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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

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hear those bells ring: chapter 4 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo and Reader finally get a moment alone, and important conversations are had. Over dinner of course ;)

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 4, but it’s over 10k, so hope that makes up for it lol Anyway, hope you enjoy!

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 3 Tumblr Link: Here

“Great. See you then.”

The words ricocheted around your head like pinballs, and all you could do was stare as Dynamight turned on his heel and strode out of your ruined shop like he couldn’t stand to be there a second longer.

“Bak—bro, c’mon!” Red Riot, or Kirishima as he insisted, called after the blond, who didn’t stop. Then the redhead turned back to you, clapping his hands in front of his face and bowing his head. “I’m so sorry about him. He can be a little…”

“Direct?” you offered when the hero trailed off into silence for a beat to long.

“I was gonna say he can be a little bit of a dick, but that sounds better,” Kirishima laughed, and you felt your face flush when he aimed that charming grin in your direction.

You’d heard stories of how charismatic Red Riot was. He was a popular, mainstream favorite hero. The gossip magazines were always covered with his shirtless pictures that never failed to rile up the female population, even Mrs. Kojima and her old lady friends.

But nothing could have prepared you for being in front of him, for having him wink and smile at you, even if you logically knew he wasn’t coming onto plain old you. He was currently wearing a dark hoodie and non-descript jeans, but you could still see the definition of his muscles through the bulky clothing, which definitely wasn’t helping matters.

“W-Well, I’m sure you and D-Dynamight have more important places to be,” you stuttered as you averted your eyes. “I-I don’t want to keep you from any hero business.”

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint, I’ll get out of your hair,” Kirishima chuckled as he held his hands up.

Your face burned even hotter, if that was possible. “N-No! I mean—”

“Just a joke.” The redhead winked at you again as he started to back up toward the front door, his boots crunching over glass and debris. “I’ll see you later, though. Oh! And, uh, make sure you’re on time tonight for Bak—Dynamight’s pick up. He really hates tardiness.”

“Noted,” you murmured as your stomach bottomed out inside you.

“Don’t look so terrified!” the pro hero laughed, pausing in the frame of your broken doorway. “I promise he’s not so bad once you get to know him. All bark, no bite, remember? But if he does bark at you too much, just let me know, and I’ll be sure to leash him.”

Kirishima shot another sharp-toothed grin at you, and you strained your facial muscles to try and flash him a small smile in return. You weren’t very successful, since Red Riot’s bright expression dimmed a fraction, but thankfully he didn’t come back into the store.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he said in a more serious but reassuring tone. “We can get breakfast! I know all the great places around the agency.”

“O-Okay.” You didn’t know what else to say. Why was this pro hero offering to take you to breakfast? Was this just because of the news? You’d seen how the media had been tearing into Dynamight the last two days, calling him reckless, arrogant. Several interviews with the other heroes who’d been on the scene didn’t help matters, either, since by their accounts, they almost had the villain handled before Dynamight stepped in.

Maybe Red Riot was just trying to butter you up so you didn’t help with Dynamight’s crucifixion.

What the redhead didn’t know, however, was you couldn’t say a word against the blond, even if you wanted to.

“Okay,” Kirishima echoed and drew you out of your thoughts. The pro hero flashed you one last smile and put two fingers to his forehead in a jaunty salute. “Have a good rest of your afternoon and evening! And when you get to the agency, if you need anything, just let our PR manager Nao know. Take care!”

With that, the redhead pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt, slipped on his sunglasses, and ducked out of your store. Seconds later, he was gone.

A beat of silence passed by, then two, and then you felt your knees give out from under you as you collapsed to the floor. Pain flared through your lower legs as you struck the hard, debris-strewn tile, but you barely registered the discomfort. Your breathing started to quicken, coming out in harsh pants, and the two paper bags in your arms crinkled with the motion.

“Fuck,” you exhaled as tears blurred your vision, lifting a shaky hand to grasp tightly at your hair. “Fuck.”

You’d been so stupid. Yesterday, when neither Dynamight nor the police came banging down your hotel room door, you thought maybe you were just being paranoid. That the blond pro hero hadn’t noticed anything unusual, and you could just go living your normal, unimportant life.

Of course, the universe just had to prove you wrong.

Because if you had any doubts before, they were gone now, evaporated under Dynamight’s hot, crimson glare.

He knew your secret, and he was going to confront you about it. Tonight. Why else would he insist on picking you up? Alone. You’d heard Red Riot say he was patrolling this evening, so he wouldn’t be around to play buffer between you and Dynamight, which provided the perfect opportunity for an interrogation.

But what could you do? Refuse? Dynamight didn’t seem to be the type to take the word “no” very well. Run? The expression you’d seen on his face before he left clearly told you that you wouldn’t make it very far. Besides, where would you go? Your parents were in America, and as you embarrassingly admitted to that detective the other night, you didn’t have any friends.

And, until your apartment and shop were renovated, you didn’t have a place to sleep, and you didn’t have the spare money to live out of a hotel, so the agency was really your only option.

Well, there was prison, too, you supposed. Maybe Dynamight was just going to pick you up and take you straight to the police station.

He’s not going to turn you in, a small, hopeful voice inside of you said. He would have already done so if that was his goal.

There was logic behind that sentiment, but it offered you no comfort.

Because if Dynamight didn’t want to turn you in, what did he want from you?

~*~*~*~*~

“Mrs. Kojima,” you sighed for the millionth time. “I’m going to be fine. And I really can’t take all of this with me.”

You gingerly passed the large paper bag full of glass food containers back to Tadashi, Mrs. Kojima’s teenaged grandson, who stared at the bag with the hunger only a sixteen-year-old boy could achieve.

“Fine?” the old Japanese lady scoffed, narrowing her dark eyes at you. “You would be fine in a nice, fancy hotel, not in a building with those… those… delinquents!”

“Delinquents?” you couldn’t help but laugh. “They’re pro heroes. Famous pro heroes, some of the top in the country.”

“If they’re so good, they wouldn’t have destroyed your home,” Mrs. Kojima huffed before she used her cane to nudge her grandson. “And Tadashi, give the poor girl back her food. Your face is too gaunt to be healthy, girl, and don’t think I can’t see those circles under your eyes.”

The boy sighed as he stared longingly at the homemade food, and you could have sworn he was drooling, but he obeyed his grandmother and extended the bag to you again.

“No, please, keep it,” you insisted as you waved your hands in front of you, taking a step back. “I-I don’t know if there will be a place to keep food in my room, and I don’t want to bother them too much.”

“You should bother them, since they’ve been such a bother to you,” the old lady said as she nudged you this time with her cane. “You are too nice. I always say this. You need to be more selfish.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You smiled. “But thank you for thinking of me, Mrs. Kojima. It was very kind for you and Tadashi to come see me off.”

“How many times must I tell you to call me Ayano?” the elderly woman groused, tapping your shin with her cane again. “And of course we came. I wasn’t going to let you stand alone on a dark street and wait for that monster of a man.”

“Grandma!” Tadashi gasped as he looked up from salivating into the bag of food. “Dynamight is the number two hero! He’s not a monster, he’s the coolest!”

“I’ve seen him on TV,” his grandmother sniffed. “Always yelling and swearing. And Mr. Takeyoshi said he was very rude the other night. Not to mention all the damage he caused! Nothing but a foul-mouthed delinquent.”

“Grandmaaaaa,” Tadashi whined.

You sided more with Mrs. Kojima on this one, but the absolute adoration on the boy’s face made a small smile tug at your lips.

But your amusement quickly faded as you glanced down at your phone again.

6:58.

Said foul-mouthed delinquent should be here any minute.

As if your thoughts summoned him, the squeal of tires suddenly echoed through the otherwise quiet twilight, and you turned—with a pit in your stomach—to face the intersection down the road. Your street had been blocked off by barricades since the asphalt was still missing in patches, so the sleek, black car that had just pulled up was forced to park on the corner and put on its hazards.

Your heart was hammering beneath your sternum, beating out a frantic, hummingbird rhythm, and you watched the car door get flung open, a lithe figure ducking out a moment later. The last rays of fading sunlight glinted off his ash blond hair before he pulled up his hood, but then he was looking in your direction, and even if he was too far to see the details of his face, you felt the instant his eyes locked onto you.

“Holy shit, is that him?” Tadashi asked behind you, followed by a yelp as his grandmother smacked him with her cane.

“Language,” she hissed, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by the blood roaring through your ears as Dynamight started to walk toward you.

No, not walk. Stalk. He looked like a predator slinking down the sidewalk, dressed in black and skimming through the shadows. There were a few people milling about the street, your neighbors who were still trying to clean up, but the pro hero paid them no mind. His gaze was still zeroed in on you, and your breath grew more shallow with each step he took.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, you chanted in your head. And smile! Try not to look like he’s your executioner.

You plastered on a smile, but it felt jagged like the broken street you stood on, your cheeks aching from the strain.

Finally, after what felt like a blink and an eternity simultaneously, Dynamight came to a stop about ten feet away from you on the sidewalk. His hands were shoved in the pocket of his hoodie, his face was a cold mask on the tipping point of a scowl, and his eyes felt like red-hot embers burning into your face.

“At least you know how to be punctual,” he said without preamble, his voice as sharp as his scarlet gaze.

You heard Mrs. Kojima gasp behind you, followed by Tadashi frantically trying to shush her under his breath, so you cut the old lady off before she could say what was on her mind.

“T-Thank you for taking the time to escort me to the agency, Dynamight,” you said, bowing at the waist so you could get a moment’s reprieve from those red eyes. “It’s… very kind of you, since I know you must be busy with your hero duties.”

Mrs. Kojima harumphed behind you, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself before you straightened up.

Dynamight’s crimson gaze had lost none of its intensity, but he finally seemed to notice Tadashi and his grandmother over your shoulder, and when he spoke, he’s tone was a fraction of a degree softer.

“Yeah, well… it’s the least the agency can do,” he said evenly, like he’d memorized a script.

You wondered if Kirishima had said something to him after they left. Or maybe the PR manager the red-haired hero had mentioned?

Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat behind you, and you winced.

“Sorry, this is Mrs. Kojima and her grandson, Tadashi,” you said, motioning to them. “They’re some of my customers who just wanted to see me off.”

“Customers,” Dynamight echoed as his red eyes raked over the pair. “For your stitching shop?”

Something about his tone seemed off, but you couldn’t place it.

“Alterations shop,” you corrected with a frown. “But yes.”

“Is that all?” he asked as his eyes locked with yours, and you felt your insides liquify.

Fuck. There was no way he could know that Mrs. Kojima and Tadashi had been “patients” of yours before. Right? Even if he knew about your quirk, that was a leap to make.

Then again, it did sound kind of weird for two random customers to take an interest in their seamstress’ personal life. You’d set yourself up for that one.

You opened your mouth, ready to clumsily explain, but Mrs. Kojima beat you to it.

“I knew her grandparents long before you were a thought in your daddy’s brain boy,” the old lady huffed as she hobbled forward to stand beside you, Tadashi stumbling after her. “So I check on her from time to time, especially when she’s meeting and going off with some no-good delinquent at night. Is that alright with you?”

“Mrs. Kojima—” you started as your eyes widened.

“Grandma!” Tadashi hissed, his face flushing with mortification.

Dynamight, for his part, actually smirked at the old lady’s attitude, amusement dancing in his red eyes as he finally shifted them off you.

“Well, Stitches here is gonna be fine,” he said with a sharp smile. “She’ll be staying in our finest suite, being waited on hand and foot for the next few weeks.”

Stitches? What the hell was that? Did he forget your name?

“Is that so?” Mrs. Kojima narrowed her dark eyes on the blond, and her expression said she didn’t trust the pro hero as far as she could throw him.

“Lucky,” Tadashi muttered under his breath.

“If you don’t believe me, you can call her tomorrow and check for yourself,” Dynamight said before he turned to face you completely, effectively cutting off any rebuttal from the Kojimas. “Are you ready? It’s cold, and the car’s running.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, shifting the strap of your duffle bag higher up on your shoulder. “J-Just a second.”

You turned back to Mrs. Kojima, who was blatantly glaring daggers at Dynamight, but her expression softened as she shuffled in to hug you.

“Watch out for him,” she whispered in your ear. “And take care of yourself. If something’s wrong, call me, no matter what. You can stay with me, okay?”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” you murmured as you pulled away. “I’ll call you when I know more about the shop’s repairs. Tadashi, take care of your grandma for me.”

“Bah!” Mrs. Kojima scoffed, shooing you back with her cane. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” You smiled as you grabbed the handle of your small rolling suitcase beside you. “Have a good night.”

You turned back to Dynamight to find him suddenly beside you, the scent of burnt sugar enveloping you a moment later. You inhaled so fast it whistled through your teeth, but the pro hero didn’t even look at you as he slipped his finger through your duffle bag’s strap and pulled it off your shoulder. He slung it on his back in one fluid movement, and then he was reaching for your suitcase, too.

“I-I got this one!” you said, a little too loudly, as you stumbled back a step and dragged the suitcase with you. “Thank you, but, um, I’ve got it.”

Dynamight pursed his lips at you, his eyes narrowing into crimson slits, but then his gaze jumped over your shoulder.

“Got something you want to say, kid?” he grunted, and he looked a little ridiculous with your pink and purple patterned duffle peeking out from over his shoulder.

“M-Me?” Tadashi gaped and glanced around quickly like there was anyone else within half a block, but when he realized Dynamight was still staring at him expectantly, the boy began to ramble. “I-I just, uh, I just wanted to say I think you’re the coolest hero there is. Even more than Deku! Man, I wish I could have seen the fight the other night. You probably wiped the floor with that villain! When I grow up, I hope I’m a hero half as cool as you.”

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by the boy’s adoring word vomit. The blond blinked as the suspicion and defensiveness drained from his face and posture, and then an easy smirk stretched across his lips.

“You got a quirk, kid?” he asked.

Mrs. Kojima made a face beside you like she was going to cut in, but you put a hand on her arm and gestured to Tadashi’s beaming face, and the old lady sighed and relented. She knew what this meant for her grandson.

“Yeah, I do!” Tadashi grinned and puffed out his chest before he shifted the bag of food in his grasp and held out his right hand. His brow buckled in concentration, but a moment later a flame exploded to life in his palm. The flame grew, flickering upwards as it twisted and twined, changing shape as it went. In the blink of an eye, the teenager held the hilt of a fiery dagger, which he twirled around his knuckles. “I can make different objects with flames, and they act solid when I concentrate hard enough.”

“That’s a pretty cool power,” Dynamight said as he eyed the flaming blade. “Bet you kick ass in your hero course.”

“I-I do alright,” Tadashi said as he extinguished the dagger, trying to go for a nonchalant shrug, but the effect was ruined by his mile-wide grin and heart eyes. “You really think it’s cool?”

“It’s only cool if you’re the best, so don’t slack off,” the blond scoffed. “Only losers half-ass their way through school.”

Mrs. Kojima’s face was silently scandalized, but Tadashi’s grew determined.

“Yes, sir!” the boy said as he bowed at the waist. “I’ll work hard to be the best of the best.”

“Good.” Dynamight smirked. “Then, when you graduate, you can come prove how strong you are by taking me on. Who knows? If you’re actually strong, we might hire a new side-kick.”

Tadashi looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head as he straightened up, but the pro hero only snickered as he spun on heel and began to stride away.

“You comin’, Stitches?” he called over his shoulder.

“C-Coming!” you called back before you flashed the Kojimas one last smile. “Have a good night and be safe going home!”

Then you took off down the sidewalk, your rolling suitcase clattering over the broken concrete behind you.

Dynamight’s legs were twice as long as yours and quickly ate up the distance to his car still parked on the corner, and you only caught up to him as he was tossing your duffle in the trunk.

You stood on the curb panting for a moment, just staring at him, and then the blond looked up and caught your eye.

“What?” he grunted.

“N-Nothing.” You cleared your throat and moved to pick up your suitcase, but he beat you to it, bending down and hefting the thing up in one fluid movement. The trunk slammed shut with a resounding thud, and the two of you were left staring at each other in silence.

“Get in,” Dynamight finally said, jerking his chin at the passenger door. Then he walked around to the driver’s side, yanked open the door, and slid inside without another word.

You could still feel the Kojimas’ eyes on your back, and you didn’t want to give them cause to worry, so you took a deep breath and got into the car.

Even though your heart was trying to break free of your ribcage.

The car itself was sleek and fancy, both inside and out. The seats were a supple red leather with ebony stitching, the dashboard shiny and inlaid with the newest gadgets, and you curled into the seat, afraid to even touch anything. This car was probably worth more money than you’d ever made in your entire life, and you had worked odd jobs since you were sixteen.

The engine rumbled to life as Dynamight cranked the ignition, warm air blasting out of the vents and thawing your red nose and cheeks. The dash said it was only eighteen degrees Celsius, but the wind had been brisk.

“Seatbelt,” the pro hero said as he yanked his own across his thick chest.

You swallowed tightly before you did as you were bidden, and the second you were secured, the blond was throwing the car in gear and peeling away from the curb. Your barricaded street disappeared in a blur, and suddenly you were on your way.

With Dynamight. Alone. In his car.

The luxurious interior of the vehicle began to close in on you, feeling more like the walls of a coffin, and you braced yourself for Dynamight’s interrogation.

Except… it never came.

Minutes passed by in silence, and all the while, the blond’s red eyes stayed focused on the road ahead. One of his hands casually gripped the steering wheel, the other wrapped around the gear shift, and every one of the hero’s movements was fluid, precise.

You tried not to, but you couldn’t help but study him out of the corner of your eye. His blank face gave nothing away, and neither did his slumped body language. He was covered in a dark hoodie and jeans again, so you couldn’t see much skin besides his hands and neck, but he looked… fine.

One would have never guessed that he nearly bled to death beneath your hands two days ago.

The memory of his blood, warm and tacky on your skin, made you clench your hands in your lap, and when you glanced over at the blond again, you nearly jumped out of your seat when you met red eyes.

“Now you got somethin’ you want to say, Stitches?” he asked as he shifted gears, smoothly pulling around another car.

“M-My name’s not Stitches,” you replied without thinking, but maybe this was a good thing. Thinking always got you in trouble.

“Yeah, no shit,” the blond snorted, darting a quick look at you again before turning back to the road. “But you keep starin’ at me, so spit it out.”

You fumbled for something to say, still thinking of his ashen face splattered with blood. “T-That was nice, what you said back there to Tadashi. He, um, really idolizes you, so you probably made his whole year.”

“Tch.” Dynamight clicked his tongue as he looked in the rearview mirror. “Chances are, kid probably won’t end up as much.”

You frowned. “But you said—”

“I know what I said,” he cut you off, eyes meeting yours again. “And I meant it. Slacking off is for losers. Still, the brat will probably end up as a B-lister at most, more likely just an extra. That’s just the damn odds.”

His words were harsh, but you knew they were true. There was no shortage of people signing up to be “heroes” in the world, but very few actually achieved the fame and notoriety of, say, All Might. Even years after his retirement, the Old Symbol of Peace was still talked about.

“Well… thank you for not saying that to Tadashi,” you murmured as you averted your eyes out the window.

“Someone will have to eventually,” Dynamight grunted. “But, if he proves me wrong, then he might actually have some potential.”

“Mmm,” you hummed noncommittally. You didn’t want to talk about Tadashi anymore. Hell, you didn’t want to talk about anything.

But you knew it was coming. You could feel the pro hero building up to it, the air in the car becoming more tense and charged by the second, like the calm before the storm.

Part of you wished Dynamight would just rip the bandaid off already.

The other part of you wondered if you would survive opening the car door and jumping from the moving vehicle, but at the speed the blond was driving, chances were slim.

You were just thinking to pull out your phone and subtly look at the agency on the map to see how far away you were, but then Dynamight cleared his throat, and you felt all the saliva dry up in your mouth.

This was it.

“So,” the pro hero started as he pulled up to a stoplight, and his eyes found yours again. The red light reflected off his face and made it hard to tell where his irises began, everything washed out in crimson.

But before he could get another word out, a loud growl split the interior of the car.

Dynamight blinked at you before his gaze fell to your stomach, and you felt your face flare with heat.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you clenched your abdomen, trying to shut it up, but it only growled louder in defiance. “I, um, forgot to eat dinner since I was busy packing.”

And because your stomach had been in knots all day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“Wasn’t that kid holding a whole bag of food back there?” Dynamight asked, frowning at you.

“Y-Yeah.” You blushed even harder. Nothing escaped the pro’s notice, did it? “Mrs. Kojima had brought some stuff, but I didn’t know if there would be a place to store it in, um, whatever room I’m staying in. Plus, Tadashi is always hungry because of his hero course training, so it’s not like any of it will go to waste.”

“You’ll starve yourself so some brat can stuff extras in his face?” the blond scoffed, and he looked at you like you were speaking another language.

“I won’t starve,” you argued, a nervous laugh huffing out of you. “I-It’s one meal, and I ate a big lunch.”

That was a lie, but maybe you could get away with a little one.

Dynamight studied you for a long, silent moment, his face unreadable. Then the light turned green, and he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

“Tch.” He flicked on his blinker and turned left, weaving down a set of smaller streets leading away from the city’s center, where you knew his agency was located.

“Where… are we going?” you asked as you glanced out the window. “Is this a short cut to the agency?”

“We’re not goin’ to the agency,” he said.

Your heart skipped a beat, and some of your unease must have shown on your face, because the pro hero scoffed again.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re stopping to get food first.”

You blinked in surprise. Food? He was buying you dinner?

“Y-You don’t have to do that,” you stuttered, awkwardly waving your hands in front of you. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m fuckin’ hungry, so I’m getting food. That alright with you, Stitches?” His red eyes flicked to the side and pinned you to your seat, and all you could do was nod.

The car descended into silence again as Dynamight navigated through the streets, and a few minutes later, he was pulling up to a curb. The street around you was definitely in a better part of town than you were used to, but it didn’t look too fancy. A number of small restaurants dotted the road, interspersed by a couple bars, and a few dozen people roamed the sidewalks, laughing and stumbling and obviously having a good time.

Dynamight stared out at the crowd through the windshield, a small sneer of disgust curling his upper lip, before he turned to you.

“Stay here,” he said. No, ordered. “I’ll be right back, so don’t go anywhere.”

“O-Okay,” you replied with a nod.

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if trying to discern whether or not you were lying, but he must have been satisfied with what he found because he reached for the sunglasses that were casually thrown atop the dash. He slid them on before opening the car door and slipping out, but he paused before he closed it, bending down and poking his head back inside.

“Any allergies?” he asked bluntly. “I don’t need you choking and dying on my leather seats.”

“No allergies.” You shook your head. “Anything is fine.”

A part of you still wanted to argue about him buying you food, but something told you that you would both lose the argument and succeed in pissing the blond off, which you were trying your best to avoid.

Dynamight grunted in acknowledgement before he straightened, pulled up his hood, and slammed the car door. He took several strides away before he gestured back to the vehicle, and it was only when the locks engaged that you realized he’d taken the keys out of the ignition at some point.

He really didn’t want you going anywhere.

You exhaled shakily as you unclenched and clenched your fingers in your lap, trying to get some feeling back into them. Your thoughts kept threatening to spiral off down dark avenues, so you focused on watching the people outside the car. The windows were pretty tinted, besides the windshield, so you didn’t think people noticed you watching them go about their night. Everyone was happy and smiling, flushed with laughter and drink, and a yawning loneliness suddenly opened up inside you. Even back in America, you’d never had a lot of friends, but you had drinks a few times in college with classmates, and you missed going out to somewhere besides the grocery or craft supply store. You had thought you would have time to make new friends here in Japan, friends that you could try restaurants and bars with, but it hadn’t happened yet.

And depending on what Dynamight had to say, it might not happen at all.

You stewed in anxious silence for several minutes, but then the locks disengaged with a chirp, and the blond was sliding back into the driver’s seat, shoving a bulging plastic bag into your lap.

“Here, don’t drop it,” he muttered as he jammed the keys back into the ignition.

“I’ll just, um, set it on the floor,” you said as you shifted the bag down to the floorboards, holding it in place with your feet. The aromatic steam wafted out of the bag as you leaned over it, and your stomach snarled at the delicious scent of greasy meat and roasted vegetables. “This smells really good.”

“Of course it does,” Dynamight sneered. “I’m not gonna eat shitty food.”

“Only the best for the best,” you joked awkwardly. You blamed your sudden lightheadedness. When was the last time you ate?

“Damn straight,” the blond huffed, yanking on his seatbelt before shifting the car into gear. “Can you make it five minutes without fainting?”

“Yes?” you questioned more than stated, your brow furrowing.

“Good, then hang on.” With that, the pro hero squealed away from the curb, merging into traffic seamlessly.

Dynamight drove for several more minutes, but you didn’t ask where the two of you were going this time. The blond probably wouldn’t answer, and if he did, it would just be some kind of sharp retort, so you settled for staring out the window while making sure the food between your feet didn’t tip over.

You hadn’t explored the city very much since you moved here, so most of what you passed by was foreign to you. But, just judging by the amount of lights and traffic around, you estimated that Dynamight was skirting the edge of the downtown area instead of going into it. You knew the general location of his agency, since you panic-Googled it earlier this afternoon, and while it was closer, the pro hero didn’t seem to be driving toward it.

Eventually, Dynamight pulled up to the curb on an empty street and parked in the shadow of a tall office building. There was no sign on the façade to indicate a company, and only the dim emergency lights shone through the darkened windows, so it was obvious everyone had gone home for the day. Next door to the building seemed to be a small park, concrete and steel giving way to green grass and shadowed trees, but there was no one walking on this particular street.

“Where are we?” you asked as you frowned out the tinted window.

“Dunno,” Dynamight said before he opened his door, sliding out of the car without any more explanation.

You blinked in confusion as he wrenched open your door a moment later, but he still didn’t say anything as he bent down to pick up the bag of food at your feet.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” you asked. “You drove us here.”

“By the time I answer all your questions, the food is gonna be cold,” the pro hero grunted, and he glared down at you still buckled into your seat. “Get out.”

“We’re not eating in the car?” You didn’t mean to ask this many questions, you could tell it was irritating the blond, but you were just so… confused as to how you got to this point in your life.

“I’m not about to let you ruin my damn leather seats,” Dynamight growled, stepping back to give you room. “Now get out of the damn car… please.”

The last word sounded like it was dragged out of the hero against his will, painfully, and you wondered again if he was trying to be nicer because of all the negative media coverage. You didn’t think the blond gave a shit what the media thought, but Red Riot and their agency did, so maybe Dynamight was being forced to make an effort.

“Are you seriously just going to gape at me like an idiot? Do your legs not work?”

Well, what was that saying? You could lead a horse to water, but you couldn’t force it to drink.

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered as you fumbled with your seatbelt, and you nearly twisted your ankle falling out of the car.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re as clumsy as shitty Deku,” Dynamight grumbled as he easily caught your elbow and kept you from faceplanting.

This close, you could smell the caramelizing sugar scent that you finally realized emanated from the blond, and even through the sleeve of your sweater, you could feel the strength in the pro hero’s calloused fingers.

Your face flushed with heat, but you were pretty sure he was tired of your stammered apologies, so you just stepped up onto the curb as he slammed the passenger door and locked the car.

Then he turned to the tall office building and froze before a scowl twisted his features once again.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and his red eyes snapped to you. “You’re not afraid of heights are you?”

“I… don’t think so,” you said with a frown. “I mean, I’ve been on roller coasters before, and I obviously flew here from America—”

“Perfect,” the blond cut you off, shoving the bag of food at you again. “Take this.”

“O-Okayyyy?” You tentatively wrapped your fingers around the plastic handles of the bag as you drew the food close to your chest.

“Now, hop on,” he said as he turned around and crouched, his fingers starting to crackle with light and flares of heat.

“Wh… what?!” Your whole body felt hot this time, not just your face. “Y-You want me… to get on your back?”

“Again with the damn questions,” he growled, glaring over his shoulder at you. “If it will get you to move your ass faster, we’re eating on that roof, and unless you have wings under that sweater, I’m the only one who can get us up there, and I need my damn hands to use my quirk. So. Hop. On.”

You gaped at the blond for a millisecond, a thousand more questions racing through your mind. Why the hell were you eating on a roof of a random building? Was this allowed? Why couldn’t you just go back to the agency?

But you knew by the look on the blond’s face that he’d reached his limit with questions, so you could do nothing but comply.

Just don’t think about it. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

You kept up this mantra in your head as you hesitantly approached the hero’s back. He had turned to look forward again, so at least his crimson eyes weren’t burning a hole into you as you carefully slid one hand onto his shoulder while you used the other to cradle the food against your stomach.

You were just debating the best way to finish this embarrassing endeavor when you felt strong hands slide over the backs of your knees and pull you forward, startling a yelp out of you.

“Jump,” Dynamight grunted, and you only had time to mindlessly obey as he straightened to his full height in one fluid motion.

“Shit!” you couldn’t help but curse in English, hoping he couldn’t understand you. His hands helped to guide your legs around his waist, and you dug your left hand into his shoulder so you didn’t fall backward or crush the food that was nestled between the hero’s spine and your navel.

A beat passed in silence as the two of you found your balance again.

“I-I’m not too heavy, am I?” you murmured into the hero’s blond hair. Your throat felt tight with embarrassment, but when you went to swallow, your mouth was as dry as a desert.

“Tch.” Dynamight clicked his tongue as he shifted your weight a little, his hands burning the backs of your thighs even through the thick denim of your jeans. “I could carry two of you without breaking a sweat. Don’t call me weak.”

“I wasn’t!” you rushed to assure him. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, shut up,” the blond cut you off, turning his head a fraction so his red eyes sliced into you. At this distance, his burnt sugar scent was almost overwhelming. “Do you have a good grip on me? And the food?”

“Y-Yes,” you said as your heart began to pound against your sternum. You hoped he couldn’t feel it.

“Make sure,” he growled, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs before he suddenly let go.

A small gasp was ripped from you as you clenched your legs around his waist, and your left arm went from clutching his shoulder to wrapping around his neck.

“Ack! Don’t choke me!” he huffed as he stretched his throat out of the way.

Your right hand scrambled down a few inches, and you fisted the front of his hoodie, anchoring yourself across his chest as you sucked in your gut, leaned more into his spine, and tried not to crush the bag of food that was steadily making you sweat.

“I-Is that okay?” you asked, your voice no more than a timid whisper.

“Fine,” Dynamight said as he dropped his hands down by his hips, his palms crackling with energy once again. “Don’t fucking let go.”

“I wo—OHHHH!” Your sentence trailed off into a startled scream as the hero suddenly exploded off the ground.

His quirk made your ears ring, but you didn’t even have time to process that before you were thirty feet in the air. Every muscle in your body locked up in terror, and you were sure Dynamight was going to have bruises on his ribs from your legs clamping down around him like a vise. The wind tore at your hair and clothes, stinging the exposed skin of your face and neck, and you ducked your head against the hero’s blond hair as you clenched your eyes shut.

Don’t let go, don’t let go, you chanted in your mind.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, and you heard Dynamight extinguish his quirk an instant before his boots slammed into concrete.

The two of you stood there for a moment as you panted against the back of his neck, your hammering heart still lodged in your throat, before the blond patted the side of your thigh.

“You can get down now,” he said. “But don’t drop the damn food.”

You peeled open your eyes with a shaky exhale, and you could feel your entire body trembling as you slowly slid down from the hero’s back. The crinkling bag drew your attention, and you had a split-second worry that you had crushed the food in your terror, but a quick inspection showed that while the containers were a little crumpled, no food was leaking out.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Dynamight muttered before his boots started to crunch away from you.

You snapped your head up and blindly followed after the blond, your eyes darting to the ground to make sure you didn’t trip over anything and then up to your surroundings to try and figure out where the hero was leading you.

The answer, apparently, was to the very edge of the roof, and you wondered if the hero was going to make you hop on the Dynamight Express again, but instead he came to a stop beside a large electrical box. To your shock, he opened a small door on the tall metal rectangle and produced a thick, dark colored blanket, which he then threw down on the roof’s gravel.

“Sit,” he grunted before he flopped to the ground, sighing as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

There was about four or five feet between the electrical box and the edge of the roof, but the soles of Dynamight’s boots nearly brushed against the roof’s wall.

Or they would have, if a three-foot section of the cement wall wasn’t missing right in front of him. The edges of the concrete partition looked suspiciously charred black, and you frowned at the sight.

“Did you… blast a chunk out of this wall?” you asked as you slowly sank to your knees beside the blond. You were painfully aware of the void of protection in front of you, and you knew you were at least ten to fifteen stories above the street. But at least it wasn’t so cold up here, tucked into this little nook with the six-foot tall hero’s body heat helping to warm the air.

“It was in the way,” Dynamight sneered, leaning over and snatching the plastic bag from where you had set it between the two of you. “And wipe that look off your face. I’m not gonna push you through the hole, and you’re not gonna fall with me here.”

He didn’t look at you as he said this, too busy pulling out several food containers and spreading them out on the blanket, but the absolute surety, the confidence, in his voice actually eased some of the tension from your shoulders, and you sighed as you shifted onto your butt and leaned back against the electrical box.

Now that you were seated in front of the hole, you realized this building gave you the perfect vantage point to the east. Most of the other structures were shorter than the one you currently sat on, so the streets stretched out before you like a map. The night sky was clear above you, devoid of clouds, nothing but a dark purple canvas sprinkled here and there with stars. But the moon was nearly full over your head, and its pale light was just enough to see by. You could see cars several blocks away cruising through the pools of lamplight, people waiting at bus stops or walking down the road to their next destination, and a realization came over you.

“Oh, I see,” you murmured, still staring out at the view. “You must use this building as a perch during your hero patrols, right? You can see a lot from here.”

“No shit.” Dynamight rolled his eyes as he opened one of the take-out containers. The smell of a well-made yakisoba hit your nostrils, and you watched as the blond ripped open a pair of chopsticks. He must have felt your gaze, though, because his red eyes snapped up and narrowed on you with a glare. “Quit starin’ at me and eat something. I didn’t go through all this damn trouble for nothing.”

“R-Right.” You cleared your throat as you glanced between the other take-out boxes. “Was there something for me in particular, or…”

“Just pick something!” he snapped before he shoved a bite of noodles into his scowling mouth.

You pursed your lips as you reached for the closest container, flipping up the lid to find nearly a dozen yakitori skewers. Your stomach snarled and cramped as the roasted scent of the chicken filled your nose, and you could feel saliva pooling in your mouth.

Grease immediately began to stain your fingers as you picked up one of the skewers, but you didn’t even care as you brought the kebab to your lips. You took a tentative bite to find the meat still pleasantly warm, but then a groan rumbled in the back of your throat as the flavor exploded across your tongue.

“Mmmm, that is so good!” you mumbled around a mouthful as you ravenously tore off another bite. “It’s seasoned perfectly, and I like the bit of spice it has.”

“Told you I don’t eat shitty food,” the blond scoffed before he reached over and snagged a piece of yakitori for himself.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, but you quickly covered it up by taking another bite of chicken.

“Thank you for the meal, Dynamight,” you said once you finished the skewer, reaching for one of the other containers. This one turned out to be another plate of yakisoba, and you eagerly pulled it into your lap.

Silence settled between the two of you for a minute, punctuated by the sounds of you both quietly chewing, before Dynamight broke it again.

“Katsuki.”

“Hmm?” you asked around a mouthful of noodles. When you lifted your head, your eyes clashed with glaring red ones barely two feet away, and you swallowed quickly so you wouldn’t choke. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“My name,” he grunted before ripping into another skewer, white teeth flashing in the pale moonlight. “It’s not Dynamight. It’s Katsuki Bakugo.”

Another hot flash broke out across your body as his scarlet eyes bored into you, and you dropped your gaze to your lap. The blond was too close, his burnt sugar scent still strong beneath the aroma of food, and your brain struggled to come up with a response.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” you murmured because you couldn’t help yourself, testing out the syllables on your tongue.

You thought you saw the hero twitch out of the corner of your eye, but he might have just been taking another bite.

“Yeah, and you better remember it,” the blond said after a moment, his tone adamant, commanding.

Like there was any way you could forget his name. Japan’s Number Two Hero wasn’t exactly forgettable.

You found it a little funny, though, that he was so weird about his own name after refusing to call you anything but “Stitches” so far.

“I will,” you murmured, darting a glance at Dynamight—Katsuki? No, that felt too familiar. Bakugo, then—to find him still staring at you.

The blond’s crimson gaze was piercing, pinning you to the spot, and you couldn’t look away. You thought he was going to say something, but his eyes only roamed over your face silently, like he was searching your features for an answer to a question he hadn’t voiced. His scrutiny unnerved you, made you fidget, and you played with your chopsticks to try and quell some of your nervous energy.

Still, he didn’t say a word, but his red eyes began to narrow bit by bit.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore, and you opened your mouth to say something, anything, before he beat you to it.

“You have a healing quirk.”

The words hit you like a sledgehammer.

Your heart slammed to a stop in your chest, and you inhaled so fast it was almost a scream. A million thoughts, excuses, and lies scrambled through your head, but the hero didn’t even give you time to grasp at any of them.

“Don’t deny it,” he said, face twisting into his usual scowl. “Fuckin’ hate liars. I know you have a healing quirk.”

The blunt confirmation, after so long worrying, felt almost like a relief, but it was quickly followed by a deluge of dread.

He knew, he knew, he knew. The truth blared through your head like a siren. There really was no running from it now.

“Well?” Dynamight—Bakugo—demanded as he glared at you. “Are you going to answer?”

“You didn’t ask me a question.” The words fell from your mouth without your permission, and you winced as the blond’s expression darkened.

“Fine,” he growled. “Do you have a healing quirk or not?”

“…yes.” There was nothing else for you to say, so you just stared at the pro hero as the noose tightened around your neck.

“I knew it.” A wild smirk stretched across Bakugo’s mouth, triumphant and proud.

“How?” you couldn’t help but ask as you clenched your hands in your lap, the food long since forgotten. Your stomach was churning itself into knots anyway, but a morbid part of you just had to know what was the final nail in the coffin that had sealed your fate.

“How what? Did I figure it out?” the blond asked as he lazily picked up another skewer and took a bite, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he didn’t hold your whole world in the palm of his calloused hand. “Because I’m not a blind idiot.”

“I’m serious,” you said with a frown, digging your nails into your palms.

“So am I,” Bakugo scoffed, and his red eyes found yours again. “If you’re going to lie, at least do it right. That night in your apartment, you said I wasn’t really hurt, didn’t bleed that much, but your hands and my clothes were soaked with it. Way too much for the stupid paper cuts or whatever you blamed it on. The burns on my left arm were better off than they should have been, too, but I knew you were lying before I even noticed any of that shit. I knew the second you opened your mouth.”

You cringed with guilt, dropping your gaze to your fidgeting fingers. So, all your lies had been futile from the start. “Was it something in my tone or…?”

“Well, stuttering over your words with your guilty ass face didn’t do you any favors, but no,” the blond grunted. “It wasn’t your tone, it was…”

Here, the pro hero trailed off, and he was quiet for so long that you chanced a glance at him.

Bakugo was frowning off into the distance, staring out over the city without seeing. You could tell he was struggling with something, and since you were obviously a masochist, you pressed him about it.

“It was…?” you led and then had to stifle a gasp as the blond snapped his head around to glare at you.

“You can’t say shit about this,” he snarled and bared his teeth like a cornered animal, and you distantly noted that his canines were more pointed and pronounced than what was usual. Then his next words stabbed into you, sharp and serrated, and dragged you back to the conversation. “Do you hear me, Stitches? You don’t say shit to anyone. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

You blanched at the seriousness of his tone, the sharpness of his eyes, and a nervous laugh was startled out of you.

“I’m obviously not in a position to say anything against you, Dyna—er, Bakugo,” you said, adding the “-sama” honorific after his name as a show of deference. “You could have me arrested or even deported for using my quirk on you without permission or a license.”

“Damn right I could,” he huffed as he narrowed his eyes at you, but some of the tension and anger left the lines of his face. “But I’m not gonna do any of that shit because I need—you are going to help me.”

“Help you?” you echoed in an incredulous tone. “What could I possibly help you with?”

Bakugo glared at you as the muscle in his jaw worked, like he was chewing over his words, before he finally spat them out.

“My ears. The reason I knew you were lying immediately was because I could hear you.”

Your frown deepened as you processed his words. “You remember losing your hearing?”

“Remember it?” The blond scowled at you. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I remember being fuckin’ deaf!”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, waving your hands in front of you. “I just—right after you crashed through my window, you woke up for a second, but you were disoriented. I was trying to tell you that you beat the villain before I saw the blood coming out of your ears and realized you must have blown your eardrums. Then you passed out, and when you woke up again, a-after I… healed you, you asked about the villain a second time, so I just assumed you didn’t remember waking up the first time.”

Bakugo frowned at you, pale eyebrows furrowing over crimson eyes. “I woke up more than once? Yeah, I don’t remember that shit.”

“Wait…” You blinked and pursed your lips as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If you don’t remember that, how do you remember losing your hearing?”

“Because my hearing was shot to shit before I even ran into that damn villain,” Bakugo growled, and his face tightened again as he turned away from you. “Couldn’t even hear my quirk activate anymore.”

He held up his hand to demonstrate, and flashes of light crackled to life in his palm like mini fireworks. The hero’s expression grew strange as he stared at the visual manifestation of his quirk, but then he clenched his fist and extinguished the sparks.

Meanwhile, you felt your jaw gape open as your eyes widened. “You… how long has your hearing been in decline?”

The blond ground his jaw so hard you could hear the scrape of his teeth, and he glared off into the middle distance for so long that you just assumed he wasn’t going to answer you.

Then…

“Fuckin’ years, I dunno,” he muttered as he pulled one of his long legs up, balancing his forearm against his knee and pressing his mouth into the back of his wrist. “Didn’t notice it at first, but it probably started at UA, once I was able to use my quirk more regularly.”

Ohhh, of course. Your eyes dropped to the clenched fist in his lap, and you remembered the boom that made your ears ring as the hero flew you both up here. It had been so loud, and to think of experiencing that multiple times a day, at close range, for years apparently since you knew UA was a famous high school here in Japan…

“Did you see a doctor?” You frowned, glancing up at the blond as his gaze snapped back to yours.

“Tch, doctors,” Bakugo sneered, disgust glinting in his crimson eyes. “Fuckin’ useless pieces of shit. I left a good-for-nothing white coat’s office the afternoon I ran into that asphalt villain. Idiot doctor said most of my hearing was just gone, I was going to lose the rest, and there was shit all he could do. Then, few hours later, you patched me up in fuckin’ seconds, so I know that bastard was full of shit.”

All you could do was blink rapidly at the pro hero as you tried to process all this information. Japan’s Number Two Hero had been going deaf for years, and no one had noticed? You knew that would have definitely made the news, let alone the gossip magazines. What’s more, a doctor said his hearing was a lost cause, and yet…

“How well can you hear now?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you. You hadn’t even intended to heal his ears that night, it had just been a side effect of you dumping your energy into his body in order to keep him breathing.

“Dunno, haven’t exactly done a hearing test,” the blond scoffed and rolled his eyes. “But I can hear you just fine, my phone, too, and my quirk. I’d say that’s good enough.”

You pursed your lips in thought, studying the hero like he’d been studying you all night, and then you remembered what had started this whole conversation.

“Okay…” you said slowly. “Well, if you’re hearing is… fine now, what am I supposed to help you with?”

“Keeping it that way, obviously.” He glared at you. “You’re gonna be stuck at the agency for the next few weeks anyway, so you need to make sure my ears stay working.”

You gaped at the pro-hero, wondering if you were suddenly losing your hearing.

“M-Me?” you stammered as your heart crawled up your throat. “B-But I… I’m not a doctor.”

“No shit,” he said, apparently a favorite phrase of his, and he looked at you like you were a particularly dumb child. “I don’t need a doctor, I told you they’re fuckin’ useless. I just need your quirk.”

“But…” you trailed off in disbelief. Out of all the outcomes you’d envisioned for this night, this had never even crossed your mind as anything in the realm of possibility. “I’m… not a hero. I don’t have a license to use my quirk.”

Bakugo stared at you in silence for an endless moment before his upper lip curled into a snarl.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he hissed. “I know all that!”

“W-Well, I don’t know what you want then!” you said, your voice rising in pitch and volume to match his.

The echoes of your words ricocheted around you before they faded off into the night, and the blond clenched his jaw as he glared at you.

“I want you to use your quirk anyway,” he said, the low growl of his tone vibrating through you. You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off mid inhale. “And don’t start bitching about rules. You’ve been using your quirk illegally already. That kid and his old hag of a grandma are patients of yours, aren’t they?”

Your jaw snapped closed with an audible click, and a smirk bloomed across the blond’s pale lips.

“Hah,” he snorted. “Knew it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you gritted out, and your breathing grew shallow.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his smirk taking on a taunting edge. “You really gotta work on your poker face, Stitches.”

Your vision started to tunnel, interspersed with flashes of Tadashi and Ayano’s faces. “The Kojimas have nothing to do—”

“Oh, calm the fuck down,” he cut you off as he rolled his eyes again. “I’m not gonna turn a grandma and a kid into the cops. Especially not for doing the same shit we’re going to do.”

A knot of tension unraveled beside your heart, but your insides still felt more tangled up than a yarn ball being batted around by a crazed kitten.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a sigh, dropping your eyes to where your fingers were picking at the frayed hem of your sweater.

“I don’t need your gratitude,” he scoffed. “I just need—”

“My quirk.” You were the one to cut him off this time, and you lifted your gaze to his again.

“Yeah,” he said as he narrowed those scarlet eyes at you like a predator zeroing in on its prey. “So, is that your way of saying you’ll do it?”

You bit your lip as you considered your options, but really, you didn’t have any. Dynamight was a famous, rich pro hero with all the leverage. He could ruin your life… but he wasn’t. He was instead providing a trade.

His silence for your quirk.

The Kojimas flashed through your mind again, as did your other “patients,” as the blond called them. You thought of your parents, too, and your grandparents. If you agreed to the hero’s proposition, you wouldn’t have to return to America as a failure, and after a few weeks, you could reopen your family’s legacy shop.

And, in the meantime, you still got to use your quirk. You could heal, actually be useful. Even more than that, Japan’s Number Two Hero was relying on you.

You didn’t know if you were up to the task, having never used your quirk beyond minor instances that were usually days or weeks in between each other.

But…

“Yes,” you finally said as you looked up into Katsuki Bakugo’s face. “I’ll help you.”

You just hoped you didn’t hang yourself in the process.

124 notes · View notes

yesttoheaven · 3 years

Text

I SEE YOU – chapter II

pairing – arthur fleck x female!reader

wc – 2.4k

warnings – none, just some rude people. It's gotham.

a/n – I'm late with this chapter, I know... 🙃 but I hope you like it!

chapter one here:

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

Y/L/N – your last name

A week has passed since Y/N met Arthur Fleck. It was a long week for her – with TV appearances, some biased rumors about a possible affair with her co-star and problems with the city's main NGO. The place was invaded and looters took what little they had to offer to the population. Gotham police were doing their best to find those responsible, but it would take some time.

Despite the problems, Y/N constantly found herself thinking about the brown-haired man. At some point he was always in her thoughts. Since the day she left him in front of a building on Winslow Avenue, they haven't seen each other anymore. Y/N would like to know what he thought of the movie, but the man never came.

Maybe he didn't like the movie, she thought. And that was totally fine. What was not right was this desire to find him again.

On Wednesday, Brian asked if 'the guy with the big shoes' had called her, but the actress confessed that she had not given him her phone number. What the young actress didn’t know, was that Arthur had crossed the city – more than once – just to tell her what he thought about the movie, but his attempts were marked by misunderstandings.

"The entrance for employees is on the other side." The receptionist informed, attracting the attention of Arthur, who was walking through the luxurious hotel lobby. He didn't know if she was talking to him directly, but he approached the counter anyway.

"Huh... Y-You talked to me?"

"You are the new janitor, right?" The woman stopped what she was doing and finally looked at him, repressing the urge to roll her eyes.

Arthur shook his head and with a small smile, he said:

"I'm looking for Y/N Y/L/N." The mere fact of saying her name made his heart run so fast. Arthur could not explain, but since he met Y/N, his days have become colorful. He still suffered from the brutality of the citizens of Gotham, but everything became more bearable.

"Y/N Y/L/N? The actress? Are you sure?" The receptionist asked incredulously and at the same time seemed to hold herself back from laughing. It really seemed like a joke to her. What could this strange man want with Gotham's Golden Star?

"I need to deliver this to her." Arthur showed the VHS tape, hoping it would guarantee his free pass. "What room is she in?"

"Listen, I don't know how you got through security... but you certainly saw all those people out there. Everyone wants to talk to Y/N or just ask for an autograph. The problem is that none of you are allowed to be here."

"Autograph? I'm not here for the autograph! She wants to know m-my opinion about her new movie."

"I'm sure the only opinion that matters to her is that of the Academy of Oscars."

"You are not understanding... We are practically friends, she saved my life in that alley! Ask her! Say that Arthur Fleck is here... S-She... She will remember me!" While Arthur was stuck in his own words, the woman called the security guards.

The moment two men approached, Arthur realized that things were going very, very badly. In his mind everything seemed easy. He found Y/N and she was happy to see him, but in practice he hadn't reached the elevator yet and the security guards were already putting him out.

"Wait! You got it wrong..." He tried to explain and get rid of the men who were holding him, but the receptionist just shook her head, telling them to get him out of the lobby before the residents showed up to see this show. This would not be good for the hotel's image. "I just want to see Y/N..."

"That's what everyone wants." One of the men said, laughing.

"And I wanted her to dance for me." The other security guard confessed, sighing sadly, while that desire would remain only in his dirty imagination.

Near the main door of the luxurious hotel, they treated Arthur like trash, throwing him on the sidewalk. The poor man managed to maintain his balance and remain standing with the little dignity that remained, but that disappeared as soon as a painful laugh cut his throat.

"Go back to your filthy home! You are too old for this fan and idol thing."

...

When the elevator doors opened, Brian left the metal box accompanied by two officers. Because of the police's satisfactory commitment in this case – obviously Y/N's status contributed to this – the actress received good news. The stolen supplies from the institution were found in a shed and a man was caught in the act. Other suspects are still being sought, but the only piece that doesn’t fit, is that the owner of this shed is Thomas Wayne, candidate for mayor and also owner of WayneCorp.

"Tell Miss. Y/L/N that we will capture the responsible."

"Or those responsible." The other officer added, reinforcing his commitment to the citizens of Gotham.

As soon as the officers left the building, Brian intended to go back to Y/N's room and check on her, mainly after receiving new information about the case, but his plans were interrupted by Susan, the receptionist. She showed a big smile, waving, and he approached the counter trying to look friendly.

"Hey, Susan! How was your day?"

"You know, check-in, check-out... The same things." She laughed, shaking her head. Her job was not exciting, but it paid her bills. That was enough. "I saw the cops... Do they have any suspects?" Curiosity was plastered on her face and Brian sighed, fully understanding why she had called for him. Gossip.

"Unfortunately I can't give too many details, but they are doing a good job." He stated, satisfied with the investigations.

"I don't know if that can help anything, but maybe he participated in the theft..." The woman murmured. The words seemed to be directed at herself, like a loud thought, but the bodyguard was unable to ignore and asked:

"What are you talking about, Susan?"

"A man was here looking for Miss. Y/L/N. His insistence scared me. He was determined to go into her room, only God knows what he intended to do, so I called the security guards, they put the man out. But Carl saw him across the street for three days straight."

"You did the right thing. It's unbelievable how Gothan became a fucking asylum!"

"Do you think I don't know? Sometimes it feels like we're living in hell... But the freak left his name. Arthur Fleck. I don't know if it's real, but you should check with the police."

"I will do this... Wait! Did you say Arthur Fleck?" Brian questioned, as confusion appeared on his face. That name was familiar to him.

"It's a strange name for a strange guy."

If it were possible, a lamp would be shining next to Brian's head right now. Arthur Fleck is the name of the guy with the big shoes.

Without any explanation, Brian ran for the elevator, leaving Susan extremely confused behind. When he arrived at the actress' room, he found her talking on the phone. She didn't look happy.

"Oh, he does not want to talk to me? Very busy, huh? You know I don't like to get involved in these problems... but he started it, Alfred!" Y/N had crossed her limit. The only thing she wanted to do was talk to Thomas Wayne about the NGO supplies that magically appeared in his shed, but that would be impossible. Alfred insisted, saying that the billionaire was at an important business meeting and that he had no connection to the theft. "Okay, I will not insist. Maybe when you regain your senses, you understand my side. Have a nice day, Alfred!" She ended the call and looked at Brian.

"I can't believe you called Thomas..."

"Likewise when he called the mayor’s office trying to ban the showing of Midnight Seduction." The actress argued, showing a fake smile. "These NGOs that I help, they are hindering his path, it is not very difficult to see. You know how men like Thomas Wayne build their empires. It's not pretty."

"God, I know... but be careful what you say. It is a very serious accusation." He advised, concerned for her safety. Y/N just walked over to the table in the center of the room, picking up her glass of scotch and drinking all the amber liquid.

"Don't worry, I'm used to white-collar men."

"Oh, I can see it, but I hope you're used to clowns too, because I have news about the guy with the big shoes." Brian started, capturing her attention immediately.

"Arthur was here?" Y/N's voice took on a hopeful tone and a beautiful smile formed on her lips. For a moment it was as if all her problems were gone.

"Well..." Brian cleared his throat, choosing the right words to tell her, but deep down he knew it wouldn't work. "Arthur was committed to seeing you, but Susan did not allow his entry."

"Why she did it? Usually she talks to me first..."

"It is the protocol, but in this case she considered his behavior to be atypical. I don't know if he was nervous and had another fit of laughter in the middle of the lobby, but she believed that he could present you with some danger or even be involved in the theft of the NGO... The security guards kicked him out."

For the first time in this conversation, Y/N didn't know what to say. The words were stuck in her throat. She felt stupid for not giving Arthur her number or simply putting his name on the reception list. Any of these options would have avoided the embarrassment he went through.

"Maybe you should talk to him. Do you know where he lives." The blond-haired man suggested. It was clear as the day outside that Y/N was silently blaming herself for what happened and that was not fair to her. "What do you think?"

"Arthur possibly hates me now..." She murmured, walking across the room. First he was beaten in a dark alley and now humiliated, practically compared to a criminal. All Y/N wanted at the moment was to go down to the lobby to clarify some points with Susan, but Brian was right. Talking to Arthur is the best she could do. "Prepare the car."

"What? Now?" The surprise was tangible in his voice.

"I don't know, maybe next month?" She rolled her eyes. "You have an appointment?"

"No, but you have." Brian added, crossing his arms. It took a few minutes, but as soon as the actress finally remembered, her mouth opened in a perfect O.

"The dinner with Charles is today! I completely forgot!"

"And before that I need to get Misty. If she gets here with the makeup artist and you're on the other side of town, we'll be in big trouble."

"Maybe not." Y/N smiled.

...

"If Misty finds out where we are..."

"First: You need to calm down. Second: She will only know if you open your mouth and tell her." Y/N listed it on her fingers and then took off her sunglasses, looking at the building across Winslow Avenue. "Just trust me."

"I think I will regret this later." He whispered to himself, leaving the interior of the car and opening the door for her. Y/N accepted the help and together they went to the entrance to the building. The next step would be to find out which floor Arthur lived with his mother. "And now what do we do, genius?"

"I confess I didn't think about that part..." The actress replied, looking around curiously. The place was nothing like the luxurious buildings in downtown. There was no lobby to ask for information and the reality here was completely different.

"Do you need help?" Brian and Y/N were surprised by a female voice and found a woman near the building's front door, holding some groceries from the market.

"Oh, hi!" Y/N smiled as the woman approached where they were. "We are a little lost... Do you know which floor Arthur Fleck lives on?" After that question, a mixture of confusion and surprise appeared on the woman's face.

She didn't believe it when Arthur said that a downtown girl saved his life, especially when that girl was the Gotham's Golden Star. It seemed impossible, but now Y/N Y/L/N was here, asking to see him.

Abandoning these thoughts, Sophie smiled, agreeing immediately.

"You are lucky. Arthur and I live on the same floor, I can accompany you there."

The actress smiled appreciatively and Brian offered to help with the bags from the grocery store. As soon as they were inside the metal box, the woman pressed the number 8 button and looked at Y/N, saying:

"By the way, I’m Sophie Dumond."

"Nice to meet you, Sophie. I am..."

"Oh, I know who you are." She stated, dispensing with the introduction. "I mean... Gotham breathes you!"

"Sometimes it is strange to open the window and see your own face on a billboard or on TV." Y/N confessed. The fame was glamorous, but sometimes suffocating.

"It sure is better than opening the window and seeing a pile of garbage. This is the privileged view we have here." The woman argued, laughing at the situation and the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. "Well, Arthur lives there." After leaving the metal box, she pointed to the end of the hall and while Brian helped her with the bags from the grocery store, Y/N thanked Sophie for the information and walked to the location indicated.

Looking at the "8J" sign, she took a deep breath, wishing she had a mirror nearby to check her appearance. She wanted to be presentable to finally meet Arthur again, even though he might be mad at her. Gathering courage, Y/N knocked on the door. To her disappointment, no one came. The apartment continued in absolute silence.

"Don't tell me there is no one at home." Brian appeared beside her. Realizing that the actress was anxious, he knocked on the door again, with more insistence this time. "We can come back another day..."

Without a better option, Y/N was ready to go back to the elevator, when the door was opened unexpectedly, revealing a woman on the other side.

"Hello, you must be Arthur's mother! I'm Y/N and this is Brian, we are friends of your son."

–––––––––––––––––

a/n – I really don't know if anyone is going to read this, but I would be happy to know what you think of the story :)

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theowlspeaks · 3 years

Note

it's very nice to know that you're perfectly happy to publish outright lies if it suits your agenda, i guess?

anyway, there were no mods involved in the discussion in that discord, which someone who was actually present and involved in the server would know, and there was no romanticization of rape or abuse. what actually was going on was a discussion of kinks, and why rape kinks are so prevalent (if you don't like it, take it up with 62% of the population lmfao, it is a very popular kink--particularly among women, but not SOLELY among women--for a reason, and it is not at all linked to race), and the person who was being rude was actually the one who was insisting--to a survivor--that having a rape kink meant she enjoyed rape or thought other people did.

maybe think about the agenda people coming to you for this crap might have--or, better yet, don't post misinformation about a discord in which you are not present and a conversation for which you have zero context. if you really want people to believe you aren't a radfem interested in policing other people's sex lives, then stop fucking acting like one.

I have screen shots of the convo. I know what was said, because I asked for receipts after the first anon and someone provided them. That's also how I know a smut week mod was involved, because I recognized the name, and verified it with someone who knew the person (you're lucky I don't name them). Sounds like you're the one lying to me.

I observed lots of apologist language in that convo. People thinking that just because something is physically enjoyable means that it's healthy, first of all. There's also these sketchy stats that seem to change every time this conversation is brought up. 40%? 60%? 62%? What is it? Even if they were true, it doesn't hold up well. People do things that are harmful to themselves all the time. Do you think asking someone to stop self harming "policing their behavior" too? The answer is no, that's just apologism.

I'm also questioning if you were really there based on this message, because the point being brought up wasn't really about people who are on the receiving end of this, but people who perpetuate it. Acting this out requires someone to be turned on by their partner in visible distress. This is the problem. The normalization of using r*pe as a kink can and does (speaking from experience) lead vulnerable people to hooking up with legitimate sadists who are attracted to r*pe. Furthermore, it's incredibly insulting to victims to tell them their abuse "wasn't real kink" when they try to speak out. I know it makes people pissed, but you have to acknowledge the harm this does and it's irresponsible not to.

This incident has just proved it even more to me. The person you're saying is "rude" messaged me about it recently and basically said they're afraid to say any more, because they already feel like everyone is talking shit because they tried to explain their perspective. They're a survivor too, and they've been pretty much silenced by accusations of being a "radfem" just for asking people to think critically. Willing to bet nobody bothered to ask for their side either, because I don't see any of you in my DMs. I just get DMs from woc who are depressed and want to leave the fandom because of your behavior, and because they're ALSO too afraid to speak up. Common theme.

Which brings us back to the issue: thinking critically

This all started because of disrespectful portrayals of r*pe in fic. It wasn't even about r*pe kinks. It was about actual r*pe being written in a romantic way (or not even acknowleged as r*pe), and people being worried that this would be promoted in the fandom. There have been many discussions in this fandom regarding appropriate ways to handle certain tropes or topics to be conscious of racial stereotypes. It's only an issue now because people think their god given right to masturbate supersedes the harmful implications of certain tropes. Nobody said you can't write about certain things. They asked you to be RESPECTFUL, which given your tone, you clearly can't be bothered to do.

I'm not a radfem. I'm just critical of people who masturbate to torture and r*pe for obvious reasons. I am by no means against all kink. I just agree with the position that being critical is healthy. In fact, I hate the way radfems approach these issues because they paint a picture where all victims and female and all perpetrators are male, which is a common theme in their ideology. I don't support that because it's misogynistic and ignores male and non-binary people that can and are harmed.

Calling people radfems for trying to have a conversation about this is the same logic as people getting calling p*dophiles for writing smut. You see something that challenges your ideals, so you toss around words like that instead of trying to understand the other side. Don't even come at me with "but you called people r*pists" either, because I didn't. I said it's messed up to masturbate to someone getting r*ped, especially if you're white and fetishizing the r*pe of a woc. Just reread that sentence and if you don't see the issue, I can't help you.

All I've seen so far is people bringing up serious concerns and you people ignoring them, resulting in more and more people leaving the fandom.

I never even expected to be hosting conversations like this. I thought it would be universally agreed that allowing r*pe in a romantic event was wrong, but instead we're being dictated by a couple irresponsible people who prioritize their fetish over the racism and misogyny in the fandom. Now it's even less diverse here, hope you're happy!

#atla fandom problems #zutara smut week #answered #tw rape #fandom racism

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iwritethat · 4 years

Text

Damian Wayne: Expectations

A/N: I have no idea where this came from but I wrote it anyway.

Warnings: Like 1 swear word

>>>>——————————>

Life in Gotham could be difficult, horrific and down right dangerous - so like any other kid who had been living it rough you turned to crime. Firstly creating an alias for yourself equip with fitted black costume as the colour made it easier to move through Gotham at night, it consisted of a hood and bandana to cover your face and conceal your identity. You took up minor theft, so by the time you reached your teenage years you were now a seasoned professional - you had perfected 'slight of hand', acquired fighting skills as well as being very good with disguising yourself to gain entrance to otherwise unreachable areas/events.

Most of the time it was thievery from those who seemed more wealthy, you considered it better to steal from the wealthier population rather than the poor as they would need their money more - though you were a criminal you did have some values intact. This time however was unusual, Catwoman had asked for your assistance on a job, you had met Catwoman before on numerous occasions and got on quite well but you didn't expect her to ever ask for your help, clearly she thought very highly of your abilities.

As a result, after robbing a museum of a cat sculpture you found yourself standing on a rooftop waiting for the promised payment your partner was currently handing you.

"Catwoman, you're going to have to return that." A deep voice sounded from behind you, sending a string of curse words through your head.

Surprise surprise, you turned to find the Dark Knight accompanied by Robin who had joined you on the building.

"Who are you?" The sidekick asked bluntly taking a step toward you.

"Hm, wouldn't you like to know?" You quickly replied, matching the arrogant tone meanwhile Catwoman looked genuinely amused. Your temporary partner, clearly unwilling to simply hand over the stolen goods, began to flirt with Batman - apparently reoccurring behaviour judging by Robins foul expression.

"They do this often then?" You commented, observing the two adults.

"Too often. You still didn't answer my question thief." Robin replied, getting into a defensive stance mirroring his mentor.

"It's (v/n) - thief is just rude birdboy." You earned a growl before he came at you with his katana.

Though you weren't specifically trained in any martial arts, you picked up a thing or two by watching others or brief involvements with street gangs which allowed you to hold your own somehow. Instinctively, you pulled out your daggers to clash with the oncoming blade before kicking Robin in the abdomen and running for it. Successfully, you made your escape without being followed equip with money from Catwoman and so, you made you way 'home'.

Over the next few weeks, you had various encounters with Robin which you found peculiar as there were far more dangerous villains out there that required his attention but here he was again - confronting you about the deal you’d just completed, selling off a rich mans watch for a very good price.

"Why are you doing this?" The vigilante asked, arms crossed as he blocked your path.

"Because it pays well? I'm not quite sure what you expected." You sarcastically remarked, scanning the area for an exit.

"You seem like a good person, from my observations you only rob the wealthy. You should use your skills for something more productive." He commented, noticing your glare.

"Uh huh. You're like the same age as me Robin, you can't tell me what I should be doing. Besides, I didn't have the perfect life, I highly doubt you grew up on the streets - you can't exactly get 'productive' with that, I wouldn't have these skills otherwise. So sorry hero! If this was all part of the ‘turning me to the good side’ plan - you've failed." You defended, venom lacing your tone despite the mockery situated there. It was possible that you were a little harsh but you didn't need this at the moment, you had somewhere urgent to be.

Robin released a frustrated sigh meanwhile you put your plan of escape into action, you hopped onto the dumpster to the left, grabbing the metal ladder that lead to the staircase running up the side of the apartments. You slipped through an open window muttering a string of apologies as you ran through the now startled woman's apartment and out the front door, you made your way out of the building through the fire escape.

Checking your surroundings you discovered you'd lost the Batman's sidekick allowing relief to flood your body, though you were growing more suspicious - it shouldn't be that easy to escape Robin but it was almost like he let you get away in all of the times you'd encountered him after your first meeting. You had seen him fight other villains on the news and take them down with a degree of brutality, yet with you things never escalated to that level. Robin was obviously a better fighter and had beat you many times, brought you the police station handcuffed at least twice but never really hurt you.

Shaking your head out of the trance, you entered the old corner shop you'd made your way to and collected the items you needed. Walking over to the familiar owner of the small shop, you were greeted with a warm smile, you'd expect a form of hostility from anyone else considering your vigilante attire but upon visiting the shop on multiple occasions they soon realised you weren't a threat and never caused any trouble.

"Quite a lot of chocolate today (v/n)." The owner commented politely, knowing exactly what it was for.

"Mhm, everyone deserves a treat now and then - even me." You replied handing over some of the recently attained cash and taking the bag of items. Next you intended to return 'home'.

Unbeknownst to you Robin was tailing you, Damian was undeniably curious about you for some strange reason and had decided to follow you this time. After finding out about part of your childhood he wanted to understand why you did this, he assumed you had a home with an unstable background/parent and provided financial support though soon realised he was somewhat mistaken.

Once you left the store now carrying a bag you made your way to an old apartment building, Damian continued to follow, watching from the building opposite as you entered one of the 4th floor apartments. The area of Gotham was quite run down meaning rent wasn't expensive and you managed to maintain clean, suitable living conditions despite your situation.

"(Y/N) is back!" A young voice yelled, filled with excitement as you strolled through, placing the bag on the table.

Damian was puzzled, a small group of young children raced over to your figure which was soon lost in an array of hugs, one jumped on your back another two hugged your sides while others screamed with enjoyment.

"Yeah yeah, I missed you kids too." You happily greeted, kneeling down causing them to slowly release you.

Robin perched in the darkness now connecting everything together, you pulled down your hood and then removed your bandana, revealing your identity. Damian was stunned, the dim lighting highlighted your features perfectly and the smile you wore made you all the more beautiful.

"What did you bring us this time (y/n)?!" One girl chirped, standing hopefully in front of you.

"Hmm, well I brought some fruit, vegetables, soap, toothpaste..." You playfully listed, though the kids were grateful, they weren't exactly ecstatic to hear about the vegetables.

"And chocolate!" You grinned, excitement lacing your voice - pulling it out of the bag, the children immediately erupted into squeals and cheers taking a bar each.

Robin took this opportunity to slip through the window behind you making his presence known with a cough. You froze for a second, knowing that he probably knew you're identity now and where you lived - still, you recovered and turned around, the kids also taking notice of the unfamiliar company.

"Shit!" A child yelled from behind you, panic evident.

"Jake - language!" You whisper yelled, the children now gathered behind you.

"You're in a lot of trouble (v/n)." Robin sternly stated.

To your surprise a young girl quickly stepped in front of you spreading out her arms as a guard.

"No Robin! You can't take her away, I know she's bad sometimes but she only does it for us. Please don't take her to prison!" The girl pleaded, tears welling in her eyes.

Next was the boy, Jake, who ran to your side (chocolate long forgotten) and grabbed your arm.

"She isn't a hero like you or - or Batman but she's not a bad guy!" He claimed, also jumping to your defence.

"Yes! (V/N) is our hero, (y/n) protects us like you protect other people s-so there!" Another girl argued from behind you.

You and Robin were both shocked at the children's reactions, you found it heartwarming that they were defending you before one of their biggest heroes yet weren’t sure if their testimony’s would’ve be valid enough.

"I'm not taking (y/n) to prison." Robin boredly sighed, though he probably should - but you hadn't committed crimes at the same severity as the Penguin and you had legit reasons, so he took the opportunity to persuade you to take a more legal route.

Upon hearing Robin's assurance, the children calmed themselves dissipating into the apartment, finding suitable places to watch the scene unfold. You crossed your arms leaning on a nearby counter and looked to Robin expectantly - not having anything to say yourself.

"This is why you do it then?" He inquired, but it came off as more of a statement.

You nodded, observing the 3 children sitting on the couch while others scattered through the apartment.

"I try to take care of them when they need me, I'm pretty sure they live on the streets so I provide for them the best I can when they come to stay. But when they do, I need extra cash - with studying and my job I can just afford rent and the basics for myself. I steal so they don't have to, I want them to grow up 'good' I suppose." Robin listened carefully as he too looked at the children.

Silence.

"So... There you have it bird boy, I grew up on the streets but want them to have a better life than I had. The end." You calmly explained, your tone getting more defensive as you went on.

"You're not what I expected." Robin admitted confidently.

"Oh really? And what did you expect?" You countered, smiling with a challenging hint to your voice.

"It doesn't matter. I think you could be of assistance to me, obtain information and getting into secured areas etc. In exchange I can offer my assistance." The sidekick clearly proposed, observing the consideration dashing across your features.

"...Maybe.”

Within the next few weeks that's how it happened, you would assist Robin on select cases and in return he'd bring over extra supplies for any kids that decided to visit. Today was one of those days, you came in from work to find the children swarming around Robin who probably had to leave for patrol. Upon seeing you they rushed over with hugs and "Welcome home!"s before returning to their activities.

"What did you bring them this time Robin?" You curiously greeted, he threw the bag over to you which was effortlessly caught, after looking inside you nodded and placed it on the counter.

Out of gratitude, you made way to Robin and gave him a hug to display such thankfulness as you felt words weren’t quite enough this time.

"Thanks for everything bird boy." You added and pulled away from him.

"You're welcome?" Robin replied, still bewildered due to the sudden contact that it sounded as though he was questioning himself.

"So are you boyfriend and girlfriend now?" One of the girls mischievously inquired appearing out of nowhere.

"Uh - n-no. No." You briskly stuttered knowing you were blushing and attempted to conceal it to the best of your ability.

"(Y/N) is very beautiful but we are not dating." Robin answered in a much less embarrassing manner compared to you. You flushed deeper upon hearing the compliment, of course the sidekick quickly noticed your behaviour causing a smirk to appear.

Robin headed toward the window to leave for his previously mentioned patrol, though the young girl followed him and gently tugged on his cape gaining his attention.

She moved her hand to the side of her mouth so only Robin could hear her whisper "I think you should ask her out!"

"TT, I will." He assured her before disappearing into the night, finding that he’d have to learn to expect the unexpected when it came to your mismatched adopted family.

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #dc #dc imagine #robin #robin imagine #robin x reader

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definitelynotplanetfall · 3 years

Text

Big Joel has a new video about the school of life and I’m not sure I can watch it. In his first one he said some nonsense to the effect that not liking parties, dancing, or alcohol is “incel shit” tantamount to “hating fun” and I just-

there’s some token stuff in there about how he himself does not like parties and it’s fine not to and the problem is TSOL is claiming liking parties is moral deficiency.

this could have been, in his own words, fine so easily.

and then he just goes “he thinks you’re a weirdo if you like to dance and get drunk and have fun with people” and like dude

DUDE

this is EXACTLY what the “myeh you must like parties or you are not a person” people do, this is exactly what they say, they present it as “just how you have fun” like you’re all for being hypervigilant and studiously avoiding the enemy’s language then you just carelessly drop this?

the video he criticizes is some bargain-basement “atomization bad, and being in a room with other people is not connection if you still have to put up a facade and lie and are still an interchangeable cog” which he should be all over given his other stances on things and the only objectionable thing about it is the pretentious presentation and some weird conspiratoriality that “10% of the population is forcing parties down our collective throats”

which is bad because it’s not “10% of the population” it’s “normativity and your worth being predicated on conforming and how fungible you make yourself” and please criticize the actual problems instead of weird imagined demons and please for the love of god don’t fucking undermine “atomization bad” to stick it to someone who takes a tone you don’t like when criticizing a social norm that a lot of people chafe under you singularity

is the woke(tm) stance on this just incoherent on purpose?

I’m sure Joel himself, personally, means well and legitimately doesn’t have a problem with people disliking parties and I’m just doing the equivalent of the tone-policing-adjacent argument he’s making about the video. But I have legitimately seen very progressive disliking-parties-really-is-inhuman-and-contemptible types couch their arguments as like, “they’re antisocial what is diversity” and “mediocre men not putting in the work,” so the rest of this post is for them.

like I don’t understand how it’s possible to hold a view like “all gender presentations are valid” without it being derived from “all harmless beings and doings are valid.” I don’t know how you can arrive at that point otherwise, unless you believe all human actions should be harshly regimented and gender only gets to be an exception because gender is magic and ?????

(Full disclosure: I understand gender theory a negative amount.)

“People are free to choose between doing what I want them to and being mocked” is still harsh regimentation coupled with psychological torture.

I don’t understand how a tendency that believes in bodily autonomy in terms of “categorically shaming abortion-getters as a class is wrong even if it is completely legal” can then turn around and say “categorically shaming teetotalers as a class is a-ok.”

Even if we’re using “hurting someone is only wrong when it’s part of systemic oppression” rules do you seriously not see how pressuring people into drinking alcohol could make them easier to abuse? (or for that matter, be abuse in itself?)

Not to go full brazenautomaton, but is it really just noises to you?

(do i get to say things like that or am i too un-integrated?)

This goes back to the thing from last night, with “get better hobbies” adjacent concepts. I’d like to know:

What do you want people that hate parties/dancing/alcohol to actually do?

Do you want them to be forced to go to parties? Dance? Drink?

What if they earnestly try those things and are miserable?

How can you tell if it was earnest?

What if they have a disability that makes it physically impossible or dangerous?

Why is it mandatory to do the recreational activities you like?

Do I get to call you a misogynist because you’re bored by 4D chess (which is a real game and not a meme)?

Why not? How is this different from you calling all party-dislikers incels?

What determines what activities must be tried?

Who determines those criteria?

Does your approach change at all when addressing an individual rather than broadly defined groups?

I’m very sure there is a good and well-thought-out explanation about why it is extremely progressive to call all introverts incels and say people are morally deficient for disliking events that happen to be disliked by a lot of autistic people (:

#feeling uncharitable might delete later #for your convenience please accept this pre-packaged self cancellation #i meant to post about this when i saw the previous video but i forgot and was only reminded today #god this shit makes me so angry #i am ready to die #i want to know if something is wrong with me #am i morally tainted for not liking parties/dancing/alcohol #am i unlovable for same #GOD i am so ready to drive into a tree #or off a bridge #if i am incompatible with the human things #why do i belong in the world of humans #wasting their air etc.#i do not want to have to go to a public loud room #with music blaring about how ugly people are unlovable #because that is what all music is about #in order to interact with people #kill me immediately #if your response is 'i bet you're real fun at parties' you are the fucking problem #if you insult someone for it you think it is bad #by definition #you fucking idiot #if you think people are allowed to not like parties but use 'bad at parties' as an insult #you are tipping your hand

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everydayanth · 4 years

Video

youtube

STARTING AT 21:48

TRIGGER WARNING: The thumbnail doesn’t convey the tone here. This is footage of anti-protestors “protecting” a columbus statue in a park in PA. Things get violent, over-sensory, and include mob-mentality stress. Shortly after the timestamp indicated, there is mad disrespect to Native history and culture, a lot of ignorance and generalizations about the local Black communities.

If you don’t want to watch it: I am referring to a point where many white Americans are challenging a journalist asking them about policing, BLM, and politics, and one, to paraphrase, is worried that the journalist is going to cut it to make them look racist and call them white Americans, and he wants to be clear that they are “white Americans of Italian descent with deep roots in the area!” When pressed about Native American roots in the area, they erupt in swears and cuss at him, the same guy yelling “what do you want me to do about it?” Throughout the exchange, another guy is riling them up about media twisting their stories while the journalist continues to explain that he is live streaming and it therefore cannot be cut up. The Italian flag can be seen on shirts, bags, and waving in the background.

I can’t stop thinking about this.

I ran into this in every corner of the US except the deep south cus I haven’t really been there yet (teen years don’t count). White Americans who want to belong to a cultural community continue to cling to their heritage culture in often stereotypic ways as a a way to separate them from the “whiteness” of white America and belong to a local community.

I can’t stop seeing it everywhere. But I know there is no one line, its all grey, and belonging to something bigger than yourself is a powerful connection for humans, as social creatures with dynamic identities and emotions, it can be a grounding place.

But when I see stuff like this, I wonder how the heritage cultures see it. What do you think video clip of this in Italy?

What do the Dutch think of all the Calvinists and Dutch Reformed Church communities in West Michigan? I actually asked a few Dutch people once, and one old guy goes “well... they left for a reason, and no one stopped them for a reason” lol.

Cultural identities were assimilated harshly, or else held onto in unexpected ways. When I look at it, my Dziadzia is Polish, from Poland, but he was a baby when they came, or born shortly after, so his siblings speak Polish (you know I hung out with great aunts and uncles all summer), but he doesn’t, he was pushed to be American. Technically, he’s a first generation immigrant, and I’ve connected to a lot of Polish-Americans and Polish people through experiences and linguistic pieces I never considered to be Polish before.

In contrast, my dad’s Dutch parents lived in the Dutch part of town and went to a Dutch church and read from the Dutch (well, Frisian, I was in my 20s when I learned what that meant or why it was important) family Bible and my nana spoke to us in her thick accent and the d and v sections of my schools were the largest (de- and van- surnames) and we did Tulip Time and renamed areas Holland and Zealand. So while they had assimilated, it was in a VERY Dutch area, and assimilation was quite minimal. Some of my aunts and uncles are very... white-American, while others and my dad (he’s one of 6, my mom is one of 8) are very much Dutch and stayed in the Dutch neighborhoods and churches. It took me a lot of training to start capitalizing proper nouns guys, you don’t understand, then I studied German and I turned in a paper to this really harsh English teacher and he made me stay after class and yelled at me because proper nouns had been left uncapitalized while regular nouns were capitalized... it was a bad day lol.

The Irish are critical of the Americanized St.Paddy’s day (understandably) and the souvenir shops seem to welcome Irish-Americans with open-arms and family crests on every type of knick-knack tchotchke you can imagine, while I have also heard Irish-American claims of identity dismissed in documentaries and series about Gaeilge as their own separate thing, with their own history that has become distinctly not-Irish in culture, location, language, or history (though the British enemy stayed the same).

There are tons of anglophiles in America who idealize England and watch the royal wedding and consume British media with glee.

I’m not too sure about Spanish or French identities in America because growing up in MI, I learned the basic French from Canadian friends and their families, but I associated that with Canada, not France. When did it become different? Like Cajun, is it its own identity? Seems like it, tbh. And I associated Spanish and Portuguese language with friends from Central and South America because I didn’t really know of anyone from Spain or Portugal heritages and learned about them in school as the colonizers (along with Italian). Strange how that framing works to displace blame/responsibility, huh. In that Dutch school and I had to learn about the Dutch East India Trading Co from frickin’ Pirates of the Caribbean? Psh, says enough.

Bavarian has become the American stamp of German heritage, despite many families being from the lowlands or surrounding areas. A German friend got so fed up with the association one time, he yelled at everyone about electronic music, jumpstyle, and green energy so long that we ended up not playing soccer and just listening to him rant about what “German” was not. It was Oktober, and it was a college town, so I get it lol.

Eastern Europeans seem to often get stigmatized while Scandinavians... I dunno, seem to assimilate or keep to themselves? There’s a Danish population in a small town in MI that is very proud of its roots but beyond a parade and some flags, some round pancakes and me struggling eternally with the Danish language, there wasn’t too much of a focus on it. There’s also a large Finnish population in the UP (NOT Scandinavian, Nordic, I know, sorry), and they retain many Finnish words and phenotypic traits, flags wave over porches, but again, for the most part, they’re just... Michiganders.

My view of this could also be very skewed because while I’ve lived in tons of states over the past 6-7 years, that doesn’t change the 20+ I spent growing up in MI, a place that is very insulated and island-cultured, making a steady clash of hot/cold and high/low-context cultures in a concentrated area.

Anyway, European friends (or anyone), do you think about this? Is this a conversation topic for you? How do you view white Americans who stand by or maintain ownership of a European identity?

White Americans who know or claim a heritage often have a story about a family member who rebelled and came to America. Do you have those stories from the opposite POV, a wayward family member who left to America and was never heard from again?

For everyone: is there a point where a cultural heritage becomes an idealization? Where you are no longer an active participant but a bystander? Is there an American replacement or did assimilation remove that? Or did assimilation create it?

There’s an Ancestry.com commercial I think about a lot. The guy wears a kilt or Leiderhösen, I forget which one first, then does some research on ancestry, and finds that his family had their history wrong, so he traded in one for the other. Is this cultural appropriation? At what point do you lose ownership? Or do we always own our roots? What about when our roots get too tangled to trace, or cut off altogether, by our own family’s nonchalance (as in, not remembering or maintaining) or forced by a stronger power?

Is it a different conversation when talking about personal costuming for an event vs anti-protests using their European heritage as a platform to deny change? Or is it the same act to different degrees or in positive/negative lights?

If you are White-American, did you grow up with a heritage culture in your family or community? When did you start to notice it? How has it impacted your identity?

I know these questions also extend to BIPOC and immigrant/religious minority cultures in America, but due to histories of stigmatization, demonization, oppression, genocide, slavery, and appropriation, it seems like that has to be a different conversation. Clinging to roots when someone has cut you away or is trying to uproot you to assimilate is different than willfully leaving, which seems different than being forced out as a refugee or due to internal conflict/crises (famine, war, etc.), these are different conversations to me.

I’ve just been thinking about this a lot.

#identity #society #culture #white american #white privilege #anthropology #heritage #ancestry #high low context #context culture #hot cold cultured #family history #roots #personal identity #appropriation #community #belonging #psychology

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cunninglinguist618 · 3 years

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Grammar Shaming Is Not Only Rude, It’s Just Straight-Up Outdated

By: Dara Katz

| Mar. 5, 2021

There’s a reason that those who know a bit about grammar become its enforcers: Nobody else really seems to care about it. Like a lonesome fine arts restorer in the basement of The Met, grammarheads typically work independently, but with the steel-driven purpose to remove debris that’s collected on the face of language. Is there any first responder quicker on their feet than a grammar fanatic? (“Jambalaya and I <3,” reads the first comment on your post about putting your beloved dog down. Thanks, Aunt Hilda.) They are the watchmen of language, the last guard of dangling modifiers, Strunk and White and Oxford commas…and before you open a new email to blast me, we do not use serial commas at PureWow.

As an English major and now professional writer and editor, I too have felt that electric tinge when spotting and correcting a grammatical error. Is there anything more cathartic than slashing a red pen through a completely misguided capitalized letter like Zoro through a white sheet on a clothing line? But as much as I can appreciate the adrenaline rush of diagramming a sentence, I also, admittedly, have my own shortcomings: My idiom recall is wonky—for instance, the post office is the mail station—I’m a slow reader and a mediocre speller at best. Every syntactical and semantical choice I send out into the universe feels ripe with trip wires. One wrong step and the grammarheads have me in their crosshairs ready to shame me.

And while there’s nothing new about grammar shaming—the act of pointing out an “incorrect” usage of language—there is something stale about it. Yes, grammar is important. Its purpose is to help us communicate more clearly. A single comma can change everything: “Call me Daddy!” vs. “Call me, Daddy!” is the difference between a line of dialogue in a porno and a line of dialogue in a Taken film.

Copy editors, style guides, etc.—these are important for consistency of the written word in certain circumstances. Publications should employ a set of rules for the words that live on their pages. Teachers teaching grammar should be able to require students to execute it correctly. Screenplays should be punctuated clearly so we know if the scene should be delivered in more of a sexy-pizzaman tone or a Liam-Neeson’s-daughter-being-kidnapped tone.

But grammar is not physics. It does not exist without us in the natural world. It is something we, collectively—from the macro societal scale to the linguistic politics of our nuclear families—make up as we go along. As fast as the folks at AP, MLA and Chicago work to enforce their style guides, the nature of how language evolves means that those creating the rules around language will always be ten steps behind.

And let’s be honest, most of the time, despite grammatical missteps, we can understand what a person is trying to communicate. Watching a recent episode of The Real Housewives of Dallas, Tiffany, a highly educated anesthesiologist, laughs and corrects Kameron, an archetypal blonde bimbo (a costume that she strategically chooses to step in and of at her own liking), for a series of grammatical errors—conflating the adjectives “two-faced” and “contradictory” and also not knowing the meaning of “cathartic.” Kameron responds by asking Tiffany if she likes making people feel stupid, and while we can get into the Tiffany v. Kameron feud another time (#teamTiffany: I believe Kameron’s chicken feet comments are actually far more harmful), Kameron raises a fair point. (Here’s an actual clip of the conversation.)

Tiffany thinks she’s helping Kameron by teaching her to speak correctly, but Kameron feels belittled. Even without Tiffany’s correction, everyone got what Kameron was saying. So what’s the point of calling her out? Is it just to humiliate her? And, not to get philosophical, but if we know what Kameron’s saying, even if she is saying it “incorrectly,” then she’s still saying it. Sure, Kameron Westcott is rich as hell and probably had one fine education, but who are we to monitor how her brain works? Or how anyone’s brain works?

Which brings me to one of the most important reasons we should stop the shaming: dyslexia. Dyslexia is a learning disability characterized by difficulty reading. And while dyslexia takes many shapes and forms, it often extends to grammar learning. According to The Yale Center for Dyslexia and Creativity, “Dyslexia affects 20 percent of the population and represents 80 to 90 percent of all those with learning disabilities.” Twenty percent of the population? That means that every one out of five times you correct a person’s misuse of something as stupidly complicated as a homophone (words that sound exactly like each other but are spelled differently), you are potentially telling this to someone who’s already been told something like this every damn day of their life. There are brilliant minds who can’t for the life of them figure out which witch or which their, they’re or there to use. It is not a reflection of someone’s intelligence. It is not a blatant disregard for the rules. It’s literally the way 20 percent of the population’s brains work.

But it doesn’t end there. What seems like a minor correction or “trying to help” can actually just make someone who’s already vulnerable within society feel even more exposed—essentially punishing someone for a disability, for their socio-economic upbringing or culture. The more we understand about dyslexia, the less we should care about whether someone used the wrong “their.” The more we understand that the system is broken, that while one class of sixth graders is learning about the past participle while another is reading at a third-grade level, the less we should care if a candidate’s resume has a spelling error. The more we understand about the power of language and identity, the less we should care about trying to make those we deem “other” sound more like us.

At its best, grammar policing enforces rules that help us communicate more clearly. At its worst, it’s a set of arbitrary rules that allows some people to climb the ladder while holding others back. And isn’t the whole point of language to set us free?

Either way, if we needed Liam Neeson to come rescue us, we have a feeling he’d get the gist, with or without the comma.

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tulips2kiss · 4 years

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I’m just gonna c/p a thread I just posted to twt under a readmore because it’s infuriating and idk if yall have advice but I’ll take it if you got it.

reminder for those who haven’t been w me for a long time that my mom was extremely emotionally abusive to me as a child, and well into my early 20s, and only recently started to be half decent to me. I’m living at home now because of the pandemic so that coupled with my trauma makes it really hard for me to have these conversations with her. I know I need to have these convos, not only from a human/ally standpoint but also from a future social worker standpoint. like it is legit my duty to be having these convos. but I also have to be cautious for the sake of my own mental health and fear of getting kicked out. so. just keep that in mind and I’m sorry if I’m not doing enough but I promise I’m pushing as much as I can while still taking care of myself idk THE GUILT ugh okay here

it is fucking scary how out of touch my mom is.... a thread

the other day (probably about 2 weeks ago, a few days after george floyd’s death) we were talking about current events and she complained about looting and got frustrated and said "I just don't understand, they need to explain it to me, just explain it to me" but any time I tried to talk about it she would yell at me

the other day she finished a tv series and I told her she needs to watch 13th, she watched something else instead and now however many days later she says she watched it. so I asked her what she thought.

she said that there was a lot she didn't know but she didn't like how "all it did was complain" and I legit stopped in my tracks. what the fuck. I tell her "they didn't complain they informed on years of racism"

she back tracks saying "they just didn't tell us how to fix it. what's the answer" and I explain to her that we need to dismantle cops and prisons and rebuild them and she says "how" and I say "we just do it, that's how" she says "but HOW"

I say we release and give a clean record to everybody in there for petty shit. broken tails lights, marijuana, anything like that. I talk about how prisons are in other parts of the world, how they're more like institutionalized therapy, because mental health is huge

I talk about how it isn't just prisons, it's police, it's housing, it's capitalism, it's healthcare, it's so much more than just one thing and there is not one answer or one clear path but it's something we need to start asap. she's not happy.

"so if somebody stole your car you don't want them to go to jail?" she asks. her tone, her face, they all point to her stand point being "yes they should be jailed." I say no. she's livid. "WHAT IF THEY STOLE YOUR COMPUTER" still no I say.

"WHAT IF THEY STOLE YOUR IDENTITY" I explain that those instances are rarely ever a one off, and usually if somebody is doing that it's a big organized crime, and if that's the case then like ya some jail time makes sense. her body language tells me she's raging.

she's hunched over at the table but pointed at me, her hands are clenched, her eyebrows are angry. I finish making my boba which like I WAS MAKING THIS ENTIRE TIME MY GOD. she says she doesn't understand how there's so much crime

I tell her that there isn't that much crime, the prison system is disproportionately black people who took plea deals. I tell her to think about kalief browder from 13th. he didn't commit a crime, but he took that plea deal because he saw it as his only option, he didn't know

she says "well I didn't say black people" and I say "okay but I'M saying it's black people. yes there's white people in prison, a lot of them, but if you look at the population of WP/WP in jail vs BP/BP in jail it's way more BP. population wise it's huge" she's quiet.

I'm standing there stirring my boba for a while "how's your boba?" I tell her it's okay but not the same as in the store and leave. this woman boils my blood. she really says she watched 13th but she didn't absorb a second of it. she didn't learn.

I forget at what point but at one point I had to get loud and say "the other day you said 'somebody needs to explain it to me’ so that's what I'm trying to do so be quite and let me talk." she was quiet. because she started looking at her phone instead. actual child behavior.

I just wish she wouldn't fight. I know white people get defensive on this shit but it's so dumb. I've begged her to read the chapter on racism in my sw book, offered to read it w her. she's not interested. she'd rather live in her bubble than think and it just hurts man.

she says she wants to learn but she doesn't, her actions give the opposite message. idk what would make her learn or want to learn. maybe I'll ask her the next time we talk. like in what magical instance would you willingly and eagerly learn? I don't know if there is one....

#diary #legit if there's any kind of phrasing yall have seen work w your parents/friend/whoever please let me know cause I'm struggling #this is about the current events going on rn btw #idk what we're calling it like the black justice revolution?

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armouredgoblin · 4 years

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Im fucking angry

Its been a long time since i have actually posted anything on here. But now I need to vent Ive seen so much shit going on that it makes me want to scream for some common sense

I dont care about your Identity. I only care if you are a good person Once you force your identity into the conversation and make it litterally only about that, its not “Oh it doesnt mean that X and Y dont matter” its “My Identity comes first before anything that might counter that argument” Right now I am seeing people attacking each other PURELY over racial skin tone ON ALL SIDES.

Im seeing history being wiped out for something that we thought was normal 100′s to 1000′s of years ago but then the west took it upon themselves to remove as much as possible. If you havent guessed its slavery btw Im seeing people litterally creating a lawless part of a city and cry when they cannot get their extremly priverliged food “Vegan and soy products”. Congratulations people you are so privilage you have the CHOICE of foods you can buy, but now you put yourselves into a situation where you cannot get more of it thanks to the systems you have derailed completely that worked fine until you fucking idiots.

The Media is so baised its now just stupid. Claiming that the stabbings in scotland would have been provented if we had given the “asylum Seekers” more free shit? They openly Dox people who dont just take the narritive that they try to spoon feed to us. Good morning britain had a person saying that they should have translated the warnings in Lester into other languages because of their highly Diverse population. Im pretty sure that the main language in Britian is English. Ive also noticed that the places with the most Diverse Populations have the worst issues (cough cough London)

Speaking of Diversity. Shut the fuck up Khan (The london mayor). During your time london has become a cesspit of bullshit and is no longer an English city. Its so bad that the Native population of the country is out numbered in our own capital city. It is not a strength when more and more issues are coming up because you dont have the balls to deal with the issues because WACISM. I have seen better Mayoral canadates in my toilet than you and your Divesity is our strength PR bullshitter. You can also take that fucking internet police you keep pouring money into because people are getting offended on the internet with “non crime hate crimes” Also fuck Hate crime laws they are over reaching and too vague to be any use.

People are being Cancelled left right and center because of things that they have said over 10 years ago in some cases. like Fucking hell give them some time to learn from their mistakes or is it a case of that they can never change, Because if you watch/ read some of their latest stuff it shows that they are different people now.

Anyone who disagrees with the current bias as well is labeled as “Far Right”, how about go fuck yourselves. That means the majority of the normal thinking world is far right by your own standards including some of those who think even a iota out of place.

Im going to say something now I do not agree with the current movement. Its no longer about what it was origonally, its now a completely Marxist and Maoist movement bent on changing the free fucking western world into a bullshit 3rd world. Sure things are not perfect but you lot creating more divides based on your ever increasing Identities and numerous labels you give yourselves and others are causing more problems than they solve.

Did you know that silencing anyone that disagrees with you can force and opinon that could be massively seen as negative can cause more underground movments to spread. Sunlight is the best disinfectent, keeping things in the light allows debate and the chance for people to understand what the others are saying instead of out right deleting them.

Did you know that slavery is happening in africa? or dont they count? ON another note did you know that the Irish were also persecuted and treated like shit? Did you know that Islam the religion which is protected by fucking everyone on the left will activly erode your freedoms and throw you off of a building for being anything but straight? also it is in their text that slaves are a thing? Its also a point that their Prophet is a bloody pedophile.

Did you know that the most rascism we see in history is happens to be visable now because we think FAR FAR differently to back then? Did you know that Communism no matter what form it has taken has claimed 10′s of millions of lives? there is no such thing is not “real communism”.

Did you know that not everything is Trumps or the Conservatives (uk) fault? in fact a good number of the counsils or the cities run by labour(UK) and the Democrats(US) are the worst run of them all with the highest crime and allowing something like CHAZ or CHOP to happen. Now people are just roaming around stealing and harming others within that zone because the police are being ordered not to enter by the fucking Mayor of the city that this “Socialist Haven” resides in. YOU EVEN SEGREGATE WHOLE ZONES JUST FOR ONE RACE IN THERE SO WHATS THAT ABOUT BEING RACIST ?

Did you know that Defunding the police will be a bad thing ? For example, who is going to stop a mean son of a bitch from stealing your shit or causing harm to your family? because outside of america we do not have that many rights to defend our own property (Specificly the UK) and we can be arrested for defending ourselves. Did you know a peacful protest does not include going onto privet land and then crying when someone pulls a gun on you? We have seen what a “ most peaceful protest” is by the standards that things are getting set on fire, homes and businesses and lives are being taken.

I honestly hate all this shit that is happening. So here are my suggestions Fucking sit down and learn some history

Know that the Majority do not think like you and your repulsive hive mind.

Stop dividing yourselves into groups with more and more oppression points

and try to be good people.

Don’t harras, dox, cancel people.

Hate crime laws have been stupid for a long time.

I know there are bad things in this world but all you are doing is adding to the problems and in a lot of cases ignoring others that do not follow your narritive.

Love from The Llama

Ps I have saved this as a document because there is going to be at least one person out there who will want this silenced. I will not be silenced

#blm #defund cops #fuck everything #i am angry #you are wrong #listen to others #you all know what i'm talking about #History is a lesson #Marxist #maoism #common sense #dont give up #Dont bend the knee #Dont listen to everything #this will get flagged #this will be the death of me #this will be deleted

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3aris · 4 years

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“nothing will work unless you do” - Maya Angelou

BLACK LIVES MATTER

WE KNOW ALL LIVES MATTER

BUT RIGHT NOW BLACK LIVES ARE THE ONES IN DANGER!

RACISM:

a complex system of beliefs and institutions that elevates whites at the expense of non-whites.

we all exist in and benefit from this system, whether we notice it or not.

WHITE PEOPLE CANNOT EXPERIENCE RACISM!

- discrimination is not racism

- our society prioritizes and caters to the experiences and benefits of white people.

- white people hold the power in society. the ones in power cannot be the victims

* IT’S A PRIVILEGE TO EDUCATE YOURSELF ON RACISM INSTEAD OF EXPERIENCING IT *

HOW THE F*CK DOES RACISM STILL EXIST? [@cicelyblaincolsulting]

1. Racism Is Upheld By:

- Systems (media, education, law, healthcare...)

- History (our society is informed by centuries-old habit, biases, & disparities)

- Privilege (difficult to notice, address, and sacrifice. as long as one group benefits from the oppression of another, racism will still exist)

- Micro-Aggressions (everyday slights, comments, & actions uphold racist power structures)

2.The Formation Of Anti-Blackness

- Capitalism (Black bodies have been used as the means of production (worker labor, tools, machinery) to create wealth for Europeans.)

- Slavery (Black people were stripped of autonomy, citizenship, rights, and treated as objects for over 300 years)

- Colonialism (the land we occupy was stolen from indigineous peoples and continues to be pillaged for raw material, natural resources, and human capital for white gain first and foremost.

3. EVEN THE SMALLEST ACTS OF RACISM UPHOLD DOMINANT POWER STRUCTURES

4. Racism Is An Iceberg

- Tip / Visible Part (KKK, neo-nazis, police brutality, racial slurs, hate crimes)

- Majority / Hidden Part (all lives matter, your English is so good, you’re so pretty for a Black girl, what about Black on Black crime, can I touch your hair, where are you really from?)

ANTI-RACISM:

the active process of identifying and eliminating racism by changing systems, policies, practices, and attitudes in order to redistribute and share power. [NAC International Perspectives: Women and Global Solidarity]

WHITE PRIVILEGE:

white privilege doesn’t mean your life hasn’t been hard, it means that the color of your skin isn’t one of the things making it harder

WHAT’S WRONG WITH POLICE [@leftnortheast]

1. Origins of Police in America

- slave patrols of armed white men to enforce slavery & chase down runaway slaves

- after slavery, these same patrols continued to enforce segregation & reinforce violence against Black ppl perpetrated by the KKK

- during the 19th century, the ultra-rich business owners relied on police to stop workers and immigrants from organizing labor unions

- LA’s “thin blue line” enforced segregation in the 1950s. look up “Black Wall Street”

- HISTORICALLY THE MAIN FUNCTION OF THE POLICE IS TO PROTECT WEALTH & ASSETS BY PRESERVING INSTITUTIONAL RACISM

2. Police Today

- when police commit crimes, the investigations are performed by the police themselves (union officials & internal affairs departments)

- only 33% of investigations end in police being convicted, compared to 68% in general pop.

- at least 40% of police families have experienced domestic violence, compared to 10% in the general population

3. ACAB: What It Means

- all cops are bastards

- it does NOT mean that individual cops are incapable of doing good things, but that the institution of policing is harmful and beyond saving

- the laws that “good” cops enforce work to uphold a harmful status quo that keeps working class and POC socially disadvantaged. therefore, there are no “good” cops

- EX: the three other officers who stood and watched Derek Chauvin kill George Floyd. they may be “good” because they didn’t kill Floyd, but they did nothing to prevent Chauvin from doing so.

THINGS TO DO INSTEAD OF CALLING THE COPS [@freedomtothrive]

1. Don’t Feel Obligated To Defend Property

- is someone being actively hurt or endangered by property “theft” or damage?

- if “no,” let it be

2. If Something Of Yours Is Stolen...

- consider going to the police station instead of bringing cops into your community, you may be inadvertently putting someone art risk by calling the cops

3. If You See Someone Exhibiting “Odd” Behavior...

- don’t assume they are intoxicated

- ask if they are ok, if they have a medical condition, and if they need help

4. If You See Someone Pulled Over With Car Trouble...

- stop & ask if they need help or if you can call a tow truck for them

- calling police may result in unnecessary ticketing, target undocumented ppl, etc.

5. Keep A Contact List Of Community Resources

- EX: suicide hotlines, mental health assistance, etc.

- ppl with mental illnesses are 16x more likely to be killed by police

6. Check Your Impulse To Call The Police On “Suspicious” People

- is their race, gender, ethnicity, class, or housing situation influencing your action?

- calling the cops on such people can be death sentences (EX: Trayvon Martin)

HOW WILL WE STAY SAFE WITHOUT POLICE? [@mpd_150] [@wretched_flowers_]

1. Community Members

- mental health service providers, social workers, victim/survivor advocates, religious leaders, neighbors & friends need to look out for one another

- not armed strangers with guns who likely don’t live in the communities they patrol (police)

- society expects police to do too much: violent crimes, traffic stops, chasing loose dogs, etc.

2. What About Violence?

- crime isn’t random, it happens because ppl are unable to meet their needs EX: money, food, rent, etc.

- this problem can be solved with an emphasis on jobs, education, community centers, mental health resources.

- cops don’t prevent violence, they invite it through constant violent disruption of our communities

3. It’s Not Impossible

- look at the abolition of slavery, the 40hr work week, etc. those were accomplished through gradual progress

- redirect funds away from the police department toward those community-based alternatives listed above. LOOK UP HOW MUCH YOUR CITY / STATE SPENDS ON POLICING.

14 WAYS WHITE PPL CAN MAKE LIFE LESS FRUSTRATING FOR p.o.c. [@privtoprog]

1. trust / listen to POC assessment of a situation

2. don’t assume all POC have same views

3. don’t guess / assume ppl’s race

4. read & share articles relating to daily POC experiences

5. just because you have a POC friend / relative / partner doesn’t mean you can’t be racist. if anything, it means you should be more critical of your actions / words & how they affect those around you

6. don’t play devil’s advocate on race conversations. JUST. LISTEN.

7. understand that America has what it has because it stole land from indigenous people and stole people from Africa to build America

8. care about race on the other 364 days that aren’t MLK Day

9. don’t assume you know what it’s like to experience racism. you don’t & can’t. that’s the point.

10. nothing in your life has been untouched by your whiteness. everything you have would have been harder to come by if you had not been born white.

11. don’t get defensive when someone calls you out on racism, be grateful. it’s a learning moment.

12. move past white guilt. guilt it’s unproductive. just BE BETTER.

13. fighting racism isn’t about you. it’s about liberating POC from a racist world / system.

14. being an ALLY is a verb, not a noun. you can’t be an ally just because you say you are. actions are louder than words.

WHAT WHITE PPL CAN DO OVER TIME [@prettydecent]

1. Research & Learn In Public

- identify, name, & challenge the norms, patterns, traditions, structures,and institutions that keep racism & white supremacy in place

- TALK TO & EDUCATE OTHER WHITE PEOPLE. it’s YOUR job, not POC, to teach white ppl how to fight racism

- let people you care about know this is something you care about

2. Open Your Eyes To Anti-Blackness

- there are no race-neutral spaces, “colorblindness” does not exist.

- Anti-Blackness is the way in which Black ppl have been targeted & stripped of their humanity

- pay attention to CODED LANGUAGE. what do we mean by “good” neighborhoods & “good” schools?

- who starts trends? who gets credit for them? EX: rock & roll

3. Pay Attention To Your White Experience

- we will never full understand Black ppl’s experiences

- look at how your whiteness has impacted your life: encounters with police, airport security? job interviews?

- what are you “good at” and how might your race have affected that?

- white experiences are the social “default,” EX: “Is The Country Ready For Its First White President?”

4. Speak Up & Argue With White People

- silence is a privilege & acts in directly upholding the system of white supremacy

- look at how movies, TV, and other media treats Black and POC, and call it out when you see it.

- hold other white ppl accountable, THERE IS NO GROWTH WITHOUT DISCOMFORT. we make mistakes but that does not mean we can’t learn & grow from them.

HOW TO TALK TO YOUR FAMILY ABOUT RACISM [@jenerous]

1. Intent & Impact

- white ppl say that we don’t INTEND to be racist.

- intent doesn’t matter if the IMPACT of our actions harms someone and/or upholds a racist system

2. Watch Your Tone

- we don’t get to tell Black ppl how to talk about their own oppression (“tone policing”)

- when we talk to other white ppl about race, we need to speak in a way that best conveys the information, feelings aside

3. Tell Stories Of Your Own Privilege

- tell your family members a specific way your white privilege has protected you

- this is also a great opportunity for you to reflect on & better understand your own privilege

- WE LEARN BY TEACHING

4. Share Some Of Your Own F*ck Ups

- admitting you’ve been wrong before helps normalize personal growth

- makes it easier for your family to reflect on their own failures & move on

- vulnerability is strength

5. Make It Okay To Ask Questions

- ask your family if they have questions about racism

- this may bring up stuff you don’t know either, a great opportunity to learn together!

6. Keep Asking “Why Do You Think That Is?”

- find a race-related statistic that you both agree on (EX: “Black ppl are jailed for weed more than white ppl are”)

- ask your family member why they think that statistic is true until there’s no answer that makes sense besides “racism”

7. Plant A Seed Of Doubt

- unlearning a racist system means flipping everything we know on its head.

- that requires small steps, such as getting your family members to question their existing logic around ONE topic (Black hair, cultural appropriation, affirmative action, etc.)

- when they say “hmm... i never thought about that,” you’re making progress!

8. Commit To The Idea That It Is Possible To Change Someone’s Mind

- your own anti-racism journey is proof!

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF [@is_siigii]

1. Who taught you about race & culture?

2. What can you do to support POC in your community?

3. What are you committed to doing outside of social media to fight racism?

4. How do you behave when you are confronted with racist behavior?

5. What do you want to learn more about?

6. What information could you teach people?

7. In what ways have you ignored this behavior in the past?

8. Why is it important for everyone to work toward ending this injustice?

9. How can you use anti-racist knowledge to change & progress?

10. Do you owe anyone an apology?

11. How do you handle conflicts?

#black lives matter #anti-racism #anti-racist #defundthepolice #defund the police

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michaelwutgacha · 4 years

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HORROR FRIDAY #1

"CARTMAN'S REVENGE"

"This South Park Horror Story Is Writing On New Trollpasta Wiki"

You all know the famous adult television show South Park, right? It's very prominent with the teenage and adult population in the United States. Well, not many people remember the episode that was accidentally aired (It was just a random tape that one of the staff members made).

It was in October of the year 2000, right when the show was getting very popular. Being 15 at the time, I was an avid fan of South Park. I just loved the offensiveness and the crude animation, but I don't like watching it anymore... It seems that everytime I watch it, the episode and the horrible nightmares comeback. I don't like recalling it.

I remember that the episode aired at an awkward time. I was watching the Daily Show and then after that, South Park was on. It was an episode I have never seen because the episode on my DVR showed up as "Episode 1000" I was confused by the name, but I just thought that my DVR had made a mistake. Sometimes they did that.

I decided to watch the episode, thinking that it was a re-run because the new episode was supposed to air 6 days from then. It couldn't have been a new episode.

It started with the normal intro, then it cut to the schoolyard where most episodes first take place. It showed a crowd of people circling around something, I was also very confused because the animation was not that great. It was almost like the spirit of Christmas short that the creators had made years before.

Then the camera panned to what they were circling around, it was Cartman... It looked as if Cartman was being bullied, but not like normal bullying. I couldn't tell because the audio was cutting up and getting all choppy, but then the audio cleared up almost instantaneously. The other children, being non recognizable because they were just stock children. The only notable characters that were there were Stan and Kyle.

Cartman was being thrashed and thrown around and the other children were chanting, "Kill The Fatass!"

The more he was getting thrown around, the more you could see that his face was being damaged. It was extremely detailed, almost scaringly detailed. It then cut to Stan and Kyle,they were moving in real time and then it cut to a still image of them. Almost like somebody paused the video, but the sound was still going. You could hear Cartman's screams of agony and distress whille the still frame photo was being shown.

The still image of Stan and Kyle was of them just standing there along with everybody else who weren't taking part in the torture of Cartman. The expressions on there faces were terrifying: Kyle had a demonic look in his eyes, (The images were very low quality, like something you would get out of an old VCR tape).Stan had a very hardened look in his eyes, almost like he was going to sob.

As the seconds passed by, the sound was oddly cut off, absolutely silent. Then after 30 seconds, the sound cut to Cartman screaming over and over again. There was no crowd noise, just screaming.

As the screams progressed, they got even more high pitched and terror filled, then it cut to the video again. I was obviously disturbed at this point, but I was more confused than disturbed. Why would they air this? It was like an episode that wasn't finished or something.

The video was of everybody kicking Cartman out of the playground, one of them saying, "That'll teach the fatass." It then shows Cartman running in his house.

He then runs up to his room and starts sobbing, profusely. He then starts talking to his stuffed animals. He asks them,"Why? Why would they do this to me? What did I ever do to them?" His stuffed animal tells him to get them back, to make them feel the pain that he went through.

He then says yes to his stuffed animal in a very monotone voice, almost as if a robot just spoke. He then says that they call him fat and tell him hes nothing but a fatass, so I'll make them feel his misery.

He then says to himself that his first victim will be Butters. He then goes to Butters' house and tells him to come over to his house because he got the new game system. Butters then agrees to go to his house.

The camera then cuts to Cartmans basement. Butters then asks where the game system is, looking confused. It then cuts to a first person perspective of Cartman behind butters. It shows Cartman's hands with a crowbar in them. He then smacks Butters on the back of the head with the weapon.

It cuts to butters waking up, tied with his hands and feet bound. Cartman then says you all bullied me, so I will now bully you. It then shows Cartman smashing Butters in the face with a fire extinguisher. Again the detail on the damage being done to Butters' face is immense. The audio then cuts out again, but for only 5 seconds. It then turns back on, but to a scream that doesn't sound like its coming out of butters. It was a very loud, ear piercing scream. It had the tone of a grown mans voice. The scene then cuts to a photo of butters house with a caption that reads:

"12 hours later."

I am very terrified by this point, I was going to turn off and try to forget about it, but I had to keep watching.

It then shows Stan, Kyle, and Kenny at Butters' front door. They then knock on the door, Butters' Father opens the door and they ask where Butters is, and he says that he is staying the night over at Cartman's house.They then go to Cartman's house.

The scene cuts to Cartman in the corner of his basement sobbing. The audio cuts to a faint wind noise, then it cuts to a very loud sequence. It sounded as if somebody was playing someones speech backwards, or as if somebody was speaking in different languages.

The video then cuts to a still frame of Cartman sitting there with an expressionless face, with the audio cutting to him speaking in a whimpering voice. It was very faint, but then faded to a higher volume. It consisted of Cartman saying, "I-I killed him!"

The sound cuts to Cartman saying in the same voice,"God, God, God, God. Im going to be with God soon." Then the sound cuts off completely. The still frame lasts for about 7 seconds, then it cuts back to a scene where The 3 boys walk down to the basement then see butters dead body. They scream in terror, then they say, "Oh my god, Cartman! What the Hell!"

Cartman than says, "G-God made me do it!"

They freeze in shock. Cartman then runs to the top of the stairs and shuts the door and locks it. They then scream, "Let us out you fucking psychopath!"

Cartman then says, "God is telling me to kill you three, you will reveal the fact that I got my revenge."

They then scream in horror. They yell something, but it wasn't audible. Cartman walks to his kitchen cabinet, the screams still being audible. He grabs Lighter fluid and matches. He spreads lighter fluid around and throws the match then quickly runs out of his house.

The camera cuts to a firetruck in front of Cartman's house. The fire gets put out quick, then police go and inspect the scene. It cut to them digging through rubbish. Then they dig up Kyle's body. The entire body was intact except for his face. His face looked as if a picture of a real person's burnt face was Photoshoped onto his face. The look of it was horrifying, it basically looked like a black skeleton face.

It then cuts to Cartman crying in an alley. He then pulls out a knife and cuts it into his abdomen area. He pulls out the realistic looking bodyfat that flows out of the wound. He whispers to himself,"I-I am no longer fat, I am now beautiful," He then starts laughing like a mad man. The camera zooms out. He screams into the camera with a demonic look on his face,"I AM WITH GOD NOW!" He screams.

It cuts to the normal credits then to the normal programming at that time. I was very distraught after what I just saw. Not wanting other people to see what I just witnessed, I quickly deleted it off my DVR.The staff member that made the episode was never found or discovered.

I tried to forget about the episode, but the nightmares started coming to me. I was so bent out of shape because of the episode that my mother checked me into a hospital for metally ill people. Four years later I was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. I now reside with my mother. She always looks after me to make sure that I am alright. I constantly think of that episode, I never stop thinking about it.

Thank You For Telling This Story.

#horror #Trollpasta #creepy #creepypasta #south park #💙

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nanowrimo · 6 years

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Road Trip to NaNo: Finding the Seeds of Your Story

NaNoWriMo is an international event, and we’re taking a Road Trip to NaNo to hear about the stories being written every year in our hundreds of participating regions. Today, Al Stegall, Municipal Liaison for the USA :: California :: Monterey region, shares how his region has shaped his writing:

People arriving in Monterey are awestruck the majestic scenery. I get stuck behind them every day. Traffic screeches to a halt when tourists round the giant sand dune and behold our sapphire blue bay, sandy beaches, mast-filled marina, and sun-speckled windows peeking out from the cypress-covered peninsula. It’s particularly bad on weekends.

Monterey County’s coastline has inspired artists of all stripes, including many wordsmiths. Views of scenic Point Lobos inspired Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. Carmel’s art colony attracted many, including Sinclair Lewis, Upton Sinclair, Jack London, and Langston Hughes. Robinson Jeffers’ Tor House and Hawk Tower still stand in Carmel. Jack Kerouac wrote Big Sur while living in Bixby Canyon. The hometown writer of greatest acclaim is John Steinbeck, who set many of his novels in Monterey County.

At first glance, Steinbeck’s description of Cannery Row seems at odds with the traffic-stopping vistas—seriously, people?—and idealistic postcard panoramas:

“Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses.” ― John Steinbeck, Cannery Row

One might argue the disparity results from time and gentrification. The commercial canneries packed up and were replaced by a world-class aquarium and haute cuisine. In some ways, the proverbial tides have turned, yet look deeper you’ll still find the heart of Steinbeck’s description.

Where workers once splashed sardine remnants, tourists now litter the shores with wrappers, and receipts, and abandoned aquarium maps. The local fishing industry has felt the not-so-subtle pinch of marine legislation. Prostitution still abounds, though in lieu of bordellos, high-class consorts are transported in when millionaires flock to the peninsula in their Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Bentleys (and any other make imaginable).

Less than a mile away from multi-million dollar mansions of Pebble Beach, a vibrant homeless community still thrives. Like Doris (name changed), who spends her days scouring the public library internet studying the decimation of bee populations while at night she’s roused from public benches by Monterey’s finest. Undocumented kitchen workers dash out of Carmel, hoping to avoid prowling police and impound fees while those same cops free an uber-wealthy drunk driver so he can make his morning flight.

My view of Monterey may sound cynical, but it is in these layers we find story seeds. Cultivated, they bring our settings and our characters to life, adding texture and heart. As you prepare for November, scour your setting and characters for these tensions. Hunt out your quirks and warts, then place them as obstacles to your protagonist’s goals. This creates organic conflict that will drive your story and draw in readers.

Monterey really is beautiful. Please, come visit, but remember, the speed limit on Highway 1 is 65 mph. If you want to take in that view by the sand dune, here’s a little-known secret: there’s a cliff you can access by foot. There, you may sit and watch as long as your heart desires. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll meet one of our colorful locals there.

NaNoWriMo in USA :: California :: Monterey

Al Stegall returns to NaNoWriMo in 2018 for his fifteenth year. He has been the ML of Monterey since the region was founded in 2005. In addition to writing, he’s a husband, a father, and a very small cog in the military industrial complex. Al is a US Army veteran and erstwhile intelligence analyst. He’s used his Korean language skills to avoid arrest on two different continents, but fell short of brokering peace on the Korean peninsula. He’s managed a fish prison and jockeyed police cars. Somewhere along the way he managed to pick up an MBA and a Masters in Biblical Studies. His novella ÜberVern: Defender of the Multiverse won 3rd Place in the 2016 International Three Day Novel Contest.

#nanowrimo #nano prep #writing #amwriting #setting #road trip to nano #roadtrip to nano #monterey #by nano guest #al stegall

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delightfully-difficult-pirate · 6 years

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What the Storm Blew In (1/4)

Summary: 50 years ago, Regina Mills founded the town of Storybrooke to be a sanctuary for supernatural creatures. Witches, trolls, and all manner of creatures that go bump in the night live in semi-harmony, all under the watchful eye of werewolf Emma Swan. Until a mysterious ship sails into port in the middle of a blizzard and Emma has to deal with the sexy Captain and unexpected consequences that came with it.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Language, Violence.

AN: Here is my contribution to @cssns! A huge thank you to @theonceoverthinker for her amazing beta skills and @kmomof4 for her encouragement. Lovely art by @shady-swan-jones!!!!

Snow crunched under Emma’s boots as she jumped down from the cab of David’s truck. She pulled her beanie further down - ensuring it covered her ears - as the wind tore the hood of her jacket from her head. She grabbed the coils of rope from the bed of the truck and headed toward the focus of her attention. Right before her eyes was a tree that had crashed down across the powerlines that connected the west side of Storybrooke to the town’s power grid.

“Didn’t we fix this last week?” Emma muttered as she trudged through the eight inches of snow that had fallen since the most recent nor’easter had made landfall on Maine’s coast.

“Last week’s was on the other side of town,” August’s said, his voice floating from somewhere in front of Emma. Instinctively, Emma tried to pin down her friend’s location based on scent, but all she got was a nose full of snow.

Even if Emma had been able to smell anything, it would not have done her any good. August, no matter where he was, always smelled like a tree; what type of tree he’d smell like depended on his mood. Usually, he smelled like pine. It was a trait of his druid heritage, he had explained on the one and only date the two of them had gone on. She wasn’t entirely convinced that he had been completely honest with her. Once, when running in the forest that surrounded Storybrooke, she witnessed him turn into a maple tree.

One moment he had been standing in a small patch of sunlight that had broken through the canopy of the forest and in the span of a blink of an eye, there was a tree in the exact same spot. The event had been unexpected, but it was hardly the weirdest thing she had seen since moving to Storybrooke. The majority of the town’s population was otherworldly and not-entirely human individuals, and she was no exception.

Emma’s werewolf boyfriend had ‘accidentally’ bitten her when she was sixteen. Not long after, she’d found herself in police custody for possession of stolen goods and her lover nowhere to be found. Thankfully, one of the officers that had been involved in her arrest had recognized Emma’s unique condition and had arranged for her to be sent to Storybrooke for ‘rehabilitation’ with a very special foster family.

Over a decade later and she was the town’s Sheriff. Sometimes, that job meant dealing with drunk fairies or barroom brawls between dwarfs, a wizard, and a troll, but most of the time it was the same work as other Sheriffs in rural Maine. Being a werewolf helped, though. It was almost a tradition for her to sniff out the rebellious teenagers drinking and smoking in the woods at the beginning of the summer.

However, werewolf enhanced sense of smell or not, there was no way Emma could pinpoint August when surrounded by trees. Relying on her hearing instead, Emma followed the dull thud of an axe hitting wood. She found August hacking at the base of the fallen tree; it had broken from the trunk about 10 feet from the side of the road. Her eyes darted to the electrical wires the tree had fallen across and breathed a sigh of relief to see that they were not live. She doubted August had bothered to confirm that the electricity to the area was off before starting work - not that she was sure a direct shock would do much damage to the man.

Emma dropped the rope on top of the tree and eyed it with distaste. Not only had it taken out the power lines, but it was now situated across the main highway that ran in and out of town. She sighed as she pulled some flares from her jacket and set them upright in piles of snow. Though she didn’t expect anyone to be on the road in the middle of the night during a blizzard, it was better to be prepared. They would move the tree off the road tonight, but Leroy and his team wouldn’t be out until the storm weakened to repair the power lines.

A car horn sounded and Emma jumped. She yelled “Sorry” to David and got out of the way of the backend of his truck. Once they had the fallen tree disconnected from its trunk, and the length of itself that was on the other side of the road, they would use the truck to drag the obstructing section of the tree to the side of the road. After that, it would be left to either decay naturally or August would buy it off the town for his and his father’s woodshop.

Truck in place, David hopped from the cab and trudged over, two axes on his shoulder. “I think you should make a line of jewelry boxes from this tree,” he suggested to August. The other man halted his chopping and gave the tree a contemplative look.

“Regina wants to redo her kitchen. This is Black Cherry and would make some lovely cabinets,” August replied.

David looked at Emma and rolled his eyes. Regina was not only the town’s mayor, but also its founder. She had formed Storybrooke over 50 years ago to be a haven for the supernatural people and creatures in New England. A powerful sorceress, she maintained the magical barrier that kept people away from the area. Only those who already knew about the town were able to find it.

Emma’s son, Henry, called Regina the town’s Secret Keeper.

“I don’t think boxes of any kind would be a good idea. They named this storm Pandora,” Emma informed David as he passed her an axe.

Her deputy laughed. “Are you serious? Who came up with this year’s list of names?”

“People with a keen interest in Greco-Roman history,” Emma replied. She held up her hand and lifted a finger as she listed off some of the other names on the list. “We’ve already had Winter Storms Eris, Iola, Juno, and Neptune. Next up is Quantum, which is latin, but after that is Remus and Sparta.”

The three of them debated the wisdom of naming storms after gods and mythical beings as they chopped away at the tree. Once they had a portion free and had removed most of the branches, Emma dropped her axe into the bed of the truck and grabbed a bottle of water from the cab. She drank half of it before passing it to David and August.

Once they were all rehydrated, Emma crouched next to one end of the tree and lifted it a couple of inches off the ground. David and August quickly looped the rope around the circumference of the tree and secured it to itself with a series of knots. Emma dropped the end of the tree back into the snow as soon as they were done. While she was securing the ends of the rope to the hitch on the truck, she heard David let out a huff, a grunt, and, finally, a groan. She looked back and saw that he was sitting near the end of the tree with a putout expression on his face.

“He tried to lift it, didn’t he?” she asked August as he helped David to his feet.

August nodded. “He got it off the ground.”

Impressed, Emma clapped David on the back. David was one of the few completely human residents of Storybrooke, but more often than not, he could measure up in pure strength to some of his fellow townspeople. Emma knew she wouldn’t have been able to lift the tree even a smidge without the strength that being a werewolf gave her, and that just made David’s feat all the more remarkable.

“I’m sure Mary Margaret will be very impressed. You may want to leave out the part about falling on your ass afterwards, though.”

David laughed and kicked at the tree.

“Then let’s get this log moved so I can go brag about my prowess to my lovely wife.”

Mary Margaret, David’s wife and Emma’s foster sister, would be impressed. After, she would brew a magically enhanced tea that could help with muscle pain, just in case her husband had strained a muscle trying to imitate a werewolf. As an earth witch, Mary Margaret knew exactly how to combine nature’s gifts to solve nearly every ailment. Her anti-nausea potions had been the only reason Emma had been functional during her pregnancy with Henry.

David climbed into his truck and started the engine, but the tires had a hard time getting a grip on the road through the fresh snow. Emma put her booted foot on the bumper and gave the truck a push until the tires found traction.

“I said you needed new snow tires,” Emma muttered to herself. The 20-year-old truck was heavy, but even it could use some high-quality studded tires to deal with Maine’s winters. David dragged the large log until it was parallel with the road. Emma was removing the rope and preparing to push the log into the ditch alongside the road when David hollered from the car.

“Emma! Eric is on the radio! He says there is a ship coming into port!”

---

“The ship’s name is the Jolly Roger? Really, over?” Emma said into the truck’s radio.

David chuckled as he carefully guided the truck along Main Street.

The radio cracked as Eric replied, “That is what they said, over”

“Did they happen to mention why they are out sailing during a blizzard, over?” Emma’s ‘like idiots’ was left unsaid but implied in her tone.

“No Sheriff, over.”

Emma sighed. Storybrooke wasn’t equipped to stage a sea rescue if the ship didn’t make it into port safely: at least, not a traditional one that wouldn’t give away the special nature of the town’s inhabitants.

“Radio the Hermit and have him get the lighthouse going. I don’t know how much good it will do in this weather, but I’d rather they not crash into the shore,” she said, before adding a belated “over.”

“Already have, Sheriff, over.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Over and out.”

Emma sighed. A blizzard was bad enough. She did not want to deal with possible humans arriving and becoming stranded due to the weather in the very not-human town.

She looked down her cell phone.

No signal.

She was spared from having to call the mayor, in the middle of the night, and tell her about the unexpected ship coming into port for a little longer.

Regina hated unexpected arrivals.

So did Emma.

The town of Storybrooke and the surrounding woods were her pack’s territory. And like their wild cousins, werewolves defended their territory against any interlopers. They were the town’s second line of defense should anyone manage to get through Regina’s protective spells. Not only did they patrol the woods on a regular basis, but they also knew the scents of everyone who lived in Storybrooke. They would sniff out any newcomers or imposters.

Given that - combined with her sense of duty as Sheriff - Emma could be a little overzealous about protecting her home. However, it had been at least a year since she had growled, while human, at the few new arrivals that had come to town.

She was making progress.

David eased the truck to a stop outside the Harbor Master’s office, positioning her door right with the path someone, probably Eric, had shovel a path to the door.

Inside the office, it was toasty warm and Emma immediately removed her hat, gloves, and coat. Eric had the radio in one hand as he studied a map of the local coastline.

“Keep on your current bearing as best you can and you should reach our harbor within the next 30 minutes, over,” Eric said into the radio.

“Roger that, over and out,” the person on the other end replied. Though the signal was full of static, Emma could pick up a hint of an accent in the male voice. It sounded vaguely like the one from Newfoundland, but any sailors from that area would know better than to set sail when a blizzard as powerful as Pandora was on its way.

Emma grabbed the handset of the phone that hung on the wall and put it to her ear.

No dial tone.

She depressed the switch a couple of times and, remarkably, got a dial tone on the fourth try. She quickly dialed the number for the landline at Regina’s home.

It rang a half dozen times before an irritated, “what?” snapped down the line.

Forgoing any pleasantries, Emma simply said, “We have a ship coming into port.”

Regina was silent for a few moments before stating, quite matter-of-factly, “We aren’t expecting anyone.”

“No, we aren’t.”

Emma heard the sound of blankets moving and a sleepy grumble of, “what is going on?” from Regina’s partner, Robin.

“I’ll be there soon, Sheriff,” Regina said before she abruptly ended the call.

Rolling her head back to loosen the knots she could feel forming in her neck, Emma spotted the clock that hung above Eric’s desk. It read 3AM. She turned to David, who was filling the coffee pot with water.

“Why don’t you go home and get a couple of hours of rest before the clean-up begins?”

“Are you sure?” he asked, but his hand was already in his pocket to retrieve the keys to the truck.

Emma raised her brow before asking, “Would you rather stay and deal with Regina?”

David laughed.

“No way. I’ll say hello to Henry for you!” He called over his shoulder as he headed out the door. Emma took shameless advantage of her sister’s willingness to watch Henry when Emma worked.

“Lucky man,” Eric remarked as he watched the truck pull away.

“He’s been worried about Mary-Margaret all night,” Emma replied. She wrinkled her nose. His worry had made the truck smell like stale sweat.

Eric finished preparing the coffee that David had start making.

“Is Ariel at home this evening?” Emma asked as the bitter smell of stale coffee started to fill the small office. Eric’s wife, Ariel, was a mermaid. She split her time between her family in the sea and life on land with Eric due to a bargain she’d struck with her father, King Triton, and Regina.

Part of the settled upon agreement between the parties in that deal was that Ariel would stop bringing any wayward sailors she rescued to Storybrooke. Regina had become tired of erasing the memories of the hapless humans and having to arrange their ‘rescue’ away from Storybrooke. Eric had been one such shipwrecked sailor and the only one of Ariel’s rescues that had been allowed to stay. But that only had been because Eric had proved oddly resistant to Regina’s memory manipulation and had wandered into town on his own two months after Emma had dropped him off on a beach near Jonestown.

Eric chuckled. “Of course not. She informed me about the ship heading our way before they radioed in.” Ariel, for whatever reason, loved to swim in rough seas. “I asked her to keep an eye on the ship, just in the case the storm proves too much for them. Though the Captain insists he is, and I quote, ‘a hell of a Captain.’”

Emma scoffed as she poured Eric and herself some coffee. Just as she was about to take her first sip, the smell of sulfur hit her nose. A moment later, a puff of purple smoke filled the room. Regina stepped out of the smoke, dressed in a grey skirt suit and pointed black heels. It was nothing Emma would ever dream of wearing during a blizzard, but then again, she couldn’t travel via magic. Immediately, Emma waved her hand in front of her face to dispel the stench of Regina’s magic, but it was no use. A normal human wouldn’t be able to smell the hint of sulfur that remained in the air, but her enhanced sense of smell meant that she would be smelling it until the office was aired out.

“What do you plan to do about this situation, Sheriff?” Regina was great at getting to the heart of the matter.

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I plan to let them dock, give them coffee, and ask them some questions.”

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you take them to Granny’s and buy them breakfast while you’re at it? Whoever these people are, they are trespassers.”

“I’m not going to arrest them and lock them up at the station, Regina,” Emma argued. “Seeking a safe port during a storm isn’t a crime.”

The mayor’s lips thinned.

“I’m more curious as to how they got through your spell,” Emma continued.

There was a map pinned on a wall in the Sheriff’s station that had the magical borders of Storybrooke outlined in bright red marker. Emma mainly used it to mark trees in the forests, so she and her pack mates didn’t run beyond the limits of their territory during full moon runs, but she vaguely recalled that the coastal border of the spell extended about 45 miles away from the town’s shoreline.

Too far for the old radio in the harbormaster’s office to pick up the signal from boat unless it had already crossed through the spell’s barrier. A fact she only knew because Regina had refused to allocate city funds to pay for a new radio and antenna at the lighthouse so the town could monitor the recreational boaters in the area.

“You and I both, Miss Swan.”

#cs supernatural summer #CSSNS #Captain Swan #OUaT ff #CS ff #werewolves #WTSBI

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