#maybe he was apathetic because he was already dead. like HE died so what did the rest of them matter. who knows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

envy-of-the-apple · 1 month

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Monsoon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

10.1k wc

Synopsis: Four years after Toji Fushiguro died, Satoru decided to give his widow a visit

(Warnings: age difference (nothing underaged), dark content, AFAB reader, pregnancy kink, non con, overstimulation, piv sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough sex)

It was raining when Gojo Satoru entered your flat.

Not particularly harshly, but more than enough for a scare. You weren't in the mood for visitors; the rain made you drowsy, and it was coincidentally your one day off. You wanted to lean against the window and watch the droplets fall against the pavement with a warm blanket. You did not want to exchange pleasantries with some kid.

The only reason you didn't slam the door in his face was because he said your husband's name.

It was why you were bringing tea to someone who clearly couldn't care less about it as he lounged on the sofa. You sat on the other end, staring at the scuffed coffee table. Out of anxiety, you play with the ring wrapped around your finger.

"...He's dead?"

It's a question, but you already know the answer. Gojo doesn't even bother to reply, humming, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. You still stare at the coffee table. It's slightly crooked. One of the legs was broken. Toji promised he'd fix it.

That was four years ago. You hadn't seen him since.

You should have expected this. You knew the kind of man Toji was even before he stuck that flimsy ring on your finger. The kinds of people he hung out with. The suspicious amounts of money he would shower you with. There would have never been a happy end for the two of you.

You can still feel your throat close up, bile rise from your belly. You can't do anything but watch the old table you never threw out because he promised he'd come back and fix it.

The only reason you close your eyes, sucked in a tight breath, was because you still had a guest over. One that clearly wouldn't care about your crocodile tears.

You've never seen someone his age so apathetic before. That temperament was associated with the people of your generation. The people who've already been in the workforce, who carried stress on their backs and hips. You can't see his eyes, but the slouch in his posture is indicative enough. Maybe all kids his age were like this. Uncaring, indifferent, subtly disrespectful.

Because he was a kid. It didn't matter how tall he was, how much bigger than you he was. A single look was all you needed to know that this boy was at least a decade younger than you. Unkept white hair, sunglasses despite the weather, a cocky smile, a voice oozing with misplaced confidence.

You don't acknowledge it; it's clear he didn't come here just to tell you your husband is dead.

"How old's your kid? Eight?" Gojo tilts his head. "You gotta' know what that means, right?"

You do. Even if you weren't steeped into the world your husband willfully left, you know enough. You know how important your son is.

It's why you stop Gojo before he can make his offer. You've already heard this before, a week ago when men with Zenin as their last names knocked on your door.

"Thank you for your concern," you tell him as calmly and respectfully as you can. For the first time, the man straightens up, as if your answer wasn't what he expected. You can sense he isn't used to being told no.

You keep your smile neutral, pleasant, final.

"But we're fine as we are."

Moments later, when he's about to leave, you offer an umbrella, insistent on him taking it. It was raining after all. He takes it with him without any protest.

You don't notice that, despite the downpour, he was perfectly dry when he stepped into your home.

☔︎︎

Megumi was always special.

Every mother thinks that for their child. You're no exception. As soon as he was born, tiny in your arms, swaddled in blankets, something shifted within you. You'd always wanted children, but the concrete feeling of your child in your arms when he's so vulnerable. You'd never felt anything more right.

To you, Megumi was always special. But when Megumi turned 5, he became special to the entire world.

Toji was never tight-lipped about the world he came from. Shamans, sorcerers, shikigami, curses. You weren't an expert, but you certainly knew more than the average person. He'd often tell you things, when he was drunk, pulling you against his bare chest, underneath cheap blankets. You always heard the bitterness in his voice. That world had rejected him. It would reject anyone who wasn't special enough. Special people were rare.

It's why you were convinced Megumi would never have to deal with any of that. His father wasn't a sorcerer, neither were you. He'd live a normal life and would only be special to you.

"It's on your other shoulder."

You switched hands, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. Like always, you couldn't feel anything. There was no weight on your skin, nothing tangible that you could grab and toss. There was just this small feeling of dread. A small ache in your bones.

He waves a tiny hand. Instantly, the feeling of dread is gone. The ache lifts and you roll your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell him with a strained, but grateful smile. He nods, turning back to his food.

"You're getting more, now," he simply says.

"Haha, sorry," you reply instinctively because even though he's eight, you feel like you've burdened him.

"It's okay," he mutters, quiet as always. His gaze flicks back up at you, before glancing back down. He takes a second to gnaw on his lip.

"Are...are you okay?"

You're being so obvious even your own son could see it.

Your smile feels more forced as you placate him with the usual lie of 'Mommy's just tired, long day at work'. He doesn't buy it, but he doesn't say anything back. He's so much like his father in these moments. Truthfully, you didn't think Megumi got a single thing from you. His black hair is Toji's, his blue eyes are Toji's, his pale skin is Toji's, and even his forever-present scowl is your late husband's. You supposed that should have been the first sign: Megumi would be anything but normal.

You hadn't told him about the visits. You're his parent, you had justified to yourself. He's a child. He doesn't need to know about the visits. Especially, considering you decided for him. Megumi would be raised out of the jujutsu world, away from curses, and sorcerers.

You can't have your son taken away from you like his father was.

('Special Grade', Gojo had told you. A powerful cursed spirit. You hadn't gotten closure until you let him in. No body was ever recovered.)

You can't let your son end up like that.

But was this the right life for him? You watch as Megumi's gaze trails up, like he's tracing the movement of a fly or something bigger that you would never see.

You can't relate to Megumi. You don't have cursed energy. You can't see the things he can. As much as you loved him, you'd never be able to understand what he is. None of his classmates can. None of his teachers. It sounds lonely. Isolating.

Only a handful of people that could ever give Megumi that connection exist. And they're willing to accept him with open arms.

He had been an older man, flanked by another. They eyed your home with relative disgust; you, with mild derision. It'd been their words that echo in your head today. How much happier Megumi would be surrounded by his own kind. How the clan would welcome him and teach him to hone his technique.

They were words that would sate the parent of a lonely boy, but you couldn't help but remember the disregard in his voice. Their words made Megumi sound like a tool, instead of a child.

The offer of payment for your son was enough to turn them away.

Was Gojo Satoru any better? From your brief encounter, you couldn't tell. There was always a smile on his lips whenever he talked about Megumi's future and Jujutsu Tech. The lilt of his voice felt fake, artificial. But at least he didn't ask to outright buy your son.

When Megumi's tucked into bed, you pace around the living room. You glance at the slip of paper he'd left behind. The scrawl of numbers in neat handwriting. The thing he slipped into your unsuspecting hand. You've had a glass of wine before, maybe that's why your hands are a little more steady when you punch in the numbers.

He picks up after the second ring. It oddly feels like he was waiting for your call.

"Can jujutsu sorcerers live normal lives?"

There's a laugh on the other end. Light. Amused.

"No," his response is cold, even when his tone isn't, "Even if they leave the jujutsu world, they will never have normal lives."

The answer you were afraid of, but you weren't surprised. Special people rarely live normal lives. You knew what this meant: trying to protect Megumi from his father's fate would be pointless. No matter how far you run, no matter how far you take him, it will never be enough.

"Does it really matter, then?" you ask, "who Megumi goes with."

"In that sense, no, not really," his voice crackles back, "But I think you've already made your decision."

You had days ago. You were just wasting time, picking up the phone only to drop it just as quickly. As much as you'd wanted to keep your son away from the jujutsu world, you knew, even before they knocked on your door, it was a failed endeavor. Megumi was special. Megumi was too special for you to hide. He shone too brightly.

The Zenin clan would extinguish that. You knew it. Toji knew it too. It's why he took on your name.

It's silent again. You bite your lip. You've been doing that a lot lately.

"Gojo, may I ask a favor?" He gives a hum.

"Please, don't tell him about Toji."

There's a beat of silence. The line clicks.

Two days later, Megumi meets the strongest sorcerer of the modern era.

☔︎

There was always something clinical about Megumi's and Gojo's relationship.

You wouldn't call them father-son, let alone brotherly. It was strictly student and teacher. From the start, it was clear Megumi wasn't impressed with the sorcerer. His scowl would somehow get deeper whenever the young man was around.

Gojo didn't seem all that impressed either. He wasn't as blatant, but you could sense that it was a chore for him, rather than anything else. You don't think you can blame him. He's barely twenty. He should be doing other things. Living his youth, and continuing his education.

Gojo grew up too fast. You can see it in his face. He's never not smiling, but it's never truly sincere. It's not clinical either. It looks exhausted. You wonder-if he wasn't wearing those glasses all the time-if you'd see dark circles.

He's too young to be running around this much. He's too young to carry the entire world of jujutsu sorcery on his back. He's too young to be an educator. A mentor.

Yet he is. Yet he does. All with a smile on his face.

You're less intense nowadays to him. When Megumi comes home, clearly a bit more roughed up than when he left, you criticize Gojo less harshly. When you make lunch for Megumi, you ask if he'd like anything as well. Gojo has a bigger sweet tooth than your eight-year-old son does. You never nag him for it.

The change doesn't fully happen until that fateful conversation. It's an offhanded remark he makes about him not being there to train Megumi for a few weeks because of a mission.

"A curse?" you ask, as if they aren't all around you.

Gojo grins because you've discovered he likes talking. "Reports are coming down from Sendai. The running bet currently is special grade."

You frown. "Oh. Well, be careful."

He freezes at that. You think he's staring at you, but you're not too sure. His glasses give away nothing. Your fingers dance with nerves. Had you said something wrong?

"What?"

You tilt your head. "Oh! Uh, 'be careful'. Stay safe." You end your sentence awkwardly.

Eventually, Gojo recovers. "Yeah. Well, obviously." He smiles.

You watch him leave, keeping your eye on him until he disappears into the sleek black car.

It doesn't occur to you until much later that Gojo probably hasn't had someone worry about him before.

☔︎︎

Whenever Megumi's training continues much later in the evenings, you go to the Gojo estate to pick him up yourself.

It's a grand house. Practically a mansion. You've never felt so embarrassed about your humble apartment until you saw the lavishness Satoru lived in. A part of you is now even more impressed by Megumi's stubbornness. Children are the first to fall for the affluent.

It's big, but you've never quite gotten over how empty it looks. Every time you visit, there's always just Satoru. You haven't seen his mom, his dad, any siblings. It looks like a family home, but he's the only one who's ever there.

He's never mentioned any family. You wonder what happened to them. Where they are now.

Somedays, you arrive a bit earlier than needed. During that time, you tend to stroll through the gardens. They're so beautiful. Large and expansive. They're empty, however, just like that grand house. No flowers. Not even weeds. It's just a bunch of dirt and stones, plainly stacked on top of each other. It disappoints you a bit. The grounds had so much potential.

"Whatcha' got for me this time?" You jump, whirling around. Satoru is right behind you, a teasing grin on his face.

You give him a disapproving look, though it lacks any real heat. "I told you to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Though he may be twenty, he acts like he's younger than your son. Speaking of your child:

"Where's Megumi?" You prod, glancing behind Satoru, as though your grumpy child would pop up behind him. No such thing happens. Satoru's incriminating smile grows wider.

"Homework," he cryptically replies, "also, he didn't want to disturb us adults having our grown-up conversations."

"Of course he did," is all you say, but you acquiesce regardless, digging through your bag.

You've always been taught to bring something when visiting another person's home. You found it rude not to, despite how casual Satoru acts around you. You discovered he liked sweets the most, so you have tried your best to satisfy his sweet tooth. He seems happy with whatever you give him. One thing you like about Satoru is how he cherishes all the gifts he's received from you without any complaint. You spotted the umbrella you'd given him all those weeks ago, sitting right by the door. He'd never given it back. You'd never asked for it.

You try to ignore the feeling that the only reason he gets excited about your gifts is that it's rare for him to receive anything at all. Satoru doesn't need to be pitied.

It's nothing too big, just a bag of saltwater taffy from an Americanized store. He's already ripping the package open, pulling one out of the wrapper to stick it in his mouth.

You blink when he extends his hand, another piece of candy between his fingers.

"Say 'ah'!"

"Oh no, I'm fine. They're for you—" Satoru interrupts you by popping the piece right in your mouth. Your lips instinctively close.

"Oh." You say after you taste the sweet. "Peppermint."

He laughs, taking another one out for himself. You follow him through the abandoned gardens.

"So, how's Megumi's-"

"Nuh-uh," Satoru immediately stops you, "enough about work. Let's talk about something else!"

You roll your eyes, but your smile is too affectionate. You ask him about his latest trip overseas. He tells you about the country he visited, the curse he exorcised, practically giddy from excitement. Conversation starts there before moving onto other things, small talk, your job.

"It's a shame the gardens are so empty," you say when the conversation reaches a lull.

He stares at the bare patches of dirt with you. "When I was younger, the gardeners would take care of 'em for us. Flowers would bloom every spring."

You feel him recoil. Satoru does that sometimes. Say something too intimate, hissing when it's too late to take them back. For his sake, you don't comment on it.

"It must have looked beautiful." Is all you respond. Understanding, but closed enough to give him relief.

You stand there in silence for a couple of seconds. In the dirt, you can see a tiny ant carrying a grain of sand.

"Roleplay time!" Satoru suddenly exclaims. You whirl your head to look at him. "Imagine you become the great Gojo Satoru." You stifle a laugh at that. His grin only gets wider. "What kind of flowers would you choose?"

Toji always thought bouquets were stupid. 'There's no point' he'd always say 'the weeds will just die anyway, why you somethin' like that?'. But sometimes, he'd bring home these tiny, golden flowers. Simple. Pretty. He'd tuck it behind your ear, grinning at his work. You'd kiss him in return.

"Marigolds," you say at last.

Satoru only hums in response. A few seconds later, he's leading you out of the garden, rambling about how expensive sushi was overseas.

A few days later, you see men with barrels of soil, combing through the garden.

A week after, tiny golden flowers start poking through the dirt. Simple. Pretty.

☔︎︎

You had that same dream again. The day Toji left.

It's rare to have these dreams. They wouldn't leave you alone the first year he'd disappeared. Back when you thought he'd gotten bored of you and your son, like he'd finally decided he was sick of the family life.

They come back sporadically, nowadays. You can't sleep after you have them, so you often find yourself curled up in the living room, looking at the window. It was raining. Heavy droplets thud on the glass. The violence seems desperate somehow. Like the weather is begging to be let in, to snuggle underneath the warm blankets too.

On nights like this, it's a habit to stare at the tiny golden band on your finger. You slip it off, holding it in your palm. It's nothing extravagant—tiny with a simple design—but it's the last thing you have of him. Toji was never that sentimental.

It's not really a dream. Dreams are more whimsical, cloudy. You can remember everything, down to the outfit he'd been wearing, the fly that had been buzzing around your door. It was like you were there all over again, begging him not to go.

"You promised you'd stop."

"This is different," Toji said and you flinched when he tucks away his gun. You thought he'd gotten rid of it.

"The money?" You're pressing, "we have enough money, you-"

"This isn't about fuckin' cash," his voice cuts through you, sharper than any blade he carried.

"It's somethin' else. Somethin' you wouldn't understand. It goes beyond money."

Your gaze lowers, curling your fists on the table. You can't understand, not when he refuses to tell you. Not when he barely explains why he's going back to his old ways in the first place.

Sensing he's upset you, Toji sighs. You can hear him place something down on the dining table, metallic and clanky. Calloused, rough fingers brush your cheek, your jaw, coaxing you to look at him. You don't, forcing him to lean forward, giving a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are rough, cracked, but overwhelmingly gentle on your skin.

"I love you," Toji mutters into your skin.

You don't respond. You wish you had, you wish you'd gotten over your pride and told him because maybe then he'd still be here with you. He's giving another sigh, tucking your hair into place before he's leaving. He closes the door behind him.

That day, you told yourself you wouldn't forgive him. Whenever he came back, you'd tell him you were done. You'd take Megumi and you'd leave.

Now, you think you would have forgiven him. Eventually. It would have taken a while, a lot more than measly flowers and apologies. But, if he had come back, you would have let him back into your heart.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask.

Megumi blinks his eyes. It's past his bedtime, but you aren't going to nag him for it. You place the cup of steaming tea down on the coffee table, clicking your tongue when it wobbles. Right, four years later and you still hadn't fixed it,

"The rain was too loud." He gives.

Wordlessly, you invite him into the cocoon you'd nestled yourself into. The sofa sinks under his weight as he settles next to you, leaning against your side. You tuck the warm blanket around his tiny body. He's still small enough to fully wrap your arm around him, bringing him even closer. You take advantage of it. You don't know how much time you have until he's too big to cuddle with anymore.

His breaths are even and slow. He's a boy of few words, but even you think he's asleep until he's mumbling something into your ear.

"I hate him."

You give a confused hum, leaning down, resting your head on top of his. The coffee table looks even more uneven at this angle. It burns to even look at, these days.

"He makes you cry, even when he's not around anymore."

You laugh at that. It's a quiet huff. When you glance down, you think you spot a faint smile on the boy's lips. He’s so much like his fathers, in the little things. You don’t think you will ever tell Megumi that. You don’t think he’ll take that observation well.

"I wasn't crying.” You tell him. “I was just thinking.”

He doesn't give a response after that. A few minutes later when you look down again, his eyes are closed, and he's drooling against your shoulder. You laugh again before gently gathering your son in your arms and settling him down to bed.

The next day, you notice the monstrous amount of duct tape wrapped around the leg of the coffee table. When you ask Megumi about it, he just shrugs, his ears twinging a bright red.

You throw the coffee table away. It's replaced by a new one the following week.

☔︎︎

Satoru didn't like talking about Toji.

You only tried prying once or twice. He was tight-lipped about it. Not quite cold, but he'd shut the conversation down quickly, more than eager to talk about something else. You missed it the first few times, but it became clear that Satoru disdained even the mention of your late husband. You can't tell if it's whether Satoru admired Toji enough that the mere mention of his name sends him into grief, or if it's something a lot more complicated.

Now that you think of it, you barely even knew the relationship Gojo had with Toji. Had they been close? Was he just an acquaintance? Satoru had always been so cryptic about it.

Toji hadn't.

"He's called the strongest man?" you ask, amusement twinged in your voice, "I thought he was 12."

"They don't care about age when giving titles," Toji replied.

You were leaning onto his shoulder, watching your son sleep in his crib. Only three months old and he had this permanent frown on his face, as if he was already sick of the world. 'He already acts like you' you once told your husband. He'd scoffed, but he didn't disagree.

"That's a little funny," you find yourself saying. "What, can he lift a car? Does he benchpress 200?"

Toji doesn't find the image of a child casually lifting 150lb weights as funny. He only grunts, drawing you closer.

"I met him once," he says after a beat of silence, "back when he was barely older than a toddler."

"Hm?" you prodded, still mesmerized by a sleeping Megumi, "what'd you think?"

"Power," Toji responds, "more power than I'd ever have."

You tear your gaze away from your son, glancing at your husband. Toji's eyes were looking somewhere, farther than you could see. It's the envy in his voice that you can't help but keep. A mere child already has everything Toji could ever want. Strength, a name, honor.

You should have realized then that Toji would never belong to you. Not truly. His heart, whether or not he swore up and down otherwise, would always belong to the Jujujtsu world. It's a tragedy. Someplace that he always longed for acceptance, will never truly see him. Even when he died for it.

Satoru will probably never answer your questions about Toji, but perhaps you could get close.

"Why did you do it?"

It was after dinner. Satoru had dropped your son off, and you had practically dragged the white-haired man inside with you, sitting him down on the dining table. He'd complained, but you know he secretly liked being coddled. He didn't deny the second helpings, nor the thirds. Sometimes you wondered if he was a man or a black hole.

Megumi had already gone to bed, and you supposed he had enough of Satoru for one day. It left you and him in the kitchen, putting away the dishes. Rather, you put away the dishes, and Satoru watched. Not that you minded. It was nice to have company.

"Hm?" He was typing away at his phone, blearily turning back to look at you. You couldn't get why he didn't just go home if he was so uninterested.

"Why did you interfere when the Zenin came?" You repeat your question, putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher.

Looking back, things could have gone much differently for you. For your son. You didn't realize how much power the Zenin clan had back then. Had Satoru not stepped in, had you kept rejecting them, you honestly wonder what sorts of drastic measures men like them would take for the sake of power.

"Are you upset?" He asks, tilting his head.

"Of course not." You smile. You were grateful for Satoru, you always have been. He's helped your family out in more ways than you could imagine. After all he's helped Megumi with, there was nothing Satoru could do to get you mad at him, hate him, not truly.

"I was just wondering. It's not like you had an obligation to."

You close the dishwasher with a soft click. The machine starts with a soft hum. He doesn't reply, not for a long while, when you look up, you see him staring back at you. His sunglasses were off, folded, tucked under his collar.

"Clans are bullshit." You're surprised by the venom in his voice. There's a cinch in his jaw. You wonder how many years his hatred has been festering like this.

"The entire Jujujstu world is, honestly. But clans are the worst of all. The hierarchy. Traditions. All dogshit. They'd gobble the kid and spit him back out. I-I didn't want him-" He stops with a hiss, like he'd said too much.

This time, you don't let him run away.

"...you didn't want him to end up like you." You finish.

It clicks, fits together like a jigsaw piece. The Gojo name had ruined Satoru, turned him into something he was too young to be. The name forced him to grow up faster, stronger. The name forced him to be isolated, lonely.

That conversation with Toji curls up inside of you. Back then, you'd only empathized with Toji's pain, but what about Satoru's pain? What about the amount of expectations that had been piled on top of a 12-year-old boy? What about the responsibilities he's forced to carry, each weight growing heavier and heavier but he can't break because he is Gojo?

Satoru stands before you, but you can easily picture him as Megumi. Tiny, small Megumi who didn't speak much but whose heart was bigger than anyone you knew. He could end up like Satoru. Standing at the top of the mountain. All powerful. All alone.

You don't want Megumi to be alone.

You don't want Satoru to be alone.

"Satoru." You step forward. "Could...could I give you a hug?"

He doesn't respond. You step closer. No barrier.

When you wrap your arms around him, you think you can feel him tremble. It takes a moment for him to catch up, for his arms to drape across your back. You clutch onto him tighter, silently promising not to let go until he does.

He doesn't, not for a long while.

☔︎︎

Satoru had a mission on his twenty-second birthday. So, you celebrate five days after he turns twenty-two.

"Again," you say for the nth time, "If-if you have other plans, or anything else, I don't have to stay-"

"Will you stop it, already," Satoru interrupts, "You're gonna make me depressed. I already told you, I got no other plans."

"Well," you frown, "if you change your mind, and you'd rather spend time with your friends..."

"What other friends? You're the only one I got."

You frown at that. He smiles, barely lingering on his loneliness. He does that a lot lately, brush it off. Perhaps it's become easier to. Perhaps it's because you're here now.

The sun had already set on the Gojo estate. The stars were already out. Typically, you would have been antsy staying too late over, especially when Megumi was still home, but your son was a few cities over. He was training with another sorcerer, his new mentor stating that your son wouldn't be back for a couple more days.

Wait, now that you think of it.

"Satoru," you say, your voice heavy with disapproval, "Did you send Megumi off purely because it was your birthday?”

He grins wider, showing off his pearly whites. "No idea what you’re talking about."

You frown harder. He clicks his tongue in distaste.

"It's not like the kid would wanna come celebrate anyway, and now you can focus on me! Two birds one stone." He flops on the couch.

"Satoru."

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!" Satoru chants, as if that'll distract you.

Unfortunately, it does. You roll your eyes, but you lean down, pulling out the pastry out of the bag. It's nothing special, and you do not consider yourself an expert in baking. It certainly isn't fancy, but you were still a little proud. Simple, a small chocolate cake, perfect for two.

Satoru stares.

"I know it isn't much-"

"I love it," he says and you can't tell if he's joking or not, "I'm gonna make it a family heirloom."

You laugh at that. It shakes your shoulders.

"I don't think cakes are built to last that long. How about you just eat it, instead."

"Much better plan," Satoru responds, grabbing a fork, eager to dig in.

He yelps when you slap his hand away as you give him a stern look. You touched his skin. You try not to linger at that, at the fact that he let you touch him.

"Not now," you say, but you still smile, "you need to blow out the candles first."

He huffs but doesn't protest when you stick two candles into the soft frosting. It takes a while to work the old lighter; you have to shoo him away when he tries to snatch it from you. You force Satoru to sit there for at least a minute as you sing the dreadful happy birthday song. He doesn't seem to mind, a mean grin growing on his face, letting you finish up the lyrics.

Toji was mortified every time you managed to stick a birthday hat onto him, dragging him to the living room for his cake. He'd hold his infant son in his arms, his frown even less amused. Even then, he never interrupted the stupid tradition you put him through. He'd sit through the entire ceremony, Megumi asleep on his chest. A scowl would twitch on his lips whenever you managed to smear a dab of frosting on his nose.

You clap when Satoru blows out the candles.

"What did you wish for?" You ask minutes later, swallowing down a bite of frosting. He was already on his third piece. You know you should tell him to slow down but you don't think it will do much.

"If I tell you, it won't come true," Satoru responds, his tone light.

"That's a myth," you point out, "but keep your secrets if you must."

You set your plate down when Satoru speaks the next time.

"I wished for us to do this again."

His voice is shallow, echoing throughout the empty house. You look at him, his white hair, his pink lips, his blue eyes. Everything that encompasses Gojo Satoru is focused entirely on you.

"That next year, we'll celebrate the exact same way."

He sounded so small, as though he were younger than 22. Perhaps, a part of him was. A gentle smile spreads on your face.

"Of course we will," you assure, before your voice gets teasing, "the next year, the year after that, and the next year until you get sick of me." You laugh. He doesn't laugh back. It's silent again, the kind of quiet that's full and meaningful. Distantly, you hear a clock ticking somewhere. It's a nice night. Peaceful. God, you were so tired from all the stressing you did for the cake. Satoru wanted to watch a movie after the cake cutting, but you wonder if he'll forgive you if you fell asleep during the film. You were exhausted.

That's why it takes you a second to register his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft, and patient. His mouth moves slowly against yours. You can taste the chocolate. It takes a second to understand what Satoru was doing that he wasn't Toji before your hands are moving, reaching up to his shoulders, keeping him there as you shy away, breaking the kiss. You two stay like that for a few more moments, still touching. You can hear your breath, feel your heartbeat. A little while later, he moves closer, intent on following your mouth, before your brain kicks in and you're shutting him down, standing up.

Satoru blinks up at you, the realization of rejection sinking into his eyes before you stumble over yourself to apologize because, dear god, you should have seen this coming.

"I'm so sorry, Satoru," your voice is coming out in clumps, "I never meant to... I always thought...I'm a decade older than you."

The ocean eyes crystalize, turning into cold tanzanite. You're too muddled with guilt and self-hatred to notice. Of course, Satoru would take things the wrong way. Of course, he'd misunderstand. You always thought he was wise for his age, but he's still in his early twenties. You should have been better and made your boundaries known. God, you were so stupid.

"So?" he asks, but his voice lacks the usual snark. "Who cares how old you are?"

You resist the urge to say something accidentally condescending. 'You'll understand when you're older' stings in the back of your tongue, and you wonder if it's fair to say considering how you acted when you were younger than Satoru-- when Toji was an older man who found you amusing enough for dinner and a warm bed.

It's different now. You were older, wiser. Toji had been a mistake. A mistake you miss every day.

"Of course, you don't," you say, and despite it all, a laugh fumbles out your throat. Shaky, delirious. "Again, I'm so sorry. It's entirely my fault-I-I should have communicated things better."

"Why does any of that matter?." It's his turn to stand up, and it makes everything so much worse because Satoru's taller than you. "It doesn't, not to me. I lo-"

"Stop."

It's not a yell, but it's the harshest tone you've ever used on him. Still, it's enough for his breath to falter, to give you a moment of reprieve because the only other person who said that to you and meant it died six years ago. You touch the cold metal of your ring. You twist it around your finger. When Satoru's eyes gaze down, following your movements, you force yourself to stop self-soothing.

The ticking of the clock starts back up again. You want to smash it.

"I should go."

You already know it's a bad idea. You shouldn't leave Satoru alone. You should stay, sort things out, mend his heart, but you're human. You want to run, sort yourself out first. You want to take the cowards' way out. Satoru doesn't stop you. You can't bear to look at him, not when it's so much to even be here. Your mind is already being thrown into disarray and you're barely remembering to grab your purse.

Your hands rest on the door when you pause. You don't bother turning around. You know he's already looking at you.

"Happy birthday, Satoru."

For some reason, you cry the entire ride home.

☔︎︎

Surprisingly, it's Megumi who asks about it.

It'd been a week since you'd last spoken to Satoru. Communication stills, and stops completely. It goes both ways, he doesn't randomly pop by anymore, scaring the daylights out of you. You no longer buy strange-sounding sweets because you know you won't be seeing him later. One week ago, Satoru was there. The next, he wasn't.

"Has he said sorry yet?"

You jolt up, staring at your son. Megumi is still glowering at the vegetables you'd put on his plate. At this point, you know he doesn't hate the food. He just always looks like that.

"What?"

"He obviously did something to you." He mutters. "Did he at least say sorry?"

No matter how uninterested your son always portrayed himself as, he was very observant. Of course, he would. As much as you loved Megumi, you wish he'd be just 10 percent less attentive.

You force yourself to laugh anyway. "Satoru didn't do anything." You assure. "What makes you say that?"

"The idiot's been sulking all week," Megumi responds, "everyone's been wondering what's up with him."

You give him a disapproving look, but you doubt it did anything. Instead, you glance down, mindlessly poking at your plate.

"Don't call him that," you say softly.

Megumi only shrugs. Despite everything, you still have this strange urge to defend Satoru, if only to save your own dignity of fighting with someone 10 years younger than you.

"Nothing happened. It-it was a misunderstanding, that's all." You hope your smile doesn't look uncertain. He's only ten, but he's already so perceptive. You don't think it's enough to convince him. Your smile drops. You roll your shoulders.

Another thing you should have seen coming. Of course, Megumi would notice. Despite how annoyed Megumi acts around him, there's still a sort of bond between the two boys. A connection between two sorcerers, something you will never have with your son. You were wrong about your initial assessment about their relationship. They were much closer than you thought. Satoru cared about Megumi, as did Megumi about Satoru. Your souring relationship with Satoru might break that. .

Your actions have consequences. To everyone, not just yourself.

"I'll talk to him soon about it, I promise." As if to placate him further, you reach over, patting his hair. He frowns deeper but doesn't make a move to shove you off.

To your chagrin, soon comes later that evening. Satoru breaks the ice first with a single text.

you free tomorrow

It's nothing like him. No emoticons. No exclamation marks. You say yes, regardless. The next evening, you step out of the taxi, thanking the driver before stepping onto the Gojo property.

It was raining, barely a drizzle, not enough to make you want to bring an umbrella. Still, the air was chilly, just enough so that you clutched the coat covering your body tighter. You carefully avoid the puddles adorning the sidewalk.

You agreed to come here, but it's hard to keep that in mind as you climb the patio steps. You stand in front of the door for an entire minute, counting each second, before you knock.

"Finally! Took you long enough."

It's hard to look at him. Already, your gaze threatens to waver. You force yourself not to wrap your arms around your sides. For once, you're glad he wears those sunglasses of his.

Satoru, on the other hand, barely looks affected by the encounter. He's dressed well, in a white collared shirt and black pants. He smiles cheerily, widening the door so you can step inside. You thank him when he wordlessly mentions for your coat.

Your eyes catch the living room, along with the coffee table. There'd been a half-eaten birthday cake the last time you'd been here. Now the table is completely clean. You wonder what Satoru had done with it. You hoped he threw it away because the thought of him sitting there, alone, finishing the pastry filled you with so much guilt you could almost feel sick.

"Did you see the weather just an hour ago?" He asks offhandedly, "thought the rain would smash through my windows, from how loud it was."

"Oh?" You ask genuinely because you honestly hadn't noticed anything regarding the weather. You'd been stressing about the reunion, mind too preoccupied to care about the skies.

"'hope the violets survived. I just planted 'em yesterday." He glances out the window as though he could see through the sheets of rain. You hum, already feeling out of place. The silence is only accompanied by the rain lightly patting on the windows.

"You still love him." When you don't answer right away, Satoru turns back. "That Zenin guy. You love him."

It catches you so off guard that you can't help but tell the truth. You nod once.

He's still smiling, but the air feels off somehow. Like you're passing unmarked territory. It's a silly thought, and you brush it off immediately. Despite how strained your relationship is currently, Satoru isn't dangerous. He never will be.

"Yeah," he responds, "I just don't get why, y'know?"

You try to smile, but it's like pulling teeth. "I-I don't see how-"

"It just doesn't make sense. You and him, I mean. You two are so different."

You couldn't argue with that. Toji and you were on opposite ends. He was from a world that you would never be able to reach, let alone touch. You were a regular woman. He was a man who fought curses on a regular basis. A man who died from it.

Satoru's laughing; it takes you a moment to realize you might have said some of that out loud.

"Right. Fuck I keep forgetting that's what I told you." Satoru leans against the counter. "A special grade killed Zenin."

"I mean, technically, I didn't lie, right? A special grade did kill him. A special grade sorcerer."

Your brain stops. You can only stare. Satoru reaches up, taking off his glasses, folding them before neatly placing them on the counter. His eyes were always so breathtaking; now they look empty. Soulness.

You laugh. It sounds delirious. "But-but you said you were one of the only special grade sorcerers around."

"Yeah." Satoru nods along.

"Satoru...you're not making any sense..."

"Really?" Satoru tilts his head. "What part of 'I killed your husband' is confusing for you?"

He continues at your silence. "I mean, it wasn't like it wasn't for a good reason. The guy shot a junior high girl for cash. Knowing him, he's probably done worse. If you're asking me, I did a good thing by killing him--oh." Satoru pauses at your expression: horrified, broken.

He's smiling. You think that's the worst part. It's the same smile he's always worn. Playful and mischievous.

"C'mon, you seriously didn't know what he was up to. I can't tell whether you're that stupid or if he was that good at hiding it."

You should have denied it. You should have said Toji would never do the heinous act Satoru just accused him off, but can you? Could you honestly say that? You knew Toji was in bad shit. You'd always known that. He told you about the gambling, the drugs, the money. After he married you, he promised he walked away from that life, he was walking away with you. One last job, he'd said. Just one last job and he was done forever.

Something that goes beyond money, Toji had said, something you would never understand.

You can hardly breathe, sinking against the wall behind you as you collapse onto the floor. Your hands are pressed against your mouth, muffling your sobs as your eyes are filled with tears. Every interaction you've ever had with Toji is flitting through your mind. You can feel the bile in your stomach, threatening to leave your lips, splatter across the floor.

Your husband was a murderer.

Your husband was a monster.

His fingers are cold as he firmly pushes your hands away from your face. You glance up. Satoru stares right back. His smile is gone, replaced by a frown. He squats before you, idly tracing his pointer figure around your cheeks, catching your falling tears.

"He took everything from me, y'know," he says, quiet, low enough that the rain almost drowns his voice, "in just a day, my entire life changed. Someone died. A person I thought would be by my side my entire life disappeared."

"But, I gotta' thank him. Without his help, I wouldn't have become stronger, and I wouldn't have you."

You suck in a breath at that, but Satoru isn't paying attention. His hand traces down to your neck, feeling the skin.

"I like to think that he gave me you as an apology of sorts. It's nice to think of it that way, right?"

You look at him, absolutely horrified at how casual he was being.

Your husband was a monster.

And he’d left you with another one.

Immediately, you slap his hands away.

"Stop." You say, a weak hiss, "don't-don't touch me. Never ever touch me-"

"Yeah," he interrupts, ignoring your wavering voice, "I didn't think you would jump into my arms after what I said, either. But, hey, a guy can dream, right?"

What? And before you can think, he's pressing his lips against yours.

It's not like his first kiss. Before, when it was soft and sweet and he barely pushed, like he was savoring you. This kiss was harsh. Filled with teeth and lust and endless greed. You can taste the inexperience, and the thought that this might be the second time Satoru’s ever kissed someone fills your head. The fight is almost pathetic as you sink into his hold, helpless to do anything but wilt until he's had enough of his fill. You push against his chest, but he only leaves on his terms.

You're both panting, but you're more frazzled. His lips are blushing pink, and there's a string of saliva that stretches before snapping apart. You can feel the way his hands are positioned on your hips. Disgust and self-hatred wells up within you.

"I meant what I said that day: I love you." You squeeze your eyes at his confession. "I mean, what's there not to love? You're sweet; you're hot."

His hands play with the hem of your shirt. You stiffen as you try to claw them off of you, but it doesn't help. You don't want to look, but you just can't help yourself. It's morbid curiosity. Looking at a car crash. Your eyes open and you stare at Satoru.

"But I think the thing I love about you the most is that you'll never hate me."

Two glowing blue eyes stare back at you. He looks ethereal like this. Even when he's kneeling, he's still taller than you. He's always been above you. Not just in height, you're slowly starting to realize.

You always thought Satoru hated his last name. You always thought he blamed his lineage for his loneliness, his isolation. He grew up too fast, forced to become something for the sake of others. It's why you tried so hard to treat him like an equal, as though he were another human.

When he leans in to kiss you again, you finally understand that Gojo never wanted to part from his last name. Why would he? It was always a part of him. It was your fault for trying to humanize and connect with him. You fought for years to see him as an equal that you neglected to ask if he even wanted to be on the same plane as you.

Perhaps, once he did. Back when candlelight illuminated his face. When chocolate was the only thing you could taste.

"You can't hate me." He smiles against your lips. "You feel too sorry for me."

"No matter what I do to you, you'll never hate me."

You start crying again. Satoru hushes you, wiping away your tears in a way that suggests he's not used to being soft and delicate. Yet, he's trying to be. Soon, his gentleness fades, and his impatience seeps in again. It's all too easy for Satoru to haul you to your feet. He was the strongest, after all. You struggle anyway because you're human and your heart is filled with foolish hope. He laughs at your meager attempts to push him away, and you feel that this is all a game for him. Maybe it always was.

"Satoru-Satoru," you're begging as he pulls you through his empty house, "you don't have to do this. Please just-"

"See? You still aren't getting it." Satoru sighs, like he's disappointed before he's tossing you in a room. You flail against the bed, your chest pressed against the cushions before he's flipping you onto your back. It's worse when he's hovering over you, both hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I never have."

You expect Satoru to kiss you again, that disgusting display where he rips you apart with his teeth, consuming you whole. Instead his pretty blue eyes flit to your clenched hand. He snatches up your wrist, easily unfurling your hand.

You react too late, only reaching up to stop him when he’s done pulling the ring off your finger. Satoru barely gives it an unimpressed look before he’s tossing it aside. You can only stare in the direction of it, watching as the last thing you had of him drops into the darkness. There’s two metallic clinks before it’s rolling to a stop. And then, you hear nothing.

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I was so sick of looking at that.” He mumbles into your skin, giving it a playful nip. “Parading that thing around in front of another man like that. It’s kinda’ rude, y'know?”

You give another sob when his hands dig underneath your shirt. He presses on the softness of your belly, burying his face deeper into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He groans into your neck. You can feel something press against your thigh.

You know what he was planning on doing, he made it clear ever since he dug himself into your skin with fangs. But the evidence. The hands twitching up your shirt, groping and feeling. The bulge grinding against your thigh

You can’t fight him, you stopped trying. Instead, you clench your fists again, letting the last of your tears drip down your face, praying and praying that what Satoru said wasn’t true.

Satoru isn’t nice to your clothes. You don’t know why you thought he ever would be. When he’s done with feeling and not looking, he pushes your shirt up, letting it catch just over the swell of your chest. He’s pushing your bra down, leaning down to trace your skin with his hot, wet tongue.

You jolt at the contact. It’d been so long since you’ve last been touched. He’s barely done anything and yet you’re already so sensitive. Something between a gasp and a moan is pulled out of your lips when Satoru swirls his tongue around your nipple, before he takes it fully in his mouth.

He’s tasting you, savoring you in a way you’d only seen him do for his cherished candy. He’s messy with it too, drool and spit spilling onto your skin, making you feel even colder than you already were.

Satoru has never stopped with just one candy, has he? He’s greedy, popping another and another in his mouth until the bag is all empty. It’s his natural essence to take until there’s nothing left. That’s why his hand trails down to your skirt, pushing it down before you can even decipher what he wants next from you.

You gasp when his hand presses against your panties, pushing them between your folds. The fabric lightly brushes against your clit, not enough for you to have any kind of relief. Still, a tingle jolts up your back.

“You’re soaked!” Satoru’s exclaiming. His voice comes out in the form of a laugh, light and innocent. It hurts to hear him sound like that. You have no more tears to cry again.

You want to tell him that it wasn’t you, that you don’t want him, that it’s just your body, but you doubt he cares about any of that. He pushes your panties down, letting them sit against your thighs before he’s pushing a finger deep into your wet pussy.

You can’t stop the noises this time. It’s more of a yelp than a moan, but Satoru takes it in stride as he continues to finger fuck you. When he digs a second finger into your hole, there’s a wet squelch of a sound. You have to turn away, but you can feel his smile against your skin. Victorious.

His other hands comes, pushing in between your breasts to keep you on the bed as he plants butterfly kisses down your ribs, your stomach, your hips, all the way down until he’s practically on his knees.

You were right to assume his inexperience. He’s sloppy, spreading his saliva and your wetness all over your pussy. There’s no rhythm, no clear pattern as he’s trying everything at once--swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit before licking his way into your hole.

And yet, it’s working. Your battered cunt responds to his enthusiasm, and your walls squeeze his fingers.

You can’t stop your noises. You don’t think he’s trying to stop his. His voice is muffled by your pussy, but he’s moaning and groaning so loudly. You think he’s saying something, but you can hear anything over the wet sounds of your cunt, the throbbing between your ears.

Your orgasm was inevitable, but you’re still surprised when it hits. Ramming into you like a train. Your back arches, and your thighs are involuntarily squeezing Satoru’s head. Keeping him there.

There’s a hum of satisfaction coming from him, but he doesn’t pull away. He folds your thighs, pushing them up into your chest so he can get more access to your pussy, sucking even harder on your clit. You were so far out of it that you can barely remember that this isn’t for you. It’s all for him. Satoru is greedy. It’s his natural essence to take and take until you’re nothing more than an empty bag, once filled with something sweet.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve come around his fingers and tongue a second time, when your cries are on the brink of overstimulation. When Satoru finally pulls away, the bottom half of his face is shiny. He keeps his eyes on you, messily wiping the remnants of you off his face before his leaning forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother undressing himself. He’s unraveling his belt from his waist, pushing his pants down enough that he’s able to untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s already hard, giving his dick two cursory pumps before he’s settling his on either side of your body, keeping you there.

He’s big. Big enough that you worry he might actually succeed in breaking you. A semblance of rebellion, motivated by fear than anything else, stirs inside you. You push yourself up, elbows pressing against the mattress before he’s ending it.

There’s a grin, a flash of teeth, before he’s roughly pushing you down again.

“Satoru-“You start, you beg.

“Shut it,” he says, his smile too dangerous to be friendly, “if it isn’t begging me to fuck you, then I don’t wanna hear it.”

As though he’s taking the sight in himself, he hovers over you. The light from the window gently caresses his face in an angel kiss. His white hair is almost like halo, swathing him in an innocent shade of beauty.

When Satoru sinks his cock deep inside of you, you wonder if he’s defiling you or himself.

Just like before, he doesn’t bother letting you acclimate. He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t hold off. You can’t expect him too. Your pussy is squeezing him, edging him on. How could you expect him to not take it as a challenge and fuck you the way he’s dying to?

It’s exactly what he does as he bullies his cock deep inside your walls again and again. He whimpers, high and pitchy before he’s leaning down to bite and lick at your neck, your chest, leaving your skin with marks and bruises that will last for days.

Satoru loses his sharpness the more he’s inside of you. You cry when he leans down, circling his thumb across your clit.

“So good,” he’s mumbling into your sweaty skin, like a mantra, “so good so good. You’re so good. I love you I love you I love you-“

It’s torture to hear him say that over and over again and a part of you tries to force yourself to think of someone else to give you comfort. Scarred lips. Thick black hair.

You can’t.

Satoru has taken away everything, even your dreams.

There’s another gasp before he’s harshly gripping on your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are blown open, wide and manic.

“Say my name,” he’s begging but his grip is too tight to be anything but an order, “I-I need you to-fuck-say my name.”

“Sa-Satoru.” He lurches at that, almost collapsing into your chest.

“Again.”

“Satoru,” and then you say it again and again and again because your brain’s too muddled to do anything but listen to him.

His thumb is moving faster and faster on you clit, his thrusts are getting sloppier.

“Gonna-gonna fill you up,” An alarm of panic ring as he’s blabbering, words stilted and strained, “I gotta’—I just gotta’, can’t think of ‘nothing else—fuck fuck.” He adjusts your legs, folding your body in half so he can push that much deeper inside of you.

He smiles again. Wild. Unhinged. The monsoon that is Gojo Satoru. If you won’t wash away with him, then he is more than happy to drown you in his rain.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his voice a mix of a laugh and a groan, “think the kid would like a younger sibling?”

You can barely process his words. You don’t think Satoru could process his either. His orgasm triggers your own, and you’re both tipping over the edge together. His cum fills your pulsing cunt, searing your insides with white heat.

Satoru collapses on top of you, pressing you into the mattress of expensive sheets. You two stay like that, just the sounds of your harsh breathing fills the room. Satoru gives a shaky kiss on your lips, just as sweet and chaste as the first time.

He stays there for another minute, before he’s pushing himself up again. You can’t understand what he’s doing until you realize he’s still hard inside of you.

“Satoru—” it’s a plea, your voice overwrought with exhaustion, “Don’t—"

“One more, ‘kay?” he slurs, pushing his cock as deep as it could get inside of you, “Just—Just one more.”

You wake up hours later. It's pitch-black, the lights are gone. Distantly, you can feel Satoru's hand curled around your waist. He'd fallen asleep with his head buried in your neck. You can feel his rhythmic breathing against your skin. Outside, the rain beats on the windows, and thunder rattles in the sky.

You wait for it—the anger, the hatred—for yourself to hate Gojo Satoru.

He was right. Nothing came.

#yandere jjk #yandere #yandere gojo satoru #dark content #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #x reader #gojo satoru #afab reader #tw:noncon

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vendetta-if · 1 year

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okay I just read the ask about yvette and oh my she's not even an asshole then! She was going to abort and choose her career and victor but he wanted the kid. Do we explore the perspective that what she chose is completely reasonable? Because omg that kind of makes it messed up for Victor to tell baby mc who her mom is and not just say she has no mom because he wanted a kid and knew the mom would never be in the picture. You might feel differently about Victor but thats honestly a pretty bad choice to tell baby mc they have a mom at all :( (like an understandable parenting mistake but definitely a mistake and I still love Victor even the best dads make mistakes)

Viktor did tell MC that their mom died a long time ago, but then, MC accidentally found an old picture of Viktor and Yvette together while still wearing their costumes when they helped Viktor sorting his old photo albums (Viktor loved to take pictures and immortalize memories that way ever since he was a little boy).

So, Viktor just decided to come clean because there’s no way little MC would believe that one of the most famous superheroes in the city who often appears on TV and social media (and who’s supposedly their mom as well) is dead. Maybe deep down inside, Viktor is also a bit relieved to finally be able to stop lying to MC about something so crucial.

But then, to protect little MC from the harsh truth that their mom doesn’t want to be in their life, he ended up lying again saying that she hasn’t visited them because she really cared for them and that she was worried about bringing unwanted attention and dangers to MC and him.

And MC believed that until the unfortunate meeting in the comic store where MC found out in the worst way possible that their mom doesn’t really want them.

And yes, Viktor is a good dad, but he’s definitely not perfect and makes mistakes. Maybe if only he had come clean to MC from the beginning about Yvette… would it makes things better? Would things be different about how MC feels about her? But he also couldn’t bear thinking about how it would make his little precious baby feels.

So, he took what was supposed to be an easy way out and lied about it. After all, Yvette is not interested at all in being in MC’s life right? And as long as MC and Yvette never meet each other, his white lie would be okay.

I know a lot of people dislike or even hate Yvette, and I do understand, if not for choosing her career over MC, then it’ll be for what she did to MC in the store. She kinda made MC and Viktor as the butt of the joke in trying to deny MC claiming to be her child and also tried to use her empathy ability (well, soft words for literal emotional manipulation) on little MC to make them still like her despite being laughed at by a lot of people because of her.

She is not really a good person. She’s somewhat self-centered and her powers just enable her narcissistic tendencies even more. She’s also superficial and doesn’t really actually care much about saving people, only for the fame and wealth and attention from becoming a famous superhero (I think this is made even clearer in her backstory on how she first met Viktor that I wrote for Patreon because it’s written from her perspective).

But personally, for me, I’ve always felt… neutral, apathetic, or even pity towards her, especially now in her older years. She really couldn’t find anyone else she felt as strongly for as she did for Viktor. And she could never go back to Viktor again and try to make amends because he’s already dead.

Her biological child most likely hates her for what she did and she could understand why. Her life has turned hollow and shallow inside despite her being more famous and rich than she was a decade ago. This is supposed to be her goal, what she sacrificed her love for, but she still feels empty inside. And most importantly, she’s alone and she’s lonely. Almost all of the people surrounding her are as fake and superficial as she was and still kinda is.

She doesn’t even have anyone to pass her legacy and success and reputation that she worked so hard to build to once she retires from the superhero scene, which is one of the reasons she took in Skylar as her protégé in the first place.

Maybe I also feel some pity for her because I subconsciously know things about her that she might not even want to admit to herself or that she buries deep down. Such as her regret for not taking Viktor’s offer.

She sometimes finds herself daydreaming about what her life would be if she had accepted Viktor’s offer and settled down peacefully and happily with the man who really loved her and who she truly loved in return and becoming a mother instead of choosing to pursue her fame and wealth and career. Lately, as she grows older, these daydreams comes to her even more often. Maybe that added with her desperation about being the next target is what finally pushed her to gather her courage to meet MC again…

Oh, also, just to make things clearer, she did want to abort and still be with Viktor (although I don’t think Viktor would still be able to be in a relationship with her after that), but she also intended to keep their relationship a secret and not get married and act single in public for as long as possible, maybe until she retires if that’s even possible 😂, which Viktor (or anyone else tbh) would also not like.

Because she knows her fanbase and she knows the image that the Constellation Agency and she has curated and built for ‘Mirage’. She knows she would lose a portion of her fanbase if it’s revealed that she has a partner all this time, or much worse, has a kid. And it might be a pretty big hit to her career and the Agency wouldn’t like that.

But she did choose to give birth to MC in the end out of her love for Viktor. They actually separated pretty amicably and Viktor never bad-mouthed her to MC or his family. In fact, it was his request to Luka and Grandpa and Grandma to just let Yvette continues on with her life and career without them trying to retaliate in any way. A request that they still honor even after his death.

#asks #if: vendetta #lore #char: yvette #char: viktor #char: mc #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript

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lunatic-fandom-space · 1 year

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I remember when I was watching season 2 for the first time, I was really upset that we were getting this new main cast that we would only follow for 12 episodes because I thought I wouldnt be able to form an emotional attachment to them. And this was warranted because it took me a weirdly long time to get attached to like, Sebastian and Ciel (I was gonna say 'the main cast' but I didnt really care about anyone else at the time lmao) when I was watching the first season, it took like 13 episodes for me to get emotionally invested at all. I have no idea why because like, Black Butler is well written (and also I had literally no standards at the time so its not like the writing mattered) and I really liked Sebaciel as a ship it was the whole reason I started watching, but i didnt really care about any of the characters. So when I went into season 2 I was like "i cant care about this stupid fucken guy, hes gonna be dead by the time I start forming an emotional attachment whyyyy cant I just watch the guys I know for another 12 episodes :(" and yea. Guess what happened. yea I got attached to Alois and was perfectly fine with the idea of following only the Trancy household within ten minutes of the first episode

But that kinda made me think about what that version of season 2 would look like yknow. Like what if Ciel really did die and he and Sebastian werent there to bother Alois n gang

It seems like Alois has this title of 'the queens spider' but I dont think they ever really explain what that entails and also Alois never does jack shit. I know it has something to do with the underworld like Ciels job, but I get the impression that he did his job so well that Alois literally never had to do anything, he could just kinda chill out being rich and not worry. I think it would be neat if Alois got contacted by some messenger of the queen after Ciels death like "heyyyy. the 13 year old we usually send out to do our dangerous illegal shit just died and youre another 13 year old with a similar job, so go investigate this suspicious string of murders" and he kinda starts freaking out bc he was aware of the job, he just never had to really do anything

Idk I just think it could be neat to have Alois try the queens watchdog thing and be worse at it because hes inexperienced and also because Claude sucks and isnt a great help. For the emotional arc you could keep the conflict where Alois loves Claude and wants to be loved but Claude is just kinda apathetic and Hannah loves Alois but Alois is too focused on trying to gain Claudes affection. You could also maybe explore the mental and physical toll that being the replacement queens watchdog would take on Alois, because honestly, I dont think he has the mental stability required for that kinda job yknow. And since I love manipulative women, maybe Hannah could try to take advantage of his weakness in some way to try and get him away from Claude (she wouldnt be framed as like, evil for doing this because I refuse to write bullshit like that, but Alois would definitely be upset). I dont really know how this version of season 2 would end though. I mean, it would end with Alois being reuinted with Luka within Hannahs body like in the original I think, but idk what could possibly lead up to it because honestly, the original season 2 finale is already pretty convoluted ngl. eh who knows

#for later #kuroshitsuji ii

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starrywolf101 · 3 years

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For the zombieinnit thing what about different people finding out how fragile Tommy is

The 5 Times Tommy Gets Hurt

(+1 he gets protected)

1 - Jack Manifold

He had a brief interaction with Manifold on the day he left the prison, but he was still reeling and not truly listening to anything Jack said. That day was more of a blur than anything.

But now here he was, wanting Jack to stop rebranding the hotel. It was only a couple weeks since the last time he'd seen the other, but by now he's made more strides in recovering. Nobody but Puffy, Sam, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Michael knew about his zombie status yet.

Currently Jack Manifold and him were locked in a glaring content, both of his eyes locked onto the other's heterochromic eyes.

"Look, Jack, you can keep managing it and everything, but I really need you to remember that it's my property. Not yours, you arse."

Apparantly not liking that answer, Jack sneers and shoves Tommy. Freezing up in fear, Tommy doesn't even trying to defend himself from the attack. He loses his balance and falls to the ground, skull hitting the floor with a sickening crack. Regret flairs through Jack's veins as he immediately drops to his knees to check over the kid. Tommy's eyes are glazed over as he stares blankly up. His mind is replaying the moment he died over and over again, when his skull was slammed into the obsidian floor. Back in the present, Jack calls Sam Nook for help, the robot had been standing outside the hotel as per usual. He didn't actually want Tommy dead... again,,

When the robot had started helping Tommy, the kid's new... symptoms having been recorded into It's database, Jack had nearly puked. The back of Tommy's head, where he had hit the ground, looked rotted, and... ew was that Tommy's brain??? How was the kid still awake!?

He watches in shock as Sam Nook pours a potion of harming onto Tommy's injury, nearly jumping in to stop the robot, before watching with widened eyes as the wound healed...

"YOU WILL SPEAK NOTHING OF THIS JACK MANIFOLD."

Jack had nodded silently and fled the scene. There was so much to process...

2 - Sapnap

Sapnap and Tommy have always had a... complicated relationship. Sometimes they got along, and other times they were against each other. But since Dream had cut all attachments, Tommy had shown sympathy and reached out an olive branch to the other, and Sapnap had taken it. They still don't always get along perfectly, but its back to how it used to be... playful teasing and pranks!

But since the kid had left the prison, he's been... quieter. Seeing Tommy so quiet felt wrong.

In fact, he rarely saw the kid nowadays.

Having been looking for an excuse to see the teen, Sapnap had found the perfect thing. By a river, he'd found a rock that, if you squinted, it was shaped like a dick. Surely Tommy would get a kick out of this!

Approaching the dirt shack, gift in his pocket, Sapnap had a slight skip in step. He knocks on the door and called out for the boy.

"Tooommmyy! Are you home?"

A crash inside the home was worrying, but a quiet groan of pain set off alarm bells. Without another thought, Sapnap tries the doorknob— surprisingly the door was unlocked. Did this kid want to be stolen from??? Shaking off the stray thoughts, once again focused on the task at hand, he opens the door and enters. A light on downstairs leads Sapnap into a storage room with Tommy sitting curled up in the corner.

A rancid smell hits his nostrils and he scrunches his nose. An odor that was familiar to the awful smell of meat having gone bad.

Walking up to the teen, Tommy stared back at him with large, scared eyes. He was cradling his hand close to his chest, hiding it from view. And now that he was closer, something in the back of his mind registered that the smell was coming from the kid.

"Hey Tommy," Sapnap's voice took on a softness usually reserved for his close friends and his fiances. "Wanna tell me what happened so I can help?"

After a moment of Tommy examining his facial expression, he must've realize Sapnap meant no harm, and hesitantly holds his hand out. What Sapnap sees makes him want to vomit. Across Tommy's palm was a huge cut, but it was green and purple... the muscles torn and bone glimpseable .

Frowning, Sapnap mumbles: "Oh, kid... Here, I have a regen pot on me–"

"NO" Tommy's panicked shout cuts him off mid-sentence. "I– I mean," the kid gets quiet and nervous. "Use the one from my chest...: He shakily points towards the single chest across the room with his good hand.

Shaking off the shock, Sapnal roots through the chest and pulls out a bottle ful of a sickly potion... upon realizing what kind of potion it was, the cogs in his head turn. Rancid smell, rotted wound, potion of harming... Tommy was undead.

Sapnap scoots back over to Tommy, gently taking hold of the kid's wrist as to avoid spilling the potion on himself, and pours a generous amount of the viscous liquid onto Tommy's injury. The kid winces, but neither miss the twin looks of relief on their faces as the wound knits itself closed.

Seeing that Tommy was still clearly in a bad mental space, he remember the gift in his pocket. Pulling it out and handing it to the other, Sapnap smiles as he simy says: "I got you a dick rock."

Tommy's surprised, burst laugh was like music to his ears.

3 - Ghostbur

Ghostbur didn't understand what Tommy meant when he said he'd died. Tommy couldn't die, right...? No, his little brother was a survivor!

There was no way he had talked to Alivebur... but that look in Tommy's eyes... there was no way to fake that.

All the evidence kept piling up, and though he forgot some of it, some things never left his mind anymore. The way Tommy would get scared of taking damage, the way touch repulsed him... Tommy was also a lot quieter nowadays.

It was a nice day in Snowchester when it Ghostbur was confronted with the awful truth.

He had been visiting the small community when he spotted Tommy huddled up inside Tubbo's house. Obviously, he wondered why his little brother wasn't outside playing in the snow, so he goes to investigate.

"Tommy!" His raspy voice calls out cheerfully upon entering the cozy home. "Tommy what are you doing inside?"

He misses the way Tommy flinches, the terrified look in the youngest's eyes. Maybe Wilbur would've spotted it immediately, but Ghostbur wasn't him. He only saw the forced smile that covered it up, mistaking it for genuine happiness.

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but he hesitated too long. Ghostbur was already talking again, excitedly bouncing in place. "I saw the snow outside and I remember how we used to have snowball fights when you were itty bitty, and it must've been a long time ago because now you're all tall and gangly! So I was thinking to myself, 'hmm, Tommy had been so sad lately! You know what would cheer him up? A snowball fight!' Except I can't touch the snow or else I'll melt so I thought we could go find Tubbo to play with!" It was a good thing Ghostbur didn't need to breathe anymore, because that whole rant would've taken a lot of air. Before Tommy could even finish processing all of that, Ghostbur grabs his wrist and starts tugging.

The unexpected contact send Tommy reeling, memories of a time when Wilbur would drag Tommy by the wrist, grip tight and unrelenting as the kid kicked and screamed. Times in the dark, cold ravine where nobody else could hear him plead for help. That morphed into when Dream started to doing the same thing during exile. Dream and Wilbur were interchangeable, their voices of anger and disappointment morphing into one. Adrenaline kicking in, Tommy starts shouting out for help, thrashing in Ghostbur's loose grip and causing the ghost to let go in surprise.

Luckily, Ranboo was close by and appeared inside the house. His teleportation ability kicking in without him realizing. He's quick to Tommy's side as the ghost watches on in horror. Quiet, comforting vwoops leave Ranboo's chest, and Tommy unconsciously curls closer to the source of familiar comfort. Once the majority of the panic was over, Tommy looks at Ranboo, eyes locked onto his tie. "Ra' boo?" The youngest slurs out tiredly.

"Hey, Tommy, you're safe. You're in Snowchester, with Tubbo and me."

Tommy simply nodded and closed his eyes, slumping over. The air is still for a moment, a tense quiet fills the walls of the house.

"Is... is he okay...?" Ghostbur finally speaks up.

"Honestly? Not really..." Ranboo answers, turning to look at the ghost, but never quite making eye-contact. "But he'll be better when he wakes up. Panic attacks are exhausting, especially for him nowadays.."

When Ranboo picks Tommy up, the red and white shirt rides up on his side a little, giving Ghostbur a good look at a nasty wound. Flesh eaten away to reveal the muscle underneath. Already feeling himself forgetting, Ghostbur watches the two teens leave the room.

4 - Philza

It had been awhile since he'd seen Tommy. Last time had been when he'd shown up to help Ranboo move. After the eyepatch incident, the base had been wrapped in a tense silence. Ranboo left for a few days afterwards, though Techno and Phil couldn't blame him. He did come back, but nobody spoke of what happened.

So, Phil hadn't been ready to run into Tommy in the Nether. He had just been on his way towards the larger SMP when he saw the kid sitting on a path, legs dangling off the side as he stared into the lava below. That sight set off so many alarm bells, and it took everything in Phil not to yank the kid back from the edge.

"What are you doing out here, mate?" Phil calls out, wings ruffling nervously on his back. He kept his voice and expression calm.

Tommy flinches, but his posture quickly relaxes again as he turns to look at Phil, his empty socket uncovered. Phil has to force himself to not stare at it. "Oh, its you." There was an apathetic tone to Tommy's voice that rubbed him wrong. Tommy was one of the most expressive people he'd ever met, and to hear him so emotionless...

Contrary to popular belief, he was not Tommy's dad. He hadn't even met the kid until his son, Wilbur, had gotten attached. But that Tommy was very different from the one he's looking at now. What had caused this change?

"You just gonna keep fucking staring at me like I'm some circus freak, or are you gonna sit down already?" Tommy pulls Phil out of his thoughts, causing the man to blink in confusion. He accepts the offer before the teen catching his mind— sitting cross-legged on the path beside Tommy, but not too close. They sit in silence for a bit, listening to the songs of the Nether. Piglins and Zombie Piglins oink and snort, there's a distant cry of a Ghast, and even the lava is bubbling to its own tune. Every now and then, Phil catches himself staring at Tommy, forcing himself to look elsewhere when he does. Tommy catches on, "I know I'm handsome and all, but staring is considered rude, bitch. Thought someone as old as you would know that," there's a hint of teasing in his tone.

Embarrassment floods his veins, causing Phil's wings to poof a bit, but he could blame it on the heat. "Erm– Sorry, mate... just caught up in my own head, I guess,"

Tommy rolls his eye and makes direct eye-contact with Phil. "I don't want your pity. I don't care for your thoughts. If you have questions, ask them now, cause you might never get another opportunity."

Phil swallows heavily and looks away. A lot of questions raced through his mind, but only one stuck:

"Did you talk to Wilbur?"

The teen grimaced, and that was an answer all in itself. "Yeah, asshole talked about solitare for months straight, would not shut up about the stupid game."

Oh... that hadn't been the answer he was expecting.

"And then continued to want to destroy the entirety of the SMP. He's acting crazier than before, but I guess I would too if I sat in a void for nine years too."

He remembers reading something about the time difference between death and life... back when he was still researching revival. Moving on from his question about Wilbur, he then asks: "How have you been doing?"

Tommy simply shrugs. "Usually? I'm either knee deep in flashbacks, or I'm aware enough to stumble about. Today? Can't feel a thing– 'm hollow. That's why I don't care about the questions,, I literally can't."

His heart breaks as he listens to Tommy's words, here is a kid so beat down and ruined by the world. To the point where he's gone numb. Not sure what else to do, Phil pulls Tommy into a hug, wrapping his wings around them. "I'm sorry."

Still for just a moment, Tommy slowly leans into the embrace, "Yeah.. me too."

5 - Puffy

Captain Puffy prides herself on being there for her friends. For trying for those she loves. Learning that she didn't try hard enough for Tommy left her broken.

And then, by some miracle, he was back. But... not as he was. In fact, the trauma he's lived (and died) through seems to have shut the once lively boy down.

She finds him hesitating outside her therapy office, or therapuffy as she calls it, fiddling with his torn and bloodied shirt. She mentally noted that he needs a new wardrobe.

"Hey, Tommy! What's up, my dude?" She keeps her voice soft and upbeat, not wanting to scare him away. "Did you need something?"

She internally frowns at the way he shies away from her, even though she's not anywhere near enough to initiate contact. Even stranger is how he doesn't fully turn to face her, half his face obscured from view. Still, she doesn't show she noticed it, and continues to smile warmly. Here was a duckling who was afraid of opening back up, but desperately in need of that love and affirmation he deserves. But she has to wait for him to come to her.

Realizing that maybe he wouldn't start anything on his own, she starts up the conversation. "Did you hear about the latest prank on Bad?" She asks. When Tommy shakes his head, the corner of her lip quirks up in amusement as she continues. "Somebody put a bunch of swear words all over his house!" That gets a chuckle out of Tommy.

They sit in silence after that, though its not awkward. It feels more like Tommy is internally debating on what to say, and Puffy didn't want to distract him. After a minute, with his voice uncharacteristically quiet, he asks: "Do you have any potions...?"

"Yeah! I've got some in storage," She hums. "Do you wanna come with me to get some?"

He hesitantly nods before turning his body to fully face her. That's when she saw it. His cheek in the left side of his face was rotted away, revealing teeth and gums. Nausea twisted in her gut, but still somehow remains calm. Instead of even referencing the gruesome sight, she simply smiles and holds out her hand. Seeming to get the message, Tommy places his hand in hers. She leads him down to where she kept most of her stuff, and sits him down on a spare surface– the place being an empty chest just sitting out.

"What kind of potion you need?" She asks, not wanting to assume and end up messing up.

"...Harming,"

Humming, Puffy digs around for a minute before successfully retrieving a potion of harming. It was a drinking one, surprisingly enough. Usually she just turned all of those into splash pots. Pulling on a pair of gloves and dousing a spare rag in the viscous liquid. Carefully holding up the soaked rag to his face, she hovers just above the rotting flesh and asks: "May I?"

Tommy nods and she presses the cloth to his cheek. She can feel the flesh knit itself back together under the cloth. Once she was sure it was healed, she hands whats left of the potion over for Tommy to drink. That'll fix up any internal damages he was possibly dealing with.

He grimaces as he accepts the bottle, "It always tastes like that shit nasty medicine i took as a kid.." he grumbles before throwing his head back to gulp the potion down as quickly as possible. Her inner pirate from days long gone idly thinks that Tommy would he good at putting down shots.

He soon leaves after that, not a word from either of them. Puffy silently promises to look out for the kid.

+1 - Techno

Tommy was being chased down by Bad and Ant again... though they were quickly gaining on him. Since coming back from the dead, Tommy's had very poor stamina, and he's not sure if its a zombie thing or him being very unhealthy thing. Being skin and bones, unhealthy underweight, would definitely affect him,, but he just couldn't seem to put any of the weight back on now.

The Egg cult must've been especially focused on him, bevause they were still chasing him, and Tommy was stumbling through a snow biome... Deja vu much?

Panting, Tommy can only hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heavy breathing, and the crunching of snow.

There's a light in the distance, though! And a very familiar cabin. Alarms blared in his head, his traitorous brain reminding him that he wasn't welcome here anymore. He didn't have much time to think, though, because his foot gets stuck in a snowdrift, causing him to collapse into the cold, frozen ground. The snow cushions his fall, though he definitely feels his foot pop off from his ankle.

"Well well well, looks like its the end of the road, Tommyinnit... again." Bad mocks in a chilling voice– it was a hollow sort of joy, a mimic of how warm Bad's voice used to be. He watches as Ant picks up the detached foot, frozen still with fear. "Any last words, Tommy?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for his swift end... knowing that Bad was lifting up an axe to swing. Only for it to never come. Instead a clank of metal on metal, and a familiar monotone voice.

"You see, I can't let you do that. You're all on my land, and I'd hate for the snow to stain red."

Peaking open an eye, he's in awe of the sight before him. Technoblade was standing in front of him, his axe having blocked the strike. Bad and Ant look at each other, nod, and back off. It was obvious that going against The Blade was a losing battle. Ant drops the foot into the snow as the two retreat.

Techno puts away his weapon and crouches down to pick up the foot. "What are you doing here, Theseus?" Techno didn't turn towards him.

"Give it back." Tommy ignores the question, putting up his wall. "That's mine, you arse."

"What do you mean its yours? Whose foot is this anyways–" Techno's words cut off as he turns to face Tommy, finally taking in the kid's appearance.

Tommy wasn't wearing his eyepatch, but thats not what caught his attention. It was the lack of a foot attached to his body. Quickly realizing why Tommy was demanding back the foot, he hands it over to the kid, watching in morbid fascination as he pops it right back onto his leg and rolling his ankle. The voices were all screaming different things,and he couldn't make sense of what they were saying.

"So... uh, the weird egg people were chasing you?"

Techno sucked at small talk, but he honestly didn't know what to say as Tommy stood up and brushed the snow off himself. "I'm immune and shit— well I was before the uh, prison visit. But I think I'm still immune."

"Ah,"

...

"Uh, I'm gonna go back home.." Tommy points towards the Nether Portal. "Thank you for saving me, or whatever.."

"Yeah.. yeah,"

...

"I'm just... gonna go."

Techno watches as Tommy starts to head off, slowly crunching through the snow.

He didn't know what terms he was on with the kid, but it didn't seem nearly as hostile as before. It probably wouldn't hurt anything if he started to watch out for Tommy from the shadows..

[Masterpost]

---

Okay its done, I've been working on this for ages! I also didn't go back and read it, and most of this was written while I was exhausted, so there's that

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elia-de-silentio · 3 years

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OF COURSE THEY WERE IN MEURSAULT

As soon as I saw the above panel, the name of 'Meursault' rang a bell. I'm pretty new to this fandom, but I caught up on the fact that rarely Asagiri leaves even small detail to chance or personal taste, let alone the name of the place Dazai and Fyodor have been locked in for the last few chapters, doing mind games and helping the guards realize that they're not paid enough. Meursault had to mean something, and it sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite remember where I heard it. So, I looked that up.

Uh, not exactly what I expected, through it makes sense that just like Yokohama it's a real place ...

Huh, really not what I expected ...

Now this is it!

Now, to my shame, I've never read 'The Stranger'. There will be a day when I will have read all of existentialist literature; just like there will be a day when I'll speak every language in the world and will be a famous writer. Today, it's not that day.

Still, I did a bit of research on online essays, after finding out about this.

The story is about a French man in France-occupied Algeria. The most notable thing is his lack of reaction to most that happens around him.

His mom dies? He doesn't even remember the exact day, smokes in front of the coffin, and does not shed a tear. He mets a woman who becomes his lover? Meh, he doesn't actually love her, but he likes the sex. A friend of him wants his complicity in abusing emotionally and later physically his own (Arab, so seen as an inferior) girlfriend? He doesn't see why not. The brother of the victim reacts to this by requiring a polite confrontation with a knife? He shoots him. Even when he's already dead. He complains about the heat that day. Not even ending up in prison manages to shake him. In the end, his lack of shown love for his mother is what gets him sentenced to death, rather than the actual murder or complicity with his friend, by a jury convinced that he is a monster devoid of feelings. Only at the very end, confronted by a priest, he explodes in a rant about the human condition. The novel ends with him imagining his execution in front of an hateful crowd, that will ease his loneliness.

The point to Meursault's character is his lack of reaction to the external world. He doesn't care about emotional bonds and morality, but he doesn't even bother pretending otherwise, being amoral but utterly honest and non-judgmental of others. Camus explained that he was actually writing him as someone with a strong passion for 'the truth', that is, he world as he sees is, devoid of any system of belief but also any hypocrisy. In his final days, he finds relief in the notion that the world is just as indifferent as he is.

Now, what does this remind us of?

This little speech Dazai gives Fyodor becomes very, very significant.

As they both recognize, they are so good at understanding each other because they feel 'estranged' from others in a similar way; they understand the thoughts of other people, their 'truth', and so there is no room for actual discussion. They can predict everything that happens and will happen around them, but because of that, they can't really connect to it. They're extraordinary planners, and yet, both have been 'put away' for the whole arc, separated by the people who are actually fighting and 'making the world turn'.

The prison is reflective of their state of mind: of course they are in Meursault, they are the 'Strangers'.

From here, I think I'll try a couple predictions.

First, their getting out of prison will be something very interesting.

Dazai will get out of there; likely when the Agency's name will be restored and Mushitarou will do him a little favor again, but maybe even earlier someone will need him to help fix all the mess. When he will do so, he will be confronted with vampire Akutagawa, and the discovery that he sacrificed himself for Atsushi to end up in this state; or, if the incident is resolved before the release, with the knowledge that this happened. And it was his treatment of Akutagawa, his getting him to think that his life had no value back when they were in the mafia, his making him desperate for approval, his making him think that he valued Atsushi more than him, that led to this ordeal.

As he actually cares for Akutagawa - he just sucks at demonstrating it and facing the fact that he mistreated him in the past in general - it's likely the thing will leave him shaken and, hopefully, force him to take steps towards actually helping Akutagawa, and in the process facing his past self. In other words, his leaving Meursault will be tied with reconnecting with someone, in a genuine way, instead of just using them as a 'weapon against the demons'.

As for Fyodor ... I'm a little less sure that he will leave Meursault, because unlike Dazai, he actually devalues most people, seeing them as stupid but also something in need of salvation; in any case, as inferiors (unlike Osamu 'what's so wrong with being sinfully stupid' Dazai). So, he doesn't have all this investment in no longer being a 'stranger'.

But still, I think he has high chances to get out. For one, he hasn't had a confrontation with Shin Soukoku (or any other member of the Agency besides Dazai) yet, despite causing them grief to no end. And, his goal to find the Book has found no resolution. It wouldn't be narratively satisfying.

Moreover, Gogol is currently gunning for him, with a less enthusiastic Sigma in tow. And the reason is that Fyodor showed him empathy, the most understanding he ever received, and that moved him so much that ... he decided to kill him, because Gogol is a yandere saw this connection as so deeply important, he had to drastically severe it to obtain the freedom he craves.

So, Fyodor is not so much of a 'Stranger' as he likes to think he is; he can empathize with people, not just understanding them like they're a computer algorythm, and this has consequences. I think Gogol - and maybe Sigma too - will be able of getting him out of this way of thinking, and so, out of Meursault.

(Or maybe the guards will just realize that they really aren't paid enough to deal with their stronzate and just shove everyone back into society as a form of rebellion against it.)

At the end of 'The Stranger', Meursault the character has quite the development in his way of thinking: while at the start of the novel he was apathetic, didn't know himself, and didn't care about a set of beliefs, when confronted with his imminent execution he has emotional outbursts, shows self awareness, and a personal way to see the world that, even if it's rather nihilistic, will defend even to the point of turning down his chance to escape death. He comments that he will no longer be alone, finding a sort of communion to other human beings in the indifference the world has for them.

Dazai and Fyodor, likewise, will get out of that mental space, and stop, in their own ways, being 'strangers'

The second thing I can say, is that the very instant Dazai will be out of jail, he'll buy Chuuya some of that fancy Meursault wine, and put cyanide in it; cyanide, that is, if Chuuya is lucky.

Thanks to everyone who bothered to listen to my ramblings!

#bsd #bsd dazai #bsd fyodor #bsd meta #bsd theory #bungou stray dogs

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years

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🔥The Angelus Mortis (2/2)🔥

A/N: Here is part 2 of “The Angelus Mortis”! Part 1 is linked below if you haven’t read that part yet. Thank you for reading!

Part 1

~~~

The next day, Erwin woke up early to visit (Y/N) one last time before he had to hand her over to the MP’s. He sighed in disappointment. He thought he had been getting through to her, especially after she had given him her name, but he was left with nothing but false hope when she remained adamant about not answering any of his questions. He ran one of his large hands through his blonde locks in frustration as he made his way down the stone steps into the gloomy dungeon below.

He had no idea why he felt so conflicted when it came to this woman, why he had a feeling she was a better person than she was letting on. His heart battled with his brain as he walked, causing him to groan when he felt a headache begin to form. Why did he feel like he was missing something? Something important? He knew she would be a valuable asset to the Survey Corps if she cooperated, her strength rivaling that of Levi’s which would give them two vital weapons on the field. And he was sure that under Levi’s supervision she would flourish, maybe even develop a friendship with the sullen man. Maybe that’s why he felt so strange, because it was a missed opportunity?

Erwin shook his head as he finally rounded the corner, pushing away his inner turmoil to mull over on a later date. Immediately upon his arrival, (Y/N) rolled over on the small, filthy cot she had been provided, and met his gaze.

“Here to collect me, already?” (Y/N) asked, her disdain barely veiled by her attempt at a quip.

“No, not yet,” Erwin said as he sat down in the lone metal chair he had used the day before.

(Y/N) sat up slowly and crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap as she turned to face him completely.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Well, you have spent one whole day here and you’ve been alone for most of that time. I came down here to see if you’re ready to answer my questions now.”

(Y/N) grit her teeth. “I told you, I don’t want to answer any of your shitty questions.”

“What’s the point? You’re going to be heading right for your very painful death in just a few hours, what is keeping you from parting with some information that will likely be unimportant soon anyway?”

“Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I have to justify my life, to you of all people.”

“I only want to help you, this could save your life.”

“Why the hell do you care so much about me anyway? What am I to you? Do you want me for something? Maybe for your own personal desires?” (Y/N) suddenly bristled. “I didn’t take you as someone who would stoop so low, Commander, but what did I expect? I guess that’s what I get for thinking a murderer could show empathy. And to think, I almost learned to trust you a little.”

Erwin blanched, his face paling and his eyes widening.

“What?” He asked in utter shock. A murderer? What the hell was she going on about?

(Y/N) seethed at him and turned away, her entire body tensed and angry.

“Do whatever the hell you want with me,” (Y/N) said in a low voice. “Beat me, kill me, fuck me, do whatever you want, but I’ll never tell you anything.”

Erwin was quiet for a minute as he fought to process what he had just heard. A killer? Him? He only killed when he really needed to, aside from when he was fighting titans, of course, but he rarely used his weapons on a person, and never with malicious intent.

“What makes you think I’m a murderer?” Erwin asked.

(Y/N) suddenly whirled on him, her teeth bared, showing more of the wolf inside her that she had developed in the Underground. Her eyes flashed with fury and her fists clenched at her sides as she lost control.

“How dare you ask me that question,” (Y/N) snarled. “How dare you after what you took from me? Do you not even remember? Were they really that meaningless to you? You took away my family, the only positive thing I had in this world. You ripped them from me and now you dare ask how you have wronged?”

Erwin was bewildered now but he tried not to let it show on his face. He had to tread carefully. If he didn’t say the right thing, she might end up shutting down completely, and then he would lose any chance of keeping her from getting killed. He also wanted to keep her from hating him. If she was going to join the Corps, he would have to be able to lead his men without fearing for his life every time she was around.

“Did… did they live in the Underground with you?” Erwin asked carefully.

(Y/N) plopped down on her bed, rage still coursing through her veins as she looked at the man she had loathed ever since the fateful day her family had disappeared from her life, but she felt too tired to argue with him. He had won anyway, she was going to be tortured, maybe violated, killed, and then dumped in a trash can somewhere, left to die alone and forgotten. There was no point in trying to fight him anymore, not when he held the strings attached to her back, commanding the show and forcing her to dance. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break, but she knew her fate was sealed the moment she was brought up from the Underground. “Yes,” she said in a small voice, her head hanging low so that her hair covered her eyes.

“Are they the reason why you asked for my name in the Underground? Why you hesitated when you saw my face?”

(Y/N) only nodded.

“Are they why you targeted soldiers? To make us feel the pain you did when you found out they were gone?”

(Y/N) nodded again, more slowly this time and with a single glimmering tear that slid down her cheek and hit the stone floor with a barely audible tap.

Erwin hesitated again and swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry… for your loss.”

(Y/N) scoffed at him, her eyes filled with a smouldering hatred as she met his gaze.

Erwin cringed a little. He knew how apathetic that apology must have sounded, but he was at a loss for words. He just had to keep trying.

“I mean it. If I am responsible for their deaths then it must mean they died in combat, under my command. So, I am sorry for not being able to lead them properly. For not being able to protect them and bring them back home to you. I am so sorry…”

(Y/N) didn’t respond but he did notice that her gaze softened just slightly at his apology. He was starting to get through to her again. He knew that her acceptance of his apology was just a chink in the protective walls surrounding her broken heart, but he would take whatever he could get.

That was when Erwin suddenly realized something, the image of two faces flashing in his mind as he thought about what she had said. There had only been three people he had ever brought up from the Underground to be in the Survey Corps, and only two of them were dead. Farlan and Isabel.

Thinking back on it, Levi had never mentioned anyone other than Isabel and Farlan, and when he had been busted and brought to the surface he had only come with his two friends. Maybe they had never met. Maybe (Y/N) only knew Farlan and Isabel from her childhood and early adulthood while Levi was a mere business partner. Or maybe they did know each other but only through brief business interactions.

His heart jumped a little in his chest when he realized he was on to something. Maybe he could show her to Levi and see what his reaction would be? See if he would be the key to having her cooperate? Besides, it might be good for them, the both of them having lost their two best friends in a horrific manner, giving them the chance to form a bond or close friendship. It might even give Levi some closure. Erwin would be a bad friend if he hadn’t noticed how the loss of Levi’s past friends were still affecting him.

“How… how did they die?”

(Y/N)’s sudden question surprised him but he quickly brought himself back to the moment, not wanting to scare her away from talking to him again. He honestly couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had been bantering back and forth with him the day before, but he now realized she had been using it as a means of protecting herself. To make herself seem more confident in the face of the one person she supposedly hated the most. She had entertained him so he would stop digging, stop trying to dredge up old, painful memories.

“We were on an expedition outside of the walls and it started to storm. We tried to retreat but the rain and open meadows made it difficult to find our way back. Everything looked the same, blurry and gray or green. In the confusion, an abnormal titan snuck up on us and killed the majority of our troops, your family among them.”

(Y/N) was quiet but met his gaze again, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked so vulnerable at that moment. He could tell she still had that fighting spirit, that unwavering strength; the vulnerability did not make her look weak or pitiable in the slightest. It just made her look more… human.

“What happened to the titan?” She asked.

“One of my Captains, Levi, took care of it.”

(Y/N)’s head suddenly jolted up, her entire body going rigid. “Wha-”

“Erwin!” The Commander turned around to see Hanji standing on the stone steps leading down to the dungeon, clutching a lantern in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

Erwin stood and met his girlfriend on the steps, taking the manacles from her. Hanji gazed at him for a minute before her gaze shifted to the woman in the cell. Erwin could tell right away that Hanji felt something similar about the mysterious assassin, that she had the strange feeling that there was something more to her like he did. He could see it in her eyes, in the way they shone even in the darkness of the dungeon.

“Time to go,” Hanji said softly.

Erwin nodded and made his way to the cell, Hanji following close behind with a sword in her grasp, ready to cut the woman down should she try anything.

When Erwin moved to stand behind her, leaning down to lock her wrists into the handcuffs, (Y/N) hung her head again, her mind still spinning with the name that had fallen from the Commander’s lips.

It was a name she hadn’t heard in years, a name that still haunted her dreams and left her feeling cold and alone. There was no way it was really him. Levi was a common enough name that the Captain could be anyone. Despite this, the fact that there was a chance he was really out there, gave (Y/N) peace of mind.

If he was dead, then she guessed she was going to see him soon, maybe finally live the life they wanted to, if that was even possible after death. If he was alive, then that would still be satisfactory enough for her. Either way, she hoped she’d get to see him again soon. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.

“Commander Erwin,” (Y/N) said.

“Yes?” Erwin said, trying to hide the surprise in his voice when she said his real name rather than mocking his title of Commander or calling him an idiot.

“How is your shoulder?”

Erwin was baffled but answered her honestly.

“Sore but healing well.”

“Good. I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

Erwin swallowed and shook his head to tell her it was alright, his throat refusing to let him speak. Hanji was watching the Angelus Mortis carefully, her eyes filled with confused sorrow. (Y/N) glanced at the bespeckled Squad Leader and nodded once, a tiny smile curving at the corners of her lips.

(Y/N) could do nothing but sit still as they finished clamping her hands behind her back and stood her up, leading her out of the cell and up the stairs to her inevitable death.

_____________________________

Levi strode through the halls, looking for Erwin. He had been told immediately upon his arrival that the Commander had managed to capture a dangerous assassin from the Underground and needed his assistance in transporting them to the Military Police base to be detained and sentenced to death. He had been a bit surprised with the news, he hadn’t known that Erwin was hunting for a killer from the slums, but he had been out for an entire week on that solo mission, so things were bound to happen without his knowledge while he was gone.

Levi only paused by his office to switch out the sword he had for a cleaner, sharper one. The blade he had carried previously was covered in filth and worn from the constant fights he had been forced to break up on his mission.

As soon as he had a better weapon, he set off for the dungeons where Erwin and Hanji were supposedly already bringing the criminal up the stairs. He hadn’t heard much about this assassin, all he knew was that they were exceedingly dangerous, known as the Angelus Mortis, and they were headed for death row. He gripped his sword a bit tighter as he walked, readying his mind to prepare for anything. A criminal this dangerous would be incredibly strong and while he had no doubt in his mind that he could defeat the bastard, he would rather get out of the fight with all of his limbs attached.

“Levi! Over here!”

Levi looked up as he approached the dungeon steps, his silver eyes flickering over to the prisoner in Hanji’s and Erwin’s grasp. His eyes widened a little when he realized the assassin was a woman, her filthy (h/c) hair covering her face as she hung her head.

“Oi, who are you? What’s your name?” Levi asked coldly, his eyes narrowing on her thin form.

He expected her to keep her head down despite his commanding tone. He knew criminals like this, you could yell at them all you wanted, demand things from them, even beat them and they would usually remain stubbornly silent.

What he did not expect was for her to lift her head sharply, the sound of his voice triggering something in her.

Levi gasped audibly when her (e/c) eyes met his silver ones, his entire world shifting beneath his feet. Her whole body froze when she saw him. For a moment, nobody breathed, Levi’s eyes roving over her constantly as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

(Y/N). That was (Y/N). His (Y/N).

The one who had given him so much love and appreciation every day despite their shitty lives in the slums. The one who had comforted him when the world felt too dark; the one who loved him when he couldn’t love himself; the one who patched him up after a fight and fought by his side when she could. It was (Y/N). Undoubtedly (Y/N).

“Levi? What’s the matter?” Hanji asked.

Levi suddenly remembered the reality of their situation. (Y/N) was the goddamn Angelus Mortis. The most dangerous assassin in the world was the love of his life, and she was being sentenced to death.

“Let her go,” Levi said, his voice low.

“What? But Levi-”

“I said let her go!” Levi barked.

Hanji and Erwin exchanged concerned glances but slowly moved to unlock the handcuffs holding her to them.

As soon as she was free, (Y/N) sprinted forward and crashed into Levi, her small frame hitting him like a bullet.

“LEVI!!!” (Y/N) cried in a strangled voice.

Levi grunted a little at the impact but wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her waist, completely forgetting about the audience that watched them, their mouths dropped open in shock. Hanji and Erwin were no better, their eyes wide.

“Oh my fucking gods, it’s you, it’s really you,” (Y/N) whispered in awe, her arms tightening around him, holding each other in the middle of the hallway.

Levi was about to speak when he looked up and noticed that everyone was staring. Sending a glare in the direction of their audience that promised a painful death to anyone who spoke, Levi reluctantly pulled away from (Y/N) and grabbed her wrist, tugging her along behind him as he made for his office.

“Wait, Levi!”

“Levi! What the hell!?”

Levi heard Erwin and Hanji call out to him but he ignored them, making a beeline for the familiar wooden door to his quarters. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the Commander and the crazy scientist coming up behind him, but he did not stop or slow down, his eyes trained on his destination.

When they had finally reached his office, Levi pulled (Y/N) inside and begrudgingly let Erwin and Hanji join them before slamming the door shut and locking it. (Y/N) barely had enough time to glance around the space before he was on her again, this time sealing their lips in a searing kiss that stole the air from her lungs.

Erwin’s and Hanji’s jaws dropped at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier kissing the Angelus Mortis without a care in the world. Neither one of them had ever known Levi to be interested in love, the sullen man even going so far as to get angry at the mention of it, rolling his eyes when couples kissed in the hallways and gagging when Hanji tried to set him up with someone.

Levi pulled away from the kiss, panting, before he moved his lips to place desperate butterfly kisses all over her face and neck, his body humming at the feeling of her against him for the first time in years.

When they finally broke apart again, both of them ignoring the company they had in the office with them, they stared at each other, their eyes shining as they took the sight of their lost lover. (Y/N) reached up and gently cupped his cheek with her palm, her heart nearly exploding when he nuzzled into her touch, his eyes closing and his own hand coming up to cover her own.

“Gods, I missed you so fucking much,” Levi murmured.

“Me too Levi, I missed you so much, I don’t even have the words to express it.”

“I thought I lost you…,” Levi choked out, a single tear sliding down his cheek to hit her thumb where her hand was still holding his face.

“I thought I lost you,” (Y/N) whispered, her thumb moving to swipe the tear off of his skin. “I was told when I asked around that you were killed in combat with Farlan and Isabel, after being forced to join the military.”

Levi’s eyes opened, his silver hues glassy with unshed tears.

“I tried to get you. Tried to come back for you. But when I got to the Underground, everyone near our old place told me you had been brutally murdered. I even found the inside of our house to be destroyed with blood splattered on the floor.”

Levi’s body began to tremble as he relived the horrendous memory. The time when he thought all hope was lost, all life was meaningless, and that he was destined to be alone. When he had collapsed upon the filthy floor of their old ramshackle home, the blood soaking into his pants and sliding over his palms, he had wanted nothing more than to die. Almost did, until he managed to remind himself that she would’ve never wanted that for him. That she would’ve killed him if he decided to end his life. And so he had hardened his heart and left the scene, making that promise to himself right then and there that he would never love another woman ever again. He would live, for her sake, but he would never love, for his sake.

(Y/N) glanced away from him then, her hand dropping from his face to twist nervously in front of her, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“Yeah, well, when I thought you were dead, I knew there was no hope for me left. I was in agony, but I was also furious. Beyond furious at both the Military Police and the Survey Corps for taking you and Isabel and Farlan away from me. Aside from that though, I was also scared. Scared they would find out about our relationship and come looking for me. I knew I had to get out of there, I refused to work for the murderers who had taken away my one happiness in this life. So I trained myself, starting by faking my own death to become untraceable. Then I became stronger, faster. I killed both to remain free and to make them feel the pain I felt when you were ripped away from me.”

Levi’s eyes softened and he reached for her, bringing her into his chest and holding her tightly, his fingers tangling in her hair. Oh gods she was skin and bones, he could feel how malnourished she was through his shirt, her ribs poking him in the chest as he held her.

Suddenly, the Commander’s sharp voice broke the spell in the room, making both Levi and (Y/N) jump a little when he spoke.

“Sorry to interrupt, but what the fuck is going on here?” Erwin asked.

Levi and (Y/N) pulled out of their embrace but Levi kept an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, holding her close to him as if she’d disappear if he let go.

“Sorry, Erwin, Hanji,” Levi said, looking at each of his friends in turn. “I’d like for you to properly meet (Y/N) Ackerman, my wife.”

If Erwin and Hanji thought they were shocked before, nothing could have prepared them for the bombshell that just landed on them. Both of their mouths fell open so they were gaping like fish, their words caught in their throats.

“YOUR WIFE!?” Hanji suddenly screeched, her eyes sparkling with shock and wonder.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile and nod, her expression making the room feel several degrees warmer.

“But, Levi, you’ve never worn a ring!” Erwin pointed out, his mind scrambling for any kind of clues that he had missed that would’ve told him sooner that Levi was married. He came up empty. He knew for a fact that Levi never wore a ring on his hand, knew that if he had, Hanji would’ve never stopped asking him about it.

Levi then flashed a small smile of his own, and reached up to remove the cravat from around his neck. As soon as the pristine white fabric had fallen away, Erwin and Hanji were both able to see the silver chain that was clasped around his neck, a simple gold band hanging from the center.

(Y/N) reached up with her own hands to move the flaps of the old jacket she was wearing, the same silver chain with a gold ring on the end of it sitting against her sternum.

Erwin and Hanji just stood and stared in complete and utter shock for a moment, before Hanji suddenly let out a loud squeal, her eyes shining behind her glasses as she ran right up to (Y/N). Levi stuck an arm out as the energetic woman came running up to them.

“Oi, Four-Eyes, don’t go harassing her.”

“Levi, this is your wife! I can’t not come and say hello!” Hanji said incredulously, pushing his arm away and ignoring his scowl as she bounded around (Y/N) excitedly. “Oh my gods you are so pretty! No wonder Shorty likes you!”

(Y/N) blushed at the comment and sheepishly ducked her head down a little but she was smiling brightly, her fingers moving to gently run down Levi’s arm, telling him she was alright even with this wildly energetic woman in her face.

“T-Thank you,” (Y/N) said. “Are you a friend of Levi’s?”

The scientist nodded excitedly and stuck out her hand for (Y/N) to shake. “The name’s Hanji.”

(Y/N) shook her hand and tried to force the blush from her cheeks as Hanji continued to fawn over her.

“Levi, how come you never told us you were married?” Erwin asked while his girlfriend continued to blubber away, cooing over (Y/N)’s features and already beginning to set up a meal plan to help her get strong again.

Levi leveled a gaze at his Commander and one of the few people he called his friend. It was hard to tell what the giant blonde was thinking. He obviously knew Hanji’s opinion on everything, but Erwin’s sharp blue eyes remained unreadable but no less intense as they settled on the shorter man, waiting for a response. Levi naturally drifted almost imperceptibly closer to (Y/N) before speaking.

“I thought she was dead, Erwin. I’ve thought that ever since I went back to try to bring her up with me and found that scene at the house. Not only would telling you have been pointless, but also, it hurt too much to talk about her. I never took off my ring, I always wear it under my cravat, but I could never bring her up in conversation, not without feeling like my heart was being ripped out,” Levi said quietly, his voice a low rumble and his cheeks tinted with the palest pink as he admitted his feelings aloud.

Erwin contemplated his Captain’s words, his eyes narrowed on the sharp grey ones that stared right back. After a moment, Erwin could tell there was no deception in his friend’s gaze, nothing to suggest he hadn’t told them about (Y/N) for some unorthodox reason. The Commander nodded once, and he could’ve sworn Levi let out the softest sigh of relief. Hanji’s head suddenly shot up from where she had been examining (Y/N) for injuries.

“So that’s why you never accepted any of the women I tried to set you up with!” She said. “You were always so bothered by it, always so angry, now I know why!”

“Yeah,” Levi grumbled as he glared at the scientist. “Even when I thought she was dead, I just couldn’t love another…”

Hanji stared at him for a moment before her eyes softened. She knew how hard it was for him to admit all of this, how awkward he must feel right now trying to explain everything. She wasn’t used to seeing her normally blunt, stoic, collected friend so nervous.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I just didn’t want you to be so sad and lonely anymore.”

Levi threw her another glare but it was less harsh this time, and having been friends with the grumpy man for so long, Hanji could read the hidden gratitude in his eyes. She nodded once in response and went back to checking (Y/N) over.

“(Y/N),” Erwin called, suddenly turning to face her after watching Hanji examine her.

“Yes?”

“Now that we’ve found out about your connection to my Captain here, I want to remind you that I am technically still obligated to take you to the Military Police for your crimes.”

Levi let loose an almost animalistic snarl and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), his eyes flashing and his teeth bared as he dared his friend to even try to take her from him. Erwin didn’t even bat an eye, a small smile curving at the corners of his lips.

“Since it is obvious that is not really an option for either of you, I would like to formally ask you to join the Survey Corps. That way, I can discount any charges against you and protect you from being forcibly taken from our custody once the Military Police realize we are not going to arrive.”

(Y/N) looked up at her husband, meeting his gaze and squeezing his hand comfortingly. Gods she had missed him so much, her heart ached with how much she loved this man, how much she never wanted to let him out of her sight ever again. Even though she had hated the military for most of her life, basing her entire career around it in her search for vengeance, there was no debate in her mind. Even if joining the Survey Corps wouldn’t have guaranteed her life, she knew she would’ve always agreed.

“Yes, I will join the Survey Corps, pledge my life to you, and fight for humanity,” (Y/N) said clearly and without hesitation, returning the smile the Commander threw her. Turning to Levi, (Y/N) looked deeply into his gunmetal eyes, marveling at the emotion swirling within them. “I will follow you, wherever you go, no matter what happens, I am never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

Levi let a genuine smile ride across his face as Erwin and Hanji left to go submit the proper paperwork, giving the reunited couple some privacy. Leaning down, Levi pressed his lips to hers in a blazing kiss, gentle and sweet but no less passionate, letting his kisses tell her exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, (Y/N),” Levi whispered breathlessly when they pulled apart, resting his forehead against hers.

“I will always come back to you, Levi,” (Y/N) said, her own eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I only ever feel truly alive when I am with you.”

~~~

A/N: I know the ending dialogue is a little cheesy but I had fun writing this anyway. Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoy! More Levi content coming soon!

318 notes · View notes

asterekmess · 4 years

Note

what scott did to derek in the season 2 finale wasn’t a violation, it was poetic justice and derek’s well deserved comeuppance for being an inhuman, incompetent flop as a an alpha, werewolf and person. derek knew he deserved it, that’s why he accepted it and never held it against scott. not to mention that by inconveniencing derek for a few seconds, scott single-handedly defeated gerard and the kanima and saved derek’s and everyone’s life at the warehouse. plus, he made derek a better person

Look. I know you like Scott. But I need you to understand that what you’re saying is not only factually incorrect, but the implications of it are really hurtful.

Scott suffered a lot because he was bitten without being given a choice. Peter attacked him and turned him into something he never wanted to be. That is horrible for him, and I feel for him. What frustrates me so much is that he had his autonomy taken away from him, he suffered a huge injustice, and instead of protecting other people’s rights to choose, he decided to take away their choice the same way it was done to him. He shamed and insulted Erica and Boyd for their decisions to take the bite, completely negating their abilities to make their own choices. Derek didn’t attack them. He told them the risks, he explained what the bite was and what he expected back from them if he gave it to them. They asked for the bite. That was their choice, not Scott’s.

First off, Derek did not deserve what happened to him. A rape survivor who lost his entire family in a brutal fire that his rapist set and had his big sister murdered by his own uncle, did not deserve to have his body used without his consent to give what he considered a gift to the father of the woman who assaulted him, and it in no way made him a ‘better person.’ No. You need to be more careful about the things you say, because sexual assault survivors shouldn’t have to read horrible things like what you just typed out and sent to me. I should not have to read it.

Second, Scott’s motivation behind what he did was not justice. It was pride, a disregard for Derek’s bodily autonomy, and maybe even an actual urge to help with the Gerard situation. You could even add revenge to the list, since Gerard threatened Scott’s mom. And I have to point out, if Scott is really the amazing person that you’re claiming he is, then ‘poetic justice’ should never be something he is aiming for. Good people don’t do the thing that is the most ‘poetic.’ If Scott were as empathetic and kind as people claim he is or the show tries to tell us he is, he never would have done that to Derek, no matter how much he disliked him. There was no reason why he couldn’t have told Derek what he had planned and gotten Derek’s permission to do what he did. Scott kept the secret from him because he felt like he had the right to make decisions about Derek’s body without Derek’s consent. He did it because he wanted to be the one with the secrets for once. He outright admits that he kept the secret “Because you may be an Alpha, but you’re not mine.” He wanted to prove that Derek couldn’t control him, by hurting Derek and forcing him to give what Derek considered the greatest gift a werewolf could bestow, to the father of the woman who murdered Derek’s family. That is cowardly, childish, and apathetic, and it directly contradicts the idea that Scott is in any way True Alpha material.

Third, nothing he did was single-handed, because Derek isn’t an inanimate object or a tool. He’s a person, and without him, Scott’s plan wouldn’t have happened. Without Deaton, Scott’s plan wouldn’t have happened. Scott did not act alone.

Fourth, Derek didn’t accept what Scott did, and he did hold it against him. He felt so unsafe with Scott that he didn’t even tell him about the Alphas over the summer, didn’t ask for his help to find his Betas, because he didn’t think Scott could be trusted. Scott had already sold him out once and Derek had every right to believe Scott would do it again. (Which he then did at the end of S3A when he went to join Deucalion and left Derek unconscious in an elevator, in a hospital about to be swarmed with cops.)

Fifth, everything you are angry with Derek for, Scott did as well. So if you’re saying that Derek is ‘inhuman’ and a failure of an Alpha/werewolf/person, then you must be saying the same thing about Scott. Yes, Derek threw his Betas around and injured Isaac. Scott also threw Isaac into a wall twice (without even the pretense of training him) and dug his claws into Liam’s (I think it was him) neck without his permission. Yes, Derek chained his Betas up on the full moon. Scott abducted Liam and duct-taped him to his bathtub without explaining anything he’d done to him, and I’m pretty sure (though I don’t remember it well) that he was involved in Liam getting chained to a tree at one point. Yes, Derek kept secrets from his pack under the pretense of ‘protecting’ them. Scott also kept the truth about how Allison’s mom was bitten from her, letting her believe for months that Derek brutally attacked her mother for no reason, and lied to Kira about her losing control of her kitsune (though I also don’t remember a lot of that plotline). He also lied to Stiles about whether Lydia liked him, after making out with Lydia (who currently had a boyfriend) in the coach’s office, which is just a dick move, whether it was the full moon or not. Derek told Erica to seduce either Scott or Stiles? Scott told Allison to go on a date with Matt and KISS HIM. Derek scared Isaac away by shouting at him? Scott shouted at Allison for doing something she’d already told him she was going to do, and for telling her parents something she’d already warned him she was going to tell them, and told her to stay away from him. Derek shoved Scott against a wall? Scott shoved Stiles against a wall on his first moon! Oh, Scott was scared/frustrated/having trouble with control? Well, Derek’s sister had just died and Scott was about to expose the entire supernatural secret to a lacrosse field full of people.

Sixth, Scott didn’t defeat Gerard or the Kanima, and he definitely didn’t save the warehouse full of people. Gerard wasn’t dead after getting the bite from Derek. He had enough energy left to tell the Kanima to kill everyone in the room, and escape while no one was looking. The Kanima wasn’t defeated by Scott, it had Allison by the fucking throat and it only backed off when Stiles hit it with his goddamn Jeep and Lydia came out to face Jackson. Scott had nothing to do with that. Lydia is technically the one who saved everyone in the warehouse, and Stiles was her ride. Scott’s contribution was negligible. It was a time waster. He could have accomplished the exact same thing by just standing there and talking to Gerard until Stiles showed up with Lydia.

Seventh, Scott’s behavior was indeed a violation. And I don’t just mean the bite he forced Derek to give Gerard. He didn’t just get revenge on the guy who’d been rude to him and arguing with him for the last few months. He lied to Derek, over and over (while also avoiding ever technically lying, in much the same way Deaton often does, to avoid being caught out by his heartbeat). He learned Derek’s plans and where Derek was hiding, insinuated that he wanted to be part of Derek’s pack (knowing how important pack was to Derek), and outright yelled at Derek for supposedly keeping something from him (Which he wasn’t. Derek canonically wasn’t holding back any secrets from Scott at the time, unless you count the fact that Peter was alive, which Derek had every right to assume Deaton had already told him) all while he was the one working for Gerard. (That is literally gaslighting. Like, literally.) He exposed Derek and his pack to Gerard, feeding him information on the same kids that he insisted were ‘his responsibility’ that probably helped Gerard get ahold of Erica and Boyd to torture them. It was a violation of Derek’s consent. A violation of Derek’s trust, of Erica and Boyd and Isaac’s trust. And a violation of Stiles’ trust as well, since Stiles had no clue what Scott was doing.

You came to my ask box after seeing the various posts that I’ve made, with documented moments from the show and well reasoned arguments and frustrations with Scott McCall’s character. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t think I’d have a comeback?

#personal #go for it #Meta ramblings #anti-scott mccall #hate mail #rant #I had to completely rewrite this because tumblr is stupid and deleted my response the first time #apologies for no 'read more' i'm too frustrated to put it in #i'll add one to the next long post #Anonymous

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knox-knocks · 4 years

Text

a hunger inside

an among us au >:) tw: death and violence (no foxes die, only ocs)

read it on ao3

Andrew finds him in the hallway, attempting an escape through the vent in the floor. Andrew’s eyes flick to the corner of the room where the camera is, but it is dark and lifeless, no blinking red light to indicate that someone is watching. Of course, that is why Andrew chose to linger in this part of the ship, after all. No one is ever watching these cameras, so he is free to smoke his cigarettes in peace.

“The vents, huh?” he says and leans against the cool metal wall of the ship and lights the cigarette. He’s almost out. As soon as his job here is done, he’ll have to stop by the closest pit stop for another pack.

Orange jumps at the sound of Andrew’s voice, twisting around in the tiny space the vents allow. It’s not much bigger than him, and he has to wiggle through in order to get out. Andrew watches him, cigarette forgotten between his fingertips, and takes note of the dark red staining his orange space suit, seeping into the fabric.

Andrew tips his head and behind Orange he can see two feet sticking out from the darkness, dripping the same red liquid that’s currently splashed all over him. Andrew is no idiot, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the liquid is blood and the legs belong to a dead man.

“Faster way to get around,” Orange – Josten, he remembers – says after a tense pause. Andrew can’t see his expression past the dark screen of his visor, instead his own unimpressed face is reflected back at him, distorted in the curve of the helmet.

Andrew has never seen the man underneath the orange suit. He’s been aboard the Space Enterprise for a couple months now and hasn’t so much as taken off his helmet. Which wasn’t a cause for alarm – not at first – because technically it was a rule that you had to be wearing your space suit at all times in case of emergencies, though no one actually did. Except for Josten.

What struck Andrew as strange was that Josten didn’t take it off even to eat. In fact, Andrew has never seen him eat with the others in the cafeteria, not once, in the months since he’s joined the crew.

“I suppose you’re the one the others are worrying about, then,” Andrew says and takes a drag off his cig before it dies. “The imposter.”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Josten says, neatly dodging the question. His voice is staticky over the mic, more artificial than human.

Andrew looks past at the victim half-eaten by the darkness. Josten subtly shifts his weight, an unsubtle attempt to hide the body, but the damage is done and Andrew has already seen it.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Andrew says. He stares at where he thinks Josten’s eyes should be, and meets his own even expression instead.

Josten doesn’t move so Andrew sighs and pushes up from where he’s leaning against the wall. Josten’s back straightens, and he makes an abortive move, as if reaching for a weapon. Said weapon must still be stuck in whatever poor sap whose blood saturated the floor, because Josten’s hands remain empty, and Andrew unstabbed.

“Go get cleaned up,” Andrew says and stubs out his cigarette against his fatigues. The ashes smear against the black fabric, near invisible. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Why?” Josten says in that robotic voice of his.

“Because now you owe me one,” says Andrew.

“I thought we were even.” Josten mimes a movement reminiscent of raising a cigarette to his mouth, a clumsy mimicry in his bulky suit. “‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “But now I’m covering for you as well. So you owe me.”

It is eerie, the way Andrew can’t see his face to read his reactions, and wonders if this is how his crewmates feel about him. Andrew, always so tightlipped and apathetic, even when the crew started getting picked off one by one. He didn’t join up too much longer after the others, but he’d picked up on their unease almost immediately. Andrew doesn’t care though; he isn’t here to make friends. He is here to do his job.

Josten is the first to break. He turns, stiff, and walks down the hall to the sleeping chambers. Andrew watches him go and waits a few more minutes to give him a bit more time. He’s not really sure why. He could have left when he saw Josten climbing into the vent and pretend he never saw the body, or he could have simply reported exactly what he witnessed.

But it often gets boring on the Enterprise, and perhaps Andrew is intrigued, maybe he wants to see where this goes. Plus, it might come in handy to have the resident murderer indebted to him.

Andrew reports the body over the comm link and makes his way to the cafeteria.

_ _

It was Green who was killed, though Andrew never bothered to learn the man’s real name. The remaining crewmates are dragged from their tasks to deliberate over the murder, while Andrew watches over the chaos and waits for Josten to join them. In the end he points his finger at Red, who has no alibi except for her claim to be down in Navigation at the time of the murder. But the others do not listen and in their panic, they are quick to vote her out.

Her screams of terror and pleading are cut short by the hiss of the chamber door sealing shut. It is Yellow who slams the ejection button, and Andrew watches as Red is spat into the black vacuum of space. Yellow flinches when the air is forced out of her lungs and her blood boils in her veins, but Andrew does not.

Ten crewmates turn to eight in a day, and the others are soothed enough to go back to their assignments. At least until Andrew finds Josten stuffing Yellow’s crumpled form into one of the cupboards in Storage a few days later.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Andrew says smoothly, and Josten flips around, quite literally caught in the act. He’s still holding the knife, but he lowers it when he sees Andrew.

“I owe you two?” he says.

“One,” Andrew replies. Josten tips his head, a strangely animal action with the giant space helmet on. “I want your name.”

Josten hesitates.

“Your full name.”

“Neil,” he says slowly, as if trying it out. “Neil Josten.”

“Neil,” Andrew repeats, and he quite likes the taste of it on his tongue. It tastes a little of danger, like the iron-tang of blood. “Now show me your face, and we will be even.”

Neil is slow in taking off his helmet, and Andrew watches in rapt attention as the vents blow out a stream of oxygen and steam as the seals release and Neil twists the helmet off.

Andrew wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Neil looks normal. At least, he has a nose and a mouth, and reddish-brown hair falling into his eyes. It’s as his gaze is tracking the movement of his auburn curls that Andrew spots the reason Neil was so hesitant to take off his helmet.

His eyes are a bright, crimson red, glittering and dark under the fringe of his hair. Undeniably alien.

Andrew takes a step forward and grabs Neil by the chin. He brings his face down closer to his own and moves it side to side, studying him. Aside from the eyes, his face is also marked by deep gouges and circular scars on either side of his face. He is very attractive, and Andrew feels a slow, tight pull in his navel. He would quite like to take this man apart, bit by bit. Neil is silent as he lets Andrew look his fill.

“There’s a vent in the corner of the room, to the left,” Andrew says, releasing Neil’s face. “I’d be quick if I were you.”

Neil narrows those red eyes of his before reattaching his helmet and following Andrew’s directions. He has the vent open and one leg in when he turns back and says, “Why do you never talk to any of the others?”

Andrew gives him a thin, close-mouthed smile and says nothing.

He doesn’t report the body. He lets Purple find it, and he and Neil meet the others in the cafeteria together. His suit his clean, no traces of the blood that had been previously splattered down his front. His helmet is on, but he’s not the only one hiding their face so no one mentions it.

“Minyard,” the man in the white suit says. Andrew is pretty sure his name is Folkson or Falkner or something. His face his pale, eyes stretched wide, and his lips tremble as he talks. He’s the oldest out of all of them, and has taken the helm. “Where were you?”

“With Josten,” Andrew says. “We were clearing out the oxygen tanks in O2.”

“That’s not usually a two-person job,” Lime says suspiciously.

Andrew levels a look at her. “It is if you do it properly.”

“We need to figure this out,” Cyan snaps, and Andrew wracks his brain for their name. He comes up blank. “We’ve been getting picked off for weeks and we still have no fucking clue as to why.”

“They might not be human,” Pink says in his quiet voice, thin as a thread. He clutches his gloves in his hands, turning them over and over. “What if this is a game to them?”

Andrew hedges a look toward Neil but he is still, silent.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cyan says, and rolls their eyes. “We need to stay focused before we lose the mission.”

“You give a lot of orders and not a lot of answers,” Folkson or Falkner gripes.

“I could say the same for you,” Cyan replies coolly.

Andrew lets them bicker. He said his piece, and both he and Neil are cleared. After all, Pink saw them on the cameras, and they were no one near the body when Purple found it. In fact, no one was around, and soon the suspicion turns to Purple. Their pleas fall on deaf ears as they are locked in the ejection chamber and Cyan presses the button.

The others whisper around them, desperate prayers to a God that has no place in the depths of space. Let us be right, they murmur. Please, this time, let us be right.

_ _

The first time Andrew kisses Neil, they are in the showers and he has just scrubbed the last of Falkner’s blood off of him. Red turns to pink as it runs off of him, over the white tiles, and down the drain. Andrew knows someone will stumble across the body and report it soon, but he doesn’t care.

Neil’s voice is different when he’s not wearing the helmet, and so is his gasp when Andrew pushes him against the still-dripping wall and presses their mouths together in a bruising kiss. He has a grip on his t-shirt, one in his hair, and he angles their mouths together in a way that has Neil scrabbling against the wall for support.

“Andrew,” he says, and the sound is long, drawn out. Neil tips his head back against the wall and Andrew mouths at his neck, his skin warm from the blood pumping life through his body.

Neil is a killer, the imposter among them, but his skin still bruises and his body still reacts to Andrew’s touch. He kisses him, again and again and again, each one harsher than the last.

Andrew only pulls away when Neil’s tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. He takes a step back. He needs to be more careful. He shouldn’t be letting Neil get close like this, it’s too dangerous. Too easy to slip up.

Neil’s eyes are blown, his cheeks flushed. “I think we should blame Lime,” he says, breathless.

Andrew presses another kiss to his mouth and resists the urge to sink his teeth into Neil’s lip. Dangerous.

Once under control, Andrew says, “There will be four of us left, after this.”

Neil nods, suddenly solemn. He almost looks regretful. He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Let’s go,” he says without meeting Andrew’s eyes, and Andrew has the feeling that he was going to say something else. Before he can ask, though, Neil is already pulling on his gear.

In the end, they can’t decide who to eject, and Lime is safe. For now.

_ _

“I didn’t do that one,” Neil says quietly, peering down at Lime’s twisted body at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck is broken, blonde hair falling over a face slackened by death, though still etched with fear. Andrew imagines her eyes widening, mouth opening in a scream as hands wrap around her throat, shoving her down the stairs. The image is not difficult to conjure.

“Must have tripped,” Andrew replies. He looks at Neil in the corner of his eyes, and a thrill goes through him when he sees the now-familiar bloodred of his gaze.

“I suppose we report this to the others,” Neil says the same moment Cyan enters the room with Pink in tow.

“Get away from him,” Cyan snarls, and it takes a moment for Andrew to realize that they’re talking to him. “He is the imposter. You – Orange.”

Desperation makes people clumsy, sloppy, and Andrew sees that they are very afraid. Neil looks alarmed – and extremely guilty standing over the body. Never mind Andrew was also caught red-handed, Cyan and Pink surround Neil and Neil only.

So they don’t suspect Andrew at all.

“You killed Gen,” Cyan says, voice shrill. They leap at Neil, and with Pink’s help they corner him against the wall as Andrew watches on. “And I’m willing to bet you were plotting to kill Black too. Lure him down and execute him here.”

“What of it?” Neil says through clenched teeth. Cyan has his arms pinned to his sides, and there is nowhere for him to go. They force him back, crowding him into the ejection chamber. Neil jerks in their grip, but Cyan holds tight. Pink grapples with the panel on the wall to open the door, but his shaking hands slide helplessly over the smooth panel. He finally finds a grip and gets the door open.

“Look at his eyes,” Pink cries. “I told you. I told you he wasn’t human.”

“Shut up,” Cyan grits and shoves Neil into the chamber. Neil struggles, bucking in a last-ditch effort to get out of Cyan’s grip, but it’s useless. They found their imposter, and now they’re going to kill him. His wide red eyes meet Andrew’s calm ones, and he rams his body into Cyan’s, desperate.

Cyan grunts at the impact and looks over their shoulder at Andrew. “Black,” They hiss. “Minyard, help – ”

Andrew smiles, revealing the rows of razor-sharp teeth he has so carefully hid from everyone until now. Pink sees it first and screams, but it’s cut off when Andrew lunges and sinks his fangs in his slender neck. Blood gushes into his mouth, and it tastes so sweet. Pinks chokes, hands fluttering ineffectually at his sides as Andrew tears out his throat.

Cyan watches with horror, but before they can do anything, Neil is already there, his arms wrapped around their neck. He forces their head back at such a steep angle that Cyan cries out in pain, and shakes them like a ragdoll. It is easy now that they have the element of surprise, and Neil snaps Cyan’s neck with ease. They slump to the ground and Neil stares at their body, chest heaving from the fight.

“You,” he says, still out of breath, eyes traveling up to Andrew’s. “You’re the other one.”

Andrew licks his lips, blood dripping from his face, his sharpened teeth, and Neil tracks the movement. “Yes,” he says simply.

Neil grins. “Good. I would have hated killing you.”

“You never would have gotten close.” Andrew steps over Pink’s still-twitching body and hooks his fingers in the thick collar of Neil’s space suit. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s eyes are dilated, black enveloping red. “You already know my answer,” he says, voice heavy.

Andrew’s grip on him tightens. “Say it anyway.”

“Yes,” Neil says and Andrew yanks him in for a fierce kiss. Neil makes a sound low in his throat, guttural, and Andrew swallows it. He’s sure he nicks Neil with his teeth now that he’s not so concerned about keeping them hidden, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He is happy licking the blood from Andrew’s lips.

Neil’s eyes flash red and Andrew’s teeth bare in a sharp smile. Game over.

#aftg #tfc #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #mine #my writing

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wordsfromthesol · 4 years

Text

Just A Facade (2/2)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Taglist: @zphilophobiaz @anousiemay @malfoys-demigod @pricetagofficial @somnibats Summary: Dick is very confused that his brothers seem to all be getting along with you, and worse…wanting to help you. And wait…were you dating his brother?! Warnings: Violence, cursing, violence...more violence Word Count: 2.0k

You woke up in one of Jason’s t-shirts, in his old room, very confused. As you moved to get up the pain racing up your side jogged your memory. “Shit, Jason’s gunna be so pissed at me.”

“You could say that again!” You heard his voice coming from the bathroom.

You slowly made your way to the bathroom and leaned against the door frame. “It’s not like I meant to get shot Jay.”

“Yeah, well, you could have told my idiot brother when it happened.” He stepped towards you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Or even ME when you got to the cave.”

“I thought I could handle it…why was your brother there in the first place?” The question came out a little more accusatory than you meant. Jason took a step back and threw his hands in the air.

“Because, apparently, you tried to kill him last week.”

“He’s still on that? Ugh, I pulled my punches as much as I could without being glaringly obvious. Next time he shouldn’t be in the way of the actual target.”

“Maybe you should just tell him.”

“Why? He doesn’t need my life story.”

“Y/N/N…”

“Oh you’re one to talk mister come back from the dead and don’t tell anyone.”

“You didn’t even know me before I died!”

“So! I know you didn’t tell your brothers!”

“I know you’re doing this to distract me, and it’s working, but you need to tell him. He won’t trust you, and it will end up getting someone hurt on this case. And if that someone is you –” Jason’s voice trailed off.

It was your turn to throw up your hands in exasperation. Unfortunately, you had forgotten about your recent injuries. “Agh!” You grimaced as your hand went to your side.

“See, that’s a sign that you’re being too stubborn.” Jason smirked before pressing a kiss to your lips and lifting you up. He carried you until you got to the cave, where he gently set you down, allowing you to still use him as a crutch.

“Y/N!” Tim exclaimed at the sight of you, “I’ve found something!” He waited for you and Jason to arrive at his side before he continued. “So, they made a mistake coming after you.”

“How do you know that was related? A lot of people want me dead…”

“Well, I didn’t at first. But then, looking through your pictures…the ones you didn’t originally give us,” Tim shot a judgmental stare your way.

“Oh you would’ve done the same thing.”

“WELL, one of them caught the van…long story short I was able to trace it back here,” Tim points at the screen, “once they left your apartment.”

“Alright, I’ll do some recon then. Come on blue bird.” You gestured to Dick.

“It’s Nightwing – wait you want me to come?”

“Well I know I’m not going to be let out of here alone, so I’d rather just hitch a ride than have one of you bozos follow me.”

“She’s not wrong.” Jason stated plainly as he tossed you a bottle of pills, “Take one before you leave, and please don’t rip my stitches.”

“I’ll try my hardest.”

The two of you sat in silence on the rooftop for nearly an hour. Finally, Dick couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Alright, you gunna try and kill me again, or what?” He finally blurted out, still trying to figure out why you requested him as your back-up.

“What? I never tried to kill you, calm your feathers.”

“Last week!”

“I had to make it look real…I wasn’t alone.”

“Yeah, I noticed that…”

“I know you don’t agree with my life choices Nightwing, but I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

“It may not be easy, but you can get out.” Dick made the comment as if it was from personal experience.

“No.” Your voice turned somber, “I can’t. My parents decided to pay for their freedom with mine. If I leave…they’ll just take my sister. There is no out for me.” Your eyes focused on the building below, not daring to face him.

“Sister?” Dick was quickly realizing how little he actually knew about you.

“Heh, yeah. I doubt she even remembers she has one. I got her out, found her a family. She was only four…I haven’t seen her since.”

“Huh, that’s why you actually dropped the act for a minute when you presented this case. I thought you were hiding something.”

“I was. My past.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

Silence rang through the night, as the two of you watched the building. Taking photos and notes of all the ins and outs. Finally, the two of you decided it was time to leave. Just as you pulled into the cave, Dick asked one more question…or tried to.

“Are you and Jason…”

“I’m going to let you talk to your brother about that one.” You interrupted his thought before scurrying out the door.

“Well, what did you find?” Tim eagerly awaited for another piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

“Didn’t see any kids, but there were definitely too many guards for a store called ‘Windows, Doors, and More’. Even if it is in Gotham.”

“So we check it out in the tomorrow during the day. By we, I obviously don’t mean you Y/N/N.”

“Yeah yeah Jay, I gathered.” The sarcasm dripped off your response.

“While we’re on that subject…” Now Tim and Damian had turned their attention to you as well. “We think you need a suit. A secret identity. These people found you too easily.”

You chuckled at the mere thought, “Yeah okay. I don’t have any family, there’s no point.” You didn’t notice the sorrow fill Jason’s eyes at your apathetic words.

“Fine, if you won’t do it for me then how about your sister. Just because she doesn’t know about you doesn’t mean others don’t.” Jason’s frustration was apparent.

Before you could comprehend the words, your fist collided with Jason’s jaw. Immediately, you stepped back. Your hands shaking.

“Hit me all you –” Before Jason could finish your hands cupped his face.

“No no no” you whispered more to yourself than him. A tear fell from your eye as your mind finally caught up. “Jay, I’m so sorry.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, then another, and another before enveloping him in a hug. “You’re right. I need to protect her. Protect you.” A faint smile grazed his lips and he pulled you from his chest, keeping his hands resting on your shoulders. The silence seemed to go on forever, until Damian couldn’t take it anymore.

“Finally! Now come see the suit we had designed for you.” It was the first time you had ever heard Damian Wayne excited for something.

You gave Jason a smirk, “You already had it made?”

“For almost a year now.”

“So you guys are together, right?!” You heard Dick’s confused voice bellow in the background. No one answered him.

The next day came and went and a plan was made. Your role was made minimal, and by minimal you meant being forced to sit as the look out on the rooftop across the street. Though you understood, you still couldn’t sit back and watch everything go down. You waited until you heard clear fighting happening in the warehouse when you made your way to the roof. Timing the break-in with a gunshot, you crashed through a second story window and made your way to a locked back room.

The five of you had narrowed the location of the children down to this room. It was the only thing that made sense, and you were determined to get these kids out. The lock was easy to pick, however, you were not expecting someone on the other side. Someone who knew exactly who you were, despite your newfound disguise.

“Oh look who saved me the trouble. I think I owe you another bullet for the number your friend did on my face.”

“Ya’know, he’s right outside…why don’t you just go pay it back now.”

“Somehow I think hurting you will do just that. But don’t worry, he’ll get his turn to.” As you pulled the gun holstered at your side the man delivered a swift jab to your injured side. The gun fell to the floor and you charged at him, dropping to the ground just before making contact and sweeping his legs from under him. He collapsed to the floor and you jumped on top of him, putting as much force as you could against his neck with your arm. As you felt your grip loosening you threw back your head and crashed in into his. You felt him go limp under your weight.

“Where the fuck are the kids.” You mumbled to yourself. You begin searching for a hidden panel or room. As you heard gunshots barrel through the warehouse, you looked down and noticed a locked hatch. Making quick work of the lock, you pulled the hatch open and were met with eight terrified eyes staring up at you.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now.” You reached your hand down, offering it to one of the children. After what seemed like hours, a brave soul took it in theirs. Thankfully, the others quickly followed. You soon realized you couldn’t get them out the same way you came in.

“Shit, alright guys. I need you to cover your ears.” You placed your hands over your ears as a demonstration before you set a small charge at the far wall. “Once this goes off you run through the opening and wait in the alley behind the next building. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise.” As the children nodded you set off the detonation, grabbed your gun, and positioned yourself between them and the door. You knew the noise would draw attention.

A man soon rounded the corner, only half the kids were out. You shot directly through his knee cap. He wasn’t alone. Upon hearing the shot, the second assailant somersaulted directly into your feet. You stumbled backwards, forcing the last child out of the opening. Your momentary loss of focus allowed the man to push you into the wall. He held one hand around your neck and the other around your wrist. He continued to slam your wrist into the wall until you were forced to drop the gun. You quickly latched your legs around his waist and jabbed your free arm into his side. His stumbled backwards, loosening his grip as he stumbled to stay upright with the additional weight. You pulled your other wrist from his grasp and launched it at his jaw. You heard a crack as your fist made contact. The hand at your neck flew towards his own jaw. As he was off guard, you fell into him, forcing him to fall backwards onto the ground. Just as you stumbled to get up, Jason raced into the room.

“This was not the plan!”

You smirked, “But it worked. Kids are in the next alley. Be a good birdie and go get them Nightwing.” Dick rolled his eyes but complied. Without a word, Damian and Tim joined him. Jason’s eyes trailed towards your neck, which was already starting to change color. Before he could berate you, you continued, your voice heavy. “They were kids Jay. They deserved a life. They deserved a choice.”

Jason pulled you into his chest, “They did, but now we have no one to question. There’s no way these idiots were the masterminds.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

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ratcarney · 3 years

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episode 23 and the characterization of yukimi, yoite, and miharu

there are several things about e23 (aptly named “activation”) that tear me apart but one of the main ones is how yukimi, yoite, and miharu react to raikou’s death. when they see raikou’s body hit the ground, when they see him let go of shirogamon, they all react in ways that are inconsistent with their characterization thus far in the series, and that’s what makes the scene so meaningful and crucial to the development of both the plot and characters.

we’ll start with yukimi:

yukimi’s character is based on his go-with-the-flow, if-you-can’t-beat-em-join-em attitude. he’s introduced by pointing a gun at a fuuma ninja, and takes the fuuma ninja’s surprise in stride. he explains himself thusly: “times are changin’, so i’m adaptin’. makes sense? it’s the 21st century. the age of the individual” (e3). yukimi prides himself on not being a by-the-book shinobi like tobari. he’s easygoing, if a bit gruff at times. overall, he’s not the type to spiral or get caught up in his own head, and he’s certainly not the type to show the enemy that he’s scared.

but as soon as raikou’s grip loosens on his katana, we see him look horrified.

this is an expression we’ve never seen on yukimi before. he’s scared. keep in mind that raikou had injured him just minutes beforehand. he’s still holding the shoulder that raikou slashed. yukimi was brought into the kairoshu with kazuho when he was younger as an attempt to escape an abusive father. hattori took him and kazuho in and raised them almost as if they were his own children (see: ichiki alluding to yukimi being something akin to hattori’s child in e18). if we do the math, raikou joined the kairoshu five years prior to canon era, so yukimi would have been 22. yukimi would have lived in the kairoshu for quite some time. we have to bear in mind that yukimi has known raikou since raikou was fifteen years old. yukimi basically watched him grow up. judging by their easy, familiar dynamic in e9 and the scene in e10 where yukimi tells gau how to approach raikou, the two of them had a good relationship, maybe even a semi-brotherly relationship.

so, applying that to raikou’s death scene, yukimi just watched as the man who replaced his own father murdered the boy he had come to know as something of a brother.

it’s now when all previous characterization departs. yukimi is showing real, genuine fear. he is no longer the easygoing, caustic ninja that we have come to know him as. even when he was injured by raikou, he still had his attitude intact (“so you’re a samurai again, huh?”), but now he’s a husk of that man, and the terror in his eyes reveals that. raikou’s death shocked him enough to lose all of his former bravado.

yoite’s situation is more difficult. leading up to this episode, he’s already been abandoning some of his former characterization, but it’s still in line with his MO. he wants to disappear, and even though his motivations are changing, he’s still yoite. throughout the series, we have seen him kill without a second thought. he says it himself: “i live to kill for the kairoshu.” (e12). he’s introduced as a “monster” (e2). and steps into the role neatly when he tears tobari apart and snaps kouichi’s arm. even as his kira is taking more and more out of him, he continues to use it without much sympathy for those it affects. he’s constantly walking on a “mountain of bodies,” so he’s become desensitized to death (e12).

but when we see his face when raikou dies...

he’s the only person in the room to quickly turn away.

yoite has never shown any aversion to looking at dead bodies prior to this point. his desensitization runs deep, and he’s normally unfazed by them. but it’s this particular body, RAIKOU’S body, that makes him look away. it’s a knee-jerk response. he turns his head and looks at the ground because he can’t bear to look at raikou. even when we see him later, through raimei’s eyes, he still can’t bring himself to look at raikou.

even though my personal belief is that yoite and raikou go way back, i’m focusing on canon here, so in canon, raikou and yoite met for the first time a few months prior to this, and they’ve worked in close proximity to each other since then. their relationship hit a rough patch just before yoite revived gau with his kira, but raikou’s gratitude to yoite only flourished since gau woke up, and it was present in the way he interacted with him. raikou became a protector of sorts for yoite in the last few days of his life, because he had “a debt that needed paying back” (e21). raikou was genuinely kind to yoite at a point in yoite’s life where he needed kindness (regardless of whether or not he necessarily wanted it), and for yoite to see his body on the ground, is (in gau’s words) “too much for any one person to handle” (e20). yoite’s desensitization to dead bodies is shattered when it comes to one of the only people in his life that granted him some semblance of kindness.

miharu. oh, miharu. the master of indifference.

in the beginning of the series, miharu’s main character trait is that he is “apathetic towards everyone and everything” (e1). it’s this apathy that keeps the shinrabanshou from truly and permanently awakening from inside him, as that would require miharu to make a wish according to his innermost desires, and he has none. we see him grow and change throughout the series up to this point as he comes to genuinely care about yoite and yoite’s wish, but he’s still gripping tight to apathy as a coping mechanism to separate himself from everyone else.

miharu and raikou didn’t have a close relationship, but they went on the koga mission together, and raikou liked and respected miharu a lot. he never treated miharu like a child, and never attempted to tell him what he could and couldn’t do (like tobari did). miharu is not as desensitized to death as yoite is, so he’s able to be disturbed by violence, but he’s not completely unfamiliar with the concept. he even partakes in violence himself when necessary (see: escaping from his hotel room in e21). however, when he sees raikou hit the ground, we see something break inside miharu. any last remnants of his previous apathy are forcefully cast aside as he’s forced to look at the body of a former comrade.

it’s seeing raikou get murdered that finally shakes him up enough to allow the shinrabanshou to take over. miharu is so genuinely scared in that moment, he completely abandoned all the walls he had tried to put up to protect himself, and the fairy is able to take advantage of him.

miharu’s apathy dies along with raikou, his pure, unadulterated terror creating a fragile state of mind that the shinrabanshou is able to seize hold of. raikou’s death marks miharu’s abandonment of his previous characterization and makes room for the growth he needs in order to harness the shinrabanshou.

taking all of this into account, it’s still fucked up that they killed anime raikou, but for the sake of the plot and characters, it’s understandable why they did so. raikou dying was the final drop of water they needed to get yukimi, yoite, and miharu’s characters to the point where they overflowed.

#this was so fun to write #i know that no one is going to read it but maybe skim it? for me? 🥺#i do NOT fuck around with content analysis #EVER #jo.posts #jo.analysis #nabari no ou #nno #raikou shimizu #yoite #yukimi kazuhiko #miharu rokujo #anime

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whumperfly-chaser · 3 years

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Maurice- Ch 2 | A realization

Don't you just hate it when you find out your tenant has been secretly using his home to host and torture someone for his own sick pleasure? Simply the worst way to start an afternoon.

T/W's here: (Emeto, dirty home, rotting foods and other bits, abandoned setting, infestation) (Lmk what else to tag!)

It would’ve been a pleasant afternoon, drizzling slightly on clean sidewalks and an overgrown lawn, children in raincoats playing in the neighboring yards, and birds singing happily under the shower. It would’ve been a pleasant afternoon, but not for Denice or Martin. No… Not for them in the slightest. Denice tightens her grip around the umbrella handle as she listens faintly to Martin’s complaints.

Prev- Next

“I’m telling you Denice, you’ve got to stop thinking that Roger was up to this shit. Sure, he was a little off sometimes, but he paid the rent just fine.”

“And I’m telling you that I heard something in here. I could’ve sworn I heard a scream when I was walking by. That’s no dog, Martin. It sounded human and scared and I-“

“And you what, Denice?” Denice looked at him with a sort of restlessness, every once in a while she gazed at the innocuous exterior. This house used to be hers. It used to feel nice to walk by and it used to feel safe. But now… all it gives her is a sense of dread.

“Are you really going to break into a tenant’s home just to investigate a random shout you heard? That could literally be anything!”

She crosses her arms. “I know what I heard, Mart. And it’s not his home anymore; he’s dead.”

Martin groans, dragging his hands down his face, releasing it with a snap. “Denice, you’re being unreasonable. The guy could’ve had a kid over-“

“He has no kids. And he mentioned it when signing the lease, too.”

“Like hell you remember when he signed that lease.”

“Steel. Trap. Memory. He said, and I quote; ‘I know this neighborhood is real quiet, so don’t worry, I never have anyone over, it’s just me in here.’ End quote.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “He could’ve been watching a movie-“

“That was no movie. It was guttural- and- and real.” Denice shudders, hugging herself as she takes another longing look at the house.

“It could’ve just been him yelling after a rough day-“

“The voice was too high compared to Roger’s.”

“It could’ve been coming from another house, or a person nearby.”

“It was coming from the house.”

Martin stares at her, half nonplussed and half exasperated. When Denice raises an eyebrow at him he simply looks away, staring at nothing in particular as he finds the words to say in response.

When he finally looks back at her, he’s no longer fully disbelieving her, but he’s definitely hesitant. “Look. You heard that noise weeks ago, Denice. Whatever it was, it isn’t there anymore. Plus, do really you think I’m going to go in there when our tenant might have been a psychopath with- people in his house?”

Denice almost glared, but instead she simply took to walk down the dirty stone path to the entryway.

“Denice- Denice, what in the absolute fuck are you doing?!”

“If you don’t want to go, fine. But voice or not, I still need to evaluate the condition of the house.”

“His family might still want his things-”

“He has none he’s close with. He signed his coworkers as references, too. Plus, I have the right to inspect.”

Denice opens the three locks in the front door like clockwork and swiftly opens the door to a dark and dusty apartment. It’s a fairly straightforward layout, with an L-shaped couch and some pillows, a plain carpet, and a coffee table in front of it. On the adjacent wall there’s a television on a shelved stand with some mildly off abstract paintings, strewn with messy strokes of black, blue and red paint. She glances at it for a second and finds herself looking away just as quickly.

Despite that, it was a normal-looking home, if not unsettling because of how abandoned it felt.

The smell is bad, but bearable as she turns on the lights. The furnished living room has a thin layer of untouched dust coating it, as though it finally had time to settle. It’s as she enters the kitchen that the putrid smell hinted at before hits full throttle. She swallows dryly and takes a step back, bumping into… someone’s chest…

Denice shrieks, struggling as a hand is placed on her shoulder-

“Shush! It’s me!” She snaps open her shut eyes and relaxes only slightly upon seeing Martin’s worried face looking back. He retreats his hand and takes two paces back himself, arms up in caution. “Sorry I grabbed you.”

“Oh-!” She heaves to herself, pressing a palm to her chest as if guiding her lungs to stretch further. “I-It’s okay, just don’t- don’t do that again, Mart.”

Martin nods, grimacing from the overall scent of the home. “I’m really sorry… Um.. I found these keys? They were on a keyring next to the door, but they don’t seem to belong to any of the locks.”

“Keep them for now. Maybe he changed some? We’ll have to check if he put a lock or three somewhere here.”

“Isn’t that against the lease?” he asks whilst putting the small wad of keys in his back pocket.

“I’ve got other things to worry about right now… But we’ll need to look through the whole house.”

Denice inspects the room. Kitchenware, some appliances- a toaster oven, a blender… A very… diverse knifeblock… She pulls out a knife, only to find that it seemed recently polished.

Martin notices her interest in them. “Maybe he was interested in keeping everything maintained. The rest of the house seems pretty neat.”

Denice glances at the oxidation creeping from one of the thinner knives and doesn’t touch it. “…Maybe.”

“Is it me, or is the smell coming in stronger from the refrigerator?” Martin asks, but seems hesitant to open it.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Martin grimaces and looks away from the fridge as he pries it open. The lights snap on, revealing worms and maggots feasting on rotted food. One or two grown flies emerge from the indistinguishable piles of muck and escape the fridge as Martin slams the door shut. “SHIT!”

“The fridge wasn’t closed properly, I’m guessing…”

“You’re guessing? Shit’s a pigsty.”

“That’s what happens when food rots near the presence of flies, Mart.”

Martin gags. “No shit, Sherlock. Hell, did anybody even come in the house after he died?”

“I doubt it… Let’s just move on.”

“Let’s.” Replies Martin, looking through the cabinets. There were several lining the corners of the room, about twenty total; ten above and ten below. Unsurprisingly, a variety of spiders had long made their homes inside of the spaces from the absence of movement. The occasional pest would skitter between the raised boards, one of which being a cockroach large enough to garner a scream from the buxom woman. Martin was ever quick to kill it, slightly more composed than his counterpart.

“I don’t get why he’d have so little spices and so much salt.” Martin finally remarks, opening one of the upper cabinets.

“Maybe he likes pickling food?” Denice supplies, frowning at the dust layering the pots and pans below.

“I doubt it. His fridge would’ve been a lot more tolerable- and less… maggoty.” Martin shudders and proceeds.

Denice is opening yet another cabinet door when the realization finally hits her- She snaps back to a rather calm Martin, who was inspecting one of the bags. “Wait! Mart!”

Martin simply stared at her, nonplussed. “What?”

Denice stares back at him, then his hand. “Wait… didn’t you mention that salt burned you guys?”

Martin looks at the salt in question and chuckles softly, then pats the leaking paper bag. “Don’t worry, salt is only a big deal for obligate vamps.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. Plus I’m almost sure this is full of drugs.”

“It’s too granulated for that, Mart.”

“You never know.” Martin shrugged and placed it on the counter, continuing his run-through.

Why was she even doing this anymore? Did she really want to know what else was here?

…And yet, she finds herself opening the last cabinet regardless, surprised to see a different, smaller fridge inside it.

“…Mart, did we ever leave a mini-fridge here?”

“No? why would he own a separate fridge? Did he own snakes? a lizard of some kind?”

Denice cracks it open, shuddering at the sickening smell of iron and old blood, all in bloated vacuum-sealed bags, separating into clear, off-yellow plasma and coagulated chunks of dark rot. “He- he’s human, right?”

“Yeah? His ID would’ve specified if he were a supernatural.”

“Martin… Either he was a vampire, or he has enough blood to house one for no reason.”

“Blood? Wait-“ Martin ambles over to see it and retches at the sight, spitting into an overfilled trashcan nearby.

“Holy shit.“

“Martin- hey, it's okay man.” Denice rubs small circles on his back, and Martin coughs in his panic until it slowly died down. All is quiet between them, buzzing with unsaid questions.

"It's the smell that's killing me. It's wrong. Blood shouldn't be.." He straightens- realizing something until the last words finish his thought. "...wasted. Denice."

She perks at the call. "What?"

“You need a license to buy blood.” He silently mentions, the statement lingers in the air, weighter. His slitted pupils are wide and anxious.

Denice looks back at the minifridge, glancing at the almost rudimentary setup for storing the bags, compared to the professional handling she's seen with actual banks on the few times she accompanied Martin.

“I think-… I think this was his own. And you aren’t supposed to house vampires—even if you sign for them.” Denice feels her stomach lurch as she closes the door of the minifridge.

Martin looks at the blood with an apathetic sort of disgust, the bags having insulted his senses for the last time. “Will you please close the fridge already? The kitchen smells awful as it is.”

“Oh- Sorry. Let me just-“ She tries to close it normally, but it doesn’t really shut. A bit more pressure is applied, and even then the door bounces back open. One of the bags had clearly tilted out of shape when she opened it, but… Denice was not about to touch it more than she had to already.

She gives it a hearty shove.

There’s a squelch when it shuts, leaving a gush of sickly, yellow-tinted plasma to shoot and bead along the dirty linoleum flooring. Some clots of dark, runny sickness sputter and run down the fridge door

“…I burst one.” Denice gags while a strangled sound escapes Martin’s chest.

Martin heaves dryly, pressing a fist to his lips and an arm around his stomach as though it would stop him from vomiting altogether. They really should’ve placed a better window in the kitchen.

This could’ve been a nice afternoon.

“Den- Denice, I need to take a breather, yeah? or- or- I’ll definitely throw up. Let’s get to somewhere else- I can’t- I-”

“Y-Yeah… Let’s just get out and recuperate a little.”

Denice walked out of the kitchen with Martin following closely behind, his breaths stifled to try and limit the amount of bad air he inhaled.

But now Denice was even more unsure if she wanted to see what else lied in the house. Even with someone as strong as Martin beside her, she felt nervous. Uncertain.

Afraid.

Martin seemed to sense her worry and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We can always leave. You don’t have to stay here and see whatever else was in here.”

Denice enjoys his touch a little longer, thinking on what to say in response. In truth, she did want to leave. She wanted to leave from the beginning. But seeing just what they found now… Well, the knowledge would only eat at her if she didn’t find a conclusion to this.

“…Let’s just see the rest of the place, and we’ll leave right away. Is that okay with you?” She says despite herself. Martin looks absolutely disinterested in continuing the search for the scream’s source, but sighs. “I’ll go.” The relief Denice feels at those two words is immense. “But only because I don’t want you to be in here by yourself.”

“Thank you Mart.” “Don’t mention it.” His tone is curt yet warm, and Denice opens the door to the staircase with a bit more confidence.

They walked up the pine stairs with little conversation- the smell noticeably got better as they left the kitchen area, until it was replaced entirely by the musty scent of dust and no air circulation. The other two bedrooms were normal; they were replaced with an office and storeroom, both of which had no outstanding features. In truth, besides the paintings, there was a very little amount of personality in his home décor.

The attic was a different story altogether.

Martin bumped his head for the third time on the attic’s ceiling when Denice had seen it- shackles. Chains. Restrains of all shapes and sizes. Whips, prods, pokers and knives. Tasers and Gags and ropes and belts and flails- and a bowl.

A bowl of water, next to a spray bottle. Martin touches it and recoils- hissing to himself as he stared at his now reddening hand.

His burned hand.

----

They stumble out of there, disconcerted and horrified as each of them try not to think too hard on their findings. The lawn door creaks and wanes on its rusty hinges until they both find a place to sit under a lawn table’s umbrella and chairs.

And so they sat, not quite talking but exchanging conversation through glances alone. Martin takes a deep, shuddering breath and holds his head in both hands while Denice hugs herself, desperately trying to make sense of it.

But no matter what, they couldn’t quite make sense of it. It could have easily been confirmation-bias, but every path seemed to lead back to her original theory, and they hated it.

Martin still looked unnerved, his grey-tinted features dark despite the sun peeking out on him. He tapped his fingers against the clouded glass and grimaced- rubbing his fingers together at the gritty feeling of muck layering the table. He takes a quick sip of his flask and grunts as his burnt hand slowly starts regrowing the tissue.

"...It was concentrated." He eventually says after noticing her worried glances. "Fuckin' liquid was probably saltier than the ocean. Could've been acid for all I know. "

Denice felt herself losing composure as well- an internal tremor echoed through her as her worries piled on. Further and further it pushed her will to continue looking. Yet the most she could do was retreat into a better space- a more optimistic section of her thoughts where the noise she heard was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

She couldn’t imagine how Martin could feel about this- he was a vampire himself, and was now dealing with the possible reality of one of their tenants illegally hosting an unregistered vampire in his home. Torturing a vampire. Feeding it with his own blood to avoid getting into a registry.

She can't unthink it. She doesn't want it to be true, and yet she feels it's growing more real by the second.

She's rethinking every instance with the tenant, no longer a placid young man with a mild interest in the arts, but holding those pokers, those knives, those weapons, and using it on someone. On her. On Martin.

She desperately hoped for it to be a joke. A gag. Something unreal and unbelievable, as Martin had told her just an hour ago. But reality was setting in too quickly for fantasy to fill in the gaps, and now she had seen too much.

Martin was the first to speak.

“I’m calling the police.” It’s such a firm statement that it leaves Denice even more unsure. If they called the police, what would happen? Did they really expect something to make sense if they did? For some justice when they didn’t even know if the man did this? They would most certainly laugh. Laugh at them both for calling them over simply because they saw some odd things in his own home.

She remembers how each weapon had drying flecks of dark ichor lacing them and gags.

“…It's not going to be a good idea. There isn't much in terms of evidence.”

Martin glared at her momentarily, his gaze only softening upon seeing her distress. “We can show them what we found-“

“And then what?”

Martin looked away and at his hand, pensively staring at the mottling patchwork of repairs on his skin. “I don’t know.”

Denice unknit her brow. “Well… we still have one last room to search through. None of the keys fit the other doors. If we see something truly incriminating, we'll call.”

Martin flexed his now-healed hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling forcibly as though trying to grasp his last strands of composure. Or savoring the fresh air while he still could.

“Fine, but I’m not going back there for longer than I have to, and neither are you. Comprendes?”

She nods, now set and resolute. Martin stood up and stretched, his joints popping until he heaved a breath and walked to follow his partner. The one place they hadn’t searched. The last room. The room they both dreaded entering.

The basement.

#might edit later #i dont know man im tired #denice and martin #they argue like an old married couple #whump #tw whump #vampire whump #martin is a vampire

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an-odd-idea · 3 years

Text

BTS “ON” music video: The most probable interpretation I came up with

I didn’t know exactly what was up in the music video, and I heard even they didn’t know what was happening, so I tried to figure out what might be going on.

The boys and other people live in a land behind a high wall that people are afraid to venture beyond. I think the other side of the wall may represent facing your demons or confronting the problems with the world, and the people behind the wall choose to hide and live in denial or apathy instead.

When the video starts, fighting has broken out between the people who want to venture beyond te wall and the people who are against it. Seokjin is one of the people who wants to go out. The dove on the arrow is one he sent out to see if anything can live on the other side of the wall, but someone has shot it down to stop him. He’s starting to despair of ever getting any answers.

Jungkook also wants to go past the wall. Maybe he got too eager and was arrested for stirring up the people too much. He may have been thrown out beyond the wall with the expectation that he’ll die there, or maybe he was going to be executed and is escaping where he knows they won’t dare follow him. The way Seokjin looks to the side right before it switches to the scene of Jungkook running, it might have been him who helped him escape, and now he’s thinking of him and hoping he makes it.

The song starts, and Jimin is singing about not being sure who to believe or what to do. He’s standing between a pile of discarded drums, and one person playing a drum: the many who gave up and the few who press on.

Taehyung is apathetic. He’s stranded in the desert with the little girl, with nothing meaningful around, and he’s more or less accepted that they’re both just going to stay there. He kind of doesn’t care anymore and is just laying there, since he feels there’s no point even trying to change anything. The blindfold on the girl might be because he’s trying to hide the dismal situation from her and let her keep thinking it’s okay for as long as she can, before she has to open her eyes and realize how empty their life really is where they are.

Namjoon has a ship in the desert, with animals around him. This looks like a clear reference to Noah’s ark, which also connects to Seokjin’s doves. Namjoon’s lyrics talk about knowing what to do but being afraid; maybe he knows he needs a flood to get himself and the animals in his care to somewhere they can live, but he’s afraid. The boat is battered and the sails are torn; he’s shipwrecked before he can even begin, because there’s nothing he can do while stuck behind the wall.

While Namjoon sings about moving awkwardly and uncertainly forward, that’s what Jungkook is doing as he stumbles along. Life beyond the wall, and confronting whatever demons he’s been hiding from is a lot harder than he thought, but he’s trying to press on. At the same time, we see that the land there is much greener and richer than the land behind the wall, with trees instead of deserts and open grassland.

Seokjin enters a room with many empty bird cages; he’s been doing this for a long time without success. The lyrics say you can’t get him down because he’s a fighter, and he looks like he’s going to keep trying.

The lyrics then say “carried myself into a beautiful prison” while we see Jimin still trying to make up his mind. The people living behind the wall are hiding by choice. They have a life there, and it’s a kind of okay life, but they’re missing so much by staying inside.

The chorus starts, talking about bringing the pain on. Seokjin finds hope in the form of another dove. Jimin starts to move toward the man with the drum as he decides he wants to go beyond the wall, too. Namjoon seems to be struggling over a decision. Jungkook starts running again, no longer looking back like his being chased but seeming determined, and they all push on despite the difficulty.

Finally, Jungkook gets too exhausted and falls. Based on the next scene, this may represent part of the old him dying. Right after Jungkook falls and his eyes close, we see Hoseok surrounded by strange, skeletal trees. Jungkook is laying in the background and a bird appears to be picking at him. Jungkook isn’t actually dead, I think, but this represents part of his old self dying as he changes.

Hoseok is dressed differently from all the others, in much more modern looking clothes, and my theory is that he’s an early scout who went out to see what it was like beyond the wall. His old self died, too, but he’s alive and healthy while surrounded by what looks like death. He’s learned to live while facing the demons and his lyrics talk about pain, but also that he now knows the way and has air and light. It’s difficult, but he’s doing well and now has a fuller life than he did before. He can’t go back to the place behind the wall, and hasn’t returned.

Yoongi immediately echos Hoseok’s last line. They stand for the same thing, and may have worked together trying to persuade people to try going past the wall before. Hoseok has been gone a while, and most people might think he’s dead, but Yoongi believes he’s still alive and is trying even harder to persuade people to go out and hopefully find him. He looks like he’s talking to a group of the people’s leaders, who are ignoring him, but he doesn’t care, as the lyrics say.

Taehyung starts to think there might be something more and takes action for the first time, getting up and going to the little girl. He sings “gotta go insane to stay sane” like he still thinks this is crazy, but he’s tired of living somewhere so empty, and can’t sit idly by and let the little girl live that way too. Jimin begins walking forward while singing about being a fighter.

The gate in the wall, covered with plants from how long it’s been closed, starts to open as Taehyung takes the blindfold off the little girl. He wants her to open her eyes and see the hope for something more that he has now, but to do that he also has to stop trying to hide the current situation from her. She has to decide for herself whether to stay where it’s safe but empty or to go out into the unknown. She takes his hand and decides to go.

Jungkook isn’t dead. He’s on his feet again, looked tired, but calmer and more sure of his decision to leave the wall now. He encounters a pond, a contrast to the desert we’ve just seen Taehyung and the girl in. He starts to sing about pain as well, but just like Hoseok, now he’s not afraid. He chooses to descend into the water like the lyrics say about choosing to descend into an abyss, and he’s starting to really embrace the life on the other side of the wall, although his hands are still tied.

The other boys start to walk toward the open gate where Taehyung and the girl are, and now they have other people following their example. Hoseok is back, presumably because the gate is now open so he isn’t going back to being trapped there. I think it’s sweet that he walks so close to Yoongi and bumps his shoulder; maybe now that he’s actually about to go outside Yoongi doesn’t feel quite as brave as before, but Hoseok’s been there already.

Jungkook puts his bound hands in the water, and they’re set free, as Seokjin sets the dove free. Jungkook’s wrists, which were cut from the thorns tying them, are also healed. The boys have chosen to confront whatever demons there are, and it’s setting them free and making them better. The land on the other side of the gate for the others doesn’t look quite as lush as it does around Jungkook; they’re still afraid and not completely sure yet.

The water in the shell Jungkook picks up looks beautiful, and maybe that’s supposed to make sure you know life is richer out here; the pond is the first water we’ve seen in the video, after lots of scenes in dry places, so that’s a neat scene.

I’m not sure why Jungkook blows on the shell. Maybe to show he’s made his decision and he’s committed to life outside the wall, or maybe to signal to people still inside that he made it, and they can, too.

Then dark clouds roll in; it isn’t going to be quite that easy. The boys have to confront the versions of themselves in the red robes who still want to stay back. The ones who want to leave are dancing like their lives depend on it, and the versions of them who want to stay only have to stand there, because it’s much more effort to change than to stay. This is the first time all seven of them have been together in the video, and I assume they win now because they’re there to support each other. There’s fire and a volcanic eruption; it’s scary, but then the land beyond the wall springs into bloom; they’re sure now, and they’re ready to go.

Namjoon leads them on, which is a cool touch, since we saw him earlier unable to take the animals in his care to a better place; now he can actually point to something good ahead. It also helps that he has people with him now who will also support him.

They’re walking uphill now (climbing Pride Rock, apparently) and moving slowly, maybe because it’s still harder than they anticipated. Jungkook sees seven (hard to count, but it has to be) doves flying above them, gets a burst of energy again, and starts running toward the top of the cliff with the others following. Does it represent the leap into a new world, are they about to jump off and start flying or something? Heck if I know, but what a cool video.

I may have totally made all that up, so don’t take my word for it, that’s just what I got from the video.

#should i tag this?#will the army kill me if i got any detail here wring #guess we’ll find out #bts #pls be nice i started liking them like last week so i don’t know a whole lot yet

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wickedmilo · 3 years

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DO BETTER | MILO & VIC

PLACE: A bar TIMING: A couple of weeks before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo confronts a familiar face, and Vic is forced to reconsider her values WRITING PARTNER: @natusvincere CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug abuse, alcohol, mentions of drug manipulation

Milo was having a good night. The club he was in had a respectable reputation compared to the ones he was more liable to frequent, and he was enjoying the unexpected change of pace. The atmosphere was more controlled somehow, far less chaotic than a room filled with unpredictable people using unpredictable substances. He had even enjoyed a handful of cocktails which was very much not his speed, and now, relatively buzzed, was flitting about the establishment, making friends where he could, talking people into buying rounds when they began to enjoy his company. It was a routine that worked seemingly regardless of where he was, he only wished people counted utilising his charisma as a genuine skill. As far as he was concerned, it was the only thing he was good at. Leaning back against the bar, carefully scanning the vicinity for anybody he had yet to talk to, it didn’t take him long to spot a woman sitting alone at a table beside a window. He watched her for a few minutes, intrigued by her apparent misery. It wouldn’t take a genius to read her body language and realise she was brooding, hugging a drink, lost in thought, and all but dead to the world. He considered approaching her, maybe offering her some company, but then she turned her head, and the floor seemed to fall out from underneath him.

He gripped at the counter, his knuckles turning white as he was thrust back into memories that made his chest tight with anxiety. Waking up alone, and undead, was unlike anything else he had been through. Even now he couldn’t find a way to handle the fear, and confusion that had accompanied his first day as a vampire. Which was why it was so difficult to stay focused, to stay in the present. He could see her in the alleyway at night, remember her face as she had pulled his victim out from under him. She had thrown down the body, berated him for being obvious. And when it became clear he didn’t know what was happening, this woman, the woman only a few yards away from him, had told him what he was. Maybe he should be grateful, although she had done nothing to ease his confusion, she had given him an explanation, attempted to save the person he had inevitably murdered. But she had been apathetic, and cold. Something that was equally as difficult for him to forget. Yes, this woman had offered him help, the absolute bare minimum, but she had also left him alone to watch somebody die. To watch somebody take their final breath knowing he was responsible. He had woken up to a world he wasn’t familiar with, one he hadn’t even known was anything more than fiction, and his lifeline had offered him next to nothing.

Blinking tears from his eyes, willing himself to stay grounded, the alcohol in his system helped as he pulled himself back, as he attempted to ignore the almost painful storm of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t know what to do. He should leave, maybe he should leave. Did he really want anything to do with her? But a small part of him was curious. She might know about the vampire who had taken his life, she might be able to give him a name, or a description, and shit, he was desperate. Not only that, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, she had helped him. For better or for worse, she had thrown him a few crumbs when he needed them most. There had to be some good in her. Pushing away from the bar, ignoring his shaking hands, he crossed the space between them with the air of somebody about to conduct an interview. His head was spinning, but he fought to feign some composure. “Remember me?”

Vic’s walk with Morgan had left a pit of self loathing in her stomach, and she’d been frequenting bars a lot more than normal ever since the endeavor. Drinking, an activity she barely ever had the chance to enjoy before, numbed the pain in a sickeningly sweet way. You could still remember what happened, you still knew you were a shitty person, but at least it didn’t feel like your insides were being ripped out because of it. She counted the grains of salt she’d poured out at her table, moving them back and forth methodically. Remember me? The voice shouldn’t have been talking to her, but still, she looked up.

She recognized him the moment she laid eyes on him, but the alcohol dulled the emotions that tried to sweep in. Still, she remembered the event clear as day, especially since it was a night she looked back on often. She was walking home after a shift at the silver bullet, only to be distracted by the sounds of someone being attacked in an alleyway. And, much to her chagrin, the smell of blood. Her stomach turned at the sight of what she saw when she arrived, and she practically threw the vampire off his victim. He seemed confused, and she’d assumed, at first, that he was drunk- a viable explanation for his sloppiness. When she was sure no one was around, she somehow convinced the man to stick around, assuring him that she’d help him home when really, she had already pinged their location to a hunter. This should have been a simple payday for her, in all honesty. But it wasn’t long before she realized the man’s confusion wasn’t due to drunkenness, but naivety, and for the first time in a while, she faltered. It seemed someone had turned this man and then left him to his own devices, and now he was roaming the streets of White Crest even more dangerous than others of his kind. Their kind. Somewhere in her explanation to him, a sense of empathy wiggled it’s way into her heart. She knew what it was like to have your world ripped out from under you, how confusing and devastating it was to suddenly desire the blood that her new brain forced her to lust after. And while she didn’t understand why, she sent another short text to the hunter before it was too late. ‘False Alarm’.

He would still be on his own, but at least now he knew what he was- if he developed the morality to avoid human blood, or even better, the wherewithal to leave town, then she mused she could avoid seeing him and facing the consequences of letting him go forever. If not, a hunter was always a text away. Devastatingly, his victim was too far gone to help. Maybe it could serve as a lesson to him. They were monsters, and the proof was right there in front of him. “Learn to control yourself so you don’t do this again”, had been all she offered before she left.

He should have left town. Or left well enough alone. But here he was again, approaching her as if they were old friends. Despite the alcohol, guilt gnawed at her stomach when she thought about how many people might have already died as a result of her letting him go. She needed to alert a hunter about him immediately, and fix her old mistakes. More guilt came when she thought about the implications from Morgan, and the idea of innocent vampires and how many she might have hurt. “Can’t say that I do”, she said, offering him a false smile and a head tilt. “But then, I don’t typically remember old fucks. Remind me- did you live in the outskirts? Or was it closer to the common?” Better get a location on him now, rather than have to search for it later. This could be one and done, if she played her cards right.

Ignoring the urge to join the woman in counting the salt grains on the table, Milo forced himself to hold her gaze. Of all the vampire related changes in his life, the desire to count had to be the most ridiculous. At first he had assumed Harsh was joking. That was until his roommate poured out a handful of rice and told him to look at it carefully. Alone in Harsh’s kitchen it hardly mattered, but he wasn’t about to let something as mundane as mathematics distract him now. So he laughed sharply, unable to quite process his company’s words. Did she honestly think he was a one night stand? Did she really have no recollection of finding him bloody, and terrified, curled up in an alleyway? She had to be lying, he needed her to be lying. The alternative was far too hurtful.

If she didn’t remember him then his pain was insignificant. The one person who bore witness to his stress, and his trauma, didn’t care enough to recollect it. “Yeah, that really isn’t how we know each other.” He muttered, unable to hold back. He felt too on edge, too uncomfortable to lean into a casual demeanour. Not to mention the thought of him taking a woman home was literally laughable. “You can’t be serious.” He eyed her for any hint she might not be telling him the truth, watching her in the hope of her body language or her facial expressions giving her away. “You know me. You have to know me.”

Vic went on pretending that she didn’t remember the man, and as a result, didn’t care about his presence next to her anymore than she would any other asshole in the bar trying to hit on her. Her finger rested gently on a single grain of salt, and she spun it around nonchalantly. Internally, a million thoughts were racing through her mind. She really knew

nothing about him other than that first night when he was nothing more than a monstrous infant. Perhaps a one and done would be wreckless- how could she take him down if she didn’t know the way to go about it? And then there was the issue of her conversation with Morgan, and the idea that what she did was no better than the vampires themselves- it was a ridiculous thought. As if there were innocent, peaceful vampires. But still, the words were there, growing and eating at her almost every second her mind was active. On top of all of that- there were plenty of reasons to feel guilty about the way she left him that night- for one, the amount of damage he must have done as an unsired vampire could have been insurmountable, and Vic herself was to blame for letting him live. But the next reason was much deeper, and one she shut away whenever it crept into her heart- what type of person was she to leave him alone to deal with it all on his own? Scared and confused and alone. She hated her sire, but what would have become of her without the training she’d received from her? What type of person would she have been if she helped a vampire?

She rolled her eyes, finally looking into his eyes reluctantly. “Oh, right”, she said, blank faced and monotone. She didn’t have the mental energy to put on the charm she usually did when gathering information about suspected vampires, especially not three drinks in. “The guy from the alley? I guess I didn’t recognize you without all the carnage.” She blinked, shaking her head. This was not the way to go about this, not if she wanted more information about him. She sat up a bit straighter, clearing her throat. “Why don’t you sit down-...I’d love to catch up. I don’t think I even caught your name that night.”

Not expecting the eye contact after his company had spent so long attempting to avoid it, Milo felt himself shrink under the woman’s gaze. His anger, and frustration at her supposedly being unable to remember him was quickly replaced by anxiety, and fear. She was a vampire. Not the one responsible for killing him, but a vampire all the same. For all he knew she was dangerous, and that terrified him. He was reminded of why he had been so nervous to approach her, but then she spoke again, deciding to admit she knew exactly who he was, and exactly how they had crossed paths with each other. Setting his jaw at the mention of carnage, it was becoming easier and easier to force down his guilt. He wasn’t the person to blame for what had taken place. His sire had turned him, left him alone. The blood wasn’t on his hands. He had been, and still was, the victim. If he kept reminding himself of that fact, maybe one day he might just believe it.

“You- you want to catch up?” The words seemed to echo in his ears, they were ridiculous given the situation. Why was she talking to him like an old friend? Why was she talking to him like this wasn’t serious? Like if his heart was still beating it wouldn’t be pounding uncomfortably in his chest? “We wouldn’t need to catch up if you hadn’t left me.” He said, surprising himself with his bravery. Every instinct in him was telling him to keep his mouth shut, to be well behaved, and amicable. But he was being honest, she had to know it was the truth. He didn’t know her, he had no way of knowing why she hadn’t decided to stick around, and maybe a part of him understood he hadn’t been her responsibility. She had pulled him away from the person unlucky enough to approach him, he supposed in a vain attempt to save their life, and she had told him he was a vampire. Without that knowledge to process, without that information to contextualise his new life, how many more people might he have hurt? How was it possible she had done so little for him, and so much at the very same time? He carefully pulled out the stool opposite her, as though if he moved too quickly she might pounce on him, and hesitantly climbed up onto it. He felt far more awkward sitting down than he had standing up. “Kind of hard to catch somebody’s name when you’re busy telling them to do better.”

Vic took a sip of her drink, never quite letting her eyes leave the vampire. He had a lot of nerve, sitting here with an accusatory tone after she’d let him live. She could have had a hunter there in mere moments, and the world would have been that much safer for it, too. “What, did you want me to invite you over for tea?”, she asked, her voice biting and sarcastic. It was a ridiculous thought. She had done plenty, but it was typical of a vampire to not understand simple humanity and integrity. She raised her eyebrows, daring him to challenge her. She suppressed an eye roll as he awkwardly sat down, almost as if he suspected her to attack him. As much as she would enjoy that, she would never- especially not in such a public venue. Leave it to the hunters to deal with the likes of him. “Well, I couldn’t exactly let you continue with that reckless behaviour, could I?” Her voice was nearly full charm at this point, and she was too distracted by alcohol and anger to notice how jarring the constant switch in her tone must have been. “And here I thought you’d have been appreciative, friend. Maybe you’re clouding what happened, in your mind. You did seem distracted that night, after all.” Vic shot the man a smirk, and then presented her hand for him to shake. “I’m Vic… Are you going to tell me your name? Or am I going to have to guess?”

Milo stayed quiet, not having an answer to the woman’s sarcastic, and obviously rhetorical question. As much as he wanted to bite back, he physically couldn’t, the words seemed to die in his throat. “It wasn’t reckless.” He countered finally, annoyed by the implication. “Reckless makes it sound like it was a choice. Somebody turned me against my will and left me to wake up alone.” Glaring at her, the sweet charismatic tone she had adopted only served to make him feel patronised, and small, but it took a surprisingly short amount of time for his demeanour to soften. She was almost right. To a degree he was grateful for the help she had offered him. “I’m not clouding anything. I know what happened.” He kept his voice firm, leaving no room for her to argue, or manipulate him into doubting himself. But his anger was gone. Suppressed, and carefully pushed to the back of his mind.

“Anybody would be distracted.” He added, pointedly glancing down at her outstretched hand before ignoring it entirely. “My name is Milo.” He swallowed his emotion, knowing if he wasn’t careful he might burn this particular bridge. It clearly wasn’t very strong, but the woman sitting opposite him was a link to the person who had taken his life. She either knew his attacker, or she didn’t, so preserving their connection was important. Right now, given their current dynamic, he doubted she would be willing to divulge the information. Maybe one day that might change. “Look…” He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I had no fucking idea- about any of it. I was scared, and alone, and feeling so many things I had no way of explaining. You could have done more, obviously. But you didn’t have to stop… I get that. So… do you want to start this again? I don’t be a dick to you, and you don’t be a dick to me?”

“But it was a choice for me to help you”, Vic bit back, losing her decorum for only a moment before she forced herself to maintain her more relaxed tone. She didn’t know why she felt so defensive, but it made her anger fiery and flammable in an outward way that she wasn’t used to. She’d been struggling to hold her anger in a lot more than she liked, recently.

Her gaze followed his to her hand, pulling it back slowly when he refused to take it. “Milo”. Milo, White Male. Under 6 feet tall. Not too chicken shit to approach someone in a bar. “Not a name you hear often- is it short for something?” She licked her lips as he continued, hating how much she related to those feelings of isolation and confusion. She wanted to tell him those feelings didn’t cease to exist just because you happened to catch a sire who wanted to parade you around like a prize instead of leaving you for dead. She wanted to tell him that knowing what kind of monster you were turned into from the start didn’t clear the clouds of self hatred that inched their way into your mind. She could have done less, too, but she stopped herself from saying as much.

Milo’s offer of civility was rather unexpected to Vic, and she felt herself sitting up straighter, analyzing his face for any sense of deception. “While I can’t control your perception of what constitutes a di-... one of those, I would love to start over, Milo.” What better way to learn more information about him, right? The quicker she knew, the easier it’d be to get a hunter on his trail. Morgan’s optimism about vampire’s civility be damned.

Milo let out a huff of breath, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Honestly, he was so relieved his company wasn’t being overly aggressive, or unpredictable, that his anxiety was rapidly draining away. Leaving him feeling tired, and irritable, but also maybe offering him a new perspective. Without anger clouding his judgement, without having the energy to pay attention to the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, the woman sitting opposite him became… just a woman. Somebody who had done what she could in the moment to help him, who was likely also battling her own demons. Shooting Vic a quizzical look when she began to question him on his name, he couldn’t imagine why the information was important but he shook his head. “Nope… it’s Milo for Milo. No middle name either, I guess my parents were hoping for a boring child.” They definitely didn’t get one, he thought to himself.

Watching Vic, an unexpected smile tugging at his lips as he realised she was carefully avoiding his choice of word, he was surprised when she accepted the suggestion. Their history was incredibly brief, but complicated, and undeniably tense. Maybe a fresh start would help him to understand her motivations, as well as bring him closer to the identity of his killer. And if not… maybe he would have another vampire in his life. Somebody like him. Somebody who could relate to what he was going through. “You don’t swear?” He asked, his eyes shining. “Or is this some kind of etiquette thing? Are you going to tell me you were an upper class 19th century Lady who still doesn’t put her elbows on the table, or like… ever show her ankles?”

“Milo for Milo, just like Vic for Vic”, Vic responded, her mouth twitching at the lie. “Nothing wrong with being boring”, she noted, sharing her genuine feelings. “Sometimes boring is safe- physically and emotionally.” She suppressed an eye roll at his smirk, sitting back in her chair defensively. “I swear plenty. Just not about such… uncouth things.” But then, at his assumption about her origin, a small smirk grew on her own lips, surprising herself by how amused she was with just how close he was, except for the century. “Well I’m not an animal”, she responded. So often her pristine posture had been met with strange eyes, especially as more and more time went by, but she would not stoop herself so low as to be like the ‘youth of today’ who chewed with their mouths open and leaned over tables like dogs.

Though she never directly confirmed or denied his assumption, she pressed on. “That’s enough about me, though. I’d much rather learn about you… are you still in contact with your family now that things are different? Were you close to them before?” What she was really asking was, is there anyone that would miss you, or enact revenge when you eventually went missing? Some sort of pit grew in her stomach suddenly at the thought though, making the walls feel like they were closing in. Milo hadn’t done anything wrong- he had been turned against his will like she was and then left alone. Was his trying to learn about her a testament to his humanity? Her next sentence came out much shakier than the last few had. “Have you always lived around White Crest?”

Milo raised his eyebrows at Vic, making it clear he didn’t believe her. But he chose not to pursue the topic, it didn’t exactly feel fair when she was under no obligation to talk to him. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away. “No shit boring is safe.” He agreed offering her a half-hearted shrug. If he had grown up to be the boring son his parents were hoping for, things would have turned out very differently. For him, as well as for them. A laugh escaping him when his company decided to insist she did swear on occasion, it didn’t take away from how amusing he found her hesitation. “Uncouth?” He grinned, unable to help himself. He almost hated the fact that he was beginning to enjoy her company. “A lot of things are uncouth, it doesn’t make them bad.” If her choice of language hadn’t been enough to give her away, her reaction to his teasing made him confident his assumption had been correct. “I didn’t say you were.” He countered, trying not to dwell on the things Dani had said to him implying all vampires were animals. Less than human, abominations. Surely this woman’s dedication to etiquette was proof of just how wrong Dani was.

His smile faltering suddenly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts only to be hit by questions he really, really didn’t want to answer. A few beats of silence passed before he was able to find his voice, the motivation to respond to such a barrage. “Why?” He demanded, an edge to his tone as he fought the urge to storm away. What right did she have to ask something so personal? Something so painful? Especially when he wasn’t prepared to face the emotion that followed the subject being raised. “I- it doesn’t matter.” He bit out, knowing his words were incredibly vague. In fact, they probably only made it easier for Vic to continue on her chosen path. He needed to say something final, something that closed this particular line of communication. “I didn’t come here to talk about my family.” That had to be enough, right? He needed that to be enough. “Born, raised, and died.” He added, hoping to distract her. “I’m guessing you aren’t from around here?”

“Some things should just not be spoken about in public”, Vic chided, further explaining her aversion to the word she’d refused to use earlier. “Not that they’re bad, they’re just… rude”. It wasn’t the right word to describe it, but it was the only one she could think of, so it was what she settled on. No, he didn’t say she was an animal, but she still wasn’t sure if the same was true for him. Varying opinions danced in her mind, and inwardly, all she wanted to do was to scold Morgan. If the woman hadn’t been so persistent lately, Vic wouldn’t have to question her morals so often now- it was so much easier to get her job done before.

At the break in his otherwise seemingly calm demeanor, Vic’s eyebrows raised, watching him with equal parts curiosity and expectancy. This sharp edge- this is what she expected from vampires. As brief as his flash of anger was, it was entirely interesting, and something she wanted to explore even more. In the very least, she now knew he had ties here- a whole lifetime of them. His words held an air of finality that she couldn’t press on if she wanted to get on his good side. Instead, she let the beats of silence continue between them, revelling in the discomfort they brought as she looked over him, judging. Despite her better judgement, she couldn’t resist commenting. “I’ve never met someone who tries to hide things that don’t matter”, she said matter of factly, her mouth growing into a small, playful grin. She was both amused and intrigued, but she’d leave it there, at least for now. He seemed intent on turning the conversation back to her, something that made her considerably uncomfortable when she was chatting with other vampires. “What gave it away?” she wondered. Not even 400 some odd years of traversing around the world could erase her accent completely, although most people tended to assume she was British, not Swedish. “I’ve lived in White Crest for about ten years, albeit as somewhat of a recluse”, she said honestly, possibly explaining why they had never met in such a small town.

“Well, that’s no fun.” Milo pouted, trying to imagine censoring himself, especially when he had been drinking. He couldn’t see very much to gain, but he also hadn’t lived Vic’s experiences. If it really was an important part of her past then of course she was going to hold onto that. It wasn’t his place to tell her she shouldn’t. “Okay, okay,” he raised his hands in surrender, realising the anxiety and fear that had plagued him were actually beginning to fade away. “I’ll stop being rude.” He half teased, despite intending to make good on his promise. Settling into the silence as his company seemed to observe him from where she was sitting, he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but no longer worried. She didn’t seem like a threat, not right in this moment, at least. And he couldn’t help but wonder whether she hadn’t helped him for personal reasons, valid reasons she couldn’t bring herself to explain. For a long time he had seen her as callous, and cold. Somebody who had given him the bare minimum without any sign of empathy or consideration. Had he been wrong?

A frown creasing his brow, his body tensed at her comment, and he tried to remind himself he wasn’t in danger. She was getting to know him, and she was being smart about it. That was all. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to imply, but he felt exposed, and vulnerable under her statement. He didn’t know how to combat the way she danced around his own statement. The one that was supposed to signal the end of the discussion. “I’m not hiding anything.” He said, his voice firm as he tried not to look as small as he felt. “Do you think I’m hiding something?” If he used her own questions against her, feigned a certain level of confidence, then maybe she would stop asking them. A smile tugging at his lips as she spoke again, he was grateful for the chance to move on. “I’ve never heard an accent like yours.” He admitted. He couldn’t place it even if he wanted to, and it made him curious to know where she had been born. Where she had been raised. “You’ve been here for ten years?” He asked, searching her expression, genuinely curious. “Why stay for so long?”

Vic, feeling done with this particular conversation, took a swig of her drink, hoping it signified the end of it. Thankfully, he seemed to concede, but she let out a small huff of annoyance despite herself. The silence that surrounded them now made her uncomfortable. It was too much of an opportunity for her mind to continue to swell with anxiety and guilt, and she shifted in her seat. “Do you come here often?”, she asked, hoping to break the silence.

Again, Milo’s response and body language sparked interest, and she tilted her head at his inquiry. “I think you’re working very hard to make me think you’re not hiding something”, she said, an amused smirk still playing comfortably on her lips. She was willing to drop this, at least for now, but she was incredibly intrigued at whatever Milo was keeping locked away. “Swedish”, she admitted honestly. For some reason, she didn’t have as much anxiety telling him as she thought she would. Either he was a monster like she thought and he’d die soon anyway, or he was harmless like Morgan implied, and her birthplace would serve no use to him. “But that was a long time ago.” If she were to answer his next question honestly, she would tell him that the intel had been so good here that she never had to leave. “Why leave so soon?”, she asked to counter him. “This life is a long one. Especially with our...affliction. Ten years is nothing, not in the scheme of things.”

Milo laughed, surprised by the question after a few beats of silence passed between them. It wasn’t a laugh reserved for his friends, but it was comfortable, and it came easy to him. “I go everywhere often.” He admitted. “I can’t remember the last time I ended the night sober.” Was that true? He realised the moment the words left his mouth that he was being entirely honest. For a brief moment he saw himself from the outside, the friend everybody watched, and worried about, but it didn’t take long to brush away his concern. He was fine. It would only be a problem if he felt like he couldn’t end the night sober, right? And at this moment in time not being sober was a choice. He was definitely choosing this life. His expression hardening as Vic tilted her head, everything about the way she was looking at him felt smug. She was either reading him like an open book, or she wanted him to believe she was capable of doing so. He couldn’t figure out which.

“Forgive me for being wary of strangers, this town kind of taught me that when it tore out my fucking throat.” He muttered. He didn’t enjoy the idea of her prying, and trying to gain information on him that he just wasn’t willing to give. Especially when he still didn’t know her. “You don’t consider yourself Swedish anymore?” He asked, distracted by her answer to his question. Did you grow out of a nationality? If you spent enough time in one country did that really mean you were willing to let another country go? “I…” He trailed off, trying to imagine ten years in the context of a person who had hundreds of years at their disposal. He was one of those people, but at the age of twenty two it was so difficult to shift his perspective. He supposed that would happen as time passed, as the people around him began to age, and die. He swallowed his emotion, annoyed for allowing his thoughts to wander. One of the only things he pointedly avoided thinking about was his new, and elongated lifespan. It was too overwhelming. Too terrifying to truly dissect. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that…” He admitted. “Still… it isn’t the most exciting place. Sometimes it feels like the only thing to do here is run from supernatural creatures.”

Vic hadn’t been ending many of her nights sober lately either. She felt like a child, in a way. Like the teenagers she read about in books who were too wrapped up in their feelings and hormones to care about what the rest of the world thought of them. It was easy to understand where Milo was coming from with wanting to keep hidden. She herself had only just started to let herself come out of the woodwork by allowing a genuine connection to be formed with Morgan, and it was pretty clearly a mistake by how that was turning out. The worst parts of her thought that all that friendship brought were moral questions and heartache. And it wasn’t often that the best parts of her shone through. “I didn’t say that. Just that I lived there a long time ago. I doubt I’d recognize the town I’m from if I were to venture back. Can you consider yourself a part of a place you no longer have any connection to?” She never intended to be genuine with Milo, but something about his gratitude and the way she kept finding herself relating to him was starting to break her down. She thought, momentarily, that this is the exact effect she always hoped to have on the people she was manipulating. It was jarring. For as much as she was attempting to appear equal parts charming and intimidating, there wasn’t much left inside besides vulnerability and a wish to connect to anyone on a humanistic level. It must have been desperation, she assured herself, that this feeling was rearing its ugly head with the type of person who mauled strangers on the side of the road. His comment made her smirk, though, and effectively shook her out of her thoughts. “Do you not find running from supernatural creatures exciting, Milo?”

“You implied.” Milo insisted. He tried to imagine White Crest in a few hundred years, what it might look like if he ever returned to it. Or maybe he would never leave, the idea was both comforting, and genuinely terrifying. Did he really want a permanent connection to the town that had taken his life? Then again, did he really want to navigate a world he wasn’t familiar with? White Crest could regrettably be a comfort. He wasn’t ready to let it go. “I don’t know…” He admitted in response to Vic’s question, offering her a shrug. “Maybe? I guess it depends on you…” It wasn’t the most decisive of answers, but if there was one thing he had learned through Harsh, Eilidh, and James, it was that every single person had an entirely different perspective. Different views on death, and murder, and the supernatural world, there really was no black and white. It was never going to be that simple.

Shooting Vic a look of disbelief when she decided to smirk at the mention of White Crest’s many dangers, it was all he could do not to scoff. How could anybody possibly find it exciting? He couldn’t seem to walk home anymore without running into a werewolf, or crossing paths with the occasional mime. “No.” He deadpanned. “Obviously not.” When he had been human, indulging in alcohol, and substances came with very clear, and predetermined risks. He knew what might happen, understood the danger he was flirting with. Now that he saw White Crest for what it was, that level of inebriation came with a myriad of risks he couldn’t possibly be aware of. And how did you prepare for that? How were you supposed to feel comfortable with that? Every single time he left the house he was rolling the dice. And even though he was getting used to the feeling, it didn’t mean he enjoyed any part of it. “Do you?”

Vic’s eyebrows raised once more, noting, with some unexpected pride, Milo’s raise in confidence from when they first started talking. “You presumed implication”, she responded, surprised by how much she was growing to enjoy the back and forth of their conversation. While he once seemed like an overzealous coward, something about his demeanor was growing on her, disturbingly so. Where at first she was desperate to sic a hunter on him, there was now a hesitation in the way her fingers danced through her contacts during the moments when her attention landed on her phone. She told herself she should wait on it- study him more to really see if he was dangerous. That was the only reason she was sparing him, right? “I think one day you’ll see that too many years away from a place, even one you once called home, can make it feel cold and strange. Home becomes a strange concept, in that way. Some people claim home is with the ones you love or with the ones that love you, but what if there is no one that fills that quota?” Though she held eye contact with Milo, her eyes had gotten distant for a moment, lost in the strangeness that the world had become for her. It took a table near them being cleaned up by the barback to shake her out of her thoughts, and only then did her eyes seem to snap back to Milo’s.

“Have you always known about the dangers here?”, she wondered. It was an interesting phenomenon, even back when she was a child, that people could so easily deny the existence of creatures who lived among them. Was it easier for them than facing the truth of the matter? “I find it inconvenient, if I’m being totally honest. On a good day, it’s something to pass the time. On a bad one, it’s a time waster. It’s incredibly frustrating to miss an appointment because a sentient tree decided to park itself on main street.” She rolled her eyes at the thought, still relishing the job she lost because of the incident. Another table was being cleaned beside them, and she let out a breath, noticing that they were just about the only two left in the bar. “It seems we’ve cleaned the place out, Milo.” She moved around the grains of salt on the table in front of them, effectively ruining her counting for good.

Narrowing his eyes, Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue. If he denied what Vic was saying, or tried to counter it, this particular disagreement might never end. There was no wrong answer because both of them were technically right. She had implied, but he had also presumed. “Home is where the heart is.” He surprised himself by echoing something he had heard his mother say many times over. He had never once in his life stopped to consider the meaning behind her words. Feeling a strange chill wash over him, he didn’t want to imagine White Crest without the people he loved in it. Without his parents, without his friends… without Rio. “I-” He broke off, unable to insist he would make new friends, and find new loved ones. That didn’t feel true, and the idea of replacing the people he cared about almost physically hurt him. “Anywhere can be home.” He said finally, opting to be vague, to avoid addressing what Vic was making very clear. One day he would be alone. One day he wouldn’t have anybody left. Watching Vic, observing the expression on her face that was remarkably open, all things considered, he felt a spark of sympathy accompany his fear. He could worry about it until it happened, but maybe for Vic she was already there. Who had she lost? Who did she miss?

A bitter smile tugging at his lips, he shook his head at her question, grateful for the change in subject. “I like to think if I had then I wouldn’t be sitting here.” He admitted. “I guess weird stuff used to happen, now that I’m more aware of it there’s no fucking way it wasn’t happening when I was human. I was just… oblivious, I guess. When you aren’t looking for things, sometimes you just don’t see them.” It made for some pretty decent protection, until it didn’t. Until it got him killed. A laugh escaping him, he was shocked to realise they were actually in agreement. “Yeah, no shit, it’s inconvenient.” He couldn’t seem to leave the house without running into a supernatural creature. Sometimes they needed help, sometimes they were just… there, and sometimes they wanted to kill him. There was no way to predict how an interaction might end, and how were you supposed to plan around that? Sitting up a little straighter, turning to scan the rest of the bar, Vic was right, and the quiet seemed to suddenly press in on him. He had been so lost in thought, so focused on their conversation, that he really hadn’t noticed the absence of a crowd. A familiar sense of anxiety creeping up on him now that they were alone together, he pushed himself off of his stool. Staring at the grains of salt as Vic ran her fingers through them, now that he was standing he hurried to awkwardly brush himself down. “It seems we have…” He tried to sound casual, like he wasn’t nervous to be alone in her company, but no doubt she would realise what was happening. “I- I should probably go.”

Vic didn’t easily back down from an argument. She enjoyed arguing, in a way. Perhaps because it provided some break up to an otherwise monotonous social life, or maybe it was just that having control over a situation with another person felt deliciously powerful. It was only slightly disappointing that Milo eventually relented. It was interesting to watch him process what she’d been forced to centuries ago- that life being ripped from you was only really a portion of the tragedies that came with being a blood sucker. “Anywhere can be hell”, she countered, because it was important that he knew.

“Fair enough” she responded, a small smirk growing to rest on her lips. “I think most people are wilfully ignorant- yourself included, apparently. It’s easier for them to ignore the truth because the alternative is too terrifying for most people to face.” Still, it wasn’t her job to warn the average human about the dangers out there- just to protect them from the blood suckers when she could. She had gone through a stint, early on after she’d killed her sire, where she tried desperately to warn humans of all the dangers they were missing- the ones that sat right in front of them, ready to attack. It didn’t end well, and so she stopped trying rather abruptly. She stayed in her chair, calm and cool as Milo anxiously stood up, fiddling side to side like a nervous teenager. “You should”, she agreed, resting her chin on her hand. “Stay out of trouble, Milo.”

As she watched him scurry out of the bar, she genuinely hoped he would. Because it became clear rather quickly that Morgan was right: getting to know people before turning them in definitely made sending them to their death a lot harder.

#c:victoria #milo and victoria #milo and vic #alcohol tw #drug abuse tw #drug manipulation tw

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qwirk · 3 years

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*vigilantes ch. ~64 and main manga ch. ~255 spoilers*

although idk if these are really spoilers if these chapters came out a couple years ago! anime-only fans beware. anyway here’s my extremely long rant about the obvious, not trying to explain anything- i gotta yell!

so that vigilantes arc destroyed me! i’m not good at immediately putting thoughts about media into coherent points but i’m just so sad :( first of all after catching up with the main manga, shirakumo, despite being technically dead during his introduction, rocketed up to one of my favorite if not my favorite character. aizawa is also up there for me- he was first introduced as this strict teacher who seemed to psychologically torment his students for the fun of it, or at least for some yet unknown ulterior motive. but we now know that, while still kinda harsh, he does this to give his students that lead-dropping-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach rush in order to push them to succeed (or something like that?). he truly cares about his students and their growth which has been demonstrated multiple clear times. but what drives him to be like this??

shirakumo!! his actions today are a clear answer to the pushes shirakumo gave him back when they were students. they’re so obviously influenced by shirakumo that they’re almost literally answers. the main chapters are a little foggy because i speedread them at 3 am, but i just caught up with vigilantes.

at the start, aizawa sees himself as someone who’s constantly just behind and will stay there as everyone moves on. he trudges into class drenched after leaving the kitten behind and he’s super emo about it. meanwhile, shirakumo literally flies through the window, also drenched, saved not only the kitten but aizawa’s umbrella, and manages to put on this cheery (albeit borderline explicit) show about it. it’s a CLEAR contrast between the two and aizawa goes as far to say that he hasn’t reached his “true self yet” while he looks at shirakumo and then says that he starts to change.

as if it’s not enough for aizawa to beat himself up mentally, his classmates bring him down for not having a “heroic” enough quirk. shirakumo is constantly stepping in to bring him back up, even during real work study stuff, and goes as far to lend him a pair of his goggles so that his eyes become more useful. this becomes a stronger bonding point between aizawa, shirakumo, and hizaishi for them to start looking to the future together. while wearing those goggles, which are protecting his sight from the strong winds on the roof, he stares into the sky, feeling like he’s getting swept into the future like the clouds in the wind. (also the clouds as a metaphor. damn)

and then we come to the last fight. everyone that aizawa looks up to is crushed in the wake of the villain, and he’s the last one standing. there’s a group of children to protect, and he’s panicking and drowning in his overthinking. the way he’s given a huge panel to himself only to be visually overwhelmed by his thought bubbles stood out to me. and then the thing that snaps him out is shirakumo’s voice cheering him on. it’s a bunch of simple praise, but it means everything in the situation. the friend who’s been pulling him up no matter how hopeless or apathetic aizawa feels is of course the one to spur him into action in a life-or-death situation. aizawa realizes he’s gotta fight immediately, and even reminds himself of exactly what shirakumo told him- that his quirk IS useful and levels the playing field.

i was already kinda spoiled for this part since i read the main manga first, but hearing shirakumo’s cheering the entire time while aizawa is absolutely toiling to defeat this huge villain would have been touching regardless. and when he lands in triumph, hurting but victorious, he screams for his friend to hear that he did it!! but then you see this joy start to like. rot away as soon as it pans to kayama and hizaishi. it’s raining again (THE CLOUDS AS A METAPHOR! DAMN!). shirakumo’s corpse is lying feet away from him, staining the medics’ sheet with blood. i don’t have much to say about this part, it was just a lot for me to process!! also i’m still not entirely sure about the way his speaker works so i might be wrong here, but did he really spend his dying moments with a traumatic head injury cheering on his friend to not only beat the immediate danger, but to self-realization?? or maybe it was prerecorded? idk but either way, truly a hero.

aizawa and hizaishi are left standing in the rain because once again, “it fits the mood.” so obviously there’s the callback to when aizawa first said that when he comes to class after leaving the kitten and i have yet to fully comprehend it because i have no braincells for interpreting media. i guess maybe it’s like- aizawa at first felt terrible for not being able to save even a kitten while being enrolled in the most prestigious hero course in the country. getting drenched while settling with (what he considers to be) a cowardly measure is the icing to the cake for his self-hatred. it’s the classic “this might as well happen” scenario to get soaked by random rain or a car splashing you with a puddle on a bad morning. rain is sad. but in comes shirakumo, equally drenched but still the bright light that he is. he’s also done everything aizawa couldn’t but wanted to and more in this situation. he could do it not just because of his storing quirk, but because he held the life of someone who needed saving more important than the school rules. this decorum lets the kitten slide as it makes itself at home in the classroom. the rain stops soon after. but then you have shirakumo’s death. once again, aizawa, and even hizaishi, who’s usually always upbeat (almost every panel of him was just him screaming YEAHHHHH. plz give him more dialogue) both agree that the pouring rain fits the mood. this also brings us back to the present that preceded the flashback- koichi just rescued a cat and a child from a villain with aizawa’s help, and now they’re standing under an awning to escape the rain. this situation is literally almost exactly what happened at the beginning of the flashback which is why i guess it brought it on, but it’s interesting to see what changed- aizawa is the one who’s learned from this situation and teaching the student the meaning of responsibility (using an abandoned cat as an example, no less), and they’re all properly shielded from the elements this time. i guess the conclusion (that could be totally wrong) i’m coming to is that the rain sort of represents the adversaries aizawa faces in life- his self-deprecation, those that don’t believe in him, his personal failures that he has been facing lately. shirakumo has always been there to guide him past it, and once he lifts up aizawa nothing can shake him again. but now that he’s definitively gone, it’s back to haunt him for this one last moment of sheer grief. it’s only this one moment though, as aizawa clearly uses this moment to move on and better himself not just for his sake, but for everyone counting on him. he’s escaped the rain.

it’s so clear how this manifests in the main manga and i’m so happy vigilantes was able to spin out such a good backstory and explanation for his actions!! one of the most immediate ways we see his ideals stand out is his taking in of shinsou as his apprentice from general studies. it’s absolutely because he sees himself in this boy. he has a quirk that’s seemingly useless once you get into combat and everyone thinks he’s a creep for it. more people might even wary around shinsou than aizawa’s case. during the a vs. b practice fights, shinsou explains what he did wrong, clearly upset at himself for not doing enough. aizawa immediately pulls himself up, reminding him that in order to achieve what he just said, he’d have to be a pro, and that what he managed was more than enough. these parallels between aizawa and shinsou are definitely hinted at in the main story, like when midoriya underestimate’s his prowess in combat at usj, but with the vigilantes arc everything is so much clearer. in the main manga, we get a direct reference of aizawa’s expulsion rate in relation to how it helps students grow when they face “’death’” as he’s interrogating kurogiri. though dramatic, i feel like it has to be linked to the dire situation aizawa faced when the pro heros and shirakumo got knocked out during that one fight because of its placement in the chapter. he understands better than most in the story that a lot of times pushes, whether big or small, are needed to grow. he wants to be to his students what shirakumo was to him.

OK EDIT because i didn’t realize there was more to the arc after 64 lol. so obviously after shirakumo dies aizawa’s and hizaishi’s dreams of starting a triple hero agency have been dashed. aizawa seems to distance himself from hizaishi, or at least they’re on uneasy speaking terms. he’s coping by training super hard and is bent on going solo after graduation, the opposite of what they had all planned. but this time, he has conviction on what he’s going to do with himself, and that’s great! he learns that you have to be there for yourself in life. there’s a small montage leading from graduation to where is now in vigilantes and it’s been hard, but he’s been making it. still a lone wolf as ever, aside from the pushes from kayama to become teachers with her and hizaishi at ua. he thinks doing that would be a stupid choice for him, he’s been alone this whole time and doesn’t work well with others (anymore, he thinks). but now that he’s in the cafe with everyone, he changes seeing everyone fawn over the cat but their new dreams of being a popular cat cafe.

the impact of seeing their newfound hope brings him back to another flashback of the rooftop trio, and THE PARALLELS!!! of them also dreaming to start their hero agency based on their first rescue of sushi the cat. back in the present, aizawa, who’s been spacing off, suddenly realizes the sky and his mind have cleared (THE CLOUDS KEEP COMING BACK AS A METAPHOR!!! if this happens in the main story i’ll cry). i’m still not 100% sure of what exactly makes the dots connect for him, but it’s been hinted through the flashbacks and his reactions to the rescued cat that he’s actually a good teacher himself, though he had been mainly shown to have learned from others around him. he drilled husbandry requirements into shirakumo and interrogated koichi about responsibility as if they were second nature. i think aizawa realized that he’s actually always had a soft spot for watching people grow and do good things and wants to be a part of facilitating that. or at least because he wasn’t able to accomplish doing good with his friends originally, he wants to help other accomplish the goal he couldn’t. also the fact that kayama still sends him updates on sushi isn’t just really nice of her, but it’s also another representation of how aizawa’s convictions he developed as a student still drive him to do what he does today.

MY MAIN POINT IS: aizawa really loves shirakumo. to have so much of his character based in the lessons he purposefully or inadvertently taught him is an amazing testament to that appreciation. aizawa never emotes except for the occasional creepy smile when he psychologically toys with 1a, but the emotion he displayed during the interrogation really caught me by surprise. the apathetic emo character suddenly being truly happy or sad is a cliche but this panel right fucking here was so powerful to me:

yeah his eyes are always bloodshot as a trademark to his quirk, but the emotional EXHAUSTION written on his face is so starkly different than his usual boredom. this feeling that horikoshi illustrates in two small panels is so human that it’s instantly recognizable deep in our hearts. we’ve all been in those heavy and direly serious moments that wrack our mental and emotional fortitudes, where the only response manageable without hideously breaking down is some subtle motion of the hand or crinkle of the face. we all know what this means without understanding the japanese onomatopoeia or needing additional dialogue. before i read vigilantes, i still immediately understood what this man meant to aizawa. and that’s why i love shirakumo so much!! we all know at least a little how aizawa used to feel as a student, and to have someone constantly pushing you and acting as such a light in your moments of darkness is something so incredibly special. i really hope they’re able to get him out of his nomu state so those three can finally become heros together :’)

god!!!!!!!!!!

#bnha #mha #bnha vigilantes #mha vigilantes #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #oboro shirakumo #loud cloud #phew i haven't written something like this in YEARS #mod

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