loosen it - oneshot

[darci]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 60%; font-family: georgia; font-size: 13pt; text-align: justify;"]"You were made for more than this, my son."

Everything flew by him in a blur, the familiar and welcoming stinging crawled across his chest. He missed this, running that was. It had been a long time since he ran this fast, the scenery around him becoming a blur, his eyes only trained on the ground ahead for approaching obstacles. A flutter of excitement roared through him. He could do it, he could go home and return to his beloved life as a sled dog. Becoming enveloped inside of his fantasy, Victor failed to realize he had gone over his body's limit. Out of nowhere did his back left leg give out, a searing, hot pain shooting through his back end. Victor's body went down, but the momentum he had gained threw him forward. He slammed into a large tree, the wind violently knocked out of him. The dog gasped for air, a brief moment of panic coming over him.

Dazed, the male laid there, staring up at the peaceful blue sky above. He could not recall how long he had been there, but it was enough for him to come to terms with what had occurred. Victor had become ecstatic at the news of his injured leg having the ability to heal, but now he had re-injured it. Without the humans around, there was nothing that could be done. His leg had not been re-shattered, no, but he had torn the fragile muscles in his leg that had only just begun to heal. Idiot. Victor just wanted to run, to just feel that feeling once more, but it appeared he could never be able to do it again.

Victor clenched his jaw, blood beginning to well up around his gums from the pressure. This was not how it was suppose to be. He was not suppose to be here. The dog should have won the Iditarod, he should have been crowned champion. Instead, his younger sister had taken his position when he had injured himself. She came in second, and while he wanted to be proud of her, an overwhelming among of envy and spite had drowned out those feelings. He had been as ass to his baby sister on her special day. Forgiveness had been easily given to him, but he could not let it go, the horrid amount of hatred that flowered through him. He was the first of his blood line to not race. It was in their bloodline, what he had been born to do, but his time never came. What was he meant for without racing? Victor was lost, confused, and spiteful of himself.

He had learned to put on a show, smile, he happy, and do not let anyone see the turmoil he felt. The canine did not want to be that person, all depressed and mopey. He despised people like that, but he was becoming worse and worse with each passing week. It was not something he could simply let go. He let down his family, wasted their time. A waste of a son. Victor's mother had been so proud of him and she always told him stories of her racing days. It was the highlight of his childhood. Even after his accident did she still have faith in him, even if she knew he would never race again. His father seemed disappointed, but still supported Victor. It took three surgeries to put his shattered leg back together, and now, he doubted it would ever be healed.

Who was he? Victor did not even know himself anymore. Having left such a competitive environment, everything else seemed... Dull. He felt as if he had no purpose, just an empty shell making it though one day and onto another. The sky above him began to blur, a figment of his imagination clouding his vision. Standing over him was another husky, her fur black as tar and her underside as white as snow. Her mismatched brown and blue eyes staring down him, a puppy-like smile plastered across her face. His sister. He knew he was simply imagining it. Even so, it made him feel homesick. Victor missed his family. Squeezing his eyes shut, the figure of his sister left him. Drawing in a deep breath, Victor gathered his thoughts and slowly rose to his paws, his body sore from the sudden and violent impact. Nothing was broken, fortunately.

Blue eyes drew to his bad leg, finding it to have grown extremely swollen. It looked like someone had blown up a balloon under his skin. He frowned. This was not good. The husky attempted to put some pressure on it, but his leg gave out with just the slightest amount of weight being applied to it. Now he could not even walk on it. He jerked his head away, closing his eyes. Victor wanted his mother. He wanted to see his father, uncle, sister, and brothers. It had been on his terms that he left, but he could not stand being the laughing stock of his hometown. The future champion ruined from a silly training accident. It was not worth remembering. His pride had already been shattered long ago.

[just a small oneshot for a bit of development. feel free to reply, but it is not expected]

[Grey]

Running was for losers, for wimps. There was only the chase, chasing after the ones who deserved to have their heads knocked in, their craniums shattered. Bakugou wasn't familiar with running in his body. He was used to his usual training drills, the quickness that will envelop him as he works on his agility. There are twists and turns, combinations to be made with his fire elementals and teleportation. He can move so fast but he's never really just chosen to run, run on all four paws and let the breeze skim her fingers against his long fur. In terms of going over his limit, the ragdoll has done this over a number of times. He doesn't take care of himself well. If it wasn't blacksmithing, it was his training. He was always pushing his boundaries, checking how far he could go until he exhausted himself enough that he just collapsed. Bakugou always had some kind of bandage somewhere, something to be patched up, because he wasn't the most careful type. He was reckless. His body moved before he could properly examine the dangers, overestimating his abilities.

Since awakening from his coma, Bakugou had a different outlook on life. He felt far more...alive because he was being more careful. He became more tactical, calculating his next moves and noting the energy he had left. He was remembering how well he knew his own body and limitations back in the original world and applying his lost knowledge to this universe, noting what a ragdoll should and shouldn't do.

He smells blood. Nose sniffing and twitching for the scent, following the odour like a bloodhound. It's easily to detect considering the way the smell intertwines with the cold air, sizzling along his flared nostrils. Automatically, mechanically, the Reaver begins to walk. His back is slightly hunched, predatory in stance when he moves through the undergrowth of lowgrowing vegetation, passing past bushes and stepping over earth-coloured roots. There in the distance his eyes catch onto the familiar alabaster patch of fur, a blur in the distance of who he can only assume to be Victor. The male was promoted to striker not too long, hadn't he? It must mean he's worth saving, at least in the eyes of Captain Pincher and some other members of The Typhoon. Blood, after all, was not exactly a good sign. Ears rotating about as if searching for any suspicious noises about the trees. No danger so it seems, the male trying desperately to run calculations in his head, piece any evidence together for why Victor may be on the ground. Sanguine eyes, darting back and forth, finally drop their gaze towards broken leaves.

Bakugou gently swipes at the leaves in front of him to be revealed the imprints of paws against the soil. From what he has observed, they look similar to the ones he assumed would be Victor's - caninelike and different to his own smaller paws. From the spaces between each stride, he was running. What for? He realises no one must have been chasing him but for some reason Victor had been running and had now fallen over, maybe idiotically hitting a tree or something. Did he ever say something about being a sled dog? Victor was the type of canine who he would assume to have ran for a living. The other male was a husky, after all, and had a lean build. The male's familiarity to the cold also struck him as something to note, or at least it was brought up enough times for Bakugou to remember. But while he is living within the thoughts of his head, he notices Victor begin to rise, appearing to struggle that the Reaver found himself walking towards him in a childish curiosity. "How'd y -"

His jaws shut immediately together when his own sanguine gaze looks as well to Victor's swollen leg. That doesn't look good. Bakugou's own bafflement led the Reaver to allow a passage of silence to persist between them, not recognising the wave of angsty emotions washing across Victor's face and his closed eyes. "Is it broken?" It was probably a stupid question but the ragdoll is no doctor. He would leave such knowledge to the black mambas, furrowing his brows as he thought of what to do. He could go grab Sil but he had no idea what was going on with the other male. Junji was also another option but he doesn't know if the winged feline had already fixed himself or whatever. The last he saw of him was the angel heaving himself toward the Typhoon, struggling to stay alive. But Bakugou also doesn't think trying to help the canine to the Barracuda Bay would be a good idea either. Although ragdolls were rather large cats, Victor was too big for him to let him lean on. "Ya really had to fuckin' injure yourself, huh?" A rhetorical question, born from the Reaver's frustrations of having to decide and be helpful.

But, of course, Bakugou's difficult personality doesn't stop him from trying to be of use. He was an antihero, mainly assisting others in the respect that they were useful. He doesn't like the idea of pirates going to waste. Even cannon fodder were more useful than corpses and injured bodies. "I'll go find a black mamba," he says after another moment, as if it took a lot of effort to finally come to the conclusion that he would become a messenger boy. He begins to turn to leave, waving his tail behind him when he stops and swivels quickly back around: "Don't try to move." He then leaves to find [member=1504]SIL ?[/member] or [member=1660]JUNJI[/member] - not minding who he happens to bump in first.