BNHA 428: This chapter made me annoyed and yet it was still somewhat better than I expected?
Himichako. I like it, it's a good ship- not one I'm crazy about, but the vision is compelling. I mean, the loved girl on hard times who admires honesty but represses her feelings + hunger motifs, and the formerly wealthy and rejected girl who's honest to herself but masks her sadness from others + drinking motifs? Being so similar at their core from selfishness, bleeding love, admiration and imitation? Yeah, why not, sign me up, it looks fun.
(plus Ochako needed a subplot that would shy away from Izuku because oh boi her writing is messy-)
Then the ending annoucement happened and I immediately went "oh no" when I remembered that tidbit. But. Yesterday, I remembered this page from 424, which in hindsight makes sense:
Shoto moving forward and choosing to not dwell on his past anymore, because he wants to know the man he wants to become alongside his family of choice.
Spinner feeling so much grief for Tomura inside his room, his extra Quirks add up to it. Further gut points as it was all because of AFO, but the wrong person is getting the blame.
Ochako looking lost and dissatisfied, not really saying anything about Himiko's status; then her hidden injury which left a scar that'll never go away, nothing can change that.
And then, well, a sky with a chance to fight for a "bright future". Which is the most ambiguous you can get for anything, really, sequel or not.
(sidenote: is it me or the panel where she's touching her stab wound looks like a tangent line?)
Okay so, I went into the chapter, with Pikahlua's translations. It was A Chapter alright-
If it wasn't the antepenultimate chapter, the "filler" would've been welcomed. But I guess it means we should focus on the smaller details, I guess? Like that 1st year saying Izuku filled him with courage and Izuku immediately thinking of Spinner's pain? Yeah he hates himself and that people call him a hero, when he considers himself a murderer, and will never forgive himself for failing Tenko, therapy for him and everyone in Class 2-A please- yeah it was a fun detail. Also the throb of hiding your pain of "defeating" someone you wanted to save but in the end everything is miserable but everyone else is happy and you don't wanna be a bother. Fun.
Also I wasn't the one to point the out, but looking at the uniform (U.A. uniform blazer for boys + the tie with a dot for girls), the student who's a Izuku fan is probably trans/gnc, which I appreciate a lot :D (Damn Izuku attracts so many queer people I wonder if that's a sign- /hj)
Also, I guess Class A stating "[Bakugou], Midoriya and Todoroki were at the heart of it all" then focusing on Ochako is good foreshadowing on how her own battle wasn't fully recorded? It's like saying in the end her fight didn't matter, but the other ones went "well", so she's trying (and slowly failing) to keep her sadness at bay because, well, everyone's happy, so who cares? Another "throb".
I thought since the Todoroki family issues are out in the open, didn't they record the whole thing? Then I re-read it, they only saw the family stopping Touya from exploding. So they didn't see Shoto trying to talk to Touya, which means none of the LoV were humanized. Fuck's sake.
After that, I get focusing on the first years and civilians wanting to help and all, but it feels like a repeat of everything seconds before Jakku, so I assume it's a way for them to pretend things are normal? But not-quite-quoting Katsuki (<- which I will point out for my sake is very much alive and well and- oh boi LFtR will kill me) and Edgeshot here because it made me smile:
"Will you...go back to the way you were?" "I plan to attain something greater than what I was originally!"
So, yeah I suppose he'll be fine eventually. (Best J. really loving Edgeshot even as a worm, honestly, goals)
Again with Izuku remembering saying "[He'll] bring it all back" and apologizing for "not keeping his promise" and others telling him to not blame himself and they can reconstruct as many times as it takes. Again, gave me a little smile, but not for long-
Finally, Ochako pretending things are fine. Hello there, Sports Festival/Provisional License!Ochako I missed you- /hj (I miss the dorms era in general, actually.)
So... *sigh* Full disclosure: I wasn't looking forward to Himichako as we were getting 5/10 pages for the "conclusions" in the previous two, I thought Ochako would be off about Himiko being depressed about the League. But since she's MIA, red flags are now red herrings, and it's better than the dead outcome. If Ochako got another person dying in her arms that'd just break her character.
A blood transfusion takes hours, she couldn't been doing that for more than 20min, if it was gonna kill anyone it'd be Ochako. Either Himiko ran away or got arrested, and Ochako feels guilty because she doesn't know if she's dead or not. Not great, but until I see a corpse she ain't dead. Besides: Touya, Shoto, Edgeshot, Katsuki, Toshinori, Ochako herself, all physically hurt unlike her, and yet they live.
And then we have Izuku showing up. I'm upset he used OFA embers for this, but eh, it's Izuku, do I expect anything else?
Rolling with the assumption Himiko died (like our POV characters), Izuku would need to face his own failure in Ochako- Failed to save two people like she failed Himiko, but it'd be so. Empty. Ochako was true to herself, while Izuku gave nothing but "I want to save that crying kid" while fighting Tenko. The most they can do is bond with "failing" and "this isn't what we fought for". This is not really a moment where he can be a shoulder to cry on, it'd come across as hypocritical /neg.
The only way it could make sense it without being shallow on Mr. Control = Repress Your Heart's part (as he didn't open up to the two people who died in "his watch") is Ochako telling how Himiko loved yet seeing him repressing this part of his is idiotic? She likes people who are true to themselves, which Izuku hasn't been for ages, leading to him realizing something. I thought it'd be through a DvsK3 but. I'll take it, two chapters left, I just want his thoughts (and for them to talk but that can happen in the last one).
They only recorded Shoto stopping Touya from being a suicidal bomb, Ochako floating a bunch of Twice!Himiko clones and Izuku entering a coccon, popping out armless, getting them back, punching Tenko to death. The "I want to save [them]" wasn't registered, it makes sense they're (well, Izuku and Ochako mostly) weirded out about this, dissatisfied like most readers are (sidenote: why when it comes to the trio either Ochako or Shoto get sidelined? So much could tie their stories together and yet-)
It's still a tough pill. I'm not a villain stan, just wondering if those fights were for nothing- the humanity of Tenko and Himiko? Can't be proved for anyone else, since they weren't recorded.
And I don't know if anyone saw the same thing, but those "city lights" look like the bubbles from Ochako's awakening, maybe we'll get a Blackwhip or Entrance Exam callback? Maybe it's what the tagline meant by "hidden feelings", since she unlocked it to reach Himiko and doesn't think anyone would understand why. I hope it's just a nice visual though.
If Himiko is truly dead though... You know, I headcannoned the characters were telling the story through confessionals/recordings to register it to the world so they'd learn from that, but I guess the interviews Aizawa was talking about seemed more likely, which. Well it's something, but I thought it'd be everyone instead of just Class A. Idk. The idea the LoV didn't change anything, or that they did change things but don't get to see it, is bitter.
So uh. Yeah, those are my thoughts. I'm not sure how to feel about it, on one hand I want Izuku to finally open up but on the other, it feels like it'll be at Himiko and Ochako's expense by involving him in something that's theirs now. And there's a chance we'll get the "nothing is fine" from Ochako- god I'm fearing the discourse next week already :DDDD
... Man, and this is a bad timing to be in the fandom, considering the LFtR episode airs this Saturday (which will be yesterday by the time this post goes up and I'll be crying about that instead-), so uh. Yeah, this fandom will be emotionally devastated for two reasons XD
Okay, so I'll try ending this on a more optimistic note: I think Himiko is alive, and Ochako just doesn't know it, which is why we're getting 0 confirmation and a breakdown. Izuku's confrontation with her can make or break this plot, but as long as 1) we acknowledge the emotional, different stakes between the Himichako fight and Tenko vs. Izuku one and 2) it doesn't end in a confession (and let's be real, it won't), then we're probably good (sadly, if you disregard the LoV status). I still think it's an ass pull for the camera battery to go out though.
But no matter how this goes: C'mon, two chapters left now, this one was wasted on the first years, smh, let this sequel hopium be a reality I wanna know who's the 425 guy, not the poor first year who's gonna replace Shindo Yo in fanfics- /hj
20 notes
·
View notes
The Man in the Sweater Vest
The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 7
Content: attempted noncon, threatened mouth whump, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, scissors, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, noncon touch, past captivity references, graphic threats, blood, crapton of whump. As a treat :)
* * * * * * * *
Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters
[Inevitably, there will be disagreements on how you should treat your captured hero. One villain might want to just hold the hero hostage long enough to finish their dastardly plans. Another will want to break the hero’s will entirely! Or anything else in between!
But when working together with other villains, bounty hunters, henchmen, etc, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about how your captured hero is to be treated, lest your hero end up with a few less limbs than you meant them too, or your months of breaking down the hero's fragile mind is undone by a single nice gesture.
Always communicate effectively, your hero will thank you for it (or curse the day you were born)!]
* * * * * * * *
Sweater-vest stumbled back, reeling from the punch and clutching his face before pulling his hands down and gawking at the blood staining his hands.
“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” Stan screamed.
An intense elation washed through his chest despite the surprisingly sharp exploding pain that crackled up the very bones of his arm when he punched the man, and the now freshly ripped open scabs and bruises from where he’d forgotten to account for the handcuffs and yanked on them violently, streaming new ruby red over dried light brown that already carved down his arms;
Because he'd got him. He'd got him! Punched him, made him back off! Stan did that! He'd finally managed to actually do something about the atrocities being committed against him and it was so, so sweet.
Relatively short-lived, though.
Vaughn, the sweater vest man, started to giggle to himself as he wiped the blood streaming from his nose onto his sleeve. Elation gave way to tentative confusion. Then a sinister seed started to take root in Stan's gut, the roots already reaching out and tightening around his body.
“You-...” Vaughn giggled some more. “You– you think–?...”
He started fully laughing, speech overtaken by an apparent hilarity that Stan must’ve just been too shocked by the sudden mood change to understand. He was cackling. Then practically shrieking, crazy, loud, heaving laughs.
He must be crazy.
Insane.
Well and truly insane, the way he was shriek laughing into his shining red-stained hands.
His gaze snapped up to Stan, and Stan could practically hear the horror movie crackling effect with how fast it snapped up, crazy maniacal shudders still overtaking his body, piercing gaze turned wide, animalistic.
“You think you can HURT ME?! HURT ME?! AHAHAHAHA!!”
Suddenly Stan slammed into the wall, cuffed wrists pinned above his head, chest to chest with the crazy man and staring up into his crazy bloodshot eyes.
“You can't hurt me,” he growled into Stan’s ear through gritted teeth. ”I don't feel pain. I carved that weakness out a long time ago, my brain doesn’t register it anymore! And I did it so I could deal with horrible little brats like you–” he slammed Stan's wrists into the wall, “--however I see fit! So I could do whatever I wanted to them. So that even if they fight back, they always, always, always lose.”
He pulled back and leaned into Stan's face, staring the captive directly in his glaringly defiant, wide and shining eyes. Hot shaking breaths misted surprisingly minty breath onto Stan’s cheeks, nearly overpowered by the metallic tang of blood that still poured down his face.
“Always submit. Just like you're going to.”
Stan pulled down hard against Vaughn's grasp, struggling and wiggling and tugging and screaming and kicking and doing every single little thing he could to, if not escape, at least make this as difficult as possible.
“Get away from me!" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM ME, get OFF of me, I’m not gonna let you do this you sadist, you can’t do this to me!! LET GO–!”
A punch to the gut. Stan tried to double over and wheezed as much as he could with his arms pinned up, which delivered him right into another punch to the face.
Then something cool and sharp stabbed into the soft underside of his chin, straining his neck with how far his head pushed back into the wall.
“This is why I like to keep my victims gagged,” Vaughn gritted. “That bounty hunter of yours never does it, no matter how I tell him to. Always has to do stuff his own way, never listens. All he does is talk talk talk, always has a retort for everything. So defiant, and so is every single subject he brings in.”
A dull aching throb emanated from where Stan’s head pressed into the wall. Black spots dotted his vision.
“You–... y-you can't–”
The scissors pulled back and dove toward Stan's mouth, eliciting a loud cut-off scream of revolt as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut from some vain, animalistic instinct to protect himself.
Then he pried open his eyes again, confused when no cutting metallic pain ripped through the fragile flesh of his face.
The handle of the scissors were fuzzy, too close for his eyes to focus.
They weren’t that far into his mouth.
Just enough that if Stan tried to close it, his teeth would clip on the tip of the metal blades instead.
The scissors lifted slowly, tapping on his top teeth, tilting his head up until he stared into Vaughn’s metallic blue eyes once more.
“I could always prep your throat with these if you like,” he drawled softly, letting go of Stan’s cuff chain and instead lightly grasping his thumb and forefinger under Stan’s chin, forcing his mouth open further. A small sob crackled out from Stan’s throat.
“It would be so easy… I could just–”
The scissors lurched further into Stan’s mouth, and Stan let out another involuntary squeak and an open-mouthed, unintelligible pleading of “no, no, no, no…” as tears started to sting at his eyes.
But he let him do it.
He even still held his arms up, because surely if he tried to fight back now, with the scissors in his mouth quite literally pinning him to the wall… He didn’t even want to think of the consequences.
“Careful, dropje. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself. Be quiet, be still, be good for me, right? You can be good for me? You can finally shut the hell up. No more fighting.”
He let go of Stan's chin and let his hands wander lower, caressing Stan’s sides, the curve of his waist, making his entire body tense and shudder. His breathing turning loud and shallow as he cringed away.
Vaughn just giggled.
“See? Isn’t this better? You’re not getting hurt, you’re doing what I say…” His fingers slipped under the waistband of Stan’s pants again. Slower this time. More deliberate.
It took all of Stan's willpower to not start hyperventilating at what he knew was about to happen. He knew. It was always this, wasn’t it?
Vaughn’s voice lowered as he leaned closer, pressing his body into Stan’s. He could feel the fibers of the stupid damn sweater vest against his stomach, deceptively soft, almost pleasant. The hard blade of the scissors tapped on the tip of his nose. “Because you physically have no other–”
BANG!!
Stan screamed.
Vaughn screamed.
The ghost of the gunshot echoed off the cinderblock walls.
Vaughn also nearly fell backward, pushing off of Stan just in time for Stan to fall to the floor in a duck-and-cover position and pray to whatever gods would listen that his last day on earth wouldn't have been spent dealing with two of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of being kidnapped by.
Wait, scratch that, his knee reminded him. He'd had worse.
His heart threatened to jump out of his chest completely, but he finally realized that in fact, he was still alive. So he opened his eyes to what he never thought to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world;
Deeby.
Gun pointed to the sky and streaming a light grey smoke into a small puff of explosion that hadn't had time yet to dissipate.
“What in the ever-loving SHIT are you doing?!” he shouted.
He was completely maskless, face now on full display, fiery eyes matching his equally fiery sneer. The sudden absence of the mask almost scared Stan more than the gunshot, the sight making his heart beat in his throat.
Then, for just a split second, Deeby's enraged eyes met Stan's stare. His eyes scanned down his body, looking him up and down, his face changing ever so slightly when his gaze caught in Stan’s chest. A slight crinkle of the eyebrows, a small tilt of the head. Then his eyes widened in some sort of realization, and Stan felt his heart turn to ice.
Recognition.
No.
He couldn't have realized who he was.
Just because of the binder?!
Stan choked on his own throat as the collar suddenly constricted once more and he was dragged violently forward to his knees.
“Your fucking dog punched me in the face!” Vaughn shouted, jangling Stan around enough that he had to grab the collar just to gain back his breath.
“Just because–!”
Vaughn jolted Stan's collar back hard and cut him off with a violent gag.
“I was disciplining him.” Vaughn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Like we're supposed to.”
Deeby’s jaw set. And still, he managed to find a slight smug smile within his fury. “That why your face is gushing blood, then? Disciplined him too hard?”
Stan didn't even realize when they started, but tears were practically streaming down his cheeks now, chest heaving in panic. “Deeby, Deeby, he was gonna–”
“Shut up!”
A kick this time, straight to the back of his spine, and Stan's throat strained hard into the collar before breaking free of Vaughn's grasp and nearly face-planting into cold concrete. He scrambled to get up, but the same foot planted on his back and slammed his chest right back to the floor, grinding the heel of its shoe into the captive’s spine. Stan clutched at the ground, screams barely bit back by force of sheer willpower.
“Christ, man! Stop it, get off!” Deeby yelled with uncharacteristic urgency.
The force pinning him down suddenly released, followed by the scattered footfalls of someone catching themself from nearly falling over.
Stan just lay there limp. Heaving and shivering. He couldn't move. His limbs felt like heavyweights, the world tilted on it’s axis, and he was sure that if he lifted his head up, he would lose every last morsel of that protein bar he'd shoved down earlier.
But at least now no one was methodically turning him into a fine red mist anymore.
Deeby stood between the two of them like an impenetrable stone wall, hand resting on the unlatched holster of his gun and pointedly ignoring Vaughn’s stuttering disbelief as he patted at the pockets of his jacket, pulling various probably very sharp things out and shoving them into his pants pockets.
Protecting him.
“You– You just–...” Vaughn finally composed himself. “You pushed me off! You're saving him? He needs to be taught a lesson!”
Stan tried to push up despite the dizziness. “Only–... D-Deeby, he was trying–”
“Shut up, Stan, I know, let me handle it! Here.” Deeby slid his jacket off and dropped it practically on top of his captive’s head, never once letting his gaze slip from Vaughn. Stan shakily pulled the brown leather of the jacket over his shoulders before he had time to think better of it, doing his best to just enjoy the show and not think about the implications of what was currently happening.
“Because he wouldn't let you put your dick in him without a fight, right?” The bounty hunter said sarcastically. “Or– or– or because he wasn’t gonna let you mouth-gore him without complaint? Let you ‘teach him a lesson?’ Yeah, I am stopping you. Piece of shit.” The bounty hunter grabbed the scissors off the floor where they landed when Vaughn dropped them after the gunshot. Then he used them to point sharply at the door.
“Get out.”
Vaughn scoffed and melodramatically rolled his eyes.
“You got the message from Lana then? Is that why you're acting like such a belligerent wittle babeee?” Vaughn posited in his most obnoxious baby voice.
Deeby bristled. Stan could've sworn for a moment he could see the man shaking.
“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I talked to Lana. Your useless job is done. You can go back to being an even more useless sidepiece now.”
Vaughn’s shoulders tensed, and he laughed.
“Good! And I’ll make sure to tell Lana all about you taking the side of the disobedient dog of a test subject–”
“Yeah, go cry to your girlfriend about it, he's under my jurisdiction and I'm not gonna let you fuck that up because you feel the need to live out your perverse power fantasy with the helpless people you kidnap and torture. As if it isn’t torture enough to have to be in the same room with you at all.”
Vaughn clenched his fists at his side and forced on the worst imitation of a smile Stan had ever borne witness to.
“You better watch your tone, Deathberry,” he said, sickly sweet voice doing nothing to mask the hissing rage. “I could have you in the same spot as him in ten seconds. Don't ever–” he jabbed Deeby in the chest. “–forget that. You're only allowed to be out here roaming around with your fancy gun and your fancy cowboy boots because you're useful, otherwise you'd be locked up with the rest–”
Vaughn had just started to reach for the holster on Deeby's belt when, faster than Stan could perceive, a flurry of movement between the two men, a cry of surprised fear, the shuffling of feet and spinning of bodies and suddenly Vaughn was pinned back first to Deeby's chest, a wire that Deeby pulled from somewhere stretched taut between his fists and pressing a hard line directly under into the skin of Vaughn's throat.
Vaughn's hands quickly flew up to the wire to try and pull it off his throat, then just as quickly let go when he realized the wire would sooner cut through his hands before it would be pried off.
Stan couldn't help but stare.
“You're just about at the end of my rope, Verhulst,” Deeby growled, accent fully presiding now as he stepped backward and pulled Vaughn toward the door. “Don't you ever put your filthy hands on my gun.”
A slight rasp to Vaughn's voice was the only thing that denoted anything was amiss. “You sure this is about the gun, Deebs? Sure you're not taking your frustrations at Lana out on me?”
“Trust me, if I was takin’ my frustrations at Lana out on you, bud, you'd be dead.”
Vaughn's eyes shot to Stan, and his smile broadened.
“Ohhhh, I see. So what then, you are falling for the captive? I'm sure Lana would love to hear about how you're going soft, how you miss her, and how spectacularly you're failing at finding someone better so you have to–”
A small gurk finding its way from Vaughn's throat as he was pulled to a sudden stop.
“You know what, maybe I am. And maybe you should use your mouth to do something not completely useless for once.” He spun the both of them around to face Stan again.
“Apologize to ‘im.”
What?
Vaughn stared at Stan, apparently more stunned by the notion of apologizing than the motion of having a garot wire to his throat. Stan… honestly had to agree.
“Come again?”
“Apologize to Stan. For tryin’ to rape him. It's the least you could do.”
“You want me to… apologize?? To the test subject? You really are losing it, Deathberry, let me go.”
The wire dug into his throat more. “Say sorry, doctor.”
Vaughn glared at Stan. Stan glared back as well as he could.
“I can't feel the pain of this, you know,” Vaughn's voice came, even raspier. “You're not doing anything.”
“You can still bleed out from a slit throat. Still drown to death in your own blood as it slowly fills your lungs,” Deeby dismissed lightly. “Still bleed out. Very quickly. I wonder what would happen if I hit your carotid–
“And I wonder how Lana would feel about you slitting her head scientist and boyfriend’s throat.”
“Probably call you a little bitch boy for invoking her name every time you need to defend yourself like a spoiled toddler ‘steada bein’ a man about it and defending yourself. Or maybe not. You’d never know, you’d be dead.”
“You wouldn't–”
Deeby twitched the wire across Vaughn's throat and a line of red bloomed across the light tan of his neck. Vaughn's face grew just a little bit paler. He brought his hands up to graze across the wire and felt the warm wetness smear across his fingertips.
“Apologize.” Deeby growled. “Now.”
Vaughn's eyes flitted back to Stan, fully appraising the wonderfully wide-eyed mess he'd had pinned against the wall only moments before.
He narrowed his eyes.
Took a deep breath.
Stared daggers directly into Stan's soul.
“Sorry.”
Oh you bastard.
“Go jump off a cliff!” Stan yelled, erratically reaching into the jacket pocket he'd seen Deeby pull the protein bar out of earlier and luckily finding many more, one of which was immediately thrown directly at Vaughn. He couldn't even attempt to dodge it, and it hit him directly in the chest.
The mercenary let out a singular loud laugh and spun Vaughn back around, letting the wire retract into what Stan now realized was a little housing box on his weird arm sleeve thing and shoving Vaughn at the door as hard as he could.
“Guess he doesn't forgive you. Better luck next time!” he laughed. Stan genuinely thought (and hoped) Sweater-vest would fall flat on his face, but he managed to grab the door and right himself before that happened. Shame.
“Now get out.” Deeby said.
Vaughn glared with a literal snarl, jaw half a second away from cracking in two. Right before he took a slow, deep breath and reset his features to a forced neutral. Then an easy smile. “As you wish, my liege.”
He bowed exaggeratedly low in a show of mock respect, retrieving his scissors from the ground in a surprisingly graceful sweeping motion as he went. Deeby just rolled his eyes.
“Oh, and Stanny?” He drawled, peeking back from the door as he left and pointing his scissors directly at Stan's face with a flourish. “I look forward to seeing you soon~.”
“Get outta here!” Deeby yelled with a threatening stomp toward the door, at the same time Stan stuttered out a very surprised and agitated “In hell!”
The door slammed shut.
Stan could swear he could still hear Vaughn's deranged laugh echoing through the room even as an eerie silence fell over them.
He was finally gone. Finally.
See you soon.
He didn't completely understand why his breath continued to quicken. He'd won that encounter, right? Or… well, Deeby had. But still.
I look forward to seeing you soon.
He felt dizzy. More than the concussion could have caused. This was different, made him feel like he was suffocating, even though Vaughn was no longer here to strain the collar against his throat. Yet he could still feel the knuckles digging into the back of his neck.
I look forward to seeing you soon. In hell.
* * * * * * * *
Next
Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe
34 notes
·
View notes