#like…having the time between rounds to come up with strategies instead of constantly moving | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quidfree · 3 years

Note

prompt: tdbk in a post-apocalyptic setting (HEHEH)

self-servicing AND a helping hand to a friend in need, we love a good strat

this got incredibly out of hand but i hope you enjoy!!

it’s been two months and five days since he last saw someone that katsuki lays eyes on him. two months and five days, and yes, he is fucking keeping score, why wouldn’t he be?

two months and five days is long. two months and five days is long enough that he’s taken up the habit of muttering to himself to fill the air, because dead silence makes him paranoid, always expecting sudden interruption, and he chooses to ignore the fact that muttering to himself is a quirk he might have picked up elsewhere. jesus. if deku, scrawny and asthmatic and perennially, psychotically self-sacrificing, is somehow still alive, he thinks he might be glad to see him again, just out of sheer disbelief.

there’s other people he’d be glad to see. perfect timing, for the zombie apocalypse to erupt right when he’d been on a summer internship in tokyo. to think the old crone had been bitching about it before he’d left- don’t get mugged on the underground, all that shit. like he was some hare-brained tourist. like people didn’t expect him to mug them. whatever. he thinks his parents are safer, out in a smaller city, than anyone has been in tokyo, tells himself it’s not blind hope that makes him explain the radio silence away. it’s statistics, and the geography of the outbreak, and the memory of his mother beating a would-be pickpocket over the head with her shoe until he passed out.

six months ago he’d first walked into his cramped rental flat in tokyo, barely the space to unroll his mat. six days later the pandemic had begun. slowly, first, confusingly, two weeks of shadowing jeanist to court and back while the news got increasingly weirder, and then by the third things took a turn for the fucked, and his parents were calling frantically telling him to come home stat, but by then it was too late. tokyo’s the new york of japan- in sci-fi movies it’s always struck first. the city was on lockdown before he could so much as book a flight out.

that was five months ago. by four and a half his phone carrier service had gone dead.

he doesn’t like to linger on anything, but he especially doesn’t like to linger on what happened between the start and the middle of it, the slow descent from incomprehending disbelief into hell on earth. he doesn’t throw the term around- not one for flowery prose. for the first while there’d been something almost rewarding to it, the whole survival strategy, him and the interns and lawyers at jeanist’s office taking scope of their resources and planning their ways out. now it’s been two months and five days since he’s run into anyone alive, he fails to see the bright side.

the media called them the infected, or the walkers, or some other dumb shit, but everyone knows they’re zombies. it’s some kind of chemical weapon- americans, if you ask him- that’s mutated them, but they’re zombies by anyone’s definition. lumbering, decaying, dead, very keen on extending the invitation. the first time he’d seen one up close- whatever. he’d killed it. he’s killed so many by now he’s lost count, and that’s not an exaggeration. these days he’s not so big on those.

the office had been overrun, in the end. some of the other interns, panicking. bitten. dead. jeanist had held them off while katsuki dragged hysterical staffers out of the window, and the last he’s seen of the man he was catching his unflappable gaze as the doors burst open and jeanist slammed the window shut.

they’d scattered. maybe he would have stayed on, tried the group thing out of a sense of responsibility alone, but there were too many subgroups for him to rotate around. he’d split off, eventually, cut his losses. sometimes he catches someone he recognises walking the streets, wonders when and how and what. he’s still never seen jeanist. he thinks probably he offed himself.

if it ever comes to it that’s what he’s doing. he has a gun ready for it. one bullet. in the apartment he’d stayed in for a while, some forensic doctor’s place, he’d studied the angle that worked best. straight through the temples, angled down.

then there had been that thing with the league. he doesn’t want to think about that, but he does, constantly, because that’s how he knows. two months and five days. the last person he spoke to was that fucking girl.

like zombies weren’t enough- criminals who fancy themselves cultists roam the streets in packs. it’s like every shitty blockbuster movie he’s never bothered to see packed into one.

two months. five days. there’s no way of communicating with the outside world. after he’d shaken off the league he’d had jack shit on him- lost his bag in the initial fight, and his apartment was a lost cause. in the end he’d made his way back to the firm, but that had been a literal dead end too. he’d managed to retrieve, of all things, his phone, skirting the streets around the firm, probably dropped in their original escape. it’s functionally useless but he’s managed to charge it once or twice, stare at old photos and texts that fail to send. he has nothing else of his own except the clothes he’d worn that last day with jeanist.

he’s remade his belongings, obviously. he’s competent, as it turns out, in apocalypses. somehow it doesn’t surprise him. he works out a routine. when he’d first found a hole to burrow himself in post-league he’d spent days just picking up patterns- when, who, from where, how. once he was entirely sure he’d gotten it down to a science he’d risked it back out, mapping the area out incrementally, one rotation at a time. two months and five days in he has it down to an art instead.

he moved regularly for the first month post-league, avoiding anywhere that seemed inhabited by zombies and people alike. can’t trust anyone, and besides it’s way too much of a liability having other people around to get themselves bitten. he can look after himself, but he’s not signing up for charity work. by the second month he’d found his current address, the top floor of a mid-rise apartment complex in meguro city. apartment complexes are risky, but this one’s door locks are still functional, and once he’d cleared out the ground floor and made the rounds to check for stragglers he’d wagered it about as secure as it could get. the stairs are a bitch, but the zombies don’t like them either, preferring to straggle in lobbies, and for another thing the height is convenient. the roof’s close by for a way out, and it gives him a good view of the surroundings.

the apartment itself is nothing special. residential. he picked the cleanest one, which also meant the one half-moved out in a hurry. he pretends like he thinks the owners got out but he spotted a suitcase with their name abandoned in the elevator. the guy was a teacher at the university. the woman was in sales. it’s decent for a tokyo flat, two bedrooms, a bathroom, good kitchen, nice living area. the fridge had been full of expired goods, but the shelves had some cans in them- soup, rice, beans. pots and pans. he’s been working through the floors of the place one room at a time taking inventory, lugging the useful shit back up. nothing beyond the strictly practical- he takes food, medecine, clothes, someone’s watch once, binoculars. he’s not making a home for himself, just stocking up. he sleeps with his bag on his back, the essentials locked and loaded. the gun was an apartment find too.

his biggest problem is transport. he recognised this early on, because so could anyone with half a brain. tokyo’s teeming with public transports overrun by the undead, cars abandoned on the streets, but the actual streets are packed day in and day out. whatever movie said zombies hate the sun was full of shit, because as far as he can tell the only time they actually react to the weather is when it rains. all night and day they’re shuffling in tireless motions around the city, gaining numbers. there’s a rhythm to it, sure- they’re more sluggish at night- but it’s an incessant flow. he can’t drive a car, has found no convenient manual stored nearby, and google went and croaked on him when the electricity did, so there’s no way he can just take advantage of a lull and jump in. by the time he’s figured out how to get any given vehicle to start he’ll be surrounded. even if he could find a way in, there’s no way out- driving through streets packed with zombies is a doomed exercise, especially given that half of the cars in the city are busted or low on fuel.

his current plan involves boats. he’s not sure if zombies can swim yet, but they don’t like the rain so he’s betting no, and even if they do they’d fare no better than a human at climbing a boat from the waters below it. if he can make it to tokyo bay somehow- at least off the coast there’ll be room to manoeuvre. but he needs to figure out the basics of ship-operating first, and also to relocate his supplies nearer to the bay somehow. if he ends up on the open seas he’ll need the food to last him the journey.

so he’s been doing this. rounds, collecting shit. taking inventory. scoping the streets out. he spends the nights planning, the early mornings reading. there’s no power in the building. it’s freezing. six months since his internship, winter rolling in. if he gets to tokyo bay the waters will be frigid, but the sea doesn’t freeze over.

his biggest concern at the moment is hypothermia, if he’s being honest. he’s collected every fucking duvet in the building, it feels like, but there’s only so much he can bury himself under. he’d be warmer if he didn’t insist on bathing in melted snow, but he went so long without washing in autumn that he fucking refuses to waste the opportunity. he smells like some ridiculous apple berry blast bullshit because he’s cycling through shampoos, but sometimes he thinks he’s only sane when he’s brushing his teeth in the mornings so he’s not about to let up on the hygiene.

three and a half months ago he was meant to be back at school. he has no idea what’s happened to his classmates. most of them were home for the summer. he thinks yaoyorozu was abroad. lucky her. kirishima was the last he heard from, all suppressed terror, and even now it makes him feel sick to think about it, because he knows full well the asshole was scared for him. sometimes he thinks about what it would have been like facing this shit as a group, but he never dwells on it. he’s better off alone.

he’s cold. he’s tired. he needs to get to the nearest library, because no one in the building has shit about boats. he doesn’t want to leave the building yet, but he needs a book. can’t go into this shit blind, not without knowing what he’ll need once he gets there. and besides he needs to stay sharp on the streets- get back into the swing of it, literally. one month since he moved in and he’s barely seen a zombie in the rotting flesh. the doors have been holding up, and he’s far up enough that none of the regulars outside can smell him, decide to unionize and break the door down.

he’s had an assortment of weapons, since the start of this. most effective was the gun, also a heavy chair once. his trusty hockey stick had snapped on his way into the building, a month ago, leaving him to fend the last three tenants off with goldfish bowls and doors to the neck. he’s found a sturdy baseball bat since that he’s claimed as new weapon of choice, though never used. he takes this, when he goes. the bat, the backpack that never leaves his back, the longest coat he can find in his collection. not the heaviest, despite the biting cold, because that restrains movement, but the longest, to minimize contact. hat and gloves for the same reason. balaklava just for the cold.

the apartment is empty as he winds his way down, footsteps loud, and it’s dusk- just late enough that the zombies are slower, though not late enough that it really makes a difference. it’s be too dark if it were; he’s trying to save flashlights for real emergencies.

the setagaya library is the only actual library near him, as the maps inform him, but too far to risk. in the address book he finds a local bookshop three blocks away, and it’s there that he heads, already cold to the bone as he grits his teeth and locks the complex door assiduously behind him. there are zombies just across the street beginning to moan in his direction. he ignores them, breaking into a jog.

maybe because their blood doesn’t flow to their brains, maybe because their muscles are deteriorating: zombies aren’t incredibly fast or incredibly intelligent. what they are is resilient, and single-minded. but outrun them and outsmart them he can, and so he does- runs the paths he’s memorized, sticks to corners and shadows and scales ladders and crosses rooftops and just about manages to get to the street in question without even having to swing his bat.

once he gets there, though, he gets swinging. the bookshop is in an unfortunate position, and there’s an entire group parked in front of it. he lets them spot him first, so they break off in his direction, then climbs onto the overturned truck they’ve shifted to and springs back down into the doorframe of the bookshop, kicking the door in before they can register his itinerary. he slams it shut just before a greying hand scratches at it in outrage, heart pounding a steady tattoo, then glances around rapidly. no sign of life, but that means nothing.

there is, then, an unmistakable jingling sound from the very back corner of the room, behind rows and rows of antique-looking books. keys, or metal on metal. movement.

company, katsuki thinks, between anticipation and trepidation. his bat sits comfortably in his hands as he raises it.

jingling, closer, and he moves in on instinct, breathing feeling loud as he brushes past the anthropology section. he can just about see around the corner when a sudden sixth sense makes him whip around, bat swinging down heavily, and just in the nick of time- wood connects with metal, hard, knocking him back a pace as his teeth snap together from the impact, but he’s swinging again in self-defense just as there’s a sharp intake of breath and his brain catches up- red, white, painfully familiar. the bat makes an aborted spasm.

“bakugou,” shouto todoroki says, in disbelieving tones, crowbar lowered but not dropped. katsuki gapes.

“am i fucking hallucinating?”

the crowbar lowers further.

it is him, unmistakably. maybe with someone else he would have hesitated longer, but todoroki's hard not to single out. his red-white hair is tousled, long behind his ears like he's absently tucked it and forgotten about it, and he's grimy, smells sour and dusty, but it's him. katsuki's own hands stay gripped around the bat, their gazes playing some odd symmetrical game as they catalogue each other for the same exact thing- looking for bite-marks. todoroki's less covered than katsuki is, but there's blood on him, old, dried. too old for recent bites, anyways. inconclusive.

"what are you doing in-" todoroki starts, maybe having concluded that there's no way to assess his status with the layers he has on, but then his frown twists. "oh. your internship?"

which answers katsuki's own question, sort of, because now that he thinks of it enji was on that high-profile murder case in the high court. still- still, his brain is stuck on the incongruity of it, shouto todoroki in the apparently living flesh, and it's been two months and five days. he just keeps staring.

"i came for a book," is what leaves his lips, eventually, rough, and his voice sounds hoarse with disuse. it jars him into action, moving past todoroki on auto-pilot, because somehow he can't quite register his presence, doesn't know where to begin. he wasn't factoring this into his day.

it's dark inside, books hard to discern, so he gets his flashlight out, hits it against a shelf so it alights. there's a section on travel near the back. nautical travels of the eastern seas. useless. a map book of the japanese seas- maybe. he mechanically slides it into his bag. his fingers feel rigid. he's still cold. what the fuck is shouto todoroki doing holed up in a bookstore? where is his father? how long has he been here? what is he doing, alive, talking, walking, in the apocalypse, ambling into katsuki's routine with a crowbar in hand?

he can't see or hear him at all. now he's back here he can tell the ringing was rigged up- tiny trap-wires set around the store, what looks like fishing wire with bells attached. smart. of course it is. he's losing his mind. where has the bastard gone? is he even here? it's fucking freezing in the bookstore. where does he sleep? he hadn't looked starving. actually he hadn't looked anything- just blank as usual, barring the surprise. fuck! he's been staring at the same book for a good thirty seconds without registering the title.

beginner's guide to boating. miraculous. he nearly breaks todoroki's kneecaps when he sees his legs appear silently next to him.

"fuck! don't sneak up on me, you asshole!"

"boats," todoroki says. "that's your plan?"

it makes him flare hot with something like rage, because he doesn't fucking want input on it, doesn't want to be told odds, and it has him on his feet, slamming todoroki back into the opposite bookshelf within seconds.

"mind your own damn business!"

todoroki seems mildly startled at best, shifting a little so a book isn't digging into his neck, and for a moment katsuki is distracted by the scalding warmth of him under his arm. he doesn't know when he last came into contact with a living body. it's disorienting. he thinks probably it was the senior partner who fell down the stairs, minutes before the zombies swarmed the lobby, pulse skittering frantically with fear.

he drops todoroki, steps back. two months five days. maybe he's gone a little crazy.

whatever! whatever. he's fully functioning, he has his book, he's leaving. he's going to be off-schedule at this rate, times gone muddy with distraction. even without touching him he feels like there's residue warmth on his palm, making the rest of him shiver by contrast. if the zombies could have just gotten properly active in summer...

he's halfway to the door when he remembers- again- todoroki is actually there, watching him inscrutably from the bookshelf, swaying a little on his feet. despite himself he turns to stare back. he doesn't know what to- this wasn't in the plan, he doesn't know. he's going anyways.

it's because he's staring-cum-glaring at todoroki that he sees his eyes widen, and then he's leaping forwards on instinct as the window in the door shatters, decaying arm bursting through as loud moaning suddenly fills the dead silence.

"shit!"

"it's because there's two of us," todoroki reasons, in a tone like he's annoyed with himself for not realising this, which would make katsuki feel marginally better about his own stupid lack of thought if he wasn't so pissed. he'd counted on the zombies losing interest on his presence once he was out of sight, but the smell of two live humans in close proximity would obviously keep some of them near.

"is there another way out of this place?"

"back entrance, but it leads into a dead-end alley," todoroki retorts, suddenly functioning, eyeing the creaking door as thumping intensifies from the other side. "there's a way to scale onto the drain-pipe above but it wasn't made to take two people's weight."

"shit," katsuki curses, feelingly. "where's the drain-pipe lead?"

"roof. i don't know if either of us could scale it fast enough for the other to follow before they get there."

katsuki looks at him, crouched calmly stacking something or other into a loose duffel bag, rusty crowbar by his feet, then looks back to the groaning door. his gut tightens with a sort of pissed off fatalism.

"how long 'd it take you to get to the roof? five minutes?"

"i could do it in three, maybe less," todoroki estimates. "it's slower with the frost."

three minutes. katsuki hoists the bat higher, takes a step then two back from the door.

"fine. go. i'll follow."

"bakugou-"

"it's the most logical fucking plan of action," katsuki snaps, eyes still on the door, adrenaline spiking. "if you get up there before i get outside i can make it to the drainpipe before anyone nabs me. i can hold them off for three fucking minutes. and you're the one who knows the way up. you go."

"i know," todoroki says, which makes katsuki glance back at him, finds his face set with nothing but fixed determination. "i was going to say to give me your bag. it'll make it easier to climb."

there's something about this that makes katsuki's head briefly thud with something like a pounding headache, lungs gone tight, but he refocuses, blinks away the dizzy spell. the last fucking thing he wants is to give the bag away, but unless the plan goes as hoped he's dead anyways, so there's no point in arguing.

he shrugs his backpack off, slides the gun out, shoves it into his back pocket. todoroki fastens the straps around his shoulders without comment, then turns and runs, not wasting any time. it makes something in him-

the door breaks in.

there's five of them at least, the ones from before. the first one goes down with a direct hit to the head, skull caving in with a crunching sound, but he has to retreat immediately, make them spread out of their pack formation as he zig-zags back through the rows of books. they're slower than humans but not slow, breaking into a fast paced shuffle after him; he turns a sharp corner, doubles back as fast as he can to catch a second one from behind. crack, snap. the one in front lunges back before he can swing again, sending him running back; he jumps onto the seller's counter, dodging an arm, then brings the bat down full-force onto the zombie's neck. three. there's another one nearing the broken door, the other two circling back to the front at the commotion. he jumps over the counter, ducking under an arm, knocks into the nearest bookshelf with all of his weight, sending it sprawling towards the door, books flying and frame landing awkwardly across the doorframe. it doesn't block entry, but it befuddles the would-be incomers.

there's an arm grabbing his shoulder; he dodges a gaping mouth, bat spinning to hit at the rotting jaw, once, twice, bones splintering decisively on the second hit, but the last straggler is on him and the others are crawling in through the door. he runs, down to the back of the store, nearly trips over todoroki's traps himself as he goes, miraculously jumps clean of them as his pursuers stumble. it gives him the seconds to jump up to the back portion of the shop, grab a nearby chair and throw it at the advancing huddle, knocking them back a step, then turn sharply into a row, sprinting down to the back of the room where the emergency exit sign hangs half-broken. it's closed, likely behind todoroki, but he slams through it before any of the zombies near, staggers at the sharp gust of cold air that hits once he's out. the sun is nearly set, casting a red haze over the alley, and there's a pack of six zombies right beneath the glinting drainpipe, still trailing after todoroki's scent, moaning around the corner signalling backup. fuck.

there's a loud scraping from above, then todoroki's head appears over the edge of the roof, something grey and unwieldy in his hands; a satellite dish comes falling down, catching speed as it goes. it hits the pack dead-centre, crushing two of the zombies into pieces on impact, others reeling backwards in confusion, and he doesn't have the time to question his odds four-on-one. he runs in while they're still dazed, beats one into the wall, head splattering, turns and swings into the second as it zeroes in on him, head collapsing inward and drenching him in blood. the other two are too close to hit; he twists, jumps back, curses, eyes the alley entry where others have scented blood. fucking- no, two on one, god, he's not dying two on one, not after the bullshit he's been through. he kicks heavily into the one's chest, just missing the hand trying to nab his ankle, which sends it knocking into the other, and like that they're just aligned enough that he yells and slams the bat through the first one's head, in three rapid blows, hitting the one behind it on the third as bits of skull go flying. it's not enough to take it out; he hits again, manic, and it gets him on the second go. then he's scrambling to the drain pipe, mindful of the others closing in, shoves his bat down the back of his shirt and under his waistband before he throws himself at the drainpipe.

"brace against the wall," todoroki calls, almost in the moment he does so, hands slip-sliding on the damp pipe as his boots hit concrete; there are arms nearing, outstretched, but he bunches his stomach and drags himself up, feet first then arms, side of his arm scraping heavily against the wall as he moves almost horizontally upwards, fingers clenched around metal. the fucking gloves are no help; he pauses, braced and shaking with tension, to rip his gloves off with his teeth, one hand then the next, dropping to the floor below as his bare palms hit the freezing metal.

he's so cold it hurts, but he's halfway up the wall. methodically he moves. one foot. other foot. one hand. other hand. stomach muscles, straining, arms pulling. up a fraction. then another. then another.

"wait," todoroki says, closer than he feels, and he glances up for the first time, finds him an arm and a half's length away. "you'll slide at the top."

"then what the fuck do you suggest i do?" katsuki bites, half a yell, too strained to scream. todoroki leans, heavy, arms outstretched.

"do one more. then take my hand."

katsuki wishes he could spit on him. todoroki's expression has gone tight like he knows what he's thinking, like he's not sure katsuki won't let himself fall all the way down rather than put himself into the uncalloused hands of shouto todoroki.

the pipe creaks. katsuki moves up, ignores the way his blood boils, eyes the outstretched hands. he can hear todoroki breathing, hot against the cold air.

"drop me and i'll turn you."

he braces. one hand leaves the pipe, and for a godawful moment he's grasping at nothing. their hands connect, rearrange themselves; todoroki has a death-like grip on his wrist. his foot slides. the second hand is thrown rather than extended, and todoroki's eyes flash alarmingly as their fingers brush and miss, but he doesn't fall, hangs there by an arm for a heartbeat, jolt like he's dislocated his shoulder before his boot catches something and he shoves upwards, todoroki grabbing hold of his hand and yanking full-body at him.

katsuki falls over the top of the roof in disjointed movements, the both of them half-hitting each other as momentum carries them down, lands with an elbow in todoroki's stomach and a hit of tile to the jaw.

his head spins; he shoves up immediately, falls back down when his arms protest, adrenaline pounding hysterically. his limbs are shaking with belated exertion. todoroki is still holding his wrists, punishingly tight, his breaths heavy nearby. his body is still hot beneath him.

he scrabbles backwards, onto his knees, todoroki dropping his hands and dragging himself up to his elbows. for a moment they stare at each other, panting loudly.

he wants to yell at him but the words don't come. two months, five days. it's not even todoroki's fault, really. he was living there unperturbed. there's a flush of exertion over his cheeks now, and maybe he's just gone crazy what with the constant thinking about unbeating hearts but he feels a little obsessively interested in the visible flow of blood beneath his skin, wants him pink all over if that'll prove him living a minute longer.

he shakes himself, exhales in a burst.

"are you all right?" todoroki asks, and up close katsuki realises his voice is hoarser too. in the shop he'd been too dumbstruck to register it, but it's there beneath his normal cadence, a scratchy undertone. he hasn't spoken in a while either. something about it-

all right, he'd asked. unbitten, he means. katsuki shakes his head.

"we need to get going."

he hadn't meant the 'we', but he thinks at some point when todoroki's fingers dug into his arm hard enough to pierce flesh the message had gotten under his skin too. they're not fucking splitting up now. of course they're not. this isn't model un or a baseball match; it doesn't matter that the guy drives him insane. and this is todoroki, too- excruciatingly hyper-competent at every challenge life throws at him. if there's anyone less likely to rely on katsuki for the next however-long until one of them is forced to shoot the other, he hasn't met them.

"where?"

"my place. 's not far. how d'you get down from here?"

"the next building over has a fire-escape."

"fine. let's go then."

todoroki hands him back his backpack. he hits his bat against the wall to shake some bits of bone and flesh off, eyes unfocused on the task. he thinks desensitisation is the word. it's maybe the third or fourth time he's fought them off without registering anything about them once. usually he gets stuck on some detail or other, schoolgirl shirt or smile wrinkles. freckles. proof of life. there's that movie he watched once with kirishima and the rest of them, some kind of sci-fic thing, and at the end when the monsters come the dad shoots his whole family dead to spare them. turns out it's the military instead, come to rescue them. kirishima had cried.

questions pile up in his throat. he forces them down.

they jump from the rooftop to the next with relative ease, the gap narrow, his foot just catching on the edge before he rights himself. the fire escape is solid where the drain pipe wasn't. he wonders how in the fuck todoroki ended up here, in some old bookstore.

he's gotten good at scaling shit. he thinks in another life he'd have made a top-grade gymnast, or a superhero. when he'd broken out of the league's hold he'd made a spiderman worthy leap onto a clothes-line.

they make it back to the apartment as the sun vanishes, late, and because they're late his perfect scheduling is off, leaves them facing a pack of easily a dozen zombies swarming around the doors. there's another way in through the side, but it requires forcing a door open that he doesn't have keys for, and that means an entry-risk.

"i'll clear a way to the door," he says, hoisting his bat higher. "you keep them off my back."

todoroki follows his gaze, nods.

they advance in the dark, close together, and it's bizarre having someone breathing down his neck after so long, makes him on edge, expecting a bite that never comes. when the first zombie starts turning their way he breaks into a run, brings the bat down fast and heavy so it connects with a sick thud, flashlight clicking to life where he holds it between his teeth. it blinds one zombie long enough that he gets it too, and then it's chaos, flashlight swinging drunkenly as he batters this way and that, fighting off the clawing arms with irate kicks and loud swearing. if there's one thing he fucking loathes about the apocalypse it's how touchy-feely everyone is, all endlessly grasping hands and drooling maws straining for a piece of him. it makes his skin crawl, which makes him see red, which makes him go through fights like this, all furious movement, too keyed up to feel afraid. he never goes into a fight expecting to lose.

behind him, around him, wet crunching and moans track todoroki closing the pack; in off-beat synchronisation they move their way through the group, dropping bodies as they go. he's by the door before he knows it, light catching the heavy glass, switches the bat to one hand as he drags out the keys. the first time he'd gotten in the door had been open; his luckiest find since was the functioning key, sealing him out of harm's way. he's efficient with it, no fumbling, has it in and open in the time todoroki exhales sort of shortly as their backs connect. bakugou yanks the key out in the same movement he grabs blindly at todoroki's collar with his bat-holding hand, hooking a finger to swing him through the door and diving after him to slam the door shut on a wrist, bone snapping and the hand falling limply to the floor as they put their weight on the door for as long as it takes him to lock it again.

todoroki's crowbar is sopping red, guts in his hair; he casts a look around, doesn't even ask if katsuki thinks the door will hold, if katsuki has thought of their scent luring zombies in. most people would have.

he has, obviously. thought of it. that's why he lives on the top floor. the scent doesn't linger. doesn't matter if there's two of them up there. the door holds for as long as the stragglers press up against it, but as soon as they're out of sight the zombies will drift again.

they make their way up the stairs. he's warmer now, purely from the exercise. heat rises. another reason he lives at the top. doesn't feel like it when he's freezing his ass off at night, but he knows his science.

they make it to the top floor in silence, and he pushes his door open (unlocked, this one, because by the point anyone reaches him up here he'll be long gone), goes for the camping lamp on the floor, trudges along with it in hand. remembers his houseguest.

"kitchen's there. there's a bathroom. two rooms. living room. no power or running water but i have some water in the bathtub if you want to wash."

"it's nice," todoroki says, and the worst thing is he sounds like he means it, almost politely. it makes katsuki stop dead to look at him, struck again by how unreal it all feels, but it almost feels reassuringly normal, staring at todoroki in disbelief. in the bad lighting he looks otherworldly, even despite the filth and zombie gunk he's covered in, all half-lit and angelic like something out of a hazy dream.

"i can't fucking believe it's actually you, half 'n half."

it escapes him unthinkingly, but it's true, and besides that it has the unforeseen consequence of making todoroki's composure fracture, shoulders rising and falling on a mute laugh, exhausted wryness in the tilt of his head. for a split second his gaze is dizzyingly and uncharacteristically frank, almost intimate.

"the feeling is mutual."

if the moment stretches he might do something wholly deranged; he rolls his aching shoulder, gestures to the bathroom.

"you go first. you reek."

todoroki says his thanks to his back as he retreats.

he returns to routine. strips, despite how fucking cold he is, wraps his shoulder tight enough that it hurts, rubs alcohol onto the more worrying cuts and scrapes. drags some bedding to the second room, then drags himself to the kitchen, shivering, mentally redoing his maths, then pulling out his notebook to jot down the edited stock. pauses, hesitates. in the margin under the date he writes: found half 'n half. it's not a diary, but he feels like he should make note.

todoroki appears silently in the doorframe, wrapped in a towel and scrubbed red, and there's something reassuring about how clean he looks, balanced out by how disturbing it is to see him so casually bare. he's barely glanced up at him that he drops the towel.

"the fuck-"

todoroki just turns in a neat 360, then wraps himself back up. katsuki snaps his jaw shut, ears burning but head clear. no bites. right. the previous times- whatever. reluctantly he stands and turns. when todoroki eyes his boxers he glares.

"you don't think you would have noticed if i got bitten on the dick today?"

he's not entirely sure todoroki won't fight him on it, but he concedes after a moment's assessing stare, shifts from foot to foot.

"you can have some of my shit to wear," katsuki says, pointing to the wardrobe he's requisitioned. "some of it's too big. should fit."

todoroki just nods, follows suit.

he wonders, as he scrubs himself down with a bucketful of water, teeth chattering and bath-tub still half full, if todoroki was always so goddamn quiet or if he's traumatised or some shit. the guy was always the annoying silent type, but he doesn't remember him this monosyllabic. habit, probably. what does he know.

he dresses, layers up, shoves his dirty clothes with todoroki's in the basket. when it fills he'll dunk the whole lot into a tub of his used water, but until there's that many dirty clothes he leaves them out.

todoroki is sat on the couch wrapped in blankets and wearing someone's dad's heavy knitwear, illuminated by (of all things) a gas lamp that katsuki had found but never managed to light. so the asshole has matches.

"you hungry?" katsuki asks, really only to make him speak. todoroki nods, counter-productively, but he's talking next.

"don't waste your food on me."

"shut up, asshole," katsuki mutters, on instinct, fatigue setting into him. jesus. the martyrs he's surrounded with. "you can make the next grocery run."

todoroki only looks at him longly, but he follows him into the kitchen, eats the cold soup without complaint. he likes cold food, katsuki thinks, then stops at the thought. he has no idea how he knows it. it feels like a memory from a different life. he likes cold food. like that matters.

it's not very late, though it's pitch black out. he goes to bed early these days to make the most of the sunlight. he's not sure what to do with todoroki, though rationally that's not his concern.

he can't find it in himself to ask the obvious questions. it's partly because he doesn't want to hear the answers and partly because he doesn't want to have to give his own. it's not like they were fucking bosom buddies before this all went down- he's past hating the guy, despite how unbearable he finds him, would call them something adjacent to friends under duress, but it's not like they make a point of hanging out outside of class. and todoroki's a terrible conversationalist, always.

even so. two months, five days. he wants to talk, if only for the pleasure of getting to call him a superior bastard, if only to know that he's still the same confounding weirdo whose face he wears. it's not even the words, really- he wants to hear a pulse beat near him, to catch alert eyes on his, to watch his chest rise and fall. alive.

he can't believe the asshole stripped naked like that. pale flesh all over, but not that diseased grey tint, just regular winter cold, like the inside of a peach. bruises and scratches littering his limbs. nasty half-healed scar like someone had tried to gut him with a knife.

his lips are peeling when he licks them. he found vaseline in someone's drawer but he uses it sparingly. whenever he goes outside his lips crack to the point of blood. against the glow of the stove he can see only half of his new flatmate where he sits surveying his newly clean crowbar.

"what's in the duffel?"

he'd have bristled more at the invasion, pragmatic though it is, but todoroki only shifts obligingly to raise it to his lap.

"medical kit- bandages, aspirin, tweezers, needle and thread. three water bottles. instant noodles. biscuits. matchbox. a city map. a change of shoes. a space blanket. my wallet. wire. rope. an alarm clock. a mechanic's manual." he pauses, feels around, drags out a glass bottle. "this."

it's vodka, of all the things. katsuki half wants to laugh.

"you drink now?"

"kept me warm," todoroki shrugs. which is, maybe, all there is to it. maybe not.

"i'll run you through inventory in the morning," katsuki says, if reluctantly. best todoroki knows what they have on hand, despite how little he feels like letting him into his notebook. it's not like he's deku, writing down his little feelings all over it, but it feels revealing anyways, for todoroki to know what he's been tracking.

there's nothing else for them to talk about without heading into dangerous territory. todoroki packs his things back into the bag, careful, and katsuki is sick of his own weird emotional breakdown, doesn't know where this sudden needy cloying bullshit is even coming from.

two months five days, his brain says, chipper, and then offers to rewind the days preceding that. he hisses through his teeth before he remembers he has company.

"i'm going to bed. 's fuck all to do without wasting light. stay high up if you want to go exploring."

todoroki has gone back to muteness, because he only nods as katsuki glowers at nothing in particular and makes his way back to his room, unhappy at the sight of his diminished bedding. it's not like he's actually able to use the whole apartment's bedding anyways- too unwieldy, too heavy, whatever- but the three duvets and two quilts had been working well enough to insulate him against the chill, and with two sacrificed he's resigned to a night of tossing and turning.

fuck his life. he thinks maybe the reason he's been having these fits of weirdness across the days is just fatigue. between the nightmares and the cold and the actual zombie break-ins over the past six months he doesn't think he's managed a single night's good sleep beyond the times he's blacked out. he feels untethered, at times both more and less emotional than he's used to being.

no surprise that having a real life human being around- and one that he knows at that- is making him almost ill with conflicting urges. part of him wants to lock todoroki out in a cold sweat and never lay eyes on him again. part of him wants to cut him open and grab at his beating heart just to confirm he's not alone. the rest of him lies there wondering what the fuck is wrong with his brain.

he lies there for maybe an hour trying to get to sleep, but his mind has kicked into overdrive in the way that it does every goddamn night nowadays, replaying scenes he didn't even notice in the moment. one of the zombies by the bookstore had barely reached his shoulder. when he'd washed his bat there had been bits of an eye clinging to the base.

he's too busy being cold and annoyed and possibly hysterical to notice the soft footfall until it's close, jerking up on instinct to brandish his bat, but he can tell by the moonlight filtering in slivers through his blinds that it's todoroki, if the lack of shuffling hadn't given it away.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

"i didn't mean to startle you," todoroki says. monotone, but in an off way, almost dreamy, like he's asleep. it makes katsuki's skin prickle with foreboding; he stares at the little he can see of his face, alert now.

"then what do you want?"

"you sound cold," todoroki says. still in the doorframe, unmoving. he wishes there was more light.

"it's the middle of winter, jackass, of course i'm cold. can you fuck off?"

"my father is dead," todoroki says, completely unprompted, voice not changing in timbre in the slightest, and it makes katsuki's heart jump before he sits fully upright, trying harder to make his face out.

enji todoroki, gone. he guesses he'd known that on some level, for todoroki to be roaming around like a ghost, but it doesn't compute. jesus. maybe todoroki's actually fucking lost it since. he imagines two months and five days tracking back to losing his father, feels that gut-punch of paralysis in his stomach.

he's so caught on processing it that he doesn't even register todoroki is climbing into the bed before he's halfway under the sheets.

"what the fuck are you doing?" his voice half-breaks on it, rising in sheer disbelief as he jerks violently back, because seriously- there's insane and there's insane, and he's starting to suspect todoroki is so out of it he'd snap his neck in his sleep.

todoroki has the audacity to shush him, distracted, and it takes katsuki actually grabbing him hard by the shoulder, braced to hit at the slightest flicker of intent, to stop him in his tracks.

"hey, asshole, i'm talking to you! are you out of your goddamn mind?"

where he's stopped now todoroki's one eye catches the moonlight, big and dark and eerie. he blinks slowly like he's coming out of a trance.

"oh, i-" he pauses. his pulse is sluggish under katsuki's hands, skin fire-hot. feverish, maybe. shit. feverish, very possibly. he'd had no layers in that shitty bookshop. "sorry."

he says it like he's not sure he means it. katsuki doesn't let up with his grip.

"how long you been sick, icyhot?"

"sick," todoroki repeats, processing it. his gaze sharpens. "days. i think maybe- what day is it?"

"wednesday. thirteenth."

"six days, then," todoroki says, quiet. their gazes catch, more consciously now. "i'm fine. the adrenaline helped."

"sit still," katsuki warns, and then pulls up quickly, shrugs his backpack off, digs out the medical kit. he has a decent stock of medicine in the apartment, enough that he only hesitates a beat before pulling out the advil bottle, unscrewing the cap to fill it. he knows the dosage by heart. "drink."

he nearly drops the whole bottle when todoroki just obediently sticks his mouth to the rim of the cap instead of taking it himself, hot breath fanning over his fingers as he drinks. it makes his own pulse go skittering with discomfort when he fills it a second time, brandishes it back. the cap is sticky and wet when he screws it back on; todoroki is still half-sitting where he told him to when he's done his bag up and slid it back onto his back.

"why'd you tell me about your dad just then?" katsuki asks, despite himself, if only to fill the silence.

"did i?" todoroki asks, on an exhale, visible eye swivelling to him. "i don't know. i was thinking about the cold, i think. he wasn't cold in the end."

he resists the urge to check his temperature. probably it got worse once he tried to go to sleep, all the residue adrenaline gone. it can't have been peaking all day, or they'd have never made it out in the first place. and it's not from a bite. just a fever. he's medicated. he'll sleep it off.

"i'm not crazy," todoroki informs him, suddenly cool, not so hazy. "just sick. i could hear you tossing and turning. that's why i came."

"why're you in my bed?" katsuki shoots back, on the edge of combative, not really. maybe he's a little relieved. he's a lot pissed off, even though he knows todoroki probably genuinely didn't realise what a state he was in the last week, might have actually been trying to make sense of his fluctuating mood himself. no shit he'd been so weird when they first ran into each other.

"i'm not sure," todoroki admits. "it seemed important at the time."

this makes him want to laugh, though he doesn't. the cracked-open raw part of him that still smarts loudly whenever he thinks of jeanist thinks he missed him somehow.

"glad we solved that mystery. get out now."

todoroki makes to move, stops when they're facing each other, blue eye white-pale on his. "actually i remember now, i think."

"i swear to god, half 'n half..."

"you're cold," todoroki repeats, factual, then back to floaty. "and i couldn't hear..."

he doesn't expect him to do what he does, which is why he doesn't stop him when he puts a too-hot palm directly over his heart, doesn't even pull back when he pushes, knocking him onto the bed.

"todoroki-"

"it's fine," todoroki says, scratchy, sweat-warm. he slides onto his own side in a heavy, graceless motion. face to face, half an arm between them, palm stuck to his chest. "it's fine."

it's the scratchiness that wins him over, or maybe the fever flush of him. todoroki may be fucked in the head but he's not, which is why he knows full well he's being insane by not shoving him out. it's just that on some extremely uncomfortable and deranged level he gets it, because he's been tracking his pulse like a shark since they first ran into each other. there's something less insane beneath it too, pragmatic acknowledgment that it is actually a great deal warmer when there's body heat to share, but he knows full well he'd have toughed it out, six months ago, sent him back to bed and spent the night half-awake in spiteful resignation.

it's six months later, though, and somewhere along the line he's been rewired wrong. he thinks it's not unlikely that he's just this desperate for a full night's sleep.

it doesn't really matter why, though. he lets him stay. in the morning if todoroki is back to himself he'll see right through whatever he says, and on balance he doesn't fucking care.

he's so fucking tired. two months and five days, six months and three. the last time someone touched him for more than a second without trying to kill him it was a crying intern, this bespectacled guy whose name he'd never bothered to learn choking on his own blood as he clutched katsuki's wrist for comfort. before that he thinks it was his mother, exchanging their usual routine of brusque ruffling before he got on the train. he hasn't cried since the start of this, but he feels like crying now, hot throbbing behind his eyes. he sucks in a breath, forces it down. time and place. he's said it like a mantra since the start, like there's ever going to be one.

todoroki is fast asleep, but his hand's still there. his fingers have curled into the wool.

two months and five days, he thinks again, remembering other hands, clutching his face, pinning his arms. that's changed now, he realises. still marks the date, but not the last time he's spoken to someone.

ten minutes, thirty seconds. he reaches to pull the covers higher over todoroki's shoulders, feels his stomach constrict when his hand brushes medicine-sticky lips in passing.

maybe todoroki can sail. that's a rich kid thing to do. he'll have to ask in the morning.

he falls asleep within fifteen minutes, forty seconds of todoroki, and doesn't wake until the sun rises.

#qui ecrit #deandra #tdbk #qui repond #prompts #bnha #mha #lashawn beyond is living rn #todobaku #apocalypse au

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 2 ~It’s Her Cue~

Previously in Sparks Will Fly ...

A slap on his back tore his gaze away from Claire. "Easy now lad," Willie said in a low, amused voice. "Ye look like ye could use the same drink as her."

Jamie glanced back at the subject of their conversation. "Aye, but make mine a double," he whispered.

"On it," Willie replied, laughing as he walked off.

What the bloody hell? He should be withdrawing himself away from this attraction because this mad instant bond between them was like an overloaded electrical fuse, capable of incinerating him alive. He'd already learnt his lesson from his last relationship. He'd been there and done that, but yet he didn't have the will to stop himself from finding out how their connection would play out.

Oh, Christ, this is bad. So, so bad, I'm in so much big trouble. Taking a huge sigh, he found himself a stool nearest to the pool table and watched Claire steal the show from the best snooker player in Broch Mordha.

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"Just polishing my balls for the lovely lass, here."

The people around her howled with good-natured laughter.

Claire kept her head down as she sat on the edge of the stool, chalking her stick, waiting for Hugh to stop showing off and blathering with his mates, and to finally break. She felt eyes on her, and when she looked up, she met Jamie's gaze where he sat with his brother at the high table.

Annalise leaned in from behind her and whispered, "Ginger can't stop looking at you."

Claire drew in substantial deep breaths. She'd watched Jamie play shinty earlier, and she thought he looked impressive then. Tall, strong, lithe, covered in mud and the epitome of a Highland warrior. Not that she had any idea what a Highland warrior would have looked like. After all, she only had the movie, Braveheart to go by. But who would have thought he'd show any interest in her. Perhaps, because she'd probably looked like she was about to climb him. Who could blame her, though? The moment he'd looked into her eyes, he stirred something inside her, which no man had ever done before him. And by some feat of willpower, she wondered how she'd succeeded not breaking into song right then and there. Up close earlier and now, sat only a few feet away, Jamie looked even better. Wavy auburn hair touched the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and the way his jeans hung low on hips, it shouldn't be even allowed.

"He probably thinks I'm easy. You know how some rural folks think city people like us have loose morals."

Annalise gasped. "Why do you think he would think that?"

"I think I came on too strong and flirty," she confided in a low voice. "He's a man, so of course, he'd respond, and it probably works a treat for him too since I'm only here for a holiday. But my God, he's one fine specimen of a man, isn't he? I'm even getting butterflies, and the last time I had them ...goodness, I can't even remember."

"Don't be daft ...you don't even know what he's thinking. Besides, you're single, and you're allowed to show interest if you fancy someone." The ice in Annalise's vodka and tonic clinked behind her. "This is the twenty-first century, and you're welcome to it. Flirt away and get butterflies. Let yourself go a little. I don't know if it applies here, but I'll say it anyway ...what goes on in the Highlands, stay in the Highlands."

Aww, bless her.

Claire was grateful for her friend's presence in her life. If Annalise hadn't been there to constantly coax her out of her self-consciousness and to confide in to, she'd probably still be living a secluded life, and London would have eventually eaten her whole. Now here she was, openly flirting with a handsome stranger and she'd agreed to let him take her out.

Claire smiled. "How about you? What's happening with you and Willie?"

Annalise made an exaggerated sighing sound behind her, making her laugh. What a tart!

"Hey, by the way, Jamie asked me out. So I guess, after this game and a round of drink, we're going to split. He wants to take me on a Christmas night tour. Will you be alright with Willie?" Claire asked. She had to make sure as this was their holiday together and she didn't want Annalise feeling abandoned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. The boys seem like decent blokes, but as a precaution, I took photos of their driving licences and sent them to Geillis. She'll have them thoroughly checked out. Really handy to know someone whose boyfriend works with the police."

Claire's eyes widened, and she turned around to face her friend. "You didn't! I told Jamie I trust him." Geillis Duncan was their mutual friend they'd met in London at a party. After hitting it off, they'd forged a tight friendship, and the three of them became close until Geillis had to move back to her home city of Glasgow when she met the love of her life. Claire and Annalise were going to visit her before flying back to London.

"Of course, I did, silly. We're both on our own. Just because we're on our holidays and having fun doesn't mean we have to be lax when it comes to precaution. Don't worry, it'll be fine." Annalise reassuringly squeezed her arm. "Speaking of protection ...do you have condoms?"

What!?! Sex was the furthest thing from her mind. But she didn't have time to reply as she saw at the corner of her eye, Hugh finally, leaned across the pool table and broke. As Claire stood up to take her turn, their audience cheered and whooped.

Ignoring the hoots and whistles, she watched in concentration as the colourful balls rolled, not one of them dropping into a pocket. She began to walk around the pool table, taking in each position of the balls as she tapped her chin. Alrighty Beauchamp, let's have a look, shall we? This should be easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. We'll go for stripes.

"Ye ken how to play, hen?" Hugh teased, extracting laughter from his friends. "If not, I promise to go easy with my shaft." Another round of loud laughter ensued.

Claire ignored the innuendo, and the sally going on and focused.

First, I'll down that nine-ball hanging over the pocket and use the rail to tap out the eleven, crammed against the twelve. That'll leave open the six, thirteen, and fifteen. Once I drop the fifteen, using a little side spin, that should bring me to the other end of the table. Then I'll sink the eleven and the fourteen into the same corner pocket, gently hitting the ten off the rail in the process, so I don't get stuck later having to bank shot it. Knock in the eight, then I'm clear to finish it off. Good God, Beauchamp, you're so good.

Satisfied with her strategy, Claire leaned over the green felt and positioned herself. Although Hugh's loud wisecrack didn't rattle her, the intensity of Jamie's stare was another matter. Taking a deep breath, she redirected her concentration on her game plan and took her first shot and then another, working clinically and accurately. Unfortunately, their encounter earlier kept creeping back into her consciousness and playing in loops in her head. It didn't help that his scent stuck on to her when he'd caught her after the fall. He smelled of forest and fresh laundry. None of that heavy musky expensive perfumes London yuppies liked to bathe in. It made her want to lean in, bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a deep breath.

Bent at the waist, Claire stretched over the edge of the table and focused on the fifteen-ball and tried not to wince at the memory of openly flirting with Jamie. In her defence, it wasn't every day she was rescued by a very manly bloke who stared at her like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. She wondered if she'd appeared too eager and was totally misunderstanding the look he was giving her. There had been a hint of wariness lurking behind those beautiful translucent blue eyes when she'd agreed to go out with him. Had she said something to cause him to throw up his guard?

Having gone to a Catholic, all-girls, boarding school, her experience with the opposite sex was limited to the ones she read in romance novels. Orphaned at a young age, her guardian uncle Lamb didn't believe, dragging her across the globe with him was an ideal way to raise a girl, especially when he worked mostly with men in archaeological sites. So he'd decided the best place for her upbringing was with the nuns, right through college.

So when it finally came for her to start adulting and dating in a big, bad city like London, she'd been like a deer caught in the headlights. But she quickly found her feet with the help of her friend and flatmate, Annalise, a Parisienne by birth and a Londoner at heart. The French girl had been a mentor to her, initiating her to the trappings of singlehood and city life. Though the dating and getting-to-know-a-guy part was also an exciting discovery, she quickly realised every date she'd been to, after having gone through a handful of them, was a recycled version of the last. Same lines, same latest fashion, exaggerated backstories and trying too hard to impress instead of being themselves. So at the ripe age of twenty-five, she still had to experience what it was like to have a boyfriend. Annalise accused her of being too picky, but Claire always reasoned she just hadn't met the right one. She'd envisioned her first boyfriend to be someone endearingly awkward, not too loud and maybe a little shy. But Jamie was the least awkward man she'd ever met. He was easy on the eyes, and he lived inside his skin like a well-worn pair of jeans. He was far from a starter boyfriend she'd envision - definitely, not a boy anything.

"Go, Claire! You can do it!" Annalise shouted at the sidelines.

As she marked her shot on the eight-ball, she glanced up at Jamie and felt her focus wobble a bit. When one of the lads emitted a low whistle as she moved her hips to settle herself at a conducive angle, he didn't have a smidgen of amusement on his face. More than anything, he looked liked he was about to knock the front teeth off of the offender.

She didn't want a pub brawl to start in her honour, even if it sounded romantic in movies or books.

Straightening up from her position, she gave Jamie what she thought was a sexy smile. "Hey, Jamie," she called to him. "You got that single malt ready for me? This shouldn't take long." She tried not to blanch for sounding overconfident and cocky. It seemed cheeky for presuming she'd finished this game in a jiffy, but the pleasure of seeing his piercing blue eyes creased at the corners was definitely worth the minor discomfort her behaviour had caused her. Oh, Lordy! There were hushed oohs, followed by a round of testosterone-laced jests, making Jamie shake his head in amusement. At least, to her relief, he stopped looking like he's about to wallop anyone. Trouble averted in the knick of time!

As Jamie turned to get the attention of the bartender, she quickly lowered herself back over the table in the same position and sunk in the remaining balls. When she finished, her opponent, Hugh looked, well …not the least bit pleased about it. It probably didn't help she'd earlier acted cocksure about winning the game and might have dented his macho ego in front of his mates.

Claire watched Hugh purposely marched towards her as their audience clapped, cheered and teased him for losing to a lassie.

"Ye got me at a disadvantage. I must admit I went easy on you since ye're new around here," he said loud enough for everyone near the pool table to hear.

Claire gave him a charming smile, even though she felt like throttling him for not being man enough to congratulate her. "I know. Too bad, you assumed I couldn't play because I have a pair of boobs."

Hugh's eyes dropped down to her breast, and his cheek twitched, as he openly leered at her. "I must admit, ye have a lovely pair, and it might have distracted me from playing a good game, now that I come to think about it. Ye ken what ye need? Ye need a good ..."

"Stiff drink?" Jamie interrupted as he handed Claire a glass of single malt. "That's what ye were about to say, aye?"

Jamie's words were mildly pleasant, but she detected the underlying warning in his tone. Hugh didn't look like one to back-off, but when Jamie took a small step forward, he eyed the height and breadth before him and thought better of it. Splitting a forced smile between her and Jamie, Hugh raised both his hands as a sign of truce and slowly walked back to his mates.

With a sigh, she placed her cue stick on the pool table and faced Jamie. "This is fast becoming a habit of yours, isn't it?"

"What?" he asked, taking a step inside her personal space. It was another one of his moves to add to that growing habit list of his. Her old fashion side, the side influenced by her upbringing in the boarding school, wanted her to take a step back. But the side, that suspiciously sounded like Annalise, was shouting at her to hold her ground.

So she held her ground and arched an eyebrow at him. "You coming to my rescue. Again!"

When his mouth expanded into a smile, she couldn't help noticing his full, beautiful lips. With a cleanly shaven angular jaw, they made him looked like an angel who'd spent time in hell. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly looked back up, hoping he hadn't noticed her wandering eyes.

His amused expression told her he had. "Ye could say, rescuing ye is one past time that's beginning to grow on me."

She laughed out loud. It was something she did whenever she was nervous or when shyness overtook, and the most annoying part of it, it was almost always accompanied by a snort. She quickly sobered up. Acting like a loon was definitely beginning to be her nervous signature move.

As if sensing her unease, Jamie quickly changed the subject. "By the way, that was some show ye put on. Ye'll be the topic of everyone's conversation for the next few days. And Hugh the butt of jokes."

"I didn't realise I was playing with a sore loser," she said, taking a sip of her whisky. When the heat slid down her throat, she tried not to flinch. Acting cool wasn't her forte, but she was determined to work on it. "If I'd known, I would have given up my slot."

"Dinnae fash. Hugh's all mouth and no trousers, but he's harmless. So where did ye learn to play like that?" His eyes scanned her face, and he cocked his head a little like he was committing each of her features to memory.

"My uncle taught me. We'd play for hours whenever we get time to spend together."

"Ye're close to yer uncle. That's nice. I hope I'd be that type of uncle one day."

She beamed. Jamie looked like the type of uncle who would have boundless of energy playing with children. "My uncle's for the most part, both a father and mother to me when I wasn't in the boarding school. My parents died when I was young."

His face turned serious. "Sorry to hear that. My parents have always been part of my life, so I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you growing up without them."

Claire gave him a grateful smile as she pulled a vibrating phone from her pocket. "Oh, bummer," she whispered, glancing down at the screen. "I have about fifteen missed text messages. I didn't feel it going off. I must have been caught up with all the excitement of the game."

He ran a hand along his jaw. "Some lad missing ye back home?"

She hesitated, glancing up at him. "No." She shook her head, vigorously. "It's my friend, Geillis." She skimmed through the messages wondering why there were so many of them. Annalise had sent the photos of the brothers' driving licences to Geillis, and probably something had come up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as she continued to read the messages.

"It's fine," she squeaked, looking for any incriminating data Geillis might have found. She found none. Instead, what she was reading was making her face heat up.

"Are ye sure? Ye have a troubling frown forming on yer face. Maybe I can help."

She sighed and rolled her head. "Annalise sent the photos of your driving licences to my friend Geillis. And a selfie she took with you and your brother earlier. You know ...to have you check out and see if you're legit. Geillis' boyfriend works with the police you see."

He arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Is he upset? "Don't look at me like that. I told you I trust you."

He laughed. "Like what? Ye're the one who's giving me an odd look. I told ye I was alright with it. So what did she say? Do I get her seal of approval?"

She winced. "Yeah, Geillis says it's all good."

He picked up his whisky from the nearby table. "Geillis sounds like a verra nice friend. I think I like her already. What else did she say?"

She felt the colour drain from her face. "I swear you wouldn't want to hear the rest of it. Geillis is raving mad."

"Try me."

"I think we should leave it ..."

"Come on, Sassenach. It cannae be that bad."

"I'd rather not."

"Go on, humour me." His blue eyes danced, and she marvelled for the umpteenth time at how handsome he was.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She shut her eyes for a few heartbeats and puffed out a breath. "Well, she said if you're the same bloke who competed against her boyfriend at caber toss last spring and won ..." Oh dear, God. "...I ...um ...I should let you ground my corn."

He practically choked on his whisky.

She grimaced and wondered if she should thump him on the back. "I'm sorry. Geillis has an odd sense of humour. I'm afraid it's just her way of saying that her boyfriend thinks you're ace ...well, that's if you're really the bloke who he thinks you are."

He recovered quickly and grinned. "How about ye? What do ye think of me?"

She ignored the question. "You haven't confirmed anything to me yet," she said, speaking into her whisky glass. "Did you really win the caber toss competition?"

He looked smugly amused, and the smile that spread across his face already answered her question.

"So you're a tree surgeon who plays shinty and tosses poles in your spare time ...whatever next."

He nodded at her phone when it lit up again. "What else is your friend saying?"

She put her drink down and glanced at the screen. "'She said, the men who participated in this year's caber toss, including you, posed with nothing on but their kilt for a charity calendar."

He smiled. "Aye, that's right."

"And she asked me to ask you if you're wearing anything underneath the kilt because I'm getting the calendar as a stocking filler."

His booming laughter made a few heads turn their way.

"See I told you, she's raving mad." She took another sip from her glass and realised it was empty. Ah, fiddlesticks! "I thought her boyfriend would have mellowed her down a bit, but I have a feeling, she's worse than ever."

He eyed her glass and grinned. "I definitely have to meet this friend of yours."

She felt a twinge of ache in her heart, which took her by surprise. "Annalise and I are stopping at her place in Glasgow before we fly back to London on Three Kings. So you won't be seeing her."

He leaned in closer. "I ken we've only just met. Ye think ye're going to miss me when you go back?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Even though she was a right bumbling mess around him, she had to admit she was having too much fun in his company. So much so, she didn't really want to think about leaving yet. Her mind was already racing and wondering if Annalise would agree to celebrate Hogmanay here instead of in Edinburgh. "Well, that depends ..."

"Depends on what?"

Her curiosity to explore the dynamic between them made it difficult to keep her guard up. It was useless trying to fight whatever this was when she was so drawn to Jamie. Surely he must be feeling this too. She swallowed hard and decided to be brave. "If I'll have a reason to miss you," she blurted out before she could change her mind.

A tiny fraction of the playfulness displayed on his face was replaced by uncertainty ...and Claire's stomach coiled at the proof he wasn't prepared to act on the attraction between them. Whatever his reason was, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know as her guard began to scramble back into place. Oh, God, how could I be so dim? Maybe he's got a girlfriend or a wife ...

"Arbroath Smokies."

Stunned, she looked at him. "Wot?"

"Have ye eaten?"

"Uh, um ...not since midday."

"Weel, hard to fall in love with ..." He took a huge deep breath. "...Broch Mordha on an empty stomach."

"Huh?"

That playful smile was back on his face. "Have ye tried Arbroath Smokies?"

"No. I don't even know what that is."

"Ye have to try it. I know just the place." Jamie glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, let's have a quick drink with Willie and Annalise so we can get out of here."

And then just like that, he wove his fingers through hers and tugged her towards the bar.

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

You didn’t have any destination in mind, only “away”. Away from the dorms where Willa was sleeping, away from campus where someone else might see you. By your side was your trusted camera. Why you brought it, you weren’t sure. Its not like the two of you were going for a portrait session. You hated those types of shoots anyway. But you felt better with it. The bag was like an anchor, keeping you grounded. If things grew awkward or too silent, you could simply pull out the camera and start shooting. A handy distraction.

For the first few blocks, Minseok walked half a step behind you. Once the campus was merely an outline on the skyline behind, he stopped you with a warm hand on your wrist. It was a gentle tug, nothing forceful or demanding.

“Where are we going?”

You pursed your lips nervously. He hadn’t let go of your wrist and your skin was sparking from the contact. There was an urge to step forward and envelop yourself with him to feel that electricity all over. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, I did. But all we’ve done is walk.”

“Just a little further.”

His jaw twitched with the want to argue, but he dropped your wrist and waved for you to continue. Yes, you were simply putting off the actual talking part. He didn’t need to know that. Or he’d already guessed that and was simply allowing it to happen. You were scared of what might come out of your mouth if your feet stopped. But you couldn’t walk the earth forever. When a line of trees came into view, you sighed silently in your head. There. That would be the place to talk. You beelined for the forest, Minseok hurrying to catch up. You went in just deep enough to be invisible to the city.

“Okay,” you said as you turned around. “Talk.”

Minseok looked taken aback by your sudden attack. “I… um, I just….” He finished off with a sigh that blew up his rounded cheeks. When he didn’t continue, you pulled out your camera and snapped a picture of him. He blinked at the sudden flash. “What was that for?”

You shrugged. “You weren’t doing anything else.”

You continue to take pictures of nothing. It felt wrong to not actually think about what you were capturing, but it was all an act. You needed to be doing something so you didn’t spiral into an interrogation. By it’s own will, your camera turned to Minseok and snapped another candid.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” You could tell he wasn’t used to being the subject of a photo. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and looked off to side, only giving you profile.

“Yup,” you answered gleefully, snapping another picture. “At least until you tell me what you wanted to talk about.” Now you got a slight smile. He moved back to face you fully and reached out for the camera.

“Come on. That’s not fair.”

You easily evaded him. “No, what’s not fair is showing up randomly at my dorm and saying you need to talk and then not saying anything.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” You took another picture. He pounced again. You dodge again. So, he mixed up his strategy. Instead of going for the camera, he went for your waist. That, you couldn’t dodge and the two of you crashed down on the grass below. The camera flew from your fingers and a horror ran through you at the thought of it being damaged. Being the hero with incredible reflexes, Minseok caught it safely in his palm. The strap swung calmly in the breeze, unaware of what almost was.

“Oh, thank god.” You tried to take back from him, but he held it out of reach. The position the two of you were in gave him the advantage. So close was his face that you could feel his quick, shallow breath against your nose. Everything stopped. No longer could you hear the soft rustling of the leaves or the distance hums of car engines. Only Minseok was in focus as the two of you lied on the forest floor, mere feet from the city but so far away at the same time.

“(y/n), I….” His voice came out scared, unsure. He frowned and looked away like he was chasing after the words he wanted to say. Finally, he caught up with them. “What I wanted to say was... I… like you.”

Your breath halted in your throat. When the tension was unspoken, it was safe. But with his confession you were now forced to examine that fork in the road. It terrified you. Making the wrong decision terrified you. If only you could have avoided it forever. A luxury that never existed. “Minseok, I-”

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” he said, cutting you off. “And I know you have a boyfriend, but I just had to say… something.” It didn’t feel like the end of what he wanted to say, but nothing else came out.

You left his words hang in the tiny space between you and him. I like you, too. That’s what you wanted to say. He’d been brave enough to tell you and yet, you were a coward. In your silence, he lifted his hand and brushed away a blade of grass from your cheek. The electricity that you should have expected still stunned you. How could he transfer so much energy with the slightest of touches? It was only the tips of his fingers, but your whole cheek was aflame.

Minseok’s eyes flickered down to the bottom half of your face, to your lips. He snuck another peek at you as if asking for permission before looking down once again, leaning in closer. And you let him. You let him come closer at a snail’s pace. He was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t want to. How many times had you accidentally found yourself fantasizing about a moment like this? Far too many. You’d asked yourself if his lips would be soft, if they would be warm and gentle. Now you could find out.

But it was spoiled by circumstances. You couldn’t do this. Not now.

At the last second, you pulled away, standing. “I have to go.”

“(y/n)-”

You grabbed your camera and shoved back into its bag. “Good night, Minseok.”

“At least let me see you back to your dorm. It’s dark out and-”

“I’ll be fine.” You ran out back into the city, back to reality, not giving him the chance further a logical argument. You needed to get away before you turned around and found the answers, right or wrong.

The whole way home you beat yourself. Leaving with him in the first place was wrong. It seemed you were constantly making the wrong decision these days. Back at the dorm, you quietly slipped into your room, careful not to wake Willa. It didn’t work.

“(y/n)?”

“Yeah, its just me,” you whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“M-kay.” In the dark you could barely make out the lump on her bed flipping over.

As you headed for your own mattress, you stripped off your clothes and blindly felt for the t-shirt you typically slept in. Under the covers, you lied there, staring at the wall. A single tear fell down your cheek. You stopped it in its track. It stayed on the tip of your middle finger as you brought it out in front of you. Great. Now you were crying.

What the hell were you going to do?

Minseok was unable to move. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. It had all gone so quick. First he was silent, then he was speaking words and almost kissing you. His confession – if it could be called that – hadn’t done any good. It was stupid to go about it in this manner.

He’d wanted to tell you everything and all he gave you was a small sliver of the truth. The word “like” was an understatement. Mate or not, he was falling in love with you. He was fascinated with the way your mind worked, like an artist’s. It was so different than his more analytical nature. The way you smiled, the way you laughed. To him, those sights and sounds that belonged only to you made him feel like he’d been living in an isolated cave his whole life and was only now coming out to discover the surface.

Grabbing a fist full of grass, Minseok threw the blades into the air in front of him. The anger still didn’t dissipate. He fell back, his head hitting the dirt with a thunk. The pain was easy to ignore. His focus was completely on how stupid he was. How stupid this whole mate situation was. Maybe Jongdae had the right attitude all along.

No. Minseok wasn’t that bitter about life. Maybe he would have been if his parents had dropped him off at a relative’s house with absolutely no explanation of his heritage, but Minseok grew up in a fun, loving home. He was raised to be optimistic.

Sitting up, Minseok sighed. He wondered if he’d messed the whole thing up. For now, he’d give you space. Even though it felt impossible not to follow his instincts. He didn’t want to come across as desperate as he felt. He just hoped that the two of you could come together, before the consequence came to light.

It had been three days and you were still stewing over Minseok’s confession. Your heart went back and forth between being elated and being bogged down with worry and guilt. While Erik sat across from you at the table in the student cafeteria, you clicked through the pictures you’d taken of Minseok that night. A smile subconsciously pulled at the corners of your lips.

“(y/n)?”

Your head snapped up. “Yeah?”

Erik pushed his glasses up his nose. His pen was bouncing off his textbook. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. “Are you okay? You seem distracted lately.”

You feigned ignorance. “I’m always distracted.”

“This is different. I feel like you’re so far away lately. Something’s happened in the past few weeks.”

“Nothing’s happened!” Because acting defensive always worked. You slid back the chair, the legs scarping against the tile with a high pictured squeal. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Erik didn’t try to stop you at all. You’d left your things behind so he knew you’d be back. Luck decided to throw you a bone and give you an empty bathroom to sulk in. Letting the water run, you waited until it was freezing before splashing your face. The burst of cold to your skin made you gasp. With a paper towel you dabbed at the water droplets left behind until you felt somewhat dry again. In the movies, a scene like that came with clarity, a decision and an answer sparkling in the mirror as realization hit. No such moment came for you. All you were left with were two wet eyebrows and smeared makeup. Wonderful. Tossing the paper towel into the trash, you left the restroom and headed back to the table.

When you arrived, you couldn’t sit back down.

Erik had your camera. His thumb hit the arrows back and forth. He flipped through the film furiously. It didn’t take a psychic to know which photos he was looking at. “You used to take pictures of me like this.”

“Erik-”

Sighing, he put the camera back down, pushing it gently to your side of the table. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, huh? Freshman relationships don’t usually last as long as ours. It was only a matter of time.”

“No! It’s not like that!”

“If you say it’s not, then I’ll believe you. Everyone’s allowed to have friends. But… you don’t even use the notebook I gave you anyone.”

You flinched back at that comment. “I… lost it. I’m sorry.”

Erik’s reply was a nod. He stood up, gathering his things and putting them into his bag. He started to walk away but paused just as he passed you. “I think we should take a break.”

“A break?”

“For now.”

You collapsed in the chair as soon as he was gone. What a mess you’d made. And you hadn’t even really done anything. Were changing feelings really such a crime? Being here wasn’t giving you any room to think. You needed solitude, space.

The woods.

You were in the car and down the street before you could blink. The road was so familiar by now that you didn’t even remember actually driving. Getting out of the car, you threw your unneeded school supplies in the trunk while keeping some essentials and personals. For good measure, you turned your phone off. You didn’t get great service out here anyway. It was a spin wheel if the call came through or not. So, the trek began.

You pushed your way through the trees in the direction of the clearing. More leaves had fallen since your last visit, leaving a fresh carpet of brown and green for you to walk on. It muffled your steps. The forest sounded quiet today. Hardly any birds chirped and no bunnies came running across your path. The lack of wildlife caused your heart to race. You worried if you’d made a mistake coming here. When the clearing came into view, you stopped.

Near the middle of the field lied the wolf. He was alone. His ears flicked every few seconds or so, possibly picking up on the noises of life around him. But why was he just lying there? It was odd behavior for a wolf. Or, so you figured. Zoology was not your major. Your fingers twitched towards your camera, but you thought better of it. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to simply… watch him. It was calming, being in this wild animal’s presence. He looked so peaceful. You didn’t want to disturb him so you decided to stay on the outskirts.

Ten minutes went by and the wolf decided he was done. He stood up on all four legs and turned to walk in the direction opposite of you.

Follow him.

You blinked. That reaction came from nowhere. Following a wild animal deeper into the woods was something only a crazy person would do.

Apparently, someone needed to put a jacket on you and call you crazy.

You kept your distance, far back enough to not spook him but still be able to keep him in your line of vision. He walked for what felt like miles. You’d never been in this part of the forest before. Which made this even more of a ridiculous adventure. The only consolation prize was the fact that he didn’t zig zag around, so you had a straight shot back to the clearing. You should be able to make your way back to your car from there. Up head, the tree line broke. It gave way to another clearing, but this one was far larger with two buildings sitting near the center. You stayed back, clinging to one of the last trees for cover as you watched the wolf walk towards the front porch. A familiar looking man stepped out and waived to the wolf. Was he their pet?

No.

The answer was a big, glaring No.

The wolf’s shoulders shivered and rolled. His body morphed like clay until he was no longer on four legs. You gasped.

Minseok.

Both men’s eyes snapped in your direction. You made eye contact with them both, then you turned and ran for your life.

You didn’t make it far. Minseok caught up with you easily.

“(y/n), wait!”

“Stay away from me!”

He did exactly the opposite, tackling you from the back. You both rolled in the leaves as you fought him off.

“Let me go! Don’t touch me!” Your last scream was enough to make him step back. You pushed yourself to your knees. Each breath was a huff as you tried to recover from the sprint. You could feel the fear emanated from your eyes.

Minseok held his hands up as if that would be enough to convince you he was harmless. “I can explain.”

“What are you?” you demanded.

“I’m….” He cringed as he sucked back the word you both knew he was going to say. “I’m a… werewolf.”

“Its you, isn’t?” You pushed yourself up onto shaking legs. All the stories you’d read as a child, all the movies you’d consumed, and all the folklore from around the world told you what kind of creatures werewolves were. “You are the one who killed those campers, aren’t you?”

“No! It was another wolf. A rogue!”

You shook your head. “How am I supposed to believe that? You’re not even supposed to exist! Was this all a game? Lure me into a false sense of security before you ripped me apart?”

“No, (y/n), listen to me!” He was in front of you, hands on your shoulders before you could react. “I. Did not. Kill. Them. And I would never hurt you. There’s a rogue omega around here and we haven’t caught him yet. Please, I’m begging you. Come back to the house with me and I will explain everything.”

“Why do we have to go back to the house?”

“So I can put on some clothes.”

You coughed and shifted your eyes high to the sky. “Oh, right.”

Minseok held his hand out for you to take, but you let it hang there in the air as you passed him. You heard him sigh behind you then his footsteps fell into rhythm with yours.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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penguiduck · 4 years

Text

Writing Fight Scenes

I’ve had a lot of readers mention that they don’t feel comfortable with fight scenes. Well, that’s understandable. It’s challenging writing about experiences you’ve never had. But with some perspective and practice, you can most certainly work toward writing those fast-paced, heart-pounding scenes with ease.

To give you some background, I practiced competitive martial arts for six years. I competed in tournaments and trained hard to perform well in the ring. It was a contact sport, and even if I wasn’t sparring, training often left me with bruises, usually of the physical nature, sometimes of the emotional persuasion.

This experience gave me a lot of perspective when it comes to writing fight scenes.

Whenever I step into the ring, I have a flexible strategy in mind that combines what I know about myself, my opponent, and what I’m going to learn about them in the next two minutes. I’d like to share some of these thoughts and perspectives with you, and how your character may think before and during a match of their own. Of course, my fighting experience is limited to a contact sport. Your story may very well be far more violent with higher stakes, but strategies may be of similar foundation. Once you take a fight into deeper consideration, aside from the depiction of two fighters merely exchanging blows, you can begin to enrich your writing experience.

I’m including examples from Yu Yu Hakusho because that’s the fandom I write the most for, and as you know, there’s a lot of fighting involved! But remember — anime and writing are two completely different mediums. There's no one narrating everything that our beloved characters are doing on screen. You just see it. That is why you, as a writer, must paint those scenes through words for your readers.

Nevertheless, this advice really stands for any sort of writing, so do with this information what you will.

A well-written fight scene is never about just trading blows. There are other conflicts at play, whether between the fighters or even in the heads of your protagonists.

Allow me to elaborate:

1. Who is your protagonist?

Whenever I am preparing for a sparring match, the first thing I worry about is me. I must be self-aware.

I think about my own fitness. How am I doing? Do I have any existing injuries or ailments? How is my weight? My body type? What are my strengths and weaknesses? What do I have in my toolbox? What techniques do I know? What techniques am I most versed and confident in?

I also think about my overall wellness. Have I been eating well? Drinking water? Sleeping? How is my emotional state of mind? What are the stakes?

Is my uniform clean and pressed? What about my equipment? Headgear? Mouth guard? Shin guard? Did I replace that torn lace?

I recommend using these questions to bring your character’s own reflection to the forefront in whatever way makes most sense for them. How is your character’s fitness? Is she in good fighting condition? Has she been injured previously? What has happened since the last fight that might impact her state of mind?

It’s possible that she’s recovering from an illness or injury. Perhaps her mentor died a gruesome death. Maybe she’s frustrated because she lost use of her right hand, temporarily or permanently, and has had to compensate with her non-dominant hand. Or perhaps she’s lost the will to fight, having experienced something traumatic.

Hiei had to constantly think about his own state of health throughout the Dark Tournament after his fight with Zeru. His arm had been sacrificed to his Dragon of the Darkness Flame, rendered useless, and he was in terrible pain. He never let it impact him, of course, being the stoic warrior he is. His personality allows for little inner dialogue to be shared with the audience, but as a fighter, he was most certainly considering what options he had with his handicap. And, as a writer, perhaps you would like to elaborate on his thoughts for your readers.

What has your character been practicing lately? Is her weapon of choice the same? Has it been upgraded? Has she been training with a different weapon or technique? Is she perhaps nervous about using something new?

Maybe she just repaired her sword, and she’s unsure if it’s as strong as it was before. Perhaps she’s been studying a new technique, and she knows she’ll need to use it in this battle.

Remember when Kuwabara first introduced his spirit sword in Maze Castle? He was so proud of himself, and that whole battle was an introduction to his newfound technique, how he manipulated his sword, and how he was able to harness his spirit energy. It’s far more interesting to see this development and exploration than to just watch him stab at Byakko a dozen times.

My point is that while your character probably should keep her emotions out of the ring, she may not be able to. There are so many things that could be on her mind, plaguing her thoughts, especially if there’s a lot riding on this battle. I think it’s really important to not only acknowledge the physical part of fighting but the emotional toll it can take a fighter, too.

Think about the fight between Yusuke and Toguro. Toguro had just killed Genkai, and Yusuke took that very personally. This was not a simple battle of strength or wits. This was a battle of emotions, and it wasn’t until Yusuke was able to master his feelings and reach beyond that “six foot wall of crap” as Genkai so affectionately calls it that he was able to finally defeat Toguro.

And the catharsis that came from defeating Toguro? It was made all the more powerful because Yusuke went through that emotional journey. It wasnʼt just a fight — it was a calling, a purpose, and a lesson. It was painful and potent, and it made him realize just how much these experiences shaped him as a person.

2. Who is the opponent?

Before I participate in a tournament, I do my research. Who is likely to be competing? Who is in my weight class? What do I know about these competitors? If I don’t have answers, I would find them. I’d chat with my instructor, my fellow martial artists. Has anyone else from my school fought these people before? What were they like? Are there videos online of their performance?

I find as much information as possible. I make calls, send texts, take people out to lunch, scour the internet for information. Even if your character lives in a less technologically dependent world, I would imagine that he might talk with friends, look through old records, listen to gossip and hearsay. He might watch battles leading up to his own fight in an effort to learn more.

And if this pre-work isn’t possible, that’s okay. Fights in your story may be entirely unpredictable, but your character can also learn things about his opponent during the match.

When I step into the ring and ready myself to compete, one of the first things I want to find out is on which side my opponent is dominant. In other words, are they right-handed? Or left-handed? Right-footed? Or left-footed? Maybe they only focus on one side during training (which is silly, but that’s another conversation). But there could be an underlying reason why as well. Perhaps they injured themselves in the previous round or maybe they just don’t like exposing one particular side of their body for whatever reason.

This information is critical because this tells me what I need to watch out for, which side of my own body I should be guarding, how I may penetrate my opponent’s defenses. How can I catch them when they least suspect it? Where can I knock them off balance? My instructor always told me to watch the shoulders — shoulders move before the rest of the body. You can tell what your opponent is about to do by watching their shoulders.

Your character may wish to discover the same thing. Maybe his opponent uses a two-handed sword and is very clearly right-handed. This may give him some information on where his blind spot is — or maybe he just needs to disable his opponent’s right arm. The possibilities are endless, and understanding his opponent will give him leverage, offering him many options.

Understanding an opponent’s technique is also important. In martial arts, practitioners often favor a strategy or skill. This seems obvious, but it’s vital that you understand what it is — only then you can combat it.

Consider Kurama’s matches with Gama and Toya during the events of the Dark Tournament. The English dub did a wonderful job voicing Kurama’s inner conflict during these fights, struggling with first his inability to move and then his imprisoned spirit energy — if you were to put these scenes into writing, explaining his thought process would be fascinating. How does Kurama overcome these obstacles? He seeks to understand his opponents before he defeats them, which, unfortunately, also means he risks injury to himself until then.

Your character’s thoughts about the fight, interpreting for your audience what he feels he might need to do to secure victory, is just as important as detailing the fight itself.

3. What about the writing?

The writing will come once you begin to dissect your characters and their motivations for fighting. Your characters aren’t one-dimensional, or, at least, they shouldn’t be!

Your fight scenes shouldn’t be, either. It’s not about two fighters trading blows. It’s about an artfully curated dance. Two opponents are engaged in a craft that they both know well, and whether they’re fighting to win a tournament or for their very lives, they have reasons and complex thought processes that should make their fight interesting.

There are two players here, and unless the fight is grossly one-sided, they’re both thinking and acting independently of one another. My advice is to thread their actions and consequences together — weave the fight scene as if it’s a stream of conscious thought, separated into paragraphs, each with a shift in perspective, for clarity.

Instead of writing:

Yusuke charged at Kuwabara and punched him in the face. Kuwabara punched him in the mouth. Yusuke then kicked him in the stomach.

Try this:

Yusuke had little patience for Kuwabara’s bad jokes, and he rushed toward him, landing a blow square in the side of his head.

Kuwabara flew backward with a grunt, stabilizing himself before launching himself at Yusuke, returning the favor. His fist collided with Yusuke’s jaw, a blow hard enough to knock the teeth out of any regular human.

Yusuke expected him to retaliate, and although he was nearly knocked off balance, he swung his leg around, making full contact with Kuwabara’s stomach.

You may also find it useful to deviate from the fighting itself. You can speak to a character’s inner dialogue or thoughts, whether about the fight or something else. You may choose to have them begin a brief conversation. Or you may describe what other characters are feeling about the fight as onlookers.

There are many ways to make these fight scenes seamless and interesting — take some time to explore your options!

Just a few more general tips that might help:

If you’re going to use a thesaurus, be mindful about it. I use a thesaurus when I write because I suffer all day, every day from tip-the-tongue syndrome. But words, even if they generally fit the same definition, can have vastly different connotations, so before selecting a word from the thesaurus, do some digging. Look at the exact definition and perhaps Google some common usage. Punch, slap, and stroke do not mean the same thing, even if a thesaurus might say otherwise.

Read your writing out loud. If you’re unsure, this is the best way to understand your cadence, the flow of the battle. Use your best Morgan Freeman or Jorge the Ogre voice.

Consider a beta reader. Sometimes having a second opinion is immensely helpful.

Remember that there are no strict writing rules. You write whatever your heart desires in whatever manner your heart desires. Experiment and explore with different styles and techniques to find whatever works for you.

I hope you find this information useful! Please feel free to suggestion additional blog posts you would like to see from me in the future. ^_^ Of course, please reblog this if you found it helpful!

Pictures are, of course, not mine. They are shots from the anime or other official derivatives.

#YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #YYH tutorial #YYH fight scenes #Writing fight scenes #Fight scenes #Writing #Writing tips #Writing help #Writing tutorial #YYH resource #YYH fanfic #YYH fanfiction #Writing fighting #Writing how-to #Fanfiction #Fanfiction writing #YYH headcanon

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askkrenko · 4 years

Text

Krenko's Guide to Pokemon: Happiny Line

Can I offer you a nice egg in this trying time?

DESIGN:

Happiny is pure soft pink round cuteness. It's not quite as clean as something like Jigglypuff, but the bottom that looks like some sort of baby seat, the curly hair atop its head, and its little egg-stone just add to its adorability. I admit I don't fully get what's going on in the split between its top and bottom halves, but it's adorable just the same.

Chansey is particularly simple, big, round, and holding an egg. There's not much to Chansey's design, but the floppy things on the sides of its head that might be ears or hair or something add just a bit of texture and break up its design just enough to be unique and interesting instead of boring.

Blissey fluffs up further, adding curly hair and fluffy fur (yes, the Pokedex says fur) that resembles a skirt and flared gloves. I do like Blissey's design, but I think it's a bit too close to Chansey's. Unlike most evolved forms, the visual differences that separate Blissey from Chansey don't make it look like an older, stronger version, or even a transformed one. If anything, Blissey looks like it could be a Regional Form of Chansey more than an evolved form.

Well, it still looks a hell of a lot better than it’s Beta Design (art by Rachel Briggs) . That stupid thing has a mouth and/or a butt on its head. Also TWO EGGS because two is eggier than one.

EVOLUTIONS:

Happiny evolves to Chansey when leveled up during the day while holding a completely non-magical rock that looks like an egg. This is about as big a waste of time as you can get from a Pokemon that's just going to its second form and should evolve on its own at level 20 or so. On the flip side, the only way to get your Chansey to lay a Happiny egg is give the Chansey a "Luck Incense" before breeding...

Now buckle up, because I'm about to explain to you why "Incense" is one of my least favorite mechanics in all the Pokemon games. I'm sure I'll complain more in the future, but this is a big one.

See, when a Chansey has a baby normally, its egg hatches into a fully grown Chansey who has its own egg. Only by breeding a Chansey while using "Luck Incencse" do you get a Happiny. This means that Happiny isn't the natural form of Chansey, and there shouldn't be any wild Happiny without significant amounts of wild Luck Incense, but they're there. They exist. They're all over Alola. You know what's NOT all over Alola? Luck Incense. You have to buy that stuff specifically from a dealer.

And is this GOOD for the Chansey? A Happiny is so much weaker than a Chansey that in the wild it's just a huge disadvantage for a Chansey to lay a Happiny Egg over a Chansey Egg, so you'd think they'd know to avoid Luck Incense.

There's no logical or reasonable benefit of these Incenses, and it's honestly just weird that they're necesarry. But why ARE they necesarry? Because Pokemon HATES changing data, other than movesets. Movesets change constantly and are rearranged every generation, but evolution means, breeding lines, and abilities basically never change no matter how little sense they make. So Happiny can't exist on its own because in Generations 2 and 3 Chanseys laid Chansey Eggs, and you can't change it now even if you're adding in Happiny, so it has to be 'newly discovered' through some 'strange method.'

KishiShiotani drew a baby Chansey because those are normal for some reason

So what do we do? We drug our Chanseys in order to get a premature Chansey Baby that's Smaller and Cuter and we call it a new Pokemon. And you know what? Chansey's base stats are pretty hefty. It deserved a Baby version. But it can't just HAVE a Baby Version it has to have the ability to jump through hoops to get it... And then that baby can't just evolve into Chansey, it has to get a special rock and only come out during the day for some stupid reason.

Incense Babies should be stricken from the game. The mechanic, that is. Happiny should stick around forever, but every baby Chansey or Blissey should be a Happiny. And they should just evolve at level 20 or something.

Chansey evolves into Blissey with Friendship. Which makes sense for this Pokemon and is a fine and reasonable mechanic.

Happiny’s Egg by Momogirl

TYPING:

The Happiny line is pure Normal type, which means weak to fighting, immune to ghost, and ineffective against Rock, Steel, and Ghost. This is generally a pretty poor type to be, especially offensively, but having only one weakness is really good for tankier Pokemon. Only Fighting type attacks are super-effective against the Happiny line, making it harder to topple them.

STATS:

Blissey has the highest HP in the game. In fact, Blissey's 255 HP is the highest stat in the game. Couple this with 135 Special Defense and Blissey is the best Special wall in all of Pokemon. Unfortunately, this comes with a drawback. At a disturbingly low 10 physical defense, Blissey's 255 HP doesn't actually let it take a punch from many attackers.

Blissey's speed is low, though not the worst, and its special attack at 75 is a comfortable average. Blissey's not a great attacker, but Pokemon can't ignore it. Its physical attack, like its defense, is an impossibly low 10, but that's easily solved by just not using any physical attacks.

Let’s get Happy by couchmochi

ABILITIES:

Blissey's Hidden Ability, Healer, only works in double battles. At the end of each turn, it has a 30% chance to remove your other Pokemon's status effects. This is fine, but double only.

Serene Grace is a great ability that isn't really relevant to Blissey. Serene Grace doubles the chance of secondary effects on moves, but there's nothing in Blissey's list that this is particularly relevant on. Sure, it means Ice Beam has a 20% chance to freeze instead of a 10%, but that's still mediocre at best.

Most Blisseys are going to want to use Natural Cure, which automatically heals all status conditions when switched out. This means Blissey is far less susceptible to Poison and Burn than other tanky Pokemon, and being able to remove Paralysis and Sleep with a switch is nice, too. Bonus points for PvE where this also heals status effects after battles.

pokenurses by Crayon-Chewer

MOVES:

Soft-Boiled, Blissey's signature move, heals it 50% its max HP. Which is a lot. The only excuse for not teaching your Blissey Soft-Boiled is if you'd managed to keep an Event Wish Chansey from 2004 and are using Wish instead. Good luck with that.

Dealing damage with Blissey is then the hard part. In older generations it could learn Toxic, but that got seriously cut down in Sword and Shield. Which means the best way to deal damage is to get a Machop, level it up to 40 until it learns Seismic Toss, breed it with a female Pancham until you get a male baby, breed that Pancham with a female, Mawile until you get a male baby, and then breed that Mawile with a Chansey or Blissey so that the baby learns Seismic Toss.

Or, if you're not crazy, just teach it Flamethrower and hope you inflict a burn. Blissey actually learns a good variety of special attacks, so you can pick others like Ice Beam, Thunderbolt, Shadow Ball, or Psychic for specific coverage.

If not using Toxic, Thunder Wave does a good job at weakening foes for you to gradually defeat them with an attacking move.

Blissey can learn Stealth Rock, which is often worth setting up when you've got a free turn due to tankiness.

The best move list for Blissey would probably be Wish, Toxic, Teleport, and Seismic Toss. A casual, reasonable move list for Blissey in Gen 8 is Soft-Boiled, Flamethrower, Thunder Wave, and Stealth Rock.

OVERALL:

Blissey is an amazing Special Wall, but with Gen 8 taking Toxic away from it, Wish being trapped behind a time machine, and Seismic Toss being so difficult for it to learn it has a hard time leveraging that into anything resembling a win. Still, spamming Flamethrower forever isn't a bad strategy, even if it's not what one would expect to see from Blissey. Blissey’s great, but the difference between a modern Blissey and a top-quality Blissey is pretty notable.

Magical Nurse Joy by Mi-eau

#Krenko's Pokemon Guide #Happiny #Chansey #Blissey

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shadowfromthestarlight · 3 years

Link

The moment a group of people stormed the Capitol building last Wednesday, news companies began the process of sorting and commoditizing information that long ago became standard in American media.

Media firms work backward. They first ask, “How does our target demographic want to understand what’s just unfolded?” Then they pick both the words and the facts they want to emphasize.

It’s why Fox News uses the term, “Pro-Trump protesters,” while New York and The Atlantic use “Insurrectionists.” It’s why conservative media today is stressing how Apple, Google, and Amazon shut down the “Free Speech” platform Parler over the weekend, while mainstream outlets are emphasizing a new round of potentially armed protests reportedly planned for January 19th or 20th.

What happened last Wednesday was the apotheosis of the Hate Inc. era, when this audience-first model became the primary means of communicating facts to the population. For a hundred reasons dating back to the mid-eighties, from the advent of the Internet to the development of the 24-hour news cycle to the end of the Fairness Doctrine and the Fox-led discovery that news can be sold as character-driven, episodic TV in the manner of soap operas, the concept of a “Just the facts” newscast designed to be consumed by everyone died out.

News companies now clean world events like whalers, using every part of the animal, funneling different facts to different consumers based upon calculations about what will bring back the biggest engagement kick. The Migrant Caravan? Fox slices off comments from a Homeland Security official describing most of the border-crossers as single adults coming for “economic reasons.” The New York Times counters by running a story about how the caravan was deployed as a political issue by a Trump White House staring at poor results in midterm elections.

Repeat this info-sifting process a few billion times and this is how we became, as none other than Mitch McConnell put it last week, a country:

Drifting apart into two separate tribes, with a separate set of facts and separate realities, with nothing in common except our hostility towards each other and mistrust for the few national institutions that we all still share.

The flaw in the system is that even the biggest news companies now operate under the assumption that at least half their potential audience isn’t listening. This leads to all sorts of problems, and the fact that the easiest way to keep your own demographic is to feed it negative stories about others is only the most obvious. On all sides, we now lean into inflammatory caricatures, because the financial incentives encourage it.

Everyone monetized Trump. The Fox wing surrendered to the Trump phenomenon from the start, abandoning its supposed fealty to “family values” from the Megyn Kelly incident on. Without a thought, Rupert Murdoch sacrificed the paper-thin veneer of pseudo-respectability Fox had always maintained up to a point (that point being the moment advertisers started to bail in horror, as they did with Glenn Beck). He reinvented Fox as a platform for Trump’s conspiratorial brand of cartoon populism, rather than let some more-Fox-than-Fox imitator like OAN sell the ads to Trump’s voters for four years.

In between its titillating quasi-porn headlines (“Lesbian Prison Gangs Waiting To Get Hands on Lindsay Lohan, Inmate Says” is one from years ago that stuck in my mind), Fox’s business model has long been based on scaring the crap out of aging Silent Majority viewers with a parade of anything-but-the-truth explanations for America’s decline. It villainized immigrants, Muslims, the new Black Panthers, environmentalists — anyone but ADM, Wal-Mart, Countrywide, JP Morgan Chase, and other sponsors of Fortress America. Donald Trump was one of the people who got hooked on Fox’s narrative.

The rival media ecosystem chose cash over truth also. It could have responded to the last election by looking harder at the tensions they didn’t see coming in Trump’s America, which might have meant a more intense examination of the problems that gave Trump his opening: the jobs that never came back after bankers and retailers decided to move them to unfree labor zones in places like China, the severe debt and addiction crises, the ridiculous contradiction of an expanding international military garrison manned by a population fast losing belief in the mission, etc., etc.

Instead, outlets like CNN and MSNBC took a Fox-like approach, downplaying issues in favor of shoving Trump’s agitating personality in the faces of audiences over and over, to the point where many people could no longer think about anything else. To juice ratings, the Trump story — which didn’t need the slightest exaggeration to be fantastic — was more or less constantly distorted.

Trump began to be described as a cause of America’s problems, rather than a symptom, and his followers, every last one, were demonized right along with him, in caricatures that tickled the urbane audiences of channels like CNN but made conservatives want to reach for something sharp. This technique was borrowed from Fox, which learned in the Bush years that you could boost ratings by selling audiences on the idea that their liberal neighbors were terrorist traitors. Such messaging worked better by far than bashing al-Qaeda, because this enemy was closer, making the hate more real.

I came into the news business convinced that the traditional “objective” style of reporting was boring, deceptive, and deserving of mockery. I used to laugh at the parade of “above the fray” columnists and stone-dull house editorials that took no position on anything and always ended, “Only one thing’s for sure: time will tell.” As a teenager I was struck by a passage in Tim Crouse’s book about the 1972 presidential campaign, The Boys in the Bus, describing the work of Hunter Thompson:

Thompson had the freedom to describe the campaign as he actually experienced it: the crummy hotels, the tedium of the press bus, the calculated lies of the press secretaries, the agony of writing about the campaign when it seemed dull and meaningless, the hopeless fatigue. When other reporters went home, their wives asked them, “What was it really like?” Thompson’s wife knew from reading his pieces.

What Rolling Stone did in giving a political reporter the freedom to write about the banalities of the system was revolutionary at the time. They also allowed their writer to be a sides-taker and a rooter, which seemed natural and appropriate because biases end up in media anyway. They were just hidden in the traditional dull “objective” format.

The problem is that the pendulum has swung so far in the opposite direction of politicized hot-taking that reporters now lack freedom in the opposite direction, i.e. the freedom to mitigate.

If you work in conservative media, you probably felt tremendous pressure all November to stay away from information suggesting Trump lost the election. If you work in the other ecosystem, you probably feel right now that even suggesting what happened last Wednesday was not a coup in the literal sense of the word (e.g. an attempt at seizing power with an actual chance of success) not only wouldn’t clear an editor, but might make you suspect in the eyes of co-workers, a potentially job-imperiling problem in this environment.

We need a new media channel, the press version of a third party, where those financial pressures to maintain audience are absent. Ideally, it would:

not be aligned with either Democrats or Republicans;

employ a Fairness Doctrine-inspired approach that discourages groupthink and requires at least occasional explorations of alternative points of view;

embrace a utilitarian mission stressing credibility over ratings, including by;

operating on a distribution model that as much as possible doesn’t depend upon the indulgence of Apple, Google, and Amazon.

Innovations like Substack are great for opinionated individual voices like me, but what’s desperately needed is an institutional reporting mechanism that has credibility with the whole population. That means a channel that sees its mission as something separate from politics, or at least as separate from politics as possible.

The media used to derive its institutional power from this perception of separateness. Politicians feared investigation by the news media precisely because they knew audiences perceived them as neutral arbiters.

Now there are no major commercial outlets not firmly associated with one or the other political party. Criticism of Republicans is as baked into New York Times coverage as the lambasting of Democrats is at Fox, and politicians don’t fear them as much because they know their constituents do not consider rival media sources credible. Probably, they don’t even read them. Echo chambers have limited utility in changing minds.

Media companies need to get out of the audience-stroking business, and by extension the politics business. They’d then be more likely to be believed when making pronouncements about elections or masks or anything else, for that matter. Creating that kind of outlet also has a much better shot of restoring sanity to the country than the current strategy, which seems based on stamping out access to “wrong” information.

What we’ve been watching for four years, and what we saw explode last week, is a paradox: a political and informational system that profits from division and conflict, and uses a factory-style process to stimulate it, but professes shock and horror when real conflict happens. It’s time to admit this is a failed system. You can’t sell hatred and seriously expect it to end.

Matt Taibbi is one of the only people I subscribe to. He’s one of the few journalists I like because I actually believe he’s genuine.

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pandastern · 4 years

Text

Gravity (Bakugou x OC)

Part 11: First Round - New Challenges

If youd like to be added to the taglist for upcoming parts please dm me :)

Masterlist II AO3

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count: 2976

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance, slow burn

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected

The hardest part about preparing for the Sports Festival was the fact that none of the students had any idea about what they were up against. They could have all the time in the world to train, but with no proper idea of how to apply it, the preparation would ultimately be useless. On top of that, Aizawa had kept his word, only allowing Artemis to watch her classmates during combat training instead of taking part herself.

While it was annoying, it did allow her to observe the abilities of her classmates and plan how to handle them should she be up against them in combat. In fact, she was surprised by just how willingly they shared every aspect of their powers with her. Midoriya, in particular, was always talking to her about quirks and strategy.

“Well, since you're not able to take part in combat training, you're missing a lot of material that you can't just grasp just by watching,” he said to her one day. “So, to make things fair, you're more than welcome to look at my notes!”

Artemis was grateful, of course, and she had to admit that his infectious smile was enough to lift her spirits every time. But this whole friendship thing still felt so odd to her. And yet with every passing day, she found it less and less exhausting. Often, she caught herself wondering if this was how it was like to be a normal kid.

Her own training, however, was beyond frustrating. Her body was healing so much more slowly than she was used to thanks to the poison still circulating her veins. Her quirk control was off and her stamina so much lower than she needed to fight effectively. She pushed herself regardless, training every day by herself until her body decided that enough was enough.

“Man, I really wish we could’ve worn our hero costumes instead of our PE uniforms,” Mina complained while Class 1A changed in the waiting room of the big arena.

“But this way, everyone has a fair chance,” Ojiro piped up.

Artemis sat at one of the tables, braiding the long side of her hair to keep it out of her eyes. The festival had arrived so much more quickly than she would have liked. Pulling another energy drink out of her bag, she tried to ignore the fatigue that seemed to accompany her constantly since the USJ incident.

She’d dragged herself through worse situations. All she had to do was get through the day. Shouldn't be too hard, right? After all, she sure as hell wasn't a weakling that needed to lay down at every minor inconvenience. Failure was not an option.

The sound of a door slamming jolted her out of her thoughts.

“Everyone, get ready! The competition is about to start,” Iida exclaimed in his usual student rep voice that he used to ‘organise’ class events.

But before anyone could actually leave for the arena, Todoroki got up and stepped into Midoriya's way.

“I think it’s safe to say that from an objective standpoint, I am stronger than you,” he said in his impossibly deep voice. “And since you have All Might in your corner, I’m going to make every effort to beat you.”

Artemis stood up without thinking. Something in the way Todoroki was hovering over her new friend made alarm bells go off in her head. There was genuine contempt in his declaration.

“Hey, now. No need to get all aggressive. We’re all in the same class.” Kirishima laughed awkwardly as he stepped between Todoroki and Midoriya.

“We’re not here to be friends,” Todoroki spat, shrugging off Kirishima's hand. “This is a competition to see who’s the best!”

Something in his tone of voice made Artemis hesitate. Was it because some time ago, she could have been the ones saying those words? It wasn't that she didn't agree with Todoroki, but the way he was talking to her friend didn't sit right with her. This sudden protectiveness over Midoriya surprised even herself.

“Todoroki… I don't know what you think you’re saying when you tell me you'll beat me. Of course you're better than me. I think you’re more capable than most people here,” said Midoriya. “But I’ll still be going at it with everything I have. I won't lose.”

The determination in Midoriya's voice was something Artemis hadn’t heard before. The usually kind, shy boy had a whole different look in his eyes. He really meant what he said. Artemis felt a smirk tug at the corners of her lips. Was she proud at how Midoriya was standing his ground? Perhaps he wasn’t the only one changing, after all.

The stadium was packed to the brim. The USJ incident had made class 1A so famous that it seemed like the entire city and media had their attention only on them. The first round was declared as an obstacle course around the stadium.

That seemed easy enough, Artemis thought, though knowing UA, there would probably be several extra challenges along the way. She just needed to get through it as fast as she could while making sure to preserve her strength for later.

Bakugou ground his teeth until they hurt. His lungs were burning, his breath ragged. The stinging of his arms told him he’d pushed his quirk to a painful level, and yet still he’d lost. How the hell had he only made it to third place in the first round, while Deku of all people had come first? His head pounded with rage as he glared at Midoriya. He'd been in the lead with Todoroki, and then Deku had just blasted himself into the sky, shooting past them at a speed neither he nor Todoroki had been able to catch up with.

Bakugou straightened his spine as Midnight explained that there would be a break to prepare for the next round. He wouldn't lose again.

Forcing himself to take a calming breath, he suddenly noticed that a certain redhead hadn’t placed anywhere near the top of the ranks.

His brows furrowed. He’d been surprised that she’d even taken part in the competition, considering what had happened just two weeks earlier. But she wouldn't have competed if she hadn't healed up properly… right? Yet her ranking said otherwise.

Bakugou turned slowly and looked around. Just where was Artemis, anyway? He scanned the crowd, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He spotted her making her way towards the arena exit where the waiting rooms and restrooms could be found.

Even from a distance, he could tell that something was off. Artemis was hunched slightly as she walked, her face pale. Before he could stop himself, he was moving towards her.

Bakugou had been walking through the empty halls of the stadium for a few minutes when he suddenly heard a terrible retching and coughing, followed by a curse in a language he didn't speak.

Why was it that this girl had no sense of self preservation? Following the noises, he turned on his heels, strode towards the women's restroom and kicked the door open.

Sure enough, there she was, looking like death. She was kneeling down over the toilet bowl and clinging to the seat with white knuckles. Anger bubbled up in Bakugou’s gut as he watched her retch again. Artemis's whole body was shaking. Even Bakugou could tell she was in pain. Fucking hell.

How many nights had he woken up sweat drenched because he could still feel her blood soaking into his clothes? The image of her head falling back, her body growing cold in his arms as he saved her life, haunted him the moment he closed his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.

Artemis flinched at the sound of his voice. Bakugou watched her wipe her mouth with trembling hands and look up at him. A myriad of emotions flickered across her face. Shock. Frustration. Rage.

“What are you doing here?” she rasped, falling back against the wall.

“What am I doing here? Seriously?” he hissed.

“This is the women's bathroom, dipshit. You really shouldn't-”

“Who gives a fuck? Look at you! If you're sick, you shouldnt be anywhere near the festival. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Bakugou felt his body tremble, the look of defiance in her eyes fuelling the rage within him. Why wouldn't she just listen? And why was he even so worried in the first place? He shouldn’t care. He didn’t!

“I’m fine. A little overexertion never killed anyone,” Artemis huffed as she finally pulled herself to her feet. “This has nothing to do with you. Leave me alone.”

Something inside Bakugou snapped. If she was going to wreck herself beyond help, she could do that in her own time. He wasn’t about to watch her kill herself. Not when he’d worked so hard to save her.

“Enough,” he growled, marching towards her. “I will not have you carried out of this stadium in a fucking stretcher again.”

Before Artemis could say anything, Bakugou grabbed her by the wrist and threw her over his shoulder. She shrieked and struggled in his grasp, but her body was so weak, it did little to deter him. He barely felt her efforts to push him away.

“Bakugou, put me down this instant!” Artemis hissed, her fists drumming against his back.

“Quit it, squirt. I've had enough.”

Again, she tried to wriggle free, but Bakugou simply wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and picked up his pace.

“Where the fuck are you even taking me? Let me go!”

“The old lady’s office. You’re done for today.”

“Wait, what?”

Ignoring her complaints, Bakugou carried Artemis all the way to the second floor. When they got to Recovery Girl’s office, he didn't even bother knocking. He kicked the door open, strode into the room and dropped the girl onto the bed.

“What on earth is going on?” Recovery Girl asked, eyes flicking between Bakugou and the still-cursing Artemis.

“She's sick. I found her throwing up in the toilets. I need you to excuse her from the competition,” Bakugou said dryly, holding Artemis down on the bed.

“The fuck? I’m fine. Get your hands off me!”

Recovery Girl walked over and placed her hand on Artemis’s forehead. “Dark circles around the eyes, elevated heart rate, raised temperature. You've pushed yourself too hard again,” the old lady said with a scolding tone. “This is why I told Aizawa you shouldn't have participated in the festival at all. You're not properly healed yet.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m fine,” Artemis huffed, swatting away Recovery Girl’s hand. “I don’t need to be babied.”

“You are not fine. Tell me the truth, girl. Did you train after you were released from the hospital instead of taking it easy as I instructed you?” Recovery Girl’s eyes narrowed at the pouting girl.

Artemis didn’t look at her, which told everyone in the room exactly what they needed to know.

“Of course you did,” Bakugou growled with a shake of his head.

Before Artemis could utter another word, Recovery Girl got up and grabbed a handful of files. It was obvious that there would be no room to argue here.

“It was good of you to bring her, boy,” she said to Bakugou. “I’m going to go and fetch Aizawa. Can you stay with her and make sure she doesn't run off?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. Of course he'd have to babysit again, though he’d rather stay if it minimised the chance of Artemis fucking off again.

Artemis sat on the bed, brimming with anger. Despite her exhaustion, she still had enough strength in her to glare holes into the back of Bakugou's head, though perhaps not enough to resist the urge to sucker punch him in the face.

Once the door closed behind Recovery Girl, silence fell over the room. Thoughts rushed through Artemis’s head so fast she could barely grasp them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry.

The fact that Bakugou just stood there, arms crossed, made everything worse. God, she wanted to strangle him.

“You had no right to do that,” she finally spat through gritted teeth. “I don’t need your fucking help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Right,” Bakugou scoffed, turning to meet her gaze. “Because lying on the ground hunched over a toilet bowl is just a normal day for you, right?”

“That’s none of your fucking business. I would have been fine! It was just-”

“No, Artemis,” Bakugou snapped. “It's not ‘just’ anything. Holy shit. You can't destroy yourself in full view of the public and expect people not to take notice. You’re in a school for heroes, woman!”

“Oh, please,” Artemis hissed. “As if you care. We both know you hate my guts. So, what’s this really about, huh? Payback for kicking your arse? Are you so scared that I could beat you again that your only option is to take me out of the competition?”

For a moment, Bakugou just stared at her as he processed the words that had just come out of her mouth. Artemis noticed the vein on his forehead pulsating dangerously, the scent of nitroglycerin filling the air.

“You…” Bakugou's voice trembled as he spoke. “You really… think that's what this is about?”

“What else would it be? I'm sick and tired of everyone trying to baby me. None of you actually care. Just leave me alone!”

Artemis rose to her feet to meet him, her eyes blazing with fury.

“I don't understand what you want from me. Why can't you just let me be? Whatever happens to me is none of your concern.”

“None of my… You fucking dumbass! You almost died. You think that doesn’t affect people?” Bakugou roared. “Goddamnit. You know, I really thought you were smarter than this. You walk around pretending to be better than everyone else, but you can't get it through your skull that none of that matters when you're dead. If you can’t give your best, then why are you even here?” His hands balled into fists. “I dont know what the fuck is going on in that head of yours, but your reckless behaviour is driving me crazy! You think I didn’t notice how you dragged yourself through school the past two weeks? I knew this was going to happen the moment you heard about the Sports Festival.”

Artemis’s rage simmered down to confusion with every word he spat at her. Why was he so concerned? Despite the anger of his words, the look in his eyes was far from hatred. She watched him pace back and forth as he voiced his frustration.

“For fuck’s sake!” Bakugou stopped suddenly and ran his fingers through his hair. “You're so infuriating. I dont know what the fuck you went through to make you care so little about your own life, but I will not stand here and watch until someone has to bury your arse. If you’re incapable of keeping yourself alive, so help me God, I'll kick your arse until you learn.”

And that's when it clicked in her head. Bakugou didn't hate her. Artemis stared at him. Her mouth opened to speak, but she didn't find the right words to say. He cared. Katsuki Bakugou actually cared.

Artemis’s heart started to race. The realisation hit her like a sledgehammer to the head. No-one had ever cared whether she lived or died. No-one had ever been willing to fight for her or make an effort to keep her alive.

“You… care?” She asked in a hoarse whisper. “Whether I live or die… You care about that?”

Her heart was pounding so fast she was sure Bakugou could hear it. At her question, he turned to stare at her in disbelief.

“Did you not listen to what I just said?” Bakugou strode towards her and grabbed her by her shoulders. He shook her more gently than she’d been anticipating. “Of course I fucking care!”

Artemis didn't know what to say to that. No-one in her life had ever said something like that to her. And she knew Bakugou wasn't lying. She could read it in his heartbeat.

Bakugou had trusted her with his life in the USJ. He’d carried her to safety when her own body had given out. And here he was, trying to keep her safe again.

Artemis should have been angry. She should have pushed him away and told him to mind his own business. But the happiness that bubbled up in her was intoxicating.

Before she could stop herself, Artemis leaned forward, grabbed Bakugou by his jacket and pressed her lips to his.

Bakugou froze under her touch. Artemis didn't quite know what she was doing herself, but before she could pull back, his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, his eyes falling shut.

The scent of burned sugar filled her senses, clouding her mind in a way she’d never experienced before. Artemis released the fabric of his jacket to snake her arms around his neck.

Before she could do anything more, the sound of approaching footsteps made both of them freeze. They broke apart breathlessly.

Artemis looked up at Bakugou and recognised the same stunned confusion that she felt. Her cheeks started to burn, the heat spreading from her cheeks to her ears as she realised what she… they… had just done.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Aizawa's muffled voice sounded dangerously close through the door. Bakugou's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself being tossed back onto the bed. The next second, Bakugou was standing as far away from her as he possibly could.

Artemis didn't mind that at all. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest she was almost afraid it would jump out. What the hell had just happened?

#katsuki bakugou #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #gravity #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x oc #bnha x oc #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #bakugou x oc

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zachsgamejournal · 3 years

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COMPLETED: Resident Evil 7

This is the most I've enjoyed a Resident Evil since RE2 on PS1. May actually like it more than Code Veronica...

I kinda hated the freight ship section. By this point, I felt the game was done. But the designers were like: Nope, we're gonna have an environment as large as all previous sections combined, more enemies to face, start your gear at zero, and halfway through, make you replay areas via a flashback that's length to story ratio is 100:1.

The remote bombs were...a weird addition. I could place them on the floor, but not...you know...toss them. For like, when you're being assaulted by slimy monsters with shark teeth...And still, the game gives you a ton of them!

Turns out, I wasn't far from the end of the freight ship. So that was good. Then we end up at the salt mine. Turns out Lucas was just playing along...weird. So he got his arm cut off and everything on purpose? Like, he's a legit psycho?

I'm really confused about where the fetuses with curing abilities are coming from...ah well.

So we get some background info: Eveline was a fetus that was mutated to have super powers. She could infect folks, and cause hallucinations: presenting herself has a young girl. She, having never had a childhood, wants a family--so takes over a family and has them kidnap folks to add to their "family", but she's a psychotic child raised by other psychos, so everyone under her influence ends up violent and cruel.

And she vomits up monsters, or something...

Into the salt mine. I thought this was gonna be another section of exploring and puzzle solving, but it's actually quite linear. Seems they designed it to be the action section since they constantly send you up against molded, and drop healing items and ammo EVERYWHERE! I didn't need that because I had amassed so many healing items and weapons by playing frugally.

It's just like when I replayed Resident Evil 1--early on every zombie is life or death, and every bullet and herb is precious. But by the end, you become Terminator, can't die and tons of ammo.

There's a spiral climb at one point, and I just ran from everything. If you move quick enough, it's pretty clear of enemies. First molded was an easy side step. The second was a crawler and he trapped me on a catwalk. I was getting hit from behind, so had to kill that one. The third guy was just a walker, so I shot him once to get him to stumble, making the walk around easy.

And that was it. Salt Mine done. Which I was thankful, cause that damn tanker section!!

So we end up at the beginning, in the old house, reliving some Mia interactions via hallucinations. Not worried, cause I'm more well armed than an American Police force with more medicine than a...uh, pharmacy...I guess.

The phase one fight with Eveline was...unimpressive. But it was more about the story...I guess? I'm torn between being done with the game, and expecting a boss-fight on par with previous ones. But alas, we simply stab old-lady Eveline (nice twist) in the neck with a cure. She asks, "Why does everyone hate me" -- heart breaking, then talks about how it hurts. Almost as emotionally confusing as the end of Alien Resurrection.

But then...phase 2.

Instead of dying, Eveline turns into a giant tentacle monster. I guess it's inevitable that Resident Evil end on a ridiculous note. As grounded as much of the game is, they had to go big. But it's a pretty lame fight. You just shoot at mega-Eveline until a helicopter drops you special gun (Kind of like Brad dropping a rocket launcher at the end of Resident Evil 1 - wink, wink).

So she dies...for realz this time. And Chris Redfield appears in an Umbrella Helicopter. I'm glad he's not mega-Chris from Resident Evil 5, but he also doesn't look "his age". I don't know, seemed like unnecessary name dropping, but also no harm, no foul. Ethan hops in the chopper, finding Mia alive. Aw, so it is a love story!

But then the game gives this cheesy epilogue, blaming Eveline for being horrible--even calling her an "it". And then talks about how Mia just wants to put everything behind her. Everything being that Mia worked for a shady organization making horrible bio-weapons, and as part of her duties, helped hold a traumatized child captive and then attempted to kill her when the girl inevitably escaped??

Eveline was the real victim in this story. She did horrible things because she was child that wasn't properly loved and raised. No shit she wants to build a family. Her saying, "Why does everyone hate me", heartbreaking. I have kids. They're selfish, violent, impulsive bastards sometimes--but they're really sweet and just need people to love them.

Eveline wasn't given love. She was given orders, and restrictions. No surprise that she lashed out, and she did so in the ways she could: vomiting up molded zombies and possessing people.

So bosses...talk about unbalanced.

Boss 1: I had a single clip of ammo, maybe two healing items, and a pocket knife. All got used really quickly. I think you're not supposed to shoot him, just get the car keys. But it was confusing and intense, because I didn't know what to do. CHALLENGE: 3/5.

Boss 2: Jack again, but now it gets real. Moving around is awkward, and the second half involves a chainsaw duel. I used up at least 10 rounds of shotgun shells, all my healing items, and died at least 10 times trying to beat this boss. I almost switched to easy. CHALLENGE: 5/5.

Boss 3: Marguerite as a crazy bug lady. This was kind of the scariest battle, as she drops in out of nowhere and from behind. And if you don't constantly attack her, she sends bugs after you. This one drove me a bit nuts, but eventually I found the winning strategy. CHALLENGE: 4/5.

Boss 4: Super molded. I basically hid around the corner of the elevator and used all my shotgun shells on it. A few shots from the pistol and the thing was down. Not sure I even took damage. CHALLENGE: 1/5.

Boss 5: Mutant Jack. He was so big that he couldn't move around and hide like previous bosses. I maybe was hit once or twice, but it was nothing. The eyes were obvious weak points. CHALLENGE: 2/5.

Boss 6ish: Two Super-Moldeds. Kind of reminds of the big infected guys from The Last of Us. While they killed me the first time (very quickly), on my second attempt, I kept the elevator between us and used all my grenade launcher ammo against them (which I had been saving). They didn't touch me. CHALLENGE: 2/5.

Eveline Phase 1: Walk towards her, block when she shock waves. Timing was semi awkward. I died once. CHALLENGE: 1/5.

Eveline Phase 2: Shoot at a giant target that doesn't appear to do any actual damage. Could have been a cutscene. CHALLENGE: 1/5.

It's so weird that the hardest bosses were at the beginning. I guess this is where you have consider experience vs challenge. But for survival horror, challenge is part of the experience. You're supposed to be scared of bosses.

I think the final Eveline battle should have the player running through the swamp. Eveline's tentacles swimming after you, and in front of you, giving birth to molded with familiar faces (Like Mia) to freak you out. And that keeps happening until the player is out of ammo and healing supplies. Once you've used your last heal and bullet, Chris Redfield snipes the molded. You watch as the Eveline Mass rises to attack the helicopter. Chris takes aim with the Wesker gun, fires a shot at a tentacle arm--it calcifies and shatters! Eveline freaks out and smacks the chopper, sending the gun flying to the ground. You see it 10 yards away. You run to it, grab it, turn--Mia appears before you. "I'm one with her now. If you kill her, we'll never be together." If you hesitate too long, Mia kills you. If shoot, she shatters--Eveline attacks, final few shots: END.

Ah well. It was a good game and I'll probably play it again. I could see this being a semi-regular replay for me, right there with RE1 and RE2.

#Zach's Game Journal #COMPLETED #Resident Evil 7 #Stadia #Monsters need love too!#Video Games

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nelvana · 4 years

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In which the god of space is met

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which part of a curse is broken Previous: In which the dungeon of space is explored

Warning! This chapter has descriptions of blood and stronger depictions of violence! Reader discretion is advised.

Dialga gasped as they hit the ground, landing on their side, but they barely felt that pain. This fall was barely a pinprick compared to the deep claw marks in their skin, dented and torn armor, and bruises that would only grow to feel worse when this encounter was over. But even that was nothing, nothing compared to how their throat throbbed from their yelling and screaming, to how their pounding heart ached and cried out for their friend. Tears clouded their vision, making the dark caverns appear fuzzy and almost dream-like in how the light refracted in the water in their eyes.

How had everything gone so wrong?

The beginning started out alright, as alright as something like this could go. Once all those from Team Galaxy and allies had jumped through the portal, Dialga paused, and then went right away to readjusting the portal for themselves. They wished that it would be as simple as to allow everyone to skip the dungeon, but there was no sense in arguing against how their powers connected for portal making; it was simply easier to transport themself and Celebi, and arguably Ceebee as well, but they knew she would want to stay with her friends, directly through, but taking mortals would cause problems.

“Well… here we go,” Dialga had murmured to Celebi, who still fluttered beside the larger pokemon.

Celebi had simply nodded, but to Dialga’s surprise, then they smiled softly.

“I am glad to be fighting for the world’s balance by your side,” Celebi told them.

And that, that alone gave Dialga so much more confidence. Maybe things could be alright. They could bring Palkia to their senses, and finally, finally Dialga and Celebi could enjoy the future together without any worries. Dialga smiled back, thanking their partner and returning the sentiment, before stepping through their portal. Once Celebi was safely across, Dialga closed the portal behind them.

At the back of their mind, Dialga worried about how long it would take the others to complete the dungeon, and what state they would be when they did come out, but Dialga knew that they had promised to help weaken Palkia until the group arrived, and they were committed to that promise.

How had everything gone wrong? How had it all gone so wrong so fast?

Palkia… was not open to negotiation, as expected. Part of Dialga had still hoped though, hoped that they had not been too late for that option to be completely gone. Palkia was, at first, furious to see Celebi and Dialga arrive, blaming them for bringing back the “anomalies”. However, afterwards they offered the pair a chance to team up, to destroy the “anomalies” together and “fix” the world’s balance. Trying to explain that Palkia was wrong, trying to negotiate, only brought the space god to the conclusion that Celebi and Dialga were enemies to them again, and thus Palkia charged into battle, starting the actual fight far sooner than Dialga would have hoped for.

Palkia wasted no time in utilising their signature move, as they glowed, glowing pink and orange before releasing a pink crescent-shaped blade of energy from their arm at the pair, tearing apart the cavern and space around it to utilize the attack. Dialga growled, acting swiftly to counter the spacial rend with their own signature attack, charging up a beam of energy and blasting it at their sibling’s attack, reversing time and repairing the damage of the area in the process.

“I’ll back you up,” Celebi had told them quietly.

The pixie pokemon darted away so fast that Dialga couldn’t keep track of where they had disappeared off to; though this didn’t worry them, they knew they could trust Celebi. Sure enough, it hadn’t been long before several whirlwinds of bladed leaves were sent out at Palkia, scratching the hide of the legendary, who let out a sharp hiss.

The battle only started well. It only started that way. Palkia only seemed to grow stronger as their body glowed a stronger and stronger burning red-orange and the parts that didn’t grow began darkening as they lose control over themself to going primal.

Plus, typing wise, Dialga only had dragon-type moves for super-effective damage against Palkia, and their best move for that was their roar of time, which often missed the target completely. Celebi, unlike Ceebee, did not know dazzling gleam, and could only deal neutral damage to Palkia. Palkia themself, however, knew just the right moves to counter both Dialga and Celebi. Dialga resisted many types, but was severely weak to fighting-type moves, so Palkia made sure to make use of the aura sphere attack, which never missed. Palkia didn’t have any type advantages on Celebi, but the size of any attack coming from the space god was hard to dodge and dealt immense damage, and though Palkia already seemed slightly distracted in the heat of the battle, they still seemed to know enough to choose the right moves to target the mythical with.

Celebi and Dialga had put up a good fight, but now, Dialga weakly wondered if that really mattered in the end.

Celebi was dead. Their body, discarded just across the room in such a direct way that while Dialga lay prone on the ground they could not turn their gaze away no matter how much they wished to. It had been a swift end, gored by Palkia’s teeth, leaving their corpse in an almost unrecognizable state from being bitten from something so much larger than them. What could be recognized as the same green that had once been bright, were dulled and wilted, like a leaf in autumn.

Dialga’s throat felt like it was swelling up as they gasped out another sob. Celebi died, died to Palkia as they had to Primal Dialga in the dead timeline; by the teeth of a primal after opposing them.

How Dialga had been so happy for Celebi’s second chance when the meteor had been destroyed. Guilt constantly ate away at them once they were aware of themself again for killing their friend in the other timeline, despite not being in complete control of their own actions, and Dialga had vowed to make things right for Celebi again now that time had been altered. Celebi had not lived as long in this timeline as the other, but would they have been happier? To have less days where they could see bright colors and the warmth of the rising sun, than to have more days in a dark world of despair? Dialga didn’t know, and they would never know for sure now.

Did Celebi know that they wouldn’t make it out of this fight? Dialga was certain that the pixie had attempted singing the perish song, right before being cut off by their untimely death and failing to set up the move. It was hard to piece together the exact memory now between the pain, but if that were the case, Dialga supposed it could have been a good strategy, only as a last resort to knock out the legendaries, but it would have killed Celebi in the end anyway. They didn’t even get that sacrifice now.

Suddenly, Dialga was torn out of their thoughts as Palkia shoved their upper body weight onto them, pinning them to the ground. Dialga hadn’t even felt the willpower, much less the energy, to get back up again before then, but if they were to try, they had just lost their window to do so.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Palkia hissed, leaning down to Dialga’s face to utter their twisted words. “You tried to STOP ME! And you have FAILED! Don’t worry, dearest sibling… I will FIX everything, FIX what you wanted to DESTROY. You may hate me now, but you’ll understand later, you’ll SEE! YOU’LL SEE! I am only trying to do what is RIGHT! I will SAVE us all!”

Dialga could only choke out a weak cough in response. They wanted to argue, but their heart ached and their throat was still sore and Palkia’s claws digging into their neck didn’t help.

“SAY SOMETHING!” Palkia demanded, “is that it? You’re just going to GIVE UP?” they snapped, digging their claws deeper into Dialga’s skin. “FINE. That makes this easier for me. You will thank me later for this.”

“They won’t thank you! You aren’t fixing anything!” Ceebee cried out, flying out from the shadows as she rounded the corner to enter the room of the fight.

“You brought OTHERS here?” Palkia shrieked at Dialga, who could only desperately stare out at the other celebi, the shiny one not their Celebi but the next celebi generation afterwards.

Ceebee didn’t react to the corpse of Celebi, though she seemed already aware of it despite not even looking at it. She knew Celebi was dead the very moment it happened; had she not been brought back to existence then this would have been her birth in this timeline. So, she stubbornly did not look down at the body, as to not scare herself at the sight.

As the rest of the group entered, however, it was hard not to look at their fallen ally. Dialga’s stomach only seemed to twist further at the audible reactions of horror, and how the concern and fear and confusion was all brought together only to see Dialga pinned against the very pokemon they were supposed to beat.

“YOU BROUGHT THE ANOMALIES HERE? HERE, in MY domain?” Palkia roared.

“They aren’t… anomalies,” Dialga wheezed, doing their best to lift their head defiantly.

Palkia let out a low growl, watching as everyone entered, though fortunately, the legendary did not attack them straight away, and only studied them for a few moments, unintendedly giving them time to take in the scene in front of them instead of being caught off guard by being involved in battle right away.

“You will be stopped,” Dialga continued, twisting their gaze to stare Palkia in the eyes.

Palkia laughed, “by WHO? These MORTALS and ANOMALIES you have brought with you?” they sneered, turning to meet Dialga’s gaze again.

“By them, yes. By them or by Arceus. You know that they will not stand for this, you are destroying the balance that holds space together,” Dialga responded, baring their teeth boldly.

“By ARCEUS?” Palkia repeated, something unfamiliar crossing their expression. “Do you REALLY think they will come to help YOU? Arceus will never arrive here! You know WHY? You know WHY Arceus cannot come to stop ANY of us?” they yowled, “Arceus is DEAD!”

Dialga paled, and they could already feel their throat tighten again and head spin.

“You’re lying,” they managed to hiss back.

“I’M NOT! WHY DO YOU THINK THEY NEVER SHOWED UP WHEN YOU SENT THE WORLD INTO DARKNESS FOR CENTURIES?” Palkia cried out, their rage melting momentarily into something far more desperate and mournful. “I SAW IT MYSELF AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE AND I COULD ONLY WATCH AND DO NOTHING!” they howled, eyes welling up. “YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! ARCEUS IS GONE AND I’M THE ONLY ONE TRYING TO FIX THINGS!”

For what felt like ages, Dialga could only stare blankly back at Palkia. The illusion vision they had been warned about… had already happened, long in the past it seemed. How could Dialga have not known before? In hindsight, it made sense, it made sense that that was why Arceus had never helped fix things in the dead timeline, but Dialga still could not wrap their head around the idea. Arceus had always been there, the only being to have come before them being Mew themself. Legendaries of their kind had never died before at any point in history, and the idea that something out there could kill gods of this power sounded both impossible and terrifying.

And yet, and yet, the raw tone in Palkia’s voice, the heartbroken look in their eyes… Dialga knew they were being honest, that this wasn’t something they had been tricked to believe as a strange result of beginning to turn primal.

“How… How did they die?” Dialga asked quietly, finding themself looking at Palkia with a far gentler expression than they had in a long time. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

Palkia turned away, screwing their eyes tightly shut in an attempt to rid them of the tears that had sprung up during their outburst. They swallowed a breath, hiccupping slightly as they seemed to consider what to say. As they did this, the weight pushing Dialga lessened slightly, making them wonder if maybe this could be it, if they could turn things around.

Finally though, Palkia looked back down at Dialga, and though it was hard to see at their angle, Dialga could make out their sibling’s face turn into a scowl.

“You cannot help. Not anymore. I will deal with this… You are fortunate you cannot die… at least not by me, not that I would want that, I still need you, but… I at least need you out of my way for now, which I can do,” Palkia grumbled.

With that, Dialga felt dagger sharp teeth sink around their throat. They struggled feebly for a few moments, eyes widened in horror, but it didn’t take long for their eyes to shut and body to go limp as darkness overtook them.

Palkia stood up, stepping back from their unconscious and wounded sibling and looking down at their handiwork. After simply staring at Dialga for a few moments, they opened a hole in space below the god of time, dropping them into the void and sealing the tiny portal behind them, sending Dialga off to some unknown place in the Spacial Rift. There were a few quiet gasps from the group, though Ceebee was quick to assure them through telepathy that Dialga had not been moved far.

Finally, Palkia turned back to the group, licking the blood from the lips, smearing the crimson liquid on their face instead of cleaning it in a few spots. Their orange eyes were sharp as they stared down at the group, and glowed dimly in the darkness of the cave.

“I suppose…” Palkia began, “…that having you here isn’t THAT bad. I can REMOVE the ANOMALIES easier here MYSELF. Especially seeing as my own allies seem to have FAILED me.”

At being mentioned, the Lake Guardians cautiously floated out from another corridor and into the room. The ditto trudged along much slower behind them, dragging themself across the ground to join the others. It was evident they had been here for awhile, as at the very least, Ditto could not enter the Spacial Rift on their own and would have had to have been brought here by Palkia before all this, though whatever the quartet had been doing before entering was beyond the party.

“We apologize, Master Palkia,” Uxie told them, “we failed to locate them before they arrived here, but we returned as quickly as we could to help you; as you know. We were unaware that they would come here to disturb you…”

Palkia narrowed their eyes, “…I will give you three… you three and that THING you’ve gotten another chance to help me make this RIGHT. This time. But you better not fail me here.”

“We will not fail you, Master Palkia,” Azelf assured them, bowing slightly towards the legendary.

“Good,” Palkia growled back, barely glancing at the trio floating beside them.

Turning to focus on the group again, Palkia let their gaze wash over the eight pokemon momentarily before smiling and speaking again.

“There are… MORE of you than I need to REMOVE. Though only…” They trailed off, eyes darting from ‘mon to ‘mon, and then a second time as if Palkia had forgotten how to count. “…only four of you that are here are PROBLEMS.” They focused their gaze on Ceebee for a moment. “I suppose now that that other celebi is gone, YOUR existence isn’t as PARADOXAL. So, let’s save some trouble, Celebi, Torchic, Absol, and Duskull, if you wish to LEAVE now, no harm will come to you. If you choose to stay and fight with these ANOMALIES, we will be forced to REMOVE you with them,” Palkia offered.

Keahi, though with shaking legs after what zie had already witnessed, stepped forward and held zirself high, glaring against the powerful being with only a stubborn determination that burned in zir eyes.

“We’ll never leave them! They are our friends, not anomalies, and we will prove it to you!” zie yelled.

Tsuki stepped up beside the torchic, “they are not what causes the imbalance of the world, you are. We will fight you to fix the disasters that have befallen this world.”

“Y-Yeah! We didn’t come this far to just give up here!” Edgar added, voice wavering slightly, though he did not back down. “We aren’t going to abandon our friends!”

Ceebee’s expression hardened, “what you’re doing here is wrong, Palkia. You may not see it, but your ‘help’ is only tearing everything apart further. We’ve already seen it firsthand.”

The four of them stood in front of their remaining allies, staring defiantly up at Palkia and their own allies. They were well aware of the risks, but they knew that before coming here. Seeing Dialga and Celebi both fail to come close to beating Palkia had certainly hammered that home, but at least that pair had weakened this legendary. They weren’t going to suddenly turn around now, even with the stakes displaying so horrifically in front of their faces. Behind them, the other four felt a newfound confidence at being backed up.

Palkia snarled back at them, “you are all FOOLISH! I offered you a chance to SURVIVE and you choose to stay and DIE? You will all DIE for the wrong side? Dialga is foolish too; they have lied to you. I am FIXING everything! You are all only RUINING what I am trying to FIX! All for what? FRIENDS? You are FOOLS! I offered you a chance and you THREW IT AWAY!” they snapped, and then seemed to calm slightly. “Fine, you’ve made your choice. We will offer no mercy now!”

“We expect that, and will offer you none either,” Ceebee growled, eyes and antennae already glowing with intent.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which part of a curse is broken Previous: In which the dungeon of space is explored

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recentanimenews · 4 years

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OPINION: How I Discovered Haikyu!! (And Myself), Thoughts From a First-Time Viewer

Haikyu!!'s final season just began, and for years I have been meaning to start watching. Now seems like a great time to rectify that, so I've finally caught up and am eagerly awaiting the next arc to see how the Karasuno Crows fare.

I decided to track my thoughts on everything that happened — something of a time capsule from before the main cast joined together all the way to them competing in Nationals.

As a baseline, here is everything I knew about Haikyu!! before watching Episode 1:

It's a popular sports anime about volleyball

The main character is the orange-haired kid, Hinata

They're going to go to Nationals. Not sure about the details, but I know they’ll make it into the tournament

I actually watched this with someone who has seen it before. She didn't spoil anything but occasionally gave insight I may not have otherwise realized at the moment.

Episodes 1-6: Joining the Team

For the first part of the show, we largely follow Hinata's perspective. As I assumed going in, he's our generally underachieving but unfailingly energetic sports boy who hadn't met anyone who loves his sport as much as him until now. Specifically, he meets Kageyama, one of the best setters in the prefecture.

I started to notice that the storytelling’s actually pretty good when the newly assembled Crows get a practice game with the 4th ranked school in the prefecture. It gives them someone challenging so the main cast can see what they’re up against but also gives them a team close enough to their level that they have a real chance of winning and also keeps the truly powerful foes hidden for later arcs.

I also really appreciate that during the games, the characters try out new things, but are never truly sure that anything will work. It adds some experimentation and uncertainty to every game.

Episodes 7-10: Crows, Assemble

The rest of the main cast joins up with the existing group, forming the core rotation of players and major characters in the show.

One of the new characters, Asahi, showcases one of the show’s strong points for me. He's the team’s ace, but both he and Hinata grapple with performance anxiety. As my watch-along partner put it, Hinata’s anxiety comes in waves, mostly during games, while Asahi’s is more of a constant background hum.

As someone who has struggled with anxiety most of my life, I heavily identify with Asahi’s backstory, even down to not going for the spike in the final play of his flashback game due to thinking about how pointless it was since he wouldn't get it through.

Episodes 11-13: Crows versus Cats

Karasuno gets its practice game against their rival school, Nekoma. Both teams have fallen from grace in recent years, so this is the Crows’ chance to prove they can crawl their way back to the top and test out their teamwork and strategies from the previous arcs.

At this point, the mind games aspect of each match starts coming through. Both teams try to figure out how their opponents think so they can react faster, while also trying to hide their own tells to keep their opponents guessing.

When Hinata first started closing his eyes to make his special fast attacks with Kageyama, I joked that his power-up was going to be just ... opening his eyes. It turned out I wasn’t far from the truth. It doesn’t work immediately, but all of the Crows start polishing their weaknesses to make for a more well-rounded team.

Episodes 14-16: Preliminaries Round 1

As the boys go into the Interhigh Tournament, people whisper about the “Flightless Crows.” They proceed to absolutely crush their first opponents.

The show follows the girls’ volleyball team for a bit, too, amping up the emotions at the end of the first round by cutting between the girls losing while the boys breeze through their sets.

It’s a bit unfortunate the girls are beaten so badly just to show that the boys have grown, especially since they don’t end up getting much screentime for the rest of the show outside of being in the stands or otherwise supporting the boys.

Episodes 17-26: Daito and Aoba Jousai

After getting through the first part of the tournament easily, Karasuno is up against two powerhouse teams. First: Daito, a school with defense so amazing it’s called “The Iron Wall of Daito.” Second, Aoba Jousai, the school that many of Kageyama’s peers, including the setter he looks up to, enrolled in.

They manage to steal a win from Daito, but ultimately lose to Aoba Jousai.

The ending of this arc was when I realized I was truly invested in the show. For one, my watch-along partner and I were silent during many of the plays instead of joking about anime tropes like we had been in earlier arcs. Second, during one of the final scenes of the season, the entire team went out to eat after the game and we just silently watched everyone slowly start eating and then mutually begin crying.

Episodes 27-36: Season 2

As we start Season 2, there is a very clear and welcome difference almost immediately — the animation and camerawork are a lot better. Neither were bad in Season 1, but now they’re on an entirely different level. As my watch-along partner put it, there is some very naturalistic movement in some of the scenes.

Also, this is when the team got a second manager, Yachi. I seriously cannot think of a character I have more personally related to in an anime than Yachi. She is a nervous wreck that is constantly apologizing and gets spooked by every little thing, even as small as someone talking to her. She outright views herself as “Townsperson B,” from when she played that role in drama club. I turned to my watch-along partner and said, “I’m in this picture, and I don’t like it.”

Meanwhile, in the actual plot, my watch-along partner pointed out that while the team started developing specialized skills at their summer camp, the majority of their training seems to be devoted to getting down the fundamentals of every part of the game, then practicing them constantly. Like how Nishinoya is normally the libero and is almost exclusively receiving, but after seeing an opponent’s strategy, wants to learn to toss so he can replicate something he previously lost against.

Episodes 37-44: Prelims

The show uses the prelims as an opportunity to shine in two new ways. First, if a player is injured, they're checked to see if it's serious, then given a proper medical exam off the court. No powering through a concussion.

Second, since main characters are no longer guaranteed to be on the court for the entire game, the cast expands to include other members we previously haven't focused on.

My watch-along partner mentioned Ennoshita, Daichi's relief player, a few times throughout the show, so I knew he was going to be important eventually. But to give an idea of how little he impacted things until this point, when he was called in, I exclaimed that they were putting Steve McBlandman in the game. Despite that, he really does get to shine on the court. He’s a nervous wreck at first (join the club), but he’s also most likely to take over as captain once Daichi graduates and proves himself to be a reliable teammate by the time Daichi returns.

Episodes 45-50: Rematch

In terms of storytelling, there’s not much to add for this game. The two teams are established factions and we know the stakes, so it’s more of a puzzle to see who can find new strategies during the game and outthink the other team, which is made harder by the rivals bringing in a totally new player referred to as "Mad Dog."

Eventually, Karasuno wins, ending Season 2 with a promise that the finals of the qualifiers for Nationals will be the start of Season 3. Due to knowing a few details ahead of time, I already know a single game will be the entirety of the season.

Episodes 51-57: Final, Part 1

As both teams step onto the court and warm up, we are reminded that our heroes are pretty much all nervous wrecks, with most of the team in various stages of being curled up on the ground or asking for nausea medication. And, honestly, I was too. By the time the game hits set four, I wanted to grab my inhaler.

The Crows are up against Shiratorizawa, a team with Ushiwaka, a player so strong that early in the game, it took three blockers and a libero just to return his attack, and later on he managed to dislocate a blocker’s finger with a spike.

Episodes 57-60: Final, Part 2

Full Disclosure: I was so invested in this game and the following season I actually forgot to take notes, so everything from here on is a second watch!

In my opinion, everyone gets to shine by the end of the game. Nishinoya sets up a full team synchro attack with his libero toss, Tsukishima is the only person whose blocks come close to keeping up with Ushiwaka, and so on.

Episodes 61-65: Winter Training

The first half of the season starts with some of Karasuno’s players being invited to special training camps. Hinata, being too impatient to accept that he hadn’t been invited, infiltrates one.

Since he wasn’t invited, he’s not allowed to play, leading to him needing to watch the players and game instead of the ball for once. As a result, he starts learning to read peoples' tells and building an intuition of how to move, rather than just relying on instinct.

Or, as I said to my watch-along partner the first time around, Hinata has reached his ultimate powerup: thinking.

Episodes 66-70: Downtime

In the interstitial time between arcs, the team has a practice game against Date Tech again so the Crows can get used to playing together after being apart. We get some character moments, like all the third years going to a shrine on New Year’s, and when the team arrives in Tokyo we finally get a bit of Kiyoko’s backstory.

It’s hard to pin down what exactly about it worked, but it felt really nice to see the third years all going to a shrine together in their final months before the end of high school.

And with that, the Spring Tournament, a.k.a. Nationals, begins.

After going through over 70 episodes of Haikyu!!, I can say with absolute certainty I’m sticking around until the end. I skimmed over a lot of details so every section wasn’t a page long (and even then the first draft of this was over 4,000 words), but every game is filled with strategy, mind games, and experimentation.

Outside of the games, the show does a great job of building up the cast so the rivals are well-realized characters in their own right. Not the most complex in anime, but more than a wall for the main characters to climb over.

All in all, the show is absolutely worth the watch. It'll take a while to get through, but it's also easy to pick back up if you need to stop partway through.

What are some of your favorite moments in Haikyu!!? Are you watching the second half of the newest season with me? Who is best boy? Let me know in the comments!

Kevin Matyi is a freelance features writer for Crunchyroll. He's been watching anime for as long as he can remember, and his favorite shows tend to be shonen and other action series.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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mensbodybuildingtips · 4 years

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Top 10 Tips For Building Injury-Free Shoulder Mass

Shoulders Are A Challenging Muscle mass Team - Mostly Due to the fact that They Are Utilized In Pressing And Pulling Workouts For Both The Breast As well as Back, And also Are Commonly Overworked. That Makes Training Them Outdoors Of Those Days A Very Cautious Task.

The deltoid is a three-headed muscle group that is connected to the body by a ball-and-socket joint. The 3 heads - anterior, medial and also posterior - in mix with the joint kind make it a versatile muscular tissue team efficient in controlling the upper body.

There are a lot more complex components to the shoulders compared to just the former, median and posterior deltoid. Entailed are:

Trapezius

Supraspinatus

Infraspinatus

Teres Minor

Subscapularis

Glenohumeral joint

Acromioclavicular joint

Sternoclavicular joint

By Style, As well as For Its Participation In Bordering Second Muscular tissue Groups And also Joints, The Shoulder Is Quite Vulnerable Joint To Injury.

Because of its ability to removal ahead and also backward, laterally and in a 360-degree activity path - all in varying levels - it can be testing to stay injury free.

Training the shoulders offer a couple of problems: Overtraining is typical since of its assistance to the breast, back and also arms. The round as well as outlet joint is additionally a susceptability since, while functional, the countless tendon as well as ligament networks leave the shoulder available to a variety of injuries. One of the most typical: A rotator cuff injury.

For these 2 reasons, it makes shoulders amongst the very first locations a person could come to be hurt amongst the last places a person could find development. Actually, in between the knee and also the shoulder, there are a lot more bodybuilding injuries in these locations compared to any other, and also those injuries are the single largest hindrance to acquiring mass.

Strong shoulders are additionally the gateway to large lifts in compound workouts for back and breast. In between the deadlift and bench press, the shoulders are the single best aiding joint. Unpleasant injuries or a basic lack of toughness or dimension in the shoulders could mean the capacity to raise heavy to obtain mass in various other body components is thwarted.

So, the trick for shoulders is to obtain as much mass and toughness as possible, while also staying injury cost-free. That may be a tall order, but when care is taken, it is possible.

Here Are 10 Tips To Aid You Complete Your Objectives:

1. Analyze just how much you are currently utilizing your shoulders in other exercises. When creating a routine, take a look at the variety of collections and also workouts you are currently carrying out in various other locations of your training that involve the shoulders. It is essential to take all of those into consideration and count them into your training. You will certainly still have to do a training routine to separate as well as add mass to shoulders, but you'll wish to do it with the other work in mind.

PRO TIP: Overtraining can be the greatest stumbling block to mass gains in the shoulders, so you have to look at the whole photo, after that create a regimen that has much less in it.

2. To avoid injuries, constantly extend your shoulders completely on days you are doing simply shoulder work. Hopefully, on the days you do upper body you will certainly do a tiny workout of the front delts, and also will do some type of heat up on days when you are preparing to row hefty or do deadlifts. It's especially essential on days you are going to work the shoulders alone. It is necessary to take shoulders through a complete series of activity everywhere, gradually circling ahead as well as back in complete circles, as well as lifting them bent on the sides, and also front. For back delts, area fingertips gently on the back of the head as well as slowly bring your elbows back like wings after that touch elbows in front of the face.

PRO TIP: Warming up any muscular tissue group is necessary, but heating up a joint as facility as the shoulder is absolutely vital to avoid injury. Usage stretching to accomplish this and take your time.

3. Decrease the overhead pushing you do. That could seem counter-intuitive because the armed forces (or overhead) press is the matching of a substance activity for the shoulder. Nonetheless, the military press can endanger the shoulders in 2 ways: One, the movement tightens the range at the top of the activity, and squeezes the joint into an unnatural structure - particularly in a lockout. With hefty weight included, it's a foolproof means to stimulate an injury. The other thing it does is compromise the back delt as well as the super-spinatus. When you rest upright and also order a bar from behind, you are immediately hyperextending the joint and triggering micro-tears. As many injuries happen because area as in the rotator cuff. Most sports-related shoulder injuries are those that bring the shoulder too expensive in a complete rotation - including a tennis serve, a swimming stroke, and so on. Throwing weight right into the mix makes that the even more likely.

PRO TIP: When doing military press, keep hold wide as well as have a person hand you bench, or use dumbbells and also maintain them a little onward with a wider-than-normal push. Use front press with a bar instead for more narrow work.

4. Utilize a mix of cord, pinhead and also barbell. A mix of device is necessary when training shoulders - as is functioning them one at a time. Utilizing plats for front raises in one exercise, is somewhat different than utilizing pinheads. The grip is various, the concentrate on supporting muscular tissues is different - even the effects on the core of the body during a modification in device, is different. Cable work a stress and anxieties the muscular tissues much in a different way compared to either pinheads or barbells - in both concentric and eccentric portions of a movement.

PRO TIP: If one exercise bent-over laterals for rear delts, use cable televisions the following week, by pushing a level bench in between 2 high cord pulleys and also pulling throughout as well as down for the back delts - a straightforward change that can reach smaller distant muscles as the Teres Minor, or Supraspinatus.

5. Focus on shoulders by conserving the most effective for last. Top priority work has actually long been the means for people to raise weak body parts. Since we use our shoulders so much for both chest (front delts) and back (back delts) it's an absolute must to conserve shoulder exercises for week's end when you have two days of rest going into the next week. Prioritizing shoulders is like putting them in the starring duty of your workout routine for a specified amount of time.

PRO TIP: Choosing when the shoulders will certainly be put spotlight, such as at the start or end of an exercise week, allows you regulate what does it cost? focus as well as remainder they will get.

6. Pace is especially important for shoulders. If you're not using this strategy for shoulders, you're not getting all you could from your workouts. The shoulders can hold up against a particular amount of cheating, however it's not suggested on a regular basis. By controlling the number of secs it requires to complete a complete array of movement within a solitary repeating, you can keep muscles maximally got, ensure optimum stress by eliminating energy and decrease risk of injury with slow and regulated movements. Regulated, tempo-driven job will create the shapes and size you desire for your shoulders. PRO

PRO TIP: Try out pace, yet recognize that a 1 to 3 second concentric phase, a 2 to 5 second eccentric stage, and a top/ base of concentric/ eccentric phase of 0 to 2 secs is a great rule of thumb.

7. Supersets and also large sets function well for shoulders. There are body parts you can educate making use of a normal set and also associate framework, as well as rarely vary that, as well as it will certainly work. In the situation of shoulders and also legs, that is not so. Hardly ever could a person develop the top quality as well as depth in the shoulders - allow alone the mass - without endeavoring variation in set types. Supersets work very well with shoulders because they enable you to educate the shoulders extremely without stopping, while moving from visit head.

PRO TIP: Maintaining the warmth of strength up on shoulders - specifically on a single weekly workout - while maintaining variety, is the trick to growth.

8. Try training shoulders simply when a week. Given that you possibly obtain a great deal of job in on the shoulders throughout other exercises, try focusing on a single high-intensity exercise. You could find that solitary exercise reveals previous overtraining. PRO SUGGESTION: Do one high-intensity exercise (strength produced via either weight, rate, or set type), or alternating weeks.

9. Separate shoulder heads in rotating workouts. Mass programs don't discuss seclusion job as a lot as they discuss substance movements, but it is necessary for shoulders to have both in order to expand and establish well, and continue to be injury-free. We suggest outlining out 3 weeks of work that feature concentrate on seclusion in each of the 3 triangular heads.

PRO TIP: Single arm deal with either pinheads or cable televisions can make all the distinction in structure independent strength

10. Check your type on a regular basis. Mass benefit shoulders isn't about hefty weights. In basic, you must raise hefty to load on mass, but you have to additionally maintain great kind as you relocate up in weight in shoulder work, or injuries will certainly torment you throughout your health club job. Checking type on a routine basis is a great way to ensure that you continuously lift with stability as you go up in weight.

PRO TIP: Pick one workout each workout - now and then - to lighten the load and take a readied to failure utilizing impressive form.

#bodybuilding #exercise #health #health club #weight #workout #workout routines

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meditativeyoga · 5 years

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Finding the Dance in Transition from Downward-Facing Dog to Upward Bow

Establish a mindset of a dancer to discover your inner rhythm transitioning from Downward-Facing Canine Position to Wheel Pose.

Earlier this year while watching Jazz, filmmaker Ken Burns' docudrama series, I was struck by a comment from Chicago jazz excellent Eddie Condon. A leader in the desegregation of jazz, Condon observed that when white musicians initially came on the scene they were excited to play jazz however 'rigid with education.' I was advised that as we in the West welcome the old custom of yoga exercise, we require to leave room for the natural aspects that maintain a yoga technique as lively as it is major.

Contemporary yoga, very influenced by Western culture, has actually taken the technique to whole brand-new levels of anatomical precision. And also there's no question about it: Strategy and form issue. Correct kind harnesses our power and also places it to great usage. Biomechanical information direct us around obstacles and assist us avoid risks. If we end up being too attached to create, we run the risk of losing the basic pleasures and insights of mindful movement as well as might finish up bolstering the barrier between body and mind that, ideally, hatha yoga exercise breaks down. We can conveniently neglect yoga is a dancing.

In this column I'll describe a vinyasa-the word could symbolize a certain setting or activity yet is most frequently used to describe a series of motions purposely linked by the breath-a fantastic instance of just how a sense of dance can be protected in yoga exercise. This collection of postures evolved, I make sure, from yoga practiced less with ambition compared to with curiosity and a compelling impulse to see past the familiar limits of asana.

Though the series can be fantastic fun, it needs both shoulder and back flexibility, so I suggest waiting till the latter part of your practice when you are completely heated up prior to trying it. To plan for the sequence you can exercise backbends and also shoulder openers. Also, as you proceed via the sequence, bear in mind that you don't have to complete the entire vinyasa. The point is just to obtain into the circulation and also explore.

The Relevance of Engaging the Shoulders in Downward-Facing Dog

The series starts with Adho Mukha Svanasana (Downward-Facing Canine Posture). A staple of nearly every hatha yoga technique, a totally rewarding Downward Pet can be exceptionally evasive even for veteran experts. I suggest that you begin in Balasana (Youngster's Posture), resting on your heels and also bending ahead till your upper body hinges on your legs, your head on the floor, and also your arms at your sides.

To end up being quiet as well as focused, close your eyes as well as song in to your breathing. Do you feel your body step somewhat in feedback to each breath? With that said activity, you're currently dancing. The pulse of the breath, like a drum, acts as the rhythm for all our activities. Its beat is always there, but our bodies can become so conditioned to assuming and also assessing that we forget to simply pay attention for it-and to really feel the continuous inner dance. Youngster's Posture, in its simpleness, places forth few barriers to such inner questions. In silent postures such as this, the interior rhythm is so noticeable that I can't help however ask yourself if the initial yogis became so attracted by their own internal rhythms as they beinged in reflection that at some point they couldn't include an impulse to reveal that pulse externally in the movements we call asanas.

Allow your feeling of internal rhythm to grow in Child's Posture, remaining focused on your breath as you expand your arms onward and also correct them. Place your hands on the floor concerning shoulder-width apart. Breathe in to lift your hips off your heels and also breathe out as you come to all fours. Considering that great shoulder rotation will be a need in the coming vinyasa, allow's pause to investigate the arms as well as shoulders. Not understanding the best ways to finest use the shoulders is a significant impediment in yoga exercise for lots of people, but with time as well as passion any individual can reverse less compared to ideal practices as well as replace them with much better placement, activity, and ease.

Keeping your head at shoulder degree, spread your fingers large open. To decrease weight on the wrists, root the balls of your fingers into the floor, particularly the sphere of the forefinger and also the pad of the thumb. This movement activates the arches of the hands, boosting both stability as well as buoyancy in the wrists, arm joints, and shoulders.

Arrange your arms to make sure that the inner elbows deal with somewhat ahead. If you are very versatile in your shoulders, watch that you don't roll your elbow joints too far ahead, an activity that could compress the shoulders. Next off, expand from the side ribs via the triceps (the muscle mass on the back of the arm) as well as remain to revolve your arms outward. These actions take on added stamina when you concurrently reroot the rounds of the fingers. Basing the hands rotates your reduced arms somewhat in, which might appear to negate the exterior turning of the upper arms. In fact, it doesn't, your joint joints are designed with sufficient versatility to permit both these activities, as well as your arms will be extra secure as a result of making them.

Externally revolving your top arms also broadens the upper body and broadens the back, allowing the muscular tissues of the thoracic back to engage even more completely. Consciously glide your internal shoulder blades far from the ears to enable the top spinal column to removal ahead into the breast, minimizing the convex contour of your upper back. You will require to pay attention to this action as you relocate right into Downward Canine, where the obstacle of keeping shoulder positioning boosts.

Now turn your focus to your breathing once more, this moment aiming to sense its rhythm as motion in the muscular tissues along the back, perhaps even allowing it removal your spinal column a little bit. Wonder about how the spine relocations, explore its capability to bend, arch, revolve, extend, and shorten. You can examine these opportunities at all you wish. Your motions need not be huge, indeed, your body might appear to be fixed. Notification if you resist the idea of such improvisation. If you end up being dogmatic concerning constantly implementing positioning and also strategy, valuable as they might be, form could come to be an imposition that covers up inner rhythm as well as makes every unplanned activity suspect rather than a possibility for discovering.

Find Size in Your Down Canine with Spine Extension

Now start to extend your back towards your tail. Informed by your current explorations right into the back's snaky nature, probably you could really feel each private vertebra step. Somewhat drop your tailbone, allowing its weight decrease the arch in the back spine, and somewhat pull the lower abdomen in towards your back.

Turn your toes under and breathe in as you lift your knees off the flooring, then breathe out as well as push your hips up as well as back, an action that will expand your shoulders as well as back as well as place even more weight on your feet. Keep your knees bent and, as you did while on all fours, check out the inner, rhythmic motion of your breathing and also the mild extending of the spinal muscular tissues. Continuously extend your back toward the tailbone.

This asana mimics the movement of a pet awakening from a nap, so take pleasure in an elegant, yawning stretch, as though you were recently awake. Before clearing up into stillness, feel totally free to extend at all that really feels great to you, maintaining your knees curved will offer you much more flexibility to shake your hips and spinal column. If you highly prolong both arms as well as legs, Downward Canine will continuously awaken the spinal column and instill it with energy.

Ideally, in Downward Pet your weight should be uniformly dispersed in between the hands as well as feet. If you have even more weight on your hands-a typical problem-try this: Emphasis considerable focus on grounding your legs. This guideline may seem easy, however it actually isn't. The most regular error I see in Downward Pet dog is obstructing the shoulder girdle straight down toward the flooring. If you do this, you'll undermine your ability to root the legs and feet efficiently.

Instead, raise and also widen your shoulders a little, then breathe out as you rotate the base of your hips skyward. Proceed to lengthen your back toward your hips as you do this to prevent compressing the back spinal column. Explore this action for several breaths and afterwards, on an exhalation, straighten your legs, bringing your heels to the flooring if possible. This action will even more extend your shoulders.

Even if your heels do not yet reach the floor, you could bring more of your weight toward your feet. With each brand-new exhalation lengthen your spinal column toward the tailbone as well as take your heels back as well as down while spreading the round of each foot wide to trigger the arcs. If you are fairly complimentary in your hips, rooting your heels will certainly be sufficient action to generate stamina and a buoyant internal lift from the ankles through the knees to the hips. If your heels do not relax on the flooring or you do not feel a lift in your legs, concentrate on prolonging your calf bones below the rear of the knees to the heels and on rooting the spheres of the feet. Consciously moving your femur bones toward the rear of the legs also helps. If you still feel extra weight on your hands than on your feet, flex your knees to make all these corrective movements easier.

Solidly grounding your legs will both extend your back and also extend your shoulders. Although the shoulders are currently as fully extended as you can make them, keep a tip of the feeling that your shoulder band is still slightly lifted by visualizing the internal underarms being drew towards the back shoulders as if by a string. Currently that your shoulders are much better straightened, breathe out and also extend from your side ribs via your triceps muscles and lower arms so highly that you transfer some of your weight ahead on the hands, putting slightly even more weight on the spheres of the fingers than the heels of the hands.

Continue to revolve your upper arms outward, as you practiced previously, to stay clear of pressing your shoulders as well as top back. If your arms resist external rotation, once more raise the shoulders slightly toward the ceiling. Additionally, rather than diving your head down, keep it positioned in between your arms. Both these activities assist you prevent hyperextension of the shoulder and also excessive interior turning. Specifically if you have a tendency to hyperextend your shoulders, this strategy might make you really feel limited in the beginning, yet it will certainly likewise make your shoulder joints safer as well as your pose even more balanced.

Refining the circulation of weight between the arms and also legs is a consistent procedure, as is stabilizing the activity of the hips and shoulders. Let the rhythm of your breathing be your continuous ally in discovering equilibrium within your pose. Feel how each breathing allows the body to increase, while each exhalation sends currents of activity pumping out via the arm or legs.

As your pose expands even more consistent as well as silent, close your eyes as well as transform your focus to your stubborn belly, where the rhythm of the breath could usually be noticed quite easily. Allow the breath produce a feeling of inner room and also power within the hips. Feel just how the natural release supplied by the exhalation leads to the muscle mass behind the abdominal body organs being drew back into the spinal column to produce a lift. This lift could be quite buoyant, virtually like a balloon floating into the sky. As you capture a ride on that action, visualize that your arm or legs are not holding you up, they are holding you down!

When you could not maintain the posture with steady convenience, come down as well as rest momentarily approximately in Youngster's Posture prior to returning to Downward Dog as well as beginning your circulation toward Urdhva Dhanurasana (Upward Bow Posture).

Moving From Downward-Facing Pet dog to Upward Bow Pose

Once you are back in Downward Pet, remain mindful of a couple of tips that are crucial to the coming sequence. Keep pressing your hips firmly away from your shoulders. Second, keep your shoulders extended as well as straightened as you have actually exercised. Third, remember to take a breath. And also 4th, remember this is a dance: Enjoy!

In Downward Pet, turn your left hand farther to the left as well as strongly root it into the flooring. Transforming your hand is not absolutely required, it will certainly assist you attain the shoulder rotation you'll eventually require to move right into Urdhva Dhanurasana. Next, elevate your right leg, flexing the knee and turning it up and behind you so your right hip lifts as well as turns your abdominal area with it, starting the spin of the tummy as well as spine that will ultimately take you to Urdhva Dhanurasana. However let's not concentrate on the backbend right now. Enjoy this fabulous spinal twist.

Relax your leg as well as let it hang, enabling its passive weight to yank on your right hip and also roll your abdominal area further to the. Focus extra on releasing than on attempting, adopting a go-with-the-flow attitude that invites a sense of interest as you move off the beaten course. Keep expanding back through your hips as you utilize your breath to soften the muscular tissues along your spine and also make its motion a lot more fluid. As before, discover gently moving the spinal column to aid launch holding patterns. Aim to feel which component of your back is tightest and offer it extra attention, 'sweet-talking' it with your breath.

When you have rotated the back as deeply as possible, lift onto your right fingertips to produce also more area for the hips as well as upper body to transform. You can also strengthen the spin by flexing your left knee and also raising up on tiptoe with the left foot. With these activities, you could bend extra deeply at the hip and also probably coax a little bit extra activity in the back until, finally, your entire torso revolves, your best foot floats simply off the floor, your heart deals with up, as well as you can look under your arm.

All the while, remain to removal your hips away from the shoulders. Of course, the deeper the spin, the further your upper body arcs backwards, which could raise the worry of dropping. Purposely feel any type of concern you could experience, highly root your hand and also foot, and also launch into the twist rather of concentrating on the approaching backbend. I urge you to attempt this much of the sequence several times to obtain comfortable with hanging backwards.

When you feel ready to take the right leg the entire method to the flooring, breathe in as well as extend your hips strongly far from the shoulders, on your exhalation, let the twist turn your leg all the means over. As you do this, your right-hand man will leave the floor.

Now comes one of the most important part of the flow. An usual response now is to windmill your right arm to the floor on your side. Instead, relax your right arm by your ear. Do not rush with this setting, resolve in where you are for a moment. Make sure your breathing is stable, reducing it down and prolonging the exhalation if necessary. Next, place your feet parallel with each various other, a little bigger than hip-width apart. Put your mind in your belly and also when again lift the pelvis, feeling it draw the weight of the torso away from the arm as well as lengthen the shoulder joint.

The shoulders are critically crucial in this change. Unless you keep length in the joints as you come close to the backbend, your shoulders will secure up and quit you from completing the activity. Actually, going no further than the spin is probably your best choice if you have chronic shoulder injuries, a tendency to dislocate your shoulder, or could not yet lift into Urdhva Dhanurasana from the flooring. If, for whatever factor, you make a decision that going farther is beyond your capacities, just appreciate the spin for a couple of breaths, launching right into the inmost turning feasible. When you're ready ahead out of the pose, roll your chest back around to the left, pivot your left foot forward so the toes face the hand, and carefully bring your right limb back over to Downward Pet.

If you do feel ready to proceed to Urdhva Dhanurasana, wait until the back spin has deepened as high as possible. Flex your knees and also once more press your hips strongly away from the chest to elongate the shoulders. You could have observed that I keep repeating the guideline to removal your hips away from the shoulders. That's since it is the single essential maneuver throughout this entire vinyasa and assists to stay clear of emphasizing the shoulders. The length in the shoulder that arises from extending the hips far from the shoulders frees you approximately turn your top spinal column deeply to the right as well as get to expenses to put your appropriate hand on the floor in Urdhva Dhanurasana.

If you couldn't obtain sufficient extension through the left shoulder to pivot right into Urdhva Dhanurasana on your initial attempt, try again, this time much more highly pressing your hips away from your shoulders, bending the left joint, as well as dipping the left shoulder nearer to the flooring. Remember to remain concentrated on stable breathing. If you feel as though you cannot create adequate expansion and also turning to complete the flip, return to Downward Pet: Breathe in as you revolve your chest to the left, pivot your left foot onward, and exhale to gently roll your right arm and leg back to Downward Canine. Don't lead with the appropriate leg: It will not work! You have actually reached begin with the breast and also allow the twist reverse you back to Downward Dog.

However, if you have actually prospered in placing your ideal hand on the floor, you'll should choose up your left hand and also pivot it so the fingertips encounter your feet. Change both hands so they are located properly-shoulder-width apart and also with fingers aiming toward the feet-and clear up right into Urdhva Dhanurasana.

This backbend requires stamina, versatility, and abandonment. Take a moment to develop a consistent breath, with the mouth closed and also the exhalation solid. You will certainly not remain in Urdhva Dhanurasana, the present is too vital to glimpse over. Don't be amazed if you locate Urdhva Dhanurasana approached by doing this simpler than when you raise from the floor-and hence a far better possibility compared to typical to tweak the pose.

Consciously root your hands and feet to the floor, stabilizing the weight similarly between them. Attract your front groins right into the hips, removal the internal thighs back, strongly ground your heels, and also root the balls of your feet. Removal your internal underarms towards the back shoulders to turn your inner arms toward your ears, and also widen your top back as you expand your arms towards the rounds of the hands. If you have problem expanding your upper back, roll your shoulders back towards your tailbone and also reaffirm the rotation of your inner arms. You're now upside down, can you feel that these are precisely the same activities you utilized in Downward Pet dog?

Exhale and also let the upper body blossom outside as well as higher to extend the shoulders once again, at the exact same time, if you're rather flexible take care not to require your shoulders as well far ahead right into hyperextension. Continue to take a breath progressively as you release any kind of tense muscle mass along your spinal column as well as adapt to the rich spine arc this asana requires. You can continuously discover removaling the spine as you performed in Downward Dog, accompanying every movement with conscious breathing to boost your liquidity and also ease. Don't shed your link with the interior rhythm of the breath. Yes, even in an asana as solid as this backbend, there's area to dance!

Whenever you prepare, begin your return journey to Downward Pet dog. If you have paid focus to the circulation, you will, like Hansel and also Gretel, have set breadcrumbs to note your path. Returning to Downward Pet dog is merely a step-by-step turnaround of the circulation you followed to show up in Urdhva Dhanurasana, and also it's simpler compared to you might assume.

The most common blunder is aiming to toss the ideal leg up as well as over. Instead, remain calm as well as systematic. Turn your left hand towards the right-hand man and press the left arm right into the floor as you strongly breathe in and roll your chest to the left, bringing the right-hand man off the flooring. Pause as well as feel how the spinal column is currently revolving to the left. Just pivot your left foot onward to face your hands, as well as the action of the twist will certainly permit you to gently bring your right limb back right into Downward Pet dog. It's as basic as that.

Complete the vinyasa by doing the exact same sequence to the right. Discover the vinyasa, duplicating it numerous times, initially fast, then sluggish, also play with it by turning your way throughout the area, surrendering and over in the same direction. Keeping your playfulness and also feeling of experience add to the sense of circulation and liberate you from the 'rigidity' that excessive strategy could often trouble an asana. After all, hatha yoga transforms us not simply with the self-control of kind but likewise via the sheer pleasure of conscious motion, the dancing that could break down practices as well as illusions. Developing the attitude of a dancer, a traveler of movement, indicates traveling to your very own internal rhythm. It implies staying open up to alter and bravely going off the beaten track if that's where inspiration takes you-in various other words, signing up with the journey taken by all the best yogis.

founded the Yoga exercise Studio in Boston in 1981 as well as educates workshops across the country. She is grateful to the lots of teachers who have motivated her as well as to her specialized students in Boston.

#asana #Hatha yoga #Yoga #Yoga Weight Loss

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yogaadvise · 5 years

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Self care for yoga teachers

There's no question that, among other things, showing yoga exercise is an act of service, and also as the Bhagavad Gita tells us, it's not about the 'fruits' of our activities, yet the intention as well as activity itself that issues. Using a yoga exercise practice implies being there for a whole group of people, sharing expertise, directing them, aiding them, getting their depend on, and also ultimately helping them assist themselves. Teaching yoga can be widely satisfying - teachers frequently make strong connections with their trainees, and we have the possibility to actually aid individuals and also make a difference.

With such a substantial quantity of duty of looking after others, it comes as not a surprise that yoga educators can frequently feel drained pipes, worn out and also vacant after providing so a lot. If you've handled a great deal of courses and 1-to-1's, are constantly taking a trip to various workshops as well as fitness centers, offering workshops and retreats, and maybe even your own instructor training course, it truly is typical to feel a little lost, lonely, aching and rather 'em pty' at times.

This is why the Yoga Educator Self Care list is so vital: in order to have the ability to offer totally, instructors need to be complete themselves. Caring for others means looking after yourself first, appearing for on your own first, in order to then reveal up completely for others.

In order to be able to offer completely, educators have to be complete themselves.

So, take a look at the listed here. Are you inspecting off each of these factors routinely? Include your own in the remarks area below as well as allow's sustain each other!

Yoga Instructor Self Care checklist

1. Make time for your own method:

Even if it's a pair of mins of slow-moving breathing, 5 Sunlight Salutations, or one round of chanting, see to it you do something each day for yourself. Among the greatest issues teachers have is that they commonly do not have as much time for their very own method as they used to. A method however, doesn't have to mean spending a hr sweating it out on the yoga mat. Anything that helps keep you full, focused and present deserves doing each day.

2. Know when to say no:

There are many individuals that would inform you to take all the chances you can obtain, cover every person's courses as well as do it all totally free. Things is, yoga exercise teachers can't live off of thin air ... We need to pay for food as well as sanctuary too! If you discover your timetable is obtaining a little also hectic and the high quality of your courses is suffering due to the quantity, think about lowering several of things that appear to be taking up more power than they deserve. Certain, it's excellent helping as many individuals as feasible, however not if you're hurting yourself - keep in mind Ahimsa here, the initial Yama of Patanjali's 8 Limbed Yoga system, as well as something you're likely to have first found out on your yoga exercise instructor training.

3. Eat well:

The 'Clean Eating' activity might have begun with good objectives yet has actually received objection for motivating us to swap nourishing calories for empty meals. While many individuals pertain to yoga to locate relief from the stress of living up to looking 'adequate', body image issues are still typical and also the 'Insta-yogi' type of photo that we're all knowledgeable about on social media can make points even worse. The truth is, though, if you're using your body, you require to fuel up. Select fresh, vivid foods that you like, lively force or 'prana'. What you place in, you'll obtain out, so eat well to live well.

4. Sleep well:

It do without claiming that most of us notice the difference when we haven't slept well. A busy schedule of evening classes as well as a morning method can take its toll on the body as well as mind, so establish a routine that gets you into bed ASAP in the evenings. Give on your own consent to rest a bit longer in the early mornings if you have actually had a late night, as well as your body will thank you over time. Foods like kiwis, cherries, bananas, walnuts, almonds, organic milk items as well as specifically the nutrients magnesium and tryptophan can all add in the direction of sleeping well. Ayurveda suggests not napping in the day time, as it can interfere with the body's rhythms as well as make it tough to reach rest in the evening. If you're tired in the daytime, instead, attempt Yoga Nidra for ten to twenty mins (it's claimed to be as efficient as a full night's sleep). Simply make certain you remain awake!

5. Rest enough:

When we're sleeping, we're not necessarily relaxing - we're dreaming, handling, thrashing - so investing deliberate time getting some great high quality remainder is important. Once More, Yoga Nidra can be a terrific method to reset the mind and body, as can some deeply beneficial restorative yoga postures, or a seated reflection technique rather than a vibrant asana collection. Lots of yoga exercise instructors note that after instructing for some time, their technique dramatically changes, they frequently long for an even more gentle, still method as well as appreciate Savasana a whole great deal more!

6. Find a good bodyworker:

Aches and also discomforts are almost ensured if you utilize your body daily in your task. Numerous injuries yoga teachers experience are the result of showing something without totally paying focus to their body because moment. Locate a massage therapy therapist, ayurvedic expert, osteopath or kinesiologist who you can trust to assist you when you require it most. You can also try some self-massage strategies like Yamuna round rolling.

7. Open your mind to other motion techniques:

Flexibility is fantastic, but not when it's the only point you're practicing. Years of extending with no fortifying can bring about a worn body and also often major injury. It is essential to balance a yoga exercise experiment various other kinds of movement, such as swimming, cycling, resistance training or weight training, hiking, or martial arts. The primary rule: Do something you enjoy!

8. Do something that isn't yoga exercise:

Much like the body needs various kinds of activity, the mind needs different type of excitement. Reviewing fiction or poetry, viewing a movie, strolling somewhere different and also taking in the surroundings, taking a trip, having a lengthy discussion with pals over dinner, paint, playing a tool, or learning something brand-new that you're really quite awful at can create new neural links as well as breathe a breath of fresh air into the soul.

9. Seek support:

From a coach, close friend or fellow educator - locate a person that understands a little concerning what it's like to be in your setting so you can chat honestly with them concerning just how you're doing. In cities where yoga is prominent, there are frequently yoga exercise teacher assistance or mentoring teams to sign up with, as well as if you don't understand of one - think about beginning one yourself!

10. Be true to you:

There's a great equilibrium between adhering to what a studio asks you to do and also selling your soul. If you locate you're forgeting your true intentions when it concerns teaching, take into consideration if you're in the ideal location. Are you duplicating old, worn series? Are you showing quick, solid courses due to the fact that you're concerned your pupils will be 'burnt out', when you 'd instead be showing slow-moving, alignment-based sessions? Take some time to examine in, your mentor occupation will certainly be a lot a lot more lasting as well as satisfying if it originates from your heart instead than your head.

11. Do your best as well as release the remainder:

Worrying regarding whether your pupils are taking pleasure in the class, agonising over why that lady in the front row appears like she's having a totally terrible time, ruminating over that blunder you made on the 'right side', or the posture you overlooked when educating the 'left side', are all things that take place. As well as that's precisely things, they have actually occurred, as well as they're done. So frequently instructors end up a course and also desire they 'd claimed something different or changed another thing, but holding on to the past is wasted energy, so rather of counting errors, expand from whatever you discover. It's all a process!

12. Remember why you practise:

Most notably, before you stand in front of a class to share a practice, take a deep breath, check in with on your own, arrive, be present, and also bear in mind why you're below to begin with.

Suggested class:

Self love practice

Take 45 mins out of your day for this Hatha yoga as well as meditation course with Sandra Carson.

#asana #bikram #bikram yoga #hatha #Hatha Yoga #meditation #restorative yoga #yoga #yoga instructor #yoga nidra

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years

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Safe with me (12)

Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. References to sex, and fleeting descriptions (I call it SFW, 16+). Drug usage. Character death.

PLEASE READ A/N: Take the warnings seriously please. You need a new assignment. Bucky finally figures things out. Drugs are really bad and they are not cool. Do not fucking do them.

This chapter was exhausting. Next chapter in two weeks.

Tags for this story are CLOSED Link here for posting schedule

SAFE WITH ME MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small blue pill bottle, the contents rattling softly when he sets it on the table. His voice is polished and refined, the cadence and accent an unexpected sound, here in this dirty, broken corner of the Bronx.

“Time for one last mission.”

*****

Deep in the bowels of the Tower, there's a small room with four bare concrete walls and long strips of fluorescent lights stretching in a crooked line across the ceiling. A shabby metal table sits slightly askew, with four unbalanced chairs situated around the edges. The temperature is kept low, a chilly 55F, but even at that level most people still sweat. Everything about the room is designed to keep its visitors on their toes, off-balance and unsettled.

Along one side of the table, two super soldiers sit shoulder to shoulder.

"Interviews. What a colossal waste of time, we're not gonna find someone good enough. Don't understand why you can't do it," Bucky grumbles, flicking angrily through the short-listed agent profiles. Each candidate comes highly recommended, vouched for by top brass from Nick Fury to Phil Coulson to Melinda May.

Bucky is unimpressed.

Steve is tipping back in his chair, balancing on two legs as he scrolls through his phone. Part of Bucky, the part who's jaw still stings from the kiss of Steve's fist, wants to kick the legs out from under him and watch him topple over. The other more rational part, reminds him that this is his best friend and he honestly deserved that punch.

Doesn't matter. Bucky's feeling salty.

"Don't be stupid, you know I'm no good at this shit. She needs someone with experience, and someone a little less recognizable than Captain fucking America. Besides, if you hadn't fucked this up, we wouldn't even be here," Steve reminds him.

"If you hadn't fucked this up, we wouldn't even be here," Bucky mimics under his breath.

"Excuse you, asshole," Steve snaps, letting the chair drop with a bang. "You got something to say, let's hear it."

Bucky bites into his cheek so hard, the taste of blood floods his mouth. He chews on the words, reluctant to offer them.

"Sorry," he grinds out instead. Clearly not sorry at all.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Steve demands.

"No," Bucky responds shortly.

"Great. If you don't talk, you don't get to be pissed. Put your big boy pants on and figure out a better way to handle this, because if you just wanna act like a complete dick, we can head downstairs and go a few rounds."

Normally Bucky appreciates the frank honesty, especially when it's aimed at other people, but fuck if it doesn't suck when it's directed at him. Scrubbing both hands down his face, he throws a pleading glance at Steve.

"I slept with her," he admits in a quiet rush, praying Steve won't hear, but knowing super serum means super hearing.

"Yeah, Buck. I kinda assumed. And?"

"And – nothing. I slept with her. That wasn't supposed to happen. I jeopardized the entire operation because I couldn't control myself."

"Couldn't control yourself?" Steve scoffs at the words. "Really Buck. That seriously the line you're using?"

"Yeah, asshat, that's seriously what this is about."

"Okay, so let me just summarize. You've spent weeks with each other, she told you all about her past and you told her all about yours. The two of you constantly defend each other from other people, you seem to get off on her busting your balls, you showed her your super secret apartment that only two other human beings on the planet know about, and you light up like a lovesick idiot the moment she walks in a room. So then you sleep with her and the next morning you tell her you didn't mean to do it, and you let things get out of control?"

Bucky opens his mouth to refute it, but nothing comes.

"Do you regret it?"

"I regret letting things – "

"Bucky. Do you regret it?"

"Steve, I'm saying I regret letting everything – "

"Stop it, you're not answering the question. Sex was one small thing, in the grand scheme of your relationship. I'm asking – do you regret letting her in your life?"

Before he can respond, there's a sharp rap on the metal door, and Bucky slams his hands on the table with an angry growl. He doesn't know who he hates more right now, himself or Steve Rogers, but both are pissing him the fuck off.

Turning away from the triumphant smile on Steve's stupid face, he shouts at the door.

"Come in!"

*****

INTERVIEW 1

"Agent Diaz, can you walk through the infiltration strategy used in Mission 47A?"

"Yes sir. There were three behind, two in front, and I wanted – "

– "I want you Bucky." Jesus Christ, her words light him on fire, he didn't know how much he wanted them, how much he needed them, until they touched his ears –

Bucky chokes on his water when it slips down the wrong pipe, coughing up a spray that splatters Diaz's face. From the corner of his eye, he sees Steve pinching the bridge of his nose and he apologizes profusely.

Why the hell is he dredging this up in the middle of an interview?

*****

INTERVIEW 2

"Agent Avery, can you describe how you discovered the weapons cache during Mission 92F?"

"Yes Captain. The corridors were filled with sulphur, it smelled like – "

– she smells like vanilla, tastes like honey, and he drags his tongue across her skin with a low moan. Shaking hands push her legs apart and he's so god damn hard it hurts –

He clears his throat. Several times. Bucky Barnes' brain is a god damn motherfucking turncoat.

*****

INTERVIEW 3

"Agent Thomas, what was the purpose of maintaining the hostage situation for Mission 23B?"

"Well sir, I feel – "

– he feels a deep ache running along the seam of his arm. His scars always feel like ice, but her hot breath licks along the raised streaks of red, and for the first time in 70 god damn years, the ache begins to subside –

In his entire life, he's honestly never felt anything that compared to the feel of your mouth on him. But that's sort of beside the point right now.

*****

INTERVIEW 4

"Agent Korishnakova, explain your rationale for entering the hostile base during Mission 56J."

"We chose to break through the retaining walls, since ripping the – "

– he nearly rips the sheets when he grabs a fistful, fighting to stop himself from coming at the sight of her lips wrapped tight around him, the wicked gleam in her eye when she looks up from between his legs –

Bucky shifts in his chair, trying to subtly adjust the sudden rising situation. He's gonna look like a real creep if anyone notices what's going on.

*****

INTERVIEW 5

"Agent Ford, how did the firefight during Mission 33W escalate so quickly?"

"Well sir, we were tired of trying to sweat them out – "

– he tastes the sweat that's beading on the end of her nose. She fits so perfectly in his arms, when he ducks his head down and hides his face against her neck. Christ, he can't let her see how much this is affecting him –

Bucky wants to break his brain. Literally. It won't stop screaming, determined to punish him for the mind-blowing level of idiocy he exhibited this morning.

– he can feel her hands rubbing his back, god dammit she feels so fucking good, so warm and safe –

Barnes you stupid cocksucker, don't you go there, don't.

– You can let go Bucky, I've got you.

Would it be unprofessional to slam his head through the wall? Jesus H. Christ, Mary Mother of God. How did he let this happen?

He has no idea, but here he is, with Steve's words still rattling in his head.

Do you regret it?

"Stop. You're hired," Bucky interrupts, metal chair screeching when he jumps up, because he just can't do this right now. Slapping your file on the table, it lands with a bang. "Memorize all of this by tomorrow morning – it's an order, not a suggestion – and be ready to go by 0600. Captain Rogers will escort you over. I expect an update emailed to me by 0700 every morning."

Briefing complete, he stalks toward the door, throwing one final comment over this shoulder.

"You fuck this up in any way, and I'll tie you down and personally shatter your knees. Not a joke."

"Y-Yes sir," he hears Agent Ford stutter.

Bucky smiles grimly and slams the door behind him.

*****

Two days. Forty-eight hours. Two-thousand eight hundred and eighty minutes. Time moves like a snail through salt, slowly and painfully.

When he's around other people, Bucky is his normal, surly self. He grunts at questions and rolls his eyes at Sam. Sneers at Tony and threatens wordless violence at Steve. No one questions him.

Behind closed doors, he's a mess. He's taken to opening the tracking app and sullenly watching your little white dot move around his phone. If someone caught him right now, he'd have a hard time rationalizing this, because it's weird. He knows that, he really does.

He just doesn't care.

Do you regret it?

Shifting uncomfortably in a squeaky leather chair, he props his chin on his fist and stares morosely at the wall of screens in front of him.

After he identified the stalker's image, it's been cycling through every database across the globe. The photo has made the rounds within SHIELD, the FBI, the CIA, the NYPD. Every law enforcement official with a badge or a gun has seen his face, and it's more than a little unnerving that they still haven't located him.

He's not actually being helpful, he knows that. FRIDAY can scan a thousand faces at a time, she has this covered, but he needs to do something. Something other than sit and stew in his usual bucket of self-loathing, anyway.

Do you regret it?

So here he is, hiding in the control room. Every time Bucky asks a question, FRIDAY responds immediately, but the answers are short and mechanical and he feels flustered at the clipped note in her voice. Licking his lips nervously, he asks a tentative question.

"Hey FRIDAY? Exactly how pissed at me are you right now?"

"I'm not mad, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky was unaware that an AI could actually lie, but yeah. She is very definitely mad.

"Okay...but if you're not mad, why do you sound like Steve's very angry, very Irish Ma right now?"

Long pause.

Her voice comes again, softer but still firm.

"I'm not mad, Sergeant Barnes. I'm disappointed."

"Christ," Bucky huffs, dropping his head to the table. "That's worse."

He hears a sigh. Which is so strange, that the AI is sighing at him.

"Sir, I'd like you to listen for a minute. Mr. Stark programmed me to be perfectly functional. I'm able to decipher the things I observe and break them down to their fundamental parts. The most real-world application is solving mechanical queries or searching databases, as I'm doing now. But I also understand how to decipher language and, to some extent, emotion. Your most recent job – I've spent weeks watching the two of you interact. I'm disappointed Sergeant, because the two of you are very clearly in love, and you hurt her very badly when you rejected her feelings."

Bucky lifts his head incredulously at the assessment.

"Wait, what? What do you mean, we're clearly in love?"

FRIDAY remains silent.

"I care for her, yeah. I have feelings for her, sure. And I guess she liked me alright before I screwed all this up, but those aren't – we're not in love."

FRIDAY remains silent.

And so, Bucky takes a step back. He thinks about the night you spent together, the one that's been playing on repeat since the moment he slunk like a coward from your sleeping arms. It hurts to think, but hey, he was always one for self-flagellation. He pulls it up again, and remembers the look in your eyes when he kissed you, the feel of your body moving under his. He hears your voice whispering soft in his ear, as clear as though you were next to him, telling him you had him. That he could let go.

"I love her?"

FRIDAY is still silent, letting him work through his messy musings on his own.

And then he finally, finally, gets there.

"Holy shit. I love her. I love her." Bucky breathes, testing the words on his tongue. "How did I not realize this? Fuck me sideways, I have to fix this."

"Yes sir," FRIDAY agrees, and her voice is much warmer.

"I can fix this," he whispers to himself. He settles down to think. He needs to plan, he needs a strategy, he has to get this right.

He can fix this.

*****

"What's going on with you?" Jack asks curiously. "You're moping. Why?"

"Nothing," you declare defensively, looking up from your notebook, where little stick figures with angry faces are doodled in the margins. "I'm not moping, I'm fine."

Jack cocks a spectacularly skeptical eyebrow.

"Sure. Barnes have any updates on locating the guy?"

"I don't know," you answer, voice cold and clipped. "I suggest you ask him yourself."

Jack's bemused by the terse response. "You plan on telling me what happened with you two?"

"Nothing happened, alright? He's just a huge asshole and I couldn't deal with it anymore. Let him run off and find this guy and then go piss off someone else." Throwing your pen at the computer screen, you lean back in your chair. "Now, I'm bored and I need a new story. Give me something interesting or I'm quitting and going to work at The Post."

"Fine," Jack says mildly. "I have something if you're interested. Different than your recent assignments."

"Bitchin. Hit me."

"There's a new drug dealer working the Upper East Side, seems to have connections into the eastern European network. He's pushing a nasty version of Ecstasy, it's cut with something else, no one knows what, but it's been causing all kinds of strange hallucinations and general hysteria."

"Alright. I assume he's planning to show his face soon?"

"Yes. Rumor's saying he'll be at that club 'Red Devil' down in Hell's Kitchen tonight. Think you could get in? See if you can get him to talk?"

It's beyond annoying, that the first thing to pop in your head, is whether or not Bucky would approve. After spending weeks with the man, his constant paranoia and unadulterated loathing of crowded spaces are two traits that have stuck. You know straight away he'd put his foot down on this, would refuse to let you go. You can almost hear that deep, acerbic voice saying 'don't be stupid.'

The rational part of you agrees. The other part, who owns the heart he unceremoniously battered and bruised a few days earlier, doesn't care, because Bucky Barnes gave up the right to tell you what to do, so he can fuck right off.

"Sure, I'm intrigued," you say, motioning for the notes. "You know I enjoy nailing assholes like this to the wall."

Jack drops a thin sheaf of paper into your outstretched hands.

"Dial down the confidence please. Be civil, don't scare him off. At least try to be nice."

You want to be insulted at the insinuation, but there's no point in arguing. He's right. Your patience for douchebags is at an all-time low. The vision of Bucky's face swims before you again, his mouth curved into a disappointed frown.

The image makes you want to throat punch him.

"Fine," you say sweetly. "I'll be nice."

"Yeah, I'm sure you will be," Jack says cynically. He turns to walk away, throwing one last comment over his shoulder. "Text me through the night, let me know how it's going. And be very careful. Keep your eyes open. Don't trust anyone."

*****

STARKPHONE MESSAGING APP

BARNES: why the fucking hell did you agree to take her to a club?

FORD: I tried to tell her no sir.

BARNES: How hard did you try?

FORD: I told her no, she laughed, said 'that's cute' and told me to pick her up at 2100

BARNES: FFS I'll be there before you arrive.

Bucky rubs his forehead. Just because he can admit he loves you, doesn't make him any less irritated. A nightclub? Trying to cajole a drug dealer? Exactly why do you have such blatant disregard for his sanity?

Hand to heart, if you let him fix this, he's dragging you back to his apartment and keeping you in his bed for a solid week, because he needs a vacation.

*****

Dressed in black from head-to-toe, you give your reflection a critical once over. Sleeveless black top, black pants, black ankle boots. You really hope this is what the kids are wearing at clubs these days, because it's been literal years since you set foot in one.

Rolling your shoulders, you take a deep breath. Storm clouds have been gathering all day, and the night feels oddly oppressive, heavy pressure pushing down from above. Like the whole of Manhattan is holding its collective breath before the storm lets loose. Anxiety prickles along your skin, a jittery unease crawling up and down. It makes you itch.

God damn woman, calm your tits, you chastise sternly. This isn't a big deal. This isn't even the hardest story you've worked. Get it together.

Uncapping a tube of lipstick, you add your only concession to color, a pop of brilliant red. It soothes your nerves a little. Makes you feel powerful. Smart. A little badass.

Turning from the mirror, you snatch up a small black purse and start filling it with random items, wondering again why you agreed to do this. Right now, a bottle of wine, your sofa, and re-watching Stranger Things for the third time feels like a better decision. Maybe you should just cancel. Call the whole thing off and lay low.

But you know you won't. You're committed and how annoying is that.

Agent Ford was less than thrilled when you told him where he'd be spending the evening. You wonder if he has to report this little adventure back to SHIELD. Or rather, back to Bucky. Assuming he's still floating around in the background.

Floating around, being a self-sacrificing asshole.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. You don't care. Because it doesn't matter what Bucky Barnes thinks. At all.

Snapping the purse shut, you give your dresser a childish kick of frustration, before stomping out the door.

*****

Whether it's stealth mode or club mode, Bucky really doesn't care. Black is functional and he wears it because he likes it. Plus, he genuinely believes it makes him look scary and intimidating, and that always makes him happy.

Smoothing the collar of his black button-down, he wipes his palms reflexively down the front of his dark jeans. It's an involuntary movement, a nervous tick he's had since he was 12-years-old, and even though he's had this metal monstrosity for most of his life, the behavior is ingrained.

He takes several deep breaths, filling his lungs over and over, sweeping away the mental cobwebs. He's laser focused on the task ahead, a singular thought the guiding light to get him through the next few hours.

I can fix this.

All he wants is to make his peace with you. His stupid heart has dragged him kicking and screaming to the edge, and now that he's allowed himself to accept what he wants, his brain refuses to shut the hell up until he takes the plunge.

I can fix this.

He'll prostrate himself at your feet and beg forgiveness if he has to, because there's no way in hell he's going through one more day without you. Whatever it takes, whatever you ask of him, he'll give it. Grovel if he has to, he honestly doesn't care.

I can fix this.

Sheets of lightening explode across the night sky, unending flickers of light dancing on a repetitive loop through the dark clouds.

I can fix this.

He can fix this.

He has to.

*****

From the moment he set the wheels in motion, it's all been leading toward this night, in some form or fashion. Like the structured components of a play, the curtain falls tonight on Act 4. When the sun rises, Act 5 opens with new stage directions and a new cast of characters, complete with one bombshell reveal.

He's been watching so closely for so long, waiting behind the curtain for his entrance, and he marvels at how perfectly it's all come together. True, there were last minute adjustments. He planned for a host of different scenarios, but never in his wildest dreams, did he expect the Soldier to actually fall in love with her.

What an unexpected treat!

When the time comes to eliminate Bucky Barnes for good, he knows exactly how to do it, the perfect way to break him, to make the end infinitely sweeter.

He swirls his glass of vodka absently, listening to the soft clink as ice taps the glass. A brilliant flash of light illuminates the night sky and thunder immediately booms, echoes of low sound bouncing through the jungle of metal and concrete. His window rattles with the vibration, his reflection wavering in the clear glass.

Yes, he's certainly been waiting for this for a very long time.

Raising the glass, he smiles and takes another sip.

*****

Rain is pouring down outside, and the air in the club feels steamy, a mix of damp clothes and heavy breathing and spilled drinks.

Never in your life have you been a clubber. Music so loud you'll go deaf? Shoes coated in urine because no one seems capable of peeing in the toilet? Drunk slobbering jerks pawing all over you?

No thanks.

Yet here you are. Wondering how you always end up agreeing to things and then remembering with a jolt of annoyance that it's your own fault, because you're such a weak bitch for a byline.

Scoring a place at the dealer's table turns out to be laughably easy. Sending over a bottle of Dom Perignon, you watch the waiter set it in front of him and point to where you stand by the bar. Raising a glass in acknowledgement, you shoot him a sultry smile and turn away, praying it's enough to pique his interest.

Less than a minute later, there's a tap on your shoulder, and you turn to find a tall man in a tight purple sweater staring down at you. His sleeves are pushed back, revealing faded tattoos running up his forearms, and the lights reflect off his shaved head. He leans down to speak in your ear, and you hear a heavy, broken accent.

"You will please join us."

It's amazing how many doors a bit of flattery and a high credit card limit will open.

Without waiting for your answer, he places a possessive hand at your back and propels you forward, guiding you through a mass of dancing bodies toward a secluded booth in the back.

The man looks up when you arrive, detaching himself from the arms of the beautiful woman currently occupying his lap. Shoving her aside, he lays his arm over the back of the booth and smiles up at you. Sliding in next to him, the smells of expensive cologne and more expensive vodka burn your nose.

He leans over, and his refined accent sends shivers up your spine.

"Hello gorgeous. How about we get to know each other?"

*****

From across the bar, Bucky stands high up on a catwalk. He remains in the shadows, wraith-like in both appearance and mannerisms. Looking over the crowd, he keeps your corner booth in his periphery, while his eyes track steadily through the packed club.

Before he arrived, he called up a blueprint of the building and committed it to memory, making sure he knew every last detail. Finding the necessary points, he cycles through those details, planting the customary mental markers in place.

Total building occupancy 583, single door entrance located on the east side of the building. Two bouncers manning the door, neither armed with anything but well-practiced fists. Twenty-eight security cameras positioned through the club, with exactly none of those cameras pointed at the secluded VIP booth where you were sitting. Single door exit point on the west wall, illuminated by a neon green sign; bathrooms on the north wall, accessed through a heavy velvet curtain.

No windows. He sighs irritably. He despises places like this.

Ever watchful, he scans the crowd, picking people at random. Examining faces and movements, he grumbles in frustration at the number of people wearing cloth masks over the bottom half of their face. Some of the them are colorful, with funky geometric patterns and some have cartoon characters – Scooby Doo and SpongeBob are wildly popular. Some are modeled after real people, and he allows a small smile at the number of bright green Hulk faces.

The smile slides from his face when he sees one with his old Winter Soldier muzzle patterned across the front. His hand drifts to the knife at his side, fingers toying with the handle. What he wouldn't give to shred that mask into tiny pieces.

That might draw attention though.

"Ford, re-confirm your position," Bucky speaks calmly, letting his eyes fall back on you.

"Still north of the entrance, ten feet from the bathroom. Clear visual, slightly obstructed path." Ford's voice comes clearly through the tiny comms tucked in Bucky's ear.

Bucky feels his entire body twitch with rage, when he sees the dealer pulling you closer, ducking his head to speak against your ear. The urge to swing off this catwalk, stomp over to the booth, and shove this guy's fist up his own ass is overwhelming.

Patience, he counsels internally. Just get through this. Then you can go buy her a bucket of coffee and a basket of tacos and sit outside her door until she forgives you.

Coffee and tacos. And dramatically throwing himself at your feet. You had to forgive him then, right?

But to get there, he still has to get through tonight without murdering the sleazy bastard sitting at your side. That task seems more impossible with every passing second, and he takes a few deep breaths to stay calm.

He watches the way you keep your hand tight around your glass, fingers casually covering the top, not letting anyone else near it.

Smart, he thinks proudly. All his harping and paranoia apparently got through in some way.

He huffs out a slow breath. He can do this.

*****

This story and this club both suck so much.

There's a fine sheen of moisture coating your skin, and it turns to ice when you feel his fingers grazing the back of your neck. Keeping the revulsion from your expression is getting hard, because this dickbag is handsy as hell, and so far, completely uninterested in talking. Instead, he simply leers every time you try to engage him in conversation. His hand is massaging your thigh, moving a little further north with every passing minute, and you realize you can only play the coy card for so long before he gets suspicious or bored.

When one of his cronies leans over and catches his attention, you breathe a sigh of relief. Searching for another option for answers, you glance to the girl on your left, catching her surreptitiously slipping a small white pill under her tongue. Her eyes flit up to you, cocking an eyebrow in disdain.

"Can I help you?"

Pasting on a sugary sweet smile, you lean close and try to get her talking.

"What's with the masks everyone's wearing?"

She gives you a condescending look.

"Are you serious?"

There's a moment of brief panic. Is this something you're supposed to know? You know jack shit about club culture, you literally had a few hours to research this story, and her snotty comment throws you off.

"Sorry, I'm from out of town," you apologize.

Her lip curls and she rolls her eyes.

"For the rush, obviously. Take a pill," she holds up a small blue bottle, gives it a rattle. "Put Vicks on the cloth and pull it over your mouth. Inhaling while you're rolling sends you flying."

Jesus, the creativity used to get high is astounding. Why can't people take that ingenuity and apply it to something worthwhile? They could probably end world hunger and solve world peace, but no, they're all here getting shitty drugs off a shitty dealer, who is a shitty human being with shitty motives, and you're stuck investigating his shittiness.

Patience is running thin tonight.

There's a tap at your shoulder, and you glance back to see the waiter holding a tray of drinks. He hands you a glass of liquid, one of the house specials you ordered earlier in the evening, when you went up to the bar and opened a tab for the night. Smiling gratefully, you take a swig of the cold water, and turn your attention back to the dance floor.

*****

Bucky has taken to pacing along the catwalk.

The atmosphere in the club grates. The smells of forced air and rank sweat and spilled liquor assail the senses, and he grimaces.

He hates this so much.

"Ford, update," he barks in the comms, stopping to squint through the strange haze that seems to fill the room, unable to tear his eyes from you for more than a few minutes.

"Same position. All good."

All good.

Bucky goes back to pacing.

*****

Impossibly, the music gets louder, the bass so low and heavy, you feel it reverberating in your bones. Strobe lights are dancing through the room, pulses of white that make the club feel like a bizarre stop-motion film. With every flash, the crowds are shifted, stilted movements displaying new formations with each burst of light.

Something feels strange.

Lifting your water to your lips, you take a long drink, wondering why the hell you're feeling so parched. Gulping it down, there's a moment of respite, before your body starts to buzz.

Something feels off.

A wave of nausea smacks into you out of nowhere, twisting your stomach into a hard knot.

Looking at the glass again, you set it down slowly.

Turning slightly, you find him watching you closely, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Something wrong, gorgeous?"

"Did you – my drink," your lips are tingling, and your mouth feels full of cotton. He runs a finger down your arm, his blunt nail leaving a long scratch.

"It feels nice, doesn't it? Just enjoy it." The hand on your thigh moves higher, and he plays with the zipper of your pants. "Or we can go somewhere private, and I can show you how good it can make you feel."

You realize in that instant, how out of your depth you truly are. He must have gotten to your drink. How the hell did he get to your drink? From the moment the waiter set it in front of you, you've had your eyes on it. Shit, shit, shit.

It's too much. Getting the story isn't worth this. You're calling it.

"No," you say weakly, shoving his hand away. "No, stop. I feel – fuck, I feel like shit."

"Ah, she can't handle it," he laughs, leaning back in the booth with a challenging grin. "Little girl is a big disappointment. I guess he was right."

What?

You need to parse apart that comment and figure out what the hell he means, but it needs to wait, because right now your first priority is getting out of here.

"Move," you mumble, shoving at the girl next to you. Limp as a rag doll, she doesn't budge, looking up at you with glassy eyes.

So you scramble over her instead, stumbling to your feet, gripping the edge of the table to stop swaying. Stabbing bursts of white hot heat flash across your skin, and you drag a shaky arm across your forehead, feeling the slick sweat rubbing away your make-up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Behind you, he's still laughing.

The music grows even louder, working its way into your chest, until you feel your heartbeat pounding with the rhythm of the driving bass. Bright colors swirl all around you, the entire world flipped to vivid technicolor, an experience so intense you nearly retch when the nausea sweeps through you again.

Trying frantically to clear your head, you locate the neon red sign pointing to the bathroom. Stumbling forward, you ricochet off the bodies surrounding you, fighting your way through the tightly packed crowd.

God dammit, what's happening, are you even moving? Everything is sluggish and your legs feel like lead, so heavy you can barely walk.

Bucky, where are you? Please, please, please, I need you! The traitorous little voice pops up out of nowhere, but Bucky isn't here. He didn't want you, so you pushed him away, and now you're about to OD on what you can only assume is garbage Ecstasy at some trashy club in Midtown, and how did this happen?

From across the room, you see a tall man with panicked eyes shoving people aside as he fights through the crowd. Confusion muddles your brain when you see blond hair glinting in the flashing lights, because that doesn't make sense, Bucky doesn't have blond hair, what is he doing?

No, not Bucky, Ford. Agent Ford. Agent Ford is your bodyguard now, he's coming to get you, he'll save you. Disappointment wells up and you choke back a sob, because it's not right, he's not right. He's not Bucky.

But none of it matters.

Shaking knees give way, your body slumping to the floor, but in the last moment, you're caught by a firm arm curving protectively around your waist. You want to thank your savior, but all you can see are hazy features, your vision transforming the world into a blur of random shapes. Digging the heel of your palm into your eye, the image clears for a split second and you find yourself looking at a familiar face.

The waiter who's been serving your table all night.

There's an audible ping in your head when the puzzle piece clicks into place.

Light brown hair falls over his forehead, hazel eyes glowing feverishly. Reaching a shaking hand to his face, you tug down the black and red checked cloth covering his mouth, revealing an insane smile stretching his lips wide. He keens at your touch, his entire body shuddering when he feels your fingers on his skin. He leans closer, his voice gasping at your ear.

"It's okay, I'm here. You're all mine now."

Eyes roll back in your head as your body shuts down. The last coherent thought before your world goes black, is that you never told Bucky Barnes you loved him.

*****

Dread rises swiftly when Bucky sees you trying to claw your way out of the booth. When you hit your feet and immediately sway, he feels his stomach plummet. You weren't drinking, he knows you weren't.

If you're not drunk, then what –

Blind panic hits him like a wrecking ball.

"Ford! Get over there, now! He spiked her drink, god dammit, he spiked her fucking drink!" Bucky shouts into his comms.

Through the bursts of light, he sees Agent Ford shoving people as he fights his way toward you. There are too many people, too many people everywhere. Sweat rolls down Bucky's temples as he paces along the catwalk, trying to keep you in his line of sight. The mass of bodies is like a giant parasite, growing and shifting and spreading and suddenly you're swallowed up in the swarm, hidden from view.

"Motherfucker, god dammit," he swears viciously. "I lost visual! She was heading toward the bathroom, cut her off. Pull her out of this, get her out now, I don't care what she says!"

"I can see her," Ford's voice comes confidently through the comms. "There's someone with her, he's hol – "

Ford is cut off.

And Bucky can't see why, because the entire club has gone pitch black.

The music drops to a slow tempo, the thudding bass so low, it rattles the bottles of liquor lined along the bar. Suddenly the room comes alive. Whirling ropes of neon glowsticks swirl above the dancers, pinks and greens and yellows spinning through the air, like toxic dayglow snakes.

"Ford! Answer!" Bucky yells into the comms.

Silence.

Without another thought, Bucky sprints to the edge of the catwalk and with a graceful leap, jumps over the railing.

Sparks fly from metal fingers when he catches the edge of a tall steel beam riveted against the wall, the friction slowing his descent to the floor below. The music slams into him the instant his feet touch the ground, the unrelenting beat raising the hair on his neck. Palms held in front of him, he roughly scoops people out of the way as he elbows toward the bright red glow marking the bathrooms.

"Ford! Fucking answer me!" He shouts again, but the music is loud, so much louder down here, he can't even hear his own voice.

The musical snap of a whip slices through the air, and Bucky feels the breath punched out of him, the twirling lights and harsh sounds triggering long-buried memories. The smothering darkness, the crack of leather on skin, unearthly howls of pain, the sweaty scent of adrenaline and fear, all of it floods back as he feels unwelcome hands all over him, his body pushed and pulled against the crowd.

Motherfucker, he hasn't had a panic attack in forever, he doesn't have time, he can't afford one now.

Breathe, he screams internally. Calm down and breathe. You're no use to her if you're not in control!

Sucking in a massive breath, he lets the dizzying feel of oxygen replenish his mind, forcing him to calm down. To breathe. To reign in the panic.

He finds the control. Clips it back in place.

You can do this Barnes.

He keeps staggering forward, moving through the wall of people, until it suddenly breaks open. Bucky cries in relief as his hands grip the plush velvet curtain separating the bathrooms from the rest of the club, and cool air rushes at him when he jerks it aside and runs through.

The walls of the long hallway are splashed with nightmare inducing streaks of red and black, the lighting so dim, Bucky forces his eyes open wide to navigate.

"Answer me Ford, where are you?" He can finally hear his own voice again, the hoarse sound of his vocal cords momentarily shocking him.

Silence.

"Sonofabitch," he hisses furiously and then he pulls up short with the idea. What is he doing? He can find you. Easily. Trembling fingers dig for his phone, yanking it from his pocket and with a swipe of his finger, he opens the tracking app. He holds his breath, waiting for the little white dot to appear, and sure enough a little dot appears instantly – but it's no longer white. It blinks rapidly, a horrifyingly bloody red, and Bucky staggers, crashing into the wall.

There's a moment of silence that blankets him as he stares in stunned disbelief at his phone.

And in the next moment, he's screaming your name at the top of his lungs.

Silence.

Barrelling toward the end of the hall, he follows the path toward the little red dot, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury. When he reaches the black door, the one housing the little red dot, the one containing his worst nightmare, he throws all his weight against it, expecting to meet resistance. It gives way instantly and Bucky falls into a dark hallway.

And trips over a warm, heavy body.

Dropping to his knees, Bucky feels for a pulse on the neck of Agent Ford, who lies facedown on the floor, the left side of his blond hair matted with the sticky red blood streaming down his face.

Bucky feels his vision go white, when he sees the source of the red dot.

Your tracking bracelet is clipped around Ford's wrist.

The howl of pure rage spills from his throat, and Bucky's back on his feet, spinning circles like a caged animal. He reorients himself in an instant, remembering his mental markers, remembering the blueprints he memorized, and he turns left, sprinting down another long hallway toward an exit he knows will lead into a narrow back alley.

The metal door smacks against the brick wall with a clang when Bucky bursts through, jumping down half a flight of steps, eyes sweeping frantically over grimy brick walls towering around him in the dark alley.

Rain is still pouring down, plastering his clothes to his skin, dripping hair lashing his cheeks when he whips around. In that moment, the smell slams into him and he begins to gag.

There's a body leaning against the wall in front of him. A trickle of blood runs from the bullet hole drilled between his lifeless hazel eyes, his mouth fixed in small 'O' of surprise. The bitter tang of lemons is so overpowering as it bleeds from his body, Bucky's mouth puckers at the tart scent. The sizzling odor of burning meat reaches his nose next, the two scents surrounding him like some sick version of a summer barbecue, before he sees the reason.

The image is there, the one that haunts him asleep and awake. One he will recognize until the day the good Lord sees fit to drag him from this world. Dripping bloody red and charred black, branded on the stalker's neck, are eight tentacles curling below a skull, the skin blistered and bubbled.

Them.

Only a couple feet away, face up in a puddle of murky, garbage filled water, lies your phone. Bucky numbly reaches for the slim device, and it lights up at his touch, revealing a familiar picture as your wallpaper. You and him, a silly selfie he remembers you snapping the night of Stark's party. You're laughing, nose scrunched up as you angle the camera down. Bucky's leaning over your shoulder, grinning up at the phone.

Them.

Again.

Bucky Barnes has spent most of his life on battlefields. He knows the scents of coppery blood and fresh shit, gunpowder and rotting flesh, that sickeningly unique smell of adrenaline-laced sweat that covers the skin of every terrified soldier. He has an iron stomach, has had since his first week mucking through the trenches in 1943. Nothing phases him.

But tonight, he smells burning flesh mixed with lemons, he sees your laughing smile amid the horrors that have come home yet again, and in that dark, wet alleyway, he loses it. He crashes to his knees and he vomits, again and again and again, until the burning, acid taste of stomach bile is the only thing he can remember.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

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