbit hole cus Deku is a metaphor for kids with a disabilities/neurodivergence.

Imma say this, I know the exploding guy becomes cool later on (love me a bully-to-friend arc), but my ass would have been throwing chairs at the mf if he said that kinda shit to me. (I've done it before)

I'm honestly surprised Deku ain't more spicy. Putting up with bullies with superpowers + uncaring school staff leaves some opportunities for petty revenge/punk behavior. Bakuguo canonically can't explode if he's in contact with cold water (no sweat = no flammable nitroglycerin) - I wanna see little Deku research his bullies' quirks and spray Baka-guos ass with ice water whenever he acting rude.

Also tf's up with the Quirkless people having an extra pinky toe joint thing?

"Humans have no need for parts they dont use"-my wisdom teeth >:( Remember when people thought tonsils were "useless" then it turned it they're an important line of defence in your immune system? That toe joint could be a new cool bipedal mutation.

Does this imply people with inherent genetic issues (i.e neurodivergence, physical disorders, deformities caused in-utero, mutations before they turn 4 etc...) are all quirkless? Or is there an underwater hero out there with asthma? A stretch-armstrong with EDS?

I have many thoughts...

[70yearsofwinter]

@wavellites for Claire Temple.

ㅤThere was apparently something seriously wrong with New York City for the number of superpowered and/or masked individuals it supported and somehow still had shit going on that had the handlers for Bucky's conditional employment telling him to deal with messes right there in the city. He wasn't complaining because it worked in his favor to stay local, but sometimes he wondered what the hell had happened over the years. His job that evening was to get a tracker onto a thief, or better yet, capture the bastard so that they could question him, but the tracker would lead them back to wherever he went after he disappeared each time.

ㅤEasy enough, he figured. Placing the tracker required engaging at an opportune moment and Bucky was not excited about a visual on a figure in partial armor that looked like it was taking stylistic inspiration from both Doom and Stark, particularly in the mask and chest. He picked what he hoped was his best chance to drop from the sky (or more accurately, from above the roof access doorway) onto him and set the tracker immediately so that the priority mission was completed, which was a good thing because that was where everything stopped going according to plan. Bucky was not light, even for his size, and it wasn't usual for him to land on someone and not take them down instantly; some might get up, but the initial impact floored the majority of opponents. This guy not only didn't drop, but grabbed him by the throat in an armored metal hand, snatched Bucky's own knife from his belt and might have stabbed him in the chest with it instead of plunging it into his leg if Bucky hadn't unloaded four rounds into the other's abdomen. He wasn't sure if any of them penetrated the armor, but they didn't ricochet back at him and the guy staggered backward, so he'd take the win when he could breathe again.

ㅤThe two of them seemed to be re-evaluating each other in the seconds after, and Bucky thought one or more bullets may have hit their mark when the target took off for the edge of the roof instead of trying for a second round. Was it his smartest move to follow? Probably not, but fleeing usually meant that his opponent felt outmatched and even with a knife in his thigh, that was a good sign. He'd been in worse pain, it hadn't hit anything too serious, so he'd make it. He darted after, throwing his arm up to protect his face and turning his body when a spray of bullets took him entirely in his left side with the sharp ping of metal on metal and the even sharper pain of impact, but then he was at the edge of the roof and he could see the other stagger on landing. There were some kind of thrusters in those boots, but Bucky could make the jump without the tech and even bleeding, he seemed to be in better shape. The thief hadn't recovered enough to make it more than a few feet before stopping, and Bucky made the leap.

ㅤHe was a few feet from landing when the armored menace turned and fired again, and this time it wasn't a semi-auto or anything normal. Bucky would have even taken a grenade being launched at him instead of the arc of electricity that instantly connected with his arm like it was a lightning rod, shooting through the prosthesis and the rest of the metal beneath his skin like it really needed all of that spread to cause maximum agony. He screamed, the thief cut the charge and bolted, and he absolutely missed his landing. He almost caught the fire escape instead, barely aware and working entirely on instinct, but his left arm wasn't responding and he hit it hard. The next one he tried to catch right-handed, but his grip wasn't certain and slipped free.

ㅤHe'd fallen further and survived, but the combination of the shock to his system and everything that came before the fall did not help. Somehow, he missed the dumpster on impact, for better or worse, but whatever disoriented attempt he made to get up immediately after didn't last. When he tried pushing himself up one-handed, he lost his balance immediately and didn't get up again.

[codenamesazanka]

the thing is. Spinner rallied 15,000 people to come and riot/help him retrieve Kurogiri with a speech - the one about how he was sprayed with pesticides and if Heroes win, nothing will ever change.

Skeptic handed him a mic and AFO had been pushing him towards this angle, but Spinner had spoke his true feelings - grudges and payback, what got Spinner chasing after Stain and the League in the first place - and people emphasized with that, was sympathetic towards what he had said, and then all those people showed up.

Now you can disagree with the content of his speech. But it was still convincing - the text tells us it was convincing. It persuaded 15,000 well-meaning ordinary citizens. What he said genuinely touched a cord. Horikoshi refused to show us the entire speech because it would've been too convincing.

If Spinner hadn't been losing his mind, I think he very well could've countered what Shoji said. A lot of the stuff he did managed to say can answer much of those questions.

Why target a hospital/does Spinner have a plan? "They locked up Kurogiri, but we're taking him back." (Chapter 353). (And despite what a lot of people still think, Spinner did not run over the doctors. He had enough sense of mind to go down the separate hallway that leads to the research wing.)

Is he thinking of how to make use of his rage? Yes, "in order to destroy the status quo, to demolish the system that oppressed us." (Chapter 353) "If Heroes win, nothing will ever change." (Chapter 372)

What is he choosing to protect? "Shigaraki and the others." (Chapter 373) "For Shigaraki's sake. For our sake." (Chapter 353)

Spinner wouldn't have countered it well, in the sense that he could've said anything that would've changed Shoji's or Heroes' mind, or come to a peaceful compromise - his foundation is still resentment and destruction (but can you blame the guy? hero saturated society and there are still hate crimes against children), and he's more worried about Shigaraki at the moment - but I think he definitely could've given Shoji a challenge.

(At the core of the mini-arc, no one has a good answer to heteromorph discrimination. Spinner is siding with total destruction; PLF guy advocates heteromorph supremacy; and what Shoji offers is more a survival tactic - behave properly so people can't find an excuse to hurt them. None of those are going to get shelters to open up for Ordinary Woman. The closest we got was the thing that got the rando Hero to apologize to PLF guy - 'Sorry I didn't realize earlier' - the act of showing up and being angry. Dragging the issue out into the open. Force Heroes to pay attention. Can't avoid it anymore. But the riot itself was portrayed as villainous and misguided, so. idk. Heteromorphs should've started a change.org petition I guess.)

[spraystory]

A következő történetet apák napja alkalmából írom le. Nem csak hogy egészen rövid és a graffiti-festéshez sincs sok köze de talán a legemberibb, legmélyebb érzelmekkel bíró, legmeghatóbb apró mozzanat volt egész 20-25 éves graffitis éveim alatt amit sohasem fogok elfelejteni. A graffitis barátságok általában amolyan érdek-barátságok voltak, a szó nem rossz értelmében. A writerek a közös cél érdekében verődtek össze és ez a FAME volt. Közös fújás, közös bandázás, később az “érdek”barátságokból pedig sok alkalommal valódi barátságok születtek. Nem baj ha valaki nem olyan arc akivel amúgy bármikor együtt lógsz, ha a festésben tökös és megbízható, akár évekig megbízható partnered lehet és ez sokszor derék barátságokat szül. A mienk ekkor már nem ilyen felületes volt, a sok közös kaland összekovácsolt bennünket. Ha jól emlékszem 2008-ban történt. Akkoriban a 2. kerületben a Horvát utcában laktam, megosztva a lakást akkor éppen Teek -el. Borús, szürke, hideg novemberi nap volt, egyedül voltam otthon. Ebben az időben már régen nem voltam annyira aktív mint néhány évvel azelőtt de Raskával (Tish 76-PNC/TKS) és Stick-el még mindig, ha nem is mindennapi de viszonylag szoros kapcsolatban voltunk. Korábban írtam már, mennyi éven át mennyi kalandunk volt együtt. Raska a csoporttársam volt a BHG-ben és korábban a GRW-ben ( ez utóbbit eddigre már nem írta a cuccai mellé de azért a közös gyökerek még ott voltak ). Stick-el pedig írnom sem kell mennyi közös élményünk volt, együtt voltunk Varsóban és megszámolhatatlan alkalommal volt kedves mindannyiunkat fuvarozni, tekintve hogy szinte csak neki volt autója - System apjának néhai 120-as Skodáját leszámítva. Korábban Raskával és Stick-el hármasban számtalan alkalommal voltunk pl Vácon, Vácrátóton vagy Szobon vonatot festeni, de máshol is , egyszóval az ő felbukkanásuk sohasem volt idegen nekem, mindig természetes volt. Mi évek óta valóban igen jóban voltunk de azért csak-csak a graffiti kötött össze. Ezúttal azonban, otthon egymagamban ültömben nem számítottam vendégekre, mikor a kapucsengő megszólalt. A kagylót felvéve, Stick szólt bele valami olyasmit:

Raskával itt állunk, beengedsz vagy milesz? Feljöttek, mondom az ajtóban : Hát ti? Mivan? Hogy kerültök ide? Egyáltalán nem szomorúan de csendben, szótlanul jöttek be. Pontosan emlékszem mennyire nem értettem a helyzetet. Mire valamelyikük, szerintem Stick volt -  elővett pár sört és ezt mondta:

Halottak napja van haver. És akkor esett le miért jöttek. Ekkorra már mind a hárman édesapa nélküli fiatalemberek voltunk és mindhármunknak egészen friss volt a gyásza de erről egyébként sosem beszéltünk. Ellentétben velem, ők nem feledkeztek meg erről és megleptek azzal hogy meglátogattak és nem is azért hogy szomorkodjunk hanem mert tényleg sorstársak voltunk. Sohasem voltunk túl lelkizős arcok. Nem hangzott el egyetlen szomorú szó, semmi lelkizés, semmi depresszió, mégis mélységesen megható pillanat volt. Iszogattunk, dumáltunk, magazinokat nézegettünk vagy ahogyan Raska annak idején nevezte : graffiti-politizáltunk. Együtt voltunk. Nem is voltunk a legcsúcsabb legjobb barik mégis ez a cselekedet túlmutat mindenféle graffitis érdekbarátságon és sok “legjobb-barátságon” egy ilyen apró figyelmesség 20-25 év legmeghatóbb pillanata lett. Édesapáink emlékére.

kép: "Lineon" saját festményem Stick fotója után, 3 x 20x15cm vászon, spray, ecsetek

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

14. ILL FUCKING KILL YOU

HATCHET

14/16

6.3k words

tw for creepypasta typical violence

The knob jiggles a little, then stops. There's a brief moment of silence. One between heartbeats, between suspenseful held breaths. Toby's listening. But it's so very hard to hear over the static in his head. It's the loudest it's been in awhile now. His grip tightens more at the handles of the hatchets as he moves his body, slowly, to block most of the door. He won't be able to stop that door from opening. But he can be waiting for whomever, or whatever, might be opening it.

        It? Opening a door? Not really...His style. He just appears. So it's not Him. Which means it's-

        The slightest of exhales leaves you. The door flies open suddenly, like the thing on the other side has been listening for the perfect opportunity to strike. It's only mistake is that it has mistaken your exhale for Toby's. At the door, Toby hasn't even let out a single breath. He's still tight. Ready for what's coming.

        And what comes is a man in a white mask. 

        He moves fast, almost impossibly fast, inhumanly fast. Gifted abilities by a God you don't know nor understand. Toby raises a hatchet. The man suddenly juts out an elbow, launching himself hard into Toby's exposed stomach. Rookie move. Toby realizes that as he stumbles back, caught off balance and air forced out of him. It's been too long since he's had a proper hunt, too long since he's had to fight for a kill, and even longer since he's had to fight for his own life. Much less another person's. The urgency of the situation weighs heavy on him. Even stumbling back, he takes the chance of hurling one of the hatchets. It simply grazes over the masked man's head. A few inches down and it would have hit him dead on, for sure. 

        Before you know it, the masked man is on top of you, knife flashing in hand. You'd been so taken aback by his appearance that you hadn't even noticed he was armed as well. You hit the ground, his weight on you. Originally, you thought he might have been leaner and lighter with how fast he was moving. As the masked man goes to stab down, your hand shoots up to grab his forearm, halting the downward arc of his arm by extension. You struggle against him, gasping out desperately as adrenaline finally flushes through your system. He's strong. Much stronger and heavier than you'd thought. His muscle is something proper and trained--so different from the leaner muscle lining Toby. The masked man's free hand suddenly goes to grip over your throat. He starts squeezing. Your grip on his forearm falters. And Toby goes flying into him, in one of the meanest tackles you'd ever seen (through spinning, flashing vision of course). 

        You gasp out for much needed air, scooting back from the fray, as Toby and the masked man wrestle. Toby's on top, which gives you hope, as you back up more, throwing an arm over the bed to bring yourself to your feet on shaking legs. Toby managed to get a hit in, with the hatchet left in his hand. He slashes deep and hard, the blood spraying across his face. In the struggle, the masked man's fingers grasp at Toby's gaiter, yanking it down to reveal his torn, scarred face. His teeth are grit--you can see that beyond his partially gone lips on the side of his face showing to you. Your heart's beating so hard in your chest, the blood's pounding so heavy in your ear, you can't hear them screaming at each other. The masked man grabs a handful of Toby's hair, in vain, as he rains down a hell of a beating. Toby's mouth is moving and his words, his curses, none of them register. The struggle is loud--the masked man managed to roll Toby under him. Not good. 

        You step forward to intervene, to help, to do fucking anything at all.

        But then the hairs on the back of your neck raise.         

        Something in the back of your mind tells you to look up. So you tear your eyes away from the struggling, snarling men on the ground. Had you not looked up exactly then, you would have completely failed to notice the second man slinking into the room, coming from the direction of the bathroom. You'd...you'd forgotten there was a window in there. But shouldn't it have been locked? Or jammed? You'd never been able to get the damn thing open yourself. 

        "Two, Toby!" You finally manage to yell, fighting through the fear paralysis, voice shrill. "TOBY, THERE'S TWO!"

        Toby looks up momentarily and back to get a look at the man in the hood. This one, he's different from the one in the white mask. The one in the mask--he's a brute. He makes that abundantly clear as he smashes Toby upside the jaw and face, taking advantage of his momentarily lapse in focus. Blood spurts from Toby's nose. The back of his head hits the ground hard as he howls out--from the shock of the impact, not the pain. But the man in the hood barely makes a sound. He moves slow, taking all of his sweet time in the world. The little red eyes, painted lopsidedly on the black mask pulled over his face, "lock" onto yours. His head cocks lightly to the side. Not like he's sizing you up. Like he's listening for something-- no, to something, that you can't quite hear. 

        "Hatchet!" Toby shouts out an order, hand over his nose, trying to stop the bleeding as he grips onto the masked man's wrist, keeping the knife from coming down on top of him. He jets knee up into the man's gut, earning a satisfying wheeze as the air gets knocked out of him. 

        Toby wants you to grab his hatchet, fallen down near the wall that it hit instead of the masked man's head. You're terrified of moving as the man in the hood 'stares' you down. There's nothing in his hands. But you think there might be something in his jacket pocket. Toby lets out a frustrated sigh, sending up a silent prayer to a god that long abandoned him. Then, tosses the remaining hatchet in his hand over to you. It slides over the floor, coming to a skittering stop just over your foot. 

        Pro: both of his hands are now free to fight.

        Con: he is now down both hatchets and you won't fucking move.

        "(Y/N)!" Toby growls out, managing to get the upper hand and flip the masked man over once again so he could straddle him. "PICK UP T-THE FUCKING HA-HATCHET!"

        His screams snap you out of whatever daze you'd suffered. You duck down to grab it. Any sort of calmness or slowness that once followed the man in the hood vanishes in that moment. His hand shifts into his jacket pocket as he charges you. You'd only been able to see a flash of metal as you'd stood back up, hatchet handle gripped hard in your shaking hand. The hooded man's arm suddenly wraps around your abdomen, his hand flattens out against your back. He jerks you up into him and you feel the concealed blade in his hand sink into you. He pushes harder. You scream out. He's creepy, you note through an adrenaline haze, protecting you in the mean time from the true amount of pain. His head wasn't tilted down to keep track of his knife. It was facing forward. So he could continue looking right at you as the knife sunk in deeper. 

        Toby saw it. It was the last train of events clear in his mind, before everything honestly and truly turned red. Toby grabs the masked man's wrist, smashing down onto the ground. He takes a tighter hold of his hand, starting to twist it into a slow, unnatural position. The masked man doesn't make any sound except a soft exhale, muffled and made hollow by the mask. But the knife releases from his hand, fingers unable to keep a grip any longer through the pain. 

        Meanwhile, you manage to get the handle of the hatchet between your body and the hooded man's. With a desperate gasp, you push it up against his chest trying to get him off of you. His gloved fingers grab hold of your shirt and grip in an attempt to hold his desired position. 

        It's almost a natural feeling to have his hands wrapped around a throat, Toby notes, squeezing harder and harder at the masked man's neck. He won't stop. Not until he hears the crack of bone. Something to signal that this fucker's dead. He has to help you. That other fucking freak is gonna kill you and there's NOTHING he can do about it. The thought only drives Toby deeper into a monstrous rage. Knife abandoned and forgotten, the man in the mask's twitching fingers are scratching at Toby's forearm. Toby only tightens his grip, light gone from his dark eyes. He doesn't care anymore. As long as this fucking animal stops moving. 

        As the clawing weakens, Toby suddenly releases his grip to smash his elbow into the center of the masked man's face, down on where his nose would have been. There's a horrific crack that even you can hear over the pounding of blood and static in your ears. The hooded man pays no mind, but starts to back you up, until the back of your legs hit the bed and you fall back. It's like you're losing control of your body. You can't feel the pain, but you can't feel much else either. You can feel the weight of the hooded man on top of you.

        You wish Toby would kick his ass. 

        The arm underneath you slides out to grab one of the pillows. Great. He's gonna suffocate you dying grandma in the hospital style? 

        Toby allocates a crucial second of his time to delivering a nasty, petty kick to the body of the unconscious man. 

        "Y-you f-fucking FUCK!" he spits out.

        Then his head turns, and the fading red clouding his vision becomes vibrant once more. Any exhaustion is suddenly banished from his body and mind. With the hooded man's knife currently in your gut, he's technically unarmed. Toby could rush him right now. But if he fucks this up you're dead. One good shot. Better make it count. He turns to retrieve his hatchet near the door. 

        Weakly, you try to fight back against the man in the hoodie, hatchet handle still horizontal between him and you. If you weren't nose to nose with a crude drawing of a red frowny face, you would have thought he looked entertained. Either way, he seems to have changed his mind, like he's come up with a better idea. His fingers release the pillowcase. His other hand leaves the handle of the knife. It's stuck in deep enough to stay on its own. Slowly, his gloved fingers wrap around the hatchet handle as well, hands placed close to the outside of your own. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the gloves.

        He's human. 

        Human yet doing this to you. 

        At one point, you'd been pushing up against the handle to keep him back, from pushing the blade in any further. Now, you were pushing back against him. The solid wood lowers more and more, and you realize he's planning on pinning it down to your throat and suffocating the life out of you. Originally, you'd presumed the hooded guy wasn't reactive at all to the masked man. Like they just happened to be two strangers in the same place at the same time with the same (?) goal in mind. After all, he hadn't abandoned you to go help his little partner, right? No...you got it all wrong. He was pissed. You can tell by the enraged tremble of his hands. And he was going to do to you what Toby had done to the masked man. Only he wasn't aiming for suffocation until unconsciousness like Toby (was Toby actually aiming for that at all? That's a conversation for a different time). He was aiming to kill. 

        You choke out. The man is stronger than you. His build is deceiving. The handle's starting to crush down onto your throat. You arms begin to shake as the adrenaline starts to drain. Along with too much blood for your comfort from the wound in your abdomen. You scream out for Toby. Across the room, he sees the knife jammed in you. White hot rage fills Toby. Any sort of static messing with his thoughts and fogging his brain are long gone, chased out by fury. 

        He still can't think straight.

        But that doesn't matter. Not one bit. He's never had to think straight to kill anyways. 

        "Get the f-fuck off her!" Toby shouts, tackling the hooded man off you. You hear a thunk as the two of them hit the headboard. 

        You manage to crawl away, rolling off the end of the bed and to the ground, coughing as you tried to regain your breath. The sound of wood connecting with a head sounds out. There's no pattern to it. It's just a good old fashioned beating. You prop an arm up on top of the bed to try and raise yourself to your feet. You look up, almost hating yourself for being relieved that it's not Toby's blood being spattered onto the cheap, wooden motel headboard. Toby gives the man a shake, finger gripped tight on the hood.

        "Follow us, and I-l'll fu-fucking kill you. I mean it, man." 

        Does he know this guy?

        Toby smacks the back of the hooded man's head against the wood one last time, hard. He lets go and the man slumps a little. With his face hidden, it's impossible to tell whether he's actually knocked out or faking. He's not moving, he's limp. That's good enough for Toby. Quickly, he scrambles off the bed, hatchet in hand. He loops an arm underneath yours to lift your up properly. 

        "COME ON, C-COME ON. WE HAVE TO LEAVE! NOW!" he shouts at you, running for the busted open door. He ducks down quickly to grab his other hatchet, securing it back at his side. He breathes a silent sigh of relief through torn lips. Quickly, he yanks his black mask back over his nose and mouth. The new bruises and cuts on his face are starting to ache. 

        You're still standing there, completely in shock. Looking back, you were grateful that you'd been that way. The pain had been much number then. Toby shakes his head exasperatedly (or it might have been a tic) and runs over to grab you, an arm over your back to guide you out of the mess of a motel room. Not a single thought crosses your mind. The cracked sidewalk blurs grey as Toby rushes you far, far away from that place. Grey melds to brown and green, spurts of grass and dead leaves here and there, crunching underfoot. Instead of run down, small town buildings passing by, when you look up you can only see trees.

        The panic starts to set in. Slow and steady. Toby starts to lessen the briskness of his pace. He doesn't push as hard or frantically on your back to keep your moving anymore. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears. You'd been almost ducked into his chest, like he was trying to protect you from something you couldn't see while running. He breathes out another heavy sigh. You're both far from the motel and the outskirts of town now. Away from the two lunatics left unconscious and bleeding. 

        The forest is lit so eerily with full moonlight. Everything is washed in blue. It puts every hair on end. Like it's something you shouldn't be seeing. 

        Toby settles you near a large pine tree. He moves your clasped, bloodied hands away from your abdomen. You'd been holding them there like second nature, forgetting you were even doing it. The pressure had numbed the pain further during your shock. But now you're coming to, starting to feel again, feel everything. Any adrenaline once aiding you is long gone now. You bite the inside of your cheek, brows drawing together slightly. 

        "Thank God you didn't take the knife out..." he mutters.

        It'd been there the whole run? You hadn't even noticed. You'd just heard once somewhere that you should put pressure on a wound, failing to realize the small pocket knife handle was also nestled conveniently between your fingers. The blade is still deep in you. Your breathing starts to quicken. Toby puts his cold fury aside for a moment. It doesn't matter that he should have tried harder to protect you or that he was a failure or that this was all his fault stupid stupid fucking stupid fucking idiot how could you have let-

        "A little more. It's too open here. We need a wall behind our backs."

        Beyond a few more trees there's a very decrepit bridge. Made of cracked, aged stone--you imagine no one has used it in years. Beneath it there's a small indent in the ground where rainwater runs off. It's dry now. You wished it wasn't. A trickling stream could have been nice to break through this God awful silence. Toby ducks you under the bridge quickly. You start to sink down, back dragging against the stone as your breathing becomes more labored. You've been trying to keep the amount of pain you're in to yourself, not wanting to make the situation worse.

        It isn't working. Your head's starting to spin. 

        "W-We don't have time," he mutters again, kneeling down to be level with you. It's scary to see him so serious. His fingers clench at his face guard now that he's out of the biting night wind. He pulls it down. He's been doing that more often around you now. His other hand goes to touch along your side.

        "Y-you don't have to--FUCK!" you cry out, head slamming back up against the inner arc of the bridge. He'd managed to find the handle of the knife. Blood is soaking through your shirt at a much quicker rate now that you're not holding your hands at the wound for dear life (literally). 

        Toby frowns. He doesn't look too happy about having to do this either. You see him chew a little at the already irritated flesh lining his mouth.

        "J-just be brave. For me. O-okay? It'll hurt, I th-think." 

        Of course he wouldn't know what getting stabbed feels like he can't fucking feel. Is that a bit of morbid jealousy creeping into him? Later maybe he'll ask you what it feels like. Toby takes the edge of one of his hatchets, tearing at the hem of your shirt so he can lift it off without jerking the knife up and out when he wasn't ready to focus on removing it. He never imagined he'd feel so upset while doing something like tearing clothes off of you. He'd imagine something like this under much, much different circumstances once or twice during his lonely wanderings. Leave it to harsh reality to ruin things for him again. The chill of the night air stings at your skin. Sharply, you inhale. You try not to make any noise.

        If either of those two masked whackjobs are searching for you still, you don't want to be the reason they find out where you and Toby are. You have a feeling that just like Toby did, those two came from the woods too. It's where they'd no doubt head back to once they came to and realized you and Toby were gone. 

        Toby's other hand suddenly lowers to hold one of yours. It's rough, covered with scars and callouses. Usually you'd pull your hand away, tell him it's gross because your blood's all sticky over your palms and also he scares you still. But you're terrified. And it seems like he wants to hold it more for his comfort than yours. He gives you a tight squeeze for a moment, letting you know he was getting ready. For a moment, he looks up at you through thick dark eyelashes. You give just the slightest of nods, giving him the reluctant go ahead. His hand leaves yours.

        He needs both now.

        You feel nervous under his hack job excuse for medical care. But you want so badly to survive that you know you have to let him proceed. No matter how excruciatingly painful it was for the blade of the knife to tear out. It's ridged and hooked and it rips at you--it's an evil, nasty piece of work that no hunter would ever use in good faith. A blade like that isn't used for survival it's used to kill and maim as viciously as possible. Nothing more. At least Toby's hatchets were good for something other than slaughter. 

        As soon as that awful knife is out, Toby quickly applies pressure with one hand. He reaches up to fidget with the back of his black gaiter. You figure, through your blurry vision, that he's going to try to use it to wrap the wound. At first, you think it might be too small, but the fabric extends far beneath his sweater. It'd been that long the whole time? Almost like it wasn't actually the correct size for him. Huh. It was someone else's. Why are you not surprised in the slightest considering his kleptomania habit?

         Toby knows it's not the cleanest but there's not much he can do for now and it'll stretch enough to reach around your abdomen completely. The stretch will let it apply a bit of pressure too even when his hand is gone. To the best of his ability he pulls the fabric around you. He really needs to start carrying around some first aid or gauze or some shit and that obnoxiously huge jacket... There's enough fabric to knot it. As quickly as he'd tied it, it starts to come loose. He feels panic creep in.

        "Toby," you whimper out, your own shaking hand going to desperately clasp the stretched gaiter to the gash as it falls fully limp off of you.

        Toby curses, quietly, looking more and more frustrated. He curses himself, his poor judgement, fucking everything. Come on think. THINK.

        She'll bleed out if you don't fucking THINK.          

        Your hand goes to press suddenly on his shoulder as you take shaky, uneven breaths. You don't want to panic in front of him. It's so clear that he's already freaking out too. His dark eyes dart from the trees back to you. The softest whimper of pain comes from the back of your throat, muffled through a clenched jaw. 

        "F-fuck, hold on." 

        He shrugs off his jacket. His sweater hasn't taken too much damage from the beatdown in the motel. Without a second of hesitation, he edges the hatchet blade underneath a long section and slices. The fabric catches and frays as he brings the hatchet down, then up once more to slice out the other side. He tears the longer section of his shirt off. It's dimly lit under the bridge and you're having a hard time seeing anything at all. But you catch a glimpse of more scars lining his abdomen. He moves your hand away, letting the gaiter drop to the ground. The longer strip of fabric ripped off of his sweater worked a lot better. It was tightly snug, rather than practically digging into your sides. Toby triple knotted the stretch of fabric, sitting back for a moment on his heels to look over his work once more. He gives a slight nod before pulling whats left of the tattered hem of your shirt back down. 

        It still hurts like a fucking bitch. A soft wheeze comes from you as you sit up properly. The wrap stays secure around you. Toby picks up his jacket and slides it back one, pulling at the thick fur lining the collar to adjust it properly. He cracks his neck to the side.

        "It's gonna get infected," you mutter before looking up at him.

        Toby just shook his head. His shoulder jerks a little. "We don't have time t-to wa-wash it or-or worry. We have t-to go. Now. We're no-not far away enough." He goes to grab under your arms, lifting you up again to your feet to emphasize his point. Almost instantly, you sink back up against the wall. But you don't go down, to his relief.

        "It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad, Toby," you hiss out, ignoring the stinging hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

        For a few moments, he lets you stay there and double over in pain. He wishes that he could lend his curse to you--his curse of not feeling. Although he hates seeing you in pain, he wished he could let you stay like that. What a cruel divine punishment, to see people you love hurt and suffer and not being able to feel any of it for yourself. He wants so badly to let you vent all your fear and rage and pain. It's not good to force stuff like that back down.

        He should know. 

        But the clock is still ticking. Tears don't ever stop that clock. 

        "I know, I-I know. L-Look, we gotta mo-move. We can g-go slow. But we haa-have to keep moving, do you under-understand me, (Y/N)?" 

        You take a moment, shakily inhaling before wiping at your face and nodding. You'd gone that far with the knife sticking into you. Just a little longer, that's all he's asking for right? Just a little more endurance. 

        "Okay... Okay." You bite the inside of your cheek before nodding once more, even more vigorously. Don't give yourself the chance to second guess yourself. "Okay, let's go," you finally breathe out, standing up straighter. A hand still automatically clenches at your abdomen. The added pressure eases the pain just a little bit. 

        He smiles. It's a tired, scarred, gruesome smile, something that would give kids nightmares, but a smile all the same. 

        "Atta girl, ch-chin up." Toby wanted badly to add something stupid in an attempt to cheer you up but he can read the room (forest?) for once well enough to know now is not the time. 

        At first, as you begin walking with him again, you keep a few inches apart. You don't want his help right now. But the quiet is deafening and your vision is starting to get blurry again. Now that the primary issue is somewhat dealt with, your brain now has time to process every little other thing. Everything hurts. The bruises start to ache, the smaller cuts sting with the night air. There's sharp pains echoing throughout your body from numerous blows and awkward angles. Although you've barely begun to walk with him, your muscles are screaming with soreness. Especially your shoulders. Probably from trying to push back against the freakazoid that had been on top of you.

        You look over at Toby--something you'd been trying to avoid. Without his gaiter on and the cover of the bridge, you can see most of the extent of his injuries. It was a lot worse than you thought. His bruises are still an angry, loud shade of red. His nose looks a little crooked--more than usual, it's probably broken. A dried stream of blood has made its home under his nostrils and over his upper lip. A bit of its on his chin too, streaked out from when he'd wiped it earlier on his sleeve. What's left of his upper lip is busted open pretty bad. His eye closest to you is half shut, swollen a bit, and you're not sure if he even notices it. A lot of the small cuts and slashes are concentrated near the bridge of his nose and brow bone. The masked man had gone straight for his eyes. How chilling. His eyebrows were already pretty fucked up even before the fight. You doubt all the new slashes where the hair won't grow back will make much of a difference to his appearance. 

        What a sight he is. 

        Toby sniffs a bit awkwardly and wipes his nose on the back of his hand again. He checks for a blood streak and is grateful to find nothing. His knuckles are dark with more bruising. But he doesn't care about that. No internal bleeding, he hopes since the blood's stopped running from his nose and mouth. He's not much of a medical professional so he knows he could be completely wrong. What the hell's he supposed to do about that though, right? He tucks his hand in his jacket pockets, feeling the pressure of the wind. Last thing he needs is to lose his fingers to frostbite or something like that. 

        Wooziness starts to set in for you soon. Toby sees you miss a few steps and stumble a little, struggle made louder by the dead leaves crunching beneath your shoes. When you sway, Toby lunges to grab your arm and pull you back upright. You wince and he immediately takes his hand off you. It makes his blood boil when he realizes you're probably as badly beaten up as he is. The gash had taken up so much of his time and worries that he was only now seeing your own bruises.

        He's gonna make that hooded fuck pay for that. He's already planning every little torturous thing he's gonna do to him. Maybe he can cut off his fingers one by one with the hatchet. Stuff them down his fucking throat. Choke him while the fingers are still in his larynx. Split his head in fucking two. Maybe three. Four. Just keep chopping until that fucking skull of his is nothing but fragments. Throw the body in a river somewhere so the fish can have a nice snack. Fish gotta eat too-

        "I can't. I can't-" you manage, shaking your head in defeat. You've stumbled again, this time coming to a stop as you slouch once more. Toby's arm wraps over your back again to try and push you ahead. 

        "Just a little further," he begs you, "ju-just a litt-little further." 

        That's not true at all. The cabin he called his own was a few days walk away. He knows because he kept track when he'd first left to find you. He'd been searching for awhile of course, but the walk directly to the town he had located you in was a few days. If he had a watch he'd have remembered the hours, minutes, and seconds. Going at a normal pace, not his rushed, crazed one, it would take longer. And there was no possible way you could make that now. Not unless he was carrying or dragging you--in which case he'd get slowed down too fuck. That fucking stab wound...that was definitely 1000% his fault. FUCK. He should have never gone after you. He should have never listened to the voice. He's beginning to slowly connect the dots, all of which point to the idea that being sent to hunt you down was all a trap this whole time. Laid out by that. By that thing in the woods. What does it even want with you? And why do you keep getting hurt every time he's around???

        Toby would be yanking his hair out by fistfuls if he wasn't too concentrated on keep you upright and moving, despite your pained protests. 

        Should he tell you about it? About that thing he sees in the tree line? It's not watching now, but it was when you were under the bridge with him. Maybe not now. Later. He will tell you. No more lying. No more leaving you in the dark. He was gonna be a new, honest man for you so they'd stop hurting you. 

        "Where are we going anyways?" you mumble out, words slurring. 

        His hand hadn't left your back. It slides further over your farthest shoulder to bring you closer into his side. He kept you close as he started to rush you quicker through the woods. In some desperate hope that doing so would suddenly make the cabin appear out of the blue, where you could go behind a thick wood door and be safe within the walls. Out of the wind and night and away from His little lackeys. 

        "R-Remember how I to-told you I ha-had that cabin?" Toby murmurs to you.

        "Figured you burned it down during your...little thing." 

        Man, you're still that pissed about your house?? Toby thinks, taken aback.

        How is it that you can be literally jumped in your own motel room with him, get practically choked and beaten to death, drag your ass out into the forest, have amateur first aid treatment and still find the energy to be mad at him about your stupid fucking house? He can't recall if you were ever this spiteful when he first met you. He'd like to be frustrated with you for the snide little comment, but reminds himself of how exhausted and in agony you are. He wisely chooses not to respond, figuring that you're just gonna keep picking for a fight. You have every right to. 

        Plus the comment was kinda funny.

        Toby's had you walking for a few hours now. It's incredible you mad it even one. What insane tenacity you have...but you are slowing down. You have to start taking increasingly more frequent breaks, leaning up against a tree to try and catch your breath now and then. Toby's general aura of anxiety and panic isn't helping. Your fingers are starting to tremble and your legs visibly quake with the effort of moving and holding the rest of your body up. It's more than the pain and exhaustion, too. He can still feel the pushing of wind on his face, moving his hair. But for you, you must actually feel the cold. 

        Toby knows he needs to worry about his own body temperature as well. He can't regulate it at all, not like other people can. A result of his divine curse, the gift of not feeling. It's a dangerous gift, which he grew up being taught over and over and over again. The words of his father's and mother's instructions echo often in his head. All the cautionary warnings and tales of kids with his condition freezing to death or overheating without even realizing what's happening...

        Regardless, he makes a stupid decision. He stops walking, bringing you to stand before him. He gives you his jacket--bundles you up in it, really. His hands were at your forearms, gripping tightly and giving another squeeze (that he hoped was comforting). You look up at him, exhausted and drained. The gesture is kind though. Toby slings one of your arms over his shoulder so he can support you as you walk. He hunches over slightly to not make the position too awkward for you. Thanks to that, you're able to walk, taking some of the weight periodically off of either foot. You're not fully sure how he's still standing either. He'd taken a worse beating than you. 

        Toby doesn't want your body temperature to drop, bringing you even closer to him. He can't feel the chill of the night himself, but he knows by the way that you shake that it's there and merciless. Why is it so fucking cold tonight? Is it actually cold? Or are you just weakening? He doesn't want to make you panic or waste energy by asking. All he can do is assume. He still feels the pressure of the harsh wind biting at his face. It's an unfamiliar feeling to him--usually he pulls up his mask to combat any weather. Toby's hand reaches instinctively to pull up the black gaiter that isn't there anymore. 

        You can't seem to get your breath back no matter what, so he figures there's no point to letting you take breaks anymore. You no longer speak.

        He wishes he could feel the warmth of your body as he practically drags you alongside him through the forest. 

        Hopefully you feel his. 

        The pressure of you against him, enough to remind him that you're still there--that's good enough. 

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

Zerachiel - STURM UND DRANG

Neu-Brückenstadt

Helios

0137 hours, 11/10/3153 (October 11, 3153)

200 km from SLDF Forward Edge of Battle Area

The cobblestone streets of Neu-Brückenstadt were slick with rain, the ancient town’s half-timbered buildings glistening under the pale light of Helios’ twin moons. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning myomer and the distant rumble of artillery. The town, a relic of the Star League’s colonial ambitions, had become a battleground once more. The Jameson-loyalist ROM militia, fanatical and desperate, had dug in around the town’s central plaza, their salvaged ‘Mechs and infantry positions forming a ragged but determined defensive line.

At the edge of the town, Zerachiel stood like a colossus, their marble-and-gold ferro-fibrous skin gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Their fusion star heart hummed softly, a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate through the very ground. Zerachiel’s voice, calm and measured, crackled over the comms. Their skin was scarred, melted, and pocked with the evidence of a fight that had gone on far too long for their liking.

Where is the Maneater when we need them? thought Zerachiel. With them - with the one of them who yet lives - we could end all of this, and quickly...

Their train of thought was disrupted as a heavy machine gun position sprayed it's metal barbs in their direction - ineffective at this distance, but enough to get Zerachiel's attention. They replied with the plasma rifle buried in their chest, and another of the town's historic buildings went up in flames.

Damn you, Hershel... damn you to Hell. I will see you hang for this.

“Greta, take the eastern flank. Rusty, the western. We end this quickly. For Blake’s true vision.”

“Understood. Moving to engage.”

“On it, buddy. Let’s show these zealots what happens when they cross the line.”

Zerachiel stepped forward, their heavy footfalls shaking the ground. The red glow of their sensor clusters cast an eerie light on the rain-slick cobblestones. The ROM militia opened fire, their machine guns and lasers streaking through the night. Zerachiel moved with a fluid grace, their every motion deliberate and precise.

A ROM Hunchback emerged from the shadows, heavily damaged, its AC/20 roaring as it unleashed a barrage of shells. Zerachiel sidestepped with unnatural speed, the shells tearing through the facade of a nearby building. Their plasma rifle fired, the superheated plasma engulfing the Hunchback's torso in a searing inferno. The enemy ‘Mech staggered, its armor melting under the intense heat, before collapsing in a heap of molten metal.

A few streets away, Greta moved like a liquid shadow through the narrow lanes, her Triple Strength Myomer-enhanced legs propelling her with a predator’s grace. Her arm-mounted sword gleamed in the moonlight, a deadly extension of her will. She leaped over a low wall, her movements so fluid it was impossible to tell where she ended and the rain began.

A ROM UrbanMech turned to face her, its autocannon spitting rounds. Under electronic assault from the ECM computers buried in Greta’s breast, the enemy’s targeting systems faltered under the onslaught. The sword in a wide arc, the blade slicing through the UrbanMech’s leg with surgical precision. The machine toppled, crashing into a nearby bakery in a shower of sparks and debris. “East flank secure. Moving to support Zerachiel.”

Rusty, meanwhile, was a blur of motion, the MASC and supercharger in his legs and torso pushing his ferrotitanium bones to their limits. He darted through the streets, his Ultra AC/5 barking as he picked off ROM infantry positions. A ROM Shadow Hawk tried to intercept him, but Rusty was already countering.

“Too slow, pal!”

He activated his Jump Jets, launching himself onto a rooftop. From there, he unleashed a barrage of missiles, the high-explosive warheads obliterating the Shadow Hawk’s armor. The enemy ‘Mech staggered, and Rusty finished it with a precise shot from his Ultra AC/5.

“West flank clear. Zerachiel, we’ve got the last ones surrounded.”

The ROM militia leader, which Zerachiel's uplink noted, after a query to the Central Records Administration building in Jeromopolis, named Viktor Reinhardt, stood in the center of the plaza, his Warhammer bristling with weapons. The ‘Mech’s PPCs crackled with energy as he turned to face Zerachiel.

“You think you can stop us, cyborg?” he snarled, voice full of hate and bigotry. “You’re a traitor to Blake’s true vision!”

“Blake’s vision is one of unity, not division. You’ve lost your way, Viktor,” said Zerachiel, flexing their taloned hand with an almost uninterested flare.

Goaded by the Precentor-General's taunt, the Warhammer fired its PPCs, the energy bolts streaking through the night. Zerachiel activated their shield, the vicious energy of the particle beams dissipating harmlessly against the shimmering barrier. With a swift motion, Zerachiel extended the retractable blade in their left arm, the weapon gleaming in the fading light.

“This ends now.”

Zerachiel surged forward, their movements a blur of speed and precision. Their blade struck the Warhammer’s right arm, severing it at the shoulder as they continued past. Viktor screamed in rage, his ‘Mech’s remaining weapons firing wildly. Zerachiel dodged with inhuman agility, the Plasma Rifle in their chest firing a searing blast that melted the armor and bones of the Warhammer’s left leg.

Viktor’s ‘Mech toppled, crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks. Zerachiel loomed over the fallen machine, their blade poised for the final strike.

“You’ll never win! ROM will never surrender!” Viktor screamed, as though he could push the metal god above him off with just his words.

There was no reply, save a dismissive electro-static scoff. With a swift, brutal motion, the gleaming marble-and-gold arm stabbed down, burying the blade into the Warhammer’s cockpit, piercing through the armor, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the plaza. The Warhammer shuddered once, then lay still.

Slowly, the square fell silent, save for the crackling of fires and the distant hum of ‘Mech engines. Zerachiel stood tall, their marble-and-gold skin gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Greta and Rusty joined them, standing guard as the remaining militia surrendered.

“This is not the end,” Zerachiel spoke. “The Word of Blake must heal, not fracture further – we cannot fight the Star League while broken. Take the prisoners into custody. Treat them with dignity.”

“Understood, Precentor-General. What about the town?” Greta asked.

“Ensure the civilians are safe. Offer them whatever aid they need. This is their home, and we are their protectors.”

As the rain began to fall once more, Zerachiel’s sensors gazed out over Neu-Brückenstadt. The battle was won, but the war for Helios—and the soul of the Word of Blake—was far from over.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Holy shit, Brad, you see that?!" Pearson yelled, watching the Celestial rip the Warhammer's arm off like snapping a twig.

"Yes, Pearson, I saw it. I'm calling it in," said Colson, his manner icecold as always. "Old Bird Actual, Old Bird Actual, this is Razorback One Actual. Have observed enemy elements in-fighting amongst each other - fancy-ass Celestials versus average joes, looks like. About two-zero-zero klicks from FEBA, headed your way."

"Razorback One, Old Bird Actual. Roger. Continue shadowing. Special operatives inbound for closer monitoring of the situation. Do not get spotted."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Razorback One out... Pearson, stop fucking humming that shit-"

"What, why? That was fucking sick! It just needed some music!"

[nitrosodiumaltcontroller]

Upgrading the Shooting Part 4: Camera Shake and Bullet Spread

I was happy with the shooting system so far, but I think it could do with some more feedback when firing. It's a massive autocannon bolted into a tank, but it doesn't produce the sort of recoil a weapon like that would in real life. So, I brought back the camera shake system and had it play whenever the shooting script is triggered.

It's not super realistic for every bullet to hit exactly on target either, so I also added some code to add some randomness to the bullet spread.

Instead of using the FirstPersonCamera to get a direction reference, I made an Arrow component and used that as the starting point for the line traces. When the shooting event is triggered, the arrow is rotated up to 5 degrees. However, this would only make the bullets spread right of centre, so I added a random boolean attached to a Branch which makes the integer negative 50% of the time, using the same X - (X * 2) formula I applied for backwards movement.

The result is that the whole vehicle shakes a bit when you fire, and the bullets themselves spray out in a small arc. I am fairly happy with the shooting system now, so I may start work on enemies tomorrow.

[skylarkking]

To Heal a Mockingbird

A TFA Ratchet x Mech!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Chapter 2: Clipped Wings

The fight did not go well for me, and now I lay on the floor of the Nemesis leaking and broken.

But they were not done with me yet. Megatron was not done with me yet.

"Please...." I rasped weakly as I tried to push myself up from the pool of energon that had gathered underneath. Lugnut forced me back down with his heavy pede, pinning me in place and forcing a yelp of pain from my voicebox.

"What should we do with him now?" Starscream sneered. "Take him offline?"

"No, that would be too merciful." Megatron snarled. He knelt down and forced me to look at him by grabbing my neck cables and giving them a hard pull. "I believe it's time to see if a seeker can fly. Without. Their. Wings."

"NO PLEASE!" I begged pitifully. "PLEASE! PLEASE NO! NO! GAH!" My cries would go unheard as Megatron gripped my wings and ripped them clean off. I shrieked in agony as energon sprayed from my back in an arc of color, the metal of my now dismembered appendage clattering to the floor next to my body.

"Throw him and these off my ship." Megatron ordered Lugnut.

"Please...." I whispered weakly, the thudding of my spark slowing more and more as Lugnut picked up my frame and wings. He carried me to the edge of the shuttle bay that I had used to free the medic, and with one fell swoop, I was tossed out of the ship.

I plummeted to the ground far below, my optics flickering offline as my systems shut down. The air roared past my audials as the ground rapidly approached. I was doomed, or so I thought.

Suddenly, my frame and severed wings were encased in an electromagnetic field, stopping my rapid descent to the ground.

"I got ya, kid!" I heard the familiar voice of Ratchet call from below. I was far too weak to respond as he lowered me down with a gentle thud.

The medic wasn't alone, however.

"Ratchet, is this the Decepticon that freed you?" Another voice said. I cracked open my optics just enough to see a few other bots surrounding my frame, one I recognized as Ratchet and the other a towering mech with a navy blue paint job and a massive warhammer, the Magnus hammer to be exact.

"Yeah, that's Y/D." Ratchet said as he quickly went to my side and hooked up a diagnostic probe to me. "Dammit... sir, his spark is going to go out if we don't get him out of here."

"No..." I rasped as I shakily gripped the medic's arm. "Let... let me die..."

"I ain't in the business of killing kid. You of all bots should know that." Ratchet said. "Just relax, okay? I'm gonna put you in stasis and get you out of here."

I felt a slight shock, and my entire frame went limp as stasis took over. I could still hear everything that was happening, but I couldn't move anything or feel much.

"Sir, I have to strongly object to this!" A voice from what I assume was one of the other bots protested. "We don't know what this... this Decepticon is capable of!"

"Not much right now, Pharma." Ratchet huffed in annoyance. "He's barely able to stay online. We need to get him a medivac if we are to save his life."

"I shall call it in." Ultra Magnus said.

"Sir, this is insane!" The bot called Pharma continued to protest. "We shouldn't be helping him!"

"He saved my life Pharma," Ratchet snapped. "Now I'm going to save his!"

"Sir!"

"That's enough Pharma." Ultra Magnus said. "He may information regarding Megatron's plans."

"What makes you think he'd talk?" Pharma asked. "These Decepticons are loyal to the core!"

"If that were true, I'd be dead." Ratchet growled. "Now please, I need some quiet in order to get him stable enough for transport."

I felt slight pricks of pain and heard the sound of a welder going, the crackling hiss it made seeming to act almost as a barrier of sound from the outside world. Bit as soon as it began, it ended, and I felt my frame get lifted up by 4 sets of servos and then get places on a cold flat surface. The cool metal beneath me was soothing, and I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into stasis, and I remembered nothing more.

---

"Cmon kid." I heard Ratchet's voice say from somewhere in the darkness of my stasis. "I know you can hear me."

"R.... Rat... Ratchet?" I croaked weakly, my optics coming online and slowly opening to a bright light.

"That's it, follow the light." He said, which wasn't exactly the best thing for someone to hear. I ended up jumping in surprise and accidently whacking the light away in a panic. "Hey! I needed that!"

"S-sorry." I groaned as my optics adjusted to the light, revealing that I was in a recovery bay hooked up to an energon line and sparkrate monitor. I felt pressure on my back and could feel that my once severed wings were now secured in place with thick bandaging, no doubt in an attempt to allow my internal repairs to do their work.

"It's alright, Y/D." Ratchet said. "Just glad you're functioning is all."

"What.... what happened?"

"We were about to ask you the same question." The voice of Ultra Magnus said, my gaze shifting over to him and my frame stiffening with anxiety. I eyed him suspiciously, unsure of what his motives were or why he was here.

"Puh, like you actually care." I grumbled in annoyance.

"Kid, don't be like that." Ratchet said.

"Look, no offense, but your Magnus here doesn't exactly have a good track record for mercy." I said as I shot the Magnus a glare.

"Neither does Megatron." Ultra Magnus said.

"You think I don't know that?" I laughed sarcastically. "He's the one who beat me to scrap and ripped my wings off." I paused and then let out a somewhat defeated sigh. "Look, I don't know what you want with me or why you saved me, but you should have left me to die out there. It would have given you one less Decepticon to worry about."

"And one less healer for either side." Ratchet said. "Wouldn't that have violated your own moral of not harming medics?"

"Hrmph." I huffed, not bothering to answer the question because I knew he was right.

"Y/D, I'm going to offer you a chance that I strongly urge you to take." Ultra Magnus said. "In exchange for your freedom and all charges dropped, we need you to tell us what you know of what Megatron plans to do with the Allspark."

"I.... I can't."

------

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Here

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. ))

Greg eyed Tyler as he finished his follow-through of his left hook, the echo still ringing through the warehouse. Tyler reeled in front of him, taking a few steps back and then forward. His jaw hung slack, twisted and cracked, blood smeared across his chin and down his neck. He blinked slowly, as if his brain was struggling to reconnect with the rest of his body. Through all of this, Greg saw it in Tyler's eyes, a complete refusal to admit defeat. Greg took one final step forward as he readied his next shot, voice firm, measured, but filled with conviction.

“Who someone chooses to love… doesn’t make them weak. It doesn’t decide their strength.”

Greg’s muscles flexed, coiled with intent. The bright sheen of sweat covered his bicep as it grew as if Greg was summoning otherworldly strength into this one strike.

“And it damn sure doesn’t determine how good a fighter they’ll become.”

CRACK!

Greg's uppercut launched upward, straight from the ground through his hips and shoulders, exploding with power into Tyler’s chin with terrifying force. The Marine’s entire head snapped backward, mouth open wide as a spray of blood shot straight into the air, painting an arc above him like a final act of violence. His eyes rolled white as his neck arched awkwardly. The sound of the impact was deep, echoing, and reverberated throughout the silent warehouse. Greg could feel it all beneath his knuckles: the cartilage shattered, the jaw unhinging, the shockwave tearing through Tyler’s skull as if something inside gave out.

Tyler’s body reacted violently. His chest bowed outward as his shoulders were flung backward as if a gust of wind blasted straight through him. Every muscle in his upper body tensed all at once. His pecs flexed with his abs cinching tight in an involuntary survival reflex that was too late and too weak to do any good. His deltoids spasmed, and his shoulders twitched as the shock of the brutal punch flooded his nervous system. Tyler's arms went from semi cocked in defense to flailing out wildly. For a brief moment, it looked as if he might spin from the momentum of the hit, but instead, his entire torso seized before going slack. His legs locked stiff, knees buckling inward as if trying to resist gravity’s pull. But there was no strength left to borrow. His thighs trembled, quads giving a last flicker of resistance, then buckled. A full-body shiver ran through him, sweat and blood trailing down his sides as his weight gave out beneath him.

To The Pack watching… it was as if time slowed. Omegas leaned forward without realizing. Sigmas stopped breathing. Even the Mateo, Calvin, and Wyatt, hardened men who had seen and given their share of ruthless beatdowns, stood utterly silent. The cubs stared, wide-eyed, unmoving. No one had ever seen Tyler, the Marine, the bruiser, the enforcer of the final leg of training, brought to heel like this.

THUD.

The mighty Marine dropped. Tyler collapsed, falling to his knees before Greg. His arms dangled at his sides. His head swayed loosely, chin red, mouth gaping. Blood dripped down onto the mat below, splattering in slow rhythmic beats. He blinked once. Twice. Then simply… hung there.

[ghostradiodylan]

Do you have any headcanons for how the hacketteers would deal with being sick? Maybe how often they get sick, what type of illnesses they are prone to, etc….

Way behind on Quarry asks but I am home sick with some kind of crud right now so what better time to answer this one?!

Emma - Emma is a people person and always on the go, so she's exposed to a lot of germs. I feel like she'd be the one to get into juicing and making smoothies for immune health and the 'sexy' supplements like Moon Juice or whatever Gwyneth Paltrow is selling (but nobody’s sure if she really buys into them or if she’s just trying to get a sponsorship). Emma has a system for any kind of normal illness that doesn't completely knock her on her ass and that is to take a very hot bath with peppermint and eucalyptus bath salts and drink a hot toddy while she's in there. (Just the one, she doesn't want to drown!)

Jacob - This guy gets the dreaded Man Cold and is the sickest person who has ever lived. He doesn't get sick often because he's fairly health conscious, but he's absolutely pathetic and mopey about it when he does. He wants to be babied because his perfect male specimen of a body and extensive supplement regimen have betrayed him. He hates going to the doctor and puts it off until someone makes him go. Kaitlyn brings him soup and yells at him (affectionately) to stop being pathetic. He drinks a ton of Gatorade when he's sick (always Cool Blue flavor).

Kaitlyn - Look, Kaitlyn's Asian and her family was wearing masks during cold and flu season long before it was cool. She doesn't totally buy into the traditional Chinese medicine stuff but she does believe in the healing power of food that's spicy as fuck, especially if she's having sinus issues. She's also a fan of long, hot baths or showers, chicken soup with a ton of garlic, drinking a bunch of tea with lemon and ginger, the sauna at the gym, exercising even if she doesn't feel like it, hot yoga, and acupuncture. If that doesn't knock it out, she's not too stubborn to go to the doctor, people like that (who have insurance but don’t use it) drive her crazy (Jacob!).

Abi - If something is going around, Abi just knows she's going to get it. She’s a worrier and a bit of a catastrophizer when she does get sick. She's a hand sanitizer addict, she's got those cute sparkly holders from Bath & Body Works (but she uses the Halloween ones all year). She's good about letting herself take time to rest and get her strength back after an illness though. She likes to catch up on trash TV while she's recuperating. She also gets allergy shots because her environmental allergies are insane. She uses a neti pot or saline spray often to ward off sinus infections.

Ryan - Our stoic boy is stoic. Ryan takes all the necessary precautions to not get sick, he's kind of an obsessive hand-washer for sensory reasons anyway, but when he does, he follows doctors' recommendations to the letter and rarely complains. He will typically muddle through like normal if he's not got something contagious, but if he has to take time off work or school, he doesn't really talk about it or look to be cared for, just holes up in his room alone trying to not spread it around--he is very conscientious. Ryan gets the occasional migraine and that's one thing he can't really muddle through. He has to be in a quiet, dark room to recover, with an ice pack on his head, a caffeinated beverage, and a guided meditation podcast.

Dylan - People love to make our boy a damsel in distress because he's a cute gay string bean that bad things happen to, but Dylan is pretty tough in the game (like, unrealistically tough at times). I tend to consider his amputee arc as main canon, so given the assumption that he doesn't die of sepsis after surviving werewolves, he's got to have a pretty robust immune system and probably doesn't get sick that often. He does have that whole under-react/overreact thing going on though (the air freshener lol), so I imagine that when he does get sick, he either just carries on until he physically can't anymore (he'd wear a mask and get vaccinated and all that good stuff, he's a scientist after all, but he’s bad about making sure he gets rest) OR he starts Googling his symptoms and getting paranoid, convinced he has some rare incurable disease (he doesn't). He also doesn't really like to slow down and let people take care of him but when they really insist, he not-so-secretly loves the attention, from his mom, his boyfriend, his roommate/bestie, whoever.

Nick - Nick turns into a slimy wet sex pest whenever he gets sick. No, I’m kidding. I think it’d be funny/ironic/unfortunate if chef Nick had kind of a sensitive digestive system. He will eat anything, especially if Jacob is eating it. But, alas, Jacob has an iron stomach and our poor Nicholas does not. So he gets a lot of tummy troubles from doing things like eating 20 year old snacks or trying to go head to head with Jacob and Kaitlyn in a spicy ramen challenge. Nick gets sick a regular amount with stuff like head colds and is just kind of middle of the road as far as how he handles it. He does however have a habit of making up untrue facts about Australia that he tells his coworkers and campers when no one has the internet available to fact check him and one of them is that a steaming mug of hot pickle juice is a favorite folk remedy for colds there.

Max - he doesn’t get sick often but he is highly accident-prone. Like, so accident-prone that his family has started calling them ‘Maxidents’ when he has a major mishap. He routinely falls off ladders, gets attacked by migratory waterfowl, trips while trying to carry more groceries than he should into the apartment, etc. Max is luckily a very good patient because he has a lot of practice. He also has a lot of ice packs in the freezer at all times.

Laura - she gets onto Max about being careful, getting enough sleep, eating healthy, etc, but Laura is a do as I say, not as I do kinda gal. She does try to be healthy and active but she’s really busy (busier than ever post-canon because she thinks she can outrun trauma if she never slows down long enough to think about it). When Laura gets sick she gets Leslie Knope sick.

Max has to put her in bed and take care of her because she will not admit she needs it until she is practically on death’s door.

[24goreplicawatchculture]

Time Rift: The Shadow and Glory of Taiwan's Replica Watch Crafts

Time Rift: The Shadow and Glory of Taiwan's Replica Watch Crafts On the top floor of an unnamed factory building in Songshan District, Taipei City, a laser scanner is capturing the orbital moon phase disk of the Patek Philippe Starry Sky watch with an accuracy of 0.005 mm. While Swiss watchmakers are adjusting the tourbillon at the foot of the Alps, Taiwanese replica craftsmen have established a 3D craft database covering 72 top brands by disassembling 400 original movements. This precision duel across Europe and Asia is a real theater of luxury paradox on the treasure island.

Material Alchemy: Duet of Steel and Desire A Temple of Authentic Craftsmanship

Rolex Oystersteel is remelted using vacuum arc technology, and its crystal structure density exceeds aerospace specifications

Audi Piguet Royal Oak "Tapisserie" checkered dial, which takes 12 hours to carve with an antique engraving machine

Lange Datograph chronograph, it takes three weeks to grind a single column wheel

Taiwanese replica breakthrough

Amazing comparison Material items | Original factory cost (NT$) | Taiwan alternatives ──────────|────────────|───────────── 904L austenitic steel | Strap $280,000 | Military-spec stainless steel $8,000 Ceramic bezel | $150,000 | Silicon nitride coating $3,200 Enamel micro-painting | Priceless | Laser transfer $1,500 The "quasi-ceramic coating" developed by Taichung Precision Machinery Factory has passed the 48-hour salt spray test, and its wear resistance index is 92% of the genuine product.

Market surge: From night market stalls to new high-tech elites Replica watches have formed a strange chain of class mobility in Taiwan:

Shilin Night Market secret cabinet: Submariner replica watches with "Swiss movement" printed on the packaging, monthly sales can reach Taipei City's semi-annual genuine quota

Hsinchu Science Park Engineering Salon: Regularly hold "Movement Dissection Meetings" to compare genuine and fake 3235 movements The difference in the Chronergy escapement system of the core

The black market for antique watch refurbishment: Kaohsiung's "Time Code" studio repaired pre-war pocket watches with replica parts, which attracted Swiss brands to collect evidence and sue

Customs data in 2024 showed that the average unit price of seized replica watches increased from NT$5,800 to NT$42,000, and the demand for top replica watches soared by 300%. A young master of a financial holding company admitted: "I wore a Taiwan-made PP 5711 to a casino in Macau, and even the pawnbroker had to use X-ray identification."

Craft ethics: fire thief or innovator? The Tainan "Tourbillon Laboratory" incident caused a huge uproar:

When engineer Chen Zhixiong exhibited his self-made coaxial tourbillon movement (with a daily error of ±1.5 seconds) at the Taipei International Invention Exhibition, the Swiss manufacturer immediately applied for an injunction. Ironically, the jury found that its escapement fork actually improved the energy loss problem of Breguet's original design.

This craft rebellion forced luxury brands to reorganize:

Vacheron Constantin established an "anti-counterfeiting identification center" in Taiwan, but was found to use electronic microscopes made in Taiwan

Rolex's new built-in NFC chip launched in 2025 has been cracked to write copy data

The Independent Watchmakers Alliance began to secretly purchase CNC parts from Taiwan, with the price being only 1/8 of that from Swiss suppliers

When the authentic counters displayed complex function replica watches starting at three million, what Taiwanese replica watchmakers carved under the microscope was not only a paranoid worship of mechanical aesthetics, but also a silent revolution against luxury hegemony.

[pagesandpothos]

Storm and Sea by Tereza Kane

Official Summary:

Atreus has carved out a quiet, stable life among humans on the island of Baia Vita, earning their respect while hiding a dangerous secret - he is Mer. Exiled by his own people for the color of his scales, he has learned to navigate life as an outsider, finding solace in the rhythms of the fishing village. But his fragile peace is shattered when Nyel, a naïve and determined runaway Mer fleeing the suffocating traditions of his home, lands on the island. Nyel’s arrival disrupts everything Atreus has built. Though they clash at first, their growing friendship—and the flicker of something more—forces both men to confront the prejudices and traditions that shaped them. But their personal struggles are interrupted when a powerful criminal family begins stripping Baia Vita’s bay of fish, threatening the village’s survival. As starvation looms, Atreus and Nyel must join forces to save the humans they’ve both come to care for. Yet, with their secrets on the verge of exposure, they must tread carefully. After all, the very people they hope to protect might destroy them first. Storm and Sea is a heart-wrenching novel by Tereza Kane. If you enjoy found family, mythical creatures, and LGBTQ+ representation in fantasy, you'll love this captivating tale of acceptance, betrayal, and finding a home in the unlikeliest people.

My Thoughts:

Storm and Sea is a new queer romantic fantasy about two young outcasts who find love, friendship, and a found family together.

The Mer in the story have complex societal structures that include belief systems and deeply held prejudices. Both Atreus and Nyel are misfits among the people for different reasons and retreat to the human world for refuge.

Including Atreus and Nyel, five characters get points of view chapters in the book. Some chapters are from a single character's POV, and others are shared between multiple characters. I was worried that this might get confusing, but POV switches are clearly marked, and characters are distinct with various plots that intertwine together. I enjoyed all five characters and liked the time we spent with each.

The only issue I had with the POV changes was that some rehashed events we'd just read about from another perspective. That felt repetitive and it stalled the pacing of the story. This was especially bad in the chapters of supporting characters, which sometimes recaped large portions of the book.

Even with this pacing issue, I enjoyed the book. The characters are delightful, the main romance is adorable, and there's a secondary Achillean romance that I'm hoping gets more focus in the sequel.

I'd recommend this most to readers who enjoy coming-of-age stories. This will probably appeal to Young Adult and New Adult readers the most.

Finally, this is the first book in a planned series, so not all plots and character arcs are wrapped neatly at the end. There is a satisfying conclusion, but some plots will presumably continue in the next book. The main relationship is one of those.

My Rating: 🌕🌕🌕🌖🌑 (3.75/5 stars)

Pages: 490 (Kindle Edition)

Tropes/Tags: New Adult, Queer, Achillean, Romance, Fantasy, Found Family, light Love Triangle

Content Warnings: prejudice beliefs, parental abuse/neglect, violence, abandonment, homophobia, alchoholism

Other Notes: The author is selling signed editions with very pretty sprayed and stenciled edges on her website!

Links: Storygraph | GoodReads | Tereza-Kane.square.site

Storm and Sea will be released on April 6, 2025, and is available for pre-order!

I received an advanced copy of this book for free, thanks to NetGalley and Whispered Words Press. The above are my honest feelings about the book provided. I don’t have any affiliate links in this post, and I do not make any money from my reviews. I review books simply because I love to read.

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