flaws upon your sleeve | open, joining

[guppy]

[ look below for a tl;dr ]

---

run, run, run.

blood-stained heavy paws thunder across the ground, heaving and hoarse breaths accompanying the booms in a tiring melody. muscles within the overworked limbs were crying out for a break, but he wouldn't allow it, even if a million thoughts are making it so easy to just want to stop. the echos bouncing around his skull vary in voices, all of which are easy to distinguish. he can hear the loud screeching of the large brutes that had done nothing but ruin his short life so far. although he spent the majority of his life in captivity after the rouge group kidnapped him, their language is still so foreign to him, everything he could remember coming out of their mouths sounding like rabid gibberish. the more his mind plays their voices, the more his wounds and fresh scars aches as a reminder of what they've done to him and his tribe for the many, many months.

run, run, run.
"never run away, or else you're a pathetic little coward, and we're never that."

those words hurt as much as every bleeding crevice covering his muscled and weak body and make him as scared as the memories of his stronger captors. one single snarl begins to replace their own malicious ones, and soon his father's sharp words begin to haunt him. he remembers the many training sessions he had each day back as a youngster, the ones where he'd end up a crimson pile of matted fur from his father's unsheathed claws and powerful jaws, the ones where he'd force himself up on shaky and stubby legs, fueled by the elder's growls and the fear of a future beating for giving up. it's been months since his baby blue eyes laid eyes on his father's icy ones, but he feels them on him at the very moment, and it makes him stumble a few times on top of the water-surrounded railroad tracks his powerful paws pound upon. a growl of his own slips from his bloody and aching jaw. by the gods, look at him now. how dare he run away from his captors? when has his father ever taught him that was the way to go? no man should ever run away from the enemies. that makes them meek, vulnerable, pathetic, weak, a piece of damn prey, and when was he ever that? he's supposed to fight back until his dying breath, ignore the minuscule value of his own life and show dominance, that you're not them. the anger over how cowardly he was masks his nearly lethal wounds he currently has. and the knowing disappointment his father would have felt at this moment made him terrified, but he would never admit it. but what could he do now but just continue to run and dwell in the mistakes he's made.

he isn't sure where he's at, finding that everywhere he's been at since escaping being completely new and foreign. he hates that, not being able to think of new strategies in where to hide or find shelter, or just not having the control he once had over the territory around him. the railroad, which had only made his paw pads split even more, has molded into a forested area, something he was not at all accustomed to. it wasn't much long ago that his vision had begun to be covered in blinking black spots, and it obscured his ability to see the lovely bells at the entrance of the railroad, as well as the black hissing masses who were ready to jump at him. in the back of his mind, he knows he should stop moving and try to patch up any leaking section of his body, to try his best to mimic what he learned in the the rare medicinal training sessions in his tribe. it was common sense at this point, with his legs sluggishly carrying him forward, sometimes allowing him to ram into trees in a woozy state, and his sight almost covered in a thick black screen. but he knows the best way to block out common sense just to show everyone that he can do it- even if he was alone and was most likely going to die just like that. it doesn't take much longer for the beast to feel his legs buckle underneath him, sending him to crash into the rotting bark of a looming tree near him. heaving breaths slip out of his sticky crimson mouth, allowing him to catch very faint smells of other lingering creatures nearby. his body aches at the idea of having to fight off any potential threat, but he knows he'd do it anyway. grunts, growls, and a few loud whimpers leave his throat as he could feel unconsciousness slowly crawl up his spine. as afraid as he should be at his possible death, all he could feel is his own disappointment in how his death will be. he won't die a noble warrior's death, face to face with the enemy also nearing their own death, but rather alone, pitiful, dying from wounds he wasn't able to mirror in the enemy. he let out a loud and dangerous snarl, conflicted on how to feel about this. he grasps lightly on his lingering consciousness, trying to stay awake as much as he could.

boy.
"you're pathetic."

---

[ wow, the feral and dumb epitome of toxic masculinity has finally arrived, almost dying
in a small rundown of what happened in that big mess of my writing i haven't roleplayed in months, apologies in advance, boy is running away from the people that have kidnapped him and most of his tribe ages ago, finally finding the opportunity to do so, even if he's still a teen, technically. he stumbles on typhoon territory, running past the border and ending up falling next to a tree as he is very close to passing out from his wounds and the pressure he put on his weak body. currently he is just clinging on so he can hopefully go out in a bang, preferably fighting somebody nearby.
current injuries: broken nose, sprained jaw, multiple deep cuts across his back and stomach, broken ribs, split paw paws, and smaller cuts here and there.
warning that boy is a hella aggressive motherfucker who will try to fight y/c, even if they try to patch him up. though because of his very weak state, nothing will happen to y/c. he'll eventually calm down, but feel free to drug his ass if needed to. he also only replies with the only english word he knows: "boy," along with multiple sounds ]

[Grey]

Running is for cowards. As far as he can remember, he’s never really run away from anything. Perhaps there was the one time he had been kidnapped, looking for a way to escape, but Bakugou considered an escape to be his victory. Although hotheaded, he is at least vaguely conscious of biting more than he could chew. There is little gain for attempting to defeat every single villain. No. He had known that there will come a point where his fame would skyrocket so high that no one would dare challenge him, quiver should he even look at someone the wrong way. His death was a miserable death. No pride, no fighting, no running. Death came to him in seconds and Bakugou, as hard as it had been, chose to move on. His perspectives haven’t changed. Running is for cowards. To run is to drop the chance of winning, to be afraid of losing. There’s nothing wrong with fearing loss but he does find something wrong in giving up. It is an infuriating thing to watch. The day he runs away will be the day he is no longer Bakugou Katsuki – a day of tragedy.

Does turning a blind eye count as running? He may not run but he certainly neglects. The ragdoll is far too willing to close his eyes and walk blind, muffle the noises that overwhelm him. His response to the pain which rips his very cells, makes him feel as though he is burning inside and out, is to merely block it out. Painkillers. There always comes a point that avoiding becomes too much. It lets the problem grow, evolve and mutate into something worse, something much uglier and monstrous. He would rather drown to death. Let his lungs scream and his own neck strangle themselves as his brain cries for air only to let his own body fill with saltwater, intoxicate his normal functions, kill him when his mind shuts down. Or perhaps he would rather burn to death, flames crackling across his skin and burning so hot that his sensors don’t believe it. The heat will become so overwhelming that his skin feels cold, freezing because his body will go into overdrive. Then it will be the carbon dioxide, the toxic fumes which crawl down his trachea and into his alveoli that shrivel and die. Anything, he thinks, to forget the pain is there.

A tragedy struck this morning. His bottle of drugs is running empty, few remain because he’s been taking too much. He’s woken up before to realise he can’t feel his own paws, unable to recognise the unsheathed claws were his. Even Bakugou’s own eyelids felt foreign. He doesn’t feel the sensation of lids closing, clapping against each other to keep his eyes from drying. It puts him in a strange predicament because he can’t remember where he stole them. He’s had a hard time remembering anything lately. Perhaps it is another side effect of the painkillers but even though he knows they’ll do him more harm than good in the long run, he can’t stop himself from taking them. The reaver wonders if anyone has noticed as he walks into the rainforest, turning his ears like radars as he hopelessly listens to the calls of an array of birds and other loud, screeching animals. He smells blood. A kill? Bakugou scrunches his nose. It must be considering he smells no crewmate stench and nothing about the metallic scent resembles decay. Recent. He notes that it must have been a recent appearance to The Typhoon’s borders, but whatever it is it has set itself within their imaginary walls.

His eyes squint, looking past the low-growing vegetation and prowling towards the smell. It isn’t accompanied by the smell of a crewmate so the reaver grows more suspicious the closer he gets. The idiots haven’t been setting traps around the area, right? He quickly stops to check his paws, as if expecting to have tripped over some rope and be consumed by a steel box. No, nothing. It is just his imagination. So far, the only logical explanation he can make is some prey or stranger has run into The Typhoon looking for help, or perhaps the animals are fighting with each other. He is aware the rainforest is home to many sorts of beasts far bigger than him and much, much stronger. If it weren’t for his fire elementals, he would perhaps be dead the moment he stepped into the forest. It was his tail that possessed the shape of fire that often warded the animals away. Nature hates fire.

Not too far now that he recognises a large, brutish form pressed against a tree. The beast looks as if it is being crushed by gravity and his sanguine eyes are instantly drawn to the large feline’s blood. A plethora of cuts and bruises. The ragdoll wouldn’t be surprised if the tiger was racked with broken bones and miseries. The creature would look impressive with palette of colours if not for the red accents oozing along his body, painting him with the kiss of agony. Bakugou comes closer, several metres away from the foreigner who appears to be dripping in and out of reality. A blur, he imagines. He can relate to everything becoming a blur. When the vision breaks, it is the ears that go on overdrive. Sounds become a sea of noise, so loud that it becomes as though you are underwater, unable to hear anything clearly. The reaver’s mistake is standing there for so long, assessing the situation but not actually absorbing anything. He can’t think, still frazzled with his own problems.

Maybe, he thinks, it is best to go find Silus or Junji…but their black mambas are always working too hard. It is their job, but The Typhoon needs their attention more than some stranger lurking around the depths of their forest. It is better he leaves the tiger to die. He hates liabilities. Although The Typhoon has always maintained a prosperous society, he sees little point in wasting away feeding the useless mouth of an extra. But, at the same time, there poses the problem of the rest of the allegiance. Some crewmates might wish to save the pitiful being for the sake of being nice and hospitable, to build upon a positive image for themselves. Perhaps this tiger seeks to join. Truth be told, he wishes he can just look the other way or summon a typhoon to throw this tiger away, let it return to the underworld where he belonged with all that blood and gore.

He realises the male hasn’t noticed him when a hostile roar explodes through the territory, cloaking the landscape with an awareness of the tiger’s presence. Bakugou looks back at the male who had been whimpering when the feline had first arrived, contorting his face into one of disgust. ”Ya need healin’?” the reaver lazily calls out, agitated because he would rather have just given the situation a blind eye and walk off to continue his meaningless stroll. Little does his know, however, of the other male’s aggression. Having boldly stepped another metre forward and revealing his position, Bakugou leaves himself open to being attacked. His fire elementals have always given him a sense of security, he can’t ignore the fact that his powers have saved him a number of times from grave injuries. Unaware of any danger that may befall him, the ragdoll daringly turns around to begin to look for Junji or Silus, the two overworked black mambas they happened to have.

[CAESAR CIPHER.]

FORGETTING LIES AND PAIN !

CAESAR CIPHER. MALE. THE TYPHOON. OFFICER.

Ironically enough, despite Caesar's feelings on running away from things, that was exactly what he was doing. The Officer believed the same that Bakugou did; running away from your problems was a sign of cowardice. Facing your problems head on was the only was to solve them and yet, Caesar was running away from his own issues. Family issues, to be exact, as well as the fact that he was running from his own emotions. No matter what he told The Typhoon, he regretted destroying his Home Dimension and wished he hadn't left millions to rot inside the place. In doing so, he killed his parents, he killed his brother's fiance, and he ruined his relationship with his siblings. Something he had always cherished, and it was now gone.

Caesar happened to be nearby whenever he heard a snarl coming from the area, followed by Bakugou's voice. The demon went towards where he thought he heard his fellow Crewmate's voice, his ears pricked. Caesar eventually came to stand next to Bakugou, the scent of blood hitting his noise almost immediately. "We should just leave it to die," The Officer grunted. "It's not one of us. Besides, it looks half dead already."

#psychosocial.

[the trash man]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 550px; min-height: 9px; font-family: arial; line-height: 109%; text-align: left; color: black; padding: 20px;font-size: 12px;"]innately linux was a survivalist; someone who would run at the first given opportunity should that decision be what seperated the girl from life and death. because, well, death was scary. so scary now that the child had witnessed too many near death experiences within her clanmates, coaxing her into a fear that was less irrational with every injury she saw manifest. was linux going to die tomorrow? maybe, no one knew for sure. but death was always going to be looming around everyone's corner, and so the girl was determined to combat that possibility with everything she had to offer. next stop: stranger on the border.

bumbling up behind caesar on short, stumpy munchkin legs, linux's dusty pink gaze had a hard time peering around the taller typhoon member to get a better look at what was before the three. finally pushing herself into getting a better look, the snowy child let her breath hitch in her throat at the sight - a foreign boy, beat up and looking just as caesar had put it, "half dead". whipping her head around to lock gazes with the officer, the girl retorted back at him. "leave it? don't be so selfish! just because it's out of your way to help others, doesn't mean you shouldn't do it." scowling at caesar, the sage-wannabe turning back to the form of the broken boy was admittedly at a loss of what to do. linux was no junji, no silus, she had attended one sage try-outs and tried to coax her cousin into teaching her about medicine. but the milky child had never actually healed anyone before. shit. "oi baku can you.. um, ah- stop the bleeding? i'll go fetch junji and silus." calling out to baku, funnily enough not to insult him, the kitten's word were hesitant and unsure. but she tried not to dwell so much on her confidence before rushing off to collect the two black mambas, before returning once she had collected them.

(welcome to the typhoon!! sorry for this messy half-asleep post lol)

[member=1504]Silus R.[/member] [member=1660]JUNJI[/member]

[Grey]

It's easy to become hypocritical of your own ideals. Bakugou himself is not free from such sins but, to be completely honest, he would not be able to name any events of such. Most of his hypocritical actions stemmed from his subconscious. He was deeply unaware of the internal workings of his mind, the shifts and turns of every metal cog that twists within his mind. He is yet another machine with feelings, to be swept along with the ocean and a tide of subconscious thoughts. Self-awareness. He doesn't ever look to his own heart. Mind ever heart, he always says, mind over heart. But if Bakugou aimed to be so rational, why was he always depicted to hold such a cauldron of anger? The feelings are left to simmer, bubble and boil over until he pours at all sides. His anger rules and guides him, manipulating him as though he were a marionette, pulled and drawn. He's just a puppet to his own emotions, his heart he thinks he's got the better of. And yet his anger is not all that bad. It presents to him a desire to be known, to be treated well, a burning passion for justice. He is yet a fireball of judgement, criticism and need.

When Caesar speaks up, the ragdoll halts in place. It is not out of respect for the savannah cat but because he genuinely agrees with the Officer's reasoning. Why waste their resources? They are a war-clan, a group of pillagers and fearsome pirates. What exactly has bound them to helping every single lost, injured or confused stranger that appears on their borders? They have no responsibility for their lives and yet they act as though it is the most important thing in the world. Bakugou stiffens slightly at the yellow male's wording. It. He swivels around and looks back at the injured creature, realising there was an aura that seemed different to theirs. Something that lacked the same sentience as other Typhooners but not yet feral like the prehistoric monsters who roamed the island. The tiger feels foreign, exotic maybe. There is a danger that glints from the other's eyes. But to call the stranger an it... Bakugou is fixated on those words, ribs expanding as he takes a deep breath of air. That it has an identity. Even those utahraptors where called 'she' or 'he', given names as if they were one of them. The concept of membership and identity infuriates him. Outsiders are its.

Before he can even think of a reply to the officer, the obnoxious voice of Linux enters his mind. His ears twitch as Bakugou gently bites his bottom lip, giving the girl only a sideways glance. He was, of course, about to fetch the healers himself but Linux had barged in and taken the job. He doesn't want to waste any time just standing around this injured, bleeding male. Stop the bleeding. He snorts at her words. She makes it sound as if Bakugou knows how to do it and he knows he doesn't have anything on him other than his own two paws to try and stop the flow of blood. Still, he gives a reluctant nod. He remembers seeing the way Luca put pressure on a wound before and approaches the tiger, attempting to do the same and stop the bleeding. This, of course, leaves him open to being attacked.

[ ooc ] feel free to bitch slap bakugou

[guppy]

[table][tr][td]

[/td][td]

YOUNG AND MENACE

Woke up on the wrong side of reality, And there's a madness that's just coursing right through me. And as far as the time, far as the time, Not sure I'm there yet but I'm certain I've arrived. Oops I did it again, I Forgot what I was losing my mind about. I only wrote this down to make you press rewind And send a message, "I was young and a menace."  ━━━━━━━━━━━━

[/td][/tr][/table]

people were enemies, that was the first and upmost important rule his father had taught him, besides the one that established that you were nothing unless you made fear seep into the body and let it choke people into submission. if they were not from the tribe, then they were there to only seek havoc and destruction, to slash you up and leave you for dead as they took everything they could to soothe their sickly avarice. it had never occurred to him, either then or now, that it was such a close-minded idea to believe in, and certainly hypocritical considering the things his father orchestrated against other smaller tribes. but he was-is only a machine, meant to only fight for his people, and be punished if he even so much took a mental glimpse at the morality of everything he was taught. they were right, strangers were wrong, and meant to be destroyed by his jaws or claws.

the spots in front of his icy blue eyes had begun to overtake his vision as the first sign of life besides his own came into view. it took some moments for his senses to pick up on the stranger in front of him, who seems to be standing there, not doing anything besides staying silent and being the prime example of what his father would call a perfect target. however, he does nothing at all, besides leaving even more crimson liquid on the ground below him and heavily wheeze in and out oxygen that burned his throat. were he less battered and be in total sync with his mind, the pathetic little thing in front of him would have been torn to shreds in mere seconds. yet here he is, barely narrowing his eyes into slits and understanding that this was a stranger in front of him. however, when the creature began to get closer to him and form unfamiliar (yet oh so familiar... was this little prey part of the group he escaped from?) words with his mouth, boy pulls back his lips to form a disgusting snarl, blood-tinted canines on full display. but is it from the sudden spikes of pain running through his body, or a warning to not dare get closer to him? even he doesn't know.

more spots clog up his vision and his breathing has become more shaky. even then, he knew he had to fight. better to die with your last dying breath than go pathetically. soon 2 other puny creatures join the first one, and he lets out a growl, albeit a fairly faint and squeaky one. his claws are itching to be sheathed, but he does nothing, because they're not doing anything. instead of taking advantage of his weak state and swiftly ending him right then and there, they are simply talking amongst one another, every so often looking at him. what tribe do they come from, and how do they even survive with the low moral codes they seem to have? not slaughter a dangerous or weak creature trespassing on their territory? awful way to live. his fuzzy train of thought is interrupted as the smallest of them all, possibly a child (how dare they let a child out of their camp? his tribe hardly even let the children tumble out of the huts), shuffles away, far from sight. his snarl seems to deepen even more as he begins to think of the little rascal screeching in that tongue of theirs about this pitiful tiger on their territory just begging to be ended and scarfed up for food.

once again deep in his scattered mind, he doesn't realize that the first of them to find him is getting closer, or that he doesn't seem to be contemplating on hurting him at all. it takes some few seconds for his eyes to slowly follow the smaller creature's path, and even more seconds for him to even feel the paw on one of his wounds. his icy blue eyes widen and, with speed that only serves to pump up his adrenaline and hurt him even more, he picks up an arm and attempts to bring it down on bakugou with intense strength, although still sluggishly. his jaw opens up to let out a few raspy yet angered growls and grunts of his native tongue ('don't you dare touch me, you pathetic little thing' he says, though he hasn't noticed the fact that nobody would understand his language.) perhaps it was the wrong move, if the extra pain shooting through his body was of any indication, but his flicking yet wild mind wasn't ready to let anything that seems an attack come at him. his breathing is more deep now and his eyes scream with ferocity, but he can feel himself fading in and out, and he lets out a few more unconscious quiet whines and whimpers as the pain just seems to slowly increase. pathetic, he calls himself in his mind, though in his father's disapproving voice.

/ wOW AIN'T THIS LATE ASDFGHJKL. but, the last paragraph is the juicy stuff really; i just love to accidentally add too much insight on this dumb fuck. feel free to also bitch slap boy into unconsciousness and patch him up

[Grey]

He used to do that too. He used to boil people down to the enemies and the people – the ones he was supposed to fight and the ones he was supposed to protect. He thought it was so easy, so simple. But at some point, it starts to become apparent that the world consists of too many grey areas. He was one of them. His methods of saving, of ‘heroing’, were questionable. They thought him to be an antihero, infamously unconventional, much scarier than a villain on their own. Perhaps it was because he was supposed to be one of the good guys. He’s too intimidating, too rash about what he wants. Manners are hard for him to use as well. It’s awkward trying to be nice because strangely enough, he’s always been rather genuine. He hates being dishonest. It was to the point that he was comfortable with being rude to strangers. He would rather give them a true image of himself than present a hospitable persona, as if he were a good person. Bakugou doesn’t like to disappoint.

It took him longer than he should have to realise the other male’s breaths, the aggression which begun to radiate from the feral creature. He wonders if part of the hostility that was beginning to leak from the foreigner’s skin was due to fear. Bakugou had existed to fight. He longed for battle, the sensation of being within combat – aerial or not. At this moment, he can almost feel a fight or flight moment surging within the male. The ragdoll tries to remain calm, still approaching and closing in the space between them to help with the other’s bleeding that he was no longer on guard. All he can do is pitifully stare at the raising of their arm, slamming down towards him. He feels his own balance slip, gravity overtaking him as he hits the ground with a thud, choking for air. Bakugou clenches his teeth together. The attack could have been worse. It would have been more powerful had the male not been in this state but now his back feels sore.

It's easy to let anger overtake him. The ragdoll growls in return, glaring at the tiger who looked now hazy in his vision. He hadn’t responded to Bakugou’s initial question, moved in to immediately attack him despite his state. Was he perhaps…deaf? Or maybe more of a foreigner than the other ones, one that can’t speak English. Well, he won’t try speaking Japanese to see if it would work out. Truthfully, he was rather mad. He hates being taken advantage of, about to raise his head when he realizes that the tiger was likely going to attempt the same aggression on him. He’ll have to do things forcefully and Bakugou has never had a problem with that when he launches from his hind legs, using his flames to boost him forward with more force, and attempt to slam against his side. Knowing his smaller size would affect his strength compared to his difficult for the Reaver, he then uses a veil of mild flames to conceal his position as he moves around to attempt to hit him over his head to knock him out. He can’t risk hurting the male. Not now, at least, while someone was fetching a medic.

If this was to work, he’d wait at the spot more cautious and guarded than he had been before. He was quietly sulking, annoyed that he had let himself get hit and rolling his limb against his shoulder blade, knowing that the area was going to bruise and be a complete bitch when he decides to go blacksmithing next.

[ ooc ] screams it's okay i'm late too. i was trying to gather muse to match yours but this will do i guess <33