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dongofthewolf · 4 years ago

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Slowly Learning That Life Is Okay

Abby Anderson x Fem!Blind!Reader

Sweet sweet fluff about fear of intimacy where Abby rescues the reader and they unexpectedly become closer.

Requested by @rianncreates

Warnings: swearing, fluff, minor violence(?), cute gay shit :)

A/N: I am not visually impaired but I really tried my best to write a character whose lack of sight doesn't define them. I wanted to portray how our differences don't define us; we're all connected in a way (as cheesy as it may sound), and it makes me sad to see small things like not being able to hear/see divide us.

Ever since you were a kid, people have always had a hard time looking you in the eyes. Due to your condition, they appeared hazy and almost grey; something that made a lot of people uncomfortable. In fact, most people don’t even know it, but you can actually tell when someone is turning away so they don’t have to face you. There’s a certain recognizable sound when someone purposely looks away to avoid affording you the basic decency of eye contact, and it’s dehumanizing as fuck. It didn’t matter that you weren’t completely blind, it was enough that you were still alienated from the rest of the world. They didn’t see you as a person, to them you were your blindness–it defined you. It’s the reason people were afraid to interact with you, why kids were always so cruel to you, and why you always kept people at an arm's-length. That is, until you met Abby.

Abby was unlike anyone you had ever met; she was the first person who saw you—truly saw you. While most people knew her to be Isaac’s top scar killer, you knew her as the girl who tended to your wounds after she found you patrolling the city. She was the smell of pine and fresh rain that filled your senses, and her voice was like a soothing ailment when she calmly reassured you that everything would be fine.

In the WLF infirmary, Abby never left your side. It’s not like your injuries were super severe or anything, but she stayed with you regardless. She wrapped your arms with fresh bandages when they needed changing, and got you desserts from the cafeteria using her connections to Isaac. After a few days, you quickly learned that the two of you had a lot in common and soon she was visiting you almost every day.

It’d been a month now and you’ve officially made the WLF stadium your new home. You and Abby were sitting in your room while she read to you with that same lovely voice. It had become a habit now; Abby had read to you in the infirmary, and ever since then she's been coming over so she can share all her favourite books with you. She was just starting a new chapter when you interrupted her. “Abby?”

Abby instantly stopped reading, and you could feel the bed shift as she sat up to face you. “What’s up?”

“Can I ask you something?” You were nervous. Although she had been nothing but kind to you, you didn’t want to ruin what happened to be the closest friendship you’ve had in a really long time.

You could hear her smiling as she answered. “Anything.”

You hesitated; you’d never normally do this with anyone else, but you trusted Abby. As you sat there contemplating your next words, Abby gently took your hand before continuing with that same reassuring tone she had used when you guys first met. “Hey, you know you can always talk to me right?”

Her hands were so warm. It was such a small detail that most people probably wouldn’t notice, but for some reason it was all you could think about in that moment. They were rough and calloused from years of combat but whenever she touched you, it was delicate and light. It was as if she was afraid that she would hurt you, even though you knew she never would. God, why can’t you think straight while she’s holding your hand like that? Fuck, it shouldn’t be that hard.

You struggled to get the words out, like something in your chest was weighing you down. “I just… I don't want things to change.”

“Hey, nothing you say could ever push me away. Okay?” Abby was softly caressing the top of your hand with hers as she set the book aside.

“I was wondering if I could…” Fuck, how were you supposed to say this? You paused trying to decide how to word it, but it still came out wrong. “feel your face?”

Abby didn’t respond, and if she hadn’t been holding your hand then, you would’ve thought she had left. After waiting for what felt like a whole five minutes (but was probably closer to thirty seconds) you were starting to get nervous. “Abby? You still there?”

Your voice must have snapped her out of it because she responded immediately. “Yeah, sorry I just… I was expecting something a lot worse. Like you murdered some kittens or something.”

You giggled at the sincerity in her voice, relief flooding through you. “Kittens? God Abby who the fuck do you think I am?”

“I don’t know! I thought you were admitting some deep dark secret.” Abby nervously laughed along with you, her hand never leaving yours.

As you both settled down, Abby shakily brought your hand to her cheek, silently signalling to you that it was okay. You hesitantly caressed it, softly stroking the lines of her cheekbones with a smile on your face. Your hand then slowly moved up towards her forehead, your fingers tracing the scar above her eyebrow. The scar was thin like from a blade or a scrap piece of metal, and you couldn’t help but wonder how she had gotten the scar–wondered how many scars she had gotten after years of fighting in that senseless war.

You’d never say it out loud because the WLF had saved your life, but the war with the Seraphites was unnecessary and quite frankly, useless. All of the so-called “sacrifices” being made for the sake of some fucking land was just stupid and greedy.

You weren’t really a religious person–especially considering the whirlwind of shit you’ve been through–but if this whole virus was a result of some higher being thrusting humans into extinction? You couldn’t blame them. All these survivors were granted a second chance to better themselves, thousands of people by some miracle had survived the outbreak, only for them to revert back to the same tired, old ideology of war and power. You supposed that even after all these years, humans never really change.

Your fingers moved slowly back down, passing the bridge of her nose and her Cupid’s bow before reaching her lips. They were soft and parted slightly when you reached for them, but she still didn’t move.

Abby stayed incredibly still as you took your time feeling her face, exploring every crevice—every detail of her subtle features. You could feel a stray strand of hair hanging next to her face, so you lightly brushed it behind her ear before bringing your hands back down to rest on your lap. But before you could fully pull away, your hand brushed up against something rigid and stiff. It took you a moment before you realized that you were touching her huge bicep, and you were astonished at her strength. It also took you a minute before you realized that you were literally feeling up her muscles, causing a sudden heat to rush towards your cheeks as you quickly retrieved your hands.

“Oh um… sorry I didn’t mean to- I mean I didn’t realize-” You tried to get the words out but you couldn’t. “Fuck this is awkward.”

Abby chuckled watching you get all flustered from touching her arms, and then out of nowhere it slipped out. “God you’re adorable.”

Then there was a pause, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly but from the way her laughing suddenly came to a halt, you were sure she had just said what you thought she did.

“Uh, shit. I should… I should go.” Abby began standing up but before she could, you reached out and grabbed her arm. You pulled her towards you again, tracing your hand back towards her cheek as you gently cupped the side of her face with your palm.

“Don’t go.” Abby’s cheeks grew warm under your touch. You wanted more than anything to tell her how you feel–how you’ve felt for her since the moment you two had first met.

After spending so much of your life consumed by this irrational fear of abandonment and intimacy, you had let someone in. You lowered the barrier that you had spent so long building because of her. And of course it was easy to assume that you liked Abby just because she was one of the only people you hung out with, but it wasn’t like that. Abby wasn’t like the rest of your friends or family because she was never overbearing; most people were quick to treat you like a child or some helpless creature, but she never did. She gave you space when you needed it, but she also never made you feel lonely. Her presence was calming and comforting. Abby gave so much and expected nothing in return.

The possibility that your feelings for her were reciprocated made your heart flutter, but it was also really scary. This was entirely new territory; relationships were never a priority for you by any means, especially since survival has always been your prime concern. But now that you’ve found asylum here with the WLF—with Abby, you were safe. You were free to live, free to enjoy the prospect of a somewhat normal life, and you better believe you were going to take full advantage of this newfound normalcy.

You leaned in towards Abby, your foreheads touching and your lips just millimeters apart. As you placed both of your hands on her cheeks, Abby stayed impossibly still as her nose softly grazed yours. Abby’s hands landed on top of yours as she held them against her face, securing them there like she was afraid you would leave.

Then–as if it wasn’t the most terrifying thing ever–you kissed her. It was delicate and gentle, and you nearly cried because of how perfect it was. And although you had just felt her lips with your fingers, nothing compared to how they felt against yours. They were so soft you wanted to melt into them, and in that moment you nearly did. Your body involuntarily leaned into her, your arms falling against her broad shoulders in an effort to support yourself, before slowly moving to wrap around the back of her neck, pulling her even closer. All that built up tension from weeks of spending nearly every day together suddenly dissipated the moment you closed that gap, and those tears that had previously threatened to fall suddenly did. Small teardrops fell from both your eyes and wet your cheeks, causing Abby to pull back slightly as she wiped them with the pads of her thumbs. “What’s wrong?”

You gave her a small smile as you chuckled slightly. “Nothing, I just… I really like you Abby.”

As soon as the words fell out, Abby laughed softly before embracing you for a kiss once again. When the two of you finally pulled apart Abby spoke again with that same heavenly voice of hers. “I really like you too Y/N”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #the last of us imagine #request #abby anderson #abby tlou #fluff #fxf #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #me simping for abby's arms #yes i quoted take on me #and what about it

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cg29 · 5 years ago

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40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers.

Thank you to @soniabigcheese @gumnut-logic @onereyofstarlight and Anon for the ASKS you sent my way. Since I wanted to answer in detail, I’ve had more than 1 question, and I’ve not had a lot of spare time today I thought I’d answer all in this one post…

So first up @soniabigcheese sent me: ‘How about ... 9 ... 15 and 19? Please.’

9: Which fic has been the hardest to write?

All have been challenging in their own individual ways. Yet, really thinking about it I’d have to say GONE. For various reasons – It was my first Thunderbirds Fanfic, the longest story I had ever written, at this point the one I’ve had to do the most planning and research, and finally because of the emotions that needed portraying. However, the elation at finally finishing the story was amazing and has certainly inspired me to continue.

15: If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oh my God, that would be amazing! I would definitely have to go for Bad Day (Virgil’s day keeps repeating. What will it take for it to end and a new one to begin?) I had so much fun writing this, it’s one that I’ve reread a few times since competing, and it still makes me giggle. I’m sure I’d be in stitches if I got to watch it on the big screen. Although due to some of the contents towards the final chapters it would definitely need a UK PG or 12A rating.

19: Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

For Thunderbirds fanfiction my muse is definitely Virgil, The-Virg, It’s definitely his creativity and those eyes, plus that mouth, also those eyebrows, and his muscles… Sorry getting distracted – Actually, thinking about it, Virgil’s more of a distraction than a muse. Especially with my new mobile screensaver which I keep staring at.

Okay, back to the question. I don’t think I’ve got a muse – just a little voice in my head that won’t shut up when I have a story idea until I’ve written it down.

…

Next we have @gumnut-logic who asked: ‘Writer meme question thingy - 1 & 12.’

1: Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I always seem to revert to the family dynamics rather than a full-on rescue story (which is probably why I’m struggling with two of my fics which need to have rescue bits written in) Basically, I love to go deeper into the descriptions of the physical/emotional whump, and how the family deal with the situation (hidden feelings, tempers, how they bond) during and afterwards.

12: Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Yes, for both TOS and TAG.

The original series: There’s a few – Terror In New York City (Yep, the beginning in particular) The Perils of Penelope, Sun Probe, The Uninvited, Edge Of Impact. After thinking long and hard to narrow it down I’d have to say that while Terror In New York’s my favourite. The Perils of Penelope inspired my naughty fic The Night of Anderbad (Penelope & Virgil pairing) plus the idea of Virgil having a secret crush on her in later chapters of The Tracy Family and a few other one of fics.

TAG: There are a few earlier ones which have inspired fics – Grandma Tourismo, Flame Out, Hyperspeed, SOS pt. 2, Signals pt. 1, Upside Down. There are probably others and these last few episodes have been really inspiring. However, I think I would definitely have to go for the more recent SOS Pt 1 & 2 and Signals Pt 1 & 2. (I’m sure the finale of Season 3 may change this answer)

…

Third we have @onereyofstarlight who asked: ‘2 and 37 for the ask meme.’

2: Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Yes, I would like to have a go at Were Virgil at some point. Also, would like to try doing the boys ages differently to see how the dynamics changed – Alan as the eldest, next in line is Gordon, then Scott in the middle with John then Virgil as the youngest.

37: Talk about your current wips.

Lol, I have a few so this could take a while :D

I will start with ones that I’ve posted on FF.Net & A03 (Probably also shared them here at some point.

1. Avalanche: TAG.

This story began as a prompt that suggested a story that begins and ends with the same line but the meaning/feeling of the line changes. I started it with the intention of writing just 1 chapter …hahaha… of course I ended the story on a cliff-hanger and couldn’t leave it there, so it’s been continued and I’m so glad I did because I personally feel it is nearing the top of my best written list. The story itself is set when the boys are just children and focuses on the tragedy of the Avalanche and the emotional repercussions. I’ve just reached chapter 14, and probably have another 2-4 chapters left.

2. Lucille: TAG

Synopsis - A story about the unseen woman who watches over International Rescue."I am a wife, I am a mother, and I am the one who watches over International Rescue, making sure I am there to catch them whenever they fall. My name is Lucille Tracy and this, well this is my story!"

A story told through the eyes of the boy’s mother. This is one that I keep stopping and starting, most likely because I hadn’t planned it out. It’s currently on-hold until I finish some others, but I will complete it.

3. The Games: AU - Thunderbirds Are Go mixed with the concept of the Hunger Games. (Although, only Thunderbirds characters will make an appearance)

Here’s my synopsis - Climate change, famine, war. In the end another major war lead to the richest creating the Global Defence Force and 'order' was restored. To celebrate and keep control the Hunger Games were created. This was the 100th games.

The fic started from the Whumptober Prompts and I decided to continue it, wrote half of the 2nd chapter then promptly forgot about it. I’ve recently been looking at this again and have started to reread The Hunger Games for inspiration. However, like Lucille this fic is currently on hold.

4. Virgil Drabbles: TAG.

Started out as a challenge to see how much I could get across in just 100 words. All chapters are based around the lovely Virgil - TAG (but with him being the middle child – started before the Grandma Tourismo episode and apart from a few fics where I write it the other way around I prefer it this way)

The story starts from Virgil’s birth and I’ve now got him attending Denver. I still have a fair few chapters to write but the rest is now all planned out.

5. Reflections: TOS.

Set after Virgil's crash during the Season 1 episode 4 of 'Terror in New York City.' Short reflections from each of the family on nearly losing a brother and son. (Previously Titled, Fallen Brother)

I had always wanted to write something based on my favourite TOS episode. Then Shane Rimmer passed away and this was inspired. Slow updates on this one but I’ve finished telling myself the story just need to edit/rewrite that into something coherent.

And now we’re onto the ones that I may have posted snippets for or just 1 section for on here, but nothing officially posted as yet.

1. Two Untitled Prompts: TAG.

Both prompts were given to me at the end of November and I actually wrote out both (Plotting, thoughts, and telling myself bits of the story) Then December knocked me sideways and my writing suffered. Back to working on these 2 again now and really enjoying them. Without giving to much away, the one features a heart-broken Alan and the other (which with Avalanche is at the top of my pile) features Virgil having a day from hell with added whump.

2. Two Whumptober Fics: TAG.

Posted 1 or 2 chapters for each of these back in October and decided that they could possibly be extended/completed before posting. (All short fics)

The first one is titled Coffee Shot: Virgil gets shot in a café and emotions will run high. Fully planned out but decided to finish some others before I continue working on this.

The second is currently titled Ransom and is set when the guys are children. Scott and Virgil get kidnapped – Only done some basic plotting for this and it’s currently towards the bottom of my WIP pile.

The third is untitled and at the moment my word file is saved under the imaginative title of ‘Virgil Whump’ (Posted 1 snippet that I wrote in 15 mins at the beginning of October then left it because of other projects) In this one the guys are all extremely busy with call-outs and Virgil needs to go to a rescue on his own that involves Fischler. Unfortunately he ends up getting trapped, injured, and because its Fischler left on his own. Fully planned out.

3. Working Title – Shattered Hope. TAG

A story idea that came to me over a year ago, written some short bits, planned out most of the story but because of one small element I need to wait until TAG Season 3 finishes.

Here’s a bit from it that did get shared to Tumblr…

‘How had it come to this?’

Just a short time ago they’d been happy, enjoying some rare downtime in the sun, five brothers together. It shouldn’t be like this… With him cradling one brother who was bleeding from a bullet wound after saving the youngest from certain death. The other two close-by. One with a dislocated shoulder, the other with a broken leg, he himself had a stab wound to his arm... All of them with numerous other injuries… Beaten, bloodied, bruised… And praying that someone would rescue them!

…

Fourth we have anonymous who asked for ’35, 38 and 39.’

35: Would you ever kill off a canon character?

I’ve killed poor Scott off a few times HERE ... HERE and another time as an old man where Virgil also got killed off. (The fic scarred me – But, at the same time I think it’s the best short I’ve written - It’s called White Light if you want to give it a read)

I’ve not killed any of the others yet, and I keep telling myself that I won’t do it again, but it will probably happen again at some point…

39: Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I’ve had a couple, but they are usually anonymous ones. I normally just delete them and move on because people like that have nothing better to do and are not worth any upset. But if it does affect my confidence then I’ll reread a couple of nicer comments, then when I’m ready I’ll continue writing. I think there was only one that really knocked me for six and that was an anonymous rant on my Bad Day fic because I’d dared to pair up Virgil and Brains. (I’m sure you can imagine the content)

38: Talk about a review that made your day.

Even though 38 comes before 39 I wanted to save this one for last.

Every single comment I’ve ever got. No matter how short or detailed has brought a smile to my face and helped inspire me to continue writing – If I had to single out one then it would actually be a private message that was sent to my Fanfiction.Net inbox. It was over 2 years ago and unfortunately I can’t find the message now but whoever sent it to me said that they’d loved my Fics, in particular Gone which they had read several times and that I was their favourite writer. I was beaming for weeks afterwards.

So, whoever you were thank you - and to all who comment, re-blog, like or kudos my stories. Thank you from the bottom of my heart… Seriously you all make this fandom such a lovely place to be!

All my current posted fics and their status can be found via my: Thunderbirds Fanfiction Masterlist

#40 questions #Ask Meme #send me questions #Question and Answer #Thunderbirds Are Go Fanfiction #Thunderbirds Are Go Fandom #Thunderbirds Original Series #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds

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ibemandapanda · 5 years ago

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My Billy Hargrove theory

This is less of a theory and more of an idea involving the demodog shoved in Joyces fridge inspired by body snatchers. And if season 4 has a plot twist itll be that Hopper is actually dead, but I think it's pretty obvious by now Hopper is alive and well.

I know season 3 was similar to the body snatcher concept but it was more possession and Exorcist vibes than anything. To make this work, it would involve Billy still being alive as well (or not). Considering the demogorgans can make their own gates (and the demodog in the fridge is still alive), and preserving it in the cold of the fridge actually helped it evolve into a demogorgan (they like it cold). that being said we go all the way back to season two with Billy laying on the Byers floor out cold. said demodog now demogorgan frees itself from the fridge, and because its a hive mind, knows the gate is closing. although it is apart of the hive mind, its shown they can be self aware and possess unilateral thinking capabilities via Dart and how Dart **chose** to not attack Dustin and let Steve and the kids pass by unscathed. So demogorgan from the fridge opens a gate to the upside down in the house, decides to body snatch Billy and throw him in the upside down (or just kill him and throw the body in the upside down) and essentially taking his place in our world to survive. The demogorgan not only steals his image but his memories, mannerisms, and shitty personality. This may or may not help the demogorgan survive with the gate closed (because it has shifted into another creature) or there may already be another gate open via the post credit scene in season 3. either way its depicted that these creatures are still somehow alive with the gate closed.

so now we are in season 3 with the demogorgan shapeshifted as Billy. something that caught my eye was when Billy had a vision in the upside down, he never once questioned where he was or what was going on, he immediately asked "what do you want?" like he knew who he was talking to. maybe the mind flayer sat waiting in the steel works for demo-Billy (hive mind knowing this particular demogorgan was still out there) to come near (or it was an extraordinary coincidence), i find it hard to believe not a single person drove down that road over the x amount of hours from when the gate opened to when billy drove down that road by the steal works.

Billy's head injury. Billy gets a nasty cut on his forehead in the side not covered by hair from the the car accident in episode one. come episode two (the next day) this mark is gone. i didn't think anything of it until i saw Tom Holloway with a pretty noticeable band aid on his forehead from the wine bottle Heather whipped the shit out of him with. considering demo-billy is a shapeshifter, he could've, most likely, just shifted the injury away.

Billy pleading with Max. i think this would be kind of obvious. demo-billy has been blending in for about 8 months now as Billy and possesses Billy's feeling towards his step-sister so i feel like the reaction is genuine. i also find it odd how every time the Mind Flayer takes control, Billy's veins turn black but Will's didn't. could this be because this is the demogorgan and the demogorgan's blood beneath the human like skin?

Billy's picture. El used Billy's school picture to find him sitting in his room on July 4th. since billy has been in the upside down since November (or just dead) of the previous year, that picture may have been one demo-billy took for school hence her locating demo-billy and not billy in the upside down.

Billy's memories. like i said before, this demogorgan took not only billy's image but his personality, mannerisms and memories like they were his own because this is now the creature/person it is and has been for x amount of time now. billys memories held weight for the demogorgan, not because it held emotion for these fleeting moments or memories but because it reminded it of the person it was trying to be helping it pull away from the mind flayers hold.

As for Hopper, if the giant laser key had the power to open the gate, i 100% believe it had the power to transport to the dimension. i think Hopper was transported exactly how El was in season 1. i think Hopper is in the upside down and eventually meets up with Billy (if hes still alive) and they help each other survive (billy faring a bit better since he would have been there for about 8 months already). This is honestly the team up i never knew i needed and would kill to see it come to fruition.

The pale demogorgan at the end of season 3. could this be demo-billy? after 'killed' by the mind flayer the people inside are rushed out, US Calvary rushes in. considering a bunch of russians built an underground lair underneith a mall without anyone noticing i dont think its out of the realm of possibilities to think there are russians spies within the us government under Dr. Owens command that answers the SOS to the starourt mall. say demo-billy, near death, reverts back to its original form. having been in disguise for so long loses its natural skin tone and then abducted by the commies.

the american. i think the american is Brenner. how else did the russians know to go to Hawkins indiana specifically, build a 5 mile walkway from the mall to underneith Hawkins lab and open the gate where the ground was still scarred and healing. it has Brenner written all over it. i dont think Brenner was necessarily helping the red army but more or less using this information as a bargaining chip to spare his life. Or Brenner purposely sought out international funding for his research into the upside down since the american government caught onto him and shut him down. So the brains behind the Russians in Hawkins may have very well been Brenner, the cockroach that he is.

The potential subplot device in season 4. knowing that this demogorgan shapeshifted into Billy, how many more are there? how does the group locate them? and how do they kill them?

So ends my long winded plot idea. I think I just really want Billy to live to I can look at Dacre Montgomery for another 8 episodes.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #stranger things season 4 #season 4 #jim hopper #hopper #dr martin brenner #brenner #the upside down #season 4 theory

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vnd---archive-blog · 6 years ago

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this is mostly going to focus on physically lasting scars and prominent breaks that still cause him all those fun aches and pains , but will touch into whatever prominent injuries he’s experienced that i think are noteworthy , including those which are worthy of mention due to the trauma experienced . also , i know i’ve missed a few , so bear with me .

SCARRING .

1 . shot in the left thigh , straight through his femur . 1x13 2 . gash on lower rib - cage / abdomen , clawed by the jersey devil . 1x5 3 . moderate skin damage to face / below eyes and around cheekbones due to hypothermia exposure . it’s not terribly noticeable , normally most don’t see it unless he’s pointed it out since the damage was so close to his eyes . screenshot of how it looked when he entered the hospital . 2x16/17 4 . scully shot him in the shoulder :// 2x25 5 . deep slash on the face / upper right cheekbone from a gargoyle and thrown from a second story balcony . screenshot . 3x14 6 . slammed his head against a windshield hard enough for the window to have some blood on it . was unconscious for a while after . screenshot 1 2 and 3 . 3x16 7 . shot in the head . somehow didn’t die . screenshot . ftf 8 . probable damage to his neck ( small scars dotted across ) after an octopus - like creature strangled him and embedded parts of it in his neck . the holes were deep enough to likely scar but it may be only light . trypophobia warning on this image : screenshot and screenshot . 6x13 9 . deep human bite marks on right forearm / closer to elbow , as well as part of his bicep . definitely prominent if not jagged scarring . bleeding was severe enough a tourniquet can be seen in the screencaps . screenshot of heavy bleeding and tourniquet . also his ass had a sling . 7x04 10 . ricocheting bullet hit upper left bicep . wrapped in heavy gauze , it’s probably a small minute scar . 7x06

BROKEN BONES .

1 . obviously whenever he got shot through the femur . 1x13 2 . he got attacked by a gorilla ( don’t worry abt it ) so i’m gonna wager potentially broken / fractured ribs / possibly fractured skull . he was unconscious for a while and when scully found him he reacted wildly pained to her touch . 2x18 3 . left pinky twisted and broken severely as a means of torture . 5x18

GENERAL / LONG TERM AFFLICTIONS .

1 . was infected with an alien gas that killed him , he flat - lined for about a minute before scully revived him . 2x16/17

2 . he’s had a trillion concussions , which can only get worse as time goes on :/// 3 . he’s also been medicated in a lot of not great ways : mind - wiped , a lot of techniques and medicines to help him remember things , multiple times he was improperly given medicine that caused seizures , drugged a few times that caused extremely high levels of paranoia and anxiety . 4 . exposure to the black cancer , as well as torture / imprisonment without basic necessities . 4x8/9 5 . i mean he did get mummified by prehistoric fireflies . 1x20 6 . was caused to rapidly age to the point of passing out before rescue . who knows what the long term could be . 2x19 7 . he almost died again , buried under rubble to narrowly avoid a massive explosion , severely feverish , dehydrated / heat exhaustion and unconscious for several days and barely fighting past the illness . 3x1 8 . subjects himself to tests from a doctor to inject him with ketamine ( a hallucinogenic anaesthetic ) to try and remember his past more clearly , causing seizures , severe migraines , and lapses in his current memory ( a vivid flashback occurs and he’ll wake up not knowing where he is ) . also got his skull drilled into that was cool . 4x23 9 . moderate radiation burns to his forehead / face . 10 . oh yeah he drowned in the bermuda triangle . 6x3

MENTAL .

1 . take a shot everytime mulder gets tortured , die in 4 minutes . 2 . fear of fire is very pronounced . 1x12 3 . taken , drugged , mind - wiped , dropped back to scully not knowing where he is . 1x2 4 . take a shot everytime he’s sleep deprived , whether bc of his own passion or because of someone forcing him to stay up , die on the spot . scully has made notes herself , verbally exclaiming mulder needs rest bc he hasn’t had any in 24 and sometimes 36+ hours . 5 . held hostage every other episode , almost always by criminals . stop kidnapping this giraffe plz . 6 . the amount of times he’s been detained i’d wager he’s less and less cool with it every time . 7 . almost was drowned inside of a mental hospital , has been strangled more times than he’s comfortable with . 8 . i just want to point out how many times he’s been exposed to seeing death / dead bodies / generally absolutely grotesque things , child death included . staring at severed appendages . has seen men literally chopped apart and left in trash containers . mentally he’s become very sound in a sort of formal way , in a way he can prioritize his work in an almost obsessive way to move past it all so it won’t catch up with him . he’s excellent at that mental compartmentalization . bleeding and dying , he is still looking for the truth . he’s seen many gruesome visuals and he notably has nightmares / terrors in the shows. 9 . that being said , he’s had some vivid nightmares since he was a kid . 10 . some ghosts psychoanalyzed the shit out of him and scully and made them think they shot one another , lots of hallucinations and fun stuff . 6x6 11 . extremely bad migraines that eventually formed into an unresponsive , violent state that put him in a mental hospital , where he paced around screaming , unable to form sentences . he harmed himself and others until he was medically forced into a catatonic state , while skinner and others tried to inject him with medicine to revert the state , resulting in seizures . he could also read minds during this period but nbd . 6x22/7x1/2 12 . got stuck in a simulated reality and drugged by an AI . 5x11

#yeet #.☄ ° ゜ as you claw the thin ice . ⇢ fact.#i feel like this is a lot cleaner than my last one

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southboundhqarchive · 6 years ago

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MEET JACOB,

FULL NAME › Jacob Maxwell “Jake” Thomas AGE › thirty six GENDER › Cis male (He/Him/His) FROM › London, England RESIDENCE › Silver Spurs Tenement (Midtown) OCCUPATION › Trainer at Iron Fitness NOW PLAYING › Way Down We Go by Kaleo

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: death, ptsd

He doesn’t remember his father – never really has. Russell Thomas was a bitter man, or so the story goes when told by Jake’s mother, Marie. He couldn’t handle his drink, and hated everyone around him, not exactly family material is it? But Marie loved him, always had, high school sweetheart and all, so she’d ignored his flaws as best she could and pretended life was normal. Russell had stuck with Marie through the entirety of her pregnancy, and murmurs were starting to pass in the family saying that maybe he was a changed man, maybe he would be a good father after all… Of course he had to prove everyone wrong when he up and left two years after the birth of his first son.

It had been a shock, to say the least. Russell Thomas had looked like a changed man from the day Jake was born, but something had happened inside him to make him revert back to his old ways and vanish back into the night. Marie never told her son what had happened that night, and it was a secret she would take to the grave if need be.

So Jacob Thomas had grown up without a father figure. Marie had never seemed to bother to look for another partner, too determined to raise her son to become a good man and to focus on her career to have any time left over for anyone else anyway. She was content, they both were. Marie loved her son more than anything in the world, his sweet smiles and warm hugs were all she needed to keep going in life, even if he was a bit of a mischievous soul, but he meant well. Jacob Thomas was loved, and he loved greatly in return.

His mischievous streak bled into his academic studies. His mum and teachers soon realised that he had to real interest in the sit-down, knowledge based classes, but art and physical education was something that he loved. It wasn’t that Jake was a bad student, he just didn’t have the patience or the focus to be sat in a classroom all day. He would spend his breaks sprinting around the gym fields with his friends, quickly becoming one of the best in his year at football, and other sports that they would pick up. During educational classes, however, he quickly became the class clown, telling jokes that would even make the teachers laugh, and smiling widely at the response he would get. Jacob Thomas did not hate school, he would just much rather be spending time running about in the great outdoors where he felt truly free.

He started playing rugby when he was eleven years old and absolutely loved it. London wasn’t a city with a lot of open spaces, so being able to mess about on the pitch for a couple hours a week brought some relief to the child’s pent up energy. He was always much more calm after training as well, being able to sit down and actually work on his homework without getting bored or distracted – that’s when Marie prayed that her son would continue with the sport, hoping that it would help him going forward in his life.

High school was a big change for Jake. He could choose to spend more time with Physical Education and classes that he actually enjoyed, and as he grew older the training got more and more intense for Rugby, leading to him train three or four times a week. He loved it, he truly did, and he couldn’t imagine his life without it. Once it came time for him to choose his electives he of course focussed on Sports Science, starting to realise for the first time ever that he could maybe make a career out of his passion. He wasn’t nearly anywhere good enough at the actual sport to go professional or anything, but there were so many job opportunities in sport beyond that – he finally thought he could have a focus.

College, however, ruined his hopes for that. The classes were more dreary, and required more coursework to be completed meaning more time he had to spend actually focussing instead of doing what he wanted to do. To top it all off, an injury to his shoulder from a game of Rugby meant he had been sidelined ‘til it healed. The months that followed were the worst he’d experienced in a long time. He was no longer able to focus properly, his drive for getting through the day was completely demolished, and his grades started dropping intensely. He didn’t know how to explain it to his mum, couldn’t face her when she asked what had happened, so instead he locked himself in his room and refused to come out again ‘til the next day. His emotions were frayed and scattered, he felt angry and sad all at the same time, and he couldn’t believe that it was all because he had injured his arm. It didn’t make sense, and slowly he began to realise that he wouldn’t be able to deal with this going forward should it happen again… he needed a career that would fit him better.

The military had almost been a spontaneous decision, but after his goodbye to his mum he’d gotten on the coach that would ship him off to training camp and something had settled deep within him. Training went by in a flash, and soon enough he was being deployed on his first tour. He couldn’t believe the amount of stress, physically and mentally, that they were being put under every day, but he was thriving under it and maturing beyond belief. Marie had said she almost couldn’t recognise her son after he first returned back from the tour. It was surreal being back home after the days in the desert, but it was nice to hug his mum again and see his mates. He was prepared to shift back into civilian life again, but he didn’t realise that it would become harder and harder the more tours he did.

Then came the second and the third, each longer than the one before, and before anyone knew it, little Jake Thomas had grown into a man, now known as Sergeant Jacob Thomas. He was almost a distant ghost of the mischievous child who had barely been able to sit through a single class, but still held the same warm smile and kind tone his mother had taught him to use. There was a little less spark in his eyes, but to anyone but Marie Thomas it was unnoticeable. She had been reluctant to let him leave on his fourth tour to yet another far away country. He’d survived his first three with barely a visible scratch, but she could see the soul of her son vanishing every time he came home… she also knew it was inevitable that something would happen eventually.

He was only two months into his tour when his convoy was hit by an IED. He remembers nothing of it, not vividly, but the memories of the sounds and bright flashes and screams haunted his memories for months – sometimes still do. Jacob Thomas was one of the lucky ones, escaping the wreckage with wounds that would lead to an honorable discharge and his soul in pieces, but alive and well in the eyes of the press. No one else in his truck had survived, he found out weeks after the incident, and had spent the next 3 days staring out of the window from his hospital bed back in England refusing to say a word.

Recovery was a slow process, and had Jake been any younger he probably would have been raring to sprint right out of the recovery room at any moment, but through his years and hi9s experiences he had mellowed off quite a bit. The memories that haunted his nightmares exhausted him beyond belief as well, leaving him in a semi-trance like state whilst his body healed. His entire upper right side of his body had been peppered with shrapnel, some too small to remove during emergency surgery to try and stop his bleeding. Two larger sheets of metal had ripped through his upper arm as well, leaving huge gauges that spanned at least ten centimeters and ran deep. Some of the muscle and ligaments had been torn in the blast, leaving his right arm much weaker than his left, and none of the doctors could guarantee him ever regaining full strength in it. The scars would heal though, they didn’t bother him that much, what hurt the most was the constant ringing in his ears and the flashes of bright light he’d get when he closed his eyes. He’d been taught a method to stave off the tinnitus, but it was a lot of effort, and only offered him a small time of reprieve.

“Maybe when you’ve got more energy back,” the nurses used to say, “then you’ll feel more like yourself again.” It was hard for Jake to believe them in that moment, his sense of self so far away it felt like it would take a lifetime to find it again, but as many nurses tend to be, they were right.

It took a while, years in fact, but Jake started to finally heal emotionally, long after his physical wounds had closed. What helped him the most was the physical therapy he was going through with the veterans hospital. Being back in a gym and exerting himself over and over again brought him back to his teenage years, remembering the joy of the burn in his muscles that always left him hurting but calm. It was something for him to grasp onto, cling to for dear life as he managed to pull himself out from the depths that he’d fallen into after returning to civilian life again, and for the second time in his life, Jacob began to see a career in sports yet again.

He was thirty five when he decided a bit of adventure would do his heart good. He’d started working in physical therapy himself after learning so much from the years he’d participated in it himself. He had still yet to regain full strength in his right arm following the blast, but the harsh ache he felt after trying to build it up always reminded him of how lucky he was to be alive, how much could have gone wrong had he been sat ten centimetres to his right…

America was where he went, having grown up watching movies about the great american dream and adventure and action, all packed into one massive country. He was only planning on going for a month of two, not wanting to do a full roadtrip but at least getting to see the big cities like New York, Dallas and LA. He would head back home to England after that with a new lease of life, he told himself, and he’d be ready to grow up again.

But Boot Hill got in his way. Not that he remembers much about his earlier life now though. Jake has called the small town home for just over a year now, soon coming up on his second year anniversary. He remembers his mum back in England, but nothing about the plans to return home. He’d let her know he’d found a place he liked and was planning to stay a little longer when he’d first gotten to the Arizona desert, and he’d just never left. Here, it felt like the pain from his past was less. He still has nightmares occasionally, but they’re duller than before, the bright lights less harsh and the ringing in his ears just a little bit quieter. Jacob feels like Boot Hill is trying to heal him, the longer he stays and the more friends he makes, and he can’t help but smile at the idea that this dusty old town would love him as much as he loved it.

❝ how fragile we are, between the few good moments. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Tom Hardy AUTHOR › Kasper

#tom hardy #rp #rpg #town rp #oc rp #{ all. }#{ local. }#{ m. }#{ over thirty. }#{ kasper. }#death tw #ptsd tw

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january-summers · 4 years ago

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Memorable Deaths and Mutilations of Fate Saga:

I noticed something interesting as I was slogging my way through Fate: the Winx Saga.

Under the cut is the deaths and/or mutilations that I remember from the season.

Two of them, are not like the others. See if you can figure out which deaths they are and what was different about them!

I’ve kept names out of it to limit spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen the series yet but thinks they might want to if the gore isn’t as bad as the rating makes it sound.

(Also: there is drug use, but apart from basically episode three which has pot brownies and a sexualised montage of three people ‘shot gunning’ of what might also be pot?, you can pass it off as normal smoking.)

We start of the series with a sheep 'wandered off' from its herd, found strung up in a tree with its insides a lot more outside than it should be after it drips a cup or three of blood onto the Farmer's flashlight below.

This Farmer races back out of the woods, seemingly chased by something, only to (be) trip(ped) a body length from safety. He tries to pull himself through a magical barrier but is dragged off screen and quickly killed, only a splatter of blood against a nearby sheep to show what was done.

The Farmer's body reappears several scenes later, lying dead in the forest, cut up like a standard Hollywood movie 'unknown animal attack' corpse. Without looking closely, you might miss the fact his head is a little further from his body than it should be until one of the students mention it later.

Our next series of deaths are actually a group sale, as the main cast stumble upon the opening scene of Game of Thrones – Lush and un-frozen Forest Edition.

A clearing is covered with roughly a dozen dead Specialists (the adult graduates kind) in various states of clawed up and dismembered-but-everything-stayed-close-by-so-you'd-have-to-look-for-it.

Except for a survivor whose wounds we'll get several close looks at over the next mini-arc.

We get two enemy kills here, one is set ineffectively on fire before being blasted into a convenient tree branch where it dies instantly. (Those a lost artefact has to be pulled from its body, the camera focuses mostly on the face of the one retrieving the item.)

The next enemy kill is a series of magical attacks as the main cast attempt to take it down, which they do pretty quickly, before it begins to glow like it's about to explode, but it just turns out to be a final magical blow from off-screen help that actually kills it.

Our next death is surprisingly clean, no blood involved as one of the bad guys gets paralysed and turned to dust in a sudden yet inevitable betrayal.

Another injury viewing joins the list as another specialist is cut up by the enemy and he has to return for treatment while his (partner? and) 'squadron (or whatever) finish the hunt.

His squadron is killed off screen, we find out when his partner video calls to inform him there's far more enemies than expected.

She tells him she thinks her leg is broken and she can't run, but her video shows the enemy behind her so she has no choice but to run on a broken leg as she is visibly chased. She terrified, crying, and then her phone goes tumbling as she's finally dragged down to the ground. The phone showing terrifying shots of the enemy's head snarling, interspersed by the reactions from her partner and those nearby.

The Audio contains a mixture of her screams and cries and the squelch of the enemies tearing her to pieces.

This audio is played later to... I assume psych the other specialist up for the fight ahead?

We get some flashbacks to a massacre of a village, gradually learning different facts which is supposed to change our idea of who is good and who is evil and who is just doing what they think is the right thing.

This features burning houses, some charred corpses. (There's also some flashbacks earlier on of the time MC's house was on fire, but no one died and the only resulting injury we saw was a healed burn scar on her mother's arm. The mother was unconscious and covered in a blanket by the father as the small family was surrounded by flames, so kind of intense, but not overly gory.)

And a sword fight between two specialists (after one turns out to be a teeny bit of a zealot) which ends when one of them stabs the kind-of-a-zealot in self defense. It’s pretty quick, with a bit of “oh my gosh that just happened” pause, but not a lot of blood.

Shortly before the final battle one of the secondary cast gets injured by an enemy, and there are several close ups of the wound which is later revealed to have a pretty big splinter in it, so this one is more... 'active' than the other 'just injured' injury shots so far. The characters tending him get blood on their hands, and we see shots of the 'splinter' being removed.

Half a dozen or so enemies are blasted with magic and fall down, when the scene ends it is revealed their corpses have reverted to human form, but we see no injuries, or even their faces.

One final shock twist as the cliff hanger of the season builds sees a female character levitated from behind after she refuses to back down to the new enemy of the show, and her neck is snapped on screen. Her neck is in fact snapped so hard, there's a small spray of blood before her body is unceremoniously dropped, and devoured by the earth.

Answer to which deaths were different and why: of all the Deaths, the two which featured visibly/identifiably female characters were the most brutal.

I feel like I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.

The difference between the farmer and the female specialist, by the way, was the fact the farmer was killed off screen in about a second, while her death took far longer. Her chase scene was also in the daylight, the danger was both very real and visibly chasing her. Unlike the Farmer’s scene, where there felt like there was a sliver of hope he might escape, the moment the phone was answered and she started speaking, it was only a matter of ‘how long until the injured man sees his partner killed over the screen.’

The final death was violent, compared to the only other true onscreen death (of a non-monster enemy) was violent and showy. Where there was no body of the man to treat like trash, the woman’s body was literally dumped into the dirt.

There is a difference in the way the female deaths were treated, by several degrees of violence.

#fate the winx saga #fate the winx club saga #not quite a death count

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scarletgardensrpg · 4 years ago

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UNDEAD ♦ TWENTY-FIVE ♦ THE ASCENDANCY

PETER SÉJOUR is an Undead member of the Ascendancy, best known as the "Doctor"—a euphemistic title used to describe his role as the Ascendancy's rotbeest exterminator. Originally a Yellow Jacket spy tasked with infiltrating the Moulin Rouge to tail Kisara, Peter, after reuniting with his brother Dimitri, chose to renege to the Ascendancy two years ago. Resurrected by Neeve in Côte d'Ivoire, Peter exhibits the classic characteristics of all her creations: startling grace and beauty, the uncanny ability to pass off as a living person, and a resistance to the destructive side effects of PM-GRNT. As a result, Peter is entrusted by Nikolaas to not only regulate drug use among Undead members, but to additionally "take care of" those who have descended into madness and reverted back into rotbeesten.

BIOGRAPHY

Cecile had curled her mouth at the sight of him: pale with infection, shivering in the dark earth, all loveliness vanished in the wake of rot and filth. At her side, stood the slender, fox-faced Blue, who, almost pityingly, turned away—as if to spare him the humiliation of being observed in such a state. At last, Cecile turned away, too, tugging sharply at the cord of rope, coiled around her delicate wrist at one end and collared around Dimitri’s neck at the other. Peter would remember this moment forever: he carried it with him into death, into madness-tinged revival, into resurrection under Neeve’s steady hand. The rain. The cold. The hurt. And those words, spoken from Cecile's mouth like an iron brand upon his chest: Come, Dimitri. Laissez-le.

- ❀ -

Abidjan was a city of extremes: the cerulean port of Côte d'Ivoire, one half a pristine metropolis of commercial avenues and gleaming skyscrapers; the other half a dogged slum, steeped in sour fumes and dead grass. He would be born into the latter half, one forgotten child among countless others, and he would know only this for years and years: grime and squalor, bottomless hunger, violet-dark nights of restless fear. To live was to survive, and to survive was to kill that which made you soft. And he was soft. Or, at least, he looked it: an Adonis of unrivaled, striking beauty, soft-lipped and jewel-eyed, who never quite filled out like the other boys—but instead, remained limber and lean throughout his youth. Had his circumstances been different, Peter would have enjoyed the attention. In Abidjan, it marked him out and made him look weak. How to show that he wasn’t? He would split his knuckles on a dozen noses to prove it, use his teeth and nails like any feral urchin, and come out of every fight hoping the bruises on his face would leave permanent scars. Eventually, he found his other half. The younger boy, already so saturated with bitter arrogance, so unrestrained and self-impressed, had made his first words to Peter a taunt—Es-tu une fille?—and they’d tussled over bread, or a necklace, or something else inconsequential—until the punches began to glance, and they began to laugh. These were the better years: when there had been someone to share the vicious days and violent nights with, someone to bleed with. Dimitri's harsh beauty rivaled his own—but where Peter had stripped his away in hateful resentment for the way it made him into a target, Dimitri twisted his own into a weapon of violence. He could make any ruinous act of barbery look sublime. He could dress in only hunger and lack, yet make those things look like regal ornaments upon an emperor's robe. It disturbed Peter, and it intrigued him.

Peter et Dimitri, Dimitri et Peter. They would wind through ashen streets, hand in unlovable hand, just as two famished cubs of the savannah might prowl together, hunting joyously for something to sink their teeth into. Dimitri made survival into a sport; something to indulge and luxuriate in, reckless in his conviction that each day they were alive was cause for the grandest of celebrations—and the gravest of risks. Peter, who built armored layer after armored layer over himself, and long ago was made frigid and austere by the treacheries of the city—he had never been able to rejoice in the chaos, as Dimitri so often did. You will get us both killed, Peter snarled. But it was hard to be angry with Dimitri, who only ever smirked, cheshirely and dark: Perhaps, but I am getting us to live first. In the end, they were both right. The days were sated and tranquil; the nights wild and remarkable. But at the end of the world, his brother had been the one to get them into trouble with the rotbeest—and in provoking such a terrible creature, sealed them both to the fate of death. You could not brawl with beasts the way you brawled with people. In the gladiator arena of nature, humans would lose, everytime. Dimitri died first, caught in its jaws, made mad by its bite, himself transformed into hell incarnate—and then Peter, who, at the very end, could not bring himself after all to kill the one thing which brought happiness to his life, not even the worser shadow of him. It was almost laughable—Peter, so heartless, so merciless, so graceless—bore all three yet. Blue did not want him for this very reason, looking hungrily instead to Dimitri, imploring Cecile to save him, and leave Peter to die. And died he did.

So it would be Neeve who found him instead: a curse of separation, a blessing of resurrection nonetheless. She was the sun-skinned Queen of Eden, whose gaze never once left Peter’s while Kazimir cleaned blood and soil off of his damaged body, and who returned to him his resplendent beauty one hundred fold, feeding him the ambrosia of her own flesh and blood. It makes you powerful, she’d say afterwards, tracing a finger along the fine arch of his brow, the straight slope of his nose—along every rivulet of his face, which had afforded him bitter troubles from birth to death. Neeve was gentler than others, but for the first time, Peter thought a glint of something hungry and divine shined in her eyes, watching her watch him. Mourn not for your fearsome brother. I have made you in my image. That is a tremendous gift. He had not believed her, nor fully understood what she meant. But then—when the Undead began to tremble before him, when he learned to wield his grace like a knife to the throat—yes, he understood her, then. Neeve had put him excruciatingly close to the living—a proximity which granted him a rare peace, an ethereal loveliness, and a coveted clarity of mind. He could remember every detail of his past: memories he would have once discarded in disgust, but now held onto like a drowning man. Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri. I’ll be screaming through the afterlife. I’ll be hunting for you, buried under flowers. The House would rear him into a weapon: a guileful liar and spy, cold of perfect gaze and void of heart. It was who he was supposed to be, anyway—but where the other Undead soldiers were weaned on dosage after dosage of PM-GRNT 197, which persuaded them into a numb, sightless loyalty—Peter remained largely unafflicted. Another gift, though one he suspected Neeve had not intentionally meant to give him. Nevertheless: it was this gift which had allowed him to find Dimitri at last—and before he could change his mind, follow him.

CONNECTIONS

DIMITRI – THE RUINS. Prenez quelques conseils. Nobody likes a know-it-all, Peter used to advise, and it was not advice at all—rather, a pricky, sullen complain. Dimitri, damn him, would only ever flash that sunny smile, indulgent and endlessly pleased with himself. Mais—you do. And what could Peter say to that? Only that it was true, and he did not like Dimitri, but rather loved him: fiercely and without pretension, just as all brothers ought to. They were not blood, but in those days, there had been plenty of it around to seal their bond anyways: mouthfuls of it for each time they were caught and beaten; stained bandages and stinging, scraped knees for each time they weren’t. Life was hard in Abidjan, but Peter could always stomach it. Dimitri had made it stomachable. It was foolish of Peter to have thought they would both come away from death unscathed—and though Peter was indeed remade gently in Neeve’s radiant image, the same cannot be said for his brother, who, in being raised on Cecile’s manic ire, bears those very same traits, injurious and hateful. Peter, who came down from the heights of Heaven to sit in Hell with Dimitri instead, will not be so quick to give up. Dimitri, cleaved cleanly from his side by the detestable hound-girl, Blue, looks unseeingly upon Peter now and sees nothing worth his attention. As if I don’t know the shape of your soul, brother. As if you don’t know mine. He may treat Peter as coldly as he’d like—but Peter is sure the memories will return.

ZELDA – THE ANGEL. The gardener Zelda, who is gentle and ungentle in peculiar turns, produces the very poisons which, though unappealing to him, have seduced a pack of beasts into exhibiting incredible, almost frightening, reverence for her. If the seeds she doles out are the Undead’s religion, she herself is a Priestess of the Underworld. Indeed, they stand on opposite sides of the Ascendancy—she is beloved and protected; he is loathed and feared. And yet, in unexpected ways, he shares a striking kinship with her, and finds solace of a different kind in her orchard of blood and fruit. Perhaps it has to do with the way they both answer to turncoat, to traitor, to apostate—and perhaps it has to do with the graceful contours of their face and bodies, their rosy complexion, the manner with which they move through the world—that is, with thoughtless ease, as if they were made of water and wind. In the eyes of the Ascendancy, Zelda thrums with coveted, unobtainable life—and Peter, of all the Undead, sits closest to the realm of the living.

NEEVE & OKSANA – THE DEATH-GODDESS, THE WINTER-CAT. It is because of Neeve that Peter stands so starkly apart from nearly all other Undead: for those belonging to Julian are beholden to his every word like heartless soldiers, and those who answer to Cecile find themselves burdened with bloodlust. In some ways, this makes him extraordinarily lucky—and in other ways, this closeness to something he’ll never again be wounds him beyond words. Just as Sasha is Julian’s greatest joy and fiercest pride, so too had he and Oksana once been the lovely Neeve’s: her most perfect creations, molded so closely in the image of the living that they could almost taste it. Peter does not regret turning his back on the House, but he cannot deny that he misses the two of them. Neeve is, naturally, heartbroken that he has left—but whereas her grief is simple, Oksana’s is far more complex. He and Oksana are no saints, of course, and have never claimed to be—but there was a promise made at some point that they, for all their trainings in deception and con, would never lie to one another. Peter, then, in plunging a knife in her back has done something unforgivable. In the wake of his betrayal, Oksana has since descended beyond some high precipice of gracelessness, having now grown into a feral, wounded creature. He had not planned on ever crossing paths with her again, but Neeve has sent Oksana to not only finish what he failed to two years ago on his mission, but to collect him, as well.

OPEN ♦ FC: DUDLEY O'SHAUGHNESSY

#peter #o #ud #asc #all #lsrpg #lsrp #new rp #bio rp #horror rp

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agirlandherfed · 7 years ago

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ISSUES: Coping Strategies

This is a short story I did for Geeky Giving, a charity working to promote research in “Parkinson’s, ALS, traumatic brain injuries, brain tumors, Alzheimer’s and more.” They were kind enough to let me do an AGAHF short story for the charity anthology, so I did Jenny and Shawn: Jenny because she’s the researcher, Shawn because he’s been hurt. The story’s copyright has reverted to me, so I’m posting it here for everyone.

The man on the other side of the bed was sweet and kind and completely insane.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. This uncertainty bothered her more than the act of sleeping with a crazed man. Five years ago, she would have been mortified with herself, with the idea of intimacy with someone such as Shawn. Even if he wasn’t her patient. Even if he was more than a friend. Today, he was just…Shawn.

She didn’t let herself think about it—she’d find fear down there, and maybe something else, something that could chase the fear away but leave them both forever changed.

Instead, she stared at the ceiling and pretended she couldn’t hear her machines call to her.

Shawn’s mental voice was strong, and ran as crisp as a winter river through her mind. “Go,” he said.

“I thought you were asleep,” she whispered aloud.

“You’re too noisy. You should go. Go be with them.”

She rolled over to face him. He had cut his hair himself last week and had done an awkward job of it. Someone had given him a buzz cut to tidy him up, but aggressive neurosurgery and skull-shorn hair paired poorly. She traced his scars with her fingertips, feeling the bumps and twists of the ridges of his scar tissue, and beneath that, his drowsy tangle of emotions.

“They miss you,” he said in her mind. He reached out and traced her own scars, hidden beneath her short brown hair. “I’ll miss you, too, but I want to sleep.”

“All right.” She kissed him on his shoulder, and felt him drop out of her senses as his implant went into passive mode. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he muttered into his pillow, his voice cut down to nothing from lack of use. “I remember having more energy after sex.”

“You remember sex when you were twenty,” she said. Their clothes were a single knot on the floor; she yanked on loose ends until she had reclaimed her pants. “We’re getting old.”

Gentle snoring.

The other members of the collective slept around them, rooms and buildings and miles away. She felt them around her, off-line but still present in the back of her head, four hundred souls who shared their thoughts with her during the day but kept their dreams to themselves.

She opened the door to the crash room and stepped into her lab. It was a medical suite in name only, stuck beneath a crumbling mansion in what once had been a wine cellar. Federal funding only went so far: the government could front the costs for the cutting-edge technology that had gone into their heads, but resources for infrastructure and development? Please.

She didn’t mind. She had built her own diagnostic laboratory by scavenging equipment from storage, or buying what she couldn’t borrow. The room served double-duty as an emergency ward, but the worst injuries she saw tended to be exercise-induced, and not too many of those.

It left her plenty of time for her own projects.

Her computers whirred to life around her. There was no need for clunky access codes; they recognized her and welcomed her home.

“HELLO, JENNY.”

Theirs was a woman’s voice, false and mechanical. Most days, she told herself that they couldn’t feel, that she was projecting her own eagerness to get back to work on her machines.

On nights like this, when the rest of the collective was sleeping and she was nearly alone in her own head, Jenny wasn’t so sure.

“Hello, ladies,” she said. “Ready to play?”

A human brain sprung up around her in reply.

It was lovingly rendered in greens, and enlarged ten times life-size for clarity; if she looked closely, she could see the bright flashes of synapses.

(Which was something of a comfort—it was her own brain, scanned and digitized, and independent confirmation that your own brain is active is always welcome.)

The implant rested against her parietal lobe, a small metallic sliver smaller than the head of a nail. At this resolution, she could make out the microscopic filaments connected to it; these ran throughout her brain, the majority twining into her brain stem. Heat regulation had been front and center on the developers’ own minds; without it, the cyborgs would have cooked themselves within their own skulls.

She ran her fingers through the hologram. The silvery filaments covered her holographic brain like cobwebs, shining brightly against the green.

“Ladies, overlay image JED-1 over master.”

A second brain appeared, the same general size and shape as the first but made from blues instead of greens. The opacity of the green brain diminished as the blue brain was positioned over it.

“File: Jenny Davis, late night ramblings,” she said aloud. Talking helped. Speaking directly to her computers through her implant was good for clinical analysis, but it was late, and she was tired, and it was time to purge her thoughts so she could, maybe, get some sleep.

“RECORDING.”

“Thank you, ladies. Subfile: Background, general.” She began to pace around and through the hologram, checking for oddities. The blue brain was hers, too—had been hers, once, nearly seven years and an entire lifetime ago. Before the surgery, and the collective, and the alien oddness of hiveminds had all had their way with it. “Image JED-1, brain of a healthy 22-year-old Caucasian female. Ladies, highlight parietal lobe.”

A section of the hologram began to glow.

“Side by side, magnify, compare and contrast.”

The hologram divided itself again, blue and green enlarging to fill the room. She wandered through the colors, talking to her machines as she went, tracing lines and shapes and twisting flashes of—

“What’s this?”

Jenny swore aloud as her concentration shattered. Shawn flinched away from her sudden frustration and dropped to his knees.

“Oh, honey!” She knelt beside him and reached out through the link. His consciousness scurried away from hers, looking for an escape but unable to find it. “I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry.”

She pressed her bare hands against his bare shoulders: she pushed positive emotions—calm, peace, belonging—across the bridge of their skin until he believed it.

He uncurled, looking up at her like a lost lamb.

“I thought you were asleep,” she explained. “You scared me.”

Shawn laughed at that.

She managed to coax him off of the ground, one arm around him to keep him steady. “Here,” she said aloud. “Look. Want to see something amazing?

“This is me,” she continued, pointing to the blue hologram. “You know those tests you hate so much?”

“The brain scans?” He shuddered, and the sensation of being trapped in a tight white chamber crushed against her. Of lying as still as death, of knowing the person on the other end of the monitor was looking for what was wrong about what the core of you…

“Easy,” she whispered. “Please.”

His fear let her go, slowly. It had managed to find the cracks in her own psyche and had set itself deep—What if these brain implants stimulate tumorigenesis? Or neurodegeneration, or arteriovenous malformation, or… An almost endless list of what could go wrong…

But there was the green hologram, brand-new and still perfect, and she told herself to put those fears aside.

“Well…” she began, “you remember during orientation, when we all had full medical diagnostics done? This is a composite image from my first MRI and CT scans.”

He stretched out a hand; it passed through the hologram, layering him in a blue the color of a summer sky.

“And this is me, too,” she said, pulling the green parietal lobe towards them. “From last week. Notice the differences?”

“This,” he said, as he pointed to the bright sliver of light on the green lobe. “Obviously.”

“What else?”

He grinned at her. A sense of pleasure at the challenge came back to her over their link, and she turned away on the pretense of gathering up some fallen papers. Too easy to forget that Shawn had once been in the FBI, that he had once been a brilliant up-and-coming forensic artist.

That experimenting with the human mind could have consequences.

Shawn didn’t seem to notice. He moved between the holograms, sorting and poking. His own digital renders began to appear as he worked; the holograms he created were more stylized than her own, freehand sketches hanging in the air beside her still images.

“Here,” he said, once done.

She wrapped her arms around him and stood on her toes so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. His sketches were playful, with arcs of white light moving across the lobes in quick streams. In some places, they caught what she hadn’t: Shawn’s sketches moved across regions that seemed no different than the others, with—

Jenny squinted, hard. “Are those bunnies?”

She stepped away from Shawn and moved into the holograms. A tiny cartoon rabbit popped out of a fold in her green parietal lobe and scampered across her brain. That first rabbit was followed by a second, then a third…more rabbits, an infinite number of rabbits, each scurrying with purpose towards different destinations.

Not just arcs of light, then.

“There are cheetahs somewhere,” he said. “And horses, too. They don’t show up as often. I used rabbits to show the most frequent movement.”

Sure enough, a streak of light emerged across the green expanse before her. A herd of wild mustangs, manes and tails flowing together as they ran, moved in a single stream.

“Damn,” she said softly. “Baby, this is really beautiful.”

She felt his cheeks flush. “It’s just a clip from a YouTube video,” he replied. “I didn’t have time to render each horse.”

“But you drew the bunnies?”

“One of them. The rest are a copy-paste job.”

“These are neural networks,” she said, reaching out to touch the mustangs with her mind. They blurred beneath her thoughts: she hastily moved her mind away, scared she had damaged them. The herd reformed and continued its journey. “Your bunnies are action potentials. The horses—” Out of the corner of her eye, a tiny feline body bunched and shot across the hologram at an incredible speed. “—and the cheetahs are electrochemical neurotransmissions.”

He laughed aloud, a wild, coughing sound. “I can’t remember freshman biology,” he said. “All I know is that the green brain has more wildlife than the blue one. A lot more wildlife.”

“That’s because the implant’s been changing us.”

White light in her head, so bright and sudden it took her a moment to realize her words had stunned him. Shawn stood, motionless, before he turned and fled to the comfortable darkness of the crash room.

“Oh, no, no, Shawn honey…” Jenny hurried after him. If he managed to make it under the bed, he’d be there for the rest of the week. She reached him in time to lay both hands flat on his back and pushed—calm, belonging, peace—across their joined skin.

He let her pull him away from the bed, but no further. They huddled on the floor in a sad, uncomfortable pile, and she felt a spot on the knee of her jeans grow damp.

Shawn was crying.

“There’s always some good that comes with change,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and desperate, before curling in on himself again.

“You didn’t break. You got a little bent, but… Here,” she said. “Come back to the lab. I want to show you something.”

Bad days turned him mulish, but this was a good day: she was able to coax him off the floor and as far as the doorway. They stood in the void between rooms, cold tile beneath their toes and warm carpet under their heels, as the holograms spun before them.

Jenny pointed. “You said you noticed how there was more wildlife in the green brain?”

“…yes…”

“That’s because our brains—this part of our brains, anyhow—is more active than it was before we got the implant. No, not just active—it’s thriving! Want to guess why?”

His attention was fixed on the holograms, but the easy scorn of an eyeroll passed between them.

“Humor me,” she said. “I’m going to have to explain this to people who aren’t in the collective at some point. Help me find the right words for this.”

“Because we’re using our brains in new ways,” Shawn replied, his mood pulling itself a little higher. “Talking via a link, or this—” he said, and pushed sensations at her.

Unseen fur, coarse but soft, surrounded her hands. Beneath that was the heat from a living body. With these came the memory of a beloved family dog, long dead but not forgotten.

“Exactly,” she said, blinking back her own tears at the loss of a pet she had never met. “We’re the first humans to have been augmented in this way. It’s causing us to think and act differently. We’ve got these new skills that we’re just beginning to put to use. We’re barely seven years into this experiment, and there’s already observable growth in the parietal lobe. Can you imagine what we’ll be able to do after—”

“Wait, Jenny, wait. Brains grow? Don’t we… I thought we started shedding brain mass once we turned eighteen.”

“That’s Hollywood science,” she said. “Outdated and chock full of errors, but it still fits the script. The reality is…”

—rabbits, horses, and giant cats, speeding over an expanse of green in endless knots of light—

“The reality is, we’re miracles,” she said to him. “Human beings weren’t meant to be networked together. We shouldn’t have the ability to survive as part of a collective, but we do. We change—we grow. We’ve barely begun to understand how we can do any of this, but the more we learn, the more we can use that to grow.”

Shawn broke away from her and stepped into the lab. Greens and blues moved around him, coloring him in a digital sea. He was still naked; the scars across his wrists were nearly as white as the glowing animals.

“What about me?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not…” Shawn’s hands clenched uselessly. “I’m not who I used to be. Does this mean I can go back to how I was, or will I…”

He opened his hands and let his mind pour into hers.

Memories. All of them, from the moment that his own mind broke under the weight of a new reality to living in the fear of staying as he was, unable to change, unable to grow, a roller coaster of emotions that threatened to tip off of the rails—

Too much: she cried out. Shawn lost focus: the memories faded.

Her world rebuilt itself in pieces. The floor came first: she had fallen to her knees. She concentrated on the patterns in the tile until she found the walls. Where there was a floor and walls, there was a ceiling…

She stood.

Shawn hadn’t noticed. “Is this me?” he asked. “This?! From now on?”

She closed her eyes and thought about impossible conversations. Then: “Ladies?”

The holograms stopped spinning.

“Replace current images with new holographic display. Show SEF-1 and SEF-46, parietal lobes only. Side-by-side comparisons.”

Blues and greens vanished; blues and greens returned. To the untrained eye, nothing had changed; the wildlife was gone, but the silvery rectangle was still there on the green brain, and the same flashes of light chased itself in purposeful patterns across both.

“Here,” she said, as she joined Shawn in the center of the room. “This is you. Your earliest scans are blue, and the most recent scans are green.”

He stared up at the twisting holograms. She felt his attention dart across the details, focusing like a laser on anything distinctive or different…

“They look just like yours,” he finally admitted.

“That’s the problem, baby.” Jenny pulled him close. “If you had typical neurological damage, it’d show up on the scans. Whatever happened to you, it’s…harder to find.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Mental illness can be caused by emotional, psychological, or physiological events, or a combination of these. We’re just beginning to scratch the surface of the causes of known disorders. Since your condition is almost unique, we’re flying blind.”

Sorrow. Loss. Anger—You’re a doctor! Why can’t you fix what’s wrong with me?!—and fear.

So much fear.

“We’ll get there,” she promised, as she pushed her own fear down below where she could feel it. “You’re responding well to medication and therapy. It’ll take time, and trial-and-error, and…and more tests, I’m sorry. None of this is easy, but we’ll make it work.

“You might never get back to who you used to be,” she admitted, as his heart hammered in her head. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get to where you want to be, now.”

“I can do more tests,” he said quietly, even as the white chamber rose up again in his mind.

Together, they held their fears away.

#agahf #short stories #Shawn #Jenny #mental illness #mental health #mental health support

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scurvgirl · 7 years ago

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Ash

Ashokara - Qunlat, noun; seeker of rebellion

All aboard the pain train. Warning for character death (lots) and suicidal thoughts.

Melarue belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Aili belongs to @lillotte17

Uthvir belongs to @feynites as well as taken lots of references from the first chapter of Looking Glass <3

Inquisitor!Kass Bad Ending, not canon

��I was a fool.”

“That is the kindest word for what you are,” she snarls, spear aimed high.

He is bloody and beaten, almost as much as she is. And while all sense of purpose has left him in a fit of existential anguish at having ruined everything, she is fresh and angry. Bloodied and burning. Her armor is tattered and old, parts of it scrapped from the people the dearest to her.

All gone. They’re all…gone.

Because of him.

She remembers when he was taller than she was, when she had looked up to him and he had sat down next to her. He taught her. Befriended her mother.

She angles the tip of the spear under his chin and his eyes fall closed.

“You are strong, Ashokara. Your mother is –

She angles the tip to cut him, he stops speaking and she shakes.

“You don’t get to talk about her, Fen’Harel.” She spits his name, his title, the curse dripping from her teeth like the blood as she watched her mother die.

He flinches at the name, still.

“No! There is nowhere left to run from who you are, what you have done. You killed them, destroyed the world. You don’t get solace, you don’t get peace, or forgiveness.”

“I know.”

She shakes, blinking through the tears, “Shut up!” He lies, always lies. He lied to her mother when he came and said he was there to help. He lied when he bent down and smiled at her. All lies when he said he wanted to speak her nanae. He had lied when he said he didn’t want to hurt what remained of her family.

Lies.

Her nanae may have lied to live, but they did not live their life in constant denial of who they were, of what they were doing. He had refused to see her world as more than a husk of what had been. He did not see her as a person, only now does he see her true strength because she has forced him.

She did not defeat him. He killed himself, destroyed the world and everything good she had ever known. Any person she has ever loved, gone.

And now here she stands, doomed to death, blessed to hopefully see her mama again. Her nanae. Uthvir. Aili. So many others that had fallen, telling her to run, to keep running. But eventually she ran out of road and she turned to face the wolf at her back.

She blinks away the tears and stares him down. His eyes are open again, swollen and lifeless. Ready to die, anguish staining part of his being. What pain does he know? All he does is inflict it – this is his fault.

“I did not want this to happen.”

“It did, what you wanted doesn’t matter now,” she growls. He blinks slowly and looks into her eyes. She hates him. It is a visceral thing, hating him. Knowing that all of her suffering, all the death, all the trials she has gone through is because of him. Her childhood ripped from her because of him. A loving mother, nanae, Uthvir and Aili who were practically family to her. The scars on her body.

The world burns in hues of orange and red, too large and great to be tamed by her. She tried. She tried so hard to stop it.

But smoke fills the air and her lungs. It stings her eyes, prickles at the back of her throat.

Kill him, da’len, Nanae’s voice whispers in her ear.

Kill him and be done with it, Uthvir’s voice says.

I don’t want you to die alone, sweetheart, Mama’s voice echoes. Her hands tremble, cursing internally.

She gives a great cry and drops the spear, falling to her knees, sobbing.

“I hate you, I hate you,” she cries, arms coming around herself. Her body aches and trembles and she almost hopes he drives the knife down, but instead she hears his own sobs. He doesn’t deserve it. The tears. He did this, he destroyed everything, whatever sadness he feels is nothing compared to hers.

“Stop…it,” she cries, “you did this.”

“I know,” he sobs.

“And for what? Why did you do this? Did you hate us that much?” She demands, looking up from her prone position. Her skin is cold despite the heat all around her and she longs for death at this point. To see her mama, her nanae. Her family.

He shakes his head, “No. I never hated you.”

“Stop lying, there’s no use in it.”

“I did not think you consequential enough to hate you,” he clarifies and she laughs bitterly. A terrible truth, not a lie. He didn’t care enough to even hate her, hate them.

“If this isn’t what you wanted – what did you want?”

“What does it matter now?”

“Because I want to know what my mother died for.” Her tone is cold and she wishes pain with every word. She should kill him.

A large flare crackles in the distance and she frowns at it. The flames reach up towards the roiling sky and grows into a full blaze. That is what will kill her, she thinks. Or the smoke. Maybe Fen’Harel will finally slay her too.

He looks towards her, face streaked with tears, blood, and dirt.

“Ashokara….”

“My nanae. My friends. My family. Why did you kill them?” She asks, this time more softly. It is the softness that hurts him most. That he forgets that she is only eighteen, still capable of softness despite the world burning around them.

“I planned to revert the world to the state it had been in before Mythal died,” his voice is thin as the smoke begins to fill the air.

“Melarue and Uthvir were alive then,” he tells her and her brow furrows.

“Why are they worth more than my mother? Than Aili? Than…everyone?” She asks and he shakes his head.

“I hoped it would be some consolation.”

“My mother is dead, I am about to be dead. There are no consolations in that,” she coughs and blood spurts up with it. It comes for her soon then, good, she is weary of this world. He doesn’t get solace in any life, whatever he has remaining whatever he may have ever again. But Ash will get some, she’ll see her mama again, she’ll not feel the crushing weight of the dead. Suffocating as she tries to soldier on.

Survive, da’len! Nanae had shouted, sending her running down the escape tunnel. She had tried, but now…now it is time to not.

Let go, Aili had whispered.

But she can’t.

Not now, not ever, she thinks. The only grip that is slipping is the one she has on life. Fen’Harel will die, his blood sinking into the ash beneath them.

She lets her head fall back and exhales. Smoke drifts up from her mouth, a flame dancing in her mouth, sputtering and dying quickly. With the Veil down, her magic feels wild and unrestrained, an untenable burning that had swept away many of his soldiers. She helped burn the world too.

“We were always people,” she tells him.

“I know.”

“Stop saying that! Because if you knew, then this wouldn’t have happened!” She spits. He lets out a long sigh and she is filled with the urge to hit him. Only her fatigue keeps her down.

Fen’Harel falls back, clutching at a wound on his stomach. All they do now is wait until they are overcome by their injuries or the fire gets them.

“Your soul will never sleep,” she tells him, “but I will see my mother again.” It should hurt him, she wants it to hurt him, but he leans forward toward the sky, a light in his eyes. No, no. She knows that look, that spark of hope. She reaches for her spear, ready to strike.

“What are you looking at, wolf?” She demands, following his line of sight.

“It’s a fold…” he murmurs. Ash narrows her eyes. Him and his damn Fade. “Maybe not all is lost…”

“Just…die, be done with it,” she begs, hauling herself to her feet. She raises her spear once more, aimed for his heart. He looks over to her and lets out a breath.

“Focus, Ashokara, one more time. Do you feel that pulsing? The shifting of magic?” He pleads. She scowls but she does feel it, the swirling, pulling strands of magic.

“What does it mean?”

His breathing becomes labored but he smiles, the sort of sick smile a dying man smiles when he realizes he hasn’t died for naught….

“No…no, you couldn’t win – it didn’t work!” She fights but he shakes his head.

“You can change it. Pull on the magic, think of when you’d want to go back to, a memory will work.”

“I have never been good at that magic, you know that,” she says. He nods, and looks back over her shoulder at the green light.

“I know.”

Fen’Harel looks back at her, eyes no longer hopeful but determined. In a flash he reaches over her hand and pulls her spear down into him. Magic blooms from him and from where his hand touches hers, a pain so brilliant springs forth. She is thrust back from him into the churning sky, screaming. She watches as his body falls to the ground and the smoke finally engulfs him.

Dead.

She tumbles into the sky, the magic pulling her forward, and back, pushing at her, asking her, demanding her. Chaos envelopes her and she only has one thought to guide it all.

She wants to go back to before this all began.

#my writing #I AM SORRY #but when I found out that I accidentally made Ash's name equate to what Fen'Harel's name was SUPPOSED TO MEAN #I uh....got carried away #and then i was enabled #<3 you cinn #there are plans for this #ashokara #fen'harel #looking glass fanfiction #feynites #seeker of rebellion au #fic #I cried writing this #it hurts me too #it's why it's short

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sinjaangels · 7 years ago

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My Hero Academia AU - Fighting Dogs cont’d

An In-depth look into the story based on this idea previously posted:

Male children at the age of four are being kidnapped by a criminal organization for illegal quirk fighting.

An organization for underground quirk fighting kidnap male children at the age when their quirks first develop. The children are brutally trained to use their quirks for entertainment fighting. The ring is of course illegal due to kidnapping, enslavement, child abuse, drug use and the illegal use of quirks.

A group of children are assigned a Trainer. The Trainer would have a quirk that overpowers another child’s quirk. For elemental quirks, they have a trainer that can withstand their quirks or a quirk that is opposite of the element. (Ex., a water/ice quirk-user would be the trainer over a fire/lightning user and vice versa.)

The children are not considered children or even human. They are kept in cages.

If they refuse to fight or don’t follow orders they are severally punished physically, denied food or force into solitary confinement.

Not only are they trained to use their quirks, they are trained to strengthen their bodies through cardio and strength-training. They are also taught various forms of martial arts.

After four to six years of training they are put in the ring. They either fight each other or against quirk-users wanting to test their skills (civilians and villains).

To cope with captivity and to survive, the children revert to their base instincts and act like animals. They are not allowed to talk to each other which has them use other forms of communication of sounds, gestures, eye movements and other body language. Soon, they are all referred to as dogs and even have their own collars.

“Dogs” that don’t have a flashy quirk or are weak are used as bait or punching bags for stronger “dogs”. Through being constantly pitted against others, some die due to injury or “dogs” that lose themselves and go out of control. Very few have managed to strengthen their quirks.

Positions in the Ring:

- the Master: organizes and funds the ring. Oversees the care of his “dogs” and employees.

- the Trainers: the “dogs” are trained by the Trainers.

- the Handlers: assist the Trainers in moving the “dogs”, feeding, washing, etc.

- the Vet: an illegal doctor with a healing quirk. The Vet also creates supplements to make the “dogs” aggressive, increase stamina or whatever needs to make the fights “interesting”.

- The Armorer: Provides gear for the “dogs” and tools for the Trainers and Handlers

The “dogs” are kept in a warehouse outside of the city. It is where they live and are trained. Fight rings are held in different locations within the city. Money is made by paying spectators to watch the fights, participate in the fights, prize money if a “dog” is beaten by an outsider and bets placed.

The main children apart of the ring:

- Bakugou Katsuki: Fight Names - Hell Grip

- Kirishima Eijiro: FN - Stoneskin

- Shoji Mezo: FN - Octa-kill

- Tokoyami Fumikage: FN - Shadow Crow

- Iida Tenya: FN - Samurai

- Shishida Jurota

- Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

- Honenuki Juzo

- Kamakiri Togaru

Katsuki is the most troublesome “dog”. At the beginning, he made several escape attempts and had attacked his Trainers and Handlers. Because of that, Katsuki is the most punished “dog” since being brought into the underground. He does enjoy fighting, especially against the un-collared fighters. Katsuki fights his fellow “dogs” seriously to make them stronger so they can survive together, but will not kill them or crippled those he considers an ally. There had been “dogs” that went crazy and had killed or harmed each other. Katsuki had fought these dogs and had punished them by either wounding them or as a last resort, kill them. Deaths in the ring, makes the ring much more exciting for its spectators. Katsuki is so dangerous that he is forced to wear a muzzle and special flame-resistant gloves that is locked onto his hands. He must be fed by hand as he is usually chained within his cage when not in training or fighting. Not a fun task for any Trainer or Handler. Katsuki hates the Master, but understands that he is the one that keeps him and the others alive. When the Master’s life was threatened, it was Katsuki that saved him. The Master knows that Katsuki has no affection for him and respects Katsuki’s strength and resistance.

Eijiro is a strange “dog”. Despite all the trails and terrible training, he retains his kind nature and offers solace and comfort to the other “dogs” that need it. He especially is drawn close to Katsuki, inspired by his fighting spirit through years. Eijiro helps Katsuki grounded in his humanity. Eijiro holds onto much of his humanity, but when in the ring, he too can become a fierce animal. He is known to have used his teeth in a fight once or twice. Due to his quirk, he has the least number of scars of all the “dogs”. The only scar he has was the scar from his childhood.

Mezo is gentle, a gentle giant. He finds comfort with the other “dogs” and is protective of “dogs” that are consider weak or have less flashy quirks. Mezo receives the most scars, next to Katsuki.

Fumikage is one of the top “dogs”. His quirk, Black Shadow, has made him quite renown in the ring. To keep Black Shadow under control, Fumikage is placed in a lit room to keep Black Shadow weakened between training and the fights. Fumikage keeps hope that he and the others will either escape or be rescued. He is the only one that speaks, but he only recites prayers and poems he could remember from when he was small.

Tenya was taken by chance and brought into a very ugly world of reality. He was incredibly frightened by these awful strangers that were hurting him and the other children and forcing them to hurt others. Tenya heavily relies on both Katsuki and Eijiro for guidance. Katsuki had to work really hard toughening up Tenya. Tenya may not have survived without Katsuki bullying him to live and fight another day. Tenya becomes close to one of the Handlers who reminded him of his older brother. Tenya becomes one of the top “dogs” with his large build and speed. His fighting style is hard-hitting and precised. His fighting name is the Samurai. When the ring was shut down, Tenya was reunited with his family. He and his brother were relieved to see each other. However, Tenya has trouble going back to his “proper” lifestyle. Like Eijiro, Tenya becomes fond of Izuna (fem!Izuku) and also of Uraraka Ochako.

The Master of the ring considers the “dogs” his pets. He even treats them with some sort of affection and makes sure they are well cared for. His son jokes that the Master loves his “dogs” more than him. Some “dogs” even trust him and in one instance, one “dog” protected the Master from a villain that wanted to buy one of the “dogs” which the Master refused to do so. The Master later passes and the ring falls into the hands of his son. Through the son, begins the fall of the ring.

The son abuses the ring and its “dogs”. Trainers and Handlers are not pleased but they remain for the “dogs’” sake. The relationship between the Trainers, Handlers and the “dogs” is revealed to be a strange bond. What draws the line was when the new Master uses the “dogs” to intimidate his rivals and enemies. The Trainers and Handlers outwardly protest this when a “dog” attacks a non-fighter outside the ring and escaped.

The escaped “dog” is Katsuki, the number one “dog”. Foolishly, the new Master unlocked Katsuki’s restraints. Katsuki used this opportunity to escape.

Katsuki returns to a neighborhood he recognizes from his childhood. He is reunited with Midoriya Izuna (fem!Izuku) when he saves her from the slime monster and gains media attention when he is saved by All Might (with some help from Izuna)! After the incident, Katsuki instantly attaches himself to Izuna and becomes her “dog”. It took some coaxing, but she manages to take Katsuki back to his family home. He remembers his parents, but preferred to stay by Izuna’s side. Izuna and his parents go to the police.

The ring is busted up at last by a team of undercover cops that had infiltrated the ring thanks to the cooperation of the Trainers and Handlers in a year-long infiltration.

Many of the children held as “dogs” hardly acted as people. Some were so mentally unstable that they are unable to return to their families. UA volunteers its service to rehabilitate some of the children to reintroduce them into society. The children are kept on campus. Dorms are modified as more comfortable “kennels” which they are locked in with a bed and other essentials. Each child is seen by a therapist and doctor to gage their mental stability and under close supervision interact with their peers.

Katsuki appeared to be stable enough to live with Izuna. Both she and her mother were willing to keep Katsuki in their home. Katsuki follows Izuna everywhere, even to school. At UA, he is reunited with Eijiro who was one of the few that required little therapy. Eijiro becomes fond of Izuna as well and is very affectionate to her.

Katsuki doesn’t like anyone else besides Eijiro being close Izuna. Especially Todoroki Shouta, Iida Tenya or any other teenage male.

Katsuki has a knack of getting in and out of secure areas. Even breaking out his fellow “pack” members like Mezo and Fumikage from their rooms. Proof of his intelligence and cunning.

Katsuki and the others when they could escape, like to roam the streets, enjoying their freedom. Sometimes they would stay out and fall asleep at grassy parks or gardens or playgrounds.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia AU #boku no hero academia AU #mha #bnha #mhaAU #bnhaAU #feral children #fight club

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artbytesslyn · 8 years ago

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Hi! Do you have like, a list of headcaons for widow somewhere? Your take on her is super interesting and i wanna know more!!!

because lots of people are asking where I ‘align’ myself Widowmaker-wise, here’s a handy list that will also help interpret my art. Most of these are headcanons! It’s okay if you disagree with them! Anyway, here’s the sections included under the READMORE:

WIDOWMAKER AND AMELIEPRE-TALONTHE LACROIX TRAGEDY (The Gerard and Amelie dynamic)WIDOWMAKER AND SOMBRA DYNAMICWIDOWMAKER AND MERCY DYNAMICWIDOWMAKER AND REAPER DYNAMICWIDOWMAKER (HEALTH)

It’s long!

WIDOWMAKER AND AMELIE-

-Widowmaker is NOT capable of reverting to a healthy Amelie, by the ‘power of love’ or otherwise.-Widowmaker could be pacified, but the way she processes emotion and the equilibrium of her body can never fully recover. She could recover as Widowmaker, but not as Amelie.-It’s possible to wake Amelie up in some way, but this would NOT result in healing. She would likely fight and kick and scream until someone sedated her. She would be completely resistant to help or treatment.-Widowmaker does not suppress Amelie. That isn’t how their relationship works. -Widowmaker doesn’t view Amelie as ‘dead’. -Widowmaker views herself as completely separate from Amelie. -Widowmaker regards herself more as a protector of Amelie than being of the same entity. -Amelie can communicate with Widowmaker. Their emotions mix and are expressed differently. -Widowmaker remembers, Amelie feels. Widowmaker as a singular entity is unfeeling. This is kind of complicated, but imagine Widowmaker is literally a picture of white glass. By itself, it makes no impression. But if you project it on top of something else, then it blurs the image underneath it and influences how the viewer sees it. Widowmaker is the filter laying on top of the what remains of Amelie. -Amelie isn’t a physical person anymore. She’s a presence inside Widowmaker. -Widowmaker is fiercely protective of Amelie and her memory. It is one of the only things she reacts strongly towards.-Widowmaker doesn’t see Amelie’s memories as her own, even though she has access to them.-Widowmaker refers to Amelie in the third person and inserts her into conversations. (Ex: “Amelie remembers him.” or “Amelie has been whispering.”)

PRE-TALON-

-Angela and Amelie were very close.-Amelie knew Lena, but not well. Lena had a one sided crush on her pre-Talon. -Gerard was NOT ABUSIVE. -Gerard and Amelie had a very loving relationship. They were a brash and theatrical couple who thrived off of each other and threw love in every direction. They were a presence at HQ; the Lacroix tragedy sent far reaching scars across Overwatch as a whole. -Ana knew the couple well. She thought Amelie was a bit young for Gerard, but the girl grew on her quickly. She felt the Lacroix tragedy deeply. She still believes Amelie was always an agent for Talon, because it’s what Jack told her. -Widowmaker remembers her past life.

THE LACROIX TRAGEDY-

-The Lacroix tragedy had hard consequences on Overwatch’s already-compromised position, despite the lie that softened the blow. Even without Amelie’s blood on their hands, Gerard’s death made the struggle all the more great.-Amelie’s kidnapping tore Gerard up. For months he bartered with his coworkers and friends to strengthen the search. There was little communication between Talon and Overwatch. It wasn’t a typical kidnapping, there were no demands made. They only knew that she was taken. Months pass. No word. Gerard is convinced Amelie is still alive, but others doubt. He continues on regardless, letting his personal health take a backseat. He knows Amelie must still be alive, but he also knows Talon. He knows them better than anyone on the team. He’s seen pictures of their victims and their hostages. But still, he presses on. Ana sees him struggle, sees his steadfast loyalty in Amelie, and helps the best she can.-Amelie is returned, unscathed but affected. Gerard rejoices and, in his franticness, demands Angela and Morrison release her into his care. He needs to know that she’s okay, domestically, he needs to see her at home again, he needs to see her smiling and happy again.-Amelie’s personality suffered greatly. Gerard saw this, and kept it private. He believed she could recover, he believed she just needed time. He watched after her as closely and protectively as he could.-The night before the murder, he confessed Amelie’s radically changing behavior to Angela in hopes she could help her. Angela recognized the signs of chemical/ mental altering and implored Gerard to bring her back into her care; Amelie was a close friend, painfully close, and Angela was horrified to hear how drastically she’d been affected.They made plans to collect Amelie and transfer her into medical in the morning. -Instead of acknowledging their mistake in prematurely releasing Amelie and accepting responsibility in both Amelie’s torture/ reconditioning and Gerard subsequent murder, Overwatch buried it all. Morrison told the organization that Gerard’s death was caused by Talon and Amelie was kidnapped once again, and was likely dead.-Morrison believed he had to do this. He thought the the organization would crumble from interior conflict if the details were brought to light.-Ana discovered Amelie later during the hostage situation in “Legacy”. She reported, and Morrison let her findings speak for themselves instead of using the information he already knew regarding Gerard’s death. Ana herself was personally stung hard; Gerard was a dear friend and Amelie, a trusted part of his life. This was the last action Ana had as part of Overwatch. Amelie was labeled a traitor and painted to be a willing participant in Talon’s operations. With the only man capable of factually discounting this dead, and friends distraught over the incident, the Lacroix Tragedy became a story of warning and betrayal.-Angela never believed this, but alone she couldn’t fight. Amelie was gone without closure. This incident left her view of Overwatch convoluted and broken. In the end, Overwatch fell, and she walked away knowing it was right. WIDOWMAKER AND SOMBRA DYNAMIC-

-In Sombra’s eyes, the Lacroix tragedy is a perfect example of her distrust of all large, organized syndicates. A secret with a living scar to prove it.-Sombra sympathizes with Widowmaker. She feels she has a personal stake in her existence. -Sombra understands, to an extent, that she can’t remove Widowmaker from Amelie. -Widowmaker would not acknowledge Sombra as a friend, or even ally. However, she allows Sombra actions that she loathes from others, including breaches in her personal space, conversation, and prying. -Sombra would protect Widowmaker in a life or death situation. She isn’t fond of this fact, but she accepts it.-Widowmaker has acted outside of her perimeters to protect Sombra in dogfights. -Sombra is one of the only people, save for Morrison and Reaper, who know the extent of Overwatch’s transgressions against the Lacroix family. -Sombra is NOT an abuser and doesn’t use this information to overpower Widowmaker in any way.-Sombra makes efforts to help Widowmaker feel human. Giving her clothing in cold weather, preparing comfortable areas for her, and knowing her routines are among them.

WIDOWMAKER AND MERCY DYNAMIC-

-Angela had very strong feelings for Amelie, but refused to act on them because of Gerard. She saw how happy they were and wouldn’t step between that. -There were...incidents when Angela drank too much, though. Amelie kept them to herself, as not to embarrass the doctor.-Angela wants to help Amelie, even now. She doesn’t understand the extent of the damage, as she hasn’t witnessed her up close. -Widowmaker remembers everything about Angela, even those personal encounters. She doesn’t know Angela communicated with Gerard. Because of this lack of communication, Widowmaker believes Angela was part of Overwatch’s coverup, and doesn’t know how she resisted.-Widowmaker feels familiarity in the presence of Angela. Amelie cries out in a very specific sort of way when she’s near.

WIDOWMAKER AND REAPER DYNAMIC-

-Like Sombra, Reaper sympathizes with Widowmaker. He sees many similarities in their stories.-Unlike Sombra, he remembers Amelie. He remembers how full of life she was, and he wishes he could bring that back. She doesn’t deserve to live this life, to endure the same pain as himself.-He has contemplated killing Widowmaker, as a mercy. He doesn’t, and he considers it selfish on his part.-He cares for Widowmaker, and Widowmaker, like with Sombra, gives him many allowances in return. -Widowmaker and Reaper are domestics. They know each other well.

WIDOWMAKER (HEALTH)-

-Widowmaker does not eat. Because of her very delicate bodily state, her digestive system can’t process food. Instead, she has glucose injections and IV fluid.-Most of her time is spent in a medical bay at Talon HQ when not on missions. It’s time consuming work, keeping a corpse just alive enough to complete functions.-She doesn’t appear on Infrared. -She doesn’t sweat.-She is prone to blackouts during especially strenuous activity requiring full days away from a base. -She doesn’t fear death. She has expressed disappointment on Reaper and Sombra on occasions where they’ve saved/ protected her. -Widowmaker is extremely delicate, health-wise. Her body doesn’t handle trauma well and her natural recovery to injury is severely stunted. In case of incidents she must be immediately be returned to base.-Widowmaker is valuable enough to Talon to be kept alive despite it being an ordeal for them. She isn’t perfect. But her aim is perfect, and her speed is perfect, and that’s all that matters.-Her lower legs are prosthetic, allowing her to leap and dash around despite her poor constitution.

WELL, that’s not everything BUT IT’S ENOUGH FOR NOW.

#widowmaker #mercy #sombra #reaper #mercymaker #spiderbyte #tean talon #headcanons #tess talks #Anonymous

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risingqueen2 · 7 years ago

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You Belong To Me [Chapter 3]

When Alec is brought in as ‘encouragement’ for Jace by Valentine Jace puts his claim on his Parabatai, before putting a plan into motion.

Jalec, Malec, endgame Malace

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037313/chapters/29821317

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Magnus let his magic twist and dance around his fingers as he stared out at the skyline of Brooklyn. He could barely contain his rage at the news he just received. He felt so guilty for thinking the worst of why Alexander hadn’t been talking to him; he couldn’t help but remember the fight they had over using Alexander’s Parabatai rune to track Jace down. Magnus understood where Alexander was coming from but that was no excuse to how they both reacted and fought.

Magnus was a day away from storming into the Institute and confronting Alexander who he thought up until a few minutes ago was a coward and reverting to the perfect solider he had been before they met, when he agreed to marry Lydia.

However his plan was cut short when Isabelle appeared at his door, face pale and make up running down her cheeks following the trail of tears. She took one look at him and just broke down sobbing as she flung herself into his arms. Confused but never one to turn away a sobbing woman, he folded her into his arms and led her his couch as his wards went up just in case.

“Isabelle, beautiful what happened?” Magnus helped her clean up her ruined makeup as she sniffed a few times while she tried to collect herself.

“It’s Alec, I wanted to come sooner but my parents and the Clave refused to let me even leave the Institute.” Isabelle started to explain before she cut herself off by sniffing again.

“What happened to Alexander?” Magnus felt his heart rate pick up and fear starting to trickle in.

“We weren’t sure at first, he went off on a tip we got about Jace. He insisted on going alone so Clary and I could get some rest, it was so stupid of me to agree.” Isabelle looked so angry with herself, Magnus would usually calm her down and tell her not to blame herself but right now he needed to hear what happened to his Alexander.

“It was a trap, set by Valentine. He ambushed Alec himself and took him, we didn’t even know until we caught one of his new Shadowhunter’s and he mocked us about it! Then the thrice damn Clave stopped us from looking for him! They said it would be his honour to die for the Clave, for the cause!” Isabelle was now on her feet, pacing angrily as she explained what had happened, not noticing how Magnus went stone still.

“Give me a moment Isabelle?” Magnus’ voice resembled a slab of ice and it startled Isabelle out of her pacing, she swallowed at the visible cat eyes Magnus was sporting knowing that meant his anger was overwhelming him and he was trying to keep it under lock and key.

“Sure, I would have brought something of Alec’s for you to track but most of his things are here already. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Isabelle scurried into the kitchen not wanting to be in the line of fire when Magnus found Alec if he could that is, after all they had no luck finding Jace before.

Magnus rose to his feet and entered the master bedroom and blinked as he realized that Isabelle was right, most of Alec’s things were scattered around the well lived in room. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest as he picked up Alec’s favorite black sweatshirt. He inhaled Alec’s now familiar scent before he closed his eyes and let his magic spread out and try to track Alec down, but like before with Jace it was hard. He focused and let his need to find Alec power his tracking spell.

Magnus gasped when he got a flash of Alec, the man was unconscious on a bed. A sheet covering his lower half, his torso was naked and covered in what looked like bite marks and metal collar was around his neck. Magnus growled when a hand ran down Alec’s back in an intimate way but his growl died out when Jace appeared in the shaky image, looking down at Alec with a possessive look clear on his face as he looked down at his sleeping Parabatai.

Magnus was jerked out of the vision when the interference became stronger and he ended up on his back on his bed staring up at the ceiling.

“Oh Alexander, what has happened to you and Jace?” Magnus ran a shaking hand down his face. He wasn’t sure what to make of the vision he saw, if it was in any other situation he would have thought they were lovers but the metal collar and possessive look were telling him a different story.

Magnus sat up still holding Alec’s sweater close to his chest as he ran over every possibility in his mind of what would make sense. He took a deep breath through his nose as he came to a decision.

“I don’t care if Jace is your Parabatai, if he has hurt or touched you in a way you did not consent to I will destroy him.” Magnus swore, his magic sparking over his limbs as it responded to his oath.

“Magnus!!” Isabelle cried out from the common area as he felt his wards ripple and a familiar pull of magic moving past it. Magnus jumped to his feet and bolted into the living room, watching a portal with Dot’s magic signature appear. Suddenly there was a group of injured and dirty Downworlder’s in his living room, looking worse for wear but alive.

“Magnus!” Dot appeared as the portal closed behind her, Magnus held his arms out to catch her as her strength failed her.

“You’re alive.” Magnus held her close in amazement; he hadn’t been able to sense her magic he thought she was dead for sure.

“You have Alec Lightwood to thank for us, he freed us and gave me his own strength to open a portal while on a ship.” Dot smiled up at the Magnus noticing how his eyes grew wider at the mention of Alec’s name and actions.

“Tell me everything about what happened.” Magnus demanded as he let his magic scan the Downworlder’s for injuries, they all were avoiding Isabelle who understood and just disappeared to gather up food and towels, leaving them on a table letting them come forward on their own.

“He just appeared out of nowhere and killed all the men that were standing guard like an avenging angel. He freed us and told us to find you, that you would help us. He then gave me his strength to keep the portal open before he went off to help Jace Wayland take on Valentine and his army of Shadowhunter’s… Magnus he told me to tell you that he will see you soon.” Dot explained as she gratefully took a blanket to wrap around her shivering form. Magnus was sure the others could hear his heart pounding in his chest at Dot’s story.

“He’s with Jace, taking on Valentine and his army… Just the two of them?” Magnus asked voice light as he tried to process the news.

“Magnus, there was an explosion near the docks… A ship blew up; it was the ship Valentine was on if his dead body the Clave found was anything to go by… I have to go, I have to know that Alec and Jace aren’t any of the bodies they are still finding. I’ll let you know what I find.” Isabelle was paler than before if that was possible, Magnus nodded dazed and opened a portal for her. She gave him a weak smile and darted through the swirling purple magic before it snapped closed as Magnus fell down onto his couch.

“He really does mean something to you doesn’t he? He was okay Magnus, he truly was.” Dot picked up on her friend’s distress at the news that the clear sibling to Alec Lightwood reported.

“He does mean something to me, I just want him back. Him and his idiot blond Parabatai.” Magnus admitted before he stood up and threw all his focus into dealing with the Downworlder’s, his people who needed him. He could only wait till Isabelle called him with an update.

Magnus wasn’t sure how much time had passed but soon no one was left in his loft, even Dot had left tucked up under Luke’s arm protectively. The silence was stifling as it closed in around him, Magnus stepped into the bedroom again only to pick up Alec’s sweater again and let his magic surge through it in another tracking spell.

The room around Magnus shifted and morphed into a warehouse looking room. Alec was half naked on an old mattress, Izarte’s and bloodied strips of fabric was wrapped around his side. Alec was sweating, pale and gasping for breath as he thrashed in pain.

“I fucking knew that knife was poisoned, Damnit Alec you shouldn’t have gotten in the way.” Jace was swearing as he applied another rune to his Parabatai, open worry on his face.

“Mag-nus.” Alec breathed out, head turning towards Jace with his fevered eyes opened up.

“You know I should be jealous of you moaning another man’s name, but since it’s Magnus I’ll let it slide.” Jace joked weakly.

“Get… Magnus.” Alec breathed out again before his eyes slipped closed as he passed out, taking a turn for the worst.

“I can’t just leave you here you idiot.” Jace bowed his head to press against Alec’s shoulder as he gripped Alec’s hand tightly.

Magnus was ripped out of the vision when he caught sight of the view outside of the broken, dirtied window. Magnus grabbed a few vials, shoving them into his pockets and he didn’t waste time. He opened a portal to the location because he knew exactly where they were thanks to the view out of the window. He ran through the portal and into the warehouse where Alec and Jace were located. Magnus threw up some wards to stop detection as he entered the warehouse slowly not wanting to get attacked by a maybe feral blond Shadowhunter.

“Jace? Alec? It’s Magnus!” He called out, his voice echoing through the warehouse and he knew very well that Jace could hear him. His magic swirled around his fingers switching between red and blue as his eyes darted around the empty warehouse trying to see where the room he saw in his vision was.

Magnus did his best not to flinch back when Jace dropped down in front of him, Seraph blade held up at Magnus. The blond was covered in a mixture of blood and dirt; his blond hair flopping over into his eyes, which were bloodshot, and his naked torso was covered in old scars and new wounds that crisscrossed his runes. Magnus swallowed hard at the sight of the obvious torture that Jace went through at the hands of his so called father.

“Prove it.” Jace’s voice was rough but his words strong as he pressed the tip of his blade closer to Magnus’ throat.

“When we went to… Ragnor’s house we got taken by the barrier and Clary made it through with no problem and had to watch invisible and muted as she tried to convince him to help us wake her mother up.” Magnus spoke of a time only he, Jace and Clary had been present for.

“How did you find us?” Jace lowered the blade enough for it not to be inches away from Magnus throat.

“Warlock tracking is stronger when the Warlock has an emotional connection with the one they are trying to find. No one knows I’m here right now.” Magnus explained and Jace tilted his head at the Warlock, looking at him with piercing eyes.

“Good, we need for them to think we are dead… Come with me.” Jace headed towards the far corner where a staircase was hidden, Magnus felt his palms sweat as his magic turned pure red as he stared at Jace’s back, the blond had turned his unprotected back towards him in a sign of trust.

All thoughts of Jace flew from Magnus mind when the Warlock caught sight of Alec in the same state he was in his vision.

“Alexander.” Magnus breathed out as his magic switched back to blue.

“Help him, please. I can’t loose him.” Jace’s voice broke as he knelt next to Alec’s side, fingers lacing together.

“We won’t Jace.” Magnus said firmly as he rolled his sleeves up and got to work. Alec was more important than anything else right now and the way that Jace was looking at Alec reminded Magnus of how he looked at Alec when the Shadowhunter wasn’t looking. He would hold off on whisking his Alexander away until they could all sit down and talk.

#shadowhunters #alec lightwood/magnus bane #alec lightwood/jace wayland #magnus bane/alec lightwood/jace wayland #hurt alec lightwood #worried magnus bane #worried jace wayland #warlock tracking

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