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willowser · 10 months

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now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to.

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress.

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought.

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek.

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon.

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

#i was so nervous about getting the quirk right kahfkahf #and then i was so nervous about it being fluffy enough bc the first draft of this was too angsty ??#SO I REWROTE IT LOL #i hope this is okay !! 🥺#i love the idea of bakugou being able to express how he feels in emotion only #that the fear he doesn't know how to name or how to explain or understand is conveyed to you somehow #whenever he touches you #🥺#tysm for giving me the chance to write it !!!#literally no but seriously you're the only reason i haven't privated this blog again LMAOOO tysm 🥺#✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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northlt03 · 5 months

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Fic idea idk how to explain

Barty and Evan, no matter what universe they're in, what time they're in, their souls are tied together.

It's early 1200 BC Barty (then called Achilles) sets off to Troy with his close companion Patroclus (Evan). Barty wants glory, to have his name be known for the ages. He wants to be like the greats- Hercules, Jason, Theseus, he wants to be a hero.

Evan follows, because that's all he has known- Barty. Just Achilles. That's all he's known his whole life. He goes where Achilles does. That's the way they work. He just wants his lover. He doesn't care much for the glory aspect.

It's the 5th century AD, Evan (then known as the king Arthur) has a kingdom to lead. He has to be a great ruler, to do his best, to do his duty. Granted, he's a bit of a prat, but can you blame him? He grew up knowing he would inherit his father's kingdom.

His father, who banned the use of magic forever in their kingdom. Evan doesn't really care for magic but he's grown up fearing it because of his father's words.

Evan is used to be attended to, by servants and maids, what he's not used to is being insulted time and time again by his new servant, a scrawny man his age, with a mop of dark hair and a permanent scowl. His name is Merlin and though Arthur doesn't know that, he's known Merlin's soul in a previous lifetime.

Merlin, or Barty, take your pick, takes pride in trying to bring Arthur down a notch or two. He had grown up with no one but his mother looking after him. And here's Evan with the whole kingdom at his feet.

They end up alone more often than not. The more time they spend together, the less Merlin hates him. The more he starts to care and the more he starts to save his life with his magic.

Arthur's reading him poetry when they kiss for the first time. Slow and unsure at first. Full of fear. Evan runs away, only to kiss Barty harder the next time they meet.

One thing leads to another.

They're happy. Until Arthur dies. There's nothing Merlin can do, and believe him, he tries.

It's the 15th Century when their souls meet again. Barty's a sculptor, he carves marble like it's clay, he pours his heart into his art. He doesn't care much for the women of the city.

He grows up hearing about gods- Zeus, the king of gods, the one who controls the skies, Poseidon, the god of the sea and earthquakes, stormbringer, Hades, the god of the underworld, his domain is death itself. He sees paintings about them, the greatest artists of his age starting the renaissance. He doesn't know he'll be a part of history.

Barty hears about heroes as well, mighty Heracles, Theseus and the Minotaur, Jason and the Argonauts. He hears and reads about the Trojan war, about Achilles and Patroclus- a great warrior duo. But above all... lovers.

Inspiration strikes, Barty carves night and day. He doesn't have a model, he carves from memory. His memory now? Or his memory of a past life?

Patroclus, slowly but steadily comes to life under his tools. First his figure, then limbs, then face. Barty feels like he should know him.

He presses a kiss to the marble statue's cold cheek.

The next morning, he's alive. A bit confused, but surely enough, alive. Barty had prayed to the gods and some must have heard.

The thing about the statue is... it wasn't perfect. There were parts Barty glossed over, parts he procrastinated, parts he forgot. So the person who pops out oft he Patroclus statue isn't perfect either.

Except he is... at least for Barty.

And so it goes, again and again and again.

They're writers in one lifetime, forced to hide their love for fear of society. They write about one another. Only a hundred years from then would people discover it.

They're soldiers in one. Both in a war they try to hopelessly outrun. They drink with one another and fight and fuck and kiss and it's messy, everything is messy.

They're wizards in one. They attend a school of witchcraft. War is brewing there too. A blood purist, a supremist. Evan's parents are supporters. He wants to get out desperately. He doesn't have much of a choice. They've seen how this war tears and takes and kills.

Barty's father is no supporter of the Dark Lord, quite the opposite, actually. Barty joins anyway. Not because he thinks he's better than ones without magic parents, not because he agrees with what the Dark Lord says. But because Evan is there. And Evan needs him.

They've already lost Regulus. They only have each other.

Evan's an actor in one lifetime. Pretty face, sharp, striking features. He's quick thinking, charming, teasing and far too good looking for his own good.

Barty's a singer. Men, women, everyone practically throws themselves at him. His voice is like a siren's... pulling and pulling and pulling. He bares his teeth in every smile.

They meet at an award show of all places. They've both vaguely heard of one another.

Don't ask why their ties were switched, their hair disshelved, their suits rumpled when they walk out of the bathroom one after the other.

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olderthannetfic · 3 months

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I am throwing this out into the void on your blog to hope someone has felt the same way or something similar. A long time ago, I had a blog I followed and I admired their opinions and takes on certain subjects. I thought, man is this what it is like to be smart and unbothered by others?

Fast forward to maybe a year later? Their posts would show up on my dash and they were becoming more aggressive about their takes on certain topics. I remember one time, they were arguing with someone - as one does - and ended the convo with a "You like my hero academia and you have a crush on Bakugo while being an adult, your opinion is invalid." And then started this thing where they would just shit on people for liking fictional characters and thinking something is wrong with you if you had a crush on fictional teenagers. And it just kept getting worse with each post they posted. And it didn't help that they had a friend who would join in, and they just fed off each other..

I think that was the start of me becoming more pro-fiction because every time they said anything regarding that topic, I would feel such anger and confusion like it didn't make sense how angry they were getting at people who were just enjoying themselves.

I still vividly remember their username. Sometimes when my mind wanders, I suddenly remember what they have said and ranted and I just cringe.

I hate how they have made me feel, but I'm glad I got to experience it so I can become more confident in what I believe in.

Idk If i should say who they are so publically, but {Redacted} I hope your pillows are never cold, I hope your earbuds fall into a drain, I hope your socks always get wet, and I sincerely hope that you've stopped bullying others over how they think bakugo from my hero is sexy.

It's always painful when someone you liked has feet of clay.

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ronearoundblindly · 8 months

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17 with Jake

25 with ransom

-👜

Jake Jensen x ops!reader: a kiss to distract. (Ransom will be posted separately.)

No warnings except Jake is a dumbass... Cute divider by @cafekitsune and I hope you enjoy! This is one of my Valentine's Fics for 2024. (Ransom will be in a separate post, btw.) WC 738

"Under no circumstances are you to zipline that damn thing, Jensen. You hear me?” Clay bellows over your comms. The whole squad can hear their friend’s stupid thoughts from hundreds of yards away.

Jake simply bounces his shoulders next to you on the skyscraper roof, an awkward grimace stretched across his face instead of a smile.

The cool, intense winds this high up swirl around while you watch your targets become smaller and smaller, taking the only hardware down the wire with them.

You and Jake burst through the access door, raced over to grasp at the jumpers, and missed by mere inches.

So your partner thinks on his feet. It’s very dangerous.

"Yeah, well, I don't see you guys having a better idea."

Your disbelief is palpable, as you loudly mutter, "permission to shoot him, boss?"

Then there's an explosion of noise in your ear.

"GODDAMNIT, JUST DON’T—“ "You idiot!" "Ten bucks says he goes splat.”

"No one bets on Pancake Jensen, okay?" You flash the bird toward the other rooftop where Cougar watches through binoculars.

Pooch scoffs. "Noob's no fun."

Jake is already ripping his belt from his jeans to use as a trolley.

Roque sighs. It’s so characteristic, he doesn’t even have to speak.

“Maybe no bets," Cougar chuckles, "but he's already playing strip poker."

"Jake, stop." You have to grip his hands to get his attention.

He's squinting at you in disbelief. "But they're getting away..."

"Yeah, and once they reach the bottom, that line'll get cut while you're still on it." He shifts so you have to step in front of him again and push at his t-shirt clad chest. "You cannot stick that landing."

"No hero landing?" Jake frowns.

You shake your head.

The group starts to throw out other options over the channel, and while you pay attention to that, your gaze wanders back to Cougar’s perch.

Jake sneaks past your grasp.

It’s only when the lookout starts shouting “woah, woah, woah,” that you realize Jensen’s about to toss the doubled-up leather of his belt over the wire, and you just…run.

You use your whole bodyweight to spin him. You push off the balls of your feet to reach level. Remarkably, you make it, your lips landing dead-center on his mouth parted in shock.

You did not, however, have time to calculate the ledge right behind Jake’s thighs.

He panics when he hits concrete and lurches forward, arms wrapping around you with an instinct to not die. Where was that consideration thirty seconds ago?

He holds on while stumbling, though, and by a few seconds in, you know he absolutely could have pulled away, if he wanted to, by now.

“Uh…”

Jake slides his big hands up to cup your face, lean further in, moving his head to the other side and licking the seam of your lips.

You weren’t expecting that.

Jensen always gripes about his awkwardness and lack of experience, but this is not amateur tongue action and definitely not detached. You can sense some real emotion in the dig of his fingers behind your ears, muffling your comms for who knows how long until one shift has your forehead smearing across his glasses.

“Sorry,” you blurt, breaking the kiss.

He lets go of your face just in time for you to see the thick wire snapping back toward the rooftop.

You grab Jake’s t-shirt in both fists and fling the pair of you to the ground.

“If you doofuses are alive,” Clay grumbles. “you better be halfway to the lobby.”

There’s a long, anguished sigh before Cougar adds, “and I just lost fifty bucks.”

Pooch whoops joyously.

“Hell yeah, I won the pot, didn’t I? Get it, Jensen. You’re my boy. I knew you could do it.”

Jake waits for the snaking wire to stop moving and nervously licks his bottom lip. “Right. No hero landing.” He squints at you again before popping up from the gravel, cleaning his lenses and inching toward the stairwell with wildly incoherent, stunted hand gestures. “We should…if you’re good…render-vous.”

On your elbows, you realize a talk with Jensen about this is not going to be pleasant. He’ll probably make you do all the talking and deny there was anything there between you. Maybe he is too awkward for his own good?

You reach past your feet toward the ledge, waving your find in the air.

“Don’t forget your belt.”

Bucky Barnes and a kiss, casually ⬅️ ➡️ Johnny Storm and a kiss in relief

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @peyton--warren

#jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x y/n #valentine's day fanfic #ro answers #jake jensen fluff #valentine's day prompts

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ankh-morporkianpostalworker · 8 months

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Anatomy of a Hero - Samuel Vimes

He wanted to go home. He wanted it so much that he trembled at the thought. But if the price of that was selling good men to the night, if the price was filling those graves, if the price was not fighting with every trick he knew... Then it was too high. History finds a way? Well, it would have to come up with something good, because it was up against Sam Vimes now.

Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

Fantasy has created some truly remarkable characters, and it's fair to say that Samuel Vimes of the Discworld series is among them - and he's a personal favorite.

This is the first in a (sporadic) series of posts analyzing my favorite fantasy protagonists and what I think makes them work as characters and how they fit into their stories.

Samuel Vimes is the protagonist of eight of Terry Pratchett's seminal Discworld novels - specifically, Guards! Guards!, Men at Arms, Feet of Clay, Jingo, Fifth Elephant, Night Watch, Thud!, and Snuff. These novels make up what is colloquially referred to as the City Watch series, and they answer the question "what if the city guard in a fantasy series got stuff done?"

Vimes is the head of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch and starts off as a parody of the drunken watch captain, literally waking up in a gutter at the start of Guards! Guards!. While it's obvious from the start that he has a sense of justice and a desire to see justice served, years of being beaten down by a city that doesn't need him anymore has left him at his lowest point. In fact, Guards! Guards! is about him getting her proverbial groove back and solving his first real mystery in ages.

We then see Vimes grow into a respected member of the community, transforming the City Watch from a joke (at the start of the series, it's four people) into a pillar of the City, an institution in its own right.

Vimes himself struggles with addiction throughout the series with the help of his wife, Sybil, and members of the Watch (especially his right-hand man, Carrot), going from alcohol to cigars to bacon sandwiches by the end of the series.

We also see how Vimes fits into the central theme of the City Watch - social inequality and the importance of overcoming it. Sam starts the series with a... not-great view of the non-human residents of the city of Ankh-Morpork (although this view is better described as general misanthropy than racism, with him distrusting anyone who isn't his wife or a member of the Watch). This view is changed as the series progresses - between the first two novels, a coalition of minority groups successfully sues the city of Ankh-Morpork for employment discrimination in government positions and Vimes is forced to allow non-human people into the Watch. He comes to recognize that these people are, well, people with value not only as people but as law enforcement officials. Twice, Vimes uses his social power to advocate for downtrodden species to be treated as people, with full rights and protections under the law - for golems in Feet of Clay and goblins in Snuff, and the City Watch becomes the most diverse organization in the entirety of Discworld.

The last thing I'll talk about is Vimes' aforementioned desire for justice. Night Watch gives us a view into the life of an early Sam Vimes (Vimes is sent back in time to just before the Glorious Revolution, a now-forgotten struggle against a despot) - indeed, in his youth Sam was a revolutionary, inspired by Sgt. John Keel (whom Vimes takes the place of after finding Keel dead). During this Revolution, young Sam Vimes witnessed a number of things that would impact him for the rest of his life, including the torture chambers of The Unspeakables, a secret police force who committed horrible crimes in the name of the public good and who act as the antagonists of the novel. The quote that started this essay comes from near the climax of the novel, and I think it really encapsulates that desire for justice and why Sam Vimes works as a protagonist - one of the best in fantasy.

#sam vimes #discworld #city watch #gnu terry pratchett

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kaybreezy3000 · 8 months

Text

In The Flesh

Five Hargreeves / Reader Insert

Imagine that Five wasn't alone the entire time he was in the apocalypse...

-This is a special reader request for an extended scene from my Five Centric fanfic 'The Anti Hero's Pitfall of Arrogance.' Set during the apocalypse and Five is only 21.

-This request is a bit of a spoiler alert to the story that inspired it. It's written with a non-descript female character with no name, only referred to as she or her, so it's sort of a reader insert/you sort of vibe, or you can think of it as simply someone that Five loved. Think of it as you or someone else, either way, it's sad. 😭

Heed the warnings and click the link in the summary to read the full story if you want to get the full picture of what led up to this very sad moment for our favorite guy.

Warning: possible triggers, suicidal thoughts/behavior issues, alcohol abuse/excessive drinking, extreme grief/loss, graphic description of death/corpse, we get some Dolores in this, meant to be very sad, this fic this is based on is not all gloom and doom but it's clearly not all pretty either.

(5312 words)

In The Flesh

The funny thing about rock bottom is I’d thought I’d hit it many times before she saved me but really there is no depth far enough down to describe where I was after finding her body and where I would be for a very long time after that.

Like I’d done every day since I saw her favorite baseball cap bobbing on that partially submerged branch stuck out in the depths of the churning flood waters, I was out looking for her. On my endless searches, I would yell her name, over and over, till my voice was nothing more than a pained screech of air.

It was as I was scouring a new area that the water had receded that I went to shout her name again but stopped with only the first faint syllable.

The moment I saw her distinctly colorful sandal and what appeared to be the discolored fragments of flesh still clinging to the bones trapped in it, the wind shifted, and my nostrils were filled with a pungent, sickeningly sweet, earthy odor.

That is what the smell of death is like if a body has been exposed to the elements for ten days or more. The anatomy and physiology decomposition literature states, a body exposed to the elements begins to decompose within less than 1 hour postmortem. That rate is accelerated if the tissues are exposed to other factors such blunt force trauma or heat and moisture.

She had been exposed to all of it.

I could still hear the ominous sound of the huge trees snapping and boulders grinding over things in the swift current as I walked along the road, just hours after she’d gone, only then, I didn’t know she wasn’t coming back. I didn’t know what was being done to her.

Now her body was there, under the hardened soil, but her foot was the only part of her that was visible other than her twisted tangle of hair wrapped around a river beaten branch.

For the last week I’d been lying to myself, trying to hang on to the idea that she was still out there, that she was just too mad at me to come home. But really, in that time, she’d been first submerged in the torrents of flood water decimating that landscape, and then after, (not long based on the murky pool of muck and the very small cracks in the clay at my feet), she’d been there, encased in the ground.

I cried out her name.

I dropped the stick I’d been using to poke and prod the underbrush, my body instantly disappearing for a fraction of a second into the snapping vacuum of my portal. Stepping out of it a few yards away, I fell to my knees, my trembling hands not knowing what to do or what was safe to touch. I moved to her foot, then pulled back as the tiny black flies that were startled by my presence flew up in an angry swarm.

The temperature since the day she disappeared had been colder but that had done nothing to prevent her rapid decay.

Entomology and Body Decomp 101: A decomposing body will attract all manner of life forms within 24 after death. If allowed access, scavengers are ruthless in their pursuit of the flesh of the dead.

Having been well read prior to my time in the apocalypse and being well acquainted with death in the years before this, I was still not prepared for what I saw or had to go through over the next several hours it took to free her.

Her body was no longer her anymore, but I couldn't accept that. My mind told me she was under there and she was so scared.

Frantically, I started digging with my bare hands. No matter how careful I was clawing at the clay that had molded her in the ground, anytime my fingers came close to her, they crushed her slick, wet remnants of flesh, tearing it through.

At this point, she had surpassed the early stages of decomposition. Gone was the bloating. The gases and liquids had mostly expelled, and her skeleton was letting go of her skin, though in some areas it remained in denser sections that were identifiable but mostly because her clothes had embedded in her. Her jean shorts made clear where her abdomen was, what was left of her chest was now part of her t-shirt.

What I was seeing and touching and smelling made my stomach heave over and over but still I had to save her.

She had needed me, and I wasn’t there.

Stage 4 post-decay lacks some of the first levels of putridity, but even though I had seen hundreds of thousands of faces of death, seeing hers will always represent the loss of everything; even more so than the day I’d foolishly ran into the future, lost my family, and found I couldn’t get back.

“No, no, no,” I sobbed, my filthy, bloodied fingertips inching along her face, or what should have been her face. “I am so sorry… Please! No! God, please!”

The mouth I had cherished was gaping, her once perfect teeth were more exposed than they should have been due to the skin around them receding or simply just not being there at all.

Her eyes…

Where once someone had looked back at me with so much love and endless understanding, now there was horror, both mine and hers.

Sickness took me again.

Dizzy, I frantically scrambled back, away from where I had unearthed most of her, my stomach emptied, but nothing but acid spilled onto the scattering of broken foliage off to my side.

My ears were filled with the evil buzzing sound of insects that were warming themselves in the open area around us as the sun relentlessly beat down.

I couldn’t take it.

A feral sound of pure agony crawled out of my chest, getting eaten away by all the nothingness.

“Please, I am so sorry… Please forgive me, I never meant for…”

She wouldn’t except my words and I couldn’t blame her.

My broken cries were lost in my delirium. On hands and knees, I came back to her, lifting her to me even though I shouldn’t have.

The gruesome sound of parts of her stickily pulling free from the ground and the sight of the parts of her that remained in the soil were enough to fracture what was left of my sanity.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, we can go home now,” I shushed her, in my head believing I had the ability to soothe her pain.

She still said nothing, and I told myself it was because she was just too weak.

She just needed my help. She was just mad. She was just…

“You are safe now,” I said, my hand sinking into her, her spinal column hitting my palm not even enough to shock me back into reality.

After cradling her for far too long, I said, “I am not leaving you here.”

Lightly as possible, I let my shaking hand touch her hair, seeing but not acknowledging that it was starting to detach from her scalp. Without thinking, I forced the massive amounts of energy I needed for a jump, the blue power expanding from my hands, then around us.

I only took us across the drying riverbed, up the steep embankment and up the hill to where the road hadn’t been washed out, and that was far, but it was not even close to getting us back to our cabin. For that, I had planned to teleport again and again, as many times as it took but when my feet smacked the ground the force of it made the tendons holding her right thigh to her hip give way and the length of her leg landed at my feet.

“Fuck!” I screamed, slamming to my knees to grab her.

Like a madman, I could at least put together that she was falling apart and that this wasn’t going to work. Even jumping with her was too much. She was so fragile; she’d always said she wasn’t, but she was…

“I am so-ssss-sorry,” my voice cracked as I carefully laid her down again.

The sight of those tiny black bugs as they fought to get a piece of the woman I loved, caused me to feel the burn of violent anger and that almost brought me to my senses, but even that too, I washed away with another imaginary idea, that if I just covered her, somehow all the severed openings that were now more her than anything else, would be spared from further ruin.

In a frenzy, I stripped off my shirt, covering her with it the best I could. The moment I was able to get to my feet again, I swayed, the world spun, but when it came back into focus, I could see again like lightning struck my head, brightening the gray world around me, making the colors of her bright sandals and her hair and the tattered remains of her clothing stand out in stark contrast to the deep darkened purple of her rotting body.

My filthy hand came up, rubbing my face and my blurred eyes, then my fingers tore back as I painfully yanked at my hair.

I had done this to her.

Sniffling and on the verge of a full screaming fit of rage, I turned and started making my way up the road, a few steps away, my hands coming together, my fingers like claws, I tried to gather the light in my hands to blink again, but instead I was met with the impotence of the faintest swirls of azure static crackling to life then fizzling out.

Turning back to the motionless pile on the ground, I again assured her I’d be back. Then in a haze, like a zombie on empty, I mindlessly made my way back, my mud-covered boots trudging up the steep hill, my balance faltering over and over as I’d tripped over the uneven surface.

If you ask me what I was thinking during that walk, I couldn't tell you. All I knew was that I was empty and that a horrible numbness was taking hold.

Even still, I came back fast, like I’d promised. First, I placed her in a thick blanket, sure to get every bit that was her that was there, anything that wasn’t, I never found.

“There,” I breathed, positioning her leg that had been torn off at the hip in such a way that looked less painful. Then flapping away any visible bugs from her, I covered her completely. Knowing that she was in the later stages of decomposition but that it was far from over and she was seeping fluids, I lifted her, and laid the cocoon of wool on top of a tarp.

I could have carried her the whole way but not wanting to hurt her or break her apart more than she already was, I only carried her to the cart I’d brought back with me, then I carefully laid her in.

Though she didn’t answer no matter how much I wanted her to, I spoke to her the whole way as I tugged the wagon with her in it up the hill.

Getting back to our home, the mud encrusted wheels clattered to a stop in the yard right next to the chair I had been sitting in the day we had gotten into our fight. It was dead silent and getting so dark by that point that the stars were coming out but as if in a time loop in hell, I could still hear the cruel things I’d said to her on that sunny morning.

Looking down at the small mound of blanket with her in it, I said, “You have to forgive me. I don’t know what to do without you. I don’t want to live with-”

My heart was racing, I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt a new tightness where before, since the hours after she’d gone and not come back, I’d only felt the stabbing pain of regret and fear, now it was like an aching void as if there were an actual hole inside me.

I stood there blankly staring at the door, then back to her, my mind not working at all but somehow still functioning enough to make the start of a string of very bad decisions.

Taking her up in my arms, we went inside. “We’re back. You're not alone anymore. I never meant to leave you out there like that. I tried so hard to find you,” I said, smothering my words against her wrap. “It’s okay now…we are okay…”

I kicked the door closed then I moved straight for our bed, and I would have laid her down in it and climbed right in if not for the fact that Dolores was sitting in the chair next to it, staring at me looking horrified.

‘No, Five, don’t!’

Saying nothing, I spun around to instead place the bundle in my arms on the couch in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t lit and it needed to be. That’s what she and I did at night. That was our other special place.

Memories of sitting there together, her behind me, reaching around to place my fingers correctly to play the chords she was trying to teach me filled my head. I could almost trick myself into thinking I could hear her beautiful playing and that I could hear her laugh at me every time I’d try to get out of my lessons.

“This is okay. I’ll fix this. We are going to be okay,” I said, as I started to unwrap her.

Dolores panicked at the sight in front of us. ‘Five, no. She’s gone. This isn’t right. What are you doing?”

I stopped, leaving her under wraps but I ignored Dolores’ s warning and started to light the fire.

Again, Dolores asked, ‘Five, what are you doing? She is dead. You can’t do this to yourself.’

“She’s not dead!” I shrieked, my eyes filling with welling tears as I clenched my hands, my broken fingernails slicing half-moons into the flesh of my dirty palms.

‘I am sorry, Five, but she is. You knew that after she didn’t come back.”

My head turned back and forth as I shook away a flood of tears threatening to come out and drown me like the water had done to all that I loved. I pinched my eyes shut, a broken whimper squeaking out of my throat.

‘Look at yourself, Five… You are not okay. That is why she can’t stay here. I love her too, but she is gone.’

I opened my eyes and looked at myself. I had no shirt on, my body was covered in mud and death.

The smell of me…

The smell of her poor body…

‘You need to bury her. She wouldn’t want this.’

“No,” I whispered as my body trembled and I stared blankly at the floor. “No,” I said again, then screamed, “Stop!!!! Just stop! Don’t you fucking talk to me! I didn’t ask for your help! It didn’t ask for any of this!”

Refusing to look up and see the hurt on Dolores’s face, I looked to the motionless pile of fleece blanket.

“I am not putting you out there all alone again, sweetheart.”

With that affirmation, and me placing a kiss to her covered face, the night did not get better.

In the light of the fire, I sat there on the floor in front of the couch as close to her as I could be without touching her. I wanted to protect her. I needed to keep my promise that I wasn’t going to leave her.

So many times, she and I had discussed the possibility of me being able to jump back in time and the fact that doing so with her was going to make it all the harder for me to pull off. Even with the right math, and just me, the energy needed to do it was something I hadn’t figured out how to achieve. Even though she had said that me getting back was all that mattered, I refused to consider leaving without her.

I couldn’t leave her, not then and not now; that was what I kept telling myself.

Sometime late into the night, slumped against the plaid couch, my head resting near hers though she remained covered, my demented and wrong train of thoughts slipped away, and sleep took me but in it l found no solace.

~~~

As I came to in the early hours of the next morning with my body crumbled on the cold floor, I knew instantly that everything I wanted to believe was okay was not.

The dimly lit cabin smelled of death and I was graced with the buzzing sound of a half a dozen or more flies that had found their way in somehow in the tiniest of cracks.

The decay had been clinging to me since I found her, but I refused to acknowledge it even as the putrid odor only added to my ongoing nausea. I clumsily reached for the stale glass of water I’d left at some point on the end table. Drinking it burned my cracked lips and the taste of it felt laced with a bitter acid. I wanted to retch but managed to refrain.

Then, wanting to remain living in the land of make believe, I got up, went to our small kitchen area, and proceeded to grab several bottles of liquor.

Dropping down next to her again, I twisted a cap, sloshing the clear liquid as I tipped it back, dumping the alcohol down my raw throat.

It was awful but that was not the only time I’d drank to forget, or that I’d drank things that were questionable in their quality.

“Remember when we found that stash of cheap wine with the seals broken,” I quietly asked.

I took a long pull at the bottle, then another as I peered over my shoulder at her laying there on under her favorite blanket.

“Smarter than me as always, you refused to drink any of it, but not me… Stupid as always, I gave it a try and boy did I pay for it. You had to baby me for the entire next day. God, I am such a lightweight. I’d be dead if not for you.”

I laughed, the sound of it thick with irony.

“You were always so good to me…”

Eyeing the dried mud and smears of her flesh on my pants, my eyes blurred.

“I didn’t deserve you and you didn’t deserve this.”

I started to cry. Then I started to hyperventilate, my breaths coming too fast and my head spinning.

Shuddering, I drank more and more but I could never turn the image of my girl’s face staring back at me from that riverbed into the beautiful living version I wanted so badly to believe was still with me.

Hours later, I was disturbingly drunk.

One minute I was musing to myself about our better times, talking out loud like a maniac about something so wonderful, like one night that she and I were out scavenging too far to come back, and we’d camped out under the stars. I’d told her the names of all the constellations I knew and there were many. She’d quietly listened, cuddled up next to me, both of us just happy to be in love and together even if our world was a landscape of tragedy.

Together, we could have done anything. We were going to save the world.

Now she was gone.

I had nothing.

She’d been everything and now I had no one again.

With the room spinning, I abruptly got to my feet, stumbling towards the window above the sink basin. The flies zipped and buzzed in front of me, landing in the vomit I had left there after I’d finished the first bottle of liquor. Knowing that those same dirty insects were landing on my beautiful girl made me quake with not just sickness but unmeasurable self-hatred.

I was a fucking mess, and I wasn’t doing right by her.

Dolores was right.

Glancing back to where I had abandoned Dolores almost two days prior, the room tilted in my vision. I dizzily turned back, clutching the white cast iron basin.

The light outside was fading. I wanted to go along with it. I wanted all the horrible pain and debilitating heartache to stop.

Laying on the butcher block counter space where we prepared our meals, was a sharp kitchen blade. With where my head was at, seeing it, I immediately thought of my gun and other times of morbid desperation.

My tears burned down my cheeks.

I hated myself so much for what I had caused. If I had not yelled at her, and if I could only have seen through my arrogance and own my deficiencies, she would still be here. I didn’t and instead did what I’d always done and blamed anyone but myself for my problems.

I’d taken out everything on her, again…

If I’d only learned from my mistakes, things that weren’t okay never would have been said. She never would have felt the need to be away from me. She never would have gone for that walk, and if she had, I would have been by her side. If I had just agreed with her to go to the city to try something new, I may not have had the breakthrough we needed so badly but at least she’d be there.

Feeling on the verge of vomiting again, I wanted to disappear into an alcohol induced coma.

I pushed off the sink, staggering like a drunken idiot the whole way back to the dresser that was next to my side of the bed. In a blur, I saw Dolores sitting there on her chair, but she didn’t say anything. She looked every bit the inanimate object she was.

It was as if I’d killed her too.

I yanked the top drawer open, my hand tearing through the clothes to find the heavy black metal object that my fucked-up mind craved.

My fingers grazed the cold instrument of death. I could feel the barrel of the pistol sticking down my throat, the oiled slickness of it slipping past my parting lips.

Just the thought made me gag but with sick fascination, and I didn't’ stop thinking about it.

All it would take is one second and my finger on the trigger and no more guilt. My brain would be a splatter of nothing, painting the bedspread behind me. The place we’d slept and loved would be ruined just like we were.

Images of us, heated tangled flesh, together in those same blankets filled my mind.

To get away from the hurt that memory caused, I looked up, the weapon in my hand but my eyes aimed at the small dresser mirror. It was as if a stranger was looking back at me. My stomach felt like it was trying to crawl out of my mouth and my vision was closing in with blackness threatening to pull me under.

I was seeing things and hearing things.

The loud pop of the bullet; the sound of my body hitting the floor.

I saw bugs crawling out of the jagged rotting hole in my skull.

Then I saw her face, only not the destroyed one that was hidden under the blankets on the couch.

That was when I finally came back to myself.

“Don’t you fucking do it,” I furiously screamed at myself, throwing the gun back down in the drawer.

My ears were ringing from my own terrified voice reverberating in them, then a few seconds later, the silence of death and that room returned.

It was just me, the mannequin and the body.

Dolores was right, I needed to let her go.

I had to bury her.

~~~

Over the next several hours, through the task of digging a hole in the ground, I sobered up significantly. Having done that, I re-entered the dank, horrid smelling cabin, removing the small pile of remains that had been the love of my life.

I was still covered in layers of filth and knowing that even if Dolores wouldn’t speak to me, she’d loved her as much as me and she’d want to be there to say goodbye, I quickly washed myself outside under the spout attached to the spring fed line that was rigged to the house. Splashing my face with a mix of soap and water, I cleaned my battered hands, and my arms, and I removed my soiled pants, tossing them in the woods.

The water streaming down my body was ice cold and disgusting. My fleshly cleaned and very pale skin ran under my fingers, standing in stark contrast to the filth that I was and the sight of it only furthered the much-needed reality check I'd only recently found.

Once I’d made myself somewhat more presentable, I redressed, then silently approached Dolores.

My voice cracked from being burned by stomach acid so many times and by my screams and lack of simply drinking or eating appropriately for days, but I had the strength and weakness to ask her for something I didn't deserve.

“Please come with me…I don’t want to do this alone.”

When Dolores responded with her softly spoken words of devotion, ‘You are never alone, Five. You will always have me,’ I was nearly beside myself with emotion. I’d thought I’d lost her along with everything else.

“Oh, my God, thank you,” I sobbed as I lifted Dolores up and carried her outside into the yard.

We approached the hole I’d dug. It wasn’t that deep, and it wasn’t that big, but it didn’t need to be. It was in front of an ancient but long dead ash tree that she had once told me had to have been something truly beautiful at one point in time when it was alive.

It was just like her.

The burial was silent, save for the sound of the blade of my shovel slicing through the softened pile of dirt I had removed and then replaced.

The sky was getting dark, the woods full of shadows of monstrous things that looked like they could come out of the night and pull you away forever.

I sat, folded in on myself at the base of the old ash tree, the disturbed soil at my feet as I looked up to the highest branches of the barren tree. Its flesh had been taken. Remanence of its bark were scattered all around me. It would someday be nothing but dust.

We all would be, but it was not my time-yet.

Burying my head in my hands, I kept telling myself that.

~~~

In the days that came after that, it rained and rained. My mind tormented me constantly with the flawed idea that she was trapped out there in the crushing wet ground. One second, I’d be haunted by images of her so scared and trying to breath and break free as then dirty water filled her lungs, and then the next, I’d come back to the dimly lit room I was in; Dolores worriedly watching me as I slowly organized things and cleaned up my many messes.

We couldn't stay there, but I couldn't bring myself to leave either, not when everything I had that she'd ever touched was right there. All around me were parts of her life that she’d shared with me. I’d clung to every trinket; every item of fabric that bore her scent.

Lying in bed at night, I’d break down into sobbing fits of anguish with my face buried in her pillow. I could stay like that for hours on end, fading in and out, tricking my mind and heart into thinking I hadn't lost her and that she was right there in bed next to me. But it would never last because the damp coldness of the empty space around me that had once been warmed by everything that was her was an inescapable reminder that I had failed the woman I loved and who had saved me.

It was in a notion during one of these times of despair that I realized the only thing I could do to redeem what I had done was to fix this like I'd always promised her I would. Out there somewhere in time there was a place where the world was still alive, and she was in it and everyone I ever cared about was still flesh and blood and filled with life.

I had to get back.

The pain that happened here was real and always would be but somewhere out there, there was a chance of better things.

There was a chance of seeing her again.

That idea of saving her and my family was the only way, and it was my reason for breathing again.

Broken, but somehow still standing, my heart though not the same was still beating. The flesh covering my hand could still feel hers in it and it was while cherishing that feeling that I made the decision that it was time to go.

On our final day, I got up like every day since I’d put her in the ground under that tree. I came outside, picking up the wildflowers I had left for her the day before, then I went for a short walk, talking to her in my mind the entire time, making my usual promises while I worked through ideas and math and things that gave me hope. Then I’d come back, refill her favorite vase with new water and place the colorful blooms there above her.

Alone, the sun shone down on me, my shadow stretching across the earth above her, giving the illusion that we were laying there together.

“I love you,” I whispered, my eyes blinking back the enormous weight I felt from her loss and would always feel.

I liked to think I heard her say she loved me back, but I knew she didn’t; it was just a memory of her words tickling my ear as her lips gently kissed along my neck.

I shivered from head to toe as I felt the ghost of her touch but not in a bad way.

I smiled, sniffing like a baby as I rubbed my eyes.

Then, making one last promise I said, “You will be okay. I’ll fix this.”

Going back in the house, with Dolores watching all the while, obedient and loyal and loving with words of encouragement, I packed my final things.

I left our cabin spotless and set up as if we were coming back to it. It was as if I could see us in there again, spending our nights in front of that fireplace, laughing and endlessly teasing each other; our bed ready for us to lay down in and explore each other in new and exciting ways that only made our love stronger. I saw all that but in the back of my head I knew I was never going to come back to that place because it was gone, and if I did return, I may never leave her.

So, it was with that in mind, late in the morning, I loaded Dolores with our supplies, setting her next to the hard black guitar case that held her cherished Christmas present I'd given her and so many other things I couldn’t let go. I pulled a blanket around Dolores and the case, as if the instrument inside it had become something in a way of being the woman I’d lost, so much the way Dolores was a real thing that needed my care and love.

I walked to the old, grayed ash tree, its wind worn and smooth branches shone in the warm sun as I looked down at the ground where I’d left a piece of my heart. I could almost hear the sound of her playing my favorite sone and I knew that when I plucked those strings, a piece of my heart would break a little more with each strum, but I’d be back with her.

My lower lip trembled, and my nose burned with the same heat as my eyes.

“Until we meet again, my love…”

Thank you for your support , this special cover art was made just for this and for you.💞 @groovydazephantom

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 months

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Hello!! I would like to do some fanart for the ship children for each of the kids of the wukongverse except I can't really find some descriptions for some of them, like keto and rahu who I think were only mentioned once(??) Do you by chance have a link for them or a tag?

Of course! I always welcome fanart of my aus or ideas! ^♡^

I'll try to do decent descriptions for all ze babies/fan children.

Lego Monkie Kid - Shadowpeach (multiple aus);

Zàoyīn & Bàoliè/"Rumble & Savage" - tiny black-furred baby monkeys with red face masks + Macaque's dark skin. Get into a lot of havoc despite being the size of marmosets. Develop little red "tiger stripes" on their limbs and tails as they get older. Rumble has natural six-ears.

Yuebei Xing - the baby girl herself and star of the SlowBoiled au. Tiniest black furball ever. Big blue eyes (often caused by eating LBD's soul). And a white skull-shaped face marking. Grows to be much taller than either parent. Here's some super cute fanart done by @teatime-at-4 + teenage Yuebei by @soniclozdplove + an older version of her done in the LMK OC Picrew.

Jidu & Luohuo - born shortly after Yuebei, and named for the lunar nodes/phenomena making them the "Nodelets". Furs are a mix of orange and black like tortoiseshell cats. Both have four purple and orange ears. Very mischievous.

Luzhen - technically Wukong's little brother, depending on the au. Looks like a little clone of him, but with deep blue eyes. Loves music.

Ziqi - newest baby idea. Named for the last Lunar phenomena (Perigee/a supposed "shadow planet") not given a character in Journey to the South. Surprise baby. Pure black (like a shadow) with hazy purple eyes, and face marking.

+some lovely human glamour designs made by @soniclozdplovesonic for the Post Jttw Stone Egged au. I praise their work openly, they are amazing.

Monkey King Hero is Back - ReboundedHeroes;

Xiaoyun/"Little Cloud" - born from a mysterious cloud-patterned Stone Egg. Egg was damaged before hatching; causing the right eye, right ear(s), and right arm not to develop correctly. Pure white fluffy fur, like a cloud. Very small and skinny due to being born premature. Very adventurous, gives his parents frequent heart attacks.

Yǔ Sōng & Xuě Bào - Twin girls born sometime into the family's Journey across the kingdoms. Look like little toasted macaroons with six ears each, and violet eyes. Develop their baba's red-auburn when they grow up.

+Shui Lian - Adopted. AU form of the White-Faced Vixen. Due to timeline changes, the "vixen" is rather only a pre-teen kit. Has albinism and is unable to hide her fox ears and tail despite mostly-human form.

Monkey King Reborn - Fruitiedads;

Xiao Qi - Fruitie/Qi Energy reborn as a Stone Monkey egg by sheer willpower. Fur so white it look transparent. Pink skin + pink heart-shaped face marking. Big smiley baby. Looks like a fairytale prince.

Xiao Lü - reincarnation of Yuandi/Primordium created when Nüwa tricked Smokey/SWK into creating a clay figure to house the primordial soul - which became a new stone egg. Pure black fur, light skin, and no noticeable face marking as if yet. Has little grey "shoes" on the fur around her feet - hence the name.

5 False Ginseng Fruit Babies - complete and utter accident on the monkeys part. Smokey tried growing the pit from the Ginseng fruit he ate in hopes that the resulting tree could help reinvigorate the damaged FFM. Liang/LEM watered/tended to the tree while he was gone. It did not in fact bare Ginseng Fruit - but five whole newborn monkey cubs - all named after stone fruits. Current draft of the au places their "fruiting" after the Journey once everyone's come home. More detailed post here.

Lìzhī & Hǎizǎo - Twins. Born at the crux of the Journey. Accidentally delivered inside the Thunderclap Monastery. Look like miniature versions of Smokey, tiny brown furred grumpy things.

+Zhu Yu & Ku Ai / Wood Wolf Siblings - Adopted. The children of Kui Mulang/Revati/Yellow Robed Demon and the Princess Baihuaxiu. After the stray star wolf entity was captured, the Princess wanted nothing to do with her half-wolf children (given that they were conceived in less than ideal circumstances) and the human king wanted them destroyed. The pilgrims take the little werewolves into their group. Older girl and younger boy, both below the age of seven. Mix of brown and grey fur/hair like regular wolf pups. Think the kids from Wolf Children Ami & Yuki.

Monkey King 2023/Netflix - CherryandOliveStones;

Xiaoshi - created when Cherry/SWK wanted to see if he could make "another him" from clay and a pebble after he had learned the story of Nüwa. Clay Egg became a real Stone Egg. Xiaoshi has bright orange fur and light briwn face markings. Rarely doesn't have paint or ink in his fur. Link to some amazing art done by @tsa-smth.

Hǔpò & Zhēnzhū aka "The Pebbles" - natural babies. Look like little clones of their LEM (black fur with white accents) with their dear baba's green eyes.

Luzhen (yes another one) - miniature version of Cherry/SWK. Possible little brother.

New Gods series - Jackpotshipping;

Xiaozhēn - dumpster baby. Possible half-monkey demon. Fluffy brown fur, built like a dad - cus he is one. Is in his 30s demon-wise. Has kids of his own.

Unnamed newborn twins nicknamed "Two Pair" (x) - dark fur and brown eyes. One baby is an attempted changeling - but they aren't sure which one.

Meihouwang 2009 - Peachbuds;

Ketu & Rahu - a pair of twins, one a loose Stone Egg that arrived in a comet, the other an egg formed naturally between the parents (they're all grown up by now ofc). Both have a mix of silver and gold fur, like their parents when they were younger. Rahu has six ears. Here's the post you mentioned!

Smash Legends - FabledConnections;

No definite kids, but I'd imagine they'd be a mix of black and white fur. Like tuxedo cats.

No kids planned for the 1999/2000 Legends cartoon pair (yet)

Thank you so much for your interest in all of this - I try to keep all these ideas under the tag #jttw inspo fan children when I can. If you decide to make fanart for any of these babies (or the parents), make sure to @ me so I can see!

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moog-rt · 2 months

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ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ [ch.3]

[Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader]

Beginning: Prologue

Previous: Chapter Two

➨ Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Four

Premise:

The multiverse theory is the idea that there is not only one universe but, instead, an infinite number of universes, parallel to one another.

You and Tenko were heroes in your universe. The war came and went, and that left only you. When you are thrown into a universe parallel to yours, you find out the hard way just how similar and different it is from your own.

A/N: And the moment we've all been waiting for!!

♡

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER THREE

You staggered down the hall as best you could. The majority of your joints had been encased in hardened clumps of clay from your last match. It turned what should have been a mindless task into quite the obstacle.

Carefully putting all of your weight onto one leg, you would swing the other in front of you before transitioning your weight to that one. It was tedious, as there were a couple times your balance was off and you’d wobble for a few seconds before regaining your footing.

You felt like you were practicing for the next Lego movie.

Every few minutes, you would pause to hammer at the clay deposits with a metal water bottle you’d found on a bench. You didn’t know whose it was, but you’d be sure to return it once you were done.

Part of you hoped it belonged to the bastard student that put you in this situation to begin with.

You understood that the UA Sports Festival was all about competing and whatnot, but the guy could have at least removed the clay once the round was over. Now, you were stuck being somewhat incapacitated until you got it all off.

You were barely making a dent with the water bottle, so you prayed that the nurse had something in her arsenal that could at least help you wiggle out.

You leaned down once more to start battering away at the large clump around your knee. By the time you realized your footing was off, it was too late as you slowly began falling forward. You yelped and waved your arms around in hope of regaining your balance, but it was all for naught.

Your body thudded to the floor, and you could hear metal ringing as the water bottle bounced and rolled out of reach. Groaning, you rolled onto your back and sat up as best you could. It took a moment before you concluded that you likely wouldn’t be able to get up without being able to bend your knees.

Maybe if you pushed yourself into a split, you could slowly inch your legs closer and closer together?

No. Even if you could get into the position, you would only be able to push yourself up as far as your arms could reach, then you’d be stuck again.

Finally, you rolled onto your belly, deciding that imitating an inch worm would be your best bet. You were able to make some progress as you pushed your butt into the air and walked backwards with your hands.

You were almost to a 90 degree angle before the clay plastered to the front of your shoes lost traction and began to slide away. Cursing under your breath, you quickened the movements of your arms, but rather than pushing you up, you were pushing your entire body backwards down the hall.

Until your feet caught onto something behind you.

Tilting your upper body around to look, you saw a pair of legs, and your feet were lined up perfectly with theirs. Immediately, you dropped back down to the ground and turned onto your butt to face the teenage boy. Your face was already burning up from being caught in such an awkward position, and when your eyes met the stranger’s, the heat flourished to your ears and neck.

“Oh, jeez. I’m sorry…” You adjusted your arms to better support you sitting up while you showed off a lopsided grin. “I just had the–uh–sudden urge to do some yoga. No one was around so I figured there was no better time than the present.”

The boy, no doubt an upperclassman, with crimson eyes and jet-black hair stared at you for a moment before kneeling down.

“Downward dog?” he asked as he reached forward to touch one of the massive clay chunks engulfing your knees. “I thought that pose was supposed to be stationary.”

“I took some creative liberty with it.” You looked away for a moment before you quickly jerked your leg away from him. “What are you doing?”

His eyes were harsh as they flickered up to your face. He grabbed hold of your leg and pulled it back toward him, causing you to fall back.

“Hey!” you yelped. Pushing yourself back up onto your elbows, you shot a glare at the stranger.

He paid you no mind and cupped one of your knees with his hand. “Helping. You were clearly struggling.”

“I think you and I have different definitions of help—"

The clay began crumbling away as if it were made of sand.

“Woah…” You stared as he freed you from your earthen shackles.

You bent your knees and elbows once all the clay was removed. Standing up never felt so good. You turned to thank your savior only to see he was already walking away.

“Uh, hey!” you shouted and trotted after him.

He looked at you from the corner of his eyes when you matched his pace.

“Thanks for that. I was gonna go to the nurse, but I don’t think she would have been much help,” you gleamed, watching him with a wide smile.

“It was no problem,” he said while keeping his gaze ahead of him as you trotted along at his side.

♡ ♡

Your footsteps echoed through the ominous hallway as you kept pace with Shigaraki. You were certain he thought you were out of your damn mind after you regaled him with all that had happened to you. He seemed the most interested when you expressed your detest for the ‘heroes’ of this society.

“So…when did you dye your hair?” you asked to break the painfully uncomfortable silence you’d fallen into.

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye but kept walking. “Never, why would I?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” you said and made a gesture towards your own head. “But your hair used to be black. What happened?”

“I don’t remember,” he grumbled, scrunching up his nose. “That was a long time ago.”

“Your hair’s supposed to be black.”

He made an exasperated noise and began walking faster. You had been bouncing questions off of him for the majority of your journey. He had been patient with you for the most part, but you knew you could only push him so far before he got fed up.

“Hey!” You quickened your pace to catch up. “Tenko, wait—”

You thudded into him when he stopped abruptly and spun around to face you.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, piercing into you with his eyes. “I shouldn’t have to tell you again.”

Your gaze bounced between both of his eyes before you stepped back. The two of you stayed that way for a moment before he turned around with a huff and continued down the hall. You followed in silence.

Shortly after your public freak-out, he corrected you for calling him Tenko. He went by Shigaraki Tomura here. You weren’t sure why he took on the surname of your sensei, but that was the least of your concerns. He also insisted that the people who were heroes have always been heroes, and the same went for the villains.

You were beginning to come to terms with the fact you were most likely in some kind of alternate reality. It wasn’t comforting by any means, but it was the best explanation you’d come up with thus far.

\Your eyes bore into Shigaraki’s back. He was vague when you asked where he was taking you. However, the warehouse you were in now was the same one that filled the space your agency once occupied. It felt somewhat eerie. You were walking through the ghost of the building that should have been there with a person who should be dead.

In a weird way, it was also comforting.

He led you through another open corridor and stopped at a large set of double doors. He paused for a moment, trying to be subtle as he glanced back at you, before pushing one of the doors open for you to walk through.

You waited for him to go in first, but you quickly got the message he was waiting on you. He stared you down as you passed by him. You felt as though you were under a microscope, like he was analyzing even your slightest movements and expressions.

To be fair, you were staring, as well. He was clearly much different than the person you remembered, and you had yet to figure out just how much of him was the same. You loved Tenko, but you also knew he could be touchy at times, so it was best for you to test the waters before diving in.

Upon entering the dilapidated room, you froze.

You had dreamt more dreams of your old friends than you could count. And not even one could compare to what you were seeing right now. You never would have imagined you’d find yourself in a room with everyone all together again. But here they were.

Everyone looked a little different, but even so, the familiarity that rushed through your veins made your eyes prick with tears. Your heartrate was picking up as your eyes darted around the room.

Years. It had been years since you’d last seen half of the people standing before you. You’ve stood beside them countless times before, and you’d imagined it many times since. However, in this moment, you were at a loss for words.

How often is it that you get to be reunited with your late comrades?

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—when your eyes landed on Jin, and you choked on whatever words were about to come out. Your throat constricted. It felt like everything around you was fuzzy, but it was clear around Jin. He was all you could see.

His death was something you would never forgive yourself for. Had you been where you were supposed to be, it never would have happened. Instead, you were distracted and acting on impulse. By the time you’d finally gotten to his side, it was far too late. In the last few moments you had with him, he never blamed you, not once, but you knew. You knew that you could have changed that outcome.

The memory of the way he had clung to you and wept was haunting.

You took a shaky step forward, your bottom lip quivering. You would have embraced him, but he beat you to it. His arms were wrapped so tightly around your shoulders, and you had to stand on your tiptoes as you were raised above the ground.

He choked on a sob of his own. “I knew you couldn’t really be dead. Good riddance!” Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, dragging you down with him, and began rubbing his face against the top of your head.

“Jin…” you whispered.

“You really got us good. I totally fell for it! Worst prank ever!”

Another pair of arms grappled you from behind and their tear-soaked face pressed against the back of your neck.

“I couldn’t believe it at first…” you recognized the voice as Toga’s, “but you’re really here!”

“I don’t—What are you talking about?” you stuttered. Your body trembled under the weight of your friends, and your mind was reeling as you tried to comprehend what they were saying. “Why would you say that? Why would you think I died?”

“Because we buried you ourselves. That’s why.” You looked up to see Iguchi walking towards you, his face a blank slate you couldn’t read. “So that begs the question, how did you dig yourself out of your own grave?”

“Iguchi—”

“You’ve never called me by my real name,” he cut in, raising his chin to look down his nose at you. “Who are you?”

Your confusion vanished, and all you could see was red. Your body grew impossibly tense, fists balled so tightly your nails would leave crescents on your palms.

“That’s such bullshit,” you spat as you pulled away from the arms of your friends to stand up abruptly. Your glare was booring through his thick skin. “What else would I have called you? Spinner? We’ve never used our hero names outside of work.”

He drew his head back as a scowl etched across his face.

Maybe he was like Shigaraki, and he created a new name for himself. Like Touya, too, now that you thought about it.

“Let’s not get too heated,” Atsuhiro spoke up with his hands raised as if to break apart a fight. “The circumstances may be out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean we should be jumping down each other’s throats.”

“You don’t even look the same,” Spinner added, ignoring Atsuhiro’s attempt at abating the growing conflict. “There’s no way you could pass as a teenager.”

“Okay, well, that’s just rude,” you bit back after taking a solid blow to your self-esteem.

“Can we go back for a second?”

You and Spinner both looked over to Shigaraki, mildly surprised after he seemed to have taken a backseat in this reunion of sorts. He pushed off the door frame where you entered the room and stalked towards you.

“To the part about using hero names,” he continued, stopping just a few feet away. “See, what you explained to me earlier gave me the impression that you felt the heroes’ actions were akin to a villain’s. What you’re implying now sounds a lot more like—”

“We’re heroes,” you cut in. The fire that had ignited inside you—the hope that everything wasn’t as warped as you initially perceived—was dwindling. “You’re all supposed to be heroes.”

Your eyes became softer, not out of sadness but of exhaustion. You were tired of all the mental hoops you were throwing yourself through trying to piece this new reality together. You certainly didn’t have the energy to force these people to believe in you.

Your spirit was crawling in on itself, and you wanted so badly to turn your back on everything that distressed you. It wouldn’t be impossible to walk away from your current engagement, but you’d still be forced to come to terms with the rest of this messed up society. You were surrounded by stressors with no place to hide.

“What on Earth would make you think that?” Shigaraki glowered at you.

“You mean, like, heroes to each other?” Toga chipped. She wrapped her body around you, resting her chin on your shoulder. “’Cause you’re totally my hero! You saved Jin and me from those nasty gangsters!”

“The Hassaikai?” you asked. You were pretty sure that’s what she was referring to. You remembered when the three of you had to face Mimic and the pillars he tried to crush you with. They would have killed both Jin and Toga had you not frozen them in time. “That did happen.”

“Of course it did. That’s the whole reason we thought you died!” Jin said as he threw his arms out for emphasis.

You shook your head. “No. I would have died if you two hadn’t saved me.”

“Ah, yes, just as I remember! That’s not how it went.” Jin waved his arms in denial. “We tried, but you were too far away.”

“I was far, yeah, but you guys were able to get me out of the way in time,” you corrected, “I was hospitalized because of the injuries, but I didn’t die.”

Jin didn’t respond. His hands fell to his sides and his shoulders dropped. You could feel Toga’s embrace tense before she slipped away from you. You glanced back at her, but her eyes were covered by her bangs.

“Look, I’m not the same person you know,” you sighed and walked back a few steps so you could face everyone, “But I remember dealing with Overhaul and his people. It was years ago, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same as what you’re talking about. I was in a coma for weeks following that fight, so it only makes sense that I—she would be in a hospital somewhere…”

Your voice fizzled away as you reflected on what Spinner had said earlier. They never lost your body. You weren’t considered missing to them. If they really did burry you, then there would be no doubt about your condition.

And if they hadn’t found your body, they wouldn’t be so quick to claim you were dead. Granted, you were assuming they had similar mindsets to the people you remembered them to be.

“I can’t be dead, that doesn’t make sense,” you murmured, shaking your head and backing away further.

You had thought that everyone’s roles within society were the only things different about this new timeline. Magne died here around the same time she did when you had lived through it. From what you read, the ambush on the Shie Hassaikai was conducted almost exactly the same as you remembered. Everything else was the same. Everyone was alive at the time they should be, but you were the outlier.

What happened differently here that resulted in your death rather than measly mutilation?

“The fact you’re standing here is what's really perplexing,” Shigaraki remarked, looking you up and down before his eyes settled on yours.

“I think…I’m pretty sure I was teleported,” you said with a new firmness in your voice. Subconsciously, you were pretty sure you had come to that conclusion a while ago. However, the lack of evidence that Dai Uchuu could teleport people and things across timelines made you hesitant to fully accept it.

You expected him to write off your theory as nonsense, possibly even laugh at your outlandish proposal. But Shigaraki’s gaze on you didn’t waver, didn’t so much as flinch. In fact, it seemed as though he could see right “By a quirk?” he asked. His arms unfolded, and he raised a hand to his neck, the tips of his fingers grazing along the scarred skin.

You nodded. “I had a run in with a villain whose quirk allows him to teleport objects. We never considered it could be anything more than that, but, before that point, everything was still normal.”

“Quirks have become more complex with each generation,” he remarked, looking off to the side. “It’s unlikely for such an overpowered one like that to exist, but it’s not impossible.”

He looked back at you with eyes that were no longer harsh. Your chest became light as all the stress that had accumulated over the past day withered away. You needed to sit, but before you could even consider finding somewhere to relax, there was a tug on your arm.

Toga was staring at you with wide eyes and a grin that felt all too familiar. “So, like, does that mean you’re from the future or something?”

Your eyebrows scrunched, and a corner of your lips tugged upwards. Of course that would be what caught her attention.

“I guess so. I’ve probably gone back almost three years,” you hummed.

“Ooh! Ooh! What happens between now and then?” she beamed, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Do we win?”

Your stomach churned.

The question itself was simple and could easily be answered by a civilian or governmental figure. You defeated the villains and locked them away. Society was safe for the time being, and everyone could go on with their lives as usual.

Obviously, there were some exceptions.

“If she is from the future, telling you what happens could mess everything up,” Spinner pointed out, putting a hand on his hip. “In every movie and game where they deal with time travel, they always talk about the consequences of changing the past.”

“I’m just asking what happens. I never said I’d change anything,” Toga retorted before blowing a raspberry in his direction. “Besides, if we’re heroes where she’s from, I think things are already messed up.”

The two began to bicker over the topic. Eventually, Atsuhiro joined in, bringing up the issue of paradoxes, which favored Spinner’s side of the argument. Jin seemed to do his best to follow along, taking on a supporting role for everyone involved in the conversation.

Touya had kept silent for almost the entirety of your little reunion, but you glanced over in time to see him kick off the wall he had been leaning against. He walked towards you with a lopsided grin.

“You’ve grown up nicely,” he ribbed.

Your upper lip curled at his implication. “I’m not sure I can say the same for you.”

He cackled. “What, do I start going grey?”

“I’d be a little more concerned with skincare if I were you,” you snipped, crossing your arms and turning your torso away from him.

Shigaraki was mostly keeping to himself on the sidelines. He looked like he was listening in on the argument between Toga and Spinner, but his eyes squinted after your retort, giving away his mild amusement. Touya followed your gaze and scoffed.

“You say that as if I’m the only one with skin issues,” he said with a raised voice, still facing Shigaraki.

At that, Shigaraki’s eyes shot over to Touya and narrowed.

“Do you have a preference for what I call you?” you inquired with a raised brow. You were heckled by two people about names at this point, so you might as well make it customary to check before offending anyone else.

“Dabi,” he stated in a flat tone. His teasing demeanor dropped completely. “If you call me anything else, you’ll be joining the fucked up skin club.”

Your lips pursed. “Noted.”

“What’s your plan until you go back to wherever you came from?” he asked, crossing his arms and turning away to face the intensifying commotion the others were causing.

That was something you still needed to work out. You couldn’t stay here forever, nor did you want to. Seeing friends of old was wonderful and all, but you still had a life you needed to get back to. You had a job to do and bills to pay. You weren’t sure if time was actively passing back home, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

Finding Dai Uchuu shouldn’t be too difficult with the right amount of research and public records. It would be tedious work, but you didn’t have many other options. Roaming city streets with your fingers crossed that you’d run into him would be like finding a needle in a haystack. He could have even fled to another country for all you knew.

“I stayed at a hotel last night. I’ll probably keep the room until I find the guy that sent me here. I was out to buy clothes and toiletries before—”

“You’re staying with us,” Shigaraki stated, walking up to the two of you.

Dabi cackled. “You’re really not wasting any time now that she’s your age.”

Shigaraki stood taller and raised his chin before turning to face you, opting to cut his comrade out of the conversation. “You said it yourself. We don’t actually know you, and it would be stupid to let you go off on your own. You’re a hero, which means you put the public’s best interest before all else.”

“I’m not so sure the public’s interest aligns with me here. Still, I understand where you’re coming from,” you conceded.

“Dabi, tell the others we’re done. You, come,” he demanded. He didn’t wait for a response and walked out of the room.

You found yourself, once again, trailing behind him. He led you back through the corridor and down a staircase to the basement level of the sketchy old building. You looked around at the various pipes that protruded through the cracked concrete walls. Some of them dripped, creating murky puddles that you had to dodge or hop over.

You got a bad feeling you were going to end up in a cell of sorts.

He did say he didn’t want you wandering freely…

The two of you stopped in front of a rotting wooden door that likely led to a closet or electrical room. However, he opened it to reveal a much larger space that appeared finished with painted drywall and linoleum flooring. There were no pipes to be seen aside from beneath a faucet that helped make up a kitchenette.

The room was clearly lived in from the wrappers, takeout containers, and stray articles of clothing that littered the ground around a beaten-up pair of old sofas. The cabinet door beneath the sink was missing, and some of the others looked as though one good tug could take them off their hinges. The countertops were also overdue for a good wipe down.

“Have you all been living here?” you asked, doing your best to hide your displeasure.

The closest you’d gotten to living with roommates was when UA forced all its students into dorms. Even then, you were all expected to clean up after yourselves and upkeep the place.

It at least looked like everyone got their own rooms judging by the hallway that branched off of the common area. You didn’t count, but there seemed to be enough doors for everybody. A few of them were open, allowing you to see a bedroom that was fairly put together. Right next to it was a room that looked as though a bomb went off inside.

“You’ll share a room with one of us until you figure out how to fix your whole…situation.” Shigaraki went over to one of the couches to pull a balled-up blanket from between the cushions and threw at you without warning. You only partially caught it, most ended up draped over your head.

After a moment of befuddlement, you slipped the blanket off to see him standing in front of you. Your heart pounded as you watched his eyes roam over your face before looking down at your chest. You could feel an embarrassed blush begin to bubble in your cheeks.

He reached forward and pulled at the shoulder of your shirt. “I still don’t get why you’d wear something like this.”

You scoffed, swatting his hand away. “I thought we already went over this. My options were limited.”

“And that was really the best thing you could find?” he rolled his eyes.

“You know I was actively trying to buy something else to wear instead when you jumped me,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

“Toga has too many clothes. Go put something of hers on,” he demanded before turning away from you to plop himself on one of the couches. The creaking of the wood and springs under his weight made you cringe. It was only a matter of time before that old thing gave out.

“Or I can go back to my hotel to get my stuff, and I can buy a thing or two while I’m out,” you bargained as you paced over to him and leaned against the arm of the sofa.

“I told you, you’re not leaving.”

“Just go with me if you’re really that concerned,” you proposed, tilting your head with and equally crooked grin. “You owe me a shopping trip.”

Shigaraki had been trying to appear busy by fiddling with a TV remote, but his eyes flew back to you. He just stared until you raised your eyebrows expectantly. His attention went back to the remote. “We can figure something out later.”

♡ ♡ ♡

➨ Chapter Four

taglist: @boogiemansbitch @multisstuff

31 notes · View notes

itsmoonpeaches · 5 months

Text

Title: Long Live the King

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Heroes of Olympus

Rating: T

Word count: 1,012

Summary: Annabeth does not expect the god that appears after her prayers to Poseidon.

Also available on ao3.

Flames cracked against the walls of the tin can creating a miniature campfire. Orange embers broke through the darkness and illuminated the damp sands below. The sea thrashed against the shore, churning, yet forcing restraint. The waters had continued this dance for months.

Annabeth could hear the growling of the monsters stored in the forest and beyond that the sounds of her fellow campers trotting around Camp Half-Blood preparing for bed.

Her hearing had always been good, and her instincts were always hypersensitive. But, as her head pounded, as she glanced up at the near starless sky, as she clutched at the s’more in her hand, she wished that she could turn it all off. Perhaps, pause her racing thoughts and the way she twitched for her knife.

She did not have that power.

Annabeth let out a breath, and she watched the puff rise from her mouth upon the coattails of this summer night’s cool humidity.

She dropped the s’more into the can. The fire hesitated under its weight. Then it smoked, wisps spiraling into the air around a treat she would miss.

When she spoke next, she did not pray to her mother.

“Lord Poseidon,” she whispered. The graham crackers snapped in half. “The Argo II is ready. Tomorrow is the day. We finally know where Percy is.” Her now empty hand reached for the red coral that hung around her neck along with the clay beads that shared the leather string. She was a veteran. She knew what was at stake. “I will find him.”

Annabeth lay on the beach. Her bare feet dug into the sand and grains filled the spaces between her toes.

She drifted to sleep listening to the rhythmic beats of the waves along Long Island Sound.

A voice that belonged to someone unrecognizable rang in Annabeth’s ears with a terrifying quality. Like thunder roiling beneath the surface of a dank cave and echoing from a hundred fissures at once.

“Open your eyes.”

Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Do it, insolent girl!”

Suddenly, she was drenched. Saltwater entered her nostrils, choked her breath, grappled with her limbs, and dragged.

It was only then that she decided to obey. But in that horrid moment, she found herself being yanked into the black ocean. The shore was long gone, and the hope of moonlight drained away as did the color of her skin.

Bubbles released from her throat. Her eyes burned, and then the strands of her hair came loose till it was a liability to whatever vision she had left.

She struggled to swim against the riptide that pushed her down to no avail.

She was trapped, left wanting for oxygen.

And then.

“Breathe now if you know what is good for you,” the voice commanded.

She did not dare delay. Against her better judgment, she opened her mouth and breathed. And against logic, what met her was not water drowning her but fresh air.

In a moment of clarity, her feet alighted on the bottom of the ocean, and the darkness abated just enough. She should have been crushed by tons of water, but for some reason, she remained unharmed.

Creatures scuttled along the sand, many of which she could not identify within the shadowy depths. Broken shells and broken glass bottles pocked the floor. An eel whipped past her.

A figure appeared. It was a creature with the upper half of a man and the bottom half of a dual-tailed fish. However, he radiated more power than she guessed a mere subject of the seas would. His green skin shared the hue of seaweed, and he held a conch in his hand.

“I should warn you,” stated the being. His words were melodic, like a cresting wave. He sounded different from the voice. “There are not many things my father wants that he cannot obtain himself,” he explained. “Yet now he is being denied. That is a dangerous thing.”

“Lord Triton,” said Annabeth.

“Indeed,” Triton agreed. The iridescent scales on his tails flicked with the water’s ebbing light. “Unlike my esteemed father and mother, I do not have the pleasure of retaining a Roman form. That fool Apollo and I share that fortune.”

“You didn’t call me here.”

“An astute observation,” he scoffed. “I am the Herald of the Sea after all. And the sea will not be tempted to follow all the land’s rules.” He lifted his conch to his lips and sounded the horn.

The waters rumbled. Ripples resounded from their area outward, and the floor swirled.

Triton smirked. With a final wave, he vanished in a cloud of bubbles and seafoam.

From the sands rose a magnificent figure the size of a building. Molded from the seabed and dark stone trenches came the great form of a man.

What Annabeth saw before her was no ethereal being, but a beast. A god.

Eyes made of hurricanes observed her, and she could see in them the ocean warring with itself. With every blink, she heard sailors begging for their lives before storms took them, and with every shudder from his trident, a ship slammed into jagged rocks and shattered.

He was crowned with bleached coral. His body was water, and his beard a great squid’s tentacles entwined with lost treasures.

“Well, Annabeth Chase,” said the god from his throne melded together from the wreckage of Spanish galleons and shards of imploded submarines. “You offered me a promise.”

She looked at him with trembling hands. Behind him, the hull of a cargo ship sank. Bodies trailed along her, and the screams of dying men ceased in the madness of the sea.

Annabeth had not met this god before.

When he grinned, his teeth were sharper than a shark’s, and barnacles sprouted between them. The red blood of the sacrifices that the Romans had made in fear of him whirled through his insides. The ruins of an old pirate ship splattered in his stomach along with the bones of its captain.

Neptune clenched the arms of his throne. “Return my son to me.”

#pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #flash fiction friday #poseidon #annabeth chase #triton #itsmoonpeaches fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #i would be lying if i didn't add that this was inspired by black sails and flint's anger #hilarious that the gif i chose is also from black sails #fff249 #open your eyes

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azeutreciathewicked · 3 months

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It's all just a little bit of history repeating...

Believe me. Go ask a Fandom Old.

Ask them about Buffy.

Ask them about The Mists of Avalon and Marion Zimmer Bradley.

Ask them about Eddings.

Ask them about Roald Dahl.

Ask them about banned books.

Ask them about censorship.

Ask them about the Great Strikethrough of 2007.

What we have now that we didn't have then was a massive community that could come together to care for each other, to hug each other, to soothe our wounds together. We have stories and experiences and art and memories and ideas we have shared and can share together.

I didn't have that when I had to rip out a piece of my heart alone when a story I grew up loving turned out to have had a rotten core. A story that helped me feel seen, helped me to dream of something I could be that was better. I had to do it alone. A lot of us were alone, and we cried silently, alone in the dark, as our heroes fell on their feet of clay and a piece of our lights died.

Part of growing up is learning there is no Santa Claus. And learning that your parents are only flawed humans who mess up.

And then we grow more, and understand how scared our parents must have been of messing up with us.

We can be Santa Claus for each other.

Or we can be Krampus.

Which will you choose to be?

#fandom #fandom culture #fandom is us

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jeannereames · 3 months

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Hero Alexander vs. The Real Alexander

Moving to the second half of a recent question:

And if I'm not wrong, you mention at one place that you don't "heroize" Alexander. That's interesting, since he's often worshiped as a mythical hero. Why did you move away from that?

As a writer (and a reader), I’ve always been intrigued by the challenge of humanizing the “inhuman” (which can also include the ridiculously talented).

When I fell in love with Tolkien as a girl, I wanted to know what it would be like to be an elf, to have magic, to live that long, etcetera. Maybe that’s also why I always preferred Marvel superheroes over DC. Their hallmark was to make the fantastic (mutants, etc.) more human.

Now, I love me some traditional mythopoetic fantasy, but I’m no good at producing it myself. What is mythopoetic style? Peter Beagle, Patricia McKillip, Nancy Springer, C.J. Cherryh’s sidhe novels, my friend Meredith Ann Pierce … and of course Tolkien himself, where magic is real and magical creatures are…well, magical. Inhuman. Elves … not hobbits. Like a fairy tale…a myth (hence “mythopoetic”).

Anyway, I love reading that, but can’t write it to save my soul. When I write epic/historical fantasy (and I do see SFF as my home genre), it’s closer to anthro SF than to any mythopoetic style. My current MIP (monster-in-progress) is a 6-book series set on a secondary world where two branches of humanity survived, one of which, the Aphê, have super-convenient prehensile tails. 😊 The character journey for one of the protags across the first three novels is to recognize the Aphê as human and fallible rather than as a “noble savage” wise people. (Yes, questions of “What does it mean to be ‘civilized’?” are among the series themes.)

When it comes to historical fiction, I take the same tack. Alexander is interesting to me because he was a real person who accomplished extraordinary things.* What might he have been like in real life?

Making him too perfect—good at everything, no/few mistakes (just misunderstood), always honorable, etc., bores me. That’s the Alexander of his own marketing campaign. (laugh) It was adopted and refined by some later historians such as Arrian, and Plutarch in his rhetorical pieces (less in the Life but still there). That’s why I’m not a huge fan of Renault’s Alexander, and generally prefer her other Greek novels. Manfredi and (sorta) Pressfield do the same. Tarr and Graham also keep him deliberately at a distance to allow him to remain heroized, but it bothers me less because he’s at a distance. (Btw, I do not dislike Renault's ATG novels; they're just not among my favorites, either on Alexander, or of hers.)

Yet I’m not a fan of the other approach, either: to “humanize” him by taking him down a notch—making him NOT all that, just lucky (Lucian, and Nick Nicastro). Or by upending the heroic narrative altogether and turning him into a megalomaniacal “wicked tyrant” ala Pompeius Trogus/Justin or Seneca (and Chris Cameron).

I want something (and someone) more relatable, even while letting him remain truly astonishing. To humanize the “inhuman.” I realize that’s a challenge as, the moment we do humanize him, it removes him from the realm of the hero, which in turn makes it harder to allow him to be “all that.” For some, any fault is “too much”—the proverbial clay feet—because they’re desperate to have an idol, a hero…not a person. So the haters come out when, for instance, Simone Biles pulled out of the Olympics for mental health and the Twisties. How dare she!

I’m interested in the person. Even if Alexander wanted to be Herakles Take II, he wasn’t inhuman (divine). He was just a guy, and for me, the fact he was “just a guy,” yet still accomplished all those extraordinary things, is the most remarkable part.

I’ll conclude with what I wrote at the end of the author’s note in the back of Dancing with the Lion: Rise (also available on the website):

In the end, whatever approach one takes to Alexander, whatever theories one subscribes to, more or less hostile to the conqueror, we are left with the man himself in all his complexity and contradiction. The phenomenon called “Alexander the Great” has evoked vastly different interpretations from his era to ours. It’s tempting to seek internal consistency for his behavior, or to force it when it can’t be found. Yet no one is consistent. Even more, history itself is distorted by those recording it in order to serve their unique political narratives, whether then or now. Conflicting politics create competing narratives, and histories of Alexander were (and are) especially prone to such distortions. That, in turn, brings us back to where we began: history (like historical fiction) is about who we are now, and what it’s possible for us to become. So Alexander was neither demon nor god, whatever he wanted to believe about himself. He was a man, capable of cruelty and sympathy, brilliance and blindness, paranoia and an open-handed generosity. As remarkable as he was, he was human. And that's what makes him interesting.

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* That some of these extraordinary things would be—and should be—reviled by modern standards is part of the uncomfortable contradiction, and legacy, of the ancient world. This is something I also try to depict in the novel. So there is never a “simple win” in a battle. There’s something ugly shown in or as a result of every single one. On purpose. Battle is, and should be, deeply disturbing.

#asks #Alexander the Great #Heroizing Alexander the Great #Heroic Alexander #Megalomaniacal Alexander the Great #tyrannical Alexander the Great #historical fiction #Dancing with the Lion #ancient Greece #ancient Macedonia #Classics

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krinsbez · 5 months

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Presenting...the Pulptober 2024 Prompts

It is months later than it should be, but I have finally gotten it together!

@chronivore, @oldtvandcomics, @themailedfist-blog, @skjam, @haldrada-art And anyone else who is interested.

1-The Shadow/The Hidden Master 2-Doc Savage/Sci-Fi Superman 3-The Green Hornet/I’m Your Villain 4-El Santo/Champion of Justice 5-Vampirella/Monster Hero 6-Steve Canyon/Adventures In Exotic Places 7-The Phantom/Beyond Their Homeland 8-Barbarella/Pulp From Around The World 9- The Lone Ranger/Weapons of Justice 10-Dark Agnes/Iconoclastic Icons 11-Carson Napier/Feats of Courage, Despite Feet of Clay 12-Jack Reacher/Unintentional Pulp 12-Conan/Blood-Stained Smirk 13-Hellboy/Pulp Survivor 14-Dhalua Strong/Behind Every Hero 15-Raffles/Pulp..Hero? 16-The Dragon Lady/Enemy To Ally 17-Doc Sidhe/The Highest Form of Flattery 18-Imaro/Warrior Hero 19-Charlie Chan/Pulp With an Asterisk 20-Sherlock Holmes/Man of Many Talents 21-The Domino Lady/Thrills, Not Kills 22-Zorro/Hero Of The People 23-The Spirit/Hero With A Harem 24-The A-Team/Team of Elites 25-Luke Cage/Hero For Hire 26-Red Sonya and Red Sonja/Not As We Know Them 27-The Sandman/From Pulp To Super 28-Ram Singh/Servant of Justice 29-The Punisher/Justice At Gunpoint 30-Bettie Page/Hero In Adaptation 31-Batman/Undying Heroes

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lavenderandblood · 5 months

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𝙏𝙚𝙖 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨 & 𝙋𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙚𝙨 | 𝙎𝙪𝙣 & 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧

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~ Sun was quickly following after Star, ultiminately worried about her getting lost or hurt. They were in an unfamiliar environment, so of course he was somewhat nervous. "O-OH, NEW FRIEND! PLEASE SLOW DOWN! WE CAN'T JUST RUN INTO-" The sun themed animatronics voice was cut off as was his footing once he entered a completely different room. The wall paper was a dark navy blue, and the carpet had a floral mural design. The room was decorated with dark brown wood chairs, and soft white table sheets draped over the round tables. Tea sets were placed neatly at each one, accomponied by a gramophone player right smack in the middle playing a song that was most likely from an old era. Star meanwhile was rushing around giggling, exploring the new found area without a care in the world as Sun trailed behind her. She was quite the handful, but to Sun it was all worth it; as long as she was happy and content, he was too. ~ The little girl reached her hands onto the table once she had climbed up onto one of the chairs, stealing one of the small cups from one of the many sets on display. She carefully looked at the design embedded within the clay structure of the cup, turning it around in her hands as she felt the soft and smooth texture in her lap. Sun seemed to glance his blank white eyes around the area slowly beginning to approach Star, almost as if double checking for anything dangerous or harmful that could potentially ruin their so called 'adventure'. Watching her stare at the cup, his rays seemed to pop further out of his head; having an idea. He took the tea pot into his hands and moved one of the chairs closer to sit down, pretending to pour some into another empty cup. He put on a british accent, clearly trying to be silly. "WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA?" ~

Star turned her head to look up at Sun, before letting out a chortled giggle. Sun always knew how to be funny, how to cheer someone up when they felt gloomy. She loved him a lot for that, she wouldn't have him any other way. She nodded her head once her snickers settled down, lifting up the tea cup to watch Sun pretend to pour some into hers. Lifting it back down she pretended to take a sip of it by placing it near her lips and setting it back down onto the small plate provided upon the table. She continued to listen to Sun ramble on as his 'tea-time' persona for a few minutes before getting bored, her attention being gravitated elsewhere. She got up from her chair and walked out of the navy blue tea room and walked down towards the kitchen. It was only when Sun finished ranting that he finally noticed Star was gone and he immediately panicked. "OH, NO! WHERE DID YOU GO!? NEW FRIEND!? ARGHH! WHAT AM I GONNA DO!? WHAT IF SHE'S LOST, OR HURT! I GOTTA GO FIND HER!" Sun stood up with a hand to his chest as if he was some super hero, and quickly ran off to find her. ~ It didn't take him too long to find Star as he ran by the kitchen, quickly skidding on his feet to back up a few steps to peer inside to see her fiddling with the oven. He panicked, and quickly rushed in to stop her. "AH AH AH- NO NO NO NO! WE DON'T PLAY WITH THAT!" Sun lowered his arms and lifted Star up from behind by her waist, carrying her over to the dining table nearby to sit her down. Star struggled all the while, beginning to make unpleasent noises in response to Sun picking her up. Once she was in the chair, she crossed her arms and put on a face as she pouted. Sun tilted his head as each of his rays twitched and whirred, slightly timid to her reaction. "NEW FRIEND.. WE CAN'T PLAY WITH OVENS OR DANGEROUS THINGS! YOU'LL GET HURT. WHY DID YOU TRY TO TURN IT ON IN THE FIRST PLACE?" Star seemed to respond with only few words due to her being so young, wiggling her legs that dangled off the chair she sat on. ~

"Snackie!" Her hands gripped the sides of her seat whilst staring up at Sun with a non chalant look. Sun realized, and snapped his mechanical fingers before putting them up to the bottom of his face; considering it his chin. "OHHH! YOU'RE HUNGRY!" Sun tried to think now of what he could feed her that was safe. After all, they were in an unknown place without any food or water. He could only hope the area they were in had some if any. "LET ME TRY TO SEE IF I CAN GET YOU SOMETHING, FRIEND!" He quickly spun his torso and legs around while his head was still looking at Star for a few more seconds before it followed suit to align with his body. Rummaging through the cabinets, he didn't find much. Just a box of crackers, and a bag of sugar. Next he went through the fridge to find an apple juice box and more almond water; the stuff didn't taste very good. He would have to work with what he had at the moment. Next, he found a paper plate and decided to use that as leverage for the half-baked snack he was going to prepare for the little one. Dumping the crackers onto the plate, he walked back over to Star who was patiently tapping her hands on the table with her arms out stretched. "ALRIGHT, FRIEND! I COULDN'T FIND MUCH, BUT THIS SHOULD DO THE TRICK JUST AS NICELY!" ~ Star glanced at the crackers on the plate, and then to the juice box that Sun opened for her. She took the juice box first, taking small little sips from it. Thankfully, it wasn't expired. Sun seemed a tiny bit nervous, forgetting to even check if the materials he was giving her even had one to begin with. Though, he was glad that both consumables were conveniently safe to eat. She took one of the crackers, nibbling on it; it tasted somewhat stale due to being exposed and left on the shelf for a while, but she couldn't be picky. She noticed Sun just nervously and anxiously watching, tapping his index fingers together at a fast pace. She noticed a pink llama plushie lying down on one of the other chairs facing Sun to the left, and reached out to grab it. She set it on the table as she munched on her snack, smiling a bit. "SUH!" She raised her voice to catch his attention, noticing he was looking at a calander hung up on the wall. ~

Sun quickly turned around and sprung himself back over to her. "WHAT DID YOU FIND NEW FRIEND?" He let out an excited gasp to see the pink plushie, and held it in his arms to squeeze. "A LLAMA! AWWW! I'M GONNA CALL YOU MR. FLUFFINGTON!" Star continued to swing her legs in her chair, happy to see Sun so happy with a stuffed toy. It was probably the most comfort he'd gotten all day, seeing as they were stuck together in the pink palace. Watching Sun spin around with the plushie and giggle felt good. She finished her snack, and got down from her chair to throw the empty juice box into the trash can in the corner of the room. Her eyes went up into surprise to feel Sun grabbing her hand before she had the chance to turn around, still carrying the plushie in his other arm. "COME ON, STAR! LET'S GO FIND A WAY OUT OF HERE!" Star nodded her head in response, beginning to leave the kitchen whilst holding his hand; a little bit tired after eating. Sun quickly took note of her body language and lifted her over his head and onto her back, dropping the plushie where it was. He continued to move as Star began to fall asleep, quietly humming the daycare theme to himself. He may have been in an unfamiliar area, but at least he wasn't alone.. ~ Um. Hi. I wrote this based off an experience I had on VRChat. I may do more of these in the future, when I can.

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #sundrop #fnaf daycare attendant #sunrise #fnaf sun #the backrooms #liminal #liminal space #liminal places #backrooms level #dreamcore #creative writing #comfort #little space

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