#convincing achilles. really. you think hes bad try being at his side for years he is the worst guy i know in the guy department'' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnamonest · 3 years

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Kaeya Alberich - Yandere Profile

YES I love my eyepatch boy!! I really like him as a yandere, because he's definitely got several traits and behaviors that would make him a very unconventional/different yet absolutely terrifying one to have. Him or Diluc as your yandere is basically like playing a game on maximum difficulty. He's so arrogant dammit why does he have to make it hot

More importantly, someone take the ability to write n/sfw away from me I s2g... I go from trying to make serious content to nasty weird kinks and completely feral in .002 seconds the moment I add that readmore

tws: gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, mentions of mutilation

tws (below cut): noncon, a good deal of sadism, mentions of an*l

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's actually one of the worst yanderes you could have in almost every regard, for two very simple reasons: his crippling psychological issues, and his intense selfishness. The first manifests as severe abandonment issues. It's the origin of his unhealthy feelings, most likely. Kaeya doesn't like the instability of people - based on his backstory, people always leave, or die, and even if they don't intend to, somehow it feels like abandonment, and he resents it. People leave him all alone and afraid and uncertain. That's generally all he knows, and despite the smug exterior, he's actually pushed people away quite a bit, keeps everyone at arm's length to ensure they can't become someone too important for him to accept their sudden absence. He can't care about someone, because that someone is fated to inevitably leave him, no matter who it may be.

That's why, once you manage to worm your way into his feelings and heart despite his best efforts, once he finally caves to acknowledging the feeling, he's aware. Painfully aware, because be can't stop worrying every waking moment about you, your well-being, your location. It reaches a point where he can't go about his job because he's simply too consumed with his worry.

The solution that kept him safest in the past was to avoid developing emotional attachments, but when he does, he's terrified of both your safety AND you intentionally abandoning him. Really, the latter would hurt worse, since he can't fault you for dying, but to abandon him? It would break him.

And, to some extent, he's developed a lot of prideful anger about it, deep, deep down. He feels that he doesn't deserve to be abandoned, doesn't deserve to just be left behind under the guise of some greater purpose, and he'll be damned if he just lets you toss him aside like he feels others did. Even if you reject him, he won't accept it. You don't get to reject him. He won't allow that. What has he ever done to deserve everything that's happened to him? Nothing. You're the one person who has stayed with him, and you're going to continue to be with him. Forever.

That being said, he's still somewhat confident because he's got that arrogance about him. He doesn't perceive rejection, because he's always gotten a lot of attention for his looks, even if he's never actually followed through on anyone else's attention out of those same fears. He'll write off any perceived rejection as being for some other reason, something besides an actual rejection, and he'll seek to eliminate whatever he feels is keeping you from just accepting him.

Honestly, one of the most likely to have a full blown, classic-yandere-style psychotic breakdown. He can be driven to a snapping point, if there's enough stress or obstacles, and in case of that, he'll be a lot more willing to kill, and a lot more willing to hurt you, but it's a point that would still take a lot to reach.

But what's really terrifying about Kaeya is his delusions, primarily his ability to mentally justify everything he does without hesitation. Even most delusional yanderes struggle - they feel like it's wrong, they know it is deep down, and they take time to convince themselves of their delusions, tell themselves it's ok over and over, beg for reassurance, and get defensive when called out because they know they're in the wrong. The same isn't true for Kaeya. He automatically justifies his actions by default, and has absolutely zero doubt or hesitation to do so. He doesn't even need a complex reason for justification - it's a simple one. He deserves what he wants. Anything necessary to achieve that is fair.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Highly likely and very quickly, right up there with Diluc and Razor. And he's absolutely remorseless about it. It ties back into his delusional state and ability to justify anything he does - this is what's best for you. If you don't get that, that's your problem, not his.

He's another one to not want to pull some barbaric move like knocking you out, rather, he'd rather just trick you into walking right into your new home. He gets that you'll be upset about it, but to him, that's just part of the process. Not that he'll tolerate it for too long. 12, maybe 24 hours is enough time for you to reasonably be upset, but if you're still trying to fight him on this after that, he's going to get snappy about it, thinking you should already be over that by now.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

You're not leaving.

It's not worth trying, really. How he manages to do it is a mystery to you, but he'll manage to keep you locked in right there at the headquarters with him. How Jean and Lisa haven't found out about you being there, how he convinced all of his guards to be on his side of things, you have no idea. Realistically, if you get out, he's likely to make you out to be some kind of criminal that needs to be found -- just not to hurt you in any way, so goes the order, and the knights know better than to question why.

He has eyes and ears everywhere, it won't take them anytime at all to find you. He's so confident in that, and combined with his pride, he doesn't feel the need to go get you himself. No, it's a lot more satisfying to sit back and watch as they drag you through the doors of the headquarters, slowly pull you to the end of the room and drop you down at his feet, where he can look down on you with that closed-eyed, artificially wide smile that tells you that you have seriously fucked up.

Escape attempts aren't going to be met with a single shred of mercy, really. The thing about Kaeya is he's ultimately a selfish, selfish bastard with a lot of deep-seeded, highly repressed emotional issues, and he has absolutely no problem with keeping you bound hand and foot, or maybe even make some permanent modifications to your body if that's what it takes to keep you. It's not a wise idea to even try unless you're absolutely certain to succeed, otherwise you may find yourself never getting the opportunity again. You don't really need those Achilles tendons intact, you know. And your ankle bones are just so fragile, they'll snap with just a little twist. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad, giving you more reasons to be grateful when he's doing everything for you.

He's not one to just let it go, either. No, escape attempts are the one unforgivable thing for him, the one thing that will make him totally and completely snap. You don't get to do that. You're the one thing that doesn't get to just disappear out of his life in a flash. Half the reason he sends the knights to get you rather than going himself is to give him some time to let the rage settle down, otherwise he knows he might not be able to control himself and might end up hurting you even worse than he intends to. He's not going to buy any excuses and won't go any lighter on you if you beg and grovel or anything. But you will apologize -- you get to choose how hard it is. You can apologize the easy way, or, if you don't want to, there are many ways to force it out. But by the end, he'll get an apology, and a promise to never try again, out of you, no matter what that takes. It's by far the worst state you'll ever see him in, and really, once is enough to dissuade you from trying again.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

You'd have to try pretty hard. He doesn't have the sheer amount of years of life experience like Venti or Zhongli, but he's not the captain for no reason - he's perceptive, and highly intelligent.

Rather than simply mastering reading human voice and facial expressions for telltale signs of deceit, he's good at learning individuals in particular - memorizing the patterns of thought and action of a particular individual, and predicting how they will act. He can do it with everyone else with ease, how much more, then, with the object of an obsession? If you're trying to formulate some plan to trick him, he'll already predict what you'll do, if you lie, he already knows. It's creepier than the others, really, because it's not just that he can tell when you're lying, but rather he already knows you're going to lie or try some scheme before you do it. It feels so tailored and personalized to your thought patterns, it almost feels like an invasion of the privacy of your mind, which, really, is the one privacy you thought you had left.

He's great at gaslighting himself, too. He's a very good liar, and can make you believe anything he wants. He'll target your fears and paranoias, make you believe you're going crazy, and he'll do it all so perfectly you'll never suspect a thing. You'll end up coming to him for protection and guidance, exactly as planned.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Pretty strict. He doesn't let you have any outside contact, and you're limited on what you can do when he's gone. He'll bring you some books, maybe something to draw on -- no sharp writing utensils, though. In his mind, that should be enough to occupy you.

You won't get outside walks or visits. It's just too risky for him, and he really doesn't like seeing other people look at you. If you really, really beg, and you've been on amazing behavior, and you're well into your relationship, maybe a few months or so, there's a chance he'll take you out at nighttime, or sunrise, but at the slightest sign of intentions he doesn't like, you'll be dragged back, and you won't see the sun for a long time.

You'll have a very limited wardrobe, he doesn't see why you even need to wear anything, but if you're going to be stubborn, he can get you something simple, like an old shirt and some underwear, but that's about all you can have. Any requests for actual clothing are going to be denied. It's ridiculous for him to spend money on something you don't need, and besides, he prefers it this way, y'know?

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Generally, it's a simple one: obey. You do what he tells you to do, and you don't do something if he tells you not to. This stems to similar rules that develop: be submissive, don't be argumentative, don't be defiant. Follow those, and you can both be happy, and that's what you want, isn't it? It had better be - he's not very lenient, and will harshly punish even small offenses. As for that punishment... most of it isn't going to be sfw. That's just how he is.

What he will do is emotionally manipulate you, and he's rather good at it. You wanted to escape? Ok. He'll let you have your way, let you be alone. All alone. All by yourself, in a little room, with no one at all, which is exactly how you would have left him, had you succeeded. He knows very well how that kind of loneliness bites. He's not totally cruel, though, and he won't withhold affection from you by the time he returns -- he doesn't need to, you'll already be crying and apologizing, which is exactly what he hoped for. Not that he won't briefly mock you for it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're crying like that because you actually missed me. Oh, you did? Being all alone isn't particularly fun, now is it? I'm sure you understand that now."

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Kaeya's an insanely jealous person. It doesn't show on his face, but it eats at him internally. It doesn't matter if it's a love interest, a platonic friend, even a family member. It's all the same -- people who want to take your attention away from him, people who you smile at that aren't him, people you love that aren't him. He's not one to delude himself into thinking everyone secretly loves you romantically, rather, it doesn't matter. Romantic interests are the worst threat, sure, but friends and family aren't much better.

He sees himself as above killing, though. He has people to do that for him, and he likes knowing that he has that much power. He's not going to dirty his hands with it, and frankly, they're not even worthy of his time and effort to kill them. Knights and other connections can take care of it just as well.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

As somewhat previously discussed, the primary form of making him mad is attempting an escape. That's on a whole new level of anger because it strikes at a very deep, wounding insecurity. On a normal day, though, he's more easily exasperated than angry. He gets frustrated somewhat easily, especially if you're trying exceptionally hard to be a brat. He has very clear warning signs. His signature little smirk drops, he gets quiet, he balls his hands into fists and digs his fingernails into his palms. At that stage, he's irritable and might snap at you, but won't get too angry until you ignore those signs and push it.

If you do push him, though, he gets genuinely mad, which is a very quiet anger at first -- he doesn't talk much when he's mad. He acts. You'll know he's snapped when he puts down whatever he's doing, and just silently stomps over to you, face completely empty and flat, looking down at you with a cold expression. It's enough to put fear in you, but at that point, even if you apologize, you're not getting out of whatever he's planned.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Strongly in the "below" camp, a rather unusual stance for a yandere. Like many things with him, there's an inexplicable duality going on there. You would think that if you loved someone so strongly you'd kidnap them, kill for them, and potentially suffer consequences just to have them, that you would really think highly of them. On the flip side, you would think that if you really saw someone as lowly, you wouldn't care for them, you'd see them as disposable.

But neither is true for Kaeya, no, he balances both obsessive love and complete narcissism regarding you. You're not disposable, no, he can't live without you, he needs you. But at the same time, you're not gonna be on any kind of pedestal. No, if anything, he sees himself on one, more like a throne, and you on the floor before him, how things should be.

He has a similar mindset to Zhongli or Albedo - you're fragile, you're dumb, you're incapable, and you need someone to care for you, protect you, guide you, someone who knows what's best for you, since you clearly don't. However, he's lacking in the attitude those other two have -- there's no seeing you as an angel here. There's no viewing himself as being absolutely honored to take care of you, or viewing protecting and caring for you as some kind of privilege that they're blessed to do, the way those two do.

No, as much as he loves those things, he'll never admit it, not even to himself really. Rather, his mentality is that you should be grateful. Here he is, a very highly respected, accomplished, capable person, and you...? You have what to offer, exactly? That's right, nothing, really, only cuteness and obedience, the latter of which you refuse to give him even though you really ought to. He's taking on the burden of making sure you don't get yourself killed, and how do you repay him? By getting mad about it, throwing a fit like some little kid? He puts up with your tantrums, which are really undeserved, by the way. He puts up with your disobedience and repeated rule violations, your sheer determination to defy him when he's going out of his way to do what's best for you.

One day, he thinks, you'll mature a little bit and understand why he does what he does, and when you do, you'll come groveling and sniffling about how sorry you are, how you'll never defy him again, how you'll be good and obedient from now on, and he'll love every second of it. He looks forward to that day quite a bit.

"Sigh... you know, you're pretty lucky I love you so much. You could stand to show me a little thanks, don't you think?"

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's strongly determined, and yet... doesn't do much to try. It goes back to his mindset that really, you're the one who should be grateful for him, and eventually, you will love him. He's not gonna grovel to you or try different ways of making you love him, no, he's far too proud for that. But he's a smart man. He knows the effects that complete and total isolation other than one other person can have on someone. He's just going to sit back and wait for that effect to kick in, and slowly watch your fragile little mind deteriorate until you're desperate for affection. At which point, well, he can use it against you.

"You were so mean to me before, weren't you? You fought me every step of the way, and now you're just going to turn around and act like that didn't happen...? Well, if you're really sorry, I'll forgive you. But how am I supposed to believe you really are...? Maybe you can think of a way to prove it, hm?"

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Probably the severity of his degradation. As aforementioned, most yanderes, even the more confident or cocky individuals, either worship the ground their beloved walks on and sees themselves as beneath them, OR sees their darling as some sort of fragile, angelic being, and they are simply a protector or caretaker to that being.

It's a bit different with him, ever the narcissist. It's a strange duality born out of a rare mix of neediness, obsession, and pride. You're more like a toy, or a pet - an invaluable pet that he could never part with, but a pet nonetheless. He certainly looks down on you more than the average yandere - he mentally associates you as naive, fragile, even dumb like a lot of the aforementioned protector/caretaker types, but without the reverence to make up for it.

It's a bizarre duality that not even he fully understands - don't think for a moment that that means he'll ever tire of you, or view you as disposable. No, he's actually one of the most obsessive ones, yet very demanding of attention and praise, rather than giving it.

He frequently tests you - things like leaving the door unlocked, waiting outside just to see if you'll try it. Seeing you open that door, watching your face go from ecstatic excitement and drop to wide-eyed terror, it's priceless.

"My, my, you didn't waste any time at all, did you? Why do you look so surprised...? You should know I wouldn't slip up that badly."

Pet names, but in the most infuriatingly condescending way, and uses them more often when he's mad and trying to warn you that you're pushing his limits. Particularly fond of "sweetheart," especially with a low warning tone and clenched teeth.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny fucker, all the way. The man has a lot of stress and frustration in his life already, that much more if you're... less than compliant with your new lifestyle. Sex, especially rough and hard, is a fantastic stress reliever.

Very little reservation. He's not crude about it, but he tends to make subtle innuendos very frequently, and laughs at your embarrassed reactions. Definitely the type to pull the whole shtick in which he says something with a blatant sexual undertone, then elaborates in a way to make it sound like having meant something else, follows with that smirk and says, "Why? What did you think I meant?" It's something he really enjoys doing, and loves to get embarrassed reactions out of people, particularly yourself.

"Touchy" doesn't begin to describe it. Pretty much from the moment you meet him, he's got his hands somewhere on your person. He grabs your shoulders when he stands behind you, he wraps an arm around you from the side when he walks up to you, he's always pressing his hands on your back and sides whenever you're navigating the streets, walking through doorways, wraps an arm around your waist when sitting next to you. It's highly uncomfortable, but really, he's just got something very subtly, but very strongly intimidating about him. You almost don't want to confront him on it. If you do, he'll laugh it off, and stop -- for maybe 48 hours or so, and then he'll be right back at it.

To the surprise of, well, everyone who's ever met him, he doesn't actually live up to the rumors of having been around the block, so to speak. His experience is actually little to none - that kinda happens when you push everyone around you away. Not that he'd ever let you know that, of course, and will probably lie if asked, but you can gleam a little bit of truth from slightly awkward movements and a bit of noticeable shakiness.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Kind of like Razor, the issue is that he loves you, and what better way is there of expressing love? He's not much for gift-giving or words of affirmation - no, he's a lot better with words of degradation, it comes more naturally to him. And he's certainly not one to enjoy acts of service -- well, not doing them, he'll gladly take them as a sign of your love, though. No, he expresses love through touch. It's like how, when you hug someone you really love, someone you missed, you squeeze them extra tight - the love manifests as a physical urge for some strong expression. Humans are physical about their emotions -- we punch walls when we're mad, we jump up and down when we're happy, and when you love someone, sometimes you just really, really want to pound them into a mattress as hard as physically possible. That's normal. That, and really, he's got his vices. He's actually fairly weak when it comes to resisting temptations, and prone to give in to urges for physical sensations like drunkenness and sex.

Is another one to be convinced that, with time, you'll come around. And is absolutely the top candidate to be one for using your own body against you - if you get wet, if you whimper, if you cum, that's just proof that you really do want this, that you're just being difficult because you enjoy being a brat, and he'll be sure to tell you that.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

This is nearly indistinguishable from punishment, sadistic bastard

D/S dynamics

Arrogant fucker wants to be served and worshipped, you could see it coming from a mile away. Anything that puts you beneath him is going to make him happy - anything where you're where you're supposed to be. There's a lot of options, but it doesn't really matter, as long as he feels like he's in control and ownership of you in some way, and as long as you act accordingly.

He wants it to be something that’s not just for sex, but rather, he’ll end up carrying it over into normal life, whether you like it or not. If you just went along with it in hopes of getting it over with once he cums, you’re going to be in for a treat when it starts to carry over. He gets a little too used to being worshipped, and decides he likes that submissive attitude on you enough to want to see it all the time.

Petplay/Collaring

It really helps that he sees you as something of a pet already, but really, the collar is the selling point. Even if you never go outside, there's something unbearably hot about the possessiveness of it all - really, it's there to remind you of your status as property. He wants to own you, and for you to be forced to acknowledge that he owns you, and there's really no better way to do that than something with his name on it. It's even better with a leash, one he can pull on when he's fucking you to pull you back onto him over, and over, and over, hearing it choke you the more he shortens it.

But really, having you crawl towards him on all fours and obey little commands so simple they're humiliating is pretty nice, too.

Impact pain/painplay

There's really nothing quite so powerful feeling as watching you cry and squirm from it, y'know? He's another one that just likes the marks his hands, belts, or anything else can leave all over the skin of your ass and the back of your legs. The thing with him, though, is it's not even always a punishment, he just does it for fun, and that makes it unpredictable. Will definitely make you count, it's a sadistic torture for your mind and body.

Throatfucking

May be used as a punishment measure, may just be because he's craving it, either way, even if you have a gag reflex, you won't for very long. He'll train it out of you gradually, grabbing the back of your head and just slamming all the way down into your throat, holding you there, making you choke - it's a beautiful sound, really, listening to you gag, all while your throat spasms around him, it's the best feeling, really, and will definitely be used as a threat if you need incentives to behave.

Choking

Ties into the dynamics, but really, there’s not much to say on this one. He likes the power trip from having his hands wrapped around your throat, seeing you struggle, watching your face go red, hearing those little choking noises. It puts power over you into his hands, and if you get pleasure from it against your own will, that’s even better.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Absolutely one of the ones to use it as a tool. If you have a baby, you'll be so much more bound to him. You'll need him more, you'll want him around more, you'll be much less likely to leave, and in a way it feels a little bit like a sign of ownership over you.

That being said, he's also acutely aware of his jealous tendencies, and realizes he would also be very likely to become jealous if he felt like you loved a baby more than him, or gave it more attention and affection than you do him. He doesn't like the thought.

So ultimately, the latter side prevents him from willingly trying, but if you really, really have defiance issues even after he's tried everything he can to break you help you adjust, he might consider it.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

If it's mild enough, he can just take the route of extremely rough fucking - it gets rid of the frustration, he likes hearing you whimper and squeal, and he can leave lots of little bruises as reminders of what not to do in the future.

But, again, he already gets off to putting you in pain - it'll be that much worse when you've done something to deserve it. Harder hits, no mercy whatsoever, and he just loves all your little cries, wiping away your tears and smiling at you, right before bringing down whatever instrument of pain he's chosen again. If you really, really make him mad, and he really wants to make you cry, he's not above fucking your ass, either, watching you cry and beg, but you'll learn with time that begging doesn't ever get you out of anything.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Definitely an ass man. Likes fucking you in doggy, seeing the ripple every time you bounce back off of him, pulling your hair or arms to add some force. He likes seeing all the little red marks that his hands and belts and anything else will leave on the skin, views it like marks of possession. Grabbing, beating, fucking, it's all good.

#Jesus take the wheel im too nasty for this #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere kaeya #tw: dark content #tw: noncon #tw: non/con

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

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hear those bells ring: chapter 3 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo wakes up with his hearing and a bunch of questions.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 3, I had to work over the weekend. 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

Bakugo woke up confused, disoriented, and pissed off.

He bolted upright, the taste of smoke and ash still on his tongue, but when he whipped his head from side to side, there was no fire, no burning asphalt, no villain, only the empty, dark expanse of his apartment.

But something was still tugging at him, fucking incessantly, and it took him a moment to realize it was his phone alarm.

Red eyes flicked to the device on his bedside table, and even though its continuous siren was like nails on a chalkboard, Bakugo found himself unable to move, unable to stop it.

Because he could hear the alarm. Clearly. Loudly.

He hadn’t been able to hear his phone alarm in weeks, not really. It was nothing more than a muffled tone that petered out toward the end as it rose in pitch and frequency. Thankfully, Bakugo’s internal alarm got him up most days around the sun, but he’d been late to morning patrols a handful of times.

But now…

Numbly, Bakugo finally reached out and tapped his phone. His ears rang slightly in the ensuing silence, but it was barely perceptible, nothing like the perpetual buzzing he’d been living with, like a hive of bees had taken up residence in his head.

The quiet, after so long, was almost… unsettling.

And it was all because of that woman. He was sure of it.

Bakugo pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought about you, the memories of last night flooding back. The blurry image of your face, crouched over him, splattered in a thin mist of red blood and dusted with white plaster. He couldn’t remember much from right after he blasted that villain into the fucking dirt. He remembered the feel of glass breaking around him, and pain, a lot of fucking pain, but then it was black until you appeared. When he’d opened his eyes and met yours, he recalled thinking he should be in more pain, but then you spoke to him and derailed all coherent thought.

Because he’d heard you. Clear as fucking day.

That immediately drew his attention, and so did the blood all over your hands.

There was a lot of it. Way too fucking much for nicking yourself on some glass or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. And Bakugo knew it was bullshit. You weren’t a convincing liar. Well, maybe to some idiot extras you would be, but not to him. He clocked the way you stuttered, the way you fidgeted and averted your eyes. And when you looked at him… fuck, your face was so goddamn guilty.

Why, he had no idea.

But he did know one thing.

You had a healing quirk. There was no other explanation.

Even if he hadn’t just miraculously recovered the hearing that a doctor told him he would never get back, there were a lot of other little discrepancies. His left arm, for one. Bakugo remembered how it felt when the villain’s asphalt wrapped around his limb, the burning, scalding agony of it. But now, the skin was just pink and barely blistered in some places.

Then there was the blood.

When he’d gotten home after ditching the crime scene, Bakugo had immediately beelined for his bathroom to take a shower. But, when he stripped off his hoodie, he realized it was heavier than it should be right before he noticed it was dripping onto his floor. Dripping blood. Without thinking, he’d wrung the hoodie out on the bathroom floor, and a fuck ton of red liquid seeped out of it.

He had immediately dropped the jacket and started scanning his body in the bathroom mirror, but besides the shallow gash on his abdomen, the burned arm, and a few other minor scrapes and bruises, he was uninjured.

But… his back was coated in red, and so were the seat of his dark jeans and boxer briefs. It was almost like… he’d been lying in a pool of blood.

So, you had to be a healer. You just had to be.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to confirm this since the cops had been circling you like vultures. He also hadn’t wanted to be bitched at by any more heroes, or the fucking media, so he made himself scarce.

But he needed to see you again. Needed to hear the truth from your own mouth.

And maybe he could coax you into a deal.

The doctor Bakugo spoke to yesterday obviously hadn’t known what the hell he was talking about. He had made it sound impossible to fix the blond’s ears, and yet you’d somehow done it easily, in the middle of a fucking battlefield.

With that kind of power, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about going deaf or designing stupid hearing aids with some company.

With that kind of power, Dynamight would become Japan’s Number One Hero in no time.

But first, he had to find you.

Resolved, Bakugo shoved the covers off and slid out of bed, but before he could make it to his bathroom, someone started knocking on his front door.

No, not knocking. Banging. It sounded like they were trying to break the fucking door down.

“Bakubroooooooo!”

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Bakugo grumbled as he padded to his front door. He was only dressed in boxer briefs, but that’s what the idiot got for barging over so early in the damn morning.

The banging persisted, growing louder and more fervent.

“I’m fuckin’ comin!” the blond shouted just before he undid the deadbolt and wrenched open the door.

Eijiro Kirishima, dressed in his Red Riot costume, blinked on the other side of the threshold, his fist still raised to knock.

“What the fuck, bro?” he asked after a moment of just staring at Bakugo.

The blond immediately scowled. “That’s my fuckin’ line. What are you doing breaking down my door at six in the damn morning?”

“Excuse me?” his patrol and agency partner scoffed. “I’m obviously coming to check that you’re not dead since you’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.”

“What?” Bakugo frowned. “I saw you yesterday morning for patrol.”

“Noooooo,” Kirishima drawled like Bakugo was a particularly stupid child. “That was two days ago, bro. Then that night, I see you all over the damn news, and no one could get ahold of you all day yesterday. I would have come to check on you sooner, but I’ve been having to play damage control with the media because someone decided to blow up a residential neighborhood.”

“Two days?” Bakugo echoed with a furrowed brow. He’d slept that long?

“Have you been passed out this whole time, dude?” Kirishima groaned as he shouldered his way into the apartment. “I guess that means you got none of our messages?”

“Our?” the blond grumbled as he closed the door and followed the redhead to the kitchen bar.

“Yeah, Denki, Mina, Sero.” Kirishima waved his hand dismissively, marching over to the counter where Bakugo kept the fruit and selecting an apple from the wire basket. “I even asked Izuku to message you, just to see if he’d actually get a rise and response from you.”

“I don’t need stupid Deku knowing about my problems, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo growled before he stomped over to his fridge to see what he had to eat because he was suddenly starving.

“Well, that would imply I know your problems, Oh Great Lord Dynamight,” Kirishima snorted and took a bite of apple. “So, what the fuck happened the other night?”

“I blew up a residential neighborhood,” the blond deadpanned as he turned on his stove, cracking a few eggs into a skillet.

“Yeah, I saw that. I was more wondering about what led up to it.”

“What the fuck do you think led up to it?” Bakugo snapped, rummaging through his cupboard for seasonings. “I was walking home from getting a drink, and a damn villain just popped up in front of me.”

“From what I heard, there were other heroes there, too,” the redhead mumbled around another bite of apple.

“Yeah, fuckin’ useless extras,” Bakugo sneered as he started to whisk his eggs with a pair of chopsticks, throwing in some leftover white rice and a bit of nori. “They obviously weren’t getting anywhere, and the bastard was tearing up the street, so I stepped in.”

“To finish destroying the street?” Kirishima cocked an eyebrow, chewing noisily.

“Fuck off,” the blond said with an eyeroll.

Internally, though, Bakugo knew the redhead was right. He’d been sloppy, careless, probably still borderline drunk. But he’d just been so angry about the doctor’s appointment, his fucked-up ears, his bleak and silent future. He had just wanted to break something, hurt someone, consequences be damned.

Except now the consequences were catching up to him.

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about what his citizen’s approval rating must be now.

Silence stretched between the two pro heroes for several long minutes, in which Bakugo finished making his breakfast and Kirishima finished gnawing on his apple core. The blond quickly shoveled a few bites of eggs and rice into his mouth, but his scarlet eyes kept flicking over to the redhead.

“How bad?” he finally asked.

Kirishima, to his credit, had learned how to translate Bakugo’s curt grunts years ago.

“Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s not that bad,” he sighed, tossing the apple core in the trash and scratching at the back of his head. “Could be worse. From the reports I read, most of the damage—besides the road—is superficial. Broken windows, charred and peeling paint, a few busted cars that we’re still trying to figure out if our insurance or the city’s will pay for. It also helped that you saved two people. That definitely softened the blow.”

“Two?” Bakugo mumbled around one of his last bites. “I just remember the stupid extra on the street that I shoved out of the way.”

As the memory flashed through his mind, Bakugo frowned. He’d shoved that extra out of the way and got snatched by a giant asphalt hand for his troubles. The blond’s red eyes dropped to his pink and blotchy left arm and then trailed over to his chest. He recalled the sensation of his ribs snapping under pressure, but now only a mild soreness lingered after he took a deep breath. Yet another inconsistency…

“Yeah, two,” Kirishima said and drew Bakugo out of his thoughts. “Do you seriously not even remember your own heroics? And that girl had such nice things to say about you, too.”

“Girl?” Bakugo snapped his head up. “The girl whose… apartment I fell into?”

“Crashed into, dude,” the redhead snorted, but then he narrowed his eyes as a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “But yeah. Sounds like you remember her, huh?”

Bakugo didn’t like the smug look on his friend’s face.

“I remember her fuckin’ yellin’ at me.” The blond scowled. “Like I wrecked her place on purpose and didn’t just save her whole block from a lunatic.”

“I mean, to be fair, if you crashed into my house, bro, I would have yelled at you, too.” Kirishima grinned. “But don’t worry, she’s fine. In fact, when she called the agency yesterday, she asked for you specifically.”

“She did? Why?” Did she want to confess her healing quirk? Fuck, were there side effects Bakugo didn’t know about?

“Bro, seriously.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “You’re Japan’s Number Two Hero, and you saved her life. And, like Mina keeps telling you, you’re not as ugly when you stop scowling.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo flipped him off before he went to dump the dishes in the sink.

“Yes, dear.” The redhead smirked. “But, in all seriousness, she called to figure out how to file a claim with our insurance. Or at least that’s what she said, but she also asked how you were doing, and she actually sounded genuinely worried.”

Worried that a random side effect was going to kill him? Or worried that he would say something about her quirk? She’d obviously hidden it for a reason, tried to lie for a reason.

And Bakugo was determined to find out just what that reason was.

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” he grunted as he rinsed off his plate and put it on the drying rack. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I can see that,” Kirishima said as he eyed the butterfly stitches stretched across the gash on Bakugo’s abdomen. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t find you dead in a pool of your own blood. That woulda been a real bummer way to start the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered before he averted his eyes to the living room window across from him. “So… what did you tell her?”

“The girl?”

“No, you’re fuckin’ mom,” the blond scoffed.

“Oh, speaking of moms, you might want to text Mitsuki. I called her last night after you ignored my billionth text, so she’s probably going crazy wondering where you are.” Kirishima grinned and then immediately dodged out of the way as Bakugo hurled a fork at him.

“You bastard!” Bakugo hissed. “Now, I’m going to have to see that hag this weekend or she’s gonna fuckin’ barge over here.”

“Maybe you should turn the ringer up on your phone.” The other hero shrugged, ducking again when Bakugo chucked an apple in his direction.

The blond scowled at his friend, but he didn’t reply.

If you and your quirk were the real deal, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about missing a call ever again.

When Kirishima realized the projectiles had stopped, he popped his head over the back of the couch and smirked. “But to answer your previous question, I told the girl we would handle the insurance claim on our end if she sent us her info. And I didn’t really have anything to tell her about you since, like I’ve said, I thought you were dead. Kinda. I was at least thirty percent sure.”

“Have you filed the insurance claim?” Bakugo asked.

“No.” Kirishima shook his head. “She hasn’t sent in the info yet.”

“Well… we should go get it from her.”

This caused the redhead’s eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline, and the surprise on his face quickly made Bakugo backtrack.

“I just… want to get this shitshow over with,” he grumbled as he averted his eyes again, but he could feel a traitorous heat crawling across the bridge of his nose. “The longer her apartment’s all fucked up, the longer the press is gonna rake me over the coals. The hero ranking’s aren’t far off, and I’m not going to lose to Deku again over some stupid broken windows.”

“Righttttt,” Kirishima drawled, but his tone was mocking. “Okay, well, I know the hotel the police have set her up at. After we swing by the agency, we can head that way… to get her insurance info.”

He still sounded unconvinced and like he wanted to needle Bakugo more, but the blond changed the subject quickly.

“Why do we have to go to the agency?” Bakugo asked, and he frowned as he glanced back at his partner. “Even if I lost yesterday, my next scheduled patrol isn’t till tonight.”

“Oh, I know.” Kirishima nodded solemnly. “But Nao wanted to have… a word with you ASAP, if I confirmed you weren’t dead.”

“Fuckkkkkkk,” Bakugo groaned as he dropped his head back. If there was anything Bakugo hated more than the press, it was his actual PR manager. That old hag was good at her job, which meant she was always up Bakugo’s ass about something, and he knew she was going to have a field day with this shitfest.

“Yeah, I’d recommend coffee and preemptive painkillers before we head in,” Kirishima said. “Plus, some putting on clothes. Maybe we can stop on the way and get her something sweet as a bribe.”

“No amount of sugar is gonna make that bitch nice to me,” Bakugo grumbled before he spun on heel and started marching to his bedroom.

“Maybe flowers then?” the redhead shouted after him.

Bakugo slammed the door in response.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bakugo growled around his cargo, kicking his foot out at Kirishima. “Why did I listen to you? I’ve had to go shopping twice today now.”

“Come on,” his friend laughed as he dodged the blow, which made the bags in his arms crinkle. “You can’t deny the flowers and cookies sweetened ole’ Nao up.”

“To you,” Bakugo muttered, shifting the package in his arms a bit. “She still yelled at me for fifteen minutes.”

“Well, you kinda deserved i—yow!” Kirishima yelped as Bakugo kicked him squarely in the ass this time. “This isn’t helping your image, bro!”

“No one even knows it’s us,” the blond hissed.

“Yeah, I guess the hoodies and sunglasses help,” the other pro hero mused.

“And the fact that we’re carrying all this stupid shit.”

“It’s not stupid.” Kirishima frowned in that earnest way of his, which made Bakugo roll his eyes. “It’s thoughtful to bring gifts to people who are having a difficult time. Especially when you made that time difficult. You basically kicked her out of her house, dude, not to mention her shop.”

A wave of guilt actually washed through the blond, which he didn’t like. It made his throat feel tight and his stomach churn, and he glanced away from the redhead with a scowl.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s not like we aren’t gonna pay for it.”

The excuse felt flat, even to him.

“Still,” Kirishima said as he shifted the bags in his grip, pulled out his phone, and consulted the map. “It must be stressful. So, we’re going to be nice to her, alright? Which starts with the gifts.”

“And how is a fuckin’ fruit basket supposed to help?” Bakugo asked as he glared around the overflowing mound of crinkling plastic and bright fruit that he held against his chest.

“Uh, one, it’s practical. Her apartment’s all fucked up, the power’s probably still out if not inconsistent on the street, and she’s been living in a hotel for two days, so she probably hasn’t had some nice fresh fruit in a while. And two, it looks nice!”

“We coulda just left this shit at the hotel,” Bakugo grumbled. “She has to go back there eventually, right?”

After old Nao chewed his ass out, Bakugo and Kirishima had gone to the hotel the police said they’d put you up in. Except you weren’t fucking there, and the number you left with Kirishima when you called the agency was going straight to voicemail, so here there were, fucking trekking through the city with a bunch of useless shit.

Bakugo just kept reminding himself it would be worth it when he got the truth about your quirk out of you.

“Nope,” Kirishima said and drew the blond out of his thoughts. “The city only pays the first two days after an emergency, unless the villain caused all the damage, but, uh, that��s not the case here, so we’ll be accommodating her until her apartment gets fixed up.”

“At the agency?” Bakugo asked as his red eyes clicked over to his partner.

As the Number Two and Three Heroes, the two of them had built a solid agency together. Bakugo still didn’t care for a bunch of extras riding on his tailcoats, so they had few sidekicks, all of whom reported to Kirishima and left him the fuck alone for the most part. But they owned a nice, sleek building in a nicer part of town, and one of the floors was dedicated to individual rooms with beds and other amenities. They were usually used when Bakugo, Kirishima, or the other sidekicks wanted to crash after patrol instead of going home—which Bakugo did more often than not—but they’d never had a civilian stay on the premises.

Until now.

“Yessssss, at the agency,” the redhead drawled as a shit-eating smirk crawled across his face. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot of her for the next couple weeks.”

“Wipe that stupid look off your face.” Bakugo scowled and shouldered past the other hero, who snickered as he jogged to catch up.

“Take the next left up ahead.”

“Shut up!” the blond growled, but he followed the instructions.

This was good news, though. Bakugo wouldn’t have to trek to this shitty part of town more than he had to.

And he’d have a healer just down the hall.

They marched along in silence for a few minutes, keeping their heads down, but there wasn’t much foot traffic. Bakugo was lost in his thoughts, planning out the questions he was going to ask you once he could distract Kirishima, but the redhead suddenly stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” Bakugo grunted as the fruit basket crinkled against the other hero’s back. He hadn’t even notice Kiri get in front of him again. “What’s the damn hold up?”

“Holy shit, dude,” Kirishima muttered, staring out at the road he’d just turned onto.

“What?” the blond grumbled, shoving past his friend, but then he stopped, too. “Oh… yeah.”

The street in front of him looked much worse in the bright light of midday. The road was a torn-up mess, more patches of dirt and gravel than actual asphalt. Most of the large-scale debris had been hauled away, but black scorch marks covered the sidewalks in long, dark smears. The walls of several businesses also bore charring along the facades, but most of the damage was focused in the center of the street. A crater nearly six feet deep was carved into the middle of the road, and the buildings on either side were blackened, their broken windows gaping voids.

And then there was the hole in what Bakugo remembered as your second-floor apartment. A tarp hung over the wound, but one of the corners had come undone, flapping in the wind and giving split second glimpses into the darkened room beyond.

Guilt crept up on him again, but Bakugo shoved it down, hunching over the fruit basket and nudging Kirishima.

“Come on,” he muttered before he started moving forward, and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the redhead followed him.

There were more people on this street than on the last several, but Bakugo could immediately tell they weren’t customers just passing through. People swept sidewalks, clearing away the last of the rubble and glass in front of their shops. Then a few old ladies stood under one awning shaking their heads, their hands laden with containers of food or gifts.

Guess Kirishima hadn’t been wrong with this stupid idea.

Then Bakugo realized some of those people were starting to look back at him, so he ducked his head further behind the fruit basket, grateful for his hoodie and sunglasses.

But then suddenly he was there, standing in front of your ruined shop. His red eyes immediately flickered upward, but if there was a sign there before, it was gone now, burnt to ash.

“What kinda shop did you say this was?” the blond asked under his breath as Kirishima paused beside him.

“I’m… not sure,” the redhead said with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think she said on the phone. No time like the present to ask, though.”

Before Bakugo could stop him, Kirishima shifted the bags in his arms, lifted one hand, and knocked on the charred metal frame of the front door.

“Hello?” he called through the broken windows, followed by your name. “Anyone in there?”

“Shit!” The squeaking voice was followed by a crashing sound somewhere in the shadows of the store.

Bakugo didn’t speak a lot of English, but he did know curse words, and the sound of it made his lips twitch in amusement.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima called out. “Can, uh, we come in?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” the voice answered back in flustered Japanese. The words were fluent, though, with barely the hint of an accent. “And, um, I-I guess you can come in, but—”

That was good enough for Bakugo.

The blond shouldered past his partner, boots crunching over glass as he ducked into the darkened shop, and Kirishima sighed as he followed.

The interior, if possible, looked worse than the outside. The room itself wasn’t very big, but it was a mess. Two metal rods had been embedded in the left and right walls at odd angles, obviously caused from the explosions, though Bakugo couldn’t tell what they used to be. Several pieces of blacked mannequins were scattered through the debris, and one wall was a charred mess of shelving and fabric, spots of color peeking through the black ash here and there.

In the back, left corner were the remains of a tri-fold standing mirror, the ones where you could see yourself from different angles. Large shards of glass were missing, though, so the image of Bakugo and Kirishima standing backlit against the street was fractured.

Last but not least, in the rear, right corner of the store was a counter that was half collapsed to the floor, behind which stood an empty doorframe that Bakugo assumed led to the back of the shop and upstairs.

And it was from behind this broken counter that you popped up with a dustpan in one hand and a tiny, handheld broom in the other.

The first thought Bakugo had was your face was rather plain… but in a somehow pleasing way. Like if his eyes had scanned over you in a crowd, something about the line of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the delicate quirk of your mouth would give him pause.

His second thought was that his first one was stupid. You were just some extra, of course you would be plain and unmemorable.

But his third thought was something about the color of your eyes was captivating, in a way that was damn fucking annoying.

“Sorry, I was just… cleaning… up,” you said, slowly trailing off as your eyes met Bakugo’s.

He saw the recognition flare in them immediately, followed by fear, and he couldn’t help the frown that twisted his face.

Why were you afraid of him?

“No, we’re sorry for barging in here like this,” Kirishima barreled on, oblivious to the stare off the other two occupants of the room were engaged in. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Oh! I’m being so rude. My name is Eijiro Kirishima, or you might know me as—”

“Red Riot,” you breathed, finally tearing your eyes from Bakugo’s, and you flashed the redhead a half-smile that trembled along the edges. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes.” Kirishima grinned, pointed teeth flashing in the dim light of the shop, before his gaze flickered over to the blond beside him. “And this is—”

“Dynamight,” you finished once again, and you looked like you were trying desperately to maintain eye contact with the hardening hero, but then your eyes clicked back to Bakugo. You didn’t flash him a smile. “We’ve met.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Kiri chuckled awkwardly, and his arm jerked like he was going to rub the back of his neck, but the bags in his hands crinkled and stopped him.

“What… do you have there?” you asked, frowning at the bags and the fruit basket the heroes were carrying.

“Gifts!” the redhead declared as he hefted his arms up, and then he shuffled forward over charred fabric and glass and extended the bags to you.

You blinked at him for a second, but you set the dustpan and handheld broom on the counter, where they promptly slid to the floor since the whole surface was slanted. You winced at the loud clatter and tried to cover it up by taking the bags from Kirishima, which crinkled loudly again as they transferred hands.

Bakugo would be annoyed if he wasn’t more grateful that he could actually hear the innocuous little noise.

“O-Oh, um, you shouldn’t have, really,” you started as you peeked into the bags, and then Bakugo swore he saw your eyebrow twitch once you saw what was inside.

“It’s not much,” Kirishima said, and he was finally free to rub the back of his head and neck as his smile turned a little sheepish. “But, what with the state of your… apartment, we thought you might need some new clothes! And comfy clothes are the best after stressful days. These especially are super soft, we made sure of it. And, if you don’t like them, you could always sell them for a good chunk of change.”

The redhead winked at you, not in an overly flirty manner, that was just how he was, but your cheeks flared as crimson as his hair, and your eyes dropped to the floor.

Bakugo took the split instant to get a better look at you and noted you were wearing patched, faded jeans, solid boots, and a bleach-stained orange sweatshirt with some English writing he couldn’t read. Usually, he didn’t really see what other people wore because he couldn’t give less of a shit, but somehow he found your obvious cleaning clothes… endearing. The orange looked good on you, too.

Fuck, maybe you didn’t heal him as well as he thought. He had to be hemorrhaging into his brain to be thinking this stupid shit. Or maybe it was a side effect of your quirk?

He needed to get you alone and get answers.

“Well… thank you, this was very thoughtf—oh, wow, that is soft,” you murmured as you partially drew a sweatshirt out of the bag.

Bakugo instantly recognized the forest green and orange color scheme, and apparently so did you, because your face twitched, and you dropped the garment back into the bag and traded it for fuzzy socks with Red Riot’s signature gears stitched into them.

“These will definitely come in handy, my feet are always cold,” you said with an awkward giggle. Then you cleared your throat to cover up the sound. “Thank you, um, Red Riot.”

“You can call me Eijiro, or Kirishima, whatever you’re comfortable with,” the redhead said with another easy grin. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, after all. Oh! We also got you a fruit basket, and I think there might be a few other sweets tucked in there.”

Kirishima nudged Bakugo forward, and your face rippled through a range of emotions, like your brain was taking a second to catch up to everything the pro hero just spewed. First, flustered embarrassment colored your cheeks, then confusion buckled your brow, and your eyes widened before they looked at the fruit basket Bakugo was extending at you.

“Oh, you can just put it down… um…” you trailed off as you turned to the counter and remembered it was half destroyed. Then your eyes jumped around frantically for some kind of flat surface, but the ruined shop didn’t offer any solutions.

“Told ya we shouldn’t of brought this shit,” Bakugo grunted, shooting a scowl at Kirishima.

“Yeahhhhh, we probably could have just delivered it to your room at the agency, my bad,” the redhead laughed. “But don’t worry, we’ll carry it back for you, along with any of your other things.”

“My… things?” you echoed, sounding out the words like a child, and a frown marred your face. “I-I think I must be misunderstanding you, I’m sorry, I’m American. But did you say my room at the agency? As in… your hero agency?”

“You’re American?” Kirishima asked with wide red eyes. “I wouldn’t have even guessed! Your accent is almost perfect, I thought you were maybe just from like the countryside or something.”

“I thought you said we were supposed to be nice to her,” Bakugo snorted at his partner like you weren’t in the room, and he saw you frown at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, shit, no, that wasn’t what I meant!” Japan’s Number Three Hero immediately began waving his hands in front of his face, his mouth moving twice as fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I really think your accent sounds nice! It’s very cute!”

Now, not only did your cheeks flush again, but the red hue traveled down your throat and across your collarbones, peeking out the stretched collar of your orange sweatshirt.

Bakugo found himself half distracted by the sight, but the other half was wondering why he suddenly felt irritation flare up in his gut.

“Okay, you don’t have to take her out on a date now,” the blond snapped, shifting his burden of fruit and plastic.

“I-I think we might have gotten off track,” you stuttered as you clutched the bag of Dynamight and Red Riot merch to your chest. “You said something about your agency.”

“Yes, right.” Kirishima cleared his throat. “We would have mentioned this in our follow up email after you sent in your insurance info, but—”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” you cut him off with a grimace, and you actually dipped your head and shoulders into a bow. “I meant to send that yesterday, but my laptop is broken, and my cell service isn’t great—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” the redhead interrupted this time. “You obviously have a lot on your plate. I just meant that this might seem kind of sudden, but—”

Fucking hell, this was taking too long.

“You’re staying at our agency until we can pay for the repairs to your apartment and shop,” Bakugo said bluntly. If he didn’t step in, the two of you were just going to stammer circles around each other all day. “Starting tonight. We have rooms with beds and shit, so pack whatever clothes or crap you need.”

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at Bakugo. “I… what?”

“You deaf or something?” The words rocketed from his mouth before he could stop them, before he could even think about what he was saying, and he saw the way the question struck you like a physical blow. You flinched, your cheeks paling, and he saw dawning, guilty horror glint at the back of your eyes.

He’d been right. You did do something to his ears.

“Bro, you were just talking about being nice.” Kirishima frowned at Bakugo before he turned back to you. “Ignore him. We’re really sorry about the inconvenience this whole… incident has caused for you, but we’ll take care of everything you need until your shop’s grand reopening, so you don’t have to worry about a thing, okay?”

You continued to stare at the two heroes in shocked silence, your wide eyes clicking back and forth between the two of them as you clutched the bags to your chest like a lifeline.

“That is… all so generous,” you finally breathed, your tone rising in pitch like you were growing increasingly flustered. “It’s, um, a lot to take in.”

“Of course.” Kirishima nodded fervently. “What else can we do to help?”

“Could you leave?”

Bakugo blinked in surprise and then had to stifle his snort.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” you quickly followed up when you saw the redhead’s falling expression. “I didn’t mean… I just meant, could I have some time to process this? Um, alone? L-Like Dynamight said, I need to pack a few things, a-and there are some people I need to speak to before, uh… well, is it okay if I tell someone where I’ll be? Like, at your agency?”

“Yessss?” Kirishima said with a confused frown. “Why wouldn’t that be okay?”

“O-Oh, I just don’t really know how the whole hero and media thing works here,” you quickly lied, and Bakugo clocked the way you averted your eyes, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “I-I wasn’t going to post on social media or anything, I barely use that stuff anyway, but one of my customers, Mrs. Kojima, would be upset if I disappeared without saying anything.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” The redhead grinned before he glanced at the shadowed ruins around him. “What kind of shop is this by the way? I don’t think you mentioned.”

“A-Alterations,” you said, ducking your face in embarrassment again. “My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited this place from them.”

“I thought you said you were American?” Kirishima asked, but not in an accusatory way. He was just too curious for his own good and didn’t possess much of a filter.

Bakugo usually didn’t care for small talk, fucking waste of time if you asked him, but he found himself focusing intently on you, awaiting a response.

“I am.” You nodded. “My parents were both born here, but they moved to the States after they married, and I was born there. After my grandparents passed, my dad was going to sell the shop, but I was looking for something… new, so I decided to move here instead about a year ago.”

Bakugo pursed his lips at this new information. If you had a healing quirk, why were you patching up clothes in some little shop all the way across the world from your surviving family? Could it be because your quirk was dangerous?

“Wow, that’s cool,” Kirishima said with an impressed expression that quickly turned sheepish. “Except about your grandparent’s passing. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips, but then you quickly shook your head. “I-I’m sorry, didn’t mean to give you my whole life story, I tend to talk when I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Red Riot laughed like he did when he was meeting shy little kids on the street, flashing his sharpened teeth jokingly and winking in an overexaggerated fashion. “I promise, we look scarier than we are.”

“Speak for yourself, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo scoffed, which made you jump, like you’d forgotten he was there.

And that rubbed him the wrong way for some reason.

Kirishima merely smirked before he partially covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his voice into a stage whisper directed at you. “All bark, no bite, I’m telling you.”

“Stop making me seem lame, you bastard!” the blond growled, but the effect was kind of ruined by the fruit basket crinkling in his hands again.

This actually seemed to startle a giggle out of you, and the two heroes whipped around, one with a grin and the other a scowl.

“See, you don’t need to be nervous,” Kirishima said before he slung an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “But we’ll get out of your hair for now so you can have some time to pack and everything. Don’t worry about picking up too much, though, we’ll have cleaning crews in here before we start the remodel, and we don’t want you to get hurt in here. If there’s stuff up in your apartment that you don’t want to bring with you to the agency but don’t want thrown out, make a list, and we’ll be sure to keep everything safe.”

“O-Okay,” you said, still standing there with the hero merch clenched to your chest and a dumbstruck expression on your face. “T-Thank you again, Red--, erm, Kirishima.”

“Of course!” He grinned. “I have patrol tonight, but we’ll send a car to pick you up—”

“No,” Bakugo cut in as he locked eyes with you. “I’ll pick you up. What time?”

The blond could see Kirishima shoot him a look in his peripherals—probably because they both had patrol tonight—but Bakugo ignored his partner, maintaining eye contact with you.

You, meanwhile, squirmed under the explosive hero’s intense scrutiny, your face paling and flushing in turns. “I… no, you don’t have to do that, I can take the train—”

“I insist,” he interrupted again, narrowing his eyes so you would realize he wasn’t going to back down. “Like Shitty Hair said, we caused this… inconvenience, so I’ll pick you up. What. Time?”

You swallowed thickly, your throat audibly clicking. “S-Seven?”

“I’ll be here at seven sharp,” Bakugo said. “And you better be out front or at least answer your phone this time.”

You better not run, he didn’t say, but by the look on your face, you understood.

“Seven sharp.” You nodded, biting your lip as a resigned expression settled over your features. “Got it.”

“Great. See you then.”

With that, Bakugo turned on heel and crunched his way out of your store, leaving Kirishima stuttering apologies in his wake.

But that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was, tonight, he’d finally get you alone and get to the bottom of your damn quirk.

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krappykawa · 4 years

Text

ಌ i mildly like you more than like (p.1)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

warnings. language

word count. 4.2k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. i started writing this a few weeks ago and it was originally just going to be a one-shot but it got almost up to 10k words so i just decided to split it up HHSKFJ

Oikawa Tooru has perhaps one of the strongest drives when it comes to hard work.

His tenacity is a thing of nature, something that awes you time and time again, no matter how many times you’ve seen him pick himself up before. It might be one of the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place.

But despite how in-tune he is with his senses on a mental standpoint, his Achilles’ heel lies with his inability to pick up on the signs his body gives him when it's had enough. Well, he can, but he just chooses not to listen.

His first encounter with a crack in that heel came in his first-year, where you had to stand on the sidelines and watch as he fell to the ground during a game with a resounded sweep of gasps around the gym. That injury benched him for more than half the season.

It was from that point on that you and Iwaizumi decided that if Oikawa wasn’t going to take care of his own body, then it would be up to you two to make sure his head is still above water.

So it doesn’t surprise you when your phone flashes with a text message from Iwaizumi during one of your shifts at the bakery.

1 new message: iwa (´,,•ω•,,)♡

Received: can you come pick up shittykawa

“Tooru?”

A figure sits slumped against the benches in front of Aoba Johsai high, his eyes closed as he lays back. There’s something beautiful about the way that he looks almost ethereal in this relaxed state, the most relaxed you’d seen him in months. When he hears his name from your lips, he slowly blinks and sits up, the aura of relaxation falling from him.

You almost regret having said anything in the first place when he puts up his guard the moment he sees you.

“Y/N-chan!” An easy smile falls between his lips, one that could’ve easily fooled anyone else. He always was very good at portraying happiness and contentment, especially when he’d been followed everywhere by people that only really want to see Oikawa Tooru, popular ladies’ man with charm that could make your mother swoon.

But you’re one of the select few that knew him before he learned that his charm was a crucial asset in his arsenal. You knew him at his highs and his lows, so the convincing smile on his lips doesn’t convince you in the slightest. That’s because you notice the way his arms seem to sit limply in his lap and the way his eyes convey fatigue rather than joy. You also know that Iwaizumi called you here for one thing.

“Don’t Y/N-chan me. Iwa texted me.”

Oikawa’s facade seems to fall at that, replaced with a troubled expression. He brings his right hand up to wipe at his face in frustration. “Listen, I don’t know what he may have said, but he’s exaggerating. I’m fine.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He can’t seem to meet your eyes. “Well, that’s a lie considering that you’re out here right now and not in that gym,” you say matter-of-factly.

“He physically dragged me out here!” Oikawa whines, throwing his hands in the direction of your school’s gym.

A bemused chuckle leaves your lips as you move to sit beside him on the bench. Oikawa moves his bag to give you more room to sit, but you don’t move any closer. “And when has that ever stopped you?”

Oikawa getting kicked out of practice by Iwaizumi and even on select days, by their coach, is not an unusual occurrence. Iwaizumi has forcefully dragged Oikawa out of the gym before. Each and every time, Oikawa just marched right back in, despite Iwaizumi’s rage and his coach’s warnings. Even when his extra practice hours cause detrimental effects to his knee, Oikawa never seems to back down.

It was something both you and Iwaizumi had grown used to in your years of friendship with Oikawa -- his incredibly stubborn determination to somehow work himself to the point of bad health.

That’s how you know something different has happened today, because Oikawa is sitting out here on a bench rather than arguing with Iwa about how “a few more serves won’t hurt him!” (though they most definitely do, and Oikawa never seems to learn).

You turn your head to look at him. He’s quiet now, though he still doesn’t meet your eyes. His gaze is instead focused on a dog that’s running in the park opposite the school. You know that he’s avoiding confirming your accusation.

When it doesn’t seem like he’s going to talk anytime soon, you sigh. “All I’m saying is that if you really believed that you were fine, you would be using all your blood, sweat, tears in order to find a way back into the gym. Especially since the qualifiers are coming up.” You lean back against the bench as well, letting your eyes watch the dog happily run with its tongue lolling out of its mouth. “But instead you’re here, sitting on a bench in the afternoon. And from the looks of it, you had no intention of heading home.”

He still doesn’t turn to look at you, the only indication that he even heard you is the mild tick in his jaw. You try not to think about how perfectly sculpted his side profile is.

When he finally does speak, he still avoids your accusation of his fatigue and instead asks, “Why did Iwa-chan call you here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be working at the bakery?”

You shrug. “Business was slow. Besides, my boss likes me enough to let me go early today. He said I’d have to work overtime this weekend though.”

At that, he finally turns to look at you. In the split second that you glance at him, you catch the guilt in his gaze before he looks away again. “You shouldn’t have come. You already overwork yourself being the only decent baker besides your boss that works there.”

A smile spreads on your face, your tone teasing. “Oikawa Tooru wants to talk to me about overworking myself?”

“I’m serious. You work too hard at that bakery for the measly amount that they pay you. Don’t think I don’t notice the way you try to cover your under eye circles with makeup.”

You feel your stomach jump, the familiar feeling causing your lips to tug upwards lightly. Tooru has been one of your best friends ever since you moved into the house across from his when you were seven years old. You hadn’t known when it happened, but you had come to school one day last year and just suddenly knew that your feelings were no longer limited to platonic when it came to the brown-haired volleyball captain. It’s in moments like these where you wonder how he hasn’t managed to figure your feelings out, considering how observant he is of everything else about you.

“Yes, well I’m sorry that we can’t all look like we spawn from a god like you do. It’s seriously unfair how you can still look like that when you get even less sleep than I do.”

There’s only a hint of teasing in his voice when he says, “You think I look that handsome?” He turns to face you again, and this time there’s a blink of surprise lurking in his chestnut eyes. Especially now, with the sun casting golden glows on his hair and skin, he looks beautiful to you.

Painfully, it reminds you about how unrequited your feelings are. Not that Oikawa has ever outright rejected you or even acknowledged knowing anything of your feelings, but him reciprocating your feelings didn’t even cross your mind as a possibility most days. Not with the group of girls that are always vying for his attention; not when his ex-girlfriend was what everyone thought was his perfect match; not when he hadn’t even attempted a committed relationship since Yua-san broke up with him all those months ago.

“Y/N?” His voice drags you out of your train of thought. You realize that you had been staring at him this entire time.

You play off your thoughts with a roll of your eyes and turn your head back towards the park. “No,” you lie. “I just hear comments like that from your fan club all the time.”

He nods lightly, his eyebrows creasing. “Right. Right, of course.” You’re about to ask about the odd tone in his voice when he speaks again. “You never did answer my question. Why did Iwa-chan send you here?”

“He wanted me to make sure that you actually went home instead of finding somewhere else to practice,” you say. A chuckle escapes your lips. You’re happy for the change in topic.

“I am not that hard-headed!” You raise a brow at him. He pouts. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Now you’re just being mean!”

“Yeah well, it’s payback. You’re a real pain in the ass.”

“In your ass, I hope.”

You try to keep the blush from your cheeks as your mind takes you in a completely different direction. Suddenly, the space between you two seems too small. “You might want to rethink what you just said.” You try not to stare at his mouth as it falls open, your mind still invading your thoughts with images that you should not be fantasizing about when he’s sitting right beside you.

“Wait.” Oikawa’s eyes go so comically wide that you almost forget your own embarrassment. “Jeez, that did not come out in the right way. Not right at all.” For what seems like the millionth time, he looks away from you, though this time it seems to be out of his own mortification over what he just said. There seems to be a blush to his cheeks, but you very well might have just imagined it.

You let out a laugh, your arms coming up to clutch at your side. “I cannot believe that you’re supposed to be the big hotshot volleyball player that every girl has a crush on. There is not a charming bone in your body. I refuse to believe it.”

Oikawa lets out a small chuckle. “I don’t have to charm you when you already love even the uncharming parts of me. But if anyone asks, I am completely perfect. There are no uncharming parts to Oikawa Tooru. Don’t you dare spread false rumors, Y/N-chan!”

An amused snort leaves you at his last three sentences, but you decide to respond on the first part of his words. “Me? Loving you? Very unlikely.” You tease, trying your hardest to keep a straight face when Oikawa begins to pout.

“If you don’t love me after all these years I will actually start crying right now and then those girls that follow me everywhere will come for your blood for making me cry.”

You chuckle again, catching yourself before you roll your eyes again. Next to you, Oikawa has his arms crossed with a convincing pout sitting on his lips that makes him look like a child. You smile despite yourself. “Okay, okay keep the dramatics to a minimum.”

“Then say it.”

“Say what?

“Say that you love me.”

You feel a small pang as you plaster a smile on your face. “I mildly like you more than like,” you say, not really sure if you’d be able to say those three words to him at this point in time. Not when you know that they’re true.

Oikawa’s pout deepens, but you’re adamant on not saying more.

“That’s all you’re getting from me, Crappykawa.” Suddenly you find yourself amused at the way you managed to sound exactly like Iwaizumi. It hadn’t occurred to you that you’d spent so much time with him.

“Call me pretty and I’ll drop it.”

“You’re so needy sometimes, you know that?”

“Very much aware, Y/N-chan. As if you and Iwa-chan would ever let me forget.”

An eye roll comes easy to you and this time you don’t try to stop it. At this point, an eye roll is almost like a natural reaction to anything Oikawa says. “Fine. I’ll admit you’re not bad too look at.”

“Not great, but I’ll take it,” he concludes. “I can slowly feel the crack in my ego being restored.”

“If you want to be complimented please go seek out the never-ending stream of girls and guys that come your way hoping for even an ounce of your attention.” You hope that he doesn’t notice the mild bitterness in your voice. “I’m almost positive that they’ll be willing to tell you just how pretty you are and how everyone in the world should be in love with you.”

“They should be, shouldn’t they?” Oikawa bemuses.

A laugh leaves your lips despite your efforts. “You are insufferable sometimes. I don’t understand why I’ve kept you around for so long.”

“There you go with the insults again,” he tskes. “Have you and Iwa-chan been spending time together without me?”

“Iwa and I are friends you know?”

“Yeah but you’re supposed to be my best friend,” he pouts.

“You already said that line to Iwaizumi yesterday when he opted to carry me instead of you.”

“Yeah, well … I met you before he did!”

“Because you threw a volleyball at my head!”

“It was an accident!”

Laugher spills from both of your lips at the memory. It isn’t until Oikawa’s hair brushes upon your shoulder during his laughter that you realize that the space between you and Oikawa had increasingly gotten smaller. He’s so close that your thighs are only centimeters apart.

As your laughter dies down, Oikawa’s bubbly personality begins to slip once more and the fatigue on his face becomes more evident. Eventually, he rests his head on your shoulder. You feel your stomach flutter pleasantly at his proximity. Even now, you can smell the cologne he regularly wears, the one you helped pick out back in first-year that he’s worn ever since.

Once the silence lasts for a few moments, you finally attempt to ask him about practice once more. “Are you finally going to tell me why you didn’t fight back when Iwa threw you out of practice?”

He sighs. “I guess you can say that I’m a little bit tired. Plus my knee hurts like all hell has reigned down.” His voice is so much different from just moments before that it’s hard to believe that they come from the same person.

“You’re exhausted,” you say. It’s not a question, but more of a definite statement.

“More or less,” he responds quietly.

This time, it’s you that sighs. “Just … be careful. I get that you want to beat everyone and go to Nationals, but you’re no good to your team if you fuck your knee up so badly that you can’t play.”

“This year is our last chance,” he mumbles. “I just don’t want to look back later and wish that maybe I’d practiced just a little more.”

“You can’t beat anyone if you’re sitting on the bench from an injury that you got from overworking yourself.”

Oikawa winces at the tone in your voice. You almost feel guilty. Almost.

“You’re going to work yourself to death. Iwaizumi and I aren’t just going to stand by and watch you dig your own grave,” you say softly. “For his sake, at least. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’ll try,” he says. For some reason, you believe him.

The two of you sit there in silence once more, the wind blowing lightly on your hair and the sounds of a busy town echoing around you. You wish that you could bottle this moment up and keep it with you forever, even if it’s only a testament to how much Oikawa values you as a best friend and nothing more.

The thought makes your stomach drop in the slightest bit. It’s usually easy to contain your depth of feelings for Oikawa when the air around you two is lively and joking, but you’ve found over the years that quiet moments like these are the ones that really tear at your heart.

He’ll never know the extent of your feelings for him, and you’re too afraid to wonder what would happen if he did know.

Oikawa turns his head only slightly to look up at you while still continuing to lean on your shoulder. “You okay?”

You give an almost imperceptible nod. “We should head home. I don’t know what Iwaizumi might do to you if he finds you out here after practice ends,” you say.

Oikawa nods and detaches his head from your shoulder.

The two of you have only walked a couple of meters when you hear a group of girls squeal from not too far away. Oikawa tenses from beside you.

“Your fanclub found you,” you say.

“I’m aware.”

He doesn’t make any move to look back at them or stop. Instead, his pace seems to speed up.

You furrow a brow. “You don’t want to talk to them? Thought you loved their attention?”

“Ouch. You really know how to wound a man, Y/N-chan,” he says with a small smile on his lips. You take notice of the weariness in his features. “But while I do enjoy them feeding my very justified ego, I am far too fatigued to deal with them.”

You nod and continue to walk beside him. The less interactions he has with his fan club, the better your mood will be. Besides, you weren’t going to fail Iwaizumi by not doing the one thing he asked you to do and not take Oikawa home.

A giggle reaches your ears once more, and you sneak a glance behind you. The girls are talking amongst themselves, but still obviously walking in the direction you’re headed in.

“Well, what do you wanna do? Cause they’re coming.”

Oikawa sighs and you notice a tick of irritation in his clenched jaw. You can see a million thoughts going through his mind, but before you can ask him about them, he reaches out to grab your hand.

“Is this okay? I’m just hoping that they’ll leave me alone if they think that you and I … uhm.”

Oikawa’s hands are long and calloused, but they feel nice as his fingers intertwine with your smaller ones. You try hard not to let the little gesture get to you. “Yeah … yeah of course.”

The two of you fall into silence again, mostly due to his fatigue and your inability to form coherent words that don’t have to do with his hand in yours. You’ve held hands with Oikawa before, but it was never with the intent to make you two look like a couple. You wish more than anything that he would break the silence before you blurt out something that you don’t want to.

Your wishes are answered when Oikawa asks, “They’re still following us, aren’t they?” Oikawa still doesn’t look back as he says it.

In your short reverie you had forgotten about the girls behind you. You sneak another glance at them and find that Oikawa’s assumption is correct.

“Yeah, they are.”

Oikawa makes an incoherent noise. “Y/N-chan, could you be a dear and describe what they look like? I have a feeling I know who exactly they are.”

You turn back again, and really take a good look at them. They’re pretty. Really pretty, you think. You wonder for a second what they could’ve done to make Oikawa so adamant on not speaking with them.

“There’s three girls. One with cropped red hair, one with long blonde hair, and one with brown hair in a high ponytail.”

“Oh, it’s them again. I don’t know what to do to get them to leave me alone at this point,” he sighs.

“Who are they? What’s going on?”

His grip on your hand tightens. “Ichika-san and her friends. She sent me a love letter about a month ago. I tried to let her down easily, but it seems that she has yet to give up.”

“This girl is your stalker?”

“Not quite. At least, I hope not.”

The noise from behind you two gets increasingly louder. A giggle echoes on the mildly empty street and you catch Oikawa’s name being whispered between their conversations. Now that you’ve found out about what they’ve been putting him through, your annoyance spikes.

“Not to sound paranoid or anything, but I’m not keen on these girls finding out where you live.”

Oikawa is quiet for a moment, his brows furrowed in indecision. It seems that he makes up his mind when he turns his head to look at you. “Kiss me.”

Your step momentarily falters.

“What?”

He shakes your intertwined hands. “We’re already holding hands. They might get the memo if we …”

“Oh.”

“I .. I mean only if you want to. You don’t have to. I just figured that .. nevermind. It’s a spotty plan. They might still not leave us alone and --”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.” You weren’t going to pass up a chance at kissing him, even if it’s only for a diversion. This doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anyways — you’d long since given up on him reciprocating your feelings, and this way you can kiss him while saving yourself from the possible embarrassment of rejection.

“You will?”

“Where’s the harm? It’s just a kiss right?” You can barely hear yourself talking over the beating of your heart. “Besides, it could work.”

Oikawa shoots you a grateful smile. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready then.”

You try to shake out your nerves and instead focus your time in looking at your surroundings. The sound of giggling is still in close range when you spot a tree nearby. It’s still pretty out in the open, but not so much that you and Oikawa might draw stares, at least not from anyone that isn’t a part of the group of girls behind you.

Gathering enough courage to not insanely mess this up, you tug on Oikawa’s hand to drag him with you in the direction of the tree. You make sure that you’re still in the line of sight of the three girls when you snake your arms around Oikawa’s neck and pull him down.

His lips are softer than you imagined, and you’ve imagined kissing them more times than you’re willing to admit. Pleasantly, he tastes like oranges, which you don’t quite understand, considering that you can’t seem to remember him ever being fond of oranges. But then again, you can’t quite think of anything besides the feeling of his lips on yours.

Your lips move fluidly against his, soft but not entirely without passion. It takes everything in you to not kiss him with the force that you want to be kissing him with.

Hands come down to grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him, gently placing a hand on the small of your back. You run your hands through his hair and wonder to yourself why you hadn’t ever played with his hair before. If you ever make it out of this with your senses still intact, you’d make playing with his hair a part of your regular routine.

He makes a small noise against your lips when you make the mistake of pulling a little too hard on his hair. His grip on you tightens.

You don’t know how long you two stand there, lips locked with each other, but Oikawa doesn’t make any move to pull away. Instead he deepens the kiss by running his tongue against your bottom lip and pulling you even closer. You stifle a noise that threatens to come from deep in your throat. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek and tips your head so that he can slip his tongue into your mouth. He has fantastic lips, you think.

It’s only until you feel the air in your lungs begin to dwindle that you force yourself to pull away. The kiss lasted for longer than you expected, and by the way you pant with every breath, it feels like a kiss that the rest of the world should not have been privy to.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment more, wanting to savor the moment for just a little longer. The moment you open your eyes, you’ll have to come back to the reality that this was just a one-time thing. You’ll have to come back to reality and remember that this kiss likely doesn’t mean anything to him.

Slowly you open your eyes, and find that Oikawa’s already staring at you intently. His breathing comes out staggered, and his eyes have turned a few shades darker. What used to be a soft chestnut brown looks almost close to black. In them, you notice a flicker of an odd emotion that looks too familiar, but you don’t want to hope for anything.

You slide your hands down to his chest. His hands are still planted on your back and face, touching you both gently and carefully. “Did it work?” Your voice comes out small.

He seems to wake up from his trance then, and turns to look in the direction that the girls were before. You look behind you to see one of the girls running away with her head in her hands. Her two friends follow after her in an attempt to console her.

“I think it did,” he says. And what he says after is so quiet you almost believe that you imagine hearing it. “In more ways than one.”

part two will most likely be up on thursday next week :)

#oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #oikawa x y/n #oikawa fluff #oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #reader insert #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader

1K notes · View notes

drjackandmissjo · 4 years

Text

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 4 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Harry Potter fics Masterlist

Acceptable. A fucking A in Herbology class, all thanks to the idiot Death Eater on a secret mission that refused to proofread his essay on Niffler’s Fancy. What the hell was Niffler’s Fancy?

Blaise was livid, murderous, on a path to righteous vengeance.

It was the last round of examination of November, meaning that in less than a month their first section of the year would wrap up. Grades were already decided then, and he could not, for all the Work and Effort Salazar Slytherin had put into building the Chamber of Secrets, have anything lower than Outstanding. He’d allow himself a single Exceeds Expectations in Herbology, but never an Acceptable. That didn’t ‘threw a wrench in his plans’, as Pansy had mockingly said that morning; it utterly ruined his future career and he would not, for the life of him, let a stupid plant destroy everything he had worked hard for.

In the past, he had always managed fine in the class, even with some difficulties: who was he to understand whether the green leaves were ripe enough for a change of pots and why should he care, after all. If it was up to him, the pots would be charmed to automatically know those kinds of things, yet Professor Sprout refused his suggestion. Actually docked Slytherin of 5 points, which he then got back in Transfiguration.

In the past, he could count on a best friend who was as competitive as he was, to help him focus and study something he truly hated, that read through his essays and corrected the very few mistakes and that let him sometimes borrow his own work. It wasn’t cheating, it was collaboration. A currency that was well used in the Slytherin common room. It wasn’t as if Draco didn’t receive his share: au contraire, he rarely did Transfiguration on his own, always aided by Blaise, who, in turn, shared his own work.

That was a fool-proof way to succeed.

But of course Draco Fucking Malfoy had to mess up yet another thing and utterly wreak Blaise’s carefully thought plans.

He had to find a solution, as soon as possible. He had to get at least O on the next essay on the effects of Lumos Solem on the Devil’s Snare, otherwise he could easily kiss goodbye to his nearly perfect grades. He could easily ace the charm part of his composition, for obvious reasons, and probably would’ve managed to get an E rather easily, but he simply couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip.

He had to get an O, no matter the cost.

Which was why Blaise Zabini, renowned Sixth Year Slytherin, Pureblood, Heartthrob, Genius and overall Perfect in Every Way, remained seated on his chair in the greenhouse they currently used for their studies, glaring at his roll of parchment that had failed him once again and checking with the corner of his eyes the quickly emptying room. To anyone, he looked as if he was just packing up slowly, with a bored expression on his face.

In actuality, he was waiting. Waiting for Neville Longbottom to stop being a perfect assistant and leave the room so he could corner the Gryffindor and make his offer. Did he really have to fucking rearrange all the plants on the west side of the room and to colour coordinate the entire glove section right at the moment?

Blaise was desperate, that much was true, but he had his limits: if the bloody plant-head wasn’t done in the next two seconds, he’d accept his fate. Or so he told himself, until said boy moved to grab his seat to fix his bag, springing Blaise to hasten his own process and quickly leave the room before the other boy.

Once he was out of the door, he checked the corridor. While he wasn’t doing inherently illegal per se, he was still one of the best and most prominent Slytherins, and he definitely couldn’t be seen border-lining begging for help from Schlongbottom of all the people. Even Granger might’ve been a better choice at this point, and only because she was the best at everything.

Taking a deep breath, he rehearsed once more his offer in his head, conscious that he had to sound convincing and stern, while also seeming approaching and focused. He had calculated everything: the words, the pace, the stance.

“Excuse me?” came a deep voice from behind him, startling him out of his mind. He had spaced out in the moment of need and was blocking the door to the greenhouse, with a very timidly looking Longbottom staring sheepishly at him.

“How in the actual fuck is he managing to be hot and cute at the same time?” Blaise’s mind took shortcut, shifting its gears into a totally different direction than the one meant at the beginning.

He was speechless. His great offer forgotten, he was looking up at the dorky Gryffindor with what he hoped was a puzzled expression and not a starstruck one. It had become his Achille’s Heel: during their Transfiguration classes, Blaise had found his mind wander towards the other boy, whenever Professor McGonagall wasn’t talking; in the Great Hall, he would turn around and see him with his group of Gryffindors and he’d be rendered baffled by his bright laugh, or, in several occasions when he didn’t have full control over his brain, he’d actually look for Longbottom, whether by scanning over the crowds to see his head or by being in places where he might be as well, even if those were more on the ‘accidental encounter’ side. He had once remained stuck in the library, looking for a book, cause he had caught a glimpse of the Gryffindor studying with a muggle pencil on his bottom lip. Needless to say, he didn’t do many productive and public things that day.

Suddenly, one of his mother’s rules made him remember who he was and what his mission was: ‘Rule number sixteen: do not, under any circumstances, act foolishly around the person you like.’ And so he tried not to.

“Longbottom” he began with a cold and distant voice, trying not to seem nervous but slowly boiling inside, “I would like to make you an offer.”

“Zabini” the other boy said, instantly frying Blaise’s brain as he fixed his bag on his shoulder and moved to lean against the doorframe, “[ic1] what makes you think I would even consider accepting?” That was very much not part of the plan. He wasn’t prepared for Longbottom to talk back with such confidence and all his blood rushed downwards, leaving his brain and making him forget his façade. He was once more dumbly staring, mouth slightly agape as he tried to recompose himself as quickly as possible. He cleared his throat once, to mask his discomfort, before proudly announcing: “It would be extremely beneficial for both of us.”

Once again, bloody Longbottom did something that wasn’t scripted in Blaise’s plan: he rose up a questioning eyebrow[ic2] , looking him up and down and studying him silently for a few heartbeats. It was a furnace under his robes and he was positive he might combust any moment. Longbottom didn’t flirt with anyone, for crying out loud, so Blaise didn’t have a single way to tell if he was being mistaken in his assumption or not! He also was not aware of the other boy’s sexuality, therefore the territory was not only risky in terms of rejection but also in terms of safety. “Rule number four: don’t put yourself in dangerous positions.”

Eventually, the Gryffindor spoke again, sounding interested but casual at the same time: “Well, if that’s the case, do tell, why me?” he asked with a sly smirk on his face, sight that sent another rush of blood down Blaise’s pants. It clearly had to be meant to be an innuendo. Had to.

Yet Blaise choose to play on the safe side, just that once, because he still was not sure about anything and he desperately needed all the help he could get. “Also, tutoring each other means we’ll work really close and who knows what’s gonna happen in time. Keep it in your pants, Zabini, and finish what you started!”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nervously glanced around the empty corridor, before turning once more towards that freaking tall and slightly ripped plant-head and said: “It pains me to admit it, but you’re the best at Herbology in this gods forsaken school and Salazar help me, if I don’t pass this class with at least an E I’ll burn the ministry to the ground.”

Longbottom seemed to be taken aback by that: either Blaise’s honesty shocked him or he had indeed seen other paths those first sentences lead to. Not too bad, they’d have the time to explore those after the Devil’s Snare essay. Which he had to ace flawlessly, he reminded himself, trying not to get distracted by the hand the Gryffindor had brought behind his neck to scratch it.

“Why not directly the school?” he asked suddenly.

“We have another year to attend here and the ministry is a shitty place” came the easy answer, truthful and honest. Hogwarts was not a bad place and the Ministry could stand a renovation, both in terms of building and furniture, and as organization as well. Especially with the new developments, that place was now filled up with vicious rats. “Gotta agree on that” Longbottom admitted, undoubtedly having his own ghosts regarding the place after his and his friends’ little escapade to the Department of Mysteries. “But you said it’d be mutually beneficial? I can’t see how” he continued, a curious gleam in his eyes sparkling.

That was a topic Blaise had practiced over and over, and he was comfortable with it: “It’s really easy. I noticed you are, for a lack of a better word, a little lacklustre when it comes to Transfiguration and I’d thought I’d offer my services in exchange for your help with those stupid plants.” He did derail off track at the end, mainly because the shame of having an A still burnt him and also due to the fact that plans were, indeed, rather stupid. Longbottom moved quickly into a defensive stance, “Plants are not stupid. Think of how many you use daily, sounds stupid to you?” he asked with a sudden aggressiveness on his tone that Blaise had never heard from him and couldn’t particularly say he minded. “You haven’t really talked much with him outside of immediate necessity. Stop thinking with your dick!”

He quickly tried to return on his original path, claiming: “We have different priorities, I love Transfiguration and you like pretty green leaves.”

“They’re not just green!” Longbottom muttered in a quiet voice, sounding entirely too adorable for Blaise’s brain to handle. Coughing and hoping his cheeks weren’t reddening, he tried to regain his composure after having turned in a very metaphorical mush at the scene in front of him.

“You can think about my offer, but I’d like to know before next week” he said, waving a dismissal hand and moving to walk away towards the staircases for his next class. He was almost near the library when he heard Longbottom talk, “We have a Transfiguration revision on Friday, don’t we?” Turning, Blaise nodded slightly at the approaching boy. “That would be correct, Longbottom.” “Well then, Zabini,” he said, either accidentally or purposefully dropping his voice an octave and utterly destroying any futile attempt of Blaise’s to focus on anything afterwards, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after History of Magic in the empty classroom two doors after the Charms corridor.” Blaise was rooted on the spot as the Gryffindor adjusted once more his bag and slowly walked away from him.

Almost as in an afterthought, he tilted his head backwards and stated pointedly: “Wouldn’t want anyone seeing me study with a snake. Is the feeling mutual?” He finished his sentence with what Blaise assumed was a wink, yet with only half a face showing it was impossible to tell.

He remained there, uselessly dumbfounded even after the other boy had left, for Merlin knew how long, trying to remember how to function.

Blaise was so incredibly screwed and briefly wondered if he had made a mistake.

BONUS

Neville: “Ginny I did as you suggested and appeared confident and shit and I felt so powerful and does that make me gay?”

Ginny: “No, Nev, we agreed you like both boys and girls.”

Neville: “Yeah but I like Blaise”

Ginny: “A SLYTHERIN? IN THIS ECONOMY?”

Luna “It’s more likely than you’d think”

Ginny: “Not now Luna. What you’re gonna do?”

Neville: “Idk but he told me he’d help me study so I’m not gonna waste the opportunity, I’ll flirt when there are no books around us cause otherwise I’ll end up with a Troll in Transfiguration”

Luna: “A Troll in Transfiguration is always better than a Troll in the Dungeons.”

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whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer · 5 years

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I’m happy that you like to hear people’s thoughts about subplots and ideas and such. I just got so caught up thinking about the time right after he was claimed and how “everyone was afraid of him” and how different his experience might have been if instead he could’ve met people with the undercurrent of “this kid might be my sibling” and that’s really neat :) I absolutely, 10000% look forward to whatever you write next!!!

I do! (About hearing people’s thoughts on subplots, ideas, and so on.) :)

Heads up I’m going to break this reply in two parts. The first part is about claiming or rather Percy not being claimed and what that means later on in the series. The second part will be about his SPQR tattoo. Okay, onto the the first part, claiming:

1.) Annabeth canonically assumed Percy was Zeus’ son even after Percy became the supreme lord of the camp’s plumbing (which Percy doesn’t become in this verse). It isn’t till she sees the water healing Percy that she puts the pieces together and then BAM Percy gets claimed.

This is honestly a fair guess because in Greek mythology Zeus had the most children. This is also supported by the fact Zeus has the most demi-god children in PJ series.

Before someone points out Hazel, Bianca, Nico, and I’m pretty sure it’s hinted in the books Hitler was Hades’ son and that three confirmed children of a big three beats the two (Thalia and Jason) children Zeus has let me remind you that Hades stopped having children after the oath was made that was result of the great prophecy and of their children being too powerful (about WW2).

Hades actually kept his oath which both is something Greek mythology supports in two different ways but that’s a discussion for another day. (I haven’t had caffeine yet. My cup of tea is still steeping.)

Zeus had two children after the oath - one who Annabeth personally knew - while

Poseidon only had one and Hades had none after the oath.

So it was a valid guess to assume Zeus had fallen off the bandwagon again.

Grover, on the other hand, states that he believed Percy is the son of a minor god or goddess.

We never officially (key word officially) get Chiron’s guess on Percy’s parentage but

I think it’s telling that out of everything he could have done Chiron gave Percy Riptide during the school’s trip to the museum.

It’s apparent in the chapter after Percy vaporizes pre-algebra teacher that Grover and Chiron knew she was a Kindly One (plus I just remembered in the first chapter that Percy made a remark after sententious that she was pure evil and Grover agreed). There’s also the fact it’s stated several times throughout the series that Grover, and I’m sure it’s a safe assumption Chiron too, could smell monsters. Even if they couldn’t smell that there was a fury in the school they would have noticed her appearing one day and manipulating the mist. (Thalia states TTC that Chiron taught her to manipulate the mist.)

So Chiron must have known Mrs.Dodds was a monster. If he didn’t carry a weapon with him that would be beyond stupid (maybe he can’t personally interfere since there’s red tape for everyone but a demi-gods who only held back by their own bravery but that doesn’t mean Chiron couldn’t have kept a weapon to give Percy in case he needed it which he does) especially when Percy states in the book Chiron had a collection of weapons he would let the class mess around with.

Out of all the weapons Chiron - Chiron who manipulates the mist, Chiron who had been training demi-gods for hundreds of years, Chiron who had a stash of weapons he let his class play around with - could have kept on him it’s Riptide - the sword Poseidon gave him - that Chiron gives to Percy.

So even though Chiron is never officially guessed Percy’s parentage I think he had already guessed right in the privacy of his own mind. (This is something I hint about in the series.)

Okay, so that’s Annabeth, Grover, and Chiron’s guesses in canon.

It would be fair for other campers to assume that Percy was a child of Zeus because he was the only big three known to break the oath at the time (Thalia) and seriously the god could not keep in it his pants in Greek mythology. You would be surprised how many people are attributed to being Zeus’s. There actually are a few bad guys in Greek mythology that are sons of Zeus and some of Hades’ children that could be his are also said to be actually Zeus (Macaria, Zagreus, and Melinoe).

But the kicker is Zeus doesn’t claim him.

It doesn’t matter what you or anyone thinks. If the kid isn’t claimed they have to stay in the Hermès Cabin. (Which really sucks if you’re a child of a god or goddess who isn’t an Olympian. Even if you’re claimed you still have to live in that overcrowded cabin because the camp only had twelve cabins until the end of TLO.)

Zeus who apparently didn’t just only turn Thalia into a tree to save her life (and finally give the camp some protection) but kicked up a fuss on Grover failing to retrieve Thalia to camp safely. (It’s mentioned throughout the series Grover was given shit about not saving Thalia and that Zeus doesn’t like him. I know for a fact Zeus still holds it against Grover because I reread the scene in TLO where the gods rewarded the heroes; I’m working on an oneshot with trans female Percy - Helen - that takes place in that scene.)

So to most campers who were old enough to know about Thalia and the story behind the pine tree that protects them or were told about it by someone who did...it’s very telling and makes them wonder that Percy might not be Zeus’ son.

That who knows...he could be the son of just a normal Olympian, a minor god, or a minor goddess.

Who ever thinks not being a son of the big three, Ares, or Athena means you’re not powerful is dumb. We see this (off the top of my decaffeinated head) in Selina (her love for Charlie makes her trick the Ares cabin to defend New York which saves the battle, Clarisse’s love for Selina makes her slay a drakon that Percy with the Achilles’ heel couldn’t do, and there’s also the fact her telling Luke of Percy and Charles plans to blow up the cruise ship could have turned the tides of war if Kronos had been able to kill Percy too) who was a daughter of Aphrodite, when see this in Meg in ToA who is the daughter of Demeter whose children Annabeth brushed off in TLT, and in Luke who was a leader for the Titan’s army until Kronos possessed him and fought Percy (the son of Poseidon, of the big three, while Luke was only the son of Hermes).

Demi-gods are important- this is stated several times in the series because they are only held back by their bravery, their hubris - no matter their parentage.

In the last chapter I had a parts where Percy (who was told he was a pawn by Gaea) realize his worth and honestly this can apply to any demi-god who survives long enough and realizes their worth (the gods need demi-gods because the demi-gods are not held back but by their bravery):

1.) “Percy would not be a victim nor would he longer be a pawn that Gaea had told him he was before promising to persevere him if he went north. Didn’t they know about the thing called promotion in a game of chess? Percy had still had not played a round of the game (he had kept meaning to download an app for it) but he had googled about pawns and the thing was if a pawn survived long enough and got to the other side of the board they could become anything but the king.

And Percy?

He was no longer a pawn because Percy had survived. Yet the thing was Percy had to wonder at what had been the cost. He wondered if had become a monster along the way because don’t you know? Monsters are made, not born. And two wars had certainly made Percy into something: a child killer, a person who watched his best friend die to bomb a cruise ship which Kronos had still survived, someone who intimately knew the smell of burnt human flesh from the pyres of fallen comrades, but Percy had not been made a good person. A good person didn’t talk the person, the titan Bob, they claimed (they lied) to be their friend and convinced them to murder their brother.”

2.) “There it was again: pawn. Percy was no longer a pawn. He had survived and he had become what was needed of him to save his loved ones and to live after so many quests. (And maybe what he was was a monster that no one else could see because it was under his skin - in his soul. A monster that possibly couldn’t die until this body reached sixteen.)”

3.) “I lied earlier,” Percy admitted as realization fell upon on him. (Don’t you know the king is the weakest player? Don’t you know if the pawn survives across the journey to the other side of the board it can become anything but the king?) Percy thought of Calypso and of vows sworn to the river of Styx. Percy remembered how Hera had told him he was the glue that held the Seven. (Don’t you know when you make a Faustian contract with the devil you will pay for it even if it’s years later - so many years you thought you escaped him? As if he would forget after what he’s given you. You struck a deal and you were a fool for ever thinking he would let it slide without payment. Not after he’s given for you because he gave you his soul in the end when he only meant to give you victory of your wars.) “When I said I was sorry and that it wouldn’t save either of us.”

Okay, that was the end of part one of my reply. I’ll try to write the second part later today. (When I post the second part I’ll come back to edit this post so there’s a link to the second part of the reply.)

#dark Percy #percy jackson #percy jackson series #meta #my fic #time travel #I Scream Too Loud When I Speak My Mind #asks

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fallintosanity · 5 years

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so I just re-read Nevermore, the unintentionally final book in the Cal Leandros series by Rob Thurman. Mostly I was rereading it on the hopeless crossover nerd whim of “Noctis Lucis Caelum and Cal Leandros look remarkably similar but are basically polar opposites in terms of personality and it would frankly be hilarious if they somehow got switched and Niko had to deal with Noctis, and Ignis (or better yet, Ardyn) had to deal with Cal”.

But I’d forgotten how much I dislike the last couple books in the series despite what should be Sanity-flavored plot crack in Nevermore in particular (Cal time-travels eight years to the past to save his younger self from an assassin), and I’ve been thinking about why, and what went so terribly wrong with a series I love so much. I’ve been able to isolate three main reasons why the ending of the series frustrates me so much and why, I think, interest in the books dropped off so badly that the planned eleventh book was never published.

Cut for long ramblings about writing and storytelling (also spoilers for the entire Cal Leandros series).

The first reason is purely technical: Nevermore appears not to have been edited for spelling, punctuation, and grammar (SPaG). At all. I’m talking glaringly obvious mistakes like effect instead of affect, ‘Goodfellow grin, sword out, “I’ve been looking forward to this...”’, run-on sentences galore, and sentences just straight-up missing subjects, verbs, or objects; or which otherwise make no grammatical sense.

Thurman’s writing style has always had a bit of a... rhythm, I suppose, to it - characters tend to speak in long complex sentences with entire asides in the middle. It’s part of the appeal of her books, normally. When properly edited, her almost lyrical sentences give her books a unique and enjoyable flow. But in Nevermore, at least once a chapter and frequently more often, I had to stop reading, go back to the beginning of the paragraph, and re-read the sentence only to discover, yes, it really is missing a vital part of its structure, or its tense doesn’t agree with the sentences before and after (or occasionally with itself). Being thrown out of the book that frequently makes it very hard to read. You can’t get deeply invested in what the characters are saying if you can’t understand them.

The second two reasons are more complex, and fairly tightly intertwined. One of them is the entire issue of Robin Goodfellow. A good pass or three by an editor would have been helpful here, too, not just for SPaG, but also because Robin goes from straddling the line between “overbearing yet charming” and “obnoxious third wheel”, to straight-up puck ex machina. The plot of Nevermore is quite solid and enjoyable for the first half - but then Robin shows up. From there, it’s a downhill plunge of hand-waving his vast yet utterly unexplained network of “connections” or “minions” to solve half the problems they encounter.

How did he find the Leandros brothers overnight when Caliban was incredibly careful to make himself untraceable? Something something text-recognition software in his mailbox, and vague “informants” who pointed him directly to the apartment. Where’d he get the sword that’s too long to actually hide in the suit jacket he’s wearing? A shrug and a “it was hidden up his ass” joke. Where’d he get the credit card and “wad of cash” he uses later, after said suit (and everything else he was wearing) gets destroyed and he’s walking around in a stolen bedsheet toga? Another shrug/ass joke. How does he hide the four of them from Lazarus? A mysterious “client” with a conveniently empty, ultra-protected penthouse never before mentioned, and more minions who not only manage to stock it with clothes and other necessities in the space of roughly an hour, but mange to do so with clothes and medical cocktails perfectly fit to Robin, Cal, Caliban, and Niko.

There’s “this guy is insanely wealthy and unbelievably well-connected”, which is how Robin has always come across in past books; and there’s “this guy is a walking plot device who barely resembles himself from previous books”, which is Robin in Nevermore. And speaking of walking plot devices: on the flip side of solving half the problems they encounter, Robin “conveniently” creates a completely different problem seemingly just to set up a chapter’s worth of angst. He develops a phobia of Auphe gates so severe that he would rather die than allow Caliban to use one to get them out of a trap by Lazarus. A phobia never before mentioned in any book, despite Cal’s gates being a massive plot point in nearly all previous books (and Robin being yanked through them repeatedly).

Which is where the third massive problem with the book comes in, a problem whose roots are in the previous book, Downfall. In Downfall, the ninth book of the series, we learn out of the blue that apparently Cal and Niko are the latest version of two guys who have been reincarnating every hundred years or so for the last few millennia. Every time they’re reincarnated, they’re reincarnated together as brothers or best friends; and every time they’re reincarnated, Robin finds them and becomes their friend.

Up until this point, there’d been no mention of reincarnation in the books at all, nor any hint that Robin knew the Leandros brothers before. Downfall tries to “solve” this by adding some flashbacks of Robin meeting the brothers as children and recognizing them, but this doesn’t change the fact that his reactions when he first meets them in book 1 (or in any of the books beyond that) do not make any sense if he either met them before as children, or recognizes them as the reincarnations of his friends.

On top of that, Downfall begins and Nevermore continues with the idea that the Leandros brothers’ previous reincarnations were always famous historical figures. They were Achilles and Patroclus, they were Little John and Will Scarlet (to Goodfellow’s Robin Hood, of course). They “rustled Genghis Khan’s harem”. Name a historical figure or event, the Leandros brothers and Robin were there and probably involved up to their eyeballs.

I don’t want to say that this kind of resurrection plot, on its own, is bad. Done well, it can be quite interesting. The problems with it in this series are due to execution, not the premise itself. The reason the execution falls very, very flat is twofold.

First, like I said, the Leandros brothers were always important historical figures or involved in the business of them. If reincarnation as a thing was more prominent in the series, if we had a reason for why this is the case other than “because protagonists”, then I might buy it. As it is, it smacks unpleasantly of the “Raven Dark’ness Dementia Way” flavor of self-insert that’s fine for self-indulgence, but a lot harder to tolerate when it comes out of left field in the ninth and tenth books of a New York Times bestselling series.

It’s the author trying to make her characters awesome by making them have been all the awesome people in history, rather than allowing them to be awesome on their own merits. It’s also the author trying to force a closeness/brotherly bond between her characters that 1) doesn’t need to be forced as it’s already there, and 2) is actually weakened by making it be their ~reincarnation destiny~ rather than something they spent the last eight and a half books earning.

Second, and closely related, is the fact that there was no foreshadowing whatsoever of the reincarnation thing. If this had been set up since the first book - if Robin’s reactions to the Leandros brothers in book 1 had had even the slightest hint of this, if there had been subtle clues dropped in subsequent books - it would be a lot easier to swallow. As it is, the lack of foreshadowing gives it all the subtlety and effectiveness of an “it was all a dream” ending.

The tendency to just make up something that’s “always been there” isn’t a new one for Thurman; she’s done this repeatedly throughout the Leandros series, and does it for other things in Nevermore as well. The “coming of age” ring Caliban gives to Robin was supposedly given to him by Niko, but it was never mentioned prior to that scene. “For real and for true” is likewise something that Caliban claims was always in his and Niko’s life, but is mentioned for the first time in Nevermore. (There are other examples in previous books but I don’t remember them off the top of my head.)

The difference is that all those are relatively minor things. As a reader, I’d have loved to see the scene where Niko gives Cal the ring (where’d Niko get it? was he emotional? how did Cal respond?), but I can accept that it happened off-screen. The “for real and for true” line would have had a hell of a lot more emotional impact if it had been used in previous books, but I can buy it being a childhood thing Caliban hadn’t thought of until now.

But an entire reincarnation plot, complete with handwaved “racial memory” thanks to “Auphe genes” that allows Caliban to remember his previous incarnations? Something that big has to be set up, foreshadowed, from the very beginning. Otherwise you leave your readers distracted by the mechanics of it, the gaping plot holes where characters’ reactions don’t line up. (Don’t get me started on the hilarious lack of hard science in any mention of Cal’s Auphe heritage; that’s a whole ‘nother rant.)

In my entirely amateur opinion, both Downfall and Nevermore would have been much stronger books with the entire reincarnation plot ripped out. By our ninth book with these characters, we don’t need a convoluted reincarnation plot to either prove that Cal and Niko are awesome, or to convince readers of the powerful bonds of friendship and brotherhood between the two of them, and between them and Robin. It fails to make them seem cooler in any way, for one (this is a separate rant about how to write tricksters, but essentially, if Cal suddenly legitimizes every one of Robin’s outlandish claims about his involvement with historical figures, by remembering his past reincarnations where they did whatever thing it was, it makes Robin’s claims considerably more boring and uninteresting).

It also makes the bonds between the three of them a lot weaker. They stop earning the bonds on their own merits, and fall back on “hey we fucked our way through Roman whorehouses together in a past life, let’s be besties now”. In Nevermore, Caliban struggles to earn past!Niko’s trust for very good reasons, making for interesting, painful drama and angst as he deals with the fact that the one person who’s trusted him his entire life suddenly doesn’t. But when Robin shows up, he and Caliban swap a couple raunchy memories from a past life and suddenly Robin is willing to die for Caliban (except for the aforementioned Auphe gate phobia, which frankly feels even more forced given how fully Robin trusts Caliban after the reincarnation discussion). I would have much rather seen Caliban have to earn past!Robin’s trust the way he did in the early books in the series, the way he did with past!Niko.

So, to fix Nevermore: scale back on the puck-ex-machina - it would even be possible without changing the story that much. Cal and Caliban would both bitch about having to wear fancy clothes instead of their preferred snarky t-shirts. The boys would have had to work a bit harder to find a safe place to hole up for the night, and would have been on watch not just to wake Caliban when the nightmares started, but to keep an eye out for Lazarus. (Which, frankly, would have added another layer to Cal’s failing to wake Caliban, if he was legitimately distracted or could simply claim to have been.) Rip out the reincarnation plotline entirely. Let the boys earn each other’s trust and friendship organically, and let them be badass on their own terms rather than by borrowing historical figures’ awesomeness. And get a SPaG editor.

...all that said, if Everwar ever does come out by whatever miracle of publishing, self- or otherwise, I’m totally buying it. I miss my emo-angst-amoral-jackass and his impossibly-good asskicking older brother.

(maybe someday I’ll write that crossover too.)

(no Sanity you have too many fics already)

(but what if niko and ignis bemoaning their respective charges--)

#cal leandros #the cal leandros series #rob thurman #meta #writing #sanity talks a lot

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officially-tonynat-shrine · 5 years

Text

Something Just Like This (Tony Stark x Pepper Potts)

A/N: Ok, so um, hey it's me. Back again. Lol, can't believe it. I hope this is how a song fic is done otherwise @wlwmelon whom I was secret santa for (tru disappointment I am) would be even more disappointed in moi. I feel so fucking bad that I didn't post this on 25th? I hope you like it!! I'm sorry @wlwmelon ily you're the best😭💛💖💌

Also, the song was originally @shamelessbookaddict yelling how 'Something Just Like This' by Coldplay is definitely a Pepperony song. So ily hoe, your idea gave birth to this fic💟💟. Also, I have chosen to write Morgan as a girl because after @stardustandbucky suggested, I read some posts on them and majority were as a girl. does that make sense?

Pairing: Tony x Pepper// Words: 1.3k approx.

Summary: Tony reminisces happily on one Christmas evening.

••••••

I’ve been reading books of old

The legends and the myths

Achilles and his gold

Hercules and his gifts

"Morgan! Stop running around with your presents!"

It was not utter chaos. No, he wouldn't say that. Peter and Harley were not there yet so the infamous troublesome trifecta was incomplete. That meant less chaos. Or as Pepper liked to say, "It's like the calm before the storm, Tones. They hadn't seen shit until they had seen all the three in the same room."

The day the Avengers had experienced Peter, Harley and Morgan together was the day they decided to finally lay off of Tony for his instant dad instincts mode. That would probably be the reason why someone was yet to comment on Anthony Edward Stark running around the common room of the Avengers Facility trying to dissuade his daughter from using the 'robot building kit'- as Steve called it- without him being in close vicinity and able to help.

"Morgan Stark, listen to your Dad, sweetheart."

Spider-Man’s control

And Batman with his fists

And clearly I don’t see myself upon that list

"Pepper." He sighed, "I thought you might take forever to change out of your dress."

She laughed and crossed the length of the room to reach him. Falling into his arms - maybe Pete was right. We are pieces of a puzzle, Tony thought- she kissed him before shifting her attention to her daughter. Tony watched warmly as Pepper talked with Morgan and eventually mothering over all the Avengers too.

A hand patted his shoulder and he turned around to see Natasha standing right beside him, arms crossed across her chest and a rare smile gracing her face.

"Merry Christmas, Stark."

"Merry Christmas, Agent Romanoff."

As Natasha wandered into the familiar crowd, Tony's mind wandered.

But she said where d’you wanna go?

How much you wanna risk?

I’m not looking for somebody

With some superhuman gifts

He was nervous. Very, very nervous. This was the fifth time he was fiddling with his bowtie. God, he hated them. Why was he wearing it in the first place?

"Tony, stop fidgeting. You're good; better than good."

"Well, then why does it feel that the room is closing in on me? Like that movie with the factions-"

"Tony, you need to stop watching more Sci-Fi movies with Pete."

"But Rhodey it's so much fun to-"

"To mock the movies, yes, Stank. I know." James smirked. He squared his shoulders when he realised that Tony still wasn't convinced.

"Tones, she loves you and you love her-"

"That's what I'm afraid of, Rhodey. Everyone I love has to suffer because of me. And she's had first-hand experiences more times than I can count."

"Yet, here you are," Rhodey interrupted him, "ready to wait for her to walk down the aisle."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Rhodes. What if I keep waiting forever? What if she realised that it's a mistake and-"

"Um, Mr. Stark? Can I say something?"

Tony snapped his head and let out a startled curse when he saw Peter standing behind him.

"Lordie, Pete stop giving me a heart attack will you?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm- I was just- Mr. Captain and the others-"

Tony placed his hands on either of Peter's shoulders "It's okay, kid. It's okay. Relax. What we're you about to tell me?"

"Oh, oh yeah. I was going to say that, well, Ms. Potts has gone through a lot but in the end what mattered to her was the fact that you were safe and she was able to be there for you whenever you needed her. This sounds cliche but you are her rock as she is yours. Besides I really don't think she'd not marry you after that wide smile she gave me five minutes ago when I accidentally called her Mrs. Stark."

"You called her what?"

Rhodey stifled a laugh seeing Peter's face as if he were about to burst into apologies.

"He gave you a whole ass lecture and all you could grasp was that Peter called Pep 'Mrs. Stark'?"

"Alright, kid. You're good to go. Tell the others I'll be there soon. You too, Rhodes. I'll be fine." Tony grunted disregarding his best friend's jab, still in a giddy daze. Rhodey shook his head before heading out, Peter in tow.

Tony let out a low whistle, as his hands fiddled with the bow again. He looked at the mirror, examining himself for a few seconds and softly said, "Mr. Potts sounds better."

Some superhero, some fairytale bliss

Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss

I want something just like this, Oh I want something just like this

Everytime Tony hugged Pepper, he felt safe. He felt at home. He could feel her smiling. That tiny exhale that told him thousands of words without even her speaking.

He was just out of surgery. He felt free. As if the curse he was burdened with a few years ago was finally lifted.

"See?", he whispered, "no more hiding. You happy?"

"No more hiding." She echoed. "Happy? Tony, imagine the person you love thinking that they won't be enough. Then, one day, they finally realise that you love them simply because it's you. I mean how can I not love you? A genius idiot who always thinks of others before him. Who was always my pillar of strength, the reason I did not give up. I never saw you as Iron Man. I always only see you as Tony Stark. That stupid man who decided that bringing me strawberries would be an excellent idea."

"It worked though, didn't it?"

Pepper let out an embarrassed laugh before hugging him again.

"I hate strawberries, Tony."

"Meh, it worked."

I’ve been reading books of old

The legends and the myths

The testaments they told

The moon and its eclipse

Superman unrolls

A suit before he lifts

But I’m not the kind of person that it fits

The common room was utter chaos and Tony did not regret a second of it. Peter had finally arrived and Harley and Morgan had been over the moon. It was Barnes' turn to 'babysit' the three of them and Tony had been smiling wickedly since the former's face had chalkened. Every time Barnes looked around, seconds away from bursting a vein Tony had looked at him squared in the eye and mouthed 'suffer'.

To top that, Natasha and Sam were constantly mocking the poor soldier much to Steve's exasperation.

Pepper was standing next to him and he could see her trying not to burst out into laughter at Bucky attempting to handle the trio.

He pulled her closer to him and whispered, "This is the best Christmas ever."

"You're only saying that because Barnes is giving you his 'help me please or I'll kill you' look." She chortled.

"Never denied that, honey."

Where d’you wanna go?

How much you wanna risk?

I’m not looking for somebody

With some superhuman gifts

Some superhero, some fairytale bliss

Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss

"Tony?"

He hummed in response. When he did not get an answer, he turned towards his wife. She was already looking at him. Her eyes so radiant that they eclipsed the luminous surroundings; or maybe he was so mesmerised by them that everything else faded into nothingness.

Maybe Natasha and Clint we're right. He was turning into a sap.

He brought his attention back to his wife. She had made herself comfortable in his arms. Legs spread on the couch as she leaned onto him, hand on his side and head on his chest as his arm lazily wrapped itself around her.

"You called?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"Nothing." She let her head fall into his chest again as she listened to his heart beat.

"Hey, Miss. Potts?"

"Yes, Mr. Potts?" She giggled.

He brought her closer, kissing her hair.

"I love you, Pepper."

"I love you too, Anthony Edward Stark. Merry Christmas."

I want something just like this

#tony stark #pepper potts #pepperony #secret santa 2k18 #late entry lol #mcu secret santa #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #peter parker #morgan stark #harley #steve rogers #natasha romanoff

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wellhalesbells · 7 years

Note

If you have the time and if you don't mind, what are some books you really recommend? Doesn't have to be all time faves, but anything that pops into mind that you want more ppl to read and love, Extra points if lgbt+ , i got the whole summer with little to do and i wanna spend it reading some good quality writing and honestly so far your recs have introduced me to so many faves its unbelievable

[blushes profusely] oh wow, thank you!!! i’m so glad you’ve trusted me enough to check out some of the stuff i reblog; that is like the ultimate compliment, i can’t even??? i don’t mind at all(!), fair warning though: i only started recording what i read partway through last year and my mind is like a sieve so i’ll do my absolute best to remember what’s sang to me in the recent past. warning number two: i’m in an open relationship with absolutely every genre out there so i’ll try to note which belongs where so you can avoid those that hold no interest for you.

LGBT+

i’ll give you the sun. i loved this book, the writing is fucking transformative and all the characters are so damn likable, while still being realistically flawed human beings.

the raven cycle (tetralogy). definitely my favorite series since harry potter. the writing, the world-building, the characters, it’s all on top-form. i wrote a little, mini non-spoilery review of it: here, back when i was better (worse?) wordly-wise and my feels were brand new.

more happy than not. i’m still not sure how i feel about this book. it was hard, but it felt very true to the characters and the lingo and style matched the ages of the players and i have a lot of respect for that.

the watchmaker of filigree street. woooow i loved this book. i admit ‘historical fiction’ kind of makes me cringe. it never precludes me from reading a book but it does knock it down the list by a book or five because they’re often very dense and very clunky and end up taking me ages to get through. but this one was gorgeous. i loved the plot, the attention lovingly placed on every character and the historical elements. the surprise gay in an already brilliant book felt like winning the lottery honestly.

captive prince (trilogy). okay, truthfully, i’m only putting this on here because the second book is such a high point for me. it was never bad at any point but it had unfortunately been hyped far too much for it to live up to my, admittedly, very high expectations. hopefully it’ll fare better with you?

everything i never told you. i go back and forth on this one. i like the writing a lot, i like the LGBT aspect a lot, and i like the mystery aspect a lot but there are definitely characters i would cut out entirely for sheer predictability if i could and that killed a lot of my enjoyment at the time (but i think much more highly of it in retrospect?). so, take that as you like.

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe. if there’s a book that handles its characters with more care or respect or consideration then i haven’t run into it. i love the way this is written and the people it’s populated with.

flying lessons & other stories. a bunch of uber talented authors writing a bunch of uber diverse and LGBT-focused stories and, yes, that is exactly as awesome as it sounds.

the song of achilles. it is utterly heart-breaking but so rich, honestly.

FANTASY

the diviners. (also has a minor LGBT character, who may play a bigger role in the sequel?) fair warning, i have not read the sequel, lair of dreams, because it is somehow still not out in paperback (yes, i read physical books, yes, i pretty exclusively read paperbacks so i can lug them everywhere with me, YES, I PRE-ORDERED THIS ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO AND IT’S STILL NOT OUT, NOT THAT I’M BITTER ABOUT THAT OR ANYTHING) so i can’t speak to that one finishing on a high note as i don’t know. but this was the first historical novel i managed to like in a long while. it does such a good job of fusing in 1920s lingo and dress and aspects that i couldn’t help but love it. add in the fantasy elements and i can admit i’m the perfect sucker for it.

the scorpio races. i’m not sure why but it took me a long-ass time to get into this book, i wasn’t flipping pages with gusto until well towards the end but - especially as i was reading so much YA at the time - i really appreciated coming across a romance that lets both people come into it as themselves and stay themselves, neither puck nor sean were ever smashed or crumpled or shaved away to fit into their relationship, which was so refreshing. plus the water horses were fucking cool.

the night circus. the writing, the atmosphere, the circus. just… it is all very whoa.

all the birds in the sky. i loved this writing style and these characters and the magical elements.

CONTEMPORARY

i’ll meet you there. there was something about this and i just… ended up liking it way more than i expected to. i might’ve just read it at exactly the right time, i’m not sure, but i really enjoyed it.

the invoice. this is honestly just hella cute and so freaking surreal. swedes, man.

NON-FICTION

why not me? i like mindy kaling a lot. i make no apologies for that. plus you can read both her books in about five seconds, haha.

SCIENCE FICTION

station eleven. i loved this book. the way the narrative is woven is so refreshing and i wish the comic book miranda was writing in this book was a real thing more than anything else in the woooorld.

illuminae. hot DAMN this book was cool. the plot was rock solid, the characters were hilarious and badass and the graphics made out of text and spiraling words and just the way this thing is put together? shit, it’s worth your money and then some.

a robot in the garden. okay this is just cute as hell. i can’t even with tang, he’s the most adorable robot to ever adorable.

annihilation (southern reach trilogy). (LGBT minor characters.) okay, honestly? i don’t know. this was freaking zany but i was invested as fuck in all the kookiness for reasons i can’t articulately elaborate on.

the martian. hilarious, engaging, SPACE. what more do you want?

HORROR

things we lost in the fire. this is more atmospheric than anything but, damn, could this get me wishing i wasn’t reading this in the dark or looking over my shoulder to make absolutely sure no one was standing behind me. it’s a book of short stories (by the way, i love books of short stories and i definitely realize that is not true for everyone) and each one is so well-delivered and stylized. i really enjoyed reading this.

let the right one in. okay, this is legit horror so definitely stay away if you’re easily squicked out but it is harrrrrd to find good horror (at least in my opinion) and this definitely, definitely qualifies.

horrorstör. i honestly had such low expectations for this, a horror story set in a wannabe-ikea, but it ended up being so ridiculous and strange and funny that i was won over by the finish.

the girl with all the gifts. holy unique and well-executed zombie idea, batman!

SHORT STORIES

the bigness of the world. there were definitely ones here that hit better than others but the ones i liked, i really liked!

GRAPHIC NOVELS (i read a lot of these so, um, prepare yourself)

saga. (LGBT minor characters as well.) this is world-building to a degree that i’m convinced did not exist before. just, i can’t say enough amazing things about this series and the staggering amount of imagination that regularly goes into it.

ms. marvel. heart-warming as fuck. it’s definitely really easy to lose faith in the world these days, luckily kamala is there to remind you that people are primarily and genuinely good.

black science. this is another one that took just an insane amount of imagination to cook up. i got off to kind of a rocky start with this one but the gray-ness of all the characters really speaks to me, and that doesn’t really blossom until later in the series.

spider-man/deadpool. this was very satisfying for my super duper spideypool-shipping mind. joe and ed did us so good, and joe basically said in his sign-off: i made it absolutely as gay as they would let me, haha.

the wicked + the divine. (LGBT minor characters that you’re going to get way too attached to, and retroactively. it’s awful [sobs].) the concept for this, gods reincarnating into teenagers before they burn up their hosts after a predetermined set of time, is so fucking cool. the humor and the characters and the plot is all just aces.

iceman (LGBT MAIN CHARACTER). okay, so this just started. like issue #2 was only released days ago but 1) i am liking it so far and 2) marvel did it so dirty and barely advertised bobby - an openly homosexual superhero - was getting his own series, like, i found out about it the day before it went on sale and i keep my ear fairly close to the ground (not as close as some BY A LOT, but closer than the lay person i’d say) so if you can support it, please do! pre-orders mean a lot in terms of numbers. :))))

descender. admittedly, this starts out rooough. because the main character, TIM-21 (and his little dog too), are annoying as hell. he’s an android so there’s no dimension to him so he’s booooring as all get out but i am so glad i stuck with it through to the next trade because, probably picking up on the unsustainability of him as a main character, he gets shuffled off and the side characters get the stage and they rock so hard.

paper girls. (LGBT main characters.) i’m kind of just convinced that brian k. vaughan can do no wrong at this point. his plots are so tight and mind-blowing and badass.

monstress. here’s a little tid-bit about me: female comic book writers are 100% more likely to get my money and my time because they are so damn rare and this series is unique, badass, and eye-opening.

black monday murders. i’m a little premature with this since there’s only one volume and i usually try to wait until there are at least two but i check up on a volume two a lot so that definitely means something intrigued me!

nailbiter. okay, i haven’t read the final volume yet ‘cause i’m reluctant to let it go but, so far, a series about multiple serial killers all being from the same town has me VERY HOOKED.

i wish i could remember more but this is honestly way better than i expected to do, haha. they’re definitely not all my all-time faves but they’re ones that have stuck with me for one reason or another and that i didn’t feel i wasted my time on, so that’s something, right? i hope this helps get you started and that you don’t think too awfully of me when you inevitably run across ones that aren’t your cup of tea!

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zoebechtle-blog · 6 years

Text

Unlikely Epilogue

September, 2017

“Zo?” I was bent over the sink, spitting toothpaste out of my mouth. Niall was standing behind me staring, as he adjusted his towel over his hips. He’d just gotten out of the shower, and droplets of water riveted down his chest. I met his eyes in the mirror and quirked an eyebrow.

“Yesh?” I still had the toothbrush in my mouth.

“Anything you want to tell me?” The look on his face was semi-unreadable. His forehead was crinkled in deep thought, and he was looking at me like I had sprung another head. I wasn’t unaccustomed to this look (I got it often) but usually there was some warning or I could deduct something nuts that I had done. But I’d been getting ready for the day humming along to the James Bay playing in the bedroom of his L.A. house. I wasn’t wearing anything crazy, just a pair of shorts and a plain tank top with my hair pulled up into a messy bun. I cupped my hands to take a sip of water to rinse my mouth and spit, turning to look at him, furrowing my brow.

“Nooooo. What’s going on?”

“Are you sure? Nothing?” Now he had a little grin on his face and walked confidently up to me. What the hell? I put my hand on my hip and stared at him.

“You’re freaking me out, boo.” I put my hand up to stop him, resting it in his thick patch of chest hair.

“C’mere.” He stood in front of me and turned me back around to face the mirror, leaning in with his hands on my hip bones. Was he just being fresh? Because if so, good morning Zoe. I mean, we’d already had sex once since waking up, but after almost three months apart, I wasn’t going to turn down anything I could get from my beautiful blonde piece of ass, I mean, loving boyfriend. He dragged his nose up my neck, tickling me a little, the water from his head dripping down.

“Nothing? Not even this?” And he licked a spot right behind my left ear, caressing it. My eyes grew wide, and he mirrored my shocked expression. “Mmmm?”

“Holy shit!” I dropped my hairbrush and put my hands over my mouth. “I FORGOT! Jesus Christ!”

“How in the shit did you forget you got a tattoo?”

The tattoo was supposed to be a surprise. Okay, it was a moment of weakness when I wasn’t thinking. Three weeks after Niall’s break from his tour (which coincided with my birthday nicely) promoting his platinum solo album I was bored. I missed him like crazy. I didn’t not trust him, but it was just enough to make me panic a bit. I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t going to be that crazy girlfriend. This was his life and I’d gotten as used to extended absences as I much as I could. It was a fluke that I had gotten to spend as much uninterrupted time with him as I had. The rational part of my brain knew all this. But Crazy Zoe came out to play. A lot. To keep her at bay, I overscheduled my days. I took on heading up a grant application at work and filled in for other people so they could take vacations. Anytime anyone suggested plans, I jumped at them. I accompanied Carly and Jess to plays and movies, went shopping with Paul, and third wheeled with Hannah and Willie (and had gone with Willie last week to pick out her engagement ring, but shhhhhhhhh). I’d actually willingly gone to hot yoga on four occasions, for fuck’s sake. When Aaron asked if I wanted to spend a marathon Saturday afternoon with him while the next section of his tattoo sleeve was completed, I went along.

I’d spent time in tattoo shops over the years, holding the hands of friends as they had various body parts inked. My own small tribute to my Grandma Bechtle was a small quilt square on my ribcage, under the band of my bra (it hurt. So bad.) and Aaron had rubbed my hands and at one particularly bad juncture, even letting me bite his arm to stifle my pain - he was such a good friend (he also had a bit of a pain kink). So off we went. About two hours into the adventure, as my incessant chit chat was obviously annoying the artist (“Z, can you tone it down a bit?” Aaron had hissed) I wandered off to look at various designs. I watched a girl get a tiny piece behind her ear. It took less than five minutes and wasn’t noticeable in the slightest. I scratched my nail along the spot, and it was bearable. Poking at it reminded me how sensitive I was behind my ears, and made me miss Niall for a few minutes. No one else had ever quite mastered the spot the way he had. He jokingly always called it my Achilles Ear and had proclaimed it his fifth favorite place to kiss me (I’ll leave you to figure out the other four). In a moment of what I can only described as blind devotion and being so hard up for dick that it wasn’t funny, I decided to mark myself. With the most Niall thing in the world. An Irish flag.

The fates aligned with this decision by one of the artists, a skinny, bored-looking middle aged hipster, having a cancellation. We worked out the details quickly, and less than fifteen minutes later, I slid back into the room with Aaron. He noticed the bandage immediately and shrieked, “What did you do?!” and proceeded to cast harsh judgement. Within two hours, reality kicked in and I freaked out.

“Oh my God, Aaron!”

“Yep.”

“I tattooed a fucking Irish flag on MY HEAD!”

“Yep.”

“In a sexy spot in honor of a guy.” My mother was somewhere shaking her head.

“Yep.”

We started each other with wide eyes. Sometimes my impulsive nature knew no bounds. I opted not to tell Niall about the tattoo. I didn’t even tell Hannah because I didn’t trust her not to spill to Willie. Luckily I had my dad’s ears, which bent back more than was normal. It made a slightly strange profile, but I was grateful that it allowed my humiliation not to be completely public. And to fair, it was WAS tiny, smaller than the tip of my pinky finger. The only person who’d noticed it before Niall was a six year old at work who pointed to my “sticker” every session. (I usually started the day with my hair down, but by 11 am it was out of my face in some manner.) I’d moved on and found something else to obsess over, and honestly kind of forgotten about it. Until a month later, twelve hours into a week long visit for Niall’s 24th birthday.

“Um, uh…” I stammered, trying to buy myself time. How did I forget I had gotten a tattoo? “Well, the area has been greatly under used recently…,” I started, turning around to face his smirking face. I put my hands against the counter and leaned back a bit, widening the distance between us. That didn’t work for him, so he edged closer, reaching to touch my ear. I swatted at his hand.

“Off!”

“No way! I want to see it!”

I shrugged my shoulder up to block him. “Don’t!”

“Why not?” He’d gotten me trapped against the vanity as I unconvincingly tried to fight him off.

“Because it’s stupid. Niall, don’t!”

“Well, it’s on the Achilles Ear, and it’s an Irish flag, so I’m assumin’ it has something to do with me,” by this time I’d given up my protest and let him nudge his nose in there, nuzzling me. “And nothin’ concernin’ me and you is stupid. C’mere.” Grabbing my hand, he dragged me over to the window and stood facing my side, pushing the shell of my ear forward so he could get a good look.

“It’s trashy! Stop!” My embarrassment was complete.

“It’s fuckin’ hot. Jesus, Z,” his voice was scratchy and low as he ran his finger over the spot, “ya did this for me?”

“No, for my other Irish boyfriend. Of course I did it for you. I was horny, bored, and I missed you! It was an unholy trio!” I pushed him back a bit. I hated showing my weakness for someone, even for him. Especially for him. It did not jive with my independent woman vibe. I wanted him to be the one tripping over his feet for me. And he did. Often. I was that good.

“Goddamn it,” he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him, dropping his towel in the process, and pulling on my ear again. “I want to fuckin’ lick and suck that all day. I can’t believe ya did that.” Before I could protest, his mouth was behind my ear, doing exactly what he promised. Within five minutes I was sprawled out on the bathroom floor with his head between my legs lapping like it was his last meal. Fifteen minutes after that, I was bent over the vanity, the two of us watching ourselves in the mirror as he took me from behind. He was total porn star mode and I loved every second of it. Maybe my next tattoo would be his name on my ass. After that reaction, I’d consider it.

That night we were locked in the house with carry-out, just enjoying time together and recovering from the day long fuckfest. I’d managed to make him snort Stella laughing at a story from work, and I’d then choked on a noodle at his reaction. His actual birthday was in two days, and tomorrow various friends from all over the world would be descending for a traditional weekend of debauchery. He’d been showing me blue print plans from his builder (Gary...we were all on a first name basis, and he’d brought me pastries last time I’d been to visit) to add a room off the kitchen. A new office. It looked nice, French doors and a window seat with built-in bookcases.

“But you have an office upstairs already, bugaboo,” I reminded him, kissing his cheek as I slid on the floor in front of his knees to take a better look. I was pretty sure that Niall just really liked Gary and enjoyed keeping him around. At this rate the house might become a Hollywood Hills version of The Winchester House. “And if you’re not sure, there are two other bedrooms, dude. We can move stuff around.”

“Jesus. You really are thick, aren’t ya?” He stared at me over the plans, rolling his eyes. “Notice where it says something about staining the wood teal? I swear, you complain about me bein’ oblivious to shit. The room is for you, Zo. It’s your office. I thought you might like a space of your own when we’re here. Especially when there are guests - I was pretty sure you were going to stab Deo last time.” This is true. He wouldn’t quit humming the theme to Doogie Howser, M.D.

Oh. Okay. I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. So I went with smart ass. “You know, your future wife will make you sell this house if there’s a room you built for your old girlfriend here. You’ll have to move to the Valley or something.”

“How about I make my ‘old’ girlfriend my wife, then? I get to keep the house and my girl. Two birds, one stone.”

“Yeah? You think?” My heart rate had jumped up about 400 beats a minute and I was barely holding it together. My face was burning hot.

“I know, Zoe Jane. Wanna marry me?” He whispered with a smile, but his eyes were nervous. His foot was jiggling so hard the whole sofa was bouncing.

“Quit fucking with me, Horan. That’s not nice.” Neither of us were blinking. Only our stubborn asses would be having a staredown over a marriage proposal. He put his hand out to grab mine and pull me up from my spot on the huge pillow on the floor.

“C’mere.” He pulled me upstairs to his (our? My mind was spinning.) bedroom and sat me on the bed, holding a finger up for me to wait a second as he disappeared into the closet. A minute later he returned, holding an orange box. Holy shitsnacks. This was Hermes. Better than a diamond. A handbag.

“I didn’t plan on doing this tonight,” he reached around to scratch the back of his neck with his right hand. “Not actually sure when I was going to. No time seemed right, and you deserve right. But we kinda go about things differently, yeah? And that just came out before, when you were busting my balls. Which is really the perfect thing, ya know? That’s how we roll.”

“Niall, you’re babbling,” I held my hands out for the box. Gimme.

“Calm your tits, Bechtle. I have a thing I want to say. Been thinking it over for months. Ya told me that first morning that you didn’t need me or anyone. That I was an accessory. A Birkin bag,” he handed me the box and I stared at him. “A ‘really fucking awesome, coveted purse that is frankly out of your budget, but still a bag.’” I know ya need don’t need this, or me, but I hope you’ll keep us both around. I hear these things never go out of style and will last ya the rest of your life.”

“But I can get other bags to carry, too, right?” I was crying.

“NOT what I was tryin’ to say.” We both started laughing, a nervousness to the room. Hopeful tension, maybe? My hands shook as I untied the bow and carefully lifted the lid on the beautiful chocolate colored leather.

“Ni, I...oh my god.” I was petting it with one hand and trying to touch his cheek with the other. I was officially mentally overstimulated.

“You should look inside,” he whispered. I fumbled with the openings, dropping the bag. Twice.

“Jesus, Zo,” he ran his hand through his hair and fell to his knees to pick it up. I pulled out a matching wallet and passport holder. Grand total this all had to cost more than my tuition my first two years of college.

“I can’t believe...It’s too...Niall!”

He took the wallet out of my hands and pulled out a small velvet box. Oh my god. OH MY FUCKING GOD. And he was still on the floor in front of me. On one knee. This was happening. This was really happening. He was building me a room. He bought me a bag. And now there was a ring. Fuck this noise. I slid off the bed and tackled him, kissing his mouth.

“Z, I love you more that I ever thought possi-”

“Yes, you ninny.”

“Yeah?” There was that cancer curing smile that I noticed the night we met. “Thank god. I had a fear you were going to beat me with the bag.”

“Still might. That is a ridiculous amount of money, you idiot. I can’t believe you remembered that purse analogy.”

“Thought about it every day since.”

“I was so proud of myself. That’s high level thinking.” I’d managed to his shirt off and was working on his pants. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“Are ya even going to look at the ring? It’s a- Jesus, God.”

“Maybe later. Got things to do right now. I love you, Niall.”

Three days later I woke up with a screaming headache and bright desert sunlight shining right in my eyes. Ugh, we didn’t shut the blinds and the Vegas sunlight was blinding. And hot. I never did get the fascination with this place. A desert of drunk people and loud music. Unfortunately the boys loved it. And I’d dragged Niall to Oslo for six days for my birthday against his will (he wasn’t a fan of cold) so I had no place to put up a fuss. I didn’t remember actually starting drinking yesterday - it was a day long heavy buzz from bloody Marys on. Ooof, I’d gotten too much sun at the pool. My whole back was tender and hot. The beautiful man (my fiance-whoa) cuddling up to it wasn’t helping matters.

“Ow. Hot. Niall, you’re hot.” I whined. In response he tilted his hips up into my bottom.

“You’re hot, too, babe.” That sleepy, thick accent.

“Oh shut up, not like THAT. My back.” He scooted back to look.

“Shit, Zo, you’re fried.”

“Ughhhhh.” I flopped back dramatically, only to yelp for real and roll over to my stomach. “Ouchy. Will you grab the ibuprofen from my makeup bag? I’ll love you forever and ever.” To accentuate my point, I pouted my bottom lip at him.

“Fine. I’m gonna take a piss, though.”

“Wash your damn hands!” He stuck his tongue out at me as he walked by, and shook his bum once he knew I could see it. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and started flipping through messages and social media posts.

“Horan Gettin’ Hitched!”

“No More ‘Horan’ Around” (okay, that’s hilarious)

“‘This Town’ For Niall and Fiancee!”

Shit. There were pictures of us from yesterday and last night. Invasive, but sweet. With our friends, but always touching one another, even in some small way. Me tucking my head into his neck waiting for a car. Him rubbing sunscreen on my back (spoiler: it was ineffective) at the pool. Hannah and I cuddling in a corner at the club and Niall behind us in a conversation with his hand resting on my bare shoulder. I hadn’t worn the beautiful emerald ring he’d bought me this weekend-no official announcement had been made and we agreed to wait until after his birthday (and me safely ensconced back in the London under Bas’s watchful eye) to do so. So where the fuck were these headlines coming from? It wasn’t the first time we’d seen such rumors, but now that there was substinance to them, my radar was pinging. I clicked on the link.

“During his annual birthday extravaganza - this year in Vegas - former One Direction hottie and solo sensation Niall Horan was heard telling friends that he has proposed to longtime girlfriend, Zoe Bechtle. Sources report the singer referring to the regular-girl brunette as “the wife.” American-born Bechtle and Horan have kept their relationship mainly out of the public eye but rumors have her moving into his London home recently. Don’t forget the pre-nup, Niall!”

And the comments. Holy shit. The usual brain explosions, people wishing us well, others wishing me death, commenting on my ass (let it go, people, I’m big fucking boned), and people claiming to have seen us at the drive-thru wedding chapel. Christ.

“Niiiiii?”

“Be there in a sec, babe, beer shits!” Seriously, we were way too damned comfortable with one another. I maneuvered myself out of the bed, hissing at the pain and into the bathroom.

“I said I’d be right there.” Luckily he was pulling his boxers up at this point.

“Um, did you tell someone we were engaged last night? And refer to me as “the wife?” I put my phone in his face as he washed his hands so he could see the article. He motioned with his nose so I would scroll down as he dried.

“Well, shit. Cat’s out of the bag, I suppose.”

“Ya think? All the big blogs have it. I’m surprised your phone isn’t going apeshit.” He was not nearly as upset by this news as I’d thought he’d be.

“Fuck, it died last night.” He started fussing with the cords on the nightstand, plugging it in.

“I bought you that ginormous case with the char-”

“It looks bulky in my pocket!”

“Good Lord, you’re a dainty princess.” I gave his chest a little shove. “What should we do? Do you want me to call Kim?” He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at me for a minute. I could actually see the wheels turning in his head. “Boo? Hey!” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

He looked at me intently. “Wanna just do it?”

“What? Call Kim?” I raised my eyebrow as I swallowed the ibuprofen and reached a t-shirt to cover up my naked chest.

“No. Get married. Now. Here.”

“Seriously?”

“Why not?” He stood up and walked over to me, carefully avoiding my crispy back side as he wrapped his arms around me. “You were already having a panic attack the other night about whether we have a wedding in London, Ireland, or in America. And who my best man should be. If Harry should be one of your bridesmaids. Security. If wearing white was out of the question since you’ve ‘given more rides than a bus’. The more time you have to think about something…”

“The more I freak,” I finished for him. I never really had been a fan of the pageantry of weddings. The parties were fun but too much drama. “Are you being 100% for real?”

“Zo, I would have married you on the bedroom floor the other night.”

“An officiant might have minded presiding over a ceremony where I ended up reverse cowgirl.”

His smirk light up his face. “That’s my dream fuckin’ wedding. Baby, you’ve had me since that second quiz night. I don’t care where we do this, and the sooner the better. I wanna be official. I bet I can make a few calls and we can get someone up here,” He teased, running his lips kissing my ear. “Marry me? Today?”

I sighed, my decision made three seconds after he suggested it. “I only do this if you get Elvis.”

“Deal.”

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so-langelo · 7 years

Text

Sweet Moments

baCK AT IT AGAIN WITH ANOTHER SOLANGELO FIC

Summary: Moments between Nico and Will told from Chiron’s eyes....

Hope you guys like it!! *notes at the end of the fic* Ari xxx

Throughout the centuries, Chiron has trained countless heroes.

He’s cared for each one of them, and looked over them as if they were his own. He’s seen them go through so many hardships and obstacles; some were fortunate, others weren’t so lucky.

If Chiron knows a demigod who deserves to be happy, it was Nico di Angelo.

The boy’s life was filled with too much grief and sorrow. He was certainly up there on his list of the demigods who have been through the worst of it all.

However, after the war with the Earth Mother, he saw something change in Nico. Chiron wasn’t sure, but he knew it had to do something Will Solace.

It was a couple weeks after the war and the camp was still getting back on its feet. Everyone helped with everything; the chores, the building of shrines, and the infirmary.

Not many people were surprised when Nico started to help WIll as his assistant. They’ve been connected to the hip since the war, and it was only a matter of time.

Chiron was riding in with a child of Hebe who opened up his stitches during archery, when he spotted the two on an empty bed, in the middle of a card game.

“I’ve been practicing and I think I can beat you.”

“Is that a challenge, Solace?”

“Only if you want it to be, Deathboy.”

“I told you not to call m-”

As much as Chiron hated to interrupt, he had a demigod on his back that would bleed out if his stiches weren’t healed.

He cleared his throat. “Will, Daniel needs to be stitched up again. Hope you two can work on that.”

“Y-yeah, Chiron. I’ll be on it.” Will nodded at him, and turned to Nico. “Can you get me my needle, Neeks?”

Nico quickly got it, and gave them to Will. The smile that lit up Will’s face was as dazzling as if Nico handed him the world.

Chiron has never seen Nico look so fond at someone.

Chiron left the infirmary to continue his archery practice, thinking that maybe Nico was finally going to catch a break after all these years.

ii.

Now, Chiron practically raised Achilles, the all mighty hero that turned into a lovesick puddle whenever Patroclus was in the room.

The way Will looked at Nico, as if he would give Nico all the stars in the sky, reminded him of that.

Chiron watched over the campfire after dinner, making sure that nothing too crazy happens, when he spotted the two.

The two sat together during the campfire, weeks after the infirmary scene. They were in their own bubble, ignoring all the comotion that was happening around them.

Will only had eyes for Nico, who was taling animatedly with his hands. It was as if he was his ten year old self again.

Will nodded along, occasionally saying somethng and making Nico smile or laugh.

The look on Will’s face when he made Nico laugh, it was just completely undescribable.

The pair talked the night away, and maybe it was just his old age, but as the campers went to their cabins, he saw Will intertwine his hand with Nico’s and the son of Hades didn’t let go.

iii.

Something was wrong.

Chiron felt it, just before someone told him there was a fight between Taylor, a son of Ares, and Nico.

Chiron galloped to the greens near the climbing wall, where they were said to be fighting.

When he got there, Chiron was taken aback by Nico’s expression. Chiron has seen Nico in battle, but right now he looked murderous. He’s summoned two skeletons at his sides, both holding deadly sharp swords made of bones. Nico held his own Stygian iron sword, and advaced toward the son of Ares.

Taylor taunted, “You need skeletons to help you win? Grow some balls and fight me on your own.”

But Chiron saw fear in his eyes.

“Take back what you said and maybe I won’t let you rot in Tartarus!”, Nico growled.

“What? That Will Solace is a useless, good for nothing demigod? The dude can’t even fight. His little boyfriend has to fight his battles. It’s a miracle he survived two wars.”, Taylor smirked.

Chiron felt anger course through his veins, but he knew what he felt was nothing compared to what Nico felt. The boy was about to charge, but Chiron galloped over and picked up Taylor by the shirt collar.

“None of that language, Mr. Armbruster. Will has been more of a help to this camp than you will ever be.”

Nico stood in front of Chiron, with eyes blazing with rage. “Chiron! Put him down! I had hi-”

“NICO! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT YOUR USING YOUR UNDERWORDLY MAGIC! I leave you alone for an hour and you get into a fight!” Will came and put a hand on Nico’s shoulder.

Nico calmed down, but only a little bit. “I was defending your honor.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Thank you, honestly. You’re my knight in shining armor, but like I said don’t do any underwordly magic unless for emergencies.”

“Okay. Chiron make sure that dickwad gets what he deserves, please.” He looks up with Chiron with a dangerous smile that reminded Chiron too much of his father, Hades.

Chiron nodded and watched the two walked away, Will’s arm around Nico’s waist and Nico staring at Will with tender eyes.

He gave Taylor two months of scooping the pegasus stables.

iv.

Throughout all of this, Chiron was convinced that the two were already dating. Imagine his surprise when he asked Will about it and the boy turned bright red and said they weren’t.

Excuse his language, but ‘just friends’ his horse ass.

And Chiron thought Percy and Annabeth were oblivious. (Well, Percy was the oblivious one.)

It was an autumn night. Just a couple days passed since he saked Will if they were dating. Chiron walked around the courtyard between the cabins, making sure if someone did try to sneak out, the harpies wouldn’t eat too much.

He heard something. At first, he chalked it up to a rustle in the leaves, but it kept coming back. Whispers.

He continues to walk, following the soft voices. As he got closer, to the source, he noticed that the voices were coming from above. Whoever was out pst curfew was on a cabin.

He was about to go expose the rule breakers, when he recognized the voices.

Nico di Angelo and WIll Solace.

Chiron stopped. From the continued hushed discussion, they haven’t noticed him.

“This isn’t easy for me... to say. I’ve never... Not like this. But... You matter to me. A lot.” Nico’s whisper shook with nerovusness.

There was a pause. A pause that even made Chiron’s heart clench.

“I care about you too. I really really really like you, Nico.” Chiron didn’t need to see Will’s face to know he was smiling.

“You made me nervous there, Solace. My gods, don’t do that.” Nico sounded relieved.

Will’s soft laugh filled the quite night. It was abruptly cut off. Chiron wasn’t sure if it was it was interupted by Nico’s hand or his lips.

But by the gentle ‘wow’ that escaped Will’s mouth, Chiron was pretty sure which one it was.

Chiron turned to leave, not wanting to intrude even furhter. He let them go, knowing they won’t do anything too bad. He let them off the hook. It was the least they deserve.

Chiron has seen many heroes go through so many tribulations for love.

But only few obtain it in the end.

Chiron smiled knowingly at the two when they finally came to breakfast the next morning.

Will’s smile was bright enough to power New York City and Nico staring lovingly at Will as if he hung the moon and the stars.

It was the kind of love people wrote myths about. The kind of love that lasts for centuries.

Super sappy I know, but you guys know me. I love sappy stuff.

Super late, but thank you for the 600. You guuys are truly the best.

Comments are the things that keep me going and want me to keep writing, so thank you to all that comment!!

I’m going back to school bleh i know, so I won’t be able to post as much as I want to, but I will try very very hard to post at a couple times a week, or at least once. Thank you so so so so much you lovely human beings.

Ari xxx

#solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #nico di angelo #will solace #nico x will #will x nico #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #toa #trials of apollo #ari tries to write

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dpargyle · 6 years

Text

Thoughts on the Last Jedi

OMGs so many spoilers!!!!! Also it gets a lil NSFW and super dweeby at the end…. (proceed at your own risk)

So I just got back from The Last Jedi and -

I have so many EMOTIONS!!!

Lemme at least attempt to go through this chronologically…

“The First Order reigns.” I got goosebumps from that opening sentence of the opening crawl. It was like, yup – pretty much the feeling in the real world rn too hahahaha *sobs*

That whole opening space battle scene – ahhhh!!!! I loved so much about it – I especially loved how quickly Rian Johnson (the writer/director) was able to establish Paige Tico’s character – make the audience care about her and then boom she’s gone and I knew she was a goner as soon as they introduced her at Celebration but still it hit me right in the feels – like damn the sacrifices the Resistance is forced to make

At long last we got back to Rey and Luke on Ahch-To and I love how he doesn’t even say anything – he just flips the lightsaber over his shoulder like “thanks, I hate this!”

And then Rey follows him around like an adorable lost puppy for days and days and days and I was like awwww!

Speaking of which – I really liked how Daisy Ridley played Rey this time around – not so naïve (although I loved happy go-lucky, plucky Rey from the Force Awakens) – but she’s grown now – she’s seen some shit – and so as a result her character is a little more galaxy-wise and wary – which I think fits – though we see some of that lighter Rey sprinkled throughout the narrative – the “reach out” moment which I thought was pretty damn hilarious…

As for the new characters – oh my – how I love Rose. She’s this fan girl who’s suddenly grieving and then one of her heroes shows up and she’s all ready to fangirl but then he severely disappoints her but she doesn’t even hesitate – she stuns him – like yeah, she’s excitable and incredibly sad but she’s still gonna do her damn job and I loved it. And we see her grow and mature throughout the film and learn to trust Finn again – and the end where she saves him and then she says “we can’t fight what we hate – we have to save what we love” and then she snogs him and I was like HELLLS YES! What a bad. Ass. Character.. I love her. #protec I already liked the sorts of things Kelly Marie Tran was saying from the press tour – but she brought this character to life and now I have EMOTIONS.

So yeah, I’m totally on the FinnRose ship now since Disney are cowards and Stormpilot is never gonna be a thing ☹ (though I did appreciate when Finn and Poe finally meet up again Finn literally squirts on Finn lmao (I’m sorry I have a dirty mind!) so I think that’s the closest we’re ever gonna get hahaha)

I loved how Canto Bight really illustrated this incredible gap between rich and poor – so similar in our own world right now – and Rose’s rage at this injustice – “I just wanna punch straight through this beautiful, ugly terrible town.” (First off – what a line. Second off that sounds like something Leslie Knope might say hahahaha) Rose was given some of the best and most poignant lines.

Also – the focus on the little children slaves – fuck, that was crushing. And the Fathiers – how their coats were bleeding from the whips and the lashes – damn all so heartbreaking. I’ll get back to the little slave boy at the end – as I think there’s so much going on in that final scene.

Back to the Force montage on Ahch-To with Luke & Rey – damn I love how Johnson elaborated on the Force – showing us what Rey was seeing – such beauty. Such resonance. Kinda reminded me of those BBC nature documentaries (The Planet, etc…) – the beauty and savagery of nature – personified in the Force – ughh so frikken powerful.

As for Luke – his scene with Artoo was the best. Artoo shows him young Leia pleading for Obi-Wan and Luke’s all like “you’re not playing fair” and Artoo basically gives him this shit eating grin and oh gods so good – this is why Artoo continues to be my fave. Character. He is the best. Doesn’t even have to say anything. Like yes! Damn! Ughhh!

Then Luke’s scene with Yoda’s force ghost!!! As soon as you saw that little profile and the ears I was internally going like !@@!#$%&^%!@#$%%@$ and then he just blows up the tree like HaShem in Exodus and you’re like lmao – and he literally tells Luke “Rey has all the knowledge from the Jedi Texts with her already” – then if you fast forward all the way to the very end of the movie when everyone is on the Falcon – Finn is rummaging through a bunch of drawers and if you blinked you missed them – but the texts were in there! Rey up and stole them hahaha – amazing! And Yoda knew too! Ugghhhhhhh I love these characters!

Alright. Now on to the really big stuff.

Holy crap. Snoke is dead. HAHAHAHA! Ren turned out to be the BIG BAD of this trilogy. I guess I shoulda seen that coming, but tbh I was absolutely gut-wrenched. I thought he and Rey would join forces and become gray force users and have babies and it would be beautiful, but it was not to be. When they were fighting Snoke’s red guards I thought that would happen but then Ren is so full of hate and greed he can’t see anything else – he’s dead inside. He can’t see a path to redemption. He doesn’t even ask for forgiveness.

Yes, I know – for the last several months I have been a Reylo. I really wanted them to get together. And when they were force-touching hands I really thought they would – but then this asshole goes and

Decides to tell Rey she’s nothing???? Like what? No. No, no, no. You don’t tell someone they’re trash but they mean everything to you. Like I sorta get what he’s trying to say but he’s being super manipulative. Is that what gaslighting is?

Like fine you murdered Han Solo. You blew up Akbar. AKBAR! But you will not insult Rey. No. That is crossing a line. Maybe he wasn’t even consciously doing it – maybe he thought he was praising her – but really he was just trying to convince her she’s nothing without him. He allowed his rage to rule him.

I’m sorry people who still might see them together – but I no longer do. Rey doesn’t need Kylo’s bullshit. She gave him a chance at redemption and he denied her. She realized she can’t save him – and I think that’s an incredibly valuable lesson to teach young girls.

I’m sorry if that offends some people on the Tumblrs – and you’re totally entitled to your opinion – I’m not gonna be a dick about it (it’s not my way) – but respect that I’ve changed my mind.

As a side note – I think it’s kind of hilarious how whoever the hell Snoke was and who Rey’s parents were don’t even matter! All those theories! All the mental anguish we put into discovering how everything connects to older characters! But it doesn’t. Ha! We deserve it!

Luke made a mistake trying to take out Kylo, no doubt, but Kylo has to be responsible for his own actions. I think that’s what Johnson was trying to say – sure he might have been neglected, abused, and then manipulated by Snoke – but ultimately he had the power to choose – and like so many young men in this day and age – Ben has chosen hate. Rey has chosen hope.

And I choose Rey’s path.

The darkness might reign right now. But the light is strong. And it can burn in us all, if only we allow it to ignite within us.

Sure, the Jedi have a legacy of failure. But as Yoda said, “Failure is the best teacher.” Don’t I know it. Failure is painful. Failure sucks. But that doesn’t mean we burn it all down. We can rebuild. We can grow. We can make new the old.

The Jedi can live again.

And that gives me great hope, kids.

Great Hope.

And now, Luke and Leia.

I….

I can’t even…

This woulda been emotional enough with Carrie Fisher still with us – but now that she’s gone…

“Nobody’s really gone.” – Luke. That last conversation – just the two of them – Oh man, I’m not a crier but sometimes I wish I was. So powerful. So important. So cathartic. Funny. Sad. Bittersweet reconciliation. Imperfect people, imperfect goodbye – but a perfect scene.

I feel like we all needed that. Or I did anyway.

And then….Luke dies.

Luke dies?

Luke Skywalker. Is gone.

What? No! How?

Feels like I’ve known him my whole life – cuz I have. Like he’s a real person and the myth he became all at once. Who was one of the ones who taught us the power of forgiveness. To let go of hate.

And now he’s gone?

I know, I know, I sound ridiculous – he’s not a real person and it’s just a movie and you’re probably all rolling your eyes and saying “bundles you’re being such a dweeb rn” but damn it! stories matter. Characters matter. Words matter. Words have power.

Star Wars is a great myth of our time. The saga of the Skywalkers is our Arthuriana. From Anakin to Rey – this is our Trojan War. Luke is our Achilles.

And now he’s gone? When he disappeared watching those two setting suns (gods what great cinematography) it was like a gut punch. Like fuuuuuuuuuuuuck what now?

How do we go on?

I think Johnson gives us an answer – look to the past – look to the future – to the balance – to the cycle –

Which brings me to that final poignant scene -

The slave boy on Canto Bight. As with Anakin Skywalker all those years ago – he’s a force user (pulling that broom to his hand ala Mickey Mouse in Fantasia) and he’s staring up at the stars and dreaming….he embodies, with his phoenix-inspired Rebel insignia ring – the rebirth of hope – of the rebellion – of the resistance – of the beautiful broken dream that were the Jedi – he is Johnson. He is all of us. From Anakin all the way to this slave boy. And the story repeats. The cycle continues.

The myth lives on. Hope lives on. And if the myth lives on, well then so does Luke – “nobody’s really gone…”

I love Star Wars.

I love stories.

#star wars #sw #the last jedi #tlj #last jedi #rey #luke #luke skywalker #leia #carrie fisher #anakin #myths #mythology #rian johnson #luminous beings & bad feelings

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 7 years

Note

Can I ask why the guidance counselor's assistant wanted to fight you to the point of stalking? This wasn't Recruiter Scott or whatever his name was, was it? Why did you have multiple adult stalkers that's really fucked up btw

You are thinking of a different blog with the stalker recruiter story sorry, I’m like 98% sure it was @ gallusrostromegalus.

But anyway- the Assistant. It was a brand new job for her and she wanted to do Really Well. There were a couple of guidance counselors at the school, and I’m not sure if she was working for all of them or just my specific guy, but. I was apparently the only transfer student or something that year (10th grade) so she literally latched on to me. It was so weird. Like at first it was just sorta, oh, okay, she just wants to make sure I’m adjusting to the new school well, okay. But then she just…wouldn’t leave me alone? Like she kept showing up outside of my classes to talk to me, and she kept pulling me out of lunch to make me eat with her so we could discuss how stuff was going. But then she’d be like…Molly, you aren’t making any friends! What’s the problem? And I’d be like, you literally keep pulling me out of lunch where I have an entire table full of friends who are wondering where I am! But she never believed me??? Because I was sitting at an all senior table (two of the girls I knew thru theater) and she like. Didn’t believe seniors would be my friends or something?

And she just kept doing stuff like this like…I got into an academic problem at one point because my history teacher forgot to grade an important essay, but before my meeting with him she was on a tangent about how my grades are constantly in peril of failing (they weren’t) and even after the teacher showed up and literally said, “Sorry, this was my mistake, I remember Molly’s essay on Roanoke very well, I can’t believe I forgot to enter the grade” she was like…still acting like it was my fault? Like I acted irresponsibly somehow that made him forget to enter the grade for a paper I turned in and he read? And she did this with all my classes. Like she just kept really over exaggerating how bad I was doing in them (Like, I was only really having any issues in math and science, and none of those issues were Failure Worthy, like, I was still a pretty average student?) She kept trying to call Academic Emergency Meetings™ with like me, my mom and the teachers and every time they’d be like “She’s fine why are we here” it was so weird.

I think the problem was she probably had a hold of my transcripts- when I switched school’s they made me come in to take an aptitude test or an iq test or something, and I got a REALLY HIGH score on that and the school was all excited and kept telling me about their honors programs, but then they got the transcripts of my grades and were like “oh. Well. Why don’t we start you off in a nice normal class”. And I think she must’ve probably saw that and determined I wasn’t applying myself or something, but the actual problem was just I Was That Unfortunate Kid Who Did Bad On Standardized Tests No Matter What. Like, give me a paper or a report and I’m fine, but tests just never worked out for some reason, it was so annoying. But of course that’s a Ridiculous Excuse, Molly, and I think she must’ve come up with the idea that like if she can make me try harder I’d be an amazing student and she could take all the credit for it?

So it gets to the point where this woman is following me from class to class, badgering me the whole way about how I must be the laziest student she’s ever seen, and then she keeps pulling me out of lunch to complain even more about how I’m not applying myself or putting myself out there enough and that’s why I can’t find a place to fit in at the school, because obviously the fact some woman was stealing literally ALL of my free time had absolutely nothing to do with that, that’d be ridiculous. This went on the ENTIRE first semester.

And as I mentioned in the post I referenced this lady in- I had a partially torn Achilles tendon that wasn’t healing properly, so I was really slacking in gym class. Like, I just really need to paint the picture of why I was putting off gym class: I was told to stay off my feet as much as possible. But this was a BIG SCHOOL (the distract blew like all their money on it making it the huge and ridiculous with way too many features and then they were like ‘wow oops suddenly we’re poor’). I had classes all over the school. So even if I didn’t have gym one day, it’d still be enough walking that my ankle would be swollen by the time I got home. And the gym classes were like “run laps for six minutes and then do ridiculous amounts of stretches until the teacher gets bored and then get shoved into a game of soccer or whatever with the most competitive kids in the school”, and then the big ‘final’ grade for the semester was to run the mile in however many minutes. And if I can’t get through gym class without tapping out or heading to the nurse’s office, there’s no way I could have run a mile. So, I kept putting it off. The gym teacher’s still weren’t accepting my story without a doctor’s note, so I just, uh, started getting the stomach bug on days they rescheduled it to. And here’s the thing- like 97% of gym class is just showing up. By all means, I was passing gym class. If I just didn’t run the mile, it wouldn’t have even brought me to a failing grade, it just wouldn’t have been a grade up to the standard’s of this ridiculously fitness obsessed high school (I remember when I told them my 9th grade school didn’t have gym class, they all looked like they were gonna have a stroke from the sheer shock of it).

So this lady, who is 100% stalking me by this point, to the point where teachers and other students are asking me wtf is going on, I’d walk out and see her and literally feel sick I was getting so annoyed- but she’s loosing her shit about this gym thing. She kept trying to convince me that I was making the biggest mistake of my life by ditching the mile (and like first off, she had no proof I hadn’t been sick, so I was insulted by that), that not running the mile was going to leave a permanent stain on my record, this was totally going to effect my entire academic career, they were going to SUSPEND me if I didn’t run it, and like…I am a shy ass person!!! I couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone for help with this situation because the concept of talking to people was scary!!! Like, my mom new it was a Problem but she figured it was just because I was a new student. I definitely knew what was going on was an issue, but I was like 15 and couldn’t figure out how to stand up for myself and get her to leave me alone. I take ‘being polite’ to the point of a character flaw, sometimes.

So, one day, after pulling me out of class like five times to tell me I absolutely have to go to this mile run, because it’s the last after-school scheduled one before they like, I don’t know, kill me and sacrifice my body fat to the gods or something, I’m trying to sneak onto the bus because dude. My ankle was visibly throbbing. You could literally SEE it moving it hurt so bad. This woman intercepted me and like practically dragged me to the track- which was, of course: To the front office, out a secret side door, across two parking lots, up five different flights of steps, and down a winding path before we FINALLY get to the track- and I’m trying to like, not be forced into this, like hey teachers, would you just literally look at my leg for a moment- And this woman fucking snaps. Starts going off like, I’m a bitch and an awful student and incapable of making friends, I’m too lazy and I’m never gonna succeed in life, she spent like!!! 10 minutes telling me that I’m the worst person to exist!!! It was so fucking ridiculous. I tried to speak up for myself at that point, which just enraged her more and like, you could tell she was getting ready to physically fight me. Like this woman was literally going to pounce on me, one of the teacher’s made her leave at that point and she just stormed off. So I’m like, Totally Not Crying and can barely walk and just almost got punched by a guidance counselor, but, oh, well, you missed your bus, and in the time it’ll take for your mother to come get you, you might as well just run the mile!!!!

I was LIMPING by the end of it (and I finished like, 20 minutes after the other students that had to make it up, so I got a bad grade on it ANYWAY). I was then left to my own devices to get back to the front of the school where my mother was to pick me up, and I wasn’t very well acquainted with the outside of the building yet, so after getting turned around more times than I’m proud of I finally get there, literally crawling and Totally Not Crying.

My mom called my guidance counselor the next day and like- honestly, this poor man. He was this tiny old, Mister Roger’s knock-off who barely spoke above a whisper. My mom literally M U R D E R E D him oh my God the other people in the front office could hear her yelling through his phone.

I don’t know if the lady got fired or if the school just did a Very Good Job at keeping her away from me, but I never saw her again after that. She was not missed.

#molly's memories #high school #asks #molly mumbles

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aquilaofarkham · 7 years

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Defiance: Chapter I

Summary:

Remember when I said I’d write that super long fanfic that would “conclude” Connor’s story? Well this is it. Takes place shortly after the events of AC3 and details the later half of Connor’s life including his victories, struggles, the allies/enemies he made, and how he changed the assassin/templar conflict during the late 18th and early 19th century.

Any and all feedback is much appreciated and if anyone has suggestions about what exactly they want to see in this series, don’t hesitate to let me know!

The assassin spat out more blood onto the dirt road, wincing as he gripped his abdomen. What had been a long, hard, and agonizing day was almost over; soon the sun would disappear and he would be trudging through darkness. Quiet, lonely darkness until he reached home. Yet home – both – were still so far away.

A familiar feeling, one the assassin got used to years ago; the feeling of personal isolation that came with being away from home. He always managed to push it to the back of his mind in favour of more pressing issues. Now it felt more present and painful than ever before, stemming much deeper than simple everyday homesickness.

His wound was getting worse. He could feel it with every step he took forward. He could see it every time he looked down at the red stain growing across his stomach and whenever he glanced over his shoulder to see a faint yet still obvious trail of fallen blood behind him. At one point he thought his bloody fingers holding the stab wound would slip right into his gut. Every move, whether a short step or a sharp intake of breath, made him nauseous. The assassin hoped the adrenaline he felt during his most recent and most important kill would be enough to get him home, but it could barely get him back to Boston.

Many thoughts ran through his pounding head, each one contradicting with the last. Find a doctor. Get home. Keep walking. Then, out of a sudden morbid impulse, it’s over. You can finally rest now. The assassin knew what sort of “rest” his conscious was trying to convince him of. He wasn’t ready for it, not yet. Perhaps another day. There was still much to be done and he refused to let an easily treatable cut stop him. The assassin was angry, exhausted because of his anger, and everything around him had become a blur. But he needed to keep moving forward.

He also needed a doctor, immediately. That much he admitted. Unfortunately the only people he could trust were too far away. They were back home, the place he should have been. Except for one. If the assassin pushed himself a little further, he would find himself in Boston where the doctor resided. His last option.

So in the end, Boston it was. Home would have to wait.

The two of them hadn’t known each other for very long, only a few months or so. In fact the assassin had doubts as to whether or not she would be willing to help him. Despite their many conversations, he deliberately kept many things about himself, his life, and his occupation a secret from her. He never wanted to remain a stranger to her. Maybe if things were different, he wouldn’t have had to.

Thinking about his odd relationship with the doctor caused the assassin to ask questions, questions which led to even more doubts. Was his decision to never reveal a large part of his identity meant to protect himself or her? Would crawling onto her doorstep covered in blood put her in danger? How much longer could his body manage such prolonged agony?

The assassin was no stranger to bad days. They were constants in his life. This one he would remember for a very, very long time.

Before he could give anything resembling an answer, the brick buildings and sharp towers of Boston came into view. Almost there. The assassin almost thanked the sun for setting so quickly. A hooded stranger limping around the back alleys while covered in blood (both his own and another man’s) would no doubt attract some unwanted attention. Yet another thing the assassin was used to, but that evening he had neither the physical or mental strength to deal with it.

He didn’t need to go very far. Hiding himself as best he could, the assassin made his way through the city like a ghost. If it wasn’t for his damn wound, he would climb up and jump from rooftop to rooftop, swift and unseen by anyone below, until he reached his destination. Eventually he did, not swiftly but still unseen. The assassin found the doctor’s home feeling weaker than he thought possible. But he was alive, albeit barely.

Forcing himself closer towards the building, the assassin stopped before he could reach the back door. No, he couldn’t just knock and assume he would be welcomed into someone else’s home so easily. Of course everything had to be done the difficult, quiet way. Stepping back, the assassin looked up at one of the windows. He bent down as far as he could, letting out a hiss of pain, and picked up a couple stones in his palm. Part of him felt ridiculous but it was better than involving the other building inhabitants.

He threw the first stone at the doctor’s window, hitting the glass with a faint tick. No response. He threw the second stone with more force. A moment passed before the window finally opened, revealing a woman not much older than the assassin. She was still wearing her day dress and apron while a crown of thick dark brown curls surrounded her soft, round face. Judging from her alert expression, she must have decided to stay up late to study or create more of her herbal remedies, which would then be sold in the downstairs general store.

“Where have you been?” She exclaimed quietly. “I haven’t seen you at the store in days!”

The assassin lowered his head as his broad shoulders moved up and down with every heavy breath. Once the doctor got a better look at him, panic began setting in.

“What happened? Connor? What did you do?” Another bout of silence, then he spoke up.

“I need your help.”

DAVENPORT HOMESTEAD, MASSACHUSETTS BAY 1784

Connor placed the last of his belongings into the large trunk, letting out an exasperated sigh as he did so. It wasn’t much – a few articles of clothing, books, and other miscellanea to help get him through the long voyage. Some items stood out amongst the rest, such as his old, worn out robes. He knew it was time to get them replaced, but there was a bittersweet sentimentality to them that was hard to forget, let alone ignore.

Lying right beside his robes, safely tucked against one side of the trunk, were two leather-bound bracers. For the past couple weeks, Connor wore them on his forearms sparingly and even debated with himself over whether he really needed to bring them along at all. But like his robes, Connor’s hidden blades, well worn and well used, were an integral part of his image as Mentor of the American Brotherhood. He didn’t think it necessary – in fact he found it to be quite the hassle. Still, how else would his fellow assassins in Paris and London recognize him at a first glance? If there were any left.

Mentor. Closing the trunk, the word sat uncomfortably in his mind, as it always did. In his opinion, the rank and responsibility didn’t belong to him. Not only that, he didn’t deserve it. Yet he still carried it, like an awkward weight upon his shoulders.

Connor thought he could see clearly, especially after everything that happened. But little to nothing felt certain to him anymore. Including the final outcome of his journey, despite it being his decision. He didn’t know what the European bureaus would say to his face nor was he sure if any real answers concerning the other side of his bloodline were waiting for him in England.

Taking one final look around his room, Connor made his way downstairs, carrying his luggage under one arm. The Davenport Manor had always been a quiet place but along with the silence came the feeling of loneliness, despite its many visitors. He stopped for a moment to peek into the main dining hall, where he felt the most downhearted. Above the fireplace hung the portrait of Achilles, Abigail, and Connor Davenport. Connor felt a number of different emotions upon looking at the painting; for now he tried to think positively. At least his mentor was still with him in some way. Yet it served as a grim reminder, one he couldn’t escape or forget. Achilles was gone forever.

Connor turned his gaze away from the portrait. The time for sentimentality was running out and it was time to go. But as he left the room, a new thought came to Connor. If Achilles were alive, what would he want him to do? Would he tell his student to go on his voyage or would he try and convince him to stay? Walking down the main hallway, Connor arrived at his own conclusion. Even if Achilles voiced his disapproval and wanted him to stay, he would still go – first to Paris to accept an old ally’s invite, then London to find some peace of mind. It would be for his own sake. Hopefully his mentor, wherever he was, would understand that.

The moment he stepped through the front door of the manor, Connor let out another exasperated sigh. Once they heard his plans for an extended trip overseas, everyone in the Homestead dropped what they were doing just to help him prepare. It was as if he had never left the community before. Connor appreciated everyone’s concern, but he could only take so much doting.

“You have that ointment I made you, yes?” Norris asked while Connor tried making his way down the path.

“Yes, I do.”

“And those pelts Myriam gave you? I hear it gets very cold in that part of Europe.”

“Norris, for the last time, I have everything you and Myriam gave me.” It was a little grating, yes, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to get angry, especially when it came to his good friend.

“I am sorry. This trip of yours, it… it is making everyone nervous. We are worried about what will happen here while you are gone.”

“Norris, I assure you there is no need for worry.” Connor tried calming him with a part on the shoulder. “Once I am finished in France and England, I will come back. You have my word.” When he discussed his plans to travel to Europe, most of the Homesteaders thankfully understood. That didn’t stop them from constantly fretting over Connor as the date of his excursion quickly approached.

“How is Myriam faring?” He asked, wanting to change the subject.

“She is alright. Feeling a little cranky though. The baby has been giving her a much harder time lately.” Connor recalled the day Norris announced Myriam’s pregnancy; everyone, including himself, was ecstatic but soon afterwards Norris became an anxiety-ridden mess.

“Myriam is a strong woman. She will be fine. But you should go care for her.”

“You are right. She will be wondering where I am. Bonne chance, mon ami!” Connor nodded and said a small goodbye. He tried keeping it hidden, but he knew Norris was right about one thing. What would happen to the Homestead in his absence?

They will be fine, he reassured himself. They know how to look after themselves. Halfway down the walkway, Connor heard another friend following him. He expected it to get distracted and run off but instead it continued trailing close behind him. Connor turned around and glared down at the last turkey he owned. For the longest time, the bird tagged along wherever he went and became less of a companion and more of an annoyance. Sometimes he asked himself why he never cooked it.

“No. Stay.” Connor stated firmly. He sounded ridiculous, but it was the only way to make it listen. Or so he thought; meanwhile the turkey gobbled some more and inched closer towards him. “I said no.” He repeated as though he were scolding a child. Thankfully, the bird ran off with a rustle of its feathers.

After that brief ordeal, Connor finally made it to the road where his horse was waiting. Surrounding it were a few more Homesteaders including Ellen, Terry, Godfrey, and some recruits who had come all the way from Boston. The two men cracked their usual jokes as they wished him luck while Ellen handed him a basket filled with goodbye gifts.

“Are you sure you have everything, Connor?” She asked in a shaky tone. Connor smiled and gently rubbed her arm.

“I do, Ellen. Thank you for this.” He looked into the basket, thinking it was more fruit and locally grown vegetables. Instead he found a whole assortment of biscuits and a jar of homemade jam. While Ellen was known in the community for her sewing and embroidery skills, she also showed her talents at making pastries. And Ellen knew Connor well enough to know that he was guilty of having a sweet tooth.

“This will make the voyage far more bearable.”

“Have a safe trip, Connor.” Terry said in his thick accent.

“Stay away from any dodgy streets in London or Paris, they’ll rob you blind and steal your shoes.” Godfrey added.

“And your trousers.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Connor replied and wondered if they were over exaggerating. After the two of them said goodbye, he turned back to Ellen who seemed more distraught to see him go than Norris.

“Please be careful. You don’t know what it’s like all the way over there.”

“I am sure it is no different than how it is here.”

“Hopefully you’re right. Well… goodbye then. Have a safe journey.”

Once she left, Connor turned his attention to his recruits. They crowded around him, patting his back while wishing him luck. Surprisingly, he was more worried about them than he was concerning the Homesteaders. He knew Stephane would take care of everything. But like Ellen, Norris, and everyone else, they had become his surrogate family and Connor was used to worrying over his family.

Despite his own anxiety, the recruits were in higher spirits than the others were. Perhaps they were glad to see their mentor leave in search of answers and better things after the outcome of the war. Or maybe they are happy that I am leaving them alone for once, Connor thought humorously.

It wasn’t long before everyone had enough of farewells as they went their separate ways, all except for one. She wasn’t a Homesteader, nor was she a recruit, but Connor felt no less glad to see her. In fact he suddenly felt very sheepish; he hoped she wasn’t too distressed over his departure.

“I do not think I need to ask if you have everything you need,” she said sarcastically.

“It is good to see you too, Madeleine.” Madeleine Barrett was a resident doctor of Boston, though in recent days she rarely called herself that. She spent more time at the Davenport Manor than at her actual home with her mother and aunt. A lover of all things botanical and herbological, Madeleine was just as skilled with a mortar and pestle as she was with a surgical knife and needle.

While Connor didn’t talk much about the blood filled incident that brought them closer together in friendship, he still owed her his life.

“You must be annoyed with how many you have already received, but I brought a small gift for you.” Madeleine outstretched her arms and handed Connor a wooden box. “Some are from the store, others I made especially for you.”

Connor opened the box and smiled. Tonics, bottles of herbs, and bags of tea were just a few things Madeleine had packed for him. “These will help you with mood swings, homesickness, restless nights, and indigestion.”

“Indigestion?”

“You can never be too cautious. Especially in Europe.”

Connor chuckled. “Thank you.”

“And please stay out of trouble. Remember, I won’t be there to patch you up.”

“I promise to be careful.”

“Knowing you... somehow I do not believe that to be true.” Madeleine replied in a tone that sounded both serious and light-hearted.

“Will you be alright?” Connor asked after a pause. “I am still unsure of how long this journey will be.”

“Worry about yourself. We’ll be right here when you come back.”

Connor had so much more he wanted to say. Every time the two of them met, that was always the case. But it was time to leave and all he could manage was a final farewell. “Stay safe, Madeleine.”

“Same to you, Connor.” She said, taking his hand into hers. The corner of his mouth curled as he watched Madeleine amble down the road before turning to the manor.

Connor remembered the first time he arrived at the front door. When he was still a boy, determined, skillful, and above all else, stubborn. What am I now? Connor still didn’t have the right answer to that question. Was he still the same boy who forced his way into Achilles Davenport’s life? Was he a resentful man? Or someone else entirely?

As Connor mounted his horse and rode off, he tried not looking back.

#connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor #assassin's creed #my writing #fic: defiance #part 1 in god knows how long this series is gonna be #*ac3fic

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thebeckychronicles · 7 years

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Post 10: On trying not to be bitter, irony and one-month anniversary hehe

Warning: This one’s a LONG one

March 14th marked a month since my diagnosis. (Valentine’s Day will always be a fun day from now on.) In my life I’ve battled a lot of beasts. Depression, other health issues, family tension, to name a few. It’s been a month since the most recent beasts of my life has made itself known. While my family is in A MUCH healthier and better place than we used to be and my other health issues I’ve addressed and solved, depression has been a beast I’ve been dodging and only occasionally faced head-on until recently.

Things got really bad for me around October, getting out of bed was a struggle; I’d go to work and have to go into the bathroom multiple times to stop myself from randomly bursting into tears. I’ve been asked by those who know I struggle with depression, “What does it feel like?” In truth, even after YEARS of feeling the way I do I still don’t have the perfect explanation of what my depression feels like. Depression is a beast you don’t understand even as you go through it. Best explanation I’ve come up with is it feels akin to grief. Debilitating, all-consuming grief. It affected my performance at school, how I interacted with my family and friends, my attitude going to work. When I say depression is all-consuming I really mean it- there was nothing in my life that wasn’t tainted by how messed up I was feeling.

Usually, fall and winter are really rough for me, and this past year was no different- except it kind of was. Usually when I’m in a very bad place I’m kind of able to talk myself out of it; and the slumps last for a few days and then abate for weeks. On the other hand, this fall/winter completely swept me up. I typically keep how I’m feeling to myself, meaning I don’t talk to my family about it. But I was so overwhelmed with my inability to cope and just how awful I was feeling all the damn time that I ended crying to my dad at the kitchen table about it. In Latinx culture, accepting mental illness is really difficult. Being able to worry about your mental health seems like a luxury (lowkey blame Maslow’s hierarchy-even though my parents probably don’t know what that is) because then that means that all your physical needs like food, shelter and water are met. Anyway, this was one of the few times I feel like he really heard me when I said I’m depressed. It had gotten so bad that I decided once fall quarter was over I’d quit my job and focus on school and getting through one day at a time.

Fast forward, I made an appointment in late October with my doctor to see if I can get medication to help. I used to be really against medication to treat depression because to me it felt like giving up, and I worried that it wasn’t something that would help my depression but rather would just make me happy in an unauthentic way. So for the first time in my life I talked to a medical doctor about my options and treating my depression. They recommended starting me on meds but also having me attend therapy- which is the current game plan now. When they diagnosed me and started telling me about treatment options it felt like such a relief. Strangely, I felt validated in my struggle with depression- it made it real in a way that didn’t feel confronting and overwhelming, but rather treatable and like there was a light at the end of the tunnel so to speak. This is supposed to be a blog documenting my life with cancer, so why am I sharing this? Because I feel like it’s relevant. Why? Because one of the main things I felt besides afraid and sad and angry about my cancer diagnosis was frustration. Because for so long I didn’t want to confront the fact that I’m depressed. For so long I didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t okay. And just when I’m finally addressing an issue I should’ve addressed back when I was 16, when I’m finally in a good place with my family and getting it together at school, another even bigger issue goes off like a bomb in my life. And so after my diagnosis I had a bit of a pity party and yeah- I was super pissed at God. Like, dude what the hell? You play too much. (insert mad side-eye)

This is where I’m at, a little over a month since my diagnosis and going into my second chemo treatment in a few days. Some days I feel really bitter. Some days I’m frustrated because just when I feel like I’m getting my feet firmly on the ground this shit happens. Some days I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to be left alone and give the world the finger. But life goes on, even after a cancer diagnosis. Most days I’m okay, most days it’s really easy to count my blessings. I’ve said before, my cancer prognosis is actually pretty good even though it’s an aggressive stage 2b. And because of this I’ve struggled with the question, “Do I have a right to be upset and wallow and feel all that I’m feeling, when really it could be worse?” I’ve been hesitant to complain and really bitch about my health because I know people and stories of those of have certainly had it worse. It’s hard to feel like I have a right to what I’m feeling when I know at the end of the day I’m still really blessed. My motto this whole time has been, “It could be worse.”

March 14th, I was in Seattle with my best friend, Lety. There we met up with her roommate from last year- a girl I had known from junior high. I know she knew about my diagnosis and I hadn’t seen her since before she found out through Lety. We were catching up talking and then her tone changed and she asked me, “How are you doing?” Now when people ask me I know that’s their way of broaching the subject of my diagnosis. I caught her up on my treatment and that my next appointment is the following week.

Her mother had gone through breast cancer back when we were seniors in high school, something I know she didn’t really broadcast. I think breast cancer in general to me has seemed it’s own significant battle- I don’t know it just seems more severe (not that this is a shit-show Olympics because cancer is shit all around). I just didn’t want to complain to her, or say something that I’m honestly feeling when I’m sure her mother went through worse. I don’t know. Point is, while my sister on multiple occasions has reminded me that I’m allowed to feel however the hell I’m feeling it’s different hearing it from someone who has seen a more aggressive side of cancer.

So I told her, “I’m good. The prognosis is good. It could be worse. I’m really lucky.” To which she replied, “Yeah, but it still sucks. You’re entitled to feel however you feel about it.”

No lie- I almost cried when she said that. Maybe it’s shitty of me to want to be comforted by someone who saw a darker side of cancer (her mom beat it by the way- so YAY) than I’ve seen thus far but my God it felt so nice to be validated. I don’t think she knows how much I needed to hear that. Even though she wasn’t the one to go through it, she’s lived with it through her mother and I don’t know- just hearing that validation from her makes me feel some type of way. So thank you for that E.

It’s funny to me, the way things are going in my life so far. And the increase in irony in my life too. Two days ago I was supposed to be in Belize with my best friends Lety and Tisa- needless to say those plans got cancelled (though I tried to convince myself it wouldn’t hurt to skip one chemo session- I mean what’s the worst that could happen? I get cancer?) I expected to finish my two years at Cascadia spring quarter but now because my immune system is compromised and chemo really takes its toll it’s not a good idea for me to be in school right now. I told my sister a few weeks before my diagnosis that I wanted to at some point shave my head- and now my hair is actually falling out against my will. (That’s what I get for wanting to shave my head in the first place lol.) I’m studying to be a medical social worker, and had wondered if I should reach out to a hospital to see if I could shadow one and now I have my own medical social worker (Hi Alisha.) When I graduated high school I hadn’t wanted to go into college right after, I had wanted to take a year off and now that I have to take a sabbatical I’m feeling kind of annoyed. But whatever- school will be there when I get back to it.

Jeremiah 29:11 states: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” You know God, I’m really trusting you but homie sometimes what you let happen makes it a little hard. And makes this chick kinda salty.

I know I had my plans for myself. Two years at Cascadia then to UW or some other social work program. Belize this spring break with my best friends. Not getting cancer. I know I had my own plans. But life has its own plans. God has His own plans, and sometimes God just lets things happen. I’m not a big believer in coincidences, but I’m also not a believer in “all things happen for a reason.” Sometimes life’s gonna happen regardless of our prayers. Even saying all of this, I hope I get something out of this other than my health. I don’t think God one day said, “Jenni’s gonna get cancer” and God if you did: Rude. Like I said, I don’t think God just straight up caused cancer in my body, but I do think He let it happen. But I believe God loves me, and because of this I find some comfort in this painful time. I believe God loves me. I probably sound like I’m contradicting myself, but it makes sense in my head so who cares. I certainly had my own plans, and God definitely has His own for my life. I just have to trust in His word and His promise and see where it takes me.

Thank you for your continued prayers, good thoughts, check-ins, well-wishes and visits; they truly mean the world to me. Lots of love to all of you. Find out next time on the Becky Chronicles: 2nd chemo session and a port that’s acting up.

One last thing; Becky’s going down with the rage of Achilles.

#cancer sucks #the becky chronicles #Hodgkins Lymphoma #i'm sad but its still lit

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hudsonespie · 4 years

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Cyprus: Small Island, Big Potential

(Note: I visited Cyprus in May 2019. This article, written then but never published, is a belated summary of what turned out to be a very exciting and memorable trip.)

It’s a tourist draw with beaches and dark coffee. It’s also one of the foremost shipping hubs featuring ship management, crewing and chartering. A small island of scarcely more than a million people, Cyprus has four percent of the world’s global tonnage under its flag and plays a key role as a European Union country that prides itself on really taking care of the needs of shipping.

Only Cyprus has a dedicated, autonomous ministry-level government agency which works together with the private sector to meet the needs of maritime economy – think Federal Reserve, but instead of monetary policy, it sets shipping policy for the vessels that sail under its flag. It’s an ambitious project, but the Cypriots are patient and have been pursuing their agenda for decades now. It’s paying off, as shipowners from the rest of the EU come to Cyprus seeking a friendlier way to do business. With regulations and bureaucracy choking off growth in hubs like Hamburg and Brexit triggering business headaches in London, Cyprus has positioned itself to take advantage of the ensuing chaos.

I had the pleasure of sitting down with Andreas Kazoukas, the chief of the Cyprus Shipping Chamber, which is the industry’s lobby organization on this balmy Mediterranean island. Here’s the scoop.

It’s not easy facing the anger of big, traditional maritime countries like Germany. There, Cyprus has what can only be called a bad reputation. Germans think Cyprus-flagged ships are cheap, kill jobs for hardworking German seafarers on German-flagged ships and have poor safety standards – basically, Germans think Cyprus-flagged ships are flying a “flag of convenience.”

It’s not a fair statement, says Thomas Kazoukas of the Cyprus Shipping Chamber. He’s one of the best-networked men in Cyprus shipping; his relationships include top-level government officials and all the movers and shakers who are involved in Cyprus’ bustling maritime private sector. He thinks the accusations levied against Cyprus are ridiculous. “Cyprus applies 105% of all the relevant rules and regulations,” he states, in the demeanor of a man who is setting the record straight once and for all. “In terms of legality vs. fairness, the only thing that matters is whether it’s legal or illegal. We have multiple supervision agencies both relating to pure shipping and in terms of transport in general. And in terms of registration, there are much cheaper flags than ours.” He notes that the man in charge of the Commission, which is the entity in charge of the Cyprus Register, “goes by the book.”

Kazoukas is swift to note that Cyprus is an EU-approved open registry as of 2004. It is not a “flag of convenience;” rather, its open registry status affords non-national born citizens the chance to register and operate a ship from Cyprus such that Cypriot owners are on parity with non-Cypriot owners. Cyprus was the first open registry approved by the European Union government. As such, Cyprus expands the law of the European Union to other nationalities who otherwise would have opted for flag states completely outside of the European Union. If the Cyprus registry were closed, owners without a physical presence in Cyprus would not be able to register.

The island has an advantage as it can convince non-EU born shipowners to set up a full office in Cyprus and employ local people and it expands the legal standards of the EU to nationalities which otherwise would not be subject to it. But Kazoukas admits that 40 percent of the Cypriot registry ships are under Greek ownership, with another 20 percent under German ownership. As such, there is some truth to the claim that the Cypriot registry cannibalizes other EU registries. But it does not do so using lower standards, by being a tax haven or by offering a flag of convenience.

Indeed, when it comes to the political back-and-forth between aggrieved Germans who are anxious about the loss of German-flagged vessels and resent shipowners seeking a better value proposition, Mr. Kazoukas points out that Cyprus is “in the middle of nowhere” and “doesn’t have the political clout to impose its wishes on others.” Thus, anger about flagging out and any perceived loss of national prestige or opportunities for national seafarers should be directed at the political decision-makers who are above Cyprus. As a small country, all it can do is offer a compelling product for market forces outside its control. “If there is one thing that’s different in Cyprus than others,” Kazoukas says, “it’s geographically small, but proportionally large in shipping’s development, but also in terms of its role.”

It’s easier to complain rather than think about emulating a successful model. “It’s the familiarity and the community and the united voice vis-à-vis the industry which set Cyprus apart,” Kazoukas adds. “It’s the shipping administration working hand in hand with the private sector.” In Germany and other high-regulation economies, on the other hand, every day new onerous regulations are imposed – by contrast, Cyprus looks like an opportunity to get back to business without being dominated by official concerns. It is an alternative to non-EU jurisdictions like Singapore or Hong Kong, where entirely different rules apply.

A big reason for Cyprus’ advantage in this regard is that it has a ministerial-level department dedicated to the needs of the shipping sector which is autonomous. Kazoukas explained: “This proposal got unanimous support from all political parties to make the shipping administration autonomous under its own department, with its own portfolio, which is to say, shipping only, not even ports.” This department reports directly to the president and is based in the shipping hub of Limassol, rather than in the inland capital city of Nicosia. As a result, it’s a close-knit network and nobody has to wait long to talk to decision-makers. And the process of decision-making is streamlined and highly in tune with the inputs from the industry. There is not as much of a top-down relationship; rather, government and the private sector work together to make the maritime sector work. What some may see as lobbying, and therefore as undemocratic, has in fact benefitted from broad political support.

“If there’s one thing this association has managed in the last 30 years,” Kazoukas says, “it’s to convince successive governments that shipping is an issue of national economy, and above party politics.” Kazoukas tells a story of how the Cyprus registry got a “major shipowner” to come to Cyprus by going to a conference with all of the major government and private sector decision-makers in tow. They confronted the owner with “one voice,” as Kazoukas put it, and persuaded him to remain in the European Union with his registry.

Cyprus is developing a national shipping policy, Kazoukas explains, which has projections looking up to 20 years ahead. “The government and CSC have been working on this vis-à-vis practical measures to improve the infrastructure on Cyprus. We are taking the needs of the customers into account, making things even more business friendly,” Kazoukas adds. “When it comes to e-signatures/e-records, the shipping ministry is trying to do better. Streamlining the single ministry means that changes can be carried out faster and without as much hassle. Modernization is ongoing.”

Further, Cyprus enforces the substance of European Union rules. For that, the island has the 11th largest fleet in the world and the 3rd largest in Europe. 72 million gross tons operate under the Cyprus flag. 9,000 people – both foreigners and Cypriots – make a living from shipping on Cyprus, along with 55,000 seafarers. Due to this good fundamental infrastructure, Kazoukas thinks that the Cyprus register has the potential to grow painlessly. “We’ve built infrastructure from the regulatory side, up to the highest level, with our own self-standing ministry for shipping,” says Kazoukas. “Even more important is the full compliance of Cyprus with all the international IMO/ILO/EU regulations. Cyprus has a large fleet, fully developed ship management company, and all the things you need from the supply side – parts suppliers, logistics and so on.” Since 24 March 2010, Kazoukas says, the EU has also fully approved Cyprus’ (now very popular) shipping taxation system. Cyprus negotiated and observed for about 10 years in respect of its tax system, taking the best parts of other compliant systems and making sure to keep within guidelines.

Kazoukas immediately clarifies, however, that Cyprus “is not the cheapest vis-à-vis tonnage tax rates, but it has one of the best and most competitive systems. This is not a tax haven, it is not a zero tax regime.” Cyprus wanted to join the European Union as a full member, which means also fully compliant with tax rules. “It would take five minutes to read the law and if it was below EU standards, in terms of finance, security, safety or environment, Cyprus would have been rejected from EU membership,” says Kazoukas. “Also, there have been no penalties levied against Cyprus. Cyprus’ taxation system comes up for regular assessment and renewal after a given number of years, there is an audit and then a decision is made to amend, edit or penalize. Cyprus has been assessed three times, no problems were ever identified.”

The Achilles’ Heel, as it were, of Cypriot shipping is the Turkish embargo. Following two successive Turkish invasions of the island, one third of Cyprus (the northern part) is still under a Turkish military occupation held to be illegal as per the United Nations and international law. Turkish ports are closed to Cyprus-flagged ships and any ships trading with Cyprus can run afoul of the embargo. All of this is a problem for Cyprus-flagged ships seeking to also do business specifically in Turkey.

But Kazoukas sees an opportunity in cooperation with Turkey, at least in the long term. Cyprus does not have a big merchant marine, but the island is only 70 nm away from Turkey. Cyprus has a fully-fledged shipping industry that could cater to Turkish shipping needs. It would be more beneficial for Turkish imports/exports to handle its shipping needs through Cyprus, making it cheaper ultimately for the end consumer – by taking advantage of the already existing nexus effects in the Cypriot shipping cluster. And, of course, it would be good business for Cyprus. Perhaps free trade and capitalism will eventually bring old enemies together, but right now it seems unlikely, especially with Turkey’s talks with the European Union regarding its accession atrophying due to lack of interest and commitment on both sides.

Kazoukas and his friends are used to solving their problems without help from the outside. The previous decades have taught self-reliance. “We don’t go to the government and cry our eyes out,” he says. “We bring the expertise from our Cyprus Shipping Chamber members and try to identify two or three suggestions, which we then bring forward as our own policy proposal.” Cyprus now has three maritime academies, up from zero not too long ago. They teach both cadets and ratings. This is helping to cover the lack of Cyprus-trained sailors. Also, shipping is the most popular subject in all of the universities in Cyprus; there are both postgraduate and postdoctoral shipping programs. Particularly popular are the subjects of shipping finance and shipping and energy. Especially energy – with the discovery of large offshore oil and gas fields – is drawing fresh interest. So even without reaching a détente with Turkey, therefore, it seems like Cyprus is able to take its fate into its own hands.

Cyprus will continue to look for synergies and cooperation with its bigger competitors, says Kazoukas. “Most member companies have offices globally, so it’s not to our benefit to work on a narrow-minded approach in a globalized industry. We work with the word ‘synergy/seanergy,’” he adds, turning a perhaps over-used word into pun that compels a dry chuckle. And what else makes Cyprus special? It’s working and living in a familiar atmosphere. “Loyalty matters. Many people work 20 or more years in their respective companies,” Kazoukas summarizes. “There is trust in the industry.”

Now that sounds a lot like the shipping industry that I know and love.

This article appears courtesy of Kravets & Kravets, and it is reproduced here in an abbreviated form. It may be found in its original form here.

from Storage Containers https://maritime-executive.com/article/cyprus-small-island-big-potential via http://www.rssmix.com/

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