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mtchee · 1 year ago

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Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold - [Katsuki Bakugo] SOULMATE SERIES | GN

blurb:

You've got the cranky egoist in 1A as your soulmate. Deemed as an 'extra' in his straight laced life, you've resigned yourself to covering your soul words and sealing your lips, becoming U.A's first year general course prodigy, the silent designer. Despite his distasteful character and colourful atittude, as one of Bakugo's primary costume creators, you work to your utmost to satisfy beyond your client's needs. It's unfortunate that despite your title, the angry pompom won't take a goddamn hint from your silence. When you even go out of your way to avoid him, you start to think that he knows you a little too well despite never having uttered a word.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, [name] is a general course student, swearing, sassy [name], lowkey enemies to lovers, you hate him, he likes your attitude, onesided e2l??, i know nothing about textiles and design except the bare minimum, [name] and bakugo are kinda cute why am i eating this up omg, [name] tormenting bakugo with bright pink and ribbons

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[2.5k]

Avoiding Katsuki Bakugo has been a piece of cake.

The guy has such an inflamed ego that he expects the people to part for him wherever he walks.

You met him when the hero course first years were scheduled to mix with the costume design students to discuss both the practical and fashionable output of their hero costumes.

You'd been one of the main designer's for Bakugo's suit, with two others having asissted you in its curation. From his original sketch, you'd syphoned the relevant materials for the prototype, your colleagues aiding in the stitching and detail while you further assessed how it could potentially enhance the use of his quirk.

'Beat it, extra.'

The words had tingled on the back of your neck after he growled at you before you could consult him on his gauntlets' latest design. You had swiftly looked him up and down with disgust at his audaciousness before slapping your sketchpad on the table in front of him and storming off.

You remember hearing the maniacal laughter of his friends while one of your other classmate's (the designer of Shoji's suit) shakily explained to him your presence.

You'd had much better things to do that day, but had decided to go out of your way to personally discuss with him his preference in design and utility so you wouldn't have to go back and forth with various prototypes.

Instead, you got cussed out before saying a single word; what an utter waste of your generous time.

Like hell you were going to deal with a soulmate like that.

You started wearing a thick, velvet choker to hide your golden inked soul words.

Since then, you'd sent your assistants to deliver any sort of message to him. With them doing your communicative bidding, you could put your full focus on the active improvement of his hero costume.

When it would come back burnt from training, you would change and reinforce its material until it was fire resistant. When it got ripped, you would reasses its durability. When his gauntlets got in the way, you would restructure them for better mobility and control.

One day when one of your assistants reluctantly relayed to you Bakugo's irrational displeasure with the pigment of his headpiece (for the seventh time), you'd sent it back hot pink with a black and white frilly ribbon.

He broke your lab door the same day.

Since then, when you'd send off your poor assistants in sacrifice, he'd rattle them and demand for you to face him personally.

You ignored him, but then when your classes started mingling more you couldn't get away from him quick enough.

One of your classmates would sweat in a panic off to the side as you worked at your bench tirelessly with thinned lips and an irk whilst Bakugo yelled and threw a hissyfit at your every move.

"What the hell is that supposed to be? Spandex?!"

"That looks like a lump of shit."

"God, it's ugly."

"Whaddya using that for? Weakass bullshit cloth."

"STOP MAKING IT PINK!"

"No way would that work with my quirk!"

"I'd blow that to smithereens easy."

You had to stop yourself from throwing your sketchpad at him most days. But sometimes you caved and summoned a roll of pink ribbon to stuff in his loud mouth.

He spat it at you and yelled even more, but that single moment of peace and his reddened face made it worth it.

On occasion, you would be lucky and actually get a few decent conversations out of him. His mouth was still foul, but his volume would be acceptable, and his suggestions surprisingly competent and reasonable.

On those days, he would leave with his voice intact, and you with one step closer to the final product.

Your impeccable work ethic and skills and Bakugo's mild decency lead you way ahead of the others in your unit. Eventually, you started having enough time to help out with some of the other hero costumes too--with the permission of both the creator and wearer, of course.

They've all been more than thrilled to work alongside U.A's renouned silent designer.

Although you worked quietly, you made more of an effort to communicate personally with the heroes in training regarding their costumes.

Most were surprised at that, having only known you to work alone and to commune from afar as you've done with Bakugo.

While word of your ingenius spread, unfortunately so too did your most recent work relations.

Bakugo didn't seem to find it funny that you talked to everyone but him.

So you threw all your stationary at him when he stormed into your design lab to make it everyone's problem.

But more specifically, to make it your problem.

"Miss me, nerd?"

Your scathing glare did nothing to Bakugo's arrogant smirk as he waltzes his way past everyone to your work bench.

You narrowly snatch up your latest prototype sketches before he sets down a pair of cold drinks on the table. The condensation drips down, pooling on its surface.

"This it?" He casually quirks up a brow at the strip of hard textured fabric and metal atop your bench. He picks up one of the drinks and slurps from its straw obnoxiously to get on your nerves, "hm, doesn't look like shit this time."

Lately you've been redesigning his utility belt to match the clasps between his protective gloves and gauntlets, additionally extending it to hold extra grenades that activate through his quirk. You've already sent in a request to the support department for those.

"Put ribbons on it like you did last week and I'll kill you."

You fight back a petty smile, recalling the pretty little pompoms decorating the numerous tiny pink bows stitched to each belt loop. He scoffs at your poorly concealed pleasure, and you turn your nose up at him, biting the inside of your cheek mischieviously.

He narrows his eyes at you before rolling them, placing his drink down way too close to your precious papers--again--and resting his cheek on his fist boredly.

Your lips twitch downward in ire at his intrusion of your space, but you work around him nontheless. You don't blink when he cusses as he smacks away a scrap of fabric you toss at him in casual vengeance.

"When's this gonna be done anyway--quit it. I've got a mission in Shinjuku next week." Bakugo snatches a pen you throw at him in mid-air.

You shrug at him, not your problem, but hold up two fingers anyway.

"Two days, huh," He clicks his tongue, "you slackin'?"

He cackles demonically while you log a chunk of stainless steel at his head.

Swear to god--you're gonna make his whole suit neon pink!

He visits you again after his mission, which is evidently successful judging by the fat cocky smirk on his face as he approaches while you stitch up a hero costume from class 1-B.

You deadpan at him as he drops a take away paper bag at the corner of your work bench. Then he tosses his empty utility belt over your most recent handiwork.

"Clasp blasted off."

Bakugo makes himself at home in the spinny chair opposite you, leaning back and putting his boots on the desk as he snags a tasty pastry from the paper bag before pushing it towards you.

An eyebrow twitches as you stare at the no longer existing metal clasp on the support item. A square char mark is left where it would've been. The belt is otherwise untouched.

What, was he aiming for it or something?

Scrunching your nose at him distastefully, you flick the belt off the costume you had been working on and resume your stitching.

"Oi! What about me!?"

You shoot him a sharp glare that makes him scoff. He pipes down nontheless, settling back into his chair with a roll of his eyes and a grumble.

Bakugo's visitations become more frequent.

At this point in time, his hero costume shouldn't need any more major improvements or adjustments until the start of your second year. And yet he's coming in what seems like every other day for any single little thing that bothers him.

Hell, he even comes in to bug you about repaires--you don't do repaires. But he argues that he doesn't want anyone but you 'touching his shit', as he so eloquently explains.

He's come in for his belt clasp six times now, his visor for four, his gauntlets for five, and for the sole of his boots thrice.

The bottom of his fucking shoes.

He can eat your sparkly, bow tied, hot pink and purple swirled shit.

He doesn't even need you anymore!

You're just some stupid non-hero extra. The hell is his deal now?

Bakugo's come in angry today.

He's normally angry, but it's different this time.

You watch him wearily from the corner of your eye as you type out a risk assessment at your desk. School's finished now, but you've been putting this off for a bit, and wanted to get it done while you were still feeling productive.

Less than ten minutes after the last bell rang out and everyone left for the day, Bakugo had come barging in with a stiffer than usual scowl and a dissatisfied furrow in his brows.

But he's been silent.

Bakugo's never been silent.

He sits in the seat adjacent to you, leant all the way into the backrest with his arms tightly crossed and his eyes narrowed, boring into your form.

Each time you glance at him you look away in a hurry as you meet his gaze.

Okay, now it's getting to you...

Slowly, your fingers stop typing, unable to function properly under the intensity of his stare. You don't look at him this time though, and you sweatdrop uncomfortably.

The tension causes your skin to prick, and you tug at your choker discomposibly. The velvet rubs at your skin, irritating it.

You jump when he suddenly speaks.

"What's up with you, huh?" He says it more like a statement, "you're so damn quiet it's eery. Say something."

You give him a disgruntled look.

Is he for real? Is that what his tantrum is about? He can go eat grass.

You turn your attention back onto your laptop, typing again.

He growls at that.

"Don't ignore me, damnit! I know you can say shit!"

Oh, and the shit I would say. You snicker to yourself, but that only seems to tick him off more.

"[name], answer me."

Your stomach drops--he's never called you by your name, let alone your first name. You glance at him again; Bakugo leans forwards with his elbows on his knees, eyes piercing you with a threatening intensity that sends off warning bells in your head.

You look back at him once you grasp the gravity of his tone.

Your annoyed frown fades, and your features soften as to prompt him. He takes in a deep breath, gaze flicking up and down your form as he processes his thoughts first.

He meets your eyes again with a determined resolve.

"I know you're my soulmate."

Fuck, what.

Bakugo scowls when you visibly stiffen, shock coursing your system.

"Get over yourself, you ain't slick. 'S why you've been runnin' from me." He crosses his arms across his chest, lips firmly downturned at your lack of verbal response.

Ice freezes your blood and your gaze flicks away from him apprehensively. What exactly is he expecting from this? Bakugo is a cocky bastard.

An egocentric prick with the means to flaunt it. He's one of the top students in the hero course and he knows it--what the hell does he want from you?

You feel your temper flare.

So what if he knows your soulmates? He obviously thinks he's too good for this shit; fuck fate and all that it stands for, you're just some side character behind him, just like he's said.

You aren't shit to him, and if he thinks he can actually do better than you, well then you know that you can. Who is he to pick and choose who he deserves? In that case, you know what, yeah, he's right, because you deserve better than him any day-

"What?" Bakugo's unappreciated tone fans the flames of the rapidly burning thread containing your tolerance, "still silent?"

"Shut up, asshole! You think you're too good for shit!" Your outburst as you slamming your hands down atop your work bench, the few utensils scattered about clattering in tandem with the vibration, "I'm not just some side piece you can bulldoze! I know my worth, even if you can't fathom it, you eighth-grade-syndrome twit!"

A tense silence settles over the room, and his eyes harden as you stare him down with an unwavering resolve.

Bakugo's lips twitch.

And then he's cackling like a hyena.

You flinch at the abrupt switch, scrambling to process whether you should feel glad or offended that he doesn't seem to be taking your words to heart.

You know for a fact you would not beat Katsuki Bakugo in a fight.

You shiver at the thought, and he beats his fist on the edge of the table as he recovers from his laughter. He lets out a long winded breath, wiping an exaggerated tear from his eye which you deadpan at.

"Ah, damn," Bakugo snorts, "we're really meant to be, eh?" He lifts up the edge of his loose shirt just enough to reveal the glowing golden words inked vertically on his toned waist, "knew there was a reason I could tolerate you more."

"Ditto." You spit out despite the relief flooding you as he stays put. You rub the back of your neck subconsciously.

He eyes the movement skeptically before motioning for you to move towards him. You scrunch your nose at him but oblige when he clicks his tongue irratedly. You've tested his patience enough already.

Once you're close enough he yanks you down and unclasps your velvet choker. You emit a scandalised gasp, feeling naked without it.

"Hey!"

"Give it up," He drawls, "get over yourself."

Bakugo latches a hand around your nape, pulling you forward so your head is bent level with his chest, and your face flushes. Both your hands grip at the armrests of the chair, caging him in as you fight not to fall off balance.

"Ack-" You choke at the feeling of him ever so gently tracing beneath the words on the back of your neck, "-stop that!"

He huffs a laugh, and his breath pans over your skin.

His eyes soften ever so slightly, "You're not jus' some extra, you know..." He lets you up. He ignores the imbuing embarrassment that pairs with the subtle blush tinting his cheeks.

You mull over his words for a second, pushing yourself back to face him head on. You blink slowly, registering his meaning. A gentle warmth settles across your cheeks, and a quiet glee bubbles inside you.

"Yeah?"

Although you bite back a smile, there's a hopeful glimmer in your eyes.

Bakugo grins, "Yeah," and places a reassuring hand atop your head, "not my soulmate."

#x reader #character x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #mtchee's library #mtchee's tea & story house #soulmate au #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #fluff

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powderpinkprincess · 4 months ago

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Arrested II. [Lando Norris x reader] 16+

find part one here some of you wanted to know why exactly Y/N got herself arrested, so I went back and asked her - things take a little darker turn from here description: You finally give Lando an explanation. warnings: massive bad language, mentions of substance abuse, mentions of family abandonment

your backstory for this is the same as in Issues: Your Dad is a rally driver, and your Mom is a model. As their only child, they have always wanted you to follow their routes, so ever since your childhood you’ve been modelling. However, when you were 8, your parents got separated, and your Mom left you to live with your Dad pretty much from one day to another. You met Lando through your Dad when you were 18. Back then, you were setting unreasonably high bars for yourself in modelling, hoping to get back your Mom. After some time of dating, Lando asked you to leave that life behind and move to Monaco with him, hoping that you would finally start to heal in a new environment.

Lando was silent while you reached his car that was parked outside the police station. He unlocked the McLaren and held the door open for you, gesturing to get in. Then he got into the driver’s seat and closed to door before turning to look at you. “So, you wanna tell me what the hell was going through your head? Seriously.”

You stared back at him in stubborn silence.

He sighed. “Alright, we can play this game. It won’t lead anywhere you probably want to.” He started the engine and was ready to pull out of the parking lot when you decided to speak.

“Originally, I wanted to break the guy’s face,” you mumbled.

Lando’s hands fell from the steering wheel as his glance snapped back at you, clear disbelief on his face. “Okay, so breaking the guy’s car was the next best thing then? Just for the record, you do realize how stupid this whole situation is, right?” he asked, starting to get worked up again. “What the hell could that guy have even done for you to react so irrationally?”

“Well, I just as well could have burnt his house down,” you shrugged, staring out the window. “His car was his weakest point, though. Just tested the durability.”

Lando couldn’t believe his ears. Just tested the durability? This was probably one of the worst, craziest days he ever lived through. What on earth were you even on about?!

“So destroying other people’s property seems perfectly reasonable to you?“ he asked.” “What about talking things out? Or just, I don’t know, walking away? Cause this way, it cost me a fortune to not let them put you in fucking jail! Did you even think for a second what it would be like if they did lock you up for a year?!”

His anger was only fuelling yours. You didn’t even want him to know about this at all in the first place. You didn’t want anyone to know about it. Maybe a secret arson at nighttime would’ve been a better idea. You took a deep breath.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” you spat out. “He made a bet to destroy your whole career!”

Lando’s expression changed. You scrunched your eyes, hoping you could read his face better, but there was no use. He kept a perfect poker face.

“Pardon me,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “He did what?”

“Yes, you would’ve watched the next race weekend from your laptop,” you nodded and crossed your arms.

“How do you even know that?” Lando asked, trying to keep his cool, but you could hear the anger in his voice.

“That’s- Besides the point,” you mumbled.

Lando couldn't help but scoff at that. “No, it's not. Answer the goddamn question. How do you know that, Y/N?”

You remained silent. The growing silence in the car was tense, and Lando's jaw was clenched tightly. He gripped the steering wheel tightly to somehow ground himself in this insane situation. “Y/N,” he pressed, “I'm waiting for an answer.”

"I know," you whispered.

"So you're gonna keep me in suspense?" Lando asked sarcastically. "Do I have to force it out of you, or will you just tell me what's going on?" the tone of his voice is harsher than necessary.

"Jesus, aren't you violent," you mumbled.

Lando took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to remain calm, but his patience was running very thin. "Don't pull that card on me right now. You’ve just been arrested, and I paid a huge sum of money to bail you out, and you can't even give me a straight answer to my question.”

You clenched your jaw. “I overheard it.”

Lando’s fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel. “Where?”

You hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it fucking matters,” he bit out. “You don’t get to destroy a goddamn car, get arrested, and then tell me it doesn’t matter.”

You stayed quiet, and he scoffed when you didn’t answer. “Unbelievable.”

You hesitated. You didn’t want to fill him into this part. You really didn’t. But if there was one thing you knew about Lando Norris, it was that he didn’t let things go. And if it turned out later than right now, the situation would be so much worse.

“I was there because of Dani,” you whispered.

The name alone made Lando’s expression twist into something furious and exasperated all at once. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Lando hated her. He hated her so much. If he had the power, he would’ve made sure you never saw her in your life ever again, but he couldn’t make that decision for you. She was your friend for some fucked up reason.

When you moved to Monaco with him, he made you promise you would never use again. He met you when you were living in London, working at a modelling agency that was ready to destroy you. It broke his heart to see how your self-confidence depended on some stupid white powder, and it infuriated him even more how accepted that was in the circle you were in. He thought he saved you by making you move to Monte Carlo with him. You found some awesome friends there, but then you met her. Dani. The walking red flag.

“She didn’t want to go alone,” you defended quickly. “And I-”

“And you what? Decided that walking straight into a fucking coke dealer’s place was a solid life choice?!” Lando’s voice was sharp now, his control slipping. So, was this the reason you were so much against taking that damn drug test when the officer asked you to?

He was furious, but you held your ground. “I didn’t buy anything! I just-”

“You just what, Y/N? Just walked her in for moral support? Just sat there while she handed cash for the same crap that nearly ruined your life?!”

You bit the inside of your cheek, anger and guilt filling you at his words.

Lando laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you snapped, glaring at him.

He smacked his palm against the steering wheel in frustration. “But you went there! You put yourself in that situation, with her, with him- With the same shit that kept you hooked for over a year!”

Your chest tightened. “I was trying to look out for her.”

Lando gave you a look so sharp it could cut glass. “And who the fuck was looking out for you?”

You sucked in a breath, but no words came.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow, that was worse.

You stared out the window, the weight of his disappointment heavier than anything else in the car. For a long moment, the only sound was the steady hum of the engine.

Then Lando spoke again, voice low and restrained. His fingers tapped against the wheel in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “So, you went with Dani to buy coke. From that guy. The same guy who - on top of dealing - just so happens to have enough power to fuck me over in F1.”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

Lando nodded slowly, like he was processing just how stupid this entire situation was. “And instead of just walking away, you decided that the most rational response was to completely destroy his car.”

Your jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Silence.

Lando’s breathing had slowed. Too slow. You could see the calculations running through his head, the way he was processing every word you just said. For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His fingers were still locked around the steering wheel, his jaw so tight you thought he might break a tooth. Then, finally, he let out a humorless chuckle.

“So, what? You thought if you keyed his car like a pissed-off ex-girlfriend, he’d suddenly fear you? That he’d back off?”

You crossed your arms. “No. I thought that if he was willing to screw you over for a bet, then maybe losing something expensive and important to him would make him think twice.”

Lando rubbed his face with a tired sigh. “Jesus, Y/N.”

You turned away, staring out the window. “I don’t regret it. I wasn’t gonna let them take everything from you, Lando.”

He sighed, shaking his head again before refocusing on the empty parking space in front of him. “You’re unbelievable.”

A long pause. Then, quietly, almost like he didn’t really want to ask, Lando said, “Do you still use sometimes?”

Your stomach twisted. “No.”

Another beat of silence.

“Do you swear?”

You turned to look at him, his expression unreadable.

“I swear.”

Lando nodded, exhaling slowly. “Good.”

Neither of you spoke for a while. But the silence, for once, didn’t feel so suffocating.

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando x y/n #ln4 x y/n

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achromatophoric · 2 months ago

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Is Wednesday a dom bottom or a sub bottom?

In my opinion she’s a top but ik you prefer Enid as the top.

[The following is loosely calibrated for a headcanon of Wednesday with the age and experience to be deeply aware of her personal boundaries.]

Dom? Sub? Wednesday is an Addams bottom. She bottoms because once set aflame, everything inevitably burns down.

Malice settles. It collects, compressing with cruelty and spite into strata of malignancy. That is where Wednesday’s nature lies, in proximity to the shadows cast by the bright lights above. Closer to the dead. Closer to Hell.

There she lurks, a spiked pit trap camouflaged in layers of black. A pool of molten lava in platform boots. The Gom Jabbar with braids. A figurative Temple of Doom, waiting for—but not expecting—someone capable of not only surviving her, but conquering her.

Despite that, Wednesday is not a prize to be won, but a bad decision waiting to be made. Topping her is akin to succumbing to a bad habit that delights in being broken (again and again). Addictive and not at all sane.

Wednesday bottoms like an Addams, meaning absurd risks for questionable rewards. She is a mortal fucking danger. Only approach with extreme caution and great care, or at the least an excess of durability and reckless determination (both of which a certain werewolf has in multicolored spades).

So why does Wednesday bottom? It’s because she is a goddamned gothic treasure who takes pleasure in watching someone risk life, limb, and sanity to top her. And while she may secretly desire to be treated like a worthless scrap of carcass, only her vanquisher gets to learn that fact and live.

[TL;DR: Wednesday is a bratty bratty bottom that inherited a bottomless (heh) capacity for hedonism, who really does want to submit like a good little princess, but only if you work hard-as-fuck for the privilege.]

#adult wednesday addams #inappropriate wenclair #adult wenclair #asks answered #answered asks #asks #not an incorrect quote

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lecritter11 · 7 days ago

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"You think you're hard to read? You need to forget that." - Dedra Deciding Krennic is Her Least Favorite Person (Prior to Meeting Eedy Karn), A Compilation

A.K.A Denise is acting her ass off, Dedra you can't calibrate your emotions but it's Krennic and so I get it sweetie, and this is all obviously a joke.

Stills courtesy of @wolfwrentruther on Pintrest!

OK, starting strong...

She's imposing, she's girl bossing, she's everything we missed in the dreaded wait of 2022-2025, hell hasn't broken loose yet.

"SIR." "SIR HELP." "The lights are off maybe if we run he won't notice."

We have reached the point of no return immediately. Apparently propaganda videos were too much for Dedra.

Sorry 208 Syril, you've got nothing on this. "HOW LONG?!"? Never heard of her.

OK, OK, we can at least try to give the propaganda a shot. Maybe Ghorman's important somehow, maybe this thread is so durable -

They make clothes. Someone call Syril they make CLOTHES. "I could be anywhere else." "I could be finding Axis." "I could be fucking my boyfriend." "Litterally anywhere but here!"

Why is he yelling? It's literally just a rock why is he throwing a tantrum over a rock? HOW is this man my superior?

Oh so you want to kill them all? The - the WHOLE planet? With a propaganda campaign? So he's insane AND a child us that it?

"I swear if this man's about to say that's what we're here for -"

"And you've been selected -"

"GODDAMN IT"

"Syril pick me up they're being weird again."

"Oh my God this man is not talking to me."

"WHY"

"Can a woman just enjoy the view without the caped crusader over here butting in?"

"Yes I'm quiet so could you kindly shut up?!"

"This motherfucker did not just say Ferrix. You're kidding. You have got to be kidding."

"I'm in Hell. That's what this is, I woke up in Hell."

#sadly hell is coming in the form of dinner #and then again on Ghorman #and then again - yeah Dedra unfortunately this is only the beginning #blame the writers #I'm just here for the Denise Show #dedra meero #orson krennic #dedra hates krennic #syril come save her

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radiance1 · 2 years ago

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(Cha'll know Hornet from Hollow Knight? Yea, she inspired me for this along with her song recently made by Man on the Internet.)

Danny's reveal went wrong. His parents operated and experimented on him until his body couldn't take it anymore, and, well.

He died on that operating table.

Jack and Maddie weren't immediately concerned, really, since it's just a ghost. They weren't, at least, until that ghost transformed back into their son.

They were far too stunned to properly process it. Their son was phantom, their son was the ghost they spent a while chasing through the streets of their town and hunting.

They killed their own son on an operating table.

When Jazz found out she, well she wasn't pleased. At all. She screamed at them, tears streaming down her face when she found out her brother was dead. The brother she spent raising in her parents place, the brother who went out and risked himself fighting ghosts for the town, her little brother.

She couldn't take it anymore, couldn't deal with them anymore. She had a friend over a Gotham, a very good friend who would let her crash for a while at their place until she could get back on her feet. So she packed her things and left Amity Park and her parents behind.

The Fenton's were racked with guilt, because they killed their own son and the last damn thing he saw was them operating on him. They had to make this right.

They never really, truly, dabbled in genetic engineering much. But they could goddamn learn, they were smart enough for it. They built and put Danny in a pod to keep his body from either melting or decomposing, they never could tell which would happen after learning of his unique biology and got to work.

Their first try at cloning him was a failure. The clone barely lasted a second before melting away into a puddle of unusable ectoplasm and DNA. Their second clone had the same effect, so did their third, fourth, fifth, sixth.

It was incredibly harder than they first thought to clone the unique biology of a halfa. But they couldn't, wouldn't, give up. They had to do this, they had to right what they did wrong.

It took 4 years for them to engineer the 'perfect' clone. 4 years in which they haven't left their home, 4 years in which they haven't seen their daughter, 4 years of trying to atone for what they did, and they finally did it.

Subject 'Omega' was built to last. Superhuman durability, superhuman healing, unable to physically age. Everything they could think of that allowed it to not die they engineered into it.

They couldn't clone his ghostly abilities, would make it too unstable, it would have to develop such things on its own. They couldn't clone his memories either, but it was ok, they could make new ones!

Subject 'Omega' was released from its pod and unlike the other failures, it didn't melt into a puddle as soon as it left the pod, nor a few minutes or hours after. They kept it around for a day, fully ready for it to destabilize and be regarded as a failure, but blessedly it didn't.

They then kept their son's body in that room, putting it on full lock down and ensuring that it could never get in.

They finally succeeded in making the perfect clone. One almost exactly like their son, stuck between life and death, black hair, blue eyes the whole shebang. Sure, he didn't have the memories or the abilities that Phantom possessed, but it was fine.

They had to treat it properly, raise it right, even. Teach it all they knew, take care of it properly, that's what parents did right? Sure, maybe it wasn't as perfect as it should have been, missing memories, missing abilities, for example.

But they still loved it regardless!

It was unable to transform into Phantom. It had ghostly abilities, yes, but it was fully stuck as just Fenton, they didn't get it, they made him as perfect as could be why couldn't it just do that-

Did they miss something? Was there a problem with its design? The missing memories they could attribute to themselves, the abilities they could write off as having been replaced by the abilities they built into it to make it last taking priority over pre-installing the ghost abilities.

But this.

THIS.

WHY COULDN'T IT JUST DO THIS ONE, SIMPLE THING!? THEY MADE IT RIGHT, NOTHING SHOULD HAVE GONE WRONG, IT SHOULD BE CAPABLE OF DOING THIS.

But it was ok, it was fine, sure he didn't have the ability that Danny should have. But it was ok, they still loved him even if he wasn't perfect, they told him so all the time.

Everything is ok.

----

Subject Omega, or Danny, as he was told his name was. Loved his parents quite a lot, or at least he's been told he loves them. He didn't have any memories of them, nor of this house, nor of that girl in the pictures, but he was told it didn't matter.

He was told he had Amnesia, that it was so bad he couldn't remember any of his memories before today. They were his parents, parents who loved him with all of their might, this house was their house that he's lived in since he was born and the girl in the pictures was his sister.

He asked where she was, they said she left, he asked why, he didn't get an answer. He didn't question it, really, it was intriguing to know who she was, but his parents didn't want to share and a good boy doesn't ask questions that his parents don't want to answer!

Apparently, he was what his parents called a Halfa, a hybrid between a human and a ghost and he had the abilities to prove it. The standard ghost powers of Intangibility, invisibility and flight, with his own ability to form ectoplasm into string, or silk (he had them whispering about that, but it was probably nothing of concern) along with a numerous amount of abilities either related to durability or healing.

He was confused when they asked him to 'Go Ghost', because he didn't know what or how to do that. They showed him some audio, apparently something they had to hack through a lot of cameras to even find, of him shouting "Going ghost!" and what they believe to be him then transforming into another version of himself with white hair and green eyes they called 'Phantom'.

He tried it out, they seemed hopeful, he didn't want to disappoint them. But he couldn't do it, they urged him to try again and again when he failed over and over. He was worried he was disappointing them, but he told them he just couldn't do it.

He was scared, of how they reacted to. His mother screamed at him for why he couldn't just do this one simple thing, the thing he was supposed to do, while his father grabbed onto his arm and dragged him to his room. He couldn't feel physical pain, or much of it so his parents told him, but he had the idea that it should hurt.

He was told to never leave his room until he could figure out how to go ghost, and then the door was slammed shut in his face. He tried to do it, he really tried too! Even forgoing sleep to try and go ghost repeatedly.

It turned morning, and he still couldn't do it. He wasn't even tired, so he could continue trying until he got it right! But then a knock came from his door and his mother came through, he was preparing to apologies when she just told him to come down for breakfast and said she loved him.

He, didn't know what to feel about that.

he questioned his parents about it, a while after he came downstairs. But they acted confused, asking if he had a bad dream or something of the like, so he hesitantly recounted what happened and his mother just hugged him. Telling him that they would never do that because they loved him far too much to yell at him and treat him that way.

So, maybe he did just have a bad dream and nothing happened.

He was glad for it, too.

He didn't go to school, they pulled him from school because of his accident and decided to homeschool him. He had a lot to learn, really, all the stuff from inventing, mathematics and fighting from them!

He loved it! Really, he did! Sure, some of the stuff made him brain hurt from so much knowledge crammed into his head, but he was getting better at Martial Arts! He got so good at both that he even got a gift! A giant needle sword thing that was supposed to go hand in hand with his thread and such!

He didn't have anything else to be learnt, but he wasn't allowed to go outside, so he just stayed home really. It was just the three of them here, and it was his whole world.

One day his parents went out, which wasn't unusual as of recent, so he took to refining his technique with the needle, he could go on for hours and not feel the barest of fatigue, that's how it always was said his parents. But when they came back, they seemed, different, it was a subtle thing, but they seemed paler.

They were also a bit panicked, telling him not to go outside (not that they let him) and then going down into their lab to do something. He was curious about it, but didn't mind it, he knew his parents probably didn't want to worry him about something, so he just lost himself into refining his technique.

Over the passage of a few weeks his parents kept going out and then coming back into their lab, carrying samples of something. They never told him what it was, so he didn't bother asking, it seemed very important, so he shouldn't bother them.

Even if they seemingly had less time for him and more for whatever they had down in the lab.

Over those weeks his parents seemed to become ill, he didn't know what it was, but they seemed to have contracted something. Sometimes they came back covered in blood, sometimes coughing, or injured.

One day they didn't come back up from the lab, and Danny left them there because he didn't want to disturb them. He had to refine his technique after incorporating string after all.

Another week passed, and his parents still didn't come back up, he was worried, extremely so. So he sneaked down into the lab, he was prepared for being punished or shouted at for doing so, but he just needed to know if they were ok.

They weren't.

The first sign was a terrible smell of rot, the first repugnant thing he's ever smelt oddly enough. The second was the smell of iron, and the third was seeing his parents' bodies lying on the ground, blood splattered from their mouths.

He didn't understand why they were just lying there, why blood came from their mouths or why a terrible smell came from them. Maybe they were napping? A weird place to do so.

So he tried dragging upstairs and putting them on the couch or in their beds. Which he managed to do after a while, putting them to put and covering them with sheets, then went down back to the lab.

Because there was a newly opened door his parents had opened, and he was curious, and it didn't look like they were gonna wake up soon so surely, he could take a peek.

He didn't know what he expected, but seeing himself in a pod wasn't it.

Then he found out that he was a clone. A clone of the original, dead Danny and there were hundreds upon hundreds of other failed clones. He didn't know how to take it, apparently his original was hero, a hero they hunted down and killed because he was a ghost, and the only reason they made him was because they didn't realize and killed their son.

He wanted to march up there and demand an explanation, but he was scared, scared of how they would react if he were to bring it up. They killed their own, true son, so why wouldn't they just kill him and continue cloning too?

They left the way to lock this section of the lab in one of their entries, so he locked it and left, waiting for them to wake up.

Except, they never did.

Then a while later some people entered his house unannounced, clearing through the house. They asked him if he knew where his parents were, and he took them to their bedroom. they said his parents were dead, and then completely disregarded him after and went down into his parents' lab and took basically everything they could get their hands on, including his parents' prized Ghost Portal.

He couldn't stop them, too busy trying to process the fact his parents died, and he didn't know.

Awhile passed and he went outside, seeing the town basically abandoned for some reason. He saw no one but those men for a while, people he later learned to be some government agents.

And just like that the town he was in became the testing ground for the government to dump their failed experiments, either too hostile or not what they wanted.

More so the former than the later.

The original Danny protected this town, was a hero and stopped ghosts. There weren't many ghosts around here anymore, at least the humanoid ones his predecessor fought off, but there were the ghosts of animal's or experiments who kicked the bucket, and then there was the experiments who were still alive and wandering the town, extremely violent and animals that got mutated from some kind of chemical those ghosts dumped around town.

Probably another failed experiment.

So, he decided that just like the original he would try and protect this town, from the government, from the failed experiments, from the mutated animals, from the ghosts of experiments and animals long dead. He would preserve this place to the best of his ability, it was the only thing he could do now.

And just like that, 5 years passed. 5 years of fighting off experiments and beasts with his nail and thread, 5 years of zero human contact, 5 years of just fighting and surviving and honing his skills.

And then, one day. A group of people came to his town, not the government, he could tell when they were coming. No, this was a group of different, newer, people.

People he had to dig through his memories to find, because he only saw one article on them before his parents switched him to a server they made for him.

The Wayne's were in his forgotten town for some reason, and with them was the girl he saw in the original's family photos, he didn't know her name, but he knew she was the original's sister. He would watch and wait, see what they do, and if he determined them to be a threat.

Well.

Threats to this town have to be eliminated.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp crossover #I don't know what to tag this with.#I think I made this too long #Meh #Enjoy!

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gigglebone6 · 1 year ago

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ithink this is what tumblr would be like in the dogman universe: a simulator

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

can those villain asshats get control of those goddamn monsters i have lost literally every single fucking thing thanks to those brainless pieces of shits last week a fucking T-REX SKELETON destroyed my fucking HOUSE and everything around it

🪻 inmylane-1999

how are you able to say those words

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

what words?

🪻 inmylane-1999 the a word, f word, and s word

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

oh i see you're one of the Collardale inhabitants. screw the fuck off your town is a CURSE

🪻 inmylane-1999

what did i do? :(

10 notes

🪰 greenweirdthingwithteeth follow

hnstly i dont get y Daryl hangs arnd that pig guy hes rlly mean & bad

🐊 piethrowingboss

didnt u help us go after him when he ditched us after the mini jail broke 2 bits?

🪰 greenweirdthingwithteeth follow

yeh butt hes still rlly mean & i was a lil moar concerned 4 Daryl

🐊 piethrowingboss

ohhhh kk

5 notes

🐕 zupabuddiezthezenutz

zomg did u guyz watch that new mini-documentary w/ Petey The Cat n Zarah Hatoff??? that waz tragickk..

#holy shart i have so much moar respect 4 him now..

6 notes

🔄 24hotdogsatyourdoorstep reblogged

🌆 icareforyou follow

still dont know why people are supporting Petey Duckhat just because of that documentary, didn't he terrorize the city for more than a month or two?? ntm he quite literally MUTILATED Officer Knight and Greg The Dog's bodies bad enough with that bomb to where they had to become that sick and horrible abomination i have to stomach through seeing on the news every week.

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

i know right?? like hes genuinely a horrible cat but people are supporting him for no other reason other than "oh hes a victim!!" like shut the fuck up and grow up.

comicpanel-deactivated-98325749857

op i wouldn't say DogMan is sick and horrible, he seems to be in great condition despite such an accident and hard surgery to conduct, and looks perfectly happy. while i don't support Petey Duckhat either, you took it a step further and suggested that DogMan is currently in conditions horrible enough to render him an "abomination".

🌆 icareforyou follow

dont you post tips for fucking evil monsters on your blog.

#LMAOOO dude was SLAUGHTERED so hard they deactivated #redogs

1,509 notes

🌭 24hotdogsatyourdoorstep

walking on the street with a small can of living spray in my pocket and the nearest cop explodes into blood guts and viscera

10 notes

🦷 bigmonsterinyourheart

okay i get that Dr. Scum is a real and kinda sucky person and all that but his labcoat kinda fucks!!

0 notes

✨ lookatthestars

Hot take or whatever but I don't think we should trust a guy who gets really distracted by squirrels and balls and a kitten who could easily get hurt to protect our city. Lightning Dude IS one of the better options as they ARE a highly durable and strong robot, but The Bark Knight and Cat Kid maybe aren't our best bets, they could get hurt easily and aren't exactly professionals.

Don't get me started on the Friendly Friends, I don't think we can trust two guys who JUST left the same exact trio that was responsible for that marshmallow factory's destruction (which left many injured, some DEAD), what if they're pretending? Also the bugs could easily get killed, they're small and fragile, the most work they can do without a high risk of getting smashed is spying on villains.

Commander Cupcake's a different story, as I'm pretty sure that guy only helped out, like, 3 times.

#anti-supa buddies #anti-friendly friends #twinkle twinkle little star

15 notes

🪁 lalalalala89

dude imagine if we were in a book rn and ppl were posting on tumblr abt us

0 notes

🎠 supastarr

remember, calico trans toms are perfectly valid! even cis toms can be calicos, and fur pattern doesn't determine exact gender, especially with fur dying technology nowadays! :)

506 notes

#dogman #dog man #matthew.txt #IVE BEEN WORKING ON THISS POST FOR 4EVER TRYING 2 FIGURE OUT DOGMAN UNIVERSE DISCOURSE TOPICS

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voxofthevoid · 6 months ago

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On this fine morning/evening/witching hour, I bring you vore: Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #17, featuring a brief fight and Yuuji's continued development of questionable dietary habits.

This time, it's Gojou on the menu—can't let Sukuna have all the fun ✨

(Also, there won't be any WIP Wednesday snippet next week.)

“Performance issues?” Satoru asks doubtfully a while later, staring at Yuuji stare at his own hand.

“I can’t—” Yuuji’s jaw clenches. Satoru can almost hear teeth grinding together. “It was working fine yesterday, I don’t know why it’s so hard now.”

Satoru hums, eyeing the pulsing red tendrils practically groping Yuuji’s spiritual energy. “I can venture a guess or two.”

Yuuji’s eyes snap to him. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Your spiritual energy is unstable.”

“I know that,” Yuuji grits out. “I can feel it.”

“Can you, I wonder.”

“For fuck’s sake.” It’s practically a growl, low and rumbling. “Would it kill you to not be a cryptic bastard for one goddamn second?”

“Oh?” Satoru straightens up from his slouch against a tree, giving Yuuji is full, undivided attention; the boy doesn’t quail even a little under the force of it. “Are you getting angry, Yuuji?”

Yuuji’s mouth twists into something that’s all teeth and no smile. “I’m starting to think you want me to be.”

“Only starting?” Satoru mocks softly. “Well, you are slow on the uptake sometimes.”

Yuuji leaps.

It’s an impressive movement, all grace and power. The space between them vanishes in what would have been a millisecond to any pair of eyes except Satoru’s, and for a moment, he’s torn between delight that he can see every minutia of Yuuji’s attack and regret that he can’t experience the raw shock of it.

Then Yuuji’s arm is impaling the tree, at just the right height to have punched through Satoru’s gut a moment ago.

Satoru whistles. “Tōji’s rubbed off on you.”

Yuuji whirls around; his arm tears through the trunk instead of sliding out of the hole it made, and the splinters have barely started to fall before he’s on Satoru, eyes wild and teeth bared.

Satoru fends him quite thoroughly, but it’s not what he’d call easy. Yuuji moves with an agility that belies the power in his body, acrobatic motions shifting seamlessly into inhuman bursts of speed and power, and he’s not lacking durability either, bouncing back barely out of breath each time Satoru sends him crashing into the ground or through a tree.

He’s not on Tōji’s level, but the only person alive who can counter that monster is Satoru himself. Perhaps Nanami would be a better comparison. It’s been quite a while since Satoru’s fought his former underclassman, but Nanami is a prime specimen of a hunter.

Yuuji would give him a run for his money.

Take away spiritual energy and fancy techniques, and Yuuji would win.

Unlock in Yuuji what’s sure to be an impressive birthright, and again, he would win.

As they are now, Yuuji a beast with only the sputtering dregs of his tainted power to call upon and Nanami a seasoned hunter with a versatile technique and a sharp mind to boot, Yuuji would eventually lose. He’d make Nanami pay for it.

The heat that pools in Satoru’s gut isn’t exactly sexual, but it’s certainly nothing as wholesome as admiration.

So he indulges Yuuji far more than is wise, leading him away from the barrier but deeper into the forest, and Yuuji’s eyes are too sharp to not know what’s happening, but he follows Satoru willingly, if violently, making the best of every movement and even taking advantage of the environment to assault him from all angles, and Satoru can never not see him coming, but he gives Yuuji his flesh all the same, Limitless tucked away to leave Satoru a thing of warm, bruisable skin.

Yuuji bruises nothing, but not for want of trying.

There’s a concerning amount of trying, in fact. Now, past the initial rush of Yuuji trying to punch through his gut and committing to the choice with extreme prejudice, Satoru’s starting to notice the subtler tells. The fury on Yuuji’s face can only be organic—it’s too hot, too real. But it wasn’t so long ago that Satoru was marveling at the revelation that Yuuji’s anger burns cold, and that’s not what he’s seeing right now. And his eyes are wide and manic, fixed on Satoru with blistering intensity, but when the light hits them just right, pinpricks of red shimmer within the darkened brown.

The longer this dance goes on, the less Satoru can ignore all the ways the steps aren’t quite right.

It suits Yuuji, this bestial rage. He’ll be a calamity someday.

But it’s Yuuji that Satoru wants—all of him, only him.

He plants his feet, a casual retreat turned into an unforgiving block, and Yuuji’s quick to adjust, knocking Satoru’s arm away and striking out, his face still set into a snarl that gleams white and pink.

Satoru catches Yuuji’s fist with his palm, closing his fingers tightly around it.

Yuuji doesn’t waste time trying to pull it back, immediately driving his free hand toward Satoru’s stomach, all five fingers spread like he’s planning to gouge out a fistful of flesh.

“You keep going for the gut,” Satoru says, his hand clamped around Yuuji’s straining wrist. “You were very fond of it—but that’s not what this is, is it?”

Yuuji growls, the air between them quivering unnaturally.

“Scary,” Satoru murmurs, not for the first time. He yanks Yuuji closer, easily overpowering his attempts to pry free. This close, the red in his eyes is deeper, brighter. “But it’s sweeter when it’s all you, Yuuji.”

The growl cuts off, the snarl fades—and Yuuji strikes, snake-swift.

Satoru still sees it coming enough that he has to allow it, but it’s startling enough that Limitless tries to flare anyway, caught and smothered a split second before Yuuji’s teeth sink into the meat of Satoru’s right bicep.

They cleave clean through fabric and flesh.

“Ah,” Satoru gasps, the sheer novelty of the sensation more shocking than the pain. It’s not the biting. He’s familiar with Yuuji’s teeth despite the boy’s best efforts to be gentle. And Satoru’s had his fair share of partners who got nippy in bed. There were even a few times Suguru looked tempted during their teenage tussles, though he never did lower himself to it.

Demons who’ve tried have only ever gotten a mouthful of infinities.

No one, not even in Satoru’s wildest dreams, have bitten off a chunk of flesh—and the cloth over it.

It’s a peculiar kind of pain, distinctly different from the bite of even the roughest bladed weapons. He can feel Yuuji’s teeth in his flesh; he can feel them straining to meet. He can taste the power in his jaw and the wet heat awaiting his flesh.

The muscles of Yuuji’s neck flex, tendons shifting under sweat-slick skin. There’s a minute shift in the line of his jaw.

It clamps down tight, tearing through the last shred of resistance in the meat between his teeth.

The moment his teeth meet is the moment Yuuji’s all Yuuji again.

Satoru takes it in past a reflexive swell of tears, blinked impatiently away so he can commit to memory the rich tapestry of emotion woven live by Yuuji’s features—his brows furrow, his lashes flutter, his lips flinch.

The wet red mess he’s still kissing throbs in answer.

The horror comes, of course it does, but before that, there’s this moment—dazed eyes and slack lips and soft, serene satisfaction. It’s an expression Satoru’s seen on this boy’s face a sweet handful of times, mostly when he emerged from his happy home between Satoru’s legs, his lips slick and swollen from a sweltering eternity spent stoking and swallowing Satoru’s heat.

“Easy,” Satoru says the moment Yuuji’s eyes widen, their bulging whites eating through the last of that satisfaction. “Don’t open your mouth.”

Wild eyes swivel to Satoru, the angle only serving to make Yuuji seem even more deranged. There’s a noise—not quite a question, not quite a cry. It trembles against the open wound on Satoru’s arm, which bleeds more against Yuuji’s tightly shut mouth.

He hasn’t swallowed yet.

Satoru lets go of Yuuji, even that simple motion shuddering down his right arm to make his wound pulse and spurt, and Yuuji makes another noise, distinctly despairing. Satoru raises his uninjured arm, gently cupping the back of Yuuji’s head—and pressing his mouth more firmly into the shredded mess he’s made of Satoru’s bicep.

Yuuji shivers, violently enough that Satoru feels it in his wound. There’s an answering pulse from his arm and his groin.

Satoru valiantly ignores it, instead stroking the silken undercut under his palm.

Yuuji’s starting to shake. His eyes are tightly shut.

Satoru says, “Swallow.”

There’s a low, wounded noise. He thinks Yuuji would shake his head if the movement wouldn’t force his face to rub against Satoru’s bleeding wound.

Satoru pets him a little more, winding his fingers through the damp strands of Yuuji’s hair and palming the fuzzy bristles of his undercut. Yuuji’s spiritual energy is barely a thrum now, as if it’s retreated into itself the way Yuuji so clearly wants to, but Satoru’s own is lashing under his skin, caught in a war between carefully cultivated instincts and ironclad will.

His good sense wants that wound healed and Yuuji’s teeth away from it, but Satoru—

“Swallow, Yuuji,” he repeats, squeezing Yuuji’s nape. “You have to keep what you take—waste not, want not.”

#goyuu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #divider credit: saradika-graphics #fic: mouth of the wolf

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heaven-s-black-box · 6 months ago

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Luck- Wash x Fem!Ex-Freelancer!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: January 8th, 2025

Description: Hiya!!! When I saw your requests were open I just had to as for a Agent Washington from RvB(could be a short scenario or a full fic) because out of the very few writers put there for him I think that you are by far the best!!

Notes: CW Reader is vaguely implied to be suicidal (not wearing her armor in a war zone) This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contribution. Went for a different route with my freelancer reader this time, she defected with Tex instead of being sent to Blood Gultch.

Word count: 1 181

Back to directory

Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long and tired sighed.

She was standing in a doorway of… it didn’t really matter. Nothing really mattered to her in this moment. Not the concerned and questioning stares of the New Republic soldiers as she walked around without her armor, not the strategic questions Kimball bombarded her with, and certainly not the dog pile in front of her.

Griff seemed to be on the bottom, she’s pretty sure she sees his armor peeking out, and Simmons is directly on top of him. She assumes Griff decided to sprawl on the ground in protest of something and this was Simmons’ way of getting him to move, because Tucker is on top of him like they were trying to make it uncomfortable. Then Caboose is on top, and she’s not even surprised.

She pities Kimball, putting her faith in these morons right now. But more than anything she pities them, the reds and blues- No. Tucker, Caboose, Griff, and Simons. The reds and blues includes Sarge, Lopez, Donut, Wash, Carolina, Church, and Doc. They are not the reds and blues, not right now.

Griff continues to yell incoherently, drowned out by the pile above him and everybody else yelling.

“Would you please,” Y/n yelled, shutting them up, “try to behave yourselves.”

Everyone was facing away from her, but Caboose craned his neck awkwardly until he could kind of see her.

“Y/n! Where’s your armor?”

“Being repaired.” A lie. She still had her freelancer armor, it was more durable than anything these guys had and that was why she wasn’t wearing it. “Caboose, get up. Same with the rest of you.”

Caboose practically jumped to his feet and ran over to her, locking her in a strong hug– he’d been doing that more recently since they got separated from the others.

Separated, that’s what she kept telling him. It’s what she kept telling all of them, but she wasn’t sure she believed it anymore herself. Did she ever really? She’d seen so many miracles that maybe her luck had finally run out.

Luck.

Wash did not believe in luck, and if he did his was definitely shit. York was always the lucky one, and he was dead so clearly the well of luck must be running dry. But in this moment, he could only hope that whatever drops might be left land on him.

Him, or her? Y/n. Who really needed the luck right now?

He watched Sarge grill some poor Federal army soldier on weapon maintenance while Donut cheered him on in the background and Lopez seemed to be commentating in Spanish. Was this making him miss the blues? He’s not sure, but he definitely misses Y/n. Or as Tucker so kindly puts it, the other brain cell.

Not only does he miss her, but he’s worried about her. Does she know he’s alive? He hopes she does, but the only way to know for sure is to see her. So he has to get this goddamn rescue mission off the ground.

“Sarge! He knows what he’s doing, let him work!”

“How do you know that? You weren’t there for his training, we gotta make sure this mission goes off without a hitch! We gotta save your princess in a tower! You know, operation rescue Simmons! And if Griff accidentally dies, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“La princesa te matará por eso,” Lopez replied,and for once Donut’s translation was on the mark.

“I agree with Lopez, Sarge, I think Y/n might kill you for that.”

“Why? Princess’ can kick ass, you ever seen Xena: Warrior Princess? Or Wonder Woman, she’s a princess! And that Princess from the Italian plumber game, sure she keeps getting kidnapped but when she fights she kicks ass.”

Wash isn’t sure if he’s more baffled by Sarge’s take on princess Peach or just his list of pop culture princesses. He wasn’t even sure if Xena counted as pop culture.

“Just,” Wash sighed, waving his hands in surrender, “leave the poor guy alone.”

How far apart were they, on this strange planet?

They’d definitely been further apart, they’d been so far apart after the project fell. He’d refused to leave, becoming a recovery agent, and she’d been one of the first to defect. He would have left if she’d asked, but that wasn’t her style– in that sense they were the same. They were the worst, the most timid, barely scraping by it seemed while everyone else flourished. Wash only stayed to help Epsilon and the AI, but if Y/n had asked him to leave, to join the fight from the outside, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

That was her strength, always the negotiator, and his strength, she’d always called him a jack of all trades; a strength that had saved them time and time again, whether he realized it or not.

As if bound by an unseen force, both freelancers return to their rooms.

They collapse into their stiff beds, and Wash groans as his helmet bounces off the metal slab of a cot. The back of Y/n’s head hits the sweater she’d folded up as a pillow, and it barely cushioned her from the stiff weave of the collapsible cot. Her armor was piled in the corner of her room, the helmet set on top staring at her.

Wash closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then begins adjusting his radio signal.

“Y/n? Carolina?” He calls into the empty room. He’s on the old freelancer channel, but he gets no reply, so he changes the channel again. “Y/n? I know you’re out there.” Wash stares at the empty ceiling, it’s an old channel that the MOI didn’t monitor. Good for late night gossip with the others, but it had long since fallen into disuse.

In the New Republic base, Y/n rolls onto her side, cushioning her head with her arm and stares at her armor. The dark visor stares back, and the scratches and chips in the paint remind her that they have survived so much already.

“I’m coming for you. We’re, coming for you, all of you. I’m worried about you, you know, so just hold out a little longer, please.”

Groaning, Y/n pulled herself from her cot and dragged herself over to her armor. She picked up the helmet and dropped back onto her cot, holding it above herself at eye level.

Wash took another deep breath, opening his eyes for a moment to make sure no one was in the room. He closed them again and let out the deep breath.

“I love you, and I’m telling you in person when we come save you. I think… I should have told you a long time ago.”

Y/n lifted her head and pulled the helmet on, starting up the systems and watching the hud light up. She flicked through channels until she landed on the old freelancer channel.

“Wash? Carolina? Are you out there?”

There was no reply.

#researcher s's recovery #red vs blue #rvb x reader #red vs blue x reader #david washington #rvb wash #agent washington #agent washington x reader #rvb wash x reader #x reader #female reader #slight angst #oneshot #rvb oneshot

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chimaerakirin · 2 months ago

Text

SOULSEKAI

It's the end of the world as they know it, and Shigaraki Tomura feels fine. February 26, 6 AM. This is not what he was planning to do today, but he can work with it. Frankly, this might be even better. This is not at all what Midoriya Izuku was planning to do today, and it's a disaster. He's going to miss the UA Entrance Exam! Where are his shoes, and who's this voice in his head calling him Ninth?

Rated M for violence (Soulslike-appropriate) and Language (also Soulslike-appropriate). Later chapters may go up to E, because I will not allow Tomura to be maidenless.

FIRST - Second ->

Scattered Like Ashes

"Shigaraki Tomura, why are you still up?"

His character dies on screen again, and he snarls in annoyance, barely keeping his little finger off the mouse. "Because this boss is a fucking whore, that's why!" Tomura snaps. "Why, it's not that late."

"It is nearly six in the morning," Kurogiri says patiently. Too patiently.

"And? 'Snot like the sun's up that early in February. Still dark out means it's not morning yet." With that impeccable logic, he respawns and starts running for his corpse.

"Then perhaps you should go to bed before it becomes morning."

He reaches for his Zone, then scowls as he realizes it's empty.

"And there are no more energy drinks in the refrigerator."

Tomura throws the can over his shoulder at the misty man. As expected, there's a hollow clatter from the direction of the kitchen. He doesn't even care about the caffeine, it's the principle. On the screen, he reaches the boss barrier and goes through it, then bolts for the glowing sphere of his dropped souls. He died on the other side of the arena, he has to go past the boss and—

"FUUUUCK! Goddamn one-shotting piece of shit how did he even DO that?! I've got lightning res out the ass, that should never have fucking—!" His keysmash hits the respawn button by accident, and opens up his equipment besides. His gauntlets have their durability flashing a red zero, their damage resistances cut to near nothing. Right. The last run went on so long that they broke, and the bonfire's auto repair doesn't work if durability goes all the way down, he'll have to go to the blacksmith… and pay for the repairs with WHAT FUCKING SOULS goddamnit he just lost almost a full level!

"If I may, perhaps you will perform better against the boss if you are properly rested," Kurogiri tries.

"Shut up and send me to the konbini." He shoves his chair back and grabs his hoodie and shoes, shoving Father into the front pocket of the former with his phone and a fistfull of yen bills.

Kurogiri droops disappointedly, but obeys. Tomura staggers slightly as he steps through the warp gate. Earthquake? Whatever, it's not a strong one.

He leaves the alley for the Daily Yamazaki around the corner, trying to remember if he had any snacks recently and ignoring another tremor. He looks at the bread shelves, tries to picture the desk drawer he keeps his stash in, then shrugs and drops a dozen curry breads and yakisoba buns into a basket. A six-pack of energy drinks— Wait, Iyemon. He knows he's out of that. He swaps the energy drinks out and just gets a couple of smaller cans to go with the tea. The noodle cups… He finished off the shrimp flavor yesterday and the tonkotsu the day before that, and Kurogiri never just restocks on instant noodles unless he's told to. Shit, he can't remember the last time he had any of the chicken flavors either… And now the basket is pretty much full. He heads for the cash register, then stops at the magazines. Right, he missed this week's Famitsu. And the last GFantasy. Which means he also missed the other magazine…

He grabs one of the freshest curry breads from the bakery case, then ignores another tremor while the cashier rings everything up. The instant the money is on the counter, he stuffs the fresh curry bread into his mouth and leaves with his bags. There's another tremor as he reaches the alley, they're getting stronger now. Which is weird, his phone hasn't beeped. The cashier didn't react either, and usually NPCs are absolute pussies about even the little quakes.

He rings Kurogiri for pickup, then yawns while he waits for the gate to appear. Maybe he'll just crash when he gets back… Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. So he does. Doesn't even bother taking off his shoes or putting the bags down. Just flops over backward onto the bed.

And falls.

~praise be unto the Sky~

Izuku is more than a little concerned. Or maybe just confused. The beach was almost completely done when he went home last night, and today is the day of the entrance exam, so he got up early to come finish it. Then the quakes started. He pauses every time he feels one, but for some reason the last of the trash isn't reacting to it at all. Not even the broken mirror with loose shards, which should be falling out. Is he just more tired than he thought?

Even so, he manages to get everything up to the ramp. Even the old safe, solid steel construction even if it's rusted around the rivets, and the gutted truck. He doesn't quite manage to stack it neatly — well, as neatly as a few tons of scrap metal in formerly useful shapes can be stacked anyway — before that familiar battered pickup parks at the edge of the beach, but even so, All Might seems amazed and impressed.

All Might sounds proud of him.

He sobs through the haze of sweat, burning muscles, and wind-chill, barefoot and shirtless in the first rays of the morning sun, as the Number One Hero declares him to be a proper vessel for his powers.

Then All Might plucks a hair from his famous bangs and holds it out. "Now, eat this!"

"…Eh?"

Then the ground shakes one more time, and the world comes apart at the seams.

~praise be unto the Sky~

"Owww…" Tomura groans.

His head hurts. His back too. The fuck happened to his bed? It feels like rocks. He opens his eyes.

…The fuck happened to his ceiling?

The sky is a faded blue-gray, way too bright for six in the morning but not obnoxiously bright daylight either. Maybe a rain-threatening ten… Or four PM? Did he sleep? Now that his head is clearing up, he's not quite as tired as he was…

He sits up, noting the bags from the konbini in his left hand. There's a rock wall in front of him, and not a man-made one. Too rough, jagged, gray-brown, with a few scraggly plants on the protruding bits. It goes up maybe ten meters, then curves around. A rock alley. He's in a rock alley, a dead-end canyon. Not a place he recognizes, and Sensei has dumped him in some weird places for training. He squints up at the edge of the cliff. He remembers falling, did he fall from up there? That probably should have broken something important the way he landed, but the bags aren't even split, let alone his spine. A couple of the noodle cups spilled out, but eh, easy enough to dust off and stuff back in.

He stands up and looks around. There's only one way to go unless he wants to climb the cliff, so he heads along the canyon, passing a small spring that at least looks clean and, on inspection, doesn't smell like anything but water.

Then he finds the body.

Normally, a dead body wouldn't bother him. Honestly, the fact that it's a dead body doesn't bother him. Even it being desiccated, crows come and gone and a bit past the stinking stage doesn't faze him. He's seen worse in the Doctor's lab. What makes him stop is the clothes. They're pretty worn down and torn from the weather, but still recognizable. Flexible boots turned down at the tops, pants woven from something scratchy-looking, a quilted jacket with a double-wrapped heavy leather iron-buckled belt over it, leather bands over the forearms. All of it hand-stitched, no zippers or plastic or rubber. The knife sticking out of the body's chest, blood so old it's black staining the jacket — the gambeson — is just as old-fashioned, handle made of horn or bone, about the length of his forearm, blade a little dull but scraped-looking along the edge where it's been sharpened on a real whetstone. Clip point too, he sees when he pulls it out of the corpse's chest.

Then he nearly drops it, because there's a goddamn HUD pop-up in front of him. Like black glass with white window chalk on it.

[Forsaken Knife

Both tool and weapon by design. This example's fate is evidently to be the latter.]

Is that…

Maybe…

…Fuck it.

"Show current status," he whispers, sitting down next to the corpse and hooking his konbini bags around his elbow.

And more HUD appears what the fuck.

It's not a full status screen like he might have expected, he doesn't see a whole panel of attributes, but there's a stack of three thin colored bars, red-blue-green, that he suddenly realizes have been there the entire time and are only moving toward the center of his vision — what's that trivia thing, you can always see your own nose but your brain blocks it out? — now that he doesn't want them to be unobtrusive. The red one is about half full, reading [221/430]. Huh, maybe he did fall, and things just don't break with whatever is going on here. The blue one is much shorter, and practically empty, at [4/120]. And the green one is a full [100/100].

Additionally, there's a small counter toward the bottom right, a gray zero next to an icon of three prisms in a cluster, Tron blue with specks of gold. If he knows anything, that's his XP counter.

"…Hide status?" he tries. The bars and the XP counter don't disappear, but they retreat to the corners of his vision and fade into partial transparency. "All right. Show attributes?"

Okay, there's the stats he was looking for.

[Level 9

Motes held: 0

Motes required: 830]

[Attribute Points

Vitality: 11

Endurance: 11

Focus: 20

Strength: 11

Dexterity: 22

Intelligence: 15

Devotion: 6

Fortune: 9]

Definitely Soulslike stats. Tapping on the stat names does nothing, neither does speaking the words out loud, so he can't find out more about the calculations that way, but he'd guess that Devotion is Faith — he probably won't be casting any Miracles anytime soon — and Fortune is Luck, so his drop rate isn't great and at least one kind of resistance is probably pretty low.

He's not sure why Devotion's so low, since his DEX is quite reasonably sky high as is required by his Quirk, if Focus is literal he knows he's got that in spades, and he's not a fucking dumbass either. Maybe the system just doesn't acknowledge Sensei as a god.

Anyway, there's his Health Points, his Focus Points — huh, Focus must be Attunement or Mind or whatever, and 120 must be on the high end for his level — and both of them have… regenerated slightly over the last couple of minutes? He's got six FP at the moment, and 222 HP. Absolutely useless rates in combat, but worth having out of it. Load, 10.9/49.5 which is weird. He'll check that in a minute. Ready Skills, one equipped, two slots empty.

[Deteriorate (Personal Skill)

Increases Effect Rate of all damaging Status Effects

Cost: Activation 20 FP, Sustain 3 FP/second per Status Effect

Range: Touch

Scaling: DEX D, INT C]

A DoT booster. He giggles. It's like his Quirk, but even better! Sure it won't end a fight the instant he grabs someone's face — wait, does his Quirk still work? He grabs a rock from the ground and plants all his fingers on it. Nothing happens, and he giggles even harder, because holy shit what if Quirks just don't isekai properly and this is what happened to it? So yeah he can't instakill someone just with his 'Quirk' but he has a knife and that means he can fuckin' shred someone with Bleed.

And he currently has Slashing and Piercing damage types available, probably from the knife. It's labeled Attack Potential though, not Attack Power. [Blunt 11], equal to his STR, probably because anyone with limbs can cast Fist but it's never been his thing, [Slash 45] and [Pierce 30] which tracks because the knife has a mildly curved edge, a clip point with a minor sharpening on the spinal side of the tip, and it's definitely long enough to go through someone's heart on top of any artery he can think of but isn't really enough to pull off decapitation. Other damage types, which he doesn't have any current 'Potential' for, are all probably magical. Force, which he assumes is typeless, Fire, Lightning, Frost, Poison, Curse, and Holy.

Defense and Damage Reduction… His total Physical Defense is 11, but since none of that is shown in the Blunt/Slash/Pierce specific Damage Reductions and his Endurance is also 11, he suspects END is more than just the STA gauge. He has no Reductions to anything magical except for… Lightning? At 8.5? Somehow… And Fall Damage, at 15.

"Inventory," he orders. And there's the paper doll screen. His shirt, pants, and hoodie are labeled the Otherworldly Recluse Set, which he can't really argue with even if it does feel vaguely insulting. Everyone knows a black hoodie with the hood up means 'Fuck off' all on its own, and worn with matching sweatpants is a tacitly understood invisibility cloak. Fitting, since the Recluse set has a small Stealth bonus. They all have a max Durability of between 35 and 45, and the shirt is the most battered at [21/35], sixty percent. His shoes (Durability [54/65]) are labeled Quirkless Lowtops though, which is every kind of what the fuck even if they do explain the Lightning res (rubber soles, of course, that would be exotic enough here to count). Father's system name, when he places the hand on his face to see it appear as Equipped, is even more bullshit, Cursed Grasp of Memories, and drops his FP to a hundred while raising his Devotion to 10. Nothing he's wearing has any explanation for the Fall Damage Reduction though.

The Forsaken Knife, now that he's got the details open, has [STR E] and [DEX C] scaling, and is indeed the source of the 45 Slash and 30 Pierce damage potential. It has a Load value of 1.5, so whatever units are being used it's definitely not kilograms, or anything in that fucking mess the Americans are still using. It's also at [72/80] Durability, despite how long the body it was stuck in seems to have been here. A month at least, he remembers, to get to the dry decay stage.

Altogether his clothes and the knife come up to just under eight points of Load… But his konbini bags are showing as Equipped to his arm somehow. Like a shield or something. He fiddles around until he finds the Quickslots — five of those available — and shoves the yakisoba buns and bottled tea into two of those (they stack, which is good because there's only five slots and more than that of the tea alone), putting the curry bread, cup noodles, and energy drinks into the Consumables tab. The magazines go into the Knowledge tab, as does his phone, which has no signal as expected, but is. Uh. Somehow charging off his FP? All right then? He decides to keep that in his pocket instead. Father goes into the Head section of the Armor tab, which has a visibly limited number of slots, so he probably can't just carry around one of everything in hammerspace. The empty Yamazaki bags go into… Crafting tab? Okay. Other tabs include Upgrades, Motes, and Glyphs, and a couple of grayed-out ones. Upgrades are self-explanatory, and Motes are XP, so what are Glyphs?

He looks at the knife again. There's a depression in the grip about where a right-handed user's palm would go, maybe the size of a yen coin. Materia slot maybe? Like an Ash of War? And there's a blank spot in its Equip description which looks similar to the Ready Skill part of his stat screen. Okay, if whatever goes in that slot was shiny, it's gone along with the dead guy's eyes, the crows will have taken it. He can still search the body though. He's not taking the armor, but if he's got pockets…

There's not much, whoever offed this guy was pretty thorough, but there's a pack of five bone spikes that look halfway between nails and throwing knives, three weakly glowing white river rocks, and… an empty, cracked glass bottle with a faintly golden color?

Jackpot! That's gotta be the Estus Flask!

He takes all three items, sticking them into the remaining Quickslots, where he can see the labels of Bone Dart, Lightstone, and Vital Flask (Broken). Then, because it's not actually that grungy-looking, is visibly adjustable, has more Durability than his shoes, and most importantly has the sheathe for his new knife and a few pouches that give +1 Quickslot attached, he takes the belt — Hedge Knight's Baldric — and wraps it like a bandolier. Or, y'know, like a baldric.

With everything properly sorted, he stands up and, when a verbal command of Map does nothing, starts off along the canyon again, just barely not whistling cheerfully. All he needs now is whatever the bonfire and Fire Keeper equivalents are, and they're probably in the same place. This is just the best day ever.

~praise be unto the Sky~

This is the worst day ever, Izuku concludes, curling up in the corner and trying not to hyperventilate. The stone wall is icy against his bare back, and the only reason his feet aren't even colder is that the floor is made up of solid wooden planks, each as wide as his hips, with enough space between each to lose a pencil down. They're not even polished and sealed either, just… vaguely sanded. Like an old picnic table or something. All the splinters worn down by sheer use. For the love of All Might, couldn't he have at least landed next to his shoes?!

"That's called starting as a Deprived. Or a Wretch. Same difference, really," a wispy sort of voice says. The voice is young, maybe university-aged, male, and most unnervingly, in his head. "At least, if this is what I think it is. Pretty sure it is."

"Eep!" Izuku claps his hands over his mouth, looking around wildly.

"Oh hey, can you hear me?"

Izuku doesn't answer. No one here, no one here, no one here…

"Yeah, no, you're definitely here, Ninth. Which is awesome, because it means I am too, and I always wanted to get isekai'd so thanks for that." The voice pauses. "No, really. No sarcasm. My life was kinda shit, even before my brother locked me in a bank vault. You'd want out too. So lucky you, I'm pretty well prepared for this. Can you say 'Show attributes' for me?"

This voice is weird. "Sh… Show attributes?"

A window pops up into the air in front of him and he swallows another yelp.

"Thanks. Oooh, Soulslike. Okay, that could get a little iffy, but don't worry, I'm still an expert. Good news is, you're not actually a Wretch, because you're level 6 and your stats are wheeeere the hell did you get this much Endurance? What in Miyazaki's unholy name?"

"…Who's Miyazaki?" Izuku whispers.

"RL lore later, figuring out how to cheese the system now. Seriously, nothing starts at 25 in a Soulslike, and it's Endurance. A hundred and twenty stamina — hey do you see a red bar, a blue bar, and a green bar in the corner?"

"The corner of what?"

"Well, RL doesn't have a screen so your eye, I guess. Peripheral vision? Wait, please tell me you've played at least some video games. God knows All Might was a normie."

Izuku doesn't know what that means, but he's pretty sure he should feel offended on his hero's behalf. "I, uh. A few? Not much, other kids didn't want me around so I couldn't really hang out in the arcades. Just a few games on the computer."

"Oh boy. Okay, I got your back. Crash course, red bar is your HP, blue is probably your magic, and green is Stamina. Run out of red and you die and hopefully respawn. Run out of blue, you can't cast spells. Run out of green, you can't run, attack, dodge, or jump. Not entirely sure how that'll work here. But you've got really high green for your level, which is good."

The voice sounds entirely too cheerful for having just told him he has a numeric representation of death in the corner of his vision. "Good… Right…"

"You can stop calling me The Voice, you know." A pause. "Wait, right, introductions. I'm Yoichi. Shigaraki Yoichi. Or First, if you talk to any of the others. They're not here. Not sure why I am, you didn't eat the hair yet. Anyway! You've got… 9 Vitality, which is probably tied to your 395 total HP. Not great, but could be worse. Your Focus is 18, you've got 110 Focus Points and three Spell Slots, looks like. One of them has… Forebearer's Aid? 'Requires Stele to cast,' whatever that means, and it eats forty FP. Your Endurance is, again, twenty-freaking-five. Strength 12, kinda weird, I'd have thought it'd be fifteen or sixteen with all your training over the last few months. Dexterity, 11, which is… reasonable? Intelligence 16, which is standard for a spellcaster start, and Devotion, which I'd assume is Faith, is 20, which means you're more white mage than black mage. Sort of. Morality is sort of… squishier than my brother's head after All Might punched it flat, in most Soulslike settings."

Wait, what?

"Aaand the last stat is Fortune, which prooobably covers loot and stuff like that, 9 is about an average starting point for it. Basically, you've got the starting stats of a… marathon cleric, let's say. Just need to find you a healing spell and a beating stick, and you're set!"

"What was that about your brother?" Izuku asks nervously.

"Riiight, Eighth didn't tell you that part. Guess he didn't think it was important, on account of the head-squishing, he's been dealt with and you won't need to fight him. My brother, All For One, boogeyman of the underworld, legendary Quirk Thief, yada yada yada. Trust me, he deserved it. He's the one that gutted Eighth." Yoichi waves that away audibly, somehow. "Moving on. This is some kind of castle keep, going by the courtyard and the walls you saw outside the window. That means it should have an armory, so we need to look around and see if we can't find you some gear."

"But there are guys with swords out there!"

"Didn't you impress Eighth by charging up to a guy made of raw sewage, who had already tried to drown you, to save a kid whose hands could explode? You wanna be a Hero, right? Gratz, kid, you've been isekai'd, you're the Hero. Now let's goooo!"

Fifteen minutes, a compliment on his stealth skills, and two different drunk guys singing very rude songs in a language that is not Japanese but still somehow comprehensible later, and he's slipping through a heavy ironbound door.

"Wooow, pretty well ransacked. Oh well. Still enough to get your properly dressed anyway. Look around, try to find… hm, we'll start with a gambeson, then some chainmail, I think. Your Load, that's equippable weight limit, is pretty high. Look to your left, there's a few… you can call them mannequins. The armor stands."

There are in fact a few mannequin-looking things. "[Lost Keep's Garrison Set]," Izuku observes.

That opens a menu, or maybe a tooltip, that shows him the pieces. A chainmail coat, a quilted jacket that Yoichi calls a gambeson, a matching quilted hood called an arming cap under a 'sallet' type helmet as Yoichi says, quilted pants with a lace-up fly under chainmail leggings that together look kind of like those weird cowboy jeans, metal plates that he thinks are greaves but Yoichi calls schynbalds, some kind of shoe that is not Quirkless Red, and gauntlets of, again, chainmail, with leather palms and plates on the forearms. Somehow, he's able to put it all on at once, with what amounts to the tap of a button, which displaces his track pants into an empty box of his inventory. He's not sure what's weirder, dressing instantly or the fact that all of this fits, and isn't that heavy.

"Wait, put this on too." Yoichi says. Like he's pointing, when he's a voice in Izuku's head. "Right, forgot. On the right, the white cloth thing. Put it on like a shirt, then one of the leather belts from the end of the aisle goes on over it."

Izuku does so, fumbling with the belt, which has to be wrapped around his waist twice, and the white thing immediately turns a shade of green that matches his hair. "Well that's… less… not-sneaky than I thought it would be? I'm not actually wearing a white flag, at least… Is twenty-four physical defense good?"

"…You know, I'm not actually sure," Yoichi admits. "Not enough context. Does this setting have supermassive sets like Smough's? But it's better than what you were wearing before and you should be well under your Load limit so you won't be fatrolling. Which means it's time to pick a weapon! You're a cleric, I suggest a mace."

"You mean pepper spray?" Izuku asks hopefully. He knows it's a vain hope, but still.

"Ahahaha! No. But it oughta be easier for you to use than a sword. Think of it like a baseball bat. Do they still teach baseball as a school sport?"

"Sort of, but I wasn't usually allowed to play… Too fragile, they said," he says bitterly. And on the rare occasions the teacher didn't say, Kacchan and his followers reminded him.

"I'm starting to sense some issues here. Remind me to ask how things are between Quirked and Quirkless these days, I don't think Eighth is really in touch anymore. But later, once we find a Bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Save point! Good for leveling up, respawning, and fast travel, among other things! Disclaimer, might not be an actual fire. Maces are on the right side of the room."

There are about a dozen identical maces to choose from, so he grabs one at random. It's heavy in his hand, but he can swing it, and more easily when he holds it with both hands. "I can work with this, I guess."

"Great! Now, you really should have a backup weapon. A knife of some kind would be best, utility and all that. Let's see… There, with the disk guard and pommel. That's a rondel dagger, take that. Little bit slashy, mostly stabby."

The [Rondel Dagger] is in fact mostly stabby and a little slashy, going by its 14 Slash and 60 Pierce damage spread. Izuku dutifully slots the sheathe into his belt. "Am I done yet?"

"Almost!" Yoichi replies, manically cheerful. "That's your equips, now let's check the quartermaster's office for consumables, tools, upgrade mats, and lore!"

Izuku groans.

#soulsekai #bnha #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #shigaraki yoichi #not actually a FromSoft xover

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thehutpoint · 2 months ago

Text

From "Captain Oates. Soldier and explorer" by Limb&Cordingley.

The Lockhart's mentioned in the text is actually The Lockhart's Cocoa Rooms, a chain of what basically were coffee shops, founded by the members of the Temperance Movement, offering the working class a booze free place to eat and meet.

What I love in this excerpt is how Herringhanm describes this lunch like a visit in a wildly exotic place (table so bare! mugs so thick!), while Titus, wolfing down his bread & jam feels there perfectly at home. And how dear Mr. Harrison does not admit people were staring at him. I mean a cavalry officer, looking like a cavalry officer should, all gentlemanly, elegant and well groomed, had to stand out like sore thumb in a working class place.

And, ladies, gentlemen and scientists, I am deadly sure Titus preferred spots like Lockhart's over more elegant options, for the same reason he preferred raggedy sweaters over starched elegance. No, not to stick one out to the society, as Limb & Cordingley suggest. For comfort.

I mean he dressed in comfy rags since ever, he was barely a teen when he sauntered into the village shop in Gestingthorpe with his boots tied with wire, causing a small escandalo. For me it is glaringly obvious Titus dressed the way he dressed, because he liked it. It was comfortable and he was merrily oblivious to the way it looked. His worn acquascutum was still doing its job of keeping his back dry, the DIY canva pants were durable and comfy, and the table cloth was the most durable fabric he had at hand so he splat it on his trousers without thinking about how it presented. And he ate in Lockhart's because he could get there good food without the burden of having to gentleman.

Having to behave like a gentleman, aside from the discomfirt the proper ourfit brought, had to be incredibly draining for Titus. I believe strongly he was autistic and for an autistic person a complicated social etiquette of the era, most of which was unspoken and relied on reading between the words, had to be a torturous nightmare. And there was plenty of evidence that Titus was not dealing well with it.

By the way, his problems with etiquette are a good explanation of why he kept himself away from the women of his class. No, not because he disliked them, but because the social rules about the contacts between the genders were even more nightmarishly tangled and complicated than the rest of it. Insulting a lady could have nasty repercussions, not only social, by the way (think about what if the lady would be the colonel's wife, for instance), a bad move could place a man in a position when he had to either propose, or suffer a social backlash (Titus's sexuality is his sweet secret but I doubt an accidental marriage with a stranger was what made him tick), in other words contacts with ladies were a goddamn minefield. Mind you, we are talking here about a man who told a duke, inquiring if Oates knew his son from Eton, that there were a lot of students there and he cannot know everyone. To a freaking duke! That should show you Titus spoke very bluntly, not a good thing when dealing with ladies.

So, the recipe was simple, keep your piehole shut, limit the contacts with ladies, and therefore a potential of making a sorry gaffe, to an absolute minimum.

#lawrence oates #oates #expedition terra nova #polar exploration

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fea-resources · 3 months ago

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Best Unhinged Commentary As RP Starters Pt.2

Why do you eat so many bullets?

Oh man, I didn't mean to use my grenade like that but that sure happened.

"Don't let him near you." ...proceeds to practically makes out with the damn thing.

Someone needs to teach that purple smurf that No means No.

_____'s fine. Her breasts make for some hella fine armor. She's so padded a bullet could just hit them tits and lose all velocity entirely.

Death By Tree Sap.

I need me a pair of jeans that are as durable as ______'s.

Oh I don't think I like this spot. I remember this spot. This is not a spot I like.

Its a nice place to die, to be fair. I would fight you for this quality grave.

No, that's a bad. Oh god, that's a double bad.

FUCK UP SHIT, WAY TO FUCK UP YOUR AIM.

ITS TIME TO SLAM -- AND WELCOME THE JAM.

...and I wonder why my family hates me. Making shitty commentary on everything.

Can Ms. Tits actually kill anything or are they just comfort back-up so you don't feel so alone?

I am very bothered by how steady they are standing in that water.

The fuck kind of sniper wags his gun around like that. Is he fapping? Fap sniping.

YOU ASK FOR MY OPINION AND THEN YOU SPIT ON IT. HOW DARE.

This is why you should have taken the dragon sniper.

Oh I'm here already? ...Oh god I'm here already.

Just sit back, relax, pick your nose, eat some freetos, and let _______ do the work.

Here let me just dance a bit before I die.

I should hope so, he took Ballet.

Its weird being ace because I can't even be positive how serious I am about some things. Like... do I really like guns and knives, or am I into THAT? I just don't know.

Oh hi, sorry I didn't greet you, I was in the middle of dying.

Death... dying deader.

He's such a graceful dancer though. I wish I had his moves.

He got them moves like Jaeger. The jump and flop.

There was this one time where ______ got stuck between these two wires and looked like he was vibrating faster than the speed of sound. Ask _____, they can tell you.

VIBRATING ______. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. I WEEP.

Oh... so licking the resin would have been a terrible idea.

Its fine. Her titties protected her.

There is no god here.

I SCREAMED FOR YOU. I SCREAMED FOR YOU THAT TIME. SWEET FUCK. STRANGER DANGER.

Where does he keep getting all those grenades?

From his asshole. Why do you think he's so uptight?

Just fucking somersault to your doom.

You know, he says he's going to crush _____, but... filling someone full of shotgun isn't crushing. I demand to be crushed by your Russian gorilla arms. This is bullshit.

NO, NOT MS. THICC. THE WORLD IS WORTHLESS WITHOUT THAT ASS.

Look what you did. Everything you fucking touch.

I don't know about you but... carrying people doesn't work that way, no matter how ripped you are. It's a pain in the goddamn dick.

She's ascended to titty heaven. At least her tits have, I am sure of this.

That guy can get fucked 365 ways to next year with a cactus.

I hate his hair, therefore I hate him.

I don't judge people based on many things, but if your hair sucks... you probably suck as a person. And if you got no hair, I'm on a fucking fence because I don't know what to think.

Its okay, ______ can just lay there for a while with his face in the floor.

You can't get me to eat after my own family, but I'll share a fucking blunt with three people I barely know. I disappoint myself.

Apparently there's a sandwich shop called Vore. Google it. VORE SANDWICH SHOP. Wait no. Hang on. Vore food truck.

Oh a knife, this changes things. Gut me baby one more time!

FUcking old people.

I LOST MY SHIT ON THE SPOT. AND I REALIZED WHY PEOPLE THINK I'M A STONER.

Did it moan at you?

I MOANED AT IT.

I was gonna buy this fucking root. It was only 98 cents but ______ was pissed at me because I was embarrassing her with a root.

Its _______. A much happier ________. Also a much taller ________.

RIP ________. Wait. I better not say that.

You'll find out who Furry McFuckGoat is.

I'm the reason _______ dies guys cuz I gave him hypothermia.

I Tarzan'd my ass right down the chasm.

Was that Furry McFuckgoat?

*sings* More water that's cold as Hell~ HYPOTHERMIA~!!

MEMO TO ME: DO NOT GO INTO THAT CORNER.

We can look at how weird they are-- ...okay, I'm gonna look at how weird they are by myself then.

...'til you died to dead.

________, its time for you to learn an important lesson on being a ______: Hardcore Parkour.

WOOOW okay, I don't know how that happened but I'm gonna take it.

RIP _________. May he forever grace the afterlife with his vibrating.

Furry McFuckGoat brought his friends.

Yank that motherfucker!

I-- somehow avoided that.

Wanna know what I did all day today? Too bad because I'm gonna tell you anyway.

HQ to ______ -- HQ to _______ -- we have lost contact.

Peek your head out. I'm pretty sure you're still alive.

FUCKING EAT IT, SHITHEAD.

Wow, that was a fucking wake-up call.

Thanks for the grenade, I need it a lot more than you.

Are those bullets? yeeeah. Are those grenades? YEEEAAAAH.

I think that was a kidney shot, I'm not 100% sure.

Watching ______ shoot people is like watching them play duck hunt. (Insert annoying dog laughter at every miss)

AAAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Its a tank, how scary can a cow on wheels be?

Hijack it. Hijack it and conquer your fears.

Dramatic ass death. Clutching his chest as if he just got dumped by his baby blue.

Oh, wanna know what I learned about myself yesterday? Too bad again because I'mma tell you anyway -- again.

How to kill an edgyboi trying to be an asshole in less than 3 seconds -- not take his insult as an insult.

We were beginning to think the 8 year old went feral and ate you.

Hey you never know. He might just do it one day. Children are statistically more likely to eat you than an adult.

The entire time they were eating your fucking organs everyone else would be saying "AWWWW SO CUTE".

C A R N A G E.

Married people are wild, man.

Dodged that by the hair of your balls.

Let me see if I can... shove you... BYYYEEE.

Don't be like fancy feet, be an elite.

Did we say rope? We meant hope, as in an intangible thing that doesn't exist.

I DIDN'T MEAN TO THROW MY GRENADE, WHAT.

The void appreciates your contribution.

I'M STILL SO MAD ABOUT THE FUCKING GRENADE.

Subtle? What's that. I don't know what that is. Not now, not ever.

The only thing subtle here is your ability to shoot everyone in the goddamn dick without even trying.

I will leave your aim out of this when you stop handing out dick shots like Halloween candy.

There was no reason for the yoink.

Drop down ______, Jesus, why did you have to be ExTRA.

Unfortunate. My jokes will be less appreciated due to ill timing now. Truly a tragedy in three parts.

Everyone named ______ is Extra.

Today you taught that man an important lesson... a lesson in flight and physics. And that lesson is that people can't fly.

Long Time No Fuck My Life.

hSSSSSSSSSS.

I hate you for having that fucking good aim.

If I heard that in my last seconds of life, I would resurrect just long enough to kick them in the balls so goddamn hard they'd invert into a Y and never return to normal.

Mmmm gratuitous ass shot.

Where is the dragon sniper because I really, really, really would like to have it right now.

I wouldn't mind getting shot by you in real life as long as I got to hear some of this quality commentary before dying.

I think ______'s just a lil bitch and died of a splinter. Can take a hole in the liver but not a splinter. Anything but a splinter.

You said no -- but mommy said yes.

PLOT INCONVENIENCE.

Come on _______, squirrel your fucking way up there.

The amount of splinters...

Them pants are tighter than they are thicc.

YOU'RE ALWAYS SAYING YOU NEED A GRENADE, BUT WHEN THEY OFFER IT YOU'RE LIKE "Naaaaah".

(blu q. kazoo voice) SUSPICIOUUUUUSSS.

Hey ______... what brings you here... behind this crate?

The eight year old ate them.

Gonna replace the word bored with vored now just for the fuck of it.

Because that's average. Everyone expects "cock shot" but who's gonna see "shlort shot" coming?

I'm shlort sighted.

You killed me the last time and I did not appreciate that one bit.

If you're going to be launching 'nades, you gotta expect to get shot in the nads by the one and only Vibrating Nate.

I'd be vibrating too if I was being shot at all day, my fucking nerves would be fried.

I did not like that-- that was not cool.

I didn't see the rope and I thought you finally launched yourself. I was proud but also upset because that seemed like the most disappointing launch.

Can't believe I wanted to hang with someone who can't even appreciate Skyrim Shuffle. What a disappointment of a stoner.

New test on anyone who wants to be my friend -- has to appreciate the Skyrim Shuffle.

I wanna die that way. Just be staring into the void debating my life, then suddenly "Bye Bitch". I'd start laughing. I'd die laughing before I hit the ground.

I'd die laughing on a roller coaster if my organs weren't shoved into my throat.

Prepare to be Swiss'd.

Are you firing stink bombs?

Shot his ass off. Literally.

NOPE. Get shredded.

A WHITE PERSON WHO DOESN'T APPRECIATE CHEESE? DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT BABYBEL IS.

Have you ever had double cream brie with black truffles? THEN GET OUT OF MY FACE, CHEESE HEATHEN.

That wasn't the ________ sound. That was the Furry McFuckGoat sound.

That's a god damn butt plug. A very sharp one.

Smooth things over with him via a shot in the back of his goddamn skull.

I slipped and it fell into the void. That's what you tell them.

I don't think they can use the void as an excuse.

We've established that he likes me better than you.

God that'd be a great way to go... direct hit with an RPG. Just... feel something whack me in the back then KABOOSH.

Your bullet count was 69 there for a moment and that was pretty rad.

I'll boost you! Off the side of a fucking cliff.

Oh look -- its a life-sized statue of your ego.

Prepare yourself. You're about to get one of your many wishes.

Vore? Are you sure its not vore? That's a lot of mouths.

No its Furry McFuckGoat and his friends.

I'd SCREAM OF JOY IF MY THROAT WASN'T FUCKED.

You just got pounded by a furry. How you feel about that?

Just getting straight up gangbanged here.

I'd kill him so he didn't get the satisfaction of seeing it all. DIE, CURIOUS HOE.

I am a far bigger dick than the Russian.

Good aim for being stiff.

They're fucking dead and still better at aiming than you.

There's always time to sight-see, you stupid slut.

Catch me enjoying the scenery outside the vehicle of my killer's vehicle. Catch me asking if we can stop and get a slushie at this nice slushie stand before I die.

He's a Russian -- he's already immortal.

#RP Prompt #RP Memes #Roleplay Meme #Roleplay Memes

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