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mariellewritesalot · 2 years

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What the Water Gave Me

(Photo: me, in picture frames, decades apart)

NASA released pictures from the James Webb Space Telescope about a week ago, one in particular called the Cosmic Cliffs. Even without attaching it to this post, if you’ve seen the dazzling--almost trippy in its existence--photos, you probably know which one I’m talking about. It’s the one landscape that looks like mountains sprinkled generously with stars, some of them apparently galaxies yet to be discovered. It’s a breathtaking, humbling photo. Previously invisible, looking at these high resolution photos bring an immense feeling of being a speck of dust in an otherwise enormous universe. Nothing matters, I guess, in the grand scheme of things. Now, that sentiment could make you feel invincible or shockingly aware of your mortality. It’s beautiful in all respects.

In a semi-serious opinion: to get to know a person, you must have their natal chart on-hand and a grasp on how astrology works, or if not, someone immersed in the esoteric who can determine how placements can affect personality or compatibility. I’ve always subscribed to this belief, being in agreement with how seen I felt upon knowing what mine means. How I have had a sense of comfort in navigating through life with careful consideration and self-awareness of who I am as a person. Alongside that big three, a look into someone’s Venus, Mars, or Mercury placements in conjunction with mine gives me a general idea of how our interactions would occur, validating the hiccups, maybe even triumphs. A lot of people would be so unbelieving of the stars, but really: how are we to know?

The basics of a natal chart in layman’s terms rely on the big three signs: sun, moon, rising. I’ve always reveled in how my big three includes fire, water, and air. How I lack the grounding of an earth sign, the sheer coincidence that most of the people I consider to be my best friends have an earth sign as their Sun. I’ve always felt pride in being a Sagittarius sun, but somewhat irked about how much of a juxtaposition it is next to my Cancer moon, yet believable when you know that my ascendant is Aquarius. If I were to summarize how I am as a person, it’s probably someone who’s up for anything yet easily and heavily wounded emotionally, while having the rationality to avoid succumbing to my delusions. I’m always on some sort of high, tampered by feeling, and it sucks for someone just becoming heavy-handed with detachment to preserve my peace and sanity. I recognize that tendency whenever I feel so deeply I have no choice but to cry all night about everyone and everything. I could cut the bullshit and pin the blame on trauma, but really, why take the whimsy out of my misery?

Tears. A lot of them. I used to be so embarrassed being this way, quick to tear up. I feel myself cringing every time I remember myself as a high schooler, bawling my eyes out to friends and previously uninterested classmates in the vicinity, the moment I found out the guy I’ve been seeing had been two-timing me and his long-distance girlfriend while everyone knew and I didn’t. Every time I called a friend, crying, or even just gave anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry or knowing that I do, in private. It’s so natural yet so...gross to me, this vulnerability that should have been reserved to me and some people who care. Never mind that my paleness is quick to manifest how red my face can get from the pressure, how my cheeks are hot and my nose a cherry. It’s shame in vulnerability, in knowing that someone or something affected me enough to cause a physical reaction--an undoing, unraveling, whatever. Maturity should feel like stone, but often, I find myself comparing it to wet mud. I crumble.

In recent years, tired of my theatrics, I’ve taken to trying to manage my big emotions; perhaps in an uninformed, avoidant way that does more harm than good. I would be too busy consuming media, exercising, or bending over backwards to ease my overachieving antics to even think too much to the point of tears. I would cry only a little to movies or books, but keep my tears from my experiences in a reservoir; my body. I imagine it sloshing inside of me, a noise I can’t quiet, waiting for release every time I do this. It’s not so exhausting when you’re a busy person, sometimes I think I’ve learned to live with/as water. I think of Frida Kahlo’s painting, What the Water Gave Me (Lo que agua me dio, 1938), also the Florence + the Machine song of the same title. Speaking of Florence, I think of another song, Never Let Me Go, with the lyrics: And the arms of the ocean are carrying me / And all this devotion was rushing out of me / And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me / But the arms of the ocean delivered me. I think of the word, “cathartic,” how it feels in my mouth, my body. How it feels so real in the verge of tears when they finally fall. It’s probably why it’s hard to stop, a dam breaking throughout the night. The depiction of the color blue as anything water, despite transparency, or for that matter--anything sad.

So many remnants of art and pop culture could be connected to the act of crying that I can’t begin to count them, but I know that when I do it, it probably does not resemble Audrey Hepburn wearing that wedding dress in Funny Face (1957) with the tear cradled by her cheek, so elegant in her pain. I think about this desire for beauty, how it fractures every part of my being in more ways than one. How can crying be anything other than what it is, how can I make this poetic when all I feel at the moment is pain mingled with the shame of being made aware of it? I think of all the silent tears shed: UPD classrooms, Sunken Garden, running at night, my bed frequently, sitting next to people feeling like a time bomb unnoticed...the list goes on. I could qualify as a “crybaby,” I wouldn’t oppose to the title. Lesley Gore lives on: it’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to!

Like stars, tears are perhaps unquantifiable. I sit on how complex feelings could get, how easily even memories of pain trigger tear ducts, and the pile up of unspoken or unrecognized hurts that leave my body in the form of water. It would be easy to cry on cue, I have a catalog of things that bring me to tears stored in my head. For example, Connell breaking down on the phone to Marianne in Normal People, after he recognizes he fucked up, and the weight of her absence starts to feel heavy, even on the viewer/reader. Thinking about my life, with its beautiful moments and incredibly hurtful ones, pulling out a repressed memory will have the same effect. I think about how my best friend Rona tells me I have a tendency to minimize my feelings. I wonder if rationalizing my emotions, in an attempt to regulate them or delude myself, is actually invalidating to me. A disservice. In other times, tears could come up through joy, but rarely. In truth, crying to me looks more like Logan Lerman as Charlie in Perks of Being A Wallflower (2012) during his breakdown. It’s raw, even numbing--dare I say it, ugly. We want to look away from it, as if seeing bright stars; that as much as we want to stare, we’re rendered unable.

Among other delusions, I also believe that I have high pain tolerance. Physically or emotionally, I feel that I am one of those people that take things well despite me knowing I can be spiteful most times, instead of inspiring as others would perceive. It’s really not an ode to my resilience. The decision to move forward and make the most of situations is merely survival mode, self-preservation. I do not know what the big 10 is on my personal scale, because even in deep pains I refuse to name it as the extreme. I live knowing that there will be worse pains in my future, but a consolation could be that there will be also be grander joys. If we’re so insignificant, why should it matter? However, I realize that in the wide expanse of the universe and everything else, I was made to exist. Among all else, we’re still here. It must account for something. It must be worth it, in this life, to shed those tears, disregarding shame and marveling in how we have that capability for release. To feel so deeply, in the unknown.

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Happy Cancer season.

#daily life blog posts #marielle fatima tuazon #mariellewritesalot #what the water gave me

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batgirltraining · 2 years

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July 19, 2022

been wanting to get into better shape and form a consistent workout/exercise routine for a long time, but its difficult. today i was doing some online shopping for adidas shorts/tops and i randomly got inspired to look at this blog for the first time in apparently 3 years. wow.

i ended up going through all my posts and previous logs, and honestly it made me feel a bit sad. years ago when i was first starting to run, i was struggling with self-esteem (i mean, i still am) and i hated the way i looked (still do, if we’re being completely honest). and it’s weird to me because now i look at those old pictures of myself and i was so much thinner. at least 25lbs lighter, stomach basically flat -- which was somehow that was my biggest insecurity. i find myself comparing myself then to now. currently, im 150lbs (at least), which apparently is the same as my last log back in 2019, so that’s interesting. i guess that means ive been in this slump for at least 3 years. i didn’t realize. (which, to be fair -- im not necessarily concerned about weighing less. i just want to be more active and feel stronger. if that means my number goes down, fine. if that means the number stays the same because the fat turns to muscle and stays that number, that’s fine too).

the number itself isn’t the problem. it’s the fact that i am basically sedentary and i feel not-great a lot of the time. last week, i worked out 2x, went on a walk with friends, and went on a bike ride with my mom. and it felt pretty good. i just would like to be in a better mind-set where i do those things more consistently and more often. i don’t like being sedentary. and i don’t like how i feel in my body. i would like to be more active and to eat healthier but it’s hard. and im so used to how things are now, that even though i don’t like how they are now, i almost prefer staying this way than to doing anything about it. PLUS, i only ever feel these bursts of inspiration in the evening and then i wake up and im like nahh im tired i dont want to do that.

but i think it would be cool to start the couch to 5k program again. baby steps. i can’t expect myself to be able to run 3 miles again out of nowhere, and there’s no shame in starting over. and i dont really think i’d enjoy running super far, like a marathon, but 3 miles is a nice number to strive for.

but i have another big problem... i really struggle with this idea of being perceived and running alone. i feel like everyone is staring at me and even though i know they’re not (or even if they were, who cares), it still makes me anxious. i’ve never gone on a walk or run by myself, since college, because i makes me anxious. and like i said, staying the same is easier than doing something. (actually, interesting note, now that i think about it -- i used to run by myself in college and i enjoyed it. sure, i felt like people were looking at me, but it didnt make me that anxious. i think because of the environment. i think being in my hometown makes me feel that high-school-level anxiousness. i think i fear being judged by people i know from town more than i did while being away at school. sure people knew me at college - but less so than at home. WHICH, just to play devil’s advocate, it’s not as if everyone in town knows me....... food for though).

...so! maybe i’ll start that couch to 5k program, or maybe i won’t. maybe i’ll make another entry in another 3 years, or maybe i’ll make one in 10. will tumblr even exist in 2032? i hope so.

anyway. i’m going to end this weird rant by apologizing to my past self. im sorry that i didnt love you how you should have been loved. you deserved kindness and compassion even when i didnt think i deserved it. even though i hated how you looked, there’s never been anything wrong with you. nothing then, and nothing now. i love you <3

#running log #i suppose

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narratorstragedy · 4 years

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sometimes i think about all the shakespeare plays where the wives and mothers just aren’t there. hamlet has a mother; did ophelia and laertes have one, too? did rosalind have a mom, did celia? who was edgar and edmund’s mother, who was lear’s wife? do any of the love’s labour’s lost characters check in with their moms while they’re in navarre? what happened to hero’s mother, who in some versions of the play is there but doesn’t speak? did prospero have a wife? why don’t we see prince hal’s mother? does egeus have a wife? does helena have a mom? where are all the mothers?

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ask-feederjin · 3 years

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Hi!!~~ <3 So... How much has Jungkook's physical condition changed?

Do you think he tires easily with physical tasks? I can only imagine him puffing all the time ><

Jin had just put the final revisions on a work project when a notification popped up on his computer.

“Hi!!~~ <3 So... How much has Jungkook's physical condition changed?

Do you think he tires easily with physical tasks? I can only imagine him puffing all the time ><”

Oh if only, Jin sighs softly. He wishes he could say that their youngest does, but that would be a lie. Either way, Anon needs an answer!

Oh, he wishes! Poor Jungkook has a ridiculously fast metabolism, much to his dismay. It was great for him when he was a gym rat, effortlessly maintaining his washboard abs. But now it is his ultimate curse.

We’ve been doing research on how to lower or, in Jungkook’s words, “completely ruin” his metabolism.

So far, we’ve chosen to have him switch to a completely sedentary activity level, bulk up on carbs, flip into “starvation mode” between stuffings and replacing that banana milk he likes to drink with soda. We also heard that lack of sleep can contribute to a drop in metabolism, but I vetoed that one. Jungkook may be willing to suffer sleep deprivation to get fatter, but that’s not something I’m willing to support.

On the topic of him getting tired… Hmm… I think it would only really happen if he was going out of his way to be active? Like, him just walking around or lifting basic things doesn’t phase him yet, but exercise on the other hand… Give me one second!

“Jungkook!” Jin called out.

“Yeah?” He heard back. It sounded like Jungkook had just woken up from a post breakfast nap.

“Could you come here please, baby?” Jin was now curious. How has his physicality changed in the past two months? Would he get out of breath easily? Or has his years of exercise and healthy eating still blocked that?

“Do I have to?” He whined. Jin felt butterflies in his stomach at just how lazy his boyfriend has gotten.

“Yes!” Jin laughed.

After what sounded like some shuffling and grunting, Jungkook sleepily wandered into Jin’s office.

“You never make me come to you…” The youngest complained halfheartedly, scratching his tummy.

“Forgive me just this once, your highness.” Jin snarked back. “I just wanted to… do a little test.”

Jungkook perked up the the word ‘test’. Jin knew he would never pass up an opportunity to prove himself.

“What do I need to do?” The younger man asked excitedly, watching as Jin pushed his rolling desk chair to the corner of the room.

“Well… first I’m going to need you to stand riiiight here. There, perfect!” Jin maneuvered the taller boy to stand right in front of his computer screen. “Wait just a second, babe.”

The screen suddenly changed from spreadsheets to a camera screen. Jin pressed record…

The video starts off in a well kept room. Orderly bookshelves line the background, tiny potted vines trailing down the fronts.

Pulling away from the screen, you catch a blurry glimpse of knobby knuckles and trimmed nails. Front and center stands a rather tall young man. He has short, shiny black hair and warm brown eyes. Said eyes are currently large with confusion.

The young man is wearing a rather ill-fitting set of pajamas. The bottoms fit well enough, but the top’s buttons are slightly strained. A soft looking paunch hangs out from the too small shirt, wobbling as the young man shifts uncertainly. He rests both hands on the mass, rubbing slowly.

“Okay, -ahem-.” You hear a man’s voice says off camera say. “Hello, everyone! This is the first video I’ll be uploading to the blog, yay! It was originally going to be the third month weigh in, but it seems I just couldn’t wait.”

The young man on screen chuckles a bit, relaxing at the lighthearted conversation.

The voice resumes speaking, “Either way! We’re here now! This is Jungkook, some of you might recognize his face from the profile section of the blog, but if you haven’t then here he is! Say hi, Kookie.”

Jungkook blushes, waving at the camera. “Hi guys… I’m uh, I’m Jungkook.”

…

“Oh! And I’m Jin!” The disembodied voice frantically shouts. Jungkook bursts into giggles. “I’m Jin! The owner of the blog! I’m also apparently an idiot.” Jin ducks his head into the camera, giving you an unattractive, sideways close up of his eyes and nose.

“Veryprofessional, Jin.” Jungkook grins teasingly.

Jin’s too-close head turns, presumably to glare at the focus of the video. “Yes, I am a professional thank you very much. Now take your shirt off, fatty.”

Jin walks to the side of the room again, giving you a nearly full view of Jungkook’s body. The young man blushes again, levity gone, and starts to unbutton his sleep shirt.

With each button undone, the fabric gratefully springs to the side. Soon the boy’s tan tummy lays bare, angry looking stretchmarks decorating the lower part of it.

Jungkook tosses his shirt off camera, breathing slowly and evenly. “Wh-what now?”

“Jiggle it.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched, eyes closing slightly. He brings both large hands to his jello like gut and proceeds to bounce it up and down. For a minute of two, he shakes it briefly, only to let go and wait for the jiggly mass to settle. He stares at the camera, as if he’s watching himself in the feedback footage.

One hand slides up to cup his soft chest, while the other slaps gently at his belly entranced by the bounce.

“Now, turn to your side.” Jin’s voice startles Jungkook out of his self exploration. Jin himself walks towards the now sideways Jungkook, pressing up against his back. Jin reaches his arms around Jungkook to lift the younger man’s pot belly. He squeezes, pinches and lets it drop to watch it wobble.

“Tsk tsk tsk…” He pokes a long finger into the pliant flesh. “Someone’s let himself go it seems…”

“Ah~! I- I have!” Jungkook moans. “I’m soooo lazy, and- and greedy.”

“Lazy is right you little piggy.” Jin pulls away from playing with the taller boy’s belly button, walking back off screen. “Why don’t we give our viewer’s a little show? See how out of shape you’ve really gotten?”

Jungkook can only nod, face a bright red.

“Gimme fifty jumping jacks.”

“Fifty?! Jin! That’s too many!” Jungkook gapes at the man off screen.

“You used to do sets of eighty not even a year ago, I’m sure your fat ass can manage one set of fifty.”

“I’ll try I guess…” Jungkook doesn’t look optimistic. He gets in position anyway and starts counting out loud.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

The up and down movement vigorously shakes his little jelly belly, truly revealing just how much fat had accumulated there.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seh-seventeen, eight -hah hah- eighteen…” The poor boy’s face was tomato red and shiny with sudden sweat. His arms keep perfect time, but his legs move less far apart with each jump.

“Nine-hah-teen, twenty!” Jungkook is huffing now, tiny breasts quaking each time he lands. He is so out of breath now that he only mutters what vaguely sounds like numbers with each jumping jack.

“Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three…” Jin picks up where the out of breath young man left off. “Come on tubby, you were doing this in your sleep six months ago! What happened?”

Jungkook is gasping now, arms waving less with each jump, feet not even moving apart. A drop of sweat hangs precariously off of a perky nipple, only to fall onto his gut not even a second later.

“Are you seriously this out of shape?” Jin sounds genuinely surprised now, instead of teasing. Jungkook plops onto the floor panting. His previously neat hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, neck and chest pink from effort. “Kookie, you only did 31 jumping jacks.”

“I- gasp- I can’t…” The chubby boy leans back against the bookshelf. “I’m too fat…”

“Oh no. I’ll be the one to tell you when you’re too fat. Right now?” Jin squats down and smacks Jungkook’s sweaty belly, eliciting a moan from the boy. “You’re barely overweight.”

“I’ll get bigger! I promise!” The younger man pleads, having seemingly forgotten about the fact that he’s being recorded.

“Bigger? Eating like you are now? I don’t think so. You’re going to have to pick up the pace if you want to be the fattest boy in the house. Even Hobi will get bigger than you at this rate.” Jin gave Jungkook’s red, sweaty paunch one last wobbling pat before standing back up again. Jungkook stays on the ground, not even bothering to hide the bulge in his pajama pants.

“Okay guys!” The older man addresses the camera, winking. “It looks like Jungkook can still do thirty one jumping jacks before he gives up. You could say his stamina isn’t what it used to be! I’m gonna get this little piggy back to bed now. I think the poor thing’ll need another nap after so much exercise. Thank you for watching!”

Jin leans forward

The screen goes black.

I went ahead and attached a video instead of just writing down the answer ^-^;

I hope you don’t mind using headphones, haha! It got a little steamy there for a second… I should really get a video editing program so I can cut out those bits of me turning the camera on and off. Maybe even use my phone next time or something.

Oh well, lessons for later.

I hope that answers your question, Anon!

#lavender//ask #lavender//jin #bts weight gain #bts feederism #fat jungkook #calling all jungkook stans #ooc: a little different than what I normally do! let me know if you guys want more 'videos' in the future...

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script-nef · 4 years

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No need for jealousy, sweetie | Kageyama Tobio

Category: fluff

2k words; Is it a famous idol? Is it a high-skilled setter? Nope. It's his own son.

Everyone knows Kageyama Tobio, the genius setter of Japan’s national team and a member of The Monster Generation, is a love-struck fool. It’s not that hard to find out, seeing how his normally rigid and scowling face immediately turns soft and full of tender affection as soon as his wife is mentioned. His reaction is the same when his son, who celebrated his first birthday just a few months ago, becomes the topic of conversations as well.

The news of his son’s birth was posted all over Japan’s news as it consisted of a video uploaded onto his SNS account where you were beaming like a sun with your newborn baby in your arms while Tobio was silently crying his eyes out. He then moved to embrace you, words of thanks and love spilling out in between hiccups and cries. You joked that he cried more than you during the labour and everyone in the room was either laughing or comforting him.

You once attended one of his matches with Hikari in your arms, cheering for your husband and his team. As soon as the match was finished and congratulations were given, he zipped to your side and took the baby off of you. Hikari, recognising his father, gurgled joyfully and snuggled deeper into his embrace. As you started talking to Tobio, they both looked at you with an identical expression, like it was copy-pasted, that fans nearby took hundreds of photos. It’s one of the highlights in compilations of “Kageyama in husband mode” videos. (Other popular uploads include interviews where he doesn’t shut up when asked about your health or questions about your relationships. A lot of his fans started liking him thanks to YouTube’s wacky algorithms.)

Tobio is the embodiment of a devoted husband and father. Despite his odd memorisation skill which seemed limited to all things volleyball related, he never once missed an anniversary, birthday or doctor’s appointment. He even excused himself from practices for you. You can still hear how Hinata screamed “You’re skipping volleyball practice? You?” when he delivered the news. Interviews and commentaries after matches were cut short, much to his company and team officials’ dismay, because he couldn’t waste a second returning back to your side. He always repeated “[Name] is waiting. Goodbye.” with a bow and took off. He also wakes up practically instinctively to the baby’s cries even after he’s wiped out due to his rigorous training. The amount of superhuman stamina he has made you jealous since you’re half-dead after exercising a bit while he’s fit as a horse. He says any exhaustion he has evaporates as soon as he sees his son’s cute little face. A weird and floppy smile appeared on his face whenever he took the minuscule hands in his.

Hikari is practically a carbon copy of his father. Same piercing black eyes which look odd but strangely suitable on a one-year-old, smooth black hair growing in tufts and a round face with baby fat filling out his plump cheeks. Tobio sometimes pokes his chubby cheeks while he’s sleeping, hands trembling like he’s about to touch a priceless artifact. If you took a photo now and compared it to one of Tobio’s childhood ones, even he would be confused. They’re just that much alike.

When his teammates and friends visited to celebrate Hikari’s first birthday, their reactions were… quite interesting. Apparently they didn’t expect the child, a genetic offspring from Tobio and you, to have the similarity percentage lopsided to 99 and 1. Hinata argued 99.5 and 0.5 which caused another fight to explode between him and your husband.

It was very childish, the arguments thrown around being the equivalent of “Look at him! Are you sure you didn’t just split into half like that thing with the cell?” “Mitosis, idiot.” “Why are you still so mean, Tsukishima?! But yeah, mitosis!” “What the hell do you think you’re saying, dumbass? He’s so much like [Name]!” “Only you can see that, Mr Wife Idiot!” and so on. It was cut short when Hikari started crying due to the influx in noise and Tobio’s Dad Mode kicked in.

In your eyes, it’s absolutely adorable. Two copies of your favourite face in the world to wake up to and fill your life with. While pregnancy was a pain, right now is paradise. Especially since Hikari is a quiet and calm kid just like his father. By now, you should be concerned if they’re clones rather than father and son.

But recently, Tobio’s kind of miffed at Hikari for some reason. That doesn’t mean he’s neglecting his child, he would rather die than do that. He’s as attentive as ever, if not even more so than usual. Using his overpowered athletic skills to respond to Hikari’s whines or cries much faster than you, he drops everything and runs out at the smallest indication of discomfort. It’s also not because having a baby is a handful, they’re meant to be like that.

No, he’s just incredibly jealous of a one-year-old because “he’s taking up all your time and affection when you promised to love me most in the world”.

When he first said that, your initial reaction was to double-take because you thought you heard him wrong. The thought of “Well. My hearing is failing now” echoed in your head. But no, this dork was being possessive and filled to the brim with envy over his son. His own. Son. As unbelievable as it sounds, it’s kind of in character for Tobio. Tobio who has various epithets like:

King of the Court

Volleyball Idiot

Number 1 Wife Fan

Mr “I have two brain cells and one’s for volleyball and one’s for my wife. A third one is sprouting for my son.”

And plenty of other variations.

So far, the attempt to make him understand the needlessness of his concerns and jealousy haven’t gone well. Generally, it starts with your defence of “Tobio, I love you and Hikari equally.” “You said you would love me the most in the world!” “Fine then, I love you the most in the world.” “I know you’re lying!” “Sweetie, please.” Rinse and repeat.

He turns dejected after every single “fight” and curls up into a ball, refusing to talk to you unless you hug and kiss him. He thinks he’s sneaky and manipulative. He really isn’t, you have him playing in the palm of your hands.

But it’s going to become a real problem if he’s going to be jealous with the tiny tenant who’s going to be around for at least another 2 decades. And the worst thing is that you can’t regularly find advice since his closest friends aren’t… much of a help.

Hinata looked at you like you were crazy in one of your rare meetups. Tsukishima acted like he was actually getting sick from your concerns, that salty bastard. Yachi, kind and helpful and sweet Yachi, was the only one who made valuable contributions with Yamaguchi. It’s such a shame they’re so busy that they can barely have a social life nowadays.

“Hmm… I mean, he stills loves Hikari, right?”

“Yes. Endlessly.”

“Well then… how about treating him exactly the same as you did before Hikari came, if not more affectionately? That’ll show him that his son, his one-year-old son who doesn’t even understand the concept of jealousy, is not a quote-unquote threat.”

“Just threaten to leave him alone for like, a month if he keeps on being possessive. That’ll wake him up.”

“Tsukki!”

“Oh hello, Satan, didn’t think you'd be contributing. How’s roasting the souls of the innocent going?”

“It’s going fine. Would they really be innocent if they’re in Hell?”

“It’s a joke, Sea Salt. Also, that would crush him!”

“That’s the whole point.”

“I think you’re using this just to annoy him.”

“You’re thinking correctly.”

“Back to the topic at hand! [Name]-chan, just reassure and spend a lot of time with him.”

“That’s literally what I’m doing right now! Ughhh what should I dooooo…”

“You know it’s really annoying when lovestruck couples come and complain about their relationship like it’s a problem when in reality you’re happy, right? Just saying.”

“Tsukki, she has a real problem here!”

“Eh, does she though?”

And of course, that line of conversation took off before you could object and continued for the rest of the visit. So all in all, the two-hour lunch date with your friends resulted in a public commotion which nearly got you kicked out of the café. You were about to return home with no solid solutions when Hinata grabbed and stopped you.

“Hinata?”

“[Name]-chan, I’m sure it’s going to be fine. I think he’s just like this because he spent his entire life looking at either volleyball or you, and now that a third party has entered, he’s just not used to it. Time fixes everything or something like that, right?”

“It’s already been a year though…”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure he’s getting better. I remember when we visited you on Hikari’s okuizome, he was literally looking at you for the entire time. The entire time. When it was his son’s 100th day anniversary.”

Yes, Tobio spent the whole 5 hour party/ceremony with his eyes glued onto you, until everyone berated him for his lack of attention. Hinata literally flung a rubber band at his head and he didn’t even flinch. It was the main topic of conversation in your friend circle for the next month or so.

“But when we came again for his first birthday, Kageyama was all over Hikari! I think the transition of his love for you to Hikari is a bit slow, if that makes sense. He probably thinks the love you have for him is getting smaller compared to his love for you. Our Kageyama’s a bit of an idiot like that, right?” You don’t really know whether to nod or shake your head. “The fact that you’re hesitating kind of says everything, [Name]-chan. It’ll get better when his love for Hikari matches yours, okay? Hang in there!”

With a swift but warm hug, Hinata ran off to do his training.

The entire walk back home was filled with ruminations. Hinata was probably right. Kageyama’s attitude was slowly, but surely changing now that you’re thinking back. The ratio of his time with you and Hikari was 9:1 when he was just born, but recently it was more like 8:2. It should be concerning that this is the progress after a year of living together, but it’s better than nothing. You probably have nothing to worry about.

“Tobio, I’m home!” Silence welcomed you back. “Love? You home?” It was one of his rare days off and he said he would be taking care of Hikari so you could enjoy some free time while he can sleep in for the day. Also because his team instructor forbade him from meeting with Hinata since it always ends with a 3 hour volleyball match.

“In here.” A tiny reply emerged from the nursery. He always came running as soon as the front door creaked open like an overgrown puppy since you started living together, so this was surprising. Quietly tiptoeing in, you were met with your baby sleeping soundly in your husband’s arms, sucking on his thumb and sleep-babbling intermittently. Tobio’s face was one of love and pure happiness as he watched Hikari snoozing away like he didn’t have a care in the world—the same face he made when he stared at you. When he raised his head up to look at you, his eyes were filled with joy and warmth, crinkling in the edges.

“He’s so small.” He whispered, careful not to wake Hikari up. You joined him by his side, gently nudging your child’s chubby cheeks and revelling at its softness. “I have this… this feeling in my chest whenever I look at him… the same one whenever I see you.” Tobio’s hand came up to cup your face and he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

“I love you both so much.”

Yeah, you have nothing to worry about.

#kageyama x reader #kageyama imagine #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu!! one shot #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kageyama #kageyama tobio #fluff #female reader

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musewrangler · 3 years

Text

One shot I did a while back in my Empire Reimagined Verse. Commander Fox leads General Veers’ security detail in my work post Jedi. Putting it here in honor of Commander Fox Week.

Prompt: Day 1–Loyalty

“What do you mean ‘nowhere’?” Fox clipped in very frosty tones indeed.

Goolsby visibly gulped as Fox moved the medic’s hand away impatiently while they tried to finish spraying bacta on the head wound.

“Sir, I’ve searched the area personally and deployed our men. I am prepared to go further, Commander, but I’m aware we’re on a time crunch, sir.”

Yes they were, kriff everything in the galaxy.

And here Fox was, as useless a runyip, having utterly no karking clue where his General was.

The action had been largely successful, but this was intended to be a swift strike. In, cause devastation, and out. The enemy would regroup-- and in larger numbers-- if they stayed.

This was the ‘loosening up’ action as Veers referred to it. A series of attacks on the planets and outposts within shouting distance of Nal Hutta. Make the Hutts nervous and unsettled--unsure of where the next attack might come.

What they did not need was to lose a kriffing General in the midst of all this. Fox had been right next to him, damn it! And then the karking denton had gone off and knocked him out.

And apparently in the fifteen minutes that Fox had been unconscious, they lost their General.

“Any of our speeder scouts that are still planetside, send out in the wide perimeter. Tell them they have twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Goolsby didn’t waste time and Fox was appreciative. The kid was getting there and he knew that the clone commander hated unnecessary dithering.

He rose to his feet over the protests of the medic and made his way to Travis. “Sir,” he saluted. “We are unable to locate General Veers. I have men looking now, sir but….”

Travis’s normally pleasant face became hard.

“What happened?”

“Not sure, sir. I was with him when a deton exploded. I can’t give you more information than that, Colonel.”

“Force damn it,” Travis said softly. “We have to be off planet in…” he consulted his datapad. “...43 minutes, Commander.”

“Yes, sir. I volunteer to lead a party to stay behind, sir.”

“Fox…” Travis rubbed a hand over his sweaty face. The fighting had been intense, and while successful, it had taken a toll. “We can’t leave anyone behind here.”

“Agreed, Colonel,” Fox said stubbornly. “I assume that particularly includes the senior General.”

Travis stared at him, then nodded. “Ok. I have to continue coordinating our efforts to depart. Comm the Admiral and get his permission. And….good luck.”

Fox saluted and ducked into the communications tent for some privacy. This holo call would not be easy.

“Commander.” Piett’s life size blue form flickered into being before him.

Fox took a breath. “Admiral. I am sorry to report that General Veers is missing. We are executing a broad search but so far have not turned up anything useful.”

A beat.

“Was he captured? Or injured?” Piett asked, mask firmly in place, but Fox knew what this news meant to the Admiral.

“Unknown, sir. I think it unlikely he was captured, sir, given where we were on the battlefield and the enemy were in retreat, sir. But given that we cannot raise his commlink or find him I am concerned that he is not conscious.”

Piett compressed his lips. “I could have a shuttle ready…”

Both of them knew he couldn’t. Fox said it for him.

“Sir. You have to withdraw---those are our orders from High Command.”

The Admiral closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them, it was the man, not the officer.

“He wouldn’t leave me, Fox….”

“I am fully aware of that, Admiral. Which is why I’m requesting that I stay to look for him on your behalf.”

And mine, his traitorous brain whispered.

Piett gazed at him for several seconds.

“Very well. Stay in contact, Commander. Anything, the smallest detail…”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the moment you locate him, I’m bringing a shuttle.”

“Sir….”

Piett stared at him challengingly. “The. Moment.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The image disappeared. Well. It had gone better than he’d anticipated. If the man were a Skywalker he would have just gone off on his own rescue mission. Fox commed Scraps.

“You’re acting head of the security division, Lieutenant Commander. I’ll be here retrieving General Veers.”

He realized he was slapping a lot down on the kid’s plate.

“Ah….yes, sir. What…?”

“Goolsby will fill you in when he returns. And Scraps---you need to keep close to the Admiral. Don’t let him co-opt shuttles.”

“Would he?”

“The man has worked closely with Skywalkers for years. This is his closest friend. What do you think?”

Fox didn’t really think Piett would shirk his broader duties or flout his orders. But he was nothing if not prepared for eventualities.

Scraps sighed. “Right.”

Fox stepped out of the tent and caught Travis’s eye. He nodded and the Colonel returned it. Goolsby hurried up. “Still nothing, sir and….”

“I need a field pack immediately. With as many rations and medical supplies as possible,” Fox snapped. Goolsby raised curious eyebrows but knew that the look on Fox’s face meant no questions.

“Yes, sir.”

In short order he had donned a field uniform rather than his armor, and was shrugging on the pack and making a final check of his DC-17s.

Fox strode toward the edge of the woods where he and Veers had last been together. He found the blast area and began to search.

“Sir. We’re ah, prepping the last shuttle, Commander.”

He straightened, prepared to deal with Goolsby’s protestations. Instead he found that the young lieutenant stood before him with hand outstretched.

“Good luck, sir. Please bring him back to us.”

Well.

Fox grasped the hand. “I will. Report to Scraps once you’re onboard. He’ll be in charge.”

“Yes, sir.” Goolsby paused. “If anyone can find him sir….”

“I do not need a pep talk, Lieutenant.”

The younger man flushed. “Yes. Well. Good bye, Commander.”

“Thank you, Goolsby.”

Fox heard the last ship leave but didn’t bother turning around. He decided the best approach was to stick with his own observations---he knew they had searched this area but he was not a very trusting sort of person when it came to other people’s work. He could count on one hand the amount of people he trusted that far and that was frankly generous.

He had maybe four hours of daylight. He returned his attention to the churned up earth. A denton. They had both thrown themselves away from its shriek….

Veers had been standing there. Fox moved that direction and examined it. Nothing of import. All right. He could think of two options--either the General had been captured, or he was wounded and in hiding. But if the latter, why had he not made himself known once the enemy was clearly in route?

This…..concerned Fox.

And Fox did not like the state of being concerned.

He had a hard time wrapping his head around a way that Veers could have been captured over on this part of the field. Though the enemy had been retreating...Fox suddenly recalled the massive ground treader that had been crushing through the undergrowth fifty yards to their left. It had been covering for numerous troops as they made their way back to their lines…

If Veers had been flung far enough, and if he had been conscious, he would have needed to skirt that.

Fox made his way down the slight incline and followed the path of destruction further into the broken and twisted trees. He stopped and considered the tread tracks.

Here it went north. Veers would have stayed behind it and if there were straggling troops, he would have tried to stay out of sight. So it was possible he had been driven far out of his way to do so….

Fox found it rather helpful that he could reasonably expect the General to do what he himself would do in the same situation. This was of course, presuming he wasn’t dead.

For kark’s sake, Fox...

He mentally berated himself. That sort of thinking got one nowhere.

His comm blinked.

“Fox.”

“Anything yet, Commander?”

“Not yet, Admiral. I assure you, sir, if I had anything, I would contact you first.”

A sigh. “Yes. Be aware Commander that it is very likely the enemy will return to scout the battlefield. Exercise extreme caution.”

“Always, sir.”

“Then…..good hunting, Commander Fox.”

“Thank you, Admiral.”

He understood Piett. He would hate to be inactive as well. At least Fox could ease his worry in the search. The Admiral did not have that recourse.

And no. He was not worried. People died in battle---good people. High ranking officers and green recruits alike. It was a fact of life and Fox wasn’t about to get maudlin regarding that now.

So. If he was injured, and far from where he wanted to be, where would he hide?

Fox examined the underbrush carefully. And at last he was rewarded, if he could term it that. A smear of blood. Human no doubt, but he scanned it to be sure.

And it came up positive for one Maximilian Veers.

So he had made it this far.

“Where the kriff are you ,General?” Fox muttered to himself. He was a good mile from the battlefield now.

His stomach twisted in dread. Perhaps….perhaps he should not have been so quick to dismiss the possibility of capture. Wounded and alone---the General would be an easy target for several beings. Especially if they recognized him.

What if he was being tortured right now?

Son of a Hutt was he a Gungan? When had he become so emotionally unhinged?

Veers is far more competent than that, he told himself. Get a kriffing grip.

Fox straightened and considered the terrain. That bloody mark had come from a hand leaning against the trunk. Most likely Veers shoving himself back to his feet. Where would he go?

He looked back and then toward the east. If it was him and he thought enemy troops were still in the area….

Fox headed east. He would then double back to rejoin his troops. After about half a mile, the ground fell away sharply and he had to be cautious with his footing. The sun was low in the sky now and that would triple the difficulty. And he was well aware that Piett was correct--it was very likely the enemy would return to search the battlefield.

He realized that a small mudslide had happened further up the bank as though some unlucky devil had slipped….

He stopped breathing for a moment.

The incline was treacherous for a healthy man, for a wounded one….

Fox sprinted to the place and was rewarded with another substantial clue. An Imperial code cylinder. It was broken and partially covered in the mud, but he lifted it out almost reverently and then got to his knees to study the fallen earth. It was darker and muddier than the dry ground it had reached and... there.

A small trail of it was heading south.

Fox pocketed the cylinder and moved cautiously, not wanting to miss anything.

He rounded a curve in the bank which led back toward the thicker woods--and he could see more disturbed earth and leaves as though someone had clawed their way back up….

He moved swiftly up the embankment himself, flicking on the light of his blaster now, the trees making things much darker.

He nearly missed the shine of the black boot---it was filthy now with mud. But his peripheral vision registered the brief reflection and he was immediately plunging into the brush where Veers had managed to drag himself before passing out.

At least Fox hoped he was only unconscious….

He set the blaster down, allowing the light to illuminate the area and felt for a pulse. There---thready and weak but there.

“General,” Fox tried.

Nothing. He whipped out the scanner---Veers had some severe gashes in his thigh and side---no doubt the work of the denton. The cuirass had protected more vital organs, but his arm was badly lacerated as well. He’d lost significant amounts of blood.

Fox got his hands under the General’s arms and tugged him further into the darkness of the old trees.

*******

Hands. He should be concerned about that. But his brain wasn’t working right….so slow….he was so tired….

“General.”

He knew that voice. But it was dark….

Something hissed near his ear and he felt the cold on his neck. Something else was sliding into his arm with a slight pinch….

And clarity returned to Veers.

He squinted to see the face above him.

Dark and deeply lined, brown eyes looking seriously at his face, brow wrinkled in….worry?

Surely not.

“Fox,” Veers managed.

“That’s right, sir. Lie easy. I’ve got you.”

Strong callused hands cleaning his wounds and applying bacta before winding pressure bandages around his leg. His side protested as Fox unstrapped his cuirass to better get at the gashes there.

“Sorry, General, here.” Another hiss and the pain receded to manageable levels.

Had he known that Fox’s hands could be so gentle?

Veers shifted slightly and realized a drip was connected to his left arm.

“You’re….well equipped. What happened?”

“We were successful,” Fox replied, characteristically blunt. He examined the deep wound in Veers’ upper arm. “But we couldn’t find you. So. I came to do so.”

Veers mused on this.

“Fox are you….AWOL?”

The clone commander gave him a slight curl of the mouth. “No, General. I am here with both permission and orders. The Admiral could not leave the fleet, much as he wished to do so. Thus I am here on his behalf.”

A pause.

“As well as my own.”

“This is a big risk,” Veers said, considering how long they might have before their enemies came looking.

Fox grunted. “Worth it.”

Veers frowned and opened his mouth when Fox interrupted, opening a water bottle and sliding an arm under the General’s head.

“Sir. There is no scenario where I’m just going to leave you. Drink.”

Veers obeyed, marvelling again at the gentle competence of his security lead.

“Now, I have to comm the Admiral before he takes a shuttle on his own.”

Veers snorted lightly, but Fox wasn’t wrong. The clone flicked his commlink.

“Admiral, I have him.”

“And…?” Piett sounded like hell.

“He’s badly wounded sir, but…”

“I’m on my way. I’ll be sure to have the requisite medical staff.”

Veers and Fox exchanged a glance.

“When you say ‘you’ sir….”

“Scraps has already given me grief, Commander. I’m piloting the damn shuttle and we’re coming to get you.”

Judging by his voice, Piett was walking to the hangar bay as he spoke.

“Can I speak with the General?”

“Yes, sir.” Fox handed him the commlink and pulled out rations and thermal blankets.Veers half expected a tent.

“Firmus.”

“Max.”

Veers could feel the waves of his friend’s relief.

“I don’t like being on this end of things,” the Admiral said dryly.

Veers managed a small smile. “Yes. Well, I’d prefer if you were on that end more often.”

“I’d prefer for neither of us to be on this end, but that’s not the way our lives work. Regardless---you hold on General. I’m coming for you.”

And that. That was the way their lives worked. One did not leave the other behind.

“We’ll be here, Admiral.”

Fox took the commlink and then shrugged out of his duty jacket to wad it up under Veers’ head before covering him with two thermal blankets.

Veers watched him tiredly. “How did you find me?”

Fox came to settle beside him, holding the blaster currently providing them with illumination. “I... ah. I thought about what I would do, sir, if I were in your situation.”

Veers rather felt there might be a compliment in there.

They were silent for a time. Then Fox spoke.

“I’m sorry, General. I’m sorry that I lost you.”

He was staring at the earth and that wasn’t like the clone commander.

“Hardly your fault, Fox,” Veers murmured. “It was a denton.”

The other man clenched his hands tightly around his blaster. “Should have anticipated an attack of that nature.”

“Fox…”

“I know. I know I can’t do so all the time, sir. But I’m always going to feel responsible.”

Veers pondered the nature of this relationship---he was the General, Fox was his security lead. Both of them were very good at compartmentalizing--at doing the next thing regardless of cost. He recalled Fox’s eyes when he had first woken. The worry and relief…

“I understand that,” Veers managed, feeling so very drained. He closed his eyes and felt a warm hand land on his arm.

“Stay with me, General.”

“After all the... trouble you went to?” Veers said quietly. “Working on it. Just...tired.”

Fox’s hand stayed on his arm, anchoring him, until the hum of the shuttle’s approach sounded.

Piett’s face-- “let’s go, Max. Henley is keen to see you.”

Medics and a gravsled. The familiar hum of the engines in the Admiral’s lamda.

Scraps helping transfer him to the med bunk that had been pulled down in the passenger area. “Good to see you, sir.”

A pat on the shoulder from Firmus as he went by to resume the pilot’s seat. “The princess sends her love by the way.”

Then the pull of gravity as they lifted off the ground.

The medics were taking care of his wounds and Veers opened his eyes briefly when that familiar grip landed on his arm once more.

Fox had seated himself in the seat at Veers’ head. “Thank you, Commander,” Veers told him.

“You’re my officer,” Fox replied simply. But those strong fingers tightened slightly. Veers closed his eyes again and smiled.

Yes he was.

#star wars original trilogy #star wars au #star wars #clones #commander fox #commander fox week #commander Fox week 2021 #general veers #loyalty

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splashinkling · 2 years

Note

17, 32, 34, 42, I sure hope I didn't mix them up haha, aaand hello to you<3 for Den mainly, but feel free to answer for whichever you want!

thanks for the ask moonfriend!<3 I'll try to answer all four questions for both! it'll be a good exercise :)

okay this is gonna get long, so we'll put it under the cut

17. What is medicine typically like? Advanced or primitive? Traditionally based or more modern-like? Who are the medical practitioners, and how are they treated by society?

Den:

medicine would likely be more primitive! we're talking herbalists, apothecaries, and priests! they, of course, take herbs and concoct medicines from them, making them valuable. but! they're treated like any other service-provider. priests are a little different because they perform "miracles" using magic. they're regarded highly but you can rarely get a healing from them. all of them are treated with some level of respect, especially depending on their work for groups of people (nobles, commoners, etc.)

Game:

okay so I went back to look at my written setting for the project, and apparently I had written "Modern Post-Apocalypse Metroidvania Idea". there's a good chance of lost technology/recipes to find (not that I've thought of any yet) but mostly primitive! mostly herblists and researchers this time. these practitioners would be in high demand in this situation and would likely be hoarded by the royals/nobles in the capital in exchange for things like food, shelter and protection

32. What kind of weaponry is common? What fighting styles? And for more peaceful places, how would they defend themselves?

Den:

so far, very "swords and magic"-esque. so that means the usual melee and ranged weapon (swords, bows, axes, etc.) and also including siege weapons! I don't think the technology of common weaponry will advance further during the story (but I can also change my mind). in that respect, most people will be using close combat aside from the few that can master either magic (highly uncommon) or archery (kinda tough). the most common weapon would definitely be spears

in terms of defence, towns will always have some sort of militia (or people assigned to defend while other evacuate) while the bigger towns and cities will additionally have a Den

Game:

I believe this will be the same level of weaponry as in Den. swords and the like. however, there's a good chance for the game to include technology far beyond that because of the "post-apocalypse" setting, not that I've given that too much thought as of right now

34. How do people keep in contact? Do they write each other? How are messages transported? Are there communication devices?

Den:

mostly by writing each other, yes! and this could be delivered by courier or the more extravagant *carrier falcon*. communication devices may pop up! depends on how the super minor characters want to act, or if they develop/are gifted a magical device capable of communication

Game:

they don't! unless you live in the same town/city, you'd likely have no idea if the other person (living in a different town/city) is even alive.

42. What do people use as a light source aside from the sun? Fire, electricity, magic? Or do they not need light?

Den:

fire and magic (tho not many would be able to use magic)! think campfires and torches!

fun fact, demons don't really need light! even the more beast-like ones can see perfectly fine in any lighting (as they should with their glowing eyes)

Game:

(will there even be a sun in this game? who knows) I would assume the inhabitants wouldn't need light- they'd be used to darker places. with that said, fire would be the main source in common places (towns, paths, etc.) in ruins, electricity might be running!

#ink answers #ask game #wip: demons in the den #thanks for the ask again!#this was an extremely good exercise to get back to it

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Post-credits scene II (Iron)

Words: 1,931

Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Masterlist

2011

Part of the deal to train Lily is for an agent to be aware that each aspect is carried out according to the directions of S.H.I.E.L.D. The little girl, hearing this, did her best to make that agent just be Natasha. Although she did not imagine what she was waiting for her.

The thump of her body against the ground is not so loud, but that doesn’t mean it was less painful.

"If this had been real, you would be dead,” says Nat looking at the girl.

"I can't feel my body,” she complains she dramatically.

"Time's up," says Tony arriving at his new home gym. He approaches the ring. “Come on, Kid. It's movie time.”

"I can’t, I’m dead.”

Nat laughs, Tony watches her.

"I know you and Fury are trying to turn my daughter into James Bond, but even I think this is too much."

“We’re not trying to turn her into nothing. This is just for her to be prepared."

“Whatever," replies Tony, Lily is slowly exiting the ring. "C'mon, spykid.”

After a bath, Happy, Pepper, Tony and Lily get ready in front of the TV to see the next Star Wars movie.

"Have fun!" Nat yells as she walks out of the room.

“Wait!" says Lily getting up from the couch. She runs to the redhead. “Don't you want to see the movie with us? We have popcorn.”

"Honey, I think Natasha has things to do," says Pepper.

Lily looks at Nat with a pout. She laughs.

"Which movie?"

"The return of the jedi.”

"Star Wars?"

Lily nods.

“You'll stay?"

“Sure."

Lily takes her hand and guides her to the individual chair, hands her a blanket, and goes back to her place.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that the Starks are geeks?"

"Hey!" Tony exclaims. "I'm just trying to teach my daughter culture,” He excuses himself when he sees Nat's mocking smile.

From that moment on, movie night has been held twice a month and Natasha is always invited, regardless of whether it is training day or not.

***

"I'm not sure about this," says Lily shivering on the edge of the pool. She has floaties on each arm.

"Easy, I'll be with you,” affirms Happy.

Lily's heart is pounding, she can hear it. She had never been near a pool before.

She slowly sits on the shore and tucks her legs in, feeling the warm water.

“We'll go little by little,” says Happy taking her hands. He pulls and she falls into the water.

"No!" She squeals clinging to the man's body.

"Lily, calm down, I won't let you go, I promise…”

"Class is over,” She says.

"We haven't even started!”

"I see that we’ve progressed,” says Nat walking towards them.

"C'mon, Smarty. Don't you want to show Nat how great you are?" Happy tries to cheer her up.

"I'm not a little girl anymore,” She complains, moving away a little. "And I don't need to prove anything to anyone," She frowns.

"Well said," Nat adds.

“Okay," says Happy defensively.

Lily nods, but then she remembers where she is. She squeals and hugs Happy again, making him laugh. The abrupt movement makes her a little dizzy.

"C'mon, Lils. The floaties will help,” encourages Nat.

"I don't think it's a good idea," She answers, blinking. Her vision begins to blur.

"Trust a little," continues Happy.

Lily sighs and loosens her grip on him. Little by little Happy takes her away to know how to use her arms and legs. She holds onto the shore while Happy swims to show her his movements.

She sighs, shakes her head trying to focus her gaze, thinking that it was her nerves that caused that.

"Your turn,” says Happy.

Lily gets into the position and with awkward movements begins to swim slowly, she smiles.

"I'm doing it!" She squeals. Nat and Happy celebrate behind her, but her excitement ends as their voices grow farther and farther away until they are replaced by a high-pitched, piercing beep.

She gasps and stops. This time, she feels a pressure in her chest, which started with a strong heartbeat, now it seems that her heart is getting weaker.

"I don't feel good," She whispers. Her eyelids weigh down on her and she loses her vision fast. Her weakened body slips away.

"Lily?" shouts Happy when he sees her still in the middle of the pool.

Nat frowns and walks to the other side, she kneels when she’s in front of Lily.

"Lils?" She calls her.

Both adults panic when the girl stops moving. Natasha jumped into the water to help her, Happy swims towards them. The redhead takes Lily and climbs her up, neither wasting time to get her out of it.

The door of the mansion is open, Tony runs to see Natasha trying to make the girl react.

"What the heck happened?" Tony demands kneeling on the other side.

"She was swimming and suddenly she didn't move,” explains Happy, upset.

"Jarvis," says Tony.

“Apparently her body had a reaction against the water, sir. Her pulse is stable now, but I register a drastic change in molecular compounds,” reports Jarvis.

Lily slowly opens her eyes.

"Kid?" Tony calls. She turns to see him. She inhales deeply and exhales trying to speak. He leans in to hear her better.

"I can't move,” She whispers.

"What?" Happy asks.

"Do you put any other chemicals in the pool?" Nat asks.

“No, and that doesn't make sense. You would also have some reaction,” He answers confused.

He takes Lily in his arms, the four enter the mansion.

Thanks to Tony's technology and intelligence -with the help of S.H.I.E.L.D.- They discover that Lily cannot be in large amounts of water. The pool, the sea, she can't even spend a long time in a tub.

"I told you it was not a good idea,” says Lily taking the mug of hot chocolate that Happy gives her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was going to be so bad," He says. He sits on another bench next to her.

"Don't worry, I didn't know it either,” She adjusts the blanket that surrounds her.

They both drink chocolate, waiting for Pepper to finish scolding and asking Tony a thousand things. Ever since she found out what happened, she hasn't stopped yelling at Tony and hugging Lily.

***

"Fix your eyes on the mannequin," Nat says behind the girl.

Now both are in a special room of S.H.I.E.L.D, something similar to a shooting range, the difference is in the fire extinguishers in the back.

“Now," Continues the redhead. "Imagine flame in your hands, feel it, do not stop the tickling.”

Lily sighs and obeys. A soft flame spreads in the palms of her hands.

"Don't limit yourself, nothing bad will happen," She assures.

The flame increases in size.

"Concentrate and launch it towards your goal.”

Lily takes her time. She pushes the invasive thoughts away from her. As if it were baseball, she throws the fire at the mannequin. The projectile hits the target's chest directly. The girl smiles satisfied, she turns to her left, meeting Nat's smile.

“Again."

"I was thinking.”

"I hear you,” answers Nat.

“The guns are supposed to have a spark. They can produce fire.”

“Correct."

“So, do you think I can stop the bullet from coming out? As soon as the spark is produced, make the bullet explode?"

Nat frowns.

“We could try, with certain measures, but not for now. What made you think that?"

“You’ve told me that this is all to defend myself,” She shrugs. “Many times someone will try to hurt me with a simple gun. I did some research on the structure of one and came across that."

“It’s good to learn things about your enemy.”

"How do you know who your enemy is?" She looks right into her eyes. “You've told me that I should not trust anyone except my family, but how do I know that someone is my enemy and who wants to be my friend?"

Nat sighs.

“For now, I can help you with that and I know Tony will too. It's not easy, Lils. That's why I told you not to trust anyone. It’s complicated, but you should always be aware of who tries to enter your life. We will not always be with you, so you must keep an eye out.”

The girl nods, processing.

"C'mon, just one exercise and you can take your break.”

“Finally!"

***

Outside the facility, Natasha looks closely at the girl.

“I saw the video in a workshop where you made something similar to a shield. I want you to do it again,” demands Nat from the other side of the glass.

“But I don't know how I did it."

"What did you think when it happened?"

“Well, the armor was going to explode near me. I thought: I don't want to die!"

The agents monitoring the exercise and Nat laugh.

"That works. Think that again. We have practiced, now I want you to imagine fire as protection.”

"That makes no sense. The fire only hurts,” replies Lily.

“Fire also serves as survival, light, warmth, and protection. Imagine a shield, remember what you told me about that night.”

“Good," the girl sighs.

She closes her eyes, remembers the orange particles around her, the thin layer that protected her from the big explosion.

"Good girl,” says Nat.

Lily opens her eyes. The shield surrounds her, almost touching her skin, but it doesn't last long.

“Again."

***

“Kid, come to the workshop. I have a surprise for you,” says Tony from the intercom in Lily's room.

"Did you make me an armor?" She sits on her bed quickly.

“Nice try, but no."

She follows his voice and enters the workshop.

“What's the surprise?"

“This," says Tony standing up from the chair. In his hands he shows a black suit, similar to what surfers or divers wear. She frowns without understanding. Tony rolls his eyes. “I designed it to withstand high temperatures. I could see the expense on my card when replacing a half of your clothes.”

"They were accidents,” She defends.

“Well, they won't happen anymore. Try it on,” He says, holding out the suit. She goes to the bathroom and in minutes she comes back. She caresses the soft, flexible material. “How is it?"

"It's comfortable,” She says moving.

"Are you trying to burn it?"

She looks at him in surprise.

“You sure?"

“You're supposed to have it under control now, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah,” She answers nervously.

"Just try to burn the sleeve.”

Lily concentrates, makes a small flame and puts it on the opposite sleeve. She waits a few seconds and then pulls it away from her. The material of the suit resists.

“It’s a good start. I did several tests, I guess in time we’ll know for sure. I’ll ask the super agents to do more.”

"Do I have to use it all the time?"

"If you don't want to burn your clothes, yes.”

“Fine,” She looks towards her desk. "What are you doing?"

“Investigating," He answers returning to his seat. She follows him.

Desktop screens display many pages and reports along with some photos of a WWII soldier.

"Who is he?"

“Steve Rogers. Captain America. Fury gave me some files on a possible team."

“But he was in the war. Why do you want him now?” She asks without taking her eyes off the files.

Tony watches her, he knows that face. He knows that won't be her only question.

"Sit down, Flower. It's time for a lesson.”

Taglist:

@silenthappyplace @yourbonesareinmybody @aylauwuuniverse @skittles-skittles @hufflepuffzutara @poetryislife0715 @21bruhs @heavenlymistakes @my-love-of-books @dielgonacoffee

#Iron #Post-credit scene #Iron man II #Avengers #Peter parker x oc #Peter parker fanfic #Peter parker x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #Tony Stark #Lily Stark #Stark!reader #Pepper Potts #Natasha romanov #Black Widow #Spiderman

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josefavomjaaga · 3 years

Text

Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 6, Part 5

Things are getting ugly now, brace yourselves.

Rarely has anyone been more fatally self-deceived than Joachim Murat, when he convinced himself that he need only present himself on the soil of his former kingdom and everything would fall to him. And for the full measure of his misfortune he had chosen the coast of Calabria, that stretch of land where the old dynasty had always found its enthusiastic followers willing to make sacrifices, while Murat's name, which was conflated with that of the madman Manhès, was virtually maligned and cursed there. But even elsewhere in the country, with the rapidly changing impressions of the southerners, his memory was not merely obliterated, as if a century had passed since then: everything connected with his actions, everything that reminded one of him, was as if it had been tainted. His officials, many of whom the new government had left in their positions, were looked upon with disdain and persecuted by the population; indeed, there were violent acts, bloody uprisings against them, so that the government had to intervene with all the severity of the law.

An example of this is given in the following footnote:

Jablonovski PS. ad numerum 12 of 21. September 2, mentions such an uprising in Salerno, in which several Murat officials were killed; a royal commission came from Naples and now eleven of the mutineers were sentenced to death: "il arrive à chaque instant de pareils événements; la présence de nos troupes les empêche dans la capitale, et si elles quittaient Naples aujourd'hui, demain tous ceux qui avaient été employés par Murat seraient égorgés". See also n. 13 on 3 October: "Dans les provinces qui étaient oprimées sous le gouvernement de Murat les passions haineuses de cette nation agissent avec plus de force".

Apparently, some people were disappointed that they were not allowed any excesses after the change of government. Helfert continues:

At the Court of Naples in the first days of October, nothing was known about Murat's departure from Ajaccio, nor was it possible to know anything about it: on the other hand, other news had arrived which upset the King in the extreme. Jablonovski, towards whom the monarch was always of the most winning friendliness, noticed a change in the monarch's behaviour at the cercle on October 4, the name day of Emperor Francis, which was always festively celebrated at Ferdinand's court. None of the ministers was able to tell our envoy what the king had against him until Princess Partanna, whom Ferdinand alone had taken into his confidence, told him: it was a coded dispatch from Prince Castelcicala which had arrived from Paris and informed the monarch that Austria had offered Murat an asylum within her borders. Jablonovski seized the first opportunity to confront Circello on the matter. "Shouldn't your King prefer," he said, "that Murat should stay 200 miles from Naples, under the eyes and supervision of a powerful ally of His Majesty, rather than having to constantly fear that the adventurer might land at a point on the coast which, because of its great extent, can never be properly guarded, and disturb the peace of the kingdom? Of course he won't succeed, that's what our troops are for. But he can cause enough unrest and disorder, especially if, as is not at all improbable, he joins forces with the Barbaresques and sets out to do mischief".

The argument was plausible and had all the greater effect because just in the last few days, October 4 and 5, reports had been received that put our envoy's ideas in a peculiar light. Murat's squadron had not gone entirely unnoticed on the Neapolitan coast: on the 4th a vessel had been observed near Sorrento which was thought to be a pirate ship and which seemed to be waiting for others like it; on the 5th a similar signal had arrived in the port of Salerno. The two pieces of news caused all the more concern in government circles because at the same time Baron Lebzeltern sent a message from Rome to the commandant of Gaëta, who reported to the capital without delay that Murat had left the port of Ajaccio with several ships.

All these facts also came to the knowledge of the diplomats of the friendly powers, at least to that of Jablonovski, who reported on them to his Cabinet on 6 and 7 October. On the other hand, what was decided at court remained a secret for the time being. They could only conclude from all sorts of signs and hints that the King's Council had agreed on a drastic measure. Our envoy and the British one thought that orders had been issued to all coastal points to treat Joachim Murat with martial law if he were seized with arms in his hand. Medici had also given orders to all commanders of the troops posted along the coasts from Salerno to Calabria to take the severest measures against those citizens who would join the ex-king. A Captain Spadea, who had returned from Sicily and was therefore undoubtedly familiar in court circles, informed Guglielmo Pepe privately "that much blood would flow in the kingdom in a short time".

Pizzo is, or was at that time, a town of about 8000 inhabitants situated on a height close to the sea, on the shore of which, where one used to land, there were individual houses and magazines. From the coast, at that time rather bumpy and uncomfortable, a path wound up to the town, which led to the main square and continued over the latter in the somewhat steeply rising road leading to Monteleone. On a hill overlooking the town on the left, in the direction in which we enter the town in our minds, there was a castle dominating the Rhine and the town.

Murat's small band, not counting himself, consisted of 29 heads, 26 of them militairs. He wore a uniform of sky-blue cloth, colonel's epaulettes, a tricorn on his head, but no medal or decoration of any kind on his chest. Some people who were on the beach during the disembarkation ran to watch the unusual spectacle and, while the Muratists kept shouting "Evviva il Re Gioacchino!", returned the greeting forced upon them. The same was the case with individuals who came to meet them as the group marched up the mountain path. Thus they arrived at the main square, where a lot of people had gathered, attracted both by the festival day and by the strange procession. The people's expressions reflected curiosity, astonishment, surprise, but not joy. On the contrary, when Murat addressed them, talking about redemption, about liberation, a woman from the people shouted at him: "You talk to us about the freedom you want to give us and you had three of my sons shot"!

This anecdote apparently goes back to Ferdinand of Naples personally, at least Helfert says in a footnote: "Tu parli di libertà e mi hai fatto fucilare tre figli! This turn the king told Prince Jablonovski, No. 15 to the 15th of October 2."

That was a wicked interjection! From their barracks appeared the coastguard, 15 men of artillery under Lieutenant Barba, armed and in their old uniform. "Behold my soldiers!" exclaimed Murat, turning to them: "Do you recognise your king? Shout: Long live King Joachim!" An official of the Duke of Infantado named Alcalà and others ran up to them and exhorted: "Shout: Long live Ferdinand!" They did neither, which Murat interpreted as a good sign that the old soldier's spirit would persuade them in his favour. But it was only amazement, or if you will, a kind of enchantment, which the unexpected appearance of the former king with his commanding and winning appearance exercised on them, as well as on the majority of those gathered in general.

While this was going on, two or three young people had approached Murat's entourage and persuaded them that nothing could be done here in Pizzo, that the population was stubborn, but that in Monteleone the "king" would certainly find his party! So Murat ordered the departure for Monteleone and called on the gunners to join him. They did not do so, but they followed his march at some distance. Joachim could no longer rest; he was not prepared for such a cool, even ambiguous reception. He strode hastily up the mountain road, so that, out of practice from the long sea voyage and affected by the excessive excitement, he had to pause to catch his breath. The coastguard was a good distance behind, marching slowly, as if irresolute, while from the town a crowd of armed men was seen approaching, by whom the artillerymen were soon overtaken. The ex-king's leaders became suspicious and urged them to hurry: "see if we can reach Monteleone as soon as possible!" But they were already close at hand, preceded in passionate haste by a gendarmerie captain named Trentacapilli; he had formerly been a gang leader, General Manhès had had three of his brothers hanged. "The general and all of you will follow me to Pizzo!" he commanded. "It behoves you," Murat replied, "to obey your king and escort him to Monteleone!" Murat's officers wanted to pounce on the audacious man, but Joachim resisted them, and he was allowed to return to his troop, from which shots were now fired. The Murat's wanted to return fire, but their master would not allow it: I do not want even one of my subjects to lose his life for the sake of my landing!

But he realised that all was lost. He and his officers, while his few men were soon crushed and overcome by the superior force, sought to reach the shore of the sea quickly, not on the paved path, but down the slope over hill and dale, with their pursuers hard on their heels, with whom they fought on the way. A single boat was found on the shore, which the officers wanted to unhitch in a hurry to head for Barbara's Trabacolo, which, instead of waiting nearby as he had been ordered, was cruising far from the shore on the high seas. But in the agitated haste, the boat could not be disentangled, and already the few were surrounded on all sides, and fists armed with sabres, axes and picks were raised against them. At this Murat surrendered: "Here you have my sword, but spare the lives of these brave men who have followed me into my misfortune!"

These words were only like an invitation to the enraged to turn their threats into action. Captain Pernice and Sergeant Giovannini fell to their deaths at Murat's side, Franceschetti fell to the ground badly hit, Lieutenant Moltedo and three others were wounded. They were seized, led or rather dragged, some of them barely able to carry themselves, into the village, under constant threats, punches and blows that spared the ex-king as little as his fellow victims. More than once an axe was raised to split Murat's head, if others had not intervened and prevented it. At this, speeches were heard which struck Joachim more sensitively than their weapons: "Were there not enough of these unfortunates? Had you not drunk your fill of the blood of your victims? Did you again need scaffolds and gallows?" He was almost completely stripped of his clothes, everything he carried was taken from him, and Trentacapilli did not miss a single thing: his money and his diamonds, his bills of exchange, his passport, everything he had to hand over. To seal his misfortune, a copy of his manifesto and his decree were found in his wallet, the incontestable proof of his hostile intention, the clear refutation of his pretence that he had only wanted to land on the coast in order to obtain the means to continue his journey to Trieste!

#joachim murat #caroline murat #hundred days #napoleon #naples 1815 #helfert murat

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bluescluelessly · 4 years

Text

Tossing the Script out the Airlock (and Good Riddance to it)

[Rating: Teen] || hurt/comfort, suspected infidelity, polyamorous relationships, made up Stewjoni biology because George Lucas didn’t say Obi-Wan wasn’t a little weird and if he’s gonna give his birth planet a stupid name then I’m gonna give him stupid biology tweaks, and use of Dai Bendu, the language of the Jedi (translations at the bottom of the post)

tw: mentions of grooming (because Palpatine)

Ships: Bail Organa/Obi-Wan, Bail/Breya, Anakin/Padmé

Palpatine tries to convince Anakin that Padmé is cheating on him with Obi-Wan. Anakin confronts his friend about it, finds out a bit more than he bargained for, and not at all what he was expecting to.

°|●.*•

From the Revenge of the Sith Novelization:

“That’s why I put you on the Council. If the rumors are true, you may be democracy's last hope.”

Anakin let his chin sink once more to his chest and his eyelids scraped shut. It seemed like he was always somebody’s last hope.

Why did everyone always have to make their problems into his problems? Why can’t people just let him be?

How is he supposed to deal with all this one Padmé could die?

He said slowly, eyes still closed, “you still haven’t told me what this has to do with Obi-Wan.”

“Ah, that – well, that is the difficult part. The disturbing part. It seems that Master Kenobi has been in contact with a certain Senator who is known to be among the leaders of this cabal. Apparently, very close contact. The rumor is that he was seen leaving the Senator’s residence this very morning, at an… unseemly hour.”

“Who?” Anakin opened his eyes and sat forward. “Who is this Senator? Let’s go question him.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin. But the Senator in question is, in fact, a *her*. A woman you know quite well, in fact.”

“You–” He wasn’t hearing this. He couldn’t be. “You mean–”

Anakin choked on her name.

Palpatine gave him a look of melancholy sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”

Anakin coughed his voice back to life. “That’s *impossible!* I would *know*– she doesn’t… she couldn’t–”

“Sometimes the closest,” Palpatine said sadly, “are those who cannot see.”

Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover, p. 250

°|●.*•

This is it. Anakin is going to just… ask him. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he finds out Obi-Wan has been sleeping with his wife, but…

Well, he’ll figure that out if it’s true.

He went to Padmé’s apartment, felt for himself the evidence that Obi-Wan had been there.

Now, he needs the truth. He needs to be wrong.

“So… I heard you spent a late night with a senator,” he asks, trying not to sound overly accusing. Obi-Wan always gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Several emotions flicker across Obi-Wan’s face then. He eventually fixes his gaze on Anakin, a modicum of panic in his eyes. Anakin’s heart sinks.

The next words out of his old Master’s mouth, however, catch him by surprise.

“You… know about Bail?”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. No, he didn’t–

– but he can’t help thinking he knew it, it was a male senator –

– “Bail?” He blurts out, confusion showing. “No, Palpatine said–”

“– Palpatine saw me with Bail?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice rising an octave.

“No–” Anakin insists, hands going up in a placating gesture. “Not– I didn’t know about Bail. I uh. Palpatine told me he heard you were seen leaving Padmé Amidala’s Apartment.” He explains, and some of the worry drains from Obi-Wan.

“Oh,” he says, sounding infinitely relieved. “No, I, er. Well, I definitely haven’t been making ‘late visits’ to Senator Amidala.” He gives Anakin a curious sort of look. “I hear she’s spoken for, not that I would pursue her, in any case. It would be… awkward.”

“Awkward?” Anakin asks, feeling as if he’s missing something.

Obi-Wan gives a tired sort of smile. “Besides the fact that my preference is not for the fairer sex; she once made an advance, and I turned her down.” Seeing Anakin’s flaring temper, he is quick to clarify, “long before your knighting, Anakin. But, as I said, awkward.”

Anakin nods, appeased. Then, he remembers there’s a more important topic to focus on here. “So… Bail?”

The reaction is immediate; Obi-Wan’s face blushing a dark red as he looks away. “Yes, I– if you could keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

To hell with it, Anakin thinks. “Sure Master, I’ll keep your senator a secret if you keep mine.”

“The fact that you think your relationship with Senator Amidala is a secret is adorable,” Obi-Wan responds, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Half the council is still asking me why they weren’t invited to the wedding; I can’t give them an answer, as I wasn’t invited either.”

Anakin looks shocked by that information, which is truly endearing. “Wait, they aren’t mad?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You proved to me that you could put responsibility over your wife on Geonosis. Relationships aren’t forbidden so long as there’s not an unhealthy attachment involved. Anyways, we’ve always bent the rules a bit for you.”

Anakin feels as if a weight has been removed from his shoulders. A weight that Palpatine put there, he thinks.

The old man has been wrong about the Jedi on two accounts now… why does Anakin hold what he says about the Jedi in such regard?

Perhaps he should fact-check more of the Chancellor’s absurd claims.

“Ah.” Anakin responds intelligently. “… so why does your, um, thing with Bail need to stay a secret?”

Obi-Wan’s red cheeks return once more. “Well. A… few reasons. Not that I think I’d be in trouble for it, but… I’d like to respect Bail’s privacy. He is, after all, Married.”

“Does Breha not know?”

“She knows,” Obi-Wan assures his former Padawan. “I wouldn’t agree otherwise. But that doesn’t mean they want the whole senate knowing about their … arrangement with me; or others.”

Again, Anakin nods to show his understanding. “The less people who know, the better. Right…”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Anakin starts, bemused, “I didn’t take you for the 'mistress’ type.”

A complicated flurry of emotions cross his friend’s face. “… neither do I,” he responds, a little clipped. “I think of myself more as Bail’s type.”

Anakin realizes how insensitive that came off a bit too late. “I’m sorry–”

Obi-Wan waves him off. “It’s difficult to understand when I haven’t explained. Bail is Bi; he generally prefers men, but his heart belongs fully to Breha. I prefer men as well, and I have… a condition… so we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement, in which Bail and I enjoy one another while on Coruscant, as he and Breha cannot be together as often as they’d like to be.”

Anakin gets all that, he does. But one thing sticks out to him that he feels needs to be clarified. “You have a condition?” Is Obi-Wan sick?

If its possible, Obi-Wan grows more embarrassed. “Well, I’m from Stewjon.”

That clears nothing up.

At Anakin’s clueless expression, Obi-Wan sighs and explains. “Right, quick biology lesson. Somewhere down the evolutionary line, it was decided that Stewjonians need more incentive to reproduce. So, while it isn’t necessary in order to live out a full, average life span, our bodies naturally produce more beneficial hormones during sexual intercouse. This means, the more I…” he pauses, looking displeased by the verbal corner he’s painted himself into. “… get laid, the slower I age, the faster I heal, and the less sleep I need. All beneficial to fighting a war, yes?”

That’s all news to Anakin. Fascinating. “So do you have… other arrangements too?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “As of now, just Bail. I could, of course, visit the lower levels to the same effect, but I find it safer and more preferable to have intercourse with someone I like and trust.” Less likely to catch something that way, too.

Anakin nods, strange mixtures of relief and utter confusion swirling in his mind. At least he knows Obi-Wan has no interest in Padmé… but that doesn’t explain the way he felt his presence in the force, in her apartment.

“Okay. Uh.” He hesitates, knowing there’s no real, good way to word this. “Just… to be 100% clear, you’re not having secret meetings with Padmé in an attempt to overthrow Palpatine and the Senate?”

The look Obi-Wan gives Anakin would make someone think he had just grown a second head.

“… no, wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

Anakin rubs the back of his neck, feeling the last bit of worry ebb away. “Just rumors.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Truly, the Senate gossip gets wildly out of hand. I’ll admit, I do on occasion have tea with Padmé, but there’s nothing treasonous about friends visiting one another and trading stories and doing each other’s makeup from time to time.” He pauses. “And while neither of us have very high opinions on Chancellor Palpatine’s term, there’s no plot against him, as far as I am aware. We are both just eager for this war to end, and for him to release his emergency powers so the Republic can return to democracy.”

“You think his rule is undemocratic?” Anakin asks, looking appalled by the idea.

“He’s been in power long past his elected term,” Obi-Wan points out. “A new Chancellor should have been elected already. Over this time, he has used the war to gain far more emergency powers than any one person should hold.”

Sensing Anakin’s impending argument, he continues. “… Of course, this makes it far simpler to fight a war; I simply worry that when the war has ended… he won’t give up his power so easily. He has resisted peace talks, and every other attempt to bring this war to an end sooner. So I… have concerns.” He gives Anakin a tired sort of smile. “But last I checked, he hasn’t yet made it treasonous for Padmé and I to exercise our right to free speech.”

“Of course not,” Anakin responds, sounding distracted. He’s always thought having one person to make decisions was a good thing… or, does he just think that because Palpatine has told him it’s a better idea so many times?

He has many things to question. But, more importantly right now, Obi-Wan mentioned make-up?

Anakin shakes himself from his thoughts, giving his friend a curious look. “Uh. Rewind a second. Did you say Padmé did your make-up?”

“And I did hers,” Obi-Wan answers easily. “We both had dates.”

That would explain why they were, in some cases, sitting closer than friends would; as far as he could tell in the force.

“Bail takes you on dates?” Anakin asks, curious but trying his best not to be pushy about it. This is something new, which he never anticipated learning about his Master… he wants to know more, but as a Jedi with his own secret significant Senator, he understands the secrecy.

“Not all of them are Bail,” Obi-Wan answers after a moment, as if weighing how much he should admit to. “But yes, he does. He’s quite a gentleman really; I do look for other potential partners, but I fear he’s spoiled me for most.”

Anakin can imagine; having a Senator as a partner is pretty nice. “The tea is that good?”

“And the company,” Obi-Wan agree, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll admit… I’m glad you know now. I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

That warms Anakin’s heart, so much that he doesn’t quite know how to express it, so he deflects. “If you have pictures of yourself in that makeup, you better not keep them secret anymore,” he teases with a grin.

the teasing pulls a laugh from Obi-Wan, who shakes his head. “I don’t; but I’m certain Padmé has plenty. I think she even took a few of us the one time Bail stopped by her apartment to pick me up.”

Oh, he is definitely getting those from his wife later. “So Padmé knows about you two?”

“She introduced us,” Obi-Wan admits fondly. “I don’t share details with her, but she’s a smart woman.”

That she is. “Why am I the last to find out?” He protests, trying his best not to let it come out sounding whiny.

“Because, my dear padawan,” Obi-Wan starts, gently ribbing him. “You are a dear friend, and an unparalleled partner in combat, but you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“I can keep a secret!” he argues! “I swear, Master, no one else will ever know. I only talk to you and Padmé, anyways.” He pauses, “Well, and Palpatine.”

“And he mustn’t know,” Obi-Wan insists, more serious now. “Bail is one of the leading senators advocating for clone rights and peace talks, Anakin. He is a good man. And, he disagrees with Palpatine quite often. I shudder to think what the Chancellor would do with this information, should he find out. I wouldn’t put it past him to use it in an attempt to not only discredit Bail, but to berate the Jedi as well.”

“But neither of you are doing anything wrong,” Anakin states, frowning.

Obi-Wan’s eyes close for a moment. “And it’s not wrong for a system to want to remain neutral and out of the war, yes? And yet, Palpatine did everything in his power to try to strongarm Republic forces onto Mandalore, even rushing a vote 3 days ahead of time, without Satine present, based on a doctored holorecording.”

Anakin doesn’t look at it that way… but he’s not going to argue with Obi-Wan where Satine is involved. Though he now questions how romantic their relationship really was, he knows they were, at the very least, close.

“Just please, don’t tell him, Anakin.” Obi-Wan persists, looking up at his friend beseechingly. “If for no other reason than Bail values his privacy.”

“Of course,” Anakin agrees easily. “Like I said, I won’t tell anyone. I just… nobody really talks to me about Palpatine like you are now. I guess most people know he’s my friend and are too afraid to say anything less than flattering… You’re giving me things to think about.”

“I try to be honest with you whenever I can,” Obi-Wan responds cautiously. “You aren’t a child anymore, and though old habits are hard to break, I don’t want to keep sheltering you as if you aren’t a capable adult.”

“I sense you have more to say,” Anakin prompts when Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately continue.

His friend nods, looking troubled. “I know he is a close friend of yours, Anakin, and one of the few people you knew and liked here, after leaving your home. Which is why I–mistakenly, I think–didn’t object to his interest in you. Initially, I had hoped another friend would make your transition from Tatooine to Coruscant easier… but… well. I find the way he treats you… inappropriate. In some cases, predatory.”

And with those words, Anakin suddenly feels on the defensive. No, Palpatine is his friend, like a grandfather to him. He isn’t… predatory, or–

Obi-Wan’s hands are up even before Anakin can think of a rebuttal. “I don’t claim to know all the details… but the fact that when you were younger, you didn’t feel comfortable telling me anything of your activities on your outings with him says quite a lot, Anakin. And more than that, when I started to suspect something was amiss, and attempted to join you on visits with him, or simply ensure you weren’t left alone with him, he used his position as the Chancellor to strongarm me into backing down. It was… is, concerning.”

And, that’s news to Anakin. He understands why Obi-Wan hadn’t told him sooner, too. He was a headstrong kid; any attempt to protect him, especially from someone he saw as a friend, Anakin would have just taken as Obi-Wan ‘controlling’ him. He knows better now; after years of being Obi-Wan’s equal. But then, it may have just pushed him away, and further from where Obi-Wan could attempt to protect him.

Still, he feels the need to explain himself. “It’s not– He didn’t do anything… like that…” He starts, floundering a little. “It’s just, I didn’t want to tell you, because he took me places I shouldn’t really be going, and I had fun, so…” might as well come clean now, it’s not like he can get in trouble for it anymore. “He used to take me on trips to the lower levels, like, clubs. And he taught me how to make a chance cube land on the side I wanted, so we would find corrupt senators, and cheat them out of their credits. And, Palpatine said he gave the money to charities, so we were doing good things, you know?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, and Anakin is reminded of when he tested his patience early on as a padawan, and his Master would silently count to keep himself calm.

He hasn’t needed to in a long time, not since well before Anakin was knighted.

And despite what the action reminds him of, Anakin knows his Master’s temper isn’t directed at him.

“… Anakin,” he starts, tone gentle but tight. “Please, just. For a moment, put Ahsoka in your place. If she was telling you what you are telling me now… what would you think?”

And Anakin’s gut does a flip, because deep down, he already knows.

He… he knows that Palpatine uses him, says one thing and does another, feeds him constant doubt about his friends, about the Jedi…

He knows this, and yet, no one before has had the nerve to say anything even slightly negative about Palpatine to his face. No one has ever dared do anything but say how great his close friend, the Chancellor, is.

Because like Anakin, people are afraid of him.

He feels a tremble start in his fingers, finally faced to acknowledge how afraid he is. How much it terrifies him to know that Palpatine holds all his secrets, that should Anakin ever be less than his enthusiastic friend, he could be ruined.

He, the hero with no fear… is afraid; a frightened boy in the face of a decrepit old man.

And only now can he show it, in the presence of the only person he’s ever known to have the courage to speak up about someone so untouchable.

As if sensing Anakin’s oncoming panic, Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, voice kind and sad. “Anakin, dear one, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He moves closer, and any restraint Anakin had breaks.

He feels 9 years old again, lost and seeking comfort in Obi-Wan’s arms. “I can’t say no,” he whispers brokenly. “Master– Jaieh, I’m terrified of him.”

Hearing Anakin call him Jaieh, like he hasn’t since he was young, since it was too hard for him to call anyone ‘Master’ without dredging up bad memories, Obi-Wan accepts Anakin into his arms, no hesitation or holding back.

Anakin needs support right now, needs to know that he isn’t alone in this, that if he asks, Obi-Wan would walk right into Hell with him. “Enoah foh bika, Anakin.” he promises him, reassures him. “Enoah foh mikeelal.”

“Paienoah kodaih bika,” Anakin says, but it comes out unsure, like he’s asking. Like he doesn’t know if he’s accepted, if he’s really not alone in this.

Obi-Wan’s heart aches, and he holds Anakin closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.”

Anakin shatters then– or it feels like he does. So many doubts, so many fears, and Obi-Wan bats them all aside with a few words. Words said so easily, words Anakin feared shouldn’t apply to him.

He cries, his earlier suspicions and anger forgotten, absolved now, as he is faced with the truth that Obi-Wan cares for him; that his best friend is his truest ally, that Obi-Wan accepts him and will always accept him.

As he allows himself to acknowledge that Palpatine is a liar and a manipulator, and he is (and always has been) coming up with vile falsities in his attempts to drive a wedge between Anakin and Obi-Wan; the one person he can rely on absolutely.

And through it all, through his tears and his shattered sense of self, Obi-Wan holds onto him; not judgement or disgust, nothing but kindness and acceptance as he carefully picks up the pieces and helps Anakin piece himself back together.

How he could ever doubt Obi-Wan’s character… he would say he doesn’t know, but he remembers. He knows all the little things Palpatine said, all the betrayals he implied, the way he twisted Anakin’s thoughts to see himself pitted against Obi-Wan instead of regarded with him, as he should. They are a team, The Team.

He should have recognized long ago that their accomplishments aren’t a competition, they are an accumulation of the good they can both do, together and apart.

Anakin may be late, but late is better than never, and he recognizes it now, at his lowest and most vulnerable moment. A competitor wouldn’t hold him and build him back up, stronger than before. A friend does that, a friend and mentor and good person.

When he can speak, albeit in a watery way, Anakin wipes his eyes, face still hidden in his Master’s shoulder. “What am I going to do?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and that in itself is a reassurance. Anakin doesn’t want unthought-out platitudes, he wants honesty, and preferably, a plan.

“I don’t know what we can do right this moment, Anakin.” Obi-Wan admits. “He is still the Chancellor… and that won’t change until we end this war. But I can promise you this, my dear padawan, you will never have to go see him alone. You need only ask, and I will be by your side. And as soon as circumstances change, I will do all there is in my power to make sure he never comes near you again, Anakin.”

He sniffles, more reassured by the realistic response than he could ever be by promises that can’t be fulfilled.

“Then we’ll just have to try harder to end this war, huh?” Anakin goes for an optimistic tone, hugging Obi-Wan more snugly.

Another comforting kiss goes to his temple. Obi-Wan is frugal with his shows of affection, so it means all the more now that he is giving them so openly. “We will, Anakin.” He promises, and his voice is so steady, so sure, the rock that Anakin can always lean against. “Together, I doubt there’s anything you and I can’t do.”

“Together,” Anakin agrees, a knot in his very soul coming loose.

Obi-Wan is right. They are The Team, and that isn’t just a title. Together, they can do anything they set their minds to.

They can defeat Sith Lords, they can end a war, and maybe, just maybe, they can even save Anakin Skywalker’s soul from the Devil.

°|●.*•

Dai Bendu Translations

“Jaieh” || ● Simplified Meaning: Master

Literal Meaning

roots: ‘je’- mystic, ‘ai’- mastery, non ownership. so ‘one who is a Master in the ways of the Force’, implying more like a teacher than an owner.

“Enoah foh bika, Anakin. Enoah foh mikeelal” || ● Simplified Meaning: I am here, Anakin. I am with you.

Literal Meaning

Enoah fo - I am (in a permanent state, not transitive)

bika- here

[Anakin]

Enoah foh- I am (in a permanent state)

mikeelal - comitative ‘you’/with you.

“Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future)

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here.

so essentially, “We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

“Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: Yes, Anakin. We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Haj Dai - literally ‘Force Wills’, a reassuring ‘yes’.

[Anakin]

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future) [italics stress is on ‘are’]

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here.

so essentially, “Of course, Anakin. We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

Thanks to @jasontoddiefor @ghostwriterofthemachine for the translations to Dai Bendu, their fancrafted Jedi Language!

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Note

I’m sorry about your exams mine are coming up soon and I’m about to shit a brick about it ngl but at the end of the dad tests can be made up or classes retaken. grades don’t define you and tbh they’re not a measure of success either. I’m sure you’re a good student who tried.

Prompt:

Meet ugly: billy likes to jog at the park but his run is cute off went this huge ass wet dog all muddy and shit cuts him off and weaves between his legs. He trips right into a muddy puddle and twists his ankle. Steve runs up to him all apologetic and billy is yelling at him about keeping his dog on a leash, but billy has no choice but to accept the guys help cuz he can’t walk on his own.

Thank you so much for the kind words and thank you so much for the prompt. I loved this idea and got a little carried away and it’s not 100% what you asked for but I still hope you enjoy it :)

read on ao3

Billy loves the rain. Living in California meant a good rainfall was few and far between. He hated to praise Hawkins, Indiana, but he loved that it rained.

Rain in Hawkins was also very much unlike the rain in California. Down in the southwest corner of the country, rainfall was less like a shower and more like a sprinkle. The rain was only ever powerful enough to form little droplets in his hair. Never enough to cause soaking wet clothes or windshield wipers past the lowest setting. It was nothing like that in Hawkins. Instead it was heavy showers. Soaking his clothes until they were dripping. Needing to drive carefully to avoid hydroplaning. But not too carefully. He had to take advantage of those curb-side puddles that were perfect for splashing pedestrians.

If he had to say anything good about Hawkins, it would have to be the rain. But one thing that was just slightly better than when it was raining, was when it stopped. When the roads were still wet, and the sky still cloudy, but not a single drop of water falling to the earth. It was a weirdly nice feeling. The post rain smell filling his senses. It always seemed to be the perfect temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold. Refreshing was the best way to describe it.

It’s perfect jogging weather. It was always far too hot in California to actually jog the way he wanted. The heat sucking every bit of energy out of him. And trying to breathe in the California smog was just a bad idea in general. Running in the post rain bliss was something else entirely. Taking in only the freshest air. He felt rejuvenated after every run.

That’s how he turned into the guy who stared out of his window every weekend as raindrops fell upon the pane. Looking up at the grey sky waiting for the clouds to part and the rain to subside so he could go out for his run. This was another good thing about Hawkins rain. While it rained often, it didn’t rain for long. It was a perfect balance the way Billy sees it.

This was how he got to know Hawkins a little better. He ran through surrounding neighborhoods, he ran to the high school and on days he felt really good, he ran into town.

Weirdly enough running was a lot like surfing. Not so much in the activity itself, but for the purposes that it served. Because it was more than just exercise. It was a nice way of escaping everything. His dad, Susan, hell even Hawkins. Because just like surfing he was able to put himself into a different zone. Enter a separate reality from the one he was stuck in. He could put on his Walkman and run like he had no destination.

But sometimes he got into the zone a little too much. If the town hadn’t already known him as the bad boy from sunny California, they surely knew him as the punk kid with no respect that was constantly bumping into them on the street. Jaywalking in front of their cars. Splashing carelessly into puddles of fresh rain water. It’s not like he planned to stay in a small town in Indiana. Billy was not the small town type. Some nice rain wasn’t going to suddenly change him into that type of person. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t find rain elsewhere. The Pacific Northwest has both heavy rain and beaches. Maybe he’ll go there instead of going back to California. But the point is, he doesn’t care about what his reputation is. It doesn’t matter. So he pisses off the locals without hesitation and just tries to make the best of it while he’s trapped here.

But maybe Billy should have paid a little more attention. While some humans have the common sense to move out of the way, some animals are lacking in that area.

He’s running through this trail he found in the woods surrounding Loch Nora. In his defense he has no reason to be expecting any company while jogging through the middle of the woods. Perhaps he shouldn’t only be worrying about the company of people and rather whatever wildlife lurks in this part of the country.

Thank fuck his only run in was with that of a disheveled golden retriever covered in mud and not some seven foot tall bear. Billy doesn’t notice the dog until it begins weaving in and out between Billy’s legs. The dog is damn lucky Billy didn’t step on her tail. She’s got a leash hanging from her collar with no owner on the other end. But Billy only knows that part because the same leash had managed to wrap around both of his ankles, bringing him to his new position of being face down in a muddy puddle with an apparent ache forming where the leash had bound him.

So there he lies. Face down, ankles wrapped, a dog licking the mud off his face, and to top it all off, the owner has finally decided to make an appearance. Something in Billy is not even surprised to find that when he rolls over onto his ass he discovers that the owner is none other than Steve fucking Harrington. Because of course it’s Steve fucking Harrington. The universe can’t allow Billy to have even one normal day.

Billy notices Steve before Steve actually notices him. He’s about fifty feet away looking in the other direction shouting what he assumes is the mutts name. “Trixie!” Billy is trying to untangle himself from the leash, but not before Trixie makes a run for the human calling her name and yanks herself free, tugging at his right ankle before breaking loose. Billy doesn’t contain the shriek in pain as it almost dislocates the bone. Shit. Something is definitely wrong.

Steve hears him of course. Hears the girlish scream that Billy would never produce voluntarily. Billy is trying to hoist himself up to maintain some of his dignity, but to no avail. Once Steve has made the distance and is standing at his feet, and billy has succumbed to his spot in the dirt, he fires first.

“Keep your damn dog on a leash.” He spits. If he can’t be at eye level, or even stand up, he has to assert his dominance somehow.

It’s only then that it actually clicks for Steve that Billy hasn’t just parked himself there in the dirt for fun.

“Oh shit dude! Fuck I’m sorry about that. There’s not usually anyone around here so I thought I’d let her do her business y’know? Also she’s not my dog, I’m just pet-sitting for my neighbor. What am I doing? You don’t care about that. Are you okay? She didn’t bite you or anything, right?”

Billy should be mad. Like his ankle might be broken because this idiot doesn’t know how to take care of a dog. But all that rambling and profuse apologies was kind of… cute? Nope. Nope! Billy shut that thought down immediately.

Billy gestures down toward his feet. “Fuckin’ took me down by the ankles. You could learn a thing or two from the bitch. Seeing how you play basketball and all.”

Steve brushes off the comment and lends a hand to help Billy up from the ground. He winces when he applies pressure. Still through the pain he slowly tries to walk away.

“Wait! Dude don’t you live on Old Cherry? That’s like a mile from here.” Billy is just comically limping away from the scene. Logically he knows he’s not getting home on his own. But the last thing he wants is to accept charity from Steve Harrington.

“I don’t need your help Harrington. I’ll be fine. Go back to your castle.”

Steve just ignores him and throws one of Billy’s arms over his shoulder. “Look, my house is like a block away. Let me drive you home so I don’t have to hear about the news of your body being recovered from the Eno River.”

Begrudgingly, Billy accepts the support, huffing out a ‘fine’ before letting Steve guide him and the dog towards the Harrington household.

Steve was right. It was definitely closer than his house was. He could already see between the trees the nice looking two story building. Billy had passed by it before on his drives, but only ever in the dark. It looked much different in the daylight. Somehow it looked even more abandoned. Like everything was still kept up. There weren’t vines growing along the side. It looked clean, but it gave off this strange feeling of loneliness. Like few people had ever passed through it.

The only thing about the house that wasn’t up to code was the pool. The water was green and filled with dead bugs and fallen leaves. Looked like it hadn’t been cleaned out in months. He vaguely recalls hearing about the story of that Barbara Holland chick. Died in his pool. He figures there’s some correlation there.

By the time they make it to the Beemer, Steve finally gets a good look at his ankle. In only the matter of a couple minutes it’s swollen dramatically and he can see a faint purple forming underneath the skin. He also sees some blood stains forming at his knees, seeping through the grey material of his sweats. And Billy is filthy. He’s got mud on his face and all over his clothes. His hands are all scraped up, most likely from the fall.

Steve’s brain is working hard. Steve has every reason to let Billy go on his own. Not even three months ago the guy was on top of him, beating him nearly to death. Why should Steve be showing him any kindness? But then he remembers back to him and Jonathan. Sure the fight wasn’t nearly as brutal. But Steve has said some fucked up shit to him and Jonathan never held it against him. Sure, Steve actually apologized, but in his own way, he thinks Billy had too. Not so much with words but with his actions. He had left Steve alone ever since that night. He was still aggressive when they were on the court, but the trash talk had dissipated. So maybe there was some remorse there. And look, it’s Steve’s fault his ankle is fucked up so the least he can do is help him get fixed up and get home.

“Okay look. I have to get the dog settled inside before I can take you home. How about you let me take a look at your ankle and then we can both go our separate ways?”

Billy crosses his arms, balancing on one leg now that he’s no longer being supported. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Actually the deal was I’d drive you home. That hasn’t changed. Just come inside. Your ankle looks fucked up and I know a thing or two about first aid.” Steve goes back towards Billy and puts his arm back in the same position it was before. Doesn’t give Billy time to protest before he’s made it through the front door. He guides him to the kitchen table where he instructs him to sit down. Then Steve leaves him there along with Trixie.

Billy scans the kitchen. He’s kind of surprised to see that it looks pretty typical for a kitchen. Nothing too fancy about it aside from the clearly new appliances. It’s just average. Oak cabinets. Basic granite countertops. Doesn’t match the exterior at all.

Steve comes back without the dog and with a first aid kit in hand.

“You don’t have to do this man, just take me home.”

Steve just ignores him and kneels down in front of him and works at the laces of his shoe. “It’s my fault you look like you were just mauled by a bear so let me fucking do this alright?” Steve pulls off his shoe frustratedly which probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Ow! What the fuck dude?!”

“Sorry.”

“Look, I’m not here to help you feel better about yourself.”

Steve pulls his sock off anyway. This time with slightly more care. “Just shut up and let me finish this so I can get you out of here.” Billy slumps back and Steve takes a closer look at his ankle. It looks bad. Clearly broken. “I think you need to go to a hospital. This looks like more than just a sprain.”

Billy's eyes go wide and he gets a little shaky. “No hospitals” he says bluntly.

“Billy I really think you should consider-“

“Did you not fucking hear me? I’m not going to a hospital.”

“Why not?”

Billy scoffs. “Your pretty little head couldn’t handle it.”

“Try me.”

“No. We’re not doing this Harrington. Fix me up and take me home.”

Steve rolls his eyes and gets up from where he was kneeling. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Not like there’s anywhere I can go.”

Steve comes back with a pair of sweats and a plain black t-shirt. He tosses them onto Billy’s lap. “Think you can put these on without my help?” Billy is puzzled. “Look I’m not going to let you get mud all over my car so put on the damn clothes.”

Billy is currently in grey joggers and a long sleeved navy hoodie. It’s honestly the most covered up he’s ever seen him. While Billy is dressing himself, Steve is preparing a wet washcloth and grabbing an old package of frozen peas from the freezer. Steve manages to catch a glimpse of Billy with his shirt off. It’s not even close to the first time he’s seen the guys shirtless. Hell he’s seen the guy fully naked. But this feels different. This time feels more vulnerable. This time it’s not a decision he’s making himself. This time Billy has several belt marks running across his back. The shirt is on just as soon as he makes the realization. Steve just tries to act natural.

“Okay. I’m going to wrap your ankle. You’re going to ice it while I clean up your knees. Then I’ll take you home and we never have to talk to each other again. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good,” he hands Billy the wet washcloth. “And wash the dirt off your face.”

Steve pulls up a chair so he can sit in front of him. He gently brings Billy’s right leg up to rest on his thigh and places the frozen peas so that they hug his ankle. He slowly rolls up Billy’s pant leg and inspects the damage. Luckily it’s just some minor scraping that a couple bandaids should fix. He grabs some cotton balls and antiseptic from the kit and begins dressing the wound. But he can’t stop thinking about the belt marks.

Any other kind of injury and he could brush it off as Billy going out and picking a fight with someone. But these are unmistakably not from that and Steve doesn’t like entertaining what it actually means.

Ever since basketball season had ended Neil had been less careful with leaving marks.

Because he’s in a t-shirt now, Billy can see as the belt marks wrap around his upper arm.

“That why you don’t want to go to the hospital?” Steve points to the markings.

“Leave it alone Harrington.”

Steve just keeps his eyes focused on Billy’s knee. “Who did that to you?”

“I said drop it.”

“Was it your dad?”

Billy quickly jerks his leg forward kicking Steve in the chest. Not a good idea considering that probably hurt him more than it did Steve.

“You proud of yourself Harrington? Finally cracked the code? Glad to finally have something to hold over my head so you can take back your precious crown?”

Steve is still recovering from the blow to his chest. Didn’t really hurt. Just knocked the wind out of him.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Cut the shit alright?”

“No! You cut the shit. Fuck I don’t give a shit about some stupid fake crown.” Steve heaves a sigh. “Look I don’t understand this exactly. But I get shitty dads.”

Billy is kind of just staring at him blankly. The prior rage seems to have disappeared but he can’t exactly tell for sure. It’s like for the first time in his life he’s actually carefully constructing his next words instead of spitting out whatever comes to mind first.

“Your Dad take away your allowance?” Nope same Billy as always.

“More like he’s never around. Cheats on my mom and my mom cares more about her reputation. I haven’t seen them in weeks now and if you asked me where they are right now I couldn’t tell you.”

Billy bows his head. “Shit. Sorry.” This is a different Billy than he’s used to.

“Can I get back to fixing your ankle now?”

Billy brings his leg back up and Steve carefully situates it back on his thigh. He picks up the package of peas that had fell to the floor and continues his work.

“Can I ask you one question?” Steve asks.

“One.”

“Is Max safe?”

Billy turns his head away. “Yeah.” It comes out a little raspy, like he’s choking on air. “He won’t touch her as long as I’m there.”

Steve’s starting to actually piece it all together. The little details he’s picked up on ever since he made his first appearance at Hawkins High in his loud blue Camaro. Suddenly there’s more nuance to every action he’s taken since then.

“He shouldn’t touch you either.”

There’s a pang in his chest as he says it. As he watches Billy actively avoid eye contact. He can feel that he doesn’t believe him. That he thinks he deserves it. Because Steve has allowed himself to believe that he was just never good enough for his father. Never understanding that his father was just incapable of showing love.

Billy doesn’t respond to that. Steve finishes wrapping up Billy’s ankle and patching up his knees, and now he’s helping Billy out to his car. With all this new information in his head he really doesn’t want to drive him home. But they had a deal.

As soon as Steve turns the ignition, Duran Duran starts blaring over the speakers.

“Figured you’d have shitty music taste.”

“Oh shut up. Unlike you I actually like to hear what they’re saying. Not all the noise.”

“Still. Duran Duran is a different kind of awful.”

Steve lets himself smile. Even though he’s being berated about his ‘shit taste in music’, he likes this kind of Billy. He’s not saying it to hurt him. It’s like a friendly jab. Maybe Billy Hargrove isn’t exactly who he first thought he was.

The trip is rather short. Old Cherry isn’t too far from Loch Nora when traveling by car. Hungry Like the Wolf hadn’t even ended by the time Steve pulled up to the curb.

Billy doesn’t move to get out of the car. Steve momentarily forgets about his ankle and let’s himself think he’s staying put for another reason. Maybe it has nothing to do with his ankle. He hasn’t said anything.

Billy wants Steve to say something. Because something weird happened back at the house. The moment Steve said ‘he shouldn’t touch you either’ felt off. He felt something and he needs to know that Steve felt it too.

Steve turns the car off and slumps back into his seat, both hands now tightly gripping the steering wheel. He’s staring past Billy at the house with a look of worry.

“Look. If you ever need to get away, my doors always open.”

Billy goes to look back at him. Steve is still entranced by the front door.

“We’re not friends, Harrington. You don’t have to act friendly.”

“We could be.”

“What?”

Steve is looking at Billy now.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we didn’t spend all this time hating each other and became friends? Forget crowns and keg stand records and fucking Tommy H. and just try to get along? We got two months left until we’re out of here so why not make the best of it?”

“You want to be my friend Harrington?”

Steve puts his head in his hands and groans.

“We don’t have to be friends but we could at least be civil with each other. Just,” he takes another look at the house. “please come over when shit gets bad.”

Billy hesitates, but he nods assuringly.

“You gonna be alright in there?”

Billy scans the exterior of the house. “He’s not home yet so I should be good.”

“And your ankle?”

“I’ll be alright.” He seems unsure, but Steve chooses not to push the issue further.

“Okay.”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt and goes around the back side of the car to the passenger side and helps Billy up out of his seat. As soon as he slams the door shut, rain starts to dump all over them.

The two are facing each other and Billy has half of his weight resting on Steve’s shoulders. Billy catches a glimpse of Steve’s eyes. Droplets forming on his eyelashes. His hair is already dripping fresh rain water onto his cheeks. It’s disorienting.

Billy isn’t one for sappy shit but this is some freaky sign.

“I don’t want to be your friend Steve.”

Before Steve has a chance to respond his lips are pressed to Billy’s. It’s a quick exchange. Blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing. Billy has both his hands on Steve’s shoulders and is looking at him questioningly. Like he’s waiting for him to punch him or kiss him again. Steve chooses the latter.

Steve surges forward and crashes into Billy. It lasts longer this time. Still quick. But there’s enough time to appreciate the taste of each other’s mouths mixed with fresh rain drops. Steve pulls away first and is quick to offer a reassuring smile. They both look up at the rain coming down, and back to each other.

“Let’s get you inside.”

Billy has another reason to love the rain.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #fanfic #stranger things #mandi writes tresh

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hoe-doroki · 4 years

Text

hollow victory ch1

A part of the ‘A Spare Heart’ series. Read chapter 2 here.

pairing: none; eventual Shouto x Reader later in the series

wc: 5.7k

genre: gen, action

summary: You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. You’ve trained, studied, and observed alongside your classmates, but no one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they're going be meeting it head on. You don’t have as much combat experience as any of them, but you have the advantage: surprise. Because none of them are prepared for what you have coming for them. American!fem!Reader.

a/n: This story exists mostly to establish the reader’s quirk and her initial relationships with some of the U.A. students. It can be read alone, but certainly reads better in conjunction with the series as a whole. That said, it is the first, chronologically, of the ones posted so far, so it’s a great starting place! But if you’re here just for the ship (fluff/angst/smut) that’s not what you’ll find here.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

“She still isn’t here?”

Todoroki eyed Iida as he jerked his head from side to side searching over Uraraka’s head for you as everyone piled out of the changing rooms, now in their gym uniforms. You’d been missing from homeroom along with Aizawa—All Might had subbed—and, apparently, you had yet to make an appearance.

“Maybe she had to meet with a teacher,” Midoriya offered as Iida searched in vain.

That was possible. You’d only just arrived at U.A. two weeks ago and there was any one of a number of things that you might have to sort out with the faculty—even though class time hardly seemed the time to do it. Then again, U.A. had, in Todoroki’s opinion, all but fallen to pieces since your arrival.

“Well, did she inform anyone?” Iida asked, incensed.

Uraraka shook her head. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t really talk much.”

“But we’re supposed to go to Gym Gamma as a group,” Iida said, cutting his arm sharply through the air. “We shouldn’t leave until we’re all accounted for.”

“Iida, you’re the one who decided we should all walk together,” Uraraka said. “All Might-sensei didn’t say that.”

“Well, it’s a good idea,” Iida defended. “Why wouldn’t we go as a group?”

“Glasses!” Bakugou suddenly shouted over everyone. Todoroki noticed Midoriya flinch, but the rest of the class, those who bothered to look at all, glanced disinterestedly at Bakugou. “The class is supposed to be twenty, there are twenty of us here. Let’s fucking go.”

Iida sighed, looking torn. But Bakugou wasn’t the only one getting impatient. Todoroki wasn’t in the mood to wait either. The prospect of going to Gym Gamma and possibly have a proper training session was something he was looking forward to, and he’d heard similar mumblings from his peers as soon as All Might had announced it.

Things had been…different at U.A. this year. It had started on the first day, when Principal Nezu had announced that the newly minted 2-A would be getting a new student. In a month and a half. And that, due to that change, they’d be shifting the planned curricula around from the standard year two hero syllabi—the lessons that 2-B was still going to enjoy. What Todoroki had noticed so far was that they’re lessons weren’t different, exactly, rather they were out of order. They weren’t as balanced between lectures, tests, and practical training as they had been the year before. No, the semester had been front-loaded with quirk training and then, ever since you had arrived, hero classes had shifted to mostly lectures. Midterms were in a few days, so it almost made sense, but not quite. Because 2-B was pulling ahead of 2-A in their hero training while 2-A struggled to balance out their workload, Todoroki had noticed something. Rather, everyone had noticed something.

No one knew what your quirk was.

The few bouts of physical training the class had endured for the past two weeks had largely been quirkless sparring, or else they’d been displays where everyone would sit and observe each other’s quirk work. But there had been nothing involving the whole class using their quirks in one session and Todoroki, among others, was getting sick of it.

He began walking past Iida, Midoriya, and Uraraka. Todoroki didn’t always find himself agreeing with Bakugou, but he couldn’t stand against him on this. If they were going to be able to get in some real training, for the first time in weeks, he didn’t want to waste a second. He heard much of the class falling into step behind him—and some spluttering from Iida—and led the way to the gym.

Frankly, U.A. was too good for the nonsense they were pulling. Todoroki didn’t know what it had to do with you, but he was sure the faculty could have not mismanaged two months of classes just for…whatever it was that they were trying to do. An experiment with an foreign exchange student. They’d probably changed things around to give you the best chance for academic success, but it didn’t make sense that that should be at the detriment of the other twenty students in the class. Maybe they’d done it to try and adjust for how the tightly-knit class dynamic would change, but Todoroki didn’t know how. You didn’t seem to have forged any particularly close bonds with any of the other students aside from eating lunch silently with Kouda and a little bit of overeager helpfulness from Iida and Yaoyorozu. Honestly, now that he thought about it the faculty probably should have done more to aid your transition. Although, he wasn’t sure what business you had at U.A. at all.

When they got to the gym, Iida—who had power-walked his way to the front—opened the doors and just inside were Aizawa, Cemetoss, and you. Iida couldn’t hide his displeasure.

“Y/N,” he rebuked. “We were wondering where you were and wanted everyone accounted for before we came to the facility.”

“That was my fault, Iida-san,” Aizawa said. “I was just showing Y/N around.”

Which was only necessary because 2-A hadn’t stepped foot in Gym Gamma as a whole in ages. Although, it did look different from the last time they’d been there. It was still all cement, which had been set up with a series of mountainous sections in between a few larger flat areas. All the risen land was pretty short relative to the high ceilings, landings that any fit, quirkless person could jump to and from without getting injured. Then, on either side, there were faux risers. Todoroki frowned. Another observational class.

“So, what are we doing today, sensei?” Ashido asked, raising her hand.

“We will be doing observed one on one quirk combat.”

Groans vibrated through the class. Why so much observed quirk combat? He didn’t want to watch another session of only a few pairs fighting while everyone else acted as unpaid commentators.

“Don’t worry, all of you will get to go today,” Aizawa reassured. “And all of you will be fighting Y/N.”

“Everyone?” Kaminari asked. “Like, all at once or one right after the other?”

“The latter,” Aizawa said. “Recovery Girl will be on standby and Cementoss is here in the event that the battlefield needs to be remade. The brief is that Y/N is a new villain and you don’t know what her quirk is. She, on the other hand, knows your quirks well. As you all understand by now, when you’re a professional hero your quirk and tactics might be well known by any villain you find yourself up against. That’s what this exercise is meant to emulate. Your first priority is to capture her,” you and Aizawa each held up a roll of capture tape, “while she is trying to capture you. Your second priority is to find out what her quirk is. You lose if she captures you first.”

It hardly made up for the past two months of incompetence, but Todoroki had to admit it was a good challenge, especially for someone like him. All students from U.A. were largely recognizable immediately graduation, and their class had already experienced particular notoriety. But Todoroki carried the added weight of being the son of the number one hero and very physically recognizable from his hair to his scar. He couldn’t imagine any truly dangerous villain that wouldn’t recognize him, even before he broke into the high hero rankings.

“Alright!” Bakugou shouted, interrupting Todoroki’s thoughts. “Lemme at her!”

“Y/N gets to choose the order of the battles,” Aizawa began, but you shook your head and took a step forward.

“That’s okay, sensei,” you said. “Bakugou can go first.”

Todoroki didn’t have to listen to the murmurs that rippled through the class to know what they were saying. Your decision to face Bakugou first would mean one of three things, as far as Todoroki could see. Either, one, you were overconfident or two, you had a quirk that would be good against Bakugou’s. Maybe water or something that weakened other people’s quirks. Or, three, you had one heck of a strategy up your blue gym uniform sleeve.

While you went out onto the field, Aizawa led all the other students to the risers where Cementoss was sitting. When Todoroki sat on the hard concrete between Midoriya and Iida, he watched as you chose a flat area right next to the risen section, probably in case you needed cover. Bakugou placed himself on the other side of the field from you, rubbing his palms together eagerly, getting them explosion-ready. He was grinning almost maniacally, spoiling for an all-out fight as much as anyone else in the class was. Yet, he wasn’t likely to underestimate your quirk. Bakugou was smart enough to know that the unknown in this scenario was dangerous. In the meantime, he’d be keeping an eye out for your quirk.

“Begin!” Aizawa called.

“Die!” Bakugou shouted as he sent with a big explosion in your direction. He was trying to force your hand, to get you to defend with your quirk if it was indeed something that could cancel out explosions. But through the onslaught, Todoroki couldn’t see anything of the sort. You ran and ducked behind one of the short walls of concrete, blocking your face from any shrapnel. Then there was too much dust to see.

“I don’t think she’s using a physical quirk,” Midoriya muttered as he leaned forward over the notebook in his lap to try to see something, anything.

“Not unless it’s subtle,” Todoroki agreed.

At least, it wasn’t something offensive or defensive against explosions. But that didn’t meant that there wasn’t something offensive happening under the cement dust. It would have to be delicate enough not to change the flow of the dust itself, though, which seemed undisturbed to Todoroki. But as it began to settle, Todoroki heard a gasp out of Midoriya, and then echoed at a few points in the stands. Todoroki squinted his eyes to try to see through the gauzy air, and when he did, he barely repressed a gasp as well.

There, less than a minute into a match, was Bakugou on his knees, with tape sticking his bulky arms to his torso. Todoroki stared at the sight, you looking to Aizawa before carefully taking the tape off of Bakugou, balling it up and jogging to toss it outside the arena, Bakugou still on his knees. Whatever your quirk was, it had to be good to accomplish all that.

Was it some kind of paralysis quirk like the hero killer had? But for it to be paralysis, Bakugou likely would have already had to be on his knees. Maybe it was a muscle weakening quirk that had been able to throw Bakugou off. And the option for something that affected opponent’s quirks was still in play, even if water no longer was.

While walked the field, Aizawa called for Bakugou to sit in the empty stands on the other side from everyone else. Apparently, there wouldn’t be any guessing what your quirk was. Then, it was up to you to choose your next victim.

You scanned through the crowd of classmates and Todoroki wondered if you had a planned order for this. It would be a difficult thing to plan to a T; there were too many variables to this little game for that. But your eyes landed on someone and your mouth quirked into the smallest smile. You curled a finger at them, and Iida stood up straight, marching his way to the battlefield. Instead of standing where you’d started the battle with Bakugou, you went for the more mountainous part. Clearly, you were hoping the uneven terrain might slow him down.

Aizawa called for the match to begin and Iida came straight for you. Todoroki could see he was being cautious after seeing Bakugou’s failure, not using any of his Recipro moves. When he was right in front of you, his right arm reared back, prepared to hit you with full strength. The year before, he might have made a different choice, perhaps trying to restrain you with only the capture tape over the idea of hitting a woman. But, in this scenario, you were a villain, and Iida was going for it.

Todoroki watched as, at the last second, you sprung up so that Iida got you on the hip instead of somewhere more damaging. Nevertheless, the move sent you sailing through the air with a cry. Iida followed after you as you landed and rolled onto your back—even though it looked like you’d managed to land low on your feet first. When Iida approached, you were pushing yourself up weakly, and his arms were lowered, not ready for attack.

Then you were moving quickly. You unfurled the tape, somehow catching Iida off-guard as you ducked to get the tape low on his legs, twice around before he could lunge for you. It wasn’t something that would incapacitate a hero in a real battle, but it met the brief of the challenge. Iida was out.

Iida’s eyes were wide with surprise. “You…I underestimated you,” he admitted.

You smiled. “I was counting on it.”

A fair strategy, and Iida had been a good person to use it against. It seemed Iida hadn’t quite been trained out of his chivalrous instincts, even when against a hypothetical villain. But now you wouldn’t be able to use that strategy again on any of the remaining eighteen students you had to get through. You’d just beaten two strong contestants from the class in record time; no one would be taking it easy on you now.

Iida retreated, head hanging low as he joined Bakugou on the far side of the gym. Bakugou looked irate, and Todoroki wondered if he’d managed to figure out what your quirk was. Was it something that was obvious once it had been used against you? Or did it retain the subtlety that it had to an observer? One thing was certain, though: you had used your quirk on both men. There was no way you could have taken them out so quickly otherwise. It wasn’t something physical. He’d known beforehand that it wasn’t a mutation quirk, from your normal appearance, but now he figured it wasn’t transformation either. It was an emitter, like his own quirk, but that didn’t exactly narrow things down.

You chose Jirou next, and Todoroki expected a new strategy. Neither you nor Jirou were exceptionally strong physically, but, judging by the quirkless sparring sessions you all had done the past couple weeks, Todoroki figured you could pull out a win in a simple match of strength. But that wasn’t what this was. Jirou’s quirk was weaker without her hero costume, her amplifying boots in particular, but that wouldn’t stop her. You would have to hope that you were better at strategy and prediction than she was.

Which was possible. Jirou went the same way that Bakugou had, starting off strong with her quirk. Sound waves rattled the dense atoms of the concrete you were surrounded by, and it was hard to withstand even on the risers. It was a perfect place to use her quirk even without direction or amplification—no sound dampening. It seemed to be taking you down as you plugged your ears and retreated into yourself. But Jirou was coming at you with a quick fist and you wouldn’t be able to take the hit and manifest crocodile tears like you’d done with Iida. So you parried, blocking her hand and making to get her in the stomach, but she twisted you out of the way. The two of you began to spar while Todoroki felt himself begin to go deaf.

Except…that wasn’t what was happening. No, the sound was receding, slowly but gradually. And as it did, Jirou’s moves got wilder and less studied. And with one good kick to the side, she was down just long enough for you to use the tape. Third one down.

Whatever you’d done hadn’t only weakened her quirk—it had weakened her battling ability too. That had appeared to be the case with Bakugou too—although now it was obvious that you hadn’t done anything to paralyze Jirou or Iida. But Todoroki still couldn’t place your quirk. Judging by Midoriya’s ongoing muttering, he hadn’t either. Todoroki threw a glance toward Yaoyorozu, the only other person who might figure it out first, but she was shaking her head, ponytail swinging behind her. No one seemed to have a clue.

Your next victims were Yaoyorozu, Kouda, Kirishima, and Hagakure, and you won each of them handily, not revealing anymore hints about your quirk in the process. Everyone just seemed to give up, in Todoroki’s opinion. They slowed down and left themselves open for you to use the tape just like had happened with Jirou. Everyone looked like beginners again, hesitating, making slow, questionable decisions-even Hagakure gave herself away, fighting you when she should have just stayed hidden until she could get the tape around you, even if she’d had the floating tape at her disadvantage.

Next was Ashido and, for the first time, you really looked like you were struggling. She had you running through the field as she twisted and flipped over the different stacks of cement. You were trying to match her style, showing off your own flexibility and sure-footedness. But while you were better than average, she was better than you. But that was par for the course when facing an opponent as adaptable as Ashido, who didn’t have an over-reliance on her quirk. What was strange was Ashido herself. She’d started the battle quiet, seeming more focused than usual. But now she was almost manic as she chased after you.

“Y/N!” Ashido shouted as she tossed some acid at you. You jumped high and spread your legs to avoid it, but Ashido was fast and knocked you out of the air with a cheerful, “Woohoo!”

You rolled and stared at Ashido with intense focus. But that slowed you down and then Ashido was on top of you with a frown on her face. “Sorry to do this to you, chickadee, but I gotta.”

Before you could fight back, Ashido had wrapped the tape around you, squeezing your arms to your sides. For the first time, you’d been bested. And as you dropped your head to the hard ground, you looked like you needed the rest.

“Good work, Ashido,” Aizawa said as he approached the two of you with some water. After Ashido removed the tape, you downed the bottle and began stretching out your limbs. “Any idea what her quirk is?”

“Not a clue!” Ashido chirped as she skipped on over to sit beside Hagakure and Yaoyorozu, who complimented her on her victory.

Bakugou shook his head and must have said something rude to Ashido, for she immediately turned around, punched him square in the thigh, and turned back to the girls. Todoroki looked from that scene back to you. You were stretching your arms and walking around the flat part of the battlefield while while Cementoss filled the holes that Ashido’s acid had dissolved. It was nothing untraversable, but someone could easily twist an ankle.

Kaminari was next, and Todoroki was beginning to wonder if he’d have any idea about her quirk by the time his turn rolled around. Ashido had managed the longest-drawn match against you thus far and she didn’t know what your quirk was, which meant that it wasn’t necessarily obvious to the person experiencing it, which didn’t help. So all he could do was watch as you took on Kaminari.

The match began with the two of you circling each other. Most of your opponents thus far had come at you with a quirk attack right out of the gate, so either he was being cautious or trying to size you up. He didn’t have much of a choice without his hero costume. With the discs in his sharpshooting gear, he could be a really successful distance attacker. Without them, all he had was close range. You’d have to get close to him to tape him up, but, until then, you had the advantage.

A few moments in, Kaminari froze up, face turning red as you slinked over to him, saying things that Todoroki couldn’t quite make out. “What’s she doing?” Midoriya asked.

Todoroki shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you played with the zipper on your jacket, pulling it down slowly.

“What the—” Mineta shouted irately, standing up suddenly and pointing at the field. But Aizawa wrapped his binding cloth around the boy’s mouth—not that it mattered. The match was over a moment later, you having wrapped your tape around a flushed Kaminari and then removing it almost immediately. Kaminari shouted at the sensation of the tape ripping across his arms and you apologized, looking firmly at the ground. You hid your face as you sped away from the boy and called for Tsu next.

“Some kind of seduction strategy,” Uraraka said.

“Mm-hmm,” Midoriya squeaked, nodding in agreement.

Shouto nodded. That’s what it must have been, though, with Kaminari it was hard to tell if your quirk had been involved or if he’d simply been that easy to manipulate. It was also possible that your quirk worked better on men than women, like Midnight’s did. Your match against Tsu could test that theory.

And it was looking like his theory could be right. Like, Ashido, Tsu was chasing you around the whole course, making use of her nimbleness across the flat section and the mountainous. You still managed to win, but the match was longer and it seemed like you’d gotten lucky when Tsu made a couple missteps that left her open for you to tape her up.

Although, it wouldn’t be smart to chalk anything up to luck when assessing strategy.

Tokoyami won against you, though, which mostly knocked down Todoroki’s theory. Not entirely, because Dark Shadow was an opponent who was strongly matched against almost anyone who didn’t have a quirk like his own or Bakugou’s. It was possible that Dark Shadow was immune to whatever you were doing, even if Tokoyami wasn’t. You didn’t look disappointed by the loss either. You nodded at him as Tokoyami went to take his seat on the other side of the gym, but mostly you were just starting to look exhausted, and rightly so. You were over halfway through the class now.

The next match went just as quickly as most others—but this time you lost. Sero had been able to tie you up with his own tape before using the capture tape on top of it, and you’d been totally immobilized.

“I can’t even tell if she got to use her quirk,” Midoriya muttered.

If you had it didn’t looked like it’d done anything. Which, if true, meant it was possible that your quirk wasn’t 100% effective. In fact, it was likely, looking at someone who’d reacted strongly, like Bakugou, versus someone like Ashido or Tsu, who hadn’t appeared to.

You chose Aoyama next, and that’s when Todoroki began to question your stamina. You dove away from Aoyama’s thick lasers, but the boy seemed completely unaffected by anything you might have done. You’d been going for a while now, and had likely used your quirk in every match except for maybe Sero’s. And you struggled when matches weren’t decided early.

As it was, you were bouncing around the field, constantly looking back at Aoyama as you went. Was it possible that you had to look at your opponent for your quirk to activate, like Aizawa did? Or were you just trying to keep an eye on your opponent? Fortunately for you, one person who did struggle with stamina was Aoyama, whose lasers became more irregular, more unsure. You had to spiral in towards him in order to get close, but he seemed frozen, unable to come up with a real strategy. Then all you had to do was get behind him and wrap him up with tape.

You watched him go, looking energized from a win after back to back losses. Aizawa offered you another bottle of water and you glugged half of it down.

“Y/N-san!” Midoriya suddenly shouted out, standing up. “I think I know what your quirk is.”

“Keep it to yourself,” Aizawa said calmly. “Y/N, do you want to battle Midoriya next?”

Todoroki looked at Midoriya in shock, as did the rest of the class—or at least the six who had yet to go. Todoroki shouldn’t have been surprised—this was Midoriya, after all—but he couldn’t help it, since he still had no idea himself. All the different pieces in his brain weren’t adding up to anything yet and it was starting to throw him off. Were you intentionally making choices to keep everyone from figuring it out or was your quirk naturally this mysterious?

“Sounds good. Come on down, Midoriya-san.”

He walked down the risers, staring at you as he made to take his spot across from you. Todoroki could recognize the focus Midoriya had on his face when he sized an opponent up—head bent, eyes up, slight frown. It was a face he was familiar with. However, you didn’t seem worried.

“I believe you do know my quirk,” you said when he got close. “I thought if anyone would guess it, it would be you, so I considered fighting you first, before you got the chance to make any guesses from other battles. But just because you know what my quirk is, doesn’t mean you’ll be able to fight it.”

Midoriya looked at you, lips pursed warily. Todoroki wondered if he’d formulated plan or if he was going to take his knowledge and using it on the fly, testing different strategies against you until one stuck. Midoriya was a rare physical fighter who had much more than just knowledge of his own body and quirk—he knew about most everything there was to know about quirks and strategy as well. And while he thrived with a plan, his mind was also quick enough to use his compiled knowledge to defeat new opponents, as Todoroki had seen many times. And, despite all the wins you had under your belt already today, he was fully expecting Midoriya to give you one of your rare losses.

“Begin!”

Midoriya took off like a shot, showing that he at least had half a strategy. He wouldn’t second-guess himself like Iida and Kaminari had and wait you out. You ducked immediately, but he must have predicted that, because he came in low and smashed you right into the cement, the best hit someone had gotten on you yet. The dust from the impact hid the both of you for a moment, and Todoroki was expecting the match to be over by the time it settled.

It wasn’t, though. You were battling his arms but he jabbed too fast to block effectively. However, he wasn’t getting the tape around you either. It stuck to your arms, chest, chin in his attempts, but nothing that met Aizawa’s brief. Then, before Todoroki’s eyes, the jabs slowed down, enough for you to block most of them and get a couple hits in of your own too to throw him off. Then, abruptly, his tape was dropped, his movements decelerating to almost nothing. You pulled a length of tape out from your roll, and you nearly had it on his chest when, suddenly, he punched through it, smacking you right back into your hole in the concrete.

He’d broken through your quirk, breathing heavily, green eyes intense and blinking rapidly as stared you down. But he seemed unable to do much of anything more than push you back to the ground every time you tried to get up. He was barely using any of his power, yet it kept you from getting your arms around him. And he was so close to you that there was no way to get around without having a quirk that could burst you through concrete.

You were getting frustrated, while Todoroki struggled to read Midoriya. This wasn’t a real strategy, and that wasn’t like him. It was going on too long for stalling and he wasn’t making a move to try anything else. Then, before he could make a move, you grabbed his arm and brought both your bodies to the ground, his covering yours completely. The shock compounded with whatever else it was you were doing to him bought you just enough time to tape him up.

Midoriya was still for a moment after the match was over, then his face opened up like he was being filled with new breath. He lifted himself off of you in a hurry. You made to get up after him, but he broke the tape off himself and helped you up, something uncharacteristically like a smirk on his face. “Not yet,” he said.

“What?” you asked, out of breath as you picked pieces of tape off of him.

“You said just because I knew what your quirk was doesn’t mean I would be able to fight it,” he clarified. “I say: not yet.”

You laughed. “Challenge accepted, Deku.”

Despite losing, his smile was wide until he started mumbling to himself about your match. Even then, his eyes were shining as he went to join the others.

Uraraka was next, leaving Todoroki alone on the risers as she met you on the field. You were stretching after your battle with Midoriya and looked worse for wear. You’d managed to avoid injury in most of your battles thus far, but now your back must have been littered with bruises and probably some scrapes too. Meanwhile, all your opponents would be fresh. And, Uraraka, Todoroki was sure, had superior physical training to you, even if her quirk wouldn’t be especially helpful on a field of flooded concrete. Still, Uraraka seemed to lose focus as the match went on, like so many before her, and you manged to pull off a win before she could use her fists against you. Then went Shouji, who, in turn, barely beat you. You beat Ojiro and Satou, although both of those were longer matches as well. Mineta’s was short and easy.

Before Todoroki knew it, he was the last one sitting with Aizawa and Cementoss, since Cementoss hadn’t needed to rebuild anything after Mineta. And he still didn’t know your quirk.

His best guess was that your quirk was able to inhibit the fighting ability of your opponents. Most of his peers had seemed to fumble or make mistakes, or else slow down or totally stop fighting. That was what he’d observed. In practice, it could mean a lot more things. Were you creating illusions that confused opponents? Were you able to affect their muscles in some way? Was your quirk multifaceted? He didn’t know yet—he’d have to be on high alert.

“Alright, last one,” Aizawa said, nodding to both of you. “Begin.”

Todoroki began with a wall of ice. Sero and Tokoyami’s victories had been predicated on immediate ranged attacks that incapacitated you before you could activate your quirk—or so it had seemed. You must have seen this one coming, though, because you dodged, jumping for the cement spires, not caring where you ended up so long as you weren’t trapped by ice. This was how he started most matches, since it had a good chance of caging his opponent immediately, and if it didn’t, he could move on effortlessly from there; there was no risk. It seemed you must have observed that.

Then, Todoroki’s mind froze. Whatever thoughts he’d had about strategy, about the battle vanished as he was hit with a feeling of a cold. For a second, he wondered if you’d made his quirk backfire, then he realized it wasn’t outside that felt cold—it was inside. He felt heavy, like he couldn’t take another step, like he couldn’t create another flame or single shard of ice. He could, he still felt his quirk humming under his skin, but he wouldn’t. He no longer felt like it. His mind was awash with something he hadn’t felt—had tried not to feel—for a long, long time.

He waited for you to come for him, run at him with the tape spread between your hands, ready to secure your last victory. He wasn’t watching for you, no, his eyes were totally unfocused, having fallen down to where his ice glittered under the bright arena lights in the gym. It was blinding, but he didn’t care. His eyes were barely open anyway.

Still, he felt when you were in front of him. Your shoes came into view first, walking on the concrete instead of risking your tennis shoes on the ice. You were totally unhurried until you were just in front of him, and then you tied him up quickly, thankfully ending the experience for the both of you. As soon as you did, you removed the influence of her quirk and Shouto began to feel himself warm up again. It wasn’t immediate, though. The weight lingered, and Shouto wasn’t sure if you’d missed removing all of your influence, or if this was a part of the aftermath of your quirk. If it left stains behind like a dirty hand print on his heart.

He was better, though. He could manage like this—had for years, after all. He met your eyes for a moment, and saw that you looked stricken, regretful. His brows furrowed for a second, then fell back to a heavy neutral, his lips and eyelids feeling just a bit more victims of gravity than usual. But he had the will to use his quirk again. A flash of fire lit on his left side and the tape burned away. Then he left you on the field, with nothing left but your four losses and sixteen victories.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

But that was ridiculous. There was nothing to be sorry for. You’d won fair and square, using your quirk flawlessly. And, in the end, Todoroki had succeeded somewhat, because though he had lost, now he was sure.

He knew what your quirk was.

#bnha fanfiction #a spare heart #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #class 1-a #bnha insert #mha insert

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oceansgratitude · 3 years

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Me and the Megamind Fandom

Hey, since I’m recently getting more interaction with the Megamind fandom than I have in a long time, and I’m already overwhelmed by the new discord, I thought I’d share a little of what my experience has been with this fandom, cause I don’t really talk about myself very much.

I first saw the movie in theaters with my family when I was, like, thirteen. I wanted to watch Tangled instead, but Megamind had the majority vote. After words, I had a new favorite movie ever.

I ravenously read fanfictions that came out on fanfiction.net. I know all the old good stuff (as long as I haven’t forgotten a bunch of it... which I’m sure I have.) I was vaguely aware of art being posted on social media, but I wasn’t really on it.(I’m still not, really.)

During that two-year-ish period, I was being homeschooled because our local Middle School was just awful (Bullies, mean teachers, bad experiences, etc.). I had no friends, my four siblings were always on their computers, and I never got out of the house. During that time I ran myself through self-improvement programs, exercised, and wrote a lot because I didn’t want that time of lame-ness to define me. I fancied myself a future writer. I have a lot of pieces in my Google Drive from that time, and I’ve lost some of it that I’ll never get back.

I learned about the livejournal website for the Megamind fandom from a link in an author’s note, so I’m on there just enough to get emails about new posts, which happens once in a blue moon. Then, either from there or another author’s note, I learned that a bunch of us are on Tumblr, so I went and made myself a Tumblr account.

At some point in there, my family moved to Texas, and I started high school. I got dang good at writing, as far as I knew. My journalism teacher let me turn in poems instead of the actual assignments and sometimes asked me to read them in front of the class.

I also developed a strong affinity for fish? I’m not sure if they’re may favorite because of Minion, or if Minion is my favorite because of them. My mom and I kept a goldfish pond in the backyard, and I studied their biology. Whenever someone doesn’t know what to get me for a present, anything with a goldfish on it is a safe bet. And I once took a little goldfish in a giant jar to all my classes, and it got loads of attention. Apparently lots of people are afraid of fish? I was thinking about Minion the whole time.

One time in color guard we were doing a dance warm-up, and our instructor was like “yo, let’s switch this up” and we switched songs to Micheal Jackson’s “I’m Bad.” And right after words, one of my best friends said, “At least I can listen to that song without thinking about Megamind.” At the time I hid my face in my hands to hide my blush, but in hindsight, I should have said, “Well, apparently, you CAN’T!”

I thought I’d integrate myself into the Megamind community through sheer power of writing and art skills. But back then, I didn’t really know how human relationships worked. And I wasn’t good at the whole self-discipline thing either (it’s still something I struggle with.)

I got all kinds of mixed feelings about Tumblr. I enjoyed learning about people, finding cool content, and getting feedback for my own content. But there’s also a lot of extremism on here. It makes me nervous about sharing too much of myself because “open-mindedness” on tumblr seems different from its normal definition. I feel like I have to be careful not to step on toes or accidently label myself as an enemy.

Not that I’ve been involved in drama! That’s just an anxiety I had. I was the type to drop into a discord like “hey, here’s this thing I wrote, please read it and tell me what you think, okay, bye!” and the disappear for months and feel bad about the irrational idea that no one liked me.

I found a fandom friend through tumblr, joined a discord, and just chilled there for a few years. I was barely on it. I didn’t know anyone particularly well, but it was cool to get ideas, see the differences in our lives, and get feedback for my fan projects, which were few and far-in-between, but which meant a lot to me.

I graduated high school and moved out to Idaho for college, studying Communication. I like writing and art and music, and I couldn’t pick one so I took a major that would help me use all of those things to make $$$. I really only checked on the fandom once in a while.

There I learned about some drama that happened in the Megamind fandom a while ago? Well, not learn ABOUT exactly. I just learned that it existed and it was too terrible to bring up again. Which, okay, cool? I’ll try not to be a meanie, I guess? Can we all just be friends?

I got married in May 2020 (a video news crew showed up so all the world could know that there were only eight people sitting in the spaced-out chairs. Only my family was able to make it) and we finished the whole Ceremony in December up in Idaho with just my hubby’s parents. I graduated and got my degree in December, too. And now I’m living in an apartment with my husband (which is freaking awesome) and filing taxes as an independent, and I have a full-time job while my dude’s still finishing school, and things have changed a lot really fast.

SO IN SHORT: I’ve been here the whole time (this dang 10-year-old movie has been part of my life for the whole second half of my childhood); I’m just not super social online. I’m actually an extravert with a crazy life. Also, please leave comments on my fanfictions and art! That makes me really happy, and that’s most of the social contact I have with ya’ll. That’s about it I guess. Thanks for reading through this whole thing. That’s pretty nice of you.

#my life #megamind fandom

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prorevenge · 3 years

Text

Ridiculed, accused of lying and incompetence, I shoved burning facts down their throats and made a successful business in the process.

"The best revenge is massive success." -Frank Sinatra

TL;DR; Told I was lying and didn't know anything about game design. Made a spite video game that became a huge hit. Jackass is also forever immortalized within the game credits.

PREFACE

This is a very unusual story compared to the typical posts you've read here. There's a lot to unpack but I'll try to summarize everything as best I can.

I hope you'll find it as entertaining as I did. And, what's great about this story is that it happened very recently, it happened here, evidence is searchable, and it's still kinda on-going. It's a tale of trolls, video game addiction, self-righteous arrogance, harassment, winning an impossible bet, a viral hit in Russia, and massive success with even some little revenge sprinkles for added measure.

Quick background about me: I've worked with game developers for decades and I'm an avid researcher and supporter of unorthodox and ethical video games used for educational and clinical purposes.

HOW IT STARTED

Two months ago, there was a new reddit post about "using video game to ease depression" that caught my attention.

The reason it caught my attention was because it was a game & study that I had in-depth knowledge of (from over a year prior.) Unlike everyone else in the thread, I was the only one who had actually seen the game, played it, knew the developers, and even had the original technical game design documents.

The article discussed a variety of topics but never addressed exactly HOW the video game was able to ease depression. So, I provided a quickly summary of what the game actually did.

[SKIP THIS SECTION IF NEUROSCIENCE & GAME DESIGN DON'T INTEREST YOU]

A quick side note about this article, for those that like extra details: One of the cool properties of ketamine is that, not only can it provide rapid and temporary relief for depression, it also actively heals damaged brain circuits. Then there's dopamine. A chemical that we internally produce, that has similar but less potent effects. There is no cure for depression, but these are promising treatments for some. The article focused on what's called "flow". Using certain game design methods you can induce a "flow state" by causing a sustained dopamine release. When used ethically, it can be highly beneficial in stimulating/training the brain to perform certain activities, improve or learn memorization, adapt to challenges, learn new concepts, exercise motor skills, and meanwhile rebuild pathways/synapses. While all of this is happening, the user is receiving pleasurable rewards without realizing it. This process can create new pathways, repair old circuits, and increasing their neuroplasticity. Increased neuroplasticity means improved cognitive functioning, reducing impairment of the reward process, and improving the effectiveness of antidepressant medications. Video games can be a unique non-drug option to accomplish this while easing symptoms. Research has already shown that many popular games can already accomplish this (unintended effects by the game developers). By comparison, the game design they used in this theoretical study was highly limited in scope, so permanent benefits were negligible compared to the temporary respite brought about by basic dopamine release. Science is still barely scratching the surface of neurotransmitters and flow state. There are still many unknowns, but dopamine isn't just a pleasure chemical that the media would like you to be believe. It can do quite a number of things. Research has shown that "flow state" can modify synaptic plasticity, improve connectors between cells/synapses, ultimately helping cells in the brain communicate better as a network and improve neural system intrinsic properties.

My summary posting was fine for a while, until predictable trolls arrived led by an "armchair game developer". Dr. Armchair definitely did not appreciate my post. It was an affront and insult to his profession. Within a few minutes, it dropped 30 karma. I don't care about imaginary internet points but I don't like being accused of lying. Dr. Armchair and his pals started with the usual "do you even lift?" Then it was quickly asserted, from their armchairs, that I knew nothing about flow, psychology, dopamine or game design at all. From their high horses, they contributed nothing useful; only taunts, defamation, attacking my character and physical appearance, and accusing me of being a liar and incompetence.

Apparently it was a very sensitive topic. Who knew?

It quickly devolved into Dr. Armchair gleefully, and repeatedly claiming, that he won, he was right, and I was wrong. He demanded that I essentially write a 300 page peer-reviewed study to prove him wrong, and when it couldn't be provided within 5 minutes, there were more gleeful cheers of "HAHA! I WAS RIGHT! I WAS RIGHT! I'M NOT LISTENING TO YOU LALALALALA.."

Obviously, it was going to be impossible to reason with Dr. Armchair and his buddies. But actions speak louder than words.

So, I claimed that I would provide undeniable proof in the form of a video game "a few months from now" that he could actually play for himself. Once again, claiming that I was lying and it was impossible. And more of the usual "It's been 5 minutes, where is it? Oh, you can't do it can you. HA! I was right! I BEAT YOU! I BEAT YOU!"

It was weird.

Eventually the mods had enough. Dr. Armchair and his cronies harassment, ad hominem attacks, accusations and inflammatory attacks resulted in multiple posts being removed. But my promise still stood and I fully intended on keeping it.

THE BOLD CLAIM

The plan was simple:

Create a proof of concept that demonstrates just the critical neuroscience principles that induce flow. To prove it beyond a doubt, I intended to also prove that MOST COMMON INGREDIENTS of a game are completely UNNECESSARY to accomplish this.

So, I made the very confident claim that the game would still be fun, addictive, and demonstrate flow state, even after ripping everything out:

No extras or frills. Built within a short period of time.

No music. No sound effects. No animations. No story.

No expensive art. In fact, hardly any at all: I would use ONE SINGLE ART ASSET for the gameplay (plus some lines.)

No feature creep. No sign-in system. No gacha mechanics.

No level design. No achievements. No RPG gamifications.

I could get at least a couple hundred people to play it.

I should have also mentioned that it would be built with ZERO BUDGET and NO MARKETING.

If this sounds like a strange way to make a game, it is. For a typical game developer, this would raise many eyebrows, and they'd consider it highly risky or improbable to achieve any success with both arms figurately tied behind your back while blindfolded.

HOW IT ENDED

While I was preparing to stress test the game online, it was discovered by .ru bots that were scouring the web for new games. Even before the game was ready, they published the game link on several Russian gaming sites.

The game exploded.

It has graphical similarities to Tetris, so it was a nice coincidence that the game essentially launched and did so well in Russia at first. After that, other game sites started discovering the game on their own too, even before I had a chance to submit the game myself. Most importantly, the proof of concept and everything I claimed worked (high ratings and retention). It proved so effective that the game is currently being played by hundreds of thousands of users worldwide. And it's a clear demonstration about the importance of combining psychology and game design.

I suppose you could say that there are many layers of revenge happening here, maybe even karmic justice or backfiring on their part, it's really hard to classify. The best kind of revenge is always massive success, and shoving it in their faces, however. But, on top of that, I also fully kept to my promises while proving these ignorant individuals so wrong they look like fools.

I also added some extra salt to the wound. I figured that success of the game was partly due to Dr. Armchair's ignorance. It was only fair that I included his name within the Game Credits. So, I officially gave this very wonderful human being a very "special thanks" for their support in making this success possible.

(source) story by (/u/postfu)

#prorevenge #by /u/postfu #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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