#and the kind of spar i have in mind is literally just a feral fight. like. she wants blood in her teeth. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itstittycitybaby · 3 years

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V Halloween Special

a/n: happy halloween you guys! i will be posting this along with another special on halloween. i went with something very different instead of what i had planned. i really didn’t like how it was coming out and i wasn’t proud of it. so here we are.

The chilly air welcomed you as you lurked into the night. The moon brightened London’s desolate streets. The curfew had rid people from roaming in the night and instead left the ghosts to roam free.

Lit pumpkins sat on doorsteps, grinning at you as you walked by. The halloween lights on balconies shimmered beautifully. Halloween night was eerie and desolate except for your footsteps on the pavement. There were no henchmen in sight. However, you’d find them soon enough.

London had been tainted by Chancellor Sutler’s reign. Its people have suffered greatly because of their weakness. Humans were such fragile things. Something you’ve come to learn from your five hundred years of life.

The people of London were weak but it wasn’t their fault. It was all the Chancellor’s; the power he held over them was great, but your strength was greater.

Your ears perked up. The sound of footsteps that scuffled in the alley made your senses heighten. You could feel them. Four henchmen were following you. A delighted grin pulled at your lips making your fangs flash in the night. A feast was walking straight towards you; the prey falling gently into the spider’s web.

You could feel their hearts getting closer and closer. You turned around, skirt swooshing around your knee.

“What do we have here? A pretty lady out past curfew?” The man’s words slurred. There were four of them. They whistled as they circled in front of you like wolves. You couldn’t help but scoff; men were never polite or kind, no matter what people said. They would always be pigs.

You didn’t say anything, but kept your eyes focused on what seemed to be the leader. He was bigger and more burly than the others. He walked with arrogance and pride. It was cute, really.

“Cat got your tongue? Shame really, would’ve enjoyed someone more vocal.” They closed in on you. They laughed as you got into a fighting stance. You smirked, ready to pounce. “Well, no one will hear you, that’s for sure.”

Foot shifting slightly to the right, you pounced on the man to your left. He cried out as his back smacked to the floor. You straddled him and clenched your legs tightly around him so he couldn’t escape. The others stood in horror as you sunk your teeth into his neck and drank. The man underneath you screamed until he became limp. You chuckled darkly as you rose up from him. “I’m just helpless aren’t I?”

The glimmer in your eyes was feral. You grinned wickedly and licked your lips. His blood was bitter but it would do. The three men pulled out their weapons. “We’ll k-kill you vampire,” the leader stuttered, holding his knife with trembling hands. You giggled. It was high pitched and deranged. You could feel their heart beats rapidly pump in their chests and their blood running cold. “Aww,” you cooed, lips pulling into a pout. “Don’t be scared. You’ll spoil the blood.”

The leader lunged at you. You dodged gracefully, sliding to the left. One of the other men tried to slice you with his dagger but missed.

You dodged their attacks swiftly with ease. Humans were no match for a vampire. Playing with your food always made you excited. Hunting for so many years became boring, but seeing horrible people like these henchmen beg for mercy never failed to get you off.

The sound of metal screeching together made you halt. You and the henchman in front of you snapped your heads at another opponent.

They wore all black with a little hat on their head. If you weren’t in the middle of feeding, you would have thought it was cute. Their dark hair barely touched their shoulders and they had a short curtain of bangs.

What caught your eye was the mask. Guy Fawkes. A strange sight to see from the resemblance of the man. The grinning smile the mask had was eerie. You couldn’t help but admire the person as they gracefully sparred the leader.

Your arm errupted in pain. Its sting traveled throughout your body. One of the henchmen had taken your surprise and turned it against you. You snarled, bearing your fangs. He clutched his dagger tightly and lunged. He was too slow. You tackled him onto the ground and leapt on him.

You clamped your hand around his mouth tightly, muffling his screams as you tore into him. The henchmen writhed underneath you, but you were stronger. His blood had spoiled from the fear that had coursed through his veins. You grumbled as your got off of him, “So much for a feast,” you grunted as you dusted your skirt off.

You heard a hiss. You lifted your head to examine the scene in front of you. The four henchmen laid dead on the concrete floor. Your nostrils flared as a sweet smell hit you. Blood. You felt a tinge of arousal as you basked in the glorious scent. The person in the Guy Fawkes mask grunted, clutching their side tightly. Your mouth watered at the wonderful smell.

Their head snapped up once they heard your boots clicking onto the brick cement. The dagger in their grip tightened as they studied your movements. “I’m not going to hurt you,” you said gently, hands raising in front of you. “I just want to take a look at your wound.”

The person laughed. It was followed by a grunt of pain.“And why should I trust you? A vampire looking at my wounds? A bit funny isn’t it.” There was no malice in the man’s tone. It was genuine curiosity.

“I only kill people who hurt others. Like Chancellor Sutler, for example. I don’t believe you’re on of those people. Feel free to correct me of course, and I’ll have no problem pouncing on you.” V grinned under his mask. The idea of meeting a vampire on halloween night made him want to laugh.

“I’m not a vile man who takes away people’s freedom if that’s what you’re insinuating.” “Then what are you?”

The man’s eyes watched you closely on you once you were finally arms length away from him. His blood smelled so sweet and you knew it would be delicious. He would be delicious to devour. But you were no monster (aside from the fangs and the literal blood thirst that pumped through your veins). This man had swooped in to save you from the disgusting pigs. Even if you didn’t need it, the thought still counts. You owed him a favor now and you were intending to full fill it.

“Ah, you ask a man in a mask who or what he is. Obviously you can see I wear a mask and what I am is a man who wears a mask.” The man coughed, his words becoming more strained and weak.

You snorted. “Listen, as much as I endure your charming dialouge and smooth voice, the more you talk the weaker you get. So, while I take you back to my place, you can tell me then. Sound good?”

He was silent for a few moments. Out of shock for being interrupted or what, you didn’t care. This man was loosing blood and he was loosing it fast.

“How can I trust you?” You sighed. “Well, if you don’t want to die then take the chance. Something tells me your time to die isn’t now. So what will it be? Dying and in the end I drink from your delicious neck, or you come with me and survive?”

V felt his cheeks flush. Well, you were rather forward. He mulled it over before nodding weakly. “Alright, I’ll take the chance. I might need some help getting there.” You grinned. V’s heart beat faster at the glinting fangs in the moonlight. “Perfect,” you replied. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders, the other on his waist. The man leaned on you for support and the two of you limped back to your humble abode.

****

V looked around the flower shop. The bright florescent light flickered on, revealing the wide range of colors to flowers. He was in awe as he gazed around the shop. V had passed by this shop during his missions without a second thought. He didn’t pay attention the shops anymore because he could no longer visit them.

“Your shop is beautiful,” V praised, gazing at a batch of garden roses that were arranged neatly in a bin. “Thank you,” you said, smiling. “I’ve always loved flowers, even as a human. They’re the only things that make me happy.”

“I’m assuming you can’t run it in the day.” You smiled sadly, grabbing the first aid kit from under the register. “You’ve assumed correctly. I have two assistant’s who come in during the day. I’m the one that orders the flowers and take care of the greenhouse.”

You sighed softly, “Ready? I’ll patch you up in the back.” “No witnesses,” V asked jokingly. You laughed. “Smart man.”

****

“Mind taking off your tunic?” V froze; he forgot taking off his tunic was an important part in this matter. You were so charming and sweet that he forget.

“Uh,” he stammered, “on second thought I can do it.” You shook your head. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t ‘suck your blood’ or something like that.” V’s heart striked with guilt. That was not the reason why; in fact, if you actually asked to feed V found himself willing. The thought scared him when he had just met you. What was scarier was you seeing him underneath the persona of the mask.

“You’re bleeding out. I really need to make you’re okay,” you said gently. “Alright,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.” You arched a brow but shut them anyways. It was dark and all you could hear was the rustling of fabric. It was silent for a few moments but the man in front of you murmured that he was ready.

What you were expecting wasn’t the sight in front of you. His skin was pink and very scared. Whoever this man was had been in some kind of accident. He still had his mask on which was odd but you didn’t comment about it. The air was tense between the two of you. The man seemed to be waiting for something. A reaction, or maybe for disgust?

You didn’t say anything at all. The man seemed surprised that you opened the first aid kit instead, and pulled the supplies out that you needed instead. You focused on threading the needle and made a small noise of victory once it went through. “This may hurt a bit,” you warned.

V hissed softly at the sting of the needle going in. Eventually he got used to the pattern of the needle being pulled from his skin. The pain became dull the longer it went on. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“A favor.” V’s brows furrowed underneath his mask. “A favor?” “Mhm. You really didn’t have to step in and help me out there.” “It’s my duty to help a beautiful woman in danger. Although, you could’ve handled them yourself.” You snorted, “Quite the flatterer.” “Sorry,” V grunted as a particular sensitive spot you were stitching. “I genuinely mean it. It wasn’t my intention to make you...uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that,” you said, tying a knot and reaching over for the scissors. “Just surprised. Not many would call my kind beautiful after witnessing someone’s neck being ripped out.” The man didn’t say anything as you snipped the loose thread. He watched you peel the gauze before kneeling back down again. “It must be hard. Having to control your instincts.” “Yes, it is.” You stuck the gauze on him with tape and lifted yourself off the floor. “Thank you.”

You smiled. It was a genuine smile. “Of course.” The two of you stared at each other. You couldn’t see his eyes but his gaze felt warm. It made your heart flutter and if you could blush, you would be like a silly school girl. The man looked like he wanted something more to say but thought better of it. He reached for his tunic and slipped it on, while you went back to front of the store to put the supplies away.

****

The man stayed there for a few hours before heading back out. He stubbornly refused to leave his empty mug in the sink, and persisted to wash it. Looking at the drying mug made your heart tug with sadness. The man was so charming and polite that it made you want him to stay. It had been so long since you’ve had a connection. Now that it was gone, it made your heart sink.

The sun was about to come up and grace the people of London with hope. After the mysterious man left you went back down into the basement. You couldn’t help but think of him as your coffin closed shut. There was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was the sweet blood running through his veins, or his kindness. Whatever it was, it left you craving for more.

You slept as the sun rose lazily. The customers in the shop didn’t know what truly laid beneath the adored flowers. They were clueless and very naive to what true dangers lurked in the undergrounds.

Before your last assistant left for the night they handed you flower. Your eyes widened in surprise. It was a rare rose that had been thought to be extinct. Hell, you haven’t seen one in a very long time. It was a Scarlet Carson and on the stem was a neatly tied black ribbon. “Who left this?”

Your assistant shrugged. “Dunnno. It was in the mail slot on the door. Came with this too.” She handed you a slip of paper. The handwriting was written in calligraphy, its swirls intricate and drawn with care. As she closed up shop behind you, you read the words over and over again.

“Thank you, my dearest rose. I look forward to seeing you again, mademoiselle.”

-V

#v for vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fan fics #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic

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shozaii · 3 years

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Okay so, Shinsou, Kirishima, and Bakugo with a quirkless s/o but the s/o can throw serious hands against anyone. Sorta like Black Canary without the mutant powers but they can hold their own really well against others in hand to hand combat and have quick reflexes to dodge long ranged attacks 😳💓💕

(a/n): hewwo anon!!! ahhh this is interesting! thank you for requesting and i hope you have/had a greaaat day!!!🥺🥺🤍✨

title: a feisty s/o (headcanons)

genre: fluff, maybe slight crack?

pairings: shinsou x reader; kirishima x reader; bakugou x reader.

masterlist.

picture credits to keiid on twitter!

shinsou is the person who would support you regardless of you being quirkless or not. so what if you’re quirkless? are you not human? geez, society needs to wake up. that’s what he would be thinking half of the time he hears someone talking about how quirk marriages work, how they’re important for the future, bla bla. a waste of his time.

mans literally adores you. don’t worry !!

okay so rest assured, he would do anything to protect you. you getting hurt would be the last thing on earth he would want to see. because oh ho, he might as well go feral.

but when he finds out you’re the feisty kind? that just boosted his confidence 10000000 times more than before.

i think it would be more of a surprise for him - you were most probably in a fight with a few people who were making fun of you for being quirkless, yet you still entered U.A. shinsou overheard it, and he was ready to put them down.

until you did the honors. he stood there blinking, and then he even rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

you even planted a kiss on his cheek so this was definitely not a dream.

sometimes your class has training sessions and oh. my. gosh. he’s in love.

you were so flexible, so tough. your figure looked like you were dancing!! whaaaa ??? you were sparring with a friend who had a quirk (you wanted to try it out for yourself), and oh my gosh you were blocking almost every hit- what the actual fawk 😳

“mind teaching me a few moves, y/n?”

it’s like a weekly routine, and he’s just so grateful you oblige to have those training sessions with him. now imagine a happy little puppy wagging its tail. his dopamine levels go >>>>> when he trains with you.

just imagine shinsou standing there, stunned. with his jaw nearly touching the ground. remembering the day when he found out that you were fearless towards those bullies, the way you would and could put up a fight with anyone who messes with you; chef’s kiss.

*immediately starts planning on ways to shower you with love and affection once classes are over*

“would be very unmanly of me to say only having a quirk could make you a hero - you do you, sunshine!”

coming from the heart of the bigger sunshine here; let’s be honest now. he does not want you to feel bad, because it does not define you as a whole. at the same time, he wants you to understand that he is going to support any path you take. whether it’s a profession in the civilian or hero society.

a true gentleman. i repeat. a true gentleman.

omg okay so here’s how i think he found out about your toughness - he was passing by along with the bakusquad, heading towards the canteen. and that’s when he saw your class. there seemed to be a commotion going on; and knowing him, he would do anything to try and stop it before things got out of hand

welp it looks like it was not necessary because his lover was already there, grabbing the guy by his collar. were you, growling? oh my god-

“i don’t think any of us would want anything to go down here once again now, would we?”

said guy shakes his head and takes off at super sonic speed.

“y/n! hey, you okay? did he hurt you?”

in summary, he’s just so, so happy you stood up for you and your friends. then again, he would also be genuinely concerned and would check if you needed help, or if you sustained any injuries. he loves you a lot okay🥺

show him some of your moves and he’s at the verge of getting a nose bleed. teach him those moves and he’s already jumping for joy. the amount of support this man has is ✨immaculate✨!

“oh my gosh did you see y/n?! they were awesome out there!! and did you see the way they-,”

you’re his hero. periodt.

i find this really cute - tell him that he inspired you to protect yourself and the others around you and he would be sobbing AAAAAAA😖😖❤❤

maybe you had a past where you defended yourself from a villain, until the heroes arrived at the incident. they were so proud of you, and guess who’s being added to that list!🥰

power couple. i said what i said !!!

what the actual fawk 😳 part 2

he stayed up till 9 p.m. one day talking to you (he would ruin his sleep schedule for you and you only. mans loves you a bunch), and he found out you’re quirkless.

“huh. think that’s gonna stop me from lovin’ you...? please.”

he’s very, very observant; i would also like to point that out. he can even listen to your voice and tell if you’re sad, or angry without even reading your facial expressions. so when you told about how being quirkless affects your daily life quite often, he senses it. cue soft bakugou giving you endless support🥺

“hey. those extras know nothing of you, okay? keep doing what you wanna do. tell me if they ever talk smack and i’ll go.... give ‘em a good talk.”

of course he knows how to make you laugh :’3

new sub headcanon - when he sees his s/o being feisty, he tends to get this flutter in his chest, and his cheeks would be painted with a soft shade of pink. it’s like this automatic reaction when he sees you that way.

it’s like witnessing a whole new you compared to the other day when you broke down over on the phone. you looked so confident, so bright. he could feel the sense of pride from where he was standing. god damn, he was soooo proud of you!!!

highkey wanted to scream “AYO THAT’S MY BABY” but he maintained his calm and cool composure, and decided to brag about you to his friends ‘cause why not ;))))

sometimes yours and his classes would have training at the same time and boy was he lucky. he gets to see you in action, see you spar at least one of your classmates. he was pretty taken back when he heard you had the opportunity to, especially with someone who had a quirk. cue him finishing his tasks as fast as possible, and then sneaking away just to get a glimpse of you.

it’s all worth it. 10/10 would wanna watch you train, learn some techniques from you, take notes of your workout routine - i bet he is the person who keeps a strict schedule; but he might need to learn from you too.

(a/n): aaaaand there we go!! this is pretty new to me; i like the idea of the bnha characters supporting you, you can already tell they’re gonna be great heroes in the near future.🥺❤🥰

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bitterlikesweets · 3 years

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Love Bites Ch 20

This is the twentieth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Special | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

A crack rings out in Levi’s living room, and Eren grits his teeth, his hand stinging but otherwise alright. The wooden knife is still firmly grasped in his hand, despite the firm impact from Levi’s own blade. Levi is fast, but Eren can see his arms clearly shifting, trying to stab at Eren’s exposed side before he can get his arm ready to block in time. Eren slides his right foot backward, turning his entire body sideways so that Levi’s blade will meet empty air instead of Eren’s stomach—

And a shin slams against the center of his back, knocking Eren onto his hands and knees on the ground.

“Fuck!” Eren snaps, slamming his fist on the ground.

“Out?” Levi asks.

“No!”

Eren rolls out of the way of the foot he knows is coming to slam down on his back and scrambles to his feet, his eyes darting across Levi’s form for some kind of opening, any opening—

Levi’s rushing at him. If he can sidestep, get behind him—maybe an elbow against his back, anything to get this slippery asshole down. Then, a slash at his sides—no, his neck—fuck it, Eren can just stab him straight through to the heart from behind. If he can just do that, Eren will finally win for once.

Except when Eren tries to activate that sidestep, he feels the way he lurches, the way all his muscles buzz and the world temporarily blurs—he’s using his powers.

Eren trips over his own limbs as he attempts to slow himself down, and all Levi has to do is follow him down, pressing a knee against Eren’s sternum, the wooden knife aimed at his chest.

Levi raises an eyebrow. Eren sighs, dropping his own knife on the ground and raising his hands near his head, palms out in surrender.

“Out,” Eren says, and Levi slides off of Eren to give the vampire a chance to sit up.

“You’re getting better,” Levi says.

“What, because it takes me five minutes to get taken down instead of one?”

It’s been a month since the day Eren discovered the Feral King was his older brother, and he and Levi have been in full training mode since then. They meet every other day, for the most part, in order to give Eren more time to practice. (There are exceptions. Sometimes the restaurant gets busy or Eren’s school and work pick up a bit. Plus, he’s still incredibly drunk and incoherent the one day a week Levi gives him blood.)

Eren’s been in a rush ever since he found out that incidents like what happened to his mother and himself aren’t rare accidents. The idea of some feral cult just lurking out there somewhere, waiting to create more victims, to kill more people, get more people addicted, and start the cycle all over again—

It drives Eren crazy. He wants to do something about it as soon as possible. But he can’t do anything until he can fight without being a burden to Levi. The last thing he wants is to fuck up in the middle of a fight and get both of them killed.

“You’re more capable than you think you are,” Levi says. “It just doesn’t feel that way because you’re fighting against me.”

Eren glowers at him, and Levi rolls his eyes, reaching out to ruffle Eren’s hair.

“It wasn’t a brag, and you know that,” Levi says. “I’ve been killing vampires since I was twelve. You haven’t.”

Eren sighs again, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I know, I just—” Eren shakes his head. “It’s frustrating. How am I ever going to catch up? There’s too big of an experience gap.”

“You don’t need to catch up with me,” Levi says. “The King’s vampires don’t have so many victims because they’re great fighters—even if they were, it wouldn’t matter while they’re feral, since their minds are too far gone for that kind of focus. They kill so many people because they go for the weak. People who have never fought a day in their life.”

Eren’s expression goes dark, his hands clenching into fists.

“Like suburban moms who’ve never done a fucking thing wrong,” Eren snaps. “Those fucking scumbags.”

Levi just layers his hand over Eren’s and Eren takes a deep breath, trying to cool down. But he just sees red eyes behind his closed eyelids, and his chest burns—

“Levi,” Eren says, “I need—”

Levi’s hand immediately moves away from Eren’s hand to his head, tugging him down until Eren’s face is pressed into the crook of Levi’s neck. An aching pressure eases in Eren’s forehead—he must have been furrowing his eyebrows into a deep glare—and the fire in his chest settles. Eren takes a deep breath, his nose brushing against the spot of skin where he can feel Levi’s pulse as he curls his fingers into Levi’s shirt.

“Better?” Levi asks, running his fingers through Eren’s hair.

“Yeah,” Eren mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Levi’s shoulder, “sorry.”

“No need for that.”

“Mm.” Eren huddles himself a little closer to Levi. “Thanks, then.”

Eren confided in Levi about the weird phenomenon that happens when his face is near Levi’s neck. He couldn’t avoid talking about it. Eren was always dropping his head there any time he got stressed or annoyed. It was far too obvious for Levi to not catch on. Now it’s become a habit for them to use that to calm Eren down. Luckily, Levi never seems to mind.

Eren asked Levi what he thought it all meant—especially the confusing itchiness that always seemed to kick in too—but Levi just said that he’d explain it later.

It’s been a while since Eren asked, but he trusts Levi enough to keep believing that “later” will eventually come.

“Why don’t we try out a different sparring partner for you?” Levi asks, his fingers still combing through Eren’s hair. “I could ask Furlan.”

Eren frowns. Furlan has been helping Levi out since they were fourteen. Eren really can’t imagine how he’d do much better against Furlan.

“Is he as good as you?” Eren asks.

“Not with knives and stakes,” Levi replies. “He was my backup; I always had him use the crossbow and stay out of any close combat fights. Besides, he should be rusty.”

When Eren’s frown doesn’t fade, Levi chuckles at him, moving to brush a kiss against Eren’s temple.

“Trust me,” Levi says. “You’ll be fine.”

~ ~ ~

“Why is your entire fucking staff here?” Eren asks, dropping his backpack onto the floor beside the front door.

“Not just the staff,” Hanji says, waving their hand. “Hello, Eren! Long time no see.”

Eren turns his tired gaze on Levi, who just sighs and shakes his head.

Everyone who works at Kuchel’s Kitchen is gathered on the limited seating in Levi’s living room, including people Eren has only heard about but never met, like Gunther, Eld, and Oluo—Levi’s daytime employees (Eren only recognizes them because Petra pointed out their faces on the pictures hanging in the restaurant). With the addition of Hanji and Erwin, the house feels incredibly crowded, especially because Eren is used to it being just the two of them.

“They’re literal children,” Levi says. “Threw a fucking tantrum because I only invited Furlan.”

“I wouldn’t call it a tantrum,” Petra says.

“Oh really?” Levi asks. “Then, what do you call all of you collectively threatening to quit if I didn’t let you come?”

“We had to be a united front!” Isabel exclaims.

“Well, it was pretty childish,” Oluo says.

“Says the guy who threatened to quit with the rest of us,” Gunther says with a laugh, smacking his hand against Oluo’s back.

“I’m here because I heard about all the fun from Petra,” Hanji says, “and I decided to bring Erwin along too.”

Eren notices the way Petra’s expression darkens at just the sound of Erwin’s name. Actually, she’s seated on the couch as far away from Erwin’s standing position in the corner of the room as possible.

...Strange.

Eren clears his throat.

“So… Are all of you guys going to beat me up, or…?”

“All of us except Hanji and Petra,” Furlan says with a grin. “They’re going to make sure you don’t die if we’re a little too rough with you.”

Eren’s eyes widen, and he whips his head to look at Levi, but Levi looks completely unbothered. In fact, he even looks a little smug, his chest puffed up slightly. He even meets Eren’s gaze and smiles briefly.

Okay… so his boyfriend is happy to see him get beat up. Great.

Eren sighs and pulls a hair tie off of his wrist to put his hair up in a bun.

“Who’s first?” Eren asks.

“I’ll go,” Oluo says, standing up and dusting off his pants. “I want to see what all the fuss over this little vampire is really about.”

Eren’s eyebrow twitches. Little? They’re nearly the same height. In fact, as Oluo gets closer, Eren can see that the brown-haired man is actually shorter than he is.

Levi’s smug smile is a little more obvious as he hands out the two wooden knives. Asshole.

“Any rules?” Oluo asks.

“Eren can’t use any vampire abilities,” Levi says. “Say ‘out’ when you accept defeat.”

“That’s it?” Oluo asks.

Levi steps out of the way as Eren’s grip on his knife grows tight.

“That’s it.”

Oluo stretches his arms out in front of himself, smirking.

“Alright, kiddo, why don’t I let you get a headstart? Go whenever you’d like—”

Eren rushes forward and swings his knife into Oluo’s as hard as he can from the side, sending the wooden weapon across the room—thankfully in the opposite direction of where everyone is sitting. Oluo’s expression hardens, and he raises his hands to protect his chest and face. A moment later and he’s reaching for Eren’s arms, probably trying to take away Eren’s knife and use it against him. Eren’s knife arm lowers, trying to get the other man in the gut where he’s not blocking—

“Ha!” Oluo says, swinging his body sideways and out of the way as Eren stabs forward, very similarly to how Eren did earlier that week. “Too predictable—”

Eren swings his leg up and around, slamming his shin into the center of Oluo’s back and sending him falling onto the floor. Once he's down, Eren brings his foot down on Oluo’s back just a little harder than necessary, and Oluo lets out a choked sound, collapsing flat on the ground, unable to get up.

“Ah!” Oluo exclaims, his voice a little garbled.

Eren keeps one foot firmly on Oluo’s back as he kneels down on the floor beside him. He presses his wooden knife against Oluo’s throat, though he startles a bit when the man turns his head and reveals blood in his mouth.

“Ah! Ah!” Oluo says. “I bi’ ma’ ton.’”

Eren frowns.

“You bit your tongue?”

Oluo nods, and Eren pulls his foot and knife away.

“Were you trying to say ‘out?’”

Oluo nods again.

“Sorry,” Eren says, annoyance quickly cooling. “I didn’t mean to make you bleed. I guess I… didn’t know my own strength.”

Did he use any vampire abilities? Eren doesn't think so. He can normally feel when those kick in…

The room is painfully silent as Oluo gradually pushes himself to a sitting position, his injured tongue lolling awkwardly out of his mouth. For a moment, they’re just sitting there on the floor, with their spectators watching them in silence. But soon a voice cuts through the silence, sounding mildly amused.

“Well, well,” Erwin says. “This will be interesting.”

And soon the whole room erupts into noise.

“Holy fuck—” “Shit, I’m going to get my ass beat!” “Oh my God—”

Eren turns to look at Levi across the room as Petra hurries to help with Oluo’s bleeding tongue. The man’s smile is no longer quite as obvious, but he’s looking over at Eren with his eyes positively gleaming, his chest and chin still raised slightly.

And Eren realizes that those little smiles and smug looks Levi sent his way weren’t at Eren’s expense. No, it was just the beginnings of the expression that’s shining on Levi’s face right now: pride.

The knowledge makes Eren’s own chest fill with light-hearted, giddy joy, like he’s a balloon being poured full of helium. He grins widely at Levi, and Levi nods at Eren before moving to pick up the other knife that had flown across the room.

“Who’s next?” Levi asks, holding the wooden blade out towards the noisy crowd by the couch.

They immediately fall silent, at least a dozen pairs of eyes focused on the weapon. Nobody seems to want to volunteer.

This is going to be fun.

~ ~ ~

No one else goes down quite as fast as Oluo does, but that’s because no one else is generous enough to try and give Eren a head start. They make Levi count down from ten, and with the people on the couch shouting cheers and playful insults, the whole thing starts to feel more like a game to Eren than a serious sparring match. Isabel spends half her turn darting around Eren’s arms and trying to kick him in the back—“Levi used to do that all the time! I wanna try!”—and Furlan shouts “Out!” in panic when he sees Eren aiming the knife directly at his throat. Eld and Gunther are a bit more serious about it, but Eren scrapes by with wins by tiring them out and surprising them with a few other moves that he’s copied from Levi over the past couple of weeks.

“So,” Erwin says, getting to his feet. “Is it just Eren who must fight without special abilities, or is that a rule for all vampires?”

Levi shakes his head.

“Just Eren.”

Erwin nods, coming to stand in front of Eren, though he frowns slightly and turns to look at Levi again.

“You may want to call ‘out’ for him, Levi.”

Eren frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Erwin says, raising a placating hand. “You’re clearly capable. It’s just that I recalled when we first met you. I thought it might be… jarring to face a vampire in a fight again.”

Eren’s stomach drops, his grip on his knife getting tight. That’s right… When he first met Erwin and Hanji, just the sight of their fangs made him uneasy. He was hesitant to be touched by Hanji, even when they were just trying to help him. Having a vampire rushing at him, trying to fight him, just like that day—That might—

That might send Eren spiraling again.

“I…” Eren swallows down the lump quickly forming in his throat. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Why would you bring that up?” Petra snaps, her amber eyes narrowed into a glare as she looks up at Erwin from her spot on the couch.

“I simply thought it would be better to prepare ahead of time. We don’t have to do this—”

“I’ll be fine,” Eren says. “Let’s do it.”

He needs to. If he can't even handle practice right now, he's just going to get himself killed during the real thing. It's better to start here, in a controlled environment, with a vampire who already knows that he might fall apart.

Eren looks at Levi, who meets his gaze for a long moment. When Eren nods at him, Levi takes a deep breath and starts counting down.

“Ten.”

Eren has to remember that Erwin’s a vampire. He’s going to be faster, stronger, more alert.

“Nine.”

Anticipate. That’s what Levi always tells him. If the enemy is faster than him, Eren needs to anticipate what they’re going to do before they do it.

“Eight.”

Erwin’s going to be much faster than him. But he also already feels bad for Eren. He’s already worrying about Eren’s mindset.

“Seven.”

He’ll probably try to make this quick.

“Six.”

What would be the fastest?

“Five.”

Erwin has a tight grip on the knife. He’s going to use it instead of his fangs. Probably because he doesn’t want to scare Eren more than he already thinks he will.

“Four.”

Erwin will probably charge forward, right at him, using the knife for a straight shot at Eren’s chest.

“Three.”

All Eren has to do is dodge to either side the second Levi stops counting.

“Two.”

Fuck. In a real fight, Eren’s going to have to figure all this out in a split second, won’t he?

“One.”

Eren steps to the side, but when he sees Erwin lunging at him, the world flashes in front of Eren’s eyes. Blue eyes look like vivid, bloody red. The room is so dark. It’s empty. It’s just Eren, alone, with the monster charging at him. His mom—where’s his mom? He can hear her screaming, echoing over and over again in his ears. It’s like fucking tinnitus but it’s her voice, her shout of pain—

“Eren.”

It’s a voice, low and soft in his ear. Eren feels cool skin against his cheek, strong arms around him, and long fingers in his hair. It’s still so dark—no, his eyes are closed.

“Eren.”

It’s Levi.

Eren opens his eyes again, sucking a breath into his trembling lungs. He gets an eyeful of pale skin and pulls away slightly, his hands gripping Levi’s biceps as he tries to regain his bearings.

“S-sorry,” Eren says.

“None of that,” Levi says, his voice still quiet but a little firmer now. “It’s okay.”

Eren raises his head a little more, looking around. The staff of Kuchel’s Kitchen is gathered around the two of them, though Hanji is stopping them from coming too close. The heat of shame burns at Eren’s cheeks knowing they all saw him fall apart, even if it was only for a moment. He tries to duck his head against Levi’s shoulder, wanting to hide away from all the concerned stares—

“You asshole.”

Eren raises his head again, surprised to hear Petra’s normally cheerful, sweet voice raised in anger. He finds her with her fist pressed against Erwin’s chest, a fierce glare aimed up at the big blond vampire with his back against the wall.

To Eren’s surprise, he hears Levi sigh. Like this is something he’s used to, something he’s tired of witnessing.

“I warned him ahead of time—” Erwin starts.

“You made him think about it!” Petra exclaims. “We all saw it! He was fine! You reminded him. You put his head there. You started it. You always—You always start everything!”

Blue eyes narrow slightly, and Erwin tilts his head at her.

“This isn’t about Eren,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

“Petra,” Erwin says slowly, “I understand that you’re unhappy with me about other things. But some things must be done.”

“No!” Petra snaps, her expression warping even more. “No, no. Things happen because you want them to happen—because you’re a sadistic asshole who can’t just let people live in peace!”

“Petra—”

“No.” Petra pulls back her fist like she’s going to hit Erwin, but it only takes a second for her hand to fall to her side, for her voice to falter. “No…”

Eren looks around the room, thinking that one of these people is going to comfort her, going to help calm her down. But these people who Eren has otherwise seen as one big family are averting their gazes, biting back frowns.

Why?

Eren looks at Levi, but Levi just lets out another sigh and shakes his head.

Why?

If no one else is going to help her, Eren will.

Eren pulls himself out of Levi’s arms. Levi doesn’t stop him, and Eren rushes to Petra, grabbing hold of her arm. Petra flinches and hangs her head.

“I’m sorry—” she starts, but Eren just tugs on her arm, trying to lead her towards the front door.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They step outside without another word. Eren closes the door quietly behind him, and Petra heaves a sigh, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Eren.”

“It’s okay,” Eren says, sitting down on Levi’s doorstep. “But what… what was that about?”

Petra sniffles, dropping down to sit beside Eren.

“Has… Has Levi told you about how the Feral King led to his retirement?” Petra asks.

Eren's mind flickers back to that day, to invisible blood on pale hands. He bites his lip.

“He has.”

“He’s only ever given Furlan all the details,” Petra says. “All the rest of us really know is that Levi and Uncle Kenny left, and only Levi came home. But I… I’m the one who’s always been patching Levi up. Even if he only tells Furlan, I’ve seen. That night, Levi—”

Petra’s shoulders hunch, pressing her hands more firmly against her face.

“That night, Levi had one of Kenny’s crossbow bolts stuck between one of his ribs. I was—I was so used to scratches, to bruises—but even though he had broken the shaft off the hide the injury, I recognized the tip as I pulled it out. Because Kenny always used to brag about the gold-coated bolts.”

Eren’s stomach twists at the image, and he places a hand on Petra’s shoulder. Eren can’t imagine how he would feel, seeing Levi come home to him battered and bruised—seeing evidence that he had fought with his last blood relative. Knowing all the while that one of them didn’t come home.

That maybe it could have been Levi who didn’t come back.

Levi was nineteen then. Eren wonders how old Petra was.

“I was so happy,” Petra continues, “when he retired. I was so happy to see him pursuing other things, having his own dreams… but then Erwin—”

Petra’s hands drop from her face and slam into her knees, her amber eyes narrowed in anger as she falls silent. Eren bites his lip, thinking back to how Levi originally explained everything to him.

“Erwin… Told Levi about the Feral King,” Eren says after a moment.

“Levi, was out, Eren!” Petra exclaims. “He wasn’t going off and risking his life every day! And I know, I know that we can’t just let the King keep doing what he’s doing, but I—but I just—why did it have to be Levi?”

Eren’s grip tightens on Petra’s shoulder.

So, this was why. Why she was always so angry, and why no one bothered to try and make her feel better.

… Because Levi’s not going to change his mind. They’ve probably all known that for years. And Eren came to Petra’s side, thinking he could help her, thinking he could ease her somehow—

But Eren’s not going to change Levi’s mind either. Changing Levi’s mind never even crossed Eren’s own.

“Sorry, Petra. I…”

Petra shakes her head, heaving a sigh.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I know… Levi’s doing the right thing. So is everyone else. I just… I can’t forgive Erwin. Levi was out, and he was the one that brought Levi back in. I can’t—I can’t just let that go.”

For a second, they just sit there in silence. Eren’s hand falls away from her shoulder, and he stares at his lap. He’s not going to change Levi’s mind. He can’t. But is there… something he can do, to ease Petra’s mind a little? Something he can say? Maybe it’s silly for him to think so.

“Do you fight, Petra?” Eren asks.

“I know how,” she says. “But I haven’t since we got the restaurant. None of us really have, but I don’t even practice. Sort my own little protest.”

Eren nods, staring down at his own hands in his lap.

“I’m… not good enough at it yet,” Eren says. “But I… I’m trying to get better at it so that when the time comes, I can be there for Levi. So that when he’s in danger, I can keep him safe.”

Eren turns to look at Petra, showing her a small smile.

“So, I’ll do my best so that when we go out to fight the King, he’ll come back to you with not even a bruise for you to have to patch up.”

Petra’s amber eyes grow wide for a moment, getting a glossy sheen as she manages a wobbly grin.

“If you can,” she says, “that would be amazing.”

Eren grins at Petra as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Just be prepared to patch me up instead, okay? I’ll probably be fucked up.”

“Eren!” Petra exclaims with a gasp, though she’s starting to laugh. “No! That’s not the point!”

“It’ll be fine,” Eren says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll just be all bloody, and beat up, but Levi? Totally fine. Trust me.”

“No, Eren!” Petra says, slapping him on the arm, and now Eren’s laughing too. “You’d better be joking, or Levi’s going to kill me.”

“Yeah,” Eren says. “Obviously.”

...Well, mostly, anyway. It’s a joke in the sense that he’s not planning on doing anything too self-sacrificial. But if Levi were about to get hurt in front of him… Well, Eren’s not sure he’d be able to just stand there and watch.

But that’s just why Eren has to get good at fighting before then! So that everything will turn out fine, for both of them.

“Good,” Petra says, squeezing his arm. “But really, I’m glad that Levi has you. You’re a good guy. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Petra and Eren both jump at the sound of a voice behind them, and Eren turns to see Levi standing in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. Eren’s mind whirls—he was that unaware of his surroundings while talking with Petra? Eren’s sensitive ears should definitely have caught the sound of the door opening—

Eren loses his train of thought when he looks up at Levi and sees the man’s gray eyes clouded, his eyebrows and lips pulled down into a conflicted frown.

“Everything okay?” Eren asks.

Levi’s gaze flickers from Eren to Petra before flattening back into indifference. Eren bites his lip—if there is something wrong, it’s bad enough that he doesn’t want Petra to hear. Eren will just have to ask him again when they’re alone.

“I’m fine,” Levi says. “Just thought Petra might like to know that Isabel and Hanji convinced Erwin to let her use him as a temporary punching bag as a way to make up.”

Petra perks up immediately.

“I’m not sure about ‘making up,’ but I will beat him up,” Petra says brightly, squeezing Levi’s arm as she bounces up to head inside. “Thanks for letting me know.”

When Petra’s gone and it’s just the two of them, Eren sends a questioning frown Levi’s way as he gets to his feet.

Levi meets his gaze and manages a slight smile.

“Later,” Levi says, brushing his hand across Eren’s cheek briefly. “Let your brain rest for a while.”

“The last time you said you were going to talk to me about something later,” Eren says, “later never came.”

Levi rolls his eyes.

“Then I’ll explain both things la—soon. Alright?”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

Eren hums, leaning down slightly.

“I think you might need to do more to convince me.”

Levi scoffs, grabbing Eren by the chin and bringing him even lower.

“You’re such a little shit.”

“Your little shit.”

Levi laughs just after their lips meet because of Eren’s words, so the kiss is a little shorter than Eren would like. But Eren loves Levi’s smile and Levi’s laugh, so he lets it slide.

“Alright,” Eren says, “I’ll wait. But tell me soon, okay?”

Levi shakes his head before reaching for Eren once more, letting their lips meet again before answering.

“I will.”

“Ugh,” Isabel groans loudly from inside the house. “How long are you two going to be disgustingly in love out there? Erwin is literally letting us take turns punching him! Your sweet nothings can wait until later! Come back in here and have some real fun!”

Levi flips her off without even looking back, but Eren grins at her over Levi’s shoulder, the lack of malice in his voice contrasting with Levi's immensely annoyed scowl.

“We're coming!" Eren exclaims, grabbing Levi by the shoulders and spinning him around to face the inside of the house.

"I'm surrounded by children and idiots," Levi says.

"Even me?" Eren asks, and Levi snorts.

"You don't want me to answer that question."

Eren punches Levi in the back, though not hard enough to hurt.

Eren’s eyes wander to the crowd gathered in the center of Levi's living room (Erwin is standing in the center and looks utterly unphased, even as Petra throws a punch at his chest that looks like it should really hurt) and Eren's smile grows even bigger. This is Levi's family. Petra and everyone else care so deeply about him, and even though Levi is always pretending to be annoyed—and sometimes not even pretending—Eren knows that Levi cares a lot about them too.

This is… the kind of family Eren always wished he could have. A big, loving family that sticks around even despite any issues that crop up between them.

Eren wants to get stronger. For himself, for Levi, and for this. This family that Levi has built around himself.

And even though he failed spectacularly during his match with Erwin, there is hope bubbling up in Eren's chest. Hope that he really can.

Eren's going to keep them safe. He swears that to himself.

And maybe, when he's strong enough, he'll make that promise out loud to them too.

#ereri #riren #ereri riren #ereri fanfic #riren fanfic #fanfiction

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

story-spinner

Having a bad day. You happen to have any HCs or snippets for Kings Skjald verse? You may not but your writing always seems to cheer me up so

Me: So sorry I missed this! I didn’t log in yesterday like- at ALL and I only just got the notification. I unfortunately do not have any snippets to share, but HCs I can do. :)

-In the aftermath of Souls of the Sea (Still Belong to Blue Tides) and everything that happened in there, a couple things happen. One of the big ones being that Ravus joins the Kingsglaive. It takes him a year of stubbornly arguing with his mother over it, because she does NOT want Ravus to go haring off to war, but in the end Ravus wins and joins up at 17.

-The glaives at first are not too sold on this idea. Because... prince. Tenebraen prince with a resting murder face. He’s probably a wimp. Or just a jerk. Will he even obey orders and work with us non-royal Galahdian/Lucian nobodies?

-Then they actually throw Ravus into boot camp and learn that this boy may have enough formal manners to perfectly blend in with Lucian high society but once you take him out of that environment and stick a sword in his hand he becomes a bundle of Feral Anger And Bloodlust with a side of Really Scary Cunning. Also he spent part of those months on the run being grilled by Gladiolus in how to fight (on top of the royal sword training he’d already been receiving pre-Tenebrae’s Fall obviously) and spent putting food on the camp grill for his mother and sister by Killing It Really Hard First.

-Basically he fits riigghhtt in with the rest of the feral, chip-on-their-shoulder-rookies.

-Also, Ravus may not be a Reborn Viking of Pure Awesome like Gladiolus, so he can’t stand toe to toe with Cor the Immortal or anything but like- in canon this boy was able to claw his way up the ranks of a foreign military that WOULDN’T HAVE WANTED HIM THERE (see: Uldor’s comments during the Ignis DLC, and that cutscene with Besithia making snide comments at Ravus in the main game) and eventually become SiC and then Supreme Commander. Kid has talent and the stubborn to back it up.

-Nyx is not a fan of being Braincelled by this younger, more aggressive Tenenbraen, especially when half the time Ravus is only in yelling range because he’s DOING THE DUMB RIGHT ALONGSIDE NYX.

-Luche and Libertus are both a Stress.

-Tredd finds it fun to wind the kid up even though it repeatedly gets him a broken nose.

-Anyway as a side effect of Ravus joining the Kingsglaive, Luna and Gladiolus both take an interest in the Kingsglaive as a whole, and of course, whatever THEY take an interest in, Noctis will take an interest in too.

-Cue Smol Prince following along whenever Luna comes to check on her brother (and secretly use her magic to heal them even though Mother Strictly Forbids Using Her Magic Outside Emergencies Until She’s Fully Trained) and Gladiolus making friends with people physically a lot older than him but not mentally. And maybe mopping the floor with anyone who dares challenge him to a spar (this is the year Gladiolus is finally good enough to win against Cor in a spar according to a previous HC of mine, sorry but the Glaives have no chance, they give it a good go though).

-Gladiolus may or may not accidentally teach the Kingsglaive how to swear in Old Norse.

-I really really want the other Astrals (minus Bahamut) to start noticing and taking an interest in Leviathan’s new “kid”, because no one has given blessings since Solheim’s fall and of all of them, LEVIATHAN was not the one they expected to buck the mold in that way (in other ways sure, but Blessing a human???? THEIR angry rage snek???). But I’m still working out how all that ... goes.

-Leviathan probably browbeats the others into keeping it a secret from Bahamut tho. Because she is protective of her child and there’s no way she’s letting Bahamut hurt her Chosen again, even by accident.

-Gladiolus, with his newfound abilities to breathe underwater and such, sometimes gets an itch to go swimming. Considering the ocean is miles away most of the time and the pool has chlorine that stings his lungs when he breathes it, he finds the Royal Aquarium with all its ocean fish a much better place to hang out for a few hours.

-Clarus, Juno, Regis, Ignis, Cor, and more than a few freaked out Crownsguard would like to STRONGLY DISAGREE.

-Gladiolus, who lost track of time swimming around with the Really Dangerous Fish that won’t bother him because they can sense Leviathan’s Blessing, is just like- sorry? I’ll warn you next time.

-Everybody: WHAT DO YOU MEAN NEXT TIME.

-Sylva becomes a major voice in Lucian noble circles in favor of the Kingsglaive and efforts to clean up the refugee sector. Because she may not be Lucian, but she is the ORACLE and her voice carries a LOT of weight and she’s lived through what the Galahdians and other refugee groups have suffered through. She knows the smell of your home burning and blood on your clothes as you run from MT units and pray they don’t find you. She knows what it’s like to flee to another country. What it’s like to be HUNGRY and SCARED. What it’s like to cling to the children at night on a Haven, cold and tired but unable to sleep because the daemons wander and scream only a few yards away, and while the mind says they cannot come onto the Haven, the heart and the instincts do not believe. She knows ALL OF THAT.

-She also knows what it’s like to be saved. To be found and sheltered and taken to safety by soldiers who are just like her, and know to give her and her children soup and soft foods, who know to approach from the front rather than the sides and to move slow and open, to always say what they’re doing before they do it. She knows what it’s like to be so grateful for those simple kindnesses that it takes all she can muster not to start crying, because if she starts she will not stop and then her children will start crying too.

-So whenever some Lucian noble makes contemptuous noises over the “necessity” of the Kingsglaive or the refugee sector, or makes a comment on how Insomnia is for LUCIANS and not ragged strays, she will look them in the eye and say something perfectly cool and polite and deadly. Something that sharply reminds the noble that SHE, the HOLY ORACLE, is a refugee just like all the other “ragged strays”. That she and hers were “found” by Kingsglaive and escorted safely home. That her SON is now part of that very same organization.

-But do go on and tell her how the Kingsglaive are a waste of money and refugees should be left to fend for themselves.

-Needless to say, between Sylva backing them politically, Luna healing them on the sly (and also Sylva does come heal the bad cases whenever she has time), and Ravus being his feral budding terrifying strategist self, the Kingsglaive and Little Galahd as a whole rapidly come to adore the Nox Fleuret family. These are their Oracles. No touchy. They will Fite You.

-And of course, Noctis adores Luna and tries to emulate her because she’s Cool, and also his Shield-Brother cares for the Kingsglaive, and Big Brother Ravus IS a Kingsglaive, so Noctis rolls up his little sleeves and tries to help too. He’s too young to have a voice in politics, but he can and will follow his dad around nagging that hey-hey Ravus says their shoes don’t fit and the quartermaster won’t give them potions even though IGNIS says they have the budget for it and hey hey hey- (Regis would like to know how Ignis the Eleven Year Old got his hands on the Kingsglaive budget, but Cor has been making dire noises along these lines already so he sighs and siccs the auditors on the quartermaster).

-Noctis also visits a lot, and tries to give the Glaives games and things because hey those make him feel better so maybe it’ll make the glaives not look so tired too.

-The Entire Kingsglaive as they proverbially (and sometimes literally) pick up Noctis: We’ve only known this princeling for a few months but if anything happened to him we would kill everyone in Niflheim and then ourselves.

-Gladiolus approves this feeling.

I think that’s all the HCs I got for the moment, I hope these made your day a little better. :)

#Secret Engima Rambles #kings skjald verse #kingsglaive #ravus is gonna be Cor's sic by the time he's 20 mark my words #Cor is already plotting to groom him for the mantle of Captain

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combat-wombatus · 3 years

Text

afterglow // part ii: the fighting

Pairing: Sawamura Daichi x gn!reader

Warnings: fighting (just any generic fight scene really), blood, minor snark??

WC: 2.1k (this is a lot longer than the previous chapter hehe)

(A/N): hehehe part 2 is finally up :p (also check out the series masterlist with the updated synopsis!! quite proud of it >.<) also please ignore the bad titles,, i had an "f" alliteration theme going on and i literally killed all my brain cells trying to come up with SIX verbs that were at least somewhat relevant to the plot for the chapter titles, i'm so sorry asldkjhlfadksh

series masterlist || haikyuu masterlist || bnha masterlist || navi

read part i here!

Finally…

You stared ahead at the encampment of soldiers, bustling about merrily as if they found joy in living a life of slaughter. As if they had no blood on their hands—or worse, as if they did not care if they did.

“Houyi.” You stroked his neck. “Ready?”

He gave a snort of agreement, tossing his black mane in the air.

I was born for this, he seemed to say.

“Alright.” Digging your heels in, you leaned forward, bow in hand, arrow notched and at the ready.

“Hiya!”

You charged furiously down the hill, kicking up a storm of clay-red dust behind you. As the first soldier looked up in surprise, you aimed your arrow at the wooden post in the middle of the camp and let it fly. You were nothing if not fair, and though you despised these people with your entire being, it would never be said that you fought dirty. Surprise attacks were for the weak, and you were anything but.

Besides, you kind of wanted to see how fast you could take the camp, even with the soldiers alert and ready to fight.

Holding your bow sideways, you let loose three arrows at once, all of them hitting their marks. Three men went down with barely a whimper—an arrow to one’s kneecap will do that.

The soldiers were a mess. You weren’t even sure if they were real soldiers or simply a very large band of mercenaries—surely a real military camp would be much more organized than this. They should’ve sounded the alarm as soon as they saw you charging down the hill, not when three of their men were already down.

You took out three more men with another round of clean shots to the kneecap.

This is too easy.

They were green; young, inexperienced, and jittery—no match for a seasoned hunter.

And you were one of the very best.

You set loose arrow after arrow, hitting your target every single time. Within moments, the area in front of you was empty, save for the men curled up on the ground, groaning.

Houyi slowed down to a trot, and you casually dropped from the saddle, stepping over the fallen soldiers. A white command tent was front and center in the little military camp, no more than five hundred meters away. Slinging your bow over your shoulder crossways—it wasn’t ideal for close-range combat—you unsheathed two scimitars, preparing yourself for a scuffle.

It wasn’t your favorite type of battle—close-range battles were messy and bloody—but you hadn’t had a chance to spar with someone in a long time.

You were also craving revenge for what they had done to the broken village you passed.

Barely concealing a feral grin, you stalked towards the commander’s tent. Suddenly, the tent entrance ruffled, and a man stepped out in full armor, save for his helmet. His hair was a stiff charcoal black—it was shorn short, which was surprising for a man of his presumed station. Most men in this dynasty preferred to wear their hair long, but there was something curious about this one. Tanned olive skin revealed a life spent in the sun, and a grim, determined expression glared at you with unbridled fury.

You bared your teeth and tightened your grip on your scimitars. This was going to be fun.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He clasped his hand over a broadsword sheathed at his side, pulling it out with the signature clang of steel sliding against steel. “Who are you?”

“Vengeance,” you replied airily. The man frowned, looking confused.

One…

You smiled, the wicked grin gracing your lips matching the wicked curve of your scimitar.

Two…

Your hood flew back, revealing you in all of your glory. You didn’t mind. You were confident that none of these people—scum—would live to tell others what you looked like, anyways.

Three…

You charged.

No battle cry surged from your lips—silent hunting habits were hard to break—but as he met the first slash of your blades with the side of his broadsword, you grunted at his strength.

Not many people could withstand one of your attacks, much less both at the same time.

This was going to be fun.

Quickly sliding one of your scimitars from underneath the deadlock, you twirled it around in your hand and aimed a slice straight at his torso. He stepped to the side, twisting his own broadsword so that it knocked your other blade to the side. Instead of continuing to retreat, he slanted his body at a forward tilt, catching your right wrist with his hand while pushing your other hand aside with his sword.

You hissed in pain as he twisted your wrist, forcing you to drop your blade. Feinting with your left hand, you sliced a deep gash on his right thigh, right in between two metal plates of armor. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you were able to put some distance between the two of you.

You charged forwards again, aiming your remaining scimitar low, towards his knees. He dropped into a defensive crouch, broadsword held out low in front of him. You smiled.

Just as he was preparing to meet your blade in a clash of steel, you jumped. Leaping upwards, you stepped on his wrist—he dropped his sword with a clang—and hooked your left leg around his waist, using it to pivot on his back. Wrapping your right arm around his broad shoulder, you brought your blade up until the tip of it kissed his neck.

He gulped, the movement drawing forth a slight trickle of crimson blood.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

He eyed the blade warily. You loosened it slightly so he could talk.

“Do what?” he asked, though his attention was caught on the fine workmanship of the scimitar.

“Kill all those people.” Your little scuffle had attracted quite the crowd—understandable, since it seemed like this man was somewhat of an important figure in this camp. Still, none of his comrades—or underlings—dared interfere, seeing as you were the one with the upper hand here; you could slit his throat before one of them even took three steps forwards.

“We haven’t killed anyone…yet,” he answered, confusion laced in his tone. “I’m overseeing trainees. They aren’t ready to fight.”

Ah. That explained the incompetence of the soldiers.

“But the village…?” You frowned, brows scrunching up in confusion. There was no mistaking what you had seen.

His expression darkened. “We came too late.”

Oh.

Cautiously, you lowered your blade from his neck. Yes—it made sense. He was obviously dressed in imperial commanding gear. Why would imperial soldiers slaughter their own village?

Well, now you felt a little silly—and guilty—for attacking their encampment without having done your proper research.

The other men gingerly stepped forwards.

“General Sawamura! You’re losing a lot of blood!” A young soldier with hair the color of a bright carrot pointed out worriedly. “You should probably go to the tent…Dr. Azumane can treat you there.”

The general nodded in agreement, wincing slightly as you hopped off of his back. He walked towards the medical tent, obviously trying his best not to limp.

As he left, it became clear that the other soldiers were unsure of what they should do with you.

A man with hair the color of pewter and a cute mole under his left eye (you assumed that he was the second-in-command) led you to the general’s tent, where you awaited his arrival. Minutes later, he hobbled inside the tent, limping, but proud.

“I thought you had to get your leg treated,” you remarked, noticing the lack of bandages on his thigh, blood still dripping in rivulets down his leg and marking pools on the dusty ground. “So impatient to see me already?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t going to run away,” he answered, a defiant light sparking in his charcoal eyes. “After all, you did take down nearly twenty of my men.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile teasing your lips. “Oh?”

Before he could respond, the entrance to the tent fluttered again, and a large man—even taller than the general—scurried in, his chestnut hair gathered at the nape of his neck. He seemed unduly nervous for someone with such a large physique.

“Ah, doctor,” the general greeted him. “Thank you for coming.”

So this was Dr. Azumane, you realized. From his bulk, you would’ve assumed that he was one of the finest soldiers here. Apparently not.

“You should’ve waited,” the doctor said, staring reproachfully at the general’s leg.

“It appears that we have a flight risk on our hands,” General Sawamura countered. “I couldn’t very well just let them go.”

You bristled. “I wouldn’t have run! And besides, your soldiers could have swarmed me in seconds if I tried!”

“Thank you for the assurance,” he quipped drily. “I will take that into consideration the next time someone barges into our camp”—he winced as the doctor tightened his bandages—“and shoots arrows into my sentries’ knees.”

Okay. Fair point.

“Well, I followed you guys from the town, so forgive me if I mistook you for the raiders that slaughtered an entire village,” you countered, though you did feel a slight twinge of guilt.

His expression darkened, a muscle in his jaw ticking at what was probably an unpleasant memory. The doctor looked up worriedly, tying off the last knot in the bandage and leaving the tent, presumably on his way to treat the other unfortunate soldiers who had stood in the face of your wrath.

“We had nothing to do with that village. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”

There was a storm brewing in his eyes, and you wondered if you had pried too far into events you did not yet understand.

“My father was guarding the mountain pass. They were taken unaware by the Huns,” he said, after a long silence.

Your breath constricted in your throat.

“Oh.” It came out like a whisper, the only air you could force past your lips.

“Don’t be,” he said curtly. “You weren’t there either. You couldn’t have helped.”

Settling back on the cushions, he sighed before changing the subject.

“So what are you, exactly? An outlaw? Fugitive?” He leaned closer, squinting. “A mercenary?”

Well, you supposed he could put it that way.

“Nomad,” you answered simply, not knowing exactly what you were yourself.

“Not a Hun, anyways,” the general regarded you critically. “I saw the scimitars. Huns don’t use those, and even if they did, they looked far too well-crafted. Not meant for brute force, anyways.”

You had spent many moons trading pelts and herbs to earn enough jade to purchase the twin weapons from the finest blacksmith you knew. They were custom-ordered, the grips fitted to the exact measurements of your palms—your most treasured possessions.

“Your horse is in the stable, by the way.” The general shifted his weight on the cushions in the tent. “He’s a fine horse, that one.”

You nodded in agreement. A man who didn’t appreciate horses was not worth talking to at all.

“Can I get my sword back?” you asked with as much politeness as you could muster.

He stared at you, then raised an eyebrow. “You want your sword back? In my camp? After you attacked my men? When we still don’t know where your loyalties lie?”

You gave a huff of irritation. “Well, I told you it was a mistake, wasn’t it? And my swords are rather important to me.”

“And my life is rather important to me,” he retorted.

“General, should I take their other one as well?” the gray-haired man interrupted, stepping forwards. You had almost forgotten that he was in the room—he had been silent ever since he’d brought you here. Narrowing your eyes, you laid a hand threateningly on the hilt of your scimitar. The general eyed you appraisingly, then held up a hand.

“I don’t think they’d take too kindly to that. Best leave it be for now. But you will not”—he directed a pointed glance at your hand, still clasped over the grip of your remaining scimitar—“under any circumstances, use that against my men. Or me,” he added, apparently not trusting you to not find loopholes.

“Can I still have my other one back?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But you let me keep this one!”

“Yes, because you would’ve slit both of our throats if any of us tried to take it from you, and you know it.”

“…fine.”

And so it was on a fine sunny afternoon that you found yourself being corralled into a soldier’s tent, held on a temporary tent arrest.

Oops?

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princesssarcastia · 4 years

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star trek into darkness

okay so I’m watching st:id again after all my AMAZINGG back and forth on AUs with @starlightandsunshine centering on the emotional aftermath of this movie, and I now have several (many) meta thoughts

Soo I’m thinking about how

Jim actually opens up emotionally to uhura after blowing everyone else off, also lets her wave him off in the middle of the mission to fight with her boyfriend, and then takes her side in the argument. THEY ARE FRIENDS AND LIKE EACH OTHER, I will not be accepting any other canon, ever.

He makes chekov (19 y/old????? fucking hell) chief of engineering after soctty leaves; is it because keenser was next in line and quit too? or is it because kirk roots his command in personal decisions and trusts chekov more than anyone else to do what he needs? he only bonds with marcus when marcus mentions how he was (ostensibly) the one to talk pike into joining starfleet. Poor Chekov, he literally did not deserve this stress.

I’ll bet you anything that Jim when Pike took the enterprise from him, even as Jim was angry, he never once, not for a second, regretted what he did. He’d lose the enterprise a thousand times over to save spock’s life. to save any of their lives. (ignore me and you will get everyone on this ship killed, Khan says, and Jim turns right back around, pissed as hell, because Khan has observed him for five minutes and had him clocked COLD. he knows that’s Jim’s one huge button)

Deeply enjoyed how Spock got back at Jim for his teasing about Carol, the new science officer, by not telling jim shit about her deception “until it became relevant.” don’t ever tell me spock’s a robot because he enjoys antagonizing jim just as much as jim enjoys antagonizing him

the enterprise deserves someone in that chair that knows what he’s doing. that’s not me. that’s you, spock. Do you ever think about how Jim literally abdicated the captain-ship during this movie? idk if that was him 619ing, or him maybe...agreeing with what Pike told him, before he died. That Jim wasn’t ready for command, didn’t deserve it, that he wasn’t capable of upholding the mission and protecting his crew (clearly, since he almost got them all killed, in Jim’s mind). Jim is...literally admitting that he doesn’t think he’s worthy of being captain, and that Spock should take his job. that’s fucked up, especially given that he goes and basically commits suicide an hour later. (they give spock a line at the end of the movie to show that spock thinks that bullshit: as a mission of this duration has never been attempted, I defer to your good judgement, captain. really, though, Spock’s face as Jim essentially makes him captain-captain is kind of devastating; like Spock had no idea Jim felt this way or harbored these insecurities)

I’d totally missed, up until this point, that Jim was the one who suggested this mission to Marcus in the first place!! Like holy shit, talk about feeling guilty. Marcus sure as hell took advantage of it, and it’s largely his fault, but Jim was the one who walked up to the head of starfleet and straight up asked for an off-books incursion into enemy territory for revenge. You can’t tell me that Jim doesn’t take that whole burden onto his shoulders, given that he, again, pretty quickly afterwards commits suicide via warp core.

This crew all loves each other SO FUCKING MUCH. And the also love their captain. Jim says “hey chekov i know you’re a navigator and 19 but be my CEO” and chekov’s like “yikes, sure!” Jim randomly comms Scotty, who just quit and is drunk, and Scotty drops everything to go break into a secure starfleet base behind Jupiter and literally save everyone.

And they spend this whole movie trying to pull Jim back together after all this shit, losing the enterprise and Pike dying. Bones fusses over his health and flirts with Carol to exasperate him, Spock makes it clear he’s unequivocally on Jim’s side while kicking him in the ass over his dumb decision making to get his brain working again. Uhura acknowledges his loss and commiserates with him over spock being...spock. Chekov and Scotty go waaaaaay out of their comfort zones without question because he needs them, no questions. Sulu is his amazing damn self and literally the entire ship would fall apart without him, and I like to think if he’d had more time he would have dragged Jim into some sparring to let it out in a way that doesn’t involve, you know, klingons.

all due respect commander, but we’re not going anywhere. how is sulu consistently the best part of every single movie?? I love him

and this...this is what you would have done. don’t fucking tell me Jim doesn’t know what happened in TOS, don’t you fucking dare, because Jim in this moment chose to take spock’s place. i want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. FUCK Jim knows for sure, for sure. UGH.

Okay but Scotty doesn’t even have to say anything to Spock beyond telling him to get down to engineering; he knew exactly what that meant. Knew it meant Jim was dying or dead. Because every single one of the bridge crew knows about Jim’s self-sacrificial tendencies; they were devastated, but not surprised, not at all, because aos!Jim learned the day he was born that the best way to show someone you love them is to die for them. And he loves them. so much. god, Bones’ face when they bring Jim’s body in is haunting. Uhura gripping her mouth, because there aren’t words. Scotty crying his eyes out. Spock...going feral pre-surak vulcan on everyone.

And then the whole bridge crew is so fucking furious that Khan, directly or indirectly, took advantage of those tendencies, that they all help Spock go fucking feral and absolutely would have helped him murder Khan if they didn’t need him to get Jim back.

This concludes my mostly angsty thoughts about ST:ID and how it relates to aos!Jim’s angst ridden ass and the bridge crew’s relationships therein. will definitely be playing into the next round of time travel au discussion for sure

#this is being posted mostly because I need to have it somewhere to access #too many thoughts too little brain space guys #i need more processing and memory power #star trek #star trek: into darkness #jim kirk #spock #nyota uhura #pavel chekov #hikaru sulu #hikaru sulu could kick your ass any day jim #ooo i've used that tag before nice #angst #death #self-sacrificing idiots #feel free to ignore this is all coming back in different forms later

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dallanebbia · 4 years

Text

blooming (2/6);

fandom: bnha pairing: kacchako; bakugou katsuki x uraraka ochako word count: 3579 warnings: mentions of violence inspiration: [link] synopsis:

Ochako doesn’t understand much about the world outside the limits of her village, but she does know this: She loves her family, and at the end of the day, she’ll do anything to keep them safe – even if it means sacrificing herself to do it.

When she runs away to join the army in her father’s place, the only thing she leaves behind is an untouched cup of tea, and a whispered apology nobody is awake to hear.

(or, in which an attempt is made to write a kacchako mulan au)

parts: [1] [2] [3] || AO3: [link]

This is how the world works: Bakugou Katsuki is born the son of a tailor and grows up at his father’s knee, learning the family trade, and works to support his family. He marries a local girl from the next village over, has a son, and goes off to war at the shogun’s request. He may die at the hands of old age or sickness or the hands of another man, but his memory will only be remembered by his family line.

This is what people expect when Katsuki is born, but it’s a mistake that is quickly, violently corrected.

This is what actually happens: Katsuki is brought into the world as the son of a tailor and Lady Mitsuki, the legendary onna-bugeisha of the famous Houjou clan. He grows up with a needle in one hand and a bokken in the other, and is trained to be fearless and ambitious and great. He dreams of being a famed warrior, a legend that will be remembered in the annals of history forever, and he is determined to claw his way to the top on his merit and nothing else.

Katsuki joins a military academy and graduates with top honors and accolades, mentors under the famous General Hakamata, and is given command over a moronic bunch of civilian recruits that are soft and weak and useless. Instead of fighting in the heat of battle, he is tucked away in some rural pocket of Japan with fucking Monoma breathing down his neck, and his current goal is to whip the idiots under his command into shape so he can get to the frontlines and fucking fight.

In light of this, it comes as no surprise that he doesn’t have time for a family, let alone a wife. At least, that’s the idea – until he meets Uraraka.

On the first day of training, Katsuki has all the recruits stand in a line, brusquely introducing himself and ignoring the usual niceties. He doesn’t care about any of these extras, resorting to his usual habit of using descriptive (albeit sometimes offensive) nicknames as he assesses the recruits one on one with a good, old fashioned spar. Some show more promise than others, but every man who steps into the sparring ring with him is systematically destroyed as he gives no quarter.

Katsuki sneers when he sees the next recruit, a boy tripping his way into the sparring ring. The brunette is the shortest one of the bunch, and the youngest too, judging from the squeaky voice and the baby fat that clings to an innocent-looking face. The kid is shaking so hard that it’s visible even from across the ring, and Katsuki looks away, knowing that the fight is going to be another waste of time.

“Hey!”

The boy yells, and Bakugou’s gaze slides back to see that the kid is staring him down, a determined look in those wide brown eyes. “Don’t look away from me!”

Katsuki likes people with guts, which is the only reason he bothers to reply. “Why the fuck would I pay attention to a waste of space?”

The kid only looks more determined after he says it, which Katsuki can grudgingly respect. Still, he leaves his body loose but doesn’t put the effort into settling into a stance as the spar starts, which is a dumb fucking mistake as the boy sprints forward immediately.

The kid is small, but he’s fast. Katsuki opens with a punch that’s neatly avoided, and counters the foot that tries to hook around his ankle and yank him off balance, pulling his head back and redirecting the nasty hit aimed at his neck to his cheek instead. The punch has no power behind it, no momentum, and it’s easy to shake off the mild sting and kick out at unbalanced legs in a way that sends the kid sprawling.

Katsuki is a little impressed. He’s also pissed that the kid is even able to touch him, which is why he decides to have some fun and scare the little shit with a clearly telegraphed kick. The boy barely dodges, wild-eyed and feral and desperate as he rolls into a crouch, and Katsuki can’t help the twinge of curiosity that settles in his spine.

“Tch, you actually hit me,” he says offhandedly, and the boy grimaces through his heavy panting.

“There’s more where that came from!”

Katsuki barely refrains from rolling his eyes, but moves forward first with the intent of finishing things quickly. When his punch lands, it should be the end of it – but the kid takes it head on, and has the fucking audacity to use his outstretched arm to pull him close and try elbowing him in the face. It’s sloppy and slow, so it’s simple to bat away the arm and send a kick to the boy’s exposed back, sending him face first into the dirt as Katsuki moves forward to pin the kid down.

He doesn’t expect the dirt that’s flung into his eyes, and that tiny sliver of respect grows, just a little.

He has to take a second to clear his vision, but he’s not a captain for nothing. He lets the incoming kick knock him down to orient himself, then body slams the boy into the dirt and locks his hands around those skinny arms. The kid struggles, but Katsuki presses down on the bird-thin wrists as a warning. Then, it’s over.

The boy yields, and Katsuki gives the chubby-cheeked boy a less offensive name as a reward for actually using part of his brain - Round Face.

The kid, however, clearly doesn’t appreciate Katsuki’s magnanimity. “My name,” the boy pants, “is Uraraka.”

He cocks his head to one side, taking in the boy’s exhausted yet determined expression. Looking at the kid head on, without the timidity and clumsiness, there’s something odd about the boy that rubs Katsuki the wrong way - it's a gut feeling, a sense of wrongness that gets stronger the longer he stares, but he doesn’t have the time to think about it right now. Instead, he tucks the thought away to think on later, after he finishes kicking everyone’s asses.

By the end of the first week, Katsuki is about ninety-five percent sure that Round Face is actually a woman.

The theory first hits him midway through the third day, when he lets the recruits pause for a water break. Some, like Sparky, take the opportunity to laugh and playfight with each other on the grass, clearly not working hard enough with the kind of energy they have to spare. Others, like Soy Sauce Face and Birdbrain, retreat into the shade of the trees and rest like sensible human beings, or stretch to keep their muscles limber for the next round of exercises Katsuki has planned for the day.

And then there’s Round Face, who makes his way to the water troughs and dunks his entire face in. The boy is red-faced and sweaty, likely sunburnt too, and Katsuki has to bite back a snort at the sight of the kid, balancing on his toes as he just barely manages to lean far enough to get his head under the water.

Round Face looks a little better when he emerges with a gasp, dropping back onto his heels and stumbling back with a sigh of relief. The neckline of his training shirt is wet alongside his face, and Katsuki only catches a glimpse of something off when the kid uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.

There are bandages, wrapped around the kid’s upper torso. He cocks his head, watching a little closer as Round Face joins the others in the shade - there’s a subtle sway when the kid walks, leading with the hips instead of the chest, and even though his strides are strong, they’re also oddly short and narrow, even for a boy of his size. It almost reminds Katsuki of the way his mother walks and fights, her weight shifting differently due to her lower center of gravity.

Wait.

Katsuki blinks, stares, then blinks again, eyes narrowing. Sure enough, there’s a telltale lack of protrusion at Round Face’s throat that makes the suspicion fully settle into his mind.

Over the next few days, he makes it a point to keep an eye of Round Face, and the more he observes, the more obvious it becomes. There’s the softness of the boy’s features, the way his strength is anchored in his legs rather than his upper body, and a feminine edge to all of his movements both intentional and subconscious. There’s also a deference built into the kid’s behavior that is pretty typical of most women he’s met, all passiveness and silence and demurely averted eyes, and he never, ever, takes off his shirt around the other men, even when his top is soaked through with sweat.

It… explains a lot. Katsuki personally knows that gender means shit when it comes to combat, but while it's true that men usually have a physical advantage over women, Round Face is one of the rare cases. The kid can kick in someone’s teeth with all the explosive force of a jackrabbit, and wields the tanto and bo staff like a demon possessed, yet lacks the upper body strength to do anything but lift the nodachi that he stubbornly insists on learning to use. At the same time, he – she? – is fucking baffling. Tiny as a male or female, surrounded by other men who are literally twice her size, but somehow she’s still consistently winning an average of four out of five spars, even against bigger opponents.

She’s a goddamn walking contradiction, how she manages to make giants like Shitty Hair eat dirt in the morning while struggling to pull a boulder up a mountain three hours later, and for some reason, he finds himself fascinated.

Katsuki can’t explain the weird magnetism surrounding the girl, but when Monoma, that shitty rat bastard, finally decides to show his ugly face, he’s caught in it too – the fuckface immediately zeroes in on the girl like a moth to a light. He’s lives on ferreting out people’s weaknesses and using them to his advantage, and Round Face – small, short, tiny Round Face, who can take out a man twice her weight but still trails in every other training exercise – is the obvious and easy victim.

“Uraraka, was it?” the smug bastard asks snidely, looking down at her as she slowly trudges back into camp behind the rest of the men, lagging behind by a wide margin. “How pathetic.”

“Your parents must be disappointed, having such a useless son,” he comments airily, as Round Face’s arms tremble under the strain of hefting a water bucket in each hand, her arms outstretched parallel to the ground as she staggers up the mountain.

“It’s interesting, how you’re still so terrible at this, Uraraka,” he says when she collapses in a sweaty, panting mess, as the rest of the recruits shoot pleading, frustrated looks in Katsuki’s direction.

It’s clear to everyone that Round Face is Monoma’s punching bag for reasons nobody can figure out, but in this Katsuki is powerless. He’s a Monoma, an advisor and trueborn nobleman, and he outranks Katsuki both socially and at court. He might call the bastard names, but when it comes to this he can’t interfere, no matter how much he wants to.

To her credit, Uraraka simply stands there and takes every one of the poisonous insults, her eyes blank as she stares stoically at Monoma’s face. Katsuki can see, though, the way her shoulders slump and the defeat that slowly eats away at her once determined posture, and proceeds to create a little, tiny accident that keeps the fuckface from entering the training areas for a good week. There are boisterous hugs and laughs of relief from the men, Katsuki waving off their cheers with a scowl, but nothing hits harder than the small, thankful smile on Uraraka’s face that sends his heart plummeting into his stomach.

When he’s lying in his bedroll that night, he looks up at the canvas of the tent above him and breathes, “Fuck.”

In hindsight, it’s only a matter of time before someone else sees what’s so obvious. Monoma figuring it out isn’t a shock – for all that Katsuki loathes the pointy-faced bastard, the man is intelligent when it counts – but what is surprising is that Monoma tries to use Uraraka to blackmail him.

Katsuki is the son of the disgraced Houjou heiress and a goddamn tailor, and Monoma is the second son of the most powerful noble clan in all the shogunate. He has no idea what the fuck he has that Monoma can’t buy with his clan’s backing, but all at once the answer is clear.

It comes down to power, as it always fucking does.

Monoma’s playing the long game with his political ambitions, aiming for the imperial court, but he needs the backing of powerful people to assure his position. Katsuki, with his relationship with General Hakamata and his ties to one of the oldest samurai families in Japan, has enough secondary influence to weigh things heavily in Monoma’s favor.

“You son of a bitch, you’re really trying to fucking blackmail me?” Katsuki barks out a laugh, glowering. “I’m not gonna do shit for you, fuckface.”

“You sure about that, Captain?” Monoma, artfully arranged on a lounge seat that is a waste of both money and space, looks remarkably unruffled, sitting like a satisfied cat basking in the afternoon sun. “Even if I accidentally let it slip that your favorite new recruit is a woman masquerading as a man?”

Katsuki bites down the rage that simmers in him at the mention of Uraraka. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about the ridiculous law that prohibits women from combat – growing up under his mother’s tutelage, he knows better to go around sprouting any of that traditionalist, sexist bullshit – but he knows that most men don’t feel the same way. If Uraraka is found out, she’ll be dragged to the capitol in chains and executed, her family publicly denounced for their disgraced daughter. The very idea of it makes his blood run cold.

“Even if I did agree, nothing’s gonna happen,” Katsuki says, trying a different angle as his mind runs through different options. “The old man can’t afford to play with court politics on the frontlines, and my bastard of a grandfather hates my fucking guts. They’re not gonna do shit on my behalf, let alone for some fucking stranger.”

“Doesn’t sound like my problem, then, does it?” Fuckface sighs contentedly, and Katsuki wants to punch the smug little bastard in his pointy face. “It’s amusing, how protective you are of the girl – imagine, the Butcher of Niijima, trying to play the big, brave warrior who rescues the weak, fragile little damsel in distress?”

“Weak? Fragile? Are you fucking blind?” Katsuki says incredulously. He pointedly ignores the familiar stab of regret at the moniker that made him famous; it's a trigger that usually sets him off, but he bites back the rage and focuses himself again.

“Most definitely not,” Monoma says, clearly disappointed that there isn't a more explosive reaction to his little dig. On the other hand, Katsuki wonders if the man is actually an idiot or if he’s just willfully ignorant of the fact that Uraraka could kick his skinny ass any day of the week. “So – do we have a deal?”

Hands curl into fists at his sides, his scowl deepening. The obvious, logical solution is to tell Monoma to fuck off and continue on, leaving Uraraka to her unfortunate fate. The alternative is to agree for the sake of protecting a girl he barely knows, only to end up with the same outcome. He knows that he’ll be laughed out of his grandparents’ clan compound for the audacity to demand political support after years of acting like he’s better off without them.

Monoma waits, eyes sharp as he watches Katsuki wage an internal war with himself, and then grins. “Why don’t we make things a little more interesting, captain?”

“Hah?”

Monoma’s eyes wander off to the side, landing on the trunk of a dead tree, rising out of the ground and towering over the rest of the camp. The branches are long gone, the cracked trunk worn smooth from years of rain and wind, and the wood stops flat abruptly, as if a giant had come and chopped the top of the tree off in a single, clean cut.

“Let’s make a wager, Bakugou.” The fuckface stands smoothly, moving towards the racks of weapons laid neatly to one side, and selects a bow that he handles with surprising ease. Monoma then pulls an arrow out of the quiver, and in one smooth movement sends it flying upward until the tip buries itself into the wood at the very top of the dead tree. “I’m sure we both are familiar with this little exercise, hm?”

Katsuki looks to where the arrow sits, high above their heads. It’s a common test for soldiers training to be army officers – climbing to retrieve a flag or an arrow from a tall perch, slowed down by training weights, is a rite of passage that Katsuki is intimately familiar with. Suddenly, he knows where Monoma is going with this.

“I’ll forget all about little Uraraka-chan, if that arrow is in my hands by dawn tomorrow morning – on one condition,” he says, and Katsuki narrows his eyes. “The girl retrieves the arrow, and she uses the weights from the captain’s tests. I’ll even sweeten the pot – I’ll leave you and your little camp alone for an entire month, as long as you send copies of your reports to me so I can pretend like I’ve been supervising.”

It’s fucking tempting – keeping Uraraka safe is already a win in his book, but the opportunity to kick Monoma out makes it too hard to pass up. Katsuki thinks of Uraraka, remembers the determination and fire in those brown eyes from their first spar, and bites back a smirk.

He sees Monoma’s pleased expression from the corner of his eye, a victorious smile on that stupid face of his, and Katsuki bares his teeth in a grin. “You’ve got yourself a deal, fuckface.”

Katsuki doesn’t waste any time, digging out the weights as the men run their final laps around the valley, and he’s waiting for her when Uraraka finally drags herself into camp long after sunset. He drops the heavy metal disks into her arms, ignoring the confused expression she wears, and draws her attention to the arrow, embedded high above them.

“Get the arrow by sunrise,” he says, and watches as Uraraka’s face pales even further under the silvery moonlight. “If you can’t, don’t bother showing up for training.”

He ignores her stammering, frantic questions, heading back to his tent where Monoma is waiting. He only glances back once, and smiles in proud satisfaction when he sees Uraraka approaching the tree with the weights strapped to her back, the determined set of her shoulders highlighted by the full moon behind her.

He's relaxed all throughout the night, calmly reading through letters and communications while studiously ignoring Momona's increasingly infuriating gloating. The man is lounging around like he's already won and talking shit, and for the first time, Katsuki lets someone run their mouth without complaint despite how much he wants to talk back.

His thinly-fraying patience pays off hours later, when Uraraka stalks into the tent and stakes the arrow into the wood table, less than a hand's width away from Monoma's fingers. She's panting heavily, and Katsuki doesn’t even care that his heart lodges itself into his throat at the sight of her. She looks flushed and angry and fucking glorious, and it sends something hot stirring in his gut.

Monoma jumps at the action, his features a comical mix between shock and fury, and it’s goddamn hilarious. “What was it you said? Fragile?” Katsuki straight out cackles. “A deal’s a deal, fuckface. Get your arrow and your shitty ass out of my damn camp.”

Monoma looks like he wants to argue, but grits his teeth and leaves like a dog with its tail between his legs when he catches Katsuki’s gaze. Try me, fuckface.

“I’m fragile?” He looks over, seeing Uraraka looking down at her reddened hands in offended bewilderment. “… wait, you bet on me?!”

“The shitty bastard did.” Katsuki grabs one of the pears beside him and tosses it at her, watching with a warm sort of fondness as it nearly hits her in the nose. She glares at him, bristling, and he blames that on what he says next.

“There’s nothing fragile about you, round face.” Her eyes widen in surprise at the words, and the flush on her cheeks darken. “Now get outta my tent.”

Uraraka stares at him for about three seconds, stunned speechless, before mumbling something and sprinting out of his tent like her life depends on it.

Katsuki glances at the arrow, embedded into the table still, and yanks it out, twirling the shaft between his fingers. The look on her face, tired and feral and victorious, is burned into his mind, and although he has never considered himself the marrying type, he absently thinks that having a woman like Uraraka for a wife wouldn’t be so bad.

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #mulan au #bnha #fanfiction #bnha au #by nebbia

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let-sanji-say-fuck · 5 years

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Monster Trio with a girlfriend who is a dragon with ability to take on human form, she isn't a DF user.

This ask is pretty interesting, but I’m sorry if it’s not exactly what you were looking for! I’m still pretty happy with how it turned out, so I hope you enjoy it as well!

Before starting with the boys, have some headcanons on the girl’s background, if you don’t mind my take on it!

Since she is originally a dragon who can take the shape of a human, let’s say that it serves as some kind of defense mechanism for the times when she wants to avoid confrontation with humans who dock on the island where she lives, or an easy way to lull human preys into her den.

Pirates who find her half naked in the middle of nothing often intend to take her with them, so she ends up returning to her original body and devouring them.

Has little to no knowledge on human language and basic society rules, given the brief time spent among humans. She only started covering her human body (although scarcely) after she noticed that the people who came onto the island wore clothes, and has only learned some interjections, words and simple body language, just enough to make her act feel more realistic and less like a trap.

In any case, Chopper is going to be of great help when it comes to communicating with her, because dragons are basically reptiles. He plays a very important role in her development as a civilized human being.

Monkey D. Luffy

We already know how their fist meeting goes. Before Luffy finds out that the dragon can turn into a human person he’s going to want to beat it, then eat it. He’s got both, a powerful enemy and the possibility of tasty meat before his eyes, and added to the fact that, well, he’s Luffy, of course he’s in for delivering a beating!

Is honestly a tiny bit disappointed when the dragon turns into a girl, but the feeling subsides quickly when realization hits him like a brick: a dragon just turned into a girl. How cool is that? A lot for awestruck Luffy, he wants her in his crew. It’s a little complicated to get a positive reaction from her when she can barely understand what he’s saying, though.

The only reason why she lets him drag her onto the ship is because Luffy already defeated her once, and she’s kind of badly hurt. He’s going to feel pretty bad because he actually beat an “innocent” person, and Sanji is going to kick him into apologizing to her.

Given the lack of knowledge on almost anything aside from a lifetime of experiences on how to survive in the wilderness, she’s going to be like a little baby. Luffy taking care of babies tends to not end up going well, so he will need the help of his crew to make sure she ends up becoming a decent human being.

They grew pretty close after this particular time she turned into a dragon and took off… with her Captain perched on her head while she started to fly off to who-knows-where. They came back hours later with a nice Sea King specimen meant to be cooked for dinner, and seemingly closer than before, if Luffy was laughing and patting her head was anything to go by.

Luffy believes in food being the universal language than anyone can speak, so when words don’t work good between both of them, he’s going to invite her to stuff her face in meat with him. He still won’t let her have some of his share, but he’s more than happy when he notices how eager she always is to grab a bite or two or more.

This boy literally can’t go one day without a thrilling flight on her back or head. No matter how often he does it, there’s no way he’s growing sick of it. It’s his favorite kind of “date” with her, and if they end up hunting some tasty big fish to eat that night the experience becomes impossibly better.

He might be a little confused to find out that her ability doesn’t come from having eaten a Devil Fruit, but honestly it just thrills him all the more! Knowing that such a thing as real dragons exists his adventurous curiosity just grows stronger. And of course he’s going to think she’s really powerful and cool! (But he’s still a little upset because he didn’t get the chance to try dragon meat yet).

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro hasn’t had that much experience with dragons, but that ain’t going to stop him from trying to take one on. How sturdy is the body of a dragon again? Oh, he’s very much about to find out. Pretty merciless on his approach, and is honestly expecting a good fight from a creature known to be so fearsome.

So imagine how puzzled he’s going to be when, after defeating it (pretty easily), there’s a kind of “poof”, mist all around and a naked woman falling on top of him, weakly and monotonously repeating “no more” or “please stop”. Hold Sanji, because he’s going to be so jealous and angry.

When he pushes her off and she tries to run away, he’s probably going to stay on the floor for a couple of seconds processing the information. If it hadn’t been for Chopper demanding he went to carry her to the infirmary (of course he’s going to take responsibility, he cut her) he’d have probably let her escape into the forest where she came from.

He thinks it’s pretty annoying that they have to take care of her. Why appear as a menacing, bloodthirsty dragon in the first place if she will need treatment afterwards? He’s even more annoyed by the fact that everyone is giving him dirty looks for doing that to the poor girl. He’s going to have it rough, the boy…

This is the return of Papa Zoro, because that’s what he’s going to be when this girl can’t talk nor understand what he scolds her about, is naïve and literally just follows him around only to flinch shyly when he turns to tell her to cut it off. Oh god, if he had known that defeating a dragon would give him such an infuriating admirer he would have thought twice before drawing his swords.

He will probably start liking her when she starts acting more like a human being and less like a feral beast. Probably starts to see the potential in her ability around this time as well, and might even look forward to docking in deserted islands where he can happily spar against her strong body if she feels up for the challenge.

Not the hardest fan of flying, so he won’t really go with her when she sets off for her daily flight. Zoro would rather die than admit it, but he grows pretty worried if she doesn’t appear in the horizon after a couple of hours. Everyone knows, though, because he’s the one who greets her first, with a good scolding, whenever she takes too long to return.

Is pretty curious about her species, so he’s going to ask her about them when she has some notions on basic language. He wants to know about all kind of dragons she is aware of, how powerful they are, if they can also turn into little pests that he ends up growing fond of… (he hopes not). Quite enjoys these talks with her, even if her struggling with the language kind of ticks him off.

Sanji

He’s the one that’s going to be lulled into her den. Seeing a beautiful young girl scarcely covered running through the forest? Hell, he would have expected her to be a Nymph instead of a dragon, and he’s totally going to try to chase after and find her (once he wakes up from passing out from blood loss).

When he’s on his way he’s going to react a little harshly towards the dragon that just tried to bite his head off though. It’ll totally catch him off guard and he’s going to yelp a little in surprise because he was a little absent, looking for the darling, but he’s definitely going to deliver a good kicking to the dragon for scaring the heck out of him. He doesn’t care that it’s an extremely rare mythical creature, and even wonders if it he can pull a good dish out of its meat. Sanji’s eager to find out.

What he ends up finding out about is that the dragon and the girl are one and the same and he can’t feel more broken inside. His soul is probably going to need to reincarnate through several lives to even come close to consider itself cleansed and worthy of forgiveness after realizing that he kicked a lady. Several times. Unknowingly, but that’s not a valid excuse.

Probably sulks a lot before offering himself to take care of her. He will leave the physical damage treatment part to Chopper (every time he sees the bruises that he caused he wants to curl up in a corner and die), but he’s the one who’s going to spend time with her while she recovers and bring her simple dishes that are easy on the stomach.

The second he finds out that she never had a taste of decent food (raw meat and a couple of berries here and there aren’t decent food) he’s going to be ecstactic and look forward to making her one filling, mouthwatering dish. He wishes he had a camera to capture her delighted expression and excited yelp upon the very first spoonful (that he offered to give her because she doesn’t seem acquainted with these utensils).

He thinks it’s endearing that she depends on him so much when she faces the new world ahead of her, fully as a human. Sanji feels like the prince who helps the sweet little mermaid (dragon) to get used to human society, and the fact that she can’t talk makes him wonder if confessing his love would magically bring a voice of her own. So far he hasn’t had a chance to advance because every time he tries to smooch her, she almost bites his lips off his face (and he’s delighted).

Of course he loves her human body the most, he can just admire it for days on end and won’t ever grow tired of every curve and mole… but he comes to find her original shape absolutely majestic and powerful. He loves that this dragon is the same innocent girl who showed difficulties regarding the use of a knife and a fork and a spoon, but he’s totally going to be at her beck and call whenever she needs him, no matter how many heads she can actually tear off in one bite.

Wants to be by her side when she finally gets a solid hang of the talking thing, like an excited young father. Might even cry a little because when he feels that she’s got better at communication he’s going to start apologizing again for what he did to her, and if the first thing she says to him isn’t that she absolutely forgives him he might as well just throw himself overboard. He’s never letting himself live this one down.

#Monkey D Luffy #Roronoa Zoro #Sanji #Female Pronouns #Headcanons #One Piece #Anonymous

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thewanderingsoul · 6 years

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♛

Aggressive Symbol Meme

♛ - for your muse to beat mine until they can’t fight back

She knew the moment she’d screwed everything up. She knew immediately. And the beating she took from the enemy paled in comparison to what Qui-Gon would do to her. She knew that already. She knew by the way he glared at her with such venom and reproach, by the way he suddenly became the distant and cold man everyone assumed he was, but she had never known herself. Now, she definitely knows that prolific man. And he’s terrifying. Already injured, she feared reporting for training the following day, but Rey knew what horrible punishment awaited her if she were to ditch. Something far worse than what she was about to get, which would be horrendous all its own. She is no coward, though. Fearful, she may be, but she’d caused this. She had disappointed him so gravely that even the mission’s failure hadn’t seemed as important. No, her true turmoil rose from the man whom she had wronged. And nearly cost them their lives because of it. Rey deserved whatever he was about to dole out to her, though she was terribly anxious about it. She must face her mistakes, though, and take responsibility for them regardless of what consequences she may face. So she does show up to practice. And Qui-Gon is still emanating something close to murder, insidious threat that has her mouth closed upon feeling it. She knows better than to think he would truly maim her, but something very close to it? She would not put past him. Especially not now. She has a hard time meeting his eyes when he turns to face her, utterly calm and serene. Never in all her years of knowing him had that expression terrified her so. “Today, we spar.” Bluntly, to the point and Rey swallows the lump in her throat because she’s pretty sure where this is going and she’s not going to like it. In fear of saying something which might edge him to further rage, she simply nods, backing away to get at a fair distance for battle. Her lightsaber ready, she braces herself for whatever punishment she’s about to receive. At first, it all seems fairly normal. She’s utterly sore from the aches and bruises she’d suffered the day before, and a few burns on her ribs stretch and peel when she blocks some of his blows. But this steady pace only lasts for a brief few minutes. His eyes watch her, emotionless and steely during the beginning. Something she would realize afterward was just him gauging how mobile she was . Without warning, his strikes suddenly change. She’s only able to block the first one because she sees the tensing of his muscles right before it happens, and feels the horrible dread wrench in her chest when he pounces on her like a viscous, feral animal. She blocks it, but only barely. The heat of two colliding sabers sears at her skin, the hum nearly deafening. His brute force is so strong that her arms nearly crumple beneath the strike, screaming in agony as she tries to hold her ground. She literally slides back unwillingly as he bears down on her; the traction in her boots not nearly enough to keep her grounded. He’s literally going to step all over her. And there is nothing she can do except take the beating. Rey feigns grip on her parry to try and regain her footing, but it serves as nothing except an opening for him as he rounds on her a second time, slamming into her side. Despite her best efforts, his saber still tears into already brutalized skin, and it’s all she can do to not scream. She clenches her teeth, hissing with pain as she spins out of the way, saber ready for another attack. Qui-Gon does not disappoint. Light spins in a flurry of blows that force Rey to continue to give ground, and leaves her with more burns than successful blocks and each time she does manage to fend his saber off, her arms lose more and more strength. He slams his saber against hers so hard, her bones nearly shake. Neither of them speak, and really if anyone were watching, they would question if this were really training at all rather than just a brutal beating. But she knows that she deserves this lesson. She’d known as soon as she had done it that she’d made a grave mistake and she would most certainly pay for it. Merciless, Qui-Gon brings a downward blow over her shoulders, which she has to block with her arms raised, leaving her lower half completely exposed. A wretched opening for any other opponent, but he doesn’t even have to use it. Forcibly, he pushes down harder, until her arms break under the pressure and his saber slices into her shoulder. Her knees crumple and her saber is knocked entirely from her hands as she hits the ground, on her knees before him. She dare not look up, knowing he would strike such an imposing figure with that scorn in his eyes. Worse to experience than the beating she’s taking. “Get up.” He instructs, with no room for argument. Rey clenches her jaw, using the Force to snap her saber back to her hand as she rises to her feet. He gives her no grace period, and descends upon her immediately. Striking blow after blow, burning marks upon her skin, he repeats that again and again. Rey can hardly suck in a breath, let alone cry out in any pain. For being brutalized so, she does her best to take it gracefully, to keep all emotion from her face as she falls to the ground again and again, until she feels her legs can no longer support her. “Get up.” He commands once again, and Rey struggles for the fifth time to stagger to her feet. Her saber, knocked far away, seems to be obsolete to him now as he puts away his own. This almost is worse. She fumbles over her own feet to try and effectively fend him off, but any time the flat of his arm knocks into her, she nearly feels the strain of it in her radial. Relentlessly, he lands blow after blow, knocking her around the arena like she’s some lifeless doll. Child’s play. And she knows that for someone as skilled as he, it would be child’s play. He could kill her in an instant, if he so chose. Try as she might, the strength is no longer in her bones as he lands a hit right in her gut; hitting every vital organ with blunt force which nearly has her retching. She sucks in a breath as she is forced back, slamming into the wall with surprising velocity. But even that crushing hit was not enough. He sends another hit to her chest, which she is too slow and clumsy to even come close to fending off. She chokes out a wheeze, and the next hit, delivered to her side, is enough to cripple her. She crumples to the floor, coughing and sputtering and too weak to move. She’s bleeding in so many places, and burned in far more. Tomorrow, she’s going to be covered in splotchy bruises, if they don’t arise in a few hours. Rey coughs, but is too beaten to even wipe the blood from her nose. Truly and thoroughly berated, she can do nothing but stay on the ground. She would feel humiliated, but she had known all along what he was capable of. She just never thought she’d ever experience it first hand. She hopes she never does again. Her eyes feel glassy, and one has nearly swollen shut as she finally, finally shifts her gaze to look at him. But his expression is utterly blank as if he were feeling-less about it all. The rage behind his attack said otherwise, though, and somehow that practiced calm terrifies her more than open objection. She still can’t take in a full breath, as the blow to her chest still forces her to cough out any relief she gains. He doesn’t need to say it, the message is totally clear. Next time, she will listen. Next time, she will not disobey his orders and run their task awry. If failure hadn’t been enough, this lesson certainly was. Qui-Gon is her Master, and he certainly knows better than her. He stares at her for a long minute, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. She dares not move under that pinning gaze, in fear of him making her stand up and do it all over again. Her legs are so weak she’s not even sure she could stand up straight right now. And the beating was enough. She’s defeated, more than that he’d all but run her into the ground. But all the physical pain doesn’t even touch the inner guilt and turmoil she feels at being a disappointment. She never wanted to make him so angry, or to get out of favor with him. And that hurt worst of all. Bodies healed quickly enough, but hearts and minds are far more fragile. Qui-God says nothing, only folds his hands into his robes and walks out of the hall. Once he is far out of sight, she rolls over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling of the Temple. Once she can take a breath properly, she works on hauling her broken body to its feet, and Force pulls her saber back to her hand. She’d never be able to bend over and pick it up. She’d just collapse back on the floor. She sniffs, smelling the tangy iron of blood in her nose and scowls at it in displeasure. Forcing an aching arm up to wipe it away sends a throb directly to her brain. Rey winces, but that movement also causes pain. She shuffles slowly to the main hall, using the walls as support on her way. She just would like to go back to her chambers and sleep this off. She needs to rest, because surely he would expect her to be back tomorrow, bright and early. Her hope to return undisturbed is thwarted as Ben, someone she feels somewhat falls into the category of friend, notices her on his stroll. “Rey?” He exclaims, rushing to her side. “What kriffing happened to you?!” Immediately, the tall boy reaches for her, but she turns to growl at him, bared teeth and emanating aggression even in her sorry state. Qui-Gon had broken her body some, but certainly not her spirit. “Don’t touch me.” She seethes, and somehow, this seems to put some kind of impression on him, regardless of how incapable she is on following up on that threat at the moment. He stutters to a halt, hands mid-way to her. “But -” “No,” she hisses in finality. “I don’t need any help.” Ben’s dark brows furrow, in slight offense. They had never truly gotten along, and butt heads more often than they’d shared any kind words. But surely, him helping her back to her rooms would wound her more than any beating would. And she’s sure it would defeat the purpose of everything she’d just endured. She’s no fool. “I was just asking,” his words turn venomous. He is so easy to sway, and getting him to leave her alone (the ultimate goal) would take nothing more than offending him. “Well I don’t want your help.” She snaps back, indignant. He wrinkles his nose at her, but then holds up his hands in acquiescence. “Fine.” He spits. “I won’t offer it then.” Rey sneers, managing to use the wall enough to stand up straight and look defiantly at him. “Good.” She snaps back, and then forgets his existence entirely, continuing the slow hobble back to her rooms. She feels him stare at her as she goes, but she pays it no mind. Once she gets to her chambers, she finds there is a fresh set of bacta on the stand beside her bed, enough to treat her wounds in the very least. A small kindness, out of necessity. Rey slowly and gingerly lowers herself to her mattress, and begins the slow work of patching herself up. She is nothing if not dutiful, and has no intention of missing training tomorrow, no matter how sore. Qui-Gon would expect nothing less.

#masterofthelivingforce #asks #drabbles #{ v; The Padawan and The Master}

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aion-rsa · 7 years

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X-ecutioners: X-Force’s 15 Deadliest Members

Ever since creators Fabian Nicieza and Rob Liefeld launched “New Mutants” #100 in 1991, X-Force’s defining trait has been its aggressively proactive approach to protecting mutantkind. Even after the X-Men reluctantly took up a more militant stance under the leadership of Cyclops, X-Force also kicked its activities up a notch, becoming a black ops-style mutant kill squad designed to end potential threats before they escalated into real menaces.

RELATED: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Deadpool: The 15 Best Non-Deadpool Deadpools

Distinguished from the rest of the X-Men by a willingness (some would argue an expectation) to use deadly force on their missions, it’s no wonder “Deadpool 2” writers Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick have been tapped to lay the groundwork for a future “X-Force” film. With Cable and Domino already confirmed to appear in the blockbuster sequel, can an “X-Force” movie be far behind? With that question in mind, we couldn’t help but compile a list of X-Force’s most dangerous members.

SPOILER ALERT! Spoilers ahead for numerous stories published by Marvel Comics.

DEATHLOK

Thanks to the perils of time travel, alternate realities and liberal retcons, there have been several versions of Deathlok over the years. The Deathlok-Prime who joined X-Force after the death of his creator first appeared in “Weapon X” #11 and hailed from a parallel universe, where the evil mega-corporation Roxxon had taken over the world. Prime was the product of a clandestine Weapon Plus program that successfully used reanimated corpses to create an army of cyborg super soldiers and secure a potential future timeline policed by the Deathlok Nation.

His cybernetic enhancements and ability to accurately predict highly-probable future timelines make him a dangerous foe, but what chills us to the bone about Deathlok is his onboard A.I.’s ability to cede control to his psychotic serial killer host. Eventually, he would take a position teaching the next generation of X-Men at the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning, which we’re sure seemed like a good idea at the time. Anybody want to sign up for Serial Killing 101? We thought not.

SHATTERSTAR

This founding member of X-Force first appeared in “New Mutants” #99 as a refugee from a future Mojoworld tasked with bringing the X-Men back to his home dimension to help him liberate his people from Mojo’s twisted, despotic rule. A highly-skilled warrior raised in Mojo’s gladiatorial arenas, Shattterstar is the progeny of the mutant Dazzler and Longshot, himself a legendary revolutionary who fought against Mojo’s regime and the beneficiary of some of his son’s DNA, making Shatterstar his own grandfather. Probably best not to think on that fact too much. Thankfully, neither of his parents remembers his birth due to some convenient time travelling hijinks.

None of this makes Shatterstar particularly dangerous, simply a little weird and overwrought. What does make him dangerous is his willingness to use deadly force whenever necessary without a second thought, a precedent that was set early in his tenure with X-Force. Just ask Reaper of the Mutant Liberation Front. Shatterstar used his trademark double-bladed swords to dismember the mutant terrorist on three separate occasions.

FERAL

Another Nicieza-Liefeld creation who debuted in the seminal “New Mutants” #99, Feral was definitely a product of her times, an early example of the bloodthirsty antihero archetype that seemed a staple of virtually every comic published during the ‘90s. At least her codename didn’t have the word “blood” in it, although it easily could have, judging by her love of violence. A mutant born with innate lion-like abilities and an untameable personality in keeping with her name, Feral clawed her way free of a horrific upbringing by murdering her father and mother. She also may have been complicit in the deaths of two younger siblings, but no evidence exists pointing to their murders.

Like many bestial comic book characters, Feral struggled to keep her animalistic tendencies in check. Tragically, she never really found the knack in the same way Wolverine or even her sister Thornn did. However, it was this unpredictability and hair-trigger temper that made her so deadly, something her teammates learned early on, when she nearly disembowelled teammate Cannonball during a simple training exercise.

MARROW

Like our last entry, Marrow was another example of ‘90s comics sensibilities taken to their furthest logical (or illogical) conclusion. Once again seemingly based on the Wolverine antihero archetype, Marrow was created by Jeph Loeb and David Brewer, and first appeared in “Cable” #15 as a member of the mutant terrorist group called Gene Nation. Born with the ability to control the growth of her bones, Marrow was raised amongst the Morlocks in a brutal alternate dimension, gaining her membership in Mikhail Rasputin’s Gene Nation by literally killing her way to the top of the heap. As a member of Gene Nation, Marrow launched a brutal terrorist campaign on normal humans.

Upon joining up with the X-Men, she struggled to control her murderous tendencies. Her greatest claim to fame while with the team was shoving one of her patented bone knives into Wolverine’s throat during a sparring session. Although she lost her powers during Decimation, a re-empowered Marrow joined Cable’s reformed X-Force team. During their battle with Volga, the man who re-powered her, it was revealed that a despondent Marrow tragically lost her unborn child during the process to regain her powers.

DOMINO

The woman known as Domino was created by Fabian Nicieza and Rob Liefeld (surprise, surprise) and first appeared in “X-Force” #8. Although a mutant, Domino’s birth wasn’t random. Her birth is the result of a clandestine government-sponsored breeding program dedicated to the creation of the Perfect Weapon. Domino shares a long history with X-Force founder Cable, serving beside him in Six Pack, his old mercenary outfit. She’s been a fixture of various X-Force teams over the years, often serving as leader during Cable’s frequent absences during her initial tenure with the group.

Although Domino’s powers are subconscious by nature, typically activated when she’s threatened by impending injury, her mutant abilities aren’t what makes her so dangerous. As one of the most accomplished mercenary spies in the biz, it’s Domino’s no-nonsense attitude and willingness to make the hard choices that make her so deadly. During her time with Six Pack, the unit was known for mowing down crowds of people to achieve their goals. Her ruthlessness is perhaps best illustrated by her assassination of Flagsmasher, which paved the way for Cable’s liberation of the 198 mutants who survived M-Day.

SPIRAL

Arguably the most purely evil entry on our list, perennial X-Men villain Spiral first appeared in “Longshot” #1, created by Ann Nocenti and Art Adams. Spiral was once the Earthborn stuntwoman “Ricochet” Rita Wayword who was transformed by Mojo, the ruler of the Mojoverse, after she attempted to help her friend Longshot overthrow the tyrant’s all-powerful dictatorship. She was then sent back to the past to attack Longshot and her younger self. A six-armed cyborg sorceress with the ability to traverse the multiverse, Rita’s drastic physical transformation paled in comparison to the damage done to her mind, after it was expanded to perceive multiple dimensions.

She is an extremely powerful sorceress – one of seven who were flagged as potential successors to Sorcerer Supreme Doctor Strange – who combines science and magic to startling effect. After Mojo exiled her to Earth for failing to kill Longshot, Spiral opened up the Body Shoppe, manufacturing cybernetic limbs and weapons systems for various clients including the Reavers and Lady Deathstrike. Although later retcons would transfer the Reavers creation to Donald Pierce, there was no undoing the alternate timeline Spiral conquered, where she was known as the Apocalypse after killing most of the world’s heroes and mutants.

BISHOP

First appearing in “Uncanny X-Men” #282, the time-displaced mutant known as Bishop was born in dystopian alternate reality, where mutants were branded and forced into detention camps. After the Summers Rebellion freed mutantkind from their Sentinel–backed human overlords, Bishop joined the X.S.E. (the Xavier Security Enforcers) in an attempt to police his own kind. It was during one of his X.S.E. missions that Bishop was transported to the primary Marvel 616 continuity, where he became a valued member of the X-Men. Plagued by the memories of his horrific future, Bishop’s outlook was dramatically altered by the events of M-Day.

Although he was one of the lucky few to retain his mutant abilities post-Decimation, became more zealous in his defense of mutantkind, culminating in his attempt to kill the first mutant born after M-Day, whom he believed would usher in his dystopian timeline. After Cable saved the baby from Bishop, the pair embarked on a cross-time war of attrition, which Bishop willingly escalated into mass murder, thanks to numerous traps scattered throughout the timeline that killed millions. Now, that’s freaking deadly.

WARPATH

The younger brother of legendary X-Man Thunderbird, James Proudstar first appeared as one the Hellions in “New Mutants” #14. Under the tutelage of Emma Frost, James rose to leader of the Hellions but left the group for Cable’s first X-Force team, feeling like he no longer fit in to the Hellfire Club’s teenaged mutant strike force. Under Cable’s direction, James honed his fighting skills and underwent a sustained power boost that saw his enhanced senses and strength increase exponentially. Now far more powerful than his brother ever was, James finally stepped out of his long shadow, taking the name Warpath. It was an appropriate name choice considering his future career path.

After the events of M-Day, the protection of the few remaining empowered mutants became the X-Men’s priority, so James was tapped for a membership on the new version of X-Force that was created to target and eliminate threats to mutantkind with extreme prejudice. He was finally able to lay his brother’s soul to rest during the events of Necrosha, plunging the vampiric Black Queen’s own knife into her chest, killing her (for the time being, at least).

PSYLOCKE

In a medium noted for its love of retcons, reboots and resurrections, there are perhaps few heroes who have changed as drastically as Psylocke. The mutant telepathic sister of Captain Britain, Betsy Braddock first appeared way back in 1976 in “Captain Britain” #8. Originally, Betsy was your typical telepath, with very little to distinguish her from others of her ilk, aside from a brief stint as Captain Britain. After a run-in with the Marauders during the Mutant Massacre, Psylocke joined the X-Men and was with them when they “died” after passing through the Siege Perilous. Betsy would resurface in Madripoor, where she would undergo her most dramatic transformation after the Hand transferred her consciousness into the body of one of their most feared assassins.

Betsy was effectively transformed into a telepathic Elektra capable of skewering your psyche at the same time that she’s skewering your body. Her new abilities naturally made her a perfect choice for various incarnations of X-Force. During the “Dark Angel Saga,” Betsy showed her willingness to make the hard calls, when she stabbed her lover Archangel with the Life Seed, killing him and preventing his ascension into the role of Apocalypse.

FANTOMEX

Fantomex is quite possibly the most unpredictable entry on our list. His vaguely defined abilities, narcissistic personality and connections to the Weapon Plus program ensure even his teammates aren’t entirely sure what side he’s really on. Created by Grant Morrison and Igor Kordey during their classic run on “New X-Men,” Fantomex is the product of decades of Weapon Plus research, the same program responsible for the creation of everyone from Captain America to Wolverine. Sharing the Canucklehead’s patented healing factor and enhanced senses, Fantomex also possesses three brains, an external nervous system in the form of EVA and the ability to cast convincing illusions.

Although he’s shown moments of selflessness, Fantomex is at his core a survivalist and a cold-blooded killer, willing to follow through on threats even his fellow X-Force assassins thought crossed the line. In the events leading up to the “Dark Angel Saga”, Fantomex was the only one with the intestinal fortitude to pull the trigger on the infant clone of Apocalypse, after his teammates decided to save him. He eventually went insane after gaining god-like new abilities, prompting Hope Summers and his former lover Psylocke to fry his brains.

WOLVERINE (LAURA KINNEY)

Laura Kinney first appeared as the teenaged killing machine X-23 in the pages of “NYX” #4, created by Craig Kyle and Chris Yost. A clone created from the damaged genetic material of her “father” Wolverine, Laura struggles to reconcile her conflicting human and bestial natures, in much the same way as the long-time X-Man. She was trained to be the ultimate killing machine by her creators in the Weapon Plus splinter cell known as the Facility, who initiated her murderous tendencies with genetically-implanted trigger scents.

Although she would seemingly overcome her trigger scent programming, Laura would continue to use lethal force throughout her career. This is perhaps best illustrated by her assassination of Matthew Risman, a mutant-hating Purifier she initially tried to kill by secretly planting explosives around his base, without informing her teammates. Although the destruction of his headquarters failed to kill him, Laura completed the mission the old-fashioned way, with a bullet to the brain. Thankfully, Laura has been far less reckless ever since taking up the mantle of Wolverine, far more concerned with living up to her late father’s noble legacy.

DEADPOOL

If there’s anybody left on the face of the planet who doesn’t know the Merc with a Mouth, then they’re likely already a victim of the infamous “dead pool.” Created by Louise Simonson and Rob Liefeld, Wade Wilson first appeared in the now-classic “New Mutants” #98 as a future adversary of Cable’s inaugural X-Force team. Although it would take several years for the Deadpool we all know and love to evolve from the one-dimensional villain that plagued his future teammates, Deadpool’s willingness to eliminate targets and rivals alike has always been one of the character’s defining characteristics.

As his blockbuster movie admirably showcased, Deadpool doesn’t just kill people for the sake of expedience. He revels in racking up the body counts in the most inventive ways possible. Driven mad by the process that gave him a suped-up version of Wolverine’s healing factor, Deadpool’s talent for killing is only outstripped by his sadistically comical monologues. Although he’s been the victim of recent attempts to tone down his violent nature in the wake of his monstrous mainstream popularity, there’s no keeping a good merc down and we’re confident he’ll continue to tear up the Marvel Universe with his signature zeal for manic destruction.

WOLVERINE (JAMES HOWLETT)

“I’m the best there is at what I do but what I do isn’t very nice.” While that statement may not be entirely true for this list, there are few other entries who’ve racked up the body count that the original Wolverine has since his first appearance in the iconic “Incredible Hulk” #180. Blessed with enhanced animal senses, retractable adamantium claws and a robust mutant healing factor that has allowed him to survive virtually any injury, Wolverine was a natural born killer in every sense of the word. With innate abilities honed by decades of military training, Wolverine was also one of the most accomplished hand-to-hand combatants in the Marvel Universe, up until his recent death in the appropriately titled “Death of Wolverine” #4.

And yet, none of that is what made him one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Rather, it was his willingness to do whatever was necessary to deliver the killing blow that gave his enemies cause to fear. Case in point: When Cyclops shut X-Force down, it was Wolverine who kept it running on the down-low as little more than an assassination squad.

ARCHANGEL

For years, Warren Worthington III was the dreamy poster boy for human-mutant relations. Along with Beast and perhaps Iceman, he was an integral member of the wider Marvel superhero community, serving as a founding member of both the original Champions and the New Defenders. As a founding member of the X-Men, the Stan Lee and Jack Kirby creation functioned as a key player in several major mutant story arcs. It wasn’t until he lost his original feathered wings during a vicious attack by the Marauders during the notorious Mutant Massacre, that his character took a drastic turn for the worse.

Drafted as the Horseman Death by Apocalypse, Warren embarked on a terrifying campaign of destruction that saw him irrevocably changed physically and mentally by the experience. As a member of X-Force, he was an unpredictable teammate, murdering hundreds of flying Purifiers in a blind rage after the re-emergence of his techno-organic wings. During the “Dark Angel Saga,” the depth of Apocalypse’s malevolent genetic manipulation was revealed, with Warren even having to be put down by his former lover Psylocke after he threatened to become the new Apocalypse. Although he’s since been resurrected with no memory of his past life, it remains to be seen how angelic he truly is.

CABLE

He’s the man with the plan; the X-Men’s very own mutant Captain America. Without Nathan Summers, the man who would come to be known as Cable, mutantkind likely would’ve perished years ago. Created by a comic book brain trust that includes Chris Claremont, Louise Simonson and Rob Liefeld, Cable first appeared as an adult in the pages of “New Mutants” #86. As the offspring of Scott Summers and Jean Grey, Cable was shunted into the future as an infant to protect him from the machinations of Mr. Sinister.

Over time, Cable evolved into an accomplished soldier, who plied his trade in the present as the leader of Six Pack, a mercenary unit notorious for their brutal tactics. He was instrumental in promoting a new more militant approach to protecting mutantkind, resulting in the formation of the original X-Force. His role as guardian of the future of his species remains his defining trait, driving him into conflict with everyone from the Avengers to his own friends and colleagues in the X-Men. A man on a never-ending mission who is always willing to make the killing blow even if it means his own life, there is no more dangerous member of X-Force than its founding father.

What do you mean we didn’t “execute” this list properly? Let us know who we missed in the comments!

The post X-ecutioners: X-Force’s 15 Deadliest Members appeared first on CBR.com.

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