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spidermans-l-o-v-e-r · 1 month

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Growing Pains

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: I’m gonna cry they don’t need to be THIS ATTRACTIVE, also boy did I NOT edit this 🥹🥹🥹 what a lovely lil request from my bestie who you know in this moment I’m realizing I don’t remember how to spell your user I’m sorry I love you 🤣🤣🤣 okay I checked it’s @chihard20

The day started out normal, waking up snuggled in Eddie’s arms as he nuzzled your neck. He was always affectionate in the mornings, too sleepy to really want anything but you.

“Mornin’ Gorgeous” He mumbles into your neck, his hands trailing down your sides until they reach your hips. His fingers splay out over your plush body as he guides you on top of him. You giggle into him, rolling your eyes as you sit up. He likes when your hair is all messy like that after waking up

“Good morning baby” You grin, your hands sliding over his torso before planting them firmly on his chest. He grins wickedly at the way your back arches, blushing a little in the process as you start to roll your hips in slow circles. He smirks, sliding his hands back up your sides and squeezing lightly

“Ow!” You flinch away from his touch, and he stops immediately, sitting up

“Y/N? Hey… what’s wrong?” He feels your sides again, this time a little slower and you wince when his hands flow over a certain spot. He lifts your shirt and looks, there’s a bruise there, and it’s hot to the touch.

“What the hell is this??” He asks, his voice dripping with worry. He pushes your hair gently out of your face and you lean into his touch

“Okay wait wait don’t worry, Buck and I were working out yesterday and he got me in the side. It was a total accident I forgot about it”

He rolls his eyes, pulling you in carefully to kiss you “Remind me to kick his ass when I see him” you giggle and kiss him back, your lips moving slowly against his

“Will do”

Eddie painstakingly tells you he doesn’t want to have sex, and you’re snickering through it the entire time he’s trying to reassure you. It’s not that he doesn’t want it, he just doesn’t want to hurt you or anything. You begrudgingly accept his reasoning and get out of bed.

He takes his time in a very…very cold shower, cursing Buck with every pass of the loofah on his skin and you take that time to get washed up. You stare in the mirror, you look a little pale… a little tired. Huh maybe you just didn’t get enough sleep? Eddie was… enthusiastic last night to say the least. You just decide to shrug it off and finish getting ready for work.

After a busy breakfast and goodbye kisses to Chris, you’re both out the door, Buck is actually on time for once and you climb into the jeep.

“Thanks a lot cock block” Eddie mumbles as soon as his seatbelt is on and you snort loudly, holding your side lightly

“Don’t make me laugh! It hurts!”

“What do you mean cock block. I specifically did not call you this morning because I know y’all get it on every five seconds!!”

“You hurt her side! I couldn’t…. You know when she’s hurting like that. What kind of a man would I be!” Eddie frowns at him, crossing his arms over his chest

Buck looks at you in the rear view mirror “Damn, I didn’t think I hit you that hard Y/N, I’m really sorry.”

You shrug your shoulders, the pain is starting to flare up a little more so you adjust your seatbelt to not be over it.

“Hey it’s okay! It truly was an accident Buck, don’t worry about Mr. Horndog he’ll get over it”

You and Buck spend the rest of the ride teasing Eddie and laughing at him and he threatens to break up with the both of you. He slouches down in his chair, his arms crossed and pouting like a little kid. It’s impossible for you and Buck to not laugh at him.

It isn’t until a couple hours into your shift you start sweating. It’s not unbearably hot like it could be in L.A so maybe it’s just a you problem. You sit in the break area with a fan in front of you, your head laying on the cool table, you don’t realize your eyes were closed until someone’s hand is on your back, rubbing soothing circles to rise you.

“Hey Y/N, Cap wants you to…” Chim looks at you, you look worse than you feel which is pretty hard to achieve right now.

“Eddie?? Hey Eddie come up here, quick!!” Chim calls over the railing before coming back to stand by you. He gets down on one knee, pushing your sweaty hair off your forehead

“Hey… hey kiddo what’s going on?” He asks you softly and you look at him, your eyes a little hazy.

“Chim?” You say softly, you move your head slowly to the sound of Eddie’s footsteps as he jogs over

“Baby?? Y/N what’s going on” He repeats the question and you look at him with those same hazy eyes. He looks worried sick. You can see the panic behind the mask. You try to push yourself up slowly, but curl back up in a ball, crying out in pain and holding your sides

Chimney gets up from the floor, running to the railing “Call an ambulance!! Hen we need you, bring your med pack”

Buck holds back Eddie, standing in front of him as you’re laid out on the floor. Hen needs room to assess you and Eddie can barely give it to her

“Hey, she’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna be okay” Buck says softly, holding his arms, he’s just as nervous. His hands are shaking and Eddie looks at him, taking a deep breath and nodding. He pushes Buck to the side but puts his arm around him too. He knows how much Buck loves you and he knows Buck is probably freaking out thinking he caused this.

“It looks like appendicitis” Hen says, looking up at the boys.

“Oh thank god. I thought I killed her. I can’t go to jail! I’m too pretty for jail!”

You wheeze with laughter but stiffen and hold your side again, Eddie whacks Buck’s torso

“Don’t make her laugh!”

The ambulance comes in record time and you’re loaded into it. Eddie gets in back, holding your hand tightly and kisses your knuckles softly. The team promises they’ll come to the hospital after their shift and Buck swears he’ll take care of Chris.

The ride there is a bit slower, and Eddie looks like he’s going to have an anxiety attack

“I’m stable. Stop worrying” your words are short puffs of air and Eddie lays his forehead on your arm

“God you scared me… you are scaring me” He whispers to you, can’t this thing go any faster?

“This happens to a hundred million billion people Eddie” your voice is soft “I’m gonna be okay”

“I’m not dating a hundred million billion people, I’m dating you. I’m loving you.”

Your heart flutters when he says that, you sniffle a little and he wipes away your tears.

“I love you too” you whisper back, closing your eyes slowly to rest

“…I love you guys too” Adam the paramedic wipes away a fake tear and you snicker, wincing and groaning in pain but it’s just too stupid not to laugh

“Don’t make her laugh!!!”

Buck is in the waiting room when Eddie is told he has to be there. His head snaps up and he gets up from his chair, Eddie hugs him tightly, patting him on the back

“What are you doing here?? I thought you were gonna watch Chris?”

“Isabel dropped by, and forced me out of the house” he chuckles, pulling away from Eddie.

“Said you shouldn’t be alone…Chris begged me to give this to Y/N, how could I refuse that face?”

Eddie sits in a chair and Buck plops down next to him, he passes him a piece of construction paper, Chris made a get well card, it’s got a picture of the two of them on the front cover. Eddie holds it, looking through it. God he couldn’t lose you, he should have been more serious about it earlier, maybe if he’d just asked a few more questions-

The card is snatched from his hands and he snaps out of it, Buck shakes it out. Eddie hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“There was nothing you could have done in the time you were with her to figure out it was appendicitis” He says firmly, giving Eddie no room to even fight it.

The wait isn’t long, two hours or so but it feels like so much longer to Eddie. He paces back and forth for a bit, before Buck gets up and trades places with him

“I’ll take a turn” he jokes a little and Eddie smiles sadly at him. Just glad he’s not alone anymore. He watches Buck pace slowly, breathing in time with his steps. He’s slouched in the chair, his arms crossed. He’d been in the same position this morning for more fun reasons and he wishes he could just go back to that.

“Mr. Diaz?” A doctor in scrubs comes out, taking off his bandanna. He sighs but smiles wearily at him. Eddie jumps out of his chair

“Is she okay? Please tell me she’s alive”

His voice cracks at the end of the sentence and Buck walks over, putting his arm around Eddie’s shoulders

“I’m Doctor Pascal. Of course she’s alive Mr. Diaz. She’s perfectly fine” He puts his hand on his arm and reassures him, a look of worry on his face

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking him over. Eddie is a wreck if he’s being honest. He nods fast, wiping the tears from his face

“I’m okay I’m fine. Can I see her? Can we see her?? Please”

Doctor Pascal gives Eddie another once over before nodding

“Yeah, yeah you can see her. But we only allow immediate family back there… so?” He looks at Buck kindly

“Oh I’m her boyfriend, he’s her husband”

Buck says it so calmly and smoothly, like he’s absolutely rehearsed this moment and was so ready for it

“Oh uh” Doctor Pascal just shrugs his shoulders “Follow me gentlemen”

Buck gives Eddie his biggest, shiniest smile and for the first time all afternoon Eddie laughs.

As soon as they all get to the room Buck is at your side, dramatically pushing Eddie out of the way, it makes you giggle and he cups your face in his hands, peppering little kisses all over

“Hi baby” he coos softly “It’s daddy Buck”

You snort and push his chest away, Eddie stands very still at the end of your bed, you look over to him, reaching your hand out weakly. You’re seeing two of him from the killer pain meds they gave you… but that just means you can see two equally as panicked faces

“I’m alive, Edmundo. I’m here” you say steadily and Buck kind of tugs him around the bed, joining your hands.

He finally snaps out of it, kicking off his shoes and climbing into bed with you. Dr. Pascal’s head snaps up from the computer

“Mr. Diaz wait you-“

Buck runs to the other side of the bed and helps you move over some, enough for Eddie to fit next to you. You wrap your arms around him so tightly, squeezing him as close as you can. You can feel tears falling onto your chest as you stroke his back, shushing him softly. He clings to you like his life depends on it and you understand that it probably does in this moment

“Just. Be careful with her okay?” Dr. Pascal scolds Eddie, who just nods slowly and gives him a thumbs up. The doctor leaves the room and you continue to stroke back, your hand trails up his neck and you start to play with his hair

“Daddy Buck?” You ask him, and you feel Eddie snicker into your neck

“I told Dr. Pascal I was your boyfriend and he was your husband

“You’ve been waiting to do that for so long how did it feel”

“Pretty triumphant not gonna lie”

You turn back to Eddie now, he finally pulls his face from your neck

“Hi”

He kisses you softly, it takes a second for your fuzzy brain before your lips respond to his, he slips off your heart monitor and holds it out to Buck who rolls his eyes and puts it on his own finger.

Eddie’s hand moves slowly over your body just feeling you. His hand settles on your chest right over your heartbeat and you smile softly, pulling away and taking his hand, kissing his palm

“Are you okay now?” You ask quietly and he sighs, nodding slowly

“I’m so glad you’re okay… I haven’t been that scared in a long time.”

“I know baby…but I’m okay now alright? I just have to heal”

“And I promise I’ll wait on you hand and foot. You won’t have to lift a finger” he kisses your forehead

“Hey! I’ll even stay over and watch Chris so you can take care of her” Buck offers, as he messes around on the computer

Eddie swats him away from the computer and you giggle

“Thanks Buck” He says sarcastically, but he means it, honestly.

“Hey it’s the least I can do for my partners!”

“Oh my god we’re not actually-“

Buck slaps his hand over Eddie’s mouth

“Do you want them to find out and kick me out?!”

#words by rhys #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley #9 1 1 #9 1 1 abc #9 1 1 fanfiction #911 x reader #causally writes this as if I don’t have an entire series going on #*hyena laughing*

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drbased · 2 months

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I am sickened by your symbolic state posts because at the moment I’m still living at home, a place that is generally unpleasant for me. I’ve been living in a near permanent state of maladaptive daydreaming since I was a young teenager and its only this year, with moving out on the horizon, that I’m trying to move from my head into reality again. It’s difficult and I don’t exactly know how to live 😂 like with your video game post especially. I don’t know how to live in the moment by following urges. I think: I want to write later, but I don’t plan what I’m to write. Instead of following the urge to do one certain thing I seek out a mindset for the future and then never get around to it. I’ve bought countless items, like necklaces with symbols or woven bracelets, allways promisimg myself that they will be special and lifechanging only for them to be empty. How do I get out of this? How do I stop myself from turning my life into feeings instead of actions?

(if you’ve given a similar answer I apologise. I’m scrolling through your symbolic state tag rn)

So, I've been having a hard time responding to this one. I still haven't been able to finish this post in a way I'm happy with but I really do want to respond so I'm going to have to keep my answer short and hope that I can produce something more valuable at a later date. But anon, your message has really stuck with me. Here's the answer I started writing some time ago:

How do I stop myself from turning my life into feelings instead of actions?

People keep summing this stuff up better than I can and it's driving me slightly insane; all younger me wanted was to be Known and now I have random anonymous strangers I've never met reaching into my fucking Soul like how is this possible. first the yearning anon and now this.

So the Bad, Irresponsible answer is to do what I did, which is sit in a room and hotbox it and ask myself questions and wait till my brain answers them. Weed is what allowed me to blow this whole thing wide open for me. But now I don't do weed anymore I can say that you achieve Inner Peace(TM) the 'hard' way just as well - but dear god with or without drugs this IS A PROCESS. And it HAS to be a process, because there is only process, no destination. After all, there is no 'you' in the future - there is only the reality of now, and the reality of 'you' in the now, and that is what is awe-inspiring and beautiful.

The entire process of re-engaging with reality has so many interconnected parts and requires so much analogy and explanation that I have been seriously considering writing a book about it. I struggle with PDA (pathological demand avoidance), and I believe it and depression are all wrapped up in my symbolic mindset. But since I don't have any background in clinical psychology I would feel like a hack writing a self-help book. So I'm probably going to end up talking about it here, instead. And maybe one day collate it all into some sort of book or series of essays.

The core of all of this is acceptance. Defining acceptance is hard; I best describe it as wanting to, say, move your arm - the moment you've wanted it sufficiently, the moment it has happened. There is minimal causal relationship between wanting it and it happening - sufficient want becomes action, necessarily. That sufficient want becomes action is something I learned to recognise during this process - the symbolic mindset is disengaging with the mundane reality of cause-and-effect such that said cause-and-effect is re-evaluated with a narrative structure instead, utilising symbols to generate meaning with an agenda in mind. So returning to reality has to involve strengthening the relationship between cause-and-effect, and the most sustainable way to achieve this is to recognise what you want moment-to-moment, and then immediately do the thing.

So, I refer to this really irritating (complimentary) comic:

When you struggle to do things for mind-based reasons, the claim 'it't not that simple' comes from a place of being unable to recognise that part of you doesn't want to do it. And this is where the acceptance comes in: being able to recognise yourself as messy, imperfect, finite, human, and a product of your environment - instead of a glorious, infinite source of potential - will result in you feeling less fragile, more complete, and less reliant on symbols to drive a narrative about yourself so you can feel comfortable with existence. Acceptance of yourself and your wants will result in more authentic actions, which will result in less of a need for everything to 'go right'.

The process of acceptance is something that happens within you, and you will feel it when it happens: acceptance is when something goes from simply being theoretically true (I can state that I am wearing blue trousers) to being something I believe (I know that I am wearing blue trousers). Said acceptance is much less fragile, because my belief of the colour of my trousers is something I no longer need to be true - if someone says my trousers are red, I can say 'oh, they probably are' and I can look down at them and make another judgment. If they're red, I don't panic, because when I believed they were blue, that was an innocent belief that came out of my flawed human mind. I am, in short allowed to make decisions, I am allowed to believe things, to think things, without them needing to be correct, without them needing to be more correct than the reality in which I exist - the reality that came before me, and will exist regardless of my ability to percieve it, Descartes be damned.

If you want to write, but find yourself unable to write, you might have to confront something embarrassing about yourself: that you don't, actually, want to do the process of writing; instead, you want to have written something. But believing of yourself as a conduit to, and obstacle in the way of, achievement, posits said achievement as a metaphysical construct of greater importance than the literal reality of how many hours you sacrificed for said achievement. There's both a humility and a sense of responsibility in all of this: you're the one who generates meaning and feels the feelings, so you must prioritise yourself over some percieved obligation to 'the universe' - your achievements are your own and do not exist in the ether first. But reality itself exists first, and you must engage with the physical world in order to strengthen that causal relationship. There was a post I read a while back about how if you're struggling with gender dysphoria, then exercise can really help - this works because it operates under the same principle that without a natural interaction with cause-and-effect, the brain constructs a narrative to fill in the gaps, kind of like phantom-limb syndrome.

The realisation 'it is that simple' comes from the moment of acceptance. The moment 'it is that simple' is the moment you understand that writing a book is the same as moving your arm - if you want it enough, you will do it. There are many things that you may want *in theory* - but those are infinite, metaphysical, symbolic. There is only the reality of who you are and what you experience, moment-to-moment. Until you go and make that sandwich, your hunger isn't even proof that you need to eat anything. You show your depth of self through directly interacting with the real world, whatever form that takes. Symbolic thinking is what happens when you stop interacting with the real world, including the reality of your own selfhood, and the result dissatisfaction will have you sunk-cost-style retreating further and further back. Breaking out of it is hard but it's all a testament to just how much what we want is who we are.

I've barely scraped the surface here of what it takes to do all this - but this is the fundamental basis of the principle that I developed and still use to this day. It's the principle I used that got me starting to write on tumblr - instead of pathologising my desire to analyse, I decided to start getting my thoughts out into the world. Instead of waiting till I can achieve a known symbol of completion - instead of writing a book - I decided to engage in a much more immediate form of writing by directly writing out, with zero plan, what I think and publishing it instantly to the world. Because of this, my thoughts have ceased to exist as some testament to my big-brained genius - and will vanish along with me when I die - and representative of my fragile ego, but rather something I use to directly engage with other in the material space. My ideas now generate meaning because of their relationship with reality, not in spite of it. And it's infinitely more satisfying.

#my writing #wisdom posting #symbolic states #anon

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jarimaa · 11 months

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Jujutsu Kaisen Fandom...sigh.

I really wanted to write something about it since jjk season 2 is around the corner, I am excited but at the same time I dread to think how horrible the fandom is going to be. I know it in my bones that bad takes and blatant misinterpretation are gonna flood in the timelines of many people and ruin their experience of this series.

Manga is one of my favorite sources of entertainment and some of the mangas are much better than many celebrated literatures work. Similarly, I love headcanons, but my definition of headcanon is a little different, for me headcanon is supposed to expand on given information regarding a character and not entirely change the motivations and actions of character to the point where it’s an OC with looks of the character. I am not forcing anyone to agree with me, I simply stating my personal way to read a material, But I disagree with characterization of many characters in the fandom.

I am more of a nerdy reader than a causal one, to me both are fine but then comes selective readers they are the people that have the most horrible takes. They are either are only following the story for ships, power tier, just one or two characters and disregard the rest of story to the point where they miss the importance of narrative, themes, philosophies and motivations in story etc.

I love ships and power system, likewise I love shipping and power scaling, but to a certain extent, i.e., until it doesn’t change or completely disregard canon material. I, as a person, have too much respect for art (any form of art, really) to do that. I used to think it's only the teens/ young ones that have bad interpretations, but I have also stopped believing that all adults have good reading comprehension or narrative understanding of stories. Some teens/young adults have better understanding of story than many adults (‘some’ being the key word) me and my friends completely laugh at the interpretation of certain literature pieces by our professors (most of the time they are junior professors, older professors are quite better in their expression) in the college. But some of them either look too deep or too less in the material without removing personal biases. BTW any person giving their own views is biased because it's THEIR point of view and there is nothing wrong with it. But forcing others to believe that is idiotic.

Jujutsu Kaisen fandom is one of those appalling places. I don’t interact with fandom much, more of a silence reader (I am thinking of writing more to improve my critical thinking and answer writing but let’s see). My head hurts sometimes after looking at the blatant misinterpretation of many characters on tumblr and twitter (I don’t care about reddit as much, there are good memes and joke posts which I enjoy but rarely anything else which is worthwhile, some do pop up but its still rare). Deep characters with beautiful writing like Gojou, Toji, Getou, Mahito, Megumi, Yuuta and Maki etc. are reduced to either ships or “who is stronger”, “X stomps Y” debate. It gets worse when someone who doesn't want to agree with them gets attacked.

I genuinely don’t care about your personal way to enjoy a story, but I implore people to separate their own fantasy/fanon/headcanon from the canon material. If you can’t do that then at least don’t force it on others or attack others for it. It really shows someone's maturity when they says that...they love this headcanon/fanon or theory but at the same they acknowledge that its not canon...they keep this distinction in their minds and don’t shove it down people’s throat, it is the way they personally enjoy the character or story not the 'absolute' way it should be consumed. Its really…not that hard. Just remind yourself that they are somebody’s imagination and not real, you don’t have to fight for their rights, at most hope for a good narrative justification of their roles and the ending.

#jjk #jjk fandom #jjk headcanons #Jujutsu Kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #megumi fushiguro #maki zenin #personal rant #i just want a good reading experience with others #but bad takes and toxic behavior just spoils it #yuji itadori #yuta okkotsu #mahito #damn i am really bad at tagging #jjk meta

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emile-hides · 3 years

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H*lding H*nds Imagines

I am once again making content for me and me alone because I have an unhealthy obsession for BNHA blond boys

BNHA Blond Boys X GN!Reader h*nd h*lding moments

Characters: All Might, Present Mic, Fatgum, Twice, Aoyama, Ojiro, Kaminari, Bakugo, Honenuki, Monoma, Mirio

All Might

Knuckle brush

You handed him things before

Stacks of papers to grade, coffee after a long day, a napkin when he goes into a coughing fit

But something about this time turns his face a deep red

He withdrew quickly, in a jerking manner that dragged more attention than you’re sure he meant it to

He cleared this throat and thanked you quietly before shuffling off

It took a few moments to really set on you

You’d made contact

Such little contact you’d barely even felt it

He was cold, his skin rough and calloused, wrinkled and dry

How you managed to notice so much with such brief contact is astounding

And also incomparable to how much he noticed

He’s thinking about it all day, glancing at where the contact was made, shuffling, flushing to himself, holding his knuckles to his lips

Do it on purpose next time you hand him a stack of papers and he’ll drop them

Present Mic

In a crowd

It’s LOUD

You and Hizashi are trying to get home after a live show

The crowd is huge and still hyped from the concert

The quarters are tight, the space is limited, and without his towering hair spike it’s hard to keep track of your loud blond

Eventually a strong clasp from a hand horribly decorated in rings, fingerless gloves, and black nail polish claps on your wrist as your continued to be pulled though a crowd

When the world finally starts to calm and you have room to breath his hand slides to connect to your palm

Fingers intertwine with yours as a series of “Y’all good?”s start, followed quickly by an excited narration of the chaos that just ensued

He’d taken your hand so causally you barely even noticed

The two of you walked in a much calmer crowd, hand in hand, as Hizashi randomly picked bystanders out of his vocal range and made up their life stories to tell you

Fatgum

Big hands

You laid idly on the couch in Fatgum’s office, the interns long sense gone home

A pile of paperwork blocked your view of your hard working hero as he sat at his desk

You slumped and slid off the couch, boredom rising as you phone lie dead on the table nearby

A loud groan drives a “Just a bit longer, gumdrop” from behind the piles of unfinished work, a bit longer could be years for all you cared

Sliding across the hardwood floor on your back, you found yourself beside Taishiro’s desk, looking up at him from an angle you were rather use to

He was focused, with a smile still on his face as he worked, writing with one hand, the other causually turning Takoyaki in the grill built into his desk

You sat up, watching quietly. He was typically pretty observant, but he may not yet have noticed your approach

When his hand stopped turning and released, you took your chance

Both your hands snatched his wrist, sitting up a bit to rest yourself on his lap, you examined his large palm

He chuckled, “What’cha doin’, cupcake?”

His hand was massive in your own, enough to make anyone feel like a child. It could engulf you, hold half your torso and still have a pinkie to spare

You pressed on his palm, he hummed and returned to work, leaving you to admire as you pleased

His knuckles were scarred, several gashes and scrapes from punching at materials harder than even his fat could handle

Old burns from cooking, white spots on his finger tips from a time before he learned patients

You leaned back on him, holding his hand in your own, and watched him work

He seemed much more blissed from your company

Twice

Not enough hands

Jin’s a very physical person

He hangs off you every chance he can get, coddling and loving on you

He finds it annoying

So it’s not surprise as you two settled down for a movie night he was instantly on your lap like a cat

He lays over you like a blanket, limbs tangled every which way, head on your chest, looking at you more than the movie

One of your hands lay idly by your head, that one he has his own over, fingers tangled messily, almost uncomfortably

His other arm trapped under you, a hug from below, resting also uncomfortably against your spine

Leaving your free hand to tangle in his hair, a rare sight to have his mask off, though it probably wouldn’t last the whole movie, it should be cherished until then

When you notice his staring at you more than the screen, you choose to join him

You slide your hand from his hair to his cheek, he leans into it with the most lovestruck puppydog look a man his age could muster

He then starts to fidget around, moving like he’s stuck

It doesn’t take long from there for him to start getting frustrated with himself, splitting an argument for two between just him

You gently lift his head to regain eye contact and ask what’s wrong

He nearly starts crying

“I want to hold your cheek too but I don’t have enough hands!!”

He’s not willing to remove your hand from his hold or pull his other arm out from under you to compromise his own needs

He does eventually start crying over his lack of extra limbs to love you with

Aoyama

Standing ovation

Roaring applause rippled thought the auditorium

It wasn’t a big show, or a big stage, but it was your first written play, and seeing it go over so well was enough to bring a tear to your eyes

You joined the audience in standing to applause as the actors took the stage for the final bow

Only the lead, your star, wasn’t there with them

You blinked once, twice, three times before panic set in

There’s no way Yuga Aoyama would miss the chance to stand center stage in a spotlight. If he wasn’t on stage something must have happened

You tried your best not to look around too fervently, not wanting to startle anyone else

When a hand clasped yours

“And let’s not forget the playwright~✨”

Before you could question how he said that with his mouth, you were dragged onto the stage by your previously mentioned star, with his own mic in hand you don’t remember giving him

He held your arm up above his head as he runway walked his way along the stage, you closely in toe

You were going to go on stage eventually but you’d planned to be a lot more quiet about it, when more people had left early not wanting to sit though the applause

But instead, here you were, center stage, hand held high like you’d just won a boxing match by your own and only Aoyama

How he could stand being this bright all the time way beyond you

For now though, it was rather nice

Ojiro

Lost and found

You stepped out of your class stretching, ready for a well deserved lunch break when you heard your classmates muttering

“Isn’t he from the hero course?”

“What’s he doing?”

Being nosy wasn’t usually your strong suit, but the mutterings has peaked your interest

You followed the eyes of those speaking to find a blond boy sitting in the floor of the hall, knees pulled to his chest to keep his legs from disrupting the flow of traffic, with his tail resting over his feet to protect them from being stepped on

He smiled and gave a light wave to your class as the dispersed

You alone approached him, curiosity peaking. Why was he sitting out here in the hall?

When question he very sheepishly answered, “I, uh.. I got lost on my way to class”

There was several things wrong with that

Number one being, he’d been at this school half a year now. He has one classroom, a big classroom, in the hero course. It’s not easy to miss??

Number two, it was noon. Lunchtime. He has one classroom. How long had he been lost???

These questions had answers and he was, while slightly embarrassed, happy to share he had, in fact, been lost all morning. Not just in finding his class, but also in finding the exit to the building, any teachers he knew, or his phone to call for help

You began to feel sorry for the guy, as this seemed to be a common occurrence in his daily life

With a sigh, you offered your hand to help him up

It was lunch, for all courses, so surely he’d see his hero course classmates in the cafeteria. No one turns up Lunchrush’s food after all

He smiled and took your hand, lifting himself from the floor with a thankyou

“I’m Ojiro, by the way. You are...?”

He was rather polite to talk to the entire walk, his grip on your hand was soft, gentle, and his smile never seemed to waver

Kaminari

Swing yer partner round and round

“Oh this is my JAM!”

Mina excitedly turned up your shitty little radio before kicking herself up off the floor, grabbing Sero all in one quick motion

The two danced horribly off beat, you quickly guess Mina had never heard this song before in her life, just wanted to get moving

“Come on you two, it’s dance break time!”

You found yourself enraptured with her energy, already forgetting the homework you all were doing

Kaminari took your hand much like how Mina took Sero’s and began to dance just as off beat and spuratic as queen pinkie had

You laughed, stumbling with every step, same as the others, the giggling energy filling a previously silent room

Denki’s fingers dug into your knuckles as he smirked, suddenly spinning on his heel and dragging you with him

The two of you became a tornado in your tiny dorm room, barely keeping from knocking into your tea table as you spun like a couple of children

You could hear Mina cheer and laugh, a brief glanced told you Sero was recording this silly moment

You looked across the way at your dance partner

Spinning, laughing his head off like this was the most fun he’d ever had, eyes closed, caring not for his surroundings

You decided to let go

The momentum sent you both toppling, you safely into Mina, who was more then ready to catch you

Denki got the much less desirable aforementioned tea table, which sent him toppling backwards over the also aforementioned homework

If you all could have laughed any louder, you would

Bakugo

Sweaty hands

You always knew when Bakugo was going to hold your hand

He may think he’s smooth, wiping his hand on the pocket of his pants before reaching behind himself to grab at you

But you’d always notice

It was a good indicator you were walking too slow for his liking, or the area up ahead was crowed, or that he simply felt you were too far away

You couldn’t initiate holding hands, when he didn’t actively want to be in contact he’d keep his hands shoved deep in his pockets

So you just had to wait for him to wipe himself off and reach for you

You were free to wrap yourself around his arm whenever, though

He’ll look pissed, but won’t say a word

And if you move away, he’ll wipe his hand on his pants, and offer it to you, a silent plea for you to come back

Honenuki

Magic hands

You stretched out over the couch of the 1-B common room with a whine, the rest of your class in a similar state

Training was hell today, sparing with class 1-A was never a joke, and with Monoma egging the whole game up to be more than it should have been, it all just escalated to a point you all wish it hadn’t

“Alright, next.”

Honenuki, a godsend, your blessed angel, helped Tsuburaba off the second common room couch, his typically wide eyes closed and relaxed as he wobbled his way across the room

You happily took his place, stretching out on your stomach before your classmate with the magic powers of massage

His hands pressed into your back and you instantly relaxed, letting out a low hum as you snuggled the pillow under your chin

Honenuki returned your hum, his hands pressing into all your tenses spots, almost instantly releasing them from their knots

You’d probably have fallen asleep, if it wasn’t over so fast

He had the entire class to get though after all, though he hated to rush an art form

You took his hand as he helped you stand, the actual minute of his touch enough to wobble your legs

Kissing his knuckle and thanking him for sharing his magic, you found yourself plopped peacefully on the couch beside Tsuburaba

Honenuki chuckled at you as he called next, happy to be of service

Monoma

He’s showing off

You’d known for a while now Monoma didn’t know how to shut the fuck up

He’d brag about anything, over anyone, to everyone

He’d always loudly bragged about how much better his class was, how much stronger his friendships were, how absolutely amazing his partner was

You being said partner didn’t make said bragging less annoying

The two of you had been together less than an hour and he was already boasting about your perfection to all who would hear

Some genuine, loving, almost gaggingly sweet comments

Others just to rub it in the face of class 1-A as much as possible

A week into this relationship and people were starting to think you must be come kind of god with how Monoma spoke about you

You’d been on two dates with the guy

Now here you were, holding his hand on the walk to class, and regretting every step

As every single person who passed must take note of the fact you were holding his hand

And also must be aware how blessed he is to be holding your hand in return

And really you started to understand the concerned look Kendo gave you when you told her you’d agreed to date Neito Monoma

Still his words were genuine, no matter how they came across, and he truly had a million and one things to say about you

So you could hold though the embarrassment his overexcited bragging may cause

He just wants to show you off

Mirio

Quietly

You sat by his bed side, holding gently to his limp hand

Moments ago he was inconsolable, crying and screaming his lungs out

His quirk gone

His teacher gone

Everything he worked so hard for seemed to vanish in an instant

His grip, still so strong, had left your hand bruised, circulation cut off

It wasn’t a concern you really had

Sleeping, his pain was still so obvious

Bags under his eyes, dried streaks of tears still down his keeps

And your hand still tightly gripped in his

What would happen next, where he would go, who you all would become

They were all problems for the future

Tomorrow you could work on a solution

Tonight, you could hold his hand

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spencersmagic · 3 years

Text

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :)

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @inlovewithbabygirl @galaxydefenderjulia @username2002

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iguessilovebakugou · 3 years

Text

In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold || Bakugou x Fem!Reader (x Shinsou) || Happier pt 3 || Series

I really feel like Sleeping At Last’s “Two” resonates with Shinsou in this one. But also for the Reader towards Bakugou just like...in general. Also, I would suggest Gang of Youth’s “Achilles, Come Down” as well. And Lauren Aquilina’s “Fools”.

One day I’m going to make a playlist for this fucking series - and then you bitches will be sorry.

I’m sorry it took so long to get this part out. I feel like nothing I would write would live up to what I did 2 years ago now. So I really hope that people like this one just as much as the others.

Part One! Part Two!

Word Count: 7.7K TW: Smooching, Death Mention

“Hey, you okay?”

It should be so easy to explain to them what you were feeling. They where there with you. They went through the same thing you had, right? You were right there with Ochaco, sat right by her side and watched her tell Mr. Aizawa...you should be able to just...

“Yeah,” You offered Asui a bright smile. “Just...tired. These make up classes are just...they’re really killer, you know?”

The dorm had been quiet by the time the raid team had made their way home from their extra classes. Everyone had already gone to bed, the common area devoid of life by the time you had settled on the couches. And you were happy for it. Ever since...well, it had been a bit harder to be around everyone. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that after everything that had happened, happened. And you were supposed to just...move on from it. Keep going forward. No time to process.

You pulled out your phone to check your messages. You had hoped Shinsou would have at least texted you - but you had been left on read. You tried not to be upset about it and instead, pretended to go to another app and check your messages there. You even got comfortable and put an arm behind your head - yep, perfectly relaxed and not at all wanting to break down on the inside.

Tsu’s big bright eyes stared down at you. You wondered if she felt the same - if Kirishima, Izuku or Ochaco felt the same. You wondered if sometimes, during class, they just lifted their heads, looked around at your classmates and felt...so out of place. The only way you could describe it was like stumbling in the middle of a skit being performed in the middle of a park, and no one seemed to quite realize you weren’t actually an extra.

But you didn’t want to run the risk of looking at her. If she looked at you, she might realize that you hadn’t come to terms with what happened - with Nighteye, Lemillion, with that poor girl, Eri. And that wouldn’t do. That might lead into her asking what was wrong. And what were you supposed to do then? Answer her honestly? Come to terms with your feelings like a rational, level headed adult?

You? Nah. Never.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Once you were certain her back was towards you, you risked a glance in her direction.

Your body ached, your eyes were sore, and your mind felt blank but busy at the same time. You weren’t sure where to begin with everything, where to start with trying to catch up. But this had become your norm, and as sad as it was, it felt like your body was accommodating to the drama that had become commonplace in your life. You watched as she met Ochaco at the base of the steps leading up to the rooms. She seemed surprised when you didn’t move to join them, turning to give you a concerned glance and a lip pout - for extra measure.

You smiled, lifting up your phone and giving it a little wave. “I think I’m just going to hang out down here before heading to bed.”

“Oh,” She muttered softly. “Okay, if you’re sure?”

You knew she wasn’t buying the act - whatever it was - in the slightest. You knew Nighteye’s death hit her hard. A lot harder than you. As it should have - you had tried to use your quirk to defend her and Nighteye, only to be overpowered and rendered unconscious when it mattered most so you weren’t technically cognizant when she had made her getaway. But it must have been terrible, holding a man in your arms as he died. And yet here you are moping about it. What gives you the right?

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Another smile, this time a little wider. “Got some videos to watch, don’t want to run the risk of waking anyone up.”

You turned, ending the conversation there. You stared at your phone, sitting on the home screen and not bothering to look back once you heard them make the ascent up the stairs to their respective rooms. It had been getting harder and harder to sleep these past few days and you couldn’t spend another restless night staring at the same four walls anymore. Watching the same videos, rereading the same texts, you would go insane. With an exasperated sigh, you tossed your phone to the side. Hands found your face, fingers rubbing your eyes while reclining back, letting out a slow, low groan.

The lights in the common room were dim, just enough to find your way in case you stumbled down here in the middle of the night. It was a small comfort, you figured to yourself, to have this moment alone. To sit in the quiet and listen to the sounds of your friends around you, of the dorm settling snuggly down for another night’s rest. And there you were, sitting by yourself in the common room. Trying to decide if you were still mourning for a man you spoke to maybe a handful of times before you watched him get impaled on a spike or if you were ready to move on from it all. Your head fell back limply against the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to push any semblance of thought from your mind. You just needed this one minute, one second for your entire world to just...stop running away from you.

If I could just get to him in time, maybe I could, I could help. I could save him and be a hero and...

God, how dramatic could you get. At least you hadn’t held the man in your arms as he lay dying.

With a sigh, you sat yourself back up and went back to your messages, pulling up the chat with Shinsou. You hoped he was free. Maybe even free enough to talk. The empty feeling finding home in your chest was becoming too much. You could use him, right now. Maybe you could convince him to leave and come over. You could watch a movie and just talk until you passed out.

Like friends did.

And if he was there, maybe it would so much easier to stay asleep.

Hey. We just got home. Hope you’re...

Nope, delete. Didn’t sound right.

Hey! You free right now? I can’t sleep so

Nope, too eager.

Shinsou, you loser get your ass over here

Nothing was coming out the way you wanted it to. Nothing had ever sounded right. You had so many things you wanted to say and yet never seemed to have the energy for it anymore. Is this depression? Do you have depression? Do people who have depression know they have depression without being diagnosed with depression?

You bit your lip, chewed on it until it grew sore and red and angry. You needed your friend. Your best friend. Your only friend. You missed hanging out with him, missed being able to text him weird shit and get a selfie of him looking bored at the camera just cause he knew it would make you laugh. Cause you knew the weird shit you sent him made him laugh. You wanted to see his face, to hear his voice. You wanted it to go back before the dorms, back before whatever extra curricular thing he was doing. But it wasn’t like he was doing this on purpose! He was busy and you were just being fucking dramatic and needlessly stupid you didn’t even see Nighteye die but Deku did and he is holding himself together so much better and you would be okay if...if...

Why were you fucking crying now???????

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

“Hey.”

Given the recent events in your life, his gruff voice shattering the quiet of your isolation should have been expected. Nevertheless, it still sent your heart skyrocketing into your throat. You thought everyone had gone to bed and you could be a miserable wretch on your own time. You jumped, sending your phone clattering to the ground and sliding under the coffee table. The giant...granite...coffee table. “Ah, shit, shit...” You fell to your knees, trying to make a grab for it. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“I thought I would find you down here.”

Shinsou had hardly heard from you since the night you got back from the raid. He had seen the news that something had happened. When you didn’t answer his morning text, he just hoped you were just being your normal self. When you didn’t show up at lunch, he feared the worst. He paced his room, hardly ate, did nothing but refresh his news feed to see if your name flashed by as a causality. He figured no news was good news but waiting to hear from you was the hardest thing he ever had to do. And the fact you hadn’t told him you were going in the first place and had to find out about it by overhearing one of your classmates mention it?

Ample payback it seemed. Secrets had become your duo’s new norm - and he hated it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were told not to say anything to anyone. I’m sorry, Shinsou.”

Your voice had sounded so off, so different in what little words you spoke. Silence had never been so poignant until he experienced it from you. As he laid in bed and stared at the phone on his pillow, his heart broke with each toss and turn he could hear from you. He sat quietly, for that whole 2 hours as you tried to make sense of what you had just been through that day. But you never said more than a few words and, even so, those were just a mask to hide the rest of the truth you wanted to keep hidden. He listened, patiently, as you tried to place it all in order so you could begin to move past it.

He hoped he had helped - in what little way he could. In what minute way you had allowed him. You were closing off and he so desperately wanted to cry out for you. But he stayed quiet.

And he felt entirely useless.

He didn’t know exactly what happened; only what little information he had heard from Mr. Aizawa and even that had been bits and pieces. Confidential, he said. Bullshit, Shinsou thought. If he was going to try to begin to figure out a solution to...whatever it was that plagued you, to lift your spirits, he needed to know exactly what happened. But, when Shinsou had asked if you had been involved, if you were alright...?

“You’re friends with her, right? She didn’t really seem to want to talk about it when I asked her after the fact. But I figure that’s just because I’m her teacher. Maybe you should be the one to check in on her instead. She might actually open up to you.”

Open up to him.

And that was the problem wasn’t it? Something that always seemed to stand right between the two of you, pushing you in separate directions - opening up to each other. It was a thought that occurred to him as he watched you spin your spoon around in your soup, but refused to eat. The two of you had no problems talking, especially you. You talked a lot, and he...didn’t. You suited him fine. More than fine.

But what is talking if you’re not saying anything? What was the point of being friends if you couldn’t even rely on each other to keep a secret, to lean on each other when everything seemed so fucking terrible. Had he done you a disservice, hiding things from you? Had he given you the impression that you couldn’t come to him for something so small as a crush on...ah, for something really small? Had you transitioned from “don’t want to bother him with something silly” to “I can’t talk to him anymore period”?

Shinsou had always been the more straightforward one. Where you seemed to be an endless supply of needless conversation and seemed to always dance around subjects, Shinsou was the one who could give it to you as plainly as possible. And you knew that. You knew him better than anyone, could understand him better than anyone.

So when he didn’t give it to you as honestly, as plainly as he could have, it would stand to reason that you would be sent tumbling.

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

The text had come as a surprise. Shinsou had been trying to sleep, but it was a rare commodity those days. His mind swirled with thoughts of you. Of how much he missed just you. Your laugh, your stupid jokes. Everything was starting to feel so hollow when he heard that soft ding from across the room. To say he scrambled towards his desk where the phone lay charging was an understatement.

I really miss you.

You were screaming for him and he hadn’t heard it. You were sinking further and further and yet here he was, wondering and waiting for some sort of sign on what to do. How he could fix it - but later. He’s not strong enough now. He’s not ready. After he’s done with Aizawa. After he’s a hero. After after after. Always cautious, always testing the waters.

I just wish you were here.

You never waited, never paused, never hesitated. When Bakugou was kidnapped, you rushed home and came up with a plan of action. When you wanted to talk to him, you marched from your dorms, almost got into a fist fight, just to talk. You were reckless in all the best ways. In all the ways that made him want to scream, to touch you, to praise you, to love...to love you.

“I would be able to sleep if you answered your phone once in a while.”

He gripped his phone and hated that he had to draw one hand up to wipe his eyes. Hated that his chest ached and hated that you even had to ask him.

“I wish you would have answered me.”

No more. You would never have to ask him again.

He couldn’t pull his shoes on fast enough. Before Shinsou could stop, rethink if this was a good idea, he was outside and making his way towards your dorm. If he couldn’t help you now, when you needed it the most, when you were asking for him to pull you out from the waters...

His heart didn’t have the right to ache for you as much as it did.

The two of you had done this so many times, Bakugou was surprised that you weren’t in the kitchen when he finally got down stairs. The moment he got to the ground floor and saw you hunched over on the couch, his body froze.

He had been hoping to have a bit more time to think of what he wanted to say.

“Is it just me, or has she not been the same since coming back from the raid?”

“No, I noticed it too.”

“Should we ask her about it?”

The frog grew quiet for a moment. Bakugou had to strain to hear her response from down the hall. “I think she’ll open up when she’s ready.” She said softly. “If we try to push the issue before then, it might just make matters worse.”

“Yeah,” Uraraka responded, “I guess you’re right. Still...I’m just worried.”

Worried. For you.

He didn’t want to think about why he was down in the commons, so late at night. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that seeing your shaking shoulders, hearing the fast gasps you were making, ripped his very state of being apart. He watched you, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that you were in this state at all.

“Hey.”

He expected you to jump - it was a good thing that you did. He would drag you out of whatever rut you were in, kicking and screaming if he had to.

You got to your knees, cursing under your breath and scrambling for whatever you had been holding. Probably your phone. Bakugou stepped around the couch, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Figured I would find you down here.”

You didn’t pay him any attention. In fact, as you tried to reach under the coffee table, you kept your head turned - enough to where he couldn’t see your face. You kept cursing, kept trying to reach desperately. He watched you for a moment, feeling the frustration rise up inside of him. You were ignoring him. Like he wasn’t even there. Like he wasn’t standing in front of you.

“Hey!”

“SHHH!” You snapped to attention, pressing a finger to your lips. He tried not to stare for too long. “Do you want to wake the whole dorm!?”

“You should be in bed.”

Your stare lingered on him, for just a moment. He refused to break eye contact first, refused to back down from the daggers you were sending his way. You let out a huff, going back to searching for whatever it was that you had dropped. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Bullshit. He could tell. It was a fact that he didn’t like to pay much attention to: tiny mannerisms that caught onto his attention like a hook. You generally were so bright, hardly ever short. Low energy, but not tired? Sure.

He waited another minute. “The others just got home.”

The slight pause. Heh - you were like a book. So easy to read. “Oh.” You said so matter-of-factly. In another beat, you were back to searching, still focusing your gaze on the far side of the wall. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So unless you got sent back early, I doubt you’ve even had a chance to try and sleep.”

Your fingers clenched, your fist shaking against the granite top. Your body pulled up and away, resting in a rigid position. But you were still refusing to look at him; in fact, to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to see anything, you put your face in your hand. Still, you didn’t say a word, didn’t argue with him. So he continued: “I’m just saying, if you’re going to lie, at least keep track who you tell what.”

You didn’t respond. And he wished it didn’t make him as angry as it did. He wished that he had been able to stop the rage that bubbled in his stomach. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want you to hide anything from him. He wanted you to feel comfortable telling him when something was hurting you. After he laid it all bare for you a few weeks ago, you couldn’t be bothered to at least confide in him what the hell was going on in your tiny little world?

“...tch.” Bakugou fingers slid under the edge of the coffee table. “Grab the other side.”

You paused, turning to stare at him. His eyes met yours and he saw so clearly how blood shot they were, your cheeks blotchy and burning. You sniffled once, pushing a strand of hair back into place. “Uh...wha?”

“Do you want your crap or not!?”

“Oh, yeah, uh...” You pushed yourself up. His eyes followed you as you stationed yourself on the other side like instructed. “On three. One-”

He didn’t bother waiting. Up he lifted and you scrambled to meet him half way.

Just a little to the side - and the bright screen of your phone illuminated the living room. It was closest to him, causing him to flinch just slightly when the glow blinded him. He moved to grab it for you -

Before Bakugou could realize what was happening, your fingers brushed against his. You both paused, your digits flinching away from him every so slightly. He didn’t know if he should continue making the grab for it or if he should pull away. He didn’t want to. Your skin was so soft and warm and...

He could feel your eyes on him and almost was able keep his gaze away. Almost able to hold off temptation. But you were like that, weren’t you? The light had dimmed, casting a soft glow over your features. He wanted to look anywhere else - anywhere but at you. But your eyes held his, demanded that he hold your attention. He hated the soft sound that escaped him. Hated the way his heart hammered in his chest as you stared at each other, fingers still touching ever so slightly.

He shouldn’t feel this way about you. But he did.

Bakugou pulled back with a grunt. He could feel your eyes follow him as he stood back up and stepped away, away from you. Why did you do this to him? Why did you manage to make him the worst of himself? Lord Explosion Murder - reduced to a sniveling little puppy, eager to please because a girl he kind of thinks is pretty sometimes makes him feel like he’s going to throw up.

His fingers shook. He shoved them back in his pockets to hide the evidence.

You plucked the phone off the ground and immediately hit the lock screen to turn the light off. You were once against standing alone in the dark, though he could see you plainly. Neither of you said a word. He wished he could say something, not scream it but just say it. His mind strained to find something meaningful to say to you, something catching or just enough to keep you distracted from your thoughts. But you had the knack for words - he didn’t. All he could do was leer at you, waiting for you to start conversation. You always had something to say.

You silently slipped your phone in the pocket of your skirt.

There was something different about you. A wall that was keeping you from him. Maybe the girls’ concern for you had weight behind it. You still didn’t look at him, eyes downcast.

He had hoped, that night in the kitchen, that things might have been different. That maybe...someday...

“You got your damn phone. Now go to bed.” He turned on his heels and made his way back towards the stairs. He was done. He helped you out enough.

Sometimes you were too much. Messed with his head and pulled his mind in so many different directions, he forgot which way was up because right there with you was where he wanted to be.

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

Your voice cut through the silence of the dorm like a knife. He hadn’t expected you to speak up now, though it fit you. Question, make him stay; just when he decided to leave. And of course, because you asked him to stay - he would.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Humor me.”

He regretted coming down here to talk to you. He should have just stayed in the comfort of his room. “Why?”

“Humor. Me.”

His eyes narrowed. Even if you wrapped yourself around him, brought him to his knees and groveling in your steps, no one spoke to him like that. He spun around, snarl behind gritted teeth. Who the fuck did you think you were talking to?

Then he paused.

You were watching him and the hollow expression on your face shoved the rage back down into his stomach. With just a glance, you quelled that fury. Another noise, another shock. Then your eyes softened and your shoulders slumped. You remembered where you were, who you were talking to...no...no, you had never been afraid to talk to him like that. Never afraid to meet his attitude head to head. So what was different now? “Please,” You added on, quietly.

What the hell happened to you?

Why did he want to be a hero?

“To be number one.”

“Is that it?”

I don’t know anymore. He didn’t like this line of questioning. Bakugou was a smart kid - he could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be like the last one the two of you had. No tea, no gentle touches. The wounds were infected now and he felt shame burrow deep. You had something you wanted to say, but something else was keeping it trapped, holding you back from being honest with him. “What are you getting at?”

You fell quiet, letting his eyes take you in. With a sigh, you turned and sat back down on the couch. Your body folded in on itself, your hands grasping your arms, shaking fingertips digging into the fabric of the white dress shirt you were wearing. “Nothing.” You said finally. “Just...thinking. About things.”

You thought a lot about a lot of things. Perhaps a little too much for too long. You were receding back into your thoughts, pulling away from him again. While he didn’t enjoy the feelings that being around you brought, losing you to your own headspace wasn’t something he would do tonight. Or...any night. His feet carried him back to the couch. With a groan he sat down beside you. “Well, then say it out loud.”

You let out a laugh that sounded too much like a sneer. “Yeah. Okay.”

It took everything in him to not reach out and grab you. “I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

He just wanted to fucking help you. “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Like you had helped him. “Whatever the hell that’s going on.”

A moment passed before you pulled your eyes back to his. Finally, you were back in the present - back in that room with him. Suddenly, you were aware that he had stationed himself beside you, so close your arms were a breath away from each other. And there was a moment of panic in your eyes.

You smirked, “Oh, are you playing therapist now?”

“Shut up!” He bellowed. “And tell me what the hell is going on before I change my mind!”

Your laugh was bitter, but it was something. You used your hands to push your hair back out of your eyes, “...okay.” You started...then fell quiet again. He could hear you swallow the regret, the shame, the fear. He watched as you struggled to put to words everything spinning around you. “I don’t think I belong here. At all.”

There were a million things Bakugou would have thought you could have said. That...wasn’t one of them. He had never thought of you not here. What would that look like?

“I look at everyone here: Kirishima and Uraraka and Tsu and Deku...and I just can’t seem to find a place to put myself. Among the rest of our class.” His brows furrowed as you spoke. He watched as your expression shifted with each word - angry and bitter and lost and upset. “Like, you all are able to keep your heads held high, keep looking forward and never seem to let things drag you down. I...I just don’t think I can do that. So...” You shrugged, swallowing harshly. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be here if I can’t handle it...not like everyone else can.”

This wasn’t about the raid - that was just a catalyst. It obviously struck a chord with you.

“That’s stupid.”

Another laugh. This one tear filled but honest; and so, so bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re absolutely right. It’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No, you idiot. It’s stupid because you’re wrong.”

You stared at him, mouth agape. Then, in a second, your eyes narrowed, your lips thinned and your expression darkened. He couldn’t help but feel the pride bubble in his chest: You had realized you weren’t going to avoid this. Not with him. Not when he could help you. He closed his eyes, figured it best to keep you out of his sight until he finished.

“Look, you moron. If you want to be angry or sad about whatever the hell happened back there, fine. Do it. But what good is wallowing in your own self pity if you’re not going to do anything about it?!”

Your voice shook as you spoke. “Okay fine - then what should I do, Bakugou?”

His eyes snapped open, lips parted in surprise at the question. There was an edge to your expression, daring him to answer. Daring him to suggest something. Blow it up? Yell at it? Fight it until it gives up? But where would you start? It wasn’t a real person - you couldn’t threaten it to back down. Eyes scoured the floor for a response, searched desperately to find something - a strand of advice - to give you. But he had nothing.

“Yeah,” You moved, pushing yourself off the couch. You snatched your bag with such force it almost swung around and hit him in the face. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have an answer either.”

Shit. Shit. He watched you as you skirted past his legs, intent on burying everything again. If he let this go - let you go - you might actually do it. You might actually leave UA - leave everyone in Class 1-A, leave your dream, leave...him.

“It’s fine.” You added, making your way towards the stairs. “I’ll be fine.”

But he knew that was a lie. Everything about this situation was a lie. You wouldn’t be fine if he let you go upstairs, left you along with those thoughts of inadequacy, and if you kept falling lower and lower...?

“Hey.”

You paused in front of the elevator...then pressed the button, it’s soft white glow sending panic down Bakugou’s spine. The only thing he could see of you in the dark was the back of your head, the way your chin dipped just so lightly to your chest. You weren’t going to respond if he didn’t do something. He didn’t want this conversation to end - not like this. What would All Might say? What would Kirishima say? What would Deku say?

What would you say?

“You never told me: Why did you agree to go on that raid?”

There was a moment of pause before you turned and glanced over your shoulder at him. There was a confused expression on your face, your eyes scanning him to try and figure out just what he was playing at. “I told you why I wanted to be a hero.” It was a challenge. Stay and face this. “Now tell me why you went on that stupid raid.”

“Don’t get too worked up about this.” Mr. Aizawa - no, Eraserhead - had said. “The Big Three are one thing: They’re strong enough to hold their own out there with the Pros.” He called you all out by name. Asui, Uraraka, Kirishima and you. “You didn’t volunteer for this and you’re not obligated to participate. It’s your call.”

It had been your call. Your decision. The Pros wouldn’t have shoved you into a situation you weren’t ready for. The four of you had known that it was not necessary for you to go above and beyond what you had already done. It was going to be dangerous, and you needed to not only be physically capable, but mentally as well.

You should have waited, weighed the odds, thought about it for a moment longer.

Your call. Your choice: Save a little girl who was in danger or back down. Be a Hero or refuse to answer the call.

Well...the choice was simple than wasn’t it?

You hadn’t been capable. You screwed up. Once again jumping deeper into a situation than you should have. You weren’t like your friends.

You weren’t like them at all.

“Mr. Ai- I mean, Eraserhead! After everything we just heard, I can’t imagine not helping out, sir!”

Someone who could raise their head and keep it held high. Who could look danger in the eye and refuse to back down.

“Yeah, if you’re going to let us be apart of this, I’d like to pitch in however I can!”

Who saw someone and danger and threw themselves into the line of fire. Who reached out a hand and kept holding on, long past the last scrap of energy was gone.

"If I can use my power to help that girl even a little bit, then count me in Eraserhead!”

They were heroes. You weren’t like them.

You stood up, nodding earnestly. Your look was stern, your eyes hard as you looked at Eraserhead. You were equals - at least in this moment. “Yeah, heroes save people - so I’ll do my best to make sure that girl is safe!”

You could feel Bakugou’s eyes pick you apart and put you back together. Looking at him made you sick, made you want to crawl into yourself and rot. But...with a soft sigh, your eyes casted up, trying to keep the tears from falling again. You had thought you had done all your crying. God, his face in the dark was a slight comfort. His eyes practically glowed in the low light of the common room. His dark t-shirt hung around his shoulders, his hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction. And he just watched you. No malice, no rage, just...waiting.

Waiting for your answer.

Why did you agree to join the raid?

To save that little girl. Because that’s what heroes do.

But...

“After my fight with Deku, you sat with me. You didn’t have to do that either. So why?”

Arms gripping your hoodie, squeezing you for dear life. His whole body trembled under your touch. Tears as he begged for forgiveness that you couldn’t give him. But you wanted to - because it would mean his pain would be put at ease. If you couldn’t give him what he needed, what he longed for, you would at least be there for a moment longer than the tears would fall. You just needed him to know he wasn’t alone. You needed Katsuki Bakugou to know you were there for him, no matter what.

“And with the League attack? You weren’t with Kirishima and them. You went off on your own, to try and save me. Why?”

They wouldn’t see how hard he worked. How much he wanted to be a hero. And if they hurt him, if he refused and the villains hurt him? If they took that away from him…? All of his hopes and dreams?

No. No, you weren’t going to let that happen.

You had to bite you lip to keep it from shaking. Bakugou was listing off all your fuck ups as if they mattered. As if they were helping his case. As if they were something you should be proud of. You considered telling him, making him aware that even in those moments, you still failed: you got knocked out during the raid, during the fight with the villains, and that you hadn’t done much besides give him a hug in the kitchen. You weren’t doing much.

Deep breath, look away. His face was too much. It was too honest, trying to grab at you and hold you still. He could almost convince you that you did something besides hinder those who had a better chance of being a Hero.

“You do half the shit you do because you’re a good person. You want to help people.” Movement caused you to glance his way. He turned to sit back down on the couch. “As stupid as it is, I guess it’s pretty admirable.”

‘Pretty admirable’? He - Katsuki Bakugou - thought it was admirable. You opened your mouth, but after a long moment of silence found you had nothing to say, so you closed it again. You hated that even without speaking, you were losing this fight. “So does everyone else.” You replied weakly. It didn’t make you special. It didn’t make you any different.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Than wouldn’t that mean you belong here with all the other losers looking to be a Hero to protect people?”

Ding!

Behind you, the elevator opened.

A soft gasp escaped your chest. So...that’s what he was doing. Leave it up to him to talk you around into a circle before shoving your argument back into your face...no, he hadn’t been nearly as harsh as you had expected. He was speaking so softly to you, being as gentle as he knew how - which granted, wasn’t much, but appreciated none the less. One shouldn’t look a gift explosion in the mouth.

You looked at the elevator over your shoulder, stared at it’s open doors.

You let them shut.

For the first time since that raid, you smiled. Really, honestly smiled. You set your bag down against the wall. The walk back to the couch was the lightest you had felt in a long while. You sat down next to him, resting your hands on your knees and one by one, you tapped your fingers against your skin. With a deep breath, you felt your shoulders relaxed. You weren’t surprised he was able to help. “I guess...technically...using that logic...you’re not wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, closing his eyes and tossing his head back. “Of course I’m not wrong.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “How could I have ever thought to argue with you? Truly a futile effort to begin with.”

His smirk was quick, a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth before he grunted and looked away. The prickly exterior he generally used to conceal himself was growing back into place and you couldn’t help but laugh. You had been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you almost forgot how much he made your heart skip. As you looked over his profile, you realized that you were entirely thankful for Bakugou and not just in that moment. You had been so stuck in your pit, sinking lower and lower that you didn’t think you’d ever get out of it.

But like everything, he broke the glass ceiling and shot through. Only this time, he snatched you up and pulled your head to the surface. Even if for a moment, you could breathe because he was holding your head above the water.

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours, nudging him warmly. He ruined expectations again by waiting a moment before doing it back to you.

He was so warm, his skin amazingly soft. It lit your chest aflame and your cheeks grew pink - but you didn’t move. The two of you leaned against each other but said nothing about it. How did you find yourself here? You had been close to him before but this was different in a way that didn’t seem to make any sort of sense. And...you kind of like that it didn’t. Because it didn’t have to. You realized that sometimes, when it was just the two of you, as few as those “sometimes” may have been, you simply wanted it to just...be.

You shouldn’t want to be so close to him, not now. Would it be in poor taste? Would he think less of you if he knew? Did he know? Did he feel the same way? You were certain that if he looked over at you, looked into your eyes he would...at least see something. You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but it was enough to cause your knees to knock and your chest to ache. And you wondered if he would see how much your fingers longed to reach out and touch his body, draw him close and...

But that didn’t matter. Not now.

You looked down at your hands. If you...wanted to try...wanted to see if...this was something you could have, you would have to take the first leap. Bakugou wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to be the one who dove head first. But was now the perfect time? Would there ever be a perfect time? After having him strip your defenses, tear you down, build you back up - should you wait?

You spared another look, hoping that you might find confidence in his being.

Your eyes met. He was looking at you too.

No. No, you weren’t waiting. Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t someone you waited for. If you were going to do this, see if he felt the same way you felt - all the crazy heart skips and lingering glances when the other wasn’t looking - you had to do this now.

Gathering all your courage, you moved your hand and offered it to him. His eyes tore away from your face then down at your open palm. The universe held it’s breath, watched eagerly...as he slid his fingers between yours. His calloused digits scratched at your skin lightly, his palms were a little clammy and...

Bakugou held you firm, grasping you tightly. Desperate and scared and you remembered everything that lead you to this moment.

“That Bakugou kid likes you.”

Wild hair haloed in the setting sun peeking above the tops of overgrown trees. Everyone around you disappears when his arms wrap around you. He holds your hands, guiding the knife as he helps you chop.

“Out of all those losers, I was glad you were there.”

It felt like something was dragging you to him, tugging your body towards his. He wasn’t stopping you, he wasn’t yelling or screaming or pushing you away. He just watched, eyes narrowed and darkened under his hair. Was he waiting to see what you would do? Was he too scared to move on his own? You reached out, gliding your fingers over his sandy blonde locks and brushing them out of the way so you could see his face. Fingertips drifted down and over his cheek, trying to offer the same warmth he filled you with.

Defiantly, a daring look in his eye, he pressed his cheek into your hand. If you’re going to do this, then mean it. Everything about him made you want to scream, drove you mad. He always fought - and you saw now, that this whole time...he was fighting for you. Fighting to let you know. Had you been so entirely blind all this time?

You wanted to say something, to let him know that you saw. But words were wrong, thin, pointless and empty. Nothing you could say would ever be enough to let him know how you felt. So you would give all of you and hope that it was enough for him.

Without waiting another moment, you pressed your lips to his. It was a deep and heavy action, one that he met with passion only he could muster. You closed your eyes and lost yourself into his taste, the heat of his lips, his very presence. It was a rush, one that sent you spinning - derailed all train of thought. All that mattered was him. All that lived in this universe was you and him.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you up and over him and you were happy to follow. You didn’t dare break away, to lose the contact that you obviously both had been longing for. Your fingers found their way into his hair, twisting and tangling. Never once did he pull away - quite the opposite. He met you, every press of your lips, every motion of want and desire, laid bare in front of both of you. And as you felt his finger graze over the skin on your back, dipping under your dress shirt to set the nerves there on fire, you realized both of you were utter fools.

It’s an awful thing: knowing you’re not enough. Wanting something so badly, but no matter how much you long for it, it still slips through your grasp. Of knowing that nothing you could have done would have changed the outcome.

He should have stayed in his dorm. He should have never looked at his phone. He should have never told you about Bakugou.

He should have never let you get so close.

It was by chance he glanced at the window looking into the common room, hand poised in front of the door. At first, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at - two shadowed masses, one on top of the other. But then, he saw your face. His heart wrenched when you pulled away from Bakugou. A scream locked in his throat the way you smiled at him, soft and loving. He hated the look in your eyes as you ran your thumb over his lips, as he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you back for more.

Something Shinsou couldn’t have. Someone he wasn’t enough for.

He didn’t linger on the steps for too long. He feared you would see him and then - then you would have to talk. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that, not with Bakugou behind you.

The walk back to the dorm was a long one and he was surprised he made it into his room without incident. It was late enough though, most of his classmates were asleep and the rest had retired to their rooms. No one knew he was gone. His mind was utterly blank until the locked clicked shut.

He didn’t realize he had punched the wall until his hand pulled back, sliced open. Blood pooled and ran down his arm. But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t stop him from replaying that scene in his head over and over again. The way you two were looking at each other, the soft touches, gentle smiles...

He slumped to the floor and let out one pitiful sob.

What was he supposed to do now?

Author’s Note: I honestly watched Cats the 2019 musical and then wrote Shinsou’s part because I’ve been having a pretty good week honestly so I wasn’t in the headspace for honest disappointment.

I just needed something to remind me that happiness is fleeting and something terrible and awful will usually come and destroy what you know and love most in this world. Drag your joy through the mud until the only thing left is a shell of what once was.

...who let’s Hooper direct shit?

Anyway. I do think I’m going to lead into a part 4 for this one. I don’t know. I’ll let you guys decide if you want something more lol since I’m interested in continuing it. Especially given the newer chapters.

Also eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, kissing scene. First real one on this blog anyway and not a kiss mentioned in passing. And look, it only took me a year or so to do it. :) I’m a fantastic mod of this blog who gives people what they want and doesn’t focus on stupid shit in the slightest why are you guys here you should have left me on the street corner where I was standing

Tag List! If you want to be added, let me know!

@snaspants | @purplebellybell | @sxlenced-xf-lxvers |

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stillness-in-green · 3 years

Text

Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Introduction and Part One)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front

INTRODUCTION

The title states my premise here: the breezy way My Hero Academia presents and resolves the mass arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front is ludicrous. If taken as presented and allowed to stand without being further addressed, it serves as a breaking point from which the series will be incredibly hard-pressed to recover. Why, you ask?

From a logistical standpoint, it strains credulity. From an ethical standpoint, it suggests deeply troubling problems with the state of Hero Society. From a thematic standpoint, it unravels whole portions of the narrative’s spine. I’ll be looking at each of these facets in turn to discuss the questions they raise which My Hero Academia has not yet seen fit to answer. Many in fandom don’t seem to be thinking about it too hard, so I’d like to lay out—in exhaustive detail—all the reasons I find this plot element so wildly out of touch with causal reality.

Please note that while they are discussed when relevant, this essay is not principally about the named characters in the League of Villains or the erstwhile high command of the Metahuman Liberation Army. The sorts of consequences Shigaraki Tomura or Re-Destro would and should be facing in a courtroom are orders of magnitude beyond what Random Liberation Warrior X would be, but it’s the mass numbers of Random Liberation Warrior Xs that this essay is most concerned with, as they are the ones most in danger of being swept under a rug and forgotten by the series in its current state.

Further, be advised that this essay in its full form is both very long (about 21K words excluding Sources and Further Reading) and will contain extensive discussion of real-life Japan—comparisons to historical events, minutiae of its legal and carceral systems, and general cultural views on criminality. This will include references to imprisonment, government oppression, and incidents of terrorism both real and in the context of My Hero Academia.

Being as it is about quite a recent event in the series, it will also contain heavy spoilers all the way up through the most recent chapter as of this writing, Chapter 310. It likewise contains spoilers for the spin-off series My Hero Academia: Vigilantes up through Chapter 95.

The essay will be posted in parts on tumblr and in full on AO3. For the tumblr posting, I will provide links to other tumblr posts as I reference them; however, as I would like this to actually show up in the tags, outside links containing my sources and further reading will be provided in a separate post following the conclusion of the essay.

Lastly, I spent an entire month writing this as a fan who is sympathetic to the villains in general and the MLA in particular. If your response to the very concept of this essay is anything to the tune of, “Who cares what happens to a bunch of disgusting quirk eugenicists?” know that you and I have radically different views on the MLA, and the role of the justice system in general. You are, of course, welcome to read the essay anyway, but, having said my piece about the MLA and their relationship with quirk supremacy elsewhere, I will not be engaging with arguments or gotchas on that subject here.

PART ONE: The Facts at Hand

Before we get too deep into things, let’s lay out the basic facts: how many people are actually involved in the arrest, as well as some comparisons to real-life events to contextualize that number and provide some referents for the issues the arrest raises.

Re-Destro gives the numbers of the Metahuman Liberation Army as 116,516. A lot of people go on to die in Deika, though we’re never given a solid count. The biggest batch we see killed in a single go are the press of sixty or so people Shigaraki decays, then the sixteen-ish Toga drops, though some of those might possibly have had quirks that allowed them to survive. Any number of people certainly died as well simply in the moments we didn’t see, and who even knows how many were caught in the radius of Shigaraki’s last attack.

Further, there may well have been a measure of organization bleed when the MLA became the PLF (though I imagine trying to leave was a very dangerous proposition, giving an additional reason to stick it out on top of the general cult-like mindset the MLA displays); likewise, I find it hard to believe that there wouldn’t have been some deaths at the Gunga Villa, be it from Gigantomachia’s departure, Geten cutting loose, or combatants—be they hero or comrade—overcompensating somewhat in the middle of a chaotic melee.

I suspect it’s overestimating the depletion, but for the purposes of simplicity, let us call it 115,000 remaining members at the time of the raid.[1]

We are told that, in all, 16,929 people were captured at the villa—just about 17,000. 132 escaped in the confusion; this is a fairly negligible number, save for the fact that it includes high-ranking advisors, but not Machia and those of the Front that were with him.

We are further told, and I quote, “Their bases scattered around the country were hit too, and the sympathizers rounded up.” Horikoshi did not provide any solid numbers for this,[2] but if we’re to assume that it is just the rest of the group (more on the logistics of that bit of spycraft later), “the sympathizers” would be 98,000 additional people.

However, 98,000 may be a significant underestimation. It’s based, after all, on a number Re-Destro cites to describe “warriors lying in wait, ready to rise to action.” This begs the question: is Re-Destro quoting the entire membership of the group, or only those who actually are ready to take action? In other words, does his number account for non-combatants? Is he counting young children? I tend to assume the MLA doesn't have a retirement age as such,[3] but if they do, does his number account for the elderly?

How many more people might be “sympathizers” to the PLF insomuch as they are e.g. the six-month-old infant daughter of an MLA couple? What about the ninety-year-old man in the retirement home whose only real act of war these days is tying up the phone line at City Hall to complain about repressive quirk use laws? How about the fired-up fifteen-year-old that was going to get their official code name next month, just in time to join the first wave of attacks? If he’s being literal in his usage of “warrior,” the actual count of the MLA could easily be twice as high as the number he actually gives.

But okay, maybe Re-Destro’s number does include absolutely everyone. Maybe he’s just being rhetorical—maybe, in his mind, even the six-month-old is waiting to rise to action; she’s just going to have to wait a bit longer than the rest, is all. For simplicity’s sake, let’s stick with the numbers we have: a low-end of 17,000, a high-end of 115,000, captured not merely in a single day, but allegedly in the span of a few hours.

I’m sure I don’t need to stress that that is a lot of people. But how many people is it, practically speaking? Is there a precedent? Anything we can look to for guidance on how this kind of thing would go in real life?

Comparative Analogues

The PLF is tricky to categorize for the purposes of real-life comparison, especially compared to how they’re treated in-universe. In some lights, they resemble a protest movement; in others, a terrorist group. Just looking at the way the government reacts to them—and certainly in terms of their combat capabilities—they might as well be an all-out insurrectionist uprising! Below, I’ll examine a handful of historical incidents that cover that spectrum; they will continue to provide useful reference points throughout the rest of this essay.

The March 15 Incident

In the first half of the 20th century, Japan saw a huge uptick in socialist and communist activity, much to the general dismay of the ruling powers. In response, they passed a series of laws commonly referred to as the Peace Preservation Laws, designed to better enable authorities to suppress political dissent and freedom of speech, particularly that of leftists and labor movements.

The Japanese Communist Party was founded in 1922, but outlawed in 1925. This merely drove members underground, however, from which position they pointed supporters towards the numerous other parties with more legally tolerated leftist policies that had cropped up in the wake of the JCP’s dissolution. Following the February 1928 General Election (the first in Japan held with universal male suffrage), those parties supported by the JCP saw enormous gains in representation in Japan’s National Diet. Alarmed, the Prime Minister declared the mass arrest of known communists and suspected communist sympathizers. Accordingly, on March 15, 1,600 people were arrested throughout Japan.

Over the course of twenty years, some 70,000 people would be arrested under the auspices of the Peace Preservation Laws, the majority of them in 1925 through 1936. The laws would eventually be repealed by American occupation forces after WWII, and the JCP allowed to operate openly once again.

The Rice Riots

In 1918, an inflation spiral had driven the price of rice out of control, exacerbating economic insecurity and hardship. Farmers were being paid a pittance of the market value of their crop by rice buyers and government agents, while urban consumers were being charged an exorbitant price for the staple food, as well as a great many other consumer goods, and their own rents. In response, a series of riots ripped across Japan in late July through September. Beginning with peaceful protesting in a small fishing town in Toyama Prefecture, the unrest escalated to involve riots, strikes, looting, even bombing in demonstrations that reached major cities like Tokyo and Osaka. The scope was and remains unprecedented in modern Japanese history, seeing some 25,000 people arrested.

The Sarin Gas Attacks

If you’ve heard of any of them, it’s probably this one. On March 20, 1995, members of the cult Aum Shinrikyo released sarin gas on five different Tokyo Metro trains in the middle of morning rush hour. Thirteen people were killed and over 5500 injured, about a fifth of them moderately to severely so. If not for small errors in the production of the gas and the rudimentary distribution method thereof, loss of life might easily have been catastrophically higher.

Aum Shinrikyo was a doomsday cult, but the motives for that particular attack were much baser than bringing about the Apocalypse: at the time, the organization was under police investigation for its involvement in the kidnapping of a public official. Its leader, Asahara Shoukou, hoped that the attack would divert police’s attention from a planned raid.

It did not do so; police executed raids on numerous of the cult’s compounds, arresting many of its senior members both immediately and over the course of the following months as the investigation unfolded. In all, over 200 members were arrested of an organization that counted its membership prior to the attack as numbering 11,000 people in Japan.[4]

The February 26 Incident

There have been a significant number of uprisings and violent protests in Japan’s modern history; when looking for a representative example, I focused my attention on the military coups of the 1930s and 40s, largely because they took place in what was closest to the modern Japanese legal context.[5] Of that subset, I chose the February 26 Incident for the severity of the government response. The others disintegrated before they could be properly carried out or were met with sympathy for the dissidents despite the obvious illegality of their actions. The February 26 Incident, however, was when they finally became too troublesome to dismiss, and the Emperor himself ran out of patience.

In this period, the Japanese military had become drastically factionalized into two main groups—an ultra-nationalist group, largely powered by a group of young officers, which supported the Emperor and wanted to purge Japan of Western influences, and a more moderate group mainly defined by their opposition to the above faction.[6] Occurring in 1936, the February 26 Incident involved the young officers, believing that they had tacit approval from higher-ranked officers of their own faction, launching assassination attempts against the nationalists’ most prominent enemies in the government (six assorted Ministers and former Ministers in the Emperor’s Privy Council and the Diet) and a bid to seize control of the administrative center of the capital and the Imperial Palace, after which they planned to demand the dismissal of more officers and the selection of a new Cabinet.

The seven ringleaders had convinced eighteen other officers to lend their forces to the attempted coup, a total of around 1,500 men, calling themselves the Righteous Army. Several of their assassination attempts failed, however, and while they succeeded at taking the Prime Minister’s residence and the Ministry of War, they did not manage to secure the Palace. The outraged Cabinet demanded the Emperor take a hard line with the rebels, and by the 29th, the Righteous Army was surrounded by 20,000 government troops and 22 tanks. In this hopeless situation, the officers dismissed their troops; two committed suicide (a third attempted it unsuccessfully) and the remainder were arrested by military police.

International Examples

For obvious reasons, I prefer to limit my examples to events that happened in Japan. However, I will also be briefly referring to a few international incidents of mass arrest, taking place in India, the U.S., and Egypt, respectively.

In the following parts, I'll use these facts and comparative analogues to take a closer look at what readers were told became of the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Part Two

-----------------------------------------------------

Footnotes (Part One)—

[1] Over three months’ time, they likely gained some new blood also, simply in the course of their usual recruitment tactics. You don’t get an underground organization that size by sitting back and waiting for people to come to you, after all. I don’t know a practical way to calculate that, though, so just bear it in mind for when I talk about new members later.

[2] Possibly because he was aware that 17,000 people captured in one fell swoop was difficult enough to swallow without adding on more than five times that number.

[3] We do, after all, see some very aged people fighting in the streets of Deika.

[4] They were considerably more international than you may have heard. They had 50,000 members at the time, some 30,000 of them based in Russia.

[5] The Meiji Constitution was ratified in 1889; universal suffrage (for men) was granted in 1925. The modern constitution was enacted in 1947.

[6] More moderate, mind, in the context of the Imperial Japanese military. Neither of these factions had any time whatsoever for leftist movements, hence all those suppressive crackdowns.

#bnha analysis #bnha meta #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #my writing #plf arrests #stillness has salt

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ginmo · 4 years

Note

How do you think the Bran and Jaime’s meeting will go in the books? I’ve read theories guessing he might end up as King Bran’s Hand, meta where the writers want him to become a mentor or father figure to the Starks in a full circle of his redemption arc, while others don’t want or think he should be involved with the Starks long-term either because of his and his family’s sins against the Starks or because they view his arc as reclamation rather than redemption or atonement. 1/2

This is what GRRM said about Bran and exploring time.

“It's an obscenity to go into somebody's mind. So Bran may be responsible for Hodor's simplicity, due to going into his mind so powerfully that it rippled back through time. The explanation of Bran's powers, the whole questions of time and causality - can we affect the past? Is time a river you can only sail one way or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop into it? These are issues I want to explore in the book, but it's harder to explain in a show.” - Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon

Hodor’s name reveal is neat and all, but Bran’s power to manipulate the past doesn't exist just so we can randomly learn Hodor’s pointless name origin. That would be ridiculous unless the scene was used to introduce that ability. Hodor’s name reveal is important to the narrative, and I believe its purpose is to set up a much bigger event/reveal involved around Bran interfering with the past, not just observing it. I’m pretty sure GRRM was hint-hinting to D&D about this, which is why he told them about the random ass Hodor scene that was already written, thinking it would be obvious what that means for the overall plot and letting them run with it but………………..

Because of this, I think it’s possible Bran brought himself to where he is.

IF Bran isn’t involved in The Push, then he could have been involved with Jaime killing the Mad King. I kinda like the idea of Bran playing into Aerys’ madness, causing him to stock up on wildfire around the city, because then the wildfire would be an essential future plot element for a bigger purpose towards the end of the series and it would be a question of time, “a river you can only sail one way, or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop it,” but for the entire series. (And, as someone with a passion in astrophysics, I’m a sucker for discussions around time. BUTTHAT’SJUSTME)

Do I totally subscribe to this theory? Eh. I’m still not convinced Bran is King of All of Westeros for reasons, but I’m open-minded. I DO think Jaime is surviving the series, for reasonsssss, so I’m putting that disclaimer out there right now. I will never claim with absolute confidence that he is surviving though because, I mean, nobody fucking knows, and there’s an argument for death. I’m just going off of narrative clues that I perceive to be clues, and taking other character arcs into consideration. After literally drawing up a table because I’m weird, the column for Survive has more evidence and justification than the column for Dies, so that’s why I lean the way I lean. SO with that being said, I think it’s possible he has more of a political future.

IF this is what GRRM is writing, Jaime would still be responsible for pushing him, of course, but future Bran would want to be pushed. He'd be setting everything in motion to create the butterfly effect that makes it happen.

Even if that isn’t what GRRM had intended with exploring time, it’s highly likely Bran’s character development is taking him down a path of apathy over it, meaning he wouldn’t be needing Jaime to do something for the purpose of redemption for him.

Speaking of Redemption…

-deep breath-

I’m going to go off on this a bit because it IS relevant, I swear.

“Limits of redemption” is probably the biggest wtf interpretation fandom has when it comes to what GRRM actually said. I’ll try not to go off on it too much here but -

Interviewer: Both Jaime and Cersei are clearly despicable in those moments. Later, though, we see a more humane side of Jaime when he rescues a woman, who had been an enemy, from rape. All of a sudden we don’t know what to feel about Jaime.

GRRM: One of the things I wanted to explore with Jaime, and with so many of the characters, is the whole issue of redemption. When can we be redeemed? Is redemption even possible? I don’t have an answer. But when do we forgive people? [...] I want there to be a possibility of redemption for us, because we all do terrible things. We should be able to be forgiven. Because if there is no possibility of redemption, what’s the answer then? [x]

I bolded “we” from the interviewer, because it gives context to GRRM’s answer with “we” being the readers, not the characters or Jaime himself. (I think there’s another interview where he says “limits of redemption” but it’s in the same context. I could be wrong but I SWEAR I heard it. Anyway…)

“I kind of tried to ask, ‘do you think he’s changed?’ to get him to talk about Jaime’s redemption arc, so he said something like he wanted to explore the concept of forgiveness and whether it’s possible to be forgiven for doing such horrible things, and that his goal was to ask the question, not give an answer.” [x]

Fandom thinks this is the characters giving Jaime forgiveness, and maybe there will be a small element of that in the books, but the question is for the readers. No, Jaime is not actively seeking redemption from people. His redemption is for himself, through living his best life, by rediscovering the person he used to be. Yes He Will Be Redeemed and No He Will Fail assume redemption is some arbitrary checklist determined by One Big Act, and they’re answers to a question GRRM doesn’t want to give an answer to.

The purpose of Jaime’s POVs is to ask the readers, and the most obvious moment of this was the bath scene. GRRM smacks us over the head with the Aerys confession, and then as we’re introduced to more and more of his POV chapters, he slowly chips away at the Jaime illusion that was intentionally established the moment he pushed one of the perceived child protagonists out of a window. It’s brilliant, and I’m sorry GRRM that a large chunk of your fandom is too dense to get it. How frustrating lol. I’ll be insulted for him. (I’m legit wondering if his recent angsty tweets about grey and redemption about real life stem from a concern that his fandom won’t understand the point of the series.)

To give you an idea of where these people are coming from, at least one BNF idiot on Twitter believes redemption hasn’t been explored with Jaime yet.

But uh…

GRRM mentioned his intent is to “explore redemption” after delivering Jaime POVs, because... it’s... not a spoiler… he’s already exploring redemption, because the question is being asked TO US. We were supposed to have an “oh shit” moment, realizing this is more complex than the surface level, biased perspective we were delivered at the beginning of the story. “Maybe Westeros and my protagonist have it wrong.” -cough- the people in the village in BatB -cough-

No matter how much fandom likes to pretend they love GRRM for pushing the boundaries of fantasy, they secretly fucking hate it. They love to be comfortable, dude. That’s why they read this series as if it’s a clear cut Good vs. Evil, because a) ego and b) that’s easy. If GRRM was writing Jaime as doing everything with ill intent then…. his… question isn’t being asked. They think everything he does right now is selfish and Bad, so they’re waiting. They want it spoon fed to them. They want classic fantasy. They want Starks = Good, Lannisters = Bad.

But… if the author sees Jaime’s actions as grey and complex, enough to ask the question to the readers if he’s redeemed in their eyes or not, then he’s not going to write an endgame that punishes the character for narrative payoff, because he doesn’t see his actions as “sins” or “crimes” in the same way that these people are. Once upon a time, a person on tumblr reblogged one of my posts and said that Jaime will rape Cersei before he kills himself and that will be his endgame. But GRRM doesn’t view Jaime as a rapist, so he’s not going to write Jaime as a rapist. I’m bringing that up, because it’s the same phenomenon. People can ignore authorial intent all they want, but NOT when it comes to predicting narrative trajectory. The general fandom is terrible at that lol.

The exploration of redemption for Jaime comes in the form of confronting his disillusioned self and everything attached to it. Before someone thinks, “lolllll he isn’t disillusioned”

“he actually was a very idealistic young man who was disillusioned by life” [x]

Jaime’s redemption is the path of returning to that idealistic man for himself. It’s by feeling ashamed of the things he’s done to hide his love for Cersei. It’s by gaining independence and detaching from the toxic relationship that caused a mess outside of them. It’s by wanting to be like the knights he admired in his youth, and like the woman warrior that inspired him.

So when I think about narrative payoff for Jaime, I don’t see it framed as him being “punished” for actions viewed as “crimes,” when GRRM clearly established those “crimes” as complicated and grey with a character already going through some positive development, and especially when the characters judging are written to be flawed as well.

On the other side, having him be “punished” by succumbing to hatred and anger is for sure giving an answer (this just… -sits on hands- don’t even get me started on THIS fucking hot take). That answer would be a clear, solid, “No, no matter how hard he tries to turn his life around, he can’t be redeemed, because he’s a hateful, angry, fucked up person.” I’ve legit seen people think “limits of redemption” is a boundary of redemption drawn in the sand that Jaime is walking towards but he won’t be able to cross it. I-.........................

And what’s even the point of his handchop if scenario number 2 happens?

“And Jaime, losing a hand, losing the very thing he defined himself on is crucial to where I think I want to go with the character. And he questions what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost that.” - GRRM [x]

(I’m going to put this quote in every post sorry not sorry)

So he’s going to take Jaime on this big identity journey just for him to be like “lol nah he isn’t that” …?? That makes the loss of his hand meaningless, not “crucial.” Is it really crucial for him to lose his hand if he’s bringing him back to the beginning? Is it really crucial for him to lose his hand to make himself realize he’s hateful and a failure and murder Cersei and then himself? No. He could have still met Brienne and been inspired by her knightly ways, attempted to live a better life, found out about Cersei’s affairs, etc. He doesn’t need to lose his hand to reach a point of fucking murder/suicide lmao fuck (not saying he’ll do that but I KNOW people are thinking it).

The loss of his hand is “crucial,” because GRRM has bigger endgame plans for him in the form of politics, and the journey to believably get there requires the forced loss of his warrior identity and everything that the hand symbolized.

AS FOR THE ACTUAL HAND THEORY...

Even though I’m undecided on it, I CAN see it IF Bran is King. I get it. Jaime’s missing his right Hand, he becomes the Hand to the kid he pushed out the window. Hardy har har. I understand how that would be pleasing.

And we all know GRRM said something about how the best ones for power are the ones who don’t want it…

And… this suspicious scene at the very beginning of the series…

“You should be the Hand.”

“Gods forbid,” a man’s voice replied lazily. “It’s not an honor I’d want. There’s far too much work involved.”

Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. -AGOT

BUT IF that happens, it wouldn’t be there as some sort of #atonement #forredemption. It would be there because of Jaime’s growth as a character after developing into a political player, after asking himself, “what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost [the swordhand]?” He’s no longer the warrior he once was. He dislikes any sort of political position, because he feels most alive with a sword in his hand. But that was Warrior Jaime, and the point of “what do you make of yourself after you’ve lost that” is Jaime going down a different path after discovering that Warrior Jaime has died. I mean, he’d never be actively seeking power and thinking it’s the best career ever, like he’d probably be all -sighhhhhhh- about it, but he’d be doing the responsible thing and what’s necessary. He’d make himself useful in a new way.

“The Warrior had been Jaime’s god since he was old enough to hold a sword. Other men might be fathers, sons, husbands, but never Jaime Lannister, whose sword was as golden as his hair. He was a warrior, and that was all he would ever be.” - AFFC (Do I really need to make a post about how GRRM foreshadows? Mr. Bran: “I never fall”...?)

Jaime losing his hand was the narrative consequence for The Push, making all of his development post handchop -ALL OF HIS POVS- the redemption theme. It was the hand that pushed Bran, fucked his twin, killed his king, swung the sword against fandom’s Precious Protagonists…

“You ought to be pleased. I’ve lost the hand I killed the king with. The hand that flung the Stark boy from that tower. The hand I’d slide between my sister’s thighs to make her wet.” - AFFC

So if Jaime becomes his Hand, it would be the two characters meeting in the middle, not Jaime groveling at his feet, begging for forgiveness, framed as a punishment for sins - “sins” that fandom views as “sins” that need narrative payoff, because they don’t understand intent.

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landoftheway · 3 years

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FFXIV Nier Raid Connections

Since it seems most folks have had time to play the raid by now, I’m gonna speculate on the connections between the raid series and the Drakengard/Nier franchise. Under a cut for both length and spoilers:

Before I get into the details, I wanna preface this with two things:

The themes of Yoko Taro’s works have always been more important than the plot details, and I’m confident saying that holds true here. There’s a bunch of speculation I could get into about what this raid series is thematically about and how that relates to Taro’s other works, but that’s a separate matter I may or may not talk about. All I’ll say for now is that the central theming of this raid series and its associated story has been “belonging” from what I can tell.

As of the time of writing this, the story of the raid is technically not finished as we still have an unknown number of weekly lore updates to go through. I’m writing this now mostly just because I have thoughts I wanna express based on what’s in the raids themselves, but the new info we get in the coming weeks may change some of the conclusions I’ve reached. In that event I’ll either update this post or just delete it and make a new one.

Alright, with that out of the way let’s get into the connections themselves. If you’re not already familiar with the raid series, please either play it for yourself if possible or go look up footage of their contents in the order of their release, as I’ll be jumping all over the place with my thoughts.

The Breach Coin we get for clearing the third raid has the following description: “This round bit of metal, discovered within the machines' mind-bending tower, is stamped with the words "The Arc."” This obviously has a connection to the Arc that was shot from the original tower in Automata in Ending D, but I don’t think it’s proof that the forces we encounter in the raid came from the Arc itself. Given that the tower is clearly a recreation of the one from Automata as well as the entire point of the Arc in Automata being non-hostile, I don’t think it would make a lot of sense for there to be a causal link between the Arc going off into space and the forces that arrive in FFXIV. My best guess here is that the coin has this message simply because that was the original tower’s purpose and thus the recreated tower has surface-level similarities.

2B’s final message to the WoL states “We discovered that our enemies- the white-clothed androids, the tower, that colossal girl- came from that white orb. As did 9S and I.” Given what we know about the orb producing duplicates, I think it’s safe to assume that the 2B and 9S we encounter in FFXIV are also duplicates of the originals; this would also track with how much of their behavior and attitude seems more in line with their personalities near the start of Automata as opposed to the very end. This begs the question of how and why they and the duplicate Anogg would oppose the other forces produced from the orb, particularly considering that it very definitely appears to be a Seed of Destruction with all that that entails. It also begs of the question of how 2B will “save the memory of [her and 9S’s] reunion- and of the time we spent in this world, with you.”, considering that if they are indeed duplicates then they should presumably cease existing once the Seed is gone. My best guess is that 2B, 9S, and Anogg will continue to exist in some form on the “other side” of the Seed, and that perhaps the upcoming weekly lore will give us some more info on that. Though I do think all of this makes perfect sense thematically, so even if we never get a conclusive answer I wouldn’t consider this a big deal.

With the additional info we now have on Seeds of Destruction, I think we can pretty definitively work out both what they are and how this raid got kickstarted story-wise. The Seeds are “planted” in different worlds by the God/Gods (depending on translation) of the Drakengard universe and are the means by which their forces, the Watchers, can invade and wipe out humanity/mortal life. In the case of FFXIV, a Seed got planted on the First presumably by pure chance and began manifesting duplicates of the machine lifeforms from Automata as an initial invasion force meant to fully activate the Seed. Duplicates of 2B and 9S likely were not intended and may simply have manifested as a result of their deep connection to the fate of the machines, or they may have been produced by the Seed in order to create the false YorHa as a more effective invasion force than the basic machine lifeforms. Either way, the Seed is fully activated when the Red Girl duplicate enters it at the end of the third raid, becoming first a semi-formed and then fully-formed Mother Watcher (AKA a Grotesquerie Queen or Mother Angel, again depending on translation). Why exactly it took this long and this much effort to “activate” the Seed is unknown; we just don’t know enough about their inner mechanics to say for sure, though given how it took the magical seals in Drakengard breaking to unleash them it may be that they need a sufficient infusion of magic in order to fully activate. It’s also possible that Konogg and Anogg being the first to make contact with the Seed influenced what it drew on as inspiration for its invasion force; them being technology-obsessed could have influenced the Seed mimicking technological forces it already had something of a connection to (given the connection between the formation of Automata-era tech and the magic that was introduced to the world of Nier via the ending of Drakengard). But this is entirely speculative on my part, and I’m hopeful the upcoming lore will at least give us a little more info on this front.

Given how the Red Girl duplicate appears to “become” the Mother Watcher rather than simply summon her, I think it’s relatively safe to assume at this point that Mother Watchers are themselves born from Seeds, and given the ending of Drakengard 3 and how exposure to the Flower also leads to a similar transformation, I think we can also speculate that the Seeds are either born from or at least directly connected to the Black Flower. Given the symbolism of the terminology involved, the Seeds may literally be the seeds of the Black Flower (as many have speculated for a while), the flower itself being the God/Gods’ primary tool for destroying humanity or even a direct manifestation of them.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #nier

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the-original-b · 3 years

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Archangel Chapter 11: Talent Scouting

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 3 of 9 (Previous Chapter | The Beginning)

Word Count: c. 2,600

Summary: Khai pressures Krueger to contain a rapidly deteriorating state of affairs.

Krueger stepped through the glass doors of the Sixth Avenue office—dressed in a commando sweater and dark jeans with classy shoes under his pea coat—and headed towards the conference room.

Danielle straightened up behind her desk as she noticed him walk past her. “They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Krueger,” she said.

He thanked her with a nod and proceeded down the hallway, past Khai’s old office which CJ Silvio now worked out of, and entered the conference room to join her and Everett to discuss their next steps after the events at Pharaohs a few days ago. Visible on a computer monitor at the end of the table was Hayden.

“Gentlemen, Miss Khai.” he greeted them. “Is Mr. Desmoulins joining us?”

“We’re ironing out the connection now,” Khai noted. She wore a dark suit with a white blouse and black peep toe pumps. “It’s one thing to set up a video call, but another entirely to set one up with him.”

“The man lives in military grade encryption,” Everett added. Today he wore a conservative blue suit with a pale gray shirt underneath.

“It’s how he’s stayed invisible for so long…” she added sotto voce. She tapped a few more keys on the laptop Hayden’s face was on. “Got it,” she said, turning the device toward the other men in the room. “Brandon, can you hear us now?”

“Loud and clear,” Brandon voice confirmed through the speakers.

“Perfect. In the room you can see I’m here with Mr. Krueger and Henry Everett. Also joining us via teleconference is Mr. Hayden.”

“Hey, everyone.”

“Greetings,” Hayden said. “Good to see you’re all well.” He folded his arms atop the desk he sat behind.

“Same to you, sir.” Khai said, sitting down and facing the laptop. Krueger and Everett took their places standing behind her. “Have you heard any updates from Dana and Charles?”

“No, and that’s what concerns me. Karin’s seen a steady increase in the Dragon Tears’ popularity in her territory, but she and I have been in regular contact; and Herman’s reported no problems in his area. The others have had their hands full for months, and now that I haven’t heard from them since last week the rest of us are more than a little concerned.”

“That bad?”

“It isn’t just the drugs, it’s the problems they invite. Police budgets have been slashed nationwide, and the hardest-hit cities have turned to the private sector to compensate.”

“Castle Security Solutions,” Krueger noted. “I’ve seen a news story on them the other day.”

“It’s no coincidence they’re expanding while the Dragon Tears become more popular,” Khai noted.

“Are you suggesting they’re connected, Miss Khai?” Hayden queried.

“I’m saying there may be a causality, sir; that somebody stands to profit from the expanse of one or both of the two forces choking the Partners today.”

“I agree,” Everett added. “And thanks to Krueger, I think we know who.” He looked at the monitor. “Mr. Desmoulins?”

“Special Agent Peter Cross,” Brandon said. “Born August 14th 1966, UT San Antonio class of ’88. Eight years with the FBI, then transferred to the DEA in ’96. He spent three years there, then moved to ATF. He changed hats a third time and joined the CIA in 2002, after which the records stop.”

Krueger arched his brow. “The United States Government?” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot.

“We don’t know that for sure, but it does make sense,” Brandon mused. “If the CIA is sponsoring an effort to destroy the Partners, they’d want somebody like Cross at the tip of the spear.”

“Not their wheelhouse,” Khai commented. “That’s more the FBI’s job.”

“Also doesn’t make sense that his story stops after his start with the CIA,” Everett noted, his hand on his chin. “I get the feeling there’s more to this Peter Cross than the records show.”

“Especially since the buyer named him,” Krueger added, just loud enough for the others to hear. He leaned on the back of a chair to Khai’s left. “Is it possible he’s changed sides, started working for another criminal organization?”

“Possible, but not likely; the only other major player in the region is the Company,” Khai said. “And after the ordeal with Osiris, they’re hardly on my radar these days.”

“Mine either,” Hayden said. He brought his knuckles to his lip as he looked away from the camera, breaking eye contact as he considered the new information. “Do we know if Cross is operating in the Tri-State?”

“I found an office in Long Island City,” Brandon said. “Registered to a Rook Capital. He’s listed as Operations Manager.”

Krueger and Khai shot each other looks.

“Then I think that’s where we should start,” Hayden concluded. “Mr. Krueger, head to the Rook Capital office tonight.” Hayden lowered his hand again. “Surveil the building and report back what you find”

“Understood,” Krueger said.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Brandon suggested, “I think I have a better idea. I wrote a script that clones a computer’s internal drive and writes it to another location. I call it the Intruder.”

“The one used at Miles Orham’s cabin?”

“The very same. I think we can use it again here, but we’ll need an access point for it to work.”

Hayden nodded. “I agree,” he said. “That is a better idea. Mr. Krueger, if you can gain entry to the office and upload Mr. Desmoulins’ program into their server room, I believe we’ll gather all the information we need.”

“I’ll get it done, Mr. Hayden,” Krueger said with a nod.

“Excellent. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made more sense of the data.” He reached for something off-camera. “Good day.” His visage disappeared immediately afterward, and the four remaining people on the conference call shared a moment of silence.

“I’ll make the needed modifications to the Intruder,” Brandon finally said. “Krueger, can you come by later today to pick up the drive?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get the address from you while I’m there as well.”

“Awesome. Let me know when you’re on the way. Mr. Everett, Liz, take care.” And just like that, Brandon Desmoulins disconnected from the conference, and Khai shut her laptop before turning to face the two other men in the room with her.

“Well,” she said.

“It sounds self-explanatory to me,” Everett said. “We plant the Intruder, wait for it to do its job, and decide our next steps after we analyze the data.”

“We might run out of time before then.”

Everett shot her an inquisitive look.

“Rook Capital… Rook, the chess piece.”

“Castle,” Everett concluded. “The private contractors?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I caught it too,” Krueger added. “It can’t be coincidence that Cross is part of their office in Queens, he has to be connected to the private contractors coming up in cities across the country.”

“All the evidence points to that,” Khai said. “And if all is as it seems then there’s no time to delay here…” She stood up from her seat, adjusting her glasses. “We have to kill him.”

“Liz,” Everett said, raising a hand to chest-level. “You’re talking about killing a possible U.S. Government agent. That’s a sure-fire way of drawing attention that we cannot afford.”

“It’s also the only way we can guarantee avoiding the same thing that’s happening to Dana and Charles right now, and to stop whatever’s brewing from destroying the whole organization…” She took a breath, placing her hands on her hips and shutting her eyes. She opened them again and met Krueger’s gaze. “Milo, go see CJ in the armory.”

“Liz,” Krueger began.

She started toward her desk at the head of the conference room, by the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “It won’t be easy, but if you can get in and out before they know what happened, I think we can slip the noose before they get a chance to tighten it.” She took a seat and woke her desktop computer.

“Liz, I was ordered—”

“It’ll be tight, but there’s a safe house in Sunnyside, on 40th Street. You can lie low there while things settle down—”

“Liz..!” He got her attention.

Khai looked away from the monitor to face him.

“That isn’t the job,” he specified. “You heard Mr. Hayden, this is strictly an infiltration assignment.”

“I did,” she said, “but it may be too late to do anything about whatever facts we dig up by the time we analyze them all. We need to solve the problem before it becomes one.”

“And I agree with you there,” Krueger said, leaving his place at the table to approach her. “But this is different—you’re talking about having me remove a possible Federal Agent.” He stopped barely two feet from the edge of her desk, then placed his hands onto the desk top. “A long time ago I stood right here in front of your predecessor, and promised to kill him in his sleep if he ever ordered me to do something I’m not comfortable with.”

Khai didn’t take her eyes from his, even as she leaned back into the chair and uncrossed her legs. She wasn’t even aware of the distance she tried to create between them until she blinked, realizing what she was actually feeling wasn’t shock, but fear.

“I don’t want to have to revisit that threat.” Krueger finally said. He maintained his flat tone, deadly serious. “Least of all to you… but if I have to, I will.” He straightened his posture again, looking down at her. “I was issued an order, Liz. And I don’t intend to deviate from it.” Krueger turned on his heel and headed toward the exit, his hands in his coat pockets. On his way out of the office he acknowledged Danielle again and passed through the glass doors to the elevator down to Sixth Avenue.

Everett shuffled uncomfortably after Krueger left. “That wasn’t something I should have been in the room for. Sorry, Liz.”

“No, you’re fine,” she reassured him. “Really…” She let a quiet sigh escape her lips. “You know, that’s the closest thing to a fight he and I have had in the almost two years we’ve been together… I was always nervous about that, but now I think I was scared of the wrong thing.”

Everett followed her eyes darting across the top of her desk. He noticed her reach for a pen and absentmindedly tap its point on an old post-it note. He’d seen that look on her face before, and could practically see the gears turning in her head as she worked through what must have been a problem she’d revisited and resolved dozens of times already. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she declared, trying to convince herself more than him. “Yeah, it’s just… easy to forget who he is sometimes.”

“A good-hearted man?”

Khai looked up at him and, after a brief pause, exhaled. She shut her eyes and put the pen back down, then brought her hand back up to remove her glasses and rest them by the pen. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and first finger then pinched the bridge of her nose before allowing her hand to slide down her face to her mouth as she opened her eyes again, staring ahead blankly.

Everett looked over his shoulder to the conference table and headed over to retrieve a chair which he placed in front of Khai’s desk. “Don’t tell me,” he began, sitting down. “You’re considering ending your relationship with him; you’re listing the pros and cons in your head and trying to come up with any good reason to let him go on your own terms before you’re forced to make that choice.”

Khai quietly laughed and shook her head. “That obvious, huh?”

“You may as well be an open book,” he returned, smirking.

Khai relaxed her smile and brought both her hands together, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. She shut her eyes again and placed her face into her palms, exhaling slowly. She interlaced her fingers again, looking over her knuckles at him.

“And now, you’re realizing he’s not only the best thing to happen to the Branch, but also to you.”

Khai nodded. “I know,” she said. “And as much as I try to rationalize and poke holes in the pros, I can’t find a single reason to make it worth breaking up with him in the end.” She dropped her hands and turned her head to look him in the eye. “But I’m scared, Henry,” she admitted. “I hesitated even bringing him to the Brooklynite that night. I didn’t think I’d fall for him…” She shrugged. “But I did. A kind, charming, good-looking guy with a tragic past; I didn’t stand a chance,” she laughed. “I ignored my doubts and let myself get closer to him. No matter how many times I think I made a mistake with him, then realize I didn’t, I still feel like I’m going to screw this up somehow. And that terrifies me.”

Everett gave a half-suppressed chuckle as he considered his next words. “Forty years ago, I think I heard those same words come out of your father’s mouth when he tried to talk himself out of proposing to your mother.”

Khai laughed again. “I guess the apple plopped straight down,” she jested. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he was the smartest person I knew. Then I chastised him for not being able to see the obvious choice,” he added with a smirk. “You inherited his brilliant mind, Liz. The two of you work through problems the same way—you consider all the approaches, all the variables, and by the time you reach your solution you realize you knew the right answer from the beginning.” He shrugged. “This is no different. I think you made your decision before we even started talking about this.”

Khai opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but stopped herself when she realized he was right. Sure Krueger caught her off guard with his parting words, but he said what he did because of who he was and—more importantly—who he wasn’t. Khai rested her cheek in her hand as she considered Krueger, weighing his numerous good qualities against his few bad ones. She tried to justify splitting with him in light of any hypothetical and actual threats to their relationship, and a soft smile washed over her face as she realized she couldn’t.

“There’s a reason you invited him to dinner that night, Liz” Everett concluded, leaning forward. “Remember that.”

Krueger headed down Sixth Avenue and crossed at 51st Street to head toward the garage where he parked his car. He slowed after he made it across the street, then sighed as he stopped in his tracks. He stood off to one side to let others pass him as he slid his hands into his coat pockets and stared absentmindedly into the sky, re-playing his meeting with Khai, Everett, Brandon, and Hayden in his head over and again as he considered the information. After a while he fished into his coat pocket to find his mobile phone. “Ich werde es bereuen,” he said to himself as he dialed the number when he found it in his list of contacts.

“Mr. Krueger!” CJ Silvio’s voice on the other end answered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need something precise and powerful.” he said. “Last-minute.”

“How powerful are we talking?”

“Hole-puncher.”

“Uh…” Silvio shuffled audibly on the other end. “I think I can put a list together. Rifles or handguns?”

“The latter. The quieter the better.”

“Oh, well that narrows it down… I’ll have to see if we have any of those left in the armory.”

“Meet me there in thirty minutes.” Krueger ended the call and headed for the garage on 51st to his car.

(Masterlist | Chapter 12)

#fiction #original work #original content #original fiction #prose #story #creative writing #drama #crime story

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unsettledink · 3 years

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(Part two of looking back at the fandoms I was in and the fics I wrote in 2020)

(Part one here.)

Most popular story:

By Kudos (and comments), Seiche : By hits, Indefensible : On tumblr, Pocket Change

Story you wish was more successful:

Well, that’s kind of the curse of writing rare pairs. I want anything with Tony/Quentin or Peter/Quentin to be more successful, lol. Defining the feeling of success in fandoms/pairings like that is tricky, because— do I wish they’d gotten more attention? Of course! Do I consider them fairly successful because they got any attention? Yeah, kinda.

Something like Intent got very little response, but considering the size and age of the fandom, it actually felt successful to get any response?

The entire Old Adages series I really wish had found an audience; I’m very fond of it, and it’s… softer than I usually write? The filthy smutty kinky stuff always outpreforms anything else, and that sort of thing feels easy for me. And I’m extrapolating a lot for young Quentin’s characterization, so I’m a little insecure about that as well.

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story:

You know, there are several stories I feel like should be that? But let’s be honest, considering what I’ve written in the past, they’re not that bad.

So I’m going to have to go with Creepy Crawly. I mean, I get squicked a little if I read it in the wrong mindset. SPIDERS D:

Hardest story to write:

Causality. I just… could not quite connect somehow. I had the image in my head fine, but when I went to write it I felt pretty meh. I think I hadn’t done much (any?)Peter POV at that point, so that was a stretch. And I think I’d been spending so much time in the world of Gotcha that any other version of Peter/Quentin felt strange. I got it done, I have a sequel planned, but it was a struggle.

No Lies was also tricky. I picked the prompt ‘make-up’ because I had this crystal clear mental image of someone kneeling, crying, makeup smeared all over them. But I didn’t know WHO. I tried so many pairings and characters, and even when I figured out that I really wanted that to be Tony… who with? Could I actually make Peter behaving that way believable?? Once I got it sorted out the writing was easy, but getting there - gah.

Easiest story to write:

Indefensible was bizarre to write, because it literally just arrived in my brain in one giant chunk, complete, and I just had to transcribe it over a day or two. Very odd.

Pocket Change was much the same. The idea appeared and that first image of Tony holding the bill was just… there. The rest of it fell into place so easily as I went along.

Most fun story to write:

Just a Bite was a lot of fun to write. It’s a topic I enjoy anyway, and I like trying to focus in on one element like that. Peter discovering a new thing he liiiiikes is always a ton of fun.

11:59 was also surprisingly fun? Like— three characters that have interesting dialogue patterns, a slightly darker Tony, being able to indulge in nasty Quentin without him being quite a villain, the constant shifting of emotions for everyone in the room. Just so much going on in small ways. There are totally at least three more fics set in that universe.

What’s your personal favorite thing you wrote this year?

Tough call, but probably A Perfect Fit. Really, the entire insane little universe that’s expanding into. Definitely not something I would have expected at ALL back in January.

What’s your least favorite thing you wrote this year?

Maybe Can’t, Wont? Idk. I didn’t have a strong enough idea for the prompt to really make something of it, I guess. And writing Peter/Quentin is kind of difficult at the moment. It feels weird because I’ve spent so much time in the world of Gotcha that other takes on the characters are odd.

If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

Probably Want What I Want. I knew what I wanted and I just couldn’t quite make it function. So I went with a slantwise version of it - which isn’t bad, but doesn’t have the focus I wanted it to. It felt like more of a twist on the prompt than I wanted. I’d like to go back and expand it out, dig into the specifics of the prompt a little more.

And tbh, I got a comment on that very point. I’m normally really good about letting go of comments? But it was something I’d questioned myself, so it stuck more.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

(Just) Waiting Around? Maybe? As much as I love top/experienced!Peter, I had to sit down and figure out how I might be able to actually get him there, convince the reader that this was a Peter that current Peter could become.

And any of the Tony/Quentin fics. There’s not a lot given for Quentin in canon; taking those little bits and trying to follow them back to these younger version of Quentin was really interesting and difficult. How do I make this character the softer, more open, more vulnerable, less confident version of himself from 10/15 years ago, and still keep those sharper edges that will grow and take over? How do I make the reader believe both that this version could have existed and that version could actually become the canon one?

Story that was most different from what you usually write:

I mean, Relief? I’ve never written het before (and probably never will again, lol), but I wasn’t going to let the chance to write redwings pass me by.

In general, all the freaking ABO. Which I’d never written before this fandom, though I’ve read tons of it. Not something I really expected to write? And then suddenly I’m not just writing it, I can’t seem to stop.

Sustain felt pretty different, and it took me a moment to figure out why (don’t laugh at me!). I’ve never written straight up non-sexual kink before. Not just a kink scene that doesn’t have sex, but a kink scene that doesn’t even have the intention or desire for sex. Completely removing that additional layer of tension and complications is fascinating. I’m really interested in expanding that verse.

Most unintentionally telling story:

Oh, other than Gotcha, lol? Um. I don’t know if any really are? Maybe Backhand, or Sustain. Hmm, maybe Getting Started, though it’s not finished.

Now I wonder what conclusions those have people drawing.

What’s your favorite piece of description or narration?

Oh my god, what an impossible question. Uh. This is difficult because I… think of images in words? I feel very odd about the bits I picked, Idk.

It’s so small, and I don’t know if I captured it as well as it is in my head, but I come back to it so often:

Stark sits on the bed, and then seems to get lost, or distracted, not moving again until Phil pushes him gently towards the middle of the bed. He gets Stark curled up on his side, just a sliver of his back touching the sheets.

There's a chair against the wall that doesn't look too modern, so hopefully more comfortable than most of the monstrosities around here; Phil has a feeling he's going to be here a while, watching Stark come back up. He stands, about to walk away when there's a soft touch on his hand. He looks down.

Stark's arm is stretched out, his fingers just barely resting on the back of Phil's hand. He's looking up at Phil out of the corner of his eyes, head just barely turned towards him. It's a clear a request as anything spoken; stay.

"I'm not leaving," Phil tells him. "I'm not even leaving the room. I was just going to get a chair.'

There's a breath, a hesitation, Stark's hand not leaving his, and then it's gone, Stark dragging it back in, turning his face into the pillow. That was the wrong response, something about it was just... wrong.

"Stark," Phil says, leaning onto the bed. "Do you want me to stay here? On the bed? I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable with that." After all, this doesn't seem to be at all sexual for him.

Stark doesn't say anything—Phil's not entirely sure if he's nonverbal or not—but he turns his face back towards Phil a little. Doesn't quite look at him, and doesn't make a move; he's not going to ask again, not after what he obviously took as a rejection. His reactions are odd, not much like Phil had expected.

- Sustain

Or:

Beck gets Peter turned around, still kneeling but settled back against Beck's legs, leaning into it. "Toss me his shirt," he says, and Tony throws it at his face, Beck managing to catch it before it connects. Laughs, like this is fucking funny. He slips his hand into Peter's hair and tugs his head back a bit, wiping the come off his face.

"Take five, baby," Beck says, and Peter hums, resting his head on Beck's thigh and staring at Tony. Beck's petting him, hand sliding slowly though Peter's hair, and it's a fucking nightmare that Beck knows what that feels like and Tony doesn't. "You see?" Beck says. "He likes it a little rough. A lot rough, sometimes, so don't worry about hurting him. Don't worry when he cries," and Tony glares at him.

Beck's looking down at Peter, though, and then Tony is too. He's turning red again as Beck talks, but he's not denying anything, and not looking away from Tony.

Beck's hand trails down Peter's neck, hooks around the front and pulls him back; Peter's head tips back, exposing the whole of his throat to Beck's hand. "He's a little embarrassed by it," Beck says, "but he's an awfully sweet submissive too. Aren't you, honey?"

Peter looks up at him, his expression soft, open. "Yes, sir," he says, and Jesus Christ, Tony had no idea how much he wants Peter to say that to him. Peter likes it too, not just giving it lip service judging by the way his cock is getting hard again. Beck smiles.

"I'm going to miss you," he says. "You've been a lot of fun, baby." He looks up, catching Tony's eye, a smirk growing slowly on his face. "Guess I'd better make sure the last time makes up for it."

- 11:59

What’s your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

I mean, I’m very fond of Hang Up, it’s like 85% dialogue.

Alternatively:

"Looks like you're finally ready to be fucked," Tony says. "Bets on if you'll come on my cock, or if I'll have to give you a reach around with this?" settling the gauntlet on Quentin's hip.

"No," Quentin says, shaking his head as much as he can manage, "no, no, Tony—"

Tony leans in, thighs pushing Quentin's legs apart, the head of his cock bumping up against Quentin's ass. "If you manage it just once without my hand," he whispers, ducking his head and rubbing his beard over Quentin's shoulder, "I'll fund every last thing you ask for."

"No," Quentin moans, because he can't.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Tony says. "I'll make sure you can."

- Make Sure

Story with the single sexiest moment:

AHHHHHHHHH fuck this is the hardest one.

Secondhand and Gift Wrapped both have some of the hottest moments, I think:

Peter's so hard he can barely think, absolutely can't control the way his dick jumps in Quentin's hand. He doesn't want to hear about this, doesn't want to imagine Tony with Quentin at all. Doesn't want Quentin to stop.

Quentin kicks off his pants and then he's crawling up over Peter, staring down at him with that manic glint in his eyes that Peter knows well enough by now to worry about. "He fucked my face like that," Quentin says, watching him. "Kept babbling that shit and fucked my throat nearly raw. Can't you hear it, honey?" and Peter can, he can.

"Can't you imagine it?" Quentin asks, and Peter can.

- Secondhand

And:

Peter wants— he curls his fingers in Tony's hair and yanks, Tony's head hanging loosely from his hands. He looks wrecked, sweaty and his whole face is dark, his lips wet and red and puffy, all from Peter's cock. When he opens his eyes, it's like he's not even seeing Peter, completely lost in his own little world; he's stiffening slowly, his spine rounding and he tries to brace himself, his eyes going wider and his breath getting shorter and— and is he about to come, Peter wonders. Is he really going to come just like this, from being fucked like this?

He is, he totally fucking is because a moment later Tony stops breathing entirely, his head jerking hard against Peter's hold, his whole body jerking as he comes. He gasps, eyelashes fluttering, and Peter can feel Tony's come landing on his legs, holy shit.

Pepper eases her thrusts, sinking into Tony and just rocking against him while he comes. Waits until he's gone limp, sunk down even more between her hands and Peter's; "Peter," she says. "Get a good grip on him for me. He gets all wiggly afterwards and I'm not done."

- Gift Wrapped

But if it comes down to what is probably my favorite -

Peter had already been pretty out of it when Tony came back, already wound up and just existing, no thoughts and no worries, nothing but want and feeling and response. He’d already been awfully close to flying, and this— this drops him over the edge, completely.

Some part of his head is aware of the way he’s thrusting up into Tony’s mouth, Tony taking it happily, drooling around him; is aware that Peter’s tossing his head back and forth, fighting against Rhodey’s tight grip on his hair, only making it worse with every yank. Is even a little aware that the others must be watching him, watching them, watching just like Rhodey’s looking down at him, Tony looking up, their gaze so heavy on Peter he can feel it, just like he can feel everything, every touch and every texture and every single spot his body is in contact with anything. Can feel everything, too much, overwhelming, amazing, and he doesn’t know if it’s that, or the pain of Rhodey’s grasp, or the wave crashing down on him as he comes that have him crying. Maybe it’s all of them, or maybe it’s just that he’s wanted like this, kept and held and wanted.

Rhodey kisses him, gently, and Tony crawls up over him; kisses Rhodey and kisses Peter and Peter could stay just like this forever. He can see Tony’s mouth moving, talking to him, then Rhodey, then him again, but his head is full of nothing but static, white noise.

- Flaunt

(So, uh, what does it say that all of those are threesomes?)

Stories I haven't yet written, but intend to:

SO MANY. Beyond the fics I’ve got going for other people and Gotcha, and the (hopefully) one off continuations of kinktober fics, I really want to focus on -

The rest of Deep End (I know it all exactly!)

The sad AI Peter/Tony, real!Peter/Tony

Branches of Aegis

ONE of my longer ABO pieces.

Fluffuary & Kinktober, again.

Fingers crossed. I don’t even want to think about how many more ideas will come creeping in.

#end of year #unsettled rambles #starker #spiderio #quentony

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smalltowndetective · 4 years

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Birthday!-M

Finally here with the last part of my Birthday series! M has been a challenge to write, so I hope it turned out okay! My detective for M is also not the easiest to write either, and this was the first time I’ve written her, so I kind of went into her backstory more then I usually do with the fics. I hoped it turned out okay regardless!

Of course, this post was based of @gamingtrashbasin post (that I would recommend you look at before reading for context) about the Unit Bravo Cakes, and I have to take a second to give them a HUGE thank you. Without that post, this little series would have never existed, and I am so so grateful for it.

That being said, if you have any requests for a snippet or a Unit Bravo series like this one, just send me a message! I’d love to do it! I am taking requests from this list, but I am more then open to do more then just that, so if if there is anything specific you want to see, don’t be scared!

Ao3 Link

Links for the previous Birthday Posts- Felix, Nate, Adam

Pairing- Mariana “Mari” and Mason

Words: 1.1 k

She had been in the training room for hours ever since she had that fight with Rebecca this morning.

Rebecca had asked her to come into her office this morning, apparently “having some concerns” about how she was handling the balance between her job as detective of Wayhaven and as a human liaison for the Agency, on her birthday no less.

You really want to act like you care now on how I handle the stress? After all of these years?

It had been enough to set Mariana off, and even though she knew she have never taken it so personally, it still dug under her skin. She had to survive her entire childhood alone, and she had no qualms to keep going through this alone.

She never even wanted to be detective of Wayhaven. In middle school, she was a bit of a trouble-maker, and at first, when a teacher suggested that she join ROTC, she had been completely against it, but needing an elective, she put it down anyway. Come to find out she actually loved it, enjoying the structure and rules of it, and wanted more then anything to join the army after graduating from high school, already talking to a recruiter years in advance.

Her absent mother had put her foot done there, apparently choosing now to care about what her daughter was doing and at seventeen, there was not much she could do against her mother, even if she only saw her a few times a year. She soon afterward joined the police force as an officer, and she was genuinely enjoying it, the structure something that she liked.

But she never wanted to be a detective, and it took Captain Sung forcing the nameplate on her desk in order for her to finally relent. Now, she was also a liaison in her mother’s secretive agency that dealt with the supernatural, and Mariana wanted nothing to do with it.

Well, Unit Bravo was at least a reason to stay. They had treated her like just like another one of them rather quickly, and even if she questioned the Agency’s intentions, she sure as hell trusted them.

Throwing one last punch at the dummy, Mariana put her hands on her knees, feeling exhausted, her whole body dripping with sweat, but she felt better. And succumbing to her extremely small professional side, she decided that she would go to her mother and apologize for her outburst.

She ran her hands through her ebony hair, it falling just to her chin, and as she was going to get her change of clothes, she heard of shout of Felix’s laughter. Curiosity peaked, and Mariana did her best to make herself more presentable as she walked to find the source of it.

“What’s going on in here?”, she asked as she walked to the group of the four of them. Felix was still laughing when she got there, Nate was shaking his head in exasperation, and Adam was looking as stoic and serious as he normally did, but none of them were the vampire that captured her attention.

Mason was perched on his normal side table, his forever roughish appearance kept with his shoulder length dark hair, his wolf-like grey eyes, and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. In the past few months that she had known him, she more then enjoyed the fire that burned between them, and even though they had no more but causal sex at this point, after she saw Mason hurt after the fight with the trappers just might have awaken feelings that she did not know she had, even if Mason did not feel the same way.

Felix gave his well-known grin, “Oh, hey Mari! You’ll never guess what Mason did”.

Mariana gave a light laugh, “I stopped being surprised by what Mason has does quite a while ago”, to which she heard Adam give a long-exasperated groan.

“Then maybe I need to rectify that?”, Mason said, a sultry tone in his voice, and before she could say something equally sultry back, Nate let out a sigh.

“Can you both not?”, he said, then turning to Mariana, “Well anyway, happy birthday Mari”.

Mariana knew that he and others likely heard the fight between her and Rebecca, and she was glad that he decided not to mention it.

“Thanks, she said, “So, what did Mason do?”

Felix let out a fit of laughter, and Mariana finally looked at the table, and finally saw what they were all referring to.

It was a birthday cake, or at least that she thought was supposed to be. It was a dense circular cake, hastily covered in beige icing, with the phrase “fuck off” scrawled in black icing setting off center, and to top it all off, three cigarettes set up like candles.

There was no question who was behind this.

Mariana flashed a devilish grin on her face, “Aw, sunshine, it’s so sweet”

Mason flashed her a smirk, “Nate made me do it, sweetheart”.

She scoffed, “Believe me, I can tell”.

Nate gave a long sigh, “I’m truly sorry about this, Mari. This is not what I had planned for”

“He still made it himself”, Mari said in response, “And I’m pretty sure that’s an accomplishment in itself”.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that”, said Felix, “Thought definitely he would just try and blow it off”.

Mariana then looked over the team, the four people who had managed to turn her life completely on its head these last few months, “Thank you all truly. But I need to go see my mother first, then we can continue this.”

Adam gave her a nod, seeming to find approval in that statement, and as she went to go, Mariana was shocked to find Mason following her, and when they got to the hallway, she turned to face him.

“What are you doing here?”, she asked, and Mason’s face fell into his usual smirk.

“Just figured I walk with you”, he shrugged, and Mariana met his eyes, their eyes level with each other from them being the same height.

“Oh?”, she asked, “What were you expecting?”

Mason opened his mouth, but Mariana met his lips in a kiss, and Mason immediately answered with his own, the two practically falling fighting each other in a passionate fury, stoking the fire that they each felt inside the other, until Mariana finally broke it off.

“Was that what you were expecting?”, she purred next to his ear, and she felt him snort.

“Admittedly, no”, Mason responded, “But I’m not complaining”.

Mariana gave him a grin, “I’ll be back later. We could finish what we started”.

“I’ll look forward to it with bated breath”, he said, and he started to walk away, and Mariana was about to open the door to her mother’s office when he turned around.

“Mari?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy birthday”, he simply said before actually leaving this time, and Mariana started to talk herself up to go to her mother, and as soon as she felt like she was ready, she opened the door.

Hope you enjoyed! :)

And to the Anon who asked for Mason #25, I promise I’m working on it! It should be out soon!

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #mason x detective #detective mariana gonzales #i did my best

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ladyhindsight · 4 years

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Even after all efforts to write a sympathetic character who truly feels to weight of their actions and decisions by wallowing in their obscure guilt, there’s still many ways to overshoot the mark. By writing senseless narrative that makes even the irrationality of emotions seem irrational, for example.

I wanted to go back to this post which was about Clary’s disingenuous guilt. I felt I needed to expand on this idea and wanted to scrutinize the shortly mentioned conversation between Luke and Clary a bit more, especially because it even initially did not sit right with me. Essentially Clary is being a conscientious main character and blaming herself for everything that happened to Simon. Here’s the part from City of Ashes where Luke tries to reason with her and absolve her from that guilt:

"What happened to Simon wasn't your fault." She heard the words, but they seemed to bounce off her as if there was an invisible wall surrounding her. Like the wall Hodge had built around her when he'd betrayed her to Valentine, but this time she couldn't hear anything through it either. She was as numb as if she'd been encased in ice. "Did you hear me, Clary?" "It's a nice thing to say, but of course it was my fault. Everything that happened to Simon was my fault." "Because he was angry at you when he went back to the hotel? He didn't go back to the hotel because he was angry at you, Clary. I've heard of situations like this before. They call themselves 'darklings,' those who are half-turned. He would have felt drawn back to the hotel by a compulsion he couldn't control." "Because he had Raphael's blood in him. But that would never have happened either if it weren't for me. If I hadn't brought him to that party—" "You thought it would be safe there. You weren't putting him in any danger you hadn't put yourself in. You can't torture yourself like this," said Luke, [...] "There's no point to it."

(City of Ashes, “Smoke and Steel”, pages 210-211.)

I don’t doubt there is sense in Clary’s guilt because Simon is her best friend, and his security would seemingly be one of her priorities in the dangerous hidden world she just entered. However blaming herself for all of it comes across just obnoxious, considering that there is no reflection on Clary’s part at all. What exactly does she think she did that makes everything her fault?

As far as the narrative reveals, one is bringing Simon to Magnus’ party and the other is Simon turning into a vampire after series of events that had nothing to do with Clary. As Luke says, Simon didn’t go back to Hotel Dumort because he was angry at Clary for smushing faces with Jace at the Seelie; he would’ve gone back anyway because of the compulsion.

There’s a lot of causal explanations to our actions and eventual outcomes of those actions. One thing starts a chain of events, outcome of which there is no way to predict. While we could argue that Simon being brought to Magnus’ party started this particular number of actions—which it did—and thus somehow making Clary responsible and “guilty”, the premise to Clary’s guilt is entirely false, a point I’ll get to in a minute.

In this scene from City of Ashes cited above, Luke tries to absolve Clary’s guilt and, in a sense, manipulate the narrative so the readers would also give Clary that absolution and sympathy for being so self-conscious, which is rich especially when she is not the one suffering from the result. What is a true stretch here is Luke’s reasoning: Clary thought Simon would be safer at the party with her. Another point I’ll get to in a minute.

“You weren't putting him in any danger you hadn't put yourself in.” As if this is any reason at all to bring Simon along in the first place. As if is alright to subject Simon to the same dangers just because Clary herself has to get involved with them? What kind of logic is this? Luke then speaks how anywhere Simon has ever wanted to be, it was always with Clary.

"Clary, I'm telling you he made his own decisions. What you're blaming yourself for is being what you are. And that's no one's fault and nothing you can change. You told him the truth and he made up his own mind what he wanted to do about that. Everyone has choices to make; no one has the right to take those choices away from us. Not even out of love."

(City of Ashes, "Smoke and Steel", page 211.)

Luke is right. Simon chose and is responsible for his own decisions. Clary can’t take Simon’s freedom to choose away from him. But the problem here isn’t and never was Clary being a Shadowhunter. It was never something anyone faulted her for or demanded an apology for—least of all Simon—for which Luke’s reasoning makes no sense at all. Clary being a Shadowhunter and having Simon involved in the dangers of Shadow World, whether he chose or not, are not a package deal. It is not as if you can’t have one without the other, especially when a momentary situation demands them to be kept separate. Clary demonstrated that well enough in City of Bones when she didn’t contact Simon in days after the ravener attack. Simon merely had enough time for himself to stalk in a bush and then swoop in, and nobody really tried to reason otherwise. Third point I’ll get to in a minute.

Simon’s safety being brought up as an argument point, though not being present in City of Bones in the most crucial scenes as to Clary’s guilt, it must be pointed out that it isn’t as if Clary hasn’t ever been concerned about Simon’s safety during their Crazy Adventures. We can see that from the scene before they confront Madam Dorothea/Abbadon:

The last Clary saw of Simon as she turned to wave from the front porch was his long legs propped up on the dashboard as he sorted through Eric's CD collection. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least Simon was safe.

(City of Bones, "The Mortal Cup", pages 342-343.)

And in the scene where Clary calls to Simon about information she needs about Renwick’s.

"Not everyone lives in the Slope, princess," said Simon, with a fair degree of mock sarcasm. "Anyway, do you need me to give you a ride again or something?" "No! I'm fine, I don't need anything. I just wanted the information." "All right." He sounded a little hurt, Clary thought, but told herself it didn't matter. He was safe at home, and that was what was important.

(City of Bones, "Renwick's Ruin", page 441.)

It’s just that these parts weren’t in question. They are way past the point of the events which led to Simon becoming a vampire for which Clary is feeling guilty. One of these two instances where Simon’s safety is an actual point states that “he was safe at home, and that was what was important”. Why was this never an option before? Why no one told Simon to just go home and stay there? (Though fortunately for them, he ended up saving their asses. But I’m sure narrative could have handled that any other way too.)

To get to my main points, let’s do some backtracking. Simon is first introduced in the beginning of City of Bones and present all the way to Jace appearing again. Once Clary spots Jace who's been basically stalking her, she leaves Simon in Java Jones and gets the call from Jocelyn to not come home. Next time Simon is seen, he's sitting in the bushes near Luke's house. Simon then learns about the Shadow World after Clary has ignored him for days even though has thought of him during that time. They eavesdrop on Luke and couple baddies having a talk after which Simon tags along to the Institute.

"You don't have to stay with me," she said, though she'd fought Jace on the train for the right to keep Simon with her, pointing out that after his three days of watching Luke, he might well know something that would be useful to them once they had a chance to break it down in detail. "Yes," Simon said, "I do."

(City of Bones, "The Circle and The Brotherhood", page 135.)

We never, of course, get to read the train scene because it happened between the scenes. This is the first—and now come to think of it, only—instance in the book where Clary argues the importance and rationality of Simon staying with her, but her argument has nothing to do with Simon’s safety to the best of our knowledge since the only visible point Clary is told to have made is that Simon’s information gathered while stalking in the bushes might prove to be valuable to their investigation. This is also a scene where Simon makes the choice to stay with her, which is what Luke pointed out. Simon of course would.

In the Institute, Clary is annoyed by Simon’s infatuation with Isabelle and leaves with Jace to see Hodge. Simon is left with Isabelle in the kitchen. Once they return, Clary is still very annoyed by Simon and Isabelle. She tries not to look at him. Clary, Jace, Isabelle, Alec, Hodge, and Simon then have a conversation about Jocelyn, Valentine, and the Silent Brothers. When it is suggested that Clary let the Silent Brothers have a go at her locked mind, Simon defends her by telling the others to leave her alone. Alec then just realizes that Simon is present and questions this:

Jace glanced over at him, a slow, sweetly poisonous glance. "Alec is right," he said. "The Institute is sworn to shelter Shadowhunters, not their mundane friends. Especially when they've worn out their welcome." Isabelle got up and took Simon's arm. "I'll show him out." For a moment it looked like he might resist her, but he caught Clary's eye across the table as she shook her head slightly. He subsided. Head up, he let Isabelle lead him from the room. Clary stood up. "I'm tired," she said. "I want to go to sleep. [...] It was cooler in the hallway than it had been in the kitchen. Clary leaned against the wall, pulling at her shirt, which was sticking to the cold sweat on her chest. Far down the hall she could see Isabelle's and Simon's retreating figures, swallowed up by shadows. She watched them go silently, a shivery odd feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. When had Simon become Isabelle's responsibility, instead of hers? If there was one thing she was learning from all this, it was how easy it was to lose everything you had always thought you'd have forever.

(City of Bones, “City of Bones", pages 159-160.)

Up to this point, Clary has not made much effort to have Simon with her whereas Simon has been insistent on remaining with Clary. Clary has been rather halfhearted about Simon and his safety has not been brought up at all. Clary rather laments how everything (like Simon) is so easy to lose while making no effort to keep him there. She also wonders when Simon had become Isabelle’s responsibility instead of hers. Funny. Sounds like responsibility of a person you might feel guilty about has exchanged hands here and being admitted to by said guilty person.

Jace and Clary then venture into the Bone City and later meet the others in Taki's.

"Izzy's on her way," he said. "She's bringing the mundane." "Simon? Where did he come from?" Jace asked. "He showed up first thing this morning. Couldn't stay away from Izzy, I guess. Pathetic." Alec sounded amused. Clary wanted to kick him.

(City of Bones, “Magnus Bane”, pages 190-191.)

Isabelle arrives with Simon, and Clary keeps being annoyed at them. They find out about Magnus Bane and his party. Simon disappears somewhere between the scenes to spend time with Isabelle (though Simon did invite Clary to hang out but Clary being still salty and all refused). Jace tells his Tragic Falcon Story. Clary sleeps. Isabelle wakes Clary and dolls her up for the party.

No one tells Simon to go home, and Simon’s presence is constantly attributed to Isabelle, not Clary. There is a clear rift in Clary and Simon’s friendship here, though I don’t know how intentional by the author it is. Once they're ready to leave for the party, Simon is of course there and for no reason. No one questions his presence nor is his presence justified or needed. Clary keeps on being salty on the way about Simon's interest in gadgets and Isabelle, of course.

In the party, Simon and Clary have an exchange reminiscent from the beginning of the book that is then ruined by Isabelle (by Clary’s standards):

"You think he goes to St. Xavier's?" "Very funny." She looked at him sourly. "You're right. He's too old to be a student. I think I had him for chem last year." Clary laughed out loud. Immediately Isabelle was beside her, breathing down her neck. "Am I missing something funny? Simon?" Simon had the grace to look embarrassed, but said nothing. Clary muttered, "You're not missing anything," and dropped behind them.

[City of Bones, "Dead Man's Party", page 220.]

Clary immediately drops out when Isabelle arrives. She then keeps being salty about Simon and Isabelle dancing Sexily. Simon gets turned into a rat, and Clary gets angry at Isabelle. I am still wondering why Simon was brought along. Then, Clary gets to work through her first round of guilt:

"If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have been here at all," Clary said in a small voice. "Don't flatter yourself. He came because of Isabelle."

(City of Bones, "The Memory of Whiteness", page 241.)

Again, Simon’s presence is attributed to Isabelle. Also to note, it’s strange to say that it’s “flattering” herself for Clary to think that Simon, her best friend, who Jace laughed at for having unrequited feelings for Clary, would be there also for her. Though this has not been made evident in the writing at all. Simon’s initial choice to remain with Clary has been buried under

Clary’s reluctance/refusal to connect and be with Simon

Clary letting Isabelle’s presence dictate whether she spends time with Simon

Isabelle being constantly thrown in as the reason why Simon sticks around

Clary being more interested in narrating Jace’s character

Clary’s constant unfounded hate and mean attitude against Isabelle

which is why it doesn’t carry over to this scene, making Simon seem like an excess character with no purpose or basis to be there. Additionally, Simon has left several times. No one still told him to stay home and that Clary will surely be in contact with him. For instance.

Clary’s guilt is obnoxious because it is centered around broad developments in the story. Her guilt has nothing to do with how she treated Simon, forgot about him, avoided him, abandoned or left him because she disliked Isabelle and him liking Isabelle. Sure, Clary is feeling guilty and wallowing in it, punishing herself by abstaining from Jace (because that’s just the worst punishment?), but she isn’t feeling guilty because she recognizes those faults in her own behavior. She feels guilty because she did something she, according to the narrative, didn’t actually even do or express any opinion about at all.

Simon wanting to stick around was based also on his fear of losing Clary, that Clary would leave him behind because now her world was all new and interesting and magical. As to that, the writing of Simon’s character has been very consistent in City of Bones, it’s just that the motivation was left incredibly unclear occasionally.

“If I hadn't brought him to that party—” Which to conclude, Clary didn’t. Isabelle did. No one just questioned why Simon was coming or brought up any complaints. He had no reason to be there at that point. The narrative didn’t present any discernible reason whatsoever other than other characters presenting Isabelle as one.

“You thought it would be safe there.” Simon’s safety was a nonissue. No one did their all to keep Simon, a mundane, safe or away. There were no hard facts put on the table, no “you don’t know how to defend yourself, you’re safer away”, rather than constant demeaning and mean attitude towards him (from everyone except Isabelle, funnily enough).

Luke’s speech tries to explain away the faults in Clary’s character that are left unrecognized by throwing in some disingenuous reasons as to why Clary didn’t do anything wrong and shouldn’t feel guilty because of it. Clary’s guilt masks away those faults even further because the guilt is used as what seems like a guise to make Clary appear better and self-conscious, to paint over what she actually was wrong about. Simon becoming a vampire did not happen because Clary is a Shadowhunter. That’s a fallacy, and Luke’s reasoning holds no water at all.

The whole thing is interesting because it is similar in technique to how the narrative represents Isabelle, and how her character is actually executed, in the first book especially. We are constantly told different than what we are shown. At the end of City of Bones, Clary tells Isabelle this:

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice. I like it better when you act like yourself.” “Bitchy, you mean?” Isabelle said, and laughed. ((Also there shouldn’t be a comma???))

(City of Bones, “Epilogue”, page 477.)

Which is just, wow, because there had not been any occasion, any scene where Isabelle’s sincerity or candor should’ve been brought to question. There wasn’t an instance where Isabelle acted as what would constitute as being “bitchy” whereas there were plenty from Clary.

#Clary Fray #Simon Lewis #Isabelle Lightwood #Luke Garroway #City of Bones #City of Ashes

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mid0nz-archive · 4 years

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The Cannibal & the Consulting Criminal: How Silence and Sherlock Taught Me to Read

(I’m writing a series of autobiographical essays. This meta is a messy. messy warm up…)

PART I: TSotL The Odd Flash of Contextual Intelligence

Know your intertexts (and the limits of their influence)

I’ve spent a LOT of time writing about the influence of Harris on Mark Gatiss in particular. We have Harris to thank for Sherlock’s mind palace for starters. Moriarty and Dr. Lecter share many traits. Then again so do the psychiatrist and Sherlock. I’ll come back to these obvious connections between Sherlock and TSotL in a later part of this meta. (The connections are actually quite superficial.) For now I want to return to my first obsession: the genius cannibal who taught me how to read and the fandom that saved me from him.

Do your research.

Thomas Harris, author of The Silence of the Lambs, choses every word with great care. How many people, for example, do you know called Hannibal? Clarice is more common I suppose, but it’s certainly not a run-of-the-mill monicker. While starlings are the most common of birds have you ever met someone with that surname? Have you ever met a Lecter? What if I told you there is an extremely obscure historical figure called Hannibal the Starling? (You’ll find the reference in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology if you seek.) Would you think that Harris must have heard of that man? Possibly. Possibly. If I told you that Harris makes most of his characters’ names up– that they sound plausible enough, but unless you’re an everyman like a Jack Crawford or a Will Graham you’re a Francis Dolarhyde or an Ardelia Mapp.

Ardelia Mapp? In the novel Ardelia is Clarice Starling’s roommate at the FBI academy. When exams roll around and Clarice has been too busy hunting Buffalo Bill to read her textbooks, it’s Ardelia who makes sure that Clarice knows all about search and seizures. Adelia Mapp. Ardeila Mapp. What kind of name is that? It helps if we cram along with Clarice:

Mapp v. Ohio, 367 U.S. 643 (1961), was a landmark case in criminal procedure, in which the United States Supreme Court decided that evidence obtained in violation of the Fourth Amendment, which protects against “unreasonable searches and seizures”, may not be used in criminal prosecutions in state [or] federal courts. (x)

Hey Thomas Harris!

Recognize when there’s a joke and you’re not getting it.

Thomas Harris amuses himself with language. Clarice comes from the Latin root clar and the words related to pertain to brilliance and light and the illustrative. And Lecter? So many people have tried to trace its origins but all becomes clear when you think about its etymology. In Latin lector means reader.

Clarice’s boss, Jack Crawford, likes to quote impressive sounding things out of context. Dr. Lecter mocks him for picking and choosing passages of the Meditations of the Roman Emperor, Stoic philosopher, and persecutor of Christians, Marcus Aurelius.

“I’ve read the cases, Clarice, have you? Everything you need to know to find him is right there [in the case files], if you’re paying attention. Even Inspector Emeritus, Crawford should have figured it out. Incidentally, did you read Crawford’s stupefying speech last year to the National Police academy? Spouting Marcus Aurelius on duty and honor and fortitude— we’ll see what kind of a Stoic Crawford is when Bella [his wife] bites the big one. He copies his philosophy out of Bartlett’s Familiar, I think. If he understood Marcus Aurelius, he might solve this case.” “Tell me how.” “When you show the odd flash of contextual intelligence, I forget your generation can’t read, Clarice. The Emperor councils simplicity. First principles. Of each particular thing, ask: What is it in itself, in its own constitution? What is its causal nature?” “That doesn’t mean anything to me.” “What does he do, the man you want?”

I could go on and on about how Harris allows Dr. Lecter to reference Stoicism and all kinds of other ideas for his own amusement. I say amusement because the reader need not understand Dr. Lecter’s jokes to enjoy Harris’ books. Clarice doesn’t and she doesn’t pretend to. Oh how Dr. Lecter fancies his student! I could go on and on because the entire fucking book is a compendium of in-jokes. That in itself is Stoic food for thought. Diogenes Laertius recounts a Stoic idea that Harris likes to chew on.

“Some appearances are expert (technikai), others are inexpert; at any rate a picture is observed differently by an expert and the inexpert person.”

Julia Annas explains:

A non-expert will just see figures; the expert will see figures that represent gods. The expert is right— there really is that significance- and the non-expert is missing something. What is more surprising to us is the claim that the appearance is itself “expert.” The expert is not seeing anything that is not there for the ignoramus to see. It is the fault of the ignoramus that he fails to see what is to be seen, because he fails to understand the content of what is presents to him. (82) - Hellenistic Philosophy of Mind by Julia Annas

Lecter, the consummate reader, is the expert. Clarice, who’s not more than one generation from the mines, is the ignoramus. Yet she shows the odd flash of contextual intelligence.

Discern clues from NOISE.

Though their relationship was weird, close, and lasting Clarice would never realize that Dr. Lecter gave her everything she needed to know to catch Buffalo Bill the first time they met!

On that fateful day, with instructions from Jack Crawford to note anything and everything she sees, Clarice shows enough intelligence to asks Dr. Lecter about the drawings in his cell. Dr. Lecter replies:

It’s Florence. That’s the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo, seen from the Belvedere. Do you know Florence?“

If Clarice were prepared "to read” Dr. Lecter’s work, she might have understood the significance of the image. She’s the very model of the Stoic ignoramus.

Clarice finds Buffalo Bill/Jame Gumb by recognizing his personal acquaintance with the first victim he skinned, Fredrica Bimmel. They both lived in Belvedere, Ohio where Clarice finds Gumb while Crawford’s teams go all SWAT on John Grant’s last known address. We find out later in the novel that Dr. Lecter knew Gumb lived in Belvedere, Ohio. Perhaps he was musing on the facts of the case while composing his sketches.

Jack Crawford, of all people, should have noticed the name “Belvedere” and made the connection. His dying wife’s name is Phyllis but he’s called her Bella for most of their entire relationship. Phyllis and Jack were both stationed in Italy and during one of their outings, a man called Phyllis “Bella,” or beauty. Bella is the feminine form; “bel” is the masculine form, as in bel vedere, or beautiful view. We learn later that Clarice has to work hard to trick herself into seeing any beauty in Belvedere, Ohio.

Now you’ve got the facts. Theorize with them.

There is another explanation as to why Crawford might have missed the clue in Dr. Lecter’s drawing from Clarice’s notes. Clarice does not know Italian. How would she have written the sketch’s title in her report? Dr. Lecter does not say, when she asks about the sketch, that is is the Old Plaza and the Dome seen from the Belvedere (pronounced in English, be-vuh-deer as in Belvedere, Ohio). Dr. Lecter says all the proper names in Italian except “Florence.” Florence is the English name for the city Italians call Firenze. Clarice’s ear would catch “Florence” and it may be that her report stated that the sketch was of Florence, but no further details. She doesn’t, after all, ask Dr. Lecter how to spell the names of the places with which she is unfamiliar. Crawford, reading a reasonably detailed report from Clarice, might have only noted that Dr. Lecter was sketching Florence– enough detail for a report if you don’t know what you’re looking at. Clarice, while an ignoramus in the Stoic sense, shows potential. Dr. Lecter is polite when he surmises that she is “innocent of the Gospel of St. John.” He calls her innocent, not ignorant. She’s simply not an expert in iconography. She sees all she can see in the image. Crawford, however, is experienced enough with Dr. Lecter to know how important images are to him. Will Graham captured Dr. Lecter in Red Dragon by recognizing that one of his victims was posed in a tableau of a Wound Man in one of Dr. Lecter’s books. Graham was an expert. We can’t be sure from simply reading the text that Dr. Lecter isn’t making the epiphany of “Belvedere” especially difficult to decode even if Clarice were to have written a verbatim transcript of their discussion. In speech Dr. Lecter may be pronouncing the proper names as an American would, or, alternately, with an Italian accent. He could be pronouncing the incidental proper names (Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo) in an Italian accent and “Belvedere” in an American accent to dare Clarice and Jack to take notice. Or, he could be pronouncing all the names in an Italian accent, a fact could be lost in translation between Clarice, innocent of Italian, and Crawford, who knows just enough to have had an epiphany. Each scenario is possible and each reveals a slightly different interpretation of Dr. Lecter’s motives. If we take Thomas Harris himself as the final authority, in the audiobook Harris reads Dr. Lecter’s part. Harris says all proper nouns including “Belvedere” with an Italian accent (albeit with a Mississippi drawl.)

Yeah ok SO WHAT?! And what about Sherlock?!

In Part II I’ll talk about TSotL as an intertext to Sherlock and the limits of this influence. I’ll compare Dr. Lecter’s method of reading to James Moriarty’s. I’ll talk about why & how I crawled out of the cannibal’s skull and into the consulting criminal’s and where I am going next… Or I just might try to revamp this to make more sense. I dunno…

#Repost of an old meta I deleted but need for a new project.#The Silence of the Lambs

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

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This Story Deserves a Better Class of Villain

Can I take a moment to indulge in some salt—or at least pretend that I don’t otherwise do so on a daily basis—and note just how horrible Gabriel is as Hawk Moth and the overall set up of the show in general?

And I don’t mean horrible as in him being a monster—we all know he is. I mean horrible as in him being an idiot. I know I’ve called him as such before, but I think I haven’t quite fully explained just WHY.

By all counts, the entire premise of the show shouldn’t even work. We are shown in Origins that Gabriel has found out about the Miraculous (later revealed to be because his wife is in a coma directly because of one), has found Nooroo and the Butterfly Miraculous, has discovered that combining two very specific Miraculous will grant him ANY wish, and at that point decides for an as of that time unknown reason that he wants those two Miraculous and is willing to use the one at his disposal to obtain them.

So what does he do?

Does he create an akuma that can just locate Miraculous? No.

Does he create an akuma who can translate the magic book he has? No.

Does he create an akuma that can accomplish his wish for him without the need for the Miraculous? No.

What DOES he do then?

He immediately chooses to declare himself a supervillain and starts attacking Paris with the clear expectation that the two specific items he is after are 1) somewhere in the city and 2) will show themselves in order to stop him.

And what does he have to base this expectation on?

NOTHING.

This is a problem for multiple reasons.

First off, since Gabriel has no idea where the Miraculous are, that means he has no indication that any Miraculous would just happen to be in the same city as himself, much less the specific two he needs. He doesn’t know about Fu either, or that there would be ANY Guardian. So the fact that Fu just HAPPENED to be in Paris at the time and thus in a position to act against him is mere coincidence—or rather contrived convenience, because we wouldn’t have a story if he wasn’t.

Second, he’s making a major assumption that whoever has the other Miraculous knows about it. Given that the Miraculous look like normal items, they could very well be on display in a museum or antiques kept in a lockbox somewhere. He has no way of knowing!

Third, he’s assuming that if someone does have the Miraculous and is aware of what they have, that they would in any way be willing to reveal themselves and fight him. He even comes out and states as such—“what attracts super heroes better than a super villain?” This would require that whomsoever has the items in question not only knows about them but that they WOULD use them to be superheroes or that they would use them specifically against him if he presents himself as the opponent. He even comes right out and declares himself as an intentional supervillain specifically for this purpose. What if the people who had the Miraculous didn’t care?

Fourth, he’s assuming that if anyone DOES come forward to stop him, it’s actually going to be someone with any Miraculous at all. This is a world where superheroes are noted to already exist. That means that someone like say Majestica or some other random hero with a NON-Miraculous-based backstory and powers could show up and kick his ass. Given Alya and her fixation with heroes as well as Damocles and his Owl-themed Batman-esque repertoire, it’s fully possible that someone would have jumped from the woodwork to challenge him and they quite possibly would have been completely normal.

Fifth, he’s clearly expecting that if any of the Miraculous ARE to be used against him, it will be both of the specific two he’s after and not, oh I don’t know, ANY of the fifteen others we now know exist. There are specifically Miraculous that can make shields to protect people and paralyze the akumas—either of which would be notably more conducive to a much quicker fight. Not to mention we know of at least one Miraculous now that can specifically travel through TIME (which could be used to go back to before Gabriel sends out the first akuma and promptly take him out then and there before any of this can happen).

What it comes down to is that Gabriel’s plan can only work due to a number of conveniences that all just HAPPEN to be the case. That doesn’t speak of Gabriel’s efficiency or ability as a villain, that speaks of the narrative causality and Fu’s own foolishness for playing into Gabriel’s hands like this and putting himself and the rest of the Miraculous at risk.

If Fu was hanging out somewhere in another country, Miraculous Ladybug wouldn’t even be happening. In fact, to prevent the issues of the series, all Fu would have had to do was just…NOT respond to Hawk Moth’s appearance at all.

Arguably, this could be a matter of Fu trying to retrieve the lost Miraculous, which is all well and good except that his first inclination is to just hand off BOTH of the most powerful Miraculous to teenagers without telling them ANYTHING about what they’re doing or why.

That said, let’s focus again on Hawk Moth.

So okay, his plan worked by sheer luck, and not only are the EXACT TWO MIRACULOUS he needs suddenly present but they’re being used to fight him by teenagers who are new to their powers and new to being superheroes, and thus either prone to making mistakes or overlooking some of the major potential pitfalls of superheroing.

So what does he decide to do?

Does he make an akuma to track them down in their civilian lives so he can grab the Miraculous when they’re unprepared? No.

Does he create an akuma who can just brainwash all of Paris at once so the heroes will hand over their Miraculous? No.

Does he create an akuma and set up a situation to draw them into a direct trap? No.

Does he create an akuma that is sneaky—one that nobody actually realizes is an akuma so it can get the drop on the heroes? No.

Does he in any way look into investigating these heroes or try to figure out who they are so he’ll have that advantage? Hah hah, NO.

Instead, he pulls a Rita Repulsa and just sends out an akuma every so often ONE AT A TIME to draw the heroes out, have a fight, get defeated, and monologue while throwing in a pun before he calls it a day.

The big problem is that all of his akumas are loud, showy, and above all—OBVIOUS. Anyone who sees the akuma is immediately going to run. When the akuma appears, people are immediately going to send out warning and call for the heroes. And thus the heroes are generally going to KNOW that Hawk Moth is attacking and go in prepared for battle. For a guy who is the head of a company and a world renown fashion designer, he knows NOTHING about subtlety.

It’s the same thing every time. Someone feels an emotion he can take advantage of, he sends out an akuma to turn them into a monster, they wreck shit with no real purpose other than what the akuma themselves want or just to get the heroes’ attention, and then the heroes come out and save the day. That’s it. With few exceptions (by which I mean like…MAYBE two), that is every episode up until the Heroes Day two parter, which is quite possibly the first attack he fully plans for, goes all out on, and very nearly wins because of it.

It may be the nature of his particular powers in that he has to take advantage of situations made available to him, but even then, he isn’t taking full advantage and there’s no reason for it. On two occasions now, he’s been able to akumatize Miraculous users, first in Queen Wasp and then on Heroes Day—something he clearly planned for in the latter. On both occasions, he had them completely under his control. But rather than have them go and hand over their Miraculous to him to increase his own arsenal before their otherwise inevitable defeat at the duo’s hands, he just has them act like any other akuma and wreck havoc.

His weirdly convoluted style of planning becomes evident particularly in Collector, where it was officially revealed that yes, fan theories and TV tropes was actually right in that Gabriel Agreste is Hawk Moth.

In Collector, his Miraculous book was lost and while he KNOWS it was because Adrien took it, he ASSUMES that somehow his enemies have it, ASSUMES that they will somehow know the book is his, ASSUMES that they will suspect him because of it, and proceeds to akumatize himself to try to trick them into thinking he’s not actually Hawk Moth.

And what evidence does he have for all this? What is there that supports this overly complicated plan to counter this possible suspicion from his enemies?

Again, none.

Even if he DID somehow manage to look into things to see what happened to the book, the most he would find is that Lila stole it and then threw it away. Nobody saw Ladybug grab it from the trash or run off with it. He has absolutely NO reason to believe Ladybug or Chat could have gotten ahold of the book or especially that they would track it to him. No reason except for sheer paranoia.

The fact that he happens to be correct doesn’t make any sense. If anything it’s another example of the situation being contrived for the sake of him rather than him actually planning for the situation.

Even worse is that at the end of that day, it’s a pig-tailed schoolgirl reminiscent of a certain pig-tailed superhero who just HAPPENS to show up with the book and return it. For all his paranoia about the heroes, does he even suspect that this girl might be one of the very heroes he’s fighting against?

Hahaha, of course not!

All in all, it’s another indicator of bad writing when the plot is turning on itself to justify Gabriel’s canyon-sized leaps in logic. Gabriel as a villain has the appearance that he is SUPPOSED to be an intelligent and dangerous mastermind who is always just one step ahead of the heroes. But instead, he’s a monologuing recluse who appears overly paranoid at the strangest of times and needs a matter of plot convenience to prove he’s justified in doing so.

The fact that his plans even work for however long they generally do speaks less of his ability and more of the desperation of the writers to make him seem like a real threat rather than the sheer fluke he actually is.

#ml salt #hawk moth #gabriel agreste #hawk moth is an idiot #gabriel is an idiot #gabriel salt #hawk moth salt

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excusememecouldyoupleaseleave · 5 years

Text

Coffee Runs Are Never Quick

A Taron Egerton X Reader fic

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 1802

just your average fluff. it is not great I know lol but I needed to write it down because I had this dream.

Coffee and then editing. That was the plan, at least before those plans were demolished from within the Coffee shop. I woke up today, looked at my phone and saw two things, first, a text from Emie reminding me that we were to meet at 11:40 finish editing our film for class at 12:30 and to bring her usual order of a medium cold brew, extra shot of espresso, cream and 6 pumps of caramel. The second thing I saw was that it was currently 10:57 am and I was already late.

Scrambling of my bed and to the nearest clean clothes that could possibly work together, I changed out of pajamas and scrambled into the bathroom to brush my teeth, one foot still working its way into my jeans.

11:07 and I am out the door, laptop bag at my side, filled with the essentials, and headphones resting in their usual spot

“Cmon Freddie, give me speed give me luck” , I whispered to my phone as I shuffled my Queen playlist, rushing down the sidewalk to our local Starbucks.

11:12, and I rush into the door to discover there was quite the line today. Guess living so close never did guarantee a quick coffee run.

“Not today, please not today anytime but today...” stepping in line I shot Em a text,

“Hey… Gonna be Late sry! Don’t kill me plez!”

Her response, a gif consisting of what seemed to be a man crying uncontrollably. I was fine.

“Someone’s upset” The man behind me said, having seen Emie’s response over my shoulder.

Removing an earbud to address the man who spoke, I chuckled,

“Hehe yeah, She’s inconsolable.” I joked, slipping the phone into my pocket so as to not be snooped on again.

“Yea, oh sorry, I didn’t mean to spy, I just noticed it. I wasn’t reading your texts. Promise.”

He reassured and I turned to look at the man now. What stood before me was a vision I definitely did not expect to see this morning, let alone any morning.

“You’re.. I’m sorry Hi, You’re Taron Egerton.” the words come out faster than I could think and he just nodded with a friendly smile

“Eh I think so, at least that’s what people call me.” He answered jokingly.

The line moved forward and us with it,

“I um, I am sorry, that’s a dumb thing to say, to anyone really but dumb because you are you and wow, words are not my strongsuit when I am not caffinated.”

stumbling through my sentence I laughed at myself and shook my head in disbelief, I was acting a fool. But Taron seemed to enjoy this, or at least find it slightly amusing as he laughed as well,

“Don’t worry, words bad I at am too.” the causal screw up of his sentence sparked another grin from me.

“Ah, good to know hehe, I am Y/N, by the way.” I gave my name finally, and extended my hand to shake his, which he received and shook with a smile.

“Lovely to meet you Y/N.”

11:16,

The man in front of me finishes ordering and I hurry up to the cashier,

“Hey Tess, the usual today, Emrie’s too and whatever he is getting as well,” as I said this I gestured to Taron who shook his head

“Oh no don’t do that, It’s good thanks.”

He tried to turn down the gesture but, I insisted, I always was quite stubborn when it came to gifting others. Seeing I would not budge from my decision he gave Tess his order and she rang it up. Before I could thank him for letting me get his drink, his card slipped into the card reader, and soon the transaction went through, receipt printed.

“Did… did you just hijack my payment.”

“Yup. Told you not to do that, Now I had to pay for both of ours instead.” He smiled, a glint in his eye, playful. Tess just smiled at this and handed his receipt over.

“That was unnecessary. But Thank you”

He shrugged,

“with you being so kind you gave me no choice but to be kind back.”

It was honestly unfathomable how nice he really was. I mean I always thought he was a nice guy but like, no he is genuinely a good guy.

Our names were called and I grabbed my drinks, and thanked Taron again, about to head out the door, before I noticed he had sat down at a table alone.

11: 22 “Are you meeting anyone?”

He shook his head and sipped his coffee

“No, I have about an hour or so before I have to meet with some photographers for a shoot.”

11:22

you can sit Y/N you have 20 minutes. You can meet her right? You already said you’d be late right? Or is this inruding, would it be weird if I sat with him?

I was knocked from my thoughts as Taron spoke again.

“You know I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck to drink alone, if you’d like to sit you are fully welcome.”

An invitation. Take it.

“I thought that only applied to alcohol, but I’ll indulge you”

I responded jokingly and sat across from him, setting my laptop bag beside my chair and the two coffees on the side of the table.

“Oh I’m sorry if you have somewhere to be don’t worry about it.” He said gesturing to Em’s coffee,

“Oh no it’s fine I have time and she can wait. Trust me. So what brings you here, just the photoshoot?”

“Yeah, and I’m just taking a holiday, needed some time to recharge after the last year.”

Rocketman had been released and The Dark Crystal Netlfix series had also just come out. I knew it was nonstop for him, from premieres to press conferences to talk shows. He was probably exhausted.

“And you? What bring Y/N here?” He asked back, folding his hands on the table between us,

“Oh I go to university here. I actually study film funnily enough. Writing, directing, all that fun stuff.”

Taron smiled widely, eyes lighting up,

“Really? That’s brilliant! Are you currently working on anything?”

“Ah well, My friend and classmate Emrie and I have to finish editing our short film for one of our classes. It was a project on sound in film, specifically film driven by the music. So we all picked a song and made a short film to be shown with the song.”

I explained, cheerily as I was quite proud of our work this time, and well I loved talking about this stuff naturally.

“That sounds fantastic, what song did you two pick?” Taron was genuinely interested in our project, it was honestly cute, and very sweet.

“I Want To Hold Your Hand, The Beatles. We felt it would be fun to make a cute short story from it.” I answered and pulled my laptop from the bag opening it and pulling up our in progress project,

“I uh, have it here if you would like to see what we have. We only have to clean up some of the cuts and add the credit tiles at the end but it’s mostly finished,”

He nodded his head quickly and answered almost instantly,

“I would love to, please, that would be great.’

Surprised by his interest I plugged in my headphones and handed them over before pressing play from the start for him to see.

What then played was a film with two girls, seemingly showing up for a date, the main one, had a determined face, eyes set on the other’s hand. The entire time the film progressed with the song playing as this girl tried to intertwine her hand with the other girls but was stopped by the most inconvenient of things. Geese, strangers, tripping, children, even grabbing the wrong person’s hand. Just as our main heroine seemed ready to give up her goal, the other took her hand with ease, smiling at her with a knowing look. Taron was smiling the entire time,

11:36

Taron takes the headphones off and hands them over,

“That was brilliant, super fun. I particularly loved the geese attack, how did you stage that?”

“Oh that was unplanned they actually got harrassed by an angry goose. We had to run away and finish filming the next day because we got scared.”

I admitted, trying and failing to contain my laughter. He laughed with me shaking his head

“Incredible haha, honestly I love that. You two are going to get an A on this project or I’ll waltz in to your professor myself and demand one.” He said, and put on a ‘matter of fact’ tone that made me giggle, cheeks flustering,

“Thanks, you should definitely do that haha, I’m sure that wouldn’t cause a stir or anything.”

“None at all,”

He just smiled, we both grew quiet and sipped away at our drinks. Enjoying the silence and the company for a few moments.

11:43

“WHERE R U” a text flashed on my screen

“Crap… I’m sorry I have to go I am a bad project partner. Haha I’m already late.” I put my stuff all together and stood,

“Again, thank you,for the coffee and for the conversation. This was very nice Taron, I hope your shoot goes well and enjoy your holiday.”

Just as I was about to turn away He spoke up

“Well thanks for letting me get your coffee and sitting with me. And You’ll have to let me know how you do on your film.”

His eyes were kind and his smile warm, I gave a nod smiling in return,

“Sure I’ll email your agent to tell you,” I joked and he shook his head chuckling

“Or you could tell me over coffee again tomorrow morning, same time.”

My heart practically stopped and jumpstarted all at once

“I.. um, no.. I mean yea! No yea definitely for sure, that sounds, that um that sounds wonderful, I’d like that.” I laughed again at my lack of ability to speak properly.

“Good. Don’t be late alright? And if you get an A perhaps I’ll treat you to lunch as well?”

He teased and my face went red.

“Oh trust me I won’t be, promise and lunch sounds good… but If I get a B, I’ll settle for a bag of crisps.”

11:45

As we laughed and said goodbye again I hurried out of the shop and towards campus and called Em

“Hey, No… yes, I know sorry, No…. Yes… 6 pumps like you asked… No but I promise I have a good reason… very good… a very handsome reason. No you won’t believe me.”

She indeed did not believe me, but she will when I go for coffee again tomorrow morning.

#taron x reader #taron egerton #fanfic #taron egerton fic #taron egerton x reader #taron egerton fluff #fluffy #writing #reblog #comment #critique #share #love you guys!#dreams

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