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rei64bit · 1 year

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Heimdall x Reader ⎯⎯ From Dusk till Dawn [Chapter 2]

Night 2 (Heimdall X F!Reader)

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✎ Summary: Fanfic of reader married to Heimdall due to Odin wanting a grankid.

✎ Word count: 2.9k

✎ Title: From Dusk till Dawn

✎ Chapter: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] ...more // trying to publish as much as possible.

✎ Note: Im not really a writer, its the first time I want to write something on a character I like alot.

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It’s been a few days, you noticed Heimdall always comes back around the time you almost fall asleep, never really have actually talk to you. All he does is just sit on the chair and read I think his diary for a while before going to sleep. Since you are married to him you can’t avoid talking to him, every time you tried to start a conversation to ease this awkward situation a bit, he will cut it short by answer you in a few words. “urm well..how was your day?” “Was fine.” “oh..I see. Urm..have you seen the fight in the black thunder today?” “no” ”..uh how’s Gulltoppr today?” “Why you care.”

The conversation is so damn dry and boring even drinking with einherjar looks fun now. You should expected this when All-father announce that you going to marry the god of foresight, always see everything coming, uncapable to hold a simple conversation and a –

“How many times I have to tell you this, I can hear you even you don’t speak” Heimdall frown while still having the dairy on his hand and another rest on the chair ear with his legs crossed.

“I’m just trying to talk to you, it’s not like I like how thing turn out to be – ” You getting nervous but you just have to say it and try not to look at his glowing eyes.

“It’s not like I have a choice but to agree on this marriage.” Heimdall really likes to cut off you before you can finish thanks to his foresight.

“I too have no choice! This is All-father demand and its not like I can say no, or tell me what should I do? Perhaps we can just wait for a month, and we go our separate way and tell All-father that we can’t be together, and we hate each other?” Y/N nervously getting near the table to make sure he hear your proposal with both hand holding at the back.

“No way I’m going to say that, and nor that I will say this to the All-father. Drop this nonsense” Indeed Heimdall really want this marriage to end but his loyalty to Odin prevents him to do so, or perhaps his pride and ego, he can’t accept that he not capable of dealing with his wife and this is going to be a joke in Asgard for a long long time. Everyone will think he can’t satisfy his wife and make fun of him, what worse he will have to hear his brother talk about this all the time. Thinking how Thor and Baldur look like when they heard this makes his blood boil.

“But why?” You now getting slightly louder and closer, hand now pressing on the table as you don’t understand why Heimdall just won’t agree since both of you really want to be alone. This should be simple, compare to living like this forever.

“Won’t you just shut up already, its late and im very- very tired wife, so would you kindly just sleep already and try not disturb me” Heimdall changing his posture to not facing you. He is getting on your nerves really quick, for the past few days you have been trying to be nice and get know of him. All you get is nothing but coldness, harsh words toward you. Him calling you wife every time just make you shiver in a bad way because you know he don’t see you as his wife really, its more about someone that he forced to be with and legally as his spouse and nothing more.

“You as someone that are adequate compared to me, the watchman of the Aesir, you should be grateful that I’m not torturing you” Heimdall speak as he turns another page and changing to cross another leg. His eye never left his diary, he didn’t look at you the whole time.

That’s it, even he is a god of foresight, herald of the Ragnarök but you don’t take no shit from anyone. Especially someone like him.

“Oh yes I should be grateful of married to a piece of shit! He is such a know it all that he see everything coming but no he don’t even know how to try get along with other especially his wife. I really think my life will be much better if I married to Thor or even just be his other women” And now you get his full attention, his cold glowing purple eyes instantly jump to your face and piercing at you, furrowed brow and tense jaw, if his eyes can kill people you sure dead by now multiple times. Dropping his diary on table his fist clenched and he reach for his sword Hofuo. You can see his face twitch; you can hear him sharply inhale as he walks closer to you slowly. You are angry too but also getting tense up, you never see him in such rage before it’s kinda scary now. The world is suddenly so quiet, the only thing you can hear is his breathing and heavy footsteps toward your way.

Congratulations, you poked the bear and you succeeded to anger him, just pray he will give you quick and painless death.

His movement suddenly speeds up that within one second his sword is on your throat now pointing at your throat not hard enough to make you bleed but enough to make you stop your thought and breathing. “Watch. Your. Tongue.” Heimdall hissed, squinting his eyes further.

“I think I didn’t make myself clear the first time I come back.”

“You are nothing but just a tool in this marriage, a kid is what the All-father wanted and once it’s done you are just a used piece of garbage. You better hope by the time you will be dead or I will make sure you –” Heimdall didn’t finish his sentence as he noticed a tiny red color start trickle down his sword and start to dripping to the floor. He didn’t press it that hard he know, it was you who pressed your throat toward the sharp edge without any fear on your face, letting the point of the sword sink in just enough to bleed a little but not enough to cause harm to yourself.

“Do it.” Heimdall confused, turn his attention back from your face, there is no hesitation in your eye. He tries to read you to find any trace of falsehood that you might pretend to be brave. It’s just a strong sense of rage, sorrow, impatience, all boiling up and mixing together. It look like a breathless dark hole he will fall into if he is not careful enough, a drop of such emotion and feeling can burn his skin.

“I said fucking do it!!!” You shouted, now you sound like a mad dog with no leash. There must be something Heimdall said flipped your switch so hard you are talking back to the god of foresight without thinking of the consequences. You never someone who will raise your voice to anybody, you treat people equally with respect. You just had enough of him, these past few days you been holding back and now you had enough of his child-like tantrum behavior.

Slowly you can start to hear the noise from outside again but there is only silent in this room now, both of you just eye piercing at each other, no word. Heimdall clenched his fist further and groaned. Just when you think he is going to end your life here now. You stop feeling the pain from his sword that sinks into your skin. “It would be less fun if you die now, there are thing I can do to you to torture you slowly till you went mad. Im gonna take my time on that, perhaps you can at least entertain me enough after all these year” Heimdall didn’t move his eye away from you, maintaining eye contact is very important of maintain the dominance he have on you. He is not going to lose it, he is All-father’s left hand, ain’t no way he is going to lose to someone like you.

Heimdall wipes your blood from his sword with his bare hand. He looked in his hand, your blood red as the belladonna flower at the Ida fields which he seen quite some time when he guard on the top of the wall. Without any hesitation Heimdall licked his hand, he tastes your blood with eyes on you.

You flinched a little on what Heimdall just did. Still angry at him you walked away toward the door, hand on the door handle you look back at him which he still looking at you which his sword still holding in hand now pointing at the ground. “You can have your whole room back husband, the air in this room will be much more better when one of us is not around.” Before Heimdall can say anything, you close the door as hard as you can. Probably the whole lodge can hear it but you don’t care. Walking through the hallway you saw Magni and Modi who eating their meal.

“Are you two going to divorce not even a month now lady Y/N? You can always consider me as another option” Modi grinned and said in sarcastic way, he is still a piece of shit that wouldn’t stop putting his nose in other private matters. Running his mouth like he is better than anyone here, but the truth is exactly the opposite.

“Shut your damn mouth and eat now, you don’t want our father come to lecture you again.” Magni is ruthless sometime, but he is much better than Modi, less prick toward other as long as their father have no grudge toward them. You didn’t say anything back and walked out the hall, now standing at front of great lodge, rubbing your eye tiredly looking at your surroundings. Black thunder, training fields and the stupid giant wall your husband always guarding on top. “This is going to be a long night before I start to feel tired enough to sleep.” Sighed you make your move toward the black thunder.

You can hear the shouting and cheering inside, open the heavy door you start to smell all sort of things.. strong mead, burning herbs, and cooking smell of braised meat. Raising both your hands toward the einherjar who guards the entrance signaling that no weapon on you. The guard nods his head and you start walking again to get your drink. You don’t really drink, and you are quite bad at it, one tankard is enough to put you out. Holding your drink, you try to find a table where no one sit but failed. There are so many einherjar here you started to feel suffocated, but hel this is better than spending time in that prick’s room.

Sigh again you sit on the empty chair close to you and start drinking. “That piece of shit..” Staring at your mead you muttered to yourself with hand clenching your tankard. “Know it all’s old virgin that never get a bitch--”

“Let me guess, my brother not able to satisfy his wife and now his wife decide to spend his night getting drunk with bunch of men in Black Thunder?” The sudden voice makes you jumped and choke on your mead, coughing to get the mead out from your nose. “Shit! --” You look up, the god of thunder just sitting right next to you the whole time you don’t even notice. How can you missed it? He is huge. No wonder this seat is empty.

“cough- oh hi urm cough- brother in law cough- Urm Thor” You faked a smile but you knew you failed miserably. “Relax y/n, he is a spiteful prick I know, just take it slow perhaps thing might turn out better next time” Thor taking a big gulp again and go for another mug. How long has he been here drinking? You can smell the strong mead from him. Probably from the start of the day you guessed. You have never actually spoken to Thor before, not personally. There are only a few times you on a mission with him to help All-father to retrieve something from other realms. He always seems calm, at least you think he is.

“…” You didn’t say anything more but keep drink. There is nothing to say, you are here to just pass the time till you feel sleepy. The god of thunder knew what you doing and he just drink without saying a word. It’s like he is drinking and accompanying you or you both just doing the same thing, drink till you fall. “He is difficult I know, that’s how we raised to be an Aesir… We get our work done and that’s it.. Heimdall is always tense and no fun, all he know is just guarding the wall, the realm but that’s his job given by the All-father... He is a prick I know but still he is my brother.”

“…” Thor answered like he knows you going to ask why he said all this. He is right, but that doesn’t mean he can be shit to everyone. No one deserve this kind of awful treatment, especially form their spouse. Looking at Thor, you wonder how him and Sif get along? Did they actually fight each other like Heimdall? You want to ask but you drop the idea as you don’t want to cross the line, you are not ready for the god of thunder chasing you and strike you with thunder.

Appreciate the god of thunder trying to ease things up for you, look at him you smile warmly. “Thanks..I will see what can I do” “That’s the spirit, girl” Thor smirk at you with his finger pointing at you and continue drinking his mead.

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The night is long, but you are half drunk and feeling dizzy. Holding on the pillar outside the Black thunder with your whole strength trying not to fall into the muddy puddles. “Woah-! This is a new low look how you walk y/n haha” You beeline walk outside and trying to get back to great lodge. The moment your hand reach for the door, you hesitated to grab the handle. “That piece of shit still in there and hell no im not going to see his face ever again, you short-sighted with no bitches” Your head moving back and forth as you find it hard to stand still, all you can think is that prick who is still inside the room and how his presence is enough to make you throw up. Refusing to go back, you turned your back again and looking around you, perhaps you can just go back to Black Thunder and spent the whole night there, but the air is full of smell of strong mead, don’t think you can find peace to sleep there either. Finally, your eye land on top of the wall. “Ah shit, guess that’s where im going” Slowly you walk toward the platform and cursing on your husband.

Turning the handler, the platform starts rising to the top. You close your eyes and breathe in, the air is getting cold and nice here. You can see the ground is slowly getting farther and smaller, everything seems so insignificant. You sigh again, the day after All-father told you about your marriage, you started to sigh a lot almost every hours. Is your life not hard enough? You as an Aesir who also has duty but not like Thor, Baldur or your husband. You never really went to war and fight; your work is more inside the wall. Look at your both hand you felt confused of the new ability you have, you didn’t even notice it, it was All-father who found out when you trying to get away from the chores Sif going to assign to you when she saw you sitting at the hall having your breakfast. It seems like you did something that changed Sif mind and how the task was passed to the Asgardian. After a few rounds of experiment All-father did with you, you are told you have such ability.

Before you could continue your thought, the platform reached the top of the wall. Sigh again you stepped outside the platform, its much windier here and the cold air is a comfort in time like this when you trying to calm down and rest. You sneezed and held both your hands close to your body. “Rather be cold to dead than going back to get my blanket..” You found a good spot behind a rock that was large enough to hide your whole body. Sitting with both your legs curled up close to your body, in front of you is the view of plains of Ida. The moonlight shining on the grass and the wind makes the grass move in a rhythm make it so peaceful. Time by time you still can hear the cheering sound from black thunder, perhaps the god of thunder is having a drinking competition with others.

“pff-” You start to giggle on the joke Thor told you while you drinking in black thunder. It was nice talking to Thor. Laying your head on the rock beside you, you smile and enjoy the view. Not sure when your eyelid started to feel heavier, and you fell asleep. Before you fell asleep you sure it is safe here, but you failed to notice there is a figure standing at the platform looking at the place you sit. It’s like this person can know someone is there without seeing it physically.

Cont.

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#heimdall x reader #heimdall #gow heimdall #heimdall fanfiction

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zerogate · 1 year

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To punish a sinner violently, to flog them, beat them, make them bleed – this was not to harm them but to help them, by saving them from worse punishments to come. Shenoute worried that if he didn’t beat the monks in his care then he was offending God. Punishments used against erring Christians even in Augustine’s time ranged from the confiscation of property to being barred from church, beatings, and floggings with rods. It is better, said Augustine, ‘with severity to love, than with gentleness to deceive’. This was not cruelty. Did not the shepherd bring wandering sheep back to the flock with his rod? The Church, he wrote, ‘persecutes in the spirit of love’.

This was holy violence. Jesus may have told his followers that they should, when struck by an aggressor on their right cheek, offer him the other, but his fourth- and fifth-century followers were less forgiving. As John Chrysostom explained, if a Christian happens to hear someone blaspheme then, far from turning their own cheek, they should ‘go up to him and rebuke him; and should it be necessary to inflict blows, spare not to do so. Smite him on the face; strike his mouth; sanctify thy hand with the blow.’ Murder committed for the sake of God, argued one writer, was not a crime but actually ‘a prayer’.

[...]

Some of the ‘holy’ violence alarmed even the Church. In North Africa at the turn of the fifth century, the circumcellions became notorious not only for their suicides but for their vicious attacks on those who didn’t share their particular Christian beliefs. One bishop was standing next to his altar when suddenly he found himself surrounded and beaten by men with clubs. Then his attackers tore his altar apart, beat him with its remnants, before finally stabbing him in the groin. Another priest found himself dragged from his house and, once the circumcellions had him outside, they gouged out his eye.

Like the tailor-made tortures that awaited sinners in Hell, where blasphemers were strung up by their tongues, there was a ghoulish appositeness to these assaults. Eyes of the erring were gouged out because those who couldn’t see the true religion were ‘blind’ anyway. Another bishop was seized, his hands chopped off and his tongue, which had preached falsehoods, cut out.

The circumcellions roamed widely, vandalizing property, setting light to churches and torching houses. Just when people thought that these ‘warriors’, as they called themselves, could not have got any worse, they invented what Augustine called a ‘new and unspeakable kind of violence, a piece of cruelty deserving of the Devil Himself’. By mixing together caustic lime powder and vinegar they created a solution strong enough to burn human skin. This they took to throwing into the eyes of priests, blinding them. Nowhere was safe: if a ‘traitor’ – as they called those who didn’t share their beliefs – was known to be at home, the circumcellions would go into their house, drag them out, and then attack them. The more unexpected the attack, the more glorious the effect.

Festivals of the old gods were a favourite target: circumcellions raided these, smashing statues and shouting their rallying cry of ‘Laudes Deo’ – ‘Praise the Lord’ – as they went. In a moment, a joyful, drunken celebration could be reduced to sheer chaos. Like so many before and since, these men wanted religious conformity and they would stop at little to get it. Because Matthew 26:52 advised Christians to ‘sheathe your sword’, with almost Jesuitical precision they adopted the club as their weapon of choice. Appalling violence could thus be done while sin was avoided. Besides, a club was efficient enough: they would beat to death as many as they could before melting back into the landscape. The sticks with which these men carried out this work became their proud trademark; they called them their ‘Israels’.

Augustine and others might have been shocked by such acts – but to an extent the Church was reaping what had been sown. A few decades earlier, as the academic Brent D. Shaw has pointed out, Christian preachers had been glad of the circumcellions’ violence and cultivated it: in the attacks against the temples such freelance destroyers had been eminently useful and were drafted in to do the strong-arm work of pulling these buildings down. Schooled and encouraged in violence and thuggery, the group suddenly became, to the dismay of those who had once encouraged them, much less biddable.

In Caesarea, a judge dared to rule against a Christian bishop. He compounded his crime in the eyes of the Church by then declaring that everyone, whether they were Christian or not, should yield to the rule of law. He came to regret it. A mob of Christians, ‘like a hive roused by smoke’, surged around, ‘torch in hand, amid showers of stones, with cudgels ready, all ran and shouted together in their united zeal’. It was an effective technique. As one gloating Christian recorded: ‘What then was the conduct of this haughty and daring judge? He begged for mercy in a pitiable state of distress, cringing before them to an unparalleled extent.’ This, the chronicler concluded with satisfaction, ‘was the doing of the God of Saints, Who works and changes all things for the best’.

Christian preachers, however, were intransigent. They, they said, were answerable to a higher power than the mere law of the land. Their eye was upon heaven. As they reminded their flocks, it was not the law of some imperial bureaucrat that mattered. It was the law of God. Anything that saved a soul – even if it did so at the expense of law, order or even the body that that soul inhabited – was an acceptable act. To attack the houses, bodies and temples of those afflicted by the ‘pagan error’ was not to harm these sinners but to help them. This was not brutality. This was kindness, education, reformation.

A rich tapestry of metaphor was brought out, cloaking what otherwise would have looked like naked aggression. Chrysostom wrote of hunting with nets to describe how one ought to herd the erring back to the true path. Augustine used the argument of the banquet described in Luke. Had not the lord of the house, when holding a feast, said to his servant: ‘Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled’?

Well then. Even the unwilling must be compelled to come in to the house of the Lord. The arguments went further: those punishing errant Christians were not brutes; on the contrary, Augustine said that they were like a doctor tending to a sick patient. ‘When surgeons see that a gangrene must be cut away or cauterized, they often, out of compassion, turn a deaf ear to many cries.’ In the same letter, Augustine likened the concerned Christian to someone who pulls a boy’s hair to stop him provoking serpents and a parent who removes a sword from a child’s hand. ‘Such punishments are administered by wise care, not by wanton cruelty.’

And what if people, disinclined to rejoice, became frightened by the fact that their neighbours were spying on them, reporting on them, hounding them in their homes? Well, fear too had its benefits. Better to be scared than to sin. ‘Where there is terror,’ said Augustine, ‘there is salvation . . . Oh, merciful savagery!’

-- Catherine Nixey, The Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World

#quotes

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love-songs-for-emma · 2 years

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will graham's aftershave (deragatory)? or (affectionate)?

so many fics mention hannibal ""hating"" will's aftershave, especially when writing from hannibal's POV & showing his inner monologue (which props to yall for having the guts to even Attempt his POV), but tbh?? i don't think hannibal cares abt will's aftershave, let alone hates it

in coquilles (01x05), hannibal does his infamous will graham Sniff and the following convo ensues:

"Did you just smell me?"

"Difficult to avoid... I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That smells like something with a ship on the bottle."

"Well, I keep getting it for Christmas."

which, upon a first watch-through is surely meant to be overlooked as a silly mundane lil interaction. however,, we shouldn't be so quick to gloss over this interaction given what we already know about hannibal's sense of smell (*a major plot point of this episode AND season one in its entirety*) at this point in the ep

earlier in the episode, hannibal has jack and bella over for dinner and hannibal is able to name bella's exact perfume just by being in her immediate vicinity. this prompts hannibal to recollect a memory from childhood where he "was aware one of [his] teachers had stomach cancer even before he was."

it's extremely significant that hannibal brings up being able to smell illnesses. he does it on purpose. he knows bella is an intelligent woman and that just from sharing this childhood story alone, she knows he can smell her lung cancer and he knows that she will come to him to talk about it (because who else could she turn to? certainly not jack, she makes that clear). bella plays exactly into hannibal's hand; another pawn for the taking in his funky lil games, especially his favorite one at the time: torturing the head of the FBI in whatever ways possible.

but we don't know why she goes to hannibal when we first see her with him and we don't know what's up with her either (in fact, we're mislead into believing she's having an affair, which is an extremely interesting choice of parallel for her terminal illness, but that's a post for another time). when we do find out she has cancer, the scene that follows is The Sniff Scene!!

so let's take a moment to collect what we know going into The Sniff Scene: we're told "hannibal can smell diseases." then, "bella crawford has come to him for psychiatric help." soon after, we discover she has cancer. and then? we cut to hannibal visibly smelling will. visibly enough that Will notices the action and calls him on it!

and i'd like to argue that This is the moment hannibal first smells the "fevered sweetness" of Encephalitis on will that he later mentions in buffet froid (01x10) to dr. sutcliffe. it took one Big Whiff and hannibal knew will was seriously ill. and he was delighted

meaning that hannibal's follow up of "I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That smells like something with a ship on the bottle" isn't just hannibal being a rich uptight weirdo, making fun of will for wearing old spice. but rather it's his attempt to divert will's attention away from The Sniff itself and normalize his strange behavior ("Difficult to avoid [smelling you]... [when you smell like that]") he turns the action back on will, makes him think about his own scent, almost self-consciously. hannibal wants to distract will in whatever way possible, whether it be by making will reflect on his choice of aftershave or by leading him to believe hannibal is a stuffy puffy fancy human who only wears thousand dollar cologne. but *we know* it's not remotely about that!

and when you consider that this was more about hannibal scenting will for illness than anything else, his "sudden" change of topic to will's well-being no longer appears strange or like it's just the set up to a joke:

"Have your headaches been any worse lately? More frequent?"

"Yes, actually."

"I'd change the aftershave."

hannibal *is* a comedy, yes, and the viewer/will are meant to see this as a funny little exchange of banter. but a second watch-through of the show allows us to look through hannibal's eyes and see all the pieces being set on the board. he's checking in on will's headaches to confirm he's still ill and worsening after scenting what he did on him

tldr; hannibal's aftershave comment was purely a diversion meant to prevent will from inquiring further about why he was smelling him. no way in hell was he going to reveal his cards about scenting him for illness. and once we've established this, i'd say hannibal's response was mostly him grasping at straws for an answer will would accept or move on from. i don't think he even remotely cares abt will's aftershave. or if he does, i'd argue that he actually likes how will smells (considering he cant seem to get tf out of will's personal space🥰🥰)

#i bet this lovesick idiot secretly ordered a bottle to sniff when will was in prison #smhh #real simp hours for #hannibal lecter #can't get enough of his #will graham #like if he rlly h8d how he smelled why tf would be breathing down will's neck 24/7 #tldr; this comment the fandom focuses on is ~meaningless~#its something some fic writers cling to as a Fact of the show without thinking twice #bc hey! there it is! in the text!#which is completely fine & understandable but i just think this is a common misconception that i'd like to open the convo about #plus fic writing is hard. understanding a character is hard. of course some ppl will parrot mostly what's been said ''in canon'' whether or #not its In Character of the character. who has time to unpack shish like this! me. thats it. im dropping out & this is all i do #hannibal meta #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal s1 #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #that smells like something with a ship on the bottle #hannigram #hannibal fic #hannibal fanfic #fanfiction #jack crawford #coquilles #buffet froid #maria is literally just rambling. hi #.txt #hannibal.txt

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ghost-ghost-baby · 3 years

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I’ll put a spell on you (Yandere!Omega!Izuku x alpha!Reader)

inspo was strange and beautiful (I’ll put a spell on you) by aqualung

a/n: boy oh boy,,,, this one is uh,,, 2k words,,,,

Summary: You were taking too long! What could Izuku do except find a spell to help speed things along?

You and Izuku have been roommates for years, but you’re convinced he doesn’t like you and he’s determined to make you his.

warnings: big yandere themes,,, omegaverse obvi,,,, kinda drugging??? idk,,,, its a love spell but reader is already very in love w izuku just stupid aye,,,, very very mild nsfw themes,,,, cuts out b4 it gets too graphic, swearing, bonding, you get the picture,

“Seriously, Katsuki, you’ve gotten way too confident over the years. Was it because you needed a reminder of what it’s like to lose?” Your eyes scanned the blonde, eyebrow quirked as he struggled, “I can’t believe Shinso was right.” It was easy to block out the screams, your quirk always came in handy, even if it was just to shut him up, Rubbing your hands on your pants you turned around, eyes landing on the only other person.

“Oh, good luck Midoriya!” You grinned, giving a small wave before you ran off.

You saw more of Izuku after that, the omega always seemed to be upgrading his costume, and Hatsume had almost killed you when he’d asked you to help with the designs. It was hard not to get close to the guy, and you’d tried your best! You didn’t have time for… for people! You needed to focus on your inventions. But Izuku was persistent, and you’d soon found yourself sitting with him and his friends at lunch. You weren’t the only alpha of the group, Iida and Todoroki shared your dynamic, a fact that didn’t seem to bother anyone. You were glad, you’d never really cared about dynamics, it was nice to be around people who shared that sentiment. You’d all graduated now, and surprisingly you and Izuku ended up sharing an apartment, you did work in the same area, it made sense at the time.

“Are we still having dinner tonight?” Izuku peered into the bathroom, slight frown on his features as he observed you getting ready.

“Yeah of course man, it’s just a lunch date so I’ll be back early.” You shrugged, using your quirk to bring your jacket over.

“You could just ask me to get you your jacket.” Izuku shook his head, watching as the clothing floated over, bubble popping as your hand made contact.

“I know, it’s just a habit, I’ve always used it for little things.” You smiled as you put your jacket on, ruffling Izuku’s hair as you walked past. He was always fussing over you, or cooking, asking if you needed anything. It was cute, but you’d die before you admitted it.

“I’ll be back before you know it, text me if you need anything.” You absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Izuku’s hair, waving before the door shut behind you.

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” Izuku frowned as he flipped the bottle in his fingers, it seemed too good to be true.

“Just like the label says, omega, it’ll make anyone fall in love with ya! As long as there’s already a spark, of course! And it could trigger… their time of the month. So watch out for that!” The lady smiled at him, dark purple hair framing her face. Her eyes matched, although the purple was much, much brighter, and almost seemed to glow. Izuku nodded, grabbing the cash out of his wallet and quickly passing it over before he said goodbye. He didn’t want to be caught there, what would the press say? What would you say?

You ended up getting home late, much, much later than you planned. You’d run into friends on the way home, you hadn’t seen them in ages and well… you’d never been good at saying no. You’d texted Izuku, but he hadn’t responded, and maybe you’d stayed out later to avoid his wrath.

“God, I’m gonna have to do something to make up for this… something good.” You mumbled as you walked into your apartment, hands running through your hair as you looked around.

“Izuku? Honey I’m home!” You called, trying to lighten the tension you felt in the room. It didn’t work, and your heart was in your throat as you put your bag down. You hated disappointing people, and Izuku was always so good to you.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want anything.”

“”Oh actually I’m uh… not hungry…” You trailed off as you walked into the kitchen, Izuku turning around from making something to look at you.

“Did you eat while you were out?” You must be crazy, there’s no way that was an edge to his voice.

“No actually! I just haven’t had any appetite lately.”

“You know you need to try and eat even when you have no appetite. I made tea.” Just like that his voice was back to it’s usual tone, and he sat down in front of you, pushing a mug towards you.

“Yeah I know. Thank you Izuku, you’re always so good to me. I’m so sorry about missing dinner but I ran into my friends coming home and they dragged me out and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Y/n, we can have dinner tomorrow, just finish your tea and we’ll get you into bed, okay?”

You were too drunk to disagree.

You felt weird when you woke up. You weren’t hungover, but something was wrong. Was Izuku okay? Wait, why were you- you should make sure he’s okay. You were only in a shirt, you didn't remember changing last night, did Izuku help you? You barely remembered anything after you’d come home, you’d just talked, drank the tea, and then it was blank. The tea had been really good, it was weirdly sweet though, you had to admit.

“Izuku? Are you awake?” You padded into the kitchen, squinting at how bright it was.

“Of course, it’s already two, I didn’t want to wake you up.” You sighed when Izuku was there, safe and happy as he always was.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… hungover or something.” You slid into a chair, eyes trained on the omega as he pushed a banana and some water in front of you. “They’re good for hangovers.”

“Thanks ‘Zu”

“You’re going out?” You couldn’t keep the surprise from your voice, Izuku rarely went out unless he was working.

“Yeah just a work thing! I’ll be back in no time!” The omega came over to where you were on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket because you still felt off. “Unless you need me to stay?”

“No of course not! I’ll be fine, it’s probably just a bug.” You did your best to smile, letting your friend hug you. He was about to pull away when you let your cheek brush against his scent gland, the action making you blush while Izuku smiled.

“I’ll see you when I get back!”

This was awful, you’d been tortured, kidnapped, forced to deal with Katsuki, but this was far worse. You couldn’t explain it, but as soon as Izuku was out of your sight your anxiety had skyrocketed, and as much as you tried to fight it, you were pacing in front of the door. He should be back by now, or he should have texted! What if he’d gotten hurt, he didn’t tell you who he was going out with, what if-

“Yeah Todoroki I’m okay, he was worse off than me anyway!” Your heart soared at Izuku’s voice and you were wrenching the door open without a second thought. A snarl ripped out of you when you took in your omega, sporting a few grazes and a bruised jaw that had not been there when he left.

“What the fuck happened?” Your tone didn’t even sound like you, you sounded feral. Your hands quickly reached out, pulling Izuku into a hug and growling when Todoroki tried to say something. “You can leave, I’ve got him now.”

Straight to your room was where you headed, gently sitting Izuku on the bed before you grabbed your first aid kit. Thank god it was only light injuries, you didn’t know what you’d do if something worse had happened.

“Who did this?”

“Just some random alpha tryna get too handsy, he’s in far worse shape than- are you okay?” Izuku’s tone turned concerned as you let out another growl, halfway through bandaging his hand. You couldn’t speak, you just needed to focus on this and- huh? Izuku was running his fingers through your hair, the action almost made you purr, surprisingly calming you down enough to finish patching him up.

“I should have gone with you, I should have-” “Hey, Y/n, you couldn’t have done anything, it’s okay.” Izuku pulled you up to his level and you nodded, unable to stop how your hands shook. Izuku was so close, and he smelled so good, you just wanted to-

“Did you just lick me?” Izuku looked at you with wide eyes, only now taking in how lidded your own eyes were. A low growl bubbled up before you could stop it, and you were pushing the omega down on the bed and straddling him without a second thought. This had happened because of you. If you’d claimed Izuku sooner people would know he was yours, and he wouldn’t have to defend himself. Your teeth were an inch from Izuku’s neck when you pulled back, hand coming up to cover your mouth.

“I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what-”

“I don’t want you to stop, please Y/n.” Izuku’s cheeks were tinged pink, and god why’d you have to sit right on his hips? You could already feel him getting hard.

“Oh god, did I send you into heat? Fuck I’m sorry, I’ve been on suppressants I didn’t real-” You started, it was taking everything you had not to lose it. Izuku looked so pretty, pupils blown out and cheeks already flushed. Why hadn’t you done this sooner? Fuck. You slowly leant down, willpower decreasing by the second, and then your lips were on his. A whimper left you at how good he tasted, you’d never tasted anything this good before! You wanted more! Izuku was made for you, this only proved it. You loved him so much.

Why did your neck hurt so bad? The last thing you remembered was Izuku being injured and you patching him up. A whine made you open your eyes, disbelief shooting through you when you saw Izuku. He was covered in scratches and bites, only wearing your shirt, and sporting a bright red bite on his scent gland. Oh fuck, panic set in as you sat up. This was bad, even for you. You'd done it now, he'd want nothing to do with you. God what had happened to you last night? You were always in control, and as memories of how Izuku had sounded the night before wormed into your brain you couldn't stop your whole body flushing. The omega let out another whine, snuggling closer to your side as if he could sense how stressed you were. Well, he probably could now, the two of you were bonded. You'd completely ruined his life with your selfishness, bonds were incredibly hard to break and the pair would never be the same again. But you couldn't make him stay with you. Oh he'd want to move out wouldn't he? How could he not? You'd completely betrayed his trust and acted like every asshole alpha you hated so much. You should move too, maybe to America? Somewhere far away where you wouldn't bother anyone. Warmth stung your eyes and you realised you'd been crying, how much more pathetic could you get? Izuku was the one who should be upset! You'd ruined his life! Arms wrapped around you as you let out a sob, immediately trying to push the omega away, maybe you should just kill yourself and sever the bond like that- Then at least he’d be able to find someone he actually wanted to be with.

“Alpha… why’re you upset…?” Izuku yawned as he sat up, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, or look at him. The worry you could sense through the bond made your stomach turn, you didn’t deserve his concern! You were horrible, you were-

“Alpha, c’mon, look at me… please?” Izuku’s voice broke and you turned to look at him, eyes zoning in on the mark you’d left on his neck.

“I’m sorry- I triggered your heat and- and betrayed your-”

“Y/n, I love you, I wanted this, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Izuku cooed, pulling your head to his chest and running his hands through your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was like a weight lifted off of your chest, like all the puzzle pieces fit together, he was all you’d ever need.

“I love you too, Izuku.”

#omegaverse #omegaverse x reader #bnha omegaverse #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #omegaverse imagine #omega izuku #alpha reader #yandere izuku #yandere x reader #yandere bnha #omega izuku x reader #yandere izuku x reader

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solomonish · 3 years

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My Personal Simeon Fall AU Headcanons

These are within the same realm of this fic - and it is intended as a Simeon x MC universe! These HCs will focus on his time in the Devildom rather than why he fell, but maybe that information will come eventually...

*some things regarding this war I keep mentioning may not be entirely clear - still working on that! However, I’ll try not to put out too much contradicting information, hehe!

WARNING: some angst, brief mention/implication of torture. forcibly removed memories.

First Days

He came to the devildom in a blaze, much like the brothers did, hurtling down like a shooting star. At the core, encasing him as his wings charred to soot, was a brilliant light blue, rimmed by a dazzling white and platinum gold. At his impact site, parts of the dirt and stone have crystallized in the same colors. The site is still roped off for investigation.

He fell, acting as a white flag for both sides to signal the end of a war very few people knew was raging. The impact sent the last of his holy energy into the surrounding area, and demons near the sight complained of itching and general irritation for weeks after.

The only people at the site who looked into his eyes when he struggled to get up were you, Diavolo, Barbatos, Lucifer, and Solomon. A few curious Devildom citizens were scattered about, too, but Diavolo's authoritative vibe kept them too far to see anything.

Diavolo and Barbtos kept him in one room in the castle as he adjusted to the sudden demonic energy inside him and learned to contain his wrath. You were allowed to see him, but only if supervised by Barbatos or Diavolo in case Simeon tried to hurt you.

He was despondent most of the time, sitting curled up and stiff in the middle of the bed that looked untouched. He spent days without sleep, simmering with rage. You never found out if he bottled it up or if he destroyed the room but Barbatos put it back together before you appeared.

(You might not ever learn that some of the methods Diavolo and Barbatos used to bring his memories back were...extreme. They had no intentions of torture or pain, but they desperately wanted to get to them if they could. That’s where his anger was used up - as he screamed out in agony, either from the extraction method or the feeling of having lost everything yet not quite grasping what that meant.)

Satan suggested books and sent some of his personal collection that helped him gather himself when he was created. Diavolo and Barbatos tried to jog his memories, both for personal reasons and to get information on the Celestial realm, but that was exactly why they were gone. His memories had been magically extracted, but haste made him forget most everything instead of just sensitive information regarding the realm.

Eventually, he was free to roam the garden and some hallways, and when Diavolo and Barbatos concluded that regaining his memories was impossible, he was housed.

Power & Standing

He was a powerful angel, so he is a powerful demon, yet not quite as powerful as the brothers.

Simeon, for the majority of the war, was fighting on the side of the Celestial Realm, so he's generally disliked among the citizens of the Devildom. Our cast are all weary around him for multiple reasons - aside from Satan, Beel, Solomon, and MC (obviously).

He isn't an official member of any student council or governing body, nor does he really have a final say in anything, but he does frequently act as an advisor of sorts. He tends to work with Barbatos on that front, discussing in the background anything that might need discussed or worked on separate from the brothers.

Simeon is a wrath demon, though the change in his temper is hardly noticeable at first. He resembles Lucifer in how strict he is, mostly when he is in charge of something, and his anger that releases when he isn't listened to mimics Satan's.

If they are near each other and angry about the same thing, Satan and Simeon can actually feed off of the other's anger and boost their power. Satan does NOT need the boost, but you bet he brings chaos and destruction tenfold is he has it. For Simeon, though, it practically puts him on par with some of the brothers, if only for a short while.

Socially, he is generally ignored, and nobody runs away from him if he initiates conversation - but he doesn't. Simeon turns into a bit of a loner, a large chunk of his personality and memories gone and replaced with anger.

He's still learning how to deal with it.

His demon form consists of black deer-like antlers (not small but just small enough to avoid being entirely cumbersome) and long wings with bone-tipped feathers. His wings are almost always folded against his back and hanging low, the dangling feathers reminiscent of his angelic cloak with the golden charms. He does have a little black deer tail but doesn't like it being commented on.

(Don't worry about aerodynamics or which animal he represents, it's a magical universe its fine uwu)

General Information

He lives in modest home on the outskirts of the Devildom, somewhat close to the castle in case there's some type of emergency that needs to be taken care of but not so close he gets a super nice house and causes some social uproar. He has a small yard and a garden he tends to meticulously.

I imagine the house as a sort of townhouse (although not a for real townhouse because its it's own thing), two stories tall. The downstairs has a small living room, kitchen and bathroom while the entire upstairs is an open bedroom/office type deal. It gives off a gothic cottage type of vibe. No idea if this is helpful so maybe one day I'll build it in the sims.

He keeps his house tidy but has many bookshelves filled with equal parts books and knickknacks.

As stated before, he is a wrath demon, and because of his memories being almost entirely erased, he had a similar fall and adjustment period as Satan. Also, as a writer, he has an intrinsic appreciation for books. He and Satan get along the most out of all the brothers - the fact that Lucifer has mixed (mostly negative)(?) feelings about Simeon makes the deal sweeter for Satan.

Beel doesn’t dislike him, and while he doesn’t trust Simeon yet he’s willing to see if Simeon is on their side now considering none of his family got hurt. Solomon still trusts him though, but he does get a little downtrodden when he has memories that Simeon doesn’t.

When angry, Simeon smiles sweetly but his voice turns dead cold. Whereas Satan goes feral and seeks destruction like a bomb, Simeon feels more like a sniper rifle that needs careful aim and precision with just as devastating consequences. Shouting and immediate carnage are rare and only come after a severe transgression.

Otherwise, Simeon allows himself to be more playful than before. He doesn’t exactly have snide remarks, but he is an expert at stating the truth in a way that feels like a blade cutting through your confidence.

In true "flaunt what ya got without really making it seem purposeful" Simeon fashion, he wears button-down shirts that are almost entirely unbuttoned. They are always patterned and funky, and he wears them tucked into black pants. I'm thinking something like this (he also has patterns that are more "groovy" than vacation)

Will also occasionally sport a deep v like this

He still acts just as naive and confused if you bring up how exposed he is to him, so its best just to suffer in silence.

When making a pact with MC, he makes sure the mark covers a scar he left and doesn't remember from the war on your shoulder. It feels like a longer-lasting apology.

He still calls you "little lamb," but instead of smiling gently at you like a loving shepherd, his smiles look like a predator baring his fangs at his prey. In a sweet way. In a hot way.

What Does He Remember?

At first, nothing. Demonic instinct claws at him and he lashes out at everyone and everything.

He is still a nightmare with technology. Nobody knows if this is residual from how he was before, a result of his memories being taken, or just a trick.

Occasionally, he’ll remember an inside joke, but only halfway. You’ll say something you don’t realize is from before, and he’ll laugh, almost like an impulse. But then his laugh trails off and he gets contemplative, wondering what, exactly, was so funny about it.

The brightness of the Celestial Realm is hard to forget. The rainbow framing the palace and vast fields appear in dreams. He never remembers anything ‘important,’ but it’s enough to remind him that he was discarded.

The Celestial War hasn’t gone away, not in its entirety. There are certain things like battle strategies that he can’t for the life of him conjure up in his mind, but he remembers the bulk of it. It helps him realize why some of the brothers were/are so aloof towards him - nothing was ever as simple as he thought it once to be. Fighting a losing battle isn’t a choice you make when its for love - its simply the only path available.

(Apologies are so, so hard to dish out when you can’t remember most of your transgressions, though.)

He remembers Luke and will worry himself to inconsolable tears at night just thinking about him. Those thrown away don’t get the privilege of knowing what happens to their friends - and even if he did, Simeon wouldn't be so stupid as to put a target on Luke's back by proving that he was still important to him.

But he can only remember Luke's terrified, teary eyes when he realized Simeon was going to turn on the Celestial Realm in the middle of a war, and how he pleaded with Simeon not to. Luke asked what he would do all by himself, and Simeon hopes to his Father for only one thing - that he figured it out.

This is his sore spot. Nobody is allowed to be privy to these thoughts, not even you. But some days he comes to RAD looking worse for wear and you KNOW something is bothering him. He'll just never tell you what.

#obey me #obey me simeon #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #swd simeon #simeon x reader #simeon fall au #mine #simeon #simeon x mc

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Unnamed Extremely Bad Plan to Defeat Darth Sideous AU - SW AU NO 9

Hopefully writing down this star wars au will help me exorcise the cringe demon that helped midwife it. Time travel au where obi-wan and Anakin come up with an extremely SPECIFIC and UNCOMFORTABLE plan to defeat Palpatine because it unfortunately, would actually work, as it capitalizes on one of Palpatine’s easiest to reach political vulnerabilities. This is not a unique plan- there are other au’s like this, but this one is mine. When searching for ways to explain exactly why this anti-sith strategy inspires such cringe and delight in myself I realized, with sinking dread, I have seen this in an Always Sunny episode...which yeah. I might be over reacting but hey, cringe is a personal phenomenon, everyone’s different.

Anyway! Uh here’s a bunch of plot that will eventually culminate in the plan.

*Too much plot, aaaah*. **All plot actually.** ***Its 1 am and this is still a draft*** ****It’s 2am**** *****This post will be just be background I guess.*****

*******STAR WARS AU NO 9 LAZILY OUTLINED CHAPTER ONE*********

Force ghosts Darth Vader and Ben Kenobi have had time to yell at one another without need for breath, and have more-or-less come to terms with the trainwreck that was their shared life. I wouldn’t call them well adjusted, but they’re more stable then they were the last decade or so of their living existence.

In haunting Luke, they end up encountering an artifact in an ancient Willis temple that offers spirits the chance to fix the mistakes they made in life. It doesn’t truly unwrite what’s been done, but it lets you create an alternate timeline. So this galaxy will still be what it is, but some alternate galaxy somewhere could at least have it better. Its almost never been used, because becoming one with the force usually lets you accept the past, but viewed objectively, Vader and Ben’s lives involved an extreme amount of yikes. They say goodbye to Luke and are flung backwards and sideways.

Anakin is holding his mother as she dies. Obi-Wan is landing on Genosis.

Vader just barely manages to avoid slaughtering the tuskens. To be honest, he doesn’t really get why he shouldn’t- his moral compass is still pretty f-ed up. He’s fairly certain the force is just torturing him, but still he controls himself (for Padme for Luke for Leia).

I’m gonna say well-adjusted!Vader sees murder in general as more of a vice than a sin- on par with having a beer. And really well adjusted Vader is willing to admit to himself that he’s an alcoholic, he seriously cannot regulate, its a problem. He really can’t let himself go, because he’ll just end up spiraling. And so he restrains himself and only seriously maims a few of the adult raiders.

Vader figures he can always come back later and slowly torture them to death if this whole ‘save the future’ thing doesn’t pan out.

Obi-wan leaves his shuttle and hides under a rock for 30 minutes. He calculates thats just enough time for him to pretend he went on an extremely effective and sneaky fact finding mission- just in case anyone checks R4′s records. Gets back in shuttle and gets the fuck out of there, much to Dooku’s chagrin, who lost sight of him after the shuttle landed and is now going to have to switch to one of his alternate start-the-war plans.

On the flight back he reports everything to the council- fallen Dooku and the separatist leaders, the trade federation and the massive droid army, Jango Fett the clone template of the republic army (?) working for the separatists. He briefly comms Anakin, but anyone hacking into their conversations would hear only a nonsensical, rambling conversation. Later, a hacker might turn over the idea that they were speaking in elaborate code, but why would Jedi invent such a thing during peacetime?

The war still starts; at this point in the timeline it was inevitable; the artifact was only designed to give them the chance to correct their own failings, not the galaxy’s. Palpatine still gets his emergency powers.

The same day the armies are discovered, separatist war ships take off to engulf Ryloth. The Jedi are instructed by the senate to lead the clone army and provide immediate relief-this will not be a repeat of the republic’s inaction on Naboo. It’s both better and worse than the first Battle of Genosis. So many more civilians are caught in the crossfire. The first titanic battle is not contained to evacuated droid factories, but rages across an entire populated world. The battle lasts for weeks.

The main reason this fight is less deadly is solely due to the fact that General Kenobi manages to maneuver his way into high command of the entire army.

“I believe assumptions were made since I was the first point of contact with Kamino, Masters,” the Knight explained apologetically to the arriving high council members. “I realize its not quite appropriate, but for right now I am the Jedi most familiar with our forces and the enemies. I would, of course, prefer to cede the role to someone else.”

The assembled Jedi can feel the truth in that statement.

“For better or for worse, advance troops were directed by the senate to land planetside and have met heavy resistance. I managed to redirect them to a more defensible position, where they can provide surface based cover fire for incoming reinforcements. The battle has already begun.” He received a grim nod of approval from Master Windu.

“I feel the need to say now, that if there’s one thing I learned from my time as a general on Melida/Dann, or in working against Death Watch on Mandalore, its that having a clear chain of command is vital for a military to succeed. I don’t need to remind some of you that leadership breakdowns were what ultimately ended both the Stark Hyperspace War and the Yinchorri Crisis,” Masters Koon and Tiin exchanged looks before deliberately sending forth a small force wave of approval, understanding where this briefing was leading.

“I believe that unnecessarily restructuring command before the battle is won here could do far more harm than good.” The reminder of Obi-wan’s unusually militaristic apprenticeship put some of the assembled knights at ease even as it inspired a twinge of guilt in the older masters.

“In command you are, General Kenobi,” Master Yoda finally acknowledged. “A Jedi Master you will be, once done this battle is. Have us do, what would you?”

The battle lasts for weeks, and when its over, the commanding Jedi and Troopers involved will openly acknowledge that had anyone else been in command, it would’ve lasted months, if not years. Facing down logistical, strategic, and tactical problems on a scale unheard of for a thousand years, High General Kenobi does not falter.

Enemy reinforcements seem unending. For all their preparation, every single trooper is new to war, and secretly concerned that should they fall, they will be replaced with cadets who hadn’t even finished their training.

Obi-Wan is putting out fires before they can start. Much to their shock, clone commanders are informed that they will, for the time being, remain in charge of their troops. With a handful of exceptions, Jedi ‘Generals’ were in fact, to be treated as a cross between highly skilled commandoes and advisors with abnormally sourced field intelligence.

“All of you have spent your lives training to lead your brothers into combat. The Jedi Masters and knights who are being assigned to your divisions have not received such training.”

General Kenobi addressed the division commanders, some in person, some over holocomm. All focused in rapt attention as their General reordered the shape of their lives using language they could understand.

“The command structure I am issuing is designed to maximize our ability to utilize our respective strategic capabilities, while minimizing potential loss of your life. It will be our great privilege to serve alongside such an army, and while I fully expect a complementary exchange of knowledge in time, for now, focus on survival.”

The Jedi received similar briefings, tailored for their broader array of combat and military experience. Some, including Jedi Master Pong Krell and Grandmaster Yoda, were pulled aside and tasked with the essential mission of infiltrating and destroying the Droid factories on Genosis. If they were to have a chance of winning this war, they they would need to cut off the seemingly unceasing flow of droid reinforcements.

An elite squadron of Arctroopers and Jedi field operatives were covertly dispatched, Grandmaster Yoda himself in command. Considering Count Dooku had yet to appear anywhere near Ryloth...the grandmaster had the best chance of bringing in the fallen separatist leader alive for questioning.

Shortly after they left, Anakin arrived, having finally turned over Padme’s protection to her regular guard. With the military creation vote past, the assassination risk was considered minimal. The real delay in his arrival came from her repeated attempts to join the Grand Army of the Republic on Ryloth with the intent of coordinating humanitarian assistance. Eventually he managed to convince her that she could do more good in the senate.

After all, he pointed out, someone would need to followup the military creation act with a bill to grant clones equal citizen rights. Otherwise, the legal grey area that cloning fell under and their non-republic origin would inadvertently make the clones slaves.

His borrowed Nabooan cruiser entered the warzone with the grace and efficiency as a small neutron bomb.

Those close enough to see its flaming descent watched in horror, realizing that the high generals own padawan would likely be a war casualty before he ever engaged in combat.

The legion nearest to soon-to-be-ground-zero, under the command of Captain Rex of the 501st, were distracted by heated combat, as the temporary barricade they had put up to defend the civilian population gave way to droidika artillery.

While reloading, several dozen troopers happened to look up to see a speck detach itself from the hull as at spiraled in the lower atmosphere. Hope spread that the Jedi had managed to activate some sort of eject hatch. A skilled shocktrooper could probably control and and survive such a fall with luck, which mean a Jedi almost certainly could.

A few tactical scouts charged with watching the skies confirmed that the speck was indeed a humanoid. No chute was visible, but even 8 days into the war, rumors had already spread about how Master Windu had passed off his chute mid-air to a troopers who had been damaged by suppressing fire, cushioning his free fall solely with the tank he crushed upon landing.

Only one trooper, stationed in the town clock tower specifically to track the Padawan’s arrival and issued with a high-resolution farscope, saw the whole thing. Fortunately for his credibility later, in its current setting, the scope automatically logged photos every 5 seconds, ensuring that for years to come Obi-Wan would have a flipbook as evidence that he was not the crazy one.

CT-3609 or Blink (as he was named after winning the division wide staring contest on Kamino two year prior) forwarded the trajectory of the vehicle to command, who confirmed his analysis that it would impact two clicks out from their makeshift fort and not present a risk to civilian or trooper lives.

As it traversed the stratosphere a figure (desperate repair droid, Blink assumed) emerged from the cockpit to perch on the nose of the ship. As it entered the troposphere, it became painfully obvious that the figure jutting out from the hull of the ship was in fact not a humanoid droid, but an unarmored human. The Jedi stood on the prow of the ship, seemingly impervious to and oblivious of:

air resistance

centrifugal force

normal space gravity

Blink’s slack-jawed bewilderment

the flames engulfing the ship below him

At this range, the smirk on the man’s face was visible (man? boy? kriff is he even through puberty?). Several miles above the surface he leaped, diving towards the ground like a bird of prey.

To the west, the ship made impact with the ground, sending a shockwave that shook the tower just enough for Blink to lose visual in the final moments of descent. Cursing, as while he was confident the Jedi would inexplicably survive, he really wanted to see how. The trooper scanned the droid-engulfed farmland to the north for a crash site, to no avail. Lingering smoke from the burnt countryside negatively impacted visibility low to the ground.

Rather than trying to articulate his report into words, he sent the 50-odd frames the farscope had saved, as well as the coordinates for the jedi’s projected radius of touchdown. A quick radio over to long range electro-ballistics ensured that his landing wouldn’t be marred by friendly fire.

He awaited follow-up questions on the absurd entry method, which, when they came, mostly consisted of variations on “...Is this for real?” and eventually “Can you set the scope to video for a little while?” and finally “Do you think that’s how he got the name Skywalker?”

There was a temporarily lull in fire from the west, likely a ripple effect from the ship’s explosion. From his vantage point Blink could see his batchmates using the opportunity to try and plug the holes in their barricade with broken droid pieces. Regardless of the itch to join them, he knew he couldn’t leave his post until the Jedi actually arrived in camp. Finally, a distant explosion and thick pillar of smoke gave the Jedi’s position away.

He tried to make out details, but the scope had a difficult time focusing through the haze. Manually trying to fine tune the scope’s settings, Blink caught a glimpse of what looked like half a hover tank sailing through the air to impact with a trade federation troop carrier in a fiery explosion. Several more explosions, flying droid artillery, and plumes of smoke were caught on record before visual contact with the source was established. He was mostly visible as a blue blur, lightsaber mowing a meandering path towards their location.

It wasn’t until Skywalker braced himself in place to punch a droidaka into pieces that Blink caught actual sight of the man. Only his eyes were visible, nose and mouth covered by layers of cloth. He blurred, then reappeared on top a massive missile launcher attached to an absurdly heavily armored vehicle. A minute or so of rapid blue flashes passed, the longest he had seen concentrated in one area. Then Skywalker was gone, movement clearly visible as he for once he moved in a straight line, plowing a rapid path away from the launcher.

Less than 30 seconds later, Blink had to wince away from the scope, as a burning white explosion temporarily overwhelmed the direct light filter. The trooper panicked for a moment, thinking he had gone both deaf and blind, but the abrupt, sucking silence ended after a moment with a deafening sonic boom. The shockwave rattled the farscope, nearly knocking it over, but Blink managed to steady it and himself in time.

A cheer emerged from pleasantly surprised vod below. The entire droid legion that had been guarding the missile launcher and apparent ordinance bay was flattened.

It took a moment for the realization to set in that the background noise of missile and and anti-missile collisions directly overhead had slowed pace. With the northern flank gone, artillery were able to redouble efforts to the east, and a second white hot shockwave ensued, signaling that the tide of battle had shifted. It was almost too easy for the republics electro-ballistics to tactically devastate the surrounding forces.

Eventually some sort of win/loss programming must have set in and all forces outside of a certain radius began retreating southward, conceding the scorched land to the republic army. It was cadets work to clean up the final suicidal droid charge.

A commotion ensued as Skywalker leapt the barricade with a mid-air flip. The vod greeted him with cheers, as they correctly assumed his appearance had something to do with the skirmish’s decisive victory.

Blink sent the video of the battle to command and quickly packed up his scope and assorted equipment. Hurrying down the battered tower, Blink thought to himself that this Anakin Skywalker was the best sort of Jedi a trooper could ask for.

uh sorry i got really sidetracked there moving on

Kenobi and Skywalker quickly become the face of the war once again

they grit their teeth a bit, but when they finally have a moment to really plan they eventually agree that to take down Sideous they have to cut off his political power in addition to everything else, and taking advantage of their public personas was the most accessible way to do so (*evil laughter*)

While Dooku wasn’t captured, Yoda heard the truth in his old student’s cryptic warnings about a Sith in the Senate, and the council begins carefully editing their release of tactical plans to the Chancellor’s office in the hopes of ferreting out the spy in their midst.

Pong Krell looses two arms in his duel with Dooku. Obi-Wan successfully hides his smug pleasure at the news. Anakin enjoys makeing comparisons between him and Grievous.

Kenobi doesn’t allow the origin of the clones to go unexamined, although he agrees that if the public were informed that they don’t actually know who ordered them it would probably cause panic.

The ‘inhibitor chips’ are ‘discovered’ early on and Anakin leads the effort to ensure that they are phased out and removed immediately. This consists of reminding every Jedi who even hesitates about how how he as a child slave had some experience with control chips and unless you want to take a leaf out of the hutts books lets start doing brain surgery chop chop mmmkay?

(This isn’t to say that Vader doesn’t still a twinge of shame at acknowledging his slave roots. But it is eclipsed by the burning guilt that he knowingly acted as slave master to his troops for decades after Sideous wiped their minds. He tried to rationalize it to himself, after all he didn’t immediately understand what Order 66 had done to the troopers. But while the morality of murder was more of an intellectual concern than a personal one, treating people as things...)

The Kamonions are a little harder to budge, referencing contracts that they refuse to allow the Jedi to see

Finally Vader snuck into the Chief Medical Scientist’s home while she was sleeping and straight-up threatened to murder her and burn down her lab. At the risk of losing her life’s work, Nala Se complied.

Vader left with the final threat that in the event that Darth Tyranus caught wind and activated Order 66 prematurely, he would kill 100 Kamonians for every Jedi felled by troopers. Shaak Ti was pleased by the cloners sudden change of heart. Tyrannus, and by extension, Sideous, are in the dark.

Obi-Wan frequently publicly confronts Palpatine about the troops citizen status, urging him make use of his emergency powers to grant them citizenship and full pay, with the option to leave the army should they so wish.

Anakin manages to play off his avoidance of the Chancellor as disappointment in his perceived lack of dedication to anti-slavery efforts

Finally Palpatine gives in- regardless of what happens next, the troops will be looked after.

With 2/3rds of the troopers dechipped, Vaderkin is eager to kill Sideous again, but after several intense screaming matches and sparring sessions, the time travelers come to the agreement that even if they succeed in their duel, with things as they were, the perception of the Jedi military coop would cause mass civil unrest. The scattered sith apprentices, while individually weak, were more than capable of magnifying that fear and anger until the galaxy breaks. Darth Sideous wanted to ensure that if he couldn’t have the galaxy, no one would.

(Vader knows this. Sideous enjoyed monologuing, and much of his plotting couldn’t be safely bragged about until after he had decisively won, leaving Vader as the unwilling receptacle for years of pent-up rants and self-satisfied gloats about the inevitability of his victory)

Continued Here

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javier-pena · 3 years

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

taking the fall (3)

warnings: imprisonment, interrogation, injury, mild blood, panic and sensory overload, dehumanizing language, ambiguous motives, morally neutral/antagonistic janus, snakes mention

His guest wasn’t eating.

Janus cast an irritated glance over to the terrarium, where the only “life” that could be seen was a clump of thick foliage in one corner.

He’d left the old fake plants in there as a taunt, but as soon as the tiny creature had ascertained that there were no snakes in the grass, they’d immediately bundled every bit of shiny plastic greenery into a makeshift nest and hid within it. He supposed he should have expected it, from one as industrious as these tiny folk all seemed to be.

Regardless of his guest’s reticence, he’d been setting small dishes of food in there whenever he himself took his meals, giving them some time to adjust to the reality of their situation. It had been a couple of days, however, and every miniature entree looked entirely untouched.

His prisoner seemed to be on a hunger strike.

It added more evidence to his theory that he was being misled in regards to his guest’s identity. If they were actually a victim in all this, why bother keeping quiet and refusing to give the answers Janus needed? Why go so far as to not even eat, for people who allegedly wouldn’t care if he lived or died?

No, things made much more sense if this was a gambit on the tiny people’s part, one of them volunteering to stay and play sacrificial lamb, distracting him for as long as the others needed. Their terror, their injury, their tiny bitter laugh, it could all be part of a ploy for pity on his end. Get him too invested in a puzzling prisoner while the others escaped.

The thought made his stomach drop unpleasantly. His opponents were exceedingly small, and he was one of the few who knew they existed. If they got away, he’d never see them again.

He couldn’t afford that.

Pushing his chair back, he approached the terrarium, casting an assessing eye over the food set out in it. Some of it could sit out, and had been there overnight, the best time for his guest to eat without risking even seeing Janus. But no. Not a single crumb out of place to indicate that anything had been eaten.

“Still alive?” he asked dryly, rapping a knuckle on the glass once.

There was a long pause, and then one of the leafy stems sticking out from the nest twitched twice. This daily question and response was the only communication he’d had with his guest since that first afternoon, and even this small, silent answer had originally been prompted by a threat of Janus reaching in there and checking himself.

“I notice that you’ve been refusing any sustenance,” he continued idly, and got nothing for his efforts. “Planning to die before you can give up any secrets?”

No response. Janus sighed as though put upon, and slid the terrarium lid halfway off. There were still no meaningful movements from the nest, though it seemed to be subtly trembling. It was impressive that despite the dark clothing that his guest wore, he still couldn’t make out exactly where they were even this close.

With narrowed eyes, he reached in and grabbed a few of the plastic leaves, tugging to pull the construction apart bit by bit.

He only caught the faintest flicker of movement before there was a sudden sharp pain in his index finger, and he yanked his hand back on reflex.

A weight came up with it, putting even more pressure on his wound, and it dropped as soon as his hand was just above the terrarium lid.

Seeing the dark shape attempting to scramble away, his other hand smacked down on top of it automatically, pressing it into the mesh with a small, muffled cry.

He glanced at his hand. There was a plastic thorn hooked in his thumb, the broad end chewed off and the point of it sharpened. His guest had attacked and used him as a makeshift lift in their escape attempt.

“Oh,” he intoned, voice dark. “Seems like you have plenty of energy after all, hm?”

---

Virgil took in short, gasping breaths, barely able to hear whatever threatening thing the human was muttering as pain radiated through his leg.

It let up just slightly as the pressure of the hand on top of him eased, his face no longer pressed into the cold wire netting of the cage’s top. Before he could try and string two thoughts together, the fingers were curling around him like a hawk’s talons, lifting him up and sending another jolt of mind-numbing pain through him. He might have whimpered.

So much for that escape attempt. He’d known it was a long shot, but his options had been limited after realizing that he literally couldn’t stand on the injured leg any more. They’d dwindled further with every day he couldn’t bring himself to crawl over to any food or water. Living outside, he’d survived on very little before, but it was a gamble every time.

He was flipped to face the light, the human’s head in silhouette above him. He couldn't make out it’s words. Everything felt overwhelming, made incomprehensible by the pain and the dark spots in his vision. His face felt hot. Was he bleeding?

Things went blissfully quiet above him, and then he was being moved. He wondered if the human was about to kill him, and the thought sent a much weaker pulse of panic down his spine than usual. He hoped it killed borrowers before feeding them to it’s snakes.

Something soft and dark dropped over him, and he thrashed for a moment before his leg reminded him how awful an idea that was. So he laid still instead, letting his terror shake through him in waves, until he wasn’t completely lost to it anymore.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, feeling at what was draped over him. Cloth, soft in texture and tightly-knit enough that not much light got through. Below him… a warm, living surface.

“Awake?” the human said, voice both closer and quieter than he’d ever heard it.

Another shudder worked through him, and he reached up to press his hands over his face, wishing none of this was real. His eye pigment had run, drying in tracks down his cheeks.

He wouldn’t be able to reapply it. The locket he stored it in was left behind with the rest of his stuff, tucked away into his oversized pack and left at the opening into the human’s home. It had probably already been torn through and picked apart by Mari and the other insiders.

The thought stung, somehow more personal than the nightmare of the situation he was already in.

“I believe I see now why you haven’t eaten,” the human continued with a surprising lack of snark. It must have seen his leg. He felt a little sick just thinking about it.

What had felt like a low-grade fracture through the adrenaline had ended up growing worse and worse without treatment, until the injury was a solid lump of swollen flesh and ugly bruising that twanged with agony at even the slightest shifts. He wondered if the human was going to use it against him. It would make torture exceedingly easy on its part.

“Continue with the silent treatment, and you won’t get any actual treatment,” it said, now sounding exasperated.

After another stretch of silence, the hand beneath him moved and tilted, sliding him off onto a flat surface. Suddenly desperate to know what was going on, Virgil yanked at the cloth, dragging handfuls of it down until he reached an edge and could pull it clear of his eyes.

The light in this room was dimmer, but it still took him a moment to adjust. He wasn’t in a snake tank, but on top of a low table in what looked like a sitting room, if he remembered the human terms right. The human was seated on the couch nearby, looking down at him.

“There you are.”

---

The tiny person shot him a furious glare, rendered mostly ineffective by the dark tear streaks that were still smudged along their face.

Janus wished his earlier reflexes had been a little gentler. He’d had a quite embarrassing moment of panic where he’d thought the grotesque worsening of their leg injury had been caused by his grasp, rather than simple neglect and lack of treatment.

Despite his patience, they didn’t reply, continuing to just stare at him. He stood, ignoring the way it instantly made them begin trembling again.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Feel free to move around and make your injury worse,” he instructed dryly, before turning and going to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

His thumb was still sensitive, the injury messily scabbed over with dried blood. He’d pried the thorn out with his teeth easily enough, but with his other hand occupied by a prone tiny person and their hyperventilation fit, he couldn’t properly treat it.

Upon his return, he saw his guest had abandoned his handkerchief and was halfway to the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes, and set the kit down before grabbing them by the shoulders and sliding them back over to the handkerchief.

“I was being sarcastic, you know,” he told them, and opened the kit to start cleaning his undersized injury. “I’ll be very unhappy if my only source of information dies a completely avoidable death for no reason.”

“Yeah, because I sure wouldn’t want to make you unhappy,” his guest bit out, and then looked as though they were deeply and immediately regretting opening their mouth. Janus didn’t know why; he personally took much better to sass than being stabbed.

“So you do know how sarcasm works. Color me impressed.”

The tiny person actually hissed at him, like the world’s most emo kitten.

“Yes, yes, I feel very threatened,” Janus retaliated by prodding them with the edge of an open tube of arnica gel. “Here. For the bruising.”

After another long glare, his guest spoke. “What do you want for it?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t it be argued that I owe it to you, for allowing the injury to fester while you’re in my care?”

“Your care--!” his guest cut themself off, taking in a deep breath through gritted teeth. “Terrible hosting etiquette aside, you weren’t the one who gave me the injury. Not your concern. So, what do you want?”

Janus wondered absently how tiny people qualified their hosts’ manners. He had certainly already failed by human standards, immediately imprisoning his guest and all, so perhaps it didn’t really matter either way. He wasn’t above taking advantage of a tiny person’s bartering honor system. “Answer three questions.”

“I get to pass on questions I don’t want to answer,” his guest countered quickly, apparently having expected this.

“You get five passes,” Janus allowed. Seeing what they refused to answer would be informative in itself.

“... Fine.” With another glance at their injury, they grabbed the tube sharply enough that they almost overbalanced. “Ask.”

“Where are the others living?” Janus asked, just to set the stakes high.

“Pass,” his guest answered, not even looking up from their task. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you defending them?” he tried.

“I’m not defending them,” they shot back, vitriol thick in their voice. “I just don’t want you to get what you want. That’s one question.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt, really.” Janus tapped his nails along the table idly. “What’s your name and pronouns?”

This did prompt them to look up, face pinching up in confusion. After a moment, they returned to their baseline expression of scowl and retorted, “That’s two questions.”

“It’s one sentence, it counts as one question,” Janus lied smugly. They still looked close to passing, so he gave them a nudge. “Unless you want me to make something up? I’m very creative, I assure you.”

“I use he,” he finally grit out, “and you can call me V.”

“For Vendetta?” Janus mused, and received an utterly baffled look for his wit. “I suppose your movie repertoire isn’t that expansive.”

“Two questions,” V said flatly. “One left.”

“Yes, I can count.” Janus glanced at V’s gel-covered leg. “You have to rub that in for it to work.”

V’s expression flickered to one of despair, but he bit his lip and started to slowly massage the gel in. Janus wondered at how easily he’d believed him.

“What do you call yourselves?”

“Pass.”

“Where did you live?”

“Pass.”

“How do I bait the others out?”

“Pass.”

“Why do you hate me more than the ones who allegedly put you here?”

V’s hand slipped, and he winced and paused for a moment. “... Pass.”

There was certainly a grudge there. Too bad Janus had no idea what it could be about. Oh well.

He set a hand on the table, leaning over V. “When do the others plan to leave? As specific as you can get, please.”

“Pa--,” V cut himself off, and Janus could see the moment he realized he had used up all his get-out-of-questioning-free cards. He patiently waited out the tiny person’s fit of frustration.

“... I don’t know.” Janus’s smug grin dropped, but V continued after a speculative pause. “I don’t think they’ll leave before the season's turning. The spring thaw has been slow this year, and they’re-- not suited for it.”

Janus felt some of the tension drop from his shoulders. The start of summer. He had time, and the advantage of a weather forecast app. That was good news, even if he’d had to wrangle it out of his guest. He had time.

“How interesting,” he said lightly, and capped the gel to put it back in the box. V’s hands were clutching the edge of his coat tightly, as though guilty or angry. Or perhaps just stressed. “Let’s get some food in actual range of you, then, shall we?”

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts janus #g/t #taking the fall #ttf #my writing #writing #borrowers #mind the warnings

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expectingtofly · 3 years

Text

Take a Load Off

2.5k

fluff, post-canon, human!cas, anxious dean, established dean/cas

(i saw this post by @emptymeg and couldn’t get it out of my head, so here’s a fic :)

also posted on ao3

“What’s in the box?” Dean asked, coming into the library to see Cas setting a large package on the map table with a huff. The table creaked under its weight. “Hey, name that movie.”

Cas cocked his head. “What movie?”

Dean groaned. “Seriously, dude, you’re hopeless. What’s in the box! Brad Pitt?” Cas shrugged and Dean sighed. “Forget it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas said, fetching scissors from a drawer, “This box is for you. I bought you something.”

“Oh?” Dean came to the table, interest even more piqued. “What kind of something?”

Cas gave him a look. “Not what you’re thinking.” He cut through the tape securing the box. “I read that this can relieve stress and help you sleep better.”

“I already know something that can do that.” He added a wink for good measure.

“So,” Cas continued, ignoring him, “I thought you should try it. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately and I’m worried about your anxiety levels.”

“Wait a moment,” Dean protested. “What do you mean, my ‘anxiety levels’?” Cas opened the box and he leaned over to look at the contents. Folded, silky dark grey fabric. “What is that, a blanket?”

“A weighted blanket,” Cas corrected, heaving it out of the box. “Twenty pounds.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He plucked at the fabric. “This is supposed to help?"

“It’s proven by science.” He nodded at a chair by Dean. “Go, sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down and Cas draped the blanket over him. “Fuck.” Dean lifted his arms up under the blanket, then dropped them. “This is actually heavy.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Cas deadpanned and Dean kicked at him. Cas pulled a brochure out of the box. “Soft cotton filled with poly pellets,” he read. “Alleviate anxiety and increase serotonin.” He studied Dean, eyes squinted. “You still look tense.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean shoved the blanket to the floor with a thump. “Think you got duped.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Cas grumbled, picking it up off the ground. “You have to give it a chance.”

“I just gave it a chance.” Standing, he brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead, gave him his best you love me smile. “Now, do you really wanna help me relax?”

Cas studied him for a long moment, then said, “Okay.” He carefully folded the blanket. “We’re keeping this, though. I still think it’ll work.”

Dean made a face behind his back and started to follow him out of the room, but the phone Sam had recently installed in the library for a hunter hotline started ringing. He groaned and Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Do I have to?” Dean asked him.

“I suppose so,” Cas sighed and set the blanket down on a chair. Turns out the call was from a hunter out near Boise who needed help with a case. Of course, Sam was away visiting Eileen, so he and Cas got stuck spending the next two hours going over the case information, trying to figure out what the monster was. They finally settled on vetala, a whole pack of them, and after instructing the hunter on how to kill them, Dean hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. “Who knows how big the pack is. Could be a whole dozen of the freaks.”

“Well, now she knows how to kill them,” Cas said. “And there’s other hunters in the area who can help.”

“Yeah...” Dean fiddled with his pen, tapping it on the open pages of his dad’s journal.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean realized he was frowning. “Nothing.” Flexing his shoulders, he stretched out his back, stiff from poring over books. “Just, three people are already dead. I better be right that it’s a pack of vetala.”

Reaching over, Cas rubbed his back in small circles and Dean leaned back into his hand. “We did all we could, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t so sure that was true. But, short of driving all night out to Boise, he supposed there wasn’t much else they could do. Still, he didn’t like the idea that he might’ve missed a clue, might’ve misled the hunter. He clicked his pen again and again, going over the case in his mind, worst case scenarios—

“Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asked, and Dean glanced at him.

“No.” Dropping the pen, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Don’t think I can now.”

“Would you say you’re feeling stressed? Anxious, perhaps?” Cas deliberately looked to his right and Dean followed his gaze to the weighted blanket folded on a chair.

“Dude, don’t even start.”

“You should use it,” Cas urged. “There’s no shame in feeling anxious, I often feel the same way too.”

“I’ve dealt with worse before, this is nothing new. Just comes with the job.”

Cas sighed. “You put too much on your shoulders.”

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, comes with the job.” If he wasn’t always on edge, he figured he was doing things wrong. Get too comfortable and bad things happened. Just the way it was.

“Still, you can admit you need a break.”

“Jeez, Cas, I’m wounded.” Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood. “Don’t stay up too late.” He seemed to hesitate, fighting against saying more, and Dean said,

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look too convinced, but he kissed Dean goodnight and headed off to their bedroom.

Dean cleaned up the mess of books and papers on the table, turned off the lamps just to do something with his hands. Normally, this is when he’d grab a drink, try to calm his head, but he’d been trying to cut back lately—blame Cas’ concern for his liver—so instead he decided to head to the Dean Cave. Maybe a few episodes of Dr. Sexy would distract himself enough to sleep.

Leaving the room, his eyes fell on the weighted blanket again. Cas and his ridiculous ideas. If Dean hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, that was just the result of living their kind of life. Nothing to do about it. Ignore the stress or end up drowning in it, that was his motto.

(And a horrible coping method, according to Sam and Cas)

Either way, lying under twenty pounds of “cotton and poly pellets” wasn’t going to help. Though the blanket had been really soft, he’d give it that.

He forgot all about it the following day, though, when Sam found a case a few towns over, and Dean and Cas drove over to meet him there. Disturbed gravesites, people disappearing near the cemetery at night. A ghoul, by all signs. A day of morgue visits and interviewing witnesses, then another two days of sitting parked in the cemetery, waiting for the ghoul to emerge again and feed. Dean was almost happy to see the thing when it crawled out of its grave. Almost.

Killing the damn thing hadn’t been too easy. But after inadvertently destroying a few gravestones, nearly falling into an open grave, and narrowly avoiding losing a few limbs, they finally bashed the ghoul’s brains in thoroughly, and split up from the cemetery. Dean went to speak to the latest victim’s mother while Cas and Sam got rid of the remains.

Returning to the bunker first, Dean showered, blood and ghoul remains washing away down the drain. But even the warm water couldn’t ease the jitteriness sitting high in his chest. The ghoul had been strong, fast, and Dean’s heart had leapt into his throat when it got a hold of Sam. Even Cas had struggled to stop the thing, gunshots only serving to anger the son of a bitch more.

Getting out of the shower, he scrubbed himself dry with his towel, inspected a cut along his arm. Not deep enough for stitches. If Sam had avoided a concussion, they were lucky. The ghoul was dead, at least. Left a dozen ruined graves and a few torn apart teenagers in its wake, but dead.

As he changed into clean clothes, he heard the bunker door open. “All good?” he asked, entering the war room to find Sam and Cas setting down their bags.

“If you mean will the trunk always reek like ghoul, then yes,” Sam said. He grimaced as he took off his boots, muddy footprints already leaving a trail down the bunker stairs. Then he glanced at his phone and smiled, said, “Eileen’s calling.”

“Whipped,” Dean mouthed at him as Sam answered his phone, smiling at the screen and walking off down the hallway. “Well,” he told Cas, ”you look like shit.”

Cas gave him his best, I can smite you even without my grace look. “Charming.” He headed off down the hallway towards their bedroom and Dean followed. “How did Mrs. Landis take the news?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Uh, 'bout how you'd expect, I guess. Told her a bear had gotten to her son, but it was all taken care of now. Not much else to say.”

The mother had sobbed and thanked him. He’d done a piss poor job of comforting her and left with an all-too-familiar sick feeling in his stomach; they hadn’t done enough, they could never save everyone.

“And you?” Cas asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Dean as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Are you alright?”

Dean started to nod, say fine, but he knew Cas would see straight through the lie. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shrugged, dropping his hands into his lap. “Just shook up. Coulda been a bad one.”

Cas nodded as he pulled off his trenchcoat, the edges bloody and muddy. “We’re all safe. You don’t have to torture yourself thinking about what could’ve happened.”

Dean shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know.” Easier said than done.

He heard Cas’s footsteps, then felt Cas’ fingers on his cheek and tilted his head into his palm. Breathed in and out. Cas smelled like blood and guts and sweat, not a particularly pleasant combination, but his hand was warm and his other hand was carding through his hair and, shit, that felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” Cas said quietly. “You need rest.”

Dean nodded and Cas kissed the top of his head. He left to take a shower and Dean scrubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck, this hunt had been a close one. Closer than they’d had in a long time.

Dropping his hands, his eyes settled on the weighted blanket that Cas had left folded on the chair at the desk, a silent plea for him to use it. He rolled his eyes. Anxious, his ass.

He started to pull the covers back on the bed, but the thought of lying down with the hunt running on repeat through his head was less than appealing. Cas’ trenchcoat hung bloody on the wall, and Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, adrenaline and nerves still rushing through him.

Alright, maybe a little anxious.

With a glance at the door to convince himself Cas would be in the shower for a little while longer, he grabbed the blanket, brought it to their bed.

Getting under the covers, he draped the blanket over himself and lay down, shifting to get comfortable. Once settled, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the miracle blanket to work its wonders. How much money had Cas spent on this shit? He really had to hide the credit cards.

He shifted again, the mattress creaking, and dropped back with a huff. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cas trying to help, but a twenty-pound blanket wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a full night of sleep and a blow job and an all-expenses-paid trip to Cancún. His nose was itchy, his knee was bruised, his back was fucked up from getting thrown against a gravestone, Sam had already found another case in Albuquerque, and, fuck, he was just so damn tired.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the sensation of his chest tightening. He could feel the blanket rise and fall with every deliberate breath, and he counted like Sam had taught him years ago when he’d woken with a panic attack—breathe in for seven seconds, hold for four, let out for eight.

Don’t think about what could’ve happened. We’re all safe. Cas is safe, Sam is safe. I’m safe.

His heartbeat slowly settled. The blanket’s weight was strangely comforting, warm, trapping him under the covers. Forced to stay still, he felt his limbs slowly relax into the mattress, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his back easing and hands curling loosely along the sheets.

Okay. Shit. Maybe there was something to this weighted blanket thing. His mind grew hazier as his thoughts began to wander, and he found himself drifting off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and startled his eyes open.

“You’re using it,” Cas whispered excitedly, standing in the doorway. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck off,” Dean told him. He would’ve flipped him off, but that would require lifting his hand out from under the blanket and he was too—dammit, Cas was right—relaxed to move.

“I knew it would be perfect,” Cas said, sounding too triumphant. Shutting the door softly, he got into bed next to him—well, tried to. He shoved at the blanket encroaching on his side of the bed. “Dean, move over.”

“Nope.” Dean shut his eyes again. “Reap what you have sown.”

Grumbling, Cas turned off the light and got under the covers with more rustling and movement than necessary. Finally, he settled down. The bunker hummed, the heating running, the pipes in the walls creaking as a shower turned on down the hallway. The blanket heavy on top of him, Dean began to fall asleep again.

“Are you really gonna keep that on all night?” Cas asked, disturbing the quiet.

“Yup.”

Cas huffed and Dean could only keep up the ruse for a few more seconds before lifting the edge of the blanket. “Come on, get under.”

Sliding over, Cas got underneath, and they laid side by side, pressed against each other. Their fingers brushed, and Dean crooked a finger around Cas’ thumb.

“This is nice,” Cas commented, voice quiet. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

“Mhm.” He was starting to think he should’ve bought one of these things a long time ago. He hadn’t realized how strung out he was before until now, all the tension in his body slipping away.

Cas shifted onto his side and Dean blinked open his eyes to look at him. “I guess I was right all along, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t push it.” He caught Cas’ smile in the dark and elbowed him on principle before shifting over to kiss him. Then he tugged at Cas’ arm and turned onto his side, prompting Cas to press close against his back and wrap an arm around him.

He smiled, eyes falling shut at the warm press of the blanket and Cas’ body around his. Now he was relaxed.

tag list:

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007 @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @thetrueliesofafangirl @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @theangelwiththewormstache @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

#missed all the drama about the 15x20 script bc i was writing this last night #finale who?#dean and cas are alive and thriving #destiel fic #cw anxiety #expectingtofly writes #fluff

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yanderesimps · 3 years

Text

Destined torture

Yandere Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

(Warnings: Unrequited love, forced relationships, forced intimacy, angst, obsession, soulmates AU)

❁-----------------------------------------------❁

It wasn't easy to avoid the blonde when you're the childhood friend of one of his main targets for bullying. Izuku Midoriya, the boy from across the street with a somewhat concerning all might addiction.

You two met in the park one day, stumbling over as you loomed over the greed haired boy as he played in the sandpit. The two of you had sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, always keeping about a meters distance between yourselves as you eyed each other quietly as shy children do.

Until you mumbled about how you liked his all might action figures and his eyes lit up like the night sky, filled with unimaginable excitement. It had all gone up from there of course but now instead you'd both graduated from harmless kiddies to slightly less harmless adolescents.

That of course meant that you had the pleasure to often have deal with the rampaging temper and relentless bullying of a certain Katsuki Bakugou. That wasn't to say that he'd always be such a brat, only ever giving you the brunt of his lashings when he would spy you with Izuku in the school halls.

For years he mercilessly hassled Izuku and it had only ever gotten worse when your classmates had begun to develop their quirks. Izuku, much to his dismay, had to face the bitter truth that he was indeed quickless.

You were almost afraid that your quick would've widened the divide between you two but it somehow in a weird way brought you two even closer if they was humanly possible. By all means, your quick wasn't flashy and explosive like Bakugou's but it had been noteworthy, nothing that get you into UA but respective nevertheless.

When Bakugou would begin his precise schedule of tormenting Izuku, you were steadfast in defending your best friend much to Bakugou's annoyance.

But when you spied Bakugou in the halls today, you'd expected the worst. Your lips twisted into a blatent frown which could make even Endeavour's fire run cold.

Bakugou approached, his hands shoved into his baggy trouser as he stood in front of you, his delinquent friend thankfully no where to be seen. You two stood in raging silence that seemed to ring louder in your ears that your thoughts of contempt for the boy in front of you.

Pulling a hand out of his trousers, you almost expected a bloody nose but soon found yourself staring at a crinkled envelope. You stared at the letter for a few moments before darting your unimpressed glare back to meet the red pupils that stated right back at you.

"Is this a new tecnique? Come to defeat me through the power of paper cuts?" You tittered, resisting the growing earge to swat the paper from his hand.

The blonde clicked his tongue at your sarcasm, thrusting the letter closer to you. "It's an invitation, dumbass, my birthday is next week and the hag made me give you this since she thinks we're friends or whatever"

"Oh my goodness! Why didn't you just say so? I'll make sure to put this in my files, right in the "remember to burn" section" You sang in fake glee, your mocking joyful expression soon falling back into its usual scowl when in the company of the blonde.

Bakugou's eye seemed to twitch slightly at your works and you could practically smell the caremel scent in the air heating up. Surprising, he didn't even say anything and simply turned on his heel to leave. "Well that was...boring" you said with almost a huff. In the past, making bakugou angry was something you actively avoided like the plague but now? It was nothing more than a fun family activity.

So when you didn't feel the flesh of your cheeks burning from 3rd degree burns it was nothing less than a shock. You could almost felt the bright heavens radiating down upon you. Had katsuki bakugou finally developed an actual personality that didn't involve being a dick?

Of course not.

But that still didn't explain why he was inviting you to a fucking birthday party.

It practically struck you like a brick when you realised what this meant.

Bakugou was now one year older

It was the day that everyone seemed to yern for. The day of the mark. A mark that would tell you the name of your soulmate. A mark that would appear on your 16th birthday.

It was bakugou's birthday.

He was turning 16 in one week.

And all that was just more gloating material.

There were quickless people which was bad enough. If you were quickless, you were seen as weaker, lesser and not normal but having no soul mark? It was practically a death sentence. You were seen as unlovable, unlikeable and unwanted. You were abnormal and disgusting. And ever since a certain blonde had developed a knat for explosions and Izuku hadn't, never having a soulmark was the first bullet in Katsuki's rifle when it came to his conquest of making Izuku's life a living nightmare.

And now for the next few months until your birthday it was all you two were going to hear about.

Heaven's gates swung closed right then and there and the pits of hell threatened to swallow you right there.

"Y/n"

You suddenly snapped out of your inner dialogue to see Deku approaching you with a slightly worried expression. Perhaps you'd been spending too much time standing silently while imagine your future months of torment from bakugou.

You pulled an eneasy grin and rubbed the back of your neck nervously. "No it's fine! Just fine!"

The boys face lit up with his classic smile that made your own heart warm. "great! Wanna get lunch then?" Clasping his arm you nodded with a stark grin. "Let go. I'm starving"

....

...

"What's you favorite type of coffin, Izuku?"

_______

There was no amount of pleading that would have gotten you out of this situation, no matter how hard you pleaded to your mother. She didn't even care that your funeral would be expensive.

So now here you were.

In a dress.

Your hair dolled up.

Make-up.

Planning out your 13th reason why.

Standing outside bakugou's home with a present clasped in your hands, the decently loud chatter within taughting you like the drums of War but then again you were practically about to dive into the trenches.

Your numb finger pressed the doorbell, your heart seemed to stutter at the sound of a nearing voice.

"Katsuki! Open your presents later!!" screeched a voice of whom you could only assume was miss Bakugou. The door opened the woman in front of you visable brightened as she glowed down upon you.

"Y/n, what a pleasant surprise, get in here! Katsuki's in the back garden" The woman's mood had practically done a full 180° at a mere glance of your slightly shaky form. "I'll take that, now go in and have fun with the others" She hummed with a wild smile as she took the neatly wrapped present from your sweaty palms. You merely nodded in response, finding that your throat had closed in on itself making it impossible to even swallow down your initial fear.

You could hear the distant cheering, chatting and occasional parent's voice as you walked further into the house, closer to the clear glass slide door that revealed the decoration littered back garden.

There only kids you could see were the possy that would always surround the blonde haired boy, the occasional guy you'd know from class and almost ever girl that would drop to their knees in the hope of katsuki bakugou noticing them.

Most never glanced at you, some glared at you in disgust but one particular pair of red eyes were fixated on you the moment you stepped in the garden.

You nearly cried tears of joy that the make up had taken so long since it seemed you'd actually missed the majority of the festivities. "In and out. This'll all be over soon" You hummed, trying to pathetically console yourself.

You'd made a beeline for the corner with the least amount of people, seating yourself on a lawn chair before quickly pulling out your phone, ideally hoping that you'd allowed to spend the next hour just lazily scrolling through your phone before grabbing a slice of cake and leaving.

Sadly, that wasn't what fate had instore. You looked up from your phone screen as a shadow suddenly loomed over you. "What? Not even gonna give me a happy birthday" Bakugou sneered, glaring down at you. Your own expression twisted into the perfect rendition of what the word "hatred" meant. Your eyes narrowed, your nose crumpled and lips fell into a neat frown. "I'm sure you'll find a way to survive without my half heart congratulations"

The boy above you nearly smiled at your words as he clicked his tounge and sat on the chair next to you. "Not even curious to find out who my soulmate is?" You raised and eyebrow but your expression remained the same. You took a mere glance at his wrist, only to see it covered before returning your gaze. That seemed to satisfy the boy in front of you as his grin widened visably.

"Don't flatter yourself, I'm just praying for the poor soul that is destined to be with you for the rest of their days"

Bakugou just laughed and then left, leaving you in a puddle of confusion. He should've already gotten his soul mark, so why wasn't he parading it around like he did with everything?

You didn't give it another though, returning to your phone for the next while and brushing off the unsettling feeling the crawled up your spine.

__________

It wasn't surprising that they waited for the big reveal after bakugou had blown out his candles. You were just mildly aggrivated that such torture was continously being forced upon you rather than just letting you go home.

Everyone had crowded around the table where the cake sat. You, for some reason, found yourself stood at the corner of the table nearest to bakugou who stood in the center alone as the other surrounded the other sides.

Ms Bakugou had placed a hand on your shoulder and who you looked up to ask her why she was so clingy, she merely silenced you with a toothy smile.

She seemed to be excited about something.

Everyone had begun a countdown as katsuki raised his hand to everyone, lightly gripping his sleeve that hid the name of his future beloved.

You simply joined in hopes that the scene would go by faster, you didn't even look when he pulled down the arm of his jacket. You only notice the silence that followed after.

Then you noticed the eyes burrowed upon you.

The tightening grip on your shoulder.

Bakugou's glare.

How he was lightly smiling.

Then you noticed your first name neatly written into the flesh of his wrist.

The world seemed to slow then it had all soon went by like a blur just like you. Reality seemed to slip away at the seems and all you could do was slightly nod at the voices of congratulations and bright smiles of bakugou's parents. Disoriented, eyes pickled with tears as your dry throat struggled to find words.

Why was Katsuki still smiling?

__________

You'd been branded that day.

"Katsuki's girl"

Always finding a firery arm latched around your waist or shoulders as you were paraded down that halls like a spectacle for the ages.

You weren't allowed to speak to Izuku anymore or any guy for that matter. It wasn't like any of them risked their necks to talk to you anyway ever since Katsuki claimed you, broadcasting his mark like a trophy, a fitting collar that was locked around your neck.

You found yourself seated with the popular girl at every lunch when Katsuki didn't cling to you, people who you once years to be next to and chat with. Now it just felt empty. Empty conversation. Empty smiles. Empty happiness.

You would sometimes catch Izuku's eye in the hallways as a river of words went unsaid between you two. Then katsuki would tell him to "fuck off" before dragging you to class.

Life wasn't fun anymore. It wasn't even livable.

You barely realised how the month passed and your birthday was right around the corner. In fact, it was tomorrow.

"We'll have matching pairs then-? Hey, idiot, you listening to me?"

"Yes, Katsuki"

"good. I would hate to think you were ignoring me again" His palm gripped your chin like a face, tilting your head before he smashed his wet lips to yours. It was clumsy. It made you feel disgusting.

A hand sorely gripped your thigh, snaking up the helm of your school skirt. You didn't even bother to swat him away there days when he got handsy. It just encouraged him more to discipline you.

"I'll make sure to get you a great present, you'll love it" You knew what he meant by that, it made your heart drop and stomach threaten to heave.

Bakugou soon got up to leave with a group of his friends, leaving you to wallow in you own desperation. You glanced at your wrist. Katsuki had been baring down upon it every day to see if there was even an inclination that his name was appearing.

In reality it didn't really matter, it was just gloating privileges for him now, a way of bragging that you two were destined and you would be hs fine piece of ass for life.

You stroked the reddened skin, it had been sore lately.

"please..."

"Please...anyones name...just as long as its not his"

__________

"Come on, Y/n!"

"Show us!"

"Its obvious what it is gonna say"

You didn't even bother to check what your wrist said when you woke up this morning. Katsuki made you promise that you wouldn't and that you would wait for school.

So here you were, seated in the cafeteria with the majority of the class surrounding you a Katsuki. You could practically feel the pride radiating from him right now.

"go ahead, babe, show em"

And so you did, jutting out your arm and revealing the name to all around.

It was silent again. You expected squeals of jealously, congrats and awe.

Silence. It was louder than any sound imaginable at that moment .

You looked up from where your listless glare had fallen onto your lap to the wide eyes all baring down upon you.

"Oh...hard...luck, Bakugou"

Your eyes fell to your wrist.

"Izuku"

Perhaps fate wasn't so cruel after all.

#bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo katsuki #Yandere bakugou #Yandere Katsuki #Mha #my hero acadamy #izuku midoria x reader #Katsuki bakugou x female reader #bnha katsuki x reader #Yandere

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birdhouse-of-shadows · 3 years

Text

Hello everyone! So here is a fic that I left in my askbox for a hot minute lol. This was all submitted by an anon who you may or may not have seen a few times. This is a compilation of all of the asks and the whole story.

My comments will be in green, any notes from the author will be in blue and the rest will be in the normal text color.

PLEAAASEE be careful if you are sensitive to the following subjects:

Tw: Child Abuse, torture, multiple abusive foster homes, bondage(kinda, quirk inhibiting cuffs), Heavy injury, blood, smoking,

im currently running on no sleep and a bottle of pepsi, sour this is sloppy asf I apologize in advance 😗

im in an angst mood, so i come with this.

Tokoyami’s biological parents abandoned him when he was four. To this day he has no idea why, and has very little memory of them. All of his memories take place in one of the seven abusive foster homes he lived in before he entered U.A.. Over the course of that time, Fumikage has accumulated a large variety of scars, from deep, jagged scars, to cigarette burns, to just really, really bad bruises. Out of all the foster homes he’s been in, none of Fumikage’s foster parents have been fond of mutants, or mutant-type quirks. In several of the foster homes, Fumikage was forced to wear quirk suppressant cuffs 24/7, since his parents “didn’t want a monster running rampant in their house.” Between his mutation, and the violent tendencies of Dark Shadow, Fumikage was basically what nobody wanted in a child. His foster parents would yell every possible derogatory insult at Fumikage, saying he should’ve never been born, even though they weren’t even his real parents. Over time, the verbal abuse would mess with Fumikage’s mind. He’d stare at himself in the mirror, wondering why he was born the way he was, and why he’s the monster everyone says he is. And just when he thought the verbal abuse couldn’t get any worse, as he got older, his foster parents would resort to physical punishment. At first, it wasn’t that bad, at least, in Fumikage’s eyes. Just a slap here and there, plus some cigarette burns on his arms and shoulders. It was painful, but he fought through it, knowing no one would come to help him. But over time, the “discipline” would get even more brutal. It doesn’t matter what he did, every little thing seemed to set his parents off. From accidentally breaking something, to giving a snide comment unannounced, it wasn’t often that Fumikage went to bed at night without being beaten sometime before then. He would be pinned down by his throat and violently beaten with whatever blunt object was nearby. He eventually gave up trying to apologize, as it somehow only upset his parents even more. Once, when he was eleven years old, Fumikage was beaten with a glass vase after pushing one of his foster siblings. The glass eventually shattered, and the broken ends of the vase dug into Fumikage’s back, leaving horrible, jagged cuts all over him. Witnessing Fumikage being beaten day after day made Dark Shadow feel overwhelmingly guilty. Fumikage was in quirk suppressant cuffs ninety percent of the time, so Dark Shadow was pretty much helpless in most situations. Those damned cuffs made it feel like an invisible wall was put up between where Dark Shadow resided, and the outside world. A wall that agonizingly sat between Dark Shadow, and Fumikage’s safety. There were nights when Fumikage lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body numbed by pain. Whether he was laying in a bed or not, unfortunately varied by foster home. But it was on those nights where Dark Shadow would apologize profusely to Fumikage, saying that they’re nothing more than the monster that brought misery to Fumikage’s life. Saying that they’re the reason Fumikage gets beaten so often, and yet do nothing to help him. They vow that once they’re in a safer home, away from their abusers, that they will always protect Fumikage. Always. But by then…Fumikage had already fallen asleep.

Overall, Tokoyami’s home life…was nothing worth smiling about. Thankfully, his time at school was less painful. He often got comments about his looks, saying that he was ugly and all that, but by then, he was more than used to it. Eventually, he faded into the shadows (no pun intended) at most of his schools. He eventually was just forgotten about, which truthfully, didn’t bother him. It was a bit lonely, sure, but it was much better than constantly being beaten simply for existing. In Fumikage’s eyes, school was just a break from his disastrous home life. Though, he tended not to talk during class, and had very little interaction with his teachers, for…reasons. Even so, it was actually during his first year of middle school where Fumikage discovered his dream of being a hero. Just because he was spared from the excessive discrimination of mutants, others happened to be less fortunate. Fumikage would witness how his fellow mutants were treated by others. They had their work stolen, their bags dumped out, over were overall just treated like dirt compared to everyone else. So anytime Tokoyami saw a fellow mutant, or anyone really, being bullied, he’d go and help them, telling them that they don’t deserve to take shit for the way they look, or what their quirk is, and that quirks don’t make villains, it’s how those quirks are used, meaning that the people bullying them are more like villains than they will ever be. With his newfound motivation, Tokoyami decided that he wanted to become a hero to show others that they don’t have to fear who they were born to be, or, as he put it, “To not be daunted by their inner darkness. Instead, to embrace such, and with it, become your best self.” Love that for him honestly. One of the students he helped was a tall, slim girl with a head reminiscent to that of an elephant, her most notable feature being her long trunk that was about the length of her entire upper body. She was shy, and avoided any sort of conflict like the plague. At one point she was harassed by another group of girls, before Tokoyami came and stopped them. He gave his long winded, motivational speech to her, and saying she was grateful was quite the understatement, and the next day, as a thank-you gift, gave Tokoyami a red choker, saying that it was just like the one Dark Crystal wore, knowing how much Tokoyami admired the hero. (In other words, he never shut up about him) Tokoyami relayed his gratitude countless times to her, and the two agreed to become friends, even though they wouldn’t see eachother often. Reluctantly, the girl also pointed out the horrible scars and bruises on Tokoyami’s neck, and figured that he’d want to cover them. Tokoyami stiffened at the mention of his scars, but continued thanking her anyway. The two often saw eachother in the halls and waved at one another, on friendly terms, but strangely enough, they never spoke again.

It was also around that time that he became more interactive with Dark Shadow, and began to explore more darker concepts. He founded a love for reading, specifically horror novels and manga. He also became fascinated with poetry (specifically the edgy variety), both reading and writing it. He found that writing poetry gave him an outlet for expressing both himself, and Dark Shadow’s feelings, without having to risk angering his foster parents. Eventually, the tone found written by his favorite poets began to make its way into Fumikage’s speech patterns. He felt more comfortable with it, and it wasn’t something people easily understood, which ultimately meant his foster parents would just ignore him, thinking he was going through an emo phase. And miraculously, it worked. Although he was still physically and verbally abused throughout his middle school years, his foster parents eventually backed off, as Fumikage became more introverted. Now, he’d look in the mirror at all of his scars, and use his past trauma as motivation for becoming a hero. Though, it wasn’t easy. Those painful memories would always come flooding back whenever he looked at those scars. Since he spent most of his life surrounded by abusive adults, he believed that most adults were the same way, and refrained from speaking with adults at all, in fear of angering them. Hearing them yell would make him flinch out of pure instinct, and being stuck alone with an adult would make him an anxious mess. But he did his best to mask this fear with the brooding, edgy side of him. It was his best, and pretty much only way of coping with this fear. He tried his best to overcome his anxiety, but it was never that easy. But he managed to get through middle school mostly unscathed.

And finally, after three agonizingly long paragraphs, Fumikage makes it into U.A.. Of course, that didn’t exempt him from any of his current foster parent’s rules. He had to keep quirk cuffs in his bag at all times, and if he came home without them on, he would be beaten. Tokoyami remained obedient, not wanting to show up to his first day at U.A. beaten half to death. Armed with his scars, his motivation, and of course, Dark Shadow, Tokoyami entered U.A with confidence. And everyone… was so nice???? Almost immediately after he sat in his designated seat in class 1-A, people came up to him, talking to him. He met a variety of different students, some more…mellow than others. But overall, he liked his class. But the teacher? Well…not so much. In Tokoyami’s eyes, the man who dubbed himself their homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa, was completely and utterly terrifying. ‘He probably has a machete hidden in that sleeping bag ready to kill us at any moment-‘ Dark Shadow said on the first day. Tokoyami couldn’t help but agree. But not in a comedic way. Something about Aizawa was all too reminiscent of one of his foster fathers, specifically the one who gave him all of the scars on his back, after beating him with a glass vase. Any time he was around him, he was anxious. But eventually, little did Fumikage know, this man who he deemed “terrifying” would eventually become one of the people he trusted the most.

okay okay I’ll stop for now, I’ll write more eventually, but I’ll wait until this is answered so I won’t be flooding your asks, and I promise I will never submit anything this long ever again 😖

part 2 yee yee

also, as you can tell, i have heavily observed canon, and elected to ignore it :)

Fumikage’s year so far was hectic. No, scratch that. It was hellish. It seemed like everywhere the class went together, they were attacked by villains. Aizawa seemed to be getting more and more tired by the day. Fumikage didn’t blame him, as he had a class full of trouble magnets. But following the skirmish at the forest training camp, and All Might’s retirement, things seemed to be looking up, at least a little bit. However, there was rumor going around that U.A. was planning to implement a form system, leaving Fumikage with mixed feelings. One on hand, he was ecstatic. He could finally, even if it was just for a short time, get away from his foster home. The training camp incident left Fumikage shaken more than he’d like, and having to deal with verbal abuse at the hands of his father wasn’t doing him any favors. After being released from the hospital, his father berated him four what felt like hours after hearing that he’d lost control of Dark Shadow. The day he got home, without any second thought, his father grabbed him by his shirt collar (which hurt more than it should have due to the fresh bruises on Fumikage’s back) and mercilessly screamed at him. Even though it only lasted about ten minutes, it felt like forever. He was forced to stand just inches away from his father, the thick smell of cigarette smoke emitting from his breath. Dark Shadow shrunk within him, trying desperately to drown out the heinous comments that they’re directly responsible for. Following the “lecture”, as his father like to call it, Fumikage was put back into his quirk cuffs, but this time, as what his parents described as a “precaution”, he had a thick, tight quirk suppressant collar locked around his neck. It dug through Fumikage’s skin, and it felt like he was being strangled. Even so, just like everything he’d been through up to that point, he had to bear with it. He tiredly trudged back to his room, or, well, it was a linen closet. He had a small pile of blankets that acted as his bed, as well as several books lined up neatly against the wall. He’d read most of them several times already, but other that his phone, it was pretty much his only source of entertainment. The closet was always freezing, and he was rarely allowed out. But Fumikage always forced himself to be grateful for having a roof over his head at all, since he knew there were always going to be people who were less fortunate. With a sigh, he lay down on his small pile of blankets. He curled up within himself, trying his best to keep warm. Normally, one of his siblings slip whatever packaged food their parents gave them under the door. It always tasted like it went bad two weeks ago, but at this point, to Fumikage, fuck it, food was food. But much to his dismay, Fumikage’s parents told him that he was “on punishment”. And while on punishment, he knew well enough, that they refuse to feed him. Over the last 18 months that he’d been living in that foster home, he’d been on punishment five times, and during that time, he lost a very unhealthy amount of weight, and his overall health tanked. But, like he said for every terrible thing that’s befallen him over the past 12 years, he was used to it. So, Fumikage went the next three days without eating a single thing.

But it was after those three days, when Fumikage’s life changed. Whether it was for better or worse, he was forced to wait and see.

One morning, or…was it evening? It was hard to tell when you’re stuck in a dark linen closet with no sense of time whatsoever. But anyway, Fumikage woke up shivering, not that he wasn’t used to that. But he did hear the faint sound of his parents talking. However, there was one other voice. Fumikage’s hearing wasn’t the best, with him being a bird and everything, but he knew that voice. He knew that voice from anywhere. It was Aizawa’s. Fumikage forced himself up. His back was stiff, and the thick collar around his neck weighed him down. His stomach was begging for food, but that wasn’t important. He smoothed out his feathers best he could, and quietly opened the closet door. He could hear Aizawa conversing with his parents, and they talked about the newly constructed dorms. Aizawa explained that for the Fumikage’s safety, he requested that Fumikage lives in a secure dorm system. He’d have his own room, full access to a kitchen full of food, and of course, he’d have a common space to mingle with his peers. To Fumikage, it sounded like heaven, but unfortunately, his parents weren’t having it. They went on and on about how Fumikage would put his peers in danger with his destructive quirk. Aizawa, thankfully, wasn’t willing to put up with them either. He went on to tell them about how Fumikage has excelled with the control of Dark Shadow. Fumikage felt a warm feeling in his stomach after hearing his teacher, that same one he’s so afraid of, speak so highly of him. But there was one thing that left Aizawa’s mouth that his parents really couldn’t respond to. “Well, why not let Fumikage have a say in this? Where is he?” he asked them. There was something about his teacher’s tone that showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. Fumikage looked down at himself. He was still wearing the same black long sleeved shirt and blue jeans that he’d worn three days ago. His quirk cuffs were tight around his wrists, and his collar, though he’d gotten used to the feeling, was madly uncomfortable around his neck. He had two choices. Go down there and let Aizawa witness firsthand the extent of Fumikage’s constant neglect, and risk being punished even further by his parents, or play it safe, and potentially let Aizawa find him on his own. But…the world was never that nice to him, so instead, Fumikage heard an irritated sigh, and footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, Fumikage shut the closet door and sat back down against the wall. Just moments later, he watched the closet door open, and felt his father’s sultry gaze fall on him. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He took the cuffs off of Fumikage, and let them fall to the floor. Before taking off the collar, he leaned down, glaring daggers at his foster son. “You say anything out of place boy, and I reopen those cuts on your back, god help you.” he said in a low growl. Fumikage stiffened, the memory of jagged glass tearing his skin open flashing through his mind. He nodded, and took a breath of air as the collar was removed. He really didn’t care that all he breathed in was cigarette smoke. That feeling of being strangled by a metal collar was finally gone, even if just for a little while. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the living room, where Aizawa sat across from his mother.

Aizawa knew right away that there was something seriously off. Tokoyami had a few feathers out of place, and his shirt hung limply over him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. But what pisses Aizawa off the most, was something Tokoyami was clearly trying to hide, and that was the dark ring of bruises around his wrists. He really needed to confront his student about how these two were treating him. But for now, he just needed to get the kid to agree to move into the dorms. He watched the avian teen sit down between his two caretakers. The boy looked very uncomfortable, almost afraid. Aizawa felt his gaze soften upon seeing his student in the state he was, but he had to do what he came here for. So he directed his gaze to Tokoyami, and asked him his thought of moving into U.A.’s dorms. It concerned him hearing how fast Tokoyami answered. “I’d be glad to.” He responded almost instantly. “It would be a great opportunity to get to know my peers better, no?” He looked to his mother, who gave him an irritated look. Aizawa held back a smirk. The kid had a way with words, that was for sure. Aizawa cleared his throat, and spoke up. “Well, it seems he’s all for it.” he said, looking at the two adults in front of him. They looked very unamused. The boy’s mother rubbed her temples, and sighed. “Fine, fine.” she grumbled. “But if Fumikage has any issues with behavior whatsoever, so let us know.” She said, giving her son a pointed look. Aizawa nodded, and stood up. “I doubt that will be an issue, he’s very well behaved.” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes fell to his student. He once again noticed the loose feathers sticking out from the sides of the boy’s head. There were only about two or three, but Aizawa took the initiative anyway. He leaned down toward Tokoyami, and smoothed out his feathers carefully. The boy stiffened, but relaxed. Once Aizawa was satisfied, he stood back up. Tokoyami brought a hand to the side of his head, and gave Aizawa a dumbfounded look. The man gave him an amused look, and turned around toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Tokoyami.” he said, laying his hand on the doorknob. The teen nodded in response, and Aizawa left the house.

As soon as he shut the door, Aizawa clenched his fists. Of course he noticed Tokoyami’s disheveled-looking appearance. But there was one thing, one tiny little thing, that Tokoyami did. Since the moment he sat down, to the moment Aizawa left. Tokoyami rested one arm on his leg, and began tapping his knee. Aizawa didn’t think much of it at first, but then he remembered something he learned while he was still in training. Whenever someone did that, no matter the age, it was a warning sign. Tokoyami was trying to get his attention the entire time.

There was something seriously wrong.

And that’s it for part two I suppose. I feel like this part is significantly worse than the last one, but when it comes down to it, consistency isn’t my thing 🙃

i forgot to proofread part two before submitting it so uh….if there are typos to there aren’t <3

Its perfectly fine!! I never saw them~

part 3 let’s goooo

After Aizawa left, Fumikage relaxed his hand over his knee. He really hoped his teacher noticed his warning sign, but whether he did or not, he was still stuck with his parents until he moved into the dorms. A sudden wave of unease fell over him. He knew his parents were staring him down. And he knew they were not happy. He took at deep breath, and met his father’s gaze. The man’s eyes narrowed. “You got somethin’ to say, brat?” he spat through gritted teeth. Fumikage shrugged. He knew he wouldn’t be living with his foster parents for much longer, which made pushing their buttons much more tempting. He held back a smirk. “Me? Oh no. Although, judging by that look on your face, I figured you’d have something to say, no?” the teen hummed. He rested his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. Fumikage watched his father’s eyelid twitch. It was quite amusing, really. “Just get your ass upstairs, brat. I don’t want another goddamn word outta you.” The man hissed. “And put your cuffs on too.” Fumikage let out a sigh, but nodded anyway. He’d best be obedient now, since, if possible, he’d like to make it to U.A.’s dorms in one piece. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, before trudging back upstairs to his “room”.

After closing the closet door, Fumikage took another look at the cramped area he’s forced to call his bedroom. For the last eighteen months, he was stuck in this hellhole of a house. He had felt more alone than any other point in his life, even with Dark Shadow around. He had no freedom in this house. Hell, he can hardly think of a time he’s ever had any freedom throughout his life. He’s been chained down, locked in cages like an animal, abused in pretty much every way possible…he hated it. More than anything. For most of his early life, it was hard for him to tell if Dark Shadow was really his quirk, or just a voice in his head, given how rarely the two would be allowed to see eachother. But to Fumikage, quirk or not, Dark Shadow was his closest friend. His only friend. And the idea of them getting an entire room, bed and all, just to themselves, with no restrictions, made Fumikage feel more excited than he had ever felt before. Fumikage put a hand to his chest, letting out a relieved sigh, and couldn’t help but smile. Even if it was just for a little while, he, alone with Dark Shadow, could finally be free.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Fumikage’s eyes eventually fell to his quirk cuffs, laying menacingly on the pile of blankets before him, his collar just a few inches away. He felt Dark Shadow stir restlessly within him, not wanting to be trapped by the cuffs. Even though Dark Shadow never got the chance to come out while they were off, it felt liberating to not be bound by what was, in the long run, thick pieces of metal. They’d felt more relaxed for those tense twenty minutes during the conference then they had been throughout their entire time living there. But they knew, for Fumikage’s safety, that, at least until they moved into the dorms, that the cuffs had to stay on. With a sigh, Fumikage grabbed the cuffs, and, after lining them up with his already existing bruises, snapped them shut. Dark Shadow felt like chains held them back the second the cuffs came on. They let out an agitated whimper deep within Fumikage. The teen sighed, bringing a hand to his chest. He hated when his quirk felt like this, but he knew it would all be over soon. He picked up the collar, feeling the cold metal in his hands. With a huff, he threw it aside, and sat down against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, and reached deep within himself. It was faint, but he managed to connect with Dark Shadow. “Just a few more days, Dark Shadow…” he whispered. “It’ll all be over soon. Not for long, but…things will lighten up. I promise.” That promise was a bit of a stretch, in Fumikage’s opinion. But it would be that promise that got them through the next few days. Fumikage laid down on his “bed”, and reached for one of his books. He didn’t care which one, since he’d read them all about a million times each, but he just needed a distraction. The book he’d ended up grabbing, he knew was more philosophical than he would’ve preferred, but hey, he wanted a distraction. So he opened the book, and proceeded to read.

Fumikage had gotten about 90 pages in before he heard the lock on the closet door rattle. The door swung open, letting a wave of light into the room. Fumikage looked up from his book, and low and behold, his father stood over him, an angry look on his face, as always. “Can I help you?” Fumikage asked, laying the book down on his lap. The man in front of him snorted. “Get up, brat. It’s bath time.” he said, an amused tone in his voice. If he could, Fumikage would’ve raised a brow. That tone in his father’s voice was never a good sign, but Fumikage didn’t have much of a choice. So he laid the book aside, and stood up. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the closet. Fumikage had no idea what his father meant by “bath time”, but as the two walked directly passed the bathroom, Fumikage knew, that his parents had something else in mind…

and that’s it for part 3. i never actually have a set plan for these, i just go until I feel like stopping. These also aren’t written beforehand, I just chill in your asks for an hours writing these, making things up as I go along. I basically treat it like my notes app lmao

I'm glad my ask box has served well as your notes app! Just be careful that things save!!

part 4. this was so fucking hard to write you don’t understand 😭 and im too tired to proofread this shit so if you see typos no you don’t. enjoy.

You're doing great!!

Trapped within his father’s grip, Fumikage nearly tripped as he was dragged down the stairs. Being dragged around like a rag doll was uncomfortable enough already, but having thick quirk cuffs clamped around his wrists, digging into his skin, made the whole ordeal more painful rather than uncomfortable, but either way, whatever his parents had in store for him, like always, Fumikage wasn’t looking forward to.

Before Fumikage knew it, the two were in the kitchen. A metal bucket sat in the kitchen sink, hot water running into it. Next to the sink stood his mother, a sultry grin on her face. Thick clouds of steam rose from the basin, and suddenly it hit him. Fumikage’s breath hitched, and he froze in place. He stumbled back, pressing himself against the wall behind him. His father let out a low chuckle. “What’s the matter brat? You were all smug n’ shit earlier. Where’d all that giddiness go?” He asked, leaning toward Fumikage. The man gave a sultry grin, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into Fumikage’s face.

Fumikage’s eyes fell to his mother, who had her hand laid against the bucket. The painful reality all started coming together. Much quicker than Fumikage would’ve preferred, given that he’s on the receiving end of yet another one of his parent’s grueling “punishments”. His mother had a heat quirk. Not fire, but heat. She could alter the heat of any object she touches, reaching heats of up to 315 degrees celcius. Fumikage has been burned before. Several times actually. It hurt like hell, but nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the searing, agonizing pain of being touched by anything heated by his mother’s quirk. And here he was, backed into a corner, at his parent’s mercy.

He knew what was coming. As much as he hated what was about to come next, there was no getting out of it. Not with both of his parents right in front of him. As Fumikage watched that bucket of water begin to boil over, and his mother’s grin grow wider. he felt Dark Shadow begin to tremble within him, helplessly. He could feel his hands begin to shake, and without even having to look, he could hear his father chuckle in amusement.

Fumikage clenched his fists. He couldn’t just submit himself to his parents so easily. But then again, at the end of the day, he was helpless. As always. There was no escape, because when has there ever been? Fighting back was pointless. It always has been. Because to him, this wasn’t torture. This wasn’t abuse. To him, this was just another punishment. Another, grueling, agonizing, painful, god-forsaken punishment.

He was used to this.

Fumikage felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He looked up at his father. What was this sudden burst of emotion? Fumikage had never felt like this before. Was it anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it made his head spin. Either way, he planned to use his sudden rush of negative energy for something he should’ve done months ago. And the consequences that came with it?

Fuck the consequences.

A twisted, pained smile forced it’s way to Fumikage’s features. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he locked eyes with his father. “Sick bastard.” he muttered. “You know I’ll be out of this hellhole in two days, so you take every opportunity you have to put me in as much pain as possible.” Fumikage wiped a tear from his eyes with his sleeve. “Sounds like you’re getting desperate, wouldn’t you agree?” Fumikage grinned upon seeing that irritated look wash over his father’s face. Oh, how much he loved that look.

Over the years that Fumikage has been in foster care, he was never liked by this parents. They blamed it on his violent quirk. Funny enough, almost none of them had even seen his quirk. Fumikage never got around to asking about that, since a lot of the time, talking ended up getting him in trouble. Looking back on it, Fumikage realizes just how stupid it was. Talking, of all things, got him in trouble. What was next? Breathing?

And this foster home was no different. If he “talked out of place”, as his father liked to put it, he was punished. It was hard to decipher exactly what was considered talking “out of place”, since it seemed like nearly everything Fumikage said warranted punishment. So eventually, he opted not to speak at all. But there were always those times, now included, where talking back just felt so right. When Fumikage is finally able to stand up for himself, despite the inevitable consequences that came with it.

And boy, were there consequences.

Before he knew it, Fumikage’s head was slammed against the wall behind him, beak first. With how sensitive his beak was, that pain rung throughout his brain, dazing him. Then he was kneed in the stomach, three times actually, right on one of his fresh bruises. Fumikage let out a choked sob as his breath left him. Even if it only lasted seconds, Fumikage felt as though he were suffocating. And as much as he hated the feeling of air leaving him, that just so happened to be the least painful thing he experienced that night.

Through his pain, Fumikage caught a glimpse of something shiny. Because of course he would. It looked to be metal, with a sharp tip. In his dazed state, he could only guess that it was his Father’s six-inch knife. And right he was, because that exact knife tore down the back of his shirt, exposing all of the scars that littered his back. Pinning him against the wall, his father ripped off his shirt, before kicking him to the cold hardwood floors. Just as Fumikage attempted to sit up, he felt another hard kick to the back of his head. The teen brought his hands to his head almost immediately, gripping tightly at his feathers in an attempt to ease his head’s throbbing pain. But at that moment, Fumikage realized, he had let his guard down.

Just seconds later, he felt it.

That agonizing, searing pain.

All over his body.

He let out a gut-wrenching scream as he felt blisters rapidly forming all over his back and arms. He found himself clawing at his arms, in a desperate attempt to ease the stinging pain, only for thin, deep cuts to form on his pale skin. He felt his quirk cuffs reacted to the heat, getting ever more tighter around Fumikage’s thin wrists. Any and all obscenities his parents threw at him were drowned out by this unbearable pain. Through his sobs, Fumikage began to wonder, was it really worth it? Was it ever worth it? He almost didn’t care. He just wanted it all to be over.

He just wanted the pain, the suffering, the torture, all of it, he just wanted it to go away.

Once the pain died down to the point where it was at least bearable, Fumikage forced himself up on his hands and knees, struggling to keep himself stable on the wet hardwood. Between both the burns, and the quirk cuffs nearly suffocating his wrists, his hands were blistered and swollen. Fumikage locked eyes with his father, who looked down at him, satisfied with his work. Fumikage’s breathing was slow and heavy, as he tried to fight through the pain. “Is…is that all you got?” he managed to choke out. “Two kicks and some hot water? Is that your last line of defense? Seems pretty lackluster if you ask me.” His entire body trembling, Fumikage managed to get to his feet. Steam emitted from his entire upper body, and he was throbbing with pain. That satisfied look on his father’s face suddenly turned to one of pure rage. Without a word, the man walked toward Fumikage, his knife in one hand, and empty glass bottle in the other. Pressing any further in this situation, with this many injuries, Fumikage knew, would be incredibly risky. But then again, heroes are supposed to take risks.

Fumikage forced his beak back into that same twisted grin he wore before, but this time, it was more reluctant. Either way, there was no turning back now.

“Bite me.” he muttered through gritted teeth.

It went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. But that silence was short lived.

Fumikage heard the deafening sound of glass shattering. There was a sudden flash of bright light, leaving as quick as it arrived, and Fumikage’s world became black.

i dont plan on writing any more violent scenes, simply because they’re hard asf to write lmao, so the next part is basically an unneeded time skip because im lazy <3

I'm sure whatever you will write will be perfect!!!

part 5 bitches. or is this part 6? idk this feels like a part 6. anyway proofreading is out the window, it was a long time ago, but either way this might look at but messy. fuck it it’s 3am idc anymore. enjoy.

Fumikage’s eyes opened. His eyelids felt heavy, and his back was stiff, but other than that…he felt no pain. He sat up and looked around. He wasn’t in the linen closet. In fact, it didn’t look like he was in his foster home at all. He looked to be in an apartment. It was on the small side, but it felt…comfortable. The furniture wasn’t dusty, and the air was free of cigarette smoke. Beneath him, was a dark grey couch. He had to have been sleeping on it for a while, as he had shed a single feather onto the fabric of the couch. But either way, Fumikage somehow felt…safe.

Then, he caught something from the corner of his eye. Well, not something, rather, someone. A tall figure, their face and body obscured by shadow, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The figure began to walk toward him. Their hands were tucked into their pockets, and they stalked toward him, almost tiredly. It felt so…familiar. But Fumikage’s world felt fuzzy. It was hard to tell if what he was seeing was even real. The figure kneeled down in front of him their obscured face looking him in the eyes. He watched their lips move, but there was no sound. Fumikage wanted to speak, but all he heard was his own confused, stuttered breathing.

The figure tilted their head, and their eyebrows furrowed. They reached a hand behind Fumikage’s head, ruffling his crown feathers gently. The figure spoke again, yet Fumikage was still met with silence. The figure’s face, as far as Fumikage could see, was painted with concern. But before Fumikage could make another attempt to speak, another figure appeared from a hallway. They were taller, slimmer, and just like the first one, their body and face was completely obscured. The second figure came over, kneeling next to the first, trying to get Fumikage to say something. Anything. But the world around him was completely silent.

Fumikage felt his vision blur at the edges. What was happening? Who were the people in front of him? Why did they look so worried? His mind was runny by a mile a minute, not knowing where he was, who he was with, and why any of them were there. Fumikage looked around desperately for anything that could pose as a distraction. In the midst of his panic, he saw one of the figure’s shadowy hands reach toward him. Fumikage swatted at the hand and tried to back away, but instead was blocked by the back of the couch. His gaze went back toward the two figures in front of him. Once again, one of them reached toward him, carefully grabbing his arm. The touch felt cold, and staticky, much like how Dark Shadow felt. Fumikage squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt tears run down his cheeks, afraid of what’s to come next. But, much to his surprise, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Through the haze, Fumikage could finally make out what this person was saying. It was a faint, hollow echo that rang through his ears. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.” They said.

Fumikage’s breathing slowed as he lay his head on the figure’s shadowy shoulder. “I’m…safe…” he repeated, almost hypnotically. Then he heard the second figure join in. “That’s right. You don’t have to be scared anymore. You’re in a new home, with a new family.” they said. Their voice was slightly higher, and had a softer tone to it. But those words…

Fumikage lifted his head slightly, just enough to see over the figure’s shoulder. His vision was hazy, and he felt as though he were in a trance.

“Family…” Fumikage whispered. That word…that word alone. ‘Family’. It just felt so…right. As though what Fumikage saw as paradise was finally coming to pass. He felt tears well up in his eyes. But unlike before, he felt tears of relief. For the first time in what felt like years, he really felt safe. Fumikage lifted an arm, and whipped away his tears with his sleeve. When his vision cleared, yet another figure appeared. However, this one was…small. Then Fumikage realized, it was a child. His head tilted as the obscure figure carefully walked over to him. They kept their hands in front of them, almost as if afraid to hurt him. Although Fumikage had relaxed, he still felt dazed, and somehow, his movements almost didn’t feel like his own.

Just like when he reached his arm out toward the child. They were just barely out of reach, but in response, they brought both hands to Fumikage’s, and a smile came to their obscured face. They looked…happy. And for the first time in what Fumikage felt like forever…so did he. He felt a small smile form on his beak. He hated kids. Normally, anyway. But right now…this wasn’t so bad.

He felt the older figure pull away from him, still carefully running their hand through his feathers. The second also leaned back, relaxing a bit. Fumikage lay back against the couch with a sigh, before looking over the three figure’s one last time. Was this really his family…? Hell, whether they were or not, he could get used to it. He just couldn’t help it. After years of pain, years of terror, a family, a kind, loving family, was what Fumikage had always dreamed of.

He eventually felt his eyelids, as well as his whole body, become heavy. He felt his grip on consciousness slowly slip, the world around him slowly swirling into a dark grey void. That same word echoed through his mind throughout, becoming more faint each time he heard it. Family. family….family….

Fumikage’s eyes slowly opened one last time, but this time, he didn’t just feel tired. He felt cold, he felt sore, but above all…he felt uneasy. That cold, painfully familiar feeling washed over him. And painful it was. The second he dared to move, Fumikage felt a sharp pain up his back. He sighed, letting his body relax. He looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

He was home.

and that’s it. i feel like i use too many commas, but fuck it im sleep deprived i do what i want :D anyway the next part will be done…whenever the fuck i feel like writing it idk lmao

Please sleep, you're doing great!! I too suffer from overuse of commas, but I don't think they hurt too much!!

sigh. part 7. maybe. idgaf anymore lmao

toward the end I pretty much forgot how to write, so this is uh, a mess to say the least. but enjoy I guess? yea

Fumikage slowly sat up, and let his hands fall solemnly in his lap. With his level of pain and exhaustion, it was hard to keep himself stable, and his quirk cuffs acting as six-pound weights wasn’t doing him any favors. Which, now that he noticed, wasn’t the only thing Fumikage was wearing. He felt his quirk collar clamped around his neck, even tighter than before. He was surprised that it hasn’t cut off his airflow by now.

Fumikage brushed off the pain, still in awe by his dream. As abstract as it was, it just felt so…real. Everything around him felt as though it were really there. And those shadow figures….he felt their words, their touch…as strange as it was, it just felt right. Fumikage leaned back against the wall behind him. ‘Dark Shadow…’ he whispered. ‘Did you…feel that? In the dream?’ Within him, Dark Shadow stirred restlessly in response to their host’s bewilderment. ‘Mhm…but…Fumikage? Would it be weird to say I…miss it?’ they asked. That restlessness quickly turned solemn as Dark Shadow deflated a bit, wrapping themself protectively around Fumikage’s rib cage. The teen hummed quietly to himself in thought. ‘Well, as weird as it is, you aren’t alone. I don’t know why but…that dream world just felt so surreal. It was…at least compared to what we’re used to, amazing.’ Fumikage replied. He lay his head against the wall behind him as he felt tears in the back of his eyes. Dark Shadow seemed to mimic his movements in a way, as Fumikage felt them curl within themselves, hugging Fumikage’s ribs tighter. ‘I just want a new family…’ they said, barely a whisper. Fumikage felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks, soaking his feathers. It feels like every day that passes, Fumikage feels more and more isolated. More and more alone. It’s just him and Dark Shadow. It always has been. Fumikage thrives off of his quirk’s company. Dark Shadow is the only reason he’s kept a positive outlook on life throughout his last few painful years. If not for Dark Shadow, Fumikage’s life would have ended long ago. But even with Dark Shadow around, Fumikage couldn’t help but feel lonely. He wanted someone else to talk to. A human to talk to, because let’s face it, Fumikage’s social skills are…underwhelming. He never speaks unless he knows exactly what he’s going to say and when. He comes off more confident that way, because otherwise, he’d let his anxiety get the best of him.

Having a kind, caring family around, and having other people in general around, just made Fumikage feel safer. Even his foster siblings. They all despised him, but when they were around, his parents were less violent with him. There was always less expected of him when there were others around to steal all of the attention. But that didn’t mean Fumikage didn’t want attention, he just didn’t want negative attention. And every foster home he’s been in, year after year, has been exactly that.

He just wanted to feel loved, was that so much to ask?

Fumikage slouched back against the wall, only to quickly regret it as he felt a sharp pain shoot up his side. He sat back up with a groan. What exactly happened to him? He knows he blacked out at some point, but it was hard to tell what happened after. His body was numbed with pain; his back and arms were covered in burns that sting when touched, and he had a large, dark bruise right in the middle of his abdomen.

His memory of the previous night was cloudy, among other things, but he does faintly remember that sharp glint coming from his father’s knife. Fumikage put a hand to the source of the pain, feeling around for anything of interest. The closet was nearly pitch black, and as good as Fumikage was at seeing in the dark, he couldn’t do much other than carefully feel his wounds to make sure there isn’t anything too serious. But at this point, getting out of a punishment unscathed would be a miracle.

Fumikage ran his fingers across what felt like a gash along the side of his waist, approximating the length. He winced at the stinging pain, but kept going nonetheless. The wound went from just above his waist halfway up his chest. Pulling away he felt something warm and wet lining his fingers, which he could only assume was blood, given the stinging pain that shot through his body right after.

The teen let out a low groan in response, before wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. Slumping back against the wall, Fumikage looked as his blood stained hand. Even in the dark linen closet, he could still see the dark, smeared blood stain his palm and fingers. Suddenly he felt a surge of negativity rush through him, and he clenched his bloodied fist. Was it disgust? Frustration? Or just pure, justified, rage? It was always so hard, just trying to identify this one, burning, unbearable emotion. Fumikage felt it so often but could never tell what he was really feeling. Dark Shadow growled in reponse to their host, growing increasingly larger, metaphorically, desperately wanting to break free and release this unbearable surge of negativity. It didn’t take long before Fumikage boiled over, and slammed his fist against the wall behind him, causing the paint to crack and a dent to form in the wall. Fumikage looked to the wall next to him, and the result of his outburst. And just like that, he deflated, completely, and utterly, defeated. Defeated from what? It was hard to tell.

The teen choked out a sob, curling up within himself, burying his face in his knees.

Just one more day.

yeah. that’s it. short and painful sweet. no comments, bc i cant think of any. next part coming in uh….idk like a month? who’s to say lmao

I absolutely loved this!! I am so happy you shared this! The writing was phenomenal and this is such an interesting take on Tokoyami’s past. It has the perfect dose of angst~

I hope everyone else enjoys this as much as I did!

#bnha #tokoyami #tokoyami fumikage #tw child trauma #tw child abuse #tw pain #angst tw #angst #pain

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Witch”

Happy Saturday, everyone! Well, it's perhaps happier provided you didn't watch today’s episode lol. Getting through these 18 minutes felt like watching an extended version of a CinemaSins vid. I heard a little 'ding!' every time something nonsensical, contradictory, or just downright stupid happened. My mind became a pinball machine.

Which, in the interest of being fair as opposed to just snarky, only matters if you're looking for something resembling emotional depth in this show. RWBY, for all its faults, is enjoyable as a mindless spectacle. It's when you expect — or simply hope — for anything more that this very fragile house of cards comes tumbling down.

If it’s not clear already, today’s recap contains copious amounts of salt. Fair warning.

With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s dive in. Episode nine is titled "Witch," which is fitting since many members of our group go toe-to-toe against Salem herself. The narrative issues inherent in having your heroes fighting their final boss years before the series is meant to end might have been avoided if it weren't for Oscar's ridiculous, sacrificial attack... but we'll get to that.

We open with a sweeping shot of the Atlas battle, as hundreds of dead soldiers segue into endless grimm. Hold onto that image for a bit. At the end of this carnage is, of course, the mouth of the whale. We cut to Jaune, Ren, and Yang already safely inside.

"Well," says Yang, "that was harrowing."

I'm on the fence about this choice. On the one hand, yes, it's good that RWBY knows it can skip over extraneous scenes. We have NINE characters to keep track of and develop, fourteen if you count Ozpin, Maria, Winter, Ironwood, and now Whitley. Plus villains. There simply isn't time to show every insignificant moment... but was this insignificant? Obviously finding Oscar and escaping Salem's clutches is the true hurdle of this mission, but that doesn't mean getting through an entire army of grimm is in any way a cake walk. I'd be more willing to ignore this time skip if it weren't likewise presented as such a challenge for Winter's team. They have to "clear a path" to the whale, but our trio got there unscathed and unnoticed? The obvious implication here is that Ren just masked them the whole way — supported by his aura breaking later in the episode — but it still feels like we missed an important chunk of this task.

I'm nit-picking though. As said, I’m straddling the fence on this one and, given that, I'm inclined to settle on a, "Good job, RWBY. You're keeping the writing tight," if only because I don't have much else to praise about this episode. Throw the poor, struggling show a bone lol.

Now that they're inside, they realize they haven't the slightest idea how they'll find Oscar. “Like finding a needle in a giant…whale… why did we think this was a good idea?!” Because you and your friends are idiots who no longer bother to think about a situation before throwing yourself straight into it? This isn't me being mean to Yang, she literally says as much later on. Our heroes no longer get by on intellect, strategy, and skill, but rather plot armor and a staggering number of coincidences. For example, Ren.

Yang: Wow, it sure is lucky for us that on our way to this incredibly dangerous mission Ren inexplicably developed a new part of his semblance. Now he can not only mask peoples' emotions, see the true emotions that someone is feeling, pull thoughts out of their head about what they believe about a situation, but can also track someone across long distances through their emotions alone. Even that doesn't actually help us find Oscar, we just got lucky again when, in this maze of a whale, he ran right into us!

Me: So what were you going to do if this meta-world stopped giving you the most contrived solutions in Remnant history?

Yang: Die gloriously, I guess.

What Yang actually says is, "Okay. That's new!" and they enter the literal belly of the beast wielding a shield of convenience.

Jaune is also being awkward again because remember, RWBY doesn't know when to incorporate humor and when to treat a situation seriously. He reminds Ren not to "drain [himself]," he'll help him, and it's clear the scene is hinting at their earlier fight. There's a lot to unpack there, but I want to save it for the second conversation.

For now, we cut to Oscar, curled up in his cell, repeating stories to comfort himself. Yeah that's fine. I could use a broken heart right before Valentine's Day.

“She brushed off her bumps and bruises, for nothing hurt worse than the loneliness in her chest." It's a line from The Girl Who Fell Through the World, which Ozpin recognizes given that he's "lived through" a fair number of fairy tales. He immediately asks how Oscar is holding up — because he's a caring person! — and Oscar admits that he never understood why the girl of the tale was sad upon reaching home again. Now he does: she wasn't the same person anymore. I don't think the fact that Oscar has had both a metaphorical fall — leaving his farm to 'fall' into this war — and a literal one — falling through Atlas to unlock his magic — is lost on anyone. This is a nice allusion to our themes. Yang's speech to Salem later on? That’s something else entirely.

Storytelling done, Ozpin says he thinks "this plan to divide might have run its course” and it's time to try and find a way to leave. I'm sorry, I love my farm boy, but what plan? He didn't do anything. At least nothing that could remotely be termed an intellectual plot. Oscar convinced Ozpin to try and turn Hazel by telling him the world would end under Salem's rule and the only reason that worked is because the story decided to chuck out Hazel's entire character. You know, the one that hates Ozpin above all others, wants the world remade into a non-Academy horror show, can't understand that people make their own choices, is terrified of Salem, and has no reason to trust a prisoner he's currently torturing. Oscar's "plan" hinged on his writers erasing a great deal of work to build a new story that fits said “plan.” He didn't even get Emerald involved, she just — again, conveniently — eavesdropped outside their door at just the right moment.

To be clear, I'm not against a story being written to work in the hero's favor. Of course things are going to be convenient in a happy-ending tale. Someone manages to hold out just as long as they need to, a sword is lying just within reach, you, yes, happen to run into the one person you're desperate to find. This kind of stuff is reassuring, telling its audiences that sometimes things do work out for the best. It's enjoyable... but only provided the hero's entire success doesn't hinge on fate being shockingly kind to them. That's what RWBY has become. A world where Salem doesn't attack Mantle, Amity Tower is suddenly finished, the group can charge into any deadly situation they want to and bank on destiny twisting around itself to ensure they come out of it safely. A hero finding a convenient weapon nearby to defeat their enemy with is only reassuring after we've seen them implement a brilliant attack, struggle, nearly win, but then suddenly be faced with failure, necessitating that little push from coincidence. They earned it. The hero doesn't get to run in blindly and find a Defeat Bad Guy plot point gift wrapped for them at the first sign of trouble. They just die.

RWBY used to be a better written show because that's precisely Pyrrha's story. She charged a Maiden unprepared, without a single plan or hope for success, and she died. That's what happens in a dangerous, internally consistent world, but RWBY has since lost the second half of that formula.

I'm harping on this because this entire episode is built on that foundation of coincidence, something that shouldn't be happening at all, but especially not when you're pitting the heroes against Salem herself.

So yeah, it just gets worse from here.

Back to Oscar. Without the cane magic is the only weapon they have at their disposal, but he's reluctant to use it because every time he does, they merge more quickly.

They... do?

Okay, there are three major problems with this announcement:

I'm pretty sure we've only seen Oscar use magic once: creating that barrier to survive the fall through Atlas. That was the point of his near death experience, to unlock something that had previously been unavailable to him. Yet if he's only used it once, why is he so sure that it hurries the merge along? What's this "every time" business? This confusion could have easily been avoided if the show had just let Oscar use his magic this volume, tackling some other questions and gaps in the process. Let him use it to fight off the grimm in Mantle, giving him the opportunity to admit to at least Jaune, Ren, and Yang that Ozpin is back. He could have used some magic against the Hound with Ozpin's encouragement, answering the question of why he was entirely silent while the two of them got their ass beat. Give us a moment where Oscar uses his magic against Hazel, nearly escaping in the process, but is captured again at the last moment. Basically, his line makes it sound like magic has been this ongoing resource with an established downside when... it hasn’t.

Coinciding with all of the above, how is it that Oscar can suddenly use magic at will? Yeah, yeah, he unlocked it during the fall, but really? You open up the magic gates and from then on out it's as natural as breathing? This is the same issue with Ruby's silver eyes. The story gives these characters incredible powers, but never has them talking about how they work, let alone training them. They just exist, perfect in execution, as soon as the plot needs them. (See: the final shot of this episode.) At least Weiss had to practice her summoning for multiple volumes.

Finally, the question of how Oscar instinctively knows how to use magic could easily be answered with, "Well, he's kind of Ozpin now," but that would require the story to actually explain what the merge is. "We merge faster," Oscar says, but what does that mean? The Ozpin and Oscar we see in this scene are fundamentally indistinguishable from the Ozpin and Oscar who existed at his aunt's house, four whole years ago. They're still separate people, with one controlling the body and the other existing as a consciousness he can talk to. Nothing has changed. The show keeps insisting that Oscar is going through this deep and painful arc of losing himself to Ozpin... despite the fact that he has yet to lose a single bit of Oscar-ness. Has he changed? Well of course, but anyone going through these experiences is going to change. Remove the "merge" aspect and Oscar's confidence or power up is likewise indistinguishable from any of the other characters' developments. Nora is becoming more of an individual this volume. Ren is becoming more powerful in his semblance. Neither have an Ozpin to force that change, it just happens on its own. So what separates Oscar from every other character going through a formative experience? When is “I’m not the same person anymore” due to unnatural magic vs. just growing up?

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy our boy is getting more screen time — and that the cast is actually being kind to him now — but overall his arc is objectively terrible. He bought some clothes, told Ironwood he was as bad as Salem, told Hazel how to access the Relic, and then asked him not to be a villain anymore. Somehow these things are presented as significant moments of growth while the real questions surrounding his merge go unanswered.

“Honestly, I think you’re doing just fine on your own," Ozpin tells him, but he's not. God knows our boy is trying, but this is a moment where Ozpin's self-hatred (and the story's insistence that the younger generation is intrinsically better than the older) is blinding him to the situation. Oscar has made terrible decisions lately, in as much as he's been able to decide anything at all, and now he's rejecting escaping captivity because he's terrified of a concept he doesn't even understand yet. None of that is fine. Reassurance is one thing, but painting this situation as Oscar making better choices than he would with Ozpin's input is insane. He literally just decided to keep them in Salem's clutches indefinitely because something something magic is scary, I guess. Oscar doesn't need a, 'You're better than me' speech, he needs a reality check so they don't both die. Remember back in Volume 5 when Oscar, a brave but idiotic 14 year old, insisted on fighting someone entirely out of his league and Ozpin was like,

then saved him from getting his head crushed in like a cantaloupe? We need more of that. Our teenage heroes need guidance, but because RWBY keeps insisting that every adult they encounter is corrupt or incompetent, that hasn't happened in three volumes. They're just aloud to decide things like, “Let's tell our captor the Relic's password because UwU ~trust~” and then the story bends over backwards to make that work. Instead we could, you know, let characters learn that they can be wrong.

The snow scene was the beginning, but RWBY really went off the rails the day it let Qrow warn the group against stealing from and attacking an allied city, only for them to call him an idiot for doubting them. Now, Ozpin doesn't even get to warn Oscar about stupid decisions, he just agrees with them, reassuring and passive. Never mind the complication of whether Ozpin is even emotionally capable of providing guidance after they labeled him the worst thing to ever happen to them.

Why does RWBY keep ruining my faves 😔

Anyway, we’ve got to stay on track. Oscar has decided to just lie there but, luckily for him, Hazel's redemption — I use that term so loosely — has begun. He drags Oscar out of his cell before we cut to Winter.

She's leading a portion of Ironwood's army, trying to get things ready for when the bomb arrives. Neon and Flynt are a part of her team, sharing scared glances and trying to remain optimistic. It's a legitimately hard-hitting moment, striking that balance between horror and hope. Funny though, I wonder that RWBYJNOR would think of their friends fighting for evil Ironwood...

Marrow, continuing the tradition of insisting that our heroes be both adults and kids simultaneously, looks sadly at the soldiers heading into battle and goes, "But... they're just kids." I would like to remind everyone reading that Ruby is younger than them. Anyone who thinks that these teenagers shouldn't be fighting grimm — the thing they have been training to do as their professional career, during an unprecedented attack on their home — should not simultaneously be looking to the girl who is two years younger as his savior. (Something that, while not overt yet, is very much where Marrow is heading as he continually doubts the Ace Ops and looks to RWBY's group as his new, moral leaders.) I'm glad that, for once, this perspective is firmly called out. Elm arrives to tell him point blank that he needs to figure out his personal ethics later. It doesn't matter because there's an army of grimm out there and monsters aren't going to spare anyone, adult or child. Quit philosophizing and kill some already.

Back to Hazel where we get the doorway shot from our trailer. He's taken Oscar to the Relic, because of course he has. Do I really need to list how convenient this is too? Apparently, "the moment we move that thing, this place goes on high alert," but there’s no alarm for when Oscar is taken from his cell, they enter the Relic's room, or when they use it. What does a movement alert matter if someone can just waltz in and waste the last question themselves? Put some of those endless grimm in the room to guard it, Salem!

Just assume that I am, at any given point in this episode, letting out the longest sigh my lungs are physically capable of.

Emerald shows up, demonstrating both the convenience of everyone arriving when they need to, and the very real danger that Salem herself could come in and discover what they're up to. Hazel has Oscar summon Jinn, only to immediately say that “Actually, I think all my questions are answered now.”

I'm sorry, how does this answer any of Hazel's questions? His driving question was not, "Is the Relic actually a magical object capable of doing magical things?" but rather "Are you telling me the truth about Salem's plans to summon the Gods and destroy all of Remnant in her quest to finally die, thereby changing who I'm going to support in this war?" Seeing a naked, blue djinn does not answer that question.

Hazel's "redemption" is non-existent. He — we — learned about Salem's death wish despite how that contradicts previous lore, then he trusted Ozpin despite that contradicting his entire character, now he joins the heroes because, literally, he sees Jinn floating there. It’s bad enough that Hazel goes from clear villain to sacrificial hero in a matter of in-world hours, but we don’t even get a reason for why that change occurred.

Oh, there's also this:

So Jinn doesn't come out of her lamp unless someone intends to ask a question, but does it for Ruby because she's special, yet still reiterates that this won't happen again. Then Oscar summons her without intending to ask a question, she comes out anyway, confirms that none of them seek knowledge from her, and happily pops back inside her lamp because eh, it’s whatever.

If RWBY had any courage the three of them would be cursed now for toying with a powerful, magical object. Remember the days when Jinn was a little terrifying because it felt like she was warping her answers and we had no idea what she might do to someone who used her carelessly? When she felt like a djinn? Good times.

Or better times, at least.

So Good Guy Hazel and Good Gal Emerald promise to get Oscar out. Never mind all the horror they caused, the people they killed, and that for Hazel, at least, this defection is coming out of nowhere.

Anyone remember that Emerald orchestrated Penny's death? No? Just me?

As they leave it turns out Neo was camouflaged against the wall, because she was also precisely where she needed to be. Does everyone just periodically pop into the Relic room to see what’s going on? At least this time it's not working in the heroes' favor. Remember when I said it's beyond idiotic for Oscar to just hand out the Relic information to known enemies currently holding him captive and torturing him?

Yeeeeaah.

So Neo's got the Lamp. Funny how all of this could have been avoided if Ruby had just put it in the vault like she came to Atlas to do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We return to our trio where Jaune and Ren need to rest because their aura is giving out. Good! These guys fought a battle, fought Neo, fought more grimm, fought the Hound, traipsed through the tundra, presumably fought through more grimm to get to the whale, and have been using both their semblances to look for Oscar. It's about time their reserves started to falter.

Jaune decides to scout ahead a bit, leaving Yang and Ren to talk about nothing of importance. I mean that seriously. Remember a few days ago when I spoke about how, if the snow conversation does come back up, Ren's points would be entirely ignored for a nonsensical “I’m glad we’re friends” speech? Remember how I also spoke about how every emotional beat now is entirely generic and you could replace any character with another and not a single thing would change? Yeah. This is both those arguments in one. Nothing is said about the points Ren made. His problems with how the group has been acting lately and the very real, very deadly consequences it has had are flat out ignored. We went from

"But these aren't the kinds of decisions we should be making because we have no idea what we're doing!"

"Forward, no matter what!"

in a matter of hours, with precisely zero insight into how Ren went from one perspective to the exact opposite. Kind of like Hazel. Because see, RWBY doesn't write arcs, it just writes one thing until it decides to switch it up for something else, with the opposite idea presented as a “resolution” or a “twist.” Our creators writes scenes they know the fandom is begging for without considering how to get a character to that place, let alone how to get them out of it. That's all Ren's speech was, the equivalent of moral fan service. Here's a glimpse of actual character depth and a morally gray situation... now forget it ever happened because we're back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Instead of working through the laundry list of issues Ren raised, Ren instead accepts Jaune's aura help — something they've been doing since Argus — and tells Yang it's okay to be scared. These moments are meaningless and, as said, could have been between anyone in our cast. Ren could have told Nora she doesn't have to use jokes to cover up that she's scared. Jaune could have reminded Ruby that she can depend on him. Yang could have tried to keep Blake and Weiss' hopes up. This scenes ignores the individuality of the characters, like the fact that they just fought over very different world views, to instead favor any dime-a-dozen moment of support. The number of times this volume has rejected the conflict and resolution the group needs for bland, generic reassurances staggering.

Also, apparently Jaune isn't scared at all? I don't think that's as good a thing as Ren seems to think...

Then Jaune immediately rounds the corner, terrified lol.

One of the seer grimm is on its way and he tells Ren to mask them. Apparently he had been masking them before — one of the reasons he's so tired now, trying to do two things at once — but it's only here that they go black and white again. Ren manages to keep it up for a little while, but his aura breaks before the seer passes and they're spotted.

Hark! A consequence!

That was well done. It makes sense and it adds to the stakes. We've seen the insane amount of fighting the group has done since Volume 7, we just established that they're at their breaking point, and then Ren's aura fails him right when he needs it the most. Add this to the miniscule pile of things that were well done this episode.

Salem runs into Emerald and Hazel, the former of which is acting very suspicious when asked if he's made any headway with Oscar. The seer's alarm interrupts them though and... okay. Was I the only one who cackled during this moment? Between Salem's voice acting and the fact that she just yeets herself down the hallway, it came across as really funny to me.

Either way, it is a bad situation. Our trio is trying to figure out what to do, to which Yang responds, "Do what we do best… charge blindly into danger!!”

Ren's aura is broken. Jaune barely has any left and it’s unlikely he could heal right now even if Ren had any aura to amplify. If Ren takes a single hit anywhere important he is dead.

Me, on my knees, surrounded by the ashes of the Hound, the last bit of serious storytelling we had: "For the love of God, the kingdom is on fire and simultaneously dying of cold. There's a grimm army decimating hundreds outside. Half their group is missing and they're wandering lost inside a devil whale, about to have the most powerful being Remnant has ever known personally try to kill them — can we please have their attitudes reflect that?"

The answer, in case you were wondering, is no.

Back to the bomb. Whatever scientists were given this task have completed it and Marrow watches as it's flown out towards the whale. "Come on, Juan" he whispers and I'm all, "Juan?" Apparently it's a callback to last volume when Marrow couldn't remember Jaune's actual name, but it took me hopping onto the RWBY wiki to remember that.

As death via explosion inches closer, the trio runs into Hazel and Emerald. Turns out though that Hazel is really Oscar, disguised through Emerald's semblance. Nice trick! Jaune immediately drops both weapons to hug Oscar and, while that's nice and all, it's also the stupidest thing he could possible do in enemy territory. Also, Oscar has been beaten up by the Hound, tortured with magic, and likewise beaten bloody by Hazel. I was hoping for a tender hug like the one Nora gave him, not a giant squeeze for more comedy purposes. It just feels like RWBY has no idea how to manage the tone of this volume, let alone the torture of a child...

There's the obligatory, "Why should we trust you?" from Yang regarding Emerald joining the team, to which Ren responds, "Because she's scared, just like us."

That doesn't prove anything. Literally everyone is scared right now. There is a war going on. I really cannot emphasize enough how RWBY throws out Deep™ sounding lines that are, upon inspection, absolutely nonsensical. Nora reminding Penny that there are different parts to her personhood, Hazel saying that all his questions have been answered, Ren announcing that Emerald is scared... it's all worthless chatter that has no bearing on their problems: How do I keep from being hacked? How do I know you're telling the truth? How do we know you're trustworthy after you spent years trying to kill us? But of course, because it's RWBY, Ren's announcement is treated as some sort of secret truth that everyone accepts. Emerald joins up.

As they head for an exit we return to Marrow who, frankly, is getting on my last nerve. I know the fandom loves him because he's clearly leaning towards Team RWBY, but does anyone actually listen to what he says? He starts yelling at Winter for sending in the bomb because the trio might still be alive in there, despite:

Seeing for himself the hundreds of soldiers that have fallen trying to keep Atlas safe

Knowing and hearing again from Winter that the only way to stop this carnage is to take out the whale. Given more time, the whole city falls

Sadly announcing to the world that children shouldn't have to fight in a battle, rather than just joining the fray and helping to keep those kids safe

How does Marrow think those kids are going to be able to stop fighting? How does he think he'll get a city to return to? It's no wonder that he's drawn to Ruby because both characters stand around twiddling their thumbs, mourning that things are bad, and blaming others for imperfect solutions rather than doing something to make the situation better. Marrow's disgust at Winter over the bomb is precisely the same as Ruby's disgust at Ironwood over Mantle: how dare you not have a plan that results in both victory for us and zero sacrifices? They want perfection which, yes, is an admirable trait, but their problem is they refuse to do anything until that perfection appears. They’re paralyzed, a trait that’s particularly dangerous when your story insists that perfection will never appear: it’s not a fairy tale. So they just continue to get mad at others for the fact that they live in an unfair world. You want that perfect solution? Think it up yourself. Otherwise, stand aside and let those coming up with something do what they can to make things better.

Marrow goes so far as to drag Weiss into things, trying to guilt Winter with the knowledge that she'll have to relate the death of her sister's friends back to her. Winter, because she's a badass who isn't in denial over the situation, tells him that yes, she will shoulder that responsibility. To Marrow's credit he backs off then, but man. RWBY has legitimate moral questions here — when is holding out for a few worth risking the many? — but they go about exploring it in the most frustrating way possible. I personally have no respect for the guy who wants to announce that Children In War Is Bad instead of, you know, using the power he currently has to protect those kids already neck deep in a battle.

Because John Mulaney remains relevant:

"There shouldn't be a horse in the hospital :( "

"We're WELL PAST THAT."

Marrow is the one going, "There shouldn't be kids in a war :( We shouldn't have to kill a few to save the whole kingdom :( " and everyone around him is like, "No shit, dude! But this is the hand we were dealt! You going to help us, or what?"

Literally all of these characters could have been so much more than what they currently are.

Except Winter. She's doing great.

Now for the final scene. Our group nearly manages to escape the whale, but is incapacitated by some sort of screechy power that Salem employs.

She contorts her body, stretching out her arms to snag Emerald, and the others have a brief, but intense skirmish. Jaune manages to block a blast of magic aimed at Ren with his shield — nice — and Yang dots Salem's face with a bunch of bombs before blowing her sky-high — double nice. Oscar shoots out some magic of his own because, yeah, I guess he can just do that now? It really feels like it came out of nowhere after eight episodes of being the punching bag.

Of course, Salem immediately reforms. She traps the group with grimm arms that come out of the whale, interrogating Ozpin about why he bothers to keep coming back. There's a very sad answer there of, "I don't," referring to his lack of choice in reincarnating to fight her.

Yang interrupts their little tet-a-tet to throw the question back in Salem's face, calling her out on her choices. A great idea but, as always, execution: "because something bad happened to you once upon a time? No one gets a fairy tale ending."

I’m sorry, but that dialogue had me cringing. Like I said before, way too on the nose. There's keeping with the fairy tale theme, and then there's shoving the viewer's face in it. More of Oscar's musings on how he relates to the protagonists of fairy tales, blurring the lines between storytelling and reality, which in turn encourages the viewer to consider how they see themselves in the RWBY cast. Less... whatever this is.

Yang goes on to talk about how many people Salem has taken from her, which upon reflection makes a certain amount of sense if you toss in all the people who are here, but changed somehow due to Salem's influence, as well as acquaintances who died as a result of her meddling: Raven is scared off, Tai suffers as a result, Pyrrha dies, Penny dies, Yang loses her arm and her school. I think the dialogue could have been revised to reflect that better though because what Yang implies is that Salem has killed countless of her loved ones, yet what she says is, "Summer Rose. My mom." Honestly, for the few seconds this exchange was happening my thoughts weren't even on Summer. Yang calls Salem out for killing loved ones and my brain went, "Pyrrha??"

That's how little they've done with Yang and Summer. I know in the past I've argued that RWBY has a "better late than never" situation going on, that I would praise them for making the right writing choices even if they arrive years too late... but now that we're here, I find that it's a hard problem to overlook. Summer is Yang's mom? When's the last time we heard that? Volume 2? Whenever the conversation with Blake was. Since then Yang has called Raven "Mom," focused on that emotional connection (or lack thereof), was excluded from the conversation with Qrow, comforted Ruby after she was blindsided by Salem's taunt, and otherwise hasn't mentioned Summer at all. There is no foundation for this accusation except a few lines about getting cookies as a child and the fact that we're tossing references in now makes me worried that we'll indeed get a grimm!Summer reveal. Better remind the audience that she exists before the twist arrives! Honestly, as much as a part of me wants to praise RWBY for trying to get things back on track, moments like this just ring hollow now. They waited years and now it’s too late. It doesn't help that this is the episode where we shrug off Ren's speech. What will Yang's cutting admission amount to based on this trend? Probably nothing. Summer will become Yang’s mom again in another six seasons.

Salem, obviously, doesn't care. The real Hazel arrives and she orders him to take Oscar back to his cell. Instead, he gives him his cane with a whispered, "No more Gretchens, boy."

Behold, another meaningless line. Hazel hates Ozpin for "forcing" Gretchen on a mission and "getting" her killed. The whole point of his villainy is that he doesn't understand the concept of choice and that bad things can happen to good people with no one able to prevent it. Not every loss has a responsible party attached (outside of, you know, Salem/the grimm). So what is he even demanding here? No more huntsmen schools? That's what you wanted Salem for. No more "forcing" people to fight for you? Ozpin never did that in the first place. Or is it just a strange promise that no one else will die here? RWBY seems to be under the impression that they can just name drop dead family members — Summer, Gretchen — and that's that. Emotional depth created, never mind a lack of buildup or clarity.

Then Hazel punches Salem across the room and she releases every single hero from their bonds. See the theme of this episode: convenience. Hazel shoves a whole bunch of dust crystals into his shoulders and yells that he's doing what Gretchen would have wanted, clearly sacrificing himself so that the others can escape. The battle between him and Salem is pretty decent. I enjoyed the dust vs. magic creativity and the sheer damage Salem can take before reforming. This fight really showcases how not human she is.

It does, however, bring into question Hazel's reveal about her needing an hour to heal at the longest. I mentioned how unlikely it would be that our heroes would get the chance to "kill" her multiple times, yet here we are, just a few episodes later. They got that opportunity and... does it matter? Salem's reforming doesn't appear to slow down at all, despite her head getting obliterated at least three times, so at what point does she need longer than a few seconds to heal? If this was meant to be a potential weakness the group would eventually exploit, we needed to see it here, both for that setup and to keep it consistent with Hazel's story.

Regardless, they fight and at first it looks like a pretty straight-forward sacrifice on Hazel's part, giving the group their chance to escape. Except... Oscar.

"She'll just come after us," he tells Jaune, turning away from him to fight.

I need a list for this:

Of course she's going to come after you. This is not some shocking revelation. At no point has anyone thought that escaping the whale is the answer to all their problems, it just creates one less problem to deal with. Namely, the problem of "Our ally is captured, being tortured, and may give up important intel to the enemy. Oh, also he's about to be blown up with a bomb." Salem coming after them doesn’t matter. What matters is making her plans as difficult as possible as you work to come up with more solutions of your own. This is just a smaller version of the Ironwood conflict: “Well, Salem will just follow Atlas into the sky so it’s useless to attempt escape, or to buy ourselves time.” It’s really not. I know I’ve used this ridiculous comparison before, but if you’re ever chased by a horror movie serial killer hell-bent on your destruction and your reaction to this problem is, “Why run? He’ll just chase us. The only possible choice is to fight him with a 99% chance of our death,” then I beg you to re-evaluate things.

What was the point of coming to rescue Oscar if he was just going to stay behind? The whale is about to be blown up by a bomb and the trio risked their lives ten times over to get to him. If I were them I would be pissed. We went through all that to get you out and now you’re refusing to leave when we have a chance? Thanks for that.

Same with Hazel. Not that I care about the guy, but if I was sacrificing myself for others to escape I'd be pretty annoyed at them randomly deciding not to do that.

What does Oscar even think he's going to do? Kill the immortal witch? The entire point of our series is that they can’t do that (yet).

However, if he is able to do something significant via Ozpin's magic, why didn't Ozpin do that generations ago? Somehow I don't think a younger Ozma closer to the height of his power was in a worse position to attack Salem than a tortured, aura-less kid who unlocked his magic yesterday. The more RWBY reveals about Salem, the more I go, “Okay, but why didn’t his happen [insert any number of years] ago?”

Did Jaune actually leave? I assume he's just grabbing an airship or something before coming back to drag Oscar away, but seriously where did he go?

There's no way I can approach this scene without throwing up my hands and going, "What? WHY?" Which is a real shame because we finally get to see a bit of what the cane does and it’s... precisely what Ozpin's magic has always done? I mean, we saw that green shield five years ago and now there's a giant white beam. Okay.

If the beam just hits Salem with Generic Magic Power then there was never anything secret about the cane, it’s just, you know, Ozpin’s weapon. If the cane does something significant to hurt her we're left with the question of why it took literal generations to use it. Nothing is making sense to me and the only way I can think to salvage this scene is if Jaune runs back in, snags Oscar like a sack of potatoes, and runs out yelling about how he's clearly suffering from a concussion because what are you trying to accomplish here?

It doesn't help that this moment feels... final. Hazel has managed to hold Salem in place. Oscar has unlocked his cane and lands some mega hit right before Hazel passes out and looses his hold. Not only does this feel like a scene that should be at the end of the volume (we've still got five episodes), but also the end of the series. RWBY is building Salem into an unbeatable enemy by giving her more and more powers, and simultaneously eliminating the stakes by having our currently weakest character (in terms of exhaustion/injuries/aura/training) landing a shot like that. Why would you nerf Salem's threat level like that in the middle of a volume? Especially with a tool our group has had available from the start? If the cane does damage, maybe lead with that in the, “Here’s why we should stay and fight” office conversation.

I assume that Oscar's hit will obliterate Salem to the point where both he and Hazel have time to escape, or he obliterates both of them (“Do it”) and that's somehow presented as a better choice than just running while Salem is captured, or the bomb will interrupt things somehow... but it's just so shoddily done. At the very least, if they were going to have Oscar refuse to let someone fight alone, have it be an actual friend he's staying to assist. Having Oscar refuse his own rescue to help Hazel has more than one problem attached to it. We can say what we want about RWBY's themes of forgiveness, but this guy was torturing him just a few hours ago while serving Remnant's version of the devil. Just let him sacrifice himself and move on.

And that's where we end. Oscar powering up, the cane getting all magic-y, and him shooting a crazy big blast that engulfs both Salem and Hazel. I can't believe how not excited I am about my farm boy doing something badass, but here we are.

Overall I think this episode was way worse than last week's. We absolutely had problems in "Dark," particularly when it came to the Hound and the group's blind devotion to Ruby, but at least those moments were cushioned by an otherwise decent episode. "Witch" felt like I was watching something closer to a parody of RWBY, one deliberately poking fun at the fandom's desires: erase all conflict for awkward silly times, your favorite villains are instantly good now, the heroes go toe-to-toe with the main antagonist because why not, throw a bunch of magic in there for good measure, and wrap it all up in some over the top "this isn't a fairy tale" lines. I can see the pieces of a much better episode here — Emerald sneaking Oscar out with her semblance, Neo snagging the relic, Flint and Neon, Hazel attacking Salem — but it simply didn't come together.

I know I said this last time, but I have no idea what we're going to do for another five episodes. Salem slowly reforming from bomb damage as the group tries to keep Penny from opening the vault? The grimm attack halted with the whale gone so Qrow can go after Ironwood? The longer this volume runs, the more I think it was a mistake for them to introduce Salem as a fightable antagonist now. RWBY doesn't know what to do with her besides have her inevitably fall in the final season, so until then she's left being stupid (Relic), passive (Mantle), or, likely, written out of the story temporarily so the heroes can turn their attention towards smaller conflicts and weaker foes. They literally can’t beat Salem yet, but they can’t focus on other problems when she’s around without coming across as negligent, so if you have to find ways to erase her to make room for that... what was the point of bringing her here in the first place? We could have established that Salem is bound to her realm and had her send the Hound and whale to attack Atlas. There, all the fun parts of the volume without her complicated presence.

Well, the next five weeks will certainly be interesting, at the very least...

Until next time 💜

[Ko-Fi]

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #rwby witch #mymetas #rwby recaps

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cherrysha · 4 years

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1.english is not my first language so sorry if something sounds strange. I realized that the requests are open and I would love it if u wrote something with the feitan pls. maybe a headcanon of him dealing with a very affable s / n (?) kkk i can't explain but like he is disturbed because she is accepting very well the fact that she was kidnapped and now she is forced to fall in love with him, and he is like "me I'm a fucking criminal, why are u so calm?"

It doesnt sound strange at all! This went in a completely different direction and its part headcanon but mostly just a short drabble. I’m not one hundred percent happy with this piece, but i wanted to get it out there!

Also, This is a universe in which I deny the fact that he sounds horrible in the dub. We only stan subbed Feitan over here.

word count: 1572

My requests are open atm

Warnings: TORTURE. thats it. thats all it is. just one big torture scene.

So if his s/o didn’t resist...

• He’d prolly just think they were biding their time

• He wouldn’t ask, he’d just straight up assume that they were playing the long con

• And a few months of it and he’d be sick and tired

• They were so agreeable, they let him touch them even when he was covered in blood

• And I don’t see any way this doesn’t end in torture

• He’d be really pissed off abt it

• Probably goading you the whole time

• “It doesn’t have to be like this if you just tell me.”

• And in truth he knows no plan would work, but he just wants some confirmation that you were going to try to escape

“Plan for what?” And he sighs. Part of him knew this was going to happen; that you’d still feign innocence. And that same part of him revelled in the course of action he’d decided to take. Basking in the chance to finally cause you pain. It’s a deeply rooted desire, one he isn’t accustomed to controlling. He wasn't one to pass up an opportunity such as this one.

You’ve been tied, arms above your head as the balls of your bare feet support the weight of your full body on the unforgiving concrete floor. The blindfold he had used to lure you into the room with is now converted into a gag as its shoved into your mouth. He’s done listening. Maybe when he’d given you incentive to be more... forthcoming, he’d remove it. The knife glints in the low light, the sight of it seemingly manifesting out of nowhere is startling to say the least. He takes a minute to ponder the situation. The apprehension on your face. You’d never seen him like this, only ever catching glimpses of his profession in the blood soaked clothes you washed so diligently. Was that not enough of a warning? He makes quick work of cutting off your top as well as the bra underneath. He deftly moves behind you, the sound of something heavy being picked up as he opens his mouth to speak. “This is going to hurt.” And it’s the most warning he’s given any of his victims. The suspense they felt, the jagged breaths they took as he circled their body like a hawk; it was part of the excitement for him. The whip cracks against your back one, two, three times before he takes a break. Your mouth opens in a wretched scream, but Feitan has become accustomed to the noise. It’s as irrelevant as the sound of the overhead light buzzing in the background. Blood seeps from the places the whip had licked your skin. Dark red as it lazily rolls down your back and soaks into the top of your cotton shorts. He stands back and admires the way your muscles bunch up under your skin in a useless effort to pull away from the pain, lifting you off of your toes until your feet lazily swung away from the ground. He was starting to enjoy the weak noises that left your throat. You don’t even notice when he forces your shorts and underwear down your legs. There’s a pool of cloth lying at your feet, dainty fabric that had been soaked with blood and cut into ribbons. He hits your thighs and ass with the next five strokes of the whip. Before moving again, he stutters, torn between being forgiving or continuing his endless assault of your soft flesh. The way your head falls limply to your chest, a sheen of sweat coating your body as crimson red rivulets silently descend to the ground below you, as if it’s their duty to entice him. To push him over the edge with need until he couldn’t take it anymore. It makes him give in, seven more and then he drops the instrument in an attempt to contain himself. He takes a moment to look at his work. Lover’s blood, he’s sure that he’s read something about the beauty of it. But seeing it for himself, hearing your shallow breaths as you succumb to the pain and your body slackens against its bindings, is more beautiful than he’d imagined. - He wakes you with even more pain. A faint trickle of something searingly hot burns down the fresh wounds that mar the opened flesh of your back. The scream you let out is the loudest yet, and he takes pride in the fact that he was able to wrench such a sound from you. A noise that no one else had heard and it was all because of him. “It’s just a disinfectant.” In all actuality he knows the level of pain you’re experiencing is probably on par with receiving the injuries, but he can’t stop himself from teasing. He finishes with a sigh and walks around to your front, smiling slightly as he sees your face. You looked wrecked, completely sinful as ribbons of pink tinged liquid dribble down your legs. It’s an encouraging thing. Feitan was the only one to see you this way, would only ever be the one to see your face streaked with tears and sweat, eyelids drooped and breath heavy from the excruciating pain he’d given to you. It makes his own breathing heavier. The spit slicked gag is ripped away and you don’t budge, head still slack against your chest as you stare dazedly at the floor. “Were you hoping to gain my trust so you could try to escape?” He whispers. And you almost don’t hear it over the sound of your own breath. You stutter out a feeble ‘yes’, because you know it’s what he wants, but it doesn’t seem to placate the man. He’s done this long enough to know when someone is lying to him. He’d previously came to the conclusion that you were just good at telling him what he wanted to hear, the paranoia settling over his mind like a heavy blanket as months stretched on and you’d remained unwavering in your acceptance. He can see it now, the truth of the matter enclosed in your feeble attempts of stopping the torture. He takes a step forward and smiles at the slight hitch in your breath at his sheer proximity. You were finally giving him a reaction he was accustomed to, one that he knew all too well. “See, I’m not so skilled at keeping people.. alive” he twists the blade in his hand, eyes shying away from your own as if he’d just revealed a weakness to you. He’s deep in thought, mulling over what exactly to do so as not to harm you too bad. You had told him the truth, after all. “This.. this is where I’d sever your leg from your body.” The knife is red hot as he pierces it through your skin, successfully drawing the image onto you. “At the joint.” After doing the same to the right, he digs it into your lower stomach, “if I had cut here, your entrails would cause such a mess.” Groans leave your throat in your attempt to breathe through the pain, rolling your head back to avoid looking at him. Its hard to contain the excitement he feels just from looking at your debauched state. You were enticing to him, enough so that he had gone out of his way to pluck you from your miserable life and let you start fresh with him. But right now, all he could really think about is how alluring your body was. Bloody and raw, so vulnerable in every sense of the word. He closes his eyes and lets out a puff of air through his nose in an attempt to contain himself. After he has, he continues his earlier ministrations. “The arms would be next, as you’d imagine,” And the lithe blade penetrates the meat of your shoulder as he continues with a downward stroke. It’s debilitating at this point. In a desperate attempt to block it all out, your eyelids involuntarily dance closed. Your body felt utterly destroyed, but your mind was in even worse shape; Choosing to forego the pain, black dots clouded your vision as you felt yourself being quickly tugged under and into unconsciousness. It’s a gentle slap, in his opinion, a warning to keep you alert. He didn’t want you to block this out. Not yet. He’s talking more than usual, a pent up frustration at the fact that he didn’t get what he was looking for. That he was denied the satisfaction of making you admit your wrongdoing. So, he snatches it from the crunching noise of your body hitting the floor. “If I did that, you’d die. Do you think I want that?” You only have enough strength to nod ‘no’, and your answer gains you a swift kick to your gut. He knew you were lying. “I’m not going to kill you.” He lets out something akin to a shaky laugh, the revealing sort that lets you glean just how unhinged the man truly was. He only meant to punish you, to force the truth from your mouth. But once he had a taste of the way you shrieked at his touch, how sweat made your naked body glow in the dim light, he knew this would be the first of many punishments to come.

#feitan #feitan portor #feitan x reader #yandere feitan

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senju-sekhmet · 3 years

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The Leash (Part 4)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~6500 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! -i reckon I don’t need the paste it again… but in short: this is a purely self-indulgent work which contains a lot of my own headcanons and whatnot. this chapter especially so! lots of talking and thinking - curious to see what you think!! THANKS FOR READING <3 ----- Tobirama resolved to give you the next dose preemptively. After you had explained to him that during your capture you had never suffered anything like the withdrawal symptoms - or at least you couldn't remember - he expressed concern for the fact the leash might do more permanent damage if stretched too far.

"That means I'm going to have to take it more often," you had whimpered.

Tobirama still had a hard time seeing you so malnourished - a shadow of your former self. But he wasn't going to argue now. "I know," he had answered, keeping his deep voice soft nonetheless. Your precarious state needn't be aggravated by more stress, though he wouldn’t be swayed on this. "However I hardly think they spared you the withdrawal symptoms because they were being fair sports, Y/n." There was a sad logic behind this, of course.

There always was.

You were twisting uneasily in the bed a bit now, blinking a few times. It had not escaped Tobirama's notice that you had seemed to ponder longer - and your movements had become weaker, more sluggish. In fact he had lowered you back to the bed again from the hug you two had shared because he had felt how your muscles had begun to shake - just from sitting up. You had protested of course, but Tobirama wasn't going to change his mind on this, either. You still needed a lot of rest. Besides-

The scales were tipping, slowly. It made his heart heavy.

Finally you had found your words again. "I suppose so." You closed your eyes lazily.

"Y/n…", Tobirama had spoken up again softly, reaching to grasp your hand which felt so cold. "I'll put you to sleep right after you drank it. If we shield you from any outward sensations, it might help." If it came down to it, Tobirama knew he himself would guard the door if he had to. Pray for anyone who disturbed you in your vulnerable state. At the same time, he was aware how unrealistic that was - but either way, it was another concern he’d find a solution to. He always did.

You had given him a weak smile, then. "It's worth a shot."

Tobirama could tell you hadn't exactly placed any hope in that.

He wasn't sure if he did.

That had been two hours ago, now. In the meantime he had worked to set up the laboratory gear needed for the next task at hand: analyse the contents of the drug. Of course the hospital had all the equipment available as well as an empty room in the basement. Tobirama still wanted to be closer to you, but he'd have to make due with a seal placed in your room. Briefly, he contemplated to let a shadow clone of his guard you, but ultimately he decided against it - his focus mustn't be divided, at least not now. Besides, your day was pretty much running by the leash's clock, which Tobirama knew hatefully well by now. He knew when to be with you. Frankly he still was miffed Mito had removed the branded piece of paper he had placed there earlier - now, he opted to ram a marked kunai into the doorframe. The gesture was clear. Hashirama was tending to his duties as Hokage again by now - Tobirama didn't expect to see his brother again too quickly. Not that he'd blame him - there were other pressing matters at hand.

Tobirama also had some other place to visit again for results.

All of the work was good - the focus was welcomed. During it he was entirely absorbed in considering his approaches to the objective as well as his angles in achieving it. The worry had become an undercurrent in his mind - though his heart still felt heavy and the ache never faded, he now was doing something. He channeled it all into the urge to protect you and keep the promise he made.

Though just as he had sworn to do everything to save you - he had pleaded for forgiveness for everything he needed to do for that.

Now would be a time where he'd regretfully hope for the latter again.

He was standing in front of your door again, holding a small vial containing the clear, dreadful liquid. Tobirama made sure to take the exact amount Hashirama had when they drugged you first - it seemed to have been the right amount given how the timeframe had played out. The bottle his brother had secured from the hideout would make up for a handful of dosages. They still were pressed for time, but there was some yet. Some.

He opened the door silently.

You were squirming again slightly - a disorientated nestle in the bed. Your eyes were closed and a fine sheen of sweat was glistening in the red sun of dusk that filtered through the window.

Tobirama frowned. Had he been too late?

Slowly he approached the bed, sighing heavily. He wasn't a man to hesitate, no matter how grim the task. But he would be lying if he said what he needed to do now was tantamount to driving a katana into his own body.

No, he'd actually prefer doing that to this.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Y/n," he greeted you softly, a hand reaching for your shoulder to rub it gently and check for your response.

Your head whipped towards him, your eyes wide. They blinked a few times as your hazy mind tried to work out the recognition that was digging itself out of the swamp your thoughts had become again.

You didn't reply, though. But your squirms had stilled, at least.

Tobirama desperately wished this wouldn't need to become an act of force again. One he'd absolutely go through with - but cruel for everyone involved.

"It's time," he whispered, keeping the anguish out of his voice in an attempt at comfort. Inwardly, he was mocking himself for it. Ridiculous.

The response was prompt. A whimper first, then a low groan after your gaze settled on the vial he held. Your head tilted to the side as you rolled your eyes almost comically. Except the occasion was far from laughing. Tobirama silently wondered if you had no strength left to even speak.

It was haunting to think that might be the case.

Wordlessly, his hand reached under your neck to tilt your head up somewhat. You didn't protest - you felt awfully limp, anyway. The ache in Tobirama's heart flared again. He did not yet bring the vial to your lips yet - as much as he hated it, the contents were regretfully precious. He couldn't risk spilling a drop of it and thus watched you carefully for any signs of resistance and by extension any need of restraint. Methodically as he was, the ordeal became more stressful by each passing second.

Your eyelids fluttered as you huffed briefly, another groan escaping your lips. It sounded pained this time. Your head shook pitifully from side to side as your eyes rolled back in their sockets again. Were you trying to shake off the delirium that was creeping up on you? Or were you trying to shake him off? Forcing you would add another dimension of anguish to this procedure - he opted to take a moment, for now.

Try to avoid that at least.

"I know," Tobirama uttered in an attempt to pacify you again. The hand that had grasped around the base of your neck let its fingers stroke the base of your scalp gently. "You have to," he muttered, not being able to keep the agony out of his baritone voice now as a jitter snuck into his tone, "I'll be doing everything I can to make it better, Y/n." He didn't want to promise it would be fine .

For all he knew, he was feeding you poison that would send you on another horror trip.

His heart hammered in a tormented rhythm again.

Your response was yet another anguished groan, but your eyes opened now - fixating him.

"Please, Y/n," he whispered again, no, he pleaded. Please don't make me do worse again, he wanted to say. Instead he massaged your scalp again gently. I would, if I have to, please don’t -

In a rare streak of luck, you stilled then and simply closed your eyes. A fact Tobirama wordlessly uttered gratitude for.

He brought the vial to your lips and tilted it very slightly so the dreaded poison was lapping at your lips.

Your face scrunched.

"I know," he hushed again, though inwardly he tensed. He absolutely must not lose a single drop of this damned substance. If you so much as -

Finally though you opened your mouth slightly to drink it - "Careful," he cautioned quickly but a few gulps later, the substance was gone.

Tobirama felt sorrow budding inside him again as he gently lowered your head back to the pillow. He didn't withdraw his hand yet but rather let it slide up to caress your cheek tenderly, sighing heavily. Your breathing had already begun to even out.

He had wanted to tell you he'd be there - but there was no more time. Instead he closed his eyes to let his chakra graze over your network in an utterly warm and smooth way. With no small amount of grief he witnessed how its flow was becoming more dull again, how the fight against the disruption was stilling. Slowly, he intensified the connection and shifted his focus to your brain again, where activity was picking rapidly. Quickly, he smothered your consciousness with his chakra in the most tender way he could.

Whether or not you could still bear witness to the insane firework that your sensory cortices were unleashing on you, Tobirama couldn't know. He let his chakra linger a moment longer to examine you in hopes of finding an answer to the question - but it was futile.

Time to withdraw.

He removed his hand slowly and then procured a blindfold that he wrapped around your head loose enough for you to remove when you came to again. Then, he rose to his feet and walked to the window to close it, drew the curtains closed so the room was completely dark save for the light coming in from the hall.

Silently, he bid you a regretful goodbye, not even daring to speak now before he left the room and closed the door without making a sound.

See you in a few hours.

As soon as he turned around after sighing again heavily, a familiar voice called out.

"Tobirama!"

His head whipped around to the source of the noise. The worries and sorrow were swept away by stinging irritation. "Shut up, anija!", he hissed through clenched teeth. The handful of people in the hall turned their heads, but as per usual, Tobirama couldn't care less.

Hashirama froze in his tracks. He knew his brother's temper of course, but that attack felt uncalled for - he could tell by the telltale crease of his eyebrows, or what Tobirama sometimes mocked as the ‘kicked puppy look’ his elder brother had down to a science.

Either way, he stormed over towards Hashirama and still managed to not make a sound while doing so. "I just gave her the next dose," he explained, still not bothering to pipe down on the anger.

Hashirama held his hands up apologetically, smirking. "Ah," was all he got out now.

Tobirama huffed and then clicked his tongue to motion for his brother to follow him.

"I set up the laboratory in the basement," he began to explain, leading the way to just there. "I thought about a few things, too." He frowned. "You mentioned there was no storage of herbs or anything else that possibly might have been used to craft drugs or medicine of any kind?"

Hashirama hummed in an affirmative way. "No storage, no. But there was some laboratory equipment." His tone was thoughtful enough to make Tobirama think he already was on the same track he was.

"Then that means they either gathered everything they needed for the drug in Konoha or we actually brought with us the last of their supplies and they were running out of this 'leash'." A cold shiver ran down his spine at the implication of the latter. Not just for what it meant for you had they not managed to break you - but also your current predicament.

Your lifespan did not exceed a week right now, at most. If the Stone shinobi had used anything Tobirama couldn't procure here-

A tight feeling wrapped around his chest. His pace picked up if just to combat the budding ache in his heart.

He simply would not lose you.

Hashirama hummed again, but this time on a different note. "I don't think they were running out. The fact there was no excessive storage capacity down there speaks against that - Y/n had been in their clutches for weeks."

Now it was Tobirama's turn to ponder again. His brother was right. The hideout was not something that had been planned ahead meticulously. Furthermore, "They had not been planning on capturing Y/n, either. Which means they couldn't have brought excessive amounts of the drug with them. Besides, it is highly impractical to pack too much when infiltrating enemy lines." The logic was calming. That means it must be possible to synthesise the drug.

Sadly, Hashirama had another thought. "That is, of course, if they had no other means to prolong the onset of withdrawal symptoms - that the leash we brought with us actually just would’ve been used to tether more people to it."

Tobirama froze in his tracks. He turned around to glance at his brother with a frown. "Explain." He didn’t have to. He already knew what his brother was on about.

Hashirama sighed. "We know this drug firstly enhances all sensory capabilities in extreme ways, to first make the victim more susceptible to torture. Alright. But there is this chakra component to the drug," his index finger and thumb grasped his chin. "From what we've ascertained it firstly near freezes chakra flow. Later, the victim’s chakra begins to flow freely again, but then drug - and this I have not yet understood - disrupts the flow. The disruption causes the ultimately lethal effects of the withdrawal as the body tries to repel it worse and worse, causing systemic inflammation and ultimately shock. Repetitive dosages stop this effect, evidently. Thus the name, I presume. However, it is possible to think there might be some way - some treatment, maybe a jutsu - to set the disruption off again."

The argument was sound - and unsettling. It’d add another dimension of complexity to a problem that already smelled awfully rotten by how mysterious its components were looking. Tobirama blinked then, remembering something - “I doubt it. Y/n told me they frequently made her ingest a substance. Furthermore, remember how she reacted when we gave her the first dose. She was used to the psychotropic effects, thus the… intense moment.” The moment he made her think she was back in captivity.

Hashirama hummed only for a moment, then he nodded in agreement. “You are right. That does seem to rule out my theory.” Silence stretched for a few more moments, a fine frown forming on his brother’s forehead - Tobirama knew he was about to say something he wouldn’t appreciate. “I’m afraid I have the distinct notion that the chakra altering effects and the disruption the drug causes must be the product of alterations to an original substance. Either with chakra or by a jutsu, even.” His usually warm gaze was hard now - and Tobirama knew why.

It was one thing to recreate the contents of a poison - fairly easy, even, if one had a good lead. But to simply copy something like an alteration of an item with chakra or a jutsu even - that was a far more complicated task.

A task that would take up more time - time you didn’t have. Tobirama exhaled a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as his other arm clasped around his chest in order to quell the swelling ache that was budding there, the haunting feeling forming. Of course he was confident in his skills.

But the stakes couldn’t possibly be higher.

If he didn’t figure this out in time -

You’d -

He shook his head briefly to sweep out the overcoming sense of a looming doom that was budding faster than he could control it and swallowed drily as though that’d help it somehow .

His hand dropped from his face and his arms were crossed in front of his chest now as he considered his brother's words. He took another deep breath. "Unfortunately, I agree. The drug does give off a weak chakra signature. We face a couple of questions," he finally answered, after a brief moment. "First off, how is the chakra altering component of the drug related to its psychotropic effect?" He quirked up an eyebrow. But he already was turning around to continue on their way down to the laboratory.

However, he continued - might as well speak freely about the figurative business order now. "Secondly, how does the withdrawal effect set in? Is it because of metabolic shifts due to a lack of the substance? That would mean the disruption is part of a physical addiction. Or, does the drug actually alter its effect based on the time since indigestion? That… will be even more difficult to replicate." His voice was already gruff - by difficult, he meant near impossible without so much as a lead. Such a feat was poison maker master class. Extensive involvement of chakra, no less.

The ache of his heart began to constrict his chest worse again; he took rebellious, even breaths against it. Outwardly he remained perfectly calm - truth be told, he was. Even in the face of this adversary.

It just meant he had no choice but to try and give it his all. He desperately hoped this option was not the case.

Hashirama's voice was grim now, too. He was well aware of the implication. "It doesn't have to be that complicated. It might be related to the blood levels of the drug. That can drastically alter the effects of medications."

Tobirama's frown smoothed somewhat - he was aware of his brother's attempt to get off the grim route his thoughts had been taking, but the objection was sound nonetheless. "Or it's both." Still, Tobirama wasn't so naive to get infected by his brother's ever present optimism.

Even if right now, he really could do with some sunshine.

Hashirama let out one of his rare exasperated sighs. "Or that." He, on the other hand, wouldn't get infected by his younger brother’s pessimism, either. Or realism, as Tobirama liked to call it. No, Hashirama just became annoyed at times.

They reached the door of the makeshift laboratory. Tobirama half had a mind to lock the door after they entered simply so nobody would interrupt him, but then he might not be notified if anything was wrong with you.

Hashirama strode over to the bench hoisting the equipment, exhaling a low whistle. Tobirama followed and eyed the small vial of the 'leash' he had drawn off the bottle they had. The least possible amount, at least by what he could imagine from his experience.

Hashirama noticed, too. "We'll have to make some considerations beforehand." His tone was serious, his forehead wrinkled in ponder.

Tobirama huffed. "Of course." He crossed his arms again. "Based on our considerations they must have used ingredients found within the Land of Fire. More precisely, the area where Y/n was kept."

"That is not too helpful. That area is a vast forest with rich vegetation. And we don't know how far they went to gather them." Hashirama countered thoughtfully.

"You are right. But we need to start somewhere. And that is analysing what is in this," his fingernail flicked at the vial, "before we think about the effect on the victim’s chakra. Furthermore," Tobirama added with a roll of his shoulders, "only a handful of the plants that grow in the area, even in the wider area, have the intense psychotropic effects we witnessed in Y/n. Or the potential to develop them." He turned to gaze at his brother through narrowed eyelids again.

Hashirama's mien was unreadable. "We need to know what's in there and in what quantities. Then we will still need to figure out how to make it work. There is another problem." His brown eyes turned to Tobirama now. He was perfectly grave now.

Tobirama could guess what this problem was. "How are we going to test the experiments?" His baritone voice was just as low from sincerity.

Hashirama nodded.

Of course, he also had given that some thought. But the answer to that question was very simple. At least to him. Tobirama held his gaze evenly. When he spoke his next choice words, his heart didn't miss a beat. "There are five willing test subjects in the interrogation and torture headquarters right now. Six, actually." Akio must have arrived by now, too.

Hashirama sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. "That's a step too far, Tobirama. It might severely harm them. Kill them, even." His tone became stern. “They’re our prisoners.”

Tobirama bristled with low, swirling anger. And this, too, he had expected from his brother - moral qualms with what Tobirama figured was very sound logic. He crossed his arms, his stare boring through his brother. "What do you suggest then, anija?" His voice dropped below zero. "Test everything on Y/n?"

The question was rhetorical, of course. And Tobirama knew that his brother knew - in fact he dared him to answer it.

Hashirama closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. "I am not, of course," he readily answered before Tobirama could make a cutting comment on your condition or deliver another scathing, cynical remark.

Tobirama seized the silence that followed. "They were trespassing our borders, captured one of our own and tortured her brutally and cruelly for weeks . Call me biased for Y/n's involvement, if you will. But between all our options for this problem, they're the most logical one."

Hashirama fell silent. He turned back to the table and gripped the edge, opening his eyes slowly.

Tobirama briefly considered upping the stakes by throwing Mito's name into the mixture - but he knew he didn't need to. It seemed unnecessarily cruel anyway - and it was not wise to tug at emotional strings in an argument like this. Besides, Hashirama on the other hand would be well aware of his brother's predicament, on top of the fact that he was most suitable for the job either way. Tobirama was a very good scientist, no matter who had been tethered to the leash.

Still. His brother's voice was heavy when he spoke again. "They still will receive every bit of safety we can grant them. And no unnecessary or cruel tests will be conducted." His gaze swayed to Tobirama, leaving no question about how much he meant that.

Tobirama arched an eyebrow slowly. He certainly wouldn't treat test subjects carelessly - they were in short supply, held vital information and were his only outlet for testing substances he'd end up using on - you. "Of course." His voice still was icy, though.

Hashirama held his gaze a moment longer, but then turned to the laboratory gear in front of him. "Let's begin."

They set up a variety of standard chemical procedures to determine the contents of the leash - different experiments that would, based on their results, narrow down the ingredients until they finally knew what exactly they were dealing with. The problem was that for some of the herbs in question more detailed chemical information was not available and thus they needed to test them themselves - fortunately, Konoha had all of the plants available in the first place. No further delays - except for the time the experiments themselves would take.

Tobirama had a pretty good feeling about the results - the answer to what was in the leash was getting closer, at least its contents. Not just for the fact that if the Stone shinobi had used Konoha herbs for this - but also based on his own experience with poisons, toxins and what he had seen in you.

Frankly what truly set him on edge was the very real - very likely - possibility that this drug was a far more devious concoction using not just chemical components, but also chakra itself which would be more difficult to replicate - counter, too.

Not just difficult. Near impossible.

He had to fight that thought down. One step after the other. Nonetheless it made his work swift as he couldn’t help but wonder if he was running from something that’d be crushing him.

You, actually.

After they had set up the last experiment, he gazed at the clock. There still was time before you'd wake from the sleep he had put you in - before the first phase of the leash had worn off.

He decided to put it to good use.

"Get more rest, Tobirama," Hashirama advised, after they both finished washing their hands. Was there concern in his voice?

Tobirama snorted. "I did that. Don't worry, anija." He went for the door, holding it open for Hashirama.

His brother rolled his eyes. "I don't think Y/n would appreciate how you're treating yourself, brother." He mentioned in passing.

Tobirama's gut churned, his gaze narrowing immediately. He knew precisely what kind of response Hashirama had sought to elicit from him. Right now, it only resonated in his worry and heartache. "Maybe. But she's not here because I'm being forced to drug her and put her to sleep after."

Hashirama stopped in his tracks to stare at his brother incredulously. "Do you practice this kind of caustic demeanor?"

Tobirama locked the door and shook his head. "No, it comes naturally. Easily, actually after everything that happened. And all that still goes on." His scarlet gaze turned to his brother again.

Hashirama's shoulders drooped. "We'll save her, Tobirama."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to soothe the tight feeling in his chest. "We will."

Hashirama returned to his duties while Tobirama returned to a place he had high hopes for: the interrogation and torture unit's headquarters. Except there was one problem: it was late evening by now. Night, almost. A triviality to Tobirama, but it might cause a problem now of course. He still opted to stride in like he was part of the unit altogether - at the very least, they should know to expect him again after his first visit.

What a pleasant surprise it had been to actually find out not only had they known he'd return in a timely manner but also were prepared to receive him at this time of the day.

He could get used to that.

"Sleep deprivation is one of the most effective ways of… gaining information," his guide, Ikuro of the Yamanaka clan, provided after Tobirama had wondered that the building was still this busy this time of the day. A burly man, probably quite a couple of years older than Tobirama, who carried himself with remarkable grace for someone of his stature. His voice was deceptively friendly.

Tobirama was satisfied he seemed to be the one in charge of the six Stone shinobi.

"So, what have you found out about this 'leash'?"

Ikuro pursed his lips in a displeased manner. "I'm afraid they're all well trained when it comes to resisting our… methods," he answered slowly, waving for Tobirama to follow him down the corridor and the stairs he knew would take him to their cells.

However now, they took a turn into an adjourned office - where Ikuro picked up a piece of paper from the desk. "We've gleaned shreds from them, so far. The leash is more than just a drug administered to a victim, it seems."

Tobirama's neck hair rose up. Crossing his arms, he narrows his eyelids again to give Ikuro a glare that left little open about the urgency. Frankly he half had a mind to just snatch the piece of paper from him and read it himself.

Ikuro however was not fazed the slightest, in fact he had not even gazed up at Tobirama. "We can't say for sure yet, but what we learned strongly suggests it is a combination of drugs with some form of chakra. A jutsu, even, possibly."

That hit him like a punch in the gut.

Tobirama took a step to the side and raked through his hair with a hand. He knew this - his brother and himself had expected it, it had been logical - but to get the information now still felt like a physical strike. The heavy feeling inside of him had spread from his chest to his shoulders. He felt his heart hammer again in a painfully familiar war as he took deep and even breaths through the heartache that gripped him again.

Quickly, he forced himself to regain his composure. His task had just become a lot more difficult. He had known, really, prepared for this, so he should be calm - even if this was near impossibl-

No. He must not think that way.

Researching jutsu was even more up his alley than anything else in this mess. In fact, he’d go as far as to say the involvement of chakra made this all the more his business. Really, the daunting fact was he had never encountered anything like the leash and without a lead he might as well search for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

While you were dying.

He felt like shouting profanities. Actually, he should've expected this. He felt stupid for even thinking it might be as simple as finding out what herbs they used.

"I see. Anything else?" His baritone voice was neutral.

"The effects of the drug, though ... I'm sure you know those already." Ikuro considered him with a careful glance now.

Tobirama was getting more impatient. He sighed. "There still might be more information." He extended his hand. "Please?", he hoped that had sounded as polite as he wanted it to.

And not as irritated as he felt.

Ikuro hesitated again. “I must warn you.”

Tobirama’s gaze narrowed as he once more reminded himself why it was important to behave, not snatch up the paper and read it. Even so, he wouldn’t conceal the irritation in his voice anymore. Anyone who tries to stall him would burn up his patience faster than dry parchment. “I am very confident whatever it is, I can take it. As you know, I’ve seen and done a lot myself at this point.”

The burly man was entirely unfazed and only shook his head dismissively. “It is possible the information we got here might be flawed, or even incorrect, serving only to demoralise you. The prisoners are well equipped to handle torture. This? This was almost too easy to obtain. And… it isn’t pretty.”

An ice-cold shiver ran down Tobirama’s spine. He had a distinct notion as to what part of the leash this information did pertain. His jaws clenched so hard muscles hurt - only for a moment as he steeled himself for what was to come. “I need to know everything.”

Ikuro handed him the precious sheet wordlessly then.

Tobirama read it at record speed.

And instantly, his stomach clenched in a most uncomfortable way by now he only thought his heart would be doing.

In great detail, the effects of the withdrawal from the leash were described - starting with what you had experienced down to far more sinister and horrible stages. First came fever, disorientation, muscle cramps. Then, pain followed - this section was so colorful Tobirama knew someone had directed it at him. Searing, burning, splicing - from the inside out the victim would suffer brutally. After the pain came the real damage to the victim’s organs as their own chakra would try to repel the disruptors - the perceived pain became that of actual tissue dying, extremely excruciating while the body shut down piece by piece. Victims were confined to their own heads but never far away enough to stop feeling the pain. Death would be mercy, at last.

He closed his eyes momentarily to force away the pictures of you in the hospital bed; pale, lifeless, unmoving.

That won’t happen.

He would not allow it.

Inhaling a sharp breath he tried to reason this might be just a ploy as Ikuro had stated - or not. It didn’t matter, because this wouldn’t come to pass. Yet it didn’t exactly make stomaching the other bits to this report easier. Specifically the few clues about the nature of the leash - the implication was clear.

Chakra was involved in some way.

The question now was to what extent - how sophisticated. Was it responsible for the effects on your chakra network and therefore by extension the withdrawal, their main problem? Or did the chakra alter the contents in such a fashion they affected the chakra network? Already, Tobirama began to devise tests to ascertain just that.

While fighting against the constricting tightness that wound around his chest. Stole his breath. Stabbed his heart. You wouldn’t be lying dead in a bed-

It was daunting. And yet-

"You've not managed to break them, yet?" He finally inquired, rising up an eyebrow questioningly, perfectly at ease.

If Ikuro was surprised that Tobirama handled himself well - outwardly - then he did not show it at all. "I'm afraid it's not that easy. Not only are all of them resilient, they've also been subjected to several mental protection jutsu. Befitting for a squad with their task."

Tobirama exhaled an exasperated sigh. "Of course." He was irritated. Nothing came easy, here.

"Except," Ikuro spoke up again, arching an eyebrow, "For the prisoner called Akio. I must admit, I'm impressed with your work there, Tobirama. Though I'm afraid you've gone a bit too far. He's… broken apart." Ikuro tilted his head slightly.

Tobirama felt no shred of regret or pity for his actions or Akio. It had been absolutely necessary. Maybe a shinobi like Ikuro would've made better work of him, but they did not have such a person available then. It was as simple as that. Besides, he simply couldn't see past the current predicament he - you - found yourself in. "He is lowest in rank and didn't even know about the 'leash' to begin with. But I'll be sure to take lessons next time," Tobirama added in a sarcastic tone.

Ikuro smiled drily. "Oh, don't get me wrong - it was good work. Just intense."

Tobirama huffed. "It was an intense moment." He decided to leave it at that and switch the topic: "I'm currently replicating the 'leash' in order to secure Y/n's immediate survival," he explained as neutrally as he could, but the constricting sensation around his chest was becoming worse. "I'll need to test out my experiments results. I've gotten my brother's permission to do so on these six prisoners."

Ikuro's eyebrows rose slowly. A smile formed that might have creeped out a more fainthearted person easily. "I see. Well, we welcome such inventions," his tone was velvety.

Tobirama wasn't sure how to feel about that just now. This leash was a powerful weapon that would fit well in Konoha's arsenal. He left it at that.

"It might help cracking them open, too," Tobirama added.

"Indeed." Ikuro grinned now. Then, he mellowed somewhat. "We'll be working both angles. The leash, as well as breaking them to get the information needed to cure Y/n."

Tobirama gave a somber nod. That he was sure of.

By the time Tobirama walked back to the hospital, the moon was shining pale over the village. Still, he spared his surroundings no second thought.

His focus was entirely on his objective once more. It was easy to smother the looming sense of doom that haunted him by breathing the fresh air. Venting his mind. Reorganise, recuperate. Walks like this often helped him. There was a lot of work to be done.

You still were living on borrowed time, as it was.

And today he had learned that extending that time alone will be a far more difficult task than he initially had thought it to be. Frankly identifying the contents of the leash was the least of his problems now - he was quite confident the experiments they had set up would already show what herbs are involved. But the modification with chakra - to what extent had it altered the substance? Or was it chakra itself that caused the disruption? A jutsu?

Questions he had asked himself before, that now bored into his mind in a fashion that almost caused a headache.

The clock was ticking fast, and all he could do was come up with more questions while it stole the breath from his lungs. If he didn’t find answers fast, then you’d die one of the most horrible deaths he ever read about.

It was a huge, damn mess.

"Fuck!", he shouted suddenly, and in a rare fit of unleashed anger, he kicked at the next pebble in front of him.

A groan pressed past his clenched teeth as he raked through his short hair again. He huffed. Then he sighed. When he entered the hospital lobby and checked the clock in the hall, he cursed under his breath. His little excursion had taken longer than he had expected - he should have used his hiraishin seal to get to you. You should be awake again by now.

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

Text

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 08 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

Word count: 2.2K

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

Something In The Woods...

To say you're pissed is an understatement. A storm is passing by, which brought a heavy summer rain over Hawkins. And since the pool is closed when it's raining, you called Billy, inviting him over for lunch. But minutes later Monica called you to say that the manager wants to make a training session on first aid with all the lifeguards. As if you didn't know. You, as did everyone, had to go through a test before getting the job.

It's impressing to know that you wouldn't be so mad if you didn't have plans with Billy. So you make sure to close the meeting room door with a loud thud when you get in, muttering good morning to everyone before sitting beside Billy in the back.

“So much for that lunch date.” He says.

“It wasn't a date,” you tell him. “I just wanted to make a lasagna and since my aunt had to go to the clinic, I thought you'd like to join me.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a sassy look. Of course you wanted to spend time with him, and this rainy day would make it perfect...

“Doesn't Diane get tired of driving all the way to Indianapolis? It's a two-hour drive.”

“Diane loves driving. And she owns the clinic so she can pretty much make her own schedules.” You feel when your leg touches his. “Why do we have to do this training thing? As if we didn't know how to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

“Anthony is a dick.” He mumbles as the manager starts talking. But you don't plan to pay attention. Billy suddenly pulls your chair closer, so it's glued to his. He then puts an arm around your shoulders. “Better.”

Rolling your eyes, you pretend to listen to the long speech Anthony gives. It goes on for two hours, and you can't help but make funny comments with Billy, as he holds back the laughs, what makes the manager give you both angry stares. When the training is done, Anthony says that those who were supposed to be working today will have to stay. Which is great because it means you.

“I swear to God I'll report Anthony,” Monica complains, sitting beside you and Billy by the pool, your legs on the water. The rain stopped, but the heavy clouds are promising that more is to come. “May I sit here or will you guys make out?”

“I'm down for it if she is,” Billy smirks.

“Of course you can sit here, Mon.” You elbow him, rolling your eyes. “How's Christopher?” You decide to change the subject and tease her instead.

“He gave me this.” She shows her hand, which has a ring on it. “It's nothing but... It means something to us.”

The sweet smile on her lips brings joy to your heart. It's no doubt they're in love with each other. You wonder if you'll be attending to their weeding someday.

Your hand comes to the necklace Billy made you, which you've been wearing every day. As you feel Monica's ring has a secret meaning, known only by her and Christopher, this necklace has a secret meaning too. You give Billy a quick glance, just to check if he's wearing his. And you smile to see he is. Your stomach burns when your eyes meet, and you look away.

“You look very good together,” Mon says, gesturing at you and Billy.

“I know,” Billy says, and you can hear the cocky smile through his voice.

You elbow him again, a little harder, and you laugh at the exaggerated groan he makes. “I–” You're cut off because you're suddenly lifted and thrown in the water. You sink right before pushing yourself up again. “You idiot!” You throw water at him, and Monica moves away

“Oh, he got ya,” Mon yells in between her laughs.

“I hate you!” Using both his knees as a support, you push yourself up, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him into the water too. You're aware he actually pushed himself because you wouldn't be able to pull him all by yourself. But you ignore it, slapping him lightly and throwing water on him.

He does the same, but soon enough he starts pulling you close. You're a breathless mess, trying to swim away from him. But, obviously, you slowly surrender, allowing him to hold you. “We should get out. Anthony won't like it.”

“As you wish, princess.” He won't push you. That much is clear.

At the end of the day, you're walking to your cars under light rain. You invited Billy for dinner since lunch was ruined by Anthony and all the small amount of power he let get to his head being the manager. He gives you a glance when you part ways. “What?”

“Come in my car.”

“But I have to drive this baby home.” You gesture at your car, walking backwards.

“Why don't you let me pick you up and drive you home from now on? Save up some gas.” It's so stupid how his smile makes you blush even from afar.

“What about your gas, Hargrove?” You ask as you get into the car. “Let's get going. That lasagna won't make itself.” Winking at him, you speed away, determined to get to your place before he does.

He does make a mess on the road since he was quick to follow that you were trying to outrun him. The dark clouds are making the night crawl in faster, and it's getting dark soon. Eventually, you both get stuck on the same red light, and you take a look at him through the review mirror. You're growing closer, way too close, but you're trying not to think about it too much. You're enjoying it, taking in all the moments you share.

You still can't force yourself to kiss him... It would make you go way too deep in this, head first, and you think you need some more time. But it doesn't mean it's not torture when he stands too close. It's a freaking war against yourself to step away. That's the big decision you've been avoiding.

Taking a deep breath, you look at your right, at the woods. This road is one of your favorites because it cuts through the forest, and you have the trees surrounding you from both sides. It looks beautiful, even through the darkness. You would certainly get lost in there. Guess you'll still need some time for that too, to get used and learn your way through Hawkins woods. A smile comes to your lips when you see something moving, among the trees. A deer, maybe. You know there are deers here. Squinting your eyes, you try to see it better, to find out what it really is. Most of its body is hidden behind a thick tree, and when it moves, slowly, you can see the head. You're suddenly taken aback because that's not a deer. It bolts away, further into the woods. A strange sensation builds up in your core. But you push it down. There must be several wild animals here, and that must be one of them... It looks more like a dog, a strange dog because its skin looked weird, naked. Sticky, even.

You're dragged out of your thoughts when Billy's speeds pass you, blasting the horns. Rolling your eyes, you set in motion too.

Billy gets to your house first, waiting by the front door with a smirk on his face. “You won the battle, Hargrove, not the war,” you say, unlocking the door and stepping in. “I saw something in the woods back there, by the way.”

“Another squirrel?”

“No, it was bigger.” You move to the kitchen and he follows you. “I thought it could be a deer but the head was shaped differently. And it looked like the fur was ripped off.”

As you start getting what you'll need for the lasagna, you wait for him to say anything. But he doesn't, so you turn to look at him. Billy is frozen, by the table, his eyes with a blank expression, suddenly glued to the floor. You've never seen him like this, worried as if there was an imminent danger around you right now. “Billy? Are you ok?” You walk over him, taking his hand. He takes a deep breath before looking at you, his eyes softening.

“Yes, I just remembered the accident. Not a very pleasant memory.”

“Well, try to relax.” You pull the chair and gestures for him to sit down, and when he does, you start trying to massage his shoulders. By what he told you, Billy had a rough life, and you hate to see how sad he gets when a bad memory hits. You like him, so very much, that you just want to make him feel better. “I suck at this, hope I'm not hurting you.”

“Uhm...” He grabs your arms and pulls you suddenly, making you bend over until both your arms are around his neck, your face is next to his. “But this is much better.”

“Jerk,” you mutter, standing back up and going to the kitchen counter. “Now come help me.”

“Immediately, ma'am.”

“So... You kept your promise,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “You've been wearing your piece.” You gesture at the earring.

“I told you I would.” He moves closer, a hand taking the earring that's around your neck. “I'm glad to see you're using your piece to, princess.”

“Stop calling me that, Billy,” you say in a low voice. The name makes you so damn nervous, and the tone he uses only makes it worse. It's low, calming... And it feels like it burns right through you.

“Why? I know you like it.”

“I–” You're interrupted by the front door being open, and Diane's light voice greeting you.

The night goes on pretty nicely. Your aunt gives you some space, only joining you for dinner. When Billy goes home, it's almost eleven. But in the next three days, the summer storm keeps the pool closed, and lucky for you, one of the days was your day off. So you went to his place, spend all day there, doing literally nothing, just laying on the couch and talking.

All the time you spend with him is never enough. You always have to go back home, and when you do, you're missing him already. You usually wake up holding the pillow and imagining how it would feel like to lay on his chest and fall asleep beside him...

Today, the storm finally was blown away, and it looks like the sun is angry for being hid for days because it's so damn hot. You've never seen the pool so crowded, and you've been walking around all day, looking out for the kids. You're drained out after lunch, and despite trying to stay on your chair, you can't. A five years old kid slipped and fell into the water, and you had to pick him up. Thankfully, he was well and resumed playing in seconds. But the sun is being rough on you today, and the heat is so much worse. Even in the shadow, you feel it like you're in a damn oven.

“(Y/N). Drink some water.” Billy hands you a bottle and you take a sip. “Have more. You're a little pale today.”

“Yeah, this place is overflowing. Half of Hawkins is here.” You tell him, eyes still scanning through the sea of people. “I need you to go back to your chair, please. The kids are crazy today, Billy, help me out.” You touch his shoulder, using his body as a support for a few seconds. “If you yell, they'll obey.”

“Alright, but drink some water every once in a while, ok?”

“Alright.” You let go of him, offering a small smile when he worriedly looks down at you.

You start pacing around again, warning the kids over and over again not to run. Your head is killing you, like the sun is hitting you with a freaking hammer. And you're so damn tired already, but the people just keep coming, diving and yelling. You're usually happy to see them having fun, but today you're beaten up as if you were hit by a car this morning. The ground bellows your feet starts moving, and you have to use the wall to regain your balance. Your throat is dry, but the cafeteria is on the other side of the pools and you're way too exhausted to walk all the way there. You decide to just head back to the chair to rest a bit.

You see white dots on your sight as you walk, struggling to move on a straight line, using one of your hands blocking the sun from your eyes. When you finally reach your chair, you breathe out in relief. You're about to push yourself up when you lose your strength, lowering your body until you're sitting on the ground.

“Are you ok?” Someone asks, and you see her figure kneeling by your side.

You nod, trying to get back up, but your body doesn't seem to work. You close your eyes shut when everything spins around, and then it just goes black.

@chloe-skywalker @dpaccione @tilesandtokens @dreamin-of-dacre @funeral-7 @uncookspaget @youhavemyfantasticbeasts

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy stranger things #stranger things imagin #stranger things imagine #imagine stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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