#and i tried desperately to prove them wrong but alas i cannot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

azucanela · 3 years

Text

DIVINE INTERVENTION [PT 3] OIKAWA TOORU

DIVINE INTERVENTION MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Everything is perfectly fine. Aside from the fact that Iwaizumi cannot know by any means at all. Ever. Oikawa isn’t looking to die.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

WARNINGS: unedited, arguing,

A/N: i know exactly where i want this story to go but i have no idea how im going to get there. anywho, enjoy some of this

RULE #1

The rules were simple. And if Y/N was honest, their establishment... made sense. In fact, it had been one of few things Oikawa had done that was actually intelligent— though this excluded volleyball; even if Y/N was annoyed by his antics at times and considered him a fool, his skill in the game was practically unparalleled. And for that, she respected him

Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

The whole purpose was to set boundaries for this little thing they agreed to do— because yes, Y/N had managed to convince Oikawa to go along with her plan. These boundaries would ensure nobody was uncomfortable with the arrangement and hopefully preserve Y/N and Oikawa’s friendship. They’d both seen this trope in an endless number of romantic comedies, and decided that they would be the exception, especially since they were just movies, right? Right.

If Y/N was honest though, she had no idea how she convinced Oikawa to agree to this. But, she’d managed it. However, their little agreement had come with... a few other issues that had to be handled, especially if things were to go as planned. Said plan being to fake the end of their equally fake relationship in one of the coming months and hope nobody ever found out about it. Unless Y/N decided that a little more... divine intervention was called for of course.

After all, that’s how they got into this mess. And she sincerely doubted the break up would keep away his psychotic fans. Y/N was fairly sure there would be a few home wreckers as well; people trying to ruin their (fake, something Y/N reminded herself of once more) relationship. And those who wouldn’t wait even a week before trying to make passes at Oikawa when they did break up.

So, maybe Y/N would search for ways to extend the fake dating, but only for Oikawa’s sake. Until they found... a more permanent solution.

Right.

Regardless, that wasn’t the only issue they had. This very plan of theirs is how they ended up avoiding Iwaizumi Hajime like the plague.

Seeing as he was both their best friends, there were a few problems here. The first being the simple fact that no matter how hard Oikawa tried— Iwaizumi Hajime had always been capable of reading him like an open book. It was funny, really. Someone so talented in manipulations meets someone who can see past all that, the only other person he’d encountered with such abilities happened to be the one he’d been handling this with. Y/N.

Her problem was similar. She and Iwaizumi had always been close, meaning he would know. If they slipped up just once, then it would be abundantly clear that they were in fact, not dating.

It had been one of few rules that they both had agreed on almost instantaneously. Though Y/N found herself curious as to why Oikawa had been so complacent with it, seeing as Iwaizumi was his best friend, she’d been fairly desperate in the moment to maintain her reputation. That and the fact that Iwaizumi likely would’ve bullied her rather relentlessly, and if he did know, he’d chew them both out for being stupid.

Oikawa’s reasoning was similar. Kind of. He had a decent idea of what awaited him if he told Iwaizumi. One thing being a fist to the face, the second was a long conversation that followed said violence.

Which is how their little fake dating operation became a hide-everything-from-Iwaizumi operation.

“What do we do?”

Y/N looked to him incredulously, shrugging her shoulders awkwardly as she struggled for words, “how am I supposed to know?” She exclaims, still seated in his driveway. Soon, Iwaizumi would walk past to find that Y/N had already arrived and then they’d have to start their walk to school.

This would be more difficult than anticipated.

“I don’t know Y/N, maybe because this is your fault!” Comes Oikawa’s response, hand threading through his hair. “You have the story down right?”

Y/N raises a brow at him, they’d discussed a few possible stories as to how they’d begun dating in secret. Most of the ones that Oikawa had pitched ended up rather... cliché. “You are not making me tell Iwaizumi that Hallmark bull—”

“Well you didn’t offer a better story, did you?” He snaps, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “

Y/N offers him a tight lipped smile, “because I happen to excel at improv.”

Okay, maybe the whole fake dating thing had caused a small rift between Y/N and Oikawa as well. Or just, the entire friend group. Seeing as the pair was at odds, and their mediator was out of the loop, things had become rather chaotic. Very, very fast.

“You are horrible a acting Y/N.” Comes Oikawa’s response, bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose as he exhaled deeply. “We’re screwed.”

Y/N scoffed, “with that attitude we definitely are.” Though Y/N almost frowns, Oikawa had become significantly... meaner ever since this had occurred. And though Y/N understood that she’d messed up, his behavior was just... off. In an attempt to shake her mind of these thoughts, she grabs Oikawa’s backpack from off the edge of the sidewalk, opening it to pull out a bag of chips he’d brought, “we just need something consistent and simple. Like, you’ve been in love with me since we met and confessed after a lot of contemplation.”

Now, Oikawa was well aware of his new attitude, though he hoped it could be written off as simple annoyance of the situation. He was just looking for a way to handle the simple fact that he was not prepared for this, at all. The thoughts in the back of his mind, the ones he’d buried—or more accurately, thought he’d buried— were resurfacing. And what better way to combat them then by starting a small rivalry until this was over.

“Yes, that makes perfect sense, thank you.”

Sadly, Y/N had already proved to be one who didn’t really handle such attitudes well. As seen with the girl that she’d punched in the face just a few days earlier. So naturally, any thoughts of avoiding confrontation, went out the window at the sound of Oikawa’s tone. “What is up with you Oikawa, you’ve–”

“Hey guys.”

Leave it to Iwaizumi to mess up a perfectly good confrontation. Though Y/N can’t help but feel simultaneously relieved by this fact, and stressed as Iwaizumi is here.

“Iwa-Chan! Iwaizumi! How are you, buddy!” Oikawa exclaimed, making his way over to his friend to pat him on the back.

It felt as though they’d have to be walking on eggshells. Something that had never really been evident in their friendship until now, seeing as they’d all been fairly open. Of course there were a few things, that Y/N couldn’t help but feel reminded of now, almost wincing at the painful reminder of middle school.

Their group hadn’t been doing so well then. And it had quickly become apparent to Y/N that she was out of the loop, and seeing as she’d been the new addition to the pair... it hadn’t been a nice feeling.

“Let’s go then?” Y/N asked, looking between the two boys with a tight lipped smile on her face as she rose from her spot on the sidewalk. Opening the bag of chips as she pulled her backpack over her shoulder.

Maybe it was wrong, but she also felt nice, knowing that for once— she was on the inside. Even though middle school was years ago, Y/N could tell there was something the pair still hadn’t told her. It’d been bugging her ever since they’d arrived at Aoba Johsai.

Alas, now wasn’t the time for that.

“We should probably discuss some things first.”

There it was.

Oikawa exhaled deeply, opening his mouth in preparation for whatever conversation they were about to have, attempting to decide which explanation was most plausible. But, Iwaizumi beats him to it.

“I’m happy for you guys.”

Y/N blanks for a moment before saying, “what?”

Iwaizumi looks to her incredulously as he responds, “what? Am I not supposed to be happy that you two have finally handled the clearly unresolved tension and that—”

“Alright that’s enough, Iwa-Chan.” Oikawa exclaims, laughing breathily as he brings a hand to cover his friends mouth, only for Iwaizumi to look at him dully before shoving him away.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi adjusts his backpack on his shoulders, “anyways. I just wish you guys had told me sooner but...” He shrugs, turning around to begin their walk down the street and to their school. “It is what it is, now let’s go.”

Y/N and Oikawa exchange looks, eyes wide as they do so. Both their mouthes gaping open as they scramble to follow Iwaizumi, who finally says, “just don’t let this change anything. And I guess you two can act—” He awkwardly gestures between the pair, “couple-y around me. Just don’t do anything pervy, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa brings a hand to his chest, feigning offense as he comes to stand beside Iwaizumi, “why would I do anything pervy? Honestly you would be shocked by my dear girlfriend’s actions—”

“I don’t want to know, Oikawa!” Iwaizumi exclaims, shoving his friend away.

Y/N can’t help the way her cheeks warm as Oikawa is launched her way by Iwaizumi’s attack, he stumbles slightly, ultimately walking between her and Iwaizumi before throwing an arm over her shoulders. Though Oikawa’s eyes meet hers momentarily when he does so, a silent question within them. All it takes is a nod and his arm is resting completely on her shoulders and he’s back to his conversation with Iwaizumi as Y/N contemplated all her life decisions.

Oikawa wouldn’t deny that it had gone better than anticipated but he already knows it’s coming when they arrive at the school and Iwaizumi is practically yanking him backwards as Y/N makes her way inside to speak with her other friends— who’d begun to swarm her almost immediately, questions leaving their mouthes rapidly as they searched for an explanation.

Y/N can’t help but feel overwhelmed as her actual friends; the ones that are both curious and concerned, seeing as Y/N swore she would never date Oikawa Tooru and fall for her best friend. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Oikawa— aside from the fact that he had numerous insecurities and emotions that he refused to discuss even when it was clear everything overwhelmed him—it made sense that so much of the school was practically in love with him when you thought about it.

He had manners, decent grades, was a star athlete, and even Y/N could admit he was attractive. But... he was one of her closest friends and the idea of dating him just seemed...

Wrong.

Aside from the shock from her real friends, there was the nosiness from the fake friends, the ones she’d never spoken to, the ones who had suddenly decided they were the best of friends and yet spoke trash about Y/N in their free time because she stole their precious Oikawa.

Yeah, the school was just a tad toxic. As if the grueling pressure of academics and intense obsession with Oikawa wasn’t enough of a red flag.

Sometimes, Y/N wishes she had gone to Shiratorizawa.

“I feel like you know what I’m going to say, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi mutters with a sigh, leaving Oikawa to panic as he meets his friend’s eyes. The grip on his shoulder unnecessarily tight. “I don’t necessarily know what’s going on with you two— just that it’s weird. But I swear if you hurt Y/N in any shape or form—”

“I would never do that Iwaizumi.” Comes his reply, almost instantly.

Iwaizumi pauses, eyes falling on Y/N who nervously laughs in the distance, her eyes pleading for his help before returning her attention to the group of people surrounding her. “I thought we got past this in middle school.”

“Me too, Iwa-Chan. Me too. But hey, lucky me.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, uncapping his water bottle, “yeah. Lucky you, I’ll forever wonder how you got her to date you.”

“Good question.” Oikawa’s eyes fall onto Y/N, and he turns to Iwaizumi, “now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go save my girlfriend from all of my psychotic fans.” Oikawa would never admit it, ever, but it had only been a week since Y/N pulled her little stunt and it had become evident that a relationship really was what Oikawa needed to get people off his back.

Things had definitely improved for him, and Oikawa could only wish that he could say the same for Y/N.

NOBODY CAN KNOW— NOT EVEN IWA-CHAN.

#oikawa tooru x reader #fake dating au #oikawa x reader #tooru x reader #oikawa x you #tooru oikawa x reader #tooru oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru imagine #oikawa imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu!! scenario #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

114 notes · View notes

spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Note

i really liked your s6 blaine meta! would you be willing to do something similar for season 5 episodes 14-20?

Hi Nonny! Sorry for the delay, this is kind of a huge undertaking. I’m going to be honest, this will be more of an abridged answer. I really recommend looking over to my Finding Kurt Hummel Meta, because a lot of Kurt and Blaine’s stories are intertwined, and I do talk a lot about Blaine and his motivations there. That said, let’s dig in!

Pre-New York Arc

So, as Blaine tells us when before he’s going to graduate, his senior year has been really hard and really weird. He broke up with his boyfriend, dealt with a school shooting, suffered the loss of a good friend, and then got engaged. (Y’all should check out my Glee Timeline to see just how squished all of this stuff really was.) By the time his tenure as a high school student is over, he’s desperate to fast forward to being a full fledged adult -- living out his dreams in New York City. The problem is trying to force your dreams come true doesn’t always work, especially when a) you’re still a kid trying to figure things out and b) you still have a lot of insecurities and mental health issues to deal with.

So Blaine (and Kurt) still have a lot of growing up to do. And a lot of the New York Arc is figuring out just that.

Let’s talk about the proposal for a second, too. Blaine jumping to marriage is, yes, a bit pre-mature. He’s was so desperate to get his relationship back on track with Kurt, and so wanting to prove his commitment, he jumped about fifteen other steps and went straight to what he would be the ultimate band-aide -- marriage. Well, just because you’re married (or engaged) doesn’t mean you don’t have a lot of issues in your relationship. Blaine and Kurt were too young for their engagement -- and not necessarily because of their age, but because they really hadn’t dealt with a lot of things the move to New York, the cheating, and the first break up did to their relationship. However, Blaine wants to ignore a lot of the red flags because he feels since he has Kurt back, and put a ring on that finger, he should be fine, right? His insecurities about Kurt not loving him or wanting to leave him should be squashed because -- ring. Right?? Oh, Blainey.

New New York

So, what we don’t see is the six-to-nine months of Kurt and Blaine living together. Which is a shame. Because we don’t see how it started, and how they probably were so head over heels wanting to live together and do all the fun things Burt listed off in his conversation with Kurt before the proposal in Love Love Love that they did not have any kind of conversation about how living together would ultimately work. So, it’s nine months later, and things aren’t so rosey.

Blaine is trying very hard to make them the old married couple he wants them to be (which is no shade on Blaine!). He’s singing old timey songs, and basically trying to show his love through acts of servitude, and kind of trying to ignore the nagging feeling that Kurt’s unhappy about it.

Blaine is a giver by nature, and wants to make Kurt happy, and he thinks if he can be the perfect boyfriend (because he wasn’t before, made a mistake, didn’t take into account that Kurt really was part of that issue, and blames himself for the relationship woes) that his relationship with Kurt will be fine. The problem is that Blaine is losing himself in the relationship -- trying to be the person he thinks Kurt wants him to be, and the person his own imagination thinks he should be, instead of the person he really is.

The other thing is that Blaine is a bit clingy. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with your significant other. But Blaine wants to spend every waking moment with Kurt so they can share their magical journey together. You see -- in high school, they were joined at the hip, and did do a lot of things together. But they also had a lot of time apart. They both had groups of friends to do things with, and different households to go home to. But now, all aspects of their life are jammed into that little loft. And for Blaine, it’s fine, (though it’s not - he has to learn how to be an individual person, too), but Kurt is struggling with it.

Here’s the part where I do need to bring up Blaine and his homelife. Blaine being who he is - is somewhat just his personality. But part of it is also his homelife. We can infer that unlike the Hummel household, Blaine’s family wasn’t exactly ones to unconditionally supportive in the same way. He always had to compete for attention (and possibly love) with Cooper. He has always felt that no matter how ‘good’ he is -- he’s a failure. And he is, by far, his own worst critic. These are things that Kurt cannot fix for him, and while Kurt can continue to love and support him, Blaine himself has to reach a belief that he is a worthy individual of love, support, and happiness.

Also, because Blaine is trying so hard to make life perfect for Kurt, he’s not being able to make his own experience uniquely his own. He tries to find a cute couch -- but it’s rejected (rightfully because bed bugs, but still). He tries to make himself a space in the loft, but Kurt shuts that down. Everything is about how Kurt thinks and feels, and because Blaine’s giving in on these things, he starts to go inward on himself, and thus they fight over dumb things. (Kurt needs to learn how to share and compromise, Blaine needs to learn to stand up for himself and his own wants and needs.)

As an aside, Blaine isn’t really jealous of Elliott -- that’s a bit of displaced anger. But going to Elliott does help (wise sage that he is), and while that convo is a little weird, there is some good advice in Elliott saying you have to figure out who you are, and maybe not be so clingy. Boundaries are good and don’t lose yourself in the relationship.

So, about their decision to live apart -- my Kurt meta had a good paragraph:

I’d also like to mention that Kurt isn’t really thrilled with Blaine’s idea. He doesn’t want Blaine to leave, but he recognizes that something has to change. Unfortunately, they’re still young and growing and don’t have the tools or experience to figure out how to fix what’s wrong. So - in a way, I get this solution. Blaine doesn’t know how to give Kurt emotional space - so let’s try physical instead.

Blaine wants to fix the situation, so it’s no surprise that Blaine is the one to comp up with the solution. It’s not great (honestly, they should have moved out and found their own place but alas tv show logic), but it’ll have to work for now. Blaine is more interested in salvaging his relationship the only way he can try to. Unfortunately there are some other, bigger issues going on, but for now, they’ve come up with something that might help.

Bash

It’s a shame we don’t get more Blaine during this episode, because I think it’s really important. There’s a story here about the frustrations a gay couple can have when one of them is going through a major trauma, and the other can only sit and wait to see how it turns out -- adding in outside factors such as, hospitals not allowing the partner to visit because they aren’t legally “family”.

So, one of Blaine’s biggest fears is losing Kurt. And this time he does to an external power. Blaine, who likes to control things just about as much as Kurt, feels like he should be able to protect Kurt no matter what, and comes out of this episode feeling like it’s his duty to do that.

You see, Blaine doesn’t think he’ll survive very well if anything ever happened to Kurt, and kind of ignoring the fact that Kurt kinda jumped into the fight himself, Blaine decides that he’ll do everything in his power to ‘save’ him. Problem is, that’s not at all what Kurt wants or needs.... Which will be discussed more in the next episode.

Meanwhile, Blaine manages to piss off Carmen Tibideaux with he and Rachel’s little duet idea. Not liking anyone mad at him, he does go retake the final (or whatever it is), and pours his own fears and sadness into the song. I do kind of wonder if Blaine’s involvement in this is a slight nod that Blaine won’t be finishing his college career at NYADA. (Which is fine - the school is utter shit.)

Tested

Okay, god. Here’s the Kurt Meta because this is one really complicated episode that I won’t do justice in the little blurb I’m going to write here. There’s A LOT going on, and it’s helpful in understanding the story as a whole, and I do write about both their sides in the Kurt Meta.

So, here we are -- Blaine is trying to make Kurt’s New York life and experience perfect, and he kind of ignores his own. But, he is indulging himself (as young people in new places often do) and not taking care of his physical health either. He does gain some weight (or Glee tries to suggest that he does), and this latches on to his insecurities from before.

A lot of this episode’s issues comes down to identity --- Blaine saw himself as the White Knight in Shiny Armor -- the one who protected Kurt from Karofsky, and made him smile. The one who was the prince who got to give the other prince the Happily Ever After. The problem, though, is all of this is magical fairy tale talk that doesn’t work in the real world.

Kurt isn’t a delicate flower who needs rescuing. He is very physically fit, and is seen as attractive by other people. And Kurt is trying to find his own, individual identity that isn’t solely connected to Blaine. All of this activates Blaine’s major insecurity about being rejected -- about not being loved enough. He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t have to be the person who another person needs for them to love him. He can just be the person who someone wants. But Blaine has a very hard time with this concept. His value of himself is wrapped up in how much he thinks he’s needed, which of course, causes all the problems.

What’s making it worse is that Blaine begins to manipulate the situation -- trying to make Kurt ‘need’ him again, which is very unhealthy (don’t do that guys!). But also starts to do what he always does, and we see a repeat of the issues had back in season 3/4. Blaine starts to pull away physically because he fears he’s not good enough, and in turn, Kurt pulls away emotionally, and it’s just a downward spiral that they keep doing.

The thing that Blaine is not doing is expressing how he actually feels to Kurt. When he finally does that at the end of the episode, when he reaches out and says ‘hey I need help’ Kurt is finally there for him. (Yes, Kurt is still pissed, but at the end of the day, Kurt is not wrong about the fact that he’ll never stop loving blaine -- no matter what happens.) The problem is, no matter how many times Kurt can say it, or even show it, until Blaine actually trusts him, it’s never going to work.

As an aside -- one of the reasons I think the second break up actually was good for them, is that Blaine learns how to love himself, and live with himself, after Kurt’s gone. He’s too attached to defining his self worth based on what Kurt thinks of him -- and that’s not healthy.

(Also, I encourage you to read the Tested Meta -- there is so much to dig into in this episode!)

Opening Night

There really isn’t much Blaine in this episode - but we do see him use his acts of service love language towards Rachel. Usually, she’s much better in her response, though.

I also want to point out that it’s Blaine’s idea to go to the gay bar. I’m all for Blaine starting to learn where his places in the city are. Makes me wonder if Kurt and Blaine frequented there together, of this was a Blaine only thing. Hmm.

The Back-Up Plan

So... the June Dolloway stuff. Okay.

June plays to Blaine’s romantic ideals of what life as a successful performer would be. And, as we’ve talked about, Blaine’s self worth is based on the idea of how much people need him (or want to use him). So, he kind of falls into June’s trap, and lets her try to mould him into who she thinks he is. The problem is, that entails getting rid of Kurt. But a big part of who Blaine is - is loving Kurt.

There’s also the issue of competition again (which came up in Tested, too) that I kind of roll my eyes at. I’m not going to say that Hollywood, or the performing arts, isn’t competitive. Because it is, in a lot of ways. However, I feel like media and society are often the ones pushing that narrative. You can be successful and still support your friends and love ones.

There’s an entire conversation to be had about how art is subjective, and this idea that this painting is better than that one is just kind of stupid, so all of these fancy awards for things are really, often times, just rich or powerful people stating what they think is the “best” and puts a false equivalency on things that can’t or shouldn’t be pit next to each other.

So, this whole idea that Blaine is ‘winning’ because June picked him is just -- whatever, Glee. The thing that I do like, however, is the fact that, despite Kurt being disappointed in the situation, he is still supportive of Blaine and his career. The thing that I think is a bit contrived is Blaine’s eagerness to please everyone leads him to lie to Kurt instead of be honest about what’s going on with June. But alas, television.

However, as we’ve talked about earlier -- Blaine’s ultimate goal is to make everyone happy at the expense of his own happiness, so it isn’t out of nowhere that Blaine would try to please June and Kurt at the same time, in an attempt to ‘fix’ everything before someone rejects him.

Old Dogs, New Tricks

So... this episode really isn’t about Blaine or the Klaine issues at all. Chris was perhaps wise (and maybe mandated a little) not to even get into it.

The thing, though, we do see is that Blaine’s spending a lot of time on his fantasy career ideas with June. He does recognize that Kurt isn’t really happy with life, and while the Klaine issues will eventually hit the fan, that’s not what this episode is about. It’s about Kurt trying to find his own place, and make his own happiness, when everyone around him is becoming more successful. It’s really not Blaine’s issue -- and I’m glad Chris didn’t make it out to be.

Instead, Blaine plays the supportive partner here, and while they do need to work more of their shit out, I’m glad they do get a softer, and more emotionally aware moment here.

The Untitled Rachel Berry Project

So, Kurt mentions in this episode that he and Blaine have had some long conversations about their relationship. And while I’m sure that’s true (probably a lot after Tested), I do have to wonder if Blaine wasn’t listening as well as he should have been. I think, in order to preserve things, Blaine probably nodded along, and took more notes on how to be the world’s perfect boyfriend, while maybe not actually comprehending some of the issues Kurt laid out. All the while, I’m guessing that Blaine didn’t express many of his wants or needs, in order to not rock the boat. Unfortunately, all of this holding back, on both their parts, comes back to haunt them.

The big lie comes out, that Kurt isn’t in the showcase, and this plays a lot on Kurt’s insecurities, partly about being a failed performer, and a lot about his trust issues with Blaine from the last time they broke up. Blaine is the type of guy who tries to make everything perfect until he literally can’t anymore, and he’s left there being forced to tell the truth, even though he knows it’ll hurt himself and Kurt. And while this, normally, would be a minor thing, because of their past history -- this self-imposed forced disappointment is what he expects. Because he believes that sooner or later, he’s going to eventually disappoint everyone he loves, and they will eventually leave him.

The thing is -- Blaine has a tendency to push people away, because he thinks that’s what he deserves. But interestingly, Kurt comes back to him -- and they talk about it.

And, I’m just gonna quote my Kurt Meta cause I don’t feel like writing it all out, but the Klaine scene here is important!

So - yeah, let’s break this down… Kurt’s pretty stiff when he comes to Blaine, arms crossed, looking forward out at the birds and not at Blaine. He’s thought through is anger, but these kind of conversations are still hard for Kurt. But then there’s Blaine – who outright says to him that the showcase doesn’t mean anything without Kurt – that /Kurt/ is more important to him than his career. And Kurt visibly relaxes when he hears this. Because its confirmation of something he does already know – that Blaine really does love him. He seems to fuck it up, but he loves him. And it’s something Kurt really did need to hear again.

(Obviously vise versa needs to happen, too, but more on that in a second.)

So - Kurt goes on talking about birds, and builds this elaborate metaphor around them – about how taking a step out of the nest is freakin’ scary, but you can’t stay in that nest forever – at some point you have to trust that you can fly. And even if you fall and hit the ground, you have to keep on trying.

Well, Kurt comes to the smart conclusion that relationships are like his bird metaphor – you can’t have a relationship unless there is implicit trust there as a foundation. And he’s learned, the hard way, that yeah, sometimes one of them is going to fuck up and they will hit the ground like a stone, but if you hold on to your faith that it’ll be all fine in the end – that you can help each other out keep that solid foundation, it’ll be okay. Because at the end of the day, you can’t ever be 100% that someone won’t hurt you again, you can’t control anyone else but yourself (oohh and Kurt letting go of complete control is huge - HUGE).

And yeah, yeah this little speech is nice and all but what about what’s about to happen? What about the second break up? Do you guys remember in Dance With Somebody when Blaine says to Kurt - if you’re unhappy talk to me don’t cheat on em? Well - this is almost the inverse of that. Kurt says to Blaine that you don’t even know if or when someone’s going to break that trust – and this is true, because yeah, Kurt is going to fuck it up not that long after this conversation.

But this is a resolution to the original issue back in season 4 – Kurt’s finally understanding that in order for this thing to work, he has to choose to trust Blaine. Blaine can’t instill that in him – it’s something Kurt has to do for himself. And for better or worse, he does choose to trust Blaine, to love Blaine, to let Blaine in implicitly. Blaine has been desperately trying to break through Kurt’s shell since the whole cheating incident, get back into that place in Kurt’s heart. But what Blaine doesn’t know - or realize - and what Kurt’s just figuring out himself, is that it’s not about Blaine’s ability – it’s about Kurt allowing it to happen.

Kurt doesn’t let people into his world, past is exterior, implicitly into his heart – but on a smaller scale, this whole June ordeal kind of just puts things into perspective. Yeah – he was mad about Blaine’s lie – but he realizes that the way Kurt was acting about it, he was going to be hurt either way. And he can be mad and be angry, but at the end of the day, they all have choices to make, and Kurt makes the decision to still stand by Blaine through the hard stuff as well as the easy stuff.

(But what about season 6? Well – we’ll talk about that when we get there ;))

I will say this – Kurt never breaks his promise about loving Blaine no matter what. Even through the stupidity of the second breakup, it’s really not because he doesn’t love Blaine. That’ll always be apart of him, and the more they go on, the more he understands his own heart will always feel that way.

Meanwhile – Kurt actually can be (gasp) a loving and supportive partner. Yeah, it’s hard on him to feel unwanted by June – he’s been fighting that fight since forever. But he is proud of Blaine, wants Blaine to fly incredibly high – and much like way back when in season 3 with Tony – he’ll be there giving Blaine flowers and telling him how amazing he is. Which is reassurance that Blaine needs, but doesn’t always get.

(I realize that’s mostly Kurt’s POV - but it covers what’s going on with Blaine, too.)

The thing though, while Kurt’s learning what it means to trust again, Blaine really just wants everything to be fine. And gives in to Kurts wants and needs immediately. The one problem, really, that’s still lingering is the fact that Blaine is still only defining himself through his relationship, and that’s not good, and is part of the reason Kurt’s going to pull away, and ultimately break up with him, the second time.

But, we do end the season on a happy note. Blaine, feeling the love and support from Kurt, is able to stand up to June, and is able to have a moment for himself, where he gets to express his true self, in the form of showing everyone his love for Kurt at the showcase. We also get a moment of a small step forward when Kurt let’s Blaine have a bit of the loft -- a small space to call his own.

Yes, ultimately it’s going to break down again, but it’s a first step. By the end of the season, Blaine and Kurt have started to learn what being in a real, adult relationship is like, but ultimately, for Blaine, he needs to learn to be okay with himself first and foremost, and that is what Season 6 was about...

If you’d like to continue on, here’s the Season 6 Blaine Meta!

I know there are things I didn’t get into -- like Blaine’s relationship with Sam, but idk, I don’t think there was much to pick apart there.

If you guys have any questions on specific things, let me know! :)

#blaine anderson #that's how s.o. sees it #Anonymous #season 5 is really unresolved for blaine in a lot of ways #poor kiddo

39 notes · View notes

ancientechos · 3 years

Text

Hallow’s Eve

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 3281 words ♡ eldritch au [modern au]

Did I...write even more...for eldritch AU...? Yes, yes I did. Proper fic coming...who knows when. My superpower is to write a lot about nothing.

Random little Halloween-themed fic! And another example of how I cannot do titles.

Has an appearance from @windup-dragoon Kiri and Hien.

Despite herself she --

Admittedly, very often, wonders if she’s too boring for her...very strange and impromptu roommate. Lover...? She supposes they are technically thus, at this point...

Though that is besides the, well, point.

It’s not as if they’re always home, though she admits they are...more often than not. Thus Arianna has taken to worrying she’s exceptionally dull to the eldritch creature...he’s simply too polite to say it.

(There is, of course, inherently something wrong with this assumption, but alas.)

“H-have you ever been to a party...?” The second the question finishes making its way past her lips, she regrets it -- it’s banal, not specific enough, absurd. Her suspicions are confirmed as Hades fixes her with a quiet, unimpressed stare. He plucks a grape from the fruit bowl before answering.

“Depends what sort of party, I suppose.”

Absentmindedly, she wonders what sort of “parties” he might have been privy to in the past...the only thing her mind can conjure is strangely fantastical images of odd creatures, one less humanoid than the next, eerie music --

She has to stop her mind from running off into the imaginary. Perhaps she’ll ask him later.

“Um -- w-what I mean is -- a -- ” The woman finds herself growing ever more anxious when she realises she doesn’t -- really -- have any point of comparison for what she wants to ask. For a moment, she fidgets her fingers together, then brushes a hand through a few strands of her hair. Her green gaze glances from her companion, still leaning casually against her kitchen counter, to the calendar on the wall in the hopes it might give her answers.

Unfortunately, it does not.

Somewhat blessedly, he does not interrupt her nervous fumblings as she struggles for words.This does not, however, stop her mind from being dangerously on the edge of wondering just how exasperated he must be --

“A-a p-party...?” Almost desperate to say anything at all, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yes?” She can practically see one of his eyebrows quirk without actually looking at him. “You mentioned a party already. I asked what kind.”

Never mind that the question had been decidedly implicit.

He sounds far more patient than she ever deserves, and she presses her palms to her face, hard enough that colours dance behind her eyelids. “Ah...” Why is she getting so worked up about this, in any case...?

“There’s nothing to be upset about.” Hades’ voice cuts through the fog and white noise threatening to overcome her. “We have all the time in the world. no?”

-- He’s completely right. She truly has not an inkling of an idea as to why this has made her so on edge. Is it the subject matter itself?

“Unless there was a party happening within the hour...”

“N-no, that’s not -- ” She’s responded before she can fully realise, with the wryness of his tone, that he’s being sarcastic. Of course she wouldn’t have asked him about something like this on such short notice. Slowly, she lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, her shoulders lowering from where they’d nearly surpassed the tips of her ears. What she wants to ask...

“What I mean is...a c-costume party...” She trails off as she pulls her thoughts together. “Some people...like to d-dress up as...strange creatures, o-or book characters...for parties. A-at this time of year.”

Not that she’s ever really gone to one. Twining a strand of curled hair about her right index finger, she finally turns to look at him curiously. Already, she can feel the strange, harsh energy from earlier dissipating simply from being able to speak properly.

“Mm. I suppose I’ve been to one of those before. Though not really any in the mortal realm, of course...” There’s a pause as he regards her. “I suppose that means there would be a great deal of people there...and you wanted to go regardless?”

She has to bite her lip before she can mumble a reflexive no. “I-I just thought...perhaps...you would be interested...”

“Hmm.” The sigh he exhales almost has her thinking he wants to reject her offer. But -- “You said people like to dress up? Maybe I could go as my true form...or something close to it.” There’s an almost malicious smirk that curls his lip, his head tilting slightly to the side. Arianna tries to ignore the way her heart thunders treacherously in her chest and absently prays the lighting is too dark to notice her nonsensical blush.

“I-I don’t think it would be a good idea to go in your...ah...o-other form...” She pauses, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Wouldn’t you simply scare everyone away...?” She doesn’t need to be told twice to remember that...incident from before.

“That’s the point, is it not? You could enjoy yourself.”

She is not quite sure whether she’s meant to be touched or concerned, and thus settles for wavering uncertainly between the two.

“W-well, regardless...” She exhales nervously. “I think...if you wanted to go, it might be...best to go in...ah, c-costumes...?”

“Oh?” The smirk hasn’t faded for even a moment. “And what do you propose we’d go as?”

The we has her heart fluttering stupidly again, for no reason, as she brushes her fingers through her hair once more. “Um...that...” Blinking and shaking her head to try to clear it, she regards him with what is meant to be a critical eye, but simply gets caught up in his gaze again. “Ah...”

-- Now that she isn’t an anxiously flustered mess, he seems perfectly content with simply flustering her further. Pushing himself away from the counter, he approaches her to smirk fondly down at her. When she simply proves all the more wordless, he brushes a finger gently along her cheek.

“How about an angel and a demon?”

To say she would have expected a suggestion from him would be a lie...not to mention...the suggestion itself...? It’s enough to have her blinking up at him blankly, her nervousness for the moment forgotten.

“I-I suppose...but...h-how do you know what an angel looks like, anyway...?” Curiously, she eyes him. She can’t imagine he’s ever done much...mortal reading. Or maybe he has? Well, she isn’t home -- or even awake -- the entire time. She supposes it’s perfectly possible and within his abilities for him to have picked up any of the numerous books she has, or to even have perused the titles elsewhere. But something so specific as an angel and a demon? It’s an odd thing to think about...

“Hmm? Oh, that’s easy.” There’s a smirk on his lips as he casually slings an arm about her shoulders, leaning in close. Somehow, she manages not to turn away despite the blush threatening to overtake her yet again. “There’s one right in front of me, isn’t there?”

It takes a moment for the words to process, and even longer for the precise meaning to dawn upon her. But when they do --

She wouldn’t be surprised if the heat that radiates from her face could run a generator.

“Y-you -- !” she stammers uselessly, turning away from him and smacking a hand to her face. Her fingers feel cold. Though she attempts to pull from him entirely, he holds her fast against him, amused.

“Yes? What about me?”

She ducks underneath his arm to avoid answering him, rubbing her palms against her cheeks as if she could simply push the sensation out of them.

“Am I to take it that you agree with my idea, then?”

“N-no -- ! Definitely not!”

________

Well -- that was what she had said...

But clearly her conviction had not been strong enough, given her current...predicament.

It had taken a concerning amount of time to find an angel costume that simply...wasn’t too short, but finally she’d managed to find one with a skirt that went at the very least past her knees, while Hades had loitered about the rest of the costumes shop, occasionally remarking this or that or giving extraordinarily unhelpful advice.

“What about this one?”

He, of course, goes ignored.

The house they’re standing in front of now seems tall and imposing, though doubtless only to her. Various decorations and a myriad of lights are strung up about it. The owners had had no qualms to spare coin for making the place fit for Halloween. There’s even a fog machine, judging by the mist blowing across the front yard and obscuring the door.

She’s already not very enthused about entering. Alas, the same cannot be said for her companion.

Whilst Arianna is dressed mainly in white -- with gold accents and, of all things, gold glitter littering the skirt portion of her dress -- and a black headband to allow her halo to blend with her hair, her date (?) wears a mainly black suit with dark red horns. She can’t see his headband from this angle, which leads her to believe he must have simply...willed the outfit into existence, or something. She can’t remember him throwing any such thing into her cart, either.

-- She supposes he looks nice.

Apparently sensing whatever discomfort she exudes, Hades’ grip upon her hand tightens slightly, and he draws her closer to him.

“You are aware we don’t have to go, yes?”

“I am, but -- I thought...you might want to go, so...”

Certainly, as he’s fond of reminding her over their telepathic link, there’s no especial reason they need to be going. They could just as easily turn and go home...and yet she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t giving him enough of what he deserves. Surely he would like for more than to simply lounge about her apartment, or...whatever it is he does when she’s away.

And perhaps a part of her is curious if she truly can do this.

Arianna allows him to lead her past the gate, up into the odourless pale fog that masks the door, and then through it. The closer they get to the doorway, the more loudly the music reverberates against her ears. Ah -- her least favourite sort of “party”, then...

Not that she’s really been to many --

Inside are all sorts of people, most dressed in costumes with a few occasional individuals apparently left out, or simply not wishing to invest the time in their get up. There’s clearly food and drink available further within, and the decorations from without continue on in inside the house. Fake cobwebs with tiny plastic spiders, glowing pumpkins and skulls...and a bit of the fog from outside.

And of course there’s hardly any shortage of dramatic and multi-coloured lighting.

Most of the guests are milling about, some far too close for Arianna’s comfort Unfortunately, her already clear awkwardness isn’t especially evident to the more inebriated partygoers.

“Hey pretty lady.” A young man in a some sort of zombie mask apparently isn’t discouraged by the presence of the even taller man next to her. “Wanna go grab a drink?”

As soon as she focuses on him, her gaze snaps to his shoes, then away; he’s about to try to say something else, though with one derisive stare from Hades and he instantaneously shuts his mouth and slinks away like a defeated pup.

“Hmph. They’re like animals.”

Arianna doesn’t really want to ask him precisely what he means, focused on trying to regain her toppled equilibrium. The sudden approach and the already crowded atmosphere is doing little to quell her flickering anxiety. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here after all.

Her other free hand lifts to grasp at his wrist, her gaze firmly upon the ground as she hunches in on herself, entire body tense.

“Are you sure you don’t want to leave? Perhaps -- ”

“Oh, Arianna! You came!”

The other masculine voice cuts through the white noise and Hades’ words; she recognises it immediately. She glances nervously at Hien’s boots as he comes to a halt a little ways away; there’s cloth beside his, like a robe, or --

“I didn’t expect -- I see Hades is here, as well...” Hien trails off a little, perhaps noticing the dire state of the dark-haired woman. “Shall we go somewhere a little quieter? I know a spot -- the hallway’s not as crowded.”

She doesn’t need any other amount of convincing; Hades leads her as Hien and Kirishimi direct the two of them into a darkly lit hallway. Whilst the music here is somewhat muted, the decorations continue along the ceiling, winding over the doors.

It feels far less claustrophobic, however. Perhaps most of it is to do with being surrounded by friends instead. Or Hades standing in the entranceway to the larger room, blocking out most of the rabble.

Leaning against the wall, her death grip upon him slowly lessens as she exhales. Her shoulders slump as some of the sickly tension evaporates. Whilst she’s not entirely in her element yet, things feel -- slightly better. At least better enough that she can try to look up.

She’s somewhat tempted to ask Hien if something is wrong with his eye, until she recalls that they’re all wearing costumes. His appears to be something of a pirate, complete with an eyepatch; though the lighting is dim if not entirely coloured, his outfit seems to be composed of yellows, or perhaps orange. As for Kirishimi --

The woman looks so natural in the -- kimono? -- that for a second it hadn’t even registered that she’s wearing a “costume” at all. She still isn’t really certain it looks like a costume --

And the tails are certainly not a fabrication. Though she supposes she can get away with it at a party.

Hades chooses that moment to gesture with a sigh.

“And you wouldn’t even let me come like that.”

“Your case is a little bit...different...”

Hien’s expression is friendly once he notices Arianna looking up at him.

“Feeling any better? I could get you a drink, if you like...?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the woman gives a small nod. Whilst she feels bad for monopolising the man’s time, her throat undeniably feels a little parched. Once he slips past Hades, the kitsune takes the opportunity to speak.

“Yer lookin’ cute, Ari!”

Feeling her face heat up, Arianna directs her gaze away, glancing toward the ground; after a few seconds, she takes a peek to the wider room, then the other side. With no one else -- really in earshot, perhaps she can manage --

“Ah...tha-thank you...you...too...”

Pressing her fingers to her cheek, she closes her eyes as she tries to calm herself, feeling stupidly childish for no real reason. Though she supposes, perhaps, this is childish; what sort of person can’t even converse...?

“But yer looking as slimy as ever.”

“And I can tell you hardly put any effort into your ‘costume’. You’ve just gone as yourself.”

“Ya tellin’ me yer not some kinda demon? As if I’d believe that. And that suit’s just what ya always wear.”

“Not at all, the cut and style are entirely different. But I wouldn’t expect anything more of a mutt.”

Paradoxically, their hissing argument somehow manages to put her at further ease. Perhaps because it’s a norm of what those two always do when they’re forced together in a single room; no matter the occasion or the reason, they’ve never seemed to be able to get along for longer than a few minutes at a time, and even that is being generous...

See? Everything is normal. That is what she tries to tell herself.

Except for, well, everything else about the situation, but if she just focuses on Hades’ shoulders, perhaps she can pretend nothing is too out of the ordinary about this.

Hien returns a few minutes later with a clear glass of water in his hand; he gives it to Arianna with an encouraging smile, and she takes it gratefully. The glass is cool in her hand, and for a moment she wishes she had something warmer, but it’ll do. Lifting it to her lips, she begins to sip as her companions break out into quiet conversation and half-hearted jabs --

A loud sound, like a foghorn, sheers through even the music; a few people scream. Arianna full-on nearly jumps in place, her vaguely settled nerves fraying like unravelling threads. The blood in her veins turns to ice along with the coldness of the water spilling down her front, and she lets go entirely of Hades’ hand to press her palm to her ear. It’s a wonder she doesn’t let go of the glass entirely -- or that her grip doesn’t simply break it. Instead, she presses it to her other ear as she curls away from the entranceway, her mind struggling at a mile a minute.

There’s few things she’s consciously afraid of. Loud, sudden noises are one such thing.

The tiny noise that had managed to spill from her lips earlier dies, her throat constricting painfully. The dimly lit hallway seems to flicker and swim before her eyes; she squeezes them shut as she tries to calm herself.

“Ari? You okay?”

Their voices sound far away, as if they speak to her from under water or glass. She can’t respond, not even with a movement; her head spins like a kaleidoscope and, dimly, she thinks to herself yet again how stupidly childlike she must look to them all. Especially...

“I am afraid everyone here has overstayed their welcome...”

If there’s one voice that cuts through the noise, it’s his, always his.

But what is he...?

“ -- Ha -- ” Her voice falters in her throat the moment she tries to speak out and grasp at his arm; he easily slips from her and into the crowd of giggling and chatting partygoers, their volume spiraling into a crescendo. She still feels ill, and his sudden disappearance does a poor job of calming her. Was he talking about her...?

There’s a sudden scream; the entire crowd stops stock still. Then pandemonium erupts as chaos consumes the whole house, a thundering of voices and footsteps as the guests throw themselves out whatever doors and windows they can reach.

It’s not difficult to see why. In the centre of the room -- and taking up more space with every second -- is...Hades, in his eldritch form of course, the same one she’d seen when she’d first met him.

The house is deserted in less than a minute; only Arianna, Kirishimi, and Hien remain. The kitsune’s ears are instinctively flattened to her head, tails stiff, her arms unconsciously thrown out in front of her companion. Arianna thinks she can hear something like a growl from within her throat. The devourer of souls seems to have no issue with his current appearance, arms spanning the whole living area.

“Will ya put that away already? Ya stink like the damn void.”

“And you smell like wet dog. Nothing new about that, however.”

With a sigh, the eldritch’s limbs and size retreats; shadows envelop him, and finally he stands in the middle of the abandoned glasses and shattered plates in his humanoid flesh.

“Much better now, eh? I said you’d finally be able to enjoy yourself.”

26 notes · View notes

pepsi-writes · 3 years

Text

all american stories

He leaned on the door to support his weight as he laughs the hardest he has ever laughed in his entire life. Imaginary friend? Mr. Wiggles? Those thoughts alone were making America cackle.

"We are serious. Mr. Wiggles," Mrs. Dorji shivered at the mention of that name, "has been absolutely terrorizing Tandin for the last few weeks, and we would absolutely like you to get rid of him. Alas, we have tried to get rid of Mr. Wiggles, but..." She trailed off, trembling from remembering the event. She looked back up, tears now streaming across her face. Mr. Dorji wrapped an arm around his wife as a desperate attempt to comfort her. America finally gained enough composure to choke out a "A-alright, alright, I'll get rid of whatever Mr. Wiggles is, and you two and Tandin can rest assured that Mr. Wiggles won't terrorize anybody, anymore!"

With that, he snatched his Super - Duper - Totally - Effective - Imaginary - Friend - Destroyer - 3000 and let the Dorji's lead him to what he assumed was Tandin's room. As Mr. Dorji opened the door, America thought to himself.

Come on, Meri, the guy's name is Mr. Wiggles!

Mrs Dorji was probably exaggerating anyway. Who even cries over an imaginary friend?

It can't be that bad.

Right?

-----

NATO turned to America with a decisive look. "I've decided that I cannot call you 'United States of America' anymore, since you are my father. I've compiled a list of possible 'nicknames', in which you will choose one for me to address you as."

America squinted, unsure of why his son was being so stuffy and formal. This was a party after-woah. NATO had pulled out a super long list, so long that it brushed against the floor whenever he moved. "Let us begin with the first name. Father?" he quizzed. "No," America answered. "Too formal for me."

NATO let out an 'ah', then continued.

"Vater?"

"No. I keep on forgetting what that means, anyway."

"Daddy-"

"Absolutely not."

"Old man?"

"Come on, I'm not that old." America chuckled.

NATO tried many different variations, many different spellings, and many different nicknames. At this point, America just wanted to get into his car and drive home. After thirty minutes of NATO shouting out names, he decided to do just that. As soon as America unlocked the door to his house, he bolted to his bed and flopped on it, embracing its soft covers. The enchanting aroma of his pillow and the layers of warm quilts combined felt quite nice actually.

So nice, actually, that he fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

He woke up to a person delicately shaking him, as if he was a wilting flower. He couldn't see the figure very clearly, but he made out enough of the figures' features to identify it as NATO. NATO himself kneeled down to softly whisper in his father's ear:

"Papa?"

"I-wha-No!"

according to wattpad people love this shitpost the most

------

"China!" America saw him and ran towards him, his arms outstretched for a rare hug.

"America!" China also ran towards him, cradling something behind his back.

"China!" America cocked a rifle that he had behind his back.

"America!" China pulled out a shoulder-fired-missile weapon.

-----------

America turned his camera to the sign. The "T" flickered in and out, while the other letters stayed bright as if there were nothing wrong with its companion. For America, that was perfect vine material. No matter if he had to get out of his car and stand in the freezing rain. He wasn't going to throw away his shot.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, putting on his announcer voice, "welcome to, T-T-T-T-TARGET!"

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

this is just one big dad joke

America, looked at Austria with a perplexed expression on his face. "What do you mean 'don't eat that'? It's just an apple. You can do my check-up as soon as I eat it." He held the apple closer to his mouth, its red skin glistening in the dim lights of the therapy room.

Austria snatched the apple and walked over to the nearest garbage can, opening the lid.

"That's the point," he seethed, throwing away the apple. "Haven't you ever heard of the rhyme? They say it all the time in your clay."

"What rhyme are you talking about?" America said, wondering if there was something he missed while not paying attention at school. Was it a nursery rhyme like 'Ring Around the Rosie,' or-

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away, you dummkopf!" he yelled.

Oh, that rhyme.

"I'm allergic to apples, so if you eat an apple, I can't do scheiße to you during our session. Were you not listening when I told everybody this?" Austria questioned.

"Ye-"

"Good. Now never eat an apple again."

--------

"Are you drunk?" Russia asked, looking down at America who was laying face flat on the pool table.

America flipped over so he was facing Russia. "No, I'm not," he replied, but the shit-eating grin on his face told him otherwise. "You're drrrunk."

Russia shook his head. This was the third time America had gotten drunk this week. What was happening with his life that he needed to drink every time he had his back turned? "Come on, we're going home."

America's face morphed into one of exaggerated displeasure."Noooooooo!"

"Stop complaining. We're going home, and you're going to bed."

two bros walking each other home. i deleted some fluff because it was bad.

-------

Russia tipped America's head up, revealing his awful eye bags. Examining them closely, he said, "Do you feel okay? Because you don't look okay."

America slowly pulled away to take a sip of his sixth cup of coffee since one in the morning. He gave a shaky thumbs up. "Never been better."

"You're going to bed."

"Already passing out."

---------

His eyelids fluttered open.

The first thing that America noticed was that he wasn't home, or anywhere, actually. Surveying his surroundings, he guessed he was in some sort of basement. A gust of wind blew against the mahogany curtain that decorated the only window in the room, fluttering them open and sending a single ray of light his way. America squinted at the sudden light, his sight still hazy. He tried to stretch out, but something kept him still. As soon as his vision cleared he looked down to see what was keeping him in place.

The second thing America noticed was that he was bound to a chair. By rope. Great. Now he got kidnapped. Wow. Astronomical. Phenomical.

He tried to remember what got him in this situation. He could admit, he had terrible memory - and the memories came flooding back, almost as if a wall broke down. Getting invited out for dinner, drinking some spicy juice or something at a bar, feeling weird, but not in a drunken weird. Getting dragged out to an alley by an adult child. His head hurting for a split second and then everything going black-oh. He was drugged and knocked out; he should have thought of this earlier. It seemed pretty cliche to be stuck in this situation, but everything that's happened lately might as well have been one of John Mulaney's stories.

The third thing America noticed was that he was bored. Like, super bored. Being shoved in a basement didn't prove frightening to him, just boring. Besides, he didn't get to experience the supposed scary part of it, so what's the point anyway? He was more accustomed to being swift with everything, living the, excuse his language, fast life. Tapping his foot, America satisfied himself with the blowing curtain, watching it flap in neverending waves, never settling. Damn, he really wanted some music to go with this. Even if it was Britain's despised classical music, he just wanted something other than this silence, this nothing.

-----

America stared in horror as the figure stepped closer into the light. Colombia gripped his arm tightly, and he was sure that would leave a bruise later. Now he could see that the figure had their arms up in surrender and that they looked confused, as if they didn't know what was going on. Their flag looked like a carbon copy of Colombia's, but only with a coat of arms in the middle.

"Colombia?" the country asked, their eyes lighting up. Colombia? That complete stranger knew his name?

He gasped. "Educador! Compadre, compadre, ¿como estas? ¿Quieres agua o algo para relajarte?"

Colombia knew this guy?

-----

America walked up to her, giggling at his phone. "Hey, come look at this video I made of you! Bet you'll like it~", he teased, trying to get Slovakia's attention.

Slovakia turned around, obviously annoyed. "Fine, but it better not be embarrassing, and you better not have shown it to Czech." America snickered at her mention of Czech, knowing that Slovakia was still basically lovesick for him. He handed her the phone, and clicked play.

Czech walked up to Slovakia's door, Hungary following close behind and eventually settling on the chair that was placed next to her door. He let out a sigh, checking his watch. He finally said in a small voice, "Slovensko, are you ok? We haven't heard from you all day. Hungary's practically begging to leave the house," she glared daggers at Czech , but he continued. "but Poland says he's not leaving without you."

No answer.

"Slovensko? Are you asleep? It's okay if you're sleeping, and in fact Hungary and I will leave you alone to-"

"Open up, fucknugget." This time Hungary was speaking, and in a low voice that definitely sounded agitated.

"Hun!" Czech scolded. "Meri is right there ," he said, gesturing to the camera, "you can't curse in front of him!"

Hungary ignored her coworker and continued to yell at the door.

"We've been waiting for you for the entire day and if you don't get your ass out here right now , I'll go in there and haul it out myself."

This time, the door slowly opened, revealing Slovakia, wrapped up in a large blanket.

To say she looked terrible was an understatement. Her hair was sticking out every which way, there were bags under her eyes, dried drool lined her cheeks, and mascara and eyeliner was smeared all over her face.

"Why are you here so early? Did UN schedule an meeting for 7 AM aga-"

"Why are you looking like absolute shit? It's one in the afternoon," Hungary spat, grabbing Czech's hand to look at his watch. "Get your shit together and let's go."

America erupted in giggles, shaking the camera so hard that the phone fell over, and then-

The recording suddenly ends.

"Meri," Slovakia looked up from the phone. "What the fuck."

------

Nothing in life made him happy. It was not a choice for him, but a necessity. If nothing amused him, entertained him, made him so that he enjoyed it, then he wouldn't get attached. He would be prepared for the end, and embrace it with open arms. He would-

The alarm clock blared with an ugly noise, echoing throughout the entire room and interrupting America's monologue. He stayed up all night again, because of course he did. This English paper wasn't going to finish itself, and he definitely needed some time to brood over his past decisions. In fact, he moped more than he actually wrote, and now he got only three paragraphs done - oh no. Now, bullshitting through it was his only option. He frantically opened his document filled with his past notes. America stole a glance at the pages written the day before, and he saw that there was only one. Oh God he was fucked. He stared at the document, trying to decipher the broken English that he typed during the long, boring lecture.

Romeo + Juliet good, at least he got that going.

Paris bad, okay, as in France's understudy in that one play that everybody's buzzing about. He could remember that.

They both die in the end: Romeo finds Juliet sleeping but thinks she's dead and so he kills himself, but Juliet wakes up and dies too by the same blade. Damn, were these even notes? This was a crappy summary of the end of the story, but he could build off of this. Okay, so he could bullshit a few more pages, proofread them to make sure it actually looks presentable, and then turn it in ten minutes before the clock.

America set to typing, typing as fast as he possibly could. Being in a coffee filled rage certainly did help him though, since he practically wrote two pages in like, an hour. Not good for a college sophomore like him, but there were only seven pages left to write. For once in his lazy, unmotivational life, America was not going to slack off and wait. This paper was the deciding grade for the semester, and- ooooh, was that a new update from Russia's Instagram- NO, he had to stay focused. The time whizzed by as he wrote like his life depended on it, because it did. If he didn't turn this dumb paper in, then he couldn't graduate, and then he would never get a job, and then he would be living on the streets- ugh, snap out of it already! He had already become too distracted throughout the night and he had work to finish. He could at least pass with an A, and then he could get an actual job and he would make UK proud, and he would make Canada not embarrassed to go out with him in public anymore, and-

Three hours later, and he had - very slowly - written his paper, skimmed it through, and turned it in, except this time it was nine minutes before the due date. He would probably get a D or something; you never knew with Mr. Williams. He would give you an A for a completely crappy paper, and in the same breath slap a old, hard, F on a paper that you had poured your soul into. Trust him, America knew from experience.

Five weeks later, he received his grade for the semester. Opening it, his first analysis of the paper was that his grades, were, at best, not so shabby. As his eyes drifted down from each class, they finally landed on his English grade.

A B+, with a comment that says 'Good work!' Not so bad for a procrastinating country like him, huh?

challenge: take a shot every time i write "bullshit."

#countryhumans #countryhuman #writing

4 notes · View notes

pengiesama · 4 years

Text

God of Love Descends, with Blessings of Cabbage (Fic, TGCF, HC/XL)

Title: God of Love Descends, with Blessings of Cabbage Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

Summary:

Pei Ming gives Xie Lian advice on how to:

a) Get knocked up b) Get Hua Cheng knocked up c) Avoid getting his head eaten during sex with a grasshopper demon d) Grow cabbages

Xie Lian then takes some of this advice, but not all of it.

Link: AO3

Read on Tumblr!

“So…” Pei Ming said. “I heard you and your Crimson Rain were in need of some advice.”

On that last word, he winked.

“You heard incorrectly,” Xie Lian said. “Please leave, I have cleaning to do.”

With that, he tried shutting the door. Undaunted, undeterred, Pei Ming wedged his body into the crack; preventing Xie Lian from ending this intrusion peacefully.

“Then it was intuition! Being as I am a respected god of love, along with the whole martial thing, I just know these things. I perceive and understand when someone is in need of advice—” Again, with the winking. “—and a god cannot shirk his duty. You get it, your highness?”

“I don’t,” Xie Lian said. “Please do not damage my door with your body.”

Pei Ming finally squirmed his way in, despite Xie Lian’s best efforts – alas, he had been too concerned with the state of that door his San Lang had made for him, and in the process had welcomed disaster. Well, perhaps that was a strong word. “Annoyance”, “trouble”, “someone who was only here because he was desperate for attention”. Xie Lian could’ve almost felt sorry for him, against his better judgement.

“Anyway. This esteemed martial god of the north, this god of love, this – do you have anywhere for me to strike a pose for this speech? Like a big ol’ lotus or a fluffy cloud or something?”

Xie Lian leaned on his broom and stared at him, flatly. After a long moment, he walked to his scrap pile, picked up an empty wooden box, and carried it over. Pei Ming accepted it and set it on the floor before he clambered atop it.

“This god of love comes with great excitement to express his joy at your and Crimson Rain’s desires for offspring, and to provide his advice—”

“General Ming Guang, do you have an eye infection?” Xie Lian asked.

“No!” Pei Ming said. “I’m infected with the disease known as Baby Fever!”

“I wish you a swift and full recovery,” Xie Lian said. “Please leave so you can coalesce at a safe distance.”

Pei Ming sighed and scratched at his head, stepping down from the box. “Y’know, your highness, I really did come to help. A certain little birdie told me that you and Crimson Rain were thinking about bringing a bundle of joy or two into your household, and you won’t find a god in heaven that’s got more experience in that topic, I can tell you that much.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks colored, and he looked away. He had an idea of who that “little birdie” was, and as for the topic of that birdie’s chatter, well – it wasn’t wrong, necessarily, but just. Maybe getting a little ahead.

“I…I thank you for your sincere concern,” Xie Lian slowly said. “But San Lang and I, well, we’re, maybe, well, not, almost, well, maybe, a bit…”

“Listen,” Pei Ming said encouragingly, clapping his hand to Xie Lian’s shoulder, and not looking overly offended when Ruoye immediately smacked him away. “If you’re worried about the process, you and Crimson Rain have plenty of options! I heard he’s quite devastating in female form, for one; surely his highness would stand up tall to the challenge of bedding and planting seed in such a wicked beauty…”

Xie Lian’s ears were burning red. “I would advise General Ming Guang to not get any ideas.”

Pei Ming raised his hands. “No ideas in this head of mine, just full faith in his highness’ abilities. For that matter, surely Crimson Rain, if his highness wished to experience the joys of childbirth personally, would—”

“Pray General Ming Guang stop speaking.”

Pei Ming looked hurt. “I’m not judging his highness at all! I’ve gotten knocked up myself a few times, and I can confirm that the nine months are a valuable period of mediation and cultivation…”

“…” said Xie Lian.

Pei Ming smiled knowingly and slung his arm around Xie Lian’s shoulders; heedless of the Ruoye furiously smacking him on the head.

“I know what his highness is thinking. You see, when a man and a beautiful woman who is also a bee demon are very attracted to each other, sometimes, that woman asks the man if she can lay her eggs in him and then immediately drop dead afterwards. As a red-blooded icon of masculinity, could I possibly deny her final request? But! You have to be careful of beautiful women who are also grasshoppers, because sometimes they get feisty in bed. I of course would never be one to deny an expecting mother of much-needed protein, but you have to set expectations – you tell them, ‘my darling, my sweet, of course you can eat my head while we fuck, but it can only be a clone of me, because I’m not looking for that kind of commitment.’”

Pei Ming blinked, and he visibly was deep in thought for a moment.

“Do butterflies do that kind of thing too? Is your Crimson Rain human down there, mostly? Does he have a, whatchacallit, a proboscis? Just trying to figure out what we’re working with.”

It was common knowledge that Pei Ming’s many, many, many, many, many descendants were spread far and wide across the world. About seventy percent of Middle Heaven officials were Pei Ming’s illegitimate scions; some of whom were not fully human in form. Perhaps this revelation was new news to Xie Lian, but it was hardly surprising news. Surely such a prodigious array of progeny could only be achieved if one expanded one’s tastes.

“Listen listen listen!” Pei Ming squawked as Ruoye hauled him up by the armpits, his legs kicking in the air. “If you’re not into the idea of lugging something around for nine months, you can do it the old-fashioned way!”

How is that not the old-fashioned way…?, Xie Lian wondered.

“So those child-bearing pills you got,” Pei Ming began, thus proving that Shi Qingxuan was completely incapable of keeping a secret. “You build yourself a nice little garden, you get some holy water, and you grow yourself a little cabbage that you’ll pluck when they’re ready to make their debut.”

“Those are seeds? Seeds that you’re supposed to plant in the ground?” Xie Lian blurted before he could stop himself.

Pei Ming blinked. “…yeah? What, did you think that you were supposed to take them like medicine?”

Well, that at least explained why that hadn’t been working. Xie Lian made a note that he would have to beg the pardon of Rain Master and request her guidance in…cabbage farming.

“So basically,” Pei Ming summed up. “If your Crimson Rain’s proboscis can’t lay eggs in you, and neither of you are willing to grow a womb for the duration, pills. Pills in the ground.”

“Thank you for your input, General Ming Guang,” Xie Lian said firmly.

“And if either of you need protein, use a clone!” Pei Ming called back as Ruoye whirled around before flinging him into the distance. “General Ming Guang says practice safe sex!”

“Pray gege forgive this San Lang for not knowing the proper application method of the pills. He hadn’t dared presume gege would wish to use them, and this cowardice resulted in a shameful gap in knowledge.”

“Mmm,” Xie Lian replied, leaning back against his husband. He gazed at the little patch of fresh dirt in front of them. Puqi Village was a good spot to start a garden. It was quiet, peaceful; away from the hustle and bustle of Ghost City. The cabbage could be introduced to its second home soon enough. “Pray San Lang forgive this husband for being too stubborn to even consider that an alternate method was perhaps better suited.”

Hua Cheng nosed the back of Xie Lian’s neck; he could feel his smirk against his nape. “Ah, but gege’s stubbornness brought so many delightful nights…”

Hua Cheng’s breath and lips travelled lower, from his nape, trailing down his spine. Xie Lian sighed aloud and loosened his belt and ties to allow his robe to slip lower, off his shoulders and catching on his elbows. Hua Cheng could take a hint, and Xie Lian couldn’t help but laugh aloud in delight as he was pressed into the grass by his husband’s weight.

It had been a long and anxious day of gardening, and Xie Lian thought he could use some proboscis.

#天官赐福 #tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

jeonggukingdom · 5 years

Text

mots démoniaques, 2 | excoriate

▽ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

▽ Genre: [mythological!AU, demon!AU] | Angst, Eventual Smut, Romance

▽ Summary: You can sense from miles away the sin that dances on his tongue, the words that he so loves to shape into sinister thoughts and morph into sickening outcomes aimed at tainting and wrecking all things mundane and innocent. Kim Taehyung - a voice of honey and features of a cherub - is nothing but a monster. He has lived millenniums, yet, he has never found such a fascinating creature as you are and polluting your very being has slowly become his entire life motive.

▽ Word Count: 5.456 words

▽ prompt word: excoriate

▽ AN: The Amanojaku is a small demon that finds its roots in the Japanese folklore. Everything besides his name and his power - aka the ability to instigate people into wickedness with his words - is entirely the fruit of my own imagination and doesn’t have anything to do with the original myth.

▽ ▽ WARNINGS: non-consensual acts are performed through the story (not intercourse), use of alcohol, metaphors that allude to physical violence and pain, swear words.

« Previous | Next »

“Still upset about Monday, I take it?”

Nausea fills your stomach as you toss and turn in the tangled mess that were once your bed sheets. His voice of honey keeps ringing in your ears even hours after his disappearance.

Rationally, you are aware that Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, probably miles and miles away from your apartment doing God-knows-what to corrupt innocent souls of fellow human beings. Your heart, though, refuses to calm down and so does the rest of your body, tense and shivering in the darkness of the room.

You have been playing this game of turning on and off the light for literal hours and the deepest part of you, the most pride-filled one, refuses to turn it on again and succumb to this nonsensical fear lodged inside your chest.

With one simple question, Taehyung has stirred awake the memories you so hardly tried to repress in the past few days. You have tried to forget, to let go and move on, to put this behind you just like many other things in your past but, alas, it has all been in vain. It took him only a second to break down the walls you had so carefully rebuild around yourself and throw you back into those atrocious moments.

Your mind drifts to last Monday night for the hundredth time tonight and, before you can stop yourself, you are re-living every dreadful instant of it.

The bracelets around your wrists tingle as you walk through the apartment, desperately searching for your car keys before you are far too late to the dinner for it to be acceptable.

The night is pretty chill and the breeze evokes goosebumps on your skin as you practically run to your car whilst hugging yourself in a vain attempt to keep yourself warm.

Admittedly, you did choose a dress far too short and far too light for the current weather but it does hug your curves to perfection and that was a compromise you just had to make.

A few years have passed since you were still in college, trying to jungle yourself between exams and a part-time job and a very demanding boyfriend. Many things have changed since then, including you.

Something that hasn’t changed, though, is your need to impress the people around you, especially the ones you do care about.

Tonight it is one of those nights where you wish to prove yourself not only to those people but, most importantly, to yourself.

Many things that could have gone wrong since college did, in fact, go horribly but your job tonight is to show them all that, despite it all, you still came out not only alive but victorious.

Despite your doubts, you manage to arrive at the restaurant perfectly in time and with a deep smile stretched on your face, you enter the restaurant to greet your former friends from college.

It is odd to realize that you need a few long seconds to associate their names with their faces; it is also weird to have a hard time recognizing some of them now as if a lifetime has passed since the last time you’ve seen each other. In a certain way, it has.

Those people, those faces that were once familiar and as dear to you as your own family almost feel like strangers now and it makes your heart squeeze in sadness. How volatile are human beings and their feelings for each other? You would have easily given your life for some of these people back then and now... Now you don’t even know how’s their life like.

You do not voice out any of those thoughts though, in fact, you act as if not a single day has passed since graduation, as if you all had been talking not too many hours ago about the most random things.

You rejoice in how those faces light up in recognition as you approach them, you relish in the sound of their voices and the feeling of arms engulfing you in a brief embrace. It is warm and it almost feels like homecoming.

Your heart swells as your old best friends fill you in on their lives, as they show you pictures of little kids you had no idea existed prior to tonight and even though a little part of you envies them, you are quite happy for the way their life turned out.

You do notice that they’re all very careful not to pry into your life. His name never gets mentioned in those conversations and you are immensely grateful for it. You all know this was supposed to be you: happy and married with a cute pair of kids running around the house. There had been a time when everyone expected you to be the first one to achieve the dream life—well, your version of it at least—and succeed in every aspect of it. Of course, back then, nobody had any idea of how surprising and cruel life could be.

You can see in their eyes the hint of curiosity that sparkles there, the hesitation into asking what they all want to know and hear from you: what truly happened? But you cannot tell them. You can’t tell the truth and you don’t even want to, not that they’d believe you even if you decided to, of course.

Hyojin opens her mouth after a few seconds of silence and you can already anticipate the question that will roll off of her tongue. She was always the bravest and most curious one of your group, after all.

The question, though, remains stuck in her throat as the man of the hour approaches your table, a little grin spread on his gorgeous face.

“Taehyung...” you whisper out his name before you even realize it and when you do, your cheeks seem to catch on fire alongside with the rest of your body.

Of course, he’d show up. How could he ever miss the occasion to be the center of attention and torture you, all at the same time?

A part of you suspected it, a part of you hoped to be wrong and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a part of you even wished for him to be here tonight. Why? Because that tiny part of you still had feelings for the monster standing before your very eyes. Even after all he had done, a sick and twisted part of your heart still wanted to beat only for him.

Your eyes are glued on him as he takes the last final steps to your table and takes the seat right across from you, feigning an innocence that does not belong on his face in the slightest.

You can sense the eyes of your former friends on the both of you as you greet each other and it takes all of your best effort to not look at any of them and break the facade of the unfazed ex-girlfriend.

The air is tense all around you even after everyone at the table resumes their conversations and goosebumps gather on your skin every single-damned-time Taehyung even hums in response to someone else. His proximity, the way his eyes land on you every now and then, the fear that clutches your heart every time he opens his mouth are almost too much to endure but you do push through and that is your first mistake.

You should have left before it all went downhills, before it became too much for you to handle without a little help, before you allowed some of your walls to come crumbling down. But you don’t leave, even if your heart is begging you to do so and that is simply because you are stubborn, and pride. Oh, so fucking full of pride.

The drink suddenly clutched in your right hand feels heavy and doubt fills your mind as you recall how much easier is to fall for Taehyung’s spell once your mind is already hazed by alcohol but even still, you gulp it down quickly hoping that the burn will ease up your nerves a little bit.

If someone would ask you right then and there what you had been talking about for the last couple of hours, you would have no idea. You know you have been talking the whole time, feigning interest in listening to your former friend’s stories and anecdotes from a life distant light years from your own, but you do not retain a single word that has been said to you or that left your mouth, for that matter.

Your mind is too focused on Taehyung and the effort of not focusing on him to allow anything else to settle in.

It is then that you make your second mistake. A few drinks have passed and gone down your throat in the meantime and you’re already feeling a little bit unsteady on your legs as you stand up. That should have been your cue sign to leave and retire to the safety of your own four walls.

Instead, when the guys suggest bringing the dinner party to a club you all-too-quickly jump on the ‘yes’ wagon and tag along with them.

It doesn’t even properly register in your mind that this is definitely not a good idea and, most importantly, you fail to notice the fact that most of the girls have declined the offer—most of them out of obligation towards their kids more than anything else, really.

Also at that point in time, you fail to catch on the fact that Taehyung, the wicked demon you’ve come to know and hate in the past few years, has let slip through his hands the chance to coax these girls into going anyway. It is what he does best, after all: induce people into wicked things they wouldn’t normally do, stir up drama and bring pain to lowly humans, slowly bringing their souls into eternal damnation.

That should have been your red flag. If Taehyung could pass up an opportunity as succulent as that one it could only mean he had a far worse scheme up his sleeves. And of course, the center of that scheme had to be you: his favorite prey.

At first, nothing is out of the ordinary: people yelling at each other over the music, a few drinks being passed by between old friends, a few dances down the dance floor.

You let your guard down completely during this time frame, relaxed by the fact that even though your nemesis is standing there, barely a few inches away from you, everything is going smoothly.

It is exactly in this moment, as you sip on your Moscow Mule, that everything starts crumbling down.

You hadn’t noticed prior to this very second that the rest of your company had all went down to the dance floor or the bar to get another drink leaving you alone with Taehyung.

You’re made aware of his proximity the moment he takes a step forward and his body heat seems to radiate and engulf your entire frame.

His breath feels hot against your skin as he whispers right above your ear:

“Good evening, sweets.”

He chuckles as he quickly takes notice of the goosebumps that spread on your skin like fire and you hate how easy it is for him to read your body. If only you could do the same with him, if only you could peep behind those black as coal eyes and that smirking mouth, you could bring him down to his knees as easily as he can with you. But of course, it is only wishful thinking.

“What do you want?” Your words slice like knives in your mind but they come out in a confused slur when you pronounce them, retaining nothing of the angry or unfazed tone you wanted to deliver.

He laughs at your question and takes another step forward, successfully pressing his lean body on your back. If you had thought his proximity had made you warmer before, now you were feeling feverish hot. It felt almost as if he was awakening a dormant volcano in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m a little bit bored, aren’t you?”

A shiver shakes your frame as those words leave his mouth. The implications laced between them makes the question feel like a bucket of ice cold water over your flushed body. It renders even the gesture of gulping down the remaining of your drink without dropping the glass in your hand a great effort. Oh, how much you hate the ascendant Taehyung has on you and your feeble heart.

“Not particularly, no.” Your words are strained as you push them out, your heart beating fast in your chest as you desperately try to gain back some control, build up back those walls you let slip somewhere down the line. You are supposed to know better than this, you are supposed to know not to let your guard down around him but oh, you simply never learn your lessons right when they are about Kim Taehyung.

You’d never admit it out loud but even to this day, you still yearn for his touch, the feeling of his hands all over you and in your current intoxicated state, resisting him feels like a greater mountain to climb than you are possibly able to.

One of his arms circles your back as he slowly turns you around, forcing you to truly face him for the first time tonight. His free hand comes to your face then, his slender fingers pulling your chin upwards so you cannot escape the depth of his coal stare.

“Oh, but I think you are a little bit bored, standing here all alone, sipping on your drink.”

His words feel like warm honey on the tip of your tongue, melting as you gulp it down and scorching your very core and you know this feeling, you know oh-too-well what it means but you cannot fight it. Especially not when you’re not even sober, to begin with.

“Maybe you’re right,” you whisper, your body aching as you try to pull at your own consciousness and not slip into his words, the wickedness they are about to suggest.

“I think we should make it a little bit more entertaining for all of us here, what do you think, love?”

The endearing name makes your heart tumble in your chest and even though a little part of you hates him for it, the rest of you is so far gone there is simply no hope to see Taehyung for the monster that he is at this point. No, now, he is your God and you will inevitably end up doing whatever he wants you to do. You’re nothing but a puppet in his hands and there was a time when that felt great and it seemed like that was what loves was to be about. But it is not love and it is not great. It’s control that results in pain and heartbreak.

“How?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper and it would equal to silence to human ears in the loudness of the club but to the demon standing in front of you it is loud and clear and, most importantly, it is music to his ears.

His smirk sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. There should be fear and dread there but, instead, the feelings have been swapped with expectation and adoration.

“I love your dress,” he says, whispering right in your ear and you shiver at the sensation, licking your lips automatically, still unaware that at some point they went completely dry, “Did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe”, you concede and in the morning you’ll remember this not even being a lie or your attempt to please him. It is nothing but the truth and it doesn’t matter how much you hate yourself for feeling like this or worse, for saying it out loud. The hate cannot erase the fact that you have picked your dress for him, just in case he really showed up.

He smiles and caresses your cheek with affection, his eyes shining once you lean into his touch and inhale deeply, trying to impress the smell of him in your senses.

“Then what do you say about making a show out of it?” He suggests after a few seconds and you open the eyes you hadn’t realized you had closed to peer into his.

“What do you want me to do?” You whimper out eagerly, your heart beating fast in your chest as you wait for his instructions.

He hums, pensive, and even in the state you’re in you can tell it is all an act to keep you waiting, make your heart throb a little bit longer waiting for him to open up his mouth again.

“I’d love for you to show them all what they are missing on,” he finally says, making you twirl around so he can take a good look at you in your form-fitting dress.

By instincts, you know exactly what he means, or maybe that is how his power works, maybe his thoughts really slip into your mind and turn into your very own. Maybe he doesn’t even need to speak those words out loud in the first place and all he needs to do is think them and your soul will be wrapped around his little finger.

You do not know how it works, really, what you do know is that it works every single time and before you know it, you start swaying your hips as you walk to the dance floor, careful not to bump into anyone that could stop you to try and dance with you. Tonight you are to be looked at, not to be touched.

You realize in that moment that the club choice was made by Taehyung and for a very purposeful reason: the club has four big illuminated platforms across the dance floor with a few dancers lined up there to keep people moving and having fun by putting up a show and that, that is your destination.

With no hesitation in your movements nor inside your heart and mind, you reach the platform right at the center of the club and smile up at the male dancer performing on it.

“Can I come up?” You say as loud as you can, mimicking your words with your hands to get your point across.

The look of stupor that falls on his objectively handsome face his fuel to the fire burning in your heart and once he extends his arms towards you, helping you up on the stage, you are far too lost in the excitement and adrenaline rush to realize the depth of what you’re about to do.

The male dancer introduces himself as J-Hope—which you assume to be his stage name—and you smile at him in response, swaying your body towards him as seductively as you possibly can.

“Well, nice to meet you, J-Hope,” you purr in his ear and relish in the way he evidently gulps down, taken aback by your shamelessness, “Let’s dance the night away, shall we?”

He doesn’t need you to ask him twice before his hands are carefully wrapped around your hips, guiding your movements to match the upbeat tempo.

You can’t see yourself in those people’s eyes but you know you are giving them quite the show. The dance feels sensual as you press your body onto the dancer’s and your chest seems to constrict a little bit further every single time the space between your bodies thins out to almost nothing at all.

His touches remain professional and purposefully driven by the desire to give a good performance rather than to seduce you but on your part, the effort is quite the opposite.

You do want him to put his hands on you, you do want him to kiss you and scorch your lips with his passion for everyone to see. What you want is to be desired, stripped naked and claimed right in front of everyone. That is the fantasy you’re aiming for, that is what would truly excite him.

You find his eyes in the crowd and for the first time you notice how many people have gathered there to watch you and the dancer behind your back.

This feeling of being watched, envied, desired or even judged by so many people is inebriating and it’s with this feeling swelling in your heart that you decide your next move.

You turn around to face the young dancer, startling him again for the third time tonight, and with a wicked smirk, you start twerking your ass for your public, not caring a single bit of the fact that your dress is riding up, exposing your butt cheeks to all of them.

You are barely aware of the phones that are being drawn out of pockets to record the scene, of the people’s eyes glued on you as they talk to each other about what they are witnessing or even of J-Hope, trying to salvage the situation before he is forced to call security and simply kick you out of the club.

The drawing point for him must be the instant you pull the dress up from your frame and kick it somewhere far away in the club, remaining in nothing but your underwear.

Almost as if you came prepared for the night, you sport a black laced set that barely covers the most important parts and the approval of the crowd comes in the form of whistles and excited screams that only seem to fuel you all the more.

You turn around for all of them to see, swaying your hips and spreading your legs to give them all a show they didn’t know they needed tonight.

With a glance to the crowd you notice your former-friends there as well, staring at you as if they don’t even know who you are and when that should make you realize what you are doing or at least make you feel shame for all of it, in that state of mind it only turns you bolder, more desperate to imprint this show in their memory for the rest of their lives. Be remembered by all of them, be the one they’d talk about from time to time even when they are old, recalling back to the days when they were young and wild. You want to be immortal for all of them.

With that thought recurring in your mind like a mantra, your bra falls off from you and you’re about to remove your panties and salute the last bit of self-preservation when the security finally reaches you and brings you off the platform.

The events of the night seem to become fuzzy at this point, maybe too chaotic for your own mind to process or maybe it is the demon’s power radiating all around you to control every single living creature inside the club.

You do know that you walk out of that club wrapped up in a coat that is not your own without the report for public indecency you deserve. Not even a strong warning or a fee to pay for it and you do know, that is all Taehyung’s doing.

It is him that walks you home, carefully guiding your steps so that you don’t fall and hurt yourself in the process.

It is also him that tugs you in your bed-sheets and lulls you to sleep, thanking you for the great show you gave him.

Your eyes open and it is already Tuesday afternoon when you do so, at least according to your phone lying next to you.

Morning comes with your sobriety and the feeling of your head being split open by an unknown force.

Your eyes close right after you dare to look at your phone screen, the white light almost burning your retinas after so many hours of pure darkness. When you try to open them again you feel them pulse as they catch up on the light filtering through your windows and you grimace loudly, closing them for a few seconds once again.

When you are pretty much awake and ready to open them you quickly notice how sore your body feels, how bad your mouth tastes and, a few seconds later, your memories slowly start resurfacing in your consciousness.

You spring up from your bed as soon as the recollection of last night comes to you with the force of a tsunami. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the air gets kicked out of your lungs and for a moment you fear you may collapse. Maybe that would have been a gift from God: to indulge some more time in unconsciousness and forget yesterday ever happened.

You phone chimes from the bed right as you ponder the idea of simply returning back to sleep and postpone the inevitable, signaling you the income of a new text. With dread, you pick it to see who is it from and you are instantly met with hundreds of notifications sent to your number from last night up to this very moment.

Your eyes scan through the text messages quickly, deeming anything that doesn’t have to do with last night unimportant and a sigh of relief is about to escape your mouth when you dismally reach what you were dreading to find. A video.

One of your former-friends has created a group chat for your college group from last night and sent the video of you dancing and undressing yourself on the platform of that stupid club with a string of text attached to it. ‘Thank you for the great performance, ______ .”

Your steps are quick in the apartment as you rush to the bathroom, barely making it on time for your puke to hit the toilet bowl and not make a mess of the rest of the room, which would have really been the icing on the cake.

You cannot believe you did that. No, that he made you do that. And that there is one video proof of it. Hell, probably a lot more than a single one of them. And they’re probably online as well, available for every single person that wants to see it—and probably masturbate to it.

A new wave of nausea hits you at the thought and you spend the next hour crouched on the bathroom floor, your head propped up on your hand as your stomach churns and revolts every few minutes.

You feel gross, your body feels gross, even your soul feels gross.

You crawl inside your shower and let the water wash over you, scorching hot. All the sweat and the smell of vomit and alcohol get replaced by the feeling of being clean and fresh and perfumed but the water cannot erase how dirty you feel on the inside.

You have been scrubbing your skin for almost an hour now, trying to get rid of that feeling lodged inside your heart but you know, even if you could successfully excoriate your skin or even remove it from around your bones, the feeling of being soiled and disgusting would not withdraw from your soul.

It is after you realize this, after your skin has turned hot and sensitive to the touch, after these hours of pure misery and self-pity that you finally break apart.

The tears and the sobs erupt from you like a waterfall and not even the sound of the shower can successfully cover the one of your mourning.

The things you’ve said and done under the control of Taehyung’s words are simply one too many today and too much for you to handle them anymore. Last night was just another stone to the mountain of things he has made you do and that now you regret.

It’s in one of the darkest hours of your life, at the peak of your heartache, that he appears again in front of you.

You’re still wet from the shower, your face swollen from all the crying, and you have just stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a bathrobe when you notice him sitting on your bed, his face neutral as he watches you.

“You,” you grit your teeth, bile filling your windpipe, almost strangling you from within, “You fucking son of a bitch!”

The scream that erupts from you scratches your throat and brings tears to your eyes but you do not relent.

Looking as fury itself, you launch yourself at him, nails pointing out to scratch every inch of his skin you can possibly touch. You want to rip him to shreds just like he has done with your whole existence, with your mind and soul. You just want, no, need revenge.

You land a hit to his face, a kick on his stomach and a spit right in his eye and some scratches all over the exposed skin of his head and neck before he manages to grab both of your wrists, reverse your positions and trap you down on the bed by straddling your hips with his own.

“Let me go, you bastard!” You squirm under his grasp trying to bite his arms and kick his legs with your knees but to no avail.

“I didn’t know you had all of this in you, sweets.”

His words sound taunting to you, working as fuel for your hatred and resentment for everything he has ever done or said to you ever since you’ve known him. This monster trapping you under his body was a man you once loved and now, now looking at him hurts like your body is being ripped apart by feral beasts.

“I hate you.” You say through gritted teeth, your words coming out as slaps across his face.

You notice the slight shift in his eyes, the semblance of an emotion hidden in his irises but he erases it far too quickly for you to be able to name it. But you hang up on it, seeing a tiny crack on his facade to aim at until he breaks apart just like you did, because of him.

“Do you hear me? I fucking hate you! You’re a monster and I will never forgive you. I HATE YOU!”

Your scream scratches your throat anew but it is not the cause for the tears gathering in your eyes. It’s the words you speak out loud and the way his eyes shift again for a split of a second, letting his regret and pain flash through those impossible eyes.

It’s the fact that they seem to turn into black pools as quickly as you recognize those feelings behind them, it’s the fact that his face is as immobile as ever and the fact that he disappears just like smoke once the words have settled in.

You don’t know why it feels even worse for him to be gone, you don’t understand how you can hate him and still yearn so much for him at the same time and as you lie in bed in the same position he has left you for hours, staring at the ceiling without knowing what to do with yourself and the confusing feelings swirling inside your chest, that you break apart once again.

You love him. No, you hate him. You will never forgive him, not this time. But even so, you will never truly forget him and that’s what’s really sad.

#bangtanbookclub #btsguild #kwordsmiths #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts scenario #bts imagine #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #taehyung x reader #bts x reader

171 notes · View notes

justsomerandomweebo · 5 years

Text

An AU I Think (Side Effects)

Alright so I've never done one of these before but this has been haunting me for days now. So here's the thing: what if the ninja (and by extension all elemental masters) suffered side effects from their powers?

Starting with our fire lord Kai:

The drawback for him is that his fire makes him have a short fuse so to speak.

Like it could be something as passive as a leaf falling in his hair just after he did it and he will freaking explode (not literally of course).

"What the hell?! I spent an entire hour doing my hair and this stupid freaking leaf just-" *cue massive flame up* (The Bounty almost gets burnt down a lot)

He hates it though because he knows it's usually nothing big and he shouldn't even be mad in the first place but he can't let things like that go, no matter how much he wants to. Not without throwing a fiery tantrum first that is.

This of course makes it soooo hard for him to even be around the others or anyone for that matter because he lives in constant fear that his explosive and uncontrollable anger towards the simplest of things will result in someone being seriously hurt.

He avoids Zane like the plague outside of missions because of this. (You'll see why)

Speaking of Zane, our beloved snowflake, the boi is as cold as ice. In more ways than one you see.

Not only does he have a hard time connecting with anyone (humane, mechanical and otherwise), but he is plagued with a feeling of deep, freezing cold.

No matter what he does, he can't warm up and because of this, he often wears a lot of layers.

To everyone else though, he's average in temperature.

He gets along well enough with plants and animals since they don't require conversation or too much attention.

The never ending cold really gets to him though. If he isn't monitored, he will do things like sticking a limb in a flaming hot oven or worse- purposefully make Kai flare up.

*pushes Kai* "You should really watch where you're going." *Kai does the big snap*

Jay has to fix and replace parts on his person due to direct exposure to Kai's intense fire while Kai holes himself up, swimming in guilt with Cole trying to make him feel better.

And when that fails, he often lowers the temperature in their entire base so they can feel as cold as he does too. He usually feels a flare of guilt a few minutes in and stops.

Jay, the lovable cinnamon roll cannot. Stop. Talking.

His mind goes a mile a second and he just. Can't. Stop.

He tries to lessen his time with being around the others because he knows he's annoying, jumping from one topic to another in the span of a few seconds to the point where it's impossible to keep up a conversation with him.

Be careful when touching because he's always charged up. He zapped several of the ninja and innocent bystanders on accident.

Sleep is so hard for him because he can't get his mind to shut up long enough to fall asleep.

On bad days, he can be found on the nearest roof, digging into his scalp until it bleeds and muttering to himself. Aside from Lloyd, Nya finds him most of the time and help bring him down enough so he'll stop trying to scratch his brain out.

Dearest Nya. After unlocking her true potential, she becomes so mellow. Absolutely nothing phases her.

Kai's having an explosive episode? That's cool. Zane nearly melts his arm off? Radical. Jay spent three days doing half projects without a lick of sleep? Neat!

She. Freaking. Hates. It.

But like everyone else, she can't do anything to stop it. Deep inside, she just wants to scream because she can't show that she actually cares properly.

Which makes her ideal in getting Jay to calm down because he could talk for days about 100k things and it wouldn't phase her. She would just nod and sometimes interject to show him a cool water trick.

Despite that, she just can't seem to take anything seriously, despite how desperately she wants to. Part of this is the reason Cole tries to keep his distance.

Precious rock boi Cole. Everyone thinks he has it easy. He doesn't have fiery tantrums or can't connect to people or can't stop thinking or can't take things seriously. But that doesn't mean he doesn't suffer still.

His problem is stubbornness. Once he sets his mind to something, that's it.

"What time is it Cole?" "It's 1am." "I think you mean 1pm." "No. AM." "Dude, the sun is out." "Which is exactly why it's AM and not pm!" "No dude. You've got it wrong-" "Think what you want to but it's freaking AM and that's that." *stalks off, ground rumbling with each step* (an actual conversation with Nya)

He knows he's wrong about most things (because first thoughts/impressions stick) but he just can't admit it for the life of him. And what makes it so much worse is that when he gets into one of these arguments with the Ninja and he decides he's going to be mad at them, he can't not be mad at them ever since.

He's reluctantly furious with Nya because she doesn't give in like most of the others do to spare him. She keeps going, proving him wrong when he knows he is but can't utter a word to say he is.

The only ones he can still talk to without being mad is Wu, Jay (he isn't able to stay on topic long enough to prove Cole wrong), Kai (who does everything in his power to avoid arguments) and Lloyd.

LLOYD MY GOLDEN CHILD. Oh boy, he does the big suffer. So, Lloyd's problem is having. Too. Much. Energy!

He feels like he's on a sugar rush 25/8.

He has to keep moving, has to keep burning energy or else his energy will build up and his powers will go haywire. (Last time, his powers blasted the mast clean off the Bounty and it landed a few yards away from the ship. Luckily, they were docked.)

Morning, mid-day and nightly runs are a thing when they're on land.

Insomnia. Panda eyes. Jitters. The big depression he hides from everyone.

He just keeps going until he passes out. All the ninja take turns carrying him to bed when he does. (He once fell asleep half over the railings on the Bounty. While they were flying.

Some flare-ups are the result from his frustration. He can't even play videogames because they aren't engaging enough! He can't do anything that requires staying still for more than two minutes and it makes him so sick and tired he just- may have accidentally destroyed one of Jay's half projects laying around. (Luckily he doesn't mind)

Avoids sweets like the plague, despite his longing to have even one. He doesn't need any more energy. In extension, he sometimes purposely misses meals.

Despite his problems, he tries his best to help the others out. He doesn't talk much around Cole but he listens and while he couldn't go near Kai during his flare-ups, he does invite him to train or go running with him to take his kind off things. He knows Nya really cares and makes sure to let her know he knows that. He brings Zane small cactai and other small plants as well. He also lets Jay talk his ears off and while it does get confusing, the challenge of keeping up with his conversations takes a lot of his focus and energy (which he's grateful for).

He also helps them all pull it together for a mission where they can remind themselves why they go through the things they do instead of passing their powers over to someone else and being free of it all.

In return, they do everything they can for him and while he appreciates it, some things restrict him and cause energy build up. (ie, doing laundry for once puts a huge hole in his messy schedule to keep him moving.) He encourages them not to most times.

Bonus:

Our favorite Sensei. Garmadon (sorry Wu ily2) has to destroy things. Not as often as he needs to with the evil gone from his body but it's still a need to prevent his powers from building up.

To solve this without causing actual damage, he brings bubble wrap everywhere. Everywhere. He stashes them all over his monastery too. There's even some in his staff.

When he runs out (he never does but if he should), he takes to crushing pebbles instead.

Wu can't help but laugh seeing his brother so focused on popping individual plastic bubbles but also makes sure he never runs out as well.

Now our just as favourite Sensei Wu of course has the reverse problem. He needs to keep creating.

This is where the Tea comes in. He creates several different blends done several different ways so he's never drinking the same tea done the exact same way twice.

If he can't do that then his Nin-Jo (his staff) also doubles as a sort of puzzle. (Half of it at least). It has several tiny sections you can twist and turn to create different clicking sounds and combinations. He hasn't run out of combinations yet but he only uses it for emergencies.

As for his students, he has already gotten a gist of what the previous elemental masters went through (getting them all together for the first serpentine war was hell!), so he knows how to avoid certain incidents. Alas, he is only one old man (a very, very old man) and he cannot stop everything. He does have a special tea brew that calms their emotions enough to help prevent a flare up (but they can only have one cup a day else it represses their emotions completely and the effects only lasts about 4-5 hours. He calls it ClariTea) and a reverse version to increase emotions for Nya (He calls it EmotionaliTea). He's still looking into a tea that'll help Zane get warm as he is the only one who he hasn't been able to help (since ClariTea would make him even more distant and EmotionaliTea would most likely fuel the side of him that wants others to feel what he feels and that would be very bad).

He does have difficulty sleeping but not because of his powers. It weighs on his conscious heavily that his students have to suffer for Ninjago to be safe. How can he sleep peacefully while his students suffer after all?

He soon recruits Mistaké's help in curing the side effects of their elemental powers but nothing is forthcoming so far.

That's it for now. It's not the best but if you guys have questions, feel free to let me know and I'll answer as best as I can! If you have additions, I'd love to hear them too!

185 notes · View notes

two-are-the-trees · 5 years

Text

31 Days of Poe Day 16: “The Imp of the Perverse”

“The Imp of the Perverse” is, in my opinion, one of Poe’s most fascinating works. It’s extremely simple in its approach; it takes one particular topic of psychology and simply gives an example of how it might affect a person. The result, however, is unforgettable, simply because the topic that Poe chooses to expand upon is one of the most strangely understandable. It is the idea of uncontrollable thoughts or impulses; the things we don’t want to think about and yet, once we begin, we simply cannot stop. Poe proves that in the wrong circumstances, this phenomenon can betray even the most cunning of criminals.

The narrator of this story begins by explaining the concept of the perverse. He states that anything perverse is something that a person knows they shouldn’t think or do and yet their brain becomes utterly fascinated and obsessed with said subject. He then goes on to tell of a murder that he committed. He was meticulous and calculating, ensuring that there was no possible way he could be caught. The more he thinks on the murder, however, the more paranoid he becomes and the more he starts to develop some “perverse” impulsive thoughts. He soon discovers that there is only one thing that stands between himself and capture; his own mind.

Poe develops this subject in an extremely relatable way, even for those of us who have never experienced intrusive thoughts. We’ve all been troubled by persistent thoughts that disturb us or bother us, or have been tempted to do regrettable things because of sudden impulses. It is this frantic attempt to prevent these thoughts that Poe focuses on, and it not only creates thrilling tension in the narrative, but also provokes a sympathetic response in the reader. In fact, I believe that readers of gothic literature are more familiar with this type of “perverseness” than readers of other genres. Think of the process of reading something dark or scary. The entire point of gothic literature is to disturb the reader; to take them into a narrative and show them things that are strange and frightening. Why, then, would a reader subject themselves to this, to that agonizing moment of turning the page and experiencing terror? It is because there is also a fascination and obsession with those disturbing thoughts and subjects. The reader simply must go on, impulsively, and will go back to those terrifying images later despite their best efforts to forget about them. There is a real imp of perverseness in many of us, and Poe absolutely knew it.

Would I recommend “The Imp of the Perverse?” Yes, yes, yes, especially if you are interested in the more psychological side of Poe’s writing. This story is a fascinating exploration of the power of the human brain and how for all it’s calculating power, it is still able to fall victim to its own persuasion. The desperate struggle to actively not think of something affects us all in one way or another and the more the thoughts are repressed, the stronger they come back to haunt us.

For more analysis (which contains spoilers!!!) please read below the cut!

The brilliance of this story really shines through in the narrator, as he is the perfect candidate to fall victim to impulsive thoughts. He is clearly very smart, as he demonstrates in the thoroughness of his murder plan. He thinks very long and clearly about things and runs through every possible answer before acting, such as when he explains his deliberation about which murder method to use before deciding on a poisoned candle. This brain power becomes a double-edged sword, however, when his tendency to overthink continues even after the murder has been carried out. With nothing else to do, the narrator quickly becomes paranoid that somehow, something will go wrong even though he took all the necessary steps to ensure his safety. This is all the fault of his active mind; when left to idle, it simply keeps on planning even when, at that point, his thinking becomes a problem rather than an asset.

This is also where the narrator’s problem with perverseness comes into play. The narrator states that he is extremely susceptible to impulsive thoughts. I believe this is all because of his intelligence and his active mind, similarly to how he is prone to paranoia. Those who tend to be planners and overthinkers will understand this perfectly. Once his brain becomes focused on a subject, he becomes locked onto it and cannot think of anything else until his impulses are satisfied. This becomes a major problem when the thought he locks onto is the fact that he will only be caught for the murder if he confesses himself. The way Poe writes this sequence where the narrator realizes he is going to impulsively confess is perfect; the anxiety and tension is palpable as the narrator frantically tries to control his thoughts, but of course that only makes it worse. We can only read on in horror as his own mind betrays him and he reveals all without hesitation.

There could also be a moral aspect to this story. One might argue that it is because the deed the narrator carried out was so horrible that guilt simply caught up with him and he could contain it no longer. I think that is also an interesting angle for the story, as it implies that sooner or later, guilt or at least some sense of moral obligation will catch up with everyone in the end. However, I think I prefer to think that the narrator would have gone his whole life without confessing had he somehow just been able to avoid that one thought forever. But, alas, sometimes the brain is too powerful even for itself and it cannot stop the uncontrollable rush of impulses that stem from a seemingly harmless idea.

So, what did y’all think? Was there any way the narrator could have avoided confessing? Do you believe it was guilt that led him to confess? Do you find yourself obsessively engaging in media that scares you? If you have something to add, please comment on this post or send me an ask! You can also use the tag #31daysofpoe to write your own response post!

#31daysofpoe #edgar allan poe #gothic literature #gothic #halloween

13 notes · View notes

eorzeanharmony · 5 years

Text

Mnemon - Memory

Character: Aethelric Firesoul

The sun sat low on the horizon, its dying rays painting the jagged mesas of western Thanalan in fiery oranges and rich violet. The vista was striking, and the solitary figure making its way down one of the myriad dry wadis sunk into the heat-scorched landscape still had it in his heart to appreciate it, however many times he saw it. The desert was harsh and unforgiving; even without its myriad dangers the land itself would devour an unwary traveler like the jackals that stalked its rocky expanse… yet like such predators, it retained a fierce beauty.

It bespoke the traveler’s relaxed frame of mind, though, that he took any time at all to look at the mountains for their glory at sunset. This was no mission of blood and vengeance, but rather of succor. The large satchel slung across Aethelric’s broad, darkly-tanned shoulders contained not weaponry but foodstuffs and first aid supplies, along with a few small luxuries… spices, tea, hard candies. Simple things, but precious, out here in the wastes. The scarred warrior’s yellow gaze also scanned the cliffs looking for the thin thread of smoke that marked his destination… the cooking fires of a small Ala Mhigan encampment tucked into a series of caves up in the foothills. Usually it was visible by now, but the lack of the thin white plume against the cliffside earned a frown and a slight hastening of his steps.

It was dusk by the time he reached the path up to the caves, and as he drew near, he could see the wide entrance of the main camp black against the paler backdrop of the cliff. But it was wrong… where were the fires, the bustle of lank bodies lit by their light, the sounds of song, chatter, and occasional laughter. The cave’s entrance lay dark and still, as devoid of life as it was when the encampment arrived. Years of experience had taught Aethelric the value of caution, however, and rather than charging up the scree toward the cave, he unshouldered his pack and loosened his sword in its sheath before cautiously approaching from an oblique angle amongst the rocks.

His boots moved almost soundlessly over sand and stone, a surety of step learned over two decades in this blasted waste. Once close, he could see the cookfires… or what was left of them. The ones on the periphery were still intact, albeit dark and still, while the ones nearest the entrance were toppled and scattered. As he tried to gain a better look without exposing himself, he found his footing suddenly uneven, the surface he expected to be solid proving soft and yielding… and not anything that a man should find under his boot. Recoiling with a near soundless hiss, he turned his attention downward to the darkness between the boulders… the dying sun now too low to lend much visibility to the hollows between boulders. But what he’d mistaken for dark stone proved to be none other than a body, toppled limp and unmoving in between the rocks. Scarred fingers found no warmth, though now that he’d ceased travel, he found the air already alive with the soft susurration of syrphids…always the first to feast after a battle. Straining against the darkness, and now that he sought them out with forethought, he could now just barely make out the uneven darkness to one side of the path…not just one body, but dozens, simply thrown down the scree hill into a rough pile.

Aethelric turned his gaze back to the mouth of the cave…where, as he squinted into the darkness, a dim light was still visible, deep within. Stifling a low growl, he shifted his position and stalked toward the cave, yet still without rushing, only sliding his scimitar out of its sheath and weighing it silently in his hand.

A moment was spent at the entrance, crouched down by the stones to one side. Within, perhaps twenty fulm down the passage, lay another pile of what were obviously corpses. Unlike those outside, however, these appeared to have been arranged with some care and what looked like a tarp draped over them… catlike, Aethelric stalked over to them to carefully pull back the corner.

What met his wolf’s gaze brought forth a snarl, unbidden and louder than he’d intended… but even he was unable to stifle the rage building in his heart. Every one of the neatly arranged corpses wore a black and red uniform all too familiar to him and one that raised bile in his throat. All of them also looked to have died from sword wounds… which brought him some small, cold comfort. Letting the tarp fall again, he turned and stalked toward the back of the cave and that dim firefly glow. No longer does he skulk from shadow to shadow… this was a march toward an intended goal, and one intended to result in one very clearly defined outcome.

As he reached the main cavern, the first thing the light beyond outlined was the massive, metallic frame of a Garlean Reaper unit. Aethelric had certainly seen such monstrosities in the past, but never this close, and never this inert. The metallic nightmare simply stood with its back to the entrance and the main chassis canted down to presumably allow its driver to disembark; a silent sculpture in iron death. Beyond lay a small camp… apparently cobbled together out of the remains of the residents’ things, a few crates, an Imperial sleeping roll, and… the sickness rose in his soul again… a box containing the precious items the bedroll’s owner had scavenged from the corpses of the fallen Ala Mhigans. On one of the crates, the source of the glow… no honest fire, but some strange light-emitting device. Of the owner, there was no sign. Cursing his luck under his breath, Aethelric leaned down to pick up the box when he heard an ominous click behind him and froze.

“Well well, what have we here. Seems like I missed one…” The voice was gratingly cheerful, the mocking amusement of someone content in the knowledge he holds all the cards. “Most of you grubby bastards fight like demons, for what good it did you. Where were you, hiding behind one of the sorry excuses for trees they have around here and trying not to piss in your armor?”

Gritting his teeth, Aethelric set the box back down again, but as he started to turn, a shot ripped past his ribs so closely he felt the heat of its passage. “Ah ah. Why don’t you just drop that weed chopper you’re holding. We don’t want any…accidents, heh.” With obvious reluctance, Aethelric stuck the point of his scimitar into the sand beside the box and slowly turned around to face his opponent. With the light behind him, the identity of the Garlean man was unmistakeable… and, now that he looked at him, not in the best of condition. His uniform was ragged in places, he’d lost his helm somewhere, and there was a sunken, desperate look in the man’s eyes that he recognized … How long had these men -been- out here? Now that he could see it, the reaper likewise looked in rough shape, its once-glossy black paint now sandblasted and chipped, rust creeping around every joint and gasket.

“… ‘We?’ Aethelric graveled, thinly smiling. “It seems there is only one of you now… the rest gone to sate Rhalgr’s thirst for vengeance, if I am any judge.” Wolf-eyes narrowed, “Even if you kill me… the desert herself will claim you; you cannot eat firesand or steel. Though I suppose you jackals are not above devouring the slain,” he adds, spitting on the bloodstained sand between them. For all his bravado, though…the Ala Mhigan sought desperately for a way out of the deadlock, but…truth was, he was on the wrong end of a Garlean carbine with a desperate man on the other. Silently, in the back of his mind, he offered a prayer…not to the Destroyer, but to Althyk… if there was ever a time where he needed an unexpected new path forward, this would be it. But…as ever… nothing answered him.

“SILENCE!” The carbine in the Garlean’s hands was shaking slightly, for all that this wasn’t particularly comforting to his target. “… Heh. Actually.. I might have a use for you after all. You desert rats know where the water is, don’t you? Eheh..” The ragged edges of his uniform fluttered in a gust of wind from the entrance. Just for a moment, the soldier glanced back over his shoulder, but then whipped his attention back forward again as Aethelric shifted his weight. “HALT! You’ll do as I say! Or you’ll end up like your filthy cousins outside!” What was intended to be a command cracked as it was given… and yet there didn’t seem to be any cause for it that the Ala Mhigan could see. A flicker of motion caught his eye, though, and he glanced up to the top of the silent reaper, just for a moment. There, above the thing’s dormant hulk drifted a small blue ball of light. A plasmid… not uncommon out in the wastes where the desert had claimed a soul or ten. The Garlean didn’t seem aware of it.

Aelthelric turned his attention back to the man, smiling thinly. “You will find nothing out here but your end, and your bones will bleach under Azemya’s unblinking gaze,” he growls quietly. “Your people know only how to take, and the wages of theft are death.” The longer he could keep him talking, the longer he had to contemplate ways to escape his situation. In fact, he was just about to ready another barb, when his attention was drawn back to the reaper again. There were half a dozen lazily swirling lights above it now… more than he’d seen anywhere other than late at night in the lichyard. With effort, he dragged his attention back to the soldier… and stared. Not at him, but past him. Out in the gloom of the desert night hung more small blue lights than he could count, swirling outside the cave’s opening like constellations fallen to earth. Slowly, they drifted into the cave mouth and gathered above the silent magitek machine with an inexorable deliberation. The Garlean mistook his vague shock and confusion for fear and lowered his weapon slightly. “Heh, you lot really are cowards, aren’t you. Not much better than those lizard things… no wonder you like it out in this dusty hell pit so much…” It was almost like the man needed to talk, as if the sound of his voice alone was enough to comfort his obviously frayed nerves. Aethelric ignored him, staring past him and slightly upward.

By now, the cluster of plasmid motes had become a cloud, swirling amongst themselves like a syrphid swarm, until one broke off and sank through the console of the stilled mechanical beast. Then…another, and another… until the last vanished beneath the reaper’s scarred hull. And, for a moment, there was only dark silence.

Then, abruptly, yet still without sound, blue fire erupted between the machine’s armor plates, racing from joint to joint like flame following a miner’s fuse, until every seam and port was limned in blue lichfire. And -still- the rambling soldier remained unaware… until the machine gave a small lurch, accompanied by a screech of corroded steel on steel.

With a small cry, the soldier pivoted immediately, bringing his weapon to bear on whatever new assailant had snuck up behind him, only to see… initially ‘nothing’, until he registered the eerie glow around the towering machine. Both he and his would-be captive watched in equal shock as the thing rose up on its long legs, tongues of luminous blue smoke leaking from every joint, and with another scream of tortured metal, took a step forward, the sound of its footfall like the crash of a coffin lid.

A terrified shriek ripped from the Garlean’s throat as he snapped, bringing up his carbine to spray bullets wildly against his own machine’s armored hull. Aethelric threw himself to the sand, covering his head in order to avoid the ricochets. The bullets from the light arm simply dug shallow scores in the reaper’s plating as it lurched forward another step… it moved like a puppet with broken strings; jerky and uneven yet with a terrifying strangeness to it that belied the simple action of servo and motor, the only noise it made the wailing howl of rusting steel on steel.

It took only bare seconds for the Garlean to empty his magazine, leaving only ringing in the ears from the report to counter the ominous movement of the machine. That and the mindless click-click-click-click-click of the man’s finger on the trigger of his now useless weapon.

And then, with a long, slow screech that echoed loudly in the cavern… a screech that sounded more like screams than simple mechanics should ever do…. the great black beast simply toppled forward like a falling tree and lay still. As it fell, there was a dull, unpleasantly wet crunch, and the abrupt cessation of sound.

Aethelric laid there, face down in the silent sands, for several moments… possibly an eternity, possibly only a handful of seconds, before slowly pushing himself to his feet. The only thing left visible of the soldier under the collapsed machina’s bulk was a hand outstretched, still grasping the carbine. The Ala Mhigan went to go pull it away but then hesitated, glancing back up at the reaper and taking a step backward. Luminous blue smoke still curled from it, but even now it was fading, leaving only a silent black hulk crumpled on the sand. After awhile, he reached out and lightly touched it before quickly withdrawing his hand and going to collect his sword and the box of valuables. He would return them to those families he could track down.

For now, though, he had a pyre to build.

#FFXIV #Aethelric Firesoul #Halloween writing #ghost story #Mateus

9 notes · View notes

dazais-guardian-angel · 5 years

Text

A lot of thoughts about All Might, Izuku Midoriya, and My Hero Academia’s themes of empowerment and hope

So a few months ago I finally jumped on the infamous My Hero Academia bandwagon, and I’m finally getting around to talking about what it is about this series that has me so utterly captivated and emotional beyond belief, something I’ve wanted to discuss for a while now. MHA does a lot of things right, and at the same time, some things wrong, I can’t deny, (and man, I wish it didn’t do some of those things... alas), but there is one aspect of it in particular it (that expands into a few different things) that affects me more than anything else, that I wasn’t expecting at all when I first walked into it... something so special to me purely because of how so few other series focus on topics like these, and so beautifully and profoundly.

Below I’ll go into what I believe is MHA’s biggest strength, what makes it stand out from other shounen series, that resonates with me and so many others so deeply. This post is super long and rambling, with way too many pictures, and all of this has been said before by others, but hey, this is really damn important to me so I need to cry about it myself in-depth okay. Hopefully this all makes sense? lmao. Oh and lots of spoilers ahead.

It all has to do with our two main characters, and how they embody and exemplify more than anyone else the themes at the heart of the series:

First off, the main point: All Might is a disabled superhero.

I haven’t read/watched a ton, at least compared to many others, but I’m still confident in saying that, like other marginalized groups, finding disabled characters in media, main ones that are handled well, and don’t have their disabilities magically cured or made irrelevant somehow, is really fucking rare. And even in these cases, the disability is usually something such as blindness, deafness, muteness, an inability to walk, or lack of limbs. Which by no means am I saying that it isn’t important to represent those disabilities as well, far from it (I want more characters in wheelchairs, god dammit); I’m only saying that there’s even less chance of seeing more complicated disabilities, ones that might not be obvious from the outside, or on the flip side, ones that are very obvious on the outside (to the point that they might seem “unsightly”, disabilities that writers, especially in Hollywood, wouldn’t be eager to want to attempt properly, unfortunately), because of that.

All Might is arguably the secondary main character in the series, and he has a very specific set of issues due to the injury he received in the past: the blow to his torso meant they had to take out his stomach, much of his lungs were mangled and destroyed, and he had to have many successive surgeries just to get to a stable point, all of which left as emaciated as he is, and with a massive, ugly, bruised scar that caves inward like an impact crater, which looks like it hurts like hell. Losing his stomach means getting enough nutrition is virtually impossible for him (since he doesn’t have the time nor the discipline to eat as regularly as he needs to), making him even more dangerously skinny, and losing so much of his lungs wreaks havoc on his stamina and breathing, as well as causes him to cough blood on a regular basis.

...and All Might is the strongest superhero in the MHA universe, while still having all of these problems.

Now I won’t say that this is the absolute pinnacle of disability representation or anything, absolutely no way; All Might’s blood coughing is used for comedic effect, which I wish weren’t the case (though that happened the most near the beginning of the series; you don’t really see it anymore), and it would honestly be really nice if his disabilities were made more of a focus/point in the normal, mundane slice-of-life parts of the story, instead of just when the plot demands for it to be relevant, which so far has only been in the USJ arc, the Kamino Ward arc, and I suppose you could argue with the reveal of his death prophecy in chapter 131; it would be really amazing to see the other characters helping him when he needs it, and to see him using medical technology, even. Fanfiction is a blessing that I am eternally grateful for for doing this, but it’s not a replacement for canon. However, having said all that, it is incredible, something that I cannot even put into words how thankful I am, that Horikoshi has done even this much. All Might is not only the strongest of the strong, but he is simultaneously weak and sickly as well, he is both, and the best part of this is that when his “weak” side is revealed to Izuku, and later on everyone else, no one considers that part of him “lesser” or “inferior”: he is still strong, he is still “All Might”, to them, no matter what he looks like, and no matter what he can do.

In essence, having this in a Superman character is genius, because heroes are meant to be inspirations, beacons of hope, people who the characters, and the audience, watch, and are able to think “I can be strong and do good like them, too”, and one of MHA’s main themes is that heroes are heroes ultimately not because of what physical strength they possess, but because of their hearts... so how reassuring, how inspiring, how perfect is it for the top hero to actually be so ordinary, so human, underneath all the bravado and physical strength? Someone who is not some godlike entity on another level entirely, impossible to reach, but simply someone as normal as anyone else, filled with nothing but kindness and an entirely selfless earnestness to help the world, who worked as hard as he could to reach where he did, even despite all odds, despite everything he endured... someone that almost anyone can relate to, and feel like they can become. That is why everyone continues to love All Might no matter what he looks like and what he can or cannot do, and to have someone with so many physical disabilities be so beloved and considered so strong in the story?

That is powerful. That is the kind of character so many more stories need, who, again, people like myself can relate to, both in feelings of weakness and frailty and insecurity, but also in feelings of inner (and outer) strength and motivation and confidence, too. All Might is disabled: that’s just a fact of him, he is never going to ever recover any more, and no one faults him for his disabilities or treats him differently or delicately for it, except for Aizawa a couple times (out of concern). And I love him for it, because I can see my disabilities in him, I can easily picture him going through so many of the hells I’ve been through throughout my life, and god I’m just so emotional to have All Might. I was sobbing during the Kamino Ward All for One fight, seeing All Might be allowed to fight and WIN in his non-powered up, weak form, seeing everyone cheering him on because they held unwavering faith in him no matter what he looked like, to the very end. You never truly understand how important representation is until you are given some, finally. Could there be more to it? Yes, absolutely, and I wish there was. But it’s so wonderful to have a character like this at all, who is an endless sandbox of headcanons and art and fics, all of which are very likely based on what canon does tell us about All Might. It’s just... so nice to simply have a character like him there, shown positively. Thank you, Horikoshi.

However, it goes beyond just All Might; there is the other half of this representation (and relationship), as well:

In MHA’s universe, being quirkless is likened to having a disability; only 20% of the population do not have quirks, and being in that percent is considered strange, a tier below so-called “normal” people, and something to pity and sympathize, if the adults and kids around Izuku in his middle school years are any indication. It’s bad enough knowing that actual disabilities are often treated this way (All Might doesn’t want anyone to see his true body, out of shame, guilt, and fear that people will worry about his ability to continue helping them, even though he is the most beloved and strongest hero of all time, and proves for six entire years with these injuries that he can still work!), but the fact that this then happens to people without inhuman superpowers, something that no one had and wasn’t at all a part of society and everyday life generations ago, that not being cool (basically) will get you looked down upon too, is awful to think about. But that’s the situation Izuku is put in, and it’s because of this specifically that All Might has such an incredible impact on him: that is, not just because of what he does for him, and how he starts off admiring him from a young age, but also because of All Might himself (I’ll get to this).

Izuku admires and tries to emulate All Might as a child, dreams of becoming him when he gets older, just like any kid would; like many children probably did with All Might. But once he’s told that he won’t develop a quirk, clinging to that dream, clinging to All Might, becomes even more fervent and desperate and necessary and important, no matter how impossibly out of reach now All Might’s level may seem, no matter how foolish it is and how deep in denial he goes, because believing that he can become as great a hero as him, believing his heartfelt and motivational words and actions on TV, is all Izuku has to keep his spirits up, to still have any hope. Everyone around him loses faith in him ever becoming someone great, becoming as strong as others with powerful quirks will become, even someone with a pointless quirk means more in society’s eyes than someone like Izuku (ableist much??? ugh) but Izuku continues trying to shoot for his dream, though he has no idea how besides researching other quirks, refuses to give up on himself, despite the pitying, despite the constant, horrendous bullying (bullying that is, again, essentially the way a disabled person would be bullied for having a disability. Think about that. why is Bakugou painted as so forgivable in the narrative again), and I really do believe All Might’s existence for all those years before he met him was the only real reason for that. Izuku is stubborn, but it’s clear at the beginning of the series how badly everything has affected his confidence and self-esteem... if he had never met All Might, it haunts me to think about when Bakugou’s suicidal taunts might have finally pushed him over the edge, possibly literally.

But then, he does meet his hero. And who is it that he finds?

A depressed, broken, and unhealthy man, the complete opposite from the person he had known and looked up to and clung to all his life, who tells him that his heroic smile is no longer real, but rather a mask, and that Izuku should face reality: he can’t become a hero without a quirk.

Now, initially, of course, this utterly devastates Izuku, and one can’t blame him. He reacts exactly as All Might believes anyone would act if they saw his true form, true self, and then his hero rolls with the unpleasant mood and makes it worse, and deals the killing blow and shoots down his eternal dream, the scraps of hopes he’d been clinging to. And hearing it from the man himself, someone who is literally in the same situation Izuku is in, essentially, forces him to give up entirely, because if All Might says he can’t do it, then that’s the end of it, isn’t it? No more lying to himself, after this... not after his hero has basically just told him that everything he projects to everyone is a lie. All Might is the best of the best, and yet, still, he ended up like this, so how on Earth can Izuku think he can do even a FRACTION of what the number one hero has done, with no power at all, and come out of it alive??

All Might is depressed, and weak, and powerless (despite having so much power), just like Izuku is, but he has no inspiring words of comfort about pushing past boundaries or defying odds and expectations, because he doesn’t see himself as anything inspiring, anyone to shoot for, not like he is, doesn’t want anyone emulating him and getting themselves hurt like he is, and he’s not going to be cruel to someone and tell them that they can do things they won’t be able to just to make them feel better; he knows the harsh reality better than anyone. He doesn’t intend to hurt Izuku on purpose, he’s only trying to keep him from doing something reckless that will get him hurt (oh the irony, minutes later), and in his depression and self-loathing and guilt, he’s forgotten how he originally felt when he wanted to become a hero, way back when, the same way Izuku feels... he has lost all hope himself, so of course he has none to give to Izuku, someone sitting squarely in his similar, currently-hopeless position.

In short, all of Izuku’s insecurities and fears are confirmed by that first encounter, which is like looking into a mirror, (and, again, that is heartbreaking, for that to happen with All Might, of all people) and at that point, he’s ready to give up.

But then, the sludge attack happens soon after, and everything changes completely when they meet again.

My Hero Academia’s most beautiful and unique quality to me is how overwhelmingly hopeful and uplifting it is, the message it carries of realizing that you can achieve your dreams, in some way, in some form, no matter how out of reach they may seem and no matter how insignificant and lost you may feel; it is so positive and moving, heartfelt and sincere, wholesome, in everything that happens in it, even when “bad” things happen, compared to many animanga nowadays that steep themselves in darkness and depression (not to say they’re not good, of course I love many of them, but it’s still true), and that’s why it’s so incredibly refreshing and so beloved, I think, despite how very simple the story is. And all of that starts right here, in this scene where Izuku is first told that he can become a hero, that is probably one of the most iconic scenes in the entire series, if not the most iconic.

People like Izuku need to be given hope, encouragement, to know that they’re believed in, that there can be opportunities out there for them; on a most basic level, they need to be treated with normalcy and positivity, just like anyone else would be treated. Lying and giving false hope to unreasonable levels isn’t right, but neither is wallowing in and validating the utter misery, sorrow, and hopelessness the person is feeling, which is exactly what Izuku’s mother does; she doesn’t mean to hurt him, she’s still a good mother, but ultimately she does, unfortunately (especially when added to the school bullying that no one makes any attempt to stop, least of all Izuku himself, his self-esteem as low as it is). At the end of this scene, All Might offers to give Izuku his quirk, and the thing is that you can definitely say this is, in essence, Izuku’s disability being done away with, and I’m not going to say you’re wrong; I, too, was initially disappointed, because I had hoped that this was going to be a story of Izuku becoming a hero without a quirk, cliche as it might be (ideally with the support gear introduced later in the series that I didn’t yet know existed). What makes it more tolerable, though, is knowing that he doesn’t end up recieving One For All for a very long time after this, and even when he DOES get it, he has to work so, painstakingly hard to fine-tune it over the course of the series (reaching only All Might’s level will take him years, I imagine), harder than anyone else who had a quirk from an early age, to even reach a state where he can use it without breaking his body. But getting back to the point I’m trying to make: the focus of this scene is not on Izuku being offered a quirk (because, again, it hasn’t happened yet), but rather simply on the words All Might says to him. In this very moment, what impacts Izuku so strongly is being told that he can become a hero.

Simply those five words. That is all Izuku wants, what he needs more than any actual power itself. What he has been wanting someone to tell him for years upon years, to simply believe in him.

And this is where I’m extrapolating some, but I think that All Might’s condition/situation also has a hand in causing Izuku to react so emotionally to this: previously, All Might’s secret was devastating to him, coupled with his hero rejecting his hopes and exposing nothing but a bleak, harsh reality to him, with no hesitation at all, but here, when All Might completely turns around, inspired by Izuku’s actions and remembering that strength does not make the hero, but heart (”remembers his origins”, as it were), and finally tells him what he’s been craving from someone for so long, it is so much more powerful that it’s coming from All Might in his normal, human, sickly body, and not the heroic one everyone else sees. The “heroic” form of All Might might give off more confidence (especially in his own mind), but that is also the version of him that seems so much more impossible to reach, that seems so untouchable and as far away from the current Izuku as a hero can get, and not to mention is the version of All Might that is “fake”, that he doesn’t consider truly him, and able to convey his most genuine feelings; instead, All Might chooses to give Izuku his offer not as the beautiful hero the boy has idolized all his life (that, to him, is the only version of him he’d recognize, and like, especially since his normal form is the one that, just hours ago, told Izuku to give up), but as himself, as Toshinori, in all his weak, flawed, normal humanity, and it speaks volumes that Izuku is still so incredibly moved, so happy, to hear these words from this All Might that is so different from the one he’s always known. To other kids who have quirks already, powerful or not, they can easily look to the All Might that the world sees and be inspired by him (see: Bakugou), just like Izuku did all his life, be inspired by the power of that All Might, but this new All Might becomes infinitely more relatable to Izuku, just like a child in a hospital, who can look at Toshinori’s character (heart) and body instead, that is so strong despite being so frail at the same time, and can think “If he can do everything he does like he is, then maybe even I can, too.” And what makes it even more poignant to me is knowing that, ultimately, Toshinori essentially tells Izuku what he himself has been wanting someone to reassure him of for the past five years, too; he not only sees the younger, quirkless him in the boy, but also sees the him of now, who has been losing hope and confidence rapidly under crippling weakness for years, and hasn’t had anyone to convince him that he still matters and can do good for the world.

There’s a post I’ve seen that talks about the advice “never meet your heroes, because they’re sure to disappoint you” and how this ends up being subverted when Izuku meets All Might, and it’s absolutely true. What’s so beautiful is that meeting All Might, and seeing all of his many, many flaws, actually causes him to admire him more instead of less. Everything that Toshinori despises about himself, feels guilty over, are what leads to Izuku having an even greater amount of respect for him than ever before, knowing the human side of him, the person beneath the hero; his strength despite his physical ailments is already something Izuku is moved by, but then later finding out that All Might, too, started out quirkless, just like him, causes him to feel even closer to him, and more hopeful that he can become a great hero. He no longer remains simply a fanboy of All Might, but rather, someone who intimately cares about him as a human, as his savior, as his teacher, as his father figure, and finds so much in common with him. The “buff” All Might is everyone else’s All Might, but Toshinori is Izuku’s All Might, the person who told him he could become a hero, the person who shared his heroic spirit and dreams and lack of a quirk as a kid just like him, the person who is reckless just like him, and caring and strong (yet weak) and everything Izuku is and aspires to be. Izuku knows for the entire period All Might is still able to use One For All that his time is running out, that his era is rapidly coming to an end -- and he does cry when that end finally comes, mourns for the ending of the greatest hero he has ever known and the person he looks up to more than anyone else in the world, but even when that happens, his respect and admiration for All Might still does not waver one bit. Even when he can’t fight anymore, Izuku forever considers him All Might, and he’ll never stop doing so: from the moment he tells him he can become a hero, “All Might” and “Toshinori” blend together to him, and becomes someone he eternally loves and respects all the stronger, someone he wants to make proud, someone who he never wants to stop teaching him, and being there for him. All Might starts off as a vague, figurehead idol to Izuku, an image of someone that he loves from far away, and comes to him and becomes a person, and Izuku grows to love that normal, ordinary person more than he loves any other hero. It is the best and most touching version of a “meeting your hero” story that I can think of, where their flaws are embraced, and shown positively, and empowered, adding to their best qualities instead of taking anything away.

And Izuku’s love for Toshinori is, quite literally, saving his life.

As I alluded to, after sustaining his injuries, it’s clear that Toshinori falls into a deep depression, and changes vastly from the person he was when he first started out and for most of his career. After Nana is killed by All For One, he momentarily loses himself to anger and acts selfishly over the selfless duties of a hero, and tries to murder AFO out of revenge, and nearly dies as a result. Besides the obvious ensuing terrible trauma and ptsd he would have had to deal with, and an excruciatingly long recovery period (with probably many relapses), on top of his continued grief over losing his master, not being able to work nearly as much as he could before is absolutely devastating to Toshinori. Being All Might, helping people, saving people, being a hero is what he considers his only real value, which is why he desperately and recklessly continues pushing himself to keep working for however many hours he can, even if it hurts his body, even if his “All Might” smile and jovial personality turns fake and becomes a facade only for the peoples’ sake, not something he genuinely feels anymore, because to Toshinori, if he can’t be the number one hero anymore, he is nothing.

Toshinori has never been in it for the fame or glory; from day 1, from the moment he told Nana about his idea of becoming a “symbol” for people to rely on to keep their world safe for them, so they don’t let their fear lead them into crime, he has always been incredibly humble about everything he does, and extremely self-sacrificial. Of course, a hero needs to be selfless, at least to a degree (Ochako might be doing it for personal gain, but her desire to help people is still 100% genuine, for example), but after the major turning point is his life is when Toshinori begins to take it too far. When he goes after All For One is the sole time that he loses sight of how a hero is supposed to act, and he is punished severely for it, and continues to punish himself in order to make up for his mistake and do what he believes is his necessary duty, having completely forgotten how it felt to want to be a hero, for himself, for his own dream. Being the Symbol of Peace no longer is something Toshinori feels truly passionate about, like he did in the past, but now something he does on autopilot, something that he feels like he has to continue doing just because he’s already done it for so long, been so famous and so relied on for so long, even though it’s utterly exhausting for him, exhausting on his body and exhausting on his mental state, to keep up his normal upbeat personality that everyone knows and loves, but he continues on because not being able to continue serving the people is worse than literally anything else to Toshinori. He doesn’t have anyone there to prove to him that he has value as a person, not just as a hero, let alone to tell him that it’s okay for him to finally stop and rest. As far as we know, it seems like Gran Torino and Naomasa didn’t try to dissuade him much, and though Nighteye tries, rather violently, his approach isn’t the kind that’s convincing to him, and unfortunately his revelation that Toshinori will die in five or six years if he continues working as a hero seems to backfire, and instead makes him want to continue working more instead of less; he most likely believes that he won’t be around much longer, anyway, with the state of his health, so he’s convinced that he needs to do as much as possible before accepting the inevitable end. And then, Nighteye leaves him, so Naomasa is essentially the only person to support him Toshinori has left (seriously, Nighteye, I know you care; come on!).

But this is why meeting Izuku is so important for Toshinori, as much as it is for Izuku; everything changes for him when he does. At first, all he sees in Izuku is another fanboy, trying to chase a dream that Toshinori knows very well is completely unattainable for him without any power, because of how he can do nothing, is nothing, when he runs over his time limit and can’t use his quirk anymore, and he tries to shut him down as reasonably as possible, even admitting how unfair it is (because everything about himself is unfair now, to him); he knows how he must look to a fan of his, and hates it, and doesn’t have the energy to give him any small amount of hope or comfort, because he hasn’t known what it’s like to have hope in years, so he cannot give out any in return, when to him, now, being a hero is only something that will get you hurt, get you guilt-ridden, and, for someone like Izuku, get you killed. ...But it’s when he sees Izuku in action, sees his pure, unadulterated, selfless desire to help (however foolishly), it’s like a light turns on in his mind again, because actions always speak louder than words, and Toshinori is finally, truly reminded of that feeling, that innate, original, burning desire to be a hero that he had had when he was Izuku’s age, and also quirkless, and Izuku’s passion ignites his own passion once more, after so long, and lets him see the light and inspires him to act.

And because Izuku moves him, awakens something inside him again, like this, he chooses him to be the next One For All inheritor, partly because, as I said, he sees his younger self in him, but also I think because he understands exactly how hopeless Izuku feels, and wants to do something to change that, since he can (since he believes Izuku is worthy); his own dreams have been long since crushed out of helplessness, he doesn’t want this child’s to be too, when he himself got a chance from Nana when he was just like Izuku, back then. The thing is, at first, despite the spark that Izuku initially ignited in Toshinori, he still believes that he is going to be ready to die when the fated time comes, however it may happen; he starts teaching at UA, but knows that his time with One For All is running out, and believes that once it does, or once he dies, whichever comes first, that will be the end of things, and he won’t regret it. He knows he is not a good teacher, not knowing how to help Izuku train One For All so that he doesn’t hurt himself, and he initially believes that it is simply good enough that he managed to pass on his legendary quirk before he died, the one true urgent thing he’d been worried about since he became injured.

But then, over time, Izuku starts changing him.

Slowly, without even realizing it, Toshinori is affected by Izuku’s presence, his admiration for him, his care for him even when he’s in his normal, “inferior” state. He begins to be reminded again, truly, of what it means to be a hero, why he does what he does, why he loved it, and grows to again find value, importance, confidence, in the ideals he created for himself all those years ago, that his master encouraged him to stick to, again, and shows pride in them again, despite his “shameful” and “weak” appearance. The battle at Kamino Ward is truly the turning point for Toshinori, because he goes into it believing that his prophesied death will occur there, while taking down the person who took everything from him in the process, but it’s during that battle that he suddenly truly realizes not only what I said above, but also that it’s not enough anymore for him to simply win here, it’s not enough anymore for Izuku to solely have One For All on his own: now, All Might wants to live. He wants to live for Izuku’s sake, to be there for him and support him and care for him, and for his own sake as well, because Izuku has become more than just his successor to him. He wants to live, wants to defy his fate, he refuses to die, and tells his sworn enemy as much, multiple times, has a true will to live that Toshinori has not felt so strongly ever since his injury, and it’s thanks to his students, his fellow teachers, but more than anything else, Izuku. Because Izuku never takes advantage of him, never takes him for granted, never scorns him, never makes him feel as weak as Toshinori always felt; Izuku looks at him as if he’s the sun in the sky, he respects him, trusts and wants his guidance, he loves him, and in the same way that Toshinori empowered him on that day by telling him he could become a hero, Izuku gives strength to him right back, every single day, simply by being with him, and letting him know how much he needs him, how much he can do for him.

yeah I just wanted an excuse to put these panels cause they fucking kill me bye Just as much as Toshinori no longer wants to accept death, is determined to fight against it, Izuku is determined to stand by his side and make sure he succeeds in that, by helping him and protecting him however he can. No matter how many years pass, and how much stronger Izuku becomes, and how much weaker and more “unneeded” for his training and guidance Toshinori becomes, Izuku will never, ever, ever give up on him, or stop wanting him and believing in him. It is for Izuku’s sake that Toshinori has come as far as he has, not just mentally and emotionally, but even physically: he’s making a conscious effort to wear clothes that fit him now (obviously, now he can, without his quirk, but I think it says something that he’s made the change at all, since he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t wish to), and he’s trying to get in shape as much as is possible for him; anything he can do to extend his lifespan even a little bit more, for Izuku, something he didn’t care about at all before meeting him.

And of course he doesn’t want to simply live; he tries to make a conscious effort to become a better teacher, that Izuku desperately needs, even though Toshinori knows he’s not good at it. He realizes how important it is that Izuku stop injuring himself, stop being so recklessly heroic, lest he get himself into a deadly situation just like he did six years ago (something that Toshinori had to have thought about initially, when he first turned Izuku down that day, but since became ignorant of after giving him One For All and not knowing at all how to handle the teaching/mentoring side of things), and implores Izuku’s mother to let him continue teaching him and helping him become a hero, not only because of how deeply he’s come to care about the boy, but because of how much he genuinely believes he can achieve his dream, and how much he wants to make sure things go right with him, after everything in his own life went so horribly, depressingly wrong. Wants to make sure that he doesn’t lose his precious mentor, his source of guidance, the way Toshinori did, doesn’t want him to have to struggle alone, wants to make sure he can have someone to share his feelings with, someone to lean on, so he never has to hide anything, someone he can get everything he needs from, because Toshinori, as the number one hero, has been through it all. Toshinori wants to pour his all into Izuku, protect him, raise him, lift him up, as his successor and who is basically like a son to him, after everything Izuku has given him in return, after he has done nothing but save him the entire time they’ve known each other.

And that’s ultimately the core of their relationship, in the end: two people who saved each other, are still saving each other, in the most poignant and moving of ways. Both of them acknowledge somehow that the other being there is what kept them going. For Toshinori, I most certainly believe Izuku is why he is still alive today, and I honestly believe the same for Izuku as well. Without All Might, Izuku would not have made it through the bullying, and the pitying, and the loneliness and despair, and without Toshinori, he wouldn’t have been blessed with the gift he’s been given, wouldn’t be able to being living out his dream and trying to achieve it, wouldn’t have found friends, best friends, people to talk to, happiness, encouragement, support, strength, and above all, a father figure who he adores almost as much as his mother. Without Izuku, Toshinori wouldn’t have been given someone to guide, and nurture, and protect and want to see grow, wouldn’t, I believe, have had the same relationships with the teachers and students at UA, wouldn’t have been given a family, a son, a reason after he lost One For All to keep getting himself out of bed every day and keep living. Izuku and All Might parallel each other in so many beautiful ways: both of them begin quirkless, but hopeful, with strong ideals, a desire to do good, and kind and earnest hearts, and eventually they lose their way, Izuku gradually and hesitantly, and All Might drastically, devastatingly, and messily, agonizingly and bleakly, though both of them retain their kindness despite their internal despair, and then they meet each other and... save each other, become each other’s world, give each other so much. They both look past what they consider to be their weaknesses, and see the beauty and potential in each other, and bring out the best in each other, make each other happy.

More than anything else, All Might must live to the end of the series. He must. At the beginning, he started off depressed, dying, and ready to die, but now he is hopeful, still weak, still disabled, still dying, in a way, but trying so damn hard to live, and he deserves it so much. His arc is all about him doing everything he can to make sure that happens; he “should” have died at Kamino Ward, if this were any other series, he would have, but he didn’t, because he knew Izuku needed him, just like he needs Izuku. I want him to live, I want him to age, and become old and grey, and to need more help and need technology to help him (give him a cane, give him a wheelchair, give him oxygen, give him everything), but still be alive, alive to see Izuku become a great hero just like he always knew he would be, alive to see him graduate and get married and have children, and see that for all his other students too. I want him to live, for himself, for Izuku, and for everyone in the audience who he touches, just like he does to me. I see myself in Izuku, in his emotional state and his insecurities and his tears and his uncertainty about what he can accomplish, and I see myself in All Might, in his body (so much of his body) and his pain and his frustration and his shame and his insecurities. Both of them represent what it feels like to be disabled, in different ways, literally and figuratively, and being shown that you still matter, that you’re still important and can do so much greatness, and are given the opportunity to do so, to go beyond.

That is why All Might and Izuku matter, why My Hero Academia’s hopeful, uplifting, and inspirational outlook matters. The two of them are each other’s heroes, not because of any grand spectacle, but because they made each other feel needed, important, and strong when no one else was there to give that to them, at their lowest points. That’s why they are, to me, one of the absolute best mentor/mentee relationships in anime and manga, ever.

All Might will always be there for Izuku in some shape or form... but please, Horikoshi, from the bottom of my heart, let him live. He’s still important, always will be. Don’t let him fade into irrelevance. Don’t let him die.

Izuku needs him. I do, too.

(and let him wear this outfit in canon, it’s so badass; look at those oxygen tanks! SO MUCH POTENTIAL)

“Between my inferior self, and the world that surrounds me, I form an image and try to grasp it, but it feels so far away.

That endlessly expanding sky held no clear destination, so I started to feel scared. But no matter how many times I stumbled, you were right there, smiling.”

- “Heroes” by Brian The Sun

“And when it gets too hard, and nothing seems to work, I think about the reason why you kept pushing forward. I’m meant to be the savior but you saved me instead, I tried to hold your hand but you just held me in the end.

But then what’s left for me? With no one else around, I’m stuck here with the guilt that I can’t be left alone now. But keep looking ahead because you know that you should, and don’t be sad it changed, because I’m happy that it could!

And when I feel like giving up and doubting myself, I think of every letdown, the pain that I felt. But the things that I have lost are now the weapons I wield, each one of them a flower that is always concealed.”

- “Long Hope Philia” by Masaki Suda

#personal posts #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia spoilers #toshinori yagi #all might #izuku midoriya #meta #i've been wanting to write this for the LONGEST FUCKING TIME #ever since I finished the anime #and especially after having seen those few arts and discussions out there from people who relate to All Might on a personal level like I do #I see you all and I love you #you're all so valid #I held off writing this till I read the manga though and I'm glad I did #it's not the most eloquent of posts but here it is lmao #i fucking love these two with all of my goddamn heart and soul #they are the ultimate heroes #the ultimate mentor and student #the ultimate father and son #im constantly crying over them; they mean the WORLD to me #not just because of how much i DIIIIIIIIIIIE for found family and father/son relationships like this #but because of DISABILITY #REPRESENTATION #please let them get the happy ending they deserve #please let All Might get it #please horikoshi im literally begging you to end this right.... how you started it #Toshinori has fallen on the popularity poll and he needs to gET BACK THE FUCK UP THERE #HIS 👏 IMPORTANCE 👏 NEVER 👏 DIES #ALL MIGHT NEVER DIES

200 notes · View notes

castlehead · 6 years

Text

:wanna write a pome bout fire an call it sicc burrn.-

Be happy as you tie your shoes it is another day the will is written and I need no longer pray to organize what wishes left and throw out the lies about that death of mine that would have been had I not decided a mulligan on the whole damn escapade and doctors blowing up my phonepiece on my way to peace at the top of an office building called oddly enough the oracle office building i scoped the spcs it seemed high enough this time to break thorough enough larger numbers of bones

it was damn hot i removed identifiable clothing in case somebody sicced an ambulance on me i was out in the sticks some upscale suburb in Lexington with all these trees fucking my signal i made a wrong turn it was so damn hot i actually got farther from where i was going to go to die at the top tip point of an office building called the fucking oracle of all things i don't even know what kind of symbolism that shit is i just know it was damn hot and I was buying time by saying I was on my way till it became obvious I wasnt then prayed to lord jesus that if I killed myself let no one else do it because I did please do yr genie powers thing grant my wish if even I shake from the impact of meeting the fiery dearth of hell as simultaneously i met the boiling paved ground of a parking lot that has nothing to do with me hoping a thorougher break and no one too sad or not really sad too long

i wrote my will at a gas station im not a lawyer but tried to shaipshape the legality ok enough

but I thought of my daughter and all reason got ghosted right quick and logical comportment that made me calmly walk to this random office building GPS FUCKING MY SHIT UP folks wondering where I am i saying I am on my way but like it's been so long and no Dan knocking just wanted to buy time but my daughter unraveled my heart out of this daft empirical natty tightness and my tired shaggy patrician aspect which I resent for looking like ive spent long st studies and am back for the summer to get some sun i resent my eloquence that seems and seems all day when I know not even the semester seems unseemlywack fuck drenching a good shirt walking his way to die whwerever because catching an uber to my suicide well that would be rather tasteless.

when I got in here i found a fortune hiding in this cubbie shits it said this

"people who give happiness deserve happiness."

i remember in my intercessions to christ I asked for a visible sign I would be certain of and thought of my daughter and thought tha best mystic indication was whatever sign I myself conjured as all in the end must be assessed by the only great vacuity that does not inspire suspicion because it is the one we own love is irrational it is fortified from the best reasons to die as something simply for its own sake and like the deviant flexing purples of parnassian for the sake of art i guess I can still satisfy my gluttonous desire for logic and reason and proving by maintaining the practice of art as causa sui equally valid for denying any higher symbol or point to perform as on that reasonless beautiful spectrum as loving for the sake of love and living likewise if even i must endure another shameful cry of wolf i end up being sensible by tossing aside my book of reasons for why I am mostly a problem and the selfishness of continuing to live and be a problem and someone this reason discarding reason is more reasonable.

life is funny. my will is writ i my lawyer by proxy christ telling my why to live with some stupid fortune about happiness.

but His insight has always come after the fact else he would meddle too much in my freedom. but I knew he met what he said.

my will is writ. i write it everyday. i have thought of it living i have thought of it the insensible force and the meaning entire that has no argument and needs no proof and exists the more than those things that do

...A FEW WEEKS LATER.

WE BE OUT HERE, BUT IN HERE !!

since I cannot leave this unit i will go outside an inside place I will pretend my imagination is real which I guess is what that is anyway but

/||knockknockknockknockknock!,!!!||

ITS NOT FAIR IM AFRAID TO LAY DOWN SO MUCH STRESS TOO GOD DAMNED LONG THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON I NEED A WEIGHTED BLANKET SHIT I NEED A QUIET ROOM MEDITATION SOMETHING MINDFULNESS PLEASE ANYTHING to distract

this feeling I need.. I need to talk to my social worker.. for the love of goddddssdd

i will hear these screams as the conversation of nice birds

it doesn't have to be special genus sparrows sound beautiful the most often

because their crew of them aflitter about one tree produce a nice litany of voices

small and excited and excitable Lacking patience like anything small

a nice cheeping of a bushel of birds in the bush, ripe as any sound

to collect the same as shiny red apples nice very nice I will hear that

instead of the screams of this fat patient who

selfish in her grief makes all the other patients anxious and cuts in line-

-at the med window becuase she must be attended to its serious can I

talk to somebody please

her tears already squint her eyes nearly out of existence suffocated

by big puffy fucking cheeks raw with grief that's been goin on so ling maybe it's both simulated

and of a sincerity developed over all this time doing it every day all day

screaming about her situation she says she's smarter than everybody and knows what's going on here

this really stout lady who is on-

-this damned filibuster long time now it's been

saying tearfully I am scared-

-of ECT & I DONT BELONG HERE THE DEPAKOTE TOOK AWAY MY FEELINGS

my epidermis will turn over and I willl look as tho skinned

it is alright and even tho it is

this is an act of desperation considering it's absurdity and the fact I spend my days

better than others who pace to pass the time the halls lit in this unwell shit ass light

my single act of rebellion was in refusing to lower the volume playing fairest of the seasons as a tribute

or something for this girl who liked Buddha who was leaving, and I said in the least patronizing way I could,

CHIN UP, KID.

i feel like she valued that little pearl of wisdom that rosebud of shit like that comes out finally when ya

constipated from all the decaf coffee cuz ya need a high somehow riht?

actually silly now to think of that that song by nico that German lady who sang for VU // eh I unnoh its pretty i guess..

it was cause someone I knew was getting discharged

against the life of deeply felt boredom. thing is I feel for her

i really do but this reaction doesnt help yr case ma'am

. . . . . .

[...psych units stop helping and start being a wear on the soul at some point, like resorting to leather sandals too much for any outside excursions. Alas, the wind, I can tell she misses how she feels on my face. I miss her openness, divine golden ointment of reality. Blowing hymns. For there I found myself more truly and more street]

COMING AT U VIA RADIO BROADCAST FROM AB2 SOUTH IN THE McLEAN-ASS MORN

ITS RAGEFUL AMES, THE HOST W/ YR DOSE OF LITHIUM

THE ’No Biggie’ STATION CUZ WE ALL GOTTA CALM OURSELVES

FOR AL THE DEMENTS OUT THURR

THE FIRST MORNING INSTALLMENT OF YACK YACK YACKING

AND A FEW MUSIC THINGS TO JUST MAKE THE VOICES STOP

#poetry #poem #pome #powtry #psych unit #hospitalization

1 note · View note

ladydracarysao3 · 7 years

Photo

In Love, Serenity

Chapter Sixteen: Thunder & Revelations

Chapter Summary Izzalea questions her silent, insolent scout, before finally making it to the stronghold that contains her enemies and stolen soldiers.

Note For the Abner fans out there, this one is a biggie. Enjoy!

[Read Chapter 16 on AO3] or [Start from the Beginning]

-Izzalea-

She hates this place.

Izzalea truly hates this Maker forsaken bog. Ever since she arrived, it’s been days of rotting corpse after rotting, fucking corpse. They seem to attack at every turn. Merely touching the waters surrounding her crew, wakes the undead that are lying in wait within. They’ve tried to avoid the water as best as they can, but at times it has been impossible not to walk through it, in order to get across channels, or washed out and flooded areas.

And the smell… Maker… the smell. Izzalea fears that the disgusting scent of death and decay will never leave her skin. She is obviously cursed to forever permeate her surroundings with a gut wrenching, reeking stink, and causing all in her path to wretch as she passes. She groans to herself at the thought, her stomach tightens and flips. She knows it is irrational, but the horrendous smell of rotting death is driving her insane. She is desperate to leave this marsh behind. Leave this muck and filth forever. Her desperation in turn has made Izzalea more determined than ever to find the abducted soldiers and get them home.

Izzalea rolls her neck in an attempt to release the tension building within it. She stretches and pinches at her shoulders, secretly wishing they could be massaged by a big, strong, pair of hands. Like Cullen’s hands. A smile spreads on her lips as Izzalea leaves the wretchedness of the bog, however momentarily, to envision the beautiful and handsome face of her commander. She blissfully imagines how firm and calming his touch would be on her aching shoulders. Like magical medicine, his presence would ease all of her tension. All of her worry. All of her stress.

Izzalea is snapped back to reality due to a particularly loud clap of thunder. The sound makes her jump, a quick, sudden cold sweat shimmers on her skin. She is never this jumpy, her frayed mental state is obviously taking its toll on her. She inhales deeply to calm her nerves, missing those brief thoughts of tranquility.

There has been one continuous storm roaring over the Fallow Mire ever since they arrived. Everything is waterlogged, everything is awful. But she must bring her attention back to the mission. She needs to focus. Izzalea must successfully complete this task, and she needs the assassin’s secrets to do so.

They learned that Abner was somehow kin to the clan that has their men. However, she has been tight lipped and unapproachable since her secret was discovered. What little of it was discovered, anyway. Izzalea can’t even tell what the woman is thinking. Is she scared? Is she angry? Is she forming a plan? Is she thinking anything? How is Izzalea to know what-in-the-void is going on when Abner, her Avvar expert, refuses speak? She is growing increasingly annoyed, impatient with the scout’s insolent behavior. Izzalea is the Inquisitor, after all, why is she not more forthcoming?

Izzalea watches as Abner moves about camp. Silently, the assassin helps pack everything for the day’s journey. She watches her act as if nothing’s happened. Acting as if a bomb of ‘What the fuck’ didn’t just go off in front of everyone. They all have questions. Izzalea sees it in everyone’s eyes. Hawke currently sits on a boulder on the edge of camp, paying far more attention following Abner with a discerning stare, than he is to mending his robes that lie in his lap. Everyone has been watching her, wondering what her story really is. What does she know? How is she related to these people?

Izzalea’s perplexed curiosity on the subject of Abner’s origins has been eating away at her. Observing Abner incessantly, she notes her movements, scans her features, looks for clues, but alas, she has come up empty. Abner looks nothing like the Avvar. For one, they are enormous, if the shaman they met is any indication. Abner is so petite by comparison. Izzalea cannot see how the women of these people could possibly be so small and still produce men of that size. It is baffling. Impossible.

Another loud, jarring, crack of thunder makes Izzalea tense her shoulders again. She’s got to get out of this pit, soon. Abner was sent here for a reason, she needs her to talk. Izzalea feels herself glare at the woman, her thoughts turning fiery. She will not have the reason for her being stuck in the misery wasted, just because Abner has specially guarded secrets.

The group is almost finished packing away camp, for hopefully the last time before they find the stronghold holding their enemy and their soldiers. Determined to know what she knows, Izzalea decides she has been kind to her scout for long enough. It is time for her to share everything she knows about the ‘Hand of Korth.’

Taking a deep breath Izzalea stands straighter and squares her shoulders. Marching over to Abner, she affixes her best Inquisitor face. Izzalea exudes seriousness and above all, authority. There is no time for sugar coating. “Alright, Abner. Tell me everything about Hand of Korth,” she says sternly as she stares into the young woman’s dark, impertinent eyes.

Abner is unmoved. Her eyes, mouth, and voice are all flat, unimpressed. “He’s an ass,” she says simply.

In no mood for the ‘run around’ from this woman, irritation seeps from Izzalea’s voice as she speaks through clenched teeth. “Would you mind expanding upon that, scout?” She sighs and crosses her arms. Acting as if she is annoyed that Izzalea is pulling rank on her. Why does she think she’s here?

Abner looks to be searching for the right words, or the information she will choose to share. “Okay…” she begins, her voice only moderately lifted, “He is one of the sons of Movran the Under. I doubt Movran has anything to do with this. He isn’t a bad guy, but his son is.”

She pauses a moment as she thinks of what to say. Scrunching her face, her eyes move rapidly in the distance, searching her mind. She sighs as if she is surrendering an inner struggle and looks at Izzalea with a saddened gaze. Izzalea’s chest drops Abner appears to have suffered a miserable loss. She softens her posture and waits for Abner to speak.

“Alright,” she begins with a sigh, slumping her shoulders forward slightly, defeated. “So… Ofred.”

“You mean, Hand of Korth?”

Narrowing her eyes, glaring with an intense frown, she clenches her fists. “No,” she corrects, “I will never call him that. His name is Ofred.” Abner loosens her fingers. Huffing a sigh of tension loose, she shakes a thought from her head. “So, here’s what you need to know. He is waiting for you, yeah? He won’t be waiting alone. He won’t fight with honor, either. That’s not his way. He will probably have archers posted all over the hold ready to make you a pin cushion.”

Izzalea nods and thoughtfully rubs her chin, gliding her gloved fingers over her mouth. Speaking through the leather with a concerned expression, she asks, “But why does he want me? Could he be working with Corypheus?”

“No,” she says plainly. The petite and willful scout takes a deep breath and stares up at Izzalea seriously. “Alright look… You believe that the Maker is the one true God, yeah? And Andraste is his bride? She fought for him and he rules everything?” Izzalea nods with a shrug as Abner continues, “Well, the Avvar don’t believe any of that. They believe that there are Gods in everything. The sky has a God, the forests have a God, the mountains have a God. That last one is who he named himself for, Korth - The Mountain-Father. Avvar regard the mountains highest in all things, so this twat is trying to say he is all high and mighty, too.

Where you come in, Inquisitor, is you have the title ‘Herald of Andraste’. That is very similar to his, but of the wrong beliefs. The wrong God. He scoffs at you and thinks he can prove to you, his Gods, his people, and your people, that you’re full of it… by killing you. He will then be reaffirmed as the Hand of Korth, and you will be nothing.” As she finishes she drops her gaze from Izalea and looks at the ground, kicking at it uncomfortably.

Izzalea chews on her lower lip. Squinting at nothing, she falls deep in thought, processing this new information. A crazy person wants to use her death as a message, and it has nothing to do with the real problems Thedas is in enthralled with currently. She should be focusing on Corypheus and his ever growing army. She should be focused on saving Thedas from a monster who wants to be a God, and burn her world to the ground. Instead, she is here. In a bog. Because some idiot wants to puff out his chest to his people. Izzalea quickly becomes consumed with irritation. He has disrupted the Inquisition for nothing more than his ego.

Placing her hands on her hips, Izzalea stares at Abner vehemently, “Alright, how do we stop him?”

Her eyes sparkle in the faintest way, and a smirk flashes across her face. “Let me handle him,” she says with a soft purr. “Have the mages control the archers, send Cole to dispatch as many of them as he can. I want to go in ahead of you. Keep Bull at your side and keep your shield up… and no matter what happens,” she glares a bloodthirsty glare, but not directed toward the Inquisitor. Instead, she stares off into the distance. “I want to be the one that gives that bastard his killing blow,” she says with all seriousness of a scorned woman.

Izzalea peers at the assassin, taken aback by her ferocious body language. Her jaw is set, she seems as if to be picturing the man, imagining herself killing him. Her breathing is heavy but slow. Her fists are clenched again, the leather on her open fingered gloves creak, the knuckles of exposed flesh glow white.

“Abner… How do you know this man? Are you Avvar?” Izzalea asks her hesitantly. She reaches out to the woman, to touch her shoulder in an attempt to retrieve her from her murderous thoughts. Abner snaps her eyes to Izzalea’s hand and backs away, returning her attention to packing camp.

Silently, she grabs her knapsack and readies her horse. Refusing to look at the Izzalea any longer. With cold, steely confidence, she says, “You have the information you need, Inquisitor. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep that bit to myself.”

“Alright, Abner. Thank you for the information,” Izzalea responds, deciding to allow the woman some privacy, for now. She leaves Abner’s side to ready her own horse.

“There are too many of them!” Solas calls out from the fray. He shoots a bolt of ice from is staff. It flies through the dark, wet air, sharply piercing into the skull of an undead horror. “We must make a run for the gates!”

Izzalea and her team explored and fought through the day, long into the night. It seems they have finally found the hold harboring the Avvar. However, the road to the gates is teaming with a never-ending mob of rotting, walking corpses. For every ten they kill, another fifteen seemingly spawn in their place. It is exhausting. At this rate, they will never make it to the captured soldiers. Izzalea cannot be so close to succeeding and fail now.

As loudly as her tired body can muster, which is just enough that they hear her over the roaring thunder and fighting, Izzalea cries out, “Everyone, run to the gates!”

Hawke flings a wall of fire behind them as they all race forward. They slam and shove past undead, only killing those they absolutely have to in order to advance. To Izzalea’s astonishment, as they make their mad dash, the gates of the keep’s battlements rise.

The Avvar have been watching them. They are ready.

They are waiting.

As soon as they arrive, stumbling, through the gates they begin to shut. The group kills a handful of undead that managed to follow them through, and then turn to face new enemies.

But no one is there.

Cautiously, Izzalea steps through the entry archway under the battlements, into the courtyard of the old, and until recently, long abandoned keep. She scans her eyes everywhere, looking for bodies or movement during flashes of lightning. The only constant light comes from the soft glow of the moon, softly illuminating the run-down keep through wild, whipping storm clouds. Izzalea detects no one, nothing seems to move. She feels an eerie chill spark down her spine as she wonders where the Avvar are hiding.

“Where are they? The cowards!” Bull hollers and grunts in frustration, slamming his axe into a rotten wood crate. He howls a booming, growling sound into the thunder, “Cowards!”

“They wait. Inside. Come to us,” Cole mumbles ominously next to her. Izzalea silently calls upon the strength of the Maker, calls Andraste to her side.

She can do this.

Izzalea glares in the direction of the doors that lead inside of the keep, feeling a proud smirk bloom on her face. With all of the pent-up rage within her for having to be in the blasted keep in the first place, she cannot help but be pleased that she’s finally arrived. Bloodthirsty rage bubbles within her, excited to sink its teeth into her enemy. “Let’s not keep them waiting,” she grins wickedly. Gesturing toward the door, Izzalea looks confidently into the eyes of everyone in her party. With determination, she says, “Shall we?”

She leads the group to the door assertively, but cautiously. Her shield raised, her eyes scan every inch of their surroundings as she sees them. Solas refreshes a barrier over everyone as much as he is able, without greatly depleting his energy. They enter the keep and creep through its halls. It is damp, dark, and smells of rot and mold. The only light comes from the glow of the moon and the thundering lightning. As flashes flicker through windows, crumbled walls, and portions of missing roof slats, the white light gives them a glimpse of what surrounds them.

Izzalea’s guard on high alert, she waits for something to strike from hidden in the shadows. They turn down a large hallway where she can begin to see the glow of torches or braziers in the distance. This must be the way. The Hand of Korth must be waiting for her down this hallway.

Waiting in that room.

Abner creeps up beside her and murmurs softly, “Remember to keep your guard up, the mages will control the archers, Cole will silently take down who he can. Stand firmly and confidently. I will sneak my way behind him, through the shadows.” Izzalea nods in agreeance. She wonders how Abner can be sure as to how their enemy will trap them. She hopes Abner is right.

Almost to the end of the hall, they stand in front of what looks to be a throne room of some kind. That’s when Izzalea hears a man bellow from within, “Is that you, Herald of Andraste? Come to prove your worth?” He sounds menacing and large, voice deep and booming. But Izzalea is not afraid. Hand of Korth will not intimidate her.

“I am here,” she growls as she takes slow, calculated steps to the room’s entrance. Abner silently slips into the shadows and sneaks into the room. Feeling the soft static of a refreshed barrier Solas placed over around her, she steps past the threshold. They enter a large mezzanine, with steps reaching balconies of either side of the room. Balconies holding groups of archers, whose arrows are drawn… and pointed at her.

Straight ahead of her are a few grand stairs leading up to a dais. Large, broken and tattered windows line the wall behind it. They flash and rattle with every roll of thunder and lightning. Standing on the stage is a behemoth of a man. His body covered in red and white paint, animal furs, and torn leathers. His face partially covered by a red hood, small cut-outs for his eyes, a larger opening draped, exposing his nose down to his chin. Large, threatening, ram’s horns loom from either side of his head. He holds an equally menacing mace, the metal head of which is reminiscent of a two-headed beast.

Izzalea glares at the man confidently, priming her stance for attack. He may think he is intimidating, but she has faced dragons. He is nothing.

The man roars in foreboding laughter, “Good of you to come, Herald of Andraste. I’ve been expecting you.”

Izzalea wants to keep him talking, giving Abner enough time to sneak up behind him. She will try her best to allow Abner the honor of killing the man… if she can. She is ready for the alternative, if the need calls. “Where are my men, Hand of Korth. Have you injured them?” she asks, hatred dripping from her hardened, set jaw.

He chuckles and swings his mace indifferently, “They are safe… for now. But I am afraid upon your defeat, all will die.”

Izzalea snarls at the titan, “Perhaps we should fight with honor. One on one.” She gestures to the archers lining the balconies, “Call off your dogs and fight me like a man.” However, this monster deserves no honor.

Suddenly, an archer yells from the balcony, “Behind you!”

Korth swings his massive mace around violently, but misses Abner as she leaps backwards. He stands there, stunned momentarily upon seeing the woman, but then begins laughing. He holds his chest in great amusement, body shaking as each sound roars through him. He calls back to Izzalea over his shoulder, “Perhaps I should be thanking you, Herald of Andraste. It seems you have brought home my insolent and treacherous little wife.”

Stunned in silence, Izzalea is unsure of what to think. Did he just call her his wife?

Movement in her peripheral catches Izzalea’s attention, pulling a glance to the balcony on her left. With everyone’s eyes now on Korth and Abner, Cole is able to begin backstabbing, snapping necks, and slicing throats of archers lining the left side of the room. With deadly accuracy, he silences each one, lightly eases their limp bodies to the floor without a sound. Izzalea snaps a look to the balcony on her right. Hawke and Solas have silenced the remaining archers, freezing them in place. Frozen still, waiting for Cole to send them to eternity as well.

No more warnings will be given to the distracted miscreant on the stage.

“I am not home to you, you foul bastard,” Abner growls between her teeth, a maelstrom of hatred swirls in her smoldering eyes. Body crouched in bloodlust, her blades drawn, ready to pounce on the man when given the opportunity. “I am here to kill you.”

The malevolent goliath of a man continues his looming laughter, “Oh, Abner, you always had such a mouth on you, my little half-ling princess. You never did respect the favor I bestowed on your tainted blood. You should have been pleased to have married a chieftain’s son.” Methodical, threatening, and malicious, he slowly paces towards her. Iron Bull and Izzalea gradually advance on him, approaching the dais, taking precautions to not make a sound in doing so.

“Because my love for you runs so deep, dear wife, I think I will keep you alive today. I will make you mine once again. And I promise you, my little half-breed bitch… the marriage will not be as amiable the second time, as it was the first.” He is growling at her, hunched forward, holding his mace as if he considers breaking her body first.

Abner screams in a bloodcurdling, murderous rage as she lunges at the man. Her action is far less calculated than Izzalea has come to expect from the assassin. She can only imagine that the fury within her has clouded all judgement. Izzalea panics for Abner’s safety and runs down the mezzanine toward the two, no longer concerned with the silence of her advance.

Izzalea is too late. Before she reaches the steps, Abner has leapt at him. He quickly responds with a colossal swing of his mace, connecting the head of his metal beast to her ribs. Upon contact her body is flung into the air, she soars backwards and lands limp on a pile of rubble with a broken thud. Izzalea is unsure if Abner is alive or dead. Her rage boils, surging through her. All she sees is red. Iron Bull booms with mountainous vigor, charging alongside Izzalea with the fury of a fiend.

Roaring with all of her might, Izzalea storms toward the monster. She slams her shield into the tough, large muscles of his back, the sharp, metal edges rip at his exposed flesh. These Avvar may be large, but they need more armor than paint, bones, and skins to protect their bodies from her.

The battle ensues with the speed of the lightning striking outside. An onslaught of screaming, bashing, striking, and parrying fills the cold, damp air. The Avvar spins while arcing his mace. Izzalea braces for the impact against her shield, calling upon all of her strength and training in becoming an impenetrable force. As his blow crashes into the strong metal between them, it sends shockwaves down her arm and into her shoulder. The pain is substantial, excruciating, but Izzalea is unmoved. A prideful, determined snarl spreads on Izzalea’s face.

Korth parries an attack from Bull’s axe at his flank, a distraction lasting just long enough for Izzalea to strike. She bares her teeth, screaming a guttural, primal sound as she lunges her sword forward. Piercing through his ribs, slicing through his flesh, the giant warrior’s blood sprays onto the front of her shield.

He howls in pain as he and Bull slam their weapons into each other again. The pain of his wound slows his skills, and he staggers back a few steps. Bull connects a blunt blow to the Avvar hard into the thick furs armoring his legs. Izzalea slices another deep swipe through his flesh, this time the cut spreads along his stomach. Their enemy stumbles rapidly backward, dazed and unable to breathe.

Bull and Izzalea creep in menacing pursuit, closing in on the bloodied, coughing, stunned form in front of them. Movement to her left captures Izzalea’s attention, as Abner is staggers toward the man as well. Izzalea motions to Iron Bull to halt his advance, allowing Abner her wish.

The Hand of Korth sputters and coughs thick blood. He sees Abner limping toward him, her long daggers in each hand. Blood drips from his lips as they curl into a sneering smile. He drops to his knees in front of her, spitting and gurgling. As he lands, Abner crosses her blades in front of her, slicing each one against his throat simultaneously.

Izzalea steals a glance behind them, to ensure the rest of her team is okay. She finds that there are no more archers, living, anyway. Solas, Cole, and Hawke stand in the middle of the mezzanine, watching Abner in astounded silence. Izzalea shivers with a sense of relief seeing that they are unharmed, and that the fight is over. They have won. Resuming her attention back to Abner, Izzalea witnesses the Avvar man slumped on the floor, dead, his blood quickly coating the stone below his body. Red and white pigments of his war paint mix with the deep, dark red of his blood, swirling together in a pool of death.

No one speaks in the hall, the only sounds echoing against the cold, wet stone are that of the ever-roaring storm. Abner stands completely and perfectly still, silently staring at the corpse lying at her feet. Izzalea worries about how badly Abner had been hurt. She had been limping and the blow she took was substantial. Nervous for her wellbeing, she softly calls out to her, “Abner…”

Slowly, Abner turns to face her. She is covered in the blood of her… husband. Her entire face, neck, and chest are glistening, soaked in gore. Her face is flat and emotionless. Her eyes are black and empty. She treads slow, jagged footfalls up the stage, walking past Izzalea to descend the steps, down to the mezzanine. Izzalea reaches out to her, but is ignored. She grows more and more concerned with not only Abner’s physical wellbeing, but her mental wellbeing, as well.

She staggers and trips on the stairs, toppling limply down to the base. Solas and Hawke surge toward her. “Lay her flat on her back,” Solas orders Hawke as he grabs healing potions from his pack.

Izzalea slowly approaches the scene. Overcome with worry about the woman she barely knows, her chest feels tight and heavy. Will she be okay? Even if she lives through this, did the Inquisition push her too far? Will her mind heal? Izzalea watches sullenly, while trying to also allow space for the mages to work.

Solas tips her head and aids her in drinking a potion. Hawke lightly touches her ribs, through her light armor, where the mace impacted her body. She screams a heart breaking, reverberating cry and recoils at his touch.

“Will she be alright, Solas?” Izzalea asks in a hushed tone. Her shoulders slump, she slowly eases into a crouched, sitting position on the steps. Her eyes never leave the young woman sprawled out on the stone floor. Abner’s breaths are heavy and labored. Her face cringes with each inhale.

“Yes. But she will need to take care for a few days.” He looks at Izzalea earnestly, but she stares blankly at the scout. “Inquisitor… do not forget why we came.”

Izzalea slowly lifts her gaze to Solas, eyes blinking. What is he talking about? Abner needs help. He scowls when she doesn’t speak or move, “The soldiers, Inquisitor. You must find the soldiers. I will heal Abner’s injuries, but you must go.”

Right. The soldiers. Solas is right. Izzalea shakes the daze from her mind and looks for Cole. He is beside her, because… of course he is… “Cole,” she says softly, voice croaking, “Do you know where they are?”

“Yes, they are close. Follow.” Cole says and rises to his feet. Izzalea mimics his movements, trailing behind the spirit as they exit the throne room. Bull rests a hand on Izzalea’s shoulder, striding beside her. She looks up at him as he gives her a sad, but encouraging, smile.

They follow Cole through the hallways as he senses the presence of their trapped people. Izzalea’s mind is buzzing with worry and exhaustion, a whirling dervish of emotion. What happened in there? What happened in Abner’s life? Are the soldiers okay? Will Izzalea be able to safely get everyone back to Skyhold? She is so very tired. Her senses fried from this entire experience.

She rolls her neck and stretches her shoulders again, an attempt to relax at least a small amount before the discovery of her men. They need to see her as a strong force, not a nervous and fatigued fool. Finally, they reach a locked door. Cole kneels in front of the lock while producing a small set of picks from his belt. He works the lock deftly until Izzalea hears a click.

The most beautiful and wonderful sounding click Izzalea has ever heard. She exhales a sigh of relief as she hears the voices of her people murmur through the door. Izzalea stands firmly, smiling while Cole opens the door and she sees their lost soldiers inside.

“Inquisitor!” one man exclaims upon seeing her face. Izzalea steps into the room, scanning over everyone to check on their wellbeing. At first look, they seem little rough, but very much alive. And that is lovely sight to see. She inhales deeply, releasing the days of worry she had accumulated within her muscles. Izzalea beams warmly at the Inquisition forces in the room.

“See, I told you she would come,” a woman announces proudly to the others.

If only for a fleeting moment, Izzalea shares in her pride.

#in love serenity #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fandom #dragon age romance #my fic #izzy trevelyan #izzalea #abner

5 notes · View notes