deleted

[ATTICUS]

nvm <3

[darci]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 70%; text-align: justify;"]Could he call this his mid-life crisis? He was not sure what was going on him but he felt like he was... Changing. With the new discovery of his powers, the male was almost afraid to lift a paw, unsure of what shenanigans his body would start to play. Nothing notable had happened since his first found out he had the ability to control ice, but he felt a bit colder than he normally did. Apart of him was fearful that if he did not learn to control his ability would it overcome him. It would freeze his blood and lock up his organs, killing him in a matter of moments. The husky gave a shake of his head, pushing the idea out of his mind. He was starting to turn into a hypochondriac. Still, he had a right to be worried.

His powers were not the only change he began to catch on to. Victor was changing as a being, his outlook on life shifting, his attitude becoming more mature. He even noticed that his thoughts were becoming more abstract. It was like he was going through adolescence again, but nothing physically appeared to be different. In fact, he had even shown signs of aging, but he was still a young adult. Time. He just needed to give things some time. It appeared he had zoned out, rolling these thoughts over and over in his mind. The striker would never forget where he came from and what he had been taught, but this was the first time in his life did he not belong to humans. Victor had retraining himself on how to live outside of the world he knew.

The scent of a stranger was the final push to force himself out of his head, his eyes quickly snapping back in focus. Where was he? The jungle, by the border. Drawing in a breath, the dog moved forward, ears perking forward as he heard a voice calling out. It did not take long for the figure of the wildcat to come into view. "Hello. Can I help you with something?" inquired the male, his tail wagging ever so slightly. This had been the first time he had witnessed someone actually coming into their territory versus ringing the bell and waiting. While this was a stranger, they were also an intruder. He would make sure to keep his guard up, just in case.

[Grey]

This stranger's experience with waking up, feeling displaced and frazzled, was similar to how it felt with Bakugou. It was the sensation of waking up after a long, deep sleep that swept over him suddenly. He didn't realise he had fallen asleep but he was awake. The feeling was of awful disorientation. When he first awoke in this world, his memories were fragmented, like dust that needed to be reassembled, compacted to become the statue it once was. There wasn't any time to process that he felt lonely, only confusion as he slowly began to gather the fire, the blood and the choking sensation of death...then was the realisation. He realised he was not himself, so insensitively thrown into a bitter landscape in which the laws he knew no longer applied in the universe he now had to cope in. Walking was all he knew, all that felt familiar to him, and Bakugou found himself walking for days. He found himself indulging in the left over scraps of predators, hating what he had been left to succumb to, hating everything whilst memories plagued him like a holy ghost. He didn't want to remember and everything had felt so surreal, so surreal that his memories only begun to feel clearer when it came to his memories of his joining in The Typhoon. Everything after that one day, that one day of coming to the edge of the island and found by others, was where life began to glint with clarity. Even then, there were so many other variables.

Nowadays, everything is one big list, a giant and rotating routine. He'd wake up to do his blacksmithing, patrol about the island, go to his usual place to train, return to blacksmithing before walking around once again. He continued to walk, continued to be mesmerised by the sensation of his striding paws. The way it felt to let his toes launch his weight upwards, the steadiness of his pace. It was the only thing that felt real to him, the only thing he knew that others understood. After all, the fire that burned within him was unseen and felt only by him. He could imagine the way the hearth cackled and consumed his emotions, the way it became a concentrated ball before being expelled when he so wished it to be. The sensation that he was at the stake, called out for witchcraft, was all in his mind. Even murmurs around him felt as though he were in a dream that he was paranoid, adding to the anger he usually felt bubbling within him because he was concerned about himself, knowing that no one really seemed to understand him. The real problem, however, was himself. He simply never spoke about how he felt and in instances where he did, he'd usually shout something along the lines of 'it's not my fault!' before proceeding to make things more difficult than they needed to be.

The Reaver didn't hear the bell but a feeling inside of him told him to check the railroad, almost anticipating to hear the obnoxious clangs. He didn't like the way the metal sounded, didn't like some of the interactions he had had in the past when it came to strangers. But, knowing it was his responsibility as a high position, he moves towards it like a bat that's found prey. His body moves almost automatically, blocking out the distractions, drowning out sounds until all he heard were his own steps. The breaking of twigs, the flick of dirt behind him, the rustle of bushes as his body slide past them. They were all noises that made the world feel alive and big, reminding him that the earth was indeed moving and real. Birds perched on branches watch him in a dreadful silence as the ragdoll begins to follow the metal tracks, not daring to walk on top of them but instead strolling beside the silvery glint. He can see that it's rusting, the little details beside his paws. How long have they been abandoned? He can hardly tell, never one to exhaust his mind on such topics. It didn't need attention but his sanguine eyes were drawn to them as if, for once, he is too cowardly to look forward and see what was standing ahead of him.

He heard the 'hello' but hesitated his reply, finally noticing that Victor had beat him to it. He isn't surprised. The sled dog has always been rather prompt, too energetic for his liking. Still, he's begun to notice differences arising in the other male. But before he can place them, he puts his attention somewhere else. The stranger, the dark-furred jaguar who was standing before them. His eyes seem almost misty, as if he had never planned to be here but was present because he needed to be. Survival, maybe, he doesn't know and doesn't want to exhaust himself in trying to figure it out. He notices the bell was untouched, calmed a little by the fact that his ears wouldn't be harassed for the time being. Regardless, Bakugou doesn't speak up. He says no greeting to echo the other because it wasn't in his nature and Victor had already asked all the necessities. All he does is sit down, shaking away the ash which appeared on his cream fur.

[Luciferr]

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L U C I F E R . G R I M M

"The endless Void, The gazing abyss, The bottomless ocean of horror...It coiled itself around your tender heart"

Survival is a trait he knows all too well.

you might think such a beast - or even the entity that he is - wouldn't have to worry after such things and yet there had been a time, starved and beaten down, forced to fight or die, that Lucifer had despaired ever knowing what it was like to live without pain or starvation - the memories of which still haunted him some days, when the dawn light echoed just a tad too bloody or his own reflection stared back at him in fractured crimson, his mind wandered back sometimes before he forcefully pulled himself back from an abyss he had often trouble escaping.

so yes he recognises that slightly glazed look - but he keeps his peace for now while they await a reply, only mildly surprised for lack of ringing bell, since most tended to but perhaps he had spared poor Baku's eardrums this time.

DRAGON [10FT Hght, 25FT Lgth] — HELLION [5FT] — TYPHOON / OFFICER — PLAYLIST — TAGS

© LEXASPERATED

[rhosmari]

Her nose was to the ground, mud caked muzzle slightly parted as the little thing started to make her way with just following a scent. Her paws caked in mud slipped across the ground a couple of times but gained traction as she made her way. There was something going on and that much she knew because there was always something going on where the Typhoon was concerned. The tiny creature paused as she lifted her head up and she peered out through the bushes, eyes of glowing neon blue shifting over the scene before she suddenly bolted forward out of the thick foliage. Her muddied frame held nothing back as she barreled her way toward the group and the stranger that had come upon the gate and with ease before she came to try and sit down with the rest of them. But her butt kept up small jerking movements that moved to her haunches as she jittered to and fro before she couldn't help herself. Her tiny body slipped forward and around the stranger, eyes brilliant in their color as she looked up at the male before her. "Hi! Hello! I'm Technopaw and you are sooooo big! Don't ring the bell a lot or the snakies will try to get you!" Her words were like a string flying one another another before she took a deep breath in and looked up at the other expectantly.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #77ceee; font-size: 24px;"]— TECHNO ♛

#psychosocial.

[beck.]

    If anyone knew about comatose, it was Beck. Although coma wasn't exactly the right term. More similar to a car breaking down on a desolate highway or a computer running out of battery, shutting down to protect itself rather than function with damaged parts. All energy was focused on repairing, not sparing any effort regulating his apparition or his thoughts, only his existence clinging to the living realm. The resulting amnesia was a different story, but if she wanted his memories to miss patches and threads like an unfinished quilt, then he trusted her.

    He didn't trust the stranger in the distance. Too unfamiliar, too dangerous. Blinking away sunspots, the mangy boy remained paralyzed, staring at the jaguar's blurred silhouette with his teeth clenching down on the bucket handle containing an impatient Audrey III as the mutated plant swayed in his jaws. Why did he even try to go on peaceful walks anymore? The world seemed set on interrupting them anyways. The native pirates were approaching the stranger; there was no violence so far, and no imminent threat. It wouldn't hurt to catch a better glimpse of the supposed joiner, right? Heaving the oversized fly trap up higher so he could properly stumble forwards across the sand he failed to balance on, his broken ankle attempted to buckle under Audrey's added weight, but nerves numbed to any sensation, the poltergeist stubbornly persisted on until he wobbled behind a blob identifiable as Victor via his scent of packed snow and leather. Burnt hair hit his nose as well, alerting him of Bakugou's presence, and he didn't need to sniff out Luciferous' massive form to know it was him. Techno he wasn't accustomed too yet, but her voice was enough. The stranger he couldn't catch a whiff of, so he settled back on his haunches and allowed Audrey's bucket to slide from his pearly teeth to take a break from carrying the monstrous fly trap -- maybe he should put Audrey on a diet... could carnivorous plants have diets? Shaking his head yet unable to prevent himself from emitting an impulsive squeal, he cupped bandaged paws over his disfigured snout sheepishly. One of the vicious mutant's tendrils beginning to coil hungrily around his arm and tightly squeezing to no reaction, Beck gave his bony shoulders a rolling shrug and forced an exaggerated yawn, quipping with a wheeze, "Y'all a-are too borin', why don'tcha ask an-ny new que-estions?" Turning his amber glare on Atticus with a cheeky grin splitting his freckled face, Beck mockingly cooed, "Howdy! How wou-uldja prefer to die?"

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[no more]

[align=center][div style="width:450px; font-size:8.6pt;line-height:1.2;font-family:calibri;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]To place the experiences of such things into a comparison, attempt to pull apart threads until only the basic core is left within uncaring hands, scrutinised by eyes grown weary, was in a way wrong. Little may be gathered from such for what differences lingered about ragged edges spoke only of the changes between each, points in which one may be lost if they cared to delve too deep. And yet many chose to do such with abandon, permitting thoughts to encircle such a pointless task given minimal prompt.

Was it not fact, threads within the entangled mass which swirled about a small head, worked along solid bone, that they had been within similar a position not a great deal of time before. It might have been a mere touch of coincidence, actions repeated though the structure of them all proves different, reasoning inclined to matters more personal. Easy to dismiss may it be then, brushed to the side the sheepish sound of laughter drawn from behind a lifted paw, embarrassed almost to bring such a concept up. But could one deem it so simple. May it be the lazy curl of fingers, those deemed higher above all given simple want to cause something more, fingers trailing over the threads of life, entangling them until something new was brought about. This spoke more of such things, intervening touch bringing the beast within this place where the air held a weight of its own, heat given an edge, moisture gathering until it was cast upon slumped shoulders.

Jarring was such transition, caught in moments when the mind has been shut down, permitted break. Almost was it a period of rest, slumber unbroken within a stretch of time beyond what one may bare. Almost amusing is it to think the defensive tactics of the body, this state where it shuts down all but the most vital of functions, put upon stand by with hope of assistance, may lead to death. A crossroads it is, life and death caught upon a path that splits into two directions, the swinging light of lantern caught between.

Dark eyes glimmer within expanse of a face dusted within a tone of cinnamon permitted chance to grown a golden sheen, tongue poking through dark lips before they are parting. Heavy breath, exhale quickly replaced as yawn draws in another breath, groan escaping as their steps slow for brief moment. Youth are they and yet the head upon such small shoulders is over encumbered, given the structure of thoughts more complex then they may formulate or permit words, intruders dancing upon the edge of it all within reach yet so like smoke as they reached for it. Paw lifts, minuscule grains caught upon it falling as it touches upon cheek, rubbing along its curve before it raises, pressing to closed eye. Clear is the exhaustion about the cub, the energy expected from one within such a stage of their life missing, once more jaws parting with the inhale of a yawn. For but a brief moment it crumbled away beneath the want for rest, mind struggling to keep up beyond such want, edges darkening before ears flicked forward.

At such a distance the call was faded, worn until it seemed but a murmur, caught upon gentle breeze. Enough was the spark of curiosity within, fire caught in mind and spreading until they were moving, a pace beginning slow yet picking up with each trudging step. Strange was it, the inquiry offered within moments of the child deemed CCLIV, the cool heavy weight of the shackle about their paw a reminder of such, approaching. Gentle sound of their own arose from parted lips, soft squeak drawn out until it became a hum. “Die,” unease tinged the single word, given to a higher pitch then Beck, breaking apart once more into soft hum. It was less musical, this faint, strained noise, a thing made for the word lacked meaning yet something about it felt wrong. “What die?” Inquiry spoken as dark eyes found the ravaged boy, a thing of mangy fur toned within the shade of graveyard dirt left to lie, darker about spots. Eyes found cheek where skin had been torn, curve of teeth left exposed for all.

Brief was the lingering gaze, moving instead to touch upon the other. Similarities were present, enough so small quirk drew pale lips up, though every now and then those dark eyes flicked back to Becky, unsure on how he may react to their question. “Big. You like pops.” Soft laughter rose after the words, paw lifting to press against their muzzle.