#ofc usual disclaimer too that i would never actually kill anyone i assume everyone knows this BUT i am what the bitches call: paranoid tm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jackals-ships · 3 years

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sets this gently at ur feet

content warnings for: canon typical violence, referenced domestic violence+slight transphobia, a couple of straight up murders

Archivist: Statement regarding Jackal..ah. Hm. Statement regarding how Jackal became an Avatar of the Hunt and death of their father. Statement begins.

Archivist: This is not a good story, like of course I know the kind of stories you hear Jon but this is..less than a good light to shine on me. So I'll just say it plainly. I killed my father.

I was, I think I was sixteen? My memory is….it's hazy. I'd been dealing with his abuse for the majority of my life, he'd drink and snap at me for the most inane bullshit. Even sober sometimes he'd accuse me of doing things I never did. And god you should have heard him go off when I came out.

It was funny kind of, the way he yelled first about me being asexual? Like bro why do you care, then it was "I was born a woman I just have to look at myself" bluh bluh bluh transphobic bullshit whine whine whine.

But I handled it, I shoved those bad feelings down and when I was diagnosed with C-PTSD it was a shock to literally no one. Fucking asshole denied it of course though, because of course he fucking did.

But anyways uh. The day I finally snapped...he laid hands on my mom. It was all verbal up until then but I woke out of a dead sleep to my mom yelling for help. It was a reflex the lawyer said, it was fueled by fright that I ran in swinging.

He uh, he wasn't. He wasn't wrong. The first couple hits with the baseball bat were absolutely just me being filled with a rage fueled terror, just me wanting him off her and down to not touch her again until help arrived.

The next few...the next few were just anger. He had hurt her, he had hurt me, he had hurt the boys and I wanted him to feel that same hurt and blind fear. Then it felt….it didn't feel good. Not in the way I feels good when someone pays me a compliment or good in the way that it feels when I help someone you know?

It was like I was on fire. Like a cleansing fire ran through me and if I saw this through I would be clean for the first time in years. I was an angel wreathed in eyes and fire, but instead of saying Be Not Afraid I snarled at him to Be Very, Very Afraid.

One of the jurors talked to me after. Said it was like..you know abused dogs? They put up with a lot of shit, until they remember they have claws and teeth to use. I think, I think that's closer to what it was. I always liked that image too in my mind, of the last thing him seeing just being teeth.

I went to therapy, we all did, mine was both for trauma and a general "uhhh hopefully you won't become a serial killer my guy." Considering the fact that once the deed was done I threw up and fainted they were pretty sure that wasn't going to happen.

A few years later I graduated highschool a little late and went to college. I took an Immediate shine to some of the younger students, pretty sure it was because I have two younger brothers and being around them kicked in that pack bonding instinct. If you'll excuse the half joke. Regardless I took them under my wing, ended up accidentally adopting half a dozen folks.

It did mean however that the day one of my girls came back to the dorms covered in bruises I..I held her. Kissed her forehead and tucked her into bed. It was her boyfriend that did it. They never found his body, and they never would.

Did you know pigs will eat bodies Jon? I grew up in Texas, don't have much of an accent though so it throws folks off when I say it, but I learned that in my agriculture class. Belle got a nice treat that day.

You know when I was younger my mom would joke that if the police came knocking and told her her kid was a serial killer she wouldn't even be surprised. Shit that was even before the thing with Travis went down. I wonder what she would say now..I don't even know if I fit the definition.

It's not like I went out of my way to kill for the thrill, not then. I would just hear bragging or one of my friends would come running to me and it just seemed like the logical conclusion.

I never put a supernatural lean on it until one of my friends went missing. And he came back...wrong. None of the others noticed but he was wrong. He wasn't him. I knew he wasn't him and I knew that he was going to hurt one of mine if I didn't stop him.

There weren't bones in there when I wrung his neck. I thought I was losing my mind until I opened him up and lo and behold: not a single bone in sight.

I burned the body for good measure.

Then I ran. I thought I had finally snapped and I just needed to get away. So I kept running and running until I was in the middle of no fucking where with honestly not much clue how long I'd been moving for. Hours? Days? Weeks? I didn't know, all I knew was I was in the middle of a forest and I wasn't sure I wanted to go home.

I stayed like that for a long time. Pretty sure the Lonely's touched me at least a bit from that. And then...some amount of time later I met someone like me. Bit worse off than me though, told me about how the blood sang to him. How he was a monster hunter by trade.

Took all my willpower to not tell him we were both as much monsters as the ones he hunted down.

But we became semi friends, he told me about his home, bits of his story, told me he was from London originally. Told me about the Magnus Institute. And there was something...something to it. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I just knew I had to get there.

And well. Now I'm here. So that's my story I suppose with some added rambling. Fuck me but I hate how you eyeball bastards do that. At least it's not as bad as when Elias does it, ugh.

Archivist: Statement. Statement ends. (there is the rustling of paper and a shaky exhale.) Well. That certainly explains at least a couple things.

Archivist: …. definitely explains how they went hand to hand with Prentiss. And why they keep bringing me meat as a "gift" because I'm "too small and going to get blown away by the smallest gust of wind." Christ they really are just a dog in human clothing...or wolf in human clothing I suppose.

#jackals barks #i think that jackals of the hunt should be legally allowed to hunt down abusers. as a treat #also i feel like this fits more hunt than slaughter ? its not Aimless violence. its violence with a purpose #ofc usual disclaimer too that i would never actually kill anyone i assume everyone knows this BUT i am what the bitches call: paranoid tm

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yyrz · 5 years

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once more, with feelings

note: dangit grandpa x bnha drabble. the idea that the class gets left behind in the trial chamber when they don't figure out who the killer is is from the time loop naegi fic which is a good fic buti cant remember the title for the life of me

also, i am unable to write anything that isn't mmjr, apparently.

disclaimer: death, this is a dang rope au ofc someone’s gonna die

ao3 link! | fic masterlist!

She’s fidgeting in her spot now, holding her breath as Midoriya speaks, to sum up the crime. His voice is loud, and the story spun between his lips is said with a startlingly surprising amount of assurance, backed up by facts they’ve all just uncovered.

Hearing it, listening to how he’s laying down everything as factually and confidently as possible (pushing on even with how his voice keeps wavering), makes her skin crawl. Guilt is not the reason for the feeling, even though some might've said that it is.

Because she’s not the killer, a definite fact that she’s yet to prove to anyone else in the room, just as everyone’s listening to Midoriya’s deduction. But she knows who it is and that knowledge is a painful reminder of her weakness. The idea rams against her head, the thought of sending this person to their death for something they’d done for her (!!!).

She’d rather take their place.

So… so that was why she’d been subtly letting it slip that she’d been there when the victim died. That she’d seen him before he died. That she was the only one with him, that they were together, alone. That she had asked him to meet up with her in the middle of the night. That she’d done this and that, that and this, spinning a story covered entirely in half-truths and half-lies.

Momo finally looks up from where she’d been staring (at her hands, pale and shaking), only to see Midoriya pointing at her (hands also pale and shaking). Her eyes widen, as gasps echo all around the chamber. Monokuma makes a humming noise in the background, just as Kyouka protests at that conclusion, voice loudly reverberating around them. Even Todoroki, usually calm during trials (they’d only had two at this point, but two was still too many), lets out an almost angry snarl.

But… if they vote for her, they’d all die except for the real killer.

Kyouka would be alive. She’d be free.

Momo can accept that kind of ending.

So she says, ��Yes, I did it.” Smiles like she means it, as gasps once again fill the room. And really, her motive is sound. Mineta has never been anything but a nuisance to her since they started the game, harassing her at every turn. It’s come to a point that she’d hide away in her room instead of gathering with her classmates, all to evade his sticky fingers and leering gazes.

And now, he was dead. Lying in a pool of his own blood. They all assumed the almost victim turning the tables around and killing her would-be killer. A murder through self-defense.

Still, a murder.

Kyouka’s still adamant at her refusal to accept Midoriya’s conclusion. No one’s listening to her, even when she spills the actual story, because they’ve listened to Midoriya enough, far longer than Kyouka’s been speaking. Everyone’s tired, and Momo lets this sort of lethargy sweep within the room.

They’re tired of the trial. Tired of talking about death.

Mina asks her why and the simplicity in which she answers seems to be the final nail in her coffin.

“Who wouldn’t?”

When Monokuma tallies their votes, when it shows that only two voted for Kyouka and the majority on her, she knows she’s won.

And when Monokuma says they’ve voted wrong, when his plastered smile almost looks as though it grew ten sizes bigger while everyone’s (except for Momo’s) faces fall, he pushes a button to show just who had won their freedom.

A spotlight shines above Kyouka, light framing her petite body like she’d just descended from heaven. In this chamber already filled with death, Momo wants to think that she was an angel. Tears are already streaming down Kyouka’s face, and she’s looking straight at Momo.

Momo keeps smiling. Her face won’t stop smiling.

The podium starts to rise. Kyouka’s shouting. Saying sorry over and over, shouting why would you do this, shouting at Momo and her inane admittance to a crime she’d done.

Momo never stops smiling even as Kyouka vanishes from sight. Even as her classmates gather around her, even as she breaks down, sobs ripping through her throat. Even as she apologizes to everyone, even as Bakugo lunges for her, having condemned them to their death.

Even as no one picks the decaying bodies of her friends, decomposing in the room. The stink of death filling her nostrils, the sight of terror in their eyes.

Even then, even then, she smiles. Because just knowing that Kyouka survived is enough for her.

She dies knowing that. Regret too heavy a thought to even think twice about.

#momojirou #yaoyorozu momo #jirou kyouka #boku no hero academia #i suffered for this but not rly #and by i suffered i mean i dont wanna look at this anymore #yyrz.fic

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