#//-the week that can mutate people or something
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//Things that are canon to the worldbuilding here but I never used #263: there's a machine that's used for the specific purpose of fixing someone else's fuck upwhen they get turned into a monster that they're not supposed to be.
#//usually it's used for scientific goof ups and that's it but it can be used in the event someone came across whatever fucked up monster of-#//-the week that can mutate people or something#//i swear one of these days i'm going to post all the little worldbuilding details for here and stuff#//just got to compile everything first#//but yeah! i hope this doesn't come across as weird or anything. it's more like oops! this kept happening so we made something to fix it#//so now people don't have to freak out and take weeks to fix what happened as a result of an accident#//idk i hope this ramble makes sense lmao#backup log {ooc}
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know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!
hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh
3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million.
Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic.
The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.
I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.
It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases.
It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely.
The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe.
It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad."
It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.
Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body.
It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.
It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses.
People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.
(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.)
Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense?
They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."
Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.
Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.
People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it.
Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.
(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?")
One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.
I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.
She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.
And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile.
He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason.
I think about that a lot.
(Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.
He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.
He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired.
Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.
I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.)
Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.
But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.
It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.
(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)
(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!)
All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths.
Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.
We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons.
Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened.
During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID.
But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.
People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started.
COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example.
The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.
Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.
3,000,000.
Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000.
Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.
Five times as many.
That's bad.
I don't like that at all.
I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic.
Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:
Here's a non-paywalled link to it:
https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates
Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:
Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.
You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.
They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them.
These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)
#covid isn't over#covid 19#disability rights#disability advocacy#wear a mask#covid conscious#covid cautious#mask up#wall of words#public health#health care
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I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"
Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.
In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.
In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.
In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?
In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.
The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.
And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?
And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?
Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.
The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.
The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.
They always come home eventually.
#lich says shit#stardew valley#sorry for the stardew valley meta i'm just so obsessed with how FREAKY the farmer is. Like it's so fun#gonna write another long ass post about the farmer's bloodline specifically and. like.#why did their grandpa leave the valley?? why did their parents never go back??#stardew valley farmer#sdv
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Danny had no idea what a meta was, but appearently he had something called a meta-gene. One would think a mutation that can cause people to manifest superpowers from lab accidents would explain his disastrous career as a superhero, but they would be wrong. Dannys meta gene was never activated and the whole ghost fiasco was just eldrich shenanigans at its finest.
No, Danny's meta gene activated just two weeks ago on his fifteenth birthday where he was celebrating at Sam's place with Tucker. They had gotten into one of thier usual fights about food and Danny just did not want to deal with it and went into another room.
Sams cat didn't love him per say but it usually didn't hate him either. Today was not his lucky day. The kitty scratched him and wouldn't you know? His meta gene wasn't activated by an interdimentional portal opening up on top of him, it wasn't activated by the numerous energy blasts he had been hit with nor the various electric shocks.
No, it was activated by a freaking cat scratch.
He stared at himself in the mirror, glowing green eyes with slit pupils stared back at him. His kitty ears were folded back to show his shock and displeasure over the situation but it was still rather obvious what they were. The tail wagging slowly behind him was the same snowy white as his hair and ears.
He looked like Phantom. He looked like Phanton as Fenton. Ancients. There was no way he was going to be able to hide this. Transforming brought about no change other than the hazmat suit. He was so screwed. He couldn't go home like this.
Breathing heavily and on the verge of a panic attack he called Jazz once, twice, three times, but she didn't pick up. Danny knew he couldn't stay in the human world, it was too dangerous.
But if he wasn't there to protect the ghosts than it would be too dangerous for them to stay too. He knew for a fact Dani was staying with Dora while she taught her how to read and write so he had pretty much no qualms about destroying the portals and outing Vlad through a pre-made video of him transforming and boasting about his crimes to Phantom, courtesy of Tucker and him filming it all.
He felt bad about ditching his friends one last time, and at his own birthday party no less! But he knew if he tried to say goodbye they would guilt him into staying and it would end horribly so he left a note explaining what happened and bounced.
Destroying the portals hadn't taken much time or effort nor did destroying over 20 years of research between the three. It was exploring the Ghost Zone that was giving him problems. He was always warned by Wulf not to open portals in the Ghost Zone unless you were very experienced cause if you screw up theres no telling when or where you will land. He thought back to Wulfs lessons and tried to conjure the image of lush wildlife and abundant food.
The place he ended up portaling to had neither of those things. In fact if felt like the opposite when he landed in a grimey alleyway in the dark of night.
A spotlight was pointed toward the sky, painting the clouds above in a yellow light holding a stylized image of a bat in the center. Danny wondered what that was about for only a minute before he heard the tell tale whoosh sound of someone landing in the alley behind him.
Dannys new instincts reacted before the logical part of his brain took hold causing him to whirl around with his ears flattened to his head and he hissed so furiously that the man with the red helmet (mask?) back up several paces while cursing furiously. The man also mentioned something about a "Pit" but Danny wasn't paying attention, he was scared out of his mind and bolted down the alleyways and out of sight before phasing into a dilapidated building and hiding under some rubble.
Later, Red Hood told Nightwing about the Lazarus Pit catboy demon and described it as nightmarish as possible before adding that it was kinda twinkish. He also added "for the love of God dickwing, don't let demon brat adopt that thing"
In Damians defence, he found Danny asleep next to Alfred the cat in Batcows barn and just decided he was thier new cat. In other news hes far more concerned with hiding Danny From Catwoman than from father.
#dp x dc#fanfiction prompts#prompts#danny phantom#danny fenton#batman#robin#damian wayne#can be dead serious#dead serious#ot it was supposed to be#something went wrong and now damian is adopting a catboy#like father like son i guess#danny has sharp little fangs and hes not afraid to flash them in threat#kitty instincts
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Sitting here eating unheated premade blood pancakes straight from the package, I'm starting to think about just how annoying finnish cuisine must be to someone who didn't grow up in this kind of an environment. Like yeah welcome to the cold north where nothing that grows naturally has any real nutritional value - there's mushrooms growing off the ground for like two weeks in one season and your own weight in mushrooms is like 3 calories. We just eat orc shit made out of whatever can eat the stuff that grows here.
I mean milk isn't that fucked up of a concept if you don't really think about it. Like it's not the bovine titty itself that makes it weird, just that the native population here have a genetic fucking mutation that enables them to digest it in the first place. Sure, lactosis digestion isn't that rare, but I'm still baffled by why people say it like "65% of the world population is lactosis intolerant", like the 35% who are not are somehow the default setting. There was nothing fit for human consumption here that had enough calories to keep people going, so people fucking mutated to consume something that isn't.
And also the things that people just culturally do not eat. Like predators and other omnivores. I don't know if you can get lynx or wolverine meat anywhere, but it took me 20 seconds to find a perfectly credible online store to buy bear meat. I could buy my own weight in canned bear meat right now - it would cost like 7000 euros, but I 100% could if I wanted to.
Almost everything that can be made out of animal products historically has been, because nothing really naturally grows here that's fit for human consumption. This was never a place for an ape. There's just plants that animals can eat, and you eat the animals. And you better eat the whole animal, too. I've spent this week living off blood pancakes and liver casserole. And even things that you wouldn't consider odd if you've grown up around it, but wouldn't even occur to you if you had not. Like gelatin.
I can only imagine how annoying it would be as a muslim moving to Finland and ending up in a town that doesn't have a special Halal shop, so you try to do your shopping in the regular local grocery store, and try to navigate what here even is halal and 80% of the stuff doesn't have any clarification in the packages. And then looking at the self-serve candy and thinking "oh fuck it, I'm going to get myself some fruit and berry gummies for a treat. At least there's no fucking way that these would have pork in it."
And then there's fucking pork in it.
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LOGAN HOWLETT - 'HELL'
A/N: And here I am, still writing and I am here for it. I am actually trying a lot here.
Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader
Warning: mentions of blood and torture
Summary: Y/N shares how she escaped 'hell'.
Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story includes mentions of abuse.
Words: 4300+
Important note: Again, Logan is a tall MF, because they fucked up in the movies. Also, Hugh Jackman!Wolverine.
A TOUCH OF HOPE MASTERLIST | Chapter One
LOGAN HOWLETT - 'HELL'
Y/N was lying on the grass, enjoying the warm sunlight rays. Her right hand was in the air as she tried to make the force come out in a ball-shaped form. She finally made some progress.
Charles helped her train in his office. He aimed to teach her to make a protective shield around another person. Two weeks in, she made some progress. But the goal was still far away. On the other hand, she did learn something new.
The ball-shaped forcefields were bewitching. Y/N could admire her power up close. It was a thin blue layer of radiant energy with a hint of silver sparkles. Beautiful. She hoped to get better and become useful. Now, she had the chance after all those years. It brought tears to her eyes for many reasons.
If only I could get you out.
The nightmares appeared every night. They changed, playing twisted games in her sleep. It was hard to close her eyes. Her past, her present, it all got mixed. They were suffocating her. And his face kept coming back to her.
“How’s it going with her training?” Hank asked the Professor. He was standing at the window, watching Y/N in the distance from the office.
Some of the teachers, the X-Men, were present, discussing the newest addition. The last one who entered the conversation was Logan, smoking his cigar. One look from the Professor, and he extinguished it against his palm. He gritted his teeth when he felt the burning sensation on his palm.
“She’s making progress,” said Charles with a smile. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
Storm walked to a window, watching the kids enjoy the sunny afternoon outside. And there, far away, she noticed Y/N practising her little forcefields. “Her ability is convenient, powerful. She would be great on missions.”
“That is the plan. I want Y/N to be able to protect other people, too. She can create the forcefield around herself and in smaller forms. It might take us more time before she reaches her goal,” said Charles.
“I don’t like her,” Scott confessed to them. “There’s something off about her.” Everyone’s eyes were on him.
“What, that she doesn’t want to let anyone in because she doesn’t trust easily?” Storm glared at her friend.
“She’s not telling us something.”
“Would you tell your life story to a group of strangers you know for two weeks?” Kitty added. “If there is something off about her, the Professor would tell us.”
Charles sighed and turned to his friends. “There is something I need you all to know.”
“He, there it is,” Scott grinned.
That single sentence got everyone’s attention. Charles wheeled into the middle of the room, eyes looking at every person present. Logan frowned. Storm was intrigued, and others kept their faces neutral.
“Years ago, when I had been searching for more mutants, I managed to find Y/N. At that time, she was a teen who happened to discover her mutation. The plan was to bring her here. I wanted to send Hank to get her.”
“Why didn’t you?” Logan asked.
The Professor sighed. “She kept slipping off.”
“What do you mean?” Jean asked, confused.
“When I wanted to find her location, she was nowhere to be found. Not as a mutant or a human,” Charles explained. “I thought she died. And then, months later, I stumbled upon her again. As I tried to reach her, she slipped again.”
“Oh, right,” Hank said. “I remember you thought there was something wrong with Cerebro.”
“The Cerebro was fine. Until this day, I have no idea how it kept happening.”
“So, she’s a telepath?” Bobby asked.
Charles shook his head. “There was a time when I believed she was. It would make perfect sense. Only strong telepaths can shut their minds. That would explain why I couldn’t reach her.”
“So, when you saw her the first time since Logan brought her, you knew who she was. You didn’t need to read her mind?” Storm chimed in. Her eyes kept staring at the Professor.
“That is true. However,” Charles turned to face Logan. “The fact that you found her was a mere coincidence. You two happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
He didn’t comment on it, only shook his head in disbelief. “Is that all, Charles? Or is there more to this story?” He suspected that the Professor wasn’t telling them the whole truth.
“This is all you need to know, now.”
Groans echoed around the office. That answer didn’t bring enough satisfaction. What was he not telling them? Logan was ready to push his buttons. He needed to know more. Everyone deserved the truth. With a sigh, he stood back. “Why so mysterious?”
“I will tell you more once I have more answers,” said Charles calmly. “For now, all we need to do is to help her train. She wants to be better. She suffered enough, and she wants to turn her life upside down.”
“She asked you not to read her mind,” Jean raised a brow.
“I don’t need to read her mind. We talk a lot when I teach her. I promised not to look in. When I met her, it all came screaming at me. All you need to know is I trust her.”
Scott scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. “That’s it?”
The meeting ended shortly after that. Everyone dispersed around the school. Logan’s legs brought him outside, his eyes quickly finding the young woman far away, resting on the grass.
For the last two weeks, he didn’t talk to her much or see her for that matter. He observed from afar. Logan noticed how she started to open up to some of his friends. She tried to get to know each member of the school. Storm, Kitty and Rogue spent most of their time with her. With them, she was able to laugh freely and smile. Damn, that smile. He wanted to see it more.
He frowned. Why did he think that?
He saved her ass, and now she felt like a magnet. He tried to resist, but it was hard. Would it be that bad to know her more? He brought her here, where he promised she’d be safe. And from what he had learnt, Charles knew about her existence for a long time.
Sighing, he moved forward. He took out the cigar that he hadn’t finished and smoked on his way to her. His eyes lingered on her body, eyeing her from head to toe. Compared to their first unexpected meeting, she seemed relaxed and happy. The bruises were gone. Only faint scratch marks remained.
Her hand was still in the air, creating small forcefields. The need to talk to her got stronger. As if she were a water that would extinguish Logan’s thirst. Fuck, he wanted to know her more.
“Hey, kid. How’s the trainin’ going?” he asked when he was close enough for her to hear him.
Y/N turned her head to the side, eyes locking with his. “It’s fine, I guess,” she said with a fleeting smile. “I am trying to figure out how to make a forcefield around another person,” she explained.
“Any luck?” he leaned against the nearest tree. He held the cigar with his fingers.
“No,” she sat up. “I got better at creating it in the shape of a ball. It still does glitch. But it’s a step forward. If only I knew how to project it around another person.”
“It cannot be that hard,” he raised a brow. “It looks so easy.”
She laughed at that. “If only. It requires a lot of concentration and energy. I can protect a person if they are next to me. I can wrap us into the forcefield. That’s about it.”
A gentle smile appeared on Logan’s face. “Like you did when I took you out of that dive bar.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh yeah,” she nodded. “I forgot about that. It was wild. I remember fragments of that day. Shit, the last days before you brought me here are kind of hazy.” She stood up from the grass and wiped off her lower back and ass.
Logan’s eyes followed her every move. “Wanna walk with me?” the question was out before he could think about it. Even he was surprised he had asked that.
“Sure,” she nodded. “I wanted to explore the estate a little more.”
Side by side, they walked away from the school and the noise. The estate reminded her of a gigantic park filled with trees, surrounded by nature and peace. She noticed there were well-trodden pathways. The students must have walked around the place many times.
“How did you get to that bar anyway?” he had to ask.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I kept walking until my feet brought me there. All I knew was to get as far away as possible.”
He took a deep breath. “What happened to you?”
Y/N bit her lower lip and looked somewhere away. “Um,” she hesitated. Was it wise to share it already? “I escaped a lab. I was a guinea pig for five years,” she admitted.
“What?” It was hard to believe what she said. Why was he so surprised? He had his suspicion about this before.
“Yeah,” her eyes were focused on the ground, ashamed of the story. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill me. Five years to keep a mutant for an experiment is a long time. Before you ask, I have no idea how I managed to survive the torture and imprisonment for that long. Those years are a blur.”
“Shit,” he sighed. “Sounds like a hell of a life.”
Y/N lifted her head, scanning Logan’s face. “The Professor didn’t say anything to you?” When he shook his head, she was impressed. “And here I thought you would already know about everything.”
“It’s your story to tell, Y/N. It’s up to you if you want to share it with us,” said Logan.
Out of nowhere, she started to giggle. Logan didn’t understand what was funny. “You know, you don’t seem that kind of a guy who does this a lot. But it’s nice.”
“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes. He took another drag of the cigar. And Y/N laughed a little more. “When did you discover your mutation?”
The smile disappeared. “I was around fifteen when it happened,” Y/N replied. “And it started a life full of misery and darkness.” One of her hands reached for a tree, mapping its texture with her fingertips. After all those years locked up in a lab, she never thought she would feel nature under her hands again.
Logan didn’t question further. He noticed it was a heavy topic for her. She wasn’t ready to give him the details. Somehow, Logan felt he was the only person, except Charles, who got information about her past.
“What is your mutation?” It was her turn to ask questions. She wanted to know more about Logan. Even though his rough exterior told the story of a withdrawn, grumpy man, he had the softest eyes. Were they green? They seemed like it.
They stopped walking. Logan turned to her and brought his hand to his chest. When he closed it, three metal blades slid out of his skin.
Y/N’s mouth opened. “Shit,” she cursed. “Does it hurt?”
“Every time. I’m used to it by now,” Logan said. “They are made of adamantium.”
“Adamantium?”
“One of the strongest metals on Earth.”
Her fingers reached to the claws. Logan’s eyes followed her moves. She wanted to touch them. Before she could, she put her hand away. “Sorry, it’s just fascinating.”
Logan’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, that’s a first,” he commented. “No one said anything like that before.”
“I’m sorry,” she took a step back. “I didn’t want to overstep. Never had much opportunity to admire other mutations.”
“It’s fine.” The claws retracted into his skin. Y/N’s eyes noticed the wounds instantly close and disappear. Her hands quickly reached for his hand, fingers caressing the spots where the lesions would be.
Logan couldn’t believe what he had witnessed. It’s been a while since he felt such a gentle touch on his skin. Her hands were soft and delicate. He cleared his throat. “I heal quickly. In a matter of seconds,” he explained before she could ask.
Her eyes lingered on his hand until she realised what she was doing. “Oh, sorry,” she let him go and hid her hands behind her back. “That was rude. I am so sorry.”
She made him feel things he hadn’t experienced in a long time. It made him flustered. “That’s okay, kid.”
The intense moment ended, and they moved forward. Y/N’s face was burning hot, embarrassed by what she did. Her mind focused on the trees and the pleasant weather around them. The air was warm even though it was autumn. The leaves were sparkling with a range of colours, coming from green to yellow. Some of them were red. It was her favourite season of the year.
“I’ve heard you save mutant children,” she changed the topic as they approached the school grounds.
“Charles finds them, and some of us would collect them,” he explained. “I was on a mission to get a child that needed our help. Unfortunately, it was a failure. The facility was a trap. I was glad I got out. Later that night, I stumbled upon you.”
Y/N pressed a hand against her chest. “What facility?”
“The one hidden in Salem,” he replied. “Why?”
Y/N felt as if her soul left her body. All colour drained from her face. “Oh god,” she brushed her fingers into her hair. “It’s my fault,” and then she hid her face in her palms.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he turned his body to her. “What are you sayin’ there, kid?”
It took her three deep breaths to look him in the eye. He wasn’t angry. It looked like he was concerned. “I was locked there, in the lab, for some time. I escaped a few days before we met.” Panic bubbled inside of her. “I know who you were looking for. I know the kid.”
That night, that moment, it all came rushing back. It was like a movie, reflecting in front of her eyes. She felt it all: the pain, the horror happening in front of her eyes. She knew the child. He helped her escape. And she couldn’t take him with her. His screams echoed inside her mind.
Logan gripped her shoulders. “Y/N, look at me.” He said her name for the first time. That did the trick, and she looked up, eyes meeting his. “There you go. Take a deep breath.” He could see she was listening.
“I have to tell you what happened,” she whispered. “You need to know. It’s my fault you went to a trap.”
Logan brought her inside the school. His hands rested on her shoulders as he walked with her through the hallway. When something happened, all the teachers would gather around immediately. Professor X would call them to his office.
He helped Y/N take a seat on an armchair. A bottle of water appeared in front of her. It was levitating in the air. It was Jean’s doing.
“What’s going on?” Hank was the last one coming inside, closing the door behind him. He had a white lab coat on him, and his glasses were on the tip of his nose.
“This better be good,” Scott scoffed. His hands were wrapped around Jean’s shoulders, holding her close.
“Stop being a dick, dude,” Remy scowled. “Keep your mind shut.”
Y/N glared at Scott. He was the only person who didn’t sit right with her. That’s why, most of the time, she would ignore him. Luckily, he was sweet to Jean.
She grabbed the floating water bottle and took a sip. “Logan told me about the failed mission,” Y/N started to talk. Her voice was low and timid. “He told me he went there to get out a child. He went to a facility that was in Salem - the same place where they held me.”
Charles tilted his head, listening carefully. His face remained neutral. No one could read what he thought.
“I know the kid,” she told them. “His whole body can stretch as he wishes.”
“Elasticity,” Hank stated.
“How did you escape?” Kitty’s voice interrupted the stream of Y/N’s thoughts.
“There were five of us locked in that lab. We were in cells designed to suppress our mutations. It made sure we wouldn’t harm anyone or try to escape. That changed when they brought in JJ.”
“JJ?” Logan questioned that name.
“Jerome Junior,” she explained. “For an eleven-year-old, he was cunning. Because he was the youngest, he had the most energy. The rest of us were barely holding on.
“Never underestimate a child. That’s the greatest advice I’ve learnt in there. I don’t know what happened or how he did it, but the doors to our cells opened. Somehow, he was able to get us out. That’s when hell on Earth started. To get out, we destroyed the place.”
Y/N could feel the smell of chemicals and fire around her. As if she was back there, trying to get out of prison.
The pain in her body was excruciating. After all those years of experiments and torture, she was almost free.
There were bodies on the floor - killed guards and scientists as well as two other mutants who shared the hell with her. They got them before she could put a forcefield out to protect them. So much blood was on her hands and face. When she looked down, there were red puddles. The smell was nauseating.
“Let’s go,” one of the mutants shouted. The man was bleeding from his thigh and arm.
“Where’s JJ?” Y/N asked, looking for the kid. She lost him during the fight. “I’m not leaving him here.”
“We don’t have time to get the kid. They’ll kill us if we don’t leave!”
She was turning around, trying to find a way to get to him. “I said I am not leaving!”
“Fuck this, I’m out,” said the mutant and fled the scene without anyone else.
Limping, Y/N ran out of the destroyed lab and walked through the hallways until she found a swarm of guards holding the child. Guns pressed against the boy’s head as they put a collar on his neck. It beeped once, and a tiny light turned green.
JJ’s eyes found Y/N standing on the other side of the room. He did one last thing before they packed him into a truck - he shook his head. It was a sign for her to leave. Her vision blurred as tears hit her eyes. The boy got them out, and she couldn’t save him.
“I tried to get him, save him, but they took him away,” her voice broke. She let the tears fall. “He was eleven, for fuck’s sake. He somehow got us out. I wanted to do the same thing for him, and I couldn’t.”
“How do you know it was him?” Jean asked.
Y/N thought back, trying to get to the point when she realised he opened the cells. “I remember him stretching his fingers. He must have found a trigger on the table that opened the doors.”
Ororo reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You did your best. You tried.”
“It’s not enough,” she shook her head. “Even now, I feel like a traitor.” The story was not over. “When I left the building, I wandered for a few days,” she continued. “I got some old clothes and hid everywhere - in the woods, old buildings. Without energy, I happened to injure myself more. I even took a fall before I found the dive bar. My body was in pain, my head a mess, and I don’t remember much when Logan got me out.”
Silence spread around them. They all let the information sink in.
“When I came to the facility,” Logan started to talk. The attention was on him. “Many soldiers were guarding the place like their own eyes. They were ready to kill anyone who approached the building. I managed to get in but never got far away,” said Logan. “The place was a mess. As if a bomb exploded inside.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Kitty spoke up. “Why would they keep the place highly secured if it got damaged and took the child away? Think about it. Maybe they’ll use it as a cover-up. No one would think that the lab was still active.”
“Kitty’s right,” said Bobby. “In the end, there are only two options. Either they did take him away, or he’s there, well hidden from the world.”
“They did it to evoke confusion,” Jean added to the conversation.
“Scott, Jean, try to find as much information as possible about the facility in Salem. We’ll be better prepared to take him out of there,” Charles gave instructions.
Y/N jumped on her feet, letting the water bottle drop on the floor. “I’ll go with you.” All eyes were back on her.”I have to get him out.”
“You need to train more,” said Scott strictly. His hands fell off Jean. “You’ve been here for what two weeks? Forget about it. You’re not going on this mission.”
“Mind your tone, Scotty,” Logan warned him with a snarl.
“She doesn’t know how to fight or use her ability. She’s a newbie, a trainee. I will not put anyone’s life in danger because of her,” he pushed himself from Jean and approached Y/N. “If we go to get the boy, she’s staying here. Period.”
Logan was close behind Y/N, ready to step in. But she stood her ground, not afraid of the Cyclops.
Jean reached for Scott’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Scott.”
Y/N approached Scott with one long step, glaring at him. “I survived a lot of things in my life. You don’t know what I am capable of, so don’t underestimate me, Cyclops. And don’t be a dick. I’ve never been rude to you, never did anything to you. So don’t raise your voice at me. I am not afraid of you.”
“Oh yeah?” he challenged her. “You better start talking about your past life then. We know nothing about you.”
Her fists clenched hard until her knuckles were white. There was a lot of anger building inside of her. And it showed. The forcefield started to glitch around her.
“You can’t even control your power, Y/N,” Scott mocked her. “Look what you are doing.”
“Y/N, please, calm down,” said Charles calmly. “Same goes for you, Scott.”
She closed her eyes and took a step back, relaxing her posture. She knew better than to get riled up. When her blood pressure lowered, she looked at Scott again, shaking her head in disbelief. What a dick!
Turning on her heel, Y/N left the office without another word. Her walk was brisk, taking long steps to be outside as soon as possible. Of course, there would be a person who would make her freedom difficult.
I will get you out.
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked through the driveway to the estate’s main gate. She didn’t want to leave. She needed to walk and think.
Y/N wanted to get little JJ out of that hellhole before it was too late. Fear crawled through her back, tapping on her head. What if they kill him before they get there? He saved her life. He helped her escape. It’s her turn to return the favour and secure him a better life here in a school for mutants.
There was another thing that drove her to save the boy. But she didn’t want to open that door. After all those years, it was painful to think about it.
Fucking bitch! How could you?! Cries were echoing in her mind. Psycho! Murderer!
“Y/N,” she heard Logan’s voice behind her. That made her halt and sigh. “You okay?”
She pressed the bridge of her nose. “Yes,” she said.
“You are full of shit, ya know that?” he laughed. “Just admit that you are pissed.”
She spun around. Her eyes could kill. “I’ll get JJ with or without help. I don’t give a shit what you say. I will be the one who will get him out of that place.”
“I know,” Logan nodded, understanding. “I won’t be the one who’ll stop you. If I were you, I’d do the same thing. And I would punch Scott in the face.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “You have your way with words, Logan.”
“I was thinking about becoming a motivational speaker,” he shrugged and smiled at her when he made her laugh again. “Bobby was right. We only have two options, and we must prepare before we leave to get the kid. I was there. I saw how many guards were securing the facility. One or two people won’t do it. We need a strategy.”
“All I want is to help, get him out of there so he can have a better life than I ever had. I don’t want him to experience that much torture. I need…” she started to choke on words. “I need…” Tears escaped her eyes as she felt the pain inside her soul. Was this a panic attack? Her heart was beating fast. The world was crumbling down.
Logan was quick enough to close the distance. His hands found her shoulders. “We will get him out. You hear me, bub? I can’t tell you when. We must prepare for the mission and gather information. We won’t make it far without a strategy.”
She gripped his flannel shirt tightly, holding for dear life. “I worry he’ll be dead.”
He shook his head. “You said he was cunning. He’ll find a way to survive.” Without thinking, he pressed her body against his, holding her. “While we are planning, you’ll be training your power and how to fight.”
She closed her teary eyes. As much as the hug was unexpected, it was comforting. “Promise me I’ll go with you.”
Logan nodded twice. “I promise.”
#Logan Howlett x female reader#Logan Howlett x reader#Wolverine x reader#Wolverine x female reader#James Logan Howlett x reader#Logan Howlett x female mutant reader#A touch of hope#Marvel fanfiction#Wolverine fanfiction
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So I've started a DP writing prompt and I don't know whether or not to finish it so I'll set my base ideas here and see if it hits.
Danny slammed his locker shut, kicking the metal door so hard that it crumpled like a can of soda, barely hanging on by the top hinge. The school was mostly empty, given that school was out regardless. But the remaining students were in a similar state as him.
The students remaining in the school were all in different stages of grief, really. The whole scene looked like something straight from one of Jazz's textbooks. Paulina was picking up her locker, talking with Star about Phantom. Denial.
Danny was the perfect picture of anger. Pure rage leaked from every pore. Star had only just passed bargaining, the mascara tear-stains from begging with her parents are enough evidence of that.
Dash sat against his locker across the hall, staring into blank space. Mikey sat in the cafeteria, head buried into the phone he'd gotten off of his parents.
All of Casper High was like this. Tucker sat next to Mikey, the vibrant screen glaring at his thick-framed glasses. Sam was trashing the art room, her angry screams heard from where Danny stood in the hallway. He'd gotten into his locker and was currently busy tears apart every picture he had with his parents.
What Danny really wanted to know, what all of the students did, was why. Why was this happening? What led to this?
It had started the Friday before, really. School was going as normal. Danny was on edge. There hadn't been a ghost attack all week. He sat in his seat, ready for English class. Mr. Lancer came in. He set down his book, took off his reading glasses, and stared at his class.
"Our funding has been cut." No one says anything. Mr. Lancer sighs, rubbing his face. "I... Shouldn't be the one to break this to you." He turns to the corner of the room. "I... Have to be." He sighs. "Eighteen years ago, I got hired for an acting job." Still, silence follows his words.
"A government-funded project. Full time, the pay was astronomical. I was suspicious, but I was broke. I was so indebted that I would have joined the military. Or, hell, I would've done anything." Mr. Lancer took a seat. "I was briefed on this... This project. The Amity Project. A fake town, something about the ambient air. Genetically mutated kids. I didn't understand it all."
There's a click from somewhere. Just a background sound, hardly anything. "I didn't understand the sheer size of the project. A whole fake town? I-I was in awe. But then, when you guys got here, to this school, and the project took a turn. No longer was the project raising you guys. It wasn't... It was something twisted and wrong. It was torture." He hangs his head. "No one told me. No one told me until it was too late, and I was too far in, and-"
Mr. Lancer swallows. "I'm sorry." He places his head in his hands. "The Amity Project has come to a head. The portal's been shut down, and you all will be... Dispersed. Rehomed."
"Why?" Danny finds the word falling from his mouth before he can even think.
"They say it's because our benefactors were almost caught. Downsizing. I... I recommend you all stay here. At school. Your parents. They... They are your parents, but they are scientists. This has been a job to them. You'll all be given your housing and guardian's information by Monday. I'm sorry."
Danny had only gotten minimal information from his 'parents'. Just that they'd be busy sorting through years of backlogged data. Just that they were upset that it was all over. No one could stand being around the edge of the town- the sheer number of people just on the other side of the fence was overwhelming.
The juniors of Casper had stayed in Mr. Lancer's English class for hours after the bombshell had been dropped. They'd all had some sort of deep-rooted mutual understanding with each other. And they were all feeling. All feeling anger, depression, they were all feeling grief.
The cards that sat in their back pockets, the creased folders, everything. They all stood in a line, now, all twenty-four students. All of the younger students had been cleared. The older ones had already been gone. But they knew, those 24 students, they knew that it wasn't them that the Amity Project ruled around. It was them.
The students looked less their age as they watched car after car pull up in front of the school. They look like warriors, watching the 'civilians' step out of their cars.
Danny is in the middle of the line, hunched forward a bit as he twists and rips at the flag pole in his hands. He crunches it like it's made of playdough, the metal creaking and grinding in his hands.
Sam is to Danny's left, dripping in blood red paint. Her gothic attire is soaked, her hand color is lost to the red. She looks hellious, like she'd crawled from her own personal pit in hell.
Tucker stands to Danny's right. His posture is firm. His eyes are calculating. His jaw is set. His face is stone. He's tall, looming.
... So. Anyways. I'm thinking from here Sam goes with Diana Prince, Danny goes with Clark Kent, and Tucker goes with Bruce Wayne. The rest of the class goes with assorted civilians (or minor vigilantes). The class remains in contact with each other via letters. The story will follow them coping with not being normal, with the rage and anger, and their evolution into being a new phase of heroes. Heroes without masks or names or anything.
Jazz is living with Barry Allen. She was specifically separated from Danny, and kept that way. Vlad is a halfa, but he's part of the project. Dani is his daughter, and Dan was an unscripted blip in time.
Any feedback would be nice! I just don't know if it'll turn out the way I'm thinking it will.
#dp x dc#danny phantom#danny fenton#dc x dp#batman#jason todd#batfam#danny phantom crossover#justice league#diana prince#clark kent#tucker foley#sam manson
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The Harringtons pride themselves with being a family from a long line of people who got their roots removed. They are above such a silly thing like emotions and worthless concepts like affection. It's sometimes a solace Steve thinks when he lies on the cold tiles of the big empty house yearning for warmth yearning for a family. His parents leave him alone because they can and they don't love him because they can't. One day he'll be just like them, just a blank slate of harsh marble. He already practises and prepares. Holds everyone at an arms length, is cruel, is untouchable. His friendship with Tommy superficial, artificial based on a mutual upbringing and a mutual future. Sometimes when Steve watches the way Tommy and Carol snarl at each other he wonders if they already had their roots removed.
NancyWheeler manages to create a crack in the marble. Steve is in love and the idea of roots and of being numb, emotionally dead feels silly, feels so far removed, feels like it won't ever happen. Because he and Nancy are in love. Only that they aren't. Nancy doesn't love him and Steve hides in his bed for a week. He waits for the cough to come for that choking feeling of his lungs being squeezed like lemons, wants it to happen so he can have the operation and cut the pain away. But the roots never come, it wasn't that kind of love, and the pain slowly leaves.
He tells Robin about it on the bathroom floor and she just goes, "duh, didn't you pay attention in health class? Roots don't grow if you want the pain to go away. Roots come when you want to hold on to the pain."
Steve hadn't understood back then, thought that made zero sense. But then Eddie had happened. Picking the kids up from Hellfire turned into friendly banter turned into Steve buying from Eddie turned into them hanging out in the trailer, turned into a sexuality crisis or two, turned into feelings. Steve doesn't say anything. Wants to wait until Eddie has passed his last class. Doesn't want to add to Eddie's stress if he doesn't feel the same, doesn't want to distract Eddie if Eddie miraculously feels the same. He'll get to it when the time is right.
Only that the time isn't right and Eddie dies. And Steve? Steve starts to cough. Typically people cough rose petals until stems get stuck in their throat and thrones pierce their skin. Steve just coughs forget-me-nots. he can't decide if it's fitting or ironic. He does finally understand what Robin meant though. He doesn't want the pain to go away, it's all he has left of Eddie. That and Eddie's vest. It's easier to breathe when he sleeps in it.
Robin is furious when she finds out, tells him Eddie is dead, Eddie can't love him back and that Steve will die too if he doesn't get the roots removed. But Steve doesn't want to, doesn't want to lose the last part of Eddie, doesn't want to lose that part of himself, the part that feels.
And he doesn't have to. The lamp in his empty living room blinks three times short, long, short. SOS. Steve first thinks he is losing his mind but then Dustin calls and then El. Something's alive in the upside down and for the first time Steve feels like he can breath again. It takes surprisingly little to convince the party and Owens to go back on a rescue mission, they all miss Eddie or can tell how much Dustin and Steve do.
When they find him he isn't quite Eddie anymore. He's evolved, adapted, still the dorky metal head deep down inside but also something new something feral. He attacks Steve on sight but instead of tearing Steve's throat out he just wraps himself protectively around Steve and possessively growls "mine."
His, Steve agrees. It takes some coaxing but Eddie or Kaz how he likes to be called now returns to Hawkins with them, even allows Owens to examine him, as long as Steve gets to come with. Turns out Eddie really shouldn't have survived even with the supernatural powers of the upside down he should have been dead before the upside down could heal/mutate him.
"He was held together by roots, keeping him from bleeding out and falling apart," Owens explains after some tests and Eddie looks very sheepishly suddenly, unable to meet Steve's eyes.
But steve won't have this, no shame no fear after they almost lost each other. Gently he cups the face of his own personal monster and lifts it up until cat like yellow eyes get caught in liquid amber ones.
"I've been coughing up forget-me-nots since we lost you," Steve whispers. Eddie stared a second before he leans into the soft touch.
"Anemones," he mumbles into Steve's palm. "Ever since last September it's been anemones for me."
Anemones, symbolising loneliness and being forsaken. Fitting for both of them.
It doesn't matter anymore though, the pain they've both clung to like a castaways to a life raft, has eased and now they cling to each other. It doesn't matter if Eddie is no longer quite human and needs to bite and feed from Steve every now and then. Steve lets him take and gets to take in return
After the all the same sweet nectar from the flowers their roots have bloomed into runs through both of them, neither of them ever lonely again or forsaken. Only ever in love and together.
#steddie#stranger things#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steddie fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic
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Less Talking, More Kissing: Miguel O’Hara x Reader
Summary: You tell Miguel that every time he gets mad at something he has to take you aside and make out with you.
Words: 1.0k+
Warnings: slightly suggestive
Author’s Notes: 100% convinced that if Miguel just got a kiss kiss he wouldn’t be such a dick.
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It’s no secret to anyone in the Spider Society that Miguel is an angry man. Understandably so, considering what he’s been through. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect the entire team negatively. His anger often clouds his judgment and his ability to sympathize with others, and you know he’s aware of it. People don’t listen to him when he gets irrational and dramatic, and quite frankly he’s sick of not being taken seriously.
You know it’s partially a side-effect of his mutated DNA, giving him a bit of a feral, animalistic side that’s difficult to fully turn off, but when he comes to you feeling hopeless, you’re more than happy to do what you can. You’ve been together for a long time now, and you’re the one person he fully trusts.
“You’re the only person who can actually keep me grounded, you know,” he mumbles into your neck, cuddling you close on the couch. “How do you do it?”
“Nothing special,” you giggle as his fangs slightly tickle your skin. “I just love you as much as I can,”
“Even when I’m a jerk?”
“Especially when you’re a jerk.”
He groans, adjusting position so he’s propped up above you, “I wish I could just make out with you whenever I get like that. You’re the only one who can calm me down,”
You smirk, “Who says you can’t?”
“You...you want me to do that?”
“Why not?” you shrug. “If I have the power to turn you into a nicer guy, even if it’s temporary, why not let you do what you want with me?”
“Don’t tempt me, love,” he growls, leaning down to kiss you.
“I’m serious!” you push him away playfully. “Just try it tomorrow, okay? See if it works,”
“You’re too good to me,” he grins, leaning back down to capture your lips.
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It’s not long into the next day before he needs you. He’s alone, glaring at his monitors and getting increasingly frustrated at all the issues rising across the universe. He tells Lyla to send you in, and before you can get a word out to ask what’s wrong, he grabs you and slams you against the panels, kissing you passionately until he gets all the irritation out of his system.
This continues to happen several more times over the next few weeks. At first it’s limited to only times when he’s alone, but eventually it bleeds into times others are around as well. Anytime he starts to get heated in some sort of mission briefing or meeting with people from the Spider Society, he’ll step out to call you and get his fix. People start to wonder why Miguel keeps randomly leaving meetings for 10-20 minutes and then returning completely composed, but none of them are about to complain that he’s gotten nicer recently. He’s been yelling a lot less and is overall a less negative person now, and people are a lot more chill around him now. They don’t feel scared to talk to him, and they’re finally listening to him as much as he wanted.
The day he hears about the newest anomaly on Earth-1610, though, is when his coping mechanism is really put to the test.
You haven’t seen him this angry in quite a long time, as he goes on and on about something involving a spider biting a kid in the wrong universe, and that kid’s actions causing the creation of a dangerous super villain. He tells the newest recruit, Gwen Stacy, to go to that universe and check it out, but to avoid Miles at all costs. She retaliates, due to Miles being a close old friend of hers, but Miguel doesn’t back down. He reminds her once again of what’s at stake and how important it is to maintain canon events, refusing to listen to her point of view.
“Miguel.” you take his hand and pull him aside, waving to the others. “We’ll be right back. Just need to take care of something,”
You take him out of the room and push him into the wall, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to you and kiss him ferociously.
“Mmph-” he grunts. “They just-they just don’t understand…”
“I know sweetheart, I know,” you sigh as he kisses down your neck, lightly biting the skin. “But you really were being a jerk in there,”
“I could’ve been worse. I was holding back,” his hands graze and squeeze down the sides of your body, making your squeak at his strength.
“She’s just a kid, Miguel,”
“A kid who doesn’t know what she’s talking about-”
“Alright,” you cut him off. “Less talking, more kissing,”
He does as he’s told, continuing to kiss every piece of skin exposed. His hands move from your hair to your waist to your legs, and he lifts you up from under them. He turns you around and slams you against the wall, pressing into you while your hands cling to his giant shoulders.
“I need you,” he growls.
“You still have to go back in there eventually, you know,”
“But I haven’t gotten all my anger out yet,” he smirks against your lips.
“How much more do you have?”
“Enough to last all night, sweetheart,”
Your stomach flutters, and you slither your fingers into his hair. You’ve created a monster.
“Hey man,” you hear a voice several feet away. “Can we go home now or what?”
Miguel drops you down and you turn to see Hobie, Gwen, as multiple Peters from the mission briefing staring at you. You both feel your faces grow hot.
“Lyla will finish giving you all the details of the mission and then you can go your separate ways, yes,” Miguel speaks up.
They nod and awkwardly walk away, and Miguel grabs your hand and starts storming down the hall.
“Now they’re never going to take me seriously,”
“You don’t know that. Sometimes showing people you have a soft side actually makes them respect you more,”
“Hmmph,” he grunts, pulling you inside your shared room at the end of the hall.
You laugh, “Still need to get that anger out?”
“You have no idea.”
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099#across the spiderverse#spiderverse
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Bring Me Home, Chapter 2 Part 3
A little shorter this week. I had my graduation ceremony over the weekend and the opportunity to hang out with my sister-in-law for the first time in a few months! (She and my brother moved states a few months back.) If you scroll down a bit, you'll be able to see how I decorated my graduation cap! I love how it turned out.
But you don't care about that. It's Wednesday! Time for a WIP Wednesday segment!
Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.
First, Previous
Word Count: 1k
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Unable to get Tim’s attention, Conner asked, “Who’s Technus?”
Danny shrugged. “One of my rogues. Tuck thinks he’s the ghost of Nikolai Tesla. He’s interested in controlling all technology and will make himself a giant mechasuit cannibalized from any electronic he can find in, like, a half mile radius. Super annoying.”
Tim hummed. “You didn’t tell me about him being Nikolai Tesla.”
“It’s a new hypothesis of Tuck’s. He’s been trying to research all the ghosts that come through as part of our profiles on them. That involves trying to figure out who they might’ve been in life. We’re hoping it’ll help me deescalate confrontations to cut back on property damage. Thanks to my parents talking about how evil all ghosts are, no one trusts Phantom and I get blamed for everything.”
Tim reached out and squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Practically everything Danny ever said about his parents made him like them less. To change the subject before he learned something else that’d make him want to attack Jack and Maddie while they were under the same roof, he asked, “So why does ectoplasm harm electronics anyway?”
Danny seemed to lean into his touch. “Well, ectoplasm is complicated. It is generated in this dimension but doesn’t really belong here. It comes about through death and leads the way to the Ghost Zone. At least… that’s the hypothesis I think is the most likely. I’ve only really been studying it for a few months since my own accident, though.” He shook his head. “Anyway! When it interacts with things on Earth that aren’t trying to get to the Zone, things get weird. Especially with non-sentient things that can’t will the ectoplasm to act in a specific way. Even animals can exert some control over ectoplasm. But electronics can’t.”
It was only a few minutes more before Danny had completely disassembled the phone. He then grabbed another pipette and adjusted the volume and added ectoplasm to certain pieces. Then took a third size and did it all over again.
“How on earth did you find out how much to add?” asked Bart. “You’re changing quantities constantly.”
“Trial and error. Long and tedious trial and error. We tried dipping sections in the ectoplasm to start, but that generally fried the tech and mutated its function. Wires do do best with submersion, though. No more than a second or two for small ones. Even after we stopped submersion, we started by adding way too much—spreading it over the entire chip. But that also didn’t work. Realized just half a microliter applied to the connections was best. The camera, speaker, and microphone need more. Those get ten microliters apiece. And we just kept trying different amounts until we had something that worked. We ruined four phones before we started testing each component individually.”
Conner let out a low whistle. “Well we’re glad you have. Thanks for helping with this.”
“Of course. Anything for Tim.”
Tim’s face heated as Cassie laughed. “Yeah, our Tim has a way of winning people over, doesn’t he?”
“I think I won him over, actually.” Danny hung the pipette back up on the holder. “All right, now just to put this baby back together. Who’s hungry?”
“Me!” called Bart. “It’s been ages since we’ve last eaten.”
“You’ve got an accelerated metabolism, right? We’ll stop by a store and get some extra stuff if you need anything overnight or tomorrow.”
“I like you,” said Bart. “You should come with us when we leave. Join our team.”
Tim buried his face in his hands, did none of his teammates know the definition of subtlety? Offering Danny a place with the Teen Titans or Young Justice was the first thing he tried.
“Thanks for the offer, but as I’ve told Tim, I can’t leave Amity. No one else is capable of responding to ghost threats.”
Conner shook his head. “Looks like your parents have it under control.”
Danny laughed. “Oh hell no. They’ve got a lot of inventions and most of them do something. But it’s not always what they expect them to do. And dad’s aim is terrible.” As he spoke, he continued to reassemble Tim’s phone.
Tim couldn’t help but admire how expertly Danny’s fingers moved over the pieces. And before he knew it, Danny was handing the phone back to him.
“Should work now. Turn it on and double check.”
Tim took it and held the power button until the WE logo appeared. Sure enough, once the screen loaded, so did a dozen missed phone calls and even more missed texts.
Bruce, Dick, and Barbara had all attempted contact multiple times. Even Alfred had called once. He winced and immediately called Bruce back.
“Hey, B,” he said as soon as the call connected. “We’re all fine. Just crossed an area that messed with our tech.”
“How did it mess with your tech?” Bruce demanded.
“It’s normal in this area. But I’ve a local friend and he fixed my phone. He’ll take care of Conner’s, Cassie’s, and Bart’s after we grab some dinner. So if anyone else is worried, tell them we’re fine and they can call me in the meantime if they have questions.” Tim made sure to use civilian names so Bruce would know they were no longer in costume.
“Who is this ‘friend’?” asked Bruce.
“God, B, it’s fine. I’ve known him for years. We game online together when we can. Have since we were kids.”
“Hn.” Why was it so much harder to read Bruce over the phone than in person? It was so annoying. “I see. Where are you currently?”
“We’re in Illinois. Will probably stay here a day or two with Danny and his parents. And then we’ll come home and share everything about our trip.” Aka, submit an official report about the outcome of their mission.
“Very well. I expect to know all the details. And I want twice daily check-ins until you’re home.”
“Fine, fine. Will do. Bye, B.” Before Bruce could demand anything else, Tim hung up on him. Next he shot texts to Dick, Alfred, and Barbara assuring them he was fine and his phone was working again. Replies came instantly and he ignored them all. “All right, that’s done. Let’s go eat.”
---------
Next
I think this is the first time I've had an actual scene break to stop the segment at. I usually just go until I see a change in the conversation, but I've got my <hr> marker at this point and there's gonna be a scene change! (So I won't have to repeat a paragraph or two next time I post.)
You get a different explanation for ectoplasm in this fic! Wasn't planning on that, but it happened and I like it.
Hope you enjoyed.
Tag List Part 1
@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @automaticsoulharmony, @d4ydr34min9, @revnantdpxdclover, @midigeria, @raginblastocyst
#dpxdc#tim drake#danny fenton#conner kent#cassie sandsmark#bart allen#dead tired#bart made attempt 1 to kidnap danny#it was super ineffective#tim is embarrassed
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Double-Mutated Mikey
Chapter 19: Pathology
Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club
Prev || Next
Mikey wakes up to the sound of shouting and yelling.
"Oh, no.... oh no... oh no, oh no, oh nonononono...! Why today? This couldn't have happened like, last week, or maybe next month?!"
Mikey wonders what could be so upsetting to Leo. There's the sound of rushing back and forth, people shouting and whining and acting all terrified. He watches from his room as people keep running past his door.
A figure stops in his doorway -- Leo, by the smell and voice -- and flicks on the lights while yelling worriedly. The lights blind him momentarily as his vision switches from heat-seeking to binocular.
"Mikey! We gotta get you somewhere safe, bud..."
"Why?" he croaks.
Mikey doesn't even have to get out of the hammock before Leo scoops him up -- blankets and all -- and starts running with him.
"Dad's sick with rat flu!"
"Huh?"
"You don't remember rat flu?" Leo asks, looking down at Mikey as he runs. "Well, uh... it's this whole thing, it would take too long to explain. Basically, he gets a really bad cold and has weird symptoms. We don't wanna risk you getting infected just yet, so I'm having you bunker down in Dee's lab."
Mikey isn't sure what is going on, but everyone seems frantic. Leo drops him off in the lab, where Casey is also hiding out.
"Are you sure we'll be safe in here?" Casey asks, watching as Mikey is gently set down on the floor, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.
"Probably... Splinter will be more focused on us than you, so all should be well... Have you ever seen rat flu, Casey?"
"A few times, though I don't remember much," Casey says with a shrug. "It happened mostly when I was a toddler, and before we had to eat Master Splinter."
"Okay, well, there's the seven stages -- wait, what?"
Leo shakes his head and holds up his hands.
"Nevermind, forget I asked, moving past, I don't ever want to know that story..."
"It was the apocalypse, we were running low on food, and his last wishes were--"
"But back to the rat flu!" Leo interrupts loudly, "Splinter will be going through the full seven stages, and those are way too chaotic for Mikey to be caught up in just yet. Besides, we don't know how well he's going to react to the flu if he should get contaminated by the germs. It's safest to just keep him in preemptive quarantine for now..."
"Alright, so what's first?" Casey asks, sitting next to Mikey.
Mikey shuffles just a bit away from him, eyeing Casey's hands nervously as his brother explains.
"First stage is fever, which -- oh man, I totally forgot about that..."
"What?" Mikey asks, concerned for why Leo is getting so bent out of shape. "What wrong?"
"Dad's first symptom is he gets overheated from the fever, so he cranks the AC all the way up," Leo groans, rushing out and shouting to the others. "Raph! I need blankets and a heater, stat!"
"Cold?" Mikey asks nervously.
"Yup, very cold. But we'll be prepared, don't worry," Leo says, as Raph rushes in with a stack of quilts and a heater.
"Will this be enough?" Raphael asks, handing half of the stack to the leader.
"I think so... Casey, there's a hoodie here, you should bundle up too," Leo says, throwing the oversized shirt at the future boy while Raph wraps Mikey up like a burrito.
"Danger?" Mikey asks nervously, watching Raph.
"No, there's no danger, it's just crazy and confusing," Raph reassures him.
Mikey can smell the fear. He can hear the nervous twinge in his voice. He can see the wrinkles on his head forming.
But Mikey trusts them. They may be scared, but they will help.
Mikey snuggles into the quilts and hums. Leo and Casey set up the heater before the two brothers leave the room.
"Casey knows how to work the door, so if anything goes wrong, he'll open it up, okay? But unless you hear one of us say something, keep this door locked for now."
"Leo safe? Raph safe?" Mikey asks.
"Sure! Like I said, it's just a flu."
Leo hands a communicator to Casey before he winks at Mikey, his smile strained and thin. The doors close with a hiss and a click, bolting from the inside out.
Mikey and Casey sit quietly as they wait.
Soon enough the air seems to chill, and their breaths can be seen as fog in the room. Mikey squirms in discomfort, pulling the blankets closer. Casey starts to shiver.
The communicator beeps, and Leo's voice chimes in.
"Stage one is in progress. You guys okay?"
"We're f-f-fine," Casey chatters. "K-k-keep us upd-d-dated."
"Will do."
The line clicks, and the two sit in silence.
Mikey shivers. The blankets help, but he can still feel the frigid chill of the air through the sheets. It doesn't hurt yet, but it is uncomfortable. The floor is ice under him. He tucks the quilts under his feet and legs as he tries to insulate himself better. He looks over to see Casey suffering by the heater. Mikey chirps at him to get his attention.
"Sh-sh-share?" he asks.
Casey looks Mikey up and down before nodding. Mikey hops over and opens his fortress, a gush of icey air whooshing in and stabbing his unprotected legs. He gasps and hisses through his teeth as Casey slides in and helps wrap the blankets around them again.
"The shared body heat will h-help," he says, his shivers shaking him to the core. "Thanks. I-I-I didn't think you l-liked m-m-me anymore..."
Mikey frowns.
"M-Mikey not h-hate Casey..."
He slinks into his shell a bit more.
"...Mikey s-s-scared of Casey..."
"Scared?" Casey stares wide at Mikey. "Why?"
"Mikey... not r-r-rem-member-r Casey. But Cas-s-sey human, humans scare Mikey," he whimpers.
Mikey hides his face under the blanket. Or maybe he's just trying to keep warm.
"Humans mean. Hate Mikey. Hurt Mikey. Mikey scared a lot... Mikey scared."
Casey sighs.
"I guess that makes sense. I-If I'm honest, I'd probably be scared of humans t-t-too..." He wraps his arms around the bundle. "But I'm glad you told me. I thought you just hated me!"
Mikey huffs, a shivering chuckle.
"Mikey th-th-thought C-Casey hate Mikey!"
"What? Why?"
"C-C-Casey-y look s-sad," Mikey explains. "Casey look sad at brothers, too. Casey l-look s-scared of Mikey..." Mikey sighs at the last sentence. "Mikey scares brothers. Mikey see. Mikey scary."
"You're n-not scary!" Casey lies. "We're just... concerned for your health. You went through a lot of injury, and we weren't there to help you. That's what scares us."
Mikey peeks up at him. CJ gently presses his head against Mikey's.
"We... we were so terrified, Mikey. You have no idea how happy I was to see you back... last week without you was a nightmare. I've never seen Leo so scared, and I saw him sacrifice everything to send me--"
He clears his throat.
"Uhm... getting off-topic. What I-I'm trying to say is... we're not scared of you, we're scared for you."
Mikey gives him a shy smile. He knows that Casey is lying. He can smell it. But Casey doesn't want to hurt him. Mikey purrs, nuzzling Casey's shoulder. CJ chuckles and pulls Mikey closer.
A moment later, the communicator beeps again.
"Stage two! Repeat, stage two, wild rat man! Donnie has been compromised!"
Casey pulls his wrist up to his face and leans in.
"What's going on out there?!"
"Donnie got pancaked by Splinter, he's quarantined now."
The boys hear a feral squeal over the comm lines, and both eyes go wide.
"S-S-Splinter-r-r?" Mikey asks.
"RUN!" a shout over the comms comes in. "Raph, this way, this way!!"
"W-w-ait, if Splinter's past the f-f-fever s-stage, then why is-s it still s-s-so c-c-c-cold-d-d???" Casey chatters.
"I told you, Donnie got quarantined! He hasn't rebooted the AC yet, and we're on a whole new system now so-- OH WAIT NO LOOK OUT!!"
There's a scuffle and a shuffle heard over the comms, and the two boys listen in intense silence. After a moment, Leo comes back onto the comms.
"Okay, we're good. Close call. How're you two holding up in there?"
"Cold," Mikey complains.
"We'll get to work on resetting the AC. Raph got Donnie's S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.2.0 to lead Splinter away for the moment... I think we're in the clear..."
Several minutes pass by. Mikey and Casey sit in the lab, cold and waiting. Ten minutes go by. Fifteen.
Mikey's body starts jerking, seizing, convulsing. The pain starts to set in, his body can't handle the low temperature. He gasps, a sharp stabbing sensation in his chest that aches and spreads across his body. He doubles over, clutching his chest with one hand and gripping the blankets with the other.
Casey pulls him closer. Mikey is pressed against his chest, he can CJ's his heart beating. He focuses on that.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Casey pulls the comms up again.
"Guys, what's the holdup? Mikey's starting to--"
The lights go out. The heater shuts down. The door hisses and a loud click echoes in the room. Mikey yelps and hugs Casey.
"That's... not good...."
The comms click.
"Ah! Ninja supreme! Stage four!!"
"What happened to stage three?!" Casey shouts. "What have you been doing this whole time?! WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?!"
"He's in the vents!" Raph shouts through the mic.
Mikey hears scratching and scurrying from above. Mikey makes a quick sound, a yelping chirp to warn Casey, before Splinter suddenly descends from the ceiling vents and lands with a smoke bomb on the floor. Mikey and Casey scramble in opposite directions.
The blankets fall off of Mikey's shoulders. He whines in pain, holding himself tight as the cold causes his body to go rigid like he's been frozen solid.
His tail jerks, curling around him in snapping movements, like he's a disc been scratched too many times and it keeps freezing and playing one moment at a time. It's agony, it's killing him, Mikey can't breathe anymore... his lungs feel like they're collapsing inside of him, his bones turn seize up and go stiff in place, his head is buzzing with pins and needles, and his limbs feel like freezer-burn.
Splinter -- in his full ninja garb -- crouches over Mikey and touches his shoulder, inspecting him. Mikey winces, the meager warmth from his father's hand burns against the ice that is his scaly skin. Casey shouts out Mikey's name, and Splinter dashes away into the darkness.
Casey rushes over to Mikey, checking him for injuries.
"Mikey? Mikey!! Michelangelo!! Oh no, oh no... can you hear me?"
Mikey tries to lift his head up to talk to him. He can barely move it, it feels stiff and it hurts to turn his neck. He manages to move his eyes to look up at Casey. He opens his mouth, trying to force out words, a croak, a whimper, anything. All he can manage is a ragged and laboured breath, a gasp for air as he writhes without moving.
"I'm gonna get the guys, I'm gonna get you warm, just stay with me!"
Mikey loses all feeling in his limbs. His tail stops moving. His torso goes numb before it too becomes lost in static. Mikey turns some kind of ghost, and nothing can touch him anymore, and nothing hurts anymore. His ears start ringing, a stuffy distortion that blocks out most sounds. Casey Jr. is two feet away from him, but his voice is far far away. Time slows down, an tormenting eternity that is all of three seconds long.
"Stay with me, Mikey! Stay... stay..."
Everything goes dark. Mikey's eyes slip shut.
He exhales softly.
He doesn't inhale.
.
.
.
"We have to find some way to keep him in line!" Dr. Timothy shouts. "Otherwise, he'll be running rampant throughout the labs!"
"Dr. Chaplin is working on a device that can control--"
"I know what he's working on, Abigail," he interrupts. "But that device won't be ready for quite some time, and we need something now!"
"Then, perhaps we turn to biology?" she offers.
"How do you mean?"
"This specimen has several different species genetic code integrated into his DNA. Perhaps we can find some weakness within the genetics to use against him, should the necessity arise."
"Hm... that could work. Nothing lethal, of course, just uncomfortable for him. Did you have anything specific in mind?"
Mikey watches from his cage as the two scientists look over a series of codes before turning back to look at him.
"Could work..." Timothy mumbles.
"We'll never know unless we try," Abigail replies.
Mikey watches as the two walk out for a moment before coming back in, wearing thick jackets. Timothy turns the air down. Mikey is confused until he starts to jerk slightly. What's... what's happening to him? Why does the air hurt?? Timothy watches him start to shiver and convulse.
"I was right," Dr. Abigail Finn says with a sly smile. "The three reptile DNA mixings have caused a severe reaction to brumation. His system goes into shock."
"Let's see how much he can handle," Timothy chuckles before grabbing a fire extinguisher and soaking Mikey in a cold foam.
"What are you doing?!" Abigail asks, moving away from him.
"Conducting an experiment, of course."
Mikey screams in pain before toppling over. It burns with how cold it is.
"We'll have to weaponize this," Dr. Timothy laughs. "Should be simple enough to concoct a device that can create cold gusts of air... I'll have Honeycutt get to work on the designs..."
Mikey shivers, drowning in the icy cold pain...
.
.
.
Mikey's consciousness slowly thaws. It's still dark... his body is still numb and lost... but there's... sound...
"...Mikey... poor guy... should be getting warmer..."
"...didn't mean to, I tried..."
"...not your fault, Pops, just what happens..."
"...should have done better... it's been hours... is he okay?"
"...brumation...body slows down... he'll be fine..."
"...getting a pulse, he's breathing again...!"
"Mikey? Can you hear us?"
Mikey moans, the first part of his body he can (sort of) control. He hasn't been this tired since... since... some time ago. The first mutation. Not that he really remembers much of it...
Mikey's eyes softly open. Light shines in. His whole family is here. Casey is here. Everyone is watching over him. When did they all get here? Where has Mikey been in this absence of consciousness?
Uggh, he feels awful.
Leo comes into view.
"Heyyyyyy, mi hermano. Can you hear me?"
Mikey nods weakly. At least, he thinks he does. He still can't sense much. The feeling comes in slowly, soft prickling and paresthesia. The first thing he feels is extreme heat and shaking. He's shivering. Still? But it's so hot...
Hot... but... he likes the warmth... so why is this unbearable?
Mikey moans again. His head is swimming. His breathing heavy, it's hard to get the air into his lungs. Mikey squirms, sweat breaking out across his brow and under his arms as he shakes.
"Mmnghh... Mikey no... feel... good..."
Leo presses the back of his hand against Mikey's head. It's not cold, but against the feverish heat emanating from Mikey, it's heavenly chilled. Leo winces, his brow furrows in concern.
"You're burning up... Dad, when you broke into Dee's lab, did you touch Mikey? Do you think you might have infected him?"
Splinter's eyes widen as he realizes.
"Oh... I think I might have..."
"So, is Mikey sick now?" Raph asks. "He's got rat flu, too?"
"Why is it just hitting him now, when he was infected hours ago?" Casey asks.
Hours...? Mikey's been a ghost for hours...?
"I'm guessing the brumation put Mikey's body into a sort of stasis. All body functions stopped until he thawed out," Donnie explains. "Brumation causes reptile like turtles, snakes, and lizards (all of which Mikey has the DNA of) to go into a sort of hibernation when it gets too cold. They slow down to an extreme, and might even stop breathing, but they won't die."
Mikey writhes on the bed. His tail thrashes, almost whipping Leo in the leg. Whatever is happening to him now, whether it's a side effect of brumation or whatever fever he caught from Splinter, he hates it.
Leo watches Mikey in concern.
"So, uh... no problem, no issue. We'll just take care of him while he gets over rat flu..."
"But who's gonna take care of him?" Raph asks.
"Uh...Donnie's the only one who got infected this year, and he already went through the symptoms, so he should be immune now..." Leo looks over to his twin. "Do you think you could play nursemaid?"
"You mean take over your job?" he asks snidely. "Of course. I mean, I've already lost a lot of work time on the anti-mutagen, so I might as well..."
Donnie sighs with exasperation as he taps his wrist tech, creating a checklist for the seven stages and supplies he'll need.
"Okay... so this will be interesting to see unfold. Stage 1 is fever, but Mikey's reaction to the low temperatures prohibits anything cold coming into contact with him. Any suggestions, Leo?"
"Give him lots of water, and ibuprofen. We can try to bring down his fever with warmer waters, but I'm not sure if that would help..."
"Copy that. Next stage is wild rat man... or in this case, wild Mikey. That should be fun," Donnie says, the last sentence a soft grumbling whisper. "With Mikey's animal instincts, everyone needs to be on alert. We don't know how he'll react..."
As Donnie continues to explain the seven stages again, Mikey lets himself crumble into a short-lived sleep while he waits for the rest of his body to wake up.
Stage 1: FEVER
Mikey hates this.
Every part of him aches, a dull but everlasting ache. He is constantly shifting between the heat of the sun and below freezing.
He can never get comfortable, he keeps kicking the blankets off as his fever causes delirium and slight nausea.
Donnie does what he can, having him drink as much water as possible while dabbing his face with a wet cloth. But it's all too cold, even if it's lukewarm. Against the burning inferno of his fever, it's practically glacial.
Mikey weeps at the torment his body is putting itself through. Donnie works in silence until Mikey makes some sort of rambling beg for him to talk so he knows that he's still in the room. Between the aches and the delerium, he can't always tell...
Donnie talks about his latest tech design. He talks about S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.2.0 and the upgrades he made in Mikey's absence. He talks about some of the studies he's been making into genetic mutations and modifications to the DNA and... he sounds upset. He stops talking about that and moves on to a new subject. He talks about botany or something.
Mikey groans in agony and mumbles something... not even he knows what he's saying... Donnie presses his hand to Mikey's sweat-soaked head. He grimaces at the wetness, but sighs with relief.
"I think your fever is starting to break... that's a good sign--"
"Gggggggrrrhhhh..."
"...Mikey?"
Mikey's eyes squeeze shut as he groans, grumbles, growls...
His eyes snap open, the pupils shrink into thin lines that immediately lock onto Donnie. He snarls, his teeth elongating into sharp fangs.
"...Oh banana pancakes," Donnie says flatly as he starts to get up.
Stage 2: FERAL MIKEY.
Leo and Raph are eating lunch with casey, having ordered a pizza and subs due to the day's earlier havoc. Leo plays with the pineapple and ham toppings as he frets over Mikey.
"Dude," Raph scolds, pointing at the slice going cold. "Just eat it already, or put it back in the box."
"Do you think he's doing okay?" Leo asks. "I mean, I know it's only a flu, but after everything that's happened to him already, I'm just worried what this will do to him, I mean, we have no idea how shot his immune system is already from his captivity and malnutrition, and then coupled with the mutations--"
"Leo," Raph says in between bites of his footlong. "You need to chill. I'm freaking out too, but that's not going to do any good. Donnie's got this for now, if he needs any help then he'll let us know--"
"HELP!!"
"...I think he just let us know."
The trio run out to find Dee being chased by a wild Mikey, his tail spiked and quills raised, his eyes glowing bright yellow with blood red as he chases after Donnie, snarling all along the way. Mikey slithers up the walls and ceiling, perching above them all, his head and neck twisting around as he watches them somewhat creepily.
"Oh dang," Leo says, pointing. "That's terrifying. I'm not alone on this, right? That's some 'The Ring' bone-cracking-bending-in-odd-ways type of scary?"
"Not the time, Nardo," Donnie grumbles.
"What's 'The Ring'?" Casey asks.
Mikey snarls loudly, analyzing who to attack first. His eyes stop on Raph and his sandwich.
"Uh-oh," the eldest whispers.
Mikey jumps down from the ceiling, roaring as he pounces down at his brothers. Raph shrieks in terror as he throws the sandwich at his feral brother. Mikey grabs the sub in his mouth and starts to attack it viciously, ripping it apart with his teeth and fangs, shaking it all around as he kills it dead.
"Uh, we start running now, right?" Casey asks.
"Yes. We run now."
The four make a mad dash down the hall, running into the garage and locking the door behind them.
"That... that was terrifying," Leo gasps. "I didn't know he could be that scary... was he like that when you found him?"
Leo turns to look at Raph and Donnie, who pant as they lean against the shell hogs for balance.
"Uh... more or less," Raph admits. "He was lucid when I found him, but once the other experiments were released he went kinda savage and attacked them to protect me."
"He also bit you."
Raph rubs over the spot on his wrist that Mikey punctured. It's healing fast, thanks to Draxum's genetic-whatever-he-did-to-them when they were babies. But the thought of Mikey's face when he came to and saw what he'd done... that hurt much more than any bite.
He hopes to pizza supreme that Mikey won't remember anything from the fever... poor kid probably couldn't handle it...
There's a pounding against the door.
"Agh!" Leo jumps as the loud noise echoes through the garage. "Don't let him in! The door's going to hold, right?"
"But of course!" Donnie says with a nervous chuckle. "I restructured everything after the invasion. Not even a krang could break down that door. The only thing that could get it open is --"
'Hamato Family Override Accepted,' a computer voice sounds.
"...is if someone with the code unlocks the door," Donnie moans.
The doors open slowly, revealing Splinter, standing in the doorway with an irritated expression on his face.
"Boys," he says in his scolding voice. "would you care to explain to me why you left your brother in the state he's in?"
"We had to!" Leo says, hiding behind Raph. "He was going to rip off an arm or something!"
"What are you talking about?" Splinter asks, stepping aside to reveal a very flushed Mikey with a sad expression on his face, eyes wet and pupils so wide they engulf the majority of his eyes.
Mikey sees his brothers and starts crying with joy as he rushes towards them, sloppily landing on Raph's feet and hugging his legs tightly.
"Rrrrraaaaappphiiieee!" he sings, rubbing his cheek against his big brother's ankles. "Miiikeeeeyyyy loveesss youuu..."
Stage 3: CAPTAIN CUDDLECAKES
Raph stares down in shock, frozen still for fear of what else Mikey might do. But Mikey just looks up and him with grabby hands as he cries for affection.
"Pickkkk me uuuup, Raphhiieee.... hold me, please, Raaaaaaphhie..."
"Uh... okay..." he says with hesitance, kneeling down and gently tucking his hands under Mikey's arms as he hoists him up.
Mikey's body is limp like a noodle, swaying back and forth as Raph holds him at arm's length. Mikey's face is bright red from fever, his smile dopey, his eyes half-opened and unfocused, his head lolls rom side to side. He giggles lazily, holding onto Raph's hands and slowly pulling himself closer to him, sort of crawling-slash-climbing across his arms to get to his chest.
"Raaaaaphieee.... I love Raphie... I loves him sooooooo muchesss..."
"Is... is he okay?" Leo asks, a quick giggle escaping him.
"Delirium," Donnie says knowingly with a nod. "He's delirious."
"Are you sure?" Casey asks.
"I'm an ice cream kitty," Mikey says dopily, giggling as he wraps himself over Raph's shoulders. "I'm a cat called Klunk..."
"Pretty sure," Donnie answers flatly.
"He's really cuddly," Raph chuckles, rubbing his hand over Mikey's burning head.
Mikey hums with contentment as he continues to wrap under Raphael's chin, back over the shoulders, and around his neck again...
"Uh, Mikey?" Raph gasps, as Mikey's torso and tail starting to tighten around his throat and choke him. "Mike-- that's too tight, buddy -- Mikey -- gack!!"
Donnie and Leo rush forward and try to loosen Mikey from around his brother. Mikey whines at them, tiredly slapping them away as he nuzzles Raph's face, which is starting to turn blue.
"Boa instincts," Donnie diagnoses as he tries to get Mikey to let go. "Come on, Michael, let go, let go, let -- nggh -- go!"
"Stahp pullin'!" Raph chokes out. "Gettin' tight--!"
"He won't release!" Donnie grumbles. "I don't think he understands what he's doing! It's his animal traits taking over..."
Leo's eyes brighten as he gets an idea. He starts scritching and scratching around Mikey's neck, looking for a specific spot. Mikey starts to giggle, shoulders hunching up and tail loosening. Leo gets to a spot just under the jaw on his right side and scratches. Mikey's eyes pop as he falls into Leo's hold with a mad cackle, legs kicking as he jerks back and forth from giggles. Raph gasps for air and collapses to his knees as he clutches his throat.
Mikey wiggles out of Leo's hold and onto the floor as he continues to laugh himself silly from the special spot Leo found.
"H-how... cough cough... how'd ya know that would work?" Raph hacks.
"I didn't," Leo confesses with a shrug. "I thought he'd faint like in 'How To Train Your Dragon' or something."
Mikey's laughter starts to calm, and he relaxes against the floor, deep sighs of relief as his brothers talk over him.
"I think it's safe to assume that his flu is causing his animal attributes to take over," Donnie informs. "Which isn't good news for the next stage..."
Stage 4: NINJA HUNTER SUPREME
"It's okay," Casey says, trying to calm the room. "I-I'm sure it will be fine, all we have to do is keep an eye on him aaaaaand we lost him," he groans, looking down to where Mikey had been a second ago.
"Alright, nobody panic! We're fine, we're fine, we're--"
"Achoo!" Raph sneezes.
"Welp, Raph's infected now, we need to quarantine him," Donnie groans. "Who could have seen this coming, he said sarcastically."
"I'm okay, I can just -- Achooie!"
"Yeah no," Leo scolds as he helps lead Raph to the door. "You're getting into bed. We're all sticking together too, so everyone be on the lookout for you-know-who..."
The group slowly but surely trudge towards the traincars on the other side of the lair, stopping at every doorway to inspect the rooms for Mikey. He's nowhere to be seen... and that's terrifying.
Just before they get to Raph's room, Donnie's wrist tech beeps at him. One of the motion sensors has gone off.
"Wait a sec," Donnie whispers, tapping the security footage. "I think Mikey might be in the sewer tunnels..."
"What?" Leo whispers back. "Why would he go all the way out there?"
"I'm not sure, but if he gets lost --"
"I'll go after him," Leo answers. "You guys watch Raph and help quarantine him for now before the fever sets in too bad."
Leon grabs his swords and runs to the exits. Casey watches him nervously as he helps Donnie maneuver the former leader into his bedroom as the fever starts to take effect.
As soon as Leo gets to the tunnels, he gets the eerie feeling he's being watched. He's not sure where the sensation is coming from, but three years of being a ninja vigilante and 16 years of living in secrecy under the surface of the greatest city ever has trained him to hone in on these gut feelings and sixth senses. There is someone... or something watching him.
It's unnerving.
He steps into the tunnels and looks both ways. No sign of Mikey. He takes out his comm and leans into the speaker to whisper.
"Hey Don, which way did he go?"
"*Krrsh* I don't know, I didn't see on the recording. I just saw a notif that something set off the perimeter alert. Over. *Krsh*"
Leo doesn't like this. Maybe Mikey never actually left the lair. Maybe this was all... a trap.
Leo's ninja senses tell him to be careful. He turns around quickly and looks up. Mikey is staring down at him from the ceiling.
He drops down like a spider, crashing down onto Leo, who shouts in terror as he opens a portal just beneath his feet. The two fall through, one after the other. Leo portals them back to the traincars, shouting for backup as he runs away while Mikey regains his footing and inspects the new area.
"FOUND HIM! I FOUND HIM! HELP!"
Casey and Donnie jump into the hall quickly, brandishing weapons on instinct. Casey and Donnie jump into the hall quickly, brandishing weapons on instinct.
Leo frantically scrapes his katanas across the floor as he runs away, creating a series of portals that surround Mikey. The feral mutant boy falls through one and pops out in a random place, three other portals boxing him in.
"There," Leon pants. "That should keep him busy for now..."
Mikey sniffs one of the portals, and his eyes widen. He steps through, following his nose and navigating perfectly through each portal, gaining speed with every step until he arrives from behind the trapped trio.
"Or not..." Leo swallows.
Mikey growls, licking his teeth as he stalks them, getting ready to leap in three... two... one...
Mikey pounces on Leo, gripping the handle of one katana between his set jaws and yanking it out of Leo's grip. He clutches onto his brother's shoulders, pinning him down as he tries to rip the second sword away.
"AAGH!!!" Leo screams, kicking wildly as Mikey snarls and drools all over him and his weapon. "GET IT OFF! GET THIS THING OFF OF ME--!!"
Donnie activates his hover-shell and directs it to attach to Mikey, lifting him up and carrying him away. But Mikey still clings tightly to Leo, who is struggling against his brother's death grip on his shoulders. Mikey's nails dig in tight, making Leo cry out in pain.
Casey jumps up and catches on Leo's feet, pulling him loose from Mikey's hold. Mikey is flown away, screeching in anger as the hover-shell turns a corner and disappears with its passenger.
"Sensei-- Leo, are you okay?" Casey asks, eyeing the claw marks with concern.
"I-I'm f-fine," Leo manages, his breath shaky and eyes wide but lost. "I... I'll be okay... I... achoo!"
"Welp, we've lost another brother," Donnie sighs as he carries Leo to his room. "I estimate that we have at least five more minutes before Mikey comes back in a new stage. Casey, you go to my lab and lock yourself in there. Reboot the security system and put the whole lair on a lockdown. We can't risk Mikey escaping, got it?"
Casey nods nervously before rushing away.
Donnie helps Leo get into bed as the fever already starts to set in.
"H-he... he really got me, huh...? Woof, why is it so hot in here???" Leo mumbles as he topples into the bed. "Why is the room spinning so much?? I don't remember booking tickets to the tilt-n'-whirl..."
"I'll get the fan going for you," Donnie mutters.
"I... I feel bad..."
"You'll feel better in a minute--"
"I called him a thing."
Donnie pauses as he looks back at Leo, who's starting to cry softly as he hugs his pillow.
"I was just scared. I'd never seen him so angry or vicious. Not even against the krang... he looked like he really was gonna kill me..."
"He wouldn't," Donnie reassures him flatly. "Mikey would never do that."
"Do you think he hates me now?" Leo whimpers. "Do you think he heard me? He'll remember that? I don't actually think of him like that, I... I don't think he's a monster, I don't... gawd, why is it so hot in here?!"
Donnie rolls his eyes as he plugs in the high-speed fan and aims it at Leo. He sighs with relief from the cold winds blowing in his face.
"We can talk about it later. Right now I have to find Mikey."
Leo hums as he falls asleep on the bed.
Donnie runs back out, closes the door to the traincar, and rounds the corner into the hallway beyond... where he finds the smashed remains of his hover-shell, and no Mikey.
Fantastic.
Stage 5: KARAOKE LOVE SONGS
Donnie can hear Mikey singing loudly. But not in English. He's howling and yowling and chirping some incoherent animal gibberish in the TV room. Splinter probably left one of his old romance soap operas on, and somebody must've busted out into a love ballad.
Donine steps closer to watch him and surveil. The noise could damage his ears with how loud and high-pitched it gets, but at least Mikey's pacified. For the moment.
Donnie messages Casey from his wrist tech; he doesn't expect that he could hear him if he tried the comms.
D: HOW'S IT GOING IN THERE?
CJ: PRETTY GOOD. ALL EXITS SECURED.
D: GREAT. MIKEY IS... SINGING (QUESTION MARK?)
CJ: LOL DOES IT SOUND THAT BAD?
D: I WOULDN'T KNOW, MY HEARING IS PERMANENTLY DAMAGED NOW.
Dee turns back to smile at Mikey, who's howling has softened and slowed to simple hums. He scratches behind his ears with his foot before getting up and dizzily trotting back to his traincar bedroom. Donnie follows from behind, staying quiet as he can. He's not sure what the next stage will do to Mikey's animal brain...
Michelangelo starts looking around his room, coughing every once in a while and sneezing on occasion before finding a large roll of paper that April dropped off some time ago. Mikey knocks it down and rolls it out, carefully setting the paints out as well. That's when he sees Donnie.
He smiles weakly and ushers him in with a soft yawn turned cough.
Donnie walks in and sits beside his brother, helping to open the jars as Mikey starts to draw images...
Stage 6: STORYTIME
Stage six is fanfiction, Donnie knows this. But for some reason, Mikey isn't making fanart or comics of his favourite characters. Donnie wonders why... he maybe doesn't recall them...? He only just remembered Lou Jitsu a few days ago, so it's not out of the question. Donnie's stomach turns when he considers that Mikey not remember that their father was Lou Jitsu...
But he's definitely drawing something. His hands still shake, and he tears the paper every other stroke, but he's making a story to tell with his art. Mikey uses his tail as a paintbrush, gentle but sloppy strokes. It's easier than finger-painting with claws. Donnie sees images of a green thing with yellow spots in a cage... needles and crude doodles of knives and pink monsters... humans in white that kick and hit and zap and freeze the poor green and yellow figure... It doesn't take long for Donnie to realize what story he's telling.
The poor green and yellow thing is crying in his cage. It almost looks like... he's waiting for something...
Then Donnie sees a purple figure. A blue one. Red.
It's them.
But Mikey omits an orange companion. Donnie points this out.
"Why didn't you draw yourself?" he asks.
Mikey looks up at him with concern, and for a moment he's worried he broke Mikey's oh-so-sensitive concentration. But instead he shakily dips his tail in the orange paint and... stalls...
The paint drips onto the paper while they wait for Mikey to make his artwork. But he doesn't.
"Do you... need some help?"
Mikey nods with a sniffle. Dee chalks that up to a runny and stuffy nose. He reaches over and takes his brother's tail, helping Mikey draw a stick figure with round cheeks and a mask with a bow. Mikey leans down to stare at the drawing, analyzing it with astonishment.
Why does he look at it like that? Why is he so surprised by his own image? Why doesn't he... recognize...
Mikey's eyes glaze over, as he slowly sits back up and exhales. Mikey's vision is far away, lost in thought.
Stage 7: MUST SAY YES
Donnie waves a hand in front of Mikey's face. No reaction. Donnie sighs.
"Mikey?"
Mikey turns his head to look at Donnie with a quiet mew.
"I know you'll say 'yes' to anything I ask for. So, I want you to..."
He wants Mikey to tell him why he didn't draw himself. Why he reacts the way he does when they leave him alone. Why he is so scared of Casey and April, why he didn't remember their names or Lou Jitsu or anything. Why he has a voice in his head, and what the voice tells him. He wants to ask for him to get better and get back to normal as quickly as possible.
"...I want you to get some rest and heal up. Okay, buddy?"
Mikey gives a weak smile before closing his eyes and flopping against Dee's chest, wheezing with each breath he makes. Donnie rolls his eyes and lifts his congested baby brother up into the hammock bed, tucking him in and making sure that he's nice and warm.
He steps out of the traincar after turning off the lights. He's utterly spent, he might try taking a nap too...
Until Casey runs up to him, a worried expression on his face.
"Donatello! Donatello!"
"Shh!" he shushes quickly, signing that Mikey is fast asleep and resting. "What is it?"
"I was reviewing security footage in the labs, and saw that Mikey never went outside the tunnels..."
"What? But the sensors --"
"Sensed something, yeah, so I went back and looked for what it was. I found this hiding outside the entrance to the lair," he says, reaching into one of his fanny packs.
Casey pulls out a mediocre miniature drone, complete with camera and microphone. The device is no better than scrap metal now, having been partially destroyed by Casey's weaponized hockey stick.
"It may have taken me by surprise..."
Donnie stares down at it. There's a small logo printed on the side with the initials EPF.
"...How long has it been here?"
"We got the alert around... maybe fifteen minutes ago?"
"Are there any more?" Dee asks, his tone low and frightfully serious.
"I don't know," Casey answers. "But I can do a perimeter sweep."
"Good idea," Donnie says, rushing away. "I'm going to create an invisible fence around the lair that knocks out any unrecognized tech. Then, I'm going to see how damaged this scrapheap is. If the receptor and signal output are still intact... maybe I can find out what our friends at the EPF are up to."
.
.
.
Dr. Timothy stares down at the wretched mutated human in a cage, wearing a torn and tattered uniform.
What a disgusting failure.
His face is misshapen and bearing three eyes, his arms (one of which is scarred from talon gashes and bite marks) are covered in fur, his hands are like bear claws and his feet are webbed. He is an amalgamation of random things, and now he's in the cage that belonged previously to 'Mikey'.
Timothy scowls at the mutation. It was a wild test, anyways. Nothing important. Just to see what would happen... Honestly, it was more as a punishment for damaging Mikey's brain than an actual scientific pursuit. And it's not like anyone will miss him; he was nothing important, anyways...
Nothing is important. Nothing matters now. Nothing but finding that one experiment again. The only successful mutation... Mikey.
The man in the cage whines at Dr. Timothy. He cannot speak anymore. Nothing more than a dumb animal. Which, from the intelligence he showed before mutation, is quite possibly an improvement.
Timothy kicks the cage in frustration. The man yipes and backs away, whinging like a dog.
What to do, what to do...
None of the mutations have worked right. None of them show any signs of increased intelligence. It seems the opposite, their minds decrease and their problem-solving skills evaporate. The physical toll on their bodies is heavy, and some never even survive the first round of mutation. None of them can take orders. None of them can fight with complexity and agility. None of them can be trained. None of them can understand basic commands or words or anything of the English language, or any language. They're all just stupid, dumb animals! None of them have had the success rate that Mikey did. Why? What about him was so special??
He was already mutated...
There are a handful of mutated freaks out there now, running amok and wreaking havoc. How were they changed? Why has it worked with them? What could have possibly done it for them, and why can't they recreate this phenomenon?!
Dr. Timothy has always been interested in mutations and enhancements. This reason is why he joined the science division of the EPF. He knows most of the scientists here are working to save the alien-infected citizens. And Tim is all for that! Why not help humanity? But why stop at simple cures, why not go bigger? There are some freaks running amok in the streets, a result of odd glowing bugs released upon the masses almost three years ago. These mutations have made the humans stronger, faster, better. They can withstand almost anything! They are practically indestructible! These idiots think that saving humanity means eradicating the mutants. They couldn't be more wrong.
It's the humans who need to be... shall we say, updated?
What a weak and pathetic species. Slow, soft, squishy and easily injured. Bruisable. Breakable. Like putty.
But add some extra features and a killer instinct... and you've got yourselves a prime class of creatures that can stand tall for centuries!
Why not be better? Why not be stronger?! Why can't they see that?!
Timothy wrings his hands through his hair, growling at the unfairness of the situation. If only he could get his hands on that mutie again... if only he could have Mikey back.
That is the only thing that matters to him now.
Getting that mutant turtle back.
It's all he thinks about. The good news is that they've sent spy drones into the tunnels and seem to have gotten some interesting footage before mysteriously going dead... Timothy is having another wave sent in within the next three days, max.
The others may have seen his passion for the science, but this is different. This is mania. This is an obsession...
Timothy will do whatever it takes to get that mutant turtle back into his possession, and figure out how he survived the mutations.
And then...
He will become the better man. The better, more dominant species.
The better mutant.
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#HAHA THAT STUPID HUMAN GUARD GOT HIS#KARMA JEFF#KARMA#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#tutant meenage neetle teetles#rottmnt mikey#double mutated mikey#double mutation mikey#double mutated#double mutation#mutated#mutant#mutation#mutants#rat flu#rottmnt rat flu#rottmnt leo#rottmnt casey#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt raph#rottmnt splinter#sick fic#rottmnt mikey angst#mikey angst#rise mikey#tmnt timothy#rottmnt au#rottmnt short story#rottmnt fic
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The Gojo Household, Winter, 2010
more satoru pov from intrinsic warmth canon because I require only happiness from this fandom rn
Satoru wishes he’d thought of something different when he first saw you.
He knows, now, that gossip in Jujutsu society is trivial and meaningless. Nothing means anything, and anything that’s said is either inflated out of proportion, or so shallow it’s basically pointless, or just untrue.
Satoru is older now—in fact, it is his twenty-first birthday next week—and as he’s been the focus of that same gossip for all of his life, he’s learnt not to believe it. He doesn’t even listen, nowadays. Few people have the gall to talk to him so casually, which, for once, Satoru can spin as a positive.
But he was young when he met you. He was six, as much as you try to convince him he was seven. When he was young, he was convinced that all the rumours were true: after all, the ones about him were.
Satoru was the strongest, the best, the prodigy that would change the world; he was Satoru Gojo, born for everything, with everything, and so of course everything about you would be correct, because everything about him was, too!
He had heard rumours, spoken candidly by his parents, before they died, and then in hushed voices by the servants when they didn’t think he could hear. He had heard about everyone; the downfall of the Inumaki clan, the pathetic outcasts of the Zenins, even the tiny little Hebi family, whose heir was not only born a girl, but with a disgraceful mutation of the family technique.
It’s what he thought, when he first saw you.
He noticed you looking at him, in the corner of his eye. You were one of the only children at the clan meeting, and your hands were tied tight behind your back.
You looked at him with hollow eyes, and Satoru had preened under the attention. He had thought you were looking at him because he was Satoru Gojo, and he hadn’t realised that you hadn’t known who he was.
Before you, everyone he’d ever met had known him. Everyone, until you. But you don’t remember meeting him, so Satoru can’t ask you why you were looking at him.
Satoru wishes he’d thought more of you, that first time. He knows, of course, that there was no reason for him to; it wasn’t like he’d fallen in love with you because of your name, or your family, and it wasn’t as if he should have felt the spark between the two of you just from hearing your family story. That would make it fate, if it was like that, and Satoru had always hated fate. He doesn’t want to love you because he has to, or because it was destined for him.
He looks at you, now. You put the kids to sleep an hour ago, and had spent the evening as you usually do: together, on the couch of his childhood home, just being with each other.
But now you’re half-asleep, leaning against him—his Infinity—with your eyes closed. Your breathing is slow and soft, and he feels your chest expand with every inhale. You trust him with this, that he will not deactivate his technique when you’re sleeping. Satoru has never been more grateful for you, or more undeserving of your trust. He would never touch you, never: he isn’t fifteen any more, and he knows better than he did then. But he wants to. More than anything, Satoru wants to touch you.
That night, on the rooftop. He could feel the pressure of your hands on him, exploring him, the hesitance transforming into curiosity and then careful confidence in your touch. Satoru had been wanting your hands on him for… he doesn’t even know, not really. But now he has felt you, even if it is through Infinity.
And he wants you. He cannot look at you without wanting his hands on you, his lips on you: he feels it viscerally, every time you smile, every moment you allow him to see beyond your facade of severity.
You say that he pretends, but you don’t seem to realise that you do the same: you hold yourself back from him, always leave him wanting, craving, and Satoru, who has always been selfish, will never be satisfied with all that you allow him. He will always be wanting more.
You stir. “Hmn?” you mumble.
Satoru shushes you. “Go back to sleep.”
“Shouldn’t. Need to go home.” You break off, yawn so wide he can see the pink of your tongue. Satoru has to look away.
“I’ll wake you later. I promise.”
“Promise.” You pat your lips together and curl further into him, your head on his chest—Infinity, he has to keep reminding himself, because he wants to pretend he is holding you without it.
One gloved hand rests on your opposite arm, and you clench it in your sleep as pain bursts through the muscle. You had hurt your shoulder again yesterday; whenever it sparks up again, Satoru feels a fresh wave of pure hatred for your family, for those bastards that kept your hands bound for all those years. He had hated them when he was younger, and he hates them even more now; he hates that their hold on you has only tightened, keeping you from touching people, keeping you in pain.
The first time, he hadn’t thought of them as restraints. They were evidence that you were the strange Hebi heir, the one who was born with the weird touching technique. Satoru hadn’t understood why your hands were bound; yes, he’d heard of it, but he didn’t understand why the gloves weren’t enough. He was just a kid, but Satoru wishes he had thought better of you. At least he had liked you; he really had, right from the first time he had spoken to you.
He had noticed you leave. Your father and grandmother had left you alone, and you had stood there for a moment, watching them go. Then you had looked around, and walked through a half-open doorway, pushing it ajar with your shoulder. Satoru remembers that you had walked through the crowd: your aversion to touch was still enforced by your family, not your own mind, and you hadn’t yet developed your panic around the large groups of people that you have now.
Satoru, six and curious and arrogant, followed you. He was interested in the way you walked; it was so decisive, after a moment of hesitation, latching onto the open door and walking through swiftly. Satoru didn’t think about Yahaba, or whether she would be worried if he went missing, since, back then, he hadn’t learnt how to think about anyone other than himself.
He was good at walking quietly, though, especially through old houses like his own. Satoru knew what floorboards looked like when they would creak, from all his time hiding from servants. Satoru followed you through room after room, his excitement growing. It was like a game to him, trying to guess when you would stop, and then try to figure out why.
It took you a while to decide where to stay, and when you finally do, Satoru didn’t understand why: it wasn’t one of the cooler rooms you’ve passed, like the ones with loads of bows or the ones with the cool murals and paintings.
The room was the most boring room. It was dead silent, and pretty blank and bland, and you just closed your eyes and sit down on the floor with your back against the door.
Satoru followed you in: you’d left the door open. He wondered for a second if this counted as creepy, if following you was a bit weird, but then he shrugged and reckoned that you’d be grateful to see him anyway. After all, you were just the kid from the Hebi clan! He was Satoru Gojo. Anyone would be honoured to meet him.
Actually—no that he was thinking about it, your journey was really weird. You even walked past loads of rooms with blades and swords, and Satoru didn’t understand why you wouldn’t just take off those ropes that you’ve got behind your back. They couldn’t be comfortable: they influence the way you walk, he thinks, and you keep tensing your arms up like you’re trying to pull away from them. Why wouldn’t you just take them off? Satoru resolved to ask you.
“Why are you sitting like that?” he asked, stepping into your view and mimicking your hand restraints.
It was just an introductory question—he was getting himself ready for your surprise, and then the absolute flattery and praise that always came when people saw him. They were filled, as they often said, with an overwhelming mixture of fear and awe, which he thought was pretty damn cool.
Satoru had been told he could be intimidating when he was trying to be, but he didn’t really want to scare you right now. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to be scared: he was Satoru Gojo, after all.
But Satoru was very good at being modest, and so he was asking you a question on your level, so you wouldn’t be so worried about engaging him in conversation. Here! He was telling you. I’m just a normal person! Even if he wasn’t, it was good of him to pretend. But Satoru was good with modesty, obviously, especially when people starting crying when they saw him, which had happened exactly five times in his lifetime.
Satoru smiled graciously, ready for you to start shaking and maybe prostrating yourself in front of him.
You looked up. “Oh. I can’t take them off.”
For a split-second, Satoru blanched. Where was the fear? Where was the awe? You were just looking up at him with that same solemn expression you were wearing before.
And then, Satoru brushed it off. Maybe that solemn face was just your ‘whoa, I’m super impressed that I’m in the presence of Satoru Gojo, and so I’ve got to pretend to be okay so I don’t look stupid in front of him’-face. He wouldn’t be offended: everyone else had their strategies to cope with meeting him for the first time.
So, Satoru continued your conversation: “Why not? That rope, or something? Doesn’t look that strong.” He stepped closer to you, pretending to size it up, like he didn’t know the exact answer you’d give him. “I could cut it off for you if you want.”
And there he was—being so generous, even though he didn’t have to, and even though he knew you’d refuse.
You shook your head, and Satoru felt a spark of triumph. “No, thanks,” you said.
“Didn’t think so.” Satoru grinned, very pleased with himself. Then, because he had to explain how clever he was, he added: “You walked through loads of rooms with weapons on your way here, but you didn’t even look at them. I saw you.”
“I’m not allowed,” you said, simply. You shuffled a bit on the floor, clearly still uncomfortable from the ropes, and probably trying to hide your nerves at being in such close-quarters with him, Satoru Gojo.
Satoru didn’t understand the concept. He didn’t like the idea of not being allowed to do something: he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, at home.
“Says who?” he asked. He sat right down next to you, copying your posture right down to the way your hands were stuck behind your back. He was right, before: it was really uncomfortable.
“My father.”
Satoru crinkled up his nose. “And you listen to him?”
“Yes.”
Okay, that was pretty weird of you. His opinion of you soured, a little. Satoru had been intrigued by how you’d left your family back in the other room; it had seemed like something rebellious, something interesting. But at the same time, you were the type of person who’d listen to people who didn’t care about you. Satoru looked away from you, feeling a little disappointed.
And then, like you were registering exactly what he was thinking, you said: “Well. Sometimes I do.”
Satoru perked up. “Sometimes? When don’t you?”
There it is! It’s obvious, now: you were holding back, but as soon as you picked up on his reticence, you switched up, and tried your absolute best to keep his attention on you. Of course. That makes sense!
“Now, I guess,” you said. You seem a bit shy, maybe, or a bit sullen. Satoru couldn’t tell: a flicker of something weird went up in him, an emotion he couldn’t recognise. He didn’t understand what you were feeling. Satoru didn’t like that—Satoru always knew everything, always. “He probably didn’t want me to leave the main room, but I did. He’s going to be angry.”
Satoru felt a strange tug in his belly. For some reason, he actually wanted to know the answer to his question. “Don’t you care about that?”
If you kept those weird ropes around your wrists because of your family, then surely you’d care about what they think about you.
“What?”
“If your dad’s going to be angry.” Satoru looked at you intently, trying to peer into your mind. You weren’t reacting the way he was expecting you to, and he didn’t know what to make of it, really. “You don’t look like you care.”
After a moment, you said: “He’s angry a lot. You kind of get used to it.”
Satoru’s lips pursed. He didn’t like the sound of that. If he was living with someone who was mean like that, he wouldn’t get used to it: Satoru would do something about it.
You looked at him in the eyes, and he was taken aback, for a second, at how strong your gaze was. You kept flipping in his view of you: at one time, you were nothing at all, and then you were interesting and rebellious, and then you were subdued and fearful, and, now, you were something in-between.
You cringed, a little, at your words. You cast your gaze down, and Satoru found himself seeking it: he wanted your attention back. He wasn’t used to losing it.
“I mean…” you trailed off. “Not really. You don’t get used to it, but, I mean, I just have to guess when it’s going to be a good choice or not. Overall.” You just stared at the floor, and Satoru found himself leaning closer to you. He didn’t think you noticed. “I think he’s going to be really mad, yeah, but I didn’t want to be in the room anymore, so I’m just going to deal with it later. A lot of the time, though,” you said, with an air of finality, “it’s overall a bad choice not to do what he says.”
You nod, a little.
Satoru had never known so little about a person before. Everything he had thought about you was being twisted and changed, and he didn’t know at all what to make of it. He had expected you to be surprised and honoured to see him: you weren’t, not visibly. He had expected you to be pitiful and boring, as the weird heir of the Hebi family: you weren’t, not really, but instead were something different altogether.
Maybe it was just because Satoru didn’t know how to deal with being wrong—although, no, he wasn’t wrong, because he was never wrong—or maybe it was because there was something genuinely interesting about you. He wasn’t sure.
But, perhaps for the first time in his life, Satoru wanted to know more about a person. That was definitely something to pay attention to. That was something.
“What’s your name?” he asked. He didn’t actually know your first name: none of the servants had ever called you it. You were just the sad heir of the Hebi family, the one who’d gone wrong.
“Hebi,” you said. “Hello.”
Satoru grimaced. That wasn’t what he was asking, and you knew it. “That’s not your name,” he said, clearly urging you to answer his question properly.
“It is,” you said, petulantly. “My name is Hebi.”
“Hebi,” he repeated. “Right. But,” he said, slowly, to make sure you understood, “that’s your family name.”
You blinked at him. “Yes, exactly.”
Satoru held back a groan—he held it back, because he was trying to make a good impression here. Him! Trying to make a good impression! This was a day of new experiences. Satoru never had to try to do anything. He just did it, and people loved him for it. He didn’t know why, but there was something he liked about you, and this, about how you were making him try.
“So,” he said, because he knew you weren’t getting it, “tell me your first name then.”
You hesitated, and then your eyebrows bunched together, and your lips pursed into a frown. “No,” you said.
Satoru’s eyes widened. “No?” he echoed, in disbelief.
“No.”
Satoru stared at you. No? But he was making a good first impression! He was Satoru Gojo—people didn’t say no to him, even strange interesting people like you. Satoru was actually trying, and it wasn’t enough for you to tell him your name.
He struggled to speak for a few seconds. Satoru genuinely didn’t know how to proceed—he felt out of step in a way that was completely foreign to him. Satoru was used to being in charge of every conversation; he would enter a room and it would fall silent, just because he was there; he would walk through a crowd, and people would part for him, like he was activating his Infinity, the way he was learning how to do at home. Satoru was good at conversations like that, where everyone else was on the defensive, not him.
And yet, here he was. You had just said no. He wanted to know your name, and you didn’t give it to him.
He looked back at you, bewildered. And, Satoru remembers now, that was the moment he had known you were special for him: because, even as his head spun with trying to understand how someone could deny him something, he watched as your lips twitched into the tiniest half-smile.
Satoru’s heart had filled, back then, with such an overwhelming rush of joy and pleasure and pride, pride he had never felt before, because he had never struggled for anything before, and so he had never yet succeeded.
And even though you were trying to hide your smile, it was still there: he had made you laugh, even if he didn’t know how he had done it, even if it was just because you had found his mystified expression somewhat funny. He had still made you smile, and he had been so proud of himself for it.
That was the first time he had felt that, and, now, remembering it, Satoru realises he has been chasing that feeling ever since.
Satoru had not known you back then. Satoru knows you now. He knows how you walk, how you smile, all your different smiles; he knows what you look like when you find him ridiculous, and when you are trying to pretend that he isn’t funny; he knows what you look like when you are afraid, and when you are afraid of him, and he knows that he never wants to hurt you again.
Satoru knows you. He loves you: he knows this, too, now. It had taken him some time to realise it, and even longer to accept it. But he knows. And he does.
Maybe it’s something wrong with him, he thinks, with some tired wry amusement. The way he enjoys you denying him things, or the way he has to work so hard for such small things, like your smile, or your compliments, or even your attention, these days. He likes how focused he has to be, how much effort he has to devote to you, because he knows he will always be rewarded, eventually.
You’re magnificent. It was what you had said to him, that night on the rooftop, when you had let him get so close to you, and when you had looked so beautiful. Satoru still remembers the way the moonlight had made your eyes shine, as if liquid, and he remembers how staggering his love for you had felt, how all-consuming and unbearable.
He remembers your words, all of them. You’re just magnificent, Satoru. His name: you had called him by his name. The lilt of your voice, the curve of the vowels. You say his name, and he wants to kiss you. He feels it like a need, as strong as his beating heart.
You’re smart, and you make me laugh, even when I try to hide it. He wishes you wouldn’t: he loves that you do, because he is the only one who can make you laugh like you do with him. Satoru is the only one: to you, he is special. You make me feel… everything. It’s like my world is sharper and better whenever you’re in it.
Satoru wishes he had said more. Satoru wishes, sometimes, he had said the truth: that he could have repeated those same words back to you, and it would have still been just as truthful. Satoru’s world is nothing when you are not in it: he works, and he lives, and he is fine, but with you, everything is so much more. You know him. You know him, and you stay with him regardless.
You think he is good. You’re a good person, you had said. You are such a good person.
Satoru knows he is not. He has always been insensitive, needy, and he scares himself, sometimes, with the things he can do easily, that he knows are supposed to haunt him.
Satoru is selfish. He wants too much, and does not like it when he is denied that which he wants.
He wants you. He hates it when you hold yourself from him.
And he had asked you to marry him.
Satoru had been asking for a while. Not marriage: but for you to stay with him, for you to let him keep you close, to keep you with him always. Move in with me, he had been saying, for so long. Since you had finished with your fourth year at school, he had been asking. You’d visited his new house before he’d properly moved in, some random luxury penthouse suite that he didn’t care too much for, and you’d been impressed, in your restrained, amused way.
He had asked you, then, in the empty shell of a living room. Move in with me, he had said. It could be ours, he had not said.
You said no.
Satoru asked again. Later, when you were helping him move in. You said no.
Satoru asked again. You were watching the kids explore their new rooms. You said no.
Satoru asked again.
Satoru asked, and asked, and asked. You said no.
He didn’t understand why you didn’t want to. You gave him reasons, but he knew well enough that they weren’t real; he asked you again and again, and you refused to be honest with him. Satoru felt, for the first time since he had hurt you, back when he was fifteen, that divide between the two of you, something he could not cross, despite his desperate and fervent attempts.
Satoru asked again. You said no.
Satoru asked you to marry him. He didn’t understand it all, then, but he knew he wanted you to marry him. Satoru had always hated tradition, and had never thought about marriage, not seriously, but he thought of you, and your soft smiles and shining eyes and wry comments, and he had wanted it. You.
He had tried, so hard. He wanted you to want it—he wanted you to want him. I would, Satoru had told you. You knew that he didn’t enjoy traditions, that he didn’t subscribe to such antiquated ways of living, and you knew that being married would be compromising so much of what he believed in: but he told you that, despite all of that, despite everything, he would.
I would marry you, he had told you. Despite so much, he would.
It was his quietest confession. You knew him. You would understand.
You said no.
Satoru feels you stir, in your sleep. You mumble something to yourself, and then your eyes squeeze together and you yawn, widely. You open your eyes, groggy, and turn your face up to look at him. Satoru could kiss you, your lips are so close to his.
“Did I fall asleep?” you say, with a slight slur to your words. It’s cute, Satoru realises. Fuck, not only is he in love with you, but you’re cute, too.
“Just a little,” he says, and smiles as you scowl, as your nose scrunches.
“You should’ve woken me. I’m not going to—get to sleep at home, now.” You yawn again, and then push yourself off him—his Infinity—with a throaty heave. Satoru feels the loss instantly. Come back, he wants to say. He doesn’t.
“Ah,” Satoru says, leaning back to give you some more space, “that’s only if you still want to go. You don’t have to.”
You give him an unimpressed look. “Gojo.”
Satoru, he pleads, in his mind.
“What?” he says instead, laughing.
“I need to go home. I’ve got—” and your face, so untroubled and tranquil and sleep-drunk, falls. Your eyes go hollow, just for a second. “I’ve got work tomorrow,” you say, and then run your gloved hands over your eyes. “God, I’m tired.”
“I’ll take you to your work,” Satoru says. He knows he sounds impulsive, or pushy, or even desperate, but he is—nowadays, he has to treasure every hour with you, even when you’re asleep. “It’s no big deal, Hebi-Hebi. You can use your old room here—Yahaba will get someone to sort it out now, if I ask her.”
Satoru stands, decisive, and prays you won’t ask him to stop. “I’ll ask her now, yeah?”
You’re hesitating. “I can’t stay.”
“Sure you can!” Satoru grins down at you, and he recognises the flash of uncertainty. He purses his lips, and then crouches in front of you, hands braced on his knees. “C’mon. It’ll be like old times! Remember when you’d stay at mine, nearly every night?”
Your lips quiver, and Satoru knows he is close to coaxing a smile from you. He chases it, and chases it.
“Yeah,” you say, quietly.
“Then we’ll just do that again! You can have your old room.” Satoru would like you to stay the way you were before; your head on his chest—Infinity—with your body tucked into him. He wishes he had worked harder to remember it, or remember what it had felt like, to be so close to touching you.
“I shouldn’t…”
“Says who?” Satoru raises his eyebrows at you, putting on a childish face, and finally you smile. It is small, and barely there, but it’s a smile, for him, just for him, and he loves you so much he cannot do anything else.
You bite at the inside of your lip. “I don’t have pyjamas.”
“I’ve got them in your size,” Satoru says, waving his hand in the air, as if to dismiss the thought entirely. He does: he always have, ever since you started staying the night at his as children. He has made sure that, whatever age you are, you will always have a place in his home.
“I need to take my makeup off,” you say, but he can tell your heart isn’t in it. Your smile has widened, and you are playful now. Satoru feels joyful, lighter than hair.
“You think I don’t have remover? You wound me with the accusation, Hebi-Hebi!”
“I’d need to put up with you for another few hours.”
Satoru laughs, full and loud, and you grin. “You adore spending time with me,” Satoru says, with a pretence of arrogance he hopes disguises the ever-present, thrumming desire for your reassurance, praise, love.
You hum, non-committal. “Maybe.”
Satoru clicks his tongue and pretends to be offended. “Agh. If you’re not going to admit it, maybe you can’t stay after all.”
“I said maybe, didn’t I?”
“Maybe isn’t good enough. I’m hurt, now. You’ve hurt me.”
“Poor baby.”
Satoru sticks out his tongue, which he knows doesn’t disprove the accusations of childishness, but he hopes will make you smile again. It does, to his pure delight.
You brace your hands on your thighs and push yourself up, combing stray hairs from your face. You laugh, quiet and to yourself, at something amusing he hadn’t realised he was doing.
“You’re so stupid,” you say, with a voice rich with affection. Satoru grins, and ducks his head down to your level. You blink at him, and then roll your eyes a half-second later.
“Tell me you want to stay,” Satoru says. He must be straightforward, or you might not say it at all. “Or you’re not allowed,” he adds, to make the request less obvious.
Your lips purse. “Gojo.”
“I’m waiting.”
“I—Gojo.”
“Do you want me to say please?” Satoru tilts towards you, another push, another quiet confession, one of hundreds. “I will if it’s you.”
Your eyes widen, just a fraction. Your lips part. Yes, Satoru thinks. You understand.
Then you look down, away from him, and it is broken. Satoru is selfish, and he wants too much.
“I’ll stay,” you say, turning from him and moving to plump up the cushions he had been sitting on. You do not look at him. “That’s all you’re getting.”
“So mean to me,” Satoru says, automatic.
“You deserve it.”
“And so cruel!”
“As I’ve heard.”
Satoru brushes it off. He’s getting used to that. He instead bounds over to you, finishes your work with the cushions, and then sits back down.
You stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Hoping to spend a little more time with my Hebi-Hebi before she goes to sleep,” Satoru says, promptly. “You’re not that tired, are you?”
“I’m very tired.”
“But you don’t have to go to sleep right now,” he says, “right?”
You scoff, but it’s clear to both of you that there is no bitterness or anger. It is amused, and endeared, and Satoru loves that you think about him that way.
“Just a short while,” you say, collapsing back down on your half of the sofa. Satoru grins, so broad and happy, and he sees his smile mirrored on your lips.
“Just for a little bit,” Satoru echoes. “Until you want to leave. I promise.”
#intrinsic warmth#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#i don't even know how fluffy this is#i think my angst instincts took over for a second there#oops#anyway it's 5k and i've got a 9am tomoz wahh#no rest for the wicked or the gojo stans (they are synonymous)#also if I messed up the tenses anywhere no I didn’t#it’s been years since I wrote in past tense shhhh
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would you happen to know about any ttrpg that could run/emulate the tone of STALKER/Annihilation?
Frail humain beings entering a Fucked Up Zone with the intent if reaching the center and things getting weirder and more dangerous the farther they go in?
THEME: Eerie Fucked Up Settings
Friend I have some truly excellent games for you this week.
TRESPASSER, by Binary Star Games.
The Zone is an area that's been sealed off by a nation or group of nations due to its danger. It's filled with Anomalies, extremely dangerous areas where physical laws like gravity, magnetism, electricity, or chemistry can break down to lethal effect, as well as mutants and things considered impossible.
Like many, you have entered the Zone, but not legally. You are collectively known as Trespassers. Some inside are on their own, some in groups, some part of larger factions. But most want one thing: to reach the centre and claim what it conceals.
This game can accommodate a GM but it isn’t necessary - in fact, you can even play it solo! As this game is inspired by STALKER, I think it’s going to really give you the vibe you’re going for. Troubles in Breathless games escalate as you play, so the longer you stay in The Zone, the worse things are going to get. I definitely recommend checking out this game!
BLOOM, by Litza Bronwyn.
BLOOM is a solo gmless journaling game in which you play a teenage girl trapped in quarantine at a boarding school on an island infected by the Tox, a plague that makes the trees and animals grow huge and hungry, and mutates your body in strange and horrific ways. In it, you will draw cards and write journal entries based on specific prompts in order to craft a story of survival and love.
I’ve read the book Wilder Girls by Rory Power, and it has a lot of the same themes as Annihilation and STALKER, so it might fit the niche you’re looking for. As a solo game, this uses the Wretched & Alone SRD, so you’ll probably want a Jenga tower, and you’ll definitely want a deck of cards.
Navigator, by Micheal Klamerus.
Navigator is a two-player tabletop rpg created for the Just the Two of Us Jam. It's inspired by the movie Stalker and the games Alone Among the Stars, Memoirs of a Barbarian and Thirst.
In this game two players journey into a mysterious, restricted site known as the Zone to find a room rumoured to grant people their innermost desires. One player is The Client, a person who wants to find this room and have their wish granted, and the other player is The Navigator, a person with previous experience navigating the Zone that has been hired by The Client to help them find the Room.
This game is definitely inspired by media such as STALKER, but it doesn’t have to be inspired by that. When I played this game, we decided to go for something a bit more fantastical, but if you and the person you play this with agree on the same inspiration, you should have no trouble experiencing this as an eerie, unnerving, dangerous setting.
Exclusion Zone Botanist, by Exeunt Press.
YOU ARE AN EXCLUSION ZONE BOTANIST.
GET IN. DISCOVER AND DOCUMENT. GET OUT.
Another one for the solo enthusiasts, and it’s inspired by Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation. Your character is specifically looking for plants, which you will locate by rolling 2d6. You get a little hex map to track your progress as you play. As you go, you risk being influenced by the corruption of the zone. Your goal is to document as many plants as possible before you become the forest - because if you are corrupted too much, they can’t pull you out. A delightfully time-sensitive game.
The Zone, by Laughing Kaiju.
The digital tabletop storygame of magical realism, mutant weirdness, and collaborative self-destruction.
This is a really cool digital ttrpg, with a physical version on the way. You can play solo or multiplayer, and the website will guide you through play step by step. The game is meant to be collaborative, so everyone will have moments where they direct play. The author also encourages you to play to lose - this is a tragic game, a horror game. The game itself uses a number of cards representing locations, laid out in a spiral to form an abstract sort of map. Each location will have its own scene, probably more. And rather than rolling dice to resolve tasks, you choose whether something is easily doable, or not-so-easy - in which case you pull from a deck. This is where the mutations may come from.
If you are interested in the physical version of this game, they’re currently taking pre-orders on Backerkit!
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How close an analog do you think Mutants are to minority groups in our own world? Mutation seems to cover a rather broad spectrum of people: you have mutations that are basically disabilities; mutations that aren’t disabling, but set the person apart somehow; mutations that give superpowers, but also carry one or more serious drawbacks; and mutations that give great power without any serious drawbacks, making these Mutants physical gods in all but name. The farther up this spectrum you go, the more the analogy to prejudice in our own world breaks down IMO.
So this is something I've discussed in detail both here and over on Graphic Policy:
As I've said in these writings, the essence of the mutant metaphor is its protean nature - it can serve many allegorical purposes, from civil rights to gay rights to disability politics and beyond, and it's constantly changing to match the times. So I think that's actually one of its strengths, that it's not trying to do a 1:1 for a specific real-world minority experience, because it really couldn't.
That being said, I've never been that impressed by the argument that "The farther up this spectrum you go, the more the analogy to prejudice in our own world breaks down IMO." There isn't a minority group in the history of the world that hasn't somehow been described as having special abilities that make them dangerous to the majority - but the point of the mutant metaphor isn't to explore "what if that particular bigoted fear was right"? (I'm thinking here of something like BLACK by Kwanza Osajyefo, Tim Smith 3, and Jamal Igle, which imagines a world in which only black people can get superpowers and how our society would react to that transformation.)
Rather, and this is what gets into stuff I've linked above about the importance of the mutants being part of the Marvel Universe, the point is that the mutants are not the only people who can be physical gods (think various super-scientists, aliens, actual gods, magicians, or mutates) - but they are the only ones who are hated and feared as a minority group because of that, and that gets at the inherently irrational nature of prejudice.
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Can I please request a fic where Dusty the Deathclaw has a close call? Like maybe the Enclave or the Brotherhood of Steel, or raiders, got in a lucky shot on Dusty’s belly. And this DEVASTATES the reader enough to go full John Wick on the person who shot Dusty, even to the point that Cooper is like “Oh Damn”. Cause they hurt the WRONG wasteland baby!
Dear Hearts and Gentle People 17
I had a lot of fun with this one and it gave me an excuse to head down to the Capitol Wasteland. Ignore the janky timelines ❤️
*so sorry that this took a while to get out. Life does a good job of getting in the way sometimes @odditycircus-2002. I hope you enjoy! ❤️*
Masterlist
You aren't a fan of the Capitol Wasteland. The weather is shit, and she and Cooper had been shot at no less than eight times in the two weeks they'd arrived. This pocket of the wasteland felt even more dangerous to be in, especially with the rumor of a slaver group in the area. You and Cooper had agreed to avoid them as best you could, but that still left the rest of the factions the two of you needed to keep an eye out for.
The BOS left the three of you alone for the most part whenever they happened to cross your path, Dusty had even made a friend with the dark skinned lady named Cross. Raiders were raiders, but the problems really started when she and Cooper stumbled across another group. The Enclave.
Even after the destruction of Raven Rock, pockets of the old world faction still remained. The day was coming to an end when laser fire suddenly accosted the trio of wanderers. They dove for the cover of nearby rocks and grab for their own weapons. Dusty roars loud enough that your ears ring and charge ahead, furious milky eyes zeroed in on the men in suits of power armor.
"Fuck. That's the Enclave," Cooper snarls beside you, and you whip around to stare up at him in horror. Out of all the factions that they could have run into, it had to be one of the most dangerous ones. They were righteous zealots who dreamed of wiping the earth clean of all mutated creatures.
This was the one faction that would have the kind of firepower to actually hurt their deadly companion, and you felt fear grip your heart when rapid laser fire fell upon Dusty. The creature snarled and gnashed his teeth, dropping down to his front arms to sprint forward and close the distance between himself and the Elclave member who had the gatling laser.
"Dusty!" You scream and run forward, ducking behind rocks and burnt out cars in your bid to get to the deathclaw. Cooper rubs right behind you, taking pot shots at the line of figures that stand on top of the cliffs above them. One woman screams as a bullet catches her in the leg, and she goes tumbling off the cliff to hit the ground, dead.
The deathclaw rips through the men and woman who don't have powe armor, blood and gore flying in all directions, and painting his golden scales red. You arrive in time to see a man in power armor rip something off his back and onto his shoulder. The weapon glows a terrible blue, and you watch in slow motion as a bolt of electrified plasma flew through the air and struck Dusty in the chest.
The deathclaw goes down with a howl of anguish, rearing back to expose the blackened flesh of his soft underbelly. His scales crack and melt off, and Dusty falls to the side, the ground shaking when his weight meets the earth.
Cooper hears you scream, and the sound rattles him. It's full of pain and fury, rage, and disbelief. He watches you drop your weapon and dash forward, throwing yourself at the man who shot Dusty. You cling to the man, feet finding foothold as your fingers dig into the neck paneling of the suit and rip at the tubing and wires that connect to the helmet.
Steam erupts from the power armor, and the man jerks around, stumbling as half of his suit loses power. You find the latch to the helmet and rip it off, exposing the face of the terrified man who dared try and kill Dusty.
The ghoul shouts your name when the two of you tip over, the power armor useless now that its systems have been compromised. You appear seconds later, wielding your side arm. You shoot the man in the face until the chamber runs dry, shoulders heaving and teeth bared in an animalistic snarl.
With the fight over, with any other remaining Enclave having fled the scene, you turn on your heel and run to Dusty. You drop to your knees beside the whining creature and reach for his massive head, hands gently smoothing over his dangerous horns as you whisper reassurances to your baby.
"Is okay, sweetheart. I'm right here. Can you let momma see?" You coo, and Dusty lifts his head, moving just enough that you can see the awful wound left behind from the tesla cannon. Dusty whuffs and grunts, obvious sounds of pain falling from his maw.
"Cooper, bring me my bag," you order, and the ghoul does so without a word. You dig around until you can find your stash of chems and drag out the med-x and stim-packs you have. You have no idea if these would work, but you had to try.
"I need to see it, Dusty," you murmur, and Dusty shoves his head forward and into your lap, looking for comfort, and you easily give it to him. You hold his head close to your chest, and the beast breaths in your scents deeply, his milky eyes closing as he begins to calm down.
You look at Cooper, and the ghoul sighs, but he takes the medical supplies from you. He goes about moving around the deathclaw until he can see the burn. The med-x goes first, and then he injects four stim-packs around the wound.
The chems seem to work, for it isn't long before the deathclaw relaxes, his body sagging forward, and you grunt as you take his weight. His breathing evened out, and Cooper watched in muted fascination as the wound began to knit back together. He sighs and plops down in the dirt beside you.
You lean into him, and Cooper wraps his arm around your waist as best he can, kissing the side of your head. Silent tears stream down your face as relief sweeps through your body.
"He'll be alright, smoothskin. Dusty's tougher than he looks."
#cooper howard#fallout#fallout prime#fallout tv series#cooper howard x reader#x reader#the ghoul x reader#dear hears and gentle people#fallout 3#dusty the deathclaw#deathclaws
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Hi! I was wondering if you have any thoughts or resources on the Highlander/Highland Lynx breed? Or what, if any, is the difference between the two?
I've read that they're two different breeds, but that that may only be the case because of different registry requirements..??
Also, are they really truly domestic? Every where I've read has said that they most certainly are, but that they're also crossed with Jungle Curls? That bit has left me a bit confused...
https://www.petfinder.com/cat/sampson-71366971/wi/new-richmond/gregorys-gift-of-hope-inc-wi432/
This pretty little guy is up for adoption at a shelter near me, and I'm contemplating going to see him (if he isn't snapped up in the next week lol), but I'd like to cover all my bases for breed research first!
He apparently came in fully intact and was recently neutered which seems.... Strange to me. The people who surrendered him supposedly bought him from a breeder out of state?
I'm not by any means 100% certain, but i did look at a few Highlander catteries and I THINK I may have found his breeder? At the very least they have a king that very well looks like he could be this guy's sire
https://www. highlanderswildnwonderful.com/ Kings.html
I do still wonder why he would be sent out as a companion fully intact though... Or why he wound up in a shelter and not returned to the breeder...
Anyway! I'd love to hear thoughts/opinions resources for potential health issues
So far I've only read that they require frequent ear cleanings and have some UTI issues, but the stumpy tail does make me a little nervous... It doesn't seem to be the same thing as manx, buuuuuut......
Woah, amazing find!
From what I understand - and if this isn’t correct someone more familiar with the breed is welcome to correct me - but the Highland Lynx is essentially the outdated name for the breed more widely known as the Highlander.
The exception largely being the Rare and Exotic Feline Registry which has decided the Highland Lynx is still the Highland Lynx and the Highlander is the same thing but backcrossed to the Desert Lynx use in the breeds foundation.
Which doesn’t make sense to me, it should just be considered an allowable outcross…? But whatever. I don’t respect that registry anyways.
As for their domestic vs hybrid status it’s true that the Jungle Curl is a Jungle Cat and American Curl but it seems like the Highlander falls more into the Toyger realm… there are technically wild caat hybrids in the ancestry but they’re far enough removed that it isn’t super relevant.
Even after 4 generations a cat is largely considered domestic or “SBT” (Stud Book Traditional) and these guys are generally even further out than that.
Before I get into the health of the breed I just need to make a small correction to their description… this handsome fella is not chocolate, he’s black sepia - often called brown or sable, sometimes called natural.
The toe beans tell, and he has many beans to reveal his secrets.
Currently we are not aware of any issues related to curled ears the way there are with folded ears but anecdotal evidence suggests that they’re more fragile and.. yes, require more frequent cleaning. Dirty ears and ear infections are definitely something to be mindful of.
As much as I enjoy polydactyl cats I’m not a fan of deliberately breeding for the trait, the nails on these extra digits can be difficult for the cat to maintain and are more prone to becoming ingrown. Some cats even require an onychectomy (declaw) of the excess digits due to reoccuring problems.
[Image Source]
So acclimating to having their paws handled and tolerating routine nail clips is an absolute must.
And finally… the tail.
Your concern about the relation to the problematic manx gene is warranted.
There are presently two types of tail mutations documented in domestic cats: the “natural bobtail” manx gene due to T-box mutations and the “asian bobtail” due to an HES7 mutation. The latter is not presently associated with the same issues as the manx gene.
HES7 mutations are not present in the Highlander.
Two T-box variants have been identified in the Highlander breed, meaning the mutation for their bobtail is the same as those responsible for the manx. Standard Highlander’s can have no tail to a short tail, those with a long tail are considered non-standarf and are largely used only for breeding purposes due to the lethal nature of T-box mutations when homozygous.
Some Highlander lines owe their bobtail appearance to a “novel variant,” meaning no known mutation has been identified. As this variant or variants are currently unidentified we can’t confidently say which gene (if either of them) it’s most closely related to or if there are similar issues associated.
All that being said not all manx gene cats will present with related problems and for those who do the severity is variable, some may have minor issues that can be managed with diet or medication while others may be… pretty severely effected.
I imagine at this age they would have a good idea of if Sampson has any issues and to what degree they’re present if he does.
If you’re prepared to deal with potential health issues should they arise I think it would be lovely to adopt him, you’re not contributing to the breeding of more if you go through a rescue and are equipped to educate others on why “Yes, mine is awesome but no you don’t actually want one.”
Like Dr. Frank Bozelka and his rescue Scottish Fold. His videos are hilarious and informative, by the way, I definitely recommend giving him a follow.
It would also be good for him to be placed with someone aware of and prepared to accomodate possible breed-related issues instead of someone who just wants a fancy cat… but I understand this can also be overwhelming, so absolutely no judgement if you decide to pass.
But if you do adopt him I’d love to see more pictures! I want to squish his cheeks.
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